Funny day today turned out to be: unexpected hassles and blessings. I did a lot of interior cleaning in anticipation of some spiritual direction appointments next week and then the arrival of the Brooklyn gang for Memorial Day. There was lots of vacuuming Lucie hair as it infects the whole house in relentless and even unimaginable ways. When I got to the kitchen floor, after one serious scrubbing there were white, blotchy spots all over the wood. After another remedial wash I searched for a scrub brush and a plastic scouring pad - and used my thumb nail - for the three hours. Eventually, most of the spots were taken up. It seems that something I used to wash the wood recently left a filmy residue. I am clueless what caused the problem. But after a few hours of elbow grease, the natural wood had been liberated - even if it will need to be refinished this summer. Ordinarily I wouldn't bore you with such quotidian concerns, but while working to get things clean, two thoughts kept swimming around my heart. First, I had set this whole day aside for chores. I have always known that surprises happen, but for most of my life I haven't planned for them. For the past few years that is different. Whether baking bread, doing yard/garden work or cleaning the house I set my schedule up to allow for a full day. That gives me space and permission to fix the problems without feeling frazzled. Or anxious. Or resentful. That is crucial for me, allowing time for surprises be they delightful or challenging, so that I don't feel pressured to react. Rather, I can simply be, dealing with what is real, and carefully taking care of business. Unplugging from compound demands or multi-tasking lets me be gentle and tender in many trying moments. Not always - and not consistently - but with greater frequency. And from where I live, tenderness seems to be in short supply these days.
That was the second thought that kept popping up while working on the floor: the call to tenderness. Pope Francis said that the late Jean Vanier was a disciple of revolutionary tenderness - and that spoke to my heart, mind, body and soul. For many years, I believed the story and witness of Jesus as it was taught by the empire. To be sure, mine was a liberal take on religion, but still I built both my public and private life around winning. Acquiring power of different sorts. Even in pursuit of justice, winning was essential. Yes, it often felt like a dead-end. And more often than not left me feeling empty even in the various victories. But power is how I learned about God - God the Almighty - and the gods we worship shape our ethics, politics and habits.
Maybe twenty years ago, I sensed that the dominant paradigm for the holy was not only worn-out, but wrong. I didn't know an alternative, however, so like Luther under siege, I chose to trust that as one baptized into the grace of Jesus a new vision would be revealed at the right time. Even at his lowest, Luther would confess: "I have been baptized." During my sabbatical from pastoral ministry, two additional pieces of the puzzle were revealed. First, I was truly done doing ministry in the traditional manner. Second, I found that I was powerfully attracted to the Taize practice and theology of horizontal worship. Sitting on the floor as equals energized me. Inspired me. Lifted my heart. At the same time that I was moved to tears of joy while sitting on the floor in Taize worship in Montreal, I began to read Jean Vanier. His words about the tenderness of Jesus connected my feelings with a new/old theology that gave me hope.
Bending down to wash his disciples' feet, Jesus makes himself weak before us, To touch our hearts and heal them he uses no other means than presenting himself as weak, as the least of the servants. And through his weakness, he washes our hearts, which are hardened by pride and barricaded in power, security and the certainty of being right, He is 'master and lord, but he lowered himself out of love. He is 'master' because of his tenderness and unending forgiveness, which raises us up and sets us back on our feet with trust and joy.
On that same day, Richard Rohr had written that a new and liberating theology of the Trinity was arising that teaches that: "God is all-vulnerable... (and when this is our foundation) then perhaps God stands in solidarity with all pain and suffering in the universe, allowing us to be participants in our own healing." I believe in paying attention to the connections. So, as old friend in Tucson used to say, "THAT dog hunts!" That understanding of God rings true. That way of being with Christ opens my heart and sets me free.
Thinking of Jean's funeral while scouring my kitchen floor - and the call to real revolutionary tenderness unplugged from the empire - filled my heart. It was a small thing, those three hours on my hands and knees, but it was holy time for reflection and gratitude. At the end of the day, my mind went to this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye called "Shadows."
Some people feel lost inside their days.
Always waiting for worse to happen.
They make bets with destiny.
My funniest uncle gave up cursing bad words
inside his head. He says he succeeded
one whole hour. He tried to unsubscribe to
the universe made by people. He slept outside
by himself on top of the hill.
When Facebook says I have "followers"––
I hope they know I need their help.
Subscribe to plants, animals, stars,
music, the baby who can't walk yet but
stands up holding on to the sides of things,
tables, chairs, and takes a few clumsy steps,
then sits down hard. This is how we live.
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