A paper Chartres-style labyrinth diagram had been given to the builders. Thanks to Robert Ferré (www.labyrinth-enterprises.com), the correct measurements were shared. Together with the architect who had never seen a labyrinth before, we came up with a diagram for the dimensions and placement of the first-ever permanent indoor labyrinth in Myanmar.

Day by day, right behind the workers carrying bags of sand, I would walk up the five flights of newly built stairs.

At first, all I could do was to check on the progress of the floor construction.

But then one happy day, I saw more. The workers seemed as pleased as I!

We checked to make sure that the measurements were accurate. Thankfully, they were perfect!

Now, every day is more exciting than the last as more and more of the labyrinth appears. First came the outer turns.

Then more of pathway.

Next, the crown (as the architect here calls it) was installed.

The center was saved for last.

I walked the pathway to make sure all was as it should be. My prayers for all those who would come and pray this labyrinth flowed freely all the way to the center and back out! The next step will be filling in the dividing lines with a black material, shaping jade color terrazzo stone to fill in the path, and installing yellow terrazzo stone around the outside.

I’m leaving the country now, so I won’t be able to watch more of this labyrinth’s birth.  I can’t wait to be back to walk it with the seminary community during its dedication in June!

The cross at the center. The beginning of all the measurements.

Prayer: May all who work build this labyrinth and all who walk it be blessed by Your Presence, dear God. Amen!

Question for reflection: If you could be the first person to walk a new labyrinth, what would you pray for?

Scriptural Touchstone: “You gave me a place for my steps under me, and my feet did not slip.”

I would like to share a homily (and accompanying images) that I preached this morning in chapel.

Greeting and Introduction

…I would like to especially thank you for your prayers during my period of convalescence since November 2010. God has been answering those prayers for the return of my health, slowly, in God’s own time.

This morning I would like to share with you what God has been teaching me through my suffering and encourage you as you experience whatever suffering is a part of your life.

Question for Reflection

Someone has said, the best question we can ask one another is, “What are you suffering?” It gets at the heart of our human experience. If your best friend, or someone who loves you and whom you trust asked you, “What suffering is a part of your life right now?” What would you answer? Take thirty seconds to consider.

Telling My Story

The Apostle Paul, who suffered much in his life and his ministry, wrote these words, “Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.”  I would like to share with you what these verse have come to mean to me.

In November 2010, after two wonderfully rewarding and exhausting weeks of ministry

and teaching in the Democratic Republic of Congo, my husband and I flew France.

I was feeling so happy and alive.

We checked into a hotel in Paris where we were planning to rest for three days before continuing home to the United States. The first night, I woke up and could not breathe. We feared that I was having a heart attack.

While Tim asked me questions about my symptoms, I left my body.

We were staying on the fifth floor of the hotel and strangely, I saw my body laid out flat, with my feet first, go right through the closed window, and as if on a conveyer belt, move towards the horizon. When the conveyor belt had taken me a long way from the hotel, I suddenly understood that I was dying. Without thinking, I screamed “NO!!!! I have a husband, I have two sons!”

Immediately, the conveyor belt stopped. Then, it jerked into reverse, and took me back through our closed hotel window where I reentered my body.

When we got to the hospital they explained that a blood clot that had formed in my leg on the long airplane ride had broken loose, gone to my heart, splattered and then gone to my lungs where it had killed lung cells. That’s why it was difficult for me to breathe. They told me I was lucky to be alive, and that it would take at least a year to regain my health.

My life had changed in an instant. I had no idea how much physical and emotional suffering was to come as my body and spirit tried to heal.

God has used the past fifteen months of healing to teach me more about what Paul meant when he said, “Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.” (Romans 12:12)

Reflections on Suffering from a Christian Perspective

Rejoicing in hope, as you know, is not always easy.

Our Christian hope is not that we won’t have suffering, but that God will use our suffering for good. Suffering changes us. If we allow it to, it can help us become more sensitive to the suffering of others. When we have made peace with our own suffering, we are no longer so afraid of the suffering of others. We can be with them and help them in the midst of their pain.  We can sit with them, pray with them, and love them in whatever ways God shows us they need.

I remember one day when the physical pain my body was overwhelming. On a scale of 0 to ten, with zero meaning I felt no pain and 10 meaning that all I felt was pain, my pain ranked at an eight or maybe a nine.  I was with a friend and we had prayed together, asking for healing in my body. When we were done we sat and looked at each other, saying nothing. Then I started to cry. “Kate, do you the pain will ever go away?” I asked. I am sure each of us remembers a time when we asked that question, “Will this pain ever go away?”

My friend answered me very wisely—and with great compassion. “Yes, Jill,” she said kindly, “but it is going to take time.” I clung to her words, even though my fear made me doubt that they were true. Sometimes we lose our hope; that is when we need others to hope for us.

Our Christian hope is not that we won’t have suffering, but that God will use our suffering for good. Suffering changes us. If we allow it to, it can help us become more sensitive to the suffering of others. When we have made peace with our own suffering, we are no longer so afraid of the suffering of others. We can be with them and help them in the midst of their pain.  We can sit with them, pray with them, and love them in whatever ways God shows us they need. Our suffering is not without fruit. If we allow it, God can use our suffering for good.

Suffering reminds us that life is far beyond our control. In our need, we can turn to God who was willing to come to this world and suffer himself. Nothing that we suffer is greater than what Jesus suffered. Because Jesus experienced suffering of every kind—physical suffering when he was tortured, spiritual suffering when he felt abandoned by God, emotional suffering when people he loved disappointed him as his disciples did in the Garden of Gethsemane, and relational suffering such as when his friend Lazarus died, we can have confidence that in the midst of our suffering God can understands what we are going through. Our hope right now is this—we are not alone in our suffering. Our ultimate hope is that one day there will be no more suffering of any kind.

Paul urges us to rejoice in hope, but he also reminds us of our need to be patient when we suffer.

Being Patient in Suffering: Illustrating Our Hope

Being patient in suffering is a lot like crossing a busy road here in Myanmar.

Every evening Tim and I have to get from one side of Kabar Aye Pagoda Road to the other.

First, we wait for an opening in the flow of the busy, oncoming three lanes of traffic. When it is possible, we get to the center white line and wait.

Looking back at where we’ve come from is of no use, we have to focus on the traffic that is coming towards us, making sure not to get hit, and waiting for just the right moment to continue across three more lanes of busy traffic to the other side.

Sometimes when I stand on the white line in the middle of those six lanes of traffic, even though my husband tells me that it’s safe to cross and urges me to keep going, I’m too afraid. Then, he has to take my hand and lead me to the other side.

Whenever we get all the way across that busy road safely, relief and gratitude well up in me!

Being patient in suffering is not so different! When we suffer, we try to find a way to get to the other side of it. We set off, finding a way to distance ourselves a little from the pain we’re experiencing.

It’s as if we make it to the center white line. But then, we find our way blocked by the oncoming challenges that are such a normal part of our lives.

Sometimes these difficulties keep coming and can make it impossible for us to move for a long time, so our suffering continues. Looking back to all we’ve already suffered only makes the current suffering greater, so we find it much more useful to look in the other direction, seeking a break that will let us cross to the other side of the physical, emotional or spiritual pain we’re enduring.

Sometimes an opening presents itself, but we’re so afraid that we don’t move, or take advantage of it.

Sometimes, someone who cares for us and knows how much we are suffering, takes our hand and helps us get safely to the other side. When our suffering finally ends, we feel both relief and gratitude.

Applying the Message

What are you suffering? Right now? I know that God cares about whatever difficulties are a part of your life this morning. I would like to offer us a minute of silence in which we can each talk to God about our suffering and also to listen to what God might want to say to us as He is present to our suffering.

In silence, let us pray.

(one minute of silence)

Amen.

Your embrace encircles me.

This spiritual landscape opens

to welcome other visitors,

seen only with the eyes of faith.

Gratitude,

hope,

encouragement

spring up from this fertile soil.

This beauty is all that is needed

while we move on.

What a privilege it was to introduce labyrinth prayer to this group of young leaders.

We didn’t have a labyrinth to walk, so we walked with our fingers and pens.

The poem, “Safe and Secure” synthesizes the prayer experience of one of the class members as explained to me through a translator.

