The Celtic Monk Musings

We’ve passed another observance of the week filled with mystery, called Holy. Anticipation began on Passion Sunday as we read of the triumphal entry, and the waving of palms, all the while knowing what was to come. I tend to live this season with an almost palpable awareness of the light and the darkness… the goodness and evil at hand.

As I went to the texts and let them seep into me, I always walked away changed. Everything I heard, read, or saw during those holy days was run through the filter of the cosmic happenings. I was aware that the whole creation was indeed still groaning. Christ’s pain and betrayal was real in the Amber Alert posted from Georgia… in the body of the little girl found at the trash dump in Florida… in the less than promising unemployment forecast. These were the realities of walking with the Son of Man this 2010 Holy Week towards a certain death; and yet.

Like the disciples, we continue to walk with Him. We go ahead when He asks to prepare a meal of remembrance and celebration of the Passover. We stay by His side, listening to every word, understanding only that what we hear is Truth. And somewhere in His conversation with us, we realize that even now He is telling us that there is hope despite what we see, hear or feel. Hope beyond the situation and circumstances — that we must continue to trust.

I was taught that the mandate of Maundy Thursday referred to Christ’s new command to His followers to love. But this year I found several other mandates wound in these texts. I saw a mandate to humility as Jesus washed the feet of the disciples and humbled Himself before them. I saw a mandate to know the time, or better yet to be aware of God’s timing, as Jesus was aware that ‘the hour had come.’ I grasped the mandate to know and be aware of ourselves, in the same way Jesus was aware of how these things set in motion were the very will of His Father. Not pleasant, but God’s perfect will.

Like a dream I had a few months back that continues to teach me — the texts of Holy Week 2010 from the Gospel of John are still speaking to me for my good. They are still revealing, teaching me, encouraging me, causing me to wonder. And I in turn want to encourage you to sip and savor God’s word to you. My sense is there is no end to what might unfold. Blessings and Joy, THE CELTIC MONK

We’ve passed another observance of the week filled with mystery, called Holy.  Anticipation began on Passion Sunday as we read of the triumphal entry, and the waving of palms, all the while knowing what was to come.  I tend to live this season with an almost palpable awareness of the light and the darkness… the goodness and evil at hand.

As I went to the texts and let them seep into me, I always walked away changed.  Everything I heard, read, or saw during those holy days was run through the filter of the cosmic happenings.   I was aware that the whole creation was indeed still groaning.  Christ’s pain and betrayal was real  in the Amber Alert posted from Georgia… in the body of the little girl found at the trash dump in Florida… in the less than promising unemployment forecast.  These were the realities of walking with the Son of Man this 2010 Holy Week towards a certain death; and yet.

Like the disciples, we continue to walk with Him.  We go ahead when He asks to  prepare a meal of remembrance and celebration of the Passover.  We stay by His side, listening to every word, understanding only that what we hear is Truth. And somewhere in His conversation with us, we realize that even now He is telling us that there is hope despite what we see, hear or feel.  Hope beyond the situation and circumstances — that we must continue to trust.

I was taught that the mandate of Maundy Thursday referred to Christ’s new command to His followers to love.  But this year I found several other mandates woud in these texts.  I saw a mandate to humility as Jesus washed the feet of the disciples and humbled Himself before them.   I saw a mandate to know the time, or better yet to be aware of God’s timing, as Jesus was aware that ‘the hour had come.’  I grasped the mandate to know and be aware of ourselves, in the same way Jesus was aware of how these things set in motion were the very will of His Father.  Not pleasant, but God’s perfect will.

Like a dream I had a few months back that continues to teach me — the texts of Holy Week 2010 from the Gospel of John are still speaking to me for my good.  They are still revealing, teaching me, encouraging me causing me to wonder.  And I in turn want to encourage you to sip and savor God’s word to you.  My sense is there is no end to what might unfold.  Blessings and Joy, THE CELTIC MONK

I pulled my car out of the garage, heading first towards the end of the block and ultimately to I-75. As I came to the end of our street, I looked east down a deserted 8th Avenue which runs alongside a nearly empty canal from which there was enough moisture for steam to be rising in pleasant curly wafts. I had an unobstructed view the mile or so before 8th dead-ends into Hendry County when I caught my first look at the sun, bigger than the geodome at Epcot and more intensely coral than the ripest apricot, rising ever so slowly.

