Spiritual Practices: Welcoming Prayer

One of the compulsions most of us wrestle with is the desire for control.  The COVID-19 pandemic is revealing to all of us our illusion of control.  Layers of confidence in our careers, our bank accounts, our health are being peeled away without our consent. 

When we can release our hold on our cherished expectations, we are invited to explore deeper dimensions of trusting God, our only trustworthy source of hope and peace.  God is never surprised, always present, in all circumstances.  The Love at the ground of all existence can never be snatched from us, not even by fear or physical death. 

One of the things Jesus shows us is that God is present and active even when things are at their worst.  We cannot escape the reality of suffering in this life.  If we are willing to stop resisting it and open ourselves—painful and scary as it is at first—to God’s presence and activity in the midst of it, we can experience the peace that is promised. 

Father Richard Rohr urges us to practice this openness to God right now: “In this time of crisis, we must commit to a posture of prayer and heart that opens us to deep trust and connection with God. Only then can we hold the reality of what is happening—both the tragic and the transformative.”

A spiritual practice that has had a transformative impact on me is Welcoming Prayer. 

Attributed to Father Thomas Keating, it has various forms, including one that can be said in a breath, in a moment of intentional relaxation and release: “I let go of my desire for security, affection, control and embrace this moment as it is.”

The form I use is this one:

“Welcome, welcome, welcome.

I welcome everything that comes to me today, because I know it’s for my healing.

I welcome all thoughts, feelings, emotions, persons, situations, and conditions.

I let go of my desire for power and control.

I let go of my desire for affection, esteem, approval, and pleasure.

I let go of my desire for survival and security.

I let go of my desire to change any situation, condition, person or myself.

I open to the love and presence of God and God’s action within.


Resist the temptation to orchestrate your own spiritual growth.  Let God come to you in reality that presents itself daily to you. 

Be not afraid, dear readers.  God loves you deeply and eternally. 

For a few more thoughts on this practice, go to https://crossministrygroup.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/R-Group-Process-Welcoming-Prayer.pdf

Spiritual Practices: Six Gestures of the Morning Prayer

I have used this prayer often, and it always helps me move into the day with intention and joy. It is by Joyce Rupp from her book Out of the Ordinary. I post it here with her permission. The video will help you see it in action.

  1. We offer the Creator praise and gratitude:

Stretch your arms high and wide above your head.

            I thank you, Holy One, for the gift of another day of


2. We intentionally become aware of our spiritual bond with all of creation:

Hold arms out from your sides, a little below shoulder height.  Pivot to the left and to the right with your arms stretching outward toward the cosmos.

            I reach out in compassion to my sisters and brothers

            throughout the universe.

3. Offering my life to the Holy One:

Stretch your arms out straight in front of you, slightly apart, palms up.

I give to you all I am and all I have.

4. Opening to accept what the Holy One offers me this day:

Pull your hands close together and cup them as a container.

I open my entire being to receive the gift that you have waiting for me in this new day.

5. Remembering to be kind to our planet Earth:

Bend over, reach down, and touch the floor.

I touch this planet Earth, with awe, reverence, and gratitude, promising to care well for her today.

6. Awareness of the indwelling presence of the Holy One:

Stand with crossed hands over your heart, and bow forward.

May I be united with you throughout this day, aware of your love strengthening me and shining through me. 

Spiritual Practices: Walking, and Five Questions

Sometimes in these uncertain times, I find myself getting very anxious and overwhelmed.  The best remedy for me is to get out and walk, and let the sounds of nature as well as the silence speak to my soul.  I accept it as God’s love manifest in the moment. The act of taking each step, feeling the ground under my feet and the effort of my body seems to counteract the anxious feelings and the strange effects of both social media and social distancing.  This may be enough of a spiritual practice for you this week. 

            I also want to share with you Five Daily Questions that might be a better practice for you, especially if you cannot get outside or exert yourself physically.  These were written by my sister Carol Austin Janssen, who is trained as a life coach.  In these times, our most cherished values are coming to the fore, and these questions may help you live those values intentionally every day.  Even focusing on one of the questions is a good way to get started!

1. How do I choose to be today?

2. What am I thankful for?  To whom?

3. How can I have fun today?

4. Who needs prayer today?

5. What am I noticing right now? 

            I pray that you will be aware of the presence of God as you go through each day, my dear readers.  Know that God loves you deeply and eternally.  –Deb

Spiritual Practice: The Jesus Prayer

While we all follow recommendations to prevent the spread of COVID-19, many of us will miss meeting together for worship.  Yet there are other ways to feel close to God.  As a spiritual director and pastor, I am posting a spiritual practice each week on this blog, to help everyone learn new ways to experience God’s presence.

A good one to start with is called the Jesus Prayer.  It is one of the most famous prayers in the history of the Christian faith.  It appears in the gospel story of the Pharisee and the tax collector (Luke 18:19). 

The power of this practice comes through repetition.  Our logical minds are puzzled by its use.  How can just repeating the same words over and over have any effect?  It helps to let go of an expected outcome or reasoning, and simply let the practice open your awareness and your self to God. 

HOW TO DO IT:  Decide how long you want to spend in this prayer.  Choose the version that suits you best:         

“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

               “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.”

               “Jesus, have mercy.”

               “Christ, have mercy.”

               You can do it in a seated position or while walking around.  Breathe in a relaxed manner.  Repeat the prayer silently for the period of time you have chosen.  If there are distractions, simply note them and return to the prayer.

               When you have finished, reflect on the experience.  You may wish to write about your experience in a journal.  Did you notice anything shift within you?  What was your experience of God or Christ during the practice?  Say a short prayer of gratitude to conclude the practice.

I am grateful to Marjorie Thompson, author of Soul Feast, for the guidelines for this prayer.

Finding and Being Sabbath

Photo by Ashleyne Seitz


Most of the time that only means “pause.”  Just long enough to look for traffic, to take a photo, to take a pill. 

But sometimes we know enough to quit what we are doing and pay attention to what matters: a child who needs a bedtime story, a friend who needs a listening ear, a neighbor who needs a helping hand.  We know enough to be compassionate toward one another.

Seldom do we show such compassion for ourselves. 

Eight years ago I was at the brink of physical and emotional exhaustion, mostly from the demands of pastoral ministry.  I sought help in a two-week program of retreat and therapy.  But one of the measures I took was not dictated by a therapist.  I was listening to my true self, my inner spirit.  For months I had the nagging feeling that I needed to spend time daily in quiet, praying and doing other spiritual practices, listening to God and paying attention to my own emotional health. 

So one day I just set the alarm an hour earlier, and the habit has stuck.  It required a change in lifestyle, but it has been worth it.  I could not have done this when my children were young, so I know this is a luxury, and I don’t take it for granted. 

At the same time I was learning about Sabbath from Marva Dawn and Kirk Byron Jones.  The concept of having enough and being enough without having to work hard seven days a week was a new and deeply healing perspective.  Gradually it helped me regard the use of my time, my money, and my energy as a matter of stewardship that went beyond duty.  I could enjoy eating enough but not having to consume unhealthy amounts.  I could buy clothing that is fairly made.  I could take time off just to enjoy life and all its wonders.  Gratitude became a daily habit, and a framework for ministry, my relationships, and my experience of life itself.

Sometimes we are forced to stop, though.  The Corona Virus is just beginning to wield a fierce impact on life in the US.  I am staying home for at least two weeks to avoid contributing to the contagion. 

I know I am one of the lucky people who is not devastated by the financial impact of being off work.  I don’t have to figure out how to arrange for childcare or health care (yet).  But maybe that gives me a perspective to share with everyone who is truly stressed and can’t afford to step back and look at this dispassionately.

In the past I have endured such times, stricken by back pain or hobbled by finances.  It’s hard to think of “stopping to smell the roses” when you are anxious.  But I ask you to try.

