Encountering the Other

What's in a name? (Part 2)

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.

They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” 14 At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.

He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”). 

John 20: 11-16

(For further reflections on this passage click here)

When was the last time you introduced yourself to someone? I find how I introduce myself varies according to where I am. The first thing I say is my name and then often I answer the question of 'What do you do for a living?' and that's where it gets a little complex. Sometimes I'm a Worship Leader (or if I want to confuse people a Contemplative Worship Leader). Other times I'm a Spiritual Director, a Musician, a Gamer, or even a Composer. The choice is determined by some judgments I make about how I think the other person will react. The common thread to all these titles is that they are all expressions of functions I perform, they describe some of what I do.

There are other words I use to describe myself. Some I have embraced, and others that I have allowed to get written as graffiti across my heart. Some of them have been carved so deeply in place that I rarely question their validity. I'm not going to list them because I don't want people telling me how they are wrong (or even worse how they are right!).

Mary Magdalene was definitely someone with a past. A lot of labels have been placed on her through the centuries. All we really know for certain is that Jesus cast 7 demons out of her. Pope Gregory in 591 C.E. first suggested she was a prostitute, a claim that has been restated in many movies and books, but we cannot say that with any certainty.

I love that Jesus simply calls her by name. She is not what she does. She is not what others have called her. She is not what she fears she might be. She is Mary. Everything else is secondary.

I've imagined that God says some pretty harsh things about me over the years. Most of which I've come to see are more about other people's efforts to control, vilify, or avoid their own fears than anything within me. God's love does not graffiti our hearts with hate.

Jesus simply calls each of us by name. Not by title, label or fear. Not by action or regret. Not by addiction or achievement. If we allow ourselves to hear his call and have the audacity to receive his love then, slowly, the graffiti will be washed away.

Listen to God call your name.

What's in a name?

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.”

At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

 

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

 

Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

 

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”).

 

 Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her. ~ John 20:11-18

  

Mary arrives at the tomb emotionally and physically exhausted. She has arrived expecting to see the dead body of someone she loves, instead she is convinced that someone has stolen his corpse. Even with Jesus standing in front of her she is not open to his presence because it does not fit with what she is looking for.

When God does something totally out of the box (out of the tomb?) I'm good at missing it too. There He is standing in front of me, but because he doesn't like like I imagine him too, I ignore him. I have my own set of filters for how God behaves. When God does something that doesn't fit within my 'spiritually approved prejudices' I am quick to discount it.

  

It takes Jesus speaking her name before Mary realizes who is talking to her.

I find her response of 'Rabboni' interesting. How we address people is indicative of how we perceive our relationship to them. I'm curious why Mary's instant response is to turn and shout Teacher, why did she not say Jesus?

There are many possible words that I use to address Jesus. Savior, Friend, Brother, Lord, Healer, Teacher, Lover, Creator. Some labels I use more than others. When I read this passage this morning the word that came to mind was Judge.

I don't like that.

In the back of my mind I apparently still imagine Jesus watching and judging every action and thought. It's a great way to feel guilty all the time. Somehow in my youth I falsely learned that a good christian should feel permanently guilty. I've done a lot of dismantling of that false teaching over the years, but having the word Judge come unbidden to my mind while I meditated on this passage today shows that I still have work to do.

What unexpected people have called you by name this week? 

How is Jesus in that person and encounter?

 

What words and names do you use to address Jesus? 


What do they reveal about your relationship? 

No-Bake Energy Bites

Great for road trips or energy on a hike!

No-Bake Energy Bites 

Originally posted at gimmiesomeoven.com

Ingredients:

• 1 cup (dry) oatmeal (I used old-fashioned oats)
• 1 cup toasted coconut flakes
• 1/2 cup chocolate chips
• 1/2 cup peanut butter
• 1/2 cup ground flaxseed
• 1/3 cup honey
• 1 tsp. vanilla

Method:

Stir all ingredients together in a medium bowl until thoroughly mixed. Let chill in the refrigerator for half an hour. Once chilled, roll into balls of whatever size you would like. I use a 2 tablespoon measure. Store in an airtight container and keep refrigerated for up to 1 week.

Makes about 17 balls (if using a 2 tablespoon measure)

One ball: 162 Calories, 17g Carbs, 10g Fat, 4g protein

Substitution ideas can abound for just about any of these ingredients! Feel free to substitute in your favorite nut butter (almond butter, sunflower seed butter, etc.) for the peanut butter. And you could also add in some wheat germ in place of some or all of the flaxseed. I would caution, though, against substituting agave nectar for the honey, as the honey’s thickness helps hold things together.

Some other fun substitutions for the chocolate chips (or an addition to them) could include:

• chopped dried fruit (apricots, dates, raisins, etc.)
• dried berries (cranberries, cherries, etc.)
• chopped almonds, pecans, or sunflower seeds
• other chips (butterscotch, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, etc.)

The joy of these bites being “no bakes” is that this recipe is super flexible. If you end up needing to omit one of the dry ingredients (such as coconut or flax), just add in some extra of whatever other dry ingredient is remaining (for example, the oats). If you feel like your energy bites are too dry, just add in extra honey or peanut butter. 

Surrendering the nail

As part of our Lenten discipline this year at church we were given the option of carrying a nail with us throughout the season. The idea was the you used it in creative ways- maybe holding it while praying, placing it on the table during meals or carrying it in your pocket, so that it became a tangible reminder of God's love. As you can see, I chose to attach mine to a leather cord and have worn it most days during Lent. 

This coming Sunday is Palm/Passion Sunday. This interesting wrinkle in the church calendar is designed so that people who only attend church on Sunday still get a crucifixion narrative. Otherwise if you never attended Good Friday you would go straight from Triumphal Entry to Risen from the Grave.

Well the plan is for us to have some large crosses at the church this week so that people can hammer their nails into them....

...I don't want to give mine up. 

I normally don't wear any kind of jewelry (except my one ear piercing). I find rings and watches cumbersome and a distraction when playing the piano. I have a couple of necklaces, one of Kokopelli and the other of a Labyrinth, but they very seldom see the light of day. Consequently wearing a nail around my neck has been a new experience for me. It stays beneath my shirt, but I'm aware of its presence. I find myself touching the nail through my clothes throughout the day and offering up a little prayer of thanks to God for His love for me.

And now I am supposed to give that away.

Logically I know that I have become more attached to the nail than what the nail signifies. The symbol has become more important than the reality. There is a childish fear that by hammering my nail into a cross I am somehow surrendering my connection with God. If I give up the nail will I be embracing abandonment?

Pete Rollins addresses some of this in his essay The Contemporary Church is a Crack House. It is worth reading in its entirety. In it he talks how church becomes a salve for our pain, a place where we go to escape from pain instead of sitting in it and seeing what it can teach us. 

I will hammer my nail on Sunday, and if it means I experience the loss of my connection with God, then I will trust that I will somehow recapture it again in other ways, and in the mean time I will take comfort that my loss of connection is just a pale reflection of Jesus' cry of despair 'My God! My God! Why have You forsaken me?'

Ham and Potato Soup

I love this recipe...so simple but yummy.

3 1/2 cups peeled and diced potatoes
1/3 cup diced celery
1/3 cup finely diced onion
3/4 cup diced ham (see note)
3 1/4 cups chicken stock
1/2 teaspoon salt, to taste (often not needed)
1 teaspoon black pepper
5 tablespoons butter
5 tablespoons all purpose flour
2 cups milk (or add some cream if you have it lying around lol)


Combine the potatoes, celery, onion, ham and chicken stock in a stockpot. Bring to a boil and then cook over medium heat until potatoes are tender, about 10 to 15 minutes. Stir in salt and pepper.

In a separate saucepan, melt butter over medium low heat. Whisk in flour and cook, stirring constantly until thick - about 1 minute. Take off the heat. Slowly (very very slowly) stir in the milk so as not to allow lumps to form. Keep stirring and adding until all the milk is incorporated. Continue stirring over medium low heat until it has thickened, 4 to 5 minutes.

Stir the milk mixture into the stockpot and cook soup until heated through. Serve immediately

The original recipe says serves 8, but you would have to all be dieting munchkins to feed that many with it. I say make it for 4, or 2...just make it as it reheats well :)



Note: I never have leftover ham so I go to the deli counter and ask them to cut me a slice of deli ham on the thickest setting possible. Then I take it home and dice it. They generally look a bit confused at first until I explain what I am going to do with it!

Soil

We've ignored each other for a long time
and I'm strictly an indoor man
anytime to call would be the wrong time
I'll avoid you as long as I can

When I was a boy we were good friends
I made pies out of you when you were wet
And in childhood's remembered summer weather
We roughandtumbled together
We were very close

just you and me and the sun
the world a place for having fun
always so much to be done

But gradually I grew away from you
Of course you were still there
During my earliest sexcapades
When I roughandfumbled
Not very well after bedtime
But suddenly it was winter
And you seemed so cold and dirty
That I stayed indoors and acquired
A taste for girls and clean clothes

we found less and less to say
you were jealous so one day
I simply upped and moved away

I still called to see you on occasions
But we had little now in common
And my visits grew less frequent
Until finally
One coldbright April morning
A handful of you drummed
On my fathers waxworked coffin

at last it all made sense
there was no need for pretence
you said nothing in defence

And now recently
While travelling from town to town
Past where you live
I have become increasingly aware
Of you watching me out there.
Patient and unforgiving
Toying with the trees.

we've avoided eachother for a long time
and I'm strictly a city man
anytime to call would be the wrong time
I'll avoid you as long as I can


Roger McGough

A Tale of Two Sweaters

This post was originally written for Chapelwood's Prayer Shawl Ministry - a group of Men and Women who knit prayer shawls and other items and donate them to people in need.


I have 2 sweaters in my closet that I seldom wear. One was worn in my childhood and no longer fits, and the other was a Christmas present from a few years ago. Though they are just taking up space I don’t intend to get rid of either.

My mother was especially gifted at 2 tasks, growing roses and knitting. When she found time to get away from the daily chores of housework and caring for a family, she could be found in one of two places. In good weather she was in her garden, dressed in her brown work pants and gardening gloves. She would wield her secateurs on her beloved roses, moving round the bushes with her floral patterned padded plastic kneeler with her. Somehow she had lovingly persuaded her different rosebushes to bloom in sequence so that there were roses in flower all throughout the summer months. When she wasn’t gardening she would knit. Much of our family TV. viewing was punctuated by the repetitive click of her needles and the rustling of her knitting pattern. I spent much of my childhood in homemade sweaters to fend off the British winter weather. One of the earliest sweaters I remember was a complex cable knit pattern of plaits and loops all worked in a delicate cream color.

Mother would also take graph paper and work out her own complex sweater patterns. When I was a young teenager there was a fashion for sweaters with music symbols knitted into them. The store bought ones irritated me as the music incorporated into the design was never musically correct. In my mind these sweaters were as wrong as seeing 2+2=5 knitted somewhere. Mom offered to knit me a musicla sweater herself. The front and back of the sweater was knitted as plain music paper. Mom knitted into the sweater the vertical and horizontal beams of the music and then hand embroidered every note into place. The melody started on the front and continued on the back finishing the melodic phrase perfectly. The sleeves and also the ribbing around the neck and base were in a rather lurid green color. The sweater looked great and also contained a musical pun that only those able to read the music would get. What was the melody? Well here in the U.S. it is most familiarly known as the melody of the Christmas Carol ‘What Child Is This?’, but in the U.K. the tune is known by its original name Greensleeves.

I loved wearing that sweater, especially to orchestra rehearsals where various instrumentalists would play the melody and then groan at the joke.

After my mom passed away my brother and I were sorting through the house before it was sold. In a plastic bag at the back of the closet I found the Greensleeves sweater. I do not know why mom chose to keep it when so many of my other hand knitted clothes were passed on or thrown out, but I willingly brought it back to the U.S. with me.

About a year before my mom passed away, I was home visiting while she was working on the finishing touches of a sweater for my young nephew. It was a cream cable knit sweater in the same pattern and style that she had knitted for me decades before. I really have no need for a sweater living in Houston, but the warm memories from seeing that pattern again were so great that I asked her if she could enlarge the pattern and knit an adult sized one for me.

The following Christmas I flew home again because mom had just gotten out of hospital after treatment for ovarian cancer. Her cancer was in remission and Mom chose to not have chemotherapy because of her age. The doctor told us that she would have about 5 to 10 good months before the cancer returned. I spent that trip driving mom around to some of her favorite places in the U.K. We laughed and joked and remembered old times. On Christmas morning she presented me with the cable knit sweater.


This was the last Christmas present I ever received from her. I only wear it once a year. Every time I put it on it feels like getting a large mom hug. Mom passed away 6 months after giving me that sweater. Every Christmas Eve I wear the sweater for a few moments and feel her love for me.

The Greensleeves sweater is a reminder of how I was loved as a child, the cable knit, a reminder of how I am loved now. My mom has passed away, but her love remains.

Knitting is so much more than just the ability to knot wool together into complex shapes. A sweater (or a prayer blanket) can communicate the love of its maker for the recipient and the love of God for us all.

Finding God when Pigs Fly

Thoughts for Sunday's Contemplative Service

They arrived on the other side of the sea in the country of the Gerasenes. As Jesus got out of the boat, a madman from the cemetery came up to him. He lived there among the tombs and graves. No one could restrain him—he couldn't be chained, couldn't be tied down. He had been tied up many times with chains and ropes, but he broke the chains, snapped the ropes. No one was strong enough to tame him. Night and day he roamed through the graves and the hills, screaming out and slashing himself with sharp stones.

