"to be known, rather than remembered.."

"memory,
i can dream
of the old days,
life was
beautiful then..."

I've never really liked this song. But, that said, it is the perfect keynote for this post. And if I have to listen to it, I would prefer to hear Barbra Steisand's version of "Memory," than any other.

This experience was pivotal in my understanding of healing. It happened over thirty years ago, but the Truth I discovered that day, is as fresh today as the day it flooded my heart.

A relationship that meant everything to me was falling apart at the seams. It would seem that whatever had drawn us together in the beginning had been lost forever. For the other person, but not for me. I wanted our relationship to continue so desperately. I loved him with every ounce of my being.

It was clear to me that he was just not remembering how good it was. How amazing it had been. All the reasons that we had come together in the first place. So I sent him cards filled with reminders. "Remember our first date? Remember those early months when we couldn't wait to meet at the end of the day and share our inspiration and insights. Remember that trip to...

The more I remembered, the farther away he moved from the closeness we had once enjoyed. I felt bereft. It was so easy for me to remember. And I thought those memories were our lifeline back to all the good we had known together.

One day, when things were at their darkest, I woke to a late spring snow storm. The roads were impassable. It would be a "snow day" for me whether I wanted to be home alone or not. And during that time, home alone was excruciating. So many reminders of "how good it had been."

I knew I couldn't "go there," so I made myself a cup of tea and pulled my books, the Bible and Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy, off of my desk and curled up in front of the wood stove for a morning of study.

I don't remember what the theme of that week's scriptural study was, but I do remember two things that shifted my heart. One, was the story of Peter's raising of Tabitha from Acts 9, starting at verse 36. Following her passing after an illness, Peter is called to her home, where he finds her friends - weeping widows who who brought him to the upper chamber where she lay surrounded by some of the coats and garments she had made while she was alive.

But it is this next passage that woke me up:

“But Peter
put them all forth..."
 

I got it. It was suddenly so clear to me. I, too, was clinging to memorials. When all along, divine Love was breathing fresh purpose into our relationship. Immediately on the heels of that realization, a statement from Science and Health came to mind:

“If a friend be with us,
why need we memorials
of that friend."
 

I knew I had to let go of all the "reasons" from the past. My loved one didn't need to be bombarded with memories, he needed to be trusted. He needed for me to release us both from the past. If we were to continue, it would be because God's purpose for our relationship was still vital to His plan for us.

Another statement from Science and Health helped me arrest that behavior. Eddy says:

"Make no unnecessary inquiries
relative to feelings or disease."
 

So I stopped. Cold turkey. I stopped asking him how he felt. I stopped wondering "what if..." I worked every day to simply show up in the presence of God's purpose for us.

This isn't about a nice, neatly tied up "healing" of a relationship. Each day we each showed up willing to discover more about our love for God, through our love for each other. But most importantly, I stopped looking backwards to affirm or define my relationships -- with God, with my loved ones, with my body. It allows relationships to evolve with purpose. It requires the discipleship of knowing -- versus remembering It's a spiritual demand that takes devout focus on loving God as the only "I am."

And isn't this what Peter was so clear about. Tabitha wasn't a memory, she was an idea of God. A reflection of divine Mind. And I love the definition of the word "reflect," as "deep thinking or pondering." Tabitha was God was thinking, not what he was remembering. And Peter knew that he too could know her, not through the widow's memorials, but through an understanding of her present identity.

This would have been so edifying for Peter -- the last thing we would have wanted, was to be remembered for his past denials of Christ, but known for the faithful man of God, the faithful apostle he was day-by-day as he fulfilled his holy purpose.

This spiritual demand to know, rather than remember, blesses everyone and everything. I once thought of myself as someone with a great memory. Now I know myself as someone who knows - not remembers - God. As someone who knows Love. It is enough.


offered with Love,

Kate

"be it far from thee Lord..."

"All my devotion,
and misguided loyalty;
swinging my sword
in the garden,
while you pray
for your enemies..."

A few years ago, I found a wonderful collection of contemporary Christian songs called, "The Story." I often find fresh perspective on Scriptural stories from them. Dan Haseltine and Matt Hammett's song,  "Empty"  was a beautiful compliment to my study of the Easter story this morning.

I was reading outside the lines -- beyond the citations of Scripture that were recommended for study -- and remembered an experience I had some years ago. The son we'd been in the process of adopting had been taken back by his birthmother and I was devastated. I hadn't held back in loving him. He had my heart. There were moments when I could step back and see the bigger spiritual picture, and they other times when I just felt empty.

Friends and family members were loving and supportive. Sometimes that support came in the guise of outrage at what we'd gone through. It was easy to slip into the arms of their commiseration and be assured that it just wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair -- we'd done everything "right," and now, here we were with an empty nursery and broken hearts. Their sympathy was comforting.

