"let worth be judged..."

"I look to You,
I look to You..."

Selah's cover of  "I Look to You"  returned to my playlist this morning.

I was talking with a dear friend recently, and she asked me a question that touched a very tender nerve:

"perhaps it's a self-worth issue..."

I heard her, but I couldn't imagine how what we were talking about - my desire to be of better support to those I loved - had anything to do with self-worth. But I trusted her and I knew she loved me. So I filed her question away for "Someday when..."  Someday, when I have the time. Someday, when I am willing to probe more deeply. Someday, when I am unable to breathe because I feel the walls crumbling around me - again. Then I will be happy revisit the question of my self-worth.  For now, I'm okay -- but thanks.

Then, a few days later I received a note with this message on the front:

"One day she woke up
and decided she was worthy,

and her soul cried out
with joy"

"Hmmm," I thought, "is today the day to plumb this question?"  But first, I had to start with another question. What defines worth?

First I turned to the dictionary. It said what I already knew: "the level at which something or someone deserves to be valued, is fit for, capable of, or suitable for." It's etymology however stopped me in my tracks. It roots trace back to Old English. The word "worth," hearkens back to the word, "woerp" which refers to "an enclosed space, or a homestead."

I sat back in my chair and let that sink in. Was I at home in my own sense of worth? Do I feel at peace with the value of what I bring to humanity? Has my sense of home been directly impacted by my sense of worth? Has my sense of my own worth been been informed by my home -  or more pointedly, my housing? What correlation might there be between home, value, and worth? It took me a few moments to take the next breath.

As I thought about the concept of worth, I realized that a thing's worth is not defined by the thing itself, but is based on its perceived value. For example, gold is intrinsically worth no more than lead or silver. We have assigned a higher value to gold. The same with sports heroes over teachers. Or celebrities over mothers. Those who have advanced degrees over craftsmen, or those in the trades. It is society that assigned that value. There is no intrinsic higher value in one, over the others.

I needed to have a clear sense of what I valued in order to see my own -- or another's -- worth. So, I dug deeper. What clues could scripture give me in finding a truer sense of worth. I looked at what prophets, disciples, apostles, and Christ Jesus himself valued. Humility, meekness, self-sacrifice, patience. These resonated with me, but I still couldn't feel the deeper  shift that I knew came with a radical transformation of thought. Then something I found in Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scripture hit that nerve again -- and this time, it was like a tuning fork. She writes:

"let worth be judged according to wisdom..."

It rushed through me like a lightning bolt. A few weeks earlier my Sunday School class had been examining the difference between intelligence and wisdom.  And in response  to the question: "How would you describe that difference?" -- one of the girls said:

"Wisdom is intelligence
used with love."

When I heard it, I knew it was true. It immediately became my go-to definition for "wisdom." And here was Eddy saying that our sense of worth should be judged according to wisdom -- the loving use of intelligence. It all shifted into place. If I was feeling less than "worthy," I needed to examine how I was using the God-bestowed intelligence that filled my consciousness throughout the day.

For example:  Was I reading scripture, and delighting in every word, but not bringing these vital truths into Christian practice? Was I consciously bringing wisdom -- intelligence used with love -- to bear on every interaction? Was I vigilant in my daily defense of the wise [loving] use of intelligence? Did I affirm throughout the day that intelligence could only be used for good, for the benefit of humanity. Did I refuse to believe that intelligence could ever be corrupted or used "against" others?

Elsewhere in her Message to The Mother Church for 1902 Eddy assures us that:

"Conscious worth satisfies the hungry heart
and nothing else can..."

To be conscious of my worth -- my right to engage in the loving use of intelligence -- was all that would ever satisfy my hunger for peace. My worth is not based on an irrevocable history of personal mistakes, failures, choices, or accomplishments. It is not defined by how others perceive me. My worth is founded on my day-to-day practice of wisdom. This is what has value. And this is practice of wisdom is something I can monitor throughout the day.

It's not surprising that this "loving use of intelligence," aligns with a radical, conscious application of The Golden Rule: "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."  The Golden Rule is not a human choice, but a divine imperative.  It is a law that operates unspent throughout the deep collective root system of humanity. It is ever-establishing our ever-active spiritual worth -- moment-by-moment,  heart by heart.

We are worthy of this intelligent view of ourselves and others. We are worthy of the peace and joy it brings. We are worthy of being conscious of our worth,  and the worth of being conscious.  It is our divine right to be conscious of what we know, and how to use it.  This is a place we can homestead and abide in -- forever.

offered with Love,

Cate

"a hundred hands...."

"who would have thought
that a Lamb could,
rescue the souls of men..."

After last night, there was no other song than Selah's "Wonderful, Merciful Savior," that could have possibly keynoted this post.

In front of their camp brothers, I saw one hundred hands raised in answer to this question:

"How many of you experienced a healing this summer?"

It took my breath away. I was not at all surprised that they had experienced the healing power of divine Love. But that - after a reflective pause - each hand was raised. They did not look around to see how their friends or mentors had answered the question. They were not hesitant - only thoughtful.

I will never forget watching this beautiful moment. Think of it. One hundred boys and men who had competed, slept, served, played and prayed with one another - quietly answering this question together. With raised hands and gentle faces -- "yes, I have known the healing power of God this summer."

I will leave this here. No commentary. I just wanted each of you to have a window on this moment of grace. And perhaps, in the privacy of your own home, on a walk in the woods, or in a moment of courage at work -- raise your hand, and shout, or sing, or whisper, "yes, I have known the healing power of God's love."

Have a beautiful Friday.



offered with Love,

Cate

"there is a great gulf fixed...."

"all you ever wanted
was my heart, my simple heart
to You, that's all
that really mattered...”

Selah's  "Broken Ladders"  reminds me that when I follow Jesus' example, I am following someone who loves God more than self. Someone who is so willing to deny the ego -- at all costs.

It is his life of self-examination and humility that touches me most deeply these days. Every story, every parable, every wise word, and selfless deed is a signpost leading me into a deeper sense of my own oneness with God.

And this oneness with the divine cannot exist where there is a separate ego that I am defending, grooming, protecting, exalting. But within a deeper desire to for self-nothingness, every gospel story comes alive with new meaning and guidance.

This week, it was the parable of the rich man, and the beggar:

"There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day:

And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores, And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table.

And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried;

And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.

But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented.

And beside all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed: so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence."

There are a few more citations to this parable -- but this is the part that was included in my Scriptural study this week, so I am focusing on it.

For such a long time, I thought that Jesus, in the telling of this parable, was judging the rich, and comforting the poor. But something about it has never sat peacefully with me.

It just seems so contrary to the same Jesus who refused to get embroiled in judging the woman who was "taken in adultery, in the very act." The Jesus who would rather write in the sand, than weigh in on an obvious case of moral turpitude.

But, if I am nothing else, I am persistent. Or as my teacher and mentor once said, "you are like a dog after a bone, when it comes to this "stuff." No argument here.

Speaking of dogs and bones -- that is where this parable came to life for me. As I read it, listened to it, and studied it over-and-over-again this week, one section in particular stood out to me:

"And desiring to be fed with the crumbs
which fell from the rich man's table..."

It was like a bur in my side. I knew that passage felt familiar. And I knew exactly where it was from. It is, for me, one of the most profound shifts in Jesus' ministry:

"And, behold, a woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.

But he answered her not a word. And his disciples came and besought him, saying, Send her away; for she crieth after us. But he answered and said, I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel.

Then came she and worshipped him, saying, Lord, help me.

But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs.

And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters' table.

Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour."

And suddenly I could see, this was not a parable in which Jesus was passing judgment on the behavior of others, but a window on his own inner wrestling.

Before the Canaanite woman's approach and cross-questioning, Jesus was on the fast-track to becoming the Messiah. A royal priesthood. Someone clad in the finest linen and purple. The Messiah was a nationalistic leader. He was expected to defend the Jewish nation's right to the promised land, as the chosen people.

But this woman - a non-Jew no less - throws the worst kind of wrench in that plan. She brings his plan into alignment with his message.  And without pointing fingers, she helps him see the inconsistency. Once seen, his entire ministry shifts.

He begins referring to Samaritans and strangers in his parables. He is giving water to the woman at the well in Samaria. He is found eating with Greeks and Romans. His love is inclusive. His message is universal. His healing is impartial. All are worth, all are welcome, all are whole. The kingdom of God is his nation and it is within everyone. The child of God is his brethren. The beggar - hungering after righteousness, health, and comfort -- is his mentor.

But, he must have also wrestled with the once-upon-a-time arrogance of  "I am not sent, but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel [the Jewish nation.]"  How to reconcile his own journey from royal priesthood to hungry beggar? How to gently -- but honestly -- share this shift with his disciples and his followers? How to humbly own his journey? How to love us enough to let us walk this path with him?  A parable.

And, I love that through this parable, he claims his right to identify himself rightly - with the beggar - when he says:

"And between us and you [the rich man]
there is a great gulf fixed:

so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence."

Such complete redemption.  Such a clear sense of no longer being on that side of the gulf.  Of that old, self-certain "rich man," who can never again cross over, and enter his consciousness of being. He claims his place on the side of the beggar - those hungry for the Love of an all-inclusive Father.

He reminds us that once we have seen the impartial and universal nature of God's love for all -- we can never return to the hell of hierarchies. The brimstone of thinking that there are those who are worthy, and those who are less.  The uncertainty of wondering which side of the gulf we will find ourselves on at any given moment.

Can I just say how much I love this man's example of self-examination and compassion. I love him - more than I can possibly say. Selah's song says what is in my heart:

"Wonderful, merciful Savior,
precious redeemer and friend;

who would have thought
that a Lamb would,
rescue the souls of men? "

offered with Love,

Cate

"counselor, comforter, keeper...."

"counselor,
comforter, keeper;
Spirit we long to embrace.

You offer hope
when our hearts have
hopeless lost their way..."

Yes, this is the same song from the previous post. But sometimes a song begs to be heard, until every word has blessed the listener. Selah's "Wonderful, Merciful Savior"  is one of those songs for me.

I have written about this song's lessons of redemption and mercy before. But tonight, it's all about "counselor." As someone who loves camp and couldn't be more grateful for the counselors that have nurtured my daughters over the years - I've always thought of a camp counselor when I've heard Christ referred to as "counselor."  And over the years, I thought I'd fully plumbed that relationship.

But listening to its message again tonight, I was touched by the song's call to revisit its  Scriptural inspiration -- Isaiah 9:6:

"For unto us a child is born,
unto us a son is given:
and the government
shall be upon his shoulder:
and his name shall be called
Wonderful, Counsellor,
The mighty God,
The everlasting Father,
The Prince of Peace."

But this time it wasn't a camp counselor that came to mind, but the defense counsel in a court of law.

I've written before about my love for law, my desire to enter the practice of law as a human rights attorney, and the moment I discovered that the word "comforter," -- as it appears in Scripture -- is translated from the original Aramaic as:

"counsel for the defense"

It was a pivotal moment in my life. One that clarified the course of my life's purpose -- forever. In that moment, I realized that as a Christian Science practitioner, I was already in the practice of law.

I had already been to law school -- through Christian Science class instruction.  I had a copy of Science and Health withKey to the Scriptures -- which continued to teach me everything I needed to know about the practice of spiritual law.  I had the Bible -- filled with every precedent-setting case I would ever need.  Yes, I was already engaged in defending the spiritual rights of humanity in my work serving the chief Counsel -- Christ.

I was not a partner in the firm -- partnership was never going to be an option.  There was only one "Counselor." At any given moment, I was the receptionist, the law librarian, the paralegal, the billing clerk in this sacred office. But the Christ -- operating in the hearts and minds of each client -- was the only "Counsel for the defense."

Since that day, almost thirty years ago, I have arrived at work each day with a clear sense that I serve in a law office. I have not modeled its operation after a clinical practice, but a law practice. This clear sense of what is practiced here has never failed to provide the structure and discipline for an office that is engaged in defending innocence, rather than fixing brokenness. Here, the Christ rests each case on cited Scriptural precedence.

Yet, even after thirty years of serving in this law office, I had not seen the reference to "counselor," -- in the passage from Isaiah -- as scriptural validation. The prophet's vision for Christ's promise, was not one of reparation, but of spiritual exoneration -- defending innocence and freedom -- for all.

The real comfort of the Comforter, is found in its coincidence with the law-based activity of the "Counselor." Isaiah prophetically brings the operation of the Comforter into partnership with the office of the Counselor.

We each face times when we are falsely accused of being mortal -- of being born into heredity, predisposed to poverty through socio-economic "beginnings," forever defined by our mistakes and choices. But Christ's love frees us from bondage. Stands with us in the court of Spirit, and defends our pre-existent, God-established, invariable perfection and purity. Christ lifts our hearts to hear the God-proclaimed verdict, "You are innocent. You are free."

Serving in this office is a joy. Opening the door each day, researching precedence, answering calls and taking messages, listening for guidance, and helping to prepare briefs [or treatments] for court - it is my greatest joy. Each client's innocence is constitutionally guaranteed under the higher law of Love. And the Christ never loses a case.


offered with Love,

Kate

"to love mercy..."

"wonderful,
merciful Savior;
precious redeemer,
and friend..."

Sometimes I listen to Selah's, "Wonderful, Merciful Savior"  just to remember how expansive God's love is - and to give thanks.

For so much of my life, I seemed to live from mistake-to-mistake. It was never intentional. But it did seem to be the path I walked.

When I returned to the study and practice of Christian Science, I was so grateful for this passage from the book of Micah:

"He hath shewed thee,
O man, what is good;
and what doth the Lord
require of thee,
but to do justly,
and to love mercy,
and to walk humbly with thy God..."

I loved these clear and simple instructions. I could do this. But it was the "love mercy," part that felt like a bit of a "no-brainer" to me. Who didn't "love mercy?" Why would that be a requirement. It seemed so natural.

That was until the first time I wasn't the biggest mistake-maker in the room. It happened. It was a small injustice. But I felt it, and I was a bit [okay, more than a bit] self-righteous about the other person's misstep. Shouldn't there be consequences, repercussions? But no, there was mercy.  There was leniency.  Really?

Thank goodness for the Weekly Bible Lesson outlined in the Christian Science Quarterly. That week's collection of citations from Scripture, and from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy included the above-referenced spiritual instruction from the book of Micah. 

Reading it -- in the context of my self-righteous indignation about the other person's mistake -- I finally "got it."  It was easy to love mercy, when you were the person being shown mercy. But what about the mercy that is being shown to another.  What about the need for real consequences when a mistake has been made? That is when loving mercy, is not as easy.

In these times of "he said, she said," and deep polarization -- with accusations flying like flaming arrows in the battle scene from Braveheart -- it is always easy to see another's mistakes.  And it is even easier to feel indignant.  Especially when the guy on the other side seems to be shown what we deem is unmerited forgiveness or leniency.  Sometimes we feel even further wronged by what we perceive as a failure to impose an appropriate consequence.

These are the moments when the injunction to "love mercy" becomes a rigorous spiritual imperative. It requires the exercise of our utmost trust in divine Love.  In Its overarching justice, oversight, and correction -- according to the operation of Principle -- not our personal sense of right and wrong.

To love mercy is to trust that our Father-Mother God has "got this." This summer, I walked straight into the fire of my own past mistakes. This passage from Mary Baker Eddy's autobiography, Retrospection and Introspection, perfectly describes that chasm of self-sorrow:

"Into mortal mind's material obliquity 
I gazed, and stood abashed. 
Blanched was the cheek of pride. "

It wasn't the past mistakes of a young girl that I saw in this obliquity of self. But the pride, self-righteousness, and self-certainty of a woman who had lost sight of what it meant to live in a state of "constant self-immolation," as Eddy suggests.

But rather than look for someone else's mistakes to focus on,  I didn't look away. I gazed into that space of self-examination with a deep trust in divine Love's ability to mercifully correct and restore Her child's innocence and humility. And that is when the remainder of that paragraph, from Retrospection and Introspection, came alive for me:

"My heart bent low before the omnipotence of Spirit, and a tint of humility, soft as the heart of a moonbeam, mantled the earth. Bethlehem and Bethany, Gethsemane and Calvary, spoke to my chastened sense as by the tearful lips of a babe. Frozen fountains were unsealed. Erudite systems of philosophy and religion melted, for Love unveiled the healing promise and potency of a present spiritual afflatus. 

It was the gospel of healing, on its divinely appointed human mission, bearing on its white wings, to my apprehension, “the beauty of holiness,” — even the possibilities of spiritual insight, knowledge, and being."

Here was the mercy and redemption that brought hope, promise, and purpose. This was the Love that silenced self-hate. The Truth that vanquished error. The Soul that leaves us feeling worthy of our work, not relieved from duty.

I think I will leave this here. Let us strive to not only do what is good, and walk humbly, but to truly love mercy. Love it for everyone. Love it with all of our trust.  Our trust in the Source of its power -- Love.  It is Love's province, to redeem and reform.

offered with Love,

Kate

"what am I worth..."

"I look to You,
I look to You..."

Selah's cover of  "I Look to You"  returned to my playlist this morning.

I was talking with a dear friend recently and she asked me a question that touched a very tender nerve:

"perhaps it's a self-worth issue..."

I heard her, but I couldn't imagine how what we were talking about - my desire to be of better support to those I loved - had anything to do with self-worth. But I trusted her and I knew she loved me. So I filed her question away for "someday when."  Someday, when I have the time. Someday, when I am willing to probe more deeply. Someday, when I am unable to breathe because I feel the walls crumbling around me - again. Then I will revisit self-worth.  But for now, I'm okay -- but thanks.

Then, a few days later I received a thank you card with this message on the front:

"One day she woke up
and decided she was worthy,

and her soul cried out
with joy"

"Hmmm," I thought, "today is the day to plumb this question."  But I had to start with another question. What defines worth?

First I turned to the dictionary. It said what I already knew: "the level at which something or someone deserves to be valued, is fit for, capable of, or suitable for." It's etymology however stopped me in my tracks. From Old English roots, the word "worth," hearkens back to the word, "woerp" which refers to "an enclosed space, or a homestead."

I sat back in my chair and let that sink in. Was I at home in my own sense of worth? Do I feel at peace with the value of what I bring to humanity? Has my sense of home been directly impacted by my sense of worth? Has my sense of my own worth been been informed by my home -  or more pointedly, my housing? What correlation might there be between home, value, and worth? It took me a few moments to take the next breath.

As I thought about the concept of worth, I realized that a thing's worth is not defined by the thing itself, but is based on its perceived value. For example, gold is intrinsically worth no more than lead or silver. We have assigned a higher value to gold. The same with sports heroes over teachers. Or celebrities over mothers. Those who have advanced degrees over craftsmen, or those in the trades. It is society that assigned that value. There is no intrinsic higher value in one, over the others.

I needed to have a clear sense of what I valued in order to see my own -- or another's -- worth. So, I dug deeper. What clues could scripture give me in finding a truer sense of worth. I looked at what prophets, disciples, apostles, and Christ himself valued. Humility, meekness, self-sacrifice, patience. These resonated with me, but I still couldn't feel the deeper  shift that I know comes with a transformation of thought. Then something I found in Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health with Key to the Scripture hit that nerve again -- and this time, it was like a tuning fork. She writes:

"let worth be judged according to wisdom..."

It rushed through me like a lightning bolt. A few weeks earlier my Sunday School class had been examining the difference between intelligence and wisdom, and one of the girls said:

"Wisdom is intelligence
used with love."

When I heard it, I knew it was true. It immediately became my go-to definition for "wisdom." And here was Eddy saying that worth should be judged according to wisdom -- the loving use of intelligence. It all shifted into place. If I was feeling less than "worthy," I needed to examine how I was using the God-bestowed intelligence that filled my consciousness throughout the day.

For example:  Was I reading scripture, and delighting in every word, but not bringing these vital truths into Christian practice? Was I consciously bringing wisdom -- intelligence used with love -- to bear on every interaction? Was I vigilant in my daily defense of the wise use of intelligence? Did I affirm throughout the day that intelligence could only be used for good, for the benefit of humanity. Did I refuse to believe that intelligence could ever be corrupted or used "against" others?

Elsewhere in her Message to The Mother Church for 1902 Eddy assures us that:

"Conscious worth satisfies the hungry heart
and nothing else can..."

To be conscious of my worth -- my right to engage in the loving use of intelligence -- was all that would satisfy my hunger for peace. My worth is not based on an irreversible history of personal mistakes, failures, choices, or accomplishments. It is not defined by how others perceive me. My worth is founded on my day-to-day practice of wisdom. This is what has value. This is practice of wisdom is something I can monitor throughout the day.

It's not surprising that this "loving use of intelligence," aligns with a conscious application of The Golden Rule: "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."  The Golden Rule is not a human choice, but a divine imperative.  It is a law that operates unspent throughout the deep collective root system of humanity. It is ever-establishing our ever-active spiritual worth -- moment-by-moment,  heart by heart.

We are worthy of this intelligent view of ourselves and others. We are worthy of the peace and joy it brings. We are worthy of being conscious of our worth,  and the worth of being conscious.  Conscious of what we know, and how we use it.  This is a place we can homestead and abide in -- forever.

offered with Love,

Kate

"beyond the veil...."

"I look to You,
I look to You..."

I know that I have used Amy Kelly's version of  "I Look to You" recently, but it is the song that was singing itself to me today.

As a bride, I never wore a veil. But I have designed and created veils. As a little girl I was fascinated with all things bridal. I dreamed in shades of white and the palest blushing pink. Helping other girls plan their weddings, design their wedding dresses, making veils -- helped to vicariously fulfil many of those little girl dreams.

One afternoon, as I carefully sewed the last seed pearl on the gossamer edge of a custom fingertip veil --one that I was gifting to a dear friend for her wedding -- I decided to try it on to see if it fell evenly on both sides. I stood in front of the mirror and for the first few moments I couldn't see anything but the layers of soft illusion tulle. As I stood there, my preschool-age daughter came in the room with a hurt finger. Immediately my focus shifted from the pattern in the fabric -- just inches from my eyes -- to her sweet face. Suddenly, I was no longer aware of the fabric - just her need.

I remember in that moment having two insights. The first one was that when someone with a need was before me, I wasn't at all aware of the veil. The second was that when I actually loved what was beyond the veil -- more than wearing the veil and being a bride -- my sense of things shifted drastically.  It was one of those epiphanies I have never forgotten.

A few weeks later a friend and I were driving back from a meeting in another city when rain started falling. At first I couldn't see anything but raindrops on the windshield, and I reached to turn on my windshield wipers. My friends suggested that I wait just a moment. She explained that her husband had shared with her that "looking beyond the veil" was like driving in the rain. At first you can only see the raindrops, but within a few moments your eyes adjust and you look beyond them and can see the cars on the road, the taillights in front of you, and the signs on the highway. She was right -- I could.

When I am focused on what I truly love -- and what I truly need to see -- the veil, the raindrops, the "in your face" sense of things - dissolves from focus.

Recently this was made very clear to me. After a stop-me-in-my-tracks realization about my relationship to God as  "my first Love..." last Fall, one alarming situation after another seemed to present itself. I felt bombarded by personal demands and responsibilities. But I wasn't fooled this time -- at least not for the most part. This analogy of the veil was with me every day.

I saw myself as a bride, looking for her groom at the end of the aisle. As long as I was focused on what was "in my face" -- the details of each of the challenges I was facing -- I felt trapped by a quandary of decisions and obstacles. But when I was looking beyond my immediate circumstances, for the face of my first Love -- God, I was at peace. I wasn't distracted from my one true "goal," -- to know Him, to love Him, to trust Him.

Everything else was like the train behind a wedding dress -- it would come along.  And it did.  The more I focused on God, the less the "veil of matter" was even perceptible to me.

In Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy has this to say in a paragraph with the marginal heading, "within the veil:"

"The nature of Christianity is peaceful and blessed, but in order to enter into the kingdom, the anchor of hope must be cast beyond the veil of matter into the Shekinah into which Jesus has passed before us; and this advance beyond matter must come through the joys and triumphs of the righteous as well as through their sorrows and afflictions. Like our Master, we must depart from material sense into the spiritual sense of being..."

As long as I was focused on myself as a bride -- all of my attention placed on how things were going to effect me and mine -- I wasn't going to see the real beauty of being wedded to my first Love. But the minute I sought His face -- continually -- the veil disappeared from my focal distance.

Elsewhere Eddy speaks of this shift in focus when she writes:

"Mortals must look beyond fading, finite forms if they would gain the true sense of things. Where shall the gaze rest but in the unsearchable realm of Mind?"

Just as a bride looks beyond the veil to find the face of her beloved, so I am looking beyond the veil to rest my gaze on the "face" of my first love. Not as a means to an end. Not to rend the veil. But to feel at one with my greatest love.

And the great Love of my life is - well, Love -- pure and simple. Later in Science and Health Eddy writes:

"The very circumstance, which your suffering sense deems wrathful and afflictive, Love can make an angel entertained unawares. Then thought gently whispers: “Come hither! Arise from your false consciousness into the true sense of Love, and behold the Lamb’s wife, — Love wedded to its own spiritual idea.”

This is the wedding feast that never ends. This is the "place" where the Christ turns water into wine. This is the never-ending moment where we are robed in white and held in bliss.


offered with Love,

Kate

"to know the Truth..."

"You are the one that we praise,
You are the one we adore,
You give the healing and grace,
our hearts always hunger for..."

Selah's recording of "Wonderful, Merciful Savior" was just the simple message my heart was hungering for today.

I have been thinking about two Scriptural messages this afternoon:

"Ye shall know the Truth,
and the Truth shall make you free."

and:

"Be still and know,
that I am God."

These are simple messages. And this is a simple post. I have spent the last few years quietly aware of the difference between thinking and knowing. For me, thinking happens in the head, while knowing is a presence in the heart. Thinking is the human mind doing what it love best -- reasoning, assessing, processing. While knowing is the silencing of the human mind and giving space to the radiance of divine Truth flowing from the kingdom of God -- within.

I have become keenly aware of how often the human mind wants to justify itself by thinking about God. But Consciousness is not waiting for the engagement of the human mind. Consciousness -- the ever-presence of the divine Mind - as impartial and universal Love -- is not contingent upon an engaged human thinker -- any more than the law of gravity is contingent upon our thinking about it's operation, in order for us to be held to the earth.

Mahatma Gandhi wrote:

"Whether mankind will every consciously
follow the law of Love, I do not know.
But he law will work, just as
the law of gravitation will work,
whether we accept it our not."

The egoic human mind loves to think that it is a vital partner in the operation of divine law. It needs to feel that its cooperation is necessary for God to be God. But whether we are thinking about God, or just letting God be All-in-all to us, it doesn't change this ever-operative law of Love.

I read, I pray, I study, I worship -- because I love God. Not because God needs my consent in order to be God to me. I love reading about His nature, listening for His voice, hungering for ways to celebrate my love for Him. Loving Him is what I know in the very deepest part of me. It is not something I have to think about. I just know it. And what I know, frees me from what I think.  


offered with Love,

Kate

"the unspeakable gift..."

"Wonderful, merciful savior,
precious redeemer and friend --
Who would have thought that a lamb could
rescue the hearts of men..."

I realized today that I am not ready to return to "business as usual." I love this season. I love the focus on the nativity. On the life story of Jesus of Nazareth.

I was watching this  beautiful video of Selah's "Wonderful, Merciful Savior," and remembered how meaningful it was for me to discover Mary Baker Eddy's own love for Jesus. I've written about that night, briefly, in the post, "One December Night in 1910."

Since then I've seen how deeply she loved Jesus. Not just the Christ he embodied, but the man who was willing to be "the highest representative" of that office.

Sitting next to her bed that December night, looking up at the portrait of Jesus which hung on the opposite wall, in her direct line of sight from where she slept -- and faced her darkest moments -- I realized how important his example was for her...and is for me.

It is not just his divinity that inspires, but its coincident humanity. The bold boy, the eager student, the hard-working carpenter, the tired passenger, the patient teacher -- the tempted, the angry, the forsaken, the forgiving, the merciful -- the willing man of God, the playful son of Mary.

When I think of those "unspeakable gifts," we are asked to give thanks for, it is his humanity that chokes me up. Those are the "gifts" that leave me speechless. 

I think it's why I love this little film clip (with it's subtitles) that underscores Selah's, "Wonderful, Merciful." It reminds me that this was a boy, a woman's son, a father's apprentice, someone's friend. He was part of a community.

When I was in high school I served and participated actively on the teen board for my local Adventure Unlimited Chapter. I loved it so much. But because we only met for activities once a month and held board meetings even less frequently, and I often missed the camaraderie of those gatherings.

Fortunately, our rural high school had an active non-denominational youth group that met weekly to plan and host activities that were wholesome and fun. I loved this too, since most of my high school friends were active in this group.  And as much as I enjoyed bowling, or ice skating, it was the conversations that kept me coming back.

There was one in particular conversation that I will never forget. It was with a guy I'd watched from a distance for a long time. He was peaceful in a way that wasn't lonely. He seemed to be just as happy hacking around with his friends in the hallway at school, as he was sitting alone in the library staring out the window at a migrating community of geese.

I wanted what he had.

One night, after a dance at our town community center, he'd taken a break from the pick up basketball game in the gym to come sit outside and get some fresh air. I was there to find relief from the room-jarring noise level. 

 He sat down on the bench next to me, and didn't say anything for a while. So I didn't either. We knew one another well enough to say "hi" in the halls and to participate in group discussions about faith and politics, but we'd never spoken one-on-one.

After a few moments he asked me, "Have you received Jesus as your Lord and Savior?"

I thought this was a pretty bold, and personal, question to start a conversation with. And I was caught off guard enough to answer it without self-editing. I said, "No, we don't do that in my church."

"Hmmm," he said, "you might want to do that some day." Then he turned to me, gave me a hug, said he would pray for me, and got up and went back to his basketball game. And although we became better friends through the rest of high school, we never talked about that conversation again.

And for as long as I knew him, I never felt my faith was questioned, wondered about, or judged. But his question never left me.

After high school, and the sudden passing of my dad, I explored many philosophies, religions, and beliefs systems before coming back to my childhood faith. But I was never led to formally "accept Jesus" as my personal savior and "be saved." I wasn't opposed to it. It just hadn't been part of my faith journey.

But that night, after sitting next to Mary Baker Eddy's bed and seeing Jesus' portrait on the wall not 15 feet from where she faced her darkest moments, I knew I wanted -- and needed -- to feel a sense of "relationship" with Jesus, as much as I felt with "the Christ." Both became important to me.

In her, Miscellaneous Writings 1883 - 1896, Eddy suggests that:

"It is most fitting that Christian Scientists
memorize the nativity of Jesus."

As I've studied her writings, I've also learned how deeply she felt about Jesus -- someone she identified as "the greatest man who trod the globe."

I love him too. More than words can say. He is the man who has had the most profound influence on my life. He is the man I want most to emulate in my all ways. He is the teacher I have learned the most from.  He is the model of true humanhood for me.

I think my high school friend knew that I needed to have this kind of relationship with Jesus. 

 Knowing all that Jesus was able to navigate with deep spiritual grace and poise, I can see why my friend was so unconditionally peaceful.

We learn most, from those we love most. 

with every hope...

Kate

"I look to you..."

"About to lose my breath
there's no more fighting left.
Nothing to do but lift my head
and look to you..."

I was standing in front of the mirror and the thought came, "where are you looking to find yourself?" Typing it here, it reads so benignly. But in that moment, it was far more poignant. I stepped back away from the counter and closed my eyes, realizing that I thought the woman, whose face had looked back at me from the mirror, was me.

But she isn't.

I am not her. She is nothing more than a projection of what I think I should see when I look in a mirror. My husband proves this to me every day. I walk out of the bathroom, and he tells me that I am beautiful. Me. The same me that I'd just looked at in the mirror, and thought, "Kate, you have got to start getting more sleep...you're a mess today." See what I mean. That mirror lies to me every day...and I still look to it for an opinion. My husband, a living, moving, breathing, loving person tells me that I am beautiful, and I look at him like he's on hallucinogens. But, a cold, sharp, lifeless piece of glass tells me I am tired, getting old, needing to lose a few pounds before summer....and who do I really believe?

That's where Selah's "I Look to You," comes into my heart. My husband does think I am beautiful. I know that. He looks into my denim-colored eyes and sees someone he believes in, enjoys the company of, and would lay down his life for. He looks at my no-longer-a-ballerina body with all it's lumps and wrinkles, and sees someone he is very happy to be walking hand-in-hand with. And as grateful as I am for the lens of his very loving heart...it's still a lens outside of myself, and one that I often find myself dismissing as romantically myopic.

What I really need, every minute of every single day, is not human encouragement from without...my husband's blurred vision, my mother's memory, my sister's fierce defense of my healthier post-anorexic form...but a divine point of view, an inner lens that sees out from the light of spiritual vision. I need to look out from the loveliness of Love in action, rather than at a self that needs to hear what a mirror has to say, to feel good about herself.

I've learned that in order to do this, I must start even before I open my eyes.

One of my favorite times of day...in fact, the most important time of day for me...is found in those measureless moments when I am aware of "being" but haven't connected with sentience. I am consciously awake to the fact that I exist, have being, and am cognizant, but I haven't yet opened my eyes to see where I am, felt around to be sure that I still have a body, heard a sound, become aware of my heart beating, or the rising and falling of each breath. I am purely conscious.

Some years ago I began working at lingering in this "space" for longer and longer moments. Then I started integrating more and more of these spaces into my day. In them, I look to God for information. Who am I? What would you have me do with this day? What is love? What do I look like in your eyes? What does it mean to have a voice?

These are just a few of the questions I might be led to listen forward...since I know that the questions themselves are from God as well. And this is a place of listening...pure, humble, conscious listening. This listening is not forced. It flows like a river and sometimes eddies in quiet places of stillness. Sometimes there is nothing but silence. And other times there are messages of beauty, clarity, order, grace so lovely I could rest within them, and float along...forever. It is this space that has made fearless about "the sting of death." And it, this truth, is all that I am certain of....the truth that this "space" of conscious being is my real body. And it is beautiful.

So, each time my husband tells me that I am beautiful, I know that he has visited this place too. Because when we look to Him, God, for our information, and then look out from that space at the world around us, quite frankly, everyone and everything is beautiful. Yes, even you. Beautiful you!

with Love,

Kate
I love Selah's Amy and her willingness to tell of her story about how Love sees us, in this extended video clip for "I Look to You."

"When troubles come..."

"When I am down, and oh my soul, so weary.
When troubles come, and my heart burdened be.
Then I am still and wait here in the silence.
Until You come and sit awhile with me..."

A friend recently suggested, with absolute confidence, that I must be "beyond" the weariness of the soul, which I'd reffered to in the below-copied post from 2010. It was was a favorite of hers, and she saw it as a personal milestone for me. I smiled, and assured her that if there is one thing I have learned, as a spiritual journeyman, is that, for me, it is sooo not personal.

For me, this means that we don't "achieve" some level of personal "beyond-ness" in our wrestlings. The false suggestions that come to us, come irrespective of past milestones, cornerstones, fingerposts, belt notches, or pass/fails...they just come. Sometimes they come from without (a call from a friend or a patient who is facing a challenge and wants our support) and sometimes they from within (a dark night of the soul where morning seems a lifetime away) but they come. And they don't come because we are (personally) spiritually weak, and we don't avoid their attacks because we are, somehow, more spiritually accomplished. They just come. They come, because that's what suggestions do...they suggest themselves...to anyone and everyone.

Any false sense of personal accomplishment, as a spiritual pilgrim, opens me wide up for the belief in hierarchy in the kingdom of heaven...a luxury, that I have learned, I can't afford to indulge...ever. Otherwise, the lives of my dear friends, Jesus, Mary Baker Eddy, Paul, Stephen, etc., don't make sense to me. If it were all about achieving a progressive sense of mastery over the errors of the ego mind (or mortal mind) and its lie of self-determinism, Jesus wouldn't have needed to ask for the cup to be taken from him...just prior to the crucifixion, Mary Baker Eddy would have healed Josephine Woodbury of her betrayal...long before it needed to go to trial, Paul would have never been imprisoned, and Stephen would have walked calmly away from the stoning...amid the jeering crowd of hate-mongers, and gone on to have a successful ministry.

But the suggestion, the one and only "false suggestion" (in all its myriad disguises...sin, disease, death, hatred, self-righteousness, pain) that God is absent, is irrespective of person.

Oh yes, sometimes these suggestions seem absolutely personal...often, heart-bucklingly so, in the cunning way they seem to target our vulnerabilities. They seem to come right after "me," targeting that very "thing" I think I just "can't bear...". Pointedly aiming their daggers at my "anything but this" issue. And other times, the suggestion is more subtly "someone else's" problem...so detached from my life, and history, that I might be tricked into thinking it makes some bizarre sort of sense that, perhaps, they really are dealing with it. But, as I said, it's never personal.

The other day, it was an "anything but this..." suggestion, that drove me to my knees. It felt so personal. It felt so full of historic synapses and connections that it seemed justifiably "mine as it hissed, "see, this issue really is about you. Remember when you faced this before..." But it wasn't so... It never is.

This following post, referenced by a loved reader in an email later that day, helped me. Maybe it will remind you, too, that it is in these moments of darkness, when we feel so personally targeted, that the light of the universal and impartial Christ...that glimmering glimpse of holiness within us all...shines most resplendently at the core of our being. And remember, you are never alone in the darkness...never, ever alone... Sometimes it's nice to have someone nearby to remind you that it's not about you..it's not yours...or mine. It never is.

"And my heart burdened by..."

My heart was burdened this morning.  Overwhelmed beyond measure.  I thought I could push through the tightness in my shoulders, the strain in my step...so I read, studied, took calls, prayed, checked in on my Facebook office, and posted an inspiring quote by Mary Baker Eddy that had meant so much to me through a long night of prayer. And lastly, I'd uploaded a Youtube video I'd been led to view earlier by a thoughtful friend. But the personal pall persisted. My husband remained a gentle, willing support, but even he knew...what I had yet to discover in the midst of such heaviness...that what I needed to hear, whatever it was that I needed to hear, had to come directly from God...and from God, alone.

The work...the joy of serving...was my peaceful resting place.  In "the office" it was all so clear.  Inspired truths that felt so alive and substantive in praying for others, were warm companions and reliable colleagues there, in the sanctuary of books, and prayers, and gratitude..  In the fellowship of our common purpose, all was light. But whenever I seemed to get up from my desk, walk out of my "praying for others" door, and into the space of "my life, my family, my decisions," those truths somehow felt distant and flat, like two dimensional cardboard cutouts of superheroes. 

And, as much as I established my spiritual ground, and claimed that God was in charge of all the affairs of my life and the lives of those I loved, I still felt something akin to a cold, gray, stone of sorrow resting on my heart.  Too many questions, decisions, choices, demands. I didn't even know where to begin in sorting them out, and prioritizing all that needed to be addressed metaphysically.  Where should I start listening for direction, first?  What should I pray about next? 

The clarity I felt "in the office" seemed to be spectre-like, just out of reach, and ungraspable in my kitchen. 

That was where this Youtube clip of Selah's "You Raise Me Up" found me...in the kitchen.  The kettle was whistling and I'd gotten up to steep a pot of tea, when I heard the next clip in the Selah playlist coming from my office.  I poured boiling water over the Ginger Peach tea in the teapot, and returned to my desk while it steeped.  And that's when I heard:

"...You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders.
You raise me up to more than I can be..."

And, as Mary Baker Eddy says:

"Tears flood the eyes, agony struggles, pride rebels, and a mortal seems a monster, a dark, impenetrable cloud of error; and falling on the bended knee of prayer, humble before God, he cries, "Save, or I perish." Thus Truth, searching the heart, neutralizes and destroys error."

I fell on my knees beside my bed, letting my tears dissolve the false veneer of control, to shake and shatter the shell of personal sense...me, my, mine...allowing it to fall in shards of vanquished "self" from the core "me", the innocent and willing "I AM" within my heart...and:

"listened for His voice
lest my footsteps stray.."

And when:

"My heart bent low before the omnipotence of Spirit, ...a tint of humility, soft as the heart of a moonbeam, mantled the earth.  Bethlehem and Bethany, Gethsemane and Calvary, spoke to my chastened sense as by the tearful lips of a babe.  Frozen fountains were unsealed.  Erudite systems of philosophy and religion melted, for Love unveiled the healing promise and potency of a present spiritual afflatus."  - Eddy

In that moment of divine care, my tears changed from the hot, aching sting of want and woe, to the gentle bathing waters of promised peace.

I'd asked God for answers about things that were in the realm of tomorrow, down-the-road, and someday when...and his message was:

"I cannot give you tomorrow, I can only give you Myself, and you know Me, you know that My name is I AM, not 'I will be,' or 'I was.' I am giving you this very moment on your knees with Me, I am giving you today...and isn't today beautiful?  Don't you have all you need...every answer you are hungering for...for today?"

And the heavy stone of carrying around a burdened ego was lifted from my shoulders, and replaced with humility, "as soft as a moonbeam."

I got up from that blessed posture of "on my knees," grateful for every tear that had fallen, and dried in salty trails upon flushed cheeks.  I'd been given a glimpse, a window, a portal into the living power of a simple statement of spiritual fact...the very quote I'd prayed with all night long, for someone else in need, and had posted earlier on Facebook:

"Each successive period of progress
is a period more humane and spiritual."
-     Mary Baker Eddy

I rose from "on bended knee" with a more humane sense of my brothers' (and sisters') journeys. With a very here-and-now appreciation for Bethany, Bethlehem, Gethsemane, and Calvary...oh yes, especially for Calvary. And with a more spiritual sense of the power of The Word...a present understanding of my Father's love for me, and mine, and most importantly, for all.

He is, constantly, raising each of us up...from our knees...so that we can go forward in service to one another, and thereby serve Him.

otherwise, I remain, on bended knee...yours,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"...and my heart burdened be..."

"When I am down, and oh my soul, so weary.
When troubles come, and my heart burdened be.
Then I am still and wait here in the silence.
Until You come and sit awhile with me..."

My heart was burdened this morning.  Overwhelmed beyond measure.  I thought I could push through the tightness in my shoulders, the strain in my step...so I read, studied, took calls, prayed, checked in on my Facebook office, and posted an inspiring quote by Mary Baker Eddy that had meant so much to me through a long night of prayer. And lastly, I'd uploaded a Youtube video I'd been led to view earlier by a thoughtful friend. But the personal pall persisted. My husband remained a gentle, willing support, but even he knew...what I had yet to discover in the midst of such heaviness...that what I needed to hear, whatever it was that I needed to hear, had to come directly from God...and from God, alone.

The work...the joy of serving...was my peaceful resting place.  In "the office" it was all so clear.  Inspired truths that felt so alive and substantive in praying for others, were warm companions and reliable colleagues there, in the sanctuary of books, and prayers, and gratitude..  In the fellowship of our common purpose, all was light. But whenever I seemed to get up from my desk, walk out of my "praying for others" door, and into the space of "my life, my family, my decisions," those truths somehow felt distant and flat, like two dimensional cardboard cutouts of superheroes. 

And, as much as I established my spiritual ground, and claimed that God was in charge of all the affairs of my life and the lives of those I loved, I still felt something akin to a cold, gray, stone of sorrow resting on my heart.  Too many questions, decisions, choices, demands. I didn't even know where to begin in sorting them out, and prioritizing all that needed to be addressed metaphysically.  Where should I start listening for direction, first?  What should I pray about next? 

The clarity I felt "in the office" seemed to be spectre-like, just out of reach, and ungraspable in my kitchen. 

That was where this Youtube clip of Selah's "You Raise Me Up" found me...in the kitchen.  The kettle was whistling and I'd gotten up to steep a pot of tea, when I heard the next clip in the Selah playlist coming from my office.  I poured boiling water over the Ginger Peach tea in the teapot, and returned to my desk while it steeped.  And that's when I heard:

"...You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders.
You raise me up to more than I can be..."

And, as Mary Baker Eddy says:

"Tears flood the eyes, agony struggles, pride rebels, and a mortal seems a monster, a dark, impenetrable cloud of error; and falling on the bended knee of prayer, humble before God, he cries, "Save, or I perish." Thus Truth, searching the heart, neutralizes and destroys error."

I fell on my knees beside my bed, letting my tears dissolve the false veneer of control, to shake and shatter the shell of personal sense...me, my, mine...allowing it to fall in shards of vanquished "self" from the core "me", the innocent and willing "I AM" within my heart...and:

"listened for His voice
lest my footsteps stray.."

And when:

"My heart bent low before the omnipotence of Spirit, ...a tint of humility, soft as the heart of a moonbeam, mantled the earth.  Bethlehem and Bethany, Gethsemane and Calvary, spoke to my chastened sense as by the tearful lips of a babe.  Frozen fountains were unsealed.  Erudite systems of philosophy and religion melted, for Love unveiled the healing promise and potency of a present spiritual afflatus."  - Eddy

In that moment of divine care, my tears changed from the hot, aching sting of want and woe, to the gentle bathing waters of promised peace.

I'd asked God for answers about things that were in the realm of tomorrow, down-the-road, and someday when...and his message was:

"I cannot give you tomorrow, I can only give you Myself, and you know Me, you know that My name is I AM, not 'I will be,' or 'I was.' I am giving you this very moment on your knees with Me, I am giving you today...and isn't today beautiful?  Don't you have all you need...every answer you are hungering for...for today?"

And the heavy stone of carrying around a burdened ego was lifted from my shoulders, and replaced with humility, "as soft as a moonbeam."

I got up from that blessed posture of "on my knees," grateful for every tear that had fallen, and dried in salty trails upon flushed cheeks.  I'd been given a glimpse, a window, a portal into the living power of a simple statement of spiritual fact...the very quote I'd prayed with all night long, for someone else in need, and had posted earlier on Facebook:

"Each successive period of progress
is a period more humane and spiritual."
-     Mary Baker Eddy

I rose from "on bended knee" with a more humane sense of my brothers' (and sisters') journeys. With a very here-and-now appreciation for Bethany, Bethlehem, Gethsemane, and Calvary...oh yes, especially for Calvary. And with a more spiritual sense of the power of The Word...a present understanding of my Father's love for me, and mine, and most importantly, for all.

He is, constantly, raising each of us up...from our knees...so that we can go forward in service to one another, and thereby serve Him.

otherwise, I remain, on bended knee...yours,

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS