Christ In Me, With Me, For Me

Posted on December 12, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

This Advent God’s been inviting me to live in the reality that Christ is in me, with me, and for me. I noticed, when I undertook a task or wrote a post, that I was not alone. I felt accompanied as I found the wisdom or words needed.

Recognizing God’s presence in those simple activities ignited a flicker of joy in my chest. That joy made me stop and breathe in that moment of awareness: I am in Christ, and he is in me.

As I did, I recalled the image of myself as a leaky bucket in the ocean of God’s love and remembered: all I long for I already have.

The part of me which focuses on my cracks reacted to that thought. I could provide a list of things I long for but don’t have–not possessions per se but virtues. I wish I wasn’t so self-preoccupied, for example.

But the part of me that sees God’s ocean of love welcomed that thought. Knowing my imperfections are bathed in love gave me hope. I am being transformed.

In Presence and Encounter, David G. Benner says we often don’t recognize that we are in Christ and he is in us, because we lack awareness. Awareness “creates space and openness that allow us to be present to more than our usual self-preoccupations.”

“Hallelujah!” my heart cried out when I read that. God’s gift of awareness is quieting the self-serving chatter in my head and freeing me to be more present to what’s before me.

No wonder I’m being led away from a busy life. God is slowing me down to make the turn onto a new road in my pilgrimage where Christ reveals that every moment is eternal and every place ground holy.

Stillness by Christian.Rudman


Holy Ground
Words by Woody Guthrie, 1954, Music by Frank London (The Klezmatics), 2003

Take off, take off your shoes
This place you’re standing, it’s holy ground
Take off, take off your shoes
The spot you’re standing, its holy ground

These words I heard in my burning bush
This place you’re standing, it’s holy ground
I heard my fiery voice speak to me
This spot you’re standing, it’s holy ground

That spot is holy, holy ground
That place you stand it’s holy ground
This place you tread, it’s holy ground
God made this place his holy ground

Take off your shoes and pray
This ground you walk it’s holy ground
Take off your shoes and pray
The ground you walk it’s holy ground

Every spot on earth I traipse around
Every spot I walk it’s holy ground
Every spot on earth I traipse around
Every spot I walk it’s holy ground

Every spot it’s holy ground
Every little inch it’s holy ground
Every grain of dirt it’s holy ground
Every spot I walk it’s holy ground

 © Copyright Woody Guthrie Publications, Inc.

Credits and references:
Presence and Encounter: The Sacramental Possibilities of Everyday Life by David G. Benner, PhD, 2014, (p. 34).
“Stillness” by Christian.Rudman. Used with permission.
“Holy Ground” by the Klezmatics, Wonder Wheel, 2006.
Banner (not visible on home page)  L’océan à Langland by Marie. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
Posted in Advent, Mystical | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

A Wondrous Thought

Posted on December 5, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

Pietro-Annigoni-Cristina-IAfter the angel Gabriel’s visit, Mary woke to a new reality.

The pondering of her heart emerged on her lips as she washed the dishes and passed by the beggars on her way to fetch more water.

“My soul glorifies the Lord,” she sang to herself. “He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me.” The Saviour is in me! What a wondrous thought.

But weeks passed and nothing changed. Mary began to wonder if it had all been a dream, until one morning a wave of nausea propelled her out of bed just in time. She threw up in the garden, then leaned against the clay brick wall wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as perspiration cooled her brow.

It happened the next day, and the next. Mary hadn’t dreamt it; she was pregnant with God’s Son. That first Advent Mary wasn’t waiting for Christ to come. He was already there, her growing belly a testimony.

In our Advent we, like Israel, cry, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget us forever? How long will you hide your face from us?” We keep looking for God to come in power and fill the hungry with good things. Meanwhile, the Holy Spirit has already overshadowed us, seeding Christ in us.

And now it is God who is waiting for us. God waits for us to awaken to a new reality, a wondrous thought that Christ is in us, with us, and for us.

We are being filled full of God.

 Gaylon Keeling Contemplation...Keeping Watch by Hafiz

In the morning
When I began to wake,
It happened again–

That feeling
That You, Beloved,
Had stood over me all night
Keeping watch,

That feeling
That as soon as I began to stir
You put Your lips on my forehead
And lit a Holy Lamp
Inside my Heart.

Credits and references:
“Cristina I” by Pietro Annigoni, 1910-1988.
“Contemplation… ” by Gaylon Keeling. Used with permission.
“Advent” by Christopher Bulle. Used with permission.
“Keeping Watch” is in I Heard God Laughing: Poems of Hope and Joy by Hafiz (Author), Daniel Ladinsky (Translator). Used with permission.
Psalm 13:1; Luke 1: 26-38, 43, 48,49,53 (NIV), Ephesians 3:19
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
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Waiting

Posted on November 28, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

adventWhat if the one you are waiting for never comes?

It was only choir practice on a Thursday night at the little United Church a mile away. My friend Edith and I were thirteen years old and proud to be the youngest members. Every week, at seven forty-five, after one of the farmers and his wife who also attended our church had milked their cows and changed their clothes, they would pull into our driveway to give me a ride.

That winter evening, at seven-forty, I got ready and waited in the kitchen. Ten minutes later I was overheating and took off my toque and mitts. Five minutes after that, I needed to go to the bathroom but didn’t dare leave my post. We would be late now, and they’d be in a hurry when they arrived.

At eight o’clock a car drove by in the opposite direction. I watched the red tail lights disappear down the gravel road.

At eight-fifteen I took off my coat and boots and headed upstairs to my room.

“I thought you were going to the church,” my dad said.

“My ride didn’t come,” I replied. “I guess they forgot about me.”

I must not be that important, I thought and added that thought to all the other evidence I had collected that proved I didn’t matter.

For years after that Thursday night, waiting for anyone made me nervous. Finally, I learned to have a backup plan, even if it was only telling myself it wouldn’t be the end of me if they didn’t come.

This Sunday Advent begins. It’s a whole season of waiting, and I am thrilled. I am thrilled because I know the One I am waiting for will come. He always does.

For hundreds of years, Israel waited for their Messiah. Finally, he came. The angel Gabriel announced the good news to a young virgin named Mary. She became pregnant by the Holy Spirit and gave birth to the Saviour of the world in Bethlehem, just as the prophets said.

Jesus came to earth because we matter. His Spirit remains with us now because we always will.

the-nativity-by-gerard-van-honthorst1

The people walking in darkness
    have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
    a light has dawned…
For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given,
    and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
           – Isaiah 9:2,6

Credits:
“Advent” by Christopher Bulle. Used with permission.
“The Nativity” by Gerrit van Honthorst, 1592–1656
“Riding into the Sunset” by Wes Peck (not visible on home page). Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
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On This Mountain

Posted on November 21, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

Last week I talked about deadlines closing in on me. One of them was SoulStream’s Living from the Heart course. It would be my first time co-facilitating a six-day intensive in spiritual formation, and I wanted to prepare well for it. Shortly before I left to go on the course, which was held on Sumas Mountain near Abbotsford, I happened to read these verses:

Transfiguration_by_Feofan_Grek_from_Spaso-Preobrazhensky_Cathedral_in_Pereslavl-Zalessky_(15th_c,_Tretyakov_gallery) On this mountain the Lord Almighty will prepare
    a feast of rich food for all peoples,
a banquet of aged wine—
    the best of meats and the finest of wines.
 On this mountain he will destroy
    the shroud that enfolds all peoples,
the sheet that covers all nations;
     he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears
    from all faces;
he will remove his people’s disgrace
    from all the earth.
The Lord has spoken.

 In that day they will say,
“Surely this is our God;
    we trusted in him, and he saved us.
This is the Lord, we trusted in him;
    let us rejoice and be glad in his salvation.”
         -Isaiah 25:6-9 (NIV)

As I read about the feast and fine wines that would be enjoyed on “this mountain”, I sensed God elbowing me in the ribs and winking at me. We were going to be on a mountain where Peggy and Pat, the hosts of Twin Creeks Lodge, would serve up a feast at every meal. There would be good wine, too, at our midweek Sabbath celebration. God seemed to be saying that, during our intensive, the Holy Spirit would wipe away tears, remove shame and swallow up death. On “this mountain” we would be glad we trusted God.

And we were.

I was one of three facilitators that led the participants in prayers, teachings and activities. Yet we were often aware of a fourth: the Holy Spirit. During a silent pause, the wind rustled the leaves right on cue. Words in our prayers, chosen weeks before, matched our experience in ways we hadn’t anticipated. Bravery was given, honest words spoken, bruised reeds protected, and smouldering wicks shielded. With unveiled faces we beheld God’s glory as we listened to our lives and listened again to God speaking in them. Each person that came to the mountain was transformed in one way or another.

So, what does this mean for you who weren’t there? What does God want you to hear?

One word: Go.

Go meet God. Listen to your heart’s yearning. Fan the embers that burn with love. Feast at God’s table; a place has been set for you. Go, weary pilgrim. Just go.

an open gate by Rachel Hartland

My spirit soared when a Voice 
spoke to me:
“Come, come to the Heart of Love!”
How long I have stood within the house of fear
yearning to enter the gates of Love!
Psalm 122: 1,2
 from Psalms For Praying: An Invitation to Wholeness  by Nan C. Merrill

Credits and references:
Transfiguration by Theophanes the Greek, 15th century.
An Open Gate (Askrigg, Yorkshire Dales) by Rachel Hartland. Used with permission.
“A bruised reed he will not break, and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out.” Isaiah 42:3 (NIV)
“And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” 2 Corinthians 3:18 (NIV)
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
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God Present, as Promised

Posted on November 14, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

During a restless night, I felt like the Israelites again. All the things I have to do were advancing toward me with their sharp spears, while my heels backed into the Red Sea. The cold reality of deadlines lapped at my ankles.

Help God, I prayed again. Remember your promise to be with me.

Rushing water Simon VarwellI longed to be settled to sleep, but more worries came out of hiding.

Sometime in the night, I remembered what a friend said.  “I just want to go with God’s flow. Not forcing it, not holding back.” Her words, inspired by a poem by Rilke, reminded me that I don’t have to make anything happen. God is present, as promised, and flowing in me like a river. When I feel myself pushing to make something work, I don’t need to push harder. I need to let go and relax back into the flow.

Now in the morning, I find the poem my friend quoted and let it speak to my soul.

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.

            — Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God
                   (Translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)

I am drawn to the image of singing–not fretting, not panicking, but singing–in the swelling and ebbing currents and deepening tides.

As I sit in an eddy of God’s presence, I feel anxiety ebb and hope begin to swell.  I am being drawn into a current of faith: God loves me. God is here. God will act.

Tofino, untouched by Tony Horabin

 

Credits:
“Rushing Waters” by Simon Varwell. Used with permission.
“Tofino, untouched” by Tony Horabin. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
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Eight Weeks to the Promised Land

Posted on November 7, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

Are you wondering how I am doing since the big announcement? (If you didn’t hear the news, I will not be working at New Life Community Church after December 31. You can read more about that here).

I too wondered how I would fare in the sea of responses. I kept waiting for a wave to broadside me. Would someone be angry with me? Would others be relieved that I was stepping down?

But it’s gone smoothly. Many people expressed their appreciation for what I have done for them personally and for our church. Some kindly ask how Fred and I will make ends meet. Most are inspired by my willingness to follow God’s call to be less busy.

But I haven’t slowed down yet. In fact, the pace has picked up. I long for the solitude and leisure that is eight weeks away and get anxious thinking about all that needs to be done before then. My prayer times are rushed and unfocused. I pray in the cracks. Deadlines have me trapped and feeling like the Israelites caught between Pharaoh’s army and the Red Sea. I need the outrageous faith Moses had. He believed: God loves us. God is here. God will act. And God did.

Mose red sea

But Moses wasn’t always so confident. Like me, he got overwhelmed by all he was expected to do. When he complained to the Lord, God comforted him.

 Moses said to the Lord, “See, you have said to me, ‘Bring up this people’; but you have not let me know whom you will send with me. Yet you have said, ‘I know you by name, a nd you have also found favour in my sight.’  Now if I have found favour in your sight, show me your ways, so that I may know you and find favour in your sight. Consider too that this nation is your people.”

 He said, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”
– Exodus 33:12-14

I complained too and God parted the sea that threatened to separate us: just in time, a friend brought me these verses from Exodus to comfort me. They gave me the confidence to continue on toward the Red Sea.

Eight weeks to the Promised Land.

Just Sit There Right Now
– Hafiz

Just
Sit there right now.
Don’t do a thing. Just rest.

For your
Separation from God
Is the hardest work in this world.

Let me bring you trays of food and something
That you like to
Drink.

You can use my soft words
As a cushion
For your
Head.

Credits:
Crossing the Red Sea by St. Takla Haymanout Coptic Orthodox Community 
“Just Sit There Right Now” by Hafiz (1325–1389) translated by Daniel Ladinsky in Love Poems from God, 2002. Used with permission.
Banner (not visible on home page) “Sitting in Silence” by Alice Popkorn. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
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Night Crossing

Posted on October 31, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

Imagine you are in your favourite place, the instructions for the prayer read. Perhaps it is on a beach or in a cosy cabin. What do you see, hear, feel, taste, smell? Are you alone or with others? After you have relaxed there for a while, picture Jesus entering the scene. Let the Holy Spirit take it from there and see what unfolds.

I put down my cup of tea and settled myself cross-legged on the couch in the afternoon sun. Heidi was napping in her crib and Rudy at kindergarten.

night_sailing

I closed my eyes and pictured myself at the bow of Kimmeridge, the twenty-seven foot sailboat we used to own. Fred was at the helm and our little ones asleep. The gentle winds filled the mainsail and jib; the night sky was clear and the salt air cool. I zipped up my fleece and rested my forearms on the lifelines. My bare feet dangled over the side not far from the water. The only sounds came from the slosh of the waves and ting-ting of the rigging.

I was alone and then I wasn’t. Jesus, looking like he did in the pictures with long hair and a white robe, sat right beside me.

I swallowed, took a deep breath and said, “Hi.”

“Hello,” he said. “Nice night.”

“Yes, it is.”

This was my big chance. I could ask Jesus anything I wanted. I looked up at the Big Dipper and the pockmarked moon. I remembered that Jesus was with God in the beginning and that through him all things were created.

“What were you thinking about when you made the moon and the stars?” I asked.

Night sky oil painting

“What was I thinking about?” Jesus turned to face me. “I was thinking of the night you and I would be sitting here together looking at them.”

My heart thumped in my throat and a tear slid down my cheek. I never guessed he was going to say that.

When I opened my eyes, the world was as it was before. My tea was still warm and Heidi still asleep. Would she notice when she woke up? And when I picked up Rudy from school or welcomed Fred home from work, would they see that I was not the same person I was when they left?

 On the wings of the wind, You did come.
-Psalm 18:10
Psalms for Praying by Nan C. Merrill

Credits and references:
Night Sailing by Ian Hoar.
John 1: 1-3
Night Sky by Jessica Gardner. Used with permission.
The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
Posted in Ignatian Spirituality, Mystical, Praying with the Imagination, Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Just Be Still

Posted on October 24, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

moonbeams Jessie Wilcox Smith

“Be still, and know that I am God,” says the psalmist.

Nearly every Thursday evening, our contemplative group gathers to do just that. Of course there is time for fellowship, reflection and songs, but we also pray in silence for twenty minutes.

Over the years, people in the group have commented on how hard it is to sit still and fend off distractions or sleep. (At the end of an evening, we have ribbed one or two friends who nodded off and began to snore.)  As difficult as it is to practice this type of prayer, no one has ever suggested that we give it up.

I think it is because each of us longs to fully know and fully love God directly, without needing the mediation of words, images, or feelings. The Spirit has awakened in us “a naked intent toward God.” We long to rest in God alone and commune with our Creator in the core of our being.  That communing transforms us.

It’s not easy for most people to wrap their minds around the idea that they can be transformed simply by resting. We often assume that personal growth only happens as a result of hard work and determination.

Knit Together by Kelly Dycavinu © 2011

But, think about it. What happened after you were conceived? For nine months you did nothing to make yourself grow. All you did was rest and receive nourishment and loving caresses. Or think of how your body is refreshed between falling asleep at night and waking up in the morning. Immeasurably more than we can imagine happens when we rest in God.

The anonymous fourteenth century author of The Cloud of Unknowing says,

You will seem to know nothing and to feel nothing except a naked
intent toward God in the depths of your being. Try as you might,
this darkness and this cloud will remain between you and your God.
You will feel frustrated, for your mind will be unable to grasp him,
and your heart will not relish the delight of his love. But learn to be
at home in this darkness. Return to it as often as you can, letting
your spirit cry out to him in love. For if, in this life, you hope to feel
and see God as he is in himself, it must be within this darkness and
this cloud. But if you strive to fix your love on him forgetting all else,
which is the work of contemplation I have urged you to begin, I am
confident that God in his goodness will bring you to a deep experience
of himself. 

And that, my friends agree, is worth sitting still for.

God can do anything, you know
—far more than you could ever imagine
or guess or request in your wildest dreams!
He does it not by pushing us around
but by working within us,
his Spirit deeply and gently within us.
         -Ephesians 3:20 (The Message)

 

References and credits:
Psalm 46:10
Moonbeams by Jessie Wilcox Smith (September 6, 1863 – May 3, 1935)
Knit Together by Kelly Dycavinu © 2011. Used with permission.
Italicized excerpt is from The Cloud of Unknowing, Author unknown, edited by William Johnston, 1973 (p. 48, 49).
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
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That Which Is Lost Within Me

Posted on October 17, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

Her Photographic Memory, William-Adolphe Bouguereau

On October 5, an announcement was made to the congregation that my employment at New Life Community Church would end on December 31.

A few days before, I was writing last week’s post. Nervous about the coming change, I reached for the hand that stilled the storm.

Often I am unaware of the storms in my life; thankfully, God isn’t. God has the advantage of being both near and far. Up close the Holy Spirit sees, feels, and hears what is going on inside me; from above God views where I have been and where I am heading. The Spirit has noticed the long hours I’ve been putting in, how I’ve neglected my bicycle, Gracie, and how often I comfort myself with food.

At the SoulStream partners’ retreat in June, I had many conversations with friends, catching up on the past year’s events. I told them I will be helping facilitate SoulStream’s spiritual formation course and that I have completed my training to be able to give the Ignatian spiritual exercises and hope to accompany one or two people through them.

“Yes. I am still working at the church half-time,” I explained. “And, oh yeah, I launched a blog last summer. I post a story or reflection every Friday.” After finding out what I’d been up to, each person commented with a tone of concern that I was doing a lot.

Are you hearing that? the Holy Spirit seemed to say, sharing their concern.

I thought about my three vocations: writing, spiritual direction, and pastoring.  Olympian Eric Liddell once said that he felt God’s pleasure when he ran. I feel God’s pleasure when I write or accompany someone in spiritual direction. But these endeavours often get pushed to the side. My third occupation, providing leadership in a church, demands most of my time and energy. It also pays the bills.

Sunday morning, as the retreat came to a close, we gathered for worship. John Kiemele, our director, read a poem. He invited us to listen for the line in the poem that stood out for us.

These words brought tears to my eyes: The risen, living Christ… seeks for that which is lost within me.

I knew what was lost within me: the “me” that I am on vacation when I don’t have to be a pastor. The risen Christ wanted to lift the heavy cloak of responsibility from my shoulders. He was whispering, Go. Be free.

