Compassionate Listening

Posted on May 4, 2017 by sstyves

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After some pondering, I have decided to call together a group of seven friends who I trust immensely to help me discern what I need to focus on over the next several months.  The group consists of Christians whose opinions I treasure and who have proven themselves to be a blessing to me on this crazy adventure that unfolds before us. Some are schooled in Ignatian spirituality; others are not. We met last night for the first time, getting to know each other while breaking bread and sharing hearts. We have yet to completely figure out what a process looks like but the initial meeting was still valuable to me.

We used Ignatian rounds for a loose framework. Each person began by informing the group how they were as they came (curious, tired, distracted, etc) and then explained how they knew me.  I then added why I had asked them to be part of this circle. So that we all were on the same page as far as the cancer history and prognosis was concerned, I gave a detailed summary of the situation thus far.  We are gathered because I am single and need support along the way.  My parents are elderly; my one sibling is caring primarily for them; and the other sibling lives two provinces away.  I turned to a community of loved ones to help me and by default, my family, with decisions that must be made and tasks that must be completed in a timely fashion.  They will help keep me accountable, assist with tapping into friends who stand on the sidelines longing to help, and discern with me what it is I need.  They will also listen to me with great compassion and love, while gently calling me on my stuff.

I look forward to these meetings, learning how to benefit from them, and the rich, anticipated outcome that will help me transition to my final days with less stress and worry.  As I also said last night, I do not want this to be heavy work so I was pleased that there was sufficient laughter around the table.  I love that these people will get to know each other too as they are dear to me and this will provide them with support too.  One friend wisely noted that.  Busted, I thought, with a smile.  Some have already gotten to know each other through hospital visits and other events but this will strengthen relationships.

Good questions were asked which I appreciated.  Everyone was honest and real which is another underlying reason that these seven were chosen besides very specific skill sets that are needed. People listened carefully and deeply as was conveyed by the questions that were asked and the comments that were made. Someone sagely noted a go-to fault of mine and I smiled that I had been caught so early on. I guess I am pretty transparent. However, clearly, Wisdom abides in the group. I am excited to see where this will go. I already am so very grateful for what transpired last night.

To be listened to and loved are great gifts.  In two days I begin my third year since this life-changing surgery.  This group seems like a wonderful way to celebrate 24 months of life with my new liver. These people are generous and courageous.  I know that the task that I have asked them to do is not for the fainthearted. The task of listening and loving is mutual around this circle. I will be returning it as much as it is given to me. This will be a new adventure for most of us and I pray God’s blessing on it.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

Who do you trust with your story?

Who have you listened to with compassion and love?

Prayer

Great Physician, you long for wholeness for each one of us and desire to meet our needs. I thank you for these friends who will help me to transition to Life and live well in the meantime.  I ask a special blessing of grace and courage for each one of them. Bind us together in love and compassion, Creator.  Give each one of us what we need for this  experience. Amen.

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Grace to the Humble

Posted on April 25, 2017 by sstyves

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A person living fully until they die might look a bit like a duck–calm and serene as they float along in the water but paddling like crazy when no one can see. My mind races quite a bit, trying to remember everything and get tasks done. Yesterday’s post I wrote about how people can help me but today, I am going to focus on what those who are dying and what we may need to know.

At mass today, the First Reading opened with these words: Beloved, all of  you must clothe yourselves with humility in your dealings with one another…(God) gives grace to the humble. At my Easter reconciliation, I confessed that I was running out of grace with some people. This line made me remember how I felt a mere few weeks ago. I wondered what I could say to you that might help you understand the choices we face. Here are some of my musings:

  1. Do what is best for you. If you are like me, receiving can be hard.  Now is the time to humbly say yes to kind and gracious offers if you want to. Consider each one carefully and gratefully let yourself be spoiled.  Listen to other people’s suggestions about cures and miracles but try only those that are right for  you. See the people who create joy in your heart.  Eat what delights you. Sleep when you need to. Spend money if you desire something.  Be your own best friend and take that loving advice without over-thinking it.  In Ignatian Spirituality, when discerning a major life decision, one tool is to think what you would do looking back over your life on your deathbed.  Well, not to be crass, but that is your new reality.  Do what serves God well and brings you peace.
  2. Learn to say no without much explanation. At this stage of life, as long as you are not hurtful, you can be free to smile and say no, not now, not today, no thank you, nope. Full stop. No means no and the people in your life will learn to accept this.
  3. Know who to trust with your tale. Brene Brown believes that people need to earn the right to hear your story. As much as I live my experience of living with cancer out loud–talking, writing, blogging, and processing it–I do not share everything with every person.  Choose your circle carefully and lovingly.
  4. Embrace the now which is all that we can do mindfully. The past is over. I have let go of so much in these past two years: my health, my body image, my career, parts of my identity, some friendships, unhelpful thoughts, baggage I have dragged around for decades, and so on. The future has not yet unfolded. I could die in a plane crash tomorrow or as I like to say to people, fall out of bed, since it is one of the top reasons people die. I could try to guess my new expiry date or obsess about what the end will look like but to what avail? I want to stay here in the moment–seeking God’s presence and being appreciative for whatever it is that is blessing me. Sometimes the here and now is painful–whether it is our personal situation or news of someone else’s misfortune. We may want to avoid this but we cannot. We just postpone the inevitable.  No, stay here and make friends with the gift of now.
  5. Stand fast in faith, however you comprehend that word. For me, the Holy Trinity, Ignatian Spirituality and my Catholicism play a crucial role in how I perceive what is unfolding and what gives me the grace to wake up each morning and embrace a new day. Something greater than me is at play here and I trust that Divine Presence. As the Gospel today says, Go…and proclaim the good news to the whole creation.
  6.  Live as much as you can while you are dying. Sing, dance, make love, breathe in beauty, spend time with dear ones, laugh, bare your soul to those you love, laugh until you ache, and then weep at the thought of losing all of this before moving on to the next day.  Spectacular days are also devastating ones because you will grieve the reality that those types of days on this side of heaven are numbered. Do not let that stop you from living them gloriously and gracefully.
  7. Serve in some way if you are possible as this is why we are created.  Living beyond myself and the limits of my illness can be a challenge at times, but when I do I truly forget I am unwell.  When I listen to someone else and give them some advice that helps, I feel useful. When I desire to serve God with all my heart and soul, I am alive. Find something that brings life that you can do and when the time comes that nothing else but prayer is left, then make that your humble ministry.
  8. Whatever you choose to do, be all in.  A friend said this to me regarding my decision about chemotherapy the other day.  I loved it. Have no regrets and be free of burdens.  I made my decision to spend my favourite season without treatment and in my heart of hearts I know this is the best conclusion I came to, even if it means that I might have shortened my life.  Having surpassed what was expected of me, each day now is a bonus to simply enjoy. I want to make some excellent memories with dear ones, spend time in the sun, visit a couple of new places in my country, and entertain whatever God places before me. Long life or short, sickness or health, as the Principle and Foundation states are not to be clung to; we must choose that for which we have been created–to praise and honour God and I think my decision does that.
  9. Be gentle with yourself. Some days grace and humility will seem elusive.  That is ok.  God knows your heart. We are still very human and that is a good thing.
  10. Plan the end.  Looking ahead realistically and deciding what you want is a present to those who need to know.  Is your will written and up-to-date? Are guardians in place for children? Do you want to be buried or cremated? Do you want a funeral? Are you downsizing already?  Are you giving away treasured items to beloved ones? Are you telling the stories that need to be heard? Are you sharing the words that must be said? Have you forgiven and been forgiven? Are you creating memories that will be of comfort to those who remain? Have you provided for those you need to? Have you given permission to people to do what they must do when the end comes? Not everyone wants or needs to be with you and that is a personal choice that may need some affirmation. Is there a legacy of sorts that you desire to leave? Comfort comes in knowing that you have organized some of the final days.

God gives us sufficient grace in so many aspects.  Cast all your anxiety upon the One-with-Broad-Shoulders because he cares for you. Yes, you. You are in good hands because you care in God’s hands. Believe it.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What advice would you have for a person who is facing death?

How much grace do you need to face today?

Prayer

Grace-Giver, you lavish upon us all that we need for the moment, and I am ever thankful. We are in your good hands whatever shall come and that is the safest place to rest and be. May we live fully each day we are granted, keeping our eyes on you, breathing in every breath until we meet you face-to-face. Amen.

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Glorious Joy

Posted on April 25, 2017 by sstyves

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Yesterday’s Gospel reading had this fabulous phrase in it: rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy.   Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could do so everyday?  The reality is that some circumstances preclude us from feeling that way.  The last few weeks I have had devastating news from friends about events in their lives.  While Easter happened on the calendar, it has not occurred in real time yet for them. I do believe it will come for them, sometime, somehow.

I have had some excellent conversations lately.  I am abundantly blessed with good people in my life who will push the envelope of their comfort zones.  Some days I have been so totally self-absorbed due to my illness that I have forgotten other people and their needs.  When I see my compassionate self shake off the dust and rise to greet another’s pain I am grateful. This is a part of me that I miss. I wonder how much I have not shared with others because I have not been able to be as present as I normally am.  Alternatively I do not always remember due to the fatigue everything I have been told and that frustrates me some. I am learning to be accepting of all the emotions that come, whether I like them or not.

Tonight I cannot seem to concentrate on this post, my mind utterly distracted by some news that is heartbreaking. Even the weather here seems to echo its dismay, with snow covering the ground. Now though as I review my day, I find myself returning to a CBC Radio interview this morning by a woman who has written a book on grief, called Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy. Sheryl Sandberg lost her husband suddenly while on vacation in 2015. Her life changed in the blink of an eye.  For those of us who have ever faced trauma, we never want to fully embrace Option B. The only way we survive Option B is eventually to seek joy and build resilience relentlessly. I appreciated Sandberg’s honesty and raw pain as she told her story.

