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Psalm 107 and Pelagius

7/22/2016

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During my prayer today, I rewrote Psalm 107. This took me the better part of two hours--a considerable amount of time compared to what I've spent on other individual psalms. I think it required extra time because what I wanted it to say reminded me of a Christian heresy called Pelagianism, which basically says that we human beings have what we need within ourselves to attain/earn salvation--no extra help from God (via the Christ) necessary.

The difference between Christian and Thean thought here is twofold: first, according to Theanism, salvation is not something that human beings (or Creation at large) need--there is no doctrine of "Original Sin" in Theanism. Theanism claims that we are not now nor have we ever been nor could we ever be separate from Thea, even when we do wrong or commit evil deeds. Thea's love is stronger than any individual's or community's ability to do wrong--Thea's love, which binds all Creatures together as her Sacred Body, can never be torn apart.

Second, according to Theanism, all Creatures are Thea's Incarnation. Whereas Christianity requires God's Word to be made incarnate in a single, sinless man who is sacrificed by death on a cross for the world's salvation, Theanism says that we--all of us--are Thea. Therefore we are individually and collectively all we will ever need to fulfill our ultimate purpose, which is to love and bear witness to one another, particularly by answering the passion that stirs deepest within our hearts, no matter what obstacles lay before or around or beneath or behind us. When we experience fear, doubt, or distress, as the people in Psalm 107 do, we only need to remember who we are: Thea's Sacred Body, capable of fulfilling our destiny to love if we can just turn inward to remember that love is the stuff we're made of.


Psalm 107
 
Give thanks to Thea, for her love is a holy flame
   that burns brightly within her Creatures.
 
Some wander in the desert,
   finding no way to a city where their hearts might dwell.
 
They hunger and thirst;
   their flesh languishes.
 
Then they look within themselves for Thea’s help,
   and their divine fire melts their icy fear;
 
Thea thus puts their feet on a straight path
   to go to a city where they might dwell.
 
Some sit in darkness and deep gloom,
   bound fast in misery and iron;
 
They are humbled with difficult work;
   they stumble, and find none to help.
 
Then they look within themselves for Thea’s help,
   and their divine fire melts their icy fear;
 
Thea thus leads them out of darkness and deep gloom
   and breaks their bonds asunder.
 
Some go down to the sea in ships
   and ply their trade in deep waters;
 
Then a stormy wind rises up,
   which tosses high the waves of the sea.
 
They mount up to the skies and fall back to the depths;
   their hearts freeze because of their peril.
 
They reel and stagger like drunkards
   and are at their wits’ end.
 
Then they look within themselves for Thea’s help,
   and their divine fire melts their icy fear;
 
Thea thus stills the storm to a whisper
   and she brings them to the harbor they are bound for.
 
Thea’s love changes deserts into pools of water
   and dry land into water-springs.
 
She settles the hungry there,
   and they find a city to dwell in.
 
They sow fields, and plant vineyards,
   and bring in a fruitful harvest.
 
The wise will ponder these things,
   and consider well the holy fire of Thea that burns within.

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Home

7/8/2015

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Tonight I read the blog of a wise, gentle man whom I am privileged to know. He wrote about transitions and pilgrimage. "Daily transition is the substance of a pilgrimage," he wrote.

That got me thinking about the last seven, eight, nine, ten months of my life. Every day has been a day in transition--transition to new hope, new ideas, new community, new self-reliance. Every day has been a transition from old doubts, old fears, old community, old codependency.

Tonight I look back on these last many months and I realize I've been on pilgrimage this whole time, moving away from the place I started and into a new place. The land I've discovered has a new, calmer joy in it. I've found quiet, abiding trust there. I've found my mirror image in a deep lake, and there's a smile playing on my lips.

