Dearest Harry

I've been trying to write, but every time I think I'm ready to leave something here I read something else that turns it all upside down and leaves me speechless. Harry has done that several times the last week or two over at Jake's place. This morning it was more than a pause -- it was Harry's turn to Stop the World.

The occasion was Harry's Dinner with Katharine. It brought me laughter and tears. The laughter came from his masterful account of what it's like to attend clergy functions as the Quirky Other and Love of His Life. I've done very little of that but boy does he capture it all -- everyone talking about how great things are in their parishes, the Anglophilia, the elegance, and the ease with which a non-clergy person can provoke silence and quizzical looks. I, for one, often feel like I'm one of those sea monsters in the film Harry described, walking around dripping on the hotel floor with people wondering what I'm doing there.

And the toes! How can I ever stop for a moment of reflection now without first thinking of toes? Wiggling, dancing, right out in your face ugly, pink, white, and fleshy toes, glorious toes.

Of course there was so much more, those deep, odd moments of synchronicity: planes and mothers and fathers and death and reconciliation. Tough honest talk about bishops and archbishops, primates, cabbages and kings. Sleepless nights. And then.........the World Stopped at a school in Central Tanganyika.

Maybe we don't need another hero, but I must confess that Harry is mine.

And I wonder when we are ever gonna change it
Living under the fear till nothing else remains
All the children say

We don't need another hero
We don't need to know the way home
All we want is life beyond the thunderdome

What do we do with our lives
We leave only a mark
Will our story shine like a life
Or end in the dark
Give it all or nothing

We sang and danced and paused to look at our toes. The World Stopped.... and went on. Thank you God for Harry.

Send Thy Archangel, Michael to Our Succor

We celebrated the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels in grand style today at our Sunday Eucharist, with full smells, bells, and our own choir singing to the heavens. Here were the words of our opening hymn:

Christ, the fair glory of the holy angels

Christ, the fair glory of the holy angels,
Thou Who hast made us, Thou Who o’er us rulest,
Grant of Thy mercy unto us Thy servants
Steps up to Heaven.

Send Thy archangel, Michael, to our succor;
Peacemaker blessèd, may he banish from us
Striving and hatred, so that for the peaceful
All things may prosper.

Send Thy archangel, Gabriel, the mighty;
Herald of Heaven, may he from us mortals
Spurn the old serpent, watching o’er the temples
Where Thou art worshipped.

Send thy archangel, Raphael, the restorer
Of the misguided ways of men who wander,
Who at Thy bidding strengthens soul and body
With Thine anointing.

Father almighty, Son and Holy Spirit,
God ever blessèd, be Thou our Preserver;
Thine is the glory which the angels worship,
Veiling their faces.

Words: Rhabanus Maurus (776-856) (Christe, sanc­tor­um de­cus An­ge­lor­um); trans­lat­ed from La­tin to Eng­lish by J. Athel­stan Ri­ley and Per­cy Dear­mer in The Eng­lish Hymn­al (Lon­don: Ox­ford Un­i­ver­si­ty Press, 1906), num­ber 242. Music: Cœ­li­tes Plau­dant, Rou­en church mel­o­dy (MI­DI, score).

Courtesy, The Cyber Hymnal^™

Also listed in The Hymnal 1982, No. 282

From the Junk Email Bag

O.K. This was going to be my place for serious writing. Well, in case you haven't noticed, the well went dry long before it could even get primed. So, today I'm throwing all caution to the wind and giving you this, the email today I received from a long, nearly forgotten acquaintance who has kept me on her junk email-forwarding list.

THESE ARE ENTRIES TO A WASHINGTON POST COMPETITION IN THE STYLE SECTION, ASKING FOR A TWO-LINE RHYME WITH THE MOST ROMANTIC FIRST LINE, BUT THE LEAST ROMANTIC SECOND LINE:

My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife:
Marrying you screwed up my life.

I see your face when I am dreaming.
That's why I always wake up screaming.

Kind, intelligent, loving and hot;
This describes everything you are not.

Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss,
But I only slept with you 'cause I was pissed.

I thought that I could love no other --
That is until I met your brother.

Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are
dead, the sugar bowl's empty and so is your head.

I want to feel your sweet embrace;
But don't take that paper bag off your face.

I love your smile, your face, and your eye s --
Damn, I'm good at telling lies!

My love, you take my breath away.
What have you stepped in to smell this way?

My feelings for you no words can tell,
Except for maybe 'Go to hell.'

What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime.

Ain't love wonderful?

Shock!

I've been reading about this a lot lately. See what you think.

The Shock Doctrine: Naomi Klein on the Rise of Disaster Capitalism

Economist Milton Friedman once said, "Only a crisis produces real change. When that crisis occurs, the actions that are taken depend on the ideas that are lying around." Naomi Klein examines some of what she considers the most dangerous ideas -- Friedmanite economics -- and exposes how catastrophic events are both extremely profitable to corporations and have also allowed governments to push through what she calls "disaster capitalism."

Read substantial excerpts here.

Click below to see The Shock Doctrine Short Film, a film by Alfonso Cuarón and Naomi Klein, directed by Jonás Cuarón:



See also Naomi Klein speaking:

Naomi Klein - The Shock Doctrine - Part 1 of 6
Naomi Klein - The Shock Doctrine - Part 2 of 6
Naomi Klein - The Shock Doctrine - Part 3 of 6
Naomi Klein - The Shock Doctrine - Part 4 of 6
Naomi Klein - The Shock Doctrine - Part 5 of 6
Naomi Klein - The Shock Doctrine - Part 6 of 6

La Cage Aux Folles

I saw the original movie when it first came out and have loved the story in its various renditions since (though I am still partial to the original). I've never seen the musical, but I wanted to commemorate it today for two reasons.

