“Spend time every day listening to what your muse is trying to tell you.”

Saint Bartholomew

Settling into your creative space is an invitation to open the door to your muses. When you feel called to birth something unknown from your creative heart and begin a new project you are ready to springboard into the flowing waters of your sacred imagination. This is a way to enter the flow of life. It is there where you dive into the spring of creativity.  In the waters of the sacred imagination you connect with your heart and soul and the potential to discover your creative passion. Your muses anoint you with water from their spring; this is a sweet initiation into the flow of life. They spark your journey with synchronistic happenings to guide you on your path as you discover your hidden gifts and talents.

In ancient Greece or Rome if you were called upon to write a poem or compose music or share wisdom with others and you needed inspiration you would have known how to call for it. You would have raised your head and beckoned the muses, the personification of inspiration.

The muses were the nine daughters of Zeus, the king of the Gods, and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory. They were born after Zeus and his companion gods had won a great battle against the Titans. His friends wanted to celebrate so they asked Zeus to create goddesses to bless them with singing and dancing. The muses were born and their voices combined to sing the most beautiful music the heavens had ever heard.

Each muse was named and assigned a certain area of the arts and science; Clio, the Muse of History; Calliope, the Muse of Epic Poetry; Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy; Euterpe, the Muse of Lyric Poetry; Erato, The Muse of Love Poetry; Terpsichore, the Muse of Choral Dance and Song; Polyhymnia, the Muse of Sacred Song; Urania, the Muse of Astronomy; and Thalia, the Muse of Comedy.

It has been told that when Perseus severed the snake-infested head of the great gorgon, Medussa, from her body a winged horse flew from her insides. This magical creature was Pegasus, representing the transformation of chaos into creativity.

Pegasus soared into the sky and when he returned to earth on Mount Helicon his hoof plunged into the soil releasing an underground stream, the Hippocrene. The water gushed forth and soon the nine muses appeared as inspiration from a hidden inner source.

The muses are a composite of the strength and power of their father who was known for hurling thunderbolts with his bare hands, and their mother’s more contemplative and reflective ways of remembering. Creativity is born from both reflection and action. The muses shine their light on those parts of ourselves that we may not be conscious of. This is the true source of our inspiration.

There are few stories attached to the muses. For the most part, their lives were centered in patience as they awaited the call to serve the mortals on earth. Each of the nine muses has her own particular area of emphasis pertaining to the arts and sciences. Collectively, they seem to blend together and are often referred to in a singular way as, “The Muse.”

How do we twenty-first century mortals connect with our muse(s)? Before we begin a task or creative endeavor how may we engage in the flow and synchronicities that will lead us to fruition?

Creating ritual before beginning creative activity offers a connection to your inner resources, the sacred imagination, and your muses. Sometimes the ritual is as simple as going for a walk to a favorite place in nature or lighting a candle and offering a prayer for guidance before turning on the computer.

Ritual is a pipeline to the muses. In order to connect to the flow of creative and inventive energy and to be open to the possibility of synchronicity in our lives, we must first make a shift in consciousness. Creativity and flow are not the act of “doing” but rather a state of “being.”

To receive inner guidance from your muses (Higher consciousness) you must be in a receptive mode. In order to receive you must become still. Only then can you become the vessel ready to be filled with the waters of the Hippocrene.

I invite you to begin calling upon your muse(s). Who are the muses in your life? Muses can take many forms; a fourth grade teacher who encouraged you to color outside the lines or your calico cat who gently purrs a tune into your head.

You may want to create an altar to your muse(s)in your workspace. Place a photo or image on your altar to represent the muses you have known. Add a symbol to represent the daughter of Zeus who most reflects your particular creative emphasis; a tablet or pen (Calliope); images of a flute (Euterpe); a scroll (Clio); a tragic mask (Melpomene); a veil (Polyhymnia); a globe (Urania), a lyre (Terpsichore and Erato); a comic mask (Thalia). Write an invocation and record it to memory as your call to your Muses.

The invitation to your muses to co-create with you calls for you to open your eyes to the symbolism of everyday life. Pay close attention to books that seem to fall open to certain pages. Be careful to not throw away what at first glance appears to be junk mail and is actually an announcement for an upcoming workshop that will offer guidance for your project or interest. Working with your muses calls upon your powers of observation and awareness.

