by Margie Van Duzer, DMin, CFDM Spiritual Director

How do we notice God’s active, loving presence in our world?  How does God “speak” to us?   How do we have the eyes to see what God is doing and ears to hear what God is saying?  How do we come to deeply know that we are God’s beloved?

I am not one to regularly say “God told me this or that.” I certainly know folks whose experience of God makes it easier for them to use such language, but I am hesitant to do so.  There have been times, however, when my prayers, my reading of Scripture, and the daily circumstances of my life somehow end up fitting so well together that I can’t help but recognize that God is getting my attention and lovingly communicating with me.  This summer I had such an experience.

My husband had a work commitment that took him to Oxford, England. I tagged along. Getting ready for the trip, I found myself growing anxious and controlling.  I filled my journal with prayers for all the logistics of the trip and for what might happen while we were gone.  As an act of surrender, I prayed that both what we were leaving behind and what we were about to encounter, would be in God’s hands.

The day we arrived in Oxford, before any planned events started, my husband and I walked around, trying to stay awake until the evening, in hopes of managing our jet lag.  There was certainly much to see, but when we were walking through a park, I noticed a plaque on a park bench that had the words of one of my favorite Celtic verses:

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
And the rains fall soft upon your fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

It was the last line of the verse that grabbed my attention.  I remembered my prayer from earlier in the week about trusting that God would be holding the circumstances of my life.  Over the rest of my times in Oxford, I found myself regularly musing on what it meant for me, as well as for my circumstances, to be held in God’s hands.

After Oxford, we travelled to Ireland, a country I had never visited before.  On our first night we stayed in County Clare, in a small town called Ennis.  Directly across from our old hotel stood a church – one of the many we would see in Ireland. What made this church unique was the large sculpture outside directly facing our hotel.  It was simply called “Hands”.  Two large hands, the right one facing upwards, palm towards the left, and the left one held with palm up and open. No signs were posted that said “Do not touch.”  Just the opposite. The sculpture practically invited one to sit in that open palm.  Self-consciously, I did so. Again, I found myself musing on what it meant to be in God’s hands, and, adding to my musings, what did it mean that the right hand was like a shield of protection?

While traveling in Ireland, I was using the Irish Jesuits’ devotional web site Sacred Space for my devotions.  The prayer I read on that site the morning after I saw the sculpture was a prayer of St Ignatius:

“There are very few people who realize what God would make of them if they abandoned themselves into his hands.”

More food for thought and prayer.  

And, as we traveled for the rest of the week in Ireland, I ran into that same Celtic verse over and over.  It is everywhere.  A greeting as one enters a pub, or sits on a bench or explores ancient churches.  It is almost the Irish equivalent of what we mean when we say “Have a good one.” But I must say I found the Celtic greeting far more satisfying.  Every time I saw it, it drew me in, called forth further prayer and reminded me again of God’s loving care.

Earlier in the year I had been reading from the middle of Isaiah, specifically chapters 40-55. The Irish reminders of being in God’s hands drew me back to what I had read earlier:

“See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.” (Isaiah 49:16a) and “Fear not.  I am with you.  Be not dismayed for I am your God.  I will strengthen you. I will help you.  I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)  

These readings now spoke more loudly – came more alive.

God was knitting it altogether.  My prayers, my reading of Scripture, the Irish Jesuit web site, and reminders of verses from Isaiah, were woven together with the Celtic verse and the sculpture of the “Hands.”  In so many ways and at so many times I was being reminded that I am God’s beloved, held in the palms of God’s hands.  It was obviously an incredible privilege to travel overseas and all that goes with such an experience.  What I will remember most from this trip, however, is that God “spoke” to me – wanting me to know, really know, the reality that I am held in God’s loving hands.

This fall, how might God be fitting together your spiritual practices and your daily life’s circumstances?  How are you being reminded that you are abundantly loved by God?

