Thursday, Jesus’ triumphant arrival turned tragic with betrayal

There simply was no way to know the way the first night of the processions would effect me. At first to view the beautifully robed Jesus who is processed Thursday night is to see a work of art that is both an antique and so relevant. For he is in such a humble pose cloaked in red, but with a cross of thorns as to be tragically wonderful to behold. With every step you are reminded that he was only named king while he was being mocked, and that he was so alone in the crowd.
The glorious lights, luminati, were in an array of color and the kids did a wonderful job distributing and the ladies worked hard to tend to each station well. The course of the procession allows for a certain number of the stations of the cross to be visited each night, just as the story unfolds in scripture. Thursday night Jesus sits to an abundant table, the feast of Passover, with his friends and by the next day he will be suffering alone. The work that goes into the planning of the procession and the excitement are so in keeping with the feel of expecting Jesus to enter Piegaro triumphantly. There truly is a desire for the arrival of the Messiah.

Yet the walk, even with the lumini, is dark, and the prayer repeated over and over is the Lord’s Prayer, a constant reminder of the essential spirit of the one who leads us to God. Although the procession is at a steady pace, it is not slow, it continues to move through the night, through the course, quite a distance from one end of town to the other, it takes over two hours. Guided by the words of my friend Maria to always stay Avanti, in advance of the procession, I came in shoes to run, but clothes that were dark, not only in keeping with the spirit, but to hide and not distract. I found it very hard, even after practice runs through the course, to keep a steady hand for photos, because the experience was so moving. Going through my mind when my hands first trembled was words I spoke to friends, “I would do anything for Maria,” if she would like pictures, or even thought I should take photos to share with the world of my blog, for her it would happen.

At each stop I could hear priest Don Augusto speak, I cried. The words of the betrayal of friends always touches my heart, much more than the thought of nails pounded in, or the piercing of swords, or even death itself. To love intensely and not feel the love in return to me has always been the greatest pain of all. Which takes me to one of my most poignant Church of Mary Magdalene stories: One worship day we had a guest pastor bring a “Christa” sculpture, a female image of Christ on the cross. One of the women, we will call her “Mary” came into the room lightly chatting away, took one look at Christa and broke into loud anguished sobs and went running out of the church. I followed close behind and asked what was happening. Between the tears she said, “Jesus is the only man who ever truly loved me, who would suffer for me instead of beating, raping and making me suffer, how can they take Jesus from me?” I cried with her and we went for a walk, my childhood story was so similar to hers and when she spoke the words they ripped at my soul.

For all the pain that has been suffered, it is so understood by those who have felt the pain of abuse that the greatest pain is not being loved, that another person, especially one you should trust, would not care about your suffering. So many, many women at Mary’s have felt the sting of domestic violence, have felt the horror of betrayal by those closest to them. To know that Judas would betray, that Peter would deny, that all the apostles would leave Jesus to suffer alone is agony.

By the last station before the final destination of the church, I was sobbing, it was here in my piazza, and I was sitting on my own terrace overlooking the procession. And as I sat there, grieving for the pain of Jesus, for the pain of all the women of Mary’s who experienced domestic violence, for all in the world who have felt betrayed, I shed tears for myself. I came to Piegaro to find healing, and healing tears were in order.

As I sat and cried, I prayed and listened to the comforter, the spirit’s voice reminding me of wisdom I knew so deep. For those who face repeated trauma, healing only comes through the making of “new” memories, when we get fed “reminders” of the trauma, the trauma simply repeats in our memories. Jesus did not suffer for years or even months, but for only days, and then it was time for something different. This first day was about betrayal, betrayal of friends, the betrayal of identity as a robe and crown of thorns are there to mock and not honor the King of Kings. Tomorrow, even with its own problems, was another day. I am here in Piegaro, Italy, the constant sharing of stories of trauma in my beloved community of Mary’s is not here to inform my own trauma. I now know I am called to help my precious friends and ladies, but not with my constant presence, for my time of suffering this angst is past, and it is time for a new day.
The healing tears, the glory of Jesus shone in my life that beautiful Thursday.

What leads you to compassion for others in a healthy, healing way?
How do you care for your neighbors and practice a love beyond betrayal?
How do you accept and embrace with fullness the healing love of others, of Jesus?
How do you see Jesus in a way that gives you strength for your journey of life?

