2023.01.29 On Following—Many Beatitudes

We read in the New Testament that a small band of Jews followed Jesus of Nazareth around as he taught and preached and healed. He advocated and preached a radical renewal of the covenant between God and the people—a covenant to love God, self and neighbor in the constant, peaceful ways Jesus taught, and for which he eventually was crucified. It is a covenant of hard blessings that challenge power politics in all cultures and in all religions. 

God promises to provide grace divine with and for ALL human conditions as we try to use our freedom to love not hate, as we try and fail, and fall and flail, as we stumble and straighten, as we live and die. The delicate balance between divine grace and human freedom is precarious to say the least. So how do we respond?   

Using some natural metaphors offered by Episcopal priest and hymnist Michael Hudson, I offer some elaborations.

The grace of God is like a road—it beckons but does not drive or force.

The voice of God is like the wind—it comes and goes as we manage the “sails” of life.

    If we pull too tight, trying to control the wind, we capsize. If we don’t pull at all, fearing the wind’s power and our own, 

    we go nowhere—becalmed.  

The strength of God is like a stone—cold, hard, eventually worn thin. 

     Pick up many stones as you grow and go.  

The hope of God is like the sun by day and the stars by night—alway there 

    to guide.

The love of God is like a stream—slaking all thirsts.

The peace of God is like a friend—constant company, 

    attuned accompanist, weakened strengthener.  

Road, wind, stone, sun, stream, friend.  

You really will—never be alone, always be blessed.     

2023.01.22 Transcendence? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

For a long time, I’ve wondered about divine transcendence, or at least its defining dominance over the image of God. 

My wondering started when, as a toddler, I sat cross-legged under a large dining room table and shared all my intimate chatter with a God who, according to my favorite book, listened to all “weeny” sounds, including mine. Thus I learned that I mattered. I followed my listening God looking in all the traditional places—Sunday School, church, seminary, retreats, Bible study, getting ordained priest to be closer to the Christ. Everywhere I looked God was always portrayed as transcendent, far off, high, almighty. There was the idea of divine immanence—the God who existed and operated from within, of whom I’d heard, and about whom I write. It gets published, yes, and I do not hear or see much about this close-up God for whose presence I’ve so longed. Was there something wrong with me? Or was there something wrong with traditional teachings, imagery and language?  I had swallowed transcendence, yet never really digested it.  

I’m old enough now to make up a new word: transimmanence.  God should be both transcendent and immanent in public prayer. Is it time to bring the God I met under the table out from under in transimmanent language and song?

*  *  *  *

We recently watched a Netflix documentary, “Pope Francis, a Man of His Word”.  It is a well done movie about, let’s say, the travels of Pope France around the world. Details of his travels are  interspersed with some of his own words of wisdom. He knows and speaks many languages, but he speaks mostly in his own first language, Spanish. Subtitle captions are provided. As I watched mesmerized, I chuckled thinking, “Is the Pope Catholic?”—a phrase that describes something we think to be unquestionably obvious. After I watched this magnificent film, I found myself in awe at the catholicity of this man’s actions and message, and at the same time I thought: “This isn’t even that Catholic!”  What I meant was that this amazing leader, by direct word and action, knocked the stuffy, stiff, preachy, rule-bound rigor right out of the tradition-bound institutional Church’s backbone—in an intimate, kind, and wise way. He simply did this with his own presence. He was never not the Pope, that is, not trying to pretend he was not who he is, holding the high office he does. He was authentic, that’s all. I remembered Vatican II and Pope John, 23rd in 1970, saying something like: ”I want to throw open the windows of the church so that we can see out and the people can see in.” 

Perhaps Pope Francis dares to embody this transimmanence? 

I recall the early Church “Fathers” struggled to define orthodox Christianity. They had similar ideas about the nature of Christ. 

Wanting more, however, I shall continue to beleaguer my listening God with my battering ram mind, the same at 84 as it was at 4. 

Some people call this nagging. I call it faith.  

2023.01.15 A First Waking, Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

So much of what we all hear and see in the news, from our pulpits, and in our biblical stories is basically: WAKE UP people. WE gotta change. There are differing definitions and interpretations about what that change should be, but it’s pretty clear to me that the change is internal, changes of hearts, in the flesh—not rioting and street violence. This is a very tall order given our differences and our attachments to individualISM and INdependence.  For this change we gotta include ALL Mama Earth. We gotta do it IN the flesh. And we gotta include GOD, by every name known.  

*  *  *  *

Birthing comes to my mind, specifically, birthing my first child—flesh of my flesh— and my own first-time realization of the power of my own uterus to push life itself from the dark inner womb into the glare of the light of the world. This process was full of excruciating pain and shock for mother and child, and it is I think too glib, or at least it is for me, to toss aside or minimize the impact of the monumental change that takes place at birth.  It can only be completed in and by a woman’s flesh. My husband was present, standing by, watching me groan and howl and push with all my might—for hours, eternity I thought. In this joint creative effort, he got all the pleasure, and I did the work.  

Of course I was overjoyed with my amazing 8 lbs 13 oz squalling infant daughter. I was also terrified, partly at teeny undershirts and huge diaper pins (1963, no Pampers), and partly at the commitment to being a good mother, which meant losing my independence. Yes, I chose that vocation, and yes, often I failed and flailed, and no, I do not regret the ongoing painful intimacy of loss and joy motherhood brings.    

In giving of your own flesh you simultaneously lose the control you thought you had in the running of your embodied life. Child-bearing, more than marriage or vocation, or any other vowed bodily commitment, means signifiant loss of independence—freely undertaken, usually though not always.  The only way to live with this loss is to weep, and in the tears find the necessary lubrication to see Beauty, just as God as Creator shows the biblical heckler, Job: Look. Take it in. All this creation I accomplished without you and for you!! This is where it’s at.

Such profound change is both brilliant with hope and frightening with challenge—all at once.  All I could do was follow my heart and love my dear daughter to the best of my ability. For her, coming into life was the trauma and shock of Being itself, first the slap and scream, then the cleansing, then at last a warm, womb-simulating blanket, in this case pink, and finally her mother’s arms and breasts. (There was no advice on nursing in 1963, and my equipment wasn’t equipped enough. Not wanting to starve my daughter, I fed her with bottled formula, which she loved.) In time there was Baptism in which a big man took her out of my arms (kidnapped), tried to drown her with water (Baptism), then called her “Christ’s own forever” while a whole congregation clapped, and cameras flashed. Shocking! 

From Kahlil Gibran’s book The Prophet:  On baptisms: ”Your children are not your children. / They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. / They come through you but not from you, / And though they are with you they belong not to you.”    

*  *  *  *

As limited as my personal analogy may be, I imagine that God experiences this ongoing entire mix of pain and joy in giving birth to all life, sharing the divine nature with every living thing, all of which, comically and expectedly, goes instantly out of control. But that’s the point and the purpose isn’t it?  The only way to live with such loss is to weep, and in the tears find the necessary lubrication to see—and love— Abundant Beauty.    

God gives God’s own life into Creation, and in this act of radical sharing relinquishes control over project Life. The best definition of the nature of God I learned from Anglican priest/theologian, John Macquarrie who described God this way:  

     

GOD IS LETTING-BE AND DRAWING-NEAR.       

2023.01.08 Where IS The Epiphany Light? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 1/08/23

The Holy Bible is rich—full of proverbial wisdom, history of a people liberated, birth and death, prophetic vision—and most of all, stories. It must never be taken literally/factually yet must always be taken seriously.  It’s all called Holy, because it is all about people seeking God and God seeking people. In each story there is spiritual truth, even though it’s not a  documentary/docudrama. I promise you, your own story, or parts of it, is in there. Use your imagination and intuitional intelligence as your guiding light. 

You may not be a king or a Magus, one of a priestly cast in ancient Persia, but surely you have followed a dream against all good societal advice, simply because something has tweaked your heart, moved your soul deeply, saying GO or TRY.  You may even have taken traveling friends along, or traveled just in your own mind. Not every trip is about illegal drugs or mapped on AAA, yet every such trip is full of courage, wariness, fear, eagerness, curiosity, faith and doubt—yours and God’s, I assure you.  

The Epiphany story about the traveling threesome, Magi, is politically danger-ridden and compelling. I imagine a conversation they might have had after they saw something odd and fascinating at once. (Odd and fascinating usually accompany something Holy.) A simple family scene. What to make of that, really? They’d  trusted the night sky and had brought shower gifts in case. They also knew they couldn’t linger but had to get back home.  I’m spooked, let’s go home another way! What do you mean. Are you a scaredy cat? No, of course not, I was just thinking it might be easier on these panting camels. Yeah, and also your own butt, Melchior. Nah. Creature comfort is Balthasar’s issue, not mine. Well, I, Caspar, am the elder and I lead here. That king Herod hates competitors, so we’re not taking that same detour again. Come on, we have tons of light from the stars. Okay, you’re the boss, bossy. 

And so they head back by another way. They have followed the brightest Star. But when they turn their back on it, they discover they are still following it. Or it is following them?  Of course we know that astronomy doesn’t work this way, but holy stories do, and spirituality does. 

 

They were following this particularly bright star, and now they are leaving it behind. But this star seeks them out, still guides their wondering and their wandering. Remarkable. Look carefully. This camel has three humps, and these kings have new pronouns! In the “driver’s seat” sits a female who apparently knows the way quite well. Behind her rides an Asian figure, and behind him rides a black king—all similarly crowned. This group is inclusive. Maybe you’ve never noticed. 

Is this great Star shining to show us that the world is about to be transformed not by any ONE race, vision, regime, creed, or rule, but by something bigger? Right now our world is full of riots, violence, wars, bloody murders, abuses of women, starvation, and so much more. Perhaps this ongoing star is suggesting a much broader vision for our world, our planet, our politics, and our religion. Does this Light shine to light and enlighten the entire cosmos?  Is this what the Epiphany Light is? 

*  *  *  *  

I continue to question traditional imagery and interpretations. Here I see a Star that is more accompanying than leading, more beckoning than commanding, more shining than telling, more present than distant. This star is bigger, more universal than many Christians have thought and taught. Don’t you think? 

 

I will follow.  

2023.01.01 A NEW YEAR. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post.

IN THE BEGINNING

there was the Word;

the Word was in God’s presence,

and the Word was God.

The Word was present to God

from the beginning.

Through the Word

all things came into being,

and apart from the Word

nothing came into being

that has come into being.

In the Word was life,

and that life was humanity’s light—

a Light that shines in the darkness,

a Light that the darkness has never overtaken. 

And the Word became flesh

and stayed for a little while among us;

we saw the Word’s glory—

the favor and position a parent gives an only child—

filled with grace

filled with truth.    

No one has ever seen God;

it is the Only Begotten,

ever at Abba’s side,

who has revealed God to us. 

This is the proclamation according to the Gospel of John, translated in The Inclusive Bible. The First Egalitarian Translation, published by Rowman and Littlefield, a Sheed and Ward Book, copyright 2007.  

The biblical John the Baptist testified to this light, but he himself was not this light. This Light illumines all humankind. It came into the world in an unconditional way through which all people are empowered to become “children” of God—born not of natural descent, nor human will, but born of God.  

Fifteen years have passed since the above translation was released. What has been done in our churches? Not much to my ears. I know that this translation of the Prologue to John’s gospel is at first jarring, but believe me, if you ever tried to read aloud this Prologue in other translations (ones we usually hear in parish churches) and eliminate all the masculine pronouns, as I have, you will, stumble over your own tongue. This is why, if you want to liberate the Word of God from being gender-conditional and rigidly masculine, you need new translations and new courage to use them. This one above is a good one.     

The original Preface to this translation first acknowledges the old proverb, Sticks and stones may break my bones but names can never hurt me and says this about the untruth of the old maxim:  “Words can wound, alienate, and degrade people. Language can also affirm and express love. Care for language is concern for people, and a revelation of the attitudes of the speaker.”  Over many years this translation was in process. It involved input from many Christian people, scholars and writers, monastics, women and men, with a mission of social justice in the Roman Catholic tradition of social justice. 

Awareness of racial and gender stereotypes in our languages has steadily increased worldwide, even in restrictive cultures. This Preface continues: “Church language is predominantly masculine. Male terms, images, and stereotypes, so-called sexist language, dominate church expression. Such usage is no longer adequate. It is time to build gender equality into the very fabric of church life.” 

May we cherish the old AND welcome the new.   

CHRISTMAS. Who Are We? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 12.25.22

There are too many wonderful images from many traditions of faith for this Holy Days season. I am sharing some of my own—ones that have personal, and perhaps universal, meaning. They are not literal representations as photographs of God or Christ, or Buddha, or any saint, or Mary Virgin, but they all do sparkle with Joy and Love and Wonder— icons that reflect the Holy. 

Here is a young boy who has discovered the sheer exhilaration of summer sand and sun in Cancun—in the midst of the bleak mid-winter.  

Here are two female pugs, Jaelee and Olive, all duded up in their pink finery ready for something special. They know something’s up, because there is a large egregious tree in their house decorated, including one of their familiar piddle pads around its base. They won’t lift a small leg to pee on this special tree. 

Here is a creation of grandeur. A great and grand Sycamore with a man dwarfed at the base of its massive trunk. 

Here is a traditionally comedic scene that takes place in many Christian parishes all over the world. This one shows some children doing a nativity play, “He Comes From The Glory” at their primary school in England. One little angel could be ruining it with her shouting her lines, or she could be making it real.  (I remember a pageant in which the child who was to be Joseph looked out, noticed there was a whole congregation and fled the scene as fast as he could run! Mary of course stayed calm to tend the wee newborn.)  

 Here is a highly symbolic, traditional and new, seasonal scenario: Creche scene full of oddballs. 

This scene was created from scraps and bits gathered from around the house, costing not a cent. Oddly of one mind all at once, this motley crew of onlookers have assembled from near and far to pay attention to something new in their midst. 

A single scraggly poor shepherd on solo duty for five sheep made of hardened clay and clothed against inclement weather with mink cut from the late, haughty and unpopular Auntie’s stole. 

A crib made of discarded matchsticks

A cloth Mama Mary already smitten with this kid who looks female to me, Papa Joseph in green burlap and looking masterfully terrified, feathery angels, singing from songbooks resting on Q-tipped arms. And a baby with a head of long dark hair, a silly grin, no halo. Hovering latecomers x 3, just in from the East offering expensive gifts, and risking what could be a very UNwise investment without consulting their brokers. This kid’ll make good for sure.   

            *  *  *  *

All we have to do is love one another—no matter who or when or why.  Do you have any idea how hard love is? It is the hardest thing in the world to grasp, feel, follow, embody, sustain and repeat. It is also exquisitely delicate, and ultimately valuable. MERRY, TOO.    

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.