October 2010 -
Snowflower Retreat lessons
Above all: teacher Jack’s statue of Hotei-- upended, laughing, pulled 5 ways by little rascals, maintaining humor. Wonderful image. Offers the koan--how to maintain humor. In the Final talk Jack taught on a string of Sanskrit word like ahimsa (non-harming). 'Apamada', the absence of madness, caught my attention. Being calm in a mad, mad world perhaps? Once he gets beyond warming up the crowd with grandchildren stories, I really listen. Of course grandchildren and pet stories are what makes us universal. I guess. Hard to imagine he was scheduled to share teaching time. Drifting I remembered Larry Ward and Peggy Rowe, more superlative teachers from the Thich Nhat Hahn (TNH, so hard to type) tradition.
The only point I recall from the three Jack shared opening night, was what he called mouth yoga (I might say face yoga): Smile! Jack and another elder modeled smiling. Liked that so much. By the last hour, the grim, grim fellow started to try to smile. By then I'd learned to glower back. Tried to switch gears mid glower to encourage him. What a life, glaring at everyone. Most women smiled and bowed as we passed, as suggested was appropriate for silent time.
Although I rented dorm space, the weather was perfect to tent. Each night I watched Jupiter in the opening above among the branches. Maybe even milder than 2 yrs ago, sunny days, mild nights. Perfect that is, except the rare flat spot I'd found turned out to be in a flood light that turned night into day. Backed the car and blocked as much as I could of the light on the tent. Next year I'll surely know better.
Strong sense of ‘been there, done that’ these years. Good to be with elders of this Madison TNT based sangha, however overly intellectual. Good practice watching my mind judge overachieving urban folks. Stop! Stop! Surely a lotta high powered folks, judging from their extended, nearly horizontal necks. Dreadful posture!!! Grim men and women, snapping yoga mats, doing hump backed dogs on the porch.
Yet I did let go-- of taking notes, trying to meet folks, trying to remember names and faces, feeling unhelpful/ not participating. Good to have TNH mindful eating guidelines read repeatedly. Still, I overate. Became crystal clear eating so much is practically toxic! 2nd/last night joined the outdoor supper table just after dusk. Rice, mild spinach and beans, cauliflower dish, fruit with honey and ginger dressing. Sublime, subtle flavors. Couldn't keep small yums and ums from sneaking out. Prob my silent company was from Madison or Chicago where they have fine ethnic food available. For me, some of the the food was a huge event. But when I got a couple more cauliflower sprigs and spinach dish, the thrill was gone and I bloated horribly. The young gal walking back up the hill to the retreat house ahead of me was farting like a filly. Vegetarian food!!??
Each evening this nature girl waited for the sun to set in hopes of catching the new moon on days 2 and 3. Walked to the slight hill by the lodge and held vigil, staring low on the western horizon. Friday evening, nada. A gal stopped; we spoke low. She thought I was watching a wild animal. Waiting for the new moon, I explained. “Doesn't it rise in the east?” she said. Luckily I didn't reply, for I would have said, silly girl from the city, the new moon is always seen in the west, just before it sets. Later I realized what had gone on.
The second night as I held vigil, lo a very faint sliver appeared. Two passerby's, with the greatest of difficulty, found the sliver. One explained, “I'm not mindful”. Indeed. Rolled my judgmental eyes-- city folk!
Opening evening Frank opined that I had no idea how crazy he is. Oh? He has no idea. He mentioned his interest in death and dying (and Thay’s lack). Interesting. Before we all left, shared briefly with him how painful sitting so much had been on the bod. Apparently Thay’s line tends to ignores the body, rather focusing and gentleness and children. Priorities. Student Michelle was also bold enough to connect with this stranger. I was so grateful.
Don't know when yoga could have been squeezed in. My cherished opinion (thank you Judith L) is, it's really needed at super sedentary events. Enjoyed Saturday's long, outdoor walking meditation, however, by Sunday mid morning needed desperately to hook a leg onto picnic table, rotate hip, stretch lower back. Tough, tough, sitting, sitting. Sesshin and me would be unbearable. Kept thinking of the Irish gal who went to Japan, worked so hard, became enlightened, killed shortly afterward getting on or off a bus. , Maura O'Halloran, (Pure Heart, Enlightened Mind: the life and letters of an Irish Zen Saint). Super hard work, sitting still.
I'd also like to get my paws on the Sat. night tea ceremony. Use small cups; brew a light evening tea—touch of mint, chamomile or faint chai; serve small tasty cookies…. Of course this piggy mindfully sipped and sipped the mug of tea strong enough to engage American taste buds, and finished a molasses cookie bigger than her palm. Thay’s American sanghas are functional.
By the end of the retreat roommate Margaret beamed at me, presumably for being the roommate that wasn't. The bathroom had been locked nearly every time I stopped by. Quite a few tries before I slipped in a shower. Yet, lying overstuffed, on the lower bunk, after Sat. night dinner, while 3 gals chattered about crafts, was pleasant. I've enjoyed roommates very much over the years. Undoubtedly I was better off nights in the tent, though, than bunking in a room right by squealing main door that would have been used dozens of times during the night. Good combo--tent and dorm space.
My strongest memory of the retreat 2 yrs ago is of peusdo lady bugs flying and crawling everywhere. (This mild Oct, I acquired fly bites.) This year, however, the aphid eating “lady” bugs were but a trifle compared to earlier plague. But, wouldn't cha know? While we could still converse, met several folks who'd retreated 2 years before. One woman had no recollection of the beetles. Proving once again, what differing realities we all have. Sensible folks live in the present moment, while I archive.
Returned delighted and inspired, thinking of Hotei, dreaming of sublime "chia" tea, and wondering if the closing meditation might be right for prisoners some day. Perhaps the weekend helped me be more courageous about facing the dental world, the present moment of what is. With a bow....
Fall 2010 - balance and end of season rambles
In a flash this turn of season I finally understood why so many unsteady folks push me away when I offer my arm to help walk. Following the local history symposium we all enjoyed so much, we kept talking about how we enjoyed various programs (while others did not) and vice versa. As always had to conclude to each his own. Don't I know what's best!! Would have been hard to find fault with Thomas Jefferson, but I'm sure folks did, preferring slapstick Johnnie Appleseed, who took down much of the house, to my surprise, while I thought, How silly!! If we voted with money, one of the comedy presentations might well have won over the serious re-enactments I was on the edge of my seat for.
Rather intense times. “WC Fields videos are the only thing that get me through winter”, one friend says. Don't know what she would have thought of the WC Fields we saw (said history symposium). I enjoyed not at all, but then I'm rarely amused by booze.
As we debated such pros and cons circling a leg or shoulder during water exercise class one morning, one elder (with an anachronistic ‘60s dyed bouffant vigilantly kept from the water) mentioned one of our buddies had fallen flat on her face after the program while walking in the dark to the car. I hadn't known.
Out burst one of my favorite whines—only E and N let me walk with them to the car! Everyone else swats at me! So much easier to walk with a buddy, I went on, blah blah. Why would people rather fall than walk with someone for stability?
“We don't want you to walk with us because you'll pull us down with you.”
There it was, straight from a fierce DAR patriot, the reason modern day Americans are both independent and fearful. “You'll pull me down.” Got it.
I will? Wherever do they get that? Why ever would a yoga instructor obsessed with teaching balance, jerk an elder to the ground?? Where is this thinking coming from?
Can only be from Fear--Fear Of Others. The only people to trust are family. Oh my God. That's it. Maybe the glue that holds us together is fear now that we're nervous about God.
No wonder I adore the shape note hymn by Billings, "David's Lamentation". "David the King was grieved and moved; he went to his chamber and wept; and as he went and wept he said: Oh my son! Would to God I had died, for thee, oh Absalom, my son". Seems to express my strong feelings of horror, grief and disappointment.
No wonder it's such a struggle to make friends, to help, find community, bring people together. No wonder I've learned to just let people go (not a bad lesson of course). If Doc N wants to fall on the way to the car, he'll go down his way. In some ways I heartily approve. If mom's ancient bird watching buddy won't let me help cook, she's doing it her way. When she got hungry, she hired help.
As a do-it-myself person, I think I understand independence. Yet when I learn something is better or nearly essential with others, like walking at night across a treacherous park lawn into headlights, standing on a ladder, unloading a porch glider, crossing a fast stream, or needing a flashlight held—why not go for it, accept help? It's like hiking without a backpack—much lighter and easier!
Of course I don't liked to be gratuitously “helped” either. "You oughta go to the workshop next week", a friend repeats. He didn't listen when I said how much I'm looking forward to a similar one coming up. Sigh--advice is always for the giver. I realize a hand offered in the wrong place as I climb down bus steps would indeed cause me to lose balance if I reached. "You need to patiently reassure older people", a wise woman reminds me. Indeed, it is so. The fine art of helping the fearful elder. Need to work on that.
Confess I'm not filled with the milk of human kindness after traveling. I am filled with awe of nature and geography, grateful for travel mercies. But for people? Not exactly. Driving through oh so crowded Yellowstone--all campgrounds full--I was horrified by what I overheard while watching wild animals… gulp. And what I saw--cigarette butts in beautiful pools, plastic diapers in fire rings. Wonderful people, I'm sure, simply unskilled, self-centered like all of us. Oh my God.
How I struggle with my awful attitude! I want to be like the Dalai Lama who never meets a stranger, who has a smile for all, is full of kindness, a living Jesus with malice towards none--what a good place to be! The awful truth is I'm thrown off balance by a small cruelty to mother nature, let alone a travesty. I may say I practice accepting living and dying, but I'm not even good with slight insults!
Tried posting a "meaningful" quote from a popular Buddhist magazine on Facebook recently, to see what'd happen. "Clinging to a rock while being battered by waves only causes damage, while letting go and learning to swim freely in the changing waters can result in a great sense of meaning and well-being"--- Andrew Olenzdki. I thought this was stunning. Surprise -- no discussion. Maybe folks aren't clinging to the goode olde daze as I am. If facebook buddies can post "Click if you love Jesus" and "I'm proud to be a right wing fundamentalist", along with "I love the latest supertrash or pitbulls or my grandkids more than you do"-- why not a little eastern wisdom?
