In the silence of Wernersville I went to flickr, clicked on YOU and found me in this photo which Margaret took a few days before I left for the retreat. Not only did I see that I was wonderfully made, but I greeted myself in my flaws. Flawed but wonderful am I.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Saturday, September 1, 2007
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:
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
funk and a flock of birds
I got a case of the last day's funk today. Sister Maria says good bye, she won't be at the final service tomorrow morning. The Gospel reading is about John's head being served on a platter, I am told it is the second year anniversary of Katrina and I think of how two years of misery have hit so many, and then at lunch my spirit buddy for the past 8 days, the hospice worker, who I dined with before silence, stops by my table to say she is leaving. Two good byes. I should be heading out myself at this rate, instead I am in a funk.
Playing in the pool, something I haven't done in years, is good but I still hit the sanctuary before dinner in a funk. A fear comes to mind so I chat with Sophia. I don't want to lose the gentleness she has provided. It has helped to bring my racing mind back into mindfulness. It has helped me go slowly into painful places.
She reminds me of what I read the other night at 2:00 am, "What the heart knows can not be forgotten."
There is a tree that is near death. I always look at this tree because it pulled me into deep gratitude a few years ago. I have been putting off spending time with it all week, but hey I am in a funk so why not head outside. I am standing on the driveway thinking sad thoughts but wanting to sit down. My older body says, "not on the road you don't." So I look about. There is one bench but it is occupied, but surely the woman will share the space.
She does and I find myself under a living Oak tree. It is thriving with insects that I can't see. Not leaving the bench I identify a black-capped chickadee, a tufted titmouse, a white-breasted nuthatch that so wants to be seen it makes me joyful, a downy woodpecker drums till I find it, a flicker comes over than shows off its white rump as it flies away, and even a ruby-throated hummingbird makes two trips into the Oak. I am trying to have sad thoughts but there are just way too many birds. Than the homily hits me. Yes, there are sad things happening like hurricanes, earthquakes, mine collapses, fires and deaths of trees and loved ones. I turn to my right and see the statue, which has come to represent things that need to die in me like blame, shame, and SHOULDS. I think of we do not react to those in need with the spirit of God. Two years and people still suffer on the Gulf Coast, but money and more money can be found for wars. And what have I done lately for the needy. Yes I am sitting between sad things and bad responses. But that's OK as Father Jack pointed out today for God's kingdom keeps emerging and if these birds are not giving me that message I will never get it. He said that the sin is to miss the emerging kingdom. At this moment I am doing OK.
Well, its the last night and more and more silence is being broken, which means I have had two very brief conversations. Tomorrow I will eat and talk at breakfast, than for the 8th straight day I will take the body and blood with this group which has prayed with and for me.
at some point I will have to pack.
Playing in the pool, something I haven't done in years, is good but I still hit the sanctuary before dinner in a funk. A fear comes to mind so I chat with Sophia. I don't want to lose the gentleness she has provided. It has helped to bring my racing mind back into mindfulness. It has helped me go slowly into painful places.
She reminds me of what I read the other night at 2:00 am, "What the heart knows can not be forgotten."
There is a tree that is near death. I always look at this tree because it pulled me into deep gratitude a few years ago. I have been putting off spending time with it all week, but hey I am in a funk so why not head outside. I am standing on the driveway thinking sad thoughts but wanting to sit down. My older body says, "not on the road you don't." So I look about. There is one bench but it is occupied, but surely the woman will share the space.
She does and I find myself under a living Oak tree. It is thriving with insects that I can't see. Not leaving the bench I identify a black-capped chickadee, a tufted titmouse, a white-breasted nuthatch that so wants to be seen it makes me joyful, a downy woodpecker drums till I find it, a flicker comes over than shows off its white rump as it flies away, and even a ruby-throated hummingbird makes two trips into the Oak. I am trying to have sad thoughts but there are just way too many birds. Than the homily hits me. Yes, there are sad things happening like hurricanes, earthquakes, mine collapses, fires and deaths of trees and loved ones. I turn to my right and see the statue, which has come to represent things that need to die in me like blame, shame, and SHOULDS. I think of we do not react to those in need with the spirit of God. Two years and people still suffer on the Gulf Coast, but money and more money can be found for wars. And what have I done lately for the needy. Yes I am sitting between sad things and bad responses. But that's OK as Father Jack pointed out today for God's kingdom keeps emerging and if these birds are not giving me that message I will never get it. He said that the sin is to miss the emerging kingdom. At this moment I am doing OK.
Well, its the last night and more and more silence is being broken, which means I have had two very brief conversations. Tomorrow I will eat and talk at breakfast, than for the 8th straight day I will take the body and blood with this group which has prayed with and for me.
at some point I will have to pack.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
last and first
I end the last page of my journal today with these words:
"I finished off the doodle, cause an imperfection or two when I spray it. I lie down to listen to a few Keith Jarrett improvistations before I enter into prayer. I end this journal here. Ready to venture into some truths I have not wanted to face. I will let the Father guide me, Sophia comfort me, and Jesus heal me. if and only if, it their desires.
peace hope joy and love
The Man who blames it on his youth"
I turn to find the first entry. It is September/4/2006 I ended that day's examen with this:
"What has brought God's seed to my life?
seeing Margaret for the first time, and years later her saying she wanted to know me?
Touchberry.... "extreme unction" on Christmas Day four weeks after returning to church-- where I learned about letting things die in order to live.
music, doodling
Psalm 139--- Wernersville 2004--- tears and anger"
Sister Maria had the courage to ask me to go where I didn't want to go. But now I am grateful. It just may have led to less blame on my youth, my God, my wife; and more acceptance of who I am. My greatest sadness has changed. It is on the way to being accepted. Maybe that is the lesson of this retreat. Great sadnesses can be accepted. This one is who I am. It is a place to yearn for this acceptance of your nature. It is the spirit of Jarrett playing solo, playing 'Shenandoah' as if it was a jazz standard.
I already had thought it was the most beautiful jazz piano in the world, "The melody at Night, With You." The CD I turned to this morning when I was ranting and wondering why I had chosen to be here. I asked Sister Maria if there was an easier path to take. She said, "Sophia will be gentle. I turn to solo piano. The CD will point out that "I got it Bad and That Ain't Good", that I have "Someone to Watch Over me" that maybe I can stop "Blaming everything on my youth" That Margaret and God have said to me "Be My Love" that "Shenandoah" is the place we most yearn to be, and then he ends with a reminder of that icy Frigidaire and the attitude that I so want to avoid because if "I'm Through with Love" I might as well call it a life.
one full day of silence is left.
"I finished off the doodle, cause an imperfection or two when I spray it. I lie down to listen to a few Keith Jarrett improvistations before I enter into prayer. I end this journal here. Ready to venture into some truths I have not wanted to face. I will let the Father guide me, Sophia comfort me, and Jesus heal me. if and only if, it their desires.
peace hope joy and love
The Man who blames it on his youth"
I turn to find the first entry. It is September/4/2006 I ended that day's examen with this:
"What has brought God's seed to my life?
seeing Margaret for the first time, and years later her saying she wanted to know me?
Touchberry.... "extreme unction" on Christmas Day four weeks after returning to church-- where I learned about letting things die in order to live.
music, doodling
Psalm 139--- Wernersville 2004--- tears and anger"
Sister Maria had the courage to ask me to go where I didn't want to go. But now I am grateful. It just may have led to less blame on my youth, my God, my wife; and more acceptance of who I am. My greatest sadness has changed. It is on the way to being accepted. Maybe that is the lesson of this retreat. Great sadnesses can be accepted. This one is who I am. It is a place to yearn for this acceptance of your nature. It is the spirit of Jarrett playing solo, playing 'Shenandoah' as if it was a jazz standard.
I already had thought it was the most beautiful jazz piano in the world, "The melody at Night, With You." The CD I turned to this morning when I was ranting and wondering why I had chosen to be here. I asked Sister Maria if there was an easier path to take. She said, "Sophia will be gentle. I turn to solo piano. The CD will point out that "I got it Bad and That Ain't Good", that I have "Someone to Watch Over me" that maybe I can stop "Blaming everything on my youth" That Margaret and God have said to me "Be My Love" that "Shenandoah" is the place we most yearn to be, and then he ends with a reminder of that icy Frigidaire and the attitude that I so want to avoid because if "I'm Through with Love" I might as well call it a life.
one full day of silence is left.
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....
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...."
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 onceYes, that song about finding the joy of kissing is how I feel about finding God
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!"
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...."
Monday, August 27, 2007
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 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.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
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.
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.
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