PHOTO:Mary van Balen The Lord’s voice shattering the cedars;
The Lord shatters the cedars of Lebanon.
He makes Lebanon leap like a calf
And Sirion like a young ox.
The Lord’s voice flashes flames of fire.
The Lord’s voice shaking the wilderness,
The Lord’s voice shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.
The Lord’s voice rending the oak tree
And stripping th forest bare.
Ps. 29
The Psalm said the Lords voice shattered cedars. I looked around the Abbey Church. We were still standing, monks and the rest of us. All in all, morning prayer was pretty calm. A few voices stumbling to follow the chant. A few more following a more hurried pace, not yet used the monastic practice of pausing a bit at the end of each line regardless of punctuation. Prayer with the monks slows me down and gives God time to move into the hiatus. I have been here before. I know the pace will soon become habitual and when I return home, church will seem rushed.
But I am waiting for my heart to be shattered like the cedars. To feel Divine Power shaking me to my roots. Then Ill know what to be about. What words to put down on paper or in this case to fill the computer screen. Selling bras at Macys, doing laundry, watering flowers. It isnt enough. Or it seems not to be. Then there was the customer who came by on Saturday just to wish me well at the workshop. Her daughter stopped by last week and told me her mom talks about me all the time. Recently widowed, she is a bit lost, and enjoys our conversations and my interest.
Remember the worker priests of the 50s and 60s? my counselor asked. That is you. At Macys. I guess she is right. I have women who come back to see me, sometimes just to talk, like Claire who wished me well, or Katherine, the sweet old woman in a wheelchair who told me she was so glad that she met me and had me fit her for bras. We spent forty minutes picking out three. There was the young woman who worked in the same department. She is a writer, too. Life had been beating her down lately. Assault. Illness. Separating parents. Medications. She missed too much work and was let go. I am sorry for that. She was great with customers and worked hard putting bras away, a thankless and futile exercise. We connected. I read her poetry. We hugged goodbye.
(Hmm the dragonfly at my backdoor. Does he want back in after I rescued him from the bathtub this morning? Or maybe just saying thank you?)
So, where is the soul-shaking I long for?My ex-husband used to say he was waiting for Jesus to knock him off the horse, ala Saul on the way to Damascus. I always said that for me, encountering God was a process. Something that happened in the smallest details of daily life. Like cooking dinner, or reading to my daughters. Or teaching writing, or taking a walk. I didnt need or even want something spectacular. Jesus was Emanuel, God-with-us, epiphanies everywhere, everyday. That used to work for me.
Lately, though, encountering God in the ordinary isnt working so well. Perhaps my ordinary is too ordinary. Or I have become jaded. I go to Mass but not every Sunday. My work schedule is my excuse. Working late on Saturday and early on Sunday. I could go if I wanted to get up really early. But I dont.
I remember a time when church was exciting. When I struggled to pray the hours alone, wishing I had a community to pray with. Enthusiasm for God and all things religious moved me. Over the past few years that desire has all but left. I am grieving. Maybe that is it. Grieving my mothers loss almost three years ago, my dads death a few months ago, a divorce a little over a year ago. And working at Macys. I have settled into as much routine as one can when working in retail with its crazy hours and unpredictable schedule, and it doesnt include Lectio or quiet prayer on any regular basis. My soul is hungry but I am too lazy to get up and fix it dinner.
I am hoping this workshop will shake me out of my discontented complacency. I am hoping the other women here and Lauren will inspire me. I am hoping for Gods voice to shatter the cedars and shake up my heart.
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