I've come a long, long way, and it's hurt. It's hurt so much I couldn't breathe. It's hurt so much I thought I couldn't continue. But in these many months, I've crept forward, one step at a time, powered by strength I didn't know I had. And I've found myself looking over an unfamiliar landscape--one in which I'm a newcomer, but one in which I'm also welcome. It's a strange, novel land in which I'm free to be who I am without apologizing for it. I don't have to hide. I don't have to prove myself in a thousand ways. I can come as I am, simply as I am, and be wrapped in welcome. Because it's my own hospitality I'm receiving--my own open arms.

I think this is what it means to be a pilgrim: to discover yourself at home through the course of a journey, even if the journey takes you miles away from where you started.

I am home.
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50

2/19/2015

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Thea,
mistress of the earth,
your love rains
in monsoon waves.
Soak every brittle fear
until hope burgeons again.
Amen.
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Spirit Whispers: The Sound I Seek

10/20/2014

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My second daughter, like my first daughter at age one, likes to pull my books off my bookshelves and strew them about the floor. I glanced at the carpet today and noticed there one of the books I was introduced to during my spiritual direction training, Miriam Greenspan's Healing Through the Dark Emotions. Apart from having found the next book to put on my to-read list, I've also been reminded that the dark emotions--grief, fear, and despair--have the power to teach, to transform, and to heal.

As I've continued to discern my vocation from God, I have come to a new awareness: if I am to be a Benedictine Canon or a priest or any other thing, I must release every motivation to do so that is driven by grief, fear, or despair. My vocation cannot belong to grief, fear, or despair. It must belong to love.

That isn't to say I must become perfect before I become what I am called to be, because no one would be able to embrace her vocation if perfection were a prerequisite. It is rather to say that my call must resound in the key of love. My grief, fear, and despair teach me what is dissonant in the key of love, and their dissonance bears its own beauty. But love is ultimately the sound I seek; love is the sound of God's beckoning voice.
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Spirit Whispers: Bear one another's burdens... (Guest Post)

8/12/2014

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Rebecca Longbow is a writer of poetry, short fiction, and creative non-fiction. Her name has been changed to protect her privacy.


She said it was seven years ago. She said she never told me, but she never forgot how helpless I seemed.

I’m going through a divorce right now. When I told a lady I’ve recently gotten to know again, she recounted seeing me struggle in my marriage. I never knew anyone noticed. No one said a word. I always felt so alone in this struggle.

When she told me, I was touched that she remembered. I was touched she cared back then.

She told me that one day it was raining heavily. She said my family drove up in a car. My then husband quickly ran in from the rain, leaving me to struggle with an infant in a car seat, a toddler, and a son with sensory issues all alone. She said she couldn’t believe my husband would be so insensitive.

When she first told me, I was touched that she remembered that it happened. I was touched that she cared. Later that night though, my emotions changed to sadness tinged with anger. She saw. She was mad at my husband. She couldn’t believe he would let me struggle alone.

And then she also let me struggle alone. She did not come over and offer to help carry the diaper bag or hold an umbrella.

In 7 years, she never told me that she noticed I was struggling. She never said, “I thought of you today and I wanted you to know I care about you.” A smile and helping hand would have meant the world to me that day.

I’ve found that is the silence of most in churches that I know. They say, “I can’t believe you waited this long to leave him.”

Yes, I waited. You know why? Because I assumed people either couldn’t see me or all or could see but agreed with how he treated me. No one spoke up. No one told me I didn’t have to live like this. No one told me I was worthwhile. They just watched as he tore me down.

They told me that I didn’t smile enough. They made comments about how I ought to volunteer more. I’m sure there were good intentions like, “not meddling in a marriage.” But there is a broad path between “not meddling” and being that person to help me in the rain.

I wasn’t worth getting wet for. My children were not worth it to her.

Sometimes I don’t know if I embrace a god. But when I think of what I believe, I believe in grace. I believe in forgiveness. I believe in my struggle to forgive all those who turned their heads. I believe in helping hands. I believe in smiles. I believe in extending grace to parents and others, in grocery stores and parking lots and on airplanes.

