An Adventure in Silence

I returned this weekend from a ten day silent retreat in the Colorado mountains. I wrote each day I was there and plan to post some pieces in the coming weeks.  Suffice it to say, the retreat was all I had hoped and more. 

I left Denver and headed west in plenty of time but got distracted and missed my turn, twice. As I approached the major tunnel that can be a bottleneck, all was well and I sped under the mountains. A blinking overhead sign warned me the highway was closed ahead but I kept thinking it couldn't be right! Ha- accidents happen all the time along that mountain road.  So I exited and explored a town I’ve only driven by in the past. They have a community thrift store so it was a natural place for me to kill a couple of hours.  I now have “new” ski googles and a terrific fuzzy throw.

The road reopened (updates via phone) and I continued west, now through falling snow. I exited the main highway and made my way up the road toward Aspen. Then I turned onto yet another, much smaller road- could this be right? Seems a little...well, loosely maintained.  I stopped and asked a friendly woman shoveling snow, “Am I on the road to St Benedict’s?” 

She smiled and assured me I was on the right road. “Have a blessed retreat.”

The road got smaller.

The monochromatic promise of a week of silence and Presence.

Finally I was driving in the flat light of late afternoon. My headlights added no clarity so I drove slowly, assuming I’d bump off the side walls of snow. The whole area had just been hit with a major winter storm, hence the lack of plowing on the back roads.  

Sometimes you just feel your way and trust the journey.

Driving in flat light-
an exercise in trust.

But I arrived.  To a warm welcome, a cup of tea and the promise of rich fellowship. 

Home isn’t always a place you’ve been before. 

St Benedict's Retreat House
Snowmass, Colorado

The retreat center just an hour after I arrived.
Fellow retreatants trickled in all night, delayed by various storms. 

The adventure began. I hope you can join me. 

Aging and looking fine at 85

THE INVITATION (by Carol Orshorn)

“I’ve got an invitation for you that you won’t be able to refuse. It’s a multi-year, in-depth course that is designed to strip away your ego, confront you with ultimate questions about meaning and purpose, and give you the opportunity to come to terms with mortality while learning to appreciate the present moment. 

It’s called aging. 

If you are fortunate to live long enough, you won’t have a choice about whether or not you will be confronted with losses, challenges, and diminishments that accompany growing older. You will have the opportunity to choose whether you will become a victim of age or, alternately, transform aging into a spiritual path that at last offers the promise of fulfilling your true human potential.”

Carol Orshorn, editor of Fierce with Age, is proud to be amongst the contributors to this milestone work.   You can read more of my, as well as all of the other essays, in the book: “The Dance of Spirit in Later Life”.
http://fiercewithage.com/ 


I met Carol at a prayer journaling workshop in Nashville- she stood out in our small gathering.  I had squeezed the morning session into my schedule and I wanted to get to know her in our brief encounter.  She was fascinating and as I’ve read more of her work, really impressive.  She consults organizations on communicating with Boomers- and addresses those Boomers are aging. Whether they like it or not!

And most of us don’t like it. The same generation that perfected conspicuous consumption and rejected delayed gratification now refuses to age gracefully. If able, we spent our forties filling large homes with lots of stuff bought with credit cards.  Today cosmetic surgery and anti-aging products are big business and we are their best customers.  I have no problem with self improvement- there are days I look at my post c-section tummy and seriously consider a tuck myself.  But what does the obsession with retaining our youthfulness say about us? 

It might say we are discontent with ourselves and/or our stuff.  

It might say we are scared of the future. 

Or we could be ignoring the possibilities of the next adventure in life! 

It may be a blessing to be discontent- after all, the plethora of stuff from the last economic boom proved to be a fleeting satisfaction.  And if we don’t use the latest products, our faces may reflect our decline.  But as Carol Orshorn and other’s are saying, “What’s wrong with being old?”



I’m thinking more of aging as I walk my mother through doctor’s appointments and banking issues. She was diagnosed with colon cancer and had twelve inches of colon removed this month. She's slower, less likely to use the stairs and more likely to turn to the elevator. She still walks but now it’s the the carpeted halls of her condominium. Food choice is restricted for a few weeks but her appetite isn’t ravenous either. Food doesn’t taste the same but there is no pressure to prepare meals. Instead she welcomes a steady stream of neighbors who bring food or just slide a card for her under the door.  She has community. 

