Pay attention. Listen. Try.

It's been 5 months since I've added anything to the blog - sheesh! It's been a week, from Peter Rollins to Chris Crass to the beautiful opportunity to speak to the congregation of First Presbyterian-Argenta on Sunday. I'm sure I will have much more to say on the first two, but for those who asked I've posted my sermon below. A few points:

1. Yes, I write everything out.
2. I write what I'm hearing, and I write it for a particular audience. So I'm preaching at me, really. And I'm speaking in the context of a particular congregation. I hope it translates.
3. It seems SO much longer when I try to fit it on the blog!
4. The scripture reading was from Exodus 3:1-15 - the burning bush.
5. I'd love your feedback. Is something I said unsettling? Anything you'd like to push back on? Anything you'd like to elaborate on?

***************************************

It’s a pleasure to be with you today.

When I showed up last Sunday morning, I met Lori – and I told her I wanted to get a feel for the rhythms of the service, since I’ve only been here a few times – and ½ of those were Easter bluegrass.  She assured me not to worry about getting it wrong – that 1^st Pres is a lot like that Island of Misfit Toys… an illustration I am WELL acquainted with.

I don’t know most of you, but I do know many of you (some who may or may not actually be in attendance today). I know some of your stories, and the history that you bring into the larger story of 1^st Presbyterian - Argenta.

Some of you come from toxic environments, where you were hurt or dismissed – it made it difficult for you to trust others, and to trust God.

Some of you come from communities you loved, that you poured your heart and soul into, only to see them crumble, or slowly dissolve away.

Some of you come from perfectly fine and seemingly healthy congregations, where you just never quite fit in.

And I’m told a rare few of you are actually dyed in the wool Presbyterians who always found your place in a church very similar to this one.

This week we get a picture of Moses the misfit - raised in a Hebrew home, adopted into Egyptian royalty, and never quite fit in either place. The scriptures jump right from Pharaoh’s daughter adopting & naming the child, to Moses entering adulthood:

“One day, after Moses had grown up, he went out to where his own people were and watched them at their hard labor. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his own people. Looking this way and that and seeing no one, he killed the Egyptian and hid him in the sand. The next day he went out and saw two Hebrews fighting. He asked the one in the wrong, “Why are you hitting your fellow Hebrew?” The man said, “Who made you ruler and judge over us? Are you thinking of killing me as you killed the Egyptian?” Then Moses was afraid and thought, “What I did must have become known.” When Pharaoh heard of this, he tried to kill Moses, but Moses fled from Pharaoh and went to live in Midian, where he sat down by a well.”

That well proved serendipitous, as it led to Moses getting a job, meeting a girl, and finding a place to settle in. And he did settle in, as well as someone can who’s not quite Hebrew enough for the Hebrews, not quite Eqyptian enough for the Egyptians, and now finds himself a stranger in a strange land.

Scripture goes on to tell us, “During that long period, the king of Egypt died. The Israelites groaned in their slavery and cried out, and their cry for help because of their slavery went up to God. God heard their groaning and he remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac and with Jacob. So God looked on the Israelites and was concerned about them.”

----------

Storytellers need a good arc. Obviously we are not told every mundane detail of Moses’s life. (Or the Israelites’… Or God’s…) I’m going to venture to guess that God hadn’t been oblivious to the Israelites suffering. God had long seen their suffering, long heard their cries, long held concern, and long remembered the covenant. But it makes for a better storyline if God suddenly heard & noticed – because it means the action is about to pick up.

One of my favorite scripture references is the advice in Thessalonians to “make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands.”

I would have made an excellent Hobbit.

Of course, if you know the story of The Hobbit, or the Lord of the Rings trilogy, you know that sometimes even comfortable little Hobbits are called beyond the life of the Shire, called to an adventure, called to live beyond themselves.

As dear Sam reminds us in The Two Towers: “We shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually — their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on — and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same — like old Mr Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?”

Moses certainly fell into a tale. He was out in the fields, leading a quiet life, minding his own business, working with his hands.

And then he saw a burning bush. A bush covered in flames, yet not consumed. He was drawn to the spectacle. And while he was paying attention, God spoke to him. God told him to take off his shoes on holy ground. God told him he had seen the oppression and heard the cries of his suffering people. God said he was here to rescue his people. And then God said:

“So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.”

So now go.

I am sending YOU.

Come again, God…?

“But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?””

Who am I?

I’ve been there. I don’t fit in. I tried to help and I messed up. They didn’t even want my help. Nobody wants me there. Nobody will listen to me. I mean, what am I supposed to even say?!

^“God said to Moses, “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.’”

----------

I’ve got to be honest with you. I don’t really do conflict. Or change. Or chaos.

Did I mention the Hobbit thing…?

So there are many parts of the sweeping epic of scripture, of the sweeping epic of human history, that disturb me. The land wars and the pillaging and plundering. I could do without it.

Yet I’m drawn to the sociology in things like The Lord of the Rings or, say, The Walking Dead. I’m drawn to the parts of the story that show how life goes on despite all of the destruction, the hopelessness, the oppression, the sorrow and the loss. How we walk through it – together.

When I first started pondering the scripture for today, my mind drifted to burning bushes of hashtags. Those little symbolic words that tie together posts in our hyperconnected world, that help us stay current on events around the globe, to see the chaos and confusion and trauma that is occurring not only in our own communities, but in our neighboring communities, our neighboring countries, and to the uttermost parts of the world.

It can be incredibly overwhelming to get a picture of just how much turmoil and destruction, hate and misunderstanding, greed and apathy have a presence in our world.

Whether it’s a hashtag or a headline, these stories capture our attention. They call us to notice oppression. They call us to listen to the cries of the people. And knowing how and when and where to respond can be a great challenge.

We may throw up our hands and say it’s too much to deal with.

We may make the mistake of thinking we can fix it all, and in the process break down.

We may insist that we’ve already tried.

We may ask, but who am I to do anything about it?

----------

I want to insist to you today that being here, in this community, is a brave act.

Like I said at the beginning, I know many of your backstories.

You have all traveled here from different places and different experiences. You carry those places and those stories with you. Maybe you wore yourself out serving in every ministry under the sun. Maybe you were told you were not worthy to serve. Maybe you felt like the gifts and talents you had to offer weren’t valued, or maybe your time and energy were bled dry.

Putting yourself out there – offering yourself to community is brave.

Other people force us to face us.

To face our hurt. To face our brokenness. To face our own oppressive natures & destructiveness. To be honest about our doubts and fears and secret hopes.

Community forces us to face the reality that bad stuff happens. And there’s nothing we can do about it except sit with one another until we’re strong enough to stand, stand with one another until we’re energized enough to walk, walk with one another until we’re motivated to act.

Community also forces us out of our comfort zones.

You had a choice to say, “You know what? I’m tired. I tried. Been there, done that. I’m comfortable now. Please God don’t make me go back there.”

Yet something caught your attention. Something drew you near to this place.

In scripture, we hear the Creator’s promise to be with us as we dip our toes in once again to this experiment in becoming something bigger than ourselves. We learn from our stories, and we keep pressing forward, walking in the purpose that Jesus proclaimed in Nazareth:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

The hashtags and the headlines may be overwhelming.

Life may be overwhelming.

But the Spirit of the Lord is on this Church, and you have the opportunity in this community and with your neighbors to be present to one another.

You have the opportunity to live out that notion of ministry described by John Howard Yoder where “there would be no one ungifted, no one not called, no one not empowered, and no one dominated.” I would add, no one unheard.

Moses observed the oppression of his people. He tried to help, and he failed. But when God told him to go back and try again, he gave it another effort with God’s presence.

You are God’s presence for one another. You are the hands and feet that care for the poor, the prisoners, the blind and the oppressed. You are the mouths that proclaim the Lord’s favor.

And the more that we are brave enough to give it another go, to plant some seeds, and build some relationships, to break down some barriers, and listen deep, to speak out against oppression, and speak up for one another, the more you practice resurrection on earth as it is in heaven.

May we pay attention to the signs around us.

May we listen to the Spirit speaking to us.

May we have the courage to try, try again.

What do you know?

I participate in an online (and sometimes in person) community known as Emergent Village. EV has gone through several configurations over the year, but basically it is a community in which to have conversations about Christianity in a postmodern context – the practice, exploration and even rejection of the faith.

Anyone who has been a part of Emergent Village knows that it has its share of conflict and frustrations because of all the different personalities and intentions that gather at the table.

As an experimental practice to try to open up a space for conversation where people are coming at scripture from different backgrounds (and may be moving in different directions with their faith), we are trying to engage scripture passages from a lectionary with a few “simple” questions:

1) What encourages you about this passage? (gives you hope, inspires you to act, makes you feel peace or joy, etc.)

2) What disturbs you about this passage? (frustrates or confuses you, makes you angry or sad, etc.)

3) What questions does this passage raise? What would you like to explore more?

That’s it. We want to practice reading scripture as a community, in a way that is not mining for rules or feigning certainty, but rather as an honest reading where we feel safe to be vulnerable. We want to say what makes us angry, what doesn’t seem to add up. We want to say what brings us joy and fills us with hope. We want to express our questions and maybe even explore them more together.

This may be a practice you want to try in your own scripture reading or in your local community. I hope that it can encourage and enrich you, particularly if scripture has become something you avoid out of expectations that have been placed on you. 

Listen Up, Y'all!

If we are going to be in community with one another, whatever form that takes, we have to learn to listen to one another.

If we are going to grow, to take deeply honest looks at our faults, to repent and turn in a healthy direction, we have to be willing to hear one another.

If I ever hope to become a wise elder, I have to first be wise enough to slow down, to listen, to hear, to process… these things precede all understanding.

Questions are healthy. Not having the answers is ok. Exploring the mystery together is growth. Listening together to how the spirit is moving, challenging, illuminating – this is an essential practice of the body of Christ.

When we fail to listen to those who feel their voices are being silenced, we dismiss their experience and receive their challenge as a something negative to be sneered at, rather than something valid and valuable from which we can grow.

“This is a common response to those of us who speak from the margins of evangelical Christianity about issues around gender, race, and sexuality, and it’s an effective one because it appeals to something most of us value deeply: Christian unity… far too often, the “stop-being-so-divisive” line is used by those in power to diffuse, or even silence, difficult conversations about why things might need to change… I don’t like being divisive. Believe me. But I don’t like being silenced either.”
~ Rachel Held Evans, “On Being ‘Divisive’…”

When we fail to listen to those who feel their voices are being silenced, we miss out on the beauty, honesty and healing that can come when we release our tight grip of control, and step out into the risky unknown of growth and change.

"To me, the marginalized are those who, for all kinds of different reasons, are on the border or edge of whatever groups or systems they are part of. They are not in the center where the power and resources flow, but instead are in the white blank space that lingers on each side of the center… So much beauty emerges from the margins, and I get to see it almost every day. Truth so pure that it is like gold. Beauty so glorious that it can’t be matched. Honesty so raw that it pierces souls. Healing so deep that it transforms the most hardened heart.”
~ Kathy Escobar, “Truth from the Margins”

Adam McHugh, who has an upcoming book on listening, recently tweeted, “We are, in large part, a result of the voices we choose to listen to. Pick good and diverse voices.” And also, “If the people with power in your community do not practice listening, odds are no one else will either.”

Who am I choosing to listen to?

How am I practicing listening?

Am I willing to learn from the voices that are speaking into my life?

Live Everything

“But if the truth is to be told, let us not leave out any part…”
– Life is Hard, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros




"…be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."
– Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke

“We don’t live or become real if nothing ever happens to us.”
– Madeleine L’Engle




“Real isn't how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?”

“It doesn't happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”
– The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams

modeling listening

"The Christian helper needs to realize that he or she is not only watching and promoting spiritual growth in the other, but necessarily also earnestly pursuing it in his or her own life. This is not only because we do God's work effectively in the measure that we are united to him, but also because we can hardly ask others to do what we will not take the trouble to do ourselves. Jesus never did. And any kind of helping is so largely a matter of modeling. One thinks of the words of Emerson: 'What you are thunders so loud I cannot hear what you are saying.' Yet even where our words are concerned, we affect others more sometimes by offhand or incidental remarks than we do by our most careful and concerned discourses. The quality of our offhand remarks is largely determined by the quality of our lives.”

~ Thomas N. Hart, The Art of Christian Listening

~ On the Eve of Advent ~

(disclaimer: This is a long one. I ramble. You may want a cup of coffee…)

So, I think I’m going to be visiting my friends over at St. Michael’s Episcopal Church.

I’ve long held a curiosity for the Episcopal Church.

My early background was a mixture of Catholicism and Agnosticism, with a healthy dose of neighborhood Vacation Bible School, but in my first year of high school I voluntarily converted to Christianity under the umbrella of the Southern Baptist Convention.

I didn’t know the term “evangelical,” but I was a good one. I wasn’t big on the persuasive nature of “witnessing,” but I was a quick learner and I could have a good religious discussion with the best of ‘em. I even knew which practices were biblical, and which Bible was biblical, too.

I remember my senior home room/physics teacher, aptly named Mr. Picard, giving me a good natured ribbing about the Bible I kept in my backpack. Something about the translation…? I mean, come on – it was NEW King James. What did he want me to use, The Living Bible? That wasn’t even the real words. There was a junior in an upper-level math class across the hall who would come over and hang around me (we assumed a crush) during home period, while I was busy sitting on the desktop, eating breakfast and lusting after a young Anderson Cooper on Channel One. I repeatedly asked Mr. Picard if he would make the guy leave (sure I thought he was adorable, but come on – he was a JUNIOR), but his answer was always the same: “Nah, you need a good Episcopalian boy…”

I didn’t really know what that meant, except that perhaps he thought this boy would turn me on to a liberal translation of scripture, and that was somehow a good thing in his eyes. But I knew the right path, and I would not be swayed.

As a sociology and philosophy major at a Southern Baptist University (this is that “right path” I was talking about), I was subjected to a scandalous viewing of the PBS documentary adaptation of Randall Balmer’s book Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory: A Journey into the Evangelical Subculture in America. This is probably around the time I first began to pay attention to, and develop an understanding of, the term “evangelical.” It was also around the time I began to look at my own spiritual practices and beliefs through an external lense.

A lot of what Balmer examined and/or questioned resonated with me. What confused me, however, was his personal conversion. Balmer had left the evangelical subculture for the Episcopal Church. What the what? Why on earth would you want to pick a denomination with MORE rules? I mean, no one tells Baptist when to sit or stand… well, except the music minister, but that doesn’t really count… and no one makes us kneel. Raising our hands in worship is controversial enough, could you imagine if someone crossed themselves during prayer?! And they recite the same stuff – evangelicals pray their own words from the heart, as they feel led by the Spirit. Episcopalians just say stuff someone else has already written for them.

Sometime post-college, post-failed-grad-school-attempt (I never got around to writing that whole thesis thing) and while helping with a non-denominational church plant, I stumbled upon a book on the shelves of Barnes and Noble that seemed to call to me: Lauren Winner’s Girl Meets God. I had actually left my SBC Church and signed on the church plant after several frustrating years of experiencing “singles ministry.” Apparently, single Southern Baptists are only interested in two things: sex and marriage. Singles Sunday School classes are thus obligated to teach about two things: how to avoid sex and how to pursue marriage. I had become really interested in folks like Richard Foster and stuff like spiritual disciplines, and I voiced this repeatedly in leadership meetings, clearly not understanding what was best for me and my life. In the end, I grew weary, so when an opportunity to serve a new and growing congregation presented itself, I cautiously climbed aboard.

So I’m staring at the cover of this book, and I’m reading about a single girl and her spiritual practices and her intellectual pursuits and her love of God – it was a no-brainer purchase. I devoured Girl Meets God. I may have even had to replace my pen midway through from all the underlining and margin notes. Her journey may have had a different starting point, but I was really intrigued with where she ended up. For once the Episcopal Church took on a glimmer of beauty, awe and reverence I had not been exposed to in my other meager encounters. I began to appreciate the rhythm of the liturgy, the rootedness of the history, the sacredness of the ritual.

Slowly, as I matured, I began to recognize the increasing influence of Episcopalians in my life. I actually held an office, when I was in social work, on the third floor of a large, downtown Episcopal church. Two of the authors who both challenge and comfort me, practice the Episcopal faith, Phyllis Tickle (who has been an influence both in spiritual practices and, in more recent years, understanding my place in an emerging perspective of Christianity) and the late Madeleine L’Engle (whose writing, both fiction and non-fiction, has had such an impact on my life that I refer to her as my patron saint). I have also been blessed by Episcopalian friends and mentors, and spent more time in liturgical settings.

