2022.07.31 How Rich Are You? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

What makes you feel rich? Of course it is very nice to have enough money to live comfortably, pay your rent, and buy good food. Yes, nice, but  don’t watch the news—photos of all the world’s poor huddled masses shrinking from bombs, children all ribs and all filth. I do not know what to do at all about the spirituality of all this. I do not know how to keep myself from bad moods at the very least. I do not know how to pray, except in anger and abject pleading. Gratitude simply does not work for me, because it feels like I am being holier than thou. Can I dare to be grateful when others have nothing? Would I happily wave my palm on the way to a death by Crucifixion? Am I that naive?  

All that I can manage is to pray limply, bless and breathe fresh air into my still-pumping lungs, look and listen for some small beauty that looks authentic and makes me grin.  

Abraham, patriarch of note, well acquainted with grief and pain, can make me laugh out loud. In Genesis 18 he has a long conversation with God, really all with himself, in which he prays that God will not destroy a whole city, because what if there are some righteous people still living there? Ok, says God. But Abraham persists with his descending stats: Will you spare this city of sinners if there are 30? 20? 10, five? What if there is only ONE righteous person? Abraham whittles God down to the nubbin. We don’t know if the sex-riddled sin city called Sodom is spared, but we know Abraham gives his all into his efforts. The story makes me laugh out loud. It makes me stop worrying about the theology in this story about God being punitive and destructive. What matters to me is not the bad image of God presented here, but the portrait of someone who prays anyway even when everything is obviously lost, and God appears to be the culprit. It’s as stupid as kissing a child’s “boo boo” and saying that your kiss will make is all go away. And the child believes you. Sometimes all we have is bandaids and small but mighty lies. 

Here are some images that make me rich with laughter, raise my gloom irrationally. I believe them all anyway. 

Here is a wooden brightly colored sea horse at the edge of our friends’ swimming pool. An ornament with no purpose but delight.  

And here is a gnome with the same foolish errand of Mercy—cheer up anyway, say these ladybugs aflutter below. 

And here is an old woman who just turned 100. There’s a party to acknowledge such age of course—balloons, a cake, and a cheery song.  A good neighbor makes sure the birthday girl shows up. What for? You’re 100 years old!  “I am?” 

And here’s a quote from French essayist, playwright, and poet, Paul Claudel (1868-1995). He nearly became a monk after a religious conversion he experienced at age eighteen, but instead of following the call of God and joining a Benedictine monastery, he followed his own rather cynical temperament and became a poet full of sardonic prophetic assessments about his religion, his times, and his country. He had lost hope for all of it, especially “the stench and the starch of partisan politics.” He even made it to the cover of Time Magazine, but fame is no substitute for faith. 

I can identify with such disgust, but I’m not quite as consistently cynical as he was. Claudel felt it all as grief, perhaps depression as well. Still, in helpless sorrow, without cover-up or denial, there is hope. Because you know and name your sorrow without pretense, you become a prayer, a helpless fool, a poet, and a prophet. 

“There is something sadder to lose than life— the reason for living;

  Sadder than to lose one’s possessions is to lose one’s hope.” 

Il y a une chose plus triste a perdre que la vie, c’est la raison de vivre,

Plus triste que do perdre ses biens, c’est de perdre son espérance.”   

“Jesus did not come to explain away suffering or remove it. He came to fill it with his presence.” I think this poet filled his writings with spiritual richness—Soul.

And finally, here is a small bear playing delightedly with an old and empty bird feeder. This bear is sure that if she or he tosses the feeder about enough, delicious sugary water, or honey, or something delicious that will miraculously pour forth and fill his hungry belly. A bear rich with Hope in a friend's back yard—posing, no less.

   

2022.07.24 The Lord's Prayer. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

This ancient prayer, is remembered as being offered by Jesus, after his disciples saw that he engaged in regular prayer times. They asked: “Lord, teach us to pray like John (the Baptist) taught his disciples. ” (What they meant was “just like you pray”. Obviously, all of them prayed, using prayers familiar to the traditions of their day. But they, like children, wanted to pray exactly like Jesus.)  So Jesus, as remembered in Luke 11, according to the 2001 New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) of the Bible, accommodated:  

When you pray say. . .   

Father, hallowed be your name,

  Your kingdom come.

               Give us each day our daily bread.

                And forgive us our sins,

For we ourselves forgive everyone

    indebted to us. 

And do not bring us to the time of Trial.

Jesus follows with a small homily about grudging givers and forgivers, with a punch line: “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish?” This line makes my heart cringe, for I know times when I have not given or forgiven. But then I’m not God, and this is a prayer, a breathless hope. 

In a later translation of this prayer, according to The Inclusive Bible, published by Priests for Equality in 2007, this prayer is written this way:

When you pray say,

Abba God,

Hallowed by your Name!

