Water, blood, and spirit,
all of one accord,
proclaim with glory flowing:
Jesus Christ is Lord!
©MperiodPress, Feast of the Baptism of Jesus, 2009
I love the fullness of that line in today's second reading from the first letter of John-- "So there are three that testify, the Spirit, the water, and the blood, and the three are of one accord." The mystical, the natural, the human, dimensions of God meet in relationship and are symbolically, sacramentally, "incorporated" (meaning,from the root, made into one body)in the river Jordan. There is nothing to take apart, nothing that is not a part of everything else.
In a way, isn't that the very nature of baptism...to claim us for God, whole and complete...messy and glorious, strong, capable, frail, vulnerable, beloved children with whom God is well pleased. With baptism, we are welcomed into a body--the Body of Christ, the Church alive and seeking, discovering and revealing.
Crossing over into a "new dispensation," (credit to T.S Eliot), we are no longer the same after an event like that. If we are to walk through our deserts with any consolation or hope, I'd say that was a good thing.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Musings of A Blog Centenarian
Consider the Lilies is 101 posts old with these lines I now write!
I, however, who celebrated my birth yesterday, have not reached so significant a number in the eyes of many. I like my years, though. The cumulation of experience has taught me much about things important and trivial...what it feels like to love, the deep brown-burgundy of a buckeye fresh from its husk, how to change homes and be okay, how to make friends, the taste of Pablo Neruda's poetry, the awareness of sacred nearness in a hummingbird fly-by, the grace of being patient and calm enough to have butterflies land on my toes while reading in the sunshine, how to laugh, how to be compassionate toward someone who has caused great pain, why man hole covers are round, the collective noun for a bunch of rhinos, and how to say "little dog" in Portugese.
Yesterday my day began with bringing treats for the faculty and kids. Together, they ceremoniously inhaled two batches of dense Midwestern seven-layer-cookies while wishing me well. Some of my kids asked for the recipe. It's a funny thing writing baking instructions for an 11 year old. I sent a copy to someone else and their response was "I think this might be the best thing I read all day. I particularly like the advice to punch two holes in the top of the sweetened condensed milk can before pouring." Later in the evening, the student sent me an email thanking me for taking the time to send her the recipe...and she had "proudly told my family that my teacher baked her own birthday treats and they were REALLY GOOD."
My school day ended with another student encounter. I walked out to leave and there was a clump of kids waiting to be picked up. They were in day's end high spirits, it was coming on dark, and the moon was out. I stopped to chat with them and we ended up standing there, heads tipped skyward, pointing to the moon and discussing whether we could see the man in the moon or a woman with long hair playing a piano. (I had a friend in Middle and High school who taught me to see her.)
I walked away smiling to myself and full of thanksgiving. I think it was Teresa of Ávila who said "All the way home IS heaven." I understood a little of that in a new way yesterday. Never too old to learn.
I, however, who celebrated my birth yesterday, have not reached so significant a number in the eyes of many. I like my years, though. The cumulation of experience has taught me much about things important and trivial...what it feels like to love, the deep brown-burgundy of a buckeye fresh from its husk, how to change homes and be okay, how to make friends, the taste of Pablo Neruda's poetry, the awareness of sacred nearness in a hummingbird fly-by, the grace of being patient and calm enough to have butterflies land on my toes while reading in the sunshine, how to laugh, how to be compassionate toward someone who has caused great pain, why man hole covers are round, the collective noun for a bunch of rhinos, and how to say "little dog" in Portugese.
Yesterday my day began with bringing treats for the faculty and kids. Together, they ceremoniously inhaled two batches of dense Midwestern seven-layer-cookies while wishing me well. Some of my kids asked for the recipe. It's a funny thing writing baking instructions for an 11 year old. I sent a copy to someone else and their response was "I think this might be the best thing I read all day. I particularly like the advice to punch two holes in the top of the sweetened condensed milk can before pouring." Later in the evening, the student sent me an email thanking me for taking the time to send her the recipe...and she had "proudly told my family that my teacher baked her own birthday treats and they were REALLY GOOD."
My school day ended with another student encounter. I walked out to leave and there was a clump of kids waiting to be picked up. They were in day's end high spirits, it was coming on dark, and the moon was out. I stopped to chat with them and we ended up standing there, heads tipped skyward, pointing to the moon and discussing whether we could see the man in the moon or a woman with long hair playing a piano. (I had a friend in Middle and High school who taught me to see her.)
