Jesus is on a roll with his platform, Sermon on the Mount, as remembered in Matthew’s gospel, delivering a hefty load of expectations, addressed to his Jewish listeners: “You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, then how can its saltiness be restored? It is no good for anything but is thrown out and trampled underfoot.”
Pretty harsh! Jesus was a wise and compassionate teacher, not one to offer gut courses in how to get into God’s graces. He offered Beatitudes (blessings) to help his listeners feel safe before he unfurled the full syllabus, replete with many images they would not/could not forget. One has always drawn me up short. I remember it often.
You are the salt of the earth. Do not lose your saltiness!
They didn’t forget. Even after Jesus was long dead and it took sixty years for anyone to write things down, they never stopped talking—talking, arguing, wondering, puzzling. We’re still doing this centuries later. The biblical memoir retains its powerful sting and crispness—saltiness. Why?
First, Jesus was so charismatic they came to believe that he was intimate with their God and Creator—intimate enough to speak for God, and to God.
Second, the followers, mostly poor and filled with fear and longing, were open to a message of hope against hope, even though it bewildered them and left them reeling. So drawn were they into Jesus’s irresistible message that God had not abandoned them that they kept on coming back for more.
Finally, there was a compelling reason to stay—a promise: energy and inspiration to find their own answers, to become activists if you will. To stay salty.
You are the salt of the earth. Do not lose your saltiness!
Today this charge looms large on our own horizons in this United States and in our Christian religion. How do we believe in ourselves when we’re so divided? How are we to be salty when so much feels flavorless? When so many do not want even to keep up with the daily news? When we go blind to the salty potential of putative enemies? Whom shall we follow?
Religious and political authority of Jesus’s day were stumped yet attracted as well, but they resorted to politics. They said: Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” they scoffed. Jesus was of course from Nazareth, a veritable slum not worth its own salt.
We are as scattered and in disarray in this country as they were in Jesus’s day. And yet we hear the echo and the challenge of Jesus’s wisdom ring in our ears, and sometimes from our public platforms.
You are the salt of the earth. Do not lose your saltiness!
I don’t know where you look for your saltiness, but I wonder if there is a Nazareth inside you, a hidden place you don’t easily reveal for fear of ridicule? Or outside you: someplace or group you revile out of fear? We all have our “nazareths.” Many can still feel stunned by ancient words so profound, demanding, and simultaneously compelling and frightening.
You are the salt of the earth. Do not lose your saltiness!
I don’t use salt anymore for health reasons and plain common sense, so I miss salt, its taste on my tongue, how it enhances an already good meal. Salt can jar my taste buds awake. I miss saltiness. Yet, if salt loses its saltiness can it be restored, or is it really doomed and worthless, a Jesus suggests?
Well, salt is not just a flavor savory, it is also a preservative. Most of us know people who are like the salt of the earth—good folks, often old, who have character, sardonic wit, and crust. There were many old salts in Gloucester where we served a parish for thirteen years. These are the people who remember, who preserve the good with the bad in their history and culture. These are they who are not afraid to argue and fight for what they love—and also to change their views for the same reason.
Our American democracy is at stake right now. It feels to many as if the saltiness has drained right out of it. This is not a new phenomenon. According to Jill Lepore, writing for The New Yorker Magazine (2/3/2020):“It’s the paradox of democracy that the best way to defend it is to argue about it.” That has been true throughout our history. This is how we preserve it. This is not at all to dismiss genuine concern and worry; it is, however, to say that when we are puzzled and bewildered and sure there’s not any good thing to come out of this, like Nazareth, just keep talking and arguing and loving and caring anyway, just as Jesus’s followers did.
I would say the same thing about the Bible—scriptures some call holy in the way that many Americans reverence the Bill of Rights and our Constitution. Why is this immense Holy Bible still alive? Why still salty?
We argue about what we love the most, and in the arguing process itself come new vitality, new awakenings, new directions, new ways to stay salty—both flavorful and preservative. So it was for Jesus’s listeners. So it will be for us.
You are the salt of the earth. Do not lose your saltiness!
Sunday, February 9, 2020
Sunday, February 2, 2020
2020.02.02 LIturgical MIndfulness
The Church blasts on about the Epiphany LIGHT of Christ. It’s Candlemas. We bless candles. We light candles. Remember however that shedding light can hurt as well as enlighten. Christ’s light exposes the whole truth and nothing but the truth—the ugly with the lovely, the good with the un-good, the godly with the ungodly.
