The Contemplative Cottage

“We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” TS Elliot

Moments of inspiration are powerful landmarks on the geography of life.

I write this listening to a song by Loreena McKennitt called Dante’s Prayer.  I still remember when I first heard it over 13 years ago, how the strains of Russian Orthodox chant gently drew me in, then the piano, her voice, the poetry, and I was transfixed.  I played the song again, and again, and again, lying on the living room floor with the lights out, next to the speakers. I’m sure my housemates wondered what was going on.

So many years later, Dante’s Prayer remains my very favorite song and is never off my playlist.  I was thrilled to hear it performed in concert a few years ago, 1st row seat, and meet her afterwards.  The only thing I could say in my shyness as I shook her hand was, ” Thank you for Dante’s Prayer, it has meant so much to me.”

Loreena McKennitt writes a travelogue for her CDs–where she was in the world when she wrote a song, and what she was reading.  For Dante’s Prayer, she was riding the Trans-Siberian Railway, reflecting on Dante’s Divine Comedy.  On her travels, she heard the haunting tones of Orthodox worship, incorporating “Alleluia, Behold the Bridegroom,” as bookends for the main tune.

Thirteen years ago, ordering a CD of Russian Orthodox chant at the local music store was a bit unusual (and this was just at the beginning of Amazon), but I persevered.  I also got out my dusty college copy of Dante and read it while I listened.  The wideness and depth of life, literature, history, spirituality, and travel, all things I had already loved, opened before me more deeply.  Art beckoned to be created and I painted a series of canvases on the crucifixion and resurrection for a chapel.  My bedroom had a deep walk-in closet with a little window.  I painted it to look like a forest and created a little anchorhold with candles and fountain and comfy chair, dreaming of distant lands and times. I decoupaged a large old steamer trunk as a “hope chest,” and it has now made a number of cross-country journeys.  And I read…so many books, especially on the mystics and monastics, the Celts and medieval Christianity.  It’s not surprising, looking back, that within three years, I embarked on my own train adventure to study monasticism at a Benedictine monastery.

Why now? Why does this song newly speak to me? What brings these memories back so clearly now? In Revelation, one of the churches is told, “You have forgotten your first love.”  I know in context it refers to Jesus Christ, but I keep hearing those words with a different twist:  ”Susan, you have forgotten your first love: history of other lands and peoples and distant times, prayers of the great communion of saints centuries in the mist, poetry, literature, beautiful words…beautiful lives lived, which will still speak today if given voice. And you have forgotten how I met you in this love.”

Many days I wonder what I did with my 30s and whether theological education was really worth a decade of my life.

If it was just to get a degree, the answer is no, I can think of a number of vocations I’d have preferred.  But I’m not sure they would have been loves.

To spend one’s life and have it transfigured, it must be no less than a love affair. To give one’s life to any journey or any person, and not have it end in disappointment or despair, Love can be the only reason.

This past month, now that I’m settled, I’ve been trying to (read: playing at) work on my dissertation (cue Yoda saying: “Do or do not, there is no try“).

It simply will not get done without love.

I believe the song and memories of that season so long ago are a landmark reminding me to return to the Love that began the journey.

So today, I say yes, to this life the Love has crafted.

Dante’s Prayer

by Loreena McKennitt

(listen here)

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Though we share this humble path
alone how fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We’ll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me

Esperanza Mission Week

A couple months ago, a mission trip was announced at church and I had the stomach-flip-flop-I-believe-Holy-Spirit-moment of “Susan, go!”

Early, early Saturday morning, my friends and I embarked on a journey with six others from our church to a remote mission in British Columbia called Esperanza. For most of the year, the mission provides counseling to area people. During the month of August, groups come to do work projects, aiding the staff in caring for the physical needs of the mission. People from our church have gone to help with construction and other odds and ends for years.

We drove from Seattle to the Tsawassen Ferry, just south of Vancouver. After the longest ferry ride I’ve ever taken (two hours) and some more time on the road, we overnighted in Qualicum Beach.

And the journey was still not over.  More hours of driving until we reached a twenty mile stretch of gravel road through the most beautiful mountain scapes I’ve ever seen, I listened to the music from the Lord of the Rings, certain we’d crossed into Middle Earth somewhere along the way. At the end of the road, the little fishing village of Zaballos perched, where we waiting with our gear for boats to take us on the final leg of the trip. Local kids took turns leaping from the pier into the fish-teeming waters. Birds circled overhead, and the mountains surrounded us.

On the water for nearly an hour, we arrived at the mission: and a cluster of houses and cabins, new and old, finished or unfinished, in good repair or not-so-much, and to the warm welcome of the mission staff and another church group already arrived.

Now, after a quiet night with no machine sounds (even the generator shuts off) and the occasional rustle of little creatures, I’ve woken to the water and mountain view out my windows. And a lovely absence: no cars. Commuter traffic here is little speed boats heading back toward Zaballos.

I have no idea what I will be working on this week, I’m not even sure about the schedule. But I am so thankful I followed the voice that said, “Go!”

I’ll be posting each day this week with more about the adventure!

Gratitude for:
234. A safe journey
235. Great friends to travel with
236. The beauty of creation
237. A wonderful Jesus-loving community in Qualicum, St Stephen’s United Church.
238. Seeing a bald eagle.
239. Internet access
240. Adventures
241. The work of Esperanza and the people who faithfully serve

Mondays are for gratitude…counting to 1000 and beyond…

221. The twinfants were born to my dear friends Kimberlee and Doug: Ben and Luke.  After a scary week, my godson Ben is doing much better, breathing on his own now. So thankful! Photos coming soon.

222. For the team of dedicated people at Group Health and Childrens’ Hospital.

223. For the prayers of the church community for these little ones.

224. A wonderful ordination service and send-off for my friends John and Tara.

225. Continued gratitude for help getting settled: Cindy’s generous roadside find and her taking me on a trip to Fred Meyer to create a balcony haven.

226. A little beauty to inspire restful sleep…

227. My serene little guardian, Theophilus.

228.  Vivaldi

229.  Foggy mornings, sunny afternoons.

230. Good conversations with my parents.

231.  Red and yellow finches, hummingbirds, and woodpeckers feasting at the feeder.

232. Redemption of the past and prayer’s wonderful retroactive aspect.

Mondays are for gratitude…counting to 1000 and beyond…

“We never know where God hides His pools.  We see a rock, and we cannot guess it is the home of the spring.  We see a flinty place, and we cannot tell it is the hiding place of a fountain.  God leads me into the hard places, and then I find I have gone into the dwelling place of eternal springs.”  Streams in the Desert, July 5th

The past three weeks have been full of wonders and many things to be thankful for as I moved into my new apartment (aka The Contemplative Cottage) and spent time with friends.  Looking back on my worries about leaving Boston and then the fears about choosing this apartment, I can’t believe I doubted! The above quote from one of my favorite devotionals captures my feeling now as I sit at my desk.  God knew exactly what place I needed to embark on the next and final stage of my PhD.

206. Wonderful furniture from friends, rides for moving stuff, and shelves for my books.

207. Fourth of July beauty shared with friends.

208. Little Sarah.

209. An afternoon on a mountain river without a clock or email or cell phone (not having reception was a great Sabbath stop!).   Forever inspired by nature artist Andy Goldsworthy (a lovely excerpt from Rivers and Tides here), I tried my hand at building a cairn…

…and discovered water bugs that look deceptively like little twigs–until they start walking around.  Yes, what you think are pieces of bark are really three life forms!

210. Camping fun with friends.

211. Exploring mossy woods with my young adventuring friend.

212. A sunlit glen hidden off the trail.

213. After giving myself a break the past few months, I finally had the feeling on Saturday, “It’s time to begin again,” so I stacked the main books for a dissertation chapter on my desk.  I had worried that the academic push of the last 5 years had permanently ended my love of reading and writing and even theological study, but each day I’ve been finding evidence that there are still embers of this vocation glowing, which God is gently fanning back into flame.

214. A lovely afternoon at Kimberlee’s twinfant shower.

215. Black-capped chickadee enjoying a feast.

216. Bible study books are not usually satisfying for me, but Cynthia Heald’s Becoming a Woman of Excellence has really opened my eyes to some life-giving insights. I’d love to go through it with a small group.

217. It seems that the twinfants have decided to stay put until they are full term.

218. For the Word’s challenge and the Holy Spirit’s conviction this week,  and the hope that God provides the heart’s treasure.

220. Matt Maher’s song “Hold Us Together.”  On July 4th, Pastor Dan told the congregation that he was leaving Bethany in November and taking a position in California.  He has been our senior pastor for 11 years.  It was the last thing I expected, but I’m trusting that we can walk this path because Bethany is a community of people who love Jesus and love each other.  God has a plan, hope, and future for Dan and Anne, he also has one for the Bethany community.

You can listen to the full song one time here: http://bit.ly/ck52Tc

Hold Us Together

It don’t have a job,
It don’t pay your bills,
Won’t buy you a home
In Beverly Hills

Won’t fix your life
In five easy steps
Ain’t the law of the land
Or the government
But it’s all you need..

Love will hold us together
Make us a shelter
to weather the storm
And I’ll be my brothers keeper
So the whole world will know
That we’re not alone

It’s waiting for you
Knockin’ at your door!
Every moment of truth
When your heart hits the floor
When you’re on your knees then…

Love will hold us together
Make us a shelter
to weather the storm
And I’ll be my brothers keeper
So the whole world will know
That we’re not alone

This is the first, day of the rest of your life
This is the first, day of the rest of your life
‘Cause even in the dark you can still see the light
It’s gonna be alright, gonna be alright

Peace and Joy to you this week!

Mondays are for gratitude…counting to 1000 and beyond…

193. The birth of Sarah Kathleen on Friday morning to dear friends Cathee and Brian. Yay!

194. A still-empty apartment feeling more like home every time I return.

195. Hours of looking at scrumptious wall colors. So thankful to the Creator Artist God for the complex physics that makes colors possible and the eyes to see them with.

196.  Walking Magnolia and finding lovely views so close to my apartment.

197. Friends helping me move (thank you, Doug!); quoting lines from Star Wars as we carried boxes and boxes of my books up the stairs (”Almost there!”).

198. The smell of freshly cut pine wood shelving.

199. New apartment sounds: Seagulls, bird song, the deep rumbling horn blast of leaving cruise ships, seaplanes, and the low buzz of the distant city.

200. A wonderful evening of laughter and reconnecting with Kim, Ryan, and Sara at Angela’s birthday party.

201. Being asked to be a godparent for a soon-to-be born little boy.  It may be the closest I get to motherhood. So honored and excited!

202. That God answers my questions when I take the time to listen.

203. A surprising and immediate answer to prayer at church yesterday.

204. Generous offers of furniture.

205. Countless meals, and tea with biscuits at Kimberlee and Doug’s. Learning how to make a BLT with avocado, sautéed portabella, arugula, and homemade mayo.  Yummy!!

206. Little Jack taking my hand as we walked down the sidewalk, and the bouncy exuberance of Little Jane.

“Were not our hearts burning within us as He spoke to us on the road…?” Luke24:32

The first day of February gives me a sense of hope: spring is coming.

During this week in Seattle each year,  the returning sun warms the city and many of the trees bloom a gentle pink.  It is a promise ring of spring in the long months of rainy gray days.

While there is more sun here in Boston, the bitter cold reminds me that spring is a long way off.  There are no tentative buds, not for another three months.  Yet still I hope for a warmed heart and blooms.

This morning I read from Eugene Peterson’s Living the Resurrection.  Not unlike the first of February or the pink-blossomed trees, his words give me hope of an already-happened-yet-still-coming Spring, marked by an empty tomb and awe and tears and joy.

Easter seems a long way off.  It’s not even Ash Wednesday, and there’s a lot of living between now and then: Lent and Palm Sunday, and a Friday-that-somehow-God-made-good.

Between now and then, I will also enter my fourth decade.  I find myself deeply desiring some pink blooms of grace and hope to face that day.

Yet, Easter has happened.  For Narnia readers, “Aslan Lives!”  And nothing gives me such a thrill of joy.

And so, this week, I want to look for signs of spring, little buds of hope, hints of resurrection.  I am going to put flowers in my home and office, and spend some time on a photo quest hunting for signs of resurrection beauty to share with you this coming Saturday. I will look for God’s life-giving grace in the stories of people I speak with, those students attending the Reading Retreat this coming weekend, and the texts on prayer for my dissertation.

I would love to hear your stories of finding spring and resurrection this week.