Stephanie Rutt

It happened when I was shaping a ball of clay into a prayer bowl. Rev. Pamela Nowell, potter and artist extraordinaire, came to the seminary classes to teach us how to make these sacred bowls. And, we were blessed.

As I began to work with my ball of clay, I first noticed my mind wanting a full accounting of just how I was doing with this new experience. Thank you, mind, for sharing. Now, kindly go sit. A short time passed and then a subtle shift. I found myself, softly, watching the bowl take form, coming alive, in response to my probing fingers and turning palms. More time passed and, then, at some point, time, like me, stood still. I began to sense a kind of silent whispering as the bowl now seemed to be guiding me, letting me know with each stroke exactly what it needed to bring itself to life. No, more than that, to become the purest expression of what it already knew itself to be.

Soon, in a moment I couldn’t predict, the bowl was done. Complete. I tenderly placed it in the box along side the others. Standing back, I noticed it didn’t look particularly special in relation to the other bowls nor did it appear any more, or less, perfect. Instead, it felt to me, simply, supremely content…to just be.

And, my heart bowed.

Later I thought how each of us is like those bowls. If the bowls can know what they may be, why can’t we? After all, just like me with the ball of clay, we too have a Potter. And, perhaps, just perhaps, our Beloved Potter, who created us and planted within us the seed, that yearning impulse of what we may be, is holding us waiting patiently for us to move, ever so slightly toward that very impulse, to then respond, shaping us toward the full expression of our destiny, what we already know ourselves to be.

And, perhaps in those moments, all creation bows in joy.

Praying as One.

Yesterday my toes breathed. First time this year. Oh, but as if that weren’t quite enough for my giggling heart, they got to do so in those sandals. Yes, the very ones I had reluctantly tossed, finally, into the garbage the end of last summer after several years of rubber cushioned, bouncy, devoted service to my every step. So sad was I, I thought some sort of sacred ritual might be in order. Ahhh, but God is good! Last week, looking on the shelves in the same store where I had first discovered my coveted sandals, feeling a bit distraught as not imagining any new pair ever measuring up, there they were! Those sandals, new and perky and just sitting there like some in-plain-sight treasure waiting discovery. Do they have my size? Yes! And, off to the checkout I went, clutching my treasured find, just barely able to contain my oozing good fortune. Yes! I had discovered the most blessed of treasures hidden right there in plain sight – shoe department – third shelf up!

So, you can imagine, it was almost more than I could bear to, then, have my toes breathe, first time, in those sandals. A celebration was in order! So, with my daughter and grandson in tow, we headed for the back roads, rolled down the windows, turned up the music and, of course, gleefully clutched our first yummy ice cream cone, melting and dripping in sticky delight.

Mr. Einstein you were absolutely right when you said there are only two ways to live our lives – one as if nothing were a miracle and the other as if everything is a miracle. And, yes, it’s certainly true that I have been humbled by miracles beyond my understanding. But, yesterday, I discovered, again, all the miracle I needed to know.

Toes breathe.

And hidden treasures abound – shoe department, third shelf up.

One this sun drenched, light filled, boldly blossoming day, my heart is silently budding in gratitude…for something beautiful is praying us. In 2010, I first heard the whisper of this prayer and was blessed to transcribe. From the Beloved to you. May it bless your day!

Something Beautiful

I Said to God, “I want to do something beautiful for You.” And God Answered…

Just do your part.

Be a seed planter. Do not fool yourself in thinking you create the tree. God alone creates the tree. And remember, it may not even come to full fruition in your lifetime.

Be clear of your intention.

Put out a clear signal. It is only then that it may be used to serve the greatest good.

Seek to live with equanimity and balance.

It is only in such moments when you are truly your Self that I may shine through.

In moments of despair, try to keep an inner smile.

Sit humbly at the feet of your life and be taught. Become the alchemist and blossom because of – not in spite of.

Discern My illusion.

Complete love sees not just My beauty but also discerns the illusion of My absence in ignorance, hatred and evil. Transform illusion within yourself and you can transform it without.

Make Me visible in the world.

You have been given a body-mind through which to make Me visible in the world. Care for the body and harness the mind and you’ll dance in the joy of My spirit.

Live in the mystery.

Remember you only have the vantage point and wisdom of this lifetime. Don’t waste time trying to figure out the big picture or the ‘why’ of things.

Instead, just respond by doing something beautiful for Me.

Is the Beloved whispering something beautiful to you today?

… to Boston and to all who are suffering, with Love.

From my last post, you know how I love those dancing mountains. But, even more wondrous is this – they love me. Us. All of us. For when our exuberant dance of unbridled pleasure is abruptly stopped by an act of hatred, terror and fear, the mountain’s dance responds…slowing…cradling, rocking, cleansing and healing us in cool waters carved deep in ageless, moss-lined, crevices. And, suddenly, it’s the Mother’s heartbeat that echoes through the caverns, without and within, and we rest deeply in the place where our ecstatic joy and unbearable sorrow dance together, and we are filled with a peace beyond either or both.

From the Mountains…and ee cummings’ poem…with Love…

When faces of terror are hurled to the ground
And nothing we knew in our world can be found
I look to the mountains and answer their call:
“Come rest in my waters. Grow rooted and tall.”
The mountains are calling, are calling

When you, my brothers and sisters, are harmed
My heart becomes tender, alert and alarmed
I look to the mountains and there do I hear
Love’s true ageless whisper, “Don’t cater to fear.”
The mountains are whispering, are whispering

When all life contracts with confusion and pain
I rise like the oak to sing Love’s refrain!
I look to the mountains; for you and for me
And dance for our healing expansive and free
Yes, the mountains are (still) dancing, are dancing

In Dancing Peace,
Stephanie

it’s april (yes, april; my darling) it’s spring!

yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly

yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be

(yes the mountains are dancing together)

e.e. cummings

I was about twenty the first time I read e.e. cummings’ poem when faces called flowers float out of the ground (first line). I just knew one day I’d get to go to New Hampshire and visit Joy Farm, e.e. cummings’s summer home, because I just knew it was there he found those mountains dancing. And, sure enough, in the mid 1980s, fate brought Doug and me to New Hampshire and soon after, in April (of course), we made our way up to Madison in search of Joy Farm and those dancing mountains.

As I remember, it was a weekend and, of course, being April, lots of snow still on the ground. We managed to find the entrance to the long driveway leading up to Joy Farm, but it was fenced off and clearly not passable by car. Undaunted, me, already in full swing with those dancin’ mountains, was not so easily dissuaded! So, we made our way back to town to search for someone who might be able to give us some kind of permission or okay to venture up to the Farm by foot. Doug, with feet a little closer to the ground, well actually on the ground, kept reminding me that those mountains would not be dancin’, so unabashedly, with me in jail! Luckily, we were able to locate a man with some authority, in one of the local establishments, who gave us the okay. I remember he looked quite puzzled when I, especially, could not be convinced to return in a couple of months when the road to the Farm would be passable. Didn’t he know those mountains were dancing now?!

So, at last, up the long driveway we went! The house had been vacant awhile yet still felt to be alive, standing, waiting patiently for the return of bare feet, frivolous chatter, the smell of barbecue and night stargazing off the porch. The grounds were open and rambling and a small gazebo-like room, in the middle of the back field, seemed timeless.

But, without a doubt, it was those dancin’ mountains, cradling, remembering, holding us, that kept me frolicking round and round as if I could somehow fly right into the center of their waking, unguarded alive; we’re alive, dear: it’s (kiss me now) spring! pulse.

Away with respectable composure! Down with petty self-consciousness! Let’s dive as the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky and climb as the little fish climb through the mind of the sea!

It’s April! We’re sun-drenched alive! Our faces like flowers float out of the ground! We’re opening as every leaf opens without any sound! We’re quivering, waking, pulsing as the little fish quiver…so you and so I…

Yes, like us, the mountains are dancing together.

Happy Spring!

Stephanie

Yours is a face of quiet tenderness.  Your ways follow in the footsteps of the fisherman.  Your heart beats with Saint Francis.  So, it is with a full and hope filled heart, I offer you the poem of Saint Francis as a gift, with a message from the hope that is, as yet, still silent within the suffering ones, the poor of spirit, among us today – the helpless, innocent children who wake every morning remembering, the priests who would run but cannot escape the hell burning within, and the Cardinals who knew but turned away.  You, kind soul, have been given the fortuitous opportunity to truly become an instrument of peace, to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, to do what Jesus would have done, today.  I pray you will.

My gift to you…

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;

Give me the courage to do what the law of Your Heart does compel;

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Help me to lay open the silent pulse of despair so Your Love may soothe the raw burn of our common wound; 

where there is injury, pardon;

For only then… May Your tender Mercy save us from the prison of our inaction;  

where there is doubt, faith;

For only then… May Your Presence act to restore the sacred bonds of trust now broken; 

where there is despair, hope;

For only then… May Your Compassion crack a window in the locked chamber of our neglect to welcome the first rays of healing and forgiveness;

where there is darkness, light;

Help me to bring You, Dear Jesus, the Light of the world, into our darkness so we, the blind, may once again truly see You among us…

and where there is sadness, joy.

And, finally, come to know the true meaning of being born again, to walk hand in hand, saint and sinner together, in the healing balm of Your Grace, and come to love one another as You have loved us.

O Divine Master, grant…

that I may not so much seek…
consolation as to console those laid bare on my doorstep…
that I may not so much seek…
understanding as to understand the true depth of despair of those bound fast to me…

O Divine Master, grant that I may lead Your church to love as only You would have us to love and be loved in return…

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

In June of 2012, I wrote a letter to your predecessor Pope Benedict XVI.  Having no way to know if he read the letter, I will include my charge to him here for you…

If just one child has been hurt by our lack of awareness, over-site or mismanagement; If just one child has been hurt while serving in our trusted care, indeed, it is one too many. So, unified, we rise up as the living body of Christ, ready to respond as we know our Lord Jesus Christ would have us respond. 

Starting immediately, all the major parishes of our Catholic Church, worldwide, will join with their local mental health professionals to create and sustain, free to the public, centers of healing for all those children and adult children who have been victims of sexual abuse by priests and others. Furthermore, these healing centers will also offer programs to provide care for the perpetrators of abuse, priests and others, for our Lord has said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” We will welcome all, victims and perpetrators, into the heart of our Lord through our open doors and we will soothe the wounds of the suffering with the living balm of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Kind Sir, walk in the footsteps of the fisherman.  Pulse a beacon of light to the lost.  Throw out a wide net to rescue those sinking in a bottomless sea of darkness.  I pray you be besieged by love everlasting to rise up and live out your destiny, to become the instrument of peace, Saint Francis for our times.  I believe Jesus would expect no less.

As Mother Teresa once said, “I believe Jesus is asking this of me and I never say ‘no’ to Jesus.” As a result, her healing ministry touched the world. Will you do the same?

Peek-a-boo with the Beloved.  Delightful and sweet. Absolutely captivating.  Masquerading as child’s play.  Last week, I found myself suddenly caught, held fast, in such captivity and, since, have not been left where I was found.  Child’s play.  Oh, but truth is, nothing, gratefully, is the same when the Beloved shows up to play.

Early last week, Doug and I were watching our six month old granddaughter.  At one point, she was in her rolling spaceship – the kind that is designed to encourage scooting and walking.  There she sat and stood, sat and stood playing with all the gadgets and lights.  Then, back and forth, I started gently pushing as her little feet just slid along the floor.  Back and forth.  Back and forth. Then, suddenly, she pushed against the floor and moved forward – ever so slightly.  Startled, she paused and then smiled the biggest grin.  A few more tries and then push, again, and she moved forward a little further this time shouting and laughing.

Then, before I knew it, she was gleefully making her way down the narrow hallway as I watched her from behind.  Feet scrambling.  Arms flailing.  Head turning back and forth.  There she went, that  sweet baby girl, making her way, for the first time, on her own as I just stood there, momentarily, unable to breathe for the lump caught in my throat.  And, then I heard sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset…swiftly flow the days…I don’t remember growing older…when did they? as the memory of my own babies flashed in front of me doing the same many years ago.  It was as if all of eternity exploded bright and clear, loving and passionate, within me in that moment.  All I needed to remember, know, imagine, understand, was right there.  Tears flowed as my heart seemed to just dissolve, to unravel, to come undone and sweetly melt into some ever expanding whirling spiral…turning, following, remembering, loving, laughing…with my Beloved, right there in the hallway.  Peek-a-boo from behind, above, around and within, me, my babies from long ago and, right there, with my sweet grandbaby…Here I am said the Beloved…peek-a-boo…here I am…peek-a-boo…

Oh, but the Beloved wasn’t done with me yet.  The next evening, I stopped by to see my dear grandson whom many of you know has autism.  As I pulled up in front of the apartment in the very cold and dark night, I looked up and saw him standing at the window.  As I made my way up the stairs, I sang, Over my head I hear music in the air… Over my head I hear music in the air… Over my head I hear music in the air…there must be a…there must be a … somewhere…?? And, as usual, he came bounding out from hiding, running toward me shouting, Here I am!!  We went into his room to read bedtime stories but, this time, he wanted to turn out the lights so to watch the reflection of the lights from the passing cars just outside move across the ceiling.  Knowing Fun on the Farm by heart, I just continued to read along as he silently enjoyed the parade of lights.  At some point, I asked my usual question, Are you Grandma’s honey? And, he answered his usual, Yes!  And, I just continued to read, Violet and I play hide and seek…she hides first and I don’t peek…and after awhile, I began to wonder if he had fallen asleep and then I heard, Grandma’s honey…Grandma’s honey…I’m Grandma’s honey…and then he started to sing the chorus part of the story with me…playing on the farm is so much fun…I could see his smiling face in the darkness and he was glowing.  I love you, honey, I whispered.  He giggled, Grandma and me…Grandma and me. And, I hugged him, Yes, honey…Grandma and me…

Soon it was time for me to leave at which point he usually, at least momentarily, gets upset.  But this time, he just stood still at the top of the stairs and waved to me with a soft smile.  Leaving, I threw him a kiss, Good-bye, honey.  Still, he just stood there and waved.  And, suddenly, in some pause outside time and space, our gaze locked and all went perfectly still.  No crying.  No fits.  Just that smile and that wave…back and forth…back and forth.  Peek-a-boo said the Beloved.   Look closely…here I am…Peek-a-boo…here I am…Peek-a-boo…

And, still the Beloved wasn’t done.  Driving home, I thought of my granddaughter far away.  She will be thirteen on Valentines’s day.  I thought of all those tea parties we used to have when she was a little girl and how I wished I could see her more often.  As I pictured her smiling face…sunrise, sunset…the child I knew was suddenly gone and in her place just a glimpse of the woman she’ll become.  Wasn’t it yesterday…we crawled under the weeping cherry tree in my front yard and shared our last cup of tea?  I don’t remember growing older…I flashed to the last time we were together sitting on the floor of her room where she was patiently teaching me to play some video game I could barely navigate.  Mostly, I remembered the sweet moment we had just before leaving when I gave her a pink heart stone and told her how I hoped our hearts would always be connected.  Suddenly, back in my car, pulling into my driveway, I heard again, in just a whisper, through my slowing, shallow breath, Peek-a-boo said the Beloved from within my heart…here I am…Peek-a-boo…    

As I lay in bed that night, it occurred to me how I’ve always wanted to do something beautiful for God. Always wanted to help as much as I could.  But, as I lay there, I suddenly knew that for all of my deep desire, hard work, good intentions, and hopeful prayers, there was absolutely no way I could ever give back even the smallest fraction of the full grace, beauty and love that I have been given…from my family, dear friends, from you my blessed community, from all those I am so very grateful to serve as I am able, from the homeless man on the corner, from all the ones I’ve yet to see and know…

I have been left silent and humble and overflowing with gratitude…For I have played hide and seek with my Beloved…child’s play…on the field of wonder… 

Peek-a-boo, my Beloved…Peek-a-Boo…

In honor of our great spiritual teacher, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr….

“The strong person is the person who can cut off the chain of hate…Somebody must have religion enough and morality enough to cut it off and inject within the very structure of the universe that strong and powerful element of love.”

“Loving Your Enemies” Nov. 17, 1957

This quote and teaching feels particularly pertinent in light of the volatile times in which we live.  Here we learn how to combat hatred…without hating.  Here, Dr. King challenges us to transform such hatred by cultivating that strong and powerful element of love…within.

Indeed, it is only through the lens of unconditional love that we have any possibility of separating out deed from doer – that we have any possibility of rising up to confront an evil, hateful deed without becoming, ourselves, the very mirror of that which we hate.  It is only through the lens of unconditional love that we have any possibility of beginning to extend love to our enemies.

But, how to begin?  Dr. King tells us in “Loving Your Enemies”, “Now first let us deal with this question, which is a practical one:  How do we go about loving your enemies?  I think the first thing is this:  In order to love your enemies, you must begin by analyzing self.  And I’m sure that seems strange to you, that I start out telling you this morning that you love your enemies by beginning with a look at self.”

But, something very sweet happens when we begin to explore the possibility of unconditional love within ourselves.  I discover that I cannot love you without feeling that love myself – and I cannot hate you without feeling that hate myself.  It’s just not possible.

This is why Dr. King reminded us, “There’s another reason why you should love your enemies, and that is because hate distorts the personality of the hater.” 

And, it is exactly this hate that keeps us caught in re-action to one another instead of being able to act clearly to bring about justice for all.

In the early 1980s I witnessed how one person, in just a few minutes, rejected such re-action and, instead, injected this powerful element of love into a very volatile situation.  This story, which I tell in my book An Ordinary Life Transformed: Lessons for Everyone from the Bhagavad Gita, happened, surprisingly, on a TV talk show.

On this particular day, the audience was filled with African Americans and, on stage, were people representing various white supremacy groups.  The atmosphere was very volatile, with a lot of shouting back and forth.  It seemed everyone was feeding on the frenzy.  Then, a guest, a white man, was introduced.  He had written a book about how a black man had taught him to love and how the experience had changed him.  As a result, he had been able to give up his membership in a hate group.

I don’t remember a word the man said.  What I have never forgotten was the silence that fell over the audience as he spoke.  All the shouting and the frenzy stopped.  The mood shifted.  Then, after a break for commercials, the show returned, the man was gone and the frenzy resumed.

The guest did not seek to defeat the white supremacists.  Like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., he sought to demonstrate a different way…the way to that strong and powerful element of love. 

But, this quality of unconditional love is not for the weak minded.  As Dr. King said, “In the final analysis, love is not this sentimental something that we talk about.  It’s not merely an emotional something.  Love is creative, understanding goodwill for all men.  It is the refusal to defeat any individual.”

May we, in our daily lives, search our own hearts to stand for the Beloved in all.

May we become the peace that passes all understanding.

May we, as did Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., live the Truth that sets us free…free at last.

I, as so many around the country and the world, am grieving the loss of the innocent children and adults whose lives you took last Friday.  I still cannot watch the news or look at their faces without feeling my throat tighten and my eyes filling up.  Yet, this morning, I was drawn to rise early and write to you – because next to all those innocent faces, I also saw, dear Adam, your face.  I know how very desperately you did not want to be seen or to be known.  So, I am praying that this letter reaches you by the Grace only God can provide.

You may wonder, Adam, how I see you.  Well, in part, I see you though the eyes of my beautiful seven year old grandson who has autism.  You see, last year, at his end-of-year program, he decided he just could not walk out onto the stage with all those people staring.  Like you, though perhaps for different reasons, he decided he just could not be seen in that way.

And, as I watched the news, I saw your picture.  And, I saw you.  My first overwhelming thought was why the picture of you was so young – thirteen I believe.  I wondered how it was in this digital age no one, not even a national network, could find a more recent picture of you.  Did no one have a birthday or holiday picture?  Were there no pictures from any family gatherings, events, special occasions?  Was there no one who carried a picture of you on their smart phone?  Was there no one who held a more recent picture of you at anytime over the past seven years?  I came to know more of you, Adam, by what I did not see.

Later I heard that the first person you killed was your mother.  This was so very heartbreaking to hold.  As just a child, you could not have known or seen what was hidden deep in your mother’s heart.  I suspect that what was hidden there was her tender love for you yet sadly buried under the frustration and desperation a mother feels when confronted with an unrelenting helplessness to help her struggling child.  Sadly, it seems you did not feel this from your mother or, perhaps you did, but did not feel worthy of it.  I am so very sorry for this and regret that we will never know.

And, that picture of you at thirteen.  I saw you clearly, Adam, already hiding – hiding your face down from the camera and my heart ached for the pain already becoming unbearable for you.  Later, a schoolmate would say you hated to be up in front of the class as you would get all red in the face.  What shame you must have carried every day going to school until, finally, home schooling was the only bearable option.  I, like my grandson, for different reasons, also so wanted to hide as a young child.  This place in my heart knows you well, dear Adam.  From me, by only God’s Grace, you cannot hide.  I see you and I know you, tenderly.

Tenderly because I’m sure you did not realize, until the moment you passed, that you were really not going to escape anything.  God’s Grace requires that all hatred and evil be purged for it is the only way healing can happen for all.  It is why the Bible tells us we must reap what we have sown.  So, for all the tenderness and understanding my heart feels for you, for all I see and know of you my brother, our Beloved God loves you most of all.  And, only in His care do I pray you will come to know the amazing Grace that purges all fear, hatred and evil so though once blind you will see. 

And, only then, dear Adam, will you see and know, fully, the tender faces of the children you killed.  Only then will you look into their eyes and recognize their fear as your fear.  Only then will you feel their deep suffering as your suffering.  Only then will you look upon them and, for the first time, fully recognize yourself.

And, perhaps then, it may also be possible for you to feel the love that is felt for you in this moment by this stranger you never knew.

But knew you.