A New Journey: Part 1 -- Background

"I pulled in to Nazareth; I was feelin' about a half past dead."

-- The Band ("The Weight," or "Take a Load off Annie)

from the album "Stage Fright"

I have Type II Diabetes.  That's the raw fact.  I was diagnosed with this condition officially in May 2010.  It was not a total surprise to me.  In 2007, my cardiologist was stunned to find that my triglycerides were at nearly 900 and my cholesterol was getting close to 400.  These are wicked numbers.  My doc and I were both shocked into silence.

"Do you know how much sugar and fats you would have to consume to get to this point?" he finally asked.  I had no idea.  Turns out, I would have had to be a total "RC Cola and Moon Pie" addict with a constant intake of Original Recipe of Kentucky Fried Chicken to get those numbers. Since I worked out fairly regularly and weighed about 230 lbs, the numbers did not make much sense.  

Yep, I was overweight, but I am a big guy at 6'3" tall with a "big boned" build.  I also carry a bit of muscle -- due to both exercise and activity choices.  Yet, here I was.  Short version:  I worked for three years to get those numbers down.  I am resistant (allergic) to statin drugs, so a formula of pharmaceutical grade niacin, omega 3s and a non-statin drug (Niaspan, Lovaza and Fenofibrate respectively) was finally attained that helped bring those numbers into some place of at least borderline normal -- still higher than desired.

One further back event helped start this journey.  In January 1995, I collapsed in chest pain one day at the cathedral, where I was the Dean.  A cardiac catheterization procedure found that I have a fairly rare and unusual coronary construction.  It is genetic.  The coronary arteries are 2.5x larger than normal; and the inner walls of the arteries are wavy instead of straight and smooth.  It is called Coronary Ectasia.  Cardiac medicine has only come to grips with this condition since the 1980s.  It may have contributed to my father's untimely death at age 54 (in 1968).  This is controlled by medication that "tenses" the arteries and makes them more efficient.  The medication creates a problem with high blood pressure, so it is joined with a medication to deal with that.  I have almost no plaque in my coronary arteries.  I started this trip of strange eruptions 18 years ago.

Diabetes also runs in our family.  My maternal grandfather was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes when he was 56 and had a sudden heart attack.  He lived to age 82 by taking care of himself and remaining active.  He is the one who was an entomologist/naturalist who taught me to hunt, fish and navigate by celestial orientation.

In short, when my diagnosis of Type II Diabetes was announced, I was not surprised.  However, I was both disappointed and very concerned about how things might go forward.

Some folks, who know me, are aware that I don't sit around worrying about this kind of stuff very much at all.  In fact, I have been called "cavalier" by close in family members, when it comes to appropriate life adjustments.  

Then, something changed.

While I was in the Black Hills of South Dakota for two weeks in June, I was suddenly struck with the reality that I live on a lot of medications -- a lot for me, at least.  In my work with the Lakota people, I have become extremely sensitive to their evolutionary plight.  First Nations people had almost no incidents of heart disease or diabetes in their lives -- until after 1900.  

What changed?  It was their diet.  It went from one of largely protein supplemented by berries, fruits and various kinds of vegetables.  The only sugar came from those sources.  The only "grains" consumed were "seed sourced" and natural to their environment.

Fact:  Among the Lakota people, the leading cause of illness and death at present are diabetes and coronary disease -- in that order.  When they were forced into reservations and forced to consume a western European (read:  Immigrant American) diet, their bodies got sick.  

What has happened to us immigrant Americans?  Since the early 1900s, our diet has steadily increased in carbohydrate and sugar consumption.  Those food sources now comprise better than 70% of our diet.  

I did an informal Facebook study of what friends post concerning foods, recipes and prepared dishes over the past six months.  Ready?  Eighty-five percent of the postings were desserts or foods consisting of refined flour, simple carbohydrates and sugars of several varieties.  I am not astounded by this.  It is reflective of the typical American diet at large.  While in South Dakota, all this hit me in a very big way, because I had time to reflect and was asking for insights.

Michial Seamus

Yep, he is Irish -- born and raised in Belfast, Northern Ireland.  He was a Roman Catholic seminarian when the "unpleasantness" erupted in that country.  He ended up leaving his homeland and found his way to the United States, where he became a citizen about 25 years ago.  He settled in Sarasota and owns a small construction company.

Five years ago, he was told he needed a hip replacement.  However, he flunked the pre-op cardiac EKG.  He was sent immediately to a cardiologist, where he flunked the more comprehensive stress EKG testing.  Turns out, he had a badly blocked descending aortic coronary artery:  the one known as the "widow maker."  He was literally days or weeks from a massive, fatal heart attack.

While in the hospital recovering from the stent procedure to save his life, he learned he had Type II Diabetes in an advanced form.  He was placed on insulin right away.  His blood pressure was way too high.  More medication.  At the end of his recovery process -- when he finally got his new hip -- he was on seven medications.

Michial's wife has severe Celiac Disease.  This is also a "modern" condition where the body builds an intolerance to foods containing gluten (most modern grains are very high in gluten).  Michial became very despondent in this newly diagnosed conditions (he had not been to a doctor in about a decade prior to the orthopedic surgeon).  Not being one to sit long in despondency, he took a break from his work and began doing intensive research.  He spent time at NIH and at the Harvard Institute of Public Health.  He consulted all manner of medical practitioners.  He determined that what he was eating was killing him.  (Note:  his cardiologist told him he probably had only about five to seven years of life left).  

Mic got radical.  He removed all grain products and foods containing wheat, corn or barley from his diet.  He removed all foods that contained any kind of sugar and limited his sugar intake to whole fruits and certain root vegetables in moderation.  The only natural sweetener he used was a tablespoon (total) of raw, unprocessed honey in his tea.  He removed all milk products, except heavy whipping cream (has no sugar, believe it or not), butter from grass-fed cattle and natural cheese (no processed brands).  He boosted his protein intake to about 65% of total daily intake -- protein from only fresh or frozen meats (preferably organic), poultry and fish.

Mic did this three years ago.  Today, he is 45 lbs lighter.  His blood pressure is textbook.  He no longer uses insulin, and his fasting glucose is stable at 5.0% (textbook).  His blood chemistry is all totally within normal range.  His cardiologist recently told him she changed her mind.  She thinks he could live well into his 90s.  The only medication he currently takes is the ONE pill that "keeps his coronary stent clean."  His diet?  More like the Native American diet prior to westernization.

Collision

I had long since grown weary of reading about the latest pill, formula, process or routine that would guarantee a "diabetes cure."  ALL of that is crap!  Diabetes is not curable.  Diabetes can, however, be controlled to the point that it is in a kind of remission.  I also had gotten weary of people who claim they can help -- but at a rather steep and constant price.  I do not want my health to be their living.  This is not to say that nutritionists and health counselors are not useful.  Lots of folks need that kind of accountability -- paying for someone to guide them.  I have never worked well with that kind of accountability relationship.  So, I was stuck.

Then I met Michial.  Just happened that my annual physical was scheduled for the day after my return from South Dakota.  I poured all my thoughts and concerns out to my primary care physician.  He is a 40ish guy who keeps up with research, is extremely attentive to detail and is not afraid to consider treatments that are beyond "allopathic boundaries."  

My doc knew that I was not happy with the diabetes folks I had consulted shortly after arriving here.  It was the same old routine, and it simply meant, "stay on your medicine; eat this way to maintain yourself."  He is the one that suggested the support group that Michial leads.

I went to meet Michial and learned of his journey.  It requires a radical lifestyle change.  He likens it to being an alcoholic:  Once you start the journey, there is no going back.  Going back means a return to the condition you are leaving.  This shift begins with a detoxification process.  It is ten days long, and I began this journey today, 24 July 2013.

Stripped Clean

Yesterday, Denise and I "cleaned house."  We removed every food that listed sugar in its ingredients.  We removed all pastas and wheat products.  In fact, all grain products except old fashioned oats.  All processed meats and cheeses are gone.  We ended up with four and a half large grocery bags -- heavy with boxes, cans, bottles and packages.  The garbage sack got filled as well...before the garbage man came yesterday afternoon.  All of it now gone from this house.  We are done with it.

This morning, I rolled out of bed at 6:00 am and began a new way of living and eating.  This first ten days is like an elimination diet....only certain things will be eaten...and in certain quantities.  No fruits (except a few blueberries).  No vegetables outside of a small prescribed selection that creates either a soup or a salad.  Fresh protein sources, eggs and one kind of cheese will be allowed.

My blog will be a journal for the coming days...during the detox.   I awoke this morning and took the first measurements:  Fasting Glucose = 123.  Blood Pressure 134/82.  Weight 240.6 lbs.  All high.  Just watch this space.  Just watch.

Love and Blessings,

Fred+

Neighbor

"Christians vary greatly in their understanding of the truth.  Some have a deep appreciation of our faith, while others still are shallow in their faith.  But it is the same ocean into which they are peering; the same truth which they are seeking to comprehend.  It was in order to reach people at every level that our Lord spoke in parables.  Those with less understanding could enjoy the parables as simple stories with moral lessons which they could learn; while those with deeper faith could penetrate the divine mysteries with these tales and images."  -- Against Heresies,   Irenaeus (born ca. 160CE, died 202CE), Bishop of Lyons

On Sunday, 14 July, Christians in several denominations heard the same Gospel narrative proclaimed in their worship communities.  Luke 10:25-37 is known as the "Parable of the Good Samaritan."  This blog post is not yet another sermon on what was probably heard in thousands of faith communities.  Nor, is this a reflection simply within the Christian tradition.  It is a universal question that was asked by the lawyer -- a specialist in Mosaic Law not further identified:  Who is my neighbor?

This question, in the context of the narrative, is designed to "catch Jesus out."  Jesus was not a mainline Jewish leader.  His message was radical and controversial within his own tradition.  Members of the Sanhedrin....Pharisees, Sadducees and Scribes...were regularly monitoring Jesus and working to get him entrapped in his own words.  This was no exception.  Jesus pushed the envelope regarding the boundaries of Judaism -- who is in and who is out.  

Until the modern era, societies were very fluid.  Boundaries were open and travel between cultural groups was both regular and not monitored.  However, within the Hebrew culture there was a defined boundary regarding who belonged in terms of the customs and traditions of that community.  Outsiders were welcomed only as far as the mutual commerce of the nation.  This appears to be true even during the occupation by the Roman Empire.

Jews had a specific cultural ban on Samaritans.  Samaritans were the remnants of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, who had defied religious authority and set up their own temple at Mt. Gerizim.  They were considered unclean and no longer part of the Jewish People.  The hatred, on the part of Judaism was both legendary and proverbial.  This is a set-up in terms of how Jesus utilized the parable of the Samaritan who provided aid to a beaten traveler found alongside the road.

In the parable, two other notable folks passed by the injured and dying man on the roadside:  A priest and a Levite.  At the time of Jesus, a priest (in the Jewish tradition) kept the Temple and presided at the most sacred of sacrificial and ritual ceremonies.  The Levites were a part of the nation from whom priests were chosen and who, themselves, kept the ritual elements of the Temple in order on a daily basis.  These two groups of Jews not only knew the Law but embodied the whole Jewish concept of the Shema:  The Great Commandment --- Loving God supremely and Loving Neighbor as one loves one's self.  Moreover, these people would harbor within their own lives the abundance of both Grace and Service.  Jesus was nailing the lawyer with his parable in Luke 10:25-37.

This story has far-reaching implications.  The Christian community was established with Baptism being the foundational sacrament of incorporation.  In this rite, one is given the Grace (abiding Love of God) in the Holy Spirit.  One is, essentially, "in-Christed."  This is my term for being made one in Christ Jesus forever (and so the concluding baptismal prayer states).

Okay, so what is the point?  If we operate with the promised gift of Grace as central to our character, the Great Commandment becomes the grounding of our moral conduct...our very character.  The lawyer in Luke's parable seems to be saying, "yes, I get that," when Jesus asks for his recitation of what is written in the Law.  The sticking point is this business of who is one's neighbor.

Here are two theological truths that I have come to embrace:

1.  Sin is a self-inflicted wound.
2.  The Devil is a method the ego has of discharging responsibility and ownership of sin.

Like many folks, I long ago burned out on clergy types railing from pulpits and other places with rhetoric designed to inflict both guilt and blame on congregations/audiences...slinging the word "sin" around as a scythe.  Indeed, sin is real.  However, it is not a thing in and of itself -- waiting to pounce on us.  Sin is an action or intention on the part of an individual that detaches us from our innermost moral character (summarized in the Great Commandment) and sets the ego as the central place of control.  The word "I" is paramount here.  Sin is willfulness...an act of internal separation from the True Self.

We have, from the moment of being infused (read: created in the image of) with Divine Consciousness (True Self) believed that taking personal control of our environment makes us more powerful.  History is replete with how this works, and Jesus used the actions of the priest and Levite to make this very point.

Truth:  The control on the part of our ego actually makes us smaller and less powerful.  It is finite and actually seems to dissolve in death.  

Oh, the Devil.  There is a corporeal evil.  It is the dark side of the Light.  It is the gathering of what comes of rebellious detachment into a force that seeks both control and manipulation.  Nazi Germany, the Soviet pogroms, all genocides and congregated acts of greed, manipulation and fear-mongering are examples of corporeal evil.  Such "collective ego" lives on in each of us as part of every choice we make.

This started early on.  The garden narrative in the Old Testament creation story plays this out.  When Adam (re: man) eats of the fruit offered by Eve (re: companion)...a fruit forbidden, because it sets up willfulness as an internal default, the Holy One asks Adam what he has done.  Adam blames it on Eve (denial in the face of Truth is a classic ego response).  Eve, in turn, blames it on the serpent who "beguiled" her (again, denial).  The poor snake is forever given the position of "devil" in human culture.  Why?  The snake couldn't respond.  It is an icon of the sneaky kind of internal "nudging" that can elicit willful behavior that detaches us from True Self and Abiding Love.  It is, as I said, a self-inflicted wound (small "s" self is ego structure).

So, the priest and Levite can't be bothered with a petty, poor, naked, half-dead traveler on the road.  "It's not my problem."  

The Samaritan, who isn't supposed to have a clean moral character, chooses to turn aside and give aid to the nearly dead traveler.  His inner compass had a truer heading.

So, if Jesus can tell the elite of his culture that they are fundamentally "looking good on the outside but are like stinking tombs on the inside" (an accusation he later made re the Sanhedrin), what can be said about our culture?

The answer to that, in the words of The Rev. Dr. Robert M. Cooper -- our seminary ethics and moral theology professor -- is:  "It depends always on whose ox is getting gored..."

There is no good side or bad side in this business.  On the socio-political scale, my sense is:  the farther toward either extreme one goes, the more willful one becomes.  "My way is not only the right way, but it is the only way" becomes our rally cry.  Extremists are most often the collecting force for what becomes corporeal evil in any society.  We see it in individual acts of terrorism (the horrific mass shootings in public locations).  We see it in systems that hold society hostage for the will of a few...or a select...or those of a single, rigid mindset.  We see it in any kind of racism or marginalization of groups or persons different than the rest of us...the rest of us being an established, self-embraced ethnic group.

I think Jesus would have a lot to say to us in person these days.  Not very many of us would like it, and all of us, at some level, would be very, very uncomfortable.  Or, we would simply choose not to listen.  Ah, choice...we fight and die for the freedom of choice...but we abuse it and die defending our right to choose badly.

On which side of the road do we choose to pass by in this life?   Love your neighbor means every other living thing.

Love and Blessings,

Fred+

A Couple of Changes

I began blogging in early 2009, when I was still Rector of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Kansas City, MO.  My clergy team thought it would be a good way to provide additional depth to our communication with the congregation...as well as extend ourselves "beyond our walls."  I heartily agreed.

The material I was transmitting at the outset was "train of thought" reflections on life in the Church and its impact on our surrounding culture.  Life in the Church is like a tide.  Going out, there is something of the shoreline contained in the waters.  Coming in, there is something of the ocean depths that arrives near/on the shore.  As much as I shared of the Church's perspective on life in surrounding culture, so the culture impacted the Church...mostly through the gathering community. There is always a fluid and dynamic boundary and relationship.

Upon retirement on 30 June 2011, my focus obviously changed.  It took me some time to adapt to the shift.  Since I have never removed any of the blogs, one might see how retirement shifted my presentation.  My posts are not as regular, and my field of reflection has expanded considerably.   I am a priest, and that is an inextricable part of who I am.  It will always be.

However, I am also a person deeply interested in the world around me.  Had I not become a priest, I might have easily become a medical specialist of some kind (I was on a path to becoming a doctor), an anthropologist, a clinical psychologist or in some non-medical biological field.  My deep interest in those disciplines, and in history itself, never waned.  In retirement, I read a great deal in those areas.  Because being a theologian requires a fundamental grasp of philosophical disciplines, my reflections run in that vein....the hows and wherefores of who and what we are as created beings.

Because my work in the Episcopal Church is no longer structured by the disciplines of daily parochial life, I am freer to reflect more broadly and with greater personal conviction.  In essence, I no longer have to be as concerned about how my parishioners may react or respond to what I have to say.  It is a sad shame that theologically trained persons have to be tempered by the socio-political climates of their parishes.  Jesus certainly set no such limitations (nor did he practice them in his discourses).  Upon deeper reflection, being "politically correct" and "theologically narrow" created for me a deep frustration.  My primary goal in parish ministry was to maintain a balanced community that was, at one time, both diverse and interactive in that diversity.  I was largely successful.  The price I paid was, for the most part, personal.  I kept my own counsel on many issues -- sharing them only with my bishops or spiritual directors.  Twice, when I stepped into personal conviction, I ended up feeling the "lash of intolerance" and the resulting attempts to marginalize both my parochial authority and leadership.  This is not unique to me but happens to a vast majority of ordained priests in the Episcopal Church....unless one is purposefully seeking to monochromize the parish (i.e. create the parish in one's own image or become a complete chameleon in an already monochrome setting...both of which are contributing reasons for the decreasing numbers).

In now being free of the above circumstances, I am less constrained in sharing how I see spirituality and culture interfacing at any given moment.   And, yes, that interface shifts...just like the shoreline I mentioned above.  Therefore, this blog reflects more of what is happening "now" --- as in this moment of writing.  These words will be those of one who is moving through and engaging the world on a variety of levels.  There are family and friends who have determined for themselves the "groove" in which I find habitation.  Family and friends have friends who talk; and the words that come back are not always flattering.  Human nature seems to demand that everything be categorized or placed in readily identifiable containers.  It sucks, but I can't change it...other than to say to everyone in general:  I am probably not where you think I am on whatever scale or categorization you are using.  I read stuff and engage folks on a lot of levels, because that's what I believe means the most...and I shift as I experience and learn.

This upgraded blog "Reflections on the Journey" will continue to not be a "one trick pony."  I own what I write; however, what I write today may be at variance with what I wrote a month ago.  I am not fickle.  It means I have learned something new, factored it into my experiences and made a shift in my sitz im leben  (seat in life).

The artwork applied to this blog is courtesy of artists who wish to remain anonymous but are public  in their presentations.  Both relate to psychological and Native American expressions.  I am a Jungian psychologist (undergraduate studies and graduate level work) and apply stories of psyche to art.  That is the bear that now appears as the frontpiece title background.  The bison (aka buffalo) is Tatanka in the Lakota language and represents the majesty and power of those people...and of most Plains First Nations.

I look forward to continuing to share my experiences and always invite reflective responses.  Please, this is not Fox News, MSNBC or CNN.  No nastiness or bullshit is either necessary or welcome.

Love and Blessings,

Fred+

Peter and Paul: Vocational Journey

Today is a feast day, in the Christian calendar, that is especially meaningful to me.  On this date in 1978, six of us were ordained Deacon at the Episcopal Cathedral of St. Luke in Orlando, Florida.  We were ordained by Bishop William H. Folwell at a liturgy that began at 7:00pm.  It was the completion of one journey and the opening of a new and very different journey...one that marks the difference between vocation and occupation.

First, Holy Orders in the Episcopal Church follow the Apostolic Succession established by the infant Church toward the end of the First Century CE.  The generation of apostolic leaders raised up by the Apostles themselves were called Epscopoi (overseers, or Bishops).  The term apostle means "witness," and the new generation bearing responsibility for carrying the Gospel of Jesus, were not direct witnesses -- thus the shift in title.  This order is established in the New Testament.

The other biblically established Order is that of Deacon.  Diakonoi means "Service."  It is a committed vocation to realize the work of the Church through service to those in need.  The first recorded Deacon was Stephen, and his story appears in Acts of the Apostles (Acts 7).  Because the Apostolic work carried certain responsibilities, this Order was raised up to embrace the always present needs for "hands on" care.  Deacons also proclaim the Gospel and extend the sacramental ministry of the Church beyond its gathered Body.

It was not until shortly after what we call the Apostolic Era (which is where the New Testament itself ends) that the rapidly expanding Ecclesia (assembly of citizens in ancient Greek...borrowed by the early Christian community to signify its assembly for worship) began structuring itself to meet greater needs and more presence.  It was at this time that the Apostolic structure was itself expanded to create a third Order -- that of Presbyteroi, meaning "elder."  The laying on of hands (Ordination) by Apostles, and then Bishops, invoked specific Gifts of the Holy Spirit to permanently shift the inner character of a person to bear specific functions within the Body.  The creation the Order of Presbyters (Priests) allowed the extension of the Episcopal functions into the expanded community.

In the earliest gathering of Christians, the community gathered around an Apostle in a local area...to hear the teaching and receive the promised gifts of Jesus to the community:  Baptism and Eucharist.  These were the Dominical Sacraments -- specifically mandated by Jesus.   Christianity spread so rapidly that, by the beginning of the second century, the new generation of apostolic leadership could not be in all the places the community gathered.  Thus the Order of Priests emerged to extend the Apostolic Ministry into parts of the community farther away from the place of the Bishop.  The Deacons continued to be raised up (ordained) and sent to organize infant communities and see to the regular needs of those groups.

That summarizes what we now call the "Three-fold Orders" of the Church.  In Post-Reformation ecclesiology, the Roman Catholic, Orthodox, and Anglican (Episcopal) traditions still function within Apostolic Succession and Order.  Other traditions bear marks of that succession as well.  In Anglicanism, we lost the Diaconal Order for some centuries, but it has been reinstated and now flourishes in almost all provinces of the Anglican Communion.

While the separate Order of Deacons was lost for a time in Western Christianity, it continued to be a part of the ordering process of those being raised up for sacramental ministry.  There is wide variance in how this looks now.  Keeping it "in house" with the Anglican Tradition, one moves through a preparatory process from being an Aspirant to a Postulant to a Candidate and then ordination -- first to the Diaconate and then to the Priesthood.  Bishops are raised up from the Presbyteral College (Priests).  The Aspirant to Candidate sequence covers that period of time of discernment, preparation and education.  In the current Anglican process, one must have a Bachelor's Degree from an accredited college/university to enter the process for being ordained a Priest.  Three years of seminary are required -- which is an accredited graduate school granting a professional Master's Degree (M.Div) showing competency in the seven disciplines required by the Canons of the Church.  The education process is similar in track to  medical, law, or other professional graduate schools -- seminary is a theological graduate school.

From the time I was in seminary, I concerned myself with what appeared to me to be a misuse of the Diaconate in the ordination process toward Priesthood.  If one is being raised up ("called") to be a Priest in the Church, why not simply ordain that person when he/she has completed the required process?  This argument was not new with me.  It has been around for some centuries.  Direct ordination to the Order to which one is being called is known as Per Saltum Ordination (literally:  Ordination by a Leap).  With the Order of Deacon now restored to its rightful and historic place in Apostolic Ministry, it confuses those who see a person ordained to the Diaconate and remaining in that Order for only six months to a year (most persons ordained to the Priesthood are so ordered after six months in the Diaconate...there are still some requirements in dioceses for a year of Diaconal work).

The Episcopal Church has tried to overcome this conundrum by providing names.  Vocational Deacon is one who is called to that permanent Order.  Transitional Deacon is one who is in a process for ordination to the Priesthood.  I stopped beating a drum for this a few years back.  Here is why.

During the six months I was a Transitional Deacon, my function was that of any Deacon.  My focus, for those first six months on a parish staff, was very organic.  I was in hospitals, nursing homes, mental facilities and other places where our parishioners were in need and receiving care.  I was introduced to hands-on pastoral care for the sick, suffering, dying and those whose lives were in a crisis moment of brokenness.  I would bring all of that back into the organized structure of the parish church as a way of connecting the gathering Body with those places of being broken or in pain.  I did a lot of equipping of folks for ministry in the wider areas of need beyond the walls of worship and organization.  I learned how to truly proclaim the Gospel (not just read it) and honed my skills in the art and craft of homiletics....giving understandable theological expression to the current needs and concerns of the gathered Body (yes, we call this "preaching," but I submit that the word indicates more of "talking down" to folks than sharing the Faith and providing insight and encouragement.  I don't like the word "preach," but that is another story).

When I was ordained a Priest on 29 December 1978, I celebrated my first Eucharist with the parish community that Sunday (12/29/1978 was a Friday, so my first Eucharist was on 12/31/1978).  At the moment I was in the midst of the Eucharistic Prayer itself, I suddenly realized that I was bearing all of those persons and moments of crisis and pain and offering them, through the Eucharistic Sacrament, to Christ and the assembled Body.  It was a transforming moment for me and one that would shape and define every Eucharist I would celebrate thereafter....and every one I still celebrate in retirement.

I still bear a Diaconal function.  In fact, tomorrow (Sunday, 6/30/2013), I will represent St. Boniface parish (where Denise and I now worship) by taking the Sacrament to a person in a rehab center located near our home.  Though done by Priests all the time, this is a truly Diaconal function within the New Testament expression.  I have never lost that deep sense of awe and wonder in connecting with folks in need...who cannot be part of the larger commuity...who are struggling or broken in various ways.  Being a Deacon for six months gifted me with a life long compassion...."solidarity with" the larger community.

That's my story.   The Apostle Peter represents the rock of faith...his diaconal journey can be seen in his struggle to enter the house of a Gentile family.  Paul represents the deepening of experience and expression...his diaconal journey can be seen in his transformation from a persecutor of The Way...to becoming part of the Apostolic Community....the "Thirteenth Apostle."

I am humbled by and thankful for this day 35 years ago.

Love and Blessings,

Fred+

Special Note:  Of course I left out a lot of teaching and theology here.  It would be way too much for a blog post.  For those interested, the Outline of the Faith:  Commonly Called the Catechism on pages 845ff. of the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer provides a question/answer summary of teaching in my Tradition.  The area entitled "Ministry" on pp. 855-57 are specific to my reflections above.  I did not further "unpack" the differences between vocation and occupation cited in my first paragraph.  That would add more length to the blog and deserves separate treatment.  As a "bite" on it, vocation is work that defines and expresses one's character, or center of being.  Vocation is ontological.  Occupation is a work we do and may express an interest or an avocation but not an ontological extension.  Work with that.

Secondary Note:  This blog is more in keeping with the journey I have made.  Yes, there have been radical abuses of the Apostolic Ministry by ordained individuals who have distorted and misrepresented the authority and "power" inherent in ordination.  This is tragic.  Tragic also that it continues in the modern era and in all traditions.  My heart breaks to see it.  None of us escape the temptations placed before us.  The true disciplines of prayer and balance between ego and deeper Self are a part of vocation that keep us on track, but they are sometimes forgotten by those who abuse it.  I make no excuse for any abuse on any level.

Saturday Morning Musings

It has been a rather unusual week for me.  The fact that I haven't written a blog post since Easter is testimony to the kind of internal and relational journey upon which I, somehow, got launched.  The days and weeks of April rocked along.  Visits from our two daughters with husband and beau were delightful breaks from the rocky internal journey.  American political bravado and over-the-top reactivity meant that less television and news journalists was in order.  The tragedy of Boston and senseless violent behavior and rhetoric took their toll.  I got to a single point, about two weeks ago that, 'this reality really sucks!'

Light began to dawn very early Monday morning of this past week...well before actual sidereal daybreak. I have practiced contemplative prayer for years...with a greater degree of regularity since retirement from professional parochial work.  It was during that time in predawn Monday that the title/subtitle and eleven major points "dropped" on me like an unfolding scroll.  This sudden gift came as a descriptor for the project that has been my passion for five years (and one reason I retired at age 60.5)...a book that reflects the deep experiences and learning I have had in my journey with Celtic and Lakota culture and spiritual traditions.

That moment of revelation began an intense 2.5 days of writing....hours at a time without break.  The product was a Prospectus and narrative outline of a book that will now take about two years to write.  Two years?!  There is much research and learning yet to do...most of which has to happen by being in the field and in relationship with significant persons and places.  Only about 10% of what will be written can be gleaned from hours in libraries or with already published resources.

At the end of the 2.5 days of writing, and a good talk with my Lakota mentor, I relaxed a bit and began feeling that deep engagement with a larger tapestry of reality.  But, then there was Thursday morning.

I won't go into great detail... than to say, if something could go wrong, it did...physical stuff.  Spills, breakage, malfunctions and, then, the ultimate....a near computer crash.  My not-too-old laptop became cyber psychotic.  After having a remote tech move around in my system for two hours and another 1.75 days doing internal cleanup and storing files to a cloud system, my overall life settled down to a happy sunset on the beach last evening.  With our reliance on cyber technology being what it is these days, I think we can say:  "If the computer ain't happy, then nobody is happy."

I awoke at 6:00am this morning thinking about dying.  Now there is something that almost never happens!  I sat up with a start and did an immediate "systems check."  I seemed to be intact and normal in all ways that mattered.  I padded downstairs, built my first cup of coffee and reflected.  Yes, at age 62.5, there are statistically less years ahead of me than have passed behind me.  True, my body is different...a tad slower with systems that require me to be a bit more careful.  Yet, there is still a passion for life, relationships and experiences that will expand and balance both corporeal and essential (spiritual) realities.  I synthesize these two aspects of being far better now than I did even ten years ago.  In fact, dualism is no longer a functional state of mind for me.  It is simply a continuum that bends back on itself.

As the above thoughts drifted along, I suddenly got an insight.  As some know, I read pretty heavily in life sciences and physics.  Science has been huge for me from the time of childhood.  A graduate degree in theology and 35 years as an Episcopal Priest have not dampened that desire to explore those fields.

Not long ago, I was reading some journal materials on astrophysics research.  The technology is incredible and complex.  In our human desire to measure things, here are some statistics I gleaned from that reading:

• The earth rotates on its axis at 1,070 mph
• The earth revolves around the sun at 66,610 mph
• Our solar system is moving in our galaxy's rotation around center at 485,415 mph
• Our galaxy is moving in universal space at about 1.34 million mph.

These numbers are approximate...mostly because I calculated them from the original kilometers/hr to miles/hr.  The astrophysicists calculate in kilometers/second and a thermo-geometric measurement that looks like an equation (some call it "parsecs").

Further consider that the earth (in size) could not be