Holy Seeing

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Over a week ago I had the pleasure of leading people through the spiritual practice of Visio Divina – Holy Seeing. This particular practice has been a favorite of mine. In a world where life often seems to be careening out of control, its intentional slowness and deliberate attention helps to put on the brakes to the proverbial crazy train.

My particular way of moving through this practice might be slightly different than others who practice Visio Divina.  I like to ask the Holy Spirit to direct my gaze toward something I may not see on my own or maybe even something I intentionally avoid while I am out in the world. He is always gracious to do so and when He does, I will take a photo on my phone. Then in a quiet moment later, I will sit with the photo and ask the Holy Spirit to help me see what God sees and to hear God speak to me through what I see.

He never disappoints.

Today I sat with a photo I recently took on an early morning at Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

Rehoboth Beach, DE

As I made my way through the movements…locking my gaze on the first thing that captures my attention – the lone bird standing on the beach and then allowing my gaze to widen taking in the whole image – the bubbles in the sand, the waves almost ready to crash, the silhouette of the bird flying in the distance, I prayerfully considered what it is that God desired me to see, to hold from this image.

And quietly I sense this phrase, “the reflection is seen in the stillness.”

I begin to see in the midst of all the many movements – bubbles erupting, waves crashing, ripples moving outward and birds flying – what stood quietly alone, in stillness was best reflected.

I am holding this truth close today. This month has been a busy one full of beautiful and good things. Yet, even so, in all of its movements of good the best can be lost and overlooked. This world would like us to believe that movers and shakers get all the things done. They are the pillars of success. They get to grab the brass ring and hold the trophies. And, that may be true in this world but friend, hear me, this world will end and all the brass rings, trophies and successes mean absolutely nothing in the light of eternity.

St. Benedict of Nursia has been noted as saying, “Listen and attend with the ear of your heart.” This is hard to do when the world is spinning and we are trying to win all the things. Noise begets more noise. Movement begets more movement. But to listen and attend well requires a stillness and an aloneness that beckons us into the holy presence of the Lord. It is the place where His reflection can be seen and even more importantly, experienced. It is here that His loving gaze becomes our reflection to the world.

May you find time to enter into stillness and seek His reflection.

Eternity longs for you to do so. Your eternity depends on it.

Oh Monday…

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Oh Monday You come

And lately, always the same

Restless and wanting

For more than I can give

I am broken and brittle

Weary and worn

You demand

What I do not have

So we both sit and wait

Be still and know

Oh my Monday heart

There is grace even now

And give thanks even in this

A Lenten Storm

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It seemed too early in the morning for the sky to be so ominous and yet as I sat in my favorite chair watching the world awaken outside my window, I could not help but notice the warning in the air.  It appeared this first day of March would be roaring in as a lion.  Ready or not a storm was coming and I could not help but think this was a fitting start to the first day of Lent – a season for the soul that holds its own sense of foreboding.

 

I have had the blessed grace of living in the two worlds of the church – liturgical and not.  Each have beauty and good to give even if they find it difficult to give it to each other.   We, in all our righteous humanity, always seem to get in the way and make the sharing hard.  Having lived in both expressions of faith, I choose to hold tight to the truth from each but struggle not to consider one more holy. 

We always want something to be best, don’t we?  Yet, the problem resides in who is defining what is best – me, you or God.  I bet you can guess which two don’t belong.

Lent is a season that ushers everyone into the holiest day of the Christian calendar – Easter.  It is a season of ashes and fasting – physical reminders that our humanity is broken and wanting.  The wearing of ashes has long been a biblical sign of mourning, repentance and humility.   Lent simply reminds us it is never too late to wear your own ashes.  It is a burden to own what we have long tried to hide and yet in this somber season there is blessedness in the mourning. 

Many think the dark tone of this season is for the death of Christ but I would challenge the mourning is not for the coming cross of Good Friday but for our sin and culpability that nailed Christ on it.  The blessedness comes in the repentance and the forgiveness the cross gave. Yet no matter how freely it gives, a heart must be ready to accept and to change. 

As I watched through the window the sky turn dark and threatening, I could not help but feel a tumult rising within me.  Lent comes, much like a storm, whether we are ready or not.   In its murkiness we are challenged to linger a little longer in our own tempest, in our own mourning.  It seeks to uncover the dark within us and so we can change our direction.  Lent longs to make our hearts ready for the beauty that comes with Easter.

It doesn’t take long for the pounding rain and blowing wind of a storm to wash the dirt from the air and the earth – everything smells and looks cleaner afterwards.  It is a purification of sorts.  We, in our humanity, need a cleansing downpour. Lent can be the storm that purifies us.  We can watch it through the window but in doing so, we will remain dirty.  We have to enter in and stand in the downpour if we want a washing to come.

So here is the question.  How will you enter into Lent this year? Whether you are liturgical or not, it really doesn’t really matter.  The real concern is will you watch from the window or will you stand in the storm? 

Easter is coming – ready or not. 

 

One Holy Night

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This night
This dark night
While the earth lay silent all heaven erupts
Glory falls naked and small and finds Himself in a manger
With us and yet we can’t see
He chose to come small, unnoticed, unwanted
So we wouldn’t remain so
He chose to grow in skin and among temptations
So we would see it could be done
He chose to come and live
So we could choose to die and go
This night
This dark night
Our Redemption is born

O Holy Night

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Oh holy night…the words fade softly into the dark surrounding me.  It is 3:00am and I am sitting here on the couch enveloped in the soft glow of lights from the Christmas tree perched in the corner.  I am welcoming the advent of this day earlier than most but it seemed more prudent to wrestle in the warm glow here rather than with my bed and blankets.

Holidays seem to accentuate the emotions I feel.  Even resurrecting ones I have long thought were buried.

xmas

Lately, I have felt their familiar tug on my heart and soul.

Quietly

Introspectively

But tugging nonetheless

These feelings can be challenging to explain when you can’t attach words.  When they hang heavy in your heart and mind but only to be felt and not to be named – they hide not in denial but rather linger as the reminder, the thorn in the side.

Too often, I try and ignore their presence for whatever good that is.  Here and now, I am welcoming them in to sit with me.

The stars are brightly shining…and so are the lights on my tree.  As I wrestle with my heart, my feelings, I am reminded of the words of Brennan Manning, “The unwounded life bears no resemblance to the Rabbi.”  I begin to wonder if what I have long wrestled with is the desire to be free of wounds – in whatever form – as if a wound free life was more holy.  I grapple with the sovereignty of God and His inerrant goodness in my reality of thorns and wounds.  I struggle with the One who can change circumstances but doesn’t.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining…I understand the fall of man.  I understand the state of sin and its consequences.  Yet I wonder why I seek to be wound free as the badge of faith and favor.  As if suffering itself is a testimony of the lack of either.  Why pray tell do I think I shouldn’t suffer when even He, who appeared so my soul could feel its worth, did so willingly.

Does my continued pain make Him any less a Savior?

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices…How do I hold tight to the stories of Lazarus, Peter’s mother in law, the sick slave, the many lepers or the bleeding woman and let go of the suffering that doesn’t seem to let go of me.  How do I rejoice in my weary, wounded self?

At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it.

Three times I did that, and then he told me,

My grace is enough; it’s all you need.

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…

My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen.

I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift.

Fall on your knees…

It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness.

Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size …

I just let Christ take over!  And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.

(2 Corinthians12:8-10 Message)

So, in this latest of night, when the darkness is bathed in the soft glow of hope, Paul’s example becomes my song.   My wounds become my strength.

And this becomes…a night divine