There are times when my Reformed, left-brain faith tradition, of the Presbyterian variety, is not enough for me. I crave something more intuitive and right-brained, and spiritual. So today on this cold and rainy Saturday, I went to the National Cathedral website and watched, or I could go so far as to say I participated in, the service of Lessons and Carols for last Sunday afternoon, the first Sunday in Advent.
Having been at the Cathedral earlier this year may be what helps me get immediately into the service, but I don't believe that is all of it. I hear the beautiful music, the old biblical passages read so beautifully, and I am touched emotionally. I find myself begging to believe all that I hear about this God who utters the comforting words of promise. Can I really claim it as my own belief? Or hope? And I wonder if it is necessary to do so. Rather I simply listen, hear with the "ear of my heart," as St. Benedict would say, and not ask too many questions.
This is the Season for simply listening again for the promise. I don't have to do more, for this moment exists just as it is. The announcement to Mary and her brave willingness to accept the offer. The herald John, who calls for the way to be made straight. The assurance of peace that is thousands of years old sounds fresh again. I don't have to do more than drink it in.
The liturgical beauty of worship is a necessary ingredient, I am certain, if we are to sense the awe of a hidden Presence that waits for us, as we wait for whatever that may be, as yet unrealized. I drink in the voices of the choir, the readings from scripture, the amazing chords from the organ, the setting of a nation's temple for worship if one chooses to go there. It is enough, for now.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
A Time for Thanks
After a long hiatus from this blog, I am back! Sitting here looking out the window, at Bald Head Island, in the company of our family and many friends, life is good. Watched yesterday's Thanksgiving service online at the National Cathedral, where we were reminded that even in times of great stress and grief and turmoil, it is also good to be thankful for the good that has come to us.
So, I am. Extremely grateful for: a host of friends, a wonderful family, a time to stop and look around me, a time to finish the book that has taken so long to reach the end, a time to work on my poems, read Facebook comments, proof-read Charlie's long history of David Caldwell, laugh.
The food we have been nourished by is phenominal. Two house-fulls of us gathered at one of them to feast at the table of blessings yesterday. Today it is leftovers: turkey sandwiches, cranberry jelled salad, and other delights.
Now it is time to get outside, walk to the inlet and then ride (golf carts only) to the beach, then greet our niece's daughter and husband here, and go out for dinner. Such common moments, but what is better than to find there is value in the commonplace, with toppings of family, friends, and food?
So, I am. Extremely grateful for: a host of friends, a wonderful family, a time to stop and look around me, a time to finish the book that has taken so long to reach the end, a time to work on my poems, read Facebook comments, proof-read Charlie's long history of David Caldwell, laugh.
The food we have been nourished by is phenominal. Two house-fulls of us gathered at one of them to feast at the table of blessings yesterday. Today it is leftovers: turkey sandwiches, cranberry jelled salad, and other delights.
Now it is time to get outside, walk to the inlet and then ride (golf carts only) to the beach, then greet our niece's daughter and husband here, and go out for dinner. Such common moments, but what is better than to find there is value in the commonplace, with toppings of family, friends, and food?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
A Blogged Sermon
For my blog this time I've decided to copy-paste the sermon I preached last week, based on the Common Lectionary. I was guest preacher at historic Hawfields Presbyterian Church in Mebane, NC.
Welfare and Healthcare AD 1
Proverbs 22:1-2,8-9,22-23
Mark 7:24-37
Jesus can surprise us at times, as often as we read these stories and think we understand the deeper meanings to them. A time comes when our own experience plays into the story and his takes a new turn in our understanding of discipleship. In today’s readings, we find two accounts of his healing powers: one involves a pagan woman, an outsider to the faith, and the other an outcast within the faith, because of his infirmities.
Jesus and his friends have stepped into the outer edges of Jewish territory where there are Greeks, in the eyes of the faithful they are seen as pagans. He’s looking for respite away from the crowds, yet here comes a Syrophoenician woman who has discovered where he is, and pleads for her daughter’s healing from mental illness. Jesus stalls, claiming that his work is among his own people, but the woman steps across the boundaries of propriety and defends her right to his ministry. Women in that society were not to be so forward in the company of men, who held the superior role. But a mother’s concern overrode such conformities. Jesus tries to dismiss her by noting that his own people take priority and others must not take what belongs to the Jews – outsiders are considered to be like the small pet dogs, he claims. Her brave riposte, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” trumps his stand, and he accedes to her plea, healing her daughter long distance. Unlike other healings when he says to the patient “your faith has made you whole,” she has won her case by her argument. To the surprise of many, Jesus in that act makes an inclusive gesture that broadens his sphere of concern, reaching out to the ones beyond the limits of his own faith. The game plan has changed from exclusive to inclusive. Health care for all is the agenda for this Jesus the Jew, despite the prejudices and restrictions on dealings with pagans.
Then he moves back into home territory where a man is brought to him who cannot hear nor speak clearly. The belief of that time was that to be disabled, in this case by a speech impediment and deafness, indicated something seriously wrong about a person – some sin had caused this handicap. Yet Jesus, in his unorthodox manner, including spitting on his fingers before touching the man’s tongue, again brings about a healing, much to the amazement of those who watch. In fact, despite his command that no one tell of this action, the witnesses go out exclaiming to all they meet that he has made the deaf hear and the mute speak. The good that he does cannot go unannounced.
In that day, Jesus was providing health care without concern for anyone’s eligibility. Even non-believers and outcasts received healing just as effectively as did the insiders, the people of Israel. It did take behavior by that woman which offended propriety, and flaunting ritual laws on Jesus’ part, with the deaf man, but he overrode the limits to health care provisions. In a way it was a single-payer system, where Jesus paid the cost for the patient.
We know that health care for all has been one of the prominent issues before the public today. The death of Senator Ted Kennedy heightened attention to it, as eulogizers spoke of his life-long career of working for better ways to provide good medical care for the nation. It was, as he stated, his life’s work, his passion, his determined goal. He didn’t live to see that accomplished, but his death focused our attention even more upon the need to improve the quality and the scope of health care coverage for all. We don’t know yet how or when this goal will be reached. But we have precedents for care of the nation’s health dating back before Jesus’ day, and practiced by him in his brief career among us. Granted, there were theological purposes behind his healing in that he was focusing on the widening circle of God’s love and power. He was proclaiming the Kingdom. Yet his method of doing so included compassion for the people who came to him in throngs seeking his touch, seeking healing of mind and body, seeking food for their sustenance and food for their spirits.
We note that these crowds were not composed of the rich and powerful but rather predominantly consisted of the poor, the outcasts of society, the least among them. Perhaps as Jesus ministered to them he remembered the teachings from the book of Proverbs. Teachings about the poor, for example: “Do not rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate . . . Those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor.” As far back as we have written records, there were the poor in every age and every civilization. People of faith, of different world faiths, were taught to have compassion for them. In fact, in ancient societies it was the obligation of the ruler to care for the poor – to see that they had the necessities of life. It was a telling mark of a nation or society how well the least were cared for. That principle has been recognized throughout the ages. Recognized but seldom adhered to fully.
When our own nation has 47 million without health insurance living among us, we wonder how we are judged in such a situation. When the numbers of the poor, the homeless and hungry increase in such economic times as we have now, what are we saying about ourselves as a society in terms of our faith?
Tomorrow is our national holiday celebrating the ones who labor, the workers, the industrious ones who are recognized for their efforts by a day off – or many of them will have a day off. Many however, who have lost their jobs, their positions, their incomes, have had too many days off this year that they didn’t count on. And the snowball effect has increased foreclosures on homes when the owners can no longer meet the payments, or purchase household items, or buy groceries, which in turn affect the manufacturers and merchants . . . and so it goes. It may be difficult for such as these to celebrate a Labor Day that no longer includes them as part of the nation’s workforce.
These are desperate times for our neighbors. . . and ourselves. How do we measure ourselves against the biblical norms of justice, healing of body and mind for all fairly; distributive, equal standards of living that leave no one out, no children behind, no elderly and infirm outside the doors of our health care system?
A recent study on the state of children’s health care around the world indicates that although our country spends more money per child on their health, it is aimed primarily at those between 12 and 17, rather than care for younger children. Where would the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter fit into this picture? These figures show the US to be far behind other countries for children 6 and younger – key ages for development into a healthy adulthood. We rank 4th from the bottom in infant mortality, after Mexico, Turkey, and Slovakia, and only Mexico ranks above us in teenagers giving birth. One writer, speaking of our poor record in health care compared to other countries notes that America's troubles stem from a flawed mix of government spending and not enough help for the working poor. The inadequate programs for undergirding for the poor show that there is less money spent to keep the incomes of the poor up. Thus, the poor have less money for their health care.
(Timothy Smeeding, author of "Poor Kids in a Rich Country: America's Children in Comparative Perspective – the article is by Greg Keller in an Associated Press article on Truthout)
These studies do not reflect a promising picture for the future of the nation’s underprivileged, but where does the church stand in this issue? After all, we are people of faith, followers of Jesus Christ. How do we reflect Jesus’ example of care for the poor in their search for a sustainable life? We do provide homeless shelters and soup kitchens in our cities, which are often part of an urban ministry program. It is a beginning, and where these ministries exist they have a noticeable effect upon the population. We act in the name of that Jesus who walked the countryside, hounded by the needs of the people, fatigued by the demands that the institutional religious establishment and the Roman government had ignored.
How do the poor see the ministry of the church? Two stories from a collection by a Benedictine Sister in Erie, PA give us an idea. Mary Lou Kownacki is active with a Soup Kitchen and an inner city Children’s Art House run by the Erie Benedictines. “What do I do here?” she asks. “I listen. I get to know my neighbors, really know them. I listen to their hopes and dreams for decent jobs, decent homes, a safe place to raise their children. They are worried about their children, especially their teenagers, who can see no future except minimum-paying jobs, lockup, or dropping out to the streets” (A Monk . . . p.6) She writes a poem: “Poor people on my street/rummaging through city trash/for stained mattresses, torn chairs/a chipped vase/to hold a stolen daffodil.”
And the poor respond, some in unusual ways. Sister Mary Lou describes how angels at times appear among them, such as Alfred A. “He appeared at our soup kitchen one day in the image of a Native American – tall, dark skin, high cheekbones, jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail. After eating a meal, he walked up to the serving counter and asked for a table napkin. Then he took a pencil from his vest pocket, stood at the counter, and began to scribble on the napkin. . . . [he wrote:] ‘I feel the presence of God here.’ On the napkin was a sketch of the face of Jesus. Then he walked out the door, and we haven’t seen him since. . . . [she goes on] I think Alfred A. reminded us that to serve the stranger, the poor, is an act of worship. Whenever we treat the stranger with respect, with kindness, with unconditional love, we worship God” (11). Another guest at their soup kitchen was Joe. He called the place a church. When asked why, his answer was simple: “Because this is where I find God. . . This is where God’s work is done” (127).
Is that how we might describe our own churches? As a place where God’s work is done? And would those places include a health clinic for the indigent, a soup kitchen, a shelter for the night? At Fellowship Presbyterian Church in Greensboro where my husband and I worship, we are part of a program known as the Interfaith Hospitality Network. Every quarter we house families in the network in our church building for a week, providing meals and a place to sleep. They are away during the day at school or perhaps their jobs, and arrive in time for dinner. No doubt Hawfields is involved in many ways as well to make life easier for those with little means of their own. It is when we do this that we worship God – it begins when we gather in the sanctuaries of our towns and cities to sing praises and hear the Word, and offer our own prayers of need. The time we are fed there includes that moment at the Table where Christ is our Host, healing us in his bountiful forgiving love, so that we might then go out and share what we have received. We are the Church, the Body of Christ. The woman waits for us to heal her daughter. The outcast waits to speak and hear. We are able and ready, for we have witnessed the Christ in our own lives. We labor on to answer his charge and do his work.
Welfare and Healthcare AD 1
Proverbs 22:1-2,8-9,22-23
Mark 7:24-37
Jesus can surprise us at times, as often as we read these stories and think we understand the deeper meanings to them. A time comes when our own experience plays into the story and his takes a new turn in our understanding of discipleship. In today’s readings, we find two accounts of his healing powers: one involves a pagan woman, an outsider to the faith, and the other an outcast within the faith, because of his infirmities.
Jesus and his friends have stepped into the outer edges of Jewish territory where there are Greeks, in the eyes of the faithful they are seen as pagans. He’s looking for respite away from the crowds, yet here comes a Syrophoenician woman who has discovered where he is, and pleads for her daughter’s healing from mental illness. Jesus stalls, claiming that his work is among his own people, but the woman steps across the boundaries of propriety and defends her right to his ministry. Women in that society were not to be so forward in the company of men, who held the superior role. But a mother’s concern overrode such conformities. Jesus tries to dismiss her by noting that his own people take priority and others must not take what belongs to the Jews – outsiders are considered to be like the small pet dogs, he claims. Her brave riposte, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” trumps his stand, and he accedes to her plea, healing her daughter long distance. Unlike other healings when he says to the patient “your faith has made you whole,” she has won her case by her argument. To the surprise of many, Jesus in that act makes an inclusive gesture that broadens his sphere of concern, reaching out to the ones beyond the limits of his own faith. The game plan has changed from exclusive to inclusive. Health care for all is the agenda for this Jesus the Jew, despite the prejudices and restrictions on dealings with pagans.
Then he moves back into home territory where a man is brought to him who cannot hear nor speak clearly. The belief of that time was that to be disabled, in this case by a speech impediment and deafness, indicated something seriously wrong about a person – some sin had caused this handicap. Yet Jesus, in his unorthodox manner, including spitting on his fingers before touching the man’s tongue, again brings about a healing, much to the amazement of those who watch. In fact, despite his command that no one tell of this action, the witnesses go out exclaiming to all they meet that he has made the deaf hear and the mute speak. The good that he does cannot go unannounced.
In that day, Jesus was providing health care without concern for anyone’s eligibility. Even non-believers and outcasts received healing just as effectively as did the insiders, the people of Israel. It did take behavior by that woman which offended propriety, and flaunting ritual laws on Jesus’ part, with the deaf man, but he overrode the limits to health care provisions. In a way it was a single-payer system, where Jesus paid the cost for the patient.
We know that health care for all has been one of the prominent issues before the public today. The death of Senator Ted Kennedy heightened attention to it, as eulogizers spoke of his life-long career of working for better ways to provide good medical care for the nation. It was, as he stated, his life’s work, his passion, his determined goal. He didn’t live to see that accomplished, but his death focused our attention even more upon the need to improve the quality and the scope of health care coverage for all. We don’t know yet how or when this goal will be reached. But we have precedents for care of the nation’s health dating back before Jesus’ day, and practiced by him in his brief career among us. Granted, there were theological purposes behind his healing in that he was focusing on the widening circle of God’s love and power. He was proclaiming the Kingdom. Yet his method of doing so included compassion for the people who came to him in throngs seeking his touch, seeking healing of mind and body, seeking food for their sustenance and food for their spirits.
We note that these crowds were not composed of the rich and powerful but rather predominantly consisted of the poor, the outcasts of society, the least among them. Perhaps as Jesus ministered to them he remembered the teachings from the book of Proverbs. Teachings about the poor, for example: “Do not rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate . . . Those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor.” As far back as we have written records, there were the poor in every age and every civilization. People of faith, of different world faiths, were taught to have compassion for them. In fact, in ancient societies it was the obligation of the ruler to care for the poor – to see that they had the necessities of life. It was a telling mark of a nation or society how well the least were cared for. That principle has been recognized throughout the ages. Recognized but seldom adhered to fully.
When our own nation has 47 million without health insurance living among us, we wonder how we are judged in such a situation. When the numbers of the poor, the homeless and hungry increase in such economic times as we have now, what are we saying about ourselves as a society in terms of our faith?
Tomorrow is our national holiday celebrating the ones who labor, the workers, the industrious ones who are recognized for their efforts by a day off – or many of them will have a day off. Many however, who have lost their jobs, their positions, their incomes, have had too many days off this year that they didn’t count on. And the snowball effect has increased foreclosures on homes when the owners can no longer meet the payments, or purchase household items, or buy groceries, which in turn affect the manufacturers and merchants . . . and so it goes. It may be difficult for such as these to celebrate a Labor Day that no longer includes them as part of the nation’s workforce.
These are desperate times for our neighbors. . . and ourselves. How do we measure ourselves against the biblical norms of justice, healing of body and mind for all fairly; distributive, equal standards of living that leave no one out, no children behind, no elderly and infirm outside the doors of our health care system?
A recent study on the state of children’s health care around the world indicates that although our country spends more money per child on their health, it is aimed primarily at those between 12 and 17, rather than care for younger children. Where would the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter fit into this picture? These figures show the US to be far behind other countries for children 6 and younger – key ages for development into a healthy adulthood. We rank 4th from the bottom in infant mortality, after Mexico, Turkey, and Slovakia, and only Mexico ranks above us in teenagers giving birth. One writer, speaking of our poor record in health care compared to other countries notes that America's troubles stem from a flawed mix of government spending and not enough help for the working poor. The inadequate programs for undergirding for the poor show that there is less money spent to keep the incomes of the poor up. Thus, the poor have less money for their health care.
(Timothy Smeeding, author of "Poor Kids in a Rich Country: America's Children in Comparative Perspective – the article is by Greg Keller in an Associated Press article on Truthout)
These studies do not reflect a promising picture for the future of the nation’s underprivileged, but where does the church stand in this issue? After all, we are people of faith, followers of Jesus Christ. How do we reflect Jesus’ example of care for the poor in their search for a sustainable life? We do provide homeless shelters and soup kitchens in our cities, which are often part of an urban ministry program. It is a beginning, and where these ministries exist they have a noticeable effect upon the population. We act in the name of that Jesus who walked the countryside, hounded by the needs of the people, fatigued by the demands that the institutional religious establishment and the Roman government had ignored.
How do the poor see the ministry of the church? Two stories from a collection by a Benedictine Sister in Erie, PA give us an idea. Mary Lou Kownacki is active with a Soup Kitchen and an inner city Children’s Art House run by the Erie Benedictines. “What do I do here?” she asks. “I listen. I get to know my neighbors, really know them. I listen to their hopes and dreams for decent jobs, decent homes, a safe place to raise their children. They are worried about their children, especially their teenagers, who can see no future except minimum-paying jobs, lockup, or dropping out to the streets” (A Monk . . . p.6) She writes a poem: “Poor people on my street/rummaging through city trash/for stained mattresses, torn chairs/a chipped vase/to hold a stolen daffodil.”
And the poor respond, some in unusual ways. Sister Mary Lou describes how angels at times appear among them, such as Alfred A. “He appeared at our soup kitchen one day in the image of a Native American – tall, dark skin, high cheekbones, jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail. After eating a meal, he walked up to the serving counter and asked for a table napkin. Then he took a pencil from his vest pocket, stood at the counter, and began to scribble on the napkin. . . . [he wrote:] ‘I feel the presence of God here.’ On the napkin was a sketch of the face of Jesus. Then he walked out the door, and we haven’t seen him since. . . . [she goes on] I think Alfred A. reminded us that to serve the stranger, the poor, is an act of worship. Whenever we treat the stranger with respect, with kindness, with unconditional love, we worship God” (11). Another guest at their soup kitchen was Joe. He called the place a church. When asked why, his answer was simple: “Because this is where I find God. . . This is where God’s work is done” (127).
Is that how we might describe our own churches? As a place where God’s work is done? And would those places include a health clinic for the indigent, a soup kitchen, a shelter for the night? At Fellowship Presbyterian Church in Greensboro where my husband and I worship, we are part of a program known as the Interfaith Hospitality Network. Every quarter we house families in the network in our church building for a week, providing meals and a place to sleep. They are away during the day at school or perhaps their jobs, and arrive in time for dinner. No doubt Hawfields is involved in many ways as well to make life easier for those with little means of their own. It is when we do this that we worship God – it begins when we gather in the sanctuaries of our towns and cities to sing praises and hear the Word, and offer our own prayers of need. The time we are fed there includes that moment at the Table where Christ is our Host, healing us in his bountiful forgiving love, so that we might then go out and share what we have received. We are the Church, the Body of Christ. The woman waits for us to heal her daughter. The outcast waits to speak and hear. We are able and ready, for we have witnessed the Christ in our own lives. We labor on to answer his charge and do his work.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
The Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Dayz of Summer
Now that September is breathing down our backs, I am full of regret for the unfinished summer projects I had planned. Not enough poems written. Not enough blogs completed. Not enough books read. Not enough progress on the Big Effort of this summer: compiling an update of the last 25 years in the life of the NC Council of Churches.
Awhile back, in a weak and crazy moment, I volunteered for this latter task. Now, most of the notes are gathered and I am working on ways to fit it all together, following a rather hazy plan I have in mind. As the incoming President of the Council, I knew this work would provide a solid background for me in my understanding of the Council's work from its beginning in 1935. What an amazing collection of church folks have carried on the continuing work and ministries for peace and justice in this state and perhaps beyond as a result! I've been meeting for a year or so now with a committee seeking to re-order Council's structure into a more effective body, recognizing the shifting nature of church governance and internal structures that this 21st century has demonstrated.
The other largely unfulfilled summer goal was to produce a number of chip carvings. I have managed to come up with some wedding gifts, under the pressure of deadlines, but not nearly as many pieces as I'd like to have worked on. There have been coasters, a plate, some plaques for hanging . . . and now I will finish another set of coasters, and launch into a commissioned carving on a breadboard for a high school classmate.
What have I read this summer? Beginning with June, I read a marvelous poetry collection by Kathleen L. Housley: Firmament. She writes exquisite poems, faultlessly executed, full of meaning.
Joan Chittister: In My Own Words, a collection of excerpts from many of her writings.
Kate Northrup: Things Are Disappearing Here, expressive poems by a gifted poet.
Mary Lou Kownacki: A Monk in the Inner City: The ABC's of a Spiritual Journey. Powerful narratives of her experiences as a Benedictine Sister in her ministries of justice. (She is also a very fine poet.)
Philip Wickeri: Reconstructing Christianity in China: K.H. Ting and the Chinese Church. An amazing and comprehensive study of Ting's life and the story of the church in China.
William Paul Young: The Shack. After ignoring the popularity of this book and determined not to read it, I did pick up a copy and found it to be a most interesting and curious approach to a theological understanding of the Trinity and of grief -- and generally quite acceptible.
Fred Chappell: Spring Garden: New and Selected Poems. One of my favorite writers -- and I wrote my Master's Thesis many years ago on Randall Jarrell under his supervision.
Although it was a reading last spring, I must comment on David Wroblewski's amazing novel,
The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. It ranks with best of books that I have read, and it is his first novel!
Perhaps these lazy hazy dayz have not been as unproductive as I have considered them. I've been writing, carving, reading, and even more fulfilling, spending lots of time with our children and their families and friends. So it's been a good season. I am thankful.
Awhile back, in a weak and crazy moment, I volunteered for this latter task. Now, most of the notes are gathered and I am working on ways to fit it all together, following a rather hazy plan I have in mind. As the incoming President of the Council, I knew this work would provide a solid background for me in my understanding of the Council's work from its beginning in 1935. What an amazing collection of church folks have carried on the continuing work and ministries for peace and justice in this state and perhaps beyond as a result! I've been meeting for a year or so now with a committee seeking to re-order Council's structure into a more effective body, recognizing the shifting nature of church governance and internal structures that this 21st century has demonstrated.
The other largely unfulfilled summer goal was to produce a number of chip carvings. I have managed to come up with some wedding gifts, under the pressure of deadlines, but not nearly as many pieces as I'd like to have worked on. There have been coasters, a plate, some plaques for hanging . . . and now I will finish another set of coasters, and launch into a commissioned carving on a breadboard for a high school classmate.
What have I read this summer? Beginning with June, I read a marvelous poetry collection by Kathleen L. Housley: Firmament. She writes exquisite poems, faultlessly executed, full of meaning.
Joan Chittister: In My Own Words, a collection of excerpts from many of her writings.
Kate Northrup: Things Are Disappearing Here, expressive poems by a gifted poet.
Mary Lou Kownacki: A Monk in the Inner City: The ABC's of a Spiritual Journey. Powerful narratives of her experiences as a Benedictine Sister in her ministries of justice. (She is also a very fine poet.)
Philip Wickeri: Reconstructing Christianity in China: K.H. Ting and the Chinese Church. An amazing and comprehensive study of Ting's life and the story of the church in China.
William Paul Young: The Shack. After ignoring the popularity of this book and determined not to read it, I did pick up a copy and found it to be a most interesting and curious approach to a theological understanding of the Trinity and of grief -- and generally quite acceptible.
Fred Chappell: Spring Garden: New and Selected Poems. One of my favorite writers -- and I wrote my Master's Thesis many years ago on Randall Jarrell under his supervision.
Although it was a reading last spring, I must comment on David Wroblewski's amazing novel,
The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. It ranks with best of books that I have read, and it is his first novel!
Perhaps these lazy hazy dayz have not been as unproductive as I have considered them. I've been writing, carving, reading, and even more fulfilling, spending lots of time with our children and their families and friends. So it's been a good season. I am thankful.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Some Words Take Courage
I have been playing possum lately with this blogsite -- so many deadlines pushing me: finishing a set of wooden coasters I've been chip carving for a great-niece's wedding the 13th; continuing to take notes for a 25-year update for the NC Council of Churches; working and editing my book on children of WWII; and thinking about vacuuming the front half of the house today and the back half tomorrow.
This morning I finished reading Joan Chittister's In My Own Words, a compilation of words from her speeches, interviews, articles, books, and other quotes, edited by Sister Mary Lou Kownacki, a fine poet also with Benetvision, the publishing organization of the Erie Benedictines. This collection of Sister Joan's words is a wonderful wonderful resource for anyone seeking a good quote.
I also looked at a photo history of her life, to gain an even deeper appreciation of her courage in speaking truth despite the possibilities of censorship or opposition or anger or censure by Church authority. She has a world-wide following and makes it work for her in speaking out for justice, for peace, for the equal recognition of women in leadership and for equal treatment of women and men throughout the world, regardless of culture.
Today I ran across this statement of hers, originally in The Sun Magazine, June 2007:
"I am not impressed by people who say they are pro-life but who don't want to pay taxes to provide housing and food and education and healthcare for those who need them. That's not pro-life; it's pro-birth. This society needs to make life livable for the least fortunate before it condemns people who, for whatever reason, believe they cannot bring a life into the world."