Preparations for Processions, detailed thoughts on Precision and/or OCD

Each year in Piegaro they have to processions for holy week, one Thursday as Jesus enters into Jerusalem and one Friday night as he is led to the cross to die. The processions wind through town guided by multi-colored luminaria that have been put out by the children. My dear friend Maria asked me to take photos of the entire way, in advance of the procession. Now this is my sweet friend who has kept paper roses I placed at the crucifix in a protected, hidden place at Jesus’ feet for the entire year, and who during the week leading to Thursday actually brought them out to the front. I would do anything for Maria, she is my spiritual muse in Piegaro and I love her to no end. So in my efforts to prepare for the processions I would go into my precision to the point of OCD mode.

When she asked, my first question was where exactly did the procession go, for if I was to be in advance as she asked, I would need to know the exact route. I first asked Maria, then Elisa who gave general directions, but I needed the exact course. So then it was through my friends Eva and Paolo that we walked the course. Then it was a full morning of taking 200 shots trying to scope out what would be the best vantage points. After this would be going over them with Maria and having her suggest additional locations. I came up with my top 10 locations on the route, knowing it would change with the actual event which took place after dark, so the perspective would be different, but I felt prepared knowing the routes by heart, and foot. I knew every wall I could climb for the pictures, where there were stairs to homes people didn’t live in that I could climb for better views.

Then there was how to prepare my home, which I learned needed lights because it was not only on the procession course, but is on one of the main piazza where the procession stops to pray. I discovered that the owner had removed the light fixtures from the house that were used annually for the processions, so this meant coming up with a plan “b.” Maria had suggest I ask Paolo for some of the luminaria that the kids put out, and presently dumped me out of the car for me to talk with him on the topic. Comedy with my limited Italian, and timidity with handsome men… but he was patient in listening, and sharing, but he said the idea of using the luminaria wouldn’t work because they were too big for my terrace rails. He did join to search again for the lights fixture, no luck. In looking around the house one thing there are plenty of are glasses, we could invite all the elks and the eagles for drinks at our home and not run out of drinking glasses. I suggested using the glasses and we taped one to the terrace rail to see if it would work, Paolo shook the devil out of the rail and that glass was going nowhere. With a candle in the glass it would reflect well, and Paolo suggested using colored paper, like the luminaria, and voila; teamwork, precision and cut napkins within extra glassware netted beauty. With the help of friends, we gathered the needed candles and napkins and then came the testing. Consulting with friends down below the terrace, “do the lights look good on the top of the rail AND the bottom?” It was agreed to do them both top and bottom. I felt ready and prepared. It only took 5 days in total, only slightly OCD.

But the results were beautiful, better than imagined, however….. The best laid plans are always subject to circumstances beyond control. The candles did not last the entire evening of the procession on Thursday, and as I regrouped and came up with a new plan for Friday, the rain came. Fortunately the rain stopped in time for the procession, but not in time for my wicks to dry. A wonderful reminder that for all the precision of humans, life is, after all, not in our control. But the precision of the process was beautiful, it was time of grace, and there was great beauty in results that were observed by all.

How do you utilize your gifts?
How do you invite others into sharing experiences that use your talents?
How do you see beauty in what “succeeds” or what “fails”?

Been to Canaan, and I wanna go back again

I have wrote about my experience of attempting to sing beside the stream while here in Piegaro, a request from one of the women of Mary’s that I do while here on sabbatical. It was a good request, I do love to sing, especially when I find a peaceful place that is solitary, for I am self-conscience about my abilities. Here in Piegaro is a perfect place, where two lovely streams converge before merging into the trevore (river). I walk there almost every day, but have had a sort of “singer’s cramp” much like a writer’s block where I just couldn’t sing.
That is, until this week. This week, my favorite in the Holy Year – the church calendar – Holy week from Palm Sunday until Easter, when Jesus goes from the great welcome into the back gate of Jerusalem and exits out through the last supper, the passion, death and resurrection. It is the week that captures the heart of the Christian journey I found my voice at the stream. The song I sung was not the church song she suggested, but spoke to my heart in a very theological way. It was Carol King’s “Been to Canaan” a song that was brought to mind while speaking with my brother on skype while he is in Brazil working and I am here in Italy, we share the songs of Carol from our childhood.

One of the most telling lines in this song is: “I’ve been to Canaan, and I wanna go back again.” This is a very powerful line that goes back to the Israelites in exile, desiring to return to the land of Canaan, which translates into: humble, land of God’s gifts, and place of abundance. It is a song about the desire to return to home. A most fitting song for the week when Jesus would find himself at first welcomed as the Messiah, and end with the promise of eternity. The middle part of the week, where the desire would be, through the pain of friends betraying or denying, torture and suffering, and ultimately death. It is a part of life many people have experienced, particularly the type of women who pass through the doors of Mary’s Place and Church of Mary Magdalene, who have experienced abuse as children, have lived through poverty, and have continued patterns of suffering for many years, a part of life I have left in coming to Piegaro for sabbatical. I realized that just as Jesus was, through all the trials, coming closer to God, striving toward that elusive Canaan, beyond the pain, as are so many of us in this world.

As I sung this song I thought of the women at Mary’s needing that place of God’s gifts and abundance where they could humbly live within God’s loving grace. I also couldn’t help but feel like I had found my Canaan right here in Piegaro. A place where I regularly worship on a very frequent basis, where I have places like this stream to pray, where I have amazing friends who surprise me each day with the peace and love of God. Who are o.k. with me learning Italiana piano, piano (slowly, slowly). As I sang, “I’ve been to Canaan,” I realized for the first time in my life that yes, indeed I have been to Canaan, and I wanna come back again. Here in this place there are little reminders of my life where I would repeat negative patterns, and I could talk to people about the healthy patterns I needed and they provide, with hugs and kisses and support. It is a place where my friend Maria constantly surprises me with a mystical spirituality that is both sassy and so very loving.

In this place, my beloved daughter has come and told me, “Mom, you need to stay here, it is good for you.” It is my Canaan.
Do you have a place that speaks of Canaan to you, where God calls you?
How do you live in Canaan, or seeking Canaan?
What was your experience, if any, of the transition of Holy Week between the “hosannas” of Palm Sunday, the dark of Friday and the “alleluias” of Easter Sunday?

a tiny taste of Holy Week, with much more to come....

I cannot even begin to say how much this Holy Week has meant to me. It was not as I expected, which it never should be. For this week from the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem to death on a cross and ressurection was not what any person could imagine. My week featured a few glorious surprises, a few troublesome moments, and amazing grace abounding. From Palm Sunday until Maundy Thursday my dear, dear friend Maria had the flowers I brought last year for my mother in front of Jesus. Without words to explain the troubled and tortured life of my mother, Maria knew within her spirit what a symbol this was, God is so Good and works within the hearts of those who listen closely.

Over the next week I will write many stories, going into some specific details of a week that kept me too busy to write as I lived into the experience of Holy Week here in Italy. One of the most important experiences I feel in life is to see how God informs all we do, in Holy week this seems lived out larger than normal, just as the week was larger than normal even for Jesus.

What was your experience of Holy Week or even one day, a day of Palms, Passion, or Easter?
How do you define life, celebration, feast, death and resurection?
How do you share the grace of eternal life with others, while celebrating within yourself?

OCD or Precise?

As I was bent over the table at the infiorata class this weekend meticulously placing tiny flower blossoms into a pattern much too small for my skill a friend looked at my work and said, you are very precise. This was very easy for me to understand in Italian, but my response was beyond my translation skills, oh no, I am OCD, curiosity crossed his face, it is a disease, I said. Non copito…. Hmmmmm I didn’t know if I understood in that moment of self reflection whether my friend or I was more correct. Am a precise person, or simply crazy with Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder?

Once I had committed to working on this crazy tiny pattern, I was so focused on getting each tiny flower or grain of soil in place so that my artwork would not be a complete mess. But even as he was noting how (ridiculously) meticulous I was in this Sunday afternoon relaxation project, I was feeling like it was simply a mess, and I said as much. After an afternoon of this very fun adventure, I found myself reflecting on my spiritual practice of dabbling in the arts and wondering what aspect of this was calling to my heart.

Reflect, reflect…when I switched my pattern up to finish my project, my soul was satisfied, going away from the pattern on the grid I had before me. When I realized in my hurry to complete the work I realized I confused my color scheme, I was disappointed, because my pattern was broken. When not able to get the results I wanted, it was difficult. So noticing patterns, seeing them within context, wanting them to be precise in their form and willing to get meticulous were all good, and weirdly pointed to OCD.

