the word became flesh: stomp in the east village

One of the spiritual blessings of sacramental spirituality - searching for the sacred in the midst of all things - is how the ordinary becomes extraordinary. Fr. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin wrote: "Nothing here below is profane for those who know how to see. On the contrary, everything is sacred." In the narrow, anti-mystical, and overly intellectual tradition of my Reformed heritage, I knew something was missing from an early age - I just didn't have the imagination or vocabulary to know what. 

So, like many of my generation who knew nothing of Christianity's contemplative tradition, I checked out. I read the gospels regularly in solitude and played the songs of "Godspell" for local church productions. In keeping with my experience of the "Beatles on Ed Sullivan as musical Pentecost" I continued to prayerfully listen to songs that could carry me into places beyond awe - think George Harrison's masterpiece, "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" - or into acts of solidarity - like Marvin Gaye's "Inner City Blues." 

I danced with my tribe to the ecstasy of the Grateful Dead. I raised my voice with my sisters and brothers at Pete Seeger and Holly Near concerts. I joined Dick Gregory and Frances Moore Lappe in a quest for inner peace and eco-justice through fasting and vegetarian living. And I remained alienated from the Body of Christ, angry that only the spiritualities of the East offered ways to go deeper.

In the early 70's friends introduced me to Fr. Ed Hays and then Fr. Matthew Fox. I still own copies of Fr. Ed's "Letters from the Forest" (mimeographed notes from his Shantivanum Retreat house in Lawerence, KS) as well as a first printing of Fr. Matthew's, Whee, We, we all the way home: a guide to a sensual, prophetic spirituality. Talk about the scales falling from my eyes! These two masters changed my life and gave me eyes to see and ears to hear. They transformed my connection to the realm of Roman Catholicism. They kindled an interest in the insights of Merton. And they gave me permission to seek out connections with a variety of creative and compassionate nuns from all over the USA. Small wonder that when Sr. Joan Chittister published Wisdom Distilled from the Daily: Living the Rule of St. Benedict Today, I soaked it up like a sponge in the desert.

Just about every person I have ever met who was serious about spiritual things thinks the point (of religion) is to (show us how) daily life is the stuff of which high sanctity can be made. But just about nobody I have ever met, however, really thinks it is easily possible. Spirituality, we have all learned somehow, is something I have to leave where I am in order to find it. I can get it in small doses, in special places and under rarefied conditions. I hope I get enough at one time in life to carry me thorough all the other times. But the idea that sanctity is as much a part of the married life or the single life as it is of the religious or (monastic) life is an idea dearly loved but seldom deeply believed. (Introduction To Wisdom Distilled, p. 2)

In other words, we yearn for depth but have no understanding of how to live "the ordinary life extraordinarily well. (Nor do we know how to ) transform life rather than transcending it... The problem becomes discovering how to make here and now, right and holy for us." How do we: "live calmly in the middle of chaos, productively in an arena of waste, lovingly in a maelstrom of individualism, and gently in a world full of violence." (p.6) Fr. Ed, Fr. Matthew, and Sr. Joan showed me a variety of paths. In time, Fr. Henri Nouwen, Fr. Richard Rohr as well as Barbara Brown Taylor, Frederick Buechner and Kathleen Norris became mentors. And for decades I have cherished the integration of the holy into the humanity of Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Cat Stevens, Lou Reed and Carrie Newcomer as wisdom keepers practicing the art of  sacramental spirituality.

"The challenge of the saints of the twenty-first century is to begin again to comprehend the sacred in the ten thousand things in our world; to reverence what we have come to view as ordinary and devoid of spirit." (Ed Hays)

All of this came flooding into my consciousness and my flesh again this weekend as Di and I joined our grandson and his momma at the Orpheum Theatre in NYC for a performance of "Stomp!" Using the "rhythm of the NYC subway" as its core, we joined the cast of dancers/musicians/acrobats/comedians/artists/and shamans for nearly two hours of discovering and celebrating beauty within the garbage. The sacred within the ordinary. The marriage of heaven and earth in the what could be a simple moment in time. "Each of us possesses an exquisite, extraordinary gift: the opportunity to give expression to Divinity on earth through our everyday lives," writes  Sarah Ban Breathnach. "When we choose to honor this priceless gift, we participate in the re-creation of the world." Used newspapers became rhythm instruments in "Stomp!" Sewer pipes and plumbing hardware became melody instruments. Trashcans and plastic tubs became drums. And sand, brooms and matchboxes found another calling as they helped the street artists find the hidden groove of God in the most unlikely places. 

It was an encounter with ecstasy - and everyone grasped this intuitively. I was agog, of course, with the way theology and experience embraced in real time. But a theological degree was totally unnecessary: children, seniors and every one in-between felt the joy of experiencing the unity of creation in this work of art. Such a blessing is what one L'Arche theologian called "our lived experience with God's kingdom." Religious or spiritual words are not necessary - or even spoken - they are experienced in all their life-giving fullness. And whether we can articulate it or not, we know we have been blessed. Loved. Given a place of belonging in a sea of alienation and fear.  Like Barbara Brown Taylor says:"Hanging laundry on the line offers you the chance to fly prayer flags disguised as bath towels and underwear."

We all danced and boogied our way across Second Avenue and St. Mark's Place when "Stomp?" was over and shook our booties over hot chocolate. And when we caught the subway home we shared a silent smile of revelation: even here on the R train we could hear the presence of the  holy. Let me tell you, that blessing was alive and well within us all as we went to sleep on Saturday. And it informed our journey to worship the next day, too for Eucharist. When we got to Trinity/St. Paul's the nearly 200 young families with their children were singing, "This Little Light of Mine" as the Gospel proclamation. Louie knows this song well and belted it out as we got out of our winter coats. And when the service was over and we were sent out into the world to live as Christ's light, Di took time to give thanks to the choir director who said:"We LOVE having Louie in our choir and... (pointing to the skilled youth singers who shared medieval chants a capella during Eucharist) this is his future."  Over more hot chocolate later in the day, we knew it to be true - and gave thanks to God. 

In God's love, everything belongs and everything that has been created can bring us life and beauty even in the darkness. Watching Louie walk down the busy city streets singing his beautiful songs aloud - and taking in the genuine smiles of affection on the faces of strangers who pass him - was another confirmation of the holy beauty in the midst of all that is hard, harsh and often trying.