Nature's Embrace

It’s an early spring morning and I kept feeling this urge to pray.  The more I attempted to ignore the tugging at my soul, the more pronounced the sensation became.  So, I did what most people tend to do: I ignored that little voice inside my head whispering those irritating notions.  That is not a fair veneration of prayer, but sometimes it’s simply inconvenient.

Ultimately, I yielded and gave myself over to the ever imposing influence of...ahem, God.  Fetching my rosary, I committed myself to pray outdoors.  Albeit overcast, the spring temperatures were inviting.  Locating a nice, out of the way area of lawn in close proximity to a Native American prayer circle, I removed my shoes and kneeled until I was perched upon my haunches.  Removing my rosary from a medicine bag (no, I am not an Indian; however, a Native American friend crafted the satchel because he was aware that I am uncomfortable wearing this prayer medium like jewelry; I have no pockets) I closed my eyes and settled into a meditative prayer.  I was not seeking or petitioning, but simply listening with a quiet mind.  What could I hear?  Could God speak to me?  Jesus?  Mary?  Perhaps a saint?  Maybe just the sound of earth herself?  Whatever I came away with would be fine.

At some point I heard a rustling on the bark of a nearby tree.  A critter, for sure.  Being the undisciplined person that I am when it comes to prayer and meditation, I cracked an eyelid open to peek at that ever so curious sound.  As was suspected, a gray squirrel was doing what squirrels do...making no sense.  I smiled - that kind of smile which is not merely a facial expression, but a smile which sent warm sensations throughout my body  and moved back into a mode of silent observance.  Occasionally, when attaining that ultimate level of still thought (some may say, ”absentmindedness”) a breeze would engulf me.  I am not sure if it was a divine act or coincidence, but such sure set the mood.

As often happens with me, I can seldom keep the gears of my thoughts disengaged for long.  A quiet mind can be most elusive, for me anyway.  That being conceded, I slowly opened my eyes to see nature’s theatre.  Whenever I do this there seems to be a sense of tranquility.  This day was no different.  The sun was poking through the cloud cover, the trees and small meadow took on a particularly beautiful haze, the horizon was muted, everything was serene.  For a moment, I wondered whether I had been transported to an alternate-dimension, then rationality took ho1d.

Hang on a moment, something is different.  Mind you, I am still kneeling with the rosary strung between my hands.  Approximately ten feet away was that voracious herbivore.  Okay, it could have been a different squirrel, they all look the same to me.  Some would argue with that assessment, but come on.  Fuzzy.  Little legs.  Cute ears, etcetera.  Anyway, the little bugger was doing something that caused me to chuckle aloud.  The sound spooked him, or her.

A little disappointed that my entertainment scurried away, I settled back into my prayer and remained open to commune with...we1l, I was still waiting for clarification!  Thoughts would tumble in, but I would push them out so I could remain present.  A moment of peace, then more random thoughts.  Buddhists refer to this as monkey mind.  Rightfully so, my mind is like a jungle gym for the eccentric.

As I was settling in, another wisp of air kissed my face.  This happened on several occasions throughout my supposed stillness, but my infantile predisposition would ruin the placid moment by questioning: "Is it God, or coincidence?” Every time!  Of course, with these desperate bouts of seeking a message from God, monkey mind would clutter everything up.  I wanted the breeze to whisper something, but I kept running it off.

In the midst of all of this, I was present enough to hear the grass rustle.  Opening my eyes, the squirrel was a mere foot or two away.  Neat, but a little disconcerting.  It took a couple steps closer, then a couple more.  It dawned on me, my rosary may have the appearance of food.  Not the crucifix, but the sting of beads.  See, my beads are made of wood and are the size of peanuts.  I could not fathom the idea of this little critter nibbling on the beads, so I cupped them completely between the palms of my hands.  Though I was slow with my movements, the rattling of the chain must have spooked the fuzzy rodent and it retreated to parts unknown.

Back into my groove, I was settling nicely into my meditation.  Of course, there were the sporadic interruptions of the mind, but I was otherwise making progress.  Well, until a loud screech startled me.  Within three to four feet off my left shoulder a sea gull had moseyed up and decided it was practical to make a racket, screeching for no apparent reason.  Off my other shoulder, within inches, my peripheral caught sight of the fluffy tail of the squirrel.  Then, another sea gull landed and commenced to join in the festivities of making noise.  Why can't they sing like a robin or make the croon of a swan?

In conclusion, I chose to wrap my arms around the clouds, that the wisps of wind really were the breath of God.  That the noisy, white birds represented the barrage of random thoughts which I could not keep at bay.  As for the squirrel?  I do not have a clue as to what its purpose was.  Perhaps to teach me how to be more in the moment?  See, what I did not disclose earlier was that when the little furry bugger initially caused me to laugh, he was emulating me.  It, too, was sitting on its haunches.  (I say "sitting" because I do not know if a squirrel can kneel.) And, here’s where things became quirky; the squirrel was holding an acorn in both paws.  Why is that weird?  Because such was not all that different from the way I was holding my rosary.

So, have I read too much into these encounters, my mind entertaining fantasy?  Or, were divine spirits at work?

May 2011    

Quirky

I used to think that I was the only one who had quirky thoughts.  Ha!  The more I emerge from my shell, the more evident it becomes that I am not alone.  To my relief, these thoughts are not, in and of themselves, unusual.  Then again....

When using the noun ”quirky,” I mean in the sense of objects or situations being something other than what they really are.  For instance, that cloud in the sky which has the shape of a horse, or, the bird over yonder which seems to be trying to communicate in a "we're all God’s creatures" kind of way (come on, haven't you ever noticed an animal looking at you and wonder what it is thinking).  Or, to stumble upon a book or song title which seems to correlate with a random thought pondered earlier, seemingly confirming this, that, or the other.  You get the gist.  If not, then I am soon to be off to the looney bin!

During Palm Sunday the priest, deacon, and deacon in training brought a cluster of palm leaves with them to commemorate Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey (Matthew 21:1-11 NAB).  The priest blessed the leaves and then distributed those tokens of remembrance amongst the assembly.  It was a nice gesture.  Tradition.

Later in the day I observed a thin strand of palm leaf in an otherwise empty wastebasket where the Eucharist (Mass) had been celebrated.  It was likely that such inadvertently fell to the floor during the morning Liturgy (Mass) and a passerby threw it away.  (The proper manner of disposal is unknown to me.) Through an innocent oversight, ignoring this remnant did not seem kosher.  After all, the strand of palm leaf was blessed.  Not to mention, it was the beginning of Holy Week.  Feeling that I could not simply abandon the fragment, I picked it out of the wastebasket, wound it around two fingers, and proceeded to braid it (what I consider a braid, that is).  Then, without much thought, I placed the wad in my shirt pocket, willing myself to not forget it.  Not forgetting would be a feat in itself!

The next morning I felt the remnant in my pocket and remembered to remove it.  But, what would I do with it?  I had no clue.  So, until I had a better inkling of what direction to take, I placed it atop my medicine bag.  Huh?  My medicine bag?  Perhaps I should take a moment and elaborate.  I keep my rosary in a medicine bag made for me by a Native American friend.  No, I am not Indian.  Anyway, when not in use, the bag is perched on top of my Bibles.  (Yes, I have more than one.)

Moving on....  Periodically, particularly when reading my Bible, I will look up for a pensive moment, or to rest my eyes, and the medicine bag will draw my attention.  By proxy, the palm leaf fragment, too.  Right from the outset, a quirky series of thoughts began developing.  Keep in mind, this is Holy week.  By sheer randomness, the manner in which the satchel is normally positioned, the top not cinched shut, but open, a glint of light can be observed reflecting from the rosary's crucifix resting deep within.

Now, bear with me as I attempt to develop this mental picture.   Visualize the Bibles as a representation of holy ground.  Have you done it, yet?  Come on, nobody is looking, go ahead.  Okay, during this next step I want you to regard the medicine bag as the tomb of Jesus.  Whoa, that is heavy, I know.  As for the weaved remnant of palm leaf?  It is perched atop the medicine bag like a badge of honor…a crown of thorns.  Take a moment to connect all the dots.  Shazzam, the Paschal Mystery!

Yes, I have an overactive imagination, but what a cool and constant reminder of what paths the mind can take.

May 2011 

Psalm 23

There always seem to be funny coincidences, providing we are alert and sufficiently observant to connect the dots.

For an upcoming Keryx (a four day Christian retreat), I was asked to read a lengthy scripture passage.  Cool, I like to read, and, if I do say so myself, I manage pretty smoothly at the podium.  Though, me being me, I have a few prerequisites when it comes to public speaking.  Such as?  I detest the practice of cold- readings.  You have undoubtedly been exposed to such: by the time the presentation is finished you have no idea of what was shared, the delivery being abbreviated and clunky.  Thus, to prevent any unforeseen bugaboos, it was necessary to know which Bible translations were available to competently prepare.

Argh, the translations which were at hand did not appeal to me.  Not unusual!  I am particular because certain translations read smoother and complement our cultural speech patterns better than others.  For instance, one of the Bibles was a King James, which I abhor.  In the realm of study such may be the accepted norm for the astute, but I know of nobody who actually speaks like that.  So, thoust protesteth!  The other Bible was a New International Version.  The NIV is close in comparison to my preferred authority, the New Living Translation, but not quite as genial.  To give some perspective, most newspapers in this country are written at a sixth grade level.  So is the NLT.  That's not to   say this is a dummied down version.  To the contrary, this Bible is on par with our linguistic norms.  (Yes, it is apparent that the Bibles referred to are Protestant and not Catholic.  Um, I utilize more than one translation.)

Anyway, I jumped up and down like a child in protest (not really) and was permitted to bring my Bible.  Whew, what a relief.   Truth be told, the NIV would have likely been acceptable, but such is not as smooth and slightly foreign to me.  Plus, it is paramount for me to read from my Bible.  Why?  Because such was a gift from my mother.  Also, my Bible is in giant print, making it incredibly easy to read while poised behind a podium.  The size of the text may come across as trivial, but have you ever been in the presence of a delivery where the reader keeps their face planted in the book?  Very impersonal.  Perhaps I am boasting, but with my Bible I can look up and make eye contact with the attendees with out losing my place!

When all was said and done, the reading was flawless and I had the sentimentality of having my mother's gift with me.  Silly, I know, but that is who I am...si11y.

Later in the day I was invited into a makeshift prayer chapel.  Not knowing what to expect, I stood at the threshold of the door and peeked around with apprehension before entering.  After talking for awhile, I expressed my past discomfort of being called upon to spontaneously ad-lib prayers in the midst of a group, regardless that we are all there for the same purpose.  Quite frankly, I find the process of impromptu prayer to be mechanical and without reverence, an exercise to grandstand, the petitioner seeing how many Lord Jesus, Holy Father, Almighty God, and Holy Spirits they can cram in.  So inorganic.

To my chagrin, the pastor and his assistants understood my plight and prepared to counsel me in an alternative form of acceptable public prayer etiquette.  Hallelujah!

Whoa, hang on a moment.  Evidently, we were going to pray Psalms.  I have heard of such overtures, but never understood.  Nevertheless, the pastor handed me a Bible already opened and asked me to read the Twenty-third Psalm.  Guess there was no time like the present.

Stop, stop, stop!  Put the brakes on.  The Twenty-Third is the only chapter from Psalms that I immediately recognize.  Coincidently, it is one of my mother's most revered passages.  Pausing for a moment, I asked if I could retrieve my Bible...it was just in the adjacent room.  The pastor did not seem to mind.  So, I zipped out, returned, and reverently read the Psalm.  To my surprise, as the words flowed from my lips I began to recognize that the passages very much resembled prayers.  Indeed, are prayers.

Cool!  I now possessed a tool, for lack of a better word, which could be used for the purpose of satisfying public prayer.  Similarly, private prayer, as well.  I was feeling elated.  On a side note, albeit a tad humorous, I noticed later on in my prayer counseling that the Bible they originally handed me was the same translation as mine.  Go figure!

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The next day I was approached to be a prayer partner for one of the main speakers.  A little unsettled by the gravity, I knew that I could not dodge the summons.

But, hang on.  This concept is not what you may initially perceive.  We did not sit in close proximity and pray together.  No.  This gentleman was going to be delivering a speech while I interceded on his behalf with prayer.  Petitions to keep him on track and paint.   This would go on for forty minutes.  I have never prayed for anyone, much less anything, for that long!  I cannot even stay focused for such a stretch.

I found a little corner in the upper reaches of the auditorium, an out of the way space.  As I made myself comfortable for the long haul, I realized that the featured speaker, the person to whom I was interceding, could not easily see me.  Mind you, it is not necessary for him to observe me.  However, it was of utmost importance to me that I be seen.  Do you understand what was going on?  Ultimately, I was looking for a reward in his recognizing my presence.  Yes, that ugly characteristic we know all too well...pride.  So, I moved to a better vantage point, more out in the open.  But, in doing so, I felt a little awkward, knowing full well I should be more humble.  Yeah, right!  Nonetheless, I settled into my new perch.  Looking back towards my previous corner, lamenting that I had committed some form of cosmic heresy, there was a previously unrecognized banner hanging immediately over the seat I just moments before vacated.  Can you guess what was on that banner?  Get this little piece of irony, it was the Twenty-third Psalm!  I was about floored.  Dutifully shamed, I returned back to my original spot, chuckling at the comedy of it all.

My prayers were scattered, but all went surprisingly well.  Talk about connecting the dots.

April 2011

Who Wrote the Bible

Ever since I was knee high to a grasshopper I maintained the impression that God wrote the Bible.  For whatever reason, I did not question such.  There did not seem to be a reason to inquire.  Did you?    It is quite plausible that my tiny lil' brain conjured up an image of God snapping his fingers (assuming he has fingers) and, ”poof,” the Bible came into existence.  Hard cover.  Paperback.  Leather...for those who wanted to show off (yes, I am guilty of this).  Gilt pages (perhaps ”guilt” would be more appropriate).  Tiny or large print.  There was something for everyone.  Why not!

Over the years I have become more aware of Scriptural criticisms.  Are they authentic?    How can you trust that such are true?    Did those events really happen?    Didn't man write the Bible, not God?     Don’t you believe the Bible is a conspiracy, written by man to control the simpleminded?    For the most part, I ignored these inquiries.  Quite frankly, I was content with holding onto what I had learned in Sunday school and curse anyone who tried to ruin that innocence!   Even when documentaries questioned anything   concerning spirituality I would avoid watching such.  Though, I must admit, I am not sure why I cared.  See, at the time I was non-practicing.  Heck, non-studying.  I held no solid beliefs, other than I perceived there was a presence bigger than me.  To challenge that may have caused me to abandon the mustard seed of faith that I did maintain...if such would even amount to a mustard seed.  So, I buried my head in the sand.

While attending a Catholic study group, the deacon brought with him a couple of video cassettes.  This was of no concern because we commonly viewed lectures, the history of the Catholic Church, or some other resource concerning itself with Catholicism.  From time to time, a spiritual based movie.  As it so happened, his selection for the evening was a documentary of who wrote the Bible.  This was Karma.

On many occasions I had thrown a hissy fit over the dryness of one particular set of theological lectures or another.  In turn, the deacon would try to choose something more suitable to our interests and capacity to absorb.  With this came who wrote the Bible.  Never in a million years would I have considered that.  But, my bed was made and now I had to lay in it!  (A dumb expression, but fitting.)

With great apprehension, I watched.

To my surprise, the dialogue was easy to understand (not too many technical or foreign terms).  The dramatic landscapes and architecture of Israel, Palestine, Jerusalem, and the other parts of the Holy Land were inspiring and thought provoking.  Don’t tell anybody, but I was becoming enthused with all the history and evidence being doled out.  I actually yearned for more…but, I will not admit that!

This is not to say there weren’t some troubling parts for me to contend with.  For instance, I finally had to admit that God did not cause the Bible to mysteriously appear by snapping his fingers.  (Okay, I had already come to the conclusion that the Scriptures are written by man, inspired by God).  What I was not prepared for was that, with the evidence available to us today, or at least that which we can interpret, little is known about who actually wrote the various books.  In particular, the documentary claimed that John did not write the Gospel of John.  That Matthew did not scribe the book bearing his name.  That some books of the Bible may have borrowed from other books in the Bible.  That there may be a fifth Gospel (generically referred to as “Q”) that was heavily relied upon by the other Gospels.  That, for whatever reason, Protestant Bibles have omitted some of the books, which Catholic Bibles maintain.  All of this I found puzzling, and, a bit troubling.

At the conclusion of the documentary I found myself smiling and filled with a certain quiet repose.  Not because I was still embracing my adolescent fantasies of where the Bible comes from, but that I didn’t care.  Yes, you read correctly.  I do not care who wrote the Bible.  Why?    Because regardless of where the inspiration came from (I do choose to believe through the inspiration of God) many of the lessons (some would argue all) apply just as firmly today as they did when written.  A road map to life, if you will.  Assuming you don’t try to sacrifice a fatted calf at the local fair or try to walk on water!

At the conclusion of who wrote the Bible, a Jewish theology professor was asked: “why do you believe the Bible applies today...all of the cultural examples are outdated?”  His response was simple and spot on: ”Human nature has not changed!”

I guess that my mustard seed did not disappear, but is instead maturing.

April 2011