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Under the Oak Trees of Mamre Genesis 18

Under the Oak Trees of Mamre                                Genesis 18

 

We have journeyed long between wilderness sun and shade

dragging Terah’s great vision with God-promises to match.

The years of hope and despair

grind out my soul

like mortar and pestle.

Give it up, Abram.

It’s done.

No descendants like stars.

 

Three visitors. “Welcome!”

Hospitality is survival out here.

“Get the flour, knead the bread old woman!”

“All of you who are mine –

kill the calf, smooth the cheese,

the richness of life on offer. Now!”

Earthly feast for heavenly presence.

Our poverty disguised.

 

I hobble.

A craggy old, baggy old

sack of bones

shrivelled by Hagar’s derision.

Hollowness remembered daily

in the shadow of her strapping young boy.

 

“Sarai will bear you a child”, the strangers said,

“before the year is out”.

 

I couldn’t help the laughter.

Beyond dry bitterness

an ironic splutter.

 

And so we laid together

like two open halves of a late summer peach,

drizzled with honey and juicy sweetness.

Just two old people

who love each other still.

 

Legacy for  generations.

 

Sharonne Price

March 2018

 

 

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The introduction

 

I was supposed to introduce myself.

“Where do you come from?” they asked.

Such a simple thing, but I was confused.

A stumbling response – “I come from here.”

 

Truth is – I come from dust

whisked up in a whirly whirly

from remnant stars.

 

I come from love.

From play, from pleasure,

from sanctuary and wholeness.

 

I come from pomegranate

oozing red fruitfulness,

vivid and intricate.

 

I come from ash

fragments from a flame

retreating to ember softness.

 

I come from water,

rivers past rocks,

slow, slow drifting to sea.

 

 

I come from God.

God’s own.

Wind-shaped for purpose.

 

I was right.

I come from here.

 

Sharonne Price

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On inspiration…

 

From Jane Campion, renowned Kiwi screen writer and director:

“Inspiration is always a visitor into a relaxed space inside of you. It comes when you’re not trying.

Creativity is quite insecure and shy of itself, and it needs a lot of love and acceptance around it. If you come up with an idea and you go, “That’s not an idea – that’s hopeless!” – then straight away the little creatures will run off again. So it’s a good idea to be unjudging of anything that arrives, just suspending unbelief, and let things be.”

From a documentary on the making of “Top of the Lake”.

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Hermits are hard to come by

Hermits are hard to come by these days.

The town of Saalfelden (Austria) recently advertised for a hermit to occupy the hermitage which is over three hundred and fifty years old and built into a cave just above Lichtenburg castle.

There are a few conditions though. You have to have a “Christian outlook”, cope with no heating and no running water, and be prepared to chat with the numerous visitors to the site.

Imagine the job interview:

“What makes you interested in this opportunity?”

“Well, I like my own company. I could use some peace and quiet right now. I have some spiritual work to do and this time of silence and contemplation is what I long for. I need to hear what God has to say to me.”

“That sounds great. There would be some deprivations – you know – like no heat, no running water. How would you cope with that?”

“I think I could manage that for the summer months, anyway. People have lived here like this before, right?”

“Right. Um, we have a few expectations.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. We’d like you to look like a real hermit.”

“A real hermit?”

“Yes.”

“You mean sackcloth and ashes and all that stuff?”

“Oh no. A twenty-first century hermit – long hair, jeans, ruddy complexion, but holy – you know what I mean?”

“Mm. Holy – I think I get it.”

“And – we need you to talk to the tourists.”

“Tourists?”

“Yep. Lots of them. They’ll be coming up the mountain in considerable numbers to meet the hermit.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. And we’d expect our hermit to be chatty and approachable – good company. Do you think you could do that?”

 

“Mm.”

“And talk with people about this spiritual place and the spiritual discoveries you are making.”

“Mm.”

“And one final thing – we would like you to sign up with the Austrian Actors’ Guild. Would that be OK?”

…

It would seem that being a hermit is not exactly what it’s cracked up to be.

 

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Humming along

I was sitting on the plane waiting, waiting for a maintenance problem to be fixed.

My neighbour was more cheerful than me. She had her earphones in and was already enjoying the music. She began to sing under her breath, completely oblivious to the fact that although the rest of us could not hear the soundtrack, we could definitely hear her version of it. I recognised the tune. It was “You’ve got a friend”.

I found it hard not to join in.

Maybe the spiritual life is like this. The music may not be heard directly but we pass it on anyway in the way we lead our lives – and the music is sweet!

 

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In the dread of the night

 

In the dread of the night

a bird sings.

