Winter

Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity—the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven’s artillery—but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence.

All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice...

Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things strives for utterance. And the fear of death, or God, of the universe, comes over him—the hope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning for immortality, the vain striving of the imprisoned essence—it is then, if ever, man walks alone with God.

-Jack London, “The White Silence”

(Warning: this will probably turn out to be more of an exercise in free association than coherent thought. But that's how it goes when you're trying to write about something you don't really understand yet... You either try to capture some piece of it, however little sense it makes, or you just shut up. I'm bad at shutting up.)

I have lived 26 years in Southern California, and two in Washington. Which means I've experienced two real winters. Washington's still a good long way from the Arctic Circle, so neither of them really lived up to London's description. But it was cold, there was snow.

But the idea of the White Silence resonates with me... and to know why, I have to turn inward. One of my favorite writers describes the soul as a vast interior landscape, and as I go I am coming to see the truth in that phrase. Deserts, forests, mountains, cultivated farmlands and bland Suburbias... I've spent at least a little time in all of them--as has everyone else who's been at this for very long, I'm sure.

I think that for Lent this year my path lies Northward. (I don't think that I want to go, but that's not really relevant.) So far it's cold, and empty, and a little sad. There is a terrible beauty to winter, though. And it is where I have been led.

Easter seems a long way off.

True joy and the First Commandment...

Did anyone else find today's reading capitivating? After spending some time mulling over it, I was reminded of how much I try to control what parts God is allowed to love and what parts He's not entitled to. I know that sounds silly since He IS my creator and knows it all. But the quote about letting God love me the way God wants... "through illness or health, failure or success, poverty or wealth, rejection or praise"... sometimes I don't see illness, failure, poverty, or rejection as ways He loves me. Sometimes I feel like yes, it's fine and I feel comfortable with Him having the "servant side" of me, and yet horde the "lonely side" of me-embarrassed and even ashamed. Oh....that God has grace for what seems like such a bi-polar mess!

I have recently been called to something new in my life. It wasn't something I sought or asked God for, and it certainly is not something I feel I have any ability or talent in. In that light, I feel like it has been one of the hardest things I've been asked to do. And I have complained, poured out my heart, begged God at times to take it away. But today-and if I have to take it one day at a time I will-today I choose to say

..."I abandon myself into your hands;
do with me what you will.
Whatever you may do, I thank you;
I am ready of all, I accept all....
Into your hands I commend my soul;
I offer it to you with all the love of my heart,
for I love you, Lord,
and so need to give myself,
to surrender myself into your hands,
without reserve
and boundless confidence
For you are my Father." -Charles de Foucauld

Late notice for our first Sunday morning liturgy & prayer meeting

Hey everyone,
We will be meeting at the church office tomorrow morning, 2/23 from 9.30 - 10.30am before the Sunday morning service. The hour will consist of worship in song, liturgy and prayer. Sorry about the late notice on this, but hope to see you there.

Reflections on Ash Wednesday Mass

I stumbled into Ash Wednesday Mass yesterday frazzled from studying and rushing into the building after fighting the traffic to get in. The church was filled, people lined up against the wall, and the latecomers packed the lobby. I squeezed myself into the main sanctuary so I could get a glimpse of what was going on. I found the last pew and bashfully gestered to those sitting there so I could squeeze in. I've been to a mass before and I knew I better grab a seat.

I found myself sitting between an old woman with a walking cane and a young teenage girl who was mentally and physically challenged and blind in one eye. I also found myself mumbling nonsense under my breath when everyone else knew how to respond with a "Praise Be To God" or "And To You", or having delayed reactions to lifting of hands or kneeling. I tried to blend in as best as possible, but I felt a thousand pairs of eyes staring at me. I felt like a foreigner and so deathly out of place.

