Morning Ritual 3: Lighting My Lamps

After opening the blinds, blessing the day and singing of the goodness of God, I make my way on around the Duncan Phyfe dining table left to me by my great aunt Mea when she passed away in 1984. I enter the foyer, careful not to stumble on the rockers of a chair that belonged to my great grandmother and which made it from Sand Mountain, AL on the back of a covered wagon. Next to the wooden rocker a lamp rests on a small side table made by daddy a number of years ago. A picture of him as a curly head boy sits next to it. Things that make a house a home.

We should not nor cannot romanticize the prayers of the Celts. They were prayed by people who lived in very harsh circumstances. In Celtic culture, it was the woman’s responsibility to get up each morning and kindle the home fires in a dark that would have been darker and a cold that would have been colder than most of us have experienced. She would have awakened before dawn in a house without electricity or heat. This was a necessary duty in order to provide food and comfort for her family. Her routine was her prayer. And she gave it words.

I light my first lamp of the morning and announce with her:

I kindle my fire this morning

In the presence of the Holy Trinity,

In the presence of the holy angels, and

In the presence of the holy saints,

Without malice, without jealously, without envy,

Without fear, without terror of any living thing under the sun,

but the Holy Son of God to shield me.

I find comfort in acknowledging not only the presence of God in my life but also of His holy angels and that great cloud of witnesses written about in Hebrews. It’s easy to forget how thin the veil is. Here I am reminded.

I also will be the first to admit that I am not one without malice, jealously, or envy. In fact, these all are constant struggles within me on a daily basis. Speaking these words with these women of old reminds me that I truly need God in very specific places in my life. It also lets me know my struggle was their struggle and they, too, needed this prayer toward holiness.

I move to the other side of the foyer where a hummingbird sips nectar from my mother’s small fluted lamp and the kindling turns to prayer.

O God, kindle Thou within my heart

A flame of love to my neighbor,

To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all,

To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall.

O Son of the loveliest Mary,

From the lowliest thing that liveth,

To the Name that is highest of all,

Kindle Thou within my heart a flame of love.

Is this not the Great Commandment … to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and our neighbor as ourselves? This calls to mind my dearest loves as well as those with whom I might be in conflict. It is not a sentimental or emotional love but one that expresses Christ’ love not only for those who walk in valor and truth, but also the unprincipled and untrustworthy. A love for those who are enslaved or in bondage, whether it be mentally, physically or emotionally. Again, I am reminded I don’t get to pick and choose who or how I love. I ask for a kindling.

Whoever thought turning on a morning lamp could so sacred?

Just an ordinary moment.

Morning Ritual 2: Opening the Blinds

Lord God, Almighty and Everlasting Father,

You have brought us in safety to this new day.

Preserve us by Thy mighty power

That we may not fall into sin or be overcome by adversity.

And in all we do, lead us to the fulfilling of Your purpose.

Through Jesus Christ our Lord,

Amen.

For a decade or more, I have been daily praying this Divine Office prayer as I move the magnet on the large wall calendar that hangs next to the sink in my vanity. A picture of my immediate family is attached and I pray it for us: my husband, my children, my grandchild, for me. I pray it from memory; I pray it habitually, but certainly not without thought. Each word is guarded and meant. 

I move from the bedroom to the kitchen where I stand at the coffee maker and wait for the first cup to brew before I enter the dining room to open the blinds.

So many years ago, at the suggestion of Graham Cooke, I asked the Lord, “How do You want me to know You?” After some time, I sensed He was saying, “As good.” I picked up Bill Johnson’s book, “God is Good” and actually read and studied it with a group of women. It was also during this time that a song formed in my heart. I began using it as a welcome to the day as I opened that first blind of the morning.

I say to this day, “You are blessed.”

And I declare I serve a mighty God,

Who today will do exceedingly abundantly more than I can ask or think.

I say You are a good, good God,

And I eagerly anticipate Your goodness today.

Sometimes it is still very dark outside and at other times I can see the beginning of light coming from the Eastern sky. Whichever, it is necessary and right to start the day with God’s goodness in mind.

I really can’t remember when I began singing this, but I do recall the November morning in 2017 when I sang it to my 9th grade nephew Levi on the way to school. He was not impressed, and told his mother later that day that not only had I sung to him … but it didn’t even rhyme. Oh, how I love that boy and treasure those times of taking him to school. He didn’t let me get away with anything. He always had an answer. And it was most often very thought provoking and startling.

It was only a few weeks later that I sat at the end of my brother’s bed holding his right foot just an hour or so before those feet would walk him into his eternal home. It was then that I sang that song to Levi again and to all who had gathered, declaring that we serve a good God who does so much more than we can ask or think. Even in the hard, questionable places. 