May your reign come.

Give us today

Tomorrow’s bread. 

Forgive us our sins,

for we too forgive everyone who sins against us;

And don’t let us be subjected to the Test.

This too continues with the same metaphor and advice to keep on asking, knocking and, by implication, needing, for this Abba God will give the Holy Spirit to those who ask. 

And so we keep asking. Most prayer is begging or boasting and everything in between, but prayer itself is almost impossible to avoid or evade. Usually it just happens. I remember visiting a woman who was very sick in a mental hospital. I had nothing to comfort her—nothing. She looked at me with frantic eyes and said, “I can’t pray.” I said, “Don’t worry, we will pray for you.” I meant, in her stead. 

I’ve always remembered that small exchange as God saving us both from the time of Trial, the Test, and in earlier translations, “Lead us not into Temptation.” These words, Trial, Test, are capitalized. Why?  I assume they matter every day as much as daily bread. 

There’s nothing like a home with two priests to make a “church.” When Dick and I together celebrate the Eucharist each Sunday, we say the Lord’s Prayer this way:

Our God in heaven

Hallowed be your name

Your kingdom come

Your will be done

    on earth as in heaven.

Give us today our daily bread

Forgive us our sins  

as we forgive those who sin against us.

Save us from the time of Trial.

For the kingdom, the power and the glory are yours

forever and ever. AMEN.

We do not say Father or Abba, even Lord, because neither of us thinks that God has a gender, neither masculine or feminine. Just God.  Maybe the words, Our Father are the hardest for people to give up, so accustomed are we to the “Our Father.” So am I. No translation can change the feeling or meaning behind these words, however. 

Oh, and the words “as” or “for” preceding "forgive us our sins as/for we forgive others," are conditional words. God forgives us even when we cannot forgive others, for God’s grace is expansive. I do believe that when you pray that God will forgive whatever is unforgivable to you. You may find that the prayer focus, itself, suddenly eases what you experience as unforgivable. 

I will always believe and try to live by the ancient words of this prayer, as Jesus did. So this prayer will never die. It has survived, and will survive, any number of translations and versions. It is eternal and intimate. I call the whole prayer,  God.  Amen. 

  

M & M's, Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 7/17/22

Now I imagine you think, as any sane well educated person in the area of treats would, that I will be writing about the famed candy called M&Ms. These are small round multi-colored, candy-coated chocolate candies that can pop into my mouth, and do—sometimes without my knowing it. Oh, they make them with dark chocolate, ever so much better for your health. And they also make them in bulk, so you’ll never run out. They, it is said, melt in your mouth but not in your hands.

These handy candies were invented in, where else, the United States of America, in 1941, brought here by the Mars company founder, Frank C. Mars, who copied the idea from soldiers who in the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) carried  British-made “Smarties”— chocolate pellets surrounded with a colored shell of hardened sugar syrup, which kept them from melting in warm climates. Possibly these little beauties saved lives. I mean imagine stopping a whole battle to share these with enemy soldiers. How could you fight after that?  I also consider this a brilliant idea for Sunday morning’s coffee hours—attracting people to your parish, dragged there through the joy of children with godly M&M's in mind. It’s gospel!

*  *  *  * 

I stand by my idea. However, I am really writing about Mary & Martha, popular sister siblings in the Christian New Testament. Luke’s gospel tells the famous story of Jesus’s visit to his good friends Lazarus’s house in Bethany, a small town to the east  of Jerusalem. Lazarus had two sisters, Mary and Martha. Martha, the elder and more loquacious, and Mary the dreamer. We all know such sibling pairs. I am like the non-domestic, introverted Mary who could in awe listen to some guru talk about God and prayer and other spiritual intensities, heedless of the time or the meal. My sister is more domestic, like Martha, bustling about in the kitchen preparing a lovely meal, and pissed at my lassitude. Even today she can cook a good meal. I married a man who cooks.  

To be serious, the real matter in the biblical story is women’s reactions to Jesus’s reaction in this story. Mary sits at his feet, soaking up his every word. Martha is in the kitchen, irritated with her sister for not helping. Jesus comments that Martha is distracted by many things and Mary “has chosen the better part.” What say you?  

On one of my preaching Sundays in a parish where I served as Priest Associate, I threw caution to the winds, read this Gospel story and opened it up to the congregation, saying “Well, what do you think?”  Dead silence. “It’s okay I’m inviting you to share your own thoughts and feelings about this story.”  More silence. One hand shot up, as if this were a schoolroom. I nodded for her to speak. “Well, I don’t like this story. Never have. Makes me angry. Why would Jesus put Martha down like that?”  And we were off and running. 

“Did Jesus think praying all day was more than important than hospitality? I bet they all ate Martha’s meal, especially Jesus. I’ve heard a lifetime of sermons on this story, and no preacher ever sides with Martha. Jesus must have had a huge ego? I’ve been to monastic retreats, and believe me, those monks and nuns spend lots of time running back and forth to the kitchen, preparing and serving meals in between quick trips to the chapel. Mary’s too passive, not my type. Well, Jesus sure started sibling rivalry here! Is this story even true? Sexist. In Bible study I heard that this was only Luke’s agenda—getting Gentiles to listen to Jesus. But why would they follow? Just to pray?  So not the real Jesus, right?  Look here (she taps her finger on her own Bible) — this footnote says that this story’s purpose is to tell us that Jesus was open to accepting women as his followers. What self-respecting woman would follow this guy? I bet God the Father set his son straight on this one. Are you kidding? “

Laughter. 

No one asked me what I thought. There were no scornful words, no sullen scowls, no grandstanding or lecturing, although a few just listened. I let this "homily-of-the-whole" go on for over 15 minutes. I was pretty sure I would have to move from the center aisle up into the pulpit to get their attention. My movement caused the hubbub to die down although the atmosphere crackled with energy. What to say? A traditional closing. 

 The Word of the Lord.

 Thanks be to God.

This back-and-forth conversation was lively and full of laughter— refreshing, and definitely the Word of the Lord. They were talking to each other, engaging with scripture as if it were their own story. It is.  

*  *  *  * 

And the M&M’s?  Each small morsel is the same on the inside. All are a different color on the outside. And all together they are irresistible—just like us. 

 

What Kind Of Follower Are You? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 7/10/22

Sometimes I feel small and timid. I was told as a child that I was shy—too shy. Truthfully, I am a natural introvert and also, shyness was one way I hid from my mother’s eager attentiveness. Still, sometimes my shyness turned into silence and then to self-deprecation. I wondered whether I was really a mouse and maybe that is why I’m frightened of mice—such tiny, skittering rodents. Why does everyone in comics scream EEEEK! at the sight of a mouse? 

I recall a poster one of my young sons, full of mischief and hormonal chutzpah, hung in his room. It pictured a bunch of hapless lemmings rushing towards a cliff, some already spilling over to their deaths—save one lemming who ran along with the doomed group  grinning, and with a life preserver around his middle. 

I doubt that my son had more than his own biological urges as a pre-teen, but I do know that the poster exactly portrayed his humor and presaged the future of his own humor-bound self-care. Professionals would call him mildly risk averse. I would call him wise.

What is a lemming anyway? A lemming is a short-tailed rodent related to voles, found in the Arctic tundra. Sometimes lemmings actually do commit mass suicide when they jump off cliffs. This is a result of their migratory behavior, driven by strong biological urges when the population density becomes too great.

Webster tells us that “lemming” also can refer to a person who unthinkingly joins a mass movement, especially one that is a shortsighted headlong rush to destruction. That description fits some individuals, or groups, or religions, or whole countries. I felt that reckless when I shed my shy cover and announced myself as a woman seeking to be a priest in the equally reticent Episcopal Church. Inside I felt scared like a mouse, or reckless like this lemming without her life preserver. Lots of loving help got me through.

Jesus the Christ is remembered as calling people to follow. Are they to follow like lemmings? Follow at all costs? Scatter like mice? Jesus also told the parable of a Good Samaritan who, for good reasons of his own, would never be a follower, but who, out of his own tradition, practiced the ethic Jesus encouraged. Jesus had a strong vision of God’s Compassion spreading, connecting beyond our differences: Everyone is your neighbor. We can absolve Jesus of any malice of forethought about his insistence that people summon the courage to follow him—not like hapless lemmings but more like courageous fools for Christ-like compassion. Jesus, however, also assigned 72 elders to go ahead to prepare the way, and told any followers to travel in pairs.  

                                    *  *  *  *

What can absolve us Americans from our own lemming-like culture, our own lemming-like lifestyles—running too fast, not getting very far, making hasty impulsive decisions, overvaluing our precious independence, collectively and individually, often bearing lethal weaponry, and always failing to consider exactly who we are, what it is we desire, why we are doing it, where we are headed, what our purpose is—not to mention tending to go on out there alone and brave without allies?

What will stop us? Will a leader who is wise and compassionate, forceful but not forcing?  Would you follow without fear or self-doubt, even when it appeared as if that leader might lead you into dangerous territory? What if you followed a leader and ended up either dead or radically transformed forever? We all have choices even when we don’t see them. Any choice involves risk. Most choices are driven by enormously inclusive visions, such as everyone’s being a neighbor.   

