"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

"Thy will be done..."

"I'm so confused.
I know I heard You
loud and clear.
So I followed through,
somehow I ended up here.

I don't want to think
I may never understand,
that my broken heart,
is part of Your plan.

When I try to pray,
all I get is hurt,
and these four words:

Thy will be done..."

This afternoon, I stumbled on Hillary Scott's beautiful song,  "Thy Will." And in the span of watching her video, I was transported -- sitting alone, in an almost empty flat in the middle of the city -- wondering how I got there.

Only months before, I'd been a modestly well-respected wife and mother living in a 3,000 square foot multi-level house in a suburban neighborhood. Now here I was. And I couldn't imagine how eleven months of listening humbly and importunately for God's direction -- and getting it, loud and clear -- could feel this terrifying, confusing, and lonely.

I was not -- at all -- unclear about what God had said to me. I'd felt His Love-impelled power of it in every molecule of my being. I wasn't naive, I knew it would not be easy, but I also knew that it was the most loving thing that I could do for everyone in my life. So why, if I had been obedient to Love's unexpected direction -- did it hurt so badly? And it did. It hurt in the marrow of my being.

This wasn't how being Love's bidding was supposed to feel. And I had no doubt that I had heard God's voice -- mostly because the message with so clearly not what I thought God would say. But in the instant I heard it, without cross-questioning it, I fell on my knees and wept aloud:

"Thy will be done."

I was not naive. I knew that in my circle of family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, what God was asking me to do would be questioned, judged, speculated and whispered about. I just didn't think it would be as devastating as it was.

I had truly hoped that my devotion to God would have spoken for me. That those who knew me would have at least asked me, "what the hell are you doing?" Then I would have, at least, had someone's arms to weep in. But instead, it seemed as if everyone was quite willing to assume that I'd gone off the rails and blown it. The shame was crushing.

This isn't about the what I did, or why. Because, to be completely honest -- the only why is, "God said." And exactly what God said, is still so deeply holy for me that I cannot write about it. If you were to call me, and it seemed spiritually relevant, I would tell you -- it's not a secret. But to type it here -- or anywhere -- has not been something I can do. It's just too sacred.

Sitting alone at my kitchen table in the city that day, I begged God for direction, "Dear God, how do I defend myself from all the swirling misinformation and judgment?" And God's answer was just as clear as his earlier direction:

"He opened not his mouth
in defense of himself."

I got it -- thoroughly, and quickly. If I wanted to follow Christ, I had to be willing to be questioned, scoffed at, speculated about, and misunderstood. It terrified me. Didn't God understand that I was the ultimate people pleaser. Didn't He get that my early life as a stepchild -- who was forced to ingratiate herself in order to "earn" the right to be sheltered and fed -- had made me this way.

Disappointing people was my greatest fear, making them happy was my drug. And here I was disappointing everyone I loved and knew. Again, I turned to the writings of Mary Baker Eddy. I opened her primary text, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures to page one and read:

"Prayer, watching, and working
combined with self-immolation,
are God's gracious means for accomplishing
whatever has been successfully done for
the Christianization and health of mankind."

And yes, in my copy of the book, the word "self-immolation" was bolded -- or at least it was that day. I knew what it meant. I'd been studying Eddy's work for decades. I knew that she recommended this practice of "suicide by fire," six times in her writings. And no, I didn't think she was encouraging me to grab a can of kerosene and a match -- she was urging the self-inflicted destruction of the ego.

In that moment, I understood. It wasn't going to be good enough for me to have my ego slayed by childhood circumstances, other people's choices, or chance. It was imperative that I took ownership of this humbling walk into the fire.

So I did. The ego wanted to run, to find a small rural community in Kansas to disappear into. To take my daughters (something I would never do) and change all of our names. Buy a farm and raise chickens.  But I knew better.  I'd lived that nightmare as a child.  Love demanded that I stay, walk with grace, live with courage, love with compassion, serve without hesitation, parent with dignity, and own my spiritual journey -- however scary that was.

It was not easy. In fact, there were many, many nights when I cried myself to sleep begging God to give me courage and strength to face the next day of averted glances, dismissal, and scorn. And He always did. My relationship to Jesus and Mary Baker Eddy was more strengthened by this time -- than any other experience in my life. I turned to their words and examples of grace -- continually -- for clues on how to navigate my own life.

Over and over again, I came back to:

"Thy will be done.
Thy will be done.
Thy will be done."

Long before this time -- when going through a physical challenge that had driven me to my knees -- I called someone who had been such a wonderful spiritual mentor. I needed encouragement, I needed for him to promise me that what I was going through was not spiritually right -- and to tell me that I could expect to be free of it. He didn't say those things. What he said was that "someday you are going to look back, and miss these days of being so hungry for God's touch in your life."

I thought he was mad-as-a-hatter at the time and told him so. But you know, he was right. The hard times -- those days when we are on our knees longing for answers, praying to feel the presence of grace -- they are the very best days.

Someone asked me recently why I do what I do -- take calls from people who are in pain, fearful, sad, confused. They couldn't understand why I would be so happy to get up in the morning, if I was just going to spend the day on the phone, Skyping, reading texts and emails from people who were struggling.

This is why. These challenges are not personal. When I am willing to sit with someone who is needing a "friend" to witness what they are facing, and willing to discern what is true -- I get to hear the angels with them. I discover how ripe with divine blessing our lives are when the fruit is most heavy. I get to watch the ego being slayed by the presence of divine Love.

God's will for us is to know Him in every moment of our lives. In I Thessalonians, chapter 5, verse 18, we are encouraged:

"In everything give thanks,
for this is the will of God..."

When we are willing to let go of a mortal, ego-centric sense of pride, accomplishment, acceptance, approval -- we find that everything -- and I mean everything -- is simply an opportunity to drawn nigh unto God and feel His nearness.

To those family members and friends who held me, let me weep, comforted me, trusted and encouraged me during those years -- I will never, ever, be able to say thank you with enough depth. My gratitude is unfathomable.


offered with Love,

Kate

"...looking for yourself out there..."

"...And did you miss me,
while you were looking for yourself out there..."
- Pat Monahan

A friend's email (copied below) popped into my inbox, with the attending "ping," just as I was listening to Train's "Drops of Jupiter," and reading the following quote:

"There is nothing so common as the desire to be remarkable."
Shakespeare

I am sharing my friend's note...and my response...here, with her permission. It is her hope that it might help others:

"Hi Kate:
I am feeling very small and insignificant.  Yes, I do know why I can't keep the door closed (on the suggestions that say I am not worthy of good, of friendship, or of love), it is because I have become the door mat.  Sleep isn't even an escape anymore..."

As you can imagine, I prayed, immediately, for something I could share with her.  Something that would reach her heart in this moment of sorrow, frustration, and despair.  My email to her is copied, in part, below...as well as bits and strands of inspiration that have come through our ensuing conversations:

Hi _________:

Feeling insignificant, is just a coin toss of "the ego" landing on the tails side up...rather than the heady "I'm so great and special" side.  But, it's just the other side of the same coin.  I know that you would never, ever, send me an email saying, "Oh my gosh, I am so great.  I don't think anyone will ever measure up to how wonderful and important I am...I am just way too extraordinary!"  It is because, as a society, we treat that kind of self-importance as distasteful egotism. 

But, these thoughts of insignificance that you are wrestling with tonight, are no different that what we call egotistical self-congratulation, they are just the same...and, thank goodness, they are not your thoughts. Any more than they are mine when I give them audience. We listen to them, attach to them, and then repeat them, because we are convinced that they are okay, more "humble," more acceptable, more reasonable because they say, "you are small and deflated"...rather than puffed up and full of yourself. 

But don't be fooled.  It is still just the ego's way of getting its foot in the door.  And once you have let it in, it flips on you and says:  "I really do want to be remarkable, special, better than someone else, better than everyone else...at least at something, or to someone."  Trust me, there is no difference in those messages. One is not better than the other.

I love you...I know that these suggestions are pretty aggressive and parade themselves as self-important...important to your understanding of self.  But, they are not your thoughts...and you have to know that they aren't, and kick them right out of your sense of identity.  Because, believe it or not, from the outside...a coin is a coin.  And to the people who are not standing close enough to see, or care, whether it was heads or tails that landed up...at that moment...it just looks like a coin, an ego on the ground asking for you to claim it as your own, give it value, and use it as a standard for valuing people, services, and "goods."  Sometimes it screams, "I am great," and sometimes it whines and whispers, "I am not worthy."  But which ever side lands up, it is just the ego sitting in the middle of the room begging to be picked up and put in someone's pocket...and well, I will ask you, "do you want to carry around someone else's ego?"

I love you...drop the coin. Drop kick the ego right out of your sense of who you are.  It is not you...or yours.  And it has no value...no worth.  The real you has worth, is capable, and does make a difference in the world.  

The way to understand more about that real you, is to go to the Source of who you are.  And the source of all goodness, the source of all that we truly hope for as children of one divine Parent: to know love, to realize peace, to experience joy...is God.

Mary Baker Eddy writes this, to the members of her church, but I think it relates to each of us as we journey towards greater self-knowledge and actualization:

"Goodness never fails to receive its reward, for goodness makes life a blessing. As an active portion of one stupendous whole, goodness identifies man with universal good. Thus may each member of this church rise above the oft-repeated inquiry, 'What am I?' to the scientific response:  'I am able to impart truth, health, and happiness, and this is my rock of salvation and my reason for existing.'"

The ego doesn't like it when we turn our back on it, in all its petulance.  When we dismiss its whiny demands for self-indulgence, and seem deaf to its ranting and raving, as we move out of the spotlight, and into the radiance of serving - and celebrating - others.  It wants the light to shine on it, not on the gifts and talents of our brothers and sisters in Christ.  It screams and flails for attention.  It says, "But if you don't call attention to me...who will?"

But that is not our job...our job is to be the light, not seek the spotlight for ourselves.  The best "me" you will ever be, is the one that is so sure that God is at her core...is the center of her being, that she radiates light and love effusively, effortlessly, just so brilliantly from her heart, that she illumines the good, the beauty, the wonderfulness in everyone she touches "out there."  She finds her own best self, in another's good.

You are lovely, loved, and loving...you're a star in the constellation of goodness...so shine!

with Love,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS