Mel's Healing Pilgrimage 2016

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Tuesday, March 14, 2017

1-2-3- Go! - Lenten Meditations 2017

Little Rascals episode "1-2-3-Go!"
There's a Little Rascals episode that I remember to this day. In it, the young Robert Blake of the 70s TV show Baretta played "Mickey". Mickey was playing baseball with Spanky, Buckwheat, Froggy, and the gang when he chases a ball out into the street and gets hit by a car. He's hospitalized and as he recovers, the children come up with a plan called "1-2-3-Go!" that they promote to encourage street safety. Whenever you get to a place of danger such as a street, you don't just run out blindly. Instead, you stop and 1) look to the left 2) look to the right 3) look behind you. Then, when all is clear, do you go.

I'm not really sure why I remember this episode from childhood. Perhaps the self-help of the children appealed to me. Perhaps the fact that they all worked together to make their lives better and safer resonated deeply. Or may the slogan itself is something that makes sense even today, or, perhaps, even more so today with everyone walking with their faces buried in their smart phones.

These thoughts came to me this week as I was reflecting on this journey through Lent. I began to wonder about the journey itself. You see, one of the things I help do is help prepare the prayers and music for the worship in the style of Taize at All Saints Episcopal Pasadena. During the 40 days of Lent as we approach Easter, I have to remember not to include the Alleluia but to sing a different hymn instead. We don't sing it because during the liturgical year, this is a time of reflection and penance, and Alleluia isn't consistent with that theme. And yet, sometimes, like last week, I forget that a hymn has an Alleluia buried inside the lyrics. I've had to think about being more focused and not in auto-pilot as I put together the liturgy.

Because yes, Lent is a penitential season. Now, any of us think of penance as punishment for our sins. When we seek penance, many believe that we repent so that we can seek to be absolved of sin. In some faith traditions, an intermediary like a priest absolves us. In others, the repentance needs no intermediary and Christ is present to absolve us directly.

It's hard for me to think of repenting without understanding sin. In the Episcopal tradition, we confess to sin with a confession. Here's a standard confession in the style called "Rite II" from the Book of Common Prayer.
Most merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.
It's a spiritually meaningful prayer to me,  as is the similar Roman Catholic confession, because it makes sure that we acknowledge that sin is both in the act and in the omission of acts (what we have left undone, or what we have failed to do). Even more so, it helps make it plain what sin is. It's directly related to the Great Commandment. Here's the Gospel of Matthew version.


Then one of them, which was a lawyer, asked him a question, tempting him, and saying, Master, which is the great commandment in the law? Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.
— Matthew 22:35-40

Given that these are the two commandments that Christ gives in the Gospels, that all the commandments hang off of these, we can see how the confession takes shape. Forgetting the first commandment leads to the confession that "we have not loved you with our whole heart"; forgetting the second leads to "we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves".

Unlike the popular view that sin is an evil act, sin is more extensive. Sin in the Gospel isn't about intrinsic evil It's about what you say, do, think. There can be sin in both what we do and what we do not do.

But how can we possibly love God all the time? We experience tragedy and pain. War and politics. Racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia. It's so overwhelming that we forget to pray. We forget about the sick and the old, the prisoners, the lawyers and the tax collectors. How do love God, how do we love our neighbors as ourselves, how do we stay out of sin when we so easily, well, sin?

Sin makes more sense to me and is easier to work on when I think of it as separation from God. Whenever we sin, whenever we don't love another as we are loved, we move ourselves further from God. So penance is more about coming to a stop. Standing still. Assessing where we are. Looking to the left, looking to the right, looking behind us before we proceed. And, if necessary, changing directions on our journey. "1-2-3-Go!" We repent when we see the sin and change our trajectory. We repent when we fully acknowledge our misdirection. We choose to go towards God.

To me, that's the beauty of Lent. It's a pilgrimage towards Wholeness that fully appreciates that we will often wander away into the desert, further from divine unity. We get lost, out of intention. We get lost because of our habits. We get lost because of a lack of commitment to the path towards God.

And we acknowledge during Lent that this happened, is happening, and will happen again.

And we say "1-2-3-Go!"

We heal our relationship with God. We heal our hearts. We choose to be made whole.

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

On the Road to Emmaus - Lenten Reflection 2017


If you know your Bible stories, the road to Emmaus seems like an odd one to discuss during Lent. It's a story that takes place after Easter, after the resurrection, not before. You just don't see it as a reflection item during Lent.

But it keeps popping up in my head. It keeps popping up because it's about recognizing God in our midst, of seeing Christ beside us when we thought we were with a stranger.

Here's the passage in Luke 24:13-32

Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him.

He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?”
They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”

“What things?” he asked.

“About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place. In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning but didn’t find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see Jesus.”

He said to them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.

As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them.

When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight. They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”
I keep wondering as I go through Lent if I recognize Christ in our midst. Where is God as the world burns I ask? Why does the world burn?

And I come to a recurring theme in my morning prayers. That God is here with us, in us, around us, but we do not yield to God. Christ is walking beside us, but we don't recognize Christ and we treat him as a stranger. A foreigner. Thankfully the disciples welcomed him and shared their dinner with Jesus.

And it was while breaking bread that they realized Christ was in their midst.

Are we breaking bread with the stranger? Or are we walking around that person wandering the streets like a foreigner or homeless person? Do we cut off any opportunity to see Christ in our midst?

It feels like it.

With me.
With others.
With the world.

This saddens me. Not because I'm a raging extrovert, which I can sometimes be. In truth, I need much time for myself lately to process and digest what's in my head. Prayer at this time is a wonderful exercise to be extroverted not with other people but with the Holy Spirit, to be in deep conversation with Her, to listen and to learn.

It saddens me because we have our changes and we turn away. The world burns because we don't realize that Christ is here to help us put out the fires. We fear that stranger and turn out back on the one who saves us.

Some events since Ash Wednesday that got me thinking this way:

  • I voted for Proposition H in Los Angeles, which would create constructive ways to deal with the homelessness problem in our county. I wonder if others recognize that homelessness is not something we need to fear or accept, but a symptom of our own failings, as individuals and as a community.
  • From home, I hiked around Mount Wilson, San Gabriel Peak, Mount Lowe, and Inspiration Point, some of tallest mountains on the front range of Los Angeles' San Gabriel Mountains, maxing out at 6100 feet. In the predawn light, I watched the fog swirl in the deep valleys between the mountains (see photo above). It made me think of how dark it was in those valleys, where light could not penetrate or be seen. And yet the sun rises. It shines even when the fog blocks it out. It might be hazy, cold, even dim, but it's there, and it's a far cry from abject darkness.
  • We attended the wedding of my husband's sister. All of us watched as Jen and Tara married in a beautiful farmhouse field, the family arranged not in rows or pews, but in a circle of chairs around the couple. The family surrounded and supported the new couple to start the life together as a blessed union. How often do we forget that our family and friends are around us to support us when we feel most vulnerable? How often do we forget to help prop up our family and friends when they need a shoulder to lean on? And why do we forget that - by defining our circle too tightly - we may don't get to have as big a circle of love? Sure, make a tight circle of 10 people. But 20 people can support you better, 30 even more. You might be leaving out the one who could save you when your time of needs comes.
  • Husband leaping for joy for his sister,
    as we finish setting up the chairs for the wedding circle

  • During the most fierce storm of the drought-ending season here in Southern California, we passed dozens of homeless on the streets of Santa Barbara, with all their possessions, soaked to the core. The issues of homelessness are plenty, but it saddened me that such a prosperous city could not find a way to help possibly mentally unhealthy people into shelters for those dangerous nights.
  • We watched the Oscar-nominated movie Hidden Figures, which recounted the tale of brilliant and resilient African-American women who helped NASA get our astronauts into space. It made me wonder how our systemic biases prevent us from reaching our dreams and goals. It made me wonder how we can be blind to our own blindness, at least until someone opens our eyes for us. 
So are we, on our road to Emmaus, remembering all around us who can help us, protect us, raise us to unimaginably lofty heights? Or are walking past the stranger, holding back on our chance to break bread with the one who could save us.

May your Lent be filled with strangers who open your eyes to the light and lift your hearts to the stars.