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Beyond the sheltering sky

Tuesday, September 1st, 2009

“Every form of refuge has its price”
—Lyin’ Eyes, Eagles

Your copay today is $50.
On a scale of 0-10—
0, being no pain;
10, being the worst pain you can imagine—
what number is your pain now?
You have to fit
into a box on a form.
Is your pain (check one)
burning, aching, throbbing, or piercing?
Chronic or acute?
At what time of day does it hurt?
Under what conditions (such as stormy weather)?
Does your pain ever break through
(persist after you take medication)?
On the diagram of the body
mark where you hurt,
using arrows for sharp pain,
shading for dull pain.

Take two extra-strength Tylenol
and don’t complain.
Nobody wants a patient who isn’t.

 

Your copay today is $50.
Tell me about your fear.
Makes it hard for you to sleep at night…
I understand your anxiety and pain.
My goal is for us to establish
a good working relationship
in a secure holding environment,
to comfort,
to help you become a more sturdy ego,
independent
in spite of your DSM IV diagnosis.
You have every chance
of living a healthy, well-adjusted life.

Just don’t expect a counselor
to solve all your problems.
See you next week.

 

Hello, my name is John. I am a human being.
—Hi, John!
—How are you?
—Good to see ya!
I’ve been coming to meetings for months now.
They really help, you care,
I’m working the program:
Serenity,
Courage,
Wisdom.
I miss Michael, guess we all do,
it’s so hard to watch somebody crash and burn, but:
Shit happens.
Easy does it.
One day at a time.

Beat and alone, when the dark casts no shadows,
all the tears that run down into our mouth
taste of salt.

 

Okay, okay! Love—
one human being for another,
all human beings for all others—
love transforms each of the above.
I saw them in their darkest, most broken form,
loveleast,
what insurance pays for
and courts mandate.
The DSM IV doesn’t have a code for love—
one human being for another,
all human beings for all others—
and I will show you a more excellent Love:

Beyond the sheltering sky,
(beneath it, too)
I AM
always with you
bearing your pain with you,
I AM
freeing you from the prison
of your ego and your angst
(though I AM not promising
you’ll never be afraid,
just that you’ll never ultimately need to be),
I AM
tasting the salt of your tears,
making you whole.

Your copay is your life,
all you have, all you are, all you ever will be—
The gift you get in return

I AM.

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The Thundering Sovereignty of God

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

lear-in-stormLear and Fool in Storm, William Dyce, 1851 Scottish National Gallery

 

 

Last night I finished reading, dimmed my light, piled up my pillows, and snuggled under my blankets. Often a M*A*S*H DVD distracts me from nagging aches. But this night a storm broke overhead.

I just listened to peals of thunder, the clangor of monster iron bells, the roar of rain falling like Niagara.

 I tried to imagine what it would be like to be out in the storm, like old King Lear. Native Americans in their teepees were more integrated into their environment than I in my climate controlled hobbit hole.

Thunder in Scripture

This morning I did a search of the NRSV for “thunder*”: 48 hits in 45 sections.

  • Thunder as theophany: Exodus 19.16 On the morning of the third day there was thunder and lightning, as well as a thick cloud on the mountain, and a blast of a trumpet so loud that all the people who were in the camp trembled.
  • Thunder as the voice of God: Ps 29.3  The voice of the LORD is over the waters; /      the God of glory thunders, /      the LORD, over mighty waters. Psalms 29:3 (NRSV)
  • Thunder routing enemies: 1 Samuel 7.10 As Samuel was offering up the burnt offering, the Philistines drew near to attack Israel; but the LORD thundered with a mighty voice that day against the Philistines and threw them into confusion; and they were routed before Israel.
  • Thunder authenticating the prophet: 1 Samuel 12.17 Is it not the wheat harvest today? I will call upon the LORD, that he may send thunder and rain; and you shall know and see that the wickedness that you have done in the sight of the LORD is great in demanding a king for yourselves.
  • Thunder as Mystery of God: Job 26.14 These are indeed but the outskirts of his ways; / and how small a whisper do we hear of him!  / But the thunder of his power who can understand?”

This is a quick little survey. The thing is, I’m intrigued by the instances of

Secret Thunder.

  • At Massah Test City, Meribah Quarrel Capital: Psalm 81.7 In distress you called, and I rescued you; / I answered you in the secret place of thunder; / I tested you at the waters of Meribah. The Israelites complained about the lack of water (Exodus 17) and the renal diet (Numbers 20), this after God defeated the Egyptians, parted the Red Sea, and provided manna and quail.
  • The Seven Secret Thunders: Revelation 10:3-4  [The angel] gave a great shout, like a lion roaring. And when he shouted, the seven thunders sounded. And when the seven thunders had sounded, I was about to write, but I heard a voice from heaven saying, “Seal up what the seven thunders have said, and do not write it down.

     

The Sovereignty of God

The majesty of last night’s cannonade brought to mind the sovereignty of God. The Almighty does as the Almighty chooses, and humans have little say in the matter.

Deep calls to deep
at the thunder of your cataracts;
all your waves and your billows
have gone over me.

Ps 42.7 

Even though I’m a “with” character, Sandy’s the star above the title, I’m aggravated to say the least. I could ask, “Why me/us?” The answer to that whiny query  is “Why not me/us?” Billions of people in this world go without the basics. Many have renal disease and no medical care at all. So scratch ”Why me/us?” It’s-useless rant. If you must, give it a minute or two and move on.

God doesn’t tell us why. God calls us to be faithful.

In the end I thought of an old hymn. Martin Luther King Jr. refers to it in his speeches, which I’m reading in A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches of Martin Luther King Jr. Surely his life makes visible the sovereignty—or better,  the providence—of God. The old hymn?

I’ve seen the lightning flashing, I’ve heard the thunder roll.
I’ve felt sin’s breakers dashing, which almost conquered my soul.
I’ve heard the voice of my Savior, bidding me still to fight on.
He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone!

Refrain
No, never alone, no never alone,
He promised never to leave me,
He’ll claim me for His own;
No, never alone, no never alone.
He promised never to leave me,
Never to leave me alone.

You can listen: No, Never Alone

 In the end thunder and lightning remind me, the lives of me and mine, of all the beloved community, are held in everlasting arms of infinite mercy, grace, and love. Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand.”

John 10:27-29 (NRSV)

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No and Yes

Friday, July 17th, 2009

You know it’s important to write down insights when they come—which I’m doing now.

Ask for medical prognostication, and from any truthful physician you’ll get “Yes” and “No,” a mix of the probable and possible. Medicine is a mixture of miracle and maybe.

The Book of Common Prayer calls for psalm 88 to be read on the 17th a.m. Just my luck. 88 has to be one of the darkest psalms.

I often skip it, if my soul is already on the dung heap.

Today I read it, along with 89, 90, and 91.

91, of course, is one of the brightest psalms. One Satan quoted to Jesus in the temptations.

That confuses me. How am I supposed to claim ps 91 for my own, when Satan mouths it?

Anyway. Back to insight. Ps 88:

10 Do you work wonders for the dead, can shadows rise up to praise you? Pause
11 Do they speak in the grave of your faithful love, of your constancy in the place of perdition?
12 Are your wonders known in the darkness, your saving justice in the land of oblivion?

(New Jerusalem Bible, courtesy catholic online, it’s www.catholic.org/bible.)

What struck me here as I read is these rhetorical questions. The psalm is attributed to Heman, the native born, son of Korah, sick and suffering.

Heman answered these questions “No!”

Does God work wonders for the dead? NO

Can shadows rise up to praise you? NO

and so on.

Reminds me of Hosea 13.14, another instance of a rhetorical question with an anticipated answer of NO.

      

 

14 Shall I save them from the clutches of Sheol? Shall I buy them back from Death? Where are your plagues, Death? Where are your scourges, Sheol? Compassion will be banished from my sight!
(continues below)

 

 

(NJB)

 This is as grim as it gets. Though Hosea 14 rummages through tradition for some scraps of hope, again it’s hard to look farther down from this pit.

This morning what struck me, though, reading the grim rhetorical questions put by Heman the sick and suffering, is what he doesn’t know: God’s answers are different from his.

To each of Heman’s questions, God in Christ answers Yes!

Do you work wonders for the dead? YES

Can shadows rise up to praise you? YES

Do they speak in the grave of your faithful love? YES

Of your constancy in the place of perdition? YES

Are your wonders known in the darkness, your saving justice in the land of oblivion? YES

Just ask Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. God is “the God of the living, not the dead,” Jesus said.

