Shared article: Being Gentle with Your Faults

I got this as a comment on my most recent post:

1. Satchel Pooch Says: September 24, 2009 at 8:45 pm

For some reason this (my previous post) made me think of this: http://www.streetprophets.com/storyonly/2009/9/24/173034/950

(this is a post Satchel Pooch recomends, titled, “Midweek Vigil, Being Gentle With Our Faults.”  I liked it enough I wanted those of you who maybe aren’t following comments to get the link, too. Thanks, Satchel, and thanks to Shakti if this drops an internet crumb trail of links to you, too!!!)

Peace and Blessings to you this week! – Karla

Facing our darkness

I enjoy a blog called “real live preacher.”  I read this particular post a month or so ago, and some of the stuff reminded me of some of my stuff.  Wanting to be good, denying that darkness that lives inside all of us, etc. etc.  Recently I had an occasion where I allowed some of my darkness to surface and am currently pondering it to try and make some sense of it.  I haven’t decided yet if it was healthy or not…too soon to tell.  But it brought back to mind this blog post, and I thought you might find it interesting, too.

http://reallivepreacher.com/node/1384

Here’s a little taste, if you like.

That’s an interesting thing to say. “I’m trying to be what I’m supposed to be.” What are you supposed to be?

Okay, yeah yeah. I get this. I know. You’re supposed to be who you are, be yourself, all that. I get that. I’ve told people that myself. It’s just…I AM a person who wants to be what I’m…supposed to be. You know, do the right thing. Be the right person.

Okay, let me try again. I’m really not trying to catch you in some ontological paradox. I just don’t get it. You say you want to be what you are supposed to be. And I just want you to tell me what that is. Who is this person you’re supposed to be? How would you describe him?

I don’t know. Nice? Nice to people? Caring about them and just, you know, where you go places and interact with people and it’s better because you were there. People are better off. You help people when you can.

Okay I’m still not really getting it. How about this: we’ll allow that somewhere in your mind there is an idea of what a man is supposed to be. And let’s agree that this man you want to be is a wonderful man. Just a smashing person. Leaving beauty and healing and well-being in his wake as he goes through life. Real Jesus-like.

I’m not trying to be Jesus.

Well Foy, who are you? I mean now. Forget the man you are supposed to be or want to be or will be or whatever that is. Who are you now? Let’s imagine that there is no god looking over your shoulder, okay? And you’re in a secret room with someone who will never tell anyone what you say. And further, this person is going to think the best of you. So even if you felt like punching someone in the face, you could say that and the person listening knows you would never do that.

(a portion has been snipped out—go read the original!)

What did you say?

What I said was “F*** everyone in the world but me!”

———

Of course, I don’t mean it or anything.

I know you don’t.

untitled misc.

Tonight I was reading from “Simply Surrender” a collection of St. Therese of Lisieux’s writings gathered and combined with devotional prayers by the editor John Kirvan.  I understand this book is one in a series of devotionals based on the writings of highly regarded Christian mystics, “Christianity’s most beloved spiritual guides” as it states on the back cover.  Here’s some snippets that touched me tonight.

When everything looks black, it is indeed a heavy cross.  But you are not always to blame when this happens.  Do everything you can to detach yourself from passing cares, and then rest assured that your Father will do the rest.

and here’s another…

Do not be afraid to tell Jesus that you love him, even when you do not actually feel that love.  In this way you will compel him to come to you and carry you, like the child you will always be, too weak to walk on your own.”

and this one is precious.  To quote too much more would really stretch the understanding of publishers and plagiarism, but the context is God’s mercy and ready embrace, like the Father of the Prodigal Son, unfailingly ready to take us back in forgiveness and love…

Our Lord has every imaginable perfection but — dare I say it — he has one great handicap.  When it comes to his love for us, he is blind.  His heart thrills with joy when he has to deal with those who truly love, and who, after each little fault, fling themselves into his arms, imploring forgiveness.  He says to his angels what the prodigal’s father said to his servants: “Put a ring upon his finger, and let us rejoice.”

No more tepidity for now!

I’m re-reading a book my spiritual director has re-loaned me again: “Crossing the Desert; Learning to let go, see clearly, and live simply” by Robert J. Wicks. Excellent book! I’d like to share a couple of quotes from it that are especially touching and/or convicting to me at the present time:

“Humility is the ability to fully appreciate our innate gifts and our current “growing edges” in ways that enable us to learn, act, and flow with our lives as never before. Prior to this important passage [through the narrow gate of humility] we may be drained by defensiveness or wander in our own desert chasing a false image of self that has nothing to do with who we are really meant to be.”

and another…

“[Humility] will also allow us to have the perspective, peace, and joy that comes when we know and value our ordinary transparent selves without wasting the energy it takes to add or subtract anything from whom we really are.”

and one more…

“Humility opens up a space for sound self-respect in lieu of inordinate self-doubt or unbridled self-assurance. A space for the courage needed to be ordinary instead of wasting all of our time chasing after what we believe will make us someone special.”

Let’s just say my growing edges are chafing a little right now. But the good news is I can see a little crack of light. I think I’m progressing toward that light that finally (maybe!) starts letting go of some of the wanderlust in the ol’ desert.

Time will tell. (Be near, oh God.)

Good for nothing…NOT!

Quoted from, “The Story of a Life, St. Therese of Lisieux” by Guy Gaucher, O.C.D.

‘St. Teresa says we must feed the fire of love. We feed this fire of love by searching for all the little occasions to please Jesus … for example, a smile,  a friendly word, when I would have preferred to say nothing or look bored, etc.

What matters is the essential and not the appearance, the kernel and not the shell.  Jesus strips us so as to show that he is the one who is at work.  And these   poor little souls, seeing themselves in such great poverty, are afraid.  It seems to them that they are good for nothing since they receive everything from others and have nothing to give.’

Good for nothing.  She knew what she was talking about. She who worked at painting, while sturdy peasants vigorously got on with the heavy community work, knew the humiliation of beng thought useless: ‘Several sisters kept saying that she was doing nothing, that it seemed she had come to Carmel to amuse herself.’

How does Jesus call you to feed the fire of love?  Do you suffer, either outwardly or inwardly by a judgment from others that you are useless and not contributing?  Remember that Jesus calls us to give what he desires, not what always  “looks good” or is manically “productive.”  Sometimes, Jesus just wants our time and our gaze, I think.  What does it do to our souls when we give too much attention to those (or ourselves, if we are the judger?) who judge our actions, particularly our actions of love? What do we lose when we strive to be productive at the cost of carving out time for listening and responding to the still small, maddeningly at times subtle voice of God?  I don’t know about you, but for me it sure is easy to be discouraged or humiliated or stressed out when I don’t feel like (or genuinely can’t be!) a “valuable” producer.  And yet, in my clearer moments I know that is making it all about me, and taking me farther from the Jesus I long for.  Much to ponder.  Much to pray over…

Belated Ash Wednesday Ponderings/Confessions

Hey there! I have Episcopal readers, and I have some evangelical readers I think. If you’ve been with me a while, you may be aware that I was raised Roman Catholic. We Catholics “do Lent.” Episcopalians also “do Lent” though not quite to the same legalistic degree as the Lenten observances I was encouraged to as a child. But I wouldn’t abandon a Lenten season, and I see more Protestants are observing Lenten piety than ever.

Just now I made a page with the entire pre-Eucharist Ash Wednesday liturgy, as it occurs in an Episcopal church. You can find it here on my blog (and on the top margin, too!), with links to my original source material there. And I found a phrase of the penitential rite that was fitting for me, and my spiritual pathway of the moment. It is simply this:

…We confess to you, Lord.

Our anger at our own frustration, and our envy of those
more fortunate than ourselves,
We confess to you, Lord.

