The Gift of Tears

 

I often listen to the radio in the car when I'm driving, and it's always the local classical station. I've been a classical fan since I was a child – an odd bird in a family who liked Country-Western (my brother), Lawrence Welk (my parents), and hymns/Gospel music (many of my relatives). I have several hundred CDs of classical music, primarily Baroque religious works, and I have an iPod that I've loaded up with almost all of them. I used to listen to my iPod at work since playing classical religious music was definitely out of the range of tolerance as much as if I had wanted to play opera or Taiko drumming.

Today, as I was driving, the radio station began playing an aria, one of Luciano Pavarotti's most famous solos, "Nessun Dorma." It's from an opera (and I'm not a fan of opera),  but this aria (and maybe one or two others) never fails to put a catch in my throat. I have no idea what makes me so sensitive to this piece when even some of my very favorites fail to cause tears to get no further than my eyelashes.

Tears are quite often a sign of sorrow, grief, physical or emotional pain. Babies can wail at the top of their lungs but don't always produce tears. The wailing is a sign that something is not going their way and they would like it fixed quickly, thank you very much. There are happy tears, like the bride's mother sheds at her offspring's wedding. Proud parents have tears flowing down their cheeks at first communions, baptisms, graduations, and any time their children mark a special event or achievement. People cry at special events, whether to mark horrendous tragedies or outstanding achievements. Birth, death, and all sorts of things between those two milestones are reasons for tears.

Some churches take special notice of tears and why they are shed. Roman Catholics call it the "Gift of Tears" when someone is moved to cry because the liturgy is so beautiful that they feel overwhelmed or feel particularly close to God. St. Ignatius was one of those. On a visit to Auschwitz, Pope Francis asked God for the gift of tears for all those put to death due to barbarity and anti-semitism. He wanted to show his repentance and desire for a world where anti-semitism and hatred will come to be as the Holy Trinity want it to be.  Although not an official "Saint," Margery Kempe was singularly blessed with the gift of tears often and frequently very loudly when she contemplated her sin, the glory of God, and the redemption offered by Jesus. She was one of the more extreme cases, but many saints and Saints shed tears at prayer or in contemplation.

The Gospels state that Jesus shed drops of blood and sweat while he prayed at the Garden of Gethsemane, but would it not be possible that he shed tears of anguish also? We know he wept at the tomb of Lazarus and as he contemplated Jerusalem from the mountaintop. I'm sure there were other times as well. I wonder if he ever shed tears of frustration when people, even his disciples, didn't get what he was trying to get across to them?

Being one who has not been given the gift of tears, I often envy those who can seemingly shed them at the drop of a sad movie ending or the thought of a loved one passing or who has passed. I choke up at some songs, the beauty of a cathedral or a sunlight-dappled forest, even watching a horse race. Why a horse race? The animal is beautiful in motion and could so easily break down or be injured to the point of death. Why can't I at least leak a few tears when I see pictures of people suffering from famine, war, natural disasters, or plagues? I hate seeing children in need, elders in great pain because their children want every possible modern intervention to keep Mother or Dad with them just a while longer, or animals who have been the subject of cruelty some human being thought was fun. Things like these tear my heart and often drive me to prayer, but tears? Not a one.

Where do you see the gift of tears in your life? Do you share tears with loved ones at family events?  Do disasters causing significant loss of life affect you? Do beautiful things make tears well up in your eyes?  What about when you think about your sins or guilt? Does the thought of the sacrifice of Jesus for those sins and guilt bring you closer to tears?

Tears can be cleansing, healing, and even uplifting. Even for adults, it's okay to cry; we don't have to be stoic about everything. Let God love you, beauty touch you, and relief wash over you. If Jesus could weep, why can't we? I bet even God has shed tears from time to time. We have that capacity, and we are made in God's image.

Think about it.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, June 26, 2021.

Don't Worry

 

So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.  – Matthew 6:34

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in a world without worry, anxiety, or fear? I know I do, and quite frequently. In the world I live in, there are fears of being destitute, not being able to feed my furry kids, amassing any more debt than I already have, being unable to pay my bills, or having severe medical problems with subsequent and overwhelming bills. I’m sure there are a significant number of people with similar legitimate concerns. Yet, even uncertainty, without any immediate threats to well-being or status, is uncomfortable and cause for concern.

Jesus tells us not to worry about what is to come; it will come soon enough. He reminds us of the birds and other natural living things. They react to immediate threats but otherwise seem to take life as it comes, moving a bit further along if forage becomes sparse or nests blow out of trees with high winds. Some trees undoubtedly experience some form of pain when wildfires strike, yet it can be those very same fires that bring conditions that allow for seeds and cones to find life in the newly-cleared ground. Vegetation doesn’t worry about anything, while animals and avian life are always cautious; danger might be right around the corner. These members of the natural world instinctively learn to flee from predators, fires, or even the sound of gunfire, but these are things they don’t worry about until something triggers an instinct to escape from life-threatening situations. Still, they don’t consciously worry the way human beings do.

I’m pretty sure only human beings actively choose to think about worries and fears. It’s part of their makeup as humans. Their brains are hard-wired to consider possibilities between the dangers of eating the sandwich in front of them or not. Who knows where the bread and ingredients have come from, who has possibly spread germs on it, how long it has been sitting on the counter, and the like. How often has the phrase, “Be careful crossing the street or you could be hit by a bus,” cropped up (or, in some areas, the injunction is more like “Wear clean underwear…”)? Then, there’s the one I remember from childhood, “Clean your plate; after all, children are starving in (insert country).” It made sense then, but seen through adult eyes, how could my stuffing myself or not wanting to eat something I didn’t like do anything to change the status of children possibly suffering from lack of food? I still ponder that if I leave something on my plate that I don’t want to eat.

Jesus lived in a world where people believed that there was only so much to go around. What one person got meant that someone else either didn’t get much or might have to go without altogether. Today we may say we don’t believe in limited resources and that anyone willing to work hard could move up the ladder to more wealth and comfort and less anxiety. Yet, not everybody can believe that.

When was the last time you read, heard, or thought, “The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer”? The “self-made man,” someone who, through his/her own education, hard work, and motivation, becomes successful, usually in politics or business. Benjamin Franklin was said to have coined the phrase to describe his rise to fame and power despite being the son of a poor, unknown candlemaker. Frederick Douglass, born a slave and rose to prominence in writing, newspaper publishing, and as an Abolitionist leader among African Americans because of his motivation, hard work, and education. He also credited his involvement and interaction with others as part of his success. Each person he met or even passed on the street offered him something to learn. Each engagement with another person gave him an experience of what life could be like or perhaps an opportunity to help or be helped.

Jesus would undoubtedly note that both men were souls who not only worked their way up but found niches in realms where they helped a great many others. Yet, while both became successful, they each had struggles, worries, anxieties, and probably many fears at times. However, those fears and concerns did not stop them but instead taught them things that made them stronger and more determined to help others.

 I think the important thing that Jesus would want us to learn from the verse from Matthew is that worries will always be with us.  We should deal with what is on our plate now, not what will be for dinner tomorrow. In short, don’t borrow trouble. Much of what we worry about probably will not happen or, if it does, not to the magnitude of what we feared it might be. Instead of worrying about terminal cancer when the doctor suggests a lump or pain might need a little more investigation, perhaps we consider that it might be a small pocket of infection that antibiotics would cure, or a little liniment and rest might ease the pain and swelling.

My last decade or so has been less stressful. I’ve come to feel like God has a safety net under me. Even though I still have problems that seem insurmountable, I can solve them or find someone to help me overcome them. It’s funny how often I have what appears to be a perfect opportunity for a significant worry attack, but I can slide over it. I’m pretty sure God (plus Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and a few friendly saints) has got me covered, so I’m counting on that.

What are you counting on to help with your worries and concerns? Be open to any opportunity to ease your anxieties. God will be there with you.

 

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, June 19, 2021

Where Authority Comes From

 

Luke 20:1-8

The Daily Office Eucharistic Gospel for today leaves me with a lot of questions. But, of course, that’s not an unusual occurrence when I read various passages. Yet, this one catches my curiosity right from the beginning.

Jesus was teaching and “telling the good news” in the temple where ostensibly the people were listening and appreciating what he was saying. Who wouldn’t like hearing good news? There isn’t so much of it around that people can ignore it, can they? Yet, three groups of people:  the elders, chief priests, and scribes,  made their way to Jesus and openly questioned him about where he got his authority to teach such things. I know the temple officials were looking for false preachers who were encouraging belief in heretical theology; however, the temple was too holy to be open to those who preached such things.

As happened many times during Jesus’s life on earth, he answered a question with a question, turning the table on the officials and challenging them to respond.  Usually, the questions Jesus posed to his questioners dealt with judgment on what appeared to be something other than related to the original query. On this occasion, Jesus asked the officials about who told John he should baptize people? Where did the authority come from? It was a very canny question as it put the questioners in a quandary. If they said “heaven,” they would legitimize John as prophetic. As a result, his teachings would gain even more popularity and more followers every day. If they said “earth,” the followers of John would rise up and very possibly stone the religious leaders who refused to accept John as a prophet, a stance that many people believed in wholeheartedly.

The temple leaders could only answer that they did not know where John’s authority came from, which was an admission that they could not confirm or deny the question. This situation called for a “Yes” or “No” answer., “I don’t know” was not one that would win any points in an argument, like a draw in a chess game. Jesus’s words of “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things,” he gave the equivalent of “Checkmate” in two brief moves.

Another question that occurred to me was, where do we see this happening in our own time? Who has authority,  and where does it come from?  Religious sects and denominations, political parties, martial and judicial officials, and even groups like homeowners’ associations claim to have power and authority, yet where does this come from? Basically, it comes from the group that serves as an electoral board or some other group representing all those who claim allegiance to the person, group, or party seeking to be put in charge by a majority. Much of the time, the majority of the whole group decides the outcome. Still, now and again, the minority continues to fight to overturn the decision. Some groups may claim their authority comes from God, but can we always trust whether that is actually true or not? Do their words sound like words from God? Do the actions of the group mirror Godly acts? Do their fingers point at others to distract from their own shortcomings, or do they speak of God and the good works of God’s people?

The people in Jesus’s time would have had to make up their own minds as to whether or not John, or Jesus, for that matter, were telling the truth and were who they claimed to be. We have the same choice, based on the same information. As for others who seek to influence people and lure them to their particular faith, party, or group, we must ask our own questions and weigh the answers we receive. Will we select those who choose to lead us to good words and actions, or will we choose self-serving people who care only for themselves and those who support them?  Do we follow those who direct us to heaven or earth?

We have to choose wisely.

God bless.

 

Originally published under the title "Authority" at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, June 12, 2021.

Contemplating Dreams

 

I seem to dream a lot more than I have for years; the Lord only knows why. I went for years without dreaming or remembering that I did dream, much less what it was about. Maybe getting older has something to do with it, but it can be enjoyable, fun, scary, informative, or reminiscent. Sometimes it seems to be a mere story I’m involved in, but at other times it makes me think during the next day or so about what it meant or was trying to teach me.

When I began studying the Education for Ministry (EfM) program in 2005, I was introduced to many different ways of deepening my spiritual life through various types of prayer, contemplation, meditation, and reflection. Over the years, I have found that writing has been one way I felt my spirituality growing and deepening. When I wrote about dreams that I had had that seemed to stick with me even after awakening, I gained new insights into my beliefs, thoughts, and life itself.

One morning I woke after a particularly vivid dream. I’m not sure how it started, but I remember being a slave in China at some point in its history. I was sent to a temple to work. I was given the job of moving a large porcelain turtle from a stand to a cart. I tried to lift and balance it for transfer, but it slipped and shattered on the floor.

I remembered that I was a slave with no rights, no ability to speak, and only harsh words and beatings to look forward to. I knew breaking the turtle would earn me many stripes from the canes and lashes, and that I might die as punishment for being careless, unlucky, or perhaps even overburdened for my size and age. Yet, as terrified and also as sorry as I was at the time, I felt I needed to be humble, to accept my fate, and to try to move without collapsing or staggering. I woke up at that point and spent most of the day trying to coax the ending out of my subconscious, to no avail.

Where did this scenario come from? What was it trying to tell me?  I knew that as a slave, I had no choice as to what I could do, as overseers and others beat people such as me to the point of complete submission. However, the humility I felt was coming from something else, like I had heard someone speak of a sage who encouraged humility from everyone, regardless of their status. It didn’t feel like I had heard of Confucius or any other holy person calling for such action. Still, as a slave, I would not have had the opportunity to hear much of anything other than curses and orders. Was my resignation to my punishment simple capitulation?

What I remember from the dream was that behind the resignation and hopelessness, there was still a glimmer of something, a feeling that someone or something was behind me that was greater than I and that even if I suffered and died, it would matter to someone greater than any of those who would execute me. Of course, I had never heard of God or Jesus, for that matter. Still, as I thought about the dream, it seemed that that moment in time was when I first became aware that even if I were utterly insignificant in the world, I still mattered to God.

I know I was supposed to learn this lesson from my early days. After all, hadn’t one of the most sung Sunday School songs been “Jesus Loves Me”? Yet when I went upstairs to church services, I was continually reminded that I was a sinner, no matter how good I tried to be, and that God did not like sinners. It was a lot for a small girl to take in. It took many years and experiences to even get to the point where this dream would have any meaning for me other than to put me in the place of a slave to learn how hard and dismal such a life could be.

Revisiting this dream has once again allowed me to mine it for other insights. But, unfortunately, I cannot pretend to understand or empathize with those who actually lived and suffered as slaves, even those closer to my own time or in the area where I grew up. Try as I will, and as much as I read about slavery and its ramifications, I still can only imagine what it would be like, much less truly feel the pain and suffering. Perhaps that is something I am supposed to consider more – what it meant to people of that time on both sides of the color line, and how it now needs to be revised to accept all people, regardless of color, ethnicity, and so many other characteristics, as equal, Children of God, and worthy of being accepted as such.

I’m impatient to see what the next dream brings me. I know that I still have much to learn in the time God gives me on this earth. Maybe I will finally have all the answers when the end comes, or perhaps it will just be another learning opportunity. The older I get, the more curious I get about that. Meanwhile, I will continue dreaming and contemplating.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, June 5, 2021.

Jolts of Joy

 

The renovations at my house are over, and now I'm putting the rest of it back in some order. I do love my new shower. I wish I could refurbish a few more things, but I'm not sure I'm anywhere near ready to move items around and block off part of the house so that the boys won't wander where they shouldn't.

I found something joyful during this process that I hadn't experienced for quite some time. It was such an unexpected feeling that I found myself looking forward to its repetition whenever possible. It is a simple something that I can enjoy from the comfort of my rocking chair and not have to go wandering about to find it. Of course, it doesn't last long, but even a few minutes of what I've begun calling my "Jolt of joy" is enough to lighten my mood and lift my heart.

I have some prisms in my living room window on the northwest side. The tree outside is quite a bit thinner of branches this year, so I get more direct afternoon sun. Now and then, in the late afternoon, the sun hits a prism, and I find a spot of a rainbow on the ceiling. Soon there are more dots of prismatic color, and my heart soars. It's simple to sit there and look at them without thinking of anything but instead just letting my mind open up to the beauty I see. It becomes a time of contemplation which I'm beginning to count on as a God-given period just to be, see, and enjoy.

Prisms are pieces of glass that take the light and break it into seven distinct colors that make up a rainbow. Every child in school learns at some time or other to use the mnemonic of ROY G BIV to remind them of the red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet we see as the light passes through angles and planes of glass. Noah built an ark in the First Covenant, gathered up his family and representatives of all the animals, and put them inside the ark as God commanded. Then God sent enough rain to flood the entire earth, drowning the land, animals, birds, and even all the people except those in the vessel. When the land emerged from the receding waters, God put a rainbow in the sky as a visual sign of God's promise never to destroy the whole earth by flood again. I know I don't always think of Noah when I see a rainbow, especially a double one, but I can't seem to get enough of the colors while I can see them.

Rainbows remind me of natural stained-glass windows. In churches, public buildings, galleries, sometimes private homes, stained glass represents pictures, designs, and stories told in bits of colored glass used to teach and remind even the illiterate of things and people to be remembered when seen. I loved going to the National Cathedral to see the magnificent stained glass. One of my favorites is the Space Window, a blue-shaded glass representing the vastness of space, then a sphere that signifies the moon itself. In a clear-glass bubble is a dark shape that is an actual rock from the moon's surface. Other windows in other churches I have visited have been as complex and colorful as those at the Cathedral in D.C. or simple blocks and lines of color with no particular outline or shape. For me, it is all about the color.

It isn't all about rainbows and colors, though. I look out my window from my computer desk toward several trees across the street with their layers of green due to the natural colors of the leaves and the shades and hues the light of the sun gives them. I remember the vivid blue of the South China Sea and the dancing diamonds of the wavelets as they sparkled in the sun. I love the brilliant red of the Japanese Maple in fall, especially when it contrasts with other trees whose leaves are orange, yellow or even the many shades of evergreens. Then, there are the shaded browns and tans of the natural formations polished by wind and water in Antelope Canyon, or the white flowers of dogwood and pinkish-red of the redbuds I saw as I drove through the spring forest back home. I didn't know them as jolts of joy then, but now, as I remember them, their memories have sharpened over the years, and I've learned to see them as moments of beauty and color, things that represent joy to me.        

I think that for some people, joy might be diamonds, big houses, shiny new cars, trips to foreign places, or any one of a million things. For me, though, I've found the simple things (or sometimes more complex ones) remind me that joy is a gift to be treasured. I don't think God would have spent a lot of time creating a world without so many colors, shapes, textures, and sizes had God not enjoyed the process so much. So undoubtedly, I should take every possible moment to enjoy them and send up a small arrow prayer toward heaven to say, "Thank you."    

Where do you find your jolts of joy?

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, May 29, 2021.