February 15, 2016
by: Jane Bishop Halteman

Friends and directees sometimes share with me their soul stories of “cracked doors.”  I didn’t coin that phrase, but I like it and am borrowing it from a sermon I heard preached last week on Transfiguration Sunday at Dock Woods, the retirement community where my parents live in Lansdale, PA.

As he prepared worshippers for Lent, Ray Hurst, director of pastoral care and service at Living Branches Community, shared that he’s been silent about the transfiguration story during his nearly 30 years as a pastor.  “Jesus didn’t talk about this experience, the disciples didn’t talk about it.  What do we do with an experience that doesn’t fit our categories?” he asked. 

Identifying the Luke 9:28-36 passage as “an intensely private moment between Jesus and God” when Moses and Elijah joined Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration, Hurst described these kinds of out-of-the-ordinary occurrences as ones which “move us toward what is ahead.  ‘I’m going to be with you as you take the journey to Jerusalem’ is what God is saying to Jesus in the transfiguration story,” Hurst said he imagines.

Not claiming for a moment to understand exactly what is going on in this passage, Hurst suggested that we find ourselves exquisitely fascinated when we see unexpected glimpses of God revealed in unusual ways in our own lives, like light glimmering from behind “cracked doors.”  (The bulletin cover that morning revealed light streaming into a dark room from double doors slightly ajar.) 

Citing similar Biblical examples including Moses and the burning bush, Jacob’s dream about the ladder, Job and the voice in the whirlwind—“stories about God’s palpable presence among us,” Hurst hastened to add that, while “God is not an absent landlord,” God cannot be coaxed into appearing on command and refuses to be boxed in by our extraordinary moments.

Acknowledging that it is easy to get wrapped up in the euphoria of the mountaintop experience when we do get a glimpse of what’s beyond the cracked doors, he reminded us that “God’s presence is constantly on the move.”  We can’t make God show up, nor can we capture a snapshot of these astonishing moments in order to remain on the mountain beyond the moment.  These amazing places, though perhaps gift to us for special times in our lives, are not the places God remains, he added.

We are tempted to worship the mountaintop experiences by returning to those snapshots to recreate the moment.  “Jesus is the light in the cracked doors…God is not contained in these moments, but we can follow Jesus’ example to learn more about what God is up to!” Hurst ended last Sunday’s service with a blessing that went something like this:  May God go with us through this season of Lent and cause us to see the cracked doors in our midst.

“People fast, pray, retreat, go on pilgrimages to encounter God, to find something to root their lives in as they discover themselves facing the tragedies and injustices of life.”  So how do we make sense of cracked door stories, either our own experiences or friends’ recountings of incidents that seemingly cannot be explained…these moments that come our way unexpectedly through no doing of our own? Such moments are life-changing for those who experience them, as the transfiguration must have been for the disciples who probably never forgot what happened to them that day on the mountain. 

Experiences like these embolden us, buoy us up for the journey, remind us that we are not alone, create bonds with others serious about the pilgrimage, and, when we find ourselves in arid places on the road, these stories come to mind to reassure us that the Divine goes ahead of us, comes along behind, and shores us up from all sides while we are on the way. 

Authentic mountaintop experiences, the ones that are illuminated from behind cracked doors, transform us.  What changes do you see unfolding around you, within you this Lenten season?

February 8, 2016
by: Jane Bishop Halteman

Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s The Fight Between Carnival and Lent (1569), oil on wood, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent this week.  As a long-time lover of classical art and the Old Masters, I spent many hours in years gone by browsing city art museums in eastern and western Europe while Jim and his students visited financial institutions.

I quickly became very fond of the work of Pieter Bruegel the Elder, particularly his detailed genre paintings packed with the busy goings-on of typical Flemish life scenes and situations.  Much of his work is not religious, but The Fight Between Carnival and Lent, which I have not seen in person, depicts a Shrove Tuesday battle featuring 200 townspeople.  We consider Bruegel’s painting this week as Christians around the world are about to begin the annual 40-day observance of Lent. 

