St. Francis and the Sow

The bud

stands for all things,

even those things that don't flower,

for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;

though sometimes it is necessary

to reteach a thing its loveliness,

to put a hand on its brow

of the flower

and retell it in words and in touch

it is lovely

until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;

as St. Francis

put his hand on the creased forehead

of the sow, and told her in words and in touch

blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow

began remembering all down her thick length,

from the earthen snout all the way

through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of

                the tail,

from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine

down through the great broken heart

to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering

from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking

                and blowing beneath them:

the long, perfect loveliness of sow.

- Galway Kinnell

Audio at http://imaginenature.amnh.org/st_francis/stfrancis.html

Inspired by reading Insight Meditation: The Practice of Freedom by Joseph Goldstein.

Do Nothing or Change (or keep mixing up the game)

Seeking spiritual wisdom and insight can sometimes lead to odd results. Ann Fontaine recently wrote a piece called "Do Nothing to Change Your Life" over at the Episcopal Café based on a book recommended by the Archbishop of York.

Meanwhile, my email newsletter from Benetvision contains an article by Sr. Joan Chittister that asks "Why Can't I Change?"

Needless to say, there's food for thought in both pieces. But I especially liked the humor and wisdom in this story Sr. Chittister had to tell:

Then we come face-to-face with the flat face of the soul, that part of us that grows only in increments and insights, never by trampolining from one self to another. This kind of change only comes slowly, only from one struggle to another, only barely.

The spiritual masters, given to whole lifetimes of confrontation with the self, knew it all too well.

Once upon a time, Abba Poemen said of Abba John that Abba John had prayed to God to take his passions away from him so that he might become free from care.

“And, in fact,” Abba John reported to him, “I now find myself in total peace, without an enemy.”

But Abba Poemen said to him, “Really? Well, in that case, go and beg God to stir up warfare within you again, for it is by warfare that the soul makes progress.”

And after that, when warfare came, Abba John no longer prayed that it might be taken away. Now he simply prayed, “Lord, give me the strength for the fight.”

- from Welcome to the Wisdom of the World
By Joan Chittister

Do read the whole piece and Ann's as well.

The Lord loved him

Reading Morning Prayer in the Daily Office today, I stumbled across this passage about King David. Although the story of David and Bathsheba is one of the few in Old Testament that is readily familiar to me, I can't say I ever paid much attention to the actual text.

I found this extraordinary:

2 Samuel 12:15-31 (NRSV)

Then Nathan went to his house.

The LORD struck the child that Uriah’s wife bore to David, and it became very ill. David therefore pleaded with God for the child; David fasted, and went in and lay all night on the ground. The elders of his house stood beside him, urging him to rise from the ground; but he would not, nor did he eat food with them. On the seventh day the child died. And the servants of David were afraid to tell him that the child was dead; for they said, “While the child was still alive, we spoke to him, and he did not listen to us; how then can we tell him the child is dead? He may do himself some harm.” But when David saw that his servants were whispering together, he perceived that the child was dead; and David said to his servants, “Is the child dead?” They said, “He is dead.”

Then David rose from the ground, washed, anointed himself, and changed his clothes. He went into the house of the LORD, and worshiped; he then went to his own house; and when he asked, they set food before him and he ate. Then his servants said to him, “What is this thing that you have done? You fasted and wept for the child while it was alive; but when the child died, you rose and ate food.” He said, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept; for I said, ‘Who knows? The LORD may be gracious to me, and the child may live.’ But now he is dead; why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.”

Then David consoled his wife Bathsheba, and went to her, and lay with her; and she bore a son, and he named him Solomon. The LORD loved him, and sent a message by the prophet Nathan; so he named him Jedidiah, because of the LORD.

