Man (sic) is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue. -Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts
on Faith
This past Sunday we had one of the best book discussions that I have been a part of for some time. The discussion focused on Annie Lamott's Traveling Mercies, and it was broad ranging, involved everyone who attended, and possessed wonderful moments of insight and serendipity.
If you know Lamott's writing, you know that it is deeply personal and can be a bit unnerving with frank descriptions of her "interesting" life. You cannot say that Lamott hasn't lived. You also cannot say that she lacks honesty and forthrightness. And finally, you cannot say that she hasn't glimpsed grace.
Indeed, what strikes me about Lamott's writing is its brutal honesty and its awareness of where and how God may be present in the midst of the whole crazy and wonderful mess we call life. For some, these vignettes of life are upsetting. She can be hard to read. For others, the stories of Annie Lamott have an almost parable like quality to them.
And in the fine tradition of the parables of Jesus, her stories function to subvert, to shake us awake, to force us to see the harshness of life. Yet, in doing so, we stumble into the presence of the holy.
One writing example from Traveling Mercies expresses well the reality of what many of us expect from life, what the truth actually is, and how that may be enough. Lamott writes:
It's funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said 'do the best you can with these, they will have to do'. And mostly, against all odds, they do.
As humans, we desire order and structure and meaning that follows a certain logic and trajectory. Chaos and meaninglessness is naturally abhorred. However, life throws us a number of curve balls and upsets that nice, neat idea of an unobstructed linear development of meaning within our life. Indeed, what we expect often is not what we get.
Yet, as Lamott notes, the rusty bent tools of friendship, prayer, conscience, and honesty often will suffice.
As we talked on Sunday, the stories of Annie Lamott elicited our own stories, and I was reminded again of the power of narrative and the holiness of each of our stories. Part of the beauty and blessing of the Christian tradition is that it is a wonderfully long and winding story about God and God's relationship with humanity and the larger creation. God's story mingles with our story. Our story impacts God's story!
Thus, we are developing a Lenten reflection booklet based on the stories of those at St. Francis and at the Episcopal Church of Christ the Healer. We all have something to offer, for we all have our stories, and the telling of those stories is a sacred act. The telling of our stories allows us to discover or deepen friendship. The telling of our stories is an act of prayer. The telling of our stories piques and engages our conscience. And telling our stories hopefully allows us to acknowledge the truth of our lives and the world around us.
I invite you to offer your story in our Lenten reflection booklet. If you haven't already contacted me, please do so. Regardless, please enjoy the fruits of the writing labors of many within both congregations. And I hope you may recognize amidst the fragments that are offered a bit of the glue holding us all together.
Blessings.
Mark
on Faith
This past Sunday we had one of the best book discussions that I have been a part of for some time. The discussion focused on Annie Lamott's Traveling Mercies, and it was broad ranging, involved everyone who attended, and possessed wonderful moments of insight and serendipity.
If you know Lamott's writing, you know that it is deeply personal and can be a bit unnerving with frank descriptions of her "interesting" life. You cannot say that Lamott hasn't lived. You also cannot say that she lacks honesty and forthrightness. And finally, you cannot say that she hasn't glimpsed grace.
Indeed, what strikes me about Lamott's writing is its brutal honesty and its awareness of where and how God may be present in the midst of the whole crazy and wonderful mess we call life. For some, these vignettes of life are upsetting. She can be hard to read. For others, the stories of Annie Lamott have an almost parable like quality to them.
And in the fine tradition of the parables of Jesus, her stories function to subvert, to shake us awake, to force us to see the harshness of life. Yet, in doing so, we stumble into the presence of the holy.
One writing example from Traveling Mercies expresses well the reality of what many of us expect from life, what the truth actually is, and how that may be enough. Lamott writes:
It's funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said 'do the best you can with these, they will have to do'. And mostly, against all odds, they do.
As humans, we desire order and structure and meaning that follows a certain logic and trajectory. Chaos and meaninglessness is naturally abhorred. However, life throws us a number of curve balls and upsets that nice, neat idea of an unobstructed linear development of meaning within our life. Indeed, what we expect often is not what we get.
Yet, as Lamott notes, the rusty bent tools of friendship, prayer, conscience, and honesty often will suffice.
As we talked on Sunday, the stories of Annie Lamott elicited our own stories, and I was reminded again of the power of narrative and the holiness of each of our stories. Part of the beauty and blessing of the Christian tradition is that it is a wonderfully long and winding story about God and God's relationship with humanity and the larger creation. God's story mingles with our story. Our story impacts God's story!
Thus, we are developing a Lenten reflection booklet based on the stories of those at St. Francis and at the Episcopal Church of Christ the Healer. We all have something to offer, for we all have our stories, and the telling of those stories is a sacred act. The telling of our stories allows us to discover or deepen friendship. The telling of our stories is an act of prayer. The telling of our stories piques and engages our conscience. And telling our stories hopefully allows us to acknowledge the truth of our lives and the world around us.
I invite you to offer your story in our Lenten reflection booklet. If you haven't already contacted me, please do so. Regardless, please enjoy the fruits of the writing labors of many within both congregations. And I hope you may recognize amidst the fragments that are offered a bit of the glue holding us all together.
Blessings.
Mark
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