Redemptive Booms
What is warring about you in your life today? Is there something that threatens and seeks to destroy? Our call is to come to that place and redeem it, restore it, reclaim it. Believe in the beauty that is inherent in all of creation and begin to witness the transformation. It will be better than any firework show you've ever seen!
Last night I joined the throngs of millions of Americans in celebration of our nation's democratic birth. I pawed through our vacation-packed luggage for semblances of the requisite red-white-and-blue for my children's ensembles and reflected on the greatest reasons why I love my country, and my deepest hopes for it as well. While speeding luxuriously across a hot, muggy Midwestern lake towards a fine meal of steaks and wine, I was acutely aware of the great privileges surrounding my life to make this scenario remotely possible. I supped and sipped in humble gratitude for the legacy of lost lives and the litany of wars whose cumulative effect is for me to live in relative peace and to seek after opportunities for justice to be extended to all. As our celebratory crew later lit off firecrackers and, in inky darkness, listened for the deep bellowing booms that heralded the commencement of the community's firework show, I was struck that these blasts weren't sending us for cover. Rather, these blasts joyfully invited us to lift our faces up to the beauty of the night sky. These sounds of siege and ominous glows on surrounding horizon lines, in any other decade and/or war-torn country on our earth, would have seen us screaming towards safety and huddled close to those with whom we share our homes. But instead of these reverberating blasts delivering demolition and death, the fire created a coordinated display of artistry, which resulted in a corporate sense of joy. People's laughter and festive shouts, along with affirming honks of speedboat's horns, all mixed together with the echoing screams and blasts of the fireworks was a seasonal picture of redemption and reclamation. Even these sounds that are historically rooted in war can instead, be used for festive joy and community celebration. These are the sounds of redemption.
The proclaiming words of the Psalmist, that there will be a time when the God of the Universe will break and shatter weapons of war and make them into instruments of peace (Psalm 46:9), bellowed in my heart as I witnessed the peaceful explosions lighting up the sky. And my thoughts have since gone to my musician friend, Trace Bundy, who is a world renowned guitarist, and was deeply moved by the account of an Agros village in El Salvador called San Diego de Tenango, so much so that he wrote a song in response to their story.
Tenango's history is one of horrific hardship and despairing displacement. During a season of civil war, the villagers fled the country, surviving the war by finding safe keeping in Honduran refugee camps. The villagers returned years later to find their homeland ravaged and occupied. With the aid and assistance of Agros International, the original families were able to purchase back the land and start a new life again together as a community. Out of gratitude for their story and with a deep sense of faith, this group decided to postpone the building of their own homes and instead erect a church and join together in a service of joyful gratitude. To make the church complete, these villagers wanted a church bell. Due to limited supplies and resources, they went searching and discovered an old missile casing laying in a nearby field left over from the war. While this very token could have been that which destroyed their village, the families instead saw the peaceful possibility and quickly hoisted it up on a rope, thus transforming the casing into their melodious church bell.
This missile-turned-to-bell speaks of the transformative power of redemption: the old becomes new, what was of war turns to peace, what brought demolition can bring beauty and joy. This El Salvadorian bell now rings in praise, just as the Fourth of July booms and blasts now proclaim peace. There is great hope in this ancient paradox and one that continues to call to us, even while living in privileged peace.
What is warring about you in your life today? Is there something that threatens and seeks to destroy? Our call is to come to that place and redeem it, restore it, reclaim it. Believe in the beauty that is inherent in all of creation and begin to witness the transformation. It will be better than any firework show you've ever seen!
Lavender Labyrinth
I love lavender. There is really no other way of expressing it: I. Love. Lavender. Its fragrant heads have waved in the landscapes of my life since I was a child and for as long as I remember we have cooked, crafted and even healed with it.
I love lavender. There is really no other way of expressing it: I. Love. Lavender. Its fragrant heads have waved in the landscapes of my life since I was a child and for as long as I remember we have cooked, crafted and even healed with it. How thrilled was I when my friend, Christine Sine (of Mustard Seed Associates), shared this Lavender Labyrinth in Kastellaun, Germany. Thrilled because I also have a deep love and respect for labyrinths and the healing they too can facilitate. This Saturday, May 5, is World Labyrinth Day--a day to recognize and celebrate this ancient practice as a means of present day prayer and centering. Christine Sine compiled a very helpful resource list concerning the labyrinth practice. Do check out her suggestions and resource links here.
And may you find a special place to participate in this experience; perhaps this sanctioned date will be an invitation for you to do so for the first time! It may take a little research, but you'll be surprised how many labyrinths are tucked in the quiet places of life around you.
If you are in the Seattle area, my personal favorite labyrinth is located at the Whidbey Institute on Whidbey Island. It is a bit of a journey (nay, I'll call it a pilgrimage) to get there, but well worth the process; a stone lined labyrinth residing under the embrace of an old growth forest awaits you.
Pilgrim's Path: Roadside blessings
That ultimate sense of wonder within the experience is what drives so many people to engage in [these] rigorous trials. Father Stephen Canny, an Irish priest who leads a parish in Santa Rosa, California, believes strongly in the effectiveness of pilgrimage. He has climbed Croagh Patrick, a popular pilgrimage site and storied mountain in Ireland, three times himself and has seen it work wonders on the devoted. "You are more alive after you have overcome something difficult," he says. "You're changed by the mountain and the fact that you have confirmed your faith. It's a remarkably effective way to answer the question, What is my purpose?"
This is the great moment, when you see, however distant, the goal of your wandering. The thing wich has been living in your imagination suddenly becomes a part of the tangible world. -Freya Stark
In a few weeks time, thousands of people from all over the world will gather outside of Boston's city-skirts. Individuals committed to a cause, a question, a challenge, with hundreds of miles of distance carried in their limbs, will congregate, and celebrate, in this community. Lithe, strong bodies will arise before the sun to lace up shoes and participate in the consummation of months-yes, even years-of training for The Boston Marathon.
While it is no Delphi, to argue that this notable race isn't a sacred shrine would be to miss the enormous effort and journey it has taken everyone to get there. The rewards of participating in this race are immediate and life-altering, as are the hours of sacrifice it took to reach the point of being able to simply look at the starting line. And while the last 26.2 miles may seem to others the beginning and end of a great race, this really is the final stage of a pilgrimage that one was called to long ago. For one doesn't enter into the rigorous training and sacrificial lifestyle of marathon-preparation without carrying a deep and heavy question about something in their life. And the pilgrim-runner inevitably carries this question or concern with them every single training mile and all the way to the starting line. The race itself sets the stage for the soul-stirring vision and provides the sacred encounter, which can replenish the runner's life.
In what feels like another life-time ago, I had the great opportunity to participate in Boston's 100th marathon. It wasn't necessarily something that I set after, per se. As it often is with the great seasons of life, it calls to and names us, even before we are significantly aware. I had started running with a bit more focus while living abroad in Sweden. After a handful of minor successes at small neighborhood races, I was encouraged (by my mother) to consider training for the Stockholm Marathon. With youth and unfettered responsibilities on my side, I was able to train and prepare well for this race. I wanted to participate in something that would give me a real, temporal perspective of the Apostle Paul's words to the church in Corinth: Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever (I Corinthians 9:24-15). When an athlete decides to run a marathon, he or she commits to serious training. Why would it be any different with my spiritual life? I was reminded of the many stories in my faith tradition that involved transformational journeys, all of which included a road of some sorts and an encounter with the Almighty. I wanted this training to transform me. I wanted to be touched by God and be changed in return. I wanted the milage put in on the road to be full of meaning.
I crossed the Stockholm Marathon's finish line with a time that qualified me for Boston's heralded race. I shook my head in both confusion and surprise as my father this time, nodded his head emphatically: You've got to run Boston, I recall him saying, This is a chance of a lifetime! What I thought was the end of my running race, that which I imagined was the source of divine inspiration for me, turned out to be just the beginning of a greater pilgrimage towards knowing myself and subsequently, knowing God.
Drizzled, fog-filled back-country roads became my training ground. I found mountain's foothills and ran repeats up and down their curves to ready myself for notorious aspects of Boston's course. My dad would drive me 20 miles east into the North Cascade mountain range, drop me off, and meet me at home. I ran in the mornings. I ran in the afternoons. I read articles about running. I studied maps of Boston. And I dreamt of my finisher's jacket. My time, my energy, my life was focused and centered on preparing well for this event, and I believe I truly did what I could to make ready the road.
The morning of Boston's finest race had sparkled with diamond dew and turquoise skies. My strategies to gain ground had worked, my stamina was strong and I was on the clock to PR this race and qualify again for the following year. I was doing great by mile 20. The almost half mile ascent up the infamous Heartbreak Hill began. My feet kept a steady pace, my heart and spirit felt strong and determined: this is what I had trained for all those miles up and down Northwest woodland roads. I crested the mighty climb! The rest of the race was downhill; the finish line was almost palpable! Soon enough I would be drinking beers and eating an amazing pasta dinner somewhere in the city with my family-I could almost taste the joy of that delicious finish line!
But then, at the high descent point, blew a wind so strong, that even my down-hill pace was slowed and swayed by its force. And this easterly gust, being channeled by narrow streets, carried with it a chill for which I could never have prepared myself. My once wet head, a mixture of both hot sweat and hastily poured road-side water, was quickly drying and taking with it my body's crucial temperature and energy reserves. I didn't have additional layers and I was getting so cold. Soon enough, I recall not being able to feel my hands and feet; that sensation moved through my extremities as I began to navigate the tunnel my vision was presenting me. I was staggering. And suddenly, alongside me came an upholding embrace and a warm, gentle voice offered me their top long-sleeve layer and gloves. Somehow, while still running, I was helped into these items, and this loving arm stayed around my side until my vision began to steady and open up again. When I turned to thank this benevolent fellow runner, there was no one there. I mean, yes, there were thousands around me, running past me, not seeing me, but there was no one who had just just stopped and gambled away their race time on ministering to me.
Bewildered and blessed, I tried to keep running and just finish the race. My personal record was shot, as was my chance to run Boston again the following year, but I knew I still must cross the finish line. As I did, my state must've been like a siren, as medics immediately brought me to the first aid tent. I had hypothermia and had I not had these great layers and gloves, I could've been very badly off, I was told. My body lay wrapped in emergency blankets for what felt like hours processing this experience. My heart was warmed by the memory of whomever-or whatever-it was that covered and comforted me on the road. My spirit was stirred by that service; I knew that God had brought me through the race and I now began the work of pondering the wisdom of the finish line.
That ultimate sense of wonder within the experience is what drives so many people to engage in these rigorous trials. Father Stephen Canny, an Irish priest who leads a parish in Santa Rosa, California, believes strongly in the effectiveness of pilgrimage. He has climbed Croagh Patrick, a popular pilgrimage site and storied mountain in Ireland, three times himself and has seen it work wonders on the devoted. "You are more alive after you have overcome something difficult," he says. "You're changed by the mountain and the fact that you have confirmed your faith. It's a remarkably effective way to answer the question, What is my purpose?"
Tomorrow, Palm Sunday, marks the beginning of Holy Week for Christians around the world. In the accounts of the four Gospels, Jesus road into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, whilst the gathered crowd waved the branches of palm branches and laid them on the ground before the mounted Christ. An incredible journey had brought Jesus to this point, this final stretch of dusty road. His riding into the sacred city proclaimed his purpose, and people blessed him with shouts of Hosannah. His entire life time--nay, all of time--had led him to this pivotal point in the Greatest Story ever told. He would climb the most important hill in humanity's history in the upcoming week. And it would be a heart breaking hill.
But because of this great ascent, and the cross at the crest, we have the potential of knowing our uniquely created purpose in ways that only can occur through a cosmic lens!
Reflections
This week, as we move through the last leg of our Lenten journey, reflect on these questions as a means of bringing you to your place of pilgrimage, your Easter-place:
What sacrifices have you made to get this far? What has the inward experience been for you while you have traveled the outward road?
What are your recollections of images of humbleness on your journey?
The call that has brought you thus far was the call to pay attention to the sacred source in your life. What is your response?
Taproot: Living Fully, Digging Deeper
I'm strongly compelled to interrupt my normal posting schedule to share with you a new magazine that crossed my mother's counter top to mine over the weekend. Taproot is a dedicated printscape of stories; stories deeply rooted in the earth that tell of knowing our earthen HOME. These tales talk about urban chickens and soil under the finger nails, touching your food and children in gardens. It is also ad-free and the kind of collection that calls you to make a pot of coffee or tea, and cuddle up for a read. Please visit their site by clicking on their photo and consider subscribing to this beautiful new venture.
I'm strongly compelled to interrupt my normal posting schedule to share with you a new magazine that crossed my mother's counter top to mine over the weekend. Taproot is a dedicated printscape of stories; stories deeply rooted in the earth that tell of knowing our earthen HOME. These tales talk about urban chickens and soil under the finger nails, touching your food, and children in gardens. It is also ad-free and the kind of collection that calls you to make a pot of coffee or tea, and cuddle up for a read.
Please visit their site by clicking on their photo and consider subscribing to this beautiful new venture.