Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of Saint Brigid. She along with her contemporary Saint Patrick, are the patron saints of Ireland. Brigid is also the patron saint of our young adult community in Tempe, Arizona. She was selected as our patron saint for three reasons. First, her sacrificial care of the poor and sick. Second, in the fifth century she established and led the first monastery for women and men. Third, her tending of the fire of the pre-Christian goddess, Brighid, was an act teaching us today to remain open to the full and mysterious story of God’s work through incarnation and imagination.

I made a five-day walking pilgrimage from Dublin to Kildare, the home of Saint Brigid. The path journeyed down the Wicklow Way to Glendalough. From there we turned west, walking along Saint Kevin’s Way to Kildare. This blog gets its name from the practice of ancient Celts going on pilgrimage, peregrini.

Once in Kildare we visited the Church of Ireland (Anglican) Cathedral of Saint Brigid, where the supposed sight of the tended fire is still revered. Leaving the Cathedral it was a blessed experience to walk to her well, past the historic oaks for which Kildare is named.

The best part of our time in Kildare was having the privilege of meeting the nuns of Saint Brigid’s Community. The three women were extremely hospitable, ecumenically minded, gracious with stories and strongly encouraging of us naming our campus community after their patron. The work of these three elderly women, saints in their own right, has maintained the spirit of Brigid, working to benefit the poor and sick while fostering the opportunities for women in the Roman Catholic Church. I was moved and inspired by their quiet contemplative strength. I continue to drink from the well of those few hours.

I am returning to Ireland this summer for another pilgrimage, 350 miles along the Wicklow Way and then west to the coast of Kerry. Today I am praying for Saint Brigid’s presence on the journey. Blessed be you Saint Brigid.

St. Brigid, woman of prayer, pray for us.
St. Brigid, generous and kind, pray for us.
St. Brigid, who fed the hungry, pray for us.
St. Brigid, who welcomed everyone, pray for us.
St. Brigid, who spoke about Jesus, pray for us.
St. Brigid, who lived like Jesus, pray for us.
St. Brigid, you still care for everyone, pray for us.
St. Brigid, protect us all, pray for us.
St. Brigid, raised up to heaven, pray for us.
St. Brigid, patron saint of Ireland and our community, pray for us.

The Name

The Name

When the perilous frigid northern wind blew across the desert floor of the Arizona border town of Naco on that midnight of All Hallows Eve, Mary died giving birth to her son. In despair, the newborn’s father hung himself on a lonely oak tree, outside of town.

Dr. Jacob Abrahamson wrote his own father’s name for the child on that bitter night without mercy. Before the dawn of All Saint’s morning, Daniel Abrahamson trudged through the blistering blue wind to his son’s home to witness his namesake nestled against his daughter-in-law’s breast.

“Would not this child’s name be his own father’s?” the older Abrahamson said.

“Father Abrahamson, is not the child so beautiful?” asked Ruth.

“Not so handsome as our little Joseph,” he said.

Jagged tears of broken ache traveled the grief worn lines etched in Ruth’s face from the fresh death of her month old Joseph. The baby at her neck could not replace her own flesh, but he was motherless. Ruth’s grace abounded.

“Father Abrahamson, the child bears his grief alone. Do we not weep the tears he does not know?”

The old man’s beard hid his quivering lip. His only son was without child. It had been the solitary trial he could not endure. Ruth’s barren soul screamed in silence. Jacob’s bitter tears were hidden from the world.

“Where is the child’s father?” he asked.

“He suffered the death of a broken heart,” she said.

“And must we bear his blackened dread?” he asked.

“Jacob is preparing the burial of the child’s father. As the baby becomes a man he must know that compassion was given to his parents as they left this earth. Who better to extend that love than the one who holds him now,” she said.

Father Abrahamson pulled back the swaddling to get a look at the child’s countenance. Raven hair shocked in swirls about his honey face. Cinnamon rich eyes glistened, searching for nourishment; his nursemaid mother relieved his pink puckered lips.

“Of what Book was his father?” the bent man asked.

“He was a stranger in a foreign land, of Mexican descent,” she answered.

“And his name?”

“David.”

“It is not natural for you to take this child. He is of another world. It would not be well of the child to suffer confusion of mind to soul,” he whispered.

“Would the child suffer less without two spirits who love his presence?”

“Give him to those of his own tribe,” the elder bristled.

