Get on that Donkey and Ride

One of the great joys of St Peter’s Episcopal Church is their labyrinth. Many mornings after we drop off our six-year-old grandson for school at St Peter’s, our three-year-old grandson will want to walk the labyrinth. Actually, he runs it. But he’s careful to stay on the path. And when we pick up the six-year-old after school, he also wants to walk the labyrinth. He walks it carefully and with intention.

Often, during the service at St. Peter’s, I can see people walking the labyrinth. People walk and pray the labyrinth for countless reasons: to ask God for guidance, to discern important decisions, to deal with grief, to seek calm in the solitude of the labyrinth.

To walk the labyrinth is to go on a spiritual pilgrimage. You don’t have to go to an exotic land to go on pilgrimage. Life itself is a pilgrimage. Our life is a series of daily pilgrimage experiences that comprise one continuous pilgrimage. We can either live our life intentionally while we’re on our pilgrimage, or we can walk through life unconscious, just stumbling from day to day.

Sometimes we plan our pilgrimage—other times it just comes at us, unexpected, with devastating potential. It’s at those moments we must decide to walk the journey with intention and purpose. Palm Sunday is a metaphor for living life as an intentional pilgrimage, even when we know it will not end well. The story of Jesus at the end of his life, models for us how to live through life’s worse circumstances, with purpose.

A pilgrimage, like walking the labyrinth, is a four-fold journey—a four-step process.

First, we must decide to walk.
Second, we walk the circuitous path.
Third, we stop in the center at the stone.
Fourth, we make our journey home to a new normal— being one with God; there we are putting on the mind of Christ.

In the first phase, we must decide to live our life intentionally with purpose. Especially at the darkest moments of our life. The moment when we realize our dreams are dashed, we lose our job, our soul mate walks out on us, cancer appears, our loved one dies. These situations almost defy us to live with purpose and intention. But, that’s what Jesus did. He pretty much knew where he was headed and knew it wouldn’t end well. But, he got on the donkey and rode into Jerusalem.

And what about all those people shouting Hosanna? You know those people. The ones who tell you, “this is God’s will for your life.” Or, “God only gives what you can handle.” Or, “While we don’t know why this is happening, one day we’ll see the purpose in it all.” Frankly, that’s theological bullshit. People say those things to make themselves feel better. Simply listen, pray, and sit with those who are suffering. Instead of singing Hosanna, Jesus’ cheerleaders could have walked with him and stayed by his side during the most difficult time of his life.

Second, we must accept the reality that the path of our life will never be a straight line. We will always be walking a circuitous path. We will constantly be feeling that we’re experiencing déjà vu. Jesus had walked into Jerusalem countless times. He knew the road, he knew the way. Yet, this time everything was different. The road was muddier. The sky was darker. The path seemed to be going in circles. He was light-headed when he stepped off that donkey and walked in the Temple. And when the tables went flying, his supporters scattered. But Jesus would not be deterred. He was intent on walking his pilgrimage no matter how risky the future.

Third, every pilgrimage has a moment, if we look for it, when we must stop and reflect—those moments when we can stand still and feel the presence of the divine. In those moments, we reach out and grab hold of God, the solid stone in our life. In those moments, we are in the center of stillness, held in God’s love—even if only for a second. We get a glimpse of those moments in Jesus’ life; they appear when we witness his calmness in the face of an unjust attack. And we see it again in his resolve to stay faithful to his calling even when his friends deserted him.

The last stage of the pilgrimage, is to return home to a new normal—being at one with God. We have been changed as the result of the pilgrimage. We have died and been resurrected and no one has noticed. I was in Florence, Italy at the museum where Michelangelo’s famous sculpture of David stands in all his beautiful majesty. In the small gallery before entering the long hallway where David is displayed, there hangs three paintings. One being a life size depiction of the resurrected Jesus. He is sitting in the tomb, slumped over, like he just woke up. His wounds are raw and the dried blood stains his skin. He appears like any other human being, having survived the most brutal experience of his life.

I believe, that though Jesus thought he would be crucified, he was not counting on any form of resurrection. To be human, he had to live with the same uncertainty and fear of death that we all must live with each day.

In this phase of the pilgrimage, we’re not sure if we’re living in the afterglow of resurrection or living with the worst hangover of our life. Sometimes the new normal of resurrection makes our head spin with a dizzying nausea.

Resurrection is a risky potential that we have to die to experience. Sometimes the death is metaphoric. Sometimes, it’s real in its finality. But to experience resurrection, we must fully lean into the confusing complexity of life and death—for it is there that we will know the vast capacity of God’s love—there we will be at one with the Divine, there we will put on the mind of Christ.

Three years ago, I planted some marigolds in two large pots on our front porch. They grew very nicely. Someone told me that when the flowers withered to pinch them off in order to stimulate new growth. When I pinched off the dead flowers, I just dropped them in the pot. Then the next year, I planted some different flowers in those pots. But, the marigolds returned with abandon and took over the pots from the new flowers. In fact, the marigolds popped up wild in some beds on the ground. Wherever there was water those marigolds sprout.

We are planted in the dark moist earth of God’s soul. The mystery within us stirs and growth happens below the surface. In the warmth of the sun, we emerge and grow. As the season changes, we die some form of death. To live, is to die. And to die, is to live. When we decide to walk again, the process of resurrection begins.

I've Been Bitten by a Snake

I’ve been a writer for the devotional book, “Forward, Day by Day” as well as their annuals The idea is to write a profoundly moving devotion in 300 words or less. People want to read good stories that are inspiring, yet not controversial. Basically, the writer has to think of thirty different ways of saying that God loves you, while being happy, sweet, joyful, and emotionally poignant.

Writing these devotionals are much like writing a sermon for an Episcopal congregation. The preacher is given a prescribed scripture from which they must tell an entertaining story; best if it’s funny; provide some important theological insight; be sure and not offend anyone; all in less than ten minutes.

The most recent survey by the Pew Foundation cited that the number one reason for attending church was good preaching. In most churches, there is only one preacher who is left with an impossible task; deliver a sermon that keeps the congregation begging for more.

I’ve now wasted ninety seconds explaining why it is impossible to write a funny and inspiring sermon on the readings from Numbers 21:4-9 and John 3:14-21. Sometimes, though, you just have to go for it.

St Paul said, that spiritual infants need milk, but the mature must eat solid spiritual food. (I Cor. 3:2 and Hebrews 5:12) And Jesus said, let those who have ears, hear.

These readings require mature spiritual ears to hear and understand what the Spirit is saying to the Church. Both texts reference serpents as agents of poison and healing, similar to the caduceus. To the uninitiated these strange stories defy meaning. To the mature Christian, however, these texts lie at the root of how we can become one with God through Christ. They are also windows into the mystical Anglican theology regarding the celebration of the Holy Eucharist.

In medieval art there are at least two paintings that depict St John holding a chalice with either a serpent or a dragon coming out of the wine. (Alonso Cano 17th century; see the Ashmolean Museum). The serpent and dragon represent the mystical power found in the Eucharist; which is both poisonous and healing.

Poisonous, in that becoming one with God through Christ has a price. That price is participation in God’s creative work. The individual must accept their responsibility in becoming one with God. There’s no free ticket. A person can’t just say, I’ve accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior and I’m good to go, I’m saved. That is infant’s milk. Collectively, we are already saved by the grace of God, that’s universal. God’s salvific work has been completed. That, however, is not the end goal of being a Christian; the work of eating solid food must continue in order to mature the Christian.

To become one with God is the spiritual goal of being an Anglican. Anglicanism teaches that becoming one with God requires God’s grace plus the individual and the community’s spiritual practices. These practices are the way Anglicans work out their salvation. Anglican theology follows the admonition of St Paul, who said, work out your own salvation by putting on the mind of Christ (Philippians 2) and of St James, who said that faith without works is dead (James 2:17). These spiritual practices are spelled out very clearly in the baptismal covenant (found in the Book of Common Prayer): follow the teaching of the apostles, receive the Eucharist, pray, resist evil, repent when necessary, proclaim the Good News, serve the Christ that is in all persons, love your neighbor as yourself, and strive for justice and peace by respecting the dignity of every human being. That is the work of becoming a mature spiritual Christian. It’s not optional. The individual relationship with God and the church’s relationship with God depend on doing this work.

The process of maturation also has a mystical component as spelled out in the prayers of the Holy Eucharist. There are at least three mystical parts to the efficacy of the Eucharist. Today (at St Peter’s Episcopal Church) we are using Rite II, Prayer B. This prayer is the most Incarnational of the six prayers used in the Book of Common Prayer. Incarnation means that God is present in Christ, in all of creation, and in every human being. The prayer states that God’s goodness and love have been made known to us in creation, in humanity, and in Jesus.

The first mystical effect happens to us individually. In this prayer, we ask that by the act of eating the bread and drinking the wine we will be united with Christ in his sacrifice. In other words, by consuming the bread and wine, we are being turned into Christ crucified. That statement brings with it a lot of poison; the expectation is that as individuals we will be doing our work, our sacrifice, which, thereby, brings us healing, as well as creation.

The second mystical effect is universal, touching all of creation. The Eucharistic prayer says “In the fullness of time, put all things in subjection under your Christ.” Those words mean that the act of celebrating the Holy Eucharist has an effect on all of God’s creation. Whether one receives the Eucharist or not, the efficacy of the prayers have a cosmic impact. The world can be affected unconsciously by our work through the Eucharist, as well as our prayers, and our practices. (See Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, especially “Divine Milieu” and “Hymn of the Universe.”)

