spiritual practice

Advent liturgical seasons spiritual practice

Advent 3: Awaken to Abundance

by Jessica Petersen

Isaiah 12:2-6, Luke 3:7-18, Philippians 4:4-7

Perhaps the best way to define abundance is with one word: grace. During Advent we are reminded of the abundance of God’s provision in our lives because of the birth of Jesus, the promised Messiah, who was and is far more than we can possibly imagine or hope for. Grace is the embodiment of God’s love for all humanity. Grace became possible when God came to earth, as a baby, born to a poor couple in a barn. They didn’t have much other than faith, hope, and an amazing ability to trust in God’s promises…but that was more than enough. 

In many ways, the world today is starkly different from the world Jesus was born into. Humans have continued to evolve, in both positive and alarming ways. But we have something in common with first century Palestinians: we often get caught up in scarcity and miss the abundance in our lives. As he prepared the way for Jesus’ ministry, John the Baptist called the people to repentance. He urged them to become aware of their abundance instead of focusing on their scarcity, to be content with what they have instead of keeping for themselves what they could be sharing with others. John the Baptist could have been preaching in the 21st century! 

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, it is easy to feel as though we have too much and not enough at the same time. Often, this is an illusion, a cultural myth that we are encouraged to – literally – buy into. For many of us, our needs are not only met, but exceeded. Yet, it is easy to feel as though we do not have enough. The season of Advent is a reminder that there is enough, we have enough, and we are enough, by God’s grace. We do not need more; we simply need to be aware of the  abundant gift of God’s presence and grace in our lives. 

Some of us may be lacking something: income, a safe place to live, physical/emotional health, or companionship. Others are grieving a significant loss, or have responsibilities that require more time and energy than you have. It is very hard to lack something you need, especially during this season. If this is you: may you experience the abundant gift of God’s love and grace, carrying you through this difficult time, even in the midst of what you lack. 

Take a moment to pause and notice God’s abundant provision for you. Engage in one of the practices below, with the knowledge that there is enough, more than enough – even if you stop and take care of yourself, even if you share what you have with others. Perhaps, in the act of intentionally engaging in one of these practices as an act of resistance to the myth that there is not enough, you will experience abundance in a new way. Choose one of the following: 

  1. Observe the Sabbath. Resist the temptation to claim that you “don’t have time” to stop being productive for an entire day. Just pick a day, practice intentional rest and renewal, and see what happens. (Alternatively, if you want to practice this in “bite-size” form, take a nap. When you feel tired, don’t seek out caffeine, just take a nap.) 
  2. Explore your home and discover what you have an abundance of. Find a way to share with others out of your abundance. 
  3. Volunteer your time/share your gifts in service of others. You could volunteer to serve a local charitable organization, or you could help a friend or family member. 
  4. Journal about what “abundance” means to you. Also consider: what is the opposite of abundance? What does each one feel like? In what aspect(s) of your life are you experiencing abundance right now?

This is an excerpt from a study I created for my church for Advent 2021. During this season, I will post weekly on the theme, “Awaken.” I pray that as we journey through Advent, we will all awaken to what God is doing in and around us. If you missed the introduction/overview, you can find it here.

Advent liturgical seasons spiritual practice

Advent 2: Awaken to Expectation

by Jessica Petersen

Luke 1:67-79, Luke 3:1-6, Philippians 1:3-11

Advent is a pregnant time, full of expectation. In the literal sense, Advent is one of the few times of the year when we engage biblical stories of pregnancy and birth. But it is also a pregnant time because we anticipate and look forward with hope to the birth of Christ and toward God’s promised Kingdom. We remember during Advent that God’s Kingdom is both already and not yet: here on earth in the form of the Christian community, and yet to be fully realized in a future that we hope for with expectation that Christ will come again. 

As we look toward the future, the stories of the past remind us that God rarely conforms to our human expectations. The scriptures we read and study during Advent remind us that God always fulfills God’s promises, but often in the most unexpected ways. That’s what happened to the priest Zechariah, who did not expect that his wife, Elizabeth (who was barren), would be able to become pregnant and bear a child in her old age. Because he did not believe the angel’s words, Zechariah became mute until his son, John the Baptist, was born (Luke 1:18-20, 59-66). It is clear through the prophecy he spoke when he regained his speech that Zechariah encountered God powerfully through this experience, in both expected and unexpected ways.  

