reflections in a time of contagion...

This morning I had the privilege and pleasure to be a part of on-line worship once again in support of First Congregational Church, Williamstown, MA. We had a few moments of techno-glitches at the start, but got them resolves quickly (thank you Di, Lynn and Margaret.) Thank you too to those who joined me live-streaming this morning from all over the US and beyond. I am grateful to be of some small service during this weird time. For others who might want to check it out, it is embedded it below.

Starting next week, I am going to give this live-streaming reflection a shot on my own - from my Be Still and Know spiritual direction FB page @ https://www.facebook.com/Be-Still-and-Know-913217865701531/) - at least for the duration of our distance socializing era. Like many of my musician friends, doing this not only keeps me connected with those I love, but also offers a measure of tranquility in the craziness. What a bizarre contradiction this is: at a time when we want to be present to help and bring solace, the best thing we can do is stay apart! Talk about living the questions and embracing paradox! (Let me invite your prayers for the Williamstown church as they journey towards securing their new interim pastor: it was a delight work with them and I pray God's blessings will abide.)

On Friday, we got to Skype with our loved ones in Brooklyn: singing "The Wheels on the Bus" with two year old Anna and negotiating with six year old Louie on his new entrepreneurial venture of selling unused CDs through the mail! (When I get my envelope in the mail, I'll send back $10. "No refunds" he was quick to add!") We also talked about what it was like doing first grade on Zoom and what film the family would watch later that night for pizza and movie night. Turns out "Madagascar" was the choice - so we watched and laughed and reveled in the fun - albeit 157 miles away. I also got a brief update from the hill town family, too and they are taking care of themselves, thanks be to God. Right now we're listening to a music channel the proprietor of Montreal's Beauford Bistro is streaming: "It's the music I WOULD be playing right now if the restaurant was open." Check them out on-line @ https://www.facebook.com /BeaufortCafe/ and make certain to stop in for some excellent eats once this madness is over.

It is a sunny, cold day in the Berkshires: I trust we'll have a chance to get out for a walk and maybe a little tree trimming. Later, I'll make Shepherd's Pie and then at 8:30 pm we'll sing Leonard Cohen songs along with those on les petits balcons de Montréal. Check this out: https://www.mtlblog.com/things-to-do/canada/qc/montreal/covid-19-in-montreal-locals-will-sing-leonard-cohen-songs-from-their-windows-on-march-22?fbclid=IwAR2eoXW9fO-4V9vhU9bhl1pMY9CKlbs208GXen2o9jhUFYAprWxNFHuQwUQ 

Staying social is critical - even for monkish introverts like us. We drove by one of the local mini-malls yesterday and gasped at the total emptiness - yet another sign of the times. So find ways to reach out to one another. Or me, ok? I pray that your time inside be one of introspection, contemplation, and renewal. May you find new and creative ways to reconnect with those you love - and also with those who may be forgotten. And may God's peace be with you from the inside out. Please join me again next Sunday, March 31 @ 10 am @ Be Still and Know, my spiritual direction FB page @ https://www.facebook.com/Be-Still-and-Know-913217865701531/) 

waiting...

For most of my adult life I have been drawn to the way of the monastery.There is an absurd irony in this, of course, not only because I am a married person with children whom I adore, but also because while I covet the ordered, quiet life of praying the hours and working in community, I could never give up heading out to the jazz clubs with loved ones from time to time and putting on the Ritz. I once spoke of the paradox of this spirituality as that place where Bob Franke's, "Thanksgiving Eve" meets either AC/DC's "You Shook Me" or John Coltrane's "Love Supreme." NOTE: Lucinda Williams' "Essence" comes in damn close as a contender in this contradiction, too.

When the mandate of social distancing and self-isolation was handed down from on high, outwardly it had little impact upon the life Di and I live. We are secular monastics by disposition, living secluded lives of solitude, study, music, nature, good food, prayer and quiet conversations. That there is a bit of contextual vertigo going on right now for us would be a wild understatement. Everyday we find new occasions to weep for the world. And then we return to our quiet routines of study, teaching on-line, and writing before heading out to walk Lucie most days for a mile in shockingly empty neighborhood streets. We know in our minds and hearts that we - and every other nation - are living into war-time realities. And, given our disposition as contemplatives, our daily lives have not really changed.

