A Wisp, A Wave

           I am a rare bird. Perhaps "peculiar" is more apt! Whatever the adjective, it's not uncommon for me to view things in a light different from the norm. This capacity used to give me pause and create a wellspring of anxiety and uncertainty; more to the point, I felt as though I did not fit. However, as I grew and matured (the inevitable sign of aging), I began embracing this mystical way of observation and thought as a gem.

Before I started running down the road of spiritual pursuits, I had always found comfort and awe in nature. Smells. Sounds. Sights. All which is offered in the great outdoors, a smorgasbord of simplicity. Albeit, not very simple in the technical sense.

Embarking on my pursuit of God I experience enormous peace when praying outside amongst grass and trees, blue skies and clouds, critters and creepy crawlies. Okay, the bugs could be done without! Nonetheless, there appears to be a stronger connection with God when amongst the very things He created, the way He envisioned. I doubt God had anticipated us crafty creatures would come up with cement blocks, iron bars, and pollution spewing modes of transportation. It is suspected that skyscrapers are another oddity which were not in God's grand scheme either. Anyway, whenever outside praying, Cultivating my relationship with the big fella upstairs, the air seemingly gets into a stir. As a matter of recollection, I cannot remember a time when the wind did not rear itself. Even if it was otherwise a calm day, a breeze would develop as I progressed deeper into conversation. If my attention was somehow diverted to thoughts completely unrelated to prayer (which is common for me…. food, noises, worldly dreams) the wind would seem to dissipate. Now, I will be the first to admit that this could very well be coincidence. Then, too, it could be….  Silly as it may seem to you, I have elected to err on the side of caution and embrace that it is indeed God responding to prayer. Conversely, He may consider me a pest and is gently attempting to discourage me with fanciful wisps of air, but I am cantankerous enough to not heed such.

So, now that you think I am a kook (if you don't, perhaps you are riding the same nutty bus that I am), let's take my observations to the next level.

Leaves have always fascinated me. Well, that's not necessarily true -- there were many times in adolescence where my mother found herself behooved to point out the earthly colors of autumn and the bright greens of spring. All to no avail. I was more interested in, well, pretty much anything else. But, with maturity (there's that word again) I began to find solace and delight in the same shows of colorful brilliance. Magic. Because of nature's inspiration, it's not uncommon to find me staring at trees for extended periods of time, as if in a trance. I am particularly touched by the sounds they make - soul touching sounds. Which brings to question, do they somehow communicate? Oops, that may be an inquiry more appropriate for Native American spiritual traditions as opposed to Christianity….

Sitting atop a picnic table with my feet on the bench part (why us men choose to perch like this is unknown, but I succumb to the natural draw to observe the world pass by in this position), I prayed. It was by all appearances a particularly still day, but a breeze indeed began embracing me. After my prayer, I continued to sit and ponder. Specifically, ponder my relationship with God. The breeze did not slow. If anything, such elevated to a wind with periodic gusts. Quite comforting. But, there was something different. The trees were swaying. Which is nothing unusual, except, I was much more aware of their movement and presence. But as I watched, it became apparent that each tree had its own rhythm. For lack of a better description, they were dancing. And the leaves were responding differently, as well. Nature's symphony!

Taking all of this in, my mind recalled the following passage:

“[W]e are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses" (Hebrews 12:1 RSV-CE). The preceding chapter (Hebrews 11) sets forth the groundwork that those who have gone to the kingdom before us are the “witnesses" (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2683). Wow!

Like any other person on a spiritual quest, I cannot help but occasionally ponder whether I am wasting my time (I may be in the minority). Is this journey all a bunch of malarkey? Thankfully, these concerns are infrequent and fleeting. Nonetheless, those unsettling quagmires do need to be dealt with from time to time.

Which brings us back to my fascination with wind, leaves, and prayer. All of this culminated in the most radical, but comforting, of thoughts. The stirring wind was God's way of caressing me, letting me know that I was indeed being heard…. and, loved. The leaves, on the other hand, were each representative of individual angels and saints, as if they were spectators in the bleachers, each one of them waving and cheering me on, reinforcing that I am on the right path, to continue and persevere.            July, 2012

VIGNETTES

     Occasionally, Bible passages will provide us with windows into the everyday nuances of life, but those glances are limited in scope. Yet, I find myself pondering the everyday ups and downs, the peculiarities of their day. It is unclear when I began considering the aspects of their lives. I can only assume it is an unforeseen characteristic resulting from the way I approach Scripture and the rosary. Adapting advice from A Catholic Guide to Mary, by Fr Oscar Lukefahr, instead of merely viewing the Bible as a book or reciting prayers as a mechanical exercise, I dive in. Superimpose myself, if you will. In adopting that counsel, passages and prayers come alive.

     You may be thinking to yourself, Yeah, sure, I do that. Karl is talking about nothing new. There is no doubt that this is nothing new, except for me. As a result, my spiritual experiences are fuller, more nourishing. For instance, have you ever considered how difficult it must have been to travel back then? Ancient roads were nothing in comparison to what we take for granted today. We have comfortable shoes; whereas, they had sandals that would undoubtedly permit pebbles to periodically, and without warning, become lodged under foot. Ouch! Imagine stubbing your toe? It's also not as though they enjoyed the performance clothing that our culture does.

     Being that we are currently observing the season of Lent, there is another opportunity to explore. When Jesus was fasting for forty days in the desert, how did he manage? It's not as though he had a large backpack strapped to his back with a change of clothes, tent, sleeping bag, cooking utensils, food, and so forth. (It is plausible that he could have loped around on a camel, which would have accommodated limited creature comforts and foodstuffs.) This begs to question, at night did he curl up next to a fire and sleep with nothing more than what he was wearing? What did he lay his head upon? It's not as though he could pull into the parking lot of a hotel and rent a room, enjoying a continental breakfast in the morning.

     As for the apostles, with or without Jesus at their side, how did they interact? Did they joke around, have fun, and tease each other? When they were hungry, did each person in their traveling procession have particular tasks in order to achieve efficiency? When in the wilderness, did they sit on the ground, stumps, or boulders? What were their complaints as they sat around and ate together (it's our nature to complain, surely they did, too)? Was their life all business, no levity?

     I don't know about you, but I enjoy exploring these possibilities. Such do not really lead anywhere, other than I somehow feel more connected when pondering and reflecting on what life must have been like for them.

     As of late, each morning as I walk to breakfast, I wonder what they must have eaten, if anything. A bowl of porridge? Certainly not with a couple spoonfuls of sugar! Perhaps wild berries and flask of milk from a goat (warm milk). How did their day start? Was there water to cleanse oneself? In our culture we are constantly concerned with our outer appearance, did they even care?

     Recently, I shared these thoughts with a few people. They first looked at me like I was crazy and felt compelled to knock me down with a few condemning words. One response was, "If it's not in the Bible, such is not worth considering.” Well, excuse me (satire)! The next fella had the same look of incredulity on his face and responded in a similar fashion, “I doubt that they sat around discussing frivolous matters”! Ouch! Quite frankly, I began to wonder if they had a point!

     As the day progressed, I expressed these accounts of being knocked down with a couple of other people, half expecting they would commission that I be placed in the loony bin. Much to my delight, they too agreed with the practice of meditating on the experiences of people in the Bible, the whole of their ancient culture. In an unexpected turn, we actually had quite a long discussion on the topic. The result of this interaction gave me hope that we are not merely looking at the surface accounts set forth in Scripture, but the lives of the people who were experiencing Jesus firsthand. To me, to do otherwise would be akin to being half interested in the author. You know, when you hear somebody talking but are only listening because you have to.

     I am sad for those who have not taken the opportunity to reflect on the nuances of daily life of those persons depicted in the Bible. They are missing out on a spiritual richness. Which begs to question, do you ever superimpose yourself, or wonder……

FREE WILL

     For whatever reason, we were created with the freedom to discern right from wrong. We can consent to the high road, or the low. Why God, in his infinite wisdom, found it beneficial to grace us with the power of choice is, well, baffling. Yet, beautiful. A testament to his genius. Conversely, I think it is a curse at times (most times). However, the finer points of God’s wit will have to wait for a different time.

    Meditating on the mysteries of the rosary, it is not uncommon to find myself choking on the depth of conviction I sometimes stumble onto. The resurrection. The descent of the Holy Spirit. The transfiguration. The Eucharist. And, so on. Such can be quite riveting.

     For purposes of today, my thoughts revolve around the Sorrowful Mysteries. Most notably, Jesus being scourged; fitted with a crown of thorns, spit upon, and the crown being repeatedly struck while upon his head; the carrying of the cross (Matthew 27:26-­31); and the crucifixion (Luke 23:33-44). Those are each incredibly dark events in and of themselves, hence, sorrowful. But, these passages can also lead the mind into quite a sobering manifestation as well.

     In the simplest of characterizations, our actions amount to sin when we voluntarily perform something that we know is wrong. In other words, we thumb our nose at God. For instance, we know that sex outside of marriage is prohibited, but it feels so good that….. Or, when we know that our neighbor is struggling with this, that, or the other but instead of helping him (or her), we are selfishly inclined to go to the lake for a swim. Even something so trivial as a grudge - because Suzy Q took your parking space over a month ago. We know better than to go against the precepts of God; yet, we continue to willingly indulge in these trappings, often with enthusiasm. Thanks, Adam! (and Eve!)

     In pondering the Sorrowful Mysteries, I cannot help but visualize that every single flog Jesus experienced during his scourging was representative of a sin I have committed. This is not to say that I am a bad, bad person. No, unlike how we categorize various levels of unacceptable behavior, God sees sin as sin (or, so that is what I am told/read). Whatever the wrong, such separates us from God. Lessens the grace of salvation, if you will. In like fashion, each thorn on his crown was representative of a sinful thought, that such being struck on his head only brings it that much more to the forefront. The pain suffered. The initial shock. The burn of salt from his sweat pouring into the wounds. The blood running into his eyes and blinding him. The humiliation. The suffering. All because I exercised my free will and elected to thumb my nose at God.

     What is our penalty? Through repentance, it is realized that this happened to Jesus out of God's love for us, that Jesus willingly subjected himself to this incomprehensible level of torture. Thus, hypothetically, we have a front seat to watch as he is again laid on the cross, as spikes driven through his wrists and ankles. The cross again being lifted up and dropped into the hole of its resting place, the sheer force of the abrupt stop only exasperating an already unimaginable level of pain. And then, hanging until his eventual death.

     Jesus endured such because we continue to sin. What a horrific travesty. All we can do is wallow in the maliciousness we just imposed. That is our penance.

     To make amends, we voice our misgivings and God wipes away our erroneous behavior(s). But, this hardly seems equitable. Talk about an incredible outpouring of love. Yet, though beautiful as this should be, it is mind numbingly difficult to move beyond the severity of Jesus consenting to such. Our response? To cultivate that wretched feeling in the pit of our soul which beckons us to understand (if that is even possible). To love, to accept the salvation which is being offered.  This begs to question, how often are we going to continue committing the same sins?

     I cannot help but think each time I sin (of course, this is afterwards), Jesus has just been scourged on my account. It is as if I have taken the lead tipped whip in my own hands and lashed Jesus across the back. That I stood face to face, and spit on him. Or, through choosing to sin, by proxy, I elected to beat Jesus upon the crown of thorns.

     In recognizing the necessity to repent, how do we ever begin to apologize? I'm sorry, just doesn't seem enough, not even close. Ultimately, like love, proof is in the pudding. How we move forward will shed light (or, darkness) on whether we are genuinely overcome with remorse and choose God the next time we tangle with the struggles of good verses not so good.

     The moral of this diatribe is: The next time you are confronted with exercising your free will and are leaning towards an immoral act, is it worth inflicting Jesus with another thorn? A whipping? Or, what about reminding Jesus that the spikes that were driven into his body meant nothing to us. That his efforts were wasted?

     PASSING NOTE: Please do not think that I am claiming to have this down pat. I don't. These thoughts only represent where I am at in my journey. Still struggling and disappointing God.

MARK 14 - I AM

   In the past I have mentioned my struggle with referring to God as, well, God. Much of this reluctance stems from the appearance that His title/name has been so misused and generally lacks the reverence to which He is entitled. For whatever reason, while reading Mark 14:62, the passage struck me as peculiar.

      Jesus said, “I AM” (NLT)

   What a strange way to refer to oneself. So: on a whim, I searched to see if there were any other such occurrences. Sure enough, the same type of grammatical intent had been applied in Exodus 3 14.

God replies to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM. Say this to the people of Israel: I AM has sent me to you. (NLT)

   Perhaps God, and in direct correlation, Jesus, struggle with titles as well. Without doubt, God is fully aware that humans utilize titles to create boxes. Being what we are, we find comfort and order in placing everything into categories. Even so, there had to be more to this whole choice of using the phrase, “I AM". An underlying message, if you will.

   Please bear with me as I stray from the beaten path for a moment. How would we pray without relying on the names of God, Jesus, Holy Spirit, Yahweh, and so forth? In private, individual prayer, this approach works pretty good, it is unnecessary to use God's name because we know to whom we are speaking. For comparison, consider how you engage a friend when others are not part of the conversation; you seldom, if ever, use their name. However, I cannot imagine journaling a prayer or praying in public without using a name. To do so, people would have the capacity to become easily lost or disconnected.

   Now, let s get back to the premise of “I AM”. Not being fully aware of how this little nugget of insight developed (perhaps the Holy Spirit can be given credit), I came to realize that “I AM” is much bigger than merely a person or entity, much more than a name or title. Organized into a context which we can understand, if only briefly, “I AM” conjures thoughts of everything. No, not just everything, but EVERYTHING. “I AM” is air. Light. Water. The bread of life. Life itself. The blue in your eyes. The aroma of a char broiled steak with sautéed onions and mushrooms. A tree. The clouds. Galaxies. Happiness. Love. Okay, it is possible that I stretched the presence of God in the color of your eyes or the pleasant smells of tantalizing foods, but God did provide us with the capacity to recognize and appreciate such! As I said, “I AM” is everything. Thus, the nature and presence of God. No matter what you see, hear, smell, taste, or touch, “I AM" is somehow invested.

   Having that perspective, close your eyes (not until you are done reading this passage, of course), and sense God's arms gently wrapping around and holding you safely. Remain in that state for a while, push all other thoughts out of your mind, it is just you and God. “I AM” is present in His fullest form. Open your eyes ••• He is still there, everywhere.

PRAYER REVEALED

     You may recall a couple years ago I attended a spiritual retreat (cf. SPIRITUAL RETREAT) and was none too enthused to be there. Quite frankly, I wanted to be anywhere else. Hell would have even been a better alternative! Not being one to quit, I stuck it out and was profoundly touched. Though I had been embarking on my spiritual walk prior to the retreat, such resembled a blind wander. The result of the retreat was an experience that filled me with an enthusiasm that has not waned.

     While participating in an open discussion at a non-denominational hootenanny, a friend, Darrin, shared a tidbit that really resonated. Did it ever. The topic of the evening gathering was prayer.

     To be forthcoming, I struggle with prayer; my efforts do not appear to produce fruit. I sometimes wonder why I bother. More often than not, I pray because such is what is expected of me. Then again I would be remiss if I did not confess that on occasion I feel drawn to pray. Even this is not quite an accurate depiction. See, I always pray, that is, in the technical sense. Seemingly, most of my day, in one form or another, is spent thinking about God or His creations, me merely throwing comments His way thank you for this, that or the other, wow, that was pretty cool, did you do that, what were you thinking, and all sorts of other whatnots along those lines. In contrast when it comes to formal prayer the type where we kneel or sit down, where we are completely focused on God for an extended period of meditation and listening, those are the prayers with which I struggle. These forms of prayers seem inconvenient and time consuming. Yet, even when I don't receive answers, which is most of the time, I walk away feeling closer and more connected with God. More holy, if you will grant me such latitude. However, for whatever reason, I continue to shy away from these formal times of prayer. Perhaps my anxiety is a result of having absolutely no privacy, my faith not being strong enough to overcome the potential stares of passersbys. All my struggles notwithstanding, I continue to be passionate in regards to my prayers.

     Anyway, every so often a person will share with me that they have prayed for me. I am never sure how to respond. The whole concept makes me feel uncomfortable. So, the typical reply is, thanks! Whatever it is they have prayed for on my behalf, apparently such was not answered, as there is no notable change in my daily life.

     Also there are always those people who say their prayers were fulfilled from a whole array of petitions. To me, this is so irritating. Are they living in some bubble of fantasy? Aren't answered prayers simply coincidence? (Yes this is very cynical of me.)

     As has happened to me time and again on this spiritual journey, I have had to eat my jaded views. This day is no different. Apparently, God has a sense of humor.

     During our table discussion it was mentioned that during the weekend retreat there was a group of individuals praying that I would be changed, inspired, come to God, or something along those lines, the exact parameters of the prayers are not what is important. Darrin had revealed that the retreat prayer group selected two candidates in which more prayer focus would be placed on their behalf. As he said it, giant goose pimples began to develop on my arms and a shiver went through me like a jolt of electricity. Wow! For the first time, I began to truly believe in the power of prayer.

     Reflecting on how uncomfortable I truly felt participating in that retreat, only to be bowled over by the presence of God half way through, nothing else could account for my embracing the last half of that retreat. It sure wasn’t accomplished out of my own desires. Coincidently, from that retreat weekend the other candidate that was the recipient of extra zealous prayer and myself are the only two who have continued our spiritual pursuit of Christ (perhaps more appropriately, pursuit for Christ).  This is only further evidence of the power of their prayers.

THE TOMB IN GOLGOTHA

     Holy Communion is proving to be a time of curious revelation and interaction with God. Aside from the obvious (reception of the Body of Christ), other facets are coming to light. See also, CONNECTED TO JESUS.

     Prior to the start of Mass we, the assembled faithful, typically set aside a half hour to collectively pray the rosary. One of the meditative mysteries in particular was that of the Resurrection of Christ. You know, everything from burial in the tomb, coming back to life, and ascending into heaven. As can be imagined, the meditative prayers of the rosary can be incredibly enriching depending on how deeply a person opens themselves to the mysteries of the Scripture. Often times, these reflections can carry over into the celebration of the liturgy itself. When this occurs, the Mass is all the more meaningful.

     If you are wondering, yes, these visuals remained with me throughout Mass. In fact, such intensified. (Note we’re talking meditation and prayer here, not a total disconnect from reality.)

     Having participated in the holy observance of Communion, I was kneeling and praying while the Body of Christ reconstituted Himself on my tongue. While this was transpiring, I thought of how the breathless body of Jesus was placed in the tomb at Golgotha, a boulder rolled in front to seal the opening. In comparison, not unlike the Body of Christ laying motionless in my closed mouth.

     As we all know (if you don’t, you're in worse shape than I am), the body of Jesus eventually came back to life (resurrected) and ascended into heaven. Humph! How does such apply to my eccentric meditative journey? If you will, please grant me a smidgen of leeway. Okay, more than a smidgen! For starters, the Body of Christ was becoming reconstituted on my tongue. Essentially, Jesus was coming back to life! Just like in the tomb. As for the ascension into heaven, when I consumed the Body of Christ, He spread throughout my body……

     SIDE NOTE: So peculiar are these moments of spiritual grace, I cannot help but wonder what thoughts and experiences other communicants (parishioners) entertain or are exposed to during the celebration of the Eucharist?

CONNECTED TO JESUS

     What follows is in no way to be construed as sacrilegious; I am merely divulging how my mind sometimes interprets spiritual moments with a peculiar twist. You know, those unwitting thoughts which we would never dream of sharing with another soul.

     It was a cold winter morning, the beginning of January to be specific. While attending Mass, standing before the celebrant (priest), I offered a slight bow as a gesture of prostration before God. This gesticulation is an adaptation of being in submission before God. An act of veneration. However, due to the size of contemporary congregations, literal prostrate postures are not practical. This bow is also a signal to the celebrant that we have examined our conscience and are prepared to receive Holy Communion.

     Placed in my hands as if a little cradle, the Body of Christ was gently embraced. Saying “Amen”, I reverently took Jesus in, accepting him into my body. Returning to my seat, I proceeded to kneel and pray.

     Instead of chewing the Sacrament (such phrasing is crude, but I am unaware of another way to convey this thought), I typically permit the Host to slowly melt on my tongue. However, on this particular morning I had a stuffy nose and keeping my mouth closed would have otherwise placed me on the edge of suffocation (could have left my mouth gaping open, but it did not seem appropriate to have Jesus dangling there ... much too reminiscent of his experience on the cross). Not enthusiastic over the idea of suffocation (am not eager to find out if heaven awaits me, or that dreaded other place), I slowly began to chew. Unexpectedly, there was a loud crunch that I knew reverberated beyond my own sense of hearing. Mind you, this is all unfolding during prayer.

All I could think was: "Wow, Jesus, you sure are crunchy this morning!” Almost laughing aloud, I was happy that God had a sense of humor and I was reveling in the notion that we were bound together in this moment, connected.

     It is realized that this view into my perception of the liturgical feast may come across as irreverence towards God. (I thought that, too.) But, in retrospect, while these events were unfolding, I was completely focused on God no other unrelated thoughts had crept in to cause distraction (a rarity for me).

     In conclusion, I smiled and thanked Jesus. We were inseparable….