We, too, have the opportunity to encounter God in both expected and unexpected ways during this season. Whether consciously or unconsciously, we all have expectations for the season ahead. They may be traditions we want to keep, hopes of spending time with loved ones, the desire to avoid something uncomfortable or painful during this season, or the intention to try something new. Whatever your expectations are, and however they unfold during this season, don’t forget to remain awake and aware, looking for the unexpected ways that God is working. While this may be easier when things are going well, the need to cancel or alter plans sometimes has the effect of creating space for something else to happen…perhaps, even an unexpected encounter with God. Pay attention so you don’t miss it! 

You are encouraged to choose a spiritual practice for this week that that is counter-intuitive for you. If you think “I do not expect to encounter God through that…” perhaps that is the practice you should try. Whatever practice you choose, expect to be aware of God’s presence in a new way and allow yourself to be surprised at where and how God is revealed to you. Choose one of the following: 

  1. Do something slowly and intentionally, focusing fully on what you are doing. Examples: eat a meal, drink a glass of water, rock in a rocking chair, observe an animal, fold the laundry, wash the dishes, etc. 
  2. Pray in a way you usually do not. Examples: use prayer beads, try breath prayer, embodied prayer, or praying in color, etc.
  3. Get up early, go outside, and watch the sunrise. Reflect on your experience. 
  4. Journal about your expectations for this Advent/Christmas season. Also consider: How do your expectations align (or not) with God’s promise to send a savior to the world? How have you experienced God at Christmas in the past, in both expected and unexpected ways? 

This is an excerpt from a study I created for my church for Advent 2021. During this season, I will post weekly on the theme, “Awaken.” I pray that as we journey through Advent, we will all awaken to what God is doing in and around us. If you missed the introduction/overview, you can find it here.

Advent liturgical seasons spiritual practice

Advent 1: Awaken to the Promise

by Jessica Petersen

Psalm 25:1-10, Jeremiah 33:14-16, Luke 21:25-36

During the season of Advent, it is as if time is no longer linear. Instead, time morphs into something that is hard to grasp and even more challenging to describe. We look forward to a birth that has already occurred two thousand years in the past. We read prophetic passages from centuries prior to Jesus’ birth. We read Jesus’ actual words, about the promise of his future coming, as a means of preparation for celebrating Jesus’ birth. We imagine a future that was promised more than two thousand years ago, and we wait with hope for its arrival. Past, present, and future are held together. We remember that God is faithful as we celebrate the already and not yet, promises fulfilled and promises yet to come, that Christ is born and Christ will return. 

But it’s not all about what happened in the past or what will happen in the future. Advent is about what God is doing, here and now. It is about the work of God within us, as we remember God’s faithfulness and anticipate the future. It is about being awake to God’s presence with us at all times, in all things. It is about who we are becoming in this season. As we pay attention to God’s work in our everyday lives and in the world around us, God is working within us, changing us from the inside out. 

In Advent, God is doing a new thing. What is that new thing? God is fulfilling God’s promise of making all things new by making us new and remaking us every day, through grace. Another word for that is sanctification. It is happening within each of us and within the community of faith. These are signs of God’s kingdom here on earth, right now. And as we hope for a future that we cannot see, we do so with faith because of the promises God has made. 

You may want to consider choosing a spiritual practice for this week that will enable you to practice awakening to God. Here are some possibilities to consider:

  1. Practice contemplative walking. Take a walk without the goal of exercising or going a certain distance or direction. Walk slowly, being attentive to signs of God’s promises in the natural world and following God’s leading.  
  2. Be intentional as you make plans during this season. As you plan your calendar, make lists, and decide how to spend your time, remember what Advent is for. Be sure to leave room to slow down and practice becoming aware of God’s presence. 
  3. Pray Psalm 25:1-10. Don’t just read it; pray it. Try praying the psalm every day this week. Consider praying it in a different translation each day, to deepen your practice. 
  4. Journal about the word “promise” and what it means to you. How have you experienced God’s promises in the past? How are you experiencing them in this particular season?

This is an excerpt from a study I created for my church for Advent 2021. During this season, I will post weekly on the theme, “Awaken.” I pray that as we journey through Advent, we will all awaken to what God is doing in and around us. If you missed the introduction/overview, you can find it here.