 

by Gwen Shipley, CFDM Spiritual Director

This morning I woke to the whispers of my nine-year-old granddaughter who spent last night, asking for her favorite breakfast–eggs from our chickens. If a full day staying home is her definition of exile, sleeping in her own bed is anathema! So I rescued her. She spent the night and scored a rare, after-dark motorcycle ride with Papa, followed by a popsicle, then crashed on the couch–which she is outgrowing. It was a definite diversion from her regular routine.

Everyone needs a summer.

After breakfast, I trailed her to the henhouse to check for more eggs. Intimidated by the Banty rooster who is more bark than bite, she won’t enter alone.

On the way back, she detoured into the garden insisting we check under “just one plant” for potatoes. Her slightly-older cousin joined us there. A full row later, we were rewarded with a wire basket full of golden nuggets, then meandered back to the house alive with the energy of the hunt and the sheer pleasure of getting our hands dirty.

My intentions for the morning had been entirely rerouted but on the way I found rest for my soul. I had set out to write, shower, return at least one kiddo home, view a motivational training video, pay a bill, continue a DIY project, pack for a trip…It never ends does it?

But once in a while, a good detour helps restore us to a peaceful place from which to do all our living. Sometimes we just need to leave the planning, organizing, the constancy of life’s demands. To pull heart and head back together–at least I do. It grounds me in the present in a way little else can. And if you do it in the dirt, so much the better. Science tells us that interacting with organisms found in the dirt helps build a healthy immune system that fortifies us against disease.

Come to think of it, my potato dig via the garden detour, is a little like investing a year with CFDM in Spiritual Formation. I spent many years in a sterile, religious cocoon. But a willingness to disrupt the soil, to expose some roots, to uncover the fruit of what was growing in unseen places–and to do so in the company of others, put me in touch with my own lived experience and strengthened my connection with the Source of all life from which mine flows. It’s messy work. It requires some effort. Your legs fatigue and it will mess up your manicure. But good things are found there.

The Benedictines gifted us with this helpful matrix: Work, play, rest, pray. If you’re feeling tense, tired or just plain dry, you might want to sit down with a cold drink–it’s been in the triple digits here in the Northwest–and spend a few minutes reflecting on how you are specifically attending to each domain–which is really making space for God. How we decide to do that will differ for each of us. The important thing is that its function occurs. Getting in touch with where we are is the first step in determining the next step to take. Our desire can help guide us. If you’re desiring something more, consider that it may also be God’s desiring that thing for you–maybe even a little more play.

You might be in the middle of a busy season.

You might be in transition and seeking direction for the next season of life.

You might be simply seeking a period of rest and renewal.

Whatever your felt need, if there’s a child tugging on your sleeve–literal or figurative, perhaps the video or the project can wait (probably not the shower…!). I worked yesterday, turning down a movie with a friend to paint part of the DIY project after spending the morning working. Today I planned more of the same but instead I turned left into the garden–and what a gift it turned out to be. After all, everyone needs a summer.

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A few spots are still open for CFDM’s 2016-17 Spiritual Formation 1 Program beginning in September. It could be just the detour your soul needs, the change in routine that makes more space for God, space for attending to the needs of your soul. For more information and to register or just check out what’s happening at CFDM click here.

 

by Rev. Mona Chicks, CFDM Board Member

 

We’ve just spent a few days in the Olympic National Park in Washington State. It is a place of pure beauty – stunning views, amazing wildlife, and an endless supply of hiking opportunities. Or so we hear. While we were there, the area we visited was shrouded with clouds, hidden behind layer after layer of thick, wet blanket.

Being there in that place and knowing but not seeing what was hiding behind the clouds felt somehow appropriate, though. This has been a season of tragedy for our world and our country, one in which it feels like everything is spinning out of control. We humans are so shrouded in our own anger, fear, and self-interest that it is hard to see the beauty with which we are endowed. It feels like hope is hidden from us, like the vistas from mountain peaks hidden in cloud.

