Weekly Reflection--August 28

I don't know about you, but I struggle with prayer.  (I was going to say "sometimes" to describe how often I struggle though that doesn't quite fit the bill, and I didn't want to say "often" because that doesn't seem to capture reality either.  Suffice it to say I am caught between "sometimes" and "often" when it comes to struggling with prayer.  How about you?)

Prayer, which seems like such a common part of the religious life, and, I would imagine, for many it is something that doesn't receive a great deal of scrutiny.  Prayer is communication with the Holy.  Prayer is connection with God.  Prayer is articulation of the deep desires, longings, and hopes of humanity.  Prayer is listening for God.  Prayer is . . .these things and so many other things.

Prayer took on this puzzling state in my life early on.  I remember the adolescent prayer that asked God to provide something tangible to confirm faith in the divine.  Invariably, such prayers met with a great deal of silent response.  The explanation for such silence was that we cannot know the mysteries of God nor can we demand instantaneous proof for the existence of God.  "It" just doesn't work that way.

Furthermore, troubles with prayer continued when I was confronted by others who gladly shared their powerful prayer experiences.  Oftentimes, prayer was "answered" in a specific way that transformed the one praying.  All well and good, and certainly a blessing when health concerns or job or relationship worries weighed heavily upon the pray-er.   

The problem arose when answered prayer provided a parking spot or the answer to what trip to should take.  I appreciated the desire for and the awareness of God to be present in all moments.  I just found it hard that God was relegated to a sort of cosmic secretary, overseeing our schedule and booking the best for us.   

For the elephant in the room given this prayer scenario was the "other".  What about the elderly person who needed the parking space more than I would, or all the other variables, individuals, and needs that were relegated to answer my prayer?  There are those who will argue that prayer is not a zero sum game, and there is a plentitude of grace to go around.  Yet, intercessory prayers--particularly when we ask God to intercede for us--while powerful and important can also walk on the other side of the fine line where personal desire overwhelms greater communal or human need.  

And, I suppose, there is just such an awareness today of ALL that is troubling and tragic that we--or at least I--struggle with prayer.   

Clearly, prayer is central to our Christian tradition.  Paul counseled that we should, "pray without ceasing."  Our prayers are formal and informal.  They occupy a major part of our worship.  Our prayers extend out on behalf of those in need and the vital issues facing us as individuals, a community, a nation, and a global community.  I, therefore, am not advocating the abolition or the neglect of prayer.  I just find it difficult at times.  Which is, I think, honest.

Which is also why I have so thoroughly enjoyed reading Thomas Keating's book Intimacy with God--An introduction to Centering Prayer.

I highly recommend it.  The book does not answer all the questions one might have regarding prayer, but it is, however, a wonderful reframing of how and why one might pray.  Simply put, we do not pray to appease God or to gain something from God or to magically end suffering.    

We pray to become  more and more aware of and grounded in God's love present for us and for the world.  

Centering prayer is the development of an awareness of the presence of God and the overwhelming love God possesses for you.  As Keating notes, "The Christian spiritual path is based on a deepening trust in God. . . And it is trust that guides the intimate refashioning of our being, the transformation of our pain, woundedness, and unconscious motivation into the person that God intended us to be."

Centering prayer is not petitionary or intercessory.  It is similar to Eastern meditation, and it is, at a very critical level, sitting in the presence of Holy Love and the awareness of this love for you and deepening that awareness and the relationship with God through it.   

Again, Centering Prayer does not answer all the questions, but it opens up the framework and paradigm that I find so compelling, and which I think the world sorely needs.   

I'd love to hear what you think.  

  

Blessings, 

  

Mark

August 21 weekly post

The soft amber light of the fading sun bathing the leaves of trees in downtown Stamford during these waning days of summer creates its own sense of relaxation and the illusion, however fleeting, of things slowing down.  It’s that feeling expressed with an audible “Aaaaaaah” at the end of a long day.  Letting out a sigh and letting go of the stress and worries and commitments.  They will all be there tomorrow, but for now there is respite.  For now the focus is elsewhere.   

(Imam, Kareem Adeeb)  

To be precise, the focus is on the end of the Ramadan fast for our Muslim brothers and sisters and the Iftar meal that marks this momentous day.  The setting for this observance by the local masjid and members of various churches and synagogues and friends of the InterFaith Council is First Congregational Church.  7:50 PM on Tuesday, August 16, the month of fasting concludes with an interreligious Iftar.   A simple community room teems with women in hijabs and flowing garments and men with beards and some sporting taqiyahs, along with teenagers in shorts and tennis shoes and grandparents in short-sleeve shirts fill this space with the cacophony of conversation and stories.  The imam, Kareem Adeeb, calls the entire group together, and, with a simple prayer declares the end to the fast.  A sweet, creamy drink is passed around.  Bananas, figs, and  pita bread are available for those seeking to quickly sate their hunger before a prayer service concludes the formal worship of this evening.   The informal worship continues downstairs with tables full of food.  Middle Eastern fare, Indian fare, and a host of other dishes delight everyone, and there is certainly something for everyone.  People mingle and, except for those in specific religious garb, it is hard to distinguish what tradition any one person is from.  The point being, I suppose, on some fundamental level, our humanity is a key connector.  The particular way that we live out our wonderment at the mysteries in life, seek to honor the sacred in our midst through the “other” and through creation, our desire for connection and community, and our efforts to support those in need are all secondary.  While important and vital to our life, they emerge from the common humanity that we share.   A short time into the meal imam Adeeb delivers an explanation regarding the month of Ramadan and its practices, the need to exercise this spiritual part of our being, and the heart of Muslim practice and engagement in interreligious dialogue that is  a wonderful expression of deep faith, a lively mind engaging the mystery and wonder of God, and a vibrant respect for the search by those in his own tradition as well as others.  It is truly inspiring and a message that more and more people need to hear.   I think about this expression--such hospitality and welcome to all who participated, a passionate engagement with one’s particular tradition, and an equal longing for connection with and respect of other traditions--versus the various other expressions of Islam in the world, and I know there is much more work to be done.  The message needs to spread.  Human connection at this level is key.

Yet, as I leave and the waning sun is overcome in Stamford only to rise elsewhere on our island home, I know these stresses and commitments will be there tomorrow.  For now, I enjoy the sigh and satisfaction of a beautiful service and meal, connecting across traditions, and the warm breeze of a waning summer night.  Aaaaahhhhh. 

 

Blessings, 

  

Mark 

  

/August 14 reflection

  I have a new found and a deeply profound respect for those who commute into New York City for work.  Along with receiving a wonderful education into the history of Anglicanism, I've also been schooled in the hectic and exhausting activity of the daily commute.  I will thankfully return to the exponentially smaller commute within the rectory next week.
 

The opportunity to experience another person's reality is a powerful thing.  We can get so caught up in our own worlds--and the rhythms therein--that we may find it difficult to imagine what life is like for another.  The past two weeks have made this abundantly clear to me.  Theoretical hypothesizing is quite different from actually experiencing time, space, and, in the instance of commuting, the crush of humanity.  It goes without saying that this actual change in our schedules can be uneasily disruptive.  

Yet, such disruptions--within reason--can be helpful to our growth and development (and certainly for our appreciation of how life may be for others).  In outdoor education, there is a wonderful phrase that seems applicable to all of life.  Getting out of your comfort zone is encouraged in low and high rope course work.  In the best of all possible worlds, and in a safe and protected environment, getting out of our comfort zone allows us to learn more about ourselves in ways we did not even know.  My comfort zone was certainly challenged this past week.

What I learned is too long for this piece, but I can say that I have gained a critical sense to the sheer exhaustion that can come with commuting.  I suppose people "get used to it" but the physical toll on this activity cannot be minimized.  Conversely, I also enjoyed and was energized by seeing a wave of humanity that is amazingly diverse and unique every single morning.  As one who grew up in the confines of rural Minnesota, I never quite get used to the radically complex amalgamation of human beings in New York City and on the East coast.  It truly is amazing and refreshing.  Lesson one attunes one to the fragility of life and the need for care.  Lesson two awakens one to the mystery and wonder of life.  Both found in the same commute.

