Sitting in God's Lap

Almost every morning I sit in God’s lap. The best light in the room hovers over God’s lap. On clear days the sun shines through the tree outside my window, illuminating me in this place. During winter’s gloom, I receive energy and inspiration from her embrace. My daily intentions and prayers emanate from God's lap. And my best thoughts come to me while nestled there.

God’s lap is is where I sit cross-legged to pray, meditate, read, journal and blog. More specifically it is a circa 1970s chair that looks like a short chaise longue--or a long-seated chair.

But God’s lap has a secret. She is held together by duct tape. Because she is made of what feels like pleather, the tape holds firmly to her. I know I should send her somewhere to be re-upholstered, but I can’t imagine life without her. Despite—or because of—the layers of duct tape that bind God’s lap, she has shaped herself to my form.

God’s lap has not always been this way. When she first came to me she was perfect and whole, but she reeked of cigarette smoke. The person who brought her to me, my former husband, knew I would like her so he overlooked the smell. I couldn’t, so she sat alone for quite a while until the smell dissipated. From that time on she held a place of honor in my home.

During a move heavy boxes were placed upon her. She developed a large rip in her seat. My solution at the time was to cover her with a wonderful brown and cream cloth with a tribal motif. I added pillows that I had made from a deconstructed vintage African dress and a swath of gold-colored raw silk.

Other things covered God's lap as she moved from place to place with me throughout the past 15 plus years. No one but my children and I knew her secret until she had to be moved and was stripped of her covering. I began wrapping her in a sheet to protect her from further harm during those too-frequent moves. Still she lost the brassy caps that covered her wooden feet.

While I was in seminary, I found the brilliant yellow chenille throw that covers her today. One morning while lowering myself to sit in God's lap, I felt the rip expand and her stuffing pop out. I pulled back the throw, grabbed a roll of my younger daughter’s duct tape (she was making duct tape purses at the time) and patched God’s lap back together. A couple of weeks ago, the strain of being sat on pulled away some of the original tape, so I re-patched her. Though heavily bandaged with shiny gray tape, God's lap has become even more comfortable.

So what does my comfortable, duct-taped chair have to do with Benedictine life?

Last weekend Father Simon McGurk, OSB, the prior (the head monk in charge) of St. Anselm’s Abbey (http://www.stanselms.org), the only Benedictine monastery here in Washington, DC, spoke to the Community of Reconciliation about the role of the cloister in Benedictine monastic life. (Visit: http://www.nationalcathedral.org/events/COR20100424.shtml)

According to The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, which runs a branch of the museum dedicated to medieval art and architecture called The Cloisters:

The cloister [is] the heart of a monastery. By definition, it consists of a covered walkway surrounding a large open courtyard, with access to all other monastic buildings. Usually attached to the southern flank of the church, a cloister [is] at the same time passageway and processional walkway, a place for meditation and for reading aloud. At once serene and bustling, the cloister was also the site where the monks washed their clothes and themselves. (http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/collection_database/the_cloisters/the_cuxa_cloister/objectview.aspx?collID=7&OID=70010742)


(For a from-inside-the-cloister description, visit http://www.religiouslife.com/glossary.html#C)

Father Simon talked about how when he was traveling or on assignment away from his monastery-of-origin based in England, he had to learn to take the cloister with him. He didn’t use the exact words, but I understood he was talking about the “cloister of the heart.”

Since we live outside monastery walls, I understand my cloister of the heart to be that place that nourishes, centers and anchors me. It is the place I take with me into the world to remind me of my intention to live according to my Rule for the glory of God and the good of the people around me. (For more about the cloister of the heart, see Carl McColman’s blog http://anamchara.com/2009/09/30/cloister-of-the-heart/. McColman is an author and blogger who writes about contemplative spirituality among other things.)

During our monthly Creating a Rule of Life meeting that usually follows a weekend teaching, our facilitator, Greg, asked us about the cloisters in our lives. Of course, I said God’s lap is my cloister. And being the fearless facilitator that he is, Greg, listening carefully, asked me to explain why. After I had babbled about duct tape and vintage plastic for a few minutes, Greg said, “Listen to what you are saying.” He helped me to see that God’s lap has been not only a cloister, but also a companion on my journey.

God’s lap would look pretty shabby without her bright yellow covering, but she is held together, as I am, by the grace of God and the support of friends.