returning thanks for social media...

Over the past three days I have laughed, wept, rejoiced and returned thanks to God because of... (wait for it) SOCIAL MEDIA! I know it is invasive - so are the 1984-like messages currently flooding the NYC subways about police having the right to inspect your bags without a warrant. It is already the brave new world - so let's have no illusions. Rather let's find the beauty, hope, joy and compassion we each hunger for and strengthen it. Honor it. Celebrate and share it. How did Gandhi put it?

There is SO much more to say about the creative reality of social media. But in the last three days alone, I have: 

+ Read poetry that moved and strengthened my heart

+ Received photographs of my newly born grand-niece

+ Prayed over obituaries and eulogies saturated in gratitude

+ Reconnected with a student from Cleveland who practiced music in the church basement 30 years ago 

+ Wept with sisters and brothers in the United Methodist Church

+ Laughed over a meme concerning bass players

+ Reflected theologically upon my own journey into aging

+ Welcomed the wise counsel from a dear friend about his own journey into hearing loss

+ Posted pictures of our most recent snow fall

+ Explored weather forecasts for a gig this weekend as well as my next trip to L'Arche Ottawa

+ And followed the major events of the day including: the testimony of Michael Cohen, the collapse of the North Korean Summit, Theresa May's Brexit problems, the ups and downs of the Oscars, the intricacies of the India/Pakistan/Kashmir tensions, etc. 

Before I went to sleep last night I had to return thanks to all that is holy for the multiple blessings that came into my small life over these three days. And while I would have encountered some if there was no social media, some would never have come to pass. Take the music student from 30 years ago in Cleveland. She found me through Linked-In and remembered the memorial service I led for a beloved music teacher. She recalled playing in the Cleveland All City Youth Orchestra that rehearsed in the basement of Trinity United Church of Christ on West 25th Street while I was pastor. As we shared messages, she made a point to note: "You helped us grieve the death of Mr. Wooten, black and white, each with our very own but different ways of grieving. You made sure that we all felt welcomed." 

In a week when the hierarchy of the United Methodist Church chose to push out their LGBTQ sisters and brothers, her words hit me hard. What a precious gift: To be remembered for an act of tenderness 30+ years later? Wow! Whatever else you might think about using social media, its relative ease can empower us to stay connected, share love and strengthen what is good, pure, noble, true and just. In a week where I was also mostly homebound because of illness, it was a treat to be able to check in with family and friends from all around the world. And how about this:"Poem for Mt Former Niece" by Amie Whittemore? Another gift for sure!

Soon it will hurt less
to remember your hair
in my hands, softest foxtails.

Or your voice as you kicked
your feet in the bath.
Your five-year-old insights, zinnia-bright.

Being your aunt is winning
summer, warm rain, and
a tap-dancing unicorn.

It's chocolate cake for breakfast
and a tea party with panda bears––
please, draw that for me.

That's what I would have asked
before the divorce. Now,
in this new land, I treat you

like a unicorn. Sugar cubes
in my hand, soft whistle
in my throat.

There's no word
for "former niece."
I'd rather eat

500 pickles than invent
such a term.
I hope you laugh

about those pickles.
Rare egg, trust your shine.
Know I tend a bouquet for you.

A prayer from Prayers for a Domestic Church written by Fr. Ed Hays puts it like this:

...as Your Son, Jesus, found Your Sacred Presence not only in the Temple, but also within the temple of the cosmos, may I find You in everything and everyone I meet today. Jesus, my savior and teacher, sought you, O God, in mountain heights and desert wastes, in the faces of his neighbors and in the laughter of his companions. May I who seek to walk in his footsteps do the same this day.

Without returning thanks for the blessings I experienced this week from social media today, this prayer would leave a bad taste in my mouth.  

setting our minds on the kingdom: ramblings on sickness, sabbath and serenity

For me, one of the up sides of being a little sick with a cold or flu is the enforced solitude it creates if I am paying attention. There is little joy in these times if we are deeply distressed. But inside a mild illness, there can be blessing, if we are both tender and patient enough to embrace it. In my later years, I have tried to honor these times like they were an unexpected snow day - saturated in silence - or even an unanticipated retreat. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote that observing Sabbath not only heals our bodies and souls, but teaches us to trust God's care throughout the week. If we honor the Sabbath and keep it holy by setting aside a full day to let God be God, then just maybe we can trust God beyond Sabbath, too: 

To gain control of the world of space is certainly one of our tasks. The danger begins when in gaining power in the realm of space we forfeit all aspirations in the realm of time. There is a realm of time where the goal is not to have but to be, not to own but to give, not to control but to share, not to subdue but to be in accord. Life goes wrong when the control of space, the acquisition of things of space, becomes our sole concern.” Gallantly, ceaselessly, quietly, (we) must fight for inner liberty” to remain independent of the enslavement of the material world. Inner liberty depends upon being exempt from domination of things as well as from domination of people. There are many who have acquired a high degree of political and social liberty, but only very few are not enslaved to things. This is our constant problem—how to live with people and remain free, how to live with things and remain independent.

There have been too many times in my past when I refused to listen to my body's invitation to rest. Truth be told, I was just too full of myself to honor such a call. Too anxious and insecure, too. After all, I was PASTOR, and pastors are NEEDED, right? Needed to run a meeting? Well, sometimes, but not always. Needed to celebrate and lead the liturgy? Often but others can help out just fine, too. Needed to share compassion and wisdom? Not too well when I'm sick and hurting. But I listened more to my insecurities and anxieties in those days than God's grace. 

The Sabbath is a metaphor for paradise and a testimony to God’s presence; in our prayers, we anticipate a messianic era that will be a Sabbath, and each Shabbat prepares us for that experience: “Unless one learns how to relish the taste of Sabbath … one will be unable to enjoy the taste of eternity in the world to come.” It was on the seventh day that God gave the world a soul, and “[the world’s] survival depends upon the holiness of the seventh day.” The task... becomes how to convert time into eternity, how to fill our time with spirit: “Six days a week we wrestle with the world, wringing profit from the earth; on the Sabbath we especially care for the seed of eternity planted in the soul. The world has our hands, but our soul belongs to Someone Else.”

Please know I am not equating sickness with Sabbath. Rather, I'm suggesting that if we haven't entered into a deep commitment to keeping the Sabbath holy, we won't be able to live into its peace in all the other times beyond Sabbath. In our work. In our love. In our family. In our politics. In our economics. And yes even in our flesh. Like many professional men, beyond planned vacations, I often needed a sickness to knock me on my butt so that I would rest. Not so much any more, but for decades. Two quotes from St. Paul and St. Henri come to mind. It isn't accidental that the Apostle Paul made this appeal to those eager to live into the way of Jesus:

I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and mature.

Yes, even our bodies. Or especially our bodies. We follow the Word of God - the blue print of the Holy in creation to use Fr. Richard Rohr's paraphrase - who has become flesh: the essence of the sacred incarnated in humanity as well as all of creation. My morning prayer book for Wednesday put it like this: "Grant me the grace to face all that shall happen this day as part of Your special plan for me. Let me fill my pockets with the hidden gifts concealed within my work, my family and my life. May I reject no single one of them because of failing to see the word or event - the pleasure of pain - as holding Your holy meaning." (Fr. Ed Hays, Prayers for the Domestic Church.) When I get sick like I have been for the past three days I must slow down. I am too tired to do much of anything even if I want to. So sipping hot tea and reading fills my day. So, too with long day time naps. And God knows a strong maple and bourbon hot toddy each evening offers its own blessing, yes? I understand that given our dog eat dog economy and woefully inadequate health insurance practices that not everyone can afford to let their illness become an unplanned mini-retreat. At the same time, however, I wonder if some of us couldn't push the envelope on rest a bit from time to time as part of our presentation of our bodies to God as a holy, living sacrifice? Or loving our neighbor as our self?

Cut to the other quote from St. Henri Nouwen, the wounded healer who knew as much and maybe more about anxiety than any one currently writing. His take on Jesus' invitation to "seek ye first the kingdom of God" rings true when it comes to Sabbath, rest, honoring our flesh and living lives not conformed to the addictions of this world.  

The words of Jesus "Set your hearts on God's kingdom first... and all other things will be given you as well" summarize best the way we are called to live our lives. With our hearts set on God's kingdom. That kingdom is not some faraway land that we hope to reach, nor is it life after death or an ideal state of affairs. No. God's Kingdom is, first of all, the active presence of God's Spirit within us, offering us the freedom we truly desire... so the main question becomes: how do we set our hearts on the Kingdom first when our hearts are preoccupied with so many things? Somehow a radical change of heart is required, a change that allows us to experience the reality of our existence from God's place.

Certainly the vigorous, intentional and humble practice of keeping Sabbath is a part of "setting our hearts" on God's kingdom. Heschel wrote: The Sabbath is the most precious present mankind has received from the treasure house of God. All week we think: The spirit is too far away, and we succumb to spiritual absenteeism, or at best we pray: Send us a little of Thy spirit. On the Sabbath the spirit stands and pleads: Accept all excellence from me …”  Keeping the Sabbath holy is an embodied prayer - one we can share with those we love - and build celebration and holiness into our everyday, ordinary lives. 

The other practice that is essential to "setting our minds on the kingdom of God" is regular quiet prayer. Silence and contemplation on a regular basis. Not only does this disconnect us from our obsessions and striving, but over time it leads us beside the still waters of God's peace that restores our soul. It is an inward conversion from anxiety to rest. A living encounter with the heart of holiness within our human experience. In St. Luke's gospel, Jesus puts it like this when asked by some of the teachers of his time: "When the kingdom of God was coming, and he answered, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor can we say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is within you.” (Luke 17: 20-21)

Two insights arise in this passage for me. First, the text tells us that there will be no unique and observable moments in history when the kingdom arrives. It will not be an event. Or a one time occurrence. Scholars are clear that the word Jesus uses here is paratérésis - παρατήρησις, εως, ἡ - meaning a sign that can be observed. Witnessed. Seen. Rather, the coming of God's kingdom takes place within each heart: the kingdom arrives entos - ἐντός - inside of us. Within us. Sometimes this word is translated as "among us" or "in the midst of us" and that evokes a slightly different inside. Namely, that wherever two or three are gathered together in God's love then Christ - and God's kingdom - is in our midst. And that resonates, too. The key point is that Jesus emphasized the importance of regular contemplation. Silence. Meditation and relinquishment as the path to trust. Any true justice or compassion we might attempt in the world is predicated upon an inner communion with God. 

Please don't make the dualistic mistake of hearing an either/or here. This is NOT about choosing prayer over social justice or the heresy of quietude over being engaged with the wounds of the world. Not at all.  Fr. Richard Rohr recently wrote that only after we have "set our hearts on the kingdom of God" and tasted the peace that passes all understand, are we able to live and love and heal in the world beyond striving and anxiety. He put it like this early this week:

Until grace achieves that victory in our minds and hearts, we cannot comprehend most of Jesus’ and Paul’s teachings. Before conversion, we tend to think of God as “out there.” After transformation, we don’t look out at reality as if it is hidden in the distance. We look out from reality! Our life is participating in God’s Life. We are living in Christ. As Paul tells the Colossians, “your life is hidden with Christ in God” (3:3). Paul is obsessed by this idea. It undergirds everything he writes. Paul is the great announcer of what is happening everywhere all the time much more than he is the architect of a new religion.

All this week I have had to cancel my outward commitments in order to let my body rest and heal. I am slowly getting better and my congestion could have been much worse. I still stink at resting in God's holy silence. Nevertheless, this quiet time has been renewing, restful and a real blessing for me  So be gentle with yourselves, my friends, please be gentle.

stepping into the next challenge with trust...

My hearing is going away. Not completely, mind you, for I can still hear many things reasonably well and a few things up close very well. Like the music I play these days; I hear that with clarity and nuance. But soft sounds? Or the gentle questions my grandchildren ask on crowded city streets? The low, rumbling insights my wife tries to share next to me late at night? The breathy banter of some women? The rapid-fire confabulations of some men? The confessions carefully spoken to me in an overflowing coffee house at lunch? The semi-garbled utterances of British detectives on the mysteries I love? The coyotes in our wetlands? The first returning birds of spring? The clicking of my turn signal in the car? Not so much - and with decreasing clarity. 

This isn't news to those who know me: its been failing for the past 15 years. Too many rock and roll concerts and performances in crowded bistros, mixed with the genetics of my clan, doomed me from the start. But the time has come to own this part of my aging because it is getting worse - and needs help. I read a poem this morning, "To See It" by Laura Foley, that clarified this complication for me.

We need to separate
to see the life we’ve made,
to leave our house
where someone waits, patiently,
warm beneath the sheets;
to don layers of armor,
sweater, coat, mittens, scarf,
to stride down the frozen road,
putting distance between us,
this cold winter morning,
to look back and see,
on the hilltop, our life,
lit from inside.

My life, lit from the inside and examined on a cold winter morning, is blessed. I am safe and alive. I am reasonably healthy and loved. My eyes work. I have learned to bake bread and make fatoosh. I visit regularly with those I love. I am making music again with trusted artists and friends. I have the time to connect with my L'Arche Ottawa community on a monthly basis. And am able to do a bit of spiritual direction, too. I read voraciously. I have time to pray. And walk. And share a measure of love with our wounded dog, Lucie, who is as tender and neurotic as any animal ever brought into life on God's gracious, green earth. I know that I am blessed.

There are dilemmas, to be sure, including unpaid medical bills and our hope to sell this house and move closer to the Brooklyn clan. This past year has also been a learning experience in reduced income. But problems such as these are just details to be managed. They are not of my essence. What I am confronted with, however, is how to incrementally practice tenderly owning my mortality. This has required some serious theological reflection and prayer about what I really believe concerning life beyond life. I still fret about this a bit inside, but both my head and heart are coming to trust that if we come from the core of God's love in the beginning, then that is where we will return in the end. This is the lifeblood of the Paschal Mystery. Henri Nouwen once put it like this: 

There comes a time in all our lives when we must prepare for death. When we become old, get seriously ill, or are in great danger, we can’t be preoccupied simply with the question of how to get better unless “getting better” means moving on to a life beyond our death. In our culture, which in so many ways is death oriented, we find little if any creative support for preparing ourselves for a good death. Most people presume that our only desire is to live longer on this earth. Still, dying, like giving birth, is a way to new life, and as Ecclesiastes says: “There is a season for everything: … a time for giving birth, a time for dying” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2). We have to prepare ourselves for our death with the same care and attention as our parents prepared themselves for our births.

There is no “after” after death. Words like after and before belong to our mortal life, our life in time and space. Death frees us from the boundaries of chronology and brings us into God’s “time,” which is timeless. Speculations about the afterlife, therefore, are little more than just that: speculations. Beyond death there is no “first” and “later,” no “here” and “there,” no “past,” “present,” or “future.” God is all in all. The end of time, the resurrection of the body, and the glorious coming again of Jesus are no longer separated by time for those who are no longer in time. For us who still live in time, it is important not to act as if the new life in Christ is something we can comprehend or explain. God’s heart and mind are greater than ours. All that is asked of us is trust. (More about this in the days to come.) 

Simultaneously, while coming to trust God's eternal love more thoroughly - and this is still a work in progress - I must also discern how best to use whatever time and diminished energy remains. And fundamentally this means letting go of anxiety. It may have helped me in my professional life - it certainly compelled me into a host of social justice projects from time to time - but I can no longer find any blessing or beauty in anxiety. It feels like a premature death. Perhaps the very antithesis of trust (or faith.)  Another poet Ellie Schoenfeld, put it like this in "The Other Poet."

The poet explains exactly
what her poems are doing on a variety of levels.
I am jealously impressed.
My poems go places
but send no postcards––I have no idea
what they are doing. They do
whatever they want to.
I give them curfews
but they wake me in the middle
of the night, they interrupt meetings
and other situations where I have no time
for them. They hang on me
when I am on the phone.
They do not keep my secrets
and sometimes they lie.
They can be sullen and withdrawn
or explosively obscene.
I think my poems have problems with authority,
conduct disorders, attention deficit.
The other poet is like the parent
with the bumper sticker about their honor student
while I am speeding along
to get to the correctional facility
before visiting hours are over.
I try to give my poems direction.
They tell me they have cleaned their rooms
but we both know it's not true.
After all these years of therapy
we still don't understand each other.
I write a poem and think
"What the hell is that?!"

Taking time for regular contemplation and silence has helped me own just how often I've been ensnared by anxiety. Sadly, I know it all too well. When I came face to face with this four years ago on an extended sabbatical in Montreal, my soul demanded a change. It was crucial to go deeper into both acceptance and surrender in pursuit of serenity. (Some prefer the word relinquish to surrender and that works, too.) This first led me out of full time ministry. Now I have been welcomed into retirement. But here's what I have discovered: letting go pf my externals hasn't automatically healed the wounds within. In St. Luke's gospel, after Jesus teaches his friends to pray what we know as the Lord's Prayer, there is a fascinating story about demons, the restorative power of God's love and the work we must do in pursuit of God's peace.

Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are (hurting), know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (And after some other questions, Jesus said this.)When an unclean spirit has gone out of a person, it wanders through waterless regions looking for a resting place, but not finding any, it says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came.’ When it comes, it finds the old house swept and put in order. So it goes and brings seven other spirits more evil than itself, and they enter and live there; and this latter condition of that person is worse than the first.” (Luke 11)

Like much of my spiritual maturation, I first heard this passage unpacked in an AA meeting. The speaker was clear: unless we regularly fill ourselves up from the inside out with grace, our wounds will lead us back into even greater pain. Nouwen also wrote this: 

When we enter into the household of God, we realize that the fragmentation of humanity and its agony grow from the false supposition that all human beings have to fight for their right to be appreciated and loved. In the house of God’s love we come to see with new eyes and hear with new ears and thus recognize all people, whatever their race, religion, sex, wealth, intelligence, or background, belong to that same house. God’s house has no dividing walls or closed doors. “I am the door,” Jesus says. “Anyone who enters through me will be safe” (John 10:9). The more fully we enter into the house of love, the more clearly we see that we are there together with all humanity and that in and through Christ we are brothers and sisters, members of one family.

But it is not automatic. It is a gift, true, but it must be received, embraced and honored. If I am to honor this gift, I need to do something about my hearing loss so that I can be fully present with those I love. So I can continue to walk the streets of Brooklyn with Louie and respond to his multiple questions. So I can keep on rockin' in the free world. So I can be present to the beauty of L'Arche. And share a measure of love in this weird era of fear and hate. 

I think David Bowie got it right when he said, "Aging is the extraordinary process where you become the person you always should have been." I am now slower. And covered in white hair. I am a little less interested in judgment and a lot more open to listening and conversation. I worry less about how others look at me and practice welcoming those who often feel shut out a little more. I am less affluent but take more naps. I bake more bread and count more pennies. My hope is that when this race is run I might be more like a wizened and wise old John Prine at the end of his career who clearly found his way to let go and let God. It is one of his best songs ever!

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.

seeing, hearing, loving and trusting the holy made real in creation...

Ever since God created the world, God’s everlasting power and deity—however invisible—have been there for the mind to see in the things God has made. Romans 1:20

Richard Rohr cut to the chase when he wrote: I think what Paul means here is that whatever we need to know about God can be found in nature. Nature itself is the primary Bible. The world is the locus of the sacred and provides all the metaphors that the soul needs for its growth. There are poems and songs in the Scriptures, insights and mysteries about grace, too. And I love much of what I have learned in my study of our holy texts. And, yet, I have come to the conclusion - like Brother Richard - that the heart and soul of knowing God has been revealed fully in nature.

Acknowledging the intrinsic value and beauty of creation, elements, plants, and animals is a major paradigm shift for most Western and cultural Christians. In fact, we have often dismissed it as animism or paganism. We limited God’s love and salvation to our own human species, and, even then, we did not have enough love to go around for all of humanity! God ended up looking quite miserly and inept, to be honest... (But) the Book of Wisdom 13: 1/5 puts it like this:  "How dull are all people who, from the things-that-are, have not been able to discover God-Who-Is, or by studying the good works have failed to recognize the Artist. . . . Through the grandeur and beauty of the creatures we may, by analogy, contemplate their Author."

Some 10 years ago, when our small congregation and I decided to explore the "new/old" liturgical season of Creation (for more information, please go to: 

https://seasonofcreation.org) I wrestled with letting go of my anthropomorphic

training. Unconsciously I had long believed that nature was beautiful - and I knew that I experienced awe and wonder in the woods, desert, forest streams, lakes and oceans - but that was it. The season of creation, however, invited me to imagine how the holy was being revealed in nature. What was God sharing with me and inviting me to know about the sacred in the sky? Water? In the essence of a mountain? Or the multitude of creatures that inhabit Mother Earth? I had been intrigued for a few decades by the truths expressed in the rhythm of the Celtic Wheel of Life. I was becoming open to the wisdom of earth-based spiritualities, too. But I never ever considered that God might be sharing something of God with me in rain. Or sunlight. Or the moon and stars. 

What an arrogant, limited, selfish, ignorant and utterly 20th century theology I had inherited. My Reformed training had rejected the sacramental theology of the Roman Catholic world as superstitious. Our narrow-minded theology insisted that only human reflection upon the words of Scripture could reveal the heart, mind and soul of the Lord. "Solo scriptura - scripture only" was the bold war cry of the Protestant Reformation that not only abandoned 1500 years of Christian history and tradition, but sacramental wisdom as well as 3,000 years of our heritage from ancient Judaism, too.

And so began a journey of wandering into the wilderness of creation spirituality. Listening for the truths of God in creation put me in touch with Matthew Fox, of course, but also David Stendl-Rast, Rupert Sheldrake, Joan Chittister and Ilia Dello (a Franciscan scholar who works with Rohr) who wrote: The world is created as a means of God’s self-revelation so that, like a mirror or footprint, it might lead us to love and praise the Creator. We are created to read the book of creation so that we may know the Author of Life. This book of creation is an expression of who God is and is meant to lead humans to what it signifies, namely, the eternal Trinity of dynamic, self-diffusive love. 

From my perspective, a new and liberating consensus is emerging in 21st century spirituality that takes all aspects of incarnation seriously: the flesh is holy, the earth is holy, the water and the air are holy, too. Women, men and children are holy as are each expression of our gender. The mystics of Eastern Orthodoxy have taught me that all of the flora and fauna of creation are truly holy because animals, plants, insects and the creatures of the water never rebelled against God but have always lived in sacred harmony with the Lord since the beginning. Rohr writes:

The initial Incarnation actually happened around 14 billion years ago with “The Big Bang.” That is what we now call the moment when God decided to materialize and self-expose, at least in this universe. The first “idea” in the mind of God was to make Divine Formlessness into physical form, so that everything visible is a further revelation of what has been going on secretly inside of God from all eternity. Love always outpours! God spoke the Eternal Blueprint/Idea called Christ, “and so it was!” (Genesis 1:9)... Most of Christian history has heard little or nothing about this timeless mystery, and we settled for a small tribal god instead. We put Jesus in competition with other religions instead of allowing him to ground the universal search for God in the material world itself, in nature, cosmos, and history—from the very beginnings of time. In other words, all creatures were capable of knowing and loving God long before the world religions formalized their doctrines and rituals. Were the first millennia of human beings (San or Bushmen, Mayans, Celts, Aboriginals, and on and on) just trial runs and throwaways for a very inefficient God? That cannot be! God did not just start talking and loving 2,000 years ago. Infinite Love would never operate that way. “The Christ Mystery” proclaims that there is universal and equal access to God for all who have ever wanted love and union since the primal birth of humanity. In simple words, Stone Age people already had access to God!

It has been understood but rarely spoken aloud that many men do not feel at home - and certainly not at rest - in much of contemporary Christianity. It feels too safe and scripted, absent of awe and much more interested in control than trust. But men (and women, too) intuitively feel connected to the sacred in nature. I submit that this is one of the reasons so many guys play golf on Sunday morning rather than attend worship. Once, in what was Soviet Russia, I was attending the Divine Liturgy of the Orthodox Church in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg.) For most of the three hour morning liturgy, the congregation was comprised of women of all ages. Young women came and went with their children, old women knelt and prayed before the icons, and the men mostly sat outside the Sanctuary ans smoked. At the liturgy's climax, however, after all the preparatory prayers had been chanted, after the homily and hymns, just as the priests carried the bread that would become the living body of Christ to the altar, the men came inside. They participated fully and passionately in the closing 20 minutes of worship where the sacrifice of Christ was reenacted in prayer and shared with the faithful. Before that, sitting and smoking in the sun was where they preferred to worship.

Until we reclaim, honor and celebrate the first incarnation of God in creation, we will continue to miss so much of the Lord's love and wisdom. Our self-absorbed and self-referential existence will atrophy further as our inner emptiness makes us more susceptible to manipulation and cheap thrills. Today a bit of last night's ice is melting. The sun has been peaking out from behind the clouds, too as the day grows warmer. Take a look at this short film from Dreamy Earth - and rejoice in the Lord ALL ways!

a radically inclusive christ who honors and respects other faiths...

One of the most profound blog posts I've read was shared on Valentine's Day 2019 by Fr. Richard Rohr. In his current series, "Jesus and Christ," he puts into words a truth I have struggled to fully articulate for decades. Namely, that the radically inclusive ministry of Jesus means that everything and everyone has a place within God's love. 

The only thing Jesus excluded was exclusion itself: Think about what this means for everything we sense and know about God. After the Incarnation of Jesus, we could more easily imagine a give-and-take God, a relational God, a forgiving God. Revelations of Christ—the union of matter and spirit, human and divine—were already seen and honored in the deities of Native religions, the Atman of Hinduism, the teachings of Buddhism, and the Prophets of Judaism.

Rohr fortifies this confession of revolutionary inter-faith solidarity in a way that is bolder than previous commitments to deep ecumenism. 

+ First, Rohr clearly celebrates that other faiths have recognized and shared the heart of God well before the historical Jesus lived. Whether it is the wisdom tradition of First Nations People in the Americas, the radical inclusivity of ancient Israel's prophets, the Hindu teaching that honors the essence of the universe within each individual, or the unity of seeming opposites in Buddhism: this confession of revolutionary inter-faith solidarity is bolder than many of our previous attempts at deep ecumenism. It refuses the patronizing categories that Christians have used in the past that authentically yearned for theological equality while imprisoned in limited imaginations. I think of the Vatican II writing of Karl Rahner. He chartered new inter-faith territory in his description of an anonymous Christian. "Non-Christians could have in [their] basic orientation and fundamental decision accepted the salvific grace of God, through Christ, although [they] may never have heard of the Christian revelation."

"Anonymous Christianity" means that a person lives in the grace of God and attains salvation outside of explicitly constituted Christianity. A Protestant Christian is, of course, "no anonymous Christian"; that is perfectly clear. But, let us say, a Buddhist monk (or anyone else I might suppose) who, because he follows his conscience, attains salvation and lives in the grace of God; of him I must say that he is an anonymous Christian; if not, I would have to presuppose that there is a genuine path to salvation that really attains that goal, but that simply has nothing to do with Jesus Christ. But I cannot do that. And so if I hold if everyone depends upon Jesus Christ for salvation, and if at the same time I hold that many live in the world who have not expressly recognized Jesus Christ, then there remains in my opinion nothing else but to take up this postulate of an anonymous Christianity. (Indeed a person could) intellectually profess disbelief but [be] existentially ... committed to those values which for the Christian are concretized in God.  (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anonymous_Christian#cite_note-FOOTNOTED'Costa1985132-1)

This exploration was positive in its era as Rahner ached to include the righteous of all faiths within the grace of God. But, given the rigid theological hierarchies of his tradition, the best he could come up with was a patronizing Christo-centric apology. Matthew Fox has done important work in this realm, too. As James Russell Lowell's text for the hymn, "Once to Every Man and Nation" tells us: "time makes ancient truth uncouth."Rohr is now able to recognize that the heart of God we see incarnated in Christ Jesus has been present in creation and other religions since the beginning of time

The Christ is always way too much for us, larger than any one era, culture, empire, or religion. Its radical inclusivity is a threat to power and arrogance. Jesus by himself has usually been limited by the evolution of human consciousness in these first two thousand years. His reputation has been held captive by culture, nationalism, and much of Christianity’s white, bourgeois, and Eurocentric worldview. Up to now, we have not been carrying history too well, because “there stood among us one we did not recognize... one who came after me, because he existed before me” (John 1:26, 30). He came with darker skin, from the underclass, a male body with a female soul, from an often-hated religion, living on the very cusp between East and West. No one owns him, and no one ever will.

+ And second Rohr is able to use our Christian tradition and its holy texts to support the emerging radical inclusivity that has been calling for recognition since the beginning of time.  Of particular importance are the stories Jesus told - and the celebrations he attended - that embody the essence of God's heavenly banquet. "Many non-Christians actually came to the “banquet” more easily (than those already inside the tradition) as Jesus says in his parables of the resented and resisted banquet (Matthew 22:1-10; Luke 14:7-24) Rohr continues: again and again, “the wedding hall was filled with guests, both good and bad alike” (Matthew 22:10).So what are we to do with such divine irresponsibility and largesse?" His conclusion is that these stories point to a "God who cares about all of creation's children." Consider these words from Wisdom 11-12:

Thou art merciful to all, for thou canst do all things,

and thou dost overlook our sins that we may repent.

For thou lovest all things that exist,
and hast loathing for none of the things which thou hast made,
for thou wouldst not have made anything if thou hadst hated it.

How would anything have endured if thou hadst not willed it?
Or how would anything not called forth by thee have been preserved?Thou sparest all things, for they are thine, O Lord who lovest the living.
For thy immortal spirit is in all things.

Therefore thou dost correct little by little those who trespass,
and dost remind and warn them of the things wherein they sin. 

I am particularly moved by Rohr's next insight re: the inclusion of the Hebrew Scriptures within the Christian canon: "Does God really have favorites among God’s children? What an unhappy family that would create—and indeed, it has created. (Yet) the inclusion of the Hebrew Scriptures in the Christian canon ought to have served as the structural and definitive statement about Christianity’s movement toward radical inclusivity. So how did we miss that?"

God said to Moses: “I AM Who I AM” (Exodus 3:14). God is clearly not tied to a name, nor does God seem to want us to tie the Divinity to any one name. This is why, in Judaism, God’s statement to Moses became the unspeakable and unnamable God. We (too) must practice profound humility in regard to God, who gives us not a name, but pure presence.

I can't help but recall a quip Thomas Merton made re: monks and priests. He had been questioned about what he was learning from spending time in meditation with Buddhists monks. "Well, we clearly use different words," he replied, "but in contemplation we wind up in the same place." Then he smiled and added something like, "Monks seem to be ok with this. Monks don't have words or hierarchies they must defend - all the problems come when the priests of any tradition show up!" I think Rohr and his center is on to the same bold conclusion. I can't wait to live into its promise in the years to come.

a pilgrimage beyond anxiety...

Last night another 3" of light snow fell on the Berkshires. It made the morning feel fragile - shrouded in silence - delicate. That is not the whole truth, of course, as soon the plows were scrapping the streets, the garbage crews were collecting our recycling, and a host of four-legged friends were wandering through the wetlands in search of nourishment The tracks of something larger than a cat but smaller than a deer had crossed our front yard at dawn as if to prove my point. But still, at least for a moment, a palpable tenderness filled the air.

It does my soul good to take all of this in at the start of the day: the silence as well as the sounds, the serenity alongside the striving. For too long I could only grasp one side of reality - and mostly it was the lot of busyness and striving. I knew that there was more going on than I could comprehend, by faith I trusted the promise of serenity, but it was hard to rest into it. These words from Jean Vanier helped:You will discover how fragile and vulnerable your life, your body and your heart really are. You cannot do just anything. You have to look after yourself and treat yourself gently, enjoying relaxation, relationships, peace and prayer which will help you stay in the light.

They gave me permission to take another step on the pilgrimage beyond anxiety by faith. Vanier and Nouwen have been my trusted guides during the past three years. It has been a season of inner winnowing that continues to blow away the chaff of fear and the sting of judgment from my heart. These two write confessionally with a vulnerability that is unique among men. Like the poet of Psalm 131: they do not speak in ways that are too high or complicated for my soul; but welcome me like a child on his mother's breast. Nouwen put it like this:

Over the years, I have come to realize that the greatest trap in our life is not success, popularity, or power, but self-rejection. Success, popularity, and power can indeed present a great temptation, but their seductive quality often comes from the way they are part of the much larger temptation to self-rejection. When we have come to believe in the voices that call us worthless and unlovable, then success, popularity, and power are easily perceived as attractive solutions. The real trap, however, is self-rejection... As soon as someone accuses me or criticizes me, as soon as I am rejected, left alone, or abandoned, I find myself thinking, “Well, that proves once again that I am a nobody.” My dark side says, “I am no good... I deserve to be pushed aside, forgotten, rejected, and abandoned.” Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the “Beloved.” Being the Beloved constitutes the core truth of our existence.

The gospel reading for this week, the Beatitudes and Curses found in St. Luke 6, encourage us to live beyond the judgment of the world. The story begins with Jesus and his disciples coming down off a mountain - a place of prayer in Luke's writing - to stand in solidarity with ordinary people. When St. Matthew shares this story and its insights in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is raised up to evoke his role as the new Moses. But here, however, Jesus stands on common ground with everyday people.

And he uses a word, blessed, makarios in Greek, in an upside-down manner. In its original usage makarios refereed to the gods. Bible scholar Brian Stoffregen writes: "The blessed ones were the gods. They had achieved a state of happiness and contentment in life that was beyond all cares, labors, and even death. The blessed ones were beings who lived way up there in some other world. To be blessed, you had to be a god." Other New Testament writers note that the blessed also came to include the dead - who had achieved a place of rest and joy beyond the woes of this world - and society's elite - whose material wealth and status lifted them out of pain and cares of ordinary folk. 

Additionally, when the Hebrew Bible was translated into Greek so that Jews in diaspora had access to their Scriptures, makarios "took on another meaning. It referred to the results of right living or righteousness. If you lived right, you were blessed. Being blessed meant you received earthly, material things: a good wife, many children, abundant crops, riches, honor, wisdom, beauty, good health, etc. A blessed person had more things and better things than an ordinary person... In all of these meanings, the "blessed" ones existed on a higher plane than the rest of the people." (Stoffregen, CrossMarks @ www. crossmarks.com/brian/luke6x17.htm) There are, of course, minority readings in the Hebrew texts that question this perspective. I think of Job or the way Isaiah interprets Israel's exile in Babylon as two examples. Still, there was a dominate interpretation of makarios that was normative during the time of Jesus.

And Jesus calls this out in his ministry. Clearly he does not refer to the gods, the deceased, society's wealthy or the spiritual elites as the blessed of the Lord. Rather, he insists that God is giving blessings to those who are the most wounded among us right now; and  promises that God will continue to bring blessings to those living on the periphery in the kingdom yet to come. For me there are two abiding truths here: 

+ First, Jesus brings a presence of assurance and comfort to the wounded and neglected of his world. You have NOT been forgotten by God. And your worth is NOT determined by what you possess or how others view you. Rather, your trust in God's love has opened your heart to experience from the inside out the Lord's steadfast love that endures forever. And to make certain we don't miss this truth, Jesus is physically present as a source of comfort and assurance. He shows up. He makes the words of the sacred flesh by his presence. This beatitude underscores the importance of tenderness and pastoral presence for those who are broken, forgotten and despised.

+ Second, Jesus wants the well-to-do to understand that blessings can become ours too IF we learn to live in solidarity with the poor. IF we can share our wealth - and time - and resources with compassion rather than pity. IF we are open to trusting the poor to teach us about true community. IF we are willing to see how human suffering can also be an upside down invitation into the holy love of God. IF we who are often at the top let the least among us introduce us to the wisdom of our own wounds. And IF our brokenness and vulnerability can become a bridge over the barriers of fear so that we love one another as God has loved us from the beginning. THEN the curses become a way into the beloved community of God for us all.

In my experience, Vanier and Nouwen show me how a middle class white man can taste the kingdom of God in my lifetime. I yearn to follow Jesus. So these two mentors not only point me towards the wisdom of their own wounds, but encourage me to trust my wounds, too in ways that I can comprehend. Nouwen wrote:

As long as I keep running about asking “Do you love me? Do you really love me?” I give all power to the voices of the world and put myself in bondage because the world is filled with “ifs.” The world says: “Yes, I love you if you are good-looking, intelligent, and wealthy. I love you if you have a good education, a good job, and good connections. I love you if you produce much, sell much, and buy much.” There are endless “ifs” hidden in the world’s love. These “ifs” enslave me, since it is impossible to respond adequately to all of them. The world’s love is and always will be conditional. As long as I keep looking for my true self in the world of conditional love, I will remain “hooked” to the world—trying, failing, and trying again. It is a world that fosters addictions because what it offers cannot satisfy the deepest craving of my heart.

Jesus brought comfort and reassurance first to the wounded; then he to all who have so much as we reorder our living. In this, we are welcomed into God's blessing. Solidarity and sharing are the way we let go of our anxieties in the presence of Jesus. Community becomes the way we practice cultivating trust. And compassion empowers us to live quietly, tenderly and consistently into the steadfast love of God that endures forever. Nouwen put it like this:

It strikes me increasingly just how hard-pressed people are nowadays. It’s as though they’re tearing about from one emergency to another. Never solitary, never still, never really free but always busy about something that just can’t wait. You get the impression that, amid this frantic hurly-burly, we lose touch with life itself. We have the experience of being busy while nothing real seems to happen. The more agitated we are, and the more compacted our lives become, the more difficult it is to keep a space where God can let something truly new really take place. The discipline of the heart helps us to let God into our hearts so that God can become known to us there, in the deepest recesses of our own being.

Nearly every day I am able to sit in my study, quietly take in the ever changing wetlands outside my window, and spend time listening for the still, small voice of God through the words of Vanier and Nouwen. Renewed by this solitude, I am then able to be present in the world with tenderness. It is the balance of contemplation with action. My mornings are given to reflection: a few quiet hours of study, writing and prayer. My afternoons and evenings can then be given to  being in the world with a less anxious heart. I can't do it all. And I have discovered that I can't be free from anxiety if I am exhausted or over-committed. So these days I try to do a few loving things well. Sometimes I visit loved ones, other times I am playing or practicing music; every week has times set aside to listen carefully to another's journey. And there are also whole days filled with my adventures in baking bread. Vanier has been instrumental in helping me see how blessings can grow from just being my truest self. 

The beauty of human beings lies in their capacity to accept who they are, just as they are; not to live in a world of dreams and illusions, in anger or despair, wanting to be other than they are, or trying to run away from reality. They realize they have the right to be themselves. And there, they discover that they are loved by God, that they are unique and important for God and that they can do things for others.