Week 2 - Day 7 "Messenger"

 “Messenger” by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here is the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

As keen as I am about lyrical prose, it is a surprise to that many I am not a great lover of poetry, at least not to the extent that I will choose to just grab a book of poetry and dive in headfirst and come out of the other side deeply moved. Yes, of course, I have read and enjoyed poetry over the year but I prefer prose. Some of the poets said to be the best can be as opaque as a new moon night. Some things obvious to others are simply unknowable and beyond my ability to understand. 

The first Mary Oliver poem I remember reading was "Wild Geese." I was impressed and moved but I did not see or experience the depth of emotion and insight so many people have described. The irony comes from the fact that later in the day I read she had died the previous day. How strange that felt. There was e also a sense of loss for me when I first encountered John O'Donohue in March of 2008, less than two months after his passing during the night while in France. 

Since Mary wrote often using the same kind of emotional impact of nature and the world, I have taken the time to read and enjoy much of her work. This poem strikes me in a visceral way. I yearn to step right through the page into the world she illuminated with her words. I shall, in a way do just that. 

"My work is loving the world," she begins. Her beginning and my beginning are the same but I also add that I love the world our creator created for us to love. I start with an acknowledgment of a created world but the point is the same. My response to revelation is to love the world but the love does not start with me. Ancient Celts and the tribes of Judah also love the world and love the creator. Neither specifically name God in the sense we do today but the ancient's psalms referred to a creator they could not name. We begin with love. We might always start with love. 

My view has improved today. I can look out with a sense of wonder at the world. I, too, have sunflowers and hummingbirds in my world. The sunflowers have grown so abundantly they have nearly blocked the back door by growing over and beyond the walk and stair rails. The hummingbirds have dwindled as we slide toward fall and the birds who still visit are passersby from further north who stop at my feeders for a little sip of energy to nourish them for the great migration south. The blue plums are nearly gone but there are still some on the tree waiting to be discovered with patient search. 

Unfortunately, I must take a break from prayer today - I did not get up in time to finish the time I want to devote to prayer and study before leaving for town for an appointment with Luke. 8:15

2:43 I am no longer young, there is not even a smidgen of pretense left, and perfection has long ceased to be an imagined potential. Measurable progress is my best chance of seeing change but measurable regression is still a possibility some days. 

There is not just a sense of change caused by aging in her words but also a declaration of optimism. There is also a sense of ongoing purpose in the poem, aged or not the work is still there to be done. This work we do of standing around and embracing astonishment Is simple but not always easy. Sometimes the world beyond can cloud the eyes, muffle the ears and deaden the aroma of pine after a rain. 

Still, we are figures made of clay, set to dancing by the breath of life, eternal but changing. We are invited, lured into the world to live in wonder, in awe and, yes, astonishment. 

Week 2 - Day 6 Jeremiah 18 1-6

The Potter's Vessel.

This word came to Jeremiah from the LORD: Arise and go down to the potter’s house; there you will hear my word. I went down to the potter’s house and there he was, working at the wheel. Whenever the vessel of clay he was making turned out badly in his hand, he tried again, making another vessel of whatever sort he pleased. Then the word of the LORD came to me: Can I not do to you, house of Israel, as this potter has done?—oracle of the LORD. Indeed, like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, house of Israel.

Again we experience a parallel between ancient Celtic Spirituality and the Hebrew Testament on creation imagery. The clay begins as dirt moistened and sculpted into shape either on a table or potter's wheel. Whether the creator creates a shape to animate into a living being or throws a pot to serve as a body to serve as the dwelling for a soul, we have a clear understanding we come from dirt and to dirt we shall return. 

The important observation I have about the thrown pot is that while pots can be similar, no two are identical. I was recently at a craft market and observed a collection of clay cups offered for sale by a potter. They were enough like to suggest they were a set of the same kind but when each cup was carefully examined, more and more differences between each cup could but seen. So it is with humans.

We can appear enough like to be identical as in the case of twins but we are all still unique, individually made even if we all come the same lump of clay. 

What runs through my mind now are the words from Psalm 139. We are wonderfully made. We are. Truly. Whether we have handles or not or fluted sides or not we all have the same purpose to know, love and serve our creator. 

Another thought comes from Meister Eckhart. If we have been created to be vessels, what we hold as contents in the pot that represent ourselves defines how we serve him. If we fill the pot with water or fluids of our own choosing, how can we still have room to hold the living water offered by Jesus to the Samaritan Women. Eckhart would have us literally empty ourselves of what we think we are so there would be room to accept what God offers us, to be in union with him. 

Sometimes a pot can become broken so what we have placed inside it will drain away. We can no longer hold either ourselves or God and cannot do so until the potter repairs us. His hands can reshape the clay to where it can again hold life even if we appear differently that we did before being broken. Appearance is of no matter. That we can serve the purpose of the potter does matter. It is everything to the same broad expense defined by God when he tells us to call him "I am." He just is. There is no way to describe the full picture of a painting with no frame.

Week 2 - Day 5 Sunday Psalm 33

 Week 2 - Day 5 Sunday Psalm 33

Our soul waits for the LORD, he is our help and shield. For in him our hearts rejoice; in his holy name we trust. May your mercy, LORD, be upon us; as we put our hope in you.

I am more at peace today, not peaceful, mind you, but more at peace. I am still distracted and on edge. I long for silence, true exterior silence but it is not possible. The scratching of a pen on paper, and the clicking of the mouse and keyboard all seem disruptive and unwarranted. Other noises, sipping coffee, the cat eating and drinking all nudge from reaching a point of contemplation. Quiet has now settled around me but I am still wary, guarded for other sounds that may intrude on solitude.

Moving inside because of the chill in the morning is proving more difficult to adjust to than I would have expected. Natural sounds don't concern me and I can tune out the constant rumble of the distant traffic. Intermittent noises are what cause me issues. I know from reading and experience there is a difference between exterior and interior silence. Being able to immerse in interior silence is a gift that is elusive for me and sometimes completely unobtainable. To experience interior silence is the goal, to be able to accept the invitation to quiet spaces of the depth of being by the holy spirit but the battle between exterior and interior soundlessness renews in me from time to time. 

I ache to be able to be filled with gratitude at the sounds and activities around me. I am grateful for a wife who invites me into her prayer space, delights in sipping coffee in her way,

feeds me and tends to the kitchen, washes my clothes, and offers me her best. I hope for acceptance of the little stuff with no importance that I might offer loving appreciation for all that is done. I desire gratitude for a little cat who also delights in our presence, who is never more content than to be able to eat when we are nearby. There must be a way, there has to be a way to achieve a sense of appreciation of what is around me. Lord help me. 

My soul waits for the gift of tolerance who is my help and shield on this sabbath morning. I look up and away into the light of the sky but I cannot get there. I put on the noise noise-canceling headphones but by now I am rattled enough to not be able to settle in with the presence of birds, the sight of the cottonwood tree leaves fading from dense green to prepare for the coming of winter. 

This battle is not new. It has raged since the beginning of my movement to reflection, contemplation and meditation. It is likely the dark one who stirs up the angst and blocks my concentration. I trust that making the decision to turn toward holiness is the correct one and that slow progress is a hallmark of many spiritual journeys, perhaps all such journeys. My soul waits for you, Lord. In you I trust. 

Week 2 - Day 4 Saturday Romans 8 18:25

 Saturday, September 24, 2022

Destiny of Glory

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us. For creation awaits with eager expectation the revelation of the children of God; for creation was made subject to futility, not of its own accord but because of the one who subjected it, in hope that creation itself would be set free from slavery to corruption and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now; and not only that, but we ourselves, who have first fruits of the Spirit, we also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that sees for itself is not hope. For who hopes for what one sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait with endurance.

The gift of reflection and insight does not easily come this morning. Little noises distract me. The cat talking about her need to be outside. Lori luxuriously sipping coffee. Even the clacking of the keyboard as I type all ripples the little mill pond of calm I so appreciate in the morning. I don't know why today is different but it is sometimes that way. As an alcoholic, even one years into recovery, restlessness, irritability, and discontentment loom up like a sudden tidal wave rushing in toward the shore of my being. Why? The sky is clear but for some clouds in the east. Earlier, there was color in the dawn for the first time in what seems like eons. Morning is morning as morning should be. I should look forward to the promises of the day. The Grizzly game. Good company. Time with Father Michael. Perfect weather and yet there is a sense of mourning, of desolation and disconsolation. I don't like it, I don't want it, it does me no good but I have to work through it, preferably without causing harm to myself and to those who matter most. She who matters most.

I find the reading opaque. I always have because beyond the first sentence, there does not seem to be one single clear and cogent point. What Paul is sharing is undoubtedly insightful and important, but I struggle immensely. So today, even at a low point, I will take off my shoes

and wade into the chaos.

The first sentence which declares the suffering of the present time is nothing compared to what is coming is the offer of hope, of consolation. Paul suffered greatly, even unimaginably, from the physical and mental torture and abuse. Of that there is abundant proof so as I sit here with my big little woes, I feel somewhat chastened but not really relieved. The feeders are empty this morning and the little finches peck vainly for what crumbs remain. I will refill the feeders and renew the hope of my little birds. 

Still, I am reminded that I have been in this place of demoralization countless times in the past, although less frequently since I renewed my devotion to study and prayer, and if I am patient and seek to find bits of gratitude, I will recover. This moment is nothing in the greater plan of God, it is just another moment of suffering that I must give to God so that it might have a purpose and not just be another moment of disruption. 

Verse 22 finds new meaning. All creation, and that includes me, is groaning in labor pains as we are being born into the completion of a full union between the created with the creator. I am not alone. We all suffer the pains and pangs during the wait. To look at someone in deep misery and pain and to think that I am not as bad off as them does not offer me comfort. A comparison of suffering between one person and another is pointless. It minimizes the truth that suffering is suffering and that without purpose for the suffering there is no hope of acceptance of the suffering as being something to strengthen us, give us endurance, and point us toward the hope of the redemption of our bodies. 

As I come to the end of the prayer point, I can't point to a sudden lifting of the weight of my mood or to a sudden awareness of a brilliant beam of thought that chases away the darkness, and I am instantly brought into a state of gladness. It does not work that way even though I have tried over and over again to secure that result. 

What I pray for as consolation in this hour of desolation is that hope will seep back into the dark hole I am dwelling in and motivate me to grasp little bits of gratitude where I can find them and shed this horsehair shirt I put on in my sleep last night. I wonder if forgotten dark dreams set the stage for a play written by the dark one as I woke this morning. Indeed, most assuredly that is the case.

Lord, be with me as I seek your peace even as I wince from the noise of dishes being clattered around in the kitchen. 

Week 2 - Day 3 Friday Genesis 2 1:9

Friday, September 23, 2022

7:58 AM

This is the story of the heavens and the earth at their creation. When the LORD God made the earth and the heavens—there was no field shrub on earth and no grass of the field had sprouted, for the LORD God had sent no rain upon the earth and there was no man to till the ground, but a stream* was welling up out of the earth and watering all the surface of the ground—then the LORD God formed the man out of the dust of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.

God formed the man out of dust… 

This reading calls me closer to the Celtic understanding of the origin of humans, we were fashioned out of clay, which is, of course, nothing more than dust moistened enough to be formed. God blew air into the nostrils of the man and man came to life. What happened next? By Celtic tradition, the clay figures danced and became living beings.

As this second creation story continued, God created all living things and brought them to the man to name. This shines a brilliant light of illumination on a particularly important, critical, in fact, the concept of what it means to name something, it makes the first difference between knowing
and unknowing. It is a basic of human emotion and being that we fear what we do not know. We can't accurately predict if something is dangerous or safe, if it is poisonous or nurturing if we don't know what it is. When we gain enough to name something, we begin to know it, to fathom purpose and intent and, finally, the ability to accept, reject, protect or destroy what we have named. The last step is once we name something, we can control it, tame it, use it and have dominion over it.

This is why God refused to allow the first humans to give him a name. He could not allow us to begin the inexorable process of naming, knowing and controlling until his plan for us was fully revealed to us when we heard the WORD spoken by his son. We know enough now to understand we will never fully know God in a way that might give us dominion. It is a relief to lay down the burden of being driven to know, name and have dominion over God, who is and always will be a mystery to us. 

Week 2 - Day 2 Thursday Psalm 104 vs 19

 You made the moon to mark the seasons, the sun that knows the hour of its setting.

This is the first day of fall. Yesterday marked the halfway point of the journey of the sun from the longest to the shortest day on Winter Solstice. The day dawns in grayness, a quarter inch of rain has fallen so far today and its cool wetness announces the heat of summer has passed and we can longer expect to see growth in the green and colorful things around us but, rather, a drying preparation for winter. Green will give way to brown and tan but also to the spectacular shades of yellow, orange and red. Walking in the aspens and tamaracks in the hills and down the maple tree-lined streets by the university will give us a palette of colors so intense we are always surprised by what we see. 

Psalm 104 is an extended, beautiful psalm of praise of God for the spectacular world we have been gifted. Verse 19 is just one of 35 but it offers some insight to note on this time of the threshold of summer to winter. Today, like most of the world, we measure our days based on the calendar of the sun. Seasons are marked by the passage of the earth around the sun. Summer solstice and winter solstice are the longest and shortest days and the Equinox mark the halfway points of the movement toward the longest and shortest days.  We celebrate the threshold of an old year from to a new one on a day just after the winter solstice when it is possible to conclusively understand the journey from short to long has begun. 

Jews, however, operate under a different calendar that recognizes both the sun and moon as being integrated into measuring and marking the passage of days from one month to the next, from season to season and from the end of one year to the beginning of the next. The calendar of months, however, is based upon a lunar cycle rather than a solunar 12 months in each year model. Today is September 22, 2022 with the year being arbitrarily assigned to what was thought to be the year of the birth of Jesus. Ironically, they got the calculation wrong so the year should be 2027 or 2028. 

Today, however, the Hebrew calendar is 26 Elul 5782 with a starting point in the year 3761 BC which is the commonly accepted date of the creation of the earth. The Jewish new year, Rosh HaShanah falls on the day of the first new moon following the fall equinox. This year that day begins at sunset on 9/25. 

As I review what I have written so far, there does not seem to be much in the way of scriptural reflection. I went down a factual history rabbit hole. That is going to happen to me from time to time because I can be totally amazed at how different peoples observe the passage of time. The point of all this, however, is to embrace the awareness is we live in a created world that operates according to a schedule God established that relies upon the sun which rules the day and the moon which shines the night. The coming and going of the days are marked by the coming and going of the moon and we can take awe in that measurement even if we operate under a different way of measuring in which we watch the moon but measure by the light day. 

Today, the harvest full moon is behind us and on 9/25 we will have a new moon. November 23 will be the date of the first new moon after the mid-way point between fall and winter which will be the formal date of Samhain, the Celtic New Year. For today, however, all of these facts are interesting but what is important beyond all discussion is being mindful of who created the earth out of chaos and set the stars and moon in motion. What is more important of all is the understanding that I was also created from chaos. We all were and our creation is continuing just as the calendar we use to mark our days continues. Wonder is what feels my soul this morning. No wonder as the word for pondering but wonder as in awe. Wonder-filled, awe-filled is the creation that we are in and that is for us. 

Week 2 - Day 1 Wednesday Psalm 8

For the leader; “upon the gittith." A psalm of David.

LORD, our Lord, how awesome is your name through all the earth! I will sing of your majesty above the heavens with the mouths of babes and infants. You have established a bulwark against your foes, to silence enemy and avenger. When I see your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and stars that you set in place— What is man that you are mindful of him, and a son of man that you care for him? Yet you have made him little less than a god, crowned him with glory and honor. You have given him rule over the works of your hands, put all things at his feet:  All sheep and oxen, even the beasts of the field, The birds of the air, the fish of the sea, and whatever swims the paths of the seas. O LORD, our Lord, how awesome is your name through all the earth!

Today it has been a struggle to focus on prayer. Too many interruptions, too little focus. I settle in to listen to Ceol Sona to help me settle into a prayerful space. I prefer silence but I prefer contemplative music to the sounds of life and people around me. It is not yet warm enough to work outside so here I will sit and gaze out my window to the world space that is mine to inhabit. 

His name is awesome throughout all of the earth. From the expanse of the Burren of Ireland to the top of Mt. McKinley, to the depths of the Grand Canyon, to the vastness of the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. Not just in those places but also in soaring forests of the rain of the Olympic Peninsula, the sweeping north prairies. His awesomeness reaches from the sky to the tips of the Bitterroot and Pintler mountains down the mountain sides into creeks and into the Big Hole River, from there on to the Jefferson, from there downstream to the Three Forks where the Missouri begins and then to where it joins with the Mississippi to mysteriously and ponderously flows past New Orleans to the Gulf. His awesome is not just in nature but there are also towering skyscrapers in New York, the immensity of Los Angeles,

the charm of Bar Harbor and the deep history of Boston. These are just some of the places where my eyes have seen the awesome. There are more, more than I can imagine any more than I can fathom the expansiveness of space.

I marvel and cherish the memory of all that I have seen, touched, smelled, heard, felt and experienced. More than I deserve but for the tender mercy of a loving creator. There is all of that to be mindful of but what holds my faze and attention this afternoon is just one towering Cottonwood tree out of the many that surround me. As yet there is no color showing but dryness in the rustling of the leaves in the gentle breeze blowing. There leaves more numerous than I could being to imagine, countless branches both living and dead. Earlier squirrels stopped raiding my feeder long enough to chase each through the branches back and forth and up and down leaving huge limbs bouncing and swaying from them landing on them at high speed. 

Meister Eckhart said that if we could genuinely imagine all there was to know about a tree, we do not need God, we would be God because only God can take in everything contained in just one tree. I will appreciate what I can grasp but not contemplate further.  To do so would be to enter into mystery not from a sense of awe and wonder but from an intention to possess what cannot be held in the human mind. We are so gifted to be so loved and given so much. Gratitude seeps in and floods around me. We are nothing but yet are elevated to be in his image. How wonderful. How unknowable. How awesome.