"God is a River - let go..."

"In the ever-shifting water
of the river of this life,
I was swimming, seeking comfort;
I was wrestling waves to find
A boulder I could cling to,
a stone to hold me fast
Where I might let the fretful water
of this river 'round me pass..."

I’ve always loved stones and water -- two elements that are at the core of my being.  When I hear those two words I feel both grounded and fetter less -- free.  I love to call that space in my heart, a studio. Because it best describes my the in-vironment of my home as an artist and healer.

For me, an artist is someone who applies a principle. Like the principle of perspective in drawing. Or the law of gravity in sculpture. These principles serve as a matrix for what Robert Peel writes of as the ultimate goal for working Mary Baker Eddy’s household, “a breathtaking genius for improvisation”.

I have always loved order, neatness, form, beauty, and creativity.  The marriage of stones and rivers have always spoken to me of this concresence. 

One day while sitting on a sandy Cape Cod beach, I considered what it might look like if my “office," were an artist's studio.  The Christian Science healing practice - for me - is the perfect marriage of art and science.  I’ve never felt the balance of those two elements more than in this work.  This blog has been a chronicle of the experiential journey towards greater trust, balance, honesty, perspective, and grace.

One morning, my husband sent me this video clip from Peter Mayer’s Front Porch concert in Boulder, with this note:

“Good morning...

"Please check this out. 

I think he wrote this with you in mind somehow.”

The subject line of his email said, “An anthem for our home”. This touched me deeply.  And then I watched the video clip of Peter's performance of God is A River and it made me weep with abandon. 

Peter perfectly and completely captures what I hope each of these posts are trying to say about what I am learning.  This song is now the anthem -- not just for our home, but for this blog, this office, and, most profoundly, what I think it is that I am learning about God.   I will let Peter’s words speak for me today.

This song is a home.  I dwell in its space of surrender and trust. I  find in its message, a security that is without the conventional walls and mortar, bricks or beams, of always knowing what’s next, or how it’s supposed to look.  I will let go of any false sense of "safety" I’ve been clinging to -- and trust the River.

“Home” for me, is a conscious power, a movement that is vital and active - it is a verb. And yes, this sense of “home” - as a verb - has often given birth to nouns: a house, a marriage, a family, purposeful work, or a posting on a blog. But it is first, and foremost, a verb.

Thank you Jeff. Thank you for honoring me by thinking -- even for a moment -- that this song was written with me in mind.

Thank you Peter -- for writing me a home -- and an anthem for my life:

“In the ever-shifting water
of the river of this life
I was swimming, seeking comfort;
I was wrestling waves to find
A boulder I could cling to,
a stone to hold me fast
Where I might let the fretful water
of this river 'round me pass

And so I found an anchor,
a blessed resting place
A trusty rock I called my savior,
for there I would be safe;
From the river and its dangers,
and I proclaimed my rock divine
And I prayed to it "protect me"
and the rock replied:

God is a river, not just a stone
God is a wild, raging rapids
And a slow, meandering flow
God is a deep and narrow passage
And a peaceful, sandy shoal
God is the river, swimmer
So let go

Still I clung to my rock tightly
with conviction in my arms
Never looking at the stream
to keep my mind from thoughts of harm
But the river kept on coming,
kept on tugging at my legs
Till at last my fingers faltered,
and I was swept away

So I'm going with the flow now,
these relentless twists and bends
Acclimating to the motion,
and a sense of being led
And this river's like my body now,
it carries me along
Through the ever-changing scenes
and by the rocks that sing this song:

God is a river, not just a stone
God is a wild, raging rapids
And a slow, meandering flow
God is a deep and narrow passage
And a peaceful, sandy shoal
God is the river, swimmer
So let go..."
 

What a gift.


offered with Love,

Kate

"everything is holy..."

"When I was in Sunday School
we would learn about the time
Moses split the sea in two,
and Jesus made the water wine.

And I remember feeling sad
that miracles don't happen still.
Now I can't keep track
cause everything's a miracle --
Everything, everything is holy now..."

Peter Mayer's "Everything is Holy Now," gives form to what is in my heart today. No matter where I look, I am seeing the sacred, the divine -- the holy.

This morning it was a pair of doves sitting -- one with its winged draped over the other's back -- on a low branch just beyond our kitchen window. It was a sacred moment.  One as deserving of reverence as the cantor's call to temple, small hands folded in prayer, or a choir singing Handel's  "Messiah."

I turned from the window and there, on the kitchen counter, was a pear. A perfectly formed pear. A pear. Just a pear. But in that moment I could see the hand of God in its timeless design. I've always loved pears -- everything about them. I love their grounded shape, the changing blush of color that rises as they ripen, the texture, their scent, a taste unlike any other. Gazing at that pear I wanted to drop to my knees in gratitude.

Walking out to the mailbox I felt the first warm rays of mid-winter sun on my skin and a cool morning breeze softly lifting the stray hairs at the nape of my neck. An unseen gift. A holy gift.

Later, watching our frisky little pup standing nose-to-nose with a baby bunny in the yard, I bowed my head in prayer. I was witnessing a miracle. My very own window on the Isaiah prophesy -- a lamb lying down with a lion -- fulfilled, and I was blessed.  Everything -- every leaf turning towards the light, every flower arching its petals in a silent song of praise. Everything -- deeply, profoundly, knee-bucklingly holy.

Walking back into the house, I realized that the acute discomfort I'd woken with that morning, had dissolved in the light of this holiness-suffused day.

I love church. I love the sacredness of each opportunity to serve our community.  I love working in fellowship with others.  I cherish our unity of purpose in accepting Christ's mandate to care for our neighbors in need. But these opportunities for community worship don't start (or stop) at the threshold of our place of worship. They aren't contained by, or restricted to, the activities we -- as a congregation -- choose to support.

We can find them everywhere -- when a fellow member quietly offers a ride to a stranger on a stormy night. When a high school-age neighbor helps his friend repair the damages done to another homeowner's mailbox. We see it in acts of highway mindfulness replacing road-rage, and grocery store courtesy overcoming impatience. Every instance of goodness worthy of praise.  Every moment a sacrament. Everything holy.

Each moment of our living is a miracle. The gift of consciousness -- of contemplation, creativity, prayer -- leaves me speechless. Our capacity to love and to be loved, to appreciate beauty, to breathe, to serve others, to listen attentively to a friend's story, to sit bedside with a patient in silent prayer -- all of it -- holy.

On the first page of her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy, offers:

"The wakeful shepherd
beholds the first faint morning beams,
e'er cometh the full radiance
of the risen day." 

When we are most alert -- most watchful -- even the faintest glimpse of goodness is an indication of the divine All-in-allness. Even the smallest act of kindness is radiant with God's presence. And everything is holy -- now.

We don't need to wait for things to change, to get better, or to be fixed by an alteration of circumstances, or a plea to God. When we seize each opportunity to get on our knees and look for even the tiniest glimmer of His presence -- in the persistent growth of a blade of grass, a robin's egg cradled in a fragile nest, or the tireless work-ethic of an ant -- the sacred is found in the simple. And ordinary moments become extraordinary.

Or, as Peter sings:

"so, the challenging thing becomes:
not to look for miracles,
but finding where there isn't one..." 

When we are most alert -- most watchful -- even the faintest glimmer of goodness is an indication of the fullness of divinity touching humanity. Even the smallest act of kindness is radiant with God's presence. Each instance portends His All-in-allnes, where everything is holy -- now. Yes, everything -- every little thing is holy -- now.

offered with Love,

Kate

"Everything is holy now..."

"When I was in Sunday School
we would learn about the time
Moses split the sea in two,
and Jesus made the water wine.

And I remember feeling sad
that miracles don't happen still.
Now I can't keep track
cause everything's a miracle --
Everything, everything is holy now..."

Peter Mayer's "Everything is Holy Now," gives form to what is in my heart today. No matter where I look, I am seeing the sacred, the divine...the holy.

This morning it was a pair of doves sitting -- one with its winged draped over the other's back -- on a low branch just beyond our kitchen window. It was a sacred moment.  One as deserving of reverence as the cantor's call to temple, small hands folded in prayer, or a choir singing the Hallelujah chorus.

I turned from the window and there, on the kitchen counter, was a pear. A perfectly formed pear. A pear. Just a pear. But in that moment I could see the hand of God in its timeless design. I've always loved pears -- everything about them. I love their grounded shape, the changing blush of color that rises as they ripen, the texture, their scent, a taste unlike any other. Gazing at that pear I wanted to drop to my knees in gratitude.

Walking out to the mailbox I felt the first warm rays of summer sun on my skin and a cool morning breeze softly lifting the stray hairs at the nape of my neck. An unseen gift. A holy gift.

Later, watching our frisky little pup standing nose-to-nose with a baby bunny in the yard, I bowed my head in prayer. I was witnessing a miracle. My very own window on the Isaiah prophesy -- a lamb lying down with a lion -- fulfilled, and I was blessed.  Everything -- every leaf turning towards the light, every flower arching its petals in a silent song of praise. Everything deeply, profoundly, knee-bucklingly holy.

Walking back into the house, I realized that the acute discomfort I'd woken with that morning, had dissolved in the light of this day-suffusing holiness.

I love church. I love the sacredness of each opportunity to serve our community.  I love working in fellowship with others.  I cherish our unity of purpose in accepting Christ's mandate to care for our neighbors in need. But these opportunities for community worship don't start (or stop) at the threshold of our little urban place of worship. They aren't contained by, or restricted to, the activities we -- as a congregation -- choose to support.

We can find them everywhere -- when a fellow member quietly offers a ride to a stranger on a stormy night. When a high school-age neighbor helps his friend repair the damages done to another homeowner's mailbox. We see it in acts of highway mindfulness replacing road-rage, and grocery store courtesy overcoming impatience. Every instance of goodness worthy of praise.  Every moment a sacrament. Everything holy.

Each moment of our living is a miracle. The gift of consciousness -- of contemplation, creativity, prayer -- leaves me speechless. Our capacity to love and be loved, to appreciate beauty, to breathe, to serve others, to listen to a friend, to sit bedside in silent prayer -- all of it -- holy.

On the first page of her primary work, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy, offers:

"The wakeful shepherd
beholds the first faint morning beams,
e'er cometh the full radiance
of the risen day." 

When we are most alert -- most watchful -- even the faintest glimpse of goodness is an indication of the divine. Even the smallest act of kindness is radiant with God's presence. And everything is holy -- now.

We don't need to wait for things to change, to get better, or to be fixed by an alteration of circumstances, or a plea to God. When we seize each opportunity to get on our knees and look for even the tiniest glimmer of His presence -- in the persistent growth of a blade of grass, a robin's egg cradled in a fragile nest, or the tireless work-ethic of an ant -- the sacred is found in the simple, and ordinary moments become extraordinary.

Or, as Peter sings:

"so, the challenging thing becomes:
not to look for miracles,
but finding where there isn't one..." 

When we are most alert -- most watchful -- even the faintest glimpse of goodness is an indication of the divine. Even the smallest act of kindness is radiant with God's presence. Each instance portends His All-in-allnes, where everything is holy -- now. Yes, everything -- every little thing is holy -- now.

offered with Love,

Kate

"Everything is holy now..."

"And when I was in Sunday school
We would learn about the time
Moses split the sea in two
Jesus made the water wine
And I remember feeling sad
That miracles don't happen still
But now I can't keep track
'Cause everything's a miracle
Everything, Everything
Everything's a miracle..."

I've been thinking about oil spilling from a broken pipe deep below the surface of the sea.  Peter Mayers' "Holy Now" has been a sweet reminder that I have every right to expect a "miracle" since, to me, "everything is holy now."  And it is.

Mary Baker Eddy says, in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, a practical guide to seeing everything spiritually:

"All that is made is the work of God,
and all is good.

and

"man has not two lives,
one to be destroyed
and the other to be made indestructible."

echoes what I believe Jesus admonished us to accept, when he said:

"Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets:
I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil."

And finally, what John puts the seal of time on in Revelation:

"...and there were great voices in heaven, saying,
The kingdoms of this world are become
the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ;
and he shall reign for ever and ever."

God creating everything, governing everything, fulfilling the spiritual reality of everything.  His "as in heaven, so on earth," echoing, reverberating, lifting the shades of gloom, sweeping away the cobwebs of materiality's self-justifying claims of creation, abolishing duality, and establishing this one and only reality.  And because this is His kingdom of heaven, on earth, everything...from "a blade of grass to a star," from "the mental molecule to infinity," from a drop of water to the vast seas...everything is holy now.

So, why does this song, and its message of non-dualism, make praying about the Deep Water oil spill less tentative, perhaps, maybe, "I sure hope God is out there somewhere" somehow?  Because in this prayer, we are not praying to use Spirit to fix a material problem in a material situation, on a material earth...we are resurrecting the holiness of each element.  Reclaiming its one, and only, spiritual substance and purpose.

Mary Baker Eddy, in the "Glossary" chapter of Science and Health, defines Oil. as:

"Consecration; charity; gentleness;
prayer; heavenly inspiration."

This is the only definition of "oil," I am accepting tonight.  And since I have only one life (not two - "one to be destroyed and the other to be made indestructible"), one creation, one reality, one truth...where everything is holy now, there is, there can be, no crude consecration to God, no slimy charity, no destructive gentleness, no toxic prayer, no suffocating heavenly inspiration in the environment of my thought, my consciousness of God's presence, "as in heaven, so on earth."  On earth..on earth!  Right here and right now!  In every blade of swamp grass, in every scarlet feather of a cardinal's wing, in every drop of sea water...God articulated, God dancing, singing, holding the stars in their courses and defending the purity of each grain of sand with perfect integrity.

Charity is gushing through the depths of humanity's hunger for compassion and understanding.  Consecration is coating every suggestion of selfish pride with the balm of Gilead...the desire to bring healing to the hurting daughters of "my people."

Heavenly inspiration is being dispersed abroad, gentleness is calming the roiling sea of fear and blame with the holiest of holies...kindness and mercy.

All that can wash up on the shores of my heart are the songs of angels, the the lapping, rhythmic reminder that "God is here, God is here, God is here."

The same God who pulled the waters back to reveal a path for his children, can pull the oil, precious, holy, God-sent oil, into its proper place and purpose as a useful, harmless, and indestructible element of creation.  The same God who made the axehead float so that it could be returned to the lender, who multiplied bread and fish to feed thousands, and turned water into wine, can turn oil into water...fresh, clear, clean, oxygen-blessed, kelp nourishing, navy buoying, mussel inhabiting sea water. 

Because, everything is His...and "everything is holy now."  Now...not tomorrow, or August, but now!  He promised!!

"...This morning, outside I stood
And saw a little red-winged bird
Shining like a burning bush
Singing like a scripture verse
It made me want to bow my head
I remember when church let out
How things have changed since then
Everything is holy now
It used to be a world half-there
Heaven's second rate hand-me-down
But I walk it with a reverent air
'Cause everything is holy now."

Thank you for this reminder Peter...your music laps at the hull of my prayer ship and sings me to Him.

with Love,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"And the river's like my body now..."

"In the ever-shifting water

of the river of this life

I was swimming, seeking comfort;

I was wrestling waves to find

A boulder I could cling to,

a stone to hold me fast

Where I might let the fretful water

of this river 'round me pass



And so I found an anchor,

a blessed resting place

A trusty rock I called my savior,

for there I would be safe

From the river and its dangers,

and I proclaimed my rock divine

And I prayed to it "protect me"

and the rock replied:



God is a river, not just a stone

God is a wild, raging rapids

And a slow, meandering flow

God is a deep and narrow passage

And a peaceful, sandy shoal

God is the river, swimmer

So let go



Still I clung to my rock tightly

with conviction in my arms

Never looking at the stream

to keep my mind from thoughts of harm

But the river kept on coming,

kept on tugging at my legs

Till at last my fingers faltered,

and I was swept away



So I'm going with the flow now,

these relentless twists and bends

Acclimating to the motion,

and a sense of being led

And this river's like my body now,

it carries me along

Through the ever-changing scenes

and by the rocks that sing this song



God is a river, not just a stone

God is a wild, raging rapids

And a slow, meandering flow

God is a deep and narrow passage

And a peaceful, sandy shoal

God is the river, swimmer

So let go



God is the river, swimmer

So let go ..."

- Peter Mayer

Sometimes you think a song just says it all...until an angel comes along, all dressed in stripey leggings and short skirts, sassy dresses and western boots...and she leaves a poem on your pillow to sing you to sleep while you dream along the river's edge, Sam Hopple wrote this poem, and sent it along today. I am so grateful she was willing to let me share her beautiful words:



she breathes in the water of the arkansas valley

flowing with the current over mossed rocks and sleeping boulders

her path is sometimes met by churning and sharp wavelengths

slamming her to shore and caking her with mud

a strong faith calls her to dive back head first

and the moment she arrives in the space of a placid eddie

she is peaceful



down the stream she dances

gliding in perfect rhythm to the beat of the stream

a melody shines forth

and she joins the chorus...

like a river song....



I have nothing to add to this...it is practically perfect in every way...



Kissing your eyelids goonight...sweet dreams in London town Miss Samantha Demarest King Hopple. The River and the Valley are waiting for you to fly in from the East on the angel wings you discovered in a little shoppe on Carnaby Street.Your mommy and daddy would be so proud of you, and your devotion to all that they stand for...goodness, faith, strength in adversity, peace in a storm, children on horses, in cabins, rafts...and the River...oh, how they love that River!!



thank you for honoring me with your words,



mum

Kate Robertson, CS



Another friend suggested that I include this link to,"God is a River...let go"a post written in 2007 about Peter Mayer's amazing song.