there is this thing waiting for me.

i tried to avoid it for a really long time, only touching on the very edges of it and sometimes stepping in maybe for a moment, but then recoiling, realizing what it would mean to stay. but its been coming after me, slowly, around my edges, and i am both terrified and curious about what it will do to me.

i began to read "rich christians in an age of hunger" last night, a book originally written in the 1970's, but recently republished. though a few things have circumstantially changed, the message within is the same. i am only about 20 pages in, but last night it messed me up so much that i couldnt sleep. when i woke up this morning, i had a vague sense of shift in me, and upon arriving to work, where there were and are hours and hours of work and busy-ness waiting for me, i let what i felt last night slip away.

a few hours ago, i realized the church was having its monthly clothes closet and food pantry in the gym. i had promised roberta and bill that i would visit to check things out. in the 18 or so months we have had our offices here at mission st, i have stepped foot in to that ministry maybe twice. honestly, i avoided it and wanted to avoid it today. but i made myself go over there, because i knew i needed to.

entering, i knew i would have to see things that made me uncomfortable. the smell of unshowered was there, mixed with mass produced food and sweat. i felt immediately like an imposter there, like someone pretending to understand. i wanted to find a face i knew, so i slipped back into the kitchen and there was roberta. she welcomed me and then took dessert back out to the gym, leaving me alone again. i wished i could be hiding back in my office upstairs, safe. i followed her back in there and then went to char, who was helping to organize and watch the clothes tables. after chatting with her for awhile, i realized i was completely ignoring the 50 people who sat eating quietly in the gym, who were here needing. but who was i to think i had anything to offer?

during the course of the next hour, i pushed myself to make conversation with some of the people there. initially, i was terrified to put myself out there to them, thinking they would reject me and find my privilege an insult. instead, they let me slip in to adjoining seats and ask simple questions and laugh with them, listening, and trying to relate. i am no saint, having nothing to offer them except my ears and my heart, to try to understand them. some were happy to chat, others put off, lots in between. at one point, allen and harry, a couple of characters who called a camp in the woods home, began teasing michele and her husband tom. they were obviously all close, family. michele told me not to believe any of them. they laughed around, knowingly, teasing. there was a lot just below michele's eyes and she was forcing herself not to show anyone.

then, a beautiful woman about my age came in, long hair and freckles and strong. she carried lyla, 2 or 3 years old and adorable. this woman began chatting with michele and tom, telling them she was done with finals and was about to begin working as a medical assistant. she chased lyla, laughing with allen and harry as they teased her about being a kid wrangler. i asked how they knew each other and michele told me "from the streets." i watched them interacting and it was so natural, except the woman was working, rising, living outside of their world. how she went from "the streets" to being a mother and student and now a professional, i didnt know, but wanted to ask so badly. i excused myself and after speaking with some of the other leaders, i found myself drawn back up here, to my desk, having to "get back to work."

but i dont know that i can do much else today, cause my heart feels both empty and disgusted, and full and ready. i have always been drawn to want to help "make a difference" in the world around me, always wanted to be part of some social change that was tangible and real. and i love that my job is in "ministry" where i can be part of local church, where out heart beats for the mission of drawing closer to God and helping others draw close to him, too. this is not necessarily a profitable or glamorous place, though we do all make a living at it and there is a weird little celebrity that develops when you are up in a front a few hundred people every week. regardless, i know that what i do makes a difference and thats a gift i must always be reminded to thank God for.

in that vein, i am beginning to feel and wonder if part of what happens when you are in church leadership is that you become a barometer of sorts. if your own journey with God begins to take twists and turns that change and mature your way of viewing the world, perhaps that becomes an indicator of where the ministry will begin to go. not to say ministry should be run by personalities, but when you are part of helping to make decisions for a church community, your can't help but allow your heart and your passions to influence what decisions you make and where you want to direct your energies.

next to my bed, the following books are scattered:

good news and good works
rich christians in an age of hunger
the irresistible revolution
the revolution: a field manual for changing your world
how people grow
the inner voice of love

their words are permeating me, slowly, surely. i can't get away from what they speak into me and i can't get away from the feeling that there is so much more to understand, to be, to know. there is something waiting for me in them, beyond them. i could not be more terrified or relieved.

part monk, part two

the first night became simply wonderful in its simplicity. my fear dissipated after i contented myself to eat and read and fall asleep early. the meal was wonderful, just so simple and healthy. i sat at the desk provided and saw myself in the windows reflection, eating alone, and it was comforting to know that i was capable of this. i still remember the yummy bread i ate and the soup tasting so good. i spent the rest of the night finishing c.s. lewis' "the great divorce" which is basically now one of my favorite books ever and it only took me about 4 years to get through, with multiple stops and starts. i fell into a deep sleep and couldnt get up until about 9:30am, which was hard, since i missed the 7am service i had planned on attending. but my body wanted this sleep, craved it. it found opportunity to rest and forced my mind to let it be. i got up, got breakfast, read some more in my backyard, which was basically amazing, the view was unreal.

the 2nd service, the 11:30am "Eucharist", was a little easier to feel part of, since i had been to one already. this time one of the monks gave a message, which i cant remember the content of, except i remember thinking how different his perspective on life must be as one who lives in this kind of community and has committed to such a unique lifestyle, different than most american's will ever know. i was mostly struck by his sincerity and honesty. and i felt safe.

we then gathered into the adjacent circular simple room with the beautiful wood ceiling and cross and took Eucharist. it felt so sacred, and everyone took it very seriously and solemnly. as some of the monks sang and prayed and read from an ancient looking book, i felt like something weighty and holy was about to happen. i cant remember all the details, i waited too long to record this, but i do know i remember seeing them hold the bread and wine up, face turned into the natural light beaming down from the center of the ceiling, praying and acknowledging this holy act. we all lined up and one by one, took the bread from one of the monks, who told us as we bowed to the bread, "this is Christ's body, broken for you." we then went on to the next monk holding wine, which we bowed before, as he told us "this is Christ's blood, shed for you" and we sipped the real wine, so strong and smelling so rich.

as i walked away from the church, having taking communion with 22 monks and a handful of retreatants, it occurred to me that they do this every single day. i could see it feeling "special" even once a week, but every day, wow. they seemed to still have such reverence for it, such special attention paid, while i think once a month sometimes feels too often.

the afternoon was spent reading "how we are hungry" by dave eggers at the nearby beach and park, drifting in and out of sleep, the wind blowing, warm and cold, sunlight and clouds. little details felt significant and wonderful during this time. i found myself missing my parents cat for some reason when i was at the beach, and when i wandered over to the bookstore later on, a cat lay sprawled on the deck and we hung out. i have a deep love for cookies, and that cookie jar was always full in the monks kitchen. i took a shower and the water warm on my sandy cold skin was just about the best feeling i could have asked for.

the 2nd evening "vespers" spoke the most deeply to me, as i was really struggling to connect in a real way to God. working in ministry, i feel like i am saturated in "God" stuff, and connecting to it as if it were so "other" feels impossible, because of its seeming familiarity and my ability to somehow assume that the mystery of God can become mundane. as we sung, i didnt connect to the words, but the passion with which they were sung meant something to me. and as we ventured to spend another 30 minutes in silence, i began practicing some of the stuff yancey mentions in his new book "prayer"--

intentionally recognizing God's perspective and position as being all-seeing, all-knowing, the creator over all

intentionally recognizing ourselves as being part of His creation and not the ones who know it all... basically admitting our helplessness

intentionally thanking Him for creating and loving us and recognizing all He has done for us.

intentionally asking for His help in all the things we need Him for (basically everything)

And in doing this, slowly, bit by bit, i began to feel something wash over me. But it was so slow. I had felt this before, in little flashes, over the years. i just dont slow down enough to let it stay. here i was, though, in silence, with others in silence. and this was the time and place to begin trying. and so it happened that i felt God there, again, in the deepest part of my soul, realizing He never really leaves, and He never not listens. i just often cant sense these subtle things in all my rushing.

i imagined him, in front of me, taking my face into his hands - "i love you, kristin, i love you." and not that then he was next to me, but in me. and we spent time in silence there.

after, i got up and took a walk, sensing His presence that is never absent but often ignored, and we talked. i told him everything He already knew. it just felt good to say it out loud for some reason. and he showed me things.

the rest of the visit remained at the simple, slow pace i had settled into. i wandered the bookstore and bought things to help me be reminded. i met with a monk named john who understood and talked and prayed with me, just like any friend on this journey. i drove away sad to leave, but so grateful that i had had this here. i hope to carry this place around with me for the rest of my life.

part monk

last week, i had the privilege of visiting a monastery in the hills of big sur. it came on a recommendation from what i like to call my "life coach", which is a funny way of referring to one of our school of theology teachers who i have met with a few times seeking counsel about my ever elusive "future plans" and what i am going to do with my life. he teaches a class at Berkeley for college kids who are trying to figure out what to do with their lives and about what vocation and "calling" really is... its not a "religious" class, but he weaves scripture and christian themes into it and is teaching an abbreviated version for our community this summer. he had told me about his retreat experience at this monastery about a month ago and i wanted to try it out. i got it in my mind that i needed to do something like this, however against my nature it seemed. so i called. though it usually has a 6 month wait to get a room, i got a booking within a few weeks. last wednesday drove up there in search of the "contemplative" life.

in the weeks building up to my trip to the New Camodoli Hermitage (http://www.contemplation.com/) i was feeling an uncomfortable pull on my heart and energy from my job and the community i serve with. as a staff member and leader in a local church, its easy to take on this "role," which is hard to find words for, but for me, it feels like in my role, i am identified as an unending source of information and connection in our community. which most times is very fun for me and gives me energy and life. but as with most roles, you can't live in them at all times and if you have to stay in them too long, you begin to resent them, to try and wiggle your way out, to escape. and this would be easy, if i had a regular 9-5...if the church community didnt mean so much to me.... if part of my own heart and faith experience weren't so wrapped up this church. i am sure most pastors and church staff feel this to a degree and i am not articulating it half as well as some, but all this to say that i had been feeling pulled at, and needed, and pretty much sucked dry by the time i was ready to head out to the monastery last wednesday.

i was told to imagine that as i drove the coast towards my destination, the hands reaching for me here were just falling away one by one. so i did that, and i felt free... me and the coast and the broken social scene soundtrack and no grasping or needing.

I was late getting there. the sign came just after lucia and i made my way for 2 miles up a perfect windy road and even the smallest signs of towns and worlds dropped away and it felt like i was driving up into somewhere that doest really exist.

the monastery is on a hillside and is simple. they had left a map for me on the bookstore door and i found my way to my room, part of a 60's looking building perched perfectly so every room had an enclosed back yard and an ocean view. i had an hour until the night service began and so i unpacked a bit, and read all the little notes all over the place, which instructed on eating and the various meetings/services offered and misc details for each "retreatants" stay. we were to be in silence everywhere except the bookstore and the driveway, to respect those on silent retreats. my first instinct was to mention this to someone around me and talk about how amazing it was to have this vow of silence sort of forced on you. but, there was no one with me and of course, there was that vow.

On the wall next to the bed was a framed sign that said "St Romulauds Brief Rule" and i read it and felt something wash over me.

i went into the communal kitchen, which was so endearing and cozy, with a sign "SILENCE: be still and know that I am GOD".... look how cozy and adorable this place is, i thought, with all the little notes and the food stocked and a jar of cookies! again, no one to tell this to. everyone gets a set of dishes and utensils to eat in their rooms and they can eat as they wished-- "well thats a good idea," i thought, "isn't that a great-" and i was then immediately faced with the fact that no one but me and God got to hear my thoughts for the next 2 days. i was temporarily filled with anxiety about this and felt so alone, i wanted to cry.

the 6pm service, i think called "vespers", began in this simple, warm church, which was also a place of silence except for singing and the monks leading the service. i entered late and it smelled of that lovely oil candle smell, kind of like a catholic church. it was warm and quiet, save for the melodic, monotonous sound of the singing. i noticed everything, drank everything in, couldnt stop staring at the details and the setting and the people. it was not out of the ordinary by the way it looked, but by the way it made me feel. i picked up a book to follow with the songs and couldnt find my place. i felt everyone looking at me and got red and embarrassed. one of the monks came over to help me find my place and so i fell into line. i couldnt engage my mind with the service except when we would bow to sing the last part of every song. it was so different than anything i had experienced before, i felt overwhelmed.

after the singing, we all filed into the adjacent room, which was round, and beautiful, warm wood walls, with a cross suspended from the center and simple pads and pillows to sit on. everyone bowed to the cross as they entered. everyone circled up on the edges. an old monk, one of the oldest, came from another side room, arms extended high up over his bent, aging back, his white robe hanging off of his thin frame, holding a small icon of what i assumed was jesus. everyone stood for a second and then somehow, all knew to sit down at the same time and get comfortable. 30 minutes of silence followed.

i couldn't stop watching everyone, so curious about what they were thinking and processing. i finally went inside my own self and found i could not be still. i drifted in and out of prayer, i felt a quick sense of peace, and then fear, loneliness, wonder. i fell asleep for a bit. i watched, waited. nothingness. quiet. time felt so long. it went on forever. surely its been an hour and i kept waiting for them to stop us, how could they let this go so far over the allotted 30 minutes? and more waiting finally, they tapped a round bowl that left a soft ringing sound for about 30 seconds. everyone then got up slowly, exited, bowing to the cross as they left.

i was lightheaded, going back to my room, noticing the dramatic, unreal views of the big sur coastline along the driveway. i went into my room, warm and easy from the windy, chaotic outside. the clock read 7. the silence had only been 30 minutes. and it was only 7.

what would i do with myself til i would drift to sleep in silence?