When he saw Jesus a long way off, he ran and bowed in worship before him—then bellowed in protest, "What business do you have, Jesus, Son of the High God, messing with me? I swear to God, don't give me a hard time!" (Jesus had just commanded the tormenting evil spirit, "Out! Get out of the man!")

Jesus asked him, "Tell me your name."

He replied, "My name is Mob. I'm a rioting mob." Then he desperately begged Jesus not to banish them from the country.

A large herd of pigs was browsing and rooting on a nearby hill. The demons begged him, "Send us to the pigs so we can live in them." Jesus gave the order. But it was even worse for the pigs than for the man. Crazed, they stampeded over a cliff into the sea and drowned. ~ Mark 5: 1-13 (The Message)

For the Lenten Season at our Contemplative Service we are focusing on this passage. Each week a different member of the Contemplative Posse will give their thoughts on it.  For some reason it's always been one of my favorite encounters that Jesus has, there is something about demons in a graveyard followed by drowning pigs that seems like it should be in an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

I didn't grew up observing Lent, it was 'something strange that catholics did'. Growing spiritually meant reading the bible more and having all the right answers available. Prayer was very perfunctory and disciplines such as fasting were not encouraged. My Christianity began to broaden when I encountered people of other denominations (even Anglicans and Catholics!!!) whose lives reflected a deep connection to God.

I went from not observing Lent to it becoming a way to score some serious spiritual brownie points. I could demonstrate my love for God by how pious I was and how difficult I made Lent for myself. Somehow I equated spirituality with chains. Restrictions and Limitations were a sign of holiness, and at Lent I embraced them with abundance. I normally didn't last the 40+ days. My spirituality of unrealistic expectations normally crumbled after about 10 days.

I think of the Madman at the start of this encounter. The other villagers had tried to help him by chaining him up, but he broke every restraint. I'm sure they had the best of intentions, they saw the damage he was doing to himself and so they chained him down....partly for his own protection, but also I imagine for theirs. If they had been successful, the madman would have been chained out of sight, protected from himself, but he would not have been in the graveyard when Jesus came by.

Sometimes I kept my Lenten chains, and sometimes I failed, but I didn't encounter Jesus in the failures or successes. My 'No' to self never led to a 'Yes' to God, in fact most of what I gave up were self serving - Lent became a Spiritually Approved Diet Plan or a Victorious Living Guilt Reduction Program.

I've embraced a softer gentler Lent this year, I've still given up something (and it is still a little self-serving), but I'm trying to look for the 'Yes' hidden amongst the 'No'. Friday was not a good day, I actually snapped at a Girl Scout for trying to sell cookies to me while I entered the grocery store - I did apologize on the way out. That evening  I posted on Facebook 'I can tell Lent has begun, I feel irritable'. That statement seemed to resonate with my friends very quickly. Rather than just sit in my bad mood, I made two choices. 1) To not label my irritability as bad or good, it was just an honest response to where I was at and 2) To not sit in my irritability, but to look behind it to see what was going on.

By not judging it, my irritability helped show me where I was wandering in the graveyard. The nagging desire for something that I was choosing not to have for a season helped shine a light on some dead places in my life. And, just like the Madman, Jesus can come to us in that place of death and offer His life. By not wallowing in my mood, but stepping away from it I was able to see Jesus in that place and to hear His invitation to lay down the chains of moods and desires and allow Him to calm the demons inside.

How do you feel about Lent at the moment?
Why did you choose to (or choose not to) give anything up this year?
What graveyard places are you encountering?
What invitation is Jesus extending to you?

Fancy Grilled Cheese Sandwich

I know that giving a recipe for grilled cheese seems too simplistic, but trust me on this one. This isn't a fake cotton wool bread and oily cheese sandwich, it's awesome.

4 ounces of Fontina cheese.
6 large slices of sourdough bread
chopped fresh thyme
6 thin slices prosciutto
Olive oil
Pepper
(see note below)

Thinly slice the cheese using either a cheese plane or a horizontal veggie peeler.
Split the sliced cheese into 2 equal piles.
Take one of the piles and cover three slices of bread evenly with it.
Add 2 slices of prosciutto on top of the cheese.
Sprinkle some fresh thyme on top of the prosciutto.
Finish the three sandwiches with the rest of the cheese and top with the remaining three slices.
Brush one side of each of the three sandwiches with olive oil and a liberal sprinkling of fresh ground pepper.

Cook for 3 minutes in a preheated skillet oil side down.
While cooking, oil and pepper the other sides of the sandwich.
When the underside is golden brown, flip the sandwiches and cook for another 3 minutes.

Cut each sandwich in half and serve!

Note: The original recipe just used 4 slices of sourdough and split the prosciutto and cheese between them to make 2 sandwiches. That would be even more decadent, this way serves one more person and is still deliciously yummy.

This goes well with the Cream of Tomato Gorgonzola Soup.

Cream of Tomato Gorgonzola Soup

This was quick, simple and yummy, a great combination.

1 (26oz ~ family size)  can tomato soup
1 (14.5 oz) cans italian -style diced tomatoes, undrained
1/2 cup water (or cream)
1 cup milk
4 oz crumbled gorgonzola cheese.
2 tablespoons minced garlic
1 tablespoon dried basil
1 teaspoon onion powder

Combine the tomato soup, diced tomatoes, water (or cream) and milk in a large saucepan over medium heat. Stir in the gorgonzola cheese, garlic, basil, and onion powder. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to low and simmer for 15-20 minutes stirring often.

As easy as opening a can...and it tastes so good, especially with a grilled cheese sandwich :)

Invisible Altars

Across the world on any given Sunday, millions of people gather around Altars. Some are huge examples of Gothic architecture, swathed in multicolored fabric and set with candlesticks, plates and chalices that are worth a small fortune. Others are simple tables that spend most of their week playing host to card games or coffee and conversation. No gold-encrusted crosses on these, maybe a single candle or bare cross.

These tables may represent a vast range in financial value, but all of them become Sunday symbols - a place where Heaven and Earth meet. They may be lavish or simple, but what they represent is a powerful mystery. Divinity reaches out to Humanity at these holy tables...

...and we reach back.

More symbols, wine and bread, some specially made by church members, others purchased. It may seem sacrilegious to suggest that someone may purchase the Body of Christ at Walmart, and the blood of Christ at the local liquor store. Maybe that is a little too much reality injected into Holy Mystery.

We reach back as we stand, kneel, pray, weep at these Altars. We commune with God. We wrestle and we beg, we promise and sometimes we even threaten.

Here before these tables we encounter God, and then we leave.

We step back into the reality of our daily existence. Computer screens and automobiles. Forgotten passwords and lunch at our desk. Laundry and bills. We don't look for Altars in our daily lives. Those are for sanctuaries and chapels. For Sundays and special services. But they are there.

Invisible Altars.

The table where you eat your microwaved lunch with friends is as much an Altar as the marble carved block in the local cathedral. The lavish feast with friends, is as much a place to commune with God as the mug of tomato soup illuminated by the computer screen.

Every moment of our existence is spent surrounded by invisible Altars. God is in Walmart and at Tiffanys. Every table is an altar, every encounter a divine one. There is not a moment in time or a place on the planet where God does not touch the Earth, but somehow Sunday's expectation gets swamped by Monday's To Do list and we no longer anticipate the kiss of Heaven.

This week, look for the invisible Altars.

God is patiently waiting there.

Feeding the Crowd

(Random thoughts for Sunday's Contemplative Service)

Throughout the gospels Jesus has encounters with crowds of people. As I was listening to the narrative of the feeding of the 5000 last week, two phrases struck me.

In Matthew's telling of the narrative he says

 'When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.' ~ Matthew 14:14

Mark makes a similar statement when he says

When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things. ~ Mark 6:34

Normally when I hear passages that reference the crowd I think of the demands of ministry. I have been in full time ministry for nearly 20 years now. I've worked with many different congregations and organisations. I know about the way that God can feed others through the loaves and fishes of my life when I offer them to Him.

Last week however I didn't think about the external crowd but instead I found myself reflecting on the internal crowd, the wants, desires, dreams and fears that I carry around with me wherever I go. I've tried to cultivate the parts of my internal crowd that I label as good, and starve the parts I call bad.

The idea of Jesus looking at all of my internal maelstrom and having compassion on it struck me. I rarely do the same. I get frustrated at attitudes, embarrassed by desires, paralysed by fears, driven by dreams. I spend more time judging my internal crowd rather than having compassion on it. My operating system was more concerned with Denial and Detachment than anything else. Chasing after the good and turning a blind eye to everything else.

I'm feeling the call to learn how to interact with the crowd instead of just reacting to it. Learning how to let Jesus heal and teach. It gets complicated. Even my labels of 'Good' and 'Bad' have to be revisited. What I think are good dreams can actually just be methods of avoidance. What I think are bad desires can actually be cries for healing when I stop and listen to them. The desire to workout can be driven by health or by vanity. What I'm discovering is that most of my crowd do not fit neatly into Good or Bad categories anymore.

It's a tiring challenge, no wonder Jesus often went off by himself! Contemplative worship and practices give me a chance to allow the crowd to settle down so I can begin to get a look at them without them running around everywhere.

I love how the disciples are surprised when Jesus tells them to feed the crowd.

By this time it was late in the day, so his disciples came to him. “This is a remote place,” they said, “and it’s already very late. Send the people away so that they can go to the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat.” But he answered, “You give them something to eat.” They said to him, “That would take more than half a year’s wages! Are we to go and spend that much on bread and give it to them to eat?” ~ Mark 6: 35-37

Up to that point they never considered that the welfare of the crowd was their responsibility. They wanted Jesus to tell the crowd to leave. He commands them to feed the crowd instead. I wish my internal crowd would leave. I'm sensing that Jesus offers the same challenge to me as he did to the disciples, and that it will also take a miracle. I don't know what it means to feed my crowd. I do know that it will look very different to what I expect, and that somehow, my crowd will one day be satisfied.

Imagine all your attitudes, desires, fears, dreams...all standing together like a crowd on a hillside. As you scan their faces, what names come to mind? Pride, Ego, Lust. Esteem, Money, Insecurity.... Who is in need of healing? Who is in need of teaching? How can you treat your crowd with compassion?

Rewriting Rumi

I've been reflecting on the poem Zero Circle by Rumi this week. It feels like a beautiful puzzle, a sculpture that I can appreciate but not understand. As I began to interact with it I found myself trying to put into my own words what the translator of Rumi wrote. So here is a reflection/rephrasing of a translation of poem by a Persian Mystic.

Does true honesty demand uncertainty?
The eternal maybe?
Once we admit we are unsure, grace becomes our guide
But we cannot see where grace leads...

...we cannot even see grace.
Those who demand 'This way' or 'Over here' are only fooling themselves
And if we believe them we are fooled out of grace.

Therefore be certain of nothing,
Not even yourself
Only know you need grace.

We spin, but do not advance,
Cry, but make no sound,
Until, half dead, we collapse and let grace guide.
All of us so wrapped in beauty that there is no external commentary from our souls...

..and we become the grace we follow.

Lessons from the Gym

(Random thoughts for the Contemplative Service)

I've been working out 5 days a week and watching what I eat for 5 months now and so I've spent a lot of time at the gym. All this exercise means I've become more aware of my body, and especially when my body is in pain. There is the bad pain from when I've pushed my body too hard or performed an exercise incorrectly. The pain that means it hurts to climb stairs.

There is also the good pain, the ache of muscles growing and stretching. The moment when the encouragement of the trainer helps me do 5 more reps than I though possible...and even that can lead to the pain that means it hurts to climb stairs.

I'm slowly learning to distinguish between bad and good pain.

On the treadmill I have a lot of time to think. This week I felt God nudging me, telling me to look at any emotional pain I'm feeling in the same way. To realize that there is both good and bad pain. The ache of grief, the struggle of resisting temptation, the anguish of surrender to God, the pain of fractured relationships. The disillusionment of betrayal. As I am developing a greater awareness physically, I am trying to develop a greater awareness mentally, to not just experience my pain, but to ask it questions about its causes and cures....

...it is easy to philosophize. I am also aware however that I talk about pain very differently when I am in it. I can speculate about the growth that comes, and the different types of pain that exist, but when I'm experiencing pain, all of that gets discarded, and all I know is that I am hurting and I want it to stop!

Like most gyms, mine has mirrors everywhere. I find them distracting. When I'm straining away with weights in both hands, unable to to remember even the simplest exercise because of the burn in my muscles and the sweat pouring off my bald head, the last thing I want to do is see the reflection of my contorted face staring back at me. The first thought that usually springs to mind is - Wow! I look like an idiot.....

...this of course is not true. I look like everyone else at my gym who is straining to build muscle and lose fat. The truth is, it's not the mirror that is distracting, it is my interpretation of what the mirror reflects. It is as if I have replaced the mirrors in the gym with Fun House mirrors that distort.

We all see the world reflected in distorted mirrors. Much of the pain we experience in life comes from us trying to hold together our false views of the World, Self, God, Others. A person or an event comes along that doesn't fit in our well ordered (but incomplete) worldview and rather than allow our views to be reshaped our mirrors shatter and we cut ourselves on the shards of broken glass unwilling to let go of the pieces. When I was young I thought my parents were invincible, that they would live forever. In my teens I was convinced that the correct bible verse properly applied would solve any problem. In my twenties I thought that if I could just hate parts of myself enough I could change them. In my thirties...well you get the idea.

We move from one carnival mirror to another leaving behind a trail of broken glass.

The Apostle Paul wrote For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known. ~ 1 Corinthians 13:12

And it's not just us...

We know that the whole creation is groaning together and suffering labor pains up until now.  And it’s not only the creation. We ourselves who have the Spirit as the first crop of the harvest also groan inside as we wait to be adopted and for our bodies to be set free. We were saved in hope. If we see what we hope for, that isn’t hope. Who hopes for what they already see? But if we hope for what we don’t see, we wait for it with patience ~ Romans 8: 22-25

Pain is not just confined to us, it's all around us - even our planet is longing for release from it.

We are constantly bombarded with messages on how to avoid pain. instead I'm slowly learning to sit in it and ask it what it has to teach me.

Maybe, just for a minute each day, we could all try to do the same.

The 27 Rules of Conquering the Gym!

Originally published by the Wall Street Journal here

Sweating is a good way to begin 2012. Exercise, like dark chocolate and office meetings that suddenly get canceled, is a proven pathway to nirvana. But if you're going to join a gym—or returning to the gym after a long hibernation—consider the following:

1. A gym is not designed to make you feel instantly better about yourself. If a gym wanted to make you feel instantly better about yourself, it would be a bar.

2. Give yourself a goal. Maybe you want to lose 10 pounds. Maybe you want to quarterback the New York Jets into the playoffs. But be warned: Losing 10 pounds is hard.

3. Develop a gym routine. Try to go at least three times a week. Do a mix of strength training and cardiovascular conditioning. After the third week, stop carrying around that satchel of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.

4. No one in the history of gyms has ever lost a pound while reading "The New Yorker" and slowly pedaling a recumbent bicycle. No one.

5. Bring your iPod. Don't borrow the disgusting gym headphones, or use the sad plastic radio attachment on the treadmill, which always sounds like it's playing Kenny Loggins from a sewer.

6. Don't fall for gimmicks. The only tried-and-true method to lose 10 pounds in 48 hours is food poisoning.

7. Yes, every gym has an overenthusiastic spinning instructor who hasn't bought a record since "Walking on Sunshine."

8. There's also the Strange Guy Who is Always at the Gym. Just when you think he isn't here today...there he is, lurking by the barbells.

9. "Great job!" is trainer-speak for "It's not polite for me to laugh at you."

10. Beware a hip gym with a Wilco step class.

11. Gyms have two types of members: Members who wipe down the machines after using them, and the worst people in the universe.

12. Nope, that's not a "recovery energy bar with antioxidant dark chocolate." That's a chocolate bar.

13. Avoid Unsolicited Advice Guy, who, for the small fee of boring you to death, will explain the proper method for any exercise in 45 minutes or longer.

14. You can take 10 Minute Abs, 20 Minute Abs, and 30 Minute Abs. There is also Stop Eating Pizza and Eating Sheet Cake Abs—but that's super tough!

15. If you're motivated to buy an expensive home exercise machine, consider a "wooden coat rack." It costs $40, uses no electricity and does the exact same thing.

16. There's the yoga instructor everyone loves, and the yoga instructor everyone hates. Memorize who they are.

17. If you see an indoor rock climbing wall, you're either in a really cool gym or a romantic comedy starring Kate Hudson.

18. Be cautious about any class with the words "sunrise," "hell," or "Moby."

19. If a gym class is going to be effective, it's hard. If you're relaxed and enjoying yourself, you're at brunch.

20. If you need to bring your children, just let them loose in the silent meditation class. Nobody minds, and kids love candles.

21. Don't buy $150 sneakers, $100 yoga pants, and $4 water. Muscle shirts are for people with muscles, and rhythm guitarists.

22. Fancy gyms can be seductive, but once you get past the modern couches and fresh flowers and the water with lemon slices, you're basically paying for a boutique hotel with B.O.

23. Everyone sees you secretly racing the old people in the pool.

24. If you're at the point where you've bought biking shoes for the spinning class, you may as well go ahead and buy an actual bike. It's way more fun and it doesn't make you listen to C+C Music Factory.

25. Fact: Thinking about going to the gym burns between 0 and 0 calories.

26. A successful gym membership is like a marriage: If it's good, you show up committed and ready for hard work. If it's not good, you show up in sweatpants and watch a lot of bad TV.

27. There is no secret. Exercise and lay off the fries. The end.

The number Ones :)

There is a facebook meme going round at the moment where people post the number one song from the day they were born.

Here is the Number 1 song in the U.K. on the auspicious day of my birth.



And here is the song number one from the U.S.



Wow! I was born under 2 great tunes :)

Oh...and I share a birthday with the composer Cole Porter. I was obviously destined to be a musican!

The Three Little Pigs as written by Shakespeare!

God in Brussels Sprouts

In the Contemplative Service this Advent we have been reflecting on finding the Invisible in the Ordinary. When we discussed the topic in out planning meeting, we all felt excited, but over the past few weeks we've all found finding the Invisible in the Ordinary more difficult than anticipated. This kind of reflective work doesn't fit neatly into a 5 minute meditation or a 3 point sermon. It's not the kind of task that you ever feel is finished. It is far easier to remember past experiences and see God in them than to find Him in the present moment and in the mundane.

Last year I found the Invisible in the Ordinary on Christmas Eve over some brussels sprouts.

As I peeled them I was listening to the service of Lessons and Carols from Kings College, Cambridge. I was a service I used to listen to frequently with my Mom, and so as the boy soprano sang the opening strains of Once In Royal David's City I allowed myself to feel my grief once more.

I love to cook a large traditional English Christmas dinner and have friends over, but this year I am taking a road trip instead. I'm excited about travelling, but over the past few weeks I've found myself missing my usual Christmas. I haven't put up decorations at the house and I've felt almost completely bereft of 'Christmas Spirit'. I've given up listening to my Christmas Playlist, and even Handel's Messiah failed to work its usual magic.

It's as if a part of me is saying 'If I can't celebrate Christmas the way I've always done it.....then I'm not going to celebrate at all'

I wasn't really aware of that part of me until I found myself planning to cook brussels sprouts on Christmas Eve this year. I became aware that a part of me wants to recreate last year's experience again, that if I couldn't reconnect to the joy of Christmas maybe I could reconnect to the grief.

I've tried to spend some time wondering why I want to recreate experiences of Christmas past and I don't like the answer that's been rising into consciousness. I'm feeling disconnected to God at the moment. I believe that God is there, but somehow I feel lost in Him - like I'm wandering around a giant castle looking for Him but all I hear is my own voice echoing of the walls. I can see signs that the castle is occupied, but I can't find the occupant.

And so I've wanted to use Christmas traditions to quell the rising panic. I feel like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, trying to desperately hold onto tradition while his world shifts around him.

Melissa spoke last week about how she was learning Holy Spontaneity. I think what I'm learning this Christmas is Holy Flexibility. Learning to look for God in the new, the unexpected, the different. To teach myself that it is ok for Christmas to be different this year, and it is ok for my relationship with God to be different as well. Sometimes we need to let go of who God was, so we can see who God is trying to be...a Messiah in a Manger. A Homeless King. A Crucified Savior.

I may be wandering around a castle in the dark, but there is a light that shines in the darkness. I don't know how the Invisible will appear in the Ordinary this year, but that will not stop me looking.

Pesto Pasta with Chicken Sausage & Roasted Brussel Sprouts

This recipe is incredible. Thanks to Ali over at Gimme Some Oven for creating something delectable.Even if you are not a brussel sprout fan I do urge you to try this. Roasting them brings out their nuttiness and cuts down the brassicaceous taste (ooh a $5 word which roughly means cabbagey lol)

1 lb fresh brussel sprouts, ends trimmed and any yellowed/browned outer leaves removed, then sliced in half
3 Tbsp. olive oil, divided
1/2 tsp. Kosher salt
1/2 tsp. freshly-ground black pepper
1 lb (16 oz.) orecchiette (or any pasta)
4 chicken sausage links (I used spicy Italian), sliced into 1/4″ thick coins
5 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
1/3 cup pesto
Parmesan cheese, for serving

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. In a large bowl, mix together brussel sprouts, 2 Tbsp. olive oil, salt and pepper. Gently stir until well-combined.

Prepare a baking sheet with aluminum foil, then spread the brussel sprouts on it evenly. Roast for about 20-30 minutes, stirring once partway through, or until they are crispy on the outside and cooked on the inside. (My batch of tiny sprouts only took about 12 minutes to cook.) Remove from oven and set aside.

Meanwhile, heat the remaining olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add the sausage and cook, turning occasionally, until nearly-browned, about 6-8 minutes. Add the garlic, and continue cooking for another 1-2 minutes until the garlic is fragrant and the sausage is browned.

Cook the pasta according to the package directions. (I begin heating my water while preparing the brussel sprouts, and added the pasta to the boiling water just after beginning to cook the sausage.) Once the pasta is cooked, drain the water (reserving 1/4 cup pasta water), and then toss together the pasta, pesto, cooked sausage and garlic, and brussel sprouts. Add in some of the reserved pasta water if needed for extra moisture.

Serve warm, and sprinkle with freshly-grated Parmesan cheese.

Ali suggests sprinkling toasted pine nuts over the top...I'm guessing that would be awesomeness. I'm also tempted to roast some button mushrooms the same time as the brussel sprouts because I add mushrooms to almost everything :) Another possibility would be to use Pancetta cubes instead of the chicken sausage!
Happy eating.