The third effect of the Eucharist is on God. Because the Eucharist effects creation, and God is incarnated in creation, therefore, the divine is altered by the work of the Eucharist. We are participating with God in the continual creative act of renewal. We are responsible to God and all of creation for our participation in God’s work. By our sanctifying, making holy, all of creation, we recognize that God is present in all of creation and any good or damage we bring to creation is equally done to God. That’s some serious poison, but that work can also have a deep healing effect.

To understand these concepts requires much more than a ten-minute sermon. That’s why The Book of Common Prayer admonishes the people to read, learn, mark, and inwardly digest the scripture. Anglicans also hold that their prayer shapes their belief. And this is the work of the mature Christian who will be able to hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church.

Why is that Cat Tied to a Tree?

(St Peter's Episcopal Church has four services each weekend. The liturgy at those services are usually varied and range from very traditional to theologically creative. During the six consecutive Sundays of Lent, the six different Eucharistic Prayers in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer will be used at each service, consecutively. This will be something quite different for the people at St Peter's; challenging them to consider their traditions, their reasons, and their beliefs.)

I love good stories, especially when they're told by a gifted storyteller. Recently, I heard author and theologian Peter Rollins tell a parable about a monk and a cat. There was a monk who lived alone in a monastery. Every day the monk would enter the monastery to pray. At about the moment the monk would be deep in his meditation, the cat would come along and rub against his back and then lick his face, totally disturbing the monk's ability to focus on his prayers. Finally, one morning, as the monk was walking into the monastery he saw the cat. He picked it up and took him outside and tied the cat to a large tree. When the monk had finished praying he went outside and let the cat free. Thus, began the monk's new ritual. Every morning before praying he would gather up the cat and tie him to tree just outside the monastery's door.

Over time, other monks joined the monastery. After many years, the eldest monk died. But his younger followers kept up the practice of tying the cat to the tree before their morning prayers. Then one day the cat died. The monks went to town and bought another cat so they could continue their ritual of tying the cat to the tree before their morning prayers. Generations of monks continued the practice of tying a cat to the tree that stood outside the monastery door. After seven generations, the tree died. So, the monks planted a special tree in its place so that they could continue the practice of tying a cat to the tree before beginning morning prayers.

Eventually, scholars came to the monastery to study the phenomena of tying a cat to the tree before praying. The scholars studied and wrote treatises on the theological reasons and practices of tying a cat to a tree before praying.

This story has caused me to wonder if the Book of Common Prayer and our Episcopalian worship practices may have suffered the same loss of institutional memory as the monks who kept tying a random cat to a tree.

The Book of Common Prayer was first written by Thomas Cranmer in 1549 as part of the Anglican Reformation and its separation from the Roman Catholic Church. There were three major theological changes that Cranmer instituted. The prayer book was written in English as opposed to Latin, thereby giving the people access to what was being said at the Mass. As well, the new prayer book loosened the Roman Catholic theology underpinning the sacrifice of Christ in the Mass, (the Holy Eucharist) making subtler the understanding that God's sacrifice of Christ as necessary for salvation. And Cranmer moved the theology of the blessing of the bread and wine away from the literal transformation of the bread and wine in the body and blood of Jesus Christ, to a more nuanced understanding, whereby the bread and wine became the "presence" of Christ.

Eventually, the Church of England came to America with the first settlers. The American Revolution naturally separated American Anglicans from their mother Church, necessitating new bishops and the writing of a new prayer book. The first Episcopal (American Anglicans) prayer book was written in 1789. It was based primarily, but not solely on, the Church of England's 1662 BCP. Minor revisions were made in the Episcopal prayer book until 1928, when language was re-introduced into the communion service, returning the Mass to be more theologically congruent with the Roman Catholic Church, particularly Christ being both priest and victim. (See particularly Hymn 460, "Alleluia, Sing to Jesus" where it uses the language, (Jesus) "our great High Priest, thou on earth both Priest and victim in the Eucharistic feast.")

In 1979, the Episcopal Church developed a new Book of Common Prayer. The new BCP maintained the language of the 1928 Prayer Book in the Rite I service. The more contemporary language, however, of the Rite II service somewhat softened the theological position of Christ as both priest and victim. The theology of the blood atonement of Christ (Jesus had to die on the Cross for the forgiveness of sins and salvation), however, still dominates the Eucharistic liturgy.

Interestingly enough, The Catechism at the back of the prayer book, is more nuanced in its explanation of Christ's offering on the cross.

What lies at the heart of any Eucharistic liturgy is the theology upon which it is constructed. Those theological issues can be broken into three questions: Did God sacrifice Jesus on the Cross? Did Jesus have to die on the Cross so that our sins could be forgiven? And, are the elements of bread and wine transmuted into the perpetual body and blood of Jesus Christ?

There are theologians who would say, "Yes" in answer to all those questions. There are also theologians who would say "No" to all those questions. There are theologians who would "Yes" to some and "No" to others. And there are also theologians who would say that those are the wrong questions.

What is the official teaching of the Episcopal Church? Ah, there's the rub. It depends on who you ask? There are theologically safe answers and there are theologically risky answers.

In the Episcopal Church, one must always keep in mind the vows the priest commits to at their ordination, which thereby explains the range of risk any priest might take by tinkering with the liturgy.

The priest is asked: "Will you be loyal to the doctrine, discipline, and worship of Christ as this Church has received them? And will you, in accordance with the canons of this Church, obey your bishop and other ministers who may have authority over you and your work?"

And the priest responds: "I am willing and ready to do so; and I solemnly declare that I do believe the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments to be the Word of God, and to contain all things necessary to salvation; and I do solemnly engage to conform to the doctrine, discipline, and worship of The Episcopal Church."

There are a few germane questions for this conversation: What if the priest's theology changes over the course of time? How could a priest say words that they may not believe to be congruent with their own theology? And how could a lay person participate in a service where they don't agree with the theology of the church or the priest?

The answer to these questions could be found in the rich poetic language and symbolism of the liturgy; what's known as theopoetics. In other words, the poetical language and symbolism that manifests in the liturgy are open for interpretation; the same as with any poetry. Though we are all saying the same words, what I think, feel, intuit, and imagine most likely could be something very different than anyone else in the room.

The most important questions are: Do you know what you believe? And do you know why you believe it? And are you willing to tolerate other people in your church who believe something vastly different than you do?

Is it okay with you that the liturgy at a Rite I service demands that Jesus is both priest and victim? While at the same time your church might offer another service where the liturgy suggests that Jesus willingly gave himself over to the integrated process of becoming one with God through birth, life, death, and rebirth; and through that action he models for us our own process of becoming one with God. Or, a third, presenting the theology of Richard Rohr, which states that Jesus did not die in order to change God's mind about humans (Jesus sacrificed for our sins) but that Christ died instead to change human's mind about God (God is a God of love and not retribution).

The question for any Episcopal congregation must be: Can the priest and the people be pastorally sensitive enough to authentically accommodate a wide range of theological positions while maintaining the necessary space in their own life to continue to evolve both theologically and psychologically?

Or, in more practical terms, "Do we know why the monk tied the cat to the tree?"

Communicating with the Feminine Face of God

My first walking pilgrimage in Ireland was an alchemical soup of missteps and mystical experiences, most of which happened as the result of being lost. My son and I walked from Dublin to Glendalough and then turned west toward Kildare, the home of Ireland's patron, St Brigid. I wanted to make a pilgrimage to Kildare because I felt compelled to name the young adult group I was leading, St Brigid's Community. It felt right to name an open, progressive, Episcopal young adult group after a woman who would transverse Druidry and Christianity, lead a religious order of both women and men, and was known as a mid-wife and healer of humans and animals alike.

My son and I walked through deep dark forests, mucked through wet bogs, and jumped over rapid running streams. We made our way along the well-marked Wicklow Way and then suffered the illusions of the nearly unmarked St Kevin's Way. Though terribly lost at times, we were not to be deterred on our pilgrimage to St Brigid's home.

On a dark rainy day, we came to St. Kevin's Pool, a frigid pond that the ancients used for medicinal bathing. In order to stay on the trail, we had to jump across a narrow, rapid, deep stream. My son went first and cleared it with some effort. Age, fatigue and my forty-pound pack made the stream look like the Grand Canyon. I took a running leap. My front foot hit the slippery rocks of the opposite bank, but my pack pulled me backwards. With one strong arm, my son reached out, grabbed my poncho and pulled me to safety. My hollow fear of falling out of control into disaster was immediately reversed into redemption. The experience was like a dream, it felt like an out of body experience, yet it was so absolutely real. My heart was pounding and my head was spinning. Standing on the other side, I had to re-orientate my bearings and catch my breath. It was a mystical experience woven into the fabric of reality.

Mystical experiences only appear in our lives when we are willing to take the risk of free falling out of control. No net, no guarantee-no risk, no gain. The goal of the spiritual life is to live in a state of mystical redemption- a perpetual spiritual free fall. The redemption is not in being caught, but in the willingness to risk not being caught, while at the same time, knowing we are already standing on the opposite shore. Living the spiritual life is a dizzying experience. Yet, the joy of living such a life is that we are never alone. On that dark rainy day, my son kept me from getting soaked or worse. He was also the living manifestation of the presence of the divine.

For me, Saint Brigid has become the perpetual presence of the divine. She is an agent of the One Holy Living God. In the tradition of Celtic spirituality, one never asks the question, "Was Brigid (or any other person) real?" That's the same as asking someone if God is real. The answer is always of course they are real, because the story of Brigid is not about a person in history, but about the femininity of the divine. Brigid is swept up in the great mythopoetic Jewish tradition of Sophia, the feminine face of God. Included in that wisdom tradition are the myriad of feminine faces, the Druid's goddess Brigid, the Jewish Sarah, Rachel, Bathsheba, Solomon's Wisdom Queen of the South (the Black Shulamite, the Queen of Sheba), Christian's Mary the Mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Ireland's Brigid, her daughter Black Brigid, and Revelation's Mary the Queen of Heaven. The scope of the feminine divine is carried in the multiple archetypal figures of womanhood and the power of feminine spirituality.