Question for reflection: What is my prayer experience as I walk the labyrinth with my feet, eyes or hand?

Prayer: May the messages I receive be integrated into my life. May I live out of my relationship with You. Amen.

Scriptural Touchstone: Psalms 16:11

You show me the path of life.
In your presence there is fullness of joy;
in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

Special thanks to Alain Kilar for donating finger labyrinths of his amazing photo of the Chartres labyrinth (in the lead photo here)
to Faith, Hope and Love Global Ministries. We are happy to share then around the globe.  www.alainkilar.ch

In 2010, after a permit was granted for the construction of a new seminary building, the labyrinth had to be taken up to make way for water tank that was needed for the project. A vision for an even more permanent labyrinth, one that wouldn’t be able to be removed if land was needed for another purpose, began to form. What if an in-floor prayer labyrinth could be placed in part of  the 5^th floor chapel and multipurpose room?

The labyrinth entrance will be below the central window on the top floor.

In late 2011, the decision was made; a new labyrinth would be installed! Since coming back in January, we have met with stone merchants and engineers to discuss the dimensions,

placement,

and materials for the labyrinth.

Concrete floor that will be covered with terrazzo stone. The labyrinth will be jade-green with black lines. The chapel floor will be the yellow seen in the photo below.

Next week, construction of this labyrinth will begin. The team here is very excited. We would appreciate your prayers for this project.

Jill, Engineer, Floor Specialist, Treasurer

Question for reflection: What spiritual tools could you share with those who are seeking to know and love God better?

Prayer: God, bless this pathway of prayer. Bless those who build it and those who come to pray on it. May its pathway lead us all, step by step, closer to You, the Center of All.

Scriptural Touchstone: Isaiah 30:18, 21
Therefore the LORD waits to be gracious to you; therefore God will rise up to show mercy to you.
For the LORD is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.
…and when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying,
“This is the way; walk in it.”

]]> http://jillgeoffrion.wordpress.com/2012/02/03/labyrinth-construction-to-start-soon/feed/ 4 jillgeoffrion Headline Headline Headline http://jillgeoffrion.wordpress.com/2012/01/28/what-is-the-power-of-one-word/ http://jillgeoffrion.wordpress.com/2012/01/28/what-is-the-power-of-one-word/#comments Sat, 28 Jan 2012 05:09:35 +0000 jillgeoffrion http://jillgeoffrion.wordpress.com/?p=113 ]]>

Mingalabar, the customary greeting here, was the only word we ever spoke to each other. But we spoke it often, as I passed her home on the way to a walk around the lake in the late afternoon and again as I made my way home through her neighborhood. The simple greeting was usually accompanied by big smiles on both her face and mine, and waving with two hands (a sign of respect) by both of us. We couldn’t speak to each other, but we clearly could connect.

She was obviously sick. Most nights in October and November she lay quietly outside our her home, getting a bit of fresh air, and watching whatever activity happened on the out of the way street. Her house was simple. Members of her multigenerational family were always coming and going. Her husband often stood at the end of the street and silently looked into the distance. When we came back in January he began responding to our greetings as we passed him there. His wife, however, was no longer outside. We could see her lying listlessly on the floor inside, turned away from the door with her face towards the illuminated television. We always called out, “Mingalaba!” and when she could, she would turn and exchange the greeting.

Yesterday, we noticed a change when we approached the home. People were talking in loud voices, sounding upset. We called out our usual greeting, but the older man didn’t even hear or see us, even though he was looking directly at us. A woman, sitting in the chair that the our friend had usually occupied, was crying. We stopped, but lacked the ability to do more that try to express with our faces that we understood something bad was happening. Feeling the powerlessness of being able to communicate more, we continued on.

Then suddenly, we heard the shriek that needs no translation. Women all over the world make the same sound when someone they love has died. It pierced the quiet of the neighborhood. Then, a woman, emerging from the home, ran to other women who were standing on the corner, her wailing growing louder and expressing more of the grief she was experiencing.

Feeling helpless but very concerned, we looked on. Our hearts, joined to this family by nightly greetings, felt a longing to help in some way, to be present in this experience of pain. But we could say nothing comprehensible and we were unaware of the appropriate cultural protocol. “This isn’t our place,” was all I could think to say to Tim. We turned and walked on in silence, reaching the pathway that skirts the lake, feeling what comes so naturally when one encounters the reality of death. Quietness, resistance, sadness for those who are left behind, and general disorientation overtook us. After some time, we shared our thoughts, memories, and concern.

As we headed home about forty minutes later, we once again passed the family’s home. Fourteen women sat silently in the porch area. I thought of the church ladies in the movie Lars and the Real Girl, who came to sit with Lars when his beloved was dying. “This is what we do,” one said, “we wait together.” The husband, standing to the side, greeted us with a weak, “Mingalaba” which we returned, along with an English sentence expressing our concern (the words which of course he didn’t understand). We wanted to communicate that we understood that something very sad had taken place and that we cared. Thank heavens communication is approximately 93% non-verbal.

As we continued on, we encountered a young woman who spoke a little English. She told us that the woman had just died of a heart problem. We asked that she express our sadness to the family. She thanked us for our kindness. We told her we would pray for them, folding our hands in front our hearts to show what we meant. She assumed the same prayer position, and we bowed to one another.

One word is enough to bring relationship into being.

One word is enough to create a bridge of mutual care.

I never took a photo of our friend. I was waiting. I wanted our greetings to create more connection so that when I did take her photo it would be a portrait, not a snap shot. I wanted that image to express the beauty that I experienced in her greetings. I wanted it to speak of her living and her dying. Interestingly, I do not regret never having taken that picture. Her image is imprinted in my heart, which is enough.

And it all started and ended with one word.

Questions for reflection: What words of connection have I spoken today? How can the words I use today bring me closer to those I encounter?

Prayer: God, may the words I speak create bridges over which I can travel to others and over which they can travel to me. Amen.

Later, when we arrived at a house church, I was ready “to see whatever there was to see.” Making my way into the kitchen to greet the pastor’s wife, I was startled and delighted to find a 16 day old baby.

I asked if I could hold her. She and I looked into each other’s eyes. I felt as if I was witnessing something beyond words, something beautiful, deep and true.

All through the service, I kept returning to the wonderful feeling of holding and connecting with that new life. My heart felt completely open to her, completely curious, completely smitten! I wanted to look into her eyes some more.

After the service, I watched as others held her. Then I got my turn. She was sound asleep, so I lay her on my knees.

Looking down, I saw a vision of complete trust. She slept so soundly, so peacefully, so securely in my lap.

Of course I struggle to trust God, like every adult I know. But in that moment of seeing, I was given an image to encourage and inform  me. I am just as safe and secure in God’s care as that precious life was in mine. I knew it then, and even now, four days later, as I recall the feel of that baby’s warmth, I know something I didn’t know when I arrived at church. I know that no matter what happens (and we all know many things happen in this life), I can find a feeling of trust in God that is true.

Question for Reflection: If God reminded me to look carefully, to look care-full-y, what might I be alert enough to see today?

Prayer: Thanks be to You, God. Thanks for beauty that is beyond words, truth that is shared by looking into the eyes of another, love that has no strings, and trust. Help me to rest as I trust in You and Your love.

Sunrise behind a pagdoa

The day starts beautifully. I stopped writing an email (internet connections are fastest before 8:00 am)  to appreciate the rising of the sun.

On the way to school, I gaze out the window of my taxi. I consider the lives of those around me.

Through the lens of my camera I see the incredible blessings of our lives–meaningful work,

students who are eager to learn,

and a shared value of using your gifts in service of others.

After class, I walk through the neighborhood. The construction of a new classroom building is the fulfillment of many years of prayers.

Arriving at the home of a friend, we share a cup of tea and a conversation that takes us to the heights and depths of our lives. A sense of gratitude for our friendship of twenty-plus year wells up within me.

When the community gathers for worship, my voice joins many others. Singing lifts my spirit into the presence of God; I let myself feel my body resonating with the shared sound and message.

Tim waits for me as I stop to enjoy the beauty of a woven hat sitting on a pole. Beauty is everywhere! It’s a joy to see it.

Sharing greetings, laughter and bits of news with a woman from the Peace Studies Center who I worked with two years ago is an unexpected surprise.