Could this possibly be my world, my curriculum, as Ram Dass' spoke calls it? My classroom? No, no!
I know numbers of happy people. They love their dogs and families. They raise their kids' extra children's. A classmate explained, “I love having family around.” She's making family happen.
I'll love Shane Claiborne forever for saying the Sunday school picture of the perfect family with 2.5 children is Terrible Theology. Amen. And Amen. Saint Shane—not in his lifetime—but in my eyes--he's divine.
After visiting the high, dry, cool, beautiful West--following what seemed like a nearly unbearably hot midwest summer-- sleeping out under moon and stars; visiting comfy long time buddies; attending an excellent anatomy workshop (the likes of which I haven't found yet in the Midwest); restoring spirit at the church I still miss; filling body with oriental vegetables, rice, grilled fish—I have a new koan: How to maintain healthy mind-body-spirit while living in Illinois. Mind-body-spirit health seems ever so very much easier Out West! How to survive and thrive in instant potatoes/ biscuits and gravy land; dying churches with 6 verses of unfamiliar hymns; no nearby river to walk along; rare yoga classes; hot, buggy spring and summer; endless winter Midwest? Can I survive in the remnant oak groves on the prairie, with the midwest's slower pace, where I rediscovered the roots I missed out West and now bury myself in the past and genealogy? I'm still yoyo-ing between loneliness and hmm... the richness and depth of returning to familiar names and places where I seem to know the rest of the story. My life is a bit like a seismograph in an earthquake region. What I enjoy is off the charts, as is my aloneness. Which brings these thoughts full circle to my passion for balance.
Spring 2010--the longest winter?
I remain in a deep gray spiritual funk, following winter's string of cloudy winter moons. One day suddenly in April (or was it March?) spring burst forth with near violence, having been held back so long. I stayed gloomy. Shudda been knocked out by the glory of the season--what with all the rain, everything flowered to its utmost-- but was more like a wary observer. One Friday afternoon (en route to a Chinese-LDS fusion funeral I couldn't miss--supplied a copy of the Tao Te Ching to a presenter), stopped by the lake to find bloodroot in full blossom (understand they have a very short season). Thank you!
Just as may apples and trillium poked through dead leaves, before Jack-in-the-Pulpit and friends appeared, right after Easter, got in the toyota and headed west to Albuquerque. Hated to miss crawling on the woods floor to look eye level at God's amazing plants--any time on my knees is good-- to replace last years photos that went down with the hard drive (regret, regret! All about letting go gracefully, que no?)
No one wants to hear my "don't think I can make it through another winter". However, it's a rather strong message: mind-body-spirit no can do another round. Not certain what this is all about--lack of community, church, passion; broken connection to God, mental illness, all of the above... Whatever. Subtle depression like I've not known left me without energy or interest in anything--but genealogy. I was jealous of the friend who checks into a psych ward periodically. Escape sounded good to me. The cruise to the Mediterranean warmed me physically, distanced me from food, and embarrassed me about my attachment to the world. Returned to exactly the same old, same old--sun poisoning healed, tan faded. Only the present moment.
Fr. Rohr/friends April conference on the Emerging Church lured me to leave Illinois spring--after all the months we waited!--for spring in the West. Packed food box, magazines and books (2 boxes to leave in Colorado), camping gear, CDs. As I drove hwy 36 and other secondary hwys through Missouri and Nebraska, angled across the edge of a storm. Began to feel better. Car camped "alone" by reservoirs--me and cows. Not hot enough for boaters or bugs. Worked well for me.
Albuquerque's old hostel was waiting as promised. Slipped in the first night's tiny room sideways, shower and toilet tucked under hall stairs. Grew fonder of the hostel each day, realizing it modeled the community about which the conference spoke. When travelers moved on, I was moved to a spacious suite of sorts, though I still preferred the hall bathtub. Shortly I didn't care if the building fell in; what a comfortable place! The conference was held in a lovely SW style hotel down the way. In between was a homey cafe with mild chili rellenos and unhurried staff. I was surprised and grateful to find big Albuquerque slowing me down. Found my way around much better than in 2006--even found a real grocery store this time!
Claiborne's opening presentation knocked my socks off--had I worn them--too warm. Hadn't a clue what was going on in Philadelphia and beyond. Wow! Can't miss an AMOG or AWOG, as my old vineyard puts it--Awesome Man/Woman of God. The fellow on my right (from CT) at the round table was also staying at the hostel. The 2nd day opened with an Episcopal minister sharing she'd just had a dream come true--silent retreat over Easter. Wow--the S world, silence.
The next couple of days, speakers challenged, affirmed and clarified. Methodist elder Suzanne nailed depression as lack of whole heartedness. Amen and amen. Loved hearing McLaren; his world lens expanded my view. Fr. Rohr pulled things together, focusing on dual and non-dual thinking, moving beyond. Good to be with folks in a number of denominations to talk about the imperative opportunity of church/christianity to change, with unusual respect for other paths. (In the midst of the conference a few attendees still tried to evangelize for their denomination or tell one us how things must be done; a catholic elder insisted on The Formula to evangelize. We are so like, as my mentor here says, disciples sleeping at Jesus' feet, hearing little. Bless us.
When the dark side of catholicism--my cherished opinion--guilt and grief--was on the program for late Saturday, decided to take a chance on getting into Anaya's sold out play of "Bless Me Ultima" in the University area. Perhaps by trying to be inclusive of the latest "minorities", the conference exhausted introverts and smaller minds like mine? I'm still just trying to empty my overcrowded, opinionated mind. Simply couldn't handle looking back or being reminded of all the injustice out there! Instead, enjoyed a warm small theater evening of New Mexican tales, told with much Hispanic language. I felt the message dove tailed perfectly with the conference, and my warm stay at the hostel.
After final questions and answers, which had me on the edge of my seat, and a Sunday morning mass to which all were invited, reluctantly left Albuquerque. My experience was complete and overflowing. Driving on west, savored, folded up and tucked my experience away, knowing, try as I might to bring it up back home, it wouldn't really be brought out again, until I got around to writing. "How was your trip?", the occasional person who realized I'd been away, inquired. "Visited family, right?" "Uhh Great", was a sufficient reply I learned quickly. Preach by living, not talking, darn it.
Late in the day, the perfect campground-- thank you God. Wouldn't have put up the tent if I hadn't had old fashioned neighbors (Quakers from MA) who put up an old one like I hadn't seen in some time. Simplicity in action. Although my neighbor dismiss organized (who's kidding who) religion when I yammered about the conference at first opportunity, shortly the wife acknowledged even the friends church is challenged to change, and yes she had read Claiborne. Common ground, I think, if we/I can get beyond differences. Quakers are not the only church concerned about the environment I grumbled to myself. In the morning hiked the loop trail through juniper to begin acclimatizing to an an ecosystem I've dearly love and miss. The SW still feels pretty homey.
Stop in Prescott appeared to be largely about The World, the opposite of simplicity. However my hostess and host's healthy eating and cooking was an powerful lesson in mindful cooking, with my name on it.
My spring revival continued with 3 more nights in the desert, under stars visited by clouds with more old friends-- ponderosa, pinon and juniper. Home tugs after a couple weeks. As it happened, for one evening my travels were able to intersect with long, long time desert hikers I've been away from since 2004. "Was it a yoga conference?", my longest friend queried. "Uhhh", I stammered; "Great conference about churches needing to change". Silence. (No one else asked.) I've grown to love this gentle, bruised kindred spirit. We find long distance comfort in our mutual passion for things wild and growing. I returned to the prairie of our childhood. Now I get notes from the west I loved and left. Promised my soul I'd meet this mindful group in the desert again. Just cross MO, KS, and CO on 36; stop for nights with friends indoors and outdoors.
As for a kindred spirit to discuss the church emergent? Gotta zip my lips, go within. Contemplation, sigh.
Although I still think I can't take another winter like the last, watched myself order new tires with an 80,000 mile warranty. Shrugged--someone'll use 'em. Maybe me, maybe not. God knows. The strongest voice I hear for inner peace is simplicity. Fr. Rohr's message about simplifying (don't know whether this was "live" from the conference, or in the stack of recordings I picked up at the conference to listen to across the miles) has my name on it. Perfect teachers everywhere, everywhere. Assignment 2010.
Fall-Winter 2009--Give
what? all up?!
We're regularly reminded in Bible
Therapy that prophet Jeremiah's bottom line message is "Give It Up".
No Bible scholar, I can't verify Dr John's take on the prophet.
The good doctor, also reminds us of his degree in psychology (among
other fields) with piercing questions like "Does anyone know what it's
like to be in exile?"; patients enthusiastically testify. Perhaps
Dr J favors Jeremiah's efficiency; his home is admirably clutter
free.
Since
patience is up there with grace in my book, I'm uneasy that Dr J
dispatches patience along with clutter. I dare not mention more
than once a liturgical cycle that "Giving it up", "Letting go", and
Life is Suffering, are core teachings of eastern religions, relevant
most any time and place, in the same family as "surrender", a word that
rarely comes up in class. Forgiveness tends to bring forth howls
of "never!"
Glaring
from my vantage point struggling to sit properly and pain free in a
library chair, is that "Give It Up" never seems to apply to the
cherished mainline churches Dr J and others relentlessly defend.
It's applied to "Them/Others" (which, as it happens, include my cherish
interests). We all want "Them" to quit doing/ believing whatever
They're doing!! Never "Us"! Of course.
A big
picture person, I'm fascinated by healthy leadership and community, by
churches willing to give up the old and move on. Presbyterian
Sunday school has been watching Crossen's Eclipse series. Crossen
dares suggest Christianity consider update/change. I nod; the
"table" cries arrogance!