I appreciate the recognition and calling-out to our attention from our prayer book regarding this particular piccadillo as “sin” worthy of confessing, reflecting on, and repenting for. Okay, sure, envy of others is pretty obvious. One of those seven deadly ones, undoubtedly. But what of that first part: anger at our own frustration. How many “good” people work themselves into a lather over not being good enough, or competent enough, or perfect enough to be “worthy” to stand at their mere job or family position, let alone stand before the throne of (our merciful, forgiving, loving) God? (do I detect a little involuntary confessional head-nodding from my side of the computer keyboard???) And so often, these people (“people” equals me, too, of course; my bad!) believe this working of themselves into the lather to be evidence of their goodness and even a sort of repentant, sorrowful piety before an inflexible God. And yet, it’s just another twisted form of pride, isn’t it? Frustration that I am not perfect. <faux gasp!>

I missed Ash Wednesday services this year. I had a rough preceding week that made me part lazy, part exhausted, and part scatterbrained. Friday through Monday had me running from house to grandparents to hospital while my husband recuperated from an unexpected, slightly emergent heart procedure. (it is assumed to be a viral infection with greater than expected inflammation, and fluid accumulation…not likely to be an ongoing problem, but one that will require a few followup appointments with cardiology and hematology. Would welcome your prayers in that regard for a non-remarkable report after those appointments are complete!) Then Tuesday I had one of the worst days at work I’ve had in a long time. The new system contributed to my stress level. Some demanding patients, some legitimately so due to health status and/or disability, some unkindly so with no outwardly apparent explanation (but who knows what really goes on in their inner lives of course. <sigh>), added to my stress level. I was too busy to eat lunch, too busy to drink a sufficient quantity to even desire to use the restroom. Had to tidy up a few unfinished tasks after closing, and was late to a family function as a result. Just really didn’t feel like going to church on my much-needed day off on Wednesday.

Now I regret it though. I miss that “invitation, in the name of the Church, to an observance of a Holy Lent.” It’s just not the same in solitude as it is to be gathered in community as the body of Christ. But my missing it was the prompt for my reading over the liturgy here at home, sort of after the fact. It’s a good one. A rich and useful prayer, that is, this liturgy. No Ash Wednesday is complete without a prayerful meditation over Psalm 51 in my opinion. I recommend it and the rest of the Book of Common Prayer’s Ash Wednesday liturgy for your use or consideration.

But yeah, that whole frustration with self is a biggie for me at many times, and particularly right now with this new computer system at work. Must be patient with self. Must relax. Not easy.

Is there a part of these prayers that particularly speaks to you at your place in the faith journey/struggle as you’re experiencing it right now? Leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

I enjoy taking some time to wrestle prayerfully/thoughtfully with the spiritual and incarnational realities of our God during the season of Lent. Earthy, fleshy life and ministry with attendant joys and suffering. Spiritual, supernatural results and ripples of that ministry and resurrection life. Hmmm…. Much to pray over and ponder, no?

May you be blessed on your journey, whereever it leads you.

Sinfulness

Okay, so it’s late, and I’m sick (sinuses/chest/bleck) but I can’t sleep.  So I’m hashing some spiritual stuff over in my mind, in preparation for meeting with the SD tomorrow.  Not that I “should” prepare, but it’s fitting ponderings for that type of conversation, so I was being a little more intentional about connecting some dots, and identifying the questions to explore more deeply.

And you, my dear readers, aren’t privy to ALL of those ponderings of the heart/soul. <smile>

But as I was pondering, it occurred to me that with little tweaking of these late night ponderings, I could pelt out a quick followup post to the mini-rant about the Episcopal Rite 1 Confession of Sin that *could* be blogged upon.