On the way “home” to our hotel, I take in the sounds, sights, and smells of the urban streets. I wonder about the challenges of feeding a family.

Two colleagues have been attending a conference held where we live. They join me for an hour of discussion, questions, and laughter.

Afterwards, I pause to sleep. The fullness of my life can feel almost overwhelming. Gratitude seems to keep me grounded. Being in the habit of pausing when I notice that something important, beautiful, or out of the ordinary makes the fullness vibrant.

Question for Reflection: When did I last pause to appreciate what is happening? What would help me to do this more?

Prayer: God, for the gifts of this day, a gorgeous sunrise, a friend’s loving smile, an important question to ponder, the joy of community, and rest, I give You thanks. Amen.

]]> http://jillgeoffrion.wordpress.com/2012/01/20/what-makes-me-pause/feed/ 1 jillgeoffrion Headline Tim teaching New classroom building under construction http://jillgeoffrion.wordpress.com/2012/01/16/why-bother-going-to-church/ http://jillgeoffrion.wordpress.com/2012/01/16/why-bother-going-to-church/#comments Mon, 16 Jan 2012 04:35:44 +0000 jillgeoffrion http://jillgeoffrion.wordpress.com/?p=64 ]]> Here are a few answers to the question, “Why bother going to church?” that came to mind yesterday morning as I sat in the worship service.

A weekly infusion of Mystery helps me stay balanced.

No matter where I am in the world, I am never alone. Brothers and sisters in the faith always welcome me into their community. (A special thanks to Alan for inviting us to this particular worship service.)

I love being reminded of the Biblical stories that speak to my heart. I love pondering them.

There are often surprises that delight. In Asia, you approach the altar with bare feet. That’s what I call a treat!

Beauty calls with a voice that can strengthen in the most amazing ways.

Plaque Caption: Blind missionary to the blind...

Stories–verbal, visual or embodied–inspire me.

Tabernacle Carving

My soul is fed.

Beforehand and afterwards, there are always people to meet, and conversations to be shared.

There are some other significant reasons that I embodied yesterday: singing connects my heart and mind, praying for all those people and concerns that I am carrying in my heart is encouraged and supported, appreciating the sense of history and the unseen communion of saints that are with us fosters a sense of awe, kneeling is a posture that reminds me of who God is to me, hearing the stories of Scripture in new ways based on my current life circumstances happens, pondering my life in the presence of God occurs naturally when I sit still for twenty minutes (if the sermon doesn’t hold my attention, I still use the time to let God influence my perspectives), being challenged to let go of the past and live into God’s deep desires is something I value and need.

Question for reflection: Based on your most recent experience of being in worship, how do you answer the question, “Why do I bother going to church?”

Prayer: God, thank You for helping me to get to church yesterday. Thank You for meeting me there–in my heart, the Scriptures, the light, the wine and bread, the images, the stories, and those who worshipped with me. Amen!

Student in one of Tim's classes

Learning something new is hard work. First of all, it takes desire, then the right material, an open mind, and often a lot of will power to stick with one’s commitment when new concepts don’t make sense right away or demand change. I was reminded of this as I watched with admiration the students in Tim’s Friday afternoon class listening to his lecture, participating in the exercises he proposed, responding when he asked how concepts applied in their contexts, and asking him questions so that they could wrap their minds around the ideas he was proposing.

Like the students, we are working to hard to understand many things as well. We know that what we see is conditioned by how we have been trained to look, but that doesn’t help us know how to interpret what we see. How for instance, might I understand the purpose and meaning of a tree shrine with used light bulbs stuck into it’s bark?

When others speak, we hear sounds, but we can’t decipher them, unless the person is graciously using their second, third, or fourth language, English. The smell of curry simmering in our kitchen directs my mind to my favorite Indian restaurant in Minneapolis, or Paris, but its origin is not from across the ocean, it’s from across the border. Things are the same and “different”.

Working in a cross-cultural environment calls for a lot of humility, a good sense of humor, and an inquisitive mind. Wherever we travel we have found friends and colleagues who are very willing to help us understand more about what we are experiencing–if we ask. I’ve learned, often the hard way, that even when I think I know “what is going on”, it’s best to ask a trusted interpreter from inside the culture whose answer will shed light of the validity or inadequacy of my ideas. The hard work is letting in what is real (not what I want to be real), being willing to rethink ideas, and when appropriate incorporating the new learning into my life. True learning demands change. It’s hard work–and like Tim’s students, I think it’s worth it.