Because the sun is still rising with gorgeous colors.  Spring is coming.  Friends are still friends who love you.  God is with you, and there are signs of it in the ways people are trying to help you meet this crisis. 

This is an opportunity, once we have settled into the reality of today, to look at our lives and take stock.  Maria Shriver deems this a “collective moment” when we can push the reset button in the best of ways.  “I believe this unique moment in history is going to reset our lives in every way. I think it’s going to make all of us think about who, and what, we really need in our lives. It’s going to change the conversation from “wanting” to “needing.” Do we really need to shop the way we do? Spend money the way we do? Work the way we do? Rush around the way we do? Live the way we do? Do we spend our time the way we should with the people we love most? What, at the end of the day, is enough for you? For me? For us?”

As I drove home yesterday from the last worship service I’ll be leading for a while, I spotted a couple of swans in a field.  They have been hanging out on this temporary pond for a couple of weeks now.  I stopped my car, and they craned their necks to check me out.  They settled down once they sensed I was no threat.  They were oblivious to the national news, just being swans, beautiful creatures, beloved for their graceful shape, cherished by their Creator.

And so we, too, can STOP and be just who we are.  Human.  Suffering, questioning, confused.  Compassionate, loving, helpful.  Noticing those things that are beautiful, lamenting the pain of these trying times and our personal crises.  Putting aside our differences and caring for one another, and ourselves. 

Brother Richard Hendrick in his poem “Lockdown” is remarking how people are rediscovering their connections: 

They say that after just a few weeks of quiet

The sky is no longer thick with fumes

But blue and grey and clear.

They say that in the streets of Assisi

People are singing to each other

across the empty squares,

keeping their windows open

so that those who are alone

may hear the sounds of family around them.

We are at our best when we remember what it is to be human together.  At such times we can interrupt our usual routines and anxious thoughts in order to act as author Wayne Muller observes (except for the necessity of being “gathered” in creative ways):

“At our best, we become Sabbath for one another.  We are the emptiness, the day of rest.  We become space, that our loved ones, the lost and sorrowful, may find rest in us.  Whenever two or more are gathered, there am I in the midst of you–not fixing, not harming, not acting.  Quietly empty, we become Sabbath, where the sorrows of the world are safely poured and gently dissolve into the unfathomable immensity of rest, and silence.”

Into the Wild

He never said, “Be safe.”

He saw what they did

with the life-giving Law,

its walls now

closing in on souls

meant to roam free. 

Perhaps his tears over the city

were not for all her wanderings,

but for her fear,

her lack of wonder,

her contentment with the small,

tame world

of scrupulous obedience.

He shook her at her core

tumbled the Temple,

untamed and trembling

with wild rage.

His love, uncaged,

awakens us,

invites us out to wilderness

where questions lurk,

beyond the lushness of the Law.

He calls us to the Temple

of the quiet

and the lack,

where holiness stands ready

to expose and tame the

inner, hidden greed

and yearning.

Tables turned to see

the under-sides.

The heart tumbles out

and falls into the hands

that catch us and make us


Response to the O Antiphons

Nobody knows how or when the O Antiphons were written, but they are first mentioned in the sixth century. They are used on the days preceding Christmas Eve, December 17-23. I offer them to you now, at a time when you may be more open to them. After the rush and intensity of Advent and the Nativity, after the blessedness (and bloatedness) of celebrations, I feel the emptiness that helps me pause and pray, albeit with more yearning than in the midst of all that sound and sugar. Besides, I wrote them on those days, and could not bear to share them yet. My responses are deeply personal, not meant to speak for everyone. But I’ve been told that what is most personal is most universal, so I presume to share them with you.


O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High,
reaching from one end to the other mightily,
and sweetly ordering all things:
Come and teach us the way of prudence.  

The wide world does Your will,
every atom and ant busily doing its work,
stars and systems shaping the space
of existence.  
"I delight to do your will" is true of them
but not of me.
I fill the space with flotsam
of my wrecked attempts
at improving on your wisdom.
Today my heart is open to let out all the angst
and welcome in the Native Order of all things.


O Adonai, and leader of the House of Israel,
who appeared to Moses in the fire and the burning bush
and gave him the law on Sinai;
Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.

When I dare approach
with closed lips and open heart,
a new sense is awakened: love.
Still and real, textured with presence,
heavy lightness, true.
My ambitious mind attempts description,
finding language flimsy, blunted, small.  
Drop the constant, clumsy consonants;
avow with simple vowels resonant: Ah! Oh!


O Root of Jesse, standing as a sign among the peoples;
before you kings will shut their mouths,
to you the nations will make their prayer:
Come and deliver us, and delay no longer.  

From the beginning You created more than things
but hid in them a seed of Your life force,
for Love cannot make only one,
embedding life in life, from life.  
You are insistent that the making
carries on, in me, in all.
If there is any doubt,
a tree stands ready
to renew my withered spirit.  

Seed calls to seed.
I am created.


O Key of David and scepter of the House of Israel,
you open and no one can shut;
you shut and no one can open:
Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

I was content in the cloister,
safe from wildness without
until the day a door was left ajar.
My heart escaped before my mind could stop it.
Now I roam in the wideness,
grateful for the walls that held me
and the opening that set me free.


O Dayspring,
splendor of light eternal and sun of righteousness:
Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness
and the shadow of death.  

You call me from the city scape and hearth
to a spacious inner landscape,
horizon unobscured,
where I can watch the slow crescendo of the dawn.
The steadiness, the sweet return of morning's child,
hope's advent,
mysterious, winsome one
wins over the shadows of the night.


O King of the nations, and their desire,
the cornerstone making both one:
Come and save the human race,
which you fashioned from clay.

There is so much more to making
than forming shapes.
There is the character of clay,
the knowing hand,
the promise of an image.
Love makes no demands on us
except to yield to her devotion
and find ourselves among her devotees,
proud citizens of her imagination
and keepers of her peace.  


O Emmanuel, our king and our lawgiver,
the hope of the nations and their Savior:
Come and save us, O Lord our God.

We rode the creaking van through
rough non-streets of a squatters' suburb.
Once-villaged families sidle up to
a city that is itself more sprawling village
than metropolis.  Here it is monochrome:
red clay homes humping up from red clay ground,
hope fashioned from despair.
The mothers cling and lose their grip
from hour to hour.  Yet on they go.
Love's uneven rhythm clings to them, with arms
of the children they keep bearing.  

The jarring memory of hopelessness
since then is ostinato to my prayer
for all: O come, Emmanuel.  Ride the hills
and ruts of poverty, and take me with you,
Native Knowing One,
You, who holds the fathers and their children.  


It is a curious exercise to consider

the humanity of Jesus–



hobbled by the burdens of everyday life

suffering from compassion fatigue.

Little wonder that he craved camaraderie

in the school of hardship.

Lessons in the mathematics

of poverty and despair

the rhetoric of injustice

the geography of resilience. 

Stories that stayed with him

trained him

to endure the pain

and keep a sense of humor.

No such thing as extra credit

but enough to get him through.

They watched from the usual distance

with grim solidarity

when the righteous ones made an example of him.

(Little did they know what an example he was to them.)

He didn’t think it too much to ask

when the man who hung next to him

asked to be remembered.

How could he forget his friend

after sharing drinks

and swapping stories

that one night only weeks ago?

Eucharist II

The wine spills into my body

through lie-stained lips

enters my bloodstream

mingles with the

givenness of my blood

obediently nourishes

cell and soul.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


I carry on

like an ignorant


who occasionally wonders

how he came

to do this work. 

Summer 2019

I am sailing along the asphalt stream,

over the rolling hills,

through the softness of green

that is Iowa in summer.

I want to run my hands

across the tassel fur,

over the nappy trees,

wade in the bean rows

to penetrate their texture,

sink into the wonder.

I pass by,

but I am cleansed.