Pray

Pray.

Blessed are the people who walk, O LORD, in the light of Your face,

Who exult in Your name all the day. Psalm 89:15

But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God.” John 3:21

O Ruler, who raises the lowly and humbles the lofty, have mercy on those who are disheartened! Raise us who have fallen, show Thyself to those who entreat Thee, and heal those who are sick. Feed the hungry, free our captives, strengthen the weak, encourage those who lose heart! All nations shall know that Thou alone art God. –Clement

Pray is practicing the Presence, being in the Light, even as He is in the light, for His glory and honor.

What is true?

That which is full of His light.

Go forth and do likewise.

Really, everything has changed.

Even as the sun

Arises, stars piece the dark

And sing of His love.

This is the message we have heard from Him and declare to you: God is light; in Him there is no darkness at all. 1 John 1:5

Where charity and love are, God is there.
Love of Christ has gathered us into one.
Let us rejoice in Him and be glad.
Let us fear, and let us love the living God.
And from a sincere heart let us love as one.

Our visible, created universe is not simply an object created by a wholly other God in order to manifest God’s love, but the created universe is that love itself—the very heart of God, fully expressive in the dimension of time and form. -Cynthia Bourgeault

The name in German for mercy was Barmherzigkeit—“warmheartedness.” Mercy is the holy element, the root energy out of which all else in the visible universe is made. The Mercy is “holy substantiality”—the innermost essence of being itself. It is that “river of God,” running like the sap through the tree of life. - Jacob Boehme (1575-1624)

So I did the brisk morning walk thing this morning down and back to Tucson’s river… as the Catalinas were just catching the rays of the new day’s sun. The full moon had already crossed the night sky and sunk behind the western hills, but the starlight gleamed, casting the now ancient waves of love.

He is light, and in Him there is no darkness.

My brother Tom just had a cataract cut off of his left eye. And only as he can, he articulates the power and beauty of sight:

Tracy and I walked down the dirt road, stars breaking out overhead; oncoming headlights approached.

 I closed my right eye and looked: Crisp, clear lights pierced silhouetted trees and highlighter grass stems along the roadside. 

I closed my left eye and looked with only the right: A milky-white refulgence diffused my field of vision. I hesitated in my step, afraid to step into the car’s path.

                 

                  this morning, looking into the mirror…

Wrinkles around my eyes; some sag along my mouth; swaths of missed, unshaven chin; sparsely-covered scalp, dotted with sunspots and freckles. Some rogue nose hairs clambered out from my left nostril.

I guess there’s a lot to consider from a single-eye cataract surgery. It’s the same swap as flat-earth to round-earth, geo-centric to helio-centric, Newtonian physics to Einsteinian relativity.

Really, nothing has changed.

Really, everything has changed.

We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing Him directly just as He knows us! -1 Corinthians 13:12

Who knew that the number one surgery in the United States was cutting out cataracts? Cataracts develop slowly, but eventually they interfere with our vision– not seeing people’s expressions clearly, making it difficult to read, to notice nature, making it even dangerous to make judgment calls.

Every year about three million people have their clouded lens that lie behind the iris and pupil removed and replaced.

Such is the state of man, clouded vision.

Mom said that after her surgery, “leaves on trees appeared as individual leaves not just a green clump.”

Jenny said that she was “totally mesmerized by the shadows underneath pieces of gravel for a long time.”

But, she added, “But it’s also true, it changes only my perceiving of things.”

Dear LORD God, wield Your truth. Slice away all that keeps me from truly seeing. Replace my cloudy lens with Your light.

May I truly see Your creation, and thus Your love.

For You are love.

Scritchy scratchy on the plastic bag.

Come let us bow down and bend our knee; let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.

Worship is a physical act. Just as some folks see lifting their hands as a sign of worship, we also see lifting our hands out to a neighbor as an act of worship. When we “pass the peace” and each other a hug or handshake, it is an act of worship. One way many Christians gesture during prayer is by making the “sign of the cross,” using their right hand to touch the forehead, then the middle of the breast, then the left shoulder, and finally the right shoulder. As they do this, they say, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.” And it is a way that we can remember that we are to take up our own crosses. And it is a way we can remember that, as Paul said, “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.” As we cross ourselves, we pray that Christ will be in our minds and in our hearts and will live through us. –Common Prayer

Last night we set aside our piles of planning and headed over for mass at Mar Yousif Cathedral, or St Joseph’s Church. Services are held in the Syriac or Aramaic language, but as the smoky incense and heart pulsing song and chants filled the air I joined in worship with my brothers and sisters.

Well, my humble iPhone didn’t even begin to quite capture it, and neither did this morning’s Common Prayer meditation. But by tossing in a few repeats of Delores Washington singing “Oh Lord have mercy,” and rewatching today’s open for the “What is an Atom?” lesson, one might begin to capture the liturgical prayer that starts my every day: Oh Lord let my soul rise up to you as the day rises to meet the sun, Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever, Amen.

The East Syrian Rite passes the peace twice during mass, when each person looks another in the eye and cups their outstretched hands. Yesterday my cockroach in a baggie open led to a discussion of really seeing, and how does really seeing impact our relationship with the other. Wonder if our students learned to really see through the hustle and bustle of life? The International Baccalaureate diploma program has a rigorous focus not only on content and concepts, but on how they build global community with international-mindedness. And once again, faces lit up with understanding when we considered Jesus the master teacher who saw Zacchaeus and the bleeding woman. And it is totally true that although at first folks were totally uncomfortable pressed up against the squirming arthropod whose scientific name derives from the Latin blatta means "an insect that shuns the light,” today’s meditation from the Simple Way monastic community reminds us that they are often told by homeless friends that the only hug they receive all week long is in mass.

Thus, hopefully we have a church that is living a life of worship outside of Sunday, passing the peace on the streets and giving hugs away during the week, especially to those who smell a little.

Grant us the ability to think with Your mind, to hear with Your ears, to see with Your eyes, to speak with Your mouth to walk Your feet, to love with Your heart. We ask this through Christ our Lord, Amen.

Be in the light, as He is the light.

Splashes across my foggy rearview mirror.

How long, O LORD? will you forget me for ever? how long will you hide your face from me? How long shall I have perplexity in my mind, and grief in my heart, day after day? how long shall my enemy triumph over me? Look upon me and answer me, O LORD my God; give light to my eyes, lest I sleep in death; Lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,” and my foes rejoice that I have fallen. But I put my trust in Your mercy; my heart is joyful because of Your saving help. I will sing to the LORD, for He has dealt with me richly; I will praise the Name of the Lord Most High. Psalm 13

Look upon me and answer me, O LORD my God; give light to my eyes.

That I might see.

That I might see. The Joy Dare for today is dusky light, surprising reflection, lovely shadow.

But really, things are pretty dark in my little world. The four-thirty-in-the-morning-living-room is pitch black except for my glowing computer screen with This morning’s office to be observed.  Yesterday I tried all day long to squint funny. Picture myself kneeling down. Repeat after me, my Strength and my Redeemer. Again and again. And I get it, in my head, that I am not wrestling against flesh and blood but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world.

But really it looks like big mucky glops of mud on my windshield. Those squirmy cursing angry flesh and bloods all day long.

The darkness of this world.

Give me light.

Yesterday in chapel once again we sang, “This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine. Don’t let Satan puff it out, I’m gonna let it shine.”

But still, as we stood together in a crowded hallway at the end of the day with all of the honor roll students and said what we were thankful for before we gave everyone back their cell phones and let them go home or to the library or to the tutoring Centre next door where a fresh batch of momma cookies in ziplock bags was waiting, I wept tears of hopelessness. And last night, that’s how I went to sleep.

And on Tuesday night, when Pastor Chris asked me what was the point of the past year and a half, what was my take away, I could only shake my head sadly, and repeat again and again, I don’t know.

On Wednesday at the Tucson Museum of Art class, I painted a small canvas with a bright pink and purple and blue and green “Embrace” dancing across the center and sprinkled it with rock salt and blew bubbles of rubbing alcohol across it.

What does it look like to stop trying, and let Him? To let go and bury myself in His arms?

Every single day I try to step down from the throne of my heart. Bend my knee. Rest. Die like a seed.

Try. Try. Try.

IdolaTRY. Really?

What does it look like to stop trying, and let Him? To let go and bury myself in His arms?

And once again the Psalmist answers the question:  I will sing to the LORD; I will praise His name.

Eucharisteo comes before the miracle.

And as He entered a village, He was met by ten lepers, who stood at a distance and lifted up their voices, saying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.”

Jesus, Master, have mercy on me.

And my Friday prayer for myself is and has been for oh-so-long: I pray that I will be a light to the nations as He declares new things. 

I’m gonna let it shine.

And when I step out of my dark little living room to head for Hillenbrand Pool, I am going to look for dusky light, surprising reflection, lovely shadow.

To notice.

You only have shadows when there is light.

And really all of the light looked dusky this morning as I drove home. There was not even a glimmer of sunrise on the eastern horizon.

And the biggest surprising reflection came from the pool of water that fills the new pothole at the corner of Broadway and Stratford boulevards that has eaten away more than half of the right lane.

And all of the shadows this morning were lovely, red and white and green lights splashes across my foggy rearview mirror.

I will sing to the LORD; I will praise His name.