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.
The tradition of pilgrimage in Ireland is an ancient ones. There are many trails and paths known to be sacred for hundreds, if not thousands of years.
One of the more ancient Irish practices of pilgrimage is the turas, which means to “walk the rounds” in holy places. Often there is a series of pilgrim stations – a series of cairns, a holy well, a cross, a chapel or sanctuary space – and each of these invites a circumambulation in a sunwise direction (clockwise), always in harmony with the rhythms of the universe. The number of rounds varies, but generally is either a single round at each place to pause, or the sacred number of three rounds, or a full seven or twelve rounds, which are also all holy numbers.
The purpose of walking the rounds is multifaceted:
• Walking helps to slow us down. The poet Wallace Stevens once said “the truth depends upon a walk around the lake.” We allow ourselves to arrive fully in a sacred place, both body and soul, and ask permission to be there and receive the gifts offered.
• Walking in a circular manner helps to move us out of linear ways of thinking. It allows us to rest into the spiral nature of time and see things from a new perspective. Pilgrimage is never a straight, step-by-step journey, but one of continual unfolding and listening to wisdom arising from dreams and nature.
• Walking helps us to bless the earth with our feet, so that our whole being becomes a prayer. Instead of walking to “get somewhere” as we might when journeying to a particular place, walking the rounds invites us to continue journeying in place.
There are still many of these pilgrimage stations throughout Ireland, and when my husband John and I bring pilgrimage groups out to the holy sites, we invite pilgrims to walk in this intentional way. This isn’t a mindless exercise of superstition, but instead a sacred invitation to bring ourselves fully present to this moment and to walk with full mindfulness and affectionate awareness.
While walking the rounds, traditional prayers like the Hail Mary and Our Father would be said, but any prayers of the heart are welcome. You might repeat a mantra or sing a meditative song.
The Celtic peoples loved spiral designs, as obvious from their artwork. I think these rounds serve a similar purpose to walking a labyrinth. There is a deep understanding that walking embodies our prayer, and walking in a circle has a way of moving our brains out of their desired linear course. When we are discerning our direction in life, we often want the next best step to appear, if not the entire path clearly ahead. But discernment in this tradition is more like a spiraling inward and a deep attentiveness to what is happening in the moment.
Consider finding a holy place to walk around. It might be a sunwise journey around a favorite tree, or inside your church, or even around the edges of a labyrinth nearby. If you are stuck indoors because of severe weather, simply allow a few breaths to center yourself, and then walk the room in gentle sunwise circles, not trying to figure anything out, simply allowing yourself to be fully present and attentive. If a recited prayer helps, let that be your mind’s focus and anchor. The breath can also be a beautiful way to return your attention again and again.
Try practicing this ancient tradition of walking the rounds while bringing yourself here and now and see what you notice or discover.
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Christine Valters Paintner, PhD is the online Abbess at AbbeyoftheArts.com, a virtual monastery integrating contemplative practice and creative expression. Together with her husband John they offer online retreats and live pilgrimage experiences in Ireland, Germany, and Austria. Christine is the author of 8 books including her most recent The Soul of a Pilgrim: Eight Practices for the Journey Within
This week, in preparation for our 24th annual Celtic retreat, I have been rereading Henri Nowen‘s The Genesee Diary: Report from a Trappist Monastery. It profoundly impacted me as I read about the seven months that he spent in a Trappist monastery.
Here are a couple of passages I found particularly convicting. First this passage when early in his sabbatical Nouwen is grappling with how to make the works of his hands into a prayer and reinterpret everything in the light of what it means to live fully to the glory of God.
…living for the glory of God would make everything different. Even living for each other would then be living for the glory of God. It is God’s glory that becomes visible in a loving community. … When we indeed participate in the life of God we will always discover more of God’s mystery in each other. John Eudes described heaven as the ongoing discovery of God’s mystery by living in the most intimate presence of God and each other. The Christian life on earth is simply the beginning of this heavenly existence. (p29)
My main problem is that I have not really made prayer my priority. … much of what I am doing is motivated by many other concerns: getting back in shape, learning some manual skills, knowing more about birds and trees, getting to know interesting people… and picking up many ideas and experiences for future teaching. But if prayer were my only concern, all these other laudable things could be received as free gifts. Now, however, I am obsessed by these desires which are false, not in themselves but by their being in the wrong place in the heirarchy. (p42)
As I read this section I realized how much of what I do is with mixed motives. It is easy to say that I want to live to the glory of God and that everything I do is done to please God, yet underneath I am aware that so much of what I do is really done to please myself or to please others. I grapple with the same concerns that Nouwen does – the desire to be noticed and thought well of, the desire to be fulfilled in what I do, and even the desire to be comfortable. If I am honest I realize how easily these things can move my focus away from God and onto myself.
Even prayer can easily become self focused as I ask God for things that would make my own life easier. Healing for those I love that sometimes make my life difficult, financial provision in the midst of recession, my need for an administrative assistant, even my prayer for God to end poverty and bring justice in the world can be because I want to live in a world that is more comfortable.
The other section I found extremely compelling is this on the monastic rhythm of life. It is easy for us to see the monastic rhythm as a monotonous repetitive rhythm but listen to the way that Nouwen describes it
One of the things a monastery like this does for you is give you a new rhythm, a sacred rhythm… It seems as if I am being slowly lifted up from the gray dull, somewhat monotonous, secular time cycle into a very colourful rich sequence of events in which solemnity and playfulness, joy and grief, seriousness and lightness take each other’s place off and on…
You see and feel that the monastic day, week and year are meant to be time-bound anticipations of a heavenly existence. Already you are invited to participate in the intimate life of the Holy trinity, Father ,Son and Spirit, and be joyful because of those who came so close to God in their historical existence that they have a special place in the heavenly kingdom. So contemplation is indeed a beginning of what is to be fulfilled in the resurrection.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what the rhythms of God’s kingdom will look like and am more convinced than ever that the frenetic pace of our secular world is nothing like what God intends. We are meant to be counter cultural people with counter cultural rhythms and I think that the monastic rhythm of prayer, study work and rest is much more like the rhythm of God’s kingdom than the way most of us live.
God enter the emptiness of our hearts,
Restore us, renew us, refresh us.
Come into the dry and thirsty places of our lives,
Fill us, transform us, dwell within us.
Reveal your love in the empty spaces of our souls,
Convert our loneliness to solitude,
Turn our busyness into obedience,
Replace our self centred idols with faithfulness.
Open within us a place where you can dwell,
Love through us, live through us, glorify yourself.
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