And yet, anyone who has seen my desk evolve over the course of time, generally a year will see it become cluttered, with papers everywhere. Anyone who has even seen my home when I have been excessively busy will see it cluttered, clothing and other stuff everywhere. But, as my friend Carol sneakily noted when she said, “Lisa what is wrong, you are rearranging the furniture,” when I am at my very best, there must be order, or better yet precision. When life seems a mess, it is time for deeper order, even in my home. When I am truly engaged in the art of life, and a life of art, there is precision.

It is so often through the eyes of our friends, who are paying attention to us, that we see ourselves more clearly. Our friends who will share their reflections in their gift of connection. I do not have OCD, but I am a precise person who does like order in my life, in so many ways this is a gift I have that has been valuable in ministry, in art and creativity, in life in general.
Do you have friends who observe your actions and share their thoughts in meaningful ways?
How do you utilize the observances of friends to reflect on your life and your ways of being?
Do you see your behavior traits as gifts to use well or hindrances? How can one trait possibly be both?
Where do you see God, your creator, as part of your traits and habits?

THANKS TO MUSEO DEL VETRO PER FOTO E PER 'L GIORNO BELLO!!!!!!!!!

Beautiful Walk

Normally for me a good walk does many things; it helps me relax, it provides exercise, time to contemplate/pray, and simply breathe. But a good walk becomes so much more when it brings new surprises. This happens most when I walk with other people, with friends, or in the Italian way of speaking, companions for the journey.

This is Holy Week and with it comes beautiful surprises in different ways. My friend Maria has requested I take photos of the processions in the village this week and so to prepare I have walked the route of the procession a couple of times, with different people with different great surprises.

Not knowing the exact route and with Maria asking that I take pictures from in front of the procession, I asked around and found my friend Eva to be a great resource. We were already scheduled to meet for a language exchange where she helps me with my Italian and I help her with English. Her daughter said she would know the route and so we started the walk. In rapid time we had each pulled out our notebooks as our conversation brought new words for both of us. We also talked of one great place to get a photo that was in need of a few plants trimmed to get a good shot. With a wink and a smile Eva assured me I should just come with my clippers and do the work.

We hadn’t walked too much further when there was a slight confusion of which way the route went exactly Thursday night and Friday night, because they are different. Then, as if totally on stage cue arrived Eva’s brother Paolo, who sings in the noon service on Sundays and knows the route well. We walked the rest of the way with his guidance and wisdom on the route. It was great fun conversing with the two of them, two of my favorite people to chat with in Piegaro. Truly a surprisingly beautiful morning walk.

Later I would walk the route again to take photos along the way to seek out the best vantage points for the nights of the processions. This time it was a weekday morning and many people were out enjoying the morning sun. As I walked I was struck by how many lovely women from the church I encountered, chatted with and took pictures of. A great reminder of the lovely community that I have such a love and fondness for.

Finally, on my walk with Maria we would review some of the vantage points for photos, and consult on which were best. We reviewed the photos later and she would make additional recommendations. I simply adore working in community with others, the sharing of surprising new ideas and creating something wonderful together. It is a great honor to be invited to share this experience of faith and tradition with my friends.

One of the great parts of this experiences for me is that it feels so like home in my heart. For 20 years I have participated, working in some way, in events of Holy Week within the church. Taking photos for friends in the church here gives me such joy. When I think of all the beautiful ways that Maria has blessed me in different ways over the last year, having her surprise me with the opportunity to do something for her in nothing short of a gift.

In what ways does your church family bless you?
In what ways do you find surprising joy in participating in various activities in your faith community?
How does this bring you closer to God, Jesus and Spirit during the Holy Week, in your life?

Hope, Pray and Don't Worry

Padre Pio, Italian Saint in the Catholic church was famous for teaching these few words (Hope, pray and don’t worry) to the people in his church as essential to Spiritual formation. Padre Pio was a capuchin monk, a priest and a spiritual director who became well known for the miracles that occurred in his life, such as the stigmata that he lived with much of his life. In America we don’t often put emphasis on miracles, but with a person such as Padre Pio we see the wonderful example of a complete life of a Christian, who worked with the poor, spoke the words of the Bible and experienced the miracles of God.

In my time here over the past year on and off I have seen images of Padre Pio adorning the walls of homes, including mine, looking at me from the back of 18 wheeler semi-trucks barreling down the highway, and on cards in the wallets of friends. But my favorite is the statue that is halfway up the mountain and a great destination when on a walk with friends. It is a great reminder of how important his ministry was in how many of the locals walk to his statue on a regular basis.

