Chaos & Order

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But all things should be done decently and in order. (1 Corinthians 14: 40)

This is a mandala I coloured during the silent Sabbath while I was at Tatamagouche Centre the past eight 8 days. My sabbatical is focusing on spiritual deepening and guidance and I  was participating in the second residency of the Atlantic Jubilee Program

Mandalas play a part in many religion traditions, for more information, click here.  Colouring one is a way of keeping one part of my busy brain occupied and let another part ponder, pray, meditate.

The French have embraced colouring as a form of therapy for adults and children alike as illustrated in this article. 

As a child I loved to colour, always keeping within the lines of course. As an adult I became faintly embarrassed at how much I like precision and order, from how rooms are arranged, where in a room I can sleep and how pictures are hung. I find it difficult to relax in cluttered room and when my desk and office get messy, I am much less productive and at ease.

Somehow I unconsciously absorbed the idea that creativity=chaos and so labelled myself uncreative. This was despite the many ‘creative’ things I have undertaken as an adult: belly dance, piano playing, cross-stitch, and most recently stained glass. But still a voice inside me whispered, “Yes, but all those things have patterns, you are simply following instructions.”

But as I coloured last week, as one part of my mind chose colours to complement and contrast, another part of my mind was soaring and I heard a voice inside saying, “Yes Catherine, you are colouring inside the lines, but I am the one who created order… I am the one who created the mathematical principles on which the mandala is based and music is shaped and dance is constructed, I am in the chaos AND in the order.”

Leonard Cohen’s words came to me:  

"And like a blessing come from heaven

for something like a second
I was healed and my heart
was at ease." 

(Light As the Breeze)

What does creativity mean to you?

Learning to Walk In the Dark

²⁰ Daniel said:

“Blessed be the name of God from age to age,
    for wisdom and power are his.
²¹ He changes times and seasons,
    deposes kings and sets up kings;
he gives wisdom to the wise
    and knowledge to those who have understanding.
²² He reveals deep and hidden things;
    he knows what is in the darkness,
    and light dwells with him. (Daniel 2: 20-22)

I just finished reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s latest book: Learning to Walk in the Dark. She weaves together metaphors of light and dark, challenging the notion that darkness is dangerous and evil, and examining the physical, psychological and spiritual dimensions of our society’s addiction to light. She wonders what wisdom and knowledge is disappearing because so few of us experience any real darkness. 

I have never liked the physical dark of night time. I remember being 4 or 5 years old and waking at night and hearing footsteps coming towards me, but being too afraid to call out for my mother, not realizing that those ‘footsteps’ I heard were the beating of my own heart. But why did I think it was something bad that might be coming for me in the dark? Why not something good? I remember being 6 or 7 watching the light move around my bedroom and being afraid, not understanding that it was simply the reflection of headlights from cars on their way down the street. I have wondered if my childish night time fears were because I couldn’t see very well, but that doesn’t explain why I thought something bad would appear.

Flash forward more than 40 years; I moved to a small community in Ontario, my bedroom faced the backyard, no streetlights, large trees on a large lot, further away from neighbours than I had ever been. There was little light and my few weeks there I found it difficult to sleep, I may have even slept with the light on. But what was I afraid of? For it was fear that kept me tense, waiting to see what would appear out of the darkness. And just a few months ago, I went on a 3 day silent retreat at TatamagoucheCentre, situated on Tatamagouche Bay, it’s a place full of natural beauty, a place where darkness is possible. A couple of weeks before my scheduled retreat I found out that I would be the only one there overnight as there was no programming that weekend. It’s a large property, away from the town of Tatamagouche and I found myself unable to turn the light off to sleep. Again, what was I afraid of? Because again, it was fear that kept the light on. In the light of day, I cheerfully acknowledge that my fears are unfounded, but as day turned to night, I slept with the light on once more.  

Despite this fear of physical darkness, I have not been fearful of metaphorical darkness. Somewhere I have learned that expending energy to avoid the dark places in my soul is actually counter-productive; that there is much wisdom to be gained by going into my dark places.

Reading this book, I find myself wanting to experience physical darkness, not the semi-darkness of urban and suburban life, but the darkness that is only possible away from urbanity. I will have that opportunity as I head to Tatamagouche Centre this week, although there will be companions this time, perhaps one or two of us will share the deep darkness that is possible there.

The Bible is full of metaphors of light and dark; often darkness is portrayed as something bad. A quick word search for ‘dark’ and I find 233 references, another search for ‘darkness’ finds and additional 178 references, most of them negative. Each time I lead worship, a Christ Candle is lit; Jesus is known metaphorically as the Light of the World. And yet, not all references to darkness in the Bible are negative. It is in the darkness that God speaks to Moses. It is in the darkness of the earth that the seed germinates. It is the darkness of the tomb that the resurrection is made possible.  

Can I begin to see darkness not as something to be feared, but to be embraced? As necessary as light? Can I find the gift in the darkness? What is your experience of darkness?

Hiking and Stained Glass and Live TV: Oh My!

 Where can I go from your spirit?

    Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
    if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning
    and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
    and your right hand shall hold me fast. Psalm 139: 7-10

One of the challenging things about being a minister in a congregation is maintaining my personal, not congregationally related, connection with God/Jesus/Spirit/Sacred. So often when I pick up one of  my many Bibles or read something on-line or attend a worship service outside of my own congregation, I immediately start to think of how I can use it in the congregation. And much as I love my congregation and congregational ministry, that reading, that worship experience, that ritual, becomes ‘work.’ The ongoing challenge of nurturing my own sense of the sacred becomes tiring that there are times when I resist God and God’s presence. My heart and mind and soul need a break from the demands of my work and so I try to flee from God.

Psalm 139, one of my favourite psalms, reminds me that there is nowhere I can go to escape from God. This makes God either faithful companion or a divine stalker!

Yesterday, a clergy friend and I went on a 5k hike. If you can call it a hike when you are on groomed, fairly level, trails. In fact, we laughed at a sign that said, “Steep incline ahead.” However, the trail is part of the old railway track system and steep incline for a train is very different that a person on foot. (Hmmm, there might be a sermon in that!) We had promised each other not to talk shop… and that lasted until about halfway through the forested path, which then opened up to an ocean vista, with a bench conveniently placed to rest. But we, or at least I, talked shop with a difference. I felt no burden of responsibility to do anything about anything that is taking place at the church right now. We shared stories of our respective congregations and then seemed to silently place them in God’s keeping. We continued our walk, shared a meal and went our respective ways. God was present. 

Later in the day Woody and I headed to Terrence Bay for our stained glass class. I met the instructor,

LynetteRichards when she participated in a program I offered at my church last year. One of the things I love about learning a new skill is how it absorbs me, how mind, body and soul are united and how it helps me escape from my own thoughts. There was someone new at the class last night, someone who had been taking a daytime class but who had been unable to continue because of work commitment. As we chatted for a few minutes, introducing ourselves, etc. I discovered that she is a Spiritual Director, and had studied with some of the leading contemplative voices: Joan Chittister, Richard Rohr to name two. She was very interested in the Atlantic Jubilee Program that I am participating in and we discovered a common love of the contemplative path. 

God was present. 

As I write this, I am also watching the police processional in Moncton. A sea of red and blue as police officers from all over the country come together to pay tribute to the three RCMP officers who lost their lives last week. God is present in that massed gathering, in the accolades that will be shared, and in the tears that will be shed. I found inspiration and hope as I read the account of how a couple risked their own lives to try and save one of the officers and in the letter by a Moncton teacher. God is present. 

The words of the psalmist seem particularly profound today. 

Where do you go, or what do you try to do, to flee from God?

Sabbatical...

“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven… a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;” (Ecclesiastes 3)

The first week of my sabbatical has come to an end; I spent much of this first week trying to enter into sabbatical time, which has been somewhat challenging as our congregation looks towards the future. I have put an ‘away from the church’ auto-reply on my email and have only checked it a few times. I have only spoken with Nancy a couple of times.  

I am deeply appreciative of this opportunity to refresh and renew my spirit. I am conscious that many people never get it. It is so easy for me to get caught up in the many, very real tasks and responsibilities of ministry, and neglect my spiritual life and personal connection with the divine. I hope to share some of my journey over the next three months with you.

I have spent a great deal of time in my flower and shrub beds and as I pulled weeds and dug holes for more shrubs, I pondered the connection between gardening and my faith life. Due to the busyness of the last few weeks at UM, (actually, the entire year has been busy!) I haven’t been able to get out to the beds to weed, so by the time I got to them the weeds had large root systems and were difficult to pull, and as often as not, I am sure I just broke the root and it will come back again.

It’s like my good intentions of starting each day with half an hour of quiet contemplation, because when I do, I am more able to experience God in my encounters both in and out of the church. I start off each day with good intentions: push the start button on the coffee maker and then pick up one of my many spirit-filled books, some deep breathing and opening myself to the presence of God. Some days that happens… sometimes my computer calls to me while the coffee is brewing and I say to myself, “I’ll just check facebook for a few minutes…” Before I know it, that half hour I meant to spend in quiet reflection and connection with God has disappeared. Just like weeds left too long in the ground, my habits are well entrenched and require constant plucking up.

What in your life needs to be plucked up in order to make room for the sacred.