Here’s the deal.  I’m only too aware of how frequently I sin.  Sin=separation from God, the whole things done and left undone, in thought, word, and deed bit.  Yup.  I “suck” truthfuly.  We all do of course, and intellectually I’m quite aware of that, and I am further aware that I could be nothing more than an inadequate & sinful being, not being God and all.  Do I find that comforting and reassuring?  Not especially.  No, in the still, quiet hours when I go before my Lord, I “know” and believe that he loves me [us] for my [our] good intentions and even forgives us when our intentions themselves are impure/self-centered and we return to him to express our genuine sorrow.

That knowledge that I will always be a [forgiven!!] sinner do not help reassure me.  I want to be better.  I want to not be a sinner.  <sigh>  It is becoming my conclusion that a return to prayer for repeated gentle, loving confrontations of my human imperfection will result in, maybe partially in this life, and if not in the next, a bathing in a more full recognition of God’s love and forgiveness.  I believe this, but I do not in any way feel this.

Enter in good ol’ Rite 1 and its statement that I as a feckless sinner have provoked God’s wrath and indignation.  Harumph!  That is not helpful to me, and in a weaker state of mind than I currently find myself in (maybe you find yourself there?) downright hurtful and decidedly unhelpful.  I sin, I do not do the things I have a hunch God would want me to do.  I do some things that probably make God cringe in disappointment, but wrath?  Indignation?  I do not mean to diminish my sinfulness, indeed a spot where Rite 1 gets it right, there is a pervasive sense that my sin is an intolerable burden (i.e. drives me CRAZY “to do those things I hate”), and I wish God would work a little quicker to “fix me up” to be that which he calls me to be.  But I must land on the side of those saints and Saints which insist to me that God is all love and mercy (and most assuredly NOT wrath and indignation) to those who are trying their best. (specifically at this moment I am praying with a devotional of writings from Therese of Lisieux.)  I hope that you will embrace that belief in God’s love and mercy, too, if you find yourself in relationships or church bodies that would try to tell you otherwise!

Okay, rant mode off.  May you have peace in your heart.

Brief, not very heated “rant”

I’m feeling a little apathetic toward the whole church thing these days.  No biggie, in the bigger scheme of things.  Either it will pass with time, or it will fall in the big deal – get over yourself realm of things.

But for this moment, right now, it is what it is, to use a somewhat tired cliche.

Had family stuff going on the past three weeks, so missed church.  Today, we attended, and we’re having this little experiment in our parish of something they call “common Sunday.”  The notion being to bring the 8:00 attenders and the 10:00 attenders together in a meet me half-way fashion; worshipfully, socially, the whole she-bang.  We start at 9:00, and alternate between Rite 1 and Rite 2, doing this Common Sunday once a month on the last Sunday of the month.

I’m a 10:00′er.  I began my foray into Episcopalianism as an 8:00′er though.  I guess my attentions weren’t terribly focused on the words used.  That sounds awful in one sense, and yet it would be untrue to say I wasn’t attentive to the movings of the spirit, and the return to being a regular churchgoer.  Those were special times in my journey in faith.  I re-commited myself to a spiritual journey in those early days, and I most certainly was attentive to God.

I hope I still am. (???)

But I will say this much.  The jarring contrast in themes and worldview (for lack of the better adjective that currently escapes me?) was enough to make me want to cringe at times.  I had even gone so far to inwardly dismiss the word-wars that other Episcopalians sometimes engage in.  “It’s not that much different” I would tell myself, what’s the big deal, I would privately chide the “whiners.”

I guess I’m a whiner now, too.  But I’m still (mostly!) keeping it to myself.  Can’t wait to return to Rite 2!!!!!!!!

………Then again, I can make an actual post out of this -  with “real” pondering, not merely whining and ranting.  I’ll get to work on that.  Til then…

Peace, all! – Karla

All I’ve Ever Wanted

Hey everyone! If you’re still with me, sorry for the lengthy absence. But I figured writing nothing was better than writing ABOUT nothing.

I’ve been pondering and feeling a bit guilty for awhile about my lack of a prayer discipline. I’ve been immersed in figuring out my new Christmas toy. An MP3 player. Never had one. Gave my mom a turntable to convert her vinyl collection to CD’s or MP3’s as she chooses. Gave me the bug to have all my music in one place, too. (Having a ball with my shiny new toy!)

It’s a trip back in time to relisten to old albums you nearly forgot you had. Especially with songs from your childhood, but in my case also one from my children’s younger childhood, that I never would have bought had it not been for them: the soundtrack to the movie, “Prince of Egypt.”

One of the songs has rather captured my attentions and self-examinations. As I recall it in the movie, the young adult Moses has early inklings of his true beginnings, and is conflicted over his true home/station/mission in life. In true musical fashion, he’s brooding while fondling the alabaster columns in his room, when music begins to swell in the background and soon he’s breaking into the following song in an attempt to quiet the inner conflict:

Gleaming in the moonlight
Cool and clean and all I’ve ever known
All I ever wanted
Sweet perfumes of incense
Graceful rooms of alabaster stone
All I ever wanted

This is my home
With my father, mother, brother
Oh so noble, oh so strong
Now I am home
Here among my trappings and belongings
I belong
And if anybody doubts it
They couldn’t be more wrong

I am a sovereign prince of Egypt
A son of the proud history that’s shown
Etched on ev’ry wall
Surely this is all I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted…..

And it trails off, only to be joined shortly with a musical interlude that shows us cutting to his mother entering the scene and reassuring him of his proper place in the world, adding her own contribution to trying to squelch those inner voices in her son’s head.

This is your home, my son
Here the river brought you
And it’s here the river meant
To be your home
Now you know the truth, love
Now forget and be content
When the gods send you a blessing
You don’t ask why it was sent…

As these lyrics bounce about inside my own head, I wonder at my own self-assurances of soverignty and no need for roots, or God. I wonder about my life of privilege and how easily and frequently I fool myself into believing I’ve “earned it.” (on whose backs directly or indirectly does my privilege come, I wonder, much like Moses must have wondered, I suspect.) I wonder at how I fill my life with trappings and belongings and insist it’s all I ever wanted, in my own peculiar ways. And how I repeat it over and over again determinedly when that nagging wonder that there’s more to life than this tries to break in and make demands on me and my place in the world.

I mean, okay, it’s just one cheesy song, but here I am pondering it, curiously right in the midst of my newest trapping, taking my time and money and attentions. And yet, God finds a way to reach out to us, even still. Cool. Thanks, God.

Love of intention, re-pondered

Never give way to your feelings, she warned her sisters, and never rely on them either for your strength or your conviction. Having lost what she called “the sweetness of presence,” the alternative as a love of intention — an act of sheer will in the face of what emotionally feels impossible. This is the post-Christian spirituality of living heroically “as if,” not “because of” but “in spite of”.

I included this snippet recently in this post

I fear I’m finding myself in the midst of an unwarranted reliance on feelings for strength. And then needlessly beating myself up for being a “feeler.”

Hogwash!

Being a feeler is a great strength. Enjoying and PROFITING from the passion that feelings provide (when they are of the buoyant, ministry-enhancing variety) is both enjoyable and smart. Succumbing to negative feelings (doubts, feelings of lack of self-worth) and believing that they speak truth to you is silly. How do I reconcile this? Doesn’t it sound like straddling the fence, cherry-picking?

Maybe so. But I believe it is the truth.

Now, I just need to extricate myself from this lukewarm feelings quagmire. In some ways, that sort of lack of feeling-intensity is harder to deal with than frank discouragement. My current feelings are of mild (quite, quite mild) discouragement, but nothing approaching full-on dark night of the soul. To even intimate that would be insulting to those who have endured that struggle. Parallels, on a lesser scale, can be drawn and pondered though I think to my further enlightenment and growth. Lukewarm is not a fun place to be, having not even any obvious target to fight and pour one’s conquering or overcoming, battling energies into. <grumble> Litany of Humility, perhaps???