Matbur: Part of the Symphony

Balbir Matbur: Part of the Symphony

“ I plant trees, but I am not the doer of this work. I am the facilitator, the instrument—I am one part of the symphony. I know there is an overall scheme to this symphony that I cannot understand. In some way, we are each playing our own part. It is not for me to judge or criticize the life or work of another. All I know is that this is my dance. I would plant trees today even if I knew for certain that the world would end tomorrow.”  Balbir Matbur,  Heron Dance interview (Issue 11) from Inward Outward, Daily Words, October 19, 2016, inwardoutward.org

Our tickets at the Arkansas Symphony are on the third row. At times we do indeed feel as if we are part of the orchestra. We have gotten to know who sits where, when someone new is there, or when someone is missing. We know a few by name. There are still many members of the orchestra who were there when we first came to Little Rock over forty years ago.

I especially remember one moment many years ago when the first cellist had a twenty second solo very close to the end of the performance. Suddenly his deep melodious sound was heard about the rest of the orchestra and then just as suddenly he faded back into the background to support the other instruments.   I knew that if I had been him, I would have been too nervous the whole night waiting for that brief time with the soloist voice soaring above the rest of the orchestra. The professional cellist of course seemed as comfortable blended in the symphony as he was with his solo. He also stayed continually with direct eye contact with the conductor as he played his brief solo part. I later wondered about the many hours he must have practiced this short solo until it was almost part of his being.

The cellist taught me that most of our life is spent being a member of the orchestra with our unique instrument, our talents, blending and giving depth to the composition assigned to us. There will be times when we are called to speak out above the music of the symphony. Before we do this, however, we should be prepared by practicing, knowing intimately our part, especially the timing, and keeping our eye on the conductor.  Most of the time, we are called to spend our gifts blending, supporting, and in many ways encouraging the sounds of others.

Joanna joannaseibert.com

O'Connor: The Pleural Me

The Plural Me

“If I respect the plurality in myself, and no longer see my jealous self as the whole of me, then I have gained the distance I need to observe it, listen to it, and let it acquaint me with a piece of my own lost history. Suppose we come to know that every recognition of anger and jealousy and greed and sloth is an opportunity to lift out of the waters of unconsciousness a tiny piece of submerged land.” Elizabeth O'Connor,  Our Many Selves

O’Connor’s book was one of the first I read in trying to understand why I do the things I do, trying to find out what was underneath the surface or behind the mask I was wearing. Her classic writing  gives us tools about how to become the person God created us to be. She teaches us about the many parts of ourselves and how God uses every part of us to connect to God.

Those parts of ourselves that block us from the Spirit are also pathways back to an even richer relationship to the God or Spirit within us. Christians would tell us that the life of Mary Magdalene is our scriptural example. Whatever her seven demons were, they led her to Christ and a new relationship with God and a new life. The recovery community would say that the recovering alcoholic or addict is led back to the God of his understanding in his journey to recovery. The Jungians would tell us that a recognition of the shadow or unloved or unaccepted part of us can become our hidden treasure or gold.

O’Connor presents a series of practical exercises she developed from years of group work at The Church of The Saviour in Washington, D. C.  to find these many parts of ourselves leading us to the God within and reaching out to the God in others.

Joanna  joannaseibert.com

Holy Smoke, Holy Spirit

Holy Smoke

“And the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, rose before God from the hand of the angel.” Revelation 8:4.

I slowly stand up from my seat next to the bishop’s chair near the altar at Holy Spirit Episcopal Church in Gulf Shores, Alabama as the organist plays the prelude to the closing hymn, “Lift High the Cross.”  The music is uplifting, but suddenly I am transported and lifted to another space. There is an unusual burning smell in the air.  I look up and see almost two straight lines of black smoke rapidly rise at least a foot above the altar and just as quickly disappear into the air in front of the congregation. I am aware as the acolyte in the white alb passes by me as she reaches for the silver processional cross that she just extinguished the two candles on the glass altar.

This smell is different from what I usually know at the end of the service. For me it is a holy smell, and it is accompanied by an uplifting holy smoke, stronger than incense. It is raw, attention getting, signaling that something has happened.  The black smoke should be seen certainly by those few in the front rows of the congregation, but the smell probably only lives around the altar. By verse two of the hymn as the crucifer starts to lead the procession of choir members with blue cassocks and white surplices out of the church, I realize what this is all about.

The altar guild of Holy Spirit uses real candles, not the oil candles that I am familiar with in many of the churches I visit or serve. This is the smell and smoke from extinguished candle wax.

This is the smell I know after a session of spiritual direction with someone as they depart. I light the candle at the beginning of a session of spiritual direction to symbolize our meeting as holy as we care for our souls. I extinguish the candle at the end of our time to symbolize the passing on of what we have shared together. I know our time together as spiritual friends is holy work just as our Eucharist together on Sunday is a holy time.

The smell and the smoke tell me that whatever has happened is now being lifted up, spreading into the air of our surroundings, our universe. The Word we had together has now moved away from the altar at our the congregation and from the altar of our meeting out into the world.  We can no longer see the smoke, but it is there. I only realize the smell briefly, but it is an icon of what is happening.  The holy Word has moved on with its healing blessing out into the world, making a difference in all our wounded spaces.

Bless the altar guild of Holy Spirit for teaching me a little more about the movement of the holy.  

Joanna  joannaseibert.com