But even in this chaotic time, we can be harbingers of hope and beauty – because we know the Author of this story. As P.T. Forsyth said,

The weakness of much of the current mission work is that we betray the sense that what is yet to be done is greater than what Christ has already done. The world’s gravest need is less than Christ’s great victory.

We can be assured that, even in this time of despair, frustration, fear, anxiety, and chaos, that God’s victory has already been won. Jesus Christ did it, once and for all, and we can celebrate what is hidden behind the clouds because we know what is there is God’s Kingdom. In the meantime, we have a map to guide us – a revelation given to us in the form of words and the Word – to tell us where we are and what to look for.

We can find beauty and hope in the midst of the obscuring clouds. We know what we’re looking at, even if we can’t see it in front of us. Prayer is the key for us to continually connect with God’s goodness and remind our world that God is the Ruler – the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. It is through prayer that we coax Creation toward its Creator. It is prayer that lifts us when we are down. It is prayer that continues to reveal to us both God and ourselves.

Again, P.T. Forsyth:

The Christian [person] at prayer is the secretary of Creation’s praise.

Through prayer, we illustrate and enscribe the story of God on the tablet of Creation. We bring Christ’s redemptive power to fruition as Creation itself is “groaning with the pains of childbirth.” The clouds might blind us, but the scenery that is hidden is more stunning than we can imagine. And that is where our hope lies in these dark times.

by Rev. Terry Tripp, CFDM Northwest Co-Director

To everything
Turn, turn, turn
There is a season
Turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under Heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything
Turn, turn, turn
There is a season

Can you hear the melody? In the 60’s the Byrds made Ecclesiastes popular! Are we facing anything that has not occurred before? One might wonder given the political rancor or the evil lurking around the world. But we are assured that God has all things in God’s hands:

“I know that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this, so that all should stand in awe before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by.” Ecclesiastes 3:14-15

That doesn’t mean we are free from holy discernment. Somewhere in the mystery of God’s will not being thwarted is the invitation to hear the voice of Jesus and choose accordingly. But that is where faith lives; in the choosing according to the voice we seek to hear more fully as we participate in what God is already doing. It is the voice of love, the voice of relationship, the voice of powerlessness; a voice that is not popular in our time, nor really in any time past.

In CFDM, we talk a lot about discernment. It does not happen easily, nor quickly – but thoughtfully and prayerfully, we begin to find the life we are meant to live; what indeed gives us life. We weigh what faith values over and against what the culture may proclaim. And try to discern where faith and culture part ways. This is not for the faint of heart!

As I enter my sixtieth year, I’m making simple but difficult discernments. I want to choose to engage others rather than being right. I want to live hopefully as a widow. I want to keep my mouth shut when I’m tempted to give personal advice when it’s not asked for. I want to be honest when it costs me embarrassment. I want to believe that my memories of my late husband will be sweet while being full of grief. I want to trust God for community when yet little exists. Make peace when I get an angry response. Give away my place in line when someone else has greater needs. Intend love when hate is rampant – nurture fun when my heart is full of sadness – and hold dear the memories of a life that is gone when others have forgotten. I want to enter a season of being “delivered from tears, that I may walk humbly without stumbling before the Lord in the land of the living.” (Ps. 116:8-9)

May it be a season that turns?

by David Hicks, CFDM Faculty Member

Driving in the fog can be a frightening and unsettling experience. On a trip from L.A. to Seattle once my wife and I found ourselves driving for several hours through fog so dark it made the afternoon feel like midnight. With hands clutched to the wheel all my senses were hyper-aware of everything around me. I drove slower and was far more attentive to my driving than I normally am on a bright and sunny day.

In the story of the healing of the blind man of Bethsaida in Mark 8 there is an interesting and unusual progression that this man’s healing takes. Jesus first of all spit on his eyes (not sure He could get away with that today). He then asked the man what he could see and the man said, “I see people that look like trees walking around”. Now, if you are as near blind as I am without contacts or glasses you know exactly what he is talking about. Jesus then touches the man’s eyes again (this time apparently with no spit which kind of makes you wonder what the point was). This time, “his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.”