I’ve learned to be the helper this lady was not to me for those seven years. And I always will. I can never forget her story. And for all the people like me in the world, I want to be there even if just with a sympathetic smile and a kind word.

I think that is part of what draws me to the students I teach in an alternative school. They are the ones others turn from, the teens who show up on the news and in the jail. If I have a religion, it’s the religion of “do not turn away.” I will not turn my face and choose silence over love. My love may not change a life. But even if I’m just the little thought that “someone seems to care about me,” I will have lived a life of meaning.

For me, for now, that is my religion. To care beyond limits. If I ever learn how to do that completely, then I may pursue exactly who I should address if I pray. For now, I try to live prayers of kindness out loud. That feels more real than the many petitions I used to utter. I’m not against the saying of prayers. I’m just trying to find more balance in my life, more living on intentions than praying them.

And, as hurt as I was at first, I’m really glad my friend told me about how she noticed my plight that day in the rain. I’ve learned from her experience in ways I might not have if she had simply helped me that day, instead of telling me years later. The lesson to help others is now firmly cemented in my mind.
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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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Spirit Whispers: Philadelphia 11

7/29/2014

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The Philadelphia 11, July 29, 1974
On this Feast of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, another celebration is underway: the fortieth anniversary of the ordination of the Philadelphia 11, the first women to be ordained in the Episcopal Church.

I am grateful for God's prophetic call on the lives of these women. I am grateful for their obedience to God--which manifested as disobedience to the unjust, unholy policies of their church.

I am grateful that these women paved the way for other women to respond faithfully to the call they hear from God without fear.

I am grateful for the first experience I had of Sunday liturgy at St. Augustine's Episcopal Church, at which the first thing I noticed was a woman standing at the altar as an ordained deacon--and no one was rioting. No one even batted an eyelash (except me).

I am grateful that the presence of ordained women is normal in the Episcopal Church. I am grateful that the face of the Episcopal Church in the United States, the Presiding Bishop, is a woman (and one of great wisdom).

I am grateful for this church that perceived its own call to be prophetically transformed after eleven women stood up, risking everything that mattered to them, to respond to God's will.

I am grateful that these eleven icons of Martha made it possible for me to sit more easily, like Mary, at the feet of Jesus and hear what he has to say.

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Spirit Whispers: Have Mercy

7/2/2014

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Recently I met someone who suffers from extreme nausea. He can't eat. He's afraid he's going to die. He mentioned fear of going to hell because of his past choices.

I asked him in a quiet voice, "Do you believe you're going to go to hell?"

He paused for a long moment, then answered, "My hesitation tells you a lot, doesn't it?"

My heart wanted to burst in that moment. How could I, who have sinned so greatly and hurt so many, offer my hope to him?

I wrote down for him the lyrics of a slow, gentle hymn I learned years ago, the words to which were written by Archbishop Desmond Tutu
:

Goodness is stronger than evil
Love is stronger than hate
Light is stronger than darkness
Life is stronger than death

Victory is ours, victory is ours
Through Him who loves us


Today I went flipping through the psalms and found one in particular that might have resonated with him.

Psalm 143

Hear my prayer, O Lord;
   give ear to my supplications in your faithfulness;
   answer me in your righteousness.
Do not enter into judgement with your servant,
   for no one living is righteous before you.

For the enemy has pursued me,
   crushing my life to the ground,
   making me sit in darkness like those long dead.
Therefore my spirit faints within me;
   my heart within me is appalled.

I remember the days of old,
   I think about all your deeds,
   I meditate on the works of your hands.
I stretch out my hands to you;
   my soul thirsts for you like a parched land.

Answer me quickly, O Lord;
   my spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me,
   or I shall be like those who go down to the Pit.
Let me hear of your steadfast love in the morning,
   for in you I put my trust.
Teach me the way I should go,
   for to you I lift up my soul.

Save me, O Lord, from my enemies;
   I have fled to you for refuge.
Teach me to do your will,
   for you are my God.
Let your good spirit lead me
   on a level path.

For your name’s sake, O Lord, preserve my life.
   In your righteousness bring me out of trouble.
In your steadfast love cut off my enemies,
   and destroy all my adversaries,
   for I am your servant.


As a Benedictine Canon, my daily prayer etches the psalms on my heart. A few of the psalms I remember most easily are those I memorized long ago in song. Psalm 51, Psalm 130, Psalm 63, Psalm 23, and Psalm 91
spring to mind most easily when my heart is heavy.

What words do I repeat to myself about God when I am most low? How might I find fresh, life-giving, mercy-imparting words?
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Spirit Whispers: Mother

6/30/2014

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When Paul writes to the church at Thessalonica, he compares the ministry of himself and his fellow leaders to that of a mother.
But we were gentle among you, like a nursing mother tenderly caring for her own children. So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you have become very dear to us.
   -Thessalonians 2:7b-8
This ministry is one of gentleness, of refreshment, of steady abiding-with that overflows with love. He regards the members of the Thessalonian church as very dear.

Belonging now to a church in which the vocations of women to ordained ministry are recognized and fully accepted, I find fresh meaning in this. In this passage, Paul is unafraid of comparing himself and other leaders to devoted women. In recommending himself to the Thessalonian church, he embraces a maternal image. In mothering, goodness may be found. In mothering, loyalty may be found. In mothering, unfettered love may be found. In mothering, all the nourishment a young one needs may be found.

To be a gracious, loving, effective, Godly minister, in this passage, is to be a mother.

I am grateful to be part of a church that embraces the title of "Mother" for its female priestly ministers. When I consider the call I hear to priestly ministry, considering it in terms of mothering enriches it beyond what any book on priesthood might say. Mothering is something I get. Mothering implies total commitment, total love, and totally deep joy--even in the midst of difficulties and trials. I would give anything for my children, including my life.

Isn't this what the high priest, Jesus the Christ, does?
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Spirit Whispers: Vulnerability

6/13/2014

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PicturePhoto by Monty Carson.
This morning I took one of those silly little online quizzes that a friend of mine posted on Facebook. This one was called, "What Emotion Are You Guided By?"I knew it would only be ten or twelve questions, and I knew that it would either tell me what I wanted to hear or be way off (and either outcome was equally likely), but I have discovered that asking a question--even in an online quiz--can only yield more to think about.

So I took the quiz. Its answer? Vulnerability.

You are a very emotional, sensitive person. You act upon your feelings, even if it's hurting you, and your strong and vivid emotions tend to get the best of you. Being vulnerable is not a negative thing - it makes you more aware of other people's emotions and when they might be hurt. Trying to grow a thicker skin might be a good idea, but don't hurry. Keep your tender soul alive for as long as you can, it's precious.
Two things strike me: 1) Vulnerability isn't precisely an emotion, so I wasn't expecting that as a possible answer; and 2) now that I think about it, a number of people who have journeyed with me in recent months have pointed to my increasing vulnerability and what a vital part of me that is.

Don't hurry, it says. Keep your tender soul alive for as long as possible, it says. Being vulnerable is not a negative thing.

The trouble with vulnerability is that a vulnerable person is always in a position to be hurt--this truth comes to me from too much experience. Nevertheless, throughout the last seven or so months, I have aimed to become as vulnerable as I have ever been. Vulnerability doesn't just make it possible to be hurt; vulnerability makes it possible to heal. Vulnerability makes it possible to be honest. Vulnerability makes it possible to let one's ego go. Vulnerability makes it possible for Spirit to make a rich dwelling for herself in one's midst.

As a person of faith, and particularly as a Benedictine Canon, I find that many of my former desires have fallen away to make room for this one great desire: to love and serve God and my neighbor (as Jesus did, and as Spirit inspires me to do).

I can't predict the future. I don't know exactly what that love and service will look like in advance. I can't control any of it. I can only listen with the ear of my heart and respond. Vulnerability keeps my own voice from overtaking God's. Vulnerability makes the impossible possible.

Total vulnerability means that, no matter how my ego may feel about it, my whole heart is in God's hands, for better or worse.


Will I keep faith when I am thrown into the pit and later sold into slavery like Joseph? Will I keep faith when my family and my life are destroyed like Job's? Will I keep faith when I'm asked to stand up to Pharaoh like Moses? Will I keep faith when I meet my dead Lord in the garden like Mary? Will I keep faith when I realize that my role is to decrease like John?
In what difficult and extraordinary situations will I find myself saying to God, "Here I am, I have come to do your will"?

And when I find myself as Pharaoh's most trusted advisor like Joseph, and when I find myself radically trusting God despite all my loss like Job, and when I perform unforeseen wonders through God's power like Moses, and when I run off to proclaim that God lives like Mary, and when I proclaim the one I love to be greater than I am like John, will my life's purpose find its completion and unbridled joy in God saying to me, "Well done, good and faithful servant"?
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Easter: Day 44

6/2/2014

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Dear Miri,

A year ago today, you changed the fate of the world by emerging from the darkness of my womb into the bright, bright world.

You've joined your daddy and sister and me on the wildest year of our family's life yet. So many things have changed! Let that lesson always be in your heart: things change, and if you keep moving, you'll find yourself in the most extraordinary places with the most extraordinary people doing the most extraordinary things.

Your eyes have always sparkled brilliantly--may your spirit always do the same.

Your legs and arms have been strong since you were growing inside me--may you always be brave and bold enough to show others what it means to be a graced, living body.

Your older sister is bodacious, but you remain engaged and interested in her presence--may you always cultivate curiosity rather than fear, and may you always turn to your sister when there is no one else your size to turn to.

Your parents love you with a great, big, bursting love--may you learn to love others the way we love you.

Your godmother will always be a gentle listener and confidant for you, just as she has always been your mother's--talk to her often so you can discover what it means to be a person wholly in love with the world.

Your daddy would throw himself in danger's path to save the life of another--learn to care as skillfully, boldly, and wholeheartedly as he does.


The ladies in your life are readers and writers--befriend words so you can stretch the limits of your world.

You have an enormous family circle, one that soars even beyond blood-ties--remember your family and call on them whenever need arises, because we will be there for you, whatever you need.


Sacred presence can be found anywhere for those with eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to love--may your eyes and ears and heart always remain open to the presence of Shekhinah.


And if you forget everything else, remember this: you have value just because you are, and no power in the heavens or on earth can ever take that from you.

I love you, Miriam-bub.

Mama Kate

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Easter: Day 43

6/1/2014

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For the last couple of days, I've written about my Benedictine Canon vows. Today I'll explore the vow of obedience.

Obedience was always the vow I resisted most when I was discerning the possibility of life as a Roman Catholic nun. The idea that I would ultimately have to submit to an authority outside of myself worried me. To use an example that actually came up in my discernment, if my heart's desire was to be a liturgist and my community/superior told me I had to do something other than prepare liturgy, what would I do? How would I be happy?

Obedience, as I understood it, was a stance of submission to the will (and whims) of the other. When I read about Joseph and his many brothers, and the trials Joseph endured while he waited for God to come around, I'm reminded of this stance of submission and I cringe. The psalmist's question, "How long?", is one that could be answered with "Forever." If one found oneself in the wrong community, a life of obedience could be one of misery.

What I discovered as I was discerning the possibility of becoming a nun was that I was being obedient to God--I was listening hard, and I was hearing God's voice through my worries. To be obedient to God is to pay attention to one's life. What is it in my life that brings deep, quenching joy? What brings me nerve-wracking restlessness? Paying attention to my life in all its particulars is a vital way in which I listen to God's call for my life.

In my novitiate as a Benedictine Canon, I dig through the hardened soil in my heart so I can make room for what God wishes to plant in me. In order to turn that hardened soil, I have to embody a stance not of blind submission, but profound openness--openness to be seen by myself, God, and others in all my facets, just as I am. Masks keep me from perceiving what God wishes for my life and keep the seeds already planted in me from budding; they keep my unique, God-given brilliance from shining in God's marvelous light.

To be obedient, in my case, is to notice what life as a Benedictine Canon life is like for me. If I were worried or doubtful or unhappy, obedience would mean paying attention to that worry, doubt, and unhappiness and being willing to seek their source. Being obedient as a Benedictine Canon means being willing to share my joys and fears with my Benedictine siblings, especially my superior. To take counsel with another is an act of utter trust, and it is a way of allowing God to speak through others what I may not yet be able to hear from God through myself.

What will I hear as I continue to listen to God in the presence of sacred others?  What will spring forth from my heart as I loosen the soil that has been made tough and hard?

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Easter: Day 41

5/30/2014

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I took three vows when I became a Benedictine Canon novice in February: obedience, conversion (conversatio), and stability. I've spent a good deal of time reflecting on each of these recently, and I'd like to spend time with them over the next few days. The strength and power of the vows becomes evident when one considers one's own weaknesses, so I will discuss the vows in light of my own weakness. I want to give  consideration to stability today.

Let's suppose that the journey through the novitiate became really difficult and I felt like I wanted to give up.


One of the things that has been true of me in the past is that, confronted with great difficulty, I sink into my shadow's aching, heavy desire to withdraw. I have burned a number of bridges that way, including some that I wished I could restore later and couldn't.

Stability implies that my shadow doesn't get to burn bridges when things become difficult. My vow is to be stable, to stay--to deal with whatever comes my way while maintaining my presence.

When I'm healthy, when my heart's soil is well-tilled, I can do this, often utilizing supports that are already in place.
St. Benedict knew that in community oriented away from self-interest and toward God and neighbor, much support would be available to the members of the community. My community is exceptionally supportive, even though it's small and we are not cloistered.

Still, when things are hard and I'm not well, remaining faithful in the exercise of stability means having the humility to acknowledge that I need help even if I'm not sure I'll get what I need, whether from my community or anyone else. It's one thing to pray, "My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth," when one has lots of tangible help around oneself. It's another to pray it when God's help is perceived to be the only available source of help.

At one's darkest moments, the vow of stability implies utter reliance on an uncapturable, untameable God.
It's an invitation to fall, trusting that I will be caught, even though I have no safety net of my own devising in place.

By taking the vow of stability, I've promised not to withdraw or give up, period. I've promised to see this journey through, no matter where the path takes me--even if it meanders out of the out of the comforts of community and into places of desolation.

And if my foot slips from its foothold on the wall of a stark, vertical cliff?

Then my vow demands that I must fall back into Spirit's enveloping breath.

Will I shed the burden of fear when I fall? Will I fly on the lightness of hope?


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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: Heart in Blossom

4/3/2014

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Howdy. I'm Kate. And within the Enneagram personality indicator, I'm a three.

As a three-type, I'm the sort of person who, my whole life, has been motivated by varying degrees of desire to succeed, to be praised, and to be valued by others.

The healthiest three is the sort of person who is able to let go of her attachment to praise and valuing from others and to draw motivation for her actions from her heart's deepest desire. The healthiest three is one who is motivated not by the joys accessible outside herself, but by the joys accessible within herself.

Yesterday, April 2, 2014--on an otherwise ordinary, unremarkable day--my heart blossomed, and I beheld my life's calling without fear or doubt. My motivations having to do with pleasing others were supplanted by the desire to serve my God in the place of my own deepest joy.

I'm Kate. I'm a three. And as of yesterday, I am free from the bondage of outside affirmation. I am directed from within myself. I am free to be who I am called to be in the eternal now, no holding back.

What will my life look like from this day forward? What will I be compelled to do and say and be for the sake of God and neighbor that I would have hesitated to do and say and be before?

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Living Lent: Homily, Lent III

3/24/2014

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Many weeks ago I was invited by the vicar of St. Augustine's Church to give a homily at both Sunday liturgies for the third Sunday of Lent. Yesterday was the third Sunday of Lent, and these are the words that I shared with my fellow parishioners.

Lent III Lessons: Genesis 44:1-17, Psalm 95, Romans 8:1-10, John 5:25-29

"From the wilderness the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as God commanded. And they camped, but there was no water for the people to drink." This is what we hear from the book of Exodus. God's people had been journeying for a long time. They were hopeful and excited about their newfound freedom from slavery in Egypt. But in the midst of their journey, tired and weary from walking, they found themselves in a place that had no water to quench their thirst. When they got upset about it, Moses got upset at them for being upset. And then God finally relented and gave the people a spring of water. The scripture writer notes throughout the story that God's people persisted in doubt.

There's something strange about this. Why would God bring God's beloved people out of slavery and then leave them out to dry, literally? They're in the wilderness, a place unknown to them, and they're thirsting. Thirst is no insignificant thing. Thirst, if left unquenched long enough, could lead to death. Thirst is such a fearful experience that there are psalms dedicated to it: in Psalm 42 we pray, "As the deer that pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for God," and in Psalm 63 we pray "My soul is thirsting for you, O God, like a dry, weary land without water."

For the people of Israel, a dry land was an unfruitful land. A dry people was a dying people.

And here we are, on the third Sunday of Lent, not quite halfway through our journey in the Lenten wilderness, and we find ourselves parched. My guess is that you, like I, have given up something for Lent (in my case, being the overachiever that I am, I gave up four things). If you're like me, your Lenten fasting leaves you yearning, sometimes bitterly, sometimes desperately, for the familiar comforts you gave up on Ash Wednesday.

This Sunday's lessons are all about water and thirst, and they may be the most important ones we hear during Lent. We think of Lent as a time to honor Jesus' ultimate sacrifice on the cross by making sacrifices of our own, and Lent is that, but Lent also has something far more difficult to teach us.

The harder lesson of Lent is difficult to perceive when our fasting is overshadowed by our certainty that relief is coming. Unlike our voluntary Lenten fasting, for the Israelites wandering in the wilderness, there was no timeline or guarantee of reaching an oasis. Their journey out of slavery in Egypt meant leaving behind all their known sources of refreshment, period. It meant taking the extraordinary risk that they might involuntarily and without warning have to abstain from water--an abstinence that, if prolonged, even for a few days, would have the power to claim their lives.

By leaving Egypt, they weren't just taking their lives out of the hands of Pharaoh; by seeking freedom, they were submitting their lives to the mercy of their God, their sole protector from the dangers of the wilderness. As they found themselves stopping to camp in a place with no water, they were terrified. They were so sick with parched mouths and deep thirst that they were no longer sure that the God in whom they had put all their trust would be willing or able to save them from death. They had already journeyed too far from Egypt to go back. Their lives hung by a thread, and they could no longer save themselves. Only God could. And that scared them.

Centuries later, when Jesus offered living water to the Samaritan woman, he was offering her God's new covenant: the promise that as long as she sought this new living water, rather than seeking water from the source she had always turned to, she would never have to fear dying from thirst the way the Israelites had feared dying from thirst in the wilderness.

The lesson from John's gospel isn't merely a story about the Samaritan woman. It's a story about us. We have been offered this same living water by God in our baptism, and yet what do we do?  We build up storehouses of comfort around ourselves in order to make sure that we never have to rely on anyone but ourselves. Our lives get so cluttered by the comforts we take for granted that when we tear away some of those comforts during Lent, we feel a deep, uncomfortable emptiness. We taste a morsel of the same bitter fear that haunted God's people in the wilderness, and we can't wait to get back to the way things were. In the end, we would rather drink from the well that we've always known than trust in some guy who doesn't even know to bring his own bucket. We might give up what we cling to for a few weeks, but who among us is willing to let our comforts go indefinitely? If I let my sources of comfort die, I risk dying, too.

I'd like to suggest that we ask ourselves what we left behind in order to enter this Lenten wilderness, and whether we're willing to leave behind all the rest. Do we dare to empty ourselves of everything we cling to until all we have left is our aching thirst for God and the trust that God won't let us die? Perhaps, as we enter the second half of Lent, we can risk losing it all--every thing we think we need to be happy, all our enslaving attachments, every shackle of our obsessions--and move forward to the unknown, unguaranteed future. And maybe then, as we go forward bearing nothing but our thirst and radical trust in the face of terrifying dryness, God will lift up for us a spring of living water, and we'll be able to rise from our knees to unfettered, quenching, resurrected freedom.

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Living Lent: Demons

3/18/2014

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For weeks, I've let it get under my skin.

Several weeks ago I was invited to give a homily (i.e. a sermon/reflection) for Lent III, which is next Sunday. As of yesterday I hadn't yet been able to write one word of it.

Think of it as a bad case of writer's block, except it only applied in this one case. I've written a dozen blog posts since Ash Wednesday alone, so it's not as though I didn't have a command of words elsewhere. The lessons for Lent III are richly evocative, so that wasn't it, either.

When I'm about to do a new thing, especially a thing that's bound to make a tremendous impression on people, anything short of excellence and complete satisfaction on my part will send me fleeing in the other direction. And even though I've written and given a number of homilies in the past, I've never stood up as "The Preacher" for Sunday liturgy. It's a new thing, and it scares me.

The other day I talked about how I spend one or two hours writing per day--and that's on the ample side. Yesterday I gave this homily no fewer than five hours of feverish attention. Why?

A lot hangs on this, in my mind. It's a classic case of first-impression-making. If I do well, the parish as a whole gains not only a thoughtful homily, but a set of implicit expectations about who I might be and what I might do at the service of the parish in the future. If I don't do well, the parish will wish they had heard the vicar instead, and--more importantly--the leadership might see my future and vocational path in a different light.

Giving this homily is about so much more than giving a homily. It's a moment in which I'll have an opportunity to prove wrong every single person who ever told/taught me that women in general--and I in particular--weren't meant (or designed!) to be pastoral leaders (and Jesus said so, forever and ever, and let the church say "Amen").

That's a lot of disvaluing to overcome in ten minutes. For the record, neither the vicar nor anyone else has said to me that my vocation is at stake in this homily--they have been generous in trusting that I will do well (I wouldn't have been asked otherwise). I trust that they trust me. Nevertheless, I can't help feeling that my vocation and the integrity and valuing of women on the whole are wrapped up in this small opportunity I have to stand up before a hundred people and speak with authority.

Patriarchy and Hegemony are powerful demons in the Christian tradition, and every battle waged against them matters. My homily is ready. May I speak this Sunday with the authority of the one I call Lord, that they may be powerfully silenced in my presence.

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Living Lent: Turn of phrase

3/17/2014

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It took me about fifteen seconds of typing about another topic before I noticed that something appearing on my computer screen was out of place. Then I found it: I typed "Lenten Living" instead of "Living Lent." I am reminded yet again of how a familiar phrase turned in a new way can be the first strike of a plow in the hard soil of my heart.

While reading through over six weeks of entries in my prayer journal last night, a few words, phrases, and scripture passages appeared over and over again. I didn't notice their pattern (much less their critical importance for my vocational discernment) till yesterday, in light of a fruitful conversation I had just had.

What does it take before the pattern of my past illumines the pattern of my future? Does it take as little as a tropal accident? Does it take years of dogged spiritual work? Does it take a kind word to free me from fear, or perhaps a harsh word to free me from complacency?

My experience teaches me that graced illuminations of my life can happen in any situation when I attend to what is taking place. Presence is the sacred key to Lent.

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    Rev. M. Kate Allen

    Thean. House church priest. Published author. Mother and wife. Vocal feminist. Faith-filled dissenter in the face of the status quo.

    I address G-d as Thea more often than not.


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