12.29.2024 AGING. OH MY! Lyn G. Brakeman. Spiritual Lemons, blog post

There is no sustainable comfort where there is ongoing loss. Every single day your body will let you know that there is a new loss somewhere—a crick in your neck, a twitch in our left hip, a wheeze, a rasp, the name of a best friend or your latest neighbor in the retirement community, even your latest grandchild. You clean and polish your car thrice daily, make sure it starts, then obsess about that one piece in the jigsaw puzzle over which you have determinedly hunched for weeks, then set out to walk to the dining area an hour ahead of time. Read the same paragraph three times over. You ache with silent missing. The worst attitudes you can adopt are nonchalance, or forced positivity, or secret self-contempt. It’s like the eternal shrug. 

So?  So what?  What now? 

Read or gaze at children’s books. Don’t read or watch the news. Do read the comics. These are the wisest and best therapies any time for anyone. And always have NEW jammies. 

The best times are holidays/holy days. Why? Because adult children or grandchildren bring their children for visits. They do not walk or stroll. They RUN the hallways.  Yesterday as I sat to rest as a father came by with two small female children, one in his arms and the other racing ahead, then back, and so forth. These two were in their jammies, barefooted and ready for bedtime. The older one raced up to me and tapped me to attend. She tapped my knee. 

“We are from Nan and Soooo. No!  It’s  STooo.  sToo.”

“That’s Grandma and Grandpa to you,” said her Dad as he turned to follow the wee barefoot “contessa” racing down the hall. 

Next came a small boy about four or so. He too was racing because small children do not walk. They run.  He was headed to the elevator at full speed. His father called to him to STOP. The boy hesitated, looked back, then ran off to the elevator. “It’s coming. It’s coming. See, here it is.” He hesitated a minute to show me his bright green rubber boots. Now Daddy was running. Sure enough the elevator had arrived, and the door obediently opened. The child ran into the elevator, announcing “The elevator. The elevator!” I could see him pushing all the buttons. The elevator began to close. The boy waved joyfully. Dad made it just in time to hop into the elevator. The last I heard was the boy’s urgent voice: “Push Grandma’s floor! Push Grandma’s floor!”  

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!   2025 NEW YEAR'S PEACE ALL ROUND, IN A CHILD 

2024.12.22 FREE TO BE CAREFREE. Lyn B. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

In Boston there is a ministry called Common Cathedral. It is not brand new but it is renewing as it goes. The current executive director, The Rev. Carrington Moore (below) preaches and celebrates the holy sacrament to the gathered congregation— those who live on the streets, often at night, often in the freezing cold where even warm tears freeze on cheeks.  

Most of us  are able to sit in warm homes, sip hot chocolate or brandied liqueur, often in front of a fireplace. We make merry! We are safe. We are warm.

*  *  *  *

One of the things I miss more than others at Christmas is the working fireplace we had in the Trinity Church parish rectory in Collinsville, Connecticut. We lived there in the 1980s 1990s. The fireplace spit and spat and sparked, splaying cinders all about. It was hazardous, yet it never lost its charm nor the spiritual magic of dangerous warmth. 

I try to imagine what it must be like for poor and homeless people when I read the biblical texts full of Christmas joy, love and mangers, I feel embarrassed at such a travesty. Okay, so we do it to bring joy and smiles and hope to young children, just like Bishop Nicholas of Myra did in his day when he brought food and small gifts to all the houses in all the poverty-stricken urban districts. 

Again . . . 

What about Jesus, Mary and Joseph? The contrast is quite the opposite of a peaceful haloed manger scene. They were freezing cold, quite alone, young, frightened, unsheltered, driven into the darkness. They pressed on to find warmth and safe housing as birthing contractions began. One poor man offered his stable, full of hay, dung and darkness. What is real?  Both. 

It is not a matter of being correct or incorrect. No one today was physically alive and present back then. I don’t think it is creating falsehood or error to allow our spiritual imaginations to play with biblical scenes in order to bring them alive, make them authentic to today’s world. 

One time when I attended the outdoor Eucharist, it was colder and more windy than usual. Still, the people gathered to stand and receive their “jesus-food”. Were they nuts? There were shelters. Oh my god, I sounded just like Scrooge!  Or royalty, saying let them gather the crumbs. I did not know what I could do until I spotted a man spastic with shivering with no coat or hat or mittens or hope. I took off my very extra warm scarf, a Christmas gift from a beloved daughter, and approached the man with it. I waited to get his nod then placed the scarf around his neck and wrapped it tightly. His smile was the best gift I could have ever received that Christmas.  

Spare yourself righteousness or guilt, just do what you can, whenever you can, wherever you are with whatever you have.   

         

FREE TO BE CAREFREE, step by tiny step.    

2024.12.15 'Tis The Season of MEH? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post.

There’s an attitude in the air. It’s gone public. Some call it “meh”or more sophisticatedly, SO?  

Meh is boredom, a version of blasé, perhaps carelessness. At any rate, the world seems to have attitudinal MEH right now. The origins of the word is NOT, mercifully Latin and might be Yiddish, paraphrased as “I’m not really impressed right now.” A public yawn!

Meh is contagious and highly tempting right now in this United States, which is also frightening. I found one example in a small story that first appeared in the Washington Post newspaper about the concert violinist, Joshua Bell, who agreed to participate in a street experiment in 2022. He played several famous classical pieces of music standing on a subway platform with a beggars’ cup for coins. Passersby (1,097) passed by. A few tossed coins ( $32.17) in his cup, and a few made lethargic comments as if to say MEH.  

The story made me weep and wish for a small child who would stop, pull at her/his parent’s coat tails and beg—yes beg, even tantrum, perhaps begin to dance to the busker’s tunes, even threaten to “moon” in public.  But no MEH!

*  *  *  *

Do we stop and listen today?  It’s 2024 and holiday time. Do we STOP to listen —actually HEAR, each other? Aging is no excuse for practicing meh. 

I close with a small/huge spiritual reminder for meh prevention from Rumi, ancient thirteenth century Islamic poet and wise theologian:   

THERE IS A FORCE WITHIN YOU THAT GIVES YOU LIFE. SEEK THAT. 

2024.12.08 ADVENT—War AND Peace? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

I confess that I feel afraid of some of the recent, and perhaps inevitable, developments in this country.  Yes, it does seem to me that traditional logic—the more wars we make the more peace we will get—is painfully flawed. 

Here is Doris "Dorie" Miller,  a U.S. Navy sailor who was the first Black recipient of the Navy Cross and a nominee for the Medal of Honor. 

As a mess attendant second class in the United States Navy, Miller helped carry wounded sailors to safety during the attack on Pearl Harbor. For his heroic behavior he died.  But did things really change?  And now there was a martyr to praise, our consciences relieved— until the next conflict arrises.

   

I remember a time in my own life when I felt all alone and helpless. The parish church offered quiet days for people to sit or kneel in silence to pray. I sat there for a while. Then I kneeled, stared up at the crucified Jesus, and cried. My tears startled me. I brushed them away, looking around to make sure no one saw me. I just sat there thinking Jesus must have been a total idiot to fall into this trap. What was he trying to prove? 

What are we proving today with all our wars? Do wars make heroes? Just so we can weep and worship one more martyr? Are we soothed by our tears? Well, yes— until the next conflict arises.  My tears turned out to be about fear and hard personal choices. 

*  *  *  * 

Is that what our country faces today, trapped in a twisted paradox: the more war we make the less trustworthy the peace that follows? I mean school kids are afraid to go to school. “What if a gun happens to me today?” Having a license to carry a gun is as common as having a drivers license. Violence is reported every single day on the News. The next slogan I expect to see is “GUNS FOR PEACE” !  

When in history has WAR solved territorial disputes or political disagreements?  WWI was known as the “war to end all wars.” Did it?  WWII did, you will say. NOPE! On and on! 

Wars don’t make peace. But I can—and so can you.  

2024.12.01 WONDERMENT. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post.

I have noticed how amazingly unique aging people are, even when they are all of the same color, the same intelligence, all aging daily with new pains and losses of memory and function daily, gnarled, and all still arguing about the same old things. How so?

Meet Methusalem.  I take a clue on aging from this ancient tree. 

This 700 year old Holm Oak tree around whose presence and wisdom Pope Francis and his gang have decided to build a new project called Papal Gardens. In this garden stands the most ancient tree in the world—so they say. 

I remember my mother often saying, with either admiration or scorn, depending on her own feelings about this person, that he/she/they was older than Methusalah, born in 3074 in the ancient Near East, apparently the grandfather of Noah.The reason for such age and status was that Methusalem (Hebrew spelling) walked with God. Well, okay then, and yet………. I do not want to live longer than my body permits. Oh yes, I take meds, exercise as I’m able, most days make sense, have wonderful insurance and the daily comfort of a loving spouse and nearby family. I can tolerate ugliness. BUT chronic pain? I haven’t the courage. 

*  *  *  *

As a child I felt terrified of Methusalah, especially as I watched the aging process of grandparents— withering skin, bedridden, drooling, sometimes senseless mental wanderings, and more. My maternal grandmother in her dying looked out a window and said: “Look! See, right out there, that beautiful horse.” If I didn’t see it she would call me silly, and if I pretended to see it I felt silly.  So I looked out her NYC window, brushed my tears aside, and told her: “Oh yes, it’s beautiful.”

*  *  *  *

As we enter this Advent season, we watch for all kinds of things wonderful and strange, seemingly impossible. Children have the amazing gift of sitting and staring for a long time, totally absorbed by something fascinating to them, mostly invisible to others.

This is wonderment. If possible,  no adult should ever interrupt, scold, or berate a child thus engaged. When adults take time to sit very still, breathing without expectations or agenda, it’s called Contemplation, aka Wonderment. 

Unless you’re already living in a contemplative community, you have to pay for such time, take time off for it, travel to a retreat setting where they won’t declare you insane, feed you good food, and maybe make your bed. (I recommend this option and Mercy Retreat Center in Madison, Connecticut!) 

2024.11.24 CONFINING DIVINITY? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

Most spiritual/religious groups have naming ceremonies for those newly born or for those later choosing to be a member of that group. Naming rituals are usually celebratory and happy. They vary according to the customs of each group. BUT ALL of them matter because we all need to know we belong and that we matter. 

*  *  *  * 

NOW comes trouble! How dare we presume to name, and worse, describe and define Divinity? 

In my younger growing years I assumed God was Catholic. Later, I assumed God was Father, then Son, then Holy Spirit, then Catholic!  Each tradition establishes its own vocabulary to define, describe, and yes, confine/ imprison Divinity.  

Even Bill W. and Dr. Bob, the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous concluded that everyone needs a Higher Power. Every evolving life-form on Earth, except the horseshoe crab which has never evolved. But I bet every beach-goer has praised that graceful glide.

*  *  *  *

Consider this bison who, thought-to-be extinct, has, after 200 years, reappeared to roam the range in the European Carpathian mountains of Romania—to fertilize the habitat for other species. LIFE! 

In the 1980s I worked as a Chaplain in a treatment center for recovering addicts. I met a young man who puzzled over the concept of Higher Power. He had never heard of prayer either. I’d never met anyone who never even heard of God. We sat in silence. I debated various arguments, all dry and useless. I thought damn, then I silently swore, and then I thought help. Something came to me and I said to the young man: “Okay, have you ever sat alone in some open space like a field and loudly cried out HELP!”

“Oh yeah, lots of time,” he said.

“Well, who do you think you were calling out to?” I asked. 

The young man sat up straight. All he said was “Oh.”  And again, “Oh.” He grinned and then left my office.  He lives on in my heart-prayers.

 

2024.11.17 THERE IS ALWAYS A STORY! Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post,

I hear myself say something like: Are you kidding? But I have no interest in debates or discussions that go nowhere. All I know is that when things go kerflooey, quite off-kilter, I return to something ancient yet continuing to be amazingly graceful. For me, that is the ancient story of Job in the Hebrew Scriptures. 

Honestly, I have no trouble with Job, the biblical master of the long whine. I used to gag over this poor-me man. Now that I am aging, however, I admire Job’s way of grieving which is long and incessantly nagging God and anyone who will listen for explanations of all the grief and woe in this life on earth.  Job’s friends exhaust him with a million explanations—all quite obvious and logical. My favorite is from Job’s fed up wife who tells her husband: Curse God and die! (2:9)

I can identify with such a headlong grief and have sat listening to many a grieving soul, including my own. All we want to know is WHY this putatively almighty God does nothing, or worse, causes all this suffering. I ask grievers to forget about WHY, and  just talk honestly about their losses, or anything else on their minds. Then I simply listen, for I know that there is always a story, and rarely is it what I might imagine.   

It’s very easy to get stuck in grief, so please talk about it to someone you trust, even if it’s not directly about the loss. ‘Tsokay. There is always a story.

PS. What I love most in Job is the role of God/Divinity. After many years, God finally treats Job to an enormous vast, and complete view of ALL Creation spread out before him in 3D panorama. God doesn't brag but simply offers Job, and us, a panoramic vision of enormous depth, breadth, and width—almost too much for Job to take in. 

Job’s jaw drops in awe. All he can say is: I know my redeemer lives. You’d think he’d offer effusive thanks. Wonder is quite enough. There is ALWAYS a story!

😉💕