Nehemiah 2:17

Then I said to them, ‘You see the trouble we are in, how Jerusalem lies in ruins with its gates burnt. Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, so that we may no longer suffer disgrace.’



Isaiah 26.1:
On that day this song will be sung in the land of Judah:
We have a strong city;
   he sets up victory
   like walls and bulwarks.


Isaiah 49.16:
See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands;
   your walls are continually before me.


Isaiah 60.18:
Violence shall no more be heard in your land,
   devastation or destruction within your borders;
you shall call your walls Salvation,
   and your gates Praise.


I have been meditating on the image of ancient walls being rebuilt in order to protect something precious to human life and thus to God or I could say to protect something precious to God and thus to human life and to me.

The image is one that our daughter made of a ruin on the grounds of an organic farm where she lived and worked for most of one week in Italy. To me, it is beautiful, even in its ruinous state. And look at that rabbit inhabiting the space below the altar? How sweet is that?

What are you called to rebuild? What have you experienced in its broken state? Are you called to be a part of the rebuilding of those walls that could one day bring benefit to human kind and glory to God?

What is unintegrated can become toxic. This is why we do inner work and for me now, why I write.

True virtue is relational, it connects in life-giving way for both parties, one to another. Sometimes we misinterpret addictive behavior for virtuous behavior.

"When is the last time you tuned into your heart and listened for what it carries? The more we practice listening to the conversation in our own hearts, the better prepared we are to tune into others' hearts and listen for what their hearts carry. Moreover, being still, getting quiet and listening within increases our attunement to the voice that dwells deep in our hearts . . . . As we become more mindful of the conversation in our own hearts -- our joys, griefs, hopes and concerns -- we are more likely to speak the truth of our hearts and to listen for the voice of the true self yearning to be revealed in another's heart." (from Conversation: the Sacred Art-- Practicing Presence in an Age of Distraction by Diane M. Millis)

Diane gently directs us in our work as spiritual beings. Sometimes I think of spirituality as the intersection of psychology and theology. An encounter with God will be personal. But we have to be honest to hear the conversation going on deep inside. 

When I began listening, I was frighted. You may not be. I experienced God in the shadows and there found a priceless treasure, my true self, being held in God all this time.

What relevance do our feelings have? They are passing, aren't they? Always, changing. So what good are they? Our feelings instruct us in the quality of our relationships, which is one pathway to honest engagement in our lives.

I believe that God comes to us from without and from within. I recall a time when I was deeply troubled in my marriage and wondered why the Risen Lord Jesus did not ring the doorbell of my house. Why didn't he come? Didn't he know I needed his help? Or didn't he care? 

One day I brought home a phrase from the beautiful liturgy at church, "Sanctify us also that we may love and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace . . . " I declared that that grace-filled standard would be ours from now on. That Sunday afternoon was one of the key turning points in experiencing God with me/us. 

I did not need Jesus to come to my front door. I needed to let the Spirit of God labor amongst us, changing us from within our relationship. 

This message is in other places on my website. I repeat it here, in this shortened form because it is such an important piece of what I have learned in my healing process.

Perhaps this is an example of the darkness of God being the brightest experience of God. No, I think not. It might be one of the ways one moves out of darkness, out of a dark night of the soul.

When I pray, the image of clasping my right hand with the right hand of the Risen Lord Jesus often comes to mind. This symbol holds a lot for me. United with Christ, how am I to be in my complex web of relationships? 

Sometimes I need to speak up, saying or asking something that is potentially very awkward. I did this yesterday and although an uncomfortable conversation resulted within five minutes more information was given that moved our relationship to a more authentic one. When I told a friend about this, she responded, "So, it was good that that happened." That, being the initial offense, awkward confrontation, difficult, short conversation that resulted in the truth-telling, needing to occur.

At other times, I believe I am called to rest and recreate. There are many, many things in my life that are beneficial, pleasant, or maybe just ordinary and almost dull. I can live amongst those experiences, too. I do not always need to be working on clarifying this relationship or that.

From Psalm 91 with some minor adjustments:

She shall call upon me, and I will answer her;
I am with her in trouble;
I will rescue her and bring her to honor.

With long life will I satisfy her,
and show her my salvation.

Here is a reading from today's daily office.

