Still Learning

 "If you want to change something in your life you have two possibilities open to you. You can try to will that change; you can try to redirect your life by acts of the will. I think most of us discover from our own experience that our wills are appallingly weak and shockingly inconsistent. There is another way: the other way of total openness of the whole person. It is not the way intention but the way of attention."  

John Main, Silence and Stillness in Every Season, March 25 entry   

    

Yesterday as the pianist and I settled into a particularly beautiful memory care home that is still new to us, I was concerned that few residents had been gathered at our appointed time.  Even after almost 15 years in this ministry, I still have moments when I think that I am failing. That somehow there is something I should be doing to reach more people. Maybe if I sang better. Maybe if I were male. Maybe if I were an extrovert. Maybe it really is time to retire. The list of maybes could go on forever. They are inexhaustible.  I, however, am not, so fortunately, I had read John Main's meditation just a few hours before, and the words had stayed with me.  I decided to try just accepting who and what was before me.  I first noticed with gratitude the work of the staff to make room for wheelchairs and gurneys.  I then noticed one resident,  a small woman in a gurney being brought to us. I felt gladness because I simply like her. She is usually silent, but her eyes reveal a knowing spirit. I went over to say hello, and she looked at me intently. I smiled, and simply waited. After some seconds, as she usually does,  she gently reached out her thin hand. I then reached out as gently as I could. She is not quick to smile, but she does smile if I have the courage to wait. 

I later noticed a staff member come and sit next to a frail resident.  As we began the Lord's prayer, I saw that the  elder was ever so quietly saying the prayer with him by her side. The movement of her lips was almost imperceptible, but I was able to match my pace with hers. Suddenly I heard all the voices, as if we were a choir. 

Afterwards, a tall thin man walked by. He walks the entire time we are there. Up until yesterday I never saw him look left or right. I assumed he incessantly walks every day, but I was told he usually stays in his room. Yesterday, as he passed through, he looked at us, nodded his head, and raised his hand and arm in what I believe was a wave.   I was sitting down then so the pianist could simply enjoy playing a piece of her choice on their beautiful piano. I was able to see him stop and stand behind  her for maybe 30 seconds or so before journeying  on.  

I later met that staff member who joined us and learned he  is the executive director of the community. I thought  how wonderful it was that he would take about 20 minutes of his day and come and worship with those he served.  He said he was not usually there on Fridays so our time together felt particularly meaningful. 

So that sacred space that at first seemed sparsely populated, now appeared to be overflowing with music, gratitude, and love. I was reminded for the umpteenth time that we are always held in Christ.   As I said my good-byes, the first resident I saw reached out her hand once more and quietly asked if we would come again. In this, there really is no maybe, unless life takes a decidedly different turn.  "Oh, yes," I replied as I reached out once more. She smiled, and I like to think she gave thanks. Even if she did not, I did. And that is enough.     

       

image:  San Leandro, March 2022. I am imagining myself to be that small white flower. 

  

Carried On the Wind

 I was actually able to visit a memory care community last week. Almost all the communities SpiritCare currently serves have been closed to visitors for a month or so. During these  interruptions, I often lose my sense of rhythm. I was reminded of this when I realized I had left my Bible at home. Fortunately, our song sheets always include a few lines of scripture. Just enough, especially in memory care where too many words generally causes confusion.   

I enjoy passing out the song sheets. It gives me a chance to say hello and let people know that I am glad to see them. These moments help me get an overall sense of  who is with me that day. In this particular visit, one resident was completely focused on her coloring sheets. While her motor skills were poor, I appreciated her choice of bright colors. She even had on a sweater that was a bold red with white polka dots.  I said good morning and told her where I was placing the song sheet should she want to sing. She did not acknowledge the sheet or me, but continued with her task. I complimented her on her colors and moved on. 

I did notice that after we had sung a couple of hymns, she looked up and smiled.  She nodded her head with the music. I smiled and nodded my head in return. Afterwards, when I was gathering the song sheets, she surprised me by standing up.  She began to speak with much excitement. However she had almost no discernable voice. What I was hearing was  a rush of air. I could not make out even one word. Yet, on another level we understood one another. She pointed up and I felt certain she was enthusiastically speaking of her love of God. I just kept nodding and smiling and saying yes. It was a sweet moment that included a hug from her. I thanked her, and when we left, I waved good-bye. She did the same.  

Walking into this community is like walking into a very nice hotel. It is beautifully appointed, and the grand piano is tuned and cared for. The residents are well dressed. Yet, even wealth cannot hold Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia at bay for long, and that knowledge makes these visits even more poignant. However, God's love also knows no boundaries. I was reminded of that first Pentecost when a sound arose like wind from heaven and everyone understood one another. Such understanding is possible as long as at least one of us remembers that our native tongue is love.     

   

They were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages as the Spirit enabled them to speak.

Acts 2:4      

 

image: San Leandro, January 2022  

Not a Word

 Yesterday I drove Tyler to Kaiser for his follow-up appointment after his cataract surgery. When we arrived, I dropped him off so he could check in. I parked the car and found a chair in the front entryway of the building. I knew Tyler could easily find me there when his appointment was over. I soon settled in, and I appreciated the natural lighting that shone through the glass doors. I had a book with me, but I often set it down to simply watch the people move in and out of the building. Some appeared to be in poor health, and leaned on a companion or a walker for assistance. Others looked to be confused about where they should be. They looked anxiously about seeking direction from somewhere or someone. Fortunately, an information board was close by to help them get their bearings. Those who were coming in to do their morning work were easy to recognize. They wore prominent badges and moved with a sense of assurance of knowing where they were expected to be. Alameda county has a diverse population, so I was not surprised to see a few women wearing beautiful hijabs. Other women had hair that was either in disarray or tucked under a baseball cap. However, one woman, who walked slowly with a walker, had her hair pulled up and back, secured with a beautiful silver clip. Not a hair was out of place. Another older woman had tucked a plastic plumeria blossom in her hair. I remembered the scent of that beautiful flower and I silently thanked her. There were men as well. Some wore clothes that were very tidy. Others, well, not so much. Everyone wore masks. Everyone appeared to have some place to go, even if it was only to return to their car. 

I found it interesting that in the midst of those comings and goings, I was one of the few who was not expected anywhere except right where I was (Really, that is true for all of us.) I was grateful for the reprieve. I was also grateful that author Diana Butler Bass had given me something to think about. In her book, Freeing Jesus, she comments that the English translation of logos in John 1:1, as Word ( "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God")  was actually a poor translation. She writes, "Logos means "ground or speech or expectation... the very ground of divine being, the breath of God, the presence of the holy in and through all things." Having never felt particularly inspired by John 1:1, I was grateful for the reminder that I was sitting in sacredness. I became aware that I was breathing not just my own breath, but the breath of the movement all around me, and of life even beyond the building. In that moment I heard not a word. I knew only life sustaining breath. I also knew that in that breath healing and wholeness could be found.  

  

  

image: plumeria, San Leandro, 2014. 

Non-Searching

 "I suppose it is the completeness of the commitment that frightens us. But commit yourself but once and you will know from your own experience the love that casts out all fear. It takes many people years to come to that moment of commitment. Yet whether it takes years, months, weeks, or days is of no importance. All that is of importance is that each of us, as best we can in these earthen vessels, is as open as we can be to the essential truth of union."    

John Main, Silence and Stillness in Every Season   

image: an aging camillia blossom, January 2022   

 

Graduation

 I woke this morning from a dream where I am standing in the back of the Kent Mercantile store in Kent, TX. Yes, this is a real place, although it may not exist anymore ( I love that sentence. ) In the dream, I am standing in the back of the store, at the end of the horizontal cooler where cheese, cold cuts, and probably other items were kept. The man who worked there when I was riding the school bus, came up to me, handed me an envelope, and said, "Congratulations. You have graduated from seminary." Interesting. I wish I could remember his name. He introduced me to English muffins. Very exotic fare at the time. I liked them, and him very much.

image: San Leandro, January 2021. I came across this rose shortly after I muttered to myself, "I am so tired of photographing roses."

Gentle Guidance

 "The journey is never dull if we make it in faith. The stillness is never static. And over it all, the open-armed, all-accepting embrace of Christ presides. He is the gate, the goal and the whole way. Our lives are soaked in Christ. There is nowhere he is not." 

This morning, at least for now, I finished reading Web of Silence by Laurence Freeman. I want to share these concluding words of the book for in them I find a universal truth. By all means, if you want to substitute another word for Christ, do so. If the pronouns bother you, change them. I think sometimes we get too wrapped up in such details. Fortunately, meditation moves us beyond words and concepts, leading us to understand that our words are meant to reveal a path. They are merely  an invitation to travel together for a while.  Let us go gently, grateful that our compass is Love.   

 

Blessings on your journey. 

   

image:  Villa Maria del Mar, October 2021 . This is certainly not a perfect photograph, but it always makes me smile. 

 

The Generous Gardner

 My neighbor closed her Chinese restaurant a few years ago. When she was running the restaurant, I would generally see her when one or both of us were in our cars. Now, I often see her either on my morning walks or in her garden. The garden is a new endeavor, and she has done a lovely job. Because of this sighting yesterday, I now think  of her as a generous gardener; one who leaves a little something for the bees in January.   

May we all be so generous with the life that is all around us.    

Today is Epiphany. Let us watch for the wise ones as they pass through. If we pay attention, Wisdom will always share her gifts.   

        

"It is very difficult to try to determine what it is that makes a person want to meditate. It has puzzled me over the years. There seem to be so many reasons why people start to meditate. But I think there is only one reason that keeps people meditating. That I think we could describe as a growing commitment to reality."  

Father John Main, OSB   

     

 

  

image: San Leandro, January 2022. I had to lean over my neighbor's fence to take this picture so it is not perfectly composed. The bee would not be still, and neither would the dog.