As I’ve found myself recently at a crossroads of congregational life, I’ve begun to take a more serious look at the Episcopal Church. Several years ago I left the church plant I had been a part of after some negative experiences with leadership there. I actually went through a period of being shell-shocked and found it difficult to attend anywhere, and was completely outside of church for about six months. I found a beautiful community, R Street Community Church (formerly Vineyard) that welcomed me, and my hesitations, and rooted myself there (though there seemed to be constant change around me as the community went through layers of transitions). It is R Street that prayed with me as I stepped into a roll of co-pastoring at Eikon Church, a community I had been connected with for some time. I knew going in that Eikon was in a stage of transition, and transition eventually led toward dissolution. As painful as walking through that process with a community was, I would not trade it for the world – there was a lot of learning, a lot of beauty, a lot of growth in that experience.

I placed no timeline on myself to plug in to another community, to make any decisions about my faith practice. Honestly, I figured it would be late March before I even began to think about what I might do. Though I love the R Street Community, I was feeling I might need to be somewhere where I can just kind of blend in for a bit… IF I ended up anywhere. But, as Advent has inched closer, I felt like I wanted to participate in the rhythm of the liturgy for the first season of the church year. And as I began to think about settling into one community for that season, I felt the pull to participate in the rhythm of the liturgy for a whole church year.

What if I let myself rest somewhere for a full cycle of the liturgical year, just listen and be for a bit, rather than lead and do?

Wouldn’t it make sense to do this somewhere steeped in the rhythm and the history? Wouldn’t it make sense to do this somewhere with familiar faces, with people who have already extended a welcome to come join them? Wouldn’t it make sense to do this with people who’ve already heard most of my questions and wacky ideas yet aren’t phased in the least by them? St. Michael’s is home to people who already speak into my life, who inspire me, who encourage me. I don’t have to make any decisions about becoming permanently rooted in this place, though the opportunity is certainly there. I could just "stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is.” I could try and walk in it. I could find rest for my soul. At least for one cycle of seasons...

Ash Wednesday: Invitation to Abide

For Lent this year, I am committing to a practice of abiding, of spending intentional time resting with and listening to the Lord. I will be using Macrina Wiederkehr’s wonderful new book, Abide: Keeping Vigil with the Word of God, as my guide.

I will not necessarily be sharing reflections of my time on a daily basis, as I do not want the activity of posting to become my focus. However, the times spent prayerful listening will undoubtedly spill over onto the blog. What I do want to be sure to share are some notes from the book’s introduction, to give you a taste of the meditations included therein.

Sister Macrina lays out the following path of lectio divina (sacred reading as prayer):

~ Wait in silence

~ Read contemplatively

~ Listen obediently

~ Pray as the Holy Spirit leads

~ Abide

Of this final step, we are told:

This is a beautiful moment spent in pure contemplative presence with the Beloved. This is love. “Remain in me, as I remain in you” (John 15:4). “Be still and know that I am God” (Ps 46:10, NRSV). Dwell. Remain in love. ABIDE.

We are invited to see this process as a pilgrimage of sorts, with each pause for reflection as a holy space.

Finally, we are invited to carry our vigil with us as we move about our day:

Be open to God’s Word blossoming everywhere. Walk with awareness through forests, parks, and gardens, along the seashore, or down a busy city street. The Word of God is near you. Climb a mountain and the Word will meet you. Move mindfully through your daily work tasks – the Word is at your fingertips. Celebrate the Eucharist with a community of struggling believers. You will be enfolded into God’s Creative Word.

I am looking forward to leaning into the 40 reflections and prayers in this little book as we move slowly, steadily from the solemnity of Ash Wednesday to the celebration of Easter.

Preparing for Lent - 3 of 3

Finally, we come to the “Be” of “Be Here Now” – our orientation toward our creator, the invitation to abide, to be still, to cease striving, the practice of resting and listening.

Pause.

Breathe in slowly.

Breathe out slowly.

Let’s continue…

In John 15, we are not only invited to abide in Christ, we are informed that in order for the fruit of the spirit to grow from our lives, we must abide in Christ. The fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control is germinated when our lives are rooted in God, when we slow down, allow ourselves to be still, and remember that there is a story bigger than ourselves and a power greater than our own.

When we find a rhythm of Sabbath in our lives, when we identify pockets of time (whether it be a quiet coffee break, a day set apart, or a sabbatical year) in which to release control to God and open our hearts to hear the spirit’s stirrings, we are reminded of who we are. We are a beloved creation, with unique gifts to share. We are also a limited creation, and we are not expected to do it all.

