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!!!”

Ha! “Yay!”  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“Y-a-a-a-a-a-a-y-y-y!!!!”

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.

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

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

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!