St. Mark's

(I found this buried in the depths of my blog drafts. I wrote it last year, after going to listen to a compline choir while on a mobile trip in Seattle.)


 
I recently got a chance to sit in on the compline choir at St. Mark's episcopal church in Seattle. 

It moved me so much I wrote a poem about it.  Revel in my cheesiness.

Tiptoe swiftly past
the doorman with the smiling eyes
raise my head to see
hundreds of figures.
Some intently focused
eyes closed and lips silently moving,
Others lightheartedly receiving,
eyes open and wandering.
Prostrate, kneeling, cross-legged
in pews, on ledges, on concrete floor
filling nearly every open space
in the colossal chapel of St. Mark's.
 
Find my seat on the cold ground
amidst people of every kind
cross my legs
and breathe.
The sea of sihouettes
allows me to absorb
into the atmosphere,
morph
into the hundreds
gathering for a half an hour
to simply listen.

Silence.
The church is void of
talking, moving, rustling.
The stillness is thick
but the anticipation is loud
each person waiting
in silent expectation
to hear sounds that allow them
to escape from the present
and enter into the unknown.

Finally a note is heard
Rising slowly from a undefined place
Growing greater as the seconds tick by
A note
in perfect pitch
Clear and crisp
echoing of the walls of the chapel
Then
another note
wraps its arms around the first
in perfect harmony
Then
another
and another
notes linking arms with one another
sung from the mouths of monks
hidden from sight.

Notes turn into words
words into prayers.
Verses from the holy scriptures
developed into chants 
the chants of the Gregorian monks at st. Marks.

Their voices unite the crowd
all gathering, wonderstruck
by the beauty
of what is tickling their ears
melody, harmony, praise
striking in our hearts
that familiar feeling
of being enveloped in something
our heads deny
but our hearts can't help
but give into.

Seven Storey Mountain

     "On the last day of January 1915, under the sign of the Water Bearer, in a year of a great war, and down in the shadow of some French mountains on the borders of Spain, I came into the world. Free by nature, in the image of God, I was nevertheless the prisoner of my own violence and my own selfishness, in the image of the world into which I was born. That world was the picture of Hell, full of men like myself, loving God and yet hating Him; born to love Him, living instead in fear and hopeless self-contradictory hungers.
     Not many hundreds of miles away from the house where I was born, they were picking up the men who rotted in the rainy ditches among the dead horses and the ruined seventy-fives, in a forest of trees without branches along the river Marne.
     My father and mother were captives in that world, knowing they did not belong with it or in it, and yet unable to get away from it. They were in the world and not of it--not because they were saints, but in a different way: because they were artists. The integrity of an artist lifts a man above the level of the world without delivering him from it.
     My father painted like Cezanne and understood the southern French landscape the way Cezanne did. His vision of the world was sane, full of balance, full of veneration for structure, for the relations of the masses and for all the circumstances that impres an individual identity on each created thing. His vision was religious and clean, and therefore his paintings were without decorations or superfluous comment, since a religious man respects the power of God's creation to bear witness for itself. My father was a very good artist.
     Neither of my parents suffered from the little spooky prejudices that devour the people who know nothing but automobiles and movies and what's in the ice-box and what's in the papers and which neighbors are getting a divorce.
     I inherited from my father his way of looking at things and some of his integrity and from my other some of her dissatisfaction with the mess the world is in, and some of her versatility. From both I got capacities for work and vision and enjoyment and expression that ought to have made me some kind of a King, if the standards the world lives by were the real ones. Not that we ever had any money: but any fool knows that you don't need money to get enjoyment out of life.
     If what most people take for granted were really true--if all you needed to be happy was to grab everything and see everything and investigate every experience and then talk about, I should have been a very happy person, a spiritual millionaire, from the cradle even until now.
     If happiness were merely a matter of natural gifts, I would have never entered a Trappist monastery when I came to the age of a man."

--Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain, pg. 1



Page one, guys. Page ONE. I just got this book in the mail today. There are 400 pages left. YES. Praise God for brilliant minds that choose to write honest things on paper that make the rest of us feel sane.

