I am still reeling from the sights I saw earlier today: the mature English wooded garden that has been so green, so vital for my recovery from depression, and such a rich source of photographs from my bed, has been destroyed. Decimated and flattened in order to make way for development. It may just be a piece of suburban garden that has gone, but it is ‘just’ another one, and ‘just’ another one, and ….
The destruction of these trees has hit me like a body blow. The stress and emotional inability to express my grief and outrage has exacerbated an already bad health patch. But as I lay in bed this afternoon, I had to admit that part of my grief was for my own complicity in such acts of cynical greed that are happening all over the planet. Like the plight of the Sengwer people, an ancient tribe in Kenya who have been dwelling in the Embobut forest for centuries. Their tribal lands are being stripped and deforested at a massive rate, removing not only their agricultural livelihood, but also their deep spiritual connections to the earth. How often do I really speak out about these injustices? How often do I fling myself on my face in front of our Holy God and ask for forgiveness, for every time I do not check where my food came from, who made my clothes, how I might dispose of every piece of the rubbish I use?
However long it is since I have been able to leave my house, the point is this: my body is intimately connected to Creation about me, near and far, seen and unseen; so thinking about my felt connection with the cords of the trees sawn down today in my garden also resonated with a further conversation I’ve been having with myself. I have had to spend the best part of four weeks in bed, and I’ve wondered if I need to try some different techniques to ‘befriend the pain’ and so manage it better. My attempts are hit and miss, and I definitely need to keep practicing! I’m currently reading Timothy Keller’s book Walking with God through Pain and Suffering, and am struck by the question he poses: Why do we seek to avoid pain at all costs? And why are we, in modern western materialist culture at least, so under equipped to handle all kinds of suffering?
I had intended to write about my own experience of listening to my pain and hopefully communicate my steps along a very ancient path: healing happens when heart, mind, body, soul and spirit sing together. But this ‘oh-so-holy’ attitude immediately came bang smack against my own hypocrisy and my part in the stewardship of creation. I take two, sometime three, different types of pain killers. As such, I am hugely dependent on and complicit in the machinations of big Pharma.
Don’t get me wrong, I am deeply thankful for the work of scientists in the relief of pain: for their education, training, experience, minute attention, patience, inventiveness and desire to find solutions. On the other hand, as I learn to listen to my pain and in silence hear what it might teach me, I wonder about the extent to which, by taking my meds, I dull my senses, and reduce ‘life’ to ‘merely existing’ on the bad days. If I entered fully into feeling and sensing my body, what might I learn instead?
Not that I especially want to do this you understand – pain distracts me from concentrating on studying and writing; it makes me grumpy with those around me when the painkillers’ effect has worn off; and it stops me from twisting my body to get the right angle to take a photograph. But isn’t it worth asking the question: not just for my personal spiritual and physical journey, but also for the economic, scientific and potential transformative power we have given these big companies? What do they take from the earth’s resources to get the ingredients for my pills? How much energy do they consume to make my medications? And what do they put back in the way of polluting chemical outpourings, just in order to make my painkillers? I feel I should know, and am ashamed that I haven’t thought enough about it, or researched the answers.
Would it be a more honest position of stewardship for me to join in with the ‘groaning of creation’ as trees are cut down, rivers polluted, and minerals mined, to refrain from taking my medications?
I showed a draft of this post to my parents, who were very distressed to think I would cease taking my medication; and rightly concerned that no one should think I was encouraging anyone else to stop taking theirs, or making others feel guilt at using what many can and do argue are God-given healing resources made from the grace of human technological progress; nor that anyone should feel I am criticising a medical profession to whom I am profoundly thankful, and their God-given inventiveness at responding to human needs.
But still, the questions proliferate. How do I deal with the irony that as I write this in bed on my Ipad, and others read it on mobiles or laptops, and we are connected in such a way that makes us part of this new community God is building, mining companies are reaping from the earth a fantastic amount of minerals just to feed our social dependency on this type of communication? Can you say hand on heart this industry is ethical or not? because I can’t … And what about those servers in the deserts throwing out all that heat? … I was listening to a programme about Ernst & Young auditing a gold refining company in Dubai who provide gold for all our smartphones, and they couldn’t guarantee that ‘conflict gold’ was not getting through the system and being distributed around the world for vast profit… And … And….
