The Scent of Sagebrush After Rain

Matthew 11:25-27
At that time Jesus exclaimed:

"I give praise to you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to the childlike. Yes, Father, such has been your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father. No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him."

The first thing strikes me in this passage is how Christ taught us, by his example, the attitude toward God to imitate in the prayer of praise lifted up to the Father.

It is easy to imagine the disciples all hanging around watching Jesus as he launched into yet more Father - Son talk addressing God as "Father". Never before in 2000 years of revealed history had our predecessors in faith even considered, much less dared, to call God something so familiar as "Father." Fear of God, as in fright, gave way to a new kind of fear in God, fear as in awe. Jesus taught us to raise up our eyes, and our hands, to God and appeal to Him as we would our human father. Jesus gifted us with a better way to pray and a better way to understand our creator.

Today, we take for granted our ability to look to God. When we pray, we often feel love, compassion, and tenderness coming back down to us from our Father who looks back at us with far more passion than we begin to understand.

Jesus also laid bare how the world view of the keepers of the law and the temple had been turned upside. The wise and learned men of the day, unwilling to look at the new reality, stuck to the old ways that were being ended before their eyes. They had the jaded view of those who thought they knew all there was to know and who believed they were the ones intended to teach and educate the Jews of the day.

In truth, who among us at the table this morning would have the courage to see what new there was to see or to hear what new there was hear? I fear how I would have responded to things that were new then but the fear is only my imagination galloping away from me. The fear is not real. I did not live then, when the revelation was coming to light, I live now when the light is bright and our path has been well defined and established.

The disciples showed us the way to seize a child-like sense of wonder at the incredible beauty and strength of the Holy Spirit revealed to us over generations. Despite the passing of centuries, the revelation is still as fresh now as it was then. Mind you, we are not challenged to be childish, plagued by petty rivalries, insecurities or self-concern. Instead, I think of the excitement of my children on Christmas morning. I think also of the 5-year-old boy I am watched as I wrote this. He ran to the end the dock and spotted a pod of cruising carp swimming past. He jumped up and down and pointed down at the fish hollering, " I see fish! Daddy, come look at the fish!"


Childlike. Open to new things, hoping to experience something but not knowing what.

There is something else, something not as grand but much more important we need to grab on to and hold for dear life. Our sense of wonder should not be reserved for grandeur but also experience in small things like watching waves on the lake pushed by the wind in a way that makes the lake look like a flowing river. The chirping of tree swallows perched in a tree nearby me. The smell of fresh coffee. This morning, and all weekend, there has been the amazing, pungent but fragrant scent of sagebrush soaked by rain. Childlike, yes, but viewed through eyes of one old enough to understand the importance of gratitude.

Meister Eckhart challenged to be willing to begin each day as a beginner. Why? Being willing to start over each day gives us the chance to see things new each day. I have in recent months made a daily effort to do just that. I look at the sunrise like I have never before seen a sunrise. Every sunrise is different from any others before it so our opportunities are endless. It is also true of sunsets or the clouds passing by overhead at any given moment of the day.

I have spent a lifetime struggling to become wise and learned and yet what I know and what I have learned pales when compared to the sight of fog lying down across the hilltops across the lake or the sound of rain. None of us need to be educated to experience the awe of what we choose to see through the eyes of a child. I am learning I have learned enough. What is left is to begin each day viewing the world with a sense of awe and wonder I once thought belonged only to children. I want to walk every day with a sense of wonder as the late poet and Celtic mystic John O'Donohue asked of us. We will never take it all in. God has no boundaries so our potential so vast we can't see the end of it.

At this moment, in this place what do you see if you choose to look through the eyes of a child? What in your life fills with wonder?

Let us give thanks and praise as we were taught. Amen

John 20:24-29 July 3, 2019

Thomas, called Didymus, one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came.

So the other disciples said to him, "We have seen the Lord."

But Thomas said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nail marks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe."

Now a week later his disciples were again inside and Thomas was with them. Jesus came, although the doors were locked, and stood in their midst and said, "Peace be with you."

Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe."

Thomas answered and said to him, "My Lord and my God!"

Jesus said to him, "Have you come to believe because you have seen me?

Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed."

Thomas Merton said, "Jesus is the only name we need for God." I wonder if Jesus is the only name we truly have for God. I think ancient Hebrews had it partially right. There can be no name for what cannot be named. The Hebrews were afraid to give a name to Yahweh for fear of offending him. We can't give him a name because no name could really capture the expanse of God which is beyond our ability to comprehend. We will come back around to this topic later and see if we can tie what Thomas Merton and Saint Thomas together to create one thought.

