May 2, 2008
Metaphors, part I
The idea of an ever-present ever-unfolding Divine Pattern in life is, I suppose, a matter of faith. I know this experientially: a Divine Presence—too big to wrap your mind around connects all things in ways seen and unseen. But how can I think about something as huge and all encompassing as God. There are many metaphors that help me embrace and understand God. One of them is God the tree—
God is a growing Seed— ever nurturing, ever nourished—bthe most holy part of my life. God, ever growing and expanding, is ever reaching too. Some time ago I carelessly dropped the seeds of a grapefruit into a houseplant next to where I sat. A few weeks later there it grew, a piece of Florida in my wintry dining room. As this grapefruit tree matured it has become an image of that of God in my soul. I didn't ask for it, but there it grew, a gift now more than six feet tall. From the start it seemed destined to flourish, to reach for the sky in its own way. When I forget to water it for a while, it droops and sags. I remember and in minutes it begins to perk. Twice it has become root bound. The leaves have turned yellow, and until I have replanted it in new pot and fresh soil, it languished. When my soul becomes root bound, a new leading takes me to fresh experiences and deeper learning.
Take a leaf from the grapefruit tree and crumble it in your hand—the aroma transports you. Nurtured and watered it grows. Neglect it for a while and it waits patiently. It is much like that of God in me, so much like my soul. When it needs to expand it waits for the call, for the new pot to make it's direction known. Let it alone, give it daily attention. It is a gift —in me, but not of me—not created by me. It's beauty and fragrant leaves are there for the enjoyment, it accepts all love, only needing nurture.
God is a paradox, contradictory images filling needs and leading us in different ways. God is a mystery—staying constantly the same and constantly changing. The Divine is present in our lives when we look, waiting when we don't. Our images of God, our understanding of the Divine, are interconnected and important. God as grapefruit tree grows and spreads its branches and leaves, filling life and leading to growth. The experience of God brings each of us to the brink of joy, of responsibility and of yield. What celebration, what grace it brings to life. Does it make you smile? It should. —cdw
April 18, 2008
Sanctuary
There is an oft-sung verse at New England Yearly Meeting sessions—sometimes sung boldly in rounds, other times quietly hummed. Sung in greeting and sung in farewell. Sung in harmony to the children, whispered to Friends on their departure from sessions. It is one of my favorites, frequently stuck in my head playing over and over and over. It's meaning, though, had faded in my mind, like a dried flower, pleasant but without freshness or any brilliant color:
Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary
Pure and holy, tried and true
With thanksgiving, I'll be a living
Sanctuary for You
And than a month or so ago I received an email from a friend whom I love dearly but haven't seen in a long, long time. He wrote, in part, " 'Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary.' I like this. I will live to this, for this…."
Those sentences caught me. It happens sometimes when something you know too well is presented unexpectedly, clearly without all the clutter and layers time sometimes creates. Meaning opens. Significance broadens. It is a wonderful experience.
As I sat with the verse and the notes during my prayer time for several days my friend’s message propelled me beyond the verse echoing in my head. In Exodus God tells Moses to “let them make me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them “(25:8). It’s a building for God is that is being talked about. In the last two millennium the physical necessity of a building has changed. For me it’s part of the good news—we each are a sanctuary. We are a sanctuary for God. We are a sanctuary for each other. Every place is holy, we don’t need to set one aside from all the others. We each are a child of a loving God who’s presence carries us through the ordeals of life, and offers us the lessons (sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter) we need to learn.
Divine Presence, transform me into a sanctuary that you may dwell within me:
- Allow my communities to take me for granted that they feel safe and know I will be present.
- Make me a place of comfort to my family that they come to me from affection and not obligation.
- Allow me to be strong for my friends that they will seek me out when they are in need.
- Make those folks who don’t like me know that I won’t take advantage of them. Accept their manipulations and harsh statements about me as my sacrifice to you.
Help me grow into a safe haven for all your children. Dwell in me, transform me—change me to your likeness, dear God. —cdw
February 22, 2008
“And… [Elijah] was afraid and arose and ran…into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree…. He lay down and slept...and behold, there was an angel touching him, and he said to him, ‘Arise, eat.’ Then he looked and behold, there was at his head a bread cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. So he ate and drank and lay down again. The angel of the Lord came again a second time and touched him and said, ‘Arise, eat, because the journey is too great for you. So he arose and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to… the mountain of God.’” 1 Kings 19, 3-7
Rush and run and don’t stop. Our culture can feel like such a merry-go-round of busy-ness, that it becomes trite to mention it. Often I find myself trapped into worldly ways, trying to do several things at once, and knowing it unlikely that I’ll make anyone happy. So I try instead to at least make everyone equally unhappy. Silly, isn’t it? It is one of the traps of the world, one of the challenge in living “in the world and not of it.” Elijah is a good model. Even fleeing for his life, he rests and is nurtured. I cannot be faithful to God in hurried-ness. How often I must learn and relearn and learn again this. To do God’s work, to be faithful, I must also rest and be nurtured! Prayer and worship are my juniper tree in the wilderness. My nurture comes from God. The intermediaries are the angles of my life— friends and family, students and colleagues. —cdw
January 27, 2008
"I arise today, through the strength of Heaven:
light of Sun, brilliance of Moon, splendor of Fire,
speed of Lightning, swiftness of Wind, depth of Sea,
stability of Earth, firmness of Rock.
"I arise today, through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me, God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me, God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me, God's shield to protect me,
God's host to secure me."
—from Fáed Fíada (also known as the Lorica of Saint Patrick or Saint Patrick’s Breastplate)
For some time now, I’ve committed to live close to the Spirit: to make every action a prayer, every word a celebration of God’s presence. I entrust my being; I surrender to God’s plan. When I began this part of my journey I thought it would be finite—that I would practice some skills, that I would adapt to looking at the world through this lens and than I would be done. Ha! I falter all the time. I backslide, and “yeah, but…” myself and get sidetracked.
I never seem to completely arrive at the destination. I’m no Brother Lawrence or John Woolman, that’s for certain. Don’t get me wrong I’ve come to accept it as just what is. I’m lucky it’s organic, because if there were a final exam—a kind of driver’s test to living in the “Life of the Spirit” I’m sure I’d fail miserably. In some kind of huge enigma I’ve come to understand the journey is the arrival, walking the path the destination.
Seeking God I need God to show the way (there’s that enigma again). I need to use my will to surrender my will (and again!) Each day begins with God knocking on the door or my heart and me responding. I strive toward faithfulness, sure of the Presence, sure like Patrick, that I am protected, I am nurtured. So each morning, before I put my feet on the floor, I take a moment and know. I know God’s presence, knocking at the door of my heart. I know that today I can be faithful. I know the kingdom of God—the experience of God—is here and now. —cdw