Availability and Vulnerability

I'm exploring what it means to be available and vulnerable these days. That's the dual vow of the Northumbria Community, a Celtic community in England and dispersed throughout the world. Being available is a difficult practice in today's society. It just doesn't seem like there is enough time in our fast-paced schedules to be available—especially if we already are in service vocations like teaching or chaplaincy or even medicine. And what if my availability ends up hurting me? What if I feel crucified by those to whom I make myself available—crucified by their indifference or lack of gratitude that I was there for them?

Ah, but there's the rub! That attitude is a definite indication that my being available really wasn't for the other, but rather for some narcissistic act that I thought perhaps would make me feel good; that would only massage my ego. Jesus gave us the ultimate model of availability when he submitted to death on the cross. I am reminded of that vulnerability when I think of Jesus at his most human moment. In John’s Gospel there is no great outpouring of agony at being abandoned by God as there is in the synoptic Gospels. His death is recorded simply as “When Jesus had received the wine, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit” (v. 30). Jesus is available and vulnerable all in the same moment, and he goes to God knowing he has shown us what it means to live as Christ. There really seems to be no need for subsitutionary atonement when one realizes that something very different went on in those days in the First Century in Palestine.

God is infinite in goodness and mercy, and that goodness and mercy is revealed to us in Jesus. John Scotus Eriugena says, “ He who made of God a human being makes gods of men and women. And dwelt among us, that is, he took possession of our nature so that he might make us participators in his own nature.” To me, this means that we simply follow Jesus and become Christ. That’s the same thing as saying we’re Christ-like, and hardly anyone could argue with that being one’s goal as a follower of the Christ!

Another Celtic theologian, Pelagius, in his Letter to Demetrias, says “Do not let your mind be seduced by theological speculation; the human mind can never grasp the supreme glory of God. Simply follow Jesus wherever he leads.”

What this boils down to is that God’s presence is among us in the world. We are all invited to use our spiritual eyes and ears to seek that presence in the sick, the downtrodden, the poor, and those in prison. We are invited to be available and vulnerable, risking our lives like God risked his life in Christ to know the fullness of human life from birth to death. In doing so, God gave us the model to follow, and Jesus is both our path and our destination.

Moving Slowly

Turtles have always fascinated me. When we go to see my mom in the Low Country, there is a certain place near Bamberg where the Edisto backs up into a swamp along the side of the highway. There is always an abundant menagerie of turtles sunning themselves on fallen limbs in this area, and I have to slow down to count them and say hello. Turtles live a long time, so it's very possible I've been greeting the same ones for years now of traveling to and from the black water region of South Carolina to the foothills near the North Carolina border where we now live. Turtles are a great model from the animal world on living the contemplative way—a way which by it's very nature calls us to slow down and take more of our surroundings in.

There are many ways in which we can move slowly. We can choose to be in a contemplative, meditative place in our lives, and metaphorically slow down in our moving in order to pay attention to what is going on around us. We can move slowly from the increasing joint pain that inflicts us as our wisdom hopefully increases. We can also move slowly from fear, inhibitions, indecisiveness, or practicalities. Whatever the reason, the turtle is an apt symbol for slowing down, basking in the sunshine, and sharing life in community.

According to Ted Andrews in Animal Speak the turtle is "associated with longevity. Long life and groundedness within life is part of what is associated with the turtle. It does not move fast. It is as if, on some level, turtle knows it has all the time in the world. Turtle medicine can teach new perceptions about time and our relationship with it."

In a single day last autumn, I saw three different turtles. These sightings were unusual not just for the sheer force of the number three, but also because of the circumstances in which I saw the turtles. I saw the first one crossing Highway 101 near our house. I was amazed as I pulled my car up behind a stopped truck whose driver got out at the same time a driver of another truck coming from the opposite direction stopped and got out (holding up traffic) to rescue the turtle and move her to the side of the road. Later that same day, I was with my husband and we were traveling along Locust Hill Road where I saw another turtle just trotting along the side of the highway, safely off in the grass, but nonetheless very noticeable with her high-held head. Finally, that evening, I had the sad sighting of a dead turtle that was apparently crushed under the wheel of a careless driver, it's shell cracked and splayed open.

These turtles all had a message for me. The first turtle reminded me that sometimes I get myself into tight spots—especially in my hurry to live life to the fullest. At times like that I need to return to myself, to withdraw into my shell so that I can return to a balanced life. Turtles remind us to think circumstances through carefully before acting on them. The second turtle who seemed happy to me reminded me of Mother Earth—and, in fact, in Native American mythology the turtle's shell was used by the gods to form the foundation for the Earth. There is definitely a connection between groundedness (being close to the earth) that is protective, nurturing and sustaining. The final turtle reminded me of sacrifice and missed opportunities. It also reminded me of how we need to take better care of our home, the Earth, and how we should try to be cognizant of all creatures even when we are driving our automobiles. We all share "this island home" for good or ill.

Thoughts on Autumn (for Karen)

The day has turned off cool this morning. The clouds are pervasive and the wind blows through the shrubs and pushes the patio umbrella around. Still, I decide to sit outside to say Celtic morning prayer. A simple chant spontaneously rises up from my heart and passes whisper-like over my lips: "Lord, have mercy; Christ, have mercy." Actually, this day is not unlike that day four years ago when I visited Lindisfarne with the cloud cover and chilling wind off the North Sea and drizzly rain falling off and on. My lasting memory is riding away on the bus and looking back at the pilgrim pathway already covered with the creeping high tide.


Inside, Michael prepares breakfast. He has become quiet efficient at frying sausage, scrambling eggs, and timing his toast so that it's ready when everything else is prepared. This morning, I throw him a curve and ask him to include me in his preparations; I usually have oatmeal or yogurt, but today I want some "Southern" sustenance in the form of grits and sausage and eggs. It's almost like I feel the cold, lean days of winter coming, and I'm taking advantage of what's available now.

There's a hint of color in the maple trees, and the mums—golden, purple, and bronze—are in bloom. Our new garden spot is lovely, and St. Francis has taken up residence there. The birds constantly drain the feeders in the yard. They, too, are beginning to hunker down for what may be a long winter here in the foothills.

The day mimics my inner world. It is autumn. I am in an autumn state of mind. I long for time to just be—to be available to God and available to those who need me. For now, my students continue to need me, and I am grateful for my teaching position. One day, I will grow too weary of teenage angst and simply want to be at home where I can write, read, and perhaps paint a little. I realize that teaching is God's holy call on my life, but one day, I know that will be laid aside even for the God who called me to it. For now the journey is calling me to move more and more into my contemplative nature, closed in by sky and mountains, and comforted by all that is in Creation. God is mine, and I am God's own.

DAY IN AUTUMN

By Rainer Maria Rilke 1875–1926
Translated By Mary Kinzie

After the summer's yield, Lord, it is time
to let your shadow lengthen on the sundials
and in the pastures let the rough winds fly.
As for the final fruits, coax them to roundness.
Direct on them two days of warmer light
to hale them golden toward their term, and harry
the last few drops of sweetness through the wine.

Whoever's homeless now, will build no shelter;
who lives alone will live indefinitely so,
waking up to read a little, draft long letters,
and, along the city's avenues,
fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen.

Source: Poetry (April 2008).