You sit before a blank computer screen all lit up and ready for you to come on stage. You decide to get a cup of coffee. It’s your third attempt to jumpstart yourself.
You return to your seat and stare into the blank white wilderness, which is not sand or snow, but page.
You are a writer. You are full of ideas and hopes, determination and resilience, creativity and vulnerability.
Suddenly an idea comes flying across your mental screen. “I write most eloquently when I write about grief.” You write that down. You wonder if it is a truism. Can it count for universal?
Who writes about joy? It’s too boring. Too much like Eden. No wonder Eve and Adam broke out. Another thought occurs to you: “Freedom is joyous and a very hard ethic.”
Then you remember a phrase in a prayer from the Book of Common Prayer. It’s one of the closing prayers in the service of Compline said at the end of a day just before sleep.
“Shield the joyous.”
It wraps up a series of petitions: “comfort the afflicted,” “give rest to the weary,” “soothe the dying.”
Then, “... shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.”
Unbidden tears blur your view of the page. You remember your mother’s forced joyfulness, her many uncried tears you longed to see and share.
You begin to write about your mother’s locked heart. You write your tears into words.
You are a writer writing—and all for the sake of love.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
2011.02.18 All Sacred, Yes?
Churches have a practice called de-consecration of sanctuaries that will close and likely be used for another purpose. There is a gathering of mourners probably, a bishop and a rite with prayers, etc.
I’ve never been to one of these events but today they are popular given the fact that there are many parishes in moribund states—alas.
As one who had a natural bent from childhood to consecrate stuff, and as a priest of the Eucharist, I think it odd to de-consecrate anything.
Do we imagine that we control the presence of holiness? Do we think holiness comes and goes at the wave of a hand? Do we think a secular use for a space will make it not sacred unholy?
Why not leave the building in its consecrated state and leave it to the Divine Spirit to inspire new occupants (condo owners?) or to resurrect life even after a wrecking ball comes?
(In this post there is a clue to the where is God in this “divine story” I posted just days ago. Perhaps God was in the DNR decision? Do we strive for life at all costs even if our efforts are loving?)
I’ve never been to one of these events but today they are popular given the fact that there are many parishes in moribund states—alas.
As one who had a natural bent from childhood to consecrate stuff, and as a priest of the Eucharist, I think it odd to de-consecrate anything.
Do we imagine that we control the presence of holiness? Do we think holiness comes and goes at the wave of a hand? Do we think a secular use for a space will make it not sacred unholy?
Why not leave the building in its consecrated state and leave it to the Divine Spirit to inspire new occupants (condo owners?) or to resurrect life even after a wrecking ball comes?
(In this post there is a clue to the where is God in this “divine story” I posted just days ago. Perhaps God was in the DNR decision? Do we strive for life at all costs even if our efforts are loving?)
Monday, February 14, 2011
2011.02.14 Valentine Smooches
There are so many ancient St. Valentines that I‘ve decided this day should be designated as holy and a feast day on the liturgical calendar which currently has this day reserved for Sts. Cyril (monk) and Methodius (bishop) !
Who? Missionaries to the Slavs. But not a bad valentine couple, as monk and bishop are often at odds.
For today I think the best way to celebrate is to consider the sanctity of all life, all creation. To sacralize everything with a kiss—from the whole cosmos, to your favorite tree, to the neighborhood dog who barks too much, to your beloved significant other or friend, and of course yourself.
Pucker up. Smooch and MmmmmmmWAH!
Who? Missionaries to the Slavs. But not a bad valentine couple, as monk and bishop are often at odds.
For today I think the best way to celebrate is to consider the sanctity of all life, all creation. To sacralize everything with a kiss—from the whole cosmos, to your favorite tree, to the neighborhood dog who barks too much, to your beloved significant other or friend, and of course yourself.
Pucker up. Smooch and MmmmmmmWAH!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
2011.02.09 In Whose Hands? A Divine Love Story
I will tell you a divine story. A love/Love story with a catch.
It’s about a child, not Jesus but christ ( you don’t have to be Christian to be a christ, divinity in human form)
A child is born in a hospital surrounded by sterile instruments and blue-scrubbed doctors and nurses. The baby’s mother is not Mary but Susie. Susie and the unborn infant do all the work.
In the waiting room a family sits on the edges of their chairs. A kindly hospital chaplain is the runner carrying reports from the birthing room.
Everyone is worried because Susie is, well, past her prime for bearing a child and this is her first.
When this modern day infant emerges to screech her welcome to planet earth everyone applauds until the nurse who has cleaned and wrapped the child hands her to Susie and says “I’m so sorry.”
The little girl had multiple birth defects, some visible and some invisible, some physical and some mental, all of them life threatening.
When the father came out to tell the assembled loved ones he was crying. What was wrong? He had to tell them, “Our little girl is not perfect.”
The family surrounded the couple and their deformed daughter with love—and commitment to give this child every privilege of human life they could offer, and to keep her alive as long as possible.
As time went on the child grew to her teens. She was cheerful and a delight to all who met her, but because of her condition her affect was always bright and did not register other feelings.
The girl spent more time being rushed to the hospital for resuscitation and other procedures than in her parents’ embrace. Each time the family would gather and pray and each time the child would be brought back to life. Over and over. And each time the family would rejoice and praise God. Another day of life for their beloved daughter.
Anne, a neighbor and good friend of the family’s sighed heavily and said to a friend. “Honestly if she were my girl I’d have instituted a DNR long ago.”
“What? I can’t believe you’re saying this.” responded her friend with a glare of disapproval. Anne gave her not an apology or an explanation but her tears.
What is divine in this story? Where is Love?
It’s about a child, not Jesus but christ ( you don’t have to be Christian to be a christ, divinity in human form)
A child is born in a hospital surrounded by sterile instruments and blue-scrubbed doctors and nurses. The baby’s mother is not Mary but Susie. Susie and the unborn infant do all the work.
In the waiting room a family sits on the edges of their chairs. A kindly hospital chaplain is the runner carrying reports from the birthing room.
Everyone is worried because Susie is, well, past her prime for bearing a child and this is her first.
When this modern day infant emerges to screech her welcome to planet earth everyone applauds until the nurse who has cleaned and wrapped the child hands her to Susie and says “I’m so sorry.”
The little girl had multiple birth defects, some visible and some invisible, some physical and some mental, all of them life threatening.
When the father came out to tell the assembled loved ones he was crying. What was wrong? He had to tell them, “Our little girl is not perfect.”
The family surrounded the couple and their deformed daughter with love—and commitment to give this child every privilege of human life they could offer, and to keep her alive as long as possible.
As time went on the child grew to her teens. She was cheerful and a delight to all who met her, but because of her condition her affect was always bright and did not register other feelings.
The girl spent more time being rushed to the hospital for resuscitation and other procedures than in her parents’ embrace. Each time the family would gather and pray and each time the child would be brought back to life. Over and over. And each time the family would rejoice and praise God. Another day of life for their beloved daughter.
Anne, a neighbor and good friend of the family’s sighed heavily and said to a friend. “Honestly if she were my girl I’d have instituted a DNR long ago.”
“What? I can’t believe you’re saying this.” responded her friend with a glare of disapproval. Anne gave her not an apology or an explanation but her tears.
What is divine in this story? Where is Love?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
2011.02.02 A Costly Wound to Clean Up
Today, according to the Church’s liturgical calendar, we remember the Feast of the Presentation today.
Briefly it’s when Jesus goes public. His parents bring him to the Temple to be presented, declared holy to the Lord God, and get circumcised into the covenant—the first of many wounds to his innocent flesh.
I think of this day as the feast of vulnerability, a time to be aware of the limitations of our common humanity.
When I was being rejected, unjustly I thought, in the Episcopal church for ordination many years back a wise woman told me something I never forgot. The now late Madeleine L’Engle, author and faithful Christian who died a few years ago, said to me. “When you get ordained, and you will, do not become a little man!”
Do it differently, I took that to mean.
It does not escape my, yes feminist non-nazi type, notice that it is women who will pay the price now for becoming part of the patriarchal ways of cheating the system as if it doesn't matter much because of the value of "good" patronage for "sound" political gains!!
Two immediate examples: Dianne Wilkerson and Patrice Tierney. Of course I am generalizing to make a point and severity of misconduct varies, but when the men decide at last that we all are equal, with respect to crime and punishment, under the law, it may be the women who end up in jail.
Of course it is possible that the public will conclude that it was because Patrice Tierney was a woman that her tax fraud crime happened, too soft, helping her brother, her family, etc, etc. But I think it's a good chance for Congressman John Tierney as a good man and husband to do a role switch: to stand behind his woman while she is handcuffed and led off for her body search and prison garb.
That noted, it is still time to clean house. I'm proud of Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick for doing so in the Parole Board. Public safety and public health are transcendent goals.
Personally I am sad that people think it’s okay to cheat, to be immoral. It hurts all of us.
But if the good God spirit has a say in this, these women and others who pay the consequences of a long corrupt system may serve also as noble and humble examples in a system where true justice, not classist/racist/sexist manipulations, will prevail.
Briefly it’s when Jesus goes public. His parents bring him to the Temple to be presented, declared holy to the Lord God, and get circumcised into the covenant—the first of many wounds to his innocent flesh.
I think of this day as the feast of vulnerability, a time to be aware of the limitations of our common humanity.
When I was being rejected, unjustly I thought, in the Episcopal church for ordination many years back a wise woman told me something I never forgot. The now late Madeleine L’Engle, author and faithful Christian who died a few years ago, said to me. “When you get ordained, and you will, do not become a little man!”
Do it differently, I took that to mean.
It does not escape my, yes feminist non-nazi type, notice that it is women who will pay the price now for becoming part of the patriarchal ways of cheating the system as if it doesn't matter much because of the value of "good" patronage for "sound" political gains!!
Two immediate examples: Dianne Wilkerson and Patrice Tierney. Of course I am generalizing to make a point and severity of misconduct varies, but when the men decide at last that we all are equal, with respect to crime and punishment, under the law, it may be the women who end up in jail.
Of course it is possible that the public will conclude that it was because Patrice Tierney was a woman that her tax fraud crime happened, too soft, helping her brother, her family, etc, etc. But I think it's a good chance for Congressman John Tierney as a good man and husband to do a role switch: to stand behind his woman while she is handcuffed and led off for her body search and prison garb.
That noted, it is still time to clean house. I'm proud of Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick for doing so in the Parole Board. Public safety and public health are transcendent goals.
Personally I am sad that people think it’s okay to cheat, to be immoral. It hurts all of us.
But if the good God spirit has a say in this, these women and others who pay the consequences of a long corrupt system may serve also as noble and humble examples in a system where true justice, not classist/racist/sexist manipulations, will prevail.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
2011.01.26 Old is for Love
Damn, it’s hard to get old, even harder to admit you’re getting old and you can’t do it all like you used to.
When your kids were young you were afraid to drive and get lost, you terrorized them to be absolutely still, without a move or a word or a whimper even if they had to pee, while you found your way to your city destination.
Today you terrorize them without meaning to by forgetting to put the phone tightly back on the cradle so one of them thinks you’ve fallen, or worse dropped dead to the floor, and comes rushing over to find you smiling. What’s the matter, dear?
So darlings, it is time for you, and me, to be sensible. (Hate that word.) We’re powerless over our beloved aging flesh.
Let them help you as you once helped them even if it means changing you like a baby—the ultimate in intimate embarrassment. I did it once for my mother, both of us looking miserable, wan smiles, whispered thanks, and it’s okay Mom.
This generation swop is also the perfect imitation of the humility of God Herself when She came into our tissue paper flesh, loving enough to let us change, bathe, feed, swaddle, cradle, and in the end take Her down from the death bed cross, to bathe one more time, then anoint and kiss good bye.
When your kids were young you were afraid to drive and get lost, you terrorized them to be absolutely still, without a move or a word or a whimper even if they had to pee, while you found your way to your city destination.
Today you terrorize them without meaning to by forgetting to put the phone tightly back on the cradle so one of them thinks you’ve fallen, or worse dropped dead to the floor, and comes rushing over to find you smiling. What’s the matter, dear?
So darlings, it is time for you, and me, to be sensible. (Hate that word.) We’re powerless over our beloved aging flesh.
Let them help you as you once helped them even if it means changing you like a baby—the ultimate in intimate embarrassment. I did it once for my mother, both of us looking miserable, wan smiles, whispered thanks, and it’s okay Mom.
This generation swop is also the perfect imitation of the humility of God Herself when She came into our tissue paper flesh, loving enough to let us change, bathe, feed, swaddle, cradle, and in the end take Her down from the death bed cross, to bathe one more time, then anoint and kiss good bye.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
2011.01.23 Prayer to be christs in Christ
Many people I know, love, work with and care about are on the lip edge of great expectations, great hopes and great fears. This is true in church, nation, society, world.
Most will try hard, give all their smarts, energy and commitment to their visions, and still, much may not come to pass despite our best efforts, and so, we will suffer, surrender and trust Godde as Jesus did. We will be christs in Christ—or so I pray.
Oh Jesus, we wanted a rescuer and we got a lover.
We so wanted success and we got failure.
We wished and prayed and got smart and organized.
And still............................
We know many things will not work out, even with our best efforts.
Jesus, weep with us.
Be a Spirit of living failure in us.
Help us to fail with grace.
Help us to stop trying so hard, hurrying and scurrying,
clicking and forwarding.
Help us to let ourselves be loved, simply loved.
Help us to be you—whole heartedly you.
Bless to us the gift of humility
in our humiliations.
Most will try hard, give all their smarts, energy and commitment to their visions, and still, much may not come to pass despite our best efforts, and so, we will suffer, surrender and trust Godde as Jesus did. We will be christs in Christ—or so I pray.
Oh Jesus, we wanted a rescuer and we got a lover.
We so wanted success and we got failure.
We wished and prayed and got smart and organized.
And still............................
We know many things will not work out, even with our best efforts.
Jesus, weep with us.
Be a Spirit of living failure in us.
Help us to fail with grace.
Help us to stop trying so hard, hurrying and scurrying,
clicking and forwarding.
Help us to let ourselves be loved, simply loved.
Help us to be you—whole heartedly you.
Bless to us the gift of humility
in our humiliations.
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