when silence falls across our threshold ...

We do not all choose

the same place 

of beginning;

not all doorways 

are meant for entry.

And so

when silence falls

across the threshold

I have meant for welcome, 

may you, guardian of every passage,

cast your shadow

at my door.

~Jan Richardson

Night Visions: Searching the Shadows of Advent and Christmas

The Chapel Door at Mariawald Renewal Center in Reading, PA

I love doors.  

To me, a door is a symbol of threshold.  Threshold invites.  Threshold calls.  Threshold is a powerful image which holds anticipation and possibilities and mystery. Sometimes, threshold carries chaos.  And into our chaos, threshold evokes a sense of waiting … silent waiting until the door is opened from within.   

Reading Esther de Waal’s book, To Pause at the Threshold, I became familiar with this traditional saying of ancient wisdom, “A threshold is a sacred thing.” 

In many Asian traditions, the sacredness of threshold is honored by removing the shoes.  In a way, entering over the threshold to a home is a “mini-pilgrimage.”  The shoes are physically removed to symbolize leaving behind the outer world in order to enter the inner world of relationship, with the self or with others, depending on whether the home is your own or the home of another person. 

Just as Moses removed his shoes at the burning bush because the Holy One “spoke” into his chaos, when silence falls across our threshold, we come barefoot and vulnerable.  All of our chaos wrapped up like a hobo’s kerchief on the end of a stick, as we fall silent, prostrate and broken, we unwind and unwrap and let go as we enter the threshold spaces within which God resides.     

Meister Eckhart, a 15th century mystic said, "What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the Son of God fourteen hundred years ago and I do not also give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my culture? We are all meant to be Mothers of God."  Eckhart reminds me that it is these threshold spaces that connect me to the suffering world, for God invites me ever so gently to emerge from the silence to turn, emerge from the safety and protection I've found in the depths of my threshold spaces and carry the healing love I find in the center back out to the borderlands of my world. 

For me, advent is the most sacred threshold of the year.  Advent is the time of the "already and the not yet," paradoxically and simultaneously, a concept that my mind cannot comprehend ... but images hold so beautifully.

I love doors.

Reflection:  What images hold your advent waiting this year?  Is there an invitation being birthed within the silence of your threshold spaces ... within you?  

Prayer:  Advent God, as I dwell in this wild and mysterious threshold space, hollow me out so that I may carry you with grace, hold you with awareness, and birth you with love into the world.  Amen.

a new perspective

Meditation is the soul's perspective glass.
~Owen Feltham

I opened the door and stepped out into the crisp cool air of autumn in the South.  I breathed in the silence of the morning and took a step into the world of nature and contemplation.

As I came to the end of the street, I wondered ... what if I turn a different way?  What if I turn right instead of left?  And so, adventurous soul that I am, I turned right with a thrill of anticipation.  

Suddenly a whole new world opened up for me.  I saw everything from a new perspective.  

As I crossed the street and came to the pond down the road, the landscape arose before me ... I put the camera to my eyes to capture this beautiful gift I had received and found I had the wrong lens.  No matter what I did or where I turned ... I could not capture the breadth of this amazing vista with its plethora of trees, different but muted fall colors, extraordinarily interesting stagnant water of the pond welcoming the rush of falling water over the rocks, clearly bright blue sky with its sparsely strung but fluffy white clouds floating in their lazy way.  

I set the camera aside for awhile and just sat ... receiving the gift of a new perspective.  

Sometimes we are not meant to capture, we are just meant to receive.  

And then, perhaps we are called to get up and walk a little further on our path, for another gift is waiting up ahead, just around the corner!   

the great silence of life ...

approaching 

the great silence of life

darkness descends

ancestral mothers dance

among the cement stones

simple by design

the pathway invites

welcome to the resting place

they call

sitting on a rock

i rest

bowing my head

opening my eyes 

i see

a small acorn

st julian whispers

in my soul

god created it

god protects it

god loves it

and i respond

god will welcome it home

tears flow

the end is near 

and forever here

© Oct 2014 Cindy Serio

Mariawald Renewal Center

Reading, PA

 

One Deep and Delicious Note

So God created humankind in God's image. 

In the image of God they were created.

Male and female God created them.

See Genesis 1:27  

An old Hasidic story says wherever a human being walks a host of angels precedes each one, proclaiming: 

"Make way, make way for the image of God." Indeed!  

