A Meditation While Drinking Coffee

The steam rises from my coffee cup as I sit on my patio in the crisp October air. At one time I would have considered a Sunday morning vacation from church a big “no-no,” but not so much any more. Growing older has brought me to a deeper acceptance of my introverted, eremitical self, and sometimes, at least for me, that means community worship will take a back-burner. I reflect on the beauty of my surroundings: maple leaves turning yellow-gold, the browning lawn, and blue skies infused with wisps of pink and gold left over from the sun rise. This morning, I cannot help but think of stories from the past.

Just yesterday, I drove through what is left of the little town that I first called home. Several members of my extended family lived in Miley when I was young, and both my grandfather and my father worked for the Lightsey Brothers Saw Mill. My grandmother’s name was Queen Esther Cook Roberts. She was born of Irish stock, worked alongside my grandfather in the field, and raised ten children to adulthood. She was a devout churchwoman, but sometimes she, too, took a Sunday off from worship. She used the excuse that she had to cook, and then she would tell my granddaddy to make sure he brought the preacher home for dinner.

This morning, I stayed home from church for no good reason. Sure, I wanted to make soup, but like my grandmother I can cook circles around many people, and what I really wanted was to be alone. Perhaps it was an epiphany, but I realized that’s why my grandmother also took a Sunday “off” from church now and again. With ten children running around, and all the chores she faced day in and day out, no wonder she sent the entire family off to the church while she stayed home and perhaps breathed a sigh of relief.

I believe God meets us in any number of ways. I’m not advocating staying home from Sunday worship on any kind of regular basis—and for some that is simply not an option. Being fed by being with other Christians worshipping God together is a vital part of life. On other occasions, doing something for no good reason—like sitting on the patio and sipping coffee—and enjoying God’s presence in the quiet of an early morning feeds the soul and refreshes one’s spirit for what lies ahead. May God give us many moments of quiet joy and the wisdom to recognize those moments as a gift.

Homecoming: Sacraments and Intimacy with God

The following article was previously published in EDUSC's Crosswalk magazine.

“Be known to us in breaking of the bread.”


When I was twenty-two years old and a senior in college, I had pretty much given up attending church. I had begun my faith journey in a congregation that emphasized the preaching of God’s word and missionary work, but I never felt a sense of God’s mystery—and I found myself yearning for something more as I was beginning to mature in my faith. It always seemed to me that the preacher and church elders had God all figured out, but I was not making the connection to God through the particulars of that faith expression. And then, one Sunday morning, I awoke with a strong desire to go to church. I asked my roommate if she wanted to go with me, and she asked me where I intended to go. I responded with,

“How about that Episcopal Church where you interviewed for the daycare job? It’s just up the road, isn’t it?”

“Have you ever been to an Episcopal Church?”

“Well, no, but how different could it be?”

Of course, I was in for a [very pleasant] surprise because, yes, the service was very different from anything I had ever experienced previously in my life, but I was also overwhelmed with a special sense of having come home. The liturgy of the table spoke to me in a way I had never experienced God before. When the priest put the small wafer in my hand and said, “The Body of Christ,” I experienced a sense of God’s affirmation; I experienced God’s touch in the mystery of bread and wine given to me by another human being.

The Eucharist and all of the sacraments are, in fact, a way for God’s Holy Spirit to touch believers so that we know the reality of God in body and soul. The common thread interwoven into the fabric of sacramental action is proper and caring human touch. That felicitous touch, evident in all seven sacraments, is what captures my imagination when I consider how the sacraments provide an inward transformation of one's whole life—and the life of the community.

At the heart of our sacramental theology there is a core belief—that we are a community. God came to us in the human form of Jesus, who as a First Century rabbi in Palestine, prayed that his followers might be “one as we are one” (John 17:22). When we come together in community the sacraments focus our hearts and minds so that we are clear as to our purpose as followers of the Christ in this world. We continue in the teaching and fellowship of the Apostles (creed) when we share the body and blood of Christ and when we gather to baptize a new believer. While baptism is about cleansing away sin, primarily Episcopalians see the sacrament as incorporation into the body of Christ. We tell the newly baptized who has just been lovingly held over a font and touched with water and the oil of chrism, “We receive you into the household of God. Confess the faith of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with us in his eternal priesthood” (BCP, 308). Baptism makes us part of the family.

The so-called “lesser” sacraments—confirmation, reconciliation, healing, marriage, and ordination—also incorporate the human touch that symbolizes God’s touch. When the Bishop confirms, he or she lays hands on the head of the candidate. Reconciliation of a Penitent provides for the priest to lay [her] hands on the head of the one making confession. Healing provides for the laying on of hands and anointing with oil. Marriage is effected when two people join hands and make promises to each other, while Ordination is accomplished when the Bishop and all the presbyters lay hands on the ordinand and say, “Make him/her a priest in your church.”

In today’s culture, it is simply too easy to respond to the idea of human touch in a jaded fashion. It seems we far too often hear of some child who was abused by a person of authority, or we learn of a church staff member who has overstepped the boundaries described in “safe church” training. Too many of us have a distorted sense of intimacy fueled by a negative personal experience or by the media. And yet, how many of us long to be held in the hands of a loving God? How many of us desire an intimate relationship with God, but cannot make that connection?

The Gospels point to a Jesus who was not squeamish about touching others. In a culture where touching the dead made one unclean, Jesus touched the Widow of Nain’s son and brought him back to life. He touched the blind man and gave him sight. He blessed the woman with a flow of blood through touch, and he took Jairus’ daughter up by the hand and said to her “Little Girl, get up” (Mark 5:36-43).

There are several saints who serve as models for us when we consider the idea of human touch at the core of the sacraments. Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Catherine of Genoa, and of course, Francis of Assisi, all expressed their love for others through human touch. For each of these saints, human touch, both as a simple invitation to come into the family and as an expression of sacramental presence, reached across the boundaries of racism, sexism, classism, fear, and inordinate pride affirming the human dignity of those who most needed to be reminded of their humanity.

The sacraments—and regular practice of a sacramental lifestyle—can help foster that healing of intimacy that so many of us seek. The little Episcopal Church that I attended that November morning thirty years ago introduced me to the joy of coming to the table to share bread and wine with others who also wanted to know and be known in the breaking of the bread. Later in the year, I was confirmed in that church, and I have continued to experience the sacramental expression of the spiritual life that God brought me to through that community of believers.

On Sunday we baptized two babies at St. James. I say we because while I didn’t actually pour water on an infant’s head, I stood there with the congregation and wholeheartedly welcomed that child into our family—our community—and I promised to support that child in his faith journey. After the liturgy, I took that baby from his daddy’s arms and held him in my hands making my commitment real. Human touch. God’s touch. The sacraments remind us that God’s love is real and meant for our healing and blessing.

Poverty of Spirit

The following article recently appeared in Desert Call, the journal of The Spiritual Life Institute. The Spiritual Life Institute is the community that has the Nada Hermitage in Crestone, Colorado, where I spent my two week retreat this past summer. For more information on the community and their publications, please visit http://www.spirituallifeinstitute.org/Nada.html

The poems I love the most are written by the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke. His words have given me comfort in times of sadness and have bolstered my conviction that God is present, even and especially in the darkness. The one poem that has helped me come to terms with the assurance of God’s indefatigable love is I.17 from The Book of Hours:

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth-
it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.
In the softness of the evening
it's you she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.

This poem above all other writing has assured me over and over of Jesus words, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

The past year has been one of sadness and sometimes overwhelming fear as I’ve watched the two bookends of my life disintegrate. My father had several strokes a few years ago and began to deteriorate with vascular dementia shortly after we returned from a family trip to The Grand Canyon in the summer of 2007. Last spring he “got in the hospital bed” (my mother’s euphemism) where he spent the last ten months of his life. His dying was a slow process, but my family did what we could to ease his last days. He died at home on January 1st at the age of 75.

My son who served in Iraq for fourteen months came home in 2008 addicted to pain killers. Between the time he returned home and today, he has gone through a marriage, lost the home he bought with his bonus, wrecked several vehicles and his life. He currently serves as an inmate in a correctional facility for trying to steal drugs from a pharmacy.

The fact that this double trauma happened to me simultaneously sent me into a deep state of anxiety. At one point, our son was living with us, and I was taking him for daily Methadone treatment before I went to work each day. My husband and I were being held prisoners in our own home by a son who had an arsenal of guns hidden in the bedroom closet, and he knew how to use them. One day my husband drove him to the clinic, but it had already closed. Our son tried to break in and was picked up later and put in the local jail for fifty days. We lost track of him until he called us from the jail in the town where he committed his last crime by which time we had exhausted our financial and emotional resources to help him. We made the difficult decision to let him go to trial with a public defender as his attorney.

All of my son’s drama did not lessen the fact that I had a dying father and an exhausted mother three hours drive away. My life certainly was full of “ill-matched threads,” and it was taking everything I could muster to keep them woven into a single cloth.

That’s when I picked up my copy of Rilke’s poems once again—a dog-eared and marked up copy—and sought comfort in the poet’s words. Rilke, even at a young age, seemed to know that God knows. I realized by re-reading his poetry that what I had to do during this extremely stressful time was to take good care of myself and allow God to take care of me as well. I had to recognize my poverty of spirit, and come to rely more and more on the “partner of my loneliness.”

Rilke’s poem speaks of driving the loud mouths from the hall so that the woman in the poem can focus on God and the kingdom. One loud mouth that I had to drive from my hall was the crystal clear voice of “but you should have…”. I should have been there the moment my dad breathed his last breath; I should have been in the courtroom when my son was sentenced. I should have tried harder to get him into a rehab that would have “fixed” him. I should have taken more time off from work and spent it with my mom and dad.

In those moments where I could and did make room for God, “in the softness of evening” or in the early morning moments of meditation and prayer, I soaked up as much mercy and grace as I could manage.

It has been six months since my father died and almost a year since my son was locked up. I finally made a retreat in a place where I could come to terms with the losses and absolute inability to have done anything to change my circumstances My heart is broken, but I am stretching “beyond what limits [me] to hold” God.

I do go visit my son in prison. His dad and I have committed to giving him one weekend each month. He has a ten year sentence to serve, so I will be spending a great many weekends in prison. It’s true what they say about a man’s family serving time with him. But I am coming to believe that my son is living his own dark night of the soul, and it’s best if I let it happen for him.

The experiences of losing a parent and, in effect, losing my son have caused me to pay careful attention to my experiences, the relationships I cherish, my vocation and most importantly the time I make for God. It is only by loving God and accepting God’s love in return that poverty of spirit can be filled with the promises of the kingdom found in The Beatitudes.

Ways to Honor Sabbath

The following article is one I published in EDUSC's Crosswalk magazine. I thought I'd post it here because I'm off today to look at leaves on the Blue Ridge Parkway. I told my husband just the other day, that when I die, I'd like my ashes scattered on the Parkway. He said, "You just want to get back to your Cherokee Land." I think he's right.

Out the road from Juneau, Alaska (the only road into or out of town), is a spot where one may pull the car over and take in the view. At mile marker thirty-three, the side of the road drops at an angle into Lynn Canal. I’m in the Tongass National Forest, a temperate rain forest, and I’ve come with my friend to watch whales. It’s an afternoon for holy leisure. My friend, Maggie [Ross], is a fisherwoman. She heard about the location of the whales on her marine radio. We find a place to sit, and I wait in expectation when one of the whales swims up to my left still far enough away that I need to use binoculars to see it clearly. Up and down, its blowhole sounding the sneeze-like release of air, the whale seems to be getting closer when suddenly, it surfaces right below me—not twenty feet from where I am sitting on the rock outcrop. The whale stays there for about five minutes feeding along the edge of the estuary before it goes further out into the cove. I follow the whale with the binoculars, and I am so excited I find it hard to believe that another one has surfaced not far away. All in all, five or six whales come to the surface during the afternoon while we sit there experiencing what it means to have Sabbath time.

What brought me to Alaska was a summer of study with which I would renew my teaching license. I had a long list of books to read and copious papers to write. In the midst of all that work, however, I also had the opportunity to experience some of the most amazing scenery and to observe wildlife that I’ve only seen in books. The time was a life-renewing gift to me.

Sabbath time, or Shabbat, is that time-honored practice in our Judeo-Christian culture that allows for the renewal of life—what I experienced in observing the whales, eagles, and other wildlife in Alaska. Unfortunately for most of us, Sabbath is not as accessible as it once was. That’s why we must have intentionality in our practice of Sabbath. That intentionality is really as simple as taking a walk.

Walking and sitting meditation is a form of prayerful awareness that has come to western Christianity through the Buddhist tradition. It involves “mindfulness” and can be practiced in twenty minutes. Choosing to walk the labyrinth as a form of prayerful meditation also provides Sabbath time. Many retreat centers and churches now have labyrinths on their property making them more accessible to the average person.

Another way to be intentional about Sabbath time is to simply go to a favorite place to be quiet. Perhaps that place is in your own home, a room set aside for quiet, meditative practice. Perhaps it’s the local park that provides the space for rest and renewal. Whether that practice is strictly contemplative, or whether it involves writing, reading, or playing music, it can be a place where Shabbat is experienced.

Sabbath is so important to our overall health that taking a retreat at least once a year, if not more often, is vital. My favorite time of year for retreat is the week before Christmas when we are deep into Advent. Retreats can vary in length and design, so it’s best to ask a trusted friend who has taken retreats regularly for suggestions that best suit the needs at hand.

The most important piece to remember about Sabbath is that it is NOT business as usual. We don’t take a Sabbath day to cook for our family or to do the laundry, nor do we take one to write a long overdue article or catch up on paperwork—if the intention is simply to do more, or a different kind of work, that’s not Sabbath. Rather, Sabbath time is time spent with God. Sabbath time includes worship as well as leisure. Attending the liturgy is certainly an important way to find rest and renewal and to honor God. The Church provides for those needs on Sundays and other days, but we can also pray one or more of the Daily Offices either alone or corporately giving us time to experience little Sabbaths with God.

One of my favorite ways to spend time with God is in my garden. When the irises and day lilies are blooming, I enjoy sitting on the porch or walking around gazing at them. Of course, I enjoy getting my hands dirty pulling weeds and planting new additions in the beds as well. Taking a drive in the mountains or going on a hike are also ways to experience Sabbath time. Walking slowly, paying attention to what’s underfoot, and stopping to look at each flower and tree adds to the benefits Sabbath time. Just try naming the trees in the woods! It is important to appreciate each plant and animal with which we share the natural environment.

A regular practice of Sabbath helps to keep us from becoming the slaves of too much work. In today’s society, we all have far too busy schedules, but giving a little space for personal restoration and acknowledging that God is present even in our busyness is far too important to ignore. Like God, we should be able to stop and rest and say, “It’s good.” It seems to me that what most of us really want to experience in life is a sense of contentment—an ability to live in the present moment—without fear or anxiety. During that summer in Juneau, I had several opportunities to go out on Maggie’s boat to fish for salmon. While trolling on Auke Bay, the world slipped further and further away. We were surprised occasionally by sea lions and dolphins, but fishing was at the heart of that Sabbath time. We would bait the hooks, set the downrigger, and send the line into the deep unknown waiting to see what would happen. That’s what Shabbat is for—a time to bait the hook, then wait for God’s surprises, fully expecting God to bless us in ways which, in retrospect, will be more than we can ask or imagine.