Tag Archives: Lent

Passion

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See full reflection at JOURNEY/lex.

 

 

PassionBremen3

Only an occasional passing car to bring me down,
back to here,
I fall into breathing rhythm of Bremen’s half-sleep,
comforted in his watch,
heartbeat to heartbeat sync, we are One.

I memorize the patterned beat of rolling tires
clipping cracks and asphalt riffs from frozen melts
outside my bedroom window.

This is real ground under my feet.

In my undoing I learned to reassemble,
notice small syncopated taps, life entering
with each pant.

Transformation does not make itself
on sidewalks under full sun. It is not
gleaming glitter sprinkled to make show.

I align myself in formation not with rigid
anatomy, but with fine variation.

An almost perfect petal, virginal white,
but for fragmented hue brushed
by an all-knowing hand, grace tenders awry.
He came not in perfection, but like me.

Sacrifice does not mean to suffer, but
to make sacred.

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Author’s Note:

This is the first Lent in a very long while where I have not participated in traditional Christian ritual. I stepped away for a bit, not from Christ, but from form.

I realized that this is what Lent is all about. In the past, I couldn’t reach him, feel him, be me with him. I busied myself doing what I thought were the prayers and the actions that would show me the way. I never succeeded. I felt guilty. I wasn’t perfect in my form.

I rest in a different space now.

Transformation comes in small taps, bits and pieces, until I recognize it. Then it all comes tumbling down, only to reveal the Real.

We are all community. I find my Oneness in Jesus, but also see more. He expected that from us, hoped for this, I truly believe. He enfolded all to him reminding us that we have always been worthy – human, beast, plant, earth, water, air – all beloved.

When I falter thinking there is only one way, I remember that he came as I am, in our multifaceted, brilliantly brutal human way. There is no other way, but Oneness between all.

Shatter the form and let your soul rise. Allow those tiny taps to break you open to become One. Remember the root command – love one another.

 

More at JOURNEY/lex.

 

New-Eyed Lent

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ANewLent.jpg

I began my Lenten journey much earlier than I realized.

Christmas night we saw a full moon, a rare occurrence. A new beginning. A new life born to us once again. I am finding comfort and wisdom in our Holy One’s creation, the moon. Her cycles are a connection to nature at its most ancient. She is constant in the way of gentle guidance, not a nagging pedagogue.

Through January I experienced many losses, those stepping through the veil into a new cosmic Life.

As Luna cycled large to small and back once more, I am able to take comfort in her faithfulness, a presence holding me firm. She is a reminder of our cycles.

And so I am at Lent, seeing it with new eyes.

A dark moon greeted us two days before Ash Wednesday. The dark moon cannot be seen, our shadow covering her. Hiding Sun’s light. Giving me the peace and still of darkness. Allowing time to not see clearly. Being blind so I can listen.

I made some drastic changes to my life, releasing a love and a passion for now, knowing a different path is needed. Listening, I realize that I must rest and hear yet more deeply.

So I returned to a place of silence to begin once again.

In the dark of night beneath a cross hung high above an altar, I entered my daily meditation. A light shown brightly on Him, the rest of the sanctuary and myself in blackness. When I opened my eyes, I again asked the haunting question, “Why?” This image? What is it that I am being asked to understand?

I know it is not about Him “dying for my sins.”  That was a past life. It just doesn’t make sense any longer on so many different levels.

Last year I explored Magdalene. I wrote a monologue based mostly on the Gospel of John. I walked her path and listened to her voice.  I came to understand the “Why?” but only partially.

I came to understand that we are deeply loved, but we just don’t get it.

Each and every one of us, each and every creature, each and every thing made, is a vessel containing our Holy One’s grace and love and being to be given away freely. There is no bottom to this gift. We won’t run out. We truly are the hands and feet and eyes and minds of God on earth in the cosmos. But we just don’t get it.

So Jesus God, came to show us that we are so loved, so powerful in what we do, that He became a person, just like you and me. He was a man who walked on this earth, loved, cried, and also needed help understanding. The Syrophonecian Woman was a teacher, as many others He would encounter who would inform his life.

We are Wisdom.

It is within each of us. So much so, Jesus also learned from us.

Jesus came to us to help us see what we can do as people, how to look into each other’s eyes and see Spirit in ourselves. Care for all the things on earth, because everything is made of stardust, our Cosmic Source. There is no disappearing or loss, just transformation.

Then why did Jesus have to die?

“Only the suffering God can help.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

In Bonhoeffer’s words, I came to understand that God understands our struggles. And Our Infinite Love cannot leave us because we are Oned. Yes, we will suffer but Spirit is here within us. Only we don’t always realize it, or help others find it through their pain and suffering and hate and fear.

Earth dies every year to remind us life is a struggle. Luna cycles from darkness to full light to remind us Light is always here, even if we can’t see it. Everyone and every creature dies and moves through the veil into cosmic Oneness. We are constantly transformed.

Lent is no longer a time for me to put on sackcloth, suffer, moan, and ask forgiveness.

Lent is a new beginning slushing through the melting ice that creates such a great muddiness, that sloppy rich earth from which new life will sprout.

I walk this Lent in darkness and stillness
to hear my Loved One’s voice.

I remember the times I didn’t look long enough
to see Spirit in each being, person and animal,
I meet. Or care for the living earth
or cobbled stuff that fills this physical plane.

I move to accept myself absolutely
for my past ignorance and rejoice
in the beauty and love I share from Within.

I remember the root command,
love one another.

Amen. Amen. Amen.

Lexanne

A grateful heart to Eileen Terry and her gift of
*Thomas More, Original Self, Living with Paradox and Originality
to inform my prayer.

 

The Gift – David Nevue

Diana Butler Bass
Grounded
Finding God In the World
A Spiritual Revolution

A Podcast with Rob Bell

 

My Lenten Prayer

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On this eve of Lent what makes me beautiful

I no longer long for rules
I listen from within

I am beautiful as I see mirrored in me
an image of the Divine

I hear the call of those who have gone before
shrouded, voices dimmed

I dance the song of me
joyous, beautiful, open

I awaken to Beauty that lights the morning sky
and darkens night

I see through new eyes
I Am

Sweet Peas, Part 2

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In March I promised myself I would finally plant sweet peas. I wasn’t going to let anything deter me. 10464083_10203233205662896_3100015098842395032_nWell, 10464083_10203233205662896_3100015098842395032_neverything did and they didn’t get planted.

Along about the first few weeks in June I saw an interesting little volunteer popping up. It looked just like sweet peas. I moved a trellis to have something for it to climb. Then I remembered. A few years, that’s maybe five or six, I gathered some seeds from Vickie’s, my sister-in-law, garden off of her sweet pea plants. They grow wild there, year after year.

Just like Janice, my mother-in-law, iris, I set them aside for the summer and said I would plant them in the spring. (I’ve moved the iris from house to another, from one bed to another, and they grow like crazy. Do you want some?) But I didn’t plant the sweet peas. That fall I decided to throw them in some soil, “Just to see what might happen.” Nothing. For five or six years, nothing happened.

This june they sprouted. I guess my moms, who have been gone now and are dearly missed, got tired of my promises and took things into their own hands. If you follow my pictures of my garden, you know how prolific the iris are.

Now, I have sweet peas. Thank you, Mom.

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Here is the poem I wrote earlier this year. Silly me.

Lent and Sweetpeas

March 7, 2014 by 

I’m going to grow sweet peas this spring
I won’t allow the busyness of the day to interrupt
I won’t let the excuse of sultry spring sun
and red clay soil divert me from my plans

I can’t remember now
and being there is no one to ask
when I was young
seven
or maybe it was eight
my mother
planted sweet peas in the backyard for my birthday

Were they to be in bloom by my birthday
or did she plant on my birthday
always a few days either side of Mother’s Day

Edging a small patch of grass squared by
Gus’ gas station
my father’s television repair shop
Interstate 70
and Washington Street
she knelt on red clay soil
already sprayed for bugs and weeds
my father’s madness

She planted
I now understand
maybe to forget
mostly to make something pretty
almost certainly to give me hope

To my surprise
surely not her’s
they grew
ruffly pink flowers on twisting stems
twining their way around a chain link fence bordered by
cement
and asphalt
gravel
and thirsty bistre grass still in winter slumber

This year
I’m going to plant sweet peas
in my clay soiled garden
in spring
with hope

Maundy Thursday

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I walk with her this humble evenapo2014button1
feet bare touching earth.

I walk with her and her pain
the flow of life from birth.

Her flow of blood from sin unknown
a banishment acceded.

My malady, one of the soul, a
spirit departing untreated.

We walk with Him this quiet night
I wonder if we’re worthy.

I search for cures to ease my torment
not seeking anyone’s mercy.

My feet are washed by gentle hands,
she asks to be made whole.

My feet are dried with loving care,
she reaches for His stole.

I count the stars. She looks to Him,
the mystery reveled.

You have made me worthy, and
by Your Word I am healed.

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Author’s Note:

This Lent, through an unexpected series of events, I wrote a monologue about the Woman With The Flow of Blood from the Gospel of Mark.

I didn’t expect this journey.

She has been walking beside these weeks and guiding me. Her story is only ten sentences long, but turns on two words: cure and heal.

I didn’t expect to be so moved to a new understanding of who I am and who He is.

Lent and Sweetpeas

by

I’m going to grow sweet peas this spring
I won’t allow the busyness of the day to interrupt
I won’t let the excuse of sultry spring sun
and red clay soil divert me from my plans

I can’t remember now
and being there is no one to ask
when I was young
seven
or maybe it was eight
my mother
planted sweet peas in the backyard for my birthday

Were they to be in bloom by my birthday
or did she plant on my birthday
always a few days either side of Mother’s Day

Edging a small patch of grass squared by
Gus’ gas station
my father’s television repair shop
Interstate 70
and Washington Street
she knelt on red clay soil
already sprayed for bugs and weeds
my father’s madness

She planted
I now understand
maybe to forget
mostly to make something pretty
almost certainly to give me hope

To my surprise
surely not her’s
they grew
ruffly pink flowers on twisting stems
twining their way around a chain link fence bordered by
cement
and asphalt
gravel
and thirsty bistre grass still in winter slumber

This year
I’m going to plant sweet peas
in my clay soiled garden
in spring
with hope

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Author’s Note:

I always wonder from where the inspiration will come for my next set of words.

Today is day three of Lent. It snowed. But it rained first. And I revel in the rain. I always see it as a gift from Him, especially on a day off from work. It’s our secret joy.

I am looking at Lent through new eyes this year. I want to move closer to being fully present in my life and not shackle myself with guilt from the past, nor give myself something to fail at so that I can again feel guilty in the future.

I spent sometime on Facebook in the morning and came across this delightful video on Ben Aaron’s LXTV NBC page. It made me feel so very good, I decided to make a playlist with some favorites of mine. A dear friend saw my post and decided to name this “wancing.” Watch the video.

To make a long story a bit shorter, she wasn’t at home to “wance” with me in the snow when I stopped by her house. But on her doorstep I left her her very own copy of my playlist and a chocolate bar. She’s been a bit down lately.

Coming back home, I “wanced” through the entire twenty-three minute playlist by myself in my office and sat again, this time to do a little writing. With a photo of sweet peas in front of me, I don’t know from where that photo came, this poem appeared.

Lent is a time for being present.

It is a time to allow room for His gifts to live and bloom inside of me. It is a time to discover what is right in front of me, hidden deeply, covered by my ego.

It rained and is snowing. I opened myself to be silly and enjoyed being in this fifty-seven year old body. And a profound sadness with new understanding entered, remembering my mother.

Blessings all around.

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My “wancing” playlist.
Linus and Lucy by Vince Guaraldi Trio
Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen
I Feel The Earth Move (Live) by Carole King & James Taylor
Physical by Olivia Newton-John
Birthday by The Beatles
Dusquesne Whistle by Bob Dylan

Sound Cloud: Listen to me saying this poem!