~Tilden Edwards

Edwards shares this saying in his book Embracing the Call to Spiritual Depth.  Waves of beautiful remembrance washed over me as I read these words and sat in the silence of the morning.  I first heard these words at a retreat several years ago as Jane Vennard was working on her book, Fully Awake Truly Alive, one of my favorites.

Jane asked us to get up and walk, basking in the presence of angels acknowledging our beauty created in the divine image. This was an affirming experience but I feel I was transported into the very presence of God when she said, "now, walk among one another, gazing with soft eyes at the "other" as you pass by ... In my heart I could hear a symphony of angels each singing the songs of those they preceded.  It was a simple exercise but it was also quite transformative for me.  As I moved once again into the world I found myself listening carefully, quietly for the angels preceding each person.  I've never heard a dissonant note.  

Truly I believe each living being ... is a precious child of our Great Creator, gifted with one deep and delicious note to enhance the symphony of angels.  

Have you found your one deep and delicious note?  And how will you live it as your path unfolds today?

Mariawald Renewal Center - Reading, Pennsylvania

Remembering ... in the Silence of Community

I sat with soul friends in the silence this week after listening to a portion of a prayer from An African Prayer Book (© 2006 compiled by archbishop Desmond Tutu and one of my favorites, this prayer is found on page 72-73, a traditional prayer from Ghana) ... The Motor Under Me is Running Hot:

 Lord,

The motor under me is running hot.

Lord,

There are twenty-eight people

And lots of luggage in the truck.

Underneath are my bad tires.

The brakes are unreliable.

Unfortunately I have no money,

And parts are difficult to get.

Lord,

“Jesus is mine”

Is written on the vehicle,

For without Him I would not drive a single mile.

The people in the back are relying on me.

They trust me because they see the words:

“Jesus is mine.”

Lord,

I trust You!

 

As I sat in our time of silence, two conflicting images emerged for me, images from my past, images of darkness ... at first I remembered my first mission trip to Cuba in the late 90's.   We had all of the right licenses, knew all of the rules of engagement and felt deep heart connections with the people in a small church in Jovellanos, located in the Matanzas district.  They were the most gracious hosts and I had need of nothing while I was there.  They had little in the way of material possessions but my dear friends had an overflowing, loving, generous spirit.  They were passionate about reaching people with the message of God's love in Jesus Christ.  We went mostly to help them spread that word through small "house" churches.  As I stood in each one, I thought, "this must be what it was like as Jesus traveled place to place with his small band of disciples."  One evening, I was dropped off in the middle of nowhere (it seemed like to me) with one of my female traveling companions and a female missionary/interpreter to speak with a group of woman who had small children.  At the end of our time we walked back up the road and waited in the dark ... do you know that kind of darkness in which you cannot even see your hand in front of your face?   We waited for a very long time ... at one point we joked about how we could get back to Jovellanos if they forgot about us.  Our laughter was a little uneasy but underneath the darkness, there was a simple trust.  I trusted the people, I trusted God.

The second image that emerged was much more unsettling.  Perhaps this image emerged because we just yesterday passed the nine year mark since Hurricane Katrina.  The darkness that enveloped the New Orleans area in the aftermath of the storm was not so friendly to my soul.  I remember ... watching from afar, listening to the people on the radio late at night through earphones as I slept, hearing their desperation, wondering who lived and who died, calling friends and hearing only silence on the other end, praying and praying and praying.  

I remember our first trip back, the trip you took to see what was left of your home and your life.  And there it was ... standing tall, damaged but not destroyed.  wow.  The beautiful bradford pear tree was broken but the mis-shapen little oak tree stood where it was. Of course.  The chimney was blown out and twisted at the top and but was still attached to the house.  Yay!  The house was missing some pieces of siding but it still looked good to me compared to what it could have been.  So it went ... and happy we were that we had bought a raised house.  The electricity was not yet on so we cleaned up what we could and let the house BE.  One of our neighbors stayed to watch all our houses as they sat, quiet and alone in the darkness.

I remember driving back home with my son after my neighbor told us we had electricity on our street.  My husband now in a corporate apartment in Houston only returned once to the house after that initial clean up trip, to load it up and move it out.   Because there was not yet complete electrical restoration, there were no supplies in St. Charles Parish at that time right after the Storm.  We stopped on Hwy 90, the best way for re-entry it seemed to us, to pick up supplies.  Supplies ... and a knife.  Yes, for some reason that little knife made me feel safe.  It's the little things, right?  I still have it, it still makes me feel safe but mostly it helps me clean wax out of my candle holders. 

I remember driving by the Circle K and seeing the National Guard ... soldiers with sub-machine guns.  Really ... in my neighborhood ... across from my church?  Really?  I felt like I was disconnected from reality.  This cannot be happening.  But it was.

I remember picking up lots and lots and lots of diapers on my way into town because some of the first persons back found that was the need we needed to meet ... and so we created a circular path for people who came, usually after picking their MRE's.  Not long after we started, a local pediatrician called and offered to supply formula.  We asked the people how they were, offered to pray for them and ... oh, the stories they told.  Sometimes, I thought I would break down from the stories.  We created a small chapel prayer area in the Sanctuary for people to pray ... and pray we did, but I never cried.  I had created a visual on the altar with a special place for all of the prayer cards and had placed a "brokenness" cross in the center.  The cross had been created especially for a Kairos Prison Ministry weekend I was leading by a friend of mine who is a potter.  It was a large clay cross upon which broken pieces of "reclaimed" pottery were placed in the center.  We bring our brokenness to Jesus and the cross, yes?   We had a prayer service to close down the "baby depot" and the prayer chapel.  And I didn't cry.  After it was over, I sent everyone home and prayed through the cards one last time.  I carefully began folding material and gently taking things down from the altar.  And suddenly it happened.  The cross fell from it's perch and broke ... and suddenly I broke too.  I cried for what seemed like hours just holding all the pieces in my lap.  "What good is a broken brokenness cross" I wailed. Then, I gently wrapped the pieces, put them in their box, and tucked it away.

I remember driving into New Orleans after the Storm.  I remember driving along the streets, carpet piled up on the curb ... house after house after house ... and thinking, "this is not just carpet, this is people's lives and we'll never be the same."  I remember driving a friend home in the dark ... that same dark I experienced in Cuba ... and panic set in because the buildings, landmarks in silhouette against the dark sky, they were gone, all of them ... gone.  I didn't know where we were.  That unknowing was more than physical.  Suddenly, I felt very lost as I drove home alone.   

I remember sitting at a table with some people at a retreat at Camp Allen in Navasota, right outside Houston, after we moved.  I was referred to as a "refugee" after I told people my story.  I said, "oh, I'm not a refugee."  She didn't really ask a question but said, "Did you live there before the storm?"  I said, "yes."  She followed with, "And now you are living here, at least for the time being?"  I said, "yes."   She said very adamantly then, "Sweetheart, YOU are a refugee."  I think that was my lowest moment, my most alone moment as all of the people looked at me with "that" look.  Do you know the look I'm talking about?  Actually, I hope you don't.  In an instant, the conversation turned and I was completely alone in that room full of people.  And I determined never to share my story with strangers again.

Several years later, I remember being asked to deliver a message with a personal testimony at the Gospel service at Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary using passages from Isaiah (60 & 62) 

Arise! Shine! Your light has come;
    the Lord’s glory has shone upon you.
Though darkness covers the earth
    and gloom the nations,
    the Lord will shine upon you;
    God’s glory will appear over you.
Nations will come to your light
    and kings to your dawning radiance ...

You will no longer be called Abandoned,
    and your land will no longer be called Deserted.
Instead, you will be called My Delight Is in Her,
    and your land, Married.
    Because the Lord delights in you,
    your land will be cared for once again. ©CEB

As I packed for that trip, I couldn't get that broken brokenness cross out of my mind, I thought I was going crazy.  I knew it was still packed away somewhere but finally I made a deal with myself.  I'll open one box and if it is in that box I'll take it with me.  Lo and behold, there it was, in the first box I opened.  But I still didn't know what to do with it!  I hadn't yet unwrapped it, looked at it, touched it.  Finally, the night before I was to stand before the people ... I opened the little box and pulled the wrapping from around the pieces, and looked at it.  I gasped!  How could I not have seen this?  There, among all of the tiny pieces and the three big pieces was the small cross, the cross that my potter friend put among the broken pieces as a sign of hope ... resurrection ... new life.  Suddenly, I realized that we not only bring our brokenness to Jesus for him to fix.  Jesus, the risen Christ, walks among our brokenness, healing us and creating beauty from all of the broken pieces of our lives.  And my own determination was broken down in the midst of the risen Christ who filled the room.  And I shared my story once again with a room full of strangers the next evening. 

I remember several days later as I was meditating on John 6 ... these words shimmered up off the page and into my heart (as they frequently do) ... in verse 12, Jesus says:  “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.”   In the silence, I heard Jesus say to me, "I will pick up the pieces of your life and put it back together again."   That was the birth of MOSAIC Spiritual Formation Ministry ... creating beauty from the broken pieces of life ... in my heart. 

And all of this remembering emerged from a prayer from the heart of the people in Ghana ... and the silence within which we held it.  Suddenly the darkness is not dark anymore, the Lord is shining!  And the risen Christ walks among us. 

“Jesus is mine.”

Lord,

I trust You!

Amen!

My Broken Brokenness Cross created by Jane Knight, Painting to left by Merilyn Hully

Tiny Bubbles in the Silence

A new friend gave me a bottle of bubbles today.  Well, she gave them to me last night but they were for my day of silence today.  She wanted me to spend some time playing. And I was looking forward to playing almost as much as taking photographs in my silence. 

I walked down to a park on the lake near Christ the King Retreat House where I am attending a Hearts on Fire retreat with speaker, Terry Hershey, author of Soul Gardening and various other books.  There is just something about retreat leaders that get us to pondering and digging around in the dirt of our lives while seeking the light, yes?   He asked us, "What is it in your dirt that you are afraid of?"  And I suppose I never really moved much beyond that question, I got caught up in my digging.  There is just something about the silence that invites digging and, woe is me, I am a reflective over-achiever.  

I kept coming back to a quote of mine that emerged in some poetry I wrote last fall that I shared on my imamosaic blog called "i see you ~ come home."  I wrote it after walking the Celtic Triple Spiral Labyrinth at Grunwald Guild and it has become one of my favorites, it is just so deliciously dark.  

I carefully spread my scarf on the grass by a beautiful large tree on the top of a hill overlooking the park and the lake. I laid down in the grass and looked up at the sun and the sky peeking through the bountiful branches overhead.  I listened to the wind breathing through the leaves before finally blowing bubbles and bubbles and bubbles. I let the quote rumble around in my soul and I invited myself into using an adaptation of it to spring into some new writing:

Terrified of being trapped
in a story not written for me

But ...

what if

my story 

is a thousand tiny bubbles

floating in the air

each rainbow orb

not simply a note

in the symphony of my life

but the whole composition

echoing in the heart of God.

And me?

I am the air God breathes

 

Before I left home, I picked up a pottery prayer piece made by a potter friend of mine.  It was calling me, beckoning me to take it with me on my retreat.  There is a dragon fly on one side.  If you turn it over, it says "freedom."   I have found it a very surprising companion this week for I didn't know I was being held captive by this fear, believing it to be left behind in other fields of dirt.  Exploring it these past few days and deepening the exploration in the silence has been liberating for me, one more step in my journey toward wholeness. 

Thank you Terry Hershey for leading us on this grand gardening adventure!   Peace be with you!

Reflections on Silence

If you are looking for my Reflections on Silence, the account of my journey with the Olivetan Bendictine Monks in April 2014, take the Links in this order ... 

On the blog, they are in reverse which confuses some people.  I invite you to move forward slowly.  You can move through them by taking the link at the bottom of each post to the next post.

1. Arrival at the Monastery
2. Moving into Silence
3. Dwelling in Silence
4. Lingering in Silence
5. Departure from the Monastery
6. Coming Home

Endings & Beginnings ...

When May arrives many of us experience various endings and beginnings ... dying and rising again an echo of our Easter journey.  It seems for me that, with Easter so late this year, those endings and beginnings came much quicker.   Add to that, there are transitions happening all around me and I'm not sure I'm ready.  

I feel a little un-moored ... like I am floating down an un-named creek on the river of my life.  So I'm in the process of pondering and re-writing the "rhythm and rule of my life" in order to provide a stronger container within which to hold all of the pieces of my life so they might re-gather anew.  