As you know from earlier posts, gazing at natural phenomena is something I do with some regularity. It’s as though God call’s out my name in these images. “Come look Kathleen, see what I made for you this morning!” The sun was low enough on the horizon and filtered through enough of the atmosphere that the perimeter was sharply defined against the sky. It had not yet cleared the ground…so the bottom edge appeared as though it might be resting on the earth for just a minute longer before it rose to do its work. Soon it would be too bright to look at directly, too busy lighting and warming and too ordinary for anyone to bother being caught up in its beauty.

But for the moment is was a gift. It was a gift with my name on it. It was a gift from the Creator of the Universe. I didn’t ask for, or even hint that it was something I’d love. There was no special occasion… it was just a Thursday morning. I hadn’t been particularly good and there was no holiday which it was sent to celebrate. Yet there it was in all its ginormous glory. Thank You God!

I’m sure there are times in your life and in mine that we are given such gifts but we miss them. The hurry in our step; the multi-tasking in our minds; the unresolved issues or relationships that steal our thoughts all have the potential to dim our eyes to what is right before us, and keep us from hearing God calling our name as He offers us His gifts.

The Good News of course is that the One who offers such gifts never tires of calling to us or creating – never gets discouraged that we are often deaf, dumb and blind to His presence and presents all around us. Tomorrow there will be a new sunrise and sunset, a new song of a bird calling, a new rainbow in a clear blue sky. The nature of God’s gifts of nature is that they are as the Psalmist wrote: “new every morning — so great is God’s faithfulness.”

In our recognition of the gift and the Giver we receive more than momentary good feelings, however. These short encounters with God are among the ways our hearts are knit to His heart and His Image is made more real in us. As we are touched by the Divine we are made more like Him. By faith we believe that when we see God, we are made holy, we are changed.

As spring begins to fall freshly upon us, I want to encourage you to look for the gifts of nature from the Ultimate Giver of nature’s gifts. Pause over them, take them in, delight in them and know the encounter is more than you can see, hear, feel or imagine. Our generous God is showering His glory all around us. Stop and smell the beautiful roses. PEACE AND JOY, THE CELTIC MONK

Sunrise over the Sea of Galilee

I pulled my car out of the garage, heading first towards the end of the block and ultimately to I-75.  As I came to the end of our street, I looked east down a deserted 8th Avenue which runs alongside a nearly empty canal from which there was enough moisture for steam to be rising in pleasant curly wafts.  I had an unobstructed view the mile or so before 8th dead-ends into Hendry County when I caught my first look at  the sun, bigger than the geodome at Epcot and more intensely coral than the ripest apricot,  rising ever so slowly. 

As you know from earlier posts, gazing at natural phenomena is something I do with some regularity.  It’s as though God call’s out my name in these images.  “Come look Kathleen, see what I made for you this morning!”   The sun was low enough on the horizon and filtered through enough of the atmosphere that the perimeter was sharply defined against the sky.  It had not yet cleared the ground…so the bottom edge  appeared as though it might be resting on the earth for just a minute longer before it rose to do its work.  Soon it would be too bright to look at directly, too busy lighting and warming and too ordinary for anyone to bother being caught up in its beauty. 

But for the moment is was a gift.  It was a gift with my name on it.  It was a gift from the Creator of the Universe.  I didn’t ask for, or even hint that it was something I’d love.  There was no special occasion… it was just a Thursday morning.  I hadn’t been particularly good and there was no holiday which it was sent to celebrate.  Yet there it was in all its ginormous glory.  Thank You God!

I’m sure there are times in your life and in mine that we are given such gifts but we miss them.  The hurry in our step;  the multi-tasking in our minds; the unresolved issues or relationships that steal our thoughts all have the potential to dim our eyes to what is right before us, and keep us from hearing God calling our name as He offers us His gifts.

