Rhythm of Place, Part 3

I arrived at San Damiano a few minutes before registration opened. I decided to take my first of many walks that I would take that week. They have a beautiful area set aside for the Stations of the Cross, and I decided to start there. Just as I was finishing that walk, a man approached me and said, "I am sorry to disturb you, but if you walk back down that path and then down the stairs, you can sit on the bench and take in a beautiful view of the Tri-Valley area." I thanked him for the reminder. I have seen that view before, but it was several years ago. Long enough that I had forgotten about it. I turned and began walking towards the stairs. However, when I got there, there were two people sitting on the bench, appearing to be engrossed in conversation.  Not wanting to disturb them and thinking I had plenty of time for valley viewing, I turned and went on to registration.   

However, every time I returned, there were always two people sitting on the bench quietly talking. On the last day, after I had put my luggage in the car, I thought that surely people would be distracted with their own leave takings so I could sit and ponder the view for a few minutes. I stepped on the path. Because of the large oak trees, the area was deep in shade. Yet, even in that dim morning light,  I caught a glimpse of some movement. I paused, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw a small herd of deer sitting in front of me. The movement that I almost sensed more than saw turned out to be the twitching ears of a young male who was looking at me intently. His antlers were in the velvet stage of growth. What light there was outlined the tips of his ears. He was stunningly handsome. 

I bowed and smiled. I quietly told them I would not disturb them, and I turned towards my car and the journey home.

Deer are plentiful in the east bay. Yet, as common as they are, I feel I have been given a sighting of a rare creature. Because of the shade, I did not try to take a picture. I also did not want to fumble and cause a distraction. The image I am content to carry in my heart.  

I just read that velvet antler is considered medicinal, and that herds are raised for the purpose of harvesting the antlers. This discovery saddens me. Yet, I will continue to believe that one day humans will be able to walk peaceably with our fellow creatures. Then, and only then, will we find the healing we so anxiously seek. I think rather than call this area the Stations of the Cross, I will call it "Where the Deer Can Rest."  I think Jesus would appreciate the change of view.

image: Stations of the Cross, San Damiano, October 2022 

 

Encouragement

 Pema Chodron is an 86 year old American Tibetan Buddhist. I find strength in her age and her wisdom. I have been pulled in several directions this week, so I needed to read this this morning. I have done so several times. At the invitation of his pastor, I will speak briefly tonight at a candlelight vigil of a young Samoan seminary student who was murdered.  He was a vibrant part of the Samoan congregation that meets in our church building. If they were not connected to us, I might have simply read the news, shaken my head, and continued on. But this evening, I will enter the grief of others. I wish that the one who had the gun would have had Pema Chodron's words instead.

 

"The source of our unease is the unfulfillable longing for a lasting certainty and security, for something solid to hold on to. Unconsciously we expect that if we could just get the right job, the right partner, the right something, our lives would run smoothly. When anything unexpected or not to our liking happens, we think something has gone wrong.

I believe this is not an exaggeration of where we find ourselves. Even at the most mundane level, we get so easily triggered - someone cuts in front of us, we get seasonal allergies, our favorite restaurant is closed when we arrive for dinner. We are never encouraged to experience the ebb and flow of our moods, of our health, of the weather, of outer events - pleasant and unpleasant - in their fullness. Instead we stay caught in a fearful, narrow holding pattern of avoiding any pain and continually seeking comfort. This is the universal dilemma.

When we pause, allow a gap, and breathe deeply, we can experience instant refreshment. Suddenly we slow down, look out, and there’s the world. It can feel like briefly standing in the eye of the tornado or the still point of a turning wheel. Our mood may be agitated or cheerful. What we see and hear may be chaos or it may be the ocean, the mountains, or birds flying across a clear blue sky. Either way, momentarily our mind is still and we are not pulled in or pushed away by what we are experiencing."

~ Pema Chodron

source: First Sip

image: San Damiano, October, 2022

Rhythm of Place, Part 2, San Damiano

 "... the Spirit doesn't really descend from on high but arises through the grassroots and through the body of Christ and through small groups, small communities, and individuals."

Laurence Freeman, OSB, Daily Wisdom, October 11, 2022 

     

Every day last week, I gathered with the community to celebrate the Eucharist. In this silent retreat, I would say that the majority of the people in attendance were Catholic. Even though I certainly knew Father Freeman was Catholic, and yes, we were in a Franciscan retreat house, I still was surprised. After being assured by Father Freeman that he would never withhold communion from anyone, I decided to take part. I am glad I did because I found some healing in the ritual, the words, and the repetition. I was reminded of a conversation I had some years ago with a woman who said that even though she was Presbyterian, there was one Lenten season when she attended mass every day at at Catholic church near her home. She found, as did I, that the daily rhythm of coming together to pray and meditate takes root and you will always feel a longing to return. 

 More and more, I find it strange to identify oneself by the church, temple, or synagogue that we attend. I know traditions and cultures are meaningful and this I respect. Yet, we are more. Our roots are deeper than we realize. This understanding is one of the gifts of meditation. Slowly, the thoughts of "I am this" dissolve, leaving us free to love. 

    

photograph: leaves in a fountain, San Damiano, October, 2022 

Rhythm of Place, Part 1 San Damiano

 Thanks to San Damiano's noisy, but quite efficient Keurig coffee maker, every morning this week I brewed a cup of coffee at 6:00 a.m. I would then go and sit under the oak trees at the San Damiano Retreat Center in Danville. Facing north, I would watch Mt. Diablo slowly being revealed as the sun rose. I grew fond of this mountain. The always busy 680 corridor was between us, but I was high enough and far enough away from it that the pre-dawn traffic seemed like a strand of jewels reverentially placed before the mountain. On the morning when I took this picture, tule fog was obscuring the freeway, and at one point almost covered the mountain. I was so captivated by this slow moving wave that I missed the 6:30 meditation.   

Being able to gaze daily upon a mountain is a blessing. I feel no need to climb a mountain, and I really do not care for the phrase, "bagging a mountain." I bag groceries, not mountains. While I like to think that mountains are indestructible, I know this is not the case. Regardless, mountains do inspire a sense of stability and permanence that seems to resonate with my soul. Then again so do prairies, but that is a subject for another time. 

There was much that I loved about this five day silent retreat led by Father Laurence Freeman.  While we gathered for meditation several times during the day and evening, the early morning meditation was my favorite. It reminded me of my spiritual direction intensives when we would gather every morning and evening for a contemplative prayer service. It was a collective rhythm that took root, and I think that will always be a part of me.  However, being silent at communal meals usually feels uncomfortable to me. My father seldom talked during meals unless company was present. While I seldom have a need to chatter incessantly while I eat, extended silence when I share a meal with others sometimes gives me a sense of loneliness. I was able to speak with Father Lawrence about it, and he suggested that I think of it as an extension of the Eucharist. I am still pondering that. However, this retreat was loving, and by the time we were coming out of the silence, I was adjusting to sitting at the table with others and not speaking. My last meal at San Damiano was breakfast on Friday, and our silence had ended that morning. Ironically, I found myself at a table with three women who were all very hard of hearing. Our conversation was limited, and I am still smiling about that. Perhaps that is what Father Laurence meant - just leave it all to God. 

I read and wrote very little at this retreat, but I did take pictures and scribbled some notes so I would remember. These I will share in the upcoming days. As always, you are welcome to read, or not, as you feel called.  

   

Love and Blessings,    

Sue Ann         

     

 

    

Eucharist

 This morning, I met with a small group who live and work in a community dedicated to caring for those with dementia. After the worship service, I began, as I have done for 14 years and 11 months, to gather the song sheets after the service, and to thank those who had been with us. I paused in front of a woman who was in a gurney. During our service, she did not move, nor did she open her eyes. As I stood before her, I placed my hand above her head and quietly said a blessing. She still did not stir. Yet, afterwards, as I was trying to corral our song sheets into a large envelope, a caregiver came to take her to another location. As they moved past me, the resident opened her surprisingly bright brown eyes. She smiled a beautiful smile, and then said, "Thank you."  Her light filled the room and in that moment, I knew only love. I smiled in return, and voiced my own thanks. We then waved good-bye to one another.   

Thus ended my time as a paid staff member of SpiritCare. I do have one more community to visit today, but it is one of the local communities that I will continue to visit as a volunteer. I have been blessed to serve in the eternal presence that is God. The time has been filled, and will continue to be filled,  with laughter and tears and many amens. When I first began with SpiritCare, I told a colleague that I had been kidnapped by Jesus. Today, I was reminded he is still having a say.  

Thank you, Jesus.  

   

      image: August lily, Oakland, CA

Sighting

 I so appreciate receiving this quote from Father Laurence Freeman this morning. I am reminded that when something is not fathomable, that is the time not just to shrug our shoulders and say, "Oh, well," or even immediately attack with intellectual zeal. Rather, that is the time to first bow to the Spirit in awe. 

 

"As we look into the depths of our own soul and see the wonder that is there, the wonder of God as the ground of our being, we experience mystery... Mystery is a real thing; it is not an airy-fairy thing. It is a real encounter with the living God. And reverence is that sense of wonder and respect that we have for the deep laws of nature and the deep laws of the spirit that we can't fully understand. They are mysterious, but we know that we are intertwined with them. We know we are living these deep mysteries, these laws of the spirit."   

 

 

image: San Leandro, September, 2022

The Glorious All Too Real

 Last week (or maybe the week before) it was lizards. Today, a gas station. Jesus shows up in surprising ways.  We best be kind to all and accept the grace.  My nightmare this morning reminded me that when I struggle, I am struggling to reach my heart. I wonder why sometimes that journey seems so hard. Even in a brand new bright red pick-up that yes, was in my dream. Packed with too much stuff, it proved to be of no shiny help at all. Or perhaps ultimately it did. Regardless, this morning I shall walk. Thank you, Jesus.  

This is a beautiful poem.  

Gas Station Communion 

It was a little thing, really,

this offer to fill my tire.
I was unscrewing the valve cap
and heard a voice behind me.
‘Here, I’ll get that for you”

“Oh that’s ok, I’ve got it,” is what I
normally say to such overtures,
this knee-jerk reaction to refuse.
I am the one who offers to help,
I am the one who serves.

Perhaps it was the eager spirit
in his face or his brown eyes
full of hopeful connection that
caused me to say okay.

I felt the vibration of
his unspoken benediction:
I can’t do much for you,
fellow weary traveler,
but I can do this. Lay
your burden down and
I will carry it for a bit.

And I couldn’t help but wonder
how many times I have denied
someone the blessing of serving
because I have been too stubborn
to accept their gift.

As I was standing there in
the sun drenched gas station
parking lot, the hiss and tick of
the air pump sounded very much
like a psalm. I watched his hands
filling more than just my tire with air,
while goodness and grace
swirled around us.

~ Paula Gordon Lepp

First Sip  

  

 

photograph: Oakland, August 2022