Joyce Rupp

Approaching Lent With Our Hearts

/ nagneberg48 / Leave a comment

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.

My Saturday Sabbath

/ nagneberg48 / 6 Comments

January 23, 2024

I begin most days in the area of the house I call the snug. An enclosed front porch is how it would be described in a real estate listing, I suppose. Not very big, but spacious enough for two comfortable reading chairs and two sets of bookshelves against the inside wall. A few months ago I rearranged the space to make room for a small desk.

Cozy. Full of light on sunny days. A welcoming space for beginning the day.

Before making the bed and getting dressed, I settle into the snug for my morning meditation and devotion time. Most days I am there an hour or so before moving forward into the rest of the day.

That was not the case this past Saturday.

My time in the snug began in its usual way by reading the day’s reflections in the two books I have selected to accompany me through the year. Joyce Rupp’s Fragments of Your Ancient Name, 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation and Margaret Silf’s Daily Readings with Margaret Silf. I have used the Rupp book before, and It is interesting to me to see what I underlined before and what resonates with me now. The Silf book is new to me, but I have loved other books by her and in 2023 I re-read one of her other books, Wayfaring, A Gospel Journey into Life.

Each reflection in the Rupp book is a “name” for God, a way to describe God, and on January 20 the name of God is “Joyful Journeyer.” 

...
When love accepts both ease and struggle,
When prayer includes a heart of acceptance,
...
When silence serves as a source of listening,
When dying no longer frightens or dismays,
...
Then we know how it is to engage with you
As the Joyful Journeyer on our road of life.

Each line moved me deeper into stillness, pondering those hopes within me, but also how I yearn for the hope to become truthful reality in my life.

Silf quoted Mark 3:20-21. “Jesus went home, and such a crowd collected that they could not even have a meal. When his relatives heard of this they set out to take charge of him, convinced he was out of his mind.” Silf reflected on how “the ordinary cannot tolerate for long the presence of the extraordinary,” but that isn’t what struck me about these verses. Not this time.

Instead, I focused on “Jesus went home.” First of all, how glad I was that Jesus had a home and could return there. I thought about him being welcomed. I imagined him finding comfort; the kind of comfort that comes from knowing where everything is and not having to introduce yourself or even be on your best behavior, because you know you are loved.

I thought about all the times I returned home –my parents’ home and my own homes. When we lived in our country home in Ohio, I often drove or flew home to be with my parents or our daughter and her family. How fortunate I felt to be able to do that and to know they waited for me and wanted, even needed my presence. At the same time, oh, how my heart lifted as I approached once again the driveway to our beloved Sweetwater Farm. Home.

(I arrived home, but in my case the crowd that collected were all our animals always eager to be fed!)

I opened my Bible to see if I had ever underlined these verses, and I had not, but I noticed a difference in the word choice and translation. In the version Silf quotes, the word “relatives” is used, but in the New Revised Standard Version, which I read, the word is “family.” That feels so different to me. A change in intimacy and even acceptance. A difference perhaps in the way we know and see one another. I will think about that more.

I spent some time musing on these thoughts in my journal, and by that time the streetlight was off and dawn had become day. The young mom across the street had headed off to her exercise class–at least that is my guess–and several dog walkers had strolled past our house. Most days I would blow out the candle, my first companion of the day, and move into the rest of the day.

Instead, feeling chilled, I wrapped my shawl around me and read the last chapter of another book in my meditation basket, Thin Places, A Natural History of Healing and Home by Kerri ni´Dochartaigh, a memoir by an Irish woman born in Derry, on the border of North and South of Ireland at the height of the Troubles. One parent was Catholic and the other Protestant, and terror reigned around her. Not only did I learn about how it was to live during those harrowing (a word she uses frequently) times, but I thought how what she experienced is an aspect of what I imagine those in Gaza are experiencing now.

Much of the book, however, is about place and time — all places and all times.

There is a time for everything–for sowing, planting, harvesting. A time for holding on, and a time to let go. A time for sorrow, and a time for healing. More so, there is, simply, time. There is time for it all. We still have time to step in or out –of places, of relationships, of thought processes, or our own selves. Sometimes the snow will still be here on St Brigid’s Day, and sometimes we will have a year without it coming at all. There will be years when the autumn trees seem more vibrant, more sublime, than we ever remember them being before. There will be years when we have suffered so much that we can’t pick out one season from the other, never mind one day. Days when we cannot imagine ever feeling okay again, thinking that we have taken enough of it all, enough already, enough. Then, a change in the wind, the first bluebell, the smell of snow in the sky, the moment courses on, and everything has shape-shifted–everything is okay again, more than okay, maybe, even.

p. 247

Today was my time to move slowly, deliberately. Today was my time to soak myself in stillness.

My only goal was to make the bed and get dressed by noon.

I just barely accomplished that.

An Invitation

What does your Sabbath time look like? I would love to know.

New Year’s Reflections

/ nagneberg48 / 6 Comments

January 2, 2024

At the beginning of each new year, I read my journals from the year just past. What were the highlights? The gifts? How well were intentions met or were they discarded? What themes evolved during the year? And what losses were encountered along the way?

At the beginning of 2023, I was trying to shed a lingering cold, not COVID, but a cold that zapped energy and enthusiasm. I was also feeling deeply the loss of a dear friend who had died at the beginning of December. On that first day in January, 2023, I remembered how we entered 2020 totally oblivious to the pandemic about to strike our lives, and I wrote, “What losses will this year bring, for there will be some. How close to my heart will they be? How major will they be in the way I live my life? Or will I be the loss?”

Typically, I’ve entered the new year with energy for new beginnings, new projects, and eagerness to meet new or continued goals, but in recent years I’ve learned to hold expectations more lightly. Perhaps I am learning how to hold life more lightly, too. And more gratefully.

What does this have to do with the photograph of the tree on our boulevard? Well, one morning right after Christmas, I settled into the snug for morning devotions and when daylight appeared I was stunned to see the trunk of this tree and 13 others on our block wrapped in bright green rings. Soon these diseased trees will be removed. The grief has begun.

I think I am grateful, or at least I am trying to be, that we will lose these trees during the bareness of winter. Perhaps the absence of these trees during the non-leafy, non-green months will help us accept the starkness, the lack of branches arching over the street and the sidewalk. I don’t know when the tree removal people will set to work on our block, but I’m trying to use this time to prepare my heart and soul for this loss–as well as other losses, known and unknown, to come.

How do I prepare?

My day begins in stillness, in silence. These winter days it begins in the dark, as I watch the light begin to make its appearance. I whisper my first prayers of the day. “Thank you for the rest of the night. Thank you for the promise of a new day. Thank you for your presence. May I be aware of your presence in all I do and all I am. May my loved ones be aware of your presence. May all who know the losses that life brings know your presence.”

I read the day’s selection from books I have chosen to accompany the year’s pilgrimage. This year I have chosen Daily Readings with Margaret Silf, along with a book I have read before, Fragments of Your Ancient Name, 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation by Joyce Rupp.

A new year and another mile of the journey. Three hundred and sixty-five new chances to watch the sun rise on God’s surprises along the way. Three hundred and sixty-five windows of opportunity through which to glimpse the face of God in the rock face of everyday life.

Margaret Silf, p. 3

Your intimate presence startles my soul…

I ask for the simplest of gifts from you…

The blessing of communicating with you.

Joyce Rupp, January 1

Even as I grieve losses of the past, as well as losses tender and new, and feel the flicker of losses yet to be, the amaryllis in the snug reminds me we are each living and dying at the same time. And we are each beloved.

May this new year bring you many blessings. Happy New Year!

An Invitation

What are you bringing into the new year? I would love to know.

Advent #2: Two Lit Candles

/ nagneberg48 / 2 Comments

December 12, 2023

My Advent companion this year is one of the Wise Men. Each of the other two companions have been my companions in recent years, thanks to the deck of cards, “Advent Perspectives, Companions for the Journey.” (See my December 5 post,https://livingonlifeslabyrinth.com/2023/12/05/advent-1-one-lit-candle/

This particular Wise Man (Woman, please) is having a hard time getting ready for the journey.

I keep thinking about the conversation these three wise people must be having.

Wise Person #1: “There’s this star, and I think we must follow it.”

Wise Person #2: “I’ve seen it, too, and it is so much brighter than all the other stars. That must be a sign.’

Wise Person #3 remains quiet.

#1: “I think we need to leave right away. Tomorrow, in fact.”

#2 “Sounds good to me. Let’s do it.”

#3 remains quiet, but as #1 and #2 get up from the breakfast table, #3 says, “I don’t think I can be ready that quickly. There’s a lot to do before we leave on a trip. And besides, where are we going and how long will we be gone and what about all the meetings and appointments we have–I have–in the coming weeks? Where will we be staying and what do we need to take with us? Are the camels ready for a long journey”

Both #1 and #2 assure #3 that all will be well and somehow everything gets done.

#3 under her breath says, “That’s because I do what needs to be done.” #1 and #2 pretend not to hear her, as they leave the room, and #3 begins creating a master TO DO List.

  • Cancel mail delivery.
  • Get out passports.
  • Hire neighbor to shovel snow.
  • Do laundry.
  • Empty refrigerator.
  • Cancel upcoming appointments.
  • Pay bills

#3 continues the ongoing dialogue in her head. “Why can’t I be as spontaneous and as trusting as my colleagues? I’ve seen the star, too, and I’ve had the same dreams about the need to follow that star, but I get so bogged down in my routines and wrapped up in my lists. How exhausting that is sometimes!”

#3 takes a deep breath, reminding herself to breathe in the love of God and breathe out her anxieties and fears. Her need to be organized and in control. She closes her eyes, lightly, not tightly, and breathes in and out gently, finding her own rhythm. This is what she must do now, even before getting out the suitcases or making a list of what to take with her on this journey.

Breathe.

Be still.

Open to the Presence.

Trust. Surrender.

See the beauty of that star.

#3 could feel an eagerness arise within her. A yearning to follow, to discover where the star takes us.

And when she opened her eyes, she saw #1 and #2 standing beside her.

#1 said, “We are on this journey together.

#2 said, “Let’s help one another prepare.”

And #3 said, “May it be so.”


I look as far as I can into future days, weeks, months,
Desiring to see what is ahead and waiting for me.
But my vision is limited and clouded with desire.
I return to seeing only what is in this present moment.
I do not need to know that which is far beyond.
I have only to trust you to direct me, All-Seeing One....
            from Fragments of Your Ancient Name, 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation
            Joyce Rupp

An Invitation

What is getting in the way of your seeing and following the star? I would love to know.

NOTE:

I will publish my list of favorite nonfiction books read in 2023 on my Thursday, December 14 post.

My Monday Morning Mood

/ nagneberg48 / 19 Comments

October 31, 2023

I feel a bit like the last rose of summer. My petals are dropping, the color is beginning to fade, and one hopes the rose bushes in the garden will survive another winter.

How’s that for being dramatic? I remind myself I am an enneagram 4, The Individualist, and we 4s tend to be expressive, self-absorbed, temperamental and yes, dramatic. Sigh!

I am in a sort of sulking mood —also typical of 4s.

I slept well, but don’t feel rested.

I don’t feel like reading. That is never the case for me, so what is going on? Sunday night instead of reading in the evening I watched an old episode of British Baking Show, one I had seen before, of course, and I even remembered who would be named Star Baker that week.

I don’t feel like writing. Not even this blog post. I recently submitted an essay to an online newsletter that has published my essays two previous times, but this time the response was “thanks, but no thanks.” Actually, the editor kindly made suggestions and offered some questions to consider. When I have licked my wounds, I will sit with what she said, but not today.

The week ahead is dotted with some lovely events, including attendance at a concert and a play. Plus, we are taking our grandson to a football game at St Olaf College, our alma mater. (No ulterior motives, of course.) As always, I treasure the weekly time with the church writing group I facilitate and also the scheduled appointments with spiritual direction clients.

The TO DO list for the week is manageable, but I don’t feel like doing any of the tasks. I did throw a load of laundry in the washer, however, so that’s something.

I am not depressed, but I am also not motivated.

I am not focused, but I don’t feel scattered.

I am not bored, but I am not engaged.

I am not discontented, but also not content.

I have always loved this time of the year not just for the beauty of the falling leaves and the crispness of the days, but also as a reminder that cave time is coming. A time that has always felt more spacious and more reflective than the expected busy activity of spring and summer. This year, however, I seem to be approaching the coming months with some anxious wonder. What losses will there be in the coming months? What unknown changes, uncontrollable changes? How will I be confronted with my own aging process?

I am not scared, but I am not in denial.

I am not hungry, but I am yearning.

I am not lost, but I am wandering.

I am not complacent, but I am accepting, and I am willing to accept what I am experiencing and feeling today.

