Reconciliation

Today, Michael and I rode up the watershed road to Saluda, North Carolina, had lunch at the Wildflour Bakery, and browsed a little in the quaint shops there. I bought a teapot to add to my collection. It’s a Celtic teapot because it has a cloverleaf design on it—at least I’d like to think of it that way. I now have a teapot from Oxford, one from Highlands, NC, and one from Tennessee. There are others in my collection given to me by various loved ones, and I cherish the memories they evoke.


Teapots are one of those items that are both functional and beautiful. It’s not a far stretch, I think, to compare them to our sacred liturgy. Okay, I can hear some of you thinking, “Huh?” Well, our liturgy is functional in that it connects us to the Holy, and it’s beautiful in that the words and the actions re-enact the divine life. Yesterday, I attended Liturgy to see two dear friends ordained as deacons in the Episcopal Church. I certainly felt connected to the Divine as I watched the beautiful Eucharistic liturgy unfold.

But what about the other sacraments that we hold in our tradition? Can we classify them as both functional and beautiful? Certainly, we can do that with Baptism, Confirmation, and even the Anointing of the Sick. And yet…

I know of very few Catholics and Anglicans—even devout ones—who take the practice of Sacramental Reconciliation seriously. Confessing one’s sins to another Christian, especially one’s own priest, is something that seems just too gut-wrenching. We’d rather pay a therapist trained to help us with life’s difficulties than accept the free grace of God from a brother or sister in community. I have to ask myself why that is so—especially when the end result can be a feeling of lightness and joy.

I think the answer lies in the controlling and manipulative way the confession is written and in the way it has been traditionally used by the hierarchy in the Catholic tradition to control the laity. Even in the Book of Common Prayer, while the liturgy talks about God’s mercy and the confessor asks for the prayers of the penitent, the words fairly well slam the penitent with all sorts of indictments including equating him/her with the Prodigal son. While I know I am subject to darkness and evil, I find it very difficult to identify with the Prodigal Son. This approach may seem logical, but it is not the most loving approach to restoring inner harmony disturbed by wrongdoing. A more loving approach may be to remind the penitent—the one making the confession—that he or she is filled with God’s light, the light given at Creation. Perhaps something as simple as adding the phrase “have mercy on us and forgive us; free our light from the darkness that we may walk in your ways…” would bring the sacrament closer to our hearts and practice.

If we look seriously to the Celtic tradition of spirituality, it is not long before we discover the practice of the anamcara. Although the Celtic Church devised its own form of sacramental confession, it was more of a private exchange between penitent and confessor, and often the confessor was a spiritual friend. Confession wasn’t something that happened once before death or even something a person dutifully attended to once a year. And it certainly wasn’t done in a Reconciliation service. Confessing one’s sins was a normal practice. In fact, all of life was considered sacramental, and life was interwoven with practicalities and mystery.

If sacramental confession is ever to become a normal part of Christian practice again, it has to be seen as the teapot. It has to be beautiful and functional. There’s a vast difference between perfunctory and functional. When confession is seen as a way to access the inner grace, to own that the light is there deep in our hearts waiting to be lived into, instead of a way to get rid of inner darkness, then it will serve a beautiful purpose. Then we will acknowledge a just and good God who wants us to know the Holy as the Holy knows us. We will learn to listen with the heart and in so doing, we will live sacramentally. My prayer for all of us—my readers and myself—is that God will allow us to listen carefully in order to gain wisdom and live fully.

The Cracked Jar

Then the woman left her water-jar and went back to the city. (John 4:28)


Thanks to feminist criticism, many more positive ideas have been espoused about the Samaritan woman than negative ones in recent years. For example, she is the first person to whom Jesus openly declares that he is Messiah (the anointed one). She, in turn, becomes a witness to his messianic mission saying to the people in the town, "Come and see...".

I try to imagine what life must have been like for her up to that momentous conversation with Jesus. Obviously, she was a bright woman, especially considering the times in which she lived. Thinking theologically was not difficult for her, and she was not above challenging Jesus and the Jewish attitude about the place of worship in the life of devout people. Yet, she was confined in her role, and castigated by those she lived around because she did not fit the model of a "good" woman. When she met Jesus, the jar of her soul cracked open; it could no longer contain her journey.*

In listening to Jesus, the Samaritan woman found something that stretched her to the very core of her being. She was moved to spread the news and share her discoveries with her community. She was broken open, and made ready to move beyond walking the expected path to walking a more arduous and perhaps more inward and more contemplative way.

Her life was turned around by an encounter at a well; at the well, her jar cracked open for it could no longer contain who she was. Her jar couldn't carry the rules and regulations of her society—the rules of proper behavior of a good Jewish woman. She was set free to become Christ just as the man who spoke to her at the well was Christ.

This weekend, I gave a retreat at The Snails Pace entitled Dreams: A Way to Listen to God based partly on the book of the same title by Morton Kelsey. God is as close to us as the dreams we dream each night. The women who attended the retreat openly shared their dreams, and we worked on understanding their meaning. For some of these women, the container of their God concept cracked open, and they were invited to leave that container at the Snail as they moved on to a deeper understanding of who God is in their lives.

I, too, had a dream that confirmed my new passion and focus in life. My dream focused on my past purpose of supporting and holding many people at events. In the past, I have enjoyed being helpful and providing opportunities for people to explore new spiritual experiences. At the same time, I disliked always having to be strong for other people; my persona, my mask, wore thin, and I now yearn to have the support of others in my journey in a way that is spontaneous and free and part of the community. I disliked being stuck in one place in my life and in my ministry, and I feared that I would fall apart from always being the supportive one. What I have desired, and what I am now actively seeking is to be left alone with some space around me to do some inner healing work and to begin to practice the next phase of my life.

I do know something of what that phase includes. It is obvious to me that I love working with small groups as a retreat leader and teacher. I enjoy the intimate circle of like-minded friends who want to explore their spirituality and relationship with the Holy One. I want to make opportunities for that to happen on a regular basis. I'd like to think the process of stability is occurring at the core of my being. Someday I'll be ready to pick up another jar to carry, but for now, I know the work I have to do.

May your journey contain pots that crack open and be left behind on the trail.
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*From a conversation with Jerry Wright

Jesus and the Fig Trees

This morning, I discovered another fig on my fig tree in the back garden. What a cause for celebration, because I think my husband and I would have fought over who got to eat the one fig that we found last week! We have nurtured that fig tree for three years now, and finally, finally, there are at least two figs on it. What seemed to work was Black Cow fertilizer and lots of water—or maybe it was just the “mystical” three years as seen in Luke’s Gospel. There are around thirty references to the fig tree in the Bible and even more references to “a vine” which, I suppose, are more likely grapes. Whether we talking about figs or grapes, I think Jesus was probably teaching us about productivity or the lack of productivity in the life of his followers and of his people, Israel.

None of the stories tells about productivity better than Luke 13: 6-9:

6 Then he told this parable: ‘A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. 7So he said to the gardener, “See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?” 8He replied, “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. 9If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.” ’

I find this passage striking because of my own experience with the fig trees in my garden, and with my experience with life’s projects and goals. So often, we become frustrated when a project or goal we have set about achieving doesn’t come to fruition. We think we’re on the right track, and we keep looking for the fruit to appear on the branch or vine, but to no avail.

What is it then in our human nature that suddenly makes us want to cast a project into the fire? Is it fickleness, lack of commitment, lack of patience, or is it intuitive insight?

I actually have no answer to the preceding question. I think that perhaps because we’re human—just as Jesus was when he cursed another fig tree—that it might be any combination of these reasons. There was actually a second fig tree in our yard. It withered and died this year, and there is nothing remaining of it. It got the same care as the one that survives, but obviously, that wasn’t enough. Given the soil with which we are dealing, and the time and energy we have for gardening, what makes it and doesn’t make it seems to be pretty much of a crap shoot.

The inner life does not have to be such a game of chance. There are other stories in the Gospels about soil and pruning. I believe Creation is a gift that teaches us in many ways the need to nurture growth, celebrate the fruitful moments, and to move on from those moments where there are more thorns than blooms. It is in the full-flowering of love and persistence—of fertilizing and watering, and sometimes returning to the desert—that we get the results we seek.

The photo of the fig leaves is from Matson_Photograph_Collection,_ca_1925-1946

Of Mothers and Daughters

In healthy families there is usually a very strong bond between mother and daughter. I know when my daughter is sad or stressed just like my own mother can pick up on my emotions long before anyone else can. In the same way, I know when something really special has happened that she can’t wait to share with me. Mothers and daughters have a connection that is uniquely visceral and invisible at the same time, and oftentimes neither of them can imagine life without the other. I am grateful that I have a daughter with whom I enjoy spending time and with whom I enjoy doing things that only women really get into.


Like shopping.* Yesterday, we got up and went to the spa for a haircut and manicure/pedicures. Claire got about seven inches cut from her long tresses, and the resulting hair-do is fabulous on her. Something she said struck me as important: “I wanted to do something for me.” How often do we fear being selfish, trying to please others important to us or who we perceive as important? Sometimes a haircut is just a haircut; other times it’s something that makes a statement and gives us a new sense of who we are and what we want in our day-to-day lives.

After the beauty treatments, we had a healthy lunch of salads at Fatz Café, and while we were there, we did my grocery shopping at Bilo. That, too, is something mothers and daughters can really enjoy doing together. It’s a bonding experience. I love to show her my savvy in shopping for bargains, and we share ideas for cooking and what works in a household where everyone is busy during the day. I’m impressed with all she’s learned about being a homemaker.

After lunch, we headed to the shopping center. I had a $50 gift card that was burning a hole in my wallet. We shopped the Labor Day sales, and actually came away with some really good bargains. She got three new tops and a jacket while I purchased new tops and one new pair of pants. All in all we spent the equivalent of $300.00. With the coupons and gift card, however, we came away spending less than half that amount. I’d say we did all right.

If you are lucky enough to have a daughter with whom you have bonded, you know the kind of love I’m talking about here. If your relationship is one that needs working on, then I hope you will take the time to try to make it a better situation for the both of you. God’s love is reflected in the love we share with each other. God’s love is like a mother’s love for her daughter, and our love for God is no less than that of a child who sees past our human imperfections to the wisdom and grace that are part of that Divine mystery of who we are as mothers and friends. May you feel richly blessed by those who call you mother, daughter, father, or son.

*Apologies to those English majors who can’t let a sentence fragment slide in now and again. It just seemed appropriate to this piece.