When the mandate of social distancing and self-isolation was handed down from on high, outwardly it had little impact upon the life Di and I live. We are secular monastics by disposition, living secluded lives of solitude, study, music, nature, good food, prayer and quiet conversations. That there is a bit of contextual vertigo going on right now for us would be a wild understatement. Everyday we find new occasions to weep for the world. And then we return to our quiet routines of study, teaching on-line, and writing before heading out to walk Lucie most days for a mile in shockingly empty neighborhood streets. We know in our minds and hearts that we - and every other nation - are living into war-time realities. And, given our disposition as contemplatives, our daily lives have not really changed.
It feels schizophrenic when I watch the evening news - which I do only once a day for no more than an hour - because so far nothing in our routine has been altered. We know this is not true for our family in Brooklyn. Or some of our neighbors. But as we ripen into week #2 of this war against an enemy with no face, besides stocking up on some dry goods and food, we live in quiet simplicity
as we grieve with you in our prayers. Some of the wisest among us have said that we may be living into a new era of social isolation even beyond the immediate crisis. This is already calling forth creative, long distance education, worship and entertainment. I read this morning of a friend's virtual "dinner party" that included setting a beautiful table, getting the lap top set with Zoom and feasting together in different places. It makes our early days of "face time" with the grandchildren look inadequate and even boring.
This morning, while I was working on my reflection for this Sunday's FB live streaming worship message, a friend in Canada messaged me that her nephew - a creative young musician - was hosting a sing-a-long, dance-a-long mini concert on Instagram. What a gas. Last night I checked-ion with Mary Chapin Carpenter who is sharing songs of beauty and depth from her kitchen. And then I came across this setting of Franke's "Thanksgiving Eve" that just knocked me out
I pray that as we become creative, honoring the suffering of others and uniting our hearts with sisters and brothers throughout the world, we do so in ways that will help us move closer to the Beloved Community we all ache to experience. Kitty O'Meara took up this challenged and penned a prose poem that has gone viral. There is nothing inevitable about this, and yet it could be so real, too.
And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested and exercised and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being – and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some even met their shadows: and the people began to think differently. And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless and heartless ways, the earth began to heal. And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully as they had been healed.
as we grieve with you in our prayers. Some of the wisest among us have said that we may be living into a new era of social isolation even beyond the immediate crisis. This is already calling forth creative, long distance education, worship and entertainment. I read this morning of a friend's virtual "dinner party" that included setting a beautiful table, getting the lap top set with Zoom and feasting together in different places. It makes our early days of "face time" with the grandchildren look inadequate and even boring.
This morning, while I was working on my reflection for this Sunday's FB live streaming worship message, a friend in Canada messaged me that her nephew - a creative young musician - was hosting a sing-a-long, dance-a-long mini concert on Instagram. What a gas. Last night I checked-ion with Mary Chapin Carpenter who is sharing songs of beauty and depth from her kitchen. And then I came across this setting of Franke's "Thanksgiving Eve" that just knocked me out
I pray that as we become creative, honoring the suffering of others and uniting our hearts with sisters and brothers throughout the world, we do so in ways that will help us move closer to the Beloved Community we all ache to experience. Kitty O'Meara took up this challenged and penned a prose poem that has gone viral. There is nothing inevitable about this, and yet it could be so real, too.
And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested and exercised and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being – and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some even met their shadows: and the people began to think differently. And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless and heartless ways, the earth began to heal. And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully as they had been healed.
Please stay in touch with me, ok? Sunday, at 10 am, I will be doing another live streaming reflection on my Facebook page - and will probably keep it up on my spiritual direction page in the future (https://northern james66.wixsite.com/website)
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