Devote one short hour every day
To serve your Maker and your Lord,
Do worship, meditate or pray
Or sow some seeds of Good abroad.
Do something, in His name, to show
That you are mindful of the debt
Which children to their parents owe
For all the gifts they freely get.
Do something noble, something fine
That has no colour of the self,
No shade of ego, me or mine,
No thought of honour, fame or pelf.*
Do something good to benefit
The humble crowds surrounding you,
Whose minds not yet by Wisdom lit
Cannot decide what they should do.
*pelf : middle english for ill-gotten wealth or gain; (yes, I had to look it up. I thought it was a typo...)
Adapted from "God in All Worlds," Lucinda Vardey, Editor, Pantheon Books, 1995.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
A truly sacred space
It was with more than a little trepidation that I stepped onto the NYC bound train. It was a wednesday morning in April 2002 and I was making my first trip into the city since the terror attacks that past September.
The purpose of the trip was to serve as a volunteer at St. Paul's Chapel, the "little chapel that stood." St. Paul's is an Episcopal Church that is literally next to the WTC site. Despite it's proximity to the crumbling buildings, the little stone church suffered only minor damage. I was told it was because it was a warm day and some of the windows were open, thus providing a vent for the enormous pressure of the collapse of the towers. I don't know if that's true. But the chapel remained standing.
In the moments and days following the attacks on its neighborhood, St. Paul's became an official respite center for First Responders and rescue and recovery personnel. Volunteers served hot meals, gave massages and foot rubs, provided pastoral care, mental health counseling and medical care. Workers from the adjoining "ground zero" could be found praying or sleeping in the pews.
St. Paul's was also the unofficial memorial site for people who wanted to express grief, sorrow, sympathy, empathy, compassion, faith and hope after the terror. Banners, flags, posters, greeting cards, windsocks, and most touching -- photographs of lost loved ones -- covered the church's fence, its stone front walls, the makeshift police fencing and barricades. The flags were delivered by empathetic tourists from other nations who wanted to stand in solidarity with New Yorkers and U.S. citizens. The banners and other items were mostly hand-crafted "love letters" from churches and school children from around the United States and the world to the thousands of volunteers working on the site and in the chapel.
By the time I had screwed up my courage and made the trip into the city, recovery work was nearly finished. Remains of those who perished had long since been uncovered and the city and other governing bodies were focusing on the transition into a re-building phase. Still, the firefighters, iron-workers, construction crews and other workers sought refuge in the stalwart little church building that had provided so much comfort for so many long, arduous, grief-stricken days.
My job that day in April 2002 was to guard the entrance to St. Paul's. In order to provide privacy and real respite for the workers they were serving. Those managing St. Paul's relief effort (mostly Episcopal Relief and Development) had built plywood walls around the front of the church and left only a couple of entry ways onto the church property. St. Paul's was not open to the general public during that time. Admittance was granted only to those working on the WTC site and visitors who had lost loved ones in the attacks. My job that day was to make sure no unauthorized people entered the building and to make certain that those who NEEDED to enter -- survivors and loved ones of the deceased -- did have access.
As I stood outside, many visitors to "Ground Zero" -- folks from the NY metropolitan area and tourists from around the world -- came by. One woman from Germany told me she had come because her son had been killed in the attacks. I pushed the folding table that served as our "gate" out of the way and led her inside where a more knowledgeable volunteer gave her a tour and an opportunity to visit and pray.
Another woman, Pearl, from Israel, asked me why I wasn't carrying a weapon as I guarded the entrance. Her question shocked me. Why would I need a gun? Pearl told me that if the site were in Israel, I would have been carrying a gun. Thinking back now, she must have thought I was so naive. But I just smiled at her and said, "I don't need a gun. It's safe." In just a few short hours at St. Paul's I had begun to think of the "little chapel that stood" as a sanctuary, a safe place of peace in the midst of chaos.
That day at St. Paul's changed forever how I look at the "function" of a church -- or any other house of worship. Yes, they are sacred places where we honor, praise and give thanks to our glorious Creator. But I also believe that they are the most holy of spaces when they help us to share God's love with one another.
What could give God more happiness than seeing the aching, tired, feet of a firefighter be massaged by a volunteer podiatrist in a makeshift clinic in the aisles of a church building? I believe God longs for the moments when we treat one another with such tender loving care.
Imagine how it delighted God to see banners and flags and posters filled with loving prayers and expressions of faith, hope and sympathy draped on the fences, walls, steps and doors on the inside and outside of a chapel! I like to think that God was as touched as I was by the banner filled with a rainbow of children's handprints that was sent from a church school in another part of the country.
I believe that that banner was just as sacred and gave as much glory to God as even the most intricate Russian icon. And those foot massages? They were sacraments of healing.
For more information on St. Paul's Chapel, click on the link above. Meanwhile, please share your comments about places that you think of as sacred.
I wish you peace.
The purpose of the trip was to serve as a volunteer at St. Paul's Chapel, the "little chapel that stood." St. Paul's is an Episcopal Church that is literally next to the WTC site. Despite it's proximity to the crumbling buildings, the little stone church suffered only minor damage. I was told it was because it was a warm day and some of the windows were open, thus providing a vent for the enormous pressure of the collapse of the towers. I don't know if that's true. But the chapel remained standing.
In the moments and days following the attacks on its neighborhood, St. Paul's became an official respite center for First Responders and rescue and recovery personnel. Volunteers served hot meals, gave massages and foot rubs, provided pastoral care, mental health counseling and medical care. Workers from the adjoining "ground zero" could be found praying or sleeping in the pews.
St. Paul's was also the unofficial memorial site for people who wanted to express grief, sorrow, sympathy, empathy, compassion, faith and hope after the terror. Banners, flags, posters, greeting cards, windsocks, and most touching -- photographs of lost loved ones -- covered the church's fence, its stone front walls, the makeshift police fencing and barricades. The flags were delivered by empathetic tourists from other nations who wanted to stand in solidarity with New Yorkers and U.S. citizens. The banners and other items were mostly hand-crafted "love letters" from churches and school children from around the United States and the world to the thousands of volunteers working on the site and in the chapel.
By the time I had screwed up my courage and made the trip into the city, recovery work was nearly finished. Remains of those who perished had long since been uncovered and the city and other governing bodies were focusing on the transition into a re-building phase. Still, the firefighters, iron-workers, construction crews and other workers sought refuge in the stalwart little church building that had provided so much comfort for so many long, arduous, grief-stricken days.
My job that day in April 2002 was to guard the entrance to St. Paul's. In order to provide privacy and real respite for the workers they were serving. Those managing St. Paul's relief effort (mostly Episcopal Relief and Development) had built plywood walls around the front of the church and left only a couple of entry ways onto the church property. St. Paul's was not open to the general public during that time. Admittance was granted only to those working on the WTC site and visitors who had lost loved ones in the attacks. My job that day was to make sure no unauthorized people entered the building and to make certain that those who NEEDED to enter -- survivors and loved ones of the deceased -- did have access.
As I stood outside, many visitors to "Ground Zero" -- folks from the NY metropolitan area and tourists from around the world -- came by. One woman from Germany told me she had come because her son had been killed in the attacks. I pushed the folding table that served as our "gate" out of the way and led her inside where a more knowledgeable volunteer gave her a tour and an opportunity to visit and pray.
Another woman, Pearl, from Israel, asked me why I wasn't carrying a weapon as I guarded the entrance. Her question shocked me. Why would I need a gun? Pearl told me that if the site were in Israel, I would have been carrying a gun. Thinking back now, she must have thought I was so naive. But I just smiled at her and said, "I don't need a gun. It's safe." In just a few short hours at St. Paul's I had begun to think of the "little chapel that stood" as a sanctuary, a safe place of peace in the midst of chaos.
That day at St. Paul's changed forever how I look at the "function" of a church -- or any other house of worship. Yes, they are sacred places where we honor, praise and give thanks to our glorious Creator. But I also believe that they are the most holy of spaces when they help us to share God's love with one another.
What could give God more happiness than seeing the aching, tired, feet of a firefighter be massaged by a volunteer podiatrist in a makeshift clinic in the aisles of a church building? I believe God longs for the moments when we treat one another with such tender loving care.
Imagine how it delighted God to see banners and flags and posters filled with loving prayers and expressions of faith, hope and sympathy draped on the fences, walls, steps and doors on the inside and outside of a chapel! I like to think that God was as touched as I was by the banner filled with a rainbow of children's handprints that was sent from a church school in another part of the country.
I believe that that banner was just as sacred and gave as much glory to God as even the most intricate Russian icon. And those foot massages? They were sacraments of healing.
For more information on St. Paul's Chapel, click on the link above. Meanwhile, please share your comments about places that you think of as sacred.
I wish you peace.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Do Not Look with Fear*
Do not look with fear
on the changes and chances of this life;
rather look to them with full faith that as they arise,
God -- whose you are -- will deliver you out of them.
He has kept you hitherto.
Do not but hold fast to His dear hand,
and He will lead you safely through all things;
and when you cannot stand, He will bear you
in his arms.
Do not anticipate what will happen tomorrow.
The same everlasting Father who cares for you today
will take care of you tomorrow and every day.
Either He willl shield you from suffering or
He will give you unfailing strength to bear it.
Be at peace, then, and put aside all anxious thoughts
and imaginations.
* St. Francis De Sales
on the changes and chances of this life;
rather look to them with full faith that as they arise,
God -- whose you are -- will deliver you out of them.
He has kept you hitherto.
Do not but hold fast to His dear hand,
and He will lead you safely through all things;
and when you cannot stand, He will bear you
in his arms.
Do not anticipate what will happen tomorrow.
The same everlasting Father who cares for you today
will take care of you tomorrow and every day.
Either He willl shield you from suffering or
He will give you unfailing strength to bear it.
Be at peace, then, and put aside all anxious thoughts
and imaginations.
* St. Francis De Sales
shaken and stirred
Here in the Northeastern U.S. we were surprised and a little "shaken" (pun intended) by an earthquake a few days ago.
By some standards, the event -- a relatively minor jolt at only 5.8 at its epicenter and a little over 2.0 here in NJ/NY -- was no big deal. But to those of us who had never experienced an earthquake, it was a big deal. Yes, there was some fear and concern. But most of us were also amazed and excited! This was a major natural event and we got to experience it as something fun, exciting, and for the most part -- harmless.
Of course, we were lucky. There were no aftershocks to be felt and for now, no more quakes. In fact, our seismic event became fodder for some pretty funny stuff online (see http://www.buzzfeed.com/).
That being said, our fear was not unfounded.
While we have not suffered a major devastating earthquake in this region in some time, we have witnessed -- albeit from a distance -- the horrible destruction, injury, and death that an earthquake can cause.
It's been 20 months since an earthquake leveled most of the infrastructure of Haiti. A May 31, 2011 NY Times article reports that over 66,000 people are still living in camps during this current hurricane season; and over 300,000 are still displaced -- no longer living in the camps, but not in there own homes, either. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/01/world/americas/01haiti.html?ref=haiti0
In Japan, where a dangerous earthquake was followed by an equally -- if not more -- devastating tsunami in March, the death toll as of July was 22,000 people. Tens of thousands of Japanese people are still being housed in shelters because of the damage to their homes and towns by the natural disaster; others have been evacuated because of the threat of radiation from a nuclear power plant that had a meltdown as a result of the quake. http://topics.nytimes.com/top/news/international/countriesandterritories/japan/index.html
As I write this morning, we on the eastern seaboard of the U.S. are awaiting the arrival of Hurricane Irene. While I was in the supermarket on thursday night, I heard a woman saying "you'd think it was the end of the world." She obviously was not worried about the oncoming storm. I was more than a little dismayed by her contempt for her fellow shoppers. Another woman with a shopping cart loaded nearly to overflowing with water and other non-perishables, looked at me sheepishly and whispered "I'm trying not to look like I'm nervous." I told her: "If you are, you are not alone." How sad that she needed to be embarrassed by her drive to protect herself and her family!
That woman was right to be concerned. If you were an adult in 1999 when hurricane Floyd hit, you remember that some sections of New Jersey were left relatively untouched. Other areas, however, were completely flooded out. Homes, businesses and lives were lost to the rising waters. Many had no power for weeks. And let's not forget that 6 years after Katrina and Rita hit the gulf coast, residents are still working to rebuild and revitalize their hometowns.
We humans are made of pretty tough stuff. After the "earthquake" last week, most people in Manhattan went right back to work in their high rise office buildings. There were some however -- no doubt still struggling with the memories of a locked down NYC after the terror attacks of September 11, 2001 -- that took the opportunity to get out early.
I don't blame them. I would most likely have left too. And like many of them I would have walked rather than go down into the subway. After all, news outlets were reporting that the 3 area airports and the Holland tunnel were closed. Cell phone service was interupted and loved ones could not be reached for comfort or for information about their well-being. Watching folks walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, one couldn't help but be reminded of the painful exodus of emotionally battered souls who walked miles to their homes as dust and tears and terror filled the streets of lower Manhattan ten years ago. It was eerie.
As I watched the earthquake coverage, it occurred to me that 10 years after the terror of 9/11, I could still involuntarily recall the feelings of sorrow and fear that I felt that day. But those memories also made me think of the inate compassion and courage that most people didn't even know they had until given a reason to share it. Courageous and humble first responders, medical personnel, clergy, and thousands of "average citizens" from all walks of life all risked their health and lives and pitched in to help.
Time after time, a horrific event occurs that causes immeasurable hurt, pain and suffering -- only to be met almost immediately by the faith, courage, strength and compassion of neighbors, friends, and community members who come together to rebuild their lives and restore hope to the survivors. That's what happened around the country 10 years ago.
Yes, the human psyche is quite amazing. We may encounter hardship and endure suffering. But we have also been blessed by our Creator with a life-giving Spirit that moves in us and through us and connects us to the divine in one another. So even in the throes of a disaster like an earthquake, a hurricane, or human-made terror, we can come together in strength and love to give one another much needed hope and reassurance.
In that recovery of hope, we don't lose our memories of the tough times. If we are wise, we use them to provide us with the faith and courage we need to handle the next frightening or hurtful event. And if we are truly open to the growth and experiential wisdom that those times provide, we know that when we tap into the divine within our very souls, we can help one another get through even the most terrible situation.
By some standards, the event -- a relatively minor jolt at only 5.8 at its epicenter and a little over 2.0 here in NJ/NY -- was no big deal. But to those of us who had never experienced an earthquake, it was a big deal. Yes, there was some fear and concern. But most of us were also amazed and excited! This was a major natural event and we got to experience it as something fun, exciting, and for the most part -- harmless.
Of course, we were lucky. There were no aftershocks to be felt and for now, no more quakes. In fact, our seismic event became fodder for some pretty funny stuff online (see http://www.buzzfeed.com/).
That being said, our fear was not unfounded.
While we have not suffered a major devastating earthquake in this region in some time, we have witnessed -- albeit from a distance -- the horrible destruction, injury, and death that an earthquake can cause.
It's been 20 months since an earthquake leveled most of the infrastructure of Haiti. A May 31, 2011 NY Times article reports that over 66,000 people are still living in camps during this current hurricane season; and over 300,000 are still displaced -- no longer living in the camps, but not in there own homes, either. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/01/world/americas/01haiti.html?ref=haiti0
In Japan, where a dangerous earthquake was followed by an equally -- if not more -- devastating tsunami in March, the death toll as of July was 22,000 people. Tens of thousands of Japanese people are still being housed in shelters because of the damage to their homes and towns by the natural disaster; others have been evacuated because of the threat of radiation from a nuclear power plant that had a meltdown as a result of the quake. http://topics.nytimes.com/top/news/international/countriesandterritories/japan/index.html
As I write this morning, we on the eastern seaboard of the U.S. are awaiting the arrival of Hurricane Irene. While I was in the supermarket on thursday night, I heard a woman saying "you'd think it was the end of the world." She obviously was not worried about the oncoming storm. I was more than a little dismayed by her contempt for her fellow shoppers. Another woman with a shopping cart loaded nearly to overflowing with water and other non-perishables, looked at me sheepishly and whispered "I'm trying not to look like I'm nervous." I told her: "If you are, you are not alone." How sad that she needed to be embarrassed by her drive to protect herself and her family!
That woman was right to be concerned. If you were an adult in 1999 when hurricane Floyd hit, you remember that some sections of New Jersey were left relatively untouched. Other areas, however, were completely flooded out. Homes, businesses and lives were lost to the rising waters. Many had no power for weeks. And let's not forget that 6 years after Katrina and Rita hit the gulf coast, residents are still working to rebuild and revitalize their hometowns.
We humans are made of pretty tough stuff. After the "earthquake" last week, most people in Manhattan went right back to work in their high rise office buildings. There were some however -- no doubt still struggling with the memories of a locked down NYC after the terror attacks of September 11, 2001 -- that took the opportunity to get out early.
I don't blame them. I would most likely have left too. And like many of them I would have walked rather than go down into the subway. After all, news outlets were reporting that the 3 area airports and the Holland tunnel were closed. Cell phone service was interupted and loved ones could not be reached for comfort or for information about their well-being. Watching folks walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, one couldn't help but be reminded of the painful exodus of emotionally battered souls who walked miles to their homes as dust and tears and terror filled the streets of lower Manhattan ten years ago. It was eerie.
As I watched the earthquake coverage, it occurred to me that 10 years after the terror of 9/11, I could still involuntarily recall the feelings of sorrow and fear that I felt that day. But those memories also made me think of the inate compassion and courage that most people didn't even know they had until given a reason to share it. Courageous and humble first responders, medical personnel, clergy, and thousands of "average citizens" from all walks of life all risked their health and lives and pitched in to help.
Time after time, a horrific event occurs that causes immeasurable hurt, pain and suffering -- only to be met almost immediately by the faith, courage, strength and compassion of neighbors, friends, and community members who come together to rebuild their lives and restore hope to the survivors. That's what happened around the country 10 years ago.
Yes, the human psyche is quite amazing. We may encounter hardship and endure suffering. But we have also been blessed by our Creator with a life-giving Spirit that moves in us and through us and connects us to the divine in one another. So even in the throes of a disaster like an earthquake, a hurricane, or human-made terror, we can come together in strength and love to give one another much needed hope and reassurance.
In that recovery of hope, we don't lose our memories of the tough times. If we are wise, we use them to provide us with the faith and courage we need to handle the next frightening or hurtful event. And if we are truly open to the growth and experiential wisdom that those times provide, we know that when we tap into the divine within our very souls, we can help one another get through even the most terrible situation.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
writer's block
I haven't posted in a while. I have had a very bad case of writer's block. It wasn't that I didn't have anything to say -- that's just never the case for me. It was that I had too much to say and couldn't properly filter out my thoughts!
The past few weeks of following the U.S. debt crisis in juxtaposition with the horrible tragedy of drought and famine in the Horn of Africa just caused my brain circuitry to melt. Every time I turned on the news and the lead story was the Dow Jones Industrial Average and not the story of starvation in Africa, I became less able to make sense of human nature.
Don't get me wrong: I do understand the seriousness of our economic situation right now. I am a member of the demographic known as the "the sandwich generation." I have an ailing mother in assisted living that she barely afford; I am about to send my 18 year-old off to college -- a college that we can afford only because of a generous scholarship from the university; My husband and I are in our mid-50's and have watched in horror as the statements for our 401k plans became awash in a sea of red ink. So I do get it.
I also get this: that while I may be having a slightly bumpy ride financially right now, my life is very good. I have a cozy home in a suburb in New Jersey. We both have jobs. We have two cars that we use to take us to those jobs and also to Costco, and to the pizza parlor on Saturday's and to church on Sunday. We can help my mom with her pharmacy bills and with sundries; and we can send our son to college. We are in good health. And most important of all -- we have each other. We have extended family and we have a network of friends, acquaintances and colleagues. We are blessed and we are grateful. Cranky sometimes, but always grateful.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is this: there are real people both here in the United States and elsewhere in the world who are really struggling just to stay alive. And those of us who have the luxury of complaining about temporary losses in the stocks and bonds in which we've invested need to get a grip and put things in perspective. There are millions of people who would be happy to have our "problems."
I hope my "scolding" doesn't offend you. I just had to get this rant off my chest so I could get on with it!
Thanks for letting me unburden myself! And by all means -- feel free to reply with a comment.
And now, I hope you will take a moment to pray for clarity in your own life; for perspective, for patience, for forgiveness, for a spirit of generosity and love and for help if you need it. Whatever your faith tradition, please pray for guidance on how you, we, all of us -- can help ease the burdens of those who are truly suffering.
Let us join our thoughts and prayers and hearts' desires in asking God how we can best use our humanity and "an attitude of gratitude" to extend life-giving and life-saving compassion to those who are not as lucky as we are.
May God's peace be with you.
The past few weeks of following the U.S. debt crisis in juxtaposition with the horrible tragedy of drought and famine in the Horn of Africa just caused my brain circuitry to melt. Every time I turned on the news and the lead story was the Dow Jones Industrial Average and not the story of starvation in Africa, I became less able to make sense of human nature.
Don't get me wrong: I do understand the seriousness of our economic situation right now. I am a member of the demographic known as the "the sandwich generation." I have an ailing mother in assisted living that she barely afford; I am about to send my 18 year-old off to college -- a college that we can afford only because of a generous scholarship from the university; My husband and I are in our mid-50's and have watched in horror as the statements for our 401k plans became awash in a sea of red ink. So I do get it.
I also get this: that while I may be having a slightly bumpy ride financially right now, my life is very good. I have a cozy home in a suburb in New Jersey. We both have jobs. We have two cars that we use to take us to those jobs and also to Costco, and to the pizza parlor on Saturday's and to church on Sunday. We can help my mom with her pharmacy bills and with sundries; and we can send our son to college. We are in good health. And most important of all -- we have each other. We have extended family and we have a network of friends, acquaintances and colleagues. We are blessed and we are grateful. Cranky sometimes, but always grateful.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is this: there are real people both here in the United States and elsewhere in the world who are really struggling just to stay alive. And those of us who have the luxury of complaining about temporary losses in the stocks and bonds in which we've invested need to get a grip and put things in perspective. There are millions of people who would be happy to have our "problems."
I hope my "scolding" doesn't offend you. I just had to get this rant off my chest so I could get on with it!
Thanks for letting me unburden myself! And by all means -- feel free to reply with a comment.
And now, I hope you will take a moment to pray for clarity in your own life; for perspective, for patience, for forgiveness, for a spirit of generosity and love and for help if you need it. Whatever your faith tradition, please pray for guidance on how you, we, all of us -- can help ease the burdens of those who are truly suffering.
Let us join our thoughts and prayers and hearts' desires in asking God how we can best use our humanity and "an attitude of gratitude" to extend life-giving and life-saving compassion to those who are not as lucky as we are.
May God's peace be with you.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Out of the Mouths of Babes
One of the mistakes that I -- and others -- make when feeling low, is to spend too much time in seclusion. Yes -- solitude can be soothing and healing. Being alone with one's thoughts and worries, gives one an opportunity to sort things out. Plus, it is important to have quiet time to sit in contemplation in order to hear what the Spirit is saying. The noise of our human realm can sometimes keep us from being "good listeners."
But humans are not meant to be solitary creatures. We have been designed specifically to live in community. Just look at the diversity with which humanity has been blessed. Our strengths and weaknesses, be they physical, emotional, or intellecual, are meant to be shared so that we live and learn and grow together.
While we need time to sit in meditation and be in touch with the Spirit within, we need our human interactions to act on the will of God. Every group, committee, club, task force, or political party that we join is a reflection not only of who we are now -- but of who we are trying to become. If we are living in the Spirit, we use these associations to bring us closer to one another -- and more important -- we use them to work out how we can better become who God wants us to be.
That is why community worship, meditation and prayer are so important to our individual and collective psyche. They remind us that we are all seekers. We are all merely human individuals looking for a supreme connection with the Creator that gave us life.
It was this need for spiritual connectivity that brought me to the Sunday evening service at Trinity Church on Copley Square.
The liturgy was adapted from a form that was not as familiar to me as I would have liked. But I recognized enough of the biddings and prayers to participate. Truthfully, I was just so happy to be in a place that I felt was mine -- listening to other beautiful voices sing and recite the prayers as I listened and internalized them.
I was in a state of bliss, totally in my element in that church. And I would probably not be able now to describe for anyone else how it felt to be there at that moment.
When it came time for the Eucharist, the members of the congregation left their seats and moved toward toward the altar railing. We stood encircling the altar as we sang and prayed together. We were many coming together as one.
Then I watched as the priest elevated the bread and the wine. She turned slowly to present the sacred gifts to each of us standing around the altar. “These are the gifts of God for the People of God.” She said. And much to my surprise, a toddler behind me – clearly recognizing the element of theatre in the priest’s liturgical gestures -- cried out in a cheer: “Y-a-a-a-a-a-a-y-y-y!!!”
When it came time for the Eucharist, the members of the congregation left their seats and moved toward toward the altar railing. We stood encircling the altar as we sang and prayed together. We were many coming together as one.
Then I watched as the priest elevated the bread and the wine. She turned slowly to present the sacred gifts to each of us standing around the altar. “These are the gifts of God for the People of God.” She said. And much to my surprise, a toddler behind me – clearly recognizing the element of theatre in the priest’s liturgical gestures -- cried out in a cheer: “Y-a-a-a-a-a-a-y-y-y!!!”
Ha! “Yay!” I couldn’t have said it better myself.
“Y-a-a-a-a-a-a-y-y-y!!!!”
“Y-a-a-a-a-a-a-y-y-y!!!!”
Friday, July 22, 2011
I'm a big girl now!
This is not what I signed up for.
When I registered for this college orientation thing, I had expectations of an amazing bonding experience designed to help my son ease into college as I slowly let the withered umbilical cord unravel.
We had such a fun ride up here to Boston. He’d made cd’s for the ride – a mix of some of his favorite music that he thought I’d like and some tunes that are favorites of us both. We laughed and talked companionably as we always do when we travel together.
Once on campus, we were directed to our different dorm buildings. I had no problem with this. It was good that he was in a separate building. After all, the symbolism of staying in separate buildings, but not too far away from one another, was so appropriate! Besides, mine had air conditioning! J
He walked to his dorm and I began the schlep over to my room. While I was still trying to find my building, my phone rang. “What were you thinking of doing tonight?” he asked. “I’m not in my room yet.” I replied. “Let me call you when I get there.” “Oh, okay.” He said. “Call me as soon as you can 'cause there’s a bunch of activities scheduled for tonight, and I was thinking I might do something.”
Thud.
Just like that, I felt myself become superfluous. All of a sudden, I was that one extra sock that comes back from the laundry without a mate. I was the good, but hopefully never needed spare tire in the car trunk; I was the end of the loaf of white bread that no one eats unless all of the other bread is gone and someone is hungry and craving peanut butter! I had an obvious purpose that I had served, but my services were not needed right now – and might never be needed again.
After waffling back and forth about how to handle this uncomfortable situation, I eventually and with GREAT reluctance told him to go and join the other kids for a movie. It wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t pretty. I was – in a word – pathetic. But just as I heard myself start to whine at him, I was shocked back into my “good mom” persona. And I let him go.
We began walking toward Huntington Ave., where his dorm room was. I wanted to see where he was staying before we went our separate ways. As we crossed the street near the T Line (the Boston “subway”), I asked him “What time is it?” “6:26” he replied. “Why?”
“Well,” I said, “It occurs to me that if I’d known we weren’t going to do anything tonight, I could have gone to church.” He thought I was kidding, of course. “No. Really” I said, “There’s a 6:30 service at Trinity on Copley Square. I could have gone.” (And if you're thinking that I may have been whining a bit, you are right.)
“Can’t you still go and just get there a little late?” he asked.
And with that simple question, he had set me free.
Well of course I could be late for church! What difference would it make to anyone but me? And then I realized. I didn’t need to see his room. I needed to seize the moment to be the independent mother of an independent son. He was becoming his new self. He was exactly where he belonged. I needed to become my new self. I had to do something that was meaningful and important to me – to find out where I belonged!
So I told him to have a good time at the movies and I ran back across the street to catch “the T” to Copley Square. A train was approaching, but I had no ticket! As the door opened I asked the conductor: “Can I pay in cash?” “No,” he said. “It’s broken.” I was crestfallen and almost missed him saying “Get on anyway.”
That kind man had no idea how much that free ride to church meant to me!
After two stops, we finally got to Copley Square. I rushed past other commuters to get up the stairs to the street and over to Trinity Church. I was elated as I walked up the side aisle toward the front of the church. As it turned out, I had already missed the entire “Liturgy of the Word.” And, I didn’t remember to get a bulletin at the door, so I didn’t have the exact prayers or know the words of the hymns we sang.
But as I passed the peace with those in the surrounding pews, I knew that I was going to be okay in this new life of mine. I had been a little confused there for a while, but I’d found my way back to me and what I needed. Sitting there, I knew that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
For once, at a loss for words
Rare are the moments when I find myself at a loss for words. But I have not been able to write on this blog for several days now because of a tragedy that afflicted a Brooklyn Community last week.
I am a person of very strong faith and think of myself as an optimist. My own life's hardships and struggles have not served to diminish my belief in a loving God. In fact, my faith in the tender loving care of our Creator for humankind has been strengthened by the incidents of adversity that I have faced, struggled with, and overcome.
Something about this tragedy, however, wounded my soul and broke my heart.
One morning, an 8 year old boy left his school in Brooklyn to walk to a street corner a few blocks away where he was to meet his mother. The boy had been begging his parents to let him walk home by himself. He was just a few short days away from his 9th birthday and wanted to be a bit more independent. His parents struggled with the decision, but being good parents, came up with a compromise that would satisfy all of them. The boy would walk part of the way home by himself along the numbered streets and avenues -- a total of 7 blocks. Those of us who live in the NYC metro area know that 7 "Brooklyn blocks" is not a long way. Plus, the streets are numbered and provide numerical direction, as it were.
Tragically, the boy forgot that he needed to walk one avenue over before walking "downtown" toward his mom. So while his mom waited for him, he was encountering a man who would not only not help him find his way, but would brutally murder him.
The link to one of the NY Times stories about the boy and his family is here. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/14/nyregion/thousands-mourn-boy-killed-in-brooklyn.html?_r=1&scp=5&sq=leiby&st=cse
Now, I am savvy enough about my own psyche (most of the time) to "get" why this story affected me so. If you've read my previous post, you know that I am in the throes of sending my only son off to college. He is a bright, secure, savvy young man who will do very well at his chosen school in Boston. Even so, my feelings of loss and confusion at "letting go" are profound. So reading the heartbreaking account of a mother who is suffering the unfathomable sorrow of losing her child in such an evil manner after allowing him to exercise some independence really hits home with me.
As I noted in my introductory post on this blog, I am not a theologian. My defense of my faith in God is based mostly on my own personal experiences of God in this world and at work in my life. I am also assured of God's existence because of the divine that I encounter every day in other people and in nature.
I have to say, however, that I could not write about spirituality in this space for the last week because I was in mourning for a boy I have never met. And in my sorrow for - and over-identification with - his mother, I became preoccupied with the fact that in this imperfect world evil sometimes shows itself in the most startlingly horrific ways. Try as we might to plan for emergencies or obey safety regulations or protect our loved ones, sometimes bad things happen that are beyond our control.
God doesn't cause the bad things to happen. But the world that God created is not perfect. It can't be. If we believe that there is only one God, one central life force from which all things come -- including people -- then we must believe that there can only be one perfect God and one perfect paradise. That's what perfect is.
Our creator did, however form us in his or her own image. That's why we have free will. If God intervened or interfered every time something went askew, we would not be creatures who reflect the intricacies of God's "being." We would be marionettes in a cosmic puppet show.*
Having said this, though, this believe of mine does not protect me from becoming hurt and confused by the shocking murder of a young boy; or by the famine that is now ravaging Somalia; or the ongoing plight of the people in earthquake stricken Haiti. But the response of humans to those tragedies and disasters helps me recover and heal.
So, I feel better now and that's why I can write. My faith in God and in the innate goodness in most people has been shored up by goodness I have witnessed in the last few days: volunteers working to rescue beautiful animals from certain death at filled-to-the-brim shelters; the ongoing dedication of an interfaith group that is working to provide respite and dignity to homeless men; the joy and celebration of summer and life evident in the parks and plazas of Boston where families and folks gathered for picnics and play and refreshment; and in reading the story of the Brooklyn boy's family, who took time out from their period of mourning -- shiva -- to observe the Sabbath so they could worship the God they love and trust; I have read that in that time they gave thanks to the Creator for letting them have their beautiful boy with them for 9 years.
There are no words and no hyperbole strong enough to describe the love and respect that I feel for them. I pray that the peace of God that surpasses all understanding be with them as they go forward.
* This explanation from Rabbi Simmons helped me a bit; http://judaism.about.com/library/3_askrabbi_o/bl_simmons_murder.htm
I am a person of very strong faith and think of myself as an optimist. My own life's hardships and struggles have not served to diminish my belief in a loving God. In fact, my faith in the tender loving care of our Creator for humankind has been strengthened by the incidents of adversity that I have faced, struggled with, and overcome.
Something about this tragedy, however, wounded my soul and broke my heart.
One morning, an 8 year old boy left his school in Brooklyn to walk to a street corner a few blocks away where he was to meet his mother. The boy had been begging his parents to let him walk home by himself. He was just a few short days away from his 9th birthday and wanted to be a bit more independent. His parents struggled with the decision, but being good parents, came up with a compromise that would satisfy all of them. The boy would walk part of the way home by himself along the numbered streets and avenues -- a total of 7 blocks. Those of us who live in the NYC metro area know that 7 "Brooklyn blocks" is not a long way. Plus, the streets are numbered and provide numerical direction, as it were.
Tragically, the boy forgot that he needed to walk one avenue over before walking "downtown" toward his mom. So while his mom waited for him, he was encountering a man who would not only not help him find his way, but would brutally murder him.
The link to one of the NY Times stories about the boy and his family is here. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/14/nyregion/thousands-mourn-boy-killed-in-brooklyn.html?_r=1&scp=5&sq=leiby&st=cse
Now, I am savvy enough about my own psyche (most of the time) to "get" why this story affected me so. If you've read my previous post, you know that I am in the throes of sending my only son off to college. He is a bright, secure, savvy young man who will do very well at his chosen school in Boston. Even so, my feelings of loss and confusion at "letting go" are profound. So reading the heartbreaking account of a mother who is suffering the unfathomable sorrow of losing her child in such an evil manner after allowing him to exercise some independence really hits home with me.
As I noted in my introductory post on this blog, I am not a theologian. My defense of my faith in God is based mostly on my own personal experiences of God in this world and at work in my life. I am also assured of God's existence because of the divine that I encounter every day in other people and in nature.
I have to say, however, that I could not write about spirituality in this space for the last week because I was in mourning for a boy I have never met. And in my sorrow for - and over-identification with - his mother, I became preoccupied with the fact that in this imperfect world evil sometimes shows itself in the most startlingly horrific ways. Try as we might to plan for emergencies or obey safety regulations or protect our loved ones, sometimes bad things happen that are beyond our control.
God doesn't cause the bad things to happen. But the world that God created is not perfect. It can't be. If we believe that there is only one God, one central life force from which all things come -- including people -- then we must believe that there can only be one perfect God and one perfect paradise. That's what perfect is.
Our creator did, however form us in his or her own image. That's why we have free will. If God intervened or interfered every time something went askew, we would not be creatures who reflect the intricacies of God's "being." We would be marionettes in a cosmic puppet show.*
Having said this, though, this believe of mine does not protect me from becoming hurt and confused by the shocking murder of a young boy; or by the famine that is now ravaging Somalia; or the ongoing plight of the people in earthquake stricken Haiti. But the response of humans to those tragedies and disasters helps me recover and heal.
So, I feel better now and that's why I can write. My faith in God and in the innate goodness in most people has been shored up by goodness I have witnessed in the last few days: volunteers working to rescue beautiful animals from certain death at filled-to-the-brim shelters; the ongoing dedication of an interfaith group that is working to provide respite and dignity to homeless men; the joy and celebration of summer and life evident in the parks and plazas of Boston where families and folks gathered for picnics and play and refreshment; and in reading the story of the Brooklyn boy's family, who took time out from their period of mourning -- shiva -- to observe the Sabbath so they could worship the God they love and trust; I have read that in that time they gave thanks to the Creator for letting them have their beautiful boy with them for 9 years.
There are no words and no hyperbole strong enough to describe the love and respect that I feel for them. I pray that the peace of God that surpasses all understanding be with them as they go forward.
* This explanation from Rabbi Simmons helped me a bit; http://judaism.about.com/library/3_askrabbi_o/bl_simmons_murder.htm
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Fly, Robin, Fly*
A couple of nights ago, while walking our dog, we found a baby robin in our driveway. Apparently, the little guy had tumbled from his family home before he was quite ready to fly. As we approached him (her?), a cacophony of bird calls came at us from the arch of pine branches overhead. Several Robins flew back and forth as if to distract us from our investigation.
Realizing what we had encountered, we successfully diverted Brutus' attention from the the little ball of fluffy down and proceeded on our walk. When we got back, we put the dog inside and went back out to check on our little fledgling "wannabe." Again, as we approached, his "family" began to fly frantically back and forth above us while making lots of noise to frighten us away.
He was still huddled next to the cement border on our driveway, too little to get up over the border and into the cover of the shrubs and trees. So, much to the horror of the avian on-lookers, we worked together to give him a boost up onto the pine needle laden area below the trees. He was terrified, of course, as were the other birds who looked on. With our mission accomplished, we went inside and let them all be, leaving nature and the Robins to work out a "plan" for the little one who had moved on prematurely from his nest. (I never went back to check on him. I prefer to think of him as safely nestled under the shrubs, receiving food from his mom until he's ready to jump off the curb and take flight. Unrealistic perhaps, but I like it better that way.)
Waking the next morning, I found myself thinking about those birds. I am myself getting ready to send my own "fledgling" out into the big, wide world. And like many other human parents, I am looking forward to his adventure with a mix of pride, excitement, and trepidation. My "little one" is not leaving prematurely like the baby robin. My son is ready to go: He is emotionally and intellectually prepared to live away from his father and me. We are -- not so much! But we're workin' on it.
Luckily, unlike the family of robins who could only flap and flutter and squawk about their young one's first encounter with the wider universe, we are a bit better able to control some of the circumstances of our son's venture into young adulthood. We will escort him to his new home-away-from-home. And we will fit it out with supplies and amenities that will make him comfortable and give us a sense of control over his fledging.
We do understand that the acoutrements of his dorm room -- the new comforter, the reading lamp -- and the dorm security and the meal plan will not really protect him from some of the things that truly frighen his father and me: There are mean people in the world and he might meet some of them and get his feelings hurt. College is difficult and he might need to struggle through some of his classes. He could get sick or hurt or scared and we won't be there to help him.
So, like the robins, we are feeling a little frantic right now. But we like to think we've got it together somewhat. Our flapping, fluttering, and squawking is mostly internal and is mitigated by our trust in our son and the young man he has become. Like the birds who instinctually nudge their babies from the nest, we understand that nature requires that our young one receive encouragement as he stands at the edge of the nest. Notice here that I'm not mentioning the nudging. Our kid doesn't need the nudge. He's ready. But he does need us not to hold onto his feet as he flies away.
I'll let you know how that goes.
*From the 1975 song "Fly, Robin, Fly." Performed by "The Silver Convention," Written by Stephan Prager and Sylvester Levay
Realizing what we had encountered, we successfully diverted Brutus' attention from the the little ball of fluffy down and proceeded on our walk. When we got back, we put the dog inside and went back out to check on our little fledgling "wannabe." Again, as we approached, his "family" began to fly frantically back and forth above us while making lots of noise to frighten us away.
He was still huddled next to the cement border on our driveway, too little to get up over the border and into the cover of the shrubs and trees. So, much to the horror of the avian on-lookers, we worked together to give him a boost up onto the pine needle laden area below the trees. He was terrified, of course, as were the other birds who looked on. With our mission accomplished, we went inside and let them all be, leaving nature and the Robins to work out a "plan" for the little one who had moved on prematurely from his nest. (I never went back to check on him. I prefer to think of him as safely nestled under the shrubs, receiving food from his mom until he's ready to jump off the curb and take flight. Unrealistic perhaps, but I like it better that way.)
Waking the next morning, I found myself thinking about those birds. I am myself getting ready to send my own "fledgling" out into the big, wide world. And like many other human parents, I am looking forward to his adventure with a mix of pride, excitement, and trepidation. My "little one" is not leaving prematurely like the baby robin. My son is ready to go: He is emotionally and intellectually prepared to live away from his father and me. We are -- not so much! But we're workin' on it.
Luckily, unlike the family of robins who could only flap and flutter and squawk about their young one's first encounter with the wider universe, we are a bit better able to control some of the circumstances of our son's venture into young adulthood. We will escort him to his new home-away-from-home. And we will fit it out with supplies and amenities that will make him comfortable and give us a sense of control over his fledging.
We do understand that the acoutrements of his dorm room -- the new comforter, the reading lamp -- and the dorm security and the meal plan will not really protect him from some of the things that truly frighen his father and me: There are mean people in the world and he might meet some of them and get his feelings hurt. College is difficult and he might need to struggle through some of his classes. He could get sick or hurt or scared and we won't be there to help him.
So, like the robins, we are feeling a little frantic right now. But we like to think we've got it together somewhat. Our flapping, fluttering, and squawking is mostly internal and is mitigated by our trust in our son and the young man he has become. Like the birds who instinctually nudge their babies from the nest, we understand that nature requires that our young one receive encouragement as he stands at the edge of the nest. Notice here that I'm not mentioning the nudging. Our kid doesn't need the nudge. He's ready. But he does need us not to hold onto his feet as he flies away.
I'll let you know how that goes.
Welcome!
Welcome to "Our Natural Spirit," my blog about the intricacies of human nature and the search for a connection with our Divine Creator. I have created this blog because a) I have lots of thoughts about God and humanity and the natural world that I want to share; and b) I want to engage others in a conversation about our inter-connection with God, nature and one another.
Postings on this blog will include myriad topics as they relate to spirituality. If I knowingly "poach" someone else's ideas I promise I will cite them. Obviously, musings about our existence have gone on for millenia. I do not have a degree in theology, so I will draw on the wisdom of other writers when I want to support aspects of my philosophy. I invite you to do the same.
I am a Deacon in the Episcopal Church. This means that I am coming at this from the Anglo-Catholic tradition. I welcome and encourage input, feedback, and contributions from people of all faith traditions -- or none at all. I believe we are all inquiring and seeking answers about our spirituality.
This is not a place for vitriolic, hateful discourse. This is the place for thoughtful, loving, expression of one's thoughts and feelings about our place in God's creation and about God's place in our lives. Discussions and dialogue are welcome and expected. It's okay to disagree and posit other theories or to question one another. I do, however, reserve the right to remove offensive and/or inappropriate comments and to prohibit access to the blog to those individuals who behave in a manner that I believe to be "unfriendly."
Again, I am so glad you've visited this space! Please come back again and help me explore our co-existence with the Holy Spirit in Creation!
Postings on this blog will include myriad topics as they relate to spirituality. If I knowingly "poach" someone else's ideas I promise I will cite them. Obviously, musings about our existence have gone on for millenia. I do not have a degree in theology, so I will draw on the wisdom of other writers when I want to support aspects of my philosophy. I invite you to do the same.
I am a Deacon in the Episcopal Church. This means that I am coming at this from the Anglo-Catholic tradition. I welcome and encourage input, feedback, and contributions from people of all faith traditions -- or none at all. I believe we are all inquiring and seeking answers about our spirituality.
This is not a place for vitriolic, hateful discourse. This is the place for thoughtful, loving, expression of one's thoughts and feelings about our place in God's creation and about God's place in our lives. Discussions and dialogue are welcome and expected. It's okay to disagree and posit other theories or to question one another. I do, however, reserve the right to remove offensive and/or inappropriate comments and to prohibit access to the blog to those individuals who behave in a manner that I believe to be "unfriendly."
Again, I am so glad you've visited this space! Please come back again and help me explore our co-existence with the Holy Spirit in Creation!
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