by Liz | Feb 8, 2012 | main
Anyone who knows me is not surprised that I find the current English mass translation to be rather poor. In general the translation seems poor, cumbersome and does not invoke a sense of beauty or better understanding of what we celebrate. I find it distancing.
There is an exception: one of the responses I learned, and repeated, from the beginnings of my journey within the Roman Church went this way:
Lord, I am not worthy to receive You, but only say the Word and I shall be healed.
The current translation is now:
Lord, I am not worthy for You to enter under my roof, but only say the Word and my soul shall be healed.
(OK, I’m not positive I have the words exactly correct, but I think I do.)
It’s the “enter under my roof” and “my soul will/shall be healed” that have had the impact. When I heard and said the former version, I was focussed strictly on the Host — that little wafer that I received. Not that this is a bad thing, but the “enter under my roof” and the addition of the word “soul” seem to broaden my understanding. I now reflect on allowing God to enter into my “house” – into my “home” — into my life in general. My house is the world, the heart and the mind where I live. When I say the words “under my roof” it calls up a vision of welcoming God into that space where I live. And, the grounding for where I live, day to day, in physical terms or in emotional or spiritual terms is my soul.
Now, I’m not sure what the intent of the change was. For me, this opens doors. It gives me something more concrete to work with. It points to the places where I live and to the reasons and forces that empower me to move day by day. What a beautiful surprise!
by Liz | Dec 20, 2011 | main
Today’s gospel is one of those where the angel Gabriel comes to Mary:
The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary.
And coming to her, he said, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.”
But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.
I have to admit that I’ve had this reaction — someone greets me with a smile and a message that is sooooo positive. And my first reaction is one of suspicion. What does she want from me? Anyone/anything that happy to see me must want to eat me for dinner. The list goes on from there, but you get the idea.
And so, I look to Mary for the followup. She hears the rest of the story and ponders it a bit. And then she simply asks – “How can this be?” That is where I fall short, it seems. I hold my questions and suspicions close and don’t reveal my hand most of the time. I can only ask for Mary’s simple courage as she wonders aloud “How?” She doesn’t try to sidestep the issue, she doesn’t play at false humility — she just goes with it.
It seems I must accept that the questioning is essential, but so is the acceptance.
by Liz | Jul 4, 2011 | main
There is a hole in my existence that opens up on occasion and sends me to a deep place. This place often strikes me as dark, but not always.
We drove in to New England a couple of days ago. That empty space opened up in me. It felt something like the way I feel when I cross into the panhandle of Florida. It is there, but less intense when I cross in to Florida not in the panhandle, or when I turn south headed to Gulf Shores. It feels the same when I head in to the mountains. The sea and the mountains seem to open this place up in me.
What I can’t quite decide it what that feeling is beyond longing. Is it my awareness of God? I mean the presence of God in nature. Or is it a longing just to be one with that nature? We had XM radio set to Margaritaville when it hit… Specifically Jimmy was singing the song that starts “Father, Father Ocean…”. It was dedicated to Jacques Cousteau. A great, deep melancholy settled in. Is that a sort of sadness that I am separated from the ocean/mountains? Is it a part of me sad at the awareness that I am separated?
I live inland — where the Piedmont Plateau meets the Coastal Plain. Not coastal, not mountains. Not urban, not country. Often my life is like my geography. I am often complacent about my current status. I know that I am not growing, not being transformed and I like the comfort of the status quo.
This longing for something as I approach the ocean or the mountains seems to call out to me. And I sit with that call and try to listen. I both love and despise this feeling. It is uncomfortable and it feels sad. And at the same time it calls me to open up to live life at its fullest and experience things that are extremely fulfilling, but not so safe and protected.
For a few days I will have the chance to walk by the ocean and feel its power. At the same time I will be surrounded by family. And I will know that it is “a good thing” to be willing to walk into those wild places because I am surrounded by love.
by Liz | Mar 21, 2011 | main
Or Discerning when the answer to “Here I am Lord. Is it I Lord?” is “Not you, not now.”
