rowing the single and centering prayer

I have resolved to learn how to row a single shell this summer. I have made many maiden voyages, year after year, but until this year have never found the discipline to keep at it so that it becomes relatively comfortable.

I am rowing what I call a "skinny single", that is, a racing single shell, and in about ten days I have progressed from an ever-so-tentative push away from the dock with an iron grip on my oars, to the point where I can go up and down the creek and only have two or three "uh-oh, I'm about to tip over" experiences. This is progress!

This morning as I was contemplating the glassy water (which turned into ripples as the wind came up) I thought about how learning to row the single shell - perhaps learning anything new that requires such concentration - requires at the same time a complete letting go. If I think too much about anything, I get tense and things go haywire. Kind of like when, in centering prayer, I indulge yourself in following whatever pops into the prayer time. Instead of being open to God in prayer, I end up on some tangent. Interesting, perhaps, but that distraction is for the other 23 hours of the day.

Suddenly the prayer time has been consumed with, as Thomas Keating would say, following the thought down the river, rather than gently returning to the sacred word.

Suddenly the smooth rhythm of my oars and the send of my shell are disrupted by too much thinking. Just do it, let the boat do its work and get out of its way.

Prayer and rowing. Two of my favorite activities!

the silence at the start

At the start of one of my races at Vancouver Lake last weekend, I had the thought to write some words about the silence of it. That particular morning was a bit less windy than the rest of the weekend. Just a small breeze, but enough so that we had to keep sculling the bow around to keep our boat pointed straight down the buoy lines.

Long moments of silence while people sat ready, oars buried, boats locked on, rowers watching the starter's flag. Then comes the command from the starter "sit easy", there are still small adjustments to be made. That silence before the start lasts an eternity. It has the same quality as the silence in church after Communion. The silence of the silence reigns supreme. It is a moment in which anything seems possible, all is fulfilled and all is potential. A brief moment in chronological time and yet eternal in its fullness, all in all. The moment is fleeting, all is ready, and yet in it is contained the universe of what is and can be.

Then the starter's command again, "Attention (more silence) Go!" and the flag drops and the lats of eight people engage and the legs of eight people go down to pry the boat forward. And we are off, into the fray, one stroke at a time. We don't know what the outcome will be but we surely know the goal, one good stroke at a time.

What can the church learn from this, when the silence is so much the same? The people are fed, and ready to go out the door to feed a hungry world. How can the church command, gather, harness, focus, her people's attention in a similar way?

In Prison

I'm realizing that prison has been on my mind the last few days. The other night when I was coming home on the ferry from a meeting in the City, I was compelled to take out my phone and snap some pictures of San Quentin Prison through the streaky ferry window. I row past this very large and very old prison almost every day, but for some reason the light on the buildings, which light would normally want to draw me in, instead drew my inner attention and prayer to the many ways that people are imprisoned.

Then, at our Fresh Start meeting today, I chose the following Scripture for our worship together. There was rich, compassionate, poignant sharing and dialogue for which I was very thankful.

Hebrews 10:32-39

Recall those earlier days when, after you had been enlightened, you endured a hard struggle with sufferings, sometimes being publicly exposed to abuse and persecution, and sometimes being partners with those so treated. For you had compassion for those who were in prison, and you cheerfully accepted the plundering of your possessions, knowing that you yourselves possessed something better and more lasting. Do not, therefore, abandon that confidence of yours; it brings a great reward. For you need endurance, so that when you have done the will of God, you may receive what was promised. For yet “in a very little while, the one who is coming will come and will not delay; but my righteous one will live by faith. My soul takes no pleasure in anyone who shrinks back.” But we are not among those who shrink back and so are lost, but among those who have faith and so are saved.

Refreshment for the Soul

Last week I took a break; my soul needed some refreshment. So a couple of emails to friends and voila, I had a 24 hour trip to Yosemite organized. We blasted out Thursday and back Friday night. Just enough time for a trip up the Mist trail and Nevada Falls, a night in a Curry Village tent cabin, then up early, Yosemite Falls, and home. We had a GREAT time, other than the fact that we were overtaken by an unexpected thunderstorm. Camera survived, Blackberry, not so much. It was exactly the trip I needed.

As we came back down in the thunderstorm, a group of young people from Sacramento asked if they could hike with us. At first I thought they were trying to help us, but as went along, we realized how frightened they were and that we were actually helping them. They would ask "which way does the trail go" and we would point and encourage them onward. As we made our way down the slippery granite steps, I thought of the many ways that our mutual help and aid to each other often goes unspoken, unsaid, and unappreciated.

As we hiked, I gave thanks for these young people and prayed for their safety (and their developing wisdom: for example, to take our advice NOT to enter the Merced River because yes, the current is quite strong at the moment!)

The rainbow on the Mist Trail just beneath Vernal Falls was spectacular, as was the water rushing over fall itself. Praise God for the grandeur which is Yosemite!

the moment of light

This morning I was "on land" for practice, so Liz T. and I erged a bit and chatted a bit and then headed out for our days. I grabbed my camera, since I am so rarely not on the water when the morning light is coming and then comes. I walked along the creek where we row, very attracted to the fog hovering around while the sun was coming up.

I love the photographer Michael Fatali and especially these words he writes: "Photographing these magical monuments of God's creation requires the practice of great patience. Waiting for hours, days, or sometimes even years for the right light is what is required to communicate the wonder."

I also love that in his field notes, he notes the amount of time waiting for the light he has spent on each image. I hope some day to have more time to wait for the light. For now, it's catch as catch can in between my various activities!

the thirty thousand foot view

There is something important about getting perspective. I have been buried in the forest for a little too long now, and long for the trees. I love this picture, but especially the shoes. It gives me the idea for a little photo essays on the shoes that have been removed to walk upon holy ground.

blowing my head off...

I am so fortunate to be surrounded by friends and colleagues who love me, challenge me, teach me, help me offer my gifts. I've always loved Parker Palmer, and am currently (as my class in pastoral care in the seminary is coming to its close) reading Palmer's The Courage to Teach. More insights than I can possible offer here, but I will offer the statement that stands out among all the others... kind of like these shots of seagulls that I just happened to be lucky enough to grab on Saturday during the Amazing Birthday Race. I have to be grateful when something falls into my lap and sticks - like this sentence about truth, or this picture of seagulls - since they are entirely beyond my capability to make happen on my own! Grace, maybe?

p. 106 of The Courage to Teach says: Implicit in this exploration of how we know is an image of truth that can now me made explicit: truth is an eternal conversation about things that matter, conducted with passion and discipline.

from the Glenstal Book of Prayer (and Luke!)

This morning I woke early, probably because we had an erg test scheduled. I did well enough, but as I prayed in the early morning, I thought of the dawn that I am priveleged to wake up in almost every morning.


In the tender compassion of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness,
and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet on the road of peace.

The New Day

I have always been a morning person. My current home lights up in the morning with the rising sun, and on Sunday morning as I was getting ready to preach the morning light was especially beautiful. This picture does not do it justice at all, but the best I could muster as I was throwing myself together.

I need to find a way to work some extra photography minutes into my morning routine..usually I am out the door walking the dog or dashing to the boathouse. This morning the water was completely glassy and still, perfect rowing weather. I'm giving thanks today for these past two mornings, and pray that the brightness of the light carries me through my days.

The Labyrinth Dog

Today we walked the labyrinth with the three young people preparing for confirmation. I've walked Nativity's labyrinth numerous times myself, but this was the first time of walking it with others. I brought Molly Brown, who walks the labyrinth the same ways she walks on a leash...in circles. She's a herding dog, and not too mindful of the "proper" place to be with regard to the leash and to me, her Person.

As we walked today, and as I turned the corners and she circled, I had the sense of a slow dance in circles. Sometimes she stands still, waiting for me to complete my turn, sometimes I stand still and she walks (and tangles my legs) around me. And eventually we reach the center, just as we are supposed to. It takes a while, but we get there.

On this circuitous journey we are on together, thank God for the Labyrinth Dog!

