Thanks for this nothing, God. It means everything.

On January 17, 2014 By robertalanrifeIn Beauty, Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formationLeave a comment

From my journal: Friday, January 17, 2014

My footsteps fall in metric simile, each one drawing another through the haze of competing California winter fragrances. The jade, eucalyptus and God knows what else struggle for supremacy among this cacophonous olfactory bouquet. Malibu. It is morning. And it is sublime. No one should have to endure such unyielding beauty and then face the journey away from it, two days hence. How can I somehow slow the hours, each one a minute long, and just…be? Here? Now? At the same time?

I walk just past the guarded entranceway to this gateway-to-the-stars community tucked neatly in the Malibu hills. I’ve seen Jack Black and some other gal I saw in a movie recently – all in the space of less than twenty-four hours. It must get old, this life on a dinner plate existence. Many people who live here fear everyday that someone saw them take a piss somewhere and before lunch are an unfortunate YouTube sensation.

I make my way to the comfiest chair I can find in a little marketplace as transfixing as it is calming. Here I can pretend to write when really I’m just people watching and giving them the same opportunity to watch me not watching them while writing about me not watching them not watching me write about what I see in so doing…or something like that.

Malibu chair of "suffering" — Malibu chair of “suffering”

It steadies my busy brain and offers me a plate of heady hors d’oeuvres of literary license. It’s a place to remember in words what I now experience. It’s odd however the stuff that comes in such moments. One might suspect thoughts of peace and thoughtful reverie to be most forthcoming. But, as is often the case with my non-servile mind, I am drawn instead to other, more complicated, considerations.

I’m in a pretty good place these days. I’m as grateful and hopeful as I’ve ever been. But, from that place of relative repose, I’ve been wondering about something lately; wrestling really. God seems more than content to leave the human psyche in tatters and chains if it serves a higher purpose. From my under-the-sun perspective, God appears almost happy to tear apart a perfectly stable and happy mind if, by some robust digging, gold can be found.

If I were totally honest (as is kind of the point with journals, I suppose), I’d concede a high level of frustration at this annoying characteristic. It creates a feeling of being duped. Tricked. Manipulated. Like a puppet in the hands of a Junior High School boy with nothing better to do.

If not for the pretty consistent fact that the sweet jam from bad fruit God capably produces in my own life, I could pretty quickly cash in the chips on this whole Christian spiritual enterprise and happily (albeit deceived) soak in the sun of cultural narcissism. I’d dine off the fat and suck the teat of Babylon’s ample breast.

But, alas, too much personal change tossed up from this sacred chaos, continues washing up on my beach. And, when seen as a child, who doesn’t like scrounging in beach foam for the occasional silver dollar with an attached promissory note of more to come?

Congratulations, God. You’ve made an already impossibly complex life infinitely more so. The big difference is that, to step back a ways from the messes you create, is to see that all the smelly, washed up beach foam looks strikingly like the face of someone…familiar.

So, instead of tying up my mind with unnecessarily large matters, I’ll close my computer, don my sunglasses, procure yet another Americano and portage this heavy boat to the sunnier side of this river, where the contented people go.

Thanks for this nothing, God. It means everything.

Rebuilding our relationships…for others

On January 15, 2014December 30, 2013 By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formationLeave a comment

One of the greatest of all psychic cruelties is the discovery of being duped. We uncover something we thought to be true only to be shocked into the raw discovery of major fault lines. We unravel vexing relational narratives we thought were something other than what they really are. We realize our best relationships have had little or no foundation, or at least flawed ones. It’s that feeling we get upon realizing our entire speech was completed with our fly wide open and broccoli pasted conspicuously to our broad, spacious smile. Although rare, in some cases, our fondest Jekylls are in fact fearsome Hydes.

Relationships of any kind – familial, friendships, lovers – are always built best on the twin foundations of trust and honesty. Honesty ensures the building goes upward with plumb lines. Trust helps solidify foundations while buttressing against disappointments and occasional shoddy workmanship. It also offers courage against inevitable strong winds.

So, what do we make of buildings erected sideways, askew, leaning precariously over great, urban chasms out of neglect or deception?

Assumptions are made (generally dangerous in most settings) regarding process and building materials only to discover that, instead of pouring concrete we were pasting feathers to toilet paper. One bad shit and it all tears asunder.

Anyone unlucky enough to suffer the shock and indignity of such a discovery finds him/herself pulling feathers and wafer-thin realities from their bruised and bleeding soul. But, if that isn’t painful enough, the hardest work is yet to begin; extracting oneself from the wreckage and getting high enough above it to allow a deep sigh of painful regret and begin the clean-up process.

Therein lies the worst indignity of all. Having worked in the construction industry for years as a painter-decorator I can confidently claim that renovations are considerably more costly and fraught with unseen peril than new builds.

However, people do it all the time. They will insist that “we can do most of it on our own, we just want you to redo the kitchen and bathroom.” Drive by two years later and a half finished disaster of a house that used to be a home sits sullen and dark with a For Sale sign that might just as easily read “we should have listened.”

Still others take the advice of friends and professionals alike and simply tear down to build back up. Throwing self-pity and fear to the wind, the same wind that took down the original structure, they dig in deep once more. Rubble gets cleared. Faulty blueprints are tossed in favor of fresh, new ones. The process begins and hope is rekindled and a strong, stable future is nurtured.

The greatest losers in these things are those who prefer the blindness of remaining face down in the rubble muttering words of safety. Only as such wounded ones call out to rescuers above can they be identified and, in turn, ignite any hope of being pulled out to heal and begin again; of freedom. More often than not, such ones, upon shaking themselves off, come to see that rebuilding is a far better option than slowly smothering to death in dust and darkness. Despite the dangers, the clear, mostly dust free air up above is still so much better than below where one labors under the misapprehension that all is well.

For anyone choosing to remain hidden in the rubble for which they are partly responsible is to choose the ripple effect of ghetto thinking. We all suffer the indignity of that one redneck neighbor whose unwillingness to park his vehicles elsewhere than his front lawn reflects on everyone. The other neighbor whose over-budget renovations have promised a constant parade of contractor vehicles, construction materials, noise, and parking issues, lives just down our street.

Broken relationships are not isolated incidences. The six degrees of separation principle guarantees that, somewhere down the line, our issues become someone else’s. To leave a mess is, ultimately, to force other well-meaning souls to build around us, forever forced to see our unsightly debris from their kitchen window. We’ll face the lawsuits that come from our rusty nails through their feet.

In all our relationships, even as bloody and dirty as they can be, let us strive to fix our messes. We are never insulated against the storms that tear down and destroy. Nor do our messes remain hidden from view for long. Let us not be fooled into thinking we’re less obvious than we truly are.

Hence, to courageously rebuild is not only to reconstruct a simple structure.

It rebuilds entire communities within which our buildings rise or fall.

“…a man [built] a house,…dug deeply and laid the foundation on rock; when a flood arose, the river burst against that house but could not shake it, because it had been well built” (Luke 6:48-49)

Pictures found here, here and here respectively

Maybe this Christmas

On December 25, 2013December 25, 2013 By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formation5 Comments

Christmas Day. My eyes are like twin harvest moons of bloodshot fatigue. There’s a roller derby taking place in my head. My church music ministry gig ramps up something fierce this time of year leaving me satisfied and happy, but a shivering hump of quasi-humanity. The solution? I sent my wife, Rae, out to find anything resembling coffee, if only for a most yummy and effective remedy for my pounding head. God bless her!

A rather poorly decorated poor excuse for a Christmas tree tries unsuccessfully to stand guard over the precious few gifts tucked under her skirt. A single strand of multicolor lights graces her awkward presence in our living room. Perhaps fewer than a dozen ornaments hang suspended, lifelessly, from these poor, little green arms – flimsy and weak.

I speak of symbols, those tried and true geiger counters of the meaning and truth they represent. Many, many thoughtful souls have sought to unravel the ontological mysteries so delightfully pictured by this meager scene before me. As such, of that at least, I must forego.

For me, Christmas this year is a bittersweet remembrance. Every dangling bauble, twinkly light, fireplace pop and suspended sock boasting itself on our mantelpiece seems to me nothing more than sad reminiscences of loved ones gone before us; of friendship, once robust and real, now ruined; of bad things said and good things left unsaid.

Anyone who knows me knows all too well my utter loathing of all things Thomas Kincaid (sorry for the random, awkward segue). Oh, make no mistake, his practical gift at the canvas is indisputable. It’s of the vision, or lack thereof, to which I take issue. This “art” represents the shallowest of wishful thinking, whimsical, Pollyanna non-reality. It is resurrection without a crucifixion. It sets out to illustrate a fantasy world where evil has never existed; a place we all long for but which must be arrived at through God’s channel of self-forgetful love that dies an ignoble death to prove that love.

Back in my living room, my wife and I are writing in different parts of the house. I squeeze out these wandering thoughts while she continues editing her novel. Our eldest son spent the night at the home of dear friends one state away while our other son snores peacefully in his room. We don’t expect his angelic, trumpeted emergence anytime soon.

Every year that passes heaven claims more of those we love. Both of my wife’s parents are gone. My father died in 1985. Those whom we have called friend are strewn about the globe in a flower arrangement of well-memoried laughter and familiar faces. It aches.

This Christmas, all of the regular trappings have escaped me. Instead, it stands as glowing reminder of three things. Life is not as Thomas Kincaid or Barney would have us believe. If this little evergreen means anything it illustrates that our hope springs eternal and that life stubbornly wins out over death. Second, the imperfections which pervade our not-so-Christmasy living room are our own. In the heavenlies, whatever that means, all manner of thing shall be well. Sorrow and sighing trade places with gladness and rejoicing.

Finally, in the words of songwriter Ron Sexsmith, “maybe this Christmas will mean something more; maybe this year, love will appear deeper than ever before. And maybe forgiveness will ask us to call someone we love, someone we’ve lost for reasons we can’t quite recall. Maybe this Christmas.”

Indeed…maybe this Christmas.

Now…?

On December 15, 2013December 15, 2013 By robertalanrifeIn Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living17 Comments

I posted this last year at this time for the express purpose of guiding our feelings, raw and bloody, to begin to find their way back to our minds, murky and afraid and, as a result, begin the process of reintegration and healing. For Newtown…

Now, as we peer into the dead sky and from horrible places within us we didn’t know we could feel we say, what now…?

now, as dust settles and the terrifying picture of the new day becomes pungently clear…

now as brothers and sisters, their mutually constructed lego house still proudly standing on the cold living room floor, sits empty and unfinished…

now, as Moms and Dads, the shrill heaviness of grief still shredding their throats, their unslept, red eyes looking aimlessly forward to futures never lived…

now, as beds left from the night before where once a young life snuggled her doll, his teddy bear, sheets now cold and tousled with no more purpose but to wrap up more pain…

now, as a community, once certain of its place in the world, of its face and the sound of its collective heartbeat loses its own soul and its sense of decency and truth…

now, when the carefully crafted words of political rhetoric begin the inevitable ping-pong game of tit for tat, wrong and right vs. rights and wrongs, begins its forward march…

now, in a nation already riddled with divisions that cut to the bone, brother against brother, father against son, mother against daughter-in-law, in an insistent need to be right…

now, when rage soon replaces grief, outrage replaces reason and vengeance replaces peace…

…now comes the true test of Christian virtue: how to forgive and love one who turned an angry rifle on innocent, blind-sided children, teachers and parents. Despite what we all may believe on the issues involved, everyone grows up surrounded by those who support them or don’t, love them or don’t, see them or don’t. For reasons known only to God, this young man found the darkest places within himself and, from those places, lashed out in acts of unspeakable violence.

I write this from the quiet of my living room, both of my beautiful boys nearby, my wife enjoying the quiet of a Sunday afternoon. Therefore, I will not shame the memories of those dear, lost souls, ripped from their yet-to-be-lived lives, by claiming I have any idea what the parents and friends are enduring right now. I can say only this with authenticity, if it were me now living their hell, I would most certainly be shaking fists at both the gunman and the very God I serve who seemingly did nothing to prevent him.

And yet, it is precisely at such times as these, when fires are burning around us, when blank-faced murderers stare out at the world through dead eyes, when the cries of childless mothers are heard in the streets, when communities are forced to pick up the jagged pieces and rebuild, that we must find it in ourselves to stop the cycle of violence; not simply by changing laws of one kind or another; not just by delving into solutions for all of the maladies at play, whether social, spiritual, mental or physical, but to say with an unjustly murdered Jesus, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.”

Lord, have mercy.

I hate waiting

On December 1, 2013 By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formationLeave a comment

I don’t wait well. Wow, what a stupid and obvious way to begin an Advent blog post. Since I’ve begun this foray into a rather universal bugaboo and done so at that time of year when nothing fresh could possibly be said about the topic, I might as well carry on.

I am one who cannot abide rifts between friends, jagged edges in places where, with a little faith and work, the rough places could be made smooth; broken bridges to reunite two sides of a single stream.

I am told that I am particularly good at defusing conflict. What these same people are too polite to mention, however, is that I’m equally good at creating it. Be that as it may, I apparently have a gift for big picture thinking, peaceful words toward potentially peaceable outcomes.

Damn it.

Ironically (tragically, if you ask me), those who are called peacemakers generally hate conflict more than any others. Hence, the very gifts with which we’re saddled are just that, burdens to be borne more than wings upon which to fly through the mêlée.

I run at the first sign of even a hint of conflict. When they come, I am more unsettled than anyone but, when the time is ripe, the field of battle well-lit and ready, and the stands full of naysayers and side-takers, I will enter the fray, weak in the knees and, with dry mouth, stutter words of “now, imagine how this might be better.”

I’ve had a reasonable rate of success at this. But what about those times of waiting in which no amount of resourcefulness, faith, seeking, pain or bag-‘o-tricks seems enough? When does one say that to wait is no longer a reasonable option? When do we finally reach the point of no return? The statute of limitations on someone’s good promises? The place where it appears waiting was a bad idea to begin with?

Meet a battle-weary, time-scarred, now largely apathetic Israel who only say they’re waiting for the “coming Messiah.” After such a long absence, why bother arousing hope in that which perhaps was a cosmic ruse to begin with? God’s just playin’ around, testing our mettle. Like me, their best approaches, clearest study, best thinking, most robust faith…are for naught. To wait anymore is, well, just a waste of the necessary energy required to just get along.

This was the environment into which “in the fullness of time, God sent forth his Son.” It’s always the environment that God’s Son is most forthcoming. When we can no longer take credit for our astonishing acts of faithful waiting, God comes.

I hate waiting. God loves that because the Gospel of grace, the ultimate peacemaking enterprise, was, is and always will be God’s gig.

Let this Advent be a time of giving up futile fights and endlessly moribund conflicts. Submit to God’s higher waiting; that which is dependent not on our patient endurance, but on God’s perfect track record at keeping promises.

Pics here and here, respectively

A Sunday Prayer

On November 24, 2013 By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formation3 Comments

Truthful One,

why do we start as something,

give others the impression that that something

is our true something-ness when in truth

we are something much different indeed?

Living One,

what is the starting place of our deepest self?

When living day to day, how do we know

we’re giving to others that which

comes from living places and not from dead places

merely adorned with glitter and trinkets to make them appealing?

Serving One,

where are the lines drawn between obligation and self-respect?

When does serving another embezzle their need

to capably discover their own inner strength?

When does such a question even matter –

if at all?

Shining One,

how can the coal dust accumulating on my layered soul

be removed to reveal the sheen of love,

framed in hope, birthed of grace that you see?

That I see in my better moments?

Holy One,

I speak no more.

Instead, speak, for your servant is listening.

My ongoing prayer experiment

On October 19, 2013October 20, 2013 By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, liturgy, sacramental living, spiritual formation, worship14 Comments

A while back I began to write about my big prayer experiment. In that piece, I shared the three greatest gifts to my prayer life:

1. Contemplative prayer, I.e. prayer without agenda/lovingly gazing at God.

2. Total honesty in the presence of a God who already knows all my shit.

3. The gift of Intercession.

Nothing has changed with this experiment. I do want to add something, however; something that has utterly revolutionized my prayer life, turning it into something to which I cannot wait to return.

I pray the Rosary.

Big deal, right? Millions do. Well, here’s the thing – I’m a Protestant. We’re supposed to look with suspicion, pity or even hatred at such wayward, Medieval practices believing them to be the rote, meaningless prayers pooh-poohed by Jesus in the Gospels. How could such a ridiculous thing, something held in regard by little, old ladies and superstitious saintly wannabes possibly lead one to the expected spontaneity and relationship we’re led to accept through our more enlightened “salvation prayer” at the end of the 4 Spiritual Laws booklet? Or so we Protestants are taught to think. You remember…the “Accept you’re a sinner/Believe in the Good News/Confess your sins” prayer that, like magic, whisks us from the apparent hell of our present existence into the Thomas Kinkade wonderland of Jesusy goodness? It’s actually a very good prayer. A necessary one.

It’s just so…incomplete.

Actually, I prayed that prayer once, too. Not necessarily that exact prayer, but one just like it. I credit that prayer for bringing a keener sense of articulation and focus to my otherwise meandering picture of me and God. I suppose I could even credit that “salvation prayer” as my come-to-Jesus moment, with the beginning (continuation?) of a journey even deeper into the heart of prayer.

The Rosary has been an important step in solidifying my need to regulate my prayer practice in chronological, tactile and organized ways. It also invites me to see prayer as more than just talking at God. Here, I can sit with another, Someone whose indelible presence ought to leave me breathless and speechless anyway. Although I’ve owned one before, it wasn’t until my dear Catholic friend, Val Dodge Head, gifted me with one I could actually wear around my neck that I began developing a daily practice. Here is the historic Rosary Prayer:

The purpose of the Rosary is to help keep in memory certain principal events or mysteries in the history of our salvation, and to thank and praise God for them. This is the mountain rapids version of the Rosary Prayer. It begins with the Sign of the Cross and the Apostles’ Creed. This is followed, successively, by The Lord’s Prayer (the Our Father or Pater Noster), 3 Hail Marys, the 1st Mystery of Our Father and Hail Holy Queen. There are twenty mysteries reflected upon in the Rosary, all of which are divided into the five JOYFUL MYSTERIES, the five LUMINOUS MYSTERIES, the five SORROWFUL MYSTERIES, and the five GLORIOUS MYSTERIES. The Hail Mary is recited ten times (called a decade) between meditating on the mysteries in question. After each decade is said the following prayer requested by the Blessed Virgin Mary at Fatima: “O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” The whole undertaking is a most imaginative blending of redemptive and mystical theology.

Here is my own adaptation.

I begin and end with the Sign of the Cross. The crucifix acts as The Lord’s Prayer both in and out of my Rosary. For morning prayer, the first bead is always Psalm 63 (King James Version), which I memorized many years ago. If in the afternoon, I’ll choose some other Psalm or a Prayer of St. Columba: “Kindle in our hearts, O God, the flame of that love which never ceases, that it may burn in us, giving light to others. May we shine forever in your holy temple, set on fire with your eternal light, even your Son Jesus Christ, our Saviour and Redeemer.” The Hail Mary beads are replaced by 3 Kyries (Lord, have mercy; Christ, have mercy; Lord, have mercy). In turn, these are followed, respectively, by the well known Ignatian Prayer, the Anima Christi and the Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi. The decade beads are breath prayers. With these, I practice more contemplative or centering prayer. Phrases such as “peace, be still” or “in the Lord, I’ll be ever thankful” or “holy is your name, O Lord” or, most often, The Jesus Prayer punctuate this time. It is unhurried and allows my mind to cleanse and my soul to pulsate to the sound of God’s own heart. The Mystery beads form a wonderful place for me to pray the daily Lectionary Psalms, various scriptures I have memorized or, on more creative retreat days, I’ll write or read poetry I’ve written. I exit the Rosary the same way I entered, although in reverse order.

The Rosary has been great respite to me since I am living nowhere near the Monasteries I used to frequent in Oregon. God has shown me just how holy even the most unholy places can be. In those places least ideal for luminosity, God has been busily proving me wrong about my previous misconceptions. The mysterious geography of prayer must begin in the cracks and fissures of the human spirit before it gets the added benefit of the babbling brook heard just outside the Monastery gates.

The Rosary has helped.

Lord, fashion the slow calligraphy of your name

in a once stone heart, broken now as sand.

Spit out the bones of my old, gristled soul revivified on your tongue,

reattached to the sinews of your own holy arm.

Sear the brand of white hot remembrance into the skin of my brazen back

so that only those I lead can see it.

In the wordless chatter of our silent conversations,

bring up the topics closest to your heart that breaks so much easier than mine.

Let the voices of a hundred thousand saints

crowd out the stifling arrogance of my solitary blethering.

And into that holy community of singing silence,

sing, Holy One, sing.

PIcture of Rosary can be found here. Rosary Prayer instructions can be found here.

________ One – a prayer

On October 4, 2013October 4, 2013 By robertalanrifeIn Beauty, Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, liturgy, poetry, sacramental living, spiritual formation, worship1 Comment

Ineffable One,

there is a haze of wanton disregard fogging the window to my soul;

a fog of discontent that swirls around my deepest knowing;

an arrogant knowing where, in it’s place, I need unknowing.

Holy One,

relieve me of foolish trust in my ability to live in perfection.

Let loose the hounds of irreducible chaos if by their baying

I learn to shut out the noise of my voice for the Voice.

Glorious One,

teach me that, to look directly into the sun, is death.

But, to gaze into your face through grace filtered and raw,

is to see you as you truly are – horrifying in beauty.

Little One,

it once was said that the One who flung stars into space

fits securely in the tiny confines of the human heart.

Similarly, make me tiny, so that your reach through me is great.

Unseen One,

I have convinced myself that you make yourself invisible.

Remind me that I see you every time someone cries in pain

or, at the risk of their own wellness, becomes pain for another.

Elusive One,

forgive me for when I boast of my growing knowledge of God,

only to discover that it’s all been a ruse, a play on words,

your playful, cryptic way of introducing me to myself.

Unending One,

shake me loose from the need to place parameters, provisos,

gates on that which only ever bursts them asunder.

Help me to stop trying to find your endings and look for beginnings.

Loving One,

I am at a loss to understand, let alone experience,

such self-forgetful yearning for the good of another

that you would watch yourself disappear into the abyss,

only to return as the One.

Life from the center

On October 2, 2013October 3, 2013 By robertalanrifeIn Christian spirituality, Christianity, faith, life together, sacramental living, spiritual formationLeave a comment

Friends, I am grateful and humbled to be a part of a quickly growing organization…organism really, called Center Quest. It is defined as “an ecumenical hub for the study and practice of Christian spirituality.” It’s focus is on identifying, training, encouraging and unleashing spiritual directors into a world badly in need of this ministry. In that effort, it has attracted top practitioners of this ancient art together in one remarkable place. The brainchild of international Nouwen scholar, spiritual director, retreat leader and friend, Dr. Wil Hernandez (pictured here), it is truly precedent setting in that it also seeks to be a “center” around which many other schools of spiritual formation and direction around the globe receive equal press; kind of a “one stop shop” for those seeking advancement in their spiritual journey and needing resources – lots and lots of resources. They call CenterQuest “home” without ever really leaving their own “home” carved out through their own unique calling and vocation as leaders in these areas. Please be sure to check out their website to discover the vast possibilities for personal and community growth. (Val Dodge Head)

Val-Dodge-Head

Speaker, writer, retreat leader, spiritual director, and friend, Val Dodge Head, acts in an administrative and supportive role to Wil in helping to establish a most impressive list of companions, consultants, board members, partners, mentors, and friends. The cool website has been made possible through her tireless efforts along with web designers. Her gentle spirit, enthusiasm and joy will be invaluable to Wil and team in the days to come as the dust continues to settle and the sun rises on this new and exciting venture.

As a proud member of the CenterQuest blog team, my own submission and that of friend and fellow blogger, Christianne Squires (find her at www.stillforming.com) can be found here.