I’m just back from being a part of the team for a Women’s Cursillo Weekend. The spring weekends in this diocese are held over at the Blessed Trinity Shrine Retreat which is a spot that I firmly believe to be Holy Ground. And, as so often happens when we put ourselves on holy ground, some interesting insights occur.
Listening to one of my “Sistas” (inside joke, sista!) talk, had a bit of understanding sink in. It might be difficult at times to be the leaven in the situation or function as the salt of the earth in a particular spot… and that is ok. Do it. But, at the same time, it might just be that the answer is: this one is not mine to fix. I am in the wrong place at the wrong time. And until I follow my own path to the right place, I can in no way be that leaven or salt.
It’s approaching the 1 year mark since I left a position I had for nearly 26 years. I know that I am more at peace inside. I know this was the right thing to do. The choice of when to leave was a difficult one, true. But, I’m really not looking back. I have a couple of folks that I keep contact with, but, essentially it was time to let go.
In that work situation, I was so often frustrated because I would find myself being the source of discontent and disruption. I didn’t want to be. I had just gotten to that place where I had to admit that it was time to change. It seems that I had to let go of a lot of things: my seniority (fat lot of good that was doing), a place to go everyday (that had gotten oppressive), an area of expertise that I had never sought (I knew my stuff, I was good, I really didn’t have a personal interest in it); But, these things were some of the building blocks of how I defined myself. And as I struggled with these, and other issues, I was unable to be a light, or to be a positive influence on my situation. As Christians, we often know the call to bloom where you are planted; we often know the call to be an agent of change. We don’t always honor it, but we probably suspect that it is there.
And so, I had to learn/accept that it was time to let go. Move on. We can’t give what we don’t have. So, I had to understand that in this case, the question “Is it I Lord?” was blessedly “Nope. Not you. Not now.” What a relief!
Interesting aside: Recently, I’ve had the experience of people coming up to me and remarking that they see transformation in me. Whoa! I see it in another friend who made the same sort of change at about the same time — but it is good to have the affirmation in my own life. Perhaps I can now be a bit of salt and light in this world.
by Liz | Aug 11, 2010 | main
Have you ever heard a “born-again” Christian refer to being “convicted”? I’ve spend some time thinking about that phrasing. So often it is taken to mean that Jesus, as judge and jury has taken someone into a court of law, and tried that person and found that person “guilty.” An unloving, uncharitable, hard-line image, to me.
Then I think a bit further. I observe in myself and those whom I come in contact with. I observe emotional reactions. Those things which bring out violent or visceral emotional reactions seem to me to fall into a couple of categories — and these probably dissolve into a single category. These reactions are generally associated with hurt or fear. I only experience hurt and/or fear when I am protecting something, it seems. That is, I react most strongly when I am not sure that my borders are not being breached. That could be protecting a child or a friend. Or it could be just protecting my own ego. I will fight to defend my child or sister/brother, mom, spouse or friend. True. But, I will fight even harder at times to protect my image of myself…
My strongest reaction by far is when someone touches a nerve and moves into that space that might cause me to have to change — or at least evaluate the need to change. Someone, be they friend or foe, makes an observation about me that really makes me angry… My response becomes: Unfair! You have no right! Why are you trying to hurt me! Get away! Leave me alone! You are SO wrong! And then I stop and reflect on my reaction. It is the strongest when I suspect that the observer might be right or might be on to some log in my own eye.
The other side of that coin is when I say something that causes the flash of anger in another person. I must evaluate what is happening: Am I being unjust or wrong? Or did I step into that place that perhaps they already see a problem? Am I doing it to hurt someone (and make myself look better) or did I simply state a truth that was received badly?
And so I reflect on what “conviction” means in the sense of that Christian I referenced in the first sentence. I look in the mirror of God and find that I am in drastic need of change — God/Jesus doesn’t convict me or sentence me. I see the reflection that tells me that this must change. I see Love in the mirror that tells me it can change. I see more Love in the mirror that tells me that I’ll not ride into that change alone.
Scary-wonderful.
