On the way to work the other morning, in a dense fog (I mean a real fog, not a mental one), I was singing along with the radio. In fact, I found myself singing about Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer. It’s a cute song, and we all know it. If it contains a lesson, it is this: The individual who isn’t like everyone else still has value.
That morning, I began to think about all the things it says.
Have you really noticed how the song starts? The other reindeer make fun of poor Rudolph because he has such a funny nose. They laugh at him. They also discriminate against him, not inviting him to play with them. The poor little guy is left all alone, without friends, soaking in unhappiness.
But then one day…they need him. Ah! What a difference that makes! “Oh, Rudolph, won’t you help us tonight so we don’t run ourselves into any mountains or airliners?” “Pretty please?” Rudolph graciously consents to guide the sleigh, and he comes through. All of a sudden, he is popular. Even legendary, for he will go down in history.
Don’t you wonder how it would have turned out if Rudolph had said, “Well, if I’m not good enough to play with you, I’m not good enough to guide the sleigh.” You wouldn’t blame him if he made them beg him to help. The fact that he didn’t do that reflects his goodness. Or it may simply reflect the fact that it was Santa, not the other reindeer, who asked him. Even at the North Pole, you don’t say No to your boss.
And don’t you wonder what the other reindeer did after the excitement wore off? Did they start to like Rudolph? Did they remember that he had value? O or did they just go back to making fun of him and shutting him out of the games?
I hope that, after the story in the song is over, Rudolph became permanently accepted into the herd. If the reindeer continued to reflect human nature, however, that happy ending wasn’t guaranteed.
For this song reflects our own nature. We discriminate against those who are different from the majority. That means there is a whole bunch of discriminating that we do – on the basis of race, skin color, religious belief, sexual orientation and/or lifestyle. And if we need these folks, we use them and then we frequently throw them out with the trash when the need has passed. And the only thing “wrong” with them is that they aren’t like us. They are Different.
We live in a time, however, when some people have a different conception of the way the universe is set up, and they make an astonishing claim: We are not separate at all. We are actually all One, One with the universe and with each other. It erases our differences. You can’t be serious. We’re all One? You’re not kidding me? You mean I have no genuine reason to discriminate against anyone else?
Well, we all put our shoes on one foot at a time, as far as I know, and we all bleed red stuff. That ought to go toward confirming this concept.
Today is Christmas Eve. Today and tomorrow are the days when we celebrate that man who is hailed as the Prince of Peace. It isn’t about presents or feasts or even being with family. It’s about love. Peace. God’s toward us, and ours to share with one another. The way Jesus did – with everyone.
Even if they are different. Especially if they are different. The different ones have the greatest need.
Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer would say the same thing.
Merry Christmas!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Another View
After all that I said a few weeks ago about people having a fear-based relationship with God, even as I acknowledged that traditional Christians can have a love-based relationship with God individually even though the theology is still based in fear…I have found a person who clearly has a love-based relationship with what we call God.
Recently I spoke with this lady while we were on break at work. We are acquainted with each other. We have seen each other around the building for several months, briefly visited in the break room, gotten to know each other a little. When I ask her how she is, she tends to say that she is blessed. (What a lovely way to be! It’s positive, which is all people really want to hear, and it’s still personal.) She was collecting stuff for a mission project abroad last summer, and when I hinted for more information, she said, “I didn’t want to go there, but God said, “Yes, you do.’” I laughed and replied, “Well, if God says you should go, then you should,” and she agreed. (Do I think we are commanded? Not as such. But if you love God, and you believe He is telling you to do something, then you need to do it in order to be true to the love you hold for God. I don’t look on it as Obedience, but that doesn’t mean I do it for the relationship and for personal growth, not just to Obey.)
I saw her yesterday in the ladies room and asked her in the usual way how she was, and she replied, “I’m blessed, I know it, and I thank God for it!” I’ve heard her give several variations on that theme, so I wasn’t surprised by this response. But then the conversation expanded.
“We really are blessed,” I said, “and so many people take it for granted. Just being able to walk or breathe normally is such a blessing, and we take those things for granted.”
She replied, “I’m trying not to, and I hope God knows that because I keep trying to remember to tell Him so.”
“He knows your heart,” I said. At this point I want to add a clarification. I can talk to traditional Christians (and she is one, I know which church she attends) in their language because I am still comfortable in it as long as it doesn’t have to be conceptualized in certain ways. And God, whatever it actually is that we call God, certainly does know our hearts and minds and thoughts.
“He’s so great!” she exclaimed. “I love Him so much!”
“I know,” I said. “You just keep reaching and reaching for Him and you can’t get close enough.”
She understood that. “And it’s eternal!” she added, pumping her fist the way athletes do.
“And eternity starts now,” I added. “We don’t even have to wait until we die.”
“Yes!!” And we both pumped our fists.
I thought a lot about that exchange throughout the rest of the day. This friend belongs to a fairly conservative denomination and she still conceptualizes the Creator in traditional ways. I know that because of the other things I’ve heard her say from time to time. Even so, she has the energy and enthusiasm of love, and she clearly knows that this is a 24/7/365 commitment, not just a “one or two hours on Sunday and then life goes back to normal after church” type of thing. She clearly has a love-based relationship with the Higher Power that the 12-step programs talk about, the Creator that I talk about, God or Jesus that the traditional church talks about. She has met and responded to Eternal Unconditional Love.
It’s the Love and our relationship with its Source and all the creation that matters. Knowing you are loved, responding with your own love. That’s what “salvation” is all about. It doesn’t matter what we call it or how we conceptualize it. The theology is still based in fear. But guess what. Perfect love can cast out fear.
Yes! [Pump fist!]
Recently I spoke with this lady while we were on break at work. We are acquainted with each other. We have seen each other around the building for several months, briefly visited in the break room, gotten to know each other a little. When I ask her how she is, she tends to say that she is blessed. (What a lovely way to be! It’s positive, which is all people really want to hear, and it’s still personal.) She was collecting stuff for a mission project abroad last summer, and when I hinted for more information, she said, “I didn’t want to go there, but God said, “Yes, you do.’” I laughed and replied, “Well, if God says you should go, then you should,” and she agreed. (Do I think we are commanded? Not as such. But if you love God, and you believe He is telling you to do something, then you need to do it in order to be true to the love you hold for God. I don’t look on it as Obedience, but that doesn’t mean I do it for the relationship and for personal growth, not just to Obey.)
I saw her yesterday in the ladies room and asked her in the usual way how she was, and she replied, “I’m blessed, I know it, and I thank God for it!” I’ve heard her give several variations on that theme, so I wasn’t surprised by this response. But then the conversation expanded.
“We really are blessed,” I said, “and so many people take it for granted. Just being able to walk or breathe normally is such a blessing, and we take those things for granted.”
She replied, “I’m trying not to, and I hope God knows that because I keep trying to remember to tell Him so.”
“He knows your heart,” I said. At this point I want to add a clarification. I can talk to traditional Christians (and she is one, I know which church she attends) in their language because I am still comfortable in it as long as it doesn’t have to be conceptualized in certain ways. And God, whatever it actually is that we call God, certainly does know our hearts and minds and thoughts.
“He’s so great!” she exclaimed. “I love Him so much!”
“I know,” I said. “You just keep reaching and reaching for Him and you can’t get close enough.”
She understood that. “And it’s eternal!” she added, pumping her fist the way athletes do.
“And eternity starts now,” I added. “We don’t even have to wait until we die.”
“Yes!!” And we both pumped our fists.
I thought a lot about that exchange throughout the rest of the day. This friend belongs to a fairly conservative denomination and she still conceptualizes the Creator in traditional ways. I know that because of the other things I’ve heard her say from time to time. Even so, she has the energy and enthusiasm of love, and she clearly knows that this is a 24/7/365 commitment, not just a “one or two hours on Sunday and then life goes back to normal after church” type of thing. She clearly has a love-based relationship with the Higher Power that the 12-step programs talk about, the Creator that I talk about, God or Jesus that the traditional church talks about. She has met and responded to Eternal Unconditional Love.
It’s the Love and our relationship with its Source and all the creation that matters. Knowing you are loved, responding with your own love. That’s what “salvation” is all about. It doesn’t matter what we call it or how we conceptualize it. The theology is still based in fear. But guess what. Perfect love can cast out fear.
Yes! [Pump fist!]
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Memories
It was only a casual phone conversation. My sister and were just visiting about the usual stuff when suddenly she dropped a bomb on me. “By the way, you knew that E died?”
The world stopped for a couple of beats, but finally I managed to say, “No, I didn’t.”
“It was last Monday. The funeral was Friday. I’m sorry, I thought of calling you but I thought you would have heard.”
Somehow I got through the conversation without losing my manners, but the news plunged me into a “downer” that went on for a full 24 hours. E and I went a long way back. When my family first moved into the town (from the farmhouse we had been renting) E and her family lived across the alley from us. There were two kids, C and her brother T. My sister “sat” for them in the summers while the kids were out of school and the parents were at work. C became one of my closest friends in high school. She and her brother and I, with a couple of other kids, formed an instrumental combo that played together a lot, mostly big band tunes. We weren’t wonderful, but we had a grand time. When C had health problems and had to miss school, I was the one who went around to the teachers and got assignments for her so she could keep up. We were together when I had my first (and last!) taste of beer.
Through all of that, there were her parents. E was the dominant family member. She was wonderful. She was short, dark-haired. Snapping black eyes. Sort of a pugnacious chin. She didn’t take any guff from anyone. Spoke her mind. Very much grounded in that rare quality that we call common sense. Used plain language.
E was the oldest child in her family, and when their mother died E took on the responsibility of caring for the family and raising her siblings. The natural result was that she grew up accustomed to taking care of others and she spent her whole life doing that. She was a pretty strict parent, but it was clearly done in love for her children. She was a caring person, warmhearted, ready to help. I think she considered me her half-daughter. I know I considered her my half-mother.
We all kept in touch over the years. When C and I were home, we visited. Otherwise, we exchanged letters. Eventually life went downhill for her, and she moved back to our home town with physical and mental health issues. She died while I was living in Texas, and I wasn’t able to get home for the funeral.
Some of the clearest memories I have of E that come from my adult life:
I was sitting on the front porch of my parents’ house just after my dad had died, watching as E pulled up to the curb and got out of the car with a large baking dish full of food.
There was the time she and her husband were in the Dallas area, and she called me up to say Hello.
The first time E saw me after C died, she asked me: “What did I do wrong, honey?” More than once she asked me that question. The main problem the two had was that they were both strong personalities and too much alike. They always chafed each other, even at the best of times. But nothing a parent does can affect degenerative physical conditions or the development of mental illness. Not as far as I know anyway. I could tell her honestly that I didn’t think she had done anything wrong.
There was the time my sister and I sat at E’s kitchen table, visiting. My sister had a few questions about how some people were connected, and was asking E about them. I think E knew just about everyone, who was whose child, who had married whom, how all the connections went. And she knew about every road and place as well.
When I moved back to my home town a few years ago, E and I talked on the phone and I took her for rides or on errands a few times.
And then I wound up living in the same apartment house as she was, for a while, before her health deteriorated and she had to move to the local nursing home.
The news that E had died and been buried before I even found out about it was hard to take. I had counted on being there for her funeral. I had missed her husband’s funeral. I had missed C’s funeral. I needed to make some kind of formal good-bye to this family that was such a part of me. How much of my reaction was grief? How much was simple disappointment and frustration that I hadn’t had the opportunity to go to the funeral? I can’t say. Like E herself, I rarely cry very much, but that evening I cried fairly copiously and was depressed the next day. It wasn’t until I tracked E’s son down over the internet and talked to him that it started to ease.
I no longer believe in “heaven” as I was taught about it. I no longer believe that when we die, we go to “heaven.” I do believe we enter some other level of existence, a plane, a dimension, whatever we might call it, which is a vast improvement over this existence, and in my view it is a state in which we can be as close to the Source of Life as we desire to be. I have had two experiences that allowed a tiny bit of communication to me from that existence. (I suppose they both can be interpreted in other ways, but their timing and nature made it impossible for me to make any other conclusions about them, and the more experienced [and unbiased] people I asked confirmed that.) And I am not shy about asking the Source of Life to pass on a greeting once in a while, when I feel a need to touch base with someone who is no longer here. I trust that somehow I can get word through to E, to tell her I love her and miss her and am sorry I missed the good-bye. I think she will understand.
The world stopped for a couple of beats, but finally I managed to say, “No, I didn’t.”
“It was last Monday. The funeral was Friday. I’m sorry, I thought of calling you but I thought you would have heard.”
Somehow I got through the conversation without losing my manners, but the news plunged me into a “downer” that went on for a full 24 hours. E and I went a long way back. When my family first moved into the town (from the farmhouse we had been renting) E and her family lived across the alley from us. There were two kids, C and her brother T. My sister “sat” for them in the summers while the kids were out of school and the parents were at work. C became one of my closest friends in high school. She and her brother and I, with a couple of other kids, formed an instrumental combo that played together a lot, mostly big band tunes. We weren’t wonderful, but we had a grand time. When C had health problems and had to miss school, I was the one who went around to the teachers and got assignments for her so she could keep up. We were together when I had my first (and last!) taste of beer.
Through all of that, there were her parents. E was the dominant family member. She was wonderful. She was short, dark-haired. Snapping black eyes. Sort of a pugnacious chin. She didn’t take any guff from anyone. Spoke her mind. Very much grounded in that rare quality that we call common sense. Used plain language.
E was the oldest child in her family, and when their mother died E took on the responsibility of caring for the family and raising her siblings. The natural result was that she grew up accustomed to taking care of others and she spent her whole life doing that. She was a pretty strict parent, but it was clearly done in love for her children. She was a caring person, warmhearted, ready to help. I think she considered me her half-daughter. I know I considered her my half-mother.
We all kept in touch over the years. When C and I were home, we visited. Otherwise, we exchanged letters. Eventually life went downhill for her, and she moved back to our home town with physical and mental health issues. She died while I was living in Texas, and I wasn’t able to get home for the funeral.
Some of the clearest memories I have of E that come from my adult life:
I was sitting on the front porch of my parents’ house just after my dad had died, watching as E pulled up to the curb and got out of the car with a large baking dish full of food.
There was the time she and her husband were in the Dallas area, and she called me up to say Hello.