Question for reflection: What am I seeking to learn? How committed am I to the process of discovering what is real? How am I readying myself for the changes the new learning will invite?

Prayer: God, for the privilege of being alive, I give You thanks. Thank You for the desire to learn, friends who are willing to teach, and the courage to let experiences form me. As I change, I pray I will more fully reflect You. Amen.

Our late afternoon walks take us across six lanes of busy traffic (no crosswalk), through a neighborhood with high-end and very low-end homes, and beside a tranquil lake, its shores littered with trash. Tim and I enjoy talking about the events of the day, what we’ve been reading, and upcoming ministry opportunities.

Neighborhood soccer game

Contrasts reign along our route. For example, just before we pass the biggest mansion that boasts a very high security fence and what looks through tinted windows a lot like an indoor swimming pool, we gingerly make our way around a small pack of very mangy dogs who have claimed the spot as their own. Every time I see them lounging in the sun on the bamboo-backed bench I think back to my doctor’s pleas that I consider a rabies vaccine. Their sores and patches of hairless skin frighten and repel me.

Lover’s Lane might be an apt description for the walkway beside the water. Young couples huddle behind umbrellas that block out the bright sun as they sit together on metal benches talking and touching. They often look at us with curiosity, and sometimes laugh when we greet them in the local language. Their physicality reminds us to reach for each other’s hand, and enjoy the connection and comfort our relationship brings.

We join all manner of humanity on the paved walkway: ex-patriots jogging in their shorts and t-shirts, police or military officers with their guns, children dressed in ragged clothes picking up plastic bottles, overweight businessmen in suits wiping the sweat from their faces with towels, buddhist monks in maroon robes, groups of youth sitting together playing guitars, men dressed in fatigues fishing with extraordinarily long wooden poles, day laborers directing water from a bursting spigot as they try to wipe away a ten or more hours worth worth of mud on their arms and legs, senile grandparents being led by members of their family, an older gentleman who walks with a golf club as a cane and seems to hold court, workers cutting the grasses with machete-like tools, friends sharing a laugh, men and women bidding good-bye to the sun. As the ball of fire descends, we are all happy to share time outdoors when the tropical heat is least oppressive.

While there are happy moments of connection and greeting, there can also be tense moments when a band of young men, high on drugs, or passing a bottle, approach. What seems important is to live all the moments. It’s harder than one might think.

After a long day in a culture not our own, it can be tiring to look at the complexity of a society as it manifests itself all around us. We can lose ourselves in conversation, which of course is an enjoyable thing to do, but can also be a defense. Letting in the effects of poverty, suffering and social inequality is never easy. Just as challenging can be making the effort to stop and let the beauty of the moment reorient us. This week the pampas grass is in bloom; you have to look out towards the islands on the lake to notice.  The sunsets, gorgeous as they are, also remind us that if we don’t keep moving we’ll be crossing those six lanes of crazy traffic in the dark. There are so many ways to not be present right where we are!

Yesterday, I spied a man sprawled out behind a bougenvalia bush. I found myself wanting to look away, to “give him his privacy” (even though he was passed out!), to pretend that he wasn’t there. Truly “seeing” suffering means feeling its truth. But I was surprised to discover that there was also a temptation to let the magnificent sunset go unappreciated. To look at it meant having to stop and turn slightly, and such intentionality strangely seemed a burden when our rhythm pushed us forward.

The world with all its complexity is our home. It doesn’t seem as if it would take much effort to be fully alive right where we are; but it does. There is the seeing that lets in more than light, it is present with what is real in that moment and space– whom we are with, and what surrounds us. I am trying to see these things with my eyes, but also with my heart. I wonder why I redirect myself when fear or awe invite me to pause.

Question for reflection: What is right in front of you, or all around you, that you would like to see more clearly? What makes it difficult for you to see with your heart?

Prayer: God, for this breath that makes life possible, I give You thanks. May I be brave enough to let both terror and amazement help me to see more clearly and deeply.