Seeking Authentic Voice

The other day someone asked me if I was having a “crisis of faith.” A crisis of faith implies that I am doubting my belief in God or in the way God works in my life or the world. I do, often, doubt.  However my life long relationship with God, grounded in prayer and an existential sense that God is with me (us), assures me that my doubts are actually about me. I doubt because I am struggling. Yet, even as I struggle I know that God will once again show God’s presence and I will see, probably in hindsight, how God is and has been present.  So I live in a paradoxical reality of doubt and trust. As a result I don’t worry about my doubts and because I don’t worry about them I don’t fall into a “crisis” of faith. I just keep trying, more or less successfully, to  stay in relationship with God, self, and others, until this time passes. Because it always passes. Which is what I said to the person who asked me that question.   That doesn’t mean I am comfort...

A reflection on the readings for Proper 12C : Hosea 1:2-10; Luke 11:1-13 Mechtild of Magdeburg, who lived in the thirteenth century, was the first German woman to write poetry and spiritual texts in Middle-High-German instead of Latin. Little is known about her except that she must have been of noble descent. Her adult life was spent with a group of unmarried women who lived together caring for the poor and the sick. Mechthild lived first in Magedeburg and then at a convent in Helfta. Here is one of her poems: How God speaks to the Soul And God said to the soul: I desired you before the world began. I desire you now As you desire me. And where the desires of two come together There love is perfected God speaking into the souls of human beings and in and through us is at the heart of our readings this morning. These earthy, bodily focused readings point us beyond ourselves to God who is ever faithful and always present. In the Hosea reading ...

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...

Am I a stone, and not a sheep, That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross, To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss, And yet not weep? Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved; Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky. A horror of great darkness at broad noon – I, only I. Yet give not o’er But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock. - by Christina Rossetti

I have been on a book reading binge lately. My primary genre, a relatively new one for me, murder mysteries. I've read Julia Spencer-Flemming, all but the first two in the series - and now anxiously await her next book, which I heard is due this spring? I've also read the "Girl Who" trilogy - just awesome! And, a couple of Elizabeth George. I've also read most of the Jennifer Weiner books, I have one left "Goodnight Nobody" which I will start today. Other than fiction I've been reading Karen Armstrong, most recently "Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life." And, poetry - Mary Oliver and Denise Levertov, mostly. So, tell me, what are you reading?

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...

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...

Each one is a gift, no doubt, mysteriously placed in your waking hand or set upon your forehead moments before you open your eyes. Today begins cold and bright, the ground heavy with snow and the thick masonry of ice, the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds. Through the calm eye of the window everything is in its place but so precariously this day might be resting somehow on the one before it, all the days of the past stacked high like the impossible tower of dishes entertainers used to build on stage. No wonder you find yourself perched on the top of a tall ladder hoping to add one more. Just another Wednesday, you whisper, then holding your breath, place this cup on yesterday's saucer without the slightest clink. (Billy Collins "Sailing Alone Around the Room" - Random House, 2001) I've been thinking about Billy Collins lately, ever since Diane mentioned seeing him at a conference. I heard him read his poetry in Tucson in 2009 and...

A certain day became a presence to me; there it was, confronting me - a sky, air, light: a being. And before it started to descend from the height of noon, it leaned over and struck my shoulder as if with the flat of a sword, granting me honor and a task. The day's blow rang out, metallic - or was it I, a bell awakened, and what I heard was my whole self saying and singing what it knew: I can (Denise Levertov) And, hat tip to Crimson Rambler from a comment on the Dorothy Parker poems below: Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Romania. Dorothy Parker, Not So Deep as a Well (1937), "Comment" US author, humorist, poet, & wit (1893 - 1967)

When I rise up let me rise up joyful like a bird. When I fall let me fall without regret like a leaf. (Wendall Berry)

Two poems by Dorothy Parker Interior Her mind lives in a quiet room, A narrow room, and tall, With pretty lamps to quench the gloom And mottoes on the wall. There all the things are waxen neat And set in decorous lines; And there are posies, round and sweet, And little, straightened vines. Her mind lives tidily, apart From cold and noise and pain, And bolts the door against her heart, Out wailing in the rain. ----- Godmother The day that I was christened- It's a hundred years, and more!- A hag came and listened At the white church door, A-hearing her that bore me And all my kith and kin Considerately, for me, Renouncing sin. While some gave me corals, And some gave me gold, And porringers, with morals Agreeably scrolled, The hag stood, buckled In a dim gray cloak; Stood there and chuckled, Spat, and spoke: "There's few enough in life'll Be needing my help, But I've got a trifle For your fine young whelp. I give her sadness,...

(Sunrise at Grand Canyon, photo from the files of Mompriest) I am filled with joy when the day dawns quietly over the roof of the sky. Life was wonderful in winter. But did winter make me happy? No, I always worried about hides for boot-soles and for boots; and if there'd be enough for all of us. Yes, I worried constantly. Life was wonderful in summer. But did summer make me happy? No, I always worried about reindeer skins and rugs for the platform. Yes, I worried constantly. Life was wonderful when you stood at your fishing hole on the ice. But was  I happy waiting at my fishing hole? No, I was always worried for my little hook, in case it never got a bite. Yes, I worried constantly. Life was wonderful when you danced in the feasting-house But did this make me any happier? No, I always worried I'd forget my song. Yes, I worried constantly. Life was wonderful And I still feel joy each time the day-break whitens the dark sky each time the sun climbs over the roof of th...

Is the soul solid, like iron? Or is it tender and breakable, like the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl? Who has it, and who doesn't? I keep looking around me. The face of the moose is as sad as the face of Jesus. The swan opens her white wings slowly. In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness. Our question leads to another. Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg? Like the eye of a hummingbird? Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop? Why should I have it, and not the anteater who loves her children? Why should I have it, and not the camel? Come to think of it, what about the maple trees? What about the blue iris? What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight? What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves? What about the grass? (Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems, Beacon Press, 1992)

Sophia over at RevGals offers this Family Edition for the Friday Five Meme: 1. Do you have any interest in geneaology? I have roots in the Mormon Church with family members who have done geneology on parts of my family. I am lucky to have copies of those records and find them fascinating. Sadly they only go back to the early 1800's with the early round of Mormon pioneers settling Utah and Idaho. Along with those settlers are stories of a pregnant great grandmother (5 generations back) who left England with her two toddlers and travelled to Utah while her husband stayed behind to earn money. The grandfather/husband later joined the family then took an additional wife or two and this grandmother divorced him. So, yes, I also have polygamists on my family tree. Then there's the story of another great grandfather who was a missionary to American Indians and wrote an English/Indian (not sure what tribes) dictionary. (Wish I had that. apparently they aren't very common). There a...

The discordant notes like the draw of string and bow a concert of wind through trees. Clanging timpani and banging kettle drum bass a wild storm this morning. Morning? This predawn symphonic awakening to chords of light jagged sky. As if heaven was pouring forth heavy. As if a waterfall or river. Socks, fleece, a cup of hot coffee dogs being dogs with wet tongues sloppy dawn. A pause, a quiet moment, the sun rise behind heavy clouds rain. Or tears? More rain than I have seen in two, maybe more, years. Three AM symphony. Lulling me awake. Reminding me, life, shattered ripped open sky. Or soul?

The road traversed long, sometimes narrow and steep. Oh! So very high up - and, then - down. Winding along through canyons of red and grey stone with scraggly trees and shrubs. Leaving my car behind, for a bit of a hike, I wandered along a well worn trail. Ancient land, Indian land, land of migrating wild cats and who knows what else. Land that my father lives on. Land that one day will be "mine" or so he says in his trust. Land that really belongs to no one and yet, everyone.