Spiritual Guidance

So much of the training for a pastor and the expectations of many, at least in the past, have revolved around “doing,” rather than “being” when exploring spiritual wholeness.

Someone comes to the pastor with a need or a hurt or a hope, and the pastor tells them to “do this or do that” because Jesus did it, or because the seminary professor said this is the best way to fix it, or because the latest seminar sponsored by the hierarchy had a sale on spiritual tools.

An unhealthy cycle is promulgated when, for a moment of varying intensity, relief is experienced. The pedestal is erected for the pastor’s ego to be placed upon and the next person with a need or a hurt or a hope is offered the same fix.

Henri Nouwen wrote in Reaching Out:

"The real spiritual guide is the one who, instead of advising us what to do or to whom to go, offers us a chance to stay alone and take the risk of entering into our own experience. He[she] makes us see that pouring little bits of water on our dry land does not help, but that we will find a living well if we reach deep enough under the surface of our complaints." P.36

Who Knew?

I am on a spiritual retreat and during one of our times of worship, just before communion was shared, a story was told of a group of war orphans who, barely existing because of harsh conditions and little food, were quite naturally having difficulty sleeping.

Their caretakers decided to give them each a loaf of bread to sleep with. Assured of food for the next day the children began to sleep soundly each night.

Our spiritual director shared many possibilities from the story related to the experience of God and suggested that we consider which character resonated with us. Which person we felt identified with our own soul. Did the fear of the children touch us or perhaps the caring act of the orphanage workers? What about those who warred against each other?

My imagination transported me to the village where the bread had been baked. I began to remember the time when the door of my bakery was opened and a fragile, limping, old woman entered interrupting the afternoon coffee that my friends, the miller and the wheat farmer, and I had each day. She was asking for donations of food and I simply gave her some misshapen loaves to take with her.

Who knew that lives would be changed? God knew. Who knew that the grain that was grown and ground and baked would have such a comforting effect on those children? God knew. Who knew that the work of our hands would have such an impact on the lives of those children? God knew. Who knew that misshapen lives and misshapen loaves would be turned into such a sacred event as life? God knew.

God knows that it happens all the time.

Awareness

“My essence is not hidden from you, Lord.”

Using a paraphrase of Psalm 19 from Psalms for Praying by Nan Merrill:
“My essence is not hidden from you, Lord.”

It is refreshing to my soul to know that my essence, my very being, is not hidden from God’s Presence. And, that my essence, like the most fragrant, aromatic herb offered in worship as incense enters God’s nostrils and the Lord is pleased with my offering of self. I don’t need to be concerned with who else might or might not recognize my essence, my worth.

That God does is enough.

A Morning Run

O God, my God, how excellent are all your works. Sitting in your Presence I am amazed at the beauty and the absurdity. That I should be a part of Your creation leaves me humbled.

This morning a bit before 6:00 I went for a run on the grassy trails of Mt. Olivet Retreat Center just south of Minneapolis. It is so remarkable to experience the early morning arousing of the world. A raccoon shuffled past exploring the possibilities as a flock of wild turkeys ignored me. A young deer, too old to be a fawn and too young to be an adult, cautiously stepped into the shelter of some evergreens as I trip-tropped along the path. Every footstep, every breath, every creature a wonderment, a miracle, a reflection of The Presence - everything, including me. Such beauty and such absurdity.

The Omnivore's Delight

My wife Suzanne and I are in a book group that has recently been reading The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. This past Sunday night we met to discuss it further at Devotay, an Iowa City restaurant owned by Kurt and Kim Friese, who know Pollan.

Some discussion about the book, about the slow food movement, and a few recipe insights made for a delightful evening. A plethora of Tapas, small plates of food, like Aceitunas—assorted grilled olives, Dátiles — bacon-wrapped dates with pimentón BBQ sauce, and a most amazing Paella—with saffron, Iowa organic, pasture-raised chicken, chorizo sausage and shellfish, caused the salivary glands to work overtime.

There is something soul-satisfying about slowing down and enjoying epicurean delicacies while discussing the nuances of food production and preparation. Slow, succulent, and satisfying.

I can't help but wonder why life in general tends to be so much in opposition to a great meal. We bandy about life hurried, harried, and feeling a bit dessicated. What if we celebrated life more like the feast it was intended to be?

And, when life is at its end, just as a meal must eventually cease, raise a glass of fino sherry declaring it all to have been perfecto!

Running The Race

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.” Hebrews 12:1-3 NIV

On June 22, I competed for the second time in the Des Moines Hy-Vee Triathlon. It is a 1500 meter swim, a 40K bike ride, and a 10K run.

It is probably more accurate to say I participated, rather than competed. Man, did the scripture from Hebrews come alive for me. Along the way the mental baggage kept entangling me and slowing me down. You might be familiar with some of the things that hinder:
Why am I doing this? I can’t do it. It’s too much. I’m too slow. I’m too old. Everyone else is better than me. I should have worked harder and eaten better.

In the middle of the run I was weary and began to lose heart. I say, began to lose heart. I didn’t because of the participants and the spectators along the way. Almost everyone had a word of hope, a cheer, an encouragement in those moments when it felt like I could just sit down and give up.

What a picture of how the church should be. Supported by each other with words and actions of encouragement that help us let go of the unhealthy baggage of life. Encouragement for those fully engaged and for those observing. Encouragement that causes the weariness to dissipate and strengthens our hearts.

Joy In The Art of Faith

Recently I had the opportunity to meet Maquoketa artists Charles Morris and Rose Frantzen . They are a remarkably gifted couple who have created Old City Hall Gallery.

One of the pieces Chuck imagined and brought to fruition is titled "Reflections of Mailer." Chuck drew a portrait of author Norman Mailer and then Mailer selected images from Morris's books of paintings and drawings to be included around the bust of Mailer.

I was particularly attracted to "Picasso Showing Jesus How To Draw In The Dirt." Too fun. I can imagine Jesus rolling in laughter because here is an artist who understands the joy in faith. The experience of the holy has been taken so seriously over the eons that the relationship between Creator and created has been diminished.

For me the drawing reflects the is, was, and shall be of God incarnated not only in Jesus, but also in the artist. More than that, it suggests a relationship that has the Creator learning from the creation.

What if God is not as linear as so many have tried to maintain? How might you live knowing that you have something to offer God?

John 8:1-11

1 But Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. 2 At dawn he appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. 3 The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group 4 and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. 5 In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” 6 They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.
But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. 7 When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” 8 Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.
9 At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. 10 Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”
11 “No one, sir,” she said.
“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

Sacred Quest

My wife and I were invited a few days ago on a 'shroom hunt. Our friends own a large timber area and we spent a couple of wonderful hours meandering with our heads down and expectations high.


We were rewarded for our contemplative demeanor by a grocery sack overflowing with morels. Both greys and yellows were discovered but the holy grail is, in my opinion, the Morchella esculenta or yellow morel.

Sliced in half and sauteed in olive oil and butter with a flourish of fresh ground pepper, what was once an elusive fungi in the forest becomes an epicurean delight that is an ambrosia on the palate

What I find most remarkable, however, is that I am twice blessed because of the morel. Not only are my gustatory senses impacted in profound and glorious ways, my very soul is renewed in the midst of the search. The chance to slow down, to be removed from the concrete insulating me from God's creation allowed for a glimpse of the divine.

In some ways, the search for the sacred is not unlike the quest for that edible golden sponge. When I stopped looking so intently; when I began to relax, rather than try to force the discovery; when I enjoyed the moment, rather than seek to be the first or most prolific discoverer of the timber's bounty is when I would glimpse its ethereal presence.