Five months later......

I enjoy writing. It gives me a creative expression which uses a medium that I know and love....words. But as I have mentioned more than once before, I have yet to learn, accept or commit to writing as a discipline.  For me, to write when I don't have anything on my mind to explore or describe has just been a non-starter.  And if that is not bad enough, I now have a new issue. Namely the fear of laying my current thoughts down on the electronic record book of this blog only to look back and be embarrassed, even shamed (self-shame). The apparent naivete, the virtual hubris of some of my breezy declarations is certainly not a confidence builder. 

Regardless, I am now telling myself I will never arrive at a place where I can guarantee that all that I see and do and write about will magically remain eternally valid. That it will somehow always stand up under the scrutiny of time and hindsight. I reached that humble conclusion about half way through swimming my laps one very recent morning. I experienced a flush of excitement at the decision to break my 5 month hiatus from visiting this blog.  Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead! Let the record show what it shows and open the toga the best that you can Senor Santiago.....

As I glance at the cup on my desk, there is the section of branch and vine that I cut down about a year ago last summer. The mystery of that union of the branch to the vine, where the two merge into one, served me well as a point of contemplation, possibility, calling even. And yet I'm aware of an attitude in me at the time where the pursuit of a deeper union with God was almost like a project. a lofty goal I would simply set my mind to. Yep, I would just head off with my little spiritual rucksack in a brave journey to appropriate insight and intimacy with the Trinity. About right now I can envision someone coming into the room and asking me, "So how's that goin' for ya'?" 

As I continue to read and study the lives of mystics, read of their journeys, listen to their guidance, I am struck by the endless paradoxes that are the coin of the mystical realm. The word ineffable has become a sort of friend to me. It expresses the very experience I have had anytime I have tried to verbalize to another the path I find myself on. Or any time I try and write about my current journey. My dictionary describes ineffable as too overwhelming to be expressed or described in words;inexpressible; too awesome or sacred to be spoken.  This word brings me relief.  It explains what I have experienced in each and every attempt to blog or discuss the contemplative path I believe I have been called to. I came across this quote which so beautifully captures the essence of ineffable: "The witness of all those who have tasted it, however, is that it cannot really be spoken but only alluded to by analogies and art." Like a distant, faint star. It is only visible peripherally, not by direct gaze

So Santiago is in court being tried for crimes against common sense. The charges include babbling and thrashing and making little to no sense despite his best attempts at clarity. My attorney looks to the jury and offers my only defense: "Your honor, members of the jury, my client's understanding and the path he finds himself upon is simply ineffable. Clarity, crispness and precise descriptions are quite simply not possible. The defense rests." 

And yet I write in an attempt... an attempt to understand and be understood. An attempt at arriving at some type of self narrative to chronicle this journey. And my little friend ineffable serves as a type of pass. a get-out-of jail card for me. I can quit my straining to put exact words to what words can never do justice to. The judge comes back and asks the jury if they have reached a verdict. "We have your honor. We find the defendant not guilty!"  The judge leans over the bench and addresses me directly. "Son, I have a bit of advice for you. Just say it the best you can and damn the torpedoes!

Whether it's gift or curse I do not know. But I am definitely a pragmatic kind of guy, practical to a fault. (And yet, as perhaps a type of cosmic relief valve,  I have a love for winsomeness despite it being so often of no practical value whatsoever!) Practicality stands at the very center of my motivation in pursuing what has turned out to be a contemplative path. My reasoning follows.....

Since becoming acutely aware of the late innings of my ballgame, I simply looked up ahead and saw what my beliefs promised was coming. Namely, a passing from the kingdom of this earth into the eternal kingdom of what is often called heaven. It would be there that the promises of God indicate I will commune with him in an intimate, direct, even face-to-face manner. Aha! Then if that is the case (says my pragmatic engine room) then no sense waiting. Let's get busy now and strike off on a course that directly heads to the pursuit of a deeper intimacy with the Trinity on this side of the grave.  Why wait to cross over. Find out what you can do now to expedite the transformative processes that are required to close the intimacy/union gap between Santiago and the Triune dance.  Something like that.....

The above stands in contrast to what has repeatedly stood out in my reading of a growing number of mystics. Namely, that their progression/process of pursuing deeper intimacy with God seemed not necessarily driven by a pragmatic outlook such as I have described.   Theirs, although each writer was unique, seemed always more fueled by a deep love for God that had a compelling energy that drew them into discipline and obedience and the spiritual practices. Their love for God was of a depth that not pleasing him was simply abhorrent. It was a burning type of love that seemed to keep them on their respective mystical paths through all the self-emptying that must precede a divine in-filling. To me, this love stands in sharp contrast to the merely pragmatic, volitional assent that seems at the heart of my motivation to date. I believe only love is strong enough to sustain a calling to the cosmic dance. I believe that pragmatism by itself is woefully inadequate to pull me up and into what I of myself have no ability to lift myself into.

Lord, I present myself to you and confess my desire to fall more deeply in love with you. I want to fully embrace that unconditional love and acceptance you have for me. I want not to just have intellectual knowledge of your love. I desire your love to more fully fuel my desires and my passions to love you back. For your love to ignite my love for you in order to please you and to more radically present myself to you.  For your will to be done in bringing me closer to being a man who walks in a manner capable of bringing benefit to others and in active participation with your redemptive work in our broken world.

  

7 decades into it: state of union

 

That swirl, that feeling of being "pregnant" with something seeking birth, a tugging, a yearning. And this day, May 19, the 46th anniversary of giving myself to Jesus as Savior. Allow me to have a go at it within this humble blog.....

In my pursuit of being intentional about the joining of branch to vine, of realizing a deeper union with the Trinitarian dance, of spending the 9th inning on what counts, I have come across a couple of things which I so desire to articulate. But hmmmm.... I'm not so sure it is possible. Nonetheless, let the thrash of the few words that follow serve as an attempt to express what I hear clamoring inside. 

On one hand, there is a definite sense of patheticness at having spent 70+ years on a DIY project constructing an identity from which to do/survive life. And for all that self-effort, then only to realize that the "shack" that has been constructed is a mere illusion full of smoke and mirrors. Not just some sections of the "shack" mind you....no, the whole rickety thing. To find out that to enter into the dance that is always there, the "shack" must be emptied, dismantled and let go. Two cannot really become one until two are willing to be only one.

Alongside this truth is a growing awareness that emptiness is fullness. That the Jesus I gave my life to on the dock 46 years ago, the Jesus whose teachings I have sought to internalize and emulate, provided us an example of a message not often (if ever) heard from the church stages of today. Namely, that Jesus spent all his energy emptying himself and staying devoid of any of his own ideas and plans. His life was completely sublimated to the will of the Father. He did not count equality a thing to be grasped. He went to the cross empty of any of his own will, full only of obedience to the directions of the Father. His emptiness so counterintuitively brought the fullness of God's redemptive plan and made our rescue possible.

When I read of my expressions of union that I have written over the last couple of years I am humbled by my clumsiness. Each layer of the onion of knowledge only suffices for a little while until the next layer shows itself to be so much more pertinent and complete than the previous.  Ultimately, that layer is found wanting as yet another layer appears to have more light than all previous ones. It is exhausting and yet compelling.

It's a strange feeling I have. A definite desire to describe some things that are so very elusive when I attempt to put words around it. No sooner than I have typed out the words comes the definite feeling: "That's not it." Type the next sentence and, "Nope, that's not quite it either."  And yet, I remain convicted that it is better I take some swings and misses than to just leave the arena entirely.

I see that lamenting an apparent waste of time spent on the lifetime construction of an autonomous ego self, the false self of Merton, is merely a waste of time. For it has been that very journey that took me to where my eyes could be opened to this definite hunger within. It is a gift that apparently could not be given/received anytime sooner. It is becoming ever clearer that there is nothing to acquire, only to realize what I have had all along. Yet, it has remained hidden by my efforts to build an autonomous palace from which I could launch occasional mountain top experiences in the vain hopes they would bring lasting nourishment....a kind of 'cake and eat it too' thing.

So the parts list of this self-constructed "shack": planks of achievements large and small, real and imagined, tacked together by short staples of healthy aspirations to rack up some accomplishment points on the cosmic board. Amidst the construction and assembly of this Home Depot kit of parts and pieces, I would take breaks to dive deeper into the truths of Scripture in an effort to have a good showing of spiritual siding with which to clad the ramshackle affair. To give it a look of respectability. As I step back to assess, the results are dismal indeed. A total lack of levelness, out of plumb, mismatched boards, several spots of rot and numerous nail pops. Upon full inspection in the bright light of day the results are clear: beyond remodeling/advise demolition. 

The fact remains that what I seek to acquire is already there...just not realized. It's easy to miss as it sits behind the hoped-for-Taj-Mahal of my own design that I secretly dreamed might just win this year's architectural grand prize.  Alas, after a quick review, the judges are unanimous in their verdict....it must be utterly annihilated.  But take heart, the Architect is interested in taking on the project and has limitless experience in transforming lost causes!

And what is my role in all this activity and attention? To sit quietly, to loosen my tight grasp, to submit to the Architect's plans and to grant him total discretion in whatever may be necessary. To invite her into the work of emptying me. That my life might be lived by him whose image I was created in. The zen of doing nothing to receive the gift of realizing a deeper union with the All in All. And only to be reminded this is not a newly minted reality. No, for it has been very near and utterly available since the beginning. 

Holy Trinity, loving Father, sacrificing Jesus, winsome Holy Spirit. Receive my deep gratitude on being tapped on the shoulder by you at Lake Harriet. Thank you for piercing through the fog of myself and my autonomy to bring me onto a path that you have kept me on, however wayward I have been. Words fail  to express the depth of my gratitude at being invited up and into your cosmic dance. Protect me from all that would have me sidelined from this focus on union with the All in All. Forgive the half-halfheartedness that is always too nearby. I seek to "forget myself on purpose, to cast my awful solemnity  to the winds and join the general dance". Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy upon me, a sinner.

Picture a beach.

Picture a beach. A vast beach, over 16 miles wide and 400 yards deep. With warm salt water on one edge and endless dunes on the other. Blue sky above, intense sun delivering steady heat. A particular grain of sand somehow finds itself "woke" to its own existence. Immediately it sets itself upon a quest of comparative observation as it attempts to find and understand itself and the context it is suddenly conscious of being within.

An initial look does not determine much measurable difference between itself and surrounding other grains of sand. As the days pass the air sometimes moves with sufficient force to move this grain to a new location on the for-all-intent-and-purposes endless beach. At other times this grain stays put but finds that others have been blown in as new immediate neighbor grains. 

Most times there is little-to-no apparent difference observed between itself and others. Oh sure, some slight variation in size perhaps, some darker or lighter in color tone, some smoother, some rougher but all-in-all nothing that would stop a normal grain of sand in it's tracks. 

But there were occasions when a noticeably unique neighbor would appear next to this searching piece of sand. Sometimes a pebble with a hardness that was impressive. Other times a miniature piece of bright diamond or a fleck of gold glinting in the sun would catch the sand's inner eye with a startle. Though rare, there were definite sand-sized pieces of amazingness out there and what was that all about?

Mostly our grain was in a dry patch of beach. But every once in a while the warm ocean waters would swell to an extent that the water would reach the sand grains position. At such times the immediate area would be flooded by warm saltiness. Sometimes there would also be bits and pieces of foreign objects washed in next to the the grain that made little to no sense to the grains way of sand- thinking. The foreign objects were of such different composition that they were ultimately dismissed as being merely random interruptions in an otherwise sameness. Just as being soaked by water brought no long lasting change neither did these 'foreigners'. They were here today but gone tomorrow.

The 'woke-ness' of this grain of sand posed definite problems when it came to peace and contentment. For indeed,  there was a restlessness that seemed to come from an actual desire to find individual meaning and understanding that were relevant to this specific grain of sand, Although appreciably the same as mostly all the neighbor grains that came in contact, there were those occasional notable exceptions. But what did they mean? What were they to this grain of sand? Why did wetness do nothing but momentarily change the outside surface? Was there any unique purpose there to be discovered within the "woke-ness" of this sand grain?

Deep consideration of all this brought only an empty, unsettling sense within the grain. What good was all this "woke-ness" and self-efforts at deducing the state of affairs of it's own existence? Just what value was this providing to this poor, old, self-inquiring sand grain? Alas, if sand were ever to be pitied, now would be a good time to begin.

After a long passage of what the grain had heard was called "time", there simply were no new insights as to anything that could even remotely be called a purpose, a direction, a specific calling or even a permanent home. Gradually, the "woke" state of the sand grain diminished. At last, with all "wokeness" nearly gone, the sand grain arrived at some conclusions. Alas, it's destiny did not appear to include being an amazing, standout grain that would command the accolades of the beach. This search had opened the grain to the possibility that this beach the grain found itself part of was no random accident.

Somewhere, somehow, there must be a Beach Master. The grain could make no sense of a spontaneous beach, warm sun and salty waters. Perhaps this season of "wokeness" had been a simple gift to the grain, an opportunity to see what was normally invisible. That the grain was not merely pure chance. That although the beach seemed massive, the grain was an intentional part. That the Beach Master had intended for this grain to exist and do it's part, however small, to make this beach what it was.

So, as the time of  "wokeness" came to a final close, the grain found itself returning to simply being. To letting go of the comparative introspection and the vain hope of finding some sort of superiority. There was a sense that a simple surrender was in order. A surrender to the dignified humility of being one in many with no need of being found special enough to garner any unique attention. And that surrender brought the sweetest sense of peace and of well-being. 

The grain rested as the sun set below the horizon. Rested in the comfort of being a "kept" grain that found itself an intentional part of a wonderful beach. The period of "wokeness" had been good and worthwhile but this settled sense of being seemed so right. And such is the way the sand grain abides...to this very day.

 So Spring has entered the arena. Now comes the time when the incoming challenger starts duking it out with the current champ for who gets to reign over the next several months. Spring's opening gambit was strong but then the wily ol' north wind came back a blowin' and a snortin' to challenge the uppity interloper. Funny, I sit here writing like I have something to say, something to try and articulate out of the jumble of wispy thoughts. But you know, I really got nothin'. Fact is that it's a rainy day, too rainy and windy to do my daily walk and I just feel like writing. But when I go to the cupboard to see what ingredients I might blend together into a thoughtful blog, alas, they are empty. I am not "pregnant" with anything in particular. That certainly tends to make writing go slower and feel less enjoyable. Yet my reading says that to become a better writer you just have to write, pregnant or not... so I write on.

Today is somewhat notable in that it's two weeks after our second Covid shot and statistics say we are now relatively bullet proof. Death and hospitalization from the spiky ball enemy is off the table. Masking becomes a mere suggestion. I can go meet someone inside for a coffee. Dining-in becomes a new option.  It will take a bit to rest easy in the return of these types of freedoms. Nonetheless, I am so grateful for having stayed healthy and I go off into my immediate future with less constraint....damn the variants, full speed ahead!

I am talking with Jess on Signal in about an hour. They will be leaving England in one year and returning to Minnesota. I have little doubt that their five years abroad will pay dividends in the future. But for now, I think they will tend toward feeling overwhelmed at all the realities of uprooting and returning to nothing other than pure frontier on every level from employment, to social and cultural. I hope to be of assistance in the process. Only time and Jesus will illuminate my role more clearly. For now there is only excitement for having Jess and Mike back stateside and a definite heart intent to do what I can.

I am grateful for a group of men who Father has brought to me as partners in the sojourn of life to one extent or another.  Longer walks have been the predominant means of meeting throughout the last months. These are men who will risk being more transparent than what is normally to be found. An opportunity to be known and to know others, to share life observations, to be vulnerable, to speak truth as I am currently able to apprehend it, to participate in iron sharpening iron. I count it pure kingdom gift and the fruition of a bit of a vision given to me as I pondered the end of the house church season. Thank you Lord for what you have been providing in this area. Thank you for reciprocal levels of influencing others and being influenced in return. I sigh as I write this...it has been good, so welcome. Help me to lean into this with your wisdom and your care for those who you have brought me to.

Maybe a quick review of some recent Amazon purchases will give a fast overview of what have been my purchasing priorities.  There was the massage table, massage oil, electric blanket and sheets that was Sandi's birthday present from me. This has been a real hit and every Sabbath a 45 minute massage is part of our day of celebrating God's creation and all he has provided. A shiny, new, more modern kitchen faucet, and a Waterdrop drinking water filter with dedicated faucet were nice additions. Home Depot Dave, my master plumbing Yoda, got me through another tight spot and the install was a success. A brand new pair of Merrels to replace the worn out Vibram of the last pair that has 600+ miles on them. They now become the "yard" shoes. Then there are the miscellaneous items: new Ni/cad batteries for leaf blower and weed whip, Cafiza for getting a groady coffee thermos crystal clean again. And finally books, so many books. There is a book of poetry which is frontier for me. Also Wind in the Willows which I bought for a particular quote that personifies a river in such an exquisite way that I just had to have the book the two sentences appear in. And last but not least, six books by mystics including Teresa of Avila, St John of the Cross andThomas Merton.  Such authors have been a very life giving group for this stretch of my sojourn. 

I have to say that a recent reading of a journal of mine that goes back some 14 years has reopened my eyes to the value of this sort of chronicling. Going back over things written a decade ago helps illuminate the experiences, the pain, the victories and the resolution of what appears as merely random, unrelated events as they occur. But as time passes and one looks back the myriad ways in which the Trinity has shepherded me through the twisty jungle paths of life comes more clearly into focus. Although this particular posting is a bit Seinfeld (a story about nothing), it provides a current snapshot  and will serve as a helpful footprint when I look at it years from now (if indeed my life should have a "years from now").

Being retired continues to be like a prize I won in a contest. After decades of earning a living, the pressures associated with performing in someone else's circus, the push to advance and gain respect in your little corner of the commerce world, it remains positively blissful to be released. I also am so grateful that God has provided, the funds are adequate and we have enough. Enough is too often underrated in the chronic quest for always more. As I mentioned to Jess, some sunny days when I set off on my daily walk, I feel the freedom that comes with not having to be somewhere else and I rejoice that no matter how much longer I have to enjoy it at least I have had the opportunity to enter that wide and open space I find myself in today!

Where are you Santiago?

 

 The how, what, when, why

The now of where you are found

Oh sweet enigma

Those chance meetings between two people who haven't seen or talked to one another for some time...we have all experienced such times. There comes the social awkwardness of answering the "so whats been going on?, what have you been up to?". Often, neither party is absolutely convinced of the other's interest in a true, detailed answer and/or one or both really have nothing of any obvious value to share. I picture such an interchange involving myself where I answer quite breezily, "Oh you know, same ol - same ol. Just dodging covid, social distancing, watching way too much streaming and oh yeah, more intentionally pursuing union with God. How bout yourself Burt?"

I'm sure if I took the time to review some of my last posts, I would find mention of 'deeper intimacy with God' or 'union with God' as a target of my focus. And boom, there would be some of the answer to how I got to where I find myself in this fresh new year of 2021. I sit here feeling blessed by what Jesus seems to be ushering me into but also feeling deeply humbled. Humbled by the reading and studying that was birthed by a yearning in my heart for the more that I know there is in Jesus for each of us. Humbled, because as I am seeing and now more deeply understanding, there is the stark reality that  going deeper, shrinking the gap between the Trinity and myself, requires profoundly less of me to make room for the more of Him I hear myself professing.

The juncture of the branch into the vine I have sitting on my desk is a physical reminder of what draws me. Of what draws me to the mystery of the juncture of the two parts, where the branch loses it distinctness at the merger point with the vine. Where the two entities have lost their unique, separate identities and have become one. That picture, that marriage of two becoming one represented in this vine, which Father pointed out on a walk last summer, has fostered a distinct focus in my walk with God.

As I sought to look into the possibilities of deeper union with Christ, I found myself drawn into the writing of some of the classic Christian mystics. Why? Because I have a taste for mysticism? No, not really. I simply have wanted to hear more from some of my fellow Kingdom brothers and sisters who have pursued a deeper, more intimate daily walk with God. Lo and behold, the category of mystic writers is where I have found community members who have had such deeper yearnings and have also written about their experience so other pilgrims might peer inside their sojourns. And I have been blessed and fascinated!

Thus far, Teresa of Avila, Saint John of the Cross, Mother Teresa and  Thomas Merton have given me a taste of the depths potentially available on this side of eternity. They have acted as spiritual teachers/mentors and helped more fully open the eyes of my heart. They are helping me by making some spiritual concepts become less obscure and thus more accessible. I so appreciate that they were called to mark their trails by leaving their version of Reese's Pieces along the way!

Someone once said that politics makes strange bedfellows. I have noticed that on some occasions, where I have mentioned  listening to the voice of the teachers mentioned above, there has been push back. It seems the terms mystic and mystical writers are not so universally embraced by those coming from more traditional Christian doctrinal teachings. And while I can understand the need to remain cautious regarding orthodoxy and dogma, I am also challenged by the theme of Jesus, "....that they may all be one. As you Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us...."

And so I press on, seeking not an experience but the Kingdom reality Jesus wishes for me to have on this side of the grave. I know of no other direction more worthy of my focus. And since I can do virtually nothing in my own power to make such deeper dives into Jesus, I am finding the profoundness of what can appear as a mere flannel graph teaching: trust and obey for there is no other way. Surrender and obedience and listening and following are the coins of the realm in which I find myself. Jesus, may you guide me along this path, immerse me in your truth, protect me from lies and galvanize me for the long haul. I believe you have called me into this Jesus. The glass I look through is quite dark. Shine your light and keep me on your path.