Taking Up the Cross

I have been keeping my commitment to at least 15 minutes of prayer during the day.  I use the Psalter, sing the Psalms, read the day time scripture and then read the day's selection from the book Bread and Wine:Readings for Lent and Easter.  Today the reading was by Thomas a Kempis. The focus was on taking up the cross and embracing suffering rather than trying to avoid it.  Not light reading!  Before I got to the Kempis reading there was a very interesting epigraph by Sadhu Sundar Singh: "If we do not bear the cross of the Master, we will have to bear the cross of the world,with all its earthly goods.  Which cross have you taken up?  Pause and consider."  This reflection alone is a powerful one.  In my life I consider the "cross" of ambition and commitment to overwork.  This is certainly part of the world's cross and I have carried it for a long time.  Kempis makes the point, however, that when we take up the cross of Christ this brings us closer to God and pleases him.  What does this look like?  The way Kempis explains it, taking of the cross of suffering can involve just about anything from physical suffering to unrest or pain in the spirit.  Whatever it is, he emphasizes that we will suffer.  If we do so in bitterness, so much the worse for us.  He confronts us with the challenge that while many of us want to share the joys of Christ, few really want to embrace his sufferings.  While we like the miracles, we don't want to share his experience of pain and exile.  Certainly this is true for me.  But I had never thought of things the way Kempis does when he says that we will suffer anyway, how much better to learn humility through suffering and to draw closer to God than to be eaten up by bitterness.  He notes that no matter how much we organize our lives according to our likely, something will cause suffering.  I am certainly the kind of person who works very hard to have things arranged as I would like them in every part of my life.  I have, you might say, "control issues".  When things don;t go the way I've planned or the way I want them to, I am very upset.  This occurred just today and I'm sorry to say that my response was less than graceful.  My thinking has always been that I should be able to make things the way I want them to be.  The reading today and this whole season of reflection during Lent give me a really precious opportunity to reconsider, to turn away from this way of thinking and living, and to turn toward a way that helps me to grow closer to God and of greater use for his kingdom..

Ash Wednesday

Today I went to my first Ash Wednesday service.  I decided to go to Trinity Episcopal Church, right next to where we used to live and now only a short drive away from our new home.  I had decided about a week ago that I must take this entire day off.  My main goal then was to have some time off to rest and reflect.  But I had been thinking for a while, for years actually, about beginning to observe the church calendar in the rhythms of my everyday life.  Last night it became clear to me.  Rather than taking the day to engage in random recreation, I should take the opportunity to fully participate in Ash Wednesday, and to make—for the first time in my life—a Lenten commitment.  The commitment I’ve made is to take at least 15 minutes during the day each day of Lent for prayer and reflection.  I’ve also committed to get to bed on time, no later than 10pm each day of Lent.  This last may seem odd, but I’ve developed the bad habit of staying up later than I know I should.  The later night hours are the only time I have after the children have gone to bed to rest, watch TV, focus on myself.  I’m very selfish about that time.  This is fine, up to a point.  I go beyond that point when I consistently go to bed late because I am watching TV or doing something else to try to have “me” time.  The problem is that I still have to wake early, and without sufficient sleep it is difficult or impossible to do morning prayer because I am so tired.  Then also when I am tired I am not good company for anyone and I’m impatient with my daughters.  None of this is good or productive.  So with these two commitments—to daytime prayer which requires me to interrupt the day’s busyness, and to getting to bed on time—I aim to bring myself into a rhythm of rest and prayer that will be restorative and transformative.  I am eager to see what kind of transformation this brings about after forty days.

Today when I went to Trinity and received the ashes, communion wafer, and wine, I entered a wonderful window into a new way of seeing and living—a way where the mundane time of everyday life is continually made holy with the punctuation of prayer throughout the day and throughout the year.  As I sat in this beautiful sanctuary, allowing scripture and song to roll over me, I was struck by the sadness, even the tragedy of the various schisms of the church.  How much we miss in the non-liturgical evangelical Protestant world by ignoring the grace of these traditions of prayer and observant celebration.   And on the other hand, would not the beauty and grace of this Episcopal church experience with its wonderful life of traditional prayer be enriched and blessed by dwelling for a while with my earnest evangelical brothers and sisters who live out the call to make disciples and to share the love of Christ by living in difficult places, by encouraging and guiding each other in small Bible studies and prayer groups; through praise songs that resonate with a variety of local popular cultures—in short, through a form of church that feels more informal, closer to the everyday lived realities of people far removed from much older church ways and hymns?  Both these “high” and “low” manifestations of church have much to offer and much to share.  I intend to use this Lenten season to explore the liturgical tradition my church circles have cut me off from. As I face the beginning of this season, I am filled with joy and anticipation.

Prayer as Presence

I continue on in the journey of dedicating myself to a rhythm of prayer several times a day.  The going is slow, but I write today with the joy of having had time for both morning and afternoon prayer.  This after noon it has been just a few minutes to sing the Psalms, reflect, and try to hear God.  As I did so, I remembered an important call I need to make to check in with a young woman I have been praying with and for. Without this time, she would not have been on my mind.  I am grateful that God is able and willing to do so much with even the small snippets of time I give Him.  I pray these times of prayer will grow. Such prayer helps me to be fully present to life, to those around me.

Rededication to the Discipline of Prayer

This morning I prepare to return home to the usual round of activities and hustle.  I have newly dedicated myself to the discipline of prayer and writing and pray that I will stay obedient to this rededication.  It is the only way I can see that I can be the kind of person, the kind of mother, the kind of teacher, colleague, and everyday community member I would like to be.  And what I would like to be is consistently rooted in peace, in joy, in the life-giving source of the Hoy Spirit.  But without constant recourse to prayer, without relentlessly prioritizing prayer and documenting the ups and downs of this life of "ora et labora"--as the Benedictines would say--I see no way to have this peace, joy, or life consistently.

For the first time this morning I not only prayed the Liturgy of the Hours by following the online readings at DivineOffice.org, I also listened to the full podcast.  This is the closest I can come to the hours of prayer at the monastery.  I anticipate I will do more of this, especially with Day Prayer which occurs in the middle of the day.  That podcast is only about 10 minutes long and so very doable even in the midst of a busy day.  I look forward to putting this into practice tomorrow in the midst of one of my busiest teaching days.  I am grateful for the many resources for prayer and reflection.  For now, I pray safe travel home to my husband and little ones. Amen.

On Rest at an Academic "Monastery"

Much has transpired since my last post.  The semester started last Monday and I met a new group of students.  The week started and ended well and I am looking forward to getting to know this new group.  There are also some who have been in my classes before, and that is always a treat to have another chance to interact with them.

Then, toward the end of the week I left for Princeton to go to an academic workshop at the Institute for Advanced Study. I write now from that location. I had the privilege and joy of being a member here for the 2011-2012 academic year.  It has been so nice to be back for a few days.  The Institute is, for me, the academic equivalent of a monastery.  The place is devoted to reading, study, silence--both literal, and of the heart.  During their time here, members are freed from running to and fro to meetings, classes, and other activities.  They focus inward on thinking, reading, and putting the insights that come from these activities into their writing.  It is also a place for reflective conversation with others.  During my few days here, I have had wonderful conversations as well as time for reflection and silence.  This is a perfect combination of activities for a monastically-inclined academic.

This less pressured pace has made it easier to come back to prayer and writing.  Of course, my challenge is to make this time even when I'm not in such a peaceful place.  To pray and write even when I'm under the pressure of preparing for classes, organizing the house, and running after my energetic daughters.  It amazes me how quickly the time goes by between times of prayer and reflection when I'm immersed in the swirl of everyday living.  But the start of the semester is always a whirlwind.  As I settle into the new rhythm of the semester once I return, Lord, please help me to endure and mature in the discipline and blessing of prayer and reflective writing. Amen.

On Joy in Chaos

The title of this post is misleading as it suggests that I have some great insight into and experience with finding joy in the chaos of my life.  Far from it!  Too often I am stressed, tired, cranky, and frustrated by the fact that there’s a seemingly never-ending list of things that haven’t yet been done.

But tonight two things stood out to me during my evening prayer just before sleeping that offer me a glimmer of hope about how I might be able to discern and even experience joy in chaos.  The first was a brief line from tonight’s intercessory prayer in my guide for the Liturgy of the Hours.  For tonight, Thursday evening between January 2^nd and Epiphany, this prayer read: “You gave Mary the joy of motherhood—give all parents true joy in their children.”  This caused me to pause and reflect on my little ones.  Too often I am impatient.  Too often I am in a hurry to have them do one thing or another they are slow to do because they are too involved in their own games, following their own agenda.  Too little do I stop to bask in the beauty and joy of having them and loving them.  The stresses and cares of everyday can so easily bury this joy.  I pray your help, Lord, to uncover and take pleasure in this joy.

The second thing that provided a glimmer of hope was a quote from a commentary on the Rule of Benedict I read tonight.  It is a quote from St. Catherine of Siena: "All the way to Heaven *IS* Heaven, because He
said: 'I am the Way.' "  What came to mind for me here was the joy I take in taking time to pray the Liturgy of the Hours (LOH).  These times carry me temporarily to the wonderful times of prayer and peace I’ve had on monastic retreats.  But also, especially while singing the Psalms, I imagine myself part of a large choir in heaven praising God using the words of the Church that have been prayed and sung for centuries.  In this way, the LOH and the time of reflection and peace I have while praying and singing it, is truly an experience of the blessings and peace of Heaven—however dim this is on earth.  With these reflections, I go with hope into sleep.

At the Beginning of a New Year

It is the beginning of a new year and, I hope, the beginning of a regular discipline of reflecting on and writing down what monastic life means for me here, immersed as I am in home, family, and work.  Today as I prepared to get back to all the teaching, writing, and service commitments I had, it felt like all the pressure of a ton of bricks was about to fall on me.  So many details!  So much to do.  Even though it is all wonderful work, there is just so much.  The time I took apart to seek quiet, pray and write this brief post has been truly a blessing.  How, I ask God and myself, do I get more of this?  The best I can tell is that it will take a commitment, a discipline to relentlessly prioritize prayer, reflection, and writing.  It has become clear to me that the time will not magically appear somehow.  Even to do this I had to force myself to put aside something to take just 15 minutes to pray and write.  It is just amazing to me that I begrudge God and myself a simple 15 minutes a couple times a day.  Please help me Lord to do this.  I increasingly feel that I cannot live fully or well without making this commitment.