A Prayer for Oklahoma

When the winds come ...

Gracious God,

We pray for our brothers and sisters in Oklahoma
recovering from the damaging tornado that touched down in their midst.

We pray for the Mothers and Fathers, Brothers and Sisters, Families and Friends
dealing with the loss of life, loss of property, loss of livelihood and loss of peace of mind.

We pray for children and adults lost and persons injured from the debris
whirling all around them and causing even more pain than we can comprehend.

We pray for small miracles and teachers who shield the children in their care.
We pray for pets found and family treasures located in the rubble.

We pray for first responders and hospital staff treating the injured.
We pray for recovery teams on the way to help in the aftermath of such destruction.
We pray for pastors and churches as they minister to their congregations and communities in pain.

We pray for God's comfort and peace in the midst of choas.
We pray for God's guidance and grace in the midst of trials.
We pray for God's love to be felt by all in Oklahoma coming from around the globe.

We are there in spirit, holding you in prayer, and sending you our best wishes and resources for recovery.

Feel us with you. Feel God enfolding you in love. Feel the energy and support we are sending your way.

In Christ's name we pray.

Amen.

Wounded Faith

 This morning I was checking out my Facebook feed and saw the above photo that intrigued me greatly.  It was on the status of a clergy friend who often posts funny photos of himself photoshopped into some absurd situation or onto someone else’s body. So I was intrigued by the seriousness of the image – which I thought was a bit uncharacteristic.

When I really looked at it, I was reminded of the many times my Grandmother or Mom would tell me that I could survive anything through faith and that Jesus was bigger than any of my problems or issues. But there were definitely times in my life when my issues, problems, concerns, or drama seemed much bigger than my faith, bigger than Jesus, and definitely bigger than my understanding of God.

But I distinctly remember being told the opposite as I was growing up. “God doesn't give us more than we can handle,” I was told. Well, if that’s true, then evidently God has a higher opinion of what I can handle than I do.

Now I have to be honest about my life. I am a white, middle-class, highly educated, well employed, fairly healthy American woman. I am a Protestant in a vibrant community of faith and work in a vocation that I love and enjoy immensely. I have good health care and options for where I go to receive treatment when I am sick. I have a home that is warm and comfortable. My son is in a great school and had the ability to apply to multiple magnet schools for high school next year. I have an amazing family – my family of origin and my family of choice— and I know that I am richly blessed.

So how bad could my problems be? Right?

We all have secret pain. We all have brokenness. We all have wounds that do not fully heal despite all the salve we put on them. The truth is that no matter our circumstances in life – there is still heartache, pain and wounds.

Sometimes the pain comes from wounds that we are too frightened to talk about to others. Sometimes it comes from things we had no control over. Sometimes it comes from bad decisions we made in our past. Sometimes it comes from the evil some people do to others. Sometimes it comes from how society treats people that are deemed “others.” And sometimes it is what we do to ourselves.

No matter how we get these wounds - they are real. The pain is real. The feelings that the wounds and pain are bigger than Jesus – bigger than God—are real.  And no easy answers and pithy slogans on photos makes that pain go away. I know that.

But I believe that God helps to heal our wounds if we open our lives to that. I believe that our faith can and does help us survive difficult situations in our lives. I do believe that God is big enough to take our pain, to take our anger, to take our frustrations, and to take our brokenness and help us begin to heal.

For me that healing comes from my faith, from my church community, from my understanding of God’s desire for the best for me, and from the love with which I am surrounded every day.  For me healing comes in the Eucharistic meal I participate in every week with my seminary community and monthly with my community of faith. For me healing comes from a faith life that includes prayer, reading the scriptures, spending time in spiritual practices, and honoring my personal faith needs.

But even those powerful parts of my life do not automatically heal all of my wounds. Some wounds are even deeper than I want to admit. I am trying to be open to healing and wholeness. But I still have the wounds. They have shrunken over the years but I still have the scars. There has been healing and renewal, but that does not make me immune from new pain. There have been moments of complete clarity about my life and other times when everything was foggy. And I know that in all of those situations, God was with me. God was bigger than my pain, but I had to open myself to the possibility of healing. I had to stop focusing on the wounds so that I could feel the power of the healing.

The healing was sometimes as painful as the wounding—because it often involved forgiving the person(s) who injured me. And the healing was not always complete because I often held onto the pain since it was so personal to me.  And it had been such a part of my journey.

Healing comes if we open ourselves to the possibilities. It can be slow and difficult.

Wounds are not bigger than we are. Pain is not bigger than we are. Even though they feel like that sometimes – they are not bigger than God.

I have to remember that – I think that we all do. 

Thin Places of Faith

I was introduced to a Celtic idea called “thin places” recently by a student of mine. I have had these kinds of experiences before but never had this particular language to describe them. The Celtic phrase, “thin places,” describes situations where heaven and earth come together so profoundly that the distance between them is almost erased – a moment of connection to the Divine that is close and profoundly intimate.

In the Celtic tradition, heaven and earth are about 3 feet apart. But in “thin places” the distance is significantly reduced. I’m not certain about the 3 feet estimation of this tradition, but I’ve definitely had “thin place” experiences.

When I was in high school I went on a two week backpacking trip into the high Rocky Mountains of Colorado. We packed in our food and water for a wonderful experience in the mountains. I was stunned and amazed every day and night at all that I was seeing.

We had some remarkable opportunities. We saw herds of elk passing through grassy valleys, majestic eagles flying overhead, and dug out snow-packed areas for tent sites. I saw and experienced things that I never had before as a teen from the plains of West Texas. I had a tremendous time.

And I learned the most important rule of camping and hiking – never go anywhere alone. We were paired up and had a buddy for most of the trip. On occasion we had a different buddy but mine for the majority of the trip was Beth.

One night – way into the wee hours – nature called. I tried very hard to wake Beth up but she was out cold. I tried a few others in our camp and no one was budging. So I decided I could head out on my own as long as I stayed close to the camp (I know, it was dumb but I was young and fearless). I grabbed my trusty flashlight and headed out.

After completing my task, I thought I saw some deer moving by me and followed a bit to get a closer look at them. It did not take long for me to get turned around and lost.

Then something bad happened. The batteries in my flashlight burned out and I was in the dark. It wasn’t just dark – it was pitch dark. It was the darkest kind of dark that I had ever experienced. I could not even see my hand in front of my face. And I began to get a bit scared.

Then I started to panic. I was lost, I had no light, and I did not know what to do. So I sat down to figure out what to do next. I wondered who would find me and tell my parents I loved them if I did not make it back home (I know, it’s dramatic but again – I was young).

As I sat there, my eyes started to adjust to the dark. And as they did, I discovered that it was not as dark as I had thought it was. There was actually light shining from the amazing array of stars up in the sky. But I was in the high Rockies and they appeared so close that I literally thought I could reach out and touch some of them. There were millions of them – bright, shiny, translucent, and flickering.

In that moment I knew heaven and earth were so close together and that I was experiencing that. There was a razor’s edge between the two. And it was astonishing. I hope you have had “thin moments,” as well. But some of you may never have felt this kind of closeness to the Divine or heaven or God or whatever your call this presence. But in that moment I believe that I did.

I felt calmer, I began to make out familiar tree lines and ridges, and I could see the outlines of the area where I was pretty sure our campsite was. I began to walk on a trail I found – lit by the abundant heavenly stars – and found the campsite in just a short hike.

It was definitely a “thin place.” And I was grateful heaven and earth were so close together in that moment.

But I’ve also had the reverse – I guess we could call them “think places.” I had moments when I did not feel connected to God and times when I felt a great distance between heaven and earth.  It felt much wider than 3 feet. Most of you have felt the same way.

Now as I look back on the moments when I felt the distance between heaven and earth was wider or felt somewhat alone, I know it was not God who moved away. The Divine was still very close – maybe I did not feel it as close as I felt it on that mountaintop, but God was close nonetheless. The distance between heaven and earth is so often erased.

What’s the difference? Sometimes I’m just not sure. Was it me being open and needy on the mountaintop that led me to feel that connection? Or was it simply the circumstances? I can’t say I really have an answer but I am trying to be open to the “thin places” every day. Some days I am better than others – but I pray to be open enough to experience them. And I pray for you to experience them too.