First is to celebrate the performance by high school students in Orlando, despite Bishop Howe's eleventh hour attempt to cancel the event after months of rehearsal and preparation. The arts community helped them find another theatre once they were prohibited from using school property. The result was a standing room only performance.

Second, I was talking to my mother about it today for some reason, and I discovered that the show had a special significance for her, as well. Years ago she started attending a dinner theater in the Chicago suburbs with a friend she had known from high school but with whom she had little contact in the intervening years after she married and had children and her friend remained single and worked in the city. I knew all about the season tickets they had together but, until today, I never knew how it was that they started going together.

It turns out that my mother's friend previously had the tickets with another woman until one year when the series included La Cage Aux Folles. The other woman was angry and upset over its inclusion and the fact that my mother's friend decided to go alone to see it anyway. So suddenly my mother's friend had an extra ticket for the rest of the season, and she offered it to my mother.

What is remarkable about this story (to me, at least) was that this was what rekindled their friendship and gave my mother the means to attend the theater with some regularity long after she was unable to go to the theater or concerts in the city or anywhere on her own -- something she enjoyed very much until her friend died last year of breast cancer. In hindsight it seems like kind of a sign pointing towards what was later initially very difficult for my mother -- accepting her niece's relationship with another woman and having them visit her and stay in her home. While things were fine once they all met, she had a really rough time beforehand, spending much time on the phone with me trying to work through her conflicted feelings. It's nice to think now in hindsight that maybe the dawning of her tolerance and understanding may have come from La Cage many years before. In any event, it brought her back to her old high school friend and brought them several years of renewed friendship and lovely theater afternoons.

The Scent of God

Although I tried to stretch it out the last few days, I have just finished reading The Scent of God by Beryl Singleton Bissell. I think she would appreciate the fact that, just as I put the book down, I was suddenly struck with the sweet-strong smell of fresh brownies wafting upstairs from the kitchen, where my daughter had been baking.

I will have to spend some more time letting this extraordinary book sink in awhile. It is a book full of touch, smell, sight, and sound, infused with spirit.

When passions get thrown beneath a train

Somehow my mind and heart are drawn to radically different thoughts and ideas, often at the same time. I'm currently experiencing some difficulties that seem to call for both dispassion and perhaps even separation from people and things I hold very dear, putting self and self-interest aside [see "East and West" below], and, at the same time, speaking out of my deepest passions and asserting my true self. Paradoxically, both seem required.

Here is what struck me deeply this week from the speaking side:

I do not know how or where I learned it, but I had learned not to say what I really thought or truly believed or most desired. I internalized Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina: women who express their deepest passions get run over by trains. The way of safety is to say what others want you to say, to repeat the words of those who hold power. And if you do that well enough you might gain a modicum of control over your own life.

* * * *

Throughout church history, however, the words of women and children, of the poor, the sick, and enslaved, have often been silenced by words of the wealthy, learned, and powerful. And if no one listens, you learn not to speak. When such voices are lost, the Word is diminished. I could express few genuine words. I needed to find my voice. Poet Marge Piercy writes in “Unlearning Not to Speak”:

She must learn again to speak
starting with I
starting with We
starting as an infant does
with her own true hunger
and pleasure
and rage.

From Strength for the Journey: A Pilgrimage of Faith in Community by Diana Butler Bass (Jossey-Bass, 2002) (From "Unlearning not to speak" at Speaking to the Soul.)

These words seem to cry out what the dignity of every human being requires, the "I" that will not be thrown to the rubbish, will not be dismissed and devalued as something less than the "I"'s or "We" in power. The problem is how to speak with dignity and pride, not in one's self but in one's humanity, created and loved by God, with the spark of his divine image, without inflating one's self into a monstrous, fiery, steam-driven engine of power that seeks to dash others beneath the rails.

Update: Read an excellent essay today on control and letting go by Tandaina at Snow on Roses.

East and West

I have no parents

I make the heavens and earth my parents

I have no home

I make awareness my home

I have no life or death

I make honesty my divine power

I have no friends

I make my mind my friend

I have no enemy

I make carelessness my enemy

I have no armor

I make benevolence my armor

I have no castle

I make immovable-mind my castle

I have no sword

I make absence of self my sword.

14th c. Japanese samurai (quoted by Joseph Goldstein in Insight Meditation: The Practice of Freedom at p. 13, Shambhala, Boston 2003).


From Sunday's Lectionary reading, Luke 14:25-32:

25 Now great crowds accompanied him, and he turned and said to them, 26 “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. 27 Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. 28 For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? 29 Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, 30 saying, ‘This man began to build and was not able to finish.’ 31 Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? 32 And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. 33 So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.

ESV Bible

Amazing Grace

Mahalia Jackson

When There is Nowhere Else to Speak

Sr. Joan Chittister, on meeting with Cardinal Eduardo Pironio, Argentinian spokesperson for the poor:

His deep dark eyes were sad. There was no doubt he understood. But then he dropped his shoulders, clasped his hands between his knees and began to shake his head slowly from side to side. “Jhoan, Jhoan, Jhoan,” he said. “What you say is true but you must never say it any place but here. For the sake of the church,” he said, “you must never say these things in public. Only here”---he gestured around the room—“only here behind closed doors, between ourselves.”

I understood his concerns. I know as well as he did that unity is a fragile strength. But I also knew what he didn’t. For the sake of the church, what women wanted had to be said in public because there was nowhere else for a woman to say it.

Excerpt from Called To Question: A Spiritual Memoir in this week's "Ideas in Passing" at Benetvision.