The Stillness of Prayer

A few years ago, it seemed that everyone wanted to brag about their skills at multi-tasking – the ability to do more than one thing at a time.

We know that generally, this isn’t particularly effective – rather than do multiple things simultaneously, we flip our attention from one task to another rapidly. This means that no one task is getting full attention; we are more likely to experience errors, and usually the completion of tasks takes longer when we try to do things overlapping. We know this isn’t necessarily terrible in doing some tasks (like listening to music while baking, which may lead to ruined muffins or skipped lyrics). However, in other tasks, such distracted attention can have hazardous results – those who text message while driving are 23 times more likely to be involved in a collision.

Despite this, the world still seems to set high expectations on us, to accomplish increasing numbers of tasks in decreasing timelines. I, for one, have colour-coded my calendar, I have a check-box to-do list each week, I often keep a notepad nearby for when my brain flits to something I know will warrant attention. And with all that, I remain a constant fidgeter, with thoughts that sometimes leap from one to the next, before a completed action occurs.

This, perhaps is the best reason to remove all hopes of multitasking during prayer and worship. We want to give our full focus and attention to God; to be still in the presence of the divine. We don’t want to be concentrating on the project for work during prayers, or contemplating the week’s meal planning and grocery list when studying the scriptures.

It can be counter-cultural, then, to sit still and pray. It can be so rewarding and refreshing, however, to be using our brains in a singular, focused manner: especially when the focus is on fostering our relationship with the one who created us – and knows us fully (brain capacity and skillsets included!).

So as the world invites us into a pattern of bigger/better/faster/more; let’s sit calmly and joyously, with focus, in the presence of the Lord – if only for a few moments each day – for this is the sabbath that God intends for us.

 

Blooming Orchids

In the kitchen at the office lives an orchid plant. The lighting and heat and humidity seem to be the perfect environment for it to thrive. And thrive it does! It is often seen with gorgeous blooms, at times so heavy the stalk bends under their weight. It’s beautiful!

It is not *my* orchid; for I do not have luck with orchids. In fact, I’m known for inadvertently causing their demise. I’m so inept at it, that we joke about my needing to keep social distancing from the plant.

Recently, our Administrator (aka plant wizard) and I were in the kitchen at the same time, and I apologised… for the plant had gone from displaying many blooms to having none – I figured/joked that I must have breathed on it or something.

She assured me the plant was fine – the blooms had fallen, but the plant itself was fine; the leaves were thriving, the air roots poking out, there were even new spikes emerging. The plant was – and is - alive and well. The absence of blooms did not mean illness or death.

Our faith is like this: it encompasses all stages of growth and development. Faith reminds us that even when we aren’t blooming, we may be alive and well. The fruit that is worth bearing, as Jesus invites us to bear and share (Jn 15), can take some time – some tending, some rest, some growing periods.

Our ministries – the work we do – are the roots, they are the leaves, and at times they are the blooms. There is life in all of these; there is health in all phases. As new blooms cannot blossom where others exist, we are called to make way for what is appropriate for the here and now.

If we limit our vision to one mode of beauty (like the flowers), then we miss out on other amazing realities of the whole. If we define success only by one expression, we will be disappointed should that one area fail. If we expect things to stay the same, we are in fact embracing stagnancy, which is the opposite of life.

Faith reminds us to seek out signs of life as they are, and where they are: and to embrace the actual beauty and the potential therein – we never know what blooms may come with just a little care.

Every Stitch a Prayer

"Crochet" CC BY-NC 2.0 by Pathlost. Source: Flickr

A number of years ago, I learned to crochet.
It was an inelegant effort, awkward and clumsy with stitches of substantially varied size and tension.

I’m still not very good; I like to consider new patterns and stitches, but a lizard bookmark or a simple throw seem to be the extent of my ability.

However: a simple throw can be so much more than that. Some months ago, a small but committed group of us started making prayer shawls. Sometimes we gather together at the Hall, other times we are stitching on our own from the comfort of our sofas.

And once they are ready, they are brought to the church to be blessed; on the altar, as part of the Offering of the church.

We pray for the shawl or lap quit; and we ask God to bless the people who will receive them.
I then have the immense privilege of distributing these shawls: to people in hospital or care homes, or in times of grief or to acclimatise to a new living situation.

Whatever the circumstances, the shawls are a gift of love and prayers. We hope that when the recipient touches or wears the shawl/quilt, they will feel the warmth of Christ and the comfort of the church. It is intended as a gift of love; it is received as such.

For as so many other gifts that we have to share – when they are given, the imperfect stitches don’t matter – but the act of caring does.

Every Movement is a Blessing

Greenville Daily Photo/Public Domain

On a recent walk, I was recognising my frustration in the lingering fatigue and decreased energy post-COVID. I passed a man exercising in the park (he was doing lunges with a kettlebell!!), and after the general congenialities, I made some comment that it was better him than me! We both smiled, and then he said:

Every movement is a blessing.

What a refreshing re-set. Every movement is a blessing.

The rest of my walk, I meditated on movement – the actions that I take for granted (petting the dogs), the ones I miss (going for a run), the unexpected ones (sneezing – it’s a full-body experience for me).