As for Hosea’s words, when Paul quotes them in 1 Corinthians 15, the mood has transformed from judgment to resurrection and rejoicing:

When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled:
“Death has been swallowed up in victory.”
“Where, O death, is your victory?
     Where, O death, is your sting?”
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

 1 Corinthians 15,54-57.

Scholars believe the people of the Hebrew Bible began to realize the resurrection very late in the Persian period two or three centuries before Christ, perhaps gaining insights from the Zoroastrians.

I don’t know what the hope of future life is in Judaism today.

But for me as a Christian, I know. The answer beyond all my questions is Jesus.

For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, whom we proclaimed among you …was not “Yes and No”; but in him it is always “Yes.” For in him every one of God’s promises is a “Yes.” 

Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!

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12 hours into Sandy’s dialysis

Friday, July 17th, 2009

Early morning tea ceremony.

  • Feed cats, freshen their water.
  • Load new dishes in dishwasher (don’t have time to unload—oh well, a few dishes will be really clean). Turn on water miser cycle.
  • Bring 1 1/3 cup water in microwave to boil. Pour over 1 qt and 1 cup teabags, steep 3 min 33 sec, add Splenda to taste, pour into 20 oz container of ice. Screw on top to minimize mess due to inevitable spills. Enjoy.

Well, enjoy is too far a stretch this 5:21 a.m. —but who’s counting.

Long, long night. Movies didn’t put me to sleep. Meds didn’t either. Soft elevator music through my TV cable soothed.

At midnight I read the psalms. I’ve gotten out of the habit, since I got my fancy new genuine leather NT and psalms. God chuckled when I bought that. There was an instance of dittography in 2 Cor, and I found a footnote with Gk in l.c. But who notices.

When it’s the “inerrant” Word, you do, I suppose.

If I only had access to the autographs, aka original manuscripts, I’d be sitting pretty.

But they went the way of the lost Ark, the Holy Grail, and the robe.

It’s part of the human condition to look for a Golden Calf to worship.

Especially when you’re short a couple working kidneys.

In the hospital Sandy started hemodialysis last night. Her other treatments didn’t jump start her ailing kidneys, so they junked the plan of waiting “oh as much as a year” and began yesterday.

Because of HPPA they won’t talk to me on the phone, even though Sandy signed the damn form.

At 11:45 a.m. I myself have a run in with a physician, probably routine.

Then, we bring my love home and begin life in a whole new world.

As for me, it’s now 5:36 a.m. Back to the psalms—even in a not-so-perfect copy.

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What it means to follow Christ

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009

In light of my self designation as a “Christ follower” rather than Baptist or Methodist, and  a meditation on what it means to follow Christ at www.TheEvangelismInstitute.org, my friend Jon asks what does it mean for me to follow Christ.

Because of humans’ innate ability of self-deception, you need to ask Jesus, not me. Peter’s answer and Jesus’ answer to “What does it mean for Peter to follow Christ?” would differ substantially.

Nevertheless, I’ll give it a shot.

If I were to pick out a biblical image, it would be old Simeon in Jerusalem (Luke 2.25-35), as opposed to Eli of Gibeah (1 Sam 3-4).

Simeon saw keenly things of the Spirit, waited faithfully for the consolation of Israel, spoke the truth. Eli’s sight was dim, his spirit complacent, he failed to confront his wicked sons, and presided over the capture of the Ark of the Covenant.

Following Jesus for me, given my physical limitations, means watching and waiting as much as doing. But then the vocation of the elderly to pray is an instance of Christ’s saving the best for last.

If only we prayed more throughout our life!

Like all Christ followers  today I am called on to keep alert.

 “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”

Luke 21:34-36 (NRSV)

 The ruling powers of the so called Free World have learned how to manufacture consent—manipulate the governed to vote even against their own self-interest. The abbas and ammas of the desert teach us much about what is the one thing needful: forsaking all trusting Christ. But oh! the books, the blogs, the iPods, the tv cable, the DVDs!

Following Christ as pastor meant speaking up for the underclasses: women, blacks, Hispanics, lesbians-gays-transgendered-bisexuals. I did so until people wouldn’t listen to me.

Now my discipleship means being still, praying, reading. God has given me two groups of faithful fellow students to read the Bible with.

The best description I know of of following Christ is Bonhoeffer’s The Cost of Discipleship. He said, and then showed us, that “when Christ calls you, he calls you to come and die.”

I’m certain I have described my failures to follow Christ, as Peter did unwittingly that night in the upper room. May God have mercy, and grant me grace to follow whever he leads. And at this time in my pilgrimage, I know that “to be away from the body is to be with the Lord.”

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It’s not easy being green

Friday, April 3rd, 2009

meadow

 Thanks to: PD photo.org

Kermit the Frog sings here.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures,” Psalms 23:2 (NRSV).

 As an adult, I’ve had to learn to walk twice.

 My spine is kinky, and I grow a lot of bone, which means I tend to squeeze off the spinal cord every few years.

 In addition, arthritis has destroyed most of the big joints — shoulders, knees.

 So I’ve racked up a lot of surgery and a lot of sack time.  I quarrel with the verse, “he makes me lie down in green pastures.”

Then there’s pain.

“On a scale of 1-10, 1 being no pain, 10 being the worst pain you can imagine, what’s your pain level now?”

That nurse (all business, having to log her/his own functions on computer, may be out of work tomorrow because the public hospital is cutting a fourth of its staff, has three kids, an out of work partner and a minivan with stale coke open in the cupholders) qualifies for my instant dislike winner.

On a scale of 1-10, pain is … not a number.

It’s a groan nobody hears, a burn nobody feels. It’s anger that has no place to go.

 I’ve had to lie down a lot more than I want to.  When I gripe about it, the Almighty says, “Green pastures, John, green pastures!”

 ”You’re the boss,” I say.

 I’ve learned from experience that God wins arguments.

 Enforced idleness—green?

 How?

 Well, there’s the psalms.  I read them aloud often. Every ten, I read 16 verses of 119, which all at once is mind numbing.

 There is a sense in which their voice is my voice, or mine theirs. Even the hateful psalms.

 Hate is human. When God gets it out of me, I’ll leave it out of the psalms.

 I wish I had some deep, deep, deep insight into prayer.  I don’t.

 Prayer is listening, prayer is talking.

 Prayer is being face to face with God, not in seclusion, not removed from life, but in the give and get of it.

 When I was offering spiritual direction for a brief time, I imagined God sitting just behind my fellow struggler.  I’d focus on God, while listening to the other person with my heart, my eyes, and any other faculty at hand.

 That’s prayer: focusing on God.

 Enforced idleness also gives me time to read.  During my years of active ministry I never had time to read a book like Les Miserables. 

 Green pastures?  I dunno.

 On a beautiful spring morning I’d rather be out for a run with my beautiful lab Cinnamon.

 But then I don’t have a lab.

 And I don’t run.

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Miracle at I-95 and Chippenham Pkwy. 2: Fear and Beyond

Thursday, March 26th, 2009

lady-burning-bush1

Left: Our Lady of the Burning Bush

I promise: this is not the Dr. Phil show, not a psycho strip tease, so popular in our culture, but a spiritual witness to the astounding grace of God.

In my early 40s, a trailing spouse, pastor of a small rurban church, I became a resident in clinical pastoral counseling at the Virginia Institute of Pastoral Care.  With a lackluster record as a pastor, I faced reevaluating my life and career and retooling for the future.

Counselors do their own talk therapy, and I had begun that as well.

My teenage son had adjusted to our family’s relocation; and my wife, through prodigious effort, had enjoyed very significant early success, which has continued for the past 20 years.

To understand my fear of looking within, you have to understand my family of origin.

My father, retired military, was a lay Baptist preacher; my mother, a fourth grade teacher and church organist.  I have two older sisters.  But our family was severely dysfunctional. I had a poor self-image.

I was terrified at what psychotherapy might reveal.

I live with  chronic depression and mild cerebral palsy (an oxymoron).  My dad wanted a football player and I always felt like damaged goods.

In fact, I felt like God hated me. No matter how hard I tried, I could not please God — and I tried and tried.

The only explanation I could think of was that there must be something really wrong with me.

With fear and trembling, I risked everything: my faith, my career, my future.  I opened the deep recesses of my soul to the light of day.

At that moment, as I slowed down to go through the toll booth, I wondered: what if  God not only does not hate me, but in fact God made me just as I am. What if I am God’s work of art (Eph. 2.10 NJB)?

And inaudibly I heard these words:

Everyone who lives by the truth comes to the light that it may be clearly seen that God is in all they do. John 3.21

At that moment, God deleted the what if. It hit me: God had made me just as I am!

I hadn’t read or thought consciously of John 3.21 in months. But there it was, ringing in my heart.

Everyone who lives by the truth comes to the light that it may be clearly seen that God is in all they do. John 3.21

Much later I found words for my transformational experience in Ps 139.13-16:

For it was you who formed my inward parts;
     you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
     Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
     intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
     all the days that were formed for me,
     when none of them as yet existed. 