I knew full well that David's first child by Bathsheba was struck ill and died, presumably as God's punishment for David having caused the death of Bathsheba's husband Uriah so that he, David, could have Bathsheba for himself. But I had missed the poignancy of this story, how David fasted and wept, hearing no one while his son lay dying, but once death came, he accepted it, stood up and put aside his grief, without complaint to God and without the kind of remorse that mires one in regret and inaction. Instead, he did the only thing he could, go to Bathsheba, console her, and lie with her again, this time truly as husband and wife. And God did not strike out against them, but gave them a son, Solomon, whom "the LORD loved."

David did a truly terrible thing, yet he went on with his life, making things as right as he could under the circumstances, after accepting the awful consequence of his wrong. This is the stuff that we all face, day in and day out, whether our wrongs are great or small, the sin being the ways in which we stray from God's will. Yet I wonder if David's way of standing up and moving forward is better than the endless regrets and worrying over choices we might have made and consequences we might have avoided if only we had been stronger, wiser, or more virtuous. We cannot bring back our past and live our lives over, we can only make them anew from this point forward.

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh....

To put it nicely. The blogeaters came to my blog (thanks Eileen, for sending them my way!). I had managed to save part of my original text on the dance along with Clark+'s lovely comments about his young daughters and Angelina ballerina, etc., while transferring the videos over to il bel far niente, the new place I've created for collecting odds bits and pieces such as videos, quizzes, notes, whatever. I checked to see that comments stayed up, but somehow later they blipped away somewhere where I cannot get them back. My apologies, Clark+.

Five Young Organists in Concert

These are some of our area's fine young musicians, who will be performing in an organ and piano recital next week. I just had to share and brag a little. The photo also gives you a glimpse of our sanctuary, in all of its late 19th century splendor.

Music is a vital part of our parish life, for both young as old. While gone are the days of the men and boys' choir, we continue to make glorious music with a regular choir, including both adults (men and women) and choristers (boys and girls). We are also blessed with many other talented musicians, members of the parish and good friends, who contribute to our worship services and, on occasion, perform concerts.

This is next Monday night's program:

Toccata in E Minor: Johann Pachelbel
Triptych for Organ: Gordon Young
(Praeludium - Lied - Toccata)
Timothy’s Tune: Stephen H. Best

Für Annelise: Stephen H. Best
Toccata in D Minor: Johann Sebastian Bach

Meditation: Stephen H. Best
Cody’s Carillon: Stephen H. Best

Hopak: Modest Mussorgsky (piano duet)

Celebration Fanfare: Stephen H. Best
Prelude in G Minor: Johann Sebastian Bach
Finale: Janet Correll

Epilogue sur un thème de Frescobaldi pour pédale solo: Jean Langlais
Prière à Notre Dame: Léon Boëllmann
Carillon-Sortie: Henri Mulet

Wish you could all join us.


HIGHLY RECOMMENDED:

And speaking of great musicians, welcome to the blogosphere,
David Charles Walker at On The Beach

A Good Rant

When I first started visiting an Episcopal church years ago, it was early on Sunday and the occasional weekday morning. I'd enter the church in the dark and the quiet, slip into a pew, kneel and say some prayers. Then I didn't know what to do. Whether or not anyone else was present, it would be ever so quiet and still, and my mind would race in a million different directions. What steadied me and prepared me for the Eucharist was leafing through the Book of Common Prayer.

I soon developed the habit of reading the Psalms. I'd simply open up a page at random and start reading, the more obscure and unfamiliar, the better. I was struck with the violence and anguish in many, but most of all the deeply human voices I heard crying and singing out of time and space. They came to me when I most needed to hear them, when I was lost, hopelessly I thought.

This morning it is dark and still. I recently put the Daily Office (courtesy of Josh Thomas at http://www.dailyoffice.org/home.html) on my Google Reader, but this was the first time I did more than give it a cursory glance. Lo and behold, there was one of those psalms, the quirky, howling kind that came to me so often in that early morning sanctuary.