What is even more incredible though, is that this statue, this reminder of a wonderful ministry, is locked up behind a gate on private land, and only when the gate is open does anyone have the opportunity to get close to Padre Pio. Yet you look at the pictures and you see many artificial flowers that have been “planted” at his feet. They were planted when the opportunity to enter presented itself and the people who venture there often saw their chance to honor their saint.
It is this practice of spiritual mischief I so love here in Piegaro. That when someone is moved by their heart to honor God and faith they do so in creative ways, beyond the norm of society. On this trip I have been here almost 3 months and have yet to see the gate open, and the NO TRESPASSING signs abound. I am very aware of the narrow windows of time that present themselves for the locals to place their gifts.

I also think of the people who own this hotelish establishment, and Agriturismo, a place where tourists come to spend time in the country. These people, who so diligently lock up Padre Pio for most of the year, also have refrained from removing the flowers. They too are participants in this spiritual mischief, for they could remove the flowers at any time.

There is no greater way to honor a person who invited people to live simply within their faiths within his five rules for spiritual growth: weekly confession, daily Communion, spiritual reading, meditation, and examination of conscience. Within his own spiritual life he was called to care for the poor and build a hospital, an inspiration for others to care for neighbor. Within the context of hope, pray and don’t worry Padre Pio allowed the Holy Spirit to move him as a man of God, and witness to Jesus.
How do you honor the people who inspire your faith?
How do you play and have fun with your practice of faith?
Do you have any spiritual practices that invite you to take risks, and if so, what?

Falling Blossoms

One of the wonders of Spring is not only the sudden burst of color in the flowers, but how brief the season really is. There are some flowers that bloom in other seasons, but the flowers of Spring are usually the promise of other things, and they do not remain for a long period of time. Within the beauty of the bloom lies the seeds, fruits, and other forms fertility that are essential for life.
There is nothing that can compare to the lush pink blossoms of the cherry trees, the snowy white of plums and the mixed hues of the apples. The trees are nothing but this fluffy color bursting forth initially, but soon the petals fall, joining the leaves of autumn that have gently melted under the moisture of winter, and forming the mulch to feed the roots for the growth of summer and the fruits of autumn. The amazing beauty of spring is the part of the eternal promise of the fullness of life that exists within the living tree. It is easy to think of the coming seasons even when enjoying the beauty of this time.

When I see the leaves forming on the fruit trees and the petals falling I think of the supreme fullness of life and the importance of living each day as it comes. For if I appreciate only the days of spring flowering, I will miss the lushness of the green leaves, the hope that lies in the small fruits that begin to form, and the sweet, juicy fruit that will nourish me later on. It is so important to know that just as the seasons of the year change, so do the seasons of our lives. Life offers so much for us, that if we focus on just one place in time we will miss so much. We often dwell on places in life where we have been, or in the hopes or fears of things to come that we miss so much of what is happening in the here and now. Yet within this greater awareness, it is so good to appreciate the place we are right now, to live in the moment, this moment of eternity, to know that once this moment is past, it is gone.

At this time in Piegaro the fruit trees are already at the place where their petals are falling and the green leaves are coming forth. It is an amazingly early and warm spring here, and the time of transition is happening so rapidly. If a person thinks, ah, tomorrow I will enjoy the beauty of the flowering trees, they may just miss the flowers completely.

The trees offer us a reminder of the fullness of life and the importance of living in the moment. This past week I have enjoyed the flowering trees, and this week the buds bursting forth into tender young leaves. I have also been busier than I wanted, and although there was much time for enjoying the beauty of the flowers and flowering trees, there was little time to write for all the time spent doing other things. It had me thinking about the one phrase that keeps coming up around my Sabbatical, “remember what you are there for.” Time for reflection, time for growth and time to write are essential for me at this time. It is so important to live in the season of life where we are, within the context of the greater seasons of life, knowing that tomorrow will bring new beauty, new life; eternity.
Now is the time for blossoming flowers, and falling blossoms, to catch view of this lushness as new and different lushness approaches.

How do you savor each precious moment of beauty?
Does the promise of new and different beauty coming in a new season offer you hope?
How do you live into each season and the change that occurs in the cycle of the year, in the cycles of life?
Is it easy or difficult for you to live in the moment, while aware this time will pass soon?