Silence is neither mute nor talkative.

Peter of Celle, The School of the Cloister

At camp, we swim and boat in a lake. It’s not a big lake, but it is big enough for fishing, canoeing and jumping off a giant floating trampoline we call The Blob. During summer camp, I make it a point to be in the lake during our swimming activity, partly to be another point of safety, helping count heads and watching for signs of distress. And, in part, I go to the lake because I love being in the water. It restores my body and soul to a state of rest that I find hard to achieve on dry land.

This means that during the camp season, on any given afternoon, you might find me suited up in a life jacket, bobbing in Lake Leo, where I spend most of my time slowly turning 360 degrees, round and round, watching all that is happening: on The Blob, on the shoreline, on the dock, in the water. Here, I am free from the distraction of technology: I don’t have my phone, and my walkie-talkie is back on the beach. Most of the camper activity is beyond me, in one direction or another. Instead, I am simply present. I watch and listen. I watch and listen to what is happening around me and inside me. I listen for the stillness of God resting in my breath, right underneath my breastbone. I listen for what is emerging and what is fading away. I listen for signs of distress and sounds of joy. I wait to see what will happen next.

For me, Lent is like bobbing in the lake. Christmas is behind me on the shore of what has been, and Easter is ahead, filled with the promise of new adventures and new life. From here in the middle, I sit and listen to the silence within, and I watch for the movement of God—behind, ahead, inside—still and buoyant all at once.

For Reflection
How do you practice silence and listening? If it is not a common practice, how might you begin to fold it into your daily life?

Annunciation of the Lord

Persist in your holy purpose, even if you fail a thousand times a day.

Louis De Blois, Spiritual Mirror

I was ten years old when Mary Lou Retton won gold at the Summer Olympics and changed the sport of gymnastics forever. Until that moment, I had never been interested in anything remotely athletic, but, like millions of other little girls, I caught gymnastics fever. For two years, I took gymnastic lessons, spending countless hours in our front yard practicing handstands, backbends, cartwheels and round-offs. Up, over, down. Up, over, down. I practiced and practiced until it became obvious that I would never make it past a front walkover. Flipping and swinging over vaults and bars took physical strength and courage I would never possess.

Those years weren’t a waste despite my failed attempt at Olympic gold. I learned something in that time that has never left me. I learned what it felt like to have purpose and drive. I learned what the fruits of practice, intentionality and deep commitment tasted like. I learned how good it felt to grow in skill and ability. These lessons have served me well as a mother, farmer, writer, camp director and preacher, to name a few of my holy purposes.

Lent is a season when we are given the opportunity to practice the spiritual discipline of listening to God’s call on our lives, to fast from the things that distract us, and instead to hone in on who and what the Holy Spirit is calling us to do and become in the common everydayness of our lives. It is a season of responding as we remember Mary’s words to the angel Gabriel on this feast day of the Annunciation: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” We follow this response with intentionality, practicing over and over the cartwheels and handstands of that call, falling down, getting up and trying again.

For Reflection
What might you need to fast from to hear God’s holy purpose in your life?

[We ought] to be of help to all, to refrain from hurting others out of bitterness.

Bede, Homilies on the Gospels

The world is a complicated place these days—maybe more than ever, or at least more than it has been in my lifetime. Church is complicated, families are complicated and communities are complicated. We have, as the human race, endured and inflicted a lot of pain and trauma in recent memory. So, I will not tell you not to be angry or frustrated if that is how you feel. But I will pray that your anger does not turn to bitterness, that it doesn’t form a chip on your shoulder the size of the hump on Quasimodo’s back. If the energy propelling you forward these days is that chip on your shoulder, know that it will only fuel you for so long. Bitterness runs hot and deep, but it is not regenerative. It is death, not life. It saps joy, isolates you and makes promises you can’t keep. Bitterness is not a good fruit; instead, it is a poison that will use you up, destroy your relationships and leave you in a wilderness of your own making. But thankfully, the wilderness is not the end of the story.

In the season of Lent, we have the opportunity to begin again. We can choose, with God’s help and the prayers of our community and perhaps professional assistance if needed, to practice fasting from bitter thoughts and habits. We can begin digging up the rotten grapes of unforgiveness and burning off the acidic narratives that blind us from giving and receiving God’s mercy and grace. It is now during Lent that we can begin trusting Love as our guide, even in times of anger and frustration. It may be a long journey, but it is a worthwhile one, and we do not have to travel it alone.

For Reflection
Can you distinguish between bitterness and righteous anger? Is there a spirit of bitterness in your community? If so, what would it take to begin rooting it out communally?

What lies dead and deformed in the letter on the dead parchment comes to life when put into practice.

Peter of Celle, The School of the Cloister

Our youngest child, Miles, took up the saxophone in sixth grade. While he had some natural ability, he, like every other kid in his band class, had to practice to improve. Every student was supposed to practice at home alone, then at school with their “section,” and then, in the days leading up to a concert, they would join the rest of the sections and practice all together as the complete Middle School Band. The first year’s concert was the kind that only a parent or grandparent could love. But, over time, Miles and the students who stuck with the program progressed in their abilities according to their talent and dedication to practicing—together and on their own. By senior year, some had even grown into outstanding musicians, able to pick up a piece of sheet music for the first time and play.

Over the years, I have come to think of the work of spiritual life as akin to being in a school band program. We start badly. Yes, some of us may have an initial natural talent for things like contemplative prayer or fasting but becoming proficient in the spiritual life so that things like stillness, forgiveness, self-reflection and study of Scripture become as natural as breathing requires hours and days and years and lifetimes of practice—on our own and together. It requires practicing our spiritual scales over and over. It requires small group “section” work with folks in the same place or season who can help us feel less alone in our blunders. And it requires practicing with the larger community, with those who have gone beyond us and who can help us when we miss a note or a beat.

For Reflection
What spiritual practice might you need to bring to life by practicing more regularly, alone and with others?

The members should serve one another. Consequently, no members will be excused from kitchen service unless they are sick.

Rule of Benedict 

Everyone does a turn in the kitchen.

Procter Community Practices

When stay-home orders went into effect at the beginning of the pandemic, our household, like many, had to adopt new routines and practices. One change we made was how we cooked dinner. Since everyone in our household was old enough to cook and clean, we made a dinner schedule. My husband and I each cooked two nights each week, and our kids cooked one each. The seventh night was for leftovers or sandwiches. This system served us well all through the pandemic, with only one modification. After a few weeks, it became clear that we needed to add the caveat “if you cook, you clean” to our practice. It turned out that some members of our household needed a lesson in mindfulness regarding the messes they made—messes they were happy to leave for someone else to clean.

“If you cook, you clean” helped us all develop a greater awareness of cause and effect regarding our choices and actions, and not just in the kitchen. Inspired by this lesson and the Rule of Saint Benedict, our diocesan camp counselors serve at least one week in the kitchen. All campers take turns serving on “KP” (kitchen patrol) duty: wiping down and sanitizing the tables after meals, sweeping the dining hall floor and taking the compost and slop up to the farm after supper. We do this because it’s important to our camp’s culture for everyone to see themselves as part of a greater whole—to understand that their choices and actions affect the entire camp community. Camps, like our homes and churches, exist for the flourishing of the whole. And it is only when the whole works with great intentionality to lovingly seek and serve Christ in each other, each willing to do the most thankless tasks, that flourishing will happen.

For Reflection
What thankless or inconvenient tasks or roles might you take on for a season to contribute to the flourishing of your household or faith community?

Wherever you go, you will find that what you are running from is there ahead of you.

Anonymous

Years ago, I heard an elder in our church explain to a new member from a different Christian tradition why she didn’t believe there was a hell in the afterlife. “Oh, honey,” she said in her very prim Southern drawl, “I have already been to hell. I have been there and back. Hell is what we do to each other and ourselves. God doesn’t need to inflict hell; we take care of that ourselves.”

Scripture is filled with stories of atonement, judgment and confusion, readings we might prefer to skip or dismiss as archaic or limiting. Yet, I think we should give them another look, particularly within the context of community.

As we work toward honoring the dignity of every human being and building bridges between and beyond ourselves to the world, it might benefit us all to consider how all our actions impact those around us. How often have you or someone you know become disgruntled and changed churches, jobs, neighborhoods or relationships, only to be met by similar problems and challenges? How many lives have been damaged in small and great ways because instead of doing the work to heal, learn, grow or change right where they (we) were, within the community they (we) have been planted in, they (we) looked for the quick fix of greener grass? We know that hurt people hurt people. But are we self-aware enough to admit that sometimes we are the hurt people who are hurting other people?

If that elder was right and hell is something we create, then perhaps hell is also something we can eradicate if, with God’s help, we stop running and start healing ourselves and our communities.

For Reflection
Have you experienced the “greener grass syndrome”? What was the outcome? What did you learn?