ARCHIVES 2004
Summer 2004 - Truth Telling in Idaho - liberal, conservative--who's radical?
His eye
fixed on the newcomer across the campfire, the flushed grandfather loosed
his arrow "Just exactly in what way might you be liberal?"
Not with
a 1000 foot pole was I gonna touch that one! I'd just boldly suggested
to the group in which I was The Stranger that liberal and conservative
labels were somewhat a matter of viewpoint. I was wrong, oh so wrong.
Not in this group was there any question of who's what. Huh uh.
The group's collective eyes narrowed in on the bloody commie pinko fetus
murdering infiltrator.
What do
I really know about "authentic, bible based christians"? Nada.
It may take me several minutes and whispers to the nearest neighbor to
find a passage in Colossians… or is it Galatians? By then, we're
onto Ephesians. I crane my neck to see if I can tell whether that's
old or new testament.
Once I
realized with a start--this was a gathering of bible study groups!--that
the cokes the grandparents held were cocktails, I switched direction in
midair, rather like meeting Big Snake the rattler on an Oregon slope!
I'm happy
to report this well trained conflict resolution mediator knew better than
to bite an emotional party's bait. I declined, with something like
“Time will tell”. Wish I'd thought to add, “sir”. Many thanks
to Volunteers of America and other fine mediation mentors!
What I
love about church is being with folks of faith. Although I grumble
that many have more faith in a devil than a loving god, when we're on the
same page with god, my bruised heart is fed. I've clearly realized
I'm the one who gets to practice keeping my heart open when I run into
fundamentalist fear. I want to hold frightened hands and sing “Peace
Like a River”. If only fundamentalists took their One and Only's
‘get thee behind’ seriously!
It wasn't
long before Everett held the current issue of Time (magazine) open for
me to see by firelight, his hero Bush at Reagan's funeral and I was asking
if I could borrow this issue on religion and politics (boy was it interesting!)
when I had my glasses handy. Although I might call his tears cocktail
tears, I knew my new teacher was sharing his heart as best he could, with
this strange stranger, who was happy to hear his stories of meeting Werner
von Braun and Jimmy Doolittle. No doubt everyone else had already
heard them.
I was delighted
to be included in a church camp out, which turned out to be somewhat of
a large extended family gathering. While folks cuddled small dogs,
fussed over big dogs, grandparents tended toddlers, and kids ran in packs;
I did my thing—pulled recyclables out of the trash, tried to get the new
travel computer write-able, smoked self by the fire, listened and chatted--carefully.
In the company of church family, I slept oh so well in my nylon dome away
from home.
The reason
I had the boldness to opine we might be mixtures of liberal and conservative
is because pastor had just made the stunning statement that although he
had lost friends saying so--Jesus wasn't a republican and democrats should
be welcome at the church! Heresy, I think it used to be called. As
always, when an unpopular truth slips out in an evangelic forum, I refrained
from jumping on my chair and cheering. I wanted to, but then I'd
be just like a right to lifer at a rally. I breathed out slowly.
No one around me chuckled or smiled. Nooo.
It's all
so easy, from my stranger's vantage point, to wave my finger and say--we
gotta love one another and forgive enemies—Jesus said so! I like
that, nat, because it suggests I should be forgiven for holding views different
than the majority of the congregation, for swearing Jesus meant love everyone—even
me, hopefully. I get to practice loving people who won't recycle
or accept gays; who say theirs is the only true god; who have large families,
sad or rude kids, unruly dogs, who get tipsy at church picnics and point
fingers. And they get to practice loving this woman who's missed
the mark again and again in her life.
It's a
big job, this loving everyone, but the only one I know that fully occupies
my heart and mind. I'm thinking the practice of speaking the truth
that sets one free oughta be beyond political labels like conservative
and liberal. It's so hard to speak the truth that I recycle (and
hear wise cracks) in the midst of an evangelic church, or that I respect
all faiths and religions, that I rarely do so. It's easier in Idaho
to pause and publicly proclaim Jesus as one's savior on your way, on your
way to spend Sunday afternoon shooting prairie dogs, than to speak out
on behalf of hunting regulations, let alone introduction of wolves! Is
that outrageous!
Byron Katie
would ask, Is It True? I'd have to shrug. It's only my personal
experience that I'd rather answer an altar call to give my life to Jesus
any day than admit to the congregation I didn't vote for Reagan.
Or confess that I believe the church should recycle aluminum cans.
At my preferred house of worship, I'm safer at the altar than venturing
alone into politics.
At one
of the local buddhist based meditation groups I frequent, the confession
that I attend church is met with remarkably similar peer disapproval.
In either camp it's more acceptable to divorce or cheat on income tax,
than cross traditional beliefs.
What's
wrong with this picture? Nothing. It's just Idaho, just people,
just life, and I'm just struggling to make peace with it all. Unskillfully
struggling to feel safe in this universe, just like everyone else is.
Without studying eastern religions I might not have the tools for peace
making, recognizing common ground and practicing compassion, no matter
which camp I'm in.
This year
I began visiting prison, first as guest saying a few words about relaxation
to an English as a second language 1st-3rd grade class. The felons
were at least as attentive as community ed yoga students. Until recently,
I went into medium security with a local student of the Vietnamese monk,
Thich Nhat Hahn. When I mentioned this to a “christian” he said immediately,
“You don't want to go there”. I was disappointed. I think he's
wrong, in more ways that he realizes. Not only do I want to be an
instrument of peace, my motivation for going into prison, but the mission
field is everywhere, que no? (When the lead Thich Nhat Hahn
teacher quit suddenly, I began feeling my way along solo.)
I'm all
over the place, looking for community/understanding. I'll go into
prison as a yoga or meditation student, buddhist, christian, whatever,
wherever; searching everywhere, for that connection, that peace I realize
I yearn for, which every tradition teaches is always with me, but I'm not
quite there! Walking back through the series of gates with another
volunteer or two is as close as I get to that promise if peace. "Boy
do I enjoy that", a fellow volunteer said recently. Couldn't have
agreed more.
The gulf
between christians and others, perhaps most seriously, among christians,
seems to be deepening, at the same time interfaith dialogues build.
Accusations of "cult" fly from the pens of christian writers. It's
hard not to crow--na na na na na na--takes one to know one, no matter how
well intentioned one is. If ever there was a super cult...
I hear sincere concern about the shallowness of christianity, particularly
in the worldly West. For many, hypocrisy is an excuse to stay clear
of church for years. But the death grip of things of the world brings
a lot of us back. The way in which a pastor or community deals with
our addictions of the world, is determined by denomination and pastor.
Luckily there's nearly something for everyone. Not all of us can
leap once and for all into the perfect arms of Jesus, forever and ever.
We gotta work with our wounds, minds, human personalities, families—all
our stuff. We may all want happiness, but our paths are different.
The “christian style” of pointing out the weaknesses and failures of Other
denominations and traditions may damage more than help christianity.
For this very reason, among others, I'm cautious where and when I say “us”;
I believe authentic christianity begins in one's own stable. I'm
not touching the theological land mine of evangelism. No way!
The way I figure, most all of us're gonna have to do it again. I won't like being in the hot spot with the likes of Limbaugh, Swaggert et al, but I'll also have the good company of plenty of less dramatic, ordinary folk, who didn't quite make the grade. I'll miss the company of Jesus, Gandhi, the 14th Dalai Lama, a number of folks, ordinary and extraordinary who loved well in their life times. I'm eternally grateful for their guidance.
The Truth will set you free!
(somewhere in John)
You are only as sick as your
secrets - Rich Warren, 4O Days of Purpose p 23(?)
Winter 2004 - Spiritual Mongrel
Why didn't
I think of that! sez I, when the editor of an Oregon based newsletter referred
to herself as a "spiritual mongrel". Although... uhh...hardly fond
of dogs, if I wuz one, I'd surely be a mongrel. Likewise I'm a mixed
breed of spiritual traditions.
Most days
I stir yoga, christianity, taoism and buddhism together as a matter of
course. Perhaps an LDS friend phones.
This morning
I sat with a brown skinned, boozy fellow from a shelter, and perhaps his
girlfriend, listening to the message of Jesus as the only way to the father.
When no one came forward to publicly declare Jesus their savior, the pastor
realized early service has been there, done that, or ain't gonna.