Another quote: "Feminism challenges the world to trust again." (from Heart of Flesh)
When I consider the courage Sister Joan displays -- speaking as she does because of her sense of calling to speak out for justice and peace -- I feel inspired but also regretful that I have too often avoided saying or writing words that address issues of our culture for fear of retribution. I have received enough hostility and social censorship for times that I did speak up that I often muffle my words for fear of the backlash.
Now, however, it dawns on me that at my age, when I am retired and free to say whatever I deem necessary, that if I don't speak up on controversies I am denying my humanity. In contrast to what Sister Joan faces every time she opens her mouth or writes a word, my task is simple and does not demand the courage that someone needs in order to maintain standing and authority in a world of such inequalities, injustices, prejudices and great violence. If I should be silenced by a societal "shunning," not a great deal is lost. If Sister Joan is silenced, and the Vatican has attempted that, along with others in her Catholic tradition, then a great loss is apparent. What protects Sister Joan now is her universal recognition as a woman of faith and courage, and because of that the Powers hesitate to censure her. Nevertheless, none of us must shy away from promoting justice through wherever and whatever our gifts may be -- the arts, organizational leadership -- including the church traditions we are in, science, medicine, athletics, and other gifts we have. To be silent is to accept evil in our midst.
I have been playing possum lately with this blogsite -- so many deadlines pushing me: finishing a set of wooden coasters I've been chip carving for a great-niece's wedding the 13th; continuing to take notes for a 25-year update for the NC Council of Churches; working and editing my book on children of WWII; and thinking about vacuuming the front half of the house today and the back half tomorrow.
This morning I finished reading Joan Chittister's In My Own Words, a compilation of words from her speeches, interviews, articles, books, and other quotes, edited by Sister Mary Lou Kownacki, a fine poet also with Benetvision, the publishing organization of the Erie Benedictines. This collection of Sister Joan's words is a wonderful wonderful resource for anyone seeking a good quote.
I also looked at a photo history of her life, to gain an even deeper appreciation of her courage in speaking truth despite the possibilities of censorship or opposition or anger or censure by Church authority. She has a world-wide following and makes it work for her in speaking out for justice, for peace, for the equal recognition of women in leadership and for equal treatment of women and men throughout the world, regardless of culture.
Today I ran across this statement of hers, originally in The Sun Magazine, June 2007:
"I am not impressed by people who say they are pro-life but who don't want to pay taxes to provide housing and food and education and healthcare for those who need them. That's not pro-life; it's pro-birth. This society needs to make life livable for the least fortunate before it condemns people who, for whatever reason, believe they cannot bring a life into the world."
Another quote: "Feminism challenges the world to trust again." (from Heart of Flesh)
When I consider the courage Sister Joan displays -- speaking as she does because of her sense of calling to speak out for justice and peace -- I feel inspired but also regretful that I have too often avoided saying or writing words that address issues of our culture for fear of retribution. I have received enough hostility and social censorship for times that I did speak up that I often muffle my words for fear of the backlash.
Now, however, it dawns on me that at my age, when I am retired and free to say whatever I deem necessary, that if I don't speak up on controversies I am denying my humanity. In contrast to what Sister Joan faces every time she opens her mouth or writes a word, my task is simple and does not demand the courage that someone needs in order to maintain standing and authority in a world of such inequalities, injustices, prejudices and great violence. If I should be silenced by a societal "shunning," not a great deal is lost. If Sister Joan is silenced, and the Vatican has attempted that, along with others in her Catholic tradition, then a great loss is apparent. What protects Sister Joan now is her universal recognition as a woman of faith and courage, and because of that the Powers hesitate to censure her. Nevertheless, none of us must shy away from promoting justice through wherever and whatever our gifts may be -- the arts, organizational leadership -- including the church traditions we are in, science, medicine, athletics, and other gifts we have. To be silent is to accept evil in our midst.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
My time is consumed with so many details that the efforts I really seek get pushed into the back row. For example, I'd like to add something on my blog about my books, published at lulu.com. My fiction, or almost fiction, is Gather with the Saints, a collection of stories as told by a 12-year-old Baptist preacher's daughter. She tells of the rather bizarre funerals and deaths that occur in her home town of Wheeler, NC. Most have a nugget of real life, as told me by my colleagues in ministry, but then there are the ones that come solely out of my imagination. One, told in three parts, is the tragic balance to those others which contain a note of humor. The book is available online and also through retail book sellers.
I also have a book that comes out of my dissertation on the grief process. I added a fantasy story and narratives given me by others about signs from nature or elsewhere that relay the message of comfort: their loved one who has died is all right. The book, Signs of Hope:Messages for the Grieving, is for sale online but not in bookstores.
My collection of poems, Field Water, went through four revisions and was not for sale but for gifts to friends. Now I have decided to offer it for sale, also through lulu. Another book, for sale through lulu, is a collection of sermons delivered during the fall of 2008, Preacher's Dozen and a few more.
You can find these at www.lulu.com, by putting my name in the search window. If you find something you think worth reading, pass on the good word to your friends. I will be working at marketing these books in new ways soon.
I also have a book that comes out of my dissertation on the grief process. I added a fantasy story and narratives given me by others about signs from nature or elsewhere that relay the message of comfort: their loved one who has died is all right. The book, Signs of Hope:Messages for the Grieving, is for sale online but not in bookstores.
My collection of poems, Field Water, went through four revisions and was not for sale but for gifts to friends. Now I have decided to offer it for sale, also through lulu. Another book, for sale through lulu, is a collection of sermons delivered during the fall of 2008, Preacher's Dozen and a few more.
You can find these at www.lulu.com, by putting my name in the search window. If you find something you think worth reading, pass on the good word to your friends. I will be working at marketing these books in new ways soon.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I am going to copy excerpts from a recent blog I have on our Fellowship Presbyterian Church blogsite. It speaks to an important issue we face in these times.
Hospitality
Recently I attended a day-long Legislative Seminar sponsored by our NC Council of Churches and learned of the almost unsolvable concerns of immigrants, especially Latinos, who are given so little in terms of a welcome from the general public. We enjoy their labors but we don’t seem to enjoy their presence, judging by the efforts to get as many as possible back to their home countries, however that may be accomplished – either legally or illegally. We are reluctant to educate them or train them or raise their economic situation, all of which would in the long run make them contributing members of our society. I think we have a different standard when we read our scriptures, which call for us to “welcome the stranger.” We too once were strangers, or our ancestors were, for all were immigrants to this country except for the native peoples, and they too may come from immigrant stock of several millenia ago.
St. Benedict made hospitality a prime standard for his group of monks. As Sister Joan Chittister's commentary on the Rule of Benedict, notes about this matter of hospitality: “Hospitality in a culture of violence and strangers and anonymity has become the art of making good connections at good cocktail parties. We don't talk in elevators, we don't know the security guard's name, we don't invite even the neighbors in to the sanctuary of our selves. Their children get sick and their parents die and all we do is watch the comings and goings from behind heavy blinds. Benedict wants us to let down the barriers of our hearts so that this generation does not miss accompanying the innocent to Calvary as the last one did. Benedict wants us to let down the barriers of our souls so that the God of the unexpected can come in.” She adds, “ . . . hospitality is clearly meant to be more than an open door. It is an acknowledgement of the gifts the stranger brings.”
Isn't it time “to let down the barriers of our souls” and let the God of the unexpected enter in?
Hospitality
Recently I attended a day-long Legislative Seminar sponsored by our NC Council of Churches and learned of the almost unsolvable concerns of immigrants, especially Latinos, who are given so little in terms of a welcome from the general public. We enjoy their labors but we don’t seem to enjoy their presence, judging by the efforts to get as many as possible back to their home countries, however that may be accomplished – either legally or illegally. We are reluctant to educate them or train them or raise their economic situation, all of which would in the long run make them contributing members of our society. I think we have a different standard when we read our scriptures, which call for us to “welcome the stranger.” We too once were strangers, or our ancestors were, for all were immigrants to this country except for the native peoples, and they too may come from immigrant stock of several millenia ago.
St. Benedict made hospitality a prime standard for his group of monks. As Sister Joan Chittister's commentary on the Rule of Benedict, notes about this matter of hospitality: “Hospitality in a culture of violence and strangers and anonymity has become the art of making good connections at good cocktail parties. We don't talk in elevators, we don't know the security guard's name, we don't invite even the neighbors in to the sanctuary of our selves. Their children get sick and their parents die and all we do is watch the comings and goings from behind heavy blinds. Benedict wants us to let down the barriers of our hearts so that this generation does not miss accompanying the innocent to Calvary as the last one did. Benedict wants us to let down the barriers of our souls so that the God of the unexpected can come in.” She adds, “ . . . hospitality is clearly meant to be more than an open door. It is an acknowledgement of the gifts the stranger brings.”
Isn't it time “to let down the barriers of our souls” and let the God of the unexpected enter in?
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