I-YOUniverse

Here are some pics. My beloved bought the camera to say TY for my help with a church staff retreat she recently conducted.

On the left is the first real rosary we built together. I like the large Hail Mary beads. They suit my fingers very well. The wire circles we used for the Our Father beads also remind me of the empty center which is the goal, emptiness that God may choose to fill or not. We’ve got a problem with the filament we’re using, however; it doesn’t hold the knot well.

In the center is my first practice strand for the knotted Rosary. Counting the joiner knot, it has 36 knots; three times around yields 108, the usual number of knots or beads for Buddhist prayer. But my friend Jon had the best idea: why not let each knot remind me of a specific sacred or happy moment of life.

On the right are two sets of beads. The small light wood outside is a rosary made for me by Benessa of latinworks. The inside, made by a friend and given to Sandy, is an Anglican rosary (four “weeks” of seven beads, four Our Fathers in the form of a cross, and an Invitatory bead, totaling 33).

Today I’ll pray for the people of the Gulf; those hit hardest by the financial turmoil (not the fat cats); for my friend Jean-Emile Ngue, who recently lost his mentor; and for Sandy, who is completing her second cataract surgery this afternoon. Believe me, those are the most beautiful eyes on the planet. Thanks be to God for God’s loving care and steady hand through the storms.

A bead is a bead, a knot is a knot—what counts is the heart.

 You can find out more about these for real gorgeous knotted rosaries at Rosaryworkshop here. Any resemblance to mine is imaginary.

I finished my first string of practice knots that end in a circle like a rosary. It’s brown #36 twine, with 35 knots, mostly Hail Mary knots, two or three Our Father knots, and the joiner knot completing the circle.

If you’ve ever been fishing with me, you know disciplined knots are anathema to me. Undisciplined knots collect about me like chiggers. So this string of 35 untangled knots is nothing to snigger at.

When you’re done…

At first, I wondered, why didn’t I stop at 33 knots, like a small chotki (Orthodox prayer rope)? But now I’m seeing things differently:

35 X 2 = 70.

Seventy’s nothing to sneeze at. It’s three score and ten, a lifetime, unless by reason of strength you live fourscore.

And three and a half has a nice apocalyptic meaning to it: brief and unfinished.

If I count the joiner knot, for a total of 36, then 36 X 3 is 108, the traditional number of Buddhist mala beads. My—uh—free style, shall we say, string beats 89 bucks or more on eBay.

As for the aesthetics, I suppose #36 brown twine is a step up from a string of paper clips, my first device for counting prayers, which I still have in a little metal Whitman’s Sampler box.

I’d be willing to show anyone only six or eight of my 30+ Hail Marys, knots formed with three loops. Since I can’t identify the Our Fathers, with five loops, I guess I’m not going to show you any Our Fathers.

As for the joiner knot, forget it. Let’s just say, it does what it’s supposed to. But not even a blind, numb Isaac could bless that sucker.

There’s a short tail and a long tail, as required at the near completion stage. But the long tail isn’t long enough for even one knot, and it’s supposed to accommodate five plus the cross. My ends are still Scotch taped to prevent fraying.

It’ll be my baseline. Future rosaries will, I hope, show significant improvements over this Quasimodo thing.

Guess I’ll sum up with a Bible sort of quote. Considering my sort of kind of prayer rope, what could be more fitting?

Counting the 36 total knots on her hand-tied string of #36 brown twine, Mary Magdalene stood weeping outside the tomb.

“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” a man asked.

Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, you interrupted me praying. Now I’ve lost count. So easy to do on this homemade thing.

“I’m saving my shekels to get maybe an antique set from a nun’s estate or something, with Swarovski beads and a sterling silver crucifix, maybe a Blessed Virgin medal. Swarovski are the best kind of beads, you know, made near Zurich, Switzerland.

“But, forgive me, I get carried away. I’m looking for Jesus. Tell me where you put him, and I will take him away.”

Jesus said to her, “Mary!”

She dropped the string of #36 twine with 36 total knots on the ground, forgotten; turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means, my dear Teacher).

Jesus said to her, “Do not try to grab hold of me, not with the Jesus prayer or the Rosary or ten verses of ‘Just As I Am’ or speaking in tongues or the infallible pope or the infallible Bible. Ask Jacob; there’s no hold that’ll hold me.

“I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’

“Once I’ve come in the person of the Holy Spirit, I’ll abide with you, in your heart forever. Then beads and Bibles will help you be still and hear my voice, my still small voice.”

With apologies to John 20.

I am the ground of your beseeching.

Beseeching is a true and gracious, enduring will of the soul, united and joined to our Lord’s will by the sweet, secret operation of the Holy Spirit.

In what manner and how should we perform our prayers—our will should be turned, rejoicing, into the will of our Lord.

The fruit and the end of our prayer—to be united and like to our Lord in all things.

Julian of Norwich, Showings, Classics of Western Spirituality (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1978) pp. 248, 249, 251. from the Fourteenth Revelation, 41st and 42nd chapters.

 3:44 a.m.

Across the living room from my chair at the base of the silent TV screen, a red light stares, the only indication it’s on. The yellow digital readout of the time on the cable box above tells me the cable is off.

Awhile ago Nasha, the younger calico cat, jumped into my lap, purred, massaged the air with her paws; there being no morsel of food forthcoming, departed for a softer, warmer perch.

That did it.

I’d lain there awake for an hour, the small Mexican rosary slung over the fingers of my left hand, saying a fragment of the Jesus prayer “Mercy!” My fingers can’t distinguish the pearl-shaped beads and thick yarn very well on the small rosary. It fits in the palm of my hand.

I strung a larger one with big wood beads that I can feel. It’s the one I use.

The last week or so I’ve been saying the rosary daily, dunning away “Hail, Mary, full of grace….” The best audio on the web I’ve found is here. I prefer the scriptural rosary, which interlaces verses and Hail Marys, in English (although Dutch is available). The scripture version’s a bit longer time-wise, but until this is as automatic as breathing, I want the added biblical basis whenever I can get it. 

 After a beading session last week, when the tail of the beautiful black and gray rosary we’d made came undone, I asked my wife Sandy if she could imagine herself saying contemplative prayer.

“You mean, repeating ‘Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me a sinner’ or saying ‘Hail, Mary…’ 100 times? No. Maybe Philippians 4.13 or something.” Though she meant it kindly (and I did ask), I felt alone.

Later I noticed how she disappears for hours into the making of a rosary, as she does other projects. How she sings. Sandy’s a Martha. Her prayers are actions. Pretty consistently. She puts me to shame.

There’s a correspondent with a microphone for dTV on the edge of my consciousness.

—So, John, the Russians and the U.S. are playing the Sharks and the Jets around the world, and you’re what? What’s this about? This praying the rosary, a Catholic prayer to the Virgin Mary. You really believe all that stuff, do you?

—At this point, it’s respect for the people who say it and love it. Also, all religion has a large element of metaphor and poetry. But, in fact, I don’t know what it’s about exactly. All I know is counting prayers goes back into the forgotten past. I understand, when they give an Orthodox monk his prayer rope (which dates from the 3rd century), it’s like his sword to fight Satan. So maybe the beads are the real light saber of the real Jedi knight.

—Maybe it’s bull.

—No, a whole lotta stuff I used to believe is bull. That’s true. This? No, this is the way…

When I stumble, I’ll get right back up. I’ve got several Gold medals in that particular sport.  This longing in my heart for God? It’s for real, for keeps, for good.

For the sake of variety I use the Glenstal Book of Prayer some. It’s produced by a Benedictine community of that name in County Limerick, Ireland. The publisher is suckering us a little, knowing the current popularity of all things Celtic and Irish.

But there’s a slightly different prayer for each morning and evening of the week, and prayers for the small hours of the Daily Office. By the time I read the scriptures from the daily lectionary here I’ve had a pretty healthy workout. Again, I’m lucky to have more time than many others do for this stuff.

Patron saint of cripples

My question for the day is: the Glenstal brothers include the petition that the saint of the day pray for us at the end of the prayers. In curiosity I looked up the saint for September 1: St. Giles, a hermit in France, whose pet deer was wounded by the king, and Giles himself was wounded. He’s now the patron saint of cripples.

What do I think about the veneration of saints?

The Blessed Virgin Moon

Southern Baptists collect money in the name of their saints such as Lottie (Charlotte) Moon. In the 19th century their Blessed Virgin calmly made her way through denominational squabbles over missionary ownership of land and assets on the foreign field. This strong Virginia woman “spoke” to the Chinese. (Had she been male, it would be preaching; but, as we all know, women do not preach.)

Like the Virgin Queen of England, she didn’t “yield her virgin patent up” to any male, partly because she didn’t wish to be subject to any male.

I grew up venerating Bill Wallace of China, a Tennessee physician martyred by the Communists. Jim Elliott and the four other Wycliffe missionaries murdered by Auca Indians also are protestant saints.

So do I get to claim the intercession of St. Giles on my behalf?

Who’s in between God and us?

Scripture clearly says: “There is one God; there is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human,” 1 Tim 2:5 (NRSV). It also teaches that both Christ and the Holy Spirit intercede for us (Romans 8.26, 34). Christ was immobilized on the cross. He has experienced all I’ve experienced, and more.

The picture of St. Giles stroking the wounded deer is lovely, and the thought of a patron saint for cripples is commendable. Leviticus excludes cripples and others from Temple service; I’m glad God makes holy places more accessible than that to the disabled, women, and gays/lesbians.

I look to the communion of saints for thousands of years of tradition (not as authoritative for me as for Catholics), but still it’s my roots. I look to them for their example and witness, and spiritual companionship (granted I don’t know exactly what that is.)

But I don’t need them to stand in line to get me an audience with the Creator, Christ, Comforter. The 1+1+1=1 is closer to me my breath.

Remembering and honoring forebears

As I understand it, the intercession of the saints and Mary grew more important as awareness of the nearness of the Father receded. But the immanence of God has never waned in my awareness, so I’m not hankering for closeness. I’ve got it, even when I don’t feel it.

Give Baptists a couple thousand years, they’ll have a roster of saints equal to that of the Roman Catholics today. It’s proper to remember and honor our forebears. I’ve even got a list of my own saints.

Mary is something else. The Holy Spirit came upon her as upon no other human being; she shared a heartbeat with Jesus for nine months. Yet, Jesus said,  ”Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” Mark 3:35 (NRSV)

So for now, I’ll continue to pray the liturgy of the Glenstal Abbey, with its prayers to Mary and the saints, but out of courtesy and because I’m tired of arguing with my brothers and sisters in Christ about this. God bless them! We disagree. Big fat hairy deal.

3:38 a.m.

The house is still. A nightlight glows in the hall. Outside thunder grumbles, lightning peeks in the windows. Gustav ravages the Gulf. Lord, have mercy.

On the coffee table in plastic bags lies the booty of yesterday’s raids on craft stores.

9 a.m. yesterday.

I load up on pain meds before we leave the house. We drive through Burger King for a sausage biscuit, a bacon cheese wrapper, cini minis, milk and coffee; park in some shade and eat, listening to a Selah CD. In college we used to drive through and eat our 19 cent lunch in the car together.

At Michael’s, the craft store, Sandy lugs my wheelchair out of the trunk. I wish she’d ask for help. (The spiritual drama for today is my control issue. Silently I pray about letting go.)

We find half off beads and things.

• Plain brown wood for the Hail Mary beads
• Wire wagon wheels for the Our Father beads
• A beautiful cream pendant for the main cross
• Rustic brown/black beads for the Hail Mary
• Wire shells for the Our Father
• Gray ceramic beads for the Hail Mary
• Medium black ceramic flat rectangles for the Our Father
• Small crosses, three per package
• Turquoise colored stones for a Christmas necklace
• Twine to practice knots
• Needles to thread beads
• A plastic case to hold everything

I ask the clerk to get some help for Sandy loading the wheelchair into the trunk. No sweat.

By now it’s noon. We come home to take a break, more meds; have leftovers for lunch. But what leftovers! Yesterday Sandy made a filo pie with chicken, dates, olives, ginger, almonds for our friend Mary Fran’s birthday. There are two slices remaining. It’s one of those dishes whose flavor deepens if you leave it a day or two. We had a side of broccoli and rice, and fresh tomatoes from the ceramic pot on the ramp.

After rest and prayers, we make another run. We start with soft serve ice cream cones and coffee at McD’s. Coffee counteracts the sedative drag of meds.

This time to Ben Franklin’s at Short Pump. It’s a brand new store in the upscale part of town. We expect the store to be more accessible than the old one on Patterson Avenue. But the aisles are cramped. I negotiate the wheelchair like a camel in a needle’s eye.

Sandy’s looking at something, and I set off on my own to find some yarn. Suddenly, I find my way blocked by narrow aisles. I can only go one way. Turning corners I get hung up on wire baskets full of yarn and craft supplies. A display of artificial sun flowers blocks the end of the aisle.

 I can’t move.

I call for Sandy. No answer. She’s several aisles away, looking for me.

We mention the problems I’m having to an employee. She says they tell management, who claim they can’t change anything. Sandy says she’ll complain; “Don’t make a scene,” I say.

At checkout I bitch about how cruddy accessibility is in the store and ask for help loading the wheelchair. The clerk calls for Mr. Somebody. Management, I guess. When he sees what she wants, he tells her to get a kid named Henry to help. Henry’s friendly and eager to assist.

Afterthought: I should have insisted that Mr. Somebody help load the chair. Maybe it would open his eyes. That, or maybe I shoulda pulled down the wire display my wheelchair was hung up on.

One fruit of prayer is…patience. Damn.

We play Selah on the car CD.

Home. We talk about making a rosary after dinner. What a great day it’s been! Feels like a holiday weekend. It’s been a year or more since I’ve ventured out this much.

Sandy organizes all the beads. But after dinner, we both agree to put off making anything until tomorrow.

Thanks, Lord! What a great day You’ve given us together!

A bead is a bead is a bead, a knot is a knot—what counts is the heart!

William Congdon, crucifix 64, 1973.

webpage here. (I didn’t see permissions policy or copyright notice. I’ll be glad to abide by one if copyright holder lets me know.)

I’m learning to pray using the Catholic Rosary as a “method”—the word John Paul II used to describe the Rosary in his encyclical here. The page I refer to as I say the Rosary is here.

This morning I said the Rosary entire, all 20 mysteries, just to see what it’s like. I don’t know if experimentation takes away from the merit of the thing or not. But I don’t much care about merit, to be blunt. All that stuff about the goodies you get for saying the Rosary demeans it, just from my viewpoint.

I figure I’m a sinner and I’m standin’ in the need o’ prayer—any how any where any time. Especially contemplative prayer.

Growing up I heard lots of people pooh pooh Catholics and ritual prayers. But I noticed that often our Baptist prayers were rote. People said the same words over and over again and again. Only we never thought through what we said, never paid any mind to the beauty or cadence of our words. It wasn’t ritual; it was rut.

Well, no sermons.

One, my fingers are sore after sliding paper clips 200 times through thumb and index finger. It’s a cloudy, rainy day. Arthritis likes to come out and play anyway on such days.

Two, it took one hour, 21 minutes. I’m lucky enough to have that much solitude. Most people don’t.

Three, I did announce each Mystery (event in Jesus’ life) and spiritual fruit prayed for three times, not once, so that I’ll learn them. The unfamiliar ones I read through the description of, which is on the website (above).

I like the pictures. But the people are all white. Not a Middle Eastern complexion among them. So they somewhat hindered my reflection. I had to keep reminding myself that Jesus looked like a terrorist is supposed to look like. The same is true for everyone around him.

Do I feel a deep sense of peace, or of God’s presence? Not particularly.

The thing about ritual is, you gotta put it in place, use it until the edges fray a bit. Then, some day when it’s the last thing on your mind, ka zam!

You feel the Holy Spirit. You’re suddenly on Cloud 9.

However—it’s a big however—the Spirit is there as you’re building the house, there during every boring day, just as fully as the day when the air tingles and your feet don’t touch the ground. Those FX are spiritual cotton candy, lots of fun, but not essential. And every carnivore on the midway, including Satan, has a large display of them.

Nobody was praising God for the cotton candy at the cross.

Above is the catalogue picture of the Rosary. I chose the light one from www.latinworksco.com. Jeanene Atkinson at www.RealLivePreacher.com has some beautiful pieces, but I’m not ready to commit when I may burn out in a few days. So I found the least expensive item and one that honors my Mexican grandmother and her ancestors.

This morning I tipped my hat to my Baptist DNA and prayed the alternative Rosary-like prayer using

• the Shema in place of the initial three Hail Marys,
• John 3.16-17 KJV in place of the 10 Hail Marys in each decade,
• verses from Romans 8 in place of Hail Holy Queen,
• the Aaronic blessing, and
• a Pauline doxology to close.

I followed the Sorrowful Mysteries as described on the Dominican website. (See Praying the Rosary 2.)

There’s nothing here to offend Protestants or Radical Reform descendants. And it passed by so fast, I couldn’t believe I was done.

The biggest problem was that my paper clips separate, so I twisted them with plyers.

John 3.16-17 KJV is as close to the Hal Mary as you can get, in terms of its emotional punch. And it’s virtually a prayer for the salvation of the world. I know grammatically, it’s not supplication but it doesn’t take much of a leap of faith to get from “that the world through him might be saved” to a plea for everyone’s salvation.

I also like sticking with scripture, although I list the Prayer of St. Francis as an alternative, and retained the Apostle’s Creed. OK classic Baptists say, “No creed but Christ,” but in these days of anything goes, I doubt if a good simple creed hurts anybody—as long as there’s no inquisitor around stabbing us with each jot or tittle.

Why not change elements from time to time? Micah 6.8 is such a powerful text. And I haven’t read the psalms closely for appropriate supplications, of which there must be many.

I’m going to keep saying the Catholic version as well. I’m finding that it’s getting under my skin. I can’t keep from thinking about it. This is beginner’s infatuation, I guess. But I remain convinced there’s no reason why Catholics have to be the only ones saying the Rosary.

Your thoughts are welcome.

If you Google Protestant or Anglican rosary, you’ll find many good historic efforts to make the Rosary acceptable to non-Catholics. I spent just a few hours and came up with this biblical version. The hymns from Revelation 4 and 5 also serve well. The Mysteries are a wonderful summary of Jesus’ life and teachings, especially the new Luminous Mysteries; I have suggested alternatives for the final two Glorious Mysteries, which deal with the Assumption and Coronation of Mary.

I do not mean any irreverence to the traditional Marian prayer. Personally, I’m going to stick with it for now. The Dominican site www.rosary-center.org  has a great summary with beautiful paintings to illustrate each step of the Marian version.

But this very simple process illustrates that we’re a lot closer to each than we think.

In Place of Hail Mary:

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. John 3:16-17 (KJV)

OR

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit. A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (from Ps 51)

OR

What does the LORD require of us
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
     and to walk humbly with our God? Micah 6:8 (NRSV)

In Place of Longer Prayers:

The Prayer of St. Francis OR  23^rd Psalm  OR

When we cry “Abba! Father!” the Spirit bears witness that we are children of God. The Spirit intercedes for us with groans too deep for words. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom 8.)

OR                                                                                                                    

 The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life;
     of whom shall I be afraid? …
One thing I asked of Thee, LORD,
     that will I seek after:
to live in the house of the LORD
     all the days of my life,
to behold thy beauty, LORD,
     and to inquire in thy temple. …
not cast me off, do not forsake me,
     O God of my salvation! …
If my father and mother forsake me,
     do thou, LORD, will take me up.
Teach me thy way, O LORD,
     and lead me on a level path … from Psalms 27:1-14 (NRSV)

According to the riches of his glory, may God grant that we be strengthened in our inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ dwell in our hearts through faith, as we are being rooted and grounded in love. May we have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that we may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen. from Eph 3:16-21 (NRSV)

May the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
     did not regard equality with God
     as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
     taking the form of a slave,
     being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
     and became obedient to the point of death–
     even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him
     and gave him the name
     that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
    our knee and every knee should bend,
     in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and our tongue and every tongue confess
     that Jesus Christ is Lord,
     to the glory of God the Father. from Phil 2:5-11 (NRSV)

May we be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so that we may lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, as we bear fruit in every good work and as we grow in the knowledge of God. May we be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may we be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled we to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light.  from Col 1:9-12 (NRSV)

Some of my friends and colleagues in ministry will be sure I’ve gone off the deep end! Though I doubt many will notice, fewer will care.

I said my first Rosary today.

Yesterday I ordered from San Antonio a Mexican Rosary, simple wood beads. By the time I paid shipping it was $20.00. Mexican, in honor of my grandmother Dolores Mercado and aunt Margaret Dickson.

I found several sites where you can make your own Rosary. That strikes me as totally cool. I can imagine, if this impulse lasts, that I’ll make a Rosary and put into it all the devotion and love I can. I don’t have any desire for one of the expensive, jeweled pieces of which there are many.

First, what was it like?

I hooked ten paper clips together and added five loose ones, one for each decade. Following a chart, I recited the prayers, and announced the Joyful mysteries, milestones in Jesus’ early life. You’re supposed to focus on these, rather than the words you’re saying. But I did well enough to say the right words in the right order.

I’m amazed the paper clip chain worked fine. I hope to know how to say the Rosary by heart when my Mexican Rosary comes in the mail.

It was a very mechanical process: how to hold the paper clip so I didn’t get mixed up as to which one I was counting, which prayer to say, etc. There are some differences in how different Catholics say their Rosary. I just want the standard version.

I was surprised at the welcome and peace I felt. I instantly understood why Catholics hang on to the veneration of Mary. There is a softness, a sweetness, about her that deeply blesses.

Whoa! You’re a Baptist, a son of the Radical Reformation, not even a protestant. And you’re saying prayers to the BVM Blessed Virgin Mary???

Frankly, I’m intentionally not thinking theologically at the moment, turning off the analytical mind and welcoming God as Catholics do. The Feminine of God my tradition has totally ignored and shut down; I’m interested in exploring Her (whatever).

It’s also time for the walls between our traditions to come down, for us to welcome one another to one table, where one Lord presides.

Interesting nuggets:

• an Old English word for prayer is “bede” related to “bid.” So the beads of the Rosary themselves remind us of prayer.
• the Rosary was probably the response of the poor to the monks’ weekly recitation of the 150 psalms in Latin. The poor didn’t know Latin, so they substituted 150 repetitions of the prayer they knew: “Hail Mary…”

This kind of prayer helps to quiet the “monkey tree,” the mind that chatters right through times of silence. I’m hoping to learn a lot about prayer.

If future experiences with the Rosary turn out to be as helpful as my first, it will become a permanent part of my prayer life.

I welcome hearing about any experience you have with saying the Rosary, or other prayers.

Growing up Southern Baptist in El Paso, Texas, in the 1950s and -60s, my father converted from Catholicism, I was imbrued with dislike, suspicion, even hatred of all things Catholic. In seminary taking a class on the classics of Christian devotion, I discovered that the ancient churches of Rome and Byzantium held vast riches of devotion and spiritual formation next to which Baptists had few.

There was Pilgrim’s Progress, of course. Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. That I didn’t find until grad school. Streams in the Desert, My Utmost for His Highest. Other than that, flat modern stuff from the denomination.

The Imitation of Christ, published by Moody Press, despite its publisher, was too medieval and sacramental for me. Now I can’t get enough of it.

Then, in seminary I took Classics of Christian Devotion with Glenn Hinson. Hinson has been hounded by fundamentalists as a heretic. May we have many, many more heretics. He wrote among many others a book called Seekers After A Mature Faith, which surveyed resources on spirituality. In the course I accepted the assignment of presenting Augustine’s Confessions.

The pastorate is not especially conducive to spiritual growth or depth. So now in exile, I’m playing catch up, reading, learning, praying.

Today, I think for the first time, I prayed the Stations of the Cross. I was perched on a stool in the kitchen, Celtic Daily Prayer, pp. 251-264, opened on the stove top, a cup of coffee in hand, beside a sink full of dishes to be washed.

I’m not much for devotion that lingers with masochistic delight over the torture Christ endured. I didn’t see Mel Gibson’s The Passion. That’s not based on the Gospels. An Aramaic original doesn’t exist. To create one is to claim more for the product than is merited, in my opinion.

As I read aloud the sections, I tried to slow down, let the reality sink in as much as possible. I broke up as I read:

Lord, you were stripped of the robes  You wore,
but You were the same—it didn’t change You.

I waited a moment until I could read more.

Crucifixion is so alien to us; we can’t fathom that kind of death. So celebrities pose in mockery. A chocolatier creates the crucifixion chocolate for Easter. We get our daughters fine gold crosses on gold chains.

I recall on my Emmaus Walk, they asked me to drive a nail into a cross. I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t do it. I was the last. Several men huddled around, explaining, encouraging. Finally, I caved to the social pressure. But I’ve always regretted that. For me.

The cross is unimaginable.

Think of the PTSD someone would experience who actually saw a human being nailed to a board, hanged, left to die a lingering death from exposure, suffocation.

What good does it do, to meditate on atrocity? What good does it do?

(more…)