Canticle:  A Song of Pilgrimage
Priusquam errarem
Ecclesiasticus 51:13-16, 20b-22

Before I ventured forth,
even while I was very young, *
I sought wisdom openly in my prayer.
In the forecourts of the temple I asked for her, *
and I will seek her to the end.
From first blossom to early fruit, *
she has been the delight of my heart.
My foot has kept firmly to the true path, *
diligently from my youth have I pursued her.
I inclined my ear a little and received her; *
I found for myself much wisdom and became adept in her.
To the one who gives me wisdom will I give glory, *
for I have resolved to live according to her way.
From the beginning I gained courage from her, *
therefore I will not be forsaken.
In my inmost being I have been stirred to seek her, *
therefore have I gained a good possession.
As my reward the Almighty has given me the gift of language,*
and with it will I offer praise to God.

Today, let's ponder how our prayer life has brought us wisdom.

Applying what we know, living by the word of God, is our work. 

When I read the words of Isaiah in the 61st chapter, "I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my whole being shall exult in my God . . ." I want to be like the author of that text and rejoice, exult in my God. 

Yet, my ability to do so is limited; it is an experience of failure. I cannot consistently rejoice, exult, or believe that God will not rest until the light God has placed in me "shines out like the dawn."

My pitfall shows up in my closest relationship, my marriage. Both my husband and I brought plenty of wounds into our marriage, as I would guess most brides and grooms do. Identifying those wounds and calling in the resources of heaven to clean and bind up those open sores is something the couple is required to do for itself. 

At the close of 2012, I felt that I was given enough light to name a deeper layer of our ache than I had previously been able to accurately identify. My husband also desires the application of God's salve, so together we are practicing staying in empathetic connection.

Returning to Isaiah 61, if we allow God to clothe us in the garments of salvation and the robe of righteousness, we will know ourselves by a new name, and experience ourselves to be a crown of beauty in the Lord's hand, a royal diadem in the hand of God.

Has God's light revealed deeper work for you to do?

image credit: Sisters in Zion goforwardwithfaith.blogspot.com/

After being blessed by George and receiving the gift of peace, Max and I walked to the room of an old friend, Lucille. She lives in the same retirement home. I have known her for probably twenty years.

As we enter, I see that she is involved in some private conversation. I lean in toward her boldly, letting my right hand rest on her left wrist. 

I tell her who I am and remind her that we have studied the Song of Songs together, chapter by chapter. She was an intense student of the Bible and mentored those who chose to learn more of her knowledge.

I tell her that one week from today is Christmas. I wish I had come prepared to sing a carol with her. Little town of Bethlehem comes to mind. I sing what I recall of it. 

Then I remember how to enter a biblical story -- imagine being present when what is recorded occurred. 

I say, "Lucille. Let's think about the night Jesus was born in Bethlehem. Imagine that we are two hebrew women living near the stable where Mary was giving birth to her firstborn son. Wouldn't we feel something? Wouldn't we be moved to get up out of our chair and leave our houses until we found the source of that stirring? Wouldn't we stay and care for Mary and her baby?"

Lucille's face lights up. She loves pondering the gospel stories. I do, too.

I continue, "We take turns holding baby Jesus while Mary rests and Joseph goes out for some food. This week, as we await Christmas day, let's spend time holding the newborn Jesus."

Surely, Jesus' birth was attended by the help Mary required. Surely, this young family was enveloped into the caring family of Joseph that was gathered in Bethlehem for the census. Surely God's people felt the stirring of the Spirit and found their Savior, even before the wise ones arrived from so far away.

As you remember the story of the Holy family, what role are you drawn to play? What would you like to do for them?

This afternoon I visited George, a member of our parish, who lives at a nearby retirement home. His daughter, a friend of mine, has told me that today his hall is celebrating Christmas. 

My dog, Max, and I greet George, his daughter and son-in-law. In the crowded room, I think I forget to say hello to his caregiver.

We arrive in time to join in singing a few Christmas carols, hear a sister and brother violin duet, and talk with one of his neighbors. 

After about 20 minutes, before the Christmas cookies, I move right up to George and say, "I am going to go visit some more folks now. Merry Christmas. Goodbye."
I wait for his response. It only takes a few moments before he replies, "Thank you for coming," and a little more but I cannot make it out.

Whatever he said reminds me of my promise to bring the Eucharist to him once a month. I try to do this around the 15th and I haven't brought it yet, this December.
So I say, "I want to bring the Eucharist to you, again. I will try to do it on Sunday. Do you think that will work?"

He responds in the affirmative. Then he surprises me saying, "God bless you. Depart in peace."

I am grateful for his blessing and especially touched by the instruction to leave his home in peace.