Saturday, October 24, 2015
Siloam
24 October 2015
Fatima
Siloam
My final post. What a spiritual banquet I´'ve had! Today is my final day in Fatima. This is the place the Blessed Mother visited 99 years ago to three small children. The story of the visitation is fascinating in that so many miracles have occurred here. People of all nations gather at the chapel where the visitation occurred. They pray, sing Marian songs, pray the rosary, and mass after mass is said in different languages. Being immersed in prayer with people who are fervent in faith is so inspiring.
Perhaps because these are my final days, my attention has been drawn to a story from John 9, to story of Jesus' healing of the blind man. It is a familar story of the man, born blind, who was begging at the temple. Jesus makes clay from his spittle and dirt and annoints the man's eyes. Then he says, "Go and wash in the pool of Siloam." This is what caught my attention in my contemplations. John points out that the word, "Siloam" means "sent."
Jesus was 'sent' into the world. He then "sent" this man to wash. The rest of the gospel unfolds this man's step by step conversion of deeper and deeper faith.
I've heard it said that the stories in the bible have a cycle that repeats over and over again. First, God calls and gathers us, He loves us, then sends us out." I've reflected prayerfully upon this cycle within the gospels these past few days. Little Zachaeus who climbed the sycamore tree, the woman caught in adultery, the Samaritan woman at the well, and many others play well into this cycle. God called them to himself, He loved them, then sent them out.
It strikes me that this is the cycle in which my pilgrimage has journeyed. Without a shadow of doubt, I have been called to walk the Camino and to begin and end my prayerful journey in the shrines where our Blessed Mother appeared. I have experienced a love beyond measure each step of the way. And now, I believe I am being "sent" for a new mission. So many opportunities and challenges lie ahead. Some are intimidating, some adventuresome, some are daunting. What I know in the depth of my heart is the call to just "Have Faith."
Let me share a story of a holy encounter that I experienced while here in Fatima. I was approached by a 90 plus year old Domincan nun, Sr. Mary of the Angels of Fatima at this Dominican retreat house where I'm staying. She has served here in Fatima alone for 50 years. During our conversation I was asked of my family. Sr. Mary is one of these who listens with her whole being. She delighted with each story of child and grandchild. I asked of her family and her background. She shared a bit then started to choke up and cry. "I have no one," she shared. It occurred to me that her name itself speaks of who she is, Mary of the angels. I reminded her of this and her grief faded into a soft, gentle smile. Peace now glowed in her face framed in her Dominican habit and veil. Rembrandt could not have captured the love and humility that radiated from her. I stood in the presence of someone truly holy.
Sr. Mary lived the cycle of being called, loved, and sent. She surrendered family and comfort of a child's love that motherhood could have offered her. She lives in poverty and service to the mission of the church. Her life of sacrifice of being called and sent has been rewarded by a radiance of a core of love I've rarely seen in my life. God chose these final days for me to have my soul touched by Sr. Mary of the angels.
What is there in this for us? I hear many who share that they listen and listen for a calling from God. They want Him to speak up, to annunciate stronger, to give clearer signs. Is the problem with our call really on God's part? Of course not. He calls us day by day and moment by moment. Maybe, just maybe, the answer is contained in Nelson Mandella's inaugural address. He said,
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate, our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are born to make manifest the glory of God within us.As we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
Herein, lies my epiphany. As I stood on the altar serving mass just behind the bust of my scripture hero, St. James, I begged one thing of God, to make me into a man like St. James. Jesus called James and his brother, John, "Men of Thunder." My prayer, Nelson's inspiration, and Sr. Mary's inpiration have become a braid of new life's direction for me.
How does this strike you? Do Mandella's word ring a bell in you? Can a bit more 'thunder' be rattled from within you? Is there a new cord of sacrifice and deeper love for Jesus calling forth as it did in Sr. Mary?
Embrace a new call, feel His love churn with a new faith walk, and join me at the pool of Siloam.
We are His faithful souls ready to be "sent" to liberate others.
In confidence of his faith in new direction, the sunlight of hope for the path, and the passion to follow Him more dearly.
Deacon Willie, DW
Fatima
Siloam
My final post. What a spiritual banquet I´'ve had! Today is my final day in Fatima. This is the place the Blessed Mother visited 99 years ago to three small children. The story of the visitation is fascinating in that so many miracles have occurred here. People of all nations gather at the chapel where the visitation occurred. They pray, sing Marian songs, pray the rosary, and mass after mass is said in different languages. Being immersed in prayer with people who are fervent in faith is so inspiring.
Perhaps because these are my final days, my attention has been drawn to a story from John 9, to story of Jesus' healing of the blind man. It is a familar story of the man, born blind, who was begging at the temple. Jesus makes clay from his spittle and dirt and annoints the man's eyes. Then he says, "Go and wash in the pool of Siloam." This is what caught my attention in my contemplations. John points out that the word, "Siloam" means "sent."
Jesus was 'sent' into the world. He then "sent" this man to wash. The rest of the gospel unfolds this man's step by step conversion of deeper and deeper faith.
I've heard it said that the stories in the bible have a cycle that repeats over and over again. First, God calls and gathers us, He loves us, then sends us out." I've reflected prayerfully upon this cycle within the gospels these past few days. Little Zachaeus who climbed the sycamore tree, the woman caught in adultery, the Samaritan woman at the well, and many others play well into this cycle. God called them to himself, He loved them, then sent them out.
It strikes me that this is the cycle in which my pilgrimage has journeyed. Without a shadow of doubt, I have been called to walk the Camino and to begin and end my prayerful journey in the shrines where our Blessed Mother appeared. I have experienced a love beyond measure each step of the way. And now, I believe I am being "sent" for a new mission. So many opportunities and challenges lie ahead. Some are intimidating, some adventuresome, some are daunting. What I know in the depth of my heart is the call to just "Have Faith."
Let me share a story of a holy encounter that I experienced while here in Fatima. I was approached by a 90 plus year old Domincan nun, Sr. Mary of the Angels of Fatima at this Dominican retreat house where I'm staying. She has served here in Fatima alone for 50 years. During our conversation I was asked of my family. Sr. Mary is one of these who listens with her whole being. She delighted with each story of child and grandchild. I asked of her family and her background. She shared a bit then started to choke up and cry. "I have no one," she shared. It occurred to me that her name itself speaks of who she is, Mary of the angels. I reminded her of this and her grief faded into a soft, gentle smile. Peace now glowed in her face framed in her Dominican habit and veil. Rembrandt could not have captured the love and humility that radiated from her. I stood in the presence of someone truly holy.
Sr. Mary lived the cycle of being called, loved, and sent. She surrendered family and comfort of a child's love that motherhood could have offered her. She lives in poverty and service to the mission of the church. Her life of sacrifice of being called and sent has been rewarded by a radiance of a core of love I've rarely seen in my life. God chose these final days for me to have my soul touched by Sr. Mary of the angels.
What is there in this for us? I hear many who share that they listen and listen for a calling from God. They want Him to speak up, to annunciate stronger, to give clearer signs. Is the problem with our call really on God's part? Of course not. He calls us day by day and moment by moment. Maybe, just maybe, the answer is contained in Nelson Mandella's inaugural address. He said,
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate, our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are born to make manifest the glory of God within us.As we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
Herein, lies my epiphany. As I stood on the altar serving mass just behind the bust of my scripture hero, St. James, I begged one thing of God, to make me into a man like St. James. Jesus called James and his brother, John, "Men of Thunder." My prayer, Nelson's inspiration, and Sr. Mary's inpiration have become a braid of new life's direction for me.
How does this strike you? Do Mandella's word ring a bell in you? Can a bit more 'thunder' be rattled from within you? Is there a new cord of sacrifice and deeper love for Jesus calling forth as it did in Sr. Mary?
Embrace a new call, feel His love churn with a new faith walk, and join me at the pool of Siloam.
We are His faithful souls ready to be "sent" to liberate others.
In confidence of his faith in new direction, the sunlight of hope for the path, and the passion to follow Him more dearly.
Deacon Willie, DW
Monday, October 19, 2015
A Heart for Crying Souls
18 October 2015
Santiago
A Heart for Crying Souls
Before arriving in Santiago, my friend Jim Naso and I stayed at an albergue just 5km outside of the city. We awoke and packed for our final walk and headed to a historic monument of two pilgims of old overlooking with great joy at the cathedral below. We had such a glorious sunrise prayer time as the sun awoke the west with its glorious warm amber light.
The walk into Santiago caused us to beam with anticipation. The long pilgrimage was near an end and God's new message was alive in me. We arrived at the cathedral and attended the pilgrims' mass in time to experienced the swinging of the botafumiero. It is an object made of silver standing about three feet high and 30 inches wide with many open vents cut into it to allow the burning incense to escape. It is filled with burning hot coals and priests shovel the incense into it. A two inch diameter rope connects to the top of this sacramental. That rope extends 50 feet up to the cathedral's central interior dome where there is a central pulley over the altar and back down again to where it is tied off. From the end of that thick rope eight smaller ropes are attached like tenacles of an octupus. A magnificent pipe and trumpet organ blares away creating startling attention and chilling goosebumps for the several thousand pious pilgrims attending. Eight men move it into position near the front of the altar with each one taking one of the the eight strands. With perfect precious and team work they simultaneously make a heave downward and up pops the botafumiero brimming with sweet smelling burning incense. In short time, the thing begins to take momentum until this boat of flames and smoke is swinging almost madly 50 feet to one side of the church, passes the altar, then swings 50 feet to the other side of the church. The momentum finally takes it to such a strength that it reaches the ceiling on each side of the church. How they manage to keep it from colliding with the ceiling above is mind boggling and breathtaking!
I experienced this more intimately a day later when I was offered the gift to serve as deacon of the pilgrim mass in the Cathedral of Santiago. There along with 12 other priest I stood at the altar with the bust of my scripture hero, St. James, perched behind my shoulder. At the time of the swinging botafumiero, I stood but six foot away as this maker of wonder and smoky fragrance was loaded. Soon I was one of the privileged few to have ever stood on the altar and witness it. Botafumiero means "spreader of fumes" and was originally used to cover the smell traveling pilgrims carried into the church up in the choir lofts. It is ever more magnificent in every detail when up that close.
After attending the mass and having some time to unpack the memories of my Camino and all the spiritual blessings it has been, it was time to get my Compostela. This is an official document done in Latin that records that you are an authentic Pilgrim of el Camino de Santiago de Compostela. After a three hour wait in line to reach the offical pilgrims' office, it was time to have my Compostela personally recorded. The wait was a gift that allowed me time to confirm God's will and call for how mine would be recorded.
When God called me to walk the Camino for this second time, it was His unmistakable Spirit whisper in my heart of hearts. "I have so much more to tell you." I love this about the Camino, and my blog entries give testimony to messages He awakened in me along The Way. While in preparation for the Camino, I set out to strengthen three areas of my life: body, mind, and spirit. A surprise in my spiritual prayer journey was the awakening of an undeveloped relationship with the Blessed Mother. I never had any opposition for the theology of Marian devotion, it was that I find such attraction to more meditative/contemplative prayer. I took baby steps of faith in this discovery of a new relationship with her. After all, she's my mom, she's your mom, she's our mom. Imagining her as a little boy sitting like I would with my little Italian momma tucked under her arm and against her bossom is the endearing notion I held in my growing love for our Blessed Mom.
My moment finally arrives at the desk. The office scrutinizes my credentials to make certain I, in truth, completed the necessary kilometers to qualify as a Santiago Pilgrim. With that validation, the lady asks, "What would you like to have inscribed on your Compostela?"
Here is what I requested.
At the top, please inscribe, "Salve, mater misericordiae; Et lesum"
Which means, "Hail to you, Mother of loving kindness. Show me Jesus."
Then my name is beautifully calligraphied in Latin along with the full Latin description of the Camino and the blessings of the Catholic Church.
I further requested that the pilgrim official would inscribe on the bottom of the Compostela to whom I dedicated my Camino. Yes, all the challenges, pain, suffering knees and back, the exhaustion, as well as, all of the joys and pleasures of the breathtaking beauty of the mountainous countryside, all the precious new friends and joys we shared. Yes, all of the fortune of communion with Him. I wished to give it all away; I surrendered all of it in dedication to one pressing thought. My Compostela reads,
"Dedicated to the poor souls in Purgatory."
This very notion fermented within me and became a passion as I neared Santiago. For some, Purgatory is an unexplored theolgy of the Catholic Church. To some, it may hold so little thought or knowledge. To some, it may be oppostional to your beliefs regarding the after life.
Catholics hold to the belief that upon our death, we may have unresolved sin in our life. Jesus' suffering atones for our sins, so true. And at our death, we do receive a final judgment. Catholics fully know that Purgatory is not a second chance at heaven after death. But the idea that some suffering and cleansing may be needed before we can enter into heaven makes sense. We may enter heaven when our full debt has been paid on our part. Purgatory is a time for this.
Is it scriptural. Yes! The word, "Purgatory" may not be explicit in the bible, but neither are the words "incarnation" or "trinity." The scripture reference is in the book of Maccabees, a book Martin Luther refused during the Reformation, however, other Old Testament references and references without the word, Purgatory, are made by Jesus. There are many which space will not allow here.
This is what Catholic teaching holds to be true. Purgatory does cleanse us through a painful process. Once judgment has been passed, the dead have no means to do good works or pray their way out. They suffer until the purge is complete. There is a common expression within Catholic teaching called, "Praying for the poor souls in Purgatory." These are the reasons why. Their burden can be lightened by our praying for them and offering our pains and suffering, our love offerings made on their behalf, going to mass and offering special prayers.
Here it is friends. While on the Camino God broke my heart to hear the crying souls in Purgatory. It took 500 miles for it to grow to a new appreciation within me. It is this that I believe was part of the message of having "so much more to tell me." Now I suggest, ask yourself a few questions.
What if? What if Purgatory is real? What if there is a purification process needed to make us ready to enter heaven pure as Revelation teaches? What if you can imagine, as I have come to believe, that we can help pray a loved one from Purgatory to heaven by pleading for God's mercy to advance their journey? What if you could believe this to be true?
Now consider a loved one who has passed on who you, and maybe many others, know lived, let's say, an adventurous, worldly life. It is not our place to judge, God will do that at the moment of our death. Perhaps you may know personal accounts of that loved one's kindness and good deeds. He/she may have been God honoring, but let's say again, mischievous.