I picked up one of my liturgist-spouse’s old WORSHIP magazines recently and read the column, “The Amen Corner.” Anthony Ruff, O.S.B. wrote that “liturgical incompetence” is “killing us.” Ruff, Associate Professor of Theology at St. John’s Abbey, Collegeville, Minnesota, is a gifted teacher of liturgy and music, author, and blogger who calls himself an “accidental activist.”
Ruff quotes this report of a priest who went to a summer parish mass on Sunday morning while at a weekend gathering at the beach of 25-30 extended family and friends—all cradle Catholics. Only the priest went off to Mass. No wonder.
“There was no opening hymn, because the organist hadn’t shown up on time. The organ was in the sanctuary, so you could see she wasn’t there, and you could also see when our luck ran out and she did show up (during the homily) . . . Nobody sang or even pretended to try, except the organist herself who also served as a kind of Wagnerian cantor (she definitely didn’t need that mike). And she seemed fine with the ‘no one else is singing but me’ part; really, she did.
The lector read the readings in a way that convinced me that he’d never read eyes on them before.
We powered through the . . . Mass as if the building was on fire. When I returned to my seat from communion, almost the entire section I was seated in was gone. . . .
At the dismissal, instead of some charge to go in peace and serve the Lord or announce the Gospel, the celebrant says, ‘Don’t forget, at the beach, it’s always Happy Hour.’ Really? Did he just give them permission to start drinking?”
Why would I want any of my dechurched family members to have set aside their various weekend activities to witness this gathering of the Body of Christ? The last place I would want to reintroduce them to worship was this half empty church for . . . a full miss when it comes to what the Christian community is supposed to be about when it assembles.”
This report is hilarious, incredible, and depressing. Tragically, it is NOT fake news! Okay, Ruff is Catholic, and okay, it was summer, and yes, okay, there are brilliant exceptions. Nevertheless, Ruff hit on something diagnostic that ails all churches today: liturgical incompetence. I might call it a lack of liturgical mindfulness. Mindfulness is focus, paying attention. We do it in yoga classes. Do we do that in liturgy?
Episcopalians rush to say that our church is liturgically exceptional, but it’s not. I have been in too many parishes in which mindless things happened, such as:
-the tempo is lickety-split (“powering” through, according to Ruff) as if worship of God were to be measured by clock time, or tee time;
-a reader does not know the difference between between prophecy (noun) and prophesy (verb), screeching out boldly proclaiming the voice of God calling the prophet to Prophesee! Prophesee!
-Lepers becoming “leapers.” Honestly, it’s happened, making the amazing gospel story of Jesus’s healing ten Leapers quite effective visually. One leapt back to say thanks.
-a young lector either races anxiously through a text, seemingly to show off their reading skills, or drags through it slowly and inaudibly, making the proclamation a secret;
-the POPS (Prayers of the People) being so wordy I forgot the focus, and/or there is absolute silence from the people, save for a parroted response: “Lord, hear our prayer”—proof we can read and obey instructions;
-a reader announcing the Opening CollECT, instead of COllect. We CollECT your money; we pray a COllect
-The Peace, originally instituted as a way for worshipers to share the Peace of Christ with one another, turning into a back fence hug fest of affection, as if it were our own personal greeting, including our own daily news;
-the Holy Eucharist becoming a contest to see who can get to the altar first, gulp a wafer, and race out in pursuit of the “real spread” at coffee hour.
These are pet peeves only, yet in truth, Ruff is right: we need to shed the harsh, illuminative light of Christ on liturgy, helping everyone experience the meaning of what we do and why. What does it tell us about God, ourselves, ritual, and prayer? Be mindful not rigid.
Cautonary: The late Aidan Kavanaugh, OSB, faculty at Yale Divinity School’s S.T.M. (Masters of Sacred Theology) program, and liturgical scholar issued a warning about liturgical perfectionism:
“To be consumed with worry over making a liturgical mistake is the greatest mistake of all. Reverence is a virtue, not a neurosis, and God can take care of [sic] Godself.
Tragic postscript: In 2019, Anthony Ruff was credibly accused of sexual predation by a minor at a summer camp, run by the National Catholic Youth Choir. The outcome is pending.This makes me feel very sad, but, in my opinion, it neither discredits or demeans Ruff’s scholarship, wisdom, wit, and keen liturgical perspective. His writing still edifies. He does not deserve erasure, only time, prayer, perhaps institutional mindfulness regarding its own roles and rules—and the Light of Christ.
I picked up one of my liturgist-spouse’s old WORSHIP magazines recently and read the column, “The Amen Corner.” Anthony Ruff, O.S.B. wrote that “liturgical incompetence” is “killing us.” Ruff, Associate Professor of Theology at St. John’s Abbey, Collegeville, Minnesota, is a gifted teacher of liturgy and music, author, and blogger who calls himself an “accidental activist.”
“There was no opening hymn, because the organist hadn’t shown up on time. The organ was in the sanctuary, so you could see she wasn’t there, and you could also see when our luck ran out and she did show up (during the homily) . . . Nobody sang or even pretended to try, except the organist herself who also served as a kind of Wagnerian cantor (she definitely didn’t need that mike). And she seemed fine with the ‘no one else is singing but me’ part; really, she did.
The lector read the readings in a way that convinced me that he’d never read eyes on them before.
We powered through the . . . Mass as if the building was on fire. When I returned to my seat from communion, almost the entire section I was seated in was gone. . . .
At the dismissal, instead of some charge to go in peace and serve the Lord or announce the Gospel, the celebrant says, ‘Don’t forget, at the beach, it’s always Happy Hour.’ Really? Did he just give them permission to start drinking?”
Why would I want any of my dechurched family members to have set aside their various weekend activities to witness this gathering of the Body of Christ? The last place I would want to reintroduce them to worship was this half empty church for . . . a full miss when it comes to what the Christian community is supposed to be about when it assembles.”
This report is hilarious, incredible, and depressing. Tragically, it is NOT fake news! Okay, Ruff is Catholic, and okay, it was summer, and yes, okay, there are brilliant exceptions. Nevertheless, Ruff hit on something diagnostic that ails all churches today: liturgical incompetence. I might call it a lack of liturgical mindfulness. Mindfulness is focus, paying attention. We do it in yoga classes. Do we do that in liturgy?
Episcopalians rush to say that our church is liturgically exceptional, but it’s not. I have been in too many parishes in which mindless things happened, such as:
-the tempo is lickety-split (“powering” through, according to Ruff) as if worship of God were to be measured by clock time, or tee time;
-a reader does not know the difference between between prophecy (noun) and prophesy (verb), screeching out boldly proclaiming the voice of God calling the prophet to Prophesee! Prophesee!
-Lepers becoming “leapers.” Honestly, it’s happened, making the amazing gospel story of Jesus’s healing ten Leapers quite effective visually. One leapt back to say thanks.
-a young lector either races anxiously through a text, seemingly to show off their reading skills, or drags through it slowly and inaudibly, making the proclamation a secret;
-the POPS (Prayers of the People) being so wordy I forgot the focus, and/or there is absolute silence from the people, save for a parroted response: “Lord, hear our prayer”—proof we can read and obey instructions;
-a reader announcing the Opening CollECT, instead of COllect. We CollECT your money; we pray a COllect
-The Peace, originally instituted as a way for worshipers to share the Peace of Christ with one another, turning into a back fence hug fest of affection, as if it were our own personal greeting, including our own daily news;
-the Holy Eucharist becoming a contest to see who can get to the altar first, gulp a wafer, and race out in pursuit of the “real spread” at coffee hour.
These are pet peeves only, yet in truth, Ruff is right: we need to shed the harsh, illuminative light of Christ on liturgy, helping everyone experience the meaning of what we do and why. What does it tell us about God, ourselves, ritual, and prayer? Be mindful not rigid.
Cautonary: The late Aidan Kavanaugh, OSB, faculty at Yale Divinity School’s S.T.M. (Masters of Sacred Theology) program, and liturgical scholar issued a warning about liturgical perfectionism:
“To be consumed with worry over making a liturgical mistake is the greatest mistake of all. Reverence is a virtue, not a neurosis, and God can take care of [sic] Godself.
Tragic postscript: In 2019, Anthony Ruff was credibly accused of sexual predation by a minor at a summer camp, run by the National Catholic Youth Choir. The outcome is pending.This makes me feel very sad, but, in my opinion, it neither discredits or demeans Ruff’s scholarship, wisdom, wit, and keen liturgical perspective. His writing still edifies. He does not deserve erasure, only time, prayer, perhaps institutional mindfulness regarding its own roles and rules—and the Light of Christ.
