To Know The Dark

Winter in Oregon includes a lot of dark.

It has been somewhat dark at The Orchard for a number of seasons now:

We're not sure where we're going or what we are to be doing.

As they say: "Old orders are good orders"

and so we rest in what we heard from Creator a few years back:

"Don't try to build anything. Just love people"

Beyond that we don't know much at all.

Walking in the dark is something we are getting to know.

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

~ Wendell Berry 

No Matter The Season

As Summer comes into it's fullness here in Oregon,
we remember how long Winter lasted; how rainy Spring seemed.
We also begin to sense just the faintest chill in the evening air.
Daylight begins to shorten, and we know
the Autumnal changes are not far away.

In this time-between-the-times
liminality
we cherish the goodness of what and who
is here and now; with us.
And we bask in The Orchard Master's faithfullness
to us and to all
no matter the season...

O Blessed Spring

(the gift of love)

by Susan Palo Cherwien

O blessed spring, where Word and sign

Embrace us into Christ the Vine:
Here Christ enjoins each one to be
A branch of this life-giving Tree.

 

Through summer heat of youthful years,
Uncertain faith, rebellious tears,
Sustained by Christ's infusing rain,
The boughs will shout for joy again.

 

When autumn cools and youth is cold,
When limbs their heavy harvest hold,
Then through us, warm, the Christ will move
With gifts of beauty, wisdom, love.

 

As winter comes, as winters must,
We breathe our last, return to dust;
Still held in Christ, our souls take wing
And trust the promise of the spring.

 

Christ, holy Vine, Christ, living Tree,
Be praised for this blest mystery:
That Word and water thus revive
And join us to your Tree of Life. 

Blest Community

Blest Community

by Loretta F. Ross

O Most Holy Trinity
Undivided Unity,
teach us the gentle deference
of your dance of surrendered love
how with infinite tenderness
and utmost esteem
you so gently
adoringly
are present
to one another.

Teach us your perichoresis,

your grand circle dance,

where you eternally birth joy

from the womb of reverence.

Teach us your unending,

enfolding regard

for the pure holiness

you hold and behold.

You,

sweet breath and the lungs of creation,

eternally giving,

empty

and eternally receiving

are filled.

You release and bind,

but never push nor pull.

You hold accountable,

but never blame.

You incline yourselves to one another

as a grove of green willows

bending in the breeze

bowing to each other's grace

known and cherished

on the broad plain of mutuality.

Deepen our trust, O Blest Community,

that we may enter such intimacy.

One Vine, One Branch

For lent I gave up facebook. It hasn't been as hard as I thought it might be -- not really much of a sacrifice. But I suppose the sacrifice is not what it is about. For me, it is about making space for something else; creating an emptiness and then stepping back and allowing God to fill it.

He filled it...with an awareness of my emptiness; how stark it is & how right & good it is.

As per my usual, I began to see and think in terms of some comparative imagery. This is what my life is like right now:

I'm realizing the story of the three little pigs is not just a faery tale! Houses made of straw and twigs -- the trappings I've always felt protected by are really not sufficient shelter from the rains & winds which are bound to come in all lives. I want a house made of brick -- set firmly on the foundation of Jesus' Kingdom. The house He is building (Psalm 127:1) is the one I want to live in. But first the houses I've built (and the ones given to me which I've stepped into and tried to live in) must be left behind. There are three ways for this to happen:

1. Build brick re-inforcements around the current house. Valid option, but not what I am called to (think traditional churches adding contemporary services, and morphing over time into a contemporary church).
2. The old house of straw can come crashing down in one fell swoop, and I can go running like the first little pig into the house of my brother which looks A LOT stronger...and he and I can laugh and feel safe there, until the big bad wolf comes again -- and then he and I can both run away to the house of our brother who built with bricks, and find refuge there. Thank God that's not what we've experienced!
Neither of these really felt right to us. Instead, we've felt called to something different:
3. We've stepped away from the hard work we'd put into the other houses, and have begun to build a brick house.
   
   This takes time and energy and during the building, it feels very vulnerable...the wolf may happen along at any time and what if my house is not yet finished?

Plus, the most difficult piece is simply stepping *out* of the old house. We thought we'd done that but at every next season, it seems we are being called again and again to step out and leave the old behind.

And it seems more and more that the "building" is not so much a house being constructed as artificial support structures being demolished. Michelangelo was once asked how he could possibly sculpt something as magnificent as David. He replied "All I do is chip away what does not belong". That is what God is doing in me as He removes the shell. It is not so much about building a brick house as it is getting rid of the shell so that I can be free.

With Easter right around the corner, I'm realizing what a baby chick must feel.

emerging from the shell of religion into a new world of freedom is at first exhilerating: new light streams in, and there's fresh air. New sounds, etc. But once the majority of the shell is gone, it can be a bit frightening, cold, with no more shelter.

And I'm realizing how flimsy the shell is now that I'm on the outside looking back at it.

"Really? That is all that was protecting & feeding me?"

I'm starting to (just starting mind you) to understand Psalm 127:1 and the other Psalms which refer to Him as my Refuge, my Strong Tower, my Place of Shelter, my Rock.

In this place of emptiness there is work to do; I am not spiritually idle. But the work I do feels different. I feel like a member of a crew team

See that little dude at the far left, that's the coxswain. That's Jesus. I'm a crew member. I'm facing away from the destination, and have to trust the coxswain. All my hard effort is absent of seeing the prize, but with my ears and eyes and heart fixed on the one who *can* see the destination. He directs my strength; my rhythms of work and rest.

But this is all so new, and strange. What He's telling me is so freeing and life-giving, but so different from what I've ever known. It is like being pruned.

Bearing fruit is the goal, and if that means cutting away pieces that appeared fruitful, but were not as fruitful as the final result will be -- then trusting the Master Vintner's experience for what to cut and how far back, etc is a good thing...but is still difficult -- since to my relatively inexperienced eye, I'm thinking "But that piece was bearing some fruit..." or "You're cutting away too much! There's nothing left but a single solitary branch cut back to the beginning!"

And He says

"Yes, Keith but do you see that bud?..."

I do see it.

It is so small. It is so fragile; so vulnerable.

And it is so beautiful. It represents the beginnings of new life.

And while it still seems so stark and empty; so barren...

"You are The Vine. I am a single branch.
One vine. One branch.
I need nothing else.
That is enough for me."

~ Keith

A Prayer of Abandonment

I recently spent a week at an Abbey in Mt. Angel, OR.

A Monk's room is sometimes referred to as a cell -- and it has been said

Go into your cell,
and your cell will teach you
everything you need to know

There is a lot I learned, from my cell and other sources. One was a cool prayer:

A Prayer of Abandonment
by Br. Charles de Foucald

Father, I abandon myself into Your hands;
do with me what You will.
Whatever You do I thank You.
I am ready for all, I accept all.
Let only Your will be done in me,
as in all Your creatures,
I ask no more than this, my Lord.
Into Your hands I commend my soul;
I offer it to You, O Lord,
with all the love of my heart,
for I love You, my God, and so need to give myself--
to surrender myself into Your hands,
without reserve and with total confidence,
for You are my Father.

In looking around at info on him, I found a cool podcast to use as a daily devotional, called "Pray As You Go". I know, I know, a canned podcast? As a devotional? Well, I listened to one and really liked it, so I'm sharing it here.

The God Who Fell From Heaven

A PRAYER TO THE GOD WHO FELL FROM HEAVEN
~ By John Shea

If you had stayed
tightfisted in the sky
and watched us thrash
with all the patience of a pipe smoker,
I would pray like a golden bullet
aimed at your heart.
But the story says you cried
and so heavy was the tear
you fell with it to earth
where like a baritone in a bar
it is never time to go home.
So you move among us
twisting every straight line into Picasso,
stealing kisses from pinched lips,
holding our hand in the dark.
So now when I pray
I sit and turn my mind like a television knob
till you are there with your large, open hands
spreading my life before me
like a Sunday tablecloth
and pulling up a chair for yourself
for by now
the secret is out.
You are home.

Living Loved

Sometimes I wake up earlier than I need to and instead of falling back asleep I think and pray. This happened the other night. I've been pondering the idea of "living loved" recently and I was asking God what that means for me. I've been trying to figure out how to do that -- how to live loved -- but I'm at a loss sometimes. Over the past 5 years I've gone through some drastic changes, all good. But somewhere deep inside my heart I don't believe I'm fully loved just the way I am.

Many years ago in college I wrestled with the same stuff, and experienced a bit of healing when (of all things!) I saw a bumper sticker that said: "God loves you just the way you are, but He loves you too much to let you stay that way". That helped, but as I lay there in the dark, I realized there's still a hurt place in my heart, like an old splinter or shard of glass caught in a wound, that says "You need to be better before you can be loved".

I had finished telling God what I wanted help with and was trying to drift back to sleep, but a song started running through my head. It was a challenge to make it go away so I could fall back asleep. Then it dawned on me, as I lay there connecting with The Eternal One: I realized The Music Maker was trying to speak to my heart through that song if I would just listen! Wow -- it was like prayer really was a conversation, and not just me talking and never hearing a response! I've had similar experiences while running, and while riding my motorcycle, which I blogged about here. This time it was different though, because I was in bed, safe and warm and it was still very dark outside, and the house was very quiet. This meant that, in contrast to the other times, my senses were not being fully stimulated, so I could concentrate more fully on what was being said to my soul. I realize the lyrics below are incomplete, and not in the exact order Billy Joel wrote them, but this is what I heard in my heart, over and over until I realized it was from God, for me:

I would not leave you, in times of trouble,
I've never let you down before,
I just want someone, that I can talk to,
I want you just the way you are.

I need to know that you will always be
The same old someone that I knew,
What will it take till you believe in me,
The way that I believe in you?

I said I love you, and that's forever,
And this I promise from the heart,
I couldn't love you, any better,
I love you just the way you are.

Wow. I did finally drift back to sleep, and experienced a real peace. I guess "living loved" is not something I have to "try" and "do" as much as something I need to receive and allow.

Writing this brings tears back to my eyes as I ponder how richly I am loved by God. And the idea of having to be different before I can be loved made me remember a post I did here on the profound truth God spoke to me through a simple story about a velveteen rabbit:

I don't have to be real to be loved.
I have to be loved to be real.

That post was from early 2006, but reminded me that this journey I've been on goes back to late 2003 -- that is when God first began nudging my heart in the direction I am still pointed. Only it took me until just this moment to connect all the dots and see how His hand has been on me this entire time. His love for me shines through the fact that He has brought me full circle in some ways -- this journey has not been just a bunch of random moves here and there (theologically, ecclesiastically, and geographically). It is all part of the same thing in my heart as He loves me into realness.

I guess Paul knew what he was talking about when he told the folks in Philippi that it was God who was at work in them -- both to give them the desires and to give them the abilities to walk out the life He'd called them to. And that same God is doing the same thing in me.

Living loved is easier and harder than I've ever thought, but that's OK. It's a good thing!