Yearning with the Psalmist

Like as the hart desireth the waterbrooks: so longeth my soul after thee, O God.

My soul is athirst for God, yea, even for the living God: when shall I come to appear before the presence of God?

My tears have been my meat day and night: while they daily say unto me, Where is now thy God?

(repeat: Like as the hart desireth the waterbrooks: so longeth my soul after thee, O God. When shall I come to appear before the presence of God?)

(Psalm 42:1-3)

I come to this point in lent and the yearning for connection with the great Love of the Universe becomes overwhelming. I look around and see brokenness, the stealth and not so stealth political pandering to fear, frustration with the end of civil society (whatever that is/was), destruction in the name of hegemonic purity, and all out greed at every level. I mean, can we talk about the desert?

Much has been written about the prodigal son, the Holy Year of Mercy and the Pope Francis’ call to the sacrament of reconciliation. Why does it fall short? Why are we not reconciled and finding the promised peace?

I wonder if our focus on reconciliation with the ultimate source of Mercy is incomplete. We read of the father welcoming the errant, prodigal son. We are told in the Sacrament of Reconciliation that our sins are forgiven and we are again wiped free some sin. Somehow, the longing is not reduced.

The Sacrament of Reconciliation is a sacrament of action.  It is not passive. The healing grace of this intense encounter with the Divine, charges us with action. It is not enough to say, “Well, that is over. I am wiped clean and can get on with my life,” or “I went to confession and now I am ready for communion.” I rather think that, now reconciled with G-d, we must go forth and live into reconciliation with the world and ourselves. Are we willing to be the father in the story of the prodigal son and heal the rifts in our lives?

Are we willing to heal and forgive the chasm that divides our heart, to forgive our personal failings and make peace with your darkest, most wounded self? As the reading from Origen is quoted in the Office of Readings, “Do not let the night and mist of ignorance steal upon you. “ Alas, we do. It is from this unspoken place that the Prince of Darkness takes hold and craftily hides our eyes from seeing, holds us back from living in the presence of G-d.

Reconciliation is an active process and the practice of this sacrament in the early church reminds us that we are reconciled with G-d  in the community. In my view, this cannot be fulfilled until we embrace our internal longing of healing and wholeness. We “love G-d” and we “love our neighbor as our self.”

The baptism journey is a vision quest of longing to love ourselves enough that we can love our neighbor without projections of our darkness that bring to life our deepest fears. As Origen continued in today’s selection, “So that you may always enjoy the light of knowledge, keep always in the daylight of faith, hold fast always to the light of love and peace.
I’ll let you know how I do with this overwhelming quest.

+++++++++

A side note for my friends and musical purists; finding a recording of this transcendent work by Herbert Howells was amazingly difficult. In most recordings the organ is barely audible. As a result, the rich harmonic texture that is evocative of the best of the US jazz/blues tradition is lost. Other conductors move too quickly to allow these colors to settle and become an impressionist painting. This is to my ear, the best of the lot. Unfortunately, the “fade” as an ending is not true to the original. You win some and you lose some.

For those that are interested, an essay by Eric Routley

Rocka My Soul

When the poor man died,

he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. Luke 16:22

Earlier this week a strange convergence occurred.  This line from Luke appeared in the lectionary text on the same day I completed viewing the Showtime series, “The Borgias”and saw the film “Spotlight.  There is much to be said about the juxtaposition of these two media events and the historical content they portray. This is for another day.  Today, I share my reflection on the the greater whole of the three and the important message they bring to the Lenten season.

The “bosom of Abraham,” that most cherished place at the table of eternal love.  This is place of rest, peace, and endless delight in the courts of the G-d of Hosts.  It is our promised inheritance as the baptized People of G-d. 

I cannot see these words or think of this spiritual without reliving cherished remembrances of my dad and me, an awestruck 4 year old, sitting at the piano singing this, my favorite in the “Fireside Book of Folk Songs.  As only a four year only can insist, we sang it again and again.  Occasionally, Joshua fit the Battle of Jericho provided contrast. Growing up is tough and the loss of innocence painful.  Those experiences of safety fade as we become acquainted with the world around us. Sometimes this transition is seamless. On occasion, it is very painful.

“The Borgias” and “Spotlight” each expose the rawness of this unwelcomed assault.  Old and young alike are subject to the excruciating pain of innocence lost, what was the hoped for place of safety became the locus of deception.   How does this happen?

African innocents asked the same question as their parents and tribal leaders sold them into slavery. The locus of safety, the haven of care was shattered. How could this happen?

Yet, through it all, these African slaves continue to teach us the lesson that can only be known to those who hold the promise of the bosom of Abraham.  It is joy that carries the day.  The ever-present joy of knowing that by faith we are promised a special place at the table of the eternal banquet.  G-d holds those who violently shatter innocence, betray trust, to account.  By baptism we live into the joy of knowing that the Kingdom of Heaven is ours and with Lazarus, we will thirst no more.

No room for sadness in this celebration. Rejoice in this season of renewal.

Rocka my soul in the bosom of Abraham

Oh, rock o’my Soul.

I may be weak, rocka my soul, but thou art strong, rock o'my soul.

I'm leaning on, leaning on, I'm leaning on his mighty arm.

