It's Awfully Quiet Around Here

I know. I'll be back! Enjoy the silence, it is a rare but a necessary thing.

Loud and Bitter Words Indicate a Weak Cause and A Long Bloggy Ramble...

This was originally posted on September 15, 2009. I can tell you that the giant stack o' journals referred to in this post remains largely unscaled. *sigh* I had no idea that when I searched for this story that I would be reminded of that. Oh well...

In any event, I posted a video to Facebook, that I found on The Rix Mix today, about Dr. Martin Luther King's other words. These are words we are less familiar with and frankly they should make you stop in your tracks. I also posted something to Facebook from the NPR website, about President Eisenhower's words regarding the future. These are the words he offered as he left office 50 years ago today.

Anyway, this is long and you may not have the day off, but what the hell. I'm posting it anyway. Read. Think. React. Or not!

Peace to all.

From my earlier post....

*Warning - Long Blog Post Ahead!*

I stare at a huge pile of old journals that I fished out of an enormous plastic bin from the basement.

*sigh*

They are the Himalayas and I must cross them. At this point, I am getting acclimated to the altitude as I work my way up. Currently I have a headache from the thin atmosphere and sheer cliffs.

*sigh indeed*

In the meantime, I am deeply disturbed by the tenor of both the right as well as the left regarding politics. There was a time when I was more strident. Trust me, I am no less passionate, but I keep thinking of a fortune I got from a cookie recently.

Loud and bitter words indicate a weak cause.

Now there would certainly seem to be a vast amount of really loud and bitter words from one side of the argument. However, there are no shortage of loud and bitter words from any side. I see this in the multiple corners of the blogworld and Facebook that I inhabit.

We as humans tend to see things in such broad strokes and in general, with a dualistic eye. I am as human as anyone in this way. That said, I don't really want to be that way, it is truly a quest for me.

Yes, I may be nuts.

This does not mean that we should not call others out. I think it does mean that the tenor of the calling out is often pointless and much more about shouting than it is about listening, much more about staking one’s claim and telling the other that their claim is not valid. Maybe you think the other person’s point of view is invalid.

And likely they think the same of yours. Well, wherever does that get anyone? Remember, in the last post I claimed my idealism. Idealism often might call forth shouting and arguing, that is true. However, in the end, one "side" triumphs and the other side is in wait to pounce and take back what is "theirs."

Do we not see that playing out all over the place right now?

Shouting it down forever doesn’t seem to be very effective. That is just my experience. I am reminded of a Hasidic story, a tale of Rabbi Zusya. That story is called The Lesson, by Doug Lipman. Here is a link to the story or you can read it here with my commentary. Or not read it at all, fee free!

When Reb Zusya was a young rabbi, a local merchant denounced him publicly. The Hasidic movement, the merchant said, was a dangerous innovation. Those who propounded it were fools at best and scoundrels at worst.

When his followers came to Reb Zusya with the news of this slander, Reb Zusya merely smiled. They pleaded, "Aren't you going to counter his accusations?"

"Yes," he said. "I'll keep doing what I've been doing."

Some time later, one of Reb Zusya's followers, known as Moishe Lieb, heard a commotion in the marketplace. A crowd had gathered around the merchant, who was spreading his opinion of Reb Zusya to any who would listen.

"He defiles the worship services! I saw him! He dances around, delays the prayers past their proper time, and insults our dignity!"

These affronts to his rabbi were too much for Moishe Lieb. He pushed his way to the center of the crowd. "I will teach you a lesson about Hasidism, you liar!"

The merchant pointed at Moishe Lieb and roared, "There is one of the fools now! See how he insults me!"

Enraged, Moishe Lieb spat at the merchant. The merchant lunged at Moishe Lieb. Had the crowd not restrained them, they would have come to blows.

I think you might see where things might be headed here...

A few days later, Reb Zusya approached Moishe Lieb. "Would you help me with something?"

"Of course, Rabbi. For you, anything."

"Will you come with me on a three-day journey? Just the two of us."

"Just me, Rabbi? I would be honored."

I love the idea that they are going on a journey. As with all new understanding, we must travel to get there. Often that travel does not seem exotic, but it truly is, as we are traversing the peaks and valleys of the human heart and being.

Travel also means going places that are very wonderful, but then putting up with a lot to get there. This also means putting your own culture and expectations in place so that you might actually see, taste and touch something entirely new. Travel, when done this way, never leaves the traveler untouched, does it?

On the appointed morning, Reb Zusya led Moishe Lieb, on foot, out of the city. By the end of the day, the two of them had left the main road and were walking on a small, faint path through dry, uninhabited hills. Again and again, Reb Zusya had to tell Moishe Lieb, "Watch out - the path goes to the right here. No, it's this way."

As darkness fell, Reb Zusya pointed to a sheltering rock at the base of a large hill. "We'll sleep under there."

When it was still dark, Reb Zusya shook his companion awake. "Come, Reb Moishe." The rabbi led him up the hill. When they reached the top and could see the narrow valley on the other side, Reb Zusya stopped and sat down in the path. He began staring intently into the valley before him. "Let's look, Moishe," he said.

Reb Moishe sat down next to him and stared, too. In the first light of day, he saw a parched valley below them, with two small fields of grain. Next to each field was a shelter built from rock. Down the center of the valley, a tiny creek trickled through the first farm and into the next. As the light broadened, he saw that, in contrast to the brown scrub around the fields, the two farms were lush with green.

For a long time, nothing happened. Then, just as the sun appeared in the sky, the door of the farther house opened. A man emerged, carrying a homemade, crude wooden bucket. He went to the tiny creek - scarcely more than a moist strip with a trickle of water down its center - and put the bucket where it could collect the few drops that ran into it. After many minutes, the man picked up the full bucket and began sprinkling the precious water on his field.

They watched the man water his field in this slow way until the sun was precisely overhead. Abruptly, the man looked up in the sky, stopped his work, and walked toward the farm which lay above his. As though on signal, a man came out of the near stone shelter and, without a word, embraced the first man - who silently gave him the bucket and returned to his stone hut.

For the rest of the day, Reb Zusya and Reb Moishe Lieb watched the second man patiently water his farm, just as the first man had. When the sun set, the upstream farmer walked to the downstream shelter, silently hugged the occupant, handed him back the bucket, and returned to his own shelter of stone.

At that, Reb Zusya stood up, turned around and began to walk the way they had come. Moishe Lieb followed him.

After a time, Moishe Lieb spoke. "Teacher, why did we come here?"

Reb Zusya said, "Sit down. I will tell you what I know of those two men." He began to tell the story.

Now comes the time where shouting is pointless and only listening is the lamp to light the way. Reb Zusya, the teacher, begins to unpack the real story of what they eye can only see of two men in a valley.

The first time I came here (he said) I saw very much what you saw today - the two green fields in this arid place and the two men who watered them so patiently. Curious - and, besides, it was nightfall and I needed a place to sleep - I approached the first shelter. My host smiled and gestured me to enter. I soon discovered that he spoke no word of my language and I spoke no word of his. So, after a short time, I went to the shelter of the second farmer. To my amazement, he appeared to speak yet another language. He could not converse with me nor with his only neighbor.

Eventually, by way of signs and grunts, I learned their story. The "upstream" farmer, fleeing empty-handed from a war somewhere, had settled here alone. Even though he had no tools of any kind and he saw the aridity of this place, he hoped that the stream would moisten his field enough for him to grow a crop. He struggled to survive, scouring the surrounding area for berries and wild grains to eat and plant here. He carried water in his cupped hands from the trickling stream to his field.

At the end of the first winter, he was nearly starved and exhausted. One day, he saw another man enter this valley, carrying a large cloth sack over his shoulder. For a while the first man hid, fearing that he would be forced to return to the war he had deserted. When at last he emerged and spoke to the man, he learned that they spoke no common language. In spite of this, he soon realized that the other man wanted to settle here, too. The first man was about to drive him off when the other opened his cloth sack and took from it a wooden bucket. Overjoyed, the first man embraced the stranger as a friend and rescuer. Soon, by sharing the bucket, they were able to water both fields and live here in peace.

I left them, amazed at the simple, tranquil life they had carved from this dry valley.

A year or two later, I passed by here again. You can imagine my amazement when I discovered that the fields were brown, their crops were nearly dead, and a wall had been built between the two fields. When they saw me coming, they both came to greet me. But when each saw the other, they growled and shook their fists. Neither would approach me, lest he come too close to the other! I visited them one at a time in their shelters. By miming questions and watching how they acted out the answers, I was able to piece together what had happened since I came here last.

Somehow, they had quarreled over the bucket. Neither seemed able to describe the cause of their quarrel, but each seemed equally furious. Evidently, the "downstream" farmer had finally refused to share the bucket at all, leaving the upstream farmer with no way to gather the creek water. Then, in retaliation, the upstream farmer dug a ditch and diverted the water from the downstream field, into a pile of loose stones where neither could reach it. Now they were both unable to water their crops.

One night, determined on revenge, the upstream farmer sneaked into the other's house to steal the bucket. The downstream farmer, however, had taken to wrapping his body around the bucket as he slept, and woke up in time to chase the empty-handed upstream farmer away. But the next day, he began dragging stones between their fields, forming a wall that neither could cross.

That was how I found them: slowly starving to death, neither able to use the water that still flowed slowly into their valley.

Such great bounty goes to waste here because they cannot agree. Now it would be oh-so-very-easy to say that whatever our own perspective is is the good, but that might not always be true. The point is how to negotiate and live with what is. Now that is hard, it requires openness, potential compromise and cooperation. What risk.

What could I do? I took the bottle of Sabbath wine from the sack I carried. I opened it, carried it to the first farmer's shelter, and walked backward holding the wine out toward him, enticing him up the hill as you might lure a stray cat. I signaled him to stay there, then led the second farmer with the same promise of wine. They each stayed a considerable distance away from me, one above me on the hill and the other below. They showed no willingness to get too close to each other, yet they both appeared to understand that I meant to offer them each wine.

I took out a tin cup from my sack and filled it with wine. I extended it first toward one of them, then toward the other, offering the cup to them both. At last they understood that I meant for them to drink from the same cup. Suspiciously, they each approached. I brought their hands together, put the cup in their joined hands, and stood back to let them drink.

They continued to eye each other as they brought their mouths closer to the wine. Then one of them tried to pull the wine away. The other pulled back. In a short while, they had spilled the entire cup of wine over each other and the ground. They both looked at me imploringly.

I retrieved the cup, filled it again, and set it on the ground between them. This time they each managed to drink a mouthful before starting to tussle - and spilling the rest.

I filled the cup several times. At last, they had learned to drink from the same cup. By now, the wine was gone, but the two men remained facing each other on the path. The first one pointed at the wine stains on the other's shirt and laughed. Then the second one pointed back. When the first one looked down and discovered similar stains on his shirt, they both laughed.

Dominance... someone must always dominate and have "their" way.

Rabbi Zusya looked at his companion. "That's how I left them a year ago," he said. "Laughing on the path. As you can see, they must have stopped trying to retaliate."

Moishe Lieb nodded. "I see. You taught them without teaching them. Just like you taught me."

"What did I teach you?"

Moishe Lieb sighed. "That I didn't help you by 'fighting over the bucket' with the merchant."

Reb Zusya put his arm around his companion. "I know you meant to help. You couldn't bear to see me attacked."

"Did I hurt your work?"

"Yes, a little. But maybe now you know other ways to help him learn?"

The next morning, the companions began the walk back home. Reb Zusya did not have to tell Moishe Lieb where to walk. By now, he knew the way.

How will we ever learn the way? I am convinced that it is through some sort of conversation and conversion. (Not always of the religious form!)

Back to the mountains, I have my own journey to under take. I hope you will join me, I am grateful to those who do.

After all, how could I do any of this alone? And why would I want to?

Is Refusal to Grow A Sin? Thoughts on the Second Sunday in Ordinary Time January 16, 2011

While the Christmas season is behind us and the Lenten season is weeks and weeks away, thanks to the way the calendar goes this year, we are in Ordinary Time for awhile. I always think that there is nothing ordinary about it!

The title of this post asks the question - it is a sin to refuse to change or grow? St. Gregory of Nyssa did refer to it this way: sin as “the refusal to keep growing.”

In any event, today we encounter three readings that offer us some direction about who God is and who we are as well. It is important to consider that both elements are essential to living our faith. We spend a lot of time in general figuring out who God is but who we are and how we are holy matters. It matters a lot!

