Lent – Spirit Reflections

In Between ~ Welcome 4

April 16, 2022

Thank you to those of you who have followed my prayer and spiritual reflections this Lenten Season. I have tried—and continue to try—the three basic tenets of Zen Peacemaking: the not knowing what will happen at any point in time; the bearing witness to all the different feelings (“parts”) of us without judgment but with compassion; and taking action in any situation as a thoughtful response instead of a reaction: https://zenpeacemakers.org/the-three-tenets/.

Along with that practice, I have incorporated the Welcoming Prayer, as together we’ve looked at the spiritual concept of “relinquishment,” of being able to let go of those things/people we think we can control or fix and to instead open our hands to accept what IS while making room for the Divine Spirit to pray for and with us often wordlessly, “in sighs too deep for words” (Romans 8:26). None of these actions includes apathy or fatalism. We aren’t called to be doormats and victims. Instead, we are invited to listen to our deepest selves and to live in this ever-changing, often broken and dark world, from a place of serenity and calm that then influences the choices we make.

This Saturday before Easter is an in-between time, a waiting time, but not, no, a passive time. God, by whatever name we choose, does God’s best work in the dark. By being led in the ways of peacemaking and grounded in the prayer of acceptance, we find that resurrection in all its many forms does happen.

May new life flourish with you. And speaking of new life, I will be taking some time away from this blog to discern and listen for what the Spirit is inviting me to do next: to continue with this format, to concentrate more on my poetry, to produce a newsletter, or to do something entirely different. I ask your prayers, and I will let you know where I am led. Thank you so very much for walking with me. ~ Blessings, Rosemary

Listen
When the wind blows across your skin, listen
for the voice of an ancestor
guiding you toward your dream.

When you catch the glimpse of silver
dancing across the waves, listen
for the ancient secret that directs your path.

Listen to the way the breeze forms grooves
in the sand and learn about the symmetry
of your own life.

Listen to the way the pelican
rides on the currents or glides
across a cloudless sky, inviting you
to let go.

Listen to the hibiscus when it
unfurls its orange petals to receive
the Light, holding its breath at its own glory
and be amazed at each bright word
it utters.

Listen to your own heartbeat,
what it calls you to remember
and listen for the One
seeking that same heart.

Listen and become the sacred vessel
that treasures each sound it’s given
with reverent awe.

Welcome, Welcome ~2

April 2, 2022

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

This poem, The Second Coming, was penned by the great Irish poet William Butler Yeats in response to Bloody Sunday, the aftermath of the Irish revolution of 1916, and the continuing quest for independence from England. Yet how relevant it is for this day, this world, as the inhumane Russian invasion of Ukraine continues and so much radical division exists in our world. How can the “centre” hold?

Much of my Lenten journey this season has been focused on how to stay grounded to the center, which, for me, is God. For others, it might be something or someone else. Today, I continue to look at the Welcoming Prayer, a contemplative prayer that invites a Greater Power (in my case, the Spirit of God) to work within us to let go those things that keep us imbalanced. The first “relinquishment” is power and control. The second is the relinquishment of “affection, affirmation, and approval.” As I said previously, the Welcoming Prayer is not easy because it goes against all we’ve been taught to cling to and obtain.

From our birth, we long to have people love us, like us, admire us, reward us, and praise us. Perhaps you are like me, raised on the mantra, “What will the neighbors think?” and so have spent too much energy doing everything you can to make sure the neighbors (parents, spouses, partners, bosses, co-workers, friends) can only approve and admire. Maybe you, too, have been shamed for being judged as “less than” and have felt the keen edge of another’s disappointment in you or disapproval of you. Many of us choose professions where we can work hard to earn others’ love and esteem by what we do, and so meeting those expectations becomes our first, and impossible, goal. Being first, being best, being loved, being admired, being on top of that rickety pedestal is what drives us. It is exhausting. It is an illusion.

Consider this wisdom written by Thomas a Kempis in The Imitation of Christ:

A person who cares nothing for praise or blame knows great inward peace….Praise does not make you holier than you are, nor blame more wicked. You are exactly what you are, and cannot ever be any better or worse than that, in the eyes of God. Attend to what is really within you, then, and you will not care what others say of you. People look at externals, but God looks at the heart. They weigh actions; God knows your intent….To feel no need of human support and assurance is a mark of inward confidence – of those who truly walk with God in their hearts.

