Hearing Voices

Call has recently been on my mind. How can I know I am being called when I can’t even decide what to call that which many call God?! As for name, the Voice that spoke to Moses from the burning bush claimed the name “I Am Who I Am,” Yahweh in Hebrew and commonly translated at Jehovah. Thank you very much, I Am Who I am, could you be any more vague?! Really?!

From the get-go, the Voice is going to be vague—and not particularly particular about what name we use. God. Holy. Divine. Spirit. Christ. You can expect me to use any of the above, if not a few others.

But how can I know I am being called by the Holy? And how do I respond… without looking like a fool?

First off, what do I think the Holy is calling me to? When I am at my quietest, what do I hear the still small voice saying? What is repeating me in my life or what caught my attention? Maybe it only infrequently repeats, or repeated a few times just recently, or a word or topic floating across my life caught my notice. Not even my attention, just my notice.

Now, can I discuss this with the Holy? We don’t have to decide anything in the first conversation, but we talk about it. Maybe I have to explain to the Holy why not.

Maybe it’s just my imagination. And who gave me my imagination? So, this could go on for a very long time.

I don’t know about you but I figure I have two choices: respond or cover up the voice with other noise. More later about this.

Julian of Norwich

After many recommendations I have started reading Julian of Norwich. Julian was a 14^th century anchorite, Christian mystic, and the first woman author of a book in English. I can't decide whether she was crazy or a saint… or both. A friend asks, "Or was she sane and the rest of us are crazy?!"

 

Instead of reading Julian to gain information, I will be reading her as spiritual invitation, formation rather than information. It has taken me awhile to get here. Julian includes some awkward theology for me. But I'm not reading her to gain information about her theology, as if I am studying 14^th century theology. Instead, this will be a triangular conversation between friends: the Spirit, Julian, and me.

 

Julian's first chapter, where she briefly introduces sixteen visions shown to her, prompts me to consider, what has the Spirit shown me? I can't claim any astonishing revelations beyond the everyday things the Spirit wants to make known to us.

 

Like prayer. Prayer can be so cliché: pray about it. We are easily confused about prayer. Prayer is about much more than little puppy dog prayers asking for magic tricks from the guy in the sky. Our notion of prayer is prone to be faulty. Prayer, instead of changing things or others, to change me. Prayer to live my life as guided by the Spirit through my everyday life. Prayer as listening. Apply it liberally.

 

When we listen closely, we'll find the Spirit is constantly calling and revealing to us. Listen. And, like Lady Julian, consider what the Spirit has shown—and is showing—us.

 

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.