“Should I agonize the emptiness of womb’s heart when the milk of life flows to no mouth of need?”

Her shadow bit into the soul of the God who heard them. The crippled man bowed his wispy grey head in the shame of sadness that had not experienced warmth’s embrace in the season long forgotten.

“Would my son be near soon? To make a final decision?” he staked the words as if permanence were the assurance of a future sealed in banishment.

“The tomorrows of this newborn is held in the hand of your doing,” her eyes said without utterance.

The rabbi struggled to rise to the window of the dripping light trickling across the sky of dilemma. His yellow fingers tapped at the crimson drape to see if his Lord had left hieroglyphics in the purpled clouds.

“His name must be his father’s,” he dared.

“But only with your blessing.” Mother Ruth lifted the child into Rabbi Abrahamson’s ancient hands where the tiny bundle of hope was to rest; right hand under the hip and the left hand of blessing would hold the head of resurrection.

Angelus bells are ringing

The angelus bells are ringing - afar, so near, faint, yet distinct - have they rung here before? I think not. Calling, calling to prayer - to listen is the call, silence.

What is it that is sensed in the soul clearing? The bells have ceased, the ringing hangs in the air. Soul hearing, as like seeing with the third. The hearing of safety - what is that stirring so near, gently moving towards my being - is it presence? So comforting, settling, bringing relief from anxiety of the unknown, being the unknown; it is the Self. That which is most present and yet so unrecognizable, hovers so as to brood and bring integration of that which could be created to become.

Ringing, ringing I hear you still lingering - the call to Presence.

My dream soul is on fire.

My dream soul is on fire. An opening in my subconscious is flooding my conscious, liminal and present to hear and see in this connected space. Processing in journal, reflection, study and spiritual direction. Can be muddled, murky, uncertain, and it can be frightening that the reality is not so subtle of expectations to manifest in the obvious. To see with the eyes is in the mind, to see with the third is to feel in the spirit, stirred soul to knowing becomes heard in the ears of the tender heart skin. It makes known - it moves - it has its being in the air between breathing and silent stillness. Drawing in the experience, release the pain. Soul yoga - stretch, stretch, stretch further - ah, it feels, I feel. Hear the barking of spirit muscles? Premonition? Too ugly to consider, yet, why, could, no, yes, maybe. Now you see what you never wanted to understand in the hearing of the zone between, the space of thinness, no, yes? The Raven in flying with the dragon.

Once again baseball has tortured my soul

I am very weary of professional baseball and actually baseball in general. My minor league roommate, John McLaren, an extremely class gentleman, was named interim manager of the Nationals after manager Jim Riggleman resigned due to mistreatment by the Nationals management. John had managed the Mariners briefly and that ended without him having much a chance when the players preformed poorly. It appears now that John is going to resign from the Mariners (two days later) - hard to know whether that was forced or not. The Nationals have named Davey Johnson manager who last managed a game in 2000. (I guess he learned something in his eleven year absence?) Baseball is a business, no one understands that more than I do - however, it is a business that functions as if slavery were still an accepted form of business. What makes me so weary is that it is so obvious to me the insidious behavior of baseball owners, and television (cable) that manipulates the game has filtered into college baseball (ASU being cheated out of a regional, maybe because the NCAA didn't want ASU at the World Series because of their violations or because ESPN didn't want them their because of the marketing of the new Longhorn network - and the firing of friend Dave Stapleton from Grand Canyon University). Even at the high school and grade school level where club baseball rules and the poor are pushed aside. This started years past with my own treatment in professional baseball and the horrific treatment of Kevin Wickander and Dave Stapleton (at the professional and college level). I am weary, this punishes my soul. I must find some rest.

The Mystic Way

The Mystic Way opens our soul to “abide” in God. To abide in God is for the Spirit of God to be in our spirit and our spirit in the Spirit of God.

It’s like this. Two lovers gazing eye to eye in the intimate stare, hands locked, fingers interlaced, palm to palm – as if nothing in the world can come between the two lovers. Time stands still. God and I, face to face, my consciousness connected at the unconscious level to the very consciousness of God – deep intimacy – pure contemplation. Nothing can come between us.

But, alas, it seems that something is trying to pry our hands apart. Is it evil? No. Worse, it’s something that is insidious – it the well-meaning, the good, that which is most seductive, something that convinces us that the sacrifice of our soul’s energy is worth the cost – it could be the “anything” of doing good deeds. And this well-meaning function will break our contemplation of the true calling of God to our specific “work” and purpose in life, and that, indeed is worth the “cost of discipleship.”

The Mystic Way teaches us to be in the intimate state of contemplation, which is fed by the Eucharist, the Communion of and with the Holy and with the community. We are nourished by the Sacrament, which we must faithfully attend to in order to be sustained through the frenetic onslaught of the “good demands of the functions of life.”

The Mystic Way teaches us that in our contemplation, nourished by the Eucharist in community, we will hear the fetching of the Holy to our true “work,” our real “purpose,” into the action of our life.

The Mystic Way is a difficult journey - walk slowly, allow the integration of being to be with the Being, it is a Holy pilgrimage, hold it lightly and be held.

Awe

We are a Resurrection Community. Our vision is one of prayer, discernment and hospitality. Evidence of being a Resurrection Community and living out our vision surround us.

At Lent One we began three Sunday morning services. In 2010 our average Sunday morning attendance was 120 and before Lent One we were running slightly ahead of that number. Not counting Easter Sunday, which by the way this year we had 50 more than in 2010 – we have averaged 140 – now that’s pretty amazing. Over the last five years our attendance has increased ten percent each year – and this year we are on pace to exceed that rate of growth.

While numbers aren’t everything - they are the measuring stick often used to determine how we are doing. For a frame of reference the average Sunday attendance for an Episcopal Church is 66. And the average age is 62. While I haven’t done an exact calculation, my guess is our average age is in the mid-thirties.

That leads me ask two questions, 1) what good things have we done to create this growing environment and, 2) what’s next?

This morning’s readings from the Acts of the Apostles contain the answer to both of those questions.

The early days of the Church were held together by a tiny band of women and men, including the Apostles, Mary and Mary Magdalene. These people were a radical Jewish sect, a new spiritual movement that lived a subversive life.

In one sentence (Acts 2:42) their strategic plan and vision statement is outlined for us. “They devoted themselves to the apostles teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers.

First, they devoted themselves – this kind of devotion to the apostle’s teachings created an inner transformation in the lives of those who devoted themselves to the practice of studying the scriptures. Their devotion to the scripture transformed their souls and changed their actions. These people were so devoted to the apostle’s teachings that before they were called Christians they were known as “The people of the Way.”

Second, they devoted themselves to hospitality. In verses 43-47 it tells that these people shared all that they had with each other. They gave what they had for the benefit of others. They were good stewards of their resources.

Third, they devoted themselves to a Eucharistic life. The Eucharist was the center of their worship life, which was the model for living their life out in the world. They followed Jesus Christ who emptied himself for the sake of others and they worshipped Jesus by breaking the bread and they worshipped Jesus by modeling his life.

Fourth, they devoted themselves to the prayers. There is strong evidence that these followers of the Way memorized the Lord’s Prayer, the psalms and other pieces of scripture they used in a very liturgical style of worship. These people prayed together as a spiritual practice of life.

And when they devoted themselves to these four spiritual practices, scripture, hospitality, Eucharist and prayer – God added to their number.

From the birth of the Church, devotion to these four spiritual practices have been the marks of every successful Christian community.

1. The community studies the scripture.
2. The community is hospitable.
3. The community life is Eucharistic.
4. The community prays together.


I think our growth can be attributed to our “commitment” to these four spiritual practices.

But, now the question is, “What’s next for us?” Do we go around congratulating ourselves about how successful we are? Hardly. While we can be proud of our commitment – I have a hard time thinking we stand up to the measure of the early church being filled with awe because “many signs and wonders were being done by the apostles.”

I think what’s next for us is to move from being committed to being devoted.

Committed means, we do what we do because we think that whatever we are doing is good for us, or that it’s the right thing to do.

Devoted, however, means, we do what we do because, despite the cost and the sacrifice, we know it will transform our soul and the soul of our community.

We are on the cusp of being awed by the wonders and signs of what God is going to do in our midst. But, to go from the cusp of the experience to being in the center of an actualized experience, I believe we have to move from commitment to devotion.

Together, we must discern and hear where God is calling us into the spiritual practices. Trust God’s calling – we will know it is God’s calling when it has the feeling of being fetched into something that is awe inspiring, filled with the wonders and signs of God’s Presence in our midst.

What’s next? What’s next is something that is awe-inspiring. I can feel it. I can hear it coming.