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P u r e J o y!
Tag: Faith
A Snailâs Pace to the Mountaintop
By Kathy Manis Findley
A PAUSE FOR SOME WHIMSY . . .âWhy donât we have a little whimsy today? I have invited my snail-friend to join us. And anyway, we all need a little whimsy in these troubling days! So here goes!
Iâm sorry to tell you that the snail in the picture will take forever to reach that mountaintop, and you and I simply donât have the patience to walk with a snail. Even so, I feel good about my chances when racing a snail to get up on top of a mountain!
DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL? . . .âNot that this makes any sense at all. Why I would even be considering such a race! In fact, this is completely nonsensical, and if you know me, you know Iâm far too serious to entertain whimsy! Makes no sense at all. Oh, but it does make some sense. Let me tell you something about me and what I have learned about the wisdom of the snail and its slow journey!
LIFE CAN BE DEVASTATING . . .âWhen I think of the life catastrophes that have been the hardest for me, the ones that hurt me the most, I immediately recognize that I never slowed down enough to clearly see the unrest brewing around me and inside me. Multi-tasking and acting like an overcommitted, overwhelmed wife, mother, professional minister and hospital chaplain squeezed my spirit enough that I became hopelessly entrapped. That was in my younger days, those days when most of us stretch our commitments to the breaking point.
Before I could change course, I could see my dreams fading and my ability failing. It was impossible for me to reach the top of my mountain. It happened before I realized I was in trouble.
In the light of day, I can somewhat see, but at night, I can hardly see anythingâliterally and figuratively. But at least I have learned to take time to look up at the stars in a dark sky. Itâs easy to see, to envision stars twinkling in the heavens, when youâre still young and when you can still find your hope-filled dreaming place inside you. You can still be breathless, open-eyed and awestruck!
CAN I STILL BE BREATHLESS, OPEN-EYED & AWESTRUCK? . . .âTo be honest, I must confess to you that I find it difficult to see with my soul, to be open-eyed and enthusiastic. I have lived my life with visions of dreams and hopes, and I have loved the fullness of my days. But being retired is another story altogether.
The story of my young and middle adult days was a story of constant activity, challenges, and tall mountains to climb in search of dreams. Dreams, dreams everywhere! Wherever I looked, I found another dream to dream!
RETIREMENT CAN BE DISHEARTENING . . .âRetirement is another thing, and I am there! Illness and aging has nearly shut off my dreaming and visioning. Still, though I am sparring mightily with retirement, in the end I have slowed down to a snailâs pace. And snails probably donât climb mountains or search for dreams.
What pieces of wisdom can we receive from a snail on a slow slither? Perhaps we should look elsewhere for such wisdom. One of my favorite authors gets to my soul with almost everything he writes. His keen spiritual insight has guided my path time after time. This is what Bishop Steven Charleston has to say about seeing more clearly.
âI see more clearly, now that I am aging. Not with my eyesight, but with my soul. I see the fine detail of what I missed in younger years. I see the place of faith and forgiveness in my story. I see the possibilities of life in ways I never imagined. I was not blind in my youth, but my vision was limited to only a few seasons of seeing.
Now I am an old man standing on a hill. I see more clearly. The universe stretches above me in infinite glory and the Earth spreads her shawl to wrap me in creation. Open the eyes of your spirit. Look out in wonder. See the fullness of the life you have received. See the promise of love walking in beauty before you.
â Bishop Steven Charleston
MY FRIENDS FINDING NEW WAYS TO DREAM . . .âThese are words I can hang on to and patiently learn how aging folk can still hope and dream, and maybe even climb new mountains. Itâs possible. I have seen several aging folk on top of the mountains they dreamed of. One of my 70 year old friends travels all over the world. Another has launched out in a new calling to counsel kidney transplant patients. Yet another friend faced a closed door, so she picked up her skills and began a brand new ministry. And one friend left the United States to feed hungry people across the ocean.
All of these friends made it up to the mountaintop, though some of them might have traveled at a snailâs pace. That doesnât matter, and I have a notion that their secret to life has to do with slowing down and stopping their frenetic pace. Why do that?
To give yourself time to dream, time to contemplate and pray, time to pull your soul back together, time to open your eyes and truly see, time to meet God who may well whisper in your ear . . .
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying,
âWhom shall I send? And who will go for us?â
And I said, âHere am I. Send me!â
âIsaiah 6:8 NIV
TIME FOR SILENCE AND CONTEMPLATION . . .So walk on, slow if you have to. Take your time and wait until you hear Godâs voice or sense the presence of the Spirit. Give yourself time for silence and prayer and a lot of contemplation. Keep your courage ready, and then go with all your courage when your heart says itâs time. Donât let the snail discourage you. Your pace, whatever it is, will get you there. Donât let anyone block your path or steal your dreams! And Iâll meet you on a mountaintop somewhere!
A LOVELY HYMN FOR YOUR QUIET TIME . . .
Here I Am, Lord (Anniversary Recording) · Dan Schutte
Here I Am, Lord (30th Anniversary Edition)
â 2001 2009 OCP, 5536 NE Hassalo, Portland, OR 97213. All rights reserved. Made in USA.
All selections BMI.
SHARE YOUR STORY . . .
If you are a new to my blog or have been reading it for years, you are welcome here. If you would like to leave a comment about your experience with slowing down your pace, finding time for prayer and contemplation, or renewing your spiritual, physical, and emotional life, please tell us about it in the comments. Your story can help others see life more clearly.
âMeasure Me, Skyâ*
By Rev. Kathy Manis Findley
You might have received a blog post from me yesterday. It would be the one with the photo of the sky and with random words printed on the page in a totally âcattywonkeredâ fashion! (not of my own doing) It was a mess, and I tried to write and publish it for at least 8 hours!
What a frustrating yesterday and a discombobulated writing and publishing process! My computer took control and declared sovereignty over my blog post! The document disappeared at least seven times. There was literally nothing I could do. The computer had a mind of her own (urged on with the help of WordPress) and I was the focus of her destructive acts.
Sometimes I long for the days before computers, those olden days when thoughts would just tumble gently out of my soul as I wrote with ink and paper and exceptionally good handwriting. (Remember cursive?) Yes, I lived in those days when I had no computer or even a manual typewriter with striker arms with the letter engraved on them that popped up on to the paper! (And often three or four of those would come up too fast so that they stuck together!) On top of that, my 6th grade teacher, Miss Hamill, made us use a fountain pen and manually fill it with real, bona fide black ink, even when doing math! How impractical that wasâwith absolutely no way to erase so many math errors!
If I think Iâm frustrated writing my blog post using a perfectly fine online publishing site, I should try to remember the âgood old daysâ when my fingers were always marked with black ink. In all seriousness, I just sat down in my special writing chair hoping to share thoughts from my soul for a few minutes, but instead ended up spending hours trying to get my blog post to format correctly! Itâs enough to frustrate even experienced bloggers. Therefore, I want you to know that, since yesterday, I have been annoyed and distressed because of my inability to achieve anything resembling a blog post!
End of the rant!
I confess that I spend a lot of time measuring my self. Can I even format this so that it makes sense? Are my rambling thoughts worth all this toil and trouble? Does anyone read my blog anyway? Do I even write well enough to publish? I donât know the answers, so I am still insisting on continuing to measure my self.
Beyond my rigid, strict, and stringent measuring standards, there is good newsâHoly Good News that God is well pleased with me. God is pleased with you, too! I love the way the writer of this article expresses it.
I had an âahaâ moment recently when I realized that, while I had never struggled with the false belief that I had to work to earn my salvation, or even to earn Godâs love, I did live and think as if I needed to earn Godâs pleasure in me. For me, salvation was a free gift, love was a free gift, but pleasure was earned. I subconsciously believed that if I did a lot of good things and earned a lot of âspiritual gold stars,â I would gain more of [Godâs] pleasure.
Ditto!
For me, itâs still about Epiphany! Epiphany always graced me with lovely âaha moments.â Epiphany also brought clear vision and keen awareness, so I could see that I was making a habit of measuring. I knew all along that I had to learn how to stop measuring my self.âSelf-measuring is a hard practice to break, but the nasty little secret about it is that virtually no one measures themselves accurately or fairly. We get the measurements wrong every time, or at least most of the time! Instead of continuing the frustrating task of measuring my self and finding the results abyssmal, maybe I will figure out how to let God do the measuring. The alternative is to continue to measure my self as I always have, exhausted and disheartened by the measurements that never measure up to my aspirations.
Remember that when Jesus was baptized the Spirit descended on him and God said, âThis is my son, whom I love; in him I am well pleased.
â (Matthew 3:17, NIV)âGod affirmed Godâs love for Jesus before Jesus had performed a single miracle! Jesusâ ministry had not even started, but Godâs pleasure already rested on Jesus just because Jesus was Godâs Son. God was pleased because of relationship, not because of achievement or good-ness.
Wouldnât we be encouraged if we truly believed that Godâs pleasure fully rests on us? Period. I have a notion that God is not even measuring us with much precision and scrutiny. Instead, God is well pleased with you and with me. I hope that this knowledge frees me up to move forward without working to earn something thatâs already mine. So I for one am holding my head up, eyes toward the skies, and with a song on my lips, because I know that Godâs pleasure in me isnât going anywhere. Zephaniah 3:17 says that God delights in us and rejoices over us with singing.
I know there is a better way to live my life. Measuring my self constantly to determine if Iâm a good enough personâas in smart, gifted, compassionate, resilient, educated, beautiful, articulate, personable, spiritual, good enough to please God. Knowing all the while that by my self-measurements, I am not even close to âgood enough.â
I wonder . . . What could be wrong with letting God take over the measuring? Why not let my âselfâ be measured by Godâs golden yardstick in the clouds? To be honest, God does not really need a physical, wooden, for-real measuring stick. And I donât need to toil for and worry about how I am measuring up. Why not just look up into the sky and wait until I hear Godâs voice?
You are my beloved daughter. In you, I am well pleased.
God delights in us and rejoices over us with singing.
Singing is the place where my heart meets Godâs heart. Singing lifts my soul and lifts my eyes toward the skies, even through the darkest times and on the rockiest pathways. It seems that, in response to the eternal grace God gives us, we would want to honor God by breaking out into song, singing Godâs praise with reckless abandon . . .
Come, thou Fount of every blessing; Tune my heart to sing thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing, Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet, sung by flaming tongues above;
Praise the mount! Iâm fixed upon it, mount of Godâs redeeming love!
In the beautifully written poem below, the poet speaks of being able to reach for the sky by a song! I can identify with that thought from my experiences of reaching for the music of my soul during difficult times. It was as if I could ease closer to sky and breathe in the cleansing wind of transformation. I have pondered the meaning of the words âmeasure me, sky.â You can probably guess how I twist things to make a point, so maybe this is worthless: Skyâ God; CloudsâMusic; WindâTransformation. Itâs a hard, hard concept to define, so I donât try. I just take in the imagery and allow it to perfect my spiritual vision. As many of the other phrases in this poem, âmeasure me, skyâ likely has as many meanings as the people who have read it. This poem must be interpreted by its readers as each one contemplates the meaning they find there. When all our pondering brings no conclusion on the meaning, we can know, at least, that poet Leonora Speyer writes of wisdom that leads us as we walk our sacred path . . .
ââ Measure me, sky!
âââââTell me I reach by a song
ââ Nearer the stars;
âââââI have been little so long.
âââSky, be my depth,
âââââWind, be my width and my height,
âââWorld, my heart’s span;
âââââLoveliness, wings for my flight.
ââââââââHorizon, reach out!
ââââââââââ Catch at my hands, stretch me taut,
âââââââââRim of the world:
ââââââââââ Widen my eyes by a thought.
As you consider the message of this post and rhe image of the sky, please spend a few minutes listening to this hymn and meditating on its meaning to you.
SATB and piano by Elaine Hagenberg
Poem by Leonora Speyer https://www.elainehagenberg.com/measu…
Performed by the Tallgrass Chamber Choir Jacob Narverud, conductor
* Measure Me, Sky is a soulful poem written by Leonora Speyer and later used as a hymn text.
Detours Not Chosen
Have you ever found yourself on a path you did not choose? I am on such a path right now, in my aging years when nostalgia is rampant in me. Since I did not choose any part of this path for myself, I would have to say I have been detoured by some other force. The bottom line is that I have been detoured onto a path that seldom makes me happy.
Empty and desolate is this path, at least much of the time. My path detoured after a sudden diagnosis of end stage renal failure, followed by a year (2014) of being in and out of the hospital, daily dialysis, moving to another state far from my son and grandchildren, a kidney transplant, and the difficult change it brought to my existence. I can say unequivocally that I donât like the forced detour and I donât like this path.
Most of us begin our adult lives with plans and dreams. We have arranged our first-world lives so that we will have many choices for a bright future. When we age, though, our choices become limited, and sometimes the choices for our lives are made by someone else. So I find myself in the season of life when my path is narrowed and my choices are limited. This is a stifling place to be, leaving me with at least three emotional responses:
1) I am in a constant state of melancholy and cannot seem to pull myself out of it.
2) I live with a deep hurt in the pit of my stomach, like when you miss someone so much.
3) I feel a fear I have never felt before, that the next change I did not choose will be even worse than the changes before it.
Although I can readily list everything that is not good about this path, I have never been a complainer and certainly not one who refuses to hear Godâs whispers to me. I canât explain where these whispers come from or how it is that I hear them, but I have always chosen to believe that it is God who whispers in my ear. So after a sudden and frightening diagnosis, I began to hear Godâs whispersâgently, tenderly, patiently, and full of compassion. Then I heard an unusual kind of whisper, one that was emphatic and a little more forceful than the usual whispers . . .
âEnough! Enough of your frenzied life. Enough of working day and night. Enough of caring for others and ignoring yourself. Enough of not listening to the cries of your soul. Enough of constantly writing grants to fund your ministry. Enough of serving on dozens of committees all at once. Enough of putting away your creativity to direct corporate shenanigans. Enough of not drawing near to me. Enough!â
Almost immediately after that striking whisper, I ran headlong into the illness that stopped me in my tracks! The detour was severe and the path was definitely not a sacred path. I asked myself this question one late night of melancholy while resting in my hospital room: What will I do now, what will I be able to do now except pray, meditate, listen, breathe, journal, dream, sit in silence, and pray some more?
I did just that when I was well enough. And from months of recuperation and meditation, my creativity was restored. I started painting watercolors, writing in this blog, listening to music, singing hymns, creating beautiful things, writing two books, playing piano, growing plants and arranging flowers, and so many other creative things. During those days, when I needed to comfort myself, my mind pulled up many passages of scripture that urged me towards a more contemplative life.
Be still, and know that I am God. Come close to God, and God will come close to you. I have calmed and quieted myself. I rise early, before the sun is up; I cry out for help and put my hope in your words. My eyes are awake before the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promise. Above all things, guard your heart, for from it flow the wellsprings of life.
Doing all those creative and spiritual things helped my soul, of course, but no matter how I tried, nothing could completely take away my melancholy. It is still in me. Although I did pull myself out of the darkness I felt on the abysmal path I did not choose, the melancholy remained with me. As it does for any of us, at times. Life happens. Forced detours happen. Bad things happen to good people. None of these happen on our schedule, nor does our sacred path always lead us where we want to go.
Isnât that just life? Isnât that life for anyone, no matter how devout?
It helps to remember that our path is a sacred path, no matter how everything seems. We walk it âby faith and not by sight.â I leave you with a verse from the twenty-third Psalm.
Even when I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will not be afraid,
for you are close beside me.
May all your paths be sacred and your detours chosen by you.
~ Rev. Kathy
For your meditation time today, I share with you this beautiful song offered by John Michael Talbot.
Help Me Call a Blessing Down
Help me call a blessing down, for I think our poor old world needs it, a blessing of peace, a blessing of the ordinary, a blessing of national life without chaos and personal life without fear.Â
Help me pray a healing down, for I know how much we need it, a strengthening of the bonds between us, simple respect and patient listening, a new beginning for us all.Â
Help me welcome the sacred down, the wide-winged Spirit, drawn from every corner of heaven, to walk among us once more, to show us again how it can be, when justice is the path and love the destination.
~ Bishop Steven Charleston
âThis is the way. Walk in it.â
If you know about labyrinths, you might get this. People often ask me what a labyrinth is or what itâs for. Truth is, you canât fully understand a labyrinth by definition, nor by reading about it. You wonât get the significance of a labyrinth by what I write here, no matter how eloquent my writing may be. To know a labyrinth, you have to walk one, or trace the circuits of a finger labyrinth, or trace the path on a sand labyrinth and feel the sand under your fingers.
As a part of spiritual direction, many folk tell me that a labyrinth looks like a maze to them, and they fear theyâll get hopelessly lost, unable to make it out. That sounds a lot like life to me. Isnât there always fear that weâll get lost on this journey we call life? After weâve made a few wrong turns in life, we are often fearful of living it. Afraid our wrong turns will end badly. Afraid weâll get lost.
The truth of the labyrinth is that it is a clearly marked path that will lead you inâto the centerâand then lead you out by the same path. Perhaps thatâs why it has been called âthe sacred path.â
If you know me or follow my blog, you already know that my life has been made up of many curves, turns, twists, dead ends and crossroads. At times, it has felt unnavigable, a dangerous and unpredictable journey. Yours has probably felt much the same. I have learned a few good lessons along the way, though, lessons that I hope will stick with me.
The one overarching lesson is that I can neither predict, nor control my path. The twists and turns will appear before me, and I will walk through them. The curves will seem treacherous at times, and I will lean into them hoping to stay firmly on the road. I will stop in my tracks at the dead ends and simply turn around and start over. The crossroads? Well, they have their own precariousness, danger. The crossroads demand a decision. The road I choose could make a world of difference, good or bad.
Itâs enough to make life frightening! And it does. Life is frightening, especially for those of us who need to control our pathways. Hereâs where the labyrinth offers me so much comfort. It is a pre-created path in and then out, and when I follow itâs path, I am reminded of one of the core beliefs of my faith: that God has laid out a path uniquely for me. Whether I follow it or not is another part of my faith. I get to make that decision.
When I walk a labyrinth or even trace its circular pathways with my finger, I am aware of a guiding hand, a Comforter beside me, and the peace of knowing the path was created for me. I feel Spirit winds and hear the holy voices of thousands of years of Wisdom whispering into my ear.
And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, âThis is the way; walk in it.â
âIsaiah 30:21 (NRSVUE)
Amen.
Protection from Nothing
Godâs love protects us from nothing! Yet⊠sustains us in everything!
Jim Finley
I am intrigued by the words I read this morning in a community chat about Godâs love. Iâm not sure which part is more compelling to me: that âGodâs love protects us from nothing!â or that Godâs love âsustains us in everything.â The truth is I have experienced both in my life. I imagine you have as well. The circuitous journey we call life leads us through rocky paths, crises of every kind, dark and dense places that make us feel lost, daunting mountains to climb, roads we take that take us to dead ends, roads to nowhere.
God did not protect me from any of the real-life crises that came my wayâabuse as a child, a serious eye disease in Africa, the loss of my youngest brother, the fire that almost destroyed our home, the kidney disease that almost killed me at least three times, the years of dialysis, the miraculous, but very hard, kidney transplant. I assume God kept watch over all of it, but God did not protect me from it. God did not spare me from the traumatic events that marked my life.
So I have to ask questions, honest questions, about how Godâs love really affects my life. How do I experience Godâs love? How do I sense it in my spirit? Do I really believe that God loves me, especially in my lifeâs dark times? Do I believe that God should spare me from every life danger?
In my experience, Godâs love is elusive, intangible, difficult to hold onto. At times, I donât sense it at all. At times there are no holy âeverlasting armsâ holding me until my darkness turns to light. The only way I sense it at all is by faith, the faith that is âthe substance of all things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.â
(Hebrews 11:1)
To understand this love thing fully, I think I have to read the rest of that chapter in Hebrews, where we find a litany of what important Bible people did by faith. You may remember the list: âBy faith, Abel; By faith, Moses; By faith, Jacob: By faith, Sarah: By faith, Rahab . . .â Many more are listed, each having done some great thing by faith. This chapter, though, presses hard on the things that can happen to the faithful ones. Listen to this part:
Women received their dead by resurrection. Others were tortured, refusing to accept release, in order to obtain a better resurrection. Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two,[l] they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormentedâof whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground. Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised . . .
Oh, my! They did everything right. Their faith was commendable. Yet, they did not see the promise they expected, the great and good things that would come to them because they were faithful. In the end, did they hold on to their faithâwithout experiencing their reward? Without seeing Godâs promise?
What do each of themâMoses, Abraham, Josua, Rahab and the restâ have to do with us? Was their faith like ours? Were their challenges and obstacles like ours? Did they feel void of Godâs love like we sometimes feel? Without the promise the expected, did their faith still hold?
We can only speculate about all those questions. But we do not have to speculate about our own faith. We know it. We live with itâwhen it is strong and when it falters. Did our faith, and Godâs love, protect me from every hurt and every harm? I have to answer, âNo.â Yet, the opposite statementâGod sustains us in everythingâhas been real and true throughout my life, in sunshine and in shadow.
I have not known where I was going or where I would end up most of the time, but I kept walking even in my soulâs dark times. The journey has had its rough passages. The journey has most definitely lead me through the dark. Yet, I have also experienced the sunrise that always comes, day after day without fail. And as for God . . . well, Godâs love has been present, covering me in the warmth of the love that would not let me go, not by sparing me every hard time, but by âsustaining me in everything.â
The beautiful sunrise image at the beginning of this post points me to the thought that Godâs love is a little like the sunriseâa calming light, a gentle light, forever dependable. I have yet to experience even one day without a sunrise. The photo also graces me with the image of footsteps in the snow. Look at them. They are the footprints of someone walking alone, and in truth, we all walk our journeys alone. I imagine, though, that we also depend upon the invisible footprints of the God who leads us on the path.
If we see Godâs holy footsteps at all, we see them by faith. That will always be true, that by faith, we âseeâ the footsteps that go before us. Only by faith can we claim the âevidence of things not seen.â So when all is said and done, I believe this to be true: Godâs love protects us from nothing! Yet⊠sustains us in everything!
I believe it by faith.
I hope you can spend a few quiet moments listening to this beautiful choral arrangement. Pay close attention to the words. This is just one sentence among other words of assurance . . .
I walk in footsteps of Godâs love.
I see His footsteps in the way,
And follow them through darkest night,
Unafraid, I stumble not,
In the glow of perfect light,
I see.
I walk in footsteps of His love,
And find His light leads on before,
Then He gently turns to me,
Softly whispers, “trust Me more,
I walk.
Then as I follow in His way,
My path ahead will brightly shine,
For in His path of guiding light,
I find His footsteps first,
Then mine.
Where Is Our Joy?
After about five years of co-teaching my Sunday School class, known as the Voices Class, I have had an insight, a rather critical insight. Teaching this class, in particular, has been a gift for me and possibly for the other class members. We have bonded in important and meaningful ways. Most importantly, we âbear one anotherâs burdensâ (Galatians 6:2) and most definitely, we weep with our sisters who have found themselves weeping along the journey. (Romans 12:15)
And what a journey it has been for our class. We began with a lovely Lenten study titled, âPraying with Your Pen,â which took us into the wonderful world of contemplative writing. Such a spiritual disciple leads into all manner of emotional and spiritual discovery, not all of which is positive. The study was emotionally and spiritually taxing at times, while being life-giving for us all.
We then studied a three-month series of biblical women who faced various hardships and later revisited that study for an additional seven weeks. As we followed the journeys of these biblical women, we found kindred spirits and grace for our own journeys. But the lives of the biblical women were harsh, harsh enough to bring up in us an examination of the harshness we have encountered. So this study was a difficult one as well.
Other Lenten and Advent studies through the years kept us in a contemplative, and often melancholy, space where we learned so much about ourselves, our faith and our relationship with God and with each other. We followed Christ Sophia for a while, as we considered the feminine nature of God, and as we followed her, we uncovered spiritual layers in us that have long been touched by Spirit Wisdom.
All of our studies along the way took us to tender places within, places where spiritual maturity occurs and faith deepens. A deepened faith, it seems, was especially important as we entered the pandemic that separated us from each other, at least physically. We adapted valiantly and immediately, and our class continued via virtual Zoom meetings. The meetings, that regularly lasted two hours or more, seemed to ensure our sanity as we navigated pandemic lifestyles that we certainly did not choose. Suddenly, the day to day living became harder, school more complicated, safety measures all-encompassing, family isolation straining. Figuring out this new way to live became draining beyond belief.
That, too, we navigated together, holding one another in the light, learning to find church in uncommon places and keeping each other gathered close, covered in the love each of us brought to our circle. Gathering close to each other was critically important as we lost friends, church members and close family members to this pandemic. Apart from the pandemic tragedies we watched, our class was brought low by other illness and deaths of persons close to us.
So a few weeks ago, my soul cried out, âEnough!â Then I asked myself, âWhere is our joy?â Weâve got the âweep with those who weepâ part, God. Can we just move on to the ârejoicing with those who rejoiceâ part?â
Where is our joy? Thatâs the part of faith I cannot discern, because right now, itâs just too far away. Still, I asked myself the question.
And I answered myself immediately.
Itâs in our hymns! Our joy is in our singing.
So the Voices Class started a new study titled,
Singing Theology: Hymns & the Formation of Faith
Our Worship, Hymnody and Theology
A delightful study it has been for us, as we explore how hymns express the theology of a particular Christian community or tradition. Searching deeply into one hymn each week, we have asked: how does the hymnâs theology shape and form our faith, our belief, our mission and our action? “As the church sings, so she believes,” writes Beth Bowers. We had discovered in this new study an informative, importantâand funâexploration of song!
Hymns We Have Studied Each Week . . .
Here is our joy, in the hymns we sing â in their rhythms and their melodies, their thoughts and words. Hymns express our faith, our longing, our petition, our awe, our need, our regret, our grief, our testimony, our theology, our conviction and the deepest joy of our hearts. May it always be so!
My life goes on in endless song
Above earthÂŽs lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?
While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness ’round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock IÂŽm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?
When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging,
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?
Songwriters: Eithne Ni Bhraonain / Nicky Ryan / Roma Ryan
Just Gray!
https://kalliopeswatercolors.com/
Sometimes some things donât work! Like today as I am trying to insert the image for this post. Itâs a watercolor painting I did a couple of years ago titled âGrays.â I donât remember what was gray about that day or why I felt surrounded by gray, but I know that something was troubling about the day.
Like today! No, itâs definitely not gray outdoors. No gray skies above while the sun is shining brightly. Yet, I feel the âgrayâ closing in on me today, and for the past few days. News of the worldâs hurt certainly has something to do about it. I canât bear to hear of the spike in Covid cases, the danger of the Delta variant, exhausted health care providers gasping for relief, maltreated children at the overcrowded migrant center in Fort Bliss, Texas. I can hardly bear to hear another report about my friend who is very ill or about another friend I spoke to this morning who lost two love ones this week.
It feels gray in me right now. I think the gray feeling has a lot to do with the chat I had with my nephrologist at Mayo Clinic this week. He was beyond concerned about our current pandemic situation for his transplant patients. Of course, I am one of those patients. He was adamant that we immunosuppressed patients must begin isolating again immediately.
So again, the outlook for me is bleak. Not only am I one of his patients who are on high doses of immunosuppressant medications, but also I am one of the people for whom vaccines are not very effective. So while the general vaccinated public is around 90% protected from the virus, we are 50% (or less) protected. My doctor ordered an antibody test and, sure enough, it revealed that I have zero antibodies, which means I am not protected from Covid and that I can infect others.
I think that means retreating again from public gatherings â from stores, from groups of friends, from medical offices, from church. The time I was so looking forward to â seeing my grandchildren â is now a more distant possibility. All of that looks pretty darn gray to me!
I know in the depths of my soul that there are no simple answers for the gray times, the times when I am disconsolate and despondent. I know that I cannot change every adverse circumstance of my life. I know, too, that we cannot always change our soulâs response to those difficult circumstances. Sometimes, the âgrayâ of despondency simply has its way in me, and I cannot pull myself up and out. Sometimes I feel as if I am in a desert wilderness, and although streams of water may be there, I do not find them.
In such times, I have found that my ability to hold on to my very self comes directly from the Spirit, who is my sure and certain comforter. And I have learned that, while Holy Scripture and contemplative space do not always mysteriously rescue me or magically change my circumstance, I receive the peace and strength I need to live.
Jesus said to them:
âI must leave you, but I will ask God,
and our Mother snd Father God will give you another Comforter.
This Comforter will stay with you forever.
She is the Spirit, who reveals all that is true and real about God. . . .
So when I go, you will not be left all alone . . .
I leave my peace with you. I give my peace to you.
So do not let your hearts be troubled. And do not be afraid.â
John 14:1, 16-18, 27 (my translation)
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
Psalm 73:26
May you find that Spirit wind is moving gently within your spirit, and may God be the strength of your heart forever. Amen
The Car at Magnolia Court
In my normal outings, I frequently ride with my husband past the Magnolia Court Motel. Itâs the one with a gas station in its courtyard where a pool used to be back in the 50s. Itâs not a place you would want to stay on your vacation. In fact, I doubt anyone goes there for a vacation. Still, itâs always at capacity, because people live there. Itâs not in the safest part of town. Magnolia Court itself is not safe. I know that because TV news frequently reports that homicides happen there.
For the past five years, I have seen a dingy, old, light brown car in front of the last unit of Magnolia Court, closest to the street. The same brown car, day or night, is in its parking space. I donât think the car ever moves and I have wondered if it needs repairs. I assumed that the owner of the brown car didnât have a job, because the car never moved. I hoped, though, that the owner of the brown car worked an 11 to 7 shift somewhere. I wouldnât have known that, because I would never go past Magnolia Court at that time of night. Not in that neighborhood!
For five years, I never once mentioned that car to my husband. For five years, I silently looked at the dingy brown car and wondered who was in the motel room. Who was he or she? I always thought it would be a male, so letâs go with that. Why is he living there? Does he have a job? Is he young or old? Does he need food? Is he ill or disabled? Does he have friends or family? What does his room look like? Is it decent or dirty? How does he feel about his life? Does he know about Jesus and God? Is he okay?
My next thought was, âI would never go up to his door at Magnolia Court, knock on it and ask him if heâs okay or if he needs anything or if he knows about Jesus.â Just as quickly, my thoughts switch from the man (or woman) with the dingy brown car at the Magnolia Court to these hard questions . . . What could I do, as a Christian, to see if this man needed help? How could I help? What would I do? And what do the answers to those questions say about my faith?
I donât know, of course, but I imagine that in a similar situation, Jesus might have gone straight to the inn and checked on the people. Finding out how they were doing might have led him to heal one, encourage another, give another a basket of food or do all the blessing-kind-of-things Jesus always did.
Last week, we drove by Magnolia Court. The dingy brown car was not parked in its place. I looked around the Court to see if he had changed rooms, but the car was not there. I felt my heart quicken and my mind rushing through scenarios of what might have happened to the man in the end room of Magnolia Court. I was sad. Guilty. After about ten minutes, I managed to move on with my day and not think too much about the man.
Today, we again passed by Magnolia Court, twice! The car was gone. The man was probably gone too. I never saw him. I never checked on him. Why would I? Who would do that sort of thing in the violent, unsafe world we live in?
I donât want to be trite about things like faith, but honestly, I really did wonder âWhat would Jesus do?â
âWWJDâ might be an old, overused, trendy slogan, but for me this is just being concerned about a man I never saw.
I donât have any idea what Jesus would do, but I suspect he may have done lots of things, including something similar to what he did with the tables of the money changers. You see, turning over those tables was about doing what is just and right. Jesus might have turned over some tables or lamps or nasty mattresses at Magnolia Court Motel, because it is a place of violence, drugs, and all manner of things that harm people.
I felt my heart quicken and my mind rushing through scenarios of what might have happened to the man in the end room of Magnolia Court. I was sad. Guilty.
Kathy Manis Findley
I have to wonder now, probably will always wonder, what became of the car at Magnolia Court and, more importantly, what became of the man who lived in a room at Magnolia Court Motel. As far as I can tell, he never left his room until the day he left. My thoughts of him over five years of trying to eavesdrop on his life yielded nothing for him. For me, it became an examination of just exactly what kind of faith I have and in what ways am I willing to go out into a world of need where Godâs people live in shadows like Magnolia Court. It became a self-examination that prompted me to ask myself, âWhat do you intend to actually do when you proclaim yourself as a Jesus follower?â
So this is not a morality tale to urge you to examine your faith. It is for me. I am the one who needs to examine my faith, to ask what Jesus would do and then to admit what I will or wonât do. As for the old, dingy, brown car and the man who owns it . . . well, I did do one thing that Jesus would do. I blessed the man I never knew, whispering under my breath as we passed by this morning, âMay God go with you and give you peace.â
This is one of my favorite Christian songs. It brings me to tears every time I hear it, especially on the day of my ordination in 1992. As the words were sung that day in a duet by my husband and best friend, my heart sang, âHere I am, Lord.â
God of the Sparrow đ± By Kathy Manis Findley 