“The First Knowing”. It is a little white candle with hands in a prayer position. The wick has long since disappeared. I feel certain that my dad gave her to me when I was very  young. I call her the first knowing, what my soul knew at my birth. The knowing that got covered over by life; by striving and doing and seeking. It is in the silence that this first knowing is gradually uncovered and my true self slowly revealed. It is a process that cannot be hurried or controlled. However, I can choose to ignore it or disrupt it by distractions or doubts. So I keep the little angel nearby as an invitation to enter the silence often, meeting the first knowing again and again.

Jesus chose to share his divinity and to entrust his message with a person marginalized by the larger society. What do I learn when I go to the margins, the margins of my society, the margins of my own self?  Do I pay attention?

“They saw only Jesus”. Yet the apostles carried that moment of divine presence as they accompanied Jesus down the mountain and into daily life. There are times in our communal silence when we become aware of a Presence that we often fail to notice in the day to day. However, like the apostles, we are invited to recognize that Presence among us – not as something to cling to, but as something that gives us the grace to see that Presence in all creation, in the ordinary moments of our lives.

I ask for prayers for a painful situation at Divine Savior Parish in Orangevale CA where I attend Mass and teach tai chi chih every Wednesday. After the former pastor retired in July 2022, there have been efforts by some to step back from his inclusive, welcoming manner. Our tai chi chih group has been relocated from the church vestibule to the gym lobby. A transgender parishioner has been banned from all public ministries. She had been a lector and a member of the parish council. It appears that the bishop has endorsed this action. Prayers for Jenny, for those of us who care about her and for those reactionary elements that seem to have forgotten that God’s House is for ALL.

The Tao Te Ching was the guiding philosophy of the originator of tai chi chih, a meditative movement practice. The practice invites me to surrender to the chi or energy that moves all things. It is the life force within and without. For me, it is grace. Combining this practice that engages the body with silent prayer that further empties me of effort and ego gives me a way of staying in and then moving through those desert times. Reading these passages today reminds me that there are many traditions and practices available to me – to all of us – as we pass through the deserts of our lives.

it was 1951. A 17 year old girl, barely out of high school, joined a Carmelite monastery. In those days, women did not leave their convent or enclosure. They were not able to pursue higher education. Their days were filled with silence. In 1969, against all odds and amidst opposition from most male clergy, she helped form the Association of Contemplative Sisters.  This was the beginning of cloistered nuns reaching across boundaries of tradition and geography for mutual support and shared wisdom. A few years ago, this same woman(Constance Fitzgerald, OSC) wrote extensively about Lady Wisdom. The depth of her courage and insight arose from years of silence where she became steeped in the Mystery. I am reminded of St Clare of Assisi who once said, “My theology of God is my experience of God”. These two women were not talking about “Centering Prayer “, but they were certainly practicing it and living out of it. We are in good company.  (Revised from previous post).

It was 191. A 17 year old girl, ha sly out of high school, joined a Carmelite  monastery in those days, women did it l Ave their convent. They did it pursue further education  Their days were filled with silence. In 1969 , against all odds, she helped form the Association of Contemplative Sisters. A few years ago, she wrote extensively aboutLadyWisdom. The depth of her courage  and insight arose from years of silence- where she became steeped in the Mystery.

Like Herod, we often protect our way of life, our sense of security. We might not use physical violence, but we often find fault with those who are poor, unhoused, suffer from addiction or mental illness. We look away when we happened upon them. We try to convince ourselves that they are not like us.  Can we go another way?  See the “other” differently, walk by places where they are, greet them, look at them?  Here in Sacrsmento about 350,000 are without power. Our privileged way of life blown away with the wind.

“Put your ear close to your soul and listen hard”. I found these words on a little piece of paper. I had written them quite awhile ago. I can’t remember where I found them, but they seem to be a good description of discernment. I ask myself what voices do  I listen to-?  Can I be still and silent long enough to hear my soul?  And, am I patient enough to remain on a threshold for as long as it takes to fully absorb the wisdom I need before crossing the threshold?

Two thoughts. Birthing Christ is radically different from recognizing Christ and following Christ. Birthing, difficult as it might be, is just the beginning. We must not retire and nourish what we have birthed.

“We can midwife what is trying to come into consciousness”. Years ago, I joined 20 other people in a sweat lodge experience meant to be a reliving of one’s birth. Much of that experience seemed to mimic my own birth.  I was born by caesarean and I have been told that those of us born this way will continue to birth ourselves.  I can still remember being lifted out of the sweat lodge, not knowing who helped me and not sure if I wanted to remain inside or come outside where it seemed cold and lonely. So it is with a spiritual rebirth -often met with hesitation and reluctance at first.

“The Christ in all of us is there in this place of brokenness” reminds me of the story of an old rabbi who visits a dying monastery and simply says,”The messiah is among you”The monks started to look at one another with renewed respect and reverence, breathing new life into their daily routine. So, what if we were able to say,”The Christ is in and among each and all of us”?  Would we act and speak and pray differently.?

 

“All will be well. “. I am reminded of Julian of Norwich, an anchoress who lived in 13th century England. The Black Plague – like the recent pandemic –  brought death and disruption. Julian stood at her window to the street, providing a prayerful presence. Her “mantra” was “All is well. All manner of things are well. “. There was no effort to analyze or criticize God’s apparent absence. She simply trusted a divinity that was beyond her human understanding. I can draw on her words when all of my world seems  to be going awry.

Many threads. A friend observed that she had initially indicted the rich man. She then realized that she had just driven in her air conditioned car past scores of people living on the sidewalk in 117 degree heat. The film, The US and the Holocaust,  painfully shows the consequences of treating Jews – or native Americans – or people of color – or anyone seen as different – as “other”. Genocide comes in many forms and in many time periods. And it begins in our hearts – in the rich man’s heart – when we fail to see our common humanity, our shared divinity. This week may I be alert to the ways in which I exclude “the other”   Today begins a novena honoring St  Francis whose feast day is October 4. Francis kissed the leper as a way of reconciling himself with “the other”. He saw all creation as his sisters and brothers (Brother Sun, Sister  Moon)..   Many threads. Much to contemplate.

There is another kind of cognitive dissonance. It happens when I come face to face with uncomfortable limits. Limits of time, money, energy. It was easier when I had the resources and the energy to say yes to everything. Now, the choices are often between two good things. This is when time in silence becomes critically important. Otherwise, I listen to and respond to all sorts of voices and miss the one that is most important. The one whose first language is silence.

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