Sunday, February 23, 2014
Medals and Crowns
Commemoration of Eric Liddell, Missionary to China
Why do you say, O Jacob,
and speak, O Israel,
‘My way is hidden from the Lord,
and my right is disregarded by my God’?
Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
and strengthens the powerless.
Even youths will faint and be weary,
and the young will fall exhausted;
but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint. - Isaiah 40:27-31
When I open the lectionary and see the commemoration for the day along with the readings, I often wonder how whoever it was who did the choosing picked the particular readings for the given occasion. With things like the Paschal Tridiuum, All Saints and Christmas it's pretty easy to figure out which readings are most appropriate; it's when it comes to the new ones, the newest-added commemorations of Anglican and Episcopal saints that brought me to that question. I still don't know but in the case of Eric Liddell, the designee for today, I think they checked their concordances for appropriate words like "missionary" and "runner." Eric Liddell was both.
Eric Liddell was born in China to missionary parents in 1902. From the age of 6, he was educated in boarding school for missionary children in Blackheath, London, and then to Edinburgh University. Being an MK (Missionary Kid), one would expect him to somewhat kick over the traces like a lot of preacher's kids (PKs) do, but he doesn't seem to have done that. One of his great loves was sports, especially rugby and running. He was chosen for the 1924 British Olympic teams as a runner, his best event being the 100 meter. As anyone who has watched Chariots of Fire will know, when his running event heat was scheduled for a Sunday, he would not run on that day and so forfeited his chance to medal in that event. He did run the 400 meters on another day, however, and won that gold medal, a feat which can still be seen in a video on the internet.
It seems a bit strange to watch a saint run such a race. We're a bit more used to Paul's metaphorical race and winning it. Still, Liddell won a real race and in world record time. He also won a bronze in the 200 meter.
After his graduation from university in 1932, he returned to China as a missionary, being ordained to the ministry in 1932 and marrying the daughter of a missionary in 1934. It was a turbulent time in China and the Liddell family suffered because of it. With the bombing at Pearl Harbor in 1941, things got even worse. His wife and children heeded the advisory that emigrants like the missionaries should leave the country but Liddell and his brother stayed to continue the ministry. He was captured by the Japanese in 1943 and interned in a prison camp where he continued to practice his ministry among his fellow captives. He died in the camp in 1945 just before the liberation of the prisoners in that camp.
It seems odd, in a way, to have a saint who lived almost within my own lifetime. I'm used to 12th - 19th century saints but more recent ones like Martin Luther King Jr., Florence Li-Tim Oi and Eric Liddell feel a bit strange to me. It makes me stop and think. Could I be witnessing a saint being born or being used by God for the good of others? It also helps me to think about Eric Liddell and the notion that saints aren't always pious people sitting in church praying or preaching on street corners, Bible in hand. Piety sometimes shows in odd ways, like refusing to run a race on Sunday or staying in a danger zone because that's where they're needed most. Even saints had real lives and sometimes interests outside churches and theology books.
I know that every baptized Christian is part of the Communion of Saints. It makes me think that maybe I'm not living up to my potential or that I'm riding on the coat-tails of other members of that body much more worthy of the name of saint than I. Take, for instance, Fr. Mychal Judge and the firefighters of 9/11 who rushed into a danger from which thousands of others were running away. They're not on our calendar but we do remember them every time the anniversary of that date rolls around. Like Liddell and others, they did what they had to do to try to help and save people they probably didn't know but valued as human beings regardless of color, race, religion, orientation or any other artificial classification the world put on them.
Eric Liddell was a missionary and a runner. He not only ran the Olympic track of Paris, he ran the Pauline track of missionary life, Christian life dedicated to the service of others. What he attained is more than a gold medal; he won a golden crown as well. He is in our list of commemorations for that reason and as an example of what that golden crown is about.
I don't know about anybody else, but it makes me think I need to try a bit harder to live into that "saint" thing. I can't let the Eric Liddell and the rest of the Communion of Saints down. I can't let God down either. It takes work and training, and I think I'd better get busy. The finish line is getting closer every day. And also it reminds me to look around -- I may be seeing the birthing process of a new saint for the calendar.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, February 22, 2014, under the title "Commemoration of Eric Liddell."
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
America la Maganda
During the Super Bowl, one of the highlights (and sometimes
low lights) is the commercials. Advertisers spend millions of dollars to
produce the best commercials they can come up with and more millions to
purchase a small time slot on a Sunday afternoon/evening in January every year.
They know that a great commercial can sway public opinion and bring more
revenue into their coffers, but some also like to have some sort of message
over and above “Buy my product;” they like to take a stand for something
besides chips in a bowl or some sort of beverage. As in the sporting event
itself, there are winners and losers in the commercial wars, and this year was
no exception.
Most writers seemed to agree on in the outstanding category
was the Coke commercial featuring scenes of Americans living their lives in
various places and in various ways while the voices of young women soloists
sang a song that is iconic in the United States, “America the Beautiful.” The
video was lovely, the voices of the young women clear and sweet, and the whole
package seemed almost flawless. Yet there has been almost a firestorm of
condemnation and anger about this very beautiful and meaningful celebration of
not just product but national pride and diversity. The cause? “America the
Beautiful” was sung in English – and Hindi, Tagalog, Spanish and several other
languages that clearly were NOT English.
People were up in arms that the words to such a song could
be sung in any language other than English. How dare Coke foist such a
disgusting misuse of a national anthem (some even referred to it as “the” national
anthem) on an unsuspecting nation? We are Americans and Americans speak English
is their cry. Anybody who comes here should either speak only English or go
back where they came from. Xenophobia is alive and well in the United States of
America, land of the free, home of the brave and, apparently, the seat of E Pluribus Unum, Out of Many, One, which
now seems to be only those who look, act and speak like us, whoever “us” is.
Instead of using the term “melting pot” we now use “diversity”
and, for some, “diversity” is a very bad word indeed, almost worse than some of
the scatological and carnal words and phrases that are heard on almost every
street corner, school hallway and locker room, and even over backyard fences in
“nice” neighborhoods. And this Coke commercial? It celebrated diversity by
having young women sing a familiar song in more than the original language in
which it was composed. In celebrating diversity, it has helped to expose the
fact that we don’t believe in the basic right to freedom, including the right
to speak in their own languages and dialects in this country; we only want others
to be like us in every way. It’s funny, but I bet none of these people complaining
about the commercial have any problem singing “Silent Night” at Christmas (it
was originally written in German) among other translated classics. Music is
universal, poetry and sentiment as well as news and inspirational writings are
translated into many languages and dialects every day, so what is so sacred
about “America the Beautiful” that it can’t speak to others in Hebrew or
Mandarin as well as in English? Even the Bible is written in many languages other
than its original (of which there is no “original” copy) without losing its
power, beauty and meaning.
In first-century Palestine, the land Jesus knew, there were
numerous small towns and villages where individual clans and tribes made their
home and probably spoke their own dialect of Aramaic. Those involved in trade
such as merchants, skilled laborers, innkeepers, and those working for the
government probably all spoke not just their local version of Aramaic but Koine
Greek, possibly a bit of Latin, maybe a dash of Hebrew and perhaps even a pinch
or two of Demotic. Most towns and villages didn’t have many immigrants but some
probably did, and Jesus, as an itinerant preacher/teacher/healer, would have
undoubtedly been able to make his message understood no matter to whom he spoke.
The Samaritan woman and the Roman Centurion probably didn’t speak the same dialect
or maybe even language, yet Jesus seemed to be able to speak to both of them in
very clear and understandable ways. And so it went also for the individuals and
crowds with whom he came in contact. The only ones he seemed to have trouble
with were the Pharisees and that didn’t have anything to do with the language
they each spoke, only the interpretation of that language.
