Tuesday 28 August 2018

On anniversaries and ordination

One thing I love about Facebook are the memories that remind you of what you were up to a year ago, 4 years ago and even nine years. Today, I was reminded that nine years ago was my day of ordination. We've had a bit of fun this morning looking back at the photos. The kids are all so little, and some important people were not even born. There are others who are no longer with us and some I have lost contact with over the years.


I have been reflecting on how much has changed since that day. Naively, I went into that day feeling the world had all been sorted out. This was my destiny, my calling, my career path mapped out. It felt complete, settled and sealed with a rubber stamp. A lot has happened since then. Many things have changed in myself and around me. But some things have stayed the same.

My ordination stole, that was lovingly made for me, still holds the same significance (perhaps even more now). The dancing flames, flickering with fragility and vulnerability, so perfectly sum up how I feel about my spiritual journey in this world. This image has shaped and grown with me over the years. Looking at the photos, and the people I chose to involve in the service, many are still very important people in my life; fellow travellers who have walked many a rocky path with me. Some of them would cringe at how highly I hold them; true mentors and close friends.

But some things have changed. I no longer see this journey as a fait accompli. I still know that my life has been "set apart" (the meaning of 'ordain') to work towards God in myself and with others. I made promises on that day, of which I still hold sacred and dear. However, the way I am living that out now is far from what I would have imagined in 2009. The last nine years has taught me that discernment is a continual process. If I ever think "I have made it", now I am suspicious and wait for what is around the corner. I wonder what I will be doing next year, when I celebrate the 10th anniversary?

Thursday 23 August 2018

Crimson Labyrinth

A reflection from walking a labyrinth I have walked many times before and seeing it with new eyes.



Crimson Labyrinth

A deep breath
I prepare to walk this path
wandered so many times before
I shift my gaze from my ready shoes
to the weaving way ahead.
You are on fire!
The scarlet entrance draws me in
an inviting warmth
In the twists and turns
I notice your crimson flame
at every step.
In bursts of colour
and insignificantly tiny berries
Has this labyrinth ever been so alive?
Even when I peer down 
to the leaf littered path
with its browns and greys
my ruby rose shoes
take another step towards home
a place within
full of passion
of warmth
of fire burning bright.

Wednesday 15 August 2018

The Trapeze of Life

At the recent Supervision course that I attended, we ended each day listening to some sort of reflection and journaling about how this related to our own life and what we were learning in the course. One evening, the reflection was from the book "Warriors of the Heart" by Danaan Parry. The whole piece is too long to share here, but I will choose an excerpt.

"Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I'm either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along or, for a few moments in my life, I'm hurtling across space in between bars.


Most of the time, I spend my life hanging on for dear life to my trapeze bar of the moment. It carries me along a certain steady rate of swing and I have the feeling that I'm in control of my life. I know most of the right questions and even some of the right answers. But once in a while, as I'm merrily (or not so merrily) swinging along, I look ahead of me into the distance, and what do I see? I see another trapeze bar swinging toward me. It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart of hearts I know that for me to grow, I must release my grip on the present well known bar to move to the next one.

Each time it happens to me, I hope (no, I pray) that I won't have to grab the new one. But in my knowing place I know that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar, and for some moment in time I must hurtle across space before I can grab onto the new bar. Each time I am filled with terror. It doesn't matter that in all my previous hurtles across the void of unknowing I have always made it. Each time I am afraid I will miss, that I will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless chasm between the bars. But I do it anyway. Perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call the faith experience. No guarantees, no net, no insurance policy, but you do it anyway because somehow, to keep hanging onto that old bar is no longer on the list of alternatives."

The reflection went on further and, when it ended, I found myself thinking, I know that space. I know what it is to fly in that void and wonder where the next bar might come from. It is a place of fear, of uncertainty, but also a space of exhilaration. I  must say though, it is not a place I want to be in often. I am very happy to be holding on to this bar for a while at least.

This space between bars, however, is the place of change and transformation. Transitions are often accompanied by feelings of being out of control, but are often the most growth-filled and expansive moments. As the reflection concluded, "Hurling through the void, we may just learn to fly."


Wednesday 8 August 2018

The Moon

I am not sure if someone told me this, or as a youngster I made it up as a point of comfort, but whenever I looked at a crescent moon I imagined those I loved who had died resting in it's cradle. It was a place far away, but at times seemingly so close. In many ways it was my first experience of the veil between this earth and what lies beyond being very thin. 

Recently, I was listening again to one of my favourite singer/songwriters, Kendall Payne. She is not a favourite for her musicality or her incredible success or fame, but more for how her lyrics affect me. As I listen to some of her songs, I wonder if she has secretly been watching aspects of my life for the last few decades. The way she uses words and imagery somehow connect with me at a deeper level.

In the car, on my way to Perth last week, I listened once again to her album "Grown". I don't listen to this one as often as her others and so noticed a song that I have heard so many times, but not really listened to. It is titled "The Moon". Here are the lyrics.

The moon's worn thin
Succumbed to the pressure
Her silver dress
Hangs in the sky like a rag

Her coat, her cloak
Her cover of darkness
It fails to hide the tears that she's cried
Oh she cries

But she still shines
Though the night falls around her
And by her light
I find my way
When I fear the path laid before me
I look to the light of her face
And thank her for being so brave

The moon remains
In fullness or frailty
A faithful climb
And I stand amazed at the way

Now I have no way of knowing what was happening for Kendall when she wrote this song, but somehow the words spoke right into my life. As a child, when I looked at the moon it held my grief and my uncertainties with a kind of gentleness, yet fragility, that seemed real. I remember many car rides home at night where I would stare out the window soaking in the comfort of the crescent moon. This image still has meaning, but as an adult I know I need to find that place within now. Perhaps, it was always within. 

As I emerge from a time in my life that has felt like a time of darkness and grief in many ways, I can relate to this image of the moon being a holding place within me. It is a place that shines despite the darkness. It is a brave space in its fullness and frailty. It is a place I can return to time and again to find my strength and find my way. It is a place that reflect the light that is constant and unending. So perhaps, when I look up at the moon now, it won't seem so far away, but will be as close as the breath within me.