Seeing with Eyes of the Heart

Posted on May 7, 2013 by

Camera phones and social media have combined to make instant sharing of images routine.  Reflexively we capture both the minutiae and grandeur of our daily rounds – a Eyes-of-the-Heart-199x300billboard, a latte, a sunset, a puddle, a flower, special moments with loved ones, more than 320 million photos each day with the iPhone 5 according to a recent commercial.  An inspiring new book by Christine Valters Paintner called Eyes of the Heart: Photography as a Christian Contemplative Practice provides a transformative path for the digital age.  Christine is the founder and abbess of the virtual Abbey of the Arts, where she offers online and in-person classes and other resources for contemplative living, with an emphasis on the expressive arts.  From reading her blogs and newsletter and taking her free “monk in the world” e-course, I regarded Christine as a wise and compassionate teacher, and her new book more than lives up to this impression.

Eyes of the Heart is a rich and nourishing work; like a hearty soup or whole grain bread, it satisfies real hunger and is best when leisurely savored. The first two chapters introduce themes and practices that are carried through the rest. As someone who likes to write, I found it incredibly worthwhile to spend plenty of time here cultivating a visual awareness.  This kind of seeing, as Christine presents it, is a deep work of the heart.  A key practice is to begin “receiving” images rather than taking or making or shooting them.  Such a shift of consciousness bears fruit not only with regard to photos but life in general.

One exploration invites the reader to photograph just a single image per day for 5 days

This image was received during an exploration that suggested a single image per day for 5 days

“When we are receptive we let go of our agendas and expectations. We allow ourselves to see beyond preconceived ideas. Rather than going after what we want in life, or forcing, we cultivate contentment with what actually is. Similarly, instead of holding back and merely observing life or falling asleep to it, we stay awake and alert, participating fully in its messiness and we keep our eyes open for the holy presence in its midst.  Photographing in this way can become an act of revelation.” (p. 30-31)

This is just one example of how fully and meaningfully she develops photography both as a metaphor for spiritual growth and a tool to nurture it, through the act of receiving images and then later pondering of those images, a practice of “visio divina.” Subsequent chapters address themes like color, light and shadow, and reflected images, with informative and reflective content on the theme, a meditation, several photographic activities, and questions for journaling.  Each, if fully engaged, is like a mini-retreat for yourself, or as she notes in the introduction, small groups could use this book and meet at intervals to share images and experiences.  I am eager for further photographic explorations and insights with this book.
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These photos are a sampling from an exploration that was fun to do — 50 images of one object

*****************************************Reflected image of chapel windows - "a seeing within seeing."

Reflected image of chapel windows – “a seeing within seeing.”
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Sand and Sacrament

Posted on May 3, 2013 by

Every now and then, a reminder of my strong affinity for the principle of sacramentality – the idea that all of reality can be the bearer of God’s presence or action – affirms how irrevocably Catholic I am.  Beyond the official seven sacraments, the mystery of God can be discovered through the finite, the everyday.  These might be events in your own life or the larger world, or objects, rituals, symbols, or all of creation.  This week I’ve been IMG_20130426_144159savoring memories of our children’s sandbox, recollecting it as a kind of sacred space for us. especially during their toddler years.  The sandbox was a gift from my husband’s parents, delivered with bags of sand and a set of toys one summer evening when Michael was nearly 18 months old and I was six months pregnant with Kieran. My sister-in-law and Joe set it up in the shade of the cottonwood tree and there it remained for the next ten years that we lived there. 

I’m sure that the children squabbled over buckets and invaded each other’s space in the sandbox, but overall I associate it with peacefulness.  In my mind’s eye, I see each of them in turn, filling a bucket with sand, shovel by shovel, crooning wordless toddler tunes, or moving trucks up and down slopes or pouring sand back and forth from one cup to the other.  These interludes allowed me to glance through a magazine, sipping a second cup of coffee, a welcome break in the day.  But I also remember just quietly observing, breathing in the beauty of moments I knew even then would be fleeting, remembering to feel grateful no matter how tired I felt.

Although we weren’t quite ready to shed the sand box when we moved to our present home, it never got a lot of use here.  It has been languishing for some time now, forgotten and dirty, tucked in a corner of the back yard.  But on a recent warm afternoon nearly 20 years after its arrival in our family, Joe and I dumped out the old sand, scrubbed the bottom and top, and washed the toys that were salvageable. After a stop at Lowe’s for bags of play sand, we were delighted to bequeath everything to a second cousin’s family; they have a two-year-old and are expecting their second child in the coming weeks.  A couple days later the young dad texted me a photo of his son ensconced in the sand box, with the caption, “He’s very happy!”  So are we. 

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Fruits of Prayer

Posted on April 29, 2013 by

Increasingly I find it a spiritual challenge to reconcile the enormity of world problems with my customary practice of faith, both individual and communal.  How to pray or what to pray for in the aftermath of Sandy Hook, the Boston Marathon, Superstorm Sandy, the Steubenville rape case, just to name a few recent events that point to much larger realities of hatred, violence and intolerance, and disregard for the earth. Numerous other situations and events could be added — from the civil war in Syria to mountain top removal in Kentucky, as well as the sufferings of our own family and friends.  Always these matters lurk in the shadows, a backdrop of recurring worry.

Is it right to pray for rescue from God when so many circumstances are of human making, especially where the environment is concerned? Might some form of repentance or lament be appropriate?  I experience an urgency that seems to invite something different but have been unable to articulate just what.

A small way forward came via an online course on contemplative prayer through the Shalem Institute that I recently began at the suggestion of a friend.  A keystone of the class is to set aside 20 minutes a day for silent prayer, and much of the content is focused on how to be most open and receptive for that period of time.  In her welcome video for the first lesson, facilitator Carole Crumley offers a suggestion, almost as an aside, that really caught my attention, perhaps because allows me to name what is in my heart with few actual words:
“Know that you can dedicate the fruits of your prayer for the well-being of someone else or some place in the world in need of God’s tenderness and mercy. . . .To do this, offer a short prayer of dedication and let that prayer be carried gently on your breath.” 

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Taking It In

Posted on April 17, 2013 by

The rabbi who teaches my weekly “Dramas of Jewish History” class took a moment before starting our session yesterday to check in with us and acknowledge the Boston Marathon tragedy.  I was touched by her pastoral concern in the academic setting.  In the brief discussion that followed, she shared an exchange she had had the previous day with some visiting Israeli students as they watched footage of the explosions’ aftermath.  Of course, in Israel sudden explosions in the street are all too familiar, so she asked, “What do you do when this happens?  Do you stare at the TV all day?”  I sensed wisdom in their reply:  “We watch the screen.  We take it in.  And then we keep going.”

“Taking it in” has been difficult for me with this event.  I first learned about it on Facebook Monday afternoon when a Page I follow posted prayers for Boston.  Subsequent Googling led to a sketch of the basic facts; at the time, the estimated number of wounded was only 22.  I could not take it in enough to even share the news on my timeline, and I closed my computer.  When I checked Facebook again that evening after dinner, my news feed was filled with prayers and updates.  Buoyed by the communal presence, even virtually, I began to take it in.  The death of an 8-year-old boy, the serious injury of a mother and daughter who are relatives of a friend here, the selfless acts of bystanders, first responders and community at large.  Before going to bed, lacking words, I prayed in the heart on a block pose.

Eventually I received what many spiritual writers call “the gift of tears.” I said little in the opening conversation at class yesterday because I was choked up.  Reading in this morning’s newspaper about the trauma surgeons and the nature of the injuries they are treating, tears spilled down my cheeks.  I am glad for this.  It’s the only way I can really take it in.  I do not want to be numb. And I want to keep going.

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An Unfinished Project

Posted on April 12, 2013 by

3214488747_0164353085_mI attended another great lecture by a leading Catholic thinker last night here in Cincinnati.  Richard Gaillardetz, the Joseph Chair in systematic theology at Boston College and president-elect of the Catholic Theological Society of America, spoke on “Vatican II as an Unfinished Building Site” in connection with the University of Cincinnati’s newly established Catholic Studies program.  To illustrate the theme, an early slide showed an artist’s rendering of the 16th century St. Peter’s basilica being built right over the previous 4th century structure.  Likewise, Gaillardetz suggested, the pre- and post-Vatican II Church provides similar pillars for the building, but in different ways.  If there has been difficulty fitting it all together smoothly and completing the project, he emphasized that the previous pillars were constructed over 900 years, while it’s only been 50 years since the Second Vatican Council.  Hence the project is unfinished.