Sunday, January 26, 2020
2020.01.26 The Beatitudes—Jesus Takes Off!
A beatitude is not a bad attitude, although it might occasionally be construed that way. Beatitude means a supreme blessing or supreme blessedness, from Latin beatus (blessed). In the Orthodox Church it is a title given to patriarchs, as in his or your Beatitude. Don’t you love that? I will try it on my beloved Beatitude husband—And how is His Beatitude today?
Traditionally, then, a beatitude is a very good thing to be, or to have, or even to witness.
Nevertheless, and but……the eight beatitudes, placed into the mouth of Jesus the Christ, as remembered according to Matthew 5:3-10 in the New Testament from the Sermon on the Mount, are very hard blessings, mixed blessings. In short, you get the good with the not so good; for example, the merciful will obtain mercy, which implies they are in a state of being in need of mercy and/or are merciless. Mourners will be comforted, yet they will deeply mourn many times.
The biblical Beatitudes are the prelude to the Sermon on the Mount. I call this grand stump speech: Jesus takes off!
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they shall be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure of heart,
for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
Gospel of St. Matthew 5:3-10
What beatitudes might be meaningful centuries later in 2020?
Blessed are you who are impaired in mind, body or spirit,
for you elicit the joy of love, and will be made whole.
Blessed are they who hate and despise,
for they shall be loved anyway.
Blessed are you beggars who bless us with gratitude and good cheer,
for you shall receive bits of money.
Blessed are you atheists and agnostics and cynics,
for you shall see God.
Blessed are you of great financial wealth,
for you shall receive greater wealth of soul.
Blessed are you sinners who twist and writhe away from light,
for they shall be seen and their fear banished.
Blessed are you who blame or shame,
for you shall be transformed into a giant seesaw that teeters but never slams down on either side.
Blessed are you know-it-alls,
for you shall receive the gift of uproarious laughter.
Blessed are children who wonder and wander and giggle and weep and whoop and holler and bother, for yours is already the kingdom of heaven.
AMEN, my Beatitudes.
Traditionally, then, a beatitude is a very good thing to be, or to have, or even to witness.
Nevertheless, and but……the eight beatitudes, placed into the mouth of Jesus the Christ, as remembered according to Matthew 5:3-10 in the New Testament from the Sermon on the Mount, are very hard blessings, mixed blessings. In short, you get the good with the not so good; for example, the merciful will obtain mercy, which implies they are in a state of being in need of mercy and/or are merciless. Mourners will be comforted, yet they will deeply mourn many times.
The biblical Beatitudes are the prelude to the Sermon on the Mount. I call this grand stump speech: Jesus takes off!
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they shall be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure of heart,
for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
Gospel of St. Matthew 5:3-10
What beatitudes might be meaningful centuries later in 2020?
Blessed are you who are impaired in mind, body or spirit,
for you elicit the joy of love, and will be made whole.
Blessed are they who hate and despise,
for they shall be loved anyway.
Blessed are you beggars who bless us with gratitude and good cheer,
for you shall receive bits of money.
Blessed are you atheists and agnostics and cynics,
for you shall see God.
Blessed are you of great financial wealth,
for you shall receive greater wealth of soul.
Blessed are you sinners who twist and writhe away from light,
for they shall be seen and their fear banished.
Blessed are you who blame or shame,
for you shall be transformed into a giant seesaw that teeters but never slams down on either side.
Blessed are you know-it-alls,
for you shall receive the gift of uproarious laughter.
Blessed are children who wonder and wander and giggle and weep and whoop and holler and bother, for yours is already the kingdom of heaven.
AMEN, my Beatitudes.
Sunday, January 19, 2020
2020.01.19 Prayer Habits
The most important thing I offer about prayer is this: Make it a habit! Some of it will feel useless or tepid, or foolish, or too wise for your own darn good, but do it anyway. It forces you to shift the focus away from your own glorious and ever-needy ego—at least once a day. It humbles you to invest some faith in a mysterious power deeper and greater than yourself, while you are simultaneously investing in your embodied self.
Things about prayer:
There is no wrong or right way to pray.
Never pray for something you are not willing also to work for, however you can.
There are public prayers we all say together when we worship, and there are personal prayers we say inside our hearts, or alone in voice or song. All are equally spiritual. There is absolutely nothing you cannot express to God in prayer.
You do not have to believe in God to pray. If you’re worried about that, just pretend you do, or address an image of God you can open up to. God does not care. (It’s humans who do!) Besides, God will pray with and for you—no matter what.
Prayer may not change things outside you, but it will change you from within. You will get to know yourself better as you pray. What matters most deeply? What are your ideas about God and why? What happens when you pray to Jesus?
It is as important to ask as it is to receive. BOTH. And for the love of God do remember to say thank you, occasionally.
It’s important to involve your body when you pray. There are many praying postures.
Jews daven and murmur prayers. They move their lips and their bodies bow up and down. They pace and pray the psalms when a child is being born—nervous for the labor of childbirth, therefore rote well known prayers are the menu.
All Psalms are prayer songs to chant. Shiru l’Adonai shir chadash (Sing to the Lord a new song.)
Buddhists and yogis and yoginis make prayer hands as they bow to one another and say Namaste (The divine within me salutes the divine within you.)
Muslims kneel and bow down five times a day to recite prayers—all the way down to touch the sacred earth and pray. FIVE!
Pray naked—very revealing. (Don't recommend trying this in church on Sunday, at least until everyone has gone home—or not.)
Christians pray standing , kneeling, sitting, and making the sign of the cross (head, groin, right side, left side). The Eastern Orthodox cross right to left. I do both. The gesture makes the sign of the cross to remember the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ, Christians’ role model to say the very least, and to remind me—and God—to be in my mind, womb, right side, left side. [I cannot resist an old yiddish joke that explains crossing oneself to remember: spectacles, testicles, vallet and vatch.]
Most prayers address the Divine. ALL prayer is energy that connects divine and earthly, temporal and eternal. Do animals pray? Of course. Look deeply into the eyes of a dog. Relax into the vibrations of a cat’s purr. Shiver to a lion's roar. Or go on a silent retreat and listen to your own breath.
Prayer is a spiritual practice, a habit as essential to life as cleanliness and courtesy. It keeps the soul alive. When you cannot pray, others do it for you.
I have kept a prayer journal at different times in my life. I write letters to God: Dear God, love, Lyn. P.S. Amen and I love you.
Things about prayer:
There is no wrong or right way to pray.
Never pray for something you are not willing also to work for, however you can.
There are public prayers we all say together when we worship, and there are personal prayers we say inside our hearts, or alone in voice or song. All are equally spiritual. There is absolutely nothing you cannot express to God in prayer.
You do not have to believe in God to pray. If you’re worried about that, just pretend you do, or address an image of God you can open up to. God does not care. (It’s humans who do!) Besides, God will pray with and for you—no matter what.
Prayer may not change things outside you, but it will change you from within. You will get to know yourself better as you pray. What matters most deeply? What are your ideas about God and why? What happens when you pray to Jesus?
It is as important to ask as it is to receive. BOTH. And for the love of God do remember to say thank you, occasionally.
It’s important to involve your body when you pray. There are many praying postures.
Jews daven and murmur prayers. They move their lips and their bodies bow up and down. They pace and pray the psalms when a child is being born—nervous for the labor of childbirth, therefore rote well known prayers are the menu.
All Psalms are prayer songs to chant. Shiru l’Adonai shir chadash (Sing to the Lord a new song.)
Buddhists and yogis and yoginis make prayer hands as they bow to one another and say Namaste (The divine within me salutes the divine within you.)
Muslims kneel and bow down five times a day to recite prayers—all the way down to touch the sacred earth and pray. FIVE!
Pray naked—very revealing. (Don't recommend trying this in church on Sunday, at least until everyone has gone home—or not.)
Christians pray standing , kneeling, sitting, and making the sign of the cross (head, groin, right side, left side). The Eastern Orthodox cross right to left. I do both. The gesture makes the sign of the cross to remember the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ, Christians’ role model to say the very least, and to remind me—and God—to be in my mind, womb, right side, left side. [I cannot resist an old yiddish joke that explains crossing oneself to remember: spectacles, testicles, vallet and vatch.]
Most prayers address the Divine. ALL prayer is energy that connects divine and earthly, temporal and eternal. Do animals pray? Of course. Look deeply into the eyes of a dog. Relax into the vibrations of a cat’s purr. Shiver to a lion's roar. Or go on a silent retreat and listen to your own breath.
Prayer is a spiritual practice, a habit as essential to life as cleanliness and courtesy. It keeps the soul alive. When you cannot pray, others do it for you.
I have kept a prayer journal at different times in my life. I write letters to God: Dear God, love, Lyn. P.S. Amen and I love you.
Sunday, January 12, 2020
2020.01.12 The God Between Us. A Spirituality of Relationships
I had this idea some years ago: we think that the space in between us is empty, but it is really crackling with energy. That energy pulls for connection. That energy is the one Christians call Holy Spirit. That energy is like an electric current. I call it the God Between, pulling for healing, healing with which we can cooperate should we chose to trust it. I wrote about my idea.
The God Between connects us through Word and Sacrament, through a tiny blade of green grass, through the grin of a child, over distances our bodies cannot traverse but for which our souls deeply yearn.
When I met with couples for counseling, I invited them to focus on their relationship, the space between them, the space we called their relationship, a relationship on which each depends for spiritual nourishment How do they take care of its life, tend it? I’d tell them: “Your relationship is the client/patient here. We are here together to examine the relationship." They’d either flee, thinking me insane, or become creatively involved, with me and their trust in God, in examining what each one brought to the shared space between them: regular rage? icy cubes? nothing?A relationship into which each one dumps constant anger, for example, begins to look like roadkill—malnutritious, if not downright toxic to all parties.
To my delight, my current publisher has just brought my out-of-print 2001 book, The God Between Us. A Spirituality of Relationships, back into circulation. It contains midrash stories based on biblical relationships. It is available on Amazon or from publisher, Wipf and Stock. What others said:
""This work is absolutely unique, and potentially radically transformative for any reader who takes its premise to heart. Rev. Brakeman proposes a way of listening to biblical narrative. . . that brings the contemplative reader a fresh awareness of how the divine is present to us in the 'between' of vital human relationships."" --John McDargh, PhD, Boston College, Department of Theology
""A skilled weaver of stories, Lyn Brakeman offers a creative and challenging approach to the Great Mystery of divine and human love. Her use of words is lively and disarming. . .her refreshing perspective on familiar biblical stories draws the reader into unexpected depths. There is much in this book for prayer and pondering."" —Margaret Guenther, author of The Practice of Prayer
""Lyn Brakeman is without a peer as an imaginative wordsmith in making biblical characters come alive in the fullness of their humanity while wrestling with powerful issues that are of contemporary concern. By her poetic description and beautifully crafted dialogue, she captures the loving truths of interpersonal relationships and human struggles amidst the presence of the God Between Us.”"—Merle Jordan, ThD, AAPC Diplomate, Emeritus Professor of Pastoral Psychology at Boston University School of Theology, Author of Reclaiming Your Story: Family History and Spiritual Growth. (Sadly, Professor Jordan died in 2018)
When I met with couples for counseling, I invited them to focus on their relationship, the space between them, the space we called their relationship, a relationship on which each depends for spiritual nourishment How do they take care of its life, tend it? I’d tell them: “Your relationship is the client/patient here. We are here together to examine the relationship." They’d either flee, thinking me insane, or become creatively involved, with me and their trust in God, in examining what each one brought to the shared space between them: regular rage? icy cubes? nothing?A relationship into which each one dumps constant anger, for example, begins to look like roadkill—malnutritious, if not downright toxic to all parties.
To my delight, my current publisher has just brought my out-of-print 2001 book, The God Between Us. A Spirituality of Relationships, back into circulation. It contains midrash stories based on biblical relationships. It is available on Amazon or from publisher, Wipf and Stock. What others said:
""This work is absolutely unique, and potentially radically transformative for any reader who takes its premise to heart. Rev. Brakeman proposes a way of listening to biblical narrative. . . that brings the contemplative reader a fresh awareness of how the divine is present to us in the 'between' of vital human relationships."" --John McDargh, PhD, Boston College, Department of Theology
""A skilled weaver of stories, Lyn Brakeman offers a creative and challenging approach to the Great Mystery of divine and human love. Her use of words is lively and disarming. . .her refreshing perspective on familiar biblical stories draws the reader into unexpected depths. There is much in this book for prayer and pondering."" —Margaret Guenther, author of The Practice of Prayer
""Lyn Brakeman is without a peer as an imaginative wordsmith in making biblical characters come alive in the fullness of their humanity while wrestling with powerful issues that are of contemporary concern. By her poetic description and beautifully crafted dialogue, she captures the loving truths of interpersonal relationships and human struggles amidst the presence of the God Between Us.”"—Merle Jordan, ThD, AAPC Diplomate, Emeritus Professor of Pastoral Psychology at Boston University School of Theology, Author of Reclaiming Your Story: Family History and Spiritual Growth. (Sadly, Professor Jordan died in 2018)
Sunday, January 5, 2020
2020.01.05 Gratitude?
Gratitude is platitude. This phrase popped into my waning, wandering mind sometime earlier this week on a dreary, drizzly, doomsey, sunless day, the umpteenth in a row. What a horrid thing to think! I berated my ingratitude, platitudinous as it may be. I have attitude.
What am I saying when everyone reminds me in every way possible in church and secular deepest state, and deeper church, that I should be grateful —ALL the time—for my health, my security, family, friends, a beloved husband who isn’t sick and who is still mentally alert, and much fun.
But how silly all this meandering is, I tell myself. You feel blue? So get up off your arse and DO something that makes a difference. So I do. First, I moan and whine to my beloved who listens and supplies counter attacks on my essential feelings of inadequacy. His solutions are too obvious, but they make me cry, which I need to do when I’m squeezed into a mood like this. What do the Jungians calls it? Oh yes, my shadow side, or some such hifalutin malarkey. The next thing I do is practical and useful: I clean the inside, yes, INSIDE of the washing machine.
Ok, so how about reading something uplifting that will NOT make me feel grateful. Because I’m sick of gratitude. It only makes me feel guilty and mealy-mouthed. It has no tread, no backbone.
I pick up my Berkeley Divinity School newsletter and read a brilliant letter from Dean McGowan whom I admire—for his accent and his wise mind. He reminds me that the whole church is on the fritz. I know that already. He has no ideas but says it all so brilliantly that I fall into a jealous swoon. McGowan calls for more “thought-leaders to engage both the perennial truths of the Gospel and lessons from history, ancient and modern.”
I’m a thought leader, I think. So I read further into the magazine. There I see numbers of wonderful women who have brought honor to my seminary. Women who are firsts. Women who have done amazing things. Women who get prizes named after them. Yes, I should be grateful for these wonderful leaders shining from within the pages of the Anglican branch of my seminary’s newsletter. I have done some amazing things too. I have been passionately preaching about non-binary (love that word) gender-free language for God for years. I’m an author. How great I am. How under-appreciated I feel. How needy. Oh boo hoo and bullshit.
Then suddenly I feel a swell of anger. I’ve hit bottom, and bottom is exactly where I need to be. It’s where God took me as a disgruntled child, and where God always takes me when I’m overwrought, upset, and self-critical. God listens to me get pissed off and powerful. Why?
Why in the bejesus are we STILL touting firsts and sheroes and women who are doing all the same thing men before them have done and still do? Same praise recipe, just add a gender. How can we REALLY heal the oppressively patriarchal system in which we all have been trapped for centuries? REALLY change it rather than simply touting all the top ten players. Oh yes, lots of others get named because they gave money, that list too is rank-ordered. How can we go for deep change to bring about real justice, real embodied and shared equality in this patriarchalized, topdown world without bashing traditional winners? All we do is move the players around like pieces on the same board without changing the game. It’s not enough for abundant gratitude—the worst kind of spiritual slather-on-demand gratitude.
My anger lets me rise up, focus, and by God I do feel better! Better enough to go out into the dark, because I want to get to CVS before the day is out and redeem my feeble little $10 off for the $40 I will have to spend just to redeem one godforsaken coupon. I buy a HUGE jar of soothing Cetaphil for my aging skin, and then something sensible like Mucinex-D for my cough, plus a bag of M&Ms. I have to buy these in order to get enough on my tab to validate my coupon. The young man behind the counter checks me out and with me goes a paper strip—more coupons. It runs from my chin to my ankle (literally)—a large dose of corporate coupon hospitality. By now I’m laughing out loud. I bust open the M&Ms and throw a handful into my mouth. God, I’m grateful for the sweet wee treats.
Laughter is very close to anger focused and released. Much more healing than gooey gratitude.
What am I saying when everyone reminds me in every way possible in church and secular deepest state, and deeper church, that I should be grateful —ALL the time—for my health, my security, family, friends, a beloved husband who isn’t sick and who is still mentally alert, and much fun.
But how silly all this meandering is, I tell myself. You feel blue? So get up off your arse and DO something that makes a difference. So I do. First, I moan and whine to my beloved who listens and supplies counter attacks on my essential feelings of inadequacy. His solutions are too obvious, but they make me cry, which I need to do when I’m squeezed into a mood like this. What do the Jungians calls it? Oh yes, my shadow side, or some such hifalutin malarkey. The next thing I do is practical and useful: I clean the inside, yes, INSIDE of the washing machine.
Ok, so how about reading something uplifting that will NOT make me feel grateful. Because I’m sick of gratitude. It only makes me feel guilty and mealy-mouthed. It has no tread, no backbone.
I pick up my Berkeley Divinity School newsletter and read a brilliant letter from Dean McGowan whom I admire—for his accent and his wise mind. He reminds me that the whole church is on the fritz. I know that already. He has no ideas but says it all so brilliantly that I fall into a jealous swoon. McGowan calls for more “thought-leaders to engage both the perennial truths of the Gospel and lessons from history, ancient and modern.”
I’m a thought leader, I think. So I read further into the magazine. There I see numbers of wonderful women who have brought honor to my seminary. Women who are firsts. Women who have done amazing things. Women who get prizes named after them. Yes, I should be grateful for these wonderful leaders shining from within the pages of the Anglican branch of my seminary’s newsletter. I have done some amazing things too. I have been passionately preaching about non-binary (love that word) gender-free language for God for years. I’m an author. How great I am. How under-appreciated I feel. How needy. Oh boo hoo and bullshit.
Then suddenly I feel a swell of anger. I’ve hit bottom, and bottom is exactly where I need to be. It’s where God took me as a disgruntled child, and where God always takes me when I’m overwrought, upset, and self-critical. God listens to me get pissed off and powerful. Why?
Why in the bejesus are we STILL touting firsts and sheroes and women who are doing all the same thing men before them have done and still do? Same praise recipe, just add a gender. How can we REALLY heal the oppressively patriarchal system in which we all have been trapped for centuries? REALLY change it rather than simply touting all the top ten players. Oh yes, lots of others get named because they gave money, that list too is rank-ordered. How can we go for deep change to bring about real justice, real embodied and shared equality in this patriarchalized, topdown world without bashing traditional winners? All we do is move the players around like pieces on the same board without changing the game. It’s not enough for abundant gratitude—the worst kind of spiritual slather-on-demand gratitude.
My anger lets me rise up, focus, and by God I do feel better! Better enough to go out into the dark, because I want to get to CVS before the day is out and redeem my feeble little $10 off for the $40 I will have to spend just to redeem one godforsaken coupon. I buy a HUGE jar of soothing Cetaphil for my aging skin, and then something sensible like Mucinex-D for my cough, plus a bag of M&Ms. I have to buy these in order to get enough on my tab to validate my coupon. The young man behind the counter checks me out and with me goes a paper strip—more coupons. It runs from my chin to my ankle (literally)—a large dose of corporate coupon hospitality. By now I’m laughing out loud. I bust open the M&Ms and throw a handful into my mouth. God, I’m grateful for the sweet wee treats.
Laughter is very close to anger focused and released. Much more healing than gooey gratitude.
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
2020.01.01 New New New
We have 7 flesh and blood children. We have 12 flesh and blood grandchildren. We have 28 stuffed children, too. Here are some of them to say Happy New Year to you all. See them grin and wave.
They are l.tor r.—Walter, our pescatarian, Leo, our zodiak sign, Ganley #1, wee hedgehog atop Leo, Ganley #2 another wee hedgehog a she-hedgehog, Miss Wise, my totem, standing as a watch-owl over the whole group, and lastly but not leastly, Izzy, the Ladybug.
You see what can happen when you don't have your own children together? Well, you infuse your stuffies with mystical meaning and love. These 6 sleep between us every night and travel with us, only when they're very good.
When we told a good friend about "The Babies," she commented with a grin: "You two fascinate me."
Anyway, have hope and grin and grist in 2020.
They are l.tor r.—Walter, our pescatarian, Leo, our zodiak sign, Ganley #1, wee hedgehog atop Leo, Ganley #2 another wee hedgehog a she-hedgehog, Miss Wise, my totem, standing as a watch-owl over the whole group, and lastly but not leastly, Izzy, the Ladybug.
You see what can happen when you don't have your own children together? Well, you infuse your stuffies with mystical meaning and love. These 6 sleep between us every night and travel with us, only when they're very good.
When we told a good friend about "The Babies," she commented with a grin: "You two fascinate me."
Anyway, have hope and grin and grist in 2020.
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