The first time E saw me after C died, she asked me: “What did I do wrong, honey?” More than once she asked me that question. The main problem the two had was that they were both strong personalities and too much alike. They always chafed each other, even at the best of times. But nothing a parent does can affect degenerative physical conditions or the development of mental illness. Not as far as I know anyway. I could tell her honestly that I didn’t think she had done anything wrong.
There was the time my sister and I sat at E’s kitchen table, visiting. My sister had a few questions about how some people were connected, and was asking E about them. I think E knew just about everyone, who was whose child, who had married whom, how all the connections went. And she knew about every road and place as well.
When I moved back to my home town a few years ago, E and I talked on the phone and I took her for rides or on errands a few times.
And then I wound up living in the same apartment house as she was, for a while, before her health deteriorated and she had to move to the local nursing home.
The news that E had died and been buried before I even found out about it was hard to take. I had counted on being there for her funeral. I had missed her husband’s funeral. I had missed C’s funeral. I needed to make some kind of formal good-bye to this family that was such a part of me. How much of my reaction was grief? How much was simple disappointment and frustration that I hadn’t had the opportunity to go to the funeral? I can’t say. Like E herself, I rarely cry very much, but that evening I cried fairly copiously and was depressed the next day. It wasn’t until I tracked E’s son down over the internet and talked to him that it started to ease.
I no longer believe in “heaven” as I was taught about it. I no longer believe that when we die, we go to “heaven.” I do believe we enter some other level of existence, a plane, a dimension, whatever we might call it, which is a vast improvement over this existence, and in my view it is a state in which we can be as close to the Source of Life as we desire to be. I have had two experiences that allowed a tiny bit of communication to me from that existence. (I suppose they both can be interpreted in other ways, but their timing and nature made it impossible for me to make any other conclusions about them, and the more experienced [and unbiased] people I asked confirmed that.) And I am not shy about asking the Source of Life to pass on a greeting once in a while, when I feel a need to touch base with someone who is no longer here. I trust that somehow I can get word through to E, to tell her I love her and miss her and am sorry I missed the good-bye. I think she will understand.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Giggling Lelah.
I live in housing that is subsidized by the federal government. Most of us who live there, like me, don’t have very much money. Most of us are elderly, because the elderly tend to have limited financial resources. There are a fewer younger folks, but they are not in good health. Me, I am almost 66, and I’m one of the youngest and healthiest. While living here, I have had to confront my fears of old age, my prejudices against the aged, and other unlovely aspects of my attitudes. (I have learned them from our society, of course, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t confront them.) Slowly, although I am not there a lot of the time, I am coming to know and appreciate my neighbors.
Take Lelah, for instance. Lelah lives across the hall from my next-door neighbor. I don’t know a whole lot about Lelah. She is, I think, 87 years old. She has a kind face and a ready smile, and she is almost as deaf as a fence post. She has a cat, which she has named Oreo presumably because the cat is black and white. I have heard Oreo; I haven’t officially met her.
I have discovered that I can get Lelah to hear me if I raise the pitch of my voice, and with that I have begun to get to know her a little. Helped her with our new laundry machines. Greeted her in passing. Little things like that. One night recently, I was gifted with an entirely new view of this elderly lady. It was just before the Thanksgiving holiday, and I was on the way downstairs to mail an insurance payment when I noticed Lelah out in the hall. I stopped to chat for a moment. She had found an old cornucopia in her apartment; she had put some grapes in it and was setting it outside her apartment on the little table she keeps for seasonal decorations. (Many of the residents keep decorations in the hall.) I stopped to admire it, and to agree that it made her display look like Thanksgiving was coming.
Lelah began to reminisce about the days when she was younger. Her sister-in-law always cooked the Thanksgiving meal for the entire family, which was held on the Sunday after the holiday because some of the younger family members didn’t want to be there on the actual holiday. “I remember one year,” Lelah went on, “when my sister-in-law said, ‘I don’t know where Molly goes but she is never here on Thanksgiving Day.’” Then a glint appeared in the elderly lady’s eyes. “I didn’t say anything, but I knew where Molly went.” She chuckled. “You know, you can’t always say what you’re thinking. It just doesn’t do. It makes bad feelings.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “we can’t always tell everything we know even when it’s the truth.”
She began to giggle. She is 87 years old, and she stood in the hall that night giggling her head off. I don’t know what memories had been awakened by our conversation, but I know she was enjoying them in that moment. It was delightful. I enjoy hearing people laugh, I just like the sound of a good laugh, and I very much enjoyed hers. I was laughing too, mostly because she was. The more she laughed, the more I enjoyed hearing and watching her, and the more my own pleasure grew. For a while we just stood there laughing. When I pulled myself away to get in the elevator to mail my insurance payment, she was still giggling. I hadn’t known she could be so mischievous, but she certainly was at that moment. Yes, mischievous and even impish.
We often ignore the elderly, but they have lived many years and they have their stories to tell, and their experience and wisdom to share. They like to talk about the things they remember, and often we younger people are impatient with that. But if you can be open to it, you may find yourself learning or enjoying it just as much as the elderly person does. It is a good process, to listen to them tell about their experiences. It validates life.
Lelah has a kind face and a ready smile. And there is still a touch of mischief inside her. She is going to be fun to get to know.
Take Lelah, for instance. Lelah lives across the hall from my next-door neighbor. I don’t know a whole lot about Lelah. She is, I think, 87 years old. She has a kind face and a ready smile, and she is almost as deaf as a fence post. She has a cat, which she has named Oreo presumably because the cat is black and white. I have heard Oreo; I haven’t officially met her.
I have discovered that I can get Lelah to hear me if I raise the pitch of my voice, and with that I have begun to get to know her a little. Helped her with our new laundry machines. Greeted her in passing. Little things like that. One night recently, I was gifted with an entirely new view of this elderly lady. It was just before the Thanksgiving holiday, and I was on the way downstairs to mail an insurance payment when I noticed Lelah out in the hall. I stopped to chat for a moment. She had found an old cornucopia in her apartment; she had put some grapes in it and was setting it outside her apartment on the little table she keeps for seasonal decorations. (Many of the residents keep decorations in the hall.) I stopped to admire it, and to agree that it made her display look like Thanksgiving was coming.
Lelah began to reminisce about the days when she was younger. Her sister-in-law always cooked the Thanksgiving meal for the entire family, which was held on the Sunday after the holiday because some of the younger family members didn’t want to be there on the actual holiday. “I remember one year,” Lelah went on, “when my sister-in-law said, ‘I don’t know where Molly goes but she is never here on Thanksgiving Day.’” Then a glint appeared in the elderly lady’s eyes. “I didn’t say anything, but I knew where Molly went.” She chuckled. “You know, you can’t always say what you’re thinking. It just doesn’t do. It makes bad feelings.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “we can’t always tell everything we know even when it’s the truth.”
She began to giggle. She is 87 years old, and she stood in the hall that night giggling her head off. I don’t know what memories had been awakened by our conversation, but I know she was enjoying them in that moment. It was delightful. I enjoy hearing people laugh, I just like the sound of a good laugh, and I very much enjoyed hers. I was laughing too, mostly because she was. The more she laughed, the more I enjoyed hearing and watching her, and the more my own pleasure grew. For a while we just stood there laughing. When I pulled myself away to get in the elevator to mail my insurance payment, she was still giggling. I hadn’t known she could be so mischievous, but she certainly was at that moment. Yes, mischievous and even impish.
We often ignore the elderly, but they have lived many years and they have their stories to tell, and their experience and wisdom to share. They like to talk about the things they remember, and often we younger people are impatient with that. But if you can be open to it, you may find yourself learning or enjoying it just as much as the elderly person does. It is a good process, to listen to them tell about their experiences. It validates life.
Lelah has a kind face and a ready smile. And there is still a touch of mischief inside her. She is going to be fun to get to know.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The Forgotten Holiday
Christmas decorations have appeared once again. Someone is playing Christmas songs on their sound system here at work. The small towns I go through on my daily commute have hung their downtown things up. Houses have begun to display lights and plastic inflatable Santas. A local mall has held its Santa welcoming ceremony. Christmas season is here. All we need now is some snow, and even that is on the way according to local forecasts.
But wait!
Aren’t we forgetting something?
Oh, yes. Thanksgiving. Hey, that’s tomorrow! It’s time to meet with relatives, stuff ourselves with the traditional foods, watch football games, take a nap, and then hit the early sales. Right? That’s what Thanksgiving is, isn’t it?
The Christmas shopping season has grown so that it now begins on Halloween, and I fully expect that in another decade it will begin on Labor Day. I am not going to go into the crassness of the way we have commercialized Christmas. Even at a time in my life when I am not sure what I think about Christmas as a religious holiday, it is still more than a shopping frenzy. I chafe at Santa, but at least he personalizes a spirit of caring and giving.
Today I am totally out of step with everyone else because I am focused on giving thanks.
Thanksgiving is a national holiday with its roots in the gratefulness of a group of early settlers who, after a tough year, threw a party to celebrate being alive and settled in their new colony.
I, too, celebrate being alive on Thanksgiving Day. I, too, am alive, in good health, and able to live normally - able to walk, able to work, able to eat and talk and breathe just as everyone else does. It could have been a totally different story, and I am constantly aware of how much I have to be grateful for.
It was on Thanksgiving Day in 1980 that I almost died. (I found out later that an experienced ER doctor who was working that day said he had never seen anyone closer to death than I was…who lived.) It was on Thanksgiving Day in 1980 that I woke up with tubes in my mouth and down my throat, and thought, “It’s Thanksgiving Day, and I’m alive.” How did I know that? How did I sense that I had almost died? How do we know those things even when nobody tells us until six months have passed?
I have, in my thoughts, an “anniversary season” that extends from the anniversary of the day I went into the hospital to the day I was dismissed. It was literally three months to the day from the day the whole thing had begun, when I went back to my apartment. The anniversary season includes Thanksgiving Day, when I (with failing kidneys) was transferred to the care of a new hospital and new doctor; a birthday that could have been my last; and the day early in the new year when I woke up as a new person after meeting the Source of Unconditional Love in the night.
I could have come out of that situation with all kinds of physical impairments, but I did not. I am blessed with a normal life. I am blessed with good health for my age. And above all, I am blessed by the fellowship and compassion of Unconditional Love, Whom I have sought and adored ever since I woke up that morning 29 years ago.
So I have much to be thankful for. It is important to remember our blessings and to give thanks for them. Whatever the Source of that Love might be, He is the Source of all that I have, all that I am, and all that I may yet become. And as I have said before, staying in a strong relationship with this Source is the most essential thing I do. Nothing else makes sense. And I have found that the more thanks I can give, the more I appreciate the things I am thankful for. So how can I lose?
Thank You, Source!
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
But wait!
Aren’t we forgetting something?
Oh, yes. Thanksgiving. Hey, that’s tomorrow! It’s time to meet with relatives, stuff ourselves with the traditional foods, watch football games, take a nap, and then hit the early sales. Right? That’s what Thanksgiving is, isn’t it?
The Christmas shopping season has grown so that it now begins on Halloween, and I fully expect that in another decade it will begin on Labor Day. I am not going to go into the crassness of the way we have commercialized Christmas. Even at a time in my life when I am not sure what I think about Christmas as a religious holiday, it is still more than a shopping frenzy. I chafe at Santa, but at least he personalizes a spirit of caring and giving.
Today I am totally out of step with everyone else because I am focused on giving thanks.
Thanksgiving is a national holiday with its roots in the gratefulness of a group of early settlers who, after a tough year, threw a party to celebrate being alive and settled in their new colony.
I, too, celebrate being alive on Thanksgiving Day. I, too, am alive, in good health, and able to live normally - able to walk, able to work, able to eat and talk and breathe just as everyone else does. It could have been a totally different story, and I am constantly aware of how much I have to be grateful for.
It was on Thanksgiving Day in 1980 that I almost died. (I found out later that an experienced ER doctor who was working that day said he had never seen anyone closer to death than I was…who lived.) It was on Thanksgiving Day in 1980 that I woke up with tubes in my mouth and down my throat, and thought, “It’s Thanksgiving Day, and I’m alive.” How did I know that? How did I sense that I had almost died? How do we know those things even when nobody tells us until six months have passed?
I have, in my thoughts, an “anniversary season” that extends from the anniversary of the day I went into the hospital to the day I was dismissed. It was literally three months to the day from the day the whole thing had begun, when I went back to my apartment. The anniversary season includes Thanksgiving Day, when I (with failing kidneys) was transferred to the care of a new hospital and new doctor; a birthday that could have been my last; and the day early in the new year when I woke up as a new person after meeting the Source of Unconditional Love in the night.
I could have come out of that situation with all kinds of physical impairments, but I did not. I am blessed with a normal life. I am blessed with good health for my age. And above all, I am blessed by the fellowship and compassion of Unconditional Love, Whom I have sought and adored ever since I woke up that morning 29 years ago.
So I have much to be thankful for. It is important to remember our blessings and to give thanks for them. Whatever the Source of that Love might be, He is the Source of all that I have, all that I am, and all that I may yet become. And as I have said before, staying in a strong relationship with this Source is the most essential thing I do. Nothing else makes sense. And I have found that the more thanks I can give, the more I appreciate the things I am thankful for. So how can I lose?
Thank You, Source!
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
New Commitments
My church has just completed an every-member study program this fall. Well, it was intended to be, anyhow, but there were some books left over. Hopefully the vast majority of the members are following this program at home, even if they don’t make it to the weekly small group discussions.
It was been an interesting study with an introductory section, a wrapping-it-up section, and in between we studied the Wesley Quadrennium, as some people call it. This means that John Wesley established four things about church participation: your prayers, your presence, your gifts, and your service. I was a little concerned at first, for the section on prayer didn’t say much that I hadn’t already discovered for myself. Since then, however, the book consistently taught and challenged me to be more aware of the others who are at church (especially to notice who is not there as well), to give more in terms of financial gifts, and to give more in terms of working in the church’s programs. I have heard many comments from various people to the effect that they liked the study and thought it was valuable. Even transforming, which is its claim.
So here I come, wanting to put in a disclaimer or two. I feel an urge to begin by saying that I no longer feel the need of an external authority to tell me what to think or what to do. And I clearly do not feel any more that Christianity is about right belief; it is, however, in a very real way, about trying to become more like Jesus, because that is what Jesus shared with us. I love this church because I grew up in it. It is in a crisis. I want to do all I can to support it, so I have taken this study seriously in spite of my attitude toward the church as an institution.
In every section the book talked about motivations for praying, attending, financial giving, or giving of time and abilities. Not just motivations, but reasons why. Why we should do these things and how we can feel motivated or motivate ourselves.
The “reasons why” were usually given thoughtfully and with Biblical references to support them (a practice known as proof-texting). The ones that stand out for me now are: because God commands it, because it is a response to God, and because when we give selflessly we receive back. Actually, they also double as motivations. The idea of believing in Jesus as Lord and Savior also came into these discussions.
Should we give because God commands it? I suppose that if you believe God commands you to give, then you had doggoned well better give. But if it is true that we actually don’t “have to” do anything (and I’ve run into that statement also, not in the church but in other readings) then I want to ask, “Who says that God commands it?” And of course there it is in the Bible, stated in a number of places, contexts, and sets of words that we are expected to give, to tithe in fact. Sometimes it appears as an actual command. It is also likely to be a “When you…” statement (when you fast, when you pray, when you give alms). It is made clear that people are expected to do these things. (The passages I am thinking of, to be literal about it, refer to the Jewish people, not to the Christians who didn’t actually exist yet, so much of this discussion comes to us through that heritage.)
But I also have this question: Does God command that we give? It makes sense to me that we have free will. We are always taught that we are free to choose to disobey God, but after we have done that we have sinned and will suffer the consequences. This makes our free will a sham. It makes sense to me that the Source of Everything, the Creator, can’t really need anything from puny us because He could just create it if He wanted it. That leads me to conclude that if He cares one way or the other, He probably desires us to do these things for our own benefit rather than for His. In that context, it makes sense to give because God tells us to, if one needs to be told what to do by another authority.
Should we give because we receive back? That is a principle, but not a reason to give, and I am suspicious of it as a motivation. One might want to experiment with it, sometime, and see how it works out. I do not think, on the face of it, that it is wise to give in order to receive. In fact, it probably won’t even work if that is your only motivation.
And I am becoming bolder even in church about saying that I believe this is about relationships – with God, with Jesus, with oneself, with others, with all the aspects of our lives, with our environment, with nature – rather than believing specific things. What we believe will inform the way we live and the choices that we make, and that is good. But when Jesus himself talked about believing, it tended to refer to believing and trusting God rather than himself. (I don’t include the teachings in the Gospel of John, which is mystical, not one of the “synoptic” Gospels.)
I am grateful that this study gave attention to the motivation that I feel personally, because otherwise I would think very little of what I have read and talked about these past six weeks. As far as I am concerned, there is only one genuine motivation to give anything to the church or to any other institution or in any other context: in response to God, in response to and gratitude for what God has done in my own life. I know Self still gets in the way – doubtless she always will - but I hope and pray that at least 50% of the things I choose and do come from this desire.
If, in expanding my commitments for the coming year, I am obeying God, that’s OK. I can handle that. But I don’t think of it as obeying. I think of it as responding, and growing in the ways I respond, and as ways to inch a tad closer to the Source of the wonderful Love that gave my life back to me on a night when I was ready to throw in the towel. Obedience couldn’t be further from my thoughts if it tried. And certainly, obedience to the institutional church is not a motivation for me.
With all that said, the study promised to transform lives. I have been changed. I am ready to expand my commitments in all four of those areas that Wesley established. Some of those commitments will go back to my church on pieces of paper. The rest are simply between God and me. I hope that the other church members are preparing to follow through in the same way, for the sake of the church we attend. I hope that many of us (all of us would be too much to ask for) have come to understand the story of the merchant who sold everything he had so he could buy a field with a humongous treasure buried in it. That is what we are offered by the Source of Love, a vast treasure of permanent wealth that starts today, not when we die. We respond to that Love by reaching out for it, going toward it, regardless of what we must brush (or maybe, sometimes, kick) out of the way. Nothing, in the end, can possibly be more important than a relationship with that Love. That is the response I hope we all will make.
It was been an interesting study with an introductory section, a wrapping-it-up section, and in between we studied the Wesley Quadrennium, as some people call it. This means that John Wesley established four things about church participation: your prayers, your presence, your gifts, and your service. I was a little concerned at first, for the section on prayer didn’t say much that I hadn’t already discovered for myself. Since then, however, the book consistently taught and challenged me to be more aware of the others who are at church (especially to notice who is not there as well), to give more in terms of financial gifts, and to give more in terms of working in the church’s programs. I have heard many comments from various people to the effect that they liked the study and thought it was valuable. Even transforming, which is its claim.
So here I come, wanting to put in a disclaimer or two. I feel an urge to begin by saying that I no longer feel the need of an external authority to tell me what to think or what to do. And I clearly do not feel any more that Christianity is about right belief; it is, however, in a very real way, about trying to become more like Jesus, because that is what Jesus shared with us. I love this church because I grew up in it. It is in a crisis. I want to do all I can to support it, so I have taken this study seriously in spite of my attitude toward the church as an institution.
In every section the book talked about motivations for praying, attending, financial giving, or giving of time and abilities. Not just motivations, but reasons why. Why we should do these things and how we can feel motivated or motivate ourselves.
The “reasons why” were usually given thoughtfully and with Biblical references to support them (a practice known as proof-texting). The ones that stand out for me now are: because God commands it, because it is a response to God, and because when we give selflessly we receive back. Actually, they also double as motivations. The idea of believing in Jesus as Lord and Savior also came into these discussions.
Should we give because God commands it? I suppose that if you believe God commands you to give, then you had doggoned well better give. But if it is true that we actually don’t “have to” do anything (and I’ve run into that statement also, not in the church but in other readings) then I want to ask, “Who says that God commands it?” And of course there it is in the Bible, stated in a number of places, contexts, and sets of words that we are expected to give, to tithe in fact. Sometimes it appears as an actual command. It is also likely to be a “When you…” statement (when you fast, when you pray, when you give alms). It is made clear that people are expected to do these things. (The passages I am thinking of, to be literal about it, refer to the Jewish people, not to the Christians who didn’t actually exist yet, so much of this discussion comes to us through that heritage.)
But I also have this question: Does God command that we give? It makes sense to me that we have free will. We are always taught that we are free to choose to disobey God, but after we have done that we have sinned and will suffer the consequences. This makes our free will a sham. It makes sense to me that the Source of Everything, the Creator, can’t really need anything from puny us because He could just create it if He wanted it. That leads me to conclude that if He cares one way or the other, He probably desires us to do these things for our own benefit rather than for His. In that context, it makes sense to give because God tells us to, if one needs to be told what to do by another authority.
Should we give because we receive back? That is a principle, but not a reason to give, and I am suspicious of it as a motivation. One might want to experiment with it, sometime, and see how it works out. I do not think, on the face of it, that it is wise to give in order to receive. In fact, it probably won’t even work if that is your only motivation.
And I am becoming bolder even in church about saying that I believe this is about relationships – with God, with Jesus, with oneself, with others, with all the aspects of our lives, with our environment, with nature – rather than believing specific things. What we believe will inform the way we live and the choices that we make, and that is good. But when Jesus himself talked about believing, it tended to refer to believing and trusting God rather than himself. (I don’t include the teachings in the Gospel of John, which is mystical, not one of the “synoptic” Gospels.)
I am grateful that this study gave attention to the motivation that I feel personally, because otherwise I would think very little of what I have read and talked about these past six weeks. As far as I am concerned, there is only one genuine motivation to give anything to the church or to any other institution or in any other context: in response to God, in response to and gratitude for what God has done in my own life. I know Self still gets in the way – doubtless she always will - but I hope and pray that at least 50% of the things I choose and do come from this desire.
If, in expanding my commitments for the coming year, I am obeying God, that’s OK. I can handle that. But I don’t think of it as obeying. I think of it as responding, and growing in the ways I respond, and as ways to inch a tad closer to the Source of the wonderful Love that gave my life back to me on a night when I was ready to throw in the towel. Obedience couldn’t be further from my thoughts if it tried. And certainly, obedience to the institutional church is not a motivation for me.
With all that said, the study promised to transform lives. I have been changed. I am ready to expand my commitments in all four of those areas that Wesley established. Some of those commitments will go back to my church on pieces of paper. The rest are simply between God and me. I hope that the other church members are preparing to follow through in the same way, for the sake of the church we attend. I hope that many of us (all of us would be too much to ask for) have come to understand the story of the merchant who sold everything he had so he could buy a field with a humongous treasure buried in it. That is what we are offered by the Source of Love, a vast treasure of permanent wealth that starts today, not when we die. We respond to that Love by reaching out for it, going toward it, regardless of what we must brush (or maybe, sometimes, kick) out of the way. Nothing, in the end, can possibly be more important than a relationship with that Love. That is the response I hope we all will make.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Was It Condescension or Just Inexperience?
A few weeks ago, in the absence of our pastor, our young pastoral assistant gave the sermon for the Sunday service that I attend. (We have two services, a “traditional” and a “praise” or “contemporary” service. I normally attend the first one.) This assistant is a good kid, enthusiastic about his work with our new youth program, excited about his relationship with God (however he might understand God to be) – but I mean it when I say he is a kid. We hired him as a part-time staff member a little over a year ago, just as he was graduating from high school, because he wanted to work with the youth program and he is interested in becoming a minister.
I’ve heard a couple of his sermons. My basic impression has been that his thoughts are all right but not well developed, and his delivery can use some work. His greatest weaknesses as a speaker and preacher are his youth and inexperience, and those will dissolve as he studies and matures.
But that sermon a few weeks ago wasn’t like the others I have heard him give. It sounded to me like he was repeating things he had heard our pastor day. It didn’t seem well organized. I wasn’t sure exactly what he thought he was focusing on. The woman sitting next to me in the pew said later that it was condescending. My own opinion, however, was that our young pastoral assistant was basically parroting what he has been taught and has not yet begun to take his faith and make it personally appropriated. I think he will be much stronger as a minister and speaker once he has gone through that process. So again, I thought his youth was his major “obstacle.”
It got me to thinking about sermons. What should a sermon do? Inspire you to change your life? Teach you about the contents of the Bible? Teach you about Jesus? Relate the scriptural text to the way you live your life throughout the coming week? All of those are good for a sermon to do. It may depend on the situation you are in; any speech, sermon or otherwise, is shaped by the occasion and the audience.
The text and sermon should be clearly related to each other. The pastoral assistant’s text that morning was the one after the Beatitudes where Jesus talks about not hiding your light under a bushel but letting it shine before men to glorify God. We heard a sermon about the moon and also watched a video about lamps. At least the text mentioned lamps. It said nothing about the moon or even about the sun, whose light the moon reflects. It would have been clearer – also noticeably shorter – if he had just left the moon out of it. A more experienced speaker might have been able to make it work.
The sermon should focus on its object and not get diverted into side avenues. That was the other tension created by the example of the moon. In his hands, the sermon just lost its focus and its point.
And a sermon will reflect the maturity and life experience of the speaker, along with that speaker’s faith. It can do nothing else. Giving a sermon, like giving any other type of public speech, has a performance element, and every live performance forces the performer to bare his or her soul. Between preparation, content, and delivery, that is what happens in performance. At least, that is how it has been for me whether I am playing the piano, singing, or speaking. If your performance hasn’t done that, it hasn’t been effective.
I didn’t think the young man’s sermon that day did any of those things. What it revealed, I thought, was an unformed kid who has not yet begun to question and develop his own personally appropriated faith. I don’t mean to be hard on him. I’m just making an observation. If he is serious about becoming a pastor, he should be starting to understand what he believes and why he believes it. I hope his mentor is guiding him into doing that.
Just for grins, I took his text and started trying to develop my own sermon on it. Lo and behold! I too would like to talk about the moon! Maybe that’s because he got me to thinking about it. It’s tough to make the moon relevant with such a text; it would be better to find a text that talks about the moon, if I want to go ahead with this plan. I may wind up with as confused a sermon as our pastoral assistant did. But one thing I can be sure of – whatever my own sermon’s weaknesses might be, it will at least reveal a speaker with a personally appropriated faith.
I’ve heard a couple of his sermons. My basic impression has been that his thoughts are all right but not well developed, and his delivery can use some work. His greatest weaknesses as a speaker and preacher are his youth and inexperience, and those will dissolve as he studies and matures.
But that sermon a few weeks ago wasn’t like the others I have heard him give. It sounded to me like he was repeating things he had heard our pastor day. It didn’t seem well organized. I wasn’t sure exactly what he thought he was focusing on. The woman sitting next to me in the pew said later that it was condescending. My own opinion, however, was that our young pastoral assistant was basically parroting what he has been taught and has not yet begun to take his faith and make it personally appropriated. I think he will be much stronger as a minister and speaker once he has gone through that process. So again, I thought his youth was his major “obstacle.”
It got me to thinking about sermons. What should a sermon do? Inspire you to change your life? Teach you about the contents of the Bible? Teach you about Jesus? Relate the scriptural text to the way you live your life throughout the coming week? All of those are good for a sermon to do. It may depend on the situation you are in; any speech, sermon or otherwise, is shaped by the occasion and the audience.
The text and sermon should be clearly related to each other. The pastoral assistant’s text that morning was the one after the Beatitudes where Jesus talks about not hiding your light under a bushel but letting it shine before men to glorify God. We heard a sermon about the moon and also watched a video about lamps. At least the text mentioned lamps. It said nothing about the moon or even about the sun, whose light the moon reflects. It would have been clearer – also noticeably shorter – if he had just left the moon out of it. A more experienced speaker might have been able to make it work.
The sermon should focus on its object and not get diverted into side avenues. That was the other tension created by the example of the moon. In his hands, the sermon just lost its focus and its point.
And a sermon will reflect the maturity and life experience of the speaker, along with that speaker’s faith. It can do nothing else. Giving a sermon, like giving any other type of public speech, has a performance element, and every live performance forces the performer to bare his or her soul. Between preparation, content, and delivery, that is what happens in performance. At least, that is how it has been for me whether I am playing the piano, singing, or speaking. If your performance hasn’t done that, it hasn’t been effective.
I didn’t think the young man’s sermon that day did any of those things. What it revealed, I thought, was an unformed kid who has not yet begun to question and develop his own personally appropriated faith. I don’t mean to be hard on him. I’m just making an observation. If he is serious about becoming a pastor, he should be starting to understand what he believes and why he believes it. I hope his mentor is guiding him into doing that.
Just for grins, I took his text and started trying to develop my own sermon on it. Lo and behold! I too would like to talk about the moon! Maybe that’s because he got me to thinking about it. It’s tough to make the moon relevant with such a text; it would be better to find a text that talks about the moon, if I want to go ahead with this plan. I may wind up with as confused a sermon as our pastoral assistant did. But one thing I can be sure of – whatever my own sermon’s weaknesses might be, it will at least reveal a speaker with a personally appropriated faith.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Slice Of Life: Sunday By the Spoon
Usually my Sundays have a fixed routine. Church and Sunday school in the morning, prayer journaling in the afternoon, followed by cooking the entrée and vegetables for taking to work during the week. It fills my day, involves me in some relatively creative manual work, and allows me a generous amount of time to spend with my Source. It is essential that I keep in close contact with the Source of my life, so this is a commitment. I guard this time so jealously that an act of Congress is required before I skip it, and then only if I can do it some evening during the week.
It took me by surprise, therefore, when I decided recently to vary that routine.
I live in an area that has a small body of water called the Spoon River running through it. It would be totally unknown, in fact, if Edger Lee Masters hadn’t written the Spoon River Anthology. It is a small river, not very wide, not very long, with many small towns and villages on or close to its banks. The first two weekends in October are given over to something called the Scenic Drive, which features the towns along the river, fall foliage colors, craft fairs and food booths of many descriptions.
This year we had a streak of cloudy, rainy, unseasonably chilly weather for the Scenic Drive. There was only one really nice day to go to it, the Sunday of the first weekend in October. It was a perfect fall afternoon, clear blue sky with a few swirls and puffs of white cloud, mild in the sunlight but somewhat cool in the shade. There are always a number of places to decide on, but this year I wanted to go to a village close by me and take a look at the wares that were displayed. It felt at first like a rationalization when I decided to put off the prayer journaling until an evening during the week just so I could go on an outing, but the perfection of the day beckoned me.
When I got to the village, I grabbed a good parking place actually on the riverbank, in the paved area where boaters put their boats into the water. Just across the river was the town. I parked, walked across the bridge, and the first thing I saw was a booth advertising fresh fudge. Right away, I was glad I had come!
I wandered through the small downtown of the village. Well, it is small, but it holds a lot of booths every year. I saw sweaters, sweatshirts, kitchen towels, scarves, hats, jackets, blankets. There were metal things. There were wooden things. There were even fake electric guitars to be used as decorations. I admired home-grown squashes and tomatoes and nuts. My mouth watered as I looked at homemade jams, pies, local grown honey, homemade noodles and breads. Then there was food and drink to enjoy on the spot, lemonade, tea, coffee, hot chocolate, hot dogs, sausages, nachos, tacos, popcorn. I purchased a taco as I wandered, and enjoyed trying to walk and eat at the same time.
And of course there were the people. Short ones, tall ones, stout ones, thin ones. With high voices, with deep voices, with nasal voices, with rich voices. With children. With dogs. Some, like me, wore a sweatshirt. Others had on jackets or sweaters. Several wore T-shirts.
When I finally turned back toward the bridge, my way took me by an entertainer who sang fairly interesting songs and told excessively corny jokes. The jokes were so bad that I really couldn’t help laughing at them. And on my last stop out of town, I dropped by that fudge booth and bought some fudge to take home.
There was one more stop. As I crossed the bridge again I stopped to enjoy the delightful view of the rounded hills, the surrounding farms, the houses and barns, the yellows and browns of ripe crops under the blue sky. I said to myself, “My gosh, this is so beautiful.” And then I realized. I had postponed my prayer journaling for this outing, but I had not neglected my Creator. He was of course in the beauty of the day and the ripening crops and the sunshine and the breeze. He was in the people I had seen, and the fruits of creation included the fruits of our creation, the foods and gadgets on display, for any creative act is generated by His creative energy. We too are the creation, and we too generate fruits of creation. I had spent all this time enjoying the creation with its Creator.
Two hours of prayer journaling wouldn’t have pointed that out to me as vividly as that moment on the bridge. I swung into my car, unwrapped the fudge, took a bite out of it, and headed for home.
It took me by surprise, therefore, when I decided recently to vary that routine.
I live in an area that has a small body of water called the Spoon River running through it. It would be totally unknown, in fact, if Edger Lee Masters hadn’t written the Spoon River Anthology. It is a small river, not very wide, not very long, with many small towns and villages on or close to its banks. The first two weekends in October are given over to something called the Scenic Drive, which features the towns along the river, fall foliage colors, craft fairs and food booths of many descriptions.
This year we had a streak of cloudy, rainy, unseasonably chilly weather for the Scenic Drive. There was only one really nice day to go to it, the Sunday of the first weekend in October. It was a perfect fall afternoon, clear blue sky with a few swirls and puffs of white cloud, mild in the sunlight but somewhat cool in the shade. There are always a number of places to decide on, but this year I wanted to go to a village close by me and take a look at the wares that were displayed. It felt at first like a rationalization when I decided to put off the prayer journaling until an evening during the week just so I could go on an outing, but the perfection of the day beckoned me.
When I got to the village, I grabbed a good parking place actually on the riverbank, in the paved area where boaters put their boats into the water. Just across the river was the town. I parked, walked across the bridge, and the first thing I saw was a booth advertising fresh fudge. Right away, I was glad I had come!
I wandered through the small downtown of the village. Well, it is small, but it holds a lot of booths every year. I saw sweaters, sweatshirts, kitchen towels, scarves, hats, jackets, blankets. There were metal things. There were wooden things. There were even fake electric guitars to be used as decorations. I admired home-grown squashes and tomatoes and nuts. My mouth watered as I looked at homemade jams, pies, local grown honey, homemade noodles and breads. Then there was food and drink to enjoy on the spot, lemonade, tea, coffee, hot chocolate, hot dogs, sausages, nachos, tacos, popcorn. I purchased a taco as I wandered, and enjoyed trying to walk and eat at the same time.
And of course there were the people. Short ones, tall ones, stout ones, thin ones. With high voices, with deep voices, with nasal voices, with rich voices. With children. With dogs. Some, like me, wore a sweatshirt. Others had on jackets or sweaters. Several wore T-shirts.
When I finally turned back toward the bridge, my way took me by an entertainer who sang fairly interesting songs and told excessively corny jokes. The jokes were so bad that I really couldn’t help laughing at them. And on my last stop out of town, I dropped by that fudge booth and bought some fudge to take home.
There was one more stop. As I crossed the bridge again I stopped to enjoy the delightful view of the rounded hills, the surrounding farms, the houses and barns, the yellows and browns of ripe crops under the blue sky. I said to myself, “My gosh, this is so beautiful.” And then I realized. I had postponed my prayer journaling for this outing, but I had not neglected my Creator. He was of course in the beauty of the day and the ripening crops and the sunshine and the breeze. He was in the people I had seen, and the fruits of creation included the fruits of our creation, the foods and gadgets on display, for any creative act is generated by His creative energy. We too are the creation, and we too generate fruits of creation. I had spent all this time enjoying the creation with its Creator.
Two hours of prayer journaling wouldn’t have pointed that out to me as vividly as that moment on the bridge. I swung into my car, unwrapped the fudge, took a bite out of it, and headed for home.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Coda - Leftovers
So where does all this leave Jesus? I believe there was a Jesus, and that he attracted enemies who killed him very nastily. I believe that Jesus showed us what God is like. The Jesus we meet in the New Testament was open to all who came with humble hearts, was compassionate toward those who suffered, healed those who asked for it, and taught about a God Who loves us and Whose “Kingdom” or presence is with us now. Jesus was a human mystic, and when he said he was in God and God was in him he was making a mystical statement.
Jesus was presenting the unconditional love of God, encouraging and showing us how to be intimate with God, and saying that God is present with us now. It’s a matter of recognizing that this has always been true; it isn’t new. Christians often say that we should become more like Jesus, and at that point I want to leap to my feet and shout “Halleujah!” because that is exactly right. Jesus was telling and showing us how to live intimately with God as he did, and we should work to become like him and live intimately with God ourselves. What could be more natural? I think it is about relationship, with God and with the environment and with each other. How else can we express the kind of love that Jesus showed us?
Jesus has become for me a sort of older brother figure, who still is prominent in my inner life, but while I love him I no longer believe that he died for my sins, I do not pray to him, and I do not worship him. He confirms what I learned about God in my encounter with unconditional love. I no longer see him as my “personal Savior” but he still remains the revelation of the nature of God.
And the Trinity? One God in three Persons? I never understood that one anyway. There is God, whatever God may actually be. There is the clear presence and working of God, which is what we refer to as the Holy Spirit. There is Jesus, who reveals to us God’s basic nature. Where the “spiritual gifts” come from is now an unanswerable question. I still believe that if f I pray in tongues it somehow adds pizzazz to my praying, and I can trust that and let it go.
Is there sin? Oh, yes. We are full of it. I think it is another way of describing the human condition. There are various definitions of sin. My understanding of it is the deliberate choice to do something that you know is destructive. Honest mistakes are not sins. Knowing something is harmful, and choosing to do it anyway, is the sin. Even if what it destroys…is you yourself.
The devil? Well, my beliefs there have gone back and forth. I do believe that our darkness is energy and can take actual form. There have been times when I felt that I was under a direct attack from it. I also think we are perfectly capable of screwing up on our own and don’t need anyone else’s help in that respect. It would probably be better if we stopped blaming our flaws on the devil, took responsibility for our screwups, and made stronger efforts to clean up our act.
What about the authority of the Bible? A fundamental tenet of the Christian Reformation has always been that the final authority in matters of faith of practice can be found in the Bible (as opposed to the authority of the church). To my understanding, the Bible was written by human beings. Inspired, yes, but still human, and their humanness can be found throughout the Bible. The stories may or may not report accurately on historical events, but whether they do or not, they contain timeless truth. I still read and learn from the Bible, parts of it anyway.
What then is my final authority? It has to be that experience I had, that encounter with unconditional love. It took my faith from a learned thing to an experienced, internalized, and personally appropriated thing, and made it much stronger. Nothing yet has rocked it, not illnesses, not 9/11, not the scandals of televangelists and other ministers. None of that touches my belief that I responded to unconditional love that night.
So in the final analysis, it isn’t that I “reject” God or Jesus, but I am having a great deal of trouble getting my head around the interpretation of God and Jesus that I have been taught by the Christian church. I feel obliged to follow the concepts I learned through my encounter with unconditional love. I don’t feel obliged to live by concepts that I don’t think are God’s. That would include any idea that goes against the love that I believe God has for each of us. That would include any idea that I don’t see Jesus expressing in the Gospels. And he hasn’t disagreed with my experience.
I have been told many times by fundamentalist friends that only the Bible can be trusted, not our feelings, not our experiences, not anything else. I cannot agree with that. We need to learn from our experiences, not ignore them. And I am working to learn from mine.
Jesus was presenting the unconditional love of God, encouraging and showing us how to be intimate with God, and saying that God is present with us now. It’s a matter of recognizing that this has always been true; it isn’t new. Christians often say that we should become more like Jesus, and at that point I want to leap to my feet and shout “Halleujah!” because that is exactly right. Jesus was telling and showing us how to live intimately with God as he did, and we should work to become like him and live intimately with God ourselves. What could be more natural? I think it is about relationship, with God and with the environment and with each other. How else can we express the kind of love that Jesus showed us?
Jesus has become for me a sort of older brother figure, who still is prominent in my inner life, but while I love him I no longer believe that he died for my sins, I do not pray to him, and I do not worship him. He confirms what I learned about God in my encounter with unconditional love. I no longer see him as my “personal Savior” but he still remains the revelation of the nature of God.
And the Trinity? One God in three Persons? I never understood that one anyway. There is God, whatever God may actually be. There is the clear presence and working of God, which is what we refer to as the Holy Spirit. There is Jesus, who reveals to us God’s basic nature. Where the “spiritual gifts” come from is now an unanswerable question. I still believe that if f I pray in tongues it somehow adds pizzazz to my praying, and I can trust that and let it go.
Is there sin? Oh, yes. We are full of it. I think it is another way of describing the human condition. There are various definitions of sin. My understanding of it is the deliberate choice to do something that you know is destructive. Honest mistakes are not sins. Knowing something is harmful, and choosing to do it anyway, is the sin. Even if what it destroys…is you yourself.
The devil? Well, my beliefs there have gone back and forth. I do believe that our darkness is energy and can take actual form. There have been times when I felt that I was under a direct attack from it. I also think we are perfectly capable of screwing up on our own and don’t need anyone else’s help in that respect. It would probably be better if we stopped blaming our flaws on the devil, took responsibility for our screwups, and made stronger efforts to clean up our act.
What about the authority of the Bible? A fundamental tenet of the Christian Reformation has always been that the final authority in matters of faith of practice can be found in the Bible (as opposed to the authority of the church). To my understanding, the Bible was written by human beings. Inspired, yes, but still human, and their humanness can be found throughout the Bible. The stories may or may not report accurately on historical events, but whether they do or not, they contain timeless truth. I still read and learn from the Bible, parts of it anyway.
What then is my final authority? It has to be that experience I had, that encounter with unconditional love. It took my faith from a learned thing to an experienced, internalized, and personally appropriated thing, and made it much stronger. Nothing yet has rocked it, not illnesses, not 9/11, not the scandals of televangelists and other ministers. None of that touches my belief that I responded to unconditional love that night.
So in the final analysis, it isn’t that I “reject” God or Jesus, but I am having a great deal of trouble getting my head around the interpretation of God and Jesus that I have been taught by the Christian church. I feel obliged to follow the concepts I learned through my encounter with unconditional love. I don’t feel obliged to live by concepts that I don’t think are God’s. That would include any idea that goes against the love that I believe God has for each of us. That would include any idea that I don’t see Jesus expressing in the Gospels. And he hasn’t disagreed with my experience.
I have been told many times by fundamentalist friends that only the Bible can be trusted, not our feelings, not our experiences, not anything else. I cannot agree with that. We need to learn from our experiences, not ignore them. And I am working to learn from mine.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
A Scary God or a Loving God? - Part Three
My objections to the conventional teachings begin with the conviction that in the requirement to believe something, someone (I presume the church itself) has imposed a man-made condition on a love which God offers without conditions. So if you encounter a Love that is absolute, unconditional, and extravagant to the point of being ridiculous, and you respond with your own love, there should be an entirely different result. Whatever you believe about God now will be based on love, His for you and yours for Him, and fear will fly out the window never to return. It is impossible to be afraid of that Love.
My objections continue with the conviction that we are not isolated from God; in fact, we are intimately connected to God and each of us is invited to enjoy intimacy with God. Yes, you can enjoy God. The Source of that Love is now the most important thing in your life, and you will gladly give up any habit or “sin” that keeps you from being close to Him.
And my objections also include the realization that God, the Creator, the Universe, whatever name we wish to use for this Being Who loves us so, is humongous. He is vast enough to make all this, a universe so enormous that we can’t even travel from one side of the Milky Way to the other in a few hundred years (and that’s just one galaxy). The universe is vast and complex, full of galaxies and stars and planets, probably including many other planets that have life, and even intelligent life. We are just one rock in this place, one grain of sand on a beach. We cannot possibly grasp the vastness of the universe or the fullness of this Being Who created it. Our religions and theologies have expressed our attempts to understand God, but none can fully explain Him. They are our theories; they are not facts. No one has the right to say that “I am right and you are wrong.” (Yes, that includes me!) No one can truly say that he has the only route to God.
So how does this look in the lives of the people who respond to God by loving Him back?
The belief of being exclusive: People who have a love-based relationship with God will realize that no one really “deserves” being loved like that. The truth of it is that we don’t have to deserve it. The Love is available for everyone. God loves the other guy too, just as He loves you. Nobody is exclusive. Nobody has the “only way” to God. God welcomes all whom He loves. And He loves all of us.
The belief that you are separated from God: You discover that God, the Source of All, is in you and you are in the Source. God was always there. You have just found Him. That’s all. You and God are organic parts of each other, and you cannot be separated. Neither are you separated from other persons, for God is in them as He is in you, and that connects you. It connects us all. It should help us to build bridges to each other, instead of walls against each other.
The belief that you are separated from nature: If God is in all that He has created, then He must be in all living things. It makes supporting environmental cleanup and responsibility another way to love and serve God our Creator. If you weren’t sensitive to these issues before you learned to love God, you will probably become so.
The belief that all your passions (meaning sex) lead to the greatest sins of all: Sex is a physical expression of love, a part of nature. As a part of nature it is not dirty or sinful in itself. We may use it against one another in destructive ways but we are the problem, not sex itself. Our job is to work to eliminate whatever ways we use sex, gender, gender roles, etc. in ways that control or use others. Once we understand that sex is natural and good, and that we ourselves are the problem with it, we can stop being afraid of our bodies and start healing our sexual dysfunctions.
The belief that God punishes you in horrendous ways for your sins: Look, life isn’t easy. It is true that “old age isn’t for sissies.” All the old people we know are tough as nails. But there is no need to whine: “What did I do to deserve this?” We are free to make our mistakes, and we experience the consequences they bring us. But God’s intention is not to punish. Jesus taught, healed, and restored us. If Jesus is truly the revelation of God, then surely God teaches, heals, and restores. Could the Being Who loves you absolutely and unconditionally and extravagantly do anything else? When we ignore His guidance we suffer the natural consequences of our decisions and actions, but God will also help us get through it. It’s better to take the responsibility for your choices and work to make better ones.
One more thing. If we are connected to one another, we should start making greater efforts to get along better. If God is so huge that we can’t grasp anything except one or two very basic things about Him, there is no point in arguing with each other over our theologies or doing anything else that lets our religions get between us. It is time to start serious interfaith dialogue and get busy understanding each other.
I think I can probably summarize all that by saying that I believe entering a love-based relationship with God will not only turn your life inside out, it will turn you inside out. (I know it sounds scary, but believe me, it is worth it.) You will begin to see life and the world more clearly. You will see the kinds of things I have been describing in this post. And that is the first step in working to heal our world. And, not incidentally, ourselves as well.
My objections continue with the conviction that we are not isolated from God; in fact, we are intimately connected to God and each of us is invited to enjoy intimacy with God. Yes, you can enjoy God. The Source of that Love is now the most important thing in your life, and you will gladly give up any habit or “sin” that keeps you from being close to Him.
And my objections also include the realization that God, the Creator, the Universe, whatever name we wish to use for this Being Who loves us so, is humongous. He is vast enough to make all this, a universe so enormous that we can’t even travel from one side of the Milky Way to the other in a few hundred years (and that’s just one galaxy). The universe is vast and complex, full of galaxies and stars and planets, probably including many other planets that have life, and even intelligent life. We are just one rock in this place, one grain of sand on a beach. We cannot possibly grasp the vastness of the universe or the fullness of this Being Who created it. Our religions and theologies have expressed our attempts to understand God, but none can fully explain Him. They are our theories; they are not facts. No one has the right to say that “I am right and you are wrong.” (Yes, that includes me!) No one can truly say that he has the only route to God.
So how does this look in the lives of the people who respond to God by loving Him back?
The belief of being exclusive: People who have a love-based relationship with God will realize that no one really “deserves” being loved like that. The truth of it is that we don’t have to deserve it. The Love is available for everyone. God loves the other guy too, just as He loves you. Nobody is exclusive. Nobody has the “only way” to God. God welcomes all whom He loves. And He loves all of us.
The belief that you are separated from God: You discover that God, the Source of All, is in you and you are in the Source. God was always there. You have just found Him. That’s all. You and God are organic parts of each other, and you cannot be separated. Neither are you separated from other persons, for God is in them as He is in you, and that connects you. It connects us all. It should help us to build bridges to each other, instead of walls against each other.
The belief that you are separated from nature: If God is in all that He has created, then He must be in all living things. It makes supporting environmental cleanup and responsibility another way to love and serve God our Creator. If you weren’t sensitive to these issues before you learned to love God, you will probably become so.
The belief that all your passions (meaning sex) lead to the greatest sins of all: Sex is a physical expression of love, a part of nature. As a part of nature it is not dirty or sinful in itself. We may use it against one another in destructive ways but we are the problem, not sex itself. Our job is to work to eliminate whatever ways we use sex, gender, gender roles, etc. in ways that control or use others. Once we understand that sex is natural and good, and that we ourselves are the problem with it, we can stop being afraid of our bodies and start healing our sexual dysfunctions.
The belief that God punishes you in horrendous ways for your sins: Look, life isn’t easy. It is true that “old age isn’t for sissies.” All the old people we know are tough as nails. But there is no need to whine: “What did I do to deserve this?” We are free to make our mistakes, and we experience the consequences they bring us. But God’s intention is not to punish. Jesus taught, healed, and restored us. If Jesus is truly the revelation of God, then surely God teaches, heals, and restores. Could the Being Who loves you absolutely and unconditionally and extravagantly do anything else? When we ignore His guidance we suffer the natural consequences of our decisions and actions, but God will also help us get through it. It’s better to take the responsibility for your choices and work to make better ones.
One more thing. If we are connected to one another, we should start making greater efforts to get along better. If God is so huge that we can’t grasp anything except one or two very basic things about Him, there is no point in arguing with each other over our theologies or doing anything else that lets our religions get between us. It is time to start serious interfaith dialogue and get busy understanding each other.
I think I can probably summarize all that by saying that I believe entering a love-based relationship with God will not only turn your life inside out, it will turn you inside out. (I know it sounds scary, but believe me, it is worth it.) You will begin to see life and the world more clearly. You will see the kinds of things I have been describing in this post. And that is the first step in working to heal our world. And, not incidentally, ourselves as well.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
A Scary God or a Loving God? – Part Two
At the risk of repeating myself:
The traditional/conventional teachings of Christianity are based on fear of God. These teachings are based on an ancient story that is really a myth. Today, however, we interpret the story as the account of an actual happening. In this story, the first human couple disobeyed God out of willfulness and He punished them for it. In fact, the doctrine of “original sin” tells us that He punishes all of us because we inherit Adam and Eve’s sins and punishment. We are literally born into sin, then, and there isn’t anything we can do to help ourselves. That is what the church tells us. (It makes me feel that I’ve been declared out before I even go into the batter’s box.)
This is where Jesus comes into it. We are taught that he came to earthly life in order to heal this breach in the God/human relationship. This he accomplished by going through a horrendous death and then being physically resurrected from the grave. In spite of all that, we must still be under some punishment; we have not been returned to the paradise from which Adam and Eve were evicted, and we are still allowed to suffer. We are no longer under the threat of eternal damnation. We still screw up, we still commit sin, but we are forgiven anyway.
In spite of this forgiveness, we still put our efforts into pleasing God. If He is not pleased, He inflicts sufferings on us. He can do it to punish, or to discipline, or because somehow it is good for us to hurt. We are constantly on the lookout for ways we offend Him, so that we might avoid doing anything to bring the holy wrath down on us. Instead of being grateful for that forgiveness, we continue to fear the angry and vindictive dictator.
How does this kind of faith work its way out in the lives of those who cling to it?
The belief of being exclusive: Only you, as a Christian, have access to God and Heaven, because Jesus as the only Son of God (or as the Incarnation of God, if you choose that belief) is the only way to find God. There are people who believe that a baby will go to hell if it dies before it can be baptized. There are people who believe that only members of their faith or their denomination will go to heaven. And many Christians believe anyone who doesn’t accept Jesus as Lord and Savior will go to hell, no matter how good they might be.
The belief that you are separated from God: God lives “up there” in Heaven, and He is far away from us. Every time you say something about God “looking down at us” you’re echoing this belief. The idea that God can’t stand us although He loves us would be impossible without the belief that we are separated from Him.
The belief that you are separate from nature: Because we believe in this separation, we have tried to dominate the natural world as an “other” thing. I look at the condition our ecology is in today, with our overpopulation, pollution, and rumors of coming water shortages, and I think we are reaping the harvest of this belief.
The belief that all your passions (meaning sex) lead to the greatest sins of all: This refers back to nature, for sex is nature. The belief of being separate from nature, then, separates us from our very bodies and their natural sexual energies. We think of sex as being dirty. We use sex-related words as profanity. We are taught that it is through the very act of sex that we pass on that old “original sin.” It also affects perceptions of women and their role in sex and giving birth. Many of us resist birth control for teens because we don’t want them to “get away with having sex,” which makes pregnancy sound like a punishment. There are still people who think of rape as something a woman invites, rather than a violent crime done against her.
The belief that God punishes you in horrendous ways for your sins: Some people thought 9/11 was God’s punishment on our nation for our sinful ways, meaning women’s liberation and abortions and the gay rights movement. I also think of the nun who told my friend X, who is suffering from a brain tumor, that she (X) has this illness because of some terrible sin she has committed. (I’m sure the nun thought she was speaking in love, and meant that my friend could be healed if she would confess this sin and repent.)
All of that, in my estimation, derives from a faith that is based on fear of God as dictator, police officer, judge, and jury. If your ideas are based on fear, then you live in fear of God. Even if you love Jesus, you may still be afraid of that almighty judge. Do the people who show the types of attitudes and behavior I have described even realize that they are afraid of God? I suspect not.
But if you encounter and respond to a Love that is absolute, unconditional, and extravagant to the point of being ridiculous, there should be an entirely different result. If you return that Love with your own love…
I really am going somewhere with all this. Be patient. And stay tuned.
The traditional/conventional teachings of Christianity are based on fear of God. These teachings are based on an ancient story that is really a myth. Today, however, we interpret the story as the account of an actual happening. In this story, the first human couple disobeyed God out of willfulness and He punished them for it. In fact, the doctrine of “original sin” tells us that He punishes all of us because we inherit Adam and Eve’s sins and punishment. We are literally born into sin, then, and there isn’t anything we can do to help ourselves. That is what the church tells us. (It makes me feel that I’ve been declared out before I even go into the batter’s box.)
This is where Jesus comes into it. We are taught that he came to earthly life in order to heal this breach in the God/human relationship. This he accomplished by going through a horrendous death and then being physically resurrected from the grave. In spite of all that, we must still be under some punishment; we have not been returned to the paradise from which Adam and Eve were evicted, and we are still allowed to suffer. We are no longer under the threat of eternal damnation. We still screw up, we still commit sin, but we are forgiven anyway.
In spite of this forgiveness, we still put our efforts into pleasing God. If He is not pleased, He inflicts sufferings on us. He can do it to punish, or to discipline, or because somehow it is good for us to hurt. We are constantly on the lookout for ways we offend Him, so that we might avoid doing anything to bring the holy wrath down on us. Instead of being grateful for that forgiveness, we continue to fear the angry and vindictive dictator.
How does this kind of faith work its way out in the lives of those who cling to it?
The belief of being exclusive: Only you, as a Christian, have access to God and Heaven, because Jesus as the only Son of God (or as the Incarnation of God, if you choose that belief) is the only way to find God. There are people who believe that a baby will go to hell if it dies before it can be baptized. There are people who believe that only members of their faith or their denomination will go to heaven. And many Christians believe anyone who doesn’t accept Jesus as Lord and Savior will go to hell, no matter how good they might be.
The belief that you are separated from God: God lives “up there” in Heaven, and He is far away from us. Every time you say something about God “looking down at us” you’re echoing this belief. The idea that God can’t stand us although He loves us would be impossible without the belief that we are separated from Him.
The belief that you are separate from nature: Because we believe in this separation, we have tried to dominate the natural world as an “other” thing. I look at the condition our ecology is in today, with our overpopulation, pollution, and rumors of coming water shortages, and I think we are reaping the harvest of this belief.
The belief that all your passions (meaning sex) lead to the greatest sins of all: This refers back to nature, for sex is nature. The belief of being separate from nature, then, separates us from our very bodies and their natural sexual energies. We think of sex as being dirty. We use sex-related words as profanity. We are taught that it is through the very act of sex that we pass on that old “original sin.” It also affects perceptions of women and their role in sex and giving birth. Many of us resist birth control for teens because we don’t want them to “get away with having sex,” which makes pregnancy sound like a punishment. There are still people who think of rape as something a woman invites, rather than a violent crime done against her.
The belief that God punishes you in horrendous ways for your sins: Some people thought 9/11 was God’s punishment on our nation for our sinful ways, meaning women’s liberation and abortions and the gay rights movement. I also think of the nun who told my friend X, who is suffering from a brain tumor, that she (X) has this illness because of some terrible sin she has committed. (I’m sure the nun thought she was speaking in love, and meant that my friend could be healed if she would confess this sin and repent.)
All of that, in my estimation, derives from a faith that is based on fear of God as dictator, police officer, judge, and jury. If your ideas are based on fear, then you live in fear of God. Even if you love Jesus, you may still be afraid of that almighty judge. Do the people who show the types of attitudes and behavior I have described even realize that they are afraid of God? I suspect not.
But if you encounter and respond to a Love that is absolute, unconditional, and extravagant to the point of being ridiculous, there should be an entirely different result. If you return that Love with your own love…
I really am going somewhere with all this. Be patient. And stay tuned.
Monday, August 31, 2009
A Scary God or a Loving God? – Part One
I have decided to try to work out a huge subject in a sort-of series. If I want to begin to encourage others to base their relationships with God on love rather than on fear, and I believe people need to be encouraged to do so, then let me work out some basics about what all that involves. This is what I believe about God:
God exists. He is the Creator of this universe. He loves every bit of this vast creation, and that includes each of us. He lives within each of us (immanent). Yes, He is also outside of us (transcendent). But my point is that we are not separated from Him. He desires intimate personal relationships with each of us. He is morally better than we are. He is more knowledgeable and more powerful than we are. He lets us live out the consequences of our choices and actions. He is there to strengthen us through that if it becomes, well, unpleasant. He is in everything that comes to us, including the things we don’t like, but I honestly believe that life is just that way. In fact, we grow more profoundly in hard times than we do in easy ones.
Let me inject one disclaimer. In spite of my use of the masculine pronoun, I do not believe God is male. I believe that God carries all genders in His nature. However, I am comfortable with thinking of God as my “heavenly father.” And to say things like “God doesn’t impose Godself on…” is extremely awkward. I just stick with the masculine pronoun. Let me add that I frequently call God Mother, Creator, Source, and Universe also.
These are things that we are taught about God, by the church and/or by “conventional” faith.
God is a sort of “super human,” bigger than we are, smarter and more powerful than we are, as offendable and violent and vindictive as we are. He sits on His throne in the sky with zapper in hand, ready to let us have it if we make a misstep. He is a kind of benevolent dictator, loving and favoring us as long as we come up to His standards, ferocious and mean if we mess up. Even if we do our best to obey Him, He might still inflict terrible suffering on us “for our own good” if that is His will. And on top of all that we will be condemned to hell for eternity.
My own church teaches me that God is perfection itself, and we are horrendously imperfect. Perfection cannot live with imperfection. In other words, He loves us and can’t stand us all in the same moment. Theoretically, then, we are destined to spend eternity in hell, where we are far away from the perfection of God. But He still loves us, so He made a way out for us. Because Jesus died for our sins on the cross, we are saved. All we have to do is believe that Jesus did this, and we can go to heaven.
This all puts God outside of us, gives us a feeling of isolation from Him. And it leaves us with a tormenting question: He knows all, does all, and loves all, but we can’t explain how or why God allows such enormous suffering among His children.
I used to believe most of that stuff myself. I don’t any more. I am not trying to be arrogant; I just had an experience, almost 30 years ago, that taught me another way to look at God. It just happens to take me beyond the traditional faith that I was taught and into other paths. I came away from this experience knowing that I was loved greatly by this Being, that I wanted to get as close to this Being as I possibly could and stay there for the rest of my life, and that He is far above us and much vaster than we can grasp.
I know now that God loves me absolutely and unconditionally. There is a Mt. Everest somewhere, made of love that is all for me; when I use that love, it grows. There is no reason at all for God to single me out and give me such love (I totally fail to merit it), which tells me that I am not special and that He must love everyone the same way He loves me. He doesn’t favor any one of us over another, for He loves each of us. And everyone has his or her own Mt. Everest somewhere.
I went nowhere during this experience; it was an internal epiphany. That tells me that God is within me. He always has been. So much for His inability to be close to my imperfections! (Since that night, I have had other experiences that confirmed this conclusion.)
Because God is so vast and incomprehensible, we might as well stop arguing among ourselves about His true nature, what He wants, how He should be worshiped, etc. We all misunderstand God. One person’s misunderstanding is no better or worse than another person’s misunderstanding. No set of rules is superior to any other set of rules. There are countless ways to get to God, just as there are many roads that lead to New York City or San Francisco.
Because He loves each of us absolutely and unconditionally, He doesn’t care if we are male or female, black or white, gay or straight, Democrat or Republican. Dare I say it? Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, Methodist, or Assembly of God. Christian, Buddhist, Jewish, or Muslim.
So what has pushed me in this new direction? I’m not a theologian. I can’t quote the Bible chapter and verse. I’m just a laywoman who has been transformed. Now all my beliefs and ideas about things of God are filtered through that transformative experience. The faith I was taught as a child no longer makes sense to me in the light of what that experience taught me. That’s all there is to it.
The reason I have gone on at such length here is that I observe that many people are afraid of God. I am here to say that we are loved, and we have nothing to be afraid of. I met that Love. I know it. I am loved absolutely. And I trust that Love absolutely. So can anyone else.
Stay tuned.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Psalm One
I rarely worry about what people think of me, and I am gradually learning to just walk away from the question for good. Actually, there have been ways in which I never much cared…and others in which I did, deeply. Ego has wanted some things connected with the issue of how others see me, the kind of personal or professional reputation I have. Well, personal is not as important now as it used to be, and this direction of growth slowly deepens. My profession and I didn’t like each other when all was said and done, so I have no profession and, obviously, no professional reputation to worry about. While the question still comes up from an ego standpoint, it does so less frequently and less powerfully than it used to.
With that being said, it occurred to me one day recently to wonder if people think about me as being like the tree in the first Psalm, calmly and strongly overcoming drought. Going by things I’ve heard people say, I just found myself wondering about it. I don’t know where the thought came from. It may have been ego – I honestly couldn’t tell – and it may have been just a framework for reflecting on this Psalm. Whichever, I am using it to reflect on this Psalm.
Here is my own inelegant and mildly feminist paraphrase of Psalm 1: “Blessed is she who seeks wisdom, avoids the ungodly, doesn’t sin, and isn’t scornful. Her delight is in God’s law, and she meditates on it 24/7. She’s like a tree by a river, fruitful in season, unharmed by drought, always prosperous. The ungodly are fluff blown by the wind, and they cannot stand near judgment or righteousness. The righteous stand; the ungodly perish.”
I’ve always been attracted to this Psalm. I’m not sure why. I think I just like the picture of the tree and the river. The tree is always prosperous, fruitful, even overcoming drought. (I can’t say that I study the Bible 24/7. And I don't dare to say that I never do anything wrong.)
As the tree in the Psalm stretches its roots down toward the water, I stretch my spiritual roots each day toward the Source that nourishes me. That’s simply our instinct, to reach out for God – however we understand God to be – for strength and wisdom.
I am in a drought, as far as material considerations are concerned. I struggle with fear of poverty and isolation as I face the coming of old age. I deal with frustration at my job situation; the only job I can find is 53 miles away from home and pays minimum wage, and I have just gone back after a four-week layoff. (And there is no guarantee that I will avoid being laid off again.) If I look like I’m coping well, I can tell you bluntly that it doesn’t feel that way.
But if that is how others see me, my witness must be fairly good even though it doesn’t reflect my feelings. That would make sense. You rarely see yourself the way others see you. So maybe I do have some resemblance to that tree. We all need feedback from others about how well we do – or do not – walk our talk. There are several ways in which I know I don’t walk my talk very well; I also believe there are some ways in which I do. I won’t try to say which of those is stronger; that is between God and me anyway. I just work to do my best each day.
The only thing I may do differently is to continue to reach out for God even when I’m not in a drought. Because to me, prayer is about relationship with God, not shopping lists. I don’t need to “need” something in order to want to pray.
So if I happen to look like I’m flourishing in a drought, that is probably the explanation. I don’t mean to take credit for it. That’s just how it is.
I don’t know how that tree feels about it, but there’s my take on the question.
With that being said, it occurred to me one day recently to wonder if people think about me as being like the tree in the first Psalm, calmly and strongly overcoming drought. Going by things I’ve heard people say, I just found myself wondering about it. I don’t know where the thought came from. It may have been ego – I honestly couldn’t tell – and it may have been just a framework for reflecting on this Psalm. Whichever, I am using it to reflect on this Psalm.
Here is my own inelegant and mildly feminist paraphrase of Psalm 1: “Blessed is she who seeks wisdom, avoids the ungodly, doesn’t sin, and isn’t scornful. Her delight is in God’s law, and she meditates on it 24/7. She’s like a tree by a river, fruitful in season, unharmed by drought, always prosperous. The ungodly are fluff blown by the wind, and they cannot stand near judgment or righteousness. The righteous stand; the ungodly perish.”
I’ve always been attracted to this Psalm. I’m not sure why. I think I just like the picture of the tree and the river. The tree is always prosperous, fruitful, even overcoming drought. (I can’t say that I study the Bible 24/7. And I don't dare to say that I never do anything wrong.)
As the tree in the Psalm stretches its roots down toward the water, I stretch my spiritual roots each day toward the Source that nourishes me. That’s simply our instinct, to reach out for God – however we understand God to be – for strength and wisdom.
I am in a drought, as far as material considerations are concerned. I struggle with fear of poverty and isolation as I face the coming of old age. I deal with frustration at my job situation; the only job I can find is 53 miles away from home and pays minimum wage, and I have just gone back after a four-week layoff. (And there is no guarantee that I will avoid being laid off again.) If I look like I’m coping well, I can tell you bluntly that it doesn’t feel that way.
But if that is how others see me, my witness must be fairly good even though it doesn’t reflect my feelings. That would make sense. You rarely see yourself the way others see you. So maybe I do have some resemblance to that tree. We all need feedback from others about how well we do – or do not – walk our talk. There are several ways in which I know I don’t walk my talk very well; I also believe there are some ways in which I do. I won’t try to say which of those is stronger; that is between God and me anyway. I just work to do my best each day.
The only thing I may do differently is to continue to reach out for God even when I’m not in a drought. Because to me, prayer is about relationship with God, not shopping lists. I don’t need to “need” something in order to want to pray.
So if I happen to look like I’m flourishing in a drought, that is probably the explanation. I don’t mean to take credit for it. That’s just how it is.
I don’t know how that tree feels about it, but there’s my take on the question.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Back At Work!
It was almost a comedown. After being laid off, and getting strongly supportive letters of reference from my employers, and sending an email to all my friends asking for prayer support, and applying for unemployment insurance, and trying to get a part-time job through a government program…I was called back.
By now, as I reflect on my first week back, it feels as though I had never left. It was good to see the people there again. Needless to say, it’s good to be earning my way again. But I realize that I was beginning to get seriously tired of some features of what I do for this company, and they are all still there.
Why do I say this was almost a comedown? Because I was looking ahead. Strengthening my spiritual practice. Seeking work that would make more of a difference in people’s lives. Using my time and energies for creative projects such as making an arrangement of an old hymn. It was a relief to be able to have time and energy for such things again. I had supposed they would call me back eventually, but I hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Going back this soon felt like looking backward instead of forward.
So now I am left with saying: “Somehow, I will do these things anyway.”
Somehow is about how it feels, so far. But then, this is just the first week. I’m sure I will need some time to settle in. I race to make an hour or so in the evening for some piano practice, or some writing time, or – my goodness gracious – some meditation time. And a couple of weeks ago I had all the time I could have wanted for such things. I trust I will settle in here too.
And with all that said, there is a chance that I’ll be laid off again in a few weeks. My job consists of working on a specific project for a specific client of this company I work for, and the entire history of the project has featured unpredictability. We never know what is going to happen when. But there is also talk of training me on something new, which sounds like they are going to do their best to keep me around for a while.
I’m glad to be working. I enjoy the people I work with. The long commute gives me time for a lot of thinking and reflecting that goes on under the surface. That is good for me, however difficult it may be for my car and my gasoline budget.
So far, however, the whole scene feels like a huge exercise in surrender. Or detachment, if you prefer to use that word instead. Whatever you call it, it’s letting go. It’s doing the best I can there each day – and then coming home and doing the best I can here as well – and letting go of all the rest of it. So far, I would say it has all been sort of uneven, but it should improve as time goes along.
After all, somehow I will do it.
Somehow.
By now, as I reflect on my first week back, it feels as though I had never left. It was good to see the people there again. Needless to say, it’s good to be earning my way again. But I realize that I was beginning to get seriously tired of some features of what I do for this company, and they are all still there.
Why do I say this was almost a comedown? Because I was looking ahead. Strengthening my spiritual practice. Seeking work that would make more of a difference in people’s lives. Using my time and energies for creative projects such as making an arrangement of an old hymn. It was a relief to be able to have time and energy for such things again. I had supposed they would call me back eventually, but I hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Going back this soon felt like looking backward instead of forward.
So now I am left with saying: “Somehow, I will do these things anyway.”
Somehow is about how it feels, so far. But then, this is just the first week. I’m sure I will need some time to settle in. I race to make an hour or so in the evening for some piano practice, or some writing time, or – my goodness gracious – some meditation time. And a couple of weeks ago I had all the time I could have wanted for such things. I trust I will settle in here too.
And with all that said, there is a chance that I’ll be laid off again in a few weeks. My job consists of working on a specific project for a specific client of this company I work for, and the entire history of the project has featured unpredictability. We never know what is going to happen when. But there is also talk of training me on something new, which sounds like they are going to do their best to keep me around for a while.
I’m glad to be working. I enjoy the people I work with. The long commute gives me time for a lot of thinking and reflecting that goes on under the surface. That is good for me, however difficult it may be for my car and my gasoline budget.
So far, however, the whole scene feels like a huge exercise in surrender. Or detachment, if you prefer to use that word instead. Whatever you call it, it’s letting go. It’s doing the best I can there each day – and then coming home and doing the best I can here as well – and letting go of all the rest of it. So far, I would say it has all been sort of uneven, but it should improve as time goes along.
After all, somehow I will do it.
Somehow.
Friday, August 7, 2009
What Is Old Age Anyway?
For several years now, I have been struggling with an affliction that I could call “outdated views of old age.” When I was growing up back in the 1950s, 60 years old was “really up there.” Today, that has changed dramatically. Now, 60 is “the new 50.” I have had trouble grasping that.
There is a government program that promises to help “mature” unemployed workers find part-time jobs. In my recently unemployed condition, I decided to go to the local office for this program and see if I could find some work to help tide me over. I am mature, I am unemployed, and I supposed that was all that is required to take advantage of this program.
The lady who runs this program is herself quite mature; she’s in her 80s. I bit back the old cliché that she is well preserved. But she is. She and I have visited quite a little over the two weeks that we’ve known each other; like me, she can’t really afford to retire. And she didn’t care for retirement very much when she tried it, anyway. I had thought this lady was around 72 until she told me she is 81! And at that moment I began to see something new.
I have been uncertain about how I feel as I contemplate continuing to work at an age when most of my contemporaries are retired and enjoying their freedom. To be honest, I have had more than a tinge of self-pity about it. My life has been one of inner searching, not accumulation of retirement funds, let alone anything resembling monetary wealth. There has been no career, no high-paying jobs; now I near retirement age with an exceedingly slim balance in one savings account, no IRA, no investments. I cannot afford to retire. And I have a Ph.D. Even though I realize that this situation is the result of my own choices, somehow it doesn’t seem right.
But after meeting this lady at the government program’s office, I see another side to it. Continued activity. Challenges. Things that will keep me physically healthy and mentally alert as I move on into those “golden years.” There’s nothing wrong with doing things that keep me healthy and alert as long as possible. My only request is that I might find work that does more than just build a bottom line for a cadre of anonymous shareholders.
As it turned out, I am too rich (although I can’t afford to retire) to qualify for this program. All the time and work to register produced nothing. The job interview I got through the program led to nothing, although I think the people wanted to hire me. That’s what happens to me when I try to get help from the programs I have paid taxes into.
But the opportunity to get acquainted with that 81-year-old lady, who enjoys working and likes the way it helps her stay spry and alert, taught me something. That makes the entire fiasco worth the time I spent there. I know now that age really can be just a number. I’ve been writing myself off based on ideas about old age that just don’t hold true today. Now - I don’t do that any more.
The disappointment was worth that.
There is a government program that promises to help “mature” unemployed workers find part-time jobs. In my recently unemployed condition, I decided to go to the local office for this program and see if I could find some work to help tide me over. I am mature, I am unemployed, and I supposed that was all that is required to take advantage of this program.
The lady who runs this program is herself quite mature; she’s in her 80s. I bit back the old cliché that she is well preserved. But she is. She and I have visited quite a little over the two weeks that we’ve known each other; like me, she can’t really afford to retire. And she didn’t care for retirement very much when she tried it, anyway. I had thought this lady was around 72 until she told me she is 81! And at that moment I began to see something new.
I have been uncertain about how I feel as I contemplate continuing to work at an age when most of my contemporaries are retired and enjoying their freedom. To be honest, I have had more than a tinge of self-pity about it. My life has been one of inner searching, not accumulation of retirement funds, let alone anything resembling monetary wealth. There has been no career, no high-paying jobs; now I near retirement age with an exceedingly slim balance in one savings account, no IRA, no investments. I cannot afford to retire. And I have a Ph.D. Even though I realize that this situation is the result of my own choices, somehow it doesn’t seem right.
But after meeting this lady at the government program’s office, I see another side to it. Continued activity. Challenges. Things that will keep me physically healthy and mentally alert as I move on into those “golden years.” There’s nothing wrong with doing things that keep me healthy and alert as long as possible. My only request is that I might find work that does more than just build a bottom line for a cadre of anonymous shareholders.
As it turned out, I am too rich (although I can’t afford to retire) to qualify for this program. All the time and work to register produced nothing. The job interview I got through the program led to nothing, although I think the people wanted to hire me. That’s what happens to me when I try to get help from the programs I have paid taxes into.
But the opportunity to get acquainted with that 81-year-old lady, who enjoys working and likes the way it helps her stay spry and alert, taught me something. That makes the entire fiasco worth the time I spent there. I know now that age really can be just a number. I’ve been writing myself off based on ideas about old age that just don’t hold true today. Now - I don’t do that any more.
The disappointment was worth that.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Finding Gold In a Long Commute
Recently I was laid off from the job that I had held for 13 months. It took me some 18 months to find that job, not including a period of waiting after another job didn’t work out. I had felt financially stable, finally, and I was beginning to get some debts paid off. It was a good feeling.
Then the shoe dropped. Shoe, heck. Felt like Paul Bunyan’s heaviest boot!
I was surprised at how quickly I adjusted. Of course there was no job, no income, no certainty about the future. (They said I would be one of the first to be called back, but I can’t wait for six months and it will probably be that long.)
But also there was no getting up at 5:00 a.m., no 100-mile round trip every day on top of 8 hours spent typing, no more driving east at sunrise and west at sunset, no more reading minuscule print off product packaging, no more typing Spanish text…OK. There are things I can like about this. That’s good.
So let me think a little about that 100-mile round trip. I was literally adding 500 miles to my odometer every week. That’s 2,000 miles in one month. It was a lot of wear and tear on my car which, fortunately, was fairly new when I got this job.
Over those 13 months, I had time to watch each season in detail – the crops ripening in the summer heat, farmers harvesting during the autumn as the colors changed, the austere beauty of a winter sunset over a field full of snow, the challenge of driving in sleet and snow storms, and of course the new greening as the world came back to life, and the planting of the new crops.
There was time to think about the seasons, about the Creator of all things, about myself and the growth I felt going on within me. And I have to conclude that it was a remarkable year. Some really odd things happened to me during the year that I put 100 miles on my car every day.
There were several unitive moments – times when the world and life somehow seemed so beautiful that I couldn’t bear it. For instance there was the day last fall as I was driving home, enjoying the perfectly clear deep blue sky, bright sunshine, vivid colors, crops ripe in the fields and farmers working in clouds of dust to harvest them. It was, for several minutes, so beautiful that I wept briefly. There was another moment like that a few weeks ago as I waded through the crowds leaving the park after the Fourth of July band concert and fireworks display. There were others. These two were among the most vivid.
Then there was the boil-water order I found one day last summer when I got home from work. My job was close to a Wal-Mart, and I decided that instead of depending on boiling water I’d buy some bottled water the next day. (There wasn’t any left in town by the time I got home.) So the next day I went into the Wal-Mart, a store I had never been in before, and I had no idea where the beverages were. The usual greeter wasn’t around, and I wondered who could direct me. It was only a few seconds later that a man came steaming past me into the store, pushing a noisy shopping cart full of empty plastic jugs. Supposing that he intended to fill them with water, I followed him and he led me right to my destination. It was the timing of his appearance that made me see the incident as, well, not a coincidence.
And one day I was struggling with low blood sugar, at the end of the work day, and faced driving home at a time when I really wasn’t well. I prayed that somehow I would get home safely. Now I make a habit of driving 55 mph, which is the posted speed limit on the two-lane highways in my state. Everybody who comes up behind me passes me as soon as they get a chance. That day, however, there was a series of drivers who would come up behind me on each leg of my journey home. When one turned off, another would come along in a couple of miles. I was followed all the way into my home town. On a day when I had asked for help, not one of those drivers passed me. Again, I didn’t think that was a coincidence.
You see what I mean? Things that don’t normally happen to me were happening. Maybe it was partly a matter of me being more aware of what went on around me. But that doesn’t explain the afternoon at work when, for just a split second, it seemed that I was standing behind my chair and looking at the back of my head. It was over so quickly that it could have been just a figment of imagination. But I was flooded with emotions and sensations that clearly were not imaginary. It had been a true out-of-body experience. For a tiny fraction of a second I had been something more than I normally am, larger, more confident, stronger, more joyous. It was a true mystical experience. I can prove it…because to this day I can’t really describe those feelings; my description is only a guess. And probably the only truth we know about such experiences is that they are indescribable.
So all that driving was worth it, because it opened me up to new levels of perception and sensitivity. And that is what I need the most, after all. I’m working on this current unemployment situation from the inside out, and I’ll need all the perception and sensitivity I can muster.
Then the shoe dropped. Shoe, heck. Felt like Paul Bunyan’s heaviest boot!
I was surprised at how quickly I adjusted. Of course there was no job, no income, no certainty about the future. (They said I would be one of the first to be called back, but I can’t wait for six months and it will probably be that long.)
But also there was no getting up at 5:00 a.m., no 100-mile round trip every day on top of 8 hours spent typing, no more driving east at sunrise and west at sunset, no more reading minuscule print off product packaging, no more typing Spanish text…OK. There are things I can like about this. That’s good.
So let me think a little about that 100-mile round trip. I was literally adding 500 miles to my odometer every week. That’s 2,000 miles in one month. It was a lot of wear and tear on my car which, fortunately, was fairly new when I got this job.
Over those 13 months, I had time to watch each season in detail – the crops ripening in the summer heat, farmers harvesting during the autumn as the colors changed, the austere beauty of a winter sunset over a field full of snow, the challenge of driving in sleet and snow storms, and of course the new greening as the world came back to life, and the planting of the new crops.
There was time to think about the seasons, about the Creator of all things, about myself and the growth I felt going on within me. And I have to conclude that it was a remarkable year. Some really odd things happened to me during the year that I put 100 miles on my car every day.
There were several unitive moments – times when the world and life somehow seemed so beautiful that I couldn’t bear it. For instance there was the day last fall as I was driving home, enjoying the perfectly clear deep blue sky, bright sunshine, vivid colors, crops ripe in the fields and farmers working in clouds of dust to harvest them. It was, for several minutes, so beautiful that I wept briefly. There was another moment like that a few weeks ago as I waded through the crowds leaving the park after the Fourth of July band concert and fireworks display. There were others. These two were among the most vivid.
Then there was the boil-water order I found one day last summer when I got home from work. My job was close to a Wal-Mart, and I decided that instead of depending on boiling water I’d buy some bottled water the next day. (There wasn’t any left in town by the time I got home.) So the next day I went into the Wal-Mart, a store I had never been in before, and I had no idea where the beverages were. The usual greeter wasn’t around, and I wondered who could direct me. It was only a few seconds later that a man came steaming past me into the store, pushing a noisy shopping cart full of empty plastic jugs. Supposing that he intended to fill them with water, I followed him and he led me right to my destination. It was the timing of his appearance that made me see the incident as, well, not a coincidence.
And one day I was struggling with low blood sugar, at the end of the work day, and faced driving home at a time when I really wasn’t well. I prayed that somehow I would get home safely. Now I make a habit of driving 55 mph, which is the posted speed limit on the two-lane highways in my state. Everybody who comes up behind me passes me as soon as they get a chance. That day, however, there was a series of drivers who would come up behind me on each leg of my journey home. When one turned off, another would come along in a couple of miles. I was followed all the way into my home town. On a day when I had asked for help, not one of those drivers passed me. Again, I didn’t think that was a coincidence.
You see what I mean? Things that don’t normally happen to me were happening. Maybe it was partly a matter of me being more aware of what went on around me. But that doesn’t explain the afternoon at work when, for just a split second, it seemed that I was standing behind my chair and looking at the back of my head. It was over so quickly that it could have been just a figment of imagination. But I was flooded with emotions and sensations that clearly were not imaginary. It had been a true out-of-body experience. For a tiny fraction of a second I had been something more than I normally am, larger, more confident, stronger, more joyous. It was a true mystical experience. I can prove it…because to this day I can’t really describe those feelings; my description is only a guess. And probably the only truth we know about such experiences is that they are indescribable.
So all that driving was worth it, because it opened me up to new levels of perception and sensitivity. And that is what I need the most, after all. I’m working on this current unemployment situation from the inside out, and I’ll need all the perception and sensitivity I can muster.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Life Lessons in Free Cell
As a newly unemployed person (was laid off a couple of weeks ago) I am faced with a bunch of activities that I am thoroughly tired of: searching want ads, printing off cover letters and resumes, examining my wardrobe for interview outfits. It is a scene that has produced very little for me over the years of my working life, and here I am – months away from retirement age – going through this again. I had hoped that job would hold me until I at least had the option of retiring.
I have been running away from those activities (until today) by indulging in my passion for Free Cell, which has replaced Spider Solitaire as my computer game addiction. I enjoy these games because they confront me with screens of playing cards in utter disorder, and the point of the game is to put them in order. I enjoy doing that.
But I have played Free Cell for so long now, and with such intensity, that the program usually gives me very difficult games. I don’t mind challenges, but I prefer them to offer me at least a ghost of a chance of success. And so, believe it or not, I am discovering life lessons in Free Cell.
My Source tells me frequently that I am impatient and that I try to force things to happen instead of just allowing them to unfold. Nowhere do I find that more evident than when I play Free Cell! The more thoroughly I look at the screen, the more slowly I go until I manage to find a move that opens the game up, the more patient I am as the game progresses – the more likely I am to win it, although it had seemed basically hopeless at the beginning. I have to be cautious, I have to tinker with the moves, and I even have to be sure they will lead to the result I desire which means I have to pay careful attention to details. And I must look ahead a few moves, not just rush forward.
There are often times, also, when I feel backed into a corner; I see no moves to make regardless of how I stare at the computer screen. Then, suddenly, as I am about to give up on the game, I see something that I had overlooked. I look carefully at it. Often it involves risk, but I try it. Voila!! The game falls open!
When I am playing this game patiently and allowing things to unfold, I win. And the moment when things look the darkest is the exact moment that I move the single card that throws the game open. Generally speaking, I win more games than I lose because of these factors.
Will that help me in the greater “game” of seeking sources of income? While I play this “game” called “looking for work” will it help if I am patient, pay attention to details, refuse to give up, and allow the results to play out however they will? I certainly feel backed into a corner; the local economy is downright depressed, and I’m competing with many younger people. I’m not sure I have much of a chance here. But it works in Free Cell. What do I have to lose?
I have been running away from those activities (until today) by indulging in my passion for Free Cell, which has replaced Spider Solitaire as my computer game addiction. I enjoy these games because they confront me with screens of playing cards in utter disorder, and the point of the game is to put them in order. I enjoy doing that.
But I have played Free Cell for so long now, and with such intensity, that the program usually gives me very difficult games. I don’t mind challenges, but I prefer them to offer me at least a ghost of a chance of success. And so, believe it or not, I am discovering life lessons in Free Cell.
My Source tells me frequently that I am impatient and that I try to force things to happen instead of just allowing them to unfold. Nowhere do I find that more evident than when I play Free Cell! The more thoroughly I look at the screen, the more slowly I go until I manage to find a move that opens the game up, the more patient I am as the game progresses – the more likely I am to win it, although it had seemed basically hopeless at the beginning. I have to be cautious, I have to tinker with the moves, and I even have to be sure they will lead to the result I desire which means I have to pay careful attention to details. And I must look ahead a few moves, not just rush forward.
There are often times, also, when I feel backed into a corner; I see no moves to make regardless of how I stare at the computer screen. Then, suddenly, as I am about to give up on the game, I see something that I had overlooked. I look carefully at it. Often it involves risk, but I try it. Voila!! The game falls open!
When I am playing this game patiently and allowing things to unfold, I win. And the moment when things look the darkest is the exact moment that I move the single card that throws the game open. Generally speaking, I win more games than I lose because of these factors.
Will that help me in the greater “game” of seeking sources of income? While I play this “game” called “looking for work” will it help if I am patient, pay attention to details, refuse to give up, and allow the results to play out however they will? I certainly feel backed into a corner; the local economy is downright depressed, and I’m competing with many younger people. I’m not sure I have much of a chance here. But it works in Free Cell. What do I have to lose?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Book Review: My Stroke of Insight
MY STROKE OF INSIGHT by Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph. D.
It was an internet video by Jill Bolte Taylor, talking about her stroke and what she experienced, that interested me in this book.
Jill was working as a scientist, as part of a team trying to map neural circuits in the human brain. She actually thought it was cool when she woke up one morning, realized she was having a stroke, and decided to take advantage of the chance to study what her own brain was going through.
To try to summarize briefly what Jill tells us, I can say that we have two halves or hemispheres in our brains. The right hemisphere or right side of our brains is the emotional/spiritual side, where our instincts and sensitivity and things like that come from. The left side is the logic and language center, where we have our speech and language and ability to reason.
Jill’s stroke powerfully affected the left side of her brain. Her language capability was going in and out. Her ability to think logically enough to call for help was going in and out. At times the left half of her brain went completely off-line, to use a computer word.
What happened at those times was the part that interested me the most. When the right brain dominated Jill, she became aware that she was part of an enormous flow of energy, and in a state of peace. In her book she calls it Nirvana. A Christian mystic would say she was in a state of unity with God. (Yes, there are Christian mystics. Many of the early saints were mystics. We even have them today. Our beloved Mother Teresa was a mystic.)
Then the left brain would come back into operation, and Jill lost that state of peace but was able to keep trying to call for help. During the stroke, she kept going back and forth between the state of peace and the ability to try to get help. During it all, she remained conscious, and in no fear at all because of the peace that she was in.
It took her eight years to fully recover – physical strength, speech, ability to reason, ability to resume her work as a scientist and teacher.
She gives much information about strokes – what can cause them, what stroke patients need for recovery, how the medical profession should treat stroke patients. She works now to spread this information on behalf of stroke patients.
She also has things to say about the spiritual side of our nature. In most of us, the rational left side of the brain dominates. One of the things we do with the “left mind,” as Jill calls it, is to make judgments. She has a lot to say about how we can live in more happiness and peace by learning how to let our “right mind” be more active within us. She chooses now to be a different person than she had been before the stroke, quieter, less judgmental, less easily frustrated and angered, and more at peace with herself. And she shows us how to do that also.
Parts of the book are fairly technical, with descriptions of how the brain works, but she is a teacher and does a pretty good job of explaining it so that laypersons can understand. I found all of it interesting. The things she says about our spiritual nature, our connection to God, to that flow of energy and source of peace, were what fascinated me the most. If you want to learn about stroke or the needs of stroke patients, or if you want to find out what Jill experienced during her stroke, you will decide to read this book. I heartily recommend it.
It was an internet video by Jill Bolte Taylor, talking about her stroke and what she experienced, that interested me in this book.
Jill was working as a scientist, as part of a team trying to map neural circuits in the human brain. She actually thought it was cool when she woke up one morning, realized she was having a stroke, and decided to take advantage of the chance to study what her own brain was going through.
To try to summarize briefly what Jill tells us, I can say that we have two halves or hemispheres in our brains. The right hemisphere or right side of our brains is the emotional/spiritual side, where our instincts and sensitivity and things like that come from. The left side is the logic and language center, where we have our speech and language and ability to reason.
Jill’s stroke powerfully affected the left side of her brain. Her language capability was going in and out. Her ability to think logically enough to call for help was going in and out. At times the left half of her brain went completely off-line, to use a computer word.
What happened at those times was the part that interested me the most. When the right brain dominated Jill, she became aware that she was part of an enormous flow of energy, and in a state of peace. In her book she calls it Nirvana. A Christian mystic would say she was in a state of unity with God. (Yes, there are Christian mystics. Many of the early saints were mystics. We even have them today. Our beloved Mother Teresa was a mystic.)
Then the left brain would come back into operation, and Jill lost that state of peace but was able to keep trying to call for help. During the stroke, she kept going back and forth between the state of peace and the ability to try to get help. During it all, she remained conscious, and in no fear at all because of the peace that she was in.
It took her eight years to fully recover – physical strength, speech, ability to reason, ability to resume her work as a scientist and teacher.
She gives much information about strokes – what can cause them, what stroke patients need for recovery, how the medical profession should treat stroke patients. She works now to spread this information on behalf of stroke patients.
She also has things to say about the spiritual side of our nature. In most of us, the rational left side of the brain dominates. One of the things we do with the “left mind,” as Jill calls it, is to make judgments. She has a lot to say about how we can live in more happiness and peace by learning how to let our “right mind” be more active within us. She chooses now to be a different person than she had been before the stroke, quieter, less judgmental, less easily frustrated and angered, and more at peace with herself. And she shows us how to do that also.
Parts of the book are fairly technical, with descriptions of how the brain works, but she is a teacher and does a pretty good job of explaining it so that laypersons can understand. I found all of it interesting. The things she says about our spiritual nature, our connection to God, to that flow of energy and source of peace, were what fascinated me the most. If you want to learn about stroke or the needs of stroke patients, or if you want to find out what Jill experienced during her stroke, you will decide to read this book. I heartily recommend it.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Book Review: Dewey
Do you believe in animal angels? No? To be honest, I am not certain that I do either. But after reading this book, I have started to re-think the question.
Dewey Readmore Books was a real cat in a real library in a small town in Iowa. His story is told in DEWEY: THE SMALL-TOWN LIBRARY CAT WHO TOUCHED THE WORLD, written by Vicki Myron with Bret Witter.
Somehow, on a cold night, Dewey found his way into the outdoor book drop of the library in Spencer, Iowa. The next morning he was found by the author, Vicki, who was the chief librarian. The library board and staff adopted him, later the entire town adopted him, and he actually gained a fair amount of worldwide fame.
Dewey took his job as library cat seriously. He gave his attention to the staff members and the library patrons. He had a remarkable ability to identify people who needed his attention – people who were depressed, who needed a laugh, who had some special need. He had an unerring instinct for doing whatever the situation called for to comfort a sore heart, to bring someone out of his social shell, to give a laugh.
The book is about more than Dewey, however. It is about life itself. Life in rural America during the 1980s and 1990s, the ups and downs of farmers and the communities they depend on. It is about Vicki herself and the family and health issues she had to confront. It is about people who struggle and survive, clinging to hope and faith.
But back to the animal angel issue. All of us who have pets know that our animal friends are sensitive to our moods and work to amuse or comfort us when we need them to. But Dewey, card-carrying member of a notoriously free-thinking and independent species of animal (the cat family), seemed to carry this sense to the level of art. I have known many cats but I have never seen one with the instinct that Dewey had. And that does make me wonder if he was an animal angel. That cat certainly had a gift for easing others’ hearts.
There are amusing sidebars in the book to break up the narrative, providing such information as Dewey’s daily routine and his rules on running the library.
I had a little trouble getting into the book at first; the writing seemed stiff. After a while, I didn’t notice it any more.
If you enjoy reading about animals in general or cats in particular, or life in small towns, you should enjoy this book.
Dewey Readmore Books was a real cat in a real library in a small town in Iowa. His story is told in DEWEY: THE SMALL-TOWN LIBRARY CAT WHO TOUCHED THE WORLD, written by Vicki Myron with Bret Witter.
Somehow, on a cold night, Dewey found his way into the outdoor book drop of the library in Spencer, Iowa. The next morning he was found by the author, Vicki, who was the chief librarian. The library board and staff adopted him, later the entire town adopted him, and he actually gained a fair amount of worldwide fame.
Dewey took his job as library cat seriously. He gave his attention to the staff members and the library patrons. He had a remarkable ability to identify people who needed his attention – people who were depressed, who needed a laugh, who had some special need. He had an unerring instinct for doing whatever the situation called for to comfort a sore heart, to bring someone out of his social shell, to give a laugh.
The book is about more than Dewey, however. It is about life itself. Life in rural America during the 1980s and 1990s, the ups and downs of farmers and the communities they depend on. It is about Vicki herself and the family and health issues she had to confront. It is about people who struggle and survive, clinging to hope and faith.
But back to the animal angel issue. All of us who have pets know that our animal friends are sensitive to our moods and work to amuse or comfort us when we need them to. But Dewey, card-carrying member of a notoriously free-thinking and independent species of animal (the cat family), seemed to carry this sense to the level of art. I have known many cats but I have never seen one with the instinct that Dewey had. And that does make me wonder if he was an animal angel. That cat certainly had a gift for easing others’ hearts.
There are amusing sidebars in the book to break up the narrative, providing such information as Dewey’s daily routine and his rules on running the library.
I had a little trouble getting into the book at first; the writing seemed stiff. After a while, I didn’t notice it any more.
If you enjoy reading about animals in general or cats in particular, or life in small towns, you should enjoy this book.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
"Give" and "Receive" Are Action Words
Well, of course "give" and "receive" are action words. They are verbs, the parts of speech that describe actions. Some actions have things called objects; you read the book, you write the letter, you wash your car. Other actions do not; the sun shines, the dog barks, the rain falls.
But in this post, think of "give" and "receive" as special action words. With capital letters.
I have a friend who is fighting a brain tumor. She's a dear person and a spiritual sister to me. She used to be a nurse, but she is no longer able to work. One of her greatest joys is to give to others. That is the urge that sent her to nurse's training in the first place.
So what do you do, when you itch to give, and you can no longer work as a nurse? You give what you can, where you can, and to whomever is there.
She and I visited the local supermarket briefly last Sunday, after church. We shared the same shopping cart. I got a couple of odds and ends I would need to see me through the week. She was on her way to her mother's place and was looking for some things to take to her, foods the elderly lady would like to eat.
Then my friend's urge to Give hit. "Do you need potato chips?" I had plenty of potato chips at home.
"How about pizza? Do you like pizza?" I do, and again, I had a few in my icebox.
"Hey, do you like ice cream?" Well, of course I do, but I don't eat a lot of it in the winter. And in the summer, I am cautious about keeping it around because I can't stay out of it. And I am trying to control my weight. So I said I do like ice cream, but it's too cold to eat it now.
I can't recall the entire conversation in all its glory and magnificence, but my friend wound up buying two packs of ice cream sandwiches, each a different variety, to take to her mother's. And I agreed to take a few of the sandwiches on to my own place from her mother's. (Her mother and I live in the same apartment house.)
I wound up with three ice cream sandwiches. And yes, I have already eaten one of them and have promised myself I will eat the others only on weekends. (Come on, weekend!) I honestly would have preferred not to take them, to wait until warmer weather, but as surely as they had been spoken to me, words came into my head: "She wants to do this. Let her."
At that point, she Gave and I Received. She Gave out of her urge to share with others, and I Received out of the urge to help her Give.
And when you get right down to it, you can't Give unless there is someone to Receive.
Someone said to me once, speaking of her own difficulty in receiving the gifts of others, that we are taught by Jesus (and many other teachers as well) to give to others. And that it is an act of love and generosity on our part to receive, so that the person who needs to give can do so. Every time my friend with the brain tumor wants to Give me something, I remember what that other person said, and I have to admit I have pride and the desire to be in control. That makes it hard, sometimes, to accept things from others.
So when you accept gifts in spite of pride, or the desire to control, or any other problem you might have with other people giving you stuff, you swallow all that, you understand the other's need to share, and you Receive.
I really did enjoy that ice cream sandwich. And I look foward to eating the others!
But in this post, think of "give" and "receive" as special action words. With capital letters.
I have a friend who is fighting a brain tumor. She's a dear person and a spiritual sister to me. She used to be a nurse, but she is no longer able to work. One of her greatest joys is to give to others. That is the urge that sent her to nurse's training in the first place.
So what do you do, when you itch to give, and you can no longer work as a nurse? You give what you can, where you can, and to whomever is there.
She and I visited the local supermarket briefly last Sunday, after church. We shared the same shopping cart. I got a couple of odds and ends I would need to see me through the week. She was on her way to her mother's place and was looking for some things to take to her, foods the elderly lady would like to eat.
Then my friend's urge to Give hit. "Do you need potato chips?" I had plenty of potato chips at home.
"How about pizza? Do you like pizza?" I do, and again, I had a few in my icebox.
"Hey, do you like ice cream?" Well, of course I do, but I don't eat a lot of it in the winter. And in the summer, I am cautious about keeping it around because I can't stay out of it. And I am trying to control my weight. So I said I do like ice cream, but it's too cold to eat it now.
I can't recall the entire conversation in all its glory and magnificence, but my friend wound up buying two packs of ice cream sandwiches, each a different variety, to take to her mother's. And I agreed to take a few of the sandwiches on to my own place from her mother's. (Her mother and I live in the same apartment house.)
I wound up with three ice cream sandwiches. And yes, I have already eaten one of them and have promised myself I will eat the others only on weekends. (Come on, weekend!) I honestly would have preferred not to take them, to wait until warmer weather, but as surely as they had been spoken to me, words came into my head: "She wants to do this. Let her."
At that point, she Gave and I Received. She Gave out of her urge to share with others, and I Received out of the urge to help her Give.
And when you get right down to it, you can't Give unless there is someone to Receive.
Someone said to me once, speaking of her own difficulty in receiving the gifts of others, that we are taught by Jesus (and many other teachers as well) to give to others. And that it is an act of love and generosity on our part to receive, so that the person who needs to give can do so. Every time my friend with the brain tumor wants to Give me something, I remember what that other person said, and I have to admit I have pride and the desire to be in control. That makes it hard, sometimes, to accept things from others.
So when you accept gifts in spite of pride, or the desire to control, or any other problem you might have with other people giving you stuff, you swallow all that, you understand the other's need to share, and you Receive.
I really did enjoy that ice cream sandwich. And I look foward to eating the others!
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