being present

In Person: Heather Cox Richardson

/ nagneberg48 / 5 Comments

March 12, 2024

My morning meditation time includes not only reflecting on a selection from a spiritual text, writing in my journal, and lifting the prayers of my heart, but I also read Heather Cox Richardson’s daily newsletter, Letters from an American, which has over 1.4m subscribers. https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com Richardson is a Professor of History at Boston College and an expert on American political and economic history, and each day she manages to bring clarity to the chaos of the day’s news, adding the perspective of history into what swirls around us.

Heather Cox Richardson is a valuable and insightful and hopeful voice, and Sunday she spoke to an overflow crowd at House of Hope Presbyterian Church in St Paul, MN. Such a privilege to see and hear her.

I urge you, if you have not already done so, to subscribe to her newsletter. She also has a new book, New York Times bestseller Democracy Awakening: Notes on the State of America. Nope, I haven’t read it yet, but I own it, and I will read it, for sure.

In Person Energy

Sitting in her presence with all the others who made the decision to spend their Sunday afternoon in this way, I thought about the gifts of physically sharing space with others and how different that is from sitting in the snug reading a book or at my desk reading newsletters on my phone or laptop. How different sharing the same space with a speaker is from listening to a podcast or radio interview while I fix dinner. Now don’t get me wrong–I am so grateful for all those ways I can access news, ideas, and events, but being there strengthens commitment, builds energy, and reinforces beliefs and intentions.

Even though I know, as I listen to, watch, or read something meaningful or interesting in the comfort of my home, I am expanding my awareness, sharing that experience with others is a different, more personal, more dynamic experience. How good it is to be with others who are eager to hear more, learn more, and who may support a certain perspective.

An example: I am a big Barbara Brown Taylor fan. I own and have read most of her books, and whenever a new one is published by her I rush to buy it. That is true about Anne Lamott and Elizabeth Gilbert, for example, as well. But after attending in person events in which these women were the speakers, even though I was one of hundreds in attendance, I have a kind of relationship with each of them. I saw them pause and smile and take a sip of water and adjust their glasses or the hair that fell into their eyes and shift the papers of their prepared talk. I sensed them listen, really listen, as an audience member asked a question. They are now no longer only words on a page or a voice in a studio. They are individuals. They are women who decided what to wear that morning and have long “to do” lists, which may include grocery shopping or taking the car in for an oil change. And yes, they are brilliant and wise and often funny and charming, but they are also real. Real.

I realize that as I age I am not as likely to make the effort to attend these kinds of events. I think more about the logistics and the energy such attendance takes. Instead of going to a book signing or talk by someone who interests me at a local independent bookstore, I am more apt to decide in favor of staying home and reading. I am not going to beat myself up here, for sometimes that is the right choice. But sometimes I am drawn to be present.

Choosing to be Present

I also think about other ways and time we can be present and the benefits of doing that. I choose to attend Sunday worship. I choose to sit at tables with others during our adult forums between services. I choose to lead a weekly writing group, which includes time to meditate and write together, even though I write and meditate by myself at home.

Something different happens when we are sharing each other’s energy. Something different is felt when we share a space. Something different is created when we intentionally gather.

Now I realize that the day may come, more than likely will come, that my ability to physically be present will be limited, but that time is not yet.

For now I benefit from the coming together, and my sense is that each of us present benefit from the collective presence.

An Invitation

When have you experienced recently the value of being present? I would love to know.

Approaching Lent With Our Hearts

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February 13, 2024

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent.

As a friend pointed out, Lent is integrated into VaLENTine’s Day. Don’t you love it when someone gifts you with a new realization?

On Valentine’s Day we honor the love we have for one another. The special ones in our lives, for sure, but the day can also remind us of the loved ones no longer physically present in our lives. And the legacy of love we can leave beyond our own deaths.

And that brings us to Ash Wednesday when, using ashes, the sign of the cross is made on our foreheads. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. One of my pastors teasingly suggested, instead of a cross, how about a heart? I chuckled, but the connection between the cross and love felt real.

Think about all the scripture passages that include the word “love.” For example, how many weddings have you attended in which the following passage is quoted?

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends.

I Corinthians 13: 4-8

The cross of ashes on my forehead can be a reminder of all those characteristics. Lent can be a time to become even more aware of the role of love in my life and how I might live that life every day. Lent as a time of contemplation invites me to become more aware of the presence of love, God’s love, and when I can be an instrument of love.

Lenten Practices

No surprise–I have chosen a book to companion me during Lent. This year Joyce Rupp’s Jesus , Guide of My Life, Reflections for the Lenten Journey is on the top of my devotional basket. I selected this book, because, well, because the author is Joyce Rupp whom I can trust to stretch me, but always with a sense of lovingkindness. I will also dip into a new book–so new it hasn’t arrived yet–by Christine Valters Paintner, A Different Kind of Fast, Feeding Our True Hungers in Lent.

And I have been preparing for Lent by reading Lost in Wonder, Rediscovering the Spiritual Art of Attentiveness by Esther de Waal. This book reinforces my thoughts about a Lenten daily practice I’ve been considering in which I will note in my journal People, Places, Things as a way of increasing my awareness and becoming more present. De Waal states the purpose of the book is to “awaken us from drift and drowsiness into a fuller and deeper sense of attentiveness to the world around and to the presence of God in that world.” (p. 1) I need that right now. She also stresses the need to balance looking inward and “looking outward beyond the self to the world around.” (p. 2)

One tool she suggests is a magnifying glass as a way to “take time and notice what you see.” I happen to have two small magnifying glasses–where they came from and why I have them, I have no idea–but I think I will carry one in my coat pocket to use when I go for walks. And the other one I will keep at home, not only to examine more closely familiar objects in my everyday life, but also as a tangible reminder to focus, to pay attention, to live with gratitude for the many gifts in my life. Not just what I see, but what enters each of my senses.

I feel ready to begin this Lenten journey, but first I will eat some Valentine chocolate.

An Invitation

Lent, of course, is a season in the Christian life, but a practice of paying attention is an invitation for all. What are you noticing these days? I would love to know.

Late Summer Thoughts

/ nagneberg48 / 10 Comments

August 15, 2023

Have you noticed that gardens are looking frowsy –overgrown and perhaps even a bit weary of their own lushness? Many trees in our part of the world look tired. The greens are no longer fresh and new. The fading has begun. Some trees seem eager even to shed their greenness and lighten their load.

Even the rose bush on the path can no longer hold up its head. I’ve had enough perkiness for one season, it seems to say.

Well, it is late summer, after all.

As a child at this point in the summer I remember feeling, “Oh good, the summer is almost over and soon school will begin.” I was always eager for the first day of school. And the second and third and…

Now, while I love fall much more than summer and spring and perhaps not quite as much as I love winter, I am learning in my 70’s to not wish this time away. No matter the season. For who knows what next summer will bring or if I will have a next summer. What losses and changes will the months leading to next summer bring?

I’m learning, slowly and not always so steadily, to be here now. Now.

Now in spite of the heat and the mosquitos, the increased laundry and ironing, the dust on the tables when the windows are open, the bulging traffic heading to the lake on Friday afternoons, the empty pews on Sunday mornings as people vacation, the complaints about rainy weekends, and even the expectations we better have fun or make good use of this time because “soon it will be winter.” (Good, I think, but only smile and nod.)

I am aware, however, that my reasons for fall and winter yearning have become less. After all once warm weather ends I will no longer be able to sit in the Paris garden. Going places, even the grocery store, will take more thought and effort. How many layers do I need to wear? Is it going to snow today? Maybe I should wait till tomorrow. During those months, there is always the concern that a snowstorm may derail plans.

And recently, I heard reports on NPR about the upcoming flu season and what shots and COVID vaccinations will be recommended.

No, none of the strong preferences or affiliations with a season make any real sense.

Just be here now.

Whether sweating or shivering.

Whether hanging out or hunkering in.

Whether adding ice to a tall drink or chopping ice off the sidewalks.

Joy Harjo in her book about why she writes, Catching the Light, says to “Start anywhere to catch the light.”

No matter the season, I say, may I catch the light of a long summer’s evening or the passing of a firefly or even the glimmer of a new idea or clarifying thought.

May I catch the light as it glistens and glides over wildflowers on the side of the road or flowers picked from our backyard garden and now arranged in a small white pitcher on my desk or the light that wraps and warms families playing, resting or reuniting.

Mainly what I’m paying attention to these days, as I attempt to Be Here Now, is the light within. That happens more and more as I lighten the load of regrets and desires unmet and the “shoulds” expressed in the expectations of others or, let’s face it, my expectations of myself.

I’m paying attention to the light that comes from the spaciousness of God’s love and of Jesus’s way, encouraging each of us to lighten up and to enlighten one another with love.

That’s the kind of light that knows no season, knows no time.

An Invitation

What thoughts are you having during these late summer days? I would love to know.

                           

Sacred Spaces

/ nagneberg48 / 8 Comments

July 25, 2023

Last week I spent a day at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum. Being there is always a delight, but this time I had a specific purpose. In August I am offering an informal writing retreat there for the participants of the weekly writing group I facilitate, (Actually, anyone is welcome to attend. Let me know if you would like details.) and my field trip was part of my planning process.

I decided to go on the narrated tram tour which drives by the various display gardens, the sculpture garden, demonstration gardens, the maze, and the Chinese garden, giving such a good overview of the arboretum. The day was gorgeous, and I so enjoyed the guide’s insight into the workings of the arboretum.

At one point the guide stopped the tram by the prairie garden, and in that brief pause I felt my heart lift.

Each time I have viewed or walked prairie land, I have had that same feeling. I sense the sacred in the movement of the grasses as they respond to a gentle breeze, in what feels like untended and random colors and textures, and in the spacious, almost unending stretch where earth meets sky.

I wasn’t born on the prairie nor have I lived on the prairie. I have lived in urban areas most of my life, but the prairie expands my awareness of the movement of God. I sense the presence of God when I am in the prairie.

I have had that experience in other times and places, as well. For example, each time I walked through the gates of the Chautauqua Institution in New York, I knew God was waiting for me there. When we first encountered Sweetwater Farm, our home for eleven years in Ohio, I knew not only was I home in a way I had not felt for a long time, but I knew God was directing my steps there. And I felt that with every return time, whether it was after a quick grocery shopping trip or several days away on vacation.

Sometimes a place’s sacredness is palpable, but sometimes the sacredness of a place emerges over time.

Sometimes the sacredness of a place seems obvious, like the labyrinth at Chartres, but sometimes it is surprising or felt only in a specific moment. A baptism. A memorial service. A family dinner. A walk with a dear one. A quiet moment on the patio.

Sometimes one’s presence enhances or reveals the sacredness waiting to be known in that time and space. I hope this doesn’t sound egotistical, and I am hesitant to say write this, but often my garret feels sacred. This is where I meet with my spiritual directees; where we open ourselves to the mystery of the Divine.

Sometimes a space is sacred because it reveals our own inhumanity, begging us to care for one another. For example, I remember standing on the bridge overlooking the Tallahatchie River where Emmett Till’s body was dumped and also the courtroom where Till’s murderers were acquitted. Those sites recently were designated as national monuments. Sacred sites.

Are we drawn to a space because it is inherently sacred or do we create sacred space because of what we bring there, who we become in that space? Yes.

In sacred space I am aware of the movement of God both in that space and in my life. I become present to the presence of God, and I glimpse the person I was created to be, even just in that moment.

May it be so.

An Invitation

When have you experienced sacred space? I would love to know.

Morning Gratitude, Morning Presence

/ nagneberg48 / 6 Comments

As I make the bed first thing every morning, I pause and look out the window towards the backyard and the garage. This time of the year I know what I will see: mounds of unmelted snow, tracks from the squirrel gang that frequents the base of the bird feeder, and the bare branch remnants of my husband’s glorious garden. Maybe there will be a cardinal at the feeder, but probably not till a bit later.

I don’t stand at the window hoping to see something different. No, I stand at the window to welcome a new day, to give thanks for the light of a new day, and to remind myself to be present to this day, the new and holy day.

Soon after making the bed, but still in my robe and pajamas, I climb the stairs to the garret and settle in for meditation time. Lately, my quiet time has included listening to Cat Stevens sing one of my favorite hymns, “Morning Has Broken.” You can listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0TInLOJuUM

Morning has broken like the first morning;

black-bird has spoken like the first bird.

Praise for the singing!

Praise for the morning!

Praise for them, springing fresh from the Word!

Text: Eleanor Farjeon and Music: Gaelic Tune

What more could I ask for than to remember that each morning is like the first morning. Oh, if I could only live present to that gift, that morning gift, the whole day, every day.

That prayer would be enough. That prayer holds all those I love and all those unknown to me, but in need of a new day.

The words in verse three lift me even higher.

Mine is the sunlight!

Mine is the morning,

born of the one light Eden saw play!

Praise with elation, praise every morning,

God’s re-creation of the new day!

Each day is a chance to re-create the sun in my own heart, my own being. This is enough. More than enough.

I invite you to sing with me. I will stand at the window and listen for your voice.

An Invitation: What is your first view of the day? How does it help you move into the day?I would love to know.