It was a slim, light blue book and it held all the answers to all the questions of the universe, or so it was purported to do, The Baltimore Catechism. How remarkable that all the most essential wisdom of all the books in all the libraries of the world should be condensed to a size and scope that I could hold it in my 7-year-old hands and ponder it in my second-grade mind. But I did, and I wondered about even that—what are the odds it should by mine? Black and white drawings of angels with voluminous wings, the serpent with its red, forked tongue twisting its way up the Tree, and God with a flowing white beard, pointing down from parted clouds. I remember pedaling around on my tricycle pondering a detailed chart, “The Hierarchy of Being,” and figuring out just where I fit in in the grand scheme of things. Catholic school children of the 1950’s memorized the questions and answers and were inoculated against doubt and ignorance as surely as the new Polio vaccine inoculated them against dread disease.

One day, I led them in a game of “forced choices.” Given a series of either/or answers, they were to choose which best described what God is like. Among the options was, God is like: a) a tall oak tree or b) a mountain stream. All of the children but one ended up choosing the tall oak tree and they had wonderful reasons for doing so: it provided refreshing shade, birds and squirrels made their homes in its branches, it was protection against the storm, etc. I was concerned that the one little girl who’d chosen otherwise might be regretting her decision, but when I asked her the why of her choice, she simply said, “God is like the mountain stream because if you follow it, you never know where it will lead you.” (photo by Max Fischer, pexels)

Ah, the wisdom of children and the power of a fresh image to shake up and enhance our understanding of God! All these decades later, I can smile at my younger self, both the child and the teacher. I can see both naïve assumption and sincere inquiry. Now I write surrounded by various texts, some half-opened on the floor, many marked by highlights or flagged with post-its. I pedal my way around some well-worn questions and gather the assorted answers the way a crow stashes away bright and shining objects. Some answers have stood the test of time—those first two from the Baltimore Catechism still ring true (with a little license for more generous pronouns). Others have been discarded and replaced. The rigid ranking in the Hierarchy of Being first gave way when I encountered Ecology and began to understand the connectedness of all living things. And it failed me utterly when I discovered the poetry of Mary Oliver and found myself to be on the receiving end of what other beings had to teach me.

God is like...

How have your own images for and understanding of God changed through the years? Scripture gives us an abundance of images, though we tend to fall back on the well-used: God as king, light, Father, shepherd, lamb, bread. There are also images of God as potter, seamstress, baker, physician, sower, fishing net, friend, door, foundation, teacher, weaver...

Sometimes it is fun to place a couple such quotes alongside one another to see how they interact and what you notice:

St Paul spoke of "clothing yourselves in Christ" (Gal 3:27), an image that caused both St. Patrick and Julian of Norwich to pray with the image of God as clothing we wear. Poets, mystics, saints, and children have a way of using startling images of God that provoke our thinking and reveal what we had not seen. A child looks up at the crescent moon and says, "Look! It is God's big toenail" (I know you have stories of your own like this). One of my favorite example of a poet doing this is Francis Thompson in The Hound of Heaven (one of those books lying open on my floor). Here God is a dog who pursues our wandering heart relentlessly:

Those strong Feet that followed,

Followed after,

But with unhurrying chase,

And unperturbed pace,

Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

They beat--and a Voice beat

More Instant than the Feet

This month, play with your images of God, pay attention to what you see in Scripture, read some poetry, sit on a swing and chat with a child. And let me know what you learn.

SESSION TWO (Wed, Dec 11th, 9-11 am PST)

The Annunciation event comes alive as we experience images of the Annunciation created by artists through the centuries. Conversation and reflection follow as we consider how the encounter with an angel informs our own call to gestate and give birth to the holy. The invitation is ours in te week ahead to use at-home prompts giving o own expression go the annunciation using whatever modality is ours: art, poetry, movement, etc.

SESSION THREE (Wed, Dec 18th 9-11 am PST)

A time for theological reflection as we ponder the idea that God's choice to become human and Mary's yes change all things. We close our time together with the reflective, sensual prayer of Havdalah, the ending ritual of Shabbat. Enriched by our tie together, we turn our hearts toward the season of Advent and the coming Christ-event of Christmas. Amen. May it be so.

Two options will be offered: The Wednesday morning live, online option and/or a recorded at-your-own-pace version. Registration is now open with RETREAT REFLECT RENEW

Responses from Readers...

Good morning! Once again, so many beautiful ides to consider and the lovely memories that popped up in my head about traveling as a child. For me, it was the red clay that always alerted me to the entrance to Arkansas, a place of love and delight in my life. As the family traveled from Iowa to Paris, Arkansas, for summer vacation or in good times, Christmas, my brother and I would sleep until we hit the border of Missouri and Arkansas to stop at Chick’s service station for refueling and breakfast. It was there that we would change from sleepwear to day clothes to complete the journey to Grandma’s house. Excitement knew no bounds! I’ll sit with this a bit today and give thanks for the prompting you offered to consider the stability of that destination throughout all my life. - Blessings on your journey, Alice

Ah, a sense of place. Every place has its beauty, its appeal, especially those native to the location, but I must say, as one who has lived almost every year of my life by the ocean, that it is a part of me, and I would miss it dearly were I to be away from it for long. You certainly do have a way with words, Kathleen, a way to make so much of life relate to the spirit. - Love, Terry

I am in complete agreement about places - thank you for how beautifully you have described your relationship with Connecticut and the spiritual lesson of being where you are. What was remarkable though was I received your Scribbles the day I was looking at my husband’s copy of DAKOTA wondering whether it was going to be recycled, or sent to the library, or maybe read by me? I’ve decided on the latter now after hearing from you. It went into the bag that is taking our belongings from our summer place (that informs my soul) to our winter place (where I hear the cathedral bells toll through the halls of our apartment. God is good - and thank you so much for the joy of reading your Scribbles, which is certainly more than just scribbling as it is so well written. And you manage to pack so much into a small space! - God bless you, Lucinda

Thank you for this lovely reflection Kathleen. I enjoyed reading about your childhood and your trip up the coast with your grandson. What a special and wonderful time for both of you. Paying attention to place resonated with me as I have moved from NJ to MA recently. It helped me realize I need to be more mindful about my new surroundings even as I miss NJ. Finally, I was able to listen to Deep Time Walk. It was very interesting...talk about the slow work of God! Stephan Harding gave me a new perspective of the eons before us and the inter connectedness of all life. Thank you for bringing it to us. - Natalie

Thank you again, Kathleen. An Episcopal priest friend of mine once said to me when I was so unhappy in my Albuquerque year, "Grow where you are planted" And, yes, things like that do shift the, "I'm in the wrong place." I grew to love ABQ. Peace and blessings, - Lucille