I walked away smiling to myself and full of thanksgiving. I think it was Teresa of Ávila who said "All the way home IS heaven." I understood a little of that in a new way yesterday. Never too old to learn.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Birthday Parties
Tomorrow is my birthday. Tomorrow night there will be angelfood cake and buttercream frosting after dinner. Every birthday for as far back as I can remember, I have had angelfood cake and buttercream frosting. I find that somehow reassuring. Most other unique celebrations over the years have shifted, adapted, changed, out of necessity, choice, what have you, but an angelfood cake has made an appearance on January 5th. I baked cookies to take to work--the students in my religion class are going to flip their twelve year old lids. Can't wait, actually.
In recent years, I have come to adopt a small piece of the Epiphany service as a liturgical birthday party for me too. The trumpets, the trombones, percussion...incense, singing, clapping, and joy...a couple of hundred people choosing to be together, making and sharing peace and good will. Giving hugs and kisses, shaking hands and wishing well. being and bearing Word.
To be a part of all that...what greater gift could there be? I am so glad to be alive.
In recent years, I have come to adopt a small piece of the Epiphany service as a liturgical birthday party for me too. The trumpets, the trombones, percussion...incense, singing, clapping, and joy...a couple of hundred people choosing to be together, making and sharing peace and good will. Giving hugs and kisses, shaking hands and wishing well. being and bearing Word.
To be a part of all that...what greater gift could there be? I am so glad to be alive.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The Annual Reading of Eliot
Epiphany brings with it an annual personal tradition. I leaf through my second copy of an old Longman poetry anthology (the first has been read, loved, and written on into non-portable fragility) and find T.S. Eliot's "Journey of the Magi," settle into a quiet corner of the couch with a mug of good strong coffee, and read his words outloud--feeling the journey in the rhythms of syllables, hearing it in the musing reflection of one of the Magi.
There are parts of the poem I now know by heart. This evening, I text-messaged a friend and in it asked if he knew the poem. All he had to do was begin his response to another question with "A cold coming home..." which told me that he did. This idea of knowing by heart has come to me in spades this Advent and Christmas. I told someone this morning that reading the lectionary these weeks has been like flipping through a family photo album, remembering stories and events and the assortment of characters involved.
When we look back at pictures, we do not recreate the event as it was. We come to it as we are when looking. So too these readings of people walking in darkness and seeing a great light, tales of people arriving to celebrate the baby and bringing gifts of homage (and licorice! Bottom drawer of "my box" in Amahl and the Night Visitors), the record of Word becoming flesh and glories streaming from heaven afar. I recognize people, settings, events because I have met them all before, known something of the journey, and witnessed what I understand as the wonders that flow forth and have as their origin the Heart of God. I have also seen death...and understand something of the confusion experienced by Eliot's Magi.
It is a mystery in heart that can only be borne by a knowing by heart. Snatches and snippets are memorized, but the story lives full and wondrous, revealing and ever revealed.
There are parts of the poem I now know by heart. This evening, I text-messaged a friend and in it asked if he knew the poem. All he had to do was begin his response to another question with "A cold coming home..." which told me that he did. This idea of knowing by heart has come to me in spades this Advent and Christmas. I told someone this morning that reading the lectionary these weeks has been like flipping through a family photo album, remembering stories and events and the assortment of characters involved.
When we look back at pictures, we do not recreate the event as it was. We come to it as we are when looking. So too these readings of people walking in darkness and seeing a great light, tales of people arriving to celebrate the baby and bringing gifts of homage (and licorice! Bottom drawer of "my box" in Amahl and the Night Visitors), the record of Word becoming flesh and glories streaming from heaven afar. I recognize people, settings, events because I have met them all before, known something of the journey, and witnessed what I understand as the wonders that flow forth and have as their origin the Heart of God. I have also seen death...and understand something of the confusion experienced by Eliot's Magi.
It is a mystery in heart that can only be borne by a knowing by heart. Snatches and snippets are memorized, but the story lives full and wondrous, revealing and ever revealed.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Friday 10
From pals at Rev Gals
"As we look back we may come to understand how God has worked in and through us in joy and sadness. how we have grown against what may seem impossible odds. As we look forward we may do so with expectation, and we may do so with fear and trembling. As we look back and forward in New Years liminality I offer you this simple yet I hope profound Friday Five in two parts:
First list five things that you remember/ treasure from 2008
Then list five things that you are looking forward to in 2009
From 2008
1. Recognizing myself in letters received from my father whose life was saved *because* of an aneurysm rupturing.
2. Having my poetry included in Lessons and Carols--watching and feeling Word live in a new way.
3. A particular visit to the Metropolitan Museum that left my heart singing a song it didn't know it knew and that it continues to hum.
4. My month in Mexico and subsequent contact with friends made there
5. Writing an important letter that will affect the rest of my life--asking to begin the process for final vows
For 2009
1. The possibilities of an extended international experience
2. The writing that might come from that-- the chance to write in different settings about new facets of God that Iare revealed.
