The Name of Jesus

This week I am experimenting with using Jesus as a mantra. A mantra is a short prayer repeated over and over until it “settles into your soul like a nest (Henri Nouwen’s image).” Nouwen goes on to say,

“The quiet repetition of a single word can help us to descend with the mind into the heart. This repetition has nothing to do with magic. It is not meant to throw a spell on God or to force him into hearing us. On the contrary, a word of sentence repeated frequently can help us to concentrate, to move to the center, to create an inner stillness and thus to listen to the voice of God.”

I’ve chosen “Jesus” as my prayer partly because I am strangely uncomfortable with his name. For some reason speaking it, hearing it, sounds tinny, shallow and devoid of the intimacy I desire and know with him. I hear others say it, or sing it and it sounds flaky. Perhaps I am jealous. I mean do they really have the kind of intimacy with him that I have, that I long for? I like to use pet names for him, like savior, master, lover, or my Jesus. I wish I could call him Josh. “Jesus” just seems so Christiany. I mean it’s not even how his parents would have said his name, Yeshua. I know, I’m pretty messed up. I guess I feel the same way about my wife’s name. It is rare I ever call her Elaine. That is for people who don’t know her as honey, or lover. It sounds funny and uncomfortable coming out of my mouth, like I am angry or something. Though I have also known how hearing your name on loving lips can be a powerful thing.

My experiment began Sunday in service, inviting everyone to focus on his name for a few moments. Then yesterday I prayed Jesus over and over as I walked the labyrinth, all the way into the heart of God and all the way back out to the world. I thought of the song, "Take the name of Jesus with you." I'd have sung it, but I don't know how it goes! Then last night as I went to bed, I counted his name on rosary beads, twice around. On the beads that separate each decade I prayed "Protect us Lord, as we stay awake, watch over us as we sleep, that awake we may keep watch with Christ, and asleep rest in his peace." All in all a great way to fall asleep!

My hope is that in praying Jesus as a mantra, I will become comfortable with his name, and more than that, there will be a sweetness, a fullness divested to it.

Rosary

“Would it be too much trouble to have you open this case? I’d like to see the rosaries.”
“That case?” the dealer asked. “Let me get the key.”
I stood wondering if I seemed foolish, if she thought I had a strange fetish or something. Perhaps it’s my upbringing, third generation Pentecostal, about as protestant as they come. When my family hears about my experiences with ancient Christian spirituality, they often wonder if I’m becoming Catholic. I bounced on the balls of my feet nervously looking at other items.
I had been agitated walking around the expansive Bay City Antique Center. Dueling goals prodded me. One – to get out of earshot of the loud woman at the front counter, forced me to move quickly, eyes flitting from case to case looking for my treasure. This time, my mood was not helped by booth after booth, room after room, floor after floor devoid of the object of my search. They were full of Americana, kitsch, and collectables.
Occasionally something would catch my eye. A deco counter that one day graced a thirties bar, or theater back wall struck me in one room. A pince-nez in a case turned out to be no where near my prescription. A set of golf clubs set me imagining myself on the course in knickerbockers and argyles. When I’d seen enough, and I’d had enough of my mood, I asked to see the rosaries.
“This case is the worst in the shop,” the dealer returned.
I apologized and pointed to the one I wanted to see. The tag said it was “well used,” that was what I valued: the experience, the sensual devotion, and the passion of another’s life for their God worn into wooden beads.
Gingerly, lovingly, I guided the beads from the case. As I touched a wooden bead, I felt connected spiritually to the heart and devotion of the Holy Church Universal. The emptiness that had marked my day – made me grumpy, agitated – was filled with joy, a rushing joy, a silent river. My heart began to thump. Through the emotion and vibration, I was able only to count to seven.
“Why are there so few beads between the stations of the cross?” the dealer asked.
I had only just processed the number and whispered, “It’s Anglican, they have weeks instead of decades.”
I’d never seen an Anglican rosary in person, though it is an Anglican prayer I pray with my rosary.
I left in a new spirit. I didn’t buy it.
“I can’t spend that much with out talking to my wife,” I said. Just touching it and the discovery was enough.

Communion and rosary

Today and tomorrow, Elaine and I are in Lansing for District Council. We got up at five a.m. to get here (I just got up from a nice nap). We got a little lost coming into Lansing, with us both being tired and cranky that wasn't fun.

We joined the morning service in time for communion but not in time to be served the elements. As Brother Leach spoke about the significance of the body and the blood, I felt I was missing it. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my plastic rosary. Elaine gave me a look; she doesn't want the other pastors thinking I'm a catholic or something. I held the crucifix, clutched in-between my thumb and fist. There was something very moving about physically holding the suffering Christ. I guess that is some of the power of communion isn't it? I wept to feel him, not just the icon of him, but Christ himself suffering for me.

Rosary

Chuck, my spiritual director, is getting ready to retire and move to his cabin. His office is getting bare. While meeting with him this week, he gave me an old plastic rosary he had in his office. I have found not only the rythem meaningful as I have prayed it, but just feeling the beads is for me a connection to the prayer. Even in the midst of doing other things, I am reminded of his presence by the bead between my fingers. I wonder if Brother Lawrence felt the same way with a spoon in his hand.

Articles helpful to me

Meditations on a sore throat.

Ahg, I am so sick. I have a sore throat and chills and fever. This is the third day, I managed to get through service yesterday and then slept from noon until morning mostly straight through. We went to the doctor today, and he prescribed something, so I thought I could go work for a while at the church office. Elaine said I should nap but I didn't listen to her. She was right!

After filing and writing my thoughts for the lectionary blog, I started to have chills. I couldn't get warm, I never can, but I couldn't get the church above 65 while I was there.

Long story short I started walking around the walls of the church where the heat registers are, absorbing what warmth they afforded. Strangely the setting sun's light filtering through trees and windows also ministered warmth to me.

I don't have a rosary yet, but there were 10 windows around the church so as I walked I prayed, 'Lord Jesus, son of God have mercy on me a sinner." Now I don't know much of the protestant rosary, since I don't have one yet, but after every 10 I said the Lord's Prayer. As I did I meditated on the passion of Christ. The mercy of Christ and meditations on his death and suffering were powerful to me. Was he cold like I was, did he struggle like Bill did when his body gave out from cancer?

Lord thank you for beating death!

[Listening to: Dancin in My Head - Miss Angie - Head On (02:56)]