Roll Away the Stone

We are in the midst of Triduum, the emotional days of Holy Thursday Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil of Holy Saturday night. It is a busy time for me since I sing in the choir. Most of us are present for all three nights as well as for the Easter morning services. We tend to be very alert as to what’s happening in the liturgy, to pick up our cues for what to sing when. In other words, we have to be present and pay attention in each moment. And because we have been practicing for several weeks, we have had plenty of time to reflect on these celebrations. It helps us get a stronger grasp on what is transpiring in this most holy week of the Christian calendar.

The Triduum is truly a celebration of and journey through God’s salvific history. We commemorate the gifts of Jesus’ body and blood on Holy Thursday’s feast of the Last Supper, in which Jesus gave us his body and blood to be with us always. St. Ambrose called this Christ kissing us on the mouth. Other theologians refer to Eucharist as God’s physical embrace of us. Ronald Rolheiser wrote: “On the night before his death, having exhausted what he could do with words, Jesus went beyond them. He gave us the Eucharist, his physical embrace, his kiss, a ritual within which he holds us to his heart.” Eucharist is God’s way of touching us intimately and deeply. I think of some of the kisses I shared with a man I loved. I literally felt as though I was physically melting into, merging souls with this man. That is what sharing Christ’s body and blood through Eucharist should feel like.

On Good Friday, we remember Jesus passion and death on the cross. It is more than just weeping for what Jesus endured. It isn’t so much about Jesus paying a penalty to save us, but Jesus showing us the way we all must go. God didn’t need a penalty, didn’t need Jesus to pass a series of tests to free us or make us lovable. We always have been loved and forgiven. Instead it is a reminder to us that we must die to things that keep us estranged from deep union with God. It is a painful dying but Jesus’ death is a reminder that God is with us through our loss and suffering, and that it is necessary to bring us to new life. And that resurrection awaits us.

The Easter Vigil is a beautiful, if long, liturgy filled with symbols and imagery. It begins with lighting the fire from which the Paschal candle is lit, dispelling the darkness and bringing light. The flame is then passed by candles from person to person and soon the church is filled with lit candles providing the only source of light as several readings commemorate God with us from creation throughout Biblical history.

The Easter Vigil is traditionally when new Catholics are welcomed into the church and we all renew our baptismal vows. With those vows we promise to reject Satan and his works and empty promises, we pledge our belief in Creator God and God’s son, Jesus. Then we acknowledge our belief in the Holy Spirit, the Church, “the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.”

It strikes me as a bit odd that, while we promise to reject Satan, nowhere do we promise to love God and accept God’s amazing love for us. We only promise to believe in God. Nowhere in these vows do we proclaim our gratitude for our own creation and for all of creation or promise to care for it. And considering the night before we have commemorated Jesus’ suffering and death--usually through intensely emotional rituals--where is the gratitude for all that Jesus went through to help open our eyes to the truth of how beloved we all are? The baptismal vows are all about doctrine, but God and Jesus are all about love. For each one of us. Equally. No matter who we are or how small and worthless and unlovable we think we are.

One of the songs we sing at the Easter Vigil and Easter morning is “Roll Away the Stone.” Of course this refers to the stone being rolled from the grave on Easter morning and the hope and vindication Jesus’ followers experienced. But it also refers to the personal stones that block us from true belief and acceptance, beyond all dogma or doctrine, beyond rules and laws and policies. And especially beyond ego. Roll the stones from your hearts, God is saying, see the glory of God reflected in you and all of creation. Know how deeply beloved you are.

In Hebrews 10:19-20 Paul writes” We have, then, complete freedom to go into the Most Holy Place by means of the death of Jesus. He has opened for us a new way, a living way, through the curtain—that is, through his own body.” Jesus became a portal directly into the heart of God. The door is open, we only have to accept the invitation to enter and let God’s abundant love flow over us and through us.

Take, Lord, Receive All You Have Given Me

I have been reading Ronald Rolheiser’s book on contemplation and mysticism, “The Shattered Lantern: Rediscovering a Felt Presence of God.” I have previously read (or tried to read) some of the work of John of the Cross, but Rolheiser seems to put it into a more accessible language that fits everyday people. John of the Cross wrote about the Dark Night of the Senses and the Dark Night of the Spirit, ways to divest ourselves more and more of our need for pleasure, gratification, satisfaction. Instead of needing to find our value through the positive feedback, respect and appreciation of others, we can do what is right simply because it is the kind and loving thing to do. We learn to understand and follow the motivation of Christ.

This is a letting go of our ego to allow God to be more in touch with us. It is what St. Ignatius of Loyola was talking about in his Suscipe prayer: take all that I have, know, am and give me only your love and grace for that is all I need.

My decision to continue to write my thoughts and release them to the world through my blog whether they matter or not was a step in this direction, but I didn’t realize it fully until I read these passages last night. “We are to move beyond our need for praise, affirmation, recognition, status, and attention” and do whatever we feel God is calling us to do. “Persevere . . . despite the lack of gratification.” Such a hard thing to do: let go of my need to be acknowledged, appreciated, respected, and complimented. Let go, even, of needing to know that what I do or think or say makes any difference to anyone. It seems like the whole point of my life so far has been to impress others to earn love and worthiness. How do I accept that has been a lie? How do I live in the truth that what I do or know, how I look or what I accomplish is irrelevant?

As usual, my mind was wandering and pondering this heavy stuff as I was walking Charlie on this beautiful though still chilly day. We so often take for granted the many gifts in our lives; and it is only when they are missing that we realize how much they meant to us, how much we value them. Today was a rare sunny day in the Pacific Northwest. We have had nearly constant gray, dark, very rainy days since February. It has been at least 10 degrees colder than normal springs. The flowers have managed to push their way through and the bees and other insects are finally starting to appear so spring is coming, though it could take months to dry out.

One of the thoughts that occurred was the supposition that perhaps these unusually dark, gray days are a gift from God in helping us let go of our need for the pleasure of spring. Maybe these are a little experience of John’s Dark Night of the Senses. We are all praying, begging, whining for sun and warmth because it makes us happy, brings us out into the beautiful world, fills our senses. Even if the flowers are finally blooming, we are reluctant to go out into the cold rain to enjoy their beauty. Being deprived of that delightful experience of spring is a way to help us give up our need for that small pleasure, even if we are dragged into the experience kicking and screaming!

So I am trying to be equally thankful for the dark, dreary, cold spring days as well as the bright, blue, warm days. I am trying to find the gift in things that don’t feel at all like gift. For me, the gift of dark and rain is an intentional drawing in, a chance to move deeper, find the quiet stillness of God. These days give me time for solitude and reading, for writing and praying instead of being out in the world enjoying its beauty.

As I walked, I felt the warm sun on my face and shoulders; I drank in the blue sky and the pale green new leaves, the fluffy white cherry blossoms. I heard bees humming and birds singing and smelled the faint scent of grass and damp earth. As my mind admired this beauty, a prayer formed.

Thank you for eyes to see the beauty of this world you gave us,
The blue sky, the flowers and trees, Charlie running ahead of me.
But were I to lose my sight,
I could still sing songs of praise and thanks,
Could whisper I love yous and share laughter with friends.
But if I could no longer sing or speak,
I would still have ears to hear the beauty of birdsong
And bees humming among the flowers, children laughing.
But were my hearing to be lost,
I could still taste the sweet and
Juicy tartness of your apples and peaches.
But were everything to taste like bitter ash in my mouth,
Still I could smell the delicate aroma
Of lilacs, of fresh-mown grass, cinnamon rolls and coffee, of a baby’s neck.
Even if my sense of smell were taken, I would have touch,
the feel of warm sun on my skin, cooling rain or breezes on a hot day,
Of velvet rose petals between my fingers,
the softness of a kitten or a child’s face.
But were I even to lose my sense of touch, even then, God,
you have given me memories of all these gifts,
enough to last a lifetime.
But I know that even memories, even minds can wander away,
and should that some day happen, I know you will be there,
by my side, filling my senses,
guiding my blind feet, showing your love. Always.

Let It Be Now

I had this strange little epiphany this afternoon, after sitting in on a class on meditation given by my friend Julie Dale with Motivated Zen. I was looking out at the grass in my yard, trying to be aware and notice. This is actually something I think I’m pretty good at much of the time: noticing, being aware and present, and finding God in many things. The problem is what happens after I notice something.

So I was thinking about the grass, the rich deep spring green in some spots but the chartreuse spots that dominate parts of my yard where the moss has taken over. I started to beat myself up about it, telling myself that I need to get busy and do something to fertilize, kill the moss and probably even reseed the lawn in some places. Then I realized when you are in contemplation, you are not supposed to be scolding yourself, or judging yourself. You are supposed to be just taking things in, not making judgments about them.

The epiphany was some strange little thought that scampered across my brain when I was thinking these thoughts and wondering if it was worth sharing them in a blog. I don’t have a clue if anyone reads my blogs or how many have read my book, or will read the next book coming out this summer (though I only have a small role in that). Still, I think this is something I am supposed to be doing, sharing whatever little pieces of wisdom I have. And sharing those epiphanies and ahas. But not knowing if what I say has any value or makes a difference to anyone, I sometimes find it hard to bother.

As I was reminding myself to quit judging myself, I was also thinking about how badly my head hurts. Obviously, I’m feeling vulnerable because of a headache. I’ve been dealing with a number of headaches lately, which aren’t common for me. I have also felt a little dizzy from time to time. I notice it mostly when I am driving (how scary is that?). I’m good at keeping up with my normal cancer screenings: mammograms, colonoscopies, etc. but these headaches make me a little nervous. Well, that and the news my brother, who is 14 years younger than me, just had a melanoma removed. Who knew we are supposed to get skin screenings annually? Is there some screening we could do for other parts of our bodies? Or maybe I’m just getting paranoid. I don’t want to run to the doctor every time I sneeze; I don’t want to be a hypochondriac. Still, it’s a little unsettling when you hear of people who discover they have advanced cancer that only leaves them with weeks or months to live.

Of course, this could be nothing. It could be stress or sinuses. Who knows. Still I was thinking about that this afternoon when my little “aha” moment occurred. What if there was something wrong? What if I were one of those people who finds out they only have a few weeks to live? Think of all the time I would have wasted feeling unsure or unmotivated. I thought about how frantic I would be to say everything I thought I needed to say, to do those things I feel I need to do before dying. I would have to post to my blog several times a day, assuming I were properly inspired, to make up for all the times I’ve shrugged, told myself no one cares, it doesn’t matter, and just played another game of Solitaire on the computer.

The truth is, we are all going to die at some point. It could be next year or 30 years from now, or it could be tomorrow. I wonder if John had been able to think about it in the three or four hours after his accident before he died what he might have most regretted not being able to finish. I’m sure there would have been a lot. I like to think one of those things would be the fact that he couldn’t tell his wife and children that he loved them one last time.

So once again I am reminded that all we really have is today. If there is something important we need to do or say to someone we love, let it be now. If there is wisdom you are called to share, do it today. It is a reminder that if we feel we are called to a certain task, we’d best get on with it and stop stalling or putting it off, making excuses, or as my parents might have said: stop dilly-dallying. So what if no one ever reads this blog? Some day someone might and some day something might make even the tiniest bit of difference to someone. So I will try to make a more concerted effort to be faithful to this blog, when I feel inspired to share something, whether anyone ever reads it or not. In a way, it is part of my spiritual journey and journal.