Beginning a Spiritual Practice

I suggest to anyone who wants to start praying the Daily Office—or any spiritual practice—to start small. Start out with just the Psalms, or just one Psalm at a time. Allow yourself the flexibility to miss a morning or evening here and there.

Benedict says to begin every good work with prayer so I began praying Daily Office prayerfully… in the shallow end. I just wasn’t ready to commit to an all-out Daily Office every morning and evening, even while I knew in my heart it was my goal. Commit to a couple minutes. The commitment can always be added to… as the Holy invites you closer. And closer.

Work up to all the Psalms for the day. Then add the reading of the day. As I added the evening Gospel readings I found myself savoring it, while I didn’t have that kind of time for the morning Hebrew reading. Then a morning here and there I took more time with the Hebrew reading in the morning and found myself savoring the reflection into my day.

Now I excitedly rush to morning prayer to discover what the Holy has for me. This morning I reflected on being quick to listen but slow to speak. Oh, yeah. This one was written just for me.

Places of Prayer

I started out last summer with daily morning and evening prayer. I eased into it, just the Psalms at first. I didn't push myself to do it everyday. If I was pressed for time or forgot, it was okay. Over time, though, it grew into every day. One day recently I forgot until to 2pm. I won't beat myself up about it but suddenly my spirit was out of balance and I needed to right it with afternoon prayer.

Eventually I added daily reading with my prayer, still with some flexibility—though most days my spirit seems to want prayer more than flexibility. I seem to have settled into catholic.org's daily readings—I like the New Jerusalem Bible. Evenings I include lectio divina. Mornings I listen for a word or reflection to carry into my day.

Yesterday's reading from 1 Kings 8:22-23, 27-30 carried into my day: reflect on where I pray. I like praying on hilltops with a clear view—and wish I could find one nearby. Sometimes I walk in the woods above Lake Griffy until a spot calls to me to prayer. I tried praying once at Cascades Park but the traffic was too distracting. Most days, though, I pray in a corner upstairs at home, complete with Goodwill finds table and candlestick. The prayer builds up, soaking the corner in prayer. It grows.

Where do you pray?

Awkward Theology and Unrelenting Forgiveness

I’ve been away from blogging far too long. Because the details don’t really matter, I’ll just say life got busy and I lost track. I’m back blogging about food justice and life as a Benedictine oblate for a gay, former Pentecostal now Progressive Christian

Part of Benedictine oblate life is praying the Daily Office of morning and evening prayer. I pray something of a blend of United Church of Christ-Episcopalian-Catholic daily office. This prayer includes the Psalms and a daily reading. Mornings I include a reading from the Hebrew Testament and evenings a reading from the Gospels.

Some days it can be a lesson in faithfulness, like today’s Hebrew reading from 2 Samuel 24. I don’t like the theology. I just don’t think God would be that bent out of shape over a census. Maybe David was trusting too much in numbers but I have encountered a God who is much more loving and forgiving.

Absalom Leaving David

We tend to think we have two choices: embrace the bad theology or reject the Bible. I prefer to discover what the Word is saying to me today. There is far more going on in this story than the theology. Without disregarding that culture and its theology, can I hear the real story and ask myself what about when I have disappointed God?

Disappointing God—and God’s unrelenting forgiveness—will carry into my day. As monastics say about failing, they fall and get up and they fall and get up, in community. Perhaps there are two lessons for me to learn here: when I fail, embrace forgiveness and keep going; and when others fail, give forgiveness and help them keep going.

Picasso, Passion and Travel

This painting by Picasso in the IU Art Museum is a favorite of mine. Anytime I visit I have sit in front of it and just take it in. I hear passion wailing out from it. I like—I need— passion in art. My partner—a former art teacher—disagrees but I find the art of the likes of Georgia O'Keefe passionless. But, especially in this painting, Picasso's passion cries out.

This photo was taken to try out a new camera before our trip this summer to Germany. In addition to visiting friends and attending the confirmation of my partner's godson, we will visit—and photograph—art museums and churches. Travel for us usually consists of lots of churches, galleries and just strolling around until it's time for a meal, coffee or dessert. And if we happen upon an organ recital as we enter a church, like once at the cathedral at Regensburg, all the better.

I like beautiful churches. I guess I even like some that aren't considered so beautiful. A few years ago while visiting my friend, Marlene in New Mexico, I was enchanted by the simplicity of the small adobe churches across the desert.

It is the passion. Granted, the small adobe churches have a passion that is expressed differently but I feel passion in places of worship. I like just taking it in.

Shaken Down

Yesterday I participated in a contemplative prayer group that included lectio divina. It reminded me how nourishing lectio is to my soul. We prayed Luke 6:36-38, a familiar scripture I somehow have never given much thought. I hadn’t even given it much thought when I read it earlier in the day.

