DANGEROUS TERRITORY. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 9/21/25

Honestly, I despise some of the impossible choices this supposedly “good” Divinity imposed on the starving people of ancient Israel: choose money/wealth or me. It’s a merciless, manipulative, and dizzying choice. I would definitely, like Abraham, try to bargain. I’m very good at nagging, and less good at trusting God to provide as promised.

* * * *

The retirement community where I now live showed the movie “Barbie” recently. I wanted to go. I wanted to go enough that I debated trying to reschedule my appointment for physical therapy to strengthen my legs and spine. My husband said he’d buy the movie so we could view it at home together. Then I thought, What the hell are you thinking, girl? You’re back in junior high school! 

NEVERTHELESS……………..

In the Old Testament there is a story of old Abraham’s relentless bargaining trying to get God to say just exactly how far one could carry on with sin before encountering divine wrath.  The scene in Genesis is hilarious as Abraham pursues Yahweh relentlessly. Would the Great Divine Creator actually break the covenant and abandon Israel to their own devices?

I actually felt sorry for God with Abraham’s nagging. As a parent of course I identify. You’d do anything, even indulge in sin yourself,  just to shut this or that kid up. 

I had made a solemn vow never to allow the latest doll creation into our house. I remember that I’d banned this best selling “toy” from our house.  I don’t even recall being nagged about the latest specimen of doll. All I recall is that I despised this latest icon of how I should look. 

ENVY!  

ENVY is one of the seven deadly sins. Within ten years I’d birthed four children and my flesh sagged and bagged—no perky boobs or waspish waist—ever.  But did I really want to look like this doll? 

DAMN! Am I still plagued by the sin of ENVY, a green-eyed monster or a small slim icon from the 50’s?  I felt foolish, tears forming in my eyes. Still, I am sure of one thing, and that is that the man to whom I have plighted my troth in marriage would just give me a hug and, yes, call me silly without joshing me—much.

2025.06.29 ALL Time Perspectives ALL At Once. Lyn Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

Forgive. Forget. Look Ahead. Move Forward.    

As a writer of memoir I remember time mostly from the point of view of the past into the present. I’ve paid too little attention to the future. Luke’s gospel tells/warns us never to look BACK but to go forward.

Today in my aging I think that if we do NOT look ahead and move ahead we all, the entire community of Life on Earth, will stagnate collectively. We will eliminate ourselves. No one is able to thrive on memory alone. 

The only biblical writing that suggests such a forward-looking vision is the book of Job. Job has been critiqued and analyzed and “scholarized” practically to death— and yet it remains alive and well! 

I live now in a community of retired whities. We don’t talk about religion, yet when I dare to wonder about it, some people tell me they do not even have a Bible. So get one and read Job, I suggest.  What’s Job?  One resident ordered a bible, found Job and read it. Within weeks she reported with a grin: “Job and I are okay.” 

My theory? The Book of Job contains and lauds ALL of Creation and includes ALL the time values. It carefully and fully articulates the past history of this character, including all the sins and bad stuff alongside every critical perspective possible within Job’s own life, his autobiography. AND it tells us the envisioned future. 

The best part is that scholars and casual readers alike all are fascinated. Job has more written about it—more plays, works of art, scholarly texts, and so on—than any other work of art, literature, music, on and on. It covers ALL the time values. 

Forgive. Forget. Look Ahead. Move Forward.   

STRIVE, THRIVE, BE ALIVE. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 4/27/2025

It seems to me that all the things that matter most to me in my life are things that I have strived for and thrived with and lived because of. 

Besides avoiding my mother’s overweening praise, the obvious first-up on my list was the process of birthing, actually bringing forth into the light a brand new life, and then immediately feeling the rush of joy and terror at once. 

Perhaps I exaggerate, but for me, beside the trauma of sexual intercourse itself for which I was totally unprepared, birthing was first up. My first child was a daughter with amazing lung power and great weight for a firstborn: 8 pounds 13 ounces, born on the 13th of January, 1962, well before there was safe medication to ease the pain, not to mention much good literature on things like breast feeding and childcare. It is embarrassing to admit that I was both dazzled and intimidated by my beautiful new daughter—so afraid that I was sure I’d break her arm while putting on a wee undershirt, not to mention getting the diaper pin on securely without stabbing her, all at once and with adoration!

She was, and is still, capable of engaging my awe and my love at the same time. I went on creating, yes, more biological children, all equally beloved, and also my own dreams and sins. Unlike what our religions tell us, there is no end to such potency, such striving and thriving, such unjust justice, even to such believing disbelief. Ever. 

I wonder if this is how the Divinity the Bible calls God/Creator kept on slowly striving, paying meticulous attention to each tiny detail and its placement, laboring and even feeling pained by the effort itself as Life turned into Being?  Would Creator-God have felt such pride and awe at once?  

The Holy Bible itself even ends with something like, I’m coming and I’m not telling you when or why.   

And beloved Job, finally and after a whole life of nagging and being righteous, received a guided tour of Creation and ended up with something like WOW!

It is enough to strive, thrive and be alive— never imagining an end. I am ready to give up all that language about justice in order simply to proclaim: 

Divinity isn’t moral, only holy?    

2025.03.30 A Famous Story—Now and Forever. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

Last night I dreamed about the parable called The Prodigal Son. When I woke up I had this sentence at the front of my mind:  Let go of your prideful ego and discover your famished soul. 

My first feeling was annoyance, and then I began to wonder if the sentence itself was prodigal, that is wasteful or extravagant especially with pride?  My mother was amazingly prodigal with my father’s hard-earned salary. Once I saw Dad cry about money, and once he cried prodigal tears over the dog he loved who obviously failed to look both ways before he raced across the road and was killed by a prodigal car that never even stopped! My little sister could easily have done the same thing, and it would have mysteriously been my fault for not watching her, because I was engrossed in my favorite book—prodigally!

You see what I mean about the many and varied complications this very prodigal parable invites. This is why so many preachers glibly blame Divinity itself, because of course Jesus had just told them about it all. Puffed up with pride, the disciples went forth, forgetting Jesus’s own favorite words: FEAR NOT.

*  *  *  * 

As I age I feel proud of myself even though I cannot mobilize like I once did. After all, I have survived. I remember my name. I still can lobby for all kinds of good things. My husband and I still love each other……. prodigally. I can laugh even at myself tottering along at 86. I pray that my adult children forgive me some of my own prodigality as they enjoy their own. 

*  *  *  * 

I’m not really starving, and yet when I die, God, please fill my famished soul. I suppose there’s one of those paradoxes often found in biblical story: the less you strive for pride the more you discover you have.  In fact I can read the entire Holy Communion/Eucharist as a paradox: we pray hard for the salvation we also acknowledge that we already have!   

I’m not really starving, yet when I die, God, please feed my famished soul anyway.  Thanks! 

2024.03.24 Stethoscopic Listening, Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

If you want to hear the pulse of the universe, you have to BE a stethoscope, listening not just hearing. Turn off your urges, your longing for security. Move out of the eager parade, such as the one so many Christians try to reenact on Palm Sunday, the tragic walk towards what everyone imagines will bring ultimate satisfaction to that longing to belong. Surely it will become obvious—atop a mountain, in a procession of Palm-waving, by Easter for sure? Surely. 

                            *  *  *  *

Once upon a time a very old— ancient by any measure—snake called Rock-Dweller was born in my imagination at a writers’ retreat at a very holy monastery, when this very famous spiritual director named Madeleine told us all: Think of someone in Holy Scripture who was angry and write about it.  The snake in Genesis popped up. She was furious, asking: “Why do women hate snakes? Why, for that matter, does God?” Was there no grace for the snake? My snake prayed fervently, doubted even her own doubt, discovered her own secret shame, and laughed at divine folly. Eventually, my snake dozed on her “sun-warmed, soul-soaked rock”. (Spiritual Lemons. Biblical Women, Irreverent Laughter and Righteous Rage. Augsburg edition, 2005.) 

One recent morning, I did not want to wake up and face another day of what is called aging-in-place. I missed my get-up-and-go self. I felt angry and helpless, damning all self-help baloney, including my own. I lay still and listened stethoscopically—underground, beneath my heart’s resistance, my mind’s curse. 

“It has to be Qoheleth!” I finally said to my slowly-awakening spouse who groaned. 

                                *  *  *  *

Qoheleth is the Hebrew translation for the author of the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament. The name translates as teacher/preacher/messenger, sometimes collector of sayings. Ecclesiastes was written after the exile (450BCE) at a time of tremendous economic growth accompanied by the politics of, let’s say, acquisition of wealth for its own sake and its attendant temptations. Much like today, the poor got poorer while the rich got richer—and the gift of divine grace got, well, undermined, taken for granted, forgotten. In this socioeconomic situation Qoheleth struggled to find God. He asked: Is everything vain, futile, spiritually bankrupt?   “What’s the point?” 

“What’s the point?”was my own father’s deathbed question in 1983. We stood, my sister and I, on either side of his bed as he groaned out his last breaths. Dad was only 71! 

There is never a clear answer to such a question or quest. Qoheleth stayed open-ended—wise enough to continue to question himself, his world, life itself, and the divine intention. Also wise enough to be reverent and skeptical at once. I aspire to do likewise—with my imaginary stethoscope. 

For everything, the inquisitive one concluded, there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven—birth/death, hate/love, mourn/laugh, silence/speech, war/peace. 

 

 

2023.10.29 It's In The Mail! Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

The whole idea of there being a divine kingdom, or of God being a King, has always made me restless, full of discomfort about throning divinity in any one place anywhere. 

It feels distancing to me, the same way Santa Claus felt to me as a young child. Why did they seat him on a big chair, like a throne, in the middle of a crowded department store, playing Christmas music at high speed in the background, and telling us little kids we should sit on Santa’s lap and we might, or would, get all the stuff we wanted for Christmas? I hung back.

Even now, I call the “kingdom” of God the reign of God. This keeps God’s godliness  mobile and accessible. In fact, the more I allow my mind to detach itself from the omni-ness of divinity, the more potent, powerful, present, wise, and truly loving this one God becomes.  

All it takes to know this expansiveness of divine love is a true story, full of heartache, heartbreak, and hope—everywhere for everyone, and told over and over.  

*  *  *  * 

A four-year old girl wrote a letter to God about her beloved dog Abby who had just died.  She wanted to make sure God would recognize Abby when she got to heaven. With help from her mother, Meredith wrote the letter and inserted a picture of herself with Abby.

Dear God, Will you take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I’m happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick. I hope you play with her. She likes to swim and play with balls. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her you will know that she is my dog. Love, Meredith. 

Before long a package arrived for Meredith. It was wrapped in gold paper. The original letter that had been opened was taped to the package which contained a book by Mr. Rogers called When a Pet Dies. There was also the photo and another letter. 

Dear Meredith, Abby arrived safely in heaven. Having the picture was a big help and I recognized her right away. Abby isn’t sick any more. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart. Abby loved being your dog. Since we don’t need our bodies in heaven, I don’t have any pockets to keep your picture in so I’m sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abby by. 

Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you. I send blessings every day and remember that I love you very much. 

By the way, I’m easy to find. I am wherever there is love.    Love, God 

2023.10.22 $ $ $ ? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

Our world right now is in such social upheaval that many of us have no idea who is in charge, who will save us, how we will carry on, whether to laugh or cry. 

We desperately grope for some external power to tell us what to do, how to be. We listen addictively to the NEWS. Isn’t the President going to tell us what to do? We curl up with some wise book, become blind to its words smudged up and blurred on a page. We call or text or email a friend or family, get no answer. We go shopping, because money has power to save. Some even say it “talks.” 

Jesus, the New Testament Christian hero, talked a lot about money. He wasn’t against it. He knew it was necessary to pay taxes. In fact, he told people to respect Caesar’s coinage, identified by the emperor’ s own image on its face (just like President George Washington’s face on our quarter). But this is not the coinage of God. I have heard, even preached myself, many a pious sermon about the value of paying your “taxes”—in other words pledge your money to the parish church. Money buys respect, authority, a place in the Kingdom of Heaven. It’s a deal, right?

NO.

At times like ours right now, power and violence are tightly conjoined, and when you add money to the list you create a conflagration—a large hellish fire, a vicious trinity.

*  *  *  *

Jesus recommended paying “taxes” to God. He meant to pray, laying bare your own heart, fears, your desires, your hopes, and your powerlessness. 

You can pray even if you don't believe in a god or anyone else's God/G-d/Godde/HigherPower. When you "pray" you enter the depths of your own soul, therein accessing your own compassion—the heart of love for the world beyond your reach. This you give?

YES.

2023.10.15 The Guest List? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

Have you ever made out a guest list for a big important and personal event? Something important like your own wedding? Now, imagine if you just bagged the list, flung wide the doors and invited everyone—absolutely everyone.                                                                                                                                      

The parable of the wedding feast was told by Jesus in answer to those who asked: what  is this kindom of heaven like?  Kindom sounds silly, right?  Where is THE KING?  What ruler would throw a huge banquet to honor the family heir, send invitations to those on the guest list, then be astonished when the entire guest list declines—  too busy with their own enterprises, and some even murdering the ruler’s emissaries?

This ruler became furious, ordered his military to burn the murderers and destroy towns and businesses, then went out to invite everyone and anyone, good and bad, credentialed and not, to the feast. The new guests all ran on it and celebrated mightily. Well, except for one poor soul who had no proper wedding garments so was kicked out by rough bouncers and removed from that guest list forever. 

*  *  *  *

When I read this story, I felt my mood soar and plummet immediately. Of course it’s only a metaphor, but . . . a godly guest list? 

THE DIVINE REALM SHOULD BE TRULY INVITATIONAL WITHOUT COST, YES?

*  *  *  * 

Once I was ordained and serving in a parish I started a gospel drama group. Acting out stories would be fun and educational I thought. Better than a one-preacher sermon from a solo pulpit. I invited anyone interested to join. We gathered. I suggested that we try an impromptu and improvisational version of Jesus’s ancient wedding feast parable. We used the altar area as our stage. I read the story, and told them to begin the drama. Everyone started to talk at once. Some thought they didn’t deserve to be invited. Others claimed they had been invited because they were best friends of the family. Still others hung back uncertain. One woman, trying to play Jesus’s mother, Mary, shouted: “Son, this isn’t working!”  We all suddenly burst out laughing and crying at once. We had created chaos. 

*  *  *  *

This drama group certainly was a failed idea, I thought. Right? 

THIS IS THE REIGN OF HEAVEN-ON-EARTH. IT’S OPEN TO ALL, RIGHT? 

*  *  *  *

Why in the world would God with whom I’d had lively one-sided conversations since I was a small child  kick me out, kick anyone out? If this God is CREATOR, then that word itself automatically means to do something new, to challenge traditional ways, to respect the vast array of offerings and opportunities and not insist on or rigidify just one single way.

*  *  *  *

My drama group kept going. We sized down by choice not by rejection. I acted as a director, figuring that a great orchestra needs its conductor to make good music together. We read biblical stories and shared thoughts and feelings not “answers.” By Easter we were ready for the Vigil. A group of six or seven women came into a darkened church in single file and solemn. They slowly walked up into the altar area, which became, well, an empty tomb. One shroud-like blanket was lying on the floor. The group gathered in silence. Some knelt, some stood, some close, some with a bit of distance. Very slowly the women began each to say something as slowly the lights were coming up—dawn. There was no script. One woman who did not believe in God, stayed silent except quietly to say something like, I just don’t get it? When the lights were fully on, the drama finished and the women all walked slowly away from the empty tomb and out of the church using the side entrance. The watching congregation stayed silent. One woman snuck back into the church, snatched the “shroud” and left again. As she was leaving she turned back three time to say, “But what does it mean?”

2023.09.24 Mercy Me! Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

I’ve been a Mercy Associate for over thirty years now. I’m not mercy-full enough. Still, I’m venerable and vulnerable enough to have mercy on God for not living up to our righteous/wrongful expectations.

*  *  *  *

Before I get too tangled up in Chronos—ancient personification of time/chronology/sequence on clock, calendar, or map  let me heed Kairos—ancient Greek for just the right time, opportune timING, often identified as Godde’s time. Chronos is quantitative. Kairos is qualitative.  

*  *  *  * 

When I was a young elementary school age child I was short. I hated to have to be the first in a line-up for walking into some all-school assembly. On the other hand, I hated as well to be last in line.  I also— secretly—hated God for making me short! Why couldn’t I be statuesque like Lucy Lofty, or at least curvaceous like Mimi Malarkey?  

Now, by Chronos, I am eighty-five years old, and guess what? I’m growing shorter, day by bloomin’ day. Of course I know there’s a genetic and scientific explanation for my height. I know my height isn’t a diagnosable condition. I know my bones are worried about support and my skin is shriveling, my memory pillowing—my Chronos is almost up. 

*  *  *  *

Today, I read the biblical parable ( Mt. 20:1-16, also told in Mark, Luke), told by Jesus about the laborers in the vineyard. This small story, considered by Jesus scholars to be authentic to Jesus’ words and teachings, has created more argumentation, more ire from fair-minded business practitioners and even more spiritual chaos than most any other story Jesus told.  Equal pay for equal work is a quantitative Chronos-based practice. 

The refrain “the last will be first and the first last” is attached, although scholars doubt its placement here. Jesus doesn’t mock those who hold onto that practice, however, he does offer a Kairos way to understand why the vineyard keeper, the boss, often thought to be God/Creator, would pay ALL workers the same day’s wage, even though some arrived late and worked less time than those who labored all day. 

I don’t know exactly what Jesus might have been up to in his day. I do know that he  consistently spoke hope and blessing to the “poor”—those in deep need. 

I do know that every single worker was EQUAL in need, EQUAL in willingness to labor, and EQUAL in gratitude. And I do know that the vineyard owner freely chose to use his money in this UNEQUAL way.  UNFAIR shout the Chronos-bound people. 

THANKS BE TO GODDE, shout the Kairos-aware people. This is a Kairos parable.

*  *  *  * 

P.S. Consider the metaphoric parable of a tug-of-war. Two groups pull to WIN. One group finally loses strength and will and drops the rope—LOSERS.  The other group all fall down on their butts and declare themselves the WINNERS.    Now laugh!