Doubting Thomas did not get his nickname for nothing. There are few places in scripture where we find such a dramatic example of doubt. Consider this. Thomas walked with Jesus, lived with Him, witnessed His works, heard His many promises to return and yet, when offered testimony Jesus was not truly dead but was resurrected, his response seems bitter, beyond skepticism and may even have ventured well into denial and disbelieve. Despite the depth and breadth of his knowledge of the gospel lived and preached by Jesus and despite the fervent assurances of his friends and fellow disciples of the resurrection, Thomas makes it very clear that Jesus would have to do something extraordinary to bring back him, Thomas, back to belief.

What is missing in the gospel is context. It is possible that in just a couple of days Thomas had lapsed from believer to atheist or, to a lesser degree, agnostic. I don't think we are getting the whole picture. If Thomas was truly embittered and beyond acceptance of the resurrection, he might have just wandered off to live out his life in shattered anger and bitterness. Surely countless others did just that or something similar. The crowds who cheered a messiah on one day saw the same man crucified a few days later. Thomas could have written Jesus off as just another failed prophet among the many who were scattered throughout the land. I think it is significant he didn't vanish. He stuck around and stayed close to the others. Maybe, just maybe, he may have wondered, is it true? Is Jesus really back from the dead. His faith may have been shaken but he did not completely give up.

I think Thomas wanted to believe but he could not just take a hold of the new reality lest it also proves to be just another disappointment. I get that. There have been times in my life when I rejected good news because I did not want to get my hopes up only to have those hopes dashed on the rocks of disappointment if, and when, the news proved wrong. This is how it is for so many of us for far too much of the time. We have been given everything we need and yet we stumble through life wondering what we need or where we can find it.

When Thomas finally touched the nail marks, he shouted out, "My Lord, my God." He clearly got the message and was back to being in all with the others, if he really ever was not with them. The words he chose are highly important. He looked at the risen human body of the man Jesus, the man he knew before the crucifixion and addressed the man as his Lord and his God. For Thomas, the only word he needed for God from that moment on was Jesus. Through his profession, Thomas gave all of us a name for God. Jesus.

Let me take you back to the first words of the Gospel of John:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.

Who was he? Who was the Word who was with God in the beginning? Jesus.

Everything we need to know about God we can learn from Jesus, a man to whom we can relate, a man who was like us and lived a died a human existence but through that humanity came the divine gift of God, Himself. Jesus is God. Jesus is our name for God because we can comprehend the man even if we cannot comprehend the divine beyond the human. Jesus.

Night Clouds, God's Light

Liturgy of the Hours, Friday Evening Prayer
Canticle - Revelation 15:3-4

Hymn of adoration

Mighty and wonderful are your works,
Lord God Almighty!
Righteous and true are your ways,
O King of the nations!
Who would dare refuse you honor,
or the glory due your name, O Lord?
Since you alone are holy,
all nations shall come and worship in your presence.
Your mighty deeds are clearly seen.

The hymn from Liturgy of the hours tonight is a wonderful ode to the awesome evenings both last night and tonight. When I arrived last evening the wind was blowing hard in from the east which is very rare for our part of the world. An east or north wind promises the imminent arrival a cold front. Were it during the time from late fall through early spring, such winds would be ominous and those who were aware of what such winds might bring might become nervous or slide into edginess. Ranchers would certainly make an extra check or two of the stock and to make sure there was ample food on hand and wood laid away in case the weather might take a bad turn with the arrival of snow.

During this time of the year, late spring headed for summer in a couple of weeks, east winds also give warning to the arrival of cold front but instead of snow or freezing cold, the temperatures might only drop a few degrees from one day to the next but could also bring a band of moisture into the area which would generate some storms here and there.

The wind puffed up to a 30-knot blow with wind spray blowing off the crests of the broken wave caps. The waves rolled up to as high as 3 feet which is an impressive showing for a midsized inland lake. No boats could be seen in any direction and the sign of life was a single pelican who drifted by driven downwind as if he were being carried by an unseen motor.

A series of muscly cumulonimbus clouds tried to punch up to the 40 thousand level so they could become full-fledged thunderstorms but the setting sun drained away their power leaving them to stretch up in the sky along the northwest horizon over the Big Belt Mountains on the far side of light. The sun bathed them with failing light minting their whiteness into shiny gold and yellow. They slowly deflated like sad balloons after a long party and broke up into scattered gray tufts after the light faded away.

