Category Archives: Meditation

Biblical Reflection, Meditation, Prayer

Crumbs

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Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.”

He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house if Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly. Matthew 15:21-28, NRSV

For Jesus, it was plain that he was sent to Abraham’s children – all those who served the God of Jacob, Leah, Abraham, and Hannah. God knows he had his hands full with that destiny, and may not have given anyone who fell outside that focus much thought. Until an outside voice cries for help, desperate enough to break through any barrier to save her daughter.

We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table.

She doesn’t argue the point with Jesus, or pretend that she is one of the flock. She doesn’t even contradict him when he relegates her to dog status, worth so much less than a child. She doesn’t ask for a place at the table, she just claims her right to the smallest grace – the crumbs that are so small that they end up on the floor, out of sight and mind of those enjoying the banquet. She turns Jesus’ image on its head by claiming her place within it; she gains a demon-free life for her daughter, and Jesus, perhaps, sees the scope of his life’s work widen to include outsiders as well as insiders.

But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy.

Worthy or not, everyone has a right to claim the crumbs.

We do not presume to come to this thy table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table. But thou are the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy. Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen. Prayer of Humble Access

Meditation, Prayer

Merciful

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We do not presume to come to this thy table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies.

When we come to God in all our humanity, flawed thinking and acting on full display, will we be welcomed or rejected?

Since God came to us in Jesus, proactively seeking us out and offering love, I’m going to go with welcomed.

When we come to God in all our humanity, acutely aware of our flaws and mistakes, will we accept God’s love or reject it because we only want what we have earned?

An answer of yes isn’t as sure a thing, because it’s entirely up to us rather than God.

Say yes, for God’s sake as much as ours.

Meditation, observation, Thanksgiving

Right Place

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‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,

’tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

and when we find ourselves in the place just right, ’twill be in the valley of love and delight. Simple Gifts, Traditional Shaker Hymn by Joseph Brackett

If I hadn’t been walking; if I’d hadn’t been walking to church earlier than usual for a meeting; if I had set a different meeting time; if there had been a noisy car passing. But I was walking past Ye Olde Tavern on November 13th at 8:33am, with no cars in sight. For whatever reason, the universe conspired to have me where and when I was that Sunday. When I heard a dull knock on a tree, I looked up.

Pileated Woodpecker

[Birds of New Hampshire & Vermont, by Stan Tekiela; Cambridge, Minnesota: Adventure Publications, 2016, p. 69

In my whole life, I’ve spotted half a dozen of these startlingly large and beautiful woodpeckers – most of the sightings while hiking on wooded mountain trails. Yet, on a typical morning’s walk, in downtown Manchester Center, in the valley between the Green and Taconic mountain ranges, one appears right above my head.

After a few seconds, with a flash of feathers, this amazing moment passed – being in the right place at the right time is no guarantee of an extended visitation. But the moment was long enough for me to see where I was for what it was: a valley of love and delight.

I suspect that if I paid attention, every day would hold a right place/right time experience. Where and when else would such experiences be?

Meditation, observation, Thanksgiving

Free

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Tis the gift to be simple, tis the gift to be free…

I am free to walk with my face and hair visible – and without an escort. I am free to wear a hijab. I can commune with God and neighbor in a temple, synagogue, mosque, meeting house, or church; I can choose not to worship God. I can drive across the country without documentation beyond a valid license and car registration. I can run for political office. I can vote. All these things are available because I live in a place that offers civil liberties as part of the rule of law. This kind of freedom, this freedom from soul diminishing restrictions, is a rare gift that is too often under-valued or not valued at all by the ones who receive it. It’s in its absence that freedom is seen for its true worth.

There’s another aspect to freedom: what I’m supposed to do with it. Freedom from various things is in the news all the time, but freedom for acting in ways that show love for God, self, and neighbor rarely gets air time. How I use my freedom reveals how I honor the gift that it is.

I doubt there’s a better time to assess just how well I’m doing with my freedom than right now.

Aaron Copland

Meditation, observation, Thanksgiving, Theology, Uncategorized

Simple

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Tis the gift to be simple, tis the gift to be free, tis the gift to come down where we ought to be

And when we find ourselves in the place just right, ’twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain’d, to bow and to bend we shall not be asham’d,

To turn, turn will be our delight, ’til by turning, turning we come round right.

Traditional Shaker Hymn, Joseph Brackett, Jr.

Right thought.

Do no harm.

Right Action.

Tell the truth.

Clean up after yourself.

Take care of God’s creation.

The basics of a good life are not particularly complex. Jesus put it this way: Love God, Love Neighbor, Love Self. That’s it: six words that open the door to a beautiful, holy life. Why do we do our best to make it more complex, adding unnecessary and often harmful additions and provisos? If I had to guess, I’d stake my money on another basic truth:

Simple and easy are not the same thing.

Meditation, observation, Uncategorized

At My Feet

A Closer Look

If the sun hadn’t glanced off the field as I walked to town, I’d have missed it. But it did. Condensation + Sunlight + Vantage Point = Illumination.

At first, I saw only the sparkling. Then, the amazing variation in color and form. Finally, abundant and sacred life with its own purpose. A whole world of wonder at my feet that asks of me nothing but attention.

Soon, the winter will bury the field in snow, and these blades will crumble into the soil, making way for next year’s growth. It won’t last, just as my own life won’t. But isn’t it amazing? And isn’t it enough?

All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, the flower falls, but the world of the Lord endures forever. I Peter 1:24-25

Meditation, observation

The Drive Home

Manchester Center, Vermont

Friday, I drove from Manchester Center (Vermont) to New Durham (New Hampshire). The roads started looking familiar thirty miles before arriving on Birch Hill. This isn’t surprising: I lived on Birch Hill from seventh grade well into my college years. It’s been over thirty years since I called Birch Hill home, but it still feels like coming home whenever I’m on it.

Saturday, I made the drive from New Durham to Wareham (Massachusetts). Once the treads hit Route 24, I was in home territory. This isn’t surprising: I’ve spent the past twenty years there. It’s where my children grew up, and where my husband and I found life-giving work and play.

Today, I made the drive from Wareham to Manchester Center (Vermont). When I hit Route 11, the landscape and houses started looking familiar. I got a feeling of getting close to home. This is surprising: I’ve only lived in Manchester since mid-September. It’s where people will come to visit me, and where I will find life-giving work and play in the coming years.

I’ve had other places I’ve called home, and felt that same love deep in my bones when I drove back there. But I’ve never had that feeling of homecoming for three different places in a matter of a couple of days and a couple hundred miles. I can’t say why this moves me so, but it does. To find a single place in the world to call home is a blessing. I suspect finding more than one is catching a glimpse of this world’s true nature: holy and infused with love.

Wareham, Massachusetts
Meditation, observation, Place

Community Garden(ing)

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Rectory Walkway

The chive plant came from the library learning garden – originally from seeds I planted in 2002. It’s new home has a view of the Green Mountains. The Day Lilies moved from Kingston, Massachusetts, leaving a beautifully landscaped side yard to bring color and joy to the front walk of the rectory in the coming Spring. In a week, the heirloom irises that originated in a great-grandfather’s Cape Cod garden will take up residence around the two lamp posts – making a hundred year stop in Sandwich and Wareham along the way. If perennials could talk, how many could tell such travel tales?

I inherited a whole banking of perennials when I settled in Wareham, and I’ve sent cuttings from most all of them out into the wide world to grace the many gardens of friends, family, and strangers. The love and hard work of gardeners past and present grow in beauty and grace in the plot of land I call home, just as my love and hard work has gone far beyond my little world. From one place to another, from one gardener to another, the bounty of the earth binds me to so many others. Through space and time, life flows. I’m just a small part of the ongoing blessing of creation.

[Many thanks to Debbie Hill for the Day Lilies, Jeanne Condon Pena for the Irises, and Alice Atkins for a whole banking of plants.]

Meditation, observations

In Two Places At Once

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The drill is still in Wareham, along with the level. The spade and my garden bag are here. That’s not a problem until I have a specific task that needs doing – hanging a curtain rod here in Vermont or digging up bulbs there in Massachusetts. So the choice is to buy a second set of supplies or wait until the next trip to get the right tools in the right place. I’d rather not have two of everything, so the tasks will have to wait until the next time I travel from one house to the other. Being in two places at once, calling two places home, has its challenges.

The same is true of my inner life. When I let my mind and spirit wander from one idea to another, when I skip centering my whole self, I find myself without the tools I need to live a life that values God and Neighbor over convenience and distraction. When I move through the daily tasks with my mind in another place, I appreciate neither activity nor thought. Trying to be in two places at once I cannot find either. It’s a peculiar way to get lost. I know the way home, of course; I just have to set my feet on a single path and walk. God and neighbor are still at the path’s end. Along with my whole self.

Minot Forest Trail
Biblical Reflection, Meditation, observation

In a Fog

Sunday, October 16

I lift my eyes to the hills – from where will my help come? Psalm 121:1, NRSV

In the Bible of my childhood, the old King James, Psalm 121:1 wasn’t a question, but a statement: I lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. It wasn’t until I was well into my 20’s that I learned it was a grammatical error. Correcting the punctuation moved it from an affirmation of faith and trust to an uncertain questioning. I look to the hills not because I know the source of my help, but because I can’t see it. It’s hidden in a fog that I cannot penetrate, and I am looking for an answer that has yet to appear. In that time and place of mystery and uncertainty, I can only wait and hope that such an answer will appear. And it does:

My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade at your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.

The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore.

Psalm 121:2-8, NRSV

The older I get, the happier I am to live with the questioning version. There have been so many times that I’ve needed to ask this very question, and the psalm gave me the words of faith to do just that.