Category: thoughts

Keeping Track of Prayer Requests

Posted on by Lisa Marion

I keep note cards as reminders for my prayers. I keep one for each person I direct. I keep another specific card just for folks who’ve asked for healing. My cards are all different colors, except for the healing card, it is white.

Today during my quiet time, I crossed off two names and marked them with “RIP.” A phrase that has been highjacked by horror movies, but the sentiment is still full of our desires for the one who has died. In love we wish them the ability to rest from this chaotic earthly life, to rest from their pain and struggles. We pray they get the calm resting we all crave.

The act of praying for another is an act of love. People want to be released from their struggle, pain, and illness. Healing is a beautiful gift; one I’ve witnessed several times in my life. It is a profound experience, yet, one that I don’t fully understand. I’ve learned that healing is beautiful, an unexpected surprise, but I’ve also learned that death is not the worst thing that can befall us. Death can itself be a type of healing too.

My father’s health is declining. What sometimes seems “slowly” is actually “quickly.” His days drag on, and the months fly by at a breathtaking pace. This poor man is literally being kept alive with medicine and devices that propel his weakening body forward into each new day. His mind, still sharp, active, and mildly irritated, must adjust to an ever-changing medication regime. He is frail and can barely stand, but his mind rages against this reality. “I’ve got this! I am making progress.”

Yes Dad, progress, but your speech is beginning to lose its sharpness, you are short of breath, you confuse people and information. You may be making progress, winning these small battles, but you will eventually lose this war. He knows this and we are all content to leave it unsaid.

His weak heart  is full of emotions and memories. Tears are often his companion as he thinks back on his life. “I’m ready to go.” Is the battle cry some days and on other days I hear, “I’m 12 years from turning 100! Won’t that be interesting.” He may have 12 weeks, 12 months, but certainly not 12 years. It is hard.

The two souls that were marked off my white healing card were both terribly ill. One almost 100, bed-ridden, and fully dependent on others. The other younger than myself – taken too soon, or sooner than you would expect.

Removed from my prayer list, no longer in need of healing. Sad? Maybe, but not really. They received the ultimate healing. While we live, we have needs, but once this life is completed, our needs evaporate, and we move into that paradoxical place of experiencing yet waiting, “already but not yet” as some theologians put it. Death is often a great mercy.

I muse on the specific events that will end my father’s earthly life. I await the call, thinking on those last moments at his bedside. I pray for a peaceful end, yet I will be ready for whatever the end looks like.

Please pray for us. Pray for a good death a peaceful passage from this life to the next.

Thank you for listening to my thoughts, and if you have a specific need, something that I should place on one of my colorful prayer cards, please email me. lisa [at] dailypax.com

A Word

Posted on by Lisa Marion

In the monastic tradition, the beginning of a new year often invokes the asking and giving of a “word.” Unfortunately, my Spiritual Director passed away this year and I’m on my own in the discernment of a word. The last word he gave me was “liminal.” Liminal is about being in one state while transitioning into another. I’m not there anymore, I have transitioned into that new state. Yet the word “liminal” was a gift to open my heart and transform my thinking while I went through a period of deep struggles.

For this season moderation keeps coming to mind. I have always struggled with a lack of moderation. I over fill, I over use, I over share, I drive too fast, I overdo most things, generally being driven to achieve and get things done. My younger sister shares this issue – so I wonder “what happened in our childhood that caused this lack of moderations?”

What is at the root? I look at my teapot. Tea spilt on the tray and my tea cozy is stained with overflowing tea. Too much cinnamon added this morning – carelessly. It’s everywhere. My chronic back pain is from insisting that I do things myself, carry too much, refusing to ask for help. I over cook most food – always, I spill – always. It’s like I don’t know when to stop or why I should. Is there some odd fear of not getting enough? missing out? Is it merely an issue of not paying attention? Or am I just slopping? (as my father always said)

My massage therapist suggests “balance” as my word. But I want to off-load things, most things. I don’t want balance, I want less. So, I asked Siri, “define moderation.”

She replied in her dry monotone voice: “Moderation is the avoidance of excess or extremes. The action of making something less extreme.”

Actively making things less extreme! Ok, how do you do that? Maybe I do have some control over this. “Avoidance of” and “the action of.” To avoid and to take action. As I’ve been musing with this idea, it is curious that the word moderation showed up in a reading in church a few Sundays ago.

                “Let your moderation be known unto all mankind.” Phil 4:5

To be known for my moderation. That’s a lovely thought, but it will take some work. So, in we go – a deep dive into original languages and other translations.

The original Greek = epieikes; seeming, suitable, equitable, fair, mild, patient, and gentle. Humm, gentle. Not a word that I usually use to describe myself. Other English versions of the Bible translate this work epieikes into graciousness, forbearance, considerate, gentle behavior, gentle spirit, and simply gentle.

A tall order from someone who struggles to NOT overfill her tea pot. But as this word persists in my consciousness, I will embrace it. This will involve slowing down, being present, and working to avoid excesses and extremes. I’m not sure what this means, but I know this is possible with the help of a loving God who does desire moderation for me. A gift for a new year, help to become more moderate, to become more gentle, ultimately to become more Christlike.

What about you? Have you mused on your word for the next season? Reach out to someone who knows you. Those in our lives often know what we need before we know ourselves.

 

Resolutions for the Illusion We Call 2025

Posted on by Lisa Marion

I don’t like categorizing a year as being a “good” or a “bad” or recounting “who we lost this year.”

Years are illusions. The marking of a “year” is a construct devised by a Supreme being who exists outside of “time.” A gift to help us carve up the tyranny of time that we are forced to sludge through. We mark the beginnings and ending of seasons with dates. We bracket them between January and December.

These months back up to one another separated by this illusion, like the Bering Strait. One side of the strait is the US the other side is Russia, and a whole day separates these two countries. They are a continuation of the same land mass, but to us they remain separated, in an illusion, like December and January. We want to compartmentalize the years and the good or bad things that the “year” brought us. In a way I think this is where the idea of “seasons” and “not forevers” helps us frame time – it is a gift. When the year brought good things, we celebrate and move forward hoping the trend will continue, but if the year brought bad, disrupting things, we turn our backs on December looking to the hope that January will bring – sorry December, you’re so last year.

Years as “gift?” God established them as such when he created the world. On the 4th day “God said, ‘Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to divide the day from night; and let them be for signs and seasons and for days and years.’” … for signs and seasons. So, I ask, “Lord, what signs and seasons will I experience in 2025? What will you show me, and what will I experience?” I assume things (good and bad) will happen to me. This passage speaks nothing of goals or dreams, only the expectation that there will be signs and seasons. These are things I have no control over, as I know from my 60-odd years of living. Yet wisdom has taught me, I do have control over myself. To that end I set these objectives – loosely – for myself in the illusion we’ll call 2025.

In 2025 I want to be kinder, I want to pray better, I want to write more, I want to meet my obligations with cheerfulness, I want to work, deeply on the projects that matter, and I want to say less and love more.

Reviewing this list, I think I’m being a bit optimistic. Maybe I should reflect on what I don’t want to do in this next season. Are prohibitions easier to keep than objectives?

In 2025 I want to STOP engaging in negative words about … everything and everyone! I want to be known as a person who never utters a negative word. This must start with my thoughts; therefore, in 2025, I want to STOP engaging with negative thoughts. I want to see and seek the best in everyone, in every situation, and in every encounter. No matter where I find myself. I want to see others as God sees them. I want to understand the backstory of people. God has an advantage on me here, in that He already knows the backstory. So, I will actively set my judgments aside and trust Him – asking for His wisdom as I attempt to grow in love for others.

If I can rid myself of these two things I believe I will become more Christlike in the season to come. What a lovely thought. That indeed will be a “good” year.

Seven Things [not] to do this Holiday Season

Posted on by Lisa Marion

My social media feed is full of creative projects, recipes, and shiny holiday craft ideas. I’m intrigued at all the stuff of these imaginative people. Yet all these ideas muddy my already busy life and full schedule. Perhaps this season is a time where less might be more. So, I’d like to share some of my own creative ideas for this season, of things NOT to do. I hope they give you the space you need to have an intentional holiday season.

  1. Don’t Say “Yes” to Everything, Give Yourself Permission to Say “No”

Politely say “No thank you” to something, anything. A party, a gift exchange, or the premiere of a movie release. This hardly sounds right, especially in this season of gatherings and activities. But there are only so many hours in the day, and a limited number of days to accomplish everything. In a season of running here and there, accepting every invitation and activity is unrealistic. It is ok to turn down an offer. Give yourself to intentionally evaluating how you will spend the precious time you have.

  1. Don’t Have Expectations

Let’s be honest, people don’t always behave as we would wish them to, especially during the holidays. This year, try and accept everyone as they are, without the expectation of them being different – if you know that certain aunt is going to say something unkind, do not be disappointed when she does. You could beat her to the punch by saying something nice to her. Find the peace that comes from within. Don’t allow another person’s behavior to disturb your holidays … If this tactic is not practical, revisit #1.

  1. Don’t “Should” on Yourself

My holidays are often full of my own sharp self-critique, expectation issues again. I obsess on how I could have done better. My mind is full of “shoulds.” I “should have” spent more money on his gift, or I “should have” sent my Christmas letter earlier, or I “should have” shopped in October. The season demands a lot, be gentle and accept yourself as you are, not as you think you “should” be.

  1. Don’t  Try and Do Everything, Let Go of Something – Anything

I remember the year I stopped sending Christmas cards. I had ordered a huge batch of those clever postcard-photo things. They never went out, and I discovered that NOT sending mass Christmas cards did not cause any harm. And it was one less thing I “should” have done. Find something on your list that you can let go, and let it go (cue annoying “Frozen” music here).

  1. Don’t Forget the Reason for the Season

I know a trite, overused phrase, but it is a good one. Remember the first Christmas was a simple one. A young woman bore a sweet warm child in a humble stable. The couple had each other and not much more. We recently celebrated St. Nicholas Day. I mused, “What would this Godly man, a Bishop actually, think of the crazy commercialism that now characterizes this blessed season?” As Christians we should not only remember the “reason” behind the “season,” but we should take the time to think on the gift that Christ is, not only to us, but to the lost and dying world. This reality should be reflected in all we do and say.

  1. Don’t Be Extra, Exercise Moderation

I have NEVER regretted using moderation, whether it’s in drinking, eating, shopping, or talking. I will exercise moderation by not expounding more on this simple principle.

  1. Don’t Skip Rest

It is tempting to stay up late to wrap gifts, or address cards, or complete a project, or clean … but overextending oneself can lead to fatigue, which can lead to illness and irritability. It seems counter-intuitive, but rest might be MORE important during the holidays. Don’t skip the time your body needs to renew and refresh itself.

Talk Less, Listen More

Holidays are wonderful, but not for everyone. Perhaps this is true for you. We all have expectations and unspoken desires. These get pushed aside with all the hustle and bustle. Allow yourself to step away from all that chaos. Stop and listen to those around you. Give them 100% of your attention, be fully present in each moment. The best gift we can give is ourselves and our genuine interest in the other. Yes, even if it’s your mean aunt.

Before the chaos fully engulfs you, take an intentional 30 minutes to reflect on these “Don’t Dos.” Look at the simple questions below. Go further and set a timer, get out a journal, and turn your phone to airplane mode. Be still and listen. The holidays will come and go, and they will become the fabric of our memories. Accept your limitations this year and create good memories. I’d love to hear what resonated with you. Email me if you want to chat about it.

  1. What are my goals for this holiday season?
  2. Where do I KNOW I will struggle?
  3. What will I do, intentionally overcome or avoid this barrier?
  4. Which of Lisa’s ideas resonate most with me? And why?  

Sabbath Rest

Posted on by Lisa Marion

My faith has been deepened by allowing Scripture to engage my imagination. The idea of a Sabbath Rest following the awful events of Good Friday has always fascinated me. I hope you enjoy my thoughts on that first Holy Saturday.

It was the day of Preparation, and the Sabbath was beginning. The women who had come with him from Galilee saw the tomb and how his body was laid. Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments. On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment. Luke 23:54-56

Whose idea was a day of rest anyway? She thought. Remembering it wasn’t that long ago that he healed a crippled woman on the Sabbath and in the Temple too. That really angered the priests. The silence in the room was deafening, looking at the other women in the house she couldn’t understand how they all sat so still. The preparations had been made, yet the awful events of the previous day tortured her mind, as did the smell of his blood on her. She had stood near his cross and watched it flow, mixed with some watery substance. It splashed all over her and the group that stood together in disbelief. Then it was warm and fragrant, now it was sticky and itched. The dryness made her rub her arm without thought, some relief. But there would be no relief from the images and sounds that ran wild in her mind, the heavy dark wood, the sound of the hammer pounding, those thorns, the blood. It all caused her to tingle inside. Once the preparations had been made, there was nothing to do but “rest.” The slow movement of the sun kept them caged, prisoners of the ancient rest. Each woman left with her own sorrow to bear. No one had slept. Someone sobbed all night long, she tried to muffle her sorrow, to no avail, they all felt the same deep anguish and silently mourned with her.

She had had many sleepless nights, but the loneliness she once suffered was gone. Although surrounded by faithful friends she could almost hear those cold hollow voices, teasing her again. Would her “darkness” return? Was this new circle of friends enough to sustain her? Had he taught her enough to make it on her own? Could any of them make it without him? How was it that those hypocrites had won? What went wrong? She shook her head to lose the thoughts – Sunrise, the time would pass, and she would be free to go to him and fulfil the ancient customs of preparing his body – at least her hands would be busy and hopefully her mind wouldn’t wander. Being busy might prevent her doubts from engulfing her. The waiting was miserable. They barely got him in the tomb before the sun had gone down. The walk back to the house was wretched – at least they knew where he had been laid. She felt sorry for the men. She had been a witness to what happened, although it was awful at least she had been there for him. Unlike the men who had to hide – but she was a woman, and one that could easily go unnoticed. Finally, her infamy worked to her advantage. It was painful to watch him die, but maybe her presence brought him some comfort. The men wouldn’t have that consolation. For the first time she thanked God that she was a woman.

Her thoughts drifted back to his lifeless body alone in the dark, cold tomb; unprepared, rotting. Nothing could be done until the Sabbath passed. She waited for the sunset. She used to dread the sunset – the darkness, the loneliness. In the darkness she was alone, so much confusion. Hands and faces; strange men and their reproachful eyes. Their sweaty foul bodies near her, on her. The humility, the clicking tongues. The dark voices and shifting shadows, and there always was the overwhelming dread of lost memories. Her days were full of scornful looks and uncertainty of what had happened during the night. But he had delivered her from all that. If she could get through this day, she would have the opportunity to serve him, again, to honor him, lovingly devoted to caring for his body. It was the least she could do after all he had done for her … the way it should be. But now – this insufferable Sabbath rest. It was a torturous episode of constrained mourning, sitting, and thinking. The hunger gnawed her insides, no one had time yesterday to prepare food for this Sabbath. Slowly the sun withdrew its light from the sky, the new day began.

Finally, work could begin again, a chance to bathe. The water was cool against her dry itchy skin. The relief was overwhelming. She felt a quiet sorrow at washing his life’s blood off her, but the clean felt so good. Her thoughts drifted back to his body. She wondered if she could bear to see him dead. It was one thing to watch his life’s spirit leave his limp, broken body, but it would be another to see him, cold and stiff. The other women spoke calmly as they dressed for bed. She wasn’t calm, her body was finally clean but the scratchy feelings inside remained. When he died, her hope died. She began to wonder how long it would be before her “darkness” would overtake her. The voices were returning, although dim, she could hear their jarring. They brought back doubt. No! She wouldn’t give into doubt. She stood up quickly and joined the other women as they packed for the morning, the embalming spices and fresh linen, a bit of flat bread, a jar of water. Each of them longed to see him again; but they all knew this would be the last time.

Carefully finishing their preparations, the women readied themselves for sleep. Settling in, her mind drifted back to their first meeting. She could almost hear the warmth of his prayers for her deliverance. His voice pierced the hum of cold voices that had engulfed her for years. His hands were strong yet kind and gentle as he helped her stand. She remembered how her body squirmed and twisted and the groans and growling her “darkness” made as it left her body. She lashed out at him in a voice that was not her own, spitting words of defiance. Then – gone, the darkness departed and all she should see was his face, his strong dark face, smiling at her. This memory brought her deep peace and her body finally rested.

The quiet movement of the women woke her. They all knew what needed to be done, they dressed and prepared without discussion. The sky was still dark but there was enough light to see the pathway. The fresh air was filled with so many smells, smells of life, not of death. The long day of waiting was over. The women glanced back and forth at one another, now the dread of uncertainty plagued them. Someone whispered something about the stone. Who was strong enough among them to move it? No one had thought of that, maybe together they could budge it. As they walked their pace quickened. Another woman heard a rumor that guards had been placed by the tomb. In all their preparation, no one had thought of these obstacles, it didn’t matter. Their one thought was the care of his body, a proper burial. It seemed to take an eternity to get there. It was brighter now, and the pathway was clear. As they hurried along the air was suddenly filled with a loud noise. The ground underneath her feet began to move. More noises, as they came around the last curve in the pathway, they could see the tomb where he had been laid. The stone was already moved, the earth’s movement must have shaken it loose. One of the women reached the tomb quickly. Gone! His body was gone. In panic and disbelief, the women began to sob and scream. They dispersed. Her heart was broken; she felt her chest would burst. Could she stand much more torment?

Without thinking she began to run. She knew where his men were hiding. It was time for them to do something. Down the path, into town, she knew they’d still be in the upper room. She thrust the door open. Her voice was shrill, she couldn’t control her anguish. At her words they jumped up at once. A few of them pushed her aside and began to run. They had also been suffering during the long distressing Sabbath, but now they were free, free to act. They ran wildly to the crypt. It was true, his body was gone. She followed them, hopelessly lost in the confusion.

Weeping, she wandered the garden surrounding the tomb, she was alone again. The murky whispers began to return – the darkness teasing at her vision, lost in utter despair, she stumbled to the ground. Her face and hair wet with tears, she saw someone standing near her. Surely, he must have moved his body or at least seen what had happened. She begged him to tell her where the body was, in her anguish she promised to retrieve him no matter where it had been taken to. She needed to finish what she had set out to do that day, to anoint him, to prepare him for his final rest. If she could only do this one closing act of obligation, she would have lived with a purpose. Even if the darkness overtook her, she needed to find his body and care for it. She fell to the ground lost in her mourning, begging for answers. Quietly a warm familiar voice answered, “Mary.”

If you’re interested in exploring how your imagination can deepen your faith, try my Contemplative Exercise for Holy Saturday by click here.

My Scratchy Relationship with Thanksgiving

Posted on by Lisa Marion

I have had an odd relationship with the idea of thankfulness. My earliest memories of being thankful came wrapped up in the torturous duty of writing thank-you notes. I know my young mother was trying to instill within me a sense of being thankful. But the task was always tinged with duty and properness. I recall sharply her edits of my thank-you notes, “Write it again.”

Full of childhood spelling and grammatical errors, her rebuke told me that my attempts to express my gratitude were — not enough. I may have only been 9 years of age. The message came through though, my thankfulness wasn’t enough, unless it was perfectly and properly expressed.

My parents caught the tail end of WW2. I scarcely remember ever going without food, I grew up in a nice home, with more than I ever needed. But this was not my parents’ experience. My mother was from a large family with a single mom growing up in east Los Angeles. My father was the only boy in a family of rice farmers in west Louisiana, hard working poor people. They both struggled with hunger and lived a life of general lack.

My childhood was overflowing with the things they never had. And they were going to make sure I knew how blessed I was. Especially at dinner time. The meal was not complete without the command to EAT everything on my plate.

“You should be thankful! There are starving children in Africa!” Along with this was the shameful admonition, “Be thankful you’re not one of them.” It was difficult to reconcile the idea that I should be thankful my life wasn’t as miserable as those “starving children.” So, thankfulness became more about guilt and lip service to parents who lived an experience I knew nothing about.

I was in my early 20s when I participated in a project to provide school supplies to low-income families. It was raining hard the day I delivered a backpack full of new school supplies to a single mother in a town only about 12 miles from my comfortable home. The place was on a small dark street with little parking. I struggled through the dirty rainwater and finally found the home, a tiny back house. When the woman opened the door, I was shocked at the condition of the building. I could see the rain water draining from the larger property under the door’s threshold. I say “threshold,” but there wasn’t much left of it, all broken away with rotting wood. The children standing behind her were full of joy at receiving new things for school. I was overwhelmed and left feeling so selfish that I had complained about my new shoes getting wet in the rain.

There it was again. Thanksgiving enmeshed in the shame of having more and not being one of “them.” Unable to reconcile, I ignored the contradiction. Never taking the time to sort through what it meant or how I should deal with it. Funny how you can avoid reconciling inner contractions until you can’t …

About 10 years ago one of my children was traumatically injured in a terrible car accident. She should have died. She didn’t. As she struggled to recover from a multitude of brain injuries and physical limitations, the “encouragement” came in from well-meaning friends. “Oh, be thankful she’s alive.”

Yes, I know, I was thankful she was alive, but my feelings of thankfulness could never replace the confusion, doubt, and pure grief I was experiencing. As if thankfulness were some kind of magic salve to make suffering vanish. Does one necessarily replace the other? Can’t they exist together? Both components in negotiating the messiness of life? Can we experience gratitude and sadness at the same time? I was thankful she was alive, but at what cost? And how did being thankful make things better? I sat by her bedside day after day trying to reconcile this paradox.

I asked God to help me. I wanted desperately to be thankful that she was alive, but I was also faced with the devastation of her diminished life. As I prayed, I felt directed to look at Scripture and discover what wisdom I could find there.

Down a rabbit-hole I went, which happens often. First, I stumbled upon all the expected definitions of thanksgiving. Acknowledging what has been done for you or given to you. Then the concept of a “sacrifice of thanksgiving.” Something that is offered at the conclusion of a great battle. Thanking God for a victory. I was still waiting for my victory. Yet, this idea was connected to the phrase a “sacrifice of peace.”
A sacrifice of peace. That is what I needed: PEACE. In Hebrew the word for this type of sacrifice is Shelem. That is so close to the ancient greeting of peace, Shalom. I believe they have the same root.

Shelem, noun;
     1. Peace offering requital, sacrifice for alliance or friendship.
     2. Voluntary sacrifice of thanks.

That was it! VOLUNTARY. A voluntary offering of thanks. This offering was nothing required or demanded. Nothing you “should” do, but something offered voluntarily.

This sharpened my understanding of what my mother was trying to do. She was trying to instill within me an idea of thankfulness yet the motivation was all wrong. She aimed at the ACT of thankfulness not the SOURCE of thankfulness. Thankfulness is a response. The interior attitude is the goal. And I’m convinced that it must be within the context of a lived experience. That day in the hospital, my friends offered what encouragement they could. Yet they were not living my experience. How could they understand the devastation that faced me? I quietly began thanking God for saving her life, yet I never stopped pleading with him for a full recovery. I was beginning to understand how these two aspects of honesty could co-exist.

This Thanksgiving I am taking a fresh look at my life, my blessings, and my struggles. Now my offering of thanks as a response for what God has done for me. It no longer is a duty. I focus on the beauty of remembering who I am, where I’ve been, and the multitude of struggles I’ve lived through. It isn’t about the “quality” of my thanks, that they’re offered with well thought out, perfectly spelled words, or even proper grammar. I am free to offer thanks enmeshed in my frustrations and doubts. And these expressions are enough. It is living in the truth that God has been faithful to give me whatever I have needed. Not always what I’ve wanted, but what I needed. Gratitude is something I can experience and express even if weighed down with confusion or sadness. Yes, God saved her life. I’m eternally grateful for that, yet I will live the rest of my life in the tension of this blessing and the multitude of issues she’ll face her whole life. Thanksgiving isn’t something I offer to simply set my mind at rest, no, gratitude is something that can and should exist no matter the situation. It is an interior attitude that steps back from whatever is at hand and says, voluntarily, “God, I thank you for all you’ve done.”

It’s Not Even Thanksgiving!

Posted on by Lisa Marion

Over the summer I took on a part-time retail job. The benefits are great, and honestly, I’m enjoying the diverse nature of humanity that crosses my register. I haven’t worked retail since I was a teenager. I’m having fun.

Working retail has also forced me to deal with something – the all too early push of the holiday season. In my shop we put up a quaint recycled cardboard Christmas tree on Halloween! November 1, we were selling Christmas Tree ornaments and yummy treats destined gifts for teachers and stockings.

Our Pandora playlist hasn’t served up any Christmas songs – yet – but I’m sure it won’t be long before it does. Through this all, I’ve been musing

“What if I let Christmas come early?”

What if I let go of my judgmental seasonal attitude and embraced on onslaught of Holiday commercialism geared toward my world? What if I let Christmas come early?

I guess there are theological implications for an early Christmas, and the dangers of not being prepared. But, what is wrong with anticipating the joyous birth of Christ a month [or two] earlier?

Historically, we all moved into Christmas together through the “Advent” season, giving proper attention to all the “in-between” thoughts and implications. But now we live in a world saturated with immediate gratification, all that “waiting stuff” is seen as passé. Even to many Christians.

Can we force waiting on a culture that doesn’t see the value in it? Probably not. And still I wonder, can we do both? Can we enjoy the earliness and still appreciate the value in waiting?

I’m not sure, but I’m going to give it a try.

I looked at the calendar this morning, and it’s only SIX weeks until Christmas is here.

So, I’ve decided to set aside my cranky desires for the world around me to WAIT until the proper time to celebrate Christmas.

I’m going to adopt a cheerful attitude.

I’m going to say, “Merry Christmas” as soon as I hear the first Christmas carol over Pandora.

I’m going to be thankful that I still live in a world where I can celebrate the birth of Christ in an open and public way.

Want to join me in this experiment?  I think it will be interesting to discover what happens.

 

 

Happy Feast Day of St. Benedict

Posted on by Lisa Marion

I’m a huge fan of St. Benedict! That’s a picture of me in front of the ancient arch way of his Abbey in Montecassino, Italy. I visited in 2006. It was amazing. Their website is amazing too: www.abbaziamontecassino.org

I’ve studied and tried to live by the tenants of Benedictine Spirituality for over 13 years. It has changed me, my understanding of God’s expansiveness, and finely tuned my awareness of His constant presence.

His famous “Rule” became the foundation of western monastic life. Based on the teachings found in the Gospels, it is still a powerful code of living.

“Listen,” is the first word of the Rule. Listening is a lost art in this age of information. We think we listen, we certainly “hear” a lot of stuff, but hearing isn’t listening.

We need to spend more time listening to God, to one another, and to our own inner voice. I believe that listening is the beginning of humility. Take a minute a think on that idea … a simple idea for a complex time.

To celebrate his special day, I thought I’d come clean about the beginnings of my association with the Benedictine way of life. If you’re curious, you can read more here. Confessions of a Benedictine Oblate.

Last week I received confirmation that in 2018, I will be leading two weekend retreats and three Saturday retreats at St. Andrew’s Benedictine Abbey in Valyermo, California. More information to be released on that in September. I hope you’ll find some time to join me in this amazing place.

If you’re interested in learning more about the Benedictine Way of life, I’ve got some great book recommendations here.

I hope you are enjoying your summer, it sure is beautiful outside. Keep your eyes up and your ears open, God longs to speak with you.

~ lisa

Threadbare Words – LOVE

Posted on by Lisa Marion

My earliest memory of the word LOVE, is listening to my mother sing along with singer/song writer, Jackie DeShannon. “What the world needs now, is love, sweet love. It the only thing that there’s just too little of. What the world needs now, is love, sweet love. No, not just for some, but for everyone.”

This song, released in the mid-60s, was a plea for something that was missing in the culture –love. The United States had just become involved in the Vietnam War, then Robert Kennedy was assassinated. This song became a sort of audio vigil for a country shaken by political violence. A Los Angeles radio station played the song again and again for over 24 hours. It was an old-school “social media” instrument that pulled a mourning country together.

That tragedy, and a whole generation, confronted our country for its lack of love. I believe we still need to be confronted for our lack of love, because the whole world is crying out for want of it!

Not the mushy, emotional, thing we think is love. The thing that demands, “Be this way, or that way. Be what I need, so I can love you.” No, what the world needs is real love, love that has no demands, makes no claims, and is marked by an outward focus.

The meaning of real love, or agapé, as the Greeks called it, encompasses the attributes of acceptance, equality, tolerance, and respect, yet is uniquely focused on the other. Love does not demand these things for itself, it extends them to the other. In its highest expression, true love is selfless love.

Thinking more about the needs of the other person elicits a change in me. As I begin to release my expectations of who the other person should be, accepting them as they are, I am able to really love them.

After all, this is how I want to be loved, as I am. Isn’t this the way God loves us? With. Out. Condition.

Yes, we should always strive to be the best version of ourselves, but love needs to be expressed along that process. The greatest gift you can give someone is to love them as they are, not as you think they should be.

Everyone loses as we continue to tout the importance of personal preferences, and promote the good of the individual, over the good of the whole.

What the world needs now is love, sweet love. But love that is extended, through acceptance, equality, tolerance, and respect. And this love is not just for some, but for everyone.

Threadbare Words is a series of pieces exploring thin, worn-out words. The idea is to examine their real meaning, consider their overuse and, finally take a fresh look at them through the filter of a 21st century mind to discern if they’re still relevant.

Threadbare Words

Posted on by Lisa Marion

I don’t know about you, but I think we overuse many “spiritual words.” Words like HOLY, JOY, or BLESSED.

In attempts to demonstrate our faith, we’ve depended on spiritual jargon to tell who we are and what we believe.

With overuse, so many of those words have lost their power, and honestly, most people don’t really know what they mean anymore.

In May, I’d like to take those thin, worn-out words and see if we can put new flesh on them.

I want to examine their real meaning, consider their overuse and, finally take a fresh look at them through the filter of a 21st century mind to discern if they’re still relevant.

I think I’ll begin with the word HOPE.

Email me a word you’d like me to explore! Or jump on over to my Facebook page and join the conversation: www.facebook.com/dailyPAX