Practice Forgiveness

On the first path--facing change in our lives--we come to appreciate the importance of spiritual practice.  It's a difficult path for most: hiking through new terrain, facing wilderness tests, encountering in Jesus' teaching a whole new way of living and loving.

One of the key practices here is forgiveness.  It's so central to the Sermon on the Mount, so much the heartbeat of everything else Jesus' teaches.  It's in learning to forgive one another, risking reconciliation, that we come to appreciate and delight in the freedom of God's forgiveness.  "Forgive us...as we forgive others."  It's the key signature of Christian life.  And it takes a lifetime, for most of us, to learn and to learn and to learn again.

Just as important, on this first path, Matthew's great mountain--our learning to receive, rejoice, dance in the forgiveness extended to us.  We are loved beyond accounting.  We are blessed and reconciled in the deep love and grace of Christ.  In all this, perhaps we can even learn to forgive ourselves!  On the mountain path, testing the radical love of the gospel, we will stumble and fall.  We will make mistakes.  "To err is human," the old bard says, "to forgive is divine."  Grace makes it possible, even inevitable, to forgive ourselves.  Even the hard stuff.  Even the big mistakes.  Even our sin.

One of the great gifts of Christian community--of the church at its best--is the gathering of courage and forgiveness in our midst.  I can look around the sanctuary Sunday morning and see all kinds of folks...and so many great examples of forgiveness and grace.  Because of their courage, because of their creativity with gospel love, I begin to imagine myself as one of them.  I begin to imagine grace at play in my heart and my relationships.  Community becomes communion.  Grace becomes practice.  And new life.

If you're looking for more encouragement, I highly recommend The Forgiveness Project!  Great site, great inspiration.

Why Wilderness?

Most of us don't relish the idea of forty hungry, thirsty days in wilderness.  After a long day, when fatigue sets in, I long for my favorite pillow, a great book, my own comfortable bed in my own familiar space.  And yet, there's a time for everything.  Whatever my tendencies may be, there's definitely a time for wilderness, for discomfort, for spare and tested living, for NOT knowing what comes next.  Whether I want that wilderness or not.  Becoming human, deepening gratitude, maturing in service: I find myself tested, hungry, thirsty, wandering in desolate territory.  I know you know.

Liberated Hebrews cross over the Red Sea--o miracle!  o liberation!--only to discover there's a wilderness on the other side.  They must wander there, struggle in the open spaces, learn from a Holy and Unmanageable Spirit, test their beliefs and practices against grace.  Like a wise scholar says: "It's easier to get the people out of Egypt than it is to get Egypt out of the people!"  Liberation has so much to do with testing and temptation, with practice and teaching, with faith and trust.  The Red Sea is just the beginning.  And a great song to sing.

Jesus owns that same experience--as the Spirit drives him into the wilderness.  He too has a great song to sing: "Beloved!"  He's been through the Sea.  He's heard the Voice.  He's anointed by the Love.  Now it's time to be tested, to do an inventory of the Egypt-places within, to learn new practices.  To claim liberation as his own.  The animated cartoon here is as powerful as anything I've seen in a long while--personal, but connected to a long history of saints and pilgrims; evocative and tender; flush with gratitude and the mystery of life.

Everything Must Change

Along the winding path, the first path, we face not only the sudden changes in our lives.  We come to see that change is what life is: it's what time is, it's what time does, it's how mystery unfolds.

Since hearing our jazz band play this tune in church last week, I can't get enough of it.  I'm singing it the car, humming it in the shower, tapping it out skinning vegetables for a dinner salad.  "That's the way of time / nothing and no one goes unchanged."

Spiritual life offers me a way, a path--not a way around, but a way into.  There's a way into the changing of things.  There's a way into the grief I'm experiencing around my dad's death.  There's a way into the shifting rhythm of God's call, God's invitation.  Everything must change.  And God offers me companionship.  And music for the journey.

"Winter turns to spring / wounded hearts will heal / but never much too soon / yes everything must change."  Along this winding path, this first path, I look for friendship, inspiration, a community of open hearts.  Mystery awaits.

Pray Everyday

Over many years, my own practice of prayer and meditation has changed, evolved, morphed endlessly.  I guess that just makes me human.

These days, I most often sit in silence twenty minutes each morning.  It's meditation time, prayer time, a way of centering my life in God's love before the push and pull of daily responsibilities.

After lighting a couple of candles and ringing a 'singing bell' on my table, I relax into the silence.  I pay attention (letting go of lists, worries, other obligations) to my breath, to the Spirit who moves in me like my breath.

Of late, I find it helpful to have a little mantra, a phrase or two that help me with this.  For me it's this: "Jesus, teach me / peace and mercy."  As I breathe in, I pray silently: "Jesus, teach me."  As I exhale, I pray silently: "Peace and mercy."

Last fall, a friend taught me a little wrinkle that slows the process a bit more.  We breathe in (JESUS, TEACH ME)...then we hold the breath and repeat (JESUS, TEACH ME).  Then we breathe out (PEACE AND MERCY)...and we hold the breath again (PEACE AND MERCY).  It's not meant to be stressful or strenuous, but simply to slow the breathing cycle down a bit...and allow for mindfulness in the transition from inhalation to exhalation, and then from exhalation to inhalation.

I hope you'll give this a try, if it seems helpful.  You can obviously play around with your mantra, with one that works for you.  There are mornings when I need the mantra more than others.  And there are some mornings when I seem to be able to pay loving attention to breath without it.  It's a gift, a tool, a companion...more than a rigid rule for praying!  The point is simply sitting, in silence, with God.  The silence becomes a trusted friend on the journey.

Before ringing the bell to close my prayer time, I recall the names of those I'm holding in special concern (or gratitude) this day.  I try not to rush: I simply whisper or speak a name, then say something simple like, "Lord, have mercy."  When I seem to come full circle I ring the bell and extinguish the candles. 

Like all of you, I go through seasons in my prayer life.  When I'm disciplined about it, when I'm practicing in a daily way, I feel the practice sustaining me throughout the day.  The little mantra is with me in a difficult meeting.  The sense of compassion.  "Jesus, teach me / peace and mercy."

Facing Change with Courage

I'm looking forward to teaching a new class this spring, a class in Christian discipleship and formation.  Right off the bat, we want to look at how we face change in our lives.  When the world throws us a curve ball.  When, all of a sudden, we find ourselves with an overwhelming personal challenge.  How do we meet the challenge and face change with courage?

In all of scripture, one of my favorite metaphors is that of the potter working a piece of clay on the potter's wheel.  As I face changes in my life, and challenges on every front, can I partner with God in such a way that God uses these changes to mold and shape and renew my life?  I can fight the changes.  I can resent the challenges.  I can pine longingly for the days when life was simpler.  Or I can invite the hands of the potter in, and collaborate the God in a new season of spiritual growth.

One of the sweetest things about the video here--as a friend pointed out to me some time ago--is the way the potter uses a little water now and then, to dampen the clay, to make it soft enough to work with.  Maybe baptism works that way.  Maybe Christ works in us to soften the hard edges, to warm up the cold places, to encourage openness.  Change can do a couple of things.  It can harden our hearts, make us rigid and resentful.  Or it can invite a kind of radical openness to God and a willingness to trust the loving hands of the potter.

Think about the changes and challenges in your life.  What would it mean for you to trust the hands of the potter?  How do you experience, even right now, the Holy One molding and shaping and renewing your life?  What kind of support and encouragement can friends offer you on the way to this kind of renewal?

"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace!  Lord, make me an instrument of your peace!"