This stained glass window in the back of the sanctuary at First Christian Church is pointing towards East–from whence the sun rises, the symbol of life-giving light.  The window is so breathtaking that I sometimes think it’s the reason I worship in this church.  Of course there are many more reasons.

Recently I’ve been noticing a particular image in the lower left:  I AM THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.

It reminds me of an experience I had after an amazing sense of connection to God which I blogged about in Fire Flowers.  I’d felt happy and smug and more in the know than other people around me.  I had God.  But then something happened to shake me up.

It was an experience almost impossible to describe.  It was not a dream.  I did not question my sanity either.  But I heard a voice, the voice of God, telling me “I am not what you think.”  And along with this locution I experienced a swirling energy force so powerful I knew it could crush me.  I knew I was helpless in the face of whatever this was.  It seemed like an octopus with multiple swirling arms of energy, writhing and shaking.

Octopi, octopuses, are not exactly cuddly creatures.  Their name is derived from a Greek word meaning eight-footed.  They have three hearts, did you know that?  They are bottom dwellers but the young ones float to the surface.  They have little pointy beaks, the only hard part on their bodies.  I remember that from Jacques Cousteau.  They swirl around in the sea, and they come in many sizes, shapes and colors. The blue ringed octopus which weighs less than 1 oz is so poisonous its toxin can kill dozens of people within minutes.

The voice was one thing, but the experience of overwhelming energy shook me up even more.  For many weeks after this experience, I found myself eyeing the sky, fearing I might at any moment be wiped out of existence.

Perhaps this is how those ancient Hebrews felt.  An awesome power who could release a whole nation from slavery could also finish you off with one slash of his/her/its tentacle.  Maybe too, God sends signs and wonders to people who are spiritually immature.  It gets our attention!

I was terrified.

So why do I tell this?  One reason we need to speak about our odd and/or mystical experiences is in order to discern whether or not we are deluded.  Another is to help let people know about the grandeur of God-experiences: the power to confound, to create, to energize and sometime to subdue.

All I can say about my experience is that in the end it was fruitful.  I realized I was too small and too limited to possibly understand God.  Of course, I realized God wasn’t a beatific old man in the sky, but at some level I’d wanted God to be something/someone I could control.  Like Peter who witnesses the transfiguration of Jesus glowing with light, I wanted to put God in a box of my making, but this force I was shown was a power I had no control over.  Very scary.  Very humbling.

At church as well as through my seminary studies I’ve learned much.  Christ who represents God/human gives me a way to understand the force of creation we name God, Yahweh, I-Am, Shekinah, Allah, El Shaddai, in ways that I, a mere human, can understand.

God-who-is, she-he-it can be trusted to bring us life in unfathomable ways, deeper even than the bottomless ocean where the octopi dwell.

And you know something fascinating? In the sanctuary of First Christian Church that window with its image of light glowing above the chancel used to remind me of that octopus of energy, but these days I see a heart throbbing with love.

 

Fire Flower by Lisa R McGuire-Smith fineartamerica.com

How does fire flower?  Or is it the consumption of something flammable to leave in its wake nothing but ashes?

What of the the Holy Spirit descending in the form of fiery tongues, as promised by Jesus to his disciples, imbuing them with passion, wisdom, courage and the ability to speak in many ways to many people?  This event flowered into a new religious stream into the world: the Christian Church.

I found myself on this Pentecost Sunday deeply aware of the power and connectedness of Christian community, and I also felt sad for those who are alienated against churches or don’t realize how comforting being a church member can be–not to mention how fruitful.

I remember many years ago being in England for my father’s funeral.  He’d died suddenly from a heart attack.  He’d long been anti-church.  Perhaps it was during WWII when as a warden in London he’d had to pull bodies from burned-out buildings, and later as a soldier fighting under Monty in Africa–perhaps it was then he’d turned against the church and God.  He was not alone in his loss of faith.  Where was God and who was God to have allowed so much suffering?  These questions are relevant now too–we are always grappling with the problem of suffering and of evil.  How can our world be so full of cruelty if God is good and wants us to thrive?  There are no easy answers, but a Christ-centered life is a step towards alleviating suffering.

In church today worship was led by the youth.  A few graduating high school seniors gave messages.  They thanked the people in the church who had taught them, nurtured them, encouraged them, and believed in them.  Outside the church, such communities are rare.  Where do you find groups of people committed to teach youngsters ethical values, to show them ways to help others less well-off, to give them leadership opportunities?  Where are the communities who offer to take kids on trips to have fun,  so much fun, that they–like the graduating seniors I mentioned–will form lasting bonds of friendship with one another?

I remember being in my brother’s house in England when a clergyman who’d agreed to do the funeral for my dad stopped by.  He faced upset grieving strangers who understood very little about church.  But there he was putting up with us, listening to us talk about dad, showing us ways to honor dad’s memory, and counseling us during this difficult time.

Today in church it was announced that a long-time member had died.  I often joked with this fellow about who was speeding to church that morning, him or me.  His courage, his faithfulness even when frail, his grand spirit, and sense of humor will stick with me helping me face the prospect of death. My heart goes out to his widow too, because I know I can easily be in her shoes.  Yet in her grief she is surrounded by her church family, and her faith will help her get through the difficult times.  The church community is also a place with abundant opportunities to help others which is always a way to find personal relief.

After the funeral for my father was over, on my way home to the U.S., I was above the Atlantic when I experienced something amazing.  All at once I felt connected to God.  I knew with certainty God was real and I was loved.  Although this was a special moment for me, it was only the beginning of a deeper life which eventually led me into a church where I was baptized.

I began a new way of looking at the world and at the purpose of life.  I have grappled with many issues within the church, with theological interpretation, with my own limitations and those of others, but on this Pentecost Sunday sharing worship with the very young, with the very old, and with those graduates just starting a new phase of their lives, I found myself gratefully aware of the power of the flower, the fire flower, the Holy Spirit in all stages of life, aware we need never be alone but once we open our hearts to a reality greater than ourselves, we will find the invitation to love is from Christ, beckoning us into a very special kind of community: the Church.

Three

“Madeleine O’Neil!” Mom cried, during intermission. Then, ignoring the stares and hellos from people in the audience, even John and his parents, Mom marched Maddie, with Joseph trailing behind, through the throngs of people out of the theater. “Can’t you sit still for one minute? You knew how important this was to me! I felt a real fool! It was my big chance, and seeing you in the aisle threw my concentration. I know I sounded horrible and flat. The Ikes probably think I’m a tuneless idiot!”

“You were great, Mom!” Joseph piped up.

“No, I wasn’t!” Mom said, and her fingers began to shake.

“Yes you were!” Maddie said stubbornly. “Everyone clapped for you.”

“I told her to sit down,” Joseph said. “But she wouldn’t listen.”

“Why should I listen to you!” Maddie cried, and gripped the Sade card so tight in her fist that she bent it in two.

“I’m taking you home right now!” Mom stomped ahead of them to her car which she’d been allowed to park in the roped-off area reserved for the performers. Maddie hung her head, remembering how excited Mom had been when they’d gotten here earlier. “Why don’t you stay, Mom,” she said. “I’ll wait out here. Joseph and you can go back in and listen to the rest of the concert.” Maddie hated herself right now.

“It’s too late!” Mom replied mulishly. “You’ve ruined things! Let’s go!”

Half an hour later they were pulling into the driveway to their wooden ranch- house. It was still light and Maddie could see John’s empty house a little further down the ridge. Mom sent her directly to her bedroom without the usual graham crackers and milk.

The Sade card was badly bent. It had made a mark right below her thumb. For a moment, she thought Sade had bitten her. She looked closely at her hand for signs of teeth marks. But there was only a red streak. Poison, she thought, and almost threw the card into the trash. But it was precious to John so she laid it on her dresser. She desperately wanted to go and get Finnie to cuddle, but he was already in enough trouble. More trouble even than Maddie. She was fairly certain that she wouldn’t be taken to the pound and given to strangers. The worst that could happen to her was that she’d be sent directly to Paintsville, or maybe to Mamaw, who was her great grandmother and loved her a whole lot. Actually, that would be okay but it was unlikely because Mamaw was ninety-three-years old and lived in an Assisted Living Facility.

Around ten o’clock Maddie heard a car go down the lane. Car doors slammed outside John’s house. She stared guiltily at the fold in John’s magic card. It would be almost impossible to get him another Sade. She hoped he wouldn’t be a grrrck about it. She carefully flattened the card in a book and put several more books on top trying to flatten it out.

About half an hour later, the phone rang. Maddie listened to Mom answer in her sing-songy aren’t-I-sweet voice. “Yes, this is Melissa.” She sounded so excited that Maddie knew it wasn’t dad on the other end of the line. When he called, Mom’s voice got impatient. “Yes, I’d love to come,” she said. “Oh don’t worry about my kids. They’ll be fine. They’re old enough to be by themselves, and my son, Joseph, is very responsible. He’s been a real man of the house since their daddy left.” There was a brief silence. Then, “Okay, I’ll be right over.” She hung the phone up and yelled, “Yey yey yey!” and came trotting towards Maddie’s room.

Maddie dived into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Mom cracked open the door and peeked at her.

“Robert Ike called! He’s invited me to a party tonight. Honey, I’m sorry I got so irritated with you.”

“Me too.” Maddie sighed. “I hope you have a good time.” But she didn’t want Mom going off and enjoying herself with this Ike guy. She felt mean to not want Mom to be happy.

“Maybe they liked my song after all,” Mom said with a dazzling smile. “You’ll be okay here for a little while. I won’t be very long, but I have to go! I’ll be back soon. I love you. Call me on my cell phone if you need me.” She rushed over to the bed, leaned down and hugged Maddie. Then she dashed out of the room and went into Joseph.

Maddie heard her telling Joseph he was responsible, and then Mom skipped out of the house. The front door slammed, the car started, and the headlights briefly illuminated the ceiling of Maddie’s room as Mom swung the car around in the driveway. Maddie covered her ears so she wouldn’t have to listen to the drone of the engine fading away.

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Books by Christina St Clair–click on title

Ten Yen True–contemporary fiction

Emily’s Shadow–mystical/historical fantasy

Blue Caravan–mystical/historical fantasy–sequel to Emily’s Shadow

Unexpected Journey–historical fiction

Between Two Worlds–biography of Pearl Buck–Chinese/English reader

Promotional Books:

Champion the Dream Horse–yearning for horses and family

Eleven Plus–struggles with classism in England

Ziggy, a Little Book of Healing–miracle and memoir, Reiki healing

When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them. (Acts 2:2-4  NIV)

The joy of healthy physical union between adults cannot be understated.  When we fall in love, it is a desperate imperative to want to unite with the beloved.  Again and again.  But of course the heights of sexual love diminish.  Everyday life overshadows those ecstatic early moments in a relationship, sometimes breaking the bond that has formed through sexual union.  Often, we expect perfection in the other and believe we have found it.  We are in reality engaged in a form of self-love.  What we desire is to be desired, to be pleased, to be high.

And it is good.  It is very good.

Other physical acts are also meaningful and important–such as care-giving, house cleaning, going out to work, child-rearing, and all the many chores that must be done to keep a household and a relationship running well.  These are later stages emerging from that beginning ecstasy and in a way sustained by the memory of perfect love.

And it is good.  It is very good.

A deeper kind of love continues to grow as anyone knows who sticks to a relationship for years, willing to see the other more realistically, willing to be the guide for the other in times of fun and trouble, willing to keep on loving in sickness and in health, willing to let go of self (not as a martyr, but out of freedom of choice).  It takes effort and energy, patience and compassion, strength and compromise.

Imagine having to give this care, this love, this endurance to many other people.  Of course, we cannot.  I found it exhausting to take care of four people for a week:-)–let alone a family for an indefinite amount of time, let alone a whole community, let alone a nation, let alone the world.

It is no mistake that Jesus tells his Disciples that he must go to the Father (God who is also Mother), but Jesus will send them the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.  As a physical being, Jesus could only be in one place at a time; of course, he traveled throughout Judea, Samaria and Israel and took care of many hundreds, if not thousands of people.  But even with his direct connection to God, his reach was limited.

Spirit is unlimited.  Baptism of the Spirit is a promise of interior growth that will manifest in relationships, in community, in the world.  It, like all relationships blessed by love, takes effort, willingness to trust, and acceptance of a power greater than ourselves.  Spiritual growth comes not merely by osmosis but is an ongoing process.  For Christians, this involves union with Jesus through understanding, through actions, through service, and through willingness to walk through the doors of opportunity to love others without expectation of gain.

People have always sought the meaning of life and needed something/someone to worship.

When I read Psalm 104 from the Bible, my breath was taken away by its beauty.  It is a poem about how God has created the world–reasoning from God to the existence of our abundant planet.  The clouds are God’s chariot and he rides upon the wings of the wind.  The abundance of water results from God’s opening the heavens to pour water down the mountains, causing it to flow through the ravines, forming springs for all life to enjoy.  Ultimately, all this water raining down and refreshing all living things is held safely within the seas and oceans.

Here is an excerpt:

⁵ He set the earth on its foundations;
    it can never be moved.
⁶ You covered it with the watery depths as with a garment;
    the waters stood above the mountains.
⁷ But at your rebuke the waters fled,
    at the sound of your thunder they took to flight;
⁸ they flowed over the mountains,
    they went down into the valleys,
    to the place you assigned for them.
⁹ You set a boundary they cannot cross;
    never again will they cover the earth.

I was astonished at the wisdom of the Psalmist who seemed to understand so much more than one might expect of a primitive person who lives in a small country.  How could he/she know about the Atlantic or the Pacific?  Of course, they did not.  Their country, now Israel, is bordered by the Mediterranean, and within the country’s boundaries is the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus walked upon the water, and calmed the storms.  Lasting poetry and myth always arise from a deeper source than our limited conscious minds.

Psalm 104, I learned, is actually derived from Genesis 1: 1-2: 4a that includes In the Beginning, the Six Days of Creation, and the Divine Sabbath.  It is also noted that there are many parallels to an Egyptian hymn about the sun god, Aten.

Here is an excerpt from the Egyptian hymn:

How manifold it is, what thou hast made!

They are hidden from the face (of man).

O sole god, like whom there is no other!

Thou didst create the world according to thy desire,

Whilst thou wert alone: All men, cattle, and wild beasts,

Whatever is on earth, going upon (its) feet,

And what is on high, flying with its wings.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Hymn_to_the_Aten

How easy it is to understand why people worship the sun.  We still do!  I need only look around to the green trees and colorful flowers shining in the sunshine to experience something greater than myself.  Yet, when it gets very hot, I am grateful there are limits to the heat from the sun, else we’d all be deep fried to a not so perfect crisp!

The source of life, of abundance, of water, of sunshine, and of boundaries cannot be fully comprehended nor described by ordinary language.  It is as vast as the ocean, as broad as the midnight sky, and rises infinitely beyond our knowing minds.

Harpers’s Bible Commentary.  James L. Mays, General Editor. 1988. San Francisco: Harper and Row. p.480

The building with the clock tower is the Waco Building in Tokyo as it might have looked in and around 1950 after WW II ended.

 My co-author, Amanda Armstrong, is working on Ten Yen Forever, the sequel to Ten Yen True. I am working on the prequel, Ten Yen.

Ten Yen is going to explore the life of the monk instrumental in Ten Yen True. We know he made a lot of money and then gave it up to become a Pure Land Buddhist, but why?

So here I am thinking about this monk whose name in Ten Yen True was simply Monk.

Now we need to know his past history. His name, it turns out, is Jomei Kouki. He was born in 1920, so now he is a very old man. His name means Jomei: spread light, and Kouki: tall tree. He has a lot to live up to, and we know he will, but what leads him to give up wealth?

In order for me to proceed with the story, I needed to establish a sense of place in Japan and discovered 1950 to be a pivotal time. It also happens to be the time frame when two of my fantasy novels, Emily’s Shadow, and Blue Caravan, are set. Perhaps I have some strange connection to this time frame.

To learn more about this time and place, I found images particularly helpful. I have discovered a building called the Waco Building which survived the bombings of WW II and is a Georgian building in the Ginza District of Tokyo–a perfect setting for where Jomei Kouki is to meet Amaya Shimizu whose name means night rain and pure water. She is an important actress who is also a director, not at all the sort of woman Jomei might fancy since he prefers all things and people very Japanese: Amaya is far from meek and obedient with bound feet–yet sparks fly between them…

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Books by Christina St Clair–click on title

Ten Yen True–contemporary fiction 

Emily’s Shadow–mystical/historical fantasy

Blue Caravan–mystical/historical fantasy–sequel to Emily’s Shadow

Unexpected Journey–historical fiction

Between Two Worlds–biography of Pearl Buck–Chinese/English reader

Promotional Books:

Champion the Dream Horse–yearning for horses and family

Eleven Plus–struggles with classism in England

Ziggy, a Little Book of Healing–miracle and memoir, Reiki healing

This photo was sent to me by my second cousin, Julia, who lives in Switzerland.  I’ve lost touch with Julia, but I am grateful for her thoughtfulness.

On the far left is my Aunt Phyllis who embued me with my love for horses and awareness of strong women.  Standing next to her is my Aunt Georgina who died before I was born. At the piano is my Aunt Ruth who I also never met, having moved to Australia before I was born.  On the very end, far right is my mother.  She looks so young. 

As best as I can tell, the photo must have been taken at Ruth’s house at a time when she got all the girls together.  My mum and her sister, Georgina, lived in a Catholic orphanage.  Phyllis, my aunt, lived with two old spinsters.  Their mother, my grandmother Rose Anna Randall, had died, and their father (my grandfather) felt unable and incapable of raising his daughters.  He kept his sons, my Uncle Sid and my Uncle Len, neither of whom I ever met.

Georgina died of TB at the orphanage.  I am sad I never knew her but so glad to have this photo so I at least know how she looked.  My mum looks gentle which she was, but she later became much more assertive, and even got a job in a shoe shop (read Eleven Plus to find out more).  After WWII, women who’d been out helping the war effort of Britain by growing vegetables, driving vehicles, working in munitions factories, even flying planes (but not in combat) were supposed to go back into the home and be dutiful wives again.

Mum tried her best.  But three children all born within 31/2 years and substandard housing and food-rationing drove her out into the work world.  Not many options for employment were available to her, but she loved selling shoes to people. She worked in a Betting Shop for a while, but that didn’t work out.  Never knew why–perhaps she passed on the secrets of which horse was really going to win.  She also worked in supermarkets, and finally got a job as a clerk working for the government.  She was sad when she was pensioned off because of poor health.

Work for her was social: she not only earned money but also made lots of friends.

She and I were best friends.  I could and did tell her everything.  She knew my secrets and I knew hers.  We spent many hours together laughing and talking.

Her memory fills my heart with gladness.

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(In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins is a book written by outstanding feminist theologian, Elisabeth Schusser Fiorenza, in 1994. This work, which argued for the retrieval of the overlooked contributions of women in the early Christian church, set a high standard for historical rigor in feminist theology. Additionally, she has published widely in journals and anthologies.

In 1984 she was one of 97 theologians and religious persons who signed A Catholic Statement on Pluralism and Abortion, calling for religious pluralism and discussion within the Catholic Church regarding the Church’s position on abortion). http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elisabeth_Sch%c3%bcssler_Fiorenza

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Books by Christina St Clair–click on title

Ten Yen True–contemporary fiction

Emily’s Shadow–mystical/historical fantasy

Blue Caravan–mystical/historical fantasy–sequel to Emily’s Shadow

Unexpected Journey–historical fiction

Between Two Worlds–biography of Pearl Buck–Chinese/English reader

99 centers:

Champion the Dream Horse–yearning for horses and family

Eleven Plus–struggles with classism in England

Ziggy, a Little Book of Healing–miracle and memoir, Reiki healing

Tintagel, Cornwall–setting for Emily’s Shadow

Books by Christina St Clair–click on title

Ten Yen True–contemporary fiction

Emily’s Shadow–mystical/historical fantasy

Blue Caravan–mystical/historical fantasy–sequel to Emily’s Shadow

Unexpected Journey–historical fiction

Between Two Worlds–biography of Pearl Buck–Chinese/English reader

Promotional Books:

Champion the Dream Horse–yearning for horses and family

Eleven Plus–struggles with classism in England

Ziggy, a Little Book of Healing–miracle and memoir, Reiki healing

What are the fruits of contemplation? Why should we bother? There are several reasons to enter into contemplation.

1. For Christians, we are told to pray unceasingly. The question is how? One answer is to engage in Centering Prayer, choosing a particular word/phrase upon which to center our intention to be with God. A regular practice of Centering prayer will result in constant repetitions even while engaged in other activities so that we are constantly reminded God is with us.

2. Direct communication with God–Ignatian Prayer of the Senses. This is a technique where we read and focus upon a sacred writing (Scripture), and imagine ourselves in the process. By so doing, we are seeking God’s presence to enrich our minds, saturating our minds with what is holy–with what brings healing and life to us.

3. Another means of direct communication is the practice of Lectio Divina which is repetitive reading of Scripture with our “ear” open to hear a particular word or phrase that speaks to us personally.

4. Do we live in an environment full of distractions? Seneca, Roman philosopher, said “To be everywhere is to be nowhere.” Contemplation is particularly relevant for people today what with the advent of media–texting, tweeting, constant cell-phoning…Such distractions keep us superficial, always on the surface of being, never recognizing we are rooted in God.

5. Women are often pleasers–that’s what we’ve been taught; it is a difficult thing to recognize the need to go deeper than being dutiful; contemplation is a means to discover what else God might have in store for us.

6. A regular practice of contemplation is also a means of emotional healing of precognitive wounds. Thomas Keating in his book Invitation to Love tells us our brains are like bio-computers. Infants in an unwelcoming environment (or just not fully accepted, including in the womb)–because their biological need for security has not been met have an emotional hesitation to accept the adventure of life. They become fearful individuals… Two-year-olds seek pleasure, affection and esteem and begin to self integrate, wanting their own way–but this requires a supportive loving environment where they are guided and protected–children surrounded by war, epidemics, destitution, starvation, poor parenting, etc. cannot consent to the goodness and beauty of life. Psycho therapy can help, but cannot heal the deeper precognitive wounds.

Eg. A macho young man drinks his friends under the table–for him this makes him feel powerful, better, bigger, important, a success. This is short lived because once he defeats one group of guys he’s outdrank, he must go to the next tavern…in a never ending cycle which does not get to the root of his need. The macho young man may even experience a Christian conversion, wanting to stop his behavior, and he decides to become a monk. So off he goes to the monastery. He becomes extreme, praying all the time while he’s not working, doing everything above and beyond…

What has really changed for him? Now he is fasting all the monks under the table. He hasn’t got to the essence of his problems. The only way for that to happen is by inviting God into the depths of his being.

Contemplation is a way to restore ourselves to become fully integrated human beings.  Only then can we truly become present to others in ways that heal families, communities, and nations.

Ultimately, the goal of contemplation is to become united with God in the deepest possible way–so we are completely Christ-centered, so that our uniqueness rings forth, or quietly trickles, or explodes (this will be revealed by God) in ways that will bring about the New Jerusalem, a world of peace, love, harmony, equity, justice, hope…

I felt tired having taken my brother, Edward, and my sister-in-law, Mary, to Lexington for their return flight via Charlotte to London. I was grateful Philip and I shared the drive. Used to be nothing for us to drive back and forth to Lexington, but not anymore. We’ve gotten older and we live further away.

So here I was, the excitement of family visit over, clothes swirling in the washing machine, having finished a good strong cup of tea. I thought the tea would give me some energy, but instead I went to take a nap in my screened in porch. It looks like a box but it is so nice to be protected from insects and to be in the shade. I dozed for a while until awakened by the sound of a cardinal singing joyously above the noise of a siren on an emergency vehicle charging up the nearby main street.

Such a combination: song and siren made me think of how mixed the world in which we live is. Many here are prosperous with good jobs and happy homes, but many are needy with no hope of a job and chaotic homes.

Mary told me how sad she always feels to hear about British soldiers wounded or killed in action in Afghanistan. Her fellow countrymen seemed closer to her than American soldiers, more important somehow, but something in her awakened to realize the Americans are just as precious, and so are the Afghan people.

Chaos swirls about us, but there is a constant song of hope for all of us all the time everywhere.