When we hold a piece of bread,
if mindfulness is there, if the Holy Spirit is there,
we can eat the bread in a way
that will allow us to touch the whole cosmos deeply.
A piece of bread contains the sunshine.
That is not difficult to see.
Without sunshine, the piece of bread cannot be.
A piece of bread countains a cloud.
Without a cloud, the wheat cannot grow.
So when you eat the piece of bread,
you eat the cloud,
you eat the sunshine,
you eat the minerals,
time, space, everything.
Thich Nhat Hanh, from Going Home: Jesus and Buddha as Brothers, pg 5 (Riverhead Books, New York, 1999)
Formatting is mine
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Foggy Blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
into the dreadnaught night
I went walkin' walkin'
And something wasn't right
Caught the bank's time & temp,
Copped a cuppa joe & left a quarter tip
Never knew love could come on like this
Got the blues, oh foggy blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
Walking on for my dreams
I went walkin' walkin'
Love is more than it seems
Street lamps holdin' up lazy clouds
Looking for no complications
Lookin' for the right love right now
Got the blues, oh foggy blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
It's the Lord of Love who speaks
I went walkin' walkin'
And I'm watching out for your heart
I love your opal eyes
This is your Lord who speaks
I love your denial
This is the Lord of Loss who speaks
Got the blues, oh foggy blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
Into the slaughterhouse dark
I went walkin' walkin'
Hope as my Covenant Ark
Mistress Death my tempt me
Time may lead me on
Her eyes shine like eternity
She's my latest song
I got the blues, oh foggy blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
Walking into my madness
I went walkin' walkin'
Where time brings no sadness
Here's my right hand, full of desire
Here's my left eye,
Burning like a heart of fire
Got the blues, oh foggy blues.
12.March.1983
Co-Written with Dr. Omed
into the dreadnaught night
I went walkin' walkin'
And something wasn't right
Caught the bank's time & temp,
Copped a cuppa joe & left a quarter tip
Never knew love could come on like this
Got the blues, oh foggy blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
Walking on for my dreams
I went walkin' walkin'
Love is more than it seems
Street lamps holdin' up lazy clouds
Looking for no complications
Lookin' for the right love right now
Got the blues, oh foggy blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
It's the Lord of Love who speaks
I went walkin' walkin'
And I'm watching out for your heart
I love your opal eyes
This is your Lord who speaks
I love your denial
This is the Lord of Loss who speaks
Got the blues, oh foggy blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
Into the slaughterhouse dark
I went walkin' walkin'
Hope as my Covenant Ark
Mistress Death my tempt me
Time may lead me on
Her eyes shine like eternity
She's my latest song
I got the blues, oh foggy blues
I went walkin' walkin' walkin'
Walking into my madness
I went walkin' walkin'
Where time brings no sadness
Here's my right hand, full of desire
Here's my left eye,
Burning like a heart of fire
Got the blues, oh foggy blues.
12.March.1983
Co-Written with Dr. Omed
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Honor of the Time
Half-moon morning,
bright pink eastern sky;
to the south, cool blue
It's January spring.
The sun slants kindly on
budding trees.
I'm a ghost, walking
the path I walk
every morning.
A ghost of honest memory
taking the well-worn path
that I know so well.
The honor of love
is lingering on the air,
a lava heartbeat.
I see a woman
in the distance, her muffler
wrapped about her neck.
She also sees me,
this thin morning ghost,
and she smiles.
When we meet on the
sidewalk, we do a small dance
in honor of the time.
30.Jan.81
For some reason, this poem commended itself to me recently. I really, really like that last stanza. And the especially nice thing about it is that it's essentially a true story.
Coincidentally, the Rev. Dr. Omed has posted a poem he wrote in my honor back in 1982. As he says, we've known each other a long time; at least since 1978, possibly as early as 1974 or ‘75.
In this poem, he mentions "Jason & the Argonauts". This is (I flatter myself) a special tip o’ the black hat to me, for I had written a song Dana loved, which had this refrain: "Jason and the Argonauts go sailing late tonight / I guess you'll have to find your love by candlelight."
If you're especially good, I may post the lyrics to the song after I've gotten past these Advent entries.
bright pink eastern sky;
to the south, cool blue
It's January spring.
The sun slants kindly on
budding trees.
I'm a ghost, walking
the path I walk
every morning.
A ghost of honest memory
taking the well-worn path
that I know so well.
The honor of love
is lingering on the air,
a lava heartbeat.
I see a woman
in the distance, her muffler
wrapped about her neck.
She also sees me,
this thin morning ghost,
and she smiles.
When we meet on the
sidewalk, we do a small dance
in honor of the time.
30.Jan.81
For some reason, this poem commended itself to me recently. I really, really like that last stanza. And the especially nice thing about it is that it's essentially a true story.
Coincidentally, the Rev. Dr. Omed has posted a poem he wrote in my honor back in 1982. As he says, we've known each other a long time; at least since 1978, possibly as early as 1974 or ‘75.
In this poem, he mentions "Jason & the Argonauts". This is (I flatter myself) a special tip o’ the black hat to me, for I had written a song Dana loved, which had this refrain: "Jason and the Argonauts go sailing late tonight / I guess you'll have to find your love by candlelight."
If you're especially good, I may post the lyrics to the song after I've gotten past these Advent entries.
Friday, December 17, 2004
The 5th Sorrowful Mystery: The Crucifixion
John 19:25-30
“Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine” — Patti Smith
The Crucifixion of Jesus ben Joseph may be seen in two ways: as historical event, or as myth. As a historical event, we have little record beyond the Biblical canon. So far as I know, Josephus is the only contemporary historian who refers to Jesus. If Roman records of the crucifixion of this itinerant preacher in a backwater of the Empire exist, I am not aware of them.
One thing seems clear in the canonical account: the execution of Jesus is a political act. Jesus' popularity threatens the religious authorities, to begin with. And although he has preached peace, there is always the chance he will incite a revolt. Or, more likely, some of his more radical followers might incite one. The Sanhedrin cannot risk that, for they know Rome will crush any revolt, and what little power the Sanhedrin has will be destroyed. As one leader is quoted in the Gospel of John, "it is better ... that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish" (Jn 11:49).
But there is a deeper reason for this execution. Jesus has had the audacity to speak truth to power. As such, he has fullfilled the role of a prophet. And, as he acknowledges, the people kill their prophets. In fact, this might be a good test of whether one is a true prophet: if he or she is still alive past the age of 30, odds are that one is no prophet.
By the way, the age of prophets did not end with Jesus. The 20th Century had its share: Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Jr, perhaps even Malcolm X. I'll be clear that an early death is not the sole qualification for prophet. But it's a good one. And one that disqualifies many who claim to be speaking in God's name today.
The traditional mythic explanation of the crucifixion is summed up in the phrase, "Jesus died for our sins." In this formulation, Jesus serves the function of the Sacrificial Lamb, taking our sins upon himself, and thus freeing us from the burden of sin. Because he is the Son of God, this sacrifice is for the whole world, for all time. As Paul writes, "Jesus came into the world to save sinners." (1 Tim 1:15).
This seems antiquated and barbaric. I don't want to contemplate a God who would behave this way. I don't even want to contemplate a God who would require any sort of sacrifice. I especially cannot abide the thought of a God who sends his only Son with the express purpose of suffering the worst form of torture and death that could be devised in the last century before the common era.
How can we worship a God we would turn into the police or child welfare if he lived down the street from us?
Perhaps the crucifixion is symbolic of a type of integration and transformation. In his novel The Last Temptation of Christ, Kazantzakis postulates that the last temptation came on the cross, and the temptation was to live as an ordinary man. The inference is that Jesus overcame all other temptations, and this last one was consumed on the cross.
I think of sin as anything that stands in the way of my becoming what Maslow called an "actualized person" and what Jung called "the individuated personality". It is not a matter of good and evil, or light and shadow, for these seeming contraries are but poles of one whole. It is a matter of looking at the Shadow, and considering what gifts it may offer. Not all gifts must be accepted, but all must be honestly considered and evaluated.
That which is not me must be transformed from a stumbling block to an aid. It must be, in this sense, crucified. This model in essence turns the traditional forumaltion on its head. Rather than Jesus dying for my sins, I symbolically participate as the crucified. I offer my whole self — light and shadow — to that radical transformation, that I may become as fully integrated as Jesus was.
Just as Jesus was transformed from the Hanged Man to the Savior Dancing.
“Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine” — Patti Smith
The Crucifixion of Jesus ben Joseph may be seen in two ways: as historical event, or as myth. As a historical event, we have little record beyond the Biblical canon. So far as I know, Josephus is the only contemporary historian who refers to Jesus. If Roman records of the crucifixion of this itinerant preacher in a backwater of the Empire exist, I am not aware of them.
One thing seems clear in the canonical account: the execution of Jesus is a political act. Jesus' popularity threatens the religious authorities, to begin with. And although he has preached peace, there is always the chance he will incite a revolt. Or, more likely, some of his more radical followers might incite one. The Sanhedrin cannot risk that, for they know Rome will crush any revolt, and what little power the Sanhedrin has will be destroyed. As one leader is quoted in the Gospel of John, "it is better ... that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish" (Jn 11:49).
But there is a deeper reason for this execution. Jesus has had the audacity to speak truth to power. As such, he has fullfilled the role of a prophet. And, as he acknowledges, the people kill their prophets. In fact, this might be a good test of whether one is a true prophet: if he or she is still alive past the age of 30, odds are that one is no prophet.
By the way, the age of prophets did not end with Jesus. The 20th Century had its share: Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Jr, perhaps even Malcolm X. I'll be clear that an early death is not the sole qualification for prophet. But it's a good one. And one that disqualifies many who claim to be speaking in God's name today.
The traditional mythic explanation of the crucifixion is summed up in the phrase, "Jesus died for our sins." In this formulation, Jesus serves the function of the Sacrificial Lamb, taking our sins upon himself, and thus freeing us from the burden of sin. Because he is the Son of God, this sacrifice is for the whole world, for all time. As Paul writes, "Jesus came into the world to save sinners." (1 Tim 1:15).
This seems antiquated and barbaric. I don't want to contemplate a God who would behave this way. I don't even want to contemplate a God who would require any sort of sacrifice. I especially cannot abide the thought of a God who sends his only Son with the express purpose of suffering the worst form of torture and death that could be devised in the last century before the common era.
How can we worship a God we would turn into the police or child welfare if he lived down the street from us?
Perhaps the crucifixion is symbolic of a type of integration and transformation. In his novel The Last Temptation of Christ, Kazantzakis postulates that the last temptation came on the cross, and the temptation was to live as an ordinary man. The inference is that Jesus overcame all other temptations, and this last one was consumed on the cross.
I think of sin as anything that stands in the way of my becoming what Maslow called an "actualized person" and what Jung called "the individuated personality". It is not a matter of good and evil, or light and shadow, for these seeming contraries are but poles of one whole. It is a matter of looking at the Shadow, and considering what gifts it may offer. Not all gifts must be accepted, but all must be honestly considered and evaluated.
That which is not me must be transformed from a stumbling block to an aid. It must be, in this sense, crucified. This model in essence turns the traditional forumaltion on its head. Rather than Jesus dying for my sins, I symbolically participate as the crucified. I offer my whole self — light and shadow — to that radical transformation, that I may become as fully integrated as Jesus was.
Just as Jesus was transformed from the Hanged Man to the Savior Dancing.
Friday's Cat
In addition to our regular cat picture, I thought I'd share the result of our play on Tuesday evening:
Hopefully, you can just make out the scratches on the back of my left hand.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
The 4th Sorrowful Mystery: Woeful Road
Jn 19:16-22; Mk 15:20-21
One of Padre's favorite songs was "Reverend Mr. Black", recorded by the Kingston Trio. The "Reverend Mr. Black" was a story song, where the major part of the narrative was spoken, and a sung chorus was used as a break between parts of the story. The chorus was drawn from an Appalachian spiritual:
Rev. Mr. Black turns the other cheek to the lumberjack and lets himself be hit again. "Then with a voice as quiet as can be/he cut him down like a big oak tree when he said: ‘You gotta walk that lonesome valley....’"
Earlier in the song, this is a song the Reverend sings to himself. As he sings it to the lumberjack, I get the sense that it’s a form of sermon.
Curious Good News, that. When times get the hardest, you're going to be left on your own. It's a profoundly Existential statement.
The song has a sentimental twist at the end: "the Rev. Mr. Black was my old man."
I imagine Padre sometimes pictured himself in the role of the Rev. Mr. Black. Mr. Black is described as honorable, brave, and strong, all qualities Padre strove toward.
There is no doubt that Padre walked the Lonesome Valley from Wanda's death, in 1975 (at age 45), to his own, in 1992 (at 63). Although Brother Dave and I tried our best to help him, neither of us could transfuse him with the will to live. As I said earlier this week, my theory is that he suffered too many losses (job, health, and wife) within a relatively brief period of time. The stress of those multiple losses undid him.
I spoke earlier this week of the stages Robert Johnson believes men go through: childhood, youth, adult, and old age. Dr. Johnson says that the transition from one stage to the next is a crisis point.
Tradition holds that Jesus began his public ministry when he was 30, and was crucified around age 33. This age is normally the transition from youth to adult. As we have seen in reviewing his Passion this past week, the challenges he faces are several times worse than the average person experiences in a lifetime.
Padre was 44 when Wanda died, and he began to give up on life. Dr. Johnson sets the transition from adult to old age around 55. Dr. Johnson also cautions that trying to go into a stage too soon, or skipping a stage, can cause problems. It would seem that Padre was confronted with the issues of old age early, and this may be one explanation of why the crisis overwhelmed him.
Padre also sang "Lonesome Valley," and especially enjoyed Woody Guthrie’s version, which includes this verse:
I think my initial reading of that spiritual only tells part of the story. Psalm 23 tells us the Lord is our companion, even in the Valley of Death. We must take each step with our own muscles, but this doesn’t necessarily mean we are alone. Our path may unique, and we make our own choices, but we can call upon companions. They can’t take the action for us, or make choices on our behalf, but they can encourage and support us.
As a Christian, I claim Jesus as my companion in the Way.
One of Padre's favorite songs was "Reverend Mr. Black", recorded by the Kingston Trio. The "Reverend Mr. Black" was a story song, where the major part of the narrative was spoken, and a sung chorus was used as a break between parts of the story. The chorus was drawn from an Appalachian spiritual:
You gotta walk that lonesome valleyThe Reverend is described as a man who appears to be "tough and mean," yet proves himself to be a man of peace. A lumberjack comes into the meeting house one day, cursing the church people up one aisle and down the other. He ends up at the front, and cusses right in the Rev. Black’s face. Then the lumberjack hits the preacher.
You gotta walk it by yourself
Nobody here can walk it for you
You gotta walk it by yourself.
Rev. Mr. Black turns the other cheek to the lumberjack and lets himself be hit again. "Then with a voice as quiet as can be/he cut him down like a big oak tree when he said: ‘You gotta walk that lonesome valley....’"
Earlier in the song, this is a song the Reverend sings to himself. As he sings it to the lumberjack, I get the sense that it’s a form of sermon.
Curious Good News, that. When times get the hardest, you're going to be left on your own. It's a profoundly Existential statement.
The song has a sentimental twist at the end: "the Rev. Mr. Black was my old man."
I imagine Padre sometimes pictured himself in the role of the Rev. Mr. Black. Mr. Black is described as honorable, brave, and strong, all qualities Padre strove toward.
There is no doubt that Padre walked the Lonesome Valley from Wanda's death, in 1975 (at age 45), to his own, in 1992 (at 63). Although Brother Dave and I tried our best to help him, neither of us could transfuse him with the will to live. As I said earlier this week, my theory is that he suffered too many losses (job, health, and wife) within a relatively brief period of time. The stress of those multiple losses undid him.
I spoke earlier this week of the stages Robert Johnson believes men go through: childhood, youth, adult, and old age. Dr. Johnson says that the transition from one stage to the next is a crisis point.
Tradition holds that Jesus began his public ministry when he was 30, and was crucified around age 33. This age is normally the transition from youth to adult. As we have seen in reviewing his Passion this past week, the challenges he faces are several times worse than the average person experiences in a lifetime.
Padre was 44 when Wanda died, and he began to give up on life. Dr. Johnson sets the transition from adult to old age around 55. Dr. Johnson also cautions that trying to go into a stage too soon, or skipping a stage, can cause problems. It would seem that Padre was confronted with the issues of old age early, and this may be one explanation of why the crisis overwhelmed him.
Padre also sang "Lonesome Valley," and especially enjoyed Woody Guthrie’s version, which includes this verse:
There's a road that leads to gloryJesus points one way: keep walking, no matter what. Walk with honor and integrity, not for praise, but because that’s who you are. I believe Padre’s life carries much the same lesson, for he also sought to walk with honor and integrity — even after melancholy consumed him.
Thru a valley far away
Nobody else can walk it for you
They can only point the way
I think my initial reading of that spiritual only tells part of the story. Psalm 23 tells us the Lord is our companion, even in the Valley of Death. We must take each step with our own muscles, but this doesn’t necessarily mean we are alone. Our path may unique, and we make our own choices, but we can call upon companions. They can’t take the action for us, or make choices on our behalf, but they can encourage and support us.
As a Christian, I claim Jesus as my companion in the Way.
Idée d’jour
Whenever 'A' attempts by law to impose his moral standards upon 'B', 'A' is most likely a scoundrel.
— H.L. Mencken, writer, editor, and critic (1880-1956)
Think our Handsome Leader would get the hint if I sent this quote to him? No? I didn't think so, either.
— H.L. Mencken, writer, editor, and critic (1880-1956)
Think our Handsome Leader would get the hint if I sent this quote to him? No? I didn't think so, either.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Some Humor
It's been rather dour in these parts this week, so I thought I'd share a humorous story that is making the e-mail rounds. This particular version comes to me courtesy of Brother Dave. By the way, this story is rated PG-13.
DJ does not limit herself to the bedroom. She'll hide around corners, at the edge of the couch, anywhere — and then attack.
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying. On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozey to explain the bandage on the top of my head. The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially, the new acquisition was no problem. Then one morning I was taking my shower when I hear my wife call out to me from the kitchen. "Honey, the garbage disposal is dead again, Please come reset it."Brother Dave reminded me of our fabled male cat, Sam, who would hide under the bed then attack a person's ankles when that person was least expecting it.
"You know where the button is," I protested through the shower door. "Reset it yourself." "But I'm scared of that thing" she persisted.
"What if it starts going and sucks me in or something?" There was a meaningful pause and then, "Please, it'll only take you a second."
Out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing. It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitten, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. At the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost all rational thought concerning the control of orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region. Wild animals are sometimes faced with the 'fight or flight' syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the flight option. Do NOT try to fight a kitten hanging on for dear life! I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The impact knocked me out cold. When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now there are not many things in life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor, buck naked, in front of a group of 'been-there done-that' paramedics trying to suppress their hysterical laughter - and not succeeding. A few days later I made it back to the office, where my colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about. Which it was!
"What's the matter?" asked one smart alec. "Cat got your tongue?"
IF THEY ONLY KNEW!
DJ does not limit herself to the bedroom. She'll hide around corners, at the edge of the couch, anywhere — and then attack.
The Thorny Crown
John 19:2-7, 16-22
Padre suffered from severe headaches for at least the last third of his life. I don’t know the cause of his headaches. Since I suffer from severe sinus headaches, this seems a probable source for his as well.
I have found a sort of cocktail – pseudoephedrine and ibuprofen — which reduces the pain enough that I am functional. Padre took aspirin, which reportedly did not help very much. In fact, he eventually became an aspirin addict, which almost lead to an overdose — as I have previously described.
In the years following his retirement, he would often say that the pain was so bad that he was tempted to put a gun to his head. Whether this was an appropriate thing to say to your 19 year-old son is debatable. I suppose the combined pain of the headache and his despair was sufficient that he did not consider the impact of those words on me.
I have been known to make similar statements, in jest. Yes, I know it’s a curious sort of jest, given Padre’s history, but there you go. No doubt some deep dark Freudian stuff going on there.
My last severe headache occurred a little over a month ago. I had hints of it prior to going to church one Sunday, but thought I could get by without taking my "cocktail". As it turned out, I was very mistaken. It got worse during service; worse yet during Sunday School; and was barely able to concentrate well enough to get home safely. I spent the bulk of that day in bed with a cold compress on my forehead. Moral: take the cocktail at the first sign of pain.
It’s difficult to describe the pain, but imagine a heated metal band tightening around your head, at about the level of your temple. Now, imagine knitting needles boring into your brows. At a certain point, nausea joins the mix.
As bad as all that is, it’s nothing compared to a crown of thorns.
Most artists depict as a neat circle about the head. Others believe it was more of a thorny cap. Would have hurt either way. The thorns would not have been dainty rose thorns, which would be bad enough, but major brambles measuring a half-inch to an inch long. And these thorns would have been digging into Jesus’ head, drawing blood.
The Roman Empire did not have to worry about a prisoner abuse scandal. It’s fair to say the Roman soldiers behaved like a bunch of bullies. Being a sensitive child, I have some experience with bullies.
I’m no anthropologist, but I have come to see bullying as a perversion of the survival instinct. When the group senses a weak member, it attacks. Either the weak member becomes stronger or is destroyed; either way, the group (or species) benefits.
This makes a certain type of sense in the school yard, but doesn’t for adult groups, in which social norms discourage extreme violence. However, these norms do not apply to any people seen as outsiders or "less than" — enemies, prisoners, and foreigners.
There’s two ways to contemplate the events commemorated as "Sorrowful Mysteries". One is to see them as "things Jesus did for me". While this reflects traditional thinking, it’s not a view with which I’m comfortable (I hope to go into more detail by Friday). Another way is to honestly appraise the dark corners of your personality to see if you are capable of such acts.
I don’t want to believe that I could be among the bullying Roman soldiers. I want to believe I would not have shouted "Crucify Him!" with the rest of the crowd. But I have to admit either as a possibility.
I believe this to be a matter of constant diligence – what our Buddhist friends would call mindfulness – of my motives and the possible consequences of my actions. Another Buddhist principle speaks of Right Action; in this case, right action would seem to be an application of the Golden Rule:
As I would not want to be hurt, so I shall strive not to hurt others.
Padre suffered from severe headaches for at least the last third of his life. I don’t know the cause of his headaches. Since I suffer from severe sinus headaches, this seems a probable source for his as well.
I have found a sort of cocktail – pseudoephedrine and ibuprofen — which reduces the pain enough that I am functional. Padre took aspirin, which reportedly did not help very much. In fact, he eventually became an aspirin addict, which almost lead to an overdose — as I have previously described.
In the years following his retirement, he would often say that the pain was so bad that he was tempted to put a gun to his head. Whether this was an appropriate thing to say to your 19 year-old son is debatable. I suppose the combined pain of the headache and his despair was sufficient that he did not consider the impact of those words on me.
I have been known to make similar statements, in jest. Yes, I know it’s a curious sort of jest, given Padre’s history, but there you go. No doubt some deep dark Freudian stuff going on there.
My last severe headache occurred a little over a month ago. I had hints of it prior to going to church one Sunday, but thought I could get by without taking my "cocktail". As it turned out, I was very mistaken. It got worse during service; worse yet during Sunday School; and was barely able to concentrate well enough to get home safely. I spent the bulk of that day in bed with a cold compress on my forehead. Moral: take the cocktail at the first sign of pain.
It’s difficult to describe the pain, but imagine a heated metal band tightening around your head, at about the level of your temple. Now, imagine knitting needles boring into your brows. At a certain point, nausea joins the mix.
As bad as all that is, it’s nothing compared to a crown of thorns.
Most artists depict as a neat circle about the head. Others believe it was more of a thorny cap. Would have hurt either way. The thorns would not have been dainty rose thorns, which would be bad enough, but major brambles measuring a half-inch to an inch long. And these thorns would have been digging into Jesus’ head, drawing blood.
The Roman Empire did not have to worry about a prisoner abuse scandal. It’s fair to say the Roman soldiers behaved like a bunch of bullies. Being a sensitive child, I have some experience with bullies.
I’m no anthropologist, but I have come to see bullying as a perversion of the survival instinct. When the group senses a weak member, it attacks. Either the weak member becomes stronger or is destroyed; either way, the group (or species) benefits.
This makes a certain type of sense in the school yard, but doesn’t for adult groups, in which social norms discourage extreme violence. However, these norms do not apply to any people seen as outsiders or "less than" — enemies, prisoners, and foreigners.
There’s two ways to contemplate the events commemorated as "Sorrowful Mysteries". One is to see them as "things Jesus did for me". While this reflects traditional thinking, it’s not a view with which I’m comfortable (I hope to go into more detail by Friday). Another way is to honestly appraise the dark corners of your personality to see if you are capable of such acts.
I don’t want to believe that I could be among the bullying Roman soldiers. I want to believe I would not have shouted "Crucify Him!" with the rest of the crowd. But I have to admit either as a possibility.
I believe this to be a matter of constant diligence – what our Buddhist friends would call mindfulness – of my motives and the possible consequences of my actions. Another Buddhist principle speaks of Right Action; in this case, right action would seem to be an application of the Golden Rule:
As I would not want to be hurt, so I shall strive not to hurt others.
Idée d’jour
Knowing ignorance is strength; ignoring knowledge is sickness.
— Lao-Tzu, philosopher (6th century BCE)
— Lao-Tzu, philosopher (6th century BCE)
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
The Scourging
Mt 27:15-26; Mk 15:6-15
Yesterday, I talked quite a bit about the dragon. I said, with an appropriate degree of reluctance, that Padre had been destroyed by the dragon.
In my version of Padre’s story, the dragon represents a certain vision of the Great American Dream: a steady job, a wife, two kids, house in the ’burbs with a white picket fence. I know I’m doing some post-mortem mind-reading, but it seems to me that Padre expected “the system” to treat him with the same integrity that he strove for in his life. When his job of over a decade gave him an impossible choice between being laid off and retirement, he felt incredibly betrayed by both the system and the American Dream.
The figure of the dragon has gotten considerably bad press in the Western canon. Along with the serpent, the snake, and other reptiles, it is considered "evil". On the other hand, as you may know, the Orient considers dragons omens of good fortune.
This point is made especially well in one of my favorite books, St. George and the Dragon and the Quest for the Holy Grail, by Edward Hays. George is an ordinary suburban male, in his mid 30s (one of those crisis points), and hears a voice sending him on a quest. Upon reflection, he chooses to start small, with a hermitage in his tool shed.
Then the dragon comes. George immediately takes this a sign that he’s on the right path (if you’re on a quest, you’re likely to meet a dragon — right?). The dragon quickly assures George that he’s a Chinese dragon, gives George a title worthy of a quest (Sent, or St., George), and offers direction for the quest. In fact, he invites George to climb on his back!
When St George climbs on the dragons back, he sees several wounds — some of which are glowing. He asks the dragon about them, and the dragon responds:
Both the musical Jesus Christ Superstar and the movie The Passion report 99 lashes (the latter in lovingly sadistic detail). I don’t find such a figure in the canon, so I suppose this number to be from non-canonical tradition. Odds are there were bits of sharp metal tied into the knots. Odds are the man lost an incredible amount of blood.
I think Jesus had choices during every step of his via dolorosa. At this point, I think his choice might have been to give up the ghost and die. He didn’t.
Although our wounds are generally less severe than sharp metal ripping flesh, we have the same choice. We can allow the wound to become our total experience of reality, or we can keep walking.
We have the choice, like the dragon in the story, to find insight and strength in our wounds. For example, one scar teaches me compassion for others. This same scar makes me painfully aware of how easy it is to judge others by mere physical appearance. The scar of Padre’s betrayal has made me suspicious of the American Dream. Other scars have taught me other valuable lessons.
The dragon in Hays’ story speaks to a notion of the Wounded Healer. This phrase was coined by Henri Nouwen, and it means that we minister to each other through our woundedness. Through our wounds, we may heal.
What do your scars teach you?
Yesterday, I talked quite a bit about the dragon. I said, with an appropriate degree of reluctance, that Padre had been destroyed by the dragon.
In my version of Padre’s story, the dragon represents a certain vision of the Great American Dream: a steady job, a wife, two kids, house in the ’burbs with a white picket fence. I know I’m doing some post-mortem mind-reading, but it seems to me that Padre expected “the system” to treat him with the same integrity that he strove for in his life. When his job of over a decade gave him an impossible choice between being laid off and retirement, he felt incredibly betrayed by both the system and the American Dream.
The figure of the dragon has gotten considerably bad press in the Western canon. Along with the serpent, the snake, and other reptiles, it is considered "evil". On the other hand, as you may know, the Orient considers dragons omens of good fortune.
This point is made especially well in one of my favorite books, St. George and the Dragon and the Quest for the Holy Grail, by Edward Hays. George is an ordinary suburban male, in his mid 30s (one of those crisis points), and hears a voice sending him on a quest. Upon reflection, he chooses to start small, with a hermitage in his tool shed.
Then the dragon comes. George immediately takes this a sign that he’s on the right path (if you’re on a quest, you’re likely to meet a dragon — right?). The dragon quickly assures George that he’s a Chinese dragon, gives George a title worthy of a quest (Sent, or St., George), and offers direction for the quest. In fact, he invites George to climb on his back!
When St George climbs on the dragons back, he sees several wounds — some of which are glowing. He asks the dragon about them, and the dragon responds:
I have been slain a thousand times, but I have risen again. These old wounds are the source of my power and my insight. ... our greatest and worst enemies are not the monsters who roam the forest or even wicked witches or evil wizards. No, it is our scars, our wounds and old injuries that we must fear...Life wounds us in a number of ways. We have only hints of how Jesus may have been wounded prior to his passion, but there is no denying the severity of wounds he received within 24 hours.
Both the musical Jesus Christ Superstar and the movie The Passion report 99 lashes (the latter in lovingly sadistic detail). I don’t find such a figure in the canon, so I suppose this number to be from non-canonical tradition. Odds are there were bits of sharp metal tied into the knots. Odds are the man lost an incredible amount of blood.
I think Jesus had choices during every step of his via dolorosa. At this point, I think his choice might have been to give up the ghost and die. He didn’t.
Although our wounds are generally less severe than sharp metal ripping flesh, we have the same choice. We can allow the wound to become our total experience of reality, or we can keep walking.
We have the choice, like the dragon in the story, to find insight and strength in our wounds. For example, one scar teaches me compassion for others. This same scar makes me painfully aware of how easy it is to judge others by mere physical appearance. The scar of Padre’s betrayal has made me suspicious of the American Dream. Other scars have taught me other valuable lessons.
The dragon in Hays’ story speaks to a notion of the Wounded Healer. This phrase was coined by Henri Nouwen, and it means that we minister to each other through our woundedness. Through our wounds, we may heal.
What do your scars teach you?
Idée d’jour
The spirit of democracy cannot be imposed from without. It has to come from within.
— Mohandas K. Gandhi (1869-1948)
Wise words to ponder as the time for Iraq's election approaches.
— Mohandas K. Gandhi (1869-1948)
Wise words to ponder as the time for Iraq's election approaches.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Of the Rosary
The third Sunday of Advent, which was yesterday, is often dedicated to the Virgin Mary. In fact, at the Cathedral, we joined with the Hispanic mission to celebrate the feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe. So, it seems a good time to discuss how I came to the rosary.
But first, I must apologize to anyone who took offense at the phrase which I used last Sunday, "Mary-worshipping Papist", as Sam did. I was simply seeking the worst stereotype that fundamentalist Christians might have associated with the rosary. It was meant like "Commie-loving tree-hugging Democrat". You know, an Archie Bunkerism.
Growing up in Oklahoma, I did not know many Roman Catholics. In fact, my introduction to the denomination may have been the movie "Sound of Music". I found something about the ritual, and the surety of faith (as reflected in pre-1970 cinema) attractive. The Roman Catholics had something mysterious I was not finding in the Methodist Church.
Of course, the nuns had rosaries looped around their rope girdles. It's likely that I actually saw a character pray a bit of the rosary in a movie. So, I understood that the rosary had something to do with being Catholic.
In high school, I met Julian, who was the first self-identified Roman Catholic I knew. He had a slightly off-kilter sense of humor, was absolutely accepting of me, and was willing to talk about his tradition without trying to convert. When I started asking about the rosary, in our first year of college, he gave me some pamplets on the fundamentals of the Roman Catholic faith, which included instructions on how to pray the rosary.
I may have already seen a similar form in the St. Augustine Prayer Book, which had been published by Anglo-Catholics (a.k.a. "High Church" Episcopalians) in the 1920s. But the books Julian gave me presented an in-depth view
By the way, those books were Handbook for Today's Catholic, a Redemptorist Pastoral Publication(1978); and Ten Series of Meditations on the Mysteries of the Rosary by Rev. John Ferraro (1981).
By way of giving the process a fair shake, I started praying the rosary. And thinking about what the prayers meant, what the mysteries meant, to me.
The primary prayer of the Rosary is the Hail Mary:
Both statements are sorts of titles. Saying Mary is holy is another way of saying "blessed"; since she's called blessed in the Bible, we shouldn't have a problem calling her Holy. And, in as much as Jesus was fully God and fully human (as I keep repeating), Mary was mother to God. The rest of the statement asks Mary to pray for us, just as you might ask a friend to pray for you.
I have more to say about Mary as an archetype. Students of religion and anthropology are aware that the early church assigned qualities of Roman and Greek goddesses (et al) to Mary. Mary was also identified with the Hagia Sophia spoken of in the Song of Songs (and elsewhere). Clearly, in a male-dominated tradition, common people ached for a feminine balance, and the ideal of Mary came to serve that purpose.
It is in this tradition that I have come to use Mary as a vehicle to realize the feminine aspect of God.
This week I will be meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries: The Agony in the Garden, The Scourging, The Crowning with Thorns, The Carrying of the Cross, and The Crucifixion. These will be hard scenes for me to talk about. Many have preconceived notions about what they mean, and it's challenging to write about the incidents divorced from those preconceived notions.
I'll repeat that it's not my intention to preach or convert. I'm wrestling with these questions. For me, the challenge is to address these questions on an emotional level as well as an intellectual level. For me, the heady stuff is safe. Writing things about scenes in my life that these events remind me of, is harder. And scarier.
Pray for us, blessed Lady.
But first, I must apologize to anyone who took offense at the phrase which I used last Sunday, "Mary-worshipping Papist", as Sam did. I was simply seeking the worst stereotype that fundamentalist Christians might have associated with the rosary. It was meant like "Commie-loving tree-hugging Democrat". You know, an Archie Bunkerism.
Growing up in Oklahoma, I did not know many Roman Catholics. In fact, my introduction to the denomination may have been the movie "Sound of Music". I found something about the ritual, and the surety of faith (as reflected in pre-1970 cinema) attractive. The Roman Catholics had something mysterious I was not finding in the Methodist Church.
Of course, the nuns had rosaries looped around their rope girdles. It's likely that I actually saw a character pray a bit of the rosary in a movie. So, I understood that the rosary had something to do with being Catholic.
In high school, I met Julian, who was the first self-identified Roman Catholic I knew. He had a slightly off-kilter sense of humor, was absolutely accepting of me, and was willing to talk about his tradition without trying to convert. When I started asking about the rosary, in our first year of college, he gave me some pamplets on the fundamentals of the Roman Catholic faith, which included instructions on how to pray the rosary.
I may have already seen a similar form in the St. Augustine Prayer Book, which had been published by Anglo-Catholics (a.k.a. "High Church" Episcopalians) in the 1920s. But the books Julian gave me presented an in-depth view
By the way, those books were Handbook for Today's Catholic, a Redemptorist Pastoral Publication(1978); and Ten Series of Meditations on the Mysteries of the Rosary by Rev. John Ferraro (1981).
By way of giving the process a fair shake, I started praying the rosary. And thinking about what the prayers meant, what the mysteries meant, to me.
The primary prayer of the Rosary is the Hail Mary:
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.I've long thought of this in two parts (as presented here): the first half is Biblical, repeating words spoken, respectively, by Gabriel and Mary's cousin Elizabeth. The second half is more problematic, as it calls Mary both Holy and Mother of God. This may be the statement that gives people the mistaken belief that Roman Catholics are praying to Mary.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.
Both statements are sorts of titles. Saying Mary is holy is another way of saying "blessed"; since she's called blessed in the Bible, we shouldn't have a problem calling her Holy. And, in as much as Jesus was fully God and fully human (as I keep repeating), Mary was mother to God. The rest of the statement asks Mary to pray for us, just as you might ask a friend to pray for you.
I have more to say about Mary as an archetype. Students of religion and anthropology are aware that the early church assigned qualities of Roman and Greek goddesses (et al) to Mary. Mary was also identified with the Hagia Sophia spoken of in the Song of Songs (and elsewhere). Clearly, in a male-dominated tradition, common people ached for a feminine balance, and the ideal of Mary came to serve that purpose.
It is in this tradition that I have come to use Mary as a vehicle to realize the feminine aspect of God.
This week I will be meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries: The Agony in the Garden, The Scourging, The Crowning with Thorns, The Carrying of the Cross, and The Crucifixion. These will be hard scenes for me to talk about. Many have preconceived notions about what they mean, and it's challenging to write about the incidents divorced from those preconceived notions.
I'll repeat that it's not my intention to preach or convert. I'm wrestling with these questions. For me, the challenge is to address these questions on an emotional level as well as an intellectual level. For me, the heady stuff is safe. Writing things about scenes in my life that these events remind me of, is harder. And scarier.
Pray for us, blessed Lady.
In the Garden
Luke 22:39-53
We each have our stories. We have stories of our parents, and their parents, that we tell ourselves and our children. Sometimes as we tell these stories we might notice they are similar to classic stories of old.
The Jungian analyst Robert Johnson, in his book He , speaks of the stages of a man's life, using the Arthurian legend of Parsifal as a framework. According to Dr. Johnson, there are four stages to a man's life: youth, adult, middle age, old age. Each stage is marked by a crisis: for example, a youth may try to become a knight (or adult) too soon; or an adult may be devoured by the dragon.
In my version of my father's story, he is devoured by the dragon.
This may seem shocking, or harsh, for Padre was one of the strongest men I've known. He truly was a man who could be counted on; he was unfailingly helpful, and had a discerning “listening ear.” I flatter myself when I believe I have inherited any of these traits from him.
He went to work for Western Electric (now Lucent Technologies) in the early 1960s. He was there for over a decade – a good chunk of his life. Like many people of his generation, he believed his years of loyal service would be rewarded by loyalty from the company.
By the late 60s or early 70s, he rose to the level of supervisor – sort of middle-management. In 1972 or 73, things were getting tight for Western Electric stock holders (partly due to the break up of Bell), and management had to cut costs. Employees like Padre were faced with a choice: lay off or early retirement. Padre chose early retirement, feeling extremely betrayed.
About a year later the growth appeared on his nose. Wanda (his wife, my stepmother) strongly encouraged him to see a doctor, but he refused. He wasn't seeking another job, he wasn't doing much of anything, which also worried her. Late in the summer of '75, she moved out. At the same time, I chose to go to college.
Padre and Wanda were separated, but I've learned there was some talk of reconciliation. Sadly, in November 1975, Wanda died of a heart attack..
Padre's crisis came in his early 40s, the transition to middle age, at which time one confronts the dragon. The dragon hit Padre with everything it could. It took a lot to break him and cause him to give up on his life. But that's what he did. As Brother Dave has said, Padre's remaining 20 years was spent in a form of slow-motion suicide.
In the first of the Sorrowful Mysteries, we see Jesus at a crisis point. A number of non-canonical accounts have seen the Agony in the Garden as an additional temptation. As the passage from Luke makes clear, Jesus does ask whether his death is really necessary. “Let this cup pass,” he prays, and according to some sources he asks as many as three times.
Jesus is fully human, as Martin Luther said, and doesn't wish to die any more than any other human.
The dragon had already thrown a lot at Jesus. It's possible Jesus had a pretty good idea how bad it would get – not just death, but an excruciating death in slow-motion.
He had the choice to call down the heavenly host. He had the choice to run away. It was probably too late to say “Sorry guys, just kidding”, but he could have tried that too. Instead, he faced the dragon.
The dragon did not prevail.
Padre walks with me to this day. I carry his weapons of integrity, honesty, and compassion as I face the little dragons of my life.
For today, the dragon will not defeat me or catch me in its jaws.
We each have our stories. We have stories of our parents, and their parents, that we tell ourselves and our children. Sometimes as we tell these stories we might notice they are similar to classic stories of old.
The Jungian analyst Robert Johnson, in his book He , speaks of the stages of a man's life, using the Arthurian legend of Parsifal as a framework. According to Dr. Johnson, there are four stages to a man's life: youth, adult, middle age, old age. Each stage is marked by a crisis: for example, a youth may try to become a knight (or adult) too soon; or an adult may be devoured by the dragon.
In my version of my father's story, he is devoured by the dragon.
This may seem shocking, or harsh, for Padre was one of the strongest men I've known. He truly was a man who could be counted on; he was unfailingly helpful, and had a discerning “listening ear.” I flatter myself when I believe I have inherited any of these traits from him.
He went to work for Western Electric (now Lucent Technologies) in the early 1960s. He was there for over a decade – a good chunk of his life. Like many people of his generation, he believed his years of loyal service would be rewarded by loyalty from the company.
By the late 60s or early 70s, he rose to the level of supervisor – sort of middle-management. In 1972 or 73, things were getting tight for Western Electric stock holders (partly due to the break up of Bell), and management had to cut costs. Employees like Padre were faced with a choice: lay off or early retirement. Padre chose early retirement, feeling extremely betrayed.
About a year later the growth appeared on his nose. Wanda (his wife, my stepmother) strongly encouraged him to see a doctor, but he refused. He wasn't seeking another job, he wasn't doing much of anything, which also worried her. Late in the summer of '75, she moved out. At the same time, I chose to go to college.
Padre and Wanda were separated, but I've learned there was some talk of reconciliation. Sadly, in November 1975, Wanda died of a heart attack..
Padre's crisis came in his early 40s, the transition to middle age, at which time one confronts the dragon. The dragon hit Padre with everything it could. It took a lot to break him and cause him to give up on his life. But that's what he did. As Brother Dave has said, Padre's remaining 20 years was spent in a form of slow-motion suicide.
In the first of the Sorrowful Mysteries, we see Jesus at a crisis point. A number of non-canonical accounts have seen the Agony in the Garden as an additional temptation. As the passage from Luke makes clear, Jesus does ask whether his death is really necessary. “Let this cup pass,” he prays, and according to some sources he asks as many as three times.
Jesus is fully human, as Martin Luther said, and doesn't wish to die any more than any other human.
The dragon had already thrown a lot at Jesus. It's possible Jesus had a pretty good idea how bad it would get – not just death, but an excruciating death in slow-motion.
He had the choice to call down the heavenly host. He had the choice to run away. It was probably too late to say “Sorry guys, just kidding”, but he could have tried that too. Instead, he faced the dragon.
The dragon did not prevail.
Padre walks with me to this day. I carry his weapons of integrity, honesty, and compassion as I face the little dragons of my life.
For today, the dragon will not defeat me or catch me in its jaws.
Idée d’jour
Those who insist on the dignity of their office show they have not deserved it.
— Baltasar Gracian, philosopher and writer (1601-1658)
— Baltasar Gracian, philosopher and writer (1601-1658)
Friday, December 10, 2004
Friday's Cat
I am a guilt-ridden human companion today.
When I came home yesterday evening, I didn't see DJ anywhere. Not so much as a mew. I began to have some pretty dire visions when it struck me: "I wonder if she's in the closet?"
I keep my winter and dress coats in a hall closet. DJ invariably runs in whenever I open the door. Sometimes, I close the door in hopes that being cooped up in the closet will deter her from running in.
You guessed it: I had forgotten to let her out of the closet yesterday morning. She was on the top shelf, patiently waiting for me to come home.
For what it's worth, I did my best to make it up to her. A kitty treat. Playing with her most of the evening. Petting her when she'd let me.
She has the run of the house today.
The First Eucharist
Mk 14:17-26
I believe I was a junior in high school when I realized that Jesus was Jewish. He attended the synagogue, read the Torah and the Prophets (he was especially fond of Isaiah), he was buried according to Jewish custom.
I was baptized as in infant at Christ Methodist Church, and attended until I was 8 or 9. I don't suppose the Methodist church of the early 60s was anti-Semitic. It's just that the topic never came up.
We started attending the Episcopal church in ~1966. Fr. Connolly was rector of St. John's, OKC, and was one of the first I know of who hosted a celebration of the Seder at Passover. I have no doubt this planted the seed for my realization that Jesus was Jewish.
What is here called "The First Eucharist" is more often known as "The Last Supper". For the disciples, it was another Jewish Passover.
Passover is the traditional commemoration of the Jews' delivery from Egypt, when the Angel of Death "passed over" them. The people of Israel also passed over into the Promised Land. Toward the end of the meal, Jesus announces the betrayal which will lead to his "passing over" from life to death.
We've skipped some action to get from the feeding of the five thousand to this point. Jesus has not exactly gone out of his way to endear himself to the religious leaders. He calls them a pit of vipers and white-washed tombs. He reminds them that, however hard they try to follow the Law, they still fall short of perfection. He has the audacity to tell them the Law was made for humans, rather than the other way around.
Up to this point, he'd just been a preaching annoyance. But when he attacked the commerce in the Temple, he was meddling.
We know the rest of the story.
Yesterday, I talked about how Jesus' ministry seemed to be spreading further and further out. Now, we seem to have shrunk down to thirteen guys in a room. But have we?
As the "First Eucharist," this simple meal shares with communions in a variety of churches for over two thousand years. It's not a meal that will feed the body, as the loaves and fishes did. It's a meal that offers a deeper feeding. A meal to feed the soul.
I believe I was a junior in high school when I realized that Jesus was Jewish. He attended the synagogue, read the Torah and the Prophets (he was especially fond of Isaiah), he was buried according to Jewish custom.
I was baptized as in infant at Christ Methodist Church, and attended until I was 8 or 9. I don't suppose the Methodist church of the early 60s was anti-Semitic. It's just that the topic never came up.
We started attending the Episcopal church in ~1966. Fr. Connolly was rector of St. John's, OKC, and was one of the first I know of who hosted a celebration of the Seder at Passover. I have no doubt this planted the seed for my realization that Jesus was Jewish.
What is here called "The First Eucharist" is more often known as "The Last Supper". For the disciples, it was another Jewish Passover.
Passover is the traditional commemoration of the Jews' delivery from Egypt, when the Angel of Death "passed over" them. The people of Israel also passed over into the Promised Land. Toward the end of the meal, Jesus announces the betrayal which will lead to his "passing over" from life to death.
We've skipped some action to get from the feeding of the five thousand to this point. Jesus has not exactly gone out of his way to endear himself to the religious leaders. He calls them a pit of vipers and white-washed tombs. He reminds them that, however hard they try to follow the Law, they still fall short of perfection. He has the audacity to tell them the Law was made for humans, rather than the other way around.
Up to this point, he'd just been a preaching annoyance. But when he attacked the commerce in the Temple, he was meddling.
We know the rest of the story.
Yesterday, I talked about how Jesus' ministry seemed to be spreading further and further out. Now, we seem to have shrunk down to thirteen guys in a room. But have we?
As the "First Eucharist," this simple meal shares with communions in a variety of churches for over two thousand years. It's not a meal that will feed the body, as the loaves and fishes did. It's a meal that offers a deeper feeding. A meal to feed the soul.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Five Thousand Fed
Jn 6:2-14
I pass the church every day on my way to work: City Church. It sits on the north-east corner of 10th and Robinson. The building is three stories tall, and looks like an old Masonic temple, with its dome. Every day, I see the homeless huddled on its west-facing, lee-ward, side.
Well, this huge block of a building does make a great windbreak. It also casts a healthy shadow in the winter. It's where I would go.
Until recently, I've driven on the south side of the building. Recent construction along my route has forced me to drive along that west side.
Where I see those people lined up to receive coffee and donuts.
I have my suspicions about the theology of this place. On the south side of 10th, across the street from the church, is a little office building with the sign "City Church, Inc." So, I'm thinking it's a non-demoninational church; one that preaches hell fire and damnation. I have been known to pass my silent judgement on this church.
The people who come on Sunday are not homeless. They have nice cars and nice clothes.
Yet some of them come once or twice during the working week to feed these people who have gathered in the shadow of their church.
They may have every other bit of the gospel 180° wrong. But they got at least this one bit right: "I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat."
I've thought about this story all day. These Living Mysteries begin in the desert, where Jesus is forced to confront temptations within himself. At the wedding feast, he ministers to a few people. As he travels, he heals more people. Now, he feeds these five thousand (not counting women and children). It seems his blessings are spreading further and further out, like ripples.
Christianity is often accused of being "Pie in the sky in the sweet by and by", and there's validity in the criticism. We can get all twisted up about some fairly impractical heady stuff. Are you pre-rapture or post-rapture? Are these the end times? And so on.
But here, taking care of people's basic needs is recognized. No, more: it is sanctified. Jesus doesn't promise to be with us when we argue about fine points of theology. He promises to be with us when we pray as a community. He promises to be with us when we visit the prisoner. He promises to be with us when we soothe the dying.
Indeed, he tells us that we see his face when we hand that cup of joe to the homeless.
I pass the church every day on my way to work: City Church. It sits on the north-east corner of 10th and Robinson. The building is three stories tall, and looks like an old Masonic temple, with its dome. Every day, I see the homeless huddled on its west-facing, lee-ward, side.
Well, this huge block of a building does make a great windbreak. It also casts a healthy shadow in the winter. It's where I would go.
Until recently, I've driven on the south side of the building. Recent construction along my route has forced me to drive along that west side.
Where I see those people lined up to receive coffee and donuts.
I have my suspicions about the theology of this place. On the south side of 10th, across the street from the church, is a little office building with the sign "City Church, Inc." So, I'm thinking it's a non-demoninational church; one that preaches hell fire and damnation. I have been known to pass my silent judgement on this church.
The people who come on Sunday are not homeless. They have nice cars and nice clothes.
Yet some of them come once or twice during the working week to feed these people who have gathered in the shadow of their church.
They may have every other bit of the gospel 180° wrong. But they got at least this one bit right: "I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat."
I've thought about this story all day. These Living Mysteries begin in the desert, where Jesus is forced to confront temptations within himself. At the wedding feast, he ministers to a few people. As he travels, he heals more people. Now, he feeds these five thousand (not counting women and children). It seems his blessings are spreading further and further out, like ripples.
Christianity is often accused of being "Pie in the sky in the sweet by and by", and there's validity in the criticism. We can get all twisted up about some fairly impractical heady stuff. Are you pre-rapture or post-rapture? Are these the end times? And so on.
But here, taking care of people's basic needs is recognized. No, more: it is sanctified. Jesus doesn't promise to be with us when we argue about fine points of theology. He promises to be with us when we pray as a community. He promises to be with us when we visit the prisoner. He promises to be with us when we soothe the dying.
Indeed, he tells us that we see his face when we hand that cup of joe to the homeless.
Idée d’jour
When will our consciences grow so tender that we will act to prevent human misery rather than avenge it?
— Eleanor Roosevelt, diplomat and writer (1884-1962)
— Eleanor Roosevelt, diplomat and writer (1884-1962)
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