All I want to do is to voice some of the many questions that I ponder because of my illness: if I think I am isolated from Creation, other than what I see outside my window, think again!
Writing these guest-blogs has encouraged me to explore what connects my own physical brokenness to the brokenness of Creation. As Susan Sontag insisted, illness is not a metaphor. My body really does feel broken at the moment, but then so is so much of the world beyond my walls. I am grateful to those like CS Lewis who have thought about some of the theological dynamics of these things ahead of me,
“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pain.”
This I know: listening to God in my core points, at least for my own body this day, to a path of healing way beyond any prescribed pharmaceutical intervention.
Bio
Kate Kennington Steer is a writer and photographer with a deep abiding passion for contemplative photography and spirituality. She writes about these things on her shot at ten paces blog.
Yesterday Tom and I visited the University of Washington quad, where together with thousands of others we drank in the magnificence of the cherry blossoms. My soul is singing as I rejoice in the beauty of God’s creation in this springtime extravaganza.
I often find myself conflicted between the season of Lent with its sense of deprivation and the rejoicing of spring and the wonder of what is happening in my garden. There is a tension here that in past years I have not found easy to reconcile. But this year as I have focused on Lent as preparation for transformation, not time for denial and sacrifice, the tension has resolved.
The world is getting ready for transformation and by the grace of God I am able to join in. In the garden I am tilling the soil, loading it with compost and planting the seeds in the depths of the rich, dark soil. Each seed I plant is a promise filled with the hope that it will germinate and be transformed into new life.
There are other promises that the spring planting season brings with it. In many countries starvation and hunger are seasonal. It is during this time of the year, when the stored harvest is depleted that poor families are most reliant on dried seeds, nuts and beans that they eke out with the hope that the new harvest will begin before their stores are finished. Each seed planted bears with it a hope for transformation, a longing not just for the new growth but for the first fruits, the first sprouts that can be eaten and renew life. For some the greatest seal of hopelessness is when they need to use their seeds as food to survive, forcing themselves into hunger and starvation for next year too.
In my heart I am longing for the same germination of new life that has been planted in my soul. I long to see the new sprouts, the promise of a new harvest that I am beginning to catch glimmers of. How often I wonder have I eaten those seeds instead and denied God the ability to grow a new crop in my heart.
The giving of first fruits in cultures that lived on the edge of starvation during the season between planting and harvest must have been a huge sacrifice, an incredible denial of their own needs for nourishment so that their commitment to God could be fed and nourished first. Maybe that is what the denial of Lent is meant to be about. This is indeed a season to put the needs of God, and of others, and of the creation as well, before our own. This is the season above all others when we need to nourish the seeds of God’s transformation and allow it to grow and flourish.
As I work in the garden this week I know that my reflections will continue to revolve around the ongoing transformation God wants to accomplish in my life. Here are the questions I am asking myself:
Where has God planted seeds that have still not sprouted and need to be nurtured? Where have I failed to plant seeds because of a scarcity mentality, feeling that I will starve if I keep back some for next year’s harvest? And where have failed to give God the first fruits because I am so longing for new produce for myself?
This week for our Lenten prayers I plan to post a variety of prayers for creation from different faith traditions. Today’s is from the Jewish tradition and because I love this prayer so much I wanted to get it up early. The daily reflection will follow later.
I love this prayer which I came across in David Adam’s Rhythm of Life: Celtic Daily Prayer. This book has long been a favourite of mine. I love to use it when I travel, finding that the short daily offices help to ground my spiritual practices during what can otherwise be a very disorienting journey.
How wonderful, O Lord, are the works of your hands!
The heavens declare your glory,
the arch of the sky displays your handiwork.
In your love you have given us the power
to behold the beauty of your world in all its splendour.
The sun and the stars, the valleys and the hills,
the rivers and the lakes, all disclose your presence.
The roaring breakers of the sea tell of your awesome might;
the beasts of the field and the birds of the air proclaim your wondrous will.
In your goodness you have made us able to hear the music of the world
the voices of loved ones reveal to us that you are in our midst.
A divine song sings through all creation.
For those of us who live in urban areas the music of God’s world is so often drowned out by the clatter and commotion of the world around us. This prayer reminds me of how much all of us need time amongst God’s good creation to reconnect once more to the divine song that reverberates through God’s world.
Today (March 22 2014) is World Water Day which this prayer is written in honour of.
Lord Jesus Christ,
You call all who are thirsty to come to you and drink from the fresh and living water that flows from your heart. Yet many live in dry and thirsty lands, drink from polluted streams and struggle for access to safe drinking water.
Have mercy on them O Lord.
Lord Jesus Christ,
Forgive our selfish and unthinking actions that have stripped forests, polluted wells and caused toxic waste to enter the water systems.
Have mercy on us O Lord.
Lord Jesus Christ,
We thank you, for the gift of water. Over it the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life.
Have mercy on us O Lord.
Lord Jesus Christ,
We commit ourselves to value and care for your gifts to us. May rivers of living water flow from us with compassion and caring to all who suffer from thirst and pollution.
Have mercy on them O Lord.
Lord Jesus Christ,
We thank you, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with you in your death. By it we share in your resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit
Have mercy on us O Lord.
Lord Jesus Christ,
Refreshed by your spirit, and following in your footsteps, may we continue to serve you, provide cups of cold and refreshing water for the people and creation entrusted to our care.
Have mercy on all of us Lord
And fill us with the waters of life.
Amen
I chose today’s prayer for our Lenten prayer cards because we are at that point where all of us are being to struggle with our commitment to this season of reflection. This path to transformation is not easy. Pray that we may continue on the path.
Celtic Cross Kildalton Ireland
Today’s Lenten prayer is a Celtic going forth prayer. It is meant to be for going forth out into the day but I love to use it at the end of a seminar as a going forth from one place to the next. It is another great Celtic prayer to meditate on in this season of Lent.
I originally came across this prayer in a little book entitled Celtic Fire, a delightful collection of stories and prayers that I would heartily recommend to you.
Let us go forth
In the goodness of our merciful father
In the gentleness of our brother Jesus,
In the radiance of his Holy Spirit
In the faith of the apostles,
In the joy praise of the angels,
In the holiness of the saints,
In the courage of the martyrs.
Let us go forth
In the wisdom of our all-seeing Father
In the patience of our all-loving brother,
In the truth of the all-knowing Spirit,
In the learning of the apostles,
In the gracious guidance of the angels,
In the patience of the saints,
In the self control of the martyrs,
Such is the path for all servants of Christ,
The path from death to eternal life.
Today’s reflection is adapted from this post which Kathy Escobar posted during the original Journey Into Wholeness challenge in 2009.
“man does not live by bread alone.” luke 4:4
another week has flown by. it seems for some reason that the past few weeks have flashed by; if i slow them down a bit and think about all of the ins and outs of people and relationships and crises and traumas and dramas, i just have to laugh and chalk it up to an average couple of weeks in the life together in the refuge community. but today, i’m longing for mexico. as i mentioned last week, i am a week behind on this journey into wholeness. this week for me was the journey into hunger. in the material was a powerful challenge to feed your family for a week on$2 per person per day. i was one of those people who from the beginning said “i just can’t do this right now.” i don’t regret my decision, because it was a realistic one given our current situation. what i did do, though, is really intentionally put all kinds of facets on “hunger” in the forefront of my mind. it was an interesting week.
i was sharing last night at our house of refuge that that in the midst of thinking a lot about hunger and the $2 challenge and all kinds of other things related to food and the lack thereof for so many people, i of course had one day where the only things i ate all day were: 2 poptarts, about 30 conversational hearts left over from valentine’s day, and a row of thin mint girl scout cookies. ugh! how pathetic. but how telling. i was painfully aware this whole past week of how much we have. how much we waste.
another interesting conversation this week was with my 9 year old twins. i was done reading a story to them and asked them “what do you do when you’re hungry?” of course, they chimed together “eat!”
then i asked them “what do people in other poor countries do when they’re hungry?”“ guess what they said? “eat!” of course i immediately felt like a terrible parent who clearly has not done what i was supposed to teach my children properly about these kinds of things! but the truth is that regardless of how much we talk “kids starving in africa” they have no concept that there are people who really truly do not have food to eat, period. of course they’ve heard us tell stories, have seen the american idol-in-africa stuff, and have helped us bring food to people who needed it. but the truth is that they can’t get their little sweet heads around the reality that people truly would be hungry and not somehow get something to eat.
then i started thinking about some of my friends who don’t have resources, who live on the margins economically in every way possible. they aren’t going to starve to death like they would if they lived in africa, but in reality when they are hungry, and don’t have enough money to buy food, here’s what they do to get it: pawn something, sell some prescription drugs to a few friends, trade a ride to the store for some groceries, don’t eat so the kids can. and as i think about their reality then i start getting sad that there really is enough food even in our little poor community but it is so hard with us all spread out all over the place to share properly; i wish someone who was wildly passionate about intentionally sharing would swoop into our community & make it all magically happen for us. and then i remember that is not how it usually works
so i switch gears and then begin to think about people living in poverty around the world and what they do when they are hungry. they sell their bodies. they sell their children into slavery. they wait in lines for days for bags of rice that might get stolen from them on the way home. they watch their children starve. it is unthinkable that they are dying not from lack of resource, because the provision is indeed available, but from lack of proper distribution.
a couple of nights ago we talked about some of this at our house of refuge. everyone there is not going to die from lack of food, at least at this point, i am almost 100% certain. but among all of us–to varying degrees–is a spiritual hunger, a desire for God. an emptiness, a thirst. when i asked the question “so what are we supposed to do when we are spiritually hungry?” the first response was “eat chocolate ice cream!” (but he had already skipped to the next question unintentionally). the answers were “go to God… read the Bible…connect with others…be still…spend time with God…pray…seek God…”
but then i asked the question, “what do we actually do when we are spiritually hungry? what do we go to? “ here are our collective responses, at least the ones that we wrote down:
- food
- chocolate ice cream
- a consuming focus on another person
- do anything to not be alone
- play spider solitaire for hours
- watch scary movies
- sleep
- get busy
- exercise (i wish i had that one!)
- talk, chatter on cell phone
- mindless TV watching/reading
- isolate, disconnect
- drink
- control more
what would you add to the list?
mine is definitely work harder, stay busy, talk talk & more talk, get lost in the chaos, and start over the next day. the truth is that all of these things do help fill something at least temporarily. it’s not that they are all bad or all wrong or somehow don’t serve any good purpose. the problem, though, is that ultimately they will not satisfy. they are substitutes & will keep us distracted from the real thing. they leave us hungry.
isaiah is my favorite old testament book; so much beauty in there. chapter 55 came to mind yesterday:
“Give ear and come to me; hear me, that your soul may live. “Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters;and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.Give ear and come to me; hear me, that your soul may live. “(1-3a)
why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy. i think for me i have a weird natural tendency to avoid things that are really good for me.–including God. i don’t like saying that out loud, but it sometimes feels true. in subtle or sometimes direct ways i avoid seeking God, pursuing God, letting him satisfy me with good things, bring his wine and bread and milk and honey. honestly, i don’t want to make myself that vulnerable.
the biggest takeaway for me from wednesday’s conversation is the gap between what people can provide and the work of the Holy Spirit. i have no doubt that God uses people. real-life-in-the-flesh people to be God’s hands, feet, heart in all kinds of wacky and miraculous ways. through people i am constantly encountering Jesus. but at the same time, a gap exists that people can’t fill. that is the quiet and mysterious and sometimes illusive work of the Spirit that can creep into the deepest cracks and satisfy like none other.
so that’s what i’m hungry for this lenten season.
* * * * *
ps: we had a reflective time to write a psalm of hunger using this template i wrote as a guide.
we called it psalm 311 for march 11th. here’s mine. if you give it a try, let me know. i’d love to read it.
——
kathy co-pastors the refuge, an eclectic beautiful faith community in north denver, juggles 5 kids & an awesome husband who has a bunch of jobs, too.
She’s an advocate for friends in hard places, a trained spiritual director (one who’s a little on the loud side) & loves to teach and facilitate events, workshops, and groups. she writes a little, hangs out with people a lot, and teaches college classes online because missional living doesn’t pay the bills.
these all blend together and make for one messy life in the trenches with people.
kathy is most passionate about community, the marginalized, healing, spiritual transformation, equality, justice, “church”, relationships, diversity, and learning to love and be loved. She bogs at http://kathyescobar.com/
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