Tag Archives: Jesus

Daily Bread

14 Wednesday Oct 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care

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“Give us this day our daily bread.”

I’ve carried around this ancient prayer passage  as I’ve attended to the day’s  tasks.

Yesterday I foolishly imagined that today would be spacious, a day without demands, a day to spend however I pleased.  Instead, Max, who is still not well, put me into motion early.  I know Max is very sick because — among other symptoms — Max, who loves bread more than meat, refused to take a bite of my morning toast. 

So Max is spending the day at the clinic, being pampered and treated by a veterinary team that adores him.  Max is always glad to see old friends, though today, Max was counting on a short visit rather than an all day affair.  But with his weight now down 5 to 6 pounds, Max needs a solution soon.  And though we learned the source of Max’s problem on Monday, it’s taking a little effort to put Max back on the road to recovery.

blog_daily bread

Daily Bread for Many Days

So the day that was to be spacious has been full of tasks, included the dreaded monthly grocery shopping.  Other shopping, much more satisfying, took me to two different locations for the purchase of bread.  I buy our everyday sandwich bread at  Big Sky Bakery in Nichols Hills.  Then I shop at a local Vietnamese supermarket for fresh baquettes.  These miniature loaves are the best bread bargain in town at thirty-five cents each.   And from the looks of my bounty, it’s easy to see I went a bit overboard.

I am comforted by the smell and taste of bread.  I serve few meals without it.  But as I moved through the hours of the day, I began to think about bread as a metaphor for other everyday necessities.  Right now and for the next few days, Max’s daily ‘bread’ will be IV fluids, as our veterinarian attempts to stabilize Max’s electrolytes.   For me, it’s a bit of quiet time in the morning, usually with some reading as a source of spiritual nourishment.  Then later in the day, crazy as this might sound, it’s sweeping all my downstairs floors.  It’s amazing how much better I feel about life with tidy floors.  In some mysterious way, clean floors allow me to face whatever else life wants to throw at me. 

I share this same sentiment about Jesus the Christ, who dared one ancient day to tell this outlandish bit of good news to any who would receive it:  “I am the bread of life.”  Just like manna, there’s no reason to stockpile the bread of life; it’s always in my pantry when I need it.

Rich Man Poor Man

20 Monday Apr 2009

Posted by in In the Garden, Soul Care

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“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience.

We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881-1955)

 

These mystical words of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a visionary French Jesuit priest and scientist, feel true to my experience.  Yet they beg the question – to what end?  Why would a human experience be essential to our development as spiritual beings?

 

The answer comes out of the death  of a loved one and out of every important relationship we treasure.  If my mother’s life and death taught me anything, it’s that our human existence is about love, from beginning to end–how to grow it, how to share it and how to gracefully receive it.  Only love is eternal.  Only love is essential.  Only love survives the grave.  Didn’t the Beatles say the same thing –“love is the only thing” – in their song, “All You Need is Love?”  

 

Love grows out of humility, like a garden grows out of the rich dirt of humus.  Neither just happens.  Both take a whole lot of work.  In the gardening realm, especially here in Oklahoma where red clay lays just under the earth’s surface, dirt must be amended in order to create the proper environment for growth.  When preparing the soil of my new backyard garden last fall, I dug up a small dump truck of red clay and stones and replaced it with cotton burr compost and spagham peat moss, mixing both together with the remaining soil.  Digging up the red clay was back breaking work.  But, in comparison to the amending spiritual practice of humility, it was easy.

 

Humility requires us to empty ourselves of pride and the desire for honor and riches, which have no currency in the spiritual realm.  Like Jesus, we are called to travel the road of life lightly, without a lot of baggage, so that honor, possessions and pride do not insulate us from others and ourselves.   Cultivating a humble spirit in which to grow love takes more than a truck load of apologies, forgiveness, and putting others before our own needs.   And over the course of our human experience, we keep from strangling on humility by taking many, many deep swallows of pride.  As hard as all of this sounds, it’s actually harder in practice.  

 

With age, I’ve come to believe environmental influences like family & friends have less to do with who we are and who we become than the unique and personal blueprint given us on the day of our creation.  All of us have God’s eternal love buried deep within us to grow and share in a way that we alone can express it.  Our life’s work is to make visible this divine love –this image of God created and hidden within us.  We do this through our daily actions and life choices, punctuated by time-outs for reassessment of life purpose and direction. 

 

So what does this divine spiritual image of God look like in you?  Click here to go to The Upper Room, where you can begin to answer this question by taking a short test to learn more about your own spirituality type. 

Knocking On Truth

16 Thursday Apr 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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“… truth outlives pain, as the soul does life.”
                       — Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

As a young mother, I often listened to stories of injustice told by my children, knowing I was hearing some version of the truth.  Once they were done spilling their guts, I asked about the other side of the story, the one the other mother would hear.  “The truth lies somewhere in the middle,” I’d say, knowing my point was falling on deaf ears.    

 

Speaking truth is important to me.  But at best, I am clumsy in speaking it.  I get tongue-tied.  And while much better at writing than speaking truth, even here, what I birth into the world is maimed rather than whole.  I am at cross purposes right now with a beloved child—I tried to express truth that I could not–and between the speaking and the listening, we could not grasp the truth waiting to be claimed in the middle.  My child gave up in frustration, and for now, the door is closed.  I must take time before knocking again.  And meanwhile, become like a Jehovah’s Witness on the doorstep, as I patiently wait for the door to crack open.       

 

In still thinking about last week’s retreat, I realize Jesus understood better than I this matter of closed doors and the failure to convey difficult-to-grasp truths.  Jesus was always in the uncomfortable middle–as truth always is–while the parties on either side of Jesus changed with the situation.  Sometimes it was his disciples against the needy.  Sometimes it was the Pharisees against the needy.  And on the night of his arrest, Jesus found himself in the middle between the Jewish and Roman authorities and neither seemed as interested in truth as in preserving their way of life.   

 

Jesus went against the grain when he was arrested, by not inviting his disciples to follow him.  Not even the three who had witnessed his transfiguration high and Gethsemane low were invited, though two followed anyway.  Jesus surrendered, asking the soldiers to let his disciples go free.  Keeping the disciples away from the fray would not only protect them but would protect the way of truth that defined Jesus’ life.   And Jesus knew just how hard speaking truth would be as lives hung in jeopardy, as Peter discovered firsthand, when he lied three times about knowing Jesus. 

 

Jesus made it easy for his executioners.   Speaking a few words of truth, he gave the Jewish authorities exactly what they needed to press charges against him.  And when it came to cross-examination by the Roman governor Pilate, Jesus offered little in the way of self-defense.  At least, no truth Pilate could grasp.   

 

“What is truth?” Pilate asked Jesus.  Much to the Jews revulsion, Pilate ends up writing the answer to his question on a wooden sign in three languages–“Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”–which was hung high on the cross above a crucified Jesus.  “What I have written, I have written,”, Pilate says in dismissal as he slams the door on ‘the Jews’ complaints.  Perhaps Pilate found truth a little easier to communicate in writing as well. 

 

Jesus died on the cross in the middle, spilling his blood in the gospel truth.  And three days later, the resurrected Jesus began his wait as the middle person of the Trinity.  Forever at cross purposes, Jesus stands on the doorstep.  He knocks.  He waits.  And if the door opens, truth waits to be seen, to come out of the middle, to be embraced and claimed for all time.  

 

And why not?  There’s no need to knock on wood if you can knock on truth.