But one week, while considering the disciple Peter's career-trajectory - as one of Jesus' closest companions. I thought  about his eagerness, his persistence, and his bumpy road from fisherman to fisher of men. I discovered that two of the accounts appear back-to-back in the 16th chapter of Matthew's gospel:

"When Jesus came into the coasts of Cæsarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?

And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.

He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?

And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.

And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar–jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven. And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven..."

and

"From that time forth began Jesus to shew unto his disciples, how that he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day.

Then Peter took him, and began to rebuke him, saying, Be it far from thee, Lord: this shall not be unto thee. But he turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.

In the first instance, we have Peter identifying Jesus correctly as, "the Christ, the son of the living God," -- and then when he tries to defend Jesus, saying that it would be wrong for a man of such goodness as Jesus to be arrested and crucified, he is rebuked by his Master, and called "Satan."  Something about that story hit me like a cup of cold water -- being thrown in my face.

In the breadth of a heartbeat, I knew I could no longer accept the sympathy of those who loved me, as if I were a victim -- small, vulnerable, shattered, and broken. Oh yes, I was so very grateful for their love, and I could appreciate their intent, but I could no longer accept this version of my own story -- one that painted me as a casualty of someone else's choices, decisions, mistakes. It deprived me of my own God-sent journey. It was a denial of my right to see myself as whole, and to exchange a crucified sense of my mommy story - the cradle song and natal hour, for a resurrected sense of  genuine motherhood -- unmoved, unwavering, unshaken.

I believe that Jesus knew that for him to lean into Peter's "be it far from thee Lord," was to allow space for the breach -- the suggestion that for even one moment of his life, his story was out of God's supreme control. Peter's righteous indignation only soothed the personal ego -- it had no life in Christ.

Jesus doesn't call Pilate "Satan" -- nor the the priests who were behind his arrest, or Judas who led his captors to him. They were not the "problem." The real snake was the ego -- that which seeks to be defended.  The false narrative that would suggest that his life mission was a series of "whew, dodged another mortal bullet." These were the real enemy of the Christ -- his eternal manhood as God's own beloved son.

I can't even begin to tell you how many times this insight has blessed me in the ensuing 30 years. Whether it is my own self-sympathy when facing a challenge, or the well-intentioned "not you..." offered by a friend or loved one, it doesn't take long to remember that, as Mary Baker Eddy promises in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, next to the marginal heading, "Uses of suffering":

"The sharp experiences of belief in the supposititious life of matter, as well as our disappointments and ceaseless woes, turn us like tired children to the arms of divine Love. Then we begin to learn Life in divine Science..."

I want to learn life in divine Science. If my disappointments and ceaseless woes are the beginning of a new lesson -- bring them on! I will try to receive them with the same clear sense and calm trust that Jesus teaches us.

Whenever I begin feeling sorry for myself, wondering "why" I am facing this problem or that challenge, I re-visit the chapter, "Atonement and Eucharist" in Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures - again.  It always reminds me why I love being a scientist, and how grateful I am for each opportunity to deepen my trust in the law of Love within the laboratory of human experience.

This chapter of Jesus' story -- the neglect, betrayal, arrest, crucifixion -- was the ultimate platform for proving his love for his Father, his trust in God's care, and for modeling the love that triumphs over hate, despair, pain, and fear.

offered with Love,

Kate

"look on us…"

"it's easy,
all you need is love,
all you need is love,
all you need is love, love,
love is all you need..."

Thomas Gray's cover of the Lennon and McCartney classic, "All You Need is Love is the perfect keynote for this post. Simple, pure, unvarnished.

So it is my hope, that this post will be just as simple.

My Bible study this morning started with this Scripture from Romans:

"Love is the fulfilling of the law..." 

It took my breath away. I don't know why I hadn't seen it before -- it was certainly a familiar passage. But this morning it was as if all the pieces fell into place. Love isn't a means to an end. Love is the end. It is everything. Love isn't something we "use" to accomplish perfection -- or anything else for that matter. Love is everything.

I've been sensing this for some years. But this morning I think I "got it." The healings and demonstrations that Jesus witnessed, were not the main event. They were just the encouragement toward the great awakening -- the realization that -- it's all about Love.

One of my favorite relationships in Scripture is that of Jesus' disciples, John and Peter. Talk about two guys who struggled with "who shall be greatest." John, as much as I love him, was a bit passive-aggressive. Take his referencing of himself as "the disciple whom Jesus loved," -- oh my. And sweet, over-earnest Peter. One minute he is the Rock on whom Jesus will build his church, and the next, Jesus is rebuking him with a resounding, "get thee behind me Satan." Comparisons, competition, contradiction -- all for the love of the Master.

One of Jesus' last recorded acts was his rebuke to Peter, when Peter asks him, "what shall this man do?" referring to John.  Jesus' reply -- and I can't imagine that it wasn't without just a touch of exasperation -- was, "what is that to thee? follow thou me."  Which, of course, was recorded for posterity by John.  Oh, these guys. 

When I think of all the healings they had witnessed -- the raising of the dead, the loaves and fishes, the water into wine. And yet, Jesus' final moments with them are not a recap of "how to" perform the "miraculous."  They are, in fact, filled with an urgent plea that they learn to love one another -- the washing of one another's feet, and finally, this admonition to stop competing.

So back to my favorite moment? It comes in the book of Acts, third chapter. Peter and John are together. Jesus is no longer the personally present sun around which their lives orbit. And yet, here they are. Together. Going to temple to worship -- together. A lame man stops them and asks for help -- for healing.  And this is it -- the moment that makes me weep:

"And Peter, fastening his eyes
upon him with John, said,
'Look on us." 

It gets me every time. It's almost as if he is saying. "Listen man, if we can be together, anything is possible." The greatest healing was not the lame man walking, the restoration of Malchus' ear, or even the return of vitality to the body -- the greatest healing is love.

Re-reading the gospels, I have realized that this is the "aha," I have been sensing for decades. It's not about using love to get better, feel more peaceful, find abundance, or demonstrate happiness. Love is, in fact, using us to be Itself -- to fulfill Itself. Love is the fulfilling of the law. It is everything, and as Mary Baker Eddy says in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, her textbook on this law of Love:

"The depth, breadth, height, might,
majesty, and glory of infinite Love
fill all space.
That is enough!" 

Love is the fulfilling of the law -- the law of Love. We don't love in order to have a more perfect life -- body, bank account, home. Love uses our lives as a platform for Its fulfillment -- love. We don't "use" love to improve our bodies. We have bodies so that we can express love -- willing hands for helping, strong arms for holding, beautiful lips for smiling, clear eyes for beholding.

It's not "all you need is love," in order to heal the world, fix a problem, or clean up your heart/mind so that you can finally see perfection. It's "all you need is love" -- period! This love, is perfection.

I can't help but think of John Lennon and Paul McCartney.  We think of their songs as the fulfilling of their relationship.  But, perhaps, the songs were just the platform on which these two brilliant artists forged a relationship of mutual respect and warm affection.  This is the question I am living in today.

And today -- at least for me -- this is enough.

offered with Love,

Kate

"please, stir my heart..."

“Please stir my heart.
Take me back to the fire.
And bring to me
recollections of joy,
renew my first desire...”

Listening to Sara Groves' "Stir My Heart" tonight made me think about John's admonition to the church at Ephesus, in the book of Revelation:

“I know thy works, and thy labour, and thy patience
and hast borne, and hast patience,
and for my name's sake hast laboured,
and hast not fainted.

Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee,
because thou hast left thy first love...”

I think this is my greatest hope...that I never leave my "first love." Sara's song speaks to that desire. It is a prayer that God will send me whatever reminder I need to "not forget." Whatever "fire" will burn away the chaff of self-satisfaction, self-certainty, and self-righteousness, to reveal my childlike "first love" for my Father's face...in all things.

I think of sweet Peter...so sure of his love for the Christ, and yet when given the opportunity to stand with the Master, he denies him thrice. What sorrow he must have felt...what desire for "another chance."

And Jesus, the man whose affections defined "love," knows Peter's heart. He knows the fervency of Peter's desire to prove his fidelity to his "first love," and in one of his last human acts of supreme compassion, he asks Peter,

“Simon, son of Jonah,
lovest thou me,
more than these?”

And in doing so, he gives Peter the greatest gift...the one that will change the course of Peter's life from one of self-doubt, self-loathing, and regret, to a life of fidelity to his "first love."

And Jesus not only asks him once, but three times...he gives him the opportunity to redeem each of the three denials fully and faithfully. And then he tells him how he can prove his love -- to "feed my sheep."

Isn't this what we all want most? To be able to affirm our faithfulness to our "first love," if we have become distracted or have strayed? And then to be given a practical way to live, and prove, that faithfulness wholeheartedly. What divine kindness...what an act of grace.

There is something so powerful about this song. It illustrates what Mary Baker Eddy refers to as:

"...the struggle for recourse to the spiritual..."

And I believe that it is this realignment with our "first love," our original love, our eternal, and preternatural love for our Father-Mother God that brings us that deep, core, primordial peace we all long for in the most primitive parts of our being.

So when, as Mary Baker Eddy suggests in Miscellaneous Writings:

The human heart, like a feather bed, needs often to be stirred,
sometimes roughly, and given a variety of turns, else it
grows hard and uncomfortable whereon to repose."

I pray with Sara's song:

“Please stir my heart.
Take me back to the fire.
And bring to me
recollections of joy,
renew my first desire...”

with a fervent hope,

Kate