Home again

Back in the thick of parish life after three lovely days of retreat.
I'd been right in originally booking four, as it took me until pretty much tea-time on day two to settle into things, and stop the carousel in my head from turning and turning...The problem with being the one with whom bucks stop, is that there is often a whole herd of bucks milling about and demanding attention, and though I had asked them to stay at home, they aren't often obedient to my will. I was particularly struck by the way they returned on the last night: I achieved fourteen hours of sleep on night one, twelve on night two but found myself looking my old friend 3.00 am squarely in the face and making lists again on night three. Bother!

However, given a view like this from the French windows of my prayer hut, the audible silence that engulfed me from the moment I got out of the car, and the fact that I had no agenda whatsoever, beyond listening as hard as ever I could, it was indeed very good.

Of course, I have come home with all sorts of wild plans for Lenten self improvement...including an internet fast one day a week, which fills me with such utter panic that I think I may just have to try it. Mindful of the words of a very wise confessor who once suggested that I should NOT turn building a better Kathryn into my latest Great Project, I'm still conscious that the way things have evolved in the past couple of years isn't necessarily the best, healthiest or indeed the most obedient. I'm very thankful for BestSpirDir ever, whom I'm seeing this morning, and for the amazing gift of some work consultancy with a very gifted woman, who happened to have just created a space in her over-full diary on the very day when I finally dared to ask her for help.

It will be interesting to see where we end up together - but meantime my main ambition is to hold on to the perspective gleaned on the mountain top.

God's Generosity

God is a god of abundance, not a god of scarcity. Jesus reveals to us God's abundance when he offers so much bread to the people that there are twelve large baskets with leftover scraps (see John 6:5-15), and when he makes his disciples catch so many fish that their boat nearly sinks (Luke 5:1-7). God doesn't give us just enough. God gives us more than enough: more bread and fish than we can eat, more love than we dared to ask for.

God is a generous giver, but we can only see and enjoy God's generosity when we love God with all of our hearts, minds, and strength. As long as we say, "I will love you, God, but first show me your generosity," we will remain distant from God and unable to experience what God truly wants to give us, which is life and life in abundance.

This was yesterday's offering from the Henri Nouwen Society and it made me smile, not just because young D and the other Little Fishes are so very good at reminding me of this truth, but also because of an experience at Llan.

The arrangement for private retreats there is that one wonderful home-cooked meal is provided each day, and the fridge and cupboards in the East Wing kitchen are stocked with all you might need for other snacks and meals during your stay. The food is always local, and top quality and the lack of clutter, barking dogs and hovering computers means that every meal there becomes a leisurely ritual...I eat at a proper table, take time to notice what I'm consuming, and am certainly more consciously thankful than I am amid the muddles of home. In fact, meals at Llan become sacramental acts in themselves.


When I arrived last Monday night there was a lovely loaf of new bread from the local bakery waiting wrapped in the bread bin, and a slice of that with some amazing honey made a blissful breakfast. It was just as good with "Gold and herbs" cheese and salad at lunch time, but though I was making inroads on the loaf there was still plenty left the following morning, when A. announced that G was baking, and there would be home-made bread in time for lunch. I protested that I really didn't need it. The shop loaf was very tasty, and I had quite enough for the whole of my stay.
A. smiled but said nothing, and just before lunchtime, as I sat on the terrace in the sunshine he appeared bearing half a loaf of steaming white bread, straight from the oven.

It was, of course, delicious and I appreciated it hugely for itself, but also for the reminder of God's joy in giving more than we can either desire or deserve.

A few weeks ago as part of the Spir Dir course we had a wonderful day on Ignatian Spirituality, which remotivated me to practice the examen,- and I took Sleeping with Bread with me to Llan.
The story behind the title, as described on page 1 of the book, is a joy...

During the bombing raids of WWII, thousands of children were orphaned and left to starve. The fortunate ones were rescued and placed in refugee camps where they received food and good care. But many of these children who had lost so much could not sleep at night. They feared waking up to find themselves once again homeless and without food. Nothing seemed to reassure them. Finally, someone hit upon the idea of giving each child a piece of bread to hold at bedtime. Holding their bread, these children could finally sleep in peace. All through the night the bread reminded them, "Today I ate and I will eat again tomorrow."

As the orphans found tangible comfort and reassurance through holding the bread, so the process of looking back each day and noticing the times of consolation and desolation, the moments for which I'm most grateful or most regretful, makes it easier to attend to God's presence and work in my life. For me, at Llan that day, bread was very much part of the story.

(If you're intrigued by the whole idea of the examen, Lutheran Chik posted a link a while ago to a site which invites a weekly examen as a "Monday meme". I'm not sure that I want to post my examen regularly:you're all very patient with my introspective exercises, but you can have too much of a good thing,-but once in a while it might be a good discipline. What do you think?)

Home

Apologies for the break in transmission, which crept up on me rather. I'd had my retreat at Llan booked since January, but somehow it surprised me in the last few days, so that I found myself working frantically before I went, in order to be able to go at all.
However, go I did, and had a (now familiar) wonderful experience of God's loving generosity modelled in the hospitality of the house and the gratuitous beauty of the surroundings.
I simply sat there and felt both loved and loveable - highly recommended!

I spent quite a bit of time contemplating my favourite tree. It stands just a few yards down hill from the house, and is always the first thing that I see when I arrive and gaze hungrily at the beauty of the valley.
Since I first visited Llan, it has somehow represented the silent strength of the place, the simplicity of belonging, knowing oneself wholly at home.
On the hot June days before priesting, it offered shade and the promise of refuge if the task ahead should be too huge to bear.
In the storms of March it bent and creaked as the gales made wild music around it and clouds heavy with trouble bowled past.
And in May it stretched out, tip toe towards the cloudless blue perfection, pausing on the verge of bursting into full leaf.
In every season, it positively shouts praise, and for me its presence is both a prayer and a reassurance. I may well not visit Llan again, but it will still be there, giving glory to God by being itself.

As I lay beneath it last week, for the first time I noticed its imperfections. The trunk and upper branches stretch out despite several hollows and holes. Where there mightt once have been three branches of equal girth and strength, one is now broken off, its potential denied, - though even here, thinner, lesser shoots bud and break into leaf.
The tree is damaged but its wounds are no impediment to its praise, and the song continues whether or not anyone seems to be there to hear it.

Back again...

albeit briefly.

Llan was great. I'd not been there in stormy weather before, and in its position on the side of the hill the house felt very much like a ship breasting the waves, as the wind howled around us.
The chapel, which has 3 outside walls, was specially wonderful in this respect - and as I was dealing with some pretty stormy issues, that felt right and good.
Another change in dynamic was provided by the company of special friend from vicar-school. We had silent days, but a chance to explore together in the evenings, and to simply enjoy each other's company in a beautiful place.
My other companion was Judy Hirst's "Struggling to be Holy" Do read it, specially if you've had more than you can take of Purpose Driven Lives/Churches/Cars...It's utterly real and truly excellent.

Try these quotes to whet your appetite

• "Our desire for God is simply the other half of God's desire for us, ,the mirror image of the image in which we are made"
  

• "Desire always calls us on to what is beyond ourselves, and draws us to a life time of becoming"

• "To embrace the gospel means to enter into a community. Christianity is not a magic formula, it is a relationship. It is not about our ability to grasp the concepts - it is about intimacy. It is not about our ability to live good lives - it is about learning to live lives in connection with the God who loves us, and with his creation."

• "Failure is God's chance to open us and to stretch us beyond our tiny hopes and expectations - but often we get so bogged down in them that we cannot see a way forward"

And, just for good measure, she quotes an amazing bit of Augustine that I'd never met

"We have begun to become some great thing"

As I say,- just read it. I'm sure you'll find it worthwhile.