"I will lure you into the desert, and there I will speak to your heart." ~ Hosea 2:14

Most people don't turn to the book of Hosea for their daily devotion time. This book by what is often referred to as a 'minor' prophet was written in the 8th century BCE. Like most prophets, Hosea was outspoken and in your face. He wrote the book to remind the Israelites that God is a loving one unlike many of the gods the people also worshiped. It is a small and complex book using the unusual metaphor of saying God is like a loving husband who continues to love his wife even when she is unfaithful. It has been a problematic book for women and one that can stir up heated conversations.

But, all that particular historical information aside, I do love this line from the second chapter. What does it mean to be 'lured' by the Holy? I have to admit it sounds comforting, even exciting to me. The definition of 'lure', fishing equipment aside comes from an Old English word 'lathian' meaning 'to invite'. Further definitions point to words like: entice, attract, even tempt. 

Now granted this word, 'lure', does have a certain creepy factor. We often think of victims being lured someplace against their will. But that is not, I don't think, the primary intention of this word. To be lured is to loved in a way that is so engaging one cannot help but follow. And when we are lured by the Holy One to desert or wilderness, to a place of quiet and presence, we allow ourselves to hear how God speaks to our heart. 

My week will be bookended by two retreat experiences. In the early part of the week I was in one beautiful wilderness retreat setting. Tomorrow I head toward our church's retreat center for yet another time of pulling away from the busy-ness of city life to a place apart. Though these two experiences were planned by human activity, they provide the opportunity for listening to the voice of One who is always luring me, always luring you.

What are the words my heart needs to hear? What are the words your heart needs to hear? Everyday, whether in wilderness or the noise of the city, I believe the Holy One lures us, invites us out of a great love, to listen and to hear the words that our hearts need to hear for the healing of the world, for the healing of our lives.

Our work is to follow and to be open.

On my drive back from the retreat center where I was privileged to spend time recharging my batteries, I saw an interesting sight. A wire fence that lined the washboard road of ice stretched for a mile or so between simple metal stakes. Sitting atop the majority of the stakes, upside down, was a single boot. Boot after boot swayed in the breeze of prairie wind. There were small, child size rain boots. There were smaller, more feminine boots though none very fancy. There were many workboots used by those who spend their days in mud and muck. I didn't notice any mates…..all single boots perched atop the fence to keep the animals in and the people out. The sight of them filled me with such joy! What a great visible joke!

Now I have always been intrigued by the shoes you see at the side of the road. While I can make sense of some of those that must have been placed on the top of the car while loading up, many of them seem to have no rhyme or reason. How does a stray shoe just end up on the freeway? How do so many? Isn't it a mystery?

But the boot fence was something else entirely. It was an act of whimsy by some closet artist who wanted to make people like me ask questions, who wanted to provide a little lift to what may have been a dreary day. I can imagine the person keeping an eye out for stray boots or interesting ones that would fit the bill for this evolving art fence. Perhaps this person goes into thrift stores and purchases a battered pair of boots, walks out the door and throws one boot by the wayside while carrying the other home to be placed perfectly on the stake that had stood empty until that moment. Who knows how it has all worked?  But I do know it sure gave me pleasure to see this tip of the hat to goofiness in what can be a very serious world. Whoever the artist is, if they even think of themselves in that way, I am thankful for your work. It provided a wake up call that was much needed. I hope their enjoyment in this creation is equaled to mine in my encounter with the boot fence.

For all artists everywhere, who make us laugh, think, thrill, swoon, weep…..I give my thanks.

"To dare the incarnation; to take the road in silence,
To know the ascension; to will the resurrection.
The song shimmers in the golden people."
~Aidan Andrew Dun

Incarnation. Ascension. Resurrection. These are all
‘churchy’ words. They are not used in the course of conversation for most
people. But since I travel in ‘churchy’ circles I find they are often implied
if not always spoken. Incarnation: God with and within us. Ascension: a reaching
toward heaven. Resurrection: the life that comes after a time that seemed
hopeless and dead.

I have spent the last two days at a beautiful retreat center
in central Minnesota.
The days have been full of lively conversation, soul searching questions,in the
company of people I love and whose wisdom fills me to over flowing, that sustains
me along my spiritual path. Looking out my window on the landscape outside I
notice, not only the freshness of new snow and the steadfastness of the birch
and oaks, but also the tracks of the small animals that call this place home throughout the seasons.
Those who live year round in community here have been quiet hosts preparing our
food, simple and healthy, and have moved about in the shadows making our stay
comfortable and welcoming. As I have been aware, they have met in prayer twice
daily, and I have no doubt that they have prayed for all of us who have pulled
away from our busy city lives to get only a taste of their lives in this wooded
and sacred space. They have followed a call on their lives, just as each of us has, who will pack up in a few hours and drive away. The call is different yet stems
from the same source: incarnation.

While we have spent the last two days in conversation and
learning from one another, there has been laughter, much laughter. We have
listened to the deep questions of one another, been challenged by statements
that may have been outside our comfort zone, and embraced the passions that
bring life to one individual, passions that may not be our own but we share in
out of love for the other person. We have created art and been led by the
loving hand of those more skilled, making our work appear better than we could
ever have done on our own. We have reached toward heaven…….ascension.

Sitting in circle after circle we have shared those deep
parts of our lives that have gone fallow, the places where hurts have worn the
fabric thin with its presence. We have wondered about our futures, given advice
and encouragement, allowed silent prayers to rise for the places that bring us
the most pain. Staking our lives on the hope beyond hope that life will spring
from even the darkest places, we have ‘willed the resurrection’.

‘Churchy’ words for ‘churchy’ people? Maybe. But something
tells me that these are the words that fly just under the radar of every life
whether they are known or not, whether they attend church or not. Passing us
every day on the freeway, in the hallway, at the bus stop, in the checkout
line, are people who carry the spark of Divine within, who are reaching out for
a little touch of heaven, while staking their lives on the premise that, out of
whatever holds them captive, new life is just about to be born. We are all
golden people…..shimmering.

"There are years that ask questions and years that answer." ~Zora Neale Hurston

 We are now a full week into this new year. I have to admit that, for me, the last several days have been a whirlwind of activity and so this morning I sat down to reflect on what has already happened in this new year. My head is spinning with a flurry of meetings and activities that contained plans for many wonderful things scheduled over the next few months.This focus so far out into the year, all important work, has kept me from being very present to the moments that are passing right now. Moments not to be taken lightly for they will not be given to me again. 

So right now, in the quiet of this morning, this very moment, I am taking a breath and arriving. At the threshold of this new year, this new decade, I am taking a breath and simply being. It feels good. I have to admit to liking the sound of 2010 better than 2009. Perhaps it is the round numbers, the good, even numbers that instill some irrational sense of comfort and strength. Breathing in the hope and promise of what the year holds, I am taking time to honor the mystery of it. 

On New Year's Eve as we gathered in a quiet circle of friends, the full moon making an appearance outside the frosted window, I read the following poem written by Colman Barks to ring in the new year:

A child stood on his seat in a restaurant,
holding the railing of the chairback
as though to address a courtroom,
"Nobody knows what's going to happen next."
Then his turning-slide back down to his food,
relieved and proud to say the truth,
as we were to hear it.

I think I have probably shared this poem in this space before. I have to admit the words of it come to me many times during any given day, its truth always stunning me with surprise. We do not know if this will be a year that asks questions of us or if it will be a year that brings answers. Without a doubt it will bring both in small doses. But each year, I believe, does have the ability to be the one that dredges up the questions that live in our deepest, hidden places. Or the year can bring questions to us that are thrown our way by some outside force jarring us into awareness. Still others have a way of finding the smooth edges of answers that had only been just outside our reach, waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. 

A year of questions? A year of answers? Nobody knows what's going to happen next. But we have been told, 'the truth will set us free." May it be so.

Have a blessed weekend……..

"The greatest prayer is patience." ~The Buddha

I received what may seem to many people an odd Christmas present. My husband gave me a set of Buddhist prayer flags, something I have wanted for some time. Several houses in our neighborhood have these flags strung on their porches or across a space in the backyard. I always love looking at them as they are lifted by the wind throughout the seasons. Mine are brilliant primary colors…red,green,yellow and blue.. and are the size of a small handkerchief. They are strung on a strong white rope like a clothesline and I have hung them at the edge of our deck on a tall trellis. Printed in each corner of the flag are horses that seem to be flying. The instruction card that came with the flags explained the belief that these flying horses carry our prayers toward heaven as the flags are borne on the wind.

Even for this good Christian girl, this is a lovely image, a comforting thought. Prayers carried upward, outward, on the wind toward the One who hears the cries and laughter of each of us. I also like to think of those prayers being carried on the wind toward the houses of our neighbors perhaps adding the prayers held within those walls as the wind and the horses fly by. I'd like to think that if I could listen closely enough, intently enough,  I could hear the prayers myself as they are carried on the wind.  

Our prayer flags right now are bright with the dye that created their color. But over time they will fade in the sun and elements. Their edges will no doubt tear and become worn and raveled. If you look at National Geographic photos taken in Tibet or other countries where prayer flags are prominent, you will see these weathered lines of cloth strung between ravine and gorge, on the highest peaks of mountains. All have been placed in precarious places to hold the visible image of prayer that binds a people together, that reminds all who see them that the deepest longings of our hearts caries great power.

These cold days are having their way with our prayer flags. They are being tossed and thrown about by the force of sub-zero winds.Sometimes it can seem as if all our prayers are being jostled in such a way. But the horses that continue to find their home in the corners of brilliant color look up to the challenge. I feel stronger when I look at them and am comforted by their brightness against the extreme monochromatic white of the landscape. It is a good thing to have such a visible reminder of the prayers that hold us all together….even when we forget they are riding on the wind.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; 
the skies proclaim the work of the Holy One's hands."
~Psalm 19:1

The cold has lingered for many days now in Minnesota. We are not alone in this. Indeed, it seems, all over the country the cold is holding even those unaccustomed to frigid temperatures in its grasp. I think it is safe to say that most people do not like the cold. I have to admit that I am one of those rarities….I do love this weather. 

I love how we have to dress with care, in layers, to ward off the danger of frostbite. There is something primal and exciting about it. I love how the temperature and its usually accompanying sunshine causes everything, trees, snow, sky, to be clear and crisp to the eye. I love how the cold causes the usually invisible exhaust of factory, heating systems and even human breath to become visible to us. Look! There is the heat….visible! Look! There is the very breath that gives me life……visible!

Yesterday I drove across the Wabasha Bridge in downtown St. Paul and saw the steam rising from the Excel Energy plant. This billowing cloud rose straight up in the air like a fountain only, instead of water, what escaped was a formation that danced and undulated with the wind, swirling like a painter's brush against the sky. As I watch the people walking to their individual destinations their heads are ringed in the cloud of their own breath encasing them in life itself. I am watching out my window right this minute as the steam of the heat that is warming the parsonage next door shoots up from the ground where the vent allows this exchange of air to escape.

I am reminded of the times when we speak of the definition of a sacrament: an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. How like a sacrament this visible air is! Throughout the rest of the seasons these same things are happening. Heat is being produced. People and all living things are breathing. And yet this miracle is invisible to us. It is only in these days when the cold holds us captive that the invisible becomes visible. Perhaps this is not only a gift of physics or chemistry but also a gift of Spirit. Perhaps these days when life lies hidden below the many layers of snow and ice, when the greenness of living is either a memory or a dream,  is the time we most need to be reminded that the Breath of Life is still moving, still inhaling and exhaling.

There are so many things that are invisible to us and yet exist none-the-less. The blood is flowing through my veins right now for which I am thankful. I am also thankful that I cannot see this miracle being moved by my heart's steady beat. I am happy to simply trust its invisible work. People are praying for me, for you, for the world, right now, people I know and do not know. They are doing invisible work that may, through the grace of God, become as visible as the steam clouds rising all over this landscape. Others are giving their lives to acts of love and compassion, many invisible, yet whose results will be visible in the healing and hope they produce.

Today, as I walk through this Dr. Zhivago world where ice and snow surround me at every turn, I want to notice each puff of steamy cloud that rises. I want to place my prayers on its flowing stream allowing them to rise ever upward and outward. If grace is the sacrament I believe it to be, perhaps the invisible will become visible in a sacrament of hope. I invite you to do the same. I am sure of at least this…..it couldn't hurt.

"Is my soul asleep?
Have those beehives that work
in the night stopped? And the water-
wheel of thought, is it 
going around now, cups
empty, carrying only shadows?

No, my soul is not asleep.
It is awake, wide awake.
It neither sleeps nor dreams but watches,
its eyes wide open
far-off things, and listens
at the shores of the great silence."
~Antonio Machado

These are the days to be awake, wide awake. As the cold temperatures try to lull us into a numbed existence, we are being urged to look for the ways the Holy takes shape in our midst. This is the season of Epiphany in the Christian church. It is a season that celebrates the Magi, those wise ones who traveled great distances to get a peek at the Christ Child. They loaded up their camels with their best gifts and followed a star hoping to be changed forever. We never really learn how it worked out for them but we know their fear of Herod led them to 'go home by a different way'. That change of route may have been enough to take them to places they never thought they'd go, meeting people that stretched their world view, giving new shape to their lives and their very souls. Each of us should be so lucky.

Too often I allow myself, instead, to be shaped by the 'beehives that work in the night' buzzing with useless chatter of the shoulds and oughts that plague nighttime. Too often I let the 'water-wheels of thought' spin round and round in the empty, shadowed places that rarely nurture my soul.  But in these days of Epiphany, when the brilliant sun shines down on the frozen images outside my window, I can shake my head and, if I am lucky, jar loose the cobwebs that have grown over these last weeks. In that shaking I become aware of my body and the soul that finds a home here. I can breathe deeply and allow that breath to ride softly from my toes to the top of my head and slowly out my nostrils. Yes, I am awake, wide awake. And with each breath I am nurtured and buffeted with the Spirit that gives life, new life even in a cold and frigid place like Minnesota in January.

Epiphany is a short season, only a little over five weeks, but if we stay awake it can be a time that can take each of us home by a different way. When we look for God sightings in the course of our daily lives, in the tiny details and the big stories that make up every day, we will make room for more light, creating more space for our souls. When we stay awake to the ways the Holy moves among us when we least expect it, we become even more aware of the ways we may offer our gifts to a world that needs healing and wholeness. 

It's all open to us, if we are awake, wide awake, fulling listening, embracing the great silence. And I can almost promise, there will be no camel riding required!