just because your destination is gone; arriving at the gate that was nonexistent

top of the a fence post at the Jesuit Center; June 2015; Wayne Stratz

So did I turn back, nope. (see this post about walking to a nonexistent gate)

While the gate was gone, I kept walking. My eye was drawn to the iron fence on either side of the entrance to the Jesuit Center in Wernersville. I started taking photos, until... 

"What are you doing over there!"

The man in the pickup truck was curious. Once I explained who I was and what I was up to, then he explained who he was. A Jesuit, not in charge of spiritual direction, but in charge of the grounds was in the pickup truck. All those stops along the way to the nonexistent fence had created this timely encounter.

"What happened to the fence?"  I guess I had broken Silence, but hey, the Jesuit in the pickup truck had started the conversation.

"Damaged" "Again" "Being restored" "Again" "Hundreds of years old" "From Europe" "Tired of being damaged" "Uncertainty of its future home at the center." "But... it will be used on the grounds"

And thus, by being nonexistent, it became known;

Wordless at the Well

Jazz on Tuesdays--- Jazz in Detroit

photo by Bunky's Pickle's

Mosaic Woman and I don't watch much TV these years, but my love of sports can lead me to watch the Phillies in the World Series, or a Super Bowl Game. The two minute Chrysler commercial was so well made and so different from most of the nonsensical ads that it caught my eye. This blog post reminded me of the feelings it tried to evoke.

Of course if you read the comments under the video you will read all kinds of rants, but I was filled with hope for anyone or any place that has to rebuild after hard times. To remember that beauty remains in harsh moments is a fine lesson for all of us to remember. I showed the commercial to Mosaic Woman and she decided to explore Detroit's beauty in a blog post that features one amazing stained glass chandelier and mosaics (shocking). As she was creating her post I kept wanting to say, hey find some jazz in Detroit, but stopped myself knowing that was my post not hers...

Born In Detroit:

Kenny Burrell (born exactly 32 years before me) plays guitar with John Coltrane.





Jazz Radio:

Just like Philly, Detroit has a station that plays classical during the daytime and jazz at night. WRCJ, which is housed with in a public high school: The Detroit School of the Arts where students get amazing opportunities like this:




Detroit Jesuit Jazz:

now who would have thought I would find something like this:




The Detroit International Jazz Festival:

If you have never been to Detroit (like myself), here is a reason to get there.





and to where the commercial ends:

How cool would it be to see a Big Band make this place jump and jive?

photo by Toby Simkin


...

Fridays in PA--- a place for silence, The Jesuit Center

As seen in during my recent time of silence at the Jesuit Center in Wernersville, PA


a flower that greeted me upon my arrival, and yes, the name is on the tip of my tongue.



no surprise to find a mosaic in the bunch, but I am not sure who the wavy hair dude is???


waiting for the moon to rise, I went down a grassy hill and came across Mary.


Caught my eye from the hallway, so I plopped my self onto the ground a shot from a distance.



This I found in a room at the front of the center dedicated to Walter J. Ciszek S.J.


As I was gathering acorns a woman walked the path taking her to all the stations of the cross.


Where the hymns were found.


The desk upon which I doodled. I cleared a space to take a photo of the slogan of the Rochester Jazz Festival.


a lamp

going deeper... back on the boat

My first imaginative prayer involving a boat took me to this deep place. But my spiritual director kept insisting I take what was happening and go deeper. She desired that what was happening on this retreat would be deeply rooted, so she sent me back to a boat, to Jesus.

Luke 5:1-11 Jesus is preaching, "when he caught sight of two boats."

Simon/Peter says, "Leave me Lord I am a sinful man."

Simon is on one of the boats and his response comes when he receives a great gift, by going deep. Throw those nets into the deep water. What will you find? Will your calling be found? Will your name be changed? Will you tell the giver to leave you alone?

The meditation read... "I ask the Lord to show me where he is calling me to put out anew; to go deeper into my calling"

So I ask God, is it this, is it that, is it here, is it there. When I pause, I get an answer... two words: stained glass.

So I say, but I have gone deeper God, I blog, cut, facebook, design, flickr, solder, twitter, foil, grind, newsletter, craft show ... where else can I go?

Peter says, "there are no fish in this sea"

God says, "but what underlies this business, go deeper, throw in the nets, look at the pile of thank you notes piling up on your desk. Go deeper and think about how I have called you to bring joy, peace, and hope into the lives of those you come upon in your life. Go deeper. Where does your love for design, color and glass come from? Go deeper, what are you going to do with this gift? When you go into your studio, do you give thanks for these talents? Do you accept the fact that your art can touch lives? Go deeper."

I say, "Leave me Lord, I am a sinful man."

God says, "Be quite fool. Listen. This is why I told you to bring stained glass to Wernersville. This is why I gave you the strength to make over 60 cards. Make stained glass."

a few hours later, I unwrap a new eraser, which I had bought 4 hours before leaving on the retreat, and pick up a pencil. I imagine a design in my head. After not designing stained glass patterns all week, I will leave the retreat with one...

...

Silence with music

Giggles asked...Does silence count if you are listening to your ipod??

Yes it does.

When I am at the Jesuit Center I take music to listen to. It stays in my room except when I go to the exercise room. The Jesuits provide a music room that has a piano, a stereo and music to play on the stereo. There have been times I have sat in the hallway listening to another silent person play piano. So, I see no problem with listening to music in my room.

On my first 8 day retreat I was told some good advice---- when praying, try to last for an hour during each of the three daily prayer times. When not praying, don't pray. give it a break. This is not always possible, but it is more so if one has distractions.

I was also advised against bringing novels and books on spirituality (though they sell these in the book store). I was advised to read a biography if anything. I do little reading, other than my Bible.

so what do I do when not praying, eating, talking with my director, sleeping, or attending the daily mass...

exercise, walk, art work---- lots and lots of art work, math puzzles, shoot pool (and I have had games against other silent folk), play basketball, swim, be massaged, slam a tennis ball against a handball wall, and ...

listen to music especially when doing art work.

now. if I could find a way to be silent when calling Mosaic Woman each evening to say goodnight. and no, a text message just would not meet her needs.

Phlox tribute

Phlox tribute
Originally uploaded by stratoz

After gardening at work and home this spring it was truly strange to leave them to listen to jazz, and then to be silent retreat guy. I did lose some sleep the first night at the retreat center, but an e-mail to a friend at work was what the doctor ordered. It turned into a family affair as her sister, mom and dad would visit the garden in the evening to give the plants some water. In gratitude I said, "some weeding would have been nice."

Mosaic woman kept an eye on things at home, and every night when I briefly broke silence, usually in the UCC cemetery next to the Jesuits, she would tell me that no rain had fallen. She also told me what was flowering, and what looked ill.

Returning home, I stopped by the school, watered inside my classroom, and checked in with Mosaic Woman as I walked about the veggies. I told the plants I would be back and headed home. At home I checked out the garden, and looked up what appeared to be causing the illness.

The next two mornings I spent gardening at the school, trying to get caught up a bit, but could not go out into my own garden, because I knew what I had to do. I had to kill a plant. On Wednesday, I threw it into the garbage.

Earlier in human history including Biblical times it would have been burnt which is what Jesus says will happen to those vines that don't produce. I don't see it as hell, just using best horticultural practices in his metaphor.

And removing that plant was humane. The plant was going to die, and letting it live out it's days only threatened the health of those around it. Luckily for us, there is something called forgiveness. We can get as spiritually diseased as we can manage, but God will take us back. There was and are times in my life when I am not exactly bearing good fruit. I hope God remembers the fig tree, so that I will have an advocate that says, "give it another year. Lets give it some manure (Love) and see what comes forth."

Natus, Ingressus, Orbit, RIP

I am deciding which path to take back to the retreat center when I hear a gaggle of teens. I pause baffled by their presence and then decide I do not want to pass them and I do not want them to pass me. Seeing a stone wall that looks inviting I sit with my back to a cemetery. The teens pass, one sees me and now it is their turn to be baffled by the man with a pony tail sitting on a rock wall. They move on but soon stop by a pond. I decide to go the other way.



I have walked by this cemetery so many times, but unlike the UCC cemetery that is at the top of the hill behind the retreat center, I have never entered it. Now I do.



The dates at first shock me, but it makes sense with the reality I face here at Wernersville. There are less and less retired Jesuits eating next to us these days. 28 marked graves from 2002 till the present. Three new graves without markers.



Whenever I get here, I am told that the retired Jesuits pray for us. We who have come to retreat from everyday life. To be silent. To find God in our stilled beings. I realize that there are 28 men buried here, many or all may have prayed for me. It is time to give thanks.



Natus, Ingressus, Orbit. Three dates below their names tell their story. RIP is the hope that ends it. I am caught by seeing July 30th. A special day for mosaic woman and I. The day that separates our birthday. Three graves in a row are of Jesuits who have the same middle date on their stones. They joined the Jesuits together and now rest in peace side by side.



I move on.



In my room, on my bed, I listen to jazz as the sun sets behind a tree that has been pruned. I see myself in that tree. I am reaching for God as a plant reaches for light. But I allow things to get in the way and a branch gets caught off. Another grows.



What keeps me from feeling the joy of the resurrected Christ? fears, doubts, humanist education, stoic families...



The spiritual exercises are peaking and I am to see my life as a gift from God. A busy God full of creative juices. When light reflects off of me and that creation sees me. Do they see a creature of God? How representative am I? It depends on the moment which I am seen.



At times I find myself wishing that Jesus would show up and heal all of us. But that is not the way to travel. The way is to believe that through love and compassion we can heal those in need.



It is good to be prayed for by Jesuits, and anyone one else who has hopes of seeing me shine in light. It grows my desire to help those who too struggle with being pruned here and there.

outer space to off-Broadway

Jesuits do travel in my enjoyable reading. James Martin, SJ moves into the world of theater and lives to write about it in A Jesuit Off-Broadway. Just as we stumble into adventures, he falls into the theological/spiritual director for The Last Days of Judas Escariot, which was written by Stephen Adly Guirgis. This was a timely book for this Lenten season.

But what it inspired in me was a boost for my imaginative prayer. Reading about the transformation of the Bible to the theater allowed me to enter deeper into my spiritual exercises.

What touches a person when placing yourself into Bible stories is important and the book is loaded with stories of how the play touched all who were involved.

And Tuesday night when I entered into Matthew 26: 6-13, I was aware of what happened when I was introduced to a leper by Jesus. Introducing my customs, I reached out my hand, but a moment later wished I hadn't. Who do I not want to touch? Who do I not want to be touched by?

Jesuits in outerspace, gardeners in Ambler

This week I heard that for 200,000 dollars folk can spend a few moments in weightlessness. So far I know of no Jesuits who have signed on for the trip. This is about enjoyable reading and again it is about what books can flow into your life.

We do utilize the library here in Lansdale, but for a greater selection we head off to the Genius Belt... Bucks County likes to consider themselves this because of a wave of artists and writers that flowed into the area years ago. The Michener museum next to the library has a great selection of Pennsylvania Impressionism that speaks so greatly in my heart that loves the landscape they captured on canvas. We live just outside of the belt.

Anyway... type in Jesuit into a library search engine and next thing you know you could be reading science fiction. I just finished Children of God by Maria Doria Russell, which is a continuation of her first novel-- The Sparrow. Recommend both to fans of Jesuits and/or science fiction. She was not afraid to get help along the way so that what she did was authentic and in the list of those she acknowledge you will find a few men with S.J. after their name. Her list of experts made me think of my journey.

Eight years ago I was offered a job opportunity which I did not feel qualified for and said so to the person offering the job. I love the job and am glad I took it, but have always felt embarrassed by my lack of training. In those years I have learned quite a bit about horticulture, but did not search out expert advice very often. Thursday evening I sat (dug frozen soil to send for testing, taste tested 10 types of apples, weeded through seed packets, became part of a group of young undergrad students) through my first horticulture class at Temple Ambler. So now it is time to kick myself ever so gently for waiting 8 years and pat myself on the back (ever so gently) for not waiting any longer.

And bringing the decision to take the class before God in discernment--- the downsides of it taking up time, money, and energy; seem to be out weighed by how I see this will benefit my students.

before the last 54 hours of noise

My creaky car door slammed into the silence. I had just dropped a load of stuff into my car when I made the noise. It catches the attention of the Sister (who ate the tomato salad!). I walk over and say, "They pay me to make that noise to announce the end of silence."

she says, "it could use some WD4o."

She walks back the the center, and I to the UCC cemetery. Birds are few, but I stop and look to the left and up and there is the moon in the morning sky. I ask Sophia for reminders to get me through my life. To stop, to ask for stillness, to be gentle, to be aware of God's unfolding creation.

At 8 am I enter the dining hall, the silent breakfast is ending and I am pleased to see the woman mentioned above sitting down to eat. I sit down and have a conversation. We are joined by a priest from New Jersey, a Sister from NYC, who happens to be the woman who shared the bench with me; and another Sister, who says I am sweet because I had told her in passing that I had appreciated her piano playing through a door the other night.

As the non-Catholic in the group I get a lesson on what is happening in the Catholic universe and we get to know each other. They ask me how it was to be the only man in the feminine images of God group. I say, "we only met together once and I had the longest hair." I clear my dishes and walk over to Father Sneck to ask if I am Catholic enough to sign the Catholics against the war petition.

It is mass where the emotions start to fly. We leap in by singing Lover of Us All.... "with sun and moon we dance with joy...." Father Sneck leads the service and as he always does leaves most of the homily to us. Most of those who do choose to talk mention the fire alarm, the sweaty building, the 12 hours with non-flushing toilets. I say something like this:

"Part of my packing is randomly choosing 20 or so jazz CD's. Somehow I chose at least 4 versions of the standard, "What's New." What's new is Sophia. Sister Maria with much courage directed me into painful places and Sophia provided the gentleness to find healing My hope is for that gentleness to stay with me when I leave and interact with my wife, my students and the rest of creation."

The closing song is "We Are Called" We close out our time together with so much heart felt spirit I am overwhelmed by joy once again. I thank the Jesuits whose worship has helped so much on this retreat. I tell father Barron how the birds brought his message back to me last night. Goodbyes done, I discover a Men's room is now labeled Women. They are ready for us to leave.

I think of writing once more as I step outside, but I run into my bench sharing new bird watching buddy. She is telling me about her trips to Africa and I am telling her the names of the birds, and have gotten to white-breasted nuthatch when another Sister comes over and says, "Wayne, you are gentle."

I try to dismiss the compliment and say, "I have some moments...." But she cuts me off, and as she waves goodbye says, "We all have those."

In a few minutes I am driving through the gates filled with hope. Three times my hand reaches to turn the radio on, and each time I stop myself, for this drive will be in silence.

waking thoughts- time with family

I wake thinking of talking with Margaret last night. No, its not the big news I let her pass on to me. I told her the only news I had heard was to pray for the people of Greece and she fills in the picture. She had wondered if I had heard about Alberto G leaving his post for George W. I joke, "I guess he wanted to spend more time with family." The personal nature of the joke just hit me.

No, it is the sadness in Margaret's voice that I wake with in my heart. Without saying it, I know she is ready for me to come home. It is the second time I hear her sadness in six hours. The first time was expressed by Ella F.

So, I sit here and hit play to track 14...... "I had to call you on the phone because I feel so all alone, don't like this being on my own, can't you, won't you hurry home. I leave the door unlocked in case like me you find your out of place, I'd give the world to see your face, can't you won't you hurry home." Jazz is supposed to bring me closer to God, not remind me of being missed. What is the difference?

Two days left and the thoughts float up as they usually do..... am I out of place?

"You could have created an amazing stained glass"
"You could have read that book you have put off."
"You could have gotten the garden at home in great shape before going back to work."
"You could have made some wonderful meals with the extra time off."
"You could have gone on a mini-vacation with Margaret."
"You could have had lunch with that friend you haven't had time to see."
"You could have had your life if you were at home!!!!"
"You could leave early, what does the last two days matter?"

why not hurry home?

Because Ella sings on in track 15....

"I know how Columbus felt finding another world. Kiss me once then once
more, what a dunce I was before, what a break for heavens sake how long has
this
been going on? I could cry salty tears where have I been all
these
years. tell me dear how long has this been going on? what a
kick! what a
buzz! boy you click like no one does!"

Yes, that song about finding the joy of kissing is how I feel about finding God
here at Wernersville. Then there is the community here. Sure I
haven't been talking to them, well not much.

Last night I was walking about thinking of more things to tell my 5 year old self when the moon rose larger than life. I see the hospice chaplain/nurse, who I ate with that first meal before we entered the silence, sitting on the steps leading to the front door. God, wants her to see this moon, so I head over. But God beat me and before I say anything, she says, "It's so beautiful." I nod and keep walking.

I stay for the woman who asked us to pray for her friend whose husband left her after 30 years of marriage. For the woman God wanted to eat taomato salad who jsut has susch a great smile she continues to share with me and anyone else who dares to make eye contact with her, I stay for them and they stay for me. Other prayer concerns expressed this week come back to me now. The man who looks like someone I knew in Oregon has a friend in a chaos so deep there seems like there is no hope.

I stay for myself for the Cd plays on and I believe if I do, then as Ella sings so perfectly....

"There's an ache in my heart, I'll never be the same again...."

time travel with Sophia

12 hours before I time travel in an Adirondack chair, I am aware that I am awake. It is 2:00 a.m. and I am tossing and turning as I think about a poster I had examined earlier in the day. I pour myself some port and walk down the hallway, this is a shorter trip than the one I took the night before.

The poster has the names of several Jesuits and two others who were murdered in central america. I read a name, pray, take a sip of port, till I have paid my respects. The quote about how Christians need to respond to injustice is what I turn my attention too. I think of childhood pain.

The morning light wakes me and I have no need to rush. I head into the UCC cemetery and I am again amazed by the number of birds. I assume they are flocking to go south.

My soul seems to be at peace as I eat breakfast. Sister Maria hears my 24 hour tale and advises me to be gentle with myself. She claims Sophia is gentle. She asks about the pain. I tell her my childhood story. For my contemplations she recommends time with creation and she will photo copy another prayer by Joyce Rupp, this one on retrieving feelings. Two things occur near the end of my time with her. I feel selfish and admit to it. I want this journey with God to be easy. I want this childhood trauma to be dealt with completely. I am tired of the narrow path mentioned in yesterday's sermon. I want it quick and easy. I also tell myself that as I walk by Sister Maria I am going to pause today and truly feel her hand on my shoulder.

Creation goes well. I see but don't ID warblers, I see and hear a red-tailed hawk, then 100 plus crows emerge from a tree quite dissatisfied with life, then land on another tree. In a few moments I am standing under that tree. I am still, the crows are restless. I see a dead branch that was decaying before it fell and shattered when it hit the ground. I imagine myself Andy Goldsworthey (???) and start a tower. I end up working on it for an hour after I had used up the original branch. Temporary art.

What truly captures my eyes are the two rows of corn closest to me. I claim them RED MAIZE. Later in the afternoon I will draw them in the center of a circle and then fill in the circle with the earth tones I have associated with Sophia. It is my favorite large doodle of this retreat and it is fitting that I drew it for Sister Maria.

Mass is peaceful, lunch is mindful, I draw the doodle. Then I pick up the Joyce Rupp poem. It does not draw me back into the trauma of childhood. Is it because I am at peace with my past, because the image of a hugging mother is not working, or some unknown reason? I thank Sophia for taking me into the pain the day before and get up to finish the doodle. I go outside and sit down in an Adirondack chair and pull out the Joyce Rupp poem. I am walking back into the doctor's office. I ask Sophia to bathe me in blue light and to put her hand on my shoulder. I am also there as a five year old.

I tell him that he will forget his childhood; there will be no memories of elementary school.

I tell him that he will turn to drugs to numb the pain.