The first reading from Isaiah reminds us that not only is Isaiah prophesying Jesus but reminding us all that we are to be a light to the nations. Yes - we. You and me, us - the whole lot of humanity, if we but respond.

The responsorial psalm points us to what is required for all of this to happen, "here I am Lord, I come to do your will." Oh that is easier said than done!

And then St. Paul in the beginning of his first letter to the Corinthians. What does Paul say? The Corinthians then - and us today - are to be holy. Holy is often thought of as pious, but what about holy as growing in Christ? What about holy as people becoming more and more who God loved into being?

John addresses us in the Gospel by reminding us how he recognized God in his midst in the person of Jesus. In some way John had to realize that Jesus was "the Lamb of God." And he did so. It makes me wonder if I would be so open-eyed and open-minded to see God in my midst?

You see, recognizing God as God also requires some recognition of ourselves as the light. We are each the light of the nations. I was talking to someone yesterday about how this reminds me of many little candlelights coming together as one large bright vision. That would be something we would see at the Eater Vigil.

Seeing ourselves and each other as elements of God is hard, but it is true and it is who and what we are called to.

Which leads me at last back to St. Gregory of Nyssa and his words... If we refuse to keep growing, how can we grow closer to God and to one another? How can we be a light to the nations? If Isaiah, if St. Paul and if St. John all refused to grow, I guess we would not be having this conversation today, would we?

I don't know but I do know how often I resist change and growth. And I do know that today I am invited into it anew, as I am each day by Christ our Lord.

Finding Light - It's Right Here

"What has been lost is the true beholding of the light from inner eyes. Grace is given to heal that inner sight, to open our eyes again to the goodness that is deep within us, for God is within us." John Scottus Eriugena

Yesterday, I was looking at a very fine book called "The Power of Pause" by Terry Hershey, published by Loyola Press and came across that quote. It really struck me, so I put it on my Facebook page and it received no comment, not even a "like."  (What gets attention on Facebook is a whole other story, err I mean blogpost!)

In any event, the words stayed with me today as I read from (also from Loyola Press) the Friday Wisdom Story at People For Others. It was at this blog that I first heard about The Power of Pause in the first place. Anyway, unrelated to the book, but part of the blog is this week's wisdom story. It is about finding the treasure in what is already before us and the simple. Go ahead and read it, it is worth the short time it will take you to do so.

The ordinary is often the most remarkable thing, yet it is what we ignore in our search for the next best thing. The simple is usually the solution, but we often buy our way to it or exhaust ourselves in searching for such a thing. I say that as a copy of Real Simple sits before me. (One time my sister-in-law heard me refer to this magazine and bought me a multi-year subscription which never seems to end. *sigh* Real-Not-Simple.)

In any case, what treasures are before you on this day, revealed in the simple and the humble? What treasure is within you on this day, that are a challenge for you to find, to accept and to love?

Another thing that I think about is all the blogs that I try to check in on, along with Facebook pages. What strikes me is just how much anger and vitriol there is out there. Typically these sentiments are found on Catholic blogs where there is a never ending stream of angry, divisive and negative comments. Sometimes it is the blogger who starts it, other times the comment thread takes that direction. It does make me wonder about how we discover God in ourselves and one another as part of our faith journey.

How do you find your light? Finding my own is not so easy but I am hoping that if we can do this together, we can all shine more light on what is good. This good is all around and within us! This good is God, present and alive and waiting for us to respond. The quote at the top is a good way to help me refocus and respond to grace; may it be the same for you!

My Own View From Om to Amen - Yoga, the Catholic Church, Mary DeTurris Poust and Me

Albany area resident and Catholic writer par excellence, Mary DeTurris Poust has written about her Catholicism and her yoga practice.  (The first link is to Patheos, but you can also read it at Mary's own blog or at OSV Daily Take.) This is always a controversial pairing with many saying that yoga is antithetical to Catholic teachings; some even call it outright dangerous. In both response and support, I am writing my own yoga story, from my very Catholic perspective.

I will be completely honest by saying that I had many physical and mental issues that stem from childhood sexual abuse. God has blessed me richly with healing and grace. That said, I suffered from many physical issues and stress for many years.

