Leshem Shamayim: “For the sake of heaven.”

There have been many times when I began to wonder what is swirling in the innermost of me… I think of that verse in Proverbs 20 or 21 that says the human spirit is the lamp of Yhwh, searching the deepest self. I wonder what my G-d sees inside those depths, what runs through His mind when He considers me, and all the truths I have been assured of and somehow did not grow up believing were that He loves me and finds pleasure in me. These past two weeks, as today is the eve of my arrival, I have been running at a frantically explorative pace, and had to catch up with myself. Jesus has been neglected sometimes and passionately pursued at others… confusion of finding self by reaching out have fought the tendency to fold into myself. And in fact, I have failed and not been free in Jesus sometimes, which is my responsibility to myself, others, and my God.

Over and over again I find myself remembering my age, how young I am, and a few times that has been overwhelming, in my inner struggle. Sometimes with Jesus there has been a considerable tension, as if He is drawing me towards something I am uncertain about, yet ache to hold to much, and thus resistant, I am drawn towards Him. It was last weekend, a question began to become visible to my heart, that which I am always running after; I realized I was running. And yesterday, another time of these soul-stripping reflections… realizing that my self is naked and shivering white under the scrutiny of the glaring lights on this operating table, where I find myself again. I have been a bit darkly sentimental this evening, pondering the words of “Cut” sung by Plumb from Grey’s Anatomy (I guess)….”relief exists, I find it when I am cut.” How sad, I don’t think that such passages in Hebrews and Ezekiel were meant to make one think of that numb dulling that comes with increased pain and denial on top of pain and denial.

Feelings may be incredible deceptive, but I found two of them this week (yes, its ok to laugh, I guess I did over that too)… I don’t remember when the first feeling was, maybe Monday. I was being melancholy and restless, and the feeling of desperate youngness and inability to take care of myself, to let me Jesus come through me overwhelmed my senses, and I swallowed back tears that I didn’t understand. I had so much joy and excitement this weekend. I guess I am learning that the closest thing to heaven can fall, hovering over hell before the drop of a pin. Last night, I was pondering, had the trapped feeling in my mind that I had imposed on myself, though yesterday was such a wonderful day… all sorts of conversations that made something in me with Jesus more real… I think leaving those conversations made me realize something… when I was sitting sorta still at an agreed-to movie (o gosh, can I say how much I hate movies? My soul is to restlessly searching to tolerate them)… that I was forced to face myself. Normally sitting still for a time puts me right to sleep, but I had too many thoughts too much restlessness to be still.

I had my thesis concept… the priesthood of woman, as all believers, churning in my mind… questions I am searching out about women in the plan for this paper… I should just make a list and wonder them. I feel risky and exposed, pulling out such a paper topic like this, its forcing me to face myself beyond academics… and the fears and doubts I have that may or may not be very rational. Being still, what started to rise up out of the core of my being was another feeling, that I couldn’t put away: I felt so vulnerable as the tears came up again… I didn’t say much because I couldn’t without my voice breaking. I tried to put it into words to make it real and blow it away by saying it out loud, but that just made it more present… I found myself mourning the absence of something I didn’t even know to be missing… an absence I didn’t even understand, but that I found a voice to desire. I found wording for it in terms of a conversation I may have never had, more than what I have never known. But yet, it must be something like what I have known. In some way a depth that sinks in… that ushers in a new dimension of Jesus. Those are all the words I have to put to it.

I think I would have run into Jesus’ arms if He had shown Himself to me. Sometimes I wonder who I am going to talk to. That thought and presence…. A missing of what I have never known has begun to make me wonder more about my Jesus. More about life… and the questions I ask push more into those sensitive depths. Do the questions cut? What drastic feeling, what desperate measure.

But honestly, if something were broken or cut inside it, I think it would go away, or be drained out, let out. It is perhaps another ache for Jesus… but He has shown Himself to me so much through people that I don’t know if I can separate Him from people anymore… once one knows a certain depth, the only thing to do is go deeper. I used to isolate Jesus from people. Then saw Him fully in people. Now, I can see Him selectively in people, as much as His Spirit graces us and our wills submit to let Him shine through. I have my Bible open to Song of Songs because there is where a paper fell out of…and the woman, the Beloved, reminds me of how my heart felt…

“I sleep, but my heart is awake. I hear my love knocking. ‘Open to me, my sister, my beloved, my dove, my perfect one, for my head is wet with dew, my hair with the drops of night.”I have taken off my tunic, am I to put it on again? I have washed my feet, am I to dirty them again?’ My love thrust his hand through the hole in the door; I trembled to the core of my being. Then I got up to open to my love, myrrh ran off my hands, pure myrrh off my fingers, on to the handle of the bolt. I opened to my love, but he had turned and gone. My soul failed at his flight, I sought but could not find him, I called, but he did not answer.”(SS, 5.2-6)

I think I would have run into Jesus’ arms if He had shown Himself to me. Sometimes I wonder who I am going to talk to. That thought and presence…. A missing of what I have never known has begun to make me wonder more about my Jesus. More about life… and the questions I ask push more into those sensitive depths. Do the questions cut? What drastic feeling, what desperate measure.

I, Mary am Priest for women. My consecration is completely a salvific mercy, an incomprehensible grace; my ordination more unusual than even the most celibate lovers of the Lord G-d, Yhwh—for I was ordained through impregnation in my celibacy before my G-d. I am called a Virgin still by most who know me, as if this young and tender place of my life is a holy order in and of itself. Dare I wonder if it makes me more like the Holy Father, if this is to be the sacrifice of my flesh, to be one with my Maker, to bear His Son in my body and never know any other closeness such as that? Perhaps with this ordination, this holy order of Motherhood in creative unity with my Divine Lover… not as if He came to know me through the essence He imparted to me, that I might bear His Son… but I have become with Him through acting as He acts, in the manner as He acts: alone, apart, but as closer than one should dare to dream, hope, or imagine to the very essence of life. This distinction and beauty He grace me through a gift; I to bear Your Son, Most Holy Savior… My Saviour, my own precious Jesus.

Here I am, walking towards that place of life, glory still tingling around my ears from the overwhelming presence of that angel, Gabriel, who astounded me with news of life within. How unworthy, I must accept. To deny You would be futile, You have already been implanted within me, to take and eat of my flesh, to be nourished by my blood… to take on my very form and to obtain figure and believability in this world where You are so invisible; Most gracious Yhwh, how You have chosen Your servant to be such a vessel is beyond me. I am still of girlish form, so young, so scared, now that I realize what has really happened. Taking steps up these stairs, my soul magnifies You, my Lord… and my spirit is rejoicing in G-d my Savior, but O how I am trembling in my steps as I trudge past my mother’s room… how did she feel realizing she was with child?

O Yhwh, great and mighty, I am alone with this infant, barely living within, still hidden within my girlishness, but You will grow within me, You will be in me and with me, but cause me to be so alone… they will turn from me; as my figure rounds, my parents will hide me away, a disgrace to the family, stone me as an adulteress… or worse, disown me and try to abort the child. So much sin hidden at Your gates… Baby forming within me, Most High’s Son, my G-d, I fall on my knees before our Father—I hope I did not jar Your tender fetus too much… and pray with silent tears that You will be safe, that my body might bear you well… whatever becomes of me, that You may be born into this world full of life and vigor… little bones of my bone, little flesh of my flesh… my hair, my eyes… how blessed I am, O child of mine, to see my G-d make You; day by day anticipating the watching of You grow as my body curves into a basket, weaving itself as a comforting throne for Your glory. May You be born into glory amidst the shame this Lover our Father has gifted upon me.

Here am I, a betrothed woman, not yet claimed; righteous Joseph shall have none of me now. Unalike from all His fellows… I am different, I was loved, the loving-kindness he has honored me with for years before our parents set the betrothal… and to be his bride was the delight of my heart. Now it is the grief of my eyes, that I should shame him with Your glory and break his heart in the purity of my life. How should I expect him to understand, You are the Son of God, my Baby, and someday soon when I cradle You in my arms, as You see daylight… perhaps Your eyes will convince Him. But I dare not hope too much. Perhaps I will be called raped, and still Joseph should not be drawn low by me; I will take myself away so You may have life and be invigorated—O that You had a father as just here as Your Almighty Father… someone to give You a reputable name. I am a mere woman, so we are in the protection of G-d together, my Baby… little Darling whom I adore in the shadows on my heart, wrapped round in care by my body. Today Your mummy loses her girlishness as she receives You—though the shame of a woman is overshadowed by the radiance of Your life. Consecrate this eucharist in my body, and make me a priesthood for all women to follow in obedience to You—as we give our lives to this lot, bring out in us, of us, the fruits of Your Spirit.

Today began the discussion of vocation with my Dominican community through a 2-day seminar entitled “The Called and the Gifted.” Fr. Sweeney, our president, opened with discussion about vocation; words that reminded me of Parker Palmer’s Let Your Life Speak… finding how one is one’s vocation. Fr. Sweeney spoke of vocation in the beautiful Catholic sense of something Jesus first exposes in us at baptism (I am not going to debate spiritual or physical, both are part of complete obedience)… but something that perhaps we do not realize at first. The theme for our vocation discussion was that of discerning the call of Adonai… which Fr. Sweeney stated was more of an uncovering of something already present than a manufacturing of a position in which to fit oneself. As Christians, Fr. Sweeney discussed the fundamental call of each of us, which is of that from Christ calling us to be His own in the body of the Church.

The mystery of a collective group of individuals functioning in perfect oneness and unity with one another in order to interact with the Saviour as His Bride continues to baffle me. Sitting in this brief seminar today, my questions ran rampant through my mind as I scribbled notes… about my own personal salvation and collective salvation of all of us; whether Jesus and I are exclusive, or whether that is cutting off from a necessary part of my faith. All my questions seemed to be anticipated by some of our subject… Fr. Sweeney briefly mentioned the three fundamental mistakes made when attempting to discern anything: First, the tendency to begin with self as a starting point, which immediately makes whatever I am trying to discern subjective and selfish, ignoring the communal aspect of my faith as discovery. He mentioned the example of Catholic baptism, where the infant is first called by name, not because they need a name, but so they may be recognized and become a part of the community. Secondly, since it is most common to start with self, we also try and discern vocation alone, which was later pointed out as impossible outside the context of community. Finally, in society today, all that seems to matter is the subjective factors, feelings rather than what Fr. Sweeney deemed objective truth…somehow, humanity gets so bent and fascinated on ourselves that we entirely miss the real self.

Identifying the call of the individual from God began with identification of the vocation of the whom Body of Christ: since it is to all of us, Fr. Sweeney said that is it also necessarily to each of us and situates us as individuals within the communal call. I thought of this as finding the “I within the we”…knowing that my part of the unity and working of Jesus’ body here on earth is individual and specific to me, it is sometimes hard to understand how that factors into the whole picture of the Church— to expansive for me to comprehend. Yet there I am, talking as a typically crippled human because I am so self focused and try and understand everything through self. Nouwen suggests that a reach out is necessary to know true self… as well as the other two movements he assigns to spiritual living… towards others and towards God. But reaching out for self? Perhaps that is an attempt to explain an apparent paradox of finding specific within the context of the general. I suppose out of today, I appreciated the emphasis that it is not how do I fit into the Church, but where am I found within the Church.

It was emphasized, as to the nature of this call, that it is Jesus our Lord who does the calling—helping with the natural tendency to begin with self. Our faith is a gift, which we take a hold of in one sense, but also which is given to us beyond our comprehension so that we might accept it. Fr. Sweeney wanted to discuss our relationship with God as individuals of the Church within language of faith rather than religion, because the word “religion” has left such an unpleasant flavor of dictatorship in so many minds. I think of religion in terms of response to the call of faith, as James defined religion: action. Fr. Sweeney and I were on the same page there, as he discussed religion as a common practice of faith—the acts of prayer and what is typically thought of as worship, doing justice to God… like adoring the King. I loved how the call of Jesus was spoken of here as it was interwoven with faith—viewing faith as a relationship with Jesus, living in the assurance that Jesus has taken initiative to choose and appoint me to where I am as His own, even if my own daily choosing of Him is far less than virtuous. It is always a mystery to me, who ends up living the called life and who does not… I cannot believe God plays favorites, yet I cannot understand those who do not choose Him. The polarity between choice and compulsion, invitation and command.

Jesus’ choosing being impeccable in some way beyond my understanding, since I am rooted in the practical existential living in this world with an invisible God. But He does not call us just to play with our minds and manipulate us. We are not a gathering for the same of being a gathering, but we have been called to a work: John 6.28-29, “28 Then they said to him, ‘What must we do if we are to carry out God’s work? ‘Jesus gave them this answer, ‘This is carrying out God’s work: you must believe in the one he has sent.’” Father pointed out that the work was that of belief… which reminds me, between Mary and Martha, Mary seemed to have the more active part, even sitting at Jesus’ feet. This act of belief, Father pointed out, is a response to Jesus’ attempt to start a conversation with us… the conversation of Christians together exploring how we individually have place in the collective love of Jesus being known as theology.

I loved that it was pointed out that there is a real, objective event of vocation, in which we are summoned and invited to respond (curious combination of terms). I think we as humans tend to fundamentally question purpose in live (is it not one of the basic needs on Maslow’s hierarchy?), so I think that at the point of realizing the call, one has already been having vocational conversations and is just uncovering the first bit of who one really is within the group, realizing how one can contribute. Because recognizing the call initiates a burden to respond, it is impossible to evade the summons that come alongside the invitation to join Jesus’ walk. Fr. Sweeney did say that if one does not realize his specific call within the call for the church, one acts as if one has not been called. The relationship that evokes realization of our calls as individuals is, in fat, Jesus through whom God meditates, most directly through the Church itself. A side comment noted that most people are discontentedly or passively trudging through life outside of their vocation, because it was never made real to them.

But generally, anyone can live the Christian call who is of Jesus… general behaviors and principles, categorized by Fr. Sweeney as holiness (to which the universal priesthood of all believers is fundamental), ecclesiastical communion, and apostolic witness. Since these are common of all of us, Fr. Sweeney seemed fond of saying, they necessarily pertain to each of us.  So briefly, let me survey the three basic parts identified of the Christian call:
1. Holiness—shekinah, holos, salvos… Hebrew, greek, and Latin… the latter two from which we derive the words whole and safe. So holiness is a safeness with God… made safe between Christ’s death and resurrection. This objective safety with God… referencing back earlier to His continued call of us even when we are not so passionately seeking Him… allows us to live unafraid of what most fear-death—because in Jesus death was made safe to us, and thus we can answer the comforting presence of God.
a. We are the people whom God has redeemed and made safe through the cross of Christ, now finding ourselves in a real place (the cross in the purging gate to heaven… have we passed into heaven on earth because we were reckoned dead in Christ?), rather than merely a legal transaction. The term justification comes to mind… Jesus’ saving and making me safe had to do more than fix my position, but fix my life. But oh how many of us are willing to realize our safety (and consequent freedom) by truly identifying with the death of Jesus? Yet how else can we show God’s power in the world by living without fear of people?
b. Living out that freedom is the belief act that is taking up the cross of Jesus and realizing by it how free we really are.
2. Ecclesiastical communion—to be one in Christ and gather with Him, which is an individual calling in that it is made to the whole body of the Church. As we seek to be one, relationship emerges in the picture, and I found faithfulness (meaning to stay with one another) highly emphasized.
a. The body of the Church is called “the faithful” indicating something  like a focus on the collective faith before individual faith. Hasn’t God always been that way with His people? Yet he does not forget the individuals.
b. Since faithfulness is being with one another, and remaining to gather, we cannot insist on being alone to discover what God wants from us and how He has best invested us in order to give to others. The Dominican tradition is one of Christian intimacy, because it is strongly believed that one can only know oneself and God through others… but no one can stay with you if they don’t know who you are. Thus, the necessity for speaking.
c. Following in the example of Jesus who revealed the most intimate parts of Himself, His relationship with His father, in order to promote conversation of trust among all within the Church. Somehow, speaking is key in achieving unity and oneness.. We need to be as openly intimate as Jesus to invite others to join (II Corinthians 3.2-3). This reminds me of Brueggemann’s phenomena of speaking into being and uncovering what could not be found by self.
Fr. Sweeny was clear in saying that the surest way to know our own calling is to pay attention to the call of others, because in relationship we see ourselves by seeing them: like a process of elimination… when the puzzle outline is formed, it is obvious what piece is needed where. Faithfulness to others allows us to be fascinated with others and enter into conversation of exploring them, which is simultaneously exploring self and Jesus.
3. Apostolic witness was the third aspect of our general callings as Christians. I loved the picturing of the gospel: entering into relationship with the living God and being healed by Him.
a. The call to witness is common (through life, for as St. Francis said, if necessary, use words. It was brought to my attention that only if we are free to speak may we discern our vocations… so deeply planted within us, we must approach them from around and outside.

So that’s a much abbreviated load today… struck chords in my heart!

It’s registration season here in Berkeley, and I have registered for 5 courses this fall. My originally intended courses were unavailable to me, since I have left Monday available for work, so some rearrangement was in order. I still feel as if there are so many things left undone and neglected everyday, most so being my Jesus. The arts of contemplation and reflection are two things I have not indulged in much lately… my most sincere worship has been in the context of sporadic running, which tells you more about conversational life with Jesus at the moment. Bad habits are hard to lose, from eating unhealthy food to merely glancing at, not even in, the Bible every morning on my way out to school, work or some other necessary occupation.

From remarks lately, and noticing things about myself, I am probably becoming very liberal at the moment…I am rarely honest with my feels to my Jesus, but choose to live in the fast track of life, moving from one event and activity to the next or finding something filling in time and attention that should be otherwise devoted. I suppose this part of life is about learning focus and discipline, how to love and live and engage with people, then pull away to exercise my body, mind, and heart. So many communications to be passed back and forth every day, so many minute details to be  worked out every day, especially at the beginning of the semester. I am working on getting back into a rhythm, established and set by goals for even the moments when things aren’t schedules and no so quickly transitioning, being pulled along by all sorts of things. When that happens, no reading gets done, no thoughts expanded.

Conversations are all well and good, but when there is nothing to say, one can feel a bit foolish. All in all, though, life has been terribly fun and exciting, I simply cannot wait for classes to begin again. Most everything I am studying the semester has a theological, historical, or ethical emphases… as I seek to work towards my Thesis goal of women in theology… how the woman is made just as much in the image of God as man, how that is evidenced differently in the gender roles God assigned, and looking more at the roles of a woman. As I fill out yet another application for a small tutoring position, I am considering how in the world I will ever discipline myself again to focus enough to get things done, my topic specified… and how I will figure out what God wants from me. The gender roles of the Bible are to be my starting point, as I work on daily readings. So that is one of my aims for myself today, beyond all the shopping I need to do and running around.

I am very excited for this opportunity I have to study in the Dominican tradition—the style of conversational learning that involves mentoring, and one-on-one relationships, and student-driven/motivated academic goals. From the little I have picked up about the Dominicans, they are very philosophical, very academic, but enjoy life as well. My conversations with the Franciscans led me to want to explore their life philosophy in conjunction with my Dominicans, since, as he was dying, St. Francis was in great pain, but welcomed Sister Death as he called her as another dimension of living. So much to wonder about, I am going to have to really schedule myself. Maybe if my Heidegger class has some flex to it, I can study death as an aspect of time… another dimension both confining and freeing human existence.

This sounds about as scattered as I really am; to organize and go to my Vocation and Calling Seminar, “The Called and the Gifted!”

Go out and preach the gospel, and if necessary use words—I think St. Francis said that. Walking through the campus of UC Berkeley off “Holy Hill” yesterday with an assortment of students in the MA program at Graduate Theological Union, I chatted with the two other students majoring in Systematic and Philosophical Theology… and realized that God has lost His potency to this world because all we Christians ever do is talk about Him. I reached a point in my Christianity with Jesus over the past few years where words just aren’t good enough anymore. Paul talked about speaking in tongues of men and angels… but it is worthless without love. James talked about faith without works being dead. In my field… pursuing the knowing of God rather than just the study of God, I feel an obligation to act, that my words and pursuit are all worthless unless I am living them.

To be very immodest with my heart, I sat on the floor of my room last night, surrounded by papers, ideas, possibilities, training information for my job, and dreams… realizing that the carousel of life was whirling just too fast and that I was the operator winding the crank at the same time. I have been moving through life like an awkward dancer… in continual movement… if not of body, which is frequent enough, of mind; very little heart engagement, I tend to ponder before I feel. And there is a wall I have been running into more and more lately, one I realize because it is evoked in words and uncovers the very shameful honest of my heart. While I came here to study God intellectually, learn the more intimate details of my Jesus, how to better dance with Him, I have let all the opportunities He has been showing me within myself add to the burning fever of unsettledness and restlessness that has been smoldering within me.

I am terribly excited about courses at 3 different colleges, my Dominican school, the Jesuit school, and the Franciscan school here in Berkeley, but working through each of those courses could either be a perpetual battle to remain focused, an abandonment of God to intellectual pursuit alone (which I find dies at some point), or my submission to Jesus, allowing Him to lead me by the hand down a new path. I feel so very young, and even where I live, I have the daunting task of being real in my faith. Questioning comes so easily; asking what some call hard questions is what I do best, they are hard for me not to ask. The God of the Word I have studied, do I know Him as I think I do? I have stopped feeling Jesus in my hands, I hope this is just a time… but I have no hands of His to lay mine in.

When I open the Bible now, I am met with a rushing wind, blowing my soul over, almost. The words are heavy, weighty, and I try and understand how they are real to me… but then, I have not been reading them often. Since the bustle of the summer, I have been unsettled… I am transitioning by throwing myself in almost an abandoned rush or adrenaline to the opportunities offered me. My first job at the Hergl Center working with Developmentally disabled adults was such a blessing… staunch, Orthodox Catholics, such good and kind people, to work for… trying to cultivate peace for people who have no inhibitions in expressing their urges, needs, desires because they know no better. Yet there is little peace in me… sometimes there seems to be because I organize my life so well, but it is entirely deceptive.

My new friend whom I am sharing some living space with, asks and talks to me a lot about the most interesting things. The subjects fascinate me, but I only run with them so far before I refuse to make a decision. I thought yesterday about how Jesus does not like us to be swept about by winds of doctrine, to be neither hot nor cold… there is so much passion in my own soul about everything, it seems, that I pursue it all, and grasp none of it at the same time. Something about the pursuit drives me where I am at right now, and there is so much more I wish I understood about myself. Pursuit is empty, always craving filling. I belong to Jesus, yet I do not drink of His words enough. Jesus, my Word of God… how am I not living Your word?

Restore to me some measure beyond the strivings I make, for I am finding as You say that they are empty and meaningless apart from You. I am wearing myself to death, Jesus, and somehow I let that passion I was running with for You, with You to grow cold. Stir those fires in ways I can’t imagine, that are of peace, perseverance, and focus. Here I am, going to approach You in Your Word, God of the Word…. Speak to me, reveal in me Your light of life.

I know myself enough now to know I am always in need of a quest; will You give me direction as how to quest after You, now, Jesus? I have almost forgotten in my whirlwind of passion
I have been living to the surface again, bloody old orientation, I knew a depth and it grew shallow; into the depths of Your rivers of love and blood I plunge. Take me deeper still, into Your heart.

Apprehension, a new day filled with mystery, awakened from deep sleep—
One more hour, 6 winks for sure, off to run the day away,
I have arisen and pound the pavement as I am trying to be disciplined about
Daily watching life fly by… faster than I can count the moments.
How uncertain and unsearchable, O God of my questings,
Question upon question resurrects out of my soul, wondering I thought dead.
What happened to the childish simplicity I used to embrace,
Have I matured beyond the health of my own faith, that inexplicable embracing?
I ponder as I wander, running through winding streets. Beauty I grasp at,
Wonder I taste, a whole new world simply awaiting me
To discover, uncover, freedoms unimaginable.
Yet the yoke of obligation reminds me who I am,
The responsibilities of living from occupational orientation
To screenings, paperwork, finances… I am not so free as I think to be.

Yet I conjure in this mind of mine all sorts of abstractions
Theology, philosophy, the fields which feed my imagining and envisioning
Of a life within my head, a “precious” relationship with Jesus, which seems
Too exclusive to be had with a Lover Who is intimate with the world.
Am I too open with You, Jesus, too exclusive in an inseparable paradox?
In love I find myself again, enamored with the Son of God—
Lost in wondering, yet fundamentally accepting… the things I believe without
Question, unless cause for contemplation arises; conversation outside
Turns the wheels within, from fundamentalist faith and orthodoxy,
To the policeman who doesn’t believe in God, and wonders at theology.
What good is it, this study of God, if only bloats overweight egos,
Obese with knowledge and puffed up with pride…
Jesus, I know nothing, make me more humble yet.

Is it boasting to think there is no good in me, are You there?
Your spirit working within me compels more engagement of your work…
How I hesitate in my wondering, but You encourage the questions—
As long as am purposeful in my focus and not given to meaninglessness.
You say You will guide me in paths of righteousness, A love beyond
That which I know I am worth; You see my state and were full of pity…
Is there pity still or has it become real love, was it love all the time?
How dare I to think I can stand sinless before You? If so, only You
Enable the freedom to be released into such a wonderful world
Where I breathe the air of heaven day in and out…
Where Hell is the disunity of my soul with Yours, I am wondering
About the most basic of all belief, devil, angels, heaven, hell…
Faith is not about perception, will You blame me now,
For now I have beheld the glory of Your face in my heart, but still
Struggle to believe, to take hold of Your unending grace?

I long and I grasp, reaching for more every moment, what propels such ache
Why is today not enough, why even in the most bliss of a moment must I reach
Beyond the contentedness of strangers, the placating embrace of friends
Where comfort cannot reach me and time seems to have anything but end,
Where hope is dissected by a knife which cuts deeper than piercing truth..
Your hands, open wounds, bleeding hands; I kiss them…
Sweetness of love mingled with blood of pain, Jesus I am bleeding too.
But it is my soul now I have cut, the body is worthless to waste such effort.
Your tender words, maybe I do not trust myself to act in and believe them…
I let my faith sway in the wake of others’ breath, but I adore;
Falling before, I feel a stranger, ashamed still to show old scars and living in
Past memories I have no business clinging to and relishing in regrets.
Have You made all things new, or am I awaiting still, some mystical descent
A promenade of You love, glorious baptism and a pure white heart,
The olive branch of Your dove from the flooded plains of my spirit?

Purposefully I seek to create the beauty I notice is absent, filling the moments
But not the emptiness, deeper than the reach of human flesh or heart, I am
Pushing closer and closer, hoping that orthodox religion will provide stability
I need to keep seeking more, loving deeper. Your hands are before me, needy this time,
Show me today the tasks You set before me, as I lay me down to sleep…
Into those hands and feet have I committed the shame, lusts, nightmares and Forbiddenness of truth in love, desire, the redemption of my soul hanging
By just a slender thread, the knife in my hand, to cut or to carve…
Fashioning a person as I discover and uncover the image You have invested—
Overwrought I have worked my hands to less than bone, restore the life again.
You have planted only hope and wholeness, a life I keep refilling with bitterness
That should be one of anticipatory joy, maybe a slice of more profound witness
To the eternity of today, the moment, with You, intimacy for all.
You must, You can, You do bring that relief my soul craves like refreshing wine
Offering to strip all the fears away; show me how to be Yours.

My Jesus and I have been having a little relationship conflict. Over the summer I ask, do you exist? His answer is silent or not in the way I am looking for or expecting. I suppose mysticism served its purpose for a while, now that atheism has taking its toll, skepticism has set in and I am a jealous lover. So this summer our marriage has gone through stresses and strains and as I have learned about love, I have contemplated whether I do wrong to exclude Jesus to myself by calling Him Lover. Sometimes I wonder about jealousy, about Yhwh being jealous in His love… and that makes me realize that although He loves me, He can’t trust me at all. I have flitted between far too many lovers seeking some sort of excitement in every one-night stand relationship to prove myself incapable or unwilling of retaining His trust. Jealousy must only be the product of doubt in relationship, I think, tell me if I am wrong, please. Jesus is exclusive in His love in one sense, but not in another. He is as open to loving anyone as deeply as they will love Him back… actually, He will cultivate intimacy and unity as much as they will, but it will not exist unless they are willing. So coming off a tumultuous summer, I am wondering more than ever about the real-ness of Jesus, but trying to find voice for that to Him.

May I use a lot of words and tell you about the sermon I heard to day? It gave me something to work with, that I haven’t got in myself… I start “eating” myself when there is not enough around to consume the voracious through appetite I always find in myself. The sermon was on Romans 3.21-32… established by the premise that we cannot get right to feel presentable to God before we come to Him. That hit something in my right there, realizing that my Jesus, the very one for whom I want to be the most perfect, must be the one to whom I throw myself knowing I am absolutely helpless to be beautiful for Him. And yet if all I can come to Him is covered in mud…. Well, am I coming to Him filthy still, or is that just what I believe all the time? All sorts of questions swirled through my mind today, as a sat in a service where I hadn’t expected to find myself, wanting to finger my rosary beads again… to try and get that sense of Jesus my hands have been missing so much.

I know I have believed, even since realizing it was something of a lie, that I needed to get myself right and perfect before Jesus before I could engage in relationship. It’s like I lose myself when  I don’t think about Him. I am probably mentally a Gomer… poor Hosea, the name I’m giving Jesus for a moment, is always telling me He loves me, and only being allowed to express His love when I listen to those words from His mouth. But how do I hear them? He can I allow myself to fall unworthily into His hands, those tender and gentle hands which only ache to touch my own and the wounds I have inscribed in them, to assure my I am loved.

Listening to the pastor’s opening words this morning, I wondered about sin, and if I had to keep considering myself filthy if what he was saying is true. So the method of getting right with God that I, like many others I am sure, have often opted for is this idea of Law and meeting expectations of that Law. The pastor said that was a misunderstanding of the Law and the Prophets, like unto what the Pharisees did… opting for them as a means of becoming something like righteous out of my own efforts and works. He said that we composing the church ( a word over which I continue to stumble) should be united by realizing we are all standing in the same place of being unable to right ourselves without God. Please do not think me arrogant for wondering if Jesus has set my place of uprightness in stone before God the Father, why is it that I am told I need to continually turn back to Him in order to be made upright? Is my heart really so perpetually wandering? I heartily confess I am rarely focused enough to think about looking for Jesus, loving Jesus, being one with Jesus all the time.

The pastor today addressed my yearning for perfectness, that seemingly impossible standard which no one seems to expect from me anymore, and yet at the same time are unspokenly expected by all. At least, such is my inner perception. He was discussing the term “justification” one of those Christian words which is adored and overcomplicated by some, and hated and misunderstood by others: justification is the place of perfectness now by Jesus’ sacrifice of atonement? The question of need arises again, are we establishing that from the very beginning of everyday, a person must be justified, or is the court term the “once for all” sort of language? If once for all, must we remind ourselves by re-excavating that grace and drawing forth the remnants of what was dead? Why do we dwell in the sinfulness, we have been set free from the must of it, have we not?

We were once all in the same place and might be, were it not for Jesus. Author and perfector of our faith, we call Him. I suppose He is still perfecting the faith, because I am so stubborn and blind in my loving of Him. Maybe I need to see faith as the love relationship…. Jesus is teaching me how to love Him and to be one with Him. So Jesus is God’s justice and mercy… often I have heard others wonder why if God is love, could He bear to allow hurt, I have dared to say cause hurt because of the existence of Sitra Achra… if God made all things, don’t all things tie back to God? I once long ago realized I could not understand God’s type of goodness, because sometimes the best thing for me goes against everything I say I want… sometimes love lets me have my own way, sometimes it stops me. But the Mercy part of the love/justice was just once… Jesus coming and seeing the sin with His Father, then taking me, the accused, to His Father, telling Him like He did Mary while on the cross… “here is Your son…” to me, “Here is your Father” and then dying so we could be in love.

Realizing this love I am in is nothing but a gift, what am I doing questing it… what it is… but Jesus, You are invisible. But wondering for so long, I don’t know if that’s OK. Maybe Yhwh is more existential than I want Him to be… investing my faith in the necessity of interacting with life. Jesus, show me how it is that I constantly need you… must it always be sin and perpetual grace? What blinds me to the reality of the grace You have given me?

The pastor described faith as empty hands… here are my hands, stretched out to You, empty Jesus, waiting to be filled… an open mouth, waiting to drink of the water… I have drunk before, is it the gasp of air that requires me not drink for a time. He said that this Christianity I find myself in is not meant to be a religious system, but good news, hope that we didn’t realized we needed until experiencing life. Am I asking Jesus to come down to me again, because I couldn’t ascend to Him? What’s so repulsive and unbelievable about grace? I know I need to accept it, and how does one do that? By not doing? Maybe that’s what keeps me from loving Jesus, I know how undeserving I have been and how I can remain to be, so I wonder why He loves me.

I havent had many productive thought today, Jesus… You and blood have fascinated me, I have considered all sorts of sin, freedom… slept; today will have gone by very strangely. Well, I have at least an hour and a half on here… Maybe I should find something worthwhile to contemplate.
∑ time- has been moving at a break neck speed… never certain if it is flying past me or dragging; one continual conversation, a perpetual relationship.
∑ womanhood- I have had some further thoughts about it… with the condition of blessing I was surprised to find myself in this morning… all the mingled thoughts and feelings about myself and potential situations that I have had over today.
∑ knowledge of ourselves must be Christologically formed? Cannot rightly know myself apart from Jesus, and so a deeper exploration of Him allows me to better know myself? “…a crucial aspect of the Spirits work is to reshape our understanding of self as illuminated by the incarnate Son.” Owen, 33. How would this cover women? How does our need to understand that we are loved inspite

of ourselves play in?

Thinking of that article on menstruating mystics… what I termed Holy bleeding… and sacred spaces… all that levitical distance between men and women; God pulls us apart during the times when we are most weak, in pain, and vulnerable… I was just realizing the truth of strength in weakness the other day when contemplating motherhood and the prospects of some day learning to love through the prospect of holding a child in my arms. But was not Mary told that a sword would pierce her own heart as well.

Jesus, you know I struggle in a love-hate with this body. Would that I were stronger and fitter, and that I plan to get and be over the next few weeks. But You did make me softer than I would like… as much as I struggle between staving and indulging that, I have seen in my own physicaliy how much life I can cut off… how much of nature I can disrupt by over-training, by cutting of life, killing the body more in a pursuit of life itself. And I am still desiring and planning to do that. O Jesus, Show me Yourself in California… steal my heart and my life before I frivolously squander them both. Allure a desire in me for you and purity.

Miles away and running forever, away from old memories
In hopes to discover, the satisfaction of freedom–
A fresh breath of life, new hope and beginnings
Yet all my insides are churning and nervous,
No trust for myself, and the insatiable lust of curiosity;
Knowing that wealth’s only companion is weeping,
Alone in a bed after recklessly sleeping
to acquire for self another sense of assurance, pursuing
Life unto death; never gaining, only losing
the sweet virgin blush of innocent soul, body now lost
And heart’s open door- widely inviting lovers who pay.

One loses one’s charm, they all scorn away,
For the end of a prostitute is suicidal abandonment of hope, lost in herself, she pounds out the notes
Of her own funeral dirge, in disgust with her life–
For money she started,now consumed by the price
Of self-devouring need, for purpose she slaves
To be the best night he had; her focsu has faded,
A wavering vision, in the mind of natural beauty conceived, she aborted the dream-child, less
Out of need than mere curiosity- how far could she run
Unceasing, tirelessly worthless under the sun.

To hear was too little, true words hardly enough
to convince that there cold be more pain than she thought
So willingly came to seek absolute, pursue possibility,
Facades she took, masquerading about in colorful blur;
When the dance came to turns, to abandonment
she hastened, all too willing for complete experimentation.
Contemplating each moment was practice lost to times
Of ceaseless interaction and flirting so sublime,
She felt lead straight to heaven by attentions intense,
Only to be consentingly raped of all ignorance,
A seductress she became, manipulating body for heart.

One with the world, she perfected the art of mindless
Interaction, a snow princess for love, perilous but desired
For the appearance of love can be worn by stony heart-
Though just fora time; the ice must break apart,
Lest the warmth of the blood still flowing from fresh kill,
Manages to impart some life to her still, though her victim,
He lies, still overpowered in her bed, caught in a spell,
All he’s lost is his head to his own consumig desire,
she’d never believe he might passionately love,
Not after what she has done; she doesn’t know how
She could ever be loved; it was her desire once…
She forfeitted that to partake of this dust, dark clouds
Of mourning over endless delights now deemed a dream.