24 hours before early in the morning I'd sat still and walked with buddhist
students. This was followed by a dharma talk by Larry Ward, who's
both christian minister (30 years) and buddhist student of Ven. Thict Nhat
Hahn since 1991. [ed. "In 2001, he received Dharma Lamp Transmission
from Thich Nhat Hanh in Plum Village, France".] His message on the
satisfied heart was world class. Opening evening Peggy Rowe read
a poem that filled my eyes, though I didn't "understand".
|
If you ask how much do I want,
Small pieces of imagination as we are,
This morning, my brother is back from his long adventure.
|
and set fire to his shelter, the small cottage on the hill. My fire will destroy everything and remove his only life raft after a shipwreck. In the utmost anguish of his soul,
--Thich Nhat Hahn, 1954. About hiding after suffering, yet the need to have the hiding place burned. |
I ricochet
between amusement and resentment that the eyes/ears/hearts and minds of
my church are closed to the teachings of "unchurched heathens" such as
Larry. I feel the same about the unwillingness of (buddhist) sangha
members to hear the heart felt teachings of my (christian) pastor whose
appreciation of solitude, wonders of nature and God's creation and love
are equal to the best! Alas folks' wounds are still raw from mainstream
religion and dogma.
Blessed
am I to enjoy full freedom of religion, drink wisdom from all traditions,
although I'm disapproved of by many followers. I string (tibetan)
peace flags around the hot tub (the same flags were verboten on my former
Idaho apartment porch). I study with a taoist priest fluent in both
contemporary and ancient Chinese. Sundays I go down the street and
sing with the christian fellowship that advertises "come as you are".
I so do. Saturdays I plant, weed or harvest at the church garden.
Currently I'm part of neighborhood study group based on The Purpose
Driven Life.
For a half
dozen years I've shared yoga several mornings each week, translating bits
of ancient sutra into American-speak. I yearn to use phrases like
"practice restraint" or "Be still and know God". But I'm more likely
to say "as we learn to relax, we repeat the harvest of our practice".
The other evening I actually answered What is the goal of yoga? with "a
path to God". I don't study Patangeli, but I'm aware of the depths
of yogic discipline and the shallowness of my practice.
Cautiously
younger folks at church with chronic health issues approach me about yoga.
I refer them to sports anatomist Egosque's excellent book introducing posture
and alignment, Pain Free; it's free of reference to mind-body-spirit
union. I've offered to give an introductory class using christian
music; I sense fear. Meanwhile I keep at it, like the tortoise; young
folks with immune system imbalances (so epic these days) search for christian
alternative medicine. I'm in their backyard. Perhaps I'm not,
as I overheard recently, really saved, safe.
The
small local buddhist community also struggles with the effects of poor
posture and health challenges. Folks move from zafu to chair.
I yearn to share mind-body-spirit practice with them as well. I should
understand. My "do it myself" attitude reigned until I met masters
and ministers who softened me towards surrender.
This winter
I finally negotiated hoops to visit prison. Although I'm open to
opportunities to visit as a christian, buddhism opened first. Occasional
Friday evenings I go with Wm. to the small buddhist meditation study group
he teaches. I love being with the men, feeling as though we share
breathing and peace. Across the hall a large group of men enthusiastically
strum and sing hymns at calvary chapel services. Sometimes it's all
I can do not to join "How Great Thou Art", as we do walking meditation
around the small room the half dozen of us meet in. Or, sitting silently,
I can scarcely keep from singing "Holy, Holy, Holy"; my lips move and my
spirit zips across the hall. This intersection of faiths is quite
an experience. Perhaps it's the best of both world's. I'm sure
the buddha and Jesus are smiling!
Having
only "been to prison" a half dozen times, I only know I have a heart for
those who flunked society's rules and are in another game. I pray:
God use me--christian, buddhist, whatever! I want to be a regular
visitor to prison. The nods I give and the smiles those needy men
and I exchange, sustain me, in a world that seems too busy. Since
I don't have adorable grandsons, these guys get my energy and attention.
My adult skills are stronger than my baby instincts. I'd rather troubleshoot
restless adult minds, than babysit.
Again this
year I fully participated in the Easter experience at the Vinyard, which
coincided with release of the film, The Passion. I Jesused out quickly.
Easter week reenactments of Mary Magdalene and others didn't enchant me
like they did the first year. Palm Sunday and Easter I sang in our
low key, mini choir - big church, small choir; Thursday before Easter,
4 of us women nervously danced to Julie's vision of Steve Camp's "Remember
Me". Rehearsals night after night; I'll do less next year.
Walking up to the cross, Friday evening, I didn't suffer like last year.
My feet and hips are mending--thank you, God. I loved singing with
the group, watching the sun set from Table Mountain, but my heart absolutely
melted as I headed down alone, just ahead of the crowd, when I heard a
canyon wren solo. Easter morning I loved being part of the bonfire
service. The pancake crew working in the 6am dark touched me--once
again I was humbled to be a small part of a church that inspires such dedicated
teams of volunteers; that lets me sing: that peddles pop and cookies, but
doesn't have time to recycle (still hopeful I can make a difference there).
Good for my heart to be under such extraordinarily functional leadership.
Bless us all; it is indeed a miracle we get along! Mornings after
Easter I awoke still singing harmony to "Who is like you, oh Lord, worthy
of all praise... Your kingdom forever, all the world proclaim" against
Ralph's strong voice. My idea of heaven.
View from the bleachers, during winter services in the gym |
Roman guards - Good Friday evening hike to the cross |
Good Friday evening sunset from Table Mountain |
Easter morning bonfire |
When the
question of whether we'd still be allowed to come as we are with our "coffee"
into the new sanctuary arose, I rested certain that a church founded on
"as it" couldn't possibly renege on it's platform! (It turned out
muffins are no longer welcome.) I smiled when I saw a big stain on
the absolutely new carpet during rehearsal in the sanctuary, even before
the new sanctuary was even open! Impermanence, folks! I loved
meeting in the gym during the winter, with its scoreboard and buzzer, standing
on the bleachers now and then to get a bird's eye view of the scene.
The new sanctuary is so big and level, I totally missed the donkey on Palm
Sunday. What donkey? (I'd seen it waiting at the door during
rehearsal). Itzabig church.
Credit
for my being able to enjoy christian church largely goes to Kathleen Norris,
the teacher who appeared as I hungered for community. Thank you,
Kathleen for sharing your stories of becoming a part of your grandmother's
church.
I have
so much fun, although I keep coming back to: Why isn't the group willing
to learn and respect all faiths? As long as it's "us" and "them",
we're separate. Believers v. non believers, churched and unchurched--donkey
apples!--I forgot just how Norris expressed her reaction to the use of
"unchurched". We're ALL god's children. A most hopeful message
recently--Philip Jenkin's research on the future of christianity, it's
center moving south, into more passionate 3rd world countries. Perhaps
those spirit filled cultures will soften the hard edges of European minds
and worshiping the name of Jesus will become more of a universal love song.
God excludes no one. I don't think "the difference is Christ"; I've
meditated on this. Thus far I fail to see how the Dalai Lama's message
differs in quality from that of Jesus'. Love is all there is, a teacher
in Hawaii reminded me recently--her aloha spirit radiating across the sea!
My baptist
friend bluntly shared one evening how he likes the handful that attend
his very small church, dislikes a big church like mine, refusing even to
visit. It's gotta be fear. Recently our pastor reminded us to fear
god, not man. Ahhh. How much easier (in my human mind) for
hundreds to build a church, than a handful. However god replies--that's
my problem, not yours. My baptist friends studies science and art,
not people, he reminds me, his nose in a modern art text. He shakes
his head when I try to hand him a memoir. I hear, unsaid, he's interested
in science and god, not people. Whereas I'm fascinated by god's people,
perhaps more than their creations, which of course are his too. Everyone
different, the baptist reminds me. Amen.
But
I'm getting to him. Although I like to share books, sometimes I do
it Tom Sawyer style with my favorite authors. I've got the baptist
asking for more from "uneducated, unchurched" Laurens van der Post!
Lack of education is a handicap to many western minds; not so, mine, which
stopped associating education with intelligence or wisdom long ago.
I absolutely cringe at IQ worship. Right up there with Jesus worship,
now that I think of it! I believe the good heart and satisfied mind
are something that "just is", regardless of education. I recognize
one when I meet it, in books or in the world. Others feel it, see
it or hear it. The reflection of light catches my eye, touches my
heart, regardless of human catagories. (Oh, the modern disease of
catagories!) "Did your mother know the lord? the "churched" ask.
They don't ask how she loved, what I learned. Ach.
I roll
my eyes, snort, struggle, laugh, choke up, along the rutted road practicing
compassion for all beings. I stumble, "lose it", learn. I yearn
to say my religion is kindness, my life is my message, I want to do small
things well--messages of high saints echoing in my psyche. Hardly.
My new
thought teacher is fielding financial questions about her church, as well
as re-examining her spiritual practice. In spite of the message I
love, which has healed so much of the "us" and "them" I used to feel about
religion, I've never full overlooked the designer flair of staff and congregation
and jokes from the pulpit. New thought tends to say we can have it
all, including things of the world. I've always been uneasy with
speakers dressed to the 9s, ever since hearing the story of the enlightened
man who didn't notice what he wore.
These years
my attention is held by straight talk from a minister in everyday clothes,
with an older truck, uncomplicated family and life. This winter I
was jolted to hear a good friend (who's attended new thought services for
several years) criticize my current church "non/denomination". She'd
taken me up on visiting the nearby church in her community, but explained
they'd left before the talk because because the offering was taken before
they "got anything". Having painfully and slowly begun shifting from
getting something from church towards accepting I'm there to give as well
as be fed, my eyes flew open! When I first returned to church as
an adult, an alcoholic elder lit a candle one Sunday and explained how
he went to church each week because he never knew who might need him.
His wisdom lodged in my mind. Besides, I like having the offering
taken early so I can stay focused on the talk through the end of the service!
Last winter
I finally watched Audrey Hepburn in the Nun's Story again--first time since
high school. Raised protestant/anti-catholic, at the time I was embarrassed
to be so deeply affected by the film. I put off revisiting the scene
of such emotion-- uncomfortable that it would make light of nuns, and seem
dated and silly 40 years later (though I didn't consciously recall anything
except how impacted I was). Lo, I was stunned how exactly it portrayed
the classic dilemna of respect for authority v. respect for the call of
one's spirit. No wonder I was touched--then, as now.
Enjoyed
participating in the Black History Museum's gospel workshop again this
February (photo below), though I enjoyed being in the audience for St Paul's
gospel concert even more a few weeks later--absolutely knocked out!.
Not long afterward I borrowed the video of a moderated panel on the question
of gay clergy, which the unitarian church sponsored last fall. I
had compassion for the passionate minister from St Paul's (baptist church)
whose church had just offered that block buster concert), surrounded by
(outstanding) intellectual episcopalian, catholic and methodist representatives.
Can a church that creates such incomparable music truly believe one can't
be called to pastor in their church? I was glad to finally watch
footage of former episcopal priest Robert Cross--a man with a mission,
weaken by ill health--called to pastor those outside society's dominant
sexual orientation. My baptist friend pointed out Cross' obituary
last winter and attended the huge multi-cultural funeral at St. Michael's
celebrating his life.
Black History month concert,
February 2004. Digital by participant Dennis Hicks
Yet more
phenomenal black gospel this spring--Louise Rose, from Vancouver BC, was
featured with local Cherie Buckner on Gospel Sunday at the Gene Harris
jazz festival. Mercy, what a servant! Another Sunday evening
Sue and I went out to Albertson College to experience the Blind Boys of
Alabama. Although most of the original blind boys are replaced with
young dudes with sight and electric guitars, it was unforgettable to taste
the acapella of the legends.
I continue
to graze the smorgasbord of faiths that reside and visit Boise. Rabbi
Kushner spoke at BSU recently. Only a few youth left the big screen
those of us who couldn't get tickets watched; he held our attention.
How clearly this elder explained Littleton and Hitler, the relationship
between good and evil and power.
Don't know
how I'd be able to walk this part of my life without teachers such as van
der Post, Jung and Kushner. It's made such a difference in my peace
of mind again this year, to hang out with clear minds that see and understand
the whole, not just a part. I'm deeply uneasy living in a society
where a new truck or home is bought for tax reasons. Who can ignore
the imbalances around us--brothers and sisters, we have strayed!
Living in a christian society, I sense many of our rampant ills (both social
and health) are related to the curse of judging others, rather than leaving
that to Divine Oneness. Pastor once mentioned--"You're the only Bible
most people will ever encounter". May all churches, communities of
faith, know there is no us or them!
Love is
Always the Question, always the Answer
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