Journey with the wise men

Today I’m going to St. Leo’s for a half day retreat with my friend Sherry. I’ve just finished choosing and printing the lectio reading. I chose the official Advent reading for today, Matt. 2:9-12. It’s the part about the 3 wise men following the star. I like the context—the guys following and noting when the star “came to rest over the place where the child was.” They were finally there, and “they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy.”  Maybe they were smiling (singing?) and back clapping as they went “into the house they saw the child with Mary his mother.” These wise men weren’t confused at all by a baby in regular swaddling clothes in the arms of a simple country girl, “they fell down and worshiped him…offered him gifts…” And after such a long, hard journey, I bet they didn’t just hop back up on their camels after one night. I bet they hung out together for a while, Mary, Joseph, Jesus, and 3 wise men, eating together, telling stories, taking turns holding the baby. When they felt rested, they slept once more and dreamed don’t return to Herod. Joseph was a wise man too and he had some pretty valuable dream experience, so perhaps they all discussed their dreams. Finally, the 3 men “departed to their own country.”  

 

And what happened after they got back? Was there a lot of drama and hype about the journey? “It was astonishing! Let me tell you…”  Well, there may have been some of that, but I don’t think it dominated.  My guess is because of their openness to encounters with the mystery of God’s presence in all that wisdom, joy, worship, and gift offering, space was created for more grace in their lives. Perhaps that grace simply enabled them to be kinder, gentler, less pushy persons, perhaps with more patience for those closest to them.  Perhaps as we continue the journey together it can be that way for us, too.

Charlie's gift

Celebrating the end of the semester, Rickey and I went to St. Pete Beach for three days and two nights. The first morning I took a walk I slipped a timer into my pocket and headed off in the half light before sunrise. My plan was to find a quiet spot on the beach to do my centering prayer. The beach was mostly deserted, which I loved. The air had a tangy bite, which I also loved. The breeze whipped at my sweatshirt, and although I shivered a bit, I didn't really mind. I decided I'd keep walking to stay warm and later I'd look for a spot to pray. Later turned into an hour, and I was still walking. As the sun rose people joined me, and I finally realized I needed to stop shortly, or I'd miss a private opportunity. I spotted a small bench and headed toward it.

For Charlie Kabbash's birthday in memory of Julia and Najib Kabbash. "Look at what I gave you!"  read the small plaque attached to the heavy resin-concrete bench I'd found nestled on the edge of a sand dune.  I looked at the simple solid slats and smiled at the thoughtful, creative gift. Then I settled comfortably in place. Whoa! It was one thing to stand facing the bench admiring the structure and the message, but it was quite another thing to experience the meaning. There I sat looking at the wide expanse of the Gulf. With the sun gradually inching up behind me, I watched the waves roll and sparkle gloriously. I watched gulls soar and dip so at ease in their belonging. I watched clouds gather in thick, puffy white patches. Then I closed my eyes to center. Twenty minutes later my timer's gentle "bing" calls me back, and I open my eyes to the waves, to the birds, to the clouds, to the bench and to Charlie's real gift--a place to be present, a space to breathe, a way in to being transformed by love. 

Easter Reflection

I am in Niceville having a bit of a retreat. Of course, the real point of my visit is to cover caring for Rickey's mom as his sister takes a break. She and her husband are in Ohio visiting their kids and grand-kids for Easter. I'm staying in their house while they are away. It's a lovely home, right on a tiny finger of water that empties into a bayou then a bay then the Gulf of Mexico.  It is full of light and deep quiet. My favorite spot is sitting in the small rocker by a large window overlooking the backyard and water. I put my coffee cup on the sill as I watch the sun dancing on the leaves and the birds flying or floating or fishing. I also like doing my centering prayer in the same space. I've done this care-giving visit before, and I'm happy doing it again. Although Rickey's mom's mind is drifting away from us, her tender spirit remains happy and grateful.

Because conversations are so limited, I have a lot of time for reflection.  Knowing I would be missing some of the community aspects of observing Holy Week, I've come up with new ways to conceptualize these days. Thursday as I reflected about Jesus washing the disciples’ feet, I decided to wash hers. Although she couldn't hold the thought, she was blessed and so was I.

Susan and Joe regularly take her to church on Sundays, but it is a bit too much for one person to do alone. On top of that we knew church would be crowded today because it is Easter, and crowds are disconcerting for her. Initially, I was a bit sad about missing this significant Sunday service. But on my early walk this morning I was struck by the fullness of life everywhere--the Red Bud at the end of driveway looking so fragile and so beautiful with its purple-pink flowers emerging from thin dark branches, colorful azaleas bursting out in bushes on almost every corner, and birds, birds and more birds filling the air with songs. Years ago I read a biography of the mystic Evelyn Underhill. One story recounted her anticipation of an Easter service, which she said was meaningful, but it was her walk home from church that particular day where she experienced the glory of God in the newness of life surrounding her every step.  I think that is my story this morning.  Not what I expected, but how like God to bless us in such unexpected ways.  May your Easter be blessed! Anna

Message to a Beach Walker

This past weekend Rickey took me to St. Pete Beach for a getaway in honor of my birthday. (I am a few days short of turning 60.) We did all our favorite stuff—beach walking, swimming, sleeping, reading, eating fried shrimp, and, of course, visiting a bookstore. It is all special, but if I had to choose, I would say the very best part (next to being with Rickey) is the beach with its huge expanse of water and sandy shoreline curving and stretching away for miles and miles, and with the quirky, noisy birds, and with the ever changing clouds and with the amazing light! There sure is a lot to celebrate.