3 or more thousand years ago the ancient Hebrews prayed: "Mighty and wonderful are your works, Lord God Almighty!" Throughout all of the cascading centuries right down this moment 2 millennia after the time of Christ, we still pray the same Psalm and pray for the same reason and our awe at the wonder of his works remains undimmed.

We talk often of being darkness and being called into the light. Last night and tonight when the wind blows with nearly the same vigor except tonight is comes in from the more common direction of the south, I have sat and been pulled out of myself into the failing light.

A nearly full moon brightened from a nearly transparent white splotch hidden among tattered fast flying white clouds into brilliant beach ball size. Gulls made final surveys up and down the beach, flying together like a bunch of young toughs surveying their neighborhood for one more thing to investigate before settling down to roost down the beach. As the wind died down they would move out to the lake to drift in a flock in the safety of the open water.

Right as the sun dropped behind the Elkhorn's behind me, a pair of nighthawks made their first appearance of the year but their flight was buffeted by the still strong breeze. There no bugs flying out over the watery buffet table either last night or tonight. There was just too much window. The nighthawks disappeared after a few minutes. The tree swallows that roost in the magnificent giant cottonwood tree nearby were silent and perched deep within the branches and were virtually silent. I missed their messy, cheerful harmonies.

Tonight as we bow into the darkness, our heads tucked low to miss the still sharp wind, more is revealed. Colors shift into pastels and watercolors and sharp edges soften. A planet shows up low on the southeastern horizon. Green and seemingly large, it must be Jupiter. Lights from a house across the lake begin to blink to existence and twinkle and the airport beacon begins to search the sky.

The waves have begun to flatten some and the rush of the wind started to subside. The setting sun seems to have robbed the wind of its power. Indeed in a couple of hours time, the lake will most likely be glassy smooth enough reflect the stars and moon as it did last night.

We pray: "Who would dare refuse you honor, or the glory due your name, O Lord?" Truly who could look at the wonders he has created and understand the gift we have been given to appreciate wonders and not offer him praise, honor, and glory? Not I. No tonight. Not last night.

Even now as the last of light surrenders to the night, his deeds are clearly seen.

Solitude, Stillness and Solitude

For the past 8 months, or so, I have been flirting with, studying, considering, discerning and dancing around the idea of contemplation. Why? It just seems to be logical next step beyond Lectio Divina and meditation. Not that I have become a master, I am thinking more like third grade. Ok, second grade. At the start of the year.

I know. False humility does not suit me nearly as well as humiliation which inevitably follows many of my attempts at trying to be humble. Moving on, what I desire most in life is peace, peace of mind, peace in my relationships, peace at night, peace in all aspects of my life.

There is a notion that often rumbles around in my head that contemplation, moving into a deep connection with God will bring me the peace crave. So far that has not happened, or, I don't think it has happened. I am not even sure I can state with certainty I have experienced more than just a hint of contemplation. What I felt was not exactly peaceful. Calming, perhaps, but I can't really describe the experience. I can't seem to find any words, much less the right words.

The major obstacle is not being able to overcome distractions. If I try at home, something immediately distracts me. My wife walking around upstairs or having the cat jump on my lap. If not something like those two, then all of sudden I get a raft of mysterious itches here and there or, perhaps, a vague pain somewhere. None of these things pop up as issues when I engage in scriptural or patristic reflection. Sure, if my wife says something or if my phone dings, I will lose my train of thought and have to start over again. More on that later but I can still tune out the world.

As I am writing this now I am outside on lovely albeit cloudy and breezy late spring day. My cat indoor cat is learning to love the out of doors and we are happy to let her as long as she stays close. I have taken up the hobby of feeding the neighborhood corvids, magpies and crows and it is absolutely fascinating to watch. I can watch them for a bit and then come back to writing without much difficulty.

I learned somethings in the past week, however, that makes me wonder of contemplation is really the path to the peace I crave, the peace of a quiet mind. The peace that comes with and from a stillness. I was shocked to learn for the first time at age 64 that I have ADHD and along with with it something called RSD - rejection syndrome dysmorphia. Within minutes of beginning to digest the news, the little wrinkles and ripples that have been part of me for as long as I can remember to make sense. Why does it take enormous effort to complete a mental task list of 4 or 5 things? If I am going to the store for more than one thing, I need to make a list and then hope I remember the list. More often than not, the list remains where it was when I created it.

