DEEPENING: 4 Companions

DEEPENING: 4 Companions

hands Last night, after a lovely evening of dinner and prayer with our long running monthly “Sabbath Group,” I decided to spend the night there. It was my first meeting since knee surgery, and as simple as the gathering was, I was exhausted. Another member of the group spent the night as well. We enjoyed a bit of Bailey’s and conversation before heading up to bed.

This morning I shared prayer with my spiritual director. It is different than sitting alone at home, trying to quiet my spirit and rest in the Holy Presence that always surrounds us. Still, it was definitely “deepening.” We never know where the Spirit will lead when we sit together. She has been my spiritual companion for over a decade. She listens, and helps me listen to God’s movement in my soul. I can always tell when we are getting close to what is deepest and most in need of surfacing for God’s healing touch: tears come. Usually a quiet trickle, though there have been times when the “prayer of tears” is more abundant!

I give thanks for her companionship. Her deep prayer and willingness to share my journey.

This morning there was anger that needed expressed, expectations that needed relinquished, and compassion for self that I find so difficult to give. She assures me the sharing goes both ways and that our time together is blessing for her as well. I don’t doubt that. But this morning I am moved with gratitude for the gift of companioning she shares. I think, too, of other companions on my way. They are not all close by. Some weave through my life like a thread, now visible, now disappearing underneath the fabric of my life, reappearing now and then.

Some have helped me reclaim myself after years of having ignored or lost it. Most are present in less “formal” ways than a spiritual director. But all have shown God’s face to me…

…. Compassionate God, thank you for the people you have placed in our lives, people who have companioned uson this journey to You. Many do not know their importance. They are unaware of the support they have given: a phone call that brings laughter and light into a dark day; an evening at the theater and then coffee and conversation after; an invitation to share a walk on a sunny day.  A visit when we are sick. Inclusion in a celebration. A shoulder to cry on. An opportunity to listen to them and to share their journeys.

You bless us, Holy One, with countless companions on our way. Bless them. Help us hear the call you give to each of us to be messengers of hope, of your love and compassion to one another.    Amen

DEEPENING: 3  Hopspitality

DEEPENING: 3 Hopspitality

smoking candleChapter 53 of the Rule of Benedict gives direction on how to receive guests at the abbey. The first thing? “All guests who present themselves are to be received as Christ, who said, “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me” (Matt 25,35). When my children were young and knocked on the door of my small home office, I tried to remember that. They weren’t distractions, interrupting my work, they were Christ, they were inviting me to hospitality, although I often fell short of this monastic ideal.

Day three of my “Deepening” project reminded me of this call. I had set my alarm and risen early in order to spend time  in quiet prayer before heading to my physical therapy session. I dressed, put the candle on the table, lit it, and settled into the chair.

Breathe in. Breath out. A knock at the door.

The friend taking me to my appointment had arrive a half hour early. Having gone to Mass, she arrived, carrying her breakfast.

” I thought I could eat while you’re getting ready,” she said.

“Sure. I haven’t eaten either,” I said as I walked quickly into the dining room, blew out the candle, and placed it back onto the wrought iron candle holder. Using up batter I had kept from a few days ago, I cooked up  a few pancakes and covered them with maple syrup.

Benedict instructs the monks to receive the unexpected guest with generosity. Nothing, not prayer, not fasting, nothing is more important than this person at your door. They are to stop what they are doing, Abbot and all, and make the guest welcome. Rooted in prayer, the hospitality includes food, and anything else needed to make the stranger comfortable. Share their table, their prayer, their place of rest.

At that moment, Christ is encountered in flesh and blood…not quiet prayer.

……..

Holy One who receives me always with welcoming embrace, even when my mind wanders and I find myself mentally ticking off my “to dos” for the day instead of quietly resting in your Presence, help me welcome all into my home, into my life and heart, no matter how busy I am. No matter my plans.  You are gracing my day with something greater. You are present to me in the one at my door.

Music in the Air

Music in the Air

Musicians on Royal Street

Musicians on Royal Street

Even before getting out of bed in the morning, I hear music punctuating the other sounds of New Orleans waking up for a new day. One man sings, unaccompanied at the entrance to a store across the street. Soon a horn or two is heard. Maybe guitars. By lunch time, no matter where you walk, you are entertained by the gift of musicians sharing their talent and passion.

Passsersby throw coins or a bill in the box or hat or instrument case lying open nearby. But the musicians play, paid or not. Their gift is my grace. My morning or noon or night prayer, reminding me to give thanks for life spirit that is freely given, not only by the street musicians, but also by the One who breathes life into us all.

Ask of the Days of Old

Ask of the Days of Old

corn muffins I was trying to sit quietly, to be aware of the Holy Presence within and without. The beeswax candle was burning. Scripture was waiting to be savored. And corn muffins were baking in the oven.

I couldn’t be still. Too many things to do pushed into my brain along with a bit of panic that I could do them in time to meet deadlines…some very public deadlines. Breathe in. Breathe out. Be still. I tried. I failed.

I wondered if I still believed in the Holy Presence that is the original milieu. The place where I live and breath and have my being. “Yes,” my mind gave the conditioned response. “Then why can’t I rest in the mystical embrace?” it wondered. Too busy to linger long on any one thing, it darted off to books, phone calls, appointments, writing, and work at Macy’s.

Mercifully, the oven’s buzzer announced the corn muffins were ready, and I had a good reason to get up and focus on something closer at hand. I spread butter on steaming soft insides of the yellow muffin.

I read over the Old Testament reading from Deuteronomy: “Moses said to the people: “Ask now of the days of old, before your time, ever since God created people on the earth; ask from one end of the sky to the other: Did anything so great ever happen before? Was it ever heard of? Did a people ever hear the voice of God speaking from the midst of fire, as you did, and live?”

“Ask of the days of old.” Maybe that’s what I can do. Remember. Not only creation and ancient history, and history of a particular people, but my history. The times I heard God’s voice speaking from the midst of fires in my life.

“Even the people who knew Moses and his story of the burning bush needed reminded,” I thought.

I took a buttery bite of warm breakfast. It tasted like hope.