I have had a lot of loss in my life since that day of singing to Levi in the car and at my brother’s feet. So much heartbreak. Even now life is not always easy. But this morning, as most every morning, I opened that blind … and sang.

Just an ordinary moment.

Morning Ritual 1: Washing my Face

I have entire shelves allotted to books on prayer. Some are on how to pray, others are on prayer itself, and still others are filled with actual prayers that can be prayed just by reading them. Anything from prayers of the saints to prayers for my children. From the Daily Office prayers to prayers prayed through the centuries by those who prayed. From how to pray using color to using my body as a prayer language. Of course, none of these make me a pray-er. They just make me someone who has shelves lined with books on prayer; because when it comes to praying, I’m just as inept, and maybe even more so, than the next guy or gal. In fact, if silence is prayer, which some say it is, I’m doing a pretty good job. 

However, a number of years ago, my bookshelf began filling up with yet another genre of prayer books that has become home to me. I began reading authors such as J. Philip Newell, Esther de Waal, John O’Donohue and Mary C. Earle, among others. I even did an entire year’s devotional with Kenneth McIntosh. All authors of Celtic spirituality. Up until that point, like most good Bible believing Christians, I thought Celtic spirituality was something to be avoided at all costs. After all, what comes to mind when you hear the word Celtic? Druids. Paganism. Nature worship. But what I discovered is that these Celtic people had a strong leading and yearning for the Creator of nature. And that was totally different and certainly nothing to be afraid of. 

What I also learned is that these people brought prayer into every single aspect of their daily lives. From kindling their home fires in the morning to milking the cows to a baby’s first breath. Nothing was untouched by or out of scope for prayer or their need for God in the mundane activities of life.

It didn’t take long for desire for this type of praying to rise in me and so I began with a very simple morning ritual … that of washing my face, one of the very first things I do upon rising. I filled my palms with water and three times “splashed” my face, with a declaration with each touch: 

“Glory be to the Father of Life;

To the Son of Love;

To the Spirit of Peace.”

Then raise my head to the cadence of 

“The Triune of Grace.”

I have been doing this for so long now that whether I mouth the words or not, I feel a depth of holiness upon rinsing my face. Who would have ever thought that such a mundane act could be so sacred? The Celts did. 

Yes, prayer is many things and there are many ways to accomplish and participate in it.  But to pray as the Celts brings it home to me, quite literally. It has truly become a way for me to live my ordinary moments in divine communion. And that works for me.

Just an ordinary moment.

Morning Ruach

I am a morning person, which means I already get up pretty early. However, I do not care for this change to Daylight Savings Time. I’d vote in a heartbeat to leave the “daylight” as it is and not try to manipulate our emotions into thinking we have more or less sunlight. But like everyone else, I must make the best of it. 

So this morning my alarm went off at it’s regular time; albeit an hour earlier than yesterday even though the clock numbers still read my normal rising. I made my coffee, turned on some low lit lamps and made my way to the place where I sit each morning: at a trestle table in my sunroom in front of four large windows that look out into my backyard. It is still very dark but this morning I can hear the beautiful semi-low pitched tune coming from my chimes that hang on the deck. Because of their tuning, I can sometimes hear Amazing Grace (okay, and sometimes Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer — according to the particular swing of the gong), but this morning it is just chiming randomly. I always smile to whatever musical melody is playing because I hear it as a personal love song from the Spirit Himself. 

And so I say, “Good morning,” as it would be rude not to do so. After all, in the Hebrew tradition the word for wind, ruach, was also the word used for “God.” 

Sitting down in front of the window, I cannot only hear the wind but I can make out a small contrast in the tall pine tree in the back of the yard swaying against the backdrop of a still darkened sky. Movement. The sign of life. Not wanting to rush beyond this moment of sensory holiness, I sit … and watch … and listen.

Prayer forms.

O Ruach of Creation, in the beginning You hovered above the wildly turbulent waters wooing the earth to rise out of the deep. You beckoned life of every source to be formed out of that earth. 

O Ruach of Life, You breathed into that very first moment, invigorating Your creation with energy. And over time, You breathed life into my body, my soul, my spirit, inviting me to be a part of your purpose and plan.

O Ruach of Whirlwinds, You bear me up in the storms of life, teaching me to trust You in the chaos that roars around me.

O Ruach of Presence, I cannot see You, but I know You are near as I experience Your rhythm and feel Your power; as I hear Your sometimes poignant and haunting music as it plays through Your creation and reaches places of loneliness within me.

O Ruach of Dance, you blow over the places that stifle me and keep me stuck, guiding me in the way You would have me move … a freedom known only by abandonment and by giving in to Your movement.

Blow O Ruach. May my sails billow wide. May I breathe deeply the gift of inspiration. May I be carried to the place of my resurrection. May I be fully free.

Indeed. Let it be.

An ordinary moment.

Avoiding Rejection

The question was a serious one. A deeply thought provoking one. The subject a hard one. But her hand shot up so fast as we sat in that circle in my sunroom that we couldn’t do anything but laugh. 

“Have you ever experienced rejection?”

Of course, we already knew her answer as we had just earlier been sitting around the dining room table discussing her situation. 

The question itself stemmed from a conversation I had had with my niece a number of weeks prior when she said, “I try not to put myself in situations where I will be rejected.”  I flippantly responded, “Me, too,” but as I have thought about that statement and my response, I have come to the conclusion that unless we live alone in a tent in the middle of a desert miles and miles from civilization, it is a total impossibility and practice in futility to avoid rejection. And even then we will most likely be concerning ourselves with why no one is checking up on us. And then feel rejected.

A quick look in the dictionary and you will find this concerning rejection.

To refuse to have, take, recognize, accept, etc.

To discard as useless or unsatisfactory

To cast out or eject; vomit

That’s a pretty harsh list because when we think of rejection, we think in terms of people and relationships. More specifically, people we love. Or did love. People we have allowed into our inner circle. Why else would their rejection carry such a sting? 

One by one the ladies in the circle began to share their stories of being rejected. And there were many, each speaking of disappointment, disillusionment, and pain. Here are just a few.

A mother who tells her daughter, “I don’t love you.”

A teacher who says, “You don’t dress right.” When it was all she had.

An exclusion from a girls’ night out.

A grieving widow thrown out of her home by a hateful and evil stepson.

An employer that says, “You are no longer relevant; your service is no longer needed.”

And what woman does not have some kind of hurtful dating experience to tell? When I told the ladies of a couple of mine, they didn’t know whether to cringe or laugh, so they did both. On one occasion, I had been dating a fellow for a while. There was no exchange of class ring or real verbal commitment except that we had been seeing only each other (or so I thought) for a significant period of time. One afternoon I received a call from a girlfriend who said she felt like she needed to let me know that she and this said boyfriend had been out parking the night before, even giving me the location. How does one respond to that? “Thank you for calling”? And then after another much longer involvement with a guy, yet another life-long girlfriend showed up on my doorsteps saying she wanted me to know that she had been on a date with this said boyfriend the night before. I still haven’t figured out if these girls were my friends or not. Ironically, this last episode was also the day my future husband showed up at my house with his parents for homemade peach ice cream.

After a lengthy discussion concerning rejection, one of the young women in our group boisterously said, “The only way to avoid rejection is to lock yourself up in your house and never go out.”

My point exactly! And even then you’d have to never answer your phone, never check your mail, and never ever get on social media. 

In other words, there really is no way to avoid it. Life just presents it to you. Rejection.

Since that Sunday night with my ladies, I have heard accounts from other sources. Much more serious ones than high school betrayals.

A mother’s last words from her death bed telling her daughter, “I never knew how to love you.”

A grieving daughter suffering the loss of a father who has turned away and become a man she no longer recognizes as the one who raised her.

A daddy telling his young boy before he left him and his mother, “You are not the kind of son I wanted.”

That is some hard stuff right there. 

But if there’s any good news concerning rejection, this might be it: we and they are in really good company.

As we press further into the Lenten season and the Passion story, we are becoming more and more aware of this One who was “rejected by many,” as Isaiah tells us. 

Jesus told His own disciples that He would be rejected by the elders, the leading priests, and the teachers of religious law (Luke 9:22). And He was. 

To those in authority, Jesus asked, “Didn’t you ever read this in the Scripture? ‘The stone [Me] that the builders [you] rejected has now become the chief cornerstone’?” (Matthew 21:42).

And speaking again to His disciples concerning the coming age, Jesus once again says, “But first the Son of Man must suffer terribly and be rejected by this generation” (Luke 17:25).

And don’t think for a minute that each of us hasn’t had a voice in the crowd that cried out, “Crucify Him!”

So what do we do with all of that? The Scripture is pretty clear about that one, too.

“Having loved His own who were in the world,” those who were about to scatter and leave Him to suffer alone, “He loved them to the end.”

And from the cross, hovering above those who had just nailed Him there, “Father, forgive them.” 

That’s how we avoid rejection. We don’t play into it. We love and we forgive. 

But there was one more time when Someone turned His back on Jesus. We hear it when He cries out from the cross in a loud voice, “‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?’ that is, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” (Matthew 27:46.)

His Father … the One with whom He had never ever been separated, turned His face away. It was the ultimate rejection. Yet even here, the turning away held purpose. And it’s what held Him there.

Love and forgiveness … for you and me. 

Again, when it comes to rejection, there’s no way to avoid it. But what we can do is choose to live as Christ lived and love and forgive those who do turn their backs to us.

Just an ordinary moment.