The Road Called Creation, Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 10/09/22

Creation is not a hurdle on the road to God; it is the road itself. 

I quote from  The Writings of Martin Buber, a Jewish mystic and scholar, Austria-Hungarian and Israeli philosopher. He’s famous for constructing a relational spirituality called “I-Thou”.  His book on this idea was translated from German to English in 1937.

When in seminary in the 1980s I first read Buber. As I read I felt a great surge of sheer aliveness rise up from within me like a giant blush. As a student of language I know that the pronoun “YOU” has two forms, one more formal to use with someone you don’t know very well or are just meeting, the other for your own beloved, a good friend, a family member, or, dare I say, God.  

In Spanish usted is you-formal and tu is you-informal; in French it’s vous and toi. I was surprised when I lived for a while with a family in Spain and heard in their family prayers the “Hail Mary” (many more times than I thought necessary) using the familiar pronoun for the BVM. 

“Blessed art thou among women” was “Bendita tu eres entre todas las mujeres.”  Notice that the English pronoun in the Hail Mary is also THOU, Blessed are thou among women.” AND in the traditional “Our Father” —Hallowed be THY name, THY kingdom come, THY will be done.  I sometimes think all our pronoun problems would be solved if we just went back to using thee and thou and and thine.  And would that in fact, and in spite of contemporary usage of YOU and YOUR, be more honest to our gospel of divine Love?

Which brings me back to Buber and his ethic of I-Thou relationships. Essentially, that means that each individual being regards every other being as worthy of the same respect each accords the other. You see how tangled up in pronouns I get, but you get the idea. Buber advocates I-Thou as a model for effective mutual dialogue. Often relations become monologues, which Buber calls I-It relationships—deaf self-talk. Otherwise, supposed conversation become monologues—deaf.

So do we dare consider such intimacy with God? Most would say NOT. But I wonder if God alone is bold enough to shed his almighty power in favor of  I-Thou  relations with all Creation?  

The parable Jesus tells in Luke’s gospel tells us about his healing TEN lepers who all go leaping away in joy, free of ugly sores and disease. ONE leper returns to thank Jesus for this healing. Jesus asks: Where are all the others? Were they not healed as well?  (Luke adds to the story that the one who returned with gratitude was a Samaritan, that is, a foreigner, a reject, a gentile—enemy of the Jewish majority Jesus addresses.) 

Please note that Jesus praises the grateful one, does NOT condemn all the others, AND proclaims that the reign of God is already in our midst. THIS DOES NOT MEAN HIMSELF, (Christians, take note) BUT RATHER THE JOY OF HEALING ITSELF AS WELL AS THE GRATITUDE FOR IT. 

This story teaches us all to be I-Thou with ALL today’s “lepers”—those we secretly imagine and secretly fear, to be the “It” to our “I”?   

Who on this road of Creation would you avoid?—a Republican? a Democrat? a Muslim? an anti-vaxxer? an Evangelical? an immigrant? a Queer or Trans? a trillionaire/fat cat? a criminal? a feminist? a schizophrenic? a Jew? an addict? a Pope? a demented one? a dirty street urchin? a beggar?  or, God forbid, someone whom you cannot call THOU? 

2019.06.16 Knocking Off THE Father and Loving the Daddy

Happy Father’s Day. Happy Trinity Sunday.

Many Christians claim to understand the Christian doctrine of the Holy Trinity, yet no one does. How can the one God be partitioned—thrice holy? In church we pray to OUR FATHER. We bless and anoint in the name of THE FATHER. Adding HIS only son and a holy spirit, we lustily sing Holy, Holy, Holy. We proclaim, praise, and triple-bind ourselves into this girdle of holiness and name it One God. Now who really does not secretly know that the real head of this sweet holy trio is THE FATHER? 

I’m a woman, also a mother. My preferred pronouns are she, her, hers. I’m not named as one of these major God parts. I’m not bitter, because my spiritual experience tells me I’m holy, and that the Trinity really means that the One Father God’s holiness is innumerable—not three or even three zillion. God has no preferred pronouns. God is not my father. 

Most days I adored my father. I used to think he was like God and imagined him in grandiose ways. One day though I did discover that he really was the bravest man in the universe.

Daddy was a city man—reserved, handsome, advertising executive. As a child I longed to capture his attention. My strategies, chiefly cuteness, incessant questions, and begging for one more book, bore little fruit—except in the summer when left the city and spent time on a farm up-state. Daddy commuted but took lots of vacation time. We got to explore the near-sacred mysteries of life on a farm.

We’d read picture books about farm animals, so we’d practiced neighs, brays, moos, cackles, and oinks. On the farm our book-animals leapt alive. We bonded over barnyard sights, sounds, and smells, especially freshly mown hay, pigs wallowing in mud, and cows. I was scared but Daddy was brave. Watching a cow give birth terrified me. The mother cow struggled and bellowed. Daddy told me to wait, luckily refraining from a lesson in sex education. I held my hands over my eyes, but peeked. When the calf finally emerged my heart jumped. How had it fit inside? This led us to the bull—a daddy to avoid, Daddy said.

The bull had his own stall. We peeked in. The bull snorted and had sharp piercing eyes—angry. One day the farmer asked Daddy to help get the bull up a ramp and onto the trailer for transport. The bull was secured by ropes tied to a halter. I watched, shivering with fear. Some men tugged the lead on the halter and pulled. Others poked with pitchforks from the rear. The raging bull jerked his head and took a quick turn toward Daddy. The farmer yelled: “Jump aside quick!” I held my breath till the bull galloped up the ramp onto the truck. Daddy was saved.

Driving home, I asked softly: “Daddy, were you scared?”

“You bet I was Lynnie,” he said.  

At that moment I knew my father really was the bravest man in the universe.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy—God also of course and in case.