Today more leaves will fall. In fact, as we drove home from church on Sunday we noticed that the ginkgo trees have shed their leaves. They let go all at once.

In Praying Our Goodbyes, Joyce Rupp reminds me:

It is a season to hold the trees close,
to stand with them in our grieving.
It is time to open my inner being
to the misty truths of my own goodbyes.

Autumn comes. It always does.
Goodbye comes. It always does.
The trees struggle with this truth today
and in my deepest being, so do I.

So what am I going to do about this mood I am in? Not much. I am not going to judge myself, berate myself or try to fake a different mood. Instead, I intend to honor this present mood with respect, knowing eventually it will lift. It will lead me out of this corner into a new place.

After all, a new day and a new mood comes. It always does.

An Invitation

What is your Autumn mood? I would love to know.

PS: We woke up to snow, measurable icy, crunchy snow on the ground this Halloween morning. What’s that going to do to everyone’s mood?

Fall Moments

/ nagneberg48 / 4 Comments

October 24, 2023

1. Fall Traditions: Apple Orchard and Meandering Roads

Yes, I can buy local apples in the grocery store, but at least once during the fall off to an apple orchard we must go. Along with hundreds of other people, of course, but we were there early and made our purchase of apples, apple cider donuts, applecrisp and hard cider.

Walking towards the apple barn, we watched all the young families–kids in strollers, kids on Dads’ shoulders, kids leaping and skipping ahead of theirs parents, kids holding their grandparents’ hands; kids not wanting to hold hands. Bruce wondered if we were ever that young. Soooo long ago.

After leaving the orchard, we drove north along the St Croix River. Has there ever been such a gorgeous fall? Of course, there probably has, but we are in the moment; moments of glimmering, shimmering, blazing and sparkly color. Where bareness is beginning to take over, I notice the many homes tucked within the woods or beyond fields, and, I admit, I envy the quiet and their views.

2. Fall Transitions Closer to Home

Outside–on our block and in the garden, such glory. Bruce is scurrying, like the squirrels, to prepare the garden for the winter. Last year we had our first snow on October 14, so the clock is ticking.

The Paris Garden, October 14, 2022

Inside, I have added throws to some of the chairs, and spices are simmering on the stove.

3. Fall Treasures

This small hand-painted plate was one of my mother’s fall treasures, and at some point I made it my own. I am sure she bought it at an antique shop some place, and I don’t remember quite how she used it. In an arrangement on the small coffee table in front of the family room couch, maybe? It is perfect for a stick of butter, I think.

This little piece was painted by Lena Thompson, and I wonder who she was. What was her story? China painting was a popular profession and hobby in the United States beginning in the 1870’s, but continued into the early 20th century. This was an acceptable art form for women and for many women a way to make some money, but I imagine it was also a way to add the decorative arts to one’s own home. Did women get together in each other’s homes to paint, similar to quilting bees? I think about the friendships formed, the wisdom shared–along with coffee and cookies, of course.

These days when I decorate for the seasons I think about what I might bring with me if/when it is time to take the next step into a different and smaller living situation. This is one of those sweet pieces I might bring with me. A mug of cider could rest on it or a candle or yes, a stick of butter, and it wouldn’t take up much room in a cupboard, but it carries memories of my mother and her love of collecting and keeping a beautiful home. And it makes me think of women like Lena who eagerly and beautifully lived a creative life.

4. Fall Fun

When I opened the front door to put a letter in the mailbox, I heard giggling. Leah, one of the kids next door, urged

her little sister, “More, Maya, More.” They were burying their brother in a pile of leaves. One toe emerged. One finger lifted out of the golden pile. “More, Maya, More.”

5. Fall Fright

Actually, I smile more than scream.

6. A Fall Thought from Joyce Rupp and My Prayer for You

Autumn is a royal season. To temper the necessary disrobing of the glory of summer, autumn dons a coat of many colors, for beauty softens departure. Autumn holds fragments of the other seasons in transformative arms…Each season’s entrance and departure is part of the gracious turning of the circle of life. from The Circle of Life, The Heart’s Journey Through the Season By Joyce Rupp and Macrina Wiederkehr.

May this fall open you to beauty and lead you gently into the next season of your life.

May these fall days hold you and all that is falling within you.

May fall make room for what is most important and for the ways you can offer yourself.

Amen.

An Invitation

What fall moments will become a fall memory? I would love to know.