Always we begin again, yes?

 

Question for Reflection:  
How is your rhythm and rule of life serving you and your ministry these days, connecting you to the One within whom you "live and move and have your being?"

Reflections on Silence: Coming Home

Everybody has their own way of looking at their lives 

as some kind of pilgrimage ... Mine, I suppose, is to know myself.

~Eric Clapton

Is my life a pilgrimage?   Certainly, I feel that I am coming to know myself.  At least I have begun the journey, I think.  And I am finding that is not necessarily comfortable.  As I come closer to my-self, I find things that I like and things that I don't.  I am finding a desire to change some of those things that are keeping me from being who I truly am.  And ... I am finding that is not necessarily comfortable!

For me, silence is the most important aspect of my spiritual life.  I need time to hear the whispers of my soul ... to hear the whispers of God within my soul.  I need the silence to wake up, to become aware.  Silence increases my awareness, not just of God's presence, but of all of creation and my space in the web of nature.  

Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the way is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing behind
one sees the path
that never will be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road–
Only wakes upon the sea.

~Antonio Machado

Since I've returned home from the Monastery and a couple of working retreats, I am spending more time in meditation and reflection, wondering how my experience changed me, transforming me from the inside out into the world. I'm taking long walks on trails close to my home and I'm breathing in God's presence through the nature that I find in my world. I even signed up for Yoga just for ME.

And I continue to develop my personal rhythm in the silence:

walking ... praying ...  returning ... resting

At the monastery, it was the resting into which my soul came home to herself.  Laying down on my bed, my head resting upon the green prayer shawl in the the window of the monastery, gazing out upon the trees, I felt twinges of the familiar deep in my little girl soul.  And yet I am filled with wonder because I was such a fearful child ... driving with my parents down those dark gravel roads in Arkansas, visions of monsters lurking along the edge of the roads, filling my dreams, and making me tremble.  Looking up into the trees, dark leafy silhouettes against the night sky, reflecting a quality of light born only of moonlight and stars.  Suddenly, I remember the soft voices of my parents and the warmth of my mother's welcoming lap as I laid my head down and fell asleep to the subtle roar of the truck engine.  I am safe.  I am loved.  I am only, ever ... me. 

Listen ... this year

I have planted my feet

on this ground

and am practicing

growing up 

out of my legs

like a tree.

~ Linda Lancione Moyer, Women Prayers

Reflections on Silence: Departure from the Monastery

My Silence at the Monastery

Early in the morning, with only a few short hours left with my Silence, I rise to find out if I would get a sunrise.  But no, it was a foggy day.  Disappointment welled up within me but as I peered down the road I realized the fog had an elusive beauty.  With each blink of the eye, it changed.  And I almost ran to see my Dancing Woman Tree.  And there she is, swaying in the morning breeze, dancing with her reflection, hauntingly beautiful.  She takes my breathe away.   

 

I linger and watch the fog roll in.  I wander down the gravel road and the honeysuckle tickles my nose with it's sweet aroma.  Have you ever tasted honeysuckle nectar?  I felt like a little girl again as I reached out and caught droplets of nectar on the tip of my tongue.  A bountiful breakfast for a girl steeped in silence.  

Reading Psalm 145 on my last morning and these words drew me in, "you open wide your hands."  When I think of open hands, I think of giving and receiving.  I think of letting go and taking up, of loving and being loved.  Open hands mean balance, symbiosis ... living in a symbiotic relationship with all living beings.  Open hands, going away and coming home.  

There's not much time now.  But my time with the psalms does not feel complete.  So I continue to read through until I reach Psalm 147:15 and the words "Peace on your borders" almost explodes off the page!  Wow.  How easy it is, to have peace in your center when God resides there.  It's the borders, the margins, the edge of my boundaries where peace often alludes me.  Out there I am not protected.  I am not safe, secure, warm, confident.  I do not feel fully loved.  I read my verse again, and I read it more fully this time.  "God has established peace on your borders."  It really isn't up to me to make the peace radiate from my center out into the world.  God does this from my simple obedience to seeking peace for my center.  And may it be so. 

How beautiful ...

are the feet of the messenger 

who announces peace.  Isaiah 52:7

 And may it be so!  Amen!

Goodbye dear Monks!

Take this link for Part 6 of Reflections on Silence:  Coming Home