When I read that story I find myself deeply desiring that second touch of Jesus that will clear away the spiritual fog and blurry darkness that I walk with most of the time. I want some clarity to the ‘questions of the fog’ like: Who am I? Who is God? Where am I going? How will I get there? When will I get there? How will I know when I get there? Do I even want to get there? I deeply desire for that second touch to come and make me, “see everything clearly.” But more times than not I find that I am asked to simply live within the fogginess of the first touch.

Sometimes we have experiences where everything seems clear. Jesus has allowed us to look with clarity upon a particular situation or question we have. Sometimes. But more times than not I think He asks us to sit with the un-clarity for a lot longer than we would like. Sometimes He calls us to wait in the fog of our souls unknowing because when we wait in the fog it forces us to slow down and pay attention. We become more vigilant and aware. We can’t rest in the comfort of our own clear vision, we must trust in the vision of another.

Some say that “clarity” is the goal of the spiritual life. “To see Thee more clearly” as the old musical Godspell tells us. But given human nature, at least the human nature that I struggle with, clarity does not always lead to better vision. Sometimes clarity causes us to be less aware of what we need and desire and being more aware is exactly what we need in order to draw closer to the One who is with us, even in the fog.

My experience has been that life with God is mostly lived somewhere between darkness and blue skies. Between midnight and noon, in the hazy twilight of a foggy dawn when I can only see blurry “people like trees walking around”. This is where I seem to spend most of my time. But somewhere in that place between confusion and understanding is where I usually meet God. When I have those rare times of clarity when everything comes into focus I cherish and thank God for them. But I’m also thankful for the times of plodding slowly through the fog because Jesus is just as present with me then as He is when all is bright and clear. That’s the great power, I think, of the story of the blind man of Bethsaida. Not WHAT happened to him, but WHO was with him the whole time.

by Rev. Terry Tripp, Co-Director, CFDM Northwest

“Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb, and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’ (which means Teacher). John 20:11-16

We could say many things about Jesus’ first appearance post His resurrection. One might comment on the open tomb or the angels, as proof of Jesus being alive. One might wonder at the same question being asked Mary, by the angels and Jesus. Or why did she not recognize Jesus when she first saw him? But for me, today, it’s all about the recognition coming through relationship. Jesus calls her by her name and it is in that naming that there is the restoration of relationship that had existed in one form before the cross and now, in yet a newer form, post. She is asked not to cling to Him – not to hold onto how they once were in relationship, in order for her to move into a new way of being in relationship with her God.

There have been many times that “My tears have been my food day and night,” (Ps. 42:3) I have wept for a life I knew and is no longer – a husband I had and is gone – a ministry I loved as was and has now shifted – family members who have died and a home that is no more. But each time I hear my name being called, I remember “By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life” (Ps. 42:8). The recognition of God in relationship with me, always doing a new thing, is the ground of my being and the call of my life – the relationship that is always offered that names who I’ve been, and who I am becoming.

by Rev. Mona Chicks, CFDM Board Member

Lent is a time of preparation. Some say it is a time to put on the suffering of Jesus, but I’ve been reflecting lately that God put on our suffering, stepped into our shoes, so that we could be lifted above our circumstances and participate in the glory of God. God became human flesh and walked among us, lived a life that was completely and fully human in the person of Jesus. He can walk with us through our suffering and through our celebration because he has walked through them on his own. He knows. He’s been there.

But the significance of Jesus’ life and passion isn’t simply in his humanity and relevance to our human experience. It’s truly redemptive in that Jesus has taken the one thing that was keeping us, individually and collectively, away from God – sin – and He bore it upon his own shoulders so that there would be nothing more to keep us away. There would be no more curtain separating us from the Holy Place – there’s no need for endless sacrifices and offerings. Jesus did it – once for all, High Priest and sacrifice in one being. And why? For the glory of God.

Hebrews 12:2b-3 says,“Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne.Think of all the hostility he endured from sinful people; then you won’t become weary and give up.” There was always the final goal in mind – the suffering was not the purpose. Our suffering is not the purpose. We will endure it, we must go through it – but all of it is preparing us for something greater than we can imagine. The joy that is awaiting us all. 

In the final days of this Lenten season, I am seeking out God’s glory and letting it filter more deeply into my life. I walk the path to Jerusalem in preparation for the joy, the hope, and the salvation that the resurrection has already secured for me. Glory be to God.

 

by Boni Piper, Director, CFDM Northwest Spiritual Formation Program

“And a little child shall lead them.” Recently, my daughter and a friend were attacked in her driveway. It was an ugly sort of thing with wrestling on the ground, sucker punches and screaming. No one was seriously hurt but the experience was frightening for everyone. The children were in the house and safe, but knew what was going on. When my daughter went back into the house to check on them, the girls were crying (6 & 9) and her son, age 11 was praying. I see him there, in some way knowing that the only place to really turn in such a difficult situation was to Jesus. Such faith! Such maturity! What was he thinking? In a confusing situation of crying sisters, a stunned nanny and obvious trauma on the other side of the door, he turned to Jesus for help. Not as his second choice, but as his only choice.

Oh how I want to be like Ryder. I want just one choice too, one idea, one refuge. Too often I need to get lots of opinions first. I need to exhaust myself by trying different solutions. And then, when all else fails, Jesus help me!

The woman who reached out to touch the cloak of Jesus had used up all her wealth to find healing, to no avail. And then there was Jesus. The man who had a son with an unclean spirit went first to the disciples for healing, but that didn’t work. And then there was Jesus.

“God is our refuge and our strength.” He covers us like a hen does with her chicks. He’s called our stronghold, the watchman in the tower, the one who makes our way straight. We know these images given to us by God do not mean we will never have trouble. We get sick, people die, we watch our children struggle… But what we must ponder is, “Where does our help come from?”

Those who have walked with God for many years know the difference between facing adversity with God and facing it without him. Is there anything we can’t handle when God is with us? Only with the Spirit’s covering are we emotionally and spiritually safe.

I don’t know how Ryder knew that at such a young age. He’s been through a lot in his young life. So, maybe through experience, good teaching, something he heard in church, he knew that we have direct access to God in times of trouble. I think he knows we have that access to God in times of joy as well. It is this deep connection that makes us call out to the lover of our souls, and transforms us. The connection to Jesus is the transforming connection.

You have heard that sitting with Jesus changes us. How could it not? Sitting with Jesus regularly makes us turn to him for help, laugh with him in joyous times, listen to him when we don’t understand our world. It’s in these moments that transformation happens. Oh that turning to him would be so ordinary in our lives that it becomes the natural place to go with all our life experiences! Sitting with Jesus regularly prepares us for the day we must run to him. Are you ready?

by Gwen Shipley, CFDM Northwest Faculty

This weekend, we could have been making progress on the bathroom remodel, but we popped popcorn with a grandkid or two, played pickleball and put together a jigsaw puzzle instead. I had a blog post to put final touches on, but Mr. S has had the luxury of a few extra days off due to a holiday work schedule so the routine was off. I succumbed to the fun.

So on this January morning when things returned to semi-normal, I returned to the business at hand and found that what I had previously written felt flat. Frustrated—mostly at my lack of self-discipline, I poured a cup of coffee and let my heart be open to how I might experience God’s coming near that we are celebrating in this season. January 6th is Ephiphany, after all.

My eyes fell on a stray Christmas gift lying nearby, an adult coloring book. They’re apparently all the rage this year. I picked it up and looked for a page to doodle on.

After the busyness of the last few days—and too much TV (let’s be real), it might be good to just be still, I thought. Me, God, a blank page—and a spot of color to break up the winter wonderland outside my window.

