My r-pad

I was in a coffee shop, pleasantly tucked into an end table, reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez's book, La aventura de Miguel Littín clandestino en Chile, sipping a dark roast perfectly milked, and going back and forth between recording new vocabulary and wandering in my mind to my own time in that most interesting country. Ironically, in a sense, I was multitasking. There were others at all the surrounding tables, each person busy about what was in front of them.

Then, blaring into the bliss, a man's voice. "Why are YOU here? What are you doing?"

I looked up from my book, notebook, pen, and mug of caffeinated glory. Yes, in fact, he was addressing me.

"Everyone else is using a computer!! And here you are. Don't you feel out of place? I mean, look around!"

True enough, those at the tables surrounding me were all plugged in, tuned in, and tikkytakking away merrily.

I looked down. "I'm using my r-pad. The window rotates with a flick of the wrist; unlimited color display; you get to choose the stylus--completely interchangeable; it records thoughts, drawings, doodles, and dreams without having to change programs; you can have up to 160 windows open all at the same time; no power required; and, gives of itself willingly so that it can be shared with up to 80 friends at a time."

Yeah, well, that's what occurred to me later on. At the time, I simply said "Nope. I feel happy, actually."

I love my r-pad.

Good Friday Reflection for the Church of Saint Francis Xavier

“I now know what you have to experience before you die: let me tell you. What you have to experience before you die is a driving rain transformed into light.” --Renee, concierge, main character; The Elegance of the Hedgehog

Several years ago, when teaching Morality and Ethics to twelve year olds, one student asked me what I thought happened when a person dies. Though I recall that the question had little bearing on the topic at hand, it was also clear that hers was not an artfully lobbed “distraction question” so well aimed by Middle School students. She wanted an answer. And one that went beyond, “I don’t know—it’s a mystery.”

The class was silent as I measured my response. “I think we become the fullness of what we have sought all along.” Seeking God? We enter into the fullness of that. Seeking Truth? Same thing. And, yes, some, by choices made, seem to seek emptiness…
That was several years ago. Because of many things that have happened in my life since then, my answer would now be slightly different. It would be shorter. What do I think happens when a person dies? I think we become.

Just about a year ago, and only a month apart, I had the difficult and glorious honor of being with two people in the moment of their deaths. One was my grandfather. He was surrounded in a triangle of love. My mother on one hand. My grandmother on the other…and I held his feet. There is no doubt in my mind that he Became, capital B, as he breathed his last. More than he had ever been, more than we could understand, more than he could have hoped for. The same was true with Nancy, one of my rscj Sisters who I accompanied in her final weeks. She, who had been bound, mute and nearly blind for years, became free.

That is to speak of the final dying. These recent years have me contemplating the dying that happens more often than that.

The dying of my revulsion when helping a woman in the streets of Santiago. A woman covered in flies, scars, and the devastation of a life hard lived. She was “spurned and avoided by people, a [wo]man of suffering, accustomed to infirmity, one of those from whom people hide their faces…”

The letting go of my pride when I had to leave Chile early because a torn ligament in my knee prevented offering any kind of physical help to a country reeling from a historic level earthquake.

The letting go of fear, the dying to the hold parts of my history had on me, that happened in the Long Retreat before making Final Vows in January.

Through all of these deaths, and others, deaths and letting go that did not come easily, comfortably, or without sometimes intense pain… deaths that are likely to happen over and over again… I am so very grateful to God for Becoming a little bit more each time.

Becoming a bit more compassionate, a bit more free, a bit more “loose in the molecules,” spacious on the inside…creating room for the “wondrous love this is, oh my soul, oh my soul….”

I wonder if that isn’t the invitation of the Cross we venerate. When we are called as followers of Jesus to take up our own cross, what if that cross were the cross of becoming the fullness of who we are in the eyes and the heart of God? What if the invitation was

Go ahead and let go. Die and become more…. Become more love, receive more love, show more love. Love that seeks and stays and says always and says everywhere and nothing can separate you from me, ever. The complete love that says Do This and Remember me: Follow, serve, be broken open, welcome, accept, lay down your life, take up your cross...

This, though, is the difficult honor of love. To get there sometimes costs dearly…the rending ache of decisions made, the shaking courage of breaking free and facing the unknown, or perhaps, finally facing the truth…and choosing to go forward, arms at the side, straight on and exposed, no cloak of fear or doubt… because we believe that the driving rain of whatever it is that holds us bound will give way.

We believe that death gives way. And Amen for that. If I didn’t believe that, well, I’d find it hard to make any sense of it all whatsoever.

As it is, much does remain a mystery. And, in a lot of ways, thank goodness. Weather prediction only goes so far. The heavens could open at any given moment and we may or may not have an umbrella. And even if we do, it may or may not help. Sometimes, simply put, we get soaked…from the outside in or from the inside out. When that happens, what can we do? We can seek the hospitality of another on the journey with us until the storm passes. We tell the tale of how we ended up where we are, we accept a towel offered in kindness and understanding, and still a bit damp, with soggy bits in a pocket and a squish in the shoe, we head out again because we are called to do so.

But, we are different because of the experience. Life rubs a little differently. With the help of God and the desire to do so, we learn enough, we grow enough, to find strength for letting it happen all over again.

The invitation is to Become… to discover, to reveal… to risk, not to Stay… And the call is to do this not blindly, but aware. Aware of where that love, that obedience to relationship, to authenticity, simplicity, and openness to transformation might lead…will lead… the cross of our salvation.

We have seen in the crucifixion of Jesus the transformation of a driving rain into light. A transformation only possible because of a Great Love. The love of God for a child of God-the love of Jesus for the whole of humanity, collectively and ever so personally-the love of the Spirit that we share among ourselves.

In the large, and the little, and the all…that is our liberation.

In our quotidian letting go and in our ultimate yes, we are loved that much.

So, why not risk?

Why not let go where we are called to let go and Become?

Collection Agent

For several hours today, there was the perfection of all that is most Spring. It was glorious. In the freedom of response that such beauty can inspire, I went on a wander in one of my favorite outdoor places-- The Farmers Market at Union Square. And, I went with an agenda...an indulgent agenda that brings me joy. I went collecting words.

Many others were present collecting bits and pieces that would transform into organic dinners whose very odors, tastes, and textures, will honor the grassy provenance of the ingredients. A mother and her young daughter went from booth to booth collecting samples of whatever was displayed on platters--from apples to "loose radishes--tops already removed!" to melon and goat cheese... and they even found broken sprigs of lavender to smell.

Another group was there to harvest photos. Photos of brashly confident root vegetables--parsnips and beets and turnips scuffed and creased with soil, leaves a bit raggedy, fully marvelous in form and color; flats of pansies grateful for a day to sail their winged petals into fresh wind; onions and potatoes so new I could imagine them blinking in the sun, amazed at the world.

But as for me... I wandered with my second notebook open, pen uncapped, delighting in the taste of the language set free in Springtime. Rununculus! Hydrangea, hyacinth, and the hong vit radish! Primula, pussywillow, Tuscan kale, cilantro! Sunchoke, Carola, LaRatte, Rose-val; Swiss chard, cippolini, butterscotch scones; narcissus, nasturtium, Italian parsely, mint; orchid, artichoke, and (my favorite) Dracaena Janet Smith, ("attractive plant; with age, resembles palm.")

Such living poetry! Such a deliciously textured extravagance of sound!

As I wandered, I could not help but think of the contrast between the sumptuous table laid out before me and the front section of the Times that I had read this morning. Bombs, soldiers, cracks in airplane fleets, uprisings, deaths, threats, bankruptcies, regime changes...

How to hold those two realities together... desperation and decadence... an extravagance of sound and a threatening silence...

I don't have an answer... but I have a notebook. And I will continue to make poetry as I move onward into the moments ahead.

Transfiguration

Perhaps it is my recent experience with a 30 day retreat. Perhaps it is being on the cusp of a new adventure in people and place. Perhaps it is simply that though it is Lent and not August, the second Sunday's cycle A Gospel reading has Peter, James, and John taking a hike up Tabor with Jesus. Whatever the reason, I had a long think today on Transfiguration and several things occurred to me.

One, death is not itself transfiguration. Transfiguration changes Life....changes living...ways of being...ways of seeing... It is an experience that might move from living through dying...but always into life again.

Another, Love is what transfigures. Love. Nothing else but this difficult and stunning honor.

And, more... it is something that asks in love for my freedom. I cannot be bound and be transfigured.

As well, it is not a once for all. It is a consistent draw, an enticing motivation toward being more and more free...

Which includes being willing to walk the valleys...openly...trusting in Love...to walk because of Love...to walk with, beside, toward, within...Love... believing that an unknown Greater Still awaits.

I tend to think of Jesus' baptism as the first transfiguration...and that it was personal. I imagine the dawning awareness that must have come upon Jesus...under the river water, the hands of a trusted friend bearing him, hearing the voice of God name him Beloved, name him Son... Love called him, named him, washed over and through...

The trip up the mountain was a call from Love to the others. “Look.” “Listen.” “Attend.” And, understandably, it was a little much. What did it take to have them rise again? The touch of Jesus, the physical, beckoning, reassurance of deepest understanding, most profound presence, deepest love. Time to go, can’t stay here on the mountain…things to do, valleys to walk. And yet, in spite of the marvel of what happened, the trio were asked to not say anything to others.

Which brings me to another insight. I can live open to transfiguration, but the timing is not mine to mark or plan.

Makes it all that much more an adventure, really…because, who knows what opportunity will become an invitation toward new life, given in love?

And what I know for sure is that it is an act of giving and receiving. That is part of what I experienced in that thirty day retreat. Giving in to my desire for walking in freedom; for forgoing fear; for walking openly into come what may. Receiving strength; receiving even more desire; receiving more of Love’s truth and beauty; knowing more intimately the weight and pain of loving as well and knowing that there is no other choice I’d rather make than choosing to live on in love's fullness. Transfiguration is the bend of the Mobius…the both-and…the challenge-grace…the already-not yet…human-divine…

Another word for that came to me as I prayed today. The Cross.

Ah. Perhaps that is why it does not feel out of place to climb a mountain in the desert of Lent.

Another Friday Five from RevGals!

Whether we liked it or not, we all "sprang forward" with the change to daylight savings time in the USA this past Sunday. There is lightness and brightness slipping in as spring approaches, so let us consider what is springing forth in our lives right now.

Name 5 things that are springing forth...

1. The croci are in foci! There's more than one I've seen...otherwise, it'd be the crocus is in focus...I've spied daffodils on the hills... Flowers in the bowers... pfloxes in boxes...Blooms in rooms... you get the idea!

2. New adventures in the freedom born from loving God, being loved by God, believing in that, and acting on a desire to keep walking on right into the midst of that, pasa lo que pasa.

3. A curious sense of the world being on a dangerous cusp of some sort.

4. In spite of the weariness that brings, a renewed and deepening call to be a person of listening and acting where need draws is also venturing forth.

5. And, really, a sense of stillness and peace within... the likes of which I have not known before... or perhaps, it is that I am experiencing them from a new place. Seeing a new side, the light glancing from a different facet of God...

Lent, 2011...or, Placards, the Paper, and Morning Ritual

I was running an errand after daily Mass at my parish and passed New York Foundling—founded by the Sisters of Charity in 1869 as a home for children, its “extensive network of community based services provides havens for children whose safety is at risk, loving foster and group facilities to protect children and support for families to strengthen them.” (from their website, www.nyfoundling.org)

There is a small placard fixed by their front door that I had never seen before earlier this week. On the placard is Foundling’s three word mission. Beautifully succinct, expressive of commitment, and above all, boldly clear—“Abandon No one.”

The simplicity of that, the stark call of that, prompted a shrug of my shoulder to lower my bag and fish around for pen and notebook, though in reality I knew I would not forget those words.

Several days later, I was on the 4/5/6 train headed downtown and noticed what I first thought were new “Poetry In Motion” signs posted above the seats. It turns out the quotations I was reading and enjoying were actually advertisements for a large, local, non-denominational Christian church. It might be better said that the cards were less advertisements than invitations… The one that prompted another pat down for pen and paper is this—“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing…to find the place where all beauty came from.” C.S. Lewis

Most mornings my ritual follows a similar pattern. I head downstairs, put the water on or make coffee, get the mug ready for either tea or coffee, fix a bowl of oatmeal, and take both of those along with my missal and notebook into the living room where I tuck into the corner of the couch to pray and begin the day. Within the first several sips, I hear the whack of the New York Times arriving. I retrieve it, sort out the sections, and return to my spot with the front pages. First, though, the readings in the missal…followed by the front section of the paper. It occurred to me this morning, how well those two things go together.

So often, what I read in the paper I can only consider with eyes and a heart of faith…the suffering of so many, the atrocities, the wild misunderstandings of self, others, and the world, that lead to behaviors that harm…as well as acts of heroism, beauty, and daily humanity that touch the soul and encourage the spirit. Today’s reading from Sirach begins, “Come to our aid, O God of the Universe, look upon us and show us the light of your mercies…hear the prayer of your servants, for you are ever gracious to your people.”

The Gospel of today says that there are those who are amazed and those who are afraid…and that greatness is known only in terms of service and self-giving…the measure is not riches, or well stocked niches, or knowledge…but a willingness to lay down one’s life for another… to live within the challenge and the grace of God’s love as made manifest in Jesus.

Next week is Ash Wednesday. Forty days from now, who can know or predict the state of our world, especially given recent events? Approaching Lent this year, my prayer is this: As we journey together, the people of God, the church, may I seek to abandon no one, but instead offer prayer and service in the way and substance of my life... May I set my eyes upon the mysterious and beckoning beauty of God alive within and among creation and not fear what I encounter as I walk openly into the unknown “more” God promises... May I live ever amazed by love and desiring to embody what I receive so generously.

V-Day

Yesterday, amidst the wandering multitude bearing stuffed animals, single flowers, whole arrangements, and balloons, and the father on the bus who handed his son one gummy worm at a time and said "Happy Valentines Day" with each wriggling sweet, I found myself considering love.

It was not the fizzy confection of love that I considered this day of chocolates and promises, but love in action...love within one's community--whether work, friends, family... Love that is sometimes a difficult honor, love that is challenge and grace, love that calls forth, is sustaining, generative, creative, and freeing.

I considered the Love of country that inspired the Egyptian youth to revolution. I contemplated the Love that will bring me to see my father again in the Spring. I recalled again the line in our vow formula..."trusting in the fidelity of God and in the love of my sisters..." I "went out" to friends around the world and offered gratitude for their friendship, their love, that makes me a better person and shows me more about God.

In a moment later in the day, I looked down and saw my ring and cross and was taken back several weeks to the prayer we had the night before our Profession. In that prayer, we each simply held our ring and our cross together, silently. That was the first time I had ever contemplated the two symbols together. In the two is the Complete Love to which I give my life and the Complete Love which I receive and from which nothing can ever separate me.

This is the Love that stretches and challenges, the Love that has no beginning and no end, except in God. Then, I found myself repeating a prayer... May I live as God loves me and may I love as God lives in me... wholly, deeply, widely, freely, and with joy.

Happy Valentines Day, world.