Category Archives: beauty

healing mountains & seas #ujjayi

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You know that noisy breath that yogis practice?  Ujjayi breath calms the mind & body and serves as an anchor for yoga practices.  You don’t have to be posin’ to use it–often I practice the deep, intentional breath walking down the street (my yoga teacher says it’s really breathing that does you good in any exercise).  When you constrict the muscles at the back of your throat and force the air through, up and out of your nose, it sounds like the ocean–that’s what I always hear people say.

As I’ve fallen in love with the mountains over the last year, finding deep comfort in the tall mounds of earth that peek out behind trees and skylines, drawing the horizon higher, I’ve been a little crestfallen that the foundational breath of yoga has to do with the seashore instead.

What joy on Monday: our little family hiked to the summit of Mt. Pisgah, and as we wound higher and higher, I realized that ujjayi breath doesn’t only sound like the waves of the ocean: ujjayi breath sounds just as much like the wind blowing determinedly through the trees and ridges of the mountains.20140430-115653.jpg

Now I envision my dear Blue Ridge Mountains as I take poses and force air through my throat.  Not only does that air mimic the wind of beloved hills, but also reminds me that the mountains and trees stand steady in the midst of blowing tempests, even as it allows the living air to change it slowly and slightly.

 

trust fall – #mymessybeautiful

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I have a new friend named Glennon.

This week, I’ve been reading her book, Carry On, Warrior.  I don’t quite agree with everything she says in it, but I don’t quite agree with all my husband’s convictions either, so it doesn’t bother me much.

She talks an awful lot about truth-telling.  She invited anyone who wanted to tell some truth on the internets to link it up with her site, momastery.com, all to coordinate with the release of the paperback of her book.  I’ve felt sort of ambiguous about this, because I feel a little bit like Anne Shirley when Rolling’s Reliable takes over her novel, but a big enough part of me wondered if I might just not want to say something too truthy that I’m here.

So, here is my trust fall:

I struggle to believe that God loves me (and I’m a priest).

We live in an accomplishment-oriented society; our culture tells us that we have to achieve to be accepted and loved.  Popular interpretations of the parable of the talents don’t help–“If you don’t do your very best with all the ‘talents’ you’ve been given, you’ll be called lazy by God and thrown into the outer darkness!”  (Matthew 25)  This leads us to despair when we don’t think we’ve done enough, and it leads us to toxic amounts of achievement (perhaps especially at elite institutions *kicking hornets nest* *still wearin’ my duke blue devil horns headband*).

My broken understanding of love often leads me to over-function for others–thinking, hoping, desperate-to-believe that if I do enough for someone, she will give me love.  This is a dangerous belief for a priest to have–there’s always plenty to do for your congregation to try to earn their love, and even more so, there’s always more you could do for God.  The voice of fear in my head accuses me, “You’re lazy to not stay until the very last parishioner goes home.”  “A truly devoted priest would do ALL THE THINGS before leaving for the night.”  Of course this tempts me into thinking that everything depends on me (when really, everything depends on GOD).

Earning love isn’t a thing.  If we’re motivated to do good deeds or to go to church or to work hard because we think that it will help God will love us if we do them, then we’re missing the whole point of Christianity, and the whole point of love.

Love cannot be earned.  Love cannot be lost.  Love is a choice.

Doing bad things doesn’t ever make us unlovable (to God).  Making “wrong” choices doesn’t set us back on God’s love-o-meter.  Because the love that we show each other is always broken and imperfect, our understanding of who we are in God’s eyes can get messed up.

Even when we doubt God, or ridicule him, or turn away from God all together, he doesn’t leave and he doesn’t stop loving.

Today is Maundy Thursday. At the Last Supper with his disciples, Jesus gave his followers a mandate – to love one another (John 13). Tonight, in churches around the globe, people will gather to remember this event again. Throughout the following hours, Jesus showed his disciples, and the whole world, what it means to love.

As people mocked him, 42 “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself! He’s the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. 43 He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’” (Matthew 27:42-43)  Jesus stayed on the cross.  Even when his companions abandoned him, he stayed there, bleeding and hanging.  Jesus stayed.

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Jesus, the Son of God, God himself, stayed with humanity.  God came, and God stayed, no matter what people did to him.  God still comes, and God still stays with each of us.

My calling as a priest isn’t to be the perfect example of love any more than it is the call of every person to love.  We’re all witnesses to God’s love by the very fact and miracle that each of us exists.  My calling as a priest is to listen with other curious people, to sit and stay with suffering people, and to offer Jesus as healing for our brokenness.

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This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

original artwork by Roger Hutchison

fearful anticipation

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walking to my morning watering hole (does that title work for coffee shops, too?) down Main Street with sandals on my feet, my fingers tingle just a little bit with the cold.  Later today, it’ll be 70 degrees, but now it’s hardly 50 out–I love the freshness of the morning. 

Even so, the peeking sunshine jogs my memory of long, hot, sticky days in July and August–already I dread walking more slowly because it’ll keep my temperature down and feeling as if I’m swimming down Main Street.

It’s 51 degrees, and in my mind I’m already baking in 101-degree weather.

My memory and anticipation (of sweaty 101 degrees) ruins the present moment (of gloriously chill 51 degrees).  Some anticipation is good; studies show that most of the enjoyment and mood-boost of a vacation occurs before the actual event takes place.  When anticipation steals the present moment’s joy, though, and even causes you to lose focus on the good, blessed bits of life, anticipation, and especially fear (if “fear” isn’t too serious a word for a reaction to hot temperatures!), ought to be kicked to the curb as quickly as possible.

Big futurey clouds can quickly overshadow the present moment; all the uncertainty and possibility can overcome the gentle, ordinary beauty of your simple surroundings this very moment. 

Instead of looking ahead in fear to July’s heat, or to the possibly wonderful, possibly disastrous future, may we take a deep, deep breath and notice the beauty of this very moment right here.

Soaking It Up

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Since the first seeds dove into the soil the end of February, the weather has been rather dramatic.  There are strong, sunny days when heat seems to rise off the dark soil, and I imagine the seeds waking up warm and cozy, opening themselves to the nutrition of the dirt and the affirming warmth of the sunshine.  There are lots of chilly, wet, very cloudy days, when I imagine the seeds soak up the wet, even soggy, nourishment floating around them, loosening the hard seed covers, encouraging the seed’s stretching and growing–like those little sponges that start out as colorful pills but become great animals for bath times.

The little seeds–and me!–don’t get to choose which are sunny days and which are cold, rainy days.  They’ve got to just keep doing their thing, growing and stretching and taking in what they’re offered, using all the resources of the moment to help them grow.

How are you using the resources you’re being offered this very moment to help you grow?

Holy Churches Meet in Gymnasiums

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2013-11-03 07.28.43“Jesus never told us to build huge buildings.  There should be a several-church cooperative to serve the poor instead.” – recent visitor

When I was growing up, I belonged to and served a church that met in an elementary school’s cafeteria.  Being part of a church plant for most of my young life significantly formed the way I understood “church”–I was a Sunday School teacher for elementary students sometimes, though mostly I played guitar on the worship team.  A high schooler was able and allowed to help lead the entire congregation in worship, or to plan and lead a Sunday School lesson, because there weren’t a lot of other people available to do it.  I was given the opportunity to lead and to teach before I was able to drive!

Somehow, ten years later, I’ve ended up serving in a church with a huge, impressive building, though I’m still leading worship and teaching Sunday School.

There’s a great energy, freshness, and openness in church plants, young church communities, and groups not saddled with an arduous history or heavy buildings.  The groups are lithe, flexible, not constrained by the past or by mortar.

So why shouldn’t all churches, all church groups, all faith communities, be new and fresh and young and building-less?

After the flood, God promised humanity that he’d never again destroy the earth by water, he’d just deal with whatever evil schemes and habits we humans came up with, he’d work with what he had.  I wonder if our old buildings and old-faith-community-habits are sort of like that–baggage-y and frustrating, perhaps, but also demanding continuity and faithfulness of us, the people who come later on.

The leaky, traditional, literally inflexible building in which I now work and worship is beautiful–there’s really no question there.  It’s been excellently restored by master craftspeople, and it serves as a stunning backdrop for weekly (and daily) worship.  Part of the reason I became Episcopalian was because I realized that God is the epitome of beauty, and the way that Episcopalians worship emphasizes that truth.

In past ages, Cathedrals were built over the course of a lifetime, with the skills of hundreds of artisans offering their greatest gifts to the glory of God.  Houses of worship are a place where the talents, skills, and gifts of God’s people can be offered back to him, and where those of us who aren’t as artistically gifted can enjoy and affirm these gifts which help us to see God’s beauty a little more clearly.

Ecumenical efforts to serve the poor are a vital part of the ministry of Christ; honoring God’s beauty and the beauty he instills in human hearts is vital too.  In an age where efficiency, economics, and perception hold such sway, abundant beauty is especially necessary to help humanity understand God–what better place to experience heart-rending beauty but in the sights, sounds, and words of a church service?