Bread for the Journey

The final leg of my journey was the most eye-opening. I had hoped that my week’s pilgrimage would end with positive memories. Instead, I experienced anger, turned to sadness, transformed yet again…

Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen to what it intends to do with you. ~Parker Palmer

9/1/17 Holy Cross Monastery, in West Park, NY, is a beautiful historic property overlooking the Hudson River, and the delicious meals are prepared by trained chefs from the Culinary Institute of America. That was an unexpected bonus! My room faced the rising sun, so morning brought first light beauty. This community observes “The Great Silence” from 8:20 p.m. – 8:30 a.m., so the monks and retreatants eat breakfast in silence. While eating, a few of us noticed a breathtaking sliver of rainbow shining in the blue sky over the Hudson.

This place is very different from my other monastic visits. So near to NYC, yet so peaceful. I listened to birds and crickets and saw calming water, yet also heard Amtrak trains regularly transporting people to and from major cities. Many of the people staying there were from NYC and desperate for a break from their chaotic lives. One of them was a man from Egypt, now living in the Bronx. He seemed eager to learn from me about contemplative prayer, so I shared some of my knowledge. When it was time for me to leave the monastery, it became clear that he didn’t want me to go, and he tearfully asked if there’s any chance we could meet again. This is very difficult for me to write about, but he felt a deep emotional connection to me. I was shocked to experience this and am thankful I had the sense to stay in a public place. Trying to think of what to say and stumbling for words, I reminded him to listen for where God’s voice is leading him. I quickly reached out to shake his hand, then hurried down the hall to the bookstore to settle myself and tell Br. John what had just happened. He knew the man and said he’s had some pretty serious hardships. I was really upset to have this memory of the monastery and to realize that people in the world are so needy of love and of being listened to. It’s difficult to open our hearts in faith without exposing our vulnerabilities.

It was time for me to drive into Boston to meet up with my husband and daughter. Moving day for all the students! Thinking about my week, especially what happened during the past 24 hours, I thought, did I listen too deeply? No. That’s just who I am. It took me days, maybe weeks, to realize that I had just experienced one of my favorite quotes:

The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet. ~Frederick Buechner

My deep gladness is to listen and share stories of God’s presence in our lives, to help others learn how to listen for God’s voice through contemplative prayer, and to help them discern where God’s whisper might be leading them. What I had not experienced until now was the deep hunger of another child of God, the desperation in his eyes when I said good-bye, and my sadness at not being able to do anything about it except pray that God leads him home. So many of God’s children hunger so deeply. May we use what brings us deep joy to reflect the light of Christ to others, spreading God’s love in the world.

8/31/17 He found me! I had just returned to my room after attending Vigils at St. Vincent Archabbey in Western PA. Preparing to walk around the campus, I was surprised to hear a knock on the door followed by, “Anne?” There stood Brother Placid, ready to escort me to breakfast.

Brother Placid was such a gracious host. He shared a poignant story of why he chose to enter the monastery, then asked me questions about why I was visiting and traveling so far. After sharing part of my story he asked if I was on Facebook. Chuckling, I said, “No. My family has tried to get me to join for years, but I’m not interested.” Then he said, “Here’s why I think you ought to be on Facebook.” I felt myself shutting down a bit, wanting to half-listen, yet knowing that would be rude. So I listened to his reasoning. Brother Placid said, “There is so much bad news out there. Your story needs to be shared on Facebook so your good news may reach more people around the world.” His words resonated with me, and I remember thinking, “Wow! This kind, hospitable monk, who I just met today, may have convinced me to get on Facebook, even when my family couldn’t.”

The rest of my journey, and after returning home, I kept thinking about what Br. Placid told me. I delayed doing anything because it was difficult for me to know how to begin. There was so much to tell! I set a goal and our son helped with logistics in starting my blog. I later joined Facebook and posted my writings there, too. Writing my story has become my evening prayer, and I’ve written daily since November 2, 2017. https://breadforthejourney.blog/2017/11/03/life-revealed/

So, I’d like to give a huge shout out to Br. Placid (Sellers), who believes in the power of faith and shared story. He wasn’t content to merely listen, but challenged me to enter uncomfortable territory because he believed in me. Br. Placid inspired me to share my story with the world, even if I didn’t want to, because it’s not about me. It’s about God and faith and hope and love.

Excited for my next destination, last year on August 30, there was very thick fog as I left the mountains of Montreat early in the morning, driving through a “pillar of clouds”: https://breadforthejourney.blog/2017/12/19/o-lord-of-might/

I was heading to St. Vincent Archabbey in Latrobe, PA, founded in 1832, the oldest Benedictine monastery in the United States. I was also drawn to this place because of its 150 year old working gristmill, still in operation today. When I visited this historical landmark, I viewed the beautiful chestnut structures and French-flint millstones. The gentleman working there noticed my passion for bread as I asked him many questions, but maybe made clear after I purchased a dozen bags of freshly milled flour. He told me he was thankful that I noticed and appreciated what he does.

I’ve been reading a book about the six thousand year history of bread. What Peter Reinhart says in the Foreword is fascinating as he speaks of how the author portrays the “bread-centered, eternally transforming universe” and how “it is in this very notion of transformation that bread’s power resides.”

A seed grows into a grass that yields more seeds, some of which are harvested and destroyed, pulverized into a powder called flour. The once life-giving seeds are combined with water and salt to make clay and the clay is then leavened with yeast. With this act the baker has engaged the Promethean challenge; he or she has raised an Adam (which translated means clay) and brought that clay to life. The clay, now called dough, undergoes numerous transformations as its enzymes rearrange the starchy molecules and release hidden sugars; the sugars are then transformed by bacteria and yeast fungi into acids, alcohols, and gasses. The dough grows and develops character; the baker divides and shapes it and exposes it to various temperatures and environments in which it can achieve its optimum potential. But, as dough, it is still unable to fulfill its destiny; for this the yeast and other living organisms must make the ultimate sacrifice, enduring the fiery furnace, passing the thermal death point, and in a dramatic, final surge and feeding frenzy, create one last carbonic push while the flour proteins coagulate, the starches gelatinize, and the sugars on the surface caramelize. Multiple and nearly simultaneous transformations take place behind the veil of the oven door until, at the appointed time, the bread emerges as something totally other. It has become a loaf of bread, the iconic staff of life. We then consume it and begin the cycle again.

Milling wheat into flour. A seemingly ungrateful task, yet steeped in importance.

I don’t cry often, but I do at times. My family knows I cry during sad movies. But during my pilgrimage last year, what I didn’t expect was how tearful I was every day for a week. Yet these were not tears of sadness; they were tears of excitement, praise and joy. The $2 travel mug I thought our daughter would like I ended up keeping for myself, because its message described how I felt all week; like one “hot mess.” It actually made me laugh because I didn’t understand what was happening to me. Nothing bad, just puzzling.

August 29, 2017: Rainy morning. Hiked up Lookout Mountain in NC. Trail a bit slippery. Held onto rock, saying under my breath, “Lord, you are my stronghold.” Met Ellen (liturgical artist) for lunch; shared stories of faith. Here is how I spoke of her in my journal after we first met in June 2017: “Ellen’s home is full of her creative spirit. Yet my experience there was deeper. We just talked for 10 minutes, yet in that brief time I felt a deep spiritual connection…as if we are kindred spirits. I told her I hope our paths cross again some day. During the journey home and after returning to work, I kept thinking of how we might reconnect since it felt as if God was at work. It just dawned on me that maybe we could collaborate on the prayer room for General Assembly in June 2018. I’m very excited about this possibility! I will pray about it.” Note: This prayer came to fruition. Ellen stayed at our home several times this past year, as she was the artist chosen to design and help create a banner and table covers for the large assembly of Presbyterians this past June. We worked together on the labyrinth and the prayer room. And hoping to hear her story is part of the reason I drove 1000 miles to NC on my pilgrimage last August.

After lunch with Ellen, I met for spiritual direction with Elizabeth Canham, retired Episcopal priest and author of Heart Whispers and Finding Your Voice in the Psalms. After hearing my story, she said it should be told. I showed her my journal entry from 2010, where I quoted her: “Discovering the artist within ourselves is a natural response to being immersed in love for creation and the Creator…Our creativity will become our prayer, born of simple attention to what is around us.”

Looking back, I wonder if I was such a “hot mess” because I hadn’t been allowing enough time to be present with God. But this week, giving my full attention to God, I felt such joy it had to be expressed. I don’t exactly know why I traveled all the places I did. I was just drawn to go. It is something impossible to articulate in the spoken or written language. A few months after returning home, I read something which very closely resembled my experience. It was such a beautiful discovery. I remember excitedly thinking, “Someone else has had this experience!”

When the joyful enthusiasm which seizes you as you read or hear about contemplation is really the touch of God calling you to a higher level of grace,…so abounding will that joy be that it will follow you to bed at night and rise with you in the morning. It will pursue you through the day in everything you do…The joy and the desire will seem to be part of each other…though you will be at a loss to say just what it is that you long for. Your whole self will be transformed; your face will shine with an inner beauty; and for as long as you feel it, nothing will sadden you. A thousand miles would you run to speak with another who you knew really felt it, and yet when you got there, find yourself speechless. And yet your only joy would be to speak of it…words fruitful, and filled with fire. – from the fourteenth-century spiritual classic “The Book of Privy Counseling”, author unknown

One year ago, I began a week-long pilgrimage across the country. On August 28, 2017, I checked in at Montreat in NC, for personal time set aside to be with God. I was very excited yet a bit nervous to begin my journey; not knowing what God had in store for me. I felt adventurous, spending time with just me and God. I planned spiritual direction with a retired Episcopal priest and writer I admired, scheduled a lunch meeting with a liturgical artist I hardly knew, and made overnight accommodations at Benedictine monasteries in IN, PA, and NY. My only expectations were to have none. I planned to listen to people’s stories of faith along the way and be open to the Spirit’s movement in my life. I participated in the Liturgy of the Hours when staying in the monasteries, and I journaled daily. The following is what I wrote on this day last year:

There are many faithful people who have stories to share, but they may not have a way or make a way to share them. Right now I strongly feel called to listen to people’s stories of faith, and to take no notes, as I might miss what I hear and not be fully present. I love to share how God has been working in my life, but only when it’s the right opportunity. I would prefer mutual sharing. I am very aware of not wanting to seem boastful, yet at the same time it is important to be able to share these stories of faith and God’s grace.

As I reflect on last year’s pilgrimage, I realize that although my plans were to listen to others’ stories, they inevitably asked me to share my own story. By sharing in this way, I was unexpectedly fulfilled and my soul was nourished.

Tonight I attended an evening of music reading sessions led by Michael Burkhardt. The first session was on children’s choirs, and I appreciate how he led it with such passion and infectious energy. When I think back to my favorite childhood teachers, the ones I remember were good storytellers and made me feel important. The best teachers taught so creatively, I wasn’t even aware I was learning. One of the vocal exercises we experienced in our class tonight involved moving while we sang. This movement allowed our voices to express the music with more freedom and ease. Even if we don’t actually move while singing in performance, if the music is rehearsed that way, we may still feel its inner movement. When I have a mind-block, many times creative expression will return if I just move. I might walk, do mundane work, sing, play the piano, draw, pray, exercise or write. I am thankful for all teachers, but especially those who have and continue to inspire and encourage my creative spirit to shine.

Many friends have encouraged us to cherish the time with our children, as the years go by so quickly. In worship today, we experienced a baptism, a crying child, and a celebration of members who have committed to teaching and mentoring our children and youth this coming year. As we sat with our grown daughter, I reflected on her own baptism, toddler years “vocalizing” in worship, the many years singing with the children’s choirs and ringing bells, and her involvement in worship, fellowship, and mission. Through participation in various ministries, and members walking alongside our children, this church community has shaped them into individuals infused with faith, confidence, and love. This partnership between home and church has been crucial to their faith formation. We love our church family! As a church community, we make the following promise whenever a child is baptized. It helps me to read it out loud after reading it together in worship, as a reminder of what the church has done for our family, and as I continue to nurture the children in our community.

With joy and thanksgiving, we welcome you into Christ’s church to share with us in his ministry, for we are all one in Christ. We promise to love, encourage and support you, to share the good news of the gospel with you, and to help you know and follow Christ.

Marilyn Smith, artist

You know it’s bad when even the wildlife won’t eat something you make. The kitchen smelled so rancid this morning after uncovering the fermented teff seed sourdough that we threw it outside and, inside, turned on fans and lit candles.

So, my injera flatbread experiment failed. I think I didn’t grind the seeds into a fine enough flour. I will try again, beginning with teff flour rather than trying to grind the minuscule seeds myself. Maybe cut back on the fermentation time, too. Actually, I guess it didn’t really fail because I learned what not to do next time. It also made me think more deeply about what was going on in that bowl of bubbling flour and water; far more than I can explain here.

I’m sure my ancestors did lots of experimenting with food before getting it right, and now I have the benefit of using recipes. Going “off-recipe,” though, can be freeing. I don’t know exactly where this path is heading, but I do know that off-road experiences along with failures can deepen and enrich my life. And for that I am grateful.

When my friend returned home after visiting this summer, she texted me this picture of a rainbow greeting her as she drove up the driveway and said it was such a comforting sight. Our daughter returns home for several days after recently moving to a new apartment and before her graduate classes begin. We’re looking forward to spending some relaxing time together before she heads back to a busy schedule. Our son just moved into a new home with his host family as he begins school in Denmark. When we spoke last week he said he was a bit homesick but having so much fun. Many other students are beginning new lives away from home, and it’s not always easy to adjust. But once we do, by experiencing new things and enduring, we grow in many ways. It also helps to know we have a home to come back to, offering a bit of comfort before our next adventure. Even if our home is not in the same place as it was before, God’s love is steadfast and always with us in our heart. And we can be reminded of this love when seeing God’s beauty in the world, like a rainbow welcoming us home.

Second day of teff flour fermentation for injera, Ethiopian flatbread. Since I had never tasted this grain before, I made teff porridge for breakfast. It has a very nutty taste, and it filled me up all day! A few add-ons included honey and raisins, and the first nuts I pulled out of the freezer happened to be pecans, so those also went into this porringer of deliciousness.

It amazes me how much life is in this bowl of fermenting flour and water. The grain can’t transform on its own without water bringing it to life. After a few more days of fermentation, it will be further transformed into sourdough-risen flatbread, the most fundamental component of any meal in this region of Africa.

Living water, never ending, quench the thirst and flood the soul. Wellspring, Source of life eternal, drench our dryness; make us whole. ~Sylvia G. Dunstan