The snake at Mary’s feet.

Posted on January 24, 2014 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I was in a contemplative prayer part of the retreat last weekend. I don’t quite get it. I feel like it is Old-Age meditation, rather than New Age. There isn’t a structure. I got a little distracted.

I started looking around. We were in a tiny chapel. There’s this nice sculpture of Mary to the left of the altar.

I studied it for a while. Then I looked down. Why is there a snake hanging out under Mary’s feet? Why are her feet bare?

This hardly seems fair. Are we harking back to Eve here? How long are women going to have to pay for that mistake? See my “Eve Was Framed” post for further musings on that.

Perhaps it is like the Hindu sculptures of Shiva. Sometimes he is depicted with a dwarf under his feet. It represents ignorance. By standing on it, he is supposed to be showing that he has defeated it.

Perhaps they are saying symbolically that Mary has cancelled out the error of Eve. She didn’t go against God, she submitted fully to God’s will. She didn’t say No to God. She said Yes.

There’s a problem with this imagery though. If you stand on something unstable, you yourself will become unstable. Standing on ignorance is to make your base ignorance itself. Plus, to refer to ignorance or sin, even in the negative, is still to give it energy.

Silent retreat.

Posted on January 9, 2014 by betsybeadhead | 1 Comment

I love going on silent retreats. I love making a special time to be alone with God.

And then I hate it. I feel like I’ve gone on a long road trip and I’ve forgotten something. I feel like I’m four hours away from my hairdryer or the book I meant to bring.

No matter where you go, there you are.

And that is the problem. When you go on a silent retreat, there you are. You can’t get away from yourself. You can’t talk to other people to distract you from you. You can’t listen to their problems so you don’t think about your own.

You are stuck.

And that is where the magic happens. You have to learn to live with yourself, and love yourself. You have to learn that this crazy mixed up bag of humanity that is you is loved, by God, completely and totally, head over heels, no doubt about it, loved.

You have to relax into it, this love. It is pretty overwhelming. To know that you, yes you, are beloved. To know that God wants to talk with you and listen to you, directly, no intermediaries, no message takers. There is nothing between you and God.

Everything is stripped away, and all that is left is all that is needed.

Going on retreat is like going to a deserted island, but everything is taken care of. There’s a bed, and food, and things to read, and arts and crafts to work on, and a nice place to stroll.

There’s a whole lot of nothing, and that is everything.

We spend our days just jam packed with noise. We have so much noise all the time we can’t hear ourselves think.

So we certainly can’t hear God.

Sure, you can go on retreat in your house. You don’t have to go anywhere. You can’t get away from God. God is stuck on you closer than a Band-Aid.

But sometimes you need to make a point of getting away. Sometimes you have to leave home to get it. Home has too many distractions. Home is too easy. Sure, you can turn off the television and the computer and you can set aside this time, from here to there, that you will do nothing but listen to God.

Sometimes that works.

For when it doesn’t, you have to go on retreat, with other people, where you all do it together. All together you get on that boat and you head out into the sea that is God, and there is no life raft, or oars, or sail. You are adrift on that sea, with no way of knowing where you’ll end up.

Sounds scary, right?

It is. And it is beautiful, and wonderful, and amazing. And God’s got you the whole time.

Boat – on an anchorless faith.

Posted on December 24, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I’m starting to think that the Episcopal church is better off without me. The whole deacon discernment process was put on hold a year ago. I understand now that there is no way I could speak freely and have them put their stamp of approval on me.

Because how dare I say that God is talking to me?

As Christians, our goal is to be connected with God. How can we possibly do the will of God if we can’t hear God?

Oh, right, I forget. We are supposed to trust that the priest/minister/pastor is hearing from God, and telling us what to do.

Yet, this isn’t what Jesus wanted.

So I’m on my own now. I’m non denominational. I’ve been without a church home for half a year, and it is a bit terrifying. There isn’t a road map for this. I keep wanting to go back to the old way, but then I feel a pain in my gut every time I think about it. I know that I can’t. I know that isn’t my path.

I’ll go to a Christmas Eve service. I’ll take communion in a gym. I’ll celebrate Christ in the pool at the Y. I’ll go to my spiritual director. I’ll go to a friend’s house where we share what the Spirit leads us to share. I’ll host events at my house. I’ll pray over my meal in silence at a buffet. I’ll make healing jewelry for a grieving friend. I’ll write.

God is connecting with me in new ways.

It is like I’m on a boat, sailing far away at sea. I’m no longer following the coastline or the man-made lights along the shore. The lights I’m following are the same lights that sailors have followed for thousands of years.

I’m going backwards to go forwards.

The radio doesn’t work here, this far out. There’s no map on the sea either. I have no way of knowing if I’m headed the right way. I have no way of knowing if I’m lost.

I’m pushed along by the breath of God, and that suits me just fine.

This is the same breath that created the world, that gave life to Adam.

I feel safe in this boat, this ark, the ark of Noah, the ark of Moses as a baby. Both went out on trust, went out in wooden boat on the ocean, adrift. Both were there because all was lost and the old ways didn’t work anymore. Both were there because to stay where they were meant certain death.

The Covenant has an ark too. So do Torah scrolls.

The main body, the sanctuary of a traditional church building is known as a nave. It is from naval, from ship. It is an ark for people. It looks like a ship, upside down. The sharp pointed roof is the hull of the ship, pointed towards the sky.

I don’t want that ship anymore. I want to take it and turn it all upside down and set it afloat again.

I don’t think that God wants us to be grounded or set in our ways, or stuck in one place. I think God wants us to be forever trusting in God’s ways, and the only way to do that is to set sail, rudderless, anchorless, free. God wants us to take us further than we’ve ever gone and right where we need to be.

God is, was, and shall be. The Hebrew YHWH is a contraction of these words. It is a good name for God, the infinite, the forever, the now and always is. God is endless and eternal.

We can’t understand this, we humans. We invented time. We invented the idea that tomorrow follows today and each day has a separate name and that time takes place. Perhaps that is why we are confused. We don’t understand God because we can’t limit God. We can’t define God because God is indefinable.

Wake up. Hear the gulls. The day is dawning here.
There’s no shore, but we are not alone.
The beings of the sea and sky keep us company.
Wake up, and smell the salt in the air.
We are safe.
We are home.

Retreat photos (September 2013)

Posted on November 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

These were taken at the retreat I went to in September at the Sisters of Mercy convent in Nashville.

Here is the Sisters of Mercy cross that is the first thing you see when you go into your room.

Getting further into the room, there are large closets and a chest of drawers.

Panning further left

My room has my bear sitting on my bed. His name is Arthur. I think life is better with a bear.

Going all the way into the room, looking back towards the door.

Panning right. There is a nice little writing desk by the bed. Say Hello to Arthur!

A sweet picture of Mary and Jesus is over the writing desk.

The bathroom is near the door. It is just big enough.

Then, a few pictures from in the center itself.
The main chapel.

In the small chapel – our theme for the retreat. “Boat Time with Jesus” (See Luke 8:22-25)

I love how the Sisters who live there treat the small chapel as if it is their home. (It is, actually.) Here are two sets of rosaries they have left behind after their prayers.

Midway through the retreat they added a new candle. A candle is lit when there is blessed sacrament on the altar. The candle lasts about a week. It burns continuously.

On a hanging in one of the hallways. A good reminder. The quote is from Mother McAuley, the founder of the order.

Stepping stones of faith.

Posted on November 13, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I have steps going up my back yard. They lead to a small sitting area, just big enough for two people to sit side by side. Usually I am there alone. Usually I’m there to talk to God. It is like a treehouse, but without the tree. There is a lot of spiritual symbolism going on with this path and this place.

Here’s the view from the top, just after the stepping stones were dug in.

The top of my back yard is forty feet above street level. The street itself is higher up than the majority of this area. This means I can see downtown Nashville from my back yard. This means that I get to see beautiful sunsets, as my house faces west. Sometimes you have to get up above it all to see things better.

We put the patio area in many years ago, and it has settled a bit. Weeds grow between the stones, and bugs scuttle around. It has been there long enough that it looks like it came with the house. The stones are made of concrete, but they have an Escher-esque puzzle like design so they look random when they fit together.

I go up there when I am having a bad day. Sometimes I need to escape. It is far enough that it works. Sometimes I’m so angry that I’m better off being away from people for a bit. It is a safe place for my own personal time out. I’m reminded of the star stones in the “Wrinkle in Time” series by Madeline L’Engle. The Murry family would go there when they needed to be alone.

I realized at one point that I was going up there only when I was angry. That didn’t seem fair to God. I need to remember to make time to go up there when I’m happy too. Sure, I can talk to God anywhere. But this is nice. It is a little retreat.

This summer I decided to have the stepping stones put in. They were put in by a Buddhist. There’s some symbolism in that. I supplement my Christianity with Buddhism. His helper was this amazingly interesting man with thick dreadlocks and a philosophy that involves literally shaking out all your problems. If you are having a hard time, jump out and down and yell to get it out, he says. I’m willing to give it a try.

I had the stones put in because my husband didn’t like the idea of me walking barefoot in the yard. It was too much bother to put on shoes. I have fond memories of playing barefoot in my yard when I was a child. There are more moles and yellowjackets now, it seems, so he has a point. My husband is concerned for my physical and spiritual safety. He is often concerned that I’m going out too far. He’s one for staying in the boat. I’m one for walking out to Jesus on the water. He’s afraid I’m going to sink. I respect his concern, but timidity never got me anywhere. So, in went the stones.

Just having the stones leading up to the sitting area, the star stones, has been a philosophical journey. Somehow I didn’t realize that the grass was going to grow up around the stones. I didn’t think about how I was going to have to maintain them.

Isn’t this just like our spiritual life? We get started on it, and then we start to realize that it takes a lot of work to keep it going. It isn’t about buying a new Bible or a study guide. It is about sitting down and actually doing the work. Our lives of faith get rusty and dusty when we don’t work on them.

I get overwhelmed by how much work is involved sometimes. Then I remember. One stone at a time. Don’t look at the rest of them. Just do what I can. Even spending ten minutes working on them is better than nothing. Ten minutes every day for a week and it is done.

This is just like prayer. If we break it up into little things, we get there. If we don’t work on it, we are stuck at the bottom of the hill.

Demon fireplace

Posted on November 10, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

At the retreat center I went to in September, there is a mantlepiece that was handcarved by a priest. He is related to the Sister that runs the center. The center is a retirement home for Sisters of Mercy. This particular mantlepiece isn’t actually being used over a fireplace. It used be in another building but it got moved here. It is a piece of sculpture at this point.

It is a little disturbing.

This is the part that draws your attention when you come into the room.

This part is at just below eye level. It is the largest part on the piece. It took the most amount of time.

I studied it up close, in part because it frightened me. I’m making part of my practice to not run away from things that frighten me. This has many layers – it wasn’t carved from one piece of wood. I seem to recall there were at least seven layers. I’m a little concerned that a priest spent this much time working on the face of a demon.

Let’s look at it straight on.

Here’s the view when you back away and look at the whole thing.

Jesus is insignificant in comparison.

It reminds me in part of Hindu carvings of Shiva dancing, yet his foot is on a tiny, hobbled creature that represents ignorance. I doubt that the priest had this in mind when he carved it.

Keeping the Sabbath at home.

Posted on September 22, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

Recipe for how to keep the Sabbath at home: intention, exercise, silence, and tea. You don’t have to go to a retreat to have the benefits of going to a retreat. You can have this at home.

For me, part of it is that I go to the YMCA first and exercise. I suspect any exercise would be good, anywhere. Going for a walk and admiring God’s creation even if it is just walking around your neighborhood is always good. Get some sunlight and fresh air, and strengthen the temple that is your body. As for me, I like going to the YMCA because it is one of the few public places where I can talk about God with like-minded people. I get to strengthen my faith as well as my body.

When I get home, I try to commit to using no electronic devices – no TV, computers, tablets, Kindle, smartphone – you get the picture. The idea is that you are only communicating with God, so silence is optimum.

Pick an amount of time that works for you. At least an hour is a good start.

Read holy scriptures. This is essential. It is your choice as to how you interpret that.

Having a candle burning while you read can be useful.

Also, pick some non-reading activity. You can garden, paint, bead, or draw for instance. Just don’t do anything that is a “have-to” or an assignment. Do stuff that kind of distracts you enough to let God get a word in edgewise.

God can speak to us through anything. The trick is to give God space to talk to us. We spend so much time talking to God, we forget to pause long enough to listen. It is just like talking to a friend. You have to make space for your friend to answer.

For me, it is mandatory to have tea and cookies at the end.

Give thanks to God for the time that you were able to spend, and for any answers to prayers that you received.

Mother Mary

Posted on September 17, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

There was a massive stature of Mary sitting in a throne holding baby Jesus at the convent I was at this weekend on retreat. When I say massive, I mean life-size. Their eyes were human-looking. Perhaps they were prosthetic. They looked real. Both Mary and Jesus looked a little sad though. They were right in the front, facing the door as you enter. You had to pass by them to get to the chapel or the dining room. There was a triangle tile area in front of them too, which set off that area even more. The rest of the area was carpet.

I spent a lot of years in a medieval reenactment group, so seeing this human-looking statue that looks like royalty kind of messed with my head. She’s in a throne. She’s wearing a crown. She looks real. Do I bow? Do I at least pause? How close can I walk to her? She was kind of in the way. There was no easy way to get around her. To just walk by like she wasn’t there felt a little rude. So I at least paused.

Here’s what you see when you come in, showing the statue and the tile area.

Here’s a little closer.

Here’s her sad face.

I was fascinated by her, and a little creeped out. Mid-way through the retreat I had run out of things to write and I was getting a little bored. I’d thought earlier about drawing her. But drawing her meant getting in the way. The best way for me to draw her was to sit in front of her, at the tip of the tile triangle. And that meant that I’d be sitting in the middle of everything.

I’d be obvious. I’d be in the way. People would have to go around me. They would know what I was doing.

Would this annoy the nuns? Would they be upset with me? They might get annoyed that I was in the way. They might get annoyed that I was drawing their statue of Mary and Jesus.

I thought about it some more. It was the middle of the day. Most of them spent their time in their rooms. It wasn’t supper time or chapel time, so there was a good chance that I’d have the hall to myself. And if they didn’t like me doing it they could tell me to move.

I’m working on this part of my internal dialogue. I’m trying to be mindful of other’s feelings, but also mindful of my needs. I’m trying to not let imagined censorship make me stop doing something. All too often I make up what people say before I even start something, and I assume they are going to say no so I never start. I’m pushing past that and finding out that they rarely say no.

Turns out, while I was drawing, the nuns smiled at me. A fellow retreat member admired my work. Sure, I was in the middle of the hall, but I wasn’t completely in the way, and I wasn’t there long. So I kept drawing.

Here’s the picture of what I drew. My paper isn’t big – maybe 4 inches by 6. I didn’t have space for faces.

I used watercolor pencils, but I’ve not added the water yet. This looks like regular colored pencil this way.

After I drew it, I sat there for a bit, and I talked quietly to Mary. “Should I draw your face? You look so sad.” And she answered. She told me to draw her the way a child would draw her Mom, if her Mom wasn’t around. She told me to not look at the stature of her, but see the image of her face in my heart. Imagine if you are in school and the teacher tells you to draw your Mom. You have to draw her from memory. But in this case, I’m drawing not my Mom, but Jesus’ Mom, but by extension, sort of my adopted Mom. It is hard to explain. Sometimes I realize that I didn’t get comforted by my Mom in the way I needed, and I’m realizing that Mary is there to comfort me. It is very soothing.

So I drew. I drew her the way I see her looking at me. She doesn’t look like any images of Mary I’ve ever seen before, but she does look beautiful and kind. And that is what I needed to see.

She said “My child, I am giving birth to you too.” She is nurturing me like my mother couldn’t. I sat there, in tears, drawing her, washed by her love and compassion. Her arms are wide enough for me too.

“All Are Welcome” – on Communion, and limits.

Posted on September 15, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I was at a retreat and heard the sound of Mass. The songs were familiar. The words were familiar. I have spent many years as an Episcopalian. The Catholic service is close. It is like the difference between England and America – everything is almost the same. I could have joined in and faked it. I could have taken Communion. It has been four months since I’ve had the sacrament of Communion. I miss it.

I wanted to join in, but knew I shouldn’t. Catholic rules say only Catholics can get Communion. Jesus didn’t make any such rules, but when in Rome…or dealing with Roman Catholicism…it is best to play by their rules, even if I think the rules are wrong. Even if I know the rules are wrong.

I’ve spent the past day at a convent for retired Catholic nuns. There are two chapels – one big and one small. They both have a box called an aumbry or tabernacle for the reserved sacrament. It is where you put consecrated Communion wafers. Before they are consecrated they are just wafers. After a priest has blessed them, they are different. They are so different that they are separated from the others in a special box. The Catholics believe that the wafers become the actual flesh of Jesus when they are blessed by the priest.

Here is a picture of the altar in the little chapel.

Here’s slightly closer.

I know that consecrated wafers were in them because the candle beside the altar was lit.

The candle means Jesus is in.

I can’t even tell you how tempted I was to see if the box was locked. Yes, these boxes have locks on them, but often they are open. If I tried the door and it opened, would I have taken a wafer?

Here’s a picture closer up of the box, showing the lock.

Taking one out would be stealing. That would have been the same as attending Mass and going up to take Communion, knowing full well that their rules say I can’t. No – actually, it would have been worse. It would have been sneaky and sly. It would have been taking something like a thief.

When I was wandering around the room, I came across a little statue with some candles around it. I saw the key behind the statue.

I felt like I was part of some adventure game, where you find the key to the locked door with the treasure. Remember those? You’d use simple instructions with a verb and a noun to get across what you wanted to do.

Take Key. Go East. Go to Box. Use Key. Open Box. Take Wafer. Eat Wafer.

And then I’d win a bonus life in the game.

But I didn’t. I didn’t do any of that. I didn’t even touch the key.

The Methodist church that sponsored the retreat has Communion every Sunday. They say on their website that their Communion is open to all. “All are welcome” is their motto. They even go so far as to explain that this means everybody – members of that church, members of other churches, and people who have never been to church. This is a welcome surprise. This means that people who aren’t baptized can take Communion there.

This is a radical departure from the Episcopal Church. This is right up my alley.

I’m all for opening up Communion to everyone. While I was part of a church that allowed people from other denominations to take Communion there, it still didn’t allow unbaptized people to. Sure, there is nobody checking baptismal records at the altar rail, but still, the rule is there, printed in the church bulletin you got when you came in the front door. When you read it, you know you’re out. You know you are breaking a rule if you put out your hands for a wafer.

It isn’t the role of Christians to stand in the way of Christ. Who are we to set rules and parameters as to who is worthy? If someone is called to the table, who are we to stand in their way?

Jesus is all about welcoming and including. Jesus is all about breaking down barriers. Jesus is all about leveling the playing field. Jesus is all about opening doors wide open and inviting everybody in.

Bonus life, indeed. This is a game where all can play. It isn’t a game of musical chairs, where there are limits on who is in. We all win. We all are invited, and blessed, and loved. We all are. No exceptions.

Mary holding Jesus.

Posted on September 15, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

We often see Mary holding Jesus. She is either holding him as an infant or holding him as he came off the cross.

It had to be hard to be Mary.

I cannot imagine her anguish holding Jesus after his crucifixion. So much injustice. So unfair. His life did not warrant death. In the image of the Pieta, all looks lost. His ministry seems over. All that work, all those followers, and now nothing. Jesus is dead, his disciples have scattered. Nobody wants to be associated with him because that would mean death for them too.

This is us. This is us, in the middle of the story, in the middle of the night. This is us, not knowing what is going to happen next. When all looks lost, when everything is dark, when nothing makes sense, we aren’t alone.

We know the end of that story. Jesus rise from the dead. Jesus rose and continues to live. He lives on, alive, continuing to heal and teach, through us, his Body, his Church. And because he rose, we know that he will work through this story too.

When we can’t see what is next, call on Jesus. When we don’t know where to go, call on Jesus. When we don’t know what to do, call on Jesus.

Perhaps that time when all seems lost is a time to wait. There were three days in the tomb. There were forty days in the desert. It can’t all be go go go.

Waiting can be holy time.

There is a lot of time between seed and flower. There is a lot of time between grape and wine. Jesus is there in those times too.

(Written 9-14-13, 11:45 a.m, about 16 hours into a 26 hour silent retreat. I’d wandered around before bed the night before and sat for a while before a statue of the Pieta.)