Its the last day to register online for the retreat on Saturday. You can still register on site Saturday.
The programmes are ready, and today I am working on cutting out finger labyrinth templates for afternoon activities and all the last minute shopping details.
Directions and suggested things to bring will be posted on the retreat page tomorrow if you still have not made up your mind!
Hope that you come, there is always room for one more!
John Roddam Spencer Stanhope (1829-1908)- The vision of Ezekiel – Valley of the Dry Bones” by Will. Used with permission.
I close my eyes to pray, and the hand of the Lord is on me. Like Ezekiel, I am brought out by the Spirit of the Lord and set in the middle of a valley full of bones. Everywhere I look, I see sun-bleached skeletons of fathers, mothers, and children whose lives were cut short, whose bones are so scattered that they cannot even be given a decent burial.
Sadness washes over me, but I am not overwhelmed by it: these are not my people. My loved ones are eating cereal and checking e-mails.
The Spirit reminds me of a line in a prayer I have been praying, “Triune Lord. . . give us the grace to feel profoundly joined to everything that is.”
I look at the carnage again. Some died from drinking water drawn from poisoned rivers. Others starved to death when their land was repurposed by their oppressors.
The Spirit leads me back and forth among the bones, and I see a great many more on the floor of the valley–bones of birds, animals and sea creatures, now extinct.
The Spirit asks me, “Daughter of Eve, can these bones live?”
“These bones are dried up! Their hope is gone. Like Cain, they are cut off from you and each other. Yet, Lord, you are sovereign; you alone know.”
The Spirit of the Lord says to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; then you will know that I am the Lord.’”
While I am prophesying, I hear a noise, a rattling sound. The bones come together, bone to bone! Tendons and flesh appear on them, and skin covers them. Breath comes from the four winds and breathes into each one. They stand up on their feet—a vast army of all God’s creatures.
Then the Spirit of the Lord says to me: “Daughter of Eve, this is your family–bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh.”
My mouth is dry. All my bones are out of joint. Humbly and desperately, I cry, “Sovereign Lord, you have seized me and rattled me. Thank you for reconnecting me to my family. Send breath from the four winds and revive us. Help me protect our common home and love each creature justly, kindly and generously.”
“Blackfooted Ferret” by USFWS Mountain-Prairie. Used with permission.
Father, we praise you with all your creatures.
They came forth from your all-powerful hand;
they are yours, filled with your presence and your tender love.
Praise be to you!
Son of God, Jesus,
through you all things were made.
You were formed in the womb of Mary our Mother,
you became part of this earth,
and you gazed upon this world with human eyes.
Today you are alive in every creature in your risen glory.
Praise be to you!
Holy Spirit, by your light
you guide this world towards the Father’s love
and accompany creation as it groans in travail.
You also dwell in our hearts
and you inspire us to do what is good.
Praise be to you!
Triune Lord,
wondrous community of infinite love,
teach us to contemplate you
in the beauty of the universe,
for all things speak of you.
Awaken our praise and thankfulness
for every being that you have made.
Give us the grace to feel profoundly joined
to everything that is.
God of love, show us our place in this world
as channels of your love
for all the creatures of this earth,
for not one of them is forgotten in your sight.
Enlighten those who possess power and money
that they may avoid the sin of indifference,
that they may love the common good,
advance the weak,
and care for this world in which we live.
The poor and the earth are crying out.
O Lord, seize us with your power and light,
help us to protect all life,
to prepare for a better future,
for the coming of your Kingdom
of justice, peace, love and beauty.
Praise be to you!
Amen.
– A Christian Prayer in Union with Creation, from Encyclical Letter, Laudato Si’ of the Holy Father Francis on Care for Our Common Home, May 2015
References:
Text taken largely word for word from Ezekiel 37:1-14 (NIV) except for “bone of my bone. . .” from Genesis 2:23; and “My mouth is dry. All my bones are out of joint.” from Psalm 22:14,15.
Special thanks to Tim Fretheim, who shared his sermon prep on Ezekiel 37 while on a bike ride with Fred and me, and to Marcia Fretheim who led our last silent retreat on this passage.
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This is the second of a series of four posts written by Esther Hizsa. Posts three and four will be posted next week.
Esther Hizsa is a spiritual director, retreat speaker and writer. She is a member of SoulStream contemplative community and helps facilitate their Living from the Heart course. She and her husband, Fred, live in Burnaby, B.C.They have two married children and two grandchildren.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014, 2015. http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com
Photo of sculpture of Cain, Cathédrale St-Lazare, Burgundy, France by Holly Hayes. Used with permission.
“Where is your brother Abel?” The Lord asked Cain.
Cain, the first child born on earth, had killed Abel.
I can imagine God’s anguish. “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.”
“In the story of Cain and Abel, we see how envy led Cain to commit the ultimate injustice against his brother, which in turn ruptured the relationship between Cain and God, and between Cain and the earth,” Pope Francis wrote in his encyclical on Care for Our Common Home.
As I look at how we have abused our common home, I feel God’s anguish and am asked the same question, “What have you done?”
Centuries ago Francis of Assisi called the earth Our Sister. “This sister now cries out to us,” Pope Francis writes, “because of the harm we have inflicted on her by our irresponsible use and abuse of the goods with which God has endowed her. We have come to see ourselves as her lords and masters, entitled to plunder her at will.”
Our complicity in this is big and too painful to conceive. I am my sister’s keeper.
“Earth in the Hands” by Arthur Rowan. Used with permission.
You’re still reading this post? You’re brave! Many would have quit at the first niggling of guilt and remorse. We don’t want to face what we’ve done to our sister Earth. I know I don’t.
Will I, like Cain, turn away from God and deny my guilt? Or will I allow remorse to turn me to God? And could I, as Pope Francis suggests, “turn what is happening to the world into my own personal suffering and thus discover what I can do about it”?
Imagine what would have happened if Cain had allowed remorse to do its work? He would have flung himself into God’s arms, like a child, and wept.
And God would have held Cain and comforted him. God would have understood why he did it, without minimizing the injustice. And then, once Cain knew he was loved and forgiven, they would have talked about a way forward.
I like the thought of moving forward, so I kept reading the encyclical with one thought in mind: Tell me what to do.
But God wasn’t in a hurry to give me a “to do” list. Receiving forgiveness cannot be rushed, and premature action interrupts the process.
God wants me to do something. No question about it. But I need to do it for my sister, not to save myself from feeling bad.
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy on us.
“Wheat” by FarbenfroheWunderwelt. Used with permission
References:
Genesis 4:1-10
Quotes from Encyclical Letter, Laudato Si’ of the Holy Father Francis on Care for Our Common Home #70, #2, #19.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2015.
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This is the first of a series of four posts written by Esther Hizsa. The second in the series will be posted tomorrow, posts three and four next week.
Esther Hizsa is a spiritual director, retreat speaker and writer. She is a member of SoulStream contemplative community and helps facilitate their Living from the Heart course. She and her husband, Fred, live in Burnaby, B.C.They have two married children and two grandchildren.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014, 2015. http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com
Iona cross with Bishop’s house in distance
Our Celtic retreat is now less than a week away and as you can imagine I am frantically busy purchasing supplies, packing boxes, and finishing off those last minute details. For the last couple of years however, this has been a bitter sweet experience for me as it also marks the anniversary of my mother’s death in 2013. That is the only retreat I have missed. I spent the day at her funeral instead.
While I sat beside my mother in the last week of her life, some of you may remember, I read to her from the book In Search of Sacred Places: Looking for Wisdom on Celtic Holy Islands. As I prepare for this retreat it seemed appropriate to share this again and so I have adapted my post from 2013 for today’s mediation.
My mother loved the story of Iona and Columba often asking me to keep reading even after my voice was hoarse and I wanted to stop.
One reflection from the book really stood out for me.
Everything on Iona has a name. each physical feature of the island has been part of a specific human experience and therefore thought worthy of bearing a name….
These many names are a testimony to the human scale of life on Iona. As the scale of physical size diminishes as one travels to the island-England, Scotland, Mull, Iona-the scale of individuals and spiritual significance increases.Walking is the maximum desirable speed for seeing things fully enough to name them. And when we name things we begin to value them. No wonder we want to be named and known. (37)
To really see and fully enter into the world around us we must walk not run or drive. And when we walk we want to name everything and everyone. We say hello to the people we meet, we look at the flowers and mention them by name, we watch the birds and identify the species. We even like to give our own names to landmarks we pass and houses we enjoy.
What is your response?
Take a walk around your neighbourhood. Notice the people you walk past. Greet those you know by name. Say hello to those you don’t know and ask them their names. Notice the names on buildings, streets, parks. What structures are not named? What names would you give to them? What do these people and these places teach you about God.
To know someone by name we must move slowly enough to take notice of them and walking is indeed the fastest pace for noticing. To give a name, especially an appropriate name that reflects its nature, we must be able to see it fully. To continue appreciating it we need to slow down and notice, not once but regularly. Only in walking or in stillness is this possible.
What is your response?
It is not just the names of people and places we forget. We often also forget the names of God. Sit quietly thinking about the aspects of God’s character that you have encountered in the last year. Name each of them in your mind, say them out loud, savour them on your tongue, then write them down. Remind yourself of what each of those names mean to you. How could you strengthen your memory of who God is and what God means to you?
I have had a headache for almost a week straight. I’m not exactly sure what caused it, but it probably had something to do with either the stress of moving across the country in a week, or way too many sleepless nights in a row, or waking up to a bat flying over my head in my bedroom, or the disaster that is my house at the moment.
Whatever the root cause might be (though I’m sure it’s probably a combination of everything), I have dealt with this lingering, dull ache for days. My shoulders have been tight, my whole body tense, my mind cloudy. And I’ve felt so busy. Even when I should have been able to take a moment to relax, I just couldn’t clear my head.
A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me if I would like to take a painting class with her. I have always wanted to try my hand at painting, and I thought it would be a great way to spend time with my friend before I move to Nebraska. I looked at the date on my calendar, and was excited to see that I was able to sign up for the class. So, I called and registered, and then got bogged down by all the details and frenzy of buying a house, saying goodbye to so many people I love, and preparing my kids for the changes we will be going through in the near future.
This morning, after yet another night of terrible sleep, I woke up with the headache that I was starting to think would never go away. I made myself a cup of coffee, ate a light breakfast, and headed out the door to meet up with my friend for our art class.
For the next three hours, I learned about perspective, stippling, and shading, and worked to create my picture of an up-close sunflower in the style of Georgia O’Keeffe. The to-do lists, stress, and anxiety melted away with every brush stroke, and by the time I finished my painting, the headache was gone.
Studies have been done that have proven the benefits of creativity. Things like painting, knitting, and crocheting interrupt the fight-or-flight processes of our brains and cause us to focus singularly on one thing at a time. It clears the mind, just like meditation. While we are creating, we cannot do anything else. We cannot worry. We cannot make plans. Creation interrupts everything and brings order where there hadn’t been any before.
It turns out that creativity is an important part of what it means to be human, which shouldn’t surprise us given that we are made in the image of the Creator God. Out of the chaos, the formless void, the deep, God brought order through creativity. Out of the cosmic nothingness, God brought into being everything. From nothing to everything through creativity.
But – at least for me – it seems that the more chaotic my life becomes, the less I make space for creativity. Imagination and creation get pushed out, while the stress comes pouring in. As a college student, I learned that singing for ten minutes before I went to take an exam helped me to remember what I had studied. Cramming only reminded me of what I didn’t remember, and it defeated me.
My time in the art studio reminded me that life isn’t something I can cram for; it is an art that must be practiced creatively. In making space for creativity and imagination, we reconnect with who we are in the image of God. And, when we do that, we might find that we’re surprised at how all the chaotic bits in our lives fall into place – perhaps not perfectly, but in a way that brings joy and abundance to life.
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This post was originally published on “The Twelve“
April Fiet is a mom of two, co-pastor alongside her husband Jeff, and a dabbler in creative things (mostly crochet). For the past eight years, April has called Iowa her home, but is in the process of transitioning to life in Nebraska. April’s blog – At the Table with April Fiet -is a place for ongoing conversations about life, faith, and ministry.
As you can imagine getting ready for our annual retreat is not always a renewing and refreshing time for me, but this week I have deliberately taken time to make it so. This prayer is adapted from one I wrote several years ago to help me focus. It will be my morning prayer throughout the coming week as I walk through final preparations.
I have just been out in the garden watering, my favourite evening chore as I get to enjoy the beauty of the fading light and the fresh smell of the garden. I also get to enjoy the delight of picking tomatoes and squash, savouring the exquisite flavour of cherry tomatoes that somehow end up in my mouth.
Sunflower hanging low
In some places the garden is overgrown, because I have been too busy with other priorities to pull weeds, but there is still a narrow path that I can tread, in fact all the more precious because it is narrow and overgrown. Some of that growth is low hanging fruit laden branches, sunflowers heavy with seed and tomatoes ripening all around.
God’s narrow path is a wide open way of blessing and joy, I thought. It is narrow because it is surrounded by amazing abundance, with fruit and luxuriant growth hanging down. It is only narrow and sometimes hard to find because it is filled with so much abundance.
Hydrangeas obscure the path
I couldn’t help but think of that as I trimmed away my sage bush on Saturday so that the mailman could get to the letter box. The fragrance of discarded branches clung to my clothes. I also thought of it as I surveyed my hydrangeas so laden with flowers that they obscure the path beside them. Those I did not touch. When I focused on the beauty of the flowers it didn’t seem to matter that the pathway had disappeared.
How often do we miss the abundance of God because we want to make the pathway wider and easier to follow I wondered? How often do we cut down the luxuriant growth and fruit that God is growing because we are obsessed with always seeing and knowing where the way leads? How often do we missed what God has blessed us with here and now in this moment because our vision is focused somewhere out ahead where the pathway is still obscured?
God may we look and see your abundance pressing in all around.
Rich fruit, luxuriant growth, laden branches hanging low.
May we remember that sometimes they obscure the path
that winds so narrow out before us.
May we remember that your provision is inexhaustible,
like a plate of food that will never be empty.
May we taste and see that all you give is good,
And raise our voices in praise and thanks and gratitude.
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