Does the message of Jesus become diluted or unsuitable
because Jesus didn’t speak English and we don’t speak the original language
(whatever language that was) in which he expressed so many of his teachings? His
message was to draw people together, regardless of whether or not they were
members of the same clan, nation or even language group. What amazes me (and
amuses me in a sad sort of way) is that we think nothing about truly sacred
words of the Bible that we read being translations of translations, versions of
versions and interpretations of interpretations of a message that wasn’t in
English or even in a language commonly spoken today, Koine Greek. Yet we raise
a huge fuss over the lyrics of a secular song extolling the beauty of the
country and the freedom we have to enjoy it.
What a strange world we live in that we begrudge them the
joy of expression of the blessings and beauty of our land or any land simply
based on the language they use to express that joy. What would Jesus think?
Originally published at Daily Episcopalian on Episcopal Café Saturday, February15, 2014.
Originally published at Daily Episcopalian on Episcopal Café Saturday, February15, 2014.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Islands and Interconnections
Romans 14:1-23
Sometimes Paul drives me nuts. Don't get me wrong, there are tons of stuff in Paul's writings that is important and all the reiterations of the same point again and again are a teaching tool to get that point across. He definitely wasn't a sound bite kind of guy, using short, snappy, quickly grabbed thoughts and pushing them out as quickly as his tongue could speak or fingers write (or his amanuensis' fingers, come to think of it). There are times when reading an epistle lesson from Paul in church it's very easy to get lost in the words and phrases. And, if the old thing about taking a breath at the comma is to be obeyed, one could either hyperventilate or gradually turn blue waiting for the next one. Still, Paul has a lot so say and sometimes it is something that so catches the attention that it's hard to put away and go on to something else. That happened to me this morning with part of this reading.
The lesson deals with judging, something we're all familiar with and something all of us indulge in perhaps too often. Judgement is a topic about which there is a lot of argument; is it proper to judge a person and under what circumstances? Jesus put it very simply, "Do not judge, so that you may not be judged" (Matt. 7:1). Paul goes into great detail about judgements and stumbling blocks, people doing things that seem quite okay and harmless to them but which are problems for other people. It's about how people treat each other, caring for one another and being careful to avoid doing things that would hurt, injure or give them problems more than they already have. It's an important lesson, and worth all the detail into which Paul goes in his letter. Still, it isn't the part that catches my heart this morning.
We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. (7-9)
The words are important – and they are meant as comfort. The Book of Common Prayer uses them as one of several opening anthems read as a body is brought into the church for the burial service (469, 491). We don’t think about judgement with that snippet; we only think of the comfort of knowing that, one way or another, we are, were and will always be God’s. Paul even put it another way earlier in Romans, “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (8:38-39). We are God’s, no matter what.
Just as we are connected forever to God through Jesus Christ, so we are also connected forever to our fellow human beings and, indeed, all of creation including creation itself. Like the proverbial butterfly sneeze in Brazil that causes a typhoon in Japan or the gentle prod of a finger on a domino that begins a chain reaction that causes thousands of other dominoes to fall, what one person does, no matter how slight, causes something else to happen. We judge that our lives to require adequate heat in winter and engineer our houses and thermostats so that we don’t have to think about that, but we never think of the people who have only oil and propane for heat and whose budgets often can’t be stretched far enough to cover a whole month’s worth of fuel. As long as we’re comfortable, all’s right with the world, right? It’s a judgement call and one that potentially causes others to fall prey to cold and despair -- and sometimes death.
Just as we are connected forever to God through Jesus Christ, so we are also connected forever to our fellow human beings and, indeed, all of creation including creation itself. Like the proverbial butterfly sneeze in Brazil that causes a typhoon in Japan or the gentle prod of a finger on a domino that begins a chain reaction that causes thousands of other dominoes to fall, what one person does, no matter how slight, causes something else to happen. We judge that our lives to require adequate heat in winter and engineer our houses and thermostats so that we don’t have to think about that, but we never think of the people who have only oil and propane for heat and whose budgets often can’t be stretched far enough to cover a whole month’s worth of fuel. As long as we’re comfortable, all’s right with the world, right? It’s a judgement call and one that potentially causes others to fall prey to cold and despair -- and sometimes death.
Paul’s poetic assertion that “We do not live to ourselves” tugs as the heartstrings. We weren’t put here just to amuse ourselves and look down our noses at those who are poorer or of a lower status than we are. We were put here to be stewards of God’s creation and companions to God as well. “Am I my brother’s keeper” is more than a question Cain asks of God, knowing full well he’s just murdered his brother. Jesus answered that we are all our brother’s keeper – and our sister’s as well. Just as we bask in the love of God, we’re charged to pass it on, not hoard it like Midas’ gold. Our judgements have to be what is good for everybody, not just ourselves or our social class or group. We are God’s, whether we live or die, and God expects us to be profitable, not just to ourselves or our company but to God and all that is God's above all. If we judge someone to be unworthy of help, we fail to see God’s presence and stamp on them, just as they cannot see the same on us. It’s interconnectedness, and it’s vital.
The mystical/metaphysical poet John Donne, wrote:
No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. *
I think Donne strikes at the heart of Paul’s message: we are all interconnected and we can’t in good conscience believe otherwise, no matter how much we’d like to (or do). If we are interconnected we can’t judge others without judging ourselves as well, and we know how hard that can be to do. We’re used to self-justification for whatever it is and give little thought to the perceptions of others.
I have to stop and remember that every time I judge someone else, I’m chipping away a tiny piece of my own soul. I’m not living into the “. . . [W]e are the Lord’s” and, if I forget that, it is at my own peril. No, not the peril that I will lose God’s love, but that I will lose my love for God that I proclaim with my lips but fail to do in my life. I’m still God’s, whether I live or die, and it’s up to me to remember that and live it until the day I die.
The challenge has been given. The response is now up to me.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Appearances and Judgement Calls
Readings:
AM: Psalm 75, 76
PM: Psalm 23, 27
Genesis 24:28-38, 49-51
Hebrews 12:12-29
John 17:14-36
Jesus answered them, ‘I performed one work, and all of you are astonished. Moses gave you circumcision (it is, of course, not from Moses, but from the patriarchs), and you circumcise a man on the sabbath. If a man receives circumcision on the sabbath in order that the law of Moses may not be broken, are you angry with me because I healed a man’s whole body on the sabbath? Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgement.’ -- John 17:21-24
If Jesus had done his healings by appearances, probably only the very presentable would have been the recipients of his help. Jarius’ daughter and Peter’s mother-in-law would have passed the test of presentableness but the lepers on the side of the road or the blind man at the Pool of Siloam? I doubt it. The crowd based their judgement on how someone appeared; if the person were dressed well, looked prosperous, not even really sick or maimed or injured, they were seen with approval. Any deviation, like dirty or tattered clothes (or even no clothes like the Gerasene Demoniac), an obvious defect or deformity, anything that would label them as “not like us” was judged as unacceptable, unclean, being punished for something and therefore not really worthy of notice much less help.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, February 8, 2014.
AM: Psalm 75, 76
PM: Psalm 23, 27
Genesis 24:28-38, 49-51
Hebrews 12:12-29
John 17:14-36
Jesus answered them, ‘I performed one work, and all of you are astonished. Moses gave you circumcision (it is, of course, not from Moses, but from the patriarchs), and you circumcise a man on the sabbath. If a man receives circumcision on the sabbath in order that the law of Moses may not be broken, are you angry with me because I healed a man’s whole body on the sabbath? Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgement.’ -- John 17:21-24
I remember Sundays as a kid: church in the morning, usually a round of visiting relatives for lunch or an afternoon visit, home for supper and then, usually, church again before coming home and going to bed. The only permissible work on Sunday was cooking and cleaning up (aside from feeding the animals and perhaps helping a stranded neighbor). They worked hard all week and Sundays were for sitting down, chatting about family and friends and whatever else they felt like discussing. It was their way of keeping the Sabbath. Someone who mowed their lawn on Sunday was judged a non-Christian or at least non-churchgoing person, no matter how many good deeds or charitable acts they performed during the week. Resting on Sunday was the rule and people were supposed to abide by them, whether or not it was of their tradition or not.
The Torah spelled out a list of permissible actions for the Sabbath including how far a person could travel from home and what things were permitted to be done, including circumcision (except for certain very specific instances). God rested on the seventh day of creation and, by heaven, people were expected to do the same. It was a novel concept back in the time of Moses; other cultures did not observe a day of rest but worked seven days a week and only took off for really big religious or political holidays. The Israelites and their descendants had a mandate from God, though, to work six days and rest on the seventh. Woe be to anyone who disregarded that rule that was written into the commandments God gave Moses on Mt. Sinai. When the crowd saw and heard of Jesus healing a man on the Sabbath, well, that was work and he was breaking the law of God! He must be punished! Many of them even thought death would be a proper punishment for his audacity and his claims of being sent by God and doing God's will.
Here's where the passage takes a turn: "Do not judge by appearances but judge with right judgement." What appeared to the Pharisees and the crowd as law-breaking was, in Jesus' eyes life-saving. It was a matter of perspective. Jesus was doing what he was here to do, to heal both the body and the spirit as well as point the way to God, and if it was something that needed to be done on the Sabbath, then that's how it was.
One evening our Education for Ministry (EfM) group had a theological reflection on a photograph of the back of a very expensive sports car with a vanity plate that read "Drunk." To the side and a bit further away there was a man sitting on the side of the street holding a sign that read "Hungry." It was hard not to judge the driver of the sports car and the presence of that particular vanity plate. Were they proud of being a drunk? Was it a figurative thumbing of the nose? Was it some sort of court-ordered mandate? Did the driver even notice the guy on the street with the sign? What about him? Was he too lazy to work? A scammer? A guy who didn't know where to go for help? We ranged through so many possibilities of what it might mean. When it came to implications of our discussion, I think most of us realized that we had to judge whether we wanted to (a) give the hungry man a meal at McDonald's or at least a couple of bucks to get something for himself or (b) drive on by and not chance giving money to an unworthy person. It would be a judgement call based on appearances and how our hearts responded.
If Jesus had done his healings by appearances, probably only the very presentable would have been the recipients of his help. Jarius’ daughter and Peter’s mother-in-law would have passed the test of presentableness but the lepers on the side of the road or the blind man at the Pool of Siloam? I doubt it. The crowd based their judgement on how someone appeared; if the person were dressed well, looked prosperous, not even really sick or maimed or injured, they were seen with approval. Any deviation, like dirty or tattered clothes (or even no clothes like the Gerasene Demoniac), an obvious defect or deformity, anything that would label them as “not like us” was judged as unacceptable, unclean, being punished for something and therefore not really worthy of notice much less help.
The man on the side of the road in our TR image didn’t look particularly hungry. He was well-fleshed, looked reasonably clean, clothes appeared intact with no rips or tears or obvious dirt, so why was he holding a sign announcing he was hungry? Again, we judged based on our inclinations but also on our attention being called to the image and the things our reactions said about us. It’s something we all do every day, making judgements about what we see rather than what is real or knowable. God doesn’t work that way, though, and Jesus didn’t either.
Today’s challenge is to stop looking at the sports cars with the vanity plates and see the guy on the side of the road. It is to look beyond dirty faces and tattered clothes to see the real needs of people in trouble and respond to it. It is to look beyond Gucci handbags and Brooks Brothers suits and see the hurt and loneliness that lie underneath. Most of all, it is to look with eyes of compassion and God-sight to see what is truly there and what need requires filling, including within ourselves.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, February 8, 2014.
An Epiphany Essay
I like Epiphany. After Advent, it's my very favorite season. Unlike Advent, though, or even Christmas, or Lent, it is a variable-length season of four to nine Sundays between the date of Epiphany itself (January 6) and the beginning of Lent, which, this year, is March 30, ensuring a long Epiphany season. It celebrates the coming of the Magi to the Christ Child on the day and the manifestation of God in human flesh, the light lf Christ coming into the world throughout the season.
For me, a sad part of Epiphany is the darkening of the Christmas lights that made the December nights brighter and more hopeful. I admit to being a sucker for Christmas lights, even though I don't put any on my own house. Luckily, I have a neighbor who throws herself into the season whole-heartedly and decorates enough for both of us. They have been taken down now and put away for the next eleven months, but here and there on my way to work are still the odd houses with lights glowing. Without those little points of light, life seems a bit bleaker.
I don't have any studies to prove it, but my personal theory is that it is easier to be depressed in January than in just about any other month. People may argue for December because Christmas without all the trimmings (and the people) can be a lonely affair, but, at least in my eyes, the thought of a new year is like a stretch of Route 66 that was as straight as an arrow and went on for what seemed like half a million miles with absolutely nothing much in the way of scenery and the mountains that loomed in the distance never seeming to get any closer. It's easy to get depressed in January; all the parties and whoop-de-doo of Christmas are over, tax season approacheth, it's still winter and the turning of the calendar is a reminder that change is coming, whether we want it to or not. Babies will be born, elders (and often much beloved elders) will die, the economy and the state of the nation and the world will continue to wobble like an egg rolling downhill, and the heroes we raise today will be found tomorrow to have feet of very real clay.
But then there's Epiphany, the season. It's the spark of light that reminds us that just as everything has an ending, new things come along to engage us. Epiphanies are also sudden insights and flashes of Godlight that are like the V-8 commercial. They smack a person in the forehead. It's looking at something seemingly ordinary and plain and suddenly having the lenses change and the thing appears in a whole new light, a whole different way, a 180° turn. It's an idea that wasn't there a second ago but suddenly rocks a personal world with its suddenness and (potential) brilliance. It's seeing that homeless person hunched over a formerly abandoned grocery cart filled with bags and boxes that contain every single thing they own and suddenly seeing nail marks in their hands or a circlet of thorns instead of a watch cap on their heads. Things like that can happen all year but Epiphany is a reminder to be on the lookout for those new insights and changes of perspective.
The nights of the Epiphany season are still dark and cold but the nights are getting shorter, day by day, minute by minute. The green vestments and hangings of the church remind us that spring will be here -- whether sooner or later, it will come. We have celebrated the manifestation of God among us, but we can also carry the spark of new fire, new light, new hope and new insights. All we have to do is look.
Originally published at Daily Episcopalian at Episcopal Café Thursday, February 6, 2014, under the title "Epiphany: a season of endings and beginnings"
For me, a sad part of Epiphany is the darkening of the Christmas lights that made the December nights brighter and more hopeful. I admit to being a sucker for Christmas lights, even though I don't put any on my own house. Luckily, I have a neighbor who throws herself into the season whole-heartedly and decorates enough for both of us. They have been taken down now and put away for the next eleven months, but here and there on my way to work are still the odd houses with lights glowing. Without those little points of light, life seems a bit bleaker.
I don't have any studies to prove it, but my personal theory is that it is easier to be depressed in January than in just about any other month. People may argue for December because Christmas without all the trimmings (and the people) can be a lonely affair, but, at least in my eyes, the thought of a new year is like a stretch of Route 66 that was as straight as an arrow and went on for what seemed like half a million miles with absolutely nothing much in the way of scenery and the mountains that loomed in the distance never seeming to get any closer. It's easy to get depressed in January; all the parties and whoop-de-doo of Christmas are over, tax season approacheth, it's still winter and the turning of the calendar is a reminder that change is coming, whether we want it to or not. Babies will be born, elders (and often much beloved elders) will die, the economy and the state of the nation and the world will continue to wobble like an egg rolling downhill, and the heroes we raise today will be found tomorrow to have feet of very real clay.
But then there's Epiphany, the season. It's the spark of light that reminds us that just as everything has an ending, new things come along to engage us. Epiphanies are also sudden insights and flashes of Godlight that are like the V-8 commercial. They smack a person in the forehead. It's looking at something seemingly ordinary and plain and suddenly having the lenses change and the thing appears in a whole new light, a whole different way, a 180° turn. It's an idea that wasn't there a second ago but suddenly rocks a personal world with its suddenness and (potential) brilliance. It's seeing that homeless person hunched over a formerly abandoned grocery cart filled with bags and boxes that contain every single thing they own and suddenly seeing nail marks in their hands or a circlet of thorns instead of a watch cap on their heads. Things like that can happen all year but Epiphany is a reminder to be on the lookout for those new insights and changes of perspective.
The nights of the Epiphany season are still dark and cold but the nights are getting shorter, day by day, minute by minute. The green vestments and hangings of the church remind us that spring will be here -- whether sooner or later, it will come. We have celebrated the manifestation of God among us, but we can also carry the spark of new fire, new light, new hope and new insights. All we have to do is look.
Originally published at Daily Episcopalian at Episcopal Café Thursday, February 6, 2014, under the title "Epiphany: a season of endings and beginnings"
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Just for Laughs
The Lord appeared to Abraham* by the oaks* of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. 2He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. 3He said, ‘My lord, if I find favour with you, do not pass by your servant. 4Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. 5Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.’ So they said, ‘Do as you have said.’ 6And Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, ‘Make ready quickly three measures* of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes.’ 7Abraham ran to the herd, and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to the servant, who hastened to prepare it. 8Then he took curds and milk and the calf that he had prepared, and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree while they ate.
They said to him, ‘Where is your wife Sarah?’ And he said, ‘There, in the tent.’ 10Then one said, ‘I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.’ And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. 11Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. 12So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, ‘After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?’ 13The Lord said to Abraham, ‘Why did Sarah laugh, and say, “Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?” 14Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.’ 15But Sarah denied, saying, ‘I did not laugh’; for she was afraid. He said, ‘Oh yes, you did laugh.’
There are lots of ways to receive news, depending on what
kind of news and the apparent probability of that news actually being true. I
can imagine that in a similar circumstance, were it on television, would result
in a rather sarcastic “Say what?” Sarah just laughed. The whole thing had to be
a joke, right? At about 90 years of age there was no chance of pregnancy, so
what else can you do but laugh, especially if you have been childless for
decades. I’m sure she must have cried her eyes out over her barrenness during
those intervening years, and the only expression left to her was laughter.
Sarah laughed. She laughed in disbelief, she laughed in
scorn, and she laughed in pure joy, all at the same time. We could analyze it
from all sorts of angles, and ascribe emotions and motives to the laughter but what
it all boils down to is she heard something incredible and reacted to it. I
wonder what would happen if we heard that everything bad that we had ever done
had been forgiven by God before we even asked for forgiveness (if we ever did).
Would we, like Sarah, laugh? Would it be a scornful laugh, a quizzical laugh,
an “I can’t believe this” laugh, or would it be a laugh of pure joy? We think
of the life of Jesus and figure we can never live up to that example. It doesn’t stop us from trying, but we tend to look at it with very serious
eyes. What if we could greet those lessons and the example of his life with a
joyful laugh? Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to take and to work with and possibly
with a higher degree of success?
Then the men set out from there, and they looked towards Sodom; and Abraham went with them to set them on their way. -- Genesis 18:1-16
Genesis is a book with so many stories that people remember
when they think about the Bible. There are the creation stories, Cain and Abel,
Noah’s Ark, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Esau, and Joseph and his brothers up
to the beginning of the Israelite sojourn in Egypt. One of the key players in
Genesis was the patriarch Abraham. We see him in various stories from various
times in his life. There is the recounting of his life in Ur and the beginning
of his journey to the land God promised him. There are tales of various
exploits including prevaricating to rather powerful people on two separate
occasions when he declared that Sarah, his wife, was really his sister, a lie
designed to spare his own life while using her like bait on a hook while stretching the truth just maybe halfway. It seems she really was his half-sister.
Today’s portion of Genesis is the story of a man having an encounter with strangers, a prophecy, and a laugh. In the days before Hilton Hotels and Motel 6, hospitality to strangers was the norm that could mean the difference between life and death, especially in the desert or more inhospitable areas. Any stranger could appear at a campsite and would be welcomed as if he were visiting royalty a member of the family. Even a person’s bitterest enemy could appear and be given three days of hospitality with no sign of violence or animosity. It was just that kind of thing done in that place and time.
Three strangers approached Abraham’s camp, and were, of course, welcomed in the appropriate manner. Food was prepared for them, they were made comfortable and Abraham served them himself. Perhaps names were exchanged, perhaps not, but the three visitors were never identified specifically so we’re left to speculate after the fact. When one informed Abraham that his wife Sarah would become pregnant a rather audible snicker a giggle or outright belly laugh came from someone just out of sight and behind a curtain or tent wall. Sarah, who like Abraham was well past the first blush of youth and even past the normal age of childbearing, must have thought it a comedy routine on par with Bill Cosby or Carol Burnett. Sarah had been out of sight but not out of earshot and definitely not out of audible range.
Today’s portion of Genesis is the story of a man having an encounter with strangers, a prophecy, and a laugh. In the days before Hilton Hotels and Motel 6, hospitality to strangers was the norm that could mean the difference between life and death, especially in the desert or more inhospitable areas. Any stranger could appear at a campsite and would be welcomed as if he were visiting royalty a member of the family. Even a person’s bitterest enemy could appear and be given three days of hospitality with no sign of violence or animosity. It was just that kind of thing done in that place and time.
Three strangers approached Abraham’s camp, and were, of course, welcomed in the appropriate manner. Food was prepared for them, they were made comfortable and Abraham served them himself. Perhaps names were exchanged, perhaps not, but the three visitors were never identified specifically so we’re left to speculate after the fact. When one informed Abraham that his wife Sarah would become pregnant a rather audible snicker a giggle or outright belly laugh came from someone just out of sight and behind a curtain or tent wall. Sarah, who like Abraham was well past the first blush of youth and even past the normal age of childbearing, must have thought it a comedy routine on par with Bill Cosby or Carol Burnett. Sarah had been out of sight but not out of earshot and definitely not out of audible range.
Laughter is not one of the most frequent things to appear in
the Bible. There are, depending on translation, perhaps 20 to 25 verses that use
or allude to the practice. Sometimes laughter is done in defiance, and
occasionally it is used as a pleasurable state. Most often though, it seems to
be done scornfully or sarcastically in derision of a person or situation. It
can almost be like a defense mechanism, which is how I think Sarah meant it. If
someone walked up to your front door, rang the bell and informed you that you
had just won the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes, after one jaw-dropping
moment, I would guess most people would burst into laughter of disbelief
commingled with excitement. It’s an instinct of sorts.
The Bible never says anything about Jesus laughing but it’s
hard to believe he could live a human life without it, whether or not it’s
explicitly mentioned in Scripture. There are a whole lot of things that a normal
person would do that Jesus isn’t reported to have done and we don’t think much
about those. I guess we just assume that he had to use the bathroom, had to
take baths, ran and jumped and skipped, and possibly drank just a hair more
than he should. Perhaps we would have a different vision of Jesus if some of
those things have been included in the Gospels that we read today. As it is, it
feels like we are so focused on his divinity we forget his humanity, and try to
pattern our own lives based on that divinity, which is not necessarily a bad thing. We are pretty sure we are going to fail; it is just a question of degree. We are presented with something impossible
and we laugh, thinking it must be a joke that someone would even suggest that we
would be able to do something seemingly miraculous like having a baby in
extreme old age or feeding all the hungry children of the world that already exist (or even just a few).
Laughter is a great thing; it eases tension, creates camaraderie,
promotes enjoyment and lightens the spirit. Like in the song from Mary Poppins, “A spoonful of sugar makes
the medicine go down,” a sermon, a lesson or a life goes a little easier and is
a bit more memorable when there’s something in it to provoke a little laughter.
I’m sure had God not approved of laughter God would never have included both
the ability and the desire to laugh into the human makeup. Laughter expresses
joy as well as incredulity and happiness as well as derision. It’s a matter of
learning when to use it and how.
I think that this week I will have to look at laughter in a
slightly different light. Maybe I will
see places where laughter can lighten the load or express an unexpected joy. It’s
worth a shot. Look what it did for Sarah!
Originally published at <a href="http://www.episcopalcafe.com/thesoul/daily_reading/just_for_laughs.html"> Speaking to the Soul </a> on <a href="http:www.episcopalcafe.com"> Episcopal Café </a> Saturday, February 1, 2014.
Originally published at <a href="http://www.episcopalcafe.com/thesoul/daily_reading/just_for_laughs.html"> Speaking to the Soul </a> on <a href="http:www.episcopalcafe.com"> Episcopal Café </a> Saturday, February 1, 2014.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
A Political Rant
If Republicans care so much about my health care choices being mine and not the government's, why are they passing bills that do exactly the opposite? Why are they restricting access to birth control and reproductive choice at the same time they're probably actively using (and probably subsidizing) Viagra and Cialis? Cutting medical services for half the population while ensuring the other half is very well provided-for medically doesn't seem to be allowing personal health care choices to be personal. It's corporate all the way, and the ones who benefit? It sure ain't the people most in need, that's for sure.
While they pass legislation that further pads the upper income brackets (including their own), kids at the low end of the economic ladder are growing up hungry and poorly educated. Kids who go to school hungry are much less able to focus on learning and so their grades drop, they lose interest because they can't succeed because the grumbling in their bellies is louder than the explanation of why the sky is blue or why using proper punctuation and spelling are important. Teachers too are hard-hit; programs that would enrich the lives of their students, even the amount of school supplies they are allowed has been cut and so many teachers dip into their own pockets to try to help make up the difference. And this is the educational system that is supposed to keep the United States at the top in academic achievement? News flash -- we're nowhere even close any more.
Rights for the unborn? What about the already-born? It seems interest for them stops as soon as the birth canal empties. With all the advances in science that keeps pre-term neonates alive earlier and earlier in their gestation, the US infant mortality rate is still higher than most of Europe and parts of the Far East. The cost of such care is often left to the parents who often have no hope of being able to pay off the debt incurred and even with all the technologies, many of those premature births result in children with defects and life-long medical issues. Children in the US die of preventable diseases because parents fear the vaccines aren't safe, even if they can afford to pay for them. Children are among our most vulnerable citizens and Congress is making sure they stay that way with cuts in programs that those children need.
Elders too are getting the short shaft. Costs go up but fixed incomes do not. More and more are having to choose whether to pay rising utility bills or for the medication they need to survive. Same with having to cut back on groceries to afford utilities, rent and doctor visits. What happened to the dreams of retirement so many had and worked hard to achieve? Frequent travel and a life on the golf course? Sure, some achieve that, but for many more, a trip across town is as far from home as they can get and even that has to be carefully planned and budgeted, even if it is intended to save even a little on a needed item. The world has changed. They can no longer count on being cared for inside the family unit; instead, they are shuffled off to nursing homes or retirement homes and seldom see the family. When the money runs out, they are shown the door of those retirement homes and from there it's anybody's guess where they are supposed to go and how they are supposed to get there. Yet the fat cats have made sure their cohorts in the upper economic brackets are well looked-after and protected.
Military personnel, particularly the enlisted grades, are sent out to foreign places to fight for -- remind me, what is it they were sent out to do? Protect our democracy and national safety? They are killed protecting the rights of Congress to cut funding for them and their families as well as those who support their missions and for what? Not their families who often have to rely on assistance even while their loved one is deployed. Not them when they return. Their safety net wouldn't protect a gnat, much less a military family. They're more or less told to come home and just go back to normal life. How can they after the things they've seen and things they'd been forced to do? In the sanitized and sacred halls of Congress, there isn't a lot of blood and gore, unless you count the bodies of those who have been sacrificed so that Congressmen and their cronies can meet at the country club and swig scotch after a grueling 18 holes. This is the land of the free and the home of the brave? Or is it the land of those who sit in safety while putting other lives at risk both in foreign lands and even here at home?
Tell me again how Congress felt the need to shut down the government a few months ago because they wanted to "balance the budget" and "cut wasteful spending"? Oddly enough, the cuts they were making didn't involve cutting their own benefits. Oh, no. In fact, they insisted that they needed their health clubs to remain open because they "needed" them. They didn't cut their own health care or, if I remember correctly, anything else involving themselves. I notice that this round of cuts didn't involve cutting air traffic controllers like the last time they tried to shut down a goodly part of the government. The air traffic controllers got their jobs back very quickly when Congress realized that THEY would be seriously inconvenienced in their journeys back home for vacation! Is it any wonder public approval of Congress is about as low as it can go and still remain in positive numbers?
Living as I do in a heavily Republican enclave, approval for belt-tightening, fewer and stricter government assistance programs is highly lauded. They use the Bible as their guidebook, they say, but I read what is supposed to be the same Bible and can't find the Prosperity Gospel or the "I've got mine, good luck getting yours" stuff anywhere. They hearken back to Cain's response, "Am I my brother's keeper?" rather than Jesus' "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" (Luke 6:31, NIV). They make the accusation that Jesus never meant government entitlement programs in that statement but what they don't remember is that in Jesus' day, families took care of each other, neighbors worked together and the government that was over them wasn't elected by them and wasn't even from the same country in which they themselves lived. They loudly proclaim that this is a Christian country, but somehow I wonder if the founder of this particular branch that grew out of the Jewish tradition would even recognize the Christianity they espouse.
I keep hoping and praying that things will turn around but I'm not sure that's going to happen any time soon. With the gap between rich and poor widening exponentially, the top of the economic heap isn't about to give up any of its own perceived entitlements to help others. The Horatio Alger formula, that of anyone can make it if they work hard enough, doesn't seem to work any more, or not work very well. I despair at the state of this country that used to be such a beacon of hope and promise for those who came here looking for a better life. Christian country? I think not.
God help us. It's our only hope.
While they pass legislation that further pads the upper income brackets (including their own), kids at the low end of the economic ladder are growing up hungry and poorly educated. Kids who go to school hungry are much less able to focus on learning and so their grades drop, they lose interest because they can't succeed because the grumbling in their bellies is louder than the explanation of why the sky is blue or why using proper punctuation and spelling are important. Teachers too are hard-hit; programs that would enrich the lives of their students, even the amount of school supplies they are allowed has been cut and so many teachers dip into their own pockets to try to help make up the difference. And this is the educational system that is supposed to keep the United States at the top in academic achievement? News flash -- we're nowhere even close any more.
Rights for the unborn? What about the already-born? It seems interest for them stops as soon as the birth canal empties. With all the advances in science that keeps pre-term neonates alive earlier and earlier in their gestation, the US infant mortality rate is still higher than most of Europe and parts of the Far East. The cost of such care is often left to the parents who often have no hope of being able to pay off the debt incurred and even with all the technologies, many of those premature births result in children with defects and life-long medical issues. Children in the US die of preventable diseases because parents fear the vaccines aren't safe, even if they can afford to pay for them. Children are among our most vulnerable citizens and Congress is making sure they stay that way with cuts in programs that those children need.
Elders too are getting the short shaft. Costs go up but fixed incomes do not. More and more are having to choose whether to pay rising utility bills or for the medication they need to survive. Same with having to cut back on groceries to afford utilities, rent and doctor visits. What happened to the dreams of retirement so many had and worked hard to achieve? Frequent travel and a life on the golf course? Sure, some achieve that, but for many more, a trip across town is as far from home as they can get and even that has to be carefully planned and budgeted, even if it is intended to save even a little on a needed item. The world has changed. They can no longer count on being cared for inside the family unit; instead, they are shuffled off to nursing homes or retirement homes and seldom see the family. When the money runs out, they are shown the door of those retirement homes and from there it's anybody's guess where they are supposed to go and how they are supposed to get there. Yet the fat cats have made sure their cohorts in the upper economic brackets are well looked-after and protected.
Military personnel, particularly the enlisted grades, are sent out to foreign places to fight for -- remind me, what is it they were sent out to do? Protect our democracy and national safety? They are killed protecting the rights of Congress to cut funding for them and their families as well as those who support their missions and for what? Not their families who often have to rely on assistance even while their loved one is deployed. Not them when they return. Their safety net wouldn't protect a gnat, much less a military family. They're more or less told to come home and just go back to normal life. How can they after the things they've seen and things they'd been forced to do? In the sanitized and sacred halls of Congress, there isn't a lot of blood and gore, unless you count the bodies of those who have been sacrificed so that Congressmen and their cronies can meet at the country club and swig scotch after a grueling 18 holes. This is the land of the free and the home of the brave? Or is it the land of those who sit in safety while putting other lives at risk both in foreign lands and even here at home?
Tell me again how Congress felt the need to shut down the government a few months ago because they wanted to "balance the budget" and "cut wasteful spending"? Oddly enough, the cuts they were making didn't involve cutting their own benefits. Oh, no. In fact, they insisted that they needed their health clubs to remain open because they "needed" them. They didn't cut their own health care or, if I remember correctly, anything else involving themselves. I notice that this round of cuts didn't involve cutting air traffic controllers like the last time they tried to shut down a goodly part of the government. The air traffic controllers got their jobs back very quickly when Congress realized that THEY would be seriously inconvenienced in their journeys back home for vacation! Is it any wonder public approval of Congress is about as low as it can go and still remain in positive numbers?
Living as I do in a heavily Republican enclave, approval for belt-tightening, fewer and stricter government assistance programs is highly lauded. They use the Bible as their guidebook, they say, but I read what is supposed to be the same Bible and can't find the Prosperity Gospel or the "I've got mine, good luck getting yours" stuff anywhere. They hearken back to Cain's response, "Am I my brother's keeper?" rather than Jesus' "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" (Luke 6:31, NIV). They make the accusation that Jesus never meant government entitlement programs in that statement but what they don't remember is that in Jesus' day, families took care of each other, neighbors worked together and the government that was over them wasn't elected by them and wasn't even from the same country in which they themselves lived. They loudly proclaim that this is a Christian country, but somehow I wonder if the founder of this particular branch that grew out of the Jewish tradition would even recognize the Christianity they espouse.
I keep hoping and praying that things will turn around but I'm not sure that's going to happen any time soon. With the gap between rich and poor widening exponentially, the top of the economic heap isn't about to give up any of its own perceived entitlements to help others. The Horatio Alger formula, that of anyone can make it if they work hard enough, doesn't seem to work any more, or not work very well. I despair at the state of this country that used to be such a beacon of hope and promise for those who came here looking for a better life. Christian country? I think not.
God help us. It's our only hope.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
State of the Household 2014
It's the time of year when people review the year that has passed and make plans of some sort for the year ahead. The President gives the State of the Union address, churches have a state of the parish at their annual meetings, and even the IRS asks for an accounting of what we earned last year (and, incidentally tests our honesty about those earnings). With that in mind and, as is a personal custom of mine every year on this date, I will review the State of the Household as of January 28, 2014.
On this date six years ago my world changed drastically when I woke to find the day I had been dreading for years had happened. It was the day that marked the passage from wife to widow, part of a pair to a single, and with an immense amount of confusion as to what to do, how to do it, and even if I could do it. It was literally taking life one day, one hour, even one minute at a time. Luckily I had great support from friends and family and slowly but surely life began to make a little more sense although a very different sense than I had had before. That support has not flagged once since then and for that I'm very grateful.
In the subsequent six years I learned to do a lot of things for myself. Some of it was fun, like settling into a new (for me) domicile and finding freedom to come and go as I pleased, eat what and when I wanted, and go to bed at whatever time I felt I needed to go. There was pain too, not only the pain of losing someone who'd shared my life for over thirty years and to whom I was married to for twenty-seven, but struggling with finances (never my strong suit) and juggling things that needed doing to try to avoid swamping the canoe of my life in a current that threatened to overwhelm me. Needless to say, I survived, and, in some ways flourished.
In the past year I have continued to battle my cancer with drugs and have passed one year of survival. I've lost weight -- and gained a little of it back. I've exercised more and then less as I recovered from a broken ankle. I've learned to ask for help when I need it and not to drive myself nuts trying to deal with everything all on my own. I've learned that real friends are around and can be relied on to give the support I need, whether physical, emotional, spiritual and sometimes even financial. Good friends are something that should never be taken for granted. I know I treasure mine.
Looking at the past year, I have jotted down a list of things I remember, not necessarily high points but things that stuck out from the everyday stuff. There were lots of doctor's appointments with a bunch of different doctors for everything from my diabetes to cancer, orthopedics to eye problems. But then when I looked at the rest of the list, I had a rather astounding epiphany: most of what I remember was good stuff, not bad. For a professed pessimist, that's quite an AHA! moment.
I found a new church where I could be in community with others. I'd known about it for years but it took one visit and I was hooked. Through that church I've been able to do things I love and haven't been able to do for a while, things like serve the chalice and read the lessons, not to mention singing hymns I adore and hear great music from a very talented group of musicians. I've reconnected with a priest friend and made a new one and those two have given me the opportunity to do something I have a passion for: adult education. I've done two classes for an adult ed program and have two more to go. I have known something about the subjects going in but in researching for the class I find so much more that I didn't know. If anybody knows me, they know I love to dig into things about which I'm passionate. That's been a great blessing this past year.
I've been able to continue with my EfM work and be part of first a pilot program and then the first year of a new curriculum. I work with three great co-mentors and two great groups who challenge my thinking and keep me investigating. By virtue of having to have a recertification class every year to maintain my certification to mentor, I can connect with several friends with whom I've shared that training for the past few years. Getting together with them once a year is like a family reunion and I love it.
I've done quite a bit of writing and that's something I've loved doing since I was a kid although for many years I only wrote letters to friends and relatives. Now I have a weekly meditation on a website called Episcopal Café and occasionally contribute an essay on some topic in which I have an interest. I've been blogging for ten years now, and I've come to think of it as a work in progress. I've got a bunch of old stuff I wrote years ago that I'm thinking of editing (a bunch) and possibly publishing the essays as a group of epiphany meditations. I may do it although I haven't had much time to work on it since summer ended. Still, there's another summer ahead . . .
I took some online courses in writing, copy editing and churchy topics. I'm happier when I am busy and never happier than when I can combine reading, writing and research all in the same package. I bought myself a new Kindle tablet and have read quite a few books in the past few years. Thanks to a lady I knew a long time ago, I've kept up an annotated bibliography of the books I've read for the past 10+ years. The synopses helped me remember what the books were about and I now have an index to help me find the book I'm looking for quickly. It's probably the one place I'm really organized and it's kind of fun to add yet another book to the thing. I think I'm up around 293 or so as of today. Oh, and all but four or five are all on the subject of religion. I've found I'm passionate about theology, church history, Bible study and all that stuff. It takes longer to read the books than it did when my passion was British and American cozies and thrillers, but the subject matter seems much more enlightening.
Financially I'm sort of okay. I need to be more frugal and a lot less into instant gratification. I struggle with that since so many years of my life have been spent squeezing every penny until it hurts and still not having quite enough that when I get $10 I want to spend at least $9.95 of it. That's a place that needs work, but on the plus side, last year I paid off my very own mortgage on my very own place to live. I don't own the lot on which it stands, but at least I own the building. That's a good feeling.
The boys, my cats, are still with me with the exception of Whitey, my beloved outside cat, who went to Rainbow Bridge a couple of weeks ago. The inside cats -- Domi, Gandhi, Sama and Phoebe -- alternately drive me crazy and give me a reason to get up in the morning. Somebody has to earn the cat food around here. Still, they're company and there's nothing like the warm body of a cat and the sound of a purr to help make things better.
All in all, I can't complain a whole lot about the past year. I've gotten myself in trouble and most of the time gotten myself out. A few times friends have come to the rescue so I've never gone completely underwater, thank God. I don't know what this year will bring but I hope that next January 28th I'll be able to say again that I remember more positive things than negative. It's a good thing.
Now on to 2014.
On this date six years ago my world changed drastically when I woke to find the day I had been dreading for years had happened. It was the day that marked the passage from wife to widow, part of a pair to a single, and with an immense amount of confusion as to what to do, how to do it, and even if I could do it. It was literally taking life one day, one hour, even one minute at a time. Luckily I had great support from friends and family and slowly but surely life began to make a little more sense although a very different sense than I had had before. That support has not flagged once since then and for that I'm very grateful.
In the subsequent six years I learned to do a lot of things for myself. Some of it was fun, like settling into a new (for me) domicile and finding freedom to come and go as I pleased, eat what and when I wanted, and go to bed at whatever time I felt I needed to go. There was pain too, not only the pain of losing someone who'd shared my life for over thirty years and to whom I was married to for twenty-seven, but struggling with finances (never my strong suit) and juggling things that needed doing to try to avoid swamping the canoe of my life in a current that threatened to overwhelm me. Needless to say, I survived, and, in some ways flourished.
In the past year I have continued to battle my cancer with drugs and have passed one year of survival. I've lost weight -- and gained a little of it back. I've exercised more and then less as I recovered from a broken ankle. I've learned to ask for help when I need it and not to drive myself nuts trying to deal with everything all on my own. I've learned that real friends are around and can be relied on to give the support I need, whether physical, emotional, spiritual and sometimes even financial. Good friends are something that should never be taken for granted. I know I treasure mine.
Looking at the past year, I have jotted down a list of things I remember, not necessarily high points but things that stuck out from the everyday stuff. There were lots of doctor's appointments with a bunch of different doctors for everything from my diabetes to cancer, orthopedics to eye problems. But then when I looked at the rest of the list, I had a rather astounding epiphany: most of what I remember was good stuff, not bad. For a professed pessimist, that's quite an AHA! moment.
I found a new church where I could be in community with others. I'd known about it for years but it took one visit and I was hooked. Through that church I've been able to do things I love and haven't been able to do for a while, things like serve the chalice and read the lessons, not to mention singing hymns I adore and hear great music from a very talented group of musicians. I've reconnected with a priest friend and made a new one and those two have given me the opportunity to do something I have a passion for: adult education. I've done two classes for an adult ed program and have two more to go. I have known something about the subjects going in but in researching for the class I find so much more that I didn't know. If anybody knows me, they know I love to dig into things about which I'm passionate. That's been a great blessing this past year.
I've been able to continue with my EfM work and be part of first a pilot program and then the first year of a new curriculum. I work with three great co-mentors and two great groups who challenge my thinking and keep me investigating. By virtue of having to have a recertification class every year to maintain my certification to mentor, I can connect with several friends with whom I've shared that training for the past few years. Getting together with them once a year is like a family reunion and I love it.
I've done quite a bit of writing and that's something I've loved doing since I was a kid although for many years I only wrote letters to friends and relatives. Now I have a weekly meditation on a website called Episcopal Café and occasionally contribute an essay on some topic in which I have an interest. I've been blogging for ten years now, and I've come to think of it as a work in progress. I've got a bunch of old stuff I wrote years ago that I'm thinking of editing (a bunch) and possibly publishing the essays as a group of epiphany meditations. I may do it although I haven't had much time to work on it since summer ended. Still, there's another summer ahead . . .
I took some online courses in writing, copy editing and churchy topics. I'm happier when I am busy and never happier than when I can combine reading, writing and research all in the same package. I bought myself a new Kindle tablet and have read quite a few books in the past few years. Thanks to a lady I knew a long time ago, I've kept up an annotated bibliography of the books I've read for the past 10+ years. The synopses helped me remember what the books were about and I now have an index to help me find the book I'm looking for quickly. It's probably the one place I'm really organized and it's kind of fun to add yet another book to the thing. I think I'm up around 293 or so as of today. Oh, and all but four or five are all on the subject of religion. I've found I'm passionate about theology, church history, Bible study and all that stuff. It takes longer to read the books than it did when my passion was British and American cozies and thrillers, but the subject matter seems much more enlightening.
Financially I'm sort of okay. I need to be more frugal and a lot less into instant gratification. I struggle with that since so many years of my life have been spent squeezing every penny until it hurts and still not having quite enough that when I get $10 I want to spend at least $9.95 of it. That's a place that needs work, but on the plus side, last year I paid off my very own mortgage on my very own place to live. I don't own the lot on which it stands, but at least I own the building. That's a good feeling.
The boys, my cats, are still with me with the exception of Whitey, my beloved outside cat, who went to Rainbow Bridge a couple of weeks ago. The inside cats -- Domi, Gandhi, Sama and Phoebe -- alternately drive me crazy and give me a reason to get up in the morning. Somebody has to earn the cat food around here. Still, they're company and there's nothing like the warm body of a cat and the sound of a purr to help make things better.
All in all, I can't complain a whole lot about the past year. I've gotten myself in trouble and most of the time gotten myself out. A few times friends have come to the rescue so I've never gone completely underwater, thank God. I don't know what this year will bring but I hope that next January 28th I'll be able to say again that I remember more positive things than negative. It's a good thing.
Now on to 2014.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Paul's Epiphany
The Conversion of Paul, evening reading
A couple of weeks ago I saw two pictures that really caught my attention. One was a painting by the eminent Chinese painter He Qi entitled Calling St. Paul . Like all He Qi's paintings, it is full of color and unexpected angles, but what arrested me was Paul turning around to see a bright light that blinded him. I'd always thought of Paul as seeing the light in front of him, but after seeing this, I can see that it was more than a spiritual turning around that he had to do, it was very much a physical turning around. The second picture was a photograph by Mario Gerth from a series shot in the Simien Mountains of Ethiopia. It is called "It Could Be Moses, Right?" but it reminds me of Paul as well. Paul did a lot of journeying, and this one could have been a vision of what difficult terrain, physical and spiritual, he would have to traverse.
Paul had a major epiphany, a sudden "AHA!" moment, where in the blink of an eye everything seems to turn around. It wasn't without cost, however. For three days he could see nothing, he was helpless and at the mercy of others just as early followers of Jesus had been at his mercy but with very different results. Usually with an epiphany a person sees things in a different way but with Paul, he saw nothing at all once that bright light had struck his eyes. His ears still worked, as did those who were with him, and what he heard changed his life totally. He spent three days in darkness, not eating or drinking but probably doing a lot of thinking and, perhaps, praying. Evidently he had reached some conclusion because at the end of three days, another vision of Jesus came to him, this time with Paul responding with the traditional formula used by those called by God throughout the Hebrew Bible, "Here I am, Lord." The three days of blindness and silence was also symbolic, reminiscent of Jesus' three days in the tomb.
Epiphanies don't always come as blinding flashes of light that can knock a person off their donkey (and it's all I can do to keep from adding "and on their ***") like Paul. Some of the most profound can be simple everyday things that happen that have about the same result as the famous "Wow! I coulda had a V-8!" slap on the forehead at the realization that something has either given rise to a change or resulted in a change itself. Every great idea for an invention or the latest, greatest novel or the movement that changes the world probably began as a small epiphany and grew from there, but even the tiniest ones, personal ones, are important. I think of them as little God-flashes that come through the static of my everyday life, letting me know that there is more to life than me or what I'm doing on my own.
When Ananias came to heal Paul, he did it with great reluctance, given Paul's history and the reputation he had. Still, Ananias went because it was his duty to go; God said so. Perhaps once he saw the result of Paul's experience on Paul himself, Ananias may have had a small epiphany that the healing he was helping with was going to result in great things for God, but maybe, he saw that even the most feared of enemies can be as helpless as babies and need help. That would have been an important epiphany in and of itself.
Years ago I spent a lot of time searching for and finding little epiphanies in everyday life. It surprised me at how many I encountered, if I really looked for them and was open to their being revealed. I never got a call to go and heal someone of blindness but I learned to see even people that I perceived as enemies (of whatever kind, personal or corporate) as having moments of weakness. I saw Jesus in a homeless man pushing his rusty grocery cart piled with boxes and bags that represented his entire worldly wealth. I began to see silence as a great communication tool, allowing me to hear God more clearly and others as well. There were so many little things that I now seem to take for granted or overlook entirely.
Perhaps this reading is a kind of epiphany for me that it is time to start looking again for those little God-moments where I least expect them. If an epiphany can change an enemy of Jesus' followers into a person who almost singlehandedly built the Christian church, what can they do for just an ordinary person like me? That may be my greatest epiphany of all.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, January 25, 2014, under the title, "The Conversion of Paul."
Sunday, January 19, 2014
To Whitey
He was just an outdoor cat, or so he appeared. He was a bit dirty, a bit shopworn, and as thin as a rail, but those flaws couldn't hide the remembrance of what he had been when we first met.
His name was Whitecat, Whitey for short, a rather unimaginative name for a pure white cat with pale blue eyes. The man who had lived in the house here before me had seen him as a very young feral cat and had gradually won his trust and companionship. Whitey went for walks with the man and his dog, kept them company inside and out, and generally was a member in good standing of their little family. When I bought the place, Whitey was part of the package. I didn't mind a bit; he was a beautiful cat, a lovely gentleman and I am nuts about cats anyway.
Whitey was part of my share of the neighborhood for the past five and a half years. He only came inside once; I brought him in one night last winter when the temperature was well below freezing. He wasn't happy and wanted out first thing next morning. He had a pal, Tigger, who was often curled up next to him or sitting next to him on the front step. I made sure they never went hungry and, I'm afraid, in the process, attracted a few more cats. I tried to keep them away until after Whitey ate but I noticed that if there was a pregnant female or almost any female, for that matter, he would back off and let them eat first, no matter how hungry he was.
He was a gentle cat, not a fighter by any stretch, but he would defend himself if need be. Occasionally he got the worse of the match and I wouldn't see him for a few days. That was worrisome because I was always afraid he would never come back. Sooner or later, though, he would show up, sitting on the doorstep when I opened the door, and things would be back to normal.
About six months ago he began to go downhill. He clawed at his mouth after he ate like someone who needed a toothpick. I couldn't get close enough to him at that point to check to see what it was, but I could see it bothered him. Then he started looking a bit unkempt. His beautiful white coat got dirty and never really got clean again although he did wash his face diligently after every meal. He lost weight and, about a week or so ago, he was almost skin and bones except for a badly bloated abdomen. Four days ago he sat on my doorstep and meowed at me, following me closely when I went outside, checking the water dish and putting out food for him. He would eat a tiny bit, then go off under the truck or wherever it was he went when he wanted to be alone.
Thursday he was much worse and meowed continually when he saw me. It was like he wanted help and I felt totally helpless. He would let me pet him, even brush him gently as he ate the few bites he wanted to take. The look in those pale blue eyes and that quiet little meow, a sound I had almost never heard in the whole five and a half years of our association, told me something had to be done and it was time to do it.
Friday, with a very heavy heart, I put him on a new blanket in a cat carrier and took him to the vet. They wrapped his body up in the new blanket and I took him over to the man who used to be his caregiver. Whitey was buried under a tree in his yard, next to the dog with whom he and the man shared walks. I think he would be happy to be there.
I still drive around the corner where my house is and when I pull into my driveway I still look to see if he is there waiting for me like he was so many times. Tigger is looking too, but neither of us see him. I can't explain to her what happened, but I so wish I could. That's the curse of being human and not feline; I can't communicate with them more than on a certain level. I hope I conveyed to Whitey how much he was loved, though.
I miss him. I still have my four indoor cats and I love them dearly, but Whitey was in a class all by himself. I miss my gentleman cat. I have to take heart, though, and deep down I have a feeling that Whitey and I will meet again one day, just as I will meet the others I have loved. If I get to heaven and Whitey, Jane, Maggie, Nick, Tinker, Dammit and Emerson aren't there, I'm not going in. It wouldn't be heaven without them.
A friend sent this poem to us, Whitey's family:
Rest in peace, Whitey.
His name was Whitecat, Whitey for short, a rather unimaginative name for a pure white cat with pale blue eyes. The man who had lived in the house here before me had seen him as a very young feral cat and had gradually won his trust and companionship. Whitey went for walks with the man and his dog, kept them company inside and out, and generally was a member in good standing of their little family. When I bought the place, Whitey was part of the package. I didn't mind a bit; he was a beautiful cat, a lovely gentleman and I am nuts about cats anyway.
Whitey was part of my share of the neighborhood for the past five and a half years. He only came inside once; I brought him in one night last winter when the temperature was well below freezing. He wasn't happy and wanted out first thing next morning. He had a pal, Tigger, who was often curled up next to him or sitting next to him on the front step. I made sure they never went hungry and, I'm afraid, in the process, attracted a few more cats. I tried to keep them away until after Whitey ate but I noticed that if there was a pregnant female or almost any female, for that matter, he would back off and let them eat first, no matter how hungry he was.
He was a gentle cat, not a fighter by any stretch, but he would defend himself if need be. Occasionally he got the worse of the match and I wouldn't see him for a few days. That was worrisome because I was always afraid he would never come back. Sooner or later, though, he would show up, sitting on the doorstep when I opened the door, and things would be back to normal.
About six months ago he began to go downhill. He clawed at his mouth after he ate like someone who needed a toothpick. I couldn't get close enough to him at that point to check to see what it was, but I could see it bothered him. Then he started looking a bit unkempt. His beautiful white coat got dirty and never really got clean again although he did wash his face diligently after every meal. He lost weight and, about a week or so ago, he was almost skin and bones except for a badly bloated abdomen. Four days ago he sat on my doorstep and meowed at me, following me closely when I went outside, checking the water dish and putting out food for him. He would eat a tiny bit, then go off under the truck or wherever it was he went when he wanted to be alone.
Thursday he was much worse and meowed continually when he saw me. It was like he wanted help and I felt totally helpless. He would let me pet him, even brush him gently as he ate the few bites he wanted to take. The look in those pale blue eyes and that quiet little meow, a sound I had almost never heard in the whole five and a half years of our association, told me something had to be done and it was time to do it.
Friday, with a very heavy heart, I put him on a new blanket in a cat carrier and took him to the vet. They wrapped his body up in the new blanket and I took him over to the man who used to be his caregiver. Whitey was buried under a tree in his yard, next to the dog with whom he and the man shared walks. I think he would be happy to be there.
I still drive around the corner where my house is and when I pull into my driveway I still look to see if he is there waiting for me like he was so many times. Tigger is looking too, but neither of us see him. I can't explain to her what happened, but I so wish I could. That's the curse of being human and not feline; I can't communicate with them more than on a certain level. I hope I conveyed to Whitey how much he was loved, though.
I miss him. I still have my four indoor cats and I love them dearly, but Whitey was in a class all by himself. I miss my gentleman cat. I have to take heart, though, and deep down I have a feeling that Whitey and I will meet again one day, just as I will meet the others I have loved. If I get to heaven and Whitey, Jane, Maggie, Nick, Tinker, Dammit and Emerson aren't there, I'm not going in. It wouldn't be heaven without them.
A friend sent this poem to us, Whitey's family:
The earth will never be
the same again
Rock, water, tree, iron
share this grief
As distant stars
participate in pain.
a Candle snuffed, a
falling star or leaf.
A dolphin death. O
this particular loss
is Heaven-mourned, for
if no angel cried,
If this small one was
tossed away as dross
The very galaxies then
would have lied.
How shall we sing our
love’s song now
In this strange land
where all are born to die?
Each tree and leaf and
start show how
The universe is part of
this one cry.
That every life is noted
and is cherished.
And nothing loved is
ever lost or perished.
-- Madeline L’Engle from “A Ring of Endless Light”
Rest in peace, Whitey.
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