She stills curls her hair and puts on makeup but usually it’s just a little lipstick to add some color. She’s accepting of her physical changes.  Would she like to have the strength of youth? Probably, but not at the expense of the wisdom of aging. She doesn’t long to be young.  In fact, she seems to be laughing more these days. 

I see my mother more available for a neighborly chat or a phone call. More willing to just sit and read, productivity set aside for another cup of tea. She still volunteers and runs her own household but BEing seems to be winning over DOing. 



Maybe we needn’t look with dread to the future. Maybe it is the next great adventure.  A time to focus on the internal vs the external.  A time to put aside the high heels for mountain climbing boots and get ready to climb- not up into the physical mountains, but deep into our souls.  Finally a time to slow down and reflect, to express our gratitude - not just for what God has done, but also for who we have become by His grace. 



I don’t know yet what it’s like to be old but watching my mother makes me fear aging less. There’s a sweet acceptance- of the future, of her children’s help, of the simple pleasures of life.  Thanks, Mom- you’re making 85 look just fine! 

Weakness- another form of strength?

Last night I left my eighty-five year old mother resting in the hospital. I hurried to do some shopping for a single friend who is too sick to venture out in this frigid winter air.   Illness and surgery. Loss of strength and independence. Weakness.  It can be hard to be alone but when you are sick, it's beyond frightening.  It's vulnerable. It's weak. It's not what we have in mind for this season, this stage or even this week of our lives.

Welcome to life.

What if it's not the strong that prevail? What if it is the weak?  Lately as I've listened to teachings, found blog posts in my inbox and read daily entries from devotional books and a theme is emerging.  God is more interested in the inside, than the outside.  Living life means you will age.  Weakness is a door to the Presence of God.

This morning I'm back to the hospital to sit with Mom. I'll call and check up on the friend later today. I'll wash my hands and take my vitamins  and try to avoid all the germs.  And I'll continue to ponder.

Why do we fear aging?

Why do I resist being vulnerable? 

Do I consider it weak? And what's wrong with being weak?

Today's reading from Sarah Young's  Jesus Calling daily devotional book-

Though I have all Power in heaven and on earth, 

I am infinitely tender with you. 

The weaker you are, the more gently I approach you.

  Let your weakness be a door to my Presence. 

What does that look like in my life? In yours?  Join me as I consider these questions and more.




 _________________________________________________________________

Incarnation

All night rain pounded on the copper roof, by morning the ground was soaked and puddled. Instead of riding my bike to church, I drove and still arrived late. I tried to slid inconspicuously into a back pew but was quicly aware I was the only woman wearing jeans. And boots.  Clearly not the liturgical dress code in Charleston, South Carolina.  I was instantly my own biggest distraction.

So I sat and took sermon notes, followed the Scripture readings, joined in the prayers but as we settled into preparation for the Eucharist, my heart wasn't really receiving.  My head was engaged but I needed move from watching to participating, from ritual to worship.

How often do I watch without participating? 

How much as I unaware of the holy? 

Do we see Him? Our God made Man. 

Incarnate, in-carne, Latin for in-flesh

Incarnation:  a concrete or actual form of a quality or concept;

This is also incarnation-  an idea made palpable.  The Incarnation of Christ brings the Word, the Light of the World, into our physical and corporeal world.  Are there other times when mere ideas can become tangible?  Does God continue to reveal Himself to us in transforming ways?



As I knelt in a musty chapel, that very moment became incarnational.  For as the people began to rise pew by pew and make their way to the altar,  the music changed.  Instead of the organ and small, quavering choir, a piano introit softly began "O Holy Night." I knelt and waited.

                                            O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining, 

It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth. 

Long lay the world in sin and error pining. 

Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth. 

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, 

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. 

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices! 

O night divine, O night when Christ was born;  

O night, O Holy night, O night divine.

A angelic voice was pouring from a young man bent over piano keys, his long blonde hair falling over his eyes.  His voice filled the space and my heart heard.  I became aware.  The weekly ritual of worship was transformed for me.  For this moment, awe hung in the very air. The ordinary became holy. A normal action now infused with beauty.

Truly He taught us to love one another, 
His law is love and His gospel is peace. 

Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother. 
And in his name all oppression shall cease. 

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we, 
With all our hearts we praise His holy name. 

Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we, 

His power and glory ever more proclaim! 
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

The music washed over us and people slowly made their way forward to receive. My thought?, "This is amazing music. This is an extraordinary moment.  They don't appear amazed or impressed. Can't they hear this music or feel the charge in the air?"

