Thealogical Lady: A Blog

111

4/21/2015

Thea,
I overheard the table conversation of some followers of the Way.
One said to the other, "All paths lead to God."
The other replied, "None come to the Father except through Jesus."
I bit my tongue, and wondered if I should share the good news of you.
In the end I remained silent, knowing that's what I would want if the tables were turned.
Give me the grace to love the hearts of those who believe only-through-Jesus,
and give me the grace to love the many paths that lead to you.
Amen.

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Spirit Whispers: I'm sorry

8/3/2014

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I'm sorry
she says
softening her tone
averting her gaze
shifting her posture
willing the other to see that she means no harm

I'm sorry
she says
when she actually means
Pardon me
-or-
No, thank you
-or-
Here's what I think about it

I'm sorry
she says
when it's the other person
who screwed up, caused harm, bears blame
the other person
who offered what she doesn't need or want
the other person
who just heard her apologize for no good reason and is no longer interested

I'm sorry
she also says
on the rare occasion
when her apology
has merit

Why does she
hide behind
that simpering sorry?

Is it fitting to say sorry in a crowd that seeks her vision
rather than to say what she means?

Is it fitting to say sorry to a man in order to submit in the way she expects he expects
when young women are watching every move she makes?

Is it honest to say sorry to a challenger
rather than to speak forth the prophetic fire that blazes within her?

Why does she say
sorry, sorry, sorry
when so little of what she does
deserves her easy
self-deprecation
self-humiliation
self-abasement?

What if
she stopped
watering down
her virtue

and instead

began her day
with a strong cup of
I'm not sorry
?