Why is so hard for me just do one thing at a time, like watch something on TV or read a book without jumping from one book to another. Why I am suddenly fascinated by, for example, earthquakes in Alaska and then proceed to spend the next hours reading everything I can find that might over new or different insight? I can be well into the search and then something will trigger a new curiosity and off I go in another direction with equal passion. I frequently find myself with 20, or more, open web pages. I have always prided myself on having a curious mind that motivates me to learn more and more about more and more and there is nothing wrong with that. Right? Wrong. Knowledge without context and purpose means nothing. I know that. I have said that and I believe it. Perhaps I don't have a curious mind at all. I have a mind with a mind of its own.

When I am formulating a reflection, it can take several minutes for thought to coalesce in my mind. It is like pulling a gem out of the mud with a thin thread. With any break of concentration, I lose my grip on the thought and slip back into the muck and I have to start all over again. I don't if others have the same problem producing insight or understanding as I but the process is very labor intensive. It is also rewarding beyond measure.

I have come to believe, in recent years,  I am on a spiritual and personal journey and I have always been moving from one destination to another. The minute I reach one landing point where some mystery has been unveiled, I put it behind me and trudge off again. With an overactive mind, there is no way for me to discern if I have landed somewhere I should pause and hold for a while because my mind will simply jump the track and keep going.

Learning what little I know so far, I have come recognize I am truly on a journey but one I never saw coming. The title of this piece refers to places of quiet and calm. Today I have to question how I will achieve what I so deeply. Clearly, my intense focus on finding peace is fueled by a lifetime of dealing with an overactive brain. I want to just stop but when I do…. I don't.

Silence is not just about the absence of noise or sound that is audible with my ears. Solitude is not just about being separated and apart. Stillness is not just about the absence of noise or activity. I have long believed the pursuit of the right one these three avenues will lead to enjoyment and immersion into the other two. Here is the question: if there is a hole in the net, how do I capture a butterfly? There is, it seems, a really big hole in my net.

The answer is I don't. Maybe I just sit and wait for the butterfly to find me. I will not learn these things alone but I will need help from others who can see things I can't. Beyond that, I will need help from a God who sees everything and who has created me to find him. These things are important. I can't articulate how important, but they are important. The answers will point to the toward to a destination but, more likely, to nowhere but I will come to accept that I will never fully arrive where I want to be. In the end, is all about acceptance anyway.

Frustration has a New Name

After a lifetime of struggle across the full tapestry of emotion and relations, has the true enemy been revealed?

Depression and Anxiety have been twin dragons that have fired my existence during various seasons and I have, for the most part, been able to keep the chained in the cave where they can ponder the havoc they have loosed on me over the last 3 years. There have been moments when I could feel the heat of the fire but with the quiver of tools given me and the backing of my wife and the support of my faith I have kept them at bay.

The struggles have continued but without a name or real form so my standard state of being has been restlessness rocked to and fro by the hand of frustration. Why, despite great effort, have I still found myself in conflict with my wife and others? If I can see the problem coming, I can head it off with CBT but why do I suddenly find myself falling through the surface of what I had believed to be solid ground into a deep pit filled with murky water? The water takes the form of anger and the silt which clouds the anger can be called fear.

I can usually work out of the pit but not before the damage is done and I have tried to pull others important to me into the pit with me. Once out, I want to just move on and put the event behind me but there has to be a reckoning that turns into another fire pit of frustration because I don't know what happened or why and there is no way I can promise to keep it from happening again. It is as if lightning has struck me from out of a clear sky. No warning. Just the explosion and then nothing to give me a clue what happened.

How about when I know when my work is being reviewed? Anxiety rises up within me like magma and grabs my complete attention, focus and prevents from looking at the process with the clarity that would allow me to see that nothing serious could happen and that I really have nothing to review. I would rather stick my arm in the magma than face a performance review, much the same as I hate, hate, hate any kind of conflict with others, particularly my wife.

What about when I sit down to work and I find myself paralyzed trying to decide where to start first, before I can calm down and use tactics honed from years of practice to get started and actually have a productive day. Still, I find myself bouncing from one task to another until I finally force myself to use a task list to finish all of the tasks that need to be done.

Go ahead and take look at my workbench? Shear chaos is strewn from end to end. When I finally go down to get something done, the time it takes to organize uses the time I had to spend, to begin with.

All these years I thought it was just me and if I could only make a plan of some kind and see it through I would see progress as I have in other areas of strife that have long had a name. I was wrong. I am relieved. I am angry, I am disappointed. I am sad. I am….

Still working things out.

Show Me!

When I step out on to my deck, I say to the world, “Show me!” My sudden presence is intrusive so the world, those parts of it which can move, scurry or fly away. The blossoms, petals, and leaves remain mute. It is only when I sit quietly and observe the world shows itself. The essence of the lilacs drifts and is suddenly filling my head. The robins fly close in and dart from perch to perch, from the roof to the rocks, to first this tree and then another. They hop right up to where I sit, pecking here, looking there before fluttering to another place that might have the promise of a worm or bug. A large male crash flies through the leaves of the apple tree causing spent blossoms to flutter away and down to the ground. He grabs a branch, looks down at me and breaks into song. He is just a few feet away and when he tips his head back to sing and I can literally see is throat. I wonder how his voice works. He doesn’t care about my watching. His song is not meant for me but I still take it as my own.

My world shows itself to me and lets me hear it sing but only if I am still and my presence quiet and respectful. The wind shifts a little and the aroma of wetness from the garden as my wife waters her newly planted seedlings and plantings. It is a subtle presence, gentle but still there and very real.

Robins and smaller birds, flutter, and flitter around the fountain. They fly close to the water falling into the lower barrel and wet themselves and flap their wings. The breeze, what little there is, fades to stillness. The robins seem extra active this morning but it occurs to me that it is more likely that I am extra attentive.

The air is still chilled but there is a promise of warmth as the sun creeps up over the eastern hills. The clouds float by overhead. They are flying rapidly, driven by the higher winds aloft. They are flat and torn into pieces of cotton with gray-tinged bottoms. They signal an approaching front which is likely to arrive this afternoon. My fingers have grown cold even as I type. A robin lands at my feet and looks right at me and questioningly cocks her head to the left and then right as if asking me a question. Frustrated at my lack of response she hops away and pecks the gravel a couple of times and then flies off.

This world of mine is always here, is always present. The trees stand mute. The grass grows greener and taller by the hour. The blooms, blossoms and leave roll open and spread out to take their part in the procession life. I am always here too but seldom present. I often think about my world and dream about being in it but it is rare for me to take the time. I am present now. I am in the world and it has shown itself to me. It is singing to me. It feels my senses with a physical essence of reality to which I am only a visitor but never a resident.

I am calm, but like my cat, trapped inside by the patio door, I yearn for more. I feel a sense of loss. There is no good reason but the feeling remains. Calm without peace is sad when I am surrounded by a world created for me and for which I was created. I pray for peace. The answer is in the breeze because I know that is where God’s voice is heard.  Maybe I should sit and listen more, for just a little longer. Maybe I will hear him answer.

Chapter 7 part 9 June 3

The fifth degree of humility is that he hide from his Abbot none of the evil thoughts that enter his heart or the sins committed in secret, but that he humbly confess them. The Scripture urges us to this when it says, "Reveal your way to the Lord and hope in Him" (Ps. 36[37]:5) and again, "Confess to the Lord, for He is good, for His mercy endures forever" (Ps. 105[106]:1). And the Prophet likewise says, "My offense I have made known to You, and my iniquities I have not covered up. I said: 'I will declare against myself my iniquities to the Lord;' and 'You forgave the wickedness of my heart'" (Ps. 31[32]:5).

The concept of regular, routine , perhaps even daily, confession was new in this period, a gift of the Irish monks of the 5th century. I have not made a thorough confession for several months and in recent days it has been on my mind. We are nearing the time when many priests move to new assignments so things are in turmoil. The priest I would most likely use is still buried with the role of administrator in the absence of a bishop. If Monsignor were sitting here, however, as I type this, he would be the first to say that his being busy is his problem and I should call an make an appointment.

I have never really gotten used to the idea of a quick Saturday morning oil change type confession. Again, if he were here, he would that is my problem, not his and he would point his finger toward the line. "Go wait your turn and get ready while you wait," he would say with some forcefulness.

There is some mitigation because I frequently complete a personal examination of conscience but while it has great value and is vital daily spiritual exercise, there is no substitute for spilling it to another man. 

In recent months I have made a great effort to free myself of some unproductive or even unhealthy practices. Even though most are well behind me, they linger on like burrs clinging to my pant legs and socks after a long walk in weedy grass. I suspect I need help in finding them all and maybe there are some ticks that need to be pointed out for removal as well.

For the moment I will take solace in knowing that humbly, (there is that word again) confessing with heartfelt, sincere remorse followed by an effort to make amends and to mend my ways can also work wonders when you can string together a few days of successful effort.