Tag: Christian spirituality

Rocks Crying Out?

Some of my polished rocks

When I was a young child growing up in small towns, my preacher dad would take breaks from ministry pressures by going fishing. My sister and I happily followed him down trout streams as he sought the perfect fishing hole. We jumped from boulder to boulder or waded in the clear, cold water and delighted in discovering colorful, shiny rocks on the creek bottom. I saved some pretty pebbles and was disappointed when they dried and lost their shine. But a few came home in my pocket, nevertheless.

Now, my children and grandchildren know I’m likely to pick up rocks anywhere I go. I examine special ones that catch my eye as I dig in the garden, walk in the neighborhood, hike in the mountains, and comb the beaches. I’m likely to have rocks in my pockets as well as a few rocks in the car, interesting rocks lining shelves and filling jars and boxes here and there in my home.

Microphotograph of design in a rock

A few years ago, my son gave me a rock tumbler for Christmas. Then I felt more like a collector, amateur though I am. When my first batch of stones came out of the tumbling process smooth, glowing, and glassy—much like the creek-bottom pebbles of my childhood—I was hooked on collecting, learning about, creating with, even “meditating” on rocks.

A few favorites

I have learned more about rocks in the process, and my children and grandchildren admire the polished rocks with me. Sometimes we look for pictures in their designs. I’ve even made a few Christmas gifts with polished stones.

My favorite stones to polish are beach agates and jasper.

Here is my husband searching for semi-precious stones on Agate Beach at Patrick’s Point State Park in Northern California.

As I have said elsewhere, looking for agates on the beach is what it’s like for me, as a poet, to be present to the thoughts, emotions, winds, and waves of gritty life to dig into my heart in the moment and find metaphors that seem to reveal themselves to me: reflecting light, shaped by experiences and observations, by forces of the environment, by the workings of Love

Rocks appeal to us for many reasons:

  • The joy of discovering treasures.
  • Rocks tell a story, often an ancient story, about where they have come from and where we have come from and where we are headed. And we sing, “On Christ, the solid rock I stand.” Rocks preserve, encapsulate, and speak of history (for instance, fossilized rocks, moss agates, picture rocks, volcanic rocks, and precious gems).
  • Rocks feel solid and permanent, when so much in life and in the world is fleeting and fragile. One of the prayers attributed to St. Patrick begins, “I arise today through the strength of heaven; light of the sun, splendor of fire, speed of lightning, swiftness of the wind, depth of the sea, stability of the earth, firmness of the rock….” Similarly, the prophet Isaiah exclaimed, “He will be the stability of your times” (Is. 33:6).
  • Rocks remind us of things hidden. We try to clear our vegetable garden of rocks, but every spring we find more rocks that have worked their way up from the deeps. Small rocks seem to appear out of nowhere; but they remind me that rock makes up much of our earth’s outer layers, and rocks have a constant cycle of breaking down and being re-formed.
  • Rocks can speak to us. Even as a child, the famed Jesuit geologist and mystic theologian, Teilhard de Chardin delighted in the hardness and stability of translucent and glittering stones. He later wrote and taught how to see God everywhere, to “see him in all that is most hidden, most solid, and most ultimate in the world” (from Teilhard’s The Divine Milieu). When religious leaders opposed the people praising Jesus, he told them, “I tell you … if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out” (Luke 19:40).
  • Stones are sometimes symbols of difficulties and trials. We might say, “I’ve been traveling a rocky road lately.” But rocks can remind us that while constant change is a given in nature and in our lives, God who is everywhere, including in the cycles and changes of seasons, is also unchanging in essence. God’s love will always endure and keep rising and getting our attention and sending us reminders. Though God’s loving reminders may sometimes feel like obstacles when we want an easy path … If we give heed, the very rocks in our path will speak and have the potential to help form us. Beautiful rocks and fine gemstones were formed by extreme pressures over long periods of time. These gems uniquely encapsulate the effects of pressures and changes in the formation of our earth home. Examine the depth and design of many stones and you’ll see exemplified the beauty and creativity of God.

Heart-shaped rocks, almost like valentines from nature or from God

So, take a walk and look for Beauty in beautiful rocks, Stability in solid, hard rocks, Creativity in interesting rocks, maybe even listen to—and consider—what the rocks might be saying as they “cry out.”

On hopeful paths of prayer and poetry,

~Catherine Lawton


This post (slightly revised) was first published for “Collect Rocks Day” 9-16-23 at Godspace HERE.

Poetry Helps Us Open Our Hearts to God

Poetry Helps Us Open Our Hearts to God

by Catherine Lawton

In our experience of God’s presence, poetry can help us focus and engage our senses and entire being. Poetry can help us process life and emotions—and see ourselves—in new ways, and thus be open to hearing God say fresh, new things to us. Scripture does this also, of course. In fact, much of the Bible was written as poetry. I have long found soul nourishment and renewed perspective in the Psalms. And how can a person read Song of Solomon and not believe God seeks to woo and reach us through the five senses he has given us? The prophet Isaiah wrote often in poetry. Sometimes poetic expression reaches straight to the heart more effectively than prose.

“Poetry, in capturing the moment, captures the soul,” says poet Mary Harwell Sayler.

I believe God still speaks through poets today. Sometimes with a prophetic voice. Sometimes imparting wisdom. Sometimes bringing clarity. Sometimes lifting the soul to hope and love.

Even if you think you aren’t, you probably are more “into” poetry than you realize. Song lyrics are a type of poetry. Along with the instruments and voices, the words of songs can pierce or soothe our hearts as well as our minds.

Voltaire called poetry “the music of the soul.”

On World Poetry Day (March 21) and every day I encourage you to begin the practice of including poetry in your devotional reading, meditative prayer, quiet times, and soul care.

Eugene Peterson stated, “People who pray, need to learn poetry.”

But don’t just take my word for it. Listen to these comments from readers who have found poems help them focus on, and open their hearts to, God’s presence and love:

“In our own seasons of suffering, [these poems give us] words to explain the pain, to cry out to God, or to get a grip on our faith.” –Elaine Wright Colvin (after reading I Cry Unto You, O Lord by Sarah Suzanne Noble

“This book is a steady and wise companion for those who read the Bible with real devotion and honest questions.” –Connie Wanek (after reading Bible Poems by Donna Marie Merritt)

Each one [of these poems] lifts my heart towards God. They have become a part of my morning devotions.–Bev Coons (reader of PRAISE! Poems by Mary Harwell Sayler)

“So many of the poems provided moments of prayer for me.” ~Jimmie Kepler (speaking of Glimpsing Glory by Catherine Lawton)

Poetry, and all the feelings it represents, connects us to all of humanity’s longings and searchings for God. Here is one of my favorite poems of devotion, written by Irish poet Thomas Moore, about 200 years ago:

MY GOD! SILENT TO THEE!

As, down in the sunless retreats of the ocean,

  Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,

So, deep in my heart, the still prayer of devotion,

  Unheard by the world, rises, silent, to Thee,

     My God! Silent, to Thee,—

     Pure, warm, silent, to Thee.

As still to the start of its worship, though clouded,

  The needle points faithfully o-er the dim sea,

So, dark as I roam, thro’ this wintry world shrouded,

  The hope of my spirit turns, trembling, to Thee,

     My God! Trembling, to Thee,—

     True, fond, trembling, to Thee.

–Thomas Moore

 

On hopeful paths of prayer and poetry,

~Catherine Lawton


(Photo by Thomas Jay Oord. Used with permission.)

(This post was revised and expanded from one I first published here in 2018. In this form, it first appeared on the Godspace Blog to celebrate World Poetry Day, 2023).

 

 

The Important Sound of Silence

I took this photo of a viewpoint sign in Rocky Mountain National Park.

I have visited the park during all seasons. In spring and summer the melodies of birds, squirrels, chipmunks rise and fall on the air. In late summer and early fall, elk calls bugle through the park. Then, on many winter days a soft, white layer of snow breathlessly quiets the scene. Would you think of this “utter, complete silence” as a sound, as Andre Kostelantez did—even “one of the greatest sounds of them all”?!

This brings questions to my mind:

  • Where/how do we find silence?
  • Why is silence important/needed?
  • What can we learn in silence?
  • Do we tend to avoid—maybe even fear—silence?

My curiosity piqued, I looked up Andre Kostelantez and learned that he was a Jewish/Russian immigrant to America who became one of the most successful conductors and arrangers of music in history. Among many accomplishments, he conducted the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.

I personally knew an orchestra musician who spoke of silence as if it were a sound. She was my daughter’s violin teacher. She drilled into my daughter the concept that a “rest” in the music was an “important nothing.”

Music rests, seasons of silence, “important nothings”; these provide natural, satisfying rhythms to music and to our lives. This is a principle that God seems to have woven into creation. As physical, emotional, and spiritual beings, we need times of silence that can become “the greatest sound of all” to us.

 Nancy Swihart has learned to embrace this life-enhancing principle. In her memoir, On Kitten Creek, she describes the times of silence on Kitten Creek farm that have become to her, as Kostelantez expressed it, one of the greatest sounds of them all:

“On prayer walks I do most of the listening,” writes Nancy. “Up here in this sky-drenched pasture a comforting solitude is one of the greatest gifts the farm has provided—placing my body, soul, and spirit into the presence of God without distraction.”

Nancy has learned to seek and relish these important-nothing rest times that give meaning and lilt to the music of her life.

Have you found ways to incorporate regular seasons of silence into the flow of your days?

On hopeful paths of prayer and poetry,

~Catherine Lawton


This post was first published in 2018.

Christmas Contrasts

vidar-nordli-mathisen-gtttf-4dHYQ-unsplash

Awe, wonder, and gratitude.

That’s what I feel when I consider these contrasts of the Christmas story:

  • Angelic heavenly hosts—A cold, rocky hillside
  • Sophisticated, wealthy visitors—Rugged sheep herders
  • Riding high on camels—Trudging over hills with lambs
  • A king killing babies—A baby born to be king
  • The maker of heaven and earth born into his creation
  • On the shortest, darkest days of the year, celebrating life and hope

What other Christmas contrasts come to mind? What emotions do they call forth in you? What hope do they give you?


Photo: Unsplash

 

 

Courage, Dear Hearts

Listen to / read this poem prayer for those weeping in the night, struggling emotionally and spiritually, perhaps physically, during this season.

Listen to the poem:

COURAGE IN

Encourage each one,
dear God,
their heart desire
to know.
Distill the cry
of “help”
to nesting purr
of “with”—
so they can face
the day
and all it holds…
the night
and all it hides…
to see
in darkness, treasures,
awake
with second sight.

~Catherine Lawton

(poet/author of Remembering Softly and Glimpsing Glory)

Giving Thanks To “A Worthy King”

For Christ the King Sunday (Nov. 19 this year) I again share this poem:

Worthy to Receive Glory

Made to honor, we give fealty,

We seek true north like a needle.

But to look for your king

in a pulpit, disappoints;

in a government, fails;

in the mirror, distorts.

Look instead with the eyes of your heart

to the Wounded who heals;

to the Throne that is true;

to the Lamb who was slain,

Christ the King.

–Catherine Lawton

(Excerpted from the book Glimpsing Glory)

In Revelation Chapter 5, Christ the King is depicted as a Lamb who has been slaughtered. All the magnificence of Heaven bows down and worships this Lamb.

In Isaiah 53 we are told “he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.”

Then why do we continually seek the pretty, the popular, the powerful, the polished to emulate, venerate, and follow?

More questions: Have we ever given thanks to God for entering into our humanity and suffering with us and for us? Have we given thanks for the privilege of suffering with him and for him? Are we giving our hearts, our allegiance, our lives to the slaughtered Lamb who lives? the wounded one who heals? Are we willing to bring our wounds to the Lamb for healing? to transform us into wounded healers?

This Thanksgiving I want to join my thanks giving and praise with the angels and those who “fell down and worshiped” the lamb as they held aloft bowls filled with “the prayers of the saints” and as they sang a “new song”:

You are worthy …

for you were slaughtered

and by your blood you ransomed,

for God,

saints from every tribe and language

and people and nation….

To the one seated on the throne

and to the Lamb

be blessing and honor and glory

and might forever and ever!

(Rev. 5:9-13, NRSV)

Giving thanks,

 


Photo: Photo: “Thanksgiving” Stained-Glass Windows used by permission of Library of Congress

Be(e) Doing Good

As my husband and I make our backyard garden a hospitable place for creatures, pollinators, and people … I watch the bees on flowers (like in these photos I took). The bees inspire me by the goodness of their work: They seem to remind the plants to produce, and the blooms and blossoms respond by flourishing. Honeybees pollinate and gather nectar within about a two-mile radius, reminding me of the interconnectedness of nature and of us all. They risk the journey of flying out to forage, then back to the hive laden with pollen and nectar, despite the perils of nature’s predators and humans’ poisons. Thus they store up honey that will feed the hive in winter as well as the people who respectfully extract and enjoy the delicious, surplus honey.

IMG 6154

As I watched a “bee doing good” this week, I was reminded to “be doing good” myself.* And this poem came to me:

Be(e) Doing Good

As you buzz about (many things)

    are you singing, bringing out

    the fruitfulness of life?

As you wing from place to place

    do you cherish each colorful face

    in the garden of life?

As you pollinate far and wide

    are you ever calling forth

    the Creativity of Life?

As you gladly sip secreted nectar

    will you with honey feed

    both the world and the hive?

Catherine Lawton


*”Jesus … went about doing good.” (Acts 10:38)

This post was first published at GodSpace

 

Walking Together On The Way

Hiking the Camino de Santiago

GUEST POST by Judith Galblum Pex

Having just returned from two weeks on the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain, I’ve concluded that multiple-day walking is one of my most satisfying activities. The Camino is a 750 kilometer ancient pilgrim’s route currently hiked by about 350,000 people a year from all over the world.

I love the simplicity and freedom of life on the trail—getting up early in the morning and walking from point A to point B without all the distractions or to-do lists of everyday life. Being out in nature the whole day relaxes, focuses, and calms me. Though I haven’t done it as much as I might like, I believe that all these trails are designed to traverse through natural settings; both the Camino and the Israel Trail, which I hiked seventeen years ago, certainly cross stunning landscapes.

A highlight of the Camino was the people we met. Simply by deciding to walk the Camino, we entered into a special group of people who, for a period of time, all had the same goal. We developed an instant camaraderie and even a surprising intimacy with some. We belonged to the same band or company, an innate need for every human being. (And this happens to be the title of my soon-to-be-released novel: To Belong.)

On the Camino, we found ourselves walking alongside folks, sitting together for drinks or meals, and meeting in the evening at the hostels. Not all, but certainly many of the “pilgrims,” as the hikers on the Camino are called, are there to find answers to big questions or solutions to life’s problems. As we hiked along with our backpacks, we could easily share how Jesus came into our lives, lifted our burdens, and gave us purpose.

Camino means “way” in Spanish, and for me, a walk like this is a metaphor for traveling through life, each of us on our own path. Jesus said, “I am the way,” (John 14:6). As we trek, we develop rhythms and instinctively look for the smoothest and flattest paths—though climbing mountains gives us a better perspective on the entire landscape, what lies ahead and from where we’ve come.

If you don’t carefully follow the trail symbols, you can easily go astray. At one point, we found ourselves traipsing through a wheat field with no markers to be seen; but after we found our way back, we realized we gained something in our unexpected detour. Life is also like this. Having a good guide, a book or an app, was super important on the Camino in the same way that I need the Bible to direct my life. Whom we walk with is important on the trail. Good, compatible companionship makes all the difference; I’m thankful every day that John and I are good hiking and life partners to each other.

There’s obviously a reason that the Bible often uses the words “walk” and “way” and their synonyms, especially in Proverbs, a book of wisdom literature. “I have taught you in the way of wisdom; I have led you in right paths. When you walk, your steps will not be hindered, and when you run, you will not stumble” (Prov. 3:11,12). In Ephesians 5:8, Paul the apostle writes, “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light.”

~Judy Pex, May 31, 2022


Photo credit: Judith Galblum Pex

 

 

The Long Cold Stare of January

JANUARY

A captive to granite gray stare,

I shiver and hunker there.

Clouds shudder also and

shake loose frozen crystals

flashing slivered light.

Now silver gleam the gazing eyes.

I rise unblinking, captivated.

As I awoke from sleep one morning, these words came distinctly to my mind: The long, cold stare of January.

I don’t know where those words came from. But they came clear and definite and stayed with me. I wrote that phrase in my journal, thought about it a while, looked outside at the wintry landscape, then composed the (above) poem.

I live in northern Colorado. January is our coldest month. And it is a long month, 31 days. The cold, short days and long nights can make one feel captive. It is a season when people, those who can afford it, like to travel to places like Mexico, Florida, or Spain. Other people may dream of warm beaches during January. But the weather often keeps us indoors and isolated. One can feel captive.

One can also feel captive in an uncomfortable way when people stare at them. Cold stares are especially disconcerting.

Feeling trapped, fearful, impatient with your situation can make your outlook seem hard and gray. But, truly, there is beauty in every season. Opening our hearts to “see” that beauty can turn those cold, gray eyes to a silver gaze.

Contemplatives speak of the “gaze” of the face of Christ that holds, sees deeply, and can draw out the inner radiance of one’s true self.

Recently I was reading a story that described the “silver” eyes of some Scottish Highland folk. I had never heard eye color described as silver before. Polished silver is not necessarily a cold-looking metal. A warmth seems to gleam from deep inside.

Hidden in every hard place is hope. If we look for it with eyes to see, it will eventually gleam forth; and then, rather than be captives we may become captivated by the presence of love and even joy.

~Catherine Lawton


Photo by Kacper Szczechla on Unsplash

This post was first published at Godspacelight 1/18/22, here slightly edited.

Holy Stillness

Treasures of Darkness : Holy Stillness

I have found that spiritual, emotional, and physical healing can begin even in times that are darkened, cold, alone, silent … when I still my heart and contemplate the “treasures of darkness” (Isaiah 45:3). One of the sweetest treasures of darkness is the realization that we are not alone. This realization encouraged me anew this winter as I contemplated that nature also experiences the waiting that has become more acute for us during a pandemic winter.

In much of the Northern Hemisphere, at least, we have been waiting for lighter, warmer days of nature’s renewal. And during these days of Lent we also recall, again, Jesus’ crucified body waiting in a dark, cold cave of death. When Jesus “woke up” in that cave of a tomb, did he open his eyes to darkness? Or did his open eyes, his very breath and resurrection-life energy, shine light into the darkness even before the stone rolled away? John wrote that Jesus is the light and the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5).

We can experience moments during periods of waiting that are holy, even healing. One morning this past winter I sat in meditative prayer in a corner room of our basement. That room has two windows with below-ground-level window wells. During the summer, toads and tiger salamanders dwell in the window wells. My grandchildren like to look for them. During winter, these denizens of the deeps dig into the earth and wait in darkness, finally emerging again in late spring. On that cold, sequestered pandemic morning I was thinking about these creatures—and my own sense of waiting—when this poem came to me:

Holy Stillness
There is no heartbeat
in a seed
Yet life waits
in that brittle encasement
as surely as in the stilled
breathing and slowed
beating heart of
toads and salamanders
in winter deeps and
sleeping bears in caves
Waiting, waiting, we wait
in lengthened nights and
chilled soil and cloistered suns
for warmer, lighter, moister days
to dawn
From on high—and pulsing
in the depths—we hear
“Wait… Wait… Be still…”
and “Coming—
I did, I am, I will.”

~Catherine Lawton


(This post was first published at GodSpace on 3-27-21.)
Photo: Ehud Neuhaus / Unsplash