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+
24 March 2010
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+
11 January 2010
Signs and Wonders: Part I -- The Magi
At St. Andrew's, we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany (6 January) on the Sunday closest to the day. It worked even better this year for us to do this on 3 January, since it was the only window we seemed to have in a long streak of really ugly winter weather. For some years now, our parish has had a tradition of having a visit from the Magi...the Three Wise Men.
Now, we are not talking about three guys dressed in robes and crowns; and each singing the appropriate verse of the hymn, "We Three Kings..." We have artists in our parish, and one in particular, who designed and built large puppets that are piloted by guys who are strapped inside. When mobile, they stand nearly 10 feet high. the construction is light enough for a healthy adult with good muscle tone to navigate the puppet with relative ease. They are magnificent!
They each come down the center aisle from the back of the Church as the particular verse pertaining to that wise man is sung (gold, frankincense, myrrh...you know the hymn/carol). They give reverence to Jesus and to one another and stand still during the proclamation of the Epiphany Gospel. Afterward, they amble back to the entry of the church as appropriate music is played (our organist/music director has a flair for making this an even more impressive treat).
That is, until this year. Something went quite wrong. The clergy and music director work on crafting liturgical worship on a schedule that begins months before the event. The final bulletin, that sets the liturgical format, is reviewed at least twice before going to press. Our communications director (staff person) is very careful in crafting our publications, which includes the bulletins. But, this time, something got out of sync. The music was not in the right place, and we didn't catch the glitch until after the first liturgy of 3 January had begun (we have two liturgies: 8am and 10:15am on Sunday mornings). The Three Kings hymn came and went...in the wrong place. No giant magi appeared. The Gospel hymn (which should have been the Three Kings hymn) came and went. Still no giant magi puppets. Then, suddenly, as the acolytes and Deacon were starting to return to the Chancel, after the Gospel, the first of the three magi puppets comes in and heads resolutely up the aisle....followed by the other two in pretty fast succession.
Not to be undone by this, one of my Associates comes over to me (I was presiding and preaching at this 8am liturgy) with a querie. After a lightning fast consult, Mother Anne dashes to the organist with the plan. Within seconds...literally...we are singing (again), "We Three Kings."
Now, I have a quandry. I have prepared a sermon that is appropriate for the day but does not have three ten foot puppets standing about. I have been doing worship as a priest for 31 years. For almost 30 of those, I have not used a text for sermons. I do all the work of preparation, design the presentation and then preach extemporaneously (without notes). It's just a gift. This time, being free of text really paid off. I had no idea how to recraft what was already in motion in my head/heart. I stared at the Altar feeling a rather stark blankness. Then, it happened. It was like fast moving doors opening and closing in my head...moving things about. In what seemed like a long time (but folks around me said I was only motionless about 15 seconds), I knew exactly how to make this thing work.
As the first magi puppet began his exit march, I raised a hand and shouted, "A moment sir!" The puppet master inside spun professionally and faced me. I bid him return, for I had some things to address to him and his two fellow travelers. This began a 10 minute discourse on the meaning of signs and wonders. Whatever God did in those moments, it all came together in an almost seamless fashion. I finished, the magi bowed to me, and I to them, music started, and they headed home by another way (as tradition has it), and I...more spent than usual...returned to my prayer desk to continue the balance of our Eucharistic liturgy. Needless to say, a quick and focused meeting after 8am made it work at 10:15am without the panic. In fact, I had the magi there with the kids for a special time during the sermon...nothing like the original plan.
Signs and wonders happen all around us. They are happening all the time. What seems like chaos one minute can become a transformational opportunity the very next moment. It does require us to be unfettered by convention, routine or hard-wired expectations. Above all, for God to break into our moment requires flexibility. What passed for convention and expectation at the time of Jesus' birth was shattered as three foreigners...each from a different country...saw something that stirred them from the relative safety of their environments, put them on the road to an unknown destination, caused them to meet along the way and join forces to continue the journey...bearing a kind of physical wealth that would have made travel hazardous at best.
The distance from the back of St. Andrew's parish church to the chancel steps is about 100 feet. This is a very short journey by comparison to the first century journey in faith. It took each magi puppet, piloted by its puppet master, about two minutes to get from back to front. In the space of about five minutes, everything about what I had planned to do as a homiletic reflection shifted radically. This is the work of God's Grace....God "showing up." The ability of the moment to say, "what now?" in a way that allowed ultimate flexibility and openness created a means by which connections could be made for those gathered to experience Grace in sacramental worship. This was both a sign and wonder. It's moments like these that make this vocation truly exciting!
Blessings,
Fred+
Now, we are not talking about three guys dressed in robes and crowns; and each singing the appropriate verse of the hymn, "We Three Kings..." We have artists in our parish, and one in particular, who designed and built large puppets that are piloted by guys who are strapped inside. When mobile, they stand nearly 10 feet high. the construction is light enough for a healthy adult with good muscle tone to navigate the puppet with relative ease. They are magnificent!
They each come down the center aisle from the back of the Church as the particular verse pertaining to that wise man is sung (gold, frankincense, myrrh...you know the hymn/carol). They give reverence to Jesus and to one another and stand still during the proclamation of the Epiphany Gospel. Afterward, they amble back to the entry of the church as appropriate music is played (our organist/music director has a flair for making this an even more impressive treat).
That is, until this year. Something went quite wrong. The clergy and music director work on crafting liturgical worship on a schedule that begins months before the event. The final bulletin, that sets the liturgical format, is reviewed at least twice before going to press. Our communications director (staff person) is very careful in crafting our publications, which includes the bulletins. But, this time, something got out of sync. The music was not in the right place, and we didn't catch the glitch until after the first liturgy of 3 January had begun (we have two liturgies: 8am and 10:15am on Sunday mornings). The Three Kings hymn came and went...in the wrong place. No giant magi appeared. The Gospel hymn (which should have been the Three Kings hymn) came and went. Still no giant magi puppets. Then, suddenly, as the acolytes and Deacon were starting to return to the Chancel, after the Gospel, the first of the three magi puppets comes in and heads resolutely up the aisle....followed by the other two in pretty fast succession.
Not to be undone by this, one of my Associates comes over to me (I was presiding and preaching at this 8am liturgy) with a querie. After a lightning fast consult, Mother Anne dashes to the organist with the plan. Within seconds...literally...we are singing (again), "We Three Kings."
Now, I have a quandry. I have prepared a sermon that is appropriate for the day but does not have three ten foot puppets standing about. I have been doing worship as a priest for 31 years. For almost 30 of those, I have not used a text for sermons. I do all the work of preparation, design the presentation and then preach extemporaneously (without notes). It's just a gift. This time, being free of text really paid off. I had no idea how to recraft what was already in motion in my head/heart. I stared at the Altar feeling a rather stark blankness. Then, it happened. It was like fast moving doors opening and closing in my head...moving things about. In what seemed like a long time (but folks around me said I was only motionless about 15 seconds), I knew exactly how to make this thing work.
As the first magi puppet began his exit march, I raised a hand and shouted, "A moment sir!" The puppet master inside spun professionally and faced me. I bid him return, for I had some things to address to him and his two fellow travelers. This began a 10 minute discourse on the meaning of signs and wonders. Whatever God did in those moments, it all came together in an almost seamless fashion. I finished, the magi bowed to me, and I to them, music started, and they headed home by another way (as tradition has it), and I...more spent than usual...returned to my prayer desk to continue the balance of our Eucharistic liturgy. Needless to say, a quick and focused meeting after 8am made it work at 10:15am without the panic. In fact, I had the magi there with the kids for a special time during the sermon...nothing like the original plan.
Signs and wonders happen all around us. They are happening all the time. What seems like chaos one minute can become a transformational opportunity the very next moment. It does require us to be unfettered by convention, routine or hard-wired expectations. Above all, for God to break into our moment requires flexibility. What passed for convention and expectation at the time of Jesus' birth was shattered as three foreigners...each from a different country...saw something that stirred them from the relative safety of their environments, put them on the road to an unknown destination, caused them to meet along the way and join forces to continue the journey...bearing a kind of physical wealth that would have made travel hazardous at best.
The distance from the back of St. Andrew's parish church to the chancel steps is about 100 feet. This is a very short journey by comparison to the first century journey in faith. It took each magi puppet, piloted by its puppet master, about two minutes to get from back to front. In the space of about five minutes, everything about what I had planned to do as a homiletic reflection shifted radically. This is the work of God's Grace....God "showing up." The ability of the moment to say, "what now?" in a way that allowed ultimate flexibility and openness created a means by which connections could be made for those gathered to experience Grace in sacramental worship. This was both a sign and wonder. It's moments like these that make this vocation truly exciting!
Blessings,
Fred+
31 December 2009
Be It Resolved
While I don't think it a pastoral matter, I do often get the question, "What are your New Year's resolutions?" There was a time that I would get rather elaborate in my response -- laying out a game plan for the coming year that seemed impressive and genuinely transformational. I don't do that anymore.
A couple of years back, I went to the local gym, where I work out, right after the new year. The place was packed (when usually it was not). Since I had been a member only a few months, I asked one of the trainers what had happened. His response was in three words: "New Year's Resolutions." For the next three or so weeks, the place continued to be crowded at the times I could work into my schedule. By the middle of February, however, the numbers had dwindled to the point that I could move about with my earlier accustomed ease. What changed?
While opening the subject of resolutions, it is also a good place to mention the close relative of the New Year's Resolution. It is the Lenten Discipline. What!? Hey, it is only 1.5 months away. It will be here before you know it. Folks do the same thing with Lent. A complicated and robust plan for the keeping of a Holy Lent is set forth by the well-meaning Christian. When the question is asked by equally well-meaning clergy, "How's your Lenten Rule going?" The answer is often a mumbled something akin to "I blew it."
What is happening here? Simply put, the human will follows the same principles of physics as do other entitities: a body in motion tends to move toward a state of rest (inactivity). One can research this through the first two laws of thermodynamics and following the research that produced the Heisenberg Principle of Uncertainty. It takes energy to do work. The dissipation of that energy will render the object less and less effective in the function of that work. Other dynamics can produce forces that will also hinder the object's effective ability to perform work. This is a psychological (behavioral) truth as well as one of physics.
Why this "mumbojumbo?" As a pastoral statement: Any attempt to will one's self into a permanent resolve (resolution) will ultimately fail as the internal and external forces dissipate the energy to uphold the initial resolve. St. Paul said it a bit differently: "For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." (Romans 7:15 NIV). Does this not mean that, all things being equal, we end up a lump? Yes! We have a term for it: Couch Potato.
My point here is to suggest that, any resolution that we make as an act of will is going to be rendered ineffective over time. In fact, it will cease be be an action at all. That's why the resolve to exercise daily at the beginning of the year lasts only about six to eight weeks for most folks. That's why the Lenten Rule, so energetically embraced on Ash Wednesday, is toast by the third week of Lent. We want to do it, but we end up not doing it well or even at all. That was St. Paul's point exactly.
Now that I have produced the conundrum, how do we deal with the need to make positive, healthy and useful changes in our lives? We look at ourselves in the mirror and say, "I need to lose 20 lbs." or, "I need to quit smoking." The list goes on. The motivating question is, "For what reason do I need to do these things?" We may have great intentions. Our spouse is urging us. We don't like what we see or what we are doing. We have other feelings of angst or pain that might be motivating us. But, any effort to make any change in any part of our lives is, by definition, work. It requires us to think and act on a new and regular level. It requires energy. The dissipation of energy reduces our resolve by a mathematically measured amount. Over time, we quit doing or being that resolve and return to the former, "easier" state of being and doing.
UNLESS, something deeper motivates us. About three years ago, my blood chemistry went haywire. I have genes (it seems) that mitigate against a normal level of cholesterol and triglycerides. Somewhere between visits to my primary care physician, both of those jumped to an alarmingly high number....way above normal. Within the space of a year, I was pre-diabetic with cholesterol levels at 400 and triglycerides at 960. Blood sugar ratios were dangerously high. I resolved to do something about it. I exercised, ate sensibly and willed myself to avoid foods that would exacerbate the problem. It wasn't enough. Holidays would come. With them came the confections and homemade comfort foods that were high in fats and sugars. My will collapsed. Being a priest, the constant temptations from well-meaning parishioners simply could not be avoided (I used the rationale: 'I'll hurt their feelings.').
In late November 2008, my cardiologist connected me with one of his associates who specializes in vascular problems (blood stuff). He was very forthright and honest, as he carefully read my chart and drew on his dry erase board. "Fred, you are a man on a course that will lead to certain death unless you can pull out of this mess. You are on the verge of becoming a full-blown Type II diabetic. You are pumping sludge with the amount of cholesterol and triglycerides in your system. You are allergic to statin medications. There are a few things left, and we can help." Thereupon, he sent me to a vascular nutritionist. I have met the model for what all drill sargeants become in the military. I also met a deeper motivation for what I now work on earnestly.
Going deep means finding the place where energy and motion are generated. I do not mean physical energy and motion. I mean the kind that shapes the human will. Even with the background, training and experience of my vocation, I had failed to go to that place with this issue. After all, this is about physiology and genetics.
In the quiet of my centering and contemplative prayer practices, I laid forth this issue....simply laid it there. It is the way of this kind of prayer work. In a space of time (for me, about 6 weeks), I became acutely aware that the only one whose pleasure I care about is the One who created me. What really matters is what I do by extension of that createdness. Okay, here's another analogy (after all, Jesus taught exclusively with metaphors). In the reality of God, God is perpetually in motion and constantly creating. God is like the perpetual fuel atomic reactor. If we recognize our true nature as created with God at the center of our being, that energy is what motivates us and provides the kind of resolve that never quits.
This is not a longshot. This is as fundamental to spirituality as thermodynamic laws are to physics...even more so. St. Paul concluded that, in order to do ultimate good, he had to surrender to the Spirit of God desiring to work in him. We must be in partnership with our true Self in that created image.
I did the ultimate no-no. I played Gideon on this one. I was doing really well with all of this in the spring and summer. I was even doing really well with an untimely and rather disturbing stressor in my professional life that came along in late summer. Then, in November, I said (seriously), "Okay, I'm backing off a bit. I think I've got this. I can do it myself now."
Disaster! I just got my numbers today for the latest vascular workup. My blood chemistry is out of whack again. I've gained weight (which is what happens when triglycerides are running unchecked at high levels) and become tired a lot. My blood sugar jumped to the "pre..." level again. The Physician's Assistant who monitors me for the cardiologists scowled at me this morning in disturbed disbelief at what her computer showed her. I had to tell her, using the metaphor I've employed above, "I simply ran out of gas here...and out of resolve."
As I sipped a cup of coffee and ate a light breakfast (a totally legal breakfast mind you) after that session, I knew what my new year will entail. I will return to that place where I open myself to Grace and admit that I don't have a boundless will (I already knew this, but, remember, I played Gideon for six weeks). I know where true resolve is generated and the energy to sustain it. It is only meaningful if I am the vessel being launched .... without being dissuaded by temptations or promises of rest. I'm not ready for THAT kind of rest! Neither is God it appears. Neither am I willing to listen to other voices. Read how Paul interprets that in the latter part of Romans 7. I'm not going for a strike three.
Blessings this New Year of Grace!
Fred+
A couple of years back, I went to the local gym, where I work out, right after the new year. The place was packed (when usually it was not). Since I had been a member only a few months, I asked one of the trainers what had happened. His response was in three words: "New Year's Resolutions." For the next three or so weeks, the place continued to be crowded at the times I could work into my schedule. By the middle of February, however, the numbers had dwindled to the point that I could move about with my earlier accustomed ease. What changed?
While opening the subject of resolutions, it is also a good place to mention the close relative of the New Year's Resolution. It is the Lenten Discipline. What!? Hey, it is only 1.5 months away. It will be here before you know it. Folks do the same thing with Lent. A complicated and robust plan for the keeping of a Holy Lent is set forth by the well-meaning Christian. When the question is asked by equally well-meaning clergy, "How's your Lenten Rule going?" The answer is often a mumbled something akin to "I blew it."
What is happening here? Simply put, the human will follows the same principles of physics as do other entitities: a body in motion tends to move toward a state of rest (inactivity). One can research this through the first two laws of thermodynamics and following the research that produced the Heisenberg Principle of Uncertainty. It takes energy to do work. The dissipation of that energy will render the object less and less effective in the function of that work. Other dynamics can produce forces that will also hinder the object's effective ability to perform work. This is a psychological (behavioral) truth as well as one of physics.
Why this "mumbojumbo?" As a pastoral statement: Any attempt to will one's self into a permanent resolve (resolution) will ultimately fail as the internal and external forces dissipate the energy to uphold the initial resolve. St. Paul said it a bit differently: "For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." (Romans 7:15 NIV). Does this not mean that, all things being equal, we end up a lump? Yes! We have a term for it: Couch Potato.
My point here is to suggest that, any resolution that we make as an act of will is going to be rendered ineffective over time. In fact, it will cease be be an action at all. That's why the resolve to exercise daily at the beginning of the year lasts only about six to eight weeks for most folks. That's why the Lenten Rule, so energetically embraced on Ash Wednesday, is toast by the third week of Lent. We want to do it, but we end up not doing it well or even at all. That was St. Paul's point exactly.
Now that I have produced the conundrum, how do we deal with the need to make positive, healthy and useful changes in our lives? We look at ourselves in the mirror and say, "I need to lose 20 lbs." or, "I need to quit smoking." The list goes on. The motivating question is, "For what reason do I need to do these things?" We may have great intentions. Our spouse is urging us. We don't like what we see or what we are doing. We have other feelings of angst or pain that might be motivating us. But, any effort to make any change in any part of our lives is, by definition, work. It requires us to think and act on a new and regular level. It requires energy. The dissipation of energy reduces our resolve by a mathematically measured amount. Over time, we quit doing or being that resolve and return to the former, "easier" state of being and doing.
UNLESS, something deeper motivates us. About three years ago, my blood chemistry went haywire. I have genes (it seems) that mitigate against a normal level of cholesterol and triglycerides. Somewhere between visits to my primary care physician, both of those jumped to an alarmingly high number....way above normal. Within the space of a year, I was pre-diabetic with cholesterol levels at 400 and triglycerides at 960. Blood sugar ratios were dangerously high. I resolved to do something about it. I exercised, ate sensibly and willed myself to avoid foods that would exacerbate the problem. It wasn't enough. Holidays would come. With them came the confections and homemade comfort foods that were high in fats and sugars. My will collapsed. Being a priest, the constant temptations from well-meaning parishioners simply could not be avoided (I used the rationale: 'I'll hurt their feelings.').
In late November 2008, my cardiologist connected me with one of his associates who specializes in vascular problems (blood stuff). He was very forthright and honest, as he carefully read my chart and drew on his dry erase board. "Fred, you are a man on a course that will lead to certain death unless you can pull out of this mess. You are on the verge of becoming a full-blown Type II diabetic. You are pumping sludge with the amount of cholesterol and triglycerides in your system. You are allergic to statin medications. There are a few things left, and we can help." Thereupon, he sent me to a vascular nutritionist. I have met the model for what all drill sargeants become in the military. I also met a deeper motivation for what I now work on earnestly.
Going deep means finding the place where energy and motion are generated. I do not mean physical energy and motion. I mean the kind that shapes the human will. Even with the background, training and experience of my vocation, I had failed to go to that place with this issue. After all, this is about physiology and genetics.
In the quiet of my centering and contemplative prayer practices, I laid forth this issue....simply laid it there. It is the way of this kind of prayer work. In a space of time (for me, about 6 weeks), I became acutely aware that the only one whose pleasure I care about is the One who created me. What really matters is what I do by extension of that createdness. Okay, here's another analogy (after all, Jesus taught exclusively with metaphors). In the reality of God, God is perpetually in motion and constantly creating. God is like the perpetual fuel atomic reactor. If we recognize our true nature as created with God at the center of our being, that energy is what motivates us and provides the kind of resolve that never quits.
This is not a longshot. This is as fundamental to spirituality as thermodynamic laws are to physics...even more so. St. Paul concluded that, in order to do ultimate good, he had to surrender to the Spirit of God desiring to work in him. We must be in partnership with our true Self in that created image.
I did the ultimate no-no. I played Gideon on this one. I was doing really well with all of this in the spring and summer. I was even doing really well with an untimely and rather disturbing stressor in my professional life that came along in late summer. Then, in November, I said (seriously), "Okay, I'm backing off a bit. I think I've got this. I can do it myself now."
Disaster! I just got my numbers today for the latest vascular workup. My blood chemistry is out of whack again. I've gained weight (which is what happens when triglycerides are running unchecked at high levels) and become tired a lot. My blood sugar jumped to the "pre..." level again. The Physician's Assistant who monitors me for the cardiologists scowled at me this morning in disturbed disbelief at what her computer showed her. I had to tell her, using the metaphor I've employed above, "I simply ran out of gas here...and out of resolve."
As I sipped a cup of coffee and ate a light breakfast (a totally legal breakfast mind you) after that session, I knew what my new year will entail. I will return to that place where I open myself to Grace and admit that I don't have a boundless will (I already knew this, but, remember, I played Gideon for six weeks). I know where true resolve is generated and the energy to sustain it. It is only meaningful if I am the vessel being launched .... without being dissuaded by temptations or promises of rest. I'm not ready for THAT kind of rest! Neither is God it appears. Neither am I willing to listen to other voices. Read how Paul interprets that in the latter part of Romans 7. I'm not going for a strike three.
Blessings this New Year of Grace!
Fred+
15 December 2009
Prophets and Sages
I just finished writing a Christmastide article for our parish newsletter, The Messenger, in which I shared a conversation I had with one of the employees at the local, Lee's Summit Starbuck's -- where I often get coffee in the morning on the way to the parish office (a drive of ca. 25 minutes from home). Jason is a young adult who is tall with long, dark hair that is neatly combed and in a ponytail. He always has a smile and a wave, whenever I come in. For some time, we have shared witicisms, comments on events of the moment and occasional short conversations around the global issues of the moment. He is relaxed and always has a perspective that stimulates further thought. He reminds me of a quiet philosopher-type. He obviously has solid roots. (to get information on the circumstances of this blog, please read my reflections at http://www.standrewkc.org/RectorsReflections.htm . It is entitled "Christmastide: "Living on the Edge" and will be online by Friday, 18 December).
Today I made a stop at "my" Starbuck's to grab a coffee, and Jason was at the counter. As he poured, I told him I had quoted him in my parish newsletter article. He seemed surprised and somewhat humbled. In reflection, I said to him, "It's not often one encounters a straight-forward prophet." He stood rigidly upright as he turned from the coffee urn. "I am not even close to being a prophet! I don't have those credentials," he stated firmly. At this response, I was not surprised nor offput. In fact, it is what I had hoped to hear.
A prophet is not self-proclaimed. It is a gift that happens and/or becomes entwined with a particular style of being in relationship that opens the doors to "insight possibilities." Prophecy is not fortune-telling, future-telling, or simple intellectual insight. It is a coming together of the current moment with spiritual, emotional and mental alertness to a vista that suddenly opens to how this moment can/will play out. It is at once multi-dimensional and all embracing. The door can shut as quickly as it opens -- leaving things much as they were. The prophet then moves on...maybe oblivious to how he/she has just been utilized by forces well beyond his/her control.
If someone proclaims him/her-self a prophet, go in the other direction. Self-proclamation is an act of hubris (spiritual pride) that can be both dangerous and deceptively manipulative. In true prophecy, one is a vessel or instrument and never the generator of what is being shared. Jason had no idea that our November conversation revealed something very important and precious to me -- and that the revelation from his words would set me on an internal journey of deeper theological truth. For him, what he shared was a moment of simple, insightful observation....nothing more.
Being a sage is much the same as being a prophet. The term "sage" renders the modern term "sagacious" and refers to wisdom. Wisdom is not intelligence or being smart or having an education. Like prophecy, wisdom can have those components; but wisdom is the capacity to see deeply into the larger field of reality and, from that observation, speak a deeper and more profound Truth about life and the world around us. It is the sense of "bedrock truth" one experiences in conversing with someone who is sharing wisdom. Like prophecy, wisdom is a gift of the moment. However, wisdom can often "walk with" a person for a long period of time.
One might think that a prophet or a wise person (one given to wisdom as defined above) possesses maturity or a kind of place in life where he or she is not prone to mistakes, frivolity, goofiness or simplicity. We might think of wisdom and prophecy as belonging to the serious, very mature and "stately" person. Nope. Think of the laughing monk, or the "buffoon" who is full of practical jokery and fun. Think of Yoda in Star Wars. Who would imagine such a goofy looking, impish little creature possessing extreme wisdom and the capacity for prophecy. Yoda captures it all in essence.
Prophets and Sages inhabit all levels of society and can be found in the most unlikely places. In fact, one doesn't necessarily find them at all. In my time with the Lakota, I have learned the power and simplicity of the "Medicine Man." Such a person, in Lakota culture, is not self-proclaimed. In fact, they will deny it if asked, "Are you a Medicine Man?" The term "medicine" in Lakota means spiritual depth and the recognition of God at work both in what is unseen as well as what is visible and useful in the world about us. The Medicine Man sees and can use these things as tools for teaching, healing and worship. They recognize and utilize the power of holy things in ways that benefit those in their community. It is the community, in seeing this, that bestows the title, "Medicine Man," on the individual. The Medicine Men that I have met are given to joking, laughing and behaving in a manner that may seem either frivilous or simple. Nothing could be farther from the truth. They possess depth, keen intelligence and insight that can be almost frightening when set loose. Then they simply go back to being themselves...genuine.
At this time of year, it is good to reflect on the prophets of the Hebrew Old Testament and Christian New Testament. John the Baptizer cried in the wilderness to prepare the way for one who would change the world. That tradition of momentary insight and proclamation still happens. This is the time of year to listen, look and slow down to encounter real moments of deeper Truth. Maybe the next conversation with someone in a coffee shop will create an opportunity to turn a corner in your life.
Blessings in this Holy Season,
Fred+
Today I made a stop at "my" Starbuck's to grab a coffee, and Jason was at the counter. As he poured, I told him I had quoted him in my parish newsletter article. He seemed surprised and somewhat humbled. In reflection, I said to him, "It's not often one encounters a straight-forward prophet." He stood rigidly upright as he turned from the coffee urn. "I am not even close to being a prophet! I don't have those credentials," he stated firmly. At this response, I was not surprised nor offput. In fact, it is what I had hoped to hear.
A prophet is not self-proclaimed. It is a gift that happens and/or becomes entwined with a particular style of being in relationship that opens the doors to "insight possibilities." Prophecy is not fortune-telling, future-telling, or simple intellectual insight. It is a coming together of the current moment with spiritual, emotional and mental alertness to a vista that suddenly opens to how this moment can/will play out. It is at once multi-dimensional and all embracing. The door can shut as quickly as it opens -- leaving things much as they were. The prophet then moves on...maybe oblivious to how he/she has just been utilized by forces well beyond his/her control.
If someone proclaims him/her-self a prophet, go in the other direction. Self-proclamation is an act of hubris (spiritual pride) that can be both dangerous and deceptively manipulative. In true prophecy, one is a vessel or instrument and never the generator of what is being shared. Jason had no idea that our November conversation revealed something very important and precious to me -- and that the revelation from his words would set me on an internal journey of deeper theological truth. For him, what he shared was a moment of simple, insightful observation....nothing more.
Being a sage is much the same as being a prophet. The term "sage" renders the modern term "sagacious" and refers to wisdom. Wisdom is not intelligence or being smart or having an education. Like prophecy, wisdom can have those components; but wisdom is the capacity to see deeply into the larger field of reality and, from that observation, speak a deeper and more profound Truth about life and the world around us. It is the sense of "bedrock truth" one experiences in conversing with someone who is sharing wisdom. Like prophecy, wisdom is a gift of the moment. However, wisdom can often "walk with" a person for a long period of time.
One might think that a prophet or a wise person (one given to wisdom as defined above) possesses maturity or a kind of place in life where he or she is not prone to mistakes, frivolity, goofiness or simplicity. We might think of wisdom and prophecy as belonging to the serious, very mature and "stately" person. Nope. Think of the laughing monk, or the "buffoon" who is full of practical jokery and fun. Think of Yoda in Star Wars. Who would imagine such a goofy looking, impish little creature possessing extreme wisdom and the capacity for prophecy. Yoda captures it all in essence.
Prophets and Sages inhabit all levels of society and can be found in the most unlikely places. In fact, one doesn't necessarily find them at all. In my time with the Lakota, I have learned the power and simplicity of the "Medicine Man." Such a person, in Lakota culture, is not self-proclaimed. In fact, they will deny it if asked, "Are you a Medicine Man?" The term "medicine" in Lakota means spiritual depth and the recognition of God at work both in what is unseen as well as what is visible and useful in the world about us. The Medicine Man sees and can use these things as tools for teaching, healing and worship. They recognize and utilize the power of holy things in ways that benefit those in their community. It is the community, in seeing this, that bestows the title, "Medicine Man," on the individual. The Medicine Men that I have met are given to joking, laughing and behaving in a manner that may seem either frivilous or simple. Nothing could be farther from the truth. They possess depth, keen intelligence and insight that can be almost frightening when set loose. Then they simply go back to being themselves...genuine.
At this time of year, it is good to reflect on the prophets of the Hebrew Old Testament and Christian New Testament. John the Baptizer cried in the wilderness to prepare the way for one who would change the world. That tradition of momentary insight and proclamation still happens. This is the time of year to listen, look and slow down to encounter real moments of deeper Truth. Maybe the next conversation with someone in a coffee shop will create an opportunity to turn a corner in your life.
Blessings in this Holy Season,
Fred+
25 November 2009
The Singer's Voice
There is a person I have considered a good friend...at least from my place of relationship. She began her career as a singer -- and she had a quality voice that would have taken her possibly to the Met. But something happened. It doesn't seem to have been so much physical as it was other factors in her life. Whatever it was, she lost her voice. No, she did not lose the ability to speak, or even to sing, the qualities of her voice that produced the wonderful operatic tones did something like "lock up." I am not a physical or psychological diagnostician, so I cannot evaluate. I simply know that she is a wonderful person who lost the fullness of her singing voice.
I share this because life is fragile. What we have and value most is so easily lost. It is part of the human condition. I have a rare and privileged vocation that puts me fully in the place of the most fragile of human conditions. No amount of education, training or expertise ever prepares a person for the impact of the kinds of crises where loss of treasured resources of personhood are threatened or removed. God seems to have given me a gift to walk in those places with calmness and vision. There are no words to describe what I have experienced and the profound thankfulness I have for the privilege to be on such a life-journey.
As this Thanksgiving holiday approaches, I share both a reflection and an announcement. I awoke early this morning, made a cup of coffee and withdrew to my place of prayer with a heaviness of heart uncommon to my mornings. I began shedding tears of thanksgiving for those who have mentored me over the past 59 years (I'll be 59 on 30 Nov.). My parents -- both gone from this life. Bill Harben, my Scoutmaster in the Boy Scouts -- an ex-Marine from WWII, who was tough but loving and caring. He believed in me when it counted. Mrs. Sheffield, Mrs. Ting, Mrs. Ruth, Dr. Gordon, Dr. Kandzer and those teachers/professors who encouraged me to go far beyond what I thought possible in my growing years. Coach Bill Duncan, who I hated but came to love for teaching me athletic and personal stamina. Dr. Sidney Jourard, under whom I studied at the University of Florida in psychology for introducing me to and encouraging me in the farther reaches of the human mind and heart. Dr. William Maples who awakened a deep love for human life....past and present...in all its forms. Fathers/Drs. Louis Weil, Ignatius Hunt, James Griffis, William Peterson, Richard Greatwood, John Ruef, Robert Cooper and Dr. James Dunkly who opened the doors of theology, liturgy, biblical literature and pastoralia in shaping my vocation as a priest at Nashotah House. They saw vocation more clearly than I did. LCDR John McCarthy, MMC Frame, Adm. Albert Kelln, CDR Walter Hubbell, YNCS Hank Buermeyer, Vice Adm. Rickover, Adm. Lewis and those of my Navy experience for discipline, courage in the face of big odds, stamina and a striving for excellence that I will always carry with me. Bishop William Folwell, who brought me into this vocation, ordained me and never let me (and many others) feel alone in the field of parish ministry. Bishops Vogel (who ordained me a priest), Gray, Little, Barry Howe, and others who have been either my authorities or colleagues (or both) for wisdom, patience and perseverance in the stresses of parochial leadership.
Then there are colleagues, parishioners and friends outside the Church who are too numerous to mention: save these, Dr. Kern Trembath and Fr. Paul Wolfe (at whose funeral I preached in March...my brother whose voice I deeply miss). Both have almost literally saved my life and my voice when I despaired the most. Don and Ron, who are current dear friends not in the Church, who caught me when I fell and raised me up. Ed, my spiritual director who challenges and holds me up. Larry, who believed in me when others did not. There are parishioners in my current cure, who are more precious to me than they know. I especially give thanks to Fr. Richard ("Dad") Bowman. He was my spiritual director for 16 years and "adopted" me as a son he never had, and I as a dad to fill a wounded place. I grieve that I could not be with him when he died three years ago. Fr. Tom Schultz, a monk of OHC who started teaching me deeper truths of the Spirit in 1980, and still teaches me whenever we can get together.
The above litany moved through my head and heart in the pre-dawn hours. Each had a story that became vivid in my inner light. I weep thanksgiving for each of them -- and the many others who individually came to consciousness. Childhood and adult friends...known and lost in the jumble of life. They are all out there.
Each of those persons gave me voice. They encouraged me to "sing my song" -- which is a way of saying "speak my truth in love." They gave me voice, and I owe it to them to use it. But, there is a catch.
Something is stuck. I've suddenly found it very hard to speak...that is, to express my deeper thoughts and feelings. It is the priest's craft and responsibility to speak -- even the things that are probably too hard to hear (even for the one speaking). I have run aground on the shoals of current opinion and judgment. The singer has lost his voice.
My craft is my life -- at least the biggest part of it. A vocation is a gift from God that is nurtured through education, training and experience....lots of experience. My capacity for this is being tested. If I talk too much, I may lose my voice altogether. I cannot risk that.
So, at this point, in the early hours of this morning, I made the decision: I am suspending the sharing of my thoughts, opinions, theological reflections and commentary on life events for a period of time. I need to conserve what I have to practice my craft from the pulpit and podium of my parish. What I have momentarily is small enough that (as my friend Kern Trembath says) I risk "using my seed corn" to keep the voice I need to do my primary work.
Chances are, I'll be back with articles, blogs and daily reflections on Facebook and other places. But, not for a time. Not until I figure out if my voice carries anything of real value and what shape it will take.
May your Thanksgiving be one of remembrance, gratefulness and joy. Make the season of Advent one of expectation. Slow down and live the experience. It's worth it.
Much love,
Fred+
I share this because life is fragile. What we have and value most is so easily lost. It is part of the human condition. I have a rare and privileged vocation that puts me fully in the place of the most fragile of human conditions. No amount of education, training or expertise ever prepares a person for the impact of the kinds of crises where loss of treasured resources of personhood are threatened or removed. God seems to have given me a gift to walk in those places with calmness and vision. There are no words to describe what I have experienced and the profound thankfulness I have for the privilege to be on such a life-journey.
As this Thanksgiving holiday approaches, I share both a reflection and an announcement. I awoke early this morning, made a cup of coffee and withdrew to my place of prayer with a heaviness of heart uncommon to my mornings. I began shedding tears of thanksgiving for those who have mentored me over the past 59 years (I'll be 59 on 30 Nov.). My parents -- both gone from this life. Bill Harben, my Scoutmaster in the Boy Scouts -- an ex-Marine from WWII, who was tough but loving and caring. He believed in me when it counted. Mrs. Sheffield, Mrs. Ting, Mrs. Ruth, Dr. Gordon, Dr. Kandzer and those teachers/professors who encouraged me to go far beyond what I thought possible in my growing years. Coach Bill Duncan, who I hated but came to love for teaching me athletic and personal stamina. Dr. Sidney Jourard, under whom I studied at the University of Florida in psychology for introducing me to and encouraging me in the farther reaches of the human mind and heart. Dr. William Maples who awakened a deep love for human life....past and present...in all its forms. Fathers/Drs. Louis Weil, Ignatius Hunt, James Griffis, William Peterson, Richard Greatwood, John Ruef, Robert Cooper and Dr. James Dunkly who opened the doors of theology, liturgy, biblical literature and pastoralia in shaping my vocation as a priest at Nashotah House. They saw vocation more clearly than I did. LCDR John McCarthy, MMC Frame, Adm. Albert Kelln, CDR Walter Hubbell, YNCS Hank Buermeyer, Vice Adm. Rickover, Adm. Lewis and those of my Navy experience for discipline, courage in the face of big odds, stamina and a striving for excellence that I will always carry with me. Bishop William Folwell, who brought me into this vocation, ordained me and never let me (and many others) feel alone in the field of parish ministry. Bishops Vogel (who ordained me a priest), Gray, Little, Barry Howe, and others who have been either my authorities or colleagues (or both) for wisdom, patience and perseverance in the stresses of parochial leadership.
Then there are colleagues, parishioners and friends outside the Church who are too numerous to mention: save these, Dr. Kern Trembath and Fr. Paul Wolfe (at whose funeral I preached in March...my brother whose voice I deeply miss). Both have almost literally saved my life and my voice when I despaired the most. Don and Ron, who are current dear friends not in the Church, who caught me when I fell and raised me up. Ed, my spiritual director who challenges and holds me up. Larry, who believed in me when others did not. There are parishioners in my current cure, who are more precious to me than they know. I especially give thanks to Fr. Richard ("Dad") Bowman. He was my spiritual director for 16 years and "adopted" me as a son he never had, and I as a dad to fill a wounded place. I grieve that I could not be with him when he died three years ago. Fr. Tom Schultz, a monk of OHC who started teaching me deeper truths of the Spirit in 1980, and still teaches me whenever we can get together.
The above litany moved through my head and heart in the pre-dawn hours. Each had a story that became vivid in my inner light. I weep thanksgiving for each of them -- and the many others who individually came to consciousness. Childhood and adult friends...known and lost in the jumble of life. They are all out there.
Each of those persons gave me voice. They encouraged me to "sing my song" -- which is a way of saying "speak my truth in love." They gave me voice, and I owe it to them to use it. But, there is a catch.
Something is stuck. I've suddenly found it very hard to speak...that is, to express my deeper thoughts and feelings. It is the priest's craft and responsibility to speak -- even the things that are probably too hard to hear (even for the one speaking). I have run aground on the shoals of current opinion and judgment. The singer has lost his voice.
My craft is my life -- at least the biggest part of it. A vocation is a gift from God that is nurtured through education, training and experience....lots of experience. My capacity for this is being tested. If I talk too much, I may lose my voice altogether. I cannot risk that.
So, at this point, in the early hours of this morning, I made the decision: I am suspending the sharing of my thoughts, opinions, theological reflections and commentary on life events for a period of time. I need to conserve what I have to practice my craft from the pulpit and podium of my parish. What I have momentarily is small enough that (as my friend Kern Trembath says) I risk "using my seed corn" to keep the voice I need to do my primary work.
Chances are, I'll be back with articles, blogs and daily reflections on Facebook and other places. But, not for a time. Not until I figure out if my voice carries anything of real value and what shape it will take.
May your Thanksgiving be one of remembrance, gratefulness and joy. Make the season of Advent one of expectation. Slow down and live the experience. It's worth it.
Much love,
Fred+
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