It feels schizophrenic when I watch the evening news - which I do only once a day for no more than an hour - because so far nothing in our routine has been altered. We know this is not true for our family in Brooklyn. Or some of our neighbors. But as we ripen into week #2 of this war against an enemy with no face, besides stocking up on some dry goods and food, we live in quiet simplicity
as we grieve with you in our prayers. Some of the wisest among us have said that we may be living into a new era of social isolation even beyond the immediate crisis. This is already calling forth creative, long distance education, worship and entertainment. I read this morning of a friend's virtual "dinner party" that included setting a beautiful table, getting the lap top set with Zoom and feasting together in different places. It makes our early days of "face time" with the grandchildren look inadequate and even boring. 

This morning, while I was working on my reflection for this Sunday's FB live streaming worship message, a friend in Canada messaged me that her nephew - a creative young musician - was hosting a sing-a-long, dance-a-long mini concert on Instagram. What a gas. Last night I checked-ion with Mary Chapin Carpenter who is sharing songs of beauty and depth from her kitchen. And then I came across this setting of Franke's "Thanksgiving Eve" that just knocked me out

I pray that as we become creative, honoring the suffering of others and uniting our hearts with sisters and brothers throughout the world, we do so in ways that will help us move closer to the Beloved Community we all ache to experience. Kitty O'Meara took up this challenged and penned a prose poem that has gone viral. There is nothing inevitable about this, and yet it could be so real, too. 

And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested and exercised and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being – and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some even met their shadows: and the people began to think differently. And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless and heartless ways, the earth began to heal. And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully as they had been healed.

Please stay in touch with me, ok? Sunday, at 10 am, I will be doing another live streaming reflection on my Facebook page - and will probably keep it up on my spiritual direction page in the future (https://northern james66.wixsite.com/website)

a lent like no other...

As Lent unfolds during these days of contagion, I have found an unexpected tender solace in my somewhat unfocused, wayward ways of prayer. There have been tears, of course, the magnitude of the Covid 19 pandemic warrants nothing less than honest lament. And I have had my moments of terrifying anxiety, too. Last night I awoke twice from a sound sleep - once to a nightmare and the other to what can only be called a nocturnal panic attack - but these were prayers every bit as much as the tears of Jesus over the death of his friend Lazarus. They gave me a chance to practice what I preach about centering prayers with my breath:  IN - God of peace - OUT - fill my heart - until there is rest again. There have also been times of deep silence and serenity as well as some furiously embodied prayers while scrubbing the kitchen floor. NOTE: I am a serious practitioner of the "quotidian mysteries." (see Kathleen Norris @ https://www.amazon.com/Quotidian-Mysteries-Laundry-Madeleva-Spirituality/dp/0809138018.)

And poetry. Good Lord have I found poems to speak to my soul. And Bible study as I prepare digital worship with First Congregational Church, Williamstown. As well as two nourishing on-line courses: a novena led by Christine Valters-Painter at the Abbey of the Arts (https://abbeyofthearts.com/programs/online-classes/novena-for-times-of-unraveling/) and the seven week exploration of the spirituality of St. Francis by Richard Rohr at the Center for Action and Contemplation (https://cac.org/online-ed/course-catalog/)

Many of my online friends are entering week number two of isolation and finding it to be a bit of a challenge. They are socially engaged folk with full and public schedules, many in the performing arts, which has all but boarded itself up and shuttered the windows. Quite a dramatic shift in a short time, yes? Dianne and I, on the other hand, are monastic trolls who covet isolation and silence. We were chatting this afternoon about being exhausted - I think the emotional toll is yet to be counted - but not a lot has changed for us. When she started to teach students on-line two years ago, and I departed from active duty in the church, the phone quit ringing, the emails nearly ceased and our little country house became even more of monastery than ever before. We haven't been out for nine days except for walks around the block and the wetlands out back and won't do so again till next Monday's stocking up shopping adventure.

One of the on-line poetic gems that I came across last week from Dori Midnight looks at our new found respect of the hand washing ritual and imbues it with sacramental significance. That resonates with me as I have been quietly singing The Doxology to Louis Bourgeois' Old Hundredth tune six or eight times each day as I keep clean. One of the gems of the Geneva Psalter - also called the Huguenot Psalter of John Calvin - the settings of Les Pseaumes Octante Trois de David taught ordinary people to sing the words of Scripture. I like the way Midnight playfully invites us to do likewise.

We are humans relearning to wash our hands.
Washing our hands is an act of love
Washing our hands is an act of care
Washing our hands is an act that puts the hypervigilant body at ease
Washing our hands helps us return to ourselves by washing away what does not serve.

Wash your hands
like you are washing the only teacup left that your great grandmother carried across the ocean, like you are washing the hair of a beloved who is dying, like you are washing the feet of Grace Lee Boggs, Beyonce, Jesus, your auntie, Audre Lorde, Mary Oliver- you get the picture.
Like this water is poured from a jug your best friend just carried for three miles from the spring they had to climb a mountain to reach.
Like water is a precious resource
made from time and miracle

Wash your hands and cough into your elbow, they say.
Rest more, stay home, drink water, have some soup, they say.
To which I would add: burn some plants your ancestors burned when there was fear in the air,
Boil some aromatic leaves in a pot on your stove until your windows steam up.
Open your windows
Eat a piece of garlic every day. Tie a clove around your neck.
Breathe.

My friends, it is always true, these things.
It has already been time.
It is always true that we should move with care and intention, asking
Do you want to bump elbows instead? with everyone we meet.
It is always true that people are living with one lung, with immune systems that don’t work so well, or perhaps work too hard, fighting against themselves. It is already true that people are hoarding the things that the most vulnerable need.
It is already time that we might want to fly on airplanes less and not go to work when we are sick.

It is already time that we might want to know who in our neighborhood has cancer, who has a new baby, who is old, with children in another state, who has extra water, who has a root cellar, who is a nurse, who has a garden full of elecampane and nettles.
It is already time that temporarily non-disabled people think about people living with chronic illness and disabled folks, that young people think about old people.
It is already time to stop using synthetic fragrances to not smell like bodies, to pretend like we’re all not dying. It is already time to remember that those scents make so many of us sick.
It is already time to not take it personally when someone doesn’t want to hug you.

It is already time to slow down and feel how scared we are.
We are already afraid, we are already living in the time of fires.

When fear arises,
and it will,
let it wash over your whole body instead of staying curled up tight in your shoulders.
If your heart tightens,
contract
and expand.
science says: compassion strengthens the immune system
We already know that, but capitalism gives us amnesia
and tricks us into thinking it’s the thing that protect us
but it’s the way we hold the thing.
The way we do the thing.

Those of us who have forgotten amuletic traditions,
we turn to hoarding hand sanitizer and masks.
we find someone to blame.
we think that will help.
want to blame something?
Blame capitalism. Blame patriarchy. Blame white supremacy.

It is already time to remember to hang garlic on our doors
to dip our handkerchiefs in thyme tea
to rub salt on our feet
to pray the rosary, kiss the mezuzah, cleanse with an egg.
In the middle of the night,
when you wake up with terror in your belly,
it is time to think about stardust and geological time
redwoods and dance parties and mushrooms remediating toxic soil.
it is time
to care for one another
to pray over water
to wash away fear
every time we wash our hands

This is a Lent like no other. I have no idea where it will lead us. I am simply glad to be alive and engaged. I pray I am able to be a part of "the rising" into a new tenderness when we get to the other side. Give yourself a small gift and sit with this stunning setting of "The Deer's Cry (St. Patrick's Breastplate)" as arranged by a genius of our era: Arvo Pärt.

So this turned out ok - my first experiment in doing "live streaming" from home - and who knows? Maybe I'll do more. For sure I will be leading on-line worship next week for First Congregational Church, Williamstown, MA from Facebook @ 10 am (EDT.) Three thoughts that popped up afterwards:

+ First, it was fun: I enjoy thinking theologically for 21st century people in a quiet and gentle way. In a large Sanctuary setting, where there is a need to be a BIG personality to go along with the physical space, I discovered I became worn out. Not so, however, in intimate and/or small settings.

+ Second, it was great to have my "preaching desk" spread all out before me but not cluttering the experience of those taking it all in at home. I had prayer books and papers, CDs and pages of poetry in piles and stacks all around me, but the visuals from my study in the Berkshires was clean and lovely. And having all those resources close by helped me be spontaneous in a non-anxious way. There really is something to the beauty of these digital connections.

+ And third, it was encouraging to see real time words of encouragement scroll up and across the screen. I don't know about others, but sometimes in some public worship settings I have found the looks on the faces of the gathered faithful can be a challenge to discern. "Frozen chosen?" Distracted? Upset tummies? Not so this morning - and there was some pretty immediate feed back, too. I heard from people all over the country: some dear former colleagues and church members, some friends from high school and some of the local church people spending the sabbath inside. It was even suggested that maybe I start a weekly podcast?!? I won't let too much of this go to my head, but some wheels are turning...

Next week, within the confines of silence and self-isolation (something Di and I live into most of the time anyway), I will be working on thoughts for the Fourth Sunday in Lent using Psalm 23 and excerpts from the ninth chapter of St. John's gospel.

live streaming worship reflections: sunday, march 15 @ 10 am

Given the wise counsel to postpone any large group gatherings - including worship - my visit to First Congregational Church (UCC) in Williamstown, MA has been postponed. For a variety of reasons, it struck me as prudent that we try to find a way to "live stream" an abbreviated liturgy from home - so we're going to give it a shot. Tomorrow at 10 am on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/james.lumsden) we will experiment and hopefully connect with the congregation - and maybe a few others, too. This will be a very "down home" edition - no high tech for this Luddite - just some prayer, a little music, Scripture, and my reflections on the texts for the Third Sunday of Lent without a lot of flash or zip. Please feel free to join us if you are able. Thanks to the good people of Williamstown for giving this a shot.

 

staying connected in our self-isolation...

It was prescient to "self-isolate" earlier this week when my worries, instincts and wise counsel advised against heading north to Ottawa. I was able to participate in some of the meetings on-line and for that I am grateful. Today it was wisely decided that there will not be public worship in our area for at least a few weeks. That means I won't be preaching in Williamstown until such time as we can reschedule. We may, however, make plans to do a "home recording" of my message for the congregation with a little guitar music added as a way of helping the community stay connected.

Staying connected in these days of anxiety and alienation is critical - especially for those who consider themselves part of the "body of Christ." In the Jesuit magazine, America, Fr. Thomas Reese, writes:

The Christian faith is not just a personal commitment, it is also a communal experience. From the very beginning, Christians have gathered to share the Word of God and break bread in confined spaces. They drank from the same cup and shared a holy kiss. They also cared for the poor and the sick. All of these Christian practices are now seen as ways that the coronavirus can spread through populations. That is why the coronavirus is so threatening, not only physically but also spiritually. In a pre-scientific age, we might carry on and ask God to protect us. Many saints died caring for plague victims. Aloysius Gonzaga, patron saint of the Jesuit high school where I live, died in 1591 at the age of 23 while caring for victims of the plague in Rome.Today, public health officials recommend that we put distance between ourselves and others so as not to spread the virus. At first blush, this "social distancing" sounds un-Christian, but we need to listen to medical experts. As with doctors, the first rule of a Christian at this time is "Do no harm." That means not doing anything that might spread the virus to others.

Not only will our "self-isolating" slow down the spread of the virus, keeping our hospitals free to handle emergencies rather than be overwhelmed, but we will help inhibit the fear-mongering that often raises its ugly head in times of trial. Already, under the viscous and vulgar guidance of Stephen Miller, the current regime wants us to believe this disease comes from enemies abroad. That's what the foolish travel ban from Europe is all about. Scapegoating and deflecting the blame rather than helping Americans deal with a pandemic should expose these charlatans for the criminals they are. I was out last night celebrating our daughter's 41st birthday with a Mexican feast - and again today sharing tea with a  friend- and the people I met said things like, "It feels almost medieval out there right now, doesn't it?" And there is no doubt that anxiety is high - and ordinary people are hoarding rubbing alcohol and toilet paper.

All the more reason for people of all faith traditions to offer a conscious counter-cultural presence. Fr. Reese was clear:

Christians have a responsibility beyond practicing personal hygiene. We also have a public responsibility to support civic programs to protect the vulnerable and care for the sick. In the short term, that means supporting health care workers who put themselves at risk caring for those who have fallen ill. It means scrupulously following the instructions of public health officials. It means supporting programs to help those without health insurance, without sick leave, without day care and without paychecks because their employers have laid them off during the health crisis.

The Massachusetts Council of Churches added these important insights, too:

As “social isolation” sets in, find new ways to be networked across the

Body of Christ: We are seeing churches get creative with ways to stay connected, especially if gathering in person is temporarily impossible. Divide up the congregational directory with each deacon receiving an equal number under their care. Assign congregants to clusters of 3, with generational diversity. Call, text, Skype, Facetime, write letters, especially to elders. Put notes in the mail to the workers at local nursing homes- especially as family member visitations are curtailed, chaplains and nursing home staff will have an increased emotional burden in their care for patients. Also notice and resist scapegoating: There is a long and painful history during disease outbreaks of finding and blaming different racial, ethnic and minoritized communities. Keep eyes open for the folks who usually get “scapegoated” during an outbreak and actively resist these stereotypes: we’ve already seen it happen. Jews, LGBTQ folks, Asian Americans, Coptic Christians, African Americans, Africans, Mexicans, new immigrants, and women have all been wrongly scapegoated for other diseases before. The erroneous scapegoating of Jews was so deadly during the Black Plague in the 1300’s that more than 200 Jewish communities across Europe were massacred. You can read the full book “Scapegoat: A History of Blaming Other People,” by Charlie Campbell or the short essay “Finding a Scapegoat When Epidemics Strike,” by Donald G. McNeil Jr.

And everyone who matters makes certain to add: AND PRAY. The church has been in hard places before - and we will be again. Our prayers matter. I found this poem/prayer a source of hope in a sea of fear. It is from Lynn Ungar.

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love--
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

As one who has long "self-isolated" for the sake of simple sanity, not much will be different for me at first. I want to be of service in love, however, to those who will be wounded by isolation. Let's keep being creative and compassionate so that we genuinely are a source of comfort in this confusion.

credits:

+ https://www.pinterest.com/nroberts12641/contemporary-jesus/

+ http://amywhitehousepaintings.blogspot.com/2014/07/body-of

+ https://lessromanmorecatholic.com/2015/06/01/the-body-of-christ/

living into a lent we cannot yet comprehend...

Today looks and feels like Lent to me. It is gray, damp and almost cold - not frigid or oppressive - just confused. Or maybe emotionally and metiorologically complex - like it could all slip through a variety of changes at a moment's notice. Given the absurdity of the current regime's lies and disinformation about the cornonavirus, our stunning inability to prepare for the harsh realities yet to come from this pandemic, and the cognitive chaos coursing through our communities: the current calm before the storm feels like we're floating through a play by Samuel Beckett. Not fully engaged as actors as of yet, just periodically startled into consciousness before slipping back into the dull haze of anxiety. 

Watching the Trumpster last night on TV - all bloated, orange and reeking of insincerity - took me back to the industrial/goth/fantasy aesthetic of the Tim Burton "Batman" or "Edward Scissorhands" movies. There was something simultaneously unnerving but engaging about those films. Burton knew how to fuse exaggeration with subtlety, adding the grotesque to the mysterious, and mixing it up with comic relief and the songs of Prince. I kept waiting for the President to jump up and start to dance. Or blurt out: "Tell me something, my friends, ever dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight?"

As a rule, I am not one for ridicule: it cheapens political discourse and changes nothing. But the macabre ignorance of this President is staggering. So much so that only the theater of the absurd makes sense. You see, the Trumpster is a master at manipulating our darkest fears. He is brilliant at reducing complexities to dangerously simple black and white skirmishes that work to his political advantage. Now, however, his pathological inability to grasp the big picture - or the long term consequences of his fear mongering - has put the whole nation at risk. News reports note that even as he was speaking last night economic indicators began to tank as investors feared the worst is still to come. There is no confidence in this leader. There is no trust that he can manage this crisis. And no sign that there are any adults in the room among his advisers. Thank God Dr. Anthony Fauci has broken through the regieme's muzzle and shared some facts about how we might contain the disease despite the government's incompetence. (For more clarity  https://thehill.com/policy/healthcare/487230-fauci-it-is-a-failing-that-people-cant-easily-get-tested-for-coronavirus-in?jwsource=cl)

Slowly, and haphazardly, I am praying my way through Pádraig Ó Tuama's prayer book for Lent. Today the prayer goes like this:

"For truly I tel you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ willl by no means lose their reward." Mark 9: 41

Jesus our rewarding friend,
You knew need.
You knew thirst and hunger.
And so do we.
We praise and honor
the surprising providers
of comfort and care.
We praise and honor them.
May their work increase.
We praise and honor them
because without them
we thirst.
Amen.

There are so many good people in our government who have been thwarted, silenced and inhibited from being the incarnational friends of Jesus. They ache to bring us water. And comfort. And testing for the coronavirus. And cannot. So we move along in the gray fear while Jesus walks closer and closer to the Cross, living into a Lent we cannot yet comprehend.

thinking about sunday's debate

It will be fascinating - and instructive - to see how Senator Sanders and Vice-President Biden handle themselves in Sunday's up-coming debate. For that reason alone I am glad Bernie has not yet thrown in the towel. This could be a lively conversation about issues that really matter to ordinary Americans instead of regurgitating the shrill sound-bytes of their stump speeches. After the next few primaries - March 17 (AZ, FLA, OH, ILL) March 24 (GA), April 4 (HI, LA, WY and AK) and April 28 (DE, MD, NY, PA, RI) - there will be even greater clarity even as Sanders tries to push Biden to the left. It will all be for the good.

Wouldn't it be insightful - if not totally refreshing - on Sunday to see two wise and time-tested political elders with very different perspectives respectfully and accurately assess the chaos of our current health care system - and outline how they would pay for the necessary changes? How about saying something about their commitment to building coalitions? Sanders has come a long way in four years not only tapping into the energy of young voters but Latinos as well. Biden has earned the respect of older African-American voters along with white, working class and college educated women and men in the suburbs. Obviously, the constituents of those allied with Biden's coalition have so far proven to be more reliable and motivated than those in Sander's camp. But the age gap cannot be overlooked - short or long term - if the Democrats are serious about engaging their needs against Trump now but into the future as well. And how about exploring the state of race relations and gender equality in the land of the free and home of the brave? Or just compensation of American vets? Or what needs to be done to rebuild trust between the US and our international allies? And how are we ever going to manage to fix student debt?

That would be a debate and I would stay up late and watch until the end. Not that I think it is going to happen, mind you. Already some in the Sanders camp are doubling down on their disinformation about Biden's mental prowess. Their noxious and vulgar lies are as odious as anything spewed by Fox News. I worry, too about Senator Sander's historic inability to build non-ideological partnerships with rivals: his persistent equating of Trumpian fascism with the Democratic establishment is as unhelpful as it is vile. And then he acts surprised when few current players endorse him and many seriously mistrust him. 

And what about Joe? Like many of us who have lived long enough to try to make a difference in the public realm, he has been wrong way before he got it right. He has a complicated public track record, too that can document his multiple mistakes and sometimes it ain't pretty. Like almost all of the United States, he was once for the war in Iraq before he was against it. In the 80s and 90s, he advocated brutal judicial penalties for criminals that solidified the school-to-prison pipeline within the Black community. And he never gave Anita Hill the respect and credibility she deserved when bravely calling out the sexual harassment and intimidation she experience from Clarence Thomas. He is so NOT the perfect candidate - and was never my choice for the top of the ticket - but then there were two and that's how this shakes out.

To his credit, however, while often late to the party, Biden is willing to rethink some of his once popular positions that were wrong and ask for forgiveness. Humility matters and is rare in politics. I will never forget that Biden was instrumental in helping Obama find the courage to do the right thing with marriage equality and gay rights. And he was strong enough in character to sign-on as second fiddle for this nation's first African-American president - something he did with grace, good humor and integrity - and it was a joy to behold for eight years. 

I have loved ones and respected colleagues who see this race in profoundly different ways. I respect them and value the wisdom they have shared with me about all the candidates. Still, I have come to a different conclusion about who I think will advance the common good in the general election. The Biden coalition resonates with my heart and my experience - especially the support from the African American community - but I also appreciate his public temperament. If Sanders wins the nomination, I will support him without question. But I hope that does not come to pass. Rather, I pray for those who know how to bring people together to have some "come to Jesus" talks with both candidates as well as their campaign strategists: now is the time to find a way to work together and take some of the good ideas in both campaigns and make them the best ideas for the winning ticket. Again, I don't expect that is going to happen any more than Tom Friedman's proposal re: announcing a unified ticket with all former candidates committed to taking a role in a new cabinet. But as Bob Dylan often sings, "There MUST be some kinda way outta here said the Joker to the Thief. There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief." We shall see...

a lenten pilgrimage in real time...

Today I had planned to hit the road back up to Ottawa to be with the L'Arche community. It seems, however, that international borders, my age (am I really a senior?!?) and the arrival of the coronavirus in town had something else in store for me - so I've been sidelined stateside for the foreseeable future. I will miss my dear friends as they feast together tonight, journey deeper into hard truths tomorrow and practice compassion, radical hospitality and a trust in God's grace that is greater than the obvious. In the meantime, I got to go out into the garden.

There is a curious charism to this change in plans - a pilgrimage into Lenten trust, if you will - that honors the wisdom of the holy in all things. I had been preparing a homily for tomorrow night's Eucharist based on the parable of the wheat and tares in St. Matthew's gospel 13: 24-30. This story of upside-down living tells us that during our life time we are all a mixture of nourishment and garbage: wheat and tares look very much alike while ripening making it nearly impossible to sort out the protein from the roughage until the harvest. So too with each life, each epoch, each faith community and each cadre of friends: we are not equipped to fully distinguish the good from the bad as it is all mixed up. Besides, the sorting and judging is not our business. We best let go of such thoughts and trust the One who is Holy to work it out after we've run our race as faithfully as possible. Remember: when the judgment is left up to us alone, everyone who does not look, act, think, speak, smell, worship, dance, or eat like us become the heretical "other."

So rather than drive north - and ponder and pray in the car on my trip which is one of the true gifts of the encounter - I cut up old tree trunks, raked-up last autumn's foliage and took down a few dead birch branches. It was exhausting - and satisfying - in the warm March sunshine. As I mucked around in the dirt and leaves, this quote from Christine Valters Painter kept swimming through my head:

One way to practice peregrinatio in our own lives is to ‘follow the thread,’ which for me means listening to the synchronicities and patterns being revealed daily. When we are in discernment in our lives, and we pay attention to our dreams, as well as other moments that shimmer, we may begin to notice symbols showing up to call us forward. Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, The Soul’s Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred

Yesterday, sitting next to Louie and Di during worship, we reveled in him belting out the Lord's Prayer and some of the hymns during Eucharist. At one point I leaned over and asked, "Are you going up for Eucharist?" He looked at me with wide eyes and replied, "Gwad, I ALWAYS take communion." I stifled a smile (thinking of the Dos Equis guy: "I don't always go to church but when I do I ALWAYS take communion!") and said, "Yeah, me too. I think that's best." Later we finished playing a game of chess. Whenever I talked him through the implications of a move, he lit up with glee and shouted, "Oh yeah and then THAT would be baaaad!" His exuberance and innocence were like a balm in Gilead. 

Both Louie and Anna want to help us nurture this year's garden - and perhaps we'll start later this month. We now have three native plant and seed catalogs waiting for some decisions. We've sketched out and listed the plants and flowers to add to each terrace as well as the backyard raised beds. It seems that now is the time to take the next step so that we're ready to cultivate our garden of peace with these precious little ones. I will miss being with my L'Arche friends tonight and will hold close in prayer tomorrow. I will also be hauling some huge branches and a bunch of leaves back into the brush to be chopped, composted and scattered before it rains. Today, I return thanks.

praying the stations of the cross now...

How did it become Lent 2020 already? I cherish this season but this year I am moving so slowly that while my head wants to get into it, my heart and soul are resisting. I feel like this short prayer from Pádraig Ó Tuama's setting for the Stations of the Cross cycle is all I can do. From the sixth station - Veronica wipes the face of Jesus - I pray:

Veronica,
your story is doubted
but valuable.
You did what you could
even though it was very little.
May we do the same
even when we doubt.
Amen.

Ó Tuama describes his commitment to praying the stations of the Cross like this in his blog: In the Shelter:

For years I did the Stations of the Cross every day. I find in them the hope to live courageously when everything, even your own self, fails. In the midst of the difficulty of the time the Stations recollect, I find echoes of a life lived well, a life that was open to the surprise of the unexpected, the truth of a story. I also hear echoes of the impulses towards my own violence and blame mechanisms. For Good Friday, I wrote some collects, to go with the Stations. Some are below. For art, I recommend the gorgeous paintings of Sieger Koder whose religious art can be found at PB&M.

Everything about these prayers and the accompanying art work are disturbing. That is, perhaps, why they speak to me so profoundly: these are agonizing times for all of us regardless of gender, class, race or political commitment. So many of us are bone weary and disappointed with our politics, our leaders, our options, and ourselves. We are not who we want to be at this moment in time yet we can't seem to do otherwise. Every day what I read from friends through the lens of my quasi-monastic bubble evokes exhaustion. We are sick and tired of being sick and tired, but there is no end in sight: the suffering endures, the hatred deepens, the alienation accelerates, and our ability to make sense continues to evaporate. 

So, like Ó Tuama, i want to pray these stations now, not in anticipation of Holy Week, but now as an embodied confession that this is the moment of trial, betrayal, emptiness and an unresolved darkness. Our trip to B'Town is back (thanks be to God) on despite the threat of illness because we grieve being apart - and it has been too long. When I return I must add the stations of the cross art work from Ó Tuama's prayers to my study so that I, too, might enter into them every day. Maybe multiple times each day.

O God of the ground,

whose body was - like ours - from dust,

and who fell - like we fall -to the ground. 

May we find you on the ground

when we fall.

Oh, our falling fallen brother, may we find you, so that we may inhabit our bodyselves. 

Amen.

credits: http://www.padraigotuama.com/news/stationsofthecross

the more love you give away, the more love you will have...

Carrie Newcomer helps me cut to the chase so many times. Recently, she posted this quote from the later John O'Donohue in Anam Cara:

There is a lovely idea in the Celtic tradition that if you send out goodness from yourself, or if you share that which is happy or good within you, it will all come back to you multiplied ten thousand times. In the kingdom of love there is no competition, there is no possessive-ness or control. The more love you give away, the more love you will have.
 

How did Macca put it at the close of "Abbey Road?" And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make! And just for kicks - Paul, George and John - play three two-bar guitar solos each twice in the order noted above. It was the last song ever recorded by all the Beatles as a band and it gives shape and form to Paul's love couplet. They each received a whole lotta love because they each made a whole lotta love! In these later years, that's what I feel like I can do best: share a little goodness each day no matter where I am as a conscious, embodied prayer. Like ancient Israel's  psalmist sang:

O LORD, I am not proud; have no haughty looks.

I do not occupy myself with great matters, 

or with things that are too hard for me.

 But I still my soul and make it quiet,

like a child upon its mother's breast; 

my soul is quieted within me.

I know I pray - and post - this Psalm a lot. These haughty and agitated days cry out for another perspective. Something small and tender, something quiet and comforting. Last night, for the first time in ages, I watched the extended results of the Super Tuesday Democratic Primary results on TV. Candidly, as much as I value all those who put themselves on the line to advance the cause of justice and peace - from Bernie and Lizzie to Mike and Uncle Joe - I kept hearing the words of Macbeth:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

And I'd much rather hear The Beatles. Or Carrie Newcomer. Or John O'Donohue. Or Merton. Or Miles. Or Rohr. Or Krista Tippett. Or maybe just the rain coming down in waves, turning the backyard into mud in ways that anticipate this year's garden. This is one of the most important elections of my life time - so I read most of the important speeches online - and leave the talking heads to entertain themselves. Life is too short to indulge their "sound and fury." The 20th century poet, Medora C. Addison of Concord, MA, put it like this:

Now shall I store my soul with silent beauty, 

Beauty of drifting clouds and mountain heights, 

Beauty of sun-splashed hills and shadowed forests, 

Beauty of dawn and dusk and star-swept nights. 

Now shall I fill my heart with quiet music, 

Song of the wind across the pine-clad hill, 

Song of the rain and, fairer than all music, 

Call of the thrush when twilight woods are still. 

So shall the days to come be filled with beauty, 

Bright with the promise caught from eastern skies; 

So shall I see the stars when night is darkest, 

Still hear the thrush’s song when music dies.

Tomorrow I will write a sermon - the first in four years - in anticipation of being in worship with First Church, Williamstown on Sunday, March 15. Friday we will schlep down to Brooklyn Town to visit with loved ones and join Louie in worship as his choir sings at the family liturgy. (NOTE: Illness has put this on hold.) On Sunday we'll put finish up our native seed flower and vegetable orders. And then I am Ottawa bound on Monday for more meetings, but also to celebrate a community Eucharist for Lent and to participate in the spirituality committee of L'Arche Ottawa. By the time I return this time next week, I will be so ready to move some compost into the garden beds and start raking up muck. So, indeed, shall the days to come be filled with beauty.

In the kingdom of love there is no competition, 

there is no possessiveness or control. 

The more love you give away, the more love you will have.