seeing with the eye of the heart: letting go of our distractions...

St.Ignatius of Loyola (1491-1556) was a wise, insightful, and down-to-earth man of faith. Like another once wealthy, wounded soldier, Francis of Assisi, Ignatius used his convalescence to help him draw closer to God. In Teresa Blythe's, Spiritual Direction 101, a highly readable and practical primer on the care of the soul, she notes that:

Ignatius studied what he called "movements of the heart," both those that moved us closer to God and those that made us feel detached... (his) study grew out of a period of convalescence... as he recovered from a debilitating war injury, Ignatius noticed how he felt after reading the only books he had available to him in the convent - ones about the lives of Jesus and the saints. Prior to this injury, Ignatius enjoyed romantic writings about brave knights devoted to beautiful women of royalty. Not having those books in the convent to read, (he) daydreamed about romance, and noticed that when he did, he would feel warmth and joy for a little while, but was left later feeling "dry and dusty." And when he read about the life of the saints, he noticed that he felt a lasting peace and a desire to be like them. Out of these reflections on his inner life, Ignatius determined that we can examine the movements of our heart for evidence of consolation - those lasting feelings of peace, joy, love, and patience; or for desolation - the feelings of being dry, dull, despairing, or anxious. (Through this) examination of these inner movements (using the prayer practice of Examen over time)we can discern how to follow the path of life, which is the path God desires for us. (Blythe, p. 36)

Blythe's summary of the Ignatian movements of the heart strikes me as highly useful in these crazy times: am I making choices that draw me towards life, or, am I pushing myself away from that which is holy, good, true and healthy? As other spiritual directors have articulated: the vast majority of contemporary spirituality is self-absorbed and ego-centric. Cynthia Bourgeault writes in The Wisdom Way of Knowing that 21st century spiritual seekers too often confuse their "own personal emotional life" with the way of the heart and God's calling.

The heart is not the opposite of the head. Rather, it is a sensitive, multispectrum instrument of awareness: a huge realm of mind that includes both mental and affective operations (the ability to both think and feel) in both conscious and subconscious dimensions... the heart's genius is its ability to pick up patterns that discern deeper proportion and coherence. (Bourgeault, p. 83-84)

In this the heart helps re-connect us to our origins. In a "storm-tossed vision of romantic individualism," she continues, the Wisdom our heart posses is "an astonishing countervision: that the passions we are so impressed with in the West cannot possible be original (of our origins) for they keep us stuck on the surface of ourselves, bobbing around in a chop." (p. 87)

As the heart becomes undivided, a still and accurately reflecting mirror, it begins to to be able to see and swim in the deeper waters of the divine... where our true heart lies, we find the true verve, power, and meaning of our lives... (and) seeing that purified of its anxious, agitated ego-self is called objective seeing. It means (like Ignatius noted) seeing with the eye of our heart. (p. 88)

This is, of course, why all spiritual direction insists upon some regular practice of stillness. It can happen in countless ways and contexts: a monk's cell is neither necessary nor desired. Whatever the  practice, however, the goal "is to teach the mind to stay put in the present rather than wandering off into dreams and fantasies." (Bourgeault 89) Or fears and anxieties. Or illusions or disillusions. I am currently finding the tool of St. Ignatius to be very helpful as I try to both  listen and see with the eye of my heart: What brings deeper and more lasting rest as opposed to distraction and dryness?

Honestly, I sometimes don't know which is which at first. I love everything - distractions and depth, solitude and engagement, the inward and the outward journeys, a raucous jazz bar in Montreal as well as a silent walk in the woods, cities or country streams, sitting with my grandchildren or chatting with my lover - or just resting in an old, incense filled Sanctuary and chanting the Psalms. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by the beauty of it all that I become a sensory lush. Like Whitman, I want to jump into it all. Right now. This rush of being so fully present to creation has had its place in my life for more than a few seasons. No wonder I cherish Leonard Cohen: he, like me, learned a little from his zealous excesses even as he kept returning to the scene of his crimes once too often. I seem to make the same mistakes over and again as well. From Cohen I have learned to honor the slow movement of grace in my life and others as that "crack, a crack in everything... that's how the light gets in."

But to paraphrase - and learn from - Brother Lenny: I've spent time with Stalin and St. Paul, walked beside the Berlin wall, I've seen the future, brother, it is murder. (The Future) And it is murder, but only as long as I keep doing the same things over and over while expecting different results. The clues that Ignatius discovered offer us an alternative if we create the stillness to listen. "When you seize on a fantasy" writes Bourgeault, "and start to work on it with your emotions and personal agendas, distortion enters... the imagination must learn to be contained between the twin banks of attention (teaching it to stay put at a single point) and surrender (letting go of all phenomenon as they occur.)" I like how Romans 5 puts it - with my cautious edit:

We embrace our sufferings,knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because hope is God’s love being poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.

This small, quiet paradox, feeds my heart and calls out to the poet, Alberto Rios, who put it like this in "When Giving Is All We Have." 

               One river gives
               Its journey to the next.

We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it—

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,
But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,
Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.
Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you
What I had to give—together, we made

Something greater from the difference.
credits:
+ Robert Lentz @ https://fineartamerica.com/featured/st-ignatius-loyola-rligl-br-robert-lentz-ofm.html?product=poster
+ Mako Fujimura @ https://fullerstudio.fuller.edu/tea-and-communion-mako-fujimura-and-keiko-yanaka/
+ Mako @ https://www.nycreligion.info/makoto-fujimuras-golden-sea/

happy thanksgiving...

For the past two weeks I have been down with what I'm calling"senioritis" - the foreshadowing of the aging process yet to come - an experience that totally wiped me out. While driving home from Canada, I was afflicted with the dreadful bronchial bug currently laying waste to many in our area. Such is par for the course at this time of year, so I am not complaining. It goes with the territory. What I hadn't anticipated, however, was how low my resistance to infection had become until waking up on Sunday morning with a full blown albeit highly concentrated case of shingles. Shades of Job. Simultaneously, a dear old friend from my former parish was moving towards the end of her life and finally gave up the ghost just as my local band mates and I were performing in a benefit concert for the immigrant initiative of our regional social justice network. There was a cosmic irony in this as Bonnie loved our music. And it left me played and exhausted.

Then, just to add insult to injury last night, while I was starting to feel healthy and strong again, I took a whopping fall on a rain drenched deck, walloping my backside and shoulder in the cold and dark. Talk about dazed and confused. Nothing was broken, thanks be to God, just sore and bruised. Which is to say, I finally got it: no one gets out alive. The reality of my chronological age can no longer be escaped. Last week's photo challenge posting pictures from 2009 next to one from 2019 was illuminating. But crashing on my ass yet again on that hard wood was the real teacher. If by the grace of God I am to grow older still, I need to start making some changes. The first being the purchase of some no skid shoes!

Looking backwards there were a lot of mini-epiphanies through the past two weeks. While playing a jazz show at a local elementary school we discovered that the cartoon anthems included in the middle of the lesson as examples of modern jazz were virtually unknown to these little ones. They vaguely recalled "Super Mario," but we're playing version 1.0 and there are now 32 more advanced levels. What's more, they had never even heard of the Flintstones! (NOTE: the chord structure of that theme song is a sly, upbeat reworking of Gershwin's "I've Got Rhythm," changes that be-boppers like Charlie Parker had a field day with as it became the foundation for their own grooves. For more background check out the NPR link: https://www.npr.org/ sections/ablogsupreme/ 2011/02/19/133590208/evolution-of-a-song-i-got-rhythm) Also take a listen to Parker totally rework it on "Dexterity."

It took me back to a realization I had during the closing years of parish ministry: so many of my spontaneous cultural examples were so outdated that it took too long to explain what I thought might be a quick shared reference in film, TV or music. Let's not even go to the reality of my diminished hearing (something I hope will be addressed when my insurance changes after the first of the year.) Mix in the various aches and pains - and death - and it would be safe to say that the end of November was truly a thin time for me between this realm and the next. 

Not as lament, mind you, but gratitude. For life. For all that is still real and still possible. For children. And grandchildren. And a lover. And aging but decent health. And warmth. And Lucie. And dear friends. And sweet music. And a chance to quietly feast as the evening ripens. Later this weekend we'll go with the little ones to get a Christmas tree to mark the start of Advent. But that is still to come. Today feels like this poem from W.S. Merwin he called "Thanks."

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
standing by the windows looking out
in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

After breakfast, before the crew headed out for the hill towns, Louie and I made a turkey and a Thanksgiving card. Life does not get much better than this. Happy Thanksgiving.

sometimes it all falls into place: a thanksgiving poem

Sometimes it all falls into place: 
     the poets speak truth to power 
     and mystically raise the musicians up,
     the players in turn feed on this new found courage 
     and take bigger risks,
     and the audience pounds their feet and cry out in gratitude
     for a taste of what could be - and is - at least for a few minutes.

Sometimes it all falls into place:
     the riff you've practiced actually evokes funk - in high school kids - for god's sake
     the changes you studied flow from your fingers 
     and get some booties shakin'
          nobody in the band rushes - or lags - 
     and even the guest players
          recognize they too have a home in the groove.

Sometimes, not always, it all falls into place:
     you meet a poet from the weekend gig in a most unexpected place
     and she dances and waves
           and you feel a sense of safety that has been elusive too long.
     you feel loved. connected. like maybe you might actually finally
           belong.
     and you play better jazz because of it.

Sometimes it falls into place
     on the day before thanksgiving:
     with your loved ones traveling up from Brooklyn
     and all the groceries have been gathered,
     and the kitchen floor has finally been washed and waxed
          and the only thing left to do is feast.

Sometimes it all falls into place.

This wee poem bubbled up from below today after playing jazz at a high school in North Adams. And shopping for groceries. And cleaning the house. And reading this poem from one of my heroes: Joy Harjo. Happy Thanksgiving.

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

I must decrease - part two

Yesterday I shared a reflection on surrender using the words of Cynthia Bourgeault, Rumi and St. John the Baptist in the fourth gospel: I must decrease so that he may increase. Today I want to play with those words in a more personal manner. After being dreadfully ill for a few weeks - with plenty of time to pause, pray, and ponder - let me be the master of the obvious: the work of surrender, relinquishing, or acceptance is a multi-layered commitment that never ends. During my sick time, I revisited a number of passages from the Scriptures that have been friends to me over the years. Perhaps you too have found texts that take on new significance over time. As my heart opened, new insights were revealed and I grasped what had once been unimportant or mysterious. One such text comes at the close of St. Paul's treastise on love in I Corinthians 13:

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, thought like a child, and reasoned like a child. When I became an adult, I put childish things away. For now we see as through a mirror darkly, later we shall see face to face. Now I know only in part, then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. Now faith, hope and love abide - and the greatest of them is love.

My paraphrase of this text began by consulting a Greek New Testament lexicon to see how I might make it my own: "When I was young, I chattered a lot just as I wandered about searching for satisfaction without a clue as to where I should go. Now I seek what is quiet - needing stillness each day - for as I  matured, I ripen and let go of some of the childish distractions that once felt so important. In the quiet, my heart can focus on what the way of love feels like rather than accumulating more facts. Now I know that my vision and knowledge will always be incomplete so I trust the path of love without reservation. For me I Corinthians 13 connects me to something Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount: 

You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, 'Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven.' For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. If you love only those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? So be perfect - that is mature - as is your heavenly Father. (Matthew 5: 43-48)

Maturity is different from perfection, right? Maturity takes place over time. It requires patience, sorting out our experiences, learning to listen more than speak, balancing action with reflection, and trusting love and softness more than rigidity and judgment. Both Jesus and St. Paul say that the way of the Lord is built upon a surrender that strengthens maturity. During my down time I spent a lot of time with I Corinthians 13: 11-13 as a passage of Scripture that has fed me for decades. I also remembered these passages that have also brought a measure of order and grace  into my life:

+ Matthew 11: 28-30:  Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. (The Message)

+ Romans 5: 3-5: We celebrate in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because hope is God’s love being poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.

+ Romans 12: 1-2: 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 perfect/mature.

+ Isaiah 55: 6-13: Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while

he is near.... For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle; and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.

+ Psalm 46: 10: Be still and know that I am... God.

+ Psalm 131: O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother;
my soul is like the weaned child that is with me. O Israel, hope in the Lord
from this time on and forevermore.

+ Luke: 1:37-39: "Nothing will be impossible with God” said Gabriel. Then Mary replied, “Behold. Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” And the angel departed from her.

+ Psalm 37: 1-7: Do not fret because of the wicked; do not be envious of wrongdoers, for they will soon fade like the grass, and wither like the green herb. Trust in the Lord, and do good; so you will live in the land, and enjoy security. Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act... Be still before the Lord, and wait patiently for him; do not fret over those who prosper in their way,over those who carry out evil devices. Refrain from anger, and forsake wrath. Do not fret—it leads only to evil.

Traditionally, before the disease of fundamentalism turned the Bible into a tool of bigotry and shame there were always layers of wisdom: 

1) There was a consideration of the literal meaning of the words including word study and grammar;

2) There was also an appreciation for the metaphorical, symbolic, or poetic insights of any passage;

3) Further, knowing how the words of Scripture were used in tradition was believed to be essential, too making Bible history and context vital; and

4) The devotional, personal, or mystical use of a text - what came to be known as lectio divina - was how the living Word remained fresh for believers.

Each of these layers mattered then - and matter now. For without doing due diligence and wrestling with a text, letting it teach and form us, we remain as a child when the invitation asks us to ripen and mature. Some four years ago, I found that the words of St. Mary took on new significance for me as I moved from my public and professional life into one that was more inward and private. The Annunciation shows us Mary responding to the "good news" of the angel Gabriel saying: "Behold... here I am." Her confession became my guide as I regularly asked: what is God already doing in my world that I might honor if I had the eyes to see? In time, I thought of this as a call to behold, a call that led me back into gardening and listening for the holy within nature. Almost half a decade later I realize I am still a novice in such beholding yet I trust that as I gaze upon this mirror darkly now, in time more light shall be revealed later.

One clue from this beholding that has been gathering shape and form over the past nine months is God's invitation for me to decrease so that God's love might increase. Most of my life has been shaped by big and public projects: standing in opposition to the war in Vietnam as a Conscientious Objector, organizing with Cesar Chavez for farm worker justice, challenging the Reagan administration's cruel policies in Central America, anti-nuke peace work including travel to the former Soviet Union, advocating for LGBTQ equal rights, migrant justice in the Southwest, environmental concerns, river clean-ups, solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement, feminism, publicly challenging the racism of the current regime, and empowering local democracy. I know how to do big projects and am drawn to hard public engagement. 

But that's not what this season of life is asking of me. Rather, like Ecclesiastes 3 teaches: this is a time to let go of what I know and rest into the unforced rhythms of grace. Nearly two years ago I wrote a song, "Small is Holy," and only now I am starting to learn what that means. There isn't a week that goes by these days when I don't think of some big project I might start. Or join. Or support. But those big efforts don't feel tender, soft, or even right for me. They feel rigid. That is why the decrease/increase text has assumed such vibrancy: now is not my season to be big. I must decrease - rest, trust, follow the flow into love, becoming softer rather than more strident and demanding - so that God's grace might mature within me. This is my time to be even more private and focused and far less ego driven for as Cynthia Bourgeault's made clear at the close of her Wisdom School:

Although there are any number of spiritual practices both ancient and universal to bring a person into a state of permanent inner "yieldedness," the most direct and effective one... is simply this: In any situation in life, confronted by an outer threat or opportunity, you can notice yourself responding inwardly in one of two ways. Either you will brace, harden, and resist, or you will soften, open, and yield. If you go with the former gesture, you will be catapulted immediately into your smaller (false) self, with its animal instincts and survival responses. If you stay with the latter regardless of the outer conditions, you will remain in alignment with your inner most (true) being, and through it, the divine being can teach you. Spiritual practice at its no-frills simplest is a moment-by-moment learning not to do anything in a state of internal brace. Bracing is never worth the cost. (Cynthia Bourgeault, The Wisdom Way of Knowing, pp. 74-75)

As we in the US head into Thanksgiving and then the Christian season of waiting known as Advent, I anticipate more quiet, more letting go, and more looking into the mirror darkly. At this stage in life, I am ready. 

i must decrease so that he can increase: part one

For over a month I have been pondering, musing, fussing, and waiting for a clue concerning how to write about surrender. Some mentors speak of slowly yielding to the sacred as the way to become whole. Others teach that acceptance is the kernel of grace that blossoms into the tree of serenity. And once, in a Sunday talk, I stumbled upon the word relinquish and found it had legs, too. Having now spent the last three months in a gentle, on-line study with Cynthia Bourgeault, I am drawn to this insight: "Although there are any number of spiritual practices both ancient and universal to bring a person into a state of permanent inner "yieldedness," the most direct and effective one... is simply this:"

In any situation in life, confronted by an outer threat or opportunity, you can notice yourself responding inwardly in one of two ways. Either you will brace, harden, and resist, or you will soften, open, and yield. If you go with the former gesture, you will be catapulted immediately into your smaller (false) self, with its animal instincts and survival responses. If you stay with the latter regardless of the outer conditions, you will remain in alignment with your inner most (true) being, and through it, the divine being can teach you. Spiritual practice at its no-frills simplest is a moment-by-moment learning not to do anything in a state of internal brace. Bracing is never worth the cost. (Cynthia Bourgeault, The Wisdom Way of Knowing, pp. 74-75)

As November ripened and the earth became outwardly barren, two wisdom teachers kept blowing through my heart like stray leaves in the wetlands: St. John the Evangelist and Rumi. They both spoke to me about softening not bracing, trusting tenderness rather than rigidity.

+ From St. John 3: 29-30: "He who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at his friend's voice. For this reason, my joy has been fulfilled. I must decrease, so that he can increase."

+ From Rumi: "The mystery of 'die before you die' is this: that the gifts come after your dying and not before. Except for dying, you artful schemer, no other skill impresses God. One divine gift is better than a hundred kinds of exertion. Your efforts are assailed from a hundred sides, and the favor depends on your dying. The trustworthy have already put this to the test."

Both teachers are clear: the way of the heart - the journey into the peace of God that passes understanding - the essence of faith as grace - our being embraced by the holy within the kingdom of heaven while still on earth comes as a whisper. "Let go. Become smaller. Quit striving to prove yourself, to be more, to acquire power. Learn to be still and know... and trust." 

St. John's gospel comes from the close of the first century of the Common Era. It is a collection of stories and interpretations designed to "explain the mystery of Jesus." That is, it articulates the significance of the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of the Christ for a discrete group of believers living by faith after the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem. Tradition and the study of the earliest manuscripts suggests it was written in ancient Ephesus (what is now Turkey.) Most scholars concur that the community was theologically heterodox - holding a variety of experiences with Jesus - and ethnically diverse - comprised of Jews, Samaritans and Gentiles from Asia Minor. The late Raymond Brown, a leading Johanine scholar in the 60s-80s, as well as Amy-Jill Levine, contemporary Jewish intellectual and co-editor of The Jewish Annotated New Testament, as well as Bruce Malina/Richard Rohrbaugh, editors of The Social Science Commentary on the Gospel of John, agree: John's mystical collection was inspired to both articulate how the emerging Jesus community differed from its Jewish cousins, as well as how it embodied a counter-cultural alternative to the rest of the Mediterranean realm, too. It is part in-house polemic between sisters and brothers in Judaism, part theological interpretation of the signs and wonders shared and experienced by a varied collection of adherents, and an extended midrash on different Jewish texts as read through the lens of the Greek Septuagint. (See Daniel Boyarin's essay, "Logos, a Jewish Word: John's Prologue as Midrash," in The Jewish Annotated New Testament,p. 546)

I have been praying St. John's words, "For this reason, my joy has been fulfilled (when) I decrease, so that he can increase," on and off for the past ten years. These are not doctrinal words. They have nothing to do with theological belief. These are wisdom words, not creedal, saturated with the invitation to let go and trust. As I listen for wisdom in the original text I find that: 1) joy comes from the Greek word chara (χαρά) which originates in charis (xáris ) or grace. Our joy is filled full and made complete, not by our efforts, but by God's love being poured into our hearts. Grace is a gift freely offered. 2) At the same time, this text also seems to be saying: we realize this gift only when we are empty enough to receive it. Our false self, our incomplete self, must shrink and become less noticeable or influential - elattoó (ἐλαττόω) - so that our true self, our Christ self - can mature, ripen and increase - auxanó (αὐξάνω). Like Bourgeault says: the simplest spiritual practice there is to living into God's peace/grace/presence is to let go of bracing in favor becoming soft.

I sense that is true to Rumi as well. Some have noted that it is no coincidence

that the Sufi way of being emerged as a mystical spirituality in Islam in almost the exact same places that had been most influenced by the way of St. John's insights. It has been posited that after taking shape and form among the Desert Mothers and Fathers of Egypt and Syria, the early Enneagram was held with reverence in this part of creation, too. Rumi was born into what is now Afghanistan in 1207. In time, his family emigrated into Persia (Iran) and later Baghdad where his family studied with Sufi mentors. He made a pilgrimage to Mecca, traveled to Damascus and eventually took up residence in Konya, Anatolia (Turkey.) In his day he served as an Islamic judge before taking up a mystical friendship with Shams his mentor and guide into the way of the heart. His writing and spontaneous poetry was prolific. In my life time, Rumi has been incarnated and popularized most devotedly by the American poet, Coleman Barks, who continues to interpret the Persian mystic for a modern Western audience. 

My sense is that Rumi whimsically and humbly challenges us to quit faking it: the way into the heart of wisdom as well as grace is to become empty. Quit trying and living as the artful schemer. Stop bracing and become small and soft. Such is the testimony of those who have gone before so why reinvent the wheel?

When I am honest, I know more about being the artful schemer than the one who trusts the small, soft and tender. I also know that aching to decrease so that grace might increase has incrementally softened me, too. "Don't start reading," he smiles, "take down a musical instrument" and become part of your longing. How can we not with Paul Winter's Consort beckoning us forward?

credits: icons by Robert Lentz

maintaining the king in christ the king sunday...

Today marks the close of the Christian year: Christ the King Sunday. For obvious and important reasons, some prefer to use the alternative rendering, Reign of Christ, and I respect this choice. No language is perfect and always in transition, so the use of reign has merit in the quest for authentic inclusivity. Still, for ethical and spiritual reasons, my heart finds more nourishment in wrestling with the ancient archetypal insights infused into the ideal of the king. Like C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and C.G. Jung, my soul soars when confronted with the poetic, mystical wisdom of honoring Mary as both the Queen of Heaven (Regina Caeli) or Mother of God (theotokos.) These appellations invite introspection. They urge me to live into a liberating, counter-cultural, theological alternative to the locked-down, one size fits all dogma of our bottom line culture. And, they suggest a spirituality of diversity that honors the complexities of living into the grace of God. King, therefore, is for me every bit as creative and challenging as queen - equally engaging when embraced in an upside-down way.

Not that this has been the dominant interpretation of Christ the King. It is all too clear that human frailty, fear, brokenness, stupidity, cruelty, lust for power - to say nothing of misogyny and anthropocentric dominion - has long defined the embodied experience of Christ as King for many. It certainly has guided the intellectual contours of the Magisterium's precepts in violent and ugly ways. And yet a minority opinion has always been present within the Body of Christ: it has been a part of the revelations of Mary Magdalene - our tradition's first apostle and protector of Christ's wisdom - along with the Gospel of Thomas and all who practice the ethics of the Cross. St. Paul wrote:

The message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being made whole,it is the power of God. For it is written, “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.” Has God not already made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. For some demand signs and others desire rational explanations, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to some and foolishness to those in power, but to those who are the called, Christ becomes the power and the wisdom of God... And God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength. (I Corinthians 1)

In Romans, the old rabbi insists that a cruciform existence is the wisdom of God revealed in the life, death, resurrection and ascension of Christ: "We are not shy in celebrating our sufferings because we know that suffering (can) produce endurance..."

And endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us because hope is God’s love being poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit... (That is why everyday we) by the mercies of God we present our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is our 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. (Romans 5/12)

Two other scriptural insights bring focus to this early primacy of this minority report: the enfleshed sermon of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples before the Passover feast, and, the Lord's words of mercy and forgiveness to the one hanging next to him on the Cross. "Do THIS to remember me" Jesus told his friends: wash one another's feet. That is, live as servants to one another sharing simple acts of tenderness in real time. Somehow, after the tradition become part of empire, the commitment to compassion along with a spirituality of surrender was incrementally lost in favor of hierarchy and grandeur. Corporeal acts of mercy always remained vital, but dogma and doctrine were now elevated to an absurd degree - and the once central truth of tenderness was side-lined yet again. Karoline Lewis, professor of preaching at Luther Seminary in MN, gives shape and form to why Christ's blessing from the Cross to the thief offers both a radical critique of our utilitarian status quo and a revolutionary  alternative to the anemic compassion of bourgeois Christianity.

Concentrating on the crucifixion for Christ the King Sunday is a confluence of some rather puzzling and disturbing truths... First of all, in Jesus, we have a king who is crucified. Second, we have a king who forgives the very people who have secured his death. Third, we have a king who, while hanging on his cross, grants salvation to the criminal on the cross next to him (don’t forget this is unique to Luke’s passion narrative). And fourth, we have a king who brings the condemned into Paradise with him rather than bring upon them further condemnation. This is no king that is recognizable in our world today. This is no leader recognizable in our world today. Instead, we acquiesce to leadership that does not reflect biblical principles and does not recognize that how we lead reveals our theological commitments. We forget? pretend? that how we lead is demonstrative of who we think God is.  (http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4754)

In the mytho-poetic world, the archetype of a healthy king shows us what true order brings to a society. Not only does the king receive the divine blessing of the Lord - which are never private or personal character traits but sacred gifts - and then integrates them into his flesh. With practice, patience and prayer, the king then implements these holy gifts into society so that compassion and true justice ripen. The king brings stability to chaos, establishes limits to "out of control behaviors," encourages the pursuit of wisdom and the practice of sharing. All of this brings calm to a world that might otherwise be ruled by fear. 

Consider the grand story of Sir Galahad of King Arthur's court who must search for the chalice shared at the Last Supper but now lost to the king. This loss has pushed Arthur into illness, despair and confusion. Without his connection to the holy, chaos threatens the realm. So the young knight embarks upon a vision quest. The short version is that the puer, Galahad, must be tested and humbled until he either fails or accepts the path of true servanthood (shades of foot washing, yes?) Upon embracing a life in service of the sacred, Galahad not only secures the chalice, but restores health to King Arthur, setting in motion the renewal of creation. Think Aslan in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Or Robin Hood in relationship to King Richard the Lion-Hearted in that story cycle. (For a useful summary, please see "King, Warrior, Magician, Lover: Archetypes of the Mature Masculine @ http://www.masculinity-movies.com/articles/king-warrior-magician-lover)

My belief is the upside-down servant king of the Last Supper's foot washing is crucial if Western Christianity is going to become disentangled from its current idolatry. The servant Jesus is antithetical to most of what shapes contemporary evangelical Christianity in our era. That is one reason I refuse to give up the king. Men need healthy symbols, mentors and archetypes to help us reject both the whining bullies like the current inhabitant of the White House and the mean-spirited tyrant "strong men" of Russian, North Korea, etc. who rule by terror. Our faith tradition needs strong, wise and tender-hearted guides to teach our young men that the journey from selfish, innocent ignorance to compassionate leadership needs the training and time-tested wisdom of the king's ascent. And our religious language must learn to include strength in our poetry even as we search for balance and radical inclusivity. In the minority report which sneaks into view once again on Christ the King Sunday, we have part of the vision of what an authentic servant leader looks like. Let's not lose it.

credits:
1) Christ Enthroned @ https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christ_Enthroned.jpg
2) Kingship of Christ @ http://www.patrickcomerford.com/2009/11/kingship-of-christ-and-majesty-of.html
3) Sign of Jonah @ http://jyotiartashram.blogspot.com/2007/10/sign-of-jonas.html
4) Ethiopian icon
5) Ethiopian icon
6) Jesus of the Desert (Robert Lentz) @ https://www.trinitystores.com/artwork/christ-desert

we don't need no more trouble...

With a few clunker notes added to assure grounding and humility, last night's "Evening of Music, Poetry and Solidarity with Berkshire Interfaith Organizing" was a screaming delight. In these frightened, angry and polarized times, it is a rare event, indeed, for poets to join musicians from the realms of jazz, rock, folk, religious, pop, and Latino and create a seamless whole. In another era, long ago and far away, you might have heard such an eclectic mix on late night FM radio: who can recall the glory days of Scott Muni or Allison Steele, the Night Bird?  Sadly, in 2019 ours has become a highly segregated assortment of niche markets with hyper-defined tastes, cultures, attitudes, and habits.

Perhaps that is why I continue to "curate" these encounters: not only do they reclaim the dream of a Beloved community, they give us real time experience in what such a dream might feel like for our era. As is my want, before each show, I gather all the artists together in our faux "green room" for a few words of encouragement. Last night this was particularly important because there were so many new participants to the tribe: organizer/musicians from Guatemala, young evangelicals and old school Christians from the side line denominations, Catholics and Jews, poets of vastly different backgrounds, rockers, jazz cats, classically trained pros alongside young students, as well as precious old friends who have been joining me in these shows for twelve years. After we each told the others our names, I tried to put the night into context:

"In addition to raising some important funds, tonight is really all about creating a 'mystical politics.' That is, crafting safe space for us to open our hearts, share our gifts for the common good, and trust that together we are stronger than we are apart. It is about feeling how 'good it is when sisters and brothers come together in unity' as the old Psalmist sang. And enlisting others in the quest for tenderness in the real world. So, before we go on and do our thing, let's sing together a simple 'Alleluia."

The room we were standing in is devoid of furniture and appointments. It is a stairwell, actually, so the sound ascends. You could feel the openness taking place as we sang alleluia a capella - and for the last four measures the once disparate crowd became a choir and spontaneously broke into harmony. Pure grace. Deep beauty. As the chorus came to a close, we paused in silence before I said, "This is what Jacob confessed: Surely the Lord was in this place and I... I did not know." 

And it kept getting better from there. Who knew that Juan Pablo Morales, an organizer from the Bronx, would sing like a seasoned opera star? Who knew that each of the poets - Stan Spencer, Rose Oliver, Curtis Elfenbien, Dainne De Mott and Melissa Quirk Cairns - would tear our hearts open and heal them again with their tears and words? Who knew that the Gypsy Jazz Ambassadors would bring both the songs of Django Reinhart and "The Sound of Music" to the gig? Or that Ethan Wesley would tear it up on his solo during "Come Together." Or that Dave McDermott would channel the presence of John Lennon in his vocal AND George Harrison with his guitar? Or that my rewrite of an old Bob Marley song, "We Don't Need No More Trouble" would become transcendent as Eileen, Charlie and Andy added their magic to the band's excellent groove? Or that the harmonies would really come together? Or that our closer, "The Rising," would take on a layered and nuanced call to action beyond its original intent? 

The final count is not yet in, but were looking at $1,500+ for the sanctuary and immigrant initiative. For this, I am grateful. But of equal importance, I give thanks to God that the roughly 100 people helped create a place of tenderness in this world of sorrow and fear. Thank you First Church. Thank you BIO. Thank you Bill Yehele. Thank you Dream Center Worship Team. And a huge thank you to Rob Dumais, the maestro of the sound board, for your loving commitment to these projects.

an evening of music, poetry and solidarity: a prefigurative community of trust and tenderness

Tonight we will share a wildly eclectic evening of music, poetry and solidarity in what I have come to call a "prefigurative community of trust and tenderness." MLK spoke of this same encounter as "the Beloved community" while Jesus simply said, "the kingdom of God."

Outwardly, of course, tonight's event will be a benefit for the immigrant initiatives of BIO - Berkshire Interfaith Organizing - the regional social justice organization I helped found almost ten years ago. In the parlance of our public commitment, we say: "BIO acts towards justice by building relationships within our communities and across lines of difference, developing our leaders' skills in the public arena, and taking action on issues of common concern. The proceeds from tonight’s concert will support a sanctuary congregation in the Berkshires – a place of safety supported by the inter-faith community for those seeking a new and hope-filled life in a new land – an act of love and solidarity in the face of all the forces of hatred that wound us all." So this works - these are good and honest words - and they are all too limited.

For what will transpire tonight - and at other similar events - is soul work. For a few hours, beyond any conscious choice, people will practice laying down their fears long enough to harmonize with one another. Like the old spiritual, "Down by the Riverside," puts it: for a discrete moment in real time, we will rehearse "laying down our swords, shields, and burdens" so that we might taste and see what it feels like to "study war no more." In a quiet act of incarnation, we will open our hearts to trust. To vulnerability. To tenderness. Not ideologically. Not intellectually. And not denominationally. We will do it in song. Do it by clapping our hands. And by sitting next to strangers. 

What I am talking about is counter-intuitive politics that allows us to get out of our own way long enough to participate in the Spirit's deepest desire for each and all of us. The ancient Hebrew soul singer sang in Psalm 133: "How good and pleasant it is when sisters and brothers dwell in unity." For most of my life I have understood political, social, and spiritual change to be about compelling enough people to stand together in public long enough that we are able to push others into more just behavior. MLK cut to the chase when we said: “It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important.” This will never change: one form of social transformation requires organizing people to break down the barriers of organized money and privilege.

And... over the past 20+ years I have stumbled upon another way of assisting and supporting the work of organizing: the beloved community. Each of us must know in our flesh what healing our wounds feels like. Often we cannot imagine (let alone conceptualize) what we haven't experienced. This seems to be true both personally and socially. But when we have been touched inwardly by the reality of tenderness and trust - by the presence of the holy within our humanity - new possibilities can take shape and form outwardly. New songs can be sung. New heavens and new earths can be envisioned. And realized. I have long cherished this song from the ancient soul singer of Israel:

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth;

the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. 

But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating;

for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy...

no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it,

or the cry of distress. No more shall there be in it

an infant that lives but a few days,

or an old person who does not live out a lifetime;

for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth,

and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. 

They shall build houses and inhabit them;

they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. 

They shall not build and another inhabit;

they shall not plant and another eat;

for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be,

and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands. 

They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity;

for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord—

and their descendants as well. Before they call I will answer,

while they are yet speaking I will hear. 

The wolf and the lamb shall feed together,

the lion shall eat straw like the ox;

but the serpent—its food shall be dust!

They shall not hurt or destroy

on all my holy mountain,

says the Lord.

The first time I experienced such a blessing was in Washington, DC during the summer of 1968. Dr. King had been assassinated in April - Robert Kennedy in June - and my church youth group was traveling to centers of hope and justice. We had been to rural Pennsylvania, Appalachia, and now urban DC and Baltimore. Seated in the Potter's House, a coffee house ministry of the Church of the Savior, surrounded by artists, musicians, and poets who were singing and speaking about a new way of being, I shared what St. Paul described in I Corinthians 12:

I know a person in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows. And I know that such a person—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows— was caught up into Paradise...

At some point I descended - how long had I been gone - no clue! But during my ascent I felt a call to ministry as the holy said to me: YOU could help with this, too! That is, I could do my part with the arts to encourage open hearts and trust. After that summer, I have been blessed by various times of being lifted up into the beloved community: at Springsteen concerts, in Russian Orthodox worship, in a small Black church in rural Mississippi, at the birth of my children, with the L'Arche community of Ottawa. And creating music and poetry with the cadre of artists joining with me again tonight. Our goal - and prayer - is to create safe space for each and all of us to know what trust and solidarity feels like from the inside out. Psalm 34 gets it right: Taste... and see the goodness of God's mercy. Psalm 46 is equally evocative: Be still... and know. As are the words from the Revelation of St. John:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,“See, the home of God is among mortals. God will dwell with us; we will be God's peoples, and God will be with us, wiping away every tear from our yes. Death will be no more; nor
mourning and crying for pain will be no more as the first things have passed away.”

If you're in town, please join us.

An Evening of

Music, Poetry and Solidarity

First Church on Park Square

27 East Street, Pittsfield, MA

413.447.7351 - http://www.firstchurchpittsfield.org

Friday, November 22, 2019 - 7:00 pm

(Suggested donation is $12)

Andy Kelly – Charlie Tokarz -Linda Worster  

Jon Haddad - John Hamilton – Eileen Markland 

Juan Pablo Morales - James Lumsden - Jon Grenoble

Dianne De Mott, Brian Staubach, Dave McDermott 

Dream Center Worship Team -Berkshire County Poets