Sadness Amidst Celebration
Matthew 17:10-13
This strange Advent text comes on the heels of the Transfiguration, where Peter, James, and John see Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah on the mountain. When Peter wants to memorialize the moment with three monuments, the heavenly voice makes sure these three figures are not given equal standing: "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!"
The text then turns to a discussion of Elijah and his role in the coming of the Messiah.
It seems like a glorious moment . . . Moses and Elijah conversing with Jesus . . . the voice of God declaring Jesus as the Beloved . . . the desire to celebrate and remember by erecting commemorative booths.
Then Jesus drops a bomb . . . his own suffering and death (v. 12). Indeed, in the Gospels, the story of the Transfiguration marks a turning point in the narrative. From this moment onward, Jesus' face is turned toward Jerusalem and the cross. His journey takes on a new urgency, a resoluteness.
We feel something of the shock, the bummed feeling of skipping merrily through Advent when a reading like this is dropped among us, reminding us that the end of Jesus' short life will be a cruel death. We don't want to hear this message as we sing "Joy to the World" and "Silent Night," as we hang lights and put out stockings, as we carefully place the creche which depicts the vulnerable baby, Jesus with Mary, Joseph, and barnyard animals.
While we may not want to hear this news about Jesus, I imagine it resonates with each of us. Every one of us will experience some empty chair around the Christmas table . . . whether the grief is fresh or lingers from decades ago. Persons we love will not be there.
As a pastor, I learned decades ago that more people die in December than any other month. Funeral home directors know these dynamics well, and staff for them. Frequently I would be away with my family for Christmas, only to receive a phone call that a beloved church member had died. I would make the trip back to Bonham or Houston to be with the family. It was almost routine. Sadness seemed to go hand in hand with celebration.
Pancreatic cancer took my own father just a couple of days before Christmas 20 years ago. I remember someone in the family -- I don't remember who -- saying, as we all gathered at mom's house shortly after hearing the news, "What are we going to do about Christmas this year?" Exactly!
Even now, Christmas is the most difficult time of year for my mother. I suspect that holds true for many of us.
Jesus is honest about being fully human. Birth, life, and death are somehow intertwined. We are not given the choice of choosing only those aspects of life that are easy or pleasant. Only when we allow ourselves to be where we truly are -- even in our sadness and grief -- can we move onward with him. Loss and grief are part of life, even during Advent.
It's okay to be where you are.
For Reflection:
Spend a few moments today thinking about those persons who will not be with you for Christmas. Some of them have passed to the next life. From others you are separated by many miles.
In your own quiet space, simply whisper the name of each person who comes to mind. If you'd like, cup your hands in front of you, as if you were holding them out to God as you quietly say their names.
Showing posts with label breath prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breath prayer. Show all posts
Saturday, December 15, 2018
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas Eve -- December 24, 2011
Luke 1:67 - 79
His father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesied:
“Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
because he has come to his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a horn of salvation for us
in the house of his servant David
(as he said through his holy prophets of long ago),
salvation from our enemies
and from the hand of all who hate us—
to show mercy to our ancestors
and to remember his holy covenant,
the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,
and to enable us to serve him without fear
in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.
And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High;
for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,
to give his people the knowledge of salvation
through the forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God,
by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
to shine on those living in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace.”
The Song of Zechariah, also known as the Benedictus, is prayed daily each morning in the Liturgy of the Hours. I have prayed it from prayer books and in monastic settings for years. Its words are ingrained in my consciousness. They have been life to me.
The Benedictus is also a wonderfully appropriate Advent prayer. The images fit perfectly with this season of watching for light and waiting in hope.
So for the last three years I've used this prayer as a centerpiece for the weekly Contemplative Worship experience of which I am a part. I personally find it to be a beautiful expression of Advent hope for myself and the world. Others have responded well to it, as well, and found life in its words.
Last weekend, a worshiper in that service noticed that we were still using the Benedictus in worship, especially the last two verses, once or twice in each service. This person noted that had used the same prayer last year in worship, also. She was simply making the observation about the Canticle's prominence in worship.
I responded to her comment by saying, "Yes, we've used it for three years now . . . and we're going to keep saying it until we get it right!"
We all laughed. Of course, I didn't mean, "Until we all say it the right way," or "Until we get the cadence right," or "Until the intonation suits me."
I meant, "We're going to say it until we really open ourselves to its truth."
That is, until we live in the truth that one has come to us to save us from enemies, both enemies in the outer world, but mostly enemies in our internal world . . .
. . . until we open ourselves to worship God without fear and intimation, but in mercy and loving-kindness . . .
. . . until we really get the mercy and compassion of God as it is extended toward us without condition, and then live in it more than talk about it . . .
. . . until we live in the light of God, no matter how dark our situations or our "shadows of death" seem.
. . . until our feet our guided onto the path of peace, so that we not only speak of peace, but actively live into the peace of God for all people.
The Church has been praying the Benedictus daily for centuries. We're still trying to "get it right." And we'll be praying it for a long time yet to come.
A Meditation
On this eve of the birth of Christ, try this for a meditation:
Read through the Canticle of Zechariah once more.
Pick out the line or phrase that seems to have your name written on it.
Pull that line out of the prayer, and then stay with it for a few moments.
Take several tries at putting it into your own words. Paraphrase it.
How is that line being lived out in your life?
Whisper the line quietly several times, until you sense the phrase sinking from your head down into your heart.
Then carry that line with you as a breath prayer through this Christmas Eve.
His father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesied:
“Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
because he has come to his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a horn of salvation for us
in the house of his servant David
(as he said through his holy prophets of long ago),
salvation from our enemies
and from the hand of all who hate us—
to show mercy to our ancestors
and to remember his holy covenant,
the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,
and to enable us to serve him without fear
in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.
And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High;
for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,
to give his people the knowledge of salvation
through the forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God,
by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
to shine on those living in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace.”
The Song of Zechariah, also known as the Benedictus, is prayed daily each morning in the Liturgy of the Hours. I have prayed it from prayer books and in monastic settings for years. Its words are ingrained in my consciousness. They have been life to me.
The Benedictus is also a wonderfully appropriate Advent prayer. The images fit perfectly with this season of watching for light and waiting in hope.
So for the last three years I've used this prayer as a centerpiece for the weekly Contemplative Worship experience of which I am a part. I personally find it to be a beautiful expression of Advent hope for myself and the world. Others have responded well to it, as well, and found life in its words.
Last weekend, a worshiper in that service noticed that we were still using the Benedictus in worship, especially the last two verses, once or twice in each service. This person noted that had used the same prayer last year in worship, also. She was simply making the observation about the Canticle's prominence in worship.
I responded to her comment by saying, "Yes, we've used it for three years now . . . and we're going to keep saying it until we get it right!"
We all laughed. Of course, I didn't mean, "Until we all say it the right way," or "Until we get the cadence right," or "Until the intonation suits me."
I meant, "We're going to say it until we really open ourselves to its truth."
That is, until we live in the truth that one has come to us to save us from enemies, both enemies in the outer world, but mostly enemies in our internal world . . .
. . . until we open ourselves to worship God without fear and intimation, but in mercy and loving-kindness . . .
. . . until we really get the mercy and compassion of God as it is extended toward us without condition, and then live in it more than talk about it . . .
. . . until we live in the light of God, no matter how dark our situations or our "shadows of death" seem.
. . . until our feet our guided onto the path of peace, so that we not only speak of peace, but actively live into the peace of God for all people.
The Church has been praying the Benedictus daily for centuries. We're still trying to "get it right." And we'll be praying it for a long time yet to come.
A Meditation
On this eve of the birth of Christ, try this for a meditation:
Read through the Canticle of Zechariah once more.
Pick out the line or phrase that seems to have your name written on it.
Pull that line out of the prayer, and then stay with it for a few moments.
Take several tries at putting it into your own words. Paraphrase it.
How is that line being lived out in your life?
Whisper the line quietly several times, until you sense the phrase sinking from your head down into your heart.
Then carry that line with you as a breath prayer through this Christmas Eve.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The Second Friday of Advent -- December 10, 2010
Matthew 11:16 - 19
“To what can I compare this generation? They are like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling out to others:
“‘We played the pipe for you,
and you did not dance;
we sang a dirge,
and you did not mourn.’
For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved right by her actions.”
I talked to a group of public school teachers and administrators today about prayer. They meet weekly to support each other and to share the spiritual journey. They were interested in the method of prayer I offered in Fingerprints on Every Moment.
At the end of our time together, they said, "We want to use your book as an Advent resource. What would you suggest we do through Advent?"
Good question. I suggested a couple of things for the movement toward the birth of Christ. This is some of what I said to them.
First, I suggest using some Advent resource regularly that encourages prayer and reflection. Whether you use Fingerprints on Every Moment or some other resource, find a regular time to spend praying with the resource. The combination of the consistent resource and the consistent time will serve as a regular marker. This daily time will root you and give a structured pattern to your day. You'll find yourself looking forward to the time, which may come early in the morning, during a break at work, or at the end of the day before bed.
In using a resource this way, you are actually establishing a rhythm for life that includes intentional times for prayer and reflection. Over time you'll find that your prayer and reflection -- when you are making conscious contact with God -- spills over into the rest of your life. Those mile-markers signify where you are and hold you steady for the in-between times.
If you use Fingerprints on Every Moment or some other Scripture resource, I suggest an exercise for putting the words of the Bible in your own words. When you feel drawn to a particular phrase or verse, write it out across the top of the page, then try to find as many ways as possible to put the verse in your own words. Notice your own words and images that make it to the page. Pay attention to what you've listed. You'll notice that some of your inner wisdom will emerge, what I would call your soul. You may be surprised at what you see. I suspect that you'll find that you know more than you know.
I also encourage carrying a particular prayer through the season. I'm carrying a breath prayer from Fingerprints on Every Moment through Advent, taken from Psalm 24. My breath prayer is:
Open up, you door of my heart;
Swing wide, you long-closed gates.
It is the prayer I keep on my heart all through the day, reminding me to stay open to God's coming and God's appearing. It reminds me to be aware of things that lie outside my normal field of vision, the "all-things-are-possible" of God.
You don't need to take up my breath prayer. Choose your own. Notice a phrase in the Psalms or from the prophet Isaiah and pull it out for use as a prayer to carry in your awareness through the day.
In a similar way, I suggest taking up a gesture that symbolizes openness to God and awareness of God's presence. The gesture may be something as simple as opening your hands palms-up, touching your heart, or making the sign of the cross. The gesture expresses our intention to be open to God and keeps us mindful that we are continually present to God. The gesture itself does not keep our spirit open to God, but serves as an active reminder of our desire to be open.
One final thing I said to the teachers. . . . There are times when we each lose the peace or the awareness or the conscious sense of God's presence that comes from prayer or meditation or a corporate worship experience. In a moment of chaos at work or home we lose touch with the breath prayer or the gesture that represents our desire for God. What do we do then?
My best suggestion is, "Don't judge it." That is, don't beat yourself up for having lost the immediate sense of God's presence, or for losing your cool, or for the hastily spoken words. You and I are human, not yet complete. We will stumble. The important movement is not to be perfect and never stumble, but to stop judging ourselves as failures or successes.
We are making our way with God through this holy season as best we can.
“To what can I compare this generation? They are like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling out to others:
“‘We played the pipe for you,
and you did not dance;
we sang a dirge,
and you did not mourn.’
For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved right by her actions.”
I talked to a group of public school teachers and administrators today about prayer. They meet weekly to support each other and to share the spiritual journey. They were interested in the method of prayer I offered in Fingerprints on Every Moment.
At the end of our time together, they said, "We want to use your book as an Advent resource. What would you suggest we do through Advent?"
Good question. I suggested a couple of things for the movement toward the birth of Christ. This is some of what I said to them.
First, I suggest using some Advent resource regularly that encourages prayer and reflection. Whether you use Fingerprints on Every Moment or some other resource, find a regular time to spend praying with the resource. The combination of the consistent resource and the consistent time will serve as a regular marker. This daily time will root you and give a structured pattern to your day. You'll find yourself looking forward to the time, which may come early in the morning, during a break at work, or at the end of the day before bed.
In using a resource this way, you are actually establishing a rhythm for life that includes intentional times for prayer and reflection. Over time you'll find that your prayer and reflection -- when you are making conscious contact with God -- spills over into the rest of your life. Those mile-markers signify where you are and hold you steady for the in-between times.
If you use Fingerprints on Every Moment or some other Scripture resource, I suggest an exercise for putting the words of the Bible in your own words. When you feel drawn to a particular phrase or verse, write it out across the top of the page, then try to find as many ways as possible to put the verse in your own words. Notice your own words and images that make it to the page. Pay attention to what you've listed. You'll notice that some of your inner wisdom will emerge, what I would call your soul. You may be surprised at what you see. I suspect that you'll find that you know more than you know.
I also encourage carrying a particular prayer through the season. I'm carrying a breath prayer from Fingerprints on Every Moment through Advent, taken from Psalm 24. My breath prayer is:
Open up, you door of my heart;
Swing wide, you long-closed gates.
It is the prayer I keep on my heart all through the day, reminding me to stay open to God's coming and God's appearing. It reminds me to be aware of things that lie outside my normal field of vision, the "all-things-are-possible" of God.
You don't need to take up my breath prayer. Choose your own. Notice a phrase in the Psalms or from the prophet Isaiah and pull it out for use as a prayer to carry in your awareness through the day.
In a similar way, I suggest taking up a gesture that symbolizes openness to God and awareness of God's presence. The gesture may be something as simple as opening your hands palms-up, touching your heart, or making the sign of the cross. The gesture expresses our intention to be open to God and keeps us mindful that we are continually present to God. The gesture itself does not keep our spirit open to God, but serves as an active reminder of our desire to be open.
One final thing I said to the teachers. . . . There are times when we each lose the peace or the awareness or the conscious sense of God's presence that comes from prayer or meditation or a corporate worship experience. In a moment of chaos at work or home we lose touch with the breath prayer or the gesture that represents our desire for God. What do we do then?
My best suggestion is, "Don't judge it." That is, don't beat yourself up for having lost the immediate sense of God's presence, or for losing your cool, or for the hastily spoken words. You and I are human, not yet complete. We will stumble. The important movement is not to be perfect and never stumble, but to stop judging ourselves as failures or successes.
We are making our way with God through this holy season as best we can.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The First Thursday of Advent -- December 2, 2010
Isaiah 26:1 - 6
In that day this song will be sung in the land of Judah:
We have a strong city;
God makes salvation
its walls and ramparts.
Open the gates
that the righteous nation may enter,
the nation that keeps faith.
You will keep in perfect peace
those whose minds are steadfast,
because they trust in you.
Trust in the LORD forever,
for the LORD, the LORD, is the Rock eternal.
He humbles those who dwell on high,
he lays the lofty city low;
he levels it to the ground
and casts it down to the dust.
Feet trample it down—
the feet of the oppressed,
the footsteps of the poor.
The imagery of "gate" is familiar to the Bible. In a culture where city walls and fortresses were common, gates provided access . . . a way in and a way out.
We should expect, then, that gates carry an important spiritual connotation. They represent thresholds where we transition from one place to another. They are liminal spaces where important transitions take place and God-experience is heightened. They either provide or prohibit access, depending on whether they are opened or closed . . . and depending on whether you pass through or not.
So when the prophet Isaiah images God and God's goodness as a walled city -- Jerusalem, set on a hill, the holy mount -- he must also say a word about the gates which allow access to God. "Open the gates," he pleads in 26:2. He invites access to God for those who would step through the narrow opening.
The Advent text I've taken for my own prayer for these weeks is similar to Isaiah 26:2. It is a line repeated twice in Psalm 24:7 - 10:
"Lift up your heads, O you gates;
be lifted up, you ancient doors,
that the King of glory may come in."
This is the promise of Advent, that for persons who open their gates and throw open the doors of their lives, God comes. It matters little that Jesus was born 2,000 years ago if you have closed off your heart to his love and healing. That Christ continues to be embodied in our world today is of little consequence if you close yourself to that reality. The Christmas season becomes another opportunity to be with family, to stress about gifts and to be over-committed.
A most basic Advent posture is the stance of openness. In the language of Isaiah and the psalmist, that means throwing open the gates of our lives so the King of glory may come in.
A few years ago, as I brought Psalm 24 into my own prayer, I struggled with these verses. "Lift up your heads, O you gates; be lifted up you ancient doors." I wondered what these words meant for me. I ended up translating the words with this idea:
"Open up, you door of my heart;
Swing wide, you long-closed gates."
I included Psalm 24 in Fingerprints on Every Moment, largely for those lines and their meaning for Advent.
Now those words have become my breath prayer for this Advent, the prayer that I carry moment by moment as I receive breath and then as I release my breath into the world. The words speak of my desire to have an open heart. They remind me to loosen the gate of my heart when I begin to close down or tighten up. When I shut out the all-things-are-possible of God, my very breath reminds me to open my heart and hands and soul to receive.
So I exhale: "Open up, you door of my heart."
Then I inhale: "Swing wide, you long-closed gates."
I breathe and I pray.
In that day this song will be sung in the land of Judah:
We have a strong city;
God makes salvation
its walls and ramparts.
Open the gates
that the righteous nation may enter,
the nation that keeps faith.
You will keep in perfect peace
those whose minds are steadfast,
because they trust in you.
Trust in the LORD forever,
for the LORD, the LORD, is the Rock eternal.
He humbles those who dwell on high,
he lays the lofty city low;
he levels it to the ground
and casts it down to the dust.
Feet trample it down—
the feet of the oppressed,
the footsteps of the poor.
The imagery of "gate" is familiar to the Bible. In a culture where city walls and fortresses were common, gates provided access . . . a way in and a way out.
We should expect, then, that gates carry an important spiritual connotation. They represent thresholds where we transition from one place to another. They are liminal spaces where important transitions take place and God-experience is heightened. They either provide or prohibit access, depending on whether they are opened or closed . . . and depending on whether you pass through or not.
So when the prophet Isaiah images God and God's goodness as a walled city -- Jerusalem, set on a hill, the holy mount -- he must also say a word about the gates which allow access to God. "Open the gates," he pleads in 26:2. He invites access to God for those who would step through the narrow opening.
The Advent text I've taken for my own prayer for these weeks is similar to Isaiah 26:2. It is a line repeated twice in Psalm 24:7 - 10:
"Lift up your heads, O you gates;
be lifted up, you ancient doors,
that the King of glory may come in."
This is the promise of Advent, that for persons who open their gates and throw open the doors of their lives, God comes. It matters little that Jesus was born 2,000 years ago if you have closed off your heart to his love and healing. That Christ continues to be embodied in our world today is of little consequence if you close yourself to that reality. The Christmas season becomes another opportunity to be with family, to stress about gifts and to be over-committed.
A most basic Advent posture is the stance of openness. In the language of Isaiah and the psalmist, that means throwing open the gates of our lives so the King of glory may come in.
A few years ago, as I brought Psalm 24 into my own prayer, I struggled with these verses. "Lift up your heads, O you gates; be lifted up you ancient doors." I wondered what these words meant for me. I ended up translating the words with this idea:
"Open up, you door of my heart;
Swing wide, you long-closed gates."
I included Psalm 24 in Fingerprints on Every Moment, largely for those lines and their meaning for Advent.
Now those words have become my breath prayer for this Advent, the prayer that I carry moment by moment as I receive breath and then as I release my breath into the world. The words speak of my desire to have an open heart. They remind me to loosen the gate of my heart when I begin to close down or tighten up. When I shut out the all-things-are-possible of God, my very breath reminds me to open my heart and hands and soul to receive.
So I exhale: "Open up, you door of my heart."
Then I inhale: "Swing wide, you long-closed gates."
I breathe and I pray.
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