Seeking Authentic Voice

Highway 89A outside Escalante, Utah A number of years ago I drove from Tucson, Arizona north to Escalante, Utah with my son and his dog.  Actually, we were driving to Chicago, but we made a stop in Escalante to see my father. A few days later we drove the "loop" from Escalante along the top of the Rockies and then north to Salt Lake City. Our stay in Salt Lake included some time visiting a number of my family members.  The  mountain side view from the Salt Lake Cemetery where my mother and many family members are buried. The most notable aspect of this trip was time spent with family - from my son to my father to my aunts and uncles.  As a little girl I loved my family and have fond memories of spending time with them. That ended when I was nine and we moved away from Salt Lake. Then my time with family became rare, a mere handful of trips between the age of nine and this trip, as a grown woman of 53. I grew up learning how to be ...

“Listen--are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?"  (Mary Oliver quote found on "Goodreads").   I was working at my dream job. Naive, with stars in my eyes, I was a mere twenty-eight years old and part of a design team at a high profile interior design firm.  The clientele included the wealthiest people in Chicago. I traveled around the country assisting the designer as he created second, third, and fourth homes for his clients.  I had my sights on making it big - and making big money  - all the while being creative too! ( I did say I was naive, right? ). Before taking this "dream" job I was working at Eddie Bauer on Wabash Avenue in Chicago, selling hiking boots. Now that WAS a fun job. I knew all the stats for the boots and could do a proper fit ensuring my customers had a good hiking experience. But then this opportunity arose. A friend of mine from my first career in the dance world wondered if I'd like to interview for his entry l...

In this morning's meditation Jan Richardson , at the Illuminated Advent Retreat, asks us to ponder the concept of "emptying." She writes: ".... worship begins not only with the presence of call and response, with the meeting of God and of one another, but with the emptying that makes the meeting possible, the emptying involved in preparing of a space of welcome for the Word to make a home. What kind of space are you preparing in this season? How do you make ready, make way, make room for the sacred in these days? What distracts you; what drowns out the Word? Is there some piece you need to release or to simplify? In this second week of Advent, what draws your attention to the liturgy of your life?" Yesterday I wrote a bit about how busy and full my life is these days. It is a challenge to find time to do all that I want and need to do. But I am working at it. I am trying to rise early enough in the morning to take care of that which feeds me. I...

The Sun Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills, or the rumpled sea, and is gone – and how it slides again out of the blackness every morning, on the other side of the world, like a red flower streaming upward on it heavenly oils, say, on a morning in early summer, at its perfect imperial distance – and have you ever felt for anything such wild love – do you think there is anywhere, in any language, a word billowing enough for the pleasure that fills you, as the sun reaches out, as it warms you as you stand there, empty-handed – or have you too turned from this world – or have you too gone crazy for power, for things? from New and Selected Poems, Volume One, by Mary Oliver, 1992 I've been very busy lately. And when I haven't been busy I've been sick. I haven't written much, a...

I'm tired. So much is at stake this election year. Or at least I f eel like there is a lot at stake. I worry that the world as I know it, one that is emerging toward greater equality for people in all segments of society, will snap shut. That we will close our hearts around fea r. I am tire d of the angst and the language and meanness , of the lies and of the mask we humans can wear over our prejudices. It's not socially appropriate to be prejudice so we mask the feelings with anger, distortions of truth, and veiled accu sations. No doubt being prejudice is wrong. It's al so wrong to think we aren't prejudice when we are, to not see our behavior for what it really is. Watching the Presidential and Vice P residentia l debates is an example of this . I'm tired. I know I need to keep working for justice, as I understand it as a progressive Christian. And I will.  But I am tired of how we speak to one another and treat each other. I am trying to be a...

For months now I have been anticipating a retreat which begins today. Unfortunately I am too sick to drive the hour it would take to get to the retreat. And, really, do my clergy colleagues want to be exposed to me and these flu/cold germs? I don't think so. I am grateful that the fever I've had for two days seems to be gone. But I am left with a thick, foggy head, coughing and sneezing...kleenex is my bff. My retreat time will be spent at home, in bed, with tea. sigh. Instead of being able to enjoy some time in the country I offer this poem from Mary Oliver... Song for Autumn In the deep fall     don't you imagine the leaves think how comfortable it will be to touch     the earth instead of the nothingness of air and the endless     freshets of wind? And don't you think the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,     warm caves, begin to think of the birds that will come — six, a doze...

Two of my blogging friends have had to put their dogs down. I feel this sorrow to the core of my being, the day I have to do this, too, is within sight. My Roxie is 14 years old, and showing every bit of her age. But so far the pain meds we are giving her seem to be keeping her comfortable enough. Every day is a gift. We also have an almost 15 year old cat. Today she started to upchuck a fur ball on the sofa, we reacted by moving over to lift her off. This movement caused our momma dog, Ruby (a ten year old Viszla) to charge the cat - she does this in her self-determined role of  "momma" - making the other animals behave. But in the process of being pounced at, the cat panicked, leaped backward and fell off the sofa. A short while later we found her collapsed in front of the litter box, unable to walk straight. We were certain she had broken something. But thankfully, after a little rest and comfort, she seems to be better. Every day is a gift. In the last three weeks I ...

This week will be consumed with funerals and sorrow. One of our beloved saints of the parish, a woman 88 years old has died of a fast growing cancer. She made the decision to go in peace, exclaiming to me, and all who spoke to her, that she had lived a good life, and was ready. For a short time she thought she had six months, but it's only been one. Also our parish administrator has left town for the week. She has two family funerals, her sister-in-law died Sunday, and then her nephew (son of the sister-in-law) died sudden, in his sleep, the next day. I'll be extra busy. I always am when the parish admin is gone - she does so much for us! I hope her week is filled with grace, although it will also be a very difficult one. A week of grief and loss, a week of sorrow. A week of celebrating the gift and the fragility of life. I'll get back to reading and reflecting on "Called to Question" sometime soon - but not today.... Love Sorrow Love sorrow. ...

Prayer is what links the spiritual and the religious, the inner and outer parts dimensions of life. - Joan Chittister, "Called to Question" pg. 44  Chapter five of "Called to Question" is a reflection on prayer. Chittister tells the story of novitiates in the convent becoming weary of the busyness of life - from chores to worship to chores to worship -no time for ones self was exhausting. The old nuns would laugh as they told the story of women leaving after six months of this busyness because they could get no rest. Chittister says it took her years to get the "joke" to understand why the old nuns laughed in telling the story. Prayer, for the novitiates who left, was work, an intrusion into private time. But for those whose life is centered in prayer, prayer is time resting in God. It seems to me that one reason people don't come to church is because it takes too much work to get ready, to drive or walk over, and to sit in the pew for an hour....

Mysteries, Yes Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood. How grass can be nourishing in the mouths of the lambs. How rivers and stones are forever in allegiance with gravity while we ourselves dream of rising. How two hands touch and the bonds will never be broken. How people come, from delight or the scars of damage, to the comfort of a poem. Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say "Look!" and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads. ~ Mary Oliver ~ ( Evidence ) 

Yesterday it rained, slow and steady, with a chill in the air. It was the kind of day that beckons one to stay indoors, curled up with a book, or knitting. It was my day off and I didn't do much of anything. Today the sun rises, and it's back to work. But first a moment of prayer, and a poem. Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills, or the rumpled sea, and is gone - and how it slides again out of the blackness, of every morning, on the other side of the world, like a red flower streaming upward on its heavenly oils, say, on a morning in early summer, at its perfect imperial distance - and have you ever felt for anything such wild love - do you think there is anywhere, in any language, a word billowing enough for the pleasure that fills you, as the sun reaches out, as it warms you as you stand there, empty-handed-...

A reflection on John 3:1-17 for the Season of Creation 1A When I was a little girl I lived in a neighborhood on the side of the mountains that rim the southern section of Salt Lake City. Our driveway angled sharply down, providing a great place to skateboard. And from the street I had a fabulous view of the city and valley below. For me it was most spectacular at night, with thousands of bright sparkling lights. I remember that Petula Clark’s song, “Downtown,” was a hit on the radio. Another of my favorite memories of living there was the apricot tree in the backyard. Now, I know that apricot trees are not very large, but as a little girl it was a big tree for me. I loved to climb up in the branches, high enough that I could see beyond the garages to the city in the valley below. And then I’d settle in on a good branch, remove the book from my pocket and enjoy fresh apricots while reading. These memories are rich in imagery, of the amazing beauty of God’s creation – even now they ...

(Photo taken by Terri C. Pilarski) I don't want to live a small life. Open your eyes, open your hands. I have just come from the berry fields, the sun kissing me with its golden mouth all the way (open your hands) and the wind winged clouds following along thinking perhaps I might feed them, but no I carry these heart-shapes only to you. Look how many how small but so sweet and maybe the last gift I will ever bring to anyone in this world of hope and risk,  so do. Look at me. Open your life, open your hands. (Mary Oliver: Red Bird; Beacon Press, 2008) In this season after the Epiphany may we learn to live with open hands and even more open hearts. May the grace of God's peace flow in you and through you. Open your life, let God's love flow. 

The lonely stand in the dark corners of their hearts, I have seen them in cities, and in my own neighborhood, nor could I touch them with the magic that they crave to be unbroken. Then, I myself, lonely, said hello to good fortune. Someone came along and lingered and little by little became everything that makes the difference. Oh, I wish such good luck to everyone. How beautiful it is to be unbroken. (Mary Oliver, Evidence: Beacon Press, 2009) The season of Advent is upon us. For me this has always been a season that invites me into deep reflection on the mysteries of life - why some are broken and others are not, why some suffer and some suffer less, and the fine line between hope and despair. The fine line between standing lonely in some dark corner of our heart or the mystery of holding the love of God so deeply in one's heart that it warms and lightens and sustains even the coldest nights. I  know fine lines such as these. In this season ...

I gave, to a friend that I care for deeply, something that I loved. It was only a small extremely shapely bone that came from the ear of a whale. It hurt a little to give it away. The next morning I went out, as usual. at sunrise, and there, in the harbor, was a swan. I don't know what he or she was doing there, but the beauty of it was gift. Do you see what I mean? You give, and you are given. - Mary Oliver, "Evidence," Beacon Press: 2009. For the simple gifts - kindness, a listening ear, a hug, a meal, a note or email, a prayer, family, and friends - for these I gave thanks. For you I give thanks.

Things are changing; things are starting to spin, snap, fly off into the blue sleeve of the long afternoon. Oh and ooh come whistling out of the perished mouth of the grass, as things turn soft, boil back into substance and hue. As everything, forgetting its own enchantment, whispers: I too love oblivion why not it is full of second chances. Now, hiss the bright curls of the leaves. Now! booms the muscle of the wind. (Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems, Volume One, Beacon Press, 1992) I've had this feeling that there is change in the air. Maybe it's an intuition? Maybe it's hope? Maybe it's a last ditch effort to fend off despair, to hold oblivion at bay?

kathrynjz over at RevGals offers this Friday Five: Today's Friday Five is an opportunity for you to list five of your favorite 'go-to' movies/tv shows/books. You can use images, links, explanations or netflix. I rarely read books a second time. I guess I figure if I've read it once, that is enough? But I listen to music over and over and watch certain movies again and again. So maybe I need to rethink the one-time book read approach....(duh).... Anyway, here is my list of five favorite movies/music (I don't know what I'm going to write as I start this so it will be a stream of consciousness) 1. Sound of Music is one of my favorite. I first saw it when I was a little girl, probably in first grade. My parents took me to see it because I earned good grades in school (or at least that was the incentive I recall). It was cold and wintery. We saw it a theater - now one of those classic old ones, in downtown Salt Lake City. The streets were still adorned with C...

A reflection on the readings for Proper 24C:Jeremiah 31:27-34; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5; Luke 18:1-8; St. James, West Dundee, IL Occasionally I have a craving for LIFE cereal. The other day I opened a fresh box of Life cereal and poured it in a bowl for breakfast. But the cereal, instead of being those little squares in a basket weave, were crushed and came out shredded. The box was perfectly unmarked, no indication that the cereal inside was crushed. I wonder what happened? Did I just get the last dregs from the factory that day, all tumbled into one box? Who knows? Likewise, we don’t know the exact circumstances that led the widow to the judge in our reading from Luke this morning. What we know of ancient societal customs tells us that widows were often social outcasts, poor, desperate, and struggling. We have no idea who her opponent is. But none of that is point of the story, the point is, like the judge, God hears our desperate pleas for justice, and grants them. God brings justice ...

Sometimes, walking for hours through the woods, I don't know what I'm looking for, maybe for something shy and beautiful to come frisking out of the undergrowth. Once a fawn did just that. My dog didn't know what dogs usually do. And the fawn didn't know. As for the doe... dreaming that everything was fine... The way I'd like to go on living in this world wouldn't hurt anything, I'd just go on walking uphill and downhill, looking around, and so what if half the time I don't know what for- so what if it doesn't' come to a hill of beans... In the films of Dachau and Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen the dead rise from the earth... while the rest of the world did nothing... My dog and the fawn did a little dance... Oh, you never saw such a garden... A many sits there... He is finishing lunch... A bottle of wine... He fills a glass... He lifts it to his mouth and drinks peacefully. It is the face of Mengele. Late th...

This morning two mockingbirds in the green field were spinning and tossing the white ribbons of their songs into the air. I had nothing better to do than listen. I mean this seriously. In Greece, a long time ago, an old couple opened their door to two strangers who were, it soon appeared, not men at all, but gods. It is my favorite story-- how the old couple had almost nothing to give but their willingness to be attentive-- but for this alone the gods loved them and blessed them-- when they rose out of their mortal bodies, like a million particles of water from a fountain, the light swept into all the corners of the cottage, and the old couple, shaken with understanding, bowed down-- but still they asked for nothing but the difficult life which they had already. And the gods smiled, as they vanished, clapping their great wings. Wherever it was I was supposed to be this morning-- whatever it was I said I would be doing-- I was...