pondering open hands with Henri Nouwen

Met with a friend over coffee.  Just as so many times before, I found myself recommending this book.

Not as another book (how cliche and lame to offer a hurting person a book?), but as a paradigm shift. As an invitation to a completely new path.

Open hands - for the new year, for the next moment ... for life.

A sample:

To pray means to open your hands before God. It means slowly relaxing the tension which squeezes your hands together and accepting your existence with an increasing readiness, not as a possession to defend, but as a gift to receive. Above all, prayer is a way of life which allows you to find a stillness in the midst of the world where you open your hands to god's promises and find hope for yourself, your neighbor, and your world...
Praying is not simply some necessary compartment in the daily schedule or a source of support in a time of need. Prayer is living. It is eating and drinking, action and rest, teaching and learning, playing and working. Praying pervades every aspect of our lives. It is the unceasing recognition that God is wherever we are, always inviting us to come closer and to celebrate the divine gift of being alive.
In the end, a life of prayer is a life with open hands - a life where we are not ashamed of our weaknesses but realize that it is more perfect for us to be led by the Other than to try to hold everything in our clenched fists.

pondering sad news

We have avoided talking to our children about the tragedy that occurred in Connecticut on Friday.  Why not let them remain blissfully unaware as long as possible?  But it can wait no longer.  Tomorrow we all go back to school - I as a teacher, they as students.  Conversations will take place that I'll have no control over.  It must be done.

So, I pondered. 

And then I wrote this... (meant for each, individually)

Hey there,

We had a great weekend, didn’t we? I loved it!

While we’ve been having fun, though, some people who live in Connecticut have been going through a really sad time. See, on Friday morning a young man – 20 years old – walked into an elementary school with several loaded guns. He shot and killed a few adults and lots of children that he didn’t even know. It was horrible. 

You’re probably wondering why anyone would do something like that. That is a very good question. That’s what everyone is wondering. As your parents, we like to give answers for tough questions – or, even better, guide you as you try to find them out for yourself. 

But here’s the thing ... no one knows the answer to that question. Not your Dad. Not me. Not Pastor Nancy. Not even the President!  Yep, he went to Connecticut to try and cheer up the people who are sad, and he said the same thing I’m saying right now:  a horrible thing happened, and we don’t know why.  (personally, I'm most suspicious of those who claim to)

We do know this, though. We know that we need to love one another - really hard and really well - because we ALWAYS get it right when we love each other. What happened is scary, but there is no fear in love.  Love is always right and good and true, so we need to make that our focus. We can’t let the little things that annoy us cause us to treat one another badly. We have to let that stuff go, showing mercy and compassion to one another.  We have to take the time to do and say those things that remind the people around us how much we care.

The only thing that can overcome darkness is LIGHT and the only thing that can overcome evil is LOVE.  You are so loved.  I believe that love - along with every other perfect and beautiful gift - comes from God. Your life is full of God’s grace!

We are sad for the people in Connecticut today – that is right and normal. But we will not let it take away our peace or our joy. We will be heroes today. You can be a hero - TODAY – did you know that?  By taking the grace that’s been given to you, and giving it away to someone else, you can turn that person's entire day around.  In fact, you did that yesterday in church! You made SO MANY people happy with your play and songs. Some of those people were sad just like the people in Connecticut, but you made them happy.  That's hero stuff.

Will you do that today, too? Show love to someone who needs it. Give a smile or a compliment or an offer of help - and don’t worry if they don’t notice or thank you.  It doesn’t matter if they love you back, because you know you’ll get more than you could possibly need back here at home.

God is always with you. Always. And so is my love.

                                                            See you this afternoon,
                                                                                  

                                                                                                Love,
                                                                                                Mom

a cyber-greeting as 2012 draws to a close

pondering gratitude in a not-right world

It's that time of night, where the heat has finally caught up to the chill. I wake to pull off my long-sleeved pajama top, which has become unnecessary, and glance at the clock as I lay back down: 2 AM.

Sleep eludes me. I crawl out of bed, stumble in the dark to dress, and step outside. Here in Gordonsville, Va, where we are enjoying a mini-vacation, the stars shine with brilliance against the truly dark sky of the countryside.  I gaze as long as I can stand the cold, then head back in to the warmth of the cabin.

That's when I remember, with a pang, what my son had said earlier in the day:  "It isn't right".

We were in the historical district of downtown Charlottesville. I'd watched him hand a man a large hot coffee with cream and sugar, pet his dog for a moment, smile and say, "I think he really loves you!", then walk back toward me.  We took a few silent steps together, then he heaved a loud, heavy sigh and exclaimed,

"It isn't right.  It isn't right for him to be out here like that. People shouldn't live outdoors in the cold. People should have homes that are warm, where people love them."

I stopped walking.  My other son, his younger brother - who had been watching and listening, too - stopped, as well.  I looked them both in the eye.

"You're right.  Listen to me:  YOU. ARE. RIGHT.  What you just saw is wrong.  It shouldn't be.  It has to stop, and it's up to YOU (looking at both of them) to stop it."

They both gaped a bit, but I continued,

"Your generation has to fix this. You have to make them care enough to make it right. My generation has a few who care, but most are content so long as it's not them sitting with their back against a cold brick wall.  In fact, if more people sitting out in the cold means they get more stuff, all the better.  It's wrong.  Look at me:  MAKE IT RIGHT!"

Out of the corner of my eye I could see my husband talking to our girls, as well.  The boys' little sisters were getting the same message.

I then comforted my son with information I could only hope was true, that the man would sleep inside tonight.  That people from a shelter or a church would care for him, as our family has done multiple times through Room at the Inn.  But inside I wondered... he didn't look like he'd had a chance to clean up in quite a while.  I doubted he was willing to leave his dog behind, or that shelters allowed him to bring it along.  As I looked back, his dog was licking his face;  I felt sick at the thought of such a choice.

Back in my warm cabin, I think about the man and the coffee and the dog and my son.  I go to the restroom to look in the mirror.  3 AM looks rough on anybody.  I have bags under my eyes, my unwashed hair is matted to my head ... how long would it take for entropy to take over, leaving me indistinguishable from those on the street?

Weeks?

Days?  

Someone once told me my problem is that I feel guilty for what I have, that I am ashamed of my success and status in the world.  Was he right?  I don't know, maybe.  Is it wrong to feel that way?  I'm not convinced of that, either.  I'd like to think that I'm grateful, but what does that even mean?  Often, when people express gratitude, it sounds a lot like they are saying, "I'm glad someone else is suffering instead of me".  Is it so wrong to feel that none should suffer?  To not be satisfied?  Is that ingratitude?  I hope not.  I don't know...

I think, again, about my son.  It wasn't a question for him.  It wasn't something he was pondering. He'd made a decisive statement,

"It's not right!"

Turning my thoughts back to him brings a hopeful reminder.  I recall how, a couple of years ago, I'd attended the Global Leadership Summit.  What I'd found most inspiring about all the speakers was a central thread each one had in common.  From Cory Booker to Mama Maggie, they'd all expressed some version of the same story:

"My parents worked hard and made sure we had everything we needed.  But with that, they instilled in us a calling, a challenge, a holy duty - that to whom much is given, much is required.  You are blessed, to bless - we have given to you, so that you will go make the world better for others."

And they'd done it.


I crawl back into bed, grateful ... Yes, that I'm not leaning against a cold brick wall.  Yes, that I have a bed to crawl into and someone to share it with.  Yes, that my children are healthy and safe and warm and fed... but also immensely grateful that the challenge is taking root in their souls, and for the hope it brings, that - because of them - the future will be more "right" than the present.

pondering my words

The last words posted here were my most "successful" yet.

Brian McLaren linked the post.

It was widely shared.

And ... 

I haven't written since.

A month and a half.

No words.

Why?

I could say that I'm busy.

That would be true.

I could say that I was wounded.

That is also true.

But maybe 

I'm actually

just afraid.

And so maybe the words I need to say most

Are simply those.

Out loud.

Sometimes

I am still afraid.

I have more to say

More to sing

So much more.

I'm waiting ...

And,

Yes, 

Pondering

Till the words return.

pondering our evening at the Sikh Gurdwara

From Dare We Hope That All Men be Saved by Hans Urs von Balthasar:

In cases where love prevails, extending directly to one's neighbor and valuing him as one's own self, "one can wish and hope the same thing for another that one desires and hopes for oneself. And as it is the same virtue of love through which one loves God, oneself and one's neighbor, so, too, it is the same virtue of hope through which one hopes for oneself and for the other." (Aquinas) The question that hovers in the background, and remains unstated, is how far this love extends....

Hans-Jurgen Verweyen, in an essay entitled "Das Leben alley als ausserster Horizont der Christologie" (The Life of all as the outermost horizon of Christology"), has at least posed this question. He puts forth this thesis:

"Whoever reckons with the possibility of even only one person's being eternally lost besides himself is unable to love unreservedly." And he stresses here, above all, "The effect of this idea on my practical actions.  It seems to me that just the slightest nagging thought of a final hell for others brings on moments in which human togetherness becomes especially difficult."

I think Verweyen nails the practical implication of the western church's hell doctrine.  Human togetherness, a brotherhood of man?  Nonexistent.  But oh!  When I followed that tug in my soul, laid my finger upon the invisible thread determined to see where it led... I found myself on the outside of such 'truth', looking back upon it as one who has wiped her eyes from a bleary sleep.  And I can tell you, the light is brighter out here - the air is clearer - and Love is richer.  I can Love my fellow man with no reserve.  I can stand in solidarity with any sufferer, in the Spirit of Jesus Himself who laid down His life "while we were yet sinners". This is sweet fruit.

I recently experienced a practical manifestation of this change in thinking - indeed, in living.  My friend Steve Knight made me aware that our local Sikh community would be holding a vigil and that all were welcome.  All are welcome to any of their services, but this particular evening we were invited to stand with them in solidarity and remembrance of the victims in Wisconsin.

I decided to bring Aaron and Sarah along, while Eric talked to Luke and Mary about it from home.  The time is coming when they will come to things like this with us as well, but their unique challenges require us to take things at a different pace.  Aaron and Sarah were both surprisingly eager - I think it was more curiosity, than anything else.  Sarah's eyes did light up when I told her she'd need a scarf that could be worn as a head covering, "They'll have to help me wrap it right - I want to look like them because I think that will make them feel good."

We enetered the Gurdwara, clearly not knowing what to do, but it was obvious we were not the only visitors.  The gentlemen shooed Aaron off to the men's area where they removed his shoes and assisted him in applying a bandana type of head covering (I hadn't thought about a boy needing one).  As Sarah and I removed our shoes she spoke up, asking an older lady to please help make her scarf look right.  The lady kindly explained that it was called a "choony" and that there was no wrong way, as long as it stays on, while arranging it for her in an attractive way.  We followed her in, and noticed that the men sat on one side and the women on the other- all on the floor.  Aaron bravely took a spot on his own, as Sarah and I took ours.  Before long a lady kindly told us that it is disrespectful to sit with your feet facing the front, that is why they either sit cross-legged or with legs folded to one side.  Sarah thought that was interesting. She continued by saying that even in their homes, they never point their feet toward an elder, out of respect.  Sarah looked at me with large eyes - I too, was surprised. It would take me quite some time to learn to pay attention to which direction my feet were pointing.  But I loved the concept of respect.

As the service began there was a lot of singing, accompanied by two instruments - one a bit like a large accordion, and a drum.  Best we could tell, it was actually one long hymn.  They sang in the Punjabi language, but the English translations were provided on screens via powperpoint.  I wish I could remember all of them, so many were beautiful - but this one stuck in my mind, because Sarah pointed it out:   

 "The clay is the same, but the Fashioner has fashioned it in various ways."

After the singing, a man gave a powerpoint presentation explaining the history of the Sikh faith.  It was both interesting and educational; I found it especially helpful to think about the Sikh faith rising up in India about the same time the Renaissance was taking place in Europe.  It was unheard of in India that a people would live in true equality, but they did - it was daring and new and required a great deal of conviction to live out these "new" values. They have suffered persecution in many ways, often as a result of standing up for others; one guru was tortured to death for demanding the rights of Hindus be protected.

When he finished his presentation, a woman explained that, in conclusion, we would be served the rashad (?) which I can only compare to our communion, but instead of bread and wine, they use pudding.  Yes, pudding!  (I'd love to know why) Aaron received his before we did - he shot me a worried look but I nodded him on to try it.  He took a bite and his face did not show whether he liked it or not, so I was proud.  By the time some was brought to Sarah and I (we were further back than him) I could already see that the "pudding' was more of a warm, wet dough.  As they placed a ball of it in our hands, we smelled it  and thought it smelled a bit like sugar cookie dough, but it tasted much less sweet than you'd expect.  Sarah has massive sensory issues so I was proud she tried it, and that she (too) didn't let her face register whether or not she thought it was particularly good. 

After they shared the rashad (sp?), their sacred book was carried out - on a man's head!  Now, that's not something we've ever seen Pastor Nancy do! All very interesting.

Immediately following the service, we were invited downstairs for a meal. I dismissed the kids to play on the grounds,  where we'd seen a trampoline and an impressive play area complete with rope swings that I'd have tried myself if I hadn't been wearing a dress.  The food was delicious, but I was disappointed when we (the most obvious guests, aka "white") were directed to sit at tables in the courtyard, while the regular members sat on the floor inside. I wanted to sit where they were, but Steve reminded me that we were being given the honored position and we should accept that with humble gratitude.  So, reluctantly, I did.

Following the meal, everyone gathered in front of the temple for the candlelight vigil.  Five girls from their community read aloud a letter written by a 10 year old Sikh girl - "touching" doesn't do it justice.  Then various faith leaders shared words of condolence and comfort - including our own Steve Knight.  He said that as a Christian, his sacred text instructs him to rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn.  I couldn't think of anything better to say.  He also spoke of the common hopes and dreams we share, for ourselves and for our children; as he choked up over the words, I found myself doing the same.



There are some who would say - no, who do say - that Steve is less christian because of the inter-faith work he does.  I stood there listening, watching - as his children and my children did the same ... and I knew better.  I observed these beautiful people - girls smiling and laughing under their colorful "choonies", toddler-aged boys being chased by men in turbans who were struggling to keep them still and quiet, older women patting my children on the shoulder with sad smiles.  I loved these people.  I'd just met them, and I loved them. 

I had no reason not to.  

I no longer have the nagging whisper inside me, "But the Sikhs who were gunned down in Wisconsin are all in hell right now. Forever."   As long as that whisper lies beneath, it informs all our attitudes and actions.  Only the most heartless dare speak it, but its power still permeates.  Ponder that with me:  the power of unspoken fear.

I haven't been sure, lately, what kind of Christianity I'm bringing my kids up in, or whether I can still call it Christianity at all.  At times the question has kept me up at night.  And while faith should not require sight, mine sometimes does.  So, I'm grateful - grateful that Steve showed us Wednesday night. 

Showed me.

Showed everyone.

Christianity.

pondering Amos with Eugene Peterson

I read the minor prophets when I'm pissed; they affirm my righteous anger and validate my longing for justice, while - at the same time - knocking me flat off my own personal high horse.

Introduction to Amos, from The Message 

More people are exploited and abused in the cause of religion than in any other way. Sex, money, and power all take a back seat to religion as a source of evil. Religion is the most dangerous energy source known to humankind. The moment a person (or government or religion or organization) is convinced that God is either ordering or sanctioning a cause or project, anything goes. The history, worldwide, of religion-fueled hate, killing, and oppression is staggering. The biblical prophets are in the front line of those doing something about it.
The biblical prophets continue to be the most powerful and effective voices ever heard on this earth for keeping religion honest, humble, and compassionate. Prophets sniff out injustice, especially injustice that is dressed up in religious garb. They sniff it out a mile away. Prophets see through hypocrisy, especially hypocrisy that assumes a religious pose. Prophets are not impressed by position or power or authority. They aren’t taken in by numbers, size, or appearances of success.
They pay little attention to what men and women say about God or do for God. They listen to God and rigorously test all human language and action against what they hear. Among these prophets, Amos towers as defender of the downtrodden poor and accuser of the powerful rich who use God’s name to legitimize their sin.
None of us can be trusted in this business. If we pray and worship God and associate with others who likewise pray and worship God, we absolutely must keep company with these biblical prophets. We are required to submit all our words and acts to their passionate scrutiny to prevent the perversion of our religion into something self-serving. A spiritual life that doesn’t give a large place to the prophet-articulated justice will end up making us worse instead of better, separating us from God’s ways instead of drawing us into them.

excerpts from chapters 5 & 6: 
^7-9 Woe to you who turn justice to vinegar
   and stomp righteousness into the mud.
You bully right-living people,
   taking bribes right and left and kicking the poor when they're down.
 ¹³Justice is a lost cause. Evil is epidemic.
   Decent people throw up their hands.
Protest and rebuke are useless,
   a waste of breath.
 ¹⁴Seek good and not evil—
   and live!
You talk about God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies,
   being your best friend.
Well, live like it,
   and maybe it will happen.
  ^21-24"I can't stand your religious meetings.
   I'm fed up with your conferences and conventions.
I want nothing to do with your religion projects,
   your pretentious slogans and goals.
I'm sick of your fund-raising schemes,
   your public relations and image making.
I've had all I can take of your noisy ego-music.
   When was the last time you sang to me?
Do you know what I want?
   I want justice—oceans of it.
I want fairness—rivers of it.
   That's what I want. That's all I want.
 Woe to you who think you live on easy street in ____,
You assume you're at the top of the heap,
   voted the number-one best place to live.
Well, wake up and look around. Get off your pedestal.
The God-of-the-Angel-Armies speaks:    "I hate the arrogance of _______."