 I began to float in a universe, all of light and joy, an ecstacy that lasted about two months, before slowly fading.

 A year later, I consulted Quaker mystic John Yungblut, whom I had met at a retreat with the Richmond Friends Meeting. I didn’t feel free to tell him more of my story, just as I have limited my self disclosure here.

He wrote the classic The Gentle Art of Spiritual Guidance, among others.

Friend Yungblut suggested this illumination was intended to prepare me for my new ministry of counseling.

I don’t know, since my career in counseling and spiritual friendship did not flourish.

When I die, I expect to see that beautiful light near-death survivors talk about. But for me, it won’t be anything new.

I’ve already experienced it — him, I should say: Jesus, the Light of this world and of any others there may be, Jesus, the Light of home.

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Miracle at I-95 and Chippenham Pkwy 1: Scared shitless

Thursday, March 26th, 2009

lady-burning-bush

 Left: Our Lady of the Burning Bush

On a beautiful fall morning in 1991, I saw my burning bush.

Although I’ve had several mountain top experiences, this is one-of-a-kind.  Remembering it gives me joy.

The Western white male scientific culture most of us live in ignores, deletes, reinterprets peak experiences of a religious or spiritual nature.  That’s why I’m bearing witness to what happened to me.

I was a trailing spouse.  In December 1987 my wife accepted a call to join the staff of the Virginia Institute of Pastoral Care. 

Baptists don’t understand why a God called male preacher would move across country with his wife.  There must be something wrong with him!

My 362 days of searching yielded a part time position in rurban New Kent County, which I served for 10 years.

In September 1990 I began training for a career in clinical  pastoral counseling.  Part of that training was an internship on the adult psych unit of a local mental hospital.

It was a 40 minute interstate drive one day a week.  It gave me time to think.

VIPCare’s training program is nationally recognized.  Excluding my wife from any contact with my training, VIPCare graciously began the experiment of providing training for me as a full time resident.

The two-year period maxxed the stress on my family and me.

That morning, as I drove to the hospital, I faced a choice: slide through the program without risking or learning much.  Or put myself lock stock and being on the block, and maybe (just maybe—no guarantees) be transformed.

I had begun individual therapy, a must for good counselors of any stripe.  I guessed what was at stake: would I take up my cross and follow Christ?

Imagine the cost!  It took my breath away.

Christians call it crucifixion. Shamans speak of being cut up, cooked, and eaten.

As I approached the toll booths that used to stand at the intersection of I-95 and Chippenham Pkwy., I decided to give it 100%.

I was scared shitless.

[Part two coming as soon as I can write it, 24 to 48 hours.]

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A Dark Christmas Tree

Thursday, December 18th, 2008

Sandy will be OK, coming home in a day or two. They’ll be able to treat her with meds.

We have a Christmas tree with several hundred lights. There’s a switch on the floor I can’t reach, so the tree stays off except when we have company or family who will turn it off. Nasha (our miracle survivor cat) has a place under the tree among the presents on top of the switch. She actually offed the tree once.

The unlighted tree has become a symbol for me of the house, all done up for Christmas, but without Sandy. She brings such light and beauty into the house. So while she’s away, the tree remains dark most of the time.

We’re coming up on our 39th anniversary by the grace of God. We’ve weathered storms of illness, stupidity on my part, major job change, and countless relatively minor crises. We’ve seen our son mature from a 19 year old college kid whose best qualities were just emerging to a 35 year old man who stands tall with us, a help beyond words.

This episode reminds me how fragile our life is. The outcome could have been so different. Everything could have vanished. I give thanks for God’s constant grace and mercy.

I’m also reminded of how precious are family/friends (often hard to tell the difference): the Tuesday night group, the Thursday morning pray-ers, our African family the Lindjecks and Ngues, the Kruschwitz clan, my big sister Pat, the folks at Trinity UMC, and online friends. We are surrounded not only by a great cloud of witnesses but a huddle of fellow strugglers.

In the African American churches I’ve visited, laying on of hands has taken place all together rather than one after another. I like that huge hug.

I didn’t go to the hospital. It’s cold and rainy. My pain was elevated (5/6 on ten scale), and would have spiked. Outside my station, I would have required people’s attention, who needed to focus on Sandy. So we talked by phone.

But for some years now, physical distance hasn’t mattered. We’re always together. In her last spell of serious illness I learned, love transcends geography, even physical time and life; the people you love most populate your soul space and remain close, regardless of things like separation.

I’ve a confession to make. I’ve been praying with the Virgen de Guadalupe in mind. There’s a light in the image. It’s the light of God’s love and God’s presence. For, God is with us in the darkest, shortest days of the year, a light that never goes out. Our little lights are only faint blips on the screen of eternity.

There will come a day for Sandy and me when the outcome of some illness is different. Others face such hard sad days today, and for all of you even though I don’t know you by name, I am praying. 

But no matter what, for all who have hearts to see, God is a star storm of love and light! light! light!

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Of Presidents, popcorn, and pus— but no poem: a lesson in lectio

Thursday, July 17th, 2008

 

 

I’m currently reading 12 books—actually, 11. One “book” on my list is the Sacred Text Archive online, which contains hundreds of scripture-type books. But Internet reading ain’t the same, is it?

You see, I’ve got all this time on my hands. Due to chronic pain, I have to rest my joints and muscles a lot; my brain keeps going 100 mph, however.

Maybe I should memorize the DSM IV, Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, 4th ed. This 1000+ page tome contains all the quirks, defense mechanisms, and mental disorders a psychiatrist can dream up.

Believe me, you’re in there. (Me, too.) And your insurance company has your number, the code which stands for the emotional or mental problem you want them to pay for the treatment of. It goes in a box on a form in a computer file. And it’s public knowledge. Ain’t no such thing as privacy where your insurance company’s money is concerned.

I like the classics: Shakespeare. I have all the plays on CDs, so I listen to one or two a week. I can’t keep up with the President, who read three Shakespeares.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKiWWi8rdJQ

 

Oh, I failed to mention how much I enjoy teaching DVDs: Shakespeare survey, history of Africa, Greek myths, Greek tragedy, surveys of Russian literature and existentialism.

 

Bitten by the used book bug, I find essential used books on Amazon and eBay; there’s always some book I, y’know, got to have. I’m careful, though.

 

For instance, C.F. Andrews, my current rage, referred to The Hidden Life of the Soul by Jean Nicolas Grou, a French Catholic writing at the time of the French Revolution. I found it on Amazon for $1777.00.

At that moment I got very nervous about the buy-it-with-one-click button.

Alibris had The Spiritual Life by Grou for $3.95, which’ll have to do for now.

Yesterday I became aware how I’m racing internally from one spiritual aid to another, trying to get better being still, better being for others, etc. It’s like all this popcorn’s exploding in my brain, and I’m compulsively consuming.

As a Nursing Home chaplain, I got a beautiful leather gilt-edged 1928 Book of Common Prayer to read with residents. I decided to start reading from that the Gospel and Epistle each week. Today the gospel was Luke 15, the waiting Father.

I’m into lectio divina. I have four or five essays on how to do that, and a small book somewhere on my shelves. I haven’t seen it in about five years.

Anyway I was lectio-ing away at the exquisite King James Version (naturally, because I’m in my Elizabethan English phase—y’know, the beauty of the language!) And these words hit home:

“And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat,” Luke 15:16 (KJV)

 

Dead bang! The Spirit uses scripture like a shrink uses the DSM IV.

 

Here I am, cramming anything and everything into my intellectual spiritual maw, like a whale engulfing krill by the millions.

 

What’s up?

 

Last week I jet read through Andrews’ Christ in the Silence; now I’m reading him one or two paragraphs aloud. Take this morning:

 

There was evidently a suppurating disease at the heart of Western civilization, draining its life-blood, which only the infusion of a life-giving spirit could staunch and heal.

 

C. F. Andrews, Christ in the Silence (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1933), p. 31.

 

Suppurating – causing to generate pus. I guess he’d seen many a suppurating wound on bodies in Calcutta. In the West he saw suppurating souls.

The earthquake, tornado, and lightning strikes passed, and finally, finally I got still. I realized, both Sandy and I have some run ins with medical types in the next few weeks. These are supposed to be fairly routine. But I’ve had more than once, a medical appointment rip up my life, shred my planner, implode my future. Even so called routine ones give me the heevie jeebies.

“You’re skittish about these appointments,” the Spirit said. No scolding. “Don’t be afraid.”

Lectio divina. That means reading only six books at once, huh?

Well, I’ll stick to 10, at least until we get the all clear from the docs.

 

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