The Good News of course is that the One who offers such gifts never tires of calling to us  or creating – never gets discouraged that we are often deaf, dumb and blind to His presence and presents all around us.  Tomorrow there will be a new sunrise and sunset, a new song of a  bird calling, a new rainbow in a clear blue sky.  The nature of God’s gifts of nature is that they are as the Psalmist wrote: “new every morning — so great is God’s faithfulness.”

In our recognition of the gift and the Giver we receive more than  momentary good feelings, however.  These short encounters with God are among the ways our hearts are knit to His heart and His Image is made more real in us.  As we are touched by the Divine we are made more like Him.  By faith we believe that when we see God, we are made holy, we are changed. 

As spring begins to fall freshly upon us, I want to encourage you to look for the gifts of nature from the Ultimate Giver of nature’s gifts.  Pause over them, take them in, delight in them and know the encounter is more than you can see, hear, feel or imagine.  Our generous God is showering His glory all around us. Stop and smell the beautiful roses.  PEACE AND JOY,  THE CELTIC MONK

Farewell to Farmville

 It was last fall that I finally answered an invitation on Facebook… the social networking website, to play Farmville… a social networking game.  How fun I thought, that rather than playing solitaire or mahjong by myself, I would play this farming game and be able to catch up with friends at the same time.  What could be better?

I was brand new to the world wide web of all things electronically social and it appeared to be a simplest of avenues to keep in the loop. I’d have a small interaction with friends and acquaintances from miles away as I decompressed from my day. What better way to spend 10 minutes than with that 6” x 6” plot of  flat screen ground while sending and receiving trees, chickens, fences and lambs with friends.

 It even felt familiar, this sensation of a momentary connection.  I remembered that when Sean was two and just getting his own little sense of self he practiced a ritual of comfort as he took those first steps of independence.  He would make a foray into another room, or even down stairs, or get occupied with a toy and then feeling alone, he’d run into whatever room I was in and he’d touch my leg as if to say… “I’m big enough to go off on my own… but I just want to know you’re still here.”  When he was satisfied with that knowledge… off he’d go again—without a word.

 So as I’m now experiencing a somewhat independent journey of my own, away from so many familiar people and things… it was kind of nice to be able to run to Farmville to put my hand out and touch some of the folks who were no longer in my every day.  It was indeed comforting to see their one inch by one inch face on the bottom of my Farmville screen listed as “neighbors” and to have the illusion (or is it a delusion) of being connected.

 And then there were the “gifts.”  In Gary Chapman’s book about the five love languages, he says that there are 5 ways that we prefer to give and to receive love.  There’s a short test available to see what someone else needs to do to make us feel loved… and how we like to express love to others.  It will come as no surprise to anyone who loves me that I give and receive love through gifts.  Sometimes notes and cards, sometimes the real deal, shop/buy/charge/joy/ give/smile/love.  That’s me.

 So imagine the degree of my enchantment with Farmville when I found that one way the game is successfully navigated is through the giving and receiving of gifts.  Free gifts.  Just click to send and click to open and your farm begins to grow.  Free gifts! I love this virtual world of social relationships. I even started receiving gifts and requests to be a “neighbor” from folks I didn’t know.  Now I’ve watched my share of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.  There is really only one response to “would you be mine, could you be mine, won’t you be my neighbor?”

 My farm began to flourish. And just about the time I was running out of room on my 6 x 6 plot, I learned that I could buy a bigger farm.  Whoa!  But this bigger plot wasn’t free like the first one.  And, oh heck, since I was going to buy a bigger farm anyway, I might as well, buy a few other things. After all, it didn’t cost me anything to start.  What’s a few bucks negotiable without ever leaving my computer screen?

 By now the holidays were almost upon us and there were virtual turkeys and cornucopias and then Christmas trees and gift trees and presents… there were nutcrackers, and candy cane fences, and more virtual presents to give and receive.  And I love Christmas decorations, so I had to plant more crops, and I had to visit my farm everyday so that (heaven’s no) my crops wouldn’t wither.  And if I did it just right, some days I could plant the same ground twice. I bought one house and then a shed, then a bigger house.  And now there were Christmas lights and snow.  I could buy snow and my whole farm turned from green to white, yet I could still plant and harvest. This is a great reality.