Once we lean into the pain, we can move through and beyond it.  She talks about accepting the emotions, acknowledging the elephant in the room, and gives us some tips about how to help those who are grieving.  You can listen to them in the interview link above.  I have been thinking through some of the advice I would give if I were talking to people about how to assist me, as a person who is dying.  Here are some of the tidbits I came up with:

  1. Emphasize the living, not the dying, in my life. Help me find the indescribable joy in life by inviting me to fun events and creating memories that will bring a smile when we think of them.
  2. Join the kitchen dance movement.  Start your day by dancing with joy and abandonment. Send me good thoughts while you do this.
  3. A friend made my name part of her password so that she remembers me each time she needs to unlock her computer.  You can pause to say a quick prayer when you do this. Prayer is the best action you can do for me.
  4. Ask me what I need in a specific way that fits your skill set. If you are an awesome cook or baker, drop me off some food in disposable containers.  Send me home with leftovers after a shared meal. If you are a neat freak, offer to come and give me an hour of cleaning.  If you like to walk, invite me to join you.
  5. Share your life with me.  I still need to know that I can be of help to you when I have the energy to be present.
  6. Surprise me with cheerful cards or emails to affirm my journey and encourage me.  Keep it real.  Acknowledge something I may have done or said or just let me know you are thinking of me with love.
  7. Be flexible with my schedule. I am not the same person I used to be physically, though I look pretty healthy. Give me the ease to cancel or postpone when I need to.
  8. Know that I am grateful, even if I forget to say so.  I am appreciative of all the acts of kindnesses that come my way.
  9. Be patient with me as I try to prioritize my new lifestyle. This is a great gift as it relieves stress.
  10. Help me to see God in all things. God is ever-present in ways that we might miss if we are not paying attention.  I am open to being reminded of this by you showing me a sign of beauty around me that I did not see, sharing a story that makes me know the Divine Presence is at work, or inviting me to participate in the  indescribable and glorious joy of the moment.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What indescribable and glorious joy are you experiencing lately?

What heartbreak threatens to keep you from ever rising?

Prayer

Indescribable and Glorious Joy-Giver, help us to learn to rejoice even when it is the last thing on earth we want to do. Somewhere out of the darkness, we will rise and under the snow, those spring flowers will survive.  Joy can also be inexplicable at times but we thank you for it.  I believe in you and the resurrection. Amen.

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How foolish We Are!

Posted on April 20, 2017 by sstyves

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My daily prayer time was much later than normal because I forgot until I went to settle into my evening Examen. I was flooded with emotion part way through the later and thought I would perhaps turn to my blog to share my thoughts. The daily reading is from Luke 24,  that wonderful story of the two grieving disciples walking to the village called Emmaus, about 11 kilometres from Jerusalem.  Jesus joined them but they did not recognize him.  What fun he must have had listening to them tell this stranger about the prophet who was mighty in deed and word who had been condemned to death, crucified and now seemingly alive again according to some women.

Jesus says to them, Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared!  He goes on to interpret all the things said about himself in the Scriptures until they arrive in the village.  They beg him to remain with them and in the breaking of the bread their eyes are opened and they knew exactly who it is it is before them, but he vanishes.  Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road? is what the disciples ask themselves.

I admit to being foolish and slow of heart some days. These two disciples were mourning the loss of someone very important to them. Grief does odd things to your thoughts and your emotions. At the close of a meeting for spiritual directors today during the round of evaluation and appropriation,  the leader asked what we are we leaving in the tomb?  I was the second person to answer the question. I  evaluated the meeting positively and then wondered what my response to the question would be. I was not prepared for my own answer. I think I said something to the effect of  I am leaving this in the tomb. This may be the last time that I direct. I had been avoiding thinking about that reality  but it came tumbling out of me today without warning.

As I replayed the moment during my Examen , I dug a little deeper.  In so many ways, directing the 19th Annotation has kept me sane these past two years.  It has made me feel useful and given me a purpose beyond my illness.   The people I have directed have revealed to me how great God’s grace and mercy are. By extension their journey has been my path too –   a drawing closer to the Holy Trinity.  This year at these directors’ meetings I have purposely tried not to talk as much as I did last year about my health and still this community of spiritual directors has been such a blessing to me. I do not know what I would have done without them.  Their prayers and support have carried me through some rough patches.

Tonight I realize that my tears were really another stripping away of a title and identity.  I have loved being a spiritual director. I believe that I had gifts that God had given me for this ministry.  I enjoyed accompanying people as they drew nearer to the God who created them and loves them.  It is such holy ground to stand as a sacred witness to someone’s unfolding Love story.  I never tired of seeing the wonders and miracles that God did in someone’s life.   I completely comprehend how those two disciples felt walking on that road. I am open to a resurrection miracle that will allow me to return actively to this ministry but at this point my feelings are a conflicted mix of great sadness, profound gratitude,  humble reality, and much hope.

