What's in a Sactuary?

I’ve found myself sitting alone at a cold, plastic table inside PCC in Fremont at 10:30 on a Monday night. The table is off balance and wobbles as my left elbow leans on it to dig my fork into a huge piece of vegan, wheat-free carrot cake. I’m looking out the floor-to-ceiling window thinking to myself, “I wish the world were a safer place.” In that thought I am only thinking about me. In that moment I am only wishing the world were a safer place so that I could go for a walk outside at night and not worry about being followed or harassed or raped or molested. I’m thinking of no one else. I want to be alone right now. I want to walk outside right now.
So since the world is not a safe place, I have to go with “Plan B for Restlessness.” There is too great of a possibility that “Plan A for Restlessness” will prove harmful to my well-being. So I swallow the last bite of carrot cake (which is largely white, sugar-filled, vegan frosting) and turn my phone on silent. Plan B consists of walking up and down the aisles of PCC and reading the ingredients and nutritional facts of any item that catches my eye. Anything labeled “wheat-free” or “vegan” or “dairy-free” is sure to receive at least five seconds of my devoted attention. There’s something about being surrounded by foods that don’t make you feel like shit. It’s both comforting and encouraging. It makes me feel like there’s someone on my side—someone who understands.
It’s quite amazing how a grocery store has become a sanctuary.

The Desperation of the Faithful

When will You come through?
And do that which You said You'd do?
For thousands of years
We've been waiting for You--
And I'm weary of waiting.

There are flowers blooming
Out of concrete boxes.
And no one's welcome
In their neighbors' houses.
I thought by now
We'd have stopped waving crosses.
No one knows who You are.

What more do You expect us to do?
Some get along fine without You.
But those who seek are lied to.
And I'm tired of watching them die.

You scolded us for worrying
About what we would eat.
But they haven't seen
More than bread in a week.
Her baby died
Because there was no water to drink.
When will You come through?

~Anne-Marie written around 6 pm on 9/5/07 sitting outside of
Revolutions Coffee in Greenlake

Neptune Coffee Part 1

"I hate feeling like I can't feel--
Or rather, feeling like if I do I will cry until I pass out.
It's like a temporary, protective numbness--
But I feel it wearing off.
It's perpetuated by busyness--
And situations requiring dishonest smiles.
It allows me to sleep at night
Without racing thoughts and too real of nightmares.
But again...
I feel it fading.
I guess this stage that is passing is what they call denial.
But I haven't denied the facts.
I have denied the feelings.
And they're demanding to be heard.
They're refusing to be submissive.
I'm usually all about equality, equal rights, freedom of speech, etc...
But I both repress and oppress my emotions--
As if they aren't worthy to be heard.
As if they're not valid to feel.
I think the next stage is what they call anger...
I guess it's time I got angry."

~Anne-Marie 8/29/07

Animals & Humans

I took Benedict for a walk tonight at about 10 pm. He's a Boston Terrier I'm dogsitting.
As we were out walking and I'm talking to him like he's a person, we happened upon the most
beautiful shadow of a leaf-filled branch of a tree. Even though it was a shadow produced by artificial light, it was so intricate and precise. I had to sit down on the sidewalk and just stare at it--take it in. I found myself saying to Benedict, "I wish you could see this. I wish you could understand the beauty of this shadow in front of us!" And then I found myself wondering what kinds of beauty he experiences that I don't see. I wonder what kind of relationship he has with our mutual Creator.

Must Reads

Favorite reads of the last year:

Ishmael by Daniel Quinn (my favorite of the book's i've read the last few months);
A Generous Orthodoxy by Brian McLaren and his A New Kind of Christian trilogy;

God of the Possible and The Myth of a Christian Nation by Gregory Boyd;

The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne;

Glittering Images by Susan Howatch;
The Orthodox Way by Bishop Kallistos Ware;
Letters to Malcolm by C.S. Lewis;
Edna St. Vincent Millay's poetry--especially her sonnets;
The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene.

Friday the 27th

I wasn't planning on this being a blog where I share about how my day was or what I did--this is not going to be a junior high diary--I never did that anyway.

I'm going to share about my Friday July 27th--to share both my personal experience and feelings, what I learned, and the theology the evening birthed.

I worked from 5:30 a.m. until 3:30 p.m.--fun but very long. And I wasn't able to fall asleep until past midnight the night before. Hence, I was tired when 3:30 rolled around.
It was Friday night, a night you're kind of socially expected to "go out" or at least NOT spend it alone. I haven't had a job or been in school since mid-March...so to go back to intense hours hit me hard that afternoon...and I wasn't really in the social mood. I was feeling drained: physicall, spiritually, emotionally, mentally... I was feeling spiritually empty. So I decided on the drive home from work that I would go to the 6:30 Taize service at St. James Cathedral downtown (it's every friday night so DEFINITELY go if you never have). I almost didn't go, however, because when I got home I sat on the couch and almost decided to not move for the rest of the night. I knew this would not be good for me...for many different reasons.