As it happened, extremely overweight and unhappy at the time, 9/11 struck and I was in NYC. While 5 miles north of the imminent danger, I suffered a resurgence of PTSD. God knows I prayed and prayed and cried out for healing. I was in therapy at the time, but somehow yoga kept calling to me, but I was afraid to go. Then one day, I mustered up the courage and went to a local studio.

My life was never the same after that.

It never occurred to me that yoga was antithetical to my Catholic faith. In fact, if anything, it reminded me what is important about organized religion and my own faith practice. Take Mass for example - I attend weekly, daily when I can. People ask me if I go because I am afraid of hell! Hardly! Liturgy is essential because my faith is not enlivened and practiced alone!

Yoga is similar - I can watch all the yoga DVDs in the world, but nothing takes the place of a class in a studio. It is about community, presence and service as I came to understand it.

Yoga helped to heal me deeply and in many ways and I experienced in and through the context of my Catholicism, not separate from it. Idol worship? Evil? Hardly - all is seen and experienced through Christ for me.

Allow me to relay two anecdotes about my old yoga practice, most of which happened at The Birchwood Center in Nyack, NY. One took place on the 1st anniversary of 9/11. As I sat in the studio, looking out over the Hudson, the same Hudson that the WTC apparently used as a navigational tool, I made some transition from fear and rage and pain into some peace. The blue of the sky, the peace of the clouds could not be taken from me. I was transformed. Was it some false God? Or was it the presence of Christ as I was in a place where grace flooded in?


The second took place some years later, probably 2007. My life had experienced numerous changes and transitions and healing. That said, I still had (and have) my moments. One day I just couldn't sink into my yoga; it was a hard class for me to surrender to. At the end of class, we were in savasana, or corpse pose, that pose of rest and repose.

My favorite yoga instructor was Charlene Bradin. (That's Charlene, the person standing on the right in that photo.) I've taken so many yoga classes, so many from great teachers, but Charlene stands alone in my mind; she is remarkable. In any case, as we were quiet, Charlene would bring bolsters to anyone who wanted to place them under their knees. As she placed mine, she touched my leg to adjust it ever-so-slightly. It was at that moment I began to weep. Her touch was so healing and helped me to release a wave of something that I needed to let go of. Let go, Let God as the saying goes. That small touch was grace unleashed for me that day.

For me the ultimate thing is that our catholicity invites us to be fully in the world with our faith. Most things can be integrated. No I am not talking about relativism, but I am talking about how to be and remain fully rooted in the incarnate world as a Roman Catholic. Which also means I can take a yoga class and not be a party to evil or idol worship! Yoga is about surrender, community, service and love. None of these things go against my faith and in fact support it.

Yoga has healed me and my faith is the most healing balm, the love of Christ. The two are not incompatible for me.

What say you?

Ephiphany - A Final Christmas Reflection

(I wrote this for the parish blog last night and it is not as well developed as I might like, but I put it out there and put it out here too. Happy and Blessed Epiphany! I wish you faith, hope and light!)

What a difference! The three kings had only a rumor to go by. But it moved them to make that long journey. The scribes were much better informed, much better versed. They sat and studied the Scriptures like so many dons, but it did not make them move. Who had the more truth? The three kings who followed a rumor, or the scribes who remained sitting with all their knowledge? -Soren Kierkegaard

Thursday January 6 marks the actual date of Epiphany, even though we celebrated it on Sunday. We have such vivid images of the 3 Kings or the magi, yet we don't really know too much about them.

I am struck by two things on this Epiphany... One is that the real sin in life is despair. The acts of sin and manifestations of them - adultery, killing, stealing, all appear to come out of some kind of despair. I-don't-have-this-and-I-want-this kind of despair. It means a lack of hope and our faith is about hope if nothing else.


That element of hope is the second thing that strikes me... Out of hope grows faith. Imagine the hope of the magi, their faith. They acted on a hunch and look what happened. I would say that they defied conventional wisdom with their bold act.

It all seems a gamble. Don't despair. Have hope. Follow the hunch. Nurture your faith, live your faith.

The 3 magi come in at about 2:30 of this video, a little corny but thought provoking nonetheless.