Then we prayed it after the centering prayer and “shaken together” spoke to me. It was like rewatching a movie after someone has pointed out something to look for. It was so obvious.

Shaken down. I thought of being a kid at Halloween with a bag for candy. When the bag got full, I wouldn’t give up, call it a night, and limit myself. Shake that bag down. Pack it in. Shake it down again. There is still room for more.

Why should I think the first bit of encounter with God is it, go home, call it a night, and limit myself? I want to stand before the Holy, shake it down and pack it in. I should never rush off, assuming this is all.

So I shake down my bag. While I consider myself thoroughly Christian, shaking down my bag I find beauty in other religious traditions, like Sufi poetry and Zen wisdom, that will fit in. Why should I assume this is it, this is all God has for me? The night is not over. I shake down my bag. Holy One, show me more. My bag can hold it.

Coming Out Anniversary

Seventeen years ago this week my life changed forever.

While I had questioned my sexuality for years, my church taught me no one is born gay. We believed that, failing other options, Satan tempts some, like me, with gay thoughts into believing we are gay. We believed we must pray for strength to overcome his lies.

In years past I had discussed this with my pastor and my youth leader. My pastor assured me I would never actually act on any of it. So, for the longest time, I believed that; in my small and very conservative town it was unlikely—if not dangerous—anything was ever going to happen.

So, I created an elaborate scheme to convince myself I was straight that was agonizing to maintain. There was lots of this-doesn’t-mean-this-it-means-that. I constantly questioned my inner turmoil and bore the abuse of a faith tradition with its head in the sand.

Then, seventeen years ago this week I was on a Florida beach with my family on Spring Break. As they played and sunned I walked—fairly innocently—along the beach until I saw the hottest sight I had ever seen, a guy in a black thong. Always before it had been too dangerous even to betray that I was looking but this day I customarily sat down and watched. I knew I was obvious—though in a more tasteful manner than stalking—and, considering the little show he put on, he knew I was enchanted with him. Sitting there—savoring the sight—I knew I had crossed a line. Other than watching, nothing happened but I could no longer lie to myself that I wouldn’t go further… if my family hadn’t been just up the beach.

But I was not going to let my closet fall down around me in a moment of indiscretion as had happened with a Pentecostal leader I admired. I admitted to myself that I was indeed gay and I vowed I would deal with—and dismantle—my closet on my own terms.

It meant changes in my life. I wasn’t always prepared and I had to venture alone and scorned out of my Pentecostal world but I live a life of honesty, to myself and others. And somewhere on a Florida beach is a neatly placed stack of dismantled closet.

Giving Up Stuff for Lent

Without knowing it, I seem to have joined many others across the internet to resolve to give up “stuff” for Lent. I tend to think I don’t have too awfully much stuff but when I moved in ten years ago with my partner, I crammed it into a couple closets and never returned to it. Part of the problem is, with all of his stuff, there wasn’t much room for mine. I’ll know when he reads this blog because he will protest.

So I have resolved to get rid of stuff for Lent. I won’t just sort and discard. Each time I open a closet to start I will pray the prayer below, inspired by words from Joyce Rupp. I have added an antiphon, inspired by something I found online.

My Pentecostal background didn't prepare me for Lent. I've slowly warmed to the idea. I think that's how it usually is with a life of faith. As we journey, we encounter new places and vistas in the Holy. This year I have been looking forward to Lent for weeks. My soul has been thirsting for it.

I resolve to spend a few minutes each day—sometimes more—with the prayer below before sorting and discarding. And like Teresa of Avila, I will set a chair in the room for Jesus. When I can't decide whether to keep or discard, I can look to him. Something tells me he's going to give me the thumbs down on a lot of stuff.


My Giving Up Stuff During Lent Prayer
Inspired by Joyce Rupp

Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.
God, open my mind and my heart.
Lift the barriers,
unbind the strong grasp of my demands
when I want everything to go my way.

God reach into my inner space
sweep out all my old clutter,
enlarge my capacity to receive. 

Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.
God, empty me of whatever impedes
the growth of our relationship.
Help me to recognize and accept
your sources for my growth.
 
God, soften my resistance to emptying.
May I welcome each inner season
as a catalyst for my transformation. 

Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.
O God, deepen my trust in you.
Ease my doubts, fears and discouragements.
When I am feeling vulnerable,
remind me that you are my safe haven.

God, may I be ever more rooted in you.
Draw me into solitude.
Entice me into endless encounters
where I experience oneness with you. 

Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.
O God open the ears of my heart,
May I hear your voice within the silence
as well as within the noise of my life.
Re-awaken me so that I can listen to you
wholeheartedly. 

God of goodness, we yearn to be open and receptive
to your generosity.
May we trust your presence amidst the cycle
of emptying and filling.
Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.