In meditation, I have a regular conversation with Brigid and with her daughter, Black Brigid. In the mythic Celtic tradition, Brigid was a druidess and the keeper of the ancient perpetual fire of the goddess Brigid. In this tradition, the job of the firekeeper was passed from mother to daughter for eons.

When I have these meditative conversations, I am engaging Brigid, Black Brigid the Firekeeper, the goddess Brigid, Mary the Mother of Gael, Sophia, and the face of God. And I am having a conversation with my soul. The soul of every male is the anima, the feminine manifestation of the Self. For women, the soul, the manifestation of the Self is masculine. To have a conversation with one's soul, is to be in union with the One Holy Living God that resides within us all.

Why do I have these conversations? To better understand myself and God. If I can understand the feminine, the opposite within me, then I have a better chance of understanding the divine that resides within me. I can ask Brigid, "In a spiritual sense, what does it feel like to be mother?" As a man, I can never have the experience of giving birth. Yet, knowing motherhood can deeply alter my spiritual experience.

The great medieval mystic Meister Eckhart said, "What difference does it make if Mary gave birth to Jesus, if I don't give birth to God every day in my life." Who better to ask than Sophia, Brigid, the feminine aspect of God, what it's like to give spiritual birth to the presence of the One Holy Living God?"

We can each give birth to our spiritual purpose-the child that comes from being at one with God. We birth our holy child, our holy purpose in life.
Who better for me to ask about how to do such a thing than Brigid, the keeper of the perpetual fire-a symbol of her spiritual purpose. She was the mid-wife and the hospice worker, the healer of the sick and protector of the poor. She has much wisdom to offer.

Should Brigid become everyone's saint. Of course not. We each have to be open to the saint, the self, that already resides within us-yet, has also become manifested in the external world. Brigid is the exterior manifestation of my own self. She is not me, yet she is me. Our saint, or our spiritual guide, might be an ancient person, like Brigid, or a bird, or an animal, or a standing stone. Who might be our guide is only limited by the voice of the divine and our imagination.

Maybe this spiritual guide will appear in your dream? That happened frequently in the Bible. Or maybe your guide will be an angel. That also happened quite often in the Bible. What I am suggesting is that we put flesh on God and on our own soul. God became one with Jesus. And Jesus told us that God had already become one with each of us. What I'm talking about is finding our way to becoming one with the Living God. You can't be in a relationship with God unless you have real conversations, that includes the words, "I love you, God." And to hear God say back, "I love you, too." A true mutual relationship shares feelings of pain and joy, darkness and light, birth and death. To be at one with God, is to be in love with God and to experience God in every person and thing; in the seen and the unseen; in the ugly and the beautiful.

Wednesday, on the eve of the Feast of Saint Brigid, the super moon was eclipsed by the earth's shadow, producing a blood moon. I walked that morning in a symbolic pilgrimage of living under the mystery of the earth and symbolism of the divine. The feminine light of the moon mated with the black shadow of the sun, producing the red child, the Philosopher's Stone, the Christ of the Self. Being alive means living into one's spiritual purpose-being in a perpetual state of oneness with the Holy Living God. Seeing the glory of God being born into a specific moment of creation is like seeing God being born into every moment of our life. But to live like this requires the risk of living in the state of a perpetual free fall-the risk is the redemption.

Being in a Trance

How many decisions do you make every day? And how do you make those decisions? Today, it seems we hear a lot of "I like it" or "I don't like it." I like a certain coffee shop. I don't like this other coffee shop? The real question is, why do you like one over the other?

How many major decisions do you make every year? Major decisions might be things such as, buying a car or a home, or choosing the school your children are going to attend. Or if you're going to college, which one to attend? Would you make those decisions simply based on whether you "like it" or not?

How many life changing decisions have you made? Things like, whether to get married, or get divorced? How about deciding whether to move to another city, or another country? What factors would you consider in making these decisions?

There can be dozens of factors that affect our decisions. And the uncertainty about the outcome can be paralyzing enough that we never actually make the decision. How often has fear kept us trapped in a situation we desperately want to change?

And where does God fit into all this process? Does God talk to us by sending us a text or an email, or maybe an old-fashioned letter in the mail box? How about skywriting? A still small voice? And how do we know it's God and not our own mind convincing us that our "certain feeling": is really the divine?

Recently, I had the great privilege of being a guest speaker at the OHALAH conference. OHALAH is a Hebrew acronym, that in English stands for, Association of Rabbis for Jewish Renewal. Jewish Renewal is a movement, not a denomination of Judaism. This association is a cooperative of Hasidic Jews who practice the inclusion of all people, including their potential for God's calling in their life to become rabbis, cantors, and chaplains through ordination. They practice Kabbalah and many of those in this movement would be considered mystics. The Jewish Renewal follows the teachings of Rabbi Zalman, who recently passed away just shy of his 90th birthday. Reb Zalman rewrote the Hasidic prayer book, infusing contemporary life and language into their daily practice. He insisted that life should be filled with a laughter, which would diffuse the temptation of taking ourselves too seriously. Hasidic Jews practice an integrated orthodoxy that includes the mind, body, soul, and spirit. They meditate on the many faces of God. They sing their prayers and move their bodies all as a means of worshipping the One Holy Living God.

They invited me to join them for morning prayer. They sang, chanted, and moved for forty minutes. Most of the prayers were in Hebrew, releasing me from having to intellectually know what was being said. This freedom lifted me into the space of feeling the prayers in my body. They created a safe space that fetched my soul to sway and rock with the rhythm of the sounds. The forty minutes felt like forty seconds and at the same time like forty years; the experience was timeless. It wasn't long enough, but it was like I had been there most of my life. These people made me feel at home.

We spent the day together discussing how to be pastorally present in a world filled with so much dis-ease. As pastors, we engage people on a daily basis who are frightened, disturbed, and confused by the state of our country and the world. And because of their fear, they suffer pain in their personal lives. Life is hard and people are looking for guidance from their pastor. People are seeking guidance on how to make difficult decisions in a world that's seemed to turn itself upside down. As pastors, we can't help but take on the feelings of pain and uncertainty of those to whom we minister. Then the question comes, "What do I as a pastor do with all of these dark emotions. How do I take care of myself? Lots of people making lots of important personal and corporate decisions. How do we make the best decisions for ourselves and for our community?

I believe that the best way to make decisions is by being at one with God. Being at one with God comes about through a lot of personal interior work. It's not something that happens over night or simply because you want it to. Some of you attended my classes on Carl Jung's The Red Book and the Three Mystical Mary's. In these classes I laid out the framework for the personal interior work required to become one with God.

When we are at one with God, then we can hear the Spirit of God. I call this living a life of discernment, the art and practice of being at one with God. It's a way to live, move, and have one's being in the world; including affecting the decisions we make on a daily basis. I believe that being at one with God will help us discern the myriad of decisions we face every day.

There are some basics in the discernment process. First, you have a brain, it's okay to use it. Studying and gathering information are vital to making good decisions. Second, if at all possible, take your time in making any major or life changing decision. Patience is a good mentor. Third, making decisions in a silo typically means we haven't explored all the options and haven't heard all the important voices. Not including others in our process most likely means we have left out some dimension of God's voice. And fourth, make your decisions bathed in prayerful meditation and contemplation. In other words, we must do our personal work at becoming one with God.

One of the many beautiful experiences I had at the gathering of rabbis was to witness someone in a state of deep meditation-a trance. As a part of my presentation, I asked those in attendance have to imagine an interior conversation with someone, a departed loved one, a biblical character, an angel. Several rabbis at the conference practice Kabbalah, a part of which is a deep meditation on one of the many faces of God. One of the rabbis sitting near me dropped into a trance-like state. For me, it was a mystical experience witnessing someone else have a mystical experience.

The Christian tradition of Ignatian spirituality somewhat mirrors the Kabbalah's practice of meditation. In one of the practices of Ignatian spirituality, you enter meditation through the scripture. For example, in today's reading, (Mark 1:21-28) we hear that Jesus is teaching in the synagogue. To enter into the meditation, I imagine that I am sitting in synagogue. I spend time looking around the synagogue, taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells. Then, I see Jesus. What does he look like? What is he wearing? Then, I hear his voice. What does his voice sound like?

Then, Jesus turns to me. He's looking at me. He asks me, "What is your question?" And I ask Jesus what's on my heart. And I wait quietly, patiently, for him to speak. I sit as long as it takes. Maybe, Jesus doesn't answer in the first session. I have to repeat the meditation, again and again, waiting for an answer. After each period of meditation, I journal about the experience.

You may be wondering how one would know whether Jesus was talking to you are you were simply fantasizing. There are a few ways to help you feel more comfortable that you're hearing Jesus correctly. One way is, if this is your first time doing this kind of meditation, you most likely won't get an answer the first time you try it. It took a lot of practice for the rabbi at the conference I was attending to enter into a trance state. Faith requires patience. Another way to know you're hearing Jesus is that what he tells you is congruent with his biblical teachings. If it's not, you probably should share your experience with a spiritual director just to double check. A third way of knowing that Jesus is speaking is to recognize those moments when you hear something from him that you don't want to hear. That's probably Jesus talking.

In these meditations, you are asking Jesus about something in your life. You're not seeking answers on behalf of someone else. You must start with your own work. Once you do that, then together, the community can discern its own work.

Lead us to Respect the Dignity of Every Human Being

As an Episcopal priest, baptism is my favorite service. In it, the church celebrates the ritual of a person entering the community. Recently, I had the privilege of baptizing a three-years-old girl, an eleven-year-old boy, and a teenage girl. At every baptism of a young person, I wonder if they might be a future priest, bishop, or president of the United States.

As a central component of the baptism, everyone renews their baptismal covenant. For me, this is time for personal reflection, a time to remind me of what it means to follow the teachings of Jesus. It is also from the baptismal covenant that I draw inspiration and courage to be that follower of Christ that I continually strive to be. The covenant includes these five basic questions.

Will you continue in the apostles teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?

Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent, and return unto the Lord?

Will you proclaim by word and example, the Good News of God in Christ?

Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?

Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

Following each question, the people respond: I will, with God’s help.

These are the fundamentals of what it means to be a Christian. These are not negotiable statements. These are not things that followers of Jesus can dismiss or ignore. These are the teachings of the Church. As Episcopalians, we renew our baptismal covenant five times a year, but I wonder if we shouldn’t renew our commitment every time we gather? We do fail, we are not perfect, and therefore, we need constant reminders or our commitment.

It’s always a great joy to meet someone that is not a follower of Jesus, but who still inspires me to walk the talk of my baptismal covenant. This week, I met a young woman who is a Jewish rabbi. She lives in Charlottesville. And on that horrific weekend when white supremacist carried torches and shouted anti-Semitic and racist slurs through the streets, she was there to stand against them; and receive the brunt of the supremacist’ slurs. She told me stories of fear, disbelief, and the courage.

After hearing her story, I was left wondering, why is this the America of 2018? Especially on January 15, as we celebrated the life and witness of the Martin Luther King, Jr., I couldn’t get away from asking, after all these years, are we no better? I believe, that for those of us who are white Americans, we must confront the reality that racism is the demon we have not exorcized from our souls.

While individually, I doubt that few people in our congregations would consider themselves racist, I wonder how many would be willing to take an active stand against it? That’s why in August, I stood in the Phoenix streets protesting with those who carried Black Lives Matter signs and those protesting fair treatment of DACA immigrants. Why would I wear my clerical collar and march in the streets? The baptismal covenant demands that I strive for justice and peace among all people, and that I respect the dignity of every human being. But is marching and protesting enough? No, it is not. The potential for transforming our thoughts and actions, the reality of respecting the dignity of every human being, lies deep in our hearts. And that’s where the exorcism of our country’s past sins must begin.

Ta – Nehisi Coates is a writer for the “Atlantic” and author of the book, “We Were Eight Years in Power: An American Tragedy.” In his book Coates, an African-American, chronicles his coverage of the eight-year presidency of Barack Obama.

Plainly speaking, in my opinion, this book is about what every black person in America wants every white person to know. This country and its wealth was built on the sweat and blood of black slavery. And today, white Americans are now the beneficiary of centuries of that slavery. Nothing should be lost on the sad irony that the first black president of the United States lived in The White House that housed was built by black slaves.

Coates writes, “White supremacy in not merely the work of hotheaded demagogues, or a matter of false consciousness, but a force so fundamental to America that it is difficult to imagine the country without it. And so, we must imagine a new country.” Coates goes on, “What is needed is an airing of family secrets, a settling with old ghosts. What is needed is a healing of the American psyche and the banishment of white guilt.” He writes, “What I’m talking about is a national reckoning that would lead to spiritual renewal.”

And how would such a spiritual renewal come about? Coates believes that the time has come for Congress to seriously consider reparations. I wouldn’t disagree with him. And I might add, the time has come for us to consider how we chose our local leaders, knowing that could affect the potential for a spiritual renewal.

Kirk Smith, the bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Arizona has announced his retirement. Recently, the clergy of the diocese met to share their opinions for what they thought should be the priorities of the next bishop. They spent the first thirty minutes recalling all the wonderful things that are happening in our diocese and how they didn’t want any of those programs to disappear. The fear of change was palpable in the room. Don’t get me wrong, I deeply respect and admire the work of our current bishop, Kirk Smith. And I wouldn’t want his good deeds to be dismissed or his programs pushed to the side. I do believe, however, that it is time for a change in the perspective of the top leader in the diocese.

The first five bishops of the Diocese of Arizona have been white, heterosexual males. If the diocese of Arizona is going to move forward as a voice for the next generation of Christianity, the face of the leader must be different. In my opinion, someone other than a white heterosexual male must be the leader.

The diocese has been somewhat progressive on social justice issues. But now is definitely not the time to fall back. Now is the time to move forward; now is the time to be a leader in the Episcopal Church and the State of Arizona.

Understandably, a leader should not be chosen simply because of the color of their skin, or their gender, or their sexuality—but the committee responsible for selecting the candidates can do more than simply offer token candidates who are people of color, women, and LGBTQ. The slate of candidates, however, can leave no other choice than that the best person just so happens to be a person of color, a woman, or someone who is LGBTQ.

A leader must be chosen wisely, carefully, and thoughtfully—and in a religious community, especially the Episcopal Church, the foremost concern should be—can this person lead us to “respect the dignity of every human being?” And while many can, a picture is worth a thousand words. The vision and presence of our next leader must be able to bring with them the chance for the spiritual renewal that Coates is pleading for and is so desperately needed in our country.

A Few Books for Your Consideration or How I Made It Through the Dark Night of the 2017 Soul

Following is a sample of the books I’ve read in 2017. They are listed in some order, though I have yet to codify such the reason. Undoubtedly, I am sharing them with you because each has had a significant impact on the way I made my way through this most disturbing year. I’m not much into happy, so here’s wishing you a better new year.

"We Were Eight Years in Power: An American Tragedy" Ta – Nehisi Coates
What every black person in America wants every white person in America to know. Coates writing is precisely researched and exquisitely sculptured. From such a well-constructed platform, he implores white America to recognize their historical sin of slavery and consider reparation as the means of healing. “American prosperity was ill gotten and selective in its distribution. What is needed is an airing of family secrets, a settling of old ghosts. What is needed is a healing of the American psyche and banishment of white guilt…What I’m talking about is a national reckoning that would lead to spiritual renewal.” If you read one book in 2018, this could be the most important because within his powerful rhetoric lies the clues to becoming honest about white American racism, which is the first step in a way forward.

"A Season in Mecca: Narrative of a Pilgrimage" Abdellah Hammoudi
Hammoudi is a Princeton anthropologist. He was a nominally practicing Muslim, but decided to go on pilgrimage to Mecca in 1999. His story is rich, informative, and disturbing at times. Hammoudi discusses the secrets of the Islamic pilgrimage tradition of which all Muslim are expected to experience at least once in their lifetime. His work is provocative and self-reflective ,challenging me to reconsider my parameters of a life altering pilgrimage.

"Healing the Wounded God: Finding Your Personal Guide on Your Way to Individuation and Beyond" Jeffrey Raff and Linda Bonnington Vocatura; also by Raff, "The Wedding of Sophia: The Divine Feminine in Psychoidal"
Raff is a Jungian psychologist who studied under Marie-Louise von Franz, a student of Jung’s. Vocatura is also a Jungian therapist and an expert in working with the Ally, a personal guide who exists in the psychoidal world. The Ally is our psychic twin, the Holy Sophia, found within us all. Raff and Vocatura venture into the psychic dimension of unifying the masculine and feminine aspects of the divine within our own soul. If you’ve read Carl Jung’s The Red Book, these two books bring pragmatism (in a wyrd way) to the idea and practice of active imagination.

"Kabbalah: The Way of the Jewish Mystic" Perle Epstein
One of the most approachable books I’ve found concerning the complex world of Jewish mysticism. Epstein, is a descendent of Baal Shem Tov, a mystic rabbi and founder of Hasidic Judaism. This book provides a detailed, but brief, history of Kabbalah as well as outlining its practices. Kabbalahic meditation on The Tree of Life and its facets of the divine can expand the mind and one’s relationship with YHWH.

"The Enneagram and the Kabbalah: Reading Your Soul" Howard Addison
I met rabbi Addison at the International Spiritual Director’s Conference in 2016. I attended his workshop on dream analysis and the Enneagram. If you know very little about the Enneagram or Kabbalah, this book is an excellent entry point. If you do have some knowledge of either, this book brings the connection together in an enlightening manner.

"Tantric Jesus: The Erotic Heart of Early Christianity" James Hughes Reho
Reho is a scientist, author, and an Episcopal priest. He is also a certified yoga and meditation teacher. He brings his understanding of Eastern and Western spirituality to the page, helping us unpack the first few hundred years of Christian history in a fresh way. His thesis is that early Christianity was most influenced by Eastern mysticism and is recognizable in the New Testament. He astutely shines a believable light on what has been denied in modernity’s Christianity. By welcoming Eastern spirituality into the practice of Western Christianity and its spirituality, a place for some wondering pilgrims could be made available.

"The Gospel of Mary Magdalene" Jean – Yves LaLoup
LaLoup is an Orthodox theologian and prolific author. He has translated several texts from the Coptic, including the Gospel of Philip and the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. (LaLoup’s work has been translated from his native French into English by Jacob Needleman. Those of you who follow Cynthia Bourgeault will recognize Needleman’s name.) LaLoup’s perspective provides a psychological lens for an enlightened, though not critical, view of these non-canonical gospels. In particular, his book on Mary Magdalene provides some valuable insights into her mystical world and her indelible influence on early Christianity, which unfortunately patriarchalism tried to suppress.

"Healing Through Dark Emotions: The Wisdom of Grief, Fear, and Despair" Mariam Greenspan
Greenspan has traveled grief’s journey in her loss of a daughter who had suffered several disabilities. Her journey sounded very familiar to my own mother’s lifelong grief of having a disabled child. Greenspan’s book is very process orientated, offering guides to work one’s way through the dark emotions. She confronts the reality of the stinging effect of grief on a person’s life by never allowing us to avoid or deny our horrific pain of loss.

"Galilean Journey: The Mexican American Promise" Virgilio Elizondo
Elizondo was a Roman Catholic priest and one of the premier theologians who connected Jesus’ life with the mestizo experience. Living in a Southwestern border state, I found Elizondo’s work compelling and enlightening. Some have tried to dismiss Elizondo’s work because of his troubled life. That’s something every reader will have to confront within their own interpretation of the Christ, who was born of a woman and lived the complete human life.

"Alchemy: An Introduction to Symbolism and Psychology" Marie Louise von Franz
Often, I am asked to recommend a primer for alchemy. To my knowledge, no such book exists. Therefore, don’t be fooled by the lure of the word “Introduction” in the title. If you have, however read, Jung’s Memories, Dream, and Reflections and Man and His Symbols, this could be the next step.

Here are four titles you may also want to consider:

"The Holy Trinity and the Law of the Three: Discovering the Radical Truth at the Heart of Christianity" Cynthia Bourgeault

Bourgeault walks us through the convoluted philosophy of G.I. Gurdjieff and his use of the Enneagram in her attempt to decipher the elusive Trinity. Her efforts are lacking. She does her best to defend the unfortunate historical orthodox twisting of the Trinity into a masculine construct. She wagered that the reader would get the point that three always creates four and the fourth is the next natural emergence of the androgynous Holy. For some reason, she couldn’t get there. Interestingly enough, Richard Rohr, in his book The Divine Dance, bases much of his view of the Trinity on Bourgeault’s writing, though he only offhandedly referenced her book. Rohr, as well, falls short in the exploration of the Trinity; but so has everyone else. And maybe that’s a cause for a serious reflection on Trinitarian theology itself. That’s why reading Bourgeault is always worth the work—she is forthright about her authentic theology, from which I have learned a great deal.

"The Fourth Gospel: Tales of a Jewish Mystic" John Shelby Spong

This is not Spong’s most well written book. That said, he offers a few interesting insights about the characters found in the mythic story of John’s Gospel. Particularly, the role of Lazarus and Mary Magdalene.

"What is the Bible? How an Ancient Library of Poems, Letters, and Stories Can Transform the Way You Think and Feel About Everything" Rob Bell

If you have a tendency to read the Bible with a twenty-first century video captured theology, Bell’s book will open your worldview into a mythopoetic theology. St Peter’s Episcopal Church used this book for its well-attended Fall book study. One person told me, “I never knew I was supposed to build my own view of the biblical stories. I now feel compelled to study the bible in more depth and ask a whole lot more questions.” Bell’s book is very approachable. No prior knowledge of the Bible needed.

"Thomas Merton and the Celts: A New World Opening Up" Monica Weis

Weis does some excellent research into a few of Merton’s yet unmined journals. In Merton’s later years, he discovered a Celtic root. His private musings become filled with speculative connections between Celtic spirituality and Eastern mysticism. Weis’ conclusions are weighted on the side of a Roman scale, which is not surprising. She, however, does provide a more than slight opening into a yet unseen portion of the Merton opus. Purveyors of Celtic Spirituality will find this work a worthwhile addition to their library.

The Sun Stood Still

Whenever I’ve gone through a rough patch in my life; someone invariably told me, “Well, you know, the sun will come up in the morning and everything will be better.” I’ve always hated that trite statement. When I feel down, in the blues, depressed, or when I’ve failed miserably, it doesn’t feel like the sun is going to come up in the morning. It actually feels like the sun will never rise again and I feel okay with living in the darkness. And then, there comes that moment when I do want the sun to rise again in my life. I need some light, warmth, sunshine.

Christmas is the celebration of the light coming into the darkest part of our life when we need it the most. Small wonder Christmas is celebrated during the Winter Solstice.

For the nearly first 400 years of Christianity, Christmas wasn’t celebrated. Easter was the only feast Christians celebrated. At some point, Christians came into contact with the Celts. The Celts celebrated the three-day feast of the Winter Solstice (as did others and there are other similar theories with different cultures being the influence). “Solstice” translated, the day the sun stood still, was acknowledging the three days when the naked eye could not see the lengthening of the day light. On these three days, the Celts believed they were participating with creation in the lengthening of the days of the sun.

On day one, they gathered around the community’s oak tree, which was typically in the center of their village. They decorated the tree with bright red mushrooms that were indigenous to the season. The oak tree was known as the light bearer. Oaks, being a rough barked tree, are struck by lightning more often than smooth barked trees. Whenever the great oak was struck by lightning, the people would take the limb that was struck and use it for the Yule fire log, which brought good luck into the home with the promise of longer days to come.

On day two, the Celts gathered at the sacred sites like Stonehenge in England and Newgrange in Ireland to welcome the rising of the Winter Solstice sun. These feasts honored the souls of the departed who would be taken into the soul of the rising sun.

On the third day of the feast, the people would box up food to take to widows and orphans, to ensure they had enough food to make it through the impending winter.

Christians witnessed in the Celts celebration of the Winter Solstice what they believed about the light of Christ, the Son, coming into the world. They adopted and adapted some of the Celtic practices and established the celebration of Christmas on the same day as the Winter Solstice, which at the time was December 25. Christmas was first celebrated in 336 CE. At the time Christians used the Julian calendar, which had only 362 days and no leap year.

By the 1500’s the Julian calendar no longer matched the seasons of the years. In 1582, Pope Gregory the XIII established the Gregorian calendar that we still use today. With the addition of three days and leap year, the Winter Solstice fell on December 21st or 22nd, leaving Christmas three days after the Solstice. Instead of moving Christmas back to the same day as the Winter Solstice, Christians left Christmas on the 25th, marking the rising of the Son of God, the light of the world, on the third day after the longest night.

In the earliest liturgies of the Christmas feast, Christians would read four gospel texts in order to tell the story of the rising of God’s light.

At the setting of the sun on Christmas Eve, they would read the genealogy text from the gospel of Matthew. This text was read to remind the people that God had always been present to people in the darkest times in their lives. Men like Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and David who lives were often lived in the dark shadows. And women like Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba who suffered under the hand of oppression. Yet in all the dark shadows and all the oppression, the promise was that the light of God would shine into their lives.

Then at midnight, Christians would read the story of the angel appearing to the shepherds. The story in the gospel of Luke is not the sanitized version that we are familiar with; a story of sweet shepherd boys being frightened by the appearance of the angel of the Lord. Instead, the gospel of Luke tells about people who had committed a crime or done something unacceptable by the community. These criminals were sent to tend the sheep. After living with sheep, these outcasts would smell disgusting. Everywhere they went, they carried the mark, the smell of being an outcast. Then, at the darkest moment of their lives, the angel of the Lord appeared to them and said the Light of God was now born into the world and they, and all other outcasts, were invited to go and see the light.

Before sunrise, Christians would read the third gospel story, the story of the shepherds arriving at the stable where the Light of God, a baby, had been born into the world. The shepherds, who smelled like sheep, were welcomed into the barn; the stable where everyone, including the baby smelled the same. The Light of God was shining on everyone, most importantly upon the outcasts hiding in a barn; and everyone was invited into God’s house, a barn, not a cathedral.

And finally, after sunrise, Christians would read the from the opening of the gospel of John. The God of all who had become one with creation in the story of Genesis was now one with humanity in the story of the Christ. The Light of the World had become the Light of our lives. The Christmas story is intended to comfort us with a story that God is with us, at all times, even the darkest moments of our lives, when we feel like the sun will never rise again.

God was with the ancient men and women of faith when they had failed, when they were oppressed, in the darkest times of their lives; it was then that God was present as a warm light. God was with the shepherds, the criminals, the outcasts, the rejected, in the darkest worst times of their lives; it was then that God was present as an angel. God was with Mary, an unwed mother in the fear of darkness, with Joseph, in the darkness of being embarrassed by his family, with Jesus, a new born innocent child living in poverty and squalor; it was then that God was present as a warm light.

No matter how dark our life might be, tonight, we celebrate that God, that warm light, that is present with us, in this time, this night.

(The background material for this blog came from Alexander Shaia, author and speaker, as heard on Rob Bell’s podcast December 11, 2018.)

Mary was his mother, his sister, and his mate.

In the Anglican tradition, we set aside one Sunday of Advent to honor Mary the Mother Jesus. On this Sunday, we read a text from Luke 1:45-55, which is known as Mary’s Song, or The Magnificat. Often, the text is sung during the service.

My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor
on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely from now on all
generations will call me blessed.

These words are woven deep into our spiritual consciousness. Those of you who say the Rosary will find these words very familiar. The words of the Rosary come directly from Luke 1:39-55.

Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed in the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and the hour of our death.

Indeed, Mary holds a special place in our heart, in our tradition, and in our theology. Some refer to Mary as the Virgin; meaning the Spirit of God touched her life in a unique way as the Mother of Jesus the Christ. Others call her the Blessed Virgin Mary; meaning her life itself was unique above others, sinless throughout her life. And still others refer to her as the Ever Blessed Virgin Mary, meaning she lived a truly mystical life beyond all others, escaping death and being assumed into heaven.

The thing about being an Anglican is that there isn’t a specific theological teaching on Mary. Like all other perspectives in Anglican theology, “It could be this, or it could be that, but then again, it’s probably somewhere in the middle.”

During Advent, I’ve been teaching a class on the Mystery of the Three Marys in Jesus’ Life. Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and the other Mary. The three women are mentioned in John 19:25 and the Gospel of Philip, a non-canonical text. In the Gospel of Philip, it says, “There were three named Mariam, who continuously walked with the Master; his mother, his sister, and Magdalene, who was called his companion. Thus, Mariam is his mother, his sister, and his mate.”

The secret of the metaphor is held in the last line; Mary is his mother, his sister, and his mate. These words were not meant to be taken as a literal, historical fact. The line is meant teach us that just as Jesus spoke of God in masculine terms, Jesus also spoke of God in feminine terms. In other words, God is not male, nor is God female, God is the integration of male and female, sun and moon, dark and light—God is the integration of all the pairs of opposites that we could possibly imagine and beyond. God is all and in all.

Mary’s story, the story of Christmas, is intended to teach us that God placed Godself in the midst of all of creation, in the muck, the mud, the blood, the birth and the death of the human condition—God placed Godself in the very heart of all men, all women, all humans. God made the ultimate sacrifice by giving up the most treasured thing we can imagine—God gave up being in control, just to become one with us.

The story of the three Marys, the story of Christmas, the story of Jesus, is intended to teach us to follow God’s example; in other words, to sacrifice our control, our will, in order to become one with God. We become one with God through making sacrifices in our inner life and in our external life. These sacrifices are what Dietrich Bonhoeffer called the cost of discipleship, the cost of being a follower of Jesus, the cost of being one with God.

The cost, or sacrifice, of becoming spiritually mature is a lifetime process. Our sacrifice brings together wisdom and power. Out of their union comes true love. But without their union, wisdom is spiritually weak and power becomes evil. Our work brings us love, which we experience as wholeness, transformation, or what the church calls redemption.

In our inner life, we become at one with God through our prayer and meditation. In these sacrifices of our time, we focus our complete attention on God, on the many attributes of God, on the many faces of God, on the many names of God. By focusing our attention on God through prayer and meditation, our inner being will become transformed. We will see the many faces of God and we will hear the many voices of God, both masculine and feminine.

In our external life, we focus our attention on other people in order to become one with God. We serve others through personal sacrifice of our time, talent, and treasure. In serving others, we follow Jesus’ teaching us to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give the thirsty a drink of water, visit the sick and those in prison, and to embrace the stranger.

Our inner sacrifices will cost us the time to pray and meditate. And our external sacrifices will cost us our talents and resources for the sake of others. To sacrifice means to let go of our control. When we let go of control we will find ourselves at one with God and that will truly transform how we live, move, and have our being in the world.

Our willingness to let go of our will, our perceived control, is the first step toward becoming open and vulnerable before God, like Mary. To paraphrase Meister Eckhart, “What good was it that Mary birthed God into the world 2,000 years ago, if I’m not willing to birth God into my world, today?”

Mother God

Twenty years ago, my sister created a piece of artwork she called “Blue Jesus.” Dinah has Prader-Willi Syndrome and at that time was a part of the ArtWorks program in Tucson. The artist in residence was teaching them how to do linocuts. On a 12x18 canvass, Dinah etched out an elementary blue figure that was stretched out on a cross surrounded with what looks like red tear drops. When I first saw the picture, I was awestruck that Dinah could be so creative. She gave the piece to me and over the years, Blue Jesus has taken on a life of its own. Dinah’s artwork continues to draw me deeper into the earthy, yet mystical, life of Jesus the Cosmic Christ. When I look at Blue Jesus, it’s like reading and meditating on a story from the Bible.

What I have learned from Dinah and her has been very helpful in understanding opaque stories in the bible, like the story of Deborah and Jael (Judges 4 and 5). The story of Deborah and Jael is mythopoetic theology. It’s a novel about a feminine protagonist and her complex mystical relationship with YWHW.
The story is meant to teach us about God and how we can access the Divine within this messy, murky, ugly world we live in. Judges chapter 4 is the narrative version of the story. But chapter 5 is the “Blue Jesus” version. The Bible gives us two ways to read the story. The writer knew that people might try to read the story as a historical event, so she wrote a beautiful epic poem to teach us the various ways to understand this story.

To read this story through the eyes of Blue Jesus is to read it like the Jewish mystics. They read the scripture using a four-step method; 1) literal 2) allegorical 3) metaphorical, and 4) mystical.

We start by reading Judges 4 looking for the literal components; We ask ourselves, who are the characters and what are they doing?

• The people of Israel were in Canaan in captivity under King Jabin and his commander, Sisera. Because of the oppression the people of Israel cried out to God for help.
• Deborah was a prophetess and the people of Israel would come to her with their problems and she would help them sort out their troubles. Deborah prophesized that the people of Israel would have victory over their oppressors.
• As Sisera’s army was being overcome, he escaped and went into the desert.
• There, he met Jael, who hid him in her tent and when he had fallen asleep, she kills him, assuring Israel’s victory.

In step two, we shift to chapter 5 where the story is written as a poem. Here we read the story allegorically. We ask ourselves, what are the symbols and what are their meanings?

• The first allegorical lesson is that the people of Israel were in captivity, like we find ourselves at times in life. In the NRSV it says the people had done “evil” and in the Hebrew bible it says, “the Israelites had done what was offensive to the Lord.” For whatever reason, the people of Israel found themselves under the thumb of an oppressive government. So, they cried out to YHWH for help. What’s the allegorical meaning? Sometimes we find ourselves in oppressive situations. The oppressor might be the government, the culture, our family, our job, our circumstance in life. Whatever the situation, this story is telling us that when we cry out to YHWH, the divine will hear us.


• The second allegorical lesson is that Deborah and Jael represent two of the many feminine aspects of God. Deborah represents the Divine Mother and Jael represents the feminine warrior of the Divine. In one of the traditions of Jewish mysticism there are 70 faces of the Divine. We get glimpses of those faces though the story in Genesis that teaches us that we are created in the imagine of the Divine. From that statement, then we can conclude that YWHW contains every facet of the total human experience.

Step three, we read the story metaphorically. In other words, what does this story mean for us today?

The story about Israel, Deborah, and Jael is about spiritual growth. It’s not a literal story about a battle against some evil oppressive enemy. This is story about how we can become one with God; it’s a story about our struggles with those things that distract us from the One Holy Living God.

Metaphorically speaking, this story teaches us that as a community, we are Israel. Israel represents the human heart. Our heart is the object of God’s love. We are the beloved. We are the bride. But, as in any love affair, mistakes happen. The moral of this story is that even in the midst of our failures, when we cry out to our beloved Divine Mother, God will hear us and respond. The words of the Divine Mother are comforting. She tells us that, though we have failed, we are still loved. And the Divine Mother gives us words of reassurance. She tells that us, though we have failed, we can still achieve spiritual oneness in our lives. Because in those moments when we think we cannot hear God, or that God is not speaking to us, it’s in those moments that the Divine Warrior is there to protect us, and at times, help us find victory whatever distracts us from our potential spiritual growth.

Step four, we read the story looking for the mystical meaning. There are countless mystical meanings hidden in every biblical story. That’s why we read and re-read the stories. To be mystical, is to have the desire to be one with God. Oneness is our spiritual goal, our deepest desire.

As I read the story of Deborah and Jael this week, I came away with some pointed questions and a few conclusions. Questions about things that might be keeping me and us from being at One with YHWH.

Deborah and Jael represent the Divine Mother and Divine Feminine-Warrior. They represent the presence of God in all women. I must see the many faces of the Divine in every woman. If I can’t the faces of the Divine in every woman, then maybe I am the oppressor is this story?
In light of the flood of revelations about sexual harassment in our country, I had to ask myself the tough questions. Have I said something inappropriate? Have I unknowingly done anything inappropriate? Have I not spoke up to support women when I should have? As a man, I must question myself constantly and be ever vigilant, not tolerating any kind of words or actions that are offensive to women. I must support women who have been abused and who speak out. The recent revelations about the pervasive nature of sexual harassment in our country is the very reason The Episcopal Church is requiring every clergy, staff, and volunteer to take Safeguarding God’s people. We must strive to see the Divine face of God in every human being and act accordingly.

The second question that arose for me from this reading is, “If this text is teaching me that when we worship YHWH, we are worshipping not only Father, Son, and Holy Spirit but also Mother, Daughter, Sophia Spirit, then why am I still using the male only version of the Trinity?” I can no longer assume that anyone who walks through the church doors, or anyone I am talking to, or anyone who reads my writing, will know that I don’t think that God is a male, or that God can only be described in male terms.

I have to wonder if the church’s use of patriarchal language has contributed to men feeling they have power over women. And that men might misuse this power by speaking or acting toward women in an ungodly manner. If, in any way, exclusively using patriarchal language in the church has contributed to this kind of unacceptable behavior, then I believe the church must change the words used in the liturgy.

This morning we prayed that we might be able hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the scriptures. Over the years, my mystical sister and Blue Jesus have been teaching me the true meaning of this prayer. Reading the bible, truly reading and studying the bible, is hard work. And the end result of that work leaves me constantly being challenged to make significant changes in the way I live and worship. To not make those changes leaves me feeling complicit to things I know in my heart offend the One Holy Living God. I pray God will hear me when I cry out in my prayers, so that transformation can take place in my life.

I encourage you to consider reading Rob Bell’s book, “What is the Bible?” His work is an excellent place to start in seeing the Bible through a different lens.

Tantric Jesus; an image from the East

"Tantric Jesus: The Erotic Heart of Early Christianity"
a book by James Hughes Reho

“Tantric Jesus” is a beautiful book; the prose is both subtle and evocative; the art is captivating; and the author shines an ancient light on Christianity’s potential ancient/future path. James Reho has, with wisdom, brought together Eastern and Western spirituality in such a way as to make possible the integration of the mind, body, soul, and spirit.

Reho is an ordained Episcopal priest, has a Ph.D. in Chemistry from Princeton, and is a certified yoga instructor. In “Tantric Jesus” he couples the opposites of spirit and matter, rational and mystical, esoteric and practical, the East and the West, Tantric and Christian.