I tell him he will have no hope, but God will give some to his mom and it will grow and at some point be passed back into his body.

I tell he will cry, but not for many many years.

I tell him he will consider himself a freak.

I tell him about meeting Margaret and her love which is so great it pushed through his stoic wall.

I tell him about returning to God.

I tell him about how birds and music will bring him peace.

I tell him sad and joyful things. Occasionally I stop and bathe in the blue light, feel that hand on my shoulder.

I am crying in an Adirondack chair.

I tell him that he will take the narrow path, and he will heal his wounds. it will be painful but he will be gentle with himself for wise people will guide him. I tell him that as he heals he will become a healer also. His message to the other people in his life will come closer and closer to the message he will hear from God. He will try to bring comfort to others who have had an unjust childhood. I stand with him 39 years ago, hoping with my faith in God for things yet unseen.

and yes, music soothed... Ella Fitzgerald sang sweetly to me today.

two days left.

The image of the Father joins the dance

Thunder wakes me at 3:00 am and I find myself out in the hallway looking at 4 prints in a memorial to Joe Whelan, SJ. Two were at his desk for years. They are a crucified Christ and an enlargement of Jesus's face. It's like hitting a zoom button looking from one to another. I don't know much about the man but I read about how he faced cancer. That brought a print of the resurrected Christ to his office. Then to the right is a Mark Rothko print that brought him into connection with Jesus. But I am thinking about the Father.

Sister Maria has asked me to read scripture and it has thrown me for a loop. I don't want this loop, and I will resist. It is Hebrews 12: 5-7 & 11-13. The book I will be reading from has that whole section. I copy it to practice. I see the handout for worship says only 5-7. Yesterday Father Lucien said there are time to listen to God and not do what you are being told to do. I need to read 11-13. I need to finish with, "Heals." Basically it is describing God as a father who disciplines us. It is clear that it is out of love, but my mind races to those who had abusive fathers and how that relationship destroys this image of God. I want my mind to stay there, that is enough, but my medical trauma comes racing back for all of those trips to a urologist basically created a soul that was abused as a child. How can I read this? I need wisdom.

I ask Sophia for wisdom, God for love, and Jesus for forgiveness. I beg. I say, I can't read this without your help. I leave Father Whelan, say a prayer, and go back to sleep.

I wake two hours later than normal. Adrenaline shocks me and there will be no need for coffee or tea this morning. I do eat and shave, but there is little time to reflect before I am sitting with Sister Maria. I say, "Do you know what that passage contained?" What do I sense a conspiracy involving her and all the spirits?

She says, No. And I think, God is strange. I tell her it is about the Father and add this story: Saturday afternoon in the heat I catch a ride on an elevator with an elderly Jesuit and two African-American women (no this is no joke). The Jesuit says, "What floor Father?"

I am 44 and this is a first. I have never been called a father before. I head to the OED and definition 4 is my only hope.

The Father has joined the dance.

I spend the rest of the morning doodling. It is large so it takes up a lot of time. I draw Sophia one side of a circle, I am on the other. We are in a biological cell and we are sending out spindle fibers to grab the dark DNA which is evil. Not sure if the analogy works, not sure if I love the outcome of the doodle, but it kept me distracted, while listening to Marian McPartland's In My Life. The tune 'What's New' speaks to me and I wished there were vocals.

I am sitting waiting for mass to start. My hands are shaking. The psalm is read and I get up to read. I silently ask for calm. I ask to provide hope to those who were abused and cleansing for the abusers. I read with spirit. I feel blessed.

I take the bread and wine. I have settled a bit. Then we get up to sing the closing hymn... Sing a New World into Being. It is filled with wonderful imagery and is placed to a favorite melody. I cry.

The afternoon is restless. I try to distract myself with math puzzles and Count Basie's Atomic Basie. Who brings a CD with a mushroom cloud to a silent retreat? I spend and hour reflecting on Wisdom 7: 22-30. It starts with 21 adjectives and then has some amazing imagery. One of Sophia being the image of God in a mirror. I want to flee and drink beer and eat Mexican food, but instead I go to the sanctuary. I will sit here and pray until the masses have moved through the line getting food.

"Be Still" Who is that in my head? "Know that I am God." Is it Sophia, The Father, Jesus? It doesn't matter, but my evening has moved in a new direction.

I eat more mindful than I have all week, well I did take a bigger piece of cake than I planned, but what can one do when one finds banana cake. My mom's present to me all those years as a child. The woman who I told to eat to tomato salad walks by with a piece of cake, I give her a silent thumbs up. She smiles with me. I am not in this alone.

I move to my room and start my third reflection of the day. Yesterday I wrote a letter from Sophia, today I write her back. My hand tires and I want to take this stillness outside where I see what may be warblers and hear what surely is a red-bellied woodpecker. God the Creator is here too. I walk by some fresh cement and the punk in me wants to spell out, "IGGY WAS HERE."

Something is welling up as I sit watching the sun set, I need to go back to Sophia. I tell her about the urologist and now I am crying about this wound from my childhood. Three years ago I spent an 8 day retreat slowly bringing Mary and Jesus, and then my dad nd later even the doctor showed up in his own office with tears running down his face. We cried all week. How many images of God do I need to bring here? Is there room for Sophia and The Father?

I pull out A Man isn't supposed to cry by Joe Williams. It is the last track on the CD. I randomly choose track 4 and one of my favorite standards floats into my head.... I'm Through With Love. I love the line about placing one's heart in an "icy Frigidaire."

I have three more full days of silence left. Where am I going to place my heart? Every image of God I can imagine is blocking my path to the refrigerator.

silence!

tower on the Jesuit Center
Wernersville, PA

OK, so I am going to resist the world especially a desire to know what other think of Sophia and how the Phillies are doing, but use the blessing of the computer at the Jesuit Center to keep up with my Blog.

two days of silence and I have not been given a Bible scripture to reflect upon; I should have had 6 bu now. Sister Maria seems to be knowing what she is doing as she directs me to Sophia, and though I don't know much of anything about Sophia, I have at least figured out that it is a feminine image of God. Well, that's the name of the retreat I signed up for with a strange heart. Sister Maria is trying to have me open it.

On the night I got here she gave me a prayer by Joyce Rupp (and yes, she is the reason I walk these halls with a beautiful mug made by a friend). That night as we sat in silence, that would be my fellow retreatants and myself the lone male, I change the pronouns to include all.

On the first full day Sister Maria had me bring Sophia into three aspects of my life which I have brought into silence. The administrators at my school who are supporting my desire to get a degree in spiritual direction, my relationship with my students, and missing Margaret. It goes well. I realize the students are at times like the wedding guest who is not dressed properly and gets thrown out (that day's Gospel), but I then take it further to the importance of the reentering of the kingdom or of my classroom. Can I greet the students like the father greets the prodigal son? The importance of missing Margaret strikes more after I call her, in a moment of clarity that could have come a lot sooner, I realize I need to call her as much for my own sake as for hers and if I look at it that way, I may have a better attitude while doing it.

This morning I tell Sister Maria I resisted the urge to go to the library to research who exactly this Sophia I am praying to is. She encourages that behavior. Provides no scripture to help me and says to keep listening for Sophia. I listen to Madeleiene Peyroux sing "I am going to sit write down and write myself a letter and make believe it came from you, going to write words oh so sweet, they are going to knock me off my feet...." wow, I say that's what Sister Maria wants me to do, so I take the poem by Joyce Rupp and rewrite it as if it is written to me, and yes the words are sweet and full of love.

Later during my evening prayer, I read the letter and respond to it line by line. It's all about mindfulness and opening one's heart and about God's desire, Sophia's desire to be with me. And after two days my attitude is bared to Sophia. I came here because OTHER folk believe in this stuff, and it will help me in working with them. Once again I am afraid of what will happen to ME if I believe in a feminine image of God. Will, I become new age and move to Santa Fe, or possibly will I be a man with a more complete image of God who hangs out with Episcopalians in Lansdale. who knows anything, but there are five full days of silence yet to go and I may yet get a Bible passage.