Preparing the Way . . . Or Not: Music I

I don't know how or where you are these days, so I will simply say that, for me, music was a long time coming back.  Music ~ so important to my life of prayer, of celebration, of sadness, of driving (!), of everything ~ for at least a year after Josh died, I couldn't stand to listen to it.  I recall slipping a copy of  Vivaldi's Four Seasons into the car's CD player that first winter and nearly driving off the road.  It sounded . . . sour, bitter, off key . . .    .  It was months before I tried again.

 

So when I offer some music as preparation for Thanksgiving, it's with those memories of enforced silence in mind.  Listen or not, as you are able.

Come, Ye Thankful People, Come ~ First Baptist Church, Asheville NC

Preparing the Way . . . Or Not: Be Quietly Courageous

As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches, I want to encourage us all: Be brave.  Be quietly and extravagantly courageous.   Be tenacious.

There is an unseen community among us at Thanksgiving, the community of those for whom the empty place at the table is the most visible one, even if no one else sees it. 

We tend to think of courage as painted with huge, sweeping streaks of red and orange.  Valor on the battlefield, triumph at the top of the mountain, arms flung wide at the finish line.

I want to suggest that courage is also represented by fragile, thin lines scratched across the canvas of life in pale hues, colors barely visible.

Thanksgiving courage is the mother whose inner heart trembles as she whips the potatoes in the kitchen, surrounded by the voices of women chatting about children home from college.

Thanksgiving courage is the dad outside tossing a football with the nieces and nephews as his mind replays his own child's last game a decade earlier.

Thanksgiving courage is the young girl who laughs with friends in the evening before returning home to the empty apartment.

Thanksgiving courage is the elderly man who walks his dog quietly down the street, gazing wistfully at the lighted living room windows and the driveways filled with cars in his neighborhood.

 

Thanksgiving courage is the four ladies in their nineties at the dining room table in the assisted living facility, talking quietly of family traditions long past and turning their faces resolutely toward Christmas, when children and grandchildren from California and New York will arrive for a few days.

 

Thanksgiving courage is the woman whose husband's disability precludes his ever coming home again, smiling gently as her friends talk over kitchen remodeling crises.

 

Thanksgiving courage is the parents who take dinner baskets to the families living at Ronald McDonald House,  remembering their own holidays spent in cramped quarters far from home and hoping against hope for a miracle.

 

One of my friends once commented on her surprise at discovering, over and over again, that people whom she had envied as they talked about their trips, their homes, their super-sized grown-up toys, so often harbored silent stories of deep loss.

 

Yes. 

 

So: Be quietly and hugely brave out there in the grocery aisles and around the office water fountain and at the pre-holiday craft sales.  Just do it.

 

I Love Teaching Intro to Religion!

I am procrastinating grading so . . .

 

From some college student reflections:

 

"At first I was not happy about the requirement to go to outside events, but now that I have been to a lecture and a mass, I feel that I have gone outside my little bubble and witnessed others' beliefs and thoughts."

 

"Learning about the history of the Bible is surprisingly interesting."

 

"Religion has not been a huge factor in my life in the past several years, but now I think I might go back to temple."

 

"I had never really thought about the possibility of multiple interpretations of a Biblical text."

 

"To be honest, I was not looking forward to this course at all . . . but now I am excited to take my next course next semester."

 

 

Yes . . . there was at least one very unhappy student ~ I'm afraid I was a bit sarcastic one day and my meaning got lost, but I was very glad that she raised her concerns so that I could address them.  (At least I hope I did.)

 

I have been a bit preoccupied with my old church-new church stuff this term, and sometimes I feel more behind and confused than my students do.  We cover way too much in this survey course -- from Ignatian spirituality to Tillich to Freud to Frankl to Biblical criticism and exegesis to interfaith dialogue to Islam to justice.    The instructors have a lot of leeway, as long as we cover some basic ideas foundational to discussing religion, address the Bible and interfaith dialogue, and deal with a religion assigned by the department -- that's where Islam came in this semester. 

 

I started with Ignatian spirituality -- something almost no other instructors do, but hey: we're in a Jesuit university and I think it's always a good idea to understand your heritage.  Whether they are Jewish or Christian (no Muslim students this term), Ignatius has become a part of their heritage by virtue of their presence at the school.  And I'm ending with a discussion of justice across traditions because soon it will be cold and dark and stressful all the time, and I think that's something they can sink their teeth into even when they've about reached the end of the semester.

 

The most fun?  Reading their reflections on their "outside experiences" ~ a Catholic-atheist debate, an apparently dynamite lecture on the theology of sports (I have a number of athletes in class), Jewish and Methodist students at mass, a Catholic student at my home Presby church, a martial arts class, an Otis Moss, Jr. sermon ~ I think they're having a good semester.

 

Preparing the Way ~ Or Not: Stones of Memory

One of the reasons the holidays are so difficult is that the feeling of Absence is so intense.  There is not a day ~ not an hour, really ~ in my life in which I am not aware of my son's absence, but the holidays, with their memories and traditions, music and fragrances, exacerbate to the nth degree  the sense that there is a hole in the universe.

 

And if you are anything like me, one of the most painful realities of both daily and holiday absence is the silence on the part of friends and family.  Among my most treasured possessions now are the very few emails,  most of them written by college friends, filled with stories and thoughts about Josh. 

 

At Josh's funeral service, one of our adult friends mentioned in his eulogy the sight of Josh racing across a soccer field, blonde hair flying in the wind.  It was such a gift to me, the knowledge that someone else had noticed a sight that I had so loved.

 

So I challenge us all: Let's do the same for someone else this holiday.  Let's each write a note to someone who has lost a child, a parent, a friend, a brother or sister, and fill it with concrete, tangible, loving memories.  We all know they haven't forgotten, but we all know, too, how much they need to hear that others haven't either.

 

A few stones of memory, offered as small but precious gifts.





(Previous related posts are linked in the tab above.)

Not Exactly Fairy Tales

 

I've been re-reading  Margaret Silf's book Inner Compass, a gentle, hands-on introduction to Ignatian spirituality.  No jargon, but many exercises to help a reader sort through her spiritual life with the creativity and focus that the Spiritual Exercises encourage.

 

One of her suggestions is to recall your favorite fairy stories and use them as you might a Gospel contemplation: ponder, ruminate, explore, wonder, seek.

They aren't fairy tales, but the two childhood books that came immediately to mind for me were Heidi and The Secret Garden.  I was probably about eight when I discovered them, and I know that I re-read them several times over the next few years.

 

At eight or nine, I would not have seen what I realized immediately last night: Girls without parents, thrust into worlds in which they had to depend largely upon their own wits and determination for their emotional survival.  Girls whose inventiveness enabled them to triumph.  Girls who found beauty in nature even as they were surrounded by angry, withdrawn, grieving adults who were themselves struggling to surmount terrible losses.

A few years ago my daughter asked me why I had studied literature rather than psychology in college.  I responded that I had addressed exactly that dilemma all those years ago, and concluded that they were essentially the same major, but that one told stories in the form of technical terms, experiments and graphs, and the other in the form of imagery, metaphor, and textured words. 

These days, a little girl such as the one I was would acquire a therapist and a support group ~ all to the good, I'm sure.  But I hope that someone would also hand her novels with characters who might become her best friends and guides through the treachery of a motherless childhood. 

Seascape

Too much going on these days . . .  time to look at water.  Birch Bay, Washington. Sunset.

Are You On God's Side? (Sermon - Amos)

This is my attempt at this year's Veterans' Day sermon.  Until my current congregation, I had never been in any institutional setting, school, church, or otherwise, where Veterans' Day was even mentioned, but in my congregation it's extremely important.  My own feelings about the day itself are extremely mixed.  But I do hold the men who want to recognize it and whom I've gotten to know a bit, in high regard, so I want to do what I can, for God and for them.

*****

“Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

Do you know those words?  Of course you do!  You hear them replayed every January when our nation  celebrates Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Dr. King roared out those words in his “I have a dream speech” at the March on Washinton fifty years ago last August, and again in his “I’ve been to the mountaintop” speech on the night before he was killed less than five years later.

“Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

We have been moving through the Bible in chronological order this this fall, hearing together the story of creation, the narratives of some of God’s earliest people, Abraham and Jacob, and now, as Advent approaches, we are listening to the voices of the prophets – those called by God to speak the truth about justice and righteousness, loud and clear.  We tend, in contemporary culture, to think of prophecy of some kind of fore-telling, as prophets as people who can divine the future.  And indeed, the Biblical prophets did warn the people of the catastrophes likely to befall them if they did not realign themselves with God and God’s purposes.

But it was that re-alignment that the prophets were really about.  By the time of Amos, the prophets are speaking to the people as a whole, and not merely to their kings, and their message is consistent:

You are called to justice and righteousness.   You are all, every one of you, called into God’s project of care for all beings and all of creation.  God’s project – not your own. 

Abraham Lincoln, a man with a prophetic voice for our own nation, famously said, “Our concern is not whether God is on our side.  Our concern is whether we are on God’s side.”  And that is the question for us, isn’t it?  Not: Is God on our side?  But: Are we on God’s side?

And what is it to be on God’s side?

When we think of justice and righteousness today, we often limit ourselves to those concepts as portrayed on television or in the  movies or in the news;  we tend to think in terms of our criminal justice system.  We think that justice is all about exacting the appropriate punishment for a wrongdoer, and about somehow exacting retribution on behalf of those who have been wronged.

But the Biblical prophets tell us, over and over again, that God’s justice and righteousness are much broader and in many ways for us as a culture, more challenging concepts.   

The question is not whether God is on our side in our conflicts, whether they be conflicts as simple as a football game or conflicts as significant as the war in Iraq and Afghanistan.  The question is whether we are on God’s side in all things.  Are we attentive to what God wants for all people and for all of the world?

The prophets are clear about what justice and righteousness are.  Justice and righteousness are about care for the disenfranchised.  You might want to read the Book of Amos sometime soon.  (It’s a short one!)  Amos describes a world in which the wealthy regularly and dramatically take advantage of the poor in every possible circumstance, and then go off to worship with great sacrifice and show and deem themselves faithful people.

And Amos has nothing but harsh words for those who manage wealth and position to their advantage at expense of others, and then worship God extravagantly, oblivious to their own wrongdoing. God is not interested in their liturgical finery, in their feast and festivals:

“I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps.”

This is a tough day for those who listen to God’s words.  Let’s be clear: God is.not.interested. in our worship, in what we have to offer God in church, if we are not offering ourselves in service to others. Those who are poor.  Those who are homeless.  Those who are undocumented.  Those who are injured.  Those who are mentally ill.  Those who are lonely.  Those whose lives we do not approve of.   Those who are hungry.  Those who are “different” – in color, in religion, in ethnicity.

What does it mean to be on God’s side?  It means to recognize that abundance, God’s abundance of hope and love, extend to all, and to act accordingly.

What does it mean to be on God’s side?  It means that we are called to be uncomfortable.  It means that we are called to ask ourselves, every day, “After I worship God with singing and prayer and praise in our beautiful church, do I go out the door and serve God?  Do I honor God’s project for justice and righteousness by caring, in whatever ways I can, for those for whom God cares deeply?  (In other words, for all people?)

 

Today, we honor a particular form of service, as we recognize our veterans and their service to our nation and world.   We are called to remember that there are those among us who have pursued justice and righteousness in particularly demanding ways, in ways that took them from home and family for long periods of time, in ways that compromised their physical safety on a daily basis, in ways that mean that today they remember fallen friends and comrades even as they – and we – give thanks for freedoms thus preserved.

 

And although it is our national day of remembrance, we remember also those who have fought for other nations.  We are reminded that others, too, have dreams and hopes for their nations and that they, too have sacrificed, by the words of the patriotic song of Finland, found in our hymanals as “A Song of Peace”:

 

This is my song, oh God of all the nations,

a song of peace for lands afar and mine.

This is my home, the country where my heart is;

here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine

but other hearts in other lands are beating

with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

 

We honor all those who have sought peace by their service, for in seeking peace they have been on God’s side. 

We honor those who have challenged us to a better world by their service.  In seeking God’s justice and righteousness for all,  they have been on God’s side. 

A couple of weeks ago, I read a news report, written by a religion journalist who was flying to LAX and noticed that several soldiers in uniform were on the flight.  As the plane neared Los Angeles, the pilot came on the loudspeaker and announced that the plane was bearing the body of a fallen warrior.  The soldiers on board were his military escort.  The pilot asked that the other passengers await deplaning until the soldiers had gotten off so that they could meet the casket and the family members, and told them not to be alarmed by the lights and sirens and water hoses, as the airport traditionally greets fallen veterans with a water salute and a police and fire escort.

The plane’ cabin became silent as the plane landed and the soldiers exited.  The journalist could see out the windows on the other side as the flag-covered casket was lifted down, and then one of the officers re-appeared on the plane and spoke over the loudspeaker. “We vow that a fallen warrior will always be given a military escort home,” he explained. “That’s what these soldiers were doing today, and today you, too, served as the escort for one of our soldiers.  Thank you.”

The passengers, still silent, gathered in the waiting area after they got off the plane, and watched through the windows as the flag was folded and handed to the veteran’s wife or mother – the journalist wasn’t sure which.  It was only after that moment that they began to disperse through the airport.

Today, we in this congregation escort those among us who have served our nation, and we are grateful that they lived, and that we might be their companions on this day of memory.  We remember those who have already died, whether in battle or after postwar lives we hope were a great gift to them.  We remember and honor the parents and spouses and children who served at home, waiting and hoping and sacrificing their lives as well. And in particular we honor those among us who know what it is to sacrifice daily, body and spirit, in the cause of justice and righteousness.  Amen.