Asking for a Word

I’ve never spent a much time learning about the Desert Mothers and Fathers – ammas and abbas – who lived in the deserts of Egypt, Palestine, and Syria of the 4th – 5thcenturies.  I’ve heard about the collections of their sayings, but have never read any of them.  Many people supposedly traveled to sit at the feet of these respected spiritual teachers and directors. Those pilgrims sought their wisdom and guidance, often asking for a word. It is written that this word or phrase would be something to ponder for days, months, years.  The disciples wanted a word to guide their spiritual formation so they asked their spiritual directors. 

 

I find myself in these final days before the start of our 2016 United Methodist General Conference trying to make space for God. In the midst of reading, trying to keep details for the delegation in check, planning for travel and being away from home for two weeks, trying to coordinate a Samaritan Offering emphasis that begins at the same time as the Conference…I find myself struggling to stop and be still, to listen for God’s voice.  I recognize that I have become fixated on tangible items that will help me focus.  I laughed Wednesday morning as I thought about having to ship a box of “things” to Portland.  In that box would be the new set of prayer beads I made for myself; a plaque from the Cana Barn project that my amazing friend, Kristin Holbrook, made for me with the closing words of the 14th verse of the 4th chapter of Esther (“…for just such a time as this.”); and a special cross, among other things which I consider sacred.  It dawned on me that without really thinking about it, I was creating my personal altar space for Portland.  

 

Just a short time later, the “word” became clear.  The clearness came by way of the Spiritual Director that has been walking with me since January.  It is the same word that has repeated itself over and over since last summer through prayer and community.  Actually, it hasn’t just been since last summer.  I began to realize its importance when a young adult who has taught me much said a while ago, “Do you realize you sent me the same card twice?”  On the front of that card is the final sentence of this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt:

 

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.  You are able to say to yourself, ‘I lived through this horror.  I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”  (You Learn by Living, 1960)

 

The word emerged in the spiritual direction conversation.  It’s repeated several times in the message that I’ve been working on for Sunday’s Older Adult Recognition worship service at Lower UMC.  It is in this week’s readings on leadership in my John Maxwell Daily Reader. The word is appearing everywhere. That word is “courage” – for just such a time as this. The question that is beginning to start each of my days: “How is God calling me to courageously respond to the circumstances of this day?”

 

For an introvert like me who would prefer to be asking for a word of guidance at the feet of the amma in the desert rather than sitting in committee work and plenary sessions at General Conference trying to listen for God’s word for The UMC in the midst of many, many voices, I need all the courage I can muster.  

Why I feel the need to have something I can hold in my hands or see before me as a symbol of that courage is a different question.  One for counseling, not spiritual direction, I believe, but I’m still planning to pack my box.

 

“Courage is found in unlikely places.” - J.R.R. Tolkien

A Life Lived Deeply

Ten years ago or so, the required text for one of the classes I took through Wesley Seminary for my certification in Older Adult Ministries was "Saving Jesus From Those Who are Right: Rethinking What it Means to be Christians" by Carter Heyward (1999). For Heyward, those who are "right" are any of us whose socio-political commitments are hardened fast and whose spiritual dispositions are tightly boundaried - people who are so sure they are "right" that they don't notice the complexities of our world.

One of the most powerful statements in the book for me reads:

"...the only way we can live really creative, caring lives here on earth, lives rooted deeply in the Spirit, is to learn to struggle together - mutually - to build communities, institutions, and relationships in which everyone's well-being is secured."

As General Conference moves closer, I wonder what our United Methodist Church would look like if we were fully alive in the Spirit...

...if the fear of living passionately as disciples of Jesus was not ever present in our lives and churches - 

...if the fear of following the Spirit's leading didn't cause us to retreat into the safety of church building walls, didn't cause us to take our sides, didn't cause us to question each other's intentions.

Since becoming the chair of our delegation in June, I've been told many things which have filled me with fear: a fear of how the church looks and sounds to the world.  I must admit that I'm afraid of and anxious about many things in my middle age these days: health concerns, retirement investments, Alzheimer's disease, becoming an "elder orphan," my house being too big and not accessible. However, none of them have to do with being afraid to struggle together in the church so that I might live a life deeply rooted in the Spirit and so that others may know the message of love that Jesus modeled.

