The Diversity of Flotsam

 

It is spring, with blooming trees and flowers (and pollen and weeds), windy days and nights, and temperatures edging up. Spring is a kind of midpoint. The change between winter and summer is most enjoyable, usually only short-term, but still quite pleasant.

After more than a year of COVID with its closures, masking, and complete change in ways of life, it would seem that this spring would be a happy time for people. They can get out more (hopefully obeying the mask and social distancing protocols), plan for reunions long denied, see items that were in short supply becoming more available, etc. That doesn’t seem to be good enough, though. Mass shootings are up, increased examples of demands for privilege,  images of violence and hatred constantly on the media, and protests on behalf of members of various races and cultures increasing as instances of bias and hate grow against them. It is beginning to feel like the primary color of spring is now blood red.

Growing up, we never heard the word diversity. Granted, we all knew what segregation was, and we children were taught that it was just the way life was, at least in the part of the world I lived in. My parents taught me to be polite to the Irish and Scottish family up the street, respectful of elders, and kind to the Black citizens of our town. The latter lived in the next street or even next door. That didn’t mean we shared churches, schools, or facilities at the bus or gas station. It took a lot of education before I began seeing the wrongs of the society in which I had belonged.

The last time I went home to Virginia, I noticed many changes, including acceptance of diversity in a much more significant proportion than I had learned growing up. There was more education about the place of Black Americans, Native Americans, and others in the history of our area for about four hundred years.  It wasn’t superficial teaching but a real emphasis on a hidden part of our history.

 The last time I was back home, I walked down the beach that bordered my river and suddenly saw some familiar things differently. I didn’t just see debris; I saw a diversity that had a beauty of its own. There were whole shells and bits of others, often translucent jingle shells or heavier pieces of clam and oyster shells. A red bit was a piece of fired brick, edges worn down and smoothed off by the power of the waves. A tiny dead crab exposed its underbelly to the sun as it rested among the strands of eelgrass that seemed to frame most of the wrack that had washed up at some time or other.

I’ve thought about that memory quite often over the years. When I think of it, I can almost hear the wind, smell the salt water, and appreciate the many bits and pieces that formed such a vivid image. How dull the beach would be if there were only grains of ground-up quartz and other bits of stone that made the sand. It took diversity to give the whole an unforgettable beauty.

I think I have to remember that beach when I look around me. Like the jingle shells, some people seem to let the light shine through, brightening the world.  The clam and oyster shells are like those who feed both humans and sea creatures, with covers that can be used in many ways after the shellfish they had protected have been consumed. The brick piece is like a person who builds and protects, enabling us to live in safety from predators, wind, and weather. The eelgrass provides hiding places for sea creatures like the little crab, feeds sea birds, provides stuffing for mattresses, roofs a cottage or house, serves as food, and helps keep the bottom of the river stable.

I need to look at people and groups in much the same way. No matter how different they may appear, each person is a child of God, created to live in other places and ways, yet with value beyond what we may see. Like the wrack at the beach or colors of paint, the beauty and usefulness are in the diversity, just as God planned it. Some may be more beautiful or talented or even useful, but each has a purpose, even those who seem to have little or none. A tramp and a queen are equal in God’s eyes, as they should be in ours.   The famous verse from John, “For God so loved the world…” seems to mean not only the physical appearance and status of the planet but all things in and on it, including people.       

Sit with the picture of the beach for a few minutes. See what part of it speaks to you, and then contemplate why that is. Then go out and look for someone or something in your part of the world that reflects that part. Take the object into your soul and let it lie there. Keep looking for other reminders of what is in your soul that may need to refresh itself or perhaps become part of how you see the world. Incorporate the examples you find into your prayers and daily life. It’s another way of recognizing how much God’s love permeates everyone and everything, and you are a part of that love.

Happy beachcombing!

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 27, 2021.

Simple Words, Difficult Lessons

 

When many of his disciples heard it, they said, ‘This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?’  But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, ‘Does this offend you?  Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before?  It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.  – John 6:60-63.

Sometimes reading the gospel of John is almost like reading Paul. Paul is wordy, with not a lot of punctuation and answers to questions that have been asked but not stated so we can figure out the context of his response. John is a mystic and, like Jesus, sometimes talks in what seems like riddles even though they quote Jesus and some of his more mysterious teachings. This passage, part of the longer gospel reading for this morning’s Daily Office, was like a two-by-four hitting me between my eyes. It partly translated itself into what is going on today, “ ‘…This teaching is difficult, who can accept it?’”  I know that the quotation reflected teachings on eternal life to the disciples. Still, it also applies to some of the lessons we either have or have not learned over the past few years.

Jesus had been teaching to a large crowd about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. It immediately sounds cannibalistic to us and possibly did to the people hearing it in person.  We understand that he was referring to the Eucharist, the bread and wine which he had blessed. We believe the elements are blessed and made holy, if not necessarily as the actual body and blood as some denominations believe, or merely representations as other denominations proclaim it. For those of us who are Episcopalian, it is somehow neither – and both. Jesus’s presence is within it, and thus we accept it as food from heaven to bless and mark our joining in the celestial banquet.

But that wasn’t what grabbed me in the reading. Just as the teaching Jesus gave to the crowd was hard for them to understand, there are many things today which we have been given but which seem to be equally as puzzling. One of the hardest things is “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Loving some people is relatively easy. They are wise, not seeking fame and earthly goods, and may have a charism about them that almost seems visible. People follow them and try to let their lives reflect the faith they have in these saints-on-earth-sans-haloes. Many of these will never be remembered except by a few who knew them, and within a few decades, their memories will fade away. We will recall them along with all the saints that surround God’s throne in the eternal home in heaven. People have been trying for millennia to learn and live up to that commandment and haven’t all mastered it yet. Still, we keep preaching it and, hopefully, practicing it as well.

Today, it occurred that even simple teachings, laws, ordinances, or wise sayings appear to be impossible to be understood. For instance, take “Wear Your Mask.”  Three short words that are demonstrations of “Love your neighbor.” I wear a mask during this pandemic to keep myself safe, sure. Most folks do. But some folks also have the idea of keeping others safe from the virus that can be lethal to susceptible people. Those are our neighbors that we are commanded to love. Yet some “Christians” seem to demonstrate that their personal rights to go maskless everywhere supersedes “Love your neighbor.” Granted, Jesus didn’t tell us to wear masks or even love our neighbor in this lesson.  Still, he knew that not all would hear, obey, or even believe. Many left him after the teaching he gave earlier in the chapter.  They still leave him, being unwilling to understand or accept his words and lessons.

How much does loving our neighbors today reflect in our daily lives? Would cutting someone off on the freeway to save us a minute and maybe cause an accident that takes other lives show our love and caring for others? How about passing legislation that benefits a group of people who already have a great abundance of wealth but crushes the poor under the foot of the rich? Does targeting members of other racial or ethnic groups, even religious groups, make our faith stronger?

Do “Hate Crimes” act as “Love Acts” by those who perpetrate them? Do they actually “love” their own group so much that they have to preach against others to prove they love their group more? I seldom (if ever) see signs, billboards, and posters that say anything loving about groups that proclaim hatred for others. Church signs, and occasionally posters and billboards, sometimes proclaim the basic tenets of their mission – loving others as God loves us.

Maybe Christians as a group need to do more things like wearing masks, regardless of dirty looks or snide comments from others who are maskless. Perhaps we should be first on the front line with tools to repair, replace, or clean damage caused by haters who have marked buildings, graves, and houses. There are thousands of things that could be done, like donuts to first responders, volunteering to help at soup kitchens and child care centers, offering rides (while wearing masks) to aged and infirm elders who have no one to rely on for assistance. Kids (and adults) could make posters and hang signs thanking the people who have been so vital in keeping our lives running as smoothly as possible in these past trying months.

I could go on and on with ideas, but hopefully, I’ve sparked something that the reading sparked in me. If a problem (or teaching) seems difficult, don’t reject it out of hand. Keep wrestling with it, meditate on it, pray about it, try looking at it through different eyes. Start with simple things like “Love your neighbor” and work from there. It might be more straightforward than it first appeared.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul at Episcopal Café, Saturday, May 20, 2021. 

Mirrors

 

“He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax-collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax-collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” But the tax-collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.’ -- Luke 18:9-14

It’s an often-told parable, that of the Pharisee and the tax-collector in the temple, each praying. The Pharisee reminded God of how righteous he was, tithing properly and not being a sinner like the people around him, both in the temple and in the streets. Of course, he mentioned the tax-collector, a sinful collaborator who worked for the Romans, considered the lowest of the low among Jews. In his own eyes, the Pharisee was worthy of all the blessings God could bestow on him, and he didn’t mind letting God know that he was aware of it. The tax-collector, on the other hand, simply confessed to being a sinner and asked for mercy. It was a simple, humble statement of remorse, one at which the Pharisee would undoubtedly laugh.

I’ve written about this parable several times, but reading this time, part of the first sentence caught my eye: “He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.” He wasn’t just telling a story to teach the disciples. He had a crowd around him, a mixed bag of ordinary people, Pharisees, ultra-righteous and out-and-out sinners alike. It was a lesson for all. He was holding up a mirror to an entire crowd, telling them to look at themselves and see their authentic images, not just a reflection.

Mirrors can be convenient when we want to see how our hair looks, makeup applied correctly, don’t have a seed stuck between our front teeth, or our tie is straight. A mirror reflects what is placed in front of it. Of course, there are the trick mirrors at carnivals and fairs, creating significant distortions and making us laugh at the images they produce. There are fancy dome-like mirrors in elegant gold frames that see fish-eye reflections of glittering chandeliers, rich tapestries, marble floors, and tiny purse-sized mirrors to check lipstick or face makeup quickly. All these mirrors still only reflect what is before them. None of them see beyond the surface, down to the root of what is hidden by that very surface.

If a mirror were more like an x-ray, it could see beneath the skin to identify breaks or imperfections in bones and organs. If the mirror were like a CAT scan or ultrasound, it could show problems in organs, blood vessels, and softer tissues. It could show tumors, benign and cancerous, but can’t always differentiate which is which without a biopsy or surgery.

No mirror can show our soul and what is in our heart of hearts. A lot of what is there comes out in how we think, act, or talk. In this vein, the Pharisee would come out as someone who was vain and so sure of his status and appearance in the public arena that he didn’t mind reminding God of it. Some would call it out-and-out entitlement. Others might consider it narcissism and egotism.

God gave us inner mirrors to look at ourselves. If we looked sincerely and honestly, we could see flaws that needed to be corrected. We need to develop discretion to judge what is right and good and what needs changing in what we think, see, and believe. Seeing things as they actually are is necessary to keep our inner and outer images in line with what God would expect of us.

Am I a disciple? Pharisee or tax-collector? Am I pride-full or humble and trying to be better? Am I trying to show Jesus’s teachings and God’s love in my appearance, actions, and words? We’ve all seen what hubris and egotism can do.

I can polish the mirrors in my house to make them shine and reflect more light. I can’t add anything to the cleanser to show me what I look like inside. I have to remember to check my interior looking glass more frequently so that God will be pleased with me.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 13, 2021. 

A Matter of Time

 

It's been a year since we first made the acquaintance of the need for isolation, masks, and the image of the COVID virus that shows up every day on news stories about the disease. Of course, some felt the whole COVID thing was a hoax, and there was no need for masks, isolation, etc.

Now, a year later, and with over 500,000 dead in this country alone, most are still wearing masks and doing the same things we were encouraged to do a year ago. This year, though, we have vaccines, and the lines to obtain a shot have been long. It is still a time of patience, and we are continually being encouraged to avoid large groups (like churches). Churches learned to hold services online, and ordinary people began to understand how to use Zoom to connect with people at work, church, even family. Still, many continue the practices of the past year, not only to protect themselves but others who might be at risk of sickness or even death.

This week I've been aware that life goes on, COVID or not, and that things need doing that require pulling myself out of my house and into the mainstream of life. It requires me to go into places like a doctor's office and the Division of Motor Vehicles, both of which are usually full of people. The DMV had implemented a new system that required an appointment (that I had) and got me in and out in twenty minutes instead of the usual forty-five. The doctor's office wouldn't give me the bloodwork my doctor had prescribed unless I had an appointment with her, so I spent twenty-five minutes in a hallway not twenty feet from the office, waiting for someone inside to answer the phone and make me an appointment for next week. I had accomplished something today but was more than ready to go home.  I still have to go out Friday to get my taxes done, next Tuesday for the doctor, and Thursday for my first COVID shot, but at least I feel I have some control over what I can and can't do – and when.

I've begun to realize that so much running around is much more like life as it was before the pandemic hit. I also realized that I want to stay home because it is more comfortable for me. I don't have to wear a mask, and the cats don't require a six-foot separation (I couldn't enforce that even if I wanted to!). I can sleep when I want, eat what and when, and I don't have to sterilize everything I touch or might touch. I have time and space enough to read, knit, think, or write. I shut the front door, and the world stays outside, except for the part of the world I can see through my windows or let into my hermitage through computer or TV.

But what struck me was the feeling that going out gave me. It was normal – ordinary, everyday, and usual. It was as normal as life was a year or so ago, with only a few restrictions more than I had then. It was like taking a step back in time to a maskless society yet forward in time to a more common way of life.

Living in a pandemic time is, in a way, like living in God-time.  Staying at home means more time to observe mini-Sabbaths during the week or even during the day. There is time to stop and pray or meditate. There are probably small bits of time when a "Thank you" or "Please bless so-and-so" can bring us into God's presence. We could also phone or write someone we haven't seen in a while, just to check in and let them know we are thinking of them. We can spend a moment jotting down things in a journal that occur to us and might want to think about more deeply later on. There will be time to go outside and breathe fresh air and observe the signs of the coming of spring.

Most of all, even with the potential coming of normalcy at some point soon, we can look for periods, not necessarily long ones, where we can sit quietly and talk to (and listen to) God. Hopefully, we've discovered those moments in the year we've just gone through. Now to find them when life goes back to the way it was. Or maybe the way it should be. Perhaps we can take what we've learned during this time of separation from others, how much we depend on God, and how God is with us through everything, good and bad.

With God, there's no social distancing, masking, or sanitizing. We can just be as we are, without fear, through sickness and health, abnormal times, or regular times. Think how grateful we should be when we finally reach "normal" times again. God will be there waiting for us, just as God is now, by our sides, walking with us.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café on Saturday, March 6, 2021.