The poet Rilke writes,

I am, you anxious one.
Don’t you sense me, ready to break into being at your touch?
My murmurings surround you like shadowy wings.
Can’t you see me standing before you cloaked in stillness?
Hasn’t my longing ripened in you from the beginning as fruit ripens on a branch?

In Psalm 46, God speaks into the midst of chaos with the words: Be still and know that I am God. In a few retreats I have attended, this verse is used to draw us into a time of rest and quiet.

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I AM.

Be still and know.

Be still.

Be.


Our prayer exercise for the practice of being was an invitation to centering prayer. Taking your word from the lectio divina in the “Here” post, try sitting quietly in the presence of God, with nothing to share, nothing to ask, nothing to expect. If you find your mind starting to wander, simply repeat your word – silently, slowly, calmly – to draw you back to the moment. Rest in God’s presence. Be present. Abide.

Advent Practice: Sobriety

I don’t want to be the girl who has to fill the silence;
The quiet scares me, ‘cause it screams the truth.
~ Pink, Sober



Simplicity and sobriety are hand-in-glove.

I, being a lover of fun and silliness, am using a less stale & serious definition of sober, choosing the following qualities: practicing moderation or self-restraint; refraining from excess or overindulgence; calm, quiet, composed; rational, realistic; free from exaggeration or speculation.

When you practice sobriety, it’s not that you never indulge, but rather that you exercise restraint – knowing your limits and the effects on others.

When you practice sobriety, it’s not that you are never boisterous, but you also do not fear silence and solitude, recognizing that quiet moments can feed the soul.

When you practice sobriety, it’s not that you never contemplate the what-ifs in life, but you don’t allow those prospects to anxiously control your present experience.

We all have our strengths, our preferences, but just as introverts need community, extroverts need solitude. It may take a bit more effort if it is not the environment that energizes you, but it is necessary to keep your spirit in balance.

Sobriety is recognizing when you are isolating and need to get around people, to practice community.

Sobriety is also recognizing when you are spending too much time in the company of others because you don’t want to have to sit with your thoughts – to listen to yourself, to listen to God.

Sobriety is recognizing when you are dragging your feet and it is time to act, to take a chance.

Sobriety is also recognizing when you are rushing around doing everything you can to keep from being still and abiding in the Spirit.

Sobriety is living in reality – reality of your situation, reality of your resources, reality of your life.

When we practice sobriety, we are freed to practice simplicity because we are not trying to bury reality under piles of material, emotional and spiritual stuff.

When we practice simplicity, we are freed to practice sobriety because we are throwing aside those things that keep us from seeing the path we’re on as it actually exists.

It’s a chicken-and-egg scenario, really.

So, as we inch closer toward the celebration of Christmas, as the winter solstice ushers us into the path that leans day by day toward light, in the waning twilight of Advent, may we take an honest look at our lives, a deep breath, and a heartfelt prayer, and may we step forward in the joy that each day is enough.

Advent Practice: Listening

"As we move into Advent we are called to listen, something we seldom take time to do in this frenetic world of over-activity. But waiting for birth, waiting for death - these are listening times, when the normal distractions of life have lost their power to take us away from God's call to center in Christ."
~ Madeleine L'Engle, Redeeming All Brokenness

~ real human moments ~

Watch this clip:



Listen to this song:

Said & Done by Speed the Plough

Think on these things:

Having no destination, only this will to wander, we move slowly. What’s more, Wendell announces that in response to our culture of instant messaging, he has just founded a new cause, the Slow Communication Movement. Certainly we embody that spirit today, and it feels good. It is a more leisurely, more deliberate form of communication, and it isn’t limited to 140 characters.

Now We Wait...

No!

We breathe.

We pulse.

We regenerate.

Our hearts beat.

Our minds create.

Our souls ingest.

37 seconds, well used, is a lifetime.

(Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium)

Sharing the Love

I've had a tendency lately to post great resources to my facebook wall, without sharing them here where they could be accessed more permanently:

Invitation Into The Contemplative

Tools for Prayer

Review: At the Still Point

And lastly, a personal observation:
Love, Grace, Hospitality, Holy listening: the threads that tie my passions together. I’m recognizing this more & more, and learning that they have to be rooted in rest and trust, in confidence and not in control.