ADVENT. Who Am I? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 12/18/22

 All it takes is one—some ONE—to start a social/religious/political/cultural transformation, to break long-held patterns of behavior, our “ways” we say. 

In treacherous times when change is so needed, we all ask: Are YOU the ONE?

Perhaps a better question is:  AM I THE ONE?

*  *  *  *

As the oldest child, born (1938) from a mother who believed herself a failure because of three failed conceptions, I grew up much too praised and too adored, also with an insatiable need to overachieve and a praise addict, imagining: I am what I achieve.  

It worked for a while. School was my obvious haven, and even Sunday School where I learned that God Himself was the greatest achiever of all time, and I, by proxy became the greatest memorizer/reciter of putative divine qualities—all beginning with omni-.  I mean imagine creating all the whole world and everything in it from atop a cloud. (I’d seen this image in a favorite book, The Little Book About God by Lauren Ford, 1934) That would be the omni-est of omni feats ever—utterly omni-competent. 

My own omni-competence, however, failed miserably in two very important areas in my life so far: motherhood and priesthood. Why? Because neither of these was an achievement. Why? Because I was not in control. I could not make either happen by being competent, equipped, qualified, even desirous. For biological motherhood, I had to offer my body—unconditionally. For ordination as a priest, I had to offer my soul—unconditionally. For both, I had to risk giving myself deeply, and loving myself completely—finite, imperfect, and yes, needy. 

Yes, I did give birth to four healthy children whom I loved without condition, and in the heaving power of my own uterus I knew God. At being the traditional omni-mother-at-home, I failed. I chose to pursue my own needs and gifts; my children felt abandoned; I could not achieve the forgiveness I desired and needed. I could only ask for it and wait. 

And yes, I did, after much struggle and rejection, get ordained a priest in the Episcopal church, and in the powerful force of my own persuasive self-advocacy I knew God. At fulfilling the expected traditional role of parish priest, I failed. I chose to pursue a vocation in pastoral counseling, chaplaincy, writing, lobbying to remove gender from God’s name, and serving as non-stipendiary Sunday Priest Associate in parishes. I could not achieve the forgiveness I thought I needed. I could only wait, be a good writer, counselor, and chaplain, never call God HE, and see what God would make of it all.     

Jesus failed spectacularly at his mission to renew the reign of God. He even cried out to God from the cross: Why have you forsaken me? (Psalm 22) Still, many called Jesus Messiah/Christos, and the renewal of the everlasting covenant between Creator and Creation took new root and growth in Christianity. Jesus could not achieve the fullness of his vision. Did he desire or need God’s forgiveness? I don’t know, but Jesus is remembered as asking God to forgive the enemies who jeered and crucified him. 

Perhaps it’s our own expectations, or society’s for us, that we fail? Of God’s expectations we know not the ongoing details. We live in hope and trust. 

We still fail, and we still pray, and we still wait and call out: Are YOU the One? 

All I know is that I am not the ONE.  I am one of the Ones.  

ADVENT. Who Is She? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 12/11/22

 All it takes is one—some ONE—to start a social/religious/political/cultural transformation, to break long-held patterns of behavior, our “ways” we say. 

This happens when all their stories are told—and retold.  

Of particular interest to me are the stories of biblical women who—ONE by ONE—  mightily influenced the course of Creation. 

Consider Eve, the woman who, drawn by natural curiosity, reached for the forbidden fruit in Eden and started what? She was the first women’s libber/ribber/fibber. Adam of course followed eagerly, looking innocent.  

The late American writer, Joan Didion, once wrote: “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” It is the stories in the Holy Bible that keep us alive and fascinated with the Mystery of this Divinity of many names—too many for any one religion to own. 

Laurie Metcalf, a movie actor, commented recently about how important the work of a good director, in this case Greta Gerwig, was in helping actors see and understand fully the character they were playing and the story surrounding that character—not just acting out a role. “That clicked with me in a way that was rare. That made it so real to me. It was the first time I was playing a fictional character where I actually was able to think of it as a real woman.” (N.Y Times, Sunday Styles, 12/4/22)   

Would the same not apply to biblical characters whose stories are not fiction, nor biography, but exemplary stories, told to highlight moral and spiritual meaning. Are they true? Yes. Are they literal fact? No. Are they stunningly beautiful even if painful? Yes. They are Schadenfreude—German word built on a combination of shaden (harm or damage) + freud (joy). It is usually understood to mean joy/rejoicing at someone’s else’s misfortune, like secretly gloating at your win or another’s loss as if you deserved all that praise. But what if the power of the joy of ONE could overwhelm the harm altogether? 

I recall a favorite New Testament exam or class question: Who founded Christianity, Jesus, Paul, or John the Baptist?  

What about Mary? 

There was no right or wrong answer to this question, of course. In a God-school exam one had to become an attorney for the defense, or the defensive. I voted for Jesus, thinking that was the obvious right answer for a Christian. But resentment coiled painfully around my gut: Didn’t there have to be a beginning to the beginning? Women, after all, naturally bleed for life— not for war. I filled with bloody joy when I suddenly realized in the deep dark depths of my own body and blood that a woman had to be indispensable to any divine project—Creation, Incarnation, Resurrection—in life and in death, especially one of enough magnitude to save this whole fractured cosmos. 

Who was this ONE in the Bible? Mary. She, with pain and fear and courage, started this Christian faith, this Christmas tradition, this Incarnation, this Christ. She bled for it. 

She was the ONE who labored  in pain and cried for joy. Now we all sing, “Joy To The World” with gusto. 

ADVENT. Who Is He? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 12/04/22

All it takes is one—some ONE—to start a social/religious/political/cultural transformation, to break long-held patterns of behavior, our “ways” we say.  

Think Rosa Parks, Martin Luther, Alexander Hamilton, Syrophoenician Woman, Charles Dickens, Pope John XXIII, FDR, MLK, JFK, Julian of Norwich, William Shakespeare,Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, Jesus of Nazareth, Harriet Tubman, Mary of Nazareth, Mr. Rogers, Toni Morrison, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Pauli Murray, Karl Jung, Jean Baker Miller, John the Baptist. Who is he? 

                        *  *  *  *

I remember my brilliant young high school daughter singing in the musical Godspell. She sang “All For The Best” and never missed a beat or a word of the high speed lyric rendering of the biblical scenario about Jesus’s gospel, according to Matthew. The song was perfectly emblematic of what happens to people who are confronted with great confusion, great pain, and great hope all at once over a short sweep of time.    

Imagine the confused joy of people, especially those most destitute and those with a surplus of wealth and resources, also leaders, wondering and worrying about the future in chaotic times, just like our own, when suddenly out of the desert and into the crowds came an exotic messianic prophet screaming at people to REPENT NOW. Unburden yourselves of sins and worries now. Prepare!  

A herald’s voice cries in the desert:

Prepare the way of our God,

Make straight the paths of God. 

                            (Mt. 3,The Inclusive Bible)

Would you have listened? I might have sensed the urgency and wondered. I’d engage in lots of obsessive overthinking to prepare for all possible outcomes—known and unknown. I would have felt stirred by fear and hope all at once?  But I might also have condemned the message as crazy. I’d also call my closest most trusted confidantes or an authority figure, for support and answers.  Secretly with tears, I’d inwardly confess my own naked neediness? Then I’d step out and follow.

According to the biblical story, Jesus knew about his cousin John’s eccentricities and the risks of dire political consequences. John tried to persuade Jesus that he Jesus was the one who should be doing these repentance baptisms. But Jesus reassured John, telling him to “leave it this way for now”—in other words, there is a power greater than the two of us in whose faith we trust to make it all for the best. Then Jesus went into the waters for his baptism and began his career as an activist for justice, peace, and righteousness—not being holier than others, but being in right-sized and humble relationship with friend and foe alike.  

How did this new movement we call Christianity, ignited by one brave man named John work out?  In the Bible story, both John and Jesus established a following. Both became proclaimers of justice for all people, in the name of God. Both became heroes. Both were persecuted as enemies of the State. Both died ugly, ignominious deaths (beheading and crucifixion). Neither went unforgotten. 

 

Many still ask: who was that ONE who first cried out?  

2022.11.27 ADVENT—Woes Begotten and Be-Gone, Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

The season leading up to the birth of Christ is called Advent, derived from Latin ad + venire (to come). Something worth noting is coming up. Even waiting can make one’s soul tingle, anticipating even God!  

Sadly, Advent often gets run over by the sin of buying, shopping, shoving, crowding, crowing. Sin is whatever separates us from the goodness in ourselves, God and our neighbors. Preoccupation with over-shopping blinds us to this goodness. 

In this country we’ve overstuffed ourselves, offered thanks, and now head for a shopping day we nervously call Black Friday—now extended for weeks.  We also have witnessed  SEVEN days of SEVEN mass murders—one per day. We have witnessed world starvation and weather events of mass destruction. We are traumatized. What will bring hope and healing? 

Can collective prayer be a "weapon"? Dare we openly, out loud, barrage the God we usually thank and praise with a prayer assault, a prayer war? Love, divine and human, is best of course, yet how much Love is too much Love before it becomes empty of truth? I don’t know. 

Apparently neither does Jesus who, in the face of fear and questioning about ongoing apocalyptic chaos, says: “I don’t know. No one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, only the Father.”  (Mt.24:36) I find this harsh truth oddly comforting. I cannot know exactly why trauma and tragedy and unbearable loss happen, even if I can exactly describe and analyze the circumstances. So I live at the edge of unknowing. No one is ever condemned by God for wanting to know, for simply giving up, for wavering in faith, longing to know, or taking one’s own life. 

*  *  *  *

Once upon a time this lonely boy met this lonely girl. In their loneliness they found love. In the love they had found fun and laughter and marriage which, in the 1960s, meant they had to play house—he to work for money and she to home to cook and clean. Years went by. They had their money and their beautiful children, but they no longer could see each other clearly through the dense mist of fear and tears that—slowly slowly— had settled around them. They turned away from each other, said goodbye to each other, to the love they once had and would never forget, but reinvested it in their children and in new love.  

*  *  *  *  

I wonder if this is what Jesus’s followers did when they remembered that he once told them that the world as they knew it would come to an end, never be the same, and no one knew exactly when, why or how, except God who is silent.  

I’m annoyed but not depressed or helpless. I’ve been tempted to choose atheism or feign weak agnostic faith, but damn it, I can’t. Woe is me. And so I pray.  

Prayer will be my weapon, instead of knowledge. Prayer will be my faith-of-unknowing.                   

 

2022.11.20 Tiny Graces—Thanks Given. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

One of my sons asked me recently what patriarchy was. He is fifty-five, smart and resilient, and yet he asked, possibly because I’ve often said that we (the world) are experiencing the death throes of patriarchy. 

I answered that patriarchy is a centuries old hierarchal system, the world over, of social organization and power that, simplistically, looks like this: God, man, woman, son, slave/servant, animals, natural life. Race, gender, role, and geography, were added. Death throes mean change. We must ALL respect each other and together save our Earth. 

One of these changes is to de-patriarchalize divinity. It hurts, disorients and re-creates. In  such times, I survive by noticing tiny graces that provide hope and evoke big thanks. 

*  *  *  *

-A very small boy in the supermarket insists on carrying the family turkey after it’s checked out. The child, maybe six, stands on tiptoes, stretches forward, hoists the good-sized, neatly packaged and trussed turkey off the check-out line and into his small arms. He staggers backwards then catches his balance and with a huge grin embraces the turkey with a hug and carries it out of the store, his mother probably praying as she watches this little family Thanksgiving hero. Maybe God occasionally upsizes human effort. 

-From our window I have watched a birds’ nest being carefully built, twig by twig, high in a tree whose leaves soon fell. The good-sized nest looks sturdy and a work of art. Before long I observe baby birds, small brown and unprepossessing, emerge. One after another they take flight—not far at first, then experimenting with longer flights, all perching on branches of a nearby tree. Each time, after some signal, they simultaneously fly back to home base. One morning I see them all—twenty to my count—swoop over and land on the barren ground across the driveway from their home. They peck and peck at the barren ground. What food could be there? Then, on hidden command, they simultaneously ascend and fly back home. Many human teens do the same. 

-A Tee shirt meme: “Hold on. Let me overthink this!”  I’ve done this.

-Then there’s the resiliently resistant raindrop that simply will not continue its flow down the windowpane even after the rain stops. It’s large. It reflects sunlight. It does not dry up. It winks at me—God’s tear I think.   

-Finally, a little bit of mischief with the fact of Jesus’s humanity, not something many Christians like to remember about the one we call Lord—fully human and fully divine, neither nature compromising the other. One Christmas I was preaching about the whole nativity scenario—a tender scene everyone loves to sing about, and no one would want to experience. I cautioned against over-romanticizing this narrative, denying all the pain and danger surrounding it. After all, I said, swaddling clothes were diapers. A woman shot up from her pew, turned tail, and stormed out, never to return. I was forgiven, not “fired.” 

-Sometimes in the pitch dark of night I reach for my beloved’s hand. It’s still warm. We’re in our eighties. Life feels more fragile. Our 36th wedding anniversary is this week.  

-In Corrie ten Boom’s holocaust memoir, The Hiding Place, she, a Dutch Christian, is tossed into prison—starved, freezing, alone, and facing death. In a barren cell, she spots a tiny ant crawling in from between cracks invisible to human eye. She is thrilled. She shares crumbs from her single piece of stale bread with the ant. Soon more ants appear, and she dines with them, praying with praise, “A relationship!” 

-Christians move into both Christmas and Easter, with the same Bible story: Jesus about to face the trial of his life, leading to his hideous death. In this highly symbolic and historic story there is a stunningly tiny detail: he rides into town on an ass—a donkey! 

There is no place that God is not. Hear the psalmist sing: “Your presence is known through all who help me; with them I can look danger squarely in the face.” (Psalm 118, Greenberg) And I say, Thank you. 

 

2022.11.13 What? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

Be patient and do nothing extraordinary. Oh sure! I’m not that type, but thanks for the advice anyway. I’ll keep on trying till I bust, even when it seems as if I’m failing and flawed.

I have to admit this futility is some of what I have felt lately about our world, our country, our planet. I even stopped watching the news. I prayed and read the Bible over and over until everything looked the same to me, except the Psalms, well known for heart-rending laments. Mostly, I’ve felt dry and dull and edgy. 

I was reading a sentence in some book: “No one knew and no one knows.” I kept reading it over and over. Unexpectedly I suddenly felt real fear—real fear like a stab of lightning in my gut. What if this country stops being my home? What if the whole Earth just dies? I thought these thoughts were irrational, but there was nothing irrational about the knot of terror in my gut.

*  *  *  *

Then came Election Day, 2022. I went to bed without waiting up to see at least the first results. Strangely, I slept. 

Not until the evening did I listen to some news. Shocking! The American people went to the polls in record numbers. There was no youthful apathy. They voted. There was no violence. No one got shot. Political predictions of doom did not come true. Yes, the outcomes were according to my own hopes and party, but that wasn’t the point, just as winning is not always the point of a well run race. The point is that something very big had happened: WE happened. 

The American people, we the people, actually voted for our lives together and for our democracy. No one knew and no one knows exactly how or why this happened, despite many theories, stats, and pundits. And no one can predict the future, though many will try anyway.

Jonathan Capehart, PBS News Hour commentator, said “The American people proved they can walk and chew gum at the same time.”  The electorate chose Democracy, period. This could be the emergence of an anti-authoritarian move—proof that we actually know how to get things done without violence or noisy political bullying. 

My gut fear has been replaced by gratitude without reservation for being American.

Jesus told his panicky followers during apocalyptic times: Sit tight. Do nothing extreme. Trust the process. “By patient endurance you will save your lives.” (Luke 20:19) 

What Kind of World? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 11/6/22

      

People the world over are anticipating a new something. Change is happening. Change must happen. As Sister Joan Chittister declares in her new book Awakening. Prophetic Reflections:  “In the face of every obstacle, I heard the call of God to wake up, to speak out, to leave some melodies behind. Then, perhaps others could sing new songs of the truth within them, too, so that generations to come might also wake up.

IF WE AWAKEN. NOW.”  

What kind of a world do I want?

I want a world that places less emphasis on mastery and more on participatory cooperation. My world would be/have:

-less denominational, more relational 

-less Christian, more Christ-like

-less partisan, more hospitable 

-less preaching, more dialogue

-less assumptions, more asking

-less knowledge, more education

-less reactivity, more communion

-less national, more cosmic

-less denial, more risk

-less hoarding, more sacrifice

-less weeding, more planting

-less mouth, more ear

-less labeling, more accepting

-less hunt, more gather

-less hate, more compassion

-less abortion, more compassion

-less cursing, more blessing

-less sentimentality, more emotional intelligence

-less fear, more gratitude

-less judgment, more prayer

-less despair, more hope

One image for my “world” is a Sycamore Tree—arms of branches embrace, accommodate this planet and ALL inhabitants.

What would I sacrifice for this awakened world? 

-My deep affection for Jesus as I see him in prayer and the Bible? Jesus, however, was only one of several great mediators between Creator and created— not the one and only. Jesus’s uniqueness I’d sacrifice.

-My own life?  I would risk my life for my closest family, undergo organ donation surgery, for example. But I wouldn’t jump out in front of an oncoming bus, just to prove my love. I’m not suicidal. Nor am I the martyr type. 

-Prayer?—not saying prayers but being prayer. I found this connection in early childhood through a book and my mother’s story.  It’s probably not unique to me, nor is it magical, mystical, or particularly religious. It is my fuel—ongoing, intimate, introverted, conversational, inaudible, some of it 911 stuff but mostly more like daily “bread”. 

What if I were unconscious, demented, a “vegetable” as they say? Then God would pray. 

What if 911 doesn’t answer? If I don’t get the outcomes I pray for, you mean? That’s the case, more often than not, and that’s not the point of prayer. I’d cry and rage to God, anyway, but not put God on trial. I’m spiritual, not irrational; nor am I God. 

Occasionally, this listening presence of a deity pipes up with some startlingly new idea, like, what the hell are you doing?  I listen.  

So no, I wouldn’t sacrifice prayer for the sake of a better world. Not because it “works,” nor because it’s spiritually powerful, nor because it’s what the Church does, nor even because I’m so good, or so bad. Prayer is not something I could give up, because it’s not mine alone to give.