Could she possibly fight, finding herself in a pool filled with
Blood, she first thought her own, now only to find
The miracle of a victim, wounds flowing beyond her own
Unifying her death with his life… pouring out in abundance
Of shame; yet this is the burning of a phoenix.
Her flame enshrounds her sin-stained self, yet not alone
Was she cremated at this stake, of purifying religion
Too much test, too little faith, for hope to remain for
Resurrection, an athiest like her?

Yet the Only One could bear to die alongside and wit her-
This harlot who lost soul to questions and wonderings
Impossibly reborn again, by kiss deeper than love
She could ever pursue again, apart from this enigma,
More than Lover her Lord- whom she struggles to know
Battered and bruised by His sword- of tormenting words
Soft whisper of care, of presence timidly desired for;
Inexplicably He’s there, present more than she could
Dream to want; incurable longing not yet ended or gone,
For He’s coming still, what hope but to believe,
Imagining Presence beyond lovers who pay and leave
To one who wants to know wholly and deeply, fully-
And invites gets to know until she’s more overwhelmed;
Purgatorial loving, she’s found a lot in life.

O my, ehxaustion. taking over!

bleeding wounds,loss of blood
Its sticky red substance traces
swirling paths of lost salvation
towards my ankles;
I wonder if we women in our bleeding
have any part in redemption…
the continual bleeding of Jesus’ holy wounds
intersects with our continual loss of life.
Month after month apart from breath and flow
we are wounded, life fading for life to impart
draws blood from the motherly womb-heart of God,
who Himself becomes weak for our help.

Yet I, I a runner lose blood at meaningless expense- cutting my own knees through clumsy torn pavement, tripping over air. Yet it reminds me of life, before my own eyes.
I have a lot of thoughts I am putting into words, experimenting with what blood has connecting to in life.
So there will be more thoughts following soon.

I think Jesus just baffles me in life….

In the stillness of morning, night before dawn
The quiet of life and business of work afforded me opportunity to ponder
Blank amazement stunned my mind,
Blown away my a mysterious concept,
An ambiguous, unexplainable reality: love.
We of the church claim love as our closest bond
Yet degrade ourselves as incapably sinful…
Our words reveal our condition—we know ourselves too well,
Openly beating and berating our souls—
Before each other our pains we bear, to wallow unpitying and ashamed.
In a pit full of filth, yet stuck in company
Hopelessly droning confessions and pining in grief
Without word of relenting or sight of relief.
Pondering, there too I see myself-unmoving;

From the whirling carousel to the prostitute’s lair
I tread and I trod, falling deep into despair
Where life is too heavy, body a clumsy burden.
But I am convinced of otherwise from outside,
My soul searching and desperate as it is—
Thirsts though with You, my Jesus, I am One
You have entered my being—embodied my soul,
Disarmed trembling hands, absorbing the blood
That spilled from the deep wounds inflicted to distract.
Jesus, my gracious lover, I’m heaving a last breath
To try and wonder, confused as I am,
How You could bear to love me, while
Nails rip into Your hands.

For a crucifix I reach, perhaps in that I’ll understand love.
Yet out of my hands, more than faith from above
Flows a fountain only obvious
By Your blood coursing through fleshy veins;
Not lifeless silver or dusty meditation.
Too mystical You are to succumb to the bounds
Of my limited imagination, confounded belief.
A mystery of love, an engagement You demonstrate
Through members of Your body with Your life invigorated.
How do I know it is Your love, not of them?

You have deprived us of language,
By which to understand reason and depth.
You call us Your body, what I do to one, I do to You—
A tangible Jesus, my hands in Yours?
Light too bright for my eyes,
Will imagination transfigure them into You?
Is it by love, more than faith You enable belief
Pushed forwards by an inexplicable relief
Of burden thrown down, trampling my hope—
By the touch of mortal hand?
Words which describe our bodies as temples
Which You inhabit when two are together—
Do You live in the love, that essence of relationship,
Where self desires to lay aside all for another?

Can I only know You Jesus by loving other,
To embrace, must I touch someone…
Not divorce from this place
Where physical reality is all I can sense?
You have breathed in me spirit, I know for I feel,
But feelings are fleeting, love is deeper still.
Can I hope to comprehend, gain knowledge of You,
Without love for my brother,
How is any belief true?

Here I am so helpless… in wonder I am lost,
Staggering drunk in the shadow of Your cross—
Something of love I can’t understand,
Which compelled You to death while I carved in Your hand
The bloody word of my guilt, my name with a nail?
Your wounded feet I wish I could kiss
But stigmata doesn’t seem to exist in mindless bliss
Of mere scholarship, aestheticism, I tried before…
A living machine which whirls and roars
But is empty,  so empty… devoid of all life.
Will You in Your mercy, aid in my fight
To engage in relationship, Your mystical self
To hold in my hands and love more than life.

With faith You have gifted me, ability to love?
Form me a faith by teaching me love—
Open my heart to receive from above
A sight most holy, spiritually engaging Your world.
For in Your image is bound up this love
Tear me open to uncover what I have hidden
That which I most desire,
Yet most fervently refuse to grasp.
Teach me how to love you.