As one who grew up in the 70s, after the Council, I found his coherent depiction of the “old edifice” to be especially helpful background.  At the time, a clergy-driven understanding created the pillar of divine revelation as truth that “trickles down” successively from God, to the pope, bishops, clergy and then the laity in the form of doctrine, facts, and dogma to be memorized and obeyed.  The other three pillars are a monarchical papacy, an emphasis on the separate and special nature of the priest as one who confects the Eucharist and forgives sins, and a mechanistic view of sacraments that focused on proper actions and words by the proper person.  The concrete image of pillars in a building suits these ideas.

 In the “new edifice,” the pillar of divine revelation focuses on God’s desire to be in relationship with us, further developed in the pillar of renewed emphasis on the Holy Spirit as the way we all receive God’s word.  The priority of baptism pillar invokes a more ancient understanding and also encourages movement away from a clergy/laity split to highlight the Church as the people of God.  The pillar of pastoral leadership calls for a service-oriented, shepherding clergy, rather than a ruling, commanding approach, while the pillar of dialogue invites contact with the world, rather than walls to keep it out.  The final new pillar reframes the Church itself as pilgrim, not merely comprised of individual pilgrims, inviting an institutional humility and openness to possible reform.

 I felt an almost painful nostalgia listening to this part, as it viscerally transported me to my younger years when participation in the Church was uncomplicated and without reservation.  The long view, 900 years versus 50, keeps coming back to me though, and calls to mind the “dramas of Jewish living” that I’ve been learning about this year in Melton classes.  The Hebrew people’s long exile in Babylon provides just one example, and again we’re talking about hundreds of years.  When they were able to return to Jerusalem, not all of them did; they were established in the new place after generations there and going back didn’t fit.  Yet they continued their practice of faith, causing Judaism to develop in diverse ways in varied places, a dynamic repeated over and over again from Europe to Africa to the Americas.  Diaspora is a reality in their tradition.

Reflecting on the Vatican II pillars in this light, I feel that the building site metaphor falls short in portraying the Church’s struggle to implement Vatican II.  It’s too static.  After all, we’re meant to be a pilgrim people, guided by the Spirit!  The ideas of an emerging young thinker offer a more dynamic approach. In his 2010 commencement address at St. Xavier High School, Michael Conway used geometry to describe the relationship of the school’s graduates to the actual school building here in Cincinnati as they continue the lifelong process of developing the ideals of the “Graduate at Graduation.”  While the school uses the Long Blue Line to express the bond of alumni throughout the generations, Michael suggests a deeper, almost mystical, communion.

“Tonight marks the closure of our time living in the institutional St. Xavier and the commencement of our time bringing St. Xavier to others. . . . I propose the image of the Large Blue Circle to describe the sharing of St. Xavier as we go forth.  By definition, the radius of a circle is the distance from the center to any point along the circle, and this distance remains constant.  Similarly, we are all about to embark on different paths that may take us to opposite sides of the country or even the world, but still we share the common endeavor to live the Grad at Grad. This common endeavor stems from the fact that we are all equidistant from the center of the circle – St. Xavier High School.”

Vatican II marked the end of our time living inside walls and the beginning of our mission to the world.  Right now, there is much fragmentation among Catholics as many have left, especially young people, but the circle image offers comfort and hope for all.  Placing Jesus at the center and baptism as the radius, then no matter what, we’re still connected by our common endeavor to live the Gospel. 

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Stop Violence Against Women

Posted on April 5, 2013 by

IMG_20130404_195034Last night’s presentation by Joan Chittister provided a painful but important “connecting of the dots.” As the featured speaker at a symposium called “Stop Violence Against Women,” Chittister’s dry wit elicited laughter at points but her stark testimony just as often produced “OHHs” of dismay from the packed crowd of several hundred, nearly all women.  I was previously aware of the issues she discussed, but hearing them presented all together under a single theme, especially in the wake of the Stuebenville rape case that so sharply illustrated rape culture in the “civilized” United States, was at least sobering and even frightening.

