2024.06.17 Creating Community In Place, Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

Two lions stand together, side by side, a young male and his elder named Morani. The sun rises in the Maasai Mara National Reserve in Kenya. Morani is about 14 years old, one of a group know as the Four Musketeers, and the oldest known and last-surviving elder of the “musketeers.”  (The Nature Conservancy, Spring, 2023)  

These lion “musketeers” are Papas who support and provide for spouse/lionesses who are at home cooking, cleaning their lairs, nursing and feeding their cubs as they await the return home of the papas—for a good night’s sleep, safe from attack and free for leonine sex. This has been the pattern of survival with contentment and safety, and when these father-musketeers die, the community will break down.  

What about the human animal?  We also live by patterns set by Nature and habit and tradition. We all have been mothered and fathered—guided, beloved, hugged and walloped, criticized and praised in many ways by men and women, some of whom birthed us, nurtured us, gave us bit of their hearts, and some who failed our expectations. 

What about letting go of special days, relentlessly rooted in biology and genes, and simply dedicate every day to honor those who, regardless of role or gender, from our beginnings and along the way, have provided wisdom, serenity and courage enough for a lifetime of daily gratitude?  

*  *  *  *

Now, what if we intentionally built “Reserves”— stored up mental and physical and spiritual energy enough to prevent extinction by wars, massacres, starvation, violence, and despair?  Could we free all of us for the sake of—all of us? It’s an idea within our reach. 

In fact, in this COVID era men and women already have paused for perspective on traditional patterns of social organization that entrap us all in rigidly defined roles and rules. When rules distort and limit life’s flow, we can change. With change, some have discovered and rejoiced: Hey look! Now we BOTH have time, with mutual consent, control, and commitment, to CREATE new patterns. We are even free enough to conceive, birth and nurture a child together. And to LOVE our “creation” for its own precious sake.  

With such breaks in traditional patterns, older people can rest from their labors and enjoy the affections they have—in sickness and in health. Most can still laugh, and cry, and hope, and pray together—and lock no one out. We can create something new together. 

WE CAN CREATE COMMUNITY IN PLACE!   

Wherever you are, with whomever you’re with, be who you are—bedridden, or disabled, alone or accompanied, parent or child, serene or enraged, happy or sad, you can share yourself, and yes, embrace yourself and others. We can only do this together wherever we are, however we are, and with communal and personal prayer—the silent connector of Souls-in-Hope.    

5/19/2024 PENTECOST. Lyn G. Brakeman. Spiritual Lemons, blog post.

Once I preached a sermon at Pentecost in which I declared that this day when we celebrate the MINISTRY of the Holy Spirit, NOT the arrival of that unitive spirit of God! She has been here from the beginning of all Creation. 

After the Sunday worship ended with a dismissal, a woman came to me and said: “But Pentecost is the BIRTHday of the CHURCH!” I chose to disagree but not argue. 

How in the world could we Christians restrict/confine the spiritual activity of the ONE GOD /CREATOR to one day, one people, one time, one religion, one church, one doctrine, one spirit called holy?  

HUMBUG.  

*  *  *  * 

I am extremely pleased that the Diocese of Massachusetts elected a woman for our diocesan bishop, a first. Her speech was short, sweet and tender. We so need such a voice, such a clear softness without sloppiness.  “I will love you,” she said. 

And Connecticut already elected its first (as far as we know) openly gay diocesan bishop.

Pretty soon the HS Herself will penetrate the Roman Catholic patriarchy too!  The present pope is on it—slowly and surely, trying not to become a dead martyr like Lincoln or Kennedy, et. al. 

As to Pentecost, the Holy Spirit Herself must not, can not, should not, will not be disregarded for Her inclusive non-gendered politics. This Holy Spirit did not arrive on one day, in one doctrine, inhabiting one gender, one religion, dressed in one color, for god’s sake! Jesus was a Jewish man on earth.  The Risen Christ has no gender, no one religion. Plus, we’ve always been smart enough to pray with and to all the Mamas!    

Ya think the Spirit of Pentecost has ONE gender?!   Or ONE religion?   Or ONE doctrine?  Or ONE people?  ONE history or ONE story? Good lawd ‘amighty.  

Get a grip peoples. 

2024.05.12 Mothers' Day, Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

I pray this prayer from John 17, one of Jesus's farewell discourses to his friends and disciples, as I lay myself down to sleep each night:   Dear God, bless my children, Bev, Jill, Rob, John, and stepchildren, Matthew Mark and Honor, and grandchildren all—Gillian, Isabella, Ali, Luke, Lucia,Thomas, Harrison, Will, Eliza, Brianjohnson, Phoebe, Dylan.

I consecrate  myself to Thee for their sake, that they too may be consecrated in Thy Word—Thy Word is Truth. AMEN.   (John 17 paraphrase)   

                                *  *  *  * 

“The world needs to look to mothers and women to find peace, to break out of the spirals of violence and hatred, and to regain a human gaze and a seeing heart.”  Pope Francis

And various godmothers, friends, known and unknown, of any gender, including animals, along the way.  AMEN.

2024.05.05 Well, Well, Welcome Back. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

The above April 15, 2024 New Yorker Magazine cover, "Undercover" by Peter de Seve, an American artist born in NYC in 1958 and a graduate of Parsons, School of Design, feels joyful  My caption is: “Hi, we’re back!”

I used to think that bird-watching was a kind of useless but harmless activity. Now I think it may be saving my life, at this time in my life.

I first celebrated birds when I was bedridden in a rehab center after my legs gave out from under me, thanks to a spinal fracture complicated by osteoporosis. I spent many hours lying on my back, interrupted only only by wonderful staff, running in and out with various meds and my three meals, most of which I ate with my hands because it was how I could reach the food while flat on my back—and save myself from the humiliation of having to be spoon-fed. 

The birds simply re-appeared one day and signaled: “Hi we’re back.”

My favorite chirping champion here is the little yellow one, just to the upper right of center. She is singing her heart out—showing off and feeling inordinately proud of herself.  

To me these birds are more victorious than the battlers of Cinco de Mayo. Birds capture hearts by being quite naturally who they are. 

Do we really have to fight just to be—just to be¿ 

2024.04.28 PRAYER-ing. Sorting Out Baloney. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

What is—or isn’t—so much baloney about prayer?  

-lists of gripes—one or two is enough, one at a time

-asking God to do something you can do yourself—escapism

-blaming God for causing everything when some things are simply inherent to our humanity or genetically inherited

-expecting miracles and resenting outcomes as if God owed you something, or as if God interfered with the gift of human freedom

-always pray with total emotional honesty, and never condemn your true prayers 

Prayer is most alive when it is in the context of your life—what matters most to you. Make prayer a constant conversation by which you keep in touch with your own longings and desires, then trust God enough to share them all as you would with a trusted friend. Divine power is relational not interventional. Really?

So how do I know this?  Well, because God listened. I read about this amazing God in a kid’s book, plus my mother told me I came directly from God. This was baloney and not a particularly good thing to hear, since she’d told me I came from her and Daddy, like spontaneous combustion or something called “making love.” Not until I got to church, sang in the children’s choir, and actually knew I really was an angel of sorts, did I discover that God made rules, stood up high looking down on everyone, gave lectures and had great expectations for us all, all of which my mother ignored in favor of thinking I was already perfect. More baloney. Still, I chose the impossibly imperfect route, obeyed most rules, got married, had four children, divorced, remarried, and eventually got the Episcopal Church to ordain me against traditional rules, which, it turned out, were baloney.  

So how midst all this baloney did I learn to truly love myself, no baloney?  

-my mother lived through her own baloney and forgave me mine 

-my dad followed me to church  

-my second husband listened to me and waited for me to catch up or share the lead

-all my children listened to me, laughed with me, cried with me, foolishly followed me, still love—my baloney and theirs

-my therapist told me it was damn good to be a raging bull

-my spiritual directors confronted my baloney with Jesus and some of his living life as a prayer

-my younger sister shared her baloney and still does

-my youngest sister once asked me if I too felt guilty after I hung up from a conversation with our mother

-my consistently listening women friends

-my teachers taught me I was smart, baloney aside

-my Bible revealed its own baloney—slowly and gently

-my own reading and writing which cherished all my baloney—except arithmetic

-my publishers published my baloney

And finally, in ancient news, the oddest no-baloney teacher of all: the official Preface to The Book of Common Prayer, according to the use of The Episcopal Church, ratified in 1789:  “. . . thanks to “the liberty with which Christ has made us free . . . this book may be altered, abridged, enlarged, amended and otherwise disposed of as may seem most convenient for the edification of the people, according to the various exigency of times and occasions.”  

2024.04. 21 The Law Weighs In. Gospel Stays Steady. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

One of the very first little ditties, written for “little children weak and small,” I learned in Sunday School. It went like this:

Jesus loves me.

This I know.

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to him belong

They are weak but he is strong 

Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

The Bible tells me so. 

Now I am an aging adult still rooted in this childhood chant. It makes me laugh and cry at once. It is true and false all at once. It’s as “gospel” as the latest excerpt from a recent H.C. Richardson report:  "Many congress members have left Washington, D.C., since Friday was to be the first day of a planned recess. This meant the partisan majority on the floor fluctuated. Olivia Beavers of Politico reported that that instability made Freedom Caucus members nervous enough to put together a Floor Action Response Team (FART—I am not making this up) to make sure other Republicans didn’t limit the power of the extremists when they were off the floor."

FART for freedom? It actually might clear the air, especially if we add to it the little gospel ditty above. Can you imagine a divine fart?  We could call it the Big Bang. Laughter is down-to-earth embodied laughter. 

I stay clear of most political commentary, and yet........  I am drawn to the clarity of prosecuting attorney, Alvin Bragg. You can see his story in Sunday's NY Times magazine of 4/14/24. The sliver of hope I feel gently tugging at me is this: hush money payments are immoral and slimy but not illegal. HOWEVER, if the Republican presidential candidate running for election as President this November used money from his campaign donations to make such payments, that IS illegal.  Bragg steadfastly declined comment until he had thoroughly read everything. Only then did he choose to take this case, pronouncing himself "pleased."  It was the Law. 

His spokeswoman confessed later that "it was a struggle to get him to say even that.”

Such careful, undramatic, grounded, simple, and deliberate discernment I trust. Law and Gospel reconcile. 

And the Bible does tell us so:

        Beloved, let us love one another

because love is of God;

is begotten of God

and has knowledge of God.”   (I John 7:10)  

2024.04.14 In Whom To Trust? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

Watch what you say and to whom, especially if you are an authority figure. Watch whatever news you think is recent, even when it’s horrifying. Listen to people you trust with your one small precious life. Inconvenient as it is, you have to trust your own wisdom and divine Immanence alive within you—both/and. Follow your tears. That’s what the women who crept back to check on the dead Jesus did. It’s what all disciples do when they are afraid to trust. 

*  *  *  * 

It took nearly thirty years before I fully digested and embodied the personal implications of global warming/warning in my ongoing suburban life. By the 1970s, political furor about shortages of fuel meant that we had to wait in long lines to get gasoline for our car. Restless children wondered why we had to wait so long to get to—anywhere in our car. Delay was annoying. It was revealing. It was predictive. It was inconvenient. It was omnipresent. 

I bet the disciples of Jesus took a long time to figure out that Jesus’s gospel contained good and bad news together. He was telling them something that mattered on earth and in heaven, even though they didn’t understand or trust it. 

But right now it’s Easter, and Easter season lasts 50 days. Do we weep or rage or both?

All I hear and see in the “news” are images of war and poverty, dying children, and leaders who bully. I feel sad about getting old, sad about the pull of temptation to avoid my own sorrow. I am not afraid of dying as much as I am of losing faith in the vocation I struggled to fulfill.  In a word, I need  to trust Christ alive. I need blessed food. I need the depths of music and worship that hallow life itself—everywhere. AND I despise/distrust evangelical-ISM, as if Christianity were THE ONLY WAY for the whole world.

*  * *  *

The joy of Easter, whether I feel it or not, lifts me. It lingers in the air, on television, plastered on Facebook and also stuck in my heart, visible on my face, even in my tears. Great and unexpected joys are small and large, and they still happen. I don’t long to sit in a pew for worship. I do miss the soul of it—the hullabaloo, the Hosannas and Hallelujahs, the joyful ingredients alive and well and rising always everywhere—no matter what. Why Easter? Well, because Easter matters—on season AND off season! Day AND Night.

The Alleluia hype matters—for its own sake. For its own sake. It’s always present.