As you circumnavigate the spiral of the seasons, let the beginning of each one be a focused time to enter your soul’s deep place of memory and discovery. This is where you will encounter your muses and in the process awaken your soul to new creative possibilities.

 No great work has ever been produced except after a long interval of still and musing meditation…….Walter Bagehot

Who knows where inspiration comes from. Perhaps it arises from desperation.

Perhaps it comes from the flukes of the universe, the kindness of the muses.  Amy Tan

 Make a collage to represent your muse.  Give your muse a name.  Write about the physical and personality characteristics of your muse.  Frame the finished piece and hang it in your workspace.

Invocation to my muse:  Oh, muse of my creative longing I invite you to join me on the earthly plane.  Gather divine wisdom and inspiration and infuse my heart and spirit to co-create through my sacred imagination.  I am grateful for your presence. I am ready to deliver my creative gifts to the world. And so it is.

Sacred Tool for the New Renaissance:  Invoking and welcoming your muse(s) opens the doorway to the realm of the invisible helping hands of the angels, muses, and guardian spirits.  The new Renaissance invites us to co-create with the divine assistance that is available to us.  Creative inspiration is only a prayer away.

and resign yourself to the influences of each.

Henry David Thoreau

Moments ago after completing my morning meditation I went to the kitchen and prepared a cup of tea, then climbed the stairs to my office. Lighting candles on the altar on my desk, I whispered a prayer for guidance before I began to write. This is a ritual I follow whenever I begin a creative project. Rituals like these are the threads that weave the fabric of life and soulful living together.

Rituals are most often associated with sacred spiritual or religious rites. We are all aware of the care and preparation that accompanies the planning of a wedding or funeral or a special observance during Christmas, Passover, or other traditional celebrations.

Childhood introduces family rituals, the special birthday song repeated every year that was created by Aunt Lucy. Summer vacations to the same mountain cabin or the first apple pie of autumn when the apples begin to ripen on the tree in the backyard. These are the times that connect us to one another and to the changing seasons of our lives.

Ritual is also a part of our culture’s daily life. Driving to work on the freeway while listening to the local morning talk show could be called another form of American ritual, also eating popcorn at the movies, picnics and fireworks on the fourth of July, or weekend shopping at the local mall.

Each of us has personal rituals we engage in, like the morning shower followed by a hot cup of coffee and quick read of the newspaper. Feeding the cat, watering plants, paying bills, these facets of our lives all have their own brand of ritual attached. Routine activities we repeat again and again become pathways of familiarity or rituals of life. Exploring how other people and cultures experience their forms of ritual can be a transformational and soulful experience.

Several years ago I made a three-week pilgrimage to France. During my travels my senses and my soul were immersed in the sacred, personal, and cultural rituals of French culture. Especially fascinating to me was how the French experience food as ritual in their day to day lives. My soul was so inspired by there food rituals that since returning home I have discovered new avenues for incorporating what I experienced into my personal daily and weekly rituals.

As we know, food is sacred to the French people and a cornerstone of French life. From field to table, the preparation, cooking and eating of each meal becomes sacred everyday ritual.

Driving through the French countryside I noticed rusted iron crosses standing in the fields and learned that these are placed among the fruits and vegetables to bless the crops. Walking through the open city markets I experienced a feast of sights and smells as I took in the colors and textures of haricots verts, les framboises, and les aubergines. Wheels and wedges of cheeses, camembert and roquefort, brie and chevre tempted the palate. Spices and herbs in open paper sacks, curry, cinnamon, fennel, and star anise spill onto wooden carts arranged in rows. My nose was filled with strange aromas, pungent and peppery. My eyes darted this way and that to take in the colors of saffron, lavender, and garden green. My senses of touch and taste were reactivated by the love, attention, and intention the French give to food.

I relished the Saturday morning ritual of going to market in Revel, a tiny town in the South of France near Toulouse. Everyone arrives early carrying a cloth market bag or basket. They pour into the center of town. Young parents carrying infants and chasing toddlers, cooks from local restaurants and inns, and the elderly for whom this ritual is as ingrained in life as brushing one’s teeth.  The city turns out every Saturday not only to buy food to sustain life, but to experience community, to appreciate God’s bounty, and to embrace life itself. Friends and neighbors greet one another with the traditional kiss to each cheek. Laughter is plentiful and two small children play tag with a dog that looks like a bear.

Saturday morning food shopping in Revel is a celebration. Selections are conscious. Only that which will be used and reinvented until every last morsel is consumed is chosen and purchased. Legumes et fromage are soulful choices. Each shopper makes his/her selections differently according to personal tastes and needs. However there is one choice that is universal, the Baguette, the long crusty traditional loaf of French bread. Bread is truly the staff of life for the French. It is purchased fresh every day from markets and local bakeries.

One morning while sitting on a bench in the center of Soreze, another small and quaint French village, I observed a small boy about the age of six as he walked across the cobblestone square to the Boulangerie. He carried a bright blue mesh shopping bag in one hand while his other hand was clenched in a tight fist, no doubt full of coins.

Minutes later he emerged from the bakery with a long narrow loaf of bread sticking out from the bag and wearing a very big smile. Ritual. . .sacred ritual right there at the Boulangerie. This ritual of baking and/or purchasing the daily bread has been taking place for centuries in France and other countries.

Somewhere in a home, down the street from the scene I just described, the young boy’s mother was surely waiting for her son’s return with the staple of the household. Throughout her day she would transform that long loaf of bread into breakfast toast, sandwiches for lunch, and an accompaniment to the evening meal. Leftovers would finally become croutons for tomorrow’s salad or food for the birds who gather on the windowsill each morning to consume the crumbs from last night’s table. And so on, and so on and so on. Day after day the daily bread feeds the soul of the French family.

Food-shopping in France is ritual enough. The touching, smelling, and selection of fresh fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and spices is more than just a process. It is a sacred soulful practice.

The preparation of these things is both ritual and a very real form of creative expression. While staying for a week in a wonderful artist’s retreat house in Soreze I was privileged to spend many hours reading and journaling on a window-seat in a garden setting next to the kitchen of the house. From this vantage-point I was able to observe the cook and her assistant as they prepared the meals for our group.

Each afternoon around three o’clock the seductive aromas of simmering garlic and onions or rosemary and thyme wafted through the house. The cooks chatted in French while the music of Edith Piaf played in the background. Meanwhile from my comfy spot near the window the sun warmed my back and my appetite began to grow.

I watched Necia select squash and potatoes for her various culinary creations from the large basket of produce on the ochre colored tile counter near the sink. Fruits and vegetables are not refrigerated in France but rather they are displayed in carefully arranged baskets, trays, or bowls. They are offerings, an important aspect of ritual.

Cloves of garlic are crushed. Mushrooms are chopped in time to the Piaf’s music. Necia’s husband drops by with their children and they stand in the kitchen laughing and talking and tasting the soup with a large wooden spoon from the pot that simmers on the back burner of the big black stove. Love and life are stirred into the evening meal.    At last we sit at the beautifully prepared long wooden table. Candles are lit. Crystal goblets glisten. Sunflowers bend over the table from the centerpiece. Necia stands at the head of the table and recites the evening menu to us in English, thick with her lovely French accent, “…rice and potato coquettes with mushroom sauce, beet and butter lettuce salad, and vanilla flan with chocolate sauce.” And of course the eternal baguette.

Each dish is served individually, simply, and time is allowed between the courses to savor the particular flavors of the various dishes. This is real food. It has been grown organically, chosen with intention and purpose, cooked with love and served through ritual. It is both blessed and a blessing. With each bite we not only feed the body but also nourish the soul.

When I returned home from France I knew I must translate what I had learned about eating and preparing food soulfully with ritual. I immediately bought a new French cookbook to attempt to recreate some of my favorite meals. I remembered that the town where we lived at that time had two street markets each week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. These soulful expeditions became weekly rituals for me.

I collected my market basket (a final French purchase at the Saturday market in Revel) and carefully made my selections from the carts in my neighborhood. Artichokes, mushrooms, and sometimes even haricots vertes were there for the choosing. I also purchased ripe bing cherries and plums and a bouquet of sunflowers to remind me of the fields and crosses in the French countryside.