  I was helping my friends on their farms almost every day and sending them things too.  But we didn’t talk about real things only fake trees, fake livestock, fake fertilizer and sending fake gifts.  And it didn’t feel much like I was touching base with friends anymore.  I felt more like a supplier for their next hit on Farmville, as they were the suppliers for mine.  And way beyond the few minutes it took per day when I began, I was up to 30 minutes twice a day to keep it all going – an hour without any real interaction with real people.

 It was then that I first decided to quit; but there were valentines in my virtual mailbox and there were shamrock bushes to plant for extra XP.  And I’d just put out dozens of virtual flowers and they’d be drooping in two weeks… then my farm would be ugly if I didn’t go in to clean it up. I’d have an ugly vitual farm with dead virtual crops and no virtual friends.

 So my next idea was to phase out slowly and yes I know how silly this sounds. I planned to remove all the living things (vitual living things) from the farm that needed to be fed and harvested, so I sold off all my sheep and cows, all the lambs, calves and pigs—after all—if I’m quitting I don’t want them to starve.  And I plowed under all 140 squares of planting space I’d amassed.  That was a lot of harvestable ground.  I replaced it with trees and shrubs and some water features. And since I was going to be away, I took down my pretty pink fence and put up a sturdy stone fence instead, ivy covered. Don’t want any squatters you know.  And I took the Christmas nutcrackers and tin soldiers out of storage (oh yes, there’s storage for those things you buy and don’t really need anymore) and placed them strategically around the place for protection of my virtual social networking farm.

 As I fortified my farm I realized that I hadn’t visited or helped on my neighbors farms for a while, and come to think of it, they hadn’t visited or helped on mine.  And, hmmm… we never really talked or connected as I thought we would even when we did virtually interact across the miles of Farmville.

 My virtual social networking foray was never as social as it seemed at first possible.  Now that I’ve given up the farm, I wonder if anyone will notice that’s I’m no longer their neighbor?  Or is this really just one more way (albeit a 21^st century way) that people fall through the cracks of other peoples lives without ever having to say good-bye, or I’ll miss you?  PEACE AND JOY, THE CELTIC MONK

It was last fall that I finally answered an invitation on Facebook… the social networking website, to play Farmville… a social networking game.

How fun I thought, that rather than playing solitaire or mahjong by myself, I would play Farmville and be able to catch up with friends at the same time. What could be better?

I was brand new to the world wide web of all things electronically social and it appeared to be a simplest of avenues to keep in the loop. I’d have a small interaction with friends and acquaintances from miles away as I decompressed from my day. What better way to spend 10 minutes than with that 6” x 6” plot of flat screen soil while sending and receiving trees, chickens, fences and lambs with friends.

It even felt familiar, this sensation of a momentary connection. I remembered that when Sean was two and just getting his own little sense of self he practiced a ritual of comfort as he took those first steps of independence. He would make a foray into another room, or even down stairs, or get occupied with a toy and then feeling alone, he’d run into whatever room I was in and he’d touch my leg as if to say… “I’m big enough to go off on my own… but I just want to know you’re still here.” When he was satisfied with that knowledge… off he’d go again—without a word.

As I’m now experiencing a somewhat independent journey of my own, away from so many familiar people and things… it was kind of nice to be able to run to Farmville to put out my hand and touch some of the folks who were no longer in my every day. It was indeed comforting to see their one inch by one inch face on the bottom of my Farmville screen listed as “neighbors” and to have the illusion (or is it a delusion) of being connected.

And then there were the “gifts.” In Gary Chapman’s book about the five love languages, he says that there are 5 ways that we prefer to give and to receive love. There’s a short test available to see what someone else needs to do to make us feel loved… and how we like to express love to others. It will come as no surprise to anyone who loves me that I give and receive love through gifts. Sometimes notes and cards, sometimes the real deal, shop/buy/charge/joy/ give/smile/love. That’s me.

So imagine the degree of my enchantment with Farmville when I found that one way the game is successfully navigated is through the giving and receiving of gifts. Free gifts. Just click to send and click to open and your farm begins to grow. Free gifts! I love this virtual world of social relationships. I even started receiving gifts and requests to be a “neighbor” from folks I didn’t know. Now I’ve watched my share of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. There is really only one response to “would you be mine, could you be mine, won’t you be my neighbor?”

So my farm began to flourish. And just about the time I was running out of room on my 6 x 6 plot, I learned that I could buy a bigger farm. Whoa! But this bigger plot wasn’t free like the first one. And, oh heck, since I was going to buy a bigger farm anyway, I might as well, buy a few other things. After all, it didn’t cost me anything to start. What’s a few bucks negotiable without ever leaving my computer screen?

By now the holidays were almost upon us and there were virtual turkeys and cornucopias and then Christmas trees and gift trees and presents… there were nutcrackers, and candy cane fences, and more virtual presents to give and receive.
And I love Christmas decorations, so I had to plant more crops, and I had to visit my farm everyday so that (heaven’s no) my crops wouldn’t wither. And if I did it just right, some days I could plant the same ground twice. I bought one house and then a shed, then a bigger house. And now there were Christmas lights and snow. I could buy snow and my whole farm turned from green to white, yet I could still plant and harvest. This is a great virtual reality.

I was helping my friends on their farms almost every day and sending them things to help their farms grow. But we didn’t talk about real things only fake trees, fake livestock, fake fertilizer and sending fake gifts. And it didn’t feel much like I was touching base with friends. In fact, I began to feel more like a supplier for their next hit on Farmville, as they were the suppliers for mine. And way beyond the few minutes it took per day when I began, I was up to 30 minutes twice a day to keep it all going – an hour without any real interaction with real people.

It was then that I first decided to quit; but there were valentines in my virtual mailbox and there were shamrock bushes to plant for extra XP. And I’d just put out dozens of virtual flowers and they’d be drooping in two weeks… then my farm would be ugly if I didn’t go in to clean it up. I’d have an ugly vitual farm with dead virtual crops and no virtual friends.

So my next idea was to phase out slowly and yes I know how silly this sounds. I planned to remove all the living things (vitual living things) from the farm that needed to be fed and harvested. I sold off all my sheep and cows, all the lambs, calves and pigs—after all—if I’m quitting I don’t want them to starve. And I plowed under all 140 squares of planting space I’d amassed. That was a lot of harvestable ground. And since I was going to be away, I took down my pretty pink fence and put up a sturdy stone fence instead, ivy covered. Don’t want any squatters you know. And I took the Christmas nutcrackers and tin soldiers out of storage (oh yes, there’s storage for those things you buy and don’t really need anymore) and placed them strategically around the place for protection of my virtual social networking farm.

As I fortified my farm I realized that I hadn’t visited or helped on my neighbors farms for a while, and come to think of it, they hadn’t visited or helped on mine. And, hmmm… we never really talked or connected as I thought we would even when we did virtually interact across the miles of Farmville.

My virtual social networking foray was never as social as it seemed at first possible. Now that I’ve given up the farm, I wonder if anyone will notice that I’m no longer their neighbor? Or is this really just one more way (albeit a 21st century way) that people fall through the cracks of other peoples lives without ever having to say good-bye, or I’ll miss you? BLESSINGS AND LOVE, THE CELTIC MONK

While visiting St. John’s last fall, I purchased a beautiful handblown glass orb called “The Tree of Enchantment.”  It’s a crystal clear softball sized sphere with deep jeweltones blown into the very top portion.  When you look inside, you see several different glass channels that look very much like the trunk of on old tree. They are the vehicle through which the colored glass flowed to the top.  It’s artful. It’s stunning.

     While taking it out of its box this week, as I’ve done several times, for the first time I noticed the very bottom of it. Where the glass blowers pipe connected to the bottom of the piece, it looked like a gnarled blemish.  It was reminiscient of a sacb I had on my knee in 8th grade after a bad fall on some rough concrete!

     But even as I noticed it, I knew that without this scar… my precious purchase would have none of the beauty inside and out, that drew me to it in the first place.  It would be plain, uninteresting, unable to evoke the response I had to it. Most likely I would have walked right by it as it hung in the museum shop.

