Advent: The second Sunday

Perhaps you noticed (or maybe you were relieved) that I missed doing an Advent post yesterday. By way of apology, I will say that the struggle is real for a mom of four when her husband is away doing pastor-type training on a Saturday. Though I'm not sure how much longer I can use the "mom of four" excuse. Can I have it at least until they are all in school, please?

Back to Advent.

Photo by Caleb Steele on Unsplash

Photo by Caleb Steele on Unsplash

Today, we are introduced to the hairy dude whose Dad went mute for nine months while this dude was growing in his elderly mother's womb. What a way to enter the world! No wonder he wasn't like all the others, this Baptizer who drew crowds to the desert, just so they could repent. Today, my husband Matthew compared those crowds to the technology gurus who are now being drawn to retreat centers to mourn the harm that their work has done in the world. These retreat centers though, are serving Kombucha tea, not locusts and honey.

The repentant masses in the desert were welcomed with "You brood of vipers!" not "Enjoy your stay." These words, "brood of vipers" sometimes give us a laugh, or perhaps a shock. And that was the point. This prophet, this misfit, was trying to shock his listeners. And he is meant to shock us as well.

John would be the perfect prophet, not only for the tech industry gurus, but for those of us sitting in front of our screens, searching mindlessly through the internet rabbit-hole from a New York times article to a link to buzzfeed article to another link to a video about a celebrity feud. John the Baptist is our electric shock. He is meant to snap us out of our numbness, to take stock of our lives, and--as my husband said today--to reorient our lives to follow a different narrative, a different story.

And what is that story? 

A story of freedom. We are offered freedom from our burdens. We are offered healing for our wounds. We are offered comfort for our griefs and love for our shame. This story is Good News.

And that Good News is coming. Just hold on and follow that hairy dude.

Song

Longing for Light

Advent: The first Friday

I have to admit that when I first read a biography of St. Catherine of Siena, she was not my favorite mystic. She was everything I feel that I'm not: extreme, audacious, certain, rigid, and unflinching in her view of the truth. For someone who tends to be uncertain about a lot of things, who takes a long time to make a decision or avoids anything that will significantly rock the boat, Catherine made me uncomfortable.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Catherine was a 14th century Italian woman who, as is true for many saints, died young. Marriage or convent were the only options for a young woman of her day who wanted to remain in good standing. To the great horror of her family, Catherine had no interest in marriage. She held out stubbornly for years until her parents eventually relented and let her pursue the life she wished, which wasn't exactly the convent either.

Though she lived like a nun in piety, simplicity, and chastity, her convent was not in cloistered walls with other women but in a cell in her own home, a closet under the stairs that seemed somehow more sparse and pitiful than even the one Harry Potter occupied. In this cell, she saw visions of Jesus and was tormented by demons. She wrote letters to Popes and vowed to eat little except the Lord's Supper (upon eating the Eucharist, she would often fall into a trance or ecstatic vision...perhaps because of a mystical connection to God but maybe also because she was really hungry).

When I first read her biography, I grumbled under my breath and occasionally rolled my eyes at her extreme devotion and seeming arrogance. After all, she held audience with Pope Gregory to try to get the him to move the papacy from Avignon to Rome. At one point, Catherine wrote a scathing and patronizing letter to the Pope saying: "I beg of you, on behalf of Christ crucified, that you be not a timorous child but manly. Open your mouth and swallow down the bitter for the sweet.” Catherine threw shade at the Pope, calling him a baby! And the thing is, she was successful! He listened to her and moved the papacy to Rome. And she became one of the most influential Catholics (of both men and women) of her day.

***

The Scriptures for today in Advent talk about two people who encountered Jesus: the two blind men in Matthew 9:27-31 who were healed by him. Afterwards, they didn't listen to Jesus' warning for them to be silent...no, they went out and boasted all over the countryside. 

I guess when you have encountered Jesus like Catherine of Siena and the blind men, you cannot be silent. And you might make a lot of people uncomfortable. This truth-telling might look like Catherine's, who was so confident in her message and pious in her life that even the patriarchy of the day sat down and listened to her. 

As I approach 40 this week, I am learning that speaking and living the truth can have consequences even more extreme than making people uncomfortable. Several Christian leaders were arrested this week after peacefully standing up for undocumented immigrants. And Christians all over the world face more serious bodily harm and even death for sharing their faith. 

This Advent, I hope to encounter Jesus, and respond the blind men did, unable to keep my mouth shut about the healing Jesus offers and the love God longs to show us. May we all be people who know God's love so deeply that we can't shut up about it. 

Song:

Today I read an interview with Sister Sinjin by Jessica Mesman Griffith at Sick Pilgrim. Their music, particularly In the Virgin's Womb He Lay and their version of O Come O Come Emmanuel, were just what I needed today: three women boldly boasting of the Good News of the Incarnation, one lovely melody at a time.

Advent: The first Thursday

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

Today, I'm going to link to a newsletter that my writing group puts out once a month. I wrote the post at the end of the newsletter (in "The Good Stuff" section) and it is partly about Advent. But it is also about finding inspiration as a writer, particularly a writer who is engaged with the mostly beautiful and occasionally mundane tasks of daily life as a mother. 

Here is the newsletter from the Mutual Admiration Society (for background info on the name--it's a literary reference--check out a link in the newsletter): http://mailchi.mp/9e0fdeefb6a9/dec-2017 

If you like what you read and want to subscribe to our monthly newsletter, follow this link and join us.  

Song:

Hail to the Lord's Anointed by The Welcome Wagon

 

Advent: The first Wednesday

Photo by Michael Heuss on Unsplash

Photo by Michael Heuss on Unsplash

Today, in reading a meditation from "Watch the Light," (an Advent book that I mentioned a few days ago on the blog), Loretta Ross-Gotta uses the word "recollection." (1) At first, I thought she was using it the way most of us understand the word--as the act of recalling or remembering. But recollection is a type of prayer, similar to what some of us understand as contemplative or Centering prayer. (2) Her experience of recollection is a lot like my own experience of Centering prayer: it sounds lovely but it can be strangely harrowing to practice such open prayers, where we attempt to lay aside our own expectations and agendas and ask for God to be present with us. (3)

In trying to research the differences between various kinds of prayer (and there are many...follow St. Teresa of Avila's levels of prayer rabbit-hole and just see for yourself), I found this description from Contemplative Outreach helpful: 

There are many levels of relation with God that can be manifested by the way we pray. There is vocal prayer (the saying of your prayer), there is meditation (the thinking about and reflecting on your prayer), there is affective prayer (responding from your heart), there is centering prayer (a receptive silent prayer of consenting, which also can express a desire to be gifted with contemplation), and there is contemplative prayer (the gift of resting in the Lord). Another way of expressing it is: meditation is thinking about God, Centering Prayer is consenting to God and contemplative prayer is loving God.

What does all of this have to do with Advent? 

I think Advent is a season that prepares us to approach and know God in ways that we can approach and know him in all seasons. When we pray, there are many ways that we, as mortal creatures, can make things happen of our own volition. We may speak these vocal prayers, decide to meditate, and even contemplate. But in mystical prayer it is God who does the moving, the choosing, and the acting. Many mystics, like Teresa of Avila, experience God in these ways after a lot of contemplative prayer. But, even with all that preparation, mystics can never make a mystical act happen. That is God's choosing. 

That, you might already guess, is what all of this has to do with Advent. Advent reminds us once again that God acted and still acts. Our actions are important as we choose to reach out to God in relationship through spiritual disciplines of prayer, bible reading, singing, and worshipping in community. But ultimately, it is still God who does the work. It is God who chooses us, who offers us grace and healing, who gives us wholeness and love. It is God who descends to earth as a baby, giving up power for vulnerability, comfort for suffering, security for an embracing love.

Even if feeble and minuscule, all God asks of us is a turning toward Jesus. God has already done the rest. 

Song

Oh Light by Gungor 

1. Ross-Gotta's whole meditation is also online here.

2. There are many types of prayer that I'm still learning about. A robust prayer life should consist of many types of prayer. If you pray a lot, you're probably already doing more than one type without knowing it. Quiet contemplation, vocal prayer, praying a Scripture, etc. 

3.  It can be harrowing because it is in the quiet that we are often confronted with ourselves and our own darkness. This is necessary, though, in order to ask for Jesus to heal us. 

Advent: The first Tuesday

Photo by Josh Adamski on Unsplash

Photo by Josh Adamski on Unsplash

The holidays are opportunities for cheer, yes. But for many of us, they are also a time of painful firsts or difficult memories. When so many families are gathering with joy and laughter, this may be the first Christmas for some of us without a loved one who has died or perhaps we are returning to unhealthy family dynamics from our childhood. The good news is that Advent can hold all of this tension together as it reminds us that we are not going to be alone in our grief.

On her blog, my friend Shannon writes poignantly about the grief many of us must face into at this time of year. But she also finds a comfort, a spark of hope, in going through the motions of the season. She says: "I am feeling the loss and loneliness that the ancient Israelites felt. I am the one mourning, seeking to make sense of the losses that are heavy on my heart. And just like those ancient children of God, I too can find hope and joy again." Check it out here

And as usual, here is a song for your day:

The Weight of the World (feat. Katy Bowser) by Rain for Roots

Advent: The first Monday

St. Madeleine L'Engle, whose wisdom and words swirl through my own writing, speaks of the great mystery of Advent: that the Greatest Power in the universe became the weakest, just to be with us. This is the image of love: 

"Christ, the Second Person of the Trinity, Christ, the Maker of the universe or perhaps many universes, willingly and lovingly leaving all that power and coming to this poor, sin-filled planet to live with us for a few years to show us what we ought to be and could be." 

Mystic Angela of Foligno witnessed and experienced this mystery in her encounters with God. In poetry written by Scott Cairns, Angela learns that the coming of Jesus is a like a burning embrace of God:

"You won’t get used to it, nor will you know its scope."

Photo by Chris Rhoads on Unsplash

Photo by Chris Rhoads on Unsplash

So, let us never get accustomed to this flaming embrace of God or the mystery of God's arrival.

Song:

A Light by The Brilliance

Advent: December 2

Yesterday, I quoted a line from mystic Meister Eckhart, that if we cannot be moved and changed by the birth of Jesus that we celebrate year after year, then what is the point in celebrating? I want to continue that thought today. 

Photo by Walter Chávez on Unsplash

Having been raised in a non-liturgical church, I resisted Advent when I first encountered the liturgical season in my twenties. My grad school roommate Jen had been raised in a Lutheran church and we lightheartedly argued about when to start listening to Christmas music and when to put up a tree. I would let loose in full Christmas mode as soon as Thanksgiving rolled around while she thought Christmas didn't start until, well, Christmas day...imagine that! In those early days, Advent was asking me to let go of something I wasn't willing to give up. It wasn't really about the timing of music or the tree (I'm not ashamed that I'm listening to a few Christmas albums amongst my Advent ones as I write...and our Christmas tree still goes up at Thanksgiving. Sorry, not sorry). I didn't want to give up what I thought Christmas was: presents, warm fuzzies, pumpkin spiced candles, carols, and a little bit of Nativity backlit on the church lawn. While, many of us who are Christians love to talk about the real meaning of Christmas, trying to yank back our holiday in a decidedly non-Christlike fashion, we simultaneously fill our homes with stuff and spend hours rehearsing for our live Nativities and carol singings. 

And while these things aren't all bad (I'm thrilled to be singing in a Christmas Eve choir for the first time in many years), we forget the full picture of Advent and therefore who Jesus was and is. In the introduction to his book "Preparing for Christmas: Daily Meditation for Advent," Richard Rohr says that we often view Christmas as the "sweet coming of a baby who asked little of us in terms of surrender, encounter, mutuality or any studying of the Scriptures or the actual teaching of Jesus." We are distracted from who Jesus really was by a snuggly baby and the smell of pine trees. Rohr says that Jesus was clear about his own message: "the coming of the 'reign of God' or the 'kingdom of God.' Any other message we get time waters it down.

Advent isn't about sweetness. But I also don't want to take away its joy: it is about hope, hope for a suffering world. But its hard to access that hope until we have looked inside our own pain and brokenness. Rohr says the Word of God "confronts, converts, and consoles us--in that order." Early Christmas celebrations and loving gazes at the sweet baby Jesus cooing in the manger are ok. There is hope in the newness of life and birth. As the hymn below says,

"Thy cradle here shall glitter bright,
and darkness glow with new-born light,
no more shall night extinguish day,
where love's bright beams their power display."

But Advent offers us something more. Only when we have been confronted by the fullness of who Jesus is--the baby, the man he became, and his divinity--can we truly understand the good news of the God who loved us so much that he came to be among us in our suffering. And that is something worth singing about. 

A song for today:

Come, thou Redeemer of the Earth, sung by Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles

Advent: December 1

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

In the liturgical calendar, Advent doesn't start until this coming Sunday, December 3. But I'm beginning today, following our family's Advent calendar. And this year, I'd like to link to (or write) a reflection each day of Advent, focusing on the mystics as much as I can. And also share a song that means something to me. 

Reflection:

Today, I am linking to a short reflection by Ilia Delio, a Franciscan sister whose writing I relied upon in Mystics and Misfits. She has written some particularly rich things about Clare of Assisi. In her reflection, she quotes the medieval Dominican mystic, Meister Eckhart, to summarize the meaning of Advent: "What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within myself?" You can read the rest here.

What a question to ponder. If we celebrate Advent with books, calendars, and candles, and yet do not take its meaning into our hearts and lives, what is the point? We are only a banging gong. Or maybe a pitchy flute. 

Song:

I Wait by All Sons and Daughters

"Oh restless heart do not grow weary

Hold onto faith and wait

The God of love, He will not tarry

No he is never late"

This song is a word of hope, not just for the Advent season, but for all who are suffering, who are weary of the painfulness of life, who hear only silence when we approach God. This is part of faith: to hold on even when there is quiet. Sometimes, even underneath the quiet, there is a humming, a buzzing of life.

Sit in silence today and listen for it. 

Music and the Mystics (and some exciting book news!)

If you're reading this, you've stuck with me despite the fact that I've reneged on my promise to update my blog every week. Perhaps I should've said once every season instead. We have a new baby, we've changed jobs, moved states, and bought a house. And, in my scant nap time hours, my book is slowly making its way toward you, its readers.

Who has time for blog updates when the trees look like this?

Who has time for blog updates when the trees look like this?

So, thank you for sticking around and understanding. In this post you'll find some of the music that influenced me in the writing of Mystics and Misfits and some exciting book news. Mystics and Misfits: Meeting God Through St. Francis and Other Unlikely Saints releases April 17, 2018. In the meantime, if you can't wait, go over and pre-order it on amazon or at Mennomedia.  

Songs for the misfit in you:

1. Sandra McCracken, from Psalms, Song: all of them, particularly Send out your light;

 "Then I will praise him with my guitar, oh my joy, my joy." 

2. The Benedictines of Mary, Queen of the Apostle, all albums, particularly Lent and Advent

Clear and lovely harmonies by nuns who sing together, sometimes for five hours a day. 

3. Sufjan Stevens, from Carrie and Lowell, Song: John my Beloved

Always a misfit, sometimes Sufjan's music evokes an ache so deep, I want to weep for him and his pain. Because his pain is all of our pain: the awareness of our need for the God who calls us beloved.

4. Bjork, Song: Wanderlust

Weird, wonderful, woeful, and often disturbing, Bjork's music should always be on a soundtrack for misfits.

5. Fiona Apple, from The Idler Wheel, Song: Every single night 

This song. I can feel the swirling thoughts in Fiona's head. 

6. Patty Griffin, from Downtown Church, Song: Move up

Patty Griffin should always be nearby. For any occasion. 

7. John Micheal Talbot, from The Lord’s Supper. Song: We shall stand forgiven

“Lord, have mercy”  I am not the one to ask if this 1979 album, which is basically a Eucharist liturgy, has stood the test of time. It’s opening violin on “Prelude” is part of the soundtrack of my childhood; I would lie on my back in our living room, listening to this record play, wallowing in the deep, angsty feelings it elicited in me. Talbot started an intentional monastic community and writes about my beloved St. Francis. This album is a glorious celebration of the Eucharist, in its beautiful Catholic hippie way.

8. My beautiful diamond, from All Things Will Unwind. Song: We added it up.

I hear a quieter voice, and it says Love binds the world, forever and ever and ever, love binds the world.” I can hear mystic Julian of Norwich, speaking in that quiet voice, a truth that was revealed to her in visions of divine love. Julian says, "I saw that He is to us everything that is good and comfortable for us: He is our clothing that for love wrappeth us, claspeth us, and all encloseth us for tender love, that He may never leave us; being to us all-thing that is good, as to mine understanding."

9. Rain for Roots, from Waiting Songs. Song: Come light our hearts

Even though it's an Advent album for children, I couldn't stop listening to it as Christmas passed and the new year began. These are messages of hope that we need in dark times. "For you, Oh Lord, our souls in stillness wait. Truly our hope is in you....We come as we are, oh heal and restore, come light our hearts."

10. Bruno Coulais, the soundtracks to The Secret of Kells and Song of the Sea. Song: Song of the Sea

Go watch these movies if you haven't already. My kids and I loved them and the question at the end of each viewing was, "Mom, why are you crying?" They are full of beauty, heartbreak, longing, and fantasy. I dare you to watch them yourself and not cry. 

11. Enya (and her sister Moya Brennan): watch them sing with their other sisters in their home church choir in Ireland

Enya's music has been the soundtrack to many important life events. 1)Years ago, when I was in college, I would crank up Enya as a passive-aggressive hint to my roommates when they were being too loud in the living room. My roommates still tease me about it.  2)When I was deciding whether or not to go to grad school in Scotland, it was an Enya song that decided it for me. 3)When I met my husband years later, we discovered a mutual love for Enya. 4)I walked down the aisle to the Song of David by her sister Moya Brennan (another favorite) in our wedding. 5)And when I was in labor with my babies, I listened to Enya. 6)Her music accompanied the labor of my writing this book too. 

Speaking of exciting book news...

I am thrilled to announce that author Jon M. Sweeney has written a lovely foreword to my book. The writer of dozens of books, Sweeney is perhaps best known as a scholar of St. Francis. Sweeney's writing has certainly inspired my own book: you'll find the evidence of his influence all over its pages. 

And I'm also excited that some wonderful writers are already sending in their endorsements for the book. Among them: both fantastic authors and friends Amy Peterson and D.L. Mayfield, gifted Catholic writer and writing teacher Kaya Oakes, professor, spiritual director, and author Marlene Kropf, and...wait for it...RICHARD ROHR! Yes, that Richard Rohr, author of Everything Belongs, Falling Upward, The Enneagram: a Christian Perspective, and Eager to Love. I almost fell out of my chair when I read his endorsement. It's quirky, generous, and kind, just like his writing. 

I can't quite believe that so many of the writers and thinkers that have influenced me in the writing of this book are aware of it and supporting it. It feels as though St. Francis himself might've prayed a blessing for me. I hope he wouldn't mind what I've written about him. 

 

A mystical cover

I'm happy to share with you the cover to my book, Mystics and Misfits, which will be forthcoming from Herald Press in Spring 2018. One friend noted that it looked like a Medieval Irish Mystery Novel. There's some truth to that...if only because, in the book, I write letters to a few mystics from the medieval period; there is also an element of novel-like storytelling in the narrative of my life in intentional community and in the biographies of the mystics. 

If you'd like to subscribe to my blog, you can more readily get more of the details that I'll share in the coming months of the release and pre-order dates. For now, I hope you enjoy this cover as much as I do. 

Dorothy Day and new pieces

This month, I set aside my very messy beginning (Simplicity) and began the section in my book about Hospitality. My resident mystic is Dorothy Day. I highly recommend Day's book Loaves and Fishes. In it, she tells the story of the Catholic Worker movement, a movement that began during the Great Depression. They started with a magazine, trying to highlight the plight of the poor and marginalized; this lead to houses of hospitality which offered shelter to many of their friends who couldn't afford to live anywhere else. After this, they opened communitarian farms to feed and teach those they encountered and befriended in the poor city streets of New York City.

Day's story is honest, funny, and inspiring. She is gracious in her telling of difficult people, honest about the mistakes they made, and fervent in her passion to love others. Her story is also terribly sad both for the time it was written and because it is still so timely. She tells of immigrants stuck in the cycle of low-income housing, rising rents, and cheating landlords. She tells stories of so many who are still ignored in our society.

As someone who grew up privileged, I've know that I've often been unaware of the struggles of others, not from intention but because wealth and privilege have the power to isolate us from the struggles of others. Day's words about poverty are moving: "We need always be thinking and writing about it, for if we are not among its victims its reality fades from us. We must talk about poverty because people insulated by their own comfort lose sight of it."

I love this Dorothy Day icon by Br. Robert Lentz O.F.M.

I love this Dorothy Day icon by Br. Robert Lentz O.F.M.

I have two pieces that happened to appear on the same day this week. They both explore supernatural things but in completely different ways.

My piece for Off the Page points to a new genre of YA fiction: agnostic angels. I explore the ways our fantasy genres tell us about ourselves and our existential longings.

In a rather more personal piece for Good Letters called Parting the Veil, I explore the idea that the nightmares and visions I've had since I was a child might be mystical in nature.