“Attend to what is really within you, then, and you will not care what others say about you.” I am attending to writing this blog and composing poetry that brings some degree of solace and beauty into this world. I have little idea of who reads it or whether it has any impact. I know others who think I “should” (always watch out for the “shoulds”; they are another person’s agenda for you) be doing something more “productive.” So the truth and challenge of a Kempis’ words relies on our awareness and trust that what is within us is our unique belovedness. We are loved and valued by the One who created us, and nothing we do, or others think, can separate us from that love. We may walk away from Love, but Love does not walk away from us. So we can let go of our need and striving for transitory affection, affirmation, and approval as we pray, “I relinquish my desire for affirmation, affection, and approval. Welcome, welcome, welcome,” and sit quietly, making room for the transformative power of that which is greater than us.

Look to the spiritual leaders and see how they let go of what others thought. Look to the Christ, who kept his eyes on his purpose, not on what others thought of him. Letting go is not an easy prayer to make, but it is a way to greater freedom and a path toward holding to the center.

Walking with you ~ Rosemary

Journey Blessing

Wherever you are
on your particular ancient path
may you give up expectations,
your own and others,
of what you “should be,”
when you “should have” arrived,
what you “should have” accomplished
by now
along with worry over whether
you have truly achieved
enoughness.

May you leave behind those expectations,
your own and others,
stuffed in the carry-always luggage
you dread hoisting
once more above your head
into the compartment
already filled
with bundles and backpacks
of those who could not
unpack.

May you honestly assess
what you have chosen to carry:
old records coated in dust,
ingrained “shoulds” that did not
arise from your own innocent soul,
snapshots yellowing with age
of what people think of you,
manipulations and mind-traps
of every weight and shape
to make you into another’s image.

May you rummage through your luggage
with courage and keep only
what is you,
by you, of you, and then
may you love yourself enough
to set your suitcase aside,
trusting the lightness
of what is precious
to lead you freely onward.

Photo credit: Pixabay

Welcome, Welcome

March 28, 2022

If you have never wanted to control a person or fix a situation, if you have never wanted to step in and take over because you knew your way was best, if you have never tossed and turned in the night because of worry, then raise your hand. That’s what I thought. As humans, we all want some degree of power and we all want to be in control of our lives. Our many cultures teach us that power and control are the ultimate achievements. But are they? Or are they simply illusions that control us?

Today, O Lord, I yield myself to You.
May Your will be my delight today.
May You have perfect sway in me.
May your love be the pattern of my living.

In these forty days before Easter, this Lenten season, I have been sharing my journey about practicing (practicing being the operative word) surrender and acceptance. Today’s blog explores a Christian form of contemplative prayer called The Welcoming Prayer. Contemplative prayer is often wordless prayer where, instead of dictating our desires to God (power and control?), we surrender our own voices and open ourselves to the work of the Spirit in our hearts: “For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words” (Romans 8:26).

The Welcoming Prayer is a prayer of surrender and acceptance, two behaviors quite countercultural in today’s world. Surrender is the act of moving ourselves aside; acceptance is being receptive to what is. This prayer is a prayer of relinquishment, of letting go of what we so often hold tightly. It is not an easy prayer.

I surrender to You my hopes, my dreams, my ambitions.
Do with them what You will, when You will, as You will.

The first step in The Welcoming Prayer is to settle ourselves quietly and “welcome” the Spirit, or the Christ, or God, or Allah, or the Buddha, or Nature, or whatever is we believe is the source of Divine Love. Our first surrender is this: I relinquish my desire for power and control. Welcome, welcome, welcome. Then we sit in the silence for a few minutes, surrendering everything or everyone we are trying to control and releasing where we are fighting for power over others. We let it all go, and welcome in its place Love. This is not an easy prayer.

I place into Your loving care my family, my friends, my future.
Care for them with a care that I can never give.

