Ash Wednesday is in a few days, and oh no! I haven't decided what my spiritual practice will be during Lent.
My inbox is full of opportunities. Take this online class or this one or that one or here's an email about a new book of devotions suitable for lectio divina during Lent. Or what about all the books with a Lenten focus already on my shelves? Are there podcasts devoted to Lenten practices. Probably.
Maybe it is time to return to a focused practice of centering prayer--do it faithfully every day, twice a day, as Father Keating suggests.
Maybe I should consider fasting one day a week, preferably Wednesday because I would feel even more self-righteous when I go to the evening service. Last year I hosted labyrinth sessions every Wednesday evening. Should I do that again?
What should I give up? What should I add in? Is this the time to try something new, something outside of my comfort zone or is this the time to return to a practice used in the past, but kept in my back pocket for when it might be needed? Or do I deepen my core practices--writing in my journal and sitting in quiet meditation each morning?
I feel a bit overwhelmed with ideas and possibilities, and I wonder how my word for the year, "fullness," intersects with Lent.
Of course, what I most need to do--right now--is move into silence and allow the voice of God to whisper in my heart. Maybe what I need to do is to let a practice choose me, find me for these sacred days.
Maybe I need to remember that everyday is sacred.
Maybe I need to remember that a Lenten practice, any kind of spiritual practice, regardless of one's tradition, is not about the doing, but about the being with God.
It could take you days
to wander these rooms.
Forty at least.
And so let this be
a season for wandering,
for trusting the breaking,
for trusting the rupture
that will return to you
to the One who waits,
who watches
who works within
the rending
to make your heart
whole.
from "Rend Your Heart"
Circle of Grace
Jan Richardson
An Invitation
Do you feel called to a new practice? An old practice? I would love to know.
Walking a straight line on a sandy beach is not easy. The sand shifts and gives way as I walk, swallowing, capturing my feet. Even so I relish the coolness of the sand, the softness, and even how it clings to my skin and hides between my toes. I am awed by how the sand shifts and gives way as I create my own path, but when I look back, the sand has nearly filled in the indentations of my footprints. Had I really been there?
Sand seems to welcome movement. In Zanzibar many years ago I celebrated my 50th birthday by practicing T'ai Chi on a beach, my dancing feet creating a crevice. Years later I led a circle of women on a Captiva beach in that same T'ai Chi meditation at sunset. We formed spiral patterns, our feet becoming one with the sand.
Soon, however, water and wind erased all signs of our presence on the beach. No, sand is not a firm foundation, and yet the way it shifts and gives way forces me to pay attention, just as the ashes I received in the form of a cross on my forehead at last week's Ash Wednesday service reminds me to pay attention to the sacredness of life. When I returned home, I washed the smudge of ash off my forehead, and the next day no one knew I participated in the ritual marking the beginning of the church season of Lent, just as the beach no longer carries a sign of my presence.
But I know I was there. Both on the beach and in the darkness of the sanctuary.
I walked a labyrinth recently. I felt each measured step, pausing at each curve, reviewing the many twists and turns of the last couple years in my life. I moved forward easily and lightly not worrying about when I would reach the center--a new sensation for me. Often when I reach the center of a labyrinth I am hungry for revelation, for insight and direction, but this time it was enough just to be there. I had not doubted my ability to get there, but nonetheless, it was good to actually arrive.
And then it was time to walk back out, to retrace the steps I had made, but there were no visible steps. The path was clear with no sign I had made the journey. Had I really walked that pathway? Had I really been there?
I am reminded of something Luci Shaw says in her book Adventure of Ascent, Field Notes from a Lifelong Journey:
http://www.lucishaw.com
Why do I struggle to find meaning in everything I
see, and everything that happens? I'm wishing I could
learn to simply attend to what is there, and then to
open myself to being seen and enlightened by God.
Might this become the place of balance and
peacefulness? p. 77
She goes on to quote Annie Dillard.
We are here to notice everything so each thing gets
noticed and Creation need not play to an empty house.
If I could lighten my desire to find meaning, to have a presence and to leave my mark, I suspect I would experience more peace and be more able to pay attention and to notice the shifting sands.
An Invitation
At what times in your life have you wondered about the meaning of your life and if and how you have left a mark? What have you done to find peace as the shifting sands fill in your footprints? What spiritual practices enhance your ability to notice and pay attention? I would love to know.
A Gift
In case you missed it, this essay by Oliver Sacks recently published in the New York Times is well worth reading. http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/19/opinion/oliver-sacks-on-learning-he-has-terminal-cancer.html?_r=0
I confess that I do not regularly attend worship services. No pew is recognized as the place where Nancy sits every Sunday morning. More than likely, someday I will resume weekly attendance, but for now attending church feels more like a religious exercise than spiritual practice. However, there is something about Ash Wednesday, which begins the Western Christian season of Lent, culminating gloriously on Easter Sunday that tugs at my heart. There is something about the imposition of ashes in the shape of the cross on my forehead that draws me. I need the reminder of human mortality, my mortality. I need to be drawn into a season of prayer and fasting and abstinence. I need to mourn all that has been lost and will be lost and to repent the ways I have contributed to the darkness in the world.
And so yesterday, Ash Wednesday, I worshipped at Holy Wisdom Monastery not far from our home. Holy Wisdom Monastery is an ecumenical monastic community in the spirit of St Benedict, and it is where I am most drawn to take off my shoes and kneel in recognition of all that is sacred. Once again I was drawn to be part of the ancient ritual, a ritual done in community, but there was an additional reason to participate in worship yesterday. The Nun on the Bus was speaking at the service.
Sister Simone Campbell, a lawyer and executive director of NETWORK, A National Catholic Social Justice Lobby and a sister in the order, Sisters of Social Service, was all over the news during the presidential campaign. Even before Paul Ryan (R-WI) was selected as Romney's running mate, Sister Simone was protesting the injustice of the Ryan Budget. To raise public awareness, she and several other sisters boarded a bus and undertook a 9 state tour to speak out against the budget "because it harms people who are already suffering." Perhaps you recall her eloquent speech at the Democratic National Convention this past September or you may have seen her interviewed by Stephen Colbert or Bill Moyers. A national celebrity, but more than that she is someone who lives the Gospel and who is a visible reminder of Isaiah's words as found in yesterday's Gospel, Luke 4: 18-19
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release
to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.
Sister Simone is someone to listen to, and I didn't want to miss the opportunity. She expressed her conviction that "something is afoot;" something that involves being drawn deeper into the mystery of the power of the Spirit.
I am not sure in what ways I am to be an expression of the power of the Spirit, but moving slowly forward to receive the ashes in this annual ritual, as millions of seekers have done over the centuries, I felt connected to that power and I felt Spirit alive within me. Thanks Be to God.
I like being a tourist. I know that is no longer a popular concept, and it is more acceptable to talk about being a traveler. I know there is an unflattering "camera around the neck" image of tourists, especially American tourists here and in other countries, but the truth is when I am visiting an unfamiliar place, no matter where it is, I am a tourist. I do hope I am a polite, nonoffensive, and discerning tourist, however.
I like going on field trips and have fond memories of school field trips, such as the 6th grade class trip from Mankato, Minnesota to the State Capital in St Paul, and when we lived on Long Island going into "the city" with my high school choir to see a play and visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My family moved frequently in my growing up years, and I recall one of our first Sundays in New York going on a sightseeing boat around Manhattan and being awed by my first view of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. When my husband and I moved to Cleveland, we loved nothing more than exploring the city and roaming the surrounding areas. Work colleagues and new acquaintances were amazed by all we did and all the places we discovered. "Have you been to Amish Country?" they would ask, and we responded with stories about our Sunday drives on country roads. We knew more about Ohio than people who lived there all their lives.
Being a Tourist in Your Own Town
When we moved to Madison about 4 years ago, we became tourists once again. Part of it is natural, for everything is new and just deciding which grocery store will be part of your loop of life requires exploration, and part of it is filling the time when you don't yet have a social network and haven't yet filled your time with activities. The first year we lived in a small and unsatisfying apartment before our farm in Ohio sold. I laughed about the 7 minutes it took to vacuum the place, but trust me, I had lots to time to discover my new city!
Most days I set a goal for myself. One day I went to a small town with a new library built in Mission style. Another day I visited a fancy cheese shop on Capital Square and then walked State Street from beginning to end, enjoying the university atmosphere. I walked the trails at the Arboretum, and I drove up and down the streets of neighborhoods imagining what it would be like to live there. I enjoyed afternoons at the UW Memorial Union sitting on the terrace overlooking the lake, writing in my journal and reading. I planned weekend events and jaunts for my husband and myself--new restaurants to try, concerts to attend, and neighboring towns to visit.
I enjoyed it all, but it didn't take long to establish a routine, to have an established loop of life in place, and while I have no problem setting out on my own, I enjoy my solitude at home even more. I ceased being a tourist. My desire to unearth, to discover, diminished. But then Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent nudged me to awaken my pilgrim self.
Lenten Tourism
One of my guides this Lent is Margaret Guenther, an Episcopalian priest, a spiritual director, and writer whose many books I have treasured. Currently, I am reading Walking Home, From Eden to Emmaus in which each chapter is a meditation on the "walking stories" in the scriptures. I decided Lent would be a good time to set out on some new walks or even old walks, but survey the sights with new eyes. One aspect of Lent is to retreat, but perhaps another part is to seek a new path; to follow a quest, even if it is just around the corner.
My first walk was down the street from where I attended the Ash Wednesday service, the Chazen Museum of Art, home to Wisconsin's second largest collection of art. I had been there before, more than once, but not since a new building had opened. I had been intending to visit the new space, but ..... On their website I encountered this quote describing an upcoming lecture, "When your outer eyes stop working, what happens to your mind's eye?" What better way to expand one's eyesight than to expose them to art? I went on an art walk.
And what did I see? Charming watercolors by a UW art faculty member, Elaine Scheer. Claes Oldenburg's Typewriter Eraser. Collage drawings of planned projects by Christo. Tiger Sitting Under the Moon, a Cantonese scroll. Lots of nudes, including many in paintings by John Wilde which I found very disturbing. A large work composed of colorful, narrow aluminum strips by a Ghanaian artist. So much more. I was most comfortable among the Thai and Indian Buddhas and least comfortable when a piece depicted violence. I laughed at myself as I stood in front of a large canvas painted only in solid black. I could have done that, I thought, but I didn't and why did the artist do it? I sat on a bench and enjoyed the view of the campus pedestrian mall leading to Lake Mendota through a brightly colored glass sculpture called Cornucopia by Tashima Etsuoko . Glorious. Another walk I will take.
I wandered the galleries and missed the company of my artist son. I remembered the last time I was there when I brought my granddaughter who sat on the floor and sketched. I thought about other museums I've visited, and all the great art I have been privileged to see, and I was grateful for all those who have used and developed the gifts God entrusted to them. I thought about walking the skyway system in downtown St Paul recently and wondered why those walls were so bleak and how they could be a blank canvas for someone's imagination. I shuddered at how much I don't understand, and I rejoiced when I my heart lifted at the beauty in front of me.
The headline on the Chazen's website says, "What will inspire you today?" Perhaps it will be a piece of art or something you read or hear on the radio. Perhaps it will be a conversation you overhear or the view out your kitchen window. Perhaps you will be inspired by going on a walk, following a path, being a tourist.
Today is Ash Wednesday in the Christian liturgical year. The first day of Lent. Lent, which comes from the English word lenten, meaning "spring," referring to the season and to the rejuvenation of the soul, is a period of 40 days leading to Easter. (Counting Sundays, there are actually 46 days.)
I have not attended an Ash Wednesday service for many years, but because I have been exploring the idea of intentions this year, it seems natural to think about spiritual disciplines during Lent.
As a child, I recall hearing friends talk about giving up candy or sugar or tv or another routine pleasure, but that wasn't something we did in my family. I was raised Lutheran and even though Lutheran churches seem to now practice the imposition of ashes, I don't remember the ritual being part of Ash Wednesday services of my youth. We went to church and confessed our sins, and it was all very solemn, but only in church. Nothing changed in my daily routine. Perhaps my parents prayed more or read the Bible more, but my life moved on steadily toward Good Friday and the prettiness of Easter. I became a convert to Lent in later years. And then I lapsed, which brings me to today.
Sitting in an unfamiliar church, I heard the words, "I invite you to the discipline of Lent," and I processed up the center aisle to a pastor I don't know and as he said the words, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return," he made the sign of the cross on my forehead with soft ash. I have ashes smeared on my forehead, but am I ready to enter Lent and what exactly does that mean anyway?
Lenten Resources
This morning I gathered a stack of books from my library to help illuminate what this Lent might hold for me.
A Benedictine monk, Brother Victor-Antoine D'Avila-Latourrette gave me some practical direction in A Monastic Year, Reflections from the Monastery as he outlines the principles of Lenten practice found in the Rule of St Benedict: refrain from sin, pray sincerely, read the scriptures, repent and repent, and fast. Daunting!
Joyce Rupp in her book Inviting God In, Scriptural Reflections and Prayers Throughout the Year, quotes from the Hebrew Testament, "Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing." Joel 2:13. I like her term "re-turning" and wonder what the implication might be for me. She says "...there is always a part of one's heart that has not yet been given over to God..." Perhaps my Lenten discipline is to probe the ways I have not surrendered.
"Outward Bound for the soul," is Barbara Brown Taylor's term to describe Lent. "Forty days to remember what it is like to live by the grace of God alone and not by what we can supply for ourselves." ("Lenten Discipline" in Home By Another Way)
Finally, I read these words in In Wisdom's Path, Discovering the Sacred in Every Season, by Jan L. Richardson: "The season begins with ashes and invites us into a time of stripping away all that distracts us from recognizing the God who dwells at our core, reminding us that we are ashes and dust. God beckons us during Lent to consider what is elemental and essential in our lives."
The Task of Aging
Lent is a sacred time for Christians, but the invitation to know and live one's essence knows no religious or spiritual boundaries. In fact, this is the main task of the wisdom time of aging. I will do my best to accept this invitation. If not now, when?
An Invitation to Comment
What have you given up for Lent now or in the past? Or what spiritual practice or discipline have you added to your life during a Lenten season?
OR if Lent has not been part of your tradition have there been times in your life when you deliberately eliminated a habit that interfered with your relationship with God? I would love to know.
Ash Wednesday is in a few days, and oh no! I haven't decided what my spiritual practice will be during Lent. 
