Ways of Knowing

Fourteen years ago when I started this blog, I chose the name “Know That I Am” because it describes the paradox of my faith.  I have always known a deep yearning for God but struggled with having a solid sense of relationship with God. I want to “know” the God with no name who simply says “I am.” Bur, how can anyone know God?

Mark 12:30 states “You shall love your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.”  This passage is a daily part of my life through the Morning Prayer Service from the Northumbria Community.

 Call:             Who is it that you seek?

Response:    We seek the Lord our God.

Call:              Do you seek Him with all your heart?

Response:    Amen. Lord, have mercy.

Call:              Do you seek Him with all your soul?

Response:    Amen. Lord, have mercy.

Call:              Do you seek Him with all your mind?

Response:    Amen. Lord, have mercy.

Call:              Do you seek Him with all your strength?

Response:    Amen. Christ, have mercy.

Answering these four questions each day with the affirmation of “Amen” has reminded me to engage in all four ways of loving God through my heart, my soul, my mind and my strength.  However, when I was younger, I thought only one way of knowing God was necessary. 

My years pursuing a Master of Divinity at Wesley Theological Seminary are a good example.  Taking classes in Christian theology, scripture, and history, I sought to know God with my mind.  The seminary seemed to teach that an intellectual knowledge of God that would settle all my doubts and questions. I thought that if I mastered knowing God with my mind, I would find peace from my doubts.  However, the answers I developed fell short of resolving my doubts, and just raised new questions.  Completing the degree did not mean that I had settled anything.

Yet, during my time in seminary there were many seeds planted about the other ways to know and love God. Those seeds waited for years before I noticed them and nurtured them.  So while singing in the Chapel Choir was important to my faith, it was decades later that I understood how music emerges from my soul.

It surprises me when specific memories of my years in seminary come to mind in my ordinary daily life.  Yet when I take the time to pause and notice that memory, I see one of the seeds planted during that time.  Curiously they are not the intellectual issues and topics I studied or wrote papers about.  They are the other aspects of knowing the “I Am” I know to be God, with my heart, my soul and my strength.

 

 

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.”

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.

  

Reluctant Mystic

Kerry Walters notes in Soul Wilderness: A Desert Spirituality that a “Mystic yearns for an immediate encounter with the Divine, for an unfiltered experience of the replete nothingness of God.” This deep sense of an intimate need to know God without all of the layers and protections that shield our frail humanity from the dangers of direct encounter with God are both a gift and a curse. One’s yearning cannot be completely banished out of mind once its epiphany has been noted. Nor can it be put away without the soul noting its removal and recording its hiddenness. The yearning waits quietly and patiently, looking for the next opportunity to become known and to be acted upon.

When starting down the spiritual path, no one can provide a map that outlines the upcoming choices that must be faced. But the yearning keeps driving the seeker down the path, searching for a sense of God even though that sense is never found by one’s own volition. Yet, there is the continued hope for something will lead to deeper answers.

There is the need to understand more even as that which is being understood becomes incredibly more complex. As more is learned and comprehended by the soul, the difficulty of describing or explaining becomes logarithmically complex. One turns to poetry, paradox, and absurdity because language and description inevitably reduce the clarity of what is being described.

This sense of the inexpressible confronts an intellect that is trained to be articulate, to know and use the right words. If only that which is yearned for, that which is of God, were of this world. Then it would permit a clear, even scientific description of who and what it is. But the yearning pushes into the clouded, fog filled areas of seeing and understanding. The groping to understand cannot be gained through the five body senses. Those senses may begin to note some of the shape of that terrain, but it is unable to be described by sight, sound, taste, smell and touch.

In admitting that yearning, confessing the desire to be in a much deeper relationship with God, I must admit that I am becoming such a mystic. Yet I am reluctant both in allowing others to see it and in fully owning that label. What good is a mystic, so separated from the world with a head in the fog, with more questions than answers? Or, perhaps my feet are solidly standing on the ground and I am just seeing the world in a new way?

Wounded Men and the Spirit

Often when men gather to tell their stories, and when trust is developed, the conversation moves below the surface and wounds are uncovered. This certainly occurred during the Men’s Institute at the recent Spiritual Directors International conference in Houston.

Through one journal writing exercise the men were invited to review their lives and identify eight to a dozen different steppingstones in which their spiritual journey changed direction. The steppingstones exercise, first developed by Ira Progoff, allowed each of the men to look back over his life and see those points that lead to the present situation.

Many recalled experiences of a deep wound. At some time later, there was a search for the meaning of the wound and how to integrate it into a future. As one man noted, we are healers of wounded men and are ourselves wounded men needing healing. There was a strong sense among the men of the connection between being wounded and significant spiritual awareness and/or growth.

Some men seek spiritual direction because of a crisis that has radically shifted the course of their life. Others may have been receiving spiritual direction for other reasons, but when a crisis occurs, seeing a spiritual director provides a different perspective upon the situation than other helping professions. For men, the crisis challenges our sense of control, the belief that we can protect ourselves and those we love from pain or turmoil, and the intellectual defenses that we have built up.

One man noted that in a situation where the director and the directee are men, just being in the presence of another man has a mutuality that cannot be replicated. While others noted that their directors have been women who effectively challenged and encouraged us in our growth as men. We all noted the difference in being men with men that we do not have the language to describe, at least not at this time, even though the difference feels significant.

At the same time, men are much less likely to intentionally seek out a formal relationship. One minister noted that he watches for men who arrive early for a meeting and hang nearby waiting to talk. Or, a man may be around the water cooler or any similar place where a casual conversation may be started. Once the conversation is started and a trust begins, a more private and separate time can be scheduled, and a deeper conversation begins.

As Kent Ira Groff wrote:

Ah! How is it stumbling stones
along our path
morph into steppingstones? Ah!

Masculine Spirituality: A New Beginning

In a recent publicity stunt, a snack food company declared Nashville the Most Macho City. Points were awarded for the number of sports teams, hardware stores, and monster truck rallies. Also adding to the score was the popularity of hunting and fishing, NASCAR and other “masculine” interests. Cities lost points for high numbers of home furnishing stores and minivans. While it is silly, don’t those descriptions fit all of our stereotypes for men?

Yet, at a recent meeting of men during the recent Spiritual Director’s International gathering revealed a different side of masculinity. The group included men who make ourselves available as guides to others on a journey to know God. We asked each other two simple questions focused on our understanding of ourselves a spiritual men: “what values do you hold sacred?” and “how do you live the sacred in your life?”

Many of the values generated by the group were what you would expect from a self-identified group of religious people. The most common value was “presence,” often in a phrase such as “attending presence” or “practice presence.” Other values describe an intentionality about prayer, such as sacred listening, stillness, silence, discipline of devotion and reverence. Yet, these are not common descriptions of men in the popular culture of our time.

Another group of values reflects our relationships, with love and being loved as a foundation of who we are. Different aspects of relationship are treasured such as honesty, truth, trust, humor and intimacy. As one person described, we desire the ability to see the universe in the other. While men are often portrayed as wanting to be Casanova, that is not the kind of love reflected in those values.

But as I reviewed the remaining values, the ones that stand out are those that stand in dramatic contrast to the Macho City award. Those values include gentleness, mutual mentoring, vulnerability, acceptance, humility and availability. Our gathering of men claimed values that are often assumed to belong to women, and are culturally seen as alien to men.

I have various memories that confirm those values as deeply masculine. I know that whenever I visit my father, we hug each other closely both when I arrive and again when I leave. It was a ritual that I initiated as I left for college and that Dad has joyfully joined. Even in times of difficulty, we know that hug conveys our deep love, our acceptance and our commitment to each other.

I remember when David’s son Jeremy was rocking Sam, just 10 days old in his lap. As gentle father he was willing to give up sleep so Ann could get much needed rest. It is an image of love from one generation of men to the next that I will treasure the rest of my life.

I remember David holding my hand tightly as I was waiting to be wheeled to have my inflamed appendix removed, his face reflecting my own sense of fear. He stayed available to me so I would not be alone, even as he felt vulnerable to his own fear.

While some of us learned those values through our own father or other males in our lives, often the opposite was true. One man in the group described how he was raised by a macho father who believed in the stereotype male role. That man learned about the other values of love, relationship and spirituality much later in life through his engagement in a church community. Others in the group described how their fathers had failed them in becoming a mature man, stories of pain, loss and abandonment. They were difficult stories to hear, yet needed to be told in a group of men for healing to occur.

Whether through positive or negative life experiences, we have claimed our values as spiritual men and try to live them in our lives as well as our ministry. We told our stories to each other, beginning to heal ourselves while also committing to the healing of those men who come to us as guides. It is a new beginning.

Trusting God to be God

The words jumped out at me as I read the page, resonating beyond my half-focused attention to the book in my hand. “[W]e are primarily or even exclusively trusting God to be God in the ways we have become accustomed to thinking about God.*”

How true that is. It is so easy to settle into a habitual and narrowly defined relationship with God. Habits grow out of a desire for some predictability and stability, like the morning routine I follow to get ready for each day. While a morning routine cannot hurt you with its automatic patterns, habitual ways to approaching and thinking about God eventually will shut God out.

The routines or habits, done without thought, get in the way of seeing or responding to what has changed around us. Those accustomed ways of thinking about God become sinful, when sin is understood as a willful separation or turning away from God, because there is no attention focused on how God may be present or available in the moment.

Continuing reading, “Trusting God beyond the God we have understood or known up to now can feel very uncomfortable.” Learning to trust God is much more complicated than human relationships. It is easy to lose the sense of ongoing connection with God. There are times of doubt, times of wondering if God is even there or a self-delusion. Praying can feel like leaving messages on an answering machine. The words are said and the feelings expressed, but we are often left wondering if God is screening the calls, not picking up the phone.

Listening to directees, I hear a common experience of waiting without knowing, wanting some sense of connection and often finding none. Those times of not knowing undermine a sense of trust, especially during times of fear and emergency when the need to trust in God’s concern and support are the highest.

Over and over again we need to be alert to how God may be reaching out to us, in a new way, and learn to trust that God is there even when we do not perceive it. As I have re-read old journals, I have been able to see God’s action in my life in retrospect, even though I could not see during those periods of my life. Sometimes the ways God reaches out to us is so outside our understanding that God seems absent and invisible. It is only after the old understanding is broken apart that the new understanding can be found.

Bakke then points to the hardest part for me to swallow, “we are called to depend more on God than we do on ourselves – a very unlikely possibility unless we are aided by grace.” Or, in other words, only through acknowledging and accepting the grace that God extends to us will we be able to depend upon God. I struggle with this because it has a circular logic, or begs the question. In order to depend upon God, I need to be aided by grace which comes from God, and if I don’t recognize or accept the grace, then I cannot depend upon God.

I am quickly getting to the edge of what I learned about logical fallacies in college some (let’s leave the number out) years ago. I know that from a logical perspective, Bakke’s statement is false, but that doesn’t make it false as a faith statement. Since I claim to have experienced God in some small way, can I let go of my aversion to the circular argument, rather than getting caught in the intellectual barbed wire?

This is the leap of faith, moving far beyond my comfort zone at this time. I will leave it there for now, but it will still be nagging at me.

*Holy Invitations: Exploring Spiritual Direction by Jeannette A. Bakke. Baker Books, Grand Rapids, MI, 2000. page 63.

Cross Purposes

I have not been posting here over the last few months as daily life has distracted me from the process of intentional reflection. Now as things settle down, in spite of it being the height of holiday rush, I hope to return to my discipline.

It is not that I haven’t been writing. Pieces were begun but got stuck or lost their focus or became too personal for public reading. So, reaching back to a piece I started about a year ago, here is something for Advent.

In “Joseph’s Dream,” an essay posted on Episcopal Café, the Rev. Dr. Roger Ferlo reviews Joseph’s perspective on the birth of Jesus. Ferlo reminds us how much inner conflict Joseph must have felt when he discovered his wife-to-be was pregnant. How it was during a dream that Joseph learned who this child would be. What caught me was Ferlo’s reflection on how that inner chaos of Joseph matches ours:

“. . . our deepest desires at cross-purposes with each other. We feel it when we want at the same time to embrace our families and to escape them; when we harbor private grief or grievances in the midst of public joy; when in spite of the holiday, or because of it, we seek to escape to a darkened room, to banish all semblance of dreams, to sleep in blankness.”

I have been experiencing that kind of internal chaos. The sharp contrast between simultaneous feelings has been startling and confusing. My desire is to banish the negative and only feel the positive, which is impossible. They both demand attention, and are part of the same experience, engaged in the chaos.

I can only blame myself. I have been working for years to notice my feelings, and to notice when I have moved into denial. In my experience, denial shoves the negativity being avoided into a secret bank account, where it accumulates compound interest at high rates. When the denial fails, the bank account automatically opens to show all of fear and pain that has collected in the darkness, battering my soul.

So, I try to deal with things as they come, not bury them inside. However, that requires being open to my emotions, which do have a life of their own. Last year during a baptism at church, I found myself brimming with hope for the little girl who I don’t even know. I felt proud yet humbled in making the promise aloud that I would support her in her life in Christ. Tears came to my eyes as we sang a hymn while she was processed around the congregation. It was embarrassing, wiping my tears and blowing my nose during the last verse.

My tears came partly from my knowledge that I would not be remaining in that congregation, that my time within that community was temporary. Even as I made the promise, I knew I would not be available to care for her. My path would take me away to a different parish. While I try to justify it by saying I would fulfill my promise with some other child where ever I might be, I had a deeply felt desire to care for that particular infant.

So often, we are all like Joseph, with our “deepest desires at cross purposes.” As we enter Advent this year, “as with Joseph, the dream will come however much we try to block it, making of our mixed desires and the world’s distress the stuff of revelation.”

May God grant all of us the courage to be open to God’s revelation this Advent.