The book I've been trying to read in the midst of petitions, letters, and email is Eugene Peterson's "Run with the Horses: The Quest for Life at its Best" (2009).  In it, Peterson writes:

"The aim of the person of faith is not to be as comfortable as possible but to live as deeply and thoroughly as possible - to deal with the reality of life, to discover truth, create beauty, act out of love...The only opportunity you will ever have to live by faith is in the circumstances you are provided this day."

Two writers, ten years apart. Both with a message I need to be reminded of this day.

When the Music Stopped

My family history in church music began here.

My aunt, Bea Ensley Meeks, is second from the left on the front row.  My grandmother, Ethel Ensley (later Harrington), is last on the right in the same row.  My grandfather, Ralph, who died long before I was born, is second from the left in the middle row.  He served as director of the choir at Fieldale Methodist Church.  His pitch pipe and hymnal marker sit on the bookcases in my house.  My dad, Gene Ensley, is next to last on the right in the back row.  He had to have been only a teenager.

I was 13 when I started singing in the adult choir at Fieldale Church.  Here’s my confession for today:  I pretty much stopped singing in the church choir about 5 years ago.  At first I said it was because of my schedule and needing to take some time away.  Then came General Conference of 2012, and other than one funeral, a few Sundays of song leading, and a very occasional anthem or special, there’s been no singing other than hymns.  Steve has often asked why.  I’ve been unable to articulate a good explanation. Until now.

This journey to General Conference 2016 has already been filled with many challenging moments and experiences.  In late December, I decided that I had to find someone to walk along beside me.  I must also admit…since I’m in a confessing mood…that I’m one of those midlife Boomers really struggling with the role, if any, I see the institutional church taking to help me and others with what Richard Rohr calls the “second half of life questions.”  (Richard Rohr, Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life)

A few weeks ago, the conversation with my Spiritual Director turned to tap roots of trees.  Some trees develop them, others do not.  Some of us have them in our spiritual lives, others do not.  Our conversation went on to the seasons in our lives when branches must be pruned for new growth to take place.  When asked what I had pruned from my spiritual life, “music” came immediately from my mouth.  …Sometimes you just need that person in your life who asks the right questions.

That night, I downloaded a playlist of hymns and anthems that have been meaningful to me over the last 15 years or so. The next time I was traveling alone in the car, I sang along with them all…and came to the realization that the reason my heart had not been in singing was the hurt and deep emotions experienced at General Conference in 2012.  The songs I had downloaded were all by contemporary hymn and anthem composers and shared common themes:  seeing God in one another, seeking to be like Jesus, offering love instead of legalities, putting faith into action, seeking justice.  It hit me like a brick that my challenge was in singing the words and melodies that touched my soul while living in the Body of Christ that does not always seem to practice what we say we believe.

I sang along with the playlist again this morning as I traveled to Culpeper.  Right as I came to the top of the knoll that offers one of the most beautiful views of the mountains, with all the dogwoods and flowering trees in full bloom, and fields of purple clover stretched before me, the chorus of my favorite hymn began:

“Do not be afraid, I am with you.

I have called you each by name.

Come and follow Me.

I will bring you home.

I love you and you are mine.”

(“You Are Mine,” David Haas)

Another David Haas song followed:

“Come to the song, come to the dance,

Bring all you are, and all you can be.

Come with your voice, come with your heart.

Come and journey with Me.”

(“Come and Journey with Me”)

And the tears flowed.  No church-bound worship experience could have brought me to the same place this morning. Especially after the last delegation meeting before General Conference. Especially after months of questions.

On the way home, the words that brought the tears were from Shirley Erena Murray’s “For Everyone Born” (“…a voice to be heard, a part in the song…”) and Mark Miller’s “I Dream of a Church” (“I dream of a place we all can call home….”). Certainly not the same type of words that my family sang when they stood for the picture above, but the same love of the church and its people. 

The start of General Conference is only 5 weeks away. What song will it cause to be sung… or left unheard - for a day, for a week, for 5 years, forever?