The Monastery--After The Fact

It's been a couple of weeks since I returned from my weekend at Mt. Angel. I don't want to turn the experience in to some spiritual high that I'm trying to clutch and grab onto for as long as possible, but as I read over my journal entries from that weekend, I have to say that a chord strikes in my heart and I feel the pull towards contemplation tugging yet again. I feel a slight lift in my spirit and flutter in my soul thinking about the raw beauty of solitude with God. Obviously, I haven't been able to get time like that with God back here at the YWAM campus. But I've noticed that some revelations from that weekend have definitely translated into my day-to-day here, which I think is really important, and tells that the experience wasn't just hype.
For one, I don't find myself resenting corporate prayer and worship anymore. Before the weekend at the monastery, I could pinpoint numerous times when simply being in worship or intercession with other Christians made me so furious I would run out of the event and go to my house, slam the door and scream cry into my pillow for an hour. I could never figure out why praying and worshiping, things that are supposed to be deep times of communion with God, would make me so damned pissed. But in the silence at the monastery I noticed that in corporate worship times, I wasn't seeking God for God's sake. I was seeking a vision, a picture, a word, anything to share with everyone else in the room to prove that I "hear God". Not only that, but I was definitely testing my own ability to twist his arm--to see how much I would whine and strive until I got him to do what I wanted. Of course you never realize these things until you are able to step outside of things and take a good hard look at yourself. God definitely helped me do that. Now when I'm in worship or prayer I take comfort in the fact that it has nothing to do with me. All worship and prayer is about is bowing my head and honoring a God a thousand times bigger than myself. It's about sitting in the wonder of the fact that I'll never be able to control any part of who He is. I'm helpless in taming him. And just to clarify, this isn't sappy sentiment I'm talking about--I'm not sitting wide-eyed, with warm fuzzies about God (although there's a place for that). I'm talking about a deep peace and sense of humility, knowing that I am tiny and God is HUGE. That simple fact of knowing that it's useless for me to manipulate God or back him into a corner, melts my rage. Thank God.
Secondly, my bible has also shifted from being a source of resentment to a source of life and refuge. I want to read my bible. Because it's not about me. It's not about what I can get from it. Yeah, that's a perk. But it's just a perk. The Bible is about learning about the biggest most beautiful most complicated neverending never able to understand thing in the whole universe--God. And something about picking up this Bible freakishly gives me life in a way nothing else does. It honestly freaks me out sometimes, because I can't explain what it does in my soul. It shifts things. It hasn't been like that for a while and I think the shift is this--lifting my gaze from my navel, to God himself. He's so much cooler than me.
Again, thank God.

Get Thee to a Nunnery

     This weekend I spent three days at the Benedictine Sisters Monastery in Mt. Angel. I've been trying to succeed on a Daniel fast (raw food) for the past few months and have failed repeatedly, so last week Phil Gazely suggested I take a personal retreat to a monastery to get in tune with God and give it another go. If you know me, you know I'm slightly obsessed with monasticism, so of course the idea of spending three days in a monastery amidst sounds of a perfectly pitched compline choir sounded like a fantastic escape.
     I learned a LOT this weekend, most of it having little to do with fasting, ironically. Also, it was uncomfortable. Really. The whole experience was nothing like I expected. It was unsettling sitting around with so much time on my hands in so much quiet. It took all of me not to bolt out the door every hour on the hour. Instead I tried to intentionally sit with my discomfort and learn all I could in the tension of silence. 
     I'll pull out a few highlights from my journal for you guys. Feel free to ask me more about it. Also, it's pretty long and most of you won't have the patience to read it, but patience is what most of it is about, so read on.



On the Friday before I left, Phil gave me a verse that he felt was from God for me. It was Exodus 14:14. "The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still."



5/6/11
     "So much is running through my head. I went to prayer with the sisters in a beautiful chapel overlooking the greenery of their grounds. It was rainy outside, the kind of rain that is being interrupted by little bursts of sunshine. Inside we were praying and singing hymns, hymns that I'm sure the sisters have read a thousand times. But the cold, ritualistic feel of prayers were contrasted by the warmth in the eyes of each one of the nuns. It sounds cheesy, but it's true. Each one has greeted me with a kind smile and an extended hand.
    "I have SO much time on my hands. I feel like I could commit to anything and talk to anyone right now because I'm not restricted by schedules and to-do's. I hopped in the shower after watching a VHS in their vintage library on Thomas Merton (which was incredible) and it hit me (yet again)--rushing and busyness and excessive entertainment are truly wastes of a life. I've learned more in the last four hours of being here in stillness than I have in three months! I've been bombarded with concepts and information the last few months, tons of great ones, but nothing has soaked in or transformed me--and that's what's been so frustrating. Revelation is abundant in the environment I live in, which is good, but it's almost turned into an instant gratification type of thing, where I grab onto a 'good idea' but a few months later I'm left with zero transformation. Not to mention the fact that everything is so busy. There's never enough time to tune in and seek after transformation. Our lives are noisy and we glorify busyness. It's disgusting, really. What am I making of my life by trading true relationship or silence with busyness? To get meaningless crap accomplished, crap that has zero impact on the greater world around me? To what end is my busyness? Nothing. Loneliness, if anything. It leaves me empty handed. I want to live without busyness and stuff. But the busyness and stuff is so freaking enticing. Busyness equates productivity in our culture and I think that's such a lie. If anything, it's a huge distraction. Busyness drowns out the irritating cries of my soul for depth and vitality that do not come easily in this shallow age we live in . Stuff: food, entertainment, spending--it passes time and distracts me from my soul, whose cries I've been diminishing in value, but are only becoming more urgent as the days progress. I can't shut up the cries of my heart anymore--it creaks and groans like a piece of wood buckling under too much weight. What will hydrate it again?

5/6/11--[an entry regarding gluttony] "...I think that's this fast is for--to break the chains of gluttony and sloth. What happens when I weed out the main source of overconsumption in my life? Overconsumption ceases. So does rushing and busyness--rushing to stuff food in my mouth or frantically grab the last bit of food with my hands. My tunnel vision toward food is shut off. Slownesss rushes in to fill it's place. Settledness, the sense of time. No longer am I frantic, I'm calm. No longer am I afraid of not getting filled, for I am filled by being underfilled.  An interesting paradox. "

5/7/11--"I met someone today. An old dude. Today I met Sid. He creeped me out at first, because his eyes would kind of glaze over when he spoke and he dramatically shift his weight from side to side. I didn't know why he acted that way until he started sharing more about his story. He introduced himself to me by asking if I'd been to the monastery before. I said no. He said he had, six times now, that he comes once a year. Then he got into why. Apparently, when he was eighteen, he got in a car accident. He hit the side of a bridge, wasn't wearing his seat belt and was launched through the windshield, skidding across rocks down a hill. As he was telling the story he kept saying, '...and I went out of my body'. I kept wondering what he meant, so I finally interrupted him to ask and he said, 'Oh, into the light. The tunnel." At this point I wondered if I was talking to a crazy. But he started telling me how he was suspended in light and felt nothing but sense of being pulled three directions--toward Good, toward Evil, and toward himself, back to Earth. He went back, obviously, out of his choice, I don't know. But he went on to tell me that due to that experience he had a myriad of questions about faith and God, so he made the choice to go to seminary--he said it just made things worse and things were still pretty unresolved. Well, twenty years later at thirty-eight, he gets married. He said that's when everything 'exploded'. He hit a wall of depression, hopelessness and despair. He didn't know why it hit at that time, that time that was supposed to be the most fulfilling time in our lives--when we marry another person. Instead of running from the marriage, him and his wife spent years together in counseling trying to work things through. He said it's been a process, and he's only now beginning to understand the questions he had back when he was eighteen. Now when he comes to Mt. Angel, he keeps in mind the meditation practices he's learned, but he lets whatever happens, happen. He doesn't judge any of it. He just lets it be. He said God's speaking theree things to him already, "In Him, with him, as him." He said he keeps hearing it, over and over and he's just going with the flow for now. He had some really profound things to say, actually and was a very sharp, very deep man. Although his shifty mannerisms made me think otherwise, at first. After he shared his story, he asked me about mine. I told him a bit, about what I'm working through. A lot of it was similar to what he said he was going through. He said I'm in a good place now, working all of this out so young because i'm getting a strong foundation. Which I hear a lot. But makes me wonder...when is this kind of 'crisis' supposed to happen? When you're twenty-five or when you're fifty? It tends to be either one of those age ranges, I've noticed. I asked myself, as far as life lessons, am I exceptional and and he's behind? Or am I too early and he's on time? Or are we both just okay where we're at? Probably the latter."

5/8/11--"My attention span is horrific. My mind has probably wandered to fifteen different places just while reading one chapter of Romans. This will take practice, this slowness thing. This meditative life. I live in a time where I can be entertained by anything, anytime of day, it's at my fingertips no matter where I am.  The mark of a peculiar people in this generation will be those who can sit in silence and be okay. Those who can leave their smart phones at home and not have their brain short circuit. Those who reject busyness and say no to noise even it if means others will call them lazy, narcissistic, anti-social or unproductive. Will we take our 'busyness', rushing and to-do lists to the grave? No. When you're dead "you don't take nothing with you but your soul," as John Lennon sang. And our souls thrive on depth, relationship and wonder at simplicity and things not made by man. Oh, God, help me to be a person of slowness. And may your word be my greatest escape."

5/8/11--"I took a walk through the cemetery earlier. I was just walking and thinking/praying. As I was praying, I began to repent. Nothing super heavy or anything like that, but still things of importance. I repented of something that surprised me. When you take walks outside, you're kind of hit in the face with how big God is. How untameable and wild. And I realized that my Christian life consists of whining that God isn't at my fingertips every time I pray--that I'm not 'hearing him' that I'm not getting a word for someone, that I'm not getting some type of vision. God is bigger than those things. And he's not going to show up whenever I snap my arrogant fingers. I prayed he would reshape my thinking to that of worshiping and praying as an act of submitting to him, not as an act of getting something out of him. Most saints and contemplatives had quiet times consisting of silence and slow meditation--not weeping and demanding and striving. Although emotions have their place, they're not the essence of prayer, or the essence of God. He is a God worthy of honor and worthy of us waiting on him. To think he has to show up every time we do something spiritual is so naive. I prayed he would turn my relationship with him into a silent union with Him. Not an experience."

I learned a lot while I was there and wondered at even more. Such as: are some monks avoiding intimacy by choosing to take the vows of an order? How many Catholics will go to heaven as Christians see it? Catholics pray to Saints, and I also see monks pulling from Zen thought and other types of religions--Am I worshiping the same God they are? Am I called to a contemplative life? If I'm not called to a monastery, how can I cultivate a contemplative life in my day-to-day? How can I make the Eucharist more sacred? How can I get my hands on every Thomas Merton, St. John of the Cross, St. Teresa of Avila and St. Francis of Assisi book ever written? And on and on.

Being at the monastery made feel intellectually at home. I can't wait to go again.

Day #10--A Man After My Own Heart

Today I got the pleasure of having lunch with Phil Gazley, a man after my own heart. Normally, I tend to be super shy around teachers or people of authority, but I'm getting over it and learning to approach them. Because being in YWAM, we have incredible minds coming through here on a weekly basis, specifically to share their knowledge with new missionaries, and for me to not get to know them is, honestly, a huge waste.
So, that being said, today after class I asked Phil if we could talk and he said yes, he'd love to. We went through the lunch line and sat down with our food. We spent the next hour talking about fasting, the holy spirit, monasticism, solitude, acedia, our generations paralysis from information over-load and much more. I was sitting there across from him with a plate full of food, fork in one hand and chin resting on the other, soaking up everything he was saying and it was like he was spoon-feeding my soul. I didn't even want the food in front of me, which basically never happens. So that's pretty telling of how great the conversation was. I definitely don't mean to over-glorify him--but I do want to point out that it was so nice being understood and being able to talk with someone about things that make my soul tick. I cant tell you how many times I try to talk to people about monasticism and i can literally see it going in one ear and out the other. In my opinion, monasticism and the ancient practices are key to understanding God, so it's sad for me to see so many people disinterested in it.
Anyway, while we were talking I asked him about this fast. I told him I know I feel a deep call from God to do a serious long term fast, but I've tried at least 5 times in the last few months and fail after about 3 days. I asked him what that meant or if he knew of any secret tips that help in sticking out a fast or if it might have to do with acedia. He pointed out something interesting. He reminded me that I live in a community. A community bustling with people, food and coffee around every corner. to-do lists, texting, internet and distractions abundant. He wondered if I'm getting off on the wrong foot, starting out with zeal, but burning out because of a lack of foundation (which very well could be the truth--the amount of time I've spent in prayer these past days has NOT been sufficient, even for normal routine, let alone a fast). He said I'm probably beating myself up for failing (yes) but I might just be failing for reasons as simple as being distracted. So, he suggested that if I really feel I need to fast, that I take some time away in solitude for a few days to get through the rough part and to get centered with God-- without distractions, without to-do lists. He mentioned that monastaries provide great environments for personal retreats and things of that nature. So today I researched monastaries in the Salem area and found one in a town about 15 minutes away from here, nestled in the mountains. I called them today, asked if I could come and they said yes. It was surprisingly easy. So, I'm headed there for the weekend, to give this fast another go. Hopefully God will speak some things to me about this fast, and the myriad of things connected with it. Then hopefully, I can begin to find healing and finally turn my gaze from inward to outward--I feel so inward these days I feel like I'm imploding. But my problem has been that I feel so wretched inside I literally can't turn my gaze outward. It's a terrible place to be. Anyway, I'm sure I'll get more clarity on that soon.
So, the fast is on a slight pause until Friday. I'll start again, head to the monastary for a few days and pick up the blogging when I return, unless God says otherwise. I will talk to you guys then.

P.S. Thanks for reading.