mysticism

Starshine

The Friday before the  New 2024 Year celebration was the twelfth and FINAL day of Christmas. The following Sunday was the Epiphany, commemorating the arrival of distinguished foreigners from the East, who were WISE in watching the sky and attuned to ancient prophecy. They made it  to Bethlehem, where they finally set eyes on the child whose birth was signaled by the appearance of a PECULIAR star.  The star remained and burned brightly above the infant Jesus. A sign of wonder to behold. 

Although Christmastide has ended it is still the season after Epiphany – a season of revelation and discovery before we delve into observing Christ’s road to a cross, a story of suffering and salvation through him.   

For a while now, I’ve been reflecting on the entirety of  the yuletide season. As I’ve gotten a LITTLE older, I am learning to accept that nothing EVER goes exactly as planned.  Personally, Christmas has never really been the same since my brother’s 2012, November passing.

Each year, as I begin to pull out our Christmas decorations, I think about HIS funeral because it corresponds with THAT TIME. We were in Orleans, Ontario at the Lutheran Church of the Resurrection. The WHOLE chancel area behind the altar, the focal point of the worship service,  is surrounded by floor to ceiling clear WINDOWS. It felt like we were sitting outside among the trees.  

As my Pastor father preached it began to snow the FIRST snow of the season.  It wasn’t a gentle, slow, large flaked, magical snowfall, rather, it blew VIOLENTLY, harder and harder as my father spoke, as if God was making a nod to my brother’s adventurous and turbulent spirit, a final, gusty and powerful leave- taking.  It FELT like my brother’s spirit was WITH us.  It STILL FEELS LIKE his spirit is WITH us.  I’ve heard countless stories of felt presence of loved ones passed – butterflies, cardinals, feathers, unexpected items reappearing from nowhere.   And WHY NOT?  The spirit that dwells in each of us is ETERNAL.  Signs and wonders to behold.

The STAR at Jesus’ birth was a sign pointing to the wonder of God’s PRESENCE born among us.  This SAME presence is ALWAYS with us. That’s what Jesus promises.  We are never alone.  The Holy Spirit fills us, teaches us, accompanies us, and guides us.  The spirit dwells IN us. Christmas tends to heighten my awareness of Christ’s indwelling, the Holy Spirit that fans the flame of my soul, and is part of my Christ-mind, my inner Godspark.

Two thousand years ago, John the Baptist, who was renowned for his preaching, and later for preparing the world for the expected Messiah, baptized people with WATER a sign of REPENTANCE.  John encouraged people to look their sin in the eye and make the CHOICE to grow past it.

To repent, in Christian terms, means to intentionally change your mind and turn around, to head in a NEW direction that contributes to an ever better and more intimate relationship with God.  For me, this suggests choosing to notice the voice of the Holy Spirit calling to me from WITHIN myself.

Christians believe that during baptism the extraordinary Holy Spirit enters into ordinary water and washes all our sins away with a promise that we are God’s children, adopted to continue the work of Christ in God’s ongoing creation, and that we will be forgiven whenever we repent and turn to God in truth and hope. 

We consider baptism a divine gift. Not everyone has the OPPORTUNITY or the WILL to receive this gift. Not everyone who IS baptized recognizes or chooses to unwrap and embrace the indwelling quality of the Holy Spirit.  Life itself comes from being FILLED with the breath, the holy wind, the Spirit of God. It’s what ANIMATES us at the moment of our creation.  The presence of the Holy Spirit is NATURALLY in ALL of us, baptized or not.  Baptism can give us the special ability and the will to seek and perpetuate our own sacred origins.

What animates YOU? What do you equate with signs of divine sparks dwelling in you?  The Spirit burns from within. Sometimes we feel the urgency. Sometimes we simply see the glow and feel the WARMTH.

In spite of all the things that didn’t happen the way they were planned this Christmas- Jesus’ paradise approaches.  It GLIMMERS. The Holy Spirit keeps on showing up.  That warm, loving, energized feeling of hope BURSTING forth from our own inner depths – awakened countless times in me over the last month or so.  

When sharing a meal, my son carefully cut a piece of lemon meringue pie for my neurodiverse daughter, who lives with MANY challenges.  He gently invited her to try to pick it up and put it on her plate because, “I really think you can do it yourself. It’s all lined up. Give it a try.  Here’s a good fork. I’ll standby in case you need help.”  And she DID IT!  My son empowered her with KINDNESS.  The magnitude of this moment may escape you but it overwhelms ME with spiritual glimmers of gratitude, hope, love and even joy. Into THIS mother’s arguing, disappointed, shame filled and exhausted heart, the Spirit WELLS up and whispers something new.   A NEW dawn on a familiar journey.  The WILL to keep going. It changes everything from the inside out. 

At my church, it was the first time since Christmas 2019 that Christmas Eve service was in person or not stormed out.  A flush of gladness swept through me at the sight of a full church, families united, children now grown, and hushed Candlelight.  

These moments of CONNECTION, belonging, familiarity – that’s the Spirit pulling us together HEART to HEART. When we see the dignity of one another- that IS divine recognition from within. Signs of wonder. They refresh us.

In the year ahead, we can embrace a little bit of the freshness of something new.  We are gathered together and brooded over in HOLY ways we cannot understand.  The sacred moves US to create hope in ways we cannot understand.  

We are the holy undivided family that encommpasses the whole of creation.  We come from the same source, we BELONG to one another.  How will we reach out to help others move away from lives of falseness, hate, and hurt and be restored to the way of truth and love?  How will we invite them into repentance, reparation, and reconciliation?  How will we work together to create a future based on mutual care, liberty and justice?  Can we listen to one another with LOVE this year? I think that renewal, the opening of hearts to the divine, IS the WAY to restore ALL parts of the Creator’s beloved community.  Can we remember that we are still washed in STARSHINE, born from unfathomable POWER and filled with holy light that SHINES ever brighter as we SHARE it? I hope this year that YOU will behold the signs and wonders of divine love that shine brightly and eternally.  Check out the night sky and watch the hidden tenderness of humanity. Signs and wonders ARE everywhere.

Wise Hearts

Well, maybe you haven’t heard (why would you?) but it’s true. I have lived exactly FIVE decades plus one year. Today, I am 51. According to the mostly white-haired congregation I serve, I’m still a BABY. They’re right, of course.  BUT, this year, I am more aware and feel a little unsettled knowing that I’m closer to being a SENIOR than I am to my YOUTH. It means my parents are actually old and my children are almost grown. (But not yet!)

It’s okay, though, really. A few of my dearest friends have at LEAST a decade on me. Some even have decadeS – PLURAL. Not everyone is so lucky. Aging is a gift. If we are willing, it gives us more time to learn HOW to love. To LEARN to be ourselves.

Since I’m (a bit) of a Bible nerd, I can pair this thought with an appropriate verse. I’m not a fan of cherry-picking Bible verses to prove a point. HOWEVER, I love the Psalms, and this particular verse just happens to bring comfort to my personal struggle with time FLEETING away.

So teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.

Psalm 90:12

Moses (yes, THE MOSES who parts the Red Sea) is the ascribed author.  He is PROBABLY inspired while leading a caravan of Israelites through the desert to the promised land (Canaan – roughly modern day Palestine and Israel) AFTER being liberated from CENTURIES of  slavery in Egypt.   The people have grown restless and distracted.  Like PETULANT toddlers, Moses can’t stop them from getting into trouble.  For instance, when he turns his back (to receive the 10 Commandments – no less) their babysitter (Aaron) CAN’T keep them from being consumed by sin. They make and begin worshiping a golden calf. Pesky buggers. Their repeated rebellion against Moses and their lack of trust in his and their God added years, GENERATIONS, to their time of wandering. Different people from those who BEGAN the journey actually FINISHED it. The old people died. Babies were born. An altogether NEW people emerged.

This Psalm is for them and for anyone who is tired and restless like you and me.  Old Moses reminds us that the one he, I, and many call GOD and just as many describe as our one SOURCE, The CREATOR, the GREAT SPIRIT, is ETERNAL. God is beyond time and the universe; our Source has no origin or creation.  The Creator, the Great Spirit simply “IS.” Human beings, on the other hand, die and return to the dust from which they are made (Psalm 90:1–4). (Even Moses didn’t make it to the promised land on earth). To begin to understand our Source is to realize our own MORTALITY.

Moses introduces God as both a refuge and the Creator for we – whose days are numbered.

If I count my days, it has been 18627 days since my birth. I feel that in this time, I’ve SURELY accumulated SOME wisdom.  My heart is informed by many instances of joy and pain. It’s brought me this far. I’m still learning and relearning, uncovering and embracing my TRUEST me. Sounds easy enough. Nope. Not easy.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried or that I’m ready for tomorrow. I AM worried and I’m NOT ready.  I admit that this is NOT where I thought I’d be at 51.  Life takes us through so many unforeseeable twists and turns, doesn’t it?  What I expected of myself and where I’m at simply DON’T match up.

By 51 I had thought that I’d be out of debt and own a house, that my family and I would be healthy and well adjusted, that I’d always get along with my husband, enjoy my work, have time for fun, and that I’d be a ROCK STAR. Alas, it is not so.

It’s OKAY. Although it is super hard to stop beating ourselves up about the way things ARE, the gift of GROWING wisdom is always there. Waiting. Ready for us. Life is beautiful. Some of that beauty comes from recognizing that it is REALLY SHORT. Because of this, we are more apt to savour the moments we share and make the best of our relationships. LOVE through the pain. Find STRENGTH in the joy.

This week, I’ve been setting up an RDSP (disability savings) for my 19 year old daughter.  I never dreamed I’d make retirement plans for one of my children. Yesterday (it feels like only yesterday) when she was free to swirl and twirl with ferocity and creativity, we loved her spunk and assumed she’d grow out of her more troublesome emotional and mental conditions. We THOUGHT we had all the time in the world. We love her quirkiness. Now we understand that there is more to it than expected. It’s all a part of how she is wonderfully and mysteriously made and LOVED.  We don’t know what her life will be like when she is sixty, but there is comfort in knowing she’ll ALWAYS have her siblings and have a modest income EVEN when I’m long gone.

I like to think I won’t be gone. Not REALLY. I hope that the energy that animates my body, the vibrations of my soul will LINGER – perhaps as electricity and spirit. ‘Is that light bulb flickering, or is it auntie so and so?’ I don’t know, but I do believe in the connection the living and the dead SHARE in what Christians call the Communion of Saints. Others may be familiar with the phrase, ‘the great cloud of witnesses’. Different faiths turn to the spirits of their ancestors for wisdom and guidance. Somehow, we continue to EXIST and experience each other’s presence in life and in death. Signs, dreams, and feelings that loved ones are near are common across the boundaries of time and space.

It makes me think of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio (Rose & Jack) in the movie ‘Titanic’ and Celine Dione’s sappy song, “My heart will go on”.  Our time as human beings is limited.  Our hearts/souls/godsparks WILL GO ON. It makes me weep and smile at the same time.  What we do in this life is temporary. We have ETERNITY to figure things out together.  We are NEVER alone.

51 years is pretty cool. I’ll take it. Today and every day, I hope you will join me in counting our blessings as well as our days. Learn, grow, LIVE. Embrace the season. Time will hold us. Our hearts belong to the ETERNAL ONE.

God has made everything beautiful in its time. God has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

Ecclesiastes 3:11

Cry Laughing (mental health)

It seems I am always tired, angry, and laughing too loud.  Depression is EXHAUSTING. During this current bout of it, I listened to an audiobook for the first time. If you’re wondering, I find that it takes just as much focus as actually reading the words.  The lovely part is that there is a storytelling presence. It feels intimate. It feels like a connection, like someone sitting next to you, keeping your heaviness in check, engaging in a relationship. Listening to this voice feels like you have a FRIEND.

It disturbs me that I was listening to the authour of a ”TELL ALL” memoir narrate her own words this week, and I was feeling all kinds of validation and solidarity with her when I heard about the death of Sinéad O’Connor.  GULP. It was HER voice, HER memoir, “Rememberings” that I’d been listening to.  It makes me shiver in shock.

I’ve admired Sinéad since I was a teenager.  Back then, she was mesmerizing and terrifying. She was so angry on behalf of the causes she supported that she stopped at NOTHING to clearly advocate.  She was about the age of my older brother.  It wowed me that she was so young and passionate about things I’d not given a thought to, if I was even aware of them. 

I’ve just invested hours into getting to know her, to understand her more, to LOVE her, and to look forward to MORE from her.  My respect for her has done nothing but expand. She endured SO MUCH.  And now THIS.

Despite abuse and misogyny, she spoke TRUTH. She did everything she did on her own terms.  Despite multiple mental illness diagnoses, she kept on keeping on. She was a mother, a woman of faith, and an advocate for the helpless.

My parishioners are familiar with what I call our Godsparks – the Holy Spirit dwelling IN each of us. Sinéad expressed that she strongly felt the Spirit, the Comforter whom Jesus promised, in and around her.  She said that when she was speaking, the divine in her spoke to the divine in another. Her music was her ministry, and  she followed her Godspark wherever it led. 

During coffee time after church this morning, a friend and I were discussing how no one goes untouched by trauma.  We may not be aware of what influences our behaviour or that of others. I know I wasn’t.  We are so quick to label and judge.  Mental illness is still so STIGMATIZED that we who have serious risks often go unchecked.  Even under close supervision, disaster can strike.

No medical cause for her death has been offered, but we know Sinéad O’Connor lost her son to mental illness by suicide.  I lost my brother to mental illness by suicide, too.  Suicidal ideation is sneaky.  I’ve always maintained that I could NEVER go through with it.

This week reminded me of my own vulnerability. There WAS a time in my first pastorate when I was young, I was married, and I held the world.  YET, one snowy night on a back road, my little sports car started to get hard to handle. I was sliding and DECIDED there was nothing I could do. I didn’t even try.  I GAVE UP.  I just surrendered to the darkness. I let go of the wheel and let whatever was coming COME.  I denied being clinically  depressed.  I hadn’t sought diagnosis, treatment, or any help at all.  Thankfully, the car slid off the road, cleared the ditch, and sunk deeply into the snow just inches from a tree.  I liked the adrenaline rush and the attention I got when I shared the carefully edited story about what happened.

Mental illness, unresolved trauma, impulsive behaviour – it can MESS with your brain even unto death.

We do a lot of praying in church. I pray almost constantly wherever I am.  When things go sideways, my impulse isn’t to blame God. Instead, I CONVINCE myself that I must be praying WRONG, or I’m so BAD that God’s not listening. Really awful theology, I know.

Two things that will stick with me from that memoir I listened to this week. First, Sinéad O’Connor thought ‘cry laughing’ was the best expression of the mania and depression of so many mental illnesses. “Nothing feels better than cry laughing,” she said. She also said, “God doesn’t always GET to answering our prayers IN TIME because sometimes God is TOO busy WEEPING.”  Indeed.

Look after yourselves.  Pray. Feel your Godspark at work and let God answer prayer in, with, and through you.  Peace friends.

Bop, Shoo Bop

What do you think gets better with age?

An earnest and rare charismatic Lutheran friend made us teach ‘Jesus is my rock’ to our young cabin group children at Church Camp. It was so long ago I can’t really remember the whole song. I AM Lutheran too. As far as I know, this isn’t a Lutheran song. Gosh, I hated singing this. It had ACTIONS 😬 A teenager’s dream.

“Jesus is my rock and he rolls my blues away. Bop shoo Bop, shoo Bop, Woo…”

HATED IT.  Yet, this is what came to mind with today’s prompt. When I look back on the life I’ve experienced so far, it’s easy to pick out the progression of my faith. FAITH gets better with age.  That stupid song is true.  Jesus is my best strength and my best solace in this world.

I wrote about mystic Julian of Norwich in a previous post. A friend sent me a lovely article today that reflects Julian’s perception of the ‘oneness’ of God’s creation.  When we are ‘oneing’ we are rediscovering the intrinsic love of God in all people and all creation.  I think I am inching closer to this concept every day. I desire to engage in ‘oneing’. In many faith groups, the acceptance of human goodness and unity is a long, chased after and continual goal.

What gets better with age?  I wanna say shoes, cheese, and stories. But shoes and cheese have little to do with faith – unless we stretch them into metaphors for learning about each other’s plight (walk a mile in my shoes) or perhaps the journey to oneness.  Cheese, the manna of my life, nourishes my body with creation’s goodness – but I have a real PROBLEM with SHARING it.

Stories are different. Our faith is based on stories that were important enough to first pass on orally and then captured, hand written on parchment. Faith Stories teach us who we are and WHOSE we are. (I’m talking about GOD, in case you didn’t catch that)

These stories portray the most gorgeous aspects of humanity: Kindness, empathy, acceptance,  and love.  Also, the stories don’t leave out the ugliest bits of us: envy, greed, and hatefulness. Stories of faith keep it real and relevant.

Faith ages well. With time, we experience the hills and valleys and those DAMN ROCKS that only JESUS can roll away! We become more aware of ourselves, others, creation, and our place in the order of galaxies and cosmos.  We become more humble and gentle. Social justice is our natural prerogative.

‘Oneing’ with the world looks more and more promising with each passing day. The gift of faith grows from within us. Our personal divine indwelling, our soul, our Godspark, responds to the Godspark in others. Day by day, blessed assurance until our precious Lord takes us home. 

‘Jesus is my rock and he rolls my blues away. Bop, shoo bop, shoo bop, whoo..” Can I hear an AMEN?

“All shall be well, and all shall be well…”

Who is your favorite historical figure?

I am really inspired by Julian of Norwich. She was a Christian Mystic who lived in Medieval England through both waves of the Black Death.  She became an anchoress (well respected non-clergy theological expert) after surviving a grave illness in her 30ies.  True to form, she lived her life secluded, sealed in a cell attached to St. Julian’s Church in Norwich. The cell had a window looking into the church and another looking out to the people in the street to whom she likely gave advice and wisdom.

She was kind of a cool, badass, preacher who walked the walk without limit. She had feminist and inclusive tendencies before feminism or the like even existed. She was the ultimate nobody of nobodies who had a  superhuman ability to see a holy connection and the good in everything.

I am fascinated that no one really knows anything about her, probably not even her actual name. But, somehow, her writings about visions she had of Jesus while she herself was suffering a grave illness are full of theology and ideas far ahead of her time. She called Christ the true mother who birthed us through suffering. Our suffering, she said, is a reflection of Christ. Glory comes through Christ’s suffering, not in spite of it. We suffer to experience a share of God’s unconditional love for us and everything God created.

I’m a pastor and a nerd. My favorite quote from her is,

And all shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.

Julian of Norwich