Recently, getting a day off has been as difficult as finding hen's teeth. I have always found that analogy interesting...from my childhood days...but, when it comes to days off since Easter, it fits perfectly. Our parish has been through a series of critical, transformational events that would be fairly normal for a parish over a two year period. We have done it in five weeks! All of my clergy staff are feeling the emotional, spiritual and physical elements of fatigue. I carefully monitor how "my team" is working and how I am interacting with our daily work.
Yesterday, I struck "gold." I found that I could take a fair chunk of the day for personal, domestic and family care. Being by myself for most of the day, I decided to take in a movie. A perfect distraction! Denise generally does not care for action movies with violence involved. So, I found myself only one of two persons in a theatre showing Clash of the Titans. Anyone with some background reading in Greek mythology will know this movie...the story of Perseus, who finds himself in a triangle of confrontation between Zeus and Hades (Zeus's brother). As I teenager, I loved reading the Greek myths and read countless books and articles over a several year period.
As a college student, I began to take a second look at Greco-Roman mythology in the study of psychiatrist Carl Jung's research. I have now spent almost all my adult life exploring the psychological and spiritual implications of the psyche's role in forming and shaping our reality.
The truth is that the Greeks had a profoundly simple way of dealing with their internal, psycho-spiritual warfare. They projected the components of their psyche into the outer world and created the pantheon of gods, goddesses and demigods. The contemporary works of theologians like Thomas Moore, Morton Kelsey, John Sanford and a host of researchers like Isabelle Briggs-Myers, David Kiersey, Marilyn Bates, and Edward Edinger give us an ever deepening array of gateways into exploring the fullness of being human....using Jung's methodology.
But I digress a bit. On this Thursday afternoon, I simply wanted to see a good action flick and escape for a small time from the intensity of what the previous days had given us. It was working. Then I realized that this movie, Clash of the Titans, wasn't like all the previous epic screen renditions of gods, goddesses, monsters and dark caverns. I suddenly realized why a number of movie critics had panned it at release. This movie jumped square into the struggle of internal human balance between self as simply human and Self as integrated whole. Perseus was angry with the gods, but he was really angry at his own limitations. I was back at work...being a theologian, psychologist and professional journeyer of the soul-scape.
There is one line in the movie that I think summarizes the human condition. Perseus has just emerged from a portion of the underworld inhabited by Medusa (the beautiful woman with hair of snakes and a look that literally turned men to stone). He has successfully relieved Medusa of her head and emerged from the cave with only minor wounds. He used a sword given him by Zeus for the mission and, upon emerging, thrusts it into the ground in a moment of seeming rejection. At that moment, his demigod guide, Io is dealt a lethal blow (as such can be to one who is eternal), and she lays dying on the ground. Perseus is crushed and angry. Io grabs his arm and says, "You are not a god, and you are not a man....you are the best of both. Embrace it and fulfill your destiny." That's Jungian psychology in a sentence right there.
Perseus is the Greek counterpart of the Apostle Peter. Trust me on this. Peter had moments of profound insight and wisdom. Jesus commended him for this by saying, "This is not from mankind but from God..." Then, a very short time later, Peter will utter an entirely willful statement like, "You can't go to Jerusalem, because you will be killed....however, if you must, we will go with you and die as well..." Jesus response: "Get behind me Satan; for what you say is not from God but from mankind." Schizophrenic? Hardly! Peter wanted to control his own behavior; master his own destiny (and that of Jesus); but he also occasionally stepped into the place of allowing the depth of his psyche to function in its created order and reflect the truth of Self in God. In the end, Jesus confronts Peter with the three-part question, "Peter, do you love me?" Shortly after the Ascension, Peter found that place of being the best of both and is recognized as the functional icon of faith.
How is it best to understand and embrace Jesus? The post Reformation rhetoric has called forth phrases like, "having a personal relationship with Jesus." I do not, for a moment, condemn the real meaning of that phrase. But a personal relationship means something very different in the context I provide above. Listen to the words of Peter: "He did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped; but he emptied himself and became obedient...even to the point of death..." Point One: The Transcendent God is not "out there" somewhere but very immanent...touchable. Point Two: The Transcendent God is not separate from humankind...but is a participant with humankind. Point Three: Jesus is the fullest possible expression of what it means to be The Best of Both. Jesus, as Paul would say later, is the "pioneer and perfecter of our faith..." In Jungian terms, Jesus is fully integrated Self.
I am willing to take the heat for what I am about to say, but it can be backed up. Most psycho-therapeutic modalities and most parochial pastoral/theological engagement is on the level of applying band-aids to human integration. I am a student of human systems psychology and, while it explains a great deal about relational dynamics in families, businesses and churches, it doesn't begin to challenge the deep level of engaging and embracing integration of the psyche. Most pastoral care and theology is the application of biblical verses and superficial prayer to the presenting problems of parishioners. These are not bad things, but they are ways we choose to deal with our deepest levels of pain, fear and dis-integration. Like Perseus, we find it more compelling to deny the sacred and trust only what is deemed human. Hebrew theology called it the "sin of Adam." Christians call it Original Sin. It is a profound act of willfulness that separates our self from our Self.
The character of sacramental life provides us outward signs of inward Grace. Like Greek mythology, these outward signs convey power, authority, transformation and nurture. Unlike Greek mythology, sacramental signs only tell a story. The real work (in theology, we call it "operation") is what the Spirit of God is doing within us or within the community. The sacramental principle is most accurately described as making us the best of both.
An afternoon away from the responsibilities and concerns of parish ministry became a time of insight and new struggle with images, character and integration. Maybe this vocation and its disciplines is God's way of saying, 'you are never really off...just taking a break from one reality to explore another for a little while.' So be it.
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
14 May 2010
14 April 2010
What Goes Around Comes Around (Maybe)
Off and on, for a number of years, I have uttered the word "huzzah!" as an expression of excitement or approbation. I never really gave it much thought, because my Dad had used the word on occasion in my youth. In the meantime, there were words like, "yeeha!" or "Yeeess!" or (in the Navy), "Hooyah!" Yesterday, I was caught up short in a Facebook conversation with a parishioner, when I used the word in one of my posts.
The parishioner expressed surprise saying, "It's funny to see you say that, because it's a word that 20s age folks use....not someone in their 50s.." "Not so!" I responded. Then I began to think about language. Later language led to thinking about the Church. Theology, as a discipline, tends to do that sort of thing.
The word "huzzah" actually has its origins in Shakespeare's era. It ducks in and out of English speaking culture and makes a big appearance in America during the Revolution. The word stays present and gets really popular again in the Civil War and western expansion era of the middle late 19th century. It then disappears, except in various regions and among individuals (or in period movies). Now, it seems, it is gaining new popularity among young adults.
In 1988, I read a book that provoked thinking in this area of cyclical popularity. John Snow, the retired Dean of the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge, MA, published a study in vocation entitled, The Impossible Vocation: Ministry in the Mean Time. It is a study of the nature of modern pastoral theology and how the church has adapted to cultural trends.
In one of Dr. Snow's pivotal conclusions he states, "The central social function of all religions is to build a culture which mitigates the fear of death, freeing its members from suspicion and fear of one another so that compromise, cooperation and consensus can result in a moral and peaceful world." (Snow, pg 145). How the Church goes about this task has taken many identities. The book rehearses these and concludes that the clinical counseling methodology that began to be used in the late 1950s and through the early 1980s simply did not work as a comprehensive modality for pastoral care. Being trained largely in that model (and owning an undergraduate degree in psychology myself), I wondered immediately where that conclusion might leave me in the professional work of a parish priest.
Reading on, I learned that the ultimate goal would be a return to the parish priest as spiritual director and "shaman" (holy person) in community. This reflects another pivotal book of a few years earlier by the late Urban Holmes (Dean of St. Luke's School of Theology, University of the South, TN) entitled, The Priest in Community: Exploring the Roots of Ministry (1979). Fr. Holmes takes the entire scope of human disciplines to reflect on the role of priest in community. Like John Snow later, Holmes shows that holding a particular discipline as definitive for priestly ministry limits the reality of the sacramental character of priesthood.
Even though these two books functioned to shape a large measure of my 3+ decades of parish ministry, I nearly forgot all about that in the more recent struggles of understanding the contemporary function of priest in community. For the past decade or so, the Church has been sliding into a role of "religious business enterprise." That is not a personal assessment but one noted by several theologians in the larger Church. The successful business model of the "roaring 90s and early 2000s" has become the measure by which many local parochial agencies judge success. A colleague told me several years ago that, "all we need is to turn our graduate degrees in theology in and pick up an MBA...that would qualify us to be parish leaders." Reluctantly, I must agree.
Back to the "shaman." This is a scary term for most folks. It raises images of witchdoctor types dancing around with rattles and incantations...or using strange potions and powders to work some kind of weird magic. That's a pretty limiting view. It's a product of too much of the wrong kind of television. Of course, most modern education is at the level of what one sees or hears in the mass media...but I digress.
The shaman in history is one who creates vision; is steeped in the prayer of his/her tradition; is a steward of the mysteries that shape the inner life; and has been gifted with the power to affect change...as a channel or vessel...never as the source. But, in the Episcopal Church, does that define a priest?
There could be no better authority for answering this question than Archbishop Arthur Michael Ramsey -- the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury (retired 1975, deceased 1984). In his powerful little book, The Christian Priest Today, Archbishop Ramsey sums up priesthood: "Man of theology, man of reconciliation, man of prayer, man of the Eucharist -- displaying, enabling and involving the life of the Church -- such is the ordained priest." Look familiar? It almost mirrors the textbook definition of the shaman.
If one wants to wax skeptical regarding the Anglican theological perspective, one just needs to open The Priesthood by Fr. Karl Rahner. Rahner is considered one of the greatest theological minds of the 20th century...and a Roman Catholic Priest. In this short but dense book, Rahner creates a litany of the character of priesthood. At once the guardian of mystery; the journeyer into the life of the Spirit; the vessel of Grace in community; the shape changer of culture. Again, this is looking very familiar. Rahner published this work under the title Einubung Priesterlicher Existenz in 1970.
What has happened to us? Largely, I conjecture, we have become fearful of falling into the hands of the Living God and, thereby, have created a more convenient means by which we can measure the Church's relative worth and success. A person recently told me, "Today’s businessperson / vestryperson believes that if they can measure it, they can influence it. And they are willing to measure the success of your parish. So what is today’s rector to do? Fight? Fold? Follow? Fret? "
This is an important statement and series of questions. Given the definitions I have shared above, I want to suggest some things: 1) Today's Rector remains a priest, regardless of the intentions of non-ordained leaders. 2) If regression analysis is necessary, consider that the reasons for the Church's being may have been compromised by a kind of rationalism that works to avoid mystery. 3) The future of the Church depends on the ontological transformation of its people. That means plunging deeply into the mystery of human nature as it is defined in the image of God. 4) We need to pray like crazy that the current pre-occupations with secular models gives way to the definitions that visionaries like Ramsey, Holmes, Rahner and Snow placed before us decades ago. These were men of prayer....shape changers in the relationship between Christ and culture.
Finally, Katherine Tyler Scott, noted business consultant and deeply rooted Episcopalian published an article in the 9 April edition of The Washington Post. It can best be summarized in her own words: "Sheer intellectual ability and objectivity are insufficient to determine the moral good and responsible action. They must be accompanied by the adaptive capacity to hold the tension of the opposites together long enough to understand the problems and the appropriate response....At its core, the Episcopal Church believes in the compatibility of tradition and reform, the partnership of faith and reason. If the church can remember and reclaim this charism, it will help those who follow to navigate the present currents of complexity, chaos and change with reasoned and mature judgment and action. It will enable the church, and all of us, to exhibit the courage to move from the margin, to stand in the gap, to hold the tension of the opposites together, and to take the risk to tell our truths in the world--a world that desperately needs to shed itself of the tendency to demonize differences....Leaders cannot sequester congregants in beautiful spaces of worship with glorious music and liturgy without also engaging them in deeper reflection about what it means to live one's faith responsibly in the world."
Huzzah! Perhaps Katherine Tyler Scott is a prophet of our times. If so, maybe what has gone around will once again come around....just maybe.
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
The parishioner expressed surprise saying, "It's funny to see you say that, because it's a word that 20s age folks use....not someone in their 50s.." "Not so!" I responded. Then I began to think about language. Later language led to thinking about the Church. Theology, as a discipline, tends to do that sort of thing.
The word "huzzah" actually has its origins in Shakespeare's era. It ducks in and out of English speaking culture and makes a big appearance in America during the Revolution. The word stays present and gets really popular again in the Civil War and western expansion era of the middle late 19th century. It then disappears, except in various regions and among individuals (or in period movies). Now, it seems, it is gaining new popularity among young adults.
In 1988, I read a book that provoked thinking in this area of cyclical popularity. John Snow, the retired Dean of the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge, MA, published a study in vocation entitled, The Impossible Vocation: Ministry in the Mean Time. It is a study of the nature of modern pastoral theology and how the church has adapted to cultural trends.
In one of Dr. Snow's pivotal conclusions he states, "The central social function of all religions is to build a culture which mitigates the fear of death, freeing its members from suspicion and fear of one another so that compromise, cooperation and consensus can result in a moral and peaceful world." (Snow, pg 145). How the Church goes about this task has taken many identities. The book rehearses these and concludes that the clinical counseling methodology that began to be used in the late 1950s and through the early 1980s simply did not work as a comprehensive modality for pastoral care. Being trained largely in that model (and owning an undergraduate degree in psychology myself), I wondered immediately where that conclusion might leave me in the professional work of a parish priest.
Reading on, I learned that the ultimate goal would be a return to the parish priest as spiritual director and "shaman" (holy person) in community. This reflects another pivotal book of a few years earlier by the late Urban Holmes (Dean of St. Luke's School of Theology, University of the South, TN) entitled, The Priest in Community: Exploring the Roots of Ministry (1979). Fr. Holmes takes the entire scope of human disciplines to reflect on the role of priest in community. Like John Snow later, Holmes shows that holding a particular discipline as definitive for priestly ministry limits the reality of the sacramental character of priesthood.
Even though these two books functioned to shape a large measure of my 3+ decades of parish ministry, I nearly forgot all about that in the more recent struggles of understanding the contemporary function of priest in community. For the past decade or so, the Church has been sliding into a role of "religious business enterprise." That is not a personal assessment but one noted by several theologians in the larger Church. The successful business model of the "roaring 90s and early 2000s" has become the measure by which many local parochial agencies judge success. A colleague told me several years ago that, "all we need is to turn our graduate degrees in theology in and pick up an MBA...that would qualify us to be parish leaders." Reluctantly, I must agree.
Back to the "shaman." This is a scary term for most folks. It raises images of witchdoctor types dancing around with rattles and incantations...or using strange potions and powders to work some kind of weird magic. That's a pretty limiting view. It's a product of too much of the wrong kind of television. Of course, most modern education is at the level of what one sees or hears in the mass media...but I digress.
The shaman in history is one who creates vision; is steeped in the prayer of his/her tradition; is a steward of the mysteries that shape the inner life; and has been gifted with the power to affect change...as a channel or vessel...never as the source. But, in the Episcopal Church, does that define a priest?
There could be no better authority for answering this question than Archbishop Arthur Michael Ramsey -- the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury (retired 1975, deceased 1984). In his powerful little book, The Christian Priest Today, Archbishop Ramsey sums up priesthood: "Man of theology, man of reconciliation, man of prayer, man of the Eucharist -- displaying, enabling and involving the life of the Church -- such is the ordained priest." Look familiar? It almost mirrors the textbook definition of the shaman.
If one wants to wax skeptical regarding the Anglican theological perspective, one just needs to open The Priesthood by Fr. Karl Rahner. Rahner is considered one of the greatest theological minds of the 20th century...and a Roman Catholic Priest. In this short but dense book, Rahner creates a litany of the character of priesthood. At once the guardian of mystery; the journeyer into the life of the Spirit; the vessel of Grace in community; the shape changer of culture. Again, this is looking very familiar. Rahner published this work under the title Einubung Priesterlicher Existenz in 1970.
What has happened to us? Largely, I conjecture, we have become fearful of falling into the hands of the Living God and, thereby, have created a more convenient means by which we can measure the Church's relative worth and success. A person recently told me, "Today’s businessperson / vestryperson believes that if they can measure it, they can influence it. And they are willing to measure the success of your parish. So what is today’s rector to do? Fight? Fold? Follow? Fret? "
This is an important statement and series of questions. Given the definitions I have shared above, I want to suggest some things: 1) Today's Rector remains a priest, regardless of the intentions of non-ordained leaders. 2) If regression analysis is necessary, consider that the reasons for the Church's being may have been compromised by a kind of rationalism that works to avoid mystery. 3) The future of the Church depends on the ontological transformation of its people. That means plunging deeply into the mystery of human nature as it is defined in the image of God. 4) We need to pray like crazy that the current pre-occupations with secular models gives way to the definitions that visionaries like Ramsey, Holmes, Rahner and Snow placed before us decades ago. These were men of prayer....shape changers in the relationship between Christ and culture.
Finally, Katherine Tyler Scott, noted business consultant and deeply rooted Episcopalian published an article in the 9 April edition of The Washington Post. It can best be summarized in her own words: "Sheer intellectual ability and objectivity are insufficient to determine the moral good and responsible action. They must be accompanied by the adaptive capacity to hold the tension of the opposites together long enough to understand the problems and the appropriate response....At its core, the Episcopal Church believes in the compatibility of tradition and reform, the partnership of faith and reason. If the church can remember and reclaim this charism, it will help those who follow to navigate the present currents of complexity, chaos and change with reasoned and mature judgment and action. It will enable the church, and all of us, to exhibit the courage to move from the margin, to stand in the gap, to hold the tension of the opposites together, and to take the risk to tell our truths in the world--a world that desperately needs to shed itself of the tendency to demonize differences....Leaders cannot sequester congregants in beautiful spaces of worship with glorious music and liturgy without also engaging them in deeper reflection about what it means to live one's faith responsibly in the world."
Huzzah! Perhaps Katherine Tyler Scott is a prophet of our times. If so, maybe what has gone around will once again come around....just maybe.
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
06 April 2010
The Flight of Fear
One of the most powerful reflective words in the English language is "fear." It strikes a discordant note in the hearts of the most stalwart persons. Accusing another of being afraid has caused wars and untold pain. The emotion that is described as "fear" can paralyze entire groups of people and obscure/distort the images and events directly in front of them.
On the other side of this coin, "fear" is the most misunderstood and misused word in the English language. It is adequate to describe one type of emotional response to a circumstance, but the word is used to describe a whole range of emotions that really aren't fearful. It is a word used to provoke others into actions that may have absolutely no grounding in the reality of the moment. Human emotions are the most shallow and least trustworthy bases for action known in creation. The law describes certain types of murder as "crimes of passion" (read: emotion).
In his first inaugural address in 1933, Franklin D. Roosevelt stated, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself..." Those words were spoken at a time considered to be the worst of the Great Depression. Fear was rampant, and the American spirit at one of its lowest in history. Yet, Roosevelt -- himself suffering the slow but steady ravages of polio -- stood tall and spoke those words with a kind of authority that began to transform society and move it to a place of confidence and security.
Theologians and psychologists have been trying to get at the roots of human fear for generations. Both Carl Jung and Murray Bowen (MD, Psychiatrist who began his research at Menninger Clinic and later founded the Center For Family Process at Georgetown University Medical School) have been modern pioneers in placing fear appropriately within the frame of human character and sequential actions. It was Murray Bowen who isolated the "lineage" of fear, which is: anxiety leads to fear; fear leads to anger; anger leads to hatred; hatred leads to destruction. (Star Wars fans will remember Yoda quoting an abridged version of this).
To state this in a more practical way: We get worried, which raises a lot of fearful responses regarding the outcome of events about which we are worried. Fear festers like an inflammatory infection and finally bursts. This bursting forth is recognized as anger, which can take a variety of ugly forms. Anger can also fester and, like bone cancer, strike at the very heart of our character. The product of that process is hatred. Hatred can be expressed from benign neglect or prejudice to an outright hostile bigotry, judgmentalism and targeted aggression. Hatred, once released, is always destructive....to persons, property, environment, civilizations. Pure hatred knows no bounds in its destructive rampage.
The next time you get anxious, think of the experience as being the embryo of what could become a murderous debacle. Remember, also, murder includes actions which have nothing whatever to do with ending a physical life.
As I cast my thoughts and prayers toward Easter last week (I was preparing the sermon I preached on Easter Day), a little bit of sociology emerged. In the last three decades I have noticed that the generation represented by my parents ("The Greatest Generation" as termed by Tom Brokaw), were very invested in the totality of what we call the Triduum of Holy Week. These are the Holy Three Days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and The Great Vigil of Easter. As a child, the church would be nearly filled on these days...and then again for the Sunday Easter liturgies.
Now that The Greatest Generation is thinning out, we still see a number of folks at the Maundy Thursday Liturgy. It is bright and has a ring of confidence as we reflect upon and respond symbolically to the three commands of Jesus (servanthood, remembrance, watch/pray). Good Friday has become a truly lightly attended day of rites. Our subsequent generations are anxious and fearful people, when it comes to dealing with death, emptiness and desolation. There is a question to this that I will post out later.
Realizing the above is an over generalization, it reflects the reality that we are Easter people who don't have any idea what makes Easter happen. When I was a cathedral dean, we were having Easter Vigil after sunset on Saturday evening. The lights would be out, and ushers helped folks find seats in the darkened cathedral nave. One year, a newcomer who had never been to an Easter Vigil, entered the dimmed Narthex and looked into the dark, cavernous space. With wide eyes, he looked at us and exclaimed, "Wow, it's like a tomb in there!" Without missing a beat, my Honorary Canon (Leonel Mitchell, retired professor of sacramental theology at Seabury-Western Seminary) smiled broadly and said, "Yes, isn't it?" That was the idea.
We fear the dark, because we often fear what we cannot see. That's why agnosticism, cynicism and complacency about things spiritual gains a foothold in our lives. St. Paul said it well, "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the Living God." Try this line of logic: compassion leads to healing; healing leads to threat to the control of others; threat to control leads to conspiracy; conspiracy leads to uprising; uprising leads to false accusation; false accusation leads to death; death leads to resurrection. THAT is the Easter logic. It continues to often be the way of humanity and, unfortunately, the Church (take this on faith).
The compassion of Jesus created the circumstances around which many were healed. It was an outward sign of spiritual wholeness. This infuriated the Sanhedrin, because it threatened the control they had over the general population in Israel. The Sanhedrin conspired to have Jesus brought up on trumped charges (sedition). That conspiracy stoked the fires of doubt and judgment. Jesus was condemned, crucified and laid to rest, by his friends, in a tomb. There it is, the bloody tomb! Can't get around it folks.
The gateway to healing was opened by an act of God's very deep love for every person. Consider how small we are in the scope of the universe...possibly smaller than the size of the smallest bacteria on our planet. We cannot fathom that we are microscopic in the larger scheme of things. YET, we are not lost to God, who infuses us with love so intense that God invested Self among us in Jesus and opened the gate to experience the expanse of Kingdom. Ponder this for a time. It is transformational.
I close with part of a blessing attributed to St. Clare. Clare with the dear friend of St. Francis. She founded the Order of the Poor Ladies as a companion order for Francis's Order of Poor Friars. Both were later known as the Order of St. Clare and the Order of St. Francis. The quote below was part of a reflection by Clare, completed around 1249.
"Live without fear: your Creator has made you holy, has always protected you, and loves you as a mother. Go in peace to follow the good road, and may God's blessing be with you always."
Easter Blessings!
Fr. Fred+
On the other side of this coin, "fear" is the most misunderstood and misused word in the English language. It is adequate to describe one type of emotional response to a circumstance, but the word is used to describe a whole range of emotions that really aren't fearful. It is a word used to provoke others into actions that may have absolutely no grounding in the reality of the moment. Human emotions are the most shallow and least trustworthy bases for action known in creation. The law describes certain types of murder as "crimes of passion" (read: emotion).
In his first inaugural address in 1933, Franklin D. Roosevelt stated, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself..." Those words were spoken at a time considered to be the worst of the Great Depression. Fear was rampant, and the American spirit at one of its lowest in history. Yet, Roosevelt -- himself suffering the slow but steady ravages of polio -- stood tall and spoke those words with a kind of authority that began to transform society and move it to a place of confidence and security.
Theologians and psychologists have been trying to get at the roots of human fear for generations. Both Carl Jung and Murray Bowen (MD, Psychiatrist who began his research at Menninger Clinic and later founded the Center For Family Process at Georgetown University Medical School) have been modern pioneers in placing fear appropriately within the frame of human character and sequential actions. It was Murray Bowen who isolated the "lineage" of fear, which is: anxiety leads to fear; fear leads to anger; anger leads to hatred; hatred leads to destruction. (Star Wars fans will remember Yoda quoting an abridged version of this).
To state this in a more practical way: We get worried, which raises a lot of fearful responses regarding the outcome of events about which we are worried. Fear festers like an inflammatory infection and finally bursts. This bursting forth is recognized as anger, which can take a variety of ugly forms. Anger can also fester and, like bone cancer, strike at the very heart of our character. The product of that process is hatred. Hatred can be expressed from benign neglect or prejudice to an outright hostile bigotry, judgmentalism and targeted aggression. Hatred, once released, is always destructive....to persons, property, environment, civilizations. Pure hatred knows no bounds in its destructive rampage.
The next time you get anxious, think of the experience as being the embryo of what could become a murderous debacle. Remember, also, murder includes actions which have nothing whatever to do with ending a physical life.
As I cast my thoughts and prayers toward Easter last week (I was preparing the sermon I preached on Easter Day), a little bit of sociology emerged. In the last three decades I have noticed that the generation represented by my parents ("The Greatest Generation" as termed by Tom Brokaw), were very invested in the totality of what we call the Triduum of Holy Week. These are the Holy Three Days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and The Great Vigil of Easter. As a child, the church would be nearly filled on these days...and then again for the Sunday Easter liturgies.
Now that The Greatest Generation is thinning out, we still see a number of folks at the Maundy Thursday Liturgy. It is bright and has a ring of confidence as we reflect upon and respond symbolically to the three commands of Jesus (servanthood, remembrance, watch/pray). Good Friday has become a truly lightly attended day of rites. Our subsequent generations are anxious and fearful people, when it comes to dealing with death, emptiness and desolation. There is a question to this that I will post out later.
Realizing the above is an over generalization, it reflects the reality that we are Easter people who don't have any idea what makes Easter happen. When I was a cathedral dean, we were having Easter Vigil after sunset on Saturday evening. The lights would be out, and ushers helped folks find seats in the darkened cathedral nave. One year, a newcomer who had never been to an Easter Vigil, entered the dimmed Narthex and looked into the dark, cavernous space. With wide eyes, he looked at us and exclaimed, "Wow, it's like a tomb in there!" Without missing a beat, my Honorary Canon (Leonel Mitchell, retired professor of sacramental theology at Seabury-Western Seminary) smiled broadly and said, "Yes, isn't it?" That was the idea.
We fear the dark, because we often fear what we cannot see. That's why agnosticism, cynicism and complacency about things spiritual gains a foothold in our lives. St. Paul said it well, "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the Living God." Try this line of logic: compassion leads to healing; healing leads to threat to the control of others; threat to control leads to conspiracy; conspiracy leads to uprising; uprising leads to false accusation; false accusation leads to death; death leads to resurrection. THAT is the Easter logic. It continues to often be the way of humanity and, unfortunately, the Church (take this on faith).
The compassion of Jesus created the circumstances around which many were healed. It was an outward sign of spiritual wholeness. This infuriated the Sanhedrin, because it threatened the control they had over the general population in Israel. The Sanhedrin conspired to have Jesus brought up on trumped charges (sedition). That conspiracy stoked the fires of doubt and judgment. Jesus was condemned, crucified and laid to rest, by his friends, in a tomb. There it is, the bloody tomb! Can't get around it folks.
The gateway to healing was opened by an act of God's very deep love for every person. Consider how small we are in the scope of the universe...possibly smaller than the size of the smallest bacteria on our planet. We cannot fathom that we are microscopic in the larger scheme of things. YET, we are not lost to God, who infuses us with love so intense that God invested Self among us in Jesus and opened the gate to experience the expanse of Kingdom. Ponder this for a time. It is transformational.
I close with part of a blessing attributed to St. Clare. Clare with the dear friend of St. Francis. She founded the Order of the Poor Ladies as a companion order for Francis's Order of Poor Friars. Both were later known as the Order of St. Clare and the Order of St. Francis. The quote below was part of a reflection by Clare, completed around 1249.
"Live without fear: your Creator has made you holy, has always protected you, and loves you as a mother. Go in peace to follow the good road, and may God's blessing be with you always."
Easter Blessings!
Fr. Fred+
01 April 2010
Three Days
Some events stand out in life as if they happened just yesterday. One can remember the sights, sounds, smells, people, places and feelings as if they were coursing through the senses at this very moment. Such was my experience on 30 March, when I prayed for my Dad, who died on that date in 1968. I was 17 years old, a senior in high school, at our senior prom. Just a shade more than two months before my graduation from Winter Haven High School (Central Florida). In a moment, that whole evening and following day flooded into the present.
My Dad turned 54 just four days prior to his untimely death (26 March). He was in the hospital, after having a heart attack on 22 March. It was a second major heart attack that struck him down in the hospital that Saturday night 42 years ago. Had he lived, he would be 96 years old now.
Last night, Denise and I went to one of our favorite pizza parlors to celebrate her Dad's birthday. He was born on 31 March 1919 (Frank Dama was a first generation Italian-American and made the best pizza I have ever had). Somewhat like my Dad, "Dad Frank" died two weeks after we announced Denise's pregnancy with our first child. Somewhat like my Dad, he and Denise's Mom were on a trip and in a hotel room in Richmond, VA -- where he quietly and suddenly succumbed to a heart attack. That was on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend 1984. Frank would be 91 had he lived to this moment.
These are not macabre stories but life events that have shaped members of my family and framed my own journey as a son, friend, brother, husband and father. As I experienced the "re-membering" of my Dad's death on 30 March 1968, it wasn't me going back to that moment and those times. I have done that (years ago) and found myself only wallowing in the sentiment of a 17 year old who had no experiences of life by which to compare the tragedy that seemed to overpower me at that time. Instead, the event came to me as a "presence of moment" -- and I was placing myself, the 59 year old son who did graduate from high school, graduated from college, served in the armed forces, completed graduate school and engaged the world as a parish priest for better than three decades. Now, having wrestled with death and witnessed the deaths of colleagues, friends, parishioners and patients too numerous to count, my perspective is different.
I am not immune to the pain of death. If anything, I have become much more sensitive to it. I know it by sight, sound, smell and touch. I've journeyed with those who have grieved their losses. I have grieved with them in my own heart...privately in order to be fully present to them in their moment.
In the early morning hours of 3 March 2009, I received a call I had dreaded for several weeks. It was the younger brother of one of my very dearest friends and colleagues, Fr. Paul Wolfe. Paul had died shortly before...after nearly four years of struggle with cancer. This was really close to home. Paul and I were only four months apart in age. Both of us grew up in Central Florida. We were classmates during our graduate studies at Nashotah House Seminary. We partnered in the operation of a consulting organization for the Church until I left to be Dean of the Cathedral in South Bend, IN in 1993. We talked and emailed regularly over the years...and almost daily over the four years of his illness. When one looks into the coffin of a friend like that, it is much like looking into a mirror.
I was a patient at St. Luke's Hospital the two days prior to the first anniversary of Paul's death. Chest pain and vascular issues had created concern for my cardiologists, and they determined that I would have a cardiac catheterization....immediately. It would be my third such procedure, since the discovery of the genetic condition that laid me out in the cathedral, January 1995. The results showed nothing new...in fact, remarkably clear coronary arteries and very good heart pressures. The problem? A change in medication that led to coronary artery spasms....chest pain. Back on the original med and no more chest pain.
The morning after my release from the hospital, I was engaged in contemplative prayer and giving thanks for renewed health. Paul "came to me" without my specifically thinking of this being the anniversary date. Again, this moment was not going back to the feelings and experiences of that week a year ago (I preached at his Requiem liturgy). Instead, the event came to me as an invitation into the present. What have I learned about myself and my life since that week? What have I learned about others and the capacity to be open to the painful moments of their journeys? Have I grown and changed? Or, have I simply wallowed in the mire of self-pity, fear and attendant anxieties surrounding the inevitabilities of this life journey?
From that, I took the mantra that I put forth in my last blog. I am aging --- NOT getting old.
Now that we have entered the holiest three days of the Christian Year (known historically as the Triduum Sacrum), the temptation is to engage the liturgies of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Great Vigil of Easter as us looking back at the historical moments of those three days of Jesus' life. Nothing could be farther from the truth!
Nothing has changed in history about the human condition. We may be more sophisticated intellectually. We may have become a more compassionate and just people (MAYBE, but that is for the next blog). We still, however, must answer questions about who we are; why we are here; and what is our ultimate purpose.
If we are to do this in a manner that points us forward, we must place ourselves in these liturgies as a participant in the event as it is being made present to us right now...in the moment. "Love one another, as I have loved you." "Do this in remembrance of me." "Watch and pray with me." We must do that this Maundy Thursday night. "Why have you forsaken me." "I thirst." "Into your hands I commend my spirit." We must engage this struggle and pain on Good Friday. "He is not here, he has risen." "Why do you seek the living among the dead." "Touch me and know the truth." We must embrace what it means to be healed, restored and incorporated into the Body (salvation).
These Three Holy Days are our days. It is the "Presence of Moment" that brings all that has transpired into the experiences we are now having in this moment of our history. It is what we will take away from this that will determine how we grow forward....grow forward.
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
My Dad turned 54 just four days prior to his untimely death (26 March). He was in the hospital, after having a heart attack on 22 March. It was a second major heart attack that struck him down in the hospital that Saturday night 42 years ago. Had he lived, he would be 96 years old now.
Last night, Denise and I went to one of our favorite pizza parlors to celebrate her Dad's birthday. He was born on 31 March 1919 (Frank Dama was a first generation Italian-American and made the best pizza I have ever had). Somewhat like my Dad, "Dad Frank" died two weeks after we announced Denise's pregnancy with our first child. Somewhat like my Dad, he and Denise's Mom were on a trip and in a hotel room in Richmond, VA -- where he quietly and suddenly succumbed to a heart attack. That was on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend 1984. Frank would be 91 had he lived to this moment.
These are not macabre stories but life events that have shaped members of my family and framed my own journey as a son, friend, brother, husband and father. As I experienced the "re-membering" of my Dad's death on 30 March 1968, it wasn't me going back to that moment and those times. I have done that (years ago) and found myself only wallowing in the sentiment of a 17 year old who had no experiences of life by which to compare the tragedy that seemed to overpower me at that time. Instead, the event came to me as a "presence of moment" -- and I was placing myself, the 59 year old son who did graduate from high school, graduated from college, served in the armed forces, completed graduate school and engaged the world as a parish priest for better than three decades. Now, having wrestled with death and witnessed the deaths of colleagues, friends, parishioners and patients too numerous to count, my perspective is different.
I am not immune to the pain of death. If anything, I have become much more sensitive to it. I know it by sight, sound, smell and touch. I've journeyed with those who have grieved their losses. I have grieved with them in my own heart...privately in order to be fully present to them in their moment.
In the early morning hours of 3 March 2009, I received a call I had dreaded for several weeks. It was the younger brother of one of my very dearest friends and colleagues, Fr. Paul Wolfe. Paul had died shortly before...after nearly four years of struggle with cancer. This was really close to home. Paul and I were only four months apart in age. Both of us grew up in Central Florida. We were classmates during our graduate studies at Nashotah House Seminary. We partnered in the operation of a consulting organization for the Church until I left to be Dean of the Cathedral in South Bend, IN in 1993. We talked and emailed regularly over the years...and almost daily over the four years of his illness. When one looks into the coffin of a friend like that, it is much like looking into a mirror.
I was a patient at St. Luke's Hospital the two days prior to the first anniversary of Paul's death. Chest pain and vascular issues had created concern for my cardiologists, and they determined that I would have a cardiac catheterization....immediately. It would be my third such procedure, since the discovery of the genetic condition that laid me out in the cathedral, January 1995. The results showed nothing new...in fact, remarkably clear coronary arteries and very good heart pressures. The problem? A change in medication that led to coronary artery spasms....chest pain. Back on the original med and no more chest pain.
The morning after my release from the hospital, I was engaged in contemplative prayer and giving thanks for renewed health. Paul "came to me" without my specifically thinking of this being the anniversary date. Again, this moment was not going back to the feelings and experiences of that week a year ago (I preached at his Requiem liturgy). Instead, the event came to me as an invitation into the present. What have I learned about myself and my life since that week? What have I learned about others and the capacity to be open to the painful moments of their journeys? Have I grown and changed? Or, have I simply wallowed in the mire of self-pity, fear and attendant anxieties surrounding the inevitabilities of this life journey?
From that, I took the mantra that I put forth in my last blog. I am aging --- NOT getting old.
Now that we have entered the holiest three days of the Christian Year (known historically as the Triduum Sacrum), the temptation is to engage the liturgies of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Great Vigil of Easter as us looking back at the historical moments of those three days of Jesus' life. Nothing could be farther from the truth!
Nothing has changed in history about the human condition. We may be more sophisticated intellectually. We may have become a more compassionate and just people (MAYBE, but that is for the next blog). We still, however, must answer questions about who we are; why we are here; and what is our ultimate purpose.
If we are to do this in a manner that points us forward, we must place ourselves in these liturgies as a participant in the event as it is being made present to us right now...in the moment. "Love one another, as I have loved you." "Do this in remembrance of me." "Watch and pray with me." We must do that this Maundy Thursday night. "Why have you forsaken me." "I thirst." "Into your hands I commend my spirit." We must engage this struggle and pain on Good Friday. "He is not here, he has risen." "Why do you seek the living among the dead." "Touch me and know the truth." We must embrace what it means to be healed, restored and incorporated into the Body (salvation).
These Three Holy Days are our days. It is the "Presence of Moment" that brings all that has transpired into the experiences we are now having in this moment of our history. It is what we will take away from this that will determine how we grow forward....grow forward.
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
24 March 2010
Latitude
Denise and I recently returned from a five day trip to San Diego, CA, where we had a wonderful visit with our elder daughter, Mary, who is currently living and working there. We also had a wonderful visit with dear friends, Fr. Jim and Laneta Carroll. Jim retired as Dean of St. Paul's Cathedral, San Diego in the mid 1990s and was a mentor for me in my early days as a cathedral dean. He is now becoming a mentor for my own approaching retirement. Besides all that, the weather cooperated wonderfully to make for a very satisfying week.
San Diego is also home for a big chunk of the United States Navy. That may not mean much to most folks, but, I was in the Navy from 1972-78 and served in the Submarine Force Atlantic Fleet (SUBLANT) as part of Submarine Squadron 14 in Holy Loch, Scotland. At that time, SUBRON 14 was home for ten fleet ballistic missile submarines -- lovingly known as "Boomers." As I was completing that tour of duty and preparing to enter graduate studies, the Navy offered me an opportunity for a career the likes of which almost dissuaded me from my vocational path toward priesthood. There is still a part of me that is connected to all things Navy -- especially submarines. Being in San Diego was something akin to a wide-eyed kid at Christmas.