I'm convinced the advice of sages to Let Go (Jeremiah
included, if willing) is thoroughly relevant today. Give it up,
mainstream churches. Give up attitudes of superiority, the
conviction of being right. Stop criticizing successful churches,
start learning. Stop pointing fingers; start letting go.
Christians--stop thinking your church is The Church!
Ministers--start healing rather than widening rifts throughout the body
of Christ.
Attending mainstream sunday school, then a non
denominational service, as I do from time to time, is like night and
day, in terms of the sense of life. Like a moth to flame, I can't
resist light and life. Traditional as I am (sentimental, clinging
to King James language), experiencing the same old, same old, no matter
how "politically correct", pales in the light of a living, breathing
congregation. The message to mainlines need not be cease and
desist. But, could it be--be ye transformed? No need to
throw out everything, all tradition, all music. However, how
about a new "melody or thought" now and then? I'd love to meet a
church that would consider replacing lists of who's sick with counting
blessings! Might we consider lightening up! I love some of
each--old and new. So clear much of the old is dying before our
very eyes and new is arising nearby...
Much as I hate to admit it, Give It Up, is of course perfect advice to myself as the decade turns. I've got heaps to give up. Perhaps I oughta give up roaming, searching for an agreeable church home. Or, maybe I oughta lighten up and enjoy being homeless? God knows. I don't seem to.
This new decade, Christmas and deep winter, pretty much revolve around letting go and moving on. I admit this includes letting go of my bad attitudes towards more people than I care to admit. Such as the pastor adored by a handful, who gives me hives, you might say. I wait expectantly, as though for a Messiah, for the reverend to move on to greener pastures! Dear God!! What have I come to! Or the former counselor I try not to sit near. Or other advice givers I avoid. I'm stunned how many folks have moved to my Not Fond Of list. I know full well I've got to change, not "them". I wrestle with these "sacred enemies" as the Dalai Lama calls those who challenge and teach us.
Practically full time I ponder the simplicity that comes with letting go. I was moved and inspired by a set of public radio programs the only (December) morning I didn't go to church (shocked myself by not going; for weeks weather has been a socially acceptable excuse to stay home). My lessons came from NPR's To The Best of Our Knowledge (Dec. 27th)--interviews with Kathleen Norris on acedia; someone on loneliness; someone on how giving gifts brings light to the giver; an author who learned surrender during a year in isolation. The idea of dreading morning as a sign of loneliness interested me, but what really grabbed my attention was Satish Kumar stating clearly (despite the interviewer's efforts to dig up an exception): because he did one thing at a time, he was always happy. I'm mulling this over like a koan--how to do one thing at a time. There on the radio--my theme for The New Year: One Thing At A Time. Thank you. Back to Mother Teresa's small things well.
Does that mean I can't listen to music as I drive, or at home? Maybe. Watch out folks, gonna be slower than ever this year.
In my mind, I throw out boxes of videos and tapes, give away LPs; craigslist antique camping gear, back issues of yoga magazines and sentinels; give away clothes, books and cds. However, only now and then there's a thud in the waste basket, or a stack of books goes to the library, mere drops in the ocean of simplifying.
Must, must finish transcribing the family diary of William Mann crossing the plains summer 1860. His short daily entries make my head whirl (or maybe they stop it from spinning). I'm taken back into a life of astonishing simplicity. "May the 21st drove 29 miles to day in a westerly course along the south side of the great plat". Most days little is mentioned beyond departure hour; miles traveled; grass and water. Occasionally noted are hills, horses or oxen, repairs, fellow travelers, health or new graves. Mann's log uses the same simple, straight forward words (we might call misspelled) each day. No fancy language, descriptions or drama; rare mention of food, relationship, worries, hopes. Thus far, primarily the present moment revealed in faint pencil, by a traveler.
The contrast with nowadays is more than I can bridge. My mind boggles as I peer between the lines, acknowledging the practical physical skills and discipline required to cross the country, not to mention what looks like incredible faith and vision. Was there pride in self sufficiency and accomplishment? Where was fear? Looking back 150 years later challenges my busy contemporary mind big time. Whose lives are truly meaningful?
Several wounds re-opened this fall. Probably most painful--family. A brief reference to a heroine brothers in one of Ken Follett's historical medieval novels stopped me short. Something like: where were her brothers when she needed them?
I've told myself brothers looking after sisters, siblings caring, is myth; yet in the back of my mind it still lurks because I know brothers are a part of most sisters' lives. Old college friend Greg shares his home with his sister! Having brothers, but not having them in my life, is an unhealed wound of broken family relationship and love lost. I've been unskillful with my brothers and retreated to where it hurts as little as possible. I'm unable to admit the obvious--I'm the one in whom love is missing.
Another wound, on the back burner, no longer consciously painful, reappeared one morning. Since falling in love with church Out West, and hearing Joseph Campbell explain myth, I don't fume nearly as much about how male centered the Bible is, as I once did. I've learned to ignore the outrageousness of the Bible (much as I ignore vexacious people or unhelpful advice), knowing it was written by and for men. Melting under the authority of pastors both male and female whose authenticity and transparency touched me, healed much of my resentment of the male language of the Bible that is so off-putting and alienating (to this daughter).
Recently a male friend described how moved he was by a retelling of the prodigal son story in modern terms. I realized my wound/ resentment is still there. I wasn't at the telling, but I imagine I would have sat stony faced while real men shed no tears. Or I would have thought about something else. The way I hear it, Bible story after story is about sons. I was raised with brothers and am clear sons are not the same as daughters--no, no, no. Not even close. I know, I repeat, because I'm a daughter, not a son. Not only that, our experiences were so different that the brothers and I appear to have had different parents.
No matter how pastors try to explain "man" means woman also, in my case, it generally falls on deaf ears. I know when I'm being spoken to and when I'm not. It was probably a woman who finally got me to hear the message of forgiveness in the prodigal son. A pastor who takes a story where I can hear it is no small thing. I pretty much have to hear messages in nontraditional ways. I've needed much help.
Recently, during a heavily male dominated Sunday School, I was again reminded that after all these years I am still not buying that prodigal son means prodigal daughter too, not buying that son means daughter. (Does holding to son literally make me a fundamentalist??) Layers keep bubbling up....
Of course men love the prodigal son story! It's perhaps very moving to men. I don't know; I'm not a man. I know from blank faces, it's nearly impossible for men to understand what it's like to be a woman or what it's like for a woman to listen to the Prodigal Son one more time. Likewise it's impossible for this woman to understand what it's like to be a man, or to listen to the Prodigal Son as a man listens! No can do. Can't speak for all women, just one. Nor can I by the way, speak for “ladies” (about which I know nothing), only a woman. I know one man who is very moved by the story. I know a woman who is uneasy with it.
[ PS. Since writing this I heard the stunning true NY story by Gloria Gonzalez of her brother returning from the Marines as a woman, being welcomed by their mother. That's more like it. A mother-father God who welcomes everyone, not just sons.]
It's been such a long, long journey to appreciate a Bible that feels so sexist to me. Perhaps my ears began opening when I started hearing promises that sounded as though they rang true for everyone, not just men. Or women. Slowly I was touched by teachings that seemed non sexist, stories and parables that held my attention. Some "knocked my socks off"--did Jesus-- dare anyone say that! Why don't we ever hear about that! With the help of many teachers and pastors, I listened deeper.
This reflective time of year, I've been able to understand more clearly why here on the prairie I feel so at home yet at the same time, lonely. Although I grew up here, after 40 yrs wandering, I'll always be a new kid on the block, bounced off of unbroken friendships that go back decades, with no huge gap! Living in a monastery of my own making on the prairie works most of the time. I value quiet more and more. But there are times when I think there's not a soul in town I can talk to about this or that. If I can get myself to Walmart or the grocery store, can usually find good enough conversation. If I want "deep" talk, I'll write or dial long distance.
Reflecting on the year, another big lesson came to light. May not have realized what an introvert I am until I survived my first ever surprise party here on the prairie, and until I was singled out at a benefit. For decades I've either been away for my birthday or working--no big thing, birthdays. I was surprised how overwhelmed, ungrateful and embarrassed I was by the attention of a surprise party. No amount of teasing or cajoling can make me into extrovert. I admire and envy extroverts and articulate speakers; life must be easier. We humans like to see others squirm; we love disasters and accidents. I've gone around accidents and avoided conflict for decades. Until I'm enlightened enough to be comfortable with whatever happens, I'll take myself camping again next birthday; works best for all.
Although the year seemed to end abruptly, with snow and a cold front, spiritually it wrapped up well as I listened to Karen Armstrong's Case for God. Her perspective on the ever shifting philosophies of "God" over the millennia flowed well into my thoughts, leaving me hopeful of the possibility of life and change in churches/Christianity and religion. After wading through the swamp, headed into 2010 reaffirmed of the importance of patience, silence and doing one thing at a time.
---WCCM Hong Kong coordinator Lina Lee quoting her mom, World Community of Christian Meditation newsletter Sept 2009
As
usual,
it happened before I knew it. Wish I could recall exactly what
was
said that made me get up from the floor of bible class and say I just
couldn't
agree with what was being said. “Don't Bite the Hook” has my name
on it. Deacon John is ever hopeful something "meaningful" will
emerge
out of outbursts such as mine. But I'm not theologically
articulate;
only know alarms were going off in my heart.
Another
Monday morning Bible study. These weeks, I confess I attend
largely
because that's where parties and open houses invitations are made (I'm
anxious about being left out--you’ll see why)! When I moved back
to the Midwest and met The Deacon, I urged him to hold Bible
study--know
a good teacher when I meet one.
We no
longer
meet in a small upper Sunday school kids room with balloons.
We're
downstairs at the big table now. The group has grown.
Still,
class is not for the faint hearted, the Borg and Crossen
approach.
I find it refreshing after years in a so called conservative
non-denominational
church. However, far more challenging than theology is embracing
the ever fractious body of Christ. Lately I look for reasons not
to show up every week! I swear we always end up ranting about the
same old, same old, and it ain’t the glory of God, but--politics.
The
Deacon
follows the Sunday lectionary (something I'd never heard of 'til this
move).
Originally I thought of Bible study as my Sunday after pill.
Needed
something following Sunday services in these old churches.
The
group
is about as interfaith as groups get ‘round here--maybe 4 denominations
plus whatever I attend. Before the group got larger, we'd go
around
and mention how our priests/pastors had used the lectionary. I
loved
this. Occasionally someone remembered something, or had taken
notes,
but most of us drew blanks. (Always throwing me into peels of
laughter—start
to get the picture?) I'd usually enjoyed a service off the beaten
path which had no direct relationship to the lectionary, and so
reported.
Though
The Deacon (TD) says readings rotate in a 3 year cycle, I swear it's
the
same thing every week. Just discussed that, di’n’t we?
Between
church and bible study, seems like the hem of the garment, loaves and
fishes,
prodigal sons, golden age births, miracles from the good book are
everywhere.
I'm no
Bible reader, but a fair listener (resigned to the hot spot with other
non scripture readers.) Now and then a story's a new one on
me.
Otherwise….
All
sounds
same-same to me. Ancient, difficult names blend into one
mishmash,
and I drift-drift. (Yup, been asked if I'm ADD.) Only the
gist
of a dozen or so stories have jumped onboard to guide my life.
Perhaps
wrongly, I feel I've got the idea: love God with all thine heart, mind
and soul, thy neighbor and thyself likewise. Yes? No
buts.
(As in, but if you're not saved you're toast no matter
what.
More or less learned not to bite that hook.)
When I
twin love thy neighbor with buddhist mind training such as to put
others
first, who can miss the picture!
Which
is
why in our 2nd or 3rd year of Bible Study my body and I have become
bold
enough to do yoga during class (since I'm giving up Y water class for
Bible
study). When I can't take another anglican gay update, or go feed
the poor lecture from our hefty fearless leader, I go to the
floor.
The last thing this sedentary soul needs is more sitting on her
buttocks.
I've beaucoups spiritual lessons under my belt—not much confusion
there—but
hips still need work.
I'm
particularly beside myself when the discussion returns again and again
to patting ourselves on the back and bashing "them". My patience
wire trips and sometimes I can't take it anymore--we never get
anywhere.
So I find a corner in the room where I hope not to embarrass the
Lutherans.
The Episcopalians already pretend they don't know me—no problem.
Presbyterians endure me stoically. I'm the least of the worries
of
ex-catholics. While folks hold forth, I listen and do a little
bodywork
instead of sit, sit, sitting in awful bucket seats, stressing tailbone.
This
morning
I saw clearly--maybe 'cause I was on my back—ha ha—how some of us have
such small gods. Who your God is, is how you live your life,
no?
Suddenly I realized folks couldn't be talking about the same God as
me!
Not my God! No way the fear and doubts and negative thinking I
was
hearing had anything to do with the omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent
God! I've been around the Psalms too much for small stuff.
Just
how
big is that God of yours, I wondered, further separating myself from
the
rascally body of Christ around me! Saw clearly how the lenses of
our personal Gods form our world views. Earlier I'd noticed
The Deacon ignore the suggestion that the reading was about
faith.
Just where was/were God and faith at this table this morning?
Intellectuals
and fear were running amok!
I may
have
spent a long time seeing the world through a blurry family lens, but
once
on the road, fur flew. I've had the gift of grand teachers and
several
life giving, life saving, functional churches, cleaning up the lens
through
which I view life.
Both
the
Bible and Christian meditation remind me to pray without ceasing.
Religious Science reminds me my assignment is love. Christian
Science
reminds me to stand porter at the door of my mind. And Buddhism
helps
me know and study my own rascal mind. These teachings have served
me for several decades, grounding me theologically more than I'd
realized until this moment. I'm not asking questions, just
wrestling
with self.
Darned
if my background and theology haven't brought me into collision and
alienation
with the mainstream, my community, my local body of Christ.
Sometimes
to the point I'm lonely and question whether there's room for me.
My truths aren't others'. The gulf widens as fear grows.
How
from another planet are my beliefs, my God, how alone in my New Thought
thinking, following the road less traveled. I don't like this and
don't thrive.
The
same,
same rant about the contemporary politics of “us and them” is tough on
me. To be fair, most of the class The Deacon tries valiently to
keep
us in the time frames of the “paricopies” (big theological terms remain
black holes no matter how many times they're defined!) we study--so we
stop leaping to current events. However, he's the leader, free to
report on current anglican dramas, share favorite commentaries, and
remind
us to spread the gospel and feed the poor... better not go there.
But of
God? Not so much! I weary and badly need perspective on the
body of Christ.
I'm
especially
touchy about Blame and Bash "them" rants--fundamentalists,
nondenominationals
and megachurches (unless I'm doing the bashing)--from the mouths of
those
who've never known or visited any of the above. How can we do
this!!
It's a cake walk to dismiss a church as "full of republicans".
It's
advanced studies to hear what's really going on.
We
ultimately
circle around to—Why’re our own beloved oh so comfortable mainstream
churches
dying?! I've tried and tried (not hard enough I've been reminded)
to attend mainstream churches here, but end up shaking my head,
horrified,
more depressed then when I walked in…. What's so preferable about
a dying church I wonder?
Most
accusations
roll off me. However, it's painful to have loved a
nondenominational
church dearly and hear my companion joke and criticize them as they
wring
their hands over their churches. Will the real conservatives
please
stand! How can we throw out the good taught in other
churches!
I come home and write furiously.
Answers
are so right with us in the form of our own narrow minds that sometimes
I can't sit still. I yearn to say we're boring ourselves to death
with the same old same old but instead I say….
“You
know
I can't agree”, as I swing my legs to the side and crawl up from the
floor,
returning to the chair vacated earlier. My cherish opinion:
despite
his occasional lectures on epistemological humility, some of us haven't
changed our mind or listened to anyone with less than a PhD since the
ice
retreated. Meow.
Like a
broken record--I’d already mentioned briefly that morning—again—how
much
I'd appreciated attending a so called conservative church where we were
clear we were under authority, both God's and the speed limit.
I've
grown to appreciate churches that challenge our rebellious natures and
take God, faith and prayer seriously. I miss them dearly.
On my
soapbox
I unskillfully blurt out about not throwing out babies with bath water
and how I have to hold my nose and roll my eyes in nearly any church,
even
those I love, which is most all. At least in some of the
so-called
conservative churches (that as it happens are growing, while cherished
local ones die), there's life. I hear sermons that challenge and
engage, that make me uncomfortable and come back for more. In
contrast
most of our local mainstream churches are oh so comfortable and
safe.
Learned awhile back I need to be a bit comfortable. Oh to be a
silver
tongued public speaker!
I
wonder
why I'm not included in private parties?!!
I don't
want to look at the world through the lens of cynicism and fear.
It's hard to see the good in the world when one feeds on mainstream
news
and comes from a struggling church in need of hospice. Most folks
haven't had the opportunity to witness a church full of life and
change,
a church that turns lives around, a bold, transparent minister, self
examining,
loving, edifying. Again and again-- how blessed I was to learn to
love in that vineyard of irresistable folks who weren't as fond of me
as
I was of them. Took the assignment to love anyhow with me when I
moved back to the midwest.
Feeling
better.
How
could
one possibly be anything but a lifelong learner--humpf?!
One of
the Bible class regulars enjoys the strong characters at the table as
much
as I do. His fertile mind has come up with a cast for the
class.
He's got Raymond Burr starring with Margaret Mead, Talulla Bankhead,
Groucho
Marx, Lucille Ball, Rod Blago and more. Coming soon: Bible
Study: the movie. It helps to laugh.
Spring 2009 - Into the Garden
Thought
I wanted to be included at someone else's easter dinner; I
wasn't.
Considered assembling a dinner of leftover folks but didn't think I
knew
anyone else. I'm more or less unfit for human company this so
called
“spring” anyhow.
Listening
to Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services finally "got it"--time to
go
to The Garden! Of course. For weeks I've been threatening
to
go listen for frogs, sleep under a tree. Then it got cold, rainy,
etc. Rain or not, I was off for a night in eastern IL. When
my favorite campground was closed/locked, surrendered to the main
campground
just off the interstate with its steady roar of traffic. Dashed
to
town to attend the vigil at an old catholic church. After we
stuffed
ourselves into the church, we were hailed back outside--babies,
families--for
an official opening fire ritual, with a priest. I was thrilled to
watch a sharptail hawk fly in--it was dusk-- and observe the gathering
from high for some time, before flying across the street. I love
gatherings of the changing/unchanged catholic church--Philippinos,
Hispanics,
all ages, kids. (Don't know what the hawk thought.)
Back at
the campsite three of us early bird tenters rattled around the
nonelectric
loop that evening. Frogs went to sleep early; awoke once to an
owl
call. Aircraft flew so low so low during the night I wondered if
I'd tented on a runway. The new waxing moon rose early and made
shadows
on the tent much of the night, but I was too cold to peak out from
sweater
over head. T'was nippy. Found myself thinking--regardless,
good to be out.
In the
morning, indulged in writing Eve months of news. The park
director
I met last year at the closed campground to the north came by and
chatted
with us tenters. Good job reclaiming stripped coal
land.
Excellent PR man; had to tear myself away to Easter morning late
service
(glad I did). Wanted more tent time, once it warmed up, more time
in the woods. More time writing Eve, myself. More time in
the
garden. Yearn to return.
Late of
course, squeezed into full sanctuary. Folks arrived 'til the
service,
which was satisfying, was over! A baby hiccuped
ceaselessly.
Oh how I miss the old church. Why cant I forget! Don't
really
need a pastor in jeans with shirt tails out and punk hair, or a light
show,
but sincerity works. Afterwards I met the lone recycler and
senior
pastors. Boldly or rudely I mentioned how the call to green came
from the top in Boise. The pastor opined that Idahoans are more
environmentally
aware!! Just because there are rivers? Not my view.
Cherished
opinions. Before leaving town, visited new widow Kathy, heard
about
the trip to China, and saw Harry's tree us old buddies contributed
towards.
If I lived in Urbana, I'd have a qigong teacher and woods right in town
with paths to prowl. Compelling. Not to mention ethnic
influences.
'twas
an
Easter of re-enactments. From 1st Pres breaking apart, re-doing
Ken's
"Bystanders", scene by scene, and then uhhh discussing each. To
the
vineyard junior pastor retelling the easter story from the point of
view
of a soldier.
Reenactments
always remind me of my first experiences, which seemed so right and
real--pastor
Mike's incredible passion for bringing the Bible alive in his
unpretentious
way, greeting us in Hebrew or Greek. Incredible Idaho.
Sleepers
everywhere.
As
always--
head full of confusion needing airing and sorting.
Keep
thinking
'bout full Easter weekend. En route to camp, heard talk by a
visiting
buddhist teacher i've not much appreciated in the past. If i
heard
right--one always hears what one needs--this time he focused on the
"sickness
of right and wrong", good and bad (like in the story of the father with
the son kicked by the horse, the son couldn't go to war, etc).
Curious
students began asking such off the wall questions as why it took Jesus
Three (not 2, not 4) days to resurrect (I hooted with delight).
That
was somewhat how the teacher responded-- 1 day, 2? 3?, what
difference
does it make? Promoting (I thought) his point about right and
wrong.
(On another level, I understood this to be about our incredible
demand/addiction
to know per Angeles Arrian.) The teacher baits seekers with a "Go
ahead, ask anything at all"! Bet he yearns to be a
counselor.
Maybe he is. What I wanted to know was--how are his eye(s).
Heard he'd had an operation, was studying his face, eyes.) Of
course
I didn't ask. He's the teacher who said No, I couldn't go into
prison
with one of his students without being his own student also! Have
I mentioned that lately--ha ha--so i know he's got his own control
issues.
I'm his student, most everyone's' student, but won't admit it to his
face,
which is what I assume he needs. Maybe he's changed? Have I?
Now why
would any thoughtful person ask a Buddhist practitioner/teacher (albeit
Jewish by birth), unknowable questions about a 2000 year old teacher or
another denomination? We must know these things, even as we scorn
the religion of our grandparents, and admire uncle Al who refused to
set
foot inside church. We're confused folks. I am. On
review,
perhaps it does seem preferable asking an outsider an inside question,
to asking the average pastor who'd be unlikely to have a broad
view.
Another answer might be, we're not very thoughtful people, which I
translate
"mindful". (Lately I want to call the yoga classes I've been
sharing
at the fitness club, Mindful Yoga. "Can't you move faster and do
more, like the other instructor does?", one newcomer confronted.
No....)
Since I
so wrestle with judgment, the visiting teacher's talk was more or less
down my alley. Stunned to learn a student from Lincoln Christian
college observed the morning--silent sit/walk and teacher talk.
Was
that why the Christian theme? Who knows. Never heard such a
thing from that teacher. Easter weekend; bet I wasn't the only
one
surprised. Too bad I haven't learned how to build relationship
with
the group. Relationship, not my strong suit.
Which
leads
to pastor John subbing for the UUs recently. He's utterly lucid
and
unabashed about his Christianity, yet belongs to a nonchristian
fellowship
i'm tempted to label antichristian. There he is, enjoying the
fellowship
that he didn't get in his own denomination, a story I relate well to,
seeking
community. He knows several folks well enough to be included in
their
lives. Boldly he spoke on "Advanced Spirituality", with a
chuckle.
Wonderful, simple talk, referencing the Bible amply, also Kerouac and
everything
in between. He knows his theology and his UUs. Bonnie wove
hymns into the closing before anti christians knew what happened and
the
equal time committee could meet. John was pleased. I
watched
as people made their ways up to him. I know he touched a distant
chord in many. Ones who didn't want to hear a christian speak
hadn't
showed up, per UU prerogative. After an hour of socializing,
eventually
joined 3 diabetic UU members--2 former pastors and an aspergers
fellow--for
lunch at their favorite chain. (Don't bother to suggest a change
to a healthier, less traditional venue!) At every opportunity I
asked
what Rev John heard from folks after the sermon. He too wonders
why
no one ever discusses sermons. Wish he were a regular sub.
Love hearing from those who've been there, done that, lived, learned,
grown.
Heart warming morning/afternoon.
The
dance
goes on. Lose track of perspective unless I go to the garden and
write my heart back open. Closes so easily. So many
unfinished
lessons.
From a
cemetery side rosary (as always, practically no one could hear beans,
especially
the folks who whispered); to an evangelical flogging so severe (go
recruit
for Jesus) that I nearly jumped up on my seat (in one move, like a
Hubbard
Street dancer onto a folding chair) and yelled "Shut Up! I'm a
contemplative!";
to an episcopalian service in Hartford (went east for Hemphill memorial
service) I cried through, the dance continues. UCCs showed a
friday
night movie that gave life/ brought order out of chaos-- Seeger doc:
Power
of song; at last able to accept UCC hospitality. Does it count
that
I inadvertently experienced a gay centered concert? Did I mention
the baptist's deeply moving easter production (so reminiscent of Cora's
Concert of the Cross)?
Surely
one man's evangelism for Jesus is as real as one woman's campaign for
silence.
If only he'd listen. ha ha. If only she'd do what she's
told.
ha ha.
Absolutely
yowl at charges of lack of diversity brought by some amongst us.
Like to challenge the chargers to try following me around; doubt they
could
hold their noses long enough. The local paper listed: 120 years
ago
4 mental patients arrived in town. I chuckled and thought "we've
never stopped arriving!" I dare all of us to look fully at the
diversity
in the body of Christ here and not scoff or wince!! EEK!!
Have I
adopted a multiracial child, 2 or 3, or taken a single mom in? I
have not. Don't feel called. Sometimes feel pushed by those
who feel called to tell us what to do! Have I crossed lines,
spoken
to "Others/Them"? Hope so. Been civil where others turn
their
backs? One never knows where one meets God. Deferred to
others?
On occasion. I practice deferring, as well as holding my own now,
speaking the truth. Have I crumpled? Despaired?
Repented?
Often. Do I forgot who's in charge? I have.
Remembered?
yup. Struggled? Again and again. Let go?? Now
and
again. Started over? Again and again.
One
never
knows the next step in the dance--perhaps that proves I'm not saved--
unless
one has the right touch with the partner, and a light step. "Keep
walking" is a proverb I relate to. I think it fits well with "Be
still and know (god)". If one's path is wide, one can step in any
direction and stay balanced.
We do our own thing in this country, whether we listen (to God or others) or not. I so prefer the comfort of those who acknowledge other paths, one God, not yours and mine. Whenever I try the narrow path, I fall right off, bumping into narrow gates, getting bruised and scraped. This spring, the phrase Compassion's way from a buddhist reading at the end of sittings, rattles around and around. Each moment, just as it is, the only moment... holding to self centered thoughts, exactly the dream... I so love eastern teachings: compassion, non attachment, non harming, right thinking, right action. Can only practice, slide the wedge back in, crack open my heart. Not in big ways per instructions--give all away and follow me--perhaps that's for men? But Here and there, now and then, in my own way, I catch the gate before it slams. Like sticking a foot in a closing elevator door. Feels right. I'm learn to write prisoners clearly, as Jesus might.
Instead
of meditating through Fr Laurence's seminar yesterday, I went to the
back
of the room, lay on the floor, sleeping, unabashed, exhausted, without
discipline. To small groups he asked What is Necessary, What is
Missing.
Others answered faith, other good responses. I mumbled
Discipline.
The facilitator thought that would fall under What is missing, rather
than
What is necessary. Whatever. As always, I was unclear about
the question. In the tea leaves of life, I feel only the learning
is important. Having missed a night's sleep flying in so very
late
and driving north, squandered the opportunity to hear Fr
Laurence.
However, the reminder of the fruit of meditation is never lost when one
witnesses the clarity of his mind--like a good knife--his thinking, his
humor. Good to be with meditators again, even if the day was like
an anesthetic from which I could not awake.
Today's
not the garden I had in mind, these trees along the Des Plaines.
I'd planned to spend the day with a college mate. In her busy
world,
she forgot my coming and I transposed digits in her phone number.
I'm enormously grateful for this perfect garden and its good night's
sleep.
Bristled
recently when I heard contemporary buddhist essay say we should be able
to respond to what appears to be the most challenging forecasts with an
"OK". (Disagreed--what about suicide?) The essay stayed
with
me, perhaps helping me make the shift from looking forward to seeing an
old friend, to heading out of town when she wasn't home; going with
"what
is" rather than what I'd expected. Ram Dass' "Ahhhh so", returns
often, with gratefulness. No new teachings, just new timing, open
ears.
All
fits
together perfectly when I make time to reflect. Finally.
Never
lost
on me is the power of gratefulness and prayer... to pray without
ceasing...
every thought is a prayer. Deeply imbedded teachings for which I
am ever so grateful.
Fall 2008 - Fond Moments
Pulling
together notable adventures the last few months feels beyond me--waited
too long!! However looking back over my shoulder's often a
helpful
re: matters of the spirit. Fun to look back and see what's sifted
out of the dramas; what remains memorable, strong, amusing,
distasteful,
and best of all, helpful and clear...
Maybe
start
with last night. The Courier (local newspaper) sponsored a stop
by
the Army Field Band and Choir on its Midwest tour, right here in No
River
city. "We", the whole area, turned out for the free show at the
spiffy
new college gym. I've been surrendering, mellowing for years, for
times like this, all part of the decision to regress to the
Midwest.
The Northwest's Sedentary Sousa band got me loving bands; the Inland
Empire
got me going to church. Now, instead of "outdoor" pursuits,
life's
filled with "social outings" like tractor parades, church luncheons,
funerals,
class reunions, nursing home sings, burgoos, even cruise night (once,
by
accident). Sewed an 1850s dress to sing in. For the record,
I don't go to ball games yet, or eat regional cholesterol winning
"horse
or pony shoes"--think gravy and cheese. Knew it'd be a profoundly
complex evening. Watched myself alternately resist, be
manipulated
and enjoy.
Interesting
timing, the Field Band concert on the eve of a nasty, divisive
election,
midst faltering 2008 economy. I've learned from (two) Illinois
Regimental
Civil War re-enactment bands-- bands lead men into war. No
accident
the Army Field Band tour during the controversial Middle East
War.
Who can be dry eyed during a medley of armed forces songs? Here's
to dad, Uncle Bill, grandfathers Art and Chester; most of the men in
the
local obituaries, and a few women. (Maybe someday when I'm fully
balanced and grounded, I'll listen without tears ... potential thread.)
What
surprised
me most, perhaps because the audience was elders who'd been there, who
visibly melted, was the jolt I felt at the set of Big Band music.
Zing. This was the music girls danced with WW2 GIs to, these now
white haired men and women of the audience who survived WW2 and the
intervening
years. As the gym filled with Tommy Dorsey strains and the
audience
warmed, vivid scenes from Ken Burn's fall 2007 War documentary scrolled
through my mind, especially the voice of the son assuring his Italian
mother
he was well, right up to his death.
Band
members
were impeccably attired in black military jackets with gold buttons and
blue pants; women (a few) in short jackets and floor length blue skirts
with deep slits in back, low black paten heels. I liked the
women's
attractive short or pulled back hair. (Reminded me what a relief
it was to go to a Nazarene College play with clean cut kids.) I
was
riveted by the excellent posture of most band and choir members--just
how
"military" these musicians lives are, I don't know--do they workout,
run
mazes? These weren't everyday Americans; no one was obese.
None too subtly, the evening masterfully choreographed a tribute to
those
willing to give the ultimate sacrifice on our behalf in a war I tend to
deny, with music. Undeniably a treat to hear exquisitely trained
and tuned voices and instruments--no everyday occurrence! Because
I'd listened to Odetta sing Leadbelly earlier, had a yen for the
concert
to end with "Goodnight Irene." (It didn't, of course.) Quite an
evening.
Is
there's
a better way, better country? Where's God in all this?
Everywhere.
Gulp.
Three
days
later we senior Sunshine Singers caravaned 70 miles over to the VA in
Quincy
to sing. Our coach's church in the small farm town of Franklin is
active with the American Legion and has a connection with the volunteer
coordinator in Quincy. Another moving, interesting experience,
visiting
the big, beautiful old grounds, and old men (and some women) I think of
as dad's military buddies.
Military
musicians remind me of Kathleen Norris, the writer's family. I'm
gingerly reading her latest, Acedia and Me. If I remember
right, her father was a career military musician, who ended up in
Hawaii.
Read cautiously; her story is mighty close to the bone, a little risky,
looking into depression as the days turn short, gray and cold.
Waited
years to learn what Kathleen's been doing. Acedia!!! Naming
indifference is the first step, she suggests. I think I
understand.
I'm open to guidance wrestling noonday demons as winter
approaches.
Wouldn'tchaknow, the desert monks knew spiritual disciple was key. The
Yoga of Discipline waits on the shelf. I dance around
discipline,
in any tradition--prostrations or meditation, lectio divina or
serving
meals; praying at dawn, noon, sunset and midnight...
The
last
few months' weather--late summer and fall-- has been nothing short of
Divine!
(I know, that's judging; I practice loving it all but as Pappa puts it
in The Shack, "I'm awfully fond" [of temperatures in the
70s....])
After ice storms and floods we look at each other and exclaim, again
and
again--What a gorgeous day, week, month! What a
beautiful evening! Hard not to wonder if God finally gave central
Illinois a break? Or, we'd been rewarded for surviving last
winter!
Or.... Gorgeous week followed week. Feel a bit less
foolish
moving to the Midwest. Thank you God!
One
gorgeous,
mild fall weekend headed north by toyota to Wisconsin to a Thich Nhat
Hahn
style mindfulness retreat, probably the highlight of the fall and
something
of a life saver. Left town breathing shallow, stomach amok;
returned,
revived. Heard about this retreat during a retreat near Chicago,
end of September. The crazier the election and economy, the
stronger
the appeal of the woodsy porch Linda described. (Having met
challenging
"industrial" food at the earlier retreat, the promise of good
vegetarian
cooking didn't hurt.) I haven't been back in the Midwest to have
a sense of whether October's weather was unseasonably warm--that's my
guess--or
perhaps it's the difference in elevations west and midwest. Warm
days and mild nights under a growing moon made camping delightful.
Nothing
short of a miracle that I crawled out of ye olde tent (with its growing
number of patches) in the dark and hiked to that lodge
porch
in time to watch sunrises. Couldn't understand why everyone else
sat inside. (I'm challenged by sangha.) Hearing the
morning's
last coyotes and owls, and first birds was pure heaven on earth.
Remembered the compelling story in Idaho Loners of an
Idaho
hermit who lived in the Snake River highly recommended watching
sunrises
for peace of mind. He is so right on, yet I can probably count
the
sunrises I've watched on both hands.
Inside
and out we flicked off swarms of asian lady bugs. We sat in
silence,
walked and ate in silence, smiled and bowed, and listened to excellent,
simple talks. Adored the silent group walk, nearly 100 of us
walking
slowly through fields and woods--a good hour outing--out to a viewpoint
to contemplate.
For
once
I was comfortable with "friendly" silence. Usually silent
attendees
and talking presenters feels lopsided. Perhaps being close to
nature
helped? or... maybe meeting several friendly folks who also
attend
church, the night we arrived (before silence fell), helped. One
intense
fellow clearly needed this silent weekend as much as me. His
bursting
right out with how he'd looked forward to the retreat for months helped
me feel I might be home (Thay's theme) for the weekend. A couple
times during the retreat our eyes smiled, or we sat companionably in
the
horseshoes of couches. At the end we briefly compared
notes.
A small connection can make such a difference. Encountering
church
attendees at a buddhist retreat was something of a first and a relief,
perhaps another difference between Midwest and West.
During
social justice discussions I caught up on sleep in the warm
tent--almost
hot during the day. By mid-day I was down to a sleeveless layer
(while
others wore jackets and, to my horror, closed the sliding glass doors!)
I
remain
overwhelmed with gratefulness for such a restoring experience.
What
a super speed bump to slowing down life. Already look forward to
returning next year!!
Still floating from simplicity and clarity of the Wisconsin weekend, a few Friday evenings later, drove over to IUS to watch "10 Questions for the Dalai Lama" (by travel photographer Rick Ray). Wonderful film. Like a broken record I chant: dunno know what I'd do without Buddhism in this crazy world. Wisdom teachings on delusion, attachment, suffering and impermanence are invaluable.
Thought
I'd better ease carefully back into the mainstream after two meditation
retreats (one "Christian", one "Buddhist"). Unitarians
maybe?
In September I'd heard a delightful talk on the smorgasbord of
religions
out there that made me chuckle with recognition. Like an
international
potluck, you can end up with a bit of a stomach ache mixing too many
religions,
the minister testified. Same, same, the "Too many minds", of the
clear minded buddhst prisoner In Idaho I once wrote about. (Don't
I know! Still don't seem to be able to choose just one, still
visit
around, upsetting my stomach now and then.) My most recent
unitarian
visit had me shaking my head Rats! Just couldn't agree that
examples of holy alliance like Ghandi and MLK are all THAT rare!
I've piles of inspired biographies--MLK and Gandhi have company!
Maybe I'm not a UU. Too Christian to be unitarian; too "Buddhist"
to be "Christian"! Can't choose sides!
Today
visited
northside Lutherans (again); David subbed at the helm. (Probably
not proper terms in church world!) It's a blessing to be under
his
compassionate wing. And to chat with friendly folks. Like a
number of churches, the northsiders hold 2 services--one for young
folks,
another for old folks. How ridiculous, per Judge Jeanie, small
churches,
splintering "for the sake of the kids". What kinda cereal do you
want, your royal highness? No!! Here's breakfast, here's
church.
Do as I do--sit down, stand up, sit, stand; say this, say that.
Wish
I'd mellow out. Can't I just sit there and sink into the
experience!
Still miss The Past, my old church! Thanks, buddhism, for
teachings
on letting go. Tonight allowed myself to listen to Idaho (perhaps
it was all a dream?). Been months. But no, there's still an
amazing. healthy church out there. Sublime to hear a good,
relevant
message from the heart. That Tri! Now he's using words like
holistic and Mind Body Spirit! What's the world coming to!!
After nearly
2 years, Psalms class ended. Mission accomplished from my
view--gained
a grand appreciation of the Psalms. Our excellent teacher became
discouraged at erratic attendance, like of this sheep. It's
heresy
to suggest that while the father pursued one lost sheep, others
strayed,
but I think that's what happened. No doubt others wouldn't see it
that way...
This
leaves
Monday's lectionary discussion my most consistent, ongoing group.
I've been nudging the group to read the Psalm as a group. Though
I failed earlier, someone talked David into attending; he's fine
ballast.
This 2nd year of the Sunday After gathering of the body of christ
remains
interesting and uplifting. Thank you, deacon.
As I
write,
realize perhaps the theological glue that holds me together is the Y
treadmill
(used to be stepper). I rotate reading yoga, buddhist, christian
science magazines (falling further and further behind on all).
Current
favorites are Radical Grace ("Christian") and a ("Buddhist") prison
newsletter.
Love each issue deeply. It's my only consistent reading time,
perhaps
the fulcrum of what little balance I manage! There's yoga for
Body;
buddhism for Mind; and christian science for Spirit! After I
attempt
to turn down THREE teevees, I take off shoes (usually) and pad 'long
the
moving path, sometimes listening to favorite mellow music on the
forever
low battery ipod, while reading article after article, frequently
digging
for pen to underline... Perhaps a comment in a meditation article
about how caring for bad attitudes is the same as caring for bad
backs--both
respond to love! Or an article in the buddhist magazine trying to
explain the subtle difference between the way buddhism works with ego
and
western therapists do, or how the West is changing buddhism.
Perhaps
an article reminding us of the truth of god's presence in Iraq, or in
the
election, or our finances. Or a report of a teacher or parent
forgiving
the youth who killed a son, or a prisoner writing about the impact of
his
teacher's death. Reports of prisoners doing thousands of prayer
cycles
towards enlightenment or others' health give me goose bumps.
Another
article describes the difference between walking mindfully through noon
traffic versus angrily; another writer looks at being overwhelmed with
emotion watching a violent movie vs observing with equanimity. So
often buddhist articles address issues immediately on my mind, things I
can use now,
One
morning
I tried talking to my treadmill neighbor (like I used to sometimes Out
West). Oops; so much for community. Better to keep my nose
in re-ligio than giving up precious sustenance in order to meet the
ever
challenging body of Christ! Oh, this practice of loving people
I'd
rather not! Too bad Jesus, Buddha et al. all said to. Can't
I just go home and talk to the dog like others do! Help!
Balance!!!
In many ways the Y is an epicenter, an excellent microcosm of learning and drama. On bad days I refer to it as the west side's unhealthiest place-- my small, bitter cherished opinions showing. (Cherished opinions being thoughts that gotta go!) Instead of forgiving, I still harbor resentment over being turned down to teach in lieu of younger models! Assumed I'd teach there like mom!! It's focus is kids (who are of course short of involved parents these days) and of course, that all American obsession, looking good, neither subject of which is my strong suit! What then would I doing there (since they got rid of the hot tub that was there when I first visited)? Mom and dad were both deeply involved--mom taught, dad played tennis, contributed time and finances. I joined in memory of the folks, I guess, and because I think I need a place like I had in Idaho, to teach and exercise, and have become most fond of Connie's water class. The Y's falling down around us--leaks, stinks, shorts--oughta be razed. Should we "shore up the mansion", "support the symphony", "rescue the Y", back the arts, or revive downtown, questions squarely facing this community in these challenging times, (not to mention challenging my ego and conscience). Don't think we can have it all, but that's another story....
One of my favorite moments the last few months--I've had no opportunity to share--happened during (silent) meditation at the Chicago area retreat in September. When I looked up at the nearby candlelit statue saw not 1 but 2 figures! Smiled knowingly. Ah ha! Of course! Never alone. Reverend Mary used to remind us of the line in Course in Miracles to remember who walks with us. While the presenter tried to keep us busy with her agenda, I drifted, sensing I needed to relax, not analyze. Spent much of the retreat laying on my back, outside under oaks, on picnic tables under shelters, acorns clonking, enjoying reading The Shack finally. (Ended up rather fond of that book, thank you, Sally! Loved the author's view of God as male because of our great need for fathering. Amen. Each retreat, each book, person or event offers something special, helpful. That candle light ah ha is there for good. Didn't find an opportunity to share what we experienced during the retreat. I now so do!
"If you knew who
walks beside
you at all times on this path that you have chosen you could never
experience
fear again."
from the Course in
Miracles
Spring/Summer 2008 - the right to pursue one's spiritual path
Following
2nd service one summer Sunday morning, walked 'round community park,
letting
thoughts simmer--feeling "been there, done that"! Pastor
addressed
the small church v big church/friendliness controversy.
Remembered
when Tri challenged us by taking away the "Come as you are you'll be
loved"
bumper sticker until greeters were trained. We were talked to
about
how we need to get along with ourselves/each other first ... what a
miracle
that we get along at all (including the reminder Democrats should be
welcome
too). Like in Boise (until I'd been there years), I'm tired of
greeting
neighbors on either side who turn away to talk with real friends.
I'd prob do the same thing if I had old buddies in the congregation,
but
I don't usually. On the way to the car, met a loner in the
parking
lot who spoke back--small but important connections, these. Hard
not to compare the skillfulness of leaders addressing these issues near
and dear to a newcomer's heart.
Just
back
from the West, visiting two of my root church experiences (Science of
Mind
and Spokane Unitarians). Neither S.O.M. nor Unitarian
Universalists
are labeled "Christian". Yet both churches were vital stepping
stones
to a "Christian" congregation along my path back to the midwest Bible
belt.
I'm
looking
for clarity finding a church home here. Eventually, in Idaho I
couldn't
resist the life and authenticity at the conservative/"radical middle"
fellowship
I eventually called home. I more or less fell in line, under
authority,
a huge thing for me. When the fellowship changed from having no
membership
to offering membership, I signed the book. Pastor said "If you
call
this home, you're welcome to sign the membership book." I
did.
(Earlier I wrote about being immersed in the Boise River.)
Although
I began to sense I'd be moving away, I grew greatly under the
benevolent
authority of evangelic leadership.
My
sense
this Sunday was that although I've found aliveness, I've not found
home;
doesn't feel like the reluctant but compelling fit of the radical
middle.
Haven't
found a way to describe my predicament, as Ram Dass might call it,
without
using clichéd labels. When friends send emails about the
gov'ment
spreading flu, taking away rights, I line up with those darn
liberals.
Other emails bash the religious right or whine about the right to
health
care, written I bet from couches with cable teevees by folks with SUV
guzzlers,
and I think noooo, I'm an old fuddy duddy on that one, over there with
right wingers on that one!
"Not
Always
So", the title of a Buddhist book I love, 'bout says it for me.
Despite
the local pastor's charm and helpful talks, I don't have a sense of
belonging.
No waves of love for people who disapprove of me, have come sweeping
over,
as they often did out west. From visit one in Idaho, I was deeply
touched by the music and truth I was hearing, and the willing hearts of
the congregation, under authority of an extraordinary teacher.
Over
and over I wiped my eyes along with the rest of the congregation,
deeply
moved. Somewhat similarly, a few years before, as soon as I
walked
into my first new thought church in Seattle and heard the minister I
was
touched and began to recognize some of my cherished opinions might need
a second look. Indeed--Surely the Presence, was there, and
remains,
as I saw on this return visit.
Perhaps
what's most revealing that I'm not home yet have been talks on the
church's
mission: to help others come to Christ (or something like that).
If the mission were to bring ourselves closer, I'd have no
problem.
But to badger others without cleaning our own stables first?
Perhaps
I misunderstand.
At my
own
former radical middle fellowship last week I heard (or thought I
heard--one
always wonders): Consider whether believing differently is equal to
unfaithfulness.
One hand is the fist of truth; the other, open is to change. Is
that
not radical? Change, the C word! Try that in Illinois!
Came
back
from both Seattle and Boise, a little teary, but revived, spiritually,
to have been around "other" paths, ways of thinking. While in
Seattle
I heard stories of Nelson Mandela and the Dalai Lama meeting; sang with
Pat Wright's incomparable gospel choir; heard Mozart's Requiem Mass
dedicated
to the continued War in Iraq. My head spun; this was not the
midwest.
In Boise I was blessed to spend time with several men who walk the
talk,
awesome disciples of Jesus. I know it when I experience it.
Humbling.
In
Oregon
enjoyed bunking and soaking with "infidels" who put mother earth, the
environment
first. One nodded at my new "The Environment: God's Creation, Our
Responsibility" t-shirt. It's from a church I
semi-apologized.
Saw a smile. I'm so proud of my old church, senior pastor
teaching
sustainability and thriving by living more simply. Doesn't get
much
better than that! I'm also proud of "infidels" who walk the earth
gently, ride bikes, raise gardens, recycle ferociously. And
humbled,
again and again. Sometimes I wish I had another church person to
talk with when I visit the Oregon retreat. Other times I delight
in just being with their faithfulness to the earth. Lord knows,
we're
all so darned different. I think it was on Speaking of Faith I
first
heard something like, "the right to pursue one's spiritual path"
mentioned.
Amen! Boy do I take advantage of that one! What a treasured
freedom!
"Wherever
am I going with this???" I'm always tempted to answer with the
old
book title "Where did you go? "Out". (Said that to G when
he
phoned the other night when he accused me of not telling him I was
going
to Seattle. "Out", I chirped and continued, "and What Did You
Do?
Nothing," (the second half of the title). He's younger; never
heard
of it. I swear I told that boy I was off to Seattle and
Boise!
He thinks I'm secretive; I think he doesn't listen.). Where am I
going? Out to take advantage of the freedom to pursue one's
spiritual
path. Life probably wudda been easier if I were a cradle Catholic
like my current good buddies, or devout Lutheran or Episcopalian or
Presbyterian.
But no, I came from a family where mom stayed home and dad took us to
(the
congregational) church that was just entering tough times. It
hangs
by a thread to this day.
Perhaps
as a result I sit silent zen now and then; read Benedictine and
Franciscan
newsletters; visit both mainstream and nondenominational churches
regularly;
attend a variety of Bible studies. Do you know anyone else
willing
to go to an LDS concert?
A few
weeks
after pacing around community park, I went the hospital chaplain's last
service. Except for no one singing--that's not true--we all sang
the first verse of "Jesus Loves Me" like true children of God--it was
marvelous.
How I'd love a community church like this. Well attended by folks
of numerous faiths, meaningful talk full of humor and intimacy by warm,
retiring minister. We lingered, leaving slowly, inspired and
heartened,
brought together on the occasion of yet another beloved's
retirement.
The body of Christ together, again, and again, and again.
Winter 2007-8 - Where everyone knows your name.
and O'Donohue's Death
Pastor's
sermon last week “Where everybody knows your name” (Acts 2; 42-47)
surely
had my name on it. Recalled the long Where to live crisis that
landed
me back in the midwest. Where indeed? Back to where
everybody
knows your name. Back to the beginning. Can't go
home?
Hmm.
I yearn
for guidance to get through each week--just "the truth", not a lashing
or bashing; support and encouragement, not coddling. I yearn to
be
moved, to have help connecting dots, understanding life, the world,
reconciling
paradoxes, and for meaningful interpretation of scripture.
Ideally
in the company of buddies, but maybe not. (Haven't created that
yet;
took years out west.) Every time I hear pastor's Biblical
explanation
that man needs a companion, I nod in deeper understanding; he has a
bead
on male-female relationship that's helpful. As a progressive in
an
evangelic church, of course, I wince now and then. I surely miss
former pastor's measured words--he considered the wide spectrum in the
congregation and tread remarkably carefully. Both good
naturedly
refer to their churches as places for rejects from the
mainstream.
Yup.
After
threatening
to visit for a year, enjoyed Springfield's west side non denominational
church the other week. Nondenom. talks seem to speak to subjects
on my heart--like, just how much knowledge (in a cyber world!) is
enough!
A nearby fellow that morning shared that he worked with the gray haired
elder tinkling the ivories! Cool!--elders involved in music!
Slowly
understanding what's missing (between me and church here)--it's being
under
the authority of a visionary. Duh. Took a while.
Idaho
was my first experience. (Picked right up on something different
when I walked into what became my long term home church, but was slow
to
understand what it was; slowly grew to respect and appreciate being
under
the visionary authority of a pastor who wasn't afraid to mention the E
word-- environment--and later showed world population charts and spoke
of limited resources! Stunning. Such a church had my full
attention!
An article in Jan 27th's Christian Standard (good little magazine out
of
OH) says studies say "large" churches (>400) are driven by vision,
smaller,
by history or changing needs. Ah ha! I'll think on that.
Like
any
good divine nudge or message, they seem to appear in groups. Went
to a Black History evening at prison one Saturday night. I was in
heaven with music, chaplain's passion, and the speakers message on...
vision.
Right on! Harder'n'heck to hear in the gym, strained and kept
relocating.
Among other things Bishop Warren said--well, preached, yelled-- spend
time
with folks like what you want to be. Click. Simple,
profound. Get clear so you'll have the vision of who you really
are.
Yes! Vision! Needed in prison, in churches, in small, old
towns....
Can't
yet
understand how it makes any difference whether a group's small or
large,
vision would still be good, que no? The whole country needs it!
This
week's
headlines about local college kids witnessing another mass murder leave
me stunned. Not that people kill--we're frustrated and confused,
unskillful in our cries for love--rather,how can we not make a
connection
between guns and death? Aren't we missing the obvious? Or
am
I! Each time I see a "Guns save life" billboard on the highway, I
wonder what I'm missing. I surely know we all perceive things
differently--the
way I understand things is not the way others do. Amen.
Each
time
I threaten to stop going to Bible class because of my dinged ego, I
hear
the teacher's passion for the Body of Christ-- his profound
understanding
of people-- and I can't resist. It was a bit much when he started
bashing mega churches and I knew darned well he'd never been to one and
never will. Don't I know how easy it is to throw stones! I
haven't either, but I'd love to. Wait, wait, teacher, you can't
speak
to why others go to church! As you yourself preach, most of us go
to be with others: for fellowship! No matter that churches might
promise to save you, protect you, assure you they're the only true one,
bash others, mostly folks simply show up to be with friends and fill
that
hole
in their life.
Meanwhile
I wander into, enjoy, grumble, puzzle over our local churches. On
some levels I no longer search, no longer full of whys and "how comes",
though I yearn to understand churches more fully. I yearn to be
at
peace and find niches to serve. I need help living, surviving
tsunamis
of popular untruths, staying on course. It's good to write
through
this jumble of thoughts! I confuse sincere folks. The other
night a gal fixed her Lutheran gaze on me and pleaded, where are
you a member! Decided to answer Idaho (true, but perhaps not
helpful).
Not sure how long I can get away with that, or if I should.
After a
recent quick visit back West, it still feels right. Beloved
senior
pastor mentioned the headlines of the week, then commented the only way
to have peace and to lessen competition for dwindling resources so your
children have them, is to consciously simplify ones lifestyle. He
calls it leaving small foot prints, large hand prints. Bold, bold
man. I'd never seen such a crowded service.
Mid
February
I was jolted to read an e-newsltr saying native Irish speaking
theologian
John O'Donohue died early January, age 53. The shock reminded me
of my reaction to Loren Eisley's death in 1977. Never met
either.
O'Donohue's earthy spirituality, luminous (or is it numinous?)
teachings
about death, have been enormously helpful and healing, right down my
alley,
a perfect fit. Although I have no idea where O'Donohue might have
taught and explored next, I feel his work stands
complete--prophetically
his last book is Benedictus: A Book of Blessings. A
December
interview (on the web), is also prophetic. I'm listening to his
CDs
again, perfect for winter reflection, grieving and grateful in one
swoop
for his life.
After
many
years, met an old school friend recently. His health is
precarious;
may well not see him again. Back West I had an unexpected gift of
a long talk with the church gardener, who's for years has been too busy
to chat. His health also is failing, changing; we could speak
frankly
of the changes and journey ahead. He was full of clarity and
time.
He's also full of visions and peace. I was stunned to witness how
all his life experience has brought him to this perfect moment where he
touches so many lives. He's in exactly the wisdom place senior
pastor
spoke of in his December 2006 empowering elders sermon that knocked my
socks off. O'Donohue helps me understand the preciousness of life
and the naturalness of death; perhaps he's something of a Celtic
Taoist.
It's comforting to know there's beauty in deaths of beloved
friends.
Though I
had ample opportunity, missed out on the holiness of the Easter season
this year. No one's doing but mine. I was selfishly
consumed
with whether or not I was going to live to see spring. Went to a
number of lenten programs, ever interesting, though I often
drifted.
Either I change, or get outa this world where churches sing along to
CDs.
Attended
1-1/2 hrs of a Good Friday 2 hour noon service. Sat near a
friendly
professor; thought he (and others) weren't going to make it through the
meditative section--silence, not for academics! The nearly empty
church rattled and rustled with shifting. (In all fairness, it
wasn't
an easy meditation, putting one's self in Jesus' sandals!)
Drifted
back to ghosts of Easters past--music and meditations in big venues
along
the West Coast. As they became slicker, I began letting go.
Ended up remembering fondly the relatively simple Good Friday that
pastor
Mary read the Easter story. As I reminisced, suddenly my eyes lit
on the here and now communion table--chalice and.... The more I
stared,
the more clearly I saw an iced jelly donut. Incredible!
(Possibly
maple bar.) Between presenters I psstt at Dave and pointed.
He shook his head firmly--Not donut. I was unfazed, of course,
continued
to see things our way, as we're want to do in this neck of the woods,
and
of course spent the rest of the service reveling. Nothing could
more
perfectly symbolize how times have changed in this old farming
community.
The final Via Dela Rosa singer (to CD) took me right straight back to
Mary's
service and Joanna's rendition of Via Dela Rosa (also with CD).
Over
lunch we marveled at the lovely conclusion to the service, debriefing
not
only the talks, but professor's recent travels East. My hunch is
I'm one of the few folks around, who, having just read Swami
Abhishiktananda's
story, can imagine the experience of being upended by India.
Absolutely.
I'd be.
This
winter I read two biographies of catholic priests who lived in the
Orient.
They went to evangelize, build bridges, learn, and because they were
drawn
to the divine listening, silent, meditative aspect of Asian
traditions.
Despite the peace and contentment they admired and found in Asia, both
agonized continuously over the belief that they might be betraying
Christianity
and Jesus as the only path to God, their respective orders and
vows.
Dear, dear Christianity! Much to learn. Why not embrace
rather
than resist? Perhaps that's why O'Donohue touches me so. He
appears to have left priesthood without bitterness and kept on
expanding
and passionately embracing the whole earth, especially the preciousness
and beauty of it's wilds of his native landscape.
Christianity's
seeming to draw lines and force taking sides drives me wild. I
overhear
people judging other churches and religions, shaking their heads
knowingly
at other's delusions. I back away. We seem to be
indiscriminate
and confused about Jesus' tough love teachings, probably always have
been
and will be. Endlessly fascinating, but also grounds for
seemingly
more and more division and alienation.
Easter morning, after visiting both non denominational (for message) and traditional (for stained glass, music and color) services, hastened to Easter brunch with Donna's family, a few blocks into town. A few hours later, across town, vegetables in hand, I joined an episcopal dominated gathering for roast lamb, spaciously hosted by the deacon who loves Jesus and the early church because they ate together. From time to time my eyes rolled at the wonder of the assemblage. Recently I overheard someone ask if the area's ready to talk about race, I think it was. Race? Despite what it looks like, in my opinion, this area is as bizarre and diverse as they come. Today we were: peculiar singles (from swilling dirty old men and women to holier than thou abstainers); a wide variety of doubles from same sex, bi-racial to unclear orientation; the dominant aryan theme was spiced with color; natural and dyed blondes; gray to not much left; top heavy with degrees, education and professionals; relatives and non; a rather wide spectrum of mental and physical abilities/disabilities, and political views, veering towards democrat. A jealous girlfriend came late; drop ins from other dinners reloaded plates; poker faced youth drank wine. A functioning autistic drank beer and talked loudly to a deaf elder--my vote for the best win/win conversation! When we ran out of chairs, I noticed a senior eating alone in the next room, talking to a senior cat in a heated basket. Lord have mercy--truly the Body of Christ eating together.
It's been a long, cold, unstable winter, very different from my first winter back. No ice jams on the Illinois or Mississippi to the west (or so I think). Much time for pondering, sorting, reflecting. Lots of illness, mine and others; the newspaper bulges with obituaries. Sometimes on a cold night, occasionally in front of the gas log, I'm grateful to be right where I am, a very good moment. Thank you teachers of all traditions! How badly I need O'Donohue's reminder:
