Yesterday, I decided that I needed to change my cover photo on Facebook; my old one had Christmas themes. I had Epiphany on the brain, or more specifically Epiphany Eve. I hadn't snapped a picture that would have been good for Epiphany on Christmas Eve, so I looked back through my trove of pictures. I chose this one from an Epiphany star project that I did for a church a few years ago; I chose this one because of the twinkly lights:
When I chose this picture yesterday, I couldn't see the words on the star. I feel like I've gotten an important message. Of course, back in 2017 when I took this picture, I also felt like I was getting an important message. I don't think it bothers me that the message hasn't changed. I am pondering saying yes to a whole different set of questions five years later.
It is strange to be here at this last onground intensive to earn a certificate in spiritual direction, to think about what has changed and what hasn't in these past two years since I started. My view of spiritual direction is so different than that of many of my fellow students and our teachers. While we all understand how we are not counselors in the sense of psychiatry, I worry that one on one direction goes too much into that territory.
My group that is finishing met during the last session of the day yesterday to talk about best practices and logistics. Since I have psychologist friends who are interested in the possibility, I asked if any spiritual directors went into practice with psychologists. Later, the workshop leader asked me how I envisioned my soon-to-be future as a spiritual director, and I said that I was more interested in working with groups of people and leading them through practices, like lectio/visio divina, which might help them hear the voice of God or sense God's presence more directly. He said, "Now your question about going into practice with a psychologist makes more sense."
It is strange to be here, knowing that I am heading off in a different, yet connected, direction (an MDiv) at the same time. It is strange to be here in this old, ramshackle house, which triggers my yearnings for old houses, while at the same time, I've had to make arrangements for the Monday closing (hopefully) of the historic house that I have been trying to sell. It is strange to be here as the anniversary of the attack on the Capitol draws near--that was an epiphany, and I'm still trying to sort out what to do with what we learned that day.
At yesterday's evening worship in the seminary chapel, we heard about homecomings of all sorts, that God's heart is our home. What an interesting image, this idea of living in God's heart. What would that look like? What would that sound like? Does blood pump through the chambers of God's heart or something else? There's something very Julian of Norwich about the image.
The height of the Christmas season comes to a close with Epiphany, since most of us don't observe Candlemas on Feb. 2, which is the true close of the Christmas season. Each Christmas season I am thinking of the ways that God gets our attention: a visit by a single angel, a celestial choir of angels, the steady light of a new, yet distant star, dreams. I am thinking of the angel warning Joseph in a dream to flee to Egypt, and he does. Did other parents in Bethlehem that night dream of angels with strange messages about their infant boys? Did they remember their dreams? Were they haunted by the memory?
I think of God, keeping us sheltered in the Divine heart, God who must develop new ways of getting our attention. What does that look like in our modern age? How do we differentiate which dreams come from God and which ones should be discarded?
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