Finally, I connect this commuting experience with the class I'm taking.  Yesterday, we were focused on one of the dismissal phrases of worship found in the Book of Common Prayer.  "Let us go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit," is a phrase I had not stopped to consider critically.  The professor challenged the class on the implications of the phrase.  Does it mean:

 A.  That the worship is divorced from the world?  Basically, we are outside the world in worship and NOW we are heading into the REAL world.

 B.  That the world does not enter into the worship?  Basically, what we have done is true worship in the sanctuary and it has no affect in the world to which we now go.

Clearly, neither option is satisfactory.  As a tradition that is rooted in the incarnation, we seek to find ways to hold up that intersection of worship and world.  They are not divorced from each other, but they are parts of each other.  The world entering into our worship so that when we pray and commune, we do so rooted and grounded in reality.  The worship moving out into the world, so that the world is seen as an extension of the sanctuary and that the holy is potentially found everywhere and in each moment.  

While commuting is exhausting at times, I am acutely aware of how it is also a part of the world which enters into our worship, and I would hope that the awareness of the holy would impact the nature of this travel.  It's not just getting to work.  The travel, with the myriad others who make up this on-the-way-to-work community, can also be holy time.  Time and space to reflect, time and space to read, time and space to rest, time and space to dream.  Time and space where world and worship meet as they do so often in so many other parts of our life.   

 

Blessings, 

  

Mark

August 7 Post

As many of you may be aware, I have been attending an Anglican Studies course at General Theological Seminary this past week and will finish auditing the class next week.  All of this is to fulfill certain requirements to be received into the Episcopal Church, something I hope may take place--God willing--early next year.  There are a number of reasons for seeking to be received into the Episcopal Church, not least of which is that in my almost 20 years of ordained ministry almost 16 years of it have been spent in the Episcopal Church.  For all intents and purposes, I am quite Episcopalian. 

However, under the heading that you learn how much you don't know, this course of study has been extremely helpful.  To begin with, I was informed by Bishop Douglas that, though we see ourselves as Episcopal, we are part of a much larger fellowship of believers known as Anglicans.  At General Theological Seminary, I am learning that my bearings are probably more "Anglican" than they are "Lutheran".  Well, to the degree that you can essentialize anything--which is never--I am enamored of the innate flexibility that is a part of the Anglican tradition.

Rather than being a doctrinal or creedal tradition (which Roman Catholicism and Lutheranism are respectively), the Anglican tradition, at its best, expresses the following preferences:

Dialogue to Diatribe
Unity to Uniformity
Diversity to Division

Of course, in the immediate past, one might think that we have lost our way (and certainly there are those in the United States and in the larger Anglican Communion who want to force everyone into their understanding of God and, failing this, are willing to split the church).  However, I do believe that there are plenty of voices that are working for the better elements of life together that are expressed in Dialogue, Unity, and Diversity.  And I hope and trust that they will hold the day eventually. 

Regardless of the machinations of the larger church, the articulation of these preferences in the Anglican Communion makes me very happy to be at St. Francis.  I know that we don't always hit the mark as well as we might or should, but in my almost 10 years here, the ebb and flow and rhythm of life together has been marked by a desire to Dialogue--to express deeply held beliefs while also being willing to hear what other people think and feel and to respectfully discuss points of connection and disconnection.  I find that there are a wide spectrum of beliefs at St. Francis and, as far as I know, no one says that others must conform to one way of being Christian or a member of a faith community.  And the diversities that do exist among us seem not to drive us from each other, but there seems a real enjoyment of the variety of gifts that are present here. 

I like to believe that the Spirit of Christ (and of St. Francis and St. Claire and a host of others) is alive and well in those who gather week in and week out, who lead in so many ways and in so many arenas (the second collection noted this week is a prime example!), and that we endeavor to find our way in the world individually and collectively not by bulldozing a path we believe is the right way but by patiently engaging with each other and journeying together. 

So, while I continue this part of the journey at General, I also am very mindful of the blessings that are found at St. Francis and thank you for your part in it.
         

Blessings, 

  

Mark