You might ask, "Where are they now?" What if, yes what if you could accept that they might be in Purgatory. Perhaps you might consider or reconsider directing prayers for a loved one who might be crying out and helpless in Purgatory.
Granted, I have a strong imagination. I creatively contemplated this whole notion. I invite you to consider our journey toward the after life like traveling through an airport from one gate to another. We enter through security and are directed to another gate. For some, the gate is immediately present. That would be heaven. For some, the gate is in a directly opposite direction, that might be hell. For some, it is a long journey to another gate. All these souls must trudge and struggle toward that far off gate. However, some gain the help of a moving walkway. You know, the one that moves while you walk along in airports? While on them, the sense that you're racing ahead is empowering. That experience is one I imagine happens when a suffering soul has prayer power behind them. The journey is faster. Without the prayer, it is the slower, more painful trek toward the next gate. Eventurally all get there, but the pain of the journey is longer.
I end with two short stories of how Purgatory made an intimate connection in me. After our son died prematurely at 28 years of age of a sudden heart attack, life was chaos. Nothing made sense and peace could not be found in any thing. However, a few months after the tragedy, I had a dream where he appeared to me. I was in the kitchen and he suddenly was. . . just there. I went to him in startled gratitude. I asked, "How are you, Son." He gave only a short reply, "Lot's of training." It was but a brief moment of revisiting his love again that was like I swallowed the sun in my heart. It filled me with such love.
I sought spiritual counsel for the possible meaning behind this dream because it was so real and heartfelt. One priest suggested it may mean that Tony is in Purgatory and the training is preparation for heaven. Nice thought. But at that time in my life I could not accept it. Now 82 months later, God brought me to reconsider this possibility.
Many messages evolved in me over these 33 days and over 500 miles. Many blessed insights enriched me. To my surprise, the notion of Purgatory unfolded. I considered some personal life experiences beginning with some "What if's?" What if Purgatory was possible for loved ones I have said good bye to. Those like my brother who died of a cocaine overdose, or may dad who suffered from alcoholism at one time in his life, or friends who died prematurely. What if Purgatory is real for them? Is there a connection of someone to whom has passed away in your lifetime?
Now comes the climax of stories. I completed my Camino with all these thoughts of Purgatory and developing a heart for the crying souls there. Then just about a week before arriving, my sweet wife shared a precious heavenly gift she was granted. It was a treasure gift wrapped in a healing, breathtaking dream. The fact that her gift and the Camino's hidden message occurred simultaneously of eachother is nothing short of what I refer to as a Godcidence.
In her dream, our son, Tony, appeared to her. He came and sat at her feet and greeted her. She was allowed to stroke his head and greet him. He spoke only one request, "Mom, will you pray for me?" She wholeheartedly agreed and placed her hand on his head and began praying. All too soon it evaporated and she awoke in joy-filled tears.
Once again, these are dreams in which we strain to make meaning. We don't really know. Only God knows the meaning of the dream. But a Godcidence occurred between us.
What if, just what if someone from the great beyond is begging for prayer to finish their final leg of the journey. Perhaps you have someone in mind whom you are considering now. Who knows, they may be just "one gate away" from the destination of heaven. Who could deny them prayer? Consider the consequences of refusing prayer and then their continued suffering. What if you could make a difference in their afterlife? These are big "what if" questions to consider.
My dear wife's experience brought my Camino experience to full circle. We have our Blessed Holy Mom in heaven who is eager to care for us. She has the constant ear of her son. We can go before her, just as my son did in my wife's dream, and ask for mercy for those crying souls in heaven. She will listen. She loves us like a tender and compassionalte mother. She will take our prayers to her son and intercede for us. This is something I firmly believe is true.
Salve, mater misericordae; Et lesum.
Hail to you, mother of loving kindness. Show us Jesus.
There lies the heart of my Compostela, my entire Camino, my love offering.
In the faith of His direction, in the hope of His sunlight to light the path, and the passion of His call to take us home to Him one day, I remain yours in love
Deacon Willie, DW
Santiago
A Heart for Crying Souls
Before arriving in Santiago, my friend Jim Naso and I stayed at an albergue just 5km outside of the city. We awoke and packed for our final walk and headed to a historic monument of two pilgims of old overlooking with great joy at the cathedral below. We had such a glorious sunrise prayer time as the sun awoke the west with its glorious warm amber light.
The walk into Santiago caused us to beam with anticipation. The long pilgrimage was near an end and God's new message was alive in me. We arrived at the cathedral and attended the pilgrims' mass in time to experienced the swinging of the botafumiero. It is an object made of silver standing about three feet high and 30 inches wide with many open vents cut into it to allow the burning incense to escape. It is filled with burning hot coals and priests shovel the incense into it. A two inch diameter rope connects to the top of this sacramental. That rope extends 50 feet up to the cathedral's central interior dome where there is a central pulley over the altar and back down again to where it is tied off. From the end of that thick rope eight smaller ropes are attached like tenacles of an octupus. A magnificent pipe and trumpet organ blares away creating startling attention and chilling goosebumps for the several thousand pious pilgrims attending. Eight men move it into position near the front of the altar with each one taking one of the the eight strands. With perfect precious and team work they simultaneously make a heave downward and up pops the botafumiero brimming with sweet smelling burning incense. In short time, the thing begins to take momentum until this boat of flames and smoke is swinging almost madly 50 feet to one side of the church, passes the altar, then swings 50 feet to the other side of the church. The momentum finally takes it to such a strength that it reaches the ceiling on each side of the church. How they manage to keep it from colliding with the ceiling above is mind boggling and breathtaking!
I experienced this more intimately a day later when I was offered the gift to serve as deacon of the pilgrim mass in the Cathedral of Santiago. There along with 12 other priest I stood at the altar with the bust of my scripture hero, St. James, perched behind my shoulder. At the time of the swinging botafumiero, I stood but six foot away as this maker of wonder and smoky fragrance was loaded. Soon I was one of the privileged few to have ever stood on the altar and witness it. Botafumiero means "spreader of fumes" and was originally used to cover the smell traveling pilgrims carried into the church up in the choir lofts. It is ever more magnificent in every detail when up that close.
After attending the mass and having some time to unpack the memories of my Camino and all the spiritual blessings it has been, it was time to get my Compostela. This is an official document done in Latin that records that you are an authentic Pilgrim of el Camino de Santiago de Compostela. After a three hour wait in line to reach the offical pilgrims' office, it was time to have my Compostela personally recorded. The wait was a gift that allowed me time to confirm God's will and call for how mine would be recorded.
When God called me to walk the Camino for this second time, it was His unmistakable Spirit whisper in my heart of hearts. "I have so much more to tell you." I love this about the Camino, and my blog entries give testimony to messages He awakened in me along The Way. While in preparation for the Camino, I set out to strengthen three areas of my life: body, mind, and spirit. A surprise in my spiritual prayer journey was the awakening of an undeveloped relationship with the Blessed Mother. I never had any opposition for the theology of Marian devotion, it was that I find such attraction to more meditative/contemplative prayer. I took baby steps of faith in this discovery of a new relationship with her. After all, she's my mom, she's your mom, she's our mom. Imagining her as a little boy sitting like I would with my little Italian momma tucked under her arm and against her bossom is the endearing notion I held in my growing love for our Blessed Mom.
My moment finally arrives at the desk. The office scrutinizes my credentials to make certain I, in truth, completed the necessary kilometers to qualify as a Santiago Pilgrim. With that validation, the lady asks, "What would you like to have inscribed on your Compostela?"
Here is what I requested.
At the top, please inscribe, "Salve, mater misericordiae; Et lesum"
Which means, "Hail to you, Mother of loving kindness. Show me Jesus."
Then my name is beautifully calligraphied in Latin along with the full Latin description of the Camino and the blessings of the Catholic Church.
I further requested that the pilgrim official would inscribe on the bottom of the Compostela to whom I dedicated my Camino. Yes, all the challenges, pain, suffering knees and back, the exhaustion, as well as, all of the joys and pleasures of the breathtaking beauty of the mountainous countryside, all the precious new friends and joys we shared. Yes, all of the fortune of communion with Him. I wished to give it all away; I surrendered all of it in dedication to one pressing thought. My Compostela reads,
"Dedicated to the poor souls in Purgatory."
This very notion fermented within me and became a passion as I neared Santiago. For some, Purgatory is an unexplored theolgy of the Catholic Church. To some, it may hold so little thought or knowledge. To some, it may be oppostional to your beliefs regarding the after life.
Catholics hold to the belief that upon our death, we may have unresolved sin in our life. Jesus' suffering atones for our sins, so true. And at our death, we do receive a final judgment. Catholics fully know that Purgatory is not a second chance at heaven after death. But the idea that some suffering and cleansing may be needed before we can enter into heaven makes sense. We may enter heaven when our full debt has been paid on our part. Purgatory is a time for this.
Is it scriptural. Yes! The word, "Purgatory" may not be explicit in the bible, but neither are the words "incarnation" or "trinity." The scripture reference is in the book of Maccabees, a book Martin Luther refused during the Reformation, however, other Old Testament references and references without the word, Purgatory, are made by Jesus. There are many which space will not allow here.
This is what Catholic teaching holds to be true. Purgatory does cleanse us through a painful process. Once judgment has been passed, the dead have no means to do good works or pray their way out. They suffer until the purge is complete. There is a common expression within Catholic teaching called, "Praying for the poor souls in Purgatory." These are the reasons why. Their burden can be lightened by our praying for them and offering our pains and suffering, our love offerings made on their behalf, going to mass and offering special prayers.
Here it is friends. While on the Camino God broke my heart to hear the crying souls in Purgatory. It took 500 miles for it to grow to a new appreciation within me. It is this that I believe was part of the message of having "so much more to tell me." Now I suggest, ask yourself a few questions.
What if? What if Purgatory is real? What if there is a purification process needed to make us ready to enter heaven pure as Revelation teaches? What if you can imagine, as I have come to believe, that we can help pray a loved one from Purgatory to heaven by pleading for God's mercy to advance their journey? What if you could believe this to be true?
Now consider a loved one who has passed on who you, and maybe many others, know lived, let's say, an adventurous, worldly life. It is not our place to judge, God will do that at the moment of our death. Perhaps you may know personal accounts of that loved one's kindness and good deeds. He/she may have been God honoring, but let's say again, mischievous.
You might ask, "Where are they now?" What if, yes what if you could accept that they might be in Purgatory. Perhaps you might consider or reconsider directing prayers for a loved one who might be crying out and helpless in Purgatory.
Granted, I have a strong imagination. I creatively contemplated this whole notion. I invite you to consider our journey toward the after life like traveling through an airport from one gate to another. We enter through security and are directed to another gate. For some, the gate is immediately present. That would be heaven. For some, the gate is in a directly opposite direction, that might be hell. For some, it is a long journey to another gate. All these souls must trudge and struggle toward that far off gate. However, some gain the help of a moving walkway. You know, the one that moves while you walk along in airports? While on them, the sense that you're racing ahead is empowering. That experience is one I imagine happens when a suffering soul has prayer power behind them. The journey is faster. Without the prayer, it is the slower, more painful trek toward the next gate. Eventurally all get there, but the pain of the journey is longer.
I end with two short stories of how Purgatory made an intimate connection in me. After our son died prematurely at 28 years of age of a sudden heart attack, life was chaos. Nothing made sense and peace could not be found in any thing. However, a few months after the tragedy, I had a dream where he appeared to me. I was in the kitchen and he suddenly was. . . just there. I went to him in startled gratitude. I asked, "How are you, Son." He gave only a short reply, "Lot's of training." It was but a brief moment of revisiting his love again that was like I swallowed the sun in my heart. It filled me with such love.
I sought spiritual counsel for the possible meaning behind this dream because it was so real and heartfelt. One priest suggested it may mean that Tony is in Purgatory and the training is preparation for heaven. Nice thought. But at that time in my life I could not accept it. Now 82 months later, God brought me to reconsider this possibility.
Many messages evolved in me over these 33 days and over 500 miles. Many blessed insights enriched me. To my surprise, the notion of Purgatory unfolded. I considered some personal life experiences beginning with some "What if's?" What if Purgatory was possible for loved ones I have said good bye to. Those like my brother who died of a cocaine overdose, or may dad who suffered from alcoholism at one time in his life, or friends who died prematurely. What if Purgatory is real for them? Is there a connection of someone to whom has passed away in your lifetime?
Now comes the climax of stories. I completed my Camino with all these thoughts of Purgatory and developing a heart for the crying souls there. Then just about a week before arriving, my sweet wife shared a precious heavenly gift she was granted. It was a treasure gift wrapped in a healing, breathtaking dream. The fact that her gift and the Camino's hidden message occurred simultaneously of eachother is nothing short of what I refer to as a Godcidence.
In her dream, our son, Tony, appeared to her. He came and sat at her feet and greeted her. She was allowed to stroke his head and greet him. He spoke only one request, "Mom, will you pray for me?" She wholeheartedly agreed and placed her hand on his head and began praying. All too soon it evaporated and she awoke in joy-filled tears.
Once again, these are dreams in which we strain to make meaning. We don't really know. Only God knows the meaning of the dream. But a Godcidence occurred between us.
What if, just what if someone from the great beyond is begging for prayer to finish their final leg of the journey. Perhaps you have someone in mind whom you are considering now. Who knows, they may be just "one gate away" from the destination of heaven. Who could deny them prayer? Consider the consequences of refusing prayer and then their continued suffering. What if you could make a difference in their afterlife? These are big "what if" questions to consider.
My dear wife's experience brought my Camino experience to full circle. We have our Blessed Holy Mom in heaven who is eager to care for us. She has the constant ear of her son. We can go before her, just as my son did in my wife's dream, and ask for mercy for those crying souls in heaven. She will listen. She loves us like a tender and compassionalte mother. She will take our prayers to her son and intercede for us. This is something I firmly believe is true.
Salve, mater misericordae; Et lesum.
Hail to you, mother of loving kindness. Show us Jesus.
There lies the heart of my Compostela, my entire Camino, my love offering.
In the faith of His direction, in the hope of His sunlight to light the path, and the passion of His call to take us home to Him one day, I remain yours in love
Deacon Willie, DW
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Our Sensuous God
14 October 2015
Melide
Our Sensuous God
We have had two spectacular days of walking through the Galacian forests, quaint villages, and farmlands. The trails zigzag up and over small hills and bank along a trail that tunneled trees and shrubs for which the Camino to pass. Walking under a huge canopy of trees has always made me feel like being blanketed in a warm and toasty peace. These monstrous trees stretch some 75 feet or taller and stand like sentinels while pilgrims saunter along. I so love this stretch of the Camino.