From the world beyond sight

something springs.

And ribbons of satin

flash colour and pattern –

I reach out, clutch inwards

and cling.

 

But this flight of the Spirit

won’t be held

in hands grasped too tight

for its spell.

Hope’s quicksilver flicker

will shimmer and shiver,

while the song that it sings

won’t be quelled.

 

So I listen so close

in the dark

while the mopoke calls back

to the lark.

Old sadness and sorrow

soon lifts on the morrow

and sweet birdsong

will herald its path.

©     Sharonne Price March 2018

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Parkland – Good Friday all over again

We’re heading into Holy Week, and I’m bracing myself for the roller coaster ride of emotions that always accompany the rhythm of beautifully planned worship. I have always been disappointed that so many people find Good Friday too hard. They stay away, preferring to celebrate Palm Sunday’s excitement and return to church on Easter Sunday. “See through the pain. Confront realities. Stay present and look death in the face.” That’s been my mantra for years.

So I prepare for the sadness as we remember a death so many centuries ago that has eternal significance.

This morning I opened up my phone to read a New York Times article – “Something about Parkland has  been different” by Jonah Engel Bromwich. It’s another background piece of writing ahead of the student demonstrations planned for Saturday as teenagers rally to ask grown-ups to grow up about gun control.

What Bromwich does is like going to Good Friday services for sixty years. In story after story he simply relates the experiences of survivors – children, teachers, and parents  whose children have been shot. Each story is brief, but it carries not only the story of the day but each person’s struggle to come to terms with its meaning. It’s calmly relentless writing. Each story speaks of the returning horror when there is yet another massacre and the losses re-surface. These people are not angry, so much as beaten. They watch the Parkland developments with intensity. Some of them are joining in. Some say, “Perhaps they’ll succeed where we could not.”

I scroll down the page, and the next suggested articles are about eating fat and losing weight and the secrets of the countries where people live the longest. There are always escapes from empathy and change-making. I wonder what the youthful Parkland activists think about our pre-occupations.

Easter Sunday is the salve for the pain of Good Friday. Christians might do well to hold off celebrating the resurrection glibly ’til we have looked contemporary violence in the face and wept. And gathered courage.

We need more leaders who in humility ride into Jerusalem knowing just how much it is going to cost.

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Colouring between the lines – the gift of faith

I spent time with a much loved friend yesterday. As we may not see each other much in the coming weeks and Christmas is approaching (eek!), we began to review the year that has been. It has been a remarkable and difficult year for her – challenges at work, a resignation, a transition to a whole new career, study that plumbs the depths of the soul, the death of family members, the cleaning out of a house inhabited by the family for over 50 years along with all the memories that accompany it – the list went on. She is a remarkable woman, whose life has not been easy and she handles the emotional storms of her life with apparent ease and grace. 2017 has been like Hurricane Irma for her, yet she always comes back to how good it has been.  I encouraged her to celebrate this magnificent year of resilience at by cleaning off the dining room table and, as she remembered them, to put on butcher’s paper all the examples of joy and sorrow, achievement and transcendence that have been part of 2017. We were talking about loss and William Worden’s fourth task of grieving – ritualising and memorialising as we move on.  Laughing  at the indulgence, she said. It would just be a great scribble!

It reminded me of those days in primary school when the teacher was desperate to find something to keep the class occupied. On a beautiful clean piece of A4 we were to make a scribble with large, generous strokes and then colour in the spaces to create something new.

This is what life’s about, isn’t it? Making something magical out of what seems to be a “hot mess”, learning the art of forgiveness so that relationships have a space to flourish, taking that which we have suffered and moulding it into strength and beauty?

We are “born again” everyday. I think I’ll get my colouring pencils out again.

Sharonne

 

 

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Psalm 77:1-6

Grief has mined my soul

scoured through the gravel, tipped the tress,

exposed the heart,

carved its shape on me forever.

I am laid bare.

Yet …

From this barren centre where not even the roots survive

you have scooped jewels,

shaped and polished,

set the colours in place.

The valuables have been carted away.

I am excavated.

 

And what if …

What if there is only usefulness?

Only product and outcomes and balance sheets?

What if the soft earth never returns?

Will grief define me forever?

 

God, take away this trampling,

this roar of relentless destruction.

God, send the seasons

of predictable pain and joy

that seeds will take hold

and the world will flower again.

Sharonne Price

This poem was written after home visits to a young couple whose baby was dying. It would be the third infant death for them. “She will die soon,” they said, with a  desperate resignation.

The poem was first published in “Behold” magazine,  September- November 2006

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Launching “Soulstice” – Professor Ian Maddocks’ remarks

We had a great time on Monday afternoon, with lots of good friends to share in the celebration. Professor Maddocks was charming as always. He has a way of speaking the truth without offending people. It is a gift. I am very thankful for his generous support of me. Firstly for reading the book under such trying circumstances, and then having kind things to say. I am grateful to Ian Price, Mediacom, Sean (with his passion for Paul Kelly), Pam and Claire for helping with the catering, St Andrew’s Hospital and Evelyn Munoz in particular, Bindy Taylor for taking photos, for the joy of grandchildren sharing in what must be quite bewildering to them, and my exceptional family. What a fortunate woman I am!

With Ian’s permission, I have added his launch speech:

Emeritus Professor Ian Maddocks:
Sharonne – SOULSTICE

I am grateful to Sharonne for the invitation to help launch her book ‘Soulstice’ . For one thing, it has required me to read it.
With eyes increasingly dim I read now only with large magnification, and see letters rather than words, a harking back to childhood, when we spelt words out – C. A. T. – until we were able to see the whole word as a pattern.

The word SOLSTICE speaks of old Sol, the sun. Two times in our life together we have been able to look over the western sea, and follow the Sunsets as they range north and south with the seasons, along the horizon, turning back in spring and autumn at the solstice to start the travel back again…..

But SOUL? How do we put SOUL into the picture. I see soul MEANDERINGS in the same way. For me it wanders in and out, backwards and forwards through ‘soul’ experiences – of awe, guilt, sadness, elation, moments of apparent clarity move on to days of uncertainty.

Sharonne has brought me an understanding of the soul’s meanderings that I have found particularly helpful.
She has provided here a structure – a putting together of souls individual letter to form a pattern with new meaning, and an n invitation to see soul’s wandering as a journey, helping it find direction, even purpose in its progress.

She sets the journey into its parts:
First the intention – the idea – INSPIRATION – how about we …… ???
Often we will find inspiration in stories of other people’s journeys . Sharonne uses rich metaphors of those who tackled difficult mountains or trackless seas, but faces us also with equally determined intentions and difficult passages undertaken in domestic or suburban life. She calls up a remarkable range of reading , to bring us a wealth of illustration and anecdote; by these, we may see how other journeys, other heroes and helpers can refresh our own journey.

Her wealth of illustration reminded me of the classic erudite Presbyterian sermon.

Next is the preparation, getting ready for the journey, a time for that great virtue HOPE ,”hope we have as an anchor for the soul’; but I see hope not as something to tie us down, rather is it one of the 3 tenses of Christ – Christ past: Faith; Christ present: Love; Christ future: Hope. An active quality which is our responsibility to help get ready, to be prepared so that things are ready for Christ the tiger to spring.

Then comes the start.- the DECISION: let’s go now!

Now on to the travel – Sharonne calls it, rightly, the pilgrimage, one that calls for PERSEVERANCE and HEROISM – finding, in adversity, strengths that we did not know we had.
Pilgrimage is journeying in the company of fellow pilgrims HELPING each other.

I have seen Sharonne as a compulsive helper, but here she uses a long experience to offer us simple tools to make sense of the challenge of helping along the way, for in helping others, we help ourselves.

Finally, we come HOME – The happiest journeys are those that bring us home. Home has many meanings for us, but above all, I think it is the place where we can be most confident of receiving grace and sharing love.

SOULSTICE is a religious book in the best sense of the word, – not preachy but thoughtful. It tackles the important questions of human existence – who am I? Why are things so? WHAT MATTERS?

DIANA asked, ‘WHO IS Sharonne’s book FOR.?’ Clearly, first of all, It is for Sharonne herself – she uses it to help make sense of a long experience in helping roles, bringing in family and personal history and the many changes she has seen in her pilgrimage within the Christian community.
I have found it was written also for me. It touches many questions I have struggled with over the years, and expresses them in ways that had me putting the book aside, pondering past times – when I held back from embarking on a new journey, or lacked perseverance to continue, or failed to offer another person assistance that could have helped. Also times filled with joy and love. I could return to the pages and find renewed heart, new hope and a greater confidence in grace, as Sharonne led me on. You will find, I believe, that it was written for you.

I do not see this as a book to be read at one sitting, or even over a weekend – though you may undertake it so. I have enjoyed taking it in parts, reading it like C A T., but heading always onwards tracking towards home.

So I invite you to share with Sharonne your own appreciation of the journey of life.
I point the good ship Soulstice towards the sea of book-shops and cyber-space, and swing a metaphorical bottle of bubbly against her bow. May many souls travel safely in her care.
Ian Maddocks, 15 May 2017