Exploring Vulnerability and Availability

In researching how I have applied the Rule of Vulnerability and Availability in my spiritual life and in providing spiritual direction, my journals revealed a mixture of applications. Here are some brief summaries:

As Examen 

There were many times when I used the questions “How have I said ‘yes’ to vulnerability? How have I said ‘yes’ to availability?” as a kind of personal examen, following the Ignation practice. The practice has provided an ongoing and deepening psychological and spiritual awareness over the years.

As Frame 

The Rule was used going into a particular situation. For example, before beginning a silent retreat, spiritual training event, or family gathering, I would bring to mind the question “What can I do to be vulnerable and available during this time?” By asking the question, I would be alerted to ways I was not being as vulnerable or available as I wanted to be. Then I could decide if I was willing to be more open and risk-taking.

In my Body 

Having a full body massage did not just loosen the locked-up muscles, but also opened up a sense of spirit and soul. The relationship between the physical and the spiritual became clear.

In my Feelings 

There were many descriptions of feelings connected to either allowing or avoiding the choices of vulnerability and availability. While deeply desiring to be vulnerable and available to God and others, there were strong feelings, such as fear of the possible risks and dangers.

God’s Encouragement 

During prayer, God invited and encouraged an ongoing exploration being vulnerable and available. One journal entry noted a sense of God saying it “will lead to pain, to fear, to loss, to unexpected joy and delight; all of it will be there – both as a gift for me and a challenge to me.”

God’s Freedom 

God provides humanity the freedom to act with vulnerability and availability by providing God’s own self as freely vulnerable and available. More than the one time offering of Jesus’ own vulnerability, it is God’s ongoing commitment to those who are willing to open themselves by becoming vulnerable and available to God.

Self-differentiation and connection

It is only possible to choose to be fully vulnerable and available through deeply knowing yourself and experiencing the separation of that self from others. The vulnerability cannot grow out of weakness or fusion or fragility, but through deliberate and prayerful personal exploration and awareness. This process will both clarify one’s own boundaries while allowing for a more true availability for and with others.

Providing direction

Spiritual directors often describe providing hospitality as a core dynamic of the conversation. When a director intentionally chooses to be vulnerable and available to those who come for conversation, the director radically welcomes all the person brings. Supervision provides a place for the director to continue working on internal barriers and blocks, deepening both a differentiated self and the availability to others.

I would appreciate any comments or suggestions for further explorations of these topics.

Life in Journals Past

The fireworks in Washington, DC for the 4th of July have always been spectacular.  This year I tried a new location, sitting near the Jefferson Memorial, looking across the Tidal Basin to the spot on the National Mall where they are launched.  It was not crowded, with many families and kids. A delightful spot.  Of all the pictures, I like this shot the best, where you can see the shadow of a duck at the bottom.    

For the last few weeks I have been reading through old journals.  I am looking for material to use in an article I have been invited to write for a magazine, but that is a story for a later time.  My purpose is to scan through all of the last 12 years of journals, quickly, in order to identify the relevant entries.  Everything needs to be checked, but only some is relevant to what I will be writing, and those sections need to be marked and indexed. 

Many times before, I have gone back to read specific sections or periods of time.  Usually it was to explore, and sometimes process, something that had happened earlier.  Or, the journal included a significant trip abroad or conference/training notes. 

So, scanning through many, many pages of old material is a new experience.  It is a bit like fast forwarding through a movie - looking for specific details, while also gaining a perspective over the whole story.

Some things I expected.  Since I usually journal when I am upset, maybe angry about what is happening, struggling to get unstuck, or bored with my paying job, the amount of negative and depressed entries doesn't surprise me.  In one journal, I actually warned anyone reading it in the future that what I have written about is only a small part of my life.  Life has been much better than the journal would seem to indicate.

What has been startling are the times when months or years before I could even know about something good in the future, I wrote or dreamed in anticipation of that event or change.  Deep desires and urges came to fruition. Not that there wasn't lots of thrashing around, trying out different options and paths, only to have them fail or lead to nowhere. Both were mixed up together.

There are also times when intense conflict or struggle broke through into letting go of something old and opening up to something new.  Going forward, the one piece of advice would be to take courage, to face into the conflict, to be as honest as possible, and keep writing. 

Often I recorded during the hard times how hard it was to write, because writing led directly into the conflict.  The practice and intentionality of doing the writing has been important in building up my courage, giving the capacity to challenge myself, strengthening self-awareness and trying-out new understandings. 

There are a number of times when I recorded spectacular fireworks, within myself, and in relationship with others.  Those fireworks don't happen very often, and when they do, the experience is from within.  Imagine the experience of sitting in a firework shell, as it blasted off the ground, feeling the acceleration, the noise, the bright light and the streaming of burning fire.  It is scary rather than exciting. 

Reading about those explosions now, it is interesting to be on the outside.   Fireworks are fun to watch if you are a safe distance from them.  That may change with the more recent journals?

Changed by Silence - 2

There are many methods to enable the process of stopping the flow of uncontrolled thoughts and enable some amount of mental silence. Each has its advantages and limitations. I will not even try to list them.

Whichever process or methods a person chooses to use, there are a variety of challenges. To start, you must turn-off and turn away from all of the visual, musical, verbal, and other media that are omni-present as background stimulation and distraction. It is the first step to interior silence because all of those external distractions are designed to intrude and interrupt your thoughts. For persons who have grown to need multiple sources of stimulation, choosing to turn-off and turn away is a radical, counter-cultural act. It probably will be hard to do. Your natural resistance to change will urge you to quit, to return to the familiar. Making a commitment to a trial period, like silent prayer for five minutes a day for two weeks, may be a good strategy.

Without the external noise, you will become aware of whatever inner thoughts, feelings and images you have. If this is your first time to focus on interior experiences, you might be surprised by the amount, loudness and persistence of all of the thoughts. This is what the Buddhists call “monkey mind.” Picture a group of monkeys swinging around in the trees, making all kinds of noise, and doing nothing in particular. That is what all of those thoughts are doing – often circling around, not accomplishing anything, chattering away.

In Arm Chair Mystic: Easing into Contemplative Prayer, Mark E. Thibodeaux offers some very good advice about dealing with monkey mind distractions:

My anxiety, distress, guilt and anger about the distractions are far more detrimental to my prayer than the distractions themselves. The most effective way to diminish the distractions, then, is not to worry about them at all. (p. 120) 

If you are looking for an easy-to-read, simple and clear guide to moving into silent prayer, I highly recommend this book.

As you become more experienced with silence in your interior landscape, and the surface chatter quiets down, deeper thoughts and feelings begin to emerge. These appear from under the surface because there is now the interior space for them to emerge. These thoughts and feelings present a different challenge, often involving remembering and re-experiencing unresolved, and often deeply painful, memories or fears. They are different than the chattering, and the content may become so powerful that it needs separate attention through specific therapeutic or spiritual work outside of the prayer time. It may be important to explore this material outside of your time of prayer.

I have been scanning through my journals from the last 12 years, and have realized how significant writing in a journal has been in exploring my own interior landscape. It has allow me to move into silent prayer in various ways. Writing all of the chatter in my mind onto paper honors it, while allowing me to leave it behind. Writing also allows me to work through the dark material, the emerging memories or fears, and lets me decide what I want to take to therapy or my spiritual director for further exploration. And there are many times when writing in my journal is itself a form of prayer.

Enough for now – I hope to continue this later. 

Availability and Vulnerability

(Here is another article from the No Chocolate in Lent? blog that I wrote in March.  I am working on a follow up on my Changed by Silence response to Sarah Coakley's article in Christian Century, but it is not yet ready from prime time)  

There are two simple words at the center of the Rule of Life for the Northumbria Community – availability and vulnerability. Since discovering that Rule several years ago, I have tried to live my own life with availability and vulnerability.

Let me backtrack. Many years ago, David found a prayer book developed by the Northumbria Community in England. The Northumbria Community is a geographically dispersed community that has its home on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.  It is shaped by a spirituality based in the history and experience of the Celts. What holds that community together is their Rule of Life, summarized by the values of availability and vulnerability. As Richard Foster states in the introduction of Celtic Daily Prayer:

These are vows that extend both vertically and horizontally: available to God, available to others; vulnerable to God, vulnerable to others.

While I make no claim to be a member of the community, nor have I ever visited there, I have tried to adopt those values into my life, with their challenge and hope. I continually find myself returning to them over and over again, because they seem to be at the core of my struggles to live a life centered on God. This year, I will consciously bring those challenges of availability and vulnerability into this week between Palm Sunday and Easter.

Holy Week was a time when Jesus was fully available to those who needed him, while becoming totally vulnerable to the fear and cruelty of those who controlled the religious and government institutions. In his acts of availability, such as washing the disciple’s feet, Jesus turns around the expectations of his friends by caring for them. In his interactions with those in power, he refuses to return violence for violence, hatred for hatred. During this week, we recall his betrayal by one of his disciples, beatings by soldiers, abandonment by his friends, crucifixion by an oppressive state, and death.

So, in continuing on my Lenten discipline of what if it’s all true, what can I hope to learn from Jesus' tragic, and ultimately triumphant, journey? I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But if I can find a way to stay available and vulnerable to reliving his story, I hope to be able embrace those values more fully in the power of resurrection and Easter. 

Changed by Silence

(This post was originally published at No Chocolate in Lent? blog on April 4, 2011.  I will note sadly that I have not been able to delve more deeply into the material in the intervening two months, but I hope to get back to it soon.)

During a young adult retreat session, one person asked me about the point of meditation and being internally silent. I would paraphrase the question as “What’s the point of turning off my thoughts when I have so much I need to get done?” At the time I found myself inarticulate, fumbling for an answer, knowing that the question is very important.

Another person suggested that it is like pushing the reset button, clearing out the garbage and starting over. That analogy does capture one aspect. A constant stream of thoughts keeps us stuck in one place, limiting our ability to see alternative perspectives or opposing ideas. So by letting go of old thoughts, new ideas and perspectives can emerge. The image is a garden choked with weeds; once the weeds are cleared out and the soil is loosened up, new plants can grow and flourish.

But there is something left of out by that explanation when the spiritual dimension is considered: God. How do the ways we pray crowd out God rather than open up to God? Using that garden metaphor, what might grow up in the soil if we kept cleaning out the weeds? If our prayers are full of our words, chattering on about our concerns, hopes, fears or thanksgiving – all important and valid topics of prayer, I will hasten to add – do we allow God to reach out to us? Changing metaphors, when do we let down the wall of words or open a door in that wall to let God sit with us, be with us, listening for what God may have to say?

Sarah Coakley describes how she was changed by the silence, in her article Prayer as Crucible, in the March 22 issue of Christian Century. Professor Coakley has an impressive resume as an academic and theologian, but risks an intimate glimpse into her spiritual life by explaining she continues to be radically changed by silent prayer. Since there is a strong taboo in the Anglican/Episcopal churches against talking about our individual spiritual life and experiences, much less by an academic theologian, her revelations are powerful. Her experiment in her 20’s with Transcendental Meditation (TM) meant

a seismic shift of seemingly unspeakable proportions began to afflict me. Whatever was going on here was not only "transcendental" but severely real. Clearly I was going to have to make some metaphysical choices, and fast. 

While ancient Christian forms of meditation and silent prayer were yet to be rediscovered, she turned away from TM and stayed within a Christian perspective. She describes the experience of an

extraordinary sense of spiritual and epistemic expansion—of being taken by the hand into a new world of glorious technicolor, in which all one's desires were newly magnetized toward God, all beauty sharpened and intensified. Yet simultaneously all poverty, deprivation and injustice were equally and painfully impressed with new force on my consciousness.

And

Lest this seem like a claim to some special supernatural encounter, I hasten to add that the daily practice of silence itself was usually more like the tedious quotidian discipline of brushing one's teeth than anything else. It was the effects outside prayer . . . that were initially hard to quantify and yet palpably transforming of all my previous theological assumptions. 

So, I would like to thank Professor Coakley for articulating what I could not on that Sunday morning. However, I am hesitant to recommend her article because her use of the technical language of her academic field makes it a challenge for even a partially trained person like me. I will continue to read, mark, and inwardly digest my copy, and will report back if anything articulate emerges.

Prayer, Walking, and Labyrinths

(This essay first appeared at the No Chocolate in Lent blog I managed for the Middleham and St. Peter's Parish on March 31, 2011. I have revised it slightly with experiences that occurred since the original posting.)

During the recent Middleham and St. Peter’s young adult and family retreat, I introduced to the adults the spiritual practice of walking prayer. It is a practice I use regularly since I have great difficulty in sitting in one place and meditating. But if I am able to move, to walk while also quieting my thoughts, I find it easier to reduce the constant chatter for longer periods of time. It is even better if I can walk in a labyrinth.

Every month I try to go to the Cathedral Crossroads at the National Cathedral on the last Tuesday evening of the month. Among other activities, they spread out two canvas labyrinths, one in each transept, to allow for prayer through walking. There is always a musician, often a harp and Native American flute player, providing soft music that echoes the length of the nave. Everyone walks in their socks, to protect the canvas pattern from wear and dirt.

Every time is a different experience. Sometimes it is crowded, so we need to share the paths and figure out how to get around each other. Sometimes I am alone, or there are only one or two other persons. At the end of the evening, everyone still in the Cathedral is invited to join in the service of Compline, a corporate closing for the day.

Sometimes, as I walk, I become calmer, less anxious, more able to get on with life when I am done. Letting go of my thoughts helps to let go of negative feelings accumulated over the day. Sometimes, new perspectives or insights will emerge from the quietness. Occasionally I sense a presence that might be the Holy Spirit. Even those all to frequent times when I feel like I didn’t get much out of the walking, I know I need to do it anyway. I cannot predict or control what will happen, but I need to show up and walk if anything is going to happen. That is true of all spiritual practices.

If you have never tried it, my only advice is to ignore whatever anyone says you are supposed to do. Just start walking at whatever pace feels right, and see what happens. Oh, and do try to stay on the path, though I have seen persons make their own path. Many people, like my Mom, never could figure out why anyone would want to do it, though she was willing to try it once. Each person is different.

David and I have been building a garden around a simple five circuit labyrinth in our yard, combining my interests of gardening with labyrinths. The photo on the left is from last May shows the grass paths that run among the flower beds.  Each week you can read about what is blooming and see pictures at Labyrinth by the Bay. If you are ever in the neighborhood, please feel free to stop by and walk the paths with a view of the Bay.

More information about labyrinths can be found at the Grace Cathedral, where the current awareness of use of labyrinths was started by Dr. Lauren Artress. I attended a workshop by Dr. Artress during the recent Spiritual Director's International conference, and her approach is direct and simple.

The Labyrinth Society has a worldwide labyrinth locator, so when you are far from home, you can find a place to walk a labyrinth.

Being Compassionate about Compassion

Before attending the recent Spiritual Directors International conference with its theme of “Cultivating Compassion,” I was anxious about how the conversation would go. I have had a fairly negative attitude toward the word “compassion,” based in part upon one person telling me how she “felt compassion for me” while reeking of paternalism and projection.

One dictionary definition of compassion is “sympathetic concern for the suffering of another, together with the inclination to give aid or to show mercy.” That definition well describes my concerns. “Sympathy” often connotes a superiority to the one offering the sympathy. Even when sympathy is offered without that connotation, it still leans toward the passive, such as the “inclination to give aid” rather than a more active response. The word “mercy” carries a judicial tone since it is often used in the context of courts of law.

So, with the dictionary confirming my nervousness, I noticed that the conference brochure had most of the workshops labeled with “compassion.” I carefully registered for those sessions that didn’t use the term. But there was no avoiding the plenary sessions.

Fortunately, Janet Ruffing was the main speaker at the plenary sessions, and she is one of the most articulate and well-grounded experts in spiritual direction in the U.S. Soon after she began speaking, I could feel myself relax. She quickly banished my fears that she would offer vague platitudes about compassion. She began by examining the “radical convergence” of the significant role of compassion among the Jewish, Christian and Buddhist faiths. As Ruffing delved into each one, she deeply explored the ways the word is used, considering nuances of languages, and using stories and illustrations from each tradition.

Selecting a few of my notes, Ruffing reflected upon the perspective of God, acting compassionately to the cries of God’s people by bringing them out of exile in Egypt. The people of God responded by betraying the trust God had put in them, building their own god in the form of the golden calf. Ruffing marveled at the “divine compassion that survives the anguish of betrayal, returning again and again to a relationship of love” with the chosen people. This is a courageous compassion, that is not shallow or passive, but moving through pain with deep commitment and forgiveness.

Later, she described how Christians picked up the Jewish experience of compassion, noting that “God’s compassion is unconditional and inclusive,” and “compels us to action.” My notes continue further to say that God cultivates compassion in us, with “God as the source, flowing into us, which we offer to the world.” The sense of the movement, an animating presence from God, leading us into the world is, once again, a very active and engaged perspective on compassion that as new for me. Finally, “compassion grows in us as we grow in God.”

This was brought home quite dramatically this last week when one of my directees was talking about life and what is going on. She described how she has become aware of the fact that she could not come up with compassion out of herself; it was not something that she could create in any way. She was becoming aware that any sense of compassion was coming to her from God, and in her awareness of God’s compassion for her, she was then able to be compassionate for others. I almost jumped out of my chair shouting “Yes!” Fortunately I was able to restrain myself, but I did tell her how she had echoed what Janet Ruffing had described at the SDI conference. It was a deep learning for both of us.

So, I am able to be much more compassionate about compassion, but I am not sure about two more years of conferences with the repeated theme of “cultivating compassion.”

Men's Heart Work

During the recent Men’s Institute, after the recent Spiritual Directors International conference in Atlanta, a dozen men explored the contours of men’s hearts. It was clear from the early conversation that most in that hotel conference room were ready to take risks and move to deep levels.

In the initial exercise of Exercises of the Heart, we paired up tell each other “What makes your heart sing?” Then new pairs were formed for new questions such as “Describe a time when your heart was hurt or broken,” and “What hardens your heart?” As the questions were answered, we continually found common experiences and shared struggles with other men from around the U.S. and across the globe. Our differences in home town, church tradition, or age fell away.

I was somewhat surprised with the level of openness and vulnerability happening; men are stereotypically hesitant to talk about heart matters. Yet, considering the preceding three days with most programs designed by women for women, we all desired an alternative, masculine perspective and connection, and were willing to do what we needed to make those connections with each other

The next experience, the Grieving Heart, was a role play involving one man visiting another dying in a hospital bed, and required volunteers. While there was anxiety in the room and clear struggles about whether or not to take the chance, two pairs of men took the courageous step. In the first time through the play, we saw the love and respect one man has for his close friend and mentor. It made visible men’s hesitancy to thank and honor men who have given support and guidance. At least one man noted his intention to initiate that conversation with an elderly man before the opportunity was lost.

The second role play involved a man and his father, a relationship filled with conflicted experiences and emotions. The visible anger being expressed by the son in the role play was disturbing, yet was also understood by many men in the room. Discussing the role play, a number recognized how men’s grieving first shows itself in other emotions such as anger.

While the role plays illustrated two different responses to grief and death, the process dynamic illustrated the significance for men judging how safe the situation is before making a decision to commit and risk. When volunteers were requested, when each volunteer started playing his role, when talking about the experiences each person had in participating and watching, all of the men were constantly choosing when to risk or not, what to risk, and how to respond to another’s risk. We were assessing how safe the situation is before we were willing to speak out.

In the final section, How Do We Open Our Heart to Another, began with individuals pondering when we have opened our hearts to others, and the attendant fears and hopes. Then, in small groups, each person described and expanded upon his thoughts and listened to responses from the other men. The time together closed with the whole group beginning to apply what was learned to our lives and work as spiritual directors.

This time for individual reflection and looking towards next steps was deeply personal, so there is little that can be reported for the whole group.

The value of the time was not dependent upon the exercises done or questions asked, even if I think the three of us leaders did a great job of that. The value was in the gathering of men together, our ability to feel safe with each other, which allowed for a vulnerability rarely seen in groups including women with men. There is a bluntness and directness unique to a gathering of men, which is refreshing and also challenging.

I find myself inarticulate in describing what changed for me, but I left the event a different person.

Mysteries of the Jesus Prayer

The Mysteries of the Jesus Prayer: A Pilgrimage to the Heart of an Ancient Spirituality explores sites sacred to Eastern Orthodox Churches where the Jesus Prayer that as been taught and shaped the spirituality of people across the centuries. The Jesus Prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner,” has been universally used by these people and communities on the three continents visited in the journey.  I received an early release of the DVD, and I am excited to be reviewing it.

In one way, this video is a travelogue starting in Egypt with the earliest Christian monasteries, then going to Greece, Romania, Ukraine, and finally Russia. Churches where photography is forbidden to the usual tourist are not only videotaped, but selected parts of services are filmed. The producers provide an experience of places that are never opened to the everyday traveler.

They interview a wide range of monastic men and women, allowing an opportunity to understand their spirituality. Often speaking in their own language, with English subtitles, they explain their practice of unceasing prayer through the Jesus Prayer.

The travel begins in Egypt with the earliest monastery of St. Anthony and a visit to the cave where he lived for forty years. Then driving onto the Sinai Peninsula, they explore the treasures of St. Catherine’s monastery and show monks celebrating parts of the liturgy at dawn. Flying to Greece, they visit the Vatoped Monastery on Mount Athos, though only allowed to take still pictures and sound recordings of that 10th century complex. Driving back, Greek monasteries built in the 13-14th century on top of mountains to escape invading Turks are visited, although they are mostly museums.

The pilgrimage then turns north, following the paths of Christians fleeing Constantinople in 1453. Our guides explore several painted monasteries in Transylvania, closed during the communist rule of Romania. At the monastery of St. Ana in Rohia, we see some of the morning liturgy. At Voronets Monastery, a UNESCO World Heritage site, is the fresco of the Last Judgment and the first woman monastic is interviewed. At Agapia Monastery in Neamt County, Romania where one thousand nuns live, a women’s choir sings delightfully. At Varatec Monastery we are allowed to view the private home of one nun who explains her icons.

Continuing on to Ukraine, is Pecherskaya Laura, Kiev which was central in the development of the Jesus prayer. A new community was established in 1988 at the end of communist rule, as also in St. Jonas Monastery located within the city. At the nearby Zverinetsky Caves, there is a visit to 11-12th century relics which give off a perfumed oil, considered indicative of a holy saint and used for healing. The final place in Kiev is Pokrovsky Monastery which bakes the sacramental bread used by many churches.

In Moscow, the first visit is the Tretyakov Gallery to view important icons. The largest monastery in Russia with 300 monks is Trinity Lavra of St. Sergius, in Posad. St. Sergius is the most beloved saint of Russia, similar to Saint Francis for the Western Church. The Patriarch of Moscow and All Russia conducts the liturgy on Pentecost Sunday and parts of the three hour service are shown.

This video is so richly packed with art, music, and spiritual wisdom that it is overwhelming at times. In parts, one has to choose whether to focus on what is being said or seen or heard. In the sections with English subtitles, the reading of the words doesn’t allow time to view the icons, paintings or architecture.

The DVD I received does not include a menu or table of contents, so it is difficult to jump to a specific place or interview. This is a major flaw for me since I would like to use different sections for class or small study groups, but there is no quick way to find anything.

I know I will watch this many times, to learn as much as I can about a part of the world and a spirituality that are so unknown to me.

  

No Chocolate in Lent

Regular readers of the blog (I know there are at lest a few of you!) will notice a new website listed under my "favorite websites" list.  It is "No Chocolate in Lent," which is a blog I started for the Middleham and Saint Peter's Parish. 

There are several of us who will be writing articles during the 2011 season of Lent.  We want to explore our various experiences and perspectives about Lent.  We found that many come from backgrounds where they had little or no exposure, and those of us who had grown up with Lent had very different expectations.  So, if the blogging seems to be getting sporadic, check out No Chocolate.  But as I say in the first article, I don't think it is necessary to give up chocolate for Lent!   

Climbing Mount Horeb

One of three peaks in the Sinai mountains, Mount Horeb has been believed to be a place of significant biblical events for over seventeen centuries.  At its base is the well where Moses helped the daughters of the priest of Midian (Exodus 2:15-21).  The burning bush was encountered on its side (Exodus 3).  Later, when Moses brought the Israel tribes out of Egypt,  Moses climbed it to receive the Ten Commandments (Exodus 19-20).

So, while not officially on a pilgrimage, the group of Episcopal priests, deacons and family touring Egypt shifted into pilgrim mode upon arrival at the base of Mount Horeb. As many thousands do each year, we intended to climb or ride a camel up the lower portion of the trail, then continue up the "steps" to the top.  It was not going to be easy, and the bus arrived much later than planned.  The sun was already low behind the mountain we were climbing.  We probably should have chosen to start the climb in the middle of the night to watch the sunrise.  But we didn't.

I chose to walk the broad, rocky, steadily rising trail, rather than ride a camel.  I have climbed many mountains over my life, and enjoy the challenge.  This time was different, because we were racing against the clock, the quickly arriving sunset.  I focused on climbing, not looking around to experience the bare granite mountainside or views out across to other ranges. I held onto the hope that I would be able to see the sun drop behind adjacent peaks.  So I did not pace myself, but kept pushing hard to keep moving.

The few times I did stop to look around and take pictures, the view was awesome.  The bare granite mountains were as alive with colors as they were devoid of any plant life.  They continue as far as the eye can see, with no plants to soften their edges  There is no protection from the heat during the day or the cold at night.  The Bedouin people lived along the trail in low buildings with rock sides and flat wood roofs.  The camels slept on the bare ground where they were tied up.

After passing the final stop for the camels, I started the steep section referred to as "the steps."  There was nothing regular, level or consistent about them.  Many places it was hard to see a good place to put your foot down.  My legs were sore and no longer solid under me.  Forty feet or so up the trail, I stopped to rest, and turned around to look. This is what I saw:

The last of the sun was at the tops of the peaks behind me, and the guide said it was another 30 minutes to the top.  Even with the flashlight in my pocket, it would be difficult to know how to climb down section I had just come up.  Once the sun was gone, night and dark would be arrive in minutes.  I turned around, disappointed but clear it was the right choice.  There would be no pictures from the top.  I joined a group at the Bedouin hut at the base of the steps waiting for the rest of the group to return.

After waiting over an hour in freezing temperatures, the five of us started down, without the group climbing to the top. We tried to join another group going down, but they were much younger and faster.  Soon, we were on our own.  David was the scout in front, calling out loose rocks or tricky spots.  I was in back, shining my flashlight forward, to highlight the roughness of the trail.  Two of the group were walking slowly, tentatively, setting the pace for the whole.  We knew we needed to travel together.  I invented silly lyrics to familiar tunes, so we could laugh.  Twice we stopped to turn off the flashlight to look up at the half-full moon and stars in the sky.  Over those two plus hours walking down, we became a community with a common purpose - caring for each other, being aware of the dark rocky desert around us, and walking safely down the mountain of Moses. 

I could not know when I started that afternoon that the place I would encounter God upon his mountain in the Sinai desert would not be on the mountaintop.  God joined the five of us, loving and journeying together in the pale light of the guardian of the night, a pilgrimage of grace I will never forget.  Thank you Susan, Hyacinth, Masud and David.

Christ Pantocrator

Last month I was visiting Cyprus and Egypt, a trip completed days before the popular revolt that is sweeping across Northern Africa.  One highlight was a far-too-short time at St. Catherine's Monastery at the foot of the traditional Mountain of Moses.  The monastery, protected by its remote location and a letter of protection by Mohammed, holds many treasures.

This icon of Christ Pantocrator stopped me in my tracks when I first saw it on the wall of the museum.  "Painted" with wax on flat boards, it is full size and hung on the wall so you can look straight into his eyes.  One of the few icons to survive the iconoclast period, this Christ is more human than divine.  You can see the hollow below his cheekbones with a rough beard on his cheeks.  My immediate thought was, "here is a real person," not the idealized, flattened image of the multiple icons I have seen in Russia, Bulgaria and Cyprus.  I felt like I was in the presence of a person who I know, but who I have not known quite so well as I would like to know Him.

Before that encounter, it has taken a lot of time to understand icons, to really look long enough to see what was being proclaimed.  With their stylized format, rigidly applied rules for how they are "written," I have always felt distance, not presence, effect not affect.

Many years ago, in St. Petersburg and Moscow, then later in Sophia, Bulgaria, I learned about why they were painted with such a flat appearance, what role they played in the practices of the faithful.  I began to distinguish some differences between Greek and Russian styles.  Taken out of churches, seen individually in museums, they were easier to approach without all of the elaborate frames or gathered in overwhelming  large groups.  

Just a few days earlier in Cyprus, I had seen an icon of the Archangel Michael. It was in the Byzantine Museum and Art Galleries of Lefkosia, in a display of dozens of icons.  As I had wandered around looking at them, I was wondering if one would "speak" to me.  Michael did, creating a sense of sadness that surprised yet also comforted me. I was pleased to be able to buy from the shop a large, high quality print which is currently at the frame shop.   I thought to myself, "Finally, I am beginning to understand what all the hype is about."

None of my previous experience and exposure to icons prepared me for what happened when I turned the corner at the museum at St. Catherine's.  For the second time that day, I had tears on my face absorbed by an image of Christ over 1,500 years old.  I looked at friends around me who were also astonished by it, one saying it is a very famous image.  I count myself fortunate to never have known it before that moment of seeing it in person.

I don't believe that somehow Christ was in or behind or through the physical composition of wood and wax of that icon.  But I also have a strong sense of knowing something about Christ through that image.  The monastery shop had an excellent photographic print, which is also being framed.  I look forward to living with this unique perspective into the person whom I call my Savior.