(What a
HERE I AM, LORD
that would be)

~~~

The above is inspired by two people I respect who recently asked me, on separate occasions, why I say sorry when I do. I have long regarded "I'm sorry" as a gesture of hospitality in tense or difficult situations, but I am beginning to rethink that. I am grateful to my gentle adversaries for inviting me to see beyond my limited vision of what genuine hospitality might look like from a (female) leader.

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Easter: Day 42

5/31/2014

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Yesterday I began a three-part series of reflections on my Benedictine Canon vows. Today I want to talk about my vow of conversion.

Conversion is often associated with joining a new church (which I have done), but that's not what this vow implies. Conversion (conversatio) has to do with a cultivated attitude of turning: turning the soil of one's heart so it remains fertile, and turning perpetually back toward the sacred other in order to engage in dialogue. Conversion implies on-going resistance to one's own closed, hardened heart. Conversion requires ongoing engagement.

Conversion can be really tough.

Suppose my heart has been hardened by the scars of old wounds. Why would I reopen them by making myself vulnerable to God or my neighbor? Why would I risk an even greater wound?

The Benedictine life demands the risk of possible wounding so that one can love God and one's neighbor with abandon. The Benedictine vow of conversion is a vow to risk the cross in order to invite resurrection.

In what ways will I meet the cross during my novitiate? In what ways will I be raised up?

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Easter: Day 20

5/9/2014

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The psalms appointed for morning prayer in The Book of Common Prayer today included Psalm 44, and I couldn't help but think of the girls kidnapped in Nigeria with these words on their lips:

We have heard with our ears, O God,
   our ancestors have told us,
what deeds you performed in their days,
   in the days of old:
you with your own hand drove out the nations,
   but them you planted;
you afflicted the peoples,
   but them you set free;
for not by their own sword did they win the land,
   nor did their own arm give them victory;
but your right hand, and your arm,
   and the light of your countenance,
   for you delighted in them.

You are my King and my God;
   you command victories for Jacob.
Through you we push down our foes;
   through your name we tread down our assailants.
For not in my bow do I trust,
   nor can my sword save me.
But you have saved us from our foes,
   and have put to confusion those who hate us.
In God we have boasted continually,
   and we will give thanks to your name for ever.

Yet you have rejected us and abased us,
   and have not gone out with our armies.
You made us turn back from the foe,
   and our enemies have taken spoil for themselves.
You have made us like sheep for slaughter,
   and have scattered us among the nations.
You have sold your people for a trifle,
   demanding no high price for them.

You have made us the taunt of our neighbors,
   the derision and scorn of those around us.
You have made us a byword among the nations,
   a laughing-stock among the peoples.
All day long my disgrace is before me,
   and shame has covered my face
at the words of the taunters and revilers,
   at the sight of the enemy and the avenger.

All this has come upon us,
   yet we have not forgotten you,
   or been false to your covenant.
Our heart has not turned back,
   nor have our steps departed from your way,
yet you have broken us in the haunt of jackals,
   and covered us with deep darkness.

If we had forgotten the name of our God,
   or spread out our hands to a strange god,
would not God discover this?
   For he knows the secrets of the heart.
Because of you we are being killed all day long,
   and accounted as sheep for the slaughter.

And as the final words of this psalm come around, I can't help but think that the hands and feet and deeds they seek from God are the ones given by God to me--and you.

Rouse yourself! Why do you sleep, O Lord?
   Awake, do not cast us off for ever!
Why do you hide your face?
   Why do you forget our affliction and oppression?
For we sink down to the dust;
   our bodies cling to the ground.
Rise up, come to our help.
   Redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love.

How will I use my God-given hands and feet--how will I use my freedom to act--for the liberation of those who are, at this very moment, horrifically oppressed?

Here's a statement about the Nigerian girls from Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori given on behalf of the Episcopal Church, and here's a link to the call for submissions for the anthology that will be published in honor of the girls (whose proceeds will go to notforsalecampaign.org)

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Living Lent: Cleaning House

3/13/2014

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I love cleaning my house.

Wiping away flecks and spots of dirt, sweeping up dust, putting every last toy and piece of laundry and utensil in its place--the thoroughness and the ritual of it soothe my spirit. This is why Lent is my favorite liturgical season. It's the time for taking what's messy in my life and putting it right again.

One thing I'm learning this year, though, is that Lent is more than just a season for cleaning up. Cleaning can become a seductive and deeply deceptive mode of self-hiding. When a diamond sparkles radiantly, one hardly notices the imperfections beneath its surface.

One of my personal challenges is to let the messiness remain when I'd rather not, so I can look upon myself with less contentment and greater scrutiny. Otherwise my superficial sparkle might distract me--and those who support me--from what needs more care than a dust-rag can offer.

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Retreat and return

2/11/2014

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Photo by M. Kate Allen

My dreams this week concern me.

I've dreamed about killing someone I didn't know; I wasn't convicted in court for lack of evidence, even though I knew I was at fault. I've dreamed about others I did know dying of natural causes, leaving me to pick up the pieces. Last night I dreamed about an elderly friend of mine asking me to help pack up two houses: the one in which he used to live and the one in which he currently lived. He was preparing to move elsewhere, though I didn't know where. Everything I touched in his current house was laden with memory, whereas everything in the other house was strange, rich, and unlike him as far as I knew him.

I'm no expert on Jung or Freud, but I do know that dreams can point dreamers to insights about themselves and their lives.

What is with all the death, hiding, and transition?

I woke in the middle of the night last night to get my baby daughter a bottle. When I returned, I flashed back to a conversation from my last Benedictine Canon chapter meeting. Br. Philip talked about preparing for his final profession as a Canon next month, in particular about the placing of the pall over his prostrated body. Like Br. Chad and Br. Rawleigh, Br. Philip will lay down his body at the service of God, the community, and the world. He'll be covered with a pall, the pale garment of baptism and death.

I realized in the chill of the night that if I make my full profession as a Benedictine Canon, I will be committing myself to die.

I crawled back into bed and closed my eyes, but words rose up, and I ended up texting myself with the words of a haiku so they wouldn't be swallowed by sleep.

A funeral pall
veils the diff'rence between old
and new. Ego die.

My dreams point me to an unexpected revelation: my old self is dying. I am being put to the test. My identity as a religious person has long been plagued with fear, self-absorption, doubt, and horded treasures, all carefully saved so I would have something to cling to in case God ever failed me. Now, step by step, I am moving forward into the intensely uncomfortable unknown: a place of overflowing trust.

Father, I put my life in your hands.

I'm dying--and it's okay. I'm letting the precious treasure of my life go. And what a relief.

Mother, I put my life in your hands.

My life will be whatever it is meant to be. The particular outcome of my life is no longer my concern. Living from moment to moment at the service of God and God's magnificent, multi-faceted creation is enough. Being able to turn again and again from my selfish fears toward God, the holy Fire who burns within me, is enough.

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111

Spirit Whispers: I'm sorry

Easter: Day 42

Easter: Day 20

Living Lent: Cleaning House

Retreat and return

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