My son would make sure he was protected before he followed any “lemmings.” I would waffle and hesitate, asking a million clarifying questions before I set out on a visionary quest. No one wanted to follow Jesus, especially into enemy territory, like Jerusalem, or if it meant loving any supposed enemy. He kept going,, not recanting his way or purpose, and they all thought he was as foolish as a lemming. 

Everyone is  different. To follow a vision of any size is never simple unless you actually are a lemming. It’s okay to carry inner tubes, ask a million clarifying questions, take others with you. Life is a grand experiment. I steadied myself in God, and carried many supporters inside me whose voices of love and encouragement I heard, but not with my ears. My most steady companions on my way were my tears—sweet lubricants, healing my impatience and my mistakes, while keeping the vision alive.   

This image below is what I felt like, heading out alone, praying for courage, and determined on a new path, trusting the presence of God, believing in my children’s hearts— accompanied by tears and fears. I kept going like this baby snowy owl—unsteady like a toddler determined one day to fly, and not looking back —much.  

What kind of follower are you?  

2022.07.03 IN-dependence? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blogpost

We, in this country and on this Earth, are living in the midst of the death throes of patriarchy. As I stutter to understand things, a question pops up, like in the game Jeopardy. Let’s call this category: Values. 

The highest personal value in the United States.

What is Independence?  

Ding. Correct. That’s $$$$ more for you, dear Contestant. 

More Word Play 

“Throes” does not mean death itself, but rather the painful struggle, the convulsion that accompanies great change. 

“Patriarchy” does not simply mean the rule of all things male. It means a system of social organization based exclusively on the dominance of White straight maleness, often Protestant—garnished with the temptingly alluring word: INDEPENDENCE. 

“Independence” does not simply mean freedom. IN-dependence means without dependence. Consider: other words, such as IN-ept (without aptitude), or IN-animate (without animation), or IN-adequate (without adequacy), or IN-domitable (without defeat) or unbeatable, or even IN-formation (without full formation)—just a list of facts without a fully formed idea, plan, or conclusion. 

All my eccentric word-play explorations make me wonder even more about the American idolatry of IN-dependence. We even set apart a whole day, July 4th, to honor our IN-dependence. It came about historically after a bloody war, the loss of many human lives, and the establishment of our own government, based in IN-dividual (without divisions) freedom for our nation. We fought to be free of British rule, and we prize our freedom(s) without letting them evolve and ripen. Too much? 

Have we overvalued our IN-dependence?

*  *  *  * 

When I read about the move to end checks and balances in our government I feel alarmed about the return of originalism, a political fundamentalism that IN-hibits (hinders) national evolution and advocates autocratic methods and purposes—so alarmed that I have actually prayed for what Christians call The Second Coming. We need divine INter-vention (coming between). NOW. It could also open enough hearts and minds to, well, revive the ancient ethic of the good old Golden Rule: What you hate do not do to another OR Love one another as you would have them love you. 

We need INTER-dependence (sharing mutual dependence) not more IN-dependence. No one is ever without dependence, despite all of her or his dramatic adolescent delusions. 

Who is not dependent? 

Personal Spiritual Stories

When I was a child I struggled consistently to be INdependent of my mother’s over-attentiveness, not the same as nurture. She was well-meaning I know, but I needed to know my own embodied self, INdependent from her. I needed to breathe. I achieved my INdependence. I also lost much in the process, including the capacity to mother myself and give enough maternal nurture to my own children. What did I gain? I gained a strong sense of myself, strong enough to make many choices like divorce, professional success, and happiness. What did I lose?  A marriage and full IN-timacy (without timidity) with my children. 

What helped me reclaim my dependent self?  

1) The consistent and INternalized (not externalized) loving listening presence of God whom I encountered in prayer—the chatter of a small child to the God she’d seen in a picture book. 

2) The affectionate good presence of a therapist, herself suffering from excesses of INdependent sadness and anger. 

3) The abiding INtimacy and good humor of a man who taught me to love and cherish my body as if it were his. 

4) The cautious yet authentic devotion of my four biological children whose feelings and fears I have learned to listen to without condition or parental-ism.  

5) The very recent acquaintance I’ve made with a young (26) man named Jared, who, because of a tragic accident, is paralyzed by a spinal cord injury that has left him dependent on others. Talking with Jared, I admit, has felt at times emotionally paralyzing to me. He has taught me again how to be healthfully dependent, ironically through his very fine, educated mind, fully IN-tact (without tactile sensation). Jared works as a design engineer at a healthcare facility for people with spinal cord injuries such as his own. He texted to me:  “I’d say that my greatest joy is seeing my ideas become reality. Having something to build, designing it, and eventually holding it in my hands.” 

I remain dependent on all these love-factors—IN-definitely (without definition), but not quite IN-finitely (without finitude)—yet. 

Happy Dependence Day.