I can't explain why I love these so. I know -- they seem to speak in terms of violence, vengeance, and retribution, darkly dividing the world between Me and Them. That's not what I hear, though. It's the intensity, the emotion, the raw humanity that draw me in, yet leave me with a quietude and trust beyond all reason. It is the scandal of the Incarnation, the God who comes to us in the Bethlehem stable, knows the depth of our betrayal in the garden, and finally reaches out to us in our broken humanity as we kneel, trembling beneath the Cross. He knows and hears us when our voices cry out in anger and despair, yet steadies and draws us near. God is forever just and merciful through all the torrents of our human cries and cares.

Here is today's psalm from Morning Prayer

Psalm 55

Hear my prayer, O God; *
do not hide yourself from my petition.
Listen to me and answer me; *
I have no peace, because of my cares.
I am shaken by the noise of the enemy *
and by the pressure of the wicked;
For they have cast an evil spell upon me *
and are set against me in fury.
My heart quakes within me, *
and the terrors of death have fallen upon me.
Fear and trembling have come over me, *
and horror overwhelms me.
And I said, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove! *
I would fly away and be at rest.
I would flee to a far-off place *
and make my lodging in the wilderness.
I would hasten to escape *
from the stormy wind and tempest.”
Swallow them up, O Lord; confound their speech; *
for I have seen violence and strife in the city.
Day and night the watchmen make their rounds upon her walls, *
but trouble and misery are in the midst of her.
There is corruption at her heart; *
her streets are never free of oppression and deceit.
For had it been an adversary who taunted me,
then I could have borne it; *
or had it been an enemy who vaunted himself against me,
then I could have hidden from him.
But it was you, a man after my own heart, *
my companion, my own familiar friend.
We took sweet counsel together, *
and walked with the throng in the house of God.
Let death come upon them suddenly;
let them go down alive into the grave; *
for wickedness is in their dwellings, in their very midst.
But I will call upon God, *
and the LORD will deliver me.
In the evening, in the morning, and at noonday,
I will complain and lament, *
and he will hear my voice.
He will bring me safely back from the battle waged against me; *
for there are many who fight me.
God, who is enthroned of old, will hear me and bring them down; *
they never change; they do not fear God.
My companion stretched forth his hand against his comrade; *
he has broken his covenant.
His speech is softer than butter, *
but war is in his heart.
His words are smoother than oil, *
but they are drawn swords.
Cast your burden upon the LORD,
and he will sustain you; *
he will never let the righteous stumble.
For you will bring the bloodthirsty and deceitful *
down to the pit of destruction, O God.
They shall not live out half their days, *
but I will put my trust in you.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.

From http://dailyoffice.wordpress.com/2007/07/28/morning-prayer-72807/

This isn't love, or is it?

I realize that for some all the fuss about Harry Potter is most unwelcome. I like to buck fads myself, and with Harry Potter parties everywhere, I’d normally run for cover.

But I’ve known Harry a long time now. My children fell under his spell at the very beginning. When we first moved out East, the opening of the first Harry Potter movie coincided with my daughter's birthday. She invited a number of her new friends from elementary school, but a couple mysteriously declined her invitations. We learned later that it was because their churches forbade it. I could not for the life of me explain it to my daughter (“but it’s just pretend, Mom”). But that was enough for me to stand for, not against, Harry Potter, even after they came out with the overpriced Bertie Bott’s jelly beans in the bookstores.

I did, however, have a good friend who a few years into the craze told me how fearful she was about its influence on children. She’s a conservative, evangelical Christian, of Midwestern Lutheran roots, but she’s my friend and, in my eyes, a wise and wonderful woman, even though there are some things we agree to disagree on. So all I said to her was that my children simply took it as fantasy and, at least for them, I didn’t see any harm in it.

I haven’t thought much about it all in recent years. I did spend one winter listening to my daughter read out loud one of the longer books (No. 4?) simply because she enjoyed reading out loud, loved Harry Potter, and it was a way to kill time on the long drives to and from soccer. Yet some of the later books were, I thought, tiresome in spots, and some of the characters seemed to deserve better and fuller treatment. So, I tried to keep the initial enchantment in mind, and not think too deeply about it all.

Indeed, the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is to analyze the books. I studied literature in college and I can dissect and deconstruct words and cultural concepts with the best of them. But those games haven't been fun for me for a very long time, and, for me, reading Harry Potter has been about pure and simple pleasure, the kind I used to get as a child from crawling into bed and reading under the covers until late at night. Taking it too seriously, beyond affection and adventure, always struck me as besides the point.

Yet something finally did hit me in this last book, like a bolt of lightning. As I’ve said before, I won't leave any spoilers. I just want to pluck out one line that struck me deeply when I read it.

It’s this. Harry, about half-way through, ruefully reflects on Dumbledore and says:

This isn't love, the mess he's left me in.

That’s Harry for you. So simple and direct. Not Hamlet, Ulysses, or even Frodo. Just a boy, now seventeen, who’s lost his mother and his father, his beloved godfather, and, finally, his mentor and protector, who left him with only confusing and mostly useless clues as to how to survive, let alone conquer, the dark forces threatening his world.

I happened to see that boy this week, myself. In my case, it was my son, the recent high school graduate, cocky, sure of himself, at least when it comes to ignoring unsolicited advice and avoiding any semblance of parental controls. The kid who wondered why we wouldn’t let him drive alone the thousand miles to the cabin on the lake in the Midwest, and why we won’t let him take a car off to college, called me at home, in near hysterics, because the car stalled and would not restart in what he described as the middle of a busy intersection down in the village. I told him to calm down, put the emergency flashers on, and call the police and they’d direct traffic and maybe suggest who to call for a tow truck. But he was in total, emotional meltdown, so I ended up calling for him and going to the scene and taking care of things myself.

I’m not sure when or how it came up, but at some point he said something to the effect that of course he didn’t know what to do, his dad was gone and never taught him about cars and such. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Although his dad, who worked in the auto service industry and was a life-long aspiring race car driver, certainly knew a lot about cars, his stepdad had done plenty, including teaching him to drive the manual transmission (after I gave up on him) and getting him through his final practice runs at parallel parking before taking his driver’s license test. So I took it instead as something deeper, some lurking fear, insecurity about heading off to college, all in the shadow of knowing that his dad (who died last year) was gone for good.

So when I read that line in Harry Potter, that’s what hit me full force. It’s a cry we all make from time to time, either to a lost parent or to our divine Father, who often seems to have left us in a terrible mess with no discernible clues as how we are to manage on our own. And sometimes it really pisses us off. The least they could have done is leave a set of clear instructions.

I know that pain and frustration myself, the many times I have earnestly sought God’s will in prayer and could not be certain of the answer. I wanted a clear guide, a path, and sure knowledge that I was making the right choice, even though my choices were extremely limited and none appeared to be good.

I do believe, as the Prayer Book says, that the Bible contains all that is necessary for salvation. But that’s not the same as the rules that so many crave, the maps and the clues Harry yearned for. We have God’s love and grace in abundance, but we are left to struggle, to blunder, time and time again, at times wondering what kind of love would leave us in this mess, even or especially when the mess is of our own making.

Sometimes we just don’t have the luxury of knowing ahead of time what we’re supposed to do, no matter how well we try to learn and prepare for life. It’s a hard lesson to realize that we have to take things as they come, to risk making mistakes, and to just do the best we can, sometimes finding ourselves in messes only we can clean up. Yet, even though we are very much on our own, we are not alone and we are not unloved. It takes awhile, but when we are calm and quiet inside we can come to know how deep, how broad, how high that love really is, the love that surpasses all understanding and will be with us always.

Note On Harry Potter

Well, I've just finished it. No spoilers here. It was an enjoyable day, and I'm happy to report I was not disappointed. What courage and confidence it must have taken to have written it and to have ended it well. I hope others enjoy it as much as I did.

One Toilet at a Time

Just a note to share the marvellous work being done by some young people, near and dear to my heart, whom I and my children have been blessed with knowing since they were babies. The last two winters, they visited Cambodia with their parents. Naomi and Jordan came back and, along with others from the trip, and created this website about what they learned and experienced: Doors 2 Cambodia.

One project that come out of it was Naomi's One Toilet at a Time. Read it all, but here are some of Naomi's words:

WHY TOILETS?

Toilets are something that people take for granted. Do you realize how many times a day you use the restroom? Some people use the restroom as a place to get away, to take a couple of seconds to catch their breath. Well, imagine not having a place to relieve yourself during the day. Many people don’t have sanitary bathrooms, especially in third world countries. Cambodia is one of those countries where, in some cases, the field is the bathroom for many people. When I discovered this, I knew that I wanted to help out in some way, so I created the project, “One Toilet at a Time.”

. . . .

THE SPARK:

During January of 2006, I had the chance of a lifetime: I was able to be apart of a delegation that went to Cambodia through RCTC. The purpose of the delegation was to see if it was possible to bring students back to Cambodia as a service learning class. I had a blast being with the people, working and learning. We did many things, such as visiting Angkor Watt, touring the cities and visiting schools. My favorite part of the trip was traveling to some of the provinces to visit the rural schools. While we were at the schools, our group of around 6 people (plus a monk or two) would talk with the teachers, play games with the students, and we would ask the school as a whole how we could help them to succeed. Some of the students asked for school supplies, but more often than not, the young women would ask for sanitary bathrooms. When I heard this, my brain started to turn. We went on to ask other questions, but the subject of bathrooms kept coming up.

. . . .

YOU CAN OPEN THE DOOR TOO:

When I returned home from Cambodia for the second time, I realized that things didn’t have to stop just because I already accomplished one task. The way that I thought about it was this: What if everyone worked for a cause and volunteered some of their time? I also thought of what could happen if people like you spent maybe 2-6 hours each month volunteering for some cause. Volunteering is not necessarily spending money, but instead spending some of your time. Even participating and volunteering in your local town could make a difference in someone’s life or living style! I ask you not to give up your life to try and change the world, but to instead help out and make a difference in one person’s life by starting out small. Eventually, you will end up with something bigger then when you started. You can continue the vibe by picking up the phone and just talking to your elderly neighbor, or better yet- you can make even more the difference in your elderly neighbor’s life by brining her or him cookies. If a 15 year old girl, with the help of others, can raise $3,700, just think what a bunch of adults and children can do together, if everyone decided to work together to make a difference!

Readings on the Gnostic Peril

No time to write, but came across some great things to read.

First, Christopher (Betwixt and Between) offers this in the context of describing his work on his novel and his past writings on Christian cults:

A Christian tradition or parish can be cultish and theologically orthodox! But never for long. Often a dualism arises that so sharply divides the world and church, that Christ's work is lost in the push for some kind of gnosis or want for spiritual knowledge as the Good News to the entire world is lost in the shuffle and some sort of escape begins to define the movement.

(From “Test the Koolaid”).

Second, in his prior essay, “A Shitting God” (thanks Mad Priest for calling it to everyone’s attention), Christopher cites Jason Kuznicki’s incredible “Love and Lust, Selves and Bodies” (at Postive Liberty). I recommend it in its entirety, but here’s a sample:

This, to my mind, is the wonderful thing about romantic love: It unites the body and the soul, and it affirms them both. It doesn’t allow you to reject either one of them. It means that when we are in love with someone, we have to look unflinchingly at who we really are, and at who they really are: a soul. And a body. And you have to say yes to both.

That’s just the beginning – Kuznicki goes on with the implications of this insight, in terms of both human relationships and God. The whole explains better than I ever could why homosexual love is a critical issue not just for the sake of those involved or for principles of justice (as important as both are), but for all humankind.

Put together what Christopher, Jason, and Mad Priest have said and juxtapose it with the view that we are all objects of God’s wrath rather than, by nature, his children (see ”A Matter of the Cross as a stark and fearful warning” - main text and comments), and you have (or at least I have) a much clearer picture of what is dividing Christians. Unfortunately, the division threatens to leave Christ’s real work lost in the shuffle. Time to stop shuffling and get to work.