For the last four years, my adult daughter has walked through fire. Her journey has included a toxic work environment where she was emotionally and verbally harassed, a divorce, a job change that took her across the country during the worst days of the pandemic, working remotely over a year in a city where she knew no one, and now dealing with an immature and jealous co-worker who is undermining her work. I cannot count the number of times I have wanted to tell her “what do to” or how she “should” respond or what other courses of action she could take. I have tossed and turned with worry over her. I have wanted to fly to be with her and fix her problems. But . . . I . . . cannot. Her journey is her journey, and I, while I will always be present to her, have to relinquish (surrender) my desire for power and control (as if those will make everything all right, anyway), and accept that this is where she is right now. I have to take myself out of the equation in order to give space to Divine Love to show me how to respond with love, wisdom, and care. This relationship is simply one example of the many situations in which I crave control and power, yet I know that that craving is not leading me where I want to be spiritually. Control and power do not make me a gift to this world.

I release into Your hands my need to control, my craving for status, my fear of obscurity.

Seeking to relinquish power and control and “fixing” is not the same as being apathetic, uncaring, or giving up. It is, instead, an acquiescence that God is God and I am not, that in reality, I am powerless over everything except how I choose to respond in this life.

Eradicate the evil, purify the good, and establish Your Kingdom on earth.
For Jesus’ sake, Amen.

The prayer which I have quoted here is the Prayer of Relinquishment composed by the Quaker theologian and spiritual author and teacher, Richard Foster. It is not an easy prayer, yet it is a prayer for a more loving and peaceful world. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

Walking with you ~ Rosemary

A Way to Be: Bearing Witness

March 11, 2022

The Table

You know these voices,
if you have ears to hear.
They are legion, whispering
(or shouting) within you
desperate to be noticed,
coming from all corners
of your life, east and west,
north and south, from infancy,
to old age, and all the seasons
in between,
soloists tugging at
your sleeve for attention.
You wonder why they bother
you and what they want
while you try to swat at them
like so many buzzing gnats
and go your unlived way.
It is, after all, so much easier
pretending to be deaf, instead
of inviting them in for tea,
laying your table
with a freshly pressed cloth,
fetching the fine china cups,
the ones you keep in the glass-
fronted cabinet,
or even the chipped mug,
brewing the tea and baking
the cookies. But if you did
greet them as guests,
what would you say to each
voice, each self, that approaches
your table with caution
and desire? Maybe your only
role as host is to be silent,
do nothing but pour the tea,
pass the cookies, listen
to their stories unfolding
like morning glories,
exchanging compassion
for the gift they bring,
the wisdom of your own
unique life.

You may be familiar with this story: An old Cherokee Indian chief was teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he told the young boy, “a fight between two wolves. The Dark one is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The Light Wolf is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you and inside of every other person on the face of this earth.” The grandson pondered this for a moment and then asked, “Grandfather, which wolf will win?” The old man simply said, “The one you feed.”

During this season of Lent, as I consider my own choices, my own life, I am looking beyond my spiritual traditions and exploring the three tenets of Zen Peacemaking as a way of being in this often turbulent and always changing world. The poem and this story are both examples of the power of the second Zen tenet: bearing witness. (See the previous blog for the first tenet, “Not Knowing” https://spirit-reflections.org/2022/03/07/a-way-to-be-not-knowing/). When we bear witness, we acknowledge all the different feelings, or parts of ourselves, that arise at any given moment, whether it be full of joy or suffering, or somewhere in between. We wake up to the current situation and give attention to whatever feelings, thoughts, or judgments arise, without condemning or stuffing any of them, but instead deciding which one we will attend to, or, as the Cherokee grandfather says, “feed.” What comes out of our mouths, as Christ said, reveals what is truly in our hearts (Matthew 15:18).

“When you bear witness you open to the uniqueness of whatever is arising and meet it just as it is. When combined with not-knowing, bearing witness can strengthen your capacity for spaciousness, thus enabling you to be present to the very things that make you feel as if you have lost your center.”

As the first tenet confirms, we cannot know for certain what will happen next, not even in the next minute of our lives. (The trout lily, pictured above, did not know yesterday that today it would be covered in a late snow.) But we do know that something will happen and whatever that something is, it may open a wide range of feelings, attitudes, opinions, and biases. Bearing witness asks that we hear all those voices and respect them for whatever wisdom or lessons they may bring, and then we decide which one we will feed.

