Today I return to 'Very Grateful'. I am wearing the light pink Carpe Diem t-shirt that my nieces had made for the family for Mom's memorial service. My morning coffee is in my "Book Woman" mug. I will be writing in the front room where I keep all of Mom's papers. I have faith that I will know what to say. In fact, during this week of waiting and listening to how God wants me to proceed, I have heard that this is a book about faith, and specifically about Mom’s faith that inspired mine.
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Every so often I get thinking about sacrifice, and what that means for me as a Christian. For the most part I hate the word because it brings up the idea that I have to give up something. Although I might not like it, I understand that sacrifice might include giving up some, or even all, of my possessions and privileged life style. Giving up who I am, however, or what I think I need in order to be who I am….Well, that does sit right. But what if sacrifice isn’t what I do, but who I am, as Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel suggests? “We do not sacrifice. We are the sacrifice.” When I think of it that way, so much changes. I start with who I am and from there I choose to do. I also noticed that my prayer for others becomes a lifting up to God, not a responsibility of mine to get it right. Being sacrifice is what Jesus calls us to be. “Here’s the thing, say Shung. The thing I believe. God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it and sometimes it just manifest itself even if you not looking or don’t know what you’re looking for. Trouble do it for most folks, I think. Sorrow, lord.” This idea of faith is puzzling, no getting around it. Maybe some of my questions resonate with you. Why do I have faith, while others claim to be atheist or agnostic? Why do I go to MCC and not to another church? Why am I Christian, not Jewish or Muslim? Why is my faith not as strong as someone else's? Then there is Shung’s comment about faith in Alice Walker’s, The Color Purple (quoted by Gerald G. May in The Dark Night of the Soul.) Why can’t I express belief in God as succinctly, and from the heart, as she does? I’m probably missing the point, not in asking the questions, but in expecting answers. I’m thinking that the answers are in the questions and in the questioning. After all, answers to questions of faith are never definitive: we’re not talking about science here! Have you noticed that in the Gospels Jesus appears for a while and then disappears. We read about him feeding a crowd, and next thing we know, he as slipped into a boat and hidden on the other side of the lake. He refuses to go to Jerusalem with his disciples, but then makes the journey alone and appears in the temple. There are plenty of examples; just look of them. My first response is that Jesus does the same with me, but I’m apt to blame myself for forgetting about him. Thus he disappears. I know that I’m not in control of all of his appearing and disappearing, but I do play a part when I get involved in my own agenda, an agenda that doesn’t include Jesus. But I’m also considering that this now-you-see-him, now-you-don’t modus operandi of Jesus could be of his doing. He can’t be with us every minute, telling us what do to, leading us by the hand. We’re left alone to try things out on our own, and then Jesus reappears to help us check out how we’re doing. So many possibilities to ponder, but when all is said and done, I remember my favorite, which is the container that holds them all. “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20b). Bob Pazmino, my professor of Christian education at Andover Newton Theological School, has written a marvelous memoir. It’s a humorous, honest, faithful story of his days growing up in Brooklyn. He offers many nuggets to ponder. How about this one? “The weekly commitment to church attendance is a critical issue if church life is to be formative in the lives of both youth and adults.” How do we make this happen? Can we make it happen? Should it be our goal? Is the idea that weekly church attendance, and belief in Jesus as the Christ, an idea of the past, now relegated to the archives? There are many situations to ponder. Here’s one. I was brought up in a church-going family. All four of us went to church each Sunday with both of our parents. And yet, only the two oldest continue to attend church. The younger two (six years younger) are good people, but they have no part in church, or to my knowledge, in the Christian faith. This makes me wonder what effect the times in which we were raised has to do with church going and belief. My older sister and I were children of the fifties; my younger sister and brother of the sixties. I believe that my weekly church attendance as a child made an important difference in my current involvement in church, and in my intentional journey as a person of faith. I agree with Bob that weekly church attendance is crucial for faith formation. But, this isn’t happening. What does it mean to individuals and to Christianity? Can the world express Christ’s message of love without intentional prayer and without opening up to the Holy Spirit? If God is still speaking, how will we hear God if we don’t take the time to listen. Church is one of the best places for that. If you haven’t read Anne Lamott’s response to the death of Robin Williams, here it is. She always writes the truth. This will not be well written or contain any answers or be very charming. I won't be able to proof read it It is about times like today when the abyss is visible and we cannot buy cute area rugs at IKEA to truck out the abyss. Our brother Robin fell into it yesterday. We are all staring at the abyss today. I called my Jesuit friend the day after the shootings in Newtown, stunned, flat, fixated, scared to death: "Is there any meaning in the deaths of twenty 5 and 6 year old children?" Tom said, "Not yet." And there is no meaning in Robin's death, except as it sheds light on our common humanity, as his life did. But I've learned that there can be meaning without things making sense. Here is what is true: a third of the people you adore and admire in the world and in your families have severe mental illness and/or addiction. I sure do. I have both. And you still love me. You help hold me up. I try to help hold you up. Half of the people I love most have both; and so do most of the artists who have changed and redeemed me, given me life. Most of us are still here, healing slowly and imperfectly. Some days are way too long. And I hate that, I want to say. I would much prefer that God have a magic wand, and not just a raggedy love army of helpers. Mr. Roger's mother told him when he was a boy, and a tragedy was unfolding that seemed to defy meaning, "Look to the helpers." That is the secret of life, for Robin's family, for you and me. I knew that those children at Sandy Hook were caught in God's loving maternal arms at the second each crossed over, and the teachers were, too. I believe the shooter was too, another child of God with severe mental illness, because God loves, period. But this is controversial. I know Robin was caught too, in both the arms of God, and of his mother, Laurie. I knew them both when I was coming up, in Tiburon. He lived three blocks away on Paradise drive. His family had money; ours didn't. But we were in the same boat--scared, shy, with terrible self esteem and grandiosity. If you have a genetic predisposition towards mental problems and addiction, as Robin and I did, life here feels like you were just left off here one day, with no instruction manual, and no idea of what you were supposed to do; how to fit in; how to find a day's relief from the anxiety, how to keep your beloved alive; how to stay one step ahead of abyss. We all thought after Newtown that gun control legislation would be passed, but no--not one new law. We think in the aftermath of Robin's death that there will be consciousness raising about mental health, but I doubt it. The shock and awe will pass, like it did after Phillip Seymour Hoffman's death. Unless...unless we take action. But what? I don't have a clue. Well, here's Glenn Close's astonishing organization to raise awareness and diminish the stigma of mental illness, where you can give OR receive help: http://www.bringchange2mind.org/ Go there, OK? In Newtown, as in all barbarity and suffering, in Robin's death, on Mount Sinjar, in the Ebola towns, the streets of India's ghettos, and our own, we see Christ crucified. I don't mean that in a nice, Christian-y way. I mean that in the most ultimate human and existential way. The temptation is to say, as cute little believers sometimes do, Oh it will all make sense someday. The thing is, it may not. We still sit with scared, dying people; we get the thirsty drinks of water. This was at theologian Fred Buechner blog today: "It is absolutely crucial, therefore, to keep in constant touch with what is going on in your own life's story and to pay close attention to what is going on in the stories of others' lives. If God is present anywhere, it is in those stories that God is present. If God is not present in those stories, then they are scarcely worth telling." Live stories worth telling! Stop hitting the snooze button. Try not to squander your life on meaningless, multi-tasking bullshit. I would shake you and me but Robin is shaking us now. Get help. I did. Be a resurrection story, in the wild non-denominational sense. I am. If you need to stop drinking or drugging, I can tell you this: you will be surrounded by arms of love like you have never, not once, imagined. This help will be available twenty/seven. Can you imagine that in this dark scary screwed up world, that I can promise you this? That we will never be closed, if you need us? Gravity yanks us down, even a man as stunning in every way as Robin. We need a lot of help getting back up. And even with our battered banged up tool boxes and aching backs, we can help others get up, even when for them to do so seems impossible or at least beyond imagining. Or if it can't be done, we can sit with them on the ground, in the abyss, in solidarity. You know how I always say that laughter is carbonated holiness? Well, Robin was the ultimate proof of that, and bubbles are spirit made visible. Sometimes, like right now, I sit down without a clue as to what I’m going to write about. God, my faith, prayer are always on my mind and in my heart so I trust that something will appear on the screen as I tap away. Ah, and there it is, that very idea that my life has become more and more surrounded, led, and challenged by God thoughts. Well, let’s delete the word thoughts and just leave it at God. It is God who challenges, not my thoughts. This isn’t to say that I don’t think un-godlike thoughts or don’t act in surly ways, but more and more quickly God calls out to me and pulls me back to deal with it all. Try as I might, I can’t get away from God very easily or for very long. It's grace. What about all the children, all the children around the world? Praying the news always, has to include them. The children effected by the bombing of the aircraft over the Ukraine; the children in the Middle East; the children coming across the borders in the U.S. This from my denomination, the United Church of Christ. "The National Officers of the United Church of Christ and the Council of Conference Ministers — the leaders of the denomination’s regional conferences — share this pastoral letter addressing the tens of thousands of young refugees fleeing Central and Latin America and seeking safety in the United States. In a unified voice, UCC leaders declare their support for these children that are leaving their homelands out of fear. This is a unique moment that tests the church’s commitment for justice and peace . "Recognizing that the influx of unaccompanied children fleeing violence in Central America requires a robust humanitarian and advocacy response, UCC leaders call on all settings of the church to “care for the stranger in our midst." http://www.ucc.org/news/pastoral-letter-child-refugee-07232014.html This heartfelt situation forces me to confront my beliefs, particularly as a Christian. Of course I welcome the stranger, of course, in the abstract I can say that. But truth be told, I do it better in theory than in practice. I don’t often allow discomfort and upheaval to come through my front door, through the border of my home. Saying that I don’t know how to welcome the stranger can be an excuse to nothing. And then there are all the political, practical ramifications. Can we really care for the children that have already come across? Will our caring encourage more to step over the border? Will we be able to care for ‘too many’? What about the children born into poverty in this country? When I ask those questions it becomes clear to me that welcoming these children calls for a paradigm shift in the way we distribute wealth and services in this country. All of this, however, has to be beside the point for me. Why? Because I have opted out of delving into the politics of the news, and of voicing an opinion of what leaders should do. I have chosen to apolitical. Instead, I have chosen to be prayerful, to see life through a God lens, to listen and take heed to what Jesus said, "The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.' Matthew 25:40 I’ve been praying for a long-time friend who has been diagnosed with cancer. At this point the prognosis isn’t clear, but with a cancer diagnosis there is always concern, life changes. Although we can’t be precise about how it will go, we know how important a positive attitude is. This friend has always been a church goer, and so I am praying that her faith will help her settle into a peace that passes all understanding. One of the reasons I was drawn to hospice work was my interest in how Christians deal with impending death as they walk into the valley of the shadow of death. Does their belief in an afterlife give them peace as they face death? Can they arrive at a conscious state where they feel no evil? Do they keep believing in heaven? Although each person’s answers and particularities are unique, one thing is constant. People facing death or difficult situations invariable say that the prayers of others help them know that they are not alone At the top of the Duomo yesterday I met a young woman traveling alone. Originally from China, Ferry is married and lives in the Netherlands. She came alone for a week to Florence, the city of her dreams. She was flying home in the afternoon, and had purposely saved the best, climbing the Duomo, for last. As you can imagine, she was intrigued that I travel alone for it seemed to be something that resonated with her: You are a role model for me. Role model or not, Ferry taught me something as well. Although Protestant, she always finds inspiration in the churches that she visits in Europe, most of which of course are Roman Catholic. How obvious, but also how comforting to receive such a reminder, and to know that there are other people like me walking around praying in churches. |
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