I responded to the nudge.
I chose to be as gracious to myself as God is with me.
I made an intentional choice to slow down and turn my thoughts to God for a few moments.
I remembered that my word for the year is OPEN and changed my grasping inner posture.
I ignored the impulse to obsess over the design before me. Rather, I randomly selected a color from the pencil box then started on the part of the design that caught my eye, letting it come to me rather than preempting the process with a plan of my own. Trusting, not controlling.

Before long, the more prominent figures began to emerge, then other parts. I followed the nudge to color those, holding my control loosely, doing what made sense then reaching for the next color, still without looking, to fill in what, as yet, didn’t.

The little project that began as a distraction, just a jumble of disassociated scribblings, took on beauty in which some sort of pattern could be seen. Could this be a metaphor for encountering God in our daily lived experience, I wondered? Is there a beauty to our lives that is difficult to see at first glance but when we turn aside, we begin to see possibilities of God’s workmanship? Can we trust it or must we control it? What if we…

Respond to the nudge to be still

Choose grace for ourselves

Intentionally slow down and turn our thoughts to God

Take an open posture

Refuse to obsess over what is not yet clear; begin anyway

Let Life emerge, moving forward when the next step on the path becomes clear

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

The coloring page is not finished, nor is any one of us. However, it is enough—as are we.

Although we may find ourselves uncomfortable that transformation is often out of our control, God assures us that he can be trusted, that what he is doing is enough. As the Beloved, we can be “confident of this, that he who began a good work…will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. (Phil. 1:6 NIV)

by David Hicks, CFDM Northwest Faculty

“Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, ‘Where is the one who has been born King of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship Him.” Matthew 2:1-2

Travelling is a part of life. You may enjoy travelling, you may not, but we all travel. It’s built into the fabric of humanity. It’s how we all arrived where we are today, it’s how we will continue on into the future. Humanity is on the move. It always has been, it always will be.

As this advent season begins I am thinking a lot about this idea of travelling and journey. Journey lies at the heart of Christmas. The wise men journeyed from the east. The shepherds journeyed from their fields to the manger. Mary and Joseph journeyed from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Jesus journeyed “from heaven to earth come down”. The Jews themselves had been on a long journey ever since the call of Abraham, and even before. We cannot really understand the Christmas story without paying attention to this idea of journey. All of these journeys come together and find their focal point in a manger in Bethlehem. But this is not the end of the journey. The manger of Jesus is both destination and starting point.

Our journey brings us to the manger, but we don’t remain there. We eventually move on to places like Galilee and Samaria and Capernaum and Jerusalem and Golgotha. But these aren’t places we just visit once and move on. Our journey involves frequent trips back to these places both to remember as well as to see for the first time. We are brought back here because there are always new things to gain from them. Each time we are changed and sent on our way only to find ourselves back again at some point. And each time we come back we are different people, so we see these places and hear these stories differently. That’s the amazing power of advent. Each time we come here we are different. Our journey has taken us to new places and we have seen new things and then our journey brings us back again to the Christmas story and we see it differently because we are different.

There is no real destination to our journey. I know that goes against our very western mindset that every trip must end at some place. I mean that’s the purpose of a journey right, to go someplace? Not really. In our journey there is no ultimate destination. Even heaven, commonly thought of as our final destination, is not so much the end of our journey as it is the beginning of another, greater journey. The purpose of our journey is not to get someplace. The purpose of our journey is the journey itself because our ultimate destination is simply to be with Jesus. Walk with Him, rest with Him, BE with Him. Our journey is not about going someplace, it’s about being with Someone.

This Christmas season I am participating in a journey that has been going on for thousands of years, really ever since humanity first learned how to walk. Walking with Jesus I will see the sights, hear the sounds, experience anew the rough and raw humanity of Christmas. This Christmas is different because I am different. And I fully expect to leave this time different from the person I was when I got here. And so the journey continues.