The priest spoke on the season of Lent and how we can get wrapped up in what to give up in this season. What should our alms be? How about chocolate? Or smoking? I felt convicted as I too was consumed in my thoughts this week of what I needed to give up to make this a true Lent season of misery and torchure. But, he spoke about the Lenten season as a time to be healed of our brokeness and where we can find true wholeness in God. I sat there overwhelmed with emotion.

I looked around me. The room was filled with men and women, young and old, newborns and grandparents, those who were broken on the outside and those broken on the inside. I looked again at the old woman with her walking cane to my left and the blind and handicapped girl on my right. I felt at home between the two.

We all were there seeking after the healing and wholeness for our bodies and our spirits for this season of Lent. We were all hoping that maybe this Lenten season a miracle of the body and spirit will happen. We stood up for the last prayer before the communion was handed out. Hands were raised and the young girl took hold of my hand. At that moment, I was reminded that Jesus came for the hurting, the broken, the destitute, the lonely, the outcast and marginalized.

He came for me.

Ash Wednesday Service

If you are looking for an Ash Wednesday Service, here are a list of Roman Catholic churches in Los Angeles.

http://www.laokay.com/RomanCatholic.htm

The one in Rowland Heights:
St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Catholic Church
1835 Larkvane Road, Rowland Heights, CA 91748
626 964-3629

Has Ash Wednesday service at: 8:30AM, 12Noon, 6PM, and 7:30PM (spanish service)

Thoughts about Ash Wednesday

With Ash Wednesday (AW) coming upon us, I wanted to remind folks who were interested in gaining the full experience of the Lenten season to attend an AW service tomorrow. AW marks the first day of Lent and offers an opportunity for us to recognize that while we enter a season that prepares us to experience the depths of sorrow and darkness in journeying with Christ to the cross, there is an ultimate celebration that awaits with an empty tomb and a risen Jesus on Easter morning.

While Lent can be a time for a personal journey with Christ, it is no less a communal one. I still remember a few years ago when I attended an AW service at St. Elizabeth's in Rowland Heights. It was a rainy evening and Paul and I made our way to the local parish to participate in their AW mass. It was our first service at this particular parish so we arrived early (for once). We found the sanctuary and some empty seats. Soon afterwards crowds began filling the pews. We looked around and noticed the community was made up of Hispanic, Asian and Caucasian families, young and old. There were hundreds of people awaiting the commencement of the evening mass and it didn't take long for the entire church to fill up.

The service began and while the Father exhorted us to appropriately position our hearts for the Lenten season, I couldn't help but notice the distractions. Babies were crying, children were ancy, others came in late with their wet umbrellas and jackets looking for any available seats while those already seated shifted around making room for them. Then towards the end of the Mass, we lined up and moved towards the front of the church to receive our ashes.

I'd noticed that by that time, there were lots more people who were standing in the back because there were no more seats available. With close to one thousand of us trying to get our ashes, it was clearly not going to happen without a bit of choas. Yet standing in line, tears began to fill my eyes. I sensed that the presence of Jesus was there, inviting us all to follow Him to the cross...and here I was, wanting to respond to that invitation but feeling so distracted by what was going on outside of me and feeling so divided by what was going on inside of me.

Paul and I talked about it later and he commented that it seemed symbolic to him that it was exactly this chaos that Jesus chose to come into. And then it struck me. All of us, who were wet, tired and cold on a Wednesday evening, Jesus came for. All of the peoples who were represented--young, old, black, brown, white, working class, barely-making-it class, those in poverty, Jesus chose to die for. All of us divided ones, distracted ones, crying ones, Jesus chose to be among.

It is a picture that is still so vivid in my memory. All of us herded along in that line, responding to the invitation to follow Him to the cross. I hope you all have the opportunity to experience this invitation in community as we enter into the Lenten season.

Welcome to the Lenten Journey 2007

Welcome to the Journey Through Lent 2007!

We want to use this as a medium to share our experiences and thoughts during the next several week. We're looking forward to sharing this season together with all of you.

~ Your Fellow Soujourners