There is a lot of writing about the placebo effect. Evidence that something works even if you tell someone that a pill, for example, is only a placebo, has no medicinal ingredients. (Deborah Kotz, Boston Globe G, 3.7.2011)
Why? Many reasons: personality, authority says so, desire for healing/relief, suggestibility. In short, they don’t really know why placebos works.
I have wondered about the placebo effect in the Eucharist/Holy Communion. Yikes! Heresy.
Does Eucharist nurture your soul and deliver a shot of grace because it does, or because you have faith that it will in relation to your experience in a Christian community? OR because the priests told you so from when you were little, or just yesterday? OR Jesus said it in the Bible? OR Mommy said so!? OR— all of the above?
For me the Eucharist is a relational event: my faith opens to divine grace and TOGETHER they (my faith and God’s grace) make a glorious sacramental placebo.
(After all, the word placebo does derive from Latin, “I shall please.”)
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
2011.03.16 Moveable Feast of Justice
I wanted to be a priest because of my attraction to the Christian Church’s holy meal, a sacrament of grace called Holy Eucharist, the action of which speaks volumes to me about justice.
In a eucharistic meal everyone is invited to the table; everyone gets fed; everyone gets the same just-right amount— not too little and not too much.
This little miracle of economic distribution at the center of Christian worship should be grace enough in a culture that suffers from obesity—too much—and a dangerous widening gap between those who have and those who have not.
The other reason I wanted to be a priest of the Eucharist was because for a priest Eucharists really ARE moveable feasts. They happen on stone platforms on the Sea of Galilee and at altars in cathedrals. They happen with bread, biscuit, wafer, cracker, stale wine or fine; they happen standing, sitting, leaning, kneeling; in churches and kitchens, at bedsides, over hassocks, on floors and grass.
Justice should also be a moveable feast.
In a eucharistic meal everyone is invited to the table; everyone gets fed; everyone gets the same just-right amount— not too little and not too much.
This little miracle of economic distribution at the center of Christian worship should be grace enough in a culture that suffers from obesity—too much—and a dangerous widening gap between those who have and those who have not.
The other reason I wanted to be a priest of the Eucharist was because for a priest Eucharists really ARE moveable feasts. They happen on stone platforms on the Sea of Galilee and at altars in cathedrals. They happen with bread, biscuit, wafer, cracker, stale wine or fine; they happen standing, sitting, leaning, kneeling; in churches and kitchens, at bedsides, over hassocks, on floors and grass.
Justice should also be a moveable feast.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
2011.03.08 International Women's Day
It's International Women's day. I dream of the vision: the blessing of wholeness in church and world— with no -isms!
It's also Mardi Gras. I savor the grace of joy and people and look forward to Lent: the precious opportunity to be quiet and alone and know myself and Godde better so I can know and love others better.
No matter your gender or what your faith, celebrate and bless yourself.
It's also Mardi Gras. I savor the grace of joy and people and look forward to Lent: the precious opportunity to be quiet and alone and know myself and Godde better so I can know and love others better.
No matter your gender or what your faith, celebrate and bless yourself.
2011.03.09 Ashes. Ashes......
I think like an adult .... but I wonder like a child.
I thought “ashes ashes” was a nursery rhyme, a kid’s game (not about the Bubonic plague, btw)
I wondered if it were also the Wisdom of God reminding me that any minute now I could fall down and skin my knee, or more.
Today I thought . . . phone poles are dead trees put into service so we humans can gossip or call loved ones to make sure they are alive.
I wondered if the tall straight once-tree poles drew water from the well of the earth like living trees do, miraculously defying gravity one of our most precise and precious laws.
I THOUGHT on Ash Wednesday that the ashes in the small bowl were the remains of the palms from last year’s Palm Sunday— funeral reminders of great expectations gone sour. And I thought ashes were a powerful symbol to let us know we all will die unrequited in many ways.
I THOUGHT, then what?
I WONDERED if the ashes in the small cardboard box were really my father, at last all contained and right there to scoop up into the palms of my hands, kiss goodbye, and toss once more into the waiting hole in the damp ground.
I WONDERED, then what?
I THOUGHT Lent was a somber but not depressing time, just to stop and reflect, maybe learn a thing or two about what to do differently the next time you . . ., or he . . ., or they . . ., or it . . .
I WONDERED if Lent were really 40 days of Jesus’ starving and praying and wasting away in the desert wilderness without his Mom and Dad or any friends to love, stuck alone with an invisible God he began to call Abba.
I THOUGHT that was a crucible of unnecessary proportions for a very good man.
I WONDERED if that was why my small grandson insisted on having his door open at night, wide open to house light and moonlight, to escape, to give an opening for the sound of his voice should it call out, or to the sound of his Daddy’s footsteps running toward his open door.
I thought “ashes ashes” was a nursery rhyme, a kid’s game (not about the Bubonic plague, btw)
I wondered if it were also the Wisdom of God reminding me that any minute now I could fall down and skin my knee, or more.
Today I thought . . . phone poles are dead trees put into service so we humans can gossip or call loved ones to make sure they are alive.
I wondered if the tall straight once-tree poles drew water from the well of the earth like living trees do, miraculously defying gravity one of our most precise and precious laws.
I THOUGHT on Ash Wednesday that the ashes in the small bowl were the remains of the palms from last year’s Palm Sunday— funeral reminders of great expectations gone sour. And I thought ashes were a powerful symbol to let us know we all will die unrequited in many ways.
I THOUGHT, then what?
I WONDERED if the ashes in the small cardboard box were really my father, at last all contained and right there to scoop up into the palms of my hands, kiss goodbye, and toss once more into the waiting hole in the damp ground.
I WONDERED, then what?
I THOUGHT Lent was a somber but not depressing time, just to stop and reflect, maybe learn a thing or two about what to do differently the next time you . . ., or he . . ., or they . . ., or it . . .
I WONDERED if Lent were really 40 days of Jesus’ starving and praying and wasting away in the desert wilderness without his Mom and Dad or any friends to love, stuck alone with an invisible God he began to call Abba.
I THOUGHT that was a crucible of unnecessary proportions for a very good man.
I WONDERED if that was why my small grandson insisted on having his door open at night, wide open to house light and moonlight, to escape, to give an opening for the sound of his voice should it call out, or to the sound of his Daddy’s footsteps running toward his open door.
Monday, March 7, 2011
2011.03.07 Reflection on Well Being
How does the phrase "my well being depends on your well being" sound? It's one of those snaky half truths. Fine, until you stop to think that it's a child's point of view, a child’s truth.
Substitute "is enhanced by" for "depends" and you have a whole truth:
My well being is enhanced by your well being.
(You think on such things when you get older and fear for your partner’s well being—and yours.)
Substitute "is enhanced by" for "depends" and you have a whole truth:
My well being is enhanced by your well being.
(You think on such things when you get older and fear for your partner’s well being—and yours.)
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
2011.03.02 Serenity Prayer for Today—and Tomorrow
Today's version of the Serenity Prayer, aka Lyn trapped in a den and din of words, trying to sort, sift, order, disorder, love and hate—and all in order to write an intimate letter to strangers! (That’s what writer Pico Iyer called writing and I call memoir writing.) Sheesh.
God, grant me the serenity to hate my life
the courage to love what I hate
and the wisdom to know the goddamn difference.
AMEN
God, grant me the serenity to hate my life
the courage to love what I hate
and the wisdom to know the goddamn difference.
AMEN
Sunday, February 27, 2011
2011.02.27 Your Preferred Spiritual Posture
IF you saw and really believed that God by whatever name you call Her suddenly appeared in the flesh and stood before you smiling would you:
fall on your face prostrate before the grandeur of God?
jump for joy, toss boundaries out the window, and rush into His open arms?
bow your head and create a little steepled “church,” hands in prayer-pose
drop to your knees in reverence?
smile in return, cock your head, and wait?
drop to one knee and genuflect as you speedily cross yourself?
burst into song?
turn and run?
shout OMG! and open your arms?
head for the “hills?”
Your body doesn’t lie. It usually leads the way. What is your preferred spiritual posture, the way your body responds before you think too much?
OK...... so many of you, especially if you are Anglo-Episcopalians, will say, “It depends...” On what? Your mood? The weather? What your neighbor will see if she’s looking out the window? Your actual physical capacity?
I learned this wisdom long ago and didn’t trust it, because I thought I had more control, and I told myself I behaved differently with God than with my neighbors:
HOW YOU STAND BEFORE OTHER PEOPLE IS HOW YOU STAND BEFORE GOD.
Check it out.
fall on your face prostrate before the grandeur of God?
jump for joy, toss boundaries out the window, and rush into His open arms?
bow your head and create a little steepled “church,” hands in prayer-pose
drop to your knees in reverence?
smile in return, cock your head, and wait?
drop to one knee and genuflect as you speedily cross yourself?
burst into song?
turn and run?
shout OMG! and open your arms?
head for the “hills?”
Your body doesn’t lie. It usually leads the way. What is your preferred spiritual posture, the way your body responds before you think too much?
OK...... so many of you, especially if you are Anglo-Episcopalians, will say, “It depends...” On what? Your mood? The weather? What your neighbor will see if she’s looking out the window? Your actual physical capacity?
I learned this wisdom long ago and didn’t trust it, because I thought I had more control, and I told myself I behaved differently with God than with my neighbors:
HOW YOU STAND BEFORE OTHER PEOPLE IS HOW YOU STAND BEFORE GOD.
Check it out.
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