In The Beginning

There might have been things I missed, but don't be unkind 
It don't mean I'm blind 
Perhaps there's a thing or two I think of lying in bed 
I shouldn't have said 

But, there it is 

You see, it's all clear 
You were meant to be here from the beginning 

Maybe I might have changed and not been so cruel 
Not been such a fool 
Whatever was done is done - I just can't recall 
It doesn't matter at all 

You see, it's all clear 
You were meant to be here from the beginning
                      -Emerson, Lake, and Palmer

Remember these things, I have made you, I will not forget you. I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you. This is what the LORD says— your Redeemer, who formed you in the womb.
                    -God, through the voice of the prophet Isaiah

Mindful of the One Reaching For You

Onto a Vast Plain
You are not surprised at the force of the storm—
you have seen it growing.
The trees flee. Their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. And you know:
he whom they flee is the one
you move toward. All your senses
sing him, as you stand at the window.

The weeks stood still in summer.
The trees' blood rose. Now you feel
it wants to sink back
into the source of everything. You thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit:
now it becomes a riddle again
and you again a stranger.

Summer was like your house: you know
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind
sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that he who began it all
can feel you when he reaches for you.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Perspective

Poet and novelist, James Dickey, in an essay titled “How to Enjoy Poetry,” suggests a way for neophyte interpreters to begin their encounter with the word:

As for me, I like the sun, the source of all living things, and on certain days very good-feeling, too. ‘Start with the sun,’ D. H. Lawrence said, ‘and everything will slowly, slowly happen.’ Good advice. And a lot will happen.

What is more fascinating than a rock, if you really feel it and look at it, or more interesting than a leaf?

Horses, I mean; butterflies, whales;

Mosses, and stars; and gravelly

Rivers, and fruit.

Oceans, I mean; black valleys; corn;

Brambles, and cliffs; rock, dirt, dust, ice …

Go back and read this list — it is quite a list, Mark Van Doren’s list! — item by item. Slowly. Let each of these things call up an image out of your own life.

Think and feel. What moss do you see? Which horse? What field of corn? What brambles are your brambles? Which river is most yours?

Perhaps there would be some merit to approaching the poetry of God with a similar injection of ourselves into the Word? Think and feel.  

The Story of the Lost Son  Luke 15:11-32 The Message (MSG)

Then he said, “There was once a man who had two sons. The younger said to his father, ‘Father, I want right now what’s coming to me.’ “So the father divided the property between them. It wasn’t long before the younger son packed his bags and left for a distant country. There, undisciplined and dissipated, he wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, there was a bad famine all through that country and he began to hurt. He signed on with a citizen there who assigned him to his fields to slop the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the corncobs in the pig slop, but no one would give him any.

That brought him to his senses.

Ahhh…, isn’t that what an experience of God does; brings us back to our senses, all of them?

Think about it. Use the imagination that God gifted you with to enter into the story through one of the familiar closet doorways of your life. Get in touch with that memory tucked haphazardly in the recesses of your soul perhaps smothered under far too many similar memories. 

You remember: Your father, or your mother, or both, giving you, what my family called “the stink eye,” a withering glance of disgust as a response to a request or action or inaction that you thought entirely reasonable.  

The son told his father that he wanted his inheritance now! In the culture of the time the son basically told his father, “Dad, you’re dead to me.” 

Can you feel it? The pain? To everyone’s essence?

Explore the Word further; it is much more than waking up knee deep in it and recognizing that life is just not what you expected. Yes, it is about the son. It is also about the parent, and the older sibling, and it is that residual piece of each of them that resides in you as a reflection of loss or guilt or shame or jealousy.

More to the point, it is the recognition that any and all of the potential soul destroying moments of your story are rendered impotent because God simply loves you and accepts you and desires to be a part of you. God simply wants you to think, and feel, and come to your senses.

Attitude

Faith is not just a theological principle; it is a mental and emotional muscle. It is an aspect of consciousness, a function of the mind. With every attitude we demonstrate faith – either faith in what can go wrong or faith in what can go right. Our problem is that we tend to have tremendous faith in the power of our disasters and far too little faith in the power of miracles.

Our faith itself is a potent force: we increase a thing’s power by increasing our belief in its power.

           Marianne Williamson – The Law of Divine Compensation 

I believe in miracles. Not the law of physics changing, mountain moving, once in an eternity miracles. No, not the impossible. I believe in the possible. I believe in the every moment of creation miracles. I believe in the miracle of: bees dancing in pollen; pelicans migrating in the spring; hummingbirds suspended in the earth’s breath; first seeing my sons’ vernix covered faces 34 and 30 years ago; falling in love over and over from age 15 to 58 with the same, different woman; running on a trail for 15 miles and having the desire do it again; feeling The Presence and knowing I am not alone.

I choose to have faith in the power of this moment’s miracle.

Another Meditation Moment

On Pilgrimage

Reading my friend Lori Erickson's blog caused me to reflect on my childhood pilgrimage:

Growing up on gravel roads I can understand the allure of rural road pilgrimages. Time slows down. The snake grass, cattails, and red wing blackbirds that play together with the milkweed and sand burrs in the ditches come into focus. The flat Iowa roads are experienced as undulating, nuanced, and desiccated tributaries that lead to civilization.

The air inspired is at times purified, even rarefied, while occasionally clouded by the intrusion of a faded green mechanical behemoth pulling a dirt destructor or grain gatherer.  Even the sounds of no-thing touching the senses are amplified as the grasshoppers thunderous leaps accentuate the laughter of the Brome grass being tickled by the breeze.

One need not become a recluse for days on end to experience the benefits of a spiritual quest, simply sojourn on the gravel nave of God's cathedral, allow the moment to permeate your soul and refresh you.

Mindful on the Journey

Jacob woke up from his sleep. He said, “God is in this place—truly. And I didn’t even know it!” He was terrified. He whispered in awe, “Incredible. Wonderful. Holy. This is God’s House. This is the Gate of Heaven.”

Jacob was up first thing in the morning. He took the stone he had used for his pillow and stood it up as a memorial pillar and poured oil over it. He christened the place Bethel (God’s House). The name of the town had been Luz until then.

Jacob vowed a vow: “If God stands by me and protects me on this journey on which I’m setting out, keeps me in food and clothing, and brings me back in one piece to my father’s house, this God will be my God. This stone that I have set up as a memorial pillar will mark this as a place where God lives. And everything you give me, I’ll return a tenth to you.”

Genesis 28:16-22 (from The Message)

Mindful on the Journey
This is a picture that I took while in the midst of a 50K trail run. I only accomplished half that distance. I realized as I was about to begin the second loop that punishing my body to achieve my goal would negate the joy of the experience I was having. So, I simply decided to stop and go home.

In the past, I might have bargained with God, or made a promise of faithfulness, so that I could accomplish the goal that I had chosen. This time, as I stayed aware of each glint of ice on the path, each impression in the snow of all those who were ahead of me in the "race," and interacted with the eagles, geese, and other creatures of creation, it was enough to know that I was being provided for on the journey. I was able to whisper in awe, “Incredible. Wonderful. Holy. This is God’s House."

I can honestly say, "this is my God." Not might be or will be if my goals are met. This is my God and I pray that I am kept mindful of each moment of the journey because each moment that I am mindful of is its own experience of holy awe.

The goal that really matters for me is to continually experience God's Presence and stay in one piece as the journey unfolds.

Contemplative Run

My run this morning, while not as long as I wanted, was soul refreshing. Because of the recent fresh and continuing snow fall I had no choice but to slow my pace, as well as, be intentional about how and where I placed my feet. The snow muffled the sounds of my footsteps and the usual cacophony of the world around me.

I find that when I calm the musings of my mind the Presence becomes tangible. It is then that a single snowflake becomes a tsunami on the tongue and I am awash in the holiness of the moment. Refreshed, again.