San Diego is home to the Naval 3rd Fleet...a large number of surface war ships and support vessels. North Island Naval Air Station is home for a number of helicopter squadrons and fixed wing attack and support squadrons -- as well as the port for three of the Navy's latest aircraft carriers (all of which are now powered by nuclear reactors). Also on Coronado Island is the Naval Amphibious Base, which is also home to the Navy SEALS training center. Across the harbor, on Point Loma, is a Submarine Fast Attack Squadron. Fast Attack submarines do not carry missiles. They are built for speed and at-sea warfare. The Los Angeles and Seawolf class subs are part of the San Diego squadron (
Boomers are located in other ports). About 95,000 Navy personnel make up the crews and shore support for these vessels and bases...as well as communications and research facilities. San Diego is a Navy town!
I share all of this because it is the environment in which I had a revelation. In the midst of all these vessels...surface, air and sub-surface...I became aware that NOT A SINGLE ONE of these vessels were in use at the time I was in the Navy. All of the submarines (and I mean every single one) of both missile and fast-attack class have either been dismantled or decommissioned and used for training or museum purposes. The USS Midway, as well as all more advanced Essex class aircraft carriers, are decommissioned. The Midway is at San Diego and is now a museum (an extremely good one). As I became transfixed with nostalgia, I did so amidst a technology that did not exist 35 years ago. The technology with which I was familiar and trained to engage is the stuff of Clancy's book, Hunt for Red October. Yes, that technology existed -- and has been almost totally superseded.
None of this stopped me from being excited about watching the return and deployment of three submarines; the deployment of the USS Carl Vinson -- one of the two aircraft carriers in port; the coming and going of several destroyer frigates; the training of amphibious boat crews; a glimpse of SEALS in the midst of BUD/S training (a rare sight, since they work in a secluded part of the pacific beach coast of Coronado); and the constant coming and going of Sea Hawk, Sea Knight and Cobra helicopters (the Sea Hawks are the Navy version of the Army's Black Hawks). I think Denise grew weary of my rather regular chatter describing what I was seeing.
There was a temptation in all of this to say to myself, "I wish it could be like it was when I was on active duty." This occurred especially while I was touring aboard the USS Midway. Her last deployment was Desert Storm in 1991. She was decommissioned in 1992. It was the technology at work when I was active. Two compartments aboard the Midway caught me up short. The communications compartment was huge and contained several rows with stacked receivers and transponders. The tactical warfare station was large and contained desk-sized screens for fixing aircraft and surface craft positions in deployment. In a modern aircraft carrier, all of this equipment is located in a few systems no larger than a standard computer network tower (a little larger than a good-sized briefcase) and screens are mobile with laptop-style equipment. Everything is digital and high definition. Engines are streamlined turbines running on clean fuels or nuclear power.
Now for the revelation. Having been ordained in the Episcopal Church for nearly thirty-two years, I have exceeded a generation of church history. We have grown in our understanding of the technologies of human behavior and relational dynamics. We have been able to grasp more of the capacity and capability of the human body, mind and spirit in the past 30 years than has been able to be understood in almost all of human history prior to our time. Any of us ordained over 25 years ago has
experienced a huge shift in how ecclesial life is both lived and led. Priesthood, while still the bastion of the "last of the generalist" vocations, requires more skill in each of the areas included in that "generalist" category. Everyone wants a priest who can be a business leader, spiritual master, brilliant teacher, competent psychologist, capable sociologist, investment capitalist, engaging conversationalist and skilled politician. Yet, I do not know a priest who has all (or even most) of those skills.
I love being a generalist. It fits my personality and range of interests and capabilities. Yet, there are still times I think of what it might have been like to be a Naval officer specializing in surface intelligence...having only one discipline. Nostalgia does that to a person. I chose not to do that. Later, as a priest, I was, once again, offered a commission to be a Chaplain in the Navy. Again, I turned it down. I had a new wife, and we were planning a family. Deployment for long periods did not suit our relationship. Long hours were enough.
Real growth means change. Change is the only constant in human life and community. Sorry, folks, but that is the absolute, unavoidable truth. Yet, in the Episcopal Church especially, the slogan seems to be "Forward to the 1950s" (or 60s...pick your decade or century). We want new, young people filing our parishes, but we want to do so with technologies and environments that have no meaning to them. Many folks of my age and older eagerly grab up the latest cell phones, televisions, DVR and Blue Ray players, and the host of programs constantly emerging.
While doing all that, we doggedly hold onto a black & white, medieval, analog-style spirituality. One might say that spirituality is the one thing that never changes. WRONG. God is dynamic. The human spirit has limitless potential and capacity. In all the centuries of Judaism and Christianity, we have only scratched the surface of the dynamics of the human connectivity to God and all things spiritual. It never ceases to amaze me just how much there is to learn about this thing we call "spirituality" and its expression in worship and relationships. My sadness comes from not having the time to engage it all in what is left of my lifetime (at age 59, limitation is becoming part of my thinking).
I have determined that "being old" is not a condition of relationship with God. Age is non sequitur to being old. Old has to do with disconnection and loss of vision -- and as such might be termed a sin (that's a moral theology leap). It has to do with black and white/analog thinking in an HD color/digital reality. Being old has to do with looking backward for the Living God, rather than forward for the emerging Kingdom -- where the Living God beckons us. Age is a reality, and with it comes wisdom. Old is a self-imposed refusal to continue growth. I have aged, but I refuse to be old -- ever.
At what latitude do we dwell in life? As I sat on the beaches, rocks and in the parks of San Diego and watched the modern Navy at work, I felt proud to have been part of that community. While the technology has progressed beyond my time of training and engagement, I deeply appreciate what the men and women now "at the helms" can accomplish in providing protection and security. The only way I can be a spiritual mentor to these folks is to be an intrepid explorer of spiritual landscape...alive in this moment of God's revelation. Living in another time and place is simply being old.
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
San Diego is also home for a big chunk of the United States Navy. That may not mean much to most folks, but, I was in the Navy from 1972-78 and served in the Submarine Force Atlantic Fleet (SUBLANT) as part of Submarine Squadron 14 in Holy Loch, Scotland. At that time, SUBRON 14 was home for ten fleet ballistic missile submarines -- lovingly known as "Boomers." As I was completing that tour of duty and preparing to enter graduate studies, the Navy offered me an opportunity for a career the likes of which almost dissuaded me from my vocational path toward priesthood. There is still a part of me that is connected to all things Navy -- especially submarines. Being in San Diego was something akin to a wide-eyed kid at Christmas.
San Diego is home to the Naval 3rd Fleet...a large number of surface war ships and support vessels. North Island Naval Air Station is home for a number of helicopter squadrons and fixed wing attack and support squadrons -- as well as the port for three of the Navy's latest aircraft carriers (all of which are now powered by nuclear reactors). Also on Coronado Island is the Naval Amphibious Base, which is also home to the Navy SEALS training center. Across the harbor, on Point Loma, is a Submarine Fast Attack Squadron. Fast Attack submarines do not carry missiles. They are built for speed and at-sea warfare. The Los Angeles and Seawolf class subs are part of the San Diego squadron (
Boomers are located in other ports). About 95,000 Navy personnel make up the crews and shore support for these vessels and bases...as well as communications and research facilities. San Diego is a Navy town!
I share all of this because it is the environment in which I had a revelation. In the midst of all these vessels...surface, air and sub-surface...I became aware that NOT A SINGLE ONE of these vessels were in use at the time I was in the Navy. All of the submarines (and I mean every single one) of both missile and fast-attack class have either been dismantled or decommissioned and used for training or museum purposes. The USS Midway, as well as all more advanced Essex class aircraft carriers, are decommissioned. The Midway is at San Diego and is now a museum (an extremely good one). As I became transfixed with nostalgia, I did so amidst a technology that did not exist 35 years ago. The technology with which I was familiar and trained to engage is the stuff of Clancy's book, Hunt for Red October. Yes, that technology existed -- and has been almost totally superseded.
None of this stopped me from being excited about watching the return and deployment of three submarines; the deployment of the USS Carl Vinson -- one of the two aircraft carriers in port; the coming and going of several destroyer frigates; the training of amphibious boat crews; a glimpse of SEALS in the midst of BUD/S training (a rare sight, since they work in a secluded part of the pacific beach coast of Coronado); and the constant coming and going of Sea Hawk, Sea Knight and Cobra helicopters (the Sea Hawks are the Navy version of the Army's Black Hawks). I think Denise grew weary of my rather regular chatter describing what I was seeing.
There was a temptation in all of this to say to myself, "I wish it could be like it was when I was on active duty." This occurred especially while I was touring aboard the USS Midway. Her last deployment was Desert Storm in 1991. She was decommissioned in 1992. It was the technology at work when I was active. Two compartments aboard the Midway caught me up short. The communications compartment was huge and contained several rows with stacked receivers and transponders. The tactical warfare station was large and contained desk-sized screens for fixing aircraft and surface craft positions in deployment. In a modern aircraft carrier, all of this equipment is located in a few systems no larger than a standard computer network tower (a little larger than a good-sized briefcase) and screens are mobile with laptop-style equipment. Everything is digital and high definition. Engines are streamlined turbines running on clean fuels or nuclear power.
Now for the revelation. Having been ordained in the Episcopal Church for nearly thirty-two years, I have exceeded a generation of church history. We have grown in our understanding of the technologies of human behavior and relational dynamics. We have been able to grasp more of the capacity and capability of the human body, mind and spirit in the past 30 years than has been able to be understood in almost all of human history prior to our time. Any of us ordained over 25 years ago has
experienced a huge shift in how ecclesial life is both lived and led. Priesthood, while still the bastion of the "last of the generalist" vocations, requires more skill in each of the areas included in that "generalist" category. Everyone wants a priest who can be a business leader, spiritual master, brilliant teacher, competent psychologist, capable sociologist, investment capitalist, engaging conversationalist and skilled politician. Yet, I do not know a priest who has all (or even most) of those skills.
I love being a generalist. It fits my personality and range of interests and capabilities. Yet, there are still times I think of what it might have been like to be a Naval officer specializing in surface intelligence...having only one discipline. Nostalgia does that to a person. I chose not to do that. Later, as a priest, I was, once again, offered a commission to be a Chaplain in the Navy. Again, I turned it down. I had a new wife, and we were planning a family. Deployment for long periods did not suit our relationship. Long hours were enough.
Real growth means change. Change is the only constant in human life and community. Sorry, folks, but that is the absolute, unavoidable truth. Yet, in the Episcopal Church especially, the slogan seems to be "Forward to the 1950s" (or 60s...pick your decade or century). We want new, young people filing our parishes, but we want to do so with technologies and environments that have no meaning to them. Many folks of my age and older eagerly grab up the latest cell phones, televisions, DVR and Blue Ray players, and the host of programs constantly emerging.
While doing all that, we doggedly hold onto a black & white, medieval, analog-style spirituality. One might say that spirituality is the one thing that never changes. WRONG. God is dynamic. The human spirit has limitless potential and capacity. In all the centuries of Judaism and Christianity, we have only scratched the surface of the dynamics of the human connectivity to God and all things spiritual. It never ceases to amaze me just how much there is to learn about this thing we call "spirituality" and its expression in worship and relationships. My sadness comes from not having the time to engage it all in what is left of my lifetime (at age 59, limitation is becoming part of my thinking).
I have determined that "being old" is not a condition of relationship with God. Age is non sequitur to being old. Old has to do with disconnection and loss of vision -- and as such might be termed a sin (that's a moral theology leap). It has to do with black and white/analog thinking in an HD color/digital reality. Being old has to do with looking backward for the Living God, rather than forward for the emerging Kingdom -- where the Living God beckons us. Age is a reality, and with it comes wisdom. Old is a self-imposed refusal to continue growth. I have aged, but I refuse to be old -- ever.
At what latitude do we dwell in life? As I sat on the beaches, rocks and in the parks of San Diego and watched the modern Navy at work, I felt proud to have been part of that community. While the technology has progressed beyond my time of training and engagement, I deeply appreciate what the men and women now "at the helms" can accomplish in providing protection and security. The only way I can be a spiritual mentor to these folks is to be an intrepid explorer of spiritual landscape...alive in this moment of God's revelation. Living in another time and place is simply being old.
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
17 February 2010
Temporal Manifestation of an Eternal Quality
I have a fairly new friend in The Rev. Dr. Rob Voyle. Rob is originally from New Zealand and makes his home in the Portland, Oregon area with his wife Kim. Rob is an Episcopal Priest and holds a doctorate in Psychology...as does his wife. Together, they own and direct the Clergy Leadership Institute. Rob has taken the best of industrial and business psychology and applied it to the Church through a methodoloy known as Appreciative Inquiry.
While I had been introduced to the Appreciative Inquiry (henceforth called AI in this blog) a few years ago at General Convention (via Rob's exhibit booth), it was not until January 2009 that three of us from the Diocese of West Missouri attended the foundation AI course taught by Rob and Kim. In May, we attended the second level AI course. Our training is to help resource congregations in our diocese with leadership and development tools for future ministry. AI is a powerful set of tools and resources that I am coming to increasingly utilize.
One of the benefits of being part of the diocesan AI team is that we have a monthly conference call practicum with Rob. In the hour long conference, we present case studies and situations that reflect either our own work or the work of an anonymous diocesan entity and are coached by Rob on the application of AI technology and methodology. It is in the latest of these coaching sessions that Rob reflected what I have used as a title for this blog. "What is the temporal manifestation of an eternal quality...?
For the theologian and sacramental Christian, the answer to that question is "sacrament." The classic definition of a sacrament: "The outward and visible sign of and inward and spiritual Grace, given to us by Christ as a sure and certain means by which we receive that Grace." The ancient Celtic Christian would say: "The place at which heaven touches earth...a thin place." The First Nations (Native American) people would say: "Any time and place where Wakan-Tanka (God) erupts through creation..." In any definition, it is an incarnational moment. One of my confirmation students many years ago said it best: "It's when God puts on clothes.."
We are a spatial people. Our brains are geared to time and space orientation. Reality is measured by our place and by the moment of that placement. We rely upon what is around us to both locate us and direct us as we move about. It's automatic and instantaneous. No secret here. It simply happens. To further lock us into this definition of reality, we provide a deeper definition to the object of spatial relationship. E.g.: a tree is a tree. It is defined by shape, size, species and qualities (bark, leaves, wood, etc). However, a tree surgeon -- using special equipment -- can detect the movement of life-giving liquids through special vessels within the wood. Other life sounds can be detected as well. The tree has "voice." It's a spatial quality, but one not observable.
More striking is the nature of fauna...creature...reality. We can identify spatially an animal of a certain type and even describe its characteristics. What is not so readily apparent is the behavior it may exhibit or the motivations behind the behavior. For instance, on Sunday evening, I was sitting at a table in our parish hall, leading a class in a gifts of ministry exercise. I felt something move up my right leg rapidly. Thinking it was just the effects of my light myopathy, I simply rubbed the area below my knee. About 30 minutes later, I felt a burning/itching sensation on the inside of my knee. Later examination in my office showed a nasty welt that looked like a giant mosquito bite. At home, my wife identified it as a spider bite.
It just happened that my annual physical was scheduled for Monday morning. I showed my doc, who confirmed it. As he examined it, he reflected, "She was a cranky little booger." It is usually the female who bites, and she did leave a nice gift...one that put me on antibiotics and topical anti-coagulant. I never saw the spider, so my ability to identify species is impossible. The fang marks were unmistakable for those (like my doctor) who immediately identified it. The effects were also obvious. Whatever this angry Ichtomi (Lakota for spider...a trickster in myth) had as venom, my body was not dealing with especially well.
Thus, without seeing the creature, we can identify it by behavior. We can only guess what provoked a bite. It could well be that, when I brushed my leg, I hit the creature and literally made it mad. Does a spider have the capacity for anger? Or, is it just reflex to what appears to be a life-threatening gesture? That's the unseen quality.
Rabbi Edwin Friedman (Family Systems specialist and mentor, who died in 1996) once told a group of us: "Say your best friend, who is also one of your clergy colleagues, is elected bishop and suddenly changes his way of relating to you; what quality within him or you has shifted so that he/she no longer seems like your best friend?" The obvious outward manifestation is a change of professional position and physical location. The person, however, should be (by all measurable qualities) the same person you have known for all those years. Is there a new eternal quality...inward disposition....Grace...at work?
Thomas 'a Becket, before he became the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1162, was King Henry II's Chancellor. They were very close personal friends as well. Upon accession to the See of Canterbury, Thomas undertook a more austere and ascetical lifestyle...becoming a strong advocate for the work of the Church. The relationship between Becket and Henry II took a very different course. In the end, responding to a frustrated gesture from Henry, four knights entered Canterbury Cathedral and killed Thomas 'a Becket at the foot of one of the chapel altars.
It would seem that Becket's encounter with what is holy in his life shifted his perception of reality. He suddenly began to see God at work in places not before noticed. In like manner, we have expectations of persons who occupy certain roles in our cultural environments. Our perception of reality...wherever it is formed...creates our inner landscape of identification. When someone or something functions outside those expectations, our reality is set askew. We can be almost literally thrown off-balance. (I have done this both in frustration and as a "shift technique" in my work as a priest...my goal being to have folks "expect the unexpected").
As I have spent time with the Lakota community, I have learned a great deal about incarnational reality....temporal manifestations of an eternal quality. It is the art of actually seeing instead of just looking and really listening instead of just hearing. In the practice of this art, a different frame of reality emerges. It's the same spatial material but now reflecting an eternal quality. Critics call this "panentheism." Such critique is not accurate. Panentheism expresses that all things are in God. Pantheism expresses that all things contain God. In Celtic and First Nations theology, God is immanent and can be reflected in any element of creation chosen for a temporal manifestation (outward sign).
The first principle of Biblical theology is that humans are created "Imago Dei"...in the image of God. In Hebrew, the breath (ruach) of God is breathed into this creature and we are filled with God's nature (nephesh). Without getting into the complexities of language, if our nature is allowed to be a complete part of our reality, we reflect Grace (God's abiding love). If we walk with this understanding, it is not a leap to see that, if creation emanates from the work of God, God can utilize what has been created to manifest Presence into spatial reality. Thus, I could see "cloud sign" as a response to prayer. A birch tree can reflect the connectedness between God and our moment of reality (in the Sundance). A spring can reflect healing Grace (Colman's well in the Burren of west Ireland). It can happen only once...or as many times as God choses to utilize the stuff of creation. THE place it is guaranteed to happen regularly is through us humans. We have been called forth for that purpose.
The season of Lent begins today. A good, practical way to address the above meanderings is: Does your heart follow your head? Or, does your head follow your heart? Or, do head and heart arrive at the same place together? The real loss is if the heart never shows up. A good discipline is to discover your heart (true self) and allow it to inform your head. Try it. Seriously, amazing things happen!
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
While I had been introduced to the Appreciative Inquiry (henceforth called AI in this blog) a few years ago at General Convention (via Rob's exhibit booth), it was not until January 2009 that three of us from the Diocese of West Missouri attended the foundation AI course taught by Rob and Kim. In May, we attended the second level AI course. Our training is to help resource congregations in our diocese with leadership and development tools for future ministry. AI is a powerful set of tools and resources that I am coming to increasingly utilize.
One of the benefits of being part of the diocesan AI team is that we have a monthly conference call practicum with Rob. In the hour long conference, we present case studies and situations that reflect either our own work or the work of an anonymous diocesan entity and are coached by Rob on the application of AI technology and methodology. It is in the latest of these coaching sessions that Rob reflected what I have used as a title for this blog. "What is the temporal manifestation of an eternal quality...?
For the theologian and sacramental Christian, the answer to that question is "sacrament." The classic definition of a sacrament: "The outward and visible sign of and inward and spiritual Grace, given to us by Christ as a sure and certain means by which we receive that Grace." The ancient Celtic Christian would say: "The place at which heaven touches earth...a thin place." The First Nations (Native American) people would say: "Any time and place where Wakan-Tanka (God) erupts through creation..." In any definition, it is an incarnational moment. One of my confirmation students many years ago said it best: "It's when God puts on clothes.."
We are a spatial people. Our brains are geared to time and space orientation. Reality is measured by our place and by the moment of that placement. We rely upon what is around us to both locate us and direct us as we move about. It's automatic and instantaneous. No secret here. It simply happens. To further lock us into this definition of reality, we provide a deeper definition to the object of spatial relationship. E.g.: a tree is a tree. It is defined by shape, size, species and qualities (bark, leaves, wood, etc). However, a tree surgeon -- using special equipment -- can detect the movement of life-giving liquids through special vessels within the wood. Other life sounds can be detected as well. The tree has "voice." It's a spatial quality, but one not observable.
More striking is the nature of fauna...creature...reality. We can identify spatially an animal of a certain type and even describe its characteristics. What is not so readily apparent is the behavior it may exhibit or the motivations behind the behavior. For instance, on Sunday evening, I was sitting at a table in our parish hall, leading a class in a gifts of ministry exercise. I felt something move up my right leg rapidly. Thinking it was just the effects of my light myopathy, I simply rubbed the area below my knee. About 30 minutes later, I felt a burning/itching sensation on the inside of my knee. Later examination in my office showed a nasty welt that looked like a giant mosquito bite. At home, my wife identified it as a spider bite.
It just happened that my annual physical was scheduled for Monday morning. I showed my doc, who confirmed it. As he examined it, he reflected, "She was a cranky little booger." It is usually the female who bites, and she did leave a nice gift...one that put me on antibiotics and topical anti-coagulant. I never saw the spider, so my ability to identify species is impossible. The fang marks were unmistakable for those (like my doctor) who immediately identified it. The effects were also obvious. Whatever this angry Ichtomi (Lakota for spider...a trickster in myth) had as venom, my body was not dealing with especially well.
Thus, without seeing the creature, we can identify it by behavior. We can only guess what provoked a bite. It could well be that, when I brushed my leg, I hit the creature and literally made it mad. Does a spider have the capacity for anger? Or, is it just reflex to what appears to be a life-threatening gesture? That's the unseen quality.
Rabbi Edwin Friedman (Family Systems specialist and mentor, who died in 1996) once told a group of us: "Say your best friend, who is also one of your clergy colleagues, is elected bishop and suddenly changes his way of relating to you; what quality within him or you has shifted so that he/she no longer seems like your best friend?" The obvious outward manifestation is a change of professional position and physical location. The person, however, should be (by all measurable qualities) the same person you have known for all those years. Is there a new eternal quality...inward disposition....Grace...at work?
Thomas 'a Becket, before he became the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1162, was King Henry II's Chancellor. They were very close personal friends as well. Upon accession to the See of Canterbury, Thomas undertook a more austere and ascetical lifestyle...becoming a strong advocate for the work of the Church. The relationship between Becket and Henry II took a very different course. In the end, responding to a frustrated gesture from Henry, four knights entered Canterbury Cathedral and killed Thomas 'a Becket at the foot of one of the chapel altars.
It would seem that Becket's encounter with what is holy in his life shifted his perception of reality. He suddenly began to see God at work in places not before noticed. In like manner, we have expectations of persons who occupy certain roles in our cultural environments. Our perception of reality...wherever it is formed...creates our inner landscape of identification. When someone or something functions outside those expectations, our reality is set askew. We can be almost literally thrown off-balance. (I have done this both in frustration and as a "shift technique" in my work as a priest...my goal being to have folks "expect the unexpected").
As I have spent time with the Lakota community, I have learned a great deal about incarnational reality....temporal manifestations of an eternal quality. It is the art of actually seeing instead of just looking and really listening instead of just hearing. In the practice of this art, a different frame of reality emerges. It's the same spatial material but now reflecting an eternal quality. Critics call this "panentheism." Such critique is not accurate. Panentheism expresses that all things are in God. Pantheism expresses that all things contain God. In Celtic and First Nations theology, God is immanent and can be reflected in any element of creation chosen for a temporal manifestation (outward sign).
The first principle of Biblical theology is that humans are created "Imago Dei"...in the image of God. In Hebrew, the breath (ruach) of God is breathed into this creature and we are filled with God's nature (nephesh). Without getting into the complexities of language, if our nature is allowed to be a complete part of our reality, we reflect Grace (God's abiding love). If we walk with this understanding, it is not a leap to see that, if creation emanates from the work of God, God can utilize what has been created to manifest Presence into spatial reality. Thus, I could see "cloud sign" as a response to prayer. A birch tree can reflect the connectedness between God and our moment of reality (in the Sundance). A spring can reflect healing Grace (Colman's well in the Burren of west Ireland). It can happen only once...or as many times as God choses to utilize the stuff of creation. THE place it is guaranteed to happen regularly is through us humans. We have been called forth for that purpose.
The season of Lent begins today. A good, practical way to address the above meanderings is: Does your heart follow your head? Or, does your head follow your heart? Or, do head and heart arrive at the same place together? The real loss is if the heart never shows up. A good discipline is to discover your heart (true self) and allow it to inform your head. Try it. Seriously, amazing things happen!
Blessings,
Fr. Fred+
31 January 2010
Signs and Wonders: Part II -- Light/Dark/Cloud
The clearest and truest things are the darkest and most dubious to us, and consequently we flee from what most suits us. We embrace what fills our eyes with the most light and satisfaction and run after what is the very worst thing for us, and we fall at every step. In how much danger and fear do humans live, since the very light of their natural eyes, which ought to be their guide, is the first to deceive them in their journey to God, and since they must keep their eyes shut and tread the path in darkness if they want to be sure of where they are going and be safeguarded against the enemies of their house, their senses and faculties.” -- St. John of the Cross (Dark Night, Book 2, Chapter 16, para. 12)
St. John of the Cross was a Spanish Carmelite mystic whose life spans the second half of the 16th Century. His prose and poems are part of a mystic tradition that includes Teresa of Avila and follows such luminaries as St. Julian of Norwich. In the midst of what has come to be known as the "Dark Ages," these writers found much for which to be excited and profoundly thankful. It is St. John of the Cross I think most about when it comes to understanding signs and wonders that surround us.
A distinct void has emerged between what we are created to "see" and what we actually see in the world about us. In part, our modern dichotomy between the two types of reality is due to the philosophical work of Rene Descartes and the continental rationalist movement of the 17th Century. To be sure, the problem of duality of nature was already with us humans, but the rendering of that problem into a system of thought gave ultimate proof of what deeply concerned St. John of the Cross in his mystical prayer experience.
In my time with the Lakota (known in American history as the Sioux) in 2008, I found something that I had only read about in the Celtic mystical tradition. It was that tradition in Scotland, Wales and Ireland that gave classic Anglicanism its uniqueness among Western Christian traditions. I had been given a grant by the Lilly Foundation in 1999 to undertake the overseas study. It was during that period (1999-2000) that I began to conjecture about similarities in the Celtic tradition and that of First Nations people in our country.
I was sitting with my new Lakota mentor on a stone wall in the city park of Hill City...in the Black Hills...after a picnic lunch organized by my host to meet Ben. Ben is an archaeologist by trade, but spends a great deal of time providing spiritual direction using the resources of his culture and tradition. As we talked, he asked me what I heard. After naming several things that, he said, everyone else could hear, he told me to listen to the sounds in the hills. Only when he finally pointed it out could I discern the call of an elk. Rutting season was underway.
Ben asked me what I saw around me. Again, I guessed things that, he said, everyone could see. He asked me to "really see." Finally, he pointed out the red borders on the leaves of the hedge plants along a stream. That red is the first sign of leaves turning. It was mid-August 2007. The particular call of the elk and the color on the leaves of this particular plant signalled an early fall...maybe six weeks early in the Black Hills. Ben concluded his object lesson: "We look, but we do not see; we hear, but we do not listen." By the way, fall was indeed six week early that year!
The Christian mystical tradition taps into a place within us that is part of every human construct. We are born with the facility to experience the larger reality that is not bound by the rules and laws of our physical senses. They are meant to work in tandem to provide us with the capability to physically experience the world about us in its most complete presentation. Things are going on all around us that beg to be noticed. They can't be measured, quantified or rationalized. These things are, nevertheless, profoundly real and present us with a huge amount of information.
Again, as part of my sabbatical experience, I had been instructed to meet a woman at the Crazy Horse Monument museum. I would find her in the crafts area of the museum at a particular table. I did as I was bid and found her. Her name is Lula Red Cloud. She is the great-great-granddaughter of Chief Red Cloud, who led the Oglala Lakota and was instrumental in both the Plains Wars and brokering the final peace. Lula was wonderfully gracious. In our conversation, she suddenly shifted her focus and spoke firmly, "You must stop to visit Chief Red Cloud's grave at the Red Cloud School near the village of Pine Ridge. Since I was going down to the Pine Ridge Reservation later in the week, I promised I would do as she bid me.
Four days later, I found myself walking to the back of the school campus and the hundred yard hike to the cemetery. The Jesuits had been invited by Chief Red Cloud to start a school in 1890 and still operate this rather large school to this day. It is the parish cemetery I now found myself entering. There were wooden and stone crosses and placards with Oglala names that dated back 120 years. After some searching, I found Red Cloud's sarcophagus near the back of the cemetery. His wife's grave was beside his. While it was a simple stone sarcophagus, there was something powerful and humbling about being there. I was strongly moved to speak, and what I uttered came from somewhere other than my rational thought processes. While most of that is deeply personal, I ended by praying that what I would accomplish in my work over the coming months would bring our two cultures together in new ways and benefit his people.
I sat on a stone bench at the foot of the grave site for some minutes. During that time, I heard someone say, "You must just do this thing." No one was around. I was alone and it was the middle of the day. I made my way back down the path to the school and spent some time in the museum -- ending with a conversation in the bookstore with a Jesuit teacher at the school. Since it was well past lunch time, I grabbed a bottle of water and a power bar from my car trunk, tucked myself into the front seat and settled back to eat and rest.
I looked up at the sky in front of me and, as I looked between two trees that bordered the path to the cemetery, I saw a cloud formation emerging from behind one tree. It was the perfect form of an eagle in flight...including a hole in the cloud where the eye of the eagle would be. It was unmistakable! I watched with amazement, and heard myself say, "no way!" As the cloud began to disappear behind the opposite tree, I tossed by powerbar and water bottle into the other seat, sprang from the car and sprinted down the path to see the cloud again. When I got to the place I could see, the eagle formation had come almost completely apart and no longer resembled anything like an eagle. I was stunned!
This image would not leave me. I even dreamed about it. Five days later, I was visiting with my mentor, Ben, over coffee. I told him nervously about what I had experienced at Red Cloud School. In an absolutely casual and nonchalant manner, Ben responded, "Oh, that is cloud sign. Happens all the time, if you have eyes to see it. You obviously did have those eyes open that day." He explained about how prayer is often answered and what might be experienced in their spirituality. I took this in.
The following week, I was once again on Pine Ridge Reservation, and in the village of Kyle. I was meeting another mentor for lunch. Fr. Lyle Noisy Hawk is an Episcopal Priest and psychotherapist. He works for the mental health division of the only hospital on the reservation and specializes in adolescent mental health. Lyle is in his mid 60s, quiet and very affable...laughing easily. We went to a small diner for lunch, and, after renewing our relationship (I have known Lyle for some time), I tell him my experience at Red Cloud School.
Here it gets spooky. With the same nonchalant manner as Ben, Lyle shrugged and simply said, "Oh, that's cloud sign. It happens all the time, if you are predisposed to be seeing instead of just looking." Okay, I'm done in at this point. Lyle is a theologian and psychologist. Ben is an archaeologist and professor. These are not "simple folks." I'm sitting with serious science and spiritual discipline in the person of Lyle.
Lyle is gracious and patient, as all Lakota are, in explaining a level of spirituality that incorporates how God gives signs to us using all forms of physical creation. "This isn't crackpot juju or whimsy," Lyle explained. "This is how Wakan-Tanka (God...the Spirit) works and has worked from the beginning." I asked specifically about the eagle. "The eagle is special to our people. It is the Messenger. What the eagle cloud formation was saying is that your prayer has been heard and honored as sincere." That's it. Nothing more or less. Lyle concluded by saying it is doubtful that anyone else would necessarily have seen that cloud formation. It was for me.
Signs and wonders. It is the theme of Epiphanytide. St. John of the Cross tells us that, in order not to be fooled by what we think we see...or what we want to see...we must close our eyes to that reality and trust what dwells in the darkness...beyond our sight. We must enter the "cloud of unknowing" (John of the Cross's metaphor). I have to admit, I look and hear very differently these days. It is truly amazing what is going on right in our midst. And, I am just getting started!
Blessings,
Fred+
St. John of the Cross was a Spanish Carmelite mystic whose life spans the second half of the 16th Century. His prose and poems are part of a mystic tradition that includes Teresa of Avila and follows such luminaries as St. Julian of Norwich. In the midst of what has come to be known as the "Dark Ages," these writers found much for which to be excited and profoundly thankful. It is St. John of the Cross I think most about when it comes to understanding signs and wonders that surround us.
A distinct void has emerged between what we are created to "see" and what we actually see in the world about us. In part, our modern dichotomy between the two types of reality is due to the philosophical work of Rene Descartes and the continental rationalist movement of the 17th Century. To be sure, the problem of duality of nature was already with us humans, but the rendering of that problem into a system of thought gave ultimate proof of what deeply concerned St. John of the Cross in his mystical prayer experience.
In my time with the Lakota (known in American history as the Sioux) in 2008, I found something that I had only read about in the Celtic mystical tradition. It was that tradition in Scotland, Wales and Ireland that gave classic Anglicanism its uniqueness among Western Christian traditions. I had been given a grant by the Lilly Foundation in 1999 to undertake the overseas study. It was during that period (1999-2000) that I began to conjecture about similarities in the Celtic tradition and that of First Nations people in our country.
I was sitting with my new Lakota mentor on a stone wall in the city park of Hill City...in the Black Hills...after a picnic lunch organized by my host to meet Ben. Ben is an archaeologist by trade, but spends a great deal of time providing spiritual direction using the resources of his culture and tradition. As we talked, he asked me what I heard. After naming several things that, he said, everyone else could hear, he told me to listen to the sounds in the hills. Only when he finally pointed it out could I discern the call of an elk. Rutting season was underway.
Ben asked me what I saw around me. Again, I guessed things that, he said, everyone could see. He asked me to "really see." Finally, he pointed out the red borders on the leaves of the hedge plants along a stream. That red is the first sign of leaves turning. It was mid-August 2007. The particular call of the elk and the color on the leaves of this particular plant signalled an early fall...maybe six weeks early in the Black Hills. Ben concluded his object lesson: "We look, but we do not see; we hear, but we do not listen." By the way, fall was indeed six week early that year!
The Christian mystical tradition taps into a place within us that is part of every human construct. We are born with the facility to experience the larger reality that is not bound by the rules and laws of our physical senses. They are meant to work in tandem to provide us with the capability to physically experience the world about us in its most complete presentation. Things are going on all around us that beg to be noticed. They can't be measured, quantified or rationalized. These things are, nevertheless, profoundly real and present us with a huge amount of information.
Again, as part of my sabbatical experience, I had been instructed to meet a woman at the Crazy Horse Monument museum. I would find her in the crafts area of the museum at a particular table. I did as I was bid and found her. Her name is Lula Red Cloud. She is the great-great-granddaughter of Chief Red Cloud, who led the Oglala Lakota and was instrumental in both the Plains Wars and brokering the final peace. Lula was wonderfully gracious. In our conversation, she suddenly shifted her focus and spoke firmly, "You must stop to visit Chief Red Cloud's grave at the Red Cloud School near the village of Pine Ridge. Since I was going down to the Pine Ridge Reservation later in the week, I promised I would do as she bid me.
Four days later, I found myself walking to the back of the school campus and the hundred yard hike to the cemetery. The Jesuits had been invited by Chief Red Cloud to start a school in 1890 and still operate this rather large school to this day. It is the parish cemetery I now found myself entering. There were wooden and stone crosses and placards with Oglala names that dated back 120 years. After some searching, I found Red Cloud's sarcophagus near the back of the cemetery. His wife's grave was beside his. While it was a simple stone sarcophagus, there was something powerful and humbling about being there. I was strongly moved to speak, and what I uttered came from somewhere other than my rational thought processes. While most of that is deeply personal, I ended by praying that what I would accomplish in my work over the coming months would bring our two cultures together in new ways and benefit his people.
I sat on a stone bench at the foot of the grave site for some minutes. During that time, I heard someone say, "You must just do this thing." No one was around. I was alone and it was the middle of the day. I made my way back down the path to the school and spent some time in the museum -- ending with a conversation in the bookstore with a Jesuit teacher at the school. Since it was well past lunch time, I grabbed a bottle of water and a power bar from my car trunk, tucked myself into the front seat and settled back to eat and rest.
I looked up at the sky in front of me and, as I looked between two trees that bordered the path to the cemetery, I saw a cloud formation emerging from behind one tree. It was the perfect form of an eagle in flight...including a hole in the cloud where the eye of the eagle would be. It was unmistakable! I watched with amazement, and heard myself say, "no way!" As the cloud began to disappear behind the opposite tree, I tossed by powerbar and water bottle into the other seat, sprang from the car and sprinted down the path to see the cloud again. When I got to the place I could see, the eagle formation had come almost completely apart and no longer resembled anything like an eagle. I was stunned!
This image would not leave me. I even dreamed about it. Five days later, I was visiting with my mentor, Ben, over coffee. I told him nervously about what I had experienced at Red Cloud School. In an absolutely casual and nonchalant manner, Ben responded, "Oh, that is cloud sign. Happens all the time, if you have eyes to see it. You obviously did have those eyes open that day." He explained about how prayer is often answered and what might be experienced in their spirituality. I took this in.
The following week, I was once again on Pine Ridge Reservation, and in the village of Kyle. I was meeting another mentor for lunch. Fr. Lyle Noisy Hawk is an Episcopal Priest and psychotherapist. He works for the mental health division of the only hospital on the reservation and specializes in adolescent mental health. Lyle is in his mid 60s, quiet and very affable...laughing easily. We went to a small diner for lunch, and, after renewing our relationship (I have known Lyle for some time), I tell him my experience at Red Cloud School.
Here it gets spooky. With the same nonchalant manner as Ben, Lyle shrugged and simply said, "Oh, that's cloud sign. It happens all the time, if you are predisposed to be seeing instead of just looking." Okay, I'm done in at this point. Lyle is a theologian and psychologist. Ben is an archaeologist and professor. These are not "simple folks." I'm sitting with serious science and spiritual discipline in the person of Lyle.
Lyle is gracious and patient, as all Lakota are, in explaining a level of spirituality that incorporates how God gives signs to us using all forms of physical creation. "This isn't crackpot juju or whimsy," Lyle explained. "This is how Wakan-Tanka (God...the Spirit) works and has worked from the beginning." I asked specifically about the eagle. "The eagle is special to our people. It is the Messenger. What the eagle cloud formation was saying is that your prayer has been heard and honored as sincere." That's it. Nothing more or less. Lyle concluded by saying it is doubtful that anyone else would necessarily have seen that cloud formation. It was for me.
Signs and wonders. It is the theme of Epiphanytide. St. John of the Cross tells us that, in order not to be fooled by what we think we see...or what we want to see...we must close our eyes to that reality and trust what dwells in the darkness...beyond our sight. We must enter the "cloud of unknowing" (John of the Cross's metaphor). I have to admit, I look and hear very differently these days. It is truly amazing what is going on right in our midst. And, I am just getting started!
Blessings,
Fred+
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