Back in 1569 when he created this work with oil on wood, the period of Lent presumed preparation for the miracle of Easter, the time of annual communion, which had to be prefaced by penitence and a new rhythm, with deprivations to begin on Ash Wednesday.  Carnival marked the last day to eat fat and meat before Lent’s arrival; this painting brings to life the tension between typical behaviors and the more restrained ways of being during the self-reflective period of Lenten fasting.

Bruegel painted at the height of the Protestant Reformation, a time of great religious unrest, when old customs were beginning to crumble.  While Protestant reformers criticized the traditional Catholic ways, religious leaders on both sides disparaged the spirit of Carnival:  Catholics disliked Carnival’s parodies of church ritual, while Protestants disapproved of the excesses of Carnival and its Pagan origins, according to art historian Andrew Graham-Dixon.

The artist portrays that moment in the liturgical year “when the last feast of winter must give way to Lenten fasting,” with the left half of the painting representing over-indulgence and excess (Carnival), while the right half symbolizes self-denial and sobriety (Lent).  Merriment is under way on the left side of the painting, where a tavern hosts a festive parade, while worshippers marked with ashes leave the church in the upper right corner.  The church’s statues are already veiled for the season of Lent and a priest hears confession, even as a woman spring cleans her exterior windows nearby, signaling the changes that take place in Lent.

In the central front portion of the painting, a mock battle plays out between an obese man (Carnival) straddling a barrel and an emaciated nun (Lent) wearing a beehive on her head (symbolizing the church).  Waffles and pancakes, sausages and meats appear on the Carnival side, while figures on the Lent side carry simpler foods like pretzels, breads, and fish.  Fancy costumes and masks are evident on the Carnival side; Lenten figures are dressed more ordinarily.  

“Bruegel’s view of the customs that he so vividly recreated is hard to establish, although there is a clue perhaps in the elevated perspective from which he has chosen to look down on the scene. I suspect his attitude to popular faith and festivity may have been one of amused but affectionate detachment—touched, too, by nostalgia for a world that was disappearing even as he painted it,” Graham-Dixon observes.

One art historian suggests that “the fat Lord of the Carnival astride the barrel is intended to represent the Protestants, the melancholy, lean figure the Catholics.  Bruegel is caricaturing both equally harshly.”

Another art historian notes that our eyes are “drawn to the well in the center. A woman there catches her reflection in the water. It’s a moment of stillness and clarity in this busy scene. The well is evocative of Baptism. The woman invites us to self-examination just as Lent invites us all back to the font to become more fully who we are in Christ.” 

How do you observe Lent?  While our culture tends to think of this period as a time of deprivation, many have come to regard it recently as a time to add a thoughtful discipline to usual routines.  The camera heightens my powers of observation and awareness; this year it will become my faithful companion to document my personal understanding of photo-a-day words suggested as Lenten practice at The Upper Room’s Alive Now website. 

Christine Sine offers this thoughtful reflection on creating sacred space for Lent, and here’s a link to Sine’s Mustard Seed Associates’ Lenten reflections.  You’ll find Carol Janus’ article on giving up plastic for Lent at this Center for a New American Dream blog post.  Check them out and come up with your own authentic adaptation of what will make Lent a meaningful season of the liturgical year for you. 

What will you do to prepare for the celebration of Easter during this 40-day countdown?  (The official 40 days starts on Ash Wednesday and does not include Sundays between now and Easter.)

February 1, 2016
by: Jane Bishop Halteman

More than 10 years ago, I read an inspiring book about finding God in the silence.  W. Paul Jones’ Teaching the Dead Bird to Sing, which I devoured in my down time on a trip to Europe with Jim’s business/econ students, illustrated in a powerful way “both the terror and the exhilarating freedom that come with profound solitude.”

The silence that so threatened him at first gradually became “a garment of healing” for Jones as he embarked on an adventure of self-discovery, recognizing in time that his capacity for thinking far outshone his capacity for feeling.  The plunge into silence ultimately illuminated for him the “elaborate, even skillful, intellectual defenses” he had  established to keep feelings at bay. 

The experience of reading about self-discovery and finding God in the silence, even as I was immersed in a whirlwind trip through five countries in three weeks, impressed upon me a serious fascination with the impact of silence on one’s faith journey.  I have made it a practice ever since to collect quotes about silence as spiritual discipline, quotes which speak eloquently and persuasively to my personal experience.

"When we make a place for silence, we make room for ourselves. This is simple. And it is radical. A room set apart for silence becomes a sanctuary—a place for breath, for refreshment, for challenge, and for healing. It is helpful to keep the space plain and simple: a few cushions, a rug….Simplicity allows the senses to rest from stimulation,” says Gunilla Norris in Meditation Practice and Mindful Living.

“Silence is often referred to in terms of space: the immensity inside, the cave of the heart, the oasis of quiet, the inner sanctuary, the interior castle, the sacred center where God dwells. For centuries, people have used this practice (of silence) as a resting and renewal stop on the spiritual journey. It provides a way to periodically withdraw from the world,” according to Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat on the Spirituality and Practice website.

Thomas Merton (quoted in Thomas Merton:  Essential Writings edited by Christine M. Bochen) says this about silence:  “Silence has many dimensions. It can be a regression and an escape, a loss of self, or it can be presence, awareness, unification, self-discovery. Negative silence blurs and confuses our identity, and we lapse into daydreams or diffuse anxieties. Positive silence pulls us together and makes us realize who we are, who we might be, and the distance between these two.”

In her book Silence: How to Find Inner Peace in a Busy World, Christina Feldman discovers that “silence is a teacher; within it we learn some of the deepest lessons of our lives—about aloneness and intimacy, joy and sorrow, conflict and peace. When we speak less to the world and everything in it, we bring a silence in which we can listen to the story of life, other people, and our own heart.”  How do these sentiments resonate with you?

“The moments of silence we encounter are benedictions, blessings that echo in our hearts. They invite us to be still, to listen deeply, and to be present in this world,” says Feldman.  “The glimpses of silence we encounter in the world are potent intimations of the inner stillness possible for each of us. The glimpses of silence we meet remind us of a way of being in which we are deeply touched by the mystery and grandeur of life. In the midst of silence we remember what it feels like to be truly alive, receptive, and sensitive. Silence, we come to understand, is the language of the heart.”  Can you recall times when you have experienced silence as the language of the heart?

If you want to investigate the power of silence for yourself, find ways to integrate it into your day.  Start small by making time to spend a minute or two of quiet before or after a meal, as you fall asleep at night, upon waking in the morning, as you perform your exercise rituals.  Keep a personal log or journal of the glimpses of healing and hope you notice as you deepen your practice of silence.

Should you discover that the discipline of silence intrigues you, make space at home to engage in stillness or find a place in your community where silence is expected, permitted, or at least tolerated.  Create a sanctuary of silence for yourself near a cemetery, in a public garden, by a body of water, under a tree or starry sky, on a bench near a piece of great art in a quiet museum corner.  Share your story with others who have found the practice of silence a valuable way to enhance their faith journey. 

by: Jane Bishop Halteman
January 25, 2016

Last year about this time three KRMC friends and I chose words for the year and created vision boards to help us live into the words.  Deanna, Nancy, Lindy, and I met one Tuesday morning to begin the process of identifying and clipping magazine photos before arranging them into collages to depict our words.

I'm not typically a ‘word-of-the-year’ sort of person, but ‘unfolding’ found me like this:

In early January of 2015 I read a story explaining that Canadian Mennonites had decided to give congregations the option to choose whether or not they would become open and welcoming in their individual settings.  In response to a friend’s question, I replied that I had given up expecting Mennonite Church USA to make a similar response and was instead waiting for an ‘unfolding.’  Even as I wrote the word, I recognized it as my word for the year. 

A month later, as I was preparing for a conversation with my spiritual director, I journaled that the word ‘unfolding’ was giving me the “freedom to consider options, to go with the flow, that it had become a lens for viewing my alternatives.”  Living with the word ‘unfolding’ for 12 months gave me permission to slow down, to pause, to consider, to mull over incidents, opportunities, decisions, joys, and sorrows that came my way in 2015.

When I look at the collage now, a year after creating it, I see lots of golden light, I see freedom, ways of unfolding that must have been subliminally there but as yet unspoken when the vision board came into being.  And that’s the thing about creating space using a discipline like a word for the year…it allows you to find something for which you didn’t know you were looking.  It offers room for life to ‘unfold’ at its own pace.

Deanna has embraced the discipline of choosing a word for the year for some time.  “Sometimes the word chooses me.  I gradually lived into the word ‘balance’ in 2014, as I worked on creating Balance Resource Cards.  The word ‘balance’ appeared everywhere, even in my dreams.  It became my focus in all aspects of my life….I felt balanced in 2014.”

She has discovered that a theme or intention aids focus at the front end of goal-setting. “Choosing a word for the year helps me decide when to say ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to the many opportunities that compete for my time and attention. I appreciate having my guiding word as a vision for the year.”

Nine months into finding the word ‘sanctuary’ for 2015, Deanna wrote this:  “I am creating sanctuary this year in my home and wooded property, so that it is a safe, warm, loving refuge for my work, my relationships, and my inner life. I am also treating my body as a sanctuary for the Divine, which impacts how I care for myself. Sanctuary has been a transformational word for me this year.”

Nancy noticed that ‘joy,’ her word for the year in 2015, “settled on me in a roundabout way that let me know it was not entirely my choice.  Joy has begun to work on me in quiet ways, waking me each morning to the good things that lie ahead, showing me the moment-by-moment choice I have between gratitude and worry.”

As she was piecing together her magazine photo montage, Nancy writes in a blog post from last March, “The meaning emerged. Joy is the heartbeat of the Universe echoed in all things and all souls, and joy is participating in that, dancing to it, unfolding and blooming to it, swimming in it.”

Nancy found herself “especially pleased with a trio of images that came together in the lower center, under the gardenia, right to left: a plain little singing bird; a woman with her arms raised in praise or supplication with a third, shadow arm between them (suggesting Divine participation in this); and the actual picture of a solar flare that, positioned in this way, looks like a woman. These images seem particularly harmonious and define, better than words, the joy to which I aspire this year.”

The early arrival in March of her second grandchild prompted this recognition about her word for the year:  “Now and then Joy comes together full blast and sweeps you into its vortex, like the swirling gardenia and the sweeping wings of the eagle. The ordinary, everyday, absolutely miraculous birth of a child into your family is this kind of Joy.”

Lindy’s word for 2015 was ‘creation.’  “I liked the duality of the word as it was speaking to me in two areas I felt the need to enhance and focus on in 2015—my experiences and growth in God as our Creator and his creation, as well as my personal artistic journey where I hoped to take my own process of creation to a new level.”  (In the depiction above, the personal board appears on the left and the God board on the right.)

Lindy recalls a yearning “to be committed to focusing on this word with expectations that I will learn and grow throughout the year.”  Her year did, indeed, take unexpected twists and turns as her mother suffered health issues that led to Lindy’s offering care and often taking her away from home.  “During this time, my word was certainly with me, especially as I spent five weeks going through long days of rehab with my mother.  My two-hour daily drive became a respite, and I began taking my camera to capture the beautiful sunsets and cloud formations which I felt were God’s little paintings, created in the sky just to comfort me.” 

Lindy’s mother’s stroke left her with both physical and mental challenges.  Rehab offered tools from five therapists and acted as the stage for ‘creation’ of a new normal for her mom and the family, according to Lindy.  “Time and patience became our friends.   Working closely with the therapists and neurologists as they explained what the damage was and how the brain can sometimes re-learn certain things was both fascinating and amazing.  God’s creation, in the human body, was being revealed to me in a way I would have rather avoided, but allowed me to see life, the ultimate creation, with a new appreciation from a deeper perspective.”

Lindy’s word ‘creation’ “also impacted me personally as I worked to create a healing, safe, helpful environment for my mother to continue her journey at home.  Both my mother's strength and my own were tested time and time again as this health crisis created a new dimension within our mother-daughter relationship.” 

Sometimes resolutions and goals set at the start of a new year leave those who craft them feeling defeated within a month or two.  My friends and I discovered that our words for the year continued to be life-giving 12 months in.  My experience was so fruitful, in fact, that I’m considering keeping my word for a second year. 

Have you experimented with choosing a word for the year to help clarify your vision for 2016?