My reflection these two days has been simmering with a new perspective I've grown attached to in my relationship and imagery with God. It started with my experience while walking along these forest trails. The Camino is lined with long distances of Aspen and Eucalyptus trees. The color is just starting to change in this area, but it hasn't been the color so much that caught my attention. It's the sounds. The Camino trail serves as a wind tunnel and the leaves of these trees come alive and dance in the strong breezes. Because of this being autumn though, the leaves are drier and the wind rustling through them creates a symphony of baby rattles. It has volume, but it is not offensive in the least. The feel of the strong breeze and the distinct leaf rattling overhead is soothing. Add to this, it has been stunningly beautiful weather with temperatures in the low 70's. There are beautiful, clear blue skies with sunlight piercing through the trees' canopy. It's been all so lovely to experience. Can you recall your stunning autumn day with wind and sun? It's moving. True?
While I walked along in all this enchanting nature, a scripture connection came to mind. It is in Acts 2 when the Holy Spirit came upon the apostles "like a strong wind." My imagination led me to consider what a Spirit wind might sound like. Could it relate to the wind I heard today in the forests? Perhaps in a small way. I'd imagine a Spirit wind to be a more dramatic wind. However, the more I contemplated this scripture scene, the more I came to appreciate that our God chooses to be present and grace us with experiences we can actually feel. The apostles must have felt the strong wind, heard its entry and presence against their skin, seen the light of tongues of fire dancing above them, the light it produced within the room, and felt the flame's warmth. All of these elements would have stirred their senses so.
This consideration enlivened my senses while I sauntered along the Camino through the forests. I thought, "How great it is that God valued the human element of us so much that He would provide such an Upper Room backdrop filled with so many senses within it to help us actually feel and better grasp this introduction of the Holy Spirit."
I started today with a second day of contemplating this whole idea of the senses that are engaged in the scripture stories. How often gave little notice of them. With a little attention, I came to see that the scripture writers really did use such vivid descriptions that engage our senses all for the greater purpose of allowing us to actually feel the stories more intimately.
Here is where I realized how I had limited some of the richer meaning in the scripture. Jesus engaged our senses in telling His stories. Consider the Wedding Feast at Cana- the best tasting wine. Spitting into the dirt to make mud to massage into the blind man's eyes-I wince at a dust speck in the eye, but mud?! Then there was the woman who broke the alabaster jar of perfumed oil. The fragrance that filled that room floated Jesus' acceptance of a woman all had judged and shunned. Not to be overlooked, the woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. The imagination of how comforting a sensation that must have been carries another storyline of Jesus' unconditional love and mercy. There are so many others. Closer attention to the senses engaged in the stories enriches the meaning.
I went on and on considering other scripture stories and senses that empowered the messages. So many have sensual threads through them. May I add, I recognize, for some, this word carries a sometimes sexual message. I make no reference in any such way. Nonetheless, many senses are enlivened in the telling of the stories. In that way, they are sensual.
So why would God use sensual connections within the scripture messages? Simple. We humans are sensual. We experience life through our senses. He created us and understands the power of our senses in motivating us, inspiring us, teaching us, connecting us to others, connecting us to Him.
Is it no wonder that so many sensual elements are included in our worship services? Music, burning candles and incense, communion that starts as bread and wine, anointing and healing oils, holy water for blessing ourselves, and handshakes of peace and welcome with others. All of these activities awaken our senses.
I grew to love God more by realizing how He loves us so much that He created us with such fine senses so that we might actually feel His presence in the world around us. A rainbow in the sky to remind us of His promise, the warmth of His sunlight to remind us of hope, the touch of another to awaken the feeling of love. Our senses are not to be taken for granted. God designed us to enjoy those five precious senses as gifts to enjoy life and to share it more meaningfully with others.
Are we not made in the image and likeness of God? We are sensual because our God is sensual.
Consider this opportunity. Take a long and careful study of nature. Listen to the quiet places where He speaks so loud, like the rustle of the wind. Feel the wind and sun upon you. At meal time, be mindful of the gift of the taste and smell of His bounty.
Our God is sensual. He can be experienced more intimately but taking more careful notice of our own senses. I came to experience and believe this during my walk in the forest. I am richer for it.
I pray your pause to notice the senses alive in you will make you richer as well.
In His embrace,
Deacon Willie, DW
Melide
Our Sensuous God
We have had two spectacular days of walking through the Galacian forests, quaint villages, and farmlands. The trails zigzag up and over small hills and bank along a trail that tunneled trees and shrubs for which the Camino to pass. Walking under a huge canopy of trees has always made me feel like being blanketed in a warm and toasty peace. These monstrous trees stretch some 75 feet or taller and stand like sentinels while pilgrims saunter along. I so love this stretch of the Camino.
My reflection these two days has been simmering with a new perspective I've grown attached to in my relationship and imagery with God. It started with my experience while walking along these forest trails. The Camino is lined with long distances of Aspen and Eucalyptus trees. The color is just starting to change in this area, but it hasn't been the color so much that caught my attention. It's the sounds. The Camino trail serves as a wind tunnel and the leaves of these trees come alive and dance in the strong breezes. Because of this being autumn though, the leaves are drier and the wind rustling through them creates a symphony of baby rattles. It has volume, but it is not offensive in the least. The feel of the strong breeze and the distinct leaf rattling overhead is soothing. Add to this, it has been stunningly beautiful weather with temperatures in the low 70's. There are beautiful, clear blue skies with sunlight piercing through the trees' canopy. It's been all so lovely to experience. Can you recall your stunning autumn day with wind and sun? It's moving. True?
While I walked along in all this enchanting nature, a scripture connection came to mind. It is in Acts 2 when the Holy Spirit came upon the apostles "like a strong wind." My imagination led me to consider what a Spirit wind might sound like. Could it relate to the wind I heard today in the forests? Perhaps in a small way. I'd imagine a Spirit wind to be a more dramatic wind. However, the more I contemplated this scripture scene, the more I came to appreciate that our God chooses to be present and grace us with experiences we can actually feel. The apostles must have felt the strong wind, heard its entry and presence against their skin, seen the light of tongues of fire dancing above them, the light it produced within the room, and felt the flame's warmth. All of these elements would have stirred their senses so.
This consideration enlivened my senses while I sauntered along the Camino through the forests. I thought, "How great it is that God valued the human element of us so much that He would provide such an Upper Room backdrop filled with so many senses within it to help us actually feel and better grasp this introduction of the Holy Spirit."
I started today with a second day of contemplating this whole idea of the senses that are engaged in the scripture stories. How often gave little notice of them. With a little attention, I came to see that the scripture writers really did use such vivid descriptions that engage our senses all for the greater purpose of allowing us to actually feel the stories more intimately.
Here is where I realized how I had limited some of the richer meaning in the scripture. Jesus engaged our senses in telling His stories. Consider the Wedding Feast at Cana- the best tasting wine. Spitting into the dirt to make mud to massage into the blind man's eyes-I wince at a dust speck in the eye, but mud?! Then there was the woman who broke the alabaster jar of perfumed oil. The fragrance that filled that room floated Jesus' acceptance of a woman all had judged and shunned. Not to be overlooked, the woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. The imagination of how comforting a sensation that must have been carries another storyline of Jesus' unconditional love and mercy. There are so many others. Closer attention to the senses engaged in the stories enriches the meaning.
I went on and on considering other scripture stories and senses that empowered the messages. So many have sensual threads through them. May I add, I recognize, for some, this word carries a sometimes sexual message. I make no reference in any such way. Nonetheless, many senses are enlivened in the telling of the stories. In that way, they are sensual.
So why would God use sensual connections within the scripture messages? Simple. We humans are sensual. We experience life through our senses. He created us and understands the power of our senses in motivating us, inspiring us, teaching us, connecting us to others, connecting us to Him.
Is it no wonder that so many sensual elements are included in our worship services? Music, burning candles and incense, communion that starts as bread and wine, anointing and healing oils, holy water for blessing ourselves, and handshakes of peace and welcome with others. All of these activities awaken our senses.
I grew to love God more by realizing how He loves us so much that He created us with such fine senses so that we might actually feel His presence in the world around us. A rainbow in the sky to remind us of His promise, the warmth of His sunlight to remind us of hope, the touch of another to awaken the feeling of love. Our senses are not to be taken for granted. God designed us to enjoy those five precious senses as gifts to enjoy life and to share it more meaningfully with others.
Are we not made in the image and likeness of God? We are sensual because our God is sensual.
Consider this opportunity. Take a long and careful study of nature. Listen to the quiet places where He speaks so loud, like the rustle of the wind. Feel the wind and sun upon you. At meal time, be mindful of the gift of the taste and smell of His bounty.
Our God is sensual. He can be experienced more intimately but taking more careful notice of our own senses. I came to experience and believe this during my walk in the forest. I am richer for it.
I pray your pause to notice the senses alive in you will make you richer as well.
In His embrace,
Deacon Willie, DW
Monday, October 12, 2015
No Greater Love
12 October 2015
Portamarin
No Greater Love
What a spark of new fun it has been to be walking with my friends from church, Jim and Jerry. We're having dinner together, some prayer time, laughs, and unpacking life. We stayed at an uncharacteristically new and uncrowded albergue which had only bottom bunks and washrooms to be shared by only the five of us in the room. What a gift.
The morning was rainy and cloudy, but manageable. There were a few breath stealers, ascents of 150m followed by level walks followed by gradual descents. None of it was all that bad, but physically demanding. We were rewarded with another panorama of the Spanish countryside of mountains, forests, and the introduction of some autumnal color change of the Aspen trees iwith their butter-yellow leaves.
The rain and mist died away leaving just a slightly cool and cloudy day to enjoy a 20km walk. I write this at our albergue which is perched on a hilltop overlooking a river below and forested hills surrounding it. Such a gift the Camino offers in these small villages and countrysides. So blessed to be here.
I was also privileged to reflect upon a surprise encounter I had the day before. It has been fermenting reflectively in my prayer time now for a day. It occurred while we were walking through an almost enchanting forested part of the Camino. Chestnut trees are prolifically shedding their spiney, bristly, tennis ball sized nuts. The trail is a blanket of these unusual things. The trees from which they fall from are impressive as well. They're monstrous in size and have knarly, knots on the bark. I was told many are over 800 years old.
While weaving through this forest I came across a little table of fruits, a opportunity to get a stamp for my Camino credential, and handfuls of fresh chestnuts. I visited with the lady who ran the stand. Within moments of the start of the conversation I realized I was in the presence of someone of deep spirit and love. The lady's name was Ann. She was running this little stop to finance some of her pilgrimage. Considering that the stand was financed by donations only, she was pretty trusting.
With the help of a Brazilian lady I met weeks ago, I was able to get this amazing lady's full story. Ann has been on four Caminos, twice on el Camino de Santiago, once on Camino Norte which runs parallel to the northern coast of Spain, and once on Camino Portugese from southern Spain through Portugal to Santiago. She shared that she lives in Santiago. She became so excited sharing this news she ran up into the forest where she has a blue tarp strung up into a tent-like shelter to get her completed credentials. Here is where her story went from Wow impressive to jaw dropping awesome.
Ann accepted a calling to walk this fifth pilgrimage from Italy to Santiago solely for the intentions of Pope Francis. Her current pilgrimage will stretch 3200km, that's 2,000 miles! She shared of her dedication to Pope Francis because of his strong defense of the poor, his non judgmental love for all people, and the simple life he leads. It is well pubished of what the Pope's prayerful intentions are at any given time. Ann took his needs seriously. She accepted this calling as a way to pray and sacrifice for his ministry to the world. This helped to explain the posters she had displayed by her stand and the Pope Francis decorated donation box she leaves for pilgrims to offer their support.
She shared that she walks along with only her Alaskan husky companion until funds run low. The she sets up her stand, tent, and begins offering her simple fruit stand until her pilgrimage funds are strong enough for the next leg of her journey.
I've heard of the vow of poverty taken by some religious orders, but I have never met a person so dedicated in faith to live it as Ann is. There were no pleasant comforts living in a tent in a forest, little for warmth and clean clothes, meals were simple and skimpy, and with such limited funds there were very few options.
All these things considered, what beamed from her was a glow of peace and freedom. She was geneous in spirit and so undeniably joyful. She had a core of such a loving, genuine person. She was so generous with her supplies and bubbled with happiness at meeting pilgrims. However, nothing mattered outside of her mission to walk and pray for the intention of our pope. "Si, si. Papa Francisco," she would say as if to hug the words of love and admiration for him to her breast as she spoke of him.
In John 15 Jesus says, "No greater love is there than to lay down one's life for his friends."
Many interpret that expression to mean that we are called to physically die for others. I am more prone to interpret it to include the idea of surrendering my agenda, my life comforts and desires in favor of another. I see it as a call to live more sacrificial in nature and intentional in being loving to another.
Ann is one of these who has chosen to lay down her life in love and prayer for our pope. It amazed me and humbled me to encounter someone of her depth of love. But as I walked along, I reflected upon the this scripture and who else I have known or is currently laying down their life sacrificially.
There are many to whom I can affirm live this life. You know many as well. No, not necessarily of the caliber of Ann or the young man, David, I wrote about some time ago. Consider the pastors, priests, ministers, and those who live in religious orders, like my dear sister-in-law, Sr. Jean Amore who just celebrated 50 years of religious life . The more I reflected upon all of the sacrifice of their life for those they serve, the more embarrassed I became of the fact that I have taken their life sacrifices for granted. What burdens they embrace daily. What denial of family and life comforts they endure for the cause of faith. What a grind of pushing forward each week for us who are only looking for a quick one hour recharge on Sunday.
I will man up and admit that I infrequently make a deliberate act of gratitude for priests who serve our parish. How easy it has been to go to church on Sunday expecting church to just be about feeding me, my needs, my expectations on what a good church experience must or should be.
It was not a pretty picture of how I've overlooked the "Ann's" God has put in my life. God will certainly reward them in His way. I'm sure of this. However, I could be a better voice of love and support. This could/should/will include telling them that I pray for them, sending handwritten notes of appreciation, being a voice of what I call "good gossip." This would include sharing stories with others of good they are doing, have said, are providing as an example in faith. Their humility may not call for this, but my need to be more supportive can find a healthy balance.
I learned some time ago that the name, "Ann" means grace. So many very dear in my life have "laid down their life" for me. Can you call to mind some in your life? You might agree with me that each one has "Ann ed" us as my encounter 'Ann ed' our little Camino group.
I hope her lesson and holy example will grow me to be more dedicated in support for those who serve my spiritual growth.
Would you not agree, we've been "Ann ed" by so many? I humbly believe I have.
In gratitude,
Deacon Willie, DW
Portamarin
No Greater Love
What a spark of new fun it has been to be walking with my friends from church, Jim and Jerry. We're having dinner together, some prayer time, laughs, and unpacking life. We stayed at an uncharacteristically new and uncrowded albergue which had only bottom bunks and washrooms to be shared by only the five of us in the room. What a gift.
The morning was rainy and cloudy, but manageable. There were a few breath stealers, ascents of 150m followed by level walks followed by gradual descents. None of it was all that bad, but physically demanding. We were rewarded with another panorama of the Spanish countryside of mountains, forests, and the introduction of some autumnal color change of the Aspen trees iwith their butter-yellow leaves.
The rain and mist died away leaving just a slightly cool and cloudy day to enjoy a 20km walk. I write this at our albergue which is perched on a hilltop overlooking a river below and forested hills surrounding it. Such a gift the Camino offers in these small villages and countrysides. So blessed to be here.
I was also privileged to reflect upon a surprise encounter I had the day before. It has been fermenting reflectively in my prayer time now for a day. It occurred while we were walking through an almost enchanting forested part of the Camino. Chestnut trees are prolifically shedding their spiney, bristly, tennis ball sized nuts. The trail is a blanket of these unusual things. The trees from which they fall from are impressive as well. They're monstrous in size and have knarly, knots on the bark. I was told many are over 800 years old.
While weaving through this forest I came across a little table of fruits, a opportunity to get a stamp for my Camino credential, and handfuls of fresh chestnuts. I visited with the lady who ran the stand. Within moments of the start of the conversation I realized I was in the presence of someone of deep spirit and love. The lady's name was Ann. She was running this little stop to finance some of her pilgrimage. Considering that the stand was financed by donations only, she was pretty trusting.
With the help of a Brazilian lady I met weeks ago, I was able to get this amazing lady's full story. Ann has been on four Caminos, twice on el Camino de Santiago, once on Camino Norte which runs parallel to the northern coast of Spain, and once on Camino Portugese from southern Spain through Portugal to Santiago. She shared that she lives in Santiago. She became so excited sharing this news she ran up into the forest where she has a blue tarp strung up into a tent-like shelter to get her completed credentials. Here is where her story went from Wow impressive to jaw dropping awesome.
Ann accepted a calling to walk this fifth pilgrimage from Italy to Santiago solely for the intentions of Pope Francis. Her current pilgrimage will stretch 3200km, that's 2,000 miles! She shared of her dedication to Pope Francis because of his strong defense of the poor, his non judgmental love for all people, and the simple life he leads. It is well pubished of what the Pope's prayerful intentions are at any given time. Ann took his needs seriously. She accepted this calling as a way to pray and sacrifice for his ministry to the world. This helped to explain the posters she had displayed by her stand and the Pope Francis decorated donation box she leaves for pilgrims to offer their support.
She shared that she walks along with only her Alaskan husky companion until funds run low. The she sets up her stand, tent, and begins offering her simple fruit stand until her pilgrimage funds are strong enough for the next leg of her journey.
I've heard of the vow of poverty taken by some religious orders, but I have never met a person so dedicated in faith to live it as Ann is. There were no pleasant comforts living in a tent in a forest, little for warmth and clean clothes, meals were simple and skimpy, and with such limited funds there were very few options.
All these things considered, what beamed from her was a glow of peace and freedom. She was geneous in spirit and so undeniably joyful. She had a core of such a loving, genuine person. She was so generous with her supplies and bubbled with happiness at meeting pilgrims. However, nothing mattered outside of her mission to walk and pray for the intention of our pope. "Si, si. Papa Francisco," she would say as if to hug the words of love and admiration for him to her breast as she spoke of him.
In John 15 Jesus says, "No greater love is there than to lay down one's life for his friends."
Many interpret that expression to mean that we are called to physically die for others. I am more prone to interpret it to include the idea of surrendering my agenda, my life comforts and desires in favor of another. I see it as a call to live more sacrificial in nature and intentional in being loving to another.
Ann is one of these who has chosen to lay down her life in love and prayer for our pope. It amazed me and humbled me to encounter someone of her depth of love. But as I walked along, I reflected upon the this scripture and who else I have known or is currently laying down their life sacrificially.
There are many to whom I can affirm live this life. You know many as well. No, not necessarily of the caliber of Ann or the young man, David, I wrote about some time ago. Consider the pastors, priests, ministers, and those who live in religious orders, like my dear sister-in-law, Sr. Jean Amore who just celebrated 50 years of religious life . The more I reflected upon all of the sacrifice of their life for those they serve, the more embarrassed I became of the fact that I have taken their life sacrifices for granted. What burdens they embrace daily. What denial of family and life comforts they endure for the cause of faith. What a grind of pushing forward each week for us who are only looking for a quick one hour recharge on Sunday.
I will man up and admit that I infrequently make a deliberate act of gratitude for priests who serve our parish. How easy it has been to go to church on Sunday expecting church to just be about feeding me, my needs, my expectations on what a good church experience must or should be.
It was not a pretty picture of how I've overlooked the "Ann's" God has put in my life. God will certainly reward them in His way. I'm sure of this. However, I could be a better voice of love and support. This could/should/will include telling them that I pray for them, sending handwritten notes of appreciation, being a voice of what I call "good gossip." This would include sharing stories with others of good they are doing, have said, are providing as an example in faith. Their humility may not call for this, but my need to be more supportive can find a healthy balance.
I learned some time ago that the name, "Ann" means grace. So many very dear in my life have "laid down their life" for me. Can you call to mind some in your life? You might agree with me that each one has "Ann ed" us as my encounter 'Ann ed' our little Camino group.
I hope her lesson and holy example will grow me to be more dedicated in support for those who serve my spiritual growth.
Would you not agree, we've been "Ann ed" by so many? I humbly believe I have.
In gratitude,
Deacon Willie, DW
Sunday, October 11, 2015
A Crowd of One
11 October 2015
Barbadelo, just west of Sarria
A Crowd of One
This section of the Camino has to be one of my favorites. I left O'Cebriero just a couple days ago. It is perched 1300m (4250 ft.) in gorgeous mountainous territory. Tall rounded mountain tops with a quilt of green pasturelands form a checkboard landscape. One cannot walk without frequent pauses to take it in. With the steep slopes and multiple peaks it is hard to choose which to focus upon.
O'Cebreiro is well known for a miracle that occurred there in the 12th century. The story is that a peasant fought his way through a snowstorm to reach the mountain top church to go to morning mass. The celebrant scolded him for risking his life through such weather saying he could have been killed. Begrudgingly, the priest conducted the mass for the sole parishioner. At the point of the consecration when the priest elevated the host, a miraculous event occurred. The host transformed into human flesh and folded over on his fingers onto the paten. When he elevated the chalice, the wine was transfomed into human blood. The paten and chalice are in a place of prominence at Santa Maria Real in O'Cebreiro. Being in the presence of the Holy Grail was awe inspiring. Adding to this, something very special occurred for me. The celebrant at the pilgrims' mass made an all call for someone to do one of the scripture readings in English. I was so blessed to participate.
Leaving the church, I met a priest in his long, black cossak that priests wear occassionally. After stopping to chat with him I found out that he serves in Georgia here in the states. Fr. Hennessy. Stories of a priest who is doing the Camino in his full cossack has echoed back to us. He had shared with me that he dresses in full cossack so that other pilgrims will know he's a priest in case they might want some one on one time with him in spiritual counsel. What an inspiring motivation.
Further on I got into Samos where I was to meet my friends from our church for the first day of their Camino. We were in different albergues so the morning would be our first rendezvous. That evening, while at dinner, a man sitting across from me in the restaurant engaged me in a conversation. When he shared that he was a parish priest on sabbatical from his parish in Perth, Australia, I jumped seats to share meal with another new pilgrim priest, Fr. Paul. He is such a centered and kind man. God had provided one more priest servant to my Camino pilgrimage.
After our meal, we walked to the huge Benedictan monastery for vespers, evening prayers, where the Benedictan monks would sing the Gregorian chant. Add to that, the church has the oldest pipe organ in Spain with over 3,000 pipes and trumpets. It gave goosebumps to hear.
You can almost guess the Godcidence that occurred. The concelebrants for the pilgrims' mass after vespers were Fr. Hennessy and Fr. Paul. Our conversation after mass was so rich in being one in heart as servants of the church. We were three servants bonded as one brotherhood on the Camino.
Upon returning to my albergue, there were two other pilgrims. One was from Russia and a polished English speaker. We ended up in a lively conversation of the scriptural refernce of St. James, which was new to both men. I was preaching good news as they hung on my words and the stories they had never heard before. What was more noteworthy was the conversation I had with the friendly Russian.
In the course of our exchange, he shared his insights as to how the Western world misunderstands the thinking from Moscow, his hometown. He made a strong point that what Russian people really want is to be one, to be a united people. Then he made a strong case that runs coarse to American idealogies. He said, "A people cannot be one until everyone is equal." He offered his defense for Socialism and dismissed my arguements for allowing people to be free and empowered. We disagreed politely, but he kept making the point that the Russian people are most motivated to be "one."
Are you catching a reoccuring word in my Camino days. I believe it was a theme God was giving me to contemplate. That is, to be one.
I caught up with my friends as new pilgrim brothers, Jim Naso and Jerry Happel from church. It was a joyful reunion. Here again, we were now one as new Camino pilgrims.
The word, "one," recycled in my prayer time for these two days and many miles. Being one in Him brings a crowd of others into community. In John 17 Jesus is sharing his prayer to the Father before he was to be offered up. In verse 21 Jesus says, "Father, so that they may be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you , that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me. And so that they may be one, as we are one."
Jesus pleads for us to be one. Imagine what a crowd of one we become when we live our life for Him. I spent hours contemplating the power of being included in that "crowd of one." What a force of oneness! What the Russian shared about his country becoming one and united is the same vision Jesus wants for us.
I considered what pulls at the fabric of being "one." Ugly truths surfaced within interactions with others. Attitudes like judgements with harsh labelling, "He is a (fill in the blank)" and harsh criticisms like "She always causes such and such" or she acts like she is (fill in another blank.) When such criticisms float into the mind, their foul smell sifts into the relationships with them. People can sense when someone has an attitude or are closed off to them in some way. Don't fool yourself to think such attitudes don't surface. Thank God I am not judge or jury of people through my perspectives! I have caught myself shamefacedly discovering that my judgements were lacking the full story of another's full life story. Judgements painfully tear at oneness.
So many other "greater than thou attitudes" also strain at oneness. Greed, gossip, malice, ill will toward others, revenge, pride, one upmanship, envy, lust for power, control freakish attitudes, selfishness, bloated self-importance, and unforgiveness to name a few. I have lived and endured these attitudes with shame and the feeling personal injury. Being "one" when any of these are present is remote at best.
What attitudes might tighten the bonds of "oneness"? Consider Jesus' words, 'being one with the Father.' The relationship of Jesus and his Father is an iron clad bond. Why? Because it was a perfect love.
In Acts 2 a description of the perfect communal life is told. " "All who believed were together and had all things in common. They devoted themselves to meeting together, breaking bread together in the homes. They ate their meals with exhultation and sincerity of heart praising God and enjoying favor with all the people."
Perhaps the prescription for "oneness" can be found in a simple act of sharing meal with others more often. Barriers break down at meal time. Community building evaporates isolation and the growth of what I call nasty self centeredness.
I came to believe that what may be the antidote for my own peroccupation with self may be found in extending myself to grow in loving community.
It struck me as a good place to start. One meal, one evening, one simple gesture of generousity and other-centeredness. What good can come! We become "A Crowd on One" in Him.
Be blessed,
Deacon Willie, DW
Barbadelo, just west of Sarria
A Crowd of One
This section of the Camino has to be one of my favorites. I left O'Cebriero just a couple days ago. It is perched 1300m (4250 ft.) in gorgeous mountainous territory. Tall rounded mountain tops with a quilt of green pasturelands form a checkboard landscape. One cannot walk without frequent pauses to take it in. With the steep slopes and multiple peaks it is hard to choose which to focus upon.
O'Cebreiro is well known for a miracle that occurred there in the 12th century. The story is that a peasant fought his way through a snowstorm to reach the mountain top church to go to morning mass. The celebrant scolded him for risking his life through such weather saying he could have been killed. Begrudgingly, the priest conducted the mass for the sole parishioner. At the point of the consecration when the priest elevated the host, a miraculous event occurred. The host transformed into human flesh and folded over on his fingers onto the paten. When he elevated the chalice, the wine was transfomed into human blood. The paten and chalice are in a place of prominence at Santa Maria Real in O'Cebreiro. Being in the presence of the Holy Grail was awe inspiring. Adding to this, something very special occurred for me. The celebrant at the pilgrims' mass made an all call for someone to do one of the scripture readings in English. I was so blessed to participate.
Leaving the church, I met a priest in his long, black cossak that priests wear occassionally. After stopping to chat with him I found out that he serves in Georgia here in the states. Fr. Hennessy. Stories of a priest who is doing the Camino in his full cossack has echoed back to us. He had shared with me that he dresses in full cossack so that other pilgrims will know he's a priest in case they might want some one on one time with him in spiritual counsel. What an inspiring motivation.
Further on I got into Samos where I was to meet my friends from our church for the first day of their Camino. We were in different albergues so the morning would be our first rendezvous. That evening, while at dinner, a man sitting across from me in the restaurant engaged me in a conversation. When he shared that he was a parish priest on sabbatical from his parish in Perth, Australia, I jumped seats to share meal with another new pilgrim priest, Fr. Paul. He is such a centered and kind man. God had provided one more priest servant to my Camino pilgrimage.
After our meal, we walked to the huge Benedictan monastery for vespers, evening prayers, where the Benedictan monks would sing the Gregorian chant. Add to that, the church has the oldest pipe organ in Spain with over 3,000 pipes and trumpets. It gave goosebumps to hear.
You can almost guess the Godcidence that occurred. The concelebrants for the pilgrims' mass after vespers were Fr. Hennessy and Fr. Paul. Our conversation after mass was so rich in being one in heart as servants of the church. We were three servants bonded as one brotherhood on the Camino.
Upon returning to my albergue, there were two other pilgrims. One was from Russia and a polished English speaker. We ended up in a lively conversation of the scriptural refernce of St. James, which was new to both men. I was preaching good news as they hung on my words and the stories they had never heard before. What was more noteworthy was the conversation I had with the friendly Russian.
In the course of our exchange, he shared his insights as to how the Western world misunderstands the thinking from Moscow, his hometown. He made a strong point that what Russian people really want is to be one, to be a united people. Then he made a strong case that runs coarse to American idealogies. He said, "A people cannot be one until everyone is equal." He offered his defense for Socialism and dismissed my arguements for allowing people to be free and empowered. We disagreed politely, but he kept making the point that the Russian people are most motivated to be "one."
Are you catching a reoccuring word in my Camino days. I believe it was a theme God was giving me to contemplate. That is, to be one.
I caught up with my friends as new pilgrim brothers, Jim Naso and Jerry Happel from church. It was a joyful reunion. Here again, we were now one as new Camino pilgrims.
The word, "one," recycled in my prayer time for these two days and many miles. Being one in Him brings a crowd of others into community. In John 17 Jesus is sharing his prayer to the Father before he was to be offered up. In verse 21 Jesus says, "Father, so that they may be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you , that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me. And so that they may be one, as we are one."
Jesus pleads for us to be one. Imagine what a crowd of one we become when we live our life for Him. I spent hours contemplating the power of being included in that "crowd of one." What a force of oneness! What the Russian shared about his country becoming one and united is the same vision Jesus wants for us.
I considered what pulls at the fabric of being "one." Ugly truths surfaced within interactions with others. Attitudes like judgements with harsh labelling, "He is a (fill in the blank)" and harsh criticisms like "She always causes such and such" or she acts like she is (fill in another blank.) When such criticisms float into the mind, their foul smell sifts into the relationships with them. People can sense when someone has an attitude or are closed off to them in some way. Don't fool yourself to think such attitudes don't surface. Thank God I am not judge or jury of people through my perspectives! I have caught myself shamefacedly discovering that my judgements were lacking the full story of another's full life story. Judgements painfully tear at oneness.
So many other "greater than thou attitudes" also strain at oneness. Greed, gossip, malice, ill will toward others, revenge, pride, one upmanship, envy, lust for power, control freakish attitudes, selfishness, bloated self-importance, and unforgiveness to name a few. I have lived and endured these attitudes with shame and the feeling personal injury. Being "one" when any of these are present is remote at best.
What attitudes might tighten the bonds of "oneness"? Consider Jesus' words, 'being one with the Father.' The relationship of Jesus and his Father is an iron clad bond. Why? Because it was a perfect love.
In Acts 2 a description of the perfect communal life is told. " "All who believed were together and had all things in common. They devoted themselves to meeting together, breaking bread together in the homes. They ate their meals with exhultation and sincerity of heart praising God and enjoying favor with all the people."
Perhaps the prescription for "oneness" can be found in a simple act of sharing meal with others more often. Barriers break down at meal time. Community building evaporates isolation and the growth of what I call nasty self centeredness.
I came to believe that what may be the antidote for my own peroccupation with self may be found in extending myself to grow in loving community.
It struck me as a good place to start. One meal, one evening, one simple gesture of generousity and other-centeredness. What good can come! We become "A Crowd on One" in Him.
Be blessed,
Deacon Willie, DW
Friday, October 9, 2015
He Carried Me
9 October 2015
Molineseca
He Carried Me
After the mountain top comes the valley. I descended from Cruz de Ferro to the town of Molinesca. There were reports the past few days that pilgrims are falling and having painful injuries trying to make the descent several thousand feet into Molinesca.
The trail was painful and terrifying for me. After the straining climb to the mountain top, my quads and legs were jello like. The hour or so rest did me well, but it was all to be rechallenged by the walk down. Making it even more painful was that the trail is made of irregularly shaped and scattered rocks over a hard clay. Gratefully, there trail was dry. Nonetheless, it was a tedious and vigilant step by step movement for whatever looked like a secure foothold.
Sometimes the choice was a surprise and my foot would skid down and away. Thank God for my poles. I lived on them all the way. Each step was an adventure, a prayerful hope, or call it a miracle of safety.
Aside from the complete exertion of the downward steps, I was still nearly a mile in elevation overlooking the Spanish countryside. It was nothing short of breathtaking. A random, crazy thought crossed my mind, " I am so overwhelmingly happy right now. No, make that joyful!" God's creation in a grand splendor stretched before me. And stretched, and stretched, and stretched. It stretched for 26km until I approached the town.
I had high hopes of staying at the same albergue I had a dramatic experience at during my first Camino. For those who have heard my stories, this is the one where the lady who managed the albergue with two other men fought for me to have a space for a meal when it was determined that the dining area was, "Completo!"
I dragged into the place and collapsed after the long, treacherous mountain descent. I imagined my guardian angel lying on the tile floor panting. He was lying there collapsed from exhaustion and was looking up at me. My mind's eye saw him raise one eyebrow and respond to our crazy walk, "Really, DW? Really?! You're killing me here." It's my funny imagination run wild.
After checking in, showering, and settling I went to have a good conversation with that lady again. I first asked for a photo with the four of us. They all were confused and flattered at the same time. She said something funny evidently because all Spanish speakers laughed when she ran for the house dog and held it up in front of her for the photo. You can fill in the blank.
With the help of a Spanish speaker in the lounge, I explained the story of two years ago after the memorable snow storm and rain from Cruz de Ferro to Molenesca. All three vividly remembered it. With the language assist, I shared my fond gratitude for the way she argued to squeeze another place for me at the dining table. Then I shared that I wrote about the event in a play format which was video recorded. You kindness was played by a lady to show how to offer hope and kindness to others. I expained that I show it at churches when I do Camino talks.
"You mean I am in a movie?" she asked incredulously. Fame and flattery flooded her experession. "I am in a movie?"
"Yes," I replied, "because I want to let people learn how you let God's love show to me. This will teach others to be as kind as you are."
She let out a burst of joyful laughter and asked, "Show me dat movie. You can show me?"
I explained that it was recorded from my talk at our church and it is still on the internet. She bubbled over with anticipation, "You show me. You write down da place so I see. Yes? Ok?"
After a delightful dinner I found the episode on our parish website and showed her. She and another lady watched the event, unfortunately no sound was available, but the acting of it was enough. Both ladies gushed with happiness at seeing the event that turned out to be her arguing with her husband and the other co owner of the place. She belly laughed at the memory of it and of how convincing she can be. Then she forced me to write the web address for her to see again. That I did. She nearly danced out of the place on the way home.
Sharing the retelling of that event and witnessing the pure joy it gave to someone who works sun up to sun down with nothing more than a new troop of battle weary pilgrims to serve the next day lifted me. He lifted me so that I could lift up another.
Overall, the day was a shower of blessings. I could have said, "I made it. Lucky me." However, I know better. I arrived safely because He carried me. God heard my every desperate prayer that matched each footstep. I floated in His arms of grace. Perhaps only that I might bring a beam of new joy and purpose to someone who would not be intimidated in the fight for kindness.
I pray my sharing of the story does something in faith life of Christina Blanco, the name of the lady who fought for kindness . As I see it, perhaps God was using the story as a way to carry her. Another exhausting day of serving pilgrims can lose its personal effect. Affirmation is vital in carrying people through the mundane of "just another day."
You might just be the person Jesus needs to help carry another to feel His kindness, His hope, His strength when the journey is oh so difficult. And especially those who have others who work under your suppervision, an affirming story is about them is empowering. It carries profound kindness and revitalized hope in the soul of the work-weary worker. Consider the power your words can be. I witnessed it first hand and was deeply moved.
In humble gratitude,
Deacon Willie, Dw
Molineseca
He Carried Me
After the mountain top comes the valley. I descended from Cruz de Ferro to the town of Molinesca. There were reports the past few days that pilgrims are falling and having painful injuries trying to make the descent several thousand feet into Molinesca.
The trail was painful and terrifying for me. After the straining climb to the mountain top, my quads and legs were jello like. The hour or so rest did me well, but it was all to be rechallenged by the walk down. Making it even more painful was that the trail is made of irregularly shaped and scattered rocks over a hard clay. Gratefully, there trail was dry. Nonetheless, it was a tedious and vigilant step by step movement for whatever looked like a secure foothold.
Sometimes the choice was a surprise and my foot would skid down and away. Thank God for my poles. I lived on them all the way. Each step was an adventure, a prayerful hope, or call it a miracle of safety.
Aside from the complete exertion of the downward steps, I was still nearly a mile in elevation overlooking the Spanish countryside. It was nothing short of breathtaking. A random, crazy thought crossed my mind, " I am so overwhelmingly happy right now. No, make that joyful!" God's creation in a grand splendor stretched before me. And stretched, and stretched, and stretched. It stretched for 26km until I approached the town.
I had high hopes of staying at the same albergue I had a dramatic experience at during my first Camino. For those who have heard my stories, this is the one where the lady who managed the albergue with two other men fought for me to have a space for a meal when it was determined that the dining area was, "Completo!"
I dragged into the place and collapsed after the long, treacherous mountain descent. I imagined my guardian angel lying on the tile floor panting. He was lying there collapsed from exhaustion and was looking up at me. My mind's eye saw him raise one eyebrow and respond to our crazy walk, "Really, DW? Really?! You're killing me here." It's my funny imagination run wild.
After checking in, showering, and settling I went to have a good conversation with that lady again. I first asked for a photo with the four of us. They all were confused and flattered at the same time. She said something funny evidently because all Spanish speakers laughed when she ran for the house dog and held it up in front of her for the photo. You can fill in the blank.
With the help of a Spanish speaker in the lounge, I explained the story of two years ago after the memorable snow storm and rain from Cruz de Ferro to Molenesca. All three vividly remembered it. With the language assist, I shared my fond gratitude for the way she argued to squeeze another place for me at the dining table. Then I shared that I wrote about the event in a play format which was video recorded. You kindness was played by a lady to show how to offer hope and kindness to others. I expained that I show it at churches when I do Camino talks.
"You mean I am in a movie?" she asked incredulously. Fame and flattery flooded her experession. "I am in a movie?"
"Yes," I replied, "because I want to let people learn how you let God's love show to me. This will teach others to be as kind as you are."
She let out a burst of joyful laughter and asked, "Show me dat movie. You can show me?"
I explained that it was recorded from my talk at our church and it is still on the internet. She bubbled over with anticipation, "You show me. You write down da place so I see. Yes? Ok?"
After a delightful dinner I found the episode on our parish website and showed her. She and another lady watched the event, unfortunately no sound was available, but the acting of it was enough. Both ladies gushed with happiness at seeing the event that turned out to be her arguing with her husband and the other co owner of the place. She belly laughed at the memory of it and of how convincing she can be. Then she forced me to write the web address for her to see again. That I did. She nearly danced out of the place on the way home.
Sharing the retelling of that event and witnessing the pure joy it gave to someone who works sun up to sun down with nothing more than a new troop of battle weary pilgrims to serve the next day lifted me. He lifted me so that I could lift up another.
Overall, the day was a shower of blessings. I could have said, "I made it. Lucky me." However, I know better. I arrived safely because He carried me. God heard my every desperate prayer that matched each footstep. I floated in His arms of grace. Perhaps only that I might bring a beam of new joy and purpose to someone who would not be intimidated in the fight for kindness.
I pray my sharing of the story does something in faith life of Christina Blanco, the name of the lady who fought for kindness . As I see it, perhaps God was using the story as a way to carry her. Another exhausting day of serving pilgrims can lose its personal effect. Affirmation is vital in carrying people through the mundane of "just another day."
You might just be the person Jesus needs to help carry another to feel His kindness, His hope, His strength when the journey is oh so difficult. And especially those who have others who work under your suppervision, an affirming story is about them is empowering. It carries profound kindness and revitalized hope in the soul of the work-weary worker. Consider the power your words can be. I witnessed it first hand and was deeply moved.
In humble gratitude,
Deacon Willie, Dw
Sunbathed in Hope
8 October 2015
Rabanal
Sunbathed in Hope
Rabanal is a small village on route to the famed Cruz de Ferro, the Iron Cross. I was blessed to stay at the same albergue I had visited two years ago. It is run by an English speaking Fraternity of Pilgrims. Cozy, a scheduled tea time, and with an intention to get pilgrims to interact and meet eachother. It is the right fuel for the test that comes the next day.
We began the morning with the remainder of a 1550m (5100 ft.) climb. It is higher in elevation and climb than the Pyrenees Mts. The reward is experienceing the holy shrine at Cruz de Ferro. It was erected in the 9th century. Historically, pilgims leave their home for the pilgrimage to Santiago with a burden stone. It is a stone they carry that represents some heavy burden they wish to release at the foot of the cross. With each straining step up, I rehearsed the names and one word burden request of family and friends. There are such heavy burdens we carry. Some burdens I was asked to carry included cancer, disease, infertility, dementia, depression, and so many other heartaches. I was privileged to carry them.
There is an exhilerating moment upon the first appearance of the monument. About 100m away you spot the rusty, iron midieval shape of the cross high in the air, a telephone post-like- mast holds it, then the mountain of stones built up about 10 feet from the trail's base. Millions of pilgrims have placed their burden stone there. Most all pilgrims approach the cross with reverence and a solemn prayerfulnes. Many pilgrims just stand at the base in tearful silence, some weep deeply, some cross their arms and bow their head in prayer. Afterall, this is a place for pilgrims to lay their burdens down.
I shed my pack and poles and made my climb to the base of the cross. I first placed the special holy card of Saint Pope John Paul II that the Gooch family asked me to offer for their family. Then I knelt down in the rubble of stones with a myriad of shapes, sizes, and some with messages written on them. I held out to the cross my burden stone. It was one I had on my desk for years that had painted on it the one word burden that I chose for my Camino. When I held up the stone, my word choice held an echo of divine irony in it. For I walked this Camino with the burden of desiring HOPE, more hope to be found on many elevations of my life. The irony that struck me was that while I was carrying nearly 82 names with their burden words, my single word HOPE startled me with a prayerful insight that HOPE is the answer for all of our burdens. God offers HOPE for all our needs. Was this Godcidence or divine irony?
I knelt on the rocks under a dark, cloudy sky at the foot of Cruz de Ferro, reading and rereading the names and prayer needs of all I carried in prayer those 300 plus miles. Each person's face came to mind, their life's heartache, their dear faith, their love for me, their hunger for God's mercy all contained in their one word burden prayer. I simply carried the single word they privileged me for which to beg God's mercy on their behalf. I felt such an honor to place those sincere prayers at the foot of the cross.
Cruz de Ferro is such a deeply contemplative place and is surrounded by many who also are desperately seeking God's intervention in their life. I chose to stay and prayerfully meditate in a simple shelter just 30 feet away. The morning unwound in my thinking. "What do you want me to take away from this moment, Lord? The irony of how hope connected to all of our burdens? What might you offer me to remember your gift of hope in a memorable way? You gave us the rainbow as a message in the sky to remember your promise. What might be painted within me to remember HOPE?"
Call it another Godcidence, coincidence, just a natural moment in any ordinary cloudy day, but something really touching occurred. Upon finishing the reflection, the dark clouds began to strain apart revealing glimpses of a brilliant white sun above. Far above the darkness, the azure sky and that gorgeous sun pierced the mound of the cross. It was such a stark contrast to the darkness and the warmth filled my chilled body. It was almost magical to experience. I gave long notice to the movement of dark clouds that veiled the brilliant sun far above the gloominess.
The experience played metaphorically in my prayer time like this. I contemplated, the sun is God's hope. It is always shining, just as the sun always shines on earth. Somewhere on the planet, there is sunshine. The dark clouds cover over. They drift in unwelcomingly into life. Their dark, rolling, heavy nature press down and stretch over a long horizon of days. Will the darkness of carrying this burden ever break? Where are you Lord in the cloudy darkness?
Questions like these pressed upon me. But the simple little moments the sun's breakthroughs served as that "rainbow in the sky" kind of message for me. HOPE is represented in the sun. A bright sun with all its warmth and light has become a new message within me to not give much attention to the temporary cloud cover because HOPE is still shining above. And, HOPE will break through again. All I need to do is to have faith.
Faith moves me forward, hope lights the path, and love makes the journey endearing.
So here is where the message goes from curiously interesting to spooky. Just as I was about the leave the cross, I said my final prayers of thanks and praise, the sun burst through the dark clouds. Heaven's floodlamp of "Son light" illuminated the monument.
I stood there sunbathed in hope.
Many may call it happen stance, coincidence, luck, or just a natural moment in an ordinary weather day that happened at just the perfect moment. I embraced it as a gift to me on the Camino. I pray that during my whole life I view a sun filled sky and think of it as God's sign that His hope is always there.
Sunbathed in hope,
Deacon Willie, DW
Rabanal
Sunbathed in Hope
Rabanal is a small village on route to the famed Cruz de Ferro, the Iron Cross. I was blessed to stay at the same albergue I had visited two years ago. It is run by an English speaking Fraternity of Pilgrims. Cozy, a scheduled tea time, and with an intention to get pilgrims to interact and meet eachother. It is the right fuel for the test that comes the next day.
We began the morning with the remainder of a 1550m (5100 ft.) climb. It is higher in elevation and climb than the Pyrenees Mts. The reward is experienceing the holy shrine at Cruz de Ferro. It was erected in the 9th century. Historically, pilgims leave their home for the pilgrimage to Santiago with a burden stone. It is a stone they carry that represents some heavy burden they wish to release at the foot of the cross. With each straining step up, I rehearsed the names and one word burden request of family and friends. There are such heavy burdens we carry. Some burdens I was asked to carry included cancer, disease, infertility, dementia, depression, and so many other heartaches. I was privileged to carry them.
There is an exhilerating moment upon the first appearance of the monument. About 100m away you spot the rusty, iron midieval shape of the cross high in the air, a telephone post-like- mast holds it, then the mountain of stones built up about 10 feet from the trail's base. Millions of pilgrims have placed their burden stone there. Most all pilgrims approach the cross with reverence and a solemn prayerfulnes. Many pilgrims just stand at the base in tearful silence, some weep deeply, some cross their arms and bow their head in prayer. Afterall, this is a place for pilgrims to lay their burdens down.
I shed my pack and poles and made my climb to the base of the cross. I first placed the special holy card of Saint Pope John Paul II that the Gooch family asked me to offer for their family. Then I knelt down in the rubble of stones with a myriad of shapes, sizes, and some with messages written on them. I held out to the cross my burden stone. It was one I had on my desk for years that had painted on it the one word burden that I chose for my Camino. When I held up the stone, my word choice held an echo of divine irony in it. For I walked this Camino with the burden of desiring HOPE, more hope to be found on many elevations of my life. The irony that struck me was that while I was carrying nearly 82 names with their burden words, my single word HOPE startled me with a prayerful insight that HOPE is the answer for all of our burdens. God offers HOPE for all our needs. Was this Godcidence or divine irony?
I knelt on the rocks under a dark, cloudy sky at the foot of Cruz de Ferro, reading and rereading the names and prayer needs of all I carried in prayer those 300 plus miles. Each person's face came to mind, their life's heartache, their dear faith, their love for me, their hunger for God's mercy all contained in their one word burden prayer. I simply carried the single word they privileged me for which to beg God's mercy on their behalf. I felt such an honor to place those sincere prayers at the foot of the cross.
Cruz de Ferro is such a deeply contemplative place and is surrounded by many who also are desperately seeking God's intervention in their life. I chose to stay and prayerfully meditate in a simple shelter just 30 feet away. The morning unwound in my thinking. "What do you want me to take away from this moment, Lord? The irony of how hope connected to all of our burdens? What might you offer me to remember your gift of hope in a memorable way? You gave us the rainbow as a message in the sky to remember your promise. What might be painted within me to remember HOPE?"
Call it another Godcidence, coincidence, just a natural moment in any ordinary cloudy day, but something really touching occurred. Upon finishing the reflection, the dark clouds began to strain apart revealing glimpses of a brilliant white sun above. Far above the darkness, the azure sky and that gorgeous sun pierced the mound of the cross. It was such a stark contrast to the darkness and the warmth filled my chilled body. It was almost magical to experience. I gave long notice to the movement of dark clouds that veiled the brilliant sun far above the gloominess.
The experience played metaphorically in my prayer time like this. I contemplated, the sun is God's hope. It is always shining, just as the sun always shines on earth. Somewhere on the planet, there is sunshine. The dark clouds cover over. They drift in unwelcomingly into life. Their dark, rolling, heavy nature press down and stretch over a long horizon of days. Will the darkness of carrying this burden ever break? Where are you Lord in the cloudy darkness?
Questions like these pressed upon me. But the simple little moments the sun's breakthroughs served as that "rainbow in the sky" kind of message for me. HOPE is represented in the sun. A bright sun with all its warmth and light has become a new message within me to not give much attention to the temporary cloud cover because HOPE is still shining above. And, HOPE will break through again. All I need to do is to have faith.
Faith moves me forward, hope lights the path, and love makes the journey endearing.
So here is where the message goes from curiously interesting to spooky. Just as I was about the leave the cross, I said my final prayers of thanks and praise, the sun burst through the dark clouds. Heaven's floodlamp of "Son light" illuminated the monument.
I stood there sunbathed in hope.
Many may call it happen stance, coincidence, luck, or just a natural moment in an ordinary weather day that happened at just the perfect moment. I embraced it as a gift to me on the Camino. I pray that during my whole life I view a sun filled sky and think of it as God's sign that His hope is always there.
Sunbathed in hope,
Deacon Willie, DW
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
The Holy Spirit's Backdraft
7 October 2015
Rabanal del Camino
The Holy Spirit's Backdraft
We've had a few days of Spain's spotty Wifi with intermittent strength and service these past few days which has put my blogs out of calendar sync. We left some rainy days behind, gratefully, and the mountain climbs return. Legs, knees, and toes are managing and the steep climbs to this point have not punished me as harshly. Your prayers are helping.
I was eager to revist a simple, almost primitive, roadside rest stop just before entering the town of Astorga. I remember it fondly largely because of the man who runs it, David. When I stopped on my Camino 2013 pilgrimage, a film crew was involved in a three year production of a film documentary about David who runs the wayside stop. What makes him so captivating is that after he did his Camino, he chose to give his life to the care of pilgrims on The Way. David and his wife live right on the farm plot, raise the vegetables and fruit for pilgrims as they're pass on the Camino. He rings a bell as weary walkers approach, he runs out to them, throws his arm over their shoulder and greets them in their own language (he's taught himself multiple languages) and wholeheartedly invites them to find some nourishment. He asks, "Where are you from? How is your Camino? Are you ok?" All other- centered questions. While we were there David and his wife had just made their eveing meal, a salad. Both were strongly inviting pilgrims to share their meal. None accepted, but the offer was so generous considering how they live and where they live.
Chris and Sarah, an abundantly delightful Canadian couple, and I stopped for refreshments and the sharing of our Camino calling stories. David and his wife and the three of us took photos and we shared our thanks to them.
I chose to stay behind and have a conversation with David. I shared that I was there two years ago when the filming was done. He recalled all the filming activity but admitted that he had never heard or seen the film itself. I hope this happens for him someday. Afterall, it was done about him. All the time we are talking he put his hand on my shoulder, grips it in a kind gesture of friendship, and remains strongly attentive to me.
Minutes into the conversation, I can not hold the burning question any longer. "David, why do you do this? Why do you give your life to serve pilgrims like this?" There was a presence I felt in the next moments of this conversation that was like igniting a bonfire with gasoline. I cannot think of another experience in which to compare it. Here is how he responded.
David bowed his head humbly and muttered, "I don't know." Then he raised his head, gave me a sheepish smile and stared deep into my eyes. oh, he knew why. What first struck me was how sparkling blue his eyes were. He had those striking blue eyes of Jeffrey Hunter, the actor who played Jesus in the film. He put his hand on my shoulder again and gripped it strongly and affectionately.
His dazzingly blue eyes drilled right into my soul. At first I felt alarmed by how intensely kind the moment was. Then I detected an ever-so-simple grin begin off the corner of his mouth. I was still anticipating a fuller answer to my question, but no words were offered. He bowed his head and and nodded a couple times in almost a prayerful way.
I still felt a bit dumbfounded by the encounter because of how authentically humble David's spirit was. It was a somewhat emotional and reverent moment, yet there was a joy that floated throughout the experience as well.
When David raised his head and looked at me again, an inspiration came to me. I said, "David, we know why you live your life this way. It is Jesus living in you. I see Him in your eyes. I feel Him in your kindness and generosity, and Jesus love flows out of you." Then I laid my hand on his chest. I feel Jesus heart from your heart.
He reacted in a holy gesture of just bowing his head toward me submissively, reverently, acceptingly. I have no memory of ever encountering Holy Spirit's beauty and grace so powerfully. There was such love and humility moving like a gusty wind racing around us.
I was gifted by the Holy Spirit's backdraft. If the fruits of the spirit described in Galatians 5 had a fragrance they were present at that moment. I have had experiences of holy moments when I could claim that the Spirit's presence was felt. Many people have shared with me their experiences when they have encountered the Spirit's grace and pleasure.
What I share is something of a blend of three experiences that serve as word pictures as a means of inviting you into the feeling.
The purity of watching a baby sleeping
A kite catching a gust
A new mother's gaze upon her newborn
The encounter held these elements of peace, silent power, and joy. Blended together it was so precious and unforgetable.
The encounter with David ended with my offer to pray a blessing upon him. He humbly accepted, stepped closer to me, and bowed before me. I placed my hands over his head and prayed my heart out for him. If he was not convinced that his life service was directly the work of the Holy Spirit, he was noticeably touched by the Spirit at that moment. If I had oil to annoint him, it would have resembled that in scripture with David being annointed as a new king to follow Saul. Another David with sparkling blue eyes.
As I walked away I felt that my soul was a sail filled by the Spirit's wind. My heart was bouyed and joyful. So joyful, so overwhelmingly joyful. Yes, that was it. I walked along with my soul like a sailing ship filled with a strong Spirit wind.
I was being transported by the Holy Spirit's backdraft.
So where is the backdraft for all who are not on the Camino? Where can we find it? Catch the grace of its peace, silent power, and joy?
Here's what I suggest. Train the eyes to see and ears to hear the Spirit's movement in conversations with two different demographics: the elderly and young children. Seek the oldest and youngest you can find. Listen deeply, look deeply into their eyes as you listen, speak sparingly, and let your body language communicate God's love and affirmation. Let your eyes say, "You are understood and loved."
These are two age groups where a "real" conversation can take place. They both hunger for attention and love. They are most receptive to more and more love. Why? Because the Holy Spirit is a fire of wisdom and strength awaiting a person to uncork it.
You and I can be those who midwife a backdraft of the Holy Spirit's graces. There are "Davids" in your world and mine. We need only a will to enter in.
Yours, blown away in His backdraft,
Deacon Willie, DW
Rabanal del Camino
The Holy Spirit's Backdraft
We've had a few days of Spain's spotty Wifi with intermittent strength and service these past few days which has put my blogs out of calendar sync. We left some rainy days behind, gratefully, and the mountain climbs return. Legs, knees, and toes are managing and the steep climbs to this point have not punished me as harshly. Your prayers are helping.
I was eager to revist a simple, almost primitive, roadside rest stop just before entering the town of Astorga. I remember it fondly largely because of the man who runs it, David. When I stopped on my Camino 2013 pilgrimage, a film crew was involved in a three year production of a film documentary about David who runs the wayside stop. What makes him so captivating is that after he did his Camino, he chose to give his life to the care of pilgrims on The Way. David and his wife live right on the farm plot, raise the vegetables and fruit for pilgrims as they're pass on the Camino. He rings a bell as weary walkers approach, he runs out to them, throws his arm over their shoulder and greets them in their own language (he's taught himself multiple languages) and wholeheartedly invites them to find some nourishment. He asks, "Where are you from? How is your Camino? Are you ok?" All other- centered questions. While we were there David and his wife had just made their eveing meal, a salad. Both were strongly inviting pilgrims to share their meal. None accepted, but the offer was so generous considering how they live and where they live.
Chris and Sarah, an abundantly delightful Canadian couple, and I stopped for refreshments and the sharing of our Camino calling stories. David and his wife and the three of us took photos and we shared our thanks to them.
I chose to stay behind and have a conversation with David. I shared that I was there two years ago when the filming was done. He recalled all the filming activity but admitted that he had never heard or seen the film itself. I hope this happens for him someday. Afterall, it was done about him. All the time we are talking he put his hand on my shoulder, grips it in a kind gesture of friendship, and remains strongly attentive to me.
Minutes into the conversation, I can not hold the burning question any longer. "David, why do you do this? Why do you give your life to serve pilgrims like this?" There was a presence I felt in the next moments of this conversation that was like igniting a bonfire with gasoline. I cannot think of another experience in which to compare it. Here is how he responded.
David bowed his head humbly and muttered, "I don't know." Then he raised his head, gave me a sheepish smile and stared deep into my eyes. oh, he knew why. What first struck me was how sparkling blue his eyes were. He had those striking blue eyes of Jeffrey Hunter, the actor who played Jesus in the film. He put his hand on my shoulder again and gripped it strongly and affectionately.
His dazzingly blue eyes drilled right into my soul. At first I felt alarmed by how intensely kind the moment was. Then I detected an ever-so-simple grin begin off the corner of his mouth. I was still anticipating a fuller answer to my question, but no words were offered. He bowed his head and and nodded a couple times in almost a prayerful way.
I still felt a bit dumbfounded by the encounter because of how authentically humble David's spirit was. It was a somewhat emotional and reverent moment, yet there was a joy that floated throughout the experience as well.
When David raised his head and looked at me again, an inspiration came to me. I said, "David, we know why you live your life this way. It is Jesus living in you. I see Him in your eyes. I feel Him in your kindness and generosity, and Jesus love flows out of you." Then I laid my hand on his chest. I feel Jesus heart from your heart.
He reacted in a holy gesture of just bowing his head toward me submissively, reverently, acceptingly. I have no memory of ever encountering Holy Spirit's beauty and grace so powerfully. There was such love and humility moving like a gusty wind racing around us.
I was gifted by the Holy Spirit's backdraft. If the fruits of the spirit described in Galatians 5 had a fragrance they were present at that moment. I have had experiences of holy moments when I could claim that the Spirit's presence was felt. Many people have shared with me their experiences when they have encountered the Spirit's grace and pleasure.
What I share is something of a blend of three experiences that serve as word pictures as a means of inviting you into the feeling.
The purity of watching a baby sleeping
A kite catching a gust
A new mother's gaze upon her newborn
The encounter held these elements of peace, silent power, and joy. Blended together it was so precious and unforgetable.
The encounter with David ended with my offer to pray a blessing upon him. He humbly accepted, stepped closer to me, and bowed before me. I placed my hands over his head and prayed my heart out for him. If he was not convinced that his life service was directly the work of the Holy Spirit, he was noticeably touched by the Spirit at that moment. If I had oil to annoint him, it would have resembled that in scripture with David being annointed as a new king to follow Saul. Another David with sparkling blue eyes.
As I walked away I felt that my soul was a sail filled by the Spirit's wind. My heart was bouyed and joyful. So joyful, so overwhelmingly joyful. Yes, that was it. I walked along with my soul like a sailing ship filled with a strong Spirit wind.
I was being transported by the Holy Spirit's backdraft.
So where is the backdraft for all who are not on the Camino? Where can we find it? Catch the grace of its peace, silent power, and joy?
Here's what I suggest. Train the eyes to see and ears to hear the Spirit's movement in conversations with two different demographics: the elderly and young children. Seek the oldest and youngest you can find. Listen deeply, look deeply into their eyes as you listen, speak sparingly, and let your body language communicate God's love and affirmation. Let your eyes say, "You are understood and loved."
These are two age groups where a "real" conversation can take place. They both hunger for attention and love. They are most receptive to more and more love. Why? Because the Holy Spirit is a fire of wisdom and strength awaiting a person to uncork it.
You and I can be those who midwife a backdraft of the Holy Spirit's graces. There are "Davids" in your world and mine. We need only a will to enter in.
Yours, blown away in His backdraft,
Deacon Willie, DW
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Fingerprinted and Convicted
5 October 2015
San Martin
Fingerprinted and Convicted
Left Leon in a rainstorm. After a long, monotonous walk around the industrial outskirts of the city, it finally leveled off on a trail along highways. Not inspiring scenry but then again it was rainy. This did not last long before we found ourself in strong winds, about 30mph, and strong rain and sleet. Yikes! Such is the Camino.
It didn't dawn on me that some who read my blog may have interpreted that I am not enjoying my Camino. Each Camino has different challenges and benefits. To make it clear, I am so dearly loving my Camino. It does have its physical challenges, knees and blisters, and it has the adjustment of people of very different attitudes than my first Camino. I have also had a difficult adjustment to missing the frequency of contact with family and friends.What I may have neglected to make clear is that the Camino is working its blessings deep within me.
I am loving it inside and out.
This was characteristically the case today.Our sweet Lord brought me to reflect upon a scrapbook of my life. It contaned all of the people and events of my life that were captured in my mind's eye as richly loving moments. With the image of each person and event, the metaphor of having their fingerprint upon my heart became vivid for me.
Here is a short journey of my oldest to more recent examples of those closest to me who left their fingerprints on my heart.
Have you ever stopped to reflect on what your oldest memory is? Think back upon your days as a very, very young child. Who was there? What were they doing? Saying? How were you involved?
My closest family and friends have heard me ask this question. This is largely because of the profound impact it has had and still does have on me. Two people and events come to mind. The strongest was a time with my Italian grandpa. I was perhaps three years old. They lived near the Chicago Stockyards near 46th and Union. They lived in a typical two story bungalow there and Grandpa was taking me to his workshop. I recall being mesmerized by the first site of all of the tools, hardware, and monstrous grey workbench. He hoisted me up to sit there, then was quick to tack set a row of what I now believe were roofing nails in the benchtop. He handed me a tack hammer and showed me how to hammer away. I slipped my tongue to the side of my pursed little lips and pounded away on those big headed nails. Here is where my "moment" occurred. Sometime during the fury of nail blasting, I looked up at Grandpa. That was 64 years ago and I recall it like it happened today . My grandpa Ginestri was staring at me in admiration and abundant love. His loving facial experession has been branded in my memory all these years.
Yes, my grandpa "fingerprinted" me with his love.
Another early memory was that with my Ma. She was a schooled beautician. I was three years plus and she would sit me on the large white porcelain pedestial sink and begin to "fix" my hair. I had naturally curly hair. Ma would fuss with it until leaving one long swirling curl that drooped onto my foreheard. What I recall was her stepping back, admiring her work, giving me a loving mom look, and saying something like, "That's my big boy!"
My Ma "fingerprinted" me abundantly with her love all through her life.
I still recall being a little boy about five years old when I was ring bearer for my Aunt Jen and Uncle Len's wedding. There are nothing short of 100 photos of my cuteness on their wedding day. Even today, I have my aunt an uncle as the last remaining relatives of my Italian relatives. Today they are a fountain of faith and love for me. On the Camino, I can sense the sweet fragrance of their prayers.
Fingerprinted by their love.
So many events from childhood to adulthood flipped in my scrapbook of people and events of being loved. It was this luxury of time that allowed me to draw them to memory. The Camino provides this head time.
Of course, I was overwhelmed by the memory of finding the love of my life. I fell head over heels in love with Barbara Amore. Dating, marrying, and raising children has been a fountain of the sacrament of our marriage. We weathered storms and heartache togther and each precious event has left the fingerprints of our love.
Not to overlook the fruit of our love that God has provided, our children. A father could not be more grateful for who they are and who they have become as loving, responsible, and successful adults.
My family has fingerprinted my heart.
Another thought that played full stage in my thinking was how blesed my wife and I are to have daughter-in-laws of such faith and character. Each one has such a core of inner beauty and strength. It brought to memory their parents. What they did to raise such wonderul ladies! I so look forward to the family my daughter will someday marry into. Knowing my daughter's wisdom, the choice will be made after very careful baby steps of keen discernment.
My heart has been fingerprinted by so many in my childhood, my family life, and a whole battalion of friends who love us.
I tried to paint a picture of how simple and profound an impact it can be simply by taking a look at a scrapbook of my life. How life-giving it is to give the time to reflect upon all those who have loved us into who we are today! Each mental photo of those I reflected upon in this entry led me to see there are countless fingerprints upon my heart.. Yes, a collage of fingerprints.
Seeing this led me to feel convicted, "I am loved." I am both fingerprinted and convicted. "I am so overwhelmingly loved."
As rich as that conviction became in me, the truth is that all that love is but a shadow of the love God has for me. in 1 John he writes, "It is not so much that I love God. It is that He first love me."
Here's my encouragement. Give yourself an evening, a Saturday, or Sunday afternoon when you're not rushed. Take out your oldest scrapbook of pictures. Study each and consider the love that was contained in each event, each person involved. Immerse yourself in the experience. An overwhelming feeling of love will flood over you. With each photo, each memory, each personal experience you will begin to feel the accumulation of the fingerprints upon your life.
It will convict you, rest assured. You are so overwhelmingly loved.
Your fingerprinted pilgrim,
Deacon Willie, DW
San Martin
Fingerprinted and Convicted
Left Leon in a rainstorm. After a long, monotonous walk around the industrial outskirts of the city, it finally leveled off on a trail along highways. Not inspiring scenry but then again it was rainy. This did not last long before we found ourself in strong winds, about 30mph, and strong rain and sleet. Yikes! Such is the Camino.
It didn't dawn on me that some who read my blog may have interpreted that I am not enjoying my Camino. Each Camino has different challenges and benefits. To make it clear, I am so dearly loving my Camino. It does have its physical challenges, knees and blisters, and it has the adjustment of people of very different attitudes than my first Camino. I have also had a difficult adjustment to missing the frequency of contact with family and friends.What I may have neglected to make clear is that the Camino is working its blessings deep within me.
I am loving it inside and out.
This was characteristically the case today.Our sweet Lord brought me to reflect upon a scrapbook of my life. It contaned all of the people and events of my life that were captured in my mind's eye as richly loving moments. With the image of each person and event, the metaphor of having their fingerprint upon my heart became vivid for me.
Here is a short journey of my oldest to more recent examples of those closest to me who left their fingerprints on my heart.
Have you ever stopped to reflect on what your oldest memory is? Think back upon your days as a very, very young child. Who was there? What were they doing? Saying? How were you involved?
My closest family and friends have heard me ask this question. This is largely because of the profound impact it has had and still does have on me. Two people and events come to mind. The strongest was a time with my Italian grandpa. I was perhaps three years old. They lived near the Chicago Stockyards near 46th and Union. They lived in a typical two story bungalow there and Grandpa was taking me to his workshop. I recall being mesmerized by the first site of all of the tools, hardware, and monstrous grey workbench. He hoisted me up to sit there, then was quick to tack set a row of what I now believe were roofing nails in the benchtop. He handed me a tack hammer and showed me how to hammer away. I slipped my tongue to the side of my pursed little lips and pounded away on those big headed nails. Here is where my "moment" occurred. Sometime during the fury of nail blasting, I looked up at Grandpa. That was 64 years ago and I recall it like it happened today . My grandpa Ginestri was staring at me in admiration and abundant love. His loving facial experession has been branded in my memory all these years.
Yes, my grandpa "fingerprinted" me with his love.
Another early memory was that with my Ma. She was a schooled beautician. I was three years plus and she would sit me on the large white porcelain pedestial sink and begin to "fix" my hair. I had naturally curly hair. Ma would fuss with it until leaving one long swirling curl that drooped onto my foreheard. What I recall was her stepping back, admiring her work, giving me a loving mom look, and saying something like, "That's my big boy!"
My Ma "fingerprinted" me abundantly with her love all through her life.
I still recall being a little boy about five years old when I was ring bearer for my Aunt Jen and Uncle Len's wedding. There are nothing short of 100 photos of my cuteness on their wedding day. Even today, I have my aunt an uncle as the last remaining relatives of my Italian relatives. Today they are a fountain of faith and love for me. On the Camino, I can sense the sweet fragrance of their prayers.
Fingerprinted by their love.
So many events from childhood to adulthood flipped in my scrapbook of people and events of being loved. It was this luxury of time that allowed me to draw them to memory. The Camino provides this head time.
Of course, I was overwhelmed by the memory of finding the love of my life. I fell head over heels in love with Barbara Amore. Dating, marrying, and raising children has been a fountain of the sacrament of our marriage. We weathered storms and heartache togther and each precious event has left the fingerprints of our love.
Not to overlook the fruit of our love that God has provided, our children. A father could not be more grateful for who they are and who they have become as loving, responsible, and successful adults.
My family has fingerprinted my heart.
Another thought that played full stage in my thinking was how blesed my wife and I are to have daughter-in-laws of such faith and character. Each one has such a core of inner beauty and strength. It brought to memory their parents. What they did to raise such wonderul ladies! I so look forward to the family my daughter will someday marry into. Knowing my daughter's wisdom, the choice will be made after very careful baby steps of keen discernment.
My heart has been fingerprinted by so many in my childhood, my family life, and a whole battalion of friends who love us.
I tried to paint a picture of how simple and profound an impact it can be simply by taking a look at a scrapbook of my life. How life-giving it is to give the time to reflect upon all those who have loved us into who we are today! Each mental photo of those I reflected upon in this entry led me to see there are countless fingerprints upon my heart.. Yes, a collage of fingerprints.
Seeing this led me to feel convicted, "I am loved." I am both fingerprinted and convicted. "I am so overwhelmingly loved."
As rich as that conviction became in me, the truth is that all that love is but a shadow of the love God has for me. in 1 John he writes, "It is not so much that I love God. It is that He first love me."
Here's my encouragement. Give yourself an evening, a Saturday, or Sunday afternoon when you're not rushed. Take out your oldest scrapbook of pictures. Study each and consider the love that was contained in each event, each person involved. Immerse yourself in the experience. An overwhelming feeling of love will flood over you. With each photo, each memory, each personal experience you will begin to feel the accumulation of the fingerprints upon your life.
It will convict you, rest assured. You are so overwhelmingly loved.
Your fingerprinted pilgrim,
Deacon Willie, DW
Sunday, October 4, 2015
From Stuffed to Starved
3 October 2015
Calzadilla de los Hermanillos/Leon
From Stuffed to Starved
The Wifi these past three days has been a challenge. It really excludes me from all connections as well as limits my ability to create my blog posts. The good news is that I'm managing well with my knee and my two inflamed toes are calming down. This is largely due to all your prayers. I'm so deeply grateful.
The Camino is a long level extent right now which is delightful for those who like to get their head in the the clouds and revel in God's thoughts and insights. Norma, the kind wife of Tom, whom I've been logging albergue stays and company shared with me a fascinating post from her Facebook page. It played out in my head with a little different language that connects with me better.
"I don't get a little bit out of prayer. I don't get a little bit out of church. AND I don't get a little bit out of God." Sounds like a popular complaint amongst our youth and even some of our adult friends. True? I know I've heard this all too often from those falling away from faith life.
As I reflected upon this statement and the dilemma of listening to those close to me turn from prayer, church, and even God, the comments came roaring back to me as my own attitude and position on those matters. In my 20's I was finishing college, starting a career, and blazing a new life direction. Prayer, church, and God were nice things that I put up on a shelf, and they could be called upon when I needed them, like seasoning off the shelf or a tool on a workbench. I knew where they were, but I didn't really need them to keep all MY plans moving forward. I can do it all my self, "thankyouverymuch."
I reflected upon that episode of my life when I lived the attitudes of not getting a little out of faith life. Today on the Camino I saw those days in a new light. In order to share this new insight I share a memory from Thanksgivings at my parent's home.
My precious little Italian momma loved us with food. Thanksgiving holidays were a love fest. She did not cook one meal, she cooked four big entrees: turkey, a ham, spaghetti, and a lasagna. Each were a favorite by a faminly member. The table cloth was unrecognizable by all the platters covering it. The meal would launch with a confusion of knives and forks hitting plates, multiple platters hovering over other monstrous platters, and the barking out of "pass the sweet potatoes" and the like. Because there were four full different meals, you were expected, dare I say demanded, to try at least a little from each. And this was only the first course.
Ma cooked artichokes like they were made back in Italy. OMG they were an ambrosia. No matter how much you've eaten, an artichoke the size of Muhammed Ali's fist was irresistable. In short order it was time to lounge in armchairs and relaxing that was all too soon followed by the offer for dessert, canolis. My sweet momma loved us with all the favorites until we were nothing short of . . . STUFFED.
So why do I share this gluttonous story? For this purpose of illustrating an episode in my life when I allowed myself to be STUFFED with myself. I was beginning my career, cutting a path toward my life direction, setting a course of following my plan. The thought of adding any time for prayer, church, and/or God was like considering a double Whopper burger right after the big meal. I made no room for God because I stuffed myself with, well myself.
Life has a way of taking surprising turns that are outside of the plan. This occurred in my life. Infertility, the death of my father, and personal challenges presented themselves. Suddenly I was not able to fill that hole in my heart with me. Gratefully I had a moment of decision. More of Me or more of God. It's amazing what happened when I gave up trying to be God of my life. The less I stuffed that God hole with other things, the more starved I became for more of Him.
I had the treasure of four years of spiritual direction with a very holy priest, Fr. Dan Hermmes. He used an illustration that has had a deep impression on me even these nearly 30 years later. He said, "Willie, when we fast from our selfish desires or voluntarily give up our own preferences for the good of serving another, it is like giving God a big ice cream scoop. He takes our fasts and uses them to scoop out our selfish clutter in our heart to make room for more of Jesus." It is true. The starving of self allows me to feel more of Jesus' peace and love.
The message on Facebook rang so true in my life today. "I don't get a little bit out of prayer." So true, I don't get a little, I get a lot. Prayer is that intimacy with the God who loves me beyond any measure. "I don't get a little out of church." No, I get a fountain of blessings by being in communion with fellow believers. I belong to a body of others who are striving to grow in the knowledge and service of Christ. And, "I don't get a little out of God." As the Facebook message pointed out, we have much to lose. "Ego, greed, depression, insecurity, fear of death." These are ugly qualities we lose, which is ultimately a gain." The riches we gain in prayer, church, and God are not little, they are huge.
So what might be denying me from further gain? How about you? In my case, I have to confess that in most cases it is due to some aspect of my life I'm still "stuffing" myself. An honest reflection will allow the truth of what that is. If I am getting so little out of any of these relationships with our Lord, it is my limitations, not His. He desperately craves to be in a deeper and more intimate relationship with me, with us, His children. But what room am I providing Him?
It's an enigma. Starving ourself of self is the path to stuffing us with more of his love and mercy.
I thank God for the hunger pangs of self to see it on this Camino journey. I pray it leads you to see that what He offers is not "a little" but a feast.
Be blessed
Deacon Willie
Calzadilla de los Hermanillos/Leon
From Stuffed to Starved
The Wifi these past three days has been a challenge. It really excludes me from all connections as well as limits my ability to create my blog posts. The good news is that I'm managing well with my knee and my two inflamed toes are calming down. This is largely due to all your prayers. I'm so deeply grateful.
The Camino is a long level extent right now which is delightful for those who like to get their head in the the clouds and revel in God's thoughts and insights. Norma, the kind wife of Tom, whom I've been logging albergue stays and company shared with me a fascinating post from her Facebook page. It played out in my head with a little different language that connects with me better.
"I don't get a little bit out of prayer. I don't get a little bit out of church. AND I don't get a little bit out of God." Sounds like a popular complaint amongst our youth and even some of our adult friends. True? I know I've heard this all too often from those falling away from faith life.
As I reflected upon this statement and the dilemma of listening to those close to me turn from prayer, church, and even God, the comments came roaring back to me as my own attitude and position on those matters. In my 20's I was finishing college, starting a career, and blazing a new life direction. Prayer, church, and God were nice things that I put up on a shelf, and they could be called upon when I needed them, like seasoning off the shelf or a tool on a workbench. I knew where they were, but I didn't really need them to keep all MY plans moving forward. I can do it all my self, "thankyouverymuch."
I reflected upon that episode of my life when I lived the attitudes of not getting a little out of faith life. Today on the Camino I saw those days in a new light. In order to share this new insight I share a memory from Thanksgivings at my parent's home.
My precious little Italian momma loved us with food. Thanksgiving holidays were a love fest. She did not cook one meal, she cooked four big entrees: turkey, a ham, spaghetti, and a lasagna. Each were a favorite by a faminly member. The table cloth was unrecognizable by all the platters covering it. The meal would launch with a confusion of knives and forks hitting plates, multiple platters hovering over other monstrous platters, and the barking out of "pass the sweet potatoes" and the like. Because there were four full different meals, you were expected, dare I say demanded, to try at least a little from each. And this was only the first course.
Ma cooked artichokes like they were made back in Italy. OMG they were an ambrosia. No matter how much you've eaten, an artichoke the size of Muhammed Ali's fist was irresistable. In short order it was time to lounge in armchairs and relaxing that was all too soon followed by the offer for dessert, canolis. My sweet momma loved us with all the favorites until we were nothing short of . . . STUFFED.
So why do I share this gluttonous story? For this purpose of illustrating an episode in my life when I allowed myself to be STUFFED with myself. I was beginning my career, cutting a path toward my life direction, setting a course of following my plan. The thought of adding any time for prayer, church, and/or God was like considering a double Whopper burger right after the big meal. I made no room for God because I stuffed myself with, well myself.
Life has a way of taking surprising turns that are outside of the plan. This occurred in my life. Infertility, the death of my father, and personal challenges presented themselves. Suddenly I was not able to fill that hole in my heart with me. Gratefully I had a moment of decision. More of Me or more of God. It's amazing what happened when I gave up trying to be God of my life. The less I stuffed that God hole with other things, the more starved I became for more of Him.
I had the treasure of four years of spiritual direction with a very holy priest, Fr. Dan Hermmes. He used an illustration that has had a deep impression on me even these nearly 30 years later. He said, "Willie, when we fast from our selfish desires or voluntarily give up our own preferences for the good of serving another, it is like giving God a big ice cream scoop. He takes our fasts and uses them to scoop out our selfish clutter in our heart to make room for more of Jesus." It is true. The starving of self allows me to feel more of Jesus' peace and love.
The message on Facebook rang so true in my life today. "I don't get a little bit out of prayer." So true, I don't get a little, I get a lot. Prayer is that intimacy with the God who loves me beyond any measure. "I don't get a little out of church." No, I get a fountain of blessings by being in communion with fellow believers. I belong to a body of others who are striving to grow in the knowledge and service of Christ. And, "I don't get a little out of God." As the Facebook message pointed out, we have much to lose. "Ego, greed, depression, insecurity, fear of death." These are ugly qualities we lose, which is ultimately a gain." The riches we gain in prayer, church, and God are not little, they are huge.
So what might be denying me from further gain? How about you? In my case, I have to confess that in most cases it is due to some aspect of my life I'm still "stuffing" myself. An honest reflection will allow the truth of what that is. If I am getting so little out of any of these relationships with our Lord, it is my limitations, not His. He desperately craves to be in a deeper and more intimate relationship with me, with us, His children. But what room am I providing Him?
It's an enigma. Starving ourself of self is the path to stuffing us with more of his love and mercy.
I thank God for the hunger pangs of self to see it on this Camino journey. I pray it leads you to see that what He offers is not "a little" but a feast.
Be blessed
Deacon Willie
Thursday, October 1, 2015
"Recalculating"
1 October 2015
Caldadilla de la Cueza
“Recalculating”
It has been two days of flat, level trails, and I’ve had the
most blessed company. During the day I
walked with the two wonderful Brazilians, Jeff and Andreia. It was more
counseling stories and advice seasoned with lots of laughter. I really treasured their company. I also have been staying at albergues that
two new wonderful friends have been arranging by reservation. They are Tom and Norma Hearn from Las
Vegas. I tend to walk much faster in the
day so I hold the bottom bunks for us as I arrive, then we share conversation
and meals in the evening. Good teamwork!
I am eager to share the conversation I had with Jeff and
Andreia that has had two days now to marinate. They make use of a body of
research used in counseling that is called “Drivers.” These are the 5 Drivers that operate
distinctly in people’s outlook and motivation in how they conduct their life.
Perfection
Hurry up
Try hard
Be pleasant so that you will like me
Be strong
In a simplistic way, the research suggests that people have
a tendency to have at least two of these “Drivers” operating in their life at
any given time. As they explained, none
of these “Drivers” are inherently bad.
We have a natural tendency toward any and all of these. They evolve
within us due to our past experiences, family upbringing, and in past successes
using the “Driver” as an effective tool in managing through life.
All of us, at one time or another, get overconsumed with a
“Driver” in our life. Doing a work
correctly gets escalated into doing work “Perfectly.” Project after project
grows with such importance that we exaggerate the need for the results to be
nothing short of “perfect.”
Hurry up is a “Driver” that goes beyond finishing in a
timely fashion to the point of operating at a frantic pace of hurry, hurry,
hurry with each activity in life. The
faster pace of accomplishing more and more things becomes almost a drug. When
things are being accomplished at impressive speeds, it excites us to point that
we act like race car drivers with our “To Do” lists. This “Driver” artificially
pushes and stresses the day. We can hate the Hurry Up pace, but something
within says, “I’ll never survive all of the demands on my life unless I
“Hurry!”
Who could not agree that to “Try Hard” is not a respectable
and valued manner of operating through life?
Where it becomes a “Driver” is when tasks that are realistically way too
much to for one to accomplish is looked at as achievable if I but only “Try
Hard, or Harder.” Work load at work
doubles due to downsizing, pressure from family to help beyond time availability,
home projects that must be done by a time limit, and overwhelmingly physically
demanding tasks are some examples. Out of love for another or fierce dedication
the “Driver” successfully consumes us to believe that only “Trying Hard, or
Harder” will bring success.
The “Driver: Be Pleasant” might sound confusing. This good quality becomes a “Driver” when “Pleasantness”
becomes a mode of operation only so that you will like me or think so highly of
me. It becomes an obsession with being
so nice, no matter what is happening within me, so that you can only see me as
such a good person. The “Driver” pushes
from within largely so that the person will hear other say, “Oh how nice, how
sweet, what a beautiful person he/she is.” Being “Pleasant” is driven out of
fear someone might discover an example of unpleasantness and ruin the
reputation.
“Be strong” is an inspirational calling. Strength is admired and people will pay
whatever cost to grow strong. Where it
becomes a “Driver” is when one displays a false front in order to prove that
he/she is strong. We could be sick with
cancer, have a death or grieving in which to cope, overwhelming personal stress
and challenges, but the “Driver” within says, “No time for those personal weaknesses.
Just be strong.”
Have any of these “Drivers” resonated within you? As I
learned of them I recognized a need for a new 12 Step Program. Imagine the
meeting of Drivers Anonymous. “Hello. My name is Willie and I’m a Driver.” Now
you. Repeat after me. “My name is (insert your name). And I’m a Driver.”
What can be done when I’ve come to admit the truth that one
of the “Drivers” is or has been consuming aspects of my life? You have a
destination for your life programmed on your heart’s GPS. The truth of one of these “Drivers” has been
barking with each wrong turn, “Recalculating.” Maybe you’ve done what I’ve
done: Kept “Driving” through more side roads, back alleys, and sometimes hit
the superhighway barreling in the wrong direction.
The insights on “Drivers” has done for me what I pray it
will do for you. Stop and listen to your heart’s GPS. It may also be screaming,
“Recalculating!” I have been consumed by the Drivers of Perfection and Try Hard
to exaggerated frenzies in my life. Once
again, the elements in the list are not evil in them self. What is damaging is how slyly I/we fall prey
to being driven by them.
First, I must admit the Driver is me. These five elements
become destructive at my own hands.
Second, I need to listen carefully to where my heart’s GPS
is screaming “Recalculating.” I can and
should ask someone who loves and cares about me to help me see how I got
misdirected.
Third, I find answers in the healthy spiritual drivers in
the Beatitudes found in Matthew 5:3-12. I can be blessed when I’m perfectly
driven to be poor in spirit, perfectly driven toward meekness, to be strong
enough to mourn, to be strong in the cause of righteousness, to be
authentically pleasant only to make peace, to hurry up in the desire to be
clean of heart.
These Jesus proverbs in the Beatitudes are holy Drivers for
my/our life. I/we need only to listen to the heart’s GPS to hear His voice
beckoning, “Recalculating.”
Redirected in Him,
Deacon Willie, DW
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