Each shirt is a survivor's personal testimony about the effects of violence.

Each shirt is a survivor’s personal testimony about the effects of violence.

As co-chair of The Global Peace Initiative of Women, a partner organization of the UN, Chittister has traveled the world, listening to women in cities, deserts, mountains and refugee camps, many of which also are war zones.  In Congo, more than 400,000 women and girls have suffered not only the brutality of rape by marauding soldiers, but are now homeless, cast out by their families due to the shame that rape brings to the family.  Such numbers are hard to grasp, but the account of a particular woman, who offered herself to soldiers who were beating, torturing and stabbing her husband, and then afterward thrown out by her husband, along with their daughters who also were gang raped, breaks your heart.  In Mexico, impoverished women in desperate circumstances offer themselves to men in exchange for a few pesos, while in Morocco, rapists can avoid prosecution and prison by marrying their victims, a path forced upon many young women to preserve family honor. IMG_20130404_205152In many countries, women do the majority of agricultural work but laws that forbid them from inheriting property impede their economic advancement.  Such gender bias is an overlooked factor in malnourishment.  Women and girls carry heavy loads of water long distances every single day in areas where there are no pipes to transport it to villages. Other harsh statistics on women’s status include:

    • Young girls and women comprise 80% of the estimated 800,000 people trafficked annually, most for sexual exploitation.
    • More than 100 million girls and women around the world have experienced female genital mutilation, including in the United States.
    • Almost two-thirds of the world’s illiterate adults are women. More than 60 million girls worldwide are married before the age of 18.
    • In the United States, one-third of women murdered each year are killed by intimate partners.
All shirts in last night's clothesline display were made by local women.

All shirts in last night’s clothesline display were made by local women.

Chittister emphasized the attitudes that underlie these realities:  Women are less than human.  Women are uncontrollably sexual. Women ask for it. Women’s purpose is to serve men’s needs. The public arena is men’s domain; women are caretakers.  God wants it that way.  As I have written here before, such views disturbingly echo the mindset of the 15th and 16th century European witch trials, which are a cautionary tale for the 21st century.  I witness some of these attitudes first-hand in my own village, where the lone woman on the seven-person council is openly disrespected or subtly undermined on a regular basis, though her positive contributions to the village are obvious to any observer.

Lest those of us present at last night’s talk be tempted to rationalize away the horrors, in closing Chittister called for action:  “Privileged women have the responsibility to change things for other women.  Go ahead and soar to the stars, but do not fail to take other women with you.  Do not fail to listen to their needs.  Do not fail to understand that their needs are your needs.”

Posted in Public Affairs, Women Leader | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

In the Garden

Posted on March 31, 2013 by

He is risen!  Alleluia!

Remarkably all four Gospels are consistent in placing Mary Magdalene at the tomb as witness to the resurrection of Jesus.

241898476_6bae9b232c“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. . . Mary stood weeping outside the tomb.  As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not2819155661_93fd91e7be_z know that it was Jesus.  Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!’”(John 20: 1-2, 11-16 NRSV)

“After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to the see the tomb.  And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. . . The angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said.’  . . . So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples.  Suddenly Jesus met them and said, ‘Greetings!’” (Mt 28: 1-2, 5-6, 8-9)

IMG_0276[1]“When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. . . As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed.  But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place where they laid him.  But go, tell his disciples and Peter tha he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.’” (Mark 16: 1-2, 5-7)

IMG_0270[1]“But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared.  They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body.  While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them.  The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said, ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. . . Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest.  Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles.” (Luke 24: 1-5, 8-9)

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At the Tomb

Posted on March 30, 2013 by

2819155661_93fd91e7be_z“So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in how new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock.  He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away.  Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the tomb.” (Mt 27: 59-61 NRSV)

“The Joseph bought a linen cloth, and taking down the body, wrapped it in the linen cloth, and laid it in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock.  He then rolled a stone against the door of the tomb.  Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where the body was laid.” (Mark 15: 46-47 NRSV)

“The women who had come with him from Galilee followed, and they saw the tomb and how his body was laid. Then they returned, and prepared spices and ointments.” (Luke 23: 55-56 NRSV)

John’s Gospel is the only one that does not include mention of women at the tomb of Jesus. Since his Passion narrative is always read on Good Friday, it’s easy to miss their presence.

Photo by upyernoz via Flickr under a Creative Commons license

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At the Cross

Posted on March 29, 2013 by

The past few days I’ve immersed myself in the ideas of Cynthia Bourgeault, an Episcopal priest, retreat leader, writer and mystic who I quoted at the close of the previous post.  A key focus of her work in recent years has been Mary Magdalene, especially her role in the events of Holy Week.  Since all the Gospels acknowledge her presence, why is she absent from the Triduum liturgies?  An intriguing question, I thought, when I read The Meaning of Mary Magdalene last summer.  A nudge of the Spirit prompted me to revisit this material at the start of the week; exploring further, I ended up buying a collection of talks Bourgeault gave at a 2011 retreat, called Through Holy Week with Mary Magdalene, that I have found engrossing.  They greatly enriched yesterday’s drive to pick up my son from college in Chicago!

“By the cross of Jesus stood Mary his mother; and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas; and Mary Magdalene.”  (John 19:25)

Such spare words speak volumes.  All the women’s steadfast presence reminds us that even in situations of powerlessness, just being there makes a difference.  This passage has long been meaningful to me from the childbirth context.  My memories of the people who accompanied me remain vivid, as does the sense of not having been able to do it without them.  Yet when I was in the role of birth companion and women expressed that to me, I always felt like I really didn’t do anything!  Now it’s at the other end of the life cycle that I call on the awareness that being there matters, as we witness the aging of our family’s elders, especially my dad who suffers from advanced dementia.  The Lenten season coincided with his transition from home to a care facility; my prayers for him are definitely at the foot of the cross.

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A Heart for Holy Week

Posted on March 26, 2013 by

Recently I began reading Katrina Kenison’s latest memoir, magical journey, which recounts her personal transition after her children leave home.  She had unexpectedly advanced on that path when her younger son chose boarding high school, emptying the nest several years earlier than anticipated.  I readily identify with the grief, confusion and aimlessness that she describes, though the death of a close friend from cancer intensifies her emotional process beyond what I’ve experienced as two of my three have departed for college.  With my antennae attuned of late to movement as prayer, an aspect of her yoga practice several months into her first empty-nest year captured my attention.

“Each day, at the end of my practice, I lie on my back in a pose I think of as “heart on a block.” With a yoga block resting beneath my shoulder blades, my chest wide open and arched to the sky, it feels as if my lifted heart is fully exposed, beating and vulnerable, a kind of physical sacrifice to the present moment. And this is when I cry.” 

From the physical standpoint, I’m always on the lookout for new stretches, especially for the upper body, so I definitely wanted to try out this pose.  The symbolism of “opening the heart” also spoke to me spiritually somehow, made me curious what it would be like.  The first time I tried it (at my gym; I don’t own yoga blocks) with a single block beneath my shoulders, my neck felt strained and I wondered if I were doing it correctly.  Googling “heart on a block yoga pose” turned up a helpful YouTube video, so next time I went with its suggested two-block approach, neck supported, which provided an underlying stability to the slight discomfort of stretching the pectoral muscles.  It did not make me cry, but I did carry away a pleasant sense of openness in the chest that makes me feel like I’m standing up straighter.  I want to stay with this pose and see where it leads.  Serendipitously, random online reading led me to an article by Cynthia Bourgeault that nicely connects a heart-centered practice, Jesus, and Holy Week.  She writes:

“Even if Jesus had believed that God had finally abandoned him and the whole thing was a failure, he would still have kept an open heart. His death was an intentional act – an act of conscious love. If we can really come to know this in our deepest knowing, we too can see our way through our personal terrors and fears including our fear of death. Jesus’ death was entirely held in love.

The open heart is an absolute gesture. It has an intelligence of its own.”

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