Three Wise Men: Epiphany Wisdom

 “Three Wise Men.”  Epiphany Wisdom  

 “The three were hermits on an island in the Black Sea, very pious and humble and loving to all men but terribly ignorant.  A bishop goes on a steamer to see them and teach them a few prayers, but finds them too old and stupid to learn.  At last, he gets—or thinks he has got—one very short and simple prayer into their heads, and leaves the island, feeling rather contemptuous.  

Then, when night falls, he sees a bright light advancing swiftly over the sea behind the steamer. The old men have come, walking on the waves, begging him to be patient with their incredible stupidity and to teach them the prayer again.”—Tolstoy.

My husband sent me this story. He tries to read it to me, but is so moved that he cannot speak. Alas, if all of us could be that way when we hear this story. I think of people I have talked with, leading retreats and classes, hoping to share the word of God with them. But instead, I learn more about God by listening to them.

I first learn this truth in recovery meetings, where I hear wisdom from people I would never have listened to before. Wisdom comes from those with no education who can barely speak intelligently. Wisdom comes from men and women who have spent most of their lives in prison. Wisdom comes from those who have lost their children because of their addiction. Wisdom comes from women who have lived on the streets. Wisdom comes from people experiencing homelessness.

I also heard this wisdom at our Food Pantry, where people come each week for just enough food to survive. They tell us how grateful they are and bless us. They tell us how blessed they are. They share what they receive with other families. They teach us how to turn our lives and our wills over to God. They teach us how to live and work in community.

In this season, after Epiphany and into a new year, may we keep our ears and hearts open to hear wisdom in “wise men” and women at all places, in each precious moment, and especially where we once least expected it.

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Recall, Recollection, Reflection

  RECALL, RECOLLECTION, REFLECTION

                                                  Guest Writer: Ken Fellows

                                                                     LIFE CYCLE

          It's intriguing how memories are stored in our brains, ready to be called up or to arise spontaneously. A recent NYT obituary for psychologist Endel Tulving, 93, described how he elucidated our modern understanding of memories. In his 1972 book The Organization of Memory, he proposed that humans have two forms of memory: one is a "semantic form of knowing,"… the storage of facts like "George Washington was our first President," and skills such as "how to brush your teeth." The second form he termed "episodic memory"…recall of places, events, and experiences–the "taste of a delicious croissant eaten on the Champs-Elysees."

     Tulving's work also showed that the human brain records and retrieves the two types of information via separate brain tracts or pathways. This insight is substantiated by modern psychological studies and, recently, by PET imaging. He also thought of episodic memory as a human device for "moving forward"…a mechanism for transporting ourselves to a different time. Author Tim O'Brien, in his book The Things They Carried, calls this "joining of the past to the future":

     "Forty-three years old, and the (Vietnam) War occurred half a lifetime ago, and yet my remembering makes it now.

     "I should forget. But the remembering is that you don't forget. You take your material where you find it, which is your life, at the intersection of the past and the present. The memory traffic feeds into a rotary loop up in your head, where it circles for a while, then imagination flows in pretty soon, and the traffic merges and shoots off a thousand different streets."

     O'Brien's thoughts illustrate why long-term recall can be fallible. Similarly, writer Geoff Dyer has observed: "Everything in my book really happened, but some of the things that happened only happened in my head." These observations on remembering…that "imagination flows in and the traffic merges"… elucidate why our recollections may feel 'true' but are not necessarily 'the truth.'

      Aging can be a fierce impediment to accurate recall, something most come to endure, making us sympathetic to the older man's complaint in Ward Just's novel Forgetfulness:

day liliy

      "My memory isn't what it was. The years wash into one another, a watercolor

memory. One fact bleeds into another. Emotions bleed. Forgetfulness is a dream state, and it's an old man's friend."

Ken Fellows

Joanna         joannseibert.com   https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Church Bells

Church Bells

Guest Writer: Elizabeth -Anne Stewart

Elizabeth-Anne Stewart, C. 2022

I no longer hear the church bells ring,

summoning me from slumber,

awakening my soul,

rousing my sleeping heart

to a new day

a new world

a new beginning.

I no longer see

shadows playing on the walls

as dawn breaks

and sunlight stretches

through dusty blinds

into my room,

teasing me with vestiges

of yesterday

as I lie somewhere

between past and present

on a bed of solitude—

or loneliness, perhaps.

Oh, the ache of memory!

The ghosts that flit

across the cracks

of my fragmented self,

smile faintly, reminding me

of together days,

now severed by death—

but whose I ask,

who resides within the tomb?

My former self runs

to greet holy phantoms

but they play

hide and seek,

inhabiting my dreams

before fading

into the night.

Do they sleep

in cold vaults

of decaying bones

or do they rest

in the Divine Embrace

that so often eludes me?

I dare hope

they have risen on angels’ wings

but I, for one,

am anchored to Earth,

tethered by questions

that disturb the universe.

Priests and prophets

tread a jagged line

between gift and curse,

between heaven’s bounty

and worldly desires,

between insight

and cluelessness.

Elijah’s mantle

brings no peace

but only the burden of words—

syllables of possibility

reaching to Infinity

or anguished cries

that pierce complacency.

But every mystic knows

that in the darkest times,

Melchizedek’s gifts

of bread and wine

transubstantiate

the ordinary

into the extraordinary,

blessing those

who raise their eyes

to count the stars.

And so the script is set.

Church bells echo

from toppled steeples,

their faint lament

whispering beneath the rubble,

pleading to be heard.

Their chilling refrain

tolls for you, for me,

for a world devoid

of guiding lights

in which perversion

masquerades as passion,

and lies proliferate,

twisting Truth

into a commodity

that indoctrinates multitudes

while those with discerning minds

keep silent.

I stand on holy ground

where shards from St. James’ belfry

demand restoration,

still mourning

that day when the wrecking ball

wrought its worst,

muting their music,

levelling God’s House,

seemingly at whim.

Clawing stones,

scraping for relics,

my bleeding fingers

seek to liberate

their strains.

Elizabeth-Anne Stewart, PhD, PCC, BCC

In addition to her work as a spiritual director, Elizabeth focuses mainly on spiritual coaching and writing coaching. Based in the greater Chicago area, she teaches writing at St. Xavier University, and spiritual coaching at the Institute for Life Coach Training (ILCT); she recently launched The Ministry Coaching Foundation to offer opportunities for continuing education and personal renewal. 

www.elizabeth-annestewart.com;

 www.MinistryCoachingFoundation.com;

 www.ChicagoWritingCoach.com

Joanna. joannaseibert.com