Category Archives: Ecumenical Catholic Communion

Lady Wisdom

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Bridge-Bond-Monuments-Places-Fog-Golden-Gate-Pacif-7748The fog is anxious

but the clearing,

slow may it be,

much patience required,

the opening ravishes.

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Author’s Note:

The first time I visited San Francisco, we walked the city. We didn’t rent a car but used public transportation. Our first morning out, we took the bus to the bridge.

It was foggy. Just fog and the roar of traffic.

At the visitor center, we asked where the bridge was. From behind the counter came a point to the picture window, “It’s right there.”

My husband and I looked at one another and shrugged.

“Just take the steps up.” The finger returned to the newspaper on the counter turning to the next page.

And an afterthought, “Watch out for traffic. And just keep walking.”

So we walked up the steps and the traffic noise grew, surged through the fog without showing itself.

As we continued, we began to see ghost cars melting into grey. There was one lone figure ahead of us on the wide sidewalk with just enough clarity to make out his form. As we approached, he stopped. The three of us saw only the faintest outline of the bridge, a picture frame flat and almost nondescript.

When we reached him, he turned and handed us his camera. We obliged. He reclaimed it, bowed slightly, and began to walk back to the steps. We shared what we were told: just keep walking. He hesitated and without a reply disappeared down the steps into the soup.

We looked at one another and just continued walking.

It wasn’t long. Rather quickly, as a matter of fact, that as we passed under the first arch we could see the fog clearing. We kept walking. Cars became sharper to match the bluster. I could now see across the traffic to the opposite side of the bridge opening to the ocean and began to distinguish waves roaring in harmony with the rush hour madness.

My husband tapped me on the shoulder in our pause. He whispered, “Turn around.”

There it was, the city of San Francisco, the bay, and the bridge with the fog falling away, candy-colored in the bright morning sun.

Wisdom is there, always.

She waits for me to simply listen, press on in the present moment. There I will meet her.

If I release my worry, my need for control, my fear. If I sit with my choices and understand they are past done, I see her opening the door for me to make new choices to live the life I’ve been given.

I can choose to continue on, or turn back.

I choose Lady Wisdom.
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And More:

Thank you, Scott Jenkins, for Celtic Conversations this past year at a Church of the Holy Family, ECC. I have grown and changed and learned to release. You’ve given us time to rest and question in a place of safety filled with compassion. Thank you, Padre.

A bit of synchronicity for this week. Our Celtic Conversations and the Lectionary Readings for Sunday, October 11, 2015, from the USCCB.org:

Reading 1 WIS 7:7-11

Reading 2 HEB 4:12-13

San Francisco Bay Bridge Photo courtesy of: Bridge-Bond-Monuments-Places-Fog-Golden-Gate-Pacif-7748

Someone In Your Name

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Nibbles here and there avow success.SomeoneInYourName
Seeds quarried, treasure consumed.
Autumn squirrels breach leathery pods,
mine sweet meat encased until
embryos are undone from their womb.
No spring sprouts for my garden.

Unknowing, the vessel has more
than one purpose I demand,
serves to honor more than I accept.
Envy rends, bit by bit,
until Your nucleus is devoured.
Lost in my narrow sight
a dried husk remains.

In release of exclusive eyes
harvest is abundant,
an unceasing yield by Your hand.
Gleaners in union with our Holy One,
regardless of title or status,
all are sanctioned at Your banquet.

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Author’s Note:

38 John spoke up, “Teacher, we saw a man using your name to expel demons and we stopped him because he wasn’t in our group.”
                                                               – Mark 9:38-50The Message (MSG)

In Sunday’s reading the disciples are upset that there are others, not within their own special group, who are claiming to do works in the name of Jesus. The disciples only see through their narrow vision, not through the wide berth Jesus offers to all.

Envy gets in my way quite frequently. It takes away my focus, doesn’t let me see the whole picture. My ego is exclusive. Passage meditation is one way that helps me loosen that tight grip.

And the weekly newsletter, Word From Below, by Street Psalms always offers clarity. Thank you.

Light Electric

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I smell fall in
the rain tonight,
not bright and green,
crisp in spring’s newness
but a little musty,
a gentle touch layered
in seasoned experience.

I think of your smile
not a youthful grin
drunk on life
but a perfected bow
knowing its pleasure
patient in experience

As clouds relinquish
the first lightning on this
passing autumnal equinox,
so I surrender myself to You
ablaze, alive in Light Electric.

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Author’s Note:

This evening of the passing of the autumnal equinox it rained and a rainbow appeared. Later the sky glowed electric with lightning bolts in the distance.

My friend Kathie Kelly, my meditation satsang buddy at A Church of The Holy Family, challenged me to write a poem. I began this poem last evening and tonight’s light show helped me complete it. My apologies to Whitman.

Spiraled Crooks

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Shake off embroidered
robes disguising your shape.
Peel away the gilt blinding sight.
Melt golden goblets too
precious for fingerprints.

Let fall cathedral headdress.
Silence inflated ritual.
Disentangle the ruling class.
May dogma of the martinet decay.
Our Holy One has gone missing.

Our Love has been bricked
over in a wall of self-indulgence,
a show of pomp and honors,
power swelling.

But my soul yearns to rest in the
arms of my Beloved not covered
in brocade but unadorned,
incarnate and gentle.

My soul sings with a Tender
Voice sighing in my joy,
whispering my name in dark
of night, holding me safe.

My souls walks with the One
who stays by my side not
altared on fussy chairs wielding
spiraled crooks, untouchable.

It is in simplicity I want to
dwell with my God, not
prostrate in submission
but surrendered in ecstasy.

I cannot find your heart when
it is so deeply disguised, florid
in its covering, raised so far
above me I am not to touch you.

It is not a ring I need to kiss
on a hand offered in dominion,
but a soft cheek that knows
my tears and sorrow.

He came to be fully human
just like us, not a maker of
rules, a tribune robed and
ornamented in anything but
genuine Light.

Let the grand facade of god
fall away. Pause in Grace, the
only embellishment necessary.

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Author’s Note:

When I left the Roman Catholic Church, I didn’t realize all of what I wanted to leave behind. I can no longer accept the pomp. Not the ritual, but the glossy, overindulgent showiness of wealth and power.

I have come to a time in my journey where I now want a simple way of church. But it’s more than just simple, it’s a move to authenticity. Real. Not one of boastfulness. I love the Mass and the consecration of the Eucharist, but it doesn’t need a lot of “stuff” surrounding it.

I long to see our clergy in simple dress, closer to regular clothes with just an elegant and simple statement of some piece of something to recognize their light that shines a bit differently with wisdom than mine. That is respect.

On the other hand, I long to see the gold cups and the fancy robes over more robes and belts and stoles thickly embroidered and hats that look like something at a fancy KKK ball, gone from site. Surrendered so that the chasm between clergy, especially the higher-ups, and us is leveled.

He did not come to make classes of religious worshipers. He came as you and me and lived as a real person with real feelings and emotions and fears. He wanted us to know that if he could do what Our God asked him to do as a real human, then we could also. Dividing us into classes of worshipers was not on His agenda.

O

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What is this I see tonight in your Old Moon face,
not the sly wink of witnessing what we’re about.

It’s not your Familiar Beam taking note of a stolen
kiss behind the bleachers or the All Knowing Moon’s

affirming nod to the perfect pairing of two lovers.
Tonight I see, Harvest Moon, you are a Keening Moon.

How is it that I never noticed your O shaped mouth
before, a copycat round to your hanging frame in the

indigo sky. Oh, Sorrowing Moon, your O lament
surrounds me. I watch a thin grey silk sweep across

your moaning face unable to brush away sadness
falling from your mouth, wipe away heartache

dripping down upon us on this night of praise. I
cannot polish away your pain, wipe it clean with

a thin grey silk no more than clouds can change
Moon’s visage. I want my O arms to gather you near

me, unfurl the scarf from my shoulders, wrap you
inside to rest until laughter encircles you once more
under a May Bright Moon.

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Author’s Note:

Tonight was filled with sadness. Lots of pain shared. Lots of prayers requested.

Driving home I noticed the moon’s face. I always see two eyes, a mushed nose, and a mouth. It was tonight that I noticed the mouth was shaped not like a smile but someone keening, moaning, lamenting. Has it always been that way?

A Garden Balanced

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I wander through my little plot of land,
know what’s needed for growth. I nurture

your beauty to share with the world, choose
each of you for your elegance of color or scent,

hardiness to sun and snow, cold and dry.
I allow you room to grow, but know you

need more than just yourself to bounce your
radiance against, each of you splendid in your

charms but more resplendent and robust
together. Stepping away I allow your existence

to thrive. With wonder I realize how grand you
are alone, yet together, a fanfare of perfection.

With wonder I puzzle why I am still not welcomed
with such grace to grow, rise equally in kinship

uprooting fractional descant. Inside my passion
is aflame. I am a voice to complete Wisdom and Light.

I long to rise hand in hand with you, partnered in
journey. In parity we can grow, a garden balanced.

Together we can perfect harmony, not one above
the other, but side by side secure in Mystery.

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Author’s Note:

I write this for those of us marginalized – women in the church, those in poverty, those is relationships not allowed, anyone whose light is diminished.

We are not in harmony for many reasons. If we could see how desperately we need to be hand in hand with each other despite our differences, we would realize how much we need one another, and we could heal.

A special and heartfelt sigh to Meggan Watterson and her incredible book I just fell into, REVEAL. It is changing my life. I am dropping the veils and looking to complete the whole.

And, as always, I am glad to have found A Church of the Holy Family and the Ecumenical Catholic Communion where all are welcome. Of course, there is always more work to be done and growth to be made, such as more inclusive language. But we are working on that.

Fathom

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When she finally took the step
she thought nothing of it. No bridge DSCN4862
to keep her aloft. There was no
rope or hand to hold her tight.

She had to take the step. The climb
was arduous. Dark nights, cold.
Voices echoing behind in the canyon,
taunting, losing their hold over her.

Up top silence was as wide as the sky
while noise slumbered deep inside.
Not to awaken it, she softly breathed in
the beryl blue stillness enfolding her.

She searched. She lifted each layer,
peeled back one after another,
trails of faded petals marked her
journey, but she wouldn’t let go.

When the layers were no more,
no petals left to drop, it was there
she was forced in the nothingness
to divine the Antiphon left bare.

She braved the step, undressed
her fear, found more than her
counterfeit view exposed.
She surrendered.

She surrendered from hurtling
voices and pain. From stuff she
built to keep her safe, explain
rules, make sense, find answers.

She surrendered to the deep calm
Peace that awaited her. Acquiescing
she could rest, be swathed in His care,
unravel all would be well…

I let go. I step from frenzy wrapping
my days. I trust and surrender to You
who are there. You who love me with
abandon. You who have always been.

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Author’s Note:

Understanding can come sometimes so quickly, it takes your breath away. The challenge was simple. If I am truly honest with myself and really look deeply, will I allow myself to see that tiny, small bit of insecurity I’ve held onto of what I fear as God? Or will I surrender to our Precious One and accept how much I am loved without condition?

Thank you, Fr. Scott Jenkins for continuing to gently challenge us with your vision on the Feast of Corpus Christi. You bring your family at a Church of the Holy Family, ECC into the light of our Beloved.

Lament/Deluge

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I sat in the rain. It was a pouring cold rain
that was much too cold for this June day.

I wanted to feel this June’s deluge so I lifted
my face and tears from the sky poured over

my despair. I wanted to feel the pouring cold
rain, June’s deluge washing me of my sin.

Thunder rolled by and over my bearing. It filled
my ears. I cried out in tandem. I released my pain

to the pouring cold deluge, much to cold for
this June day. My tears were diluted with fresh

new water as I sat on a step under trees bowing,
unable to balance, not one extra drop, no longer.

My breath almost drowned, flowed out and down
until the lawn could hold no more. So I walked with

the deluge along bulging gutters, feet submerged
in June’s cold rain. I kicked at rain waters and

stomped on the waves rushing into the deep black
gash. The day’s deluge gulped down by the sewers

took my crimes and washed them away on this
cold June day. The deluge slowed. Streams turned

into drops. Then droplets. Then nothing at all. I raised
my face up to June’s grey day in gratitude of its

cleansing. I know that from rain green grows lush
and glorious, blooms arise with colors to adorn.

The deluge always cleanses. Pouring cold rain,
much too cold for this June day.

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Author’s Note:

I was recently introduced to the lament. In a Celtic Spirituality retreat with Stefan Andre Waligur, I experienced the call and response of the lament. He spoke of how in our Western culture are afraid to let go of our emotions, especially in community.  And subsequently we do not heal. We have lost a togetherness that only this opening of oneself, this free flow of emotion can offer.

Today as I sat waiting for tornado sirens to silence, listening to the relentless rain, I felt as if the world was in lament. I know this rain, once the damage from the hail heals, will bring new life to my garden. Much like a lament.

Thank you, Stefan.

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Although this is not a lament, it is a lovely example of the kind of chanting we experienced at our retreat.

Selkie

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She was vulnerable when she took off images
her coat to dance in the midnight sand.
Man and woman delighted in one another
till the sun beckoned them home once again.

Weary in her revelry she slept through
the exodus, her selkie coat well hidden above
in a shield of long straw shadowing the sun
keeping her safe, well protected from love.

She was faithful where she was led, not her
choice to be, a new place and way to serve.
She was true and devoted to word, spirit, creed,
even though she ached deeply for another.

She longed for water without knowing why
yet steadfast in her journey well run.
One day making bread, her food for the living,
from above selkie hide came undone.

A single drop, only one, oil glistened a call
to return to the shore of her yearning.
Her long slender finger lifted oil to her lips,
a recollection, a scent still languishing.

This woman of fidelity finally tasted and smelled,
remembered the raw deep sea of her beginning.
She walked to the sand without a look back and
slipped into her soul wild.

I am that woman of faith on my journey
from a life safely thatched and shielded.
I am grateful for Your grace, drop of oil,
passion in me, anointing a new life wild.

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Author’s Note:

This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending a retreat, Heartbeat of the Beloved: Exploring the Beauty and Power of Celtic Spirituality, by Stefan Andre Waligur, Marcy Baruch, and Steve Bross.

We sang, chanted, drummed, heard stories, and broke bread together. It was an amazing time getting to know a group of strangers pulled in by the same Spirit.

Stefan told a story of the selkies of Irish lore. And although his point for telling the story may be a bit different from what I gleaned, it was a powerfully moving story for my faith journey.

They Would Think Me Crazy

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I forgot my age the other day as I
crossed the playground on my way
to class. No one was looking. The wooden
frame edging around, gravel filled, called
out to me as it had long ago.

I stepped onto its narrow ledge
one foot in front of the other.
I traced its trail around to the end,
back to the very beginning.

I didn’t fall, although my arms
shot out in preparation for flight
when my confidence waned for
a moment or two. No one was watching
under the grey day sky. Good thing,
I thought. They would think me crazy.

There was enough newly formed spirit
in me to give a little leap as I left the
timeworn timber. I was pleased no twists or
breaks occurred . Why did I ever worry?

I spent my youth meticulously walking
around and round on a splintery ledge
afraid of a plunge onto the rough blacktop,
scrapping my knee at the very least,
being broken to pieces at the worst.
I stayed the course much to long
unable to discern a safe way away.

In all those years, I never fell. I held on
tight. Refused to change. Resolute not to
let go. But as I grew old the game lost its
fancy. Rigid rule could no longer contain me.

Green verdant grass, sweet scented
breath, pure cool water invited me near.
I simply stepped off the black-and-white
merry-go-round, leaving behind counterfeit
passion.  I didn’t break. Only the bind of
false words, misleading tongues, spilt
onto the viscous hot tar.

I trusted the light down deep inside,
an infinitesimal whisper, just go.
I honored myself and the voice I knew not
and left without a blueprint in hand.

I walk a new path, one not yet forged. I
make a new way with Him. You walk along side
me, not above or below, but as one and
His beloved. Why did I ever worry?

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Author’s Note:

A new blueprint in hand.

Only one rule: Love.

 

 

John 14:15-20

The Message (MSG)

The Spirit of Truth

15-17 “If you love me, show it by doing what I’ve told you. I will talk to the Father, and he’ll provide you another Friend so that you will always have someone with you. This Friend is the Spirit of Truth. The godless world can’t take him in because it doesn’t have eyes to see him, doesn’t know what to look for. But you know him already because he has been staying with you, and will even be in you!

18-20 “I will not leave you orphaned. I’m coming back. In just a little while the world will no longer see me, but you’re going to see me because I am alive and you’re about to come alive. At that moment you will know absolutely that I’m in my Father, and you’re in me, and I’m in you.