3. Settling deeper and deeper into the wonder of God and finding ever more freedom there
4. Unknown adventure
5. 1-20-09!!!!!!!!!
"As we look back we may come to understand how God has worked in and through us in joy and sadness. how we have grown against what may seem impossible odds. As we look forward we may do so with expectation, and we may do so with fear and trembling. As we look back and forward in New Years liminality I offer you this simple yet I hope profound Friday Five in two parts:
First list five things that you remember/ treasure from 2008
Then list five things that you are looking forward to in 2009
From 2008
1. Recognizing myself in letters received from my father whose life was saved *because* of an aneurysm rupturing.
2. Having my poetry included in Lessons and Carols--watching and feeling Word live in a new way.
3. A particular visit to the Metropolitan Museum that left my heart singing a song it didn't know it knew and that it continues to hum.
4. My month in Mexico and subsequent contact with friends made there
5. Writing an important letter that will affect the rest of my life--asking to begin the process for final vows
For 2009
1. The possibilities of an extended international experience
2. The writing that might come from that-- the chance to write in different settings about new facets of God that Iare revealed.
3. Settling deeper and deeper into the wonder of God and finding ever more freedom there
4. Unknown adventure
5. 1-20-09!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Untie her and let her go free
I went to Mass yesterday-- a good move on my part. I'd been out wandering about without specific aim when I realized it was nearly noon and Xavier was only a block or two away. While sitting in the Mary Chapel, the pastor approached me about how much he enjoyed the Isaiah reading I did for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. 'Mesmerizing' was the word he used. The director of music had already told me that he was blown away.
I'm glad the emotion came through...because that is how I hear those readings-- alive, breathing, lifted free from the page and allowed to take shape in sound, allowed to splash across the canvas of hearing and feeling and leave image and movement hanging in the midst long enough to be felt and recognized but also light and loose enough to disperse and become a part of the larger whole.
It was a place to set myself free from feeling as bound as I have lately--bound by knots of my own making that appeared in threads of my life that I thought I had gently looped. It is nigh unto impossible to disentangle one's own knots in situations like that, I have discovered of late. Beginning? End? Which part to let go so that something else can be pulled through?
The reading that night had a lasting effect over these past days... to fill with Word, to taste the goodness, form it, free it...this is necessary nourishment for me that loosens my heart, mind, and body. It helps me regain that flexibility of spirit that allows for bending and bowing and dancing anew, unknotted and freer--though still with threads that dangle and promise to try again.
I know soemthing that helps, though, when that happens. Allowing it is an amazing, humbling thing that leaves me thankful, and though you'd be hard pressed to tell by reading this, without Word of my own-- until it returns in honeyed wonder.
I'm glad the emotion came through...because that is how I hear those readings-- alive, breathing, lifted free from the page and allowed to take shape in sound, allowed to splash across the canvas of hearing and feeling and leave image and movement hanging in the midst long enough to be felt and recognized but also light and loose enough to disperse and become a part of the larger whole.
It was a place to set myself free from feeling as bound as I have lately--bound by knots of my own making that appeared in threads of my life that I thought I had gently looped. It is nigh unto impossible to disentangle one's own knots in situations like that, I have discovered of late. Beginning? End? Which part to let go so that something else can be pulled through?
The reading that night had a lasting effect over these past days... to fill with Word, to taste the goodness, form it, free it...this is necessary nourishment for me that loosens my heart, mind, and body. It helps me regain that flexibility of spirit that allows for bending and bowing and dancing anew, unknotted and freer--though still with threads that dangle and promise to try again.
I know soemthing that helps, though, when that happens. Allowing it is an amazing, humbling thing that leaves me thankful, and though you'd be hard pressed to tell by reading this, without Word of my own-- until it returns in honeyed wonder.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Boxing Day--Rev Gals
What Five Things did today bring for me?
1. A day long mental hum of Good King Wenceslaus!
2. A poem for an exhausted friend (see below if interested)
3. A walk on the streets of Manhattan where I encountered a mother trying to apply Chapstick to her kid's lips and who finally had to say, "Look, you can sing, but you can't move your lips, honey."
4. A modestly better mood than the one I've been in the last couple of weeks
5. Bonus points of personal satisfaction for doing a good job translating the poem before checking online and human resources.
Not too bad.
1. A day long mental hum of Good King Wenceslaus!
2. A poem for an exhausted friend (see below if interested)
3. A walk on the streets of Manhattan where I encountered a mother trying to apply Chapstick to her kid's lips and who finally had to say, "Look, you can sing, but you can't move your lips, honey."
4. A modestly better mood than the one I've been in the last couple of weeks
5. Bonus points of personal satisfaction for doing a good job translating the poem before checking online and human resources.
Not too bad.
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