But walking barefoot along St. Pete Beach can be a bumpy experience. In no particular order, I came to expect brief patches of shoreline thick with small bits of broken shells. Somehow, I learned if I walked carefully, I could mostly avoid the pain of the pointy pieces. Although walking past these small mounds was a bit awkward, listening to the swish of wave across them was beautiful. I felt like the “Shh…” I heard was at once a description of the sound and an admonition of how to proceed. I think I finally got it—walk slowly, listen deeply. What a gift!
Message to a Beach Walker
by Anna Cotton

Sand and waves wash small
mounds of thin shells--whispering
admonitions "Shh..."

Responding to Mark Wills

Mark,

I think you are on to something very important here. Down time (space) allows for not knowing, which in the experience of a mindful believer can allow for God’s spirit to act. Perhaps the best creative moments occur at that still point.

I’m with Jana, the emphasis on testing and grades breaks my heart. Saturday afternoon I went to local fair, and I visited the booth of the neighborhood elementary school where a colorful art display caught my eye. I met the principal who was so proud of what their art teacher helped the students create. She wanted folks to know she cared about her school's connection to the community. But she didn't have a chart showing test scores or student grades, she had an art display. Wow, what a neat idea!

Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts and connections.

Blessings,

Anna

Photography and Deep Listening

I went to Rollins College last week to hear poet Billy Collins lead a discussion about poetry and photography. I expected to enjoy the evening while gaining some fresh, helpful insights about writing. What I didn't expect was to have panel member Anthony Brannon, a famed photography historian, make spiritual connections that resonate strongly in my spirit. In fact, they are still stirring around inside me.

The spiritual connection started for me when Billy Collins remarked at one point how pictures are about the past. Consequently, they have a nostalgic quality about them. Brannon responded by telling how Thomas Merton used photography as a contemplative practice. "Merton," he said, "took pictures to help him himself be alive to the present moment." Brannon also said that "photographs propose the future precisely because we don't understand everything in them." In effect, some photographs require us to sit with them, hold them, and ponder them. He also pointed out how the "truth of a photograph can change us."

At that point I was reminded of last week's reading for our centering prayer group. Thomas Keating, in his book Mystery of Christ was reflecting on the three apostles witnessing of Christ's transfiguration. He wrote, "The practice of interior silence produces gradually what the voice in the vision produced instantly: the capacity to listen."

In the context of Brannon's remarks, it seems a photograph could work like a vision in helping us hear from God. This deep listening is what I want—to be alive to the present moment, to sit without understanding everything, and to be changed by the truth in the depths of my being. I'm in this for the long haul, and I'm grateful for my regular practice of centering. Yet it's encouraging to think how God works in unexpected ways, even in a conversation about poetry and photography.

Post-Post week 15--What's next?

What have I learned and where do I go from here?

Ecological facts—

I learned I live in the Peace River watershed.

I learned how to measure water quality, and I’ve got a kit to practice with.

I learned species are disappearing at an alarming rate.

I learned global warming is not only completely true and horribly damaging, it is still being disputed.

I learned the names of few more birds—snowy egret, limpkin, grebes.

Theological facts—

Robby’s expression of inaugurated eschatology—kingdom of God is already present and not yet consummated—is the most helpful new way of thinking for me. The Lord’s Prayer is the description that best illustrates “already/not yet”: “thy kingdom come”—praying for the future and “thy will be done”—praying for the present.

I learned to listen with a new perspective to biblical texts—people are only a small part of God’s creation, God cares deeply about all his creation, and if I love God, I’ll love what he loves.

I learned I can join with God in working to complete the future.

Poetic facts—

I learned Mary Oliver is one amazing poet who cares deeply about creation and expresses her love for it in heart rending language that touches my soul.

I learned Aldo Leopold, who was a pioneer conservationist, left me a valuable book that I can return to for its inspiring beauty and prophetic edge.

I learned that fiction writer Ursula LeGuin has a long history of writing compelling stories that engage my mind and my emotions in making earth care connections.

How I am going to use what I’ve learned going forward?

1)  Pray with more purpose about the earth I love

2)  Live more purposely—reduce, reuse, recycle

use less water—shorter showers and less laundry

use less fuel—fewer car trips

buy less—actively ignore advertising for consumer goods

conserve more—rain barrel in my yard, compost food scraps

plant more—garden for herbs (veggies next)

3)  Advocate for change—letter writing and …I’ll see what’s next.

What do I plan on doing to continue learning about the earth, art, and spirituality?

Basically, I’ll listen, read, write, dig, and pray. Specifically, I’m excited about continuing to work on my ecotheopoetic project—(collecting facts, photos, and stories about the nature of my neighborhood). I also plan to walk and hike more, and I plan to learn how to garden. I have a personal proverb that seems to fit here: I pray because I care, and my caring grows because of my prayers. I want to keep growing!