After several weeks of return visits I began to recognize the vendors and the people who frequented this ancient way of food shopping, the open air market. There was a special community blended amongst the produce and flowers. I returned home each market day with my senses enlivened and my basket and soul full of blessings. With intention and prayers of gratitude I arranged a bowl of shiny red cherries and golden apricots for my dining room table. The sunflowers were placed in a green china pitcher, another French souvenir.

Years later I still relish late afternoon when my ritual continues. I tie on my apron, put on Edith Piaf music, open the back door to let in the sun and the breeze, and begin to chop onions. . . I think Necia would approve.

When is the last time you wrote a pen and paper letter to someone?  When’s the last time you received one?  How many e-mails do you send a day?  How many do you receive?  I’m asking these questions for myself, as well.  It seems important to be aware how easy it is to forget various aspects of the meaning of the sacred art of living.

Last week a dear friend died suddenly.  Another dear friend, who lives only a few miles away, not only phoned me to offer compassionate support she also took the time to hand-write her beautiful thoughts and consolation in a card.  I was truly moved by her thoughtfulness.  Opening her letter, I felt a level of heart connection and comfort that just doesn’t happen via e-mail.

Receiving my friend’s letter inspired me this past weekend to gather some postcards, stationary, and cards for various occasions into a basket near my desk. I’m a “gatherer” by nature.  There’s something primal and sensual about sorting through papers, pens, crayons, all the accoutrements of writing.  I now have handy and ready to use….stamps, pens, and everything necessary to jot a quick note or to write a letter.  Postcards are wonderful for a quick message…. Thinking of you today… sending love and blessings.

When the muses appear it’s fun to add photos, articles and clippings to share.  Color a page from a coloring book and send it as a surprise. Rubber stamp and decorate the envelope.  Get crazy and actually have FUN creating something beautiful to send to someone’s mailbox. Yes, it takes time and energy…. more so than sending an e-mail…. but there’s joy in the giving.

Technology for all it’s convenience and connective power will never aesthetically or emotionally replace the art of handwritten correspondence. Neither will e-books replace the tactile pleasure of feeling the weight of a book in hand and turning the page…. but that’s another story for another day.

So the invitation is to gather up some stationary, your favorite pens, stamps and whatever and be ready when you think of someone who could use a “Hello” or “I Love You” message.  As part of a Spiritual/Creative Renaissance, let’s start a movement to reinvent the art of the hand-written connection.

Our culture, our American way of life, is product and goal oriented.  We are a people who are all about follow-through and success. We are taught to believe we must finish what we begin.  Anything less is perceived as “not going the distance” or worse yet, “absolute failure.”  It’s interesting to think about life and the times when opportunities presented themselves for exploration, but fear of what others might think censored the adventure.  How do our choices to not do something also play an important role in our lives?

I’ve come to realize when I consider my own life, that it’s the thread that weaves the tapestry together that is the secret.  The thread is the constant binding agent that stitches all the various interactions, choices, and relationships into a pattern that reflects my life.  It is the thread that is the unifying factor.

My thread is strong and impervious to time and erosion because it’s made of the sinew of Spirt, of God, of Faith.  I have stumbled and fallen many times.  Tripped by my own choices.  I have started and stopped.  There are many patches in my tapestry, the crazy quilt that is my life.  Yet, through it all runs the thread of blessing and grace that is God’s love and guidance.  One piece of the quilt is bound to the next.  There is a pattern and there is meaning and purpose when I look at the tapestry, the quilt of my life, as the whole.  But it is the thread that is most important….  the indestructible unending thread…. that is the greatest Mystery of all.

I’m grateful because I find it challenging when my sacred space is in disarray.  One of the first things I had to do when the movers drove away was begin the search for the box containing my touchstones, prayer books, candles, and icons.  It took several days of searching the mountain of boxes to locate what I had so carefully packed.

I felt a sense of coming home, of relief, and return to my center when I was able to unpack and arrange my sacred space in a small corner of my office in the new house.  Now I once again have my prayer corner to retreat to in the early morning.  This is my hearth, my sanctuary, my foundational cornerstone for each day.

A lesson came with my anxiety of feeling displaced and uprooted in the midst of moving, when I was living in the “in between” of my California life and the new chapter awaiting in Texas.  Feeling disoriented and buffeted by the winds of transition and change is something that happens to most of us.

During my recent time of upheaval, I recalled something I once read that I have shared in other posts and articles over the years. Several years ago I was gifted a set of books called The City of God, the author of this 4 volume series was 17th century nun…Sister Mary of Agreda, Spain.  In Volume II, The Incarnation, she tells us about Mary, the soon to be mother of Jesus, and her journey while pregnant to visit her cousin, Elisabeth, for counsel.  She intimates that Mary was fearful about leaving her familiar surroundings, her sacred space, to venture out on her pilgrimage over the hills to Elisabeth’s door. The nun offers us this illumination to contemplate…

And as in all places She acted the part of a pilgrim on earth and of an inhabitant of heaven, and as She herself was the intellectual and most glorious heaven, the living temple, in which God had made habitation; so She also carried with Her her own oratory and sanctuary and in this respect there was for Her no difference between her own house and that of her cousin Saint Elisabeth, nor could any other place, time or occupation be a hindrance to Her in this regard.

The young girl, Mary, who would soon give birth to Jesus moved through her fears and trepidation and the perceived notion that her sacred space was a physical place, her hometown, her dwelling, her family home.  According to Sister Mary’s telling of the story… Mary carried her oratory and sanctuary within her… no matter where she traveled, God was with her in body and soul.

In my time of uprootedness and disarray, I felt an attachment to the physical accoutrements of my spiritual life…. icons, books, and other sacred objects.  Remembering the long ago writings of the Spanish nun, I am reminded to recall my oratory and sanctuary within…  the Spirit, Love, and Peace that is God’s presence.  I am reminded that no matter where I find myself on life’s journey, no matter how separated I may be from my little prayer corner and my touchstones… I am never alone or separated from the Sacred. The material world offers beauty to behold that will one day fade and crumble. But the soul offers that which is eternally present through all the transitions of this life and the ultimate transition that will come to us all.

Anyone who has recently transported all their earthly belongings from place to place no doubt appreciates the upheaval that moving a household entails.  The process of touching every item with discernment…. Does it go with me? Is it meant to be passed along to someone else? or Is it time for this thing to go to the trash bin?

While I’ve been carefully sorting and packing I’ve thinking a lot about the meaning of the words, hearth and home.  The word Hearth holds Heart.  The hearth of my home (beyond the little hearth by the fire) is the kitchen.  This is where everyone gathers, where we come to create nourishment, bake and break bread, and share nature’s bounty with our stories of the day.  The kitchen is the heart of our home where the pulse of life is palpable. Home is the sheltering container for the hearth and for the spaces that provide comfort, safety, and rest.

As I prepare to move I’m dismantling the sacred spaces of our home which will soon once again become a house until the new owners arrive to fill it with their spirits, stories, and daily living to make it their home.  Houses need people to nourish the soul of the home into being.

The heartbeat of these stucco walls is syncopated with the rhythm of our days and nights.  Our California home has been a canvas of colors and character unique to this little abode with it’s 30 year old bougainvilla that blooms every June, the hairline cracks in many of the tiles on the floor… caused by the earth tremors we have experienced through the 15 years we’ve lived here, the big black gas stove that warms the kitchen, and the tree out front that I swear has a face. Most of all it’s full of the love that has come through the door in all manner of friend, beloved, and the stranger… the angels that blessed us all.

I will miss this place.  I’m beginning to think in terms of “lasts.”  This will be the last Thanksgiving here, the last Christmas, etc. Thankfully, I love the new house in Texas.  Over time it will find it’s own heart beat and there we’ll discover a new hearth and home.  There are firsts to look forward to….. the first meal around the table, the first family celebration, the first Thanksgiving….

Ahhhh. Thanksgiving.  As I give thanks this holiday I thank God for the luxury of having a home, a roof above our heads, a warm bed and full belly.  I give thanks and pray for all those without… what I so often take for granted….. hearth and home.

Autumn invites me to slow down.  The daylight is waning and evenings are stretching to become a time to journal, sketch, weave, and knit.  The crafts of autumn and winter are welcomed and they inspire me to explore my inner world in the way the summer months inspires outer journeys.

The word “Craft” is a potent word… potent… full of potential.  Creativity expressed through the handcrafts that women have expressed since ancient times informs my personal imagination these days.

Top of mind here’s a list of favorite crafts… each one is unique and contains a world of inspiration for the hands, eye, and spirit:

• Weaving
• Knitting
• Embroidery
• Crochet
• Quilting
• Needlepoint
• Cross-stitch
• Quilling
• Decoupage
• Collage
• Papier Mache
• Basket Weaving

Autumn days like today, when the fog rolls through the woods wrapping around branch and vine like an apparition in a dream, invite me to pick up my pen and open my journal.  It’s time to sketch and doodle and wander the page to see what’s waiting to be discovered. Sometimes a poem appears or a haiku.  My journal is really a portal to the unexpected.  I never know what I might find when my pen touches down and begins its dance into unknown places.

Autumn also calls me to the market for a visual feast of favorite fall foods and offerings:

• Pumpkins… especially the fat terra cotta colored fairy tale variety
• Mission figs
• Pomegranates
• Persimmons
• Honey Crisp Apples
• Sheaves of wheat
• Twisted branches with golden and russet colored leaves
• Cinnamon sticks and jugs of apple cider

Dear God… may this autumn pass slowly.  Help me to keep my eyes and heart open to the wonder of Your hand at work in this blessed season of changing colors as the earth prepares for rest and renewal.  It seems the arrival of autumn is especially poignant this year. Change is palpable, visceral, profound. I pray for the grace to embrace the change that is coming.  Amen.

I’m writing this while on vacation in Colorado visiting family.  Two weeks ago I was deep in the beautiful woods of Michigan at my sister’s magical cottage at edge of the Great Lake for a family reunion.  During this time, my sister-in-law from Boston who works for Cook’s Illustrated and America’s Test Kitchen introduced me to a new world of culinary wonder through Canal House Cooking. Additionally, the reconnection with a dear friend and her wonderful website, Bearcuisine, has added the extra influence and encouragement I’ve needed to “get cookin” again.

Years ago, cooking and entertaining were my personal form of self-expression. Somehow the winding road of my life’s journey led me to other priorities and my interest for the culinary arts was put on the back burner, so to speak.

The wonderful cookbooks of Canal House Cooking and my sister-in-law’s inspiration stirred my sleeping longing to reconnect with all things pertaining to the sacred art and craft of cooking.

When I return home from vacation I’ll create a new altar in my kitchen, reorganize my cookbooks and cooking utensils, and stock the pantry and spice drawer in preparation for fall.  I’ll revisit my little wooden recipe box that is chock full of family favorites and perhaps I’ll even invent a recipe or two of my own.

The sacred art of cuisine includes; the collection and archiving of recipes and cookbooks, and the process of menu planning, food shopping, organizing the pantry and gathering the necessary tools and accoutrements,  preparing and cooking the food, plating the food, and presenting/serving a meal.  This ancient sacred art can produce an elaborate feast for a large group, or a simple nourishing nibble for a few or even for oneself.  The possibilities are endless.

As autumn approaches, contemplate the sacred art of cuisine.  What kind of nourishment is your body craving at the moment?  Are there favorite family recipes tucked away in a box or drawer waiting to offer nostalgic sustenance for your family?  How might you rearrange your kitchen (your studio for the sacred art of cuisine) to make it more accessible and functional?  Contemplate creating an altar in your kitchen, what touchstones might you include?

As autumn prepares to entice us with the blessing of a bountiful harvest, imagine planning and creating a simple nourishing meal for a circle of family or friends gathered at your table.  Add prayers as you chop the carrots and stir the mushroom soup.  Light the candles on your altar, listen to Madame Butterfly or Miles Davis, place a bouquet of sunflowers on the table, and be sure to add cupfuls of love and gratitude to all you prepare.  Bon Appetit!

Blessing for a Meal

Creator of all, You sustain us… We gather at this table in gratitude for the blessings of life that come from You.  We give thanks for this meal, for those who cultivated and grew the crops, for Your rain and sun, the honeybee, and the hummingbird.  Tonight we pray someone… somewhere on the earth who is without food, whose belly is empty, will feel nourished through Your grace as we share all you have provided.  In gratitude we say Amen.

This is a quote by St. Therese of Lisieux, a Carmelite nun who died in 1897 at the age of 24.  St. Therese is a spiritual source of inspiration to me.  Her quote goes on every e-mail I send because I want very much to believe, as she did, that everything that happens to us in life holds the potential to become grace-filled.

Practicing this concept is a spiritual practice.  It’s challenging to imagine how everything in life can be a conduit for grace.  Broken relationships, illness, the loss of a loved one, the loss of home and work…. how can one possibly believe these experiences are imbued with grace.

The only way I can accept the concept that “Everything is grace…” is to take a step back from my life and envision the total landscape of the large and small moments I’ve experienced.  If I focus on any particular moment or event of my life’s journey (especially the most difficult times) I cannot honestly say that I feel those instances were  graced.  However, when I look at the total all encompassing picture of my life like a quilt made of various patches of experience, I see clearly that the thread weaving it all together is Grace.

It is certainly grace that sustains us when we endure suffering or how else would we survive the devastations that life can hurl at us.  Grace is also what fuels our encounters with joy and love, and grace abounds when we find meaningful work and we align with the passions of our hearts.  Surely it is grace, God’s Love for us, that saves us from certain death…. be it physical, spiritual, or emotional.

Some would say “Everything is grace…” is a saccharine and simply flippant statement.   But I’m grateful to the young nun, St.Therese, who also said, “I will spend my heaven doing good on earth…” and proceeded to die an early death at 24 and become a saint.  I’m grateful to her because her long ago statement reminds me to be grateful.  To be grateful for not only the moments of joy and ease but (and this is no easy task) also the moments of challenge and despair.  For in each and every moment of life grace is there weaving each breath to the next and the next.  Grace and gratitude…. a spiritual practice…. the work of the soul.

The service was originally inspired by the work of Kate Eaton and Mishkhah.  Kate will soon be interviewed for Sacred Life-Arts and her interview will be posted on the Sanctuary page in July.

The thoughtful placement and creation of various prayer stations are central to the Mishkhah philosophy. Extreme beauty is created using imagery, icons, and inspiration for the senses in combination with the offering of symbols and tactile elements of nature.

These sacred components are prayerfully and carefully arranged to create visual prayer tableaus to invite the seeker and pilgrim, access to a personal portal to the Divine.  Music, and the integration of bells, and wind chimes deepen the experience.

Our co-created service included prayer, readings from Scripture and Hildegard of Bingen, a 12th century mystic.  The community was invited to make a pilgrimage in silence throughout the sanctuary to experience the unique invitation of each prayer station.  The focus for this particular service was Creation.  The prayer stations represented earth, air, fire, water, and the Spirit.  

One by one, in silence the people reverently approached each prayer station… to light candles for special intentions, to receive Communion, to choose a stone from a basket, or dip their hands into a bowl of water then retrieve a sprig of fresh rosemary and inhale the fragrance.

Mystery was present in the evening’s celebration.  The service was permeated with the ineffable sacred Presence.

There was also wonderment in the way the service came together throughout the planning… effortlessly, as it were.  Each person contributing to the whole, but without regimented adherence to a fixed design other than the intended focus on Creation.  The co-creative process, the melding of everyone’s individual contributions, the sensitivity to the choice of music…. all the various strands came together into one exquisite Spirit-guided sacred tapestry of worship.

This is what is possible when worship is led by the Spirit rather than strictly formed from construct of rote rules and prescriptions. What we experienced in community last Sunday evening felt like a little taste of the first century church…. the pre-church, when people came together to experience the Way, the Mystery, the Presence.

Worship is in need of a Renaissance… a return and rebirth of the ancient spiritual practices that engaged the senses and evoked personal spiritual response in the midst of community.  It is time for a Renaissance of the Spirit where we become pilgrims again… in search of wonder and awe and open to amazement.

Perhaps we are being called to revisit the past to inform the present.  Worship is inviting us to use our sacred imaginations to reawaken our senses and our spirits.  Consider the endless possibilities for community prayer, celebration, and reflection…. for authentic Holy Communion with one another as we seek the Divine within ourselves and one another.  Amen.