Movement can bring positive sensations – a deep breath in the sunshine, or hugging a friend. They can also highlight challenge – the creaks of the knees in the morning, the soreness of the back after picking too many blueberries. The movements can be for the full body (the third nocturnal trip to the loo) or tiny (eyes adjusting to a different direction); they can be complicated (learning to dance) or simple (stretching).

Movement: we do it all the time. It’s what our bodies were designed for!

Yet the opportunity to remain mindful of the divine presence in the midst of it – can be a re-focusing event to keep us in that grateful space that our bodies can provide.

So whatever our relationship is with our bodies; whatever aches and pains we have (or absence thereof), whatever scars or wounds or imperfections or normalities we have: our bodies move.

And every movement is a blessing.

Therefore we are basking in blessing every moment.
What a gift indeed. 

Giving Up The Ghost

Last weekend, I had the privilege to co-officiate a memorial service and butterfly release at ElderDog. It’s a moving tribute where folks (and pups) gather together to remember those canine and human companions that we have said good-bye to, and to honour their passing with the release of a butterfly.

It’s a special community in a beautiful setting for a moving service.

As butterflies were fluttering by, my mind went to the idiomatic “giving up the ghost” as a description. While we recognise this expression to mean that something has broken or that someone has died, the noun ‘ghost’ has evolved from its original intention.

Rooted in the Germanic and Old English, ‘ghost’ (as it appears in early English Bibles) is not meant to represent a phantasm or Halloween-inspired apparition; but rather it serves as a description for the seat of life or intelligence; a soul or spirit distinct from the body.

As such, we can imagine the release of such a being from all the bonds of this life. I imagine such freedom to be a celebration of liberation, a lightness of being that can dance on the breeze in its ethereal state.

In other words, I can imagine a spirit released moving freely and joyously like a butterfly. Wings opening, antennae pulsating as they feel fresh air, tongue tasting nectar as they sip a floral meal.
As we watched the butterflies we had released move among the fauna, in gentle movements, they reminded us all of the freedom of an unencumbered soul. They brought comfort to the moments of grief, and joy to the lightness of our embodied souls.

What a gift to see a physical interpretation of ‘giving up the ghost’ as part of the ongoing circle of life.

unEGGSpected

The past few weeks, I’ve been re-homing some things that I no longer need. There’s a great WeShare group here locally, where we list items either for free or for a trade – no money is exchanged. It’s great for community, reduces waste, and prevents unnecessary overconsumption.

I was offering a board game, with no expectation of trade – I was hoping it would be used. Someone quickly indicated their interest, and when she came to pick it up, she brought a gift.
Fresh local eggs, from her chickens.

I had not been expecting such a gift – and the person hadn’t known if I would even want them, and suggesting if I didn’t, I could find another home for them. (I enjoy eggs, what a treat!)
We had a nice brief chat, and off she went with her game, and into the fridge went my eggs. It was a casual interaction of some pleasantries; yet it was a holy moment too as we both shared in the gift of giving.

For we both benefitted; not just in the objects exchanged, but in the living out of the community spirit: of finding ways to enhance someone else without an expectation of receiving.

We benefitted because we both realised the benefit of giving.

What we have, we have been given.
What we have been given, we are privileged to share.
What we share is a celebration of our interconnectedness.

Ready for the Future

Screenshot from
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Jetson

One of the cartoons I enjoyed watching as a child was the futuristic Jetsons. As a teen, I was a big Star Trek fan. As an adult, the attraction of distracting entertainment remains in far-off eras ahead.

There’s always been something attractive of the potential of the future, in what calls us in, awakes our imaginations, and inspires us to help create that idyllic setting. And, if the futuristic setting is not ideal, to (hopefully) encourage us to act accordingly to avoid those errors.

So… what happens when we realise that the future is not far off, but is in fact - now?

This comes to mind as the fictional George Jetson (created in the 1960s) is alleged to have been born mid-2022. Some sixty years ago, the space-age reality for this cartoon family circa 2022 was simultaneously far-fetched and feasible.

Yet here we are: Happy birthday George! Yet… this is not the world we thought you would be born into.

Fictional George’s birthday can be helpful for us to reflect on our own perceptions of time, of movement, of progress, and of expectation. We owe it to ourselves to consider the realities of today; being informed by our past but not stuck there. Accepting the truth of today, while aspiring for a better tomorrow.

If we allow ourselves to be limited to a present day that is dependent only on the expectations of years ago, we are limiting ourselves. And, that limitation today will be compounded as it restricts the potential growth for tomorrow.

The future, is here. Because we are always moving forward; we cannot move back into history. And God wants us to move forward, it’s why God’s majesty is continuously and continually opening before us, revealing to us the gorgeousness of now.

The promise of the future is not of our expectation s of this world; the promise of tomorrow comes in the hope of the resurrection: a hope we would never want to limit by our past.

And thus: we live in the now; and we are living in the future. For when we live in faith, we are embracing the potential and possibility of all that is to come. In faith, we are declaring to God, and to each other, that we are ready for the future.