The Season of Vulnerability

You may have begun to discover that the seasons of the year always speak to me. Autumn is one of my favourites because it speaks so clearly of the transitions of life and death and rebirth.

Autumn,

the season of vulnerability,

when the great arms of oak

stretch their summer leaves to the wild October winds.

all that has been life adn green

is stripped from strong trees,

and the tall, wide branches seem to be deathly wounded.

across the lawns in layers

lie the near-dead leaves;

onto the forest floors they fall as if to say: "all is lost."

this is the season of vulnerability

when trees open wide to wounding,

when all the summer security is given away to another season.

wiser are the trees than humans

who clutch small arms round self,

shielding their fragile hearts and stifling future springtimes.

Joyce Rupp (Fresh Bread pg. 128)

In a time where all of us are working in some sort of transitional ministry we are encouraged to look to the lessons of this season and pray that we may become wise like the trees and let go of what needs to die. Celebrating life like the trees celebrating the end of the lifespan of the leaves -bursting forth in an array of colours offering up a 'death-dance' to the ground. Rather than shielding our fragile hearts and boxing in the way our lives are to go and therefore stifling future springtimes.

Let Go of the Rice

In a world that lives like a fist

mercy is no more than waking

with you hands open.

     So much more can happen with our hands open. In fact, closing and stubbornly maintaining our grip is often what keeps us stuck, though we want to blame everything and everyone else, especially what we're holding on to.

     There is an ancient story from China that makes all this very clear. It stems from the way traps were set for monkeys. A coconut was hollowed out through an opening that was cut to the size of a monkey's open hand. Rice was then placed in the carved-out fruit which was left in the path of the monkeys. Sooner or later, a hungry monkey would smell the rice and reach its hand in. But once fisting the rice, its hand could no longer fit back out through the opening. The monkeys that were caught were those who would not let go of the rice.

     As long as the monkey maintained its grip on the rice, it was a prisoner of its own making. The trap worked because of the monkey's hunger was the master of its reach. The lesson for us is profound. We need to always ask ourselves, What is our rice and what is keeping us from opening our grip and letting it go?

     It was upon hearing this story that I finally understood the tense ritual of rejection that exists between my mother and me. Like any child, I've always wanted her love and approval, but suddenly I realized that this has been my rice--the more it has not come, the tighter my grip. My hunger for her love has been master of my reach, even in other relationships. I have been a caught monkey, unwilling to let go.

     I have since unfolded the grip in my heart, and humbly, I can see now that the real challenge of surrender, for all of us, is not just letting go--but letting go of something we yearn for.

     The truth is that food is everywhere. Though the stubborn monkey believes in its moment of hunger that there is no other food, it only has to let for its life to unfold. Our journey to love is no different. For though we stubbornly cling, belieiving in our moment of hunger that ther is no other possibility of love, we only have to let go of what we want so badly and our life will unfold. For love is everywhere.

• Sit quietly and meditate on what is the rice in your fist.
• Breathe deeply and try to see what is keeping you from letting it go.
• Practice opening the fist of your heart by actually making a fist while inhaling, and then opening it as your exhale.

This excerpt has been taken from pg 80 from the Book titled “The Book of Awakening, Having the Life you Want by Being Present to the Life you Have”. Written by Mark Nepo.



The Song in my Spirit This Week

I’ve been soaking in the comfort and assurance of Psalm 91 this week, as I listen to the news and wait and wonder what would happen to my Air Canada flight on Friday, taking me to Ethiopia to build houses with Habitat for Humanity.  These words of the Psalmist, set to music by Michael Joncas, fill my spirit.  If you know the tune, let it soak into your spirit, with words of assurance - no matter what - God is our shelter and strength - in the midst of everything!

You who dwell in the shelter of our God, who abide in this shadow for life, say to the Lord: “My refuge, my Rock in whom I trust!”

And God replies - “And I will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of my hand.”

The snare of the fowler will never capture you, and famine will bring you no fear: under God’s wings your refuge, God’s faithfulness your shield.

“And I will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of my hand.”

You need not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day; though thousands fall about you, near you it shall not come.

“And I will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of my hand.”

For to God’s angels is given a command to guard you in all of your ways; upon their hands they will bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone.”

This refrain sings itself in my soul - and I am made strong as I let God’s message soak in... “I will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of my hand.”

Sharon Copeman

NATURE AS MIRROR-Feast of St. Francis of Assisi

I think what modern men and women lack is a deep sense of belonging. That sense of belonging is given to you by God from your very birth, and then it is mirrored to you in the natural world—if you are looking and listening. In nature you can overcome your sense of separateness or alienation—and know you are a part of the whole. If Franciscan spirituality means anything it is founded on a very positive image of human nature and all of creation, “original blessing” instead of original sin.

There is a kind of therapy that I’d like to call “proactive” therapy, in which you don’t try to heal your wounds afterwards. Instead, you rely on your inherent connection with everything and are healed ahead of time into a kind of “hidden wholeness,” as Thomas Merton called it. I call it “the Unified Field,” or as Gerard Manley Hopkins called it “the dearest freshness deep down things.” Inside of the Unified Field you find that it is a good world and you also are inherently good, not because you are independently perfect (you never will be!), but because you belong to the Whole—that is always and deeply good and perfect in its Wholeness (the pleroma, or “fullness” of Colossians 1:19-20). To live inside of such fullness is what it means to be a Franciscan.

From In the Footsteps of Francis: Awakening to Creation webcast
(CD, DVD, MP3
Richard Rohr

Let's give thanks for belonging to the Whole, and in that gratitude, let us open ourselves to the fullness.  

May you walk in Wholeness this day,

Blessings

Lori Megley-Best

A Prayer for Autumn Days

God of the seasons, there is a time for everything;

there is a time for dying and a time for rising.

We need courage to enter into the transformation process.

God of autumn, the trees are saying goodbye to their green,

letting go of what has been.

We, too, have our moments of surrender, with all their insecurity and risk.

Help us to let go when we need to do so.

God of fallen leaves lying in colored patterns on the ground,

our lives have their own patterns.

As we see the patterns of our own growth,

may we learn from them.

God of misty days and harvest moon nights,

there is always the dimension of mystery and wonder in our lives.

We always need to recognize your power-filled presence.

May we gain strength from this.

God of harvest wagons and fields of ripened grain,

many gifts of growth lie within the season of our surrender.

We must wait for harvest in faith and hope.

Grant us patience when we do not see the blessings.

God of geese going south for another season,

your wisdom enables us to know what needs to be left behind and what needs

to be carried into the future.

We yearn for insight and vision.

God of flowers touched with frost and windows wearing,

white designs,

may your love keep our herts from growing,

cold in the empty seasons.

God of life, you believe in us,

you enrich us, you entrust us with

the freedom to choose life.

For all this, we are grateful.

Joyce Rupp (May I have this dance)