Over the next few months, I imagined what it would be like not to be rushed all the time. I longed for a generous amount of time to rest, write, and ride my bike. By the end of the summer, Fred and I were certain that Jesus was asking me to step down as associate pastor of New Life.

When I talked about it with the elders, they confirmed my decision in a very practical way: the church doesn’t have the financial resources to keep me on staff.

It’s not easy to leave church work that I love or the paycheck that comes with it. But I can’t do it all without getting lost in a din of activity. Jesus sought for me in the successive storms of busyness and lifted his hand.

Jesus-calms-the-storm-sisters-turvey-abbey

The risen, living Christ
calls me by my name;
comes to the loneliness within me;
heals that which is wounded in me;
comforts that which grieves in me;
seeks for that which is lost within me;
releases me from that which has dominion over me;
cleanses me of that which does not belong to me;
renews that which feels drained within me;
awakens that which is asleep in me;
names that which is formless within me;
empowers that which is newborn within me;
consecrates and guides that which is strong within me;
restores me to this world which needs me;
reaches out in endless love to others through me.
~Flora Slosson Wuellner

Credits and references:
Painting by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (November 30, 1825 – August 19, 1905) photo by Thomas Hawke.
Used with permission.
Eric Liddell quote
Jesus Calms the Storm © 2000 The Benedictine Sisters of Turvey Abbey and McCrimmon Publishing Co. Ltd (UK) Used with permission of www.mccrimmons.com.
“The risen, living Christ” was reprinted from Prayer, Fear, and Our Powers: Finding Our Healing, Release, and Growth in Christ by Flora Slosson Wuellner. Copyright © 1989. Used by permission of Upper Room Books.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
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The Hand that Stilled the Storm

Posted on October 10, 2014 by Esther Hizsa

Hold On by Luc De LeeuwLately Jesus has been inviting me to hold his hand as we walk through life together. That reminds me of something that happened when Heidi was born. She was delivered as planned by caesarean section a week before the due date. Since I had been working as a nurse in the hospital where she was to be born, I knew all the medical staff and got to hand-pick the operating room team. The anaesthetist I chose to give me the epidural was especially proficient but had a cold bed-side manner.

April 18, 1985, I lay on the operating room table draped and prepped with antiseptic. As soon as the anaesthetist determined I had no feeling in the lower part of my body, the surgeon made the incision. A few minutes later the general practitioner brought Heidi into the world, joyfully announcing, “It’s a girl!”

A girl! I heard her beautiful cry and imagined her wet, wrinkly body. Finally, the nurse let me see Heidi all wrapped up and perfect. Then she was taken out to Fred, who was anxiously waiting in the hall.

Meanwhile, I was stuck in the operating room with an IV in one arm, a blood pressure cuff around the other, and the surgical team hovering over the open wound in my abdomen. The tedious process of closing me up and the drugs in my body made me restless. I kept wanting to turn onto my side, but knew I couldn’t. A tempest of jittery energy was trapped in my body.

I knew that if someone held my hand, I’d be okay. But who would do that? The doctors and nurses were busy. The one hand available belonged to the anaesthetist who sat idly by watching the drip.

No. Not him.

But the restlessness wouldn’t abate. I looked up and said, “Would you hold my hand?”

He looked back quizzically. “Why?”

Christ calms the storm Fr lawrence Lew, O.P.Before I could come up with an answer, the anaesthetist found my hand and clumsily held it in his. As soon as he did, a wave of calm rolled down my arm and stilled the churning in my body.

Peace returned and rest and wonder.

I think about that memory and wonder why Jesus has brought it to mind.

What new birth are you bracing me for, God? What needs settling? I ask as I nervously reach for the hand that stilled the storm.

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves,
“Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it
was completely calm. – Mark 4:39

 

Credits:
“Hold On” by Luc De Leeuw. Detail of a stained glass window representing Father Damian and a leper. Used with permission.
“Christ Calms the Storm” by Fr Lawrence Lew, O.P.. Used with permission.
© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2014.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013, 2014  http://www.estherhizsa.wordpress.com.
Posted in Ignatian Spirituality, Mindfulness, Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments