breathing in the sabbath...

This morning, on the Christian Sabbath, I returned thanks to God for the love, presence, blessings and challenges of my life with a five year old boy who said he wanted to make "chalk drawings of welcome" on our driveway. Let me tell you, there are no better ways to "do" worship than getting down on your knees with this gentle soul and breathing-in the moment.

Last night, he and I made fresh pesto from the basil we picked on our deck. Earlier, we weeded the raised-bed terraces and sprayed the pumpkin plants to combat a soil related fungus. He husked fresh native corn with "Dima" (Di) before we feasted on pasta with pesto, broiled salmon and native corn. A few minutes into the meal, he said to me, "Gwad, I normally wouldn't think corn would go with pesto." Interesting, I thought and replied,  "I mostly agree, Chef. But here's the thing: the corn season is so short that I want to eat as much of it as I can while it lasts." He looked deeply into my eyes for a silent 30 seconds - then nodded in agreement - and returned to the repast. Before bath time and bed we all sat out on the deck as the sun set and ate chocolate while telling family stories and laughing.

I have learned never to take these moments for granted. They are sacred gifts born of a grace freely offered with generosity, but always fleeting and tenuous, too. I missed more than I care to confess of these blessings when my daughters were small. It goes with the territory, of course, but "burn me once, shame on you; burn me twice, shame on me." Pete Townsend was right: we won't get fooled - or burned - again. At least not while we still have strength and breath and our precious little ones are so close.

At lunch today, before the Brooklyn crew returned home, we spoke about the up-coming Democratic debates. "Did you see the last ones?" I shook my head with a slight smile as incredulity was realized. "It was mostly an oversight," I added, "but I mostly didn't want the hassle. I'll be watching round two," I assured the group as we ate pizza, "You can count on it." And I will. Mostly as penance but also as prayer. 

The current regime must be defeated and taken down decidedly. So regardless of what the progressive pundits tell me, I believe that there are a host of decent, creative, bright and capable candidates: Kirsten Gillibrand, Kamala Harris, Pete Buttigieg, Julio Castro, Elizabeth Warren. None are perfect, but I
trust the political wisdom of the late Michael Harrington who said, "Let's be the left wing of what is possible!" In my not so humble opinion, that means it is time for Bernie to quit playing the spoiler and well past time for Uncle Joe to wake up, smell the coffee and grasp that his time has come and gone. I pray that the Democrats heed the wisdom of another who has urged them NOT to form a circular firing squad but rather rally around whomever rises to the top of the heap so that the the current inhabitant of the White House is repudiated beyond all reasonable doubts. At the same time, I tend towards the soul of this cartoon.

One of my dearest and oldest friends and teachers, Martha in St. Louis, sent me a note highlighting Maria Popova's delightful, Brain Pickings, and a posting entitled: "Leo Tolstoy on Kindness." It confirmed my worship choice for this Sabbath and my inward proclivities with this opening paragraph: 

“Practice kindness all day to everybody and you will realize you’re already in heaven now,” Jack Kerouac wrote in a beautiful letter to his first wife and lifelong friend. Somehow, despite our sincerest intentions, we repeatedly fall short of this earthly divinity, so readily available yet so easily elusive. And yet in our culture, it has been aptly observed, “we are never as kind as we want to be, but nothing outrages us more than people being unkind to us.” In his stirring Syracuse commencement address, George Saunders confessed with unsentimental ruefulness: “What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.” I doubt any decent person, upon candid reflection, would rank any other species of regret higher. To be human is to leap toward our highest moral potentialities, only to trip over the foibled actualities of our reflexive patterns. To be a good human is to keep leaping anyway.

And long after the day's activities had come to a close - long after my nap, the harvesting of still more fresh basil, and the early evening thunder storm - still another loved one sent me a note which included these words of wisdom:

 

Silence is never merely the cessation of words... Rather it is the pause that holds together - indeed, it makes sense of-all the words, both spoken and unspoken. Silence is the glue that connects our attitudes and our actions. Silence is the fullness, not emptiness; it is not absence, but the awareness of a presence. (John Chryssavgis, In the Heart of the Desert: The Spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers)

This year - and the American presidential race for president - is going to require a great deal of silence for me. A great deal of reflection, loving engagement with allies of compassion and a renewal of prayer, too. The beloved Wendell Berry put it like this (a prayer/poem I just added to my prayer wall) in something he calls: "How to Be a Poet (to remind myself)"

Make a place to sit down.

Sit down. Be quiet.

You must depend upon

affection, reading, knowledge,

skill — more of each

than you have — inspiration,

work, growing older, patience,

for patience joins time

to eternity. Any readers

who like your poems,

doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath

the unconditioned air.

Shun electric wire.

Communicate slowly. Live

a three-dimensioned life;

stay away from screens.

Stay away from anything

that obscures the place it is in.

There are no unsacred places;

there are only sacred places

and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.

Make the best you can of it.

Of the little words that come

out of the silence, like prayers

prayed back to the one who prays,

make a poem that does not disturb

the silence from which it came.