Praise today

Recently my spiritual director gave me a wonderful collection of spiritual sayings and poems that are in the form of an almanac, to be dipped in to...the perfect response to my recent lament that I have found it hard to pick up a book, any book, and read it straight through. There are half-read, corner-folded-down books scattered through my life - home, office, car - and yet this small book has offered me some amazing words of hope in just the right sized bite.

Here is the offering today:

Praise What Comes

surprising as unplanned kisses, all you haven’t deserved
of days and solitude, your body’s immoderate good health
that lets you work in many kinds of weather. Praise.

talk with just about anyone. And quiet intervals, books:
that are your food and your hunger, nightfall and walks
before sleep. Praising these for practice, perhaps

you will come at last to praise grief and the wrongs
you never intended. At the end there may be no answers
and only a few very simple questions: did I love

finish my task in the world? Learn at least one
of the many names of God? At the intersections,
the boundaries where one life began and another

ended, the jumping-off places between fear and
possibility, at the ragged edges of pain,
did I catch the smallest glimpse of the holy?


“Praise what Comes” in The Light of Invisible Bodies by Jeanne Lohmann

Hallelujah!

Molly Brown, my canine companion, tested negative for heartworm yesterday after having the first cycle of manufactured arsenic treatment...which is brutal on the dog (and to the worms.) Somehow I believe that she knows she is better...tail is wagging more and her lively self seems to be back. Of course it may just be me, but who cares, all that matters is that she is getting better. One young parishioner baked her special get-well treats, which I am sure made all the difference!

Easter

I have a number of close friends and parishioners who are experiencing deep grief and loss this Holy Week and Easter. So for them, I imagine that the day of Resurrection is a bittersweet and even confusing day. For them, then, this image. It's a common flower, showing up here and there at Nativity. I don't know if it is a weed or a flower, but it is beautifying the hilltop amongst the true thistles and rattesnake grass and miner's lettuce and purple morning glory and the wild iris and milkmaids and lilies. Even amongst the jumble, the new life of God appears.

Gethsemane

Another’s words
are not sufficient,
cannot describe the intense desire
to do as he asked, Wait with me.
Like another, my eyelids close,
Every intention to wait and watch and weep
with him
fades like a dream,
like the vigil itself
meant to be remembered,
caressed,
held.
Instead I sleep again, three times,
I cannot fulfill my desire.
But still I rise with him in the garden
and dare accompany him. And he
forgives.

Tenebrae

21. E Tenebris

COME down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand,
For I am drowning in a stormier sea
Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee:
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand,
My heart is as some famine-murdered land,
Whence all good things have perished utterly,
And well I know my soul in Hell must lie
If I this night before God’s throne should stand.
“He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase,
Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name
From morn to noon on Carmel’s smitten height.”
Nay, peace, I shall behold before the night,
The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame,
The wounded hands, the weary human face.


Oscar Wilde (1854–1900). Poems. 1881.

Five Years

The fifth anniversary of my mother's death is on Sunday, but I really am going to celebrate it on Monday. She died on the Monday of Holy Week, and as I was recounting to parishioners the other day, the gift of that week, which is still present to me, was the overwhelming outpouring of love from friends, colleagues, from the church. Clergy and lay friends stepped in and took over Holy Week; they did not ask, they simply came. I came back on Easter Day with mom's ashes under my arm; my dear friend Nancy Eswein came and served, friends from all over came to church, mom's ashes rested under the altar. It was the best Easter ever.

My friend Pamela's father died just six days before, so this time of year is dear for both of us. We spoke today of our parents, and it's true; no matter what day the 5th falls on, the Monday of Holy Week is always a solemn day for me. The church does that to us...takes a day and makes it holy.

That Sunday, Easter, I preached a sermon and baptized a young six year old boy and talked about the messengers at the empty tomb. I told about the messenger that had been sent to me several weeks before.

I said, "in the dream, my father and mother were together, my father completely healthy, free of his own life-ending illness, and he was there holding the arm of my mother, who was struggling in her own distress. And when I woke I knew in my soul that resurrection, that new life happens, that the communion of saints is real, that in his life in God, my father is whole and healthy and watching out for his beloved. And he and Jesus are both welcoming her into heaven. And that knowledge is real, more real to me than any theology."

May she rest in peace, and rise in glory.

Fishing

For some reason I've found myself in lots of fishing conversations recently. I have several friends who are avid fly fishermen, and then I came across this picture I took many moons ago of my brother Peter, fishing I believe along the Rogue River in Oregon. I have so many fond memories of Peter and fishing...he loved to fish, whether with a drop line off the Balboa pier in Newport, or in a river on a family vacation, or just anywhere. At the time, I didn't understand; I didn't like fish, couldn't imagine waiting, waiting, waiting for the fish to bite, if ever it did, the whole enterprise seemed to me an exercise in frustration.

Nowadays, the people I know who love to fish, Paul, and Nancy, for example, exemplify people who are passionate about most everything they do. And fishing no less than anything else. At the same time, in my imagination, fishing takes my friends away to another place, where quiet and waiting and yes, perhaps an occasional nibble on the line, are ultimately satisfying. I'm not sure I'll ever even try fishing, but I have a new appreciation for the love of it.

the wind...

It has been blowing a gale up on the hilltop these past few days. The wind comes howling through the Lucas Valley, which connects ocean to bay. The wind is always unsettling to me, disturbing, although also compelling when I am out sailing, windsurfing or doing other "wind" activities. This picture is a very old one which I just had scanned. Not the best photograph, but it speaks to me today. It was taken in 1991 when I attended the Henley Royal Regatta with my friend Sandy. This is of some grass in the English countryside. I love the action of the wind and the stillness at the center. It reminds me of the view I had of my own legs this morning at rowing...as we take up the rate and row full pressure, the water we are rowing in begins to blur, while the rhythm of the rowers stays in full, clear view.

Kind of like a life of seeking God. Things can be blurry, speeding by, and usually there is a little glimpse of clarity, even when the wind is howling so loud you can barely stand it, or the boat is going so fast you cannot believe it. That little glimpse, like the small portion of bread and wine we receive each time we make Eucharist together, nourishes us for the journey ahead.

Pie Jesu and what friends are for...

This morning an incredible Brandon Marsalis rendition of Faure's Pie Jesu woke me gently...I had to go find the music and buy the CD it was so beautiful. My fleeting thought was "if I died right now, listening to this music, I would be happy." What a thought when one is trying to put warm feet on cold floor and get moving. I eventually did get moving, but only because of the thought of my friends waiting for me at the boathouse. I actually lay in bed and came up with so many plausible excuses to give: tax appointment is coming up, I don't feel well, Molly Brown needs me to stay home...and some others I have already forgotten. Fortunately, the strains of the music plus the allure of friends got me vertical eventually. And I'm glad I did, it's a good day.

a soothing light

Today I spent a good part of the day at the Bishop's Ranch, which is the retreat center of our diocese. I've been going there since the early nineteen seventies, when I went there with my youth group from St. Paul's in Burlingame. The chapel has always been a soothing place for me, from the dark cold mornings when we used to follow the Franciscan friars in for a sleepy Morning Prayer, to today, when the chapel was filled with warm light and the glow from the stained glass windows.

I found myself giving thanks today, and the words of T.S. Elliott came:

You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid.

Stay and see

I had a wonderful conversation yesterday with my friend and colleague Jim, about the holiness of the hilltop Nativity sits on and the ways in which the seasons change in front of us. There is something profoundly satisfying about being in a place long enough to be able to enter in to the subtle changes that nature offers. I realize that I felt that way about Mt. Calvary, and now understand the same relationship with Nativity.

We were talking about the green, which has just in the past couple of weeks burst out, thanks to the rain we have received. We talked about the grey green hills and our longing over the past month for Mother Nature's regular show of emerald green new growth...it has been slow in coming, and perhaps will be shorter this year, but that moment of brightness on our ever-changing hills is here for an instant right now, it may be gone this afternoon. As we sat overlooking the valley, we both breathed in the moment and gave thanks for it. Amazing just how far just a hint of the holy can carry us.

I love the rattlesnake grass at Nativity. It is a later spring thing, but I saw yesterday the beginnings of it as I walked Molly Brown. For everything a season!

the green green trees

Today after church I went home and collected Molly Brown and my camera and headed back to hike back down to the creek. It takes less than five minutes to travel from the church parking lot to the water's edge, but today, it took me at least twenty minutes since I spent lots of time trying to capture the beauty on the way. I've realized that Molly Brown is an excellent photography companion...she simply sits down or continues her nosey exploration when I decide to spend ten minutes trying to photograph one tree. The light was beautiful, but hard to photograph today.

One Ugly Row

U - G - L - Y - you ain't got no alibi! You UGLY! You UGLY!!

This is a football cheer that our teammate Beth taught us a few years back. To be most effective it must be shouted several times and immediately followed by raucous mocking laughter at the uglies. That was my boat today, eight uglies and a coxswain who was trying to make us pretty, but to no avail. Sorry, Francis!!

When Kate started the team chanting that cheer about my boat today (ok, I egged her on, but still, they did chant!!), our boat screamed with laughter too. Sort of, with forced smiles. We had just slogged through thirty minutes of the ugliest rowing most of us had experienced in a loooooooong time. No power, oars dragging, crashing back and forth, we were so far behind the other boats that they were getting cold from sitting still while we were still catching our breath. U G L Y!

There were even comments about Jesus walkin' on the water and what was NOT walking on the water today. It made me think of the story of Peter trying to step out of the boat and sinking...that's what we did today...sink!

After practice, we talked about it. Some great learnings were voiced: we pulled it together at the end, we got to experience a dose of humility, we "lost well" (and as I kept pointing out, by a large margin as well!) We went and had breakfast and went our separate ways. We'll meet back up again Monday morning, for yet another practice. Another chance to find the elusive perfect stroke that we are seeking, the swing that we didn't have today. The boat speed. The set. The commitment. The whole enchilada.

That's what practice is about, finding ways to put what we know to use. Together. That is the key item that may have been our undoing today: whatever it was that we were doing, we were not doing it together. 8 uglies instead of one ugly boat. Which created one ugly row for all of us.

As I sit and finish my sermon for tomorrow, I can't help but ponder the Ugly Row in light of the Gospel story of the day, which is the story of Jesus ascending the mountain and being transfigured - mystically changed - in front of the others. To me, the more important part of the story is the going down the mountain, carrying that vision of transformation and holiness with them. There's a glimpse of God's glory that is to be taken down the mountain and shared with others.

In the church, we will speak of the glimpse we have seen and will carry it down the hilltop in various ways. We've all seen the glimpse we need...it's what keeps us coming back for more and more and what keeps us giving, more and more.

At rowing, at least today, the glimpse was evident in its absence. That which we seek, and can't make happen on our own, did not appear today. Perhaps Monday. The glimpse is what keeps us coming back for more and more and what keeps us practicing, more and more.

Until at last we will have a beautiful row...or at least, less U G L Y!

You are the new Day

I woke up singing this song this morning, one of my favorites. I love the a cappella and close harmony and most especially, the lyrics! I had fun searching for this on YouTube...lots of posts by high school students extolling this song and talking about singing it in their choirs and glee clubs. I'm so happy high school students still have these activities, since they were so formative in my life. I think that's where I probably learned this song.

Anyway, the lyrics, and prayers for the New Day!

You are the New Day

I will love you more than me
and more than yesterday
If you can but prove to me
you are the new day

Send the sun in time for dawn
Let the birds all hail the morning
Love of life will urge me say
you are the new day

When I lay me down at night
knowing we must pay
Thoughts occur that this night might
stay yesterday

Thoughts that we as humans small
could slow worlds and end it all
lie around me where they fall
before the new day

One more day when time is running out
for everyone
Like a breath I knew would come I reach for
the new day

Hope is my philosophy
Just needs days in which to be
Love of life means hope for me
borne on a new day

You are the new day

A tree of birds

Ever since I've been trying to learn about my new camera, I have been spending more time popping outside at church and just watching. The other night, as the sun was setting and I was working in my office, I heard the loud call of birds. I went out, and two of the trees just off the parking lot were literally covered with large crows. I knew the picture I wanted but could not quite get it. It looked like live Christmas trees with bird ornaments, if you can imagine that in your mind.

Yesterday was such a joy for me in another way; several colleagues and I went on a short hike to the creek and to the magic forest and then went to lunch and had a wonderfully deep conversation about the church and about faith and about communities of learning. They liked seeing the part of Nativity that the congregation is only just beginning to learn about and it made my heart sing to show it to them.

Here's my not-so-successful attempt at the Christmas tree of birds!

a thought for the day

My friend Randall Day introduced me to David Whyte. I am loving his book "Crossing the Unknown Sea." Here is a little snippet that struck me so true this morning,

"We speak of genius when we speak of leadership, hoping for some of that elusive genius in ourselves, but the word genius in its Latin origniality means simply, the spirit of a place. The genius of Galapagos lies in its being unutterably itself; the genius of an individual lies in the inhabitation of their peculiar and particular spirit in conversation with the world. Genius is something that is itself and no other thing."

Today at rowing my boat was growly, edgy, perturbed; perhaps not everyone felt this way, but enough did such that, as our coxswain Brigitte cheerily pointed out, we fell apart. Rowed terribly. Fought each other. Lost the race. Actually, lost three races. Admitted it, tried to start again. The rowing was not stellar, not what we could have done. And at the same time, there was some maturity in the recognition of our peculiar spirit this morning. In the past, I might have let a bad row like this morning ruin my day. But in conversation with my crew, and in recognition of their spirit today, I am ok. We will try again on Monday!

Why be an Episcopalian?

the trees look like people walking the labyrinth

I love the passage of Jesus healing the blind man. from Mark 8:23, Jesus took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man's eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, "Do you see anything?" He looked up and said, "I see people; they look like trees walking around." Once more Jesus put his hands on the man's eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.

That people would look like trees walking around, it's an image that makes me wonder what other things people look like, when they are not looking like people. And the reverse,what trees look like when they are not busy looking like trees. At Nativity last night, I stepped outside and watched the sun go down. To me, it looked as though the oak trees wanted to walk our new labyrinth, so I took this picture, and kind of like it!

Aware but not distracted

This morning at practice we did four minute pieces up and down the ferry channel in the cold dark morning. Our coach has been putting out "even" boats, and it is fun to race up and down with a boat right next to you. This morning we were working on technique (for me, faster hands away and body over) and trying to practice that at rates that were brisk but not crazy.

As we were going out on of pieces, our coach said to our boat "be aware of the boat next to you, but don't be distracted." What wise words that apply to so much more than rowing! Be aware but not distracted...be attentive but not reactive, pay attention but don't look over...there were many ways to receive this, but the point was, do your best even though you can hear the oarlocks of the other boat and their catches and their coxswain urging them on. Stay focused, head in the boat, the only change you can make is to yourself.

Is this not one of the core teachings of Jesus? Know your surroundings: the five thousand people are hungry and tired, but don't get distracted...don't go running into town to buy them somethng, don't send them away to forage for themselves, evaluate your circumstance and then offer what you have...five loaves of bread and two fish, which turned out to be more than enough! Offer just what you have, the best of yourself, and that will be enough. It always is.

Morning Light

The morning of Barack Obama's inauguration, I got up very early and headed out to lay in supplies (Peet's coffee and goodies) for the morning of celebration. As I left my house, I was drawn across the street to the abandoned warehouses, part of the legacy of Hamilton Air Force Base. I loved the light on the buildings and the play of the straight lines and wires. I stood for five minutes and took picture after picture, and when I was done, I thought "I got it!" I came home, transfered the pictures to my laptop, and thought "I didn't get it." What I took was not exactly what I saw. Or perhaps, what I was seeing in my mind is not what I was able to capture with the camera, although I sure tried.

It makes me think about all that is contained within us: the amazing complex brain, eyes, the dream of what is and what can be, th desire to capture the illusive moment of light...and then all that is around us, the seasons, sun, moon, wind, people, circumstance, that create every moment. And on and on. Anyway, this was a moment, not captured exactly to my liking, but good enough, on the dawn of a new day.