Surrendering to God

Surrendering to God

I feel God calling me to a deeper fuller kind of love—like an intimacy of the soul. Yet when I came upon Psalm seventy seven in a much beloved version of the Psalms, my old fears were triggered. Here are the closing sentences of that Psalm.

“When our fears sense you, O Beloved,

when our doubts encounter your love,

they are afraid and tremble.

Our eyes pour forth oceans of tears;

our countenance grows cloudy;

we hide behind walls of resistance.

The power of your love seems too much for us;

your light unveils the secrets hidden in our hearts;

can you wonder that we tremble?

Yet, you stand beside us as we walk through our fears,

the path to wholeness and love, though our footsteps are unsure.

You send a Counselor as a guide to lead us on the paths of peace, truth, and love.”

Then I wrote the following in my journal in response to this Psalm. It reads like a lament Psalm, a Psalm that pours out my heart before God.

“You’ve given me so much love and light, yet I still have so much fear and doubt. Always more fear and doubt. Your glory, your love, frighten me. I am not worthy of so much grace, so much care, so much compassion. My fears rule me day and night. I beg for your mercy. I feel you longing for me, and it scares me. I feel you waiting for me to surrender and it paralyzes me. I beg you to send the Counselor, your Spirit, to walk with me, to calm me, to deepen me, to take my hand and then lift me, and carry me over this threshold of fear. I am willing, as I was a decade ago, to take a new path, if you but tell me which one or take me on it. My whole being longs for you, like a deer longs for flowing streams, yet my fear engulfs me. Take me to a new place of love.”

A spiritual coincidence happened during this process. At a Eucharist service I received an amazing blessing: a personal prayer from the leader that God would grant me love greater than I can imagine. So I am asking God to show me that love, to let me melt and rest in that love. I beg, “Take me into your soul, my final and forever place of rest, restoration and reconciliation…take me to the next place of love, and grant me your radical calm. Grant me a whole life of love arising from a deep place of surrender to you. Take me anywhere your heart desires and carry me so I don’t offer so much resistance.”

And God’s response to me…”Janet, you are mine now. The healing of your wounds is complete. A decade of growth and deepening, preparing you to be exactly who I’ve called you to be. The Counselor is here with you. I am carrying you. You need do nothing. You need not work on this. All is prepared. All is well. I am enough. It is well with your soul. I am bigger than your fear. I am wiser than your experience. And I want to live through you, to bring my love to the world. I adore you. I grant you radical calm. Trust me and let me grant you the fullness of my love. Be still. Be still.”

After that reassuring response I opened Thomas Merton’s book to a passage about his own fear of growing close to God. He has the same issue I do.

“Lord, I have not lived like a contemplative. The first essential is missing. I only say I trust You. My actions prove that the one I trust is myself–and that I am still afraid of You. Take my life into Your hands, at last and do whatever You want with it. I give myself to Your love and mean to keep on giving myself to Your love–rejecting neither the hard things nor the pleasant things You have arranged for me. It is enough for me that You have glory. Everything You have planned is good. It is all love.”

Surrender is incredibly hard. It means that we are not in control any more. We do not get what we want; we are drenched in that which we need. God’s love is fuller when we surrender because we are more dependent on it. God is faithful and supplies miracles of healing and deep calm, but rarely in ways we imagined or can speak of or write about. So we get no cultural or religious gain from surrender. What we get is a solitary journey, even when accompanied by others.

So why would anyone want to surrender to God and live sacrificially, longing only for more of God? I think one answer is that when we learn to live in love and to ask only for what we need, we have found the path to God’s soul. Ironically what we most need represents our deepest heart’s desire. We find ourselves trusting God as we relinquish our own wants and wills. We have to trust that what we need will heal our hearts and cleanse our souls and free us for God’s work in the world.

For instance, what I want is external security, being taken care of, when what I need is inner security and trust in God’s provision. What I want is total health when what I need is a chronic condition that keeps me from getting busy in order to avoid being alone. What I want is for others to apologize to me when what I need is to forgive myself. The things I need bring me more intimacy with God and greater interior freedom. Yet what I need is so counter to the culture, my will and my ego that I would rarely choose it for myself.

The reward for a surrendered life is a life lived in God’s radical grace and love, without having to find outward security, without having to blame others for my experiences or having to be healthy in order to be happy. In this surrendered place I can feel the fullness of God’s love and have more time to immerse myself in it. This love stretches me far beyond what I could ever imagine, and expands my capacity for joy.

One of the most beloved saints and mystics, Ignatius of Loyola, speaks eloquently of this surrender: “Take Lord, and receive my liberty, my memory, my understanding, my entire will, everything I have and call my own. You gave me all these gifts, and to you I return them. Dispose of them entirely according to your will. Give me only your love and your grace. That is all I ask.”

This is not a prayer to be taken lightly. God may answer it in ways you did not expect. Pray it anyway.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.
The version of the Psalms I quoted is Nan Merrill’s Psalms for Praying. Mertons’ quote is from A Book of Hours. The Ignatian quote is available on line in a search engine.

Reflections on this essay
When God comes close to you, how to you respond?

When are you most afraid of God’s love?

What part of your life are you most afraid of surrendering to God? Why?

What have you experienced when you do surrender?

What do you need verses want?

How does it feel to pray the Ignatian prayer of surrender?

Longing for Epiphanies

Longing for *Epiphanies

I long for epiphanies
Sudden glimpses of light
But I often live in doubt
in fear of the dark

Yet I know O loving Lord
You are my light my doubt
You are my fear my balm

You ask me to climb
higher on the mountain
and wait there for you

My heart awakens there
You consume me with
the fire of your love

I become as nothing
yet all things are mine

Glimpses of light
Endless light

*Epiphany is associated with the arrival of the Magi in the Christmas story (January 6th). It is also a sudden burst of insight, a new grasp of meaning or the flooding of light on the nature of truth.

©Janet O. Hagberg, 2005 For a book of these poems see my web site www.janethagberg.com

Reflections on this poem:

Where is light seeking to break through in your life?

How is God part of both your fear and your balm?

What new insights into life did you experience this Christmas?

How is God asking you to wait for God’s presence on your journey?

How are you experiencing the depth of God’s consuming love?

Saga of the Black Skirt

Saga of the Black Skirt

Every time I wear my favorite black skirt I get a chance to tell the story of how it dropped into my life. And that story makes me deeply grateful for the graceful way this skirt came to be mine.

I was on a rare trip, since I have consciously chosen not to travel much. A group of women were gathering at a retreat center to apply a model of faith I had written about to their lives. The two leaders for the weekend were friends and colleagues of mine and I was enthralled with the creative ways in which they engaged us with the material. One after another, the retreatants shared their core life experiences with the group. It was a weekend filled with depth and holy surprises.

The reason that so many women could share at such deep levels was that the atmosphere at the retreat was safe, personal and inspiring. I felt my own soul being fed, which is sometimes difficult when my material is the subject of the teaching. But in this group I could participate fully and allow myself to be fed. There was something different about this retreat. There was a spirit alive within this group and we could feel it. We had a full and poignant opening day of learning and sharing.

As Ellen, one of the retreat leaders, was presenting a portion of the material on a specific stage of faith, I was mesmerized by her total persona; calm, grounded, inviting. Her whole appearance spoke of her grace, simple and beautiful. She wore a light yellow v-neck sweater and a charming long black skirt that had squares on it with fringed edges. The fabric inside the squares was thin enough to see though, giving the skirt a magical quality, yet it was black so it was very subtle. I fell in love with Ellen’s skirt because it was so magical and looked so good on her. After her session I complimented her on it and then laughingly said that if she discovered her skirt missing at the end of the weekend, she would know where to come look for it. She laughed and said this was her very favorite skirt.

The next morning when I opened my door to go to our shared bathroom, there was a little gift outside my door. It was Ellen’s favorite skirt wrapped in tissue with a note saying she really appreciated me and wanted me to have it. I was moved to tears and then a not-so-deserving part of myself convinced me that I had to give it back. I paused long enough to let my other more healed voice get a chance to speak and it told me that I had rarely experienced this kind of generosity with material things, and it moved me to a deeper place of gratitude. I am usually so independent and self sufficient and this was an opportunity to receive her kind generosity to me. So it may have been harder for me to receive the gift than it was for her to give it. Although, as I thought about it, giving away my favorite clothing item would not be easy either.

I stepped back into my room and put the skirt on. It was beautiful. I loved it even more when I felt it around me. I wore it that day and everyone loved it, but mostly they loved the story of Ellen giving it to me—her favorite skirt. It must have struck a cord for many women there as it had for me since I tend to hoard my stuff, especially my favorite stuff. I think I am afraid that if I give away my things they will not be replaced or I will not have enough, yet my closets are overflowing with clothes I rarely wear. What a messy predicament.

Ellen was offering me another alternative. Be generous out of love. Try letting go of my favorite things and see the joy they bring to others. Try letting go of things that are not even my favorites and notice the freedom I feel inside. I have a feeling that if I trust God more for all of my needs, it will easier to give away my stuff, even my favorite things. To my surprise, I was about to learn another important thing about giving generously because there was an even more delicious ending to the story.

The delicious ending is this: one of Ellen’s good friends who was also at the retreat, had an identical skirt to Ellen’s except that it was one size larger. Without Ellen knowing it, her friend had her skirt taken in and then sent it to Ellen, so she received her favorite skirt back and now we can both wear them. Ellen was as surprised and thrilled with her friend’s generosity as I was with hers.

Sincere generosity like Ellen’s spreads and moves others to do the same. It changes both the giver and the receiver. No guilt, no strings attached, no agendas. Just a free gift.

So the learning, for me, is to give out of love and out of a place of inner freedom, sometimes even giving something away before I have come to that place of inner freedom. If I believe that God will multiply my generosity and also provide what I need, then I can give freely to others. And the joy that comes from giving freely is like no other.

Now, after receiving this surprising and generous gift from a loving heart, I’m wondering how my grateful heart will respond and what I will be willing to give away in love.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2009. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay
What has been the most generous free gift you have received from another person? How did it come to you? How did it affect you?

When have you gotten a gift or given one that was not given in freedom but had strings attached? How did that feel? What did you do?

Is there anything you feel called to give away now? How could you have the most freedom in giving it?

How is this process of giving freely out of love affecting you?

Beauty as a Thin Place

Beauty as a Thin Place

One of the ways my soul finds intimacy with God is by immersing itself in beauty. Beauty that speaks of God’s closeness to me include vivid sunrises that shoot purple streaks across the sky, a song whose lyrics go so deep into my memory I cry, or a garden so lovingly tended that I feel God’s spirit in the design, color and scent. I have to confess, too, that moments in sports in which everything moves like poetry, such as the double play in baseball, speak to me of sacred beauty as well. It is as if all is one, and I am connected at a deeper level to the essence of beauty, the Spirit of God behind the beauty.

Another way to say this is to name beauty as a thin place, a place in which the veil between this world and the eternal is temporarily lifted and I get a glimpse of the Holy. Thin places send shivers through my body, make me stop and just absorb the holy. Thin places are everywhere, but if our awareness is not attuned we miss them. They can be stunningly simple, like sunrises or sun dogs around the winter sun, or they can be seemingly complex, like the beauty of a life transformed by forgiveness, a physical illness embraced as gift, or the appearance of an angel. As gifts from the Holy, these are all available to us, but we vary in our willingness to stop and see them.

I’ve explored several ways in which beauty as a thin place has deeply affected my life. One form of beauty I’ve liked since childhood is storms. I used to sit in our three-season porch and watch as the sky turned a yellowish color preceding a big storm. The wind rose, the atmospheric pressure dropped and the first few big drops of rain started to fall. The sky darkened and the rain pelted the windows on our porch. Sometimes we’d get hail stones in our yard, and usually when it started hailing my parents made me come into the house. When I was permitted to go outside again, after the storm, everything seemed cleansed, even renewed.

Now I live in a condo eleven stories above the ground and I can see the storms coming very clearly. I sit out on my deck and watch them, just like I did as a child. Storm cloud formations are dramatic, almost regal, as their huge peaks march across the sky. Storms are, for me, thin places that speak of the mystery of God and the power of nature.

But there are inner storms as well, that act in similar ways as outer storms in my life. They may buffet me about, scare me, send hail into my well planned life, or even stop me totally so all I can do is watch. Sometimes I witness the destruction of something I’ve been clinging to for dear life. Sometimes, when I need a good jolt, my whole body will get involved in a storm, like when I occasionally have an allergic reaction to someone who is unsafe for me. I get sick to my stomach until I agree to put distance between us. The storm is swift and sure. But the cleansing is refreshing afterwards. Storms have a way of wearing away my edges that have become sharp with time. They soften my soul.

Another special form of beauty is the gift of fore-giveness. This becomes an especially thin place for me if I forgive someone else before they forgive me—thus the word fore-giveness. To be the first to forgive starts a special rhythm in my life, a freedom beat. I release the cords that are binding me to another. I let go of the resentment that I carry like a yoke on my shoulders, and I release the need to be vindicated. It frees my soul to take the next steps of intimacy with God.

When I forgive, I do not always tell the other person I’ve done it, but it changes my behavior. I do not need to be angry or spiteful or blaming. Sometimes I write a letter of forgiveness that I do not send. As part of this letter I try to investigate what part of the issue I brought to the table, so I can be honest and forgive myself as well. Do I get reconciliation as a result of forgiving? Occasionally. Reconciliation is a miracle but not a sign of success. Fore-giveness is a beautiful thin place because it transforms me, sets me free, offers me more of the Eternal.

To see beauty as a thin place means I can see the beauty of holy intimacy itself, my connection with the Holy in the world. If I can accept beauty as a gift from God, as a way in which God draws near to me out of love and a desire for connection, then maybe I can live as if I really am God’s beloved. What would it mean if I would take in that truth, that I really am God’s beloved, in whom God is well pleased? It would have to be life changing. I know my heart desires this truth. I know my heart desires beauty. And I know beauty is a thin place.

The 16th century saint and mystic, St. John of the Cross, writes cogently about his heart’s deepest desire in these words.

The Essence of Desire
I did not
have to ask my heart what it wanted,
because of all the desires I have ever known just one did I cling to
for it was the essence of
all desire;

to know beauty.

When I first experienced beauty as a thin place, I designed a book depicting twenty of my thin places, naming each page “the beauty of…”. Each page is a gift to ponder. I’ve mentioned several in this essay but here are the rest; the beauty of relinquishment, the beauty of the fire, the beauty of paradox, the beauty of self-worth, of restrictions, of silence, of simplicity, of mystery. The beauty of our differences, of humility, of birth and death, of our shadows, of fearless giving, of embracing, of transcendence, and of holy intimacy. Beauty is a thin place…

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.
St. John of the Cross’ poem is from Love Poems From God

Reflections on this essay
How do you experience beauty?

What affect does that beauty have on you?

How do your thin places affect your life?

How can you cultivate more beauty in your life?

How do St. John’s words speak to you?

Which of the thin places mentioned surprises you the most and why?

The Spirituality of Baseball

The Spirituality of Baseball

I love baseball. I know, I know… players are paid way too much money, some of them cheat big time, the owners can be ruthless and the whole idea of sports could be seen as an opiate for the masses. Although all of this makes me sad, it doesn’t deter me from pulling out my 1987 and 1991 Twins’ World Series celebration videos each March in anticipation of Opening Day. But how can baseball be spiritual?

For Annie Savoy (Susan Sarandon), the co-star in Bull Durham, her religious journey has culminated in declaring her commitment to the church of baseball.
“I believe in the Church of Baseball. I’ve tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I’ve worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn’t work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there’s no guilt in baseball, and it’s never boring… It’s a long season and you gotta trust. I’ve tried ‘em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball.”

While I don’t commit to baseball as a religion, I do see baseball as a spiritual experience. Of course, to be honest, I may feel that more strongly when my team wins, but not always. If they play well and there are a few great moments in the game but they still lose, I go home satisfied.

So what do I consider spiritual about baseball? First, the goal of the whole game is different from most other sports where there is a net, a hole or a hoop to put the ball in or through. In baseball the object is to hit the ball, but the goal is for the batter to come home, to get back to home plate. Somehow helping your teammates get back home holds more meaning for me, maybe because of my own longing to find my true home in my work, my faith and my relationships.

In baseball one of the major ways to help get your teammates back home, around the diamond to home plate, is to sacrifice for them. A sacrifice play means that you don’t get credit for it but it advances the runner. Walks, bunts and sacrifice flies (which are good hits but caught for an out, while advancing the runner) are all examples. So a key to this game is sacrifice. In my life, the most beloved people who I hold closest to my heart have sacrificed something for me or I for them. There is something about releasing your own need in order to help another, without martyrdom, that is deeply moving and life-giving for me.

Then there are the transcendent moments in baseball; the long ball that is headed over the fence for a home run until a player in the outfield leaps at the precise moment to connect with the ball and hold it majestically in his glove; the poetic double play in which the short stop tosses to the second baseman who then twists like a ballerina in mid-air throwing perfectly to first base; or the play at home plate when the runner slides ten feet–and a bit out of the baseline–while managing to brush the bag with his hand to avoid the catcher’s tag. All of these plays leave me smiling or gasping with appreciation and bring me back for more.

Baseball, for the most part, is a gentleman’s (or gentlewoman’s) game, a reflective sport. It is not primarily a beer bash or a status symbol. It’s not fast enough for the fast crowd. It is a slow game usually lasting about three hours, although there is no clock, so it goes on until it’s over. Few major sports are like that. The clock is the competition. So baseball invites you to relax, reflect, chat with friends, and just wile away the evening.

Besides the game itself, baseball, for me, represents some of what is best about America, in ways that other parts of our culture do not. For instance, the tickets are still within the means of most people so the average person can attend a game. Last year you could get four tickets, four hot dogs, and four cokes for twenty-five bucks. I love seeing fathers with their sons or daughters, who are wearing their baseball gloves, eagerly awaiting a foul ball. As they say; Priceless. And baseball teams are now the most integrated in sports, made up of players who are Latino, Black, White, and Asian. Jackie Robinson, the first black player, hired by Branch Rickey of the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1945, made this all possible. Reading his story is a lesson in courage and heroism.

Baseball is a business like most sports, but when you’ve lived in a small market city, as I have, baseball is more like a family. We grow our players in a terrific minor league system and they become part of our extended clan. We don’t have as many big stars, although we do have some, but our team plays well together because they are all needed. Last year several of our players had home run records between twenty-five and thirty. Our clubhouse is known for its camaraderie partly because most everyone feels needed but also because our management encourages a team effort.

I could write about all the rituals of baseball or the spiritual experience of keeping score at games in which Cal Ripkin hit his 3000th hit, or Johan Santana got a record number of strike-outs. When history is being made keeping score is a ritual all of its own. But I want to end this essay with a story that goes beyond anything I have ever seen in sport and a story that could only happen in baseball.

It happened in 2008 in a game between two women’s college teams, Western Oregon College and Central Washington University. Washington was up by two in the bottom of the ninth inning. Oregon had two on and two outs. The batter hit a home run to win the game but caught her foot on the first base bag and fell, unable to walk. According to the rules, neither her coach nor her teammates could help her run the bases so Oregon would have to forfeit the game. Until…two players from Western Washington went over to the player, lifted her to her feet and carried her around the bases, allowing her to touch each one and win the game. They had done for her what baseball is all about, carried her back home. It meant they lost the game. Now that’s a story of sacrifice if I’ve ever heard one. In my mind everyone won.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.
If you would like to see a seven minute documentary of this baseball game, go to

http://www.responsibilityproject.com/films/player/the-home-run/

Reflections on this essay
Which sports do you find interesting and why?

What parts of that sport do you find inspiring or spiritual?

What does that tap into in your life?

When have you experienced a transcendent moment in sports?

When have you experienced a gamesmanship moment that stuck with you?

Threatened with Resurrection

Threatened with Resurrection

I awoke early Easter Sunday morning expecting to feel joy and relief after a difficult Lent in which I was called to finally heal my divorce issues and be internally free. That healing has been a graced conclusion to a multi-year process of letting go of fear, resentment and vindication. In this healing I began to see my ex-husband as a gift in my life. I was letting go of my old hurts and entering into a whole new phase of my life; a life of love.

So I awoke expecting joy and instead I awoke with the title of an achingly inspiring poem in my heart.  It is Julia Esquivel’s magnificent poem, “They Threatened Us With Resurrection.” Julia is an exiled poet, writing about people in Guatemala who disappeared in the political unrest there but who inspired others to move beyond the losses.  I have had that poem and the idea of being threatened with resurrection at the back of my mind ever since I read about it in one of Parker Palmer’s books. But to awaken with this idea of being threatened with resurrection on Easter Sunday was more than coincidence. Something was going on in my inner world that needed tending.

In my prayer time I realized that I had a vague sense of uneasiness in letting go of my pain, which I had been doing gradually for several years. God had been so faithful to me in staying with me during this healing process and I was so grateful. As a result I developed a deeper level of intimacy with God, learned to trust God with my life, and was now living into a season of grace. This journey was my source of transformation; in it God brought me to my knees and then taught me how to stand up again with a heart of forgiveness.

I began to wonder if I was really afraid to move into this resurrection time because I might lose my intimacy with God if I was not in pain. I knew it was not healthy to wallow in pain or stay in an unhealed place, but how would I navigate this resurrection dilemma? Would I need to come up with more pain in order to be close to God or could I trust God for intimacy beyond pain? It did feel a bit threatening.

My spiritual director helped me by listening and then asking me if there were times I felt close to God when I was not in pain. I went inside and got quiet. Of course, there were times of intimacy with God when I wasn’t hurting. But I had lost track of them in this threatened place. I began remembering times I feel close to God when I was not in pain; my tears of deep emotion when I hear about people who sacrifice for others, when I am overcome by beauty, when I am honored to be with people in their times of transformation, when I am writing, when I pray, when I listen to a Tchaikovsky symphony. I felt a sense of relief spreading over me, relief that I do feel intimacy with God in times of calm or joy. That thought led me to a truth that God has been giving me recently in my prayer time but which I had also forgotten in my threatened state.

The truth from God is that joy emerges from pain that is well attended. When we do our inner work, joy is one of the outcomes. When we face into our fears God faces into them with us. When we forgive others for things that never should have happened we are free from the burdens of resentment and anger. When we disentangle from being enslaved by our chronic pain we heal. We let go of the heavy burdens so joy has room to grow.

Another deep truth emerged as I was pondering how joy emerges from pain. This one came from the Fra. Giovanni. “Our joys too; be not content with them as joys. They too, conceal diviner gifts.” This intriguing quote led me to ponder how a consideration of joy might usher in a whole life of resurrection.

I wanted a life of resurrection joy, not the happiness that comes and goes at a moment’s notice. I can feel happy when my athletic team wins or I can feel hopeless when I hear of another tragedy, but how can I feel joy in the midst of everything. I wanted to feel joy somewhere deeper and not have it disappear just because I was having a bad day. Joy, I think lives in a deeper place within us and has a permanent address. It is a life stance, a signature on the soul, a way of seeing God in all things. It emerges from transformation, from pain well attended. It leads to interior freedom and it comes from a life not threatened by its own resurrection.

For me the diviner gift of joy is what emerges in our lives when we drink sacred water from deeper wells and pass that water along to others. As we courageously live out our calling from God joy emerges and spreads. People feel calmer while in our presence even if they are in pain. They long for that calm themselves and it gives them hope. Sometimes we find ourselves gently laughing even in painful times and it casts a softer light on the circumstances, like a balm for the wound. Joy is apparent in people’s eyes and on their faces, even in their physical stance. It can’t be hidden or bluffed. Living it out with gratitude is a diviner gift.

During the time I was writing this essay I was teaching a class in which I had the opportunity to read a poem that helped to tell a painful but healed part of my divorce story, the very story that started me on this essay. In the hearing of my poem and story, one woman in class not only identified with me but felt a call to go deeper into her own healing as a result. Even though I knew it would be painful for her, I felt a deep joy knowing that she would be finding a different part of herself as a result. I could also feel the joy growing in her. She even glowed as she told her story to our small group. And she contacted a friend who she thought might also benefit from her experience. The diviner gifts of joy…When I see this amazing healing grace, how can I be threatened by resurrection?

Joy emerges from pain well attended…

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.

The quote of Fra. Giovinni is from Prayers for Healing, edited by Maggie Oman, selection for April 20^th.

Reflections on this essay

How have you been threatened with resurrection in your life?

What could you do to grow into that resurrection stance in life?

What stimulates joy for you?

How do you distinguish between happiness and joy?

How have you experienced joy as a diviner gift, seeing it pay forward?

Becoming a Whole Woman

Becoming a Whole Woman

What does it mean to be a whole woman? Just for a minute, jot down the images or words that come to mind that describe a whole woman. If you follow cultural prescriptions you might have words like attractive, professional, thin, married with talented children (2.5, no more, no less), physically healthy, living in a beautiful and well kept home.

If you inquire of scripture to supply you with an image of the whole woman it gets more complicated. One place to start is a description of a good wife in Proverbs 31. This woman does everything, from raising children to creating and selling fine clothing to buying land. It raises two questions for me. How many servants did she have and what on earth was her husband doing besides sitting among the elders? Even so, that is one standard. However there are many other scriptural references to women as role models who have very different circumstances; the two famous widows, Ruth and Naomi, who showed us how to be faithful to one another as women; Lydia and Debra, who were highly regarded as a business woman and a judge respectively; Miriam, a leader of the Israelites who not only saved Moses’ life by negotiating with Pharaoh’s daughter but also led the people in the celebratory dance after they had escaped Egypt; Mary, Hannah and Hagar who all had intimate and all pervading relationships with God and who all encountered God in extreme circumstances; Queen Esther who literally put her marriage and her life on the line to save her people; the barren woman in Isaiah 54 who has more descendants that anyone else and is to be praised. Even Paul gives us another theological model, that of singleness which he prefers to marriage for people in his time.

Add to that our own family expectations of what it means to be whole. For one family the expectations for women might be exactly the opposite of the expectations of another family. Interestingly, King Lemuel, who wrote the elaborate description of a good wife in Proverbs 31, got his ideas from his mother. There were mother-in-law issues in his marriage, to be sure.

So what are we to do? Whatever the list or source we ascribe to, one thing is usually clear. We personally do not meet the requirements nor match the description of what it means to be a whole woman. If we are single we usually adhere to the married with perfect children list. If we are married with children we may aspire to the professional woman list. Ultimately whole is something we’re not. So if we were just _____ (you fill in the blank), we would be whole. Not now. Maybe some day. Maybe never.

I have been plagued by all these expectations and descriptions most of my life because I, like most women, did things that got me no points on the “whole woman” list I adhered to. I married, as it turns out, to gain depths of compassion and wisdom, not anniversary parties; conceived books and not babies, have “adopted” most of my family members to augment the real ones, tend towards telling the story of my life as it really is rather than what would make me look better. I usually feel quite out of sync with both the cultural and biblical standards.

What a dilemma. How do we find deep satisfaction and comfort in life if we have so many competing voices telling us who we are to be? And even when we do achieve what “they” say we need to achieve, we still don’t feel whole.

Here’s a radical thought. How about just being grateful for who we are, just the way we are, believing that this is exactly where we need to be right now? Wow. How would we do that? One way to embrace this is to accept that we already have innate worth and we are whole because we are created in God’s image. We were created whole—any baby will confirm that. Sure we fall from that grace but before we fall, there is the glory of our creation. Even our fallenness, when embraced for its wisdom in our lives, is part of our wholeness. Our innate worth allow us to be whole in one, whole in ourselves and whole in ONE, whole in God. Whenever we embrace our wholeness as God’s beloved gift and see ourselves as redeemed women, we are living into God’s deeper truths.

God has given us a clear process for living into the truth of our wholeness. We find it in Deuteronomy 6:5 and expanded by Jesus in Matthew 22: 37-39. It has three parts. The first is this: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your might (mind). This means, to me, that learning about God, leaning on God, and allowing God to soothe, heal, forgive, refine, embrace and compose our lives is what will bring us even closer to who we are in our deepest selves. Second: Love yourself. To me this means believing in my innate worth and in the power of my own unique story as God’s unfolding story for me. It means finding myself, not in the cultural, family or even religious expectations but in my own story in God. Third: Love your neighbor as you have learned to love yourself. This is a natural outgrowth of loving myself, accepting myself and forgiving myself, thus freeing me to be compassionate and loving towards others.

Is it an easy 1-2-3 step process? No, because we have a lot to shed; cultural pressure, shame, guilt, self-loathing, fear. This is best done with the help of a wise and gifted counselor. But it is worth the effort because it makes all the difference. A seasoned pastor once told me that this three-part commandment from God was all I had to know about life and theology. He added, smiling, “All the rest is commentary.” I believe the same is true in the process of becoming a whole woman. If I focus on God as my creator and my Beloved, I can love myself and others; all the rest is commentary.

I wrote this poem to underscore that truth. I created you/now let me love you/ that’s all I’ve got to say/would you like me to repeat that

What if the first words you think of when asked to describe a whole woman are intimate with God, deeply satisfied, loving self, wise as a result of embracing pain, grounded, a rose in full bloom, a full moon? It’s possible.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.
Men are invited to do this exercise as well, identifying cultural, Biblical and family pressures to be a certain way and then clarifying who they really are separate from those expectations but within God’s perspective.

Reflections on this essay
What words or images first came to mind when I mentioned whole women/men?

What sources of expectations are strongest for you in describing whole women or men?

How would you describe yourself in relation to those expectations?

How are you accepting yourself as created in God’s image, with innate worth?

Which of the three steps; love God, love self, love neighbor, are you most drawn to?

What are you now doing (or could you do) to embrace that step in your growth?

What words do you claim for yourself as descriptions of you as a whole woman or man?

Healing Threads

Healing Threads

When I read the biography of Gandhi many years ago, one of the things that stayed with me was that he prayed a whole day a week; on Monday. Part of his Monday ritual was to spin wool or cotton into yarn, perhaps as a form of meditation. I was awed by his discipline of praying for a day but also his inclusion of a creative art form in his prayer. I have been drawn to various creative art forms my whole life, especially drawing, paper arts and knitting, but I had not yet equated my art form with prayer.

Then quilting gently entered my life. A friend of mine is a master quilter and her quilting stories intrigued me. I had a family heirloom, a cedar chest, filled with quilt tops from the 1930s that had not been finished but I did not know how to complete them. My friend helped me get the appropriate fabric to complete the quilts and showed me how to do simple hand quilting. Once I got started I felt more connected to my grandmother, who I did not know well, and to all the other women in my extended family. A quilt expert told me that one of my quilts dated from 1865 and that the quilter had a mind of her own. I liked hearing that there was a spunky woman in my family tree. I felt an even deeper connection with those women who had come before me.

When it came time to create my own quilts, I got stuck. I was not drawn to the repeated patterns of most quilts nor to the pastel flowered fabrics of the quilting tradition. (My 1865 quilt maker ancestor chose bright red and white as her colors, and an unusual pattern.) It seemed my quilting days were short lived. But that year my friend just happened to be an officer in the state quilt group and asked if I would go with her to the quilt show. As we were walking along the aisles of quilts I noticed one quilt style that I had never seen before. It was called a One Block Wonder. It included different configurations of hexagons made into a creative larger pattern—amazing, creative and beautiful. I said to my friend, “If I can make a quilt like that I’ll start quilting.” She assured me I could make quilts like that. So I did. In the process I learned that my creativity and sense of adventure could be part of this process. I, too, could have a mind of my own!

But in the quilting process I found something else that really surprised me. Quilting calmed my soul. Quilting felt prayer-like. When I quilted people who I needed to connect with or forgive came to mind. Sometimes the quilt I was working on needed my love poured into it. I quilted slowly so it was not just a goal to accomplish. I let the quilt speak to me of what else it needed. During tense times I could use quilting projects as a way to soothe and comfort me. I felt that quilting was a strong and creative antidote to anxiety and stress.

Along the way I joined a small quilt group, called the Redeemer Block Club, at the inner city church I belong to. Our goal was to make quilts for an annual quilt action. The proceeds all went to projects in other countries, for the empowering of women and children, including HIV/Aids orphans. It was much more meaningful to quilt for a cause and see the results in people’s lives.

One of the African refugees at our church slowly got involved in quilting. She didn’t like it as first, partly because she was so depressed. So in the beginning, we just asked her if she wanted to sit by the ironing board and press fabric. Pretty soon we found some African fabric and asked her to help us design a quilt named for her. Her inner light began to get a little brighter. She began quilting her own designs that spoke of her story of surviving torture and leaving her country to come to America. Just a few months later, we asked her to write her story and send photos of her quilts to the state quilter’s group. She was awarded the new quilter’s award, which included a trip to the statewide quilt show where her quilt was displayed.

More crucial though, was what quilting was doing for her soul and for our souls. When she quilted she said she felt calmed and connected to a new life and to the creativity within her. She forgot, at least for a little while, about all the bad memories she also carried with her from her past. Quilting was healing for her. And quilting with her was creative, healing and satisfying for us too.

Eventually some of her colleagues who were also survivors from Africa got interested in quilting just from seeing and hearing what it had done for her. We formed a small subgroup of quilters, made up of experienced quilters and new quilters, to sew together and form a community across cultures. We called it Healing Threads. As we came together monthly, those of us who are experienced quilters shared our skills to help each woman make the quilt she wanted. New quilters created their own designs, their own work of art, and we were all deepened by the experience. It was a safe atmosphere for all of us to create and to heal. Each new quilter went home with a sewing machine and supplies so she could keep quilting at home. Now one of the new quilters has a small sewing class in her apartment. So it grows…

I am reminded that if I listen to my heart, like I did when I first started quilting and if I allow the art form to move deeper within me, it just naturally takes me to places of new life. I see quilting as prayer now—and also creativity, community, joy and healing.

I’m still curious, though, about Gandhi. If spinning was part of his quiet Monday ritual, what inner journey did it stimulate and how was that related to his outer work of freeing his people from British rule? Something more to ponder while I make my next quilt.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay

What art form or hobby most holds your attention? Describe it.

How did you get started and why?

What does it do for you now beyond the skill and time commitment?

How has it lead you to new activities or people you would not have met otherwise?

How is it a source of healing or calm for you?

Beauty as a Thin Place

Beauty as a Thin Place

One of the ways my soul finds intimacy with God is by immersing itself in beauty. Beauty that speaks of God’s closeness to me include vivid sunrises that shoot purple streaks across the sky, a song whose lyrics go so deep into my memory I cry, or a garden so lovingly tended that I feel God’s spirit in the design, color and scent. I have to confess, too, that moments in sports in which everything moves like poetry, such as the double play in baseball, speak to me of sacred beauty as well. It is as if all is one, and I am connected at a deeper level to the essence of beauty, the Spirit of God behind the beauty.

Another way to say this is to name beauty as a thin place, a place in which the veil between this world and the eternal is temporarily lifted and I get a glimpse of the Holy. Thin places send shivers through my body, make me stop and just absorb the holy. Thin places are everywhere, but if our awareness is not attuned we miss them. They can be stunningly simple, like sunrises or sun dogs around the winter sun, or they can be seemingly complex, like the beauty of a life transformed by forgiveness, a physical illness embraced as gift, or the appearance of an angel. To the Holy, these are all available to us, but we vary in our willingness to stop and see them.

I’ve explored several ways in which beauty as a thin place has deeply affected my life. One form of beauty I’ve liked since childhood is storms. I used to sit in our three-season porch and watch as the sky turned a yellowish color preceding a big storm. The wind rose, the atmospheric pressure dropped and the first few big drops of rain started to fall. The sky darkened and the rain pelted the windows on our porch. Sometimes we’d get hail stones in our yard, and usually when it started hailing my parents made me come into the house. When I was permitted to go outside again, after the storm, everything seemed cleansed, even renewed.

Now I live in a condo eleven stories above the ground and I can see the storms coming very clearly. I sit out on my deck and watch them, just like I did as a child. Storm cloud formations are dramatic, almost regal, as their huge peaks march across the sky. Storms are, for me, thin places that speak of the mystery of God and the power of nature.

But there are inner storms that act in similar ways as outer storms in my life. They may buffet me about, scare me, send hail into my well planned life, or even stop me totally so all I can do is watch. Sometimes I witness the destruction of something I’ve been clinging to for dear life. Sometimes, when I need a good jolt, my whole body will get involved in a storm, like when I occasionally have an allergic reaction to someone who is unsafe for me. I get sick to my stomach until I agree to put distance between us. The storm is swift and sure. But the cleansing is refreshing afterwards. Storms have a way of wearing away my edges that have become sharp with time. They soften my soul.

Another special form of beauty is the gift of fore-giveness. This becomes an especially thin place for me if I forgive someone else before they forgive me—thus the word fore-giveness. To be the first to forgive starts a special rhythm in my life, a freedom beat. I release the cords that are binding me to another. I let go of the resentment that I carry like a yoke on my shoulders, and I release the need to be vindicated. It frees my soul to take the next steps of intimacy with God.

When I forgive, I do not always tell the other person I’ve done it, but it changes my behavior. I do not need to be angry or spiteful or blaming. Sometimes I write a letter of forgiveness that I do not send. As part of this letter I try to investigate what part of the issue I brought to the table, so I can be honest and forgive myself as well. Do I get reconciliation as a result of forgiving? Occasionally. Reconciliation is a miracle but not a sign of success. The beauty of fore-giveness is a thin place because it transforms me, sets me free, offers me more of the Eternal.

To see beauty as a thin place means I can see the beauty of holy intimacy itself, my connection with the Holy in the world. If I can accept beauty as a gift from God, as a way in which God draws near to me out of love and a desire for connection, then maybe I can live as if I really am God’s beloved. What would it mean if I would take in that truth, that I really am God’s beloved, in whom God is well pleased? It would have to be life changing. I know my heart desires this truth. I know my heart desires beauty. And I know beauty is a thin place.

The 16th century saint and mystic, St. John of the Cross, writes cogently about his heart’s deepest desire in these words.

The Essence of Desire
I did not
have to ask my heart what it wanted,
because of all the desires I have ever known just one did I cling to
for it was the essence of
all desire;

to know beauty.

As I experience beauty as a thin place I’ve designed a page for each of my thin places in a book I made. Each page is a gift to ponder. I’ve mentioned several in this essay but here are the rest; the beauty of relinquishment, the beauty of the fire, the beauty of paradox, the beauty of self-worth, of restrictions, of silence, of simplicity, of mystery. The beauty of our differences, of humility, of birth and death, of our shadows, of fearless giving, of embracing, of transcendence, and of holy intimacy. Beauty is a thin place…

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.
St. John of the Cross’ poem is from Love Poems From God

Reflections on this essay
How do you experience beauty?

What affect does that beauty have on you?

How do your thin places affect your life?

How can you cultivate more beauty in your life?

How do St. John’s words speak to you?

Which of the thin places mentioned surprises you the most and why?

Our Bodies as Temples

Our Bodies as Temples: God as Bodyographer

It has taken me a long time to consider my body as a good place for me to live. So to consider my body as a temple of God is a holy stretch. My body felt like my betrayer, my enemy, my challenge, my source of embarrassment and shame but certainly not my friend. How could God even consider my body a dwelling place, desiring to be at home there? I shuddered to think about it.

If I were to write an auto-bodyography, the first half of my story would be a slowly evolving tragedy. Although I was athletic and took well to most sports and outdoor activities, I did not eat well or listen to my body when it called for modification. So I ended up with frozen shoulders from over work and major surgery from the stress of staying too long in a lethal business partnership. I didn’t know how to grieve all the losses I experienced in my younger years so I stuffed the grief and it lodged in my body.

And my sexuality was a source of pain and sadness for decades. From a childhood of religious fear and repression about my sexuality, I emerged a naïve and vulnerable young adult. I was not prepared to cope with sexual harassment from a boss or sexual issues in my married life. I had no mentors or role models. In fact no one talked about their sexuality. I tried to figure it out myself. I acted out. I doubted my worth, questioned my lovability. I would not have even thought of bringing God into my body because I thought God was part of the source of my pain, bringing me shame and a sense of worthlessness.

It wasn’t until I entered spiritual direction that I even considered that God might want to dwell within me, in my body—and that was quite uncomfortable at first. The closer I got to God, the more I realized that God not only wanted to live within me, God wanted to heal my body, my cellular memory of abuse and harassment, my poor sexual self image, my shame and complicity in allowing ill treatment, my grief about my treatment of others. Once God entered with me on this healing journey I had more confidence that one day I might see myself as whole, attractive and lovable. It is not an easy journey and it is life-long, but I’ve found it to be graced and life-giving. I sought out books and people who had healthy body images, took a few workshops and prayed for healing. I decided to make this journey with my body primarily a spiritual journey and it took me beyond facts and techniques, even beyond medical information, to that place where the journey connected with my soul. That made all the difference. God guided me on this journey. God became my bodyographer.

One major change I needed to make was to reframe my relationship with my body. It slowly became my friend, my messenger, my early warning system, my truth teller. I found out my body wanted to take care of me and heal me. It never lies. It tells the truth because my cells remember. So now I listen to my body. When I am taking on too much responsibility my shoulders ache. When I am not nurturing myself my stomach hurts. When I am in the presence of an abusive person my abuse muscle (across my right scapula) quickly tightens. When my center of gravity is shifting to a new place in my life or I am fearful about money, my lower back aches. When I am afraid to move forward, my hips act up. Many times my body knows what I need before my brain acknowledges it. If I ignore or bypass the messages they often hang on or get worse.

I still use the benefits of modern medicine but I listen equally to my inner messages. Heeding the message is sometimes difficult, if, for instance, the abusive person I am reacting to is an employer, friend or client. But I’ve learned that wisdom comes from trusting and then acting on the message. Now I can say no to inappropriate touch and not even feel guilty. And if I am making a major decision I often put it out on the table and see how my body reacts to it before I step forward. Sometimes my body tries to protect me from old pain/fear by warning me about going forward. So I need to soothe and reassure it, if I feel God is calling me to move. If it relaxes with my reassurance, I go forward. With my body’s help, I can discern what is a life-giving challenge and what is too risky.

I’ve learned that my body responds well to self-care. If I am good to my body it responds to my love. Even when I am in pain, if I do simple things to soothe my body it seems grateful. For instance, when I am feeling low or my back aches I go for a walk. My body craves the slow motion of walking and the fresh air. Oh, and dancing. It is pleasure and exercise all rolled into one. Dancing to slow rhythms allows me to move in ways that gently stretch and work my muscles. Two body responses that I find particularly dear are tears of meaning and chuckles of joy. Whenever either of those happens spontaneously I know my body is in sync with my spirit.

God has taught me that no matter what pain I’ve had or even caused in my body, it is still a temple of God, where God dwells. God always offers a healing touch. I do not have to be cleaned out or disinfected for God to dwell in me. God desires me as I am, no matter how I look or feel. I may never be cured of my maladies but I can heal my memories and be a witness to God’s spirit dwelling within me. I do not need to become my pain. My pain can become my friend.

And wonder of wonders, my own healing has become part of my calling; to be a safe place of conversation and healing for people with body issues, particularly for young adults. They crave having someone listen respectfully to their stories about their bodies and their sexuality as they explore their vision of themselves as temples in which God dwells.

© Janet O. Hagberg, 2010. All rights reserved.

Reflections on this essay

When you consider your body God’s temple what issues emerge?

What is your auto-bodyography? Where is your joy and pain in that history?

How is God involved with your body in its healing?

How do you care for your body?

How to you listen to your body? What are its unique messages to you?