The author’s premise is straightforward. “Original Christian spirituality is a tantric spirituality.” And then he presents his claim on the ideal of “Christian Tantra.” Throughout the book, Reho is careful to inform the uninitiated as well as maintain the interest of the adept. He writes that, “Tantra is a philosophy of life, love, and being—grounded in practice—that can help us reengage the deep and life-transforming truths of Christianity is a fresh way.” Reho relies on early Christian writers including Pelagius, Origen, Irenaeus, Hildegard of Bingen, and Meister Eckhart, the medieval metaphysical poet John Donne, as well as contemporary writers and mystics Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Cynthia Bourgeault, and John Philip Newell as a way of bringing modernity’s Christians along into the world that bridges Western and Eastern Spirituality.

Quickly, Reho establishes a lens through which we can begin to understand Tantra by providing us with the five points of the tantric worldview:

• The world is real and good.
• The dynamic face of the Divine is a feminine face.
• The embodied human person is the primary temple of the Divine.
• Engaging our primal erotic energy through spiritual practice and antinomian behaviors (that Christians are released by grace from the obligations of observing the moral law) rooted in compassion and justice are the fuel of the spiritual life; and
• A vibrant, deep energetic relationship with the living Teacher (the Cosmic Jesus Christ) strengthens us for spiritual progress in this life.

Though I was not intimately familiar with tantric philosophy and practice before reading this book, I have begun to adapt some of Reho’s thoughts and suggested practices into my daily life. He provides the reader with personal stories and meditations that anyone could practice, even without becoming a practitioner of Tantric yoga.

While I do highly recommend “Tantric Jesus” to those interested in the melding of Eastern spirituality with the Christian way of living, I do have one concern and one minor critique. My one concern is Reho’s insistence on continuing to use Creedal language with his post-Christian interpretation. I don’t disagree with his post-Christian (or ancient spirituality) perspective, in fact I agree with it. My problem is that, as I have encountered people trying to find a new method of understanding or expressing faith, they are often put off by Christianity’s patriarchal terms. Words like, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and the ancient practice of crossing oneself, just to name a few. I have the same issue with Bourgeault. Both of these brilliant theologians and imaginative futurist seem to think that modernity’s seekers will remain patient with archaic language long enough to hear a re-imagined interpretation. I wonder if they will. Words are all we have to communicate our ancient/future weaving of faith and practice. I believe we do not have to remain confined by fourth century theological constructions. There are other words that the church could use to send a more inclusive understanding of the mystical One whose name we cannot comprehend. Actually, I believe the Nicene Creed needs a critical re-write.

My only critique of Reho’s beautiful writing is rather trivial compared to my issue with his use of Creedal language. Often times he neither cited the author nor the source he quotes, which then drove me to the footnotes. Leaving a marker for the footnotes and returning to them on multiple occasions for each chapter left me annoyed. But not enough to stop reading. He simply slowed me down. And, honestly, I have to wonder if other readers would care as much for such information as I do. Ah, to be trivial. Don’t let my pickiness stop you from reading Reho’s excellent book, “Tantric Jesus.”

Talking to the Dead

I’ve dealt with my share of loss, tragedy, and death. Each of these events carried their own weight. Given our societal expectations, I did what was expected of me; I suppressed the loss and didn’t grieve. I was told that men don’t grieve. And I was told that Christian’s don’t grieve. Men are tough and Jesus is to answer to everything. In other words, time will heal all wounds so just get over it.

Over time, I became depressed and angry. I didn’t think I was depressed and surely had nothing to be angry about. But I’m pretty sure other people saw those things in me. In 2004, I left Grand Canyon University under less than optimal conditions. I entered the process to become an Episcopal priest. As part of becoming a priest, I enrolled in Clinical Pastoral Education, which, in part, is an internship as a hospital chaplain. At the same time, I entered what would become twelve years of therapy. Through both of those experiences, I learned that in order to minister to the dying, the grieving, and the dead, I first had to process my own loss and grief. That work was public, vulnerable, and painful. But it was also healing.

During my time as a priest I have sat with those who have lost their careers, their savings, their homes, their marriages, their spouses, their children, their freedom, and their own lives. I have sat with suicide survivors. I have sat with those who lost children to drugs. I have sat with those who lost loved ones from life destroying disease. I have sat in homes, hospitals, psych-wards, and prisons in order to listen to other people’s loss. Their grief process triggered my own and over time, I have learned how to differentiate their grief from mine. The process of grief never ends because the dead and our loss are always with us.

To be willing to process grief is to be fully alive; deeply engaged in the dynamic process of living. To be dead, however, is no less a dynamic process. Whatever is alive—lives, moves, and has its being in the dimension we see. And though we may not see the dead—they live, move, and have their being in the dimension that exists all around us. To be alive and to be dead is to exist within the Divine Milieu.

Still, the living miss the dead. We ache to see them. to touch them, to hear them. And this loss leaves us with a pain, a darkness, a void that can be overwhelming. Oddly enough, those painful feelings are not grief itself. Grief is not a feeling. Grief is the active process through which we process our painful feelings. Unfortunately, many times, we do everything we can to avoid the process of grieving; thinking the pain will somehow go away. Trouble is, it never does.

No matter how hard we try, we can’t get away from loss and death because it’s everywhere. We suffer personal loss. We lose our loved ones. And we also lose jobs, suffer career disappointments, we go through ugly divorces, our family relationships are estranged.

We also suffer loss as a community. Our institutions betray us, our communities fall apart, our beloved leaders move on for reasons that are sometimes good and other times bad, either way we still suffer their departure. Without regard to how we suffer these events of loss and death—we still must go through the grief process; both individually and collectively. If we don’t, we will continue to suffer.
Unprocessed grief will linger in our mind, body, soul, and spirit forever; no matter how much we try to medicate it. We think if we get busy and stop thinking about the pain we can keep our loved ones off our mind. We look for ways to distract ourselves, ways that we hope will help us forget for a brief period of time. Spouses remarry too soon. Lovers sell their homes just to avoid their memories. Children move away so they don’t have to be reminded of their loss. We get new jobs thinking that will assuage our pain. And sometimes we look for unhealthy means to medicate our pain. Somehow, we believe that time will heal all things. But, deep down, we know that’s not true. In fact, the pain just gets worse.

How do we process grief in healthy ways? Rituals are a very important part of the process. Things like:

• Funerals; you might be surprised how many people will not have a service of any kind for their loved one.
• a prayer service or mass to remember the anniversary or birthday of a loved one
• telling stories at holiday events
• journaling and sharing our dreams about our loved ones.
• Simply talking about the dead, helps the grieving process. It many ways, it keeps them alive.

These rituals help us process our grief. They also can assist in connecting with dead. When the dead speak, we must listen. The ancient ones, the wise ones, the wounded ones offer the lament of the dead. The dead want to share their wisdom if we have ears to hear. Can all the living hear the dead? I don’t know, but I hope so. But for those who do have ears to hear, the dead speak through holy texts, through history, as well as in some very mystical ways. Moses and Elijah spoke to Jesus in a misty mountain top. If Jesus could hear the dead, we can too. But, for those who for some reason cannot hear their love ones speak, the pain can be severe.

Here is a four-step grief process; no matter how fresh or how old the loss; no matter whether it’s a personal loss or a communal loss, no matter whether you can hear the dead or not:

1. Pray for God to give you the strength to name your loss. This may be the hardest thing to do. You must name what it is that you have lost; what it is
that is causing you so much pain. You must be honest with yourself. Dig deep to find the answer. Sometimes the obvious is not the answer.
2. Pray for God to clearly reveal to you what you have not honestly confronted in your loss: anger, resentment, bitterness, abandonment, fear, emptiness,
whatever you’re feeling.
3. Pray for God to allow you to find a safe place to process those feelings of loss. Maybe you need a spiritual director to talk to. Maybe you need to
journal your feelings. Whatever it is, you must be able to express your feelings in a safe, but open way.
4. Pray for God to reveal to you, ways you can ritualize your loss. One of them is our service this morning. By placing the names of those you have lost on
this altar, you are publicly recognizing your loss, the pain, and your willingness to continue the active process of grieving.

We might imagine that personal grief and corporate grief are unrelated. But that’s not the case. Corporate grief will trigger personal grief. All of these rituals help us process our personal grief and they will also help us process our congregational grief. Everyone one of these steps is necessary. Otherwise, the grief will never be processed. And, if the it’s not, unfortunately, somewhere, sometime, the grief will rear its head—and most likely we will repeat our personal and congregational history.

God is Love in the Margins

God is Love in the margins. I felt that love at our annual convention. Bishop Smith opened the convention with a call to serve with Jesus in the margins. The video “Ministering on the Margins,” highlighted a number of places congregations are doing that work in our diocese.

Then we were inspired by the Rev. Becca Stevens and her ministry to the incarcerated through Thistle Farms. Her talk on Friday and her sermon on Saturday moved many to tears, and more importantly, to action. She created a buzz for ministry to the incarcerated and that was made visible in the outpouring of offering to send children of incarcerated parents to Chapel Rock.

Saturday morning’s worship was the highlight for me. Tears welled up in my soul, listening to two young people read the scripture, one has Downs Syndrome and the other from a Spanish congregation. They represent the marginalized, the very presence of God. For you see, God is disabled, marginalized, wounded, and dying. I left our annual convention elated, feeling I had seen and felt God’s presence in the margins.

Sunday night, that elation turned to horror. In Las Vegas, in a rain of bullets, the God inside 22,000 souls would be wounded and killed. The God that is part of every physical body would become disabled and marginalized. More than five hundred of God’s children would have the life they had known, taken away; some killed, some wounded, some disabled. And their families are now suffering disabling grief that marginalizes people beyond words. Why? Because this country refuses to admit that it has an addiction to guns.

There are an estimated 310 million guns in the US. There are as many guns as people in the US. One in three people in the US, own a gun. Estimates report that in the US there are 86 million shotguns, 114 million handguns, and 110 million rifles, of which 3.5 million are assault rifles. It would cost the US $400 million to repurchase all the assault rifles in the US. I wonder if the families of the people who have died from the 1500 mass shootings since Sandy Hook in 2012 would think that was money well spent?

I, like many of you, have been personally affected by gun violence. Friends and parishioners who have died from mass shootings, random acts of hate, accidents, and suicide. One is too many to count. And any amount of money would be well spent to prevent one more death from gun violence.

As followers of Jesus, we are called to be God’s love in the margins; to be a people of peace, a people who turn the other cheek, a people who take up our cross, which includes action to prevent more gun violence. My wife and I support and contribute regularly to “Americans for Responsible Solutions,” founded by Gabby Giffords, former Congresswoman, fellow Arizonian, and gun violence victim. Her and her husband, astronaut Mark Kelly, are working hard to bring about responsible gun control. As well, I have written countless letters to our legislators and to three Presidents.

Many of us are grieving. And many of us may be growing weary. But now is not the time to give up—because God is Love in the margins and that’s where we should spend our time, talent, and resources.

You can find more information about the theology behind my remarks in Nancy Eisland’s, The Disabled God and Miguel De La Torre’s, Reading the Bible from the Margins.

You can get more information about Gabby Giffords and Mark Kelly’s foundation at their website http://americansforresponsiblesolutions.org/stand-with-gabby/.

And for resources about writing letters and taking peaceful actions, you can find some excellent resources at the Episcopal Peace Foundation’s website http://epfnational.org/.

Heaven on Earth in the Strangest Places

One rainy Sunday morning in Ireland, I was enjoying a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. Something I don’t get a chance to do when I’m at home. There was one article that especially caught my attention: “Ireland, A Great Little Country.” The article was a kickoff to a contest asking locals to write about those little tucked away gems of Ireland that few people may know about. The author wrote that sometimes you need to be an outsider to really see the texture of a place. I had just finished walking the hundred miles of the Wicklow Way between Dublin and Clonegal and I knew the exact rare gem to share with others.

Just fifteen miles south of Ireland in the Glencree Valley is an ash tree that sits along the Glencree River. The tree must be two-centuries old. The base diameter is about ten feet, stretching thirty plus feet high into the sky. Over the course of the life of the tree, the base grew around a rectangular stone that is four feet long and two feet high. The tree growing around the stone has created an opening large enough to allow someone to stand on the stone and disappear inside the tree. I’ve stopped at this tree on several occasions. I love spending time sitting on the stone, listening to wind blow through the leaves, and feeling the cool damp safety of being inside the womb of this majestic and magical tree. My experience is that I feel that I have become one with this tree and therefore, one with God. Sitting inside the tree is heaven on earth for me.

In Matthew 13:31-52 Jesus is trying to give us his description of heaven on earth. Jesus tells his followers several parables about the kingdom of God of earth. His stories are subversive and require thinking outside the box. He uses the imagery of a mustard seed being planted in a garden, and the tiny seed becomes a tree that attracts all kinds of birds into the garden. On the surface that story doesn’t make much sense, but it gives us a picture of Jesus’ strange image of the kingdom of heaven on earth. All of his examples of the kingdom of heaven, are things on earth, things we can relate to; like the tree in Ireland. The kingdom of God is not something to be experienced in the afterlife—the kingdom of heaven is now, on earth. And sometimes those experiences are hidden and subtle and we have to keep our eyes open to see them.

Jesus quoted the psalmist who says, “I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark saying from of old, things that we have heard and known, that our ancestors have told us.” (Psalm 722-3) It’s pretty clear that Jesus is speaking about himself. And then he goes to say “Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.”

Jesus is taking the words of the ancients and shining a new light of understanding on our relationship with the divine and where we will find the kingdom of heaven. According to Jesus—the kingdom of heaven is being at one with God. To be one with God changes us, changes our interior world; changes our exterior world. To be at one with God in this heavenly kingdom on earth will change our relationship with God, with our family, with our friends, and with our enemies. Jesus tells us that to be one with God will change how we treat the poor. Jesus tells us that to be at one with God will change how we treat immigrants. Jesus tells us that to be one with God will change how we treat people who are different than we are. To be at one with God will change us at the very core of our being.

And how do we become one with God? How do we have this intimate, daily, personal relationship with the divine?

The simple answer is: become like the master, become like Jesus.

He studied the teachings of the ancients, in other words, he knew and understood the scripture.
He spent time alone in prayer, in conversation with God.
He fed the hungry and ministered to the sick.
He spoke truth to power.
He took risks.
And he paid attention to the things around him, those things where he experienced the kingdom of heaven on earth.

If we’re going to experience the kingdom of heaven on earth; if we dare have the courage to pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” then we will dare to be like Jesus. And in doing so, like Jesus, we will become one with the Living Spirit of God.

We got home on Sunday night. Tuesday morning I was up before the sunrise, ready to head out on my morning walk. Just outside the front of our house is a straggly old cactus that I had thought about taking down several times. But on Tuesday morning, perched on top of those prickly arms was the most beautiful white flower. I took a few pictures while admiring the paradox of this magnificent flower set against an unattractive cactus. By the time I came back from my walk, the flower had closed. And by the next morning, the flower dropped off the cactus. The kingdom of heaven is like a stunningly beautiful flower that blooms in the most unexpected place and lasts only for a few hours. Amen.

Sacred Cauldron: A Spiritual Retreat in Ireland

My wife and I have been in Glendalough, Ireland leading a retreat for five days, which we call Sacred Cauldron. Our group has been exploring the rich spiritual landscape of Saint Kevin's ancient monastic community. We have wandered and wondered through the rich contours of Celtic Spirituality, both its pre-Christian roots and its current expression that can help us imagine ideas and practices beyond Christianity. Together, we have walked the sacred grounds, prayed ancient prayers and new ones as well, we have placed our hands in holy wells, and shared newly created rituals with one another. Ireland has been the container for our soul's journey. Of course, this island is not the only place we can imagine new possibility for practices and rituals, but it is lovely place to journey that has been home to spiritual pilgrims for Aeons.

The focus of the Sacred Cauldron retreat is to learn how to build personal ritual for our daily spiritual practice and for those momentous events in our lives. Each of our religious traditions offer us tools to use in our daily lives, though sometimes these traditions are the gate keepers of certain rituals like weddings, funerals, and corporate worship. The Sacred Cauldron retreat is a safe space for people to experiment with practice and rituals that might be outside their religious tradition. It is also, and more importantly, a safe circle where we can have open and honest conversations about our lives.

Sacred Cauldron has been the container for creating, developing, and expanding personal spiritual practices like prayer, writing, exploring archetypes through tarot, and the mandala. And it has nurtured rituals for loss, disappointment, love, renewal, covenant, corporate worship, and imagining the future.

Most importantly we have practiced the delicate art of community building by living together at the Tearmann Spirituality Center and sharing the duties of daily life like preparing meals and cleaning the house. We have eaten together, prayed together, laughed together, danced together, and wept together. And in five days we have opened ourselves to the reality of being a spiritual community of love and care for the souls of others.

The Sacred Cauldron Retreat is an extension of the Wisdom School that Cathy and I have founded in Phoenix, Arizona. The Wisdom School is a two year program created to foster an Interfaith Spirituality within a small community. If you are interested in exploring these kinds of experience please check out our website at 2wisdomsway.com.

Sacred Cauldron: Day Three of the Wicklow Way

Pilgrims carry a heavy paradox in their packs on the final day of any walking pilgrimage; the celebration of having completed a planned journey mired with the grief that the community has come to an end. Bonds form quickly among those who spend hours together walking the mountains and rugged terrain. Being openly vulnerable about one's aches and pains, sharing the stories of a blistered soul, and acknowledging living with the reality that the only privy is behind the next tree, builds community that comes with the cauldron's heat of walking. Pilgrimage creates fire that transmutes.

We were given a special blessing this particular day—an Irishman walked with us. He was an acquaintance of one of our group and wanted to join us for the ten miles from Roundwood to Glendalough. It would be half of his day because he would travel on to Glenmalure, another ten miles. His gentle brogue, Irish whit, and lovely stories made the miles pass too quickly

It was a perfect day to walk through the Wicklows. There was a high soft grey cloud cover, a gentle breeze, and even a slight mist at just the needed moment. After a brief climb through the forest, the Way opened onto a sweeping fern covered hill. The soft light green leaves hide the harsh and thorny grose, whose razor stickers leave a burning cut on exposed skin. Hidden away from the path was an odd circle I was familiar with, where the unaware might walk by. But there, among the ferns, was an open space, twenty-five feet in diameter where a stone circle once stood. The four directional stones are still in place, the others have fallen to the side. One of our pilgrims ventured into the vortex of Irish lore and there discovered the thin place. Moving among the stones, the imagination opens and time stands still—everything is "different."

Leaving the top of the Wicklows, we dropped down into the forest again preparing to cross a bridge over the bubbling river fit for a postcard. The pause is necessary because there is one last climb to the eastern ridge of the Glendough Mountain. There we can see down into the picturesque Valley of the Two Lakes, home to St Kevin's Kitchen and 1500 years of ancient ruins and graves. To this day, the dead are still are being buried in this sacred ground.

As we dropped down onto the hill, the ruins disappeared among the thick forest. Dark alley ways, pine covered paths, and stones covered with green moss bring all the senses alive. Here in the world of the Irish mythology the symbolic unconscious speaks to the soul. The pace of the walkers almost comes to a halt, as if by leaving the forest, life would end. Without care, tears are wiped away from quivering lips. Souls has been altered but only silence can announce the tune of the next unknown hymn. To leave the forest is to begin living into a new normal; one the world and our families may not understand. The tune might sound familiar but the words have all changed.