Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Saying yes and saying no...

I have a friend and colleague who recently said to me, "I just don't have the time or energy to
worry about people who make up their own issues. There are too many people I know and love who are hurting and sick and I can only do so much..." Let me add a hearty "AMEN!" to both that sentiment and reality: any thing else is a prescription for burn-out. And I know - I've been burned-out - or to paraphrase Arlo, "I been hung-up, brought down, inspected, dejected and rejected!"

That's one of the hard things for both clergy and dedicated congregation members to come to terms with but sooner or later we must own that the church is NOT about being nice. It is NOT about getting your own way. Yes, there is comfort to be claimed in the liturgy and community, and these blessings are God-given and human-centered. At the same time tissue-paper feelings and an over-abundance of entitlement are not the same thing as authentic human suffering. Compassion, you see, is about sharing bread with those who are wounded, being with another to ease their loneliness or simply listening without judgment or even a spoken response. It is about giving shape and substance to the face of Christ in the here and now. It is also about knowing how to say yes and no. 

In her book, Practicing Our Faith, Dorothy C. Bass includes a chapter on Christian asceticism - including learning how to use our energy, time and passions for the cause of Christ.  Life in a consumerist culture makes this practice complicated. We have grown accustomed to having everything we want - or mostly - whenever we want it. "But having said yes to the acquisition of so many material things, we are unable to say yes to the demands of the spirit. Slowly, perhaps even bitterly, we come to realize that we do not own our possessions, they own us...To say yes and no means taking on responsibilities and obligations. Saying yes and saying no are companions in the process of constituting a whole and holy life." (p. 65) The text goes on to quote T.S. Eliot:


The endless cycle of ideas and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.  
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But dearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information? 


Being a companion for the journey involves our time, our mind, our heart and soul but it is one hundred and eighty degrees from being used, abused, taken for granted or becoming an unwilling substitute target for an other's inner demons or boredom. Young clergy often feel they must be available 110% of the time. Older, more seasoned clergy, are often shamed when they practice saying yes and saying no. In my early days in Cleveland, a spiritual director once asked me about a few old people who regularly complained that I didn't visit them often enough: "What are they doing to solve their own boredom?" When I confessed my ignorance, he went on to say, "Look, I served parishes for over 40 years and here's the skinny: you could visit them every day for an hour and as soon as you left they would be bored and lonely. Your presence - or not - in their lives is not YOUR problem. It is their problem!" This wasn't cruel or harsh. It was saying yes and saying no.

I faced something similar in Arizona when a beloved woman complained that I didn't leave enough time in worship for her to be in quiet prayer. I asked, "Do you spend any time during the week in introspection or contemplation?"  Bewilderment first passed over her face and then frustration, "No," she said bluntly, "I am too busy. That's why I come to church." I sat with that for a moment before responding, "Well, one hour of public worship can never satisfy your need for quiet time. How about nourishing that before complaining about how I organize Sunday morning?" She looked insulted - and rarely came back to worship after that. Which, I suppose, was a good thing because at least for 60 minutes she had the solitude she said meant so much to her soul.

Over the past six months I have become a huge fan of Barbara Brown Taylor. Right now I am slowly reading through An Altar in the World. In the introduction she notes that at this point in her life - middle age - "there is no spiritual treasure to be found apart from the bodily experiences of human life on earth... What is saving my life right now is become more fully human, trusting that there is no way to God apart from real life in the real world." That rings true to me and I am slowly living into this wisdom, too. She goes on to note that if you are truly going to be a companion with another on life's journey - if you are going to share compassion and bread - you must have the ability to honestly pay attention - and that takes time.

Most of us move so quickly that our surrounding become no more than the blurred scenery we fly past on our way to somewhere else. We pay attention to the speedometer, the wristwatch, the cell phone, the list of things to do, all of which feed our illusion that life is manageable... (but) reverence requires a certain pace. It requires a willingness to take detours, even side trip, which are not part of the original plan.

Once upon a time, I was full to overflowing with energy and enthusiasm. These days I get tired.
Sometimes my back hurts. Or my head throbs. Often my heart breaks. And periodically I need a nap. Every day I have to practice saying yes and saying no. I just don't have the energy or ability to try to do it all. Today, for instance, I had the opportunity to be with a few people who needed a companion and a prayer. They needed a loving embrace and someone to listen and take them seriously. I also had the chance to sing with our choir. This not only helps the musicality of our Sunday worship, it gives me the chance to be with 15 people who would not ordinarily cross my path in a week. It helps me share my time in a way that feeds my soul, too. 

Those who are not introverts don't get that about their minister: in any day or week there is just so much energy to go around. To make a judgment call about how I can stand and deliver is a matter of faithful stewardship on my part. Most of the time there is precious little time or inclination to schmooze. As another spiritual director said: "Vanity visits are not high on any one's list of priorities if you take ministry seriously." There is a place for being present in the quiet times, potlucks or fellowship hours. And there is a time when being fully present in the hospital - or for a late night beer or on the phone - takes precedence. It really is a matter of practicing saying yes and saying no.

The Hebrew Bible records this challenge:  I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live. (Deuteronomy 30: 19) Tonight I give thanks for the chance to share love and prayers with people who needed a reminder that they are loved by the Lord. Tomorrow I get to celebrate Eucharist midday and then prepare for Sunday worship. Lord, help me choose life.

Monday, November 16, 2015

the subversive nature of christ the king sunday...

So, the Advent/Christmas Eve liturgies are done, the press releases for our Sunday concert
have been updated and an emerging albeit humble youth ministry calendar is starting to take shape. This Sunday we will bring the church year to a close with Christ the King Sunday. Now I've been challenged by both the name of this feast day as well as the traditional theology and imagery of Christus Victor. Not the power of God's love conquering fear and death, but rather the notion that Christ now sits as eternal judge over heaven and earth. That just doesn't ring true with the testimony of faith.

First the name: Americans don't know what to do with the title of king. Our political history neither embraces that realm nor does our psychological imagination grasp the deeper wisdom of the archetype.To add insult to injury, Christ as King underscores the unquestionably masculine limitations of our language as well as its legacy of discrimination and oppression. This dilemma has given birth to such anemic substitutions as the "kindom of God" or "the dominion of Christ." Try as I might, these alternatives leave me cold. They fail to grasp the theological irony of Christ's kingdom with weak poetry and forced but incomplete analogies.

So, I've bitten the bullet and tried to own the word king in all of its mythopoetic grandeur. Both Douglas Gillette and Robert L. Moore have done some insightful work into this realm. Starting with their neo-Jungian book - King, Warrior, Magician, Lover in 1990 - they have helped reclaim the maturation process for contemporary men rather than honoring our culture's obsession with youth and immaturity. To integrate the psychological and spiritual wisdom of aging and experience is a journey of a lifetime.  But without it, the shadow of the king - the tyrant - rules within and without.

In the psyche of the man, the King archetype is the central archetype, around which the rest of the psyche is organized. If the King energy in us is weak, our psyche falls in disarray, and chaos threatens our lands. The man who is constantly overwhelmed by life - who can't seem to find harmony or order - must develop the King energy, often in conjunction with Warrior energy to protect his borders.

The two main functions of the King are:

1.   Live according to the Tao, the Dharma, the Word, and the lands will flourish

2.   Bring fertility and blessing. The King is the masculine equivalent of the Great Mother, and he is wed to the lands. The king's vitality and sexuality directly reflect on his kingdom.


For me, these are some of liberating ways I make sense of the word king. The theology of Christus Victor has been equally challenging. It flows more from Roman hierarchy and a control model than the witness of Jesus in Scripture. And that may be its deeper beauty: this is a king who has become the servant of all. It is the upside down kingdom where we move towards God by going down rather than up. It is about acceptance, not power - joy rather than control - compassion instead of conquest. As I have started to prepare for Sunday I have been drawn once again to St. John's story of how Jesus washes the feet of his friends:  do this for one another for this is my new commandment - that you love one another as I have loved you - a very different type of king, yes?

And that's why I want to use the word king: to challenge and subvert its limited and oppressive definitions with the better way of foolish love, compassion and servant hood.   Barbara Brown Taylor has written that the only way  we truly learn new insights about God is when they touch our flesh. We grow in wisdom when we DO the will of this upside down king. Then the Word becomes flesh indeed full of truth and grace. 

credit:

Sunday, November 15, 2015

good bye thanksgiving eve and hello missa gaia...

It is incomprehensible that our annual fall concert will be upon us NEXT Sunday:  November 22 @ 3 pm. Ever since I saw Pete Seeger and Arlo Guthrie do their show at Carnegie Hall after Thanksgiving I have been hosting a "Thanksgiving Eve" music gig at whatever church I happened to be serving. We've done them in Saginaw, MI - Cleveland, OH - Tucson, AZ - and Pittsfield, MA. They have ALL been a gas and I have cherished the connections I was able to make with various musicians in each of those sweet communities.
Last year, we got snowed out. And I mean totally snowed out.  It broke my heart and made the whole Thanksgiving experience feel a bit empty. I was blue for three days running. And, at the same time, the snow and cancellation was liberating:  no more stress and hassle right before Thanksgiving Day. We postponed the gig, rescheduled for late in January and had a ball doing it. A number of people throughout the community were sad that it couldn't come to pass, but they turned out for the new date and enjoyed the whole scene.

So, this year, as a part of our sabbatical planning we decided:  1) NOT to do a Thanksgiving Eve show (I think the time has come to bury that dear friend); but 2) to host a performance of Paul Winter's "Missa Gaia" instead. We have a few wonderful musical guests opening this show - Hal Lefferts and Linda Worster - and a 20 person choir singing. What's more, some of my favorite instrumentalists get to play this concert, too (including: Charlie Tokarz, Carlton Maaia II, Jeff Hunt, Tyler Story, Rider Stanton, Andy Kelly and Win Ridabock.) And all for the benefit of BEAT (Berkshire Environmental Action Team.)
We will do two other shows during this program year:  a rock and soul gig in January to support the drive for emergency fuel assistance in the Berkshires and a Good Friday take on Coltrane's "A Love Supreme" in honor of God's grace and the 50th anniversary of that masterpiece.

In the wake of the recent "daesh" terrorist attacks in Beirut and Paris, I am reminded again of Leonard Bernstein's comment about why the music must continue: I hope that you will join us if you are in town. The music is stunning, the commitment of all the singers and instrumentalists is astounding and the whole gig will be a blast.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

not my sister, not my brother but it is me, O Lord...

So many of us in the United States live such insular lives - myself included. In my small, quiet neck of the woods, it is relatively easy to remain aloof from the wounds of war, terrorism, violence, race hatred, sexual exploitation and misery. Add to this that I am an older, middle class, straight white guy with way too much education and the security of my isolation becomes a documentable fact. The accident of my birth, race and gender allows me the choice of hiding away from the ugly suffering of reality so that I might remain mostly at peace.

That's what some people think contemplative prayer is - hiding away from reality in aloof privilege - gazing at something selfish rather than sharing in solidarity the brokenness all around us. Bullshit. Contemplation is one of the only ways to engage the world's problems without making them worse. Thomas Merton is wise when he writes:

Prayers and sacrifice must be used as the most effective spiritual weapons in the war against war, and like all weapons they must be used with deliberate aim: not just with a vague aspiration for peace and security, but against violence and against war. This implies that we are also willing to sacrifice and restrain our own instinct for violence and aggressiveness in our relations with other people. We may never succeed in this campaign, but whether we succeed or not, the duty is evident. It is the great Christian task of our time. Everything else is secondary, for the survival of the human race itself depends upon it. We must at least face this responsibility and do something about it. And the first job of all is to understand the psychological forces at work in ourselves and in society

In other words, the true contemplative has learned three heart-breaking and humble truths:

+ Whatever happens "out there" is first born "in here." In our hearts - in our souls - in our minds and habits. Those who are unable or unwilling to sit in this sobering silence too often rush to judgment and then scramble into action. More often not, like President Bush after September 11th, they make things worse not better. Contemplatives accept the tragedy and brokenness of the world within them as the first step towards peace-making. . 

+ Only as we sit and own our sins and wounds will God's loving grace and presence heal us from the inside out. We cannot make peace all by ourselves. Just look at how we live our lives all by ourselves: they are a mess. Like the alcoholic, we can't fix the mess by doing what we've always done. We need a love greater than ourselves. A grace stronger than shame, fear and hatred. And once we taste that blessing, once we know God's love to be true, then we can move towards acts of compassion and justice albeit filled with fear and trembling.

+ A true contemplative, however, not only asks for wisdom and healing for the sins within, but also asks for a broken heart. "Create in me a clean heart, O Lord," the Psalmist prays, so that I might feel the reality of those who suffer. So that I might ask, "What more can I do to bring a little mercy into this anguish?" Creative introspective prayer and silence is how we grasp a little bit of light that can be shared in hope.

Merton continues:

It is true, political problems are not solved by love and mercy. But the world of politics is not the only world, and unless political decisions rest on a foundation of something better and higher than politics, they can never do any real good for men (sic.) When a country has to be rebuilt after war, the passions and energies of war are no longer enough. There must be a new force, the power of love, the power of understanding and human compassion, the strength of selflessness and cooperation, and the creative dynamism of the will to live and to build, and the will to forgive. The will for reconciliation.

I know that, once again, my heart was broken watching the news about Paris. Given my profound affection for Montreal, I feel an unspoken affinity with that great city. I am not ashamed to say that I quickly added this symbol to my Facebook as a small sign of solidarity.
But all day long my prayer has been pushing me to wrestle with the magnitude of my own isolation and privilege. That's what contemplation does: it demands that you become connected to the sorrow of creation. One of my spiritual directors said: We are called to take a long, loving look at the world. As I did today, I found myself drawn to these words that offer the larger, more authentic and truly sacred perspective.

Mother Teresa used to say that the only way for us to feel true compassion is for our hearts to be broken. Apparently, they must be broken over and over again. I don't blame God. I don't blame Islam. Or immigrants or Republicans or Democrats or Christians or Jews. Rather, like the old Baptist hymn tells us:  It's not my sister, not my brother but it's... me O Lord standin' in the need of prayer. 

Quiet, creative, introspective silence is the only place that I might hear the still, small voice of God calling me into solidarity in the midst of all the suffering. (Check this out for the way other people of contemplative traditions across the world are reaching out to one another:  http://www.alternet.org/media/muslims-around-world-are-condemning-paris-attacks

Friday, November 13, 2015

loving me some Sly...

I love me some Sly and the Family Stone! Period. No qualifications offered and no apologies accepted: He was a freakin' genius. And when the Family Stone played together for all too short a time, they changed my world. The new Jeff Buckley album, You and I, features a cover of "Everyday People" and it might spark a renewal of interest in the master. 

But the real break through is the new album recorded live at the Fillmore: Buckley reworks this song with insight and grace - he, too, is a master - but when it comes to kick ass funk, bold genre bending all within the context of challenging the confines of cultural, racial, artistic and political limitations, ain't NOBODY got a thing on Sly Stone.  Apparently the man made a guest appearance last night in Tampa, FLA - and brought the house down again. He's battled more than his share of demons from anger, dope, wicked managers and broken hearts and STILL can sing "Thankyouforlettingmebe-micelfagain" with conviction and groove. In his time, he married the sounds of James Brown and Bob Dylan with MLK, the Grateful Dead and Miles Davis - and brought it center stage, too. For a few years, his songs filled the air waves with smiles and hope. Damn, but I love this man!

If you can remember back to the first time you heard "Dance to the Music" in 1968 you will know that there was NOTHING like it anywhere in America at that time. I still make a point of listening to that song every few weeks just because I need a shot of the good thing!  They were - and are - black and white, female and male, jazz and rock and everything all mixed together in groove that never loses the heart but always creates something new, too.

My favorite, however, remains "Everyday People." It is theologically rock solid, a song filled with a message of racial harmony, humility and humor that is built upon a riff of restrained funk and gospel harmonies.  When we were back in Arizona, "Everyday People" became one of our theme songs. We had women and men singing the various tag lines - everyone singing the chorus in intricate harmonies - and playing it to open the first showdown for marriage equality to a gay/straight/trans audience. It works in church, in bars, on the street and in our hearts because it is honest and sweet.
I could keep gushing about this band - and its leader - but let me just say that when Prince made the scene a decade later, I heard the Purple Master mixing Sly with Joni Mitchell and George Clinton - with a ton of James Brown, Jimi Hendrex and Stevie Wonder in the mix, too - in what became a living homage. If you are ever feeling down, if you are ever feeling discouraged or blue, if you ever think there is nobody who "gets" you: then RUN, don't walk or daddle, and put on "Thankyou...." It will make you shake your booty and get out of your own way long enough to sense the miracle within and all around you. 

Sly has been called the "J.D. Salinger" of funk, but this cat can still cut it. I saw him twice in Central Park - back to back two nights in a row when he closed a show opened by The Eagles - and it was transcendent. Loved him then and love him now.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

solitude and community...

"... a life in solitude is a life in faith. By leaving behind from time to time our many self-affirming actions and becoming 'useless' in the presence of God, we transcend our inner fears and apprehensions and affirm our God as the one in whose love we find our strength and security."
                                                                                            Henri Nouwen, Solitude and Community

Two of the things I have never quite figured out about church people in all the years I have
served congregations are: 1) why we are so afraid of silence, solitude and contemplative prayer; and 2) why so many of us love ideas but are terrified of our bodies. No joke! Not only are countless people terrified of quiet time - even while we carp about being too busy and frazzled - but another whole gaggle of souls are bewildered about discovering God in our own flesh.

Barbara Brown Taylor puts it like this in her brilliant, An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith:

Deep suffering makes theologians of us all. The questions people ask about God in Sunday school rarely compare with the questions we ask while we are in the hospital. This goes for those stuck in the waiting room as well as those in actual beds. To love someone who is suffering is to learn the visceral definition of pathetic: affecting or exciting emotion, especially the tender emotions, as pity or sorrow... To spend one night in real pain (or I might add to share a night of real pain with a beloved person) is to discover depths of reality that are roped off while everything is going fine.

She goes on to note that there is a wisdom to be learned from our pain as well as our pleasure:

Who deserves the way a warm bath feels on a cold night after a hard day's work? Who has earned the smell of a loved one, embracing you on your first night back home? To hold a sleeping child in your arms can teach you more about the meaning of life than any ten books on the subject. To lie in the yard at night looking up at the stars can grant you entrance into divine mysteries that elude you inside the house.

I think one of the reasons I seek out the company of those beyond the community of faith is that they are not as addicted to these two fears as we are who make a home in church. Don't get me wrong, there are other addictions present in the lives of those who live beyond our congregations that are just as debilitating -  and sometimes significantly worse. But for a faith tradition predicated upon the Word made Flesh - the Incarnation - these two are troubling.


I suspect that one reason we shun silence has something to do with the unstructured wisdom that can bubble to the surface in these unguarded moments. If we aren't filling ourselves with noise and activity, we might actually hear what's really going on in our hearts. Or find out that there is more fear and emptiness inside us than we want to know. Or that we haven't really explored  the questions of an adult faith since we were fourteen. Taylor offers another hunch when she reflects on her initial resistance to walking the labyrinth:

The labyrinth may be a set path, but it does not offer a set experience. Instead, it offers a door that anyone may go through, to discover realities that meet each person where each most needs to be met. I suppose this is frustrating to people who want spiritual practices to work the same way a treadmill does...My treadmill is no respecter of person. It delivers reliable results to anyone who uses it on a regular basis. It makes promises it can keep, at least to those who use it the way they are supposed to. Spiritual practices are not like this. The only promise they make is to teach those who engage in them what those practitioners need to know - about being human, about being human with other people, about being human in creation, about being human before God.

In other words, being opened to a holy wisdom within our humanity has to do with a truth we cannot control. Rarely are most of us interested in being asked by the sacred:  "Can these dry bones live?" Ezekiel said with absolute humility, "Only Thou knowest, Lord." To which the Lord said, "Then prophesy to these bones..." And part of the story that I have come to celebrate is that as the prophet obeys, a new spiritual wisdom is enfleshed in once broken and even dead bodies. And so I find that in these days, weeks and months after sabbatical, I keep insisting that we keep practicing, experimenting and trying out new/old ways of making silence and solitude real both within the Body of Christ - community - as well as in our own personal bodies. Nouwen writes - and I have rediscovered - that:

In solitude we realize that nothing human is alien to us, that the roots of all conflict, war, injustice, cruelty, hatred, jealousy and envy are deeply anchored in our own heart. In solitude our heart of stone can be turned into a heart of flesh, a rebellious heart into a contrite heart and a closed heart into a heart that can open itself to all suffering people in a gesture of solidarity.

In solitude and silence, you see, we learn to be compassionate and honest with ourselves. And when we sense that God embraces and cherishes us just as we are - and aches for us to become more fully whole and holy - then we are empowered to share this compassion with others. "Solitude and community belong together... without community, solitude leads to loneliness and despair, but community without solitude hurls us into Bonhoeffer's 'void of words and feelings." Our fears - our resistance to both quiet and embodied truth - is a sign of how disconnected so many of us have become from the source of all creation.  Richard Rohr linked this to the ever-changing insights of physics:

Just as different ways of interpreting scripture and various types of truth (e.g., literal vs. mythic) are valuable for different purposes, so scientific theories have different applications while seeming to be paradoxical and irreconcilable. For example, we have the Newtonian theory of gravity, Einstein's theory of relativity, and quantum theory. Physicists know that each of them is true, yet they don't fit together and each is limited and partial. Newtonian mechanics can't model or predict the behavior of massive or quickly moving objects. Relativity does this well, but doesn't apply to very, very small things. Quantum mechanics succeeds on the micro level. But we don't yet have an adequate theory for understanding very small, very energetic, very massive phenomenon, such as black holes. Scientists are still in search of a unified theory of the universe.

Perhaps the term "quantum entanglement" names something that we have long intuited, but science has only recently observed. Here is the principle in layperson's terms: in the world of quantum physics, it appears that one particle of any entangled pair "knows" what is happening to another paired particle--even though there is no known means for such information to be communicated between the particles, which are separated by sometimes very large distances. Could this be what is happening when we "pray" for somebody?

Scientists don't know how far this phenomenon applies beyond very rare particles, but quantum entanglement hints at a universe where everything is in relationship, in communion, and also where that communion can be resisted ("sin"). Both negative and positive entanglement in the universe matter, maybe even ultimately matter. Prayer, intercession, healing, love and hate, heaven and hell, all make sense on a whole new level. Almost all religions have long pointed to this entanglement. In Paul's letter to the Romans (14:7) he says quite clearly "the life and death of each of us has its influence on others." The Apostles' Creed states that we believe in "the communion of saints." There is apparently a positive inner connectedness that we can draw upon if we wish.

When I take time for returning and rest, I sense my connection to others and my deepest self. The more I practice solitude and silence, the more love I have for the community. But you can't force this gift on anyone. All you can do is invite. Like Jesus says, "Come unto me all ye who are tired and burdened and I shall give you... rest."

credits:

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

why we are sharing Missa Gaia in our community...

Reflections on Missa Gaia:  First Church in Mission

In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.
Isaiah 30: 15

Introduction
In three weeks - Sunday, November 22, 2015 @ 3 pm - we will present the Berkshire premiere of Paul Winter's "Missa Gaia/Earth Mass in Honor of Mother Nature" at First Church of Christ on Park Square. This contemporary composition was commissioned in 1981 by the Dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City, The Reverend James Parks Morton, after the Paul Winter Consort had become artists-in-residence. The goal was to create a 20th century setting for the Mass that honored the “whole Earth as a sacred place.” (Paul Winter, Missa Gaia liner notes)

The title, Missa Gaia, fuses Latin (Missa – Mass) with Greek (Gaia – Mother Earth) to evoke a holistic song of the spirit. Incorporating ancient liturgical texts with the melodies and dynamic rhythms of Africa, Brazil and American gospel music, Missa Gaia also treats the songs of the tundra wolf and humpback whale as equal in beauty and integrity to traditional sacred choral song. It is an authentic environmental liturgy that bends genres with creativity and compassion.

The opening of the Missa unites a prayer attributed to St. Francis – “Brother Sun, Sister Moon” – with a text from the Hebrew Bible’s book of Job as well as Plainsong from the 13th century. The “Kyrie” – one of the oldest Greek prayers in Christianity meaning, “Lord, have mercy” – uses the natural chant of an Alaskan Tundra wolf to form the foundation of a choral cry for forgiveness. The “Beatitudes” infuses the Sermon on the Mount with syncopation and improvisation. The Latin “Sanctus and Benedictus” – the Eucharistic songs of thanksgiving and gratitude – take their cue from the music of the humpback whale; while the “Agnus Dei” – Lamb of God – evokes the prayers of nature alongside our own ancient liturgical prayers. The composition concludes with “The Blue Green Hills of Earth” – a vision of Mother Earth as seen from a space craft – and “Let Us Depart in Peace” – a reprise of the opening call to praise as our invitation to go forward and treat all of creation with sacred reverence. It is simultaneously a work of art, a call to action and an act of prayer.

The Missa Gaia is an original, compelling, challenging and unique musical offering that includes soloists and choir, jazz instrumentalists as well as organ, piano and percussion. Our Berkshire premier will also include dancers, guest performers as well as a reception following the performance.  We are hosting the Missa in support of BEAT (Berkshire Environmental Action Team) and will take a free will offering to strengthen their work in our community.

Reflections
In addition to the sheer beauty of this composition, however, there are other reasons why we are putting in the time, resources and talent to present Missa Gaia.

·         First, we believe in the work of BEAT.  Eight years ago, our faith community made a decision to focus our often diverse interests into four broad areas:  eco-justice, peace-making, food security and local justice organizing work. This shift allowed us to invest time and resources, talent and treasure, into partnerships with local mission activists already doing good work in our community rather than trying to re-invent the wheel.

Cooperation and servanthood is always at the heart of the Cross where our horizontal human connections embrace our vertical yearnings for the holy so that "heaven and earth embrace, compassion and justice kiss." (Psalm 85)

Over time a deeper truth was revealed beyond our initial inspiration for greater efficiency: we began to see the eternal pattern of Christ made flesh among us through working in solidarity with our mission partners. Wendell Berry put it like this, "I take literally the statement in the Gospel of John that God loves the world. I believe that the world was created and approved by love that it subsists, coheres, and endures by love, and that, insofar as it is redeemable, it can be redeemed only by love. I believe that divine love, incarnate and indwelling in the world, summons the world always toward wholeness, which ultimately is reconciliation and atonement [at-one-ment] with God." There is a love deeper than our imagination at work in the world that binds us together in unity. It includes not only human beings, but animals, the elements and the entire cosmos. Fr. Richard Rohr recently observed that since the beginning of time, God has been calling us to live as one:

The Greek word used for Word in John's prologue is Logos. Philosophy has often defined Logos as the rational principle that governs and develops the universe. Christian theology would say it is the Divine reason, logic, or plan that was revealed in the life course of Jesus. The early sermons in Acts tried to "demonstrate that Jesus was the [Eternal] Christ" (2:36, 9:22) and therefore the deepest pattern for everything that preceded and followed him…  I like to use the word blueprint to make the point here. Every time you read "the Word" in John's prologue, just substitute the word "blueprint," and it all makes much more sense to the contemporary mind… Christ is the Archetype and we are the Type… As the Book of Revelation puts it, the Christ is "the Alpha and the Omega" of all history and of all creation (1:8, 21:6,22:13). With this perspective, Christianity need not compete with other religions; rather, authentic Christians can see and respect the Christ Mystery wherever and however it is trying to reveal itself – which is all the time and everywhere, and not just in my group. This is far beyond tribal religion; in fact, it makes all tribalism impossible. 

In collaboration, we have come to celebrate that we are in this world  together. The greater our alliances with those beyond the ghetto that has become  the Church, the stronger our social order becomes and the common good is fortified.

·         Second, we made a commitment to the wider community to share the work of our common sabbatical - the congregation's and the minister’s - during this first year A.S. (after sabbatical.) In our grant application, we were clear that not only did we want a season of sabbatical rest for ourselves - clergy and congregation - but we wanted to share the wealth of God's blessings with our wider community, too. Consequently, we built into our funding request resources for some benefit concerts that would integrate jazz and reunite the arts with social transformation and prayer.

In a deep way we have come to realize that it would be antithetical to the heart of Christ to want to keep everything to ourselves.  As we sometimes proclaim in our opening Eucharistic Prayer:  "We bless you, O God, for the beauty and bounty of the earth and for the vision of the day when sharing by all will mean scarcity for none." Indeed, we have a long history of using our gifts to enrich the well-being of our wider community. During our 250th anniversary, it was pointed out that in addition to our first pastor's involvement in the Revolutionary War (at the battle of Bennington), our congregation also advocated and helped create the region's first hospital - and hospice – as well as our region’s first counseling center, too. We were founding members of Habitat for Humanity and on the ground floor of organizing both the CROP Walk to Fight Hunger as well as BIO (Berkshire Interfaith Organizing.) 

This concert (and others to follow) is part of our sabbatical commitment. It gives shape and form to the counter-cultural notion that "beauty can save the world" as we use our unique gifts and talents to care for one another. And it utilizes the experiences and insights discerned over the summer by both clergy and congregation. Specifically, the Missa Gaia concert integrates our Sunday morning choir with a variety of musicians from the wider region under the leadership of Carlton Maaia II.  Carlton played a pivotal role in shepherding the congregational events during the sabbatical. The Missa honors and celebrates his skill, spiritual wisdom and commitment to the nurture of both First Church and wider Pittsfield.  Like the music of Paul Winter’s composition, this event blends some of the old with some of the new to create something unique in support of our ministries.

·         Third, this is a kairos moment when more and more of the Western world is realizing a powerful shift in both our understanding and locus of the Sacred. In Christian theology there are at least two notions of time - chronos and kairos - and both have their place. Chronos time is, as you might guess, chronological time. It is linear, rational, sequential and the way most of us think about time most of the time. Kairos time, however, is sacred time - time that awakens us to our deepest loving potential - where the very purpose of creation is revealed and realized – it is an opportune time for tenderness, compassion and justice to become flesh.

Pope Francis spoke of this moment in Laudato Si – the Papal encyclical on environmental justice that means “Praise be to you, O Lord” – which calls for a new way of living based on new truths.  Church historian Diana Butler Bass addresses this shift in her best-selling book, Grounded: Finding God in the World. “People still believe,” she observes, “but they believe differently than they once did. The theological ground is moving: a spiritual revolution is afoot. And there is a gap between that revolution and the institutions of religious faith.” (Bass, Grounded) Richard Rohr explained this gap with penetrating clarity:

We're living in a truly amazing time. The ever broader shape of the cosmos is becoming an ever broader shape for theology itself. Our sun is nothing more than a minor star in one small part of a single galaxy. We used to believe our universe was static, but it is still expanding outward. When I was growing up, the common perception was that science and religion were definitely at odds. Now that we are coming to understand the magnificent nature of the cosmos, we're finding that many of the intuitions of the mystics of all religions are being paralleled by scientific theories and explanations. If truth is one (which it has to somehow be, if it is truth), then all disciplines are just approaching that truth from different angles and levels and questions...

In fact, our whole plan of salvation was largely about getting away from this earth! Today, we know that the universe is old, large, dynamic, and interconnected. It is about 13.8 billion years old, and some scientists think it could still exist for 100 trillion years. The universe has been expanding since its birth. Our home planet, Earth, far from being the center of the universe, revolves around the Sun, a medium sized star in a medium sized galaxy, the Milky Way, which contains about 200 billion stars. The Milky Way is about 100,000 light years in diameter. Furthermore, it is one of 100 billion galaxies in the universe. We do not appear to be the center of anything. And yet our faith tells us that we still are. This cosmic shock is still trying to sink into our psyches.

In 2015 more and more of us know that we are one people - one earth - one love. Our hearts have become more inclusive.  And the more we fortify these compassion connections, the more faithfully we live into this unique and sacred moment in history.

Conclusion
We are offering Missa Gaia, therefore, as an act of praise, as partial payment in beauty to our community for our shared sabbatical blessings, as an act of solidarity with our friends and allies in the eco-justice movement and as a time for collective rest and renewal. If we learned nothing else during our sabbatical it was this:  nothing of value can be accomplished if we are exhausted.

Composer and artist Paul Winter offers a closing insight that rings true among us, too:

There is a Gaia hypothesis articulated by scientists James Lovelock and Lynn Margulis who propose that the entire range of living matter on Earth, from a whales to viruses, from oaks to algae, could be regarded as constituting a single living entity, capable of manipulating the Earth’s atmosphere to suit its overall needs and endowed with faculties and power far beyond its constituent parts. If this hypothesis is about synergy, then the creation of Missa Gaia – and its performance – is truly a manifestation of Gaia. For what developed is an interweaving of creative ideas… where no one of us knew all the threads which we would weave into the Earth Mass, but together we found that we did know.

The ancient wisdom of the prophet Isaiah spoke poetically to our current condition 500 years before Christ was born: In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.  This is why we gratefully offer the Missa Gaia/Earth Mass.


James Lumsden
All Souls Day 2015


an appreciation of an artist: dianne de mott

For a number of months I have wanted to showcase the photographic artistry of Dianne. Over the years I have watched her mature and focus her creativity from an interesting hobby into more of an intentional calling.  This summer, while I was playing jazz bass and reading theology, she was honing her craft through practice, study and experimentation. My sense is that she has found a way to both express her own intuitive spirituality of discovering the sacred within the ordinary in her photographs while inviting others to see beyond the obvious, too. There is always something deeper and more beautiful  going on than we first imagined.

Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat have written that photography nourishes our capacity for vision: it draws out our ability to see and exercises our capacity to see deeply.  Quoting Henry Miller they observe that: "The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes mysterious, awesome, an indescribably magnificent world unto itself." Photography brings together the sensual with the visual, the quotidian with the transcendent and helps us "transcend the boundaries between self and the otherness of the world, momentarily... merging diversity with the underlying unity of life." (http://www.spiritualityandpractice .com/arts/ photography-features/view/27926/the-spiritual-gifts-of-photography)

I asked Di for her favorite seven photographs - and she sent me eight! Always pushing the edge, yes? They are arranged chronologically with a title and suggested date beneath each image. 

Cornstalk Graveyard (1970s)

Iona Rain (2005)

The Beauty of Love (2006)

Changed Priorities (2007)

Sparrow in the Sun (2015)

Skater (2015)

Unadulterated Joy (2015)

Lot's Wife (2015)

As is my want to do, I discern three things about all of these photographs:

+ First, they are all understated. The most bold - and sensual - is the street skater from Montreal taken at a street festival on Mont Royal not far from our summer home. But even this photo evokes finding the beauty in the most ordinary setting; in this case, an unexpected ballet on roller blades.In my spirituality, her works are all about "the Word becoming flesh" and the mystery of grace being revealed to those with eyes to see.

+ Second, each photograph tells a quiet story infused with love. There are no abstract lines, no pulsating colors and no ambiguity about these images. The barren beauty of a field of cornstalks (taken on her first "real" camera) draws attention to the world of her childhood. The "Beauty of Love" shows Jesse walking in Saguaro National Park with our old dog Casey. "Iona Rain" captures being saturated during our pilgrimage to that sacred place in Scotland. These are not contrived pictures designed to be "art." They are not "fashion" shots either. Instead they spring from the truth of her life - her loves, hopes and joy - much like St. Paul who wrote: "Now we see as through a glass darkly but then we shall see face to face.... these three things abide - faith, hope and love - and the greatest of them is love."

+ And third there is a growing sophistication to her technique that enhances rather than distracts from the heart of each story.  Di is not big into photo-manipulation. In this her pictures are an honest reflection of a woman who lives mostly unadorned in simple beauty. To be sure, each photograph has been "rendered." That is, she spends hours looking at each picture, experimenting with different ways to present the essence of its story and subtlety tweaking parts to highlight hidden nuances. But with the exception of "Lot's Wife" - a picture crying out for the grainy addition - these photos are fundamentally natural. My mind goes to the opening verses of Scripture:  "In the beginning God created... and saw that it was good."

Just as I have found a way into deeper reflection and awareness of the sacred through music, so has this happened for Di through her photography. I can't wait to see what takes place over the next ten years.








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