Oh, rocka my

Rock o'my soul in the bosom of Abraham

Oh, rocka my Soul.

My soul is fed, rocka my soul, my soul is free, rocka my soul, 

I'm going home, going home, I'm going home, to live with thee

Oh, rocka my

Rocka my soul in the bosom of Abraham

Oh, rocka my Soul.

Babbling words, hymns of praise

Jesus said to his disciples:

“In praying, do not babble like the pagans,

who think that they will be heard because of their many words.

Do not be like them.

Your Father knows what you need before you ask him."

Matthew 6:7-8

I opened the scripture texts for today and stopped at this admonishment to the disciples.  In my heart, this command resonates like a siren.

With no interest in getting enmeshed in a the  various translations of the Roman Missal, I am stepping back to look at the broad landscape of worship.  These ideas are evoked  both by my experience and by the many, varied feedback I have received in the short, few posts made to date.

Words, words, words.  These shape the worship of the faithful.  In the Roman rite and in the varied rites of the Reformation, the emphasis on words is deafening. This is in contrast to an emphasis on the Logos. Prayers rattled by clergy and faithful cloud the room with fog.  Cumbersome, uninspired constructions dull the senses of the assembly.  Try as I will, it is often difficult to follow a prayer from beginning to end. Multiple, often competing images, distract me.  Offensive allusions shock me as the bad grammar bemuses me.

It is in this numbing experience we find the answer to the question my friends and I often ponder, “How did the young people of today find and connect with Eucharistic adoration? “  They found it because they are looking for quiet.  They found it because they know, as well all do, that the essence of relationship is the ability to sit quietly in a room with your friends and have the courage to be.

From their silence arises an expression of an ageless truth; from the quiet rises their song. It is music that comes from being broken open by Logos in the frightening safety of their silence.   Their melody emerges from the deep river of the collective being as community with the trust that only silence fosters.  They sing what they believe, simply and robustly.

I am not advocating a rejection of a community expression of faith in active, full participation. In fact,  I am searching for a deeper level of richness in this experience. Integrating silence, alone or shared, is required to provide balance.  I am longing for  words selected for their poetry, rich in  meaning to those that hear them.  It is these words that supports the richness of reflection in that silence.  These words eliminate babble.  I hope for those times when the Liturgy of the Word is more than a collection of words. When the babble of convoluted prayer formulae ends.

The balance of carefully crafted words and silence prepares us for our robust expression of Eucharistic thanksgiving.  This is our opportunity to reclaim what the young people have learned on their own - it is good to sit with those you love and listen to the musing of the Spirit.  Silence give voice to our encounter with the Spirit and propelled by the Spirit to give robust praise, simply and joyfully.

“Stilled and Quiet is My Soul” by S. Sister Toolan , RSM, is a simple reminder of this call to contemplation.  Lent continues to call us to that cold, brisk place where we are taught to pray.

I apologize for the poor fidelity of the recording.

http://www.w8k.net/#sociallymusic.com

Lent I -- Blow the North Wind

On this first Sunday of Lent, those of us in New York awoke to our own mid-winter desert experience - record low outdoor temperatures.  It redefines our understanding of desert.  Often, the idea of a desert is misrepresented as a being identified with heat.  Deserts are neither warm or cold - they are dry. The arid, cold desert is equally challenging, beautiful and strident as those in warmer climates.

Jesus is tempted in the desert. The reality of his humanness comes into focus as his dark side emerges.  Why are we so fearful to know and love the Jesus of human experience? There is no weakness here, only grace.  It strikes me that his desert is our desert, the place where the cold wind blows.

The institution has a dark side - Christ as head of the Church infuses it with his divinity and his humanness.  Why are we as individuals and as a family of faith so fearful of embracing this cold place?

The cold wind of encounter with God cleanses with a surgical precision.  The cold wind is an astringent to shrink our inflammation.  The cold wind insists on slowing our movement and facilitates the germination of spring.

As Jesus grapples with his human temptations, he rejects a worldly kingdom of wealth and power. How then has the institution of Church emerged as it is?  How is Christ its head and cornerstone? Has the institution become the embodiment of what Jesus rejected?  I will never forget the day, many years ago when, faced with never ending AIDS deaths and new infections, well meaning colleagues would repeatedly say,  we cannot "Scandalize the faithful." And, again repeated the phrase that there was a clear distinction be made between the  "Internal and external dialogue."   It was not the deafening silence that pained me. It was the fear of embracing the brokenness of those suffering and speaking truth. Who does this "Dance of the Internal Dialogue" protect?  There might as well have been an invitation entitled, "Welcome to the dark side. Know our fear."

Working in the AIDS epidemic brought me to the fringes.  It brought me to encounters with the cold wind of the renewing Spirit. We move into this season of the Great Encounter with the cold wind blowing in, over, through and around our garden spreading the seeds of the pleasant fruits of truth, light, and grace-filled love. Step into the cold wind of the unexplored darks places, the places of fear and  brokenness,  reject the protections of power and place and be welcomes as the beloved invited to eat the pleasant fruits of resurrection.

Awake O North wind and come thou South

Blow upon my garden that the spices may flow out

Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits"

Daniel Pinkham, Wedding Cantata, movement 3