Advent liturgical seasons spiritual practice

Advent is here…awaken!

by Jessica Petersen

Advent unfolds gradually, like the sunrise each morning. Whether we are awake for it or not, paying close attention or completely absorbed in other things, the sun takes its time to peek over the horizon and rise into the sky. As it rises, the sun brightens the earth and warms the day. Almost imperceptible in the moment, the sunrise ultimately transforms everything the sunlight touches. We cannot do anything at all to rush it along, and we can easily miss it. Each week of Advent, as we move closer to celebrating the birth of Jesus, we light another candle and a little more light shines into the darkness. It is a slow process, a gradual unfolding that is easy to miss if we are not intentional. We may move through our days without paying attention, or become so focused on December 25 that we neglect to notice what God is doing in the four weeks prior. Each day when the sun rises, it is a reminder of God’s faithfulness and God’s promise to make all things new. Advent, the season that begins a new church year, is also a time of new beginning, full of promise and hope. This Advent, wake up, pay attention, and don’t miss what God is doing in our midst! 

“Awake” or “awaken” is a verb – an action word – that means to wake up, to become active, to become conscious or aware. The season of Advent calls us to wake up and to remain awake, aware, and conscious of God’s work in the world and in our own lives, of the promises fulfilled and the promises yet to come to fruition. Advent is a season of preparation for the birth of Christ. As we prepare, God is forming us, sanctifying us, making us new. This season beckons us to be active participants in God’s work, here and now. This is your invitation to practice awakening to God throughout this Advent season, to intentionally practice paying attention and becoming more aware of God’s presence within you, within others, and in the world around you. 

This awareness of God in the present moment, in all things, wherever you are and whatever you are doing, is what the French Jesuit and mystic Jean-Pierre de Caussade called the “sacrament of the present moment.” In Wesleyan terms, we would call this awareness of God in the present a “means of grace,” an avenue through which we experience God’s grace. Whatever we call it, the practice of being awake and aware of God is just that: a practice, something to attempt over and over again, each and every day. The change that occurs through this practice will be almost imperceptible in the moment. But like the sunrise transforms everything the light touches, this practice has the potential to gradually transform your entire life. 

Practicing “awakening” will necessitate slowing down and paying attention. While that will look different for each one of us, perhaps it will mean talking less and listening more, or additional time spent in silence. It might mean being attentive to your body and your physical needs. It could mean doing routine tasks with renewed focus or trying new things that are the opposite of what you would usually do. It will likely require being intentional about what you do and what you choose not to do. All of this might be counter-intuitive during this season when our culture encourages us to do more and buy more, to seek novelty and move quickly, all accompanied by a constant soundtrack. The counter-intuitive nature of this practice is precisely why it is appropriate for the season of Advent, when we anticipate the birth of Jesus, who changed the world while defying expectations. May this practice enable us to follow him more faithfully during this season and beyond. 

This is the introduction to a study I created for my church for Advent 2021. During this season, I will post weekly on the theme, “Awaken.” I pray that as we journey through Advent, we will all awaken to what God is doing in and around us.

holy spaces prayer spiritual practice

Walking in the Wilderness

by Jessica Petersen

There was a time when I didn’t take walks alone very often. With children to keep up with, walks were usually an exercise in multitasking as much as they were actual exercise, and they were rarely peaceful. Now, I frequently take walks alone, just because. A need to get out of the house during the pandemic and an increasing focus on self-care are the reasons I began taking walks alone, but I have maintained the practice because walking has become a sustaining spiritual practice for me.

In the spring of 2020, as the time approached to leave the church where I had served for 9 years, it became clear that I no longer had a home base for my path in ministry, or my own discipleship. I was setting out into the wilderness. I would no longer be hanging around my campsite, with short forays into the woods and back to camp. I was packing up and walking away, with no plan or destination in mind, no timeframe or set distance to travel. I had provisions for my journey and skills for procuring more, but no specific plan.

That was when I began walking on a regular basis. 

I realize now that walking was an intuitive spiritual practice, even if I didn’t know it at the time. I thought I was seeking movement, a little time alone – and I did achieve those things – but unexpectedly, my walks became important times of reflection and discernment. Walking nourished me, like a cool drink of water or a restful night of sleep.

I hadn’t truly considered my path, in my life or my ministry, in a long time. As a teenager and early twenty-something, I contemplated and considered my path often, making decisions strategically with the hope of following a certain path. As I settled into local church ministry and started a family, my sightline became shorter. Instead of focusing on the horizon, I became focused on the here and now, on avoiding tripping over the rocks in my path. But I had begun to look up again, farther in front of me, and what I saw in the distance did not align with where I felt called. I needed to change directions, to take another path. What followed was the decision to change my work situation, to pack up and leave the campsite, setting out into the wilderness.

As I walked the streets of my neighborhood and the trails of nearby parks, I found myself imagining a path through the woods as a metaphor for my ministry. Walking in the woods, a person can go a long time without seeing another human, or even a trail marker. For many months after leaving the church I was serving, that’s exactly what happened on my metaphorical path. I simply walked along the trail, enjoying the fresh air and exercise, appreciating what I noticed and learned along the way. It was invigorating to be in the wilderness. I just wanted to keep walking; I didn’t want to stop and set up camp, to encounter anyone, to approach a crossroads. 

At times it didn’t even feel like I was going anywhere. My path might have been circuitous; it was certainly meandering. There were days I was comforted by knowing it didn’t matter if I was going somewhere, as long as I remained in the wilderness. Other days, I felt anxious and directionless without a plan. I noticed that even when I passed by a familiar spot, it never looked exactly the same. The woods are not static – weather, wind, animals, and the changing of the seasons all influence the landscape – the context is different each time. Not only were the woods changing, so was I.

That was when I realized that my walks had become a form of prayer. 

My walks had begun to resemble my experiences walking labyrinths. I deeply value the spiritual practice of walking labyrinths. I love that when I walk a labyrinth, I don’t go anywhere but I am always changed in the process. I enter and exit at the same point, wander around a small, fixed area and emerge different than when I entered the labyrinth. Similarly, each time I set out on a walk, I left from my house and returned to my house, not having “gone” anywhere, but changed still.

As I walked, all the thoughts floating around in my head began to converge in a way that enabled me to reflect and discern, to listen to my life and to God. As I walked, I reconnected with my call to ministry. I considered my gifts and passions, turning them over like a stone in my hand, feeling their weight and observing their particularities, those experiences that contributed to their present form. As I walked, I discerned God’s voice leading me in a clear direction, but still, there were no signs. Like a labyrinth, I knew I would find my way out eventually, that the path that leads inward always leads back out. I also knew that on a labyrinth, there is no point in trying to look too far ahead; it is best to keep walking, trusting the path with each step. As I walked, I trusted the path, and I kept walking.

One day, I began to see signposts in the distance. I didn’t know what the signs meant, but I could detect them ahead of me on the path. It seemed I was approaching a crossroads; nothing else would need that many signs. When I reached the first sign, I felt anxious, wondering if other people or perhaps a community lay ahead. I wasn’t sure, after so much time in the wilderness, if I was ready to encounter anyone else. It became clear that this was merely a turnoff, an opportunity to travel a different path for a considerable distance before arriving at a campsite. As I kept walking on my path, the signposts continued to appear. So did the people; I was clearly traveling in a more populated area. I struck up a few conversations, learning that those walking in this area had things in common with me. I stopped here and there and helped others, offering what I had to share. And still, I kept walking.

Soon, I discovered that I was near a community. This area was different than where I had camped before. Perhaps I should take a closer look. It was a smaller community than I was used to, but that might be a nice change; I could get to know people more easily. Everyone I met was kind and generous. As I approached and began to explore, I was welcomed with open arms. I was invited in and included. I learned that in this community all are welcome, and all are accepted. So, I set up my tent and decided to stay.

I still take walks in the woods because time alone is critical for self-reflection and spiritual formation, but I am no longer walking through the wilderness with no destination in mind. When I walk, I leave from and return to the same place. And just like when I walk a labyrinth, I am changed each time. I am glad to have a place to call home again and a church to serve, after wandering in the wilderness for so long. And, I am grateful for every meandering step that brought me here.

prayer spiritual practice

A Prayer for Waiting

by Jessica Petersen

Waiting has been a significant aspect of my journey for the last four years. I’ve always had to wait for things to happen, for God to answer my prayers, but not like this. Never in my life have I waited for so many things, all at once, for such a long time. I did not choose to practice waiting, to learn patience in an entirely new way. But the process of engaging in the (involuntary) practice of waiting – as the days turned into months and years – changed me. It is still changing me. I wrote this prayer when the waiting had become too much for too long. Then, I prayed this prayer as I continued to wait. Now I am sharing it because we are all waiting for something. May this prayer be a companion while you wait.  

Waiting is so very hard, God.
As the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months pass by
without response or resolution,
it is easy to become impatient, irritable.

Sometimes, I want to demand an end to all this waiting,
reprieve from the uncertainty,
relief from living in-between here and there,
respite from the space between already and not yet.

Some days, waiting is almost unbearable.
It overwhelms and becomes too much, God.

But then I remember that you live in the space in-between.
It is not uncertain and uncomfortable to you.
You are the God of already and not yet.
In-between is where you do your best work.

This awareness doesn’t make waiting any easier.
Time does not begin to move more quickly.
But I know that I am not alone.
I have a companion on the journey.

Your presence comforts me.
It provides respite, relief, reprieve.
Space to breathe.
It is pure grace.

And I realize that you are forming me,
re-making me while I wait.
Sanctifying me in this liminal space,
shaping me into who I will become.

I don’t know when the waiting will end,
or what is to come when the wait is over.
But I know I will never be the same.
I will not be able to return to what was.

I will simply take a step forward,
and then another; one step at a time.
And you will go with me, into what will be.
I will not step into the unknown alone.

But for now…as I wait…
calm and quiet my soul.
Help me to experience the sacrament of this moment with you,
when I can simply rest in your grace.

Amen.

spiritual practice

When Time Stands Still

by Jessica Petersen
The trees in our yard during Spring Break 2016. Look closely and you’ll see the butterflies.

It was Spring Break 2016. Whatever you imagine when you think of Spring Break, let me clarify that I was spending it with a sick toddler. Our 16-month-old daughter had a UTI, which caused her to run a fever of 103-104 degrees for several days. She was miserable and only wanted to be held, so we spent most of our time sitting by the window and looking outside or sitting on our back patio. That week, our only other activity was our daily drive to and from the doctor’s office. There was little that I could do beyond comfort her and watch her symptoms for signs that we needed to go to the ER. So, we sat quietly and cuddled while we observed our yard, day after day.

I had planned to catch up on a lot of work that week while our church preschool and other programming was on a break. At first, I was frustrated that I was missing my opportunity to be productive.

As the week went on, I settled into the realization that my “work” was to be present with my daughter. Everything else could wait. That’s when something amazing happened: I witnessed the transition from winter to spring in our backyard. I don’t mean that I noticed that it began to look like spring outside; I mean that I literally watched the transition occur.

An observant toddler, our daughter was attentive to everything and wanted a closer look at each thing she noticed. As we observed our backyard that week, the trees underwent a transformation. Where at the beginning of the week stood bare silhouettes, buds burst forth into bloom and then leaves appeared. Migrating butterflies visited our yard, feasting on flowers that only the week before were absent. I saw my backyard for the first time. In the four years we had lived in our house, I had never slowed down enough to observe and truly see it, to notice the transformation in each individual tree and plant, the various creatures that call our yard home, whether briefly or permanently.

This “interruption” to my work became a spiritual exercise in slowing down and noticing the work of God in the world around me. Time stood still for me that week. While it was not peaceful or restful to care for a sick toddler, I found that I was able to rest in God in a very profound way. My daughter’s rhythmic breathing while she leaned on my chest and her inquisitive interest in the world around her were my teachers. I was changed, transformed alongside the natural world around me, as I spent time in stillness and observed. This work turned out to be far more important than the work I had planned to do that week.

That Spring Break, I learned that I needed to practice slowing down more often, not only at points of crisis, but regularly, as an act of resistance to the never-ending demands on my time.

That was 5 years ago. A lot of life has happened since then: most notably, the birth of our second child, a global pandemic, and a career transition. Sometimes, the tasks of life overwhelm me, and I lose sight of what I learned that week. But I always return eventually to the practice of stillness, quiet, and calm, leaning into the rhythms of the natural world and my own body. When I practice slowing down, I am nourished and sustained; I feel whole and connected to the Holy.

These days, I am spending more time playing and less time working and worrying. I am learning to be led by the weather and the seasons in ways that I never have before, intuitively spending time outside as the natural world beckons me to do so. I continue to observe, watch, and learn as I spend time in God’s creation. And I am continuing to learn this from my children as we practice it together. I pray that no matter how busy life becomes as the world re-opens, we hold onto the stillness, the necessity of slowing down, the gifts of respite and rest. Those are the moments when time stands still.