     Especially as part of a spiritual discipline, I think its good to think about the scabs, the blemishes, the darkend places that make up our lives.  What were those situations, circumstances, relationships which held us low…but which God used to bring beauty and color into our lives?  Where has the Scripture been true in your experience that God gives “beauty for ashes.”

     While it would be a mental illness to seek darkness for its own sake…the practice I’m suggesting in this season of Lent is one of redemption.  We look at the mis-shapen places to invite God to show us how He has, or is working to redeem the days. We ponder and wonder so that The Light might show us His way.

      If you’d like a guide in your pursuit… I’m only an email away.  There is a Tree of Enchantment meant for Eternity inside each of us.  BLESSINGS and JOY, THE CELTIC MONK

While visiting St. John’s last fall, I purchased a beautiful handblown glass orb called “The Tree of Enchantment.” It’s a crystal clear softball sized sphere with deep jeweltones blown into the very top portion. When you look inside, you see several different glass channels that look very much like the trunk of on old tree. They are the vehicle through which the colored glass flowed to the top. It’s artful. It’s stunning.

While taking it out of its box this week, as I’ve done several times, for the first time I noticed the very bottom of it. Where the glass blowers pipe connected to the bottom of the piece, it looked like a gnarled blemish. It was reminiscient of a scab I had on my knee in 8th grade after a bad fall on some rough concrete!

But even as I noticed it, I knew that without this scar… my precious purchase would have none of the beauty inside and out, that drew me to it in the first place. It would be plain, uninteresting, unable to evoke the response I had to it. Most likely I would have walked right by it as it hung in the museum shop.

Especially as part of a spiritual discipline, I think its good to think about the scabs, the blemishes, the darkend places that make up our lives. What were those situations, circumstances, relationships which held us low…but which God used to bring beauty and color into our lives? Where has the Scripture been true in your experience that God gives “beauty for ashes.”

While it would be a mental illness to seek darkness for its own sake…the practice I’m suggesting in this season of Lent is one of redemption. We look at the mis-shapen places to invite God to show us how He has, or is working to redeem the days. We ponder and wonder so that The Light might show us His way.

If you’d like a guide in your pursuit… I’m only an email away. There is a Tree of Enchantment meant for Eternity inside each of us. BLESSINGS and JOY, THE CELTIC MONK

Okay, so I know I should pay attention when speeding down an interstate at excessive miles per hour.  And I do. Or I think I do. Or I am trying to do so.  But sometimes a “God-thing” as my friend John would say, interupts. Like on Wednesday morning this week…

It was early enough in the morning for the sun to be rising on my left just coming over the tops of the trees in the distance, a sphere of ginormous proportions.  It was so wonderful a sight that I wanted to stare.  Yet when I looked back at the road in front of me, all I could see from even that first peek, were green circles.  It made me laugh, first the looking and then the circles… none of it conducive to driving.

When I looked back a second time (once is never enough when gazing on splendor) the golden-orange glistening ball had made its way into a cloud bank that acted as a veil. It was enough cover to dim the shining, but not enough to obliterate the magnificence. There it was in all its glory behind an organza curtain through which I could still see the definition of its form and color.

As I continued to catch glimpses of it through my driver’s side window, now safely diffused behind the whisper thin clouds, it reminded me of the graciousness of God as He comes to us each day veiled in our ordinary life circumstances.  Should He come to us as the bare brilliance of His glory, we would not be able to look at Him too long. It is by His great compassion, that God reveals Himself in gentle ways to those who seek Him.

How many miles I travelled as I was taking all of this in is hard to say.  I believe it began while I was in Estero and ended as I entered Collier County. By the time it was over I was already offering a thank you to the Holy One who reveals Himself as Way, Truth and Life.

I’m thankful for moments of spiritual clarity.  I’m grateful for veiled manifestations of the Divine.  I’m wondering about the thin places I’ve considered before–if it is the physical place that makes a difference, or if its a condition of our hearts.  (Both/And, is likely)  Encouraging you this week to see with your heart and give thanks.  BLESSINGS AND JOY,  THE CELTIC MONK