“Bearing witness can allow you to eventually come to terms with the most difficult life circumstances. The practice is always available to you regardless of the time, place, situation, or people involved. There is nothing that you cannot bear witness to, from dusting the lint off your sweater to living in a pit for two years.”

With the possibility of a growing war, and in the midst of so much division, to live from the center of our lives, to live in balance, to be able to respond to these present times instead of react, to choose what brings Light instead of Darkness, may be the single most important gift we can give to our world.

Walking with you ~ Rosemary

Quoted material from Zen Peacemakers: https://zenpeacemakers.org/the-three-tenets/.

A Way to Be: Not Knowing

March 7, 2022

I won’t speak for you, but I want to know how the war in Ukraine is going to end. I want to know now. I want to know if we are through with the crisis of Covid-19 or if another variant will emerge this spring or summer or fall with all its turmoil and grief. I want to know now. I want to know if I will still be alive tonight as I begin to think about our evening meal, and I want to know now. Our desire for certainty masks our false sense of control because the truth is that we cannot know what is going to happen next. We may predict, but we cannot know.

In the Not Knowing

It is a bright March afternoon
foreshadowing the spring to come
but not yet.
Forecasters predict possible
tornadic activity, falling temperatures
for tomorrow.

At this present time, with the presence of war, life feels very unstable, but life has always been unstable. This reality is not something any of us wants to easily admit. We also don’t want to accept that our biases, our convictions, our perceptions that may have influenced us since our births are not the only “true” ones and that our personal biases, convictions, and perceptions are not what make the world go round.

I barely catch a glimpse of them
as I drive by. The red blanket
spread on the green lawn
catches my eye, the young woman
sitting there, head tilted back
in laughter, dark hair spilling
down her yellow sweater.

Accepting our not knowing, then, becomes a spiritual practice and a way of staying grounded in the flux of our ever-changing, unpredictable world and lives. In the Zen tradition, not knowing involves letting go of our rigid perceptions about ourselves, others, and the world, releasing all our “isms”: racism, sexism, classism, etc. It is a form of compassion that involves meeting life without any preconceived ideas, interpretations, or judgments. In the Christian tradition, not knowing is similar to the practice of Centering Prayer where we sit in silence, empty ourselves of ourselves, and allow the Spirit to pray and work within us, without our interference. Not knowing can be expressed in many forms of mindfulness, meditation, and other types of contemplative prayer and practice that guide us to a place of stillness ( where “I AM” dwells) and that help us to stay in the present moment, where Truth resides. Not knowing does not lead to indifference, indecision, inaction or complacency but instead helps us to become more aware of what we choose to let in and more open to what we might have previously excluded.

A jean-clad man, standing on the edge
of the blanket, smiles, holds
a basket while a chestnut-colored
Lab lounges at the woman’s feet,
the trio complete.

In this Lenten Season, as a way of being, the practice of not knowing, of giving up any self-righteousness, rigidity, and control resonates with me. It is also a way to make real the peace that the Christ promised, a peace that is “not as the world gives . . . so do not let your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:26–27).

This moment is all they know
all they need to know-
a front yard picnic
on a bright March day-
none of us knowing what tomorrow
will bring.

Image credit: Pixabay

A Way to Be

March 2, 2022

In the Christian tradition, today, Ash Wednesday, marks the beginning of the six-week period called Lent and is a day to ponder our own mortality. Considering the last two years of perpetual Lent co-existing with the pandemic, it seems sometimes that pondering our own mortality is all we have been doing. And now, with the war in Ukraine and the possibility of that war extending throughout Europe and even beyond, Ash Wednesday feels redundant. We get it. We are all going to die. Besides that, what can we really do about any of these trials and tribulations?

I have been pondering that question, and the answer I have received is twofold: I can continue to create, and I can continue to pray. I have read several bloggers recently who lament that they cannot write their stories, poems, essays because of the weight of this current darkness. Yes, it is difficult because there are no words that can make any sense out of war. Further, does what we write even matter? But what I hear is, “Keep writing anyway.” Keep creating because creating is an act of life. Keep offering whatever it is you have to offer because the rest of us need to witness that faithful resilience.

And I also hear “Keep praying.” I admit that prayer is tricky and that I sometimes wonder if prayer “works,” but “works” is a human term, not a spiritual one. Prayer is an admission, or humble realization, that there is indeed something/someone larger, more infinite, more caring than any of us can ever be. However we choose to pray, prayer grounds us, roots us, in each other and in God (by whatever name we each call God) and in this crazed, white-water world, I need grounding. I need to know I am not alone.

So, on this first day of Lent, when so many of us are tired, frightened, or at a loss for words, I offer a prayer. God breathed God’s name with the two-syllable word “Yahweh.” The country we currently hold in our hearts has a two-syllable name, Ukraine. I breathe in “Yah” and breathe out “weh.” I breathe in “U” and breathe out “Kraine.” I trust that the One Who is Bigger than Us will fill in the blanks.

I honestly do not know what else to do except to be, and “being” includes, for me, creating and praying. I remind myself that the word Lent comes for an old Germanic word meaning “spring,” and with spring come new life and hope. Winter cannot last forever.

“Being” with you this Lent ~ Rosemary

Morning Prayer

And this is prayer:
The black cat perched
on my lap this new morning
silky fur against one hand
the weight and aroma of the coffee mug
in the other
as we two creatures gaze
at Spring’s emerald leaves
clapping together
in the early breeze.
Only yesterday, it seems,
bare branches alone reached heavenward
but today hickory and elm wear veils of green
in praise before the Creator.
The cat purrs,
I lift my palms,
both offering our amen.

Friday of Holy Week: Love

April 2, 2021

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. 1 Cor. 13:13

Crucifixion, Basilica de la Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain

Sadhu Sundar Singh was an Indian Christian, evangelist, and mystic who lived in the early part of the 20^th century and often trekked through the Himalayan mountains to share the good news of the love of Jesus Christ with remote villagers. He told the following story of how creation can reflect the love of Christ, especially in suffering, which is appropriate this Good Friday as we continue to rise from ashes in order to bring love to our deepest selves and into the world, no matter the cost:

“Once, as I traveled through the Himalayas, there was a great forest fire. Everyone was frantically trying to fight the fire, but I noticed a group of men standing and looking up into a tree that was about to go up in flames. When I asked them what they were looking at, they pointed up at a nest full of young birds. Above it, the mother bird was circling wildly in the air and calling out warnings to her young ones. There was nothing she or we could do, and soon the flames started climbing up the branches.

As the nest caught fire, we were all amazed to see how the mother bird reacted. Instead of flying away from the flames, she flew down and settled on the nest, covering her little ones with her wings. The next moment, she and her nestlings were burnt to ashes. None of us could believe our eyes. I turned to those standing by and said: ‘We have witnessed a truly marvelous thing. God created that bird with such love and devotion, that she gave her life trying to protect her young. If her small heart was so full of love, how unfathomable must be the love of her Creator. That is the love that brought him down from heaven to become man. That is the love that made him suffer a painful death for our sake.’”

I cannot say anything more or better than the Sadhu has done in this parable. My faith and my hope are grounded on the conviction that it is that kind of love, lived out in us, that will save us from ourselves and save our world. It is that kind of love expressed by the people I choose to follow and emulate. It is that kind of sacrificial and unconditional love that the resurrection is about.

We end our Lenten journey with this blog today to sit in the silence that Good Friday invites. I thank you, those I know and those I have never met, for sharing part of the walk with me. May resurrections abound in your own lives, and may we all recognize each new beginning as gift from the Divine Source who created us simply out of desire. May we each be brave enough to love. Blessings ~ Rosemary

Resurrection, Basilica de la Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain

Wednesday of Holy Week: Hope

March 31, 2021

Midway through Holy Week, consider the millions, if not billions, of prayers lifted by candleflame through the ages. The steadfastness of the flame offers the comfort of hope as its smoke wafts toward heaven, a visual sign that our prayer is being lifted, noticed, even heard. Our control is released and entrusted to the Creator of All.

In a similar way, Holy Week is a prayer lifted to heaven. We have endured the rigors of Lent, of the transitional season, not just for the past six weeks but for the past year. We have witnessed what Christ witnessed two thousand years ago when he taught us to pray—his beloved children on the boundaries, the marginalized, the broken, the poor, the bereft, the sick, the dying, the homeless—begging to be noticed, to be significant, to have their prayers heard. And in our inward journeys, we have recognized our broken and neglected places, our shadows and light, also seeking to be heard and healed.

The reality of Holy Week is that we cannot fully appreciate healing, resurrection, or fulfilled hope if we haven’t first entered our own gardens of uncertainty, disillusionment, and fear. We cannot rise from the ashes if we, like Christ, don’t raise our emptied hands in acceptance and trust. Just as the journey to the cross was not an easy one, neither is the journey of transformation, within ourselves and without in our world. And so we pray. When we, like Christ, surrender to the unknown in trust and love, and move forward with opened arms, we discover the same Divine Love found in Christ. In our Holy of Holies, in our deepest deep, lies the core of hope, the hope that resurrection and new life do happen and will happen.

The final meal still awaits. So do the bitter garden of tears, and betrayal, the unjust system, the deceitful politics, the humiliation and the sacrifice. We pray Holy Week when we lift in prayers of hope all those whom Christ came to serve, when we lift our own brokenness, knowing that Jesus Christ experienced and felt much of the same. We pray Holy Week when we seek the wisdom and courage to end the unjust systems and corrupt politics that make gods of power and greed. May we finish this journey with Christ as a prayer wafting to heaven, reflecting on the words found in Hebrews 6: 18b-19: “Hold fast to the hope that lies before us. This we have as an anchor of the soul, sure and firm, which reaches into the interior behind the veil.” Blessings ~ Rosemary

Charade?

March 26, 2021

In this transitional time between seasons, as the harshness of winter is left behind and the hope of spring begins to bloom, we have journeyed together from ashes to hope. So many faith traditions present us with an opportunity to journey within and assess who we really are at the center of our being where Divine Love abides. Acknowledging that Love, we then reflect on how we are mirroring it in our own lives and in our own environments.

For Christians, this season of Lent has been an intentional time of focusing on the Divine Love that we call Christ. In two days, those of us who call ourselves by the name Christian will remember Christ’s triumphant arrival into the city of Jerusalem, on the final stretch of his journey. We will wave our palm branches and shout “Hosanna,” welcoming Jesus during this final stretch of Lent we call “Holy Week.” We will visualize Jesus on that colt—not even a donkey or a horse—as the crowds lay their cloaks before him as if he were royalty, as if he were a king, as if he were “somebody.” The question for us is how well we have grown to know him these last six weeks.

Jesus understands one basic truth throughout this episode. No one knows who he is at all. There, in the midst of crowds, at the height of his popularity, scores of people packed around him, he is most isolated. No one knows who he is. No one.

Of course, like us, each person in the crowd believes he or she knows who Jesus is. Each person comes with his or her own label or expectation. To some in the crowd, Jesus is the next king, the Jewish Messiah who will topple the government of Rome and bring Jerusalem and all the country back under Israeli rule. . . . They are wrong. . . and so they will turn on him.

To others, even his own disciples, he is the greatest Rabbi ever, the greatest prophet since Elijah, whose instructions will straighten out corruption and set all things right. . . . They are wrong. . . and so they will betray or abandon him or flee from him.

Perhaps to others waving palms, Jesus is popular because he is the Great Magician who turned water into wine and walked on the sea and made a banquet out of a handful of bread and fish. They can’t wait to see what great feat he will accomplish next. . . . But, they are wrong. . . and so they taunt him and spit on him.

And to still others, this man riding on a colt—not even a donkey or a horse—is a mockery of who they are. He is a threat to their positions of power, greed, priesthood, privilege, and authority. He is out to displace them with his group of rebel-rousers . . . They, too, are wrong. . . and so they frame him.

Yes, on the day of Jesus’ so-called “triumph,” he will be well aware that no one really knows who he is—the sacrificial Passover Lamb, the one who has come to suffer in their place, not to usurp their places, the one who is both man and God, both terrified and resolute. Once the crowds begin to realize that Jesus’ intention is not to become King or the greatest rabbi or a famous magician, or even a rebel, they turn on him. Once they realize that he is nothing other than a suffering servant, useless to them, they back away, and the rustle of the wind through all those palm branches fades to silence. This grim reality is what Palm Sunday is about. The grand parade is a false and broken charade.

