A Day of Celebrations

I don’t know how many people have stopped to think of it, but have you ever stopped to think about which month of the year has the most birthdays in your family and family circle? Or which months have a collection of special events like local holidays, or even celebrations?  It’s interesting to write down the months in a column and then list birthdays, anniversaries, deaths, and events in each month to compare them and see where the busy part of your year falls.


I tried it and found my calendar was fuller in several months than in the rest of the year. April has two birthdays, an anniversary, and the death of a dear friend. August has three family birthdays plus one more for my first babysitter, my best friend’s birthday, and her father’s and mother’s as well. Then comes October, with many family birthdays (from the 17th – 22nd, if I remember correctly), but three significant dates I mark in red every year.


The date is the same as today, October 19. The church commemorates Henry Martyn, a priest and a missionary to Muslims, born in 1781 and who died in 1812, but I confess I haven’t got him on my list of very special days.


The first commemoration I treasure is an event celebrating the date of October 19, 1781, when Lord Cornwallis of Britain had his adjutant surrender his sword to Gen. George Washington’s aide to conclude this part of the Revolutionary War. Cornwallis couldn’t bear to surrender his sword of nobility to a paltry general (even though that General belonged to one of the most notable families in Virginia as well as a revered statesman). The revolution wasn’t entirely over, but it ended the warfare in the south, and soon after, the north also was able to celebrate peace. In Yorktown, Virginia, my home town, it’s a day of celebration of patriotism, international and interracial cooperation (African Americans, French, Hessians, and Poles, were instrumental in the victory), thanksgiving, and dare I say pride.

Although Washington and many others are now branded as slave owners (there is no denying that), I still can’t help thinking of the sacrifices he made for this country and the risks he took to make it free from British rule, even if freedom for everyone didn’t come until long after 1781, and for which some are still waiting.


The second commemoration is more personal. After sitting on the corner of our street, watching the parade of bands, soldiers, sailors (including some French ones with those endearing red pompoms on top of their hats), and speeches, my sister-in-law went into labor and a few hours later gave birth to my first niece and my brother’s first child. We all thought that it was a splendid day to be born. After all, the celebration of the day didn’t involve presents, so she didn’t get cheated on any of those, and it did have bands, parades, and fireworks, which she could say was to celebrate her natal day.


The third event was the birth of my son, some 17 years, 8 hours, and some odd minutes, as well as half a world away, of my brother’s firstborn. My then-husband and I were in the Philippines at that time, and the hospital nursery had lots of brown-haired, brown-eyed babies when my blue-eyed cherub with blonde curls joined the crowd. I’ve always wished I could have taken him back home for a birthday with the same celebrations my niece had enjoyed. I’ve always reminded him of the importance of his birthday, both personally and historically.


So, what spiritual connection can I make of this mishmash of more or less personal celebrations? I guess growing up in a town so full of history (and so close to Jamestown and Williamsburg) plus the proximity of relics of both the Revolution and the Civil War made me conscious from an early age that hallowed ground doesn’t necessarily mean blessed by the church or a minister. Among the many graves both in the churchyard and along the rustic paths through the battlefields, there are small plots of land with crosses and plaques that commemorate people who died there, many fighting far from their homes and native lands, but who still gave their lives to help a new nation be born. Some of those crosses and plaques memorialize those who fought on the opposite side, just as fiercely protecting their own country’s interests as the colonists and her allies did for theirs. The blood of all of them and all the non-combatants who also lost their lives in those conflicts sanctified that ground forever.


I celebrate two lives, both born on that same day, who are so dear to me and who are the recipients of the blessings of liberty that the battles and skirmishes of the Revolution brought to all of us. We haven’t finished the campaigns yet; there are still battles of equality and justice to be won so that all Americans, regardless of race, creed, nationality, ethnicity, or orientation, can enjoy the blessings of liberty and freedom.


The fight for freedom goes on here as well as many places around the world. The goal of world peace seems perhaps further away than ever before, but that doesn’t mean we stop fighting for it. We celebrate the heroes and mourn the fallen, whoever and wherever they are, and try to remember that Jesus told us that there would be wars and persecutions, but, as Isaiah said, we can beat our swords into plowshares. That goes for all humanity, for we are required by Jesus to love one another as we love ourselves (and our families and friends).  Jesus reiterated that over and over, even though the translations of his words never specifically told us we had to like those who opposed or who injured us even unto death.  Just as those crosses and burial places of so many unnamed casualties of wars with two sides, we must pray for them to be at peace as surely as we ourselves wish to be at our own end.


Happy Yorktown Day.  God bless all who died for us and for those who still fight.  Amen.


And celebrate with me. It’s a good day.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, October 19, 2019.

The Wind and the Spirit

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

                        --- Christina Rosetti

It’s a quiet evening. Leaves are barely moving on the trees which means it might be a reasonably quiet night. Last night it was a bit different. The winds picked up and moved quite fiercely, causing branches to rub against the siding of the house and make the blowing dust hit against the exterior wall like Mentos dropped into a Coca-Cola. It comes up, and it goes away. With last night’s dust storm, we got some much-needed rain following the wind. That happens quite often here in the desert and is as welcome as the rain is, although the wind that precedes it and sometimes accompanies it can be a bit unnerving.

As I lay in bed, I thought about what I was hearing. I was pondering whether the wind is visible, or do we only see the results of it? We know the wind and/or its effect on the shaking of leaves as in Christina Rosetti’s poem, and we can also see one, the other, or both in a tornado as it swirls and destroys. We hear the wind howling, but is that the wind itself or is the wind blowing through or against something that makes sound? However it goes, the wind, like many forces of nature, can’t be controlled, summoned, or dismissed.

Last night I also thought about that verse from John 3:8, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.” The Spirit has been described as a wind like the gust that blew through the congregation on Pentecost and endowing those present with the gift of tongues which enabled them to speak to those whose language was not Aramaic or perhaps Latin or Hebrew. The Spirit, like the wind, can’t always be summoned, controlled, or dismissed. As a member of the Trinity, it is God made manifest in ways that often can’t be seen but only felt and experienced. 

We frequently say that the Spirit calls us to tasks and missions that perhaps we previously had not thought about much less considered. The call is significant to Christians. It is, in a way, the stamp of approval of God upon an individual or even a group. Sometimes the Spirit seems to choose the most unlikely persons or groups, but yet to those who experience it, is a genuine thing, and something which changes them much as the angel on the road to Damascus turned the man who persecuted Christians into the most influential person in the early church.

One thing that struck me is that we can’t always see the Spirit working on and in a person. Sometimes we may judge that a person doesn’t measure up to what we may consider a measuring stick of a Spirit-filled life. Perhaps the Spirit uses different criteria for judgment, and it is our hubris that makes us question that person’s qualification. Like the wind, the Spirit goes where and to whom she wills.

The wind is not always a gentle thing, particularly in cases of natural disasters like cyclones, hurricanes, typhoons, and the like. Neither is the Spirit always a soft, guiding and sustaining image that we often consider. 

We learn in church that the Spirit, the third person of the Trinity, or the third persona of that group, is equal to but not the same as God or Jesus. Together they form God, the Holy Trinity, although we often consider them, like Rublev’s famous icon, to be three individuals sitting down together at a round table. The Spirit is frequently portrayed as a dove and is probably the least understood, yet an essential part of what we call God. The Spirit does come among us, speaking to some, choosing some, and guiding many. Sometimes I think some of the best ideas are inspired by the Spirit, whether or not the person to whom the idea comes is aware of it or not. Like the wind, it’s something that can be felt or experienced but not seen and seldom heard.

Tonight may be a quiet night, but later, when the sun goes down, and the air grows cooler, it may pick up and once again make itself known by the movement of the branches, twigs, and leaves. We will know when it is here, and when it leaves. I think with the Spirit, it’s probably best for me to assume that the Spirit is always present in one way or another, and for me to be constantly aware of that presence, whether or not I feel a gentle breeze against my cheek or my house shakes with the force of it.

How do you experience the Spirit? Is a gentle breeze, an angry twisting form, or something that moves the waves on the ocean, whether ripples or giant waves?

This week I will work on sensing the Spirit, however she may manifest herself. I invite you to do the same.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café August 31 and October 26, 2019.

A Spiritual Salad

The shortening off of days and the cooling temperatures always put me in the mood to do more reading. Oh, I read all year, but it seems like longer evenings and nights spark more opportunity and more reason to sit in my rocking chair, with a lap robe over my feet, a cat in my lap, a cup of tea next to me, and a good book in my hands.


One of my latest reads has been Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others by Barbara Brown Taylor. In it, she describes teaching a college class on world religions and what she has learned herself through teaching, discussing, and experiencing the similarities and differences among a variety of world religions. Her class sounds fascinating; I wish I could attend a term or two of it.


In reading the book, I encountered a thought I’ve had before, namely that it would be interesting, challenging, and stimulating to be part of a religion other than the one in which I grew up. I did do some denominational dancing at several points in my life, wishing I was something besides Southern Baptist. Roman Catholicism offered rituals, lots of saints, and repetitive prayers rather than a lot of emotion, long sermons, and confusion teachings.  I liked the formality of the mass and that (at that time) it was in Latin was eye-opening. Besides, I had a school friend who was RC and had attended Catholic school for her first four years. She always put a small cross at the top of her class papers and exercises, which seemed rather exotic and yet very meaningful to me, so I did it too – for a while. I wonder now why I stopped?


Throughout my life, I have read lots of books of different types and persuasion. I read all the Rabbi Small mysteries, which made me think about Judaism and be curious enough to do some research on it. The prayers (in Hebrew) intrigued me, and hearing the music as well as the chants struck me as a longing for a God in whom I could have faith, even through the most trying of times. Reading Rumer Godden’s In This House of Brede made me want to join a Benedictine monastery, with its rules, silence, and chants. Of course, my family would have had a collective stroke if I even mentioned such an idea to them.  It was hard enough to tell them that I had found the Episcopal Church and undergoing confirmation before my next birthday.  The gasps were audible, some of the arguments bantered back and forth got tiresome, but in the end my adoptive father gave me his permission, and I followed my heart to the altar for confirmation and my first communion as an Episcopalian.


Over the years, there were more books, more new experiences, and more wanting to sample other faiths. It was like going to a salad bar and choosing bits of this, that, and the other on the plate and covering it with dressing to bind it all together.  I had Mormon downstairs neighbors once, so I did some reading up on that. It didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t for me, but it was a little dash of something to add to my salad. I tried Roman Catholicism for several years, but it didn’t seem quite right either. I still loved books about Jewish characters from Rabbi Small to Anne Frank. I continued to add small dabs of new things to my salad until I had nearly a plate full.


I’ve learned to appreciate Buddhist meditation, Jewish traditions, prayers and music, the Five Pillars of Islam, the Native American feeling of oneness with Creation, respect for the elders, and the practice of walking in beauty. There are times when I wish I could do more than try to practice their beliefs in more than a superficial way, to truly belong to them as do the believers of each of them.  Still, even a contemplation of and attempt to follow some of their customs, as different as they may be, bring peace and satiation, like a well-balanced salad with lots of different flavors and textures.


I know many people have had some of the same experiences as I have, that of wanting to experience as a member and true believer rather than just a Christian trying to enact an authentic Seder or sit in meditation for hours without moving or having the mind stray. I know Christianity offers me a channel for meditation, good works, ritual, memorized prayers for various occasions, and encouragement to respect creation and all parts of it. Christianity offers me God as the dressing, by whatever name a person calls God, that binds the salad together and provides many different flavors to tempt the spiritual palate.


I’m glad I’m Episcopalian. After some journeys to other spiritual paths, I find myself returning every time to the Episcopal Church. When I come back and first sit in the pew after an absence, either long or short, it’s as if God is putting a hand on my head with the commands, “Sit! Stay!”  Maybe those are the bacon bits or scallions to garnish the salad?


The world is not monochromatic, single-flavored, or even of one texture. God made creation with an infinite amount of diversity, so would that same God say that only one way could be enjoyed, believed in, or practiced?  Is Buddhist meditation going to make me less of a Christian?  Am I going to be harmed by reading Harry Potter because it talks about spells and magic? Will I to hell because I read the Qu’ran (in English) or the Talmud of Judaism?  Am I sinful to bless trees, flowers, cats, rocks, or rivers?  Am I diluting my faith by watching a program on the Kaaba of Islam, appreciating those who maintain it as well as the millions who save for years to afford the one Hajj of their lifetime required by the Five Pillars of their faith? Am I unChristian to want to see the good in every single person and thing in creation, even if I fail at it much of the time?


I’m grateful to have the ingredients of a spiritual salad available to me to study, learn, perhaps practice, and appreciate. It keeps me spiritually fed and nourished as well as going my heart good to acknowledge that God is present all around and within. Whether God is called God, Allah, Elohim, Abba, Mother, Center of the Universe, or any of a million names, they acknowledge the Higher Power that enables us to live, breathe and have our being.


Try some new ingredients in your spiritual salad. You might find some great new additions to the life the Spirit has given you.


God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, October 12, 2019.

Listen to the Donkey

Numbers 22: 1-35


I was reading a fascinating book*, one that made me think and also gave me some “AHA” moments. The one that particularly grabbed my attention was a subheading of “Failure to Communicate .” It dealt with a fundamental lack of communication, as exemplified in the story of a man named Balaam and his donkey found in Numbers 22.  It doesn’t seem to appear in any lectionary reading, which means it isn’t read unless someone stumbles across or finds it referenced somewhere.


To condense it a bit, Baalam was a non-Israelite diviner with the gift of blessing or cursing. Balak, king of Moab, sent representatives to Baalam with the intent for Balaam to curse Israel, which was threatening the land of Moab. Balaam refused twice and even consulted with God both times, but in the end, God told Balaam to go with the representatives but only to say what God told him to say.

Balaam was on the road, riding his donkey, along with two servants. God sent an angel to block the way, which Balaam could not see. The donkey did, though, and refused to go ahead despite blows from Balaam’s stick.

This happened twice more, until the third time when the donkey, with nowhere else to go, laid down in the road and suffered a severe beating. God opened the donkey’s mouth and allowed her to question why he had beaten her in such a manner. Balaam was angry, saying the donkey had made a fool of him, and he wished he had a sword to kill her on the spot. The donkey reminded him that he had ridden her for years, and she had never caused him to treat her in this manner. Balaam had to agree.  It was then that God opened Balaam’s eyes and he saw the angel who had blocked the path. The upshot was that Balaam followed God’s direction and returned home, presumably on the same donkey, but this time without difficulty or beatings.

Poor donkey! She suffered cursing and beatings because she saw something Balaam didn’t, and couldn’t communicate this to him in any other way than to try to get around the angel blocking the road or lying down where she was. She tried her best to let Balaam know that something was wrong, but he only understood that she was not obeying his command to move ahead. Finally, God gave her the words to make Balaam stop and think about his anger and how unjustified it was, given the length of time he and the donkey had been working together. She also gave him an awareness that she had seen something he had not, and that her behavior was not just a whim but rather a sign that he missed.  


We often miss communications because we act first, think later. We miss hearing essential things and get into trouble because of it. We depend on sound-bytes rather than entire messages, simply because we are in a hurry in a world that demands we keep moving, no matter what stands in our path that we should notice.  We even ignore the growls of the dog we are walking, pulling on his leash to move him ahead when he is warning us of danger nearby.                                                                                                                                                                                                 
Israel had prophets to warn them of things, not necessarily the immediate threats, but the ones further down the road. We have prophets today who look at the signs and see perils ahead if we do not correct the path on which we are moving. We depend on financial advisers to tell us when to buy or sell commodities or stocks to maximize our wealth but ignore the experts who warn us of climatic and ecological peril as a result of our greed. We don’t hear the voices of the trees and beasts as their various species die out due to deforestation and loss of habitat, not to mention overhunting and fear. Maybe we need a few more Balaam’s donkeys around; we might believe the messages if something utterly improbable spoke to us.

Donkeys are strong, intelligent, cautious, and with a great sense of self-preservation, which we often call stubbornness. They are playful, gentle, quick learners, and sure-footed, all of which make them valuable in many cultures and jobs. Is it not surprising that God had a message to pass to Balaam through the voice of the donkey?

To make a further point of wordless communication, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a colt of a donkey that had never been ridden. Emperors rode into a new city on the back of a strong, imposing white stallion, but the King of Israel chose a more peaceful, gentle method of entry to communicate his message, intent, and purpose.

Perhaps we need to listen to a more non-verbal way of passing along messages and lessons. We don’t need words to show love to our fellow humans, as well as all of creation around us. I believe it would be good if we could show respect for not only our neighbors but also the creatures, flora, fauna, and even inanimate inhabitants of our world.

I have a friend who has a donkey named Duncan. I think I’ll ask my friend if Duncan has given him any messages lately. It might be that Duncan has lessons he could pass on to his owner’s Education for Ministry group – and the world. Who knows, God might speak through Duncan and give us the words to enable us to see and feel the world as others do. It might just help us to be better God-followers as well.

God bless.



*Roach, Jonathan C, and Gricel Dominguez, Expressing Theology: A Guide to Writing Theology That Readers Want to Read, (2015) Kindle edition, Chapter 4, Subheading “Failure to Communicate,” paragraph 1.  Portland OR. Wipf and Stock Publishers.

 
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, October 5, 2019.