The Healing Ministry

Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people. So his fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought to him all the sick, those who were afflicted with various diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics, and he cured them. And great crowds followed him from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and from beyond the Jordan.

Mt 4:23-24 (NRSV) (emphasis added)

I've come pretty close to giving myself writer's block trying to write something about this, the third Living Mystery. Everything I come up with seems stale:

• Folk don't much believe in miracles anymore
• Well, some do, some don't.
• How 'bout them miracles of modern medicine, which some would say are ways God works through humans?
• Blah blah blah.

Bottom line: either you believe in miracles, or you don't. If you don't, the stories of Jesus' healing miracles are myth or propoganda. If you do believe in miracles, then you have no question about Jesus' healing ministry.

I would suppose that those who believe in miracles have experienced one in their lives, or within their immediate circle. That is to say, some kind of healing has taken place for which there is no medical or scientific explanation.

We're not talking about the face of Mary in a potato chip here. We're talking about the withered hand restored, or a non-surgical cure for epilepsy. A person who is inclined not to believe in miracles may have some way to discount such an event; but I suppose it to be feasible that some event might happen that would cause one to question his/her reliance on scientific logic to explain the world.

"Do you believe in miracles?" I'm open to them. "Have you experienced a miracle?" Days like this, I suppose my continued existence to be a miracle. I've made a lot of mis-steps in my life, yet here I am, doing better than I was even five years ago. I've gone under the surgeon's knife more times than I care to recall, and I've lived to tell the tale.

It wasn't a flash of light. It wasn't some male authority figure slapping my forehead with an open palm. If I want to call it a miracle, it doesn't hurt you. If you want to call it luck, or chance, or self-determination, I won't argue the point.

I suppose I'm just one of those people who are inclined to believe in miracles.

Idée d’jour

If you torture data sufficiently, it will confess to almost anything.
— Fred Menger, chemistry professor (1937- )

Seems to me this is the complement to the quote attributed to Mark Twain about "Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics."

Orpheus Returns

When Orpheus returned from underground
all he could sing was shadows,
and his eyes were full of ghosts.

When Orpheus returned from shadows
the feast was in tatters
and his lyre had come unstrung.

When Orpheus returned, we had
already forgotten Persephone, Demeter,
and were panting for his song.

When Orpheus returned from the depths
his fingers were broken
and all he could sing was shadows.
Card mailed to Sam Nov. 20, 2004

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This poem was inspired by the picture on its front, of James Dean coming up from a theater door. The picture is a high-contrast black-and-white. You see Dean in high relief. You see the shadow of the stairs he's walking up. You see a bright "Exit" sign behind him.

For some reason, seeing this image of James Dean coming, as it were, from the underground led me to think of the myth of Orpheus. I'll confess that, like most, what little I know of this myth comes by way of Ovid. Some more details were filled in by Neil Gaiman in his Sandman series (see "Orpheus" in the Fables and Reflections collection), which influence this present work.

The Marriage Feast at Cana

John 2:1-11
How do you know if your time is come?

In this story, Jesus says his time has not come yet. Mary does not listen to him, and tells the stewards to do whatever he tells them to.

This puts Jesus in a corner. I'd like to think Jesus was a pinch annoyed with his mother (per Martin Luther’s belief that Jesus was fully human and fully devine). Hard to guess the motivation of asking the waiters to fill those jugs with water. Buying time? Inspiration? Foreknowledge?

I won't make too much of the fact that John is the only gospel writer who tells this story. But, for John this is the first sign that Jesus was the Promised One. Did Jesus recognize it as a sign of his calling?

Although I have not written about it recently, I have not dropped the question of my own call to ministry. I strongly believe the Pauline doctrine of the "eternal priesthood of all believers"; my question is whether I am called to ordained ministry. Additionally, I wonder what form my ministry should take.

I recognize that part of my current ministry is in music. Only a relatively small part of this takes place in a church (by choice), but it is a ministry nonetheless. One way I chose to act on this part of my ministry was to volunteer to be part of the choir for the Watonga mission trip. As it turned out, I was called upon to lead the choir at the last minute.

For the past several months, we’ve been planning the "Faith Sharing Event" for Diocesan Convention. At each planning meeting, I had expected someone else to chair the meeting. Each time, I was called upon to chair the meeting. It was not until the final "de-briefing meeting" that I went prepared to chair, "just in case."

Upon reflection, both these occasions suggest a ministry which involves leadership. The point being that I did not think of it as ministry at the time. Something needed to be done, and I did it. It’s only in hindsight, and with others’ reflections, that I have made the connection.

It’s entirely possible this was true for John; he may have been amazed at the miracle when it happened, but only considered it a sign of Jesus’ ministry years later.

Tempted in the Desert

I gave in to temptation this weekend. I went Christmas shopping. I had a relatively short list — co-workers, and a friend — and I got started early enough to miss the worst of the crowd. Additionally, I shopped in unique shops. Still hit holiday shopping traffic though. That was sufficiently stressful all by itself.

You know, one stressor seems to be getting the right present for someone. Since most of my co-workers are at best casual acquaintances, I didn't worry about that. Gifts exchanged at work clearly fall under the "it's the thought that counts" rule. Of the five gifts I've bought, I'm pretty sure three fit the recipient.

There's other temptations in the world, stronger temptations that the world of commerce can offer.

Others have talked about the nature of the temptations the Tempter offered Jesus in the desert. The first is physical — to satisfy a very real physical hunger. The second is power. The third is an appeal to ego — prove you are who you say you are.

I am equally susceptible to those temptations. It's easy for me to use food to fill emotional emptiness. It's easy to grasp power as a way of self-validation. It's easy to give in to an ego hungry for the attention of others.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg!

We would be foolish to suppose the temptations ended with that scene in the desert. Two recent movies (Last Temptation of Christ and The Passion) suggest two other times in Jesus' ministry when he might have been tempted. I have no doubt there were others, which were not recorded, and have not been speculated upon.

Consider, if you will, the Seven Deadly Sins: pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, sloth. Of these, my greatest challenges are pride and sloth (with lust making a close third). Not once have these temptations come to me by way of some cartoon-style devil with horns and red cape. Temptation is much more subtle than that. It’s always attractive, and oft-times seems quite the bargain (see Augustine’s entry for 12/05b).

Augustine’s story could be a little parable. Temptations will eventually wound us in some way. Most of us won’t recognize it as quickly as Augustine did. Some of chose the pleasure of the temptation over the pain it causes us. And we’re never done with temptation; as with the story in the desert, when one seems conquered, a new one arises. Or, the old one takes on an alternate form. Always, temptation waits for the opportune time.

Luke 4:1-13

Joyful Mysteries

The titles of the entries for the past week, with the exception of the obligatory "Friday's Cat" and "Idée d’jour", come from the Roman Catholic rosary. In brief, one meditates on these scenes from Jesus' life while one recites a cycle of prayers (primarily the "Hail Mary"). This is part of my Advent discipline. Seeing as there are five scenes in each set of mysteries, this should involve my writing something at least five days a week. Good practice, at the least.

I'm aware that the entries did not always reflect the theme of the scene in question. Sometimes contrast can lead one in interesting directions.

My goal here is not to preach. I'm wrestling with these things. You just get to watch the wrestling match. With any luck, you'll derive something from the struggle as well.

This coming week, I will be reflecting on the "Luminous Mysteries", also called the "Living Mysteries". So far as I know, these are a relatively recent addition to the cycle.

My source for this set of mysteries is dated 1996. My other sources for the rosary are dated much earlier than that (1920ish, 1964, and 1978) and those sources do not include the "Living Mysteries".

Why is this significant?

See, what I'll call the original set of mysteries, Joyous, Sorrowful, and Glorious, skipped a portion of Jesus' life. The Joyous Mysteries, as we have seen, cover the period from the Annunciation to Jesus' early boyhood. The Sorrowful Mysteries reflect on His passion and death. The Glorious Mysteries reflect on His resurrection, and the birth of the early church. This sequence leaves out Jesus' ministry, which is at least as important as his death and resurrection.

Though I know a great deal about the history of the "traditional" rosary, I don't know anything about the addition of this set of mysteries. But, they seem to fit. That is to say, they feel "right."

I probably should add that I am not Roman Catholic. I was baptized in the Methodist church, and joined the Episcopal Church when I was 11 or 12. Both of these traditions are Protestant.

So, what's a good Protestant boy doing with the Rosary? Aren't I being some sort of Mary-worshipping Papist as I pray the "Hail Mary"?

Well, I don't think so. But these are questions I'll come back to during the week - or next weekend, at the latest.

In the meantime, this is my consumer warning that the entries up through Christmas will likely be more God-talk than anything else.

Tis the season.

Idée d’jour

Life without industry is guilt, industry without art is brutality.
— John Ruskin, author, art critic, and social reformer (1819-1900).

As I recall, Mr. Ruskin was one of the founders of the "Aesthetic Movement," which fact makes this quote all the more appropriate.

Found in the Temple

Lk 2:41-52
As I cautioned in the previous entry, this will be one of those "things I have learned from my cat"-type texts. These sorts of things — which generally appear on posters, e-mails, and Powerpoint Presentations, are cute — but often suffer from a preciousness which is sacharine-sweet.

I shall strive to avoid preciousness.

When we invite non-human animals into our homes, we also invite a bit of wildness in to our lives. It's a domesticated wildness which most people can tolerate. The element of wildness which felix and canus domestici offer us is unpredictability.

Granted, dogs can be trained (certainly with more facility than the average cat), but even dogs will sometimes do things which make no sense to a human observer.

Cats are a curious choice for companion. If I had grain stores, like the ancient Egyptians, or was a farmer, a cat would have a very practical use — control of the rodent population. But, as a companion for companionship's sake — counter-intuitive. The average naked ape is diurnal; I certainly am. Cats are nocturnal.

So, the difference between cats and humans is greater than "civilization" and "wildnerness", it's literally the difference between day and night.

Yet, somehow humans and felines have adapted to each others' culture, as it were.

So: what have I learned from Dame Julian?

Live in the now. I've mentioned that DJ and I often play fetch. I know DJ is unique in this, but Brother Dave has witnessed her doing it and can testify. She'll chase the object (there's up to three we use now) several times. Then, about the fourth or fifth time, she'll drop it half-way back to me, stop, and scratch or wash. There you go: if it itches, scratch it. Sleep when you're tired. Eat when you're hungry — and stop eating when you're full.

Sometimes play can be rough (and even hurt) without deeply wounding. One thing that amazed me, from the time I adopted DJ, is the fact that she seems to be able to distinguish bare skin from clothed skin. If I walk through the house bare-legged, and she attacks, her claws are withdrawn. It's been some time since she last scratched my hands or bare arms. If I'm wearing pants or long sleeves though, all bets are off.

Seems like I could apply this to human interactions somehow. For example, flirting. Sometimes men and women flirt just for play or to keep the skills honed (so to speak); it's not always intended to lead to romance. Or conjugal relations. I'm still not sure how I can discern the play from the "real", or how I can tell that play reflects romantic feelings on both sides. Still learning.

Another thing DJ is teaching me is that I can't always get my way. I've moved things (primarily stuffed toys) so she won't destroy them. I keep my study door closed so she won't attack the computer wires or the minor disaster area on the floor. I have chosen not to put up a Christmas tree, for fear that she might hurt herself attacking the ornaments (et al).

As I've said before, there is no negotiation possible here. Either I accept the consequences — some property damage, possible vet bills, potential early feline demise — or I adapt. In this regard, I have to be more adaptable than the cat.

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So far as I know there is no record of what the boy Jesus said to the learned men in the Temple on that day. Even the apocryphal gospels that I've read fail to fill in this detail.

Two apocryphal gospels — afraid I don't have copies to hand — do tell this story, which I believe takes place after the incident in the Temple:

Mary and Joseph sent Jesus to a local rabbi to be tutored. At their first meeting, the rabbi asked Jesus to recite the Hebrew alphabet. Jesus replies that he will recite the alphabet if the rabbi will tell him the meaning of aleph, beth, gimel, and so on. In one version of this story, the rabbi spanks Jesus for his insolence. The hand which had performed the spanking withered, as if in a fire. However, when the rabbi repented the action, the boy restored the hand.

This story is similar to an idea I've had brewing for a few years: that the dialogue between the boy Jesus and the learned men was little more than questions. This is often the case in the canon — frequently, Jesus will say "I'll answer that question if you'll answer this one." It's also part of Talmudic tradition, which would have been germinating around this time (if not slightly earlier). Indeed, the learned men may have been amazed at the perception reflected in Jesus' questions, and how he was able to hold his own. That is, they may have been impressed at how long he was able to continue asking questions without ever making his own position or opinion clear.

You know, Jesus playing with the rabbis in this way reminds me a lot of DJ playing with me. It might smart occasionally, but it's still play. The Psalms say God made Leviathan for the sport of it (I believe that's the KJV phrase). What a concept, that the High Holy One should bless play in this fashion! What a concept that the Holy One honors questions more than definitive answers!

Friday's Cat

Here's a shot of Dame Julian I took last night, run through Photoshop's watercolor filter. I also did a little work erasing a certain human's hand, using the stamp tool.

Fair warning: later this morning, there will be an additional cat image, with text along the lines of "things I've learned from my cat."

The Presentation

They brought him to receive a name.
A name which had come to them in a dream.
A name, we are told, that would be above all names. (Phil 2:9)
The name means "Consoler," "Mighty to Aid"

Once, I dreamed I would have a name.
When I was in high school, I saw myself the lead of a rock band.
Based on the sort of music I played in my bedroom,
it would have been a cross between Dylan and L. Cohen.

In my early 20s, as I returned to the Church,
I thought I would have a name.
I thought it might be, as I put it,
"A Name You Could Conjure With."
By which I meant that people would see me as dependable,
a person with integrity.
A real "Go-to Guy who gets things done."

The prophet has a word for such ego dreams:
"[your] haughtiness shall be humbled,
and [your] pride shall be brought low" (Is 2:17)

They brought him to receive a name.
A name that was born before the sun.
But he was the one who breathed life into the name.
His choices caused the name to shine.
The name is spoken on many lips
because of who he loved,
the mirror he held up.

He lived his name.
It may have begun in a dream, but he lived it.
The priest may have sealed him with the name,
but the one who was called "Teacher"
lived it.

My name came from my grandfather and his granduncle before him. I don't know if it came from a dream, or was known from the foundations of the world. I believe that, as the thinning hairs of my head are known, so am I known. I may be foolish, but it harms no one if I believe the High Holy One knows us each by name, as the unique individuals we are called to be.

I was sealed with my name when I was eight months old.
My first name is the same as His brother's.
My middle name is the same as the patron of Scotland.
And now I ask myself: "What name am I living?" —
All that has been stored up in my heart.

Lk 2:22-40

Idée d’jour

A book lying idle on a shelf is wasted ammunition. Like money, books must be kept in constant circulation. Lend and borrow to the maximum.
— Henry Miller, novelist (1891-1980)

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I recently followed Brother Henry's advice by sending Ms Candide Barry Lopez' River Notes after I had finished it. She has an extensive list of other stuff she's reading right now, but I trust it will give her pleasure once she does read it.

Speaking of Brother Henry, I read a bit of his work this past Saturday. Every now and again, I pick up Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch. I'm in the large middle section, which he calls "A Potpouri" right now, which is really reprints of articles that had been published by various journals. The article I read Saturday was titled "The Water Color Mania." It reminded me a great deal of a pamplet Henry wrote titled "To Paint is to Love Again."

Like me, Bro Henry did not have much training as a painter. But the work benefits from his wildness. Vibrant colors, naive forms — to see a Henry Miller watercolor is to see pure joy.

You've seen examples of my art on these pages. I've used some early work as the picture side of some of my poetic postcards (e.g., this, this and this). It's something I play with, or dabble in, as the spirit moves.

Perhaps it's time to whet the brush again.

Lunchroom Vision

Lady Bountiful
a table away
lilac eye shadow
fuschia knit top
black slacks
two inch high heels
prophetic dark hair pulled up in back

Pray for me, gracious madonna,
that I may be a fit companion
for one such as you

The Nativity

I awoke at one o'clock this morning. Don't know why. Maybe it was my sinus headache.

I tried praying for, like, 30 to 45 minutes. Finally got up and read the lessons appointed for this morning. Read the Psalms appointed for the morning of the first day of the month (1-5).

The Christian year is interesting. Many Bibical scholars believe Jesus was born in the summer, yet we celebrate his birth in the winter. Christmas is the baptism, if you will, of the Roman feast Saturnalia. Advent just happens to coincide with a Norse holiday which featured wagon wheels ringed with candles. We prepare to pilgrim to a place of holy birth just as most plant life (in the Northern Hemisphere) is dying.

One may see the Christian year as a cycle of death and rebirth, but right now seems to be both at once. We prepare for a birth, but many of the readings assigned for this period have to do with the End Times.

Many of the lessons appointed for Advent, in both the Daily and Sunday Lectionaries, are apocalyptic in tone. For example, Isaiah 2:1-11 is sure to cheer you up, depending on whether you see America as "Judah" or "Israel". The readings from the Gospel aren't exactly cheery either; this past Sunday Jesus talked about one person being taken from the field while another is left — a reading often used to validate the doctrine of the rapture. Whether it is or not, Jesus is clearly talking end-time type stuff (see Mt 24:37-44).

Many times the people who write the meditations in Forward Day By Day interpret these readings as saying that Advent is both a time to prepare for the remembrance of Jesus' birth, and a time to prepare for His return. And that may be true. But I think another reading is possible.

I think it is possible that this season may embrace the totality of life: the time we walk on earth, and the time following - of which we have but "hints and allegations".

Buddhists believe we are on a wheel of death and rebirth on this physical plane until we reach Nirvana (on a different plane). Christians believe death is rebirth into a life we can only imagine (possibly on another plane). In a sense, we cannot deny this life without denying the life to come. If we spend this life mourning the suffering of being in these physical bodies, we might not be in the proper frame of mind to appreciate whatever existence lies after death.

What if you don't believe anything lies beyond death but ashes? Well then, why suffer? As friends of Bill W would say, "Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional."

Well, there I go: preaching to my reflection again!

Lk 2:6-14, Ps 5

Idée d’jour

The greatest of faults, I should say, is to be conscious of none.
— Thomas Carlyle, writer (1795-1881)

The Visitation

I dreamed of peanuts last night. At least, I suppose it was peanuts, because it was a type of nut with a shell that might collect and crunch on the ground. In the dream, I didn't know the name of the nut. Honestly, I didn't worry about the name. I just enjoyed eating them.

Odd thing is, I didn't go to bed hungry. My diet might lack variety; it might lack the daily recommended amount of one vitamin or the other; but, on average, I eat three times a day. And, on many days, plenty of snacks between. Honestly, how I remain relatively skinny is a mystery to me.

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In her comment on my previous entry, Ms. Candide suggests that I am projecting my own lack of joy on Christmas consumers.

That may be true. It may be that Sam has formed a picture of me as a sort of dour fellow. A fellow who does not take much joy in life. And it's true that I've hit a rather rough patch the past few months. With the days shortening, I'm sensing a return of depression (maybe a pinch of SAD). So, when I encourage the generic reader to seek sources of joy, Sam might say that I'm preaching to my reflection.

Not the least bit unusual.

On the other hand, I had supposed that I was reciting a bit of received wisdom. Seems like many sit-coms and commercials are built around the premise that shopping at this time of year is unpleasant, or is stressfull. Do I know any of this from personal experience?

I avoid Christmas shopping during peak times or places because I'm not comfortable in large crowds. So, that's the source of my stress.

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In seeking sources of my own joy, I joined a St. Andrew's Day Parade at lunch today. St. Andrew was one of the original 12, and is also the patron saint of Scotland. The parade was sponsored by a growing community of Christians who are rediscovering and embracing Celtic spirituality — in particular, St. Paul's Episcopal Cathedral, St. Luke's United Methodist Church, and First Christian Church.

The parade was preceded by a brief non-demoninational service. Of special note was this proclamation:

Today we proclaim the sacred streets of Oklahoma City to be for us hallowed ground. Joining our voices in harmony we celebrate our gratidude for the rebirth of our beloved city. Processing together in unity we give thanks for the sanctification that comes from joining our hands in celebration of our common life.

We were led by a group of group of bagpipers from St. Luke's, at 15th and Robinson, to St. Paul's, at 7th and Robinson. We were only 30, so perhaps not much of a parade. But it was grand. Gayle visited with me as we marched to St. Paul's. Then we had a lovely lunch of soup at the Cathedral. We were joined at lunch by Canon Hampton, two members of St. Michael's, Norman, and a member of Emmanuel, Shawnee. We all had a lovely visit.

I didn't think to ask for a lift back to St. Luke's. This wasn't pride, but a misplaced sense of not wanting to be a bother. Still, the walk was good for me. The sky is a clear blue that seems to thrive best during Oklahoma winter days. The wind was brisk, but not so hard as to cut through me.

I feel better now than I did when I began this entry (at 6 am). You know, I keep telling myself that the best cure for depression is to seek people to be with. But I often don't feel like I have the energy to be around people. So the cycle continues.

But today, I was with other people. Some I've known for a year or more, others I just met today. All were fellow pilgrims, and accepted me as one of them.

Lk 1:39-53

The Annunciation

The world of advertising has been preparing the consumer for Christmas since at least Halloween. Expecting store to change their displays at Thanksgiving is as anachronistic as a plum pudding. Complaining about it has also become old hat, although surely one of the few things that states both red and blue could agree on.

There is at least one ad I've seen that almost captures the traditional meaning of Christmas, from a nation-wide toy store chain. The tag line is something like "There is no pleasure like seeing joy on a child's face; even better is knowing you put it there." Obviously, the message is that you will put joy on a child's face by giving him or her material goods purchased from that toy store. But, at least it directs the buyer's mind to people outside him/her-self.

If there is a time of year Americans exemplify the "quiet desperation" Thoreau spoke of, Christmas is it. Look at the faces of your fellow shoppers: I imagine you'll find very few smiles there. Come Christmas Eve, many of us will sing of "comfort & joy," yet I expect we'll be hard pressed to find many concrete examples of either comfort or joy prior to December 31. When much of the joy will be fueled by alcohol, which somewhat cheapens the emotion.

Like many churches, the Cathedral had a special service the morning of Thanksgiving Day. What made it unique was the fact that the service included a baptism. In his sermon, Dean Back made an off-hand remark to the effect that our souls were like infants.

Indeed, many Orthodox icons represent the soul as an infant. Celtic tradition holds that when one looks into an infant’s face, one perceives the face of God. In fact, the infant is one of those "thin places" where heaven and earth meet.

As the liturgical season of Advent begins, that is the announcement we need to hear: "Your soul is an infant. Nourish it for growth."

Each of us needs to find those things that nourish our souls. For me, it may be great music or art. For you, it may be shopping for your grandchild. I would suggest two guidelines: that the activity be other-directed, and that joy be found in it. For joy is the spark that warms and nourishes the soul.

Lk 1:26-38

Clover Eyes

I bathed her eyes in clover
before the dawn was born.
Her heart was forged in silver
once captured in a storm.
She smiles in August dewlight
upon my dancing hands.
They measure rose-hawk nightflights
and pray to love again.
She comes to me so softly,
lays her head upon my chest,
then flows out into the slip-stream
where she will take her rest.

Card mailed to Sam, 13.Nov.04

Friday's Cat

I submitted this to the Sorry Everybody site late last week. It has not yet been added to their gallery.

Maybe the anger is contrary to their message? That's fine, if that's the case. The anger is honest, however, and it feels good to express it.

The image of Dame Julian is a couple of weeks old, so she may seem slightly smaller here than you remember her being last week (the "Andy Warhol" homage).

My Birthday, by the numbers

Positive

1. Cheri, at the office, baked a pina colada cake
2. Debi took me out to lunch at Gabriella's; marvelous food, good company
3. Gathered with friends and like-minded folk yesterday evening (though the event was not connected with my b'day)
4. Conducted a meeting, and remained calm
5. I only thought about the assasination of President Kennedy once, and was not consumed with melancholy at the coincidence that he was murdered on my eighth birthday

Not so positive

1. No birthday cards, not even from my co-workers
2. I generally lead "Happy Birthday" for others, but it just felt too queer to lead it for myself. I started the group off, and they quickly went off key
3. Actually, that was quite amusing
4. I bought my own birthday presents

Honestly, not so bad. I'm a year away from the half-century mark, and it amazes me that some of this stuff even mildly ruffles my feathers.

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By the way, here's what I bought:
Cosmo Doogood's Urban Almanac: Celebrating Nature & Her Rhythms in the City
Folkways: A Vision Shared - A Tribute to Woody Guthrie & Leadbelly
Madeleine Peyroux: Careless Love

The Folkways cd is quite old; it was originally released in 1988. I bought it because I was jonesing to hear Dylan sing "Pretty Boy Floyd" again (I once had the tape, and lost it).

The Peyroux cd is new. I heard her interviewed on NPR a couple of weeks ago, and they played a couple of tracks then. If you've ever wondered what it would sound like if Billy Holliday sang Leonard Cohen's "Dance Me to the End of Love," then this is the cd for you. But, her singing is more than mimicry or gimick. You can tell this 20-something woman really feels it. The jazz combo is a bit too nightclub for my taste, but Madeleine's singing makes up for it. Recommended.

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Canon Joplin was at that meeting I mentioned; it was a debriefing of the people who facilitated "Faith Sharing" as a pre-convention event. She was quite complementary of my part in making that a reality.

Just think: three years ago yesterday, Mother Joplin officiated a house blessing for the place I currently live. When I think of the years which preceded that house blessing, and the years that have followed, I marvel. I give thanks for every step. I give thanks for Brother Dave and Sistah Linda, who helped with the house down-payment. I give thanks for Dr. Omed, who listened as I bemoaned lost love unattainable love. I give thanks for Pam, who generously shares her time & friendship.

I give thanks for Elsie. Our relationship could not survive over long distance, but I give thanks for the time we did have together.

I give thanks for you, dear reader. Without you, I'd just be muttering to myself.

Idée d’jour

If privacy is outlawed, only outlaws will have privacy.
— Phil Zimmermann, cryptographer (1954- )