The Morning Collect

  I continue to make my way through Robert Benson's book In Constant Prayer. This morning I have been reading about a prayer form known as a collect. When I first read this book years ago, I was not interested in a prayer practice that included keeping part or all of the daily Divine Office. However, I seem to be needing more routine and ritual now. Maybe it is my age. Maybe it is because the beginning of the Lenten journey is close. Maybe it is the slow realization that most, if not all of my strategies developed for finding shortcuts rather than for deepening discipline (I believe this is what Jesus would call the narrow gate), have not resulted in a particularly sustaining harvest. Probably all of the above and more. 

Regardless, this prayer stirs my heart and I am grateful that my heart can still be stirred. This morning I am reminded that I never address God as "Almighty". Why? I really cannot say. It is probably time to figure out why.  I recently had a dream where a gentle male figure kept telling me that there is one more thing he needed me to do. In the dream I argued with him partly because I was getting ready to board a plane. However, he quietly repeated himself several times. I finally softened, and I sat down to listen. I am awaiting further instructions, and so I "stretch out my hands"*, and learn to pray.     

  

"Deliver us, Almighty God, from the service of self alone: 

That we may do the work You have given us to do, 

in truth and beauty, and for the common good; 

for the sake of the One Who comes among us 

as one who serves, 

the One Who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, 

one God, now and forever. Amen."    

 

Image: San Leandro, February, 2023

 

*Psalm 143:6

On Dry Ground

 Those of you who receive my weekly SpiritCare meditations have already seen the bulk of this post, so please excuse the duplication. However, Psalm 143 is staying with me, and I feel the need to share this a little more widely. I am cleaning out my bookcases (a slower process has never existed), and I came across Robert Benson's fine book, In Constant Prayer. In it he mentions a writing practice of rewriting what you wrote the day before to help launch you into a new day of writing. In a way, that is what I am doing here. In the February 15 entry of The Rule of St. Benedict, Sister Joan mentions that on Saturdays Psalm 43 is to be read. I think Psalm 43 will be one of the daily lynchpins for my Lenten journey. Three times a day I will pray and offer up these small and rather wrinkled hands of mine to the Holy One. Three times a day I will lift my hands to God. That is what I am doing now. 

I do not yet have a photograph for Psalm 143. Perhaps one will be revealed in the new few weeks. Yet, I do like the one attached. It reminds me that my prayers are already being answered.

"I stretch out my hands to you; 

my whole being is like dry dirt, 

thirsting for you." 

Psalm 143:6, Common English Bible   

    

Meditation: 

On Wednesday, February 22, Christians around the world will begin the Great Lenten Journey. Some will start by attending an Ash Wednesday service, where they may hear the words, "You are from dust and to dust you will return." Others may hear, "Repent, and believe the Gospels." I remember one year going to an afternoon service yearning to hear the words that would remind me of my physical mortality. I was tired and seeking respite. Instead, I was given a packet of seeds and was told something about butterflies. I was not yet ready to hear of an upcoming sprouting of wings. I needed to hear the words about the ground of my being.

I have been sitting with this Psalm of David this morning. As is often the case with David, he was feeling under siege, and was afraid. He, too, was probably tired. He tells God that he is feeling weak, and for David that probably was a frightening idea. David then pours out his heart and tells God that he is stretching out both hands. Here he is confessing that he has no weapon, no shield. His only hope lies in this tremendous thirst to know God. He must trust that God is listening, and will reach back in return.  

I believe there is a strong connection between our hands and our hearts. When I envision David reaching out with both hands to God, I see him as being fully engaged with the heartfelt cry of his heart. If you are wondering what to do for a prayer practice, I suggest that you begin the morning with holding out both hands to God, and repeating David's words, or speaking your own. Silence is perfectly acceptable as well. We can also pray our prayer quietly before we undertake a task, or we are about to eat or drink. Let us practice dedicating all our actions to God. I also suggest finishing our prayer by putting our hands together, bowing slightly, and praying "Thy will be done." 

 

 I would love to hear how your practice is going. Blessings on your journey. 

  

Prayer:  

"Tell me of your faithful love come morning time,

because I trust you. 

Show me the way I should go, 

because I offer my life up to you."  

Psalm 143:8        

     

Practice

"Prayer...is obviously not a routine activity. It is a journey into life, the struggles and its glories." 

I am returning to the daily practice of reading a portion of St. Joan Chittister's The Rule of St. Benedict, Insights for the Ages. I plan on continuing this practice at least through Lent. I confess I have already peaked ahead to the February 16 reading, and I was so struck by these two sentences that I think they will guide me through Lent, and beyond. 

Certainly, we each have our own ways of praying. Yet, these prayer journeys are not just personal. They are also collective. The more aware we become of the universality of prayer, the more we can be nourished in the common ground of all creation. Let us listen and consciously join in. Perhaps then, we can sing with the flowers. 

   

So, what did I take away from the  reading of February 14?  Well, for one thing, a sense of being rerooted in the commitment of coming together every Sunday to worship, whether we worship in a church, temple, in a field, or on Zoom: 

"Sunday Lauds in the monastic liturgy is a soul-splitting commitment to go on. The point is that every life needs points along the way that enable us to rise about the petty daily problems, the overwhelming tragedies of our lives and begin again, whatever our circumstances, full of confidence, not because we know ourselves to be faithful, but because God is." 

  

God is. Amen.   

  

Love and Blessings on your journey, 

Rev. Sue Ann 

      

image: San Leandro, February, 2023 

Learning to See

 I received this poem from the SALT Project a couple of days ago, and have been pondering it ever since.  There is so much trauma in the world today, and far too much of it is experienced by children.  I am convinced we must deepen our knowledge of the lasting effects of unaddressed trauma. Yet, I think Mary Oliver's understanding that all humans will experience both light and darkness in our lives is a valuable reminder to look deeper into our darkness. There is light to be had there. Trying to avoid the darkness is mostly impossible. We cannot outrun it. So we learn to take root right where we are. There, we find God, and we begin to see.   

   

Someone I loved once gave me 

a box full of darkness. 

 

It took me years to understand 

that this, too, was a gift.   

 

Mary Oliver  

  

photograph was taken in San Leandro several years ago.