Having journeyed together in this blog the last several weeks, on the final stretch of our Lenten walk, do any of us know who Jesus is–or whoever our holy guide is–any better than we did the first Sunday of Lent, or last year at this time, or ten years ago? Do we know ourselves any better? Are we like some of those in the crowd, clutching the same set of labels and expectations for whatever name we call God that we have hauled around all our lives because we did not take the time to get to know him better this season, or we did not want to make the effort to know him, or we believe we have Jesus pegged? Or are we all simply play-acting? To know the Holy is to be transformed by the Holy. Palm Sunday is a tough day because it begs us to admit that all too often we are part of that crowd who one day shouts “Hosanna” and the next day betrays or abandons Jesus, or Yahweh, or Allah, or . . . . even our deepest selves.

So here Jesus will be, on a colt—not even a donkey or a horse–nodding his head at each one of us, catching our eye, seeing us as we really are, better than we can even see ourselves, and he knows where this road will lead in just a short while—to an excruciating and humiliating death on a cross. He knows some of us may one day understand the extent of his love and some of us won’t. He knows that some of us will want to continue following him and some of us won’t. He realizes that some of us will desire to know him even more deeply, and some of us won’t. He knows that some of us will be changed by the entire parade and the week that follows, and some of us won’t. And yet Jesus still rides on, on that silly colt, because the love he has is unconditional, and even if we do not know him, he knows us. And he understands. Blessings. ~ Rosemary

Interruptions

March 17, 2021

“Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.” (Genesis 28:16)

Interruptions can be the bane of life. How many times have you been engrossed in a task or been working against the clock only to have someone call, text, or show up, needing your attention now? How did you respond? Those moments can be real tests of patience. We modern people are geared for efficiency—getting things done and getting them done this instant. Time is a premium. All you interrupters, leave us alone, please. We have more important things to do. But where do those “more important” things really get us? Or bless us? Or bless others? Or have a lasting impact?

I have had many an interruption in my life as a mother, a wife, a writer, and a pastor. I admit that too many times I chose efficiency over love. I needed to get dinner made, finish a project, write a sermon, plan a worship service. I couldn’t play right now, sit down with my spouse, or listen to a problem at that moment. Make an appointment, please. Yes, sometimes the clock is ticking and we really can’t be interrupted, but too often we miss the presence, that one single moment in time that will never repeat itself, of being with another person, of being with the One we call God. We miss the gift of the sacred moment.

As we continue our journey through Lent and focus on giving to instead of giving up, I want to see interruptions in a different light and be thankful for them. I want to be able to stop whatever my efficiency-driven brain is doing and give to another—extend myself, my time, and my attention. Interruptions can be transformed from tests of patience into opportunities of sharing and receiving. It is often in there that Love is revealed, that a message from the Creator is offered, that the gift of presence is truly a blessing. Then we, like Jacob of the Old Testament with too much on his mind, can say with wonder, “Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it.” Blessings of interruptions to you. ~ Rosemary

Contemplation with Cat

Dear Cat, who asked you here
into my time of prayer
and up to my empty lap?
I did not invite your rumbling purr
to vibrate within my silence
nor did I request ten sharp nails
to knead my thigh while I attempt
to center, to settle, to be.
O Tabby One, you may quit circling
round and round like restless thoughts
that I am anxious to release. Do not
shove, once again, against
the sacred prayer book to plant
your face upon my chest or anchor
your leg across my arm as if
to claim me. Those moss green
eyes must cease their languid
steady blinking mirrored
in my own, your feline ways
an interruption intent to sway me
from my aim to pray, to sit,
to allow Silence her place,
Love its own seat,
Worship to mimic
the echo of my heart. I should
set you aside and close
the door. Yet here you are
flesh, bone, and vocal chords,
a muff on which to rest
open hands, a chorus
of pleasure rising from your body,
a solid symbol that it is in the very
moment of what is
that I AM delights
to welcome me.