Of course, I realize my attachment once again to things of this world. I will reach a place of indifference more quickly this time because of that.  Each letting go for me gets easier. I learn to see my role first and foremost as the beloved daughter of God.  My heart still burns within me when I recognize that is enough.  My life becomes more and more a resting in the hands of God, my Creator.   As the Principle and Foundation states my life simply becomes a time to praise, honour and serve God.   This is what I have been created for and the stripping away of everything else will help me to do these tasks as God alone desires.  I know that God will  provide different ways for me to serve, right up to my last breath, even if it means only breathing.

So I walk that road – the 11 kilometres – with Jesus beside me, attempting to clarify what it is I still need to know so that I may indeed praise, honour and serve.  I know that there will be more foolish moments and times when my heart is slow to grasp the reality before me. I am getting used to those experiences.  They are always followed by my heart burning within me because I know that the Divine has shown up once again to walk with me and show me the way.  For that, I am ever grateful.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What is that in your life that you are attached to that would be hard to let go of because you are servIng God when you do it?

When have you experienced an 11-kilometre walk with Jesus where he revealed something you had not understood before?

Prayer

Walk with me, Holy Hidden One, until I recognize you. Explain to me again and again until I finally comprehend and my heart burns within me. Strip me of all my claims to fame, except that of being your beloved daughter. May I rest quietly in your hands as you direct me how to love, honour and serve you.  Amen.

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Alleluia! Alleluia!

Posted on April 17, 2017 by sstyves

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The Triduum is done.  The stone is rolled away. Jesus has appeared to his beloved friends. Death did not have the final word.  Joy and Hope have danced in the wee early morning hours and freed our fears, unleashing a power unbeknownst previously.  The ending was just the beginning.  The long-awaited for Alleluia! has been sung.  New life has arrived in all its glory. God has turned our worlds upside down in a surprising act of Love.

At this time of year, here in the North, we have to look carefully for the signs of new life in a fragile spring.  Two days ago I walked outside watching butterflies rest their wings wide-open in the warm afternoon sun.  I noticed the buds on the trees for the first time.  Tiny purple flowers and bright green grass dotted the ground in the park.  The world seemed to be resurrecting.  Yesterday, mid-afternoon, gathered in my parents’ living room, we all stopped talking as white flurries filled the view from the picture window.  The disappointment was tangible but short-lived.  This was after all Easter and thus we chose wisely to hang on to Hope.

So it is with our own lives….we wait either in fear or hope.  Sometimes, we are suspended in fearful hope, battling back and forth between the two conflicting emotions.  Easter teaches us that Hope has a place in our lives – when the doctor’s office calls, a job is lost, a marriage disintegrates, a death occurs, a dream is crushed. The unbelievable can happen.  Can God really bring life out of these deaths? I think we can miss God-at-work when we are in a state of turmoil.  I know that those buds did not magically spring up on Saturday; they had begun to take shape prior to that but I had not noticed them though I had walked by them even earlier that day.

Years ago, after the end of a relationship that I and many others were sure was heading to marriage, an early morning assignment took me out of town heading west.  I was pondering all that had happened when it suddenly began to rain, seemingly just on my vehicle.  I grumbled a bit thinking this was just my luck when a beautiful rainbow appeared ahead of me.  I glanced in my rearview mirror to see a spectacular sunrise behind me. The weather was teaching me a lesson.  What I had had was amazing, what I was going through was challenging, and what would come would be a blessing. Reassurance washed over me. That was one of many resurrection moments for me in life.

Sometimes though, resurrection seems far-off. I am thinking about those situations today.  I suppose people could label me as not being too realistic but I think resurrection still can happen.  God’s timing is not ours.  I am thankful that fear has not gotten the best of me for the majority of the time in which I have learned about the cancer.  I think of those people paralyzed by emotions that do not allow them to move forward in life.  Many are stuck in devastating depressions that cannot be shaken.  Some suffer severe physical pain that causes debilitation and strips joy from life.  Right at this moment someone is being tortured. We do not often think of that. We do not spend time contemplating that right now a young girl is being trafficked into the sex slave industry.  We may not spend much time in prayer for all those people sitting in the chairs in the chemo rooms or those struggling to take their last breath.  Another night is spent sleeping under a bridge on a piece of cardboard for some folks.  Halfway around the world, bombs and gunfire are a reality for young people whose lives are shattered.  On the surface all of this looks like resurrection is impossible.

Yet isn’t that really why Christ came, was crucified and resurrected?  When all was thought lost, Hope with roots so deep, blossomed again.  I think about that moment in the tomb when Christ shrugged off his burial cloths and stood up, alone in that dark cave–or maybe surrounded by the angels that yet not visible to the human eye, never left him alone. What chorus rang out in heaven at that moment? What joy unfurled at this miracle? Did Christ throw back his head and laugh out loud? Death did not have the final answer.  Not every situation unfolds the way we would like it to but the disappointment does not have to have the last word.  More than half of the world lives with only a fraction of material resources that I have and yet, somehow they know how to live with gratitude. Some of the most broken people find a resilience that is inspiring.  We are not promised easy lives because we are Christians and getting stuck in that sense of entitlement perhaps does more harm than good.  We are promised that the Trinity will be with us until the end of time and that Jesus has gone to prepare a room for us.  Death does not have the last say.  I believe resurrection is possible and it is to that hope that I cling. Happy Easter to each of you!

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

Has there been a resurrection of hope for you?

Do  you remember to pray for those in need?

Prayer

Risen One, you bring us Hope and Joy in abundance.  May my heart be ever grateful for the signs of little and large resurrections in life.  Help me to remember those who are still struggling to leave the tomb this day for whatever reason.  May I find signs of life everywhere I look to console and encourage me.  Alleluia! Amen.

 

 

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Silently Waiting

Posted on April 15, 2017 by sstyves

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One of my favourite memories of Holy Saturday is part of a weekend spent out at a local retreat centre that sadly no longer exists.  Families, couples, and singles gathered to spend the Triduum together.  They were greeted at the door on Holy Thursday by my clown alter-ego Violet who handed each person a single nail to hold for the weekend. She reappeared throughout the weekend and her final task would be to do a liturgical dance to Was It A Morning Like This by Sandi Patty.  To prepare for this, I crept into the darkness of the empty tomb that the team had set out so that people could pray.  We had  invited people to silently wait there throughout the day.  I stretched out on the floor and closed my eyes.  The door was closed and I tried to imagine what Saturday was like for Jesus and for those who loved him. While I do not remember exactly what graces I received, I do know it was profound.  The next morning, which I will mention later, I became almost completely undone by honouring this holy day.

We are often too busy on Holy Saturday preparing for Easter festivities to appreciate the silence and emptiness of that tomb.  We fill our lives up at the best of times, fleeing from whatever is calling for our earnest attention.  We may spend Lent avoiding chocolate but most of us refuse to crawl into that empty tomb to avoid what we really need to face.  I think Jesus would want us to eat chocolate and instead figure out why the sweet is a disordered attachment in our lives. I stopped giving up meaningless things for Lent some time ago unless I was prepared to dig deep enough to figure out why they had more control in my life than I did. At the end of the 40 days, I hoped then they would be gone forever or whatever was the source of the addiction or numbing would be identified and a plan of action in place to be free.  Jesus did not come to have us stop eating sweets for 40 days.  He came to free us from what binds us.  That is what these 4o days are about.  Holy Saturday is a good day to reflect on how well I have done in my Lenten journey.  Am I going to be rising freer than I was 40 days ago?

Today,  I went for a quiet walk in a nearby park and reveled in the sun, warmth and beauty of the afternoon.  Because Easter is late this year, it is easy to feel the whole earth rejoicing at what will come.  The bright colours of freshly sprouted flowers splashed joyously throughout the park, infectious giggles from Mother Nature.  Butterflies were copious, dancing overhead and fluttering their wings in the warm rays.  The green head of a mallard glinted as the creature coasted down the river and then came back, I am sure paddling madly against the current though looking serene.  A nuthatch skipped up the side of a tree and scooted around behind the trunk as if it were playing hide and seek with me. The world is alive in all its glory and so am I, I thought.  I have been blessed with another Triduum and I do feel freer having worked through some of my attachments.

As I think of the empty tomb this year, I am aware of how the silent waiting can be a fear-filled place. I am sure that the disciples behind bolted doors, in their own beds that night, or during their first waking moments must have been weighed down with anxiety, sorrow, and fear. What now?  What will happen now? I have taught myself these past few years to remain in the moment and to be present to the emotion that visits without trying to slam the door on those that I dislike.  This is not always easy.  I think one of the reasons that I liked my surgeon is that he was so brutally honest and that is how I am with myself as much as I can be.  I however do not spend each day waiting to die.  I spend every day grateful to be alive.   That makes the waiting a much less stressful task.

This morning as I read my last entry from one of my Lenten practices, I was struck by this quote:

This is the realism of Christian faith, to know the end is coming, as no one escapes death. We can choose to live in fear and allow selfish concerns to dominate us, or live thankfully, offering hospitality, kindness, and love to others, with whom we share a common mortality. ~ Kathleen Norris

Norris nails it–we can choose to live in fear but wouldn’t we rather live in love? Love was nailed to the tree for us and laid in a tomb so that we might understand the Mystery that Love is greater than fear, death, sorrow.  None of us leave this world alive.  I want to exit this beautiful orb a much better person than I am currently. If we take a moment this Holy Saturday to be still and to empty ourselves of the selfish concerns that control us, we might be ready to be kinder, more grateful, and loving to those we encounter, including our deepest, darkest selves.  Can we understand that in the waiting and the not-knowing-anything-for-sure we receive a great gift? While we are transforming and getting ready to rise anew this Easter, can we trust that God has worked deep within us to free us of what binds us?

Violet got up early that Easter Sunday morning and hid. As she finished dressing and put on the final touches of her make up, she could hear the unsuspecting people gather in the chapel.  She took a moment to pray that this surprise dance would be a blessing.  She breathed deeply and centred herself.  She opened the door so that she would enter at the front of the chapel behind the altar; this was the cue for someone to turn on the music.  As she took her first step out, she told herself, Just remember, you don’t know He is alive yet.  Suddenly she was overcome with great emotion. All of the events of that weekend had been rich and precious, leading to a new understanding of what Jesus had done and what Easter morning truly meant.  She hovered over the threshold of the door, wanting to step back into the sacristy and weep.  A little boy who sat in the pew spotted her and looked up at his dad and simply said: Daddy, clown sad.  Poor Violet almost completely broke down right there as she looked into his sorrowful eyes.  As is often true in our own lives, sometimes, we cannot go back but only onward.  Violet stepped out to the lilting tune and brought most of the congregation to tears as she danced. Her movements told the story, as she began hunched in sorrow, then raced to the tomb, and emerged eventually from it holding the burial cloths triumphantly, her smile lighting up the room.  This would be her finest performance.

Every day brings each one of us closer to death.  I do not want to stay fixated on the small things that keep me from being free.  I want to work on what makes me more recognizable as a child of the Resurrected Christ.  I want to sprout forth hope, peace and love.  I want to pull out fear, anger and judgment that like weeds kill the goodness.  As did Violet, I want to concentrate on what may be my finest performance.  I think what was magnificent about that day was that Violet had practiced endlessly for her dance, but God surprised her and used her to show how sorrow is transformed to joy–how death does not have the final say.  God does not abandon us but rather, when we trust, takes us beyond what we ourselves can only dimly imagine to a glorious place that blesses us and others.

Rest in this holy, silence of Saturday.  Let the emptiness of it help you to let go of all that you still cling to and prevents you from being free.  Sunday is coming. Rise, children, rise!

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What can you learn today from your Lenten experience by spending some time in silence in the tomb?

How do you choose to live–in fear or gratitude?

Prayer

Jesus, show us how to lay in the tomb and arise unencumbered, free to be who we really are.  We take a step closer to death each day, but you call us to live fully, embracing whatever comes.  In the silence teach me to be more gentle, humble, loving, and kind. Break the fetters of fear! Let us rise, Resurrected One, and join you in the glory of praise due.  Amen.

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Jesus, Remember Us

Posted on April 14, 2017 by sstyves

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Crosses….we carry them, we nail others to them, we fear them, we want to exchange them.  Good Friday is a reminder about many things but for me, this year, I am thinking deeply about crosses, death and resurrection.  Today, in my morning prayer time, I spent some time remembering other people who are carrying heavy crosses.  I messaged one–an addict I know who I had not been in touch with for awhile.   I told him I was praying for an Easter Resurrection for him and sent him hope and peace. He responded almost immediately with the news that he believed a bit of a miracle had happened for him and though he had not prayed in a long time, my message spurred him to promise to pray for me. That seemed like the hope of the Resurrection to me!

This Easter I am carrying a heavy cross. Friends can joke about trading crosses but in reality, we probably would end up keeping the one we are most familiar with.  This year, I come to Calvary incredibly tired.  I do not wish this cross upon anyone else.  Yesterday at the Maundy Thursday service, a friend stopped by the pew I was in and hugged me.  My mind flashed back to 2015 and telling her through tears that I was quite sick. I am still here and still grateful. I am beginning to feel that I am running out of time though.  I cannot shake this odd sense but I am keeping my eyes on Sunday in this Friday state.

At the afternoon service, I snuck in and sat at the back of the church.  In front of me was this darling little girl who was as precocious as one could be.  She looked at me, cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, smiling brightly. I reciprocated and she thought that was hilarious.  Her mom sneezed soon afterwards and I mouthed God bless your mom.  She smiled.  About five minutes later, I sneezed and she loudly said, God bless you! while everyone around us laughed.  During the never-ending Gospel she announced that she was ready to go home now please.  Her mother looked embarrassed but I leaned in and said, she’s not the only one.  Her mom visibly relaxed. I was totally distracted during the service and sent up a wee prayer to God but the response seemed to be saying just to relax.  Sometimes God wants us to pick up our crosses and sometimes God gives a chance for a rest from dragging them up the hill.

Looking back over my day, I smile in gratitude at the prayers offered by the man trying to get on the good path, the tiny one for pure joy, and for conversations with dear friends at the end of the day, amidst the songs of Mother Nature.  Help to carry the cross comes in all forms and shapes.  The last song of the prayer service tonight was the Taize tune, Jesus Remember Me.  As all Taize songs, the words are simple but I always find this one soothes my soul: Jesus remember me, as you come into your Kingdom. Repeat….as often as possible. I long for that–to be remembered by my Saviour and welcomed Home when the time comes.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What cross are you carrying this Good Friday?

Do you see the hope of a resurrection coming?

Prayer

Jesus, remember me, today.  Help me as I wind through my Via Dolorosa, dragging my cross. I hope to be with you in Paradise one day. Until then, may my life continue to bring you glory.  Amen.

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Kneeling at our Feet

Posted on April 13, 2017 by sstyves

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The God of love is kneeling at our feet.  Though we betray him, though it is the night. He meets us here and loves us into light. – Malcolm Guite

I have been thinking about the times I have had my feet washed.  That has only been twice–the first time on a retreat and the second at my parish upon returning from Africa. That first time the leader of the team facilitating the weekend washed our feet and I found it to be a humbling and moving experience, surrounded by the richness of the retreat itself.  The next time, I had been back on Canadian soil a couple of days.  Everything that had happened in East Africa–the reality of poverty, the violence, the beauty, the relationships, the graces, each step of the journey–were etched into my feet.  I brought it all to the basin.  I think about it now and I want to weep. Christ himself had given me example of how to love without counting the cost and now to end the adventure, I would offer it all back in this stunning gesture.

Our feet prevent us from allowing this action to bless us sometimes.  Because of this, I have lead for some groups a washing of the hands.  This alternative is still quite moving for people.  I have a memory of doing this for my housemates when I lived in Washington, DC.  People took turns gently caressing and cleaning one another’s hands and then dried them off with a towel.  This is an act of intimacy too.  Who washes someone else other than a parent or a lover or a caregiver?  When I was on pastoral parish council, I opened our first meeting one year with this ritual and talked about servant leadership.  Each member was blessed by another.  The pastor asked me every year to lead the handwashing until I stepped off the council, and then he invited me back to do it one more year with the new council members.

Watching a clip of the Pope washing and kissing the prisoners feet tonight, I wondered what they felt like inside as this holy man knelt in front of them.  How did some of them say yes and how will it change their lives? What was it like for the apostles to have Love kneel at their feet and humble himself? When do we let ourselves be vulnerable enough to receive such an act? We are worthy of it. Certainly if Love can hang on a cross and die for us, Love can bend low and scrub our feet as a sign of our worthiness and as a lesson that we must both give and receive.  Relationship that is one way is not healthy nor is it respectful. We are called to serve and Christ wants to ensure that we comprehend that no one is above another.

We will betray Jesus all of our lives despite our good intentions.  Our Saviour will out-love us each and every day of our lives.  We may feel undeserving of that Love but Christ washes it all away in that basin. Christ loves us and lays down his life for us. This night the darkness has the Light of Love aflame with example.  May we always remember it.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

What prevents you from having your feet washed?

How will you show this example of Love during the Triduum?

Prayer

Footwasher, you stoop low and make yourself vulnerable.  You lay aside honour and power along with your outer garment. Cleanse me from my pride, my false humility, my judgment, and all else that prevents me from understanding like Peter what you are trying to teach us.  Guide me in the days ahead so that I may humbly wash other’s feet. Amen.

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Obedient to the Point

Posted on April 9, 2017 by sstyves

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What is your tipping point for following Christ, for declaring your faith, for laying down your will?  We all have them.  When life’s challenges arise is when those boundaries become clear.  Do we only sing Hosannas when all is well or can we still praise God when the last words that we want to utter are thank you? Are we similar to the people today in the two Gospels of Palm Sunday, the first fervently acclaiming Christ as King, and the second shouts for his crucifixion? When do our hearts grow fearful and hateful? When do we turn our back on our Beloved?

The First Reading from Isaiah 50 tells of the servant of the Lord being abused but not hiding his face.  God helps him and so he is not disgraced.  He sets his face like flint and will not be put to shame.  Psalm 22 has the Suffering Servant feeling forsaken as all mock him. He still says, he will praise God. In the Gospel of Matthew 26.14-27.66, another story line emerges: some who once stood by Christ begin to crumble, unable to praise and trust as fear and hatred overtake them.  Judas, the exhausted disciples, the crowds, and Peter all betray Christ in their own way.  Yet, the women are present at the crucifixion and Joseph of Arimathea as well, takes a risk of standing with Jesus, even after his death. If you are like me, then you will know all these stances of not being there for someone, of being there, even if it is at a more comfortable distance during the distress, and of being all there afterwards.

In the Second Reading from Philippians, we look to our Model, who humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death on a cross. Not many of us will humble ourselves in any way, especially to the point of death.  Some do.  Archbishop Romero comes to mind. I often give my retreatants the task of watching a film about him as homework because of his conversion experience.  His obedience to the Church and government fails as he makes his allegiance to God. Not all of us will be called to make such a great sacrifice.  However, in daily life, as believers, we are called to seek out the greater good and act on it. Sometimes this involves being obedient to the point of ridicule, shame, or dishonour.

Throughout this day, I have been returning to a quote I read as part of my morning prayer routine by Kathleen Norris: The hard truth about journeys is that they demand that we embrace the unknown…we actually know very little about what will be demanded of us along the way, let alone the outcome. At moments today I find myself standing at the tomb of St. Clare in Assisi, wondering what the intense emotions and tears were about as if it were yesterday.  God was inviting me to an adventure then but I did not understand what it meant.  I had experienced that type of mystical moment prior during my preparation for the Spiritual Exercises but it took me years to articulate what had happened and to embrace it as the gift that it was.  The Presence that I felt at the tomb was a sensation that I have experienced a handful of times in my life.  I knew it was powerful and I knew it was holy.  The invitation to be obedient is never clear, I suspect.  Did Mary know that the angel meant she would hold her beaten, crucified man-child in her arms with such sorrow? Did Peter comprehend that leaving his net would entail all that it did?  Would each of them have said yes if they know the unfolding of the story?  God is too merciful to allow us to know the outcome at times.  The expectations are high though.

When people say that I am an inspiration to them, as someone did the other night at a church function, I realize that whatever was given to me at the Tomb of Clare gives me the strength and grace to go to the tipping point again and again–and to say, I am still with you, Lord.  In hearing the stories of others who have cholangiocarcinoma, I am more than humbled at the ease with which I have moved to date through the illness.  That may start to change shortly as the disease progresses without treatment. For now though, I continue to function to the undiscerning eye, quite well. I am incredibly grateful that I was able to have the life-saving initial procedure and then survive the surgery.  My recovery was phenomenal. Even chemo did not limit me too much.  I still very much believe that I am being carried by numerous prayers being lifted throughout this magnificent world. I only pray that my hosannas continue in the second half of this adventure.  May I always find the grace to be there, praising you, Creator.

Peace,

Suzanne

Reflection Questions

Think about times when you were the voice in each of the Gospel–of praise and of condemnation.  Which would you rather use more often?

What has been your tipping point in the past?

Prayer

Crucified Christ, some days we bring praises; other days we come with nails.  Help us to be mindful of our tipping points.  Teach us to sing Hosanna more than to shout crucify him.  Give us what we need for our journeys and to stay in the moment, trusting you will provide all that we need when the time comes. Amen.

 

 

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Charged and Crushed

Posted on April 7, 2017 by sstyves

IMG_2375 (2)On a recent Lenten retreat the G. M. Hopkins poem, God’s Grandeur, was used as part of the reflection time. When I first was diagnosed a thoughtful friend sent me a copy of The Word in the Wilderness:  A Poem a Day for Lent and Easter by Malcolm Guite, a delightful poet that I met on another retreat and a good friend of my friend.  I had recently pulled it out again because the resources I have been using this Lent were not grounding me. Today’s poem was Hopkins’.  I smiled because during the retreat I had a difficult time settling into the poem because I did not understand what the context the word charge was supposed to mean from the line The world is charged with the grandeur of God. I wrestled with the various meanings of that single, loaded word. The question to ponder had also to do with me being charged with the grandeur of God. I went round in circles for the first while, wondering what definition to use. Guite, a brilliant scholar, also raises this question of what the poet meant.

Guite gives only three meanings:

-filled completely full and packed down as in gunpowder in a musket

-a charge of electricity that leaps from one hidden element to the other

-charged as in given a task to do

Each of these definitions fit the intent of the line–the reader can almost see the sparks in the air when the poem continues with It will flame out, like shining from shook foil — God’s grandeur cannot be harnessed. The natural world is charged with this spectacular energy that anyone really paying attention has to be electrified with.  That is what ran through my mind originally when I sat to pray with the poem and then began to marvel at the other meanings and then got caught up in what does this really mean. The world is each one of us and we have the duty to shake that foil causing it to reflect the grandeur of God so that it can flame out and allow people and places to shine with that Glory. What was my part in this charging? What was I being called to do? Guite references Matthew 24.27 suggesting that the Gospel is a charge in a world that illuminates the world like lightening. Is this in fact not what we are all charged to do?  Are we not all called to bring a dazzling and breathtaking Light to our world?

The next line of the poem –

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed.
holds the key word according to Guite – Crushed.  A single word that refers to Gethsemane which means oil press. Guite rightly points out that John’s Gospel becomes the brightest when it is the darkest part of the story because Jesus’ hour has finally come and the Light of the World will not disappoint. Here are the fourth and fifth meanings of the word charge that Guite does not mention–the Saviour is found guilty and the price has been paid in full. The oil is pressed, the foil is shook, and the world is now fully charged, pressed down, and complete. Christ is crushed and God’s grandeur is revealed.
Peace,
Suzanne
Reflection Questions
What have you done this Lent to shake the foil and brighten the world?
What does the crushing of Christ mean for you as we enter Palm Sunday weekend?
Prayer
Charged and crushed, Saviour, you call us to also light up the world and pour out our lives.  As we enter this Holy Week may we know the expensive price you paid for us to be free.  Let us walk in your footsteps to Calvary and see the blood oozed out on the path.  May we be moved to action and take up the duty placed before us. Amen.
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