We returned late last night from what turned out to be a lovely WORKING time away in Tucson. The sun was incredible and totally renewing - my experience with dear friends at the wedding (and at other get togethers) was sweet and satisfying - and my encounter with our still speaking God was fascinating. And I think THAT is what hit me most profoundly about this time away: the confirmation in SPADES that our calling to the Berkshires is not only right and important for us and the congregatipm but also the unusual way this was reinforced.
First, let me simply state: I LOVETucson. I love the mountains, I love the desert, I love the blending of cultures, I love the Mexican food, I love the laid back nature of the the border culture, I love the Chicago Bar and I love our friends in the church. AND it is no longer home for either Dianne or myself. To be honest, I was often surprised at how this insight came back to me over and over again during our six days away (really only 4 given two full days of travel.) To be sure, right after Palm Sunday last year I understood my ministry to be shifting here - growing deeper and more intimate - but this kept washing over me all the time we were away.
Second, I was really blown away by how this "God is still speaking" stuff continues to take on new meanings for me. In the beginning I thought the whole "God is still speaking" was mostly a catchy and creative way of making a distinction between fundamentalism and a more creative Christianity. But as our time in Tucson made clear, it is far more than a mere marketing "gimmick" - for if a person is watching and listening carefully - then the "still speaking voice" of the One who is Holy can be discerned. I guess I am a recent convert of what might be called a "God is still speaking" spirituality.
+ For example, I kept finding myself missing and praying for my church folk back in Pittsfield while walking around in Tucson. Hmmmm... don't get me wrong: I was LOVING the sunshine and the whole easy-going ambiance, but my heart was back in the Berkshires.
+ Then there were the times that while talking about some of the on-going conflicts with loved ones in my former congregation, the thought kept popping up: "God this is just relentless... no wonder I was exhausted and had to move on!" (Believe me, I am praying BIG TIME for the new senior minister: he's got his hands full!)
+ And then I just missed the seasons of New England - and the energy - and the individuals with whom I have cast my lot in our church renewal experiment - and the love I share with and for them. Not that I don't still cherish many of my old Tucson buddies, but I am not emotionally or spiritually invested in them cuz... I'm not their pastor. I am the spiritual shepherd of a new flock - in the Berkshires - and while I have known this professionally for almost three years it came home to me in spades during this trip away. (I know, I know... I am a really slow-learner.)
And then, while driving back from the Albany airport at 1:30 am last night, there was that growing appreciation for the small town but highly cultured/intellectual environment of the Berkshires... or my calling to help strengthen and grow a new and creative way of being the church is this part of the country... or the connection I feel with those whom I have come to trust, embrace and honor with affection.
+ One of the truths that I reclaimed while away this past week is that my heart is essentially that of a pastor - I celebrate rock and roll - I adore study - and I am deeply committed to advancing the cause of social justice. But when it comes to ministry, I have no room for ideology. I just lead with the heart - and I don't have a lot of patience for those in ministry who begin with a soap box of either the left or the right.
+ What's more, I see the essence of ministry as compassion and paying attention. I don't always get this right, but that was what I kept hearing over this time away, too: mostly the people of God need someone to share their wounds and remind them of God's loving presence by mostly just showing up. Is it too dramatic to say that I felt a renewed sense of how important this is not only to my ministry, but also to the people I love and serve?
Well, I am grateful for the gift of being away with sweet friends in the sweet, sweet sun - and I give thanks to God for hearing some of the still speaking small voice of the One who is Holy. And now... on to the rest of Lent... which rather feels like this to me right now.
Tomorrow we head out to Tucson - land of the great sun and dear friends - for a wedding and some vacation time at the end of winter. Both Di and I are VERY excited and are ready for a little change - and a lot of warm! Then it is back to the intensity of Lent and Holy Week - and the blessed feast of Easter.
We'll be doing a wedding for two very sweet and intense young people this weekend (and visiting with some of our dearest friends) and let's not forget our favorite Mexican eateries! The couple requested that I play the Beatles' "Blackbird" as their processional which led Di to think that Eva Cassidy's version of Christine McVie's "Songbird" would be a great closer for the recessional. What a truly sweet song...
(We always wanted to do this with our Tucson band - that close three part women's harmony - but it never came to pass, alas. The groom's momma was one of the great women singers in this band so we really wanted to share something lovely and Dianne's rendering will be just right!) It will be a tender musical gift to our young friends - and their folks whom we love with all our hearts. Like the wedding ring vows say:
I give you this gift as a symbol of my vows - and with all that I am and all that I have - I honor you in the name of God: Creator, Christ and Holy Spirit. Amen.
After the festivities of the wedding, we will have three days to chill - and one of our commitments is to go dancing at our favorite dive: The Chicago Bar. We had hoped that our rock and roll buddies, the Rowdies, would be playing but they must be taking a spring vacation. (Check out the Rowdies lead man, Chris Davis, in this old tune filmed behind his house.)
We may not have a natural reason to head back to Tucson much after this wedding - this one was a total surprise and a gift - so we will cherish it and make the most of the time available.
Most Tuesdays about this time I am wrapping up a day of study, prayer and writing for Sunday morning: Tuesdays have become my new reflection/writing day (which is a sacred privilege and responsibility that I value deeply.) But because I won't be preaching on Sunday - we will be back in sunny Tucson, AZ for the wedding of a friend - I spent much of the day catching up on a variety of pastoral duties like returning phone calls, visiting and a little paper work, too. It was very satisfying...
Later this evening, we will have band practice as we get ready for our Good Friday "sounds of solace" gig. (If you are around on April 2nd at 7 pm please join us.) What began 10 years ago as an experiment in mixing sacred readings and secular music has matured into a unique way of doing liturgy in a post-modern context: it is prayerful rock and roll, it is holy laments saturated in the blues, it is a contemporary encounter with the promise of Psalm 85 where, "compassion and truth meet together along the way of life and social justice and shalom embrace in a kiss."
Henri Nouwen put it like this in one of his reflections on prayer:
The invitation to a life of prayer is the invitation to live in the midst of this world without being caught in the net of wounds and needs. The word "prayer" stands for a radical interruption of the vicious chain of interlocking dependencies leading to violence and war and for an entering into a totally new dwelling place... It is not easy to express the radical change that prayer represents, since for many the word is associated with piety, talking to God, thinking about God, morning and evening rituals, Sunday services, grace before meals and words from the Bible... but when I speak about prayer as the basis for peacemaking, I speak first of all about moving away from the dwelling place of those who hate peace into the house of God... To be sure the movement from illusion to prayer is hard to make since it leads us from false certainties to true uncertainties, from an easy way of living to a risky surrender and from the many "safe" gods to the God whose love has no limits.
That is why the NEW post-modern liturgy boldly blends new/old elements together and insists on weaving the once secular with the formerly sacred into one seamless garment of music/prayer/action. This year the Good Friday liturgy looks something like this:
+ We begin with Vince Guaraldi's "Cast Your Fate to the Wind" and move right into the Passion narrative in the gospel of Mark. A prayer for mercy follows the reading - and then a haunting, stripped-down reworking of the Beatles' "I'm a Loser" with two more short readings from scripture: Matthew 11:28-30 and Romans 8: 1-5.
+ An original blues/gospel song by my band mate, Brian, is next followed by an original poem amplified with traditional gospel hymns by Dianne including: "Precious Lord, Were You There, Amazing Grace and I Wonder as I Wander."
+ More readings - from Anne Lamott and Mark 5 - followed by Meatloaf's "Heaven Can Wait." Psalm 42 and the words of Gertrud Mueller-Nelson about healthy vs. pathological social rituals precedes Leonard Cohen's "Joan of Arc."
+ A body prayer happens next - an invitation to take a stone and become one who cries out for the way of God's peace - and will be accompanied by a classical piano composition by our music director.
+ Prayer and prayers in song: "Over My Head and Balm in Gilead" followed by a reading from Gen Xer, Douglas Coupland, leads into JJ Heller's, "Your Hands" and Scott Cairns poem, "Blood Atonement." The liturgy ends with the Appalachian/Celtic hymn, "Wayfaring Stranger."
I am hoping that this post-modern "liturgy" can morph into something this fall that strikes me as The Sounds of Solace: An Inter-Faith Celebration of the Songs that Sooth Our Suffering. I hear jazz and chant - I see dancers and musicians from all over the Berkshires of every conceivable tradition - gathering to make music together. How does Psalm 150 put it?
Hallelujah! Praise God in his holy house of worship, praise him under the open skies; Praise him for his acts of power, praise him for his magnificent greatness; Praise with a blast on the trumpet, praise by strumming soft strings; Praise him with castanets and dance, praise him with banjo and flute; Praise him with cymbals and a big bass drum, praise him with fiddles and mandolin (Maybe even sitars, rock and roll and jazz, too!) Let every living, breathing creature praise God! Hallelujah!
I think Deanna's on to something with this sound (I had the privilege of hearing her last week in NYC.)
Yesterday during worship we used James Taylor's song, "The Blues is Just a Bad Dream," to both have a little fun and open the door to the power and importance of our songs of lament. I totally rewrote the ending of my message, too, emphasizing that in addition to learning to FEELthe blues, the best blues artists demand that you don't WASTE them. As one writer recently said, "The wisdom and gravitas that comes from working through our wounds often produce a scar that has beauty - but there's NOTHINGattractive about an open sore." Man, that is so right...
Later that day - after a great hike out in the woods of an emerging springtime - we headed back to lead Taize worship. It knocked me out - especially ending with the haunting, "Stay with Me" that is destine to close out our Good Friday, "Songs of Solace" worship.
In a few hours I will be leading our second, "Teach Us to Pray" workshop at church - this week with an emphasis on how the Myers-Briggs tools can help us discern new ways into our spiritual journey. Two books - Who We Are is How We Pray by Dr. Charles J. Keating and Prayer and Temperamentby Chester Michael and Marie Norrisey - are crucial. After a gentle and modified liturgy of evening prayer, we'll explore four key types of being prayerful - born of the experience of Augustine, Francis, Ignatius and Thomas - and see how this shakes out. We'll be doing some body prayers and yoga in our following session, too.
I am really loving an essay by the evangelical author, Andy Couch, in a volume I bought over the weekend called: For the Beauty of the Church. In his opening piece, Couch talks about how art is a gift, a calling and an obedience - and he is very insightful. At another time I will explore his insights more deeply but there are three ideas that I am totally loving:
+ First, that the whole notion of "culture making" is part of our Judeo-Christian foundation as articulated in the second creation story of Genesis 2. Unlike the first story (which is the later one historically - from the captivity period in Babylon) this is not creatioex nihilo but rather creatio ex creatis - creation out of what was created. The garden of the story is not just a vegetable garden, it is also a place of beauty.
+Second, within this more than utilitarian creation, are things hidden from the eye like gold and onyx - resources that demand human touch before they become beautiful - and this too is part of the plan. In fact, "these are substances whose only real value IStheir beauty." And as Makoto Fujimura has noted, these things of beauty are hidden - latent - "lying below the surface... so that their potential for beauty is only fully realized when it is cultivated."
+ And third, in addition to the manipulation of creation for selfish purposes, the story doesn't end with sin but... the grace of God. Crouch makes the point that in addition to the fig leaves and leather and the murder there is "also the mark of mercy... the Creator continues to create ex creatis and stays in the story." At one point even entering in a way that takes bread and wine and makes them holy. "Bread and wine - not wheat and grapes - but culture not nature."
Some of us have been wrestling with the overly utilitarian nature in much of what passes for religion in our lives - we celebrate culture when it serves our purposes - but disdain and dismiss it when it simply seeks beauty. Which leaves the artists among us confused and discouraged - often shamed by guilt - for trying to live into our sacred calling. Crouch writes: "our response to art... is the truest diagnostic test of our underlying beliefs about culture." In other words, is culture utilitarian - a function of getting the job done - or is culture how God created the world - as a gift not a function? Those are very different polarities, to be sure, and I know I certainly come out on the side of grace.
+ It is ALL about grace - nothing is fundamentally about usefulness - it is ALL a gift. A feast. A celebration.
+ We are not in the "business" of persuading sinners but living in gratitude for God. Pointing to that old Protestant hymn, "For the Beauty of the Earth," Crouch replaces "earth" with "church" and sings: For the joy of ear and eye, for the heart and mind's delight, for the mystic harmony, linking sense to sound and sight; Lord of all, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise."
Finally he asks, if we in the church - souls born of grace freely shared - fail to recall and embody God's extravagance, then "who will be the people who can play gracefully and unusefully in the world? Who will be the people who turn unafraid toward pain... still believing in the beauty without being afraid of brokenness? Who will be the people who champion that which is not useful?" This has aesthetic and ethical implications of great magnitude that touch me deeply and evoke my calling as an artist working in a pastor's gig... more to come.
credits: JT, Christy Tennant at IAM, Gustave Klimt, communion bread, Holy Water
Well, I am back home in the Berkshires after a full three days in NYC. The second day of the IAM Encounter 10 was just as stimulating as the first: excellent musicians, creative and thoughtful presenters and pastors/artists and others carefully engaged in considering how to reclaim God's shalom in the work of culture building. And, just to make the whole thing sweeter, I got a chance to share dinner with my Brooklyn family after the even was over.
Two ideas are swimming around in my head as the result of this "encounter" with God's spirit in the presence of a variety of creative and faith-filled people:
+ First, it may be time to hold what I might call a "Sounds of Solace" symposium. I would want to gather together an inter-faith group of musicians along with key secular players, too, and share a day of songs that bring us comfort and hope even within the suffering of life. I know that is part of what we're exploring on Good Friday (more on that later) but it seems like a way to bring people together in a new way. I am also thinking that there should be a panel presentation in the middle of the day focusing upon a "theology of culture" with a closing concert/songfest of evening prayer.
Maybe there is even a way to work with the city's Arts Council to advance the cause? I hear jazz and gospel, rock and chamber music mixed with Sacred Harp, pipe organ and all types of sacred chanting. (Already an old Tucson friend now in Oklahoma has sent me this suggestion that really nails it...)
+ The second idea has to do with encouraging creativity in our Sunday School.Today, after worship, I spent about 30 minutes with our small emerging children's choir - about 8 little ones all under 3rd grade - and two little dudes brought in their guitars. Now they are very young players, but they really have some soul and already some licks! My buddy, Ethan is playing a GREAT rock and roll boogie! And my other partner, Zack, is playing a kick ass blues turn around that his dad taught him. So we're going to get another little guy on bongos and then kick out the jams on Palm Sunday with this will tune.
Well, much more thought, prayer and conversation is needed - and I'm off to lead Taize worship now - but it was all blessing.
So the IAM Encounter 10 has begun - and this year is very different from year's past. It is more intimate - 10 short presentations with follow-up conversations - and also time to "encounter" both people and the arts scene in NYC. Tomorrow there will be conversations about nourishing creativity in children, the role of the church in supporting the work of artists as well how the realm of physical and digital art can coexist.
The founder, MakoFujimora, posed an insightful and challenging question: what would it be like to create art - and nourish a culture of creativity - that is grounded in authentic shalom and agape? What would art, music, sculpture, poetry, dance, etc. be like if it embodied the words of St. Paul? An art that...
...never gives up... cares more for others than for self. ... doesn't want what it doesn't have. ... doesn't strut, ... have a swelled head, ... doesn't force itself on others, isn't always "me first," Doesn't fly off the handle, Doesn't keep score of the sins of others, Doesn't revel when others grovel, Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, Puts up with anything, Trusts God always, Always looks for the best, Never looks back, But keeps going to the end.
When asked who is doing that kind of art... he said not many but... Bono clearly is! The opening set by jazz pianist, Deanna Witkowski, wasBRILLIANT. Not only is she technically gifted but deeply grounded in liturgy and prayer. Her most recent composition includes a new jazz setting of the Eucharist. (I will be bringing that back to Pittsfield - with her score book - for sure!)
Earlier in the day I had a chance to revisit old haunts in the East Village - and close the day with dinner at the "Kyber Pass" (an Afghani eatery.) Also a little trip down both St. Mark's Place and Bleecker and McDougal Streets!
I first snuck into the Village when I was 15 - my guitar buddy and I went to the LATE show of Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention - telling our respective parents some tale. It was a total trip to be 15 years old, wandering Greenwich Village in 1967 at midnight and then taking the 5 am milk train home. The old Garrick Theatre (which used to house the Cafe A Go Go downstairs) is where Zappa recorded "We're Only In It for the Money," Lenny Bruce was busted of obscenity and Springsteen played some of his first shows in 1966. It is now housing for NYU students.
As a kid I used to take the train in from Connecticut to NYC and head over to the Fillmore East at least once a month form 1967-70 - saw some of the greatest shows ever in that psychedelic palace - so having this convention here is kind of sweet. Tomorrow will be warm and filled with new and engaging thoughts. I hope to spend some time with both the young artists as well as a few old timers - and then wrap up the day with the kids having dinner and maybe hearing some live jazz.
In addition to the joy and insights of the conference I have had LOTS of time to read - especially Henri Nouwen - as I travel in and out of Manhattan on the R train. This is good for my soul. As Nouwen makes so clear: prayer and solitude are a double-edge sword that not only draw us closer to God but also expose our fears:
We often feel a real desire to pray and at the same time we experience a strong resistance. We want to move closer to God, the source and goal of our existence, but at the same time we realize that the closer we come to God the strong will be God's demand to let go of the many "safe" structures we have built around ourselves... In the act of prayer, we undermine the illusion of control by divesting ourselves of all false belongings and by directing ourselves totally towards God's love... Prayer is the bridge between my unconscious and conscious life. Prayer connects my mind with my heart, my will with m passions, my brain with my belly.
I miss Dianne something fierce - and love the blessing of cell phones - I also cherish having time to visit with my children. And so another day comes to an end - and I am grateful.
I have noted before that at least once a year - and often at this time of year - I make an annual arts and spirituality pilgrimage that brings me to New York City. Today, after a noonday Lenten class, "Faithfully Facing Death," I headed out for the train into the city. It is always hard to leave Dianne behind, but she has work and we are going to Tucson next week. So, she bid me farewell and I headed out for this adventure flying solo.
I got lost - one of the things I almost always forget to do is double-check my directions - and while this is often fascinating, it is also annoying. Fortunately I had only gone about 5 miles too far to the West and was able to head south through new territory. Like many misturns on pilgrimage, this was humbling - all to frustrating - and a good reminder to take the time to prepare, yes? When m daughter later picked me up in Brooklyn, and I told her of my mishap, she just laughed out loud noting, "Hmmmm... I think I detect a pattern?"
That said, the train journey into the city was smooth - and my subway ride was easy, too - so I arrived at the Court Street Starbucks in Brooklyn refreshed and ready to roll. So, daughter number one was there to schlep me to their new condo - WHICH LOOKS INCREDIBLE! I saw it just after they bought in last fall and a fresh coat of paint can work wonders. So, this will be home base for three days.
She and her lovely husband cooked a sweet dinner of greens, lentils, fresh bread and salmon - it was perfection - and we sat listening to Coltrane and Monk. A little bit of heaven. Then we discussed literature and the conference I will attend tomorrow and their post-post-modern critique that reclaims the importance of an objective understand of truth, goodness and beauty. I am blessed to be here and I know it.
Tomorrow, before the conference starts, I will wander through parts of the city I don't yet know and find new eateries to explore - new book stores, too. It will be mostly a time for more exploration before the study and conversation begins in earnest and I am grateful for this time of pilgrimage and prayer.
(images from the new conference center at coopre union in nyc - host of this year's IAM conference.)
As I get ready to head out to NYC this morning, I came across this article worth linking from Brian McLaren. I think he carefully and compassionately makes a case that is close to my heart: rather than define my belief by those who oppose me, why not do the harder work of searching for common ground? This is never easy, often painful and only sometimes successful - but it also the way of the Cross, yes? Certainly the Lenten journey reminds those within the Christian tradition that Jesus didn't win - the Cross is about shame, loss and death - but God's love is greater than our worst.
NOTE: Here are my sermon notes for Sunday, March 7, 2010. I leave for NYC tomorrow for an art and spirituality conference and may not have a chance to access my computer much - we shall see. This reflection, like the four preceeding ones, is built upon Henri Nouwen's idea that we live into being the beloved of God by living like the bread of the Eucharist: taken, blessed, broken and shared. If you are around, please join us for the feast at 10:30 am on Sunday.
Back about a hundred years ago, when a young, skinny, heroin addicted singer by the name of James Taylor was cutting his first album at the Beatles studio – Abbey Road – in London, he wrapped things up with a song called “The Blues is Just a Bad Dream” that starts out like this…
A tree grows in my back yard It only grows at night Its branches they're all twisted Its leaves are afraid of light They say the blues is just a bad dream They say it lives upside your head But when it's lonely in the morning You're bound to wish that you was lying dead
As many of you know by now, I LOVEme some blues: I love ‘em hot and cool, I love ‘em acoustic or electric, I like ‘em funny or sad – sometimes even downright raunchy and fowl, too! Because, you see, the blues are one of America’s unique musical contributions to the world – especially when it comes to expressing our grief and brokenness. And the Bible is filled with laments – blues – songs and poems of brokenness in every conceivable key. Like Bono of the rock band U2 once wrote in an essay he dubbed, “Psalm like It Hot”…
One of the writers of the psalms was a musician, a harp-player whose talents were required at "the palace" as the only medicine that would still the demons of the moody and insecure King Saul of Israel. It is a thought that still inspires: think of Marilyn Monroe singing for Kennedy, the Spice Girls for Prince Charles (or recently Bob Dylan and Beyonce or even U2 singing for Obama.)
Before David could fulfill the prophecy to become the king of Israel, however, he had to take quite a beating. He was forced into exile and ended up in a cave in some no-name border town facing the collapse of his ego and abandonment by God…. And oddly enough, this is where David was said to have composed his first psalm - a blues – and that's what a lot of the psalms feel like to me, the blues. Man shouting at God -- "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me?" (Psalm 22).
And I hear echoes of this holy row most often when un-holy bluesman like Robert Johnson howls, "There's a hellhound on my trail" or Van Morrison sings, "Sometimes, I feel like a motherless child." Texas Alexander mimics the psalms in "Justice Blues" moaning: "I cried Lord my father, Lord kingdom come. Send me back my woman, then thy will be done." Humorous, sometimes blasphemous, the blues is backslidin' music but, by its very opposition, it flatters the subject of its perfect cousin: gospel.
And today we’re invited into this same tension as we consider how it is we can live into God’s blessings in the midst of our brokenness. The master poet of God’s comfort, the prophet Isaiah, sings to us from his experience of exile and brokenness in Babylon six hundred years before Jesus, inviting us to bring our wounds to the Lord:
Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live.
At the same time, Jesus is making it clear that while God is not capricious or mean-spirited in doling out some sacred judgment, the Lord does expect us to do our part along the holy road of faith. After all, the point is not simply to own our brokenness yet remain trapped or addicted within it, but rather to unite our brokenness with God’s blessing so that we can experience that balm in Gilead. Jesus put it like this in his parable of the fig tree:
A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?” To which the gardener replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put more manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, then cut it down.”
Do you see where I’m going with this? Even our pain and brokenness can be used by God to bring blessings into the world. And please don’t misunderstand me here because I am NOT saying that God GIVES us the pain in order to create blessings for another. That would be cruel or even sadistic. No, what I am trying to say is what St. Paul discerned two thousand years ago: namely that God can work good in all things if – and this is the key – if we bring it all – pain, addiction and suffering – to the Lord in love.
Now there’s nothing easy or even magical about this: it is hard work bearing fruit, being pruned by God of all the distractions that keep us trapped and afraid, being patient until the buds appear and the fruit of the vine can mature. And let’s be honest: most of us are not very good at waiting.
I think of the old story about the monk who found that he was very impatient with life in the monastery: the chores annoyed him, the bad singing of his brothers got under his skin and even the structured rituals of monastic life failed to bring him inner peace. So, he moved into a small hermitage in the middle of a dark and lonely forest so that he could cultivate an attitude of patience.
In time a traveler stumbled upon this hermitage and knocked on the door. As the monk and his guest shared tea, the traveler asked, “Why is it that you live out here in the middle of nowhere?” To which the monk replied, “I am learning how to wait upon the Lord.” “I see,” said the guest, “and how long have you been doing this?” The monk said, “It is probably well over seven years now I believe.” Stunned, the traveler continued, “Well, help me out here: if there is no one around to bother you, how in the world can you cultivate real patience?” To which the monk shouted: “Go on – get out of here now – I don’t have any more time for this kind of foolishness.”
And that is the most important insight about our brokenness: when we can name it and claim it for the unique way it wounds us, there is also room for God to bring blessings to us through this wound. Henri Nouwen, a wounded healer if ever there was one, has said:
Our first and most spontaneous response to pain and suffering is to avoid it, to keep it at arm’s length; to ignore, circumvent or deny it. For suffering – be it physical, mental or emotional – is almost always experienced as an unwelcome intrusion into our lives… but here is part of the sacred mystery… human suffering need not be an obstacle to the joy and peace we so desire, it can become the means into it.
That is what our sacred soul singer, Isaiah, is saying, as his song matures. Kate Huey is so right on when she writes that Isaiah is summarizing the very essence of the Bible in these nine short verses.
God promises the things that we most yearn for, deep down in our hearts, the very basics of life: homecoming when we're lost or far away, a rich feast when we're hungry, flowing fresh water to satisfy our thirst, and a community of hope when we long for meaning in our lives--something greater than ourselves, in which and through which we might be a blessing to the whole world. Oh, and another thing: there will be no cost affixed to this wonderful feast, no price of admission, and everyone will be invited to the party. Underneath and through this message runs a deep and tender compassion for the human predicament, our habit of getting entangled, trapped, in ways and habits that cut us off from the source of what we need most, or worse, being taken captive against our will by forces beyond our control.
Isaiah KNOWS brokenness – Isaiah can sing the blues – and name and claim his wounds – because Isaiah knows in his flesh that God aches to meet us exactly where we hurt the most to bring us blessing. That’s why at the end of his blues, Isaiah shifts into a sweet, soul singer - think of the movement from Robert Johnson or Wilson Pickett to maybe Marvin Gaye or John Legend: come to me – why spend your life on that which does not satisfy – come to me and I will fill you from the inside out with the best food of all!”
Do you remember some of the names for Jesus used in the gospel according to St. John? Here’s today’s Bible quiz: There are seven of these names – reflecting the perfect number seven in the Hebrew tradition that mirrors the six days of creation and then the blessed Sabbath – and all the names start with “I am” – another reference to our Jewish origins, right? For when Moses asked the Lord for a name, how did God reply? “I am who I am – and I will be who I will be…” • Well, John has Jesus picking up the name I AM all throughout his gospel: I am the bread of life, right? I am the light of the world – I am the door to the Lord – I am the good shepherd – I am the resurrection and the life – I am the way, the truth and the life – and I am the true vine.
• Each name is a poem – a song – an invitation into being filled with the best food of all that brings healing and hope and authentic blessing to us through our brokenness.
Our brokenness has to be named and claimed – or as I prefer to say we have to learn to sing the blues in addition to the spiritual and gospels – for the blues is where the blessings can come to our brokenness. I know this sounds crazy. It is upside down, right? And yet that is how the upside down kingdom of God works: if we run away and hide from those wounds, they will always have power over us. If we deny and defy them, they will reach up and grab us by our throats and show us who is stronger.
But if we humbly and honestly share them with God – who aches to bring us comfort – then, my friends, we can feast on the best food of all: the bread of life and the banquet of God’s grace and healing. That’s what old JT, our blues man, discovered. He has been clean and sober for over 27 years – but he went through hell and divorce and failure and addiction and a whole lot of suffering before those blues could bring him blessings.
• But in time – with practice and patience – with a loving community and a faith and trust in a power greater than himself… that fig tree did not have to torn down for it produced great and wonderful fruit.
• Do you remember how he put it in his first big hit: won’t you look down upon me Jesus you got to help me make a stand? You’ve just got to see me through another day. My body’s aching and my time is at hand: I won’t make it any other way.
And what was true for the blues man, my friends, is no less true for you and me: if we want to live into God’s deepest blessings – feast on the best food of all – we have to come to the table with our blues. Perhaps the most authentic and healing invitation to the table of God’s love comes from an old Celtic liturgy for Maundy Thursday that is saturated in the blues to my ears.
Come to the table, beloved, that table of all who confess Jesus as the Christ and seek to follow his healing way. Come to this sacred table not because you must, but because you may. Come not because you are fulfilled, but because you know in your emptiness you stand in need of God’s mercy and assurance. Come not to express an opinion, but to seek a presence and to pray for a sprit. Come to this table, then, as you are. Partake and share. This table is spread for you and me that we might know again and again that God has come to us and shared our common lot – and now invites us to be fed from the inside out. So come…
For the past four years I have made a pilgrimage to an annual arts and spirituality conference. The first took us to Houston, Texas - others have taken place in New York City - and I look forward to these journeys and events for a variety on unrelated reasons.
+ First, when the conferences are in NYC, I get to stay with my oldest daughter and husband who have purchased a condo in Brooklyn. Not only is that always fun, but it feeds my soul to reconnect with my children. They always feed my soul - even when we are at odds - and thankfully that is rare.
+ Second, it gives me a time away from the work of the parish for reflection. I always return refreshed and renewed both physically and spiritually. These events are filled with serious and authentic thinkers who are also people of faith. When I was younger I questioned the need for such times away - there were too many important things to be accomplished - and now I hope I am not in such a rush. Besides, as Niebuhr observes, really worth accomplishing will be bigger than my life time.
+ And third I have started to cultivate a sense of pilgrimage about these trips that adds another dimension. They are no longer just about the conference - or the difficulties involved in getting from one place to another - they are also about who I will meet along the way and what I will discover about myself.
A few years ago, for example, I found that returning to New York City terrified me. I wasn't physically afraid about crime, but I was overwhelmed at how fast the city moved. And how slow I had become - partially through aging - but also through contemplation. At first I wasn't sure why there was such anxiety rushing through my veins when I got on the subway. And then as the sweat poured off me it began to become clear that I no longer knew this terrain and needed more time to get my bearings. I now like to pause and make certain I'm heading in the right direction - and the NYC crowds already know where they're going!
I also came to realize that because I know longer know the drill, I feel like a rube. A sitting duck. At the very least a mugging waiting to happen until I get my "city attitude" back and can fake it. Back in seminary I used to have travel late on night on the subways - from Jamaica, Queens to the Upper West Side of Manhattan - and it always terrified me. But I was quicker and cockier back then - and I had a great street disguise, too that made me look like a homeless mad man - so NOBODY messed with me back then. Today... well let's just say I've been nurturing more of the tender warrior and it takes about 48 hours to get the urban groove back. Very humbling.
And I stilllove the pilgrimage. I meet the kindest most fascinating people on the drive - on the train - on the subways - and at the events. I am given the privilege to study and think deeply about art and spirituality and I embrace this as a sacred responsibility. And I get a chance to feast with two of my favorite people which is blessing upon blessing.
Once again I will travel solo this year because of Di's work commitments - and that always changes the nature of the pilgrimage - and I will miss her. I am ready for this next pilrimage to begin...
NOTE: After posting this I had a chance to sit and read the Sunday NY Times - one of my most favorite habits - and what do I discover by an article called, "Soulful Music at Its Heart" about a jazz club. Tillman's, at 165 W. 26th Street in Chelsea is just a stone's throw from my conference this week. Hmmmm.... looks like part of the journey is already being revealed. (www.tillmansnyc.com/)
Another day of snow, taking care of busynesss and maybe some bread baking soon. I filmed a TV show early this afternoon for when we are away in Tucson in a few weeks (we do a weekly 30 minute show focus on my weekly spiritual message.) Today was a combo of reflection on one of my favorite passages of scripture - Matthew 11: 28-30 - some thoughts about how music has become a way of prayer for me and ways God might be bringing solace to those of us who have experienced religious burn-out.
At the end, my camera-man friend and parishioner wiped away some tears and simply said... "wow... that really connects." I am always surprised - and grateful - when I can both get out of my way enough to be real in these experiences and vulnerable, too. (Music friends: this was rather like taking Bob Franke's "Thanksgiving Eve," the Stones' "I Know Its Only Rock and Roll," George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord," Dylan's "Just Like a Rolling Stone" and Joni Mitchell's "Marcie" - all of which I used - and putting it into a video blender with a little bit of Peterson's reworking of scripture. A lot of fun but I can't wait to see how it hangs together.)
When I got home, I came across this sweet little poem by Mark Statman that also seemed to be a part of the day:
hubo un milagro, she said, a miracle but in such a quiet voice I had to ask her to say it again which she did she didn't like it like that a voces (loud) it didn't seem as true anymore she looked at me it seemed just then she must hate me must hate anyone like me she pointed down the road curving, dusty she said it was the way to the ruins I didn't know if I wanted to go I already knew I wouldn't see what she had seen
WORKING time away in Tucson. The sun was incredible and totally renewing - my experience with dear friends at the wedding (and at other get togethers) was sweet and satisfying - and my encounter with our still speaking God was fascinating. And I think THAT is what hit me most profoundly about this time away: the confirmation in SPADES that our calling to the Berkshires is not only right and important for us and the congregatipm but also the unusual way this was reinforced.
istinction between fundamentalism and a more creative Christianity. But as our time in Tucson made clear, it is far more than a mere marketing "gimmick" - for if a person is watching and listening carefully - then the "still speaking voice" of the One who is Holy can be discerned. I guess I am a recent convert of what might be called a "God is still speaking" spirituality. 
istinction between fundamentalism and a more creative Christianity. But as our time in Tucson made clear, it is far more than a mere marketing "gimmick" - for if a person is watching and listening carefully - then the "still speaking voice" of the One who is Holy can be discerned. I guess I am a recent convert of what might be called a "God is still speaking" spirituality. 
land - and the energy - and the individuals with whom I have cast my lot in our church renewal experiment - and the love I share with and for them. Not that I don't still cherish many of my old Tucson buddies, but I am not emotionally or spiritually invested in them cuz... I'm not their pastor. I am the spiritual shepherd of a new flock - in the Berkshires - and while I have known this professionally for almost three years it came home to me in spades during this trip away. (I know, I know... I am a really slow-learner.)
land - and the energy - and the individuals with whom I have cast my lot in our church renewal experiment - and the love I share with and for them. Not that I don't still cherish many of my old Tucson buddies, but I am not emotionally or spiritually invested in them cuz... I'm not their pastor. I am the spiritual shepherd of a new flock - in the Berkshires - and while I have known this professionally for almost three years it came home to me in spades during this trip away. (I know, I know... I am a really slow-learner.)
ile away this past week is that my heart is essentially that of a pastor - I celebrate rock and roll - I adore study - and I am deeply committed to advancing the cause of social justice. But when it comes to ministry, I have no room for ideology. I just lead with the heart - and I don't have a lot of patience for those in ministry who begin with a soap box of either the left or the right.
ile away this past week is that my heart is essentially that of a pastor - I celebrate rock and roll - I adore study - and I am deeply committed to advancing the cause of social justice. But when it comes to ministry, I have no room for ideology. I just lead with the heart - and I don't have a lot of patience for those in ministry who begin with a soap box of either the left or the right.
