Bread for the Journey

Sometimes I bake something I don’t really like. Today, I baked fruitcake because I received three pounds of beautiful pecans for Christmas and wanted to use them in something special. Although fruitcake is not my top choice, a friend gave me some that she made and I was surprised by how much I really liked it. I loved how pecan-laden it was with just the right balance of fruit. She shared her recipe so I purchased all of the ingredients. Before actually baking it, I asked myself, “What can I do with ten pounds of fruitcake?”

This week aligns perfectly. I am involved in three events which I can “gift” with fruitcake because I am sure some attending have palates inclined toward this rich treat. And it is a hefty treat for sure. Pure brick.

As I mixed the pecans into the fruit and egg mixture, I thought of how necessary the flour and egg “mortar” was to the solid pecan foundation. Much of my life I have been learning about God. In the past decade I’ve created a more solid foundation by filling in the cracks with contemplative prayer practices. I am convicted in my belief that, without allowing space to listen to God, my life cannot hold together as well. I’ve lived through a time of crumbling foundation and it was a helpless feeling. Although everything in my life is not “palate pleasing,” what I choose to do that feels right in my heart pleases God. And that brings me great joy.

I collected stones from the beach for years, looking down much of the time at the water’s edge. Each was uniquely beautiful so it was hard to choose. Pounds of heavy rocks traveled home with us. As we prepared to move to a different home I kept finding containers filled with stones gathered over the years. They journeyed with us.

Soon after moving I thought to myself, “What are you holding on to?” I poured all of the stones into my herb garden. Releasing them back to the earth lifted a heavy burden. I don’t have the urge to collect rocks anymore. I enjoy their beauty and may bring one or two back with me, but now my gaze is higher.

Jesus said, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

A few nights ago our church hosted renowned composer, Huang Ruo, who discussed his opera, An American Soldier, premiering this summer at Opera Theatre of St. Louis. The New York Times describes this new work as “blending Western classical idioms with Chinese traditions into a distinctive style.” Huang spoke of Eastern poetry and how the moon has important significance in Chinese culture. The moon can symbolize home, and when family and dear friends are together the moon is bigger and brighter. When apart, looking at the same moon can help family, friends and home feel closer.

Early this morning I was eager to witness a Super Blue Blood Moon, but it was cloudy so I could only imagine it. Later I couldn’t resist taking a picture after the clouds lifted and the bright moon rested near our church’s steeple. I call many places home, including the church. But home is not just a building or even a moon. Home is where God dwells; in my heart.

Henri Nouwen said, “Jesus draws us all into the heart of Love. When we are in the heart of the Divine we are also in the heart of the world, because the world dwells in the heart of its Creator. From our dwelling place in the heart of Love we are free, we can be generous and welcoming while always remaining at home.”

Last week I learned about a child who used his passion for snowflakes to bring us a remarkable gift. He became the first person to photograph a single snow crystal, in 1885. A memorial in his Vermont hometown reads, “For fifty years Wilson Bentley, a simple farmer, developed his technique of micro-photography to reveal to the world the grandeur and mystery of the snowflake – its universal hexagonal shape and its infinite number of lovely designs.”

Also at a young age, John Ruskin, an English critic, learned the art of observation in nature and the appreciation for poetry and literature. He influenced Frederic Edwin Church who practiced luminism, emphasizing light in his paintings of beautiful detailed landscapes. Church eagerly read the works of John Ruskin, who taught young artists that to observe nature closely was to “follow the finger of God”.

I try to remind myself every day to hold onto a sense of wonder. Living in this childlike spirit seems to invite more energy and creativity. The more observant I am of even the tiniest objects, like a snowflake, the more I notice the omnipresent finger of God.

In a piece of cloth, ‘warp’ threads form the foundation of the material. Color, pattern, and texture are created by the individual ‘woof’ threads that complete the fabric. A local church near us created a tapestry from church members’ articles of clothing. Christian beliefs, consistent and eternal, are represented by the ‘warp’. Varied lives and gifts of the church members, represented by individual threads of the ‘woof’, makes the fabric unique.

A tapestry reminds me of a musical fugue. In the fugue, a theme is introduced in one voice and interwoven in different voices throughout the music. When I created “A Tapestry of Uncommon Prayer”, I began to bring back my music hidden for so long. Similar to a fugue, music and faith has become interwoven in my life, and practicing has become prayer.

But where natural music is refined and polished by art, there one first sees and recognizes the great and perfect wisdom of God in his miraculous work of music. The most rare and marvelous musical creation of all occurs when a simple melody is joined by three or four or five other voices, joyfully playing and skipping around it, decorating and adorning that simple, ordinary melody most wonderfully in various ways with various sounds, as if in some heavenly roundelay of dance. ~Martin Luther

I think I was a fairly obedient child, but when I was about five years old I did something of which I’m sure my parents did not approve. I don’t remember what happened exactly, but the story goes that I was jumping on my parents’ bed. I might have gotten away with it except, when gravity pulled me back down from what I’m sure was a joyful height, my knee landed on a sharp metal box. The doctor, a dear family friend, told me years later he was at a black tie affair when he received the frantic call from my mother. He took great pleasure in recalling how he stitched my knee up in his tuxedo. I have lived with this scar through childhood teasing and well-intentioned people suggesting, “Oh, you have a run in your stocking.” I don’t notice the scar anymore, but I like carrying the story with me.

Before moving into our first home, my husband and I were on a day trip and found a lovely pine table. We thought it would be perfect for our small kitchen, so we excitedly purchased our first piece of furniture. One day he came running into the kitchen shouting, “What are you doing?!” I was horrified to discover that my overzealous pounding of nuts with a meat mallet was making pockmarks on our new table. I don’t know what I was thinking. Bad idea. We still have the table and I now say the indentations add character, but I don’t think my husband will ever stop giving me grief!

Today, while cleaning up after the chili lunch at church, I had a conversation with someone in the kitchen about one of our rolling carts. The hard plastic top is blistered with a circular “scar” from carrying a hot pot of soup many years ago. The woman I spoke with smiles as she reminisces about the scar as it reminds her of the men who used it while sharing a soup lunch every month. Many members of this group are no longer living, but their memory lives on in a well-used cart, which heard the stories they shared. By carrying gallons of soup over the years, it also helped feed their hunger for friendship and God.

I belong to several organizations. There are many more groups I can join, but each requires more time than I can give. I have to decline so many wonderful things because it is important for me to maintain balance. This is not easy for me, especially when relationships are involved, but I try to listen to my heart when making such decisions.

Reflecting on my day helps me notice God’s presence in all that I experience. I savor moments of consolation as these bring me life. In following St. Ignatius’ example of prayer, I also reflect on the challenging parts of the day and pray for God’s help in facing them. I pray that I, in turn, can help others who struggle with their challenges.

Through praying the daily Awareness Examen, either by myself or with others, I am more conscious of God’s companionship with me and more focused on living my life authentically. Through prayer, I believe God reveals his will in ways I cannot always know or understand. Following God’s call requires patience and endurance, but the place I am led is where I find true joy.

I would not consider myself to be the most fashionable. At our women’s retreat tonight, led by Dr. Lauren Winner, I learned that the original meaning of “fashion” is a verb; “to shape”. Dr. Winner spoke of how bread dough is shaped into loaves, clay can be shaped into goblets, and fashion shapes our identity. Clothing communicates something about ourselves to the world. As a Christian, how can I, clothed in Christ, wordlessly communicate Jesus to others?

In Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. Galatians 3:26-27

Tonight as I mixed challah dough for communion at the women’s retreat this weekend, I thought about this bread full of symbolism and sustenance; enriched with golden egg yolks. And I recalled the beautiful, rich text from Psalm 65.

You visit the earth and water it, you greatly enrich it; the river of God is full of water; you provide the people with grain, for so you have prepared it. You water its furrows abundantly, settling its ridges, softening it with showers, and blessing its growth. You crown the year with your bounty; your wagon tracks overflow with richness. The pastures of the wilderness overflow, the hills gird themselves with joy, the meadows clothe themselves with flocks, the valleys deck themselves with grain, they shout and sing together for joy. -Psalm 65:9-13

I took an assessment once asking me to name a few people, real or fictional, whom I admire. I fondly remember naming one of these “heroes” Betty Crocker. I suppose she was a known face to my childhood baking. After answering other questions in our group we helped each other discern our spiritual gifts. Many times the characteristics that our heroes possess are also within ourselves yet they may not be evident.

When I thought my life was going well but my heart was telling me something else, I eventually couldn’t ignore it any longer. A gift that God had given me at birth, music, was not being used. Like a sprout growing in the dark soil, breaking through hard pavement to reach for life-giving light, my musical gift was hidden and eager to burst out of its confines.

Preferring stability to change, I hesitantly became vulnerable to a new creation. Although transformation is not comfortable, I am convicted that it’s the only way to true life. Discovering (or rediscovering) and sharing my gifts with the world brings me great joy.

Longing for light, we wait in darkness. Longing for truth, we turn to you. Make us your own, your holy people, light for the world to see.

Christ, be our light! Shine in our hearts. Shine through the darkness. Christ, be our light! Shine in your church gathered today. ~Bernadette Farrell