So I got myself into my car and to the Cathedral. I was actually feeling kind of lonely...alone.
And I rarely feel that way when I am physically alone. I went into the Cathedral, and my first instinct was to sit in a section where no one else was--I was thinking, "I didn't know anyone anyway, and this way I can be alone and pray and process. " Right after I thought that I knew I should deny my isolationist tendencies. I was in a church--with the body of Christ, of which I am a part. I would make myself sit with people. So I did. But I sat in row all alone. Well, that obviously wasn't good enough for God.

After sitting there for a few minutes in silence praying and preparing myself for the service, a lady came up to me and asked if I'd like to carry the icon of Jesus on the cross during this one part of the service. I told her I didn't know how to do it!! I wasn't lying. I really didn't know what she meant. She told me it was really easy but that it took two people. She went and asked this other lady sitting alone a few pews up if she'd carry it with me. She then looked back and waved at me to come sit by her--so I did. Her name was Maria. We sat together. We worshipped together. We had never met. And then we carried Christ's cross together.

I thought I was going to spend Friday night alone. I thought going to the Taize service was going to "seal the deal" on my aloneness. Wrong. God just won't leave me alone =). And i'm sure glad about that.
How beautiful to experience God in the face and presence and voice and "family-hood" of Maria and the other people sitting there with us. I walked out of the building NOT feeling alone.

And then I met Les. As I walked down the Cathedral steps, a black man in about his late-40's, early 50's walked up to me and asked me if Father So-and-So from St. James was at the service. I told him I didn't know. Les attends there. He stated right away that he was homeless and not looking for money for drugs or alcohol. He needed money to buy medicine for his Epilepsi and for a bus ticket to get to a place to stay in Tacoma. Well, I wanted to get to know him a little bit more before I gave him money, but also because he was so kind, not harrassing, and his eyes were so sad. I saw my own pain in his eyes. I've seen those eyes on me before.

We got to talking, and he has and does struggle a lot with depression. We share that. We talked about the different anti-depressant medications we've tried. We talked about not wanting to get up in the morning. We talked about not feeling like we even have energy to ask for help. We understood each other. We both were looking for a little understanding and love that night...and we found it.

I gave him the $6.50. Who know's if he used it for what he said he would. It really doesn't matter to me. I told him I'd be praying for him, and he was thankful. He told me he had been praying about who to ask for help because he didn't know if he had the strenght to endure rejection that night...I was God's answer to his prayer.
...And he was mine.

For some reason on Friday I thought I needed to get away from people to meet with Jesus. Turns out we meet with Jesus by being with people. I met Jesus in Maria. I met Jesus in Les. He refuses to leave me alone.

He refuses to let me be alone.

Rublev's icon

After a distressful night of sleep (or the lack thereof) on Thursday night, I was desperate for some rest. When Friday eve rolled around, I found myself glad but mostly anxious--glad because I was tired; anxious because of the likeliness of having another night like the previous one.

So here's what I did. I meditated on the icon to the left--Rublev's icon. Of course, my eyes were closed, and I was meditating on it in my mind. Everytime an anxious thought or feeling entered my mind or body, I entered into this painting. In fact, in my mind, the Three were moving--moving constantly in a circle. And I found myself joining Them.

Let's just say I was desperate for some peace within myself. I don't know if I've ever felt peace so physically as I did last night dancing, moving, resting with these Three.

I heard You say

"I heard You say You came to heal the sick;
Then why am I still lying here?
Am I one to whom You say,
'Oh ye of little faith'?
You said You were a doctor...
And I believed You.
The requirement for Your services
Was to have 'mustard seed-sized' faith.
I have that.
I've always had that.
I must misunderstand what it means to be sick--
And what it means to be healed.
There's pressure to 'enjoy' the process.
But They're not in it.
They're not crying tears of sorrow
On this lovely post-sunset eve.
And You...
Do I even know who You are?
Sometimes I'm just not sure.
Sometimes I feel like I don't care.
Sometimes I don't know what I feel.
Do You?
Do You know 'Why'?
Is there an answer to that question?
Am I asking the wrong question?
I once heard You say, 'Follow me.'
But sometimes I don't recognize Your face
Or hear Your voice--
And I lose You in the lonely forest.
Why do You let me get lost?
Am I lost?
Can I get lost?
...It's really not lonely at all.
I am with You when I am with the trees.
We dance together.
But They tell me I should be reading Your words
On murdered trees instead.
'There is no truth in dancing,' They say.
But I will go on dancing anyway."

~by me...written last Thursday after a beautiful sunset that didn't seem beautiful to me.

Perichoresis

"Mother, Daughter, Ruah;
Father, Son, and Spirit:
Dance with us today.
We gather here to dance with You.
Teach us how.
Show us how.

God of Sarah, Rebekah, and Rachel,
God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob:
You are the Beautiful Dancer.
Hold our hands and we'll dance.

Holy Community,
Unity in Diversity:
Dance with us today.
We gather here to dance with You.
Teach us how.
Show us how.

God of Sarah, Rebekah, and Rachel,
God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob:
You are the Beautiful Dancer.
Hold our hands and we'll dance."

~I wrote this song to be played at COTA, Church of the Apostles.
It expresses the heart of my theology, orthopraxy, and faith.