How often does God show up and we miss him? 

Can we miss the ordinary transformed to extraordinary?  

Or does God sometime just reach down and touch a moment for us, 

 a personal gift, 

a kiss of His love?

I learned the young man was their contemporary worship leader, perhaps the congregation hears him sing all the time.  But for me, the unexpected sound led to a holy moment. My worship experience was transfused with glory, his music incarnated holiness and beauty for me.



The music ended. We read the final prayer together and made our way out of the chapel. The moment was over. The rain had stopped and the sun was back. The world continued. But I'm looking for the next moment.

O Holy Night. 

O Holy Moment.

His power and glory ever more proclaim. 

"With Peace on Earth, Good-will to Men!"

It's been a very full two weeks back in Virginia-  visiting with old friends, meeting new. I've attended wonderful concerts, done more shopping than I probably needed and had much more pampering than I ever expected.  My hostess is extraordinarily generous and I've enjoyed fabulous food, a quiet room and gifts galore.   But most of all she and I have had lots of long conversations and quiet reflections.

That's what I'll remember from this trip. Heart to heart communication- the beauty of community. Rich and deep and heartfelt. Silly and full of belly laughs. Tears and touching hands.

I've attended a memorial service and shared in the sorrows of several dear friends. Pain and death are an affront in this season of "Ho, Ho, Ho" but there is always death before new life, before resurrection. Christmas is the birth of a Holy Baby, but that birth leads to the cross and death .

 I sat with my friend in the shadow of her pain. The bells rang and the choir sang-

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

We no longer sing the two middle verses but Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote this classic holiday carol during great personal and national tragedy. A few years earlier, his wife had died from a fire that scarred Longfellow's face. Then he brought his young son home with his own scars from the Civil War.   There was sorrow and suffering in his life but Longfellow could eventually look forward- to the peace we all long for.

http://communities.washingtontimes.com/neighborhood/

civil-war/2011/dec/22/civil-war-beauty-tragedy-i-heard-bells-christmas-d/

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said:
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

                                   
 Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!

The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

"God is not dead nor doth he sleep, The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail" does not happen without the sorrows of the Cross. Peace on earth comes from the goodwill of God but it came with a price. He came to share our human experience, including suffering.  We don't want to accept pain and rejection. We don't want to embrace suffering. But only when the seed, buried in the cold, dark earth, is split open can new life come forth.

Peace on earth- peace in our hearts and lives....only comes when we can embrace the death that leads to the life we crave. Like a seed buried and transformed by spring,  our story doesn't have to end in sorrow from the death of our loved ones, marriages, or dreams.  From that death, new life can come again.

                                 

So let the bells ring. 

And for those who are cannot rejoice in the bells this Christmas Day, 

   

I bless you with peace

and

 pray you good-will.

Someone had to say Yes!

Gabriel's Message is a Christmas carol unfamiliar to me.... and this is my pondering.

As we anticipate the celebration of Christ's first coming, someone had to say yes. 

"Yes" to the unknown, the out of the box, the dangerous.  Maybe if an angel showed up in my life I'd agree to the possibility of public humiliation, the loss of cherished relationships, even the threat of my death.  

All these Mary faced as an unmarried woman, a pregnant virgin trying to explain to her beloved that she was still pure. That God had showed up after she had spoken to an angel. 

We know God would give Joseph a dream, we know Joseph's willingness to let Mary go to her cousin Elizabeth and return to their small village in an obvious state of pregnancy. Mary didn't know.  We know that the babe in Elizabeth's womb would leap for joy and the women would rejoice together in the confirmation of God's miracle. 

Mary didn't know.

But she said "Yes!"

I want to say yes. 

I want to trust God to speak in me, not to just wait for a visible angel to show up and reveal himself.  Maybe the kind strangers, the near misses, the safe delivery from childbirth or even long, wearying car trips  involves angels.  Invisible guardians and messengers. 

As Bill lay dying, heaven was no longer up there and far away. Eternity and the revelation of the Spirit world shimmered close to his bed. I closed my eyes and almost felt the brush of angel wings.  Some days still, heaven fills my small piece of this world and I remember. 

And despite the Christmas carols that celebrate the idea that the angels descended, perhaps they just pulled back the fragile veil between the seen and unseen and the shepherds became aware. 

I want to be aware. 

Join me this season, this precious season of possibilities 

- when we say "YES!"

Gabriel's Message

  

The angel Gabriel from heaven came

His wings as drifted snow his eyes as flame

”All hail” said he “thou lowly maiden Mary,

Most highly favored lady,” Gloria!

 “For know a blessed mother thou shalt be,

All generations laud and honor thee,

Thy Son shall be Emanuel, by seers foretold

Most highly favored lady,” Gloria!

 Then gentle Mary meekly bowed her head

”To me be as it pleaseth God,” she said,

”My soul shall laud and magnify his holy name.”

Most highly favored lady. Gloria!

 Of her, Emanuel, the Christ was born

In Bethlehem, all on a Christmas morn

And Christian folk throughout the world will ever say:

”Most highly favored lady,” Gloria!

http://www.hymnsandcarolsofchristmas.com/Hymns_and_Carols/gabriels_message.htm

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GF2BzUDeTkY

Tis the season .... for the oil of gladness

I'm traveling and that means I only take what I really think I need. And inevitably, I end up questioning why I brought those pants and where are those shoes, etc. And my small beauty regimen is pared down to the very basics.  But as a woman of a certain age! it does include a variety of small bottles of oil.

There's argan oil which is elixir for fragile skin- I've recently discovered that I'm not just "fair" aka, pasty white, but my skin is considered the rare "red-head skin."  I would have laughed at the woman had she not described my thin, easily bruised, prone to fungus, dry skin to a tee. So I watch my ingredients and smooth on drops of oil from Morocco. Hmm.... how many red-heads live there?

Then there's a sample of miracle oil to fade an annoying age spot- so far, no miracle. I have jojo oil for my body and drops of Melalucca oil for my toes. I have a persistent earache that has it's own little bottle. I'm the traveling snake oil purveyor!

But during this sweet visit with dear friends, I am slathered and soaked in the oil of friendship.  I slipped and slid in belly laughs with an old friend- what a joy to reconnect and howl with laughter at old jokes that only she and I could embrace.   I sit right now in front  of a fire and enjoy the rich oil of friendship and fellowship with my hostess.  Yesterday my cup overflowed. What beauty in sharing the oil of joy pressed from adversity and suffering.  Friendship is truly the oil of gladness.

And it is Christmas,

 the Season of gladness. 

God's friendship toward us. 

God with us, Emmanuel. 

I am burdened by many customs of the American Christmas season but one blessing that comforts me year after year is the music.  Classical choral music rejoices "Angels We Have Heard on High" and proclaims "O Holy Night".  Even politically correct NPR proclaims, "In a Bleak Midwinter" "Love Came Down at Christmas".  I LOVE hearing God's love and Christ's birth piped into grocery stores, malls and filling stations. My eyes always fill up at "I'll be Home for Christmas." and I can go the rest of my life without hearing "Jingle Bell Rock" but I'm weird enough to chuckle at "Grandma got run over by a Reindeer". Sick, I know.


Last  night was a incredible treat. Not only did I enjoy a ride with a dear friend to the concert, I was drenched in the oil of joy with the magnificence of exceptional choral music. I hope to sit quietly with the lyrics and replay the melodies that are still lingering in my mind. We packed a beautiful old church and I wanted to shout at the audience, "Do you have ANY idea of the quality of this music?!!" I love my life in South Dakota and appreciate the classic music I can get but to hear the finest voices and brass players in our nation's capital was such a feast for my ears.  http://www.fairfaxchoralsociety.org/


So I woke this morning and did my little oil rituals. I smile to remember my conversations over these last few days. I hum snatches of Christmas carols.  And I suspect the Babe in the Manger looks down where He lay, this earth that marches to its own tune most of the year, and smiles.  For the sweet aroma of praise and adoration in our Christmas carols floats up to heaven.  Rejoice, REJOICE, Emmanuel- shall come to thee.....


Do we hear the music? Do we pause to listen? I try to care for my body but it's also my soul that needs the soaking and pampering in this season.  Quiet times with dear friends, glorious music, pausing to ponder, waiting for the Day.  This is the oil of life and love, the oil of gladness.

Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love divine;

Love was born at Christmas; star and angels gave the sign.

2

Worship we the Godhead, Love incarnate, Love divine;

worship we our Jesus, but wherewith for sacred sign?

3 

Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine;

love to God and all men, love for plea and gift and sign.

http://www.hymnary.org/text/love_came_down_at_christmas