Confessional Prayer...

Not being a Roman Catholic, I haven't entered a confessional like the one above. But incredible blessing and help has been mine via confessional prayer.

Before I discovered liturgy and the Book of Common Prayer, confession was something between myself and God -- which is as it should be (and remains so in Anglican practice). But somehow confessing my sins to God felt ... unsatisfying. I struggled with feeling forgiven. Intellectually, I knew I was forgiven, but I had difficulties in truly believing, in feeling, forgiven. I found myself asking forgiveness for sins I had already addressed with God in vain attempts at feeling His forgiveness in my heart-of-hearts.

As I became acquainted with Anglican practice, the prayers of confession drew me in. Somehow these ancient prayers expressed all that I wanted to say to Christ at the foot of the Cross as I confessed the times I "missed the mark" (which is the definition of sin).

From the 1928 Book of Common Prayer:

LET us humbly confess our sins unto Almighty God:

          
          A General Confession:

ALMIGHTY and most merciful Father; We have erred, and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. We have offended against thy holy laws. We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; And we have done those things which we ought not to have done; And there is no health in us. But thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable offenders. Spare thou those, O God, who confess their faults. Restore thou those who are penitent; According to thy promises declared unto mankind In Christ Jesus our Lord. And grant, O most merciful Father, for his sake; That we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life, To the glory of thy holy Name. Amen.

The Declaration of Absolution, or Remission of Sins:

ALMIGHTY God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who desireth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he may turn from his wickedness and live, hath given power, and commandment, to his Ministers, to declare and pronounce to his people, being penitent, the Absolution and Remission of their sins. He pardoneth and absolveth all those who truly repent, and unfeignedly believe his holy Gospel.

Wherefore let us beseech him to grant us true repentance, and his Holy Spirit, that those things may please him which we do at this present; and that the rest of our life hereafter may be pure and holy; so that at the last we may come to his eternal joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

And the Corporate Confession before receiving Holy Communion, which is prayed, kneeling, by priest and congregation together:

ALMIGHTY God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Maker of all things, Judge of all men; We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, Which we, from time to time, most grievously have committed, By thought, word, and deed, Against thy Divine Majesty, Provoking most justly thy wrath and indignation against us. We do earnestly repent, And are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; The remembrance of them is grievous unto us; The burden of them is intolerable. Have mercy upon us, Have mercy upon us, most merciful Father; For thy Son our Lord Jesus Christ's sake, Forgive us all that is past; And grant that we may ever hereafter Serve and please thee In newness of life, To the honour and glory of thy Name; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Then shall the Priest (the Bishop if he be present) stand up, and turning to the People, say,

ALMIGHTY God, our heavenly Father, who of his great mercy hath promised forgiveness of sins to all those who with hearty repentance and true faith turn unto him; Have mercy upon you; pardon and deliver you from all your sins; confirm and strengthen you in all goodness; and bring you to everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

These prayers, especially when prayed while kneeling, brought me before Christ in confession in a way I had not experienced before in walking the pilgrim pathway. Hearing someone, even a human someone, tell me I was forgiven makes all the difference.

Each time I rise from my knees, I feel forgiven. I can let go of the sin, release the guilt and sorrow, experience true contrition of heart, and accept His gracious pardoning of my many shortcomings.

I know very well that faith isn't only about feelings. The Christian faith relies first and foremost upon Christ as revealed in the Word of God, His love letter to us, His wisdom passed down to us over the centuries that reveals Who He is and why He does what He does.

Yet God created the human psyche with feelings, and feelings can signal to us when something isn't quite kosher or when something is indeed right. Yes, our feelings can lead us astray if not taken in the context of Scripture, for our hearts are deceitful.

But when feelings and Scripture line up perfectly, grace happens.

When grace happens, forgiveness flows. Not only God's forgiveness (as He promises to forgive whether I feel it or not) but also the grace of self-forgiveness.

And self-forgiveness is the key ... for me, at least. Hearing a human voice assure me of God's forgiveness changes everything to me. What I struggle to believe myself I can more easily accept through the spoken assurance of another, especially when those spoken words arrive through the lens of Scripture.

Forgiveness.
Self-forgiveness.
Mercy.

Grace.

Aaaaaah... grace.

On Home Education: A Writing Prompt

This week's Carry On Tuesday prompt was taken from the well-known lines of Robert Browning:

"Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be...."

I didn't want to walk the obvious path with this prompt, although I have written about age in other poems; instead, I found myself thinking of my growing children, the eldest of whom is graduating from high school this year, the result of twelve years of home education. She spent one year in a private school (7th grade), and, despite making wonderful friends, she was clamoring long before the year was out to come home again for school. One younger brother towers over her while one matches her height; the youngest still remains boyish while his older two brothers race each other in gaining inches and manliness, their deep voices easily mistaken for their father's, even by me. And Elizabeth works, choosing colleges, on the periphery of our home school days. They grow--and part of me mourns for the little ones they were just a mere moment ago.

On Home Education

They scratch pencils
across pages,
filling blanks with
words birthed from graphite.

This ephemeral
hand-holding season
trickles to an end
as we tick off
days,
weeks,
months,
years.

Shooting rapidly
toward the ceiling,
they smile down upon me,
bending tall spines
to enwrap me
in adult-length arms.

Returning their embraces,
my heart reaches upward, too,
praying,
hoping,
wishing,
trusting
that the best is yet to be.

Copyright 2010 by Susanne Barrett

Quotation of the Week: Thomas Merton

As I searched the pages of my Quotation Journal this morning, hungering for a word or two that would buoy my flagging spirits on this chilly winter's day, I came across a rather long quotation that I copied into my journal over eighteen months ago.

I have long been intrigued by Thomas Merton and hope to delve into his writings in more depth in the future when homeschooling and work will not be robbing my spare time. My dear friend Linda, who cheerfully enables my addiction to books, presented me with two volumes of Merton's journals a couple of weeks ago, and I do hope to sit down with them and ponder life along with Merton himself.

But for today, this quotation pulled at me, especially with the events of Haiti still unfolding, often violently:

"Into this world, this demented inn, in which there is absolutely no room for Him at all, Christ has come uninvited. But because He cannot be at home in it, because He is out of place in it, and yet He must be in it, His place is with those others for whom there is no room. His place is with those who do not belong, who are rejected by power because they are regarded as weak, those who are discredited, who are denied the status of persons, tortured, excommunicated. With those for whom there is no room, Christ is present in this world."

-- Thomas Merton

"This demented inn" expresses our sinful, fallen, destroyed world all too well. But Grace has come, "uninvited," to knock at each heart's door, seeking those to worship Him, with no thought as to their station in life. Poor or rich, weak or strong, He extends to each a scarred hand, a palm forever marked with the cruelty of the human race whom He came to save.

To save now as well as then....

More Gifts ... A Journey to One Thousand

I continue on my journey to Gratitude, a path to One Thousand Gifts, little and life-changing, from the Father of Lights....

51. ... the sweet miniature red dachshund who curls up with me each evening on the sofa, who sleeps with my daughter each night, who amuses the boys who play with him each day, and who takes the greatest delight in wrestling with my husband. Dashwood (Dash for short) is truly family.

52. ... the gift of wordsmithing that brings such frustration, such joy, such responsibility, such a depth of emotion and being.

53. ... the global outpouring of aid, prayer, and funds to Haiti in the wake of last week's horrible earthquake. The love for the people of Haiti and compassion on their behalf, from people of all faiths.

54. ... the roaring fire in our wood-burning stove that warms our house and home, built each evening by my 14-year-old son from wood piled and hauled by all three boys. Their work warms my toes and my heart.

55. ... this little mountain community, nestled 4000 feet above the sea--1200 souls who weather storms, both of weather and of life, together.

56. ... the antique Seth Thomas clock that graces the center of our wooden mantel, its chimes summoning childhood memories of my grandparents' dark, quiet home where it lived before coming to roost in our home.

57. ... Tuesday afternoons, my "free" afternoons in which I hope to write--to play with words, pushing them outward from hidden inward spaces where they hide, resisting the drawing forth that writing is, the revelation of the unknown in me.

58. ... the ancient prayers, supplications of pilgrims traveling the Christian pathway over the centuries, the lifting hands of praise a millenia ago, hearts spilling words of worship that we still speak in this postmodern age.

59. ... the warm waters, spun by air to jet against sore, tired muscles, the spa that relaxes muscles, relieves pain, allows me to fall into a mostly-untroubled sleep each night.

60. ... even this pain, chronic now for eight years, that twists muscles, swells joints--that slays me, disables me, yet frees me from the bane of selfishness, lack of compassion, over-serving, over-mothering. It's not an easy thing to be thankful for, yet, in a strange only-God-could-do-it-this-way way, my illness has indeed been a gift. A difficult gift, one I sometimes wish I could return-to-sender, but a gift nevertheless. A gift of which I am still plumbing the depths....

Prayers This Morning

As I glanced through my Twitter page this morning, a prayer caught my eye. Spread over two "tweets" was this prayer posted by MagnificatMag:

"We pray for blessings on this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity that the unity of believers which graced the early Church will transform the faith and charity of all Christians today."

Those of you familiar with this blog know that Christian Unity is truly an issue near and dear to my heart. As an evangelical with a strong appreciation for Church history and liturgical worship, I see all professing Christians who adhere to the Nicene Creed as my brothers and sisters in Christ, whether they be main-line Protestant, Evangelical, Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, or Non-Denominational. I hope that many of you will join me in praying for Christian Unity this week even as our prayers reach out to those who so desperately need the aid and grace of Christ in Haiti.


Speaking of Haiti, in an e-mail last night, Father Acker of Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity sent us a link for the Anglican Relief and Development Fund; Bishop Boyce is on the board of this organization.

Included in the e-mail was this wonderful prayer which I am printing to use in our homeschool this week and for as long as is needed:

O MERCIFUL God, and heavenly Father, who hast taught us in thy holy Word that thou dost not willingly afflict or grieve the children of men; Look with pity, we beseech thee, upon the sorrows of men, women, and children of Haiti for whom our prayers are offered. Remember them, O Lord, in mercy; endue their souls with patience; comfort them with a sense of thy goodness; lift up thy countenance upon them, and give them peace; Direct and provide for those providing relief and aid, O Lord, that by our giving thy holy name may be glorified and thy love made known ; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Continuing in prayer for the good people of Haiti and for those who are helping them in many ways and for loving unity within the Church of Christ Jesus,

{in}couraged to haiku

Haiku are a wonderful way of expressing creativity. In fact, the lovely women at {in}courage have challenged us to write a haiku as an expression of our creativity.

I enjoy writing haiku, the Japanese form of poetry which involves the composition of three lines, the first line consisting of five syllables, the second of seven syllables, and the last of five syllables again. I used to write them on Twitter as TwiHaiku during National Poetry Month (April) last year. But an opportunity to not only write a haiku here but also share it on the {in}courage website (and a chance to win a small prize) makes writing this haiku practically irresistible.

And of course I can't write just one....

bare winter shimmers,
sparkles radiate outward,
His peace glows inward.

gray days, cold, wintry --
ice-chill gripping me bone-deep,
faith in spring's return.

fire glows brightly,
warmth radiating bone-deep --
comfort in His grace.

home candles flicker,
brightening, shining warmth and light --
Promise in darkness.

Thunkings

It's been difficult to focus this week. The earthquake and its aftermath are foremost in my thoughts, as are our neighbors, L&S. L's mother was killed in the quake when the building she was in at a medical conference collapsed. My heart grieves for them, for those who have lost family and friends, for those who lost all of the little they had.

Ideas, thought, flitter back and forth, in and out. But they refuse to alight, to stay, to come into full focus. Emotions are stronger, pulsing, insistent. Sometimes illogical.

Grief. Sadness. Anger. Hope. Sorrow.

These emotions play musical chairs in my depths, changing places to the unheard tune--some winning at times, others dominant later.

I've read some thought-provoking responses to the events of Haiti and responses to those responses. A few worth reading:

Donald Miller, one of my favorite Christian writers

Elizabeth Esther, author of a blog I follow

Both of these reponses are in response to Pat Robertson's comments about Haiti. If you aren't familiar with his comments, you may watch the video here: Robertson

A difficult video to watch, but the True Christian, Biblical response: Liturgy New Zealand

Anger. Sorrow. Grief. Sadness. Hope.

"'Hope' is the thing with feathers--
That perches in the soul--"

Quotations of the Week: On Suffering

                                                                                

In light of the terrible events in Haiti this week, I felt led to post several quotations on suffering:

"Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus."
-- Wallace Stegner

"I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable."
-- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

"I have learned two lessons in my life: first, there are no sufficient literary, psychological, or historical answers to human tragedy, only moral ones. Second, just as despair can come to one another only from other human beings, hope, too, can be given to one only by other human beings."
-- Elie Wiesel

Prayers for Haiti

Hearts weep.

I heard about the earthquake last night, about the ground jostling and buckling beneath the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere. I saw the photos this morning, high-rises tumbled like Legos, shocked faces unable to take in the devastation.

But, selfishly, I felt grief for the loss of life, for the pain and suffering only distantly. Very distantly.

Until an hour ago.

An hour ago I received an e-mail from our small (pop 1200) town's homeschool group. A dear, dear family who has accompanied me to Seder meals with Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity lost a loved one, a loved one I met once myself.

L and S are wonderful, peaceful people. The kind who stop by just to say "I love you." Who reach out to help others so readily: caring for the sick in our town; adopting children from China and Taiwan.  S has accompanied me to Lake Murray's Women's Retreats. Elizabeth has babysat for them. I taught writing to their oldest last year; in the past, we've done a California History co-op, taking turns teaching.

S and I walked a labyrinth a long while ago -- treading narrow, curved paths while the summer sun sank westward, praying deeply through the hour. Comfortably not speaking.

Girls' nights on L&S's back deck, glasses of ruby wine in hand under twinkle lights, laughing at their children's antics.

L's mother was at a medical conference in Haiti when the quake struck. The building she was in at the time collapsed, and her death has been confirmed.

An earthquake thousands of miles away impacts our little mountain village. E-mails fly. Prayers are offered. Meals are made and delivered. Hugs, vain attempts at consolation, demonstrate heart-deep love.

And now I grieve.

The irony strikes me, and I grieve more deeply that it takes a personal tragedy to make the pain of hundreds of thousands, even millions, real to me. The news, so easily ignored before, now attracts my attention now that neighboring lives are involved, touched, broken.

I try not to bristle in offense at the so-called Christian response of Pat Robertson who claims those suffering somehow deserved this tragedy, calling the quake and its devastation a judgment of God because "Haiti swore a pact with the devil." Who is he to interpret the mind of God? I feel ashamed to be identified with the same Name he claims. I echo a friend who writes,"I wonder if God is sick of being accused of mass murder in the guise of terror and natural disasters?"

Christ wept when tragedy came to His neighborhood, to His friends. He cried consolingly with Martha and Mary, even though He knew that joy was mere moments away, that He would soon call "Come forth!"

He wept then, at the death of a friend. He weeps now, at the deaths of many friends. The fallen world ... a fallen place. So much sadness, terror, grief. He weeps with us.

What can we do but weep with Him? Extend a helping hand. Lift helping hands in prayer:

O God, merciful and compassionate, who art ever ready to hear the prayers of those who put their trust in thee; Graciously hearken to us who call upon thee, and grant us thy help in this our need; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Prayers in Time of Calamity, 1928 Book of Common Prayer)

And then we weep with those who weep.

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times...."

                                                                        

Carry on Tuesday Prompt #35 from Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities:

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times...."

The worst of times --
fear penetrating
the marrow,
suffocating the good,
the best.

A winward spirit,
fingers wrapped firmly
around my throat --
pressing, pressing in.
Stalking the halls of memory,
exhausted by repetition,
unable to be released
from its damnable task.

A glimmer
in the darkness,
a sparkle,
as blackened windows
pearl with dawn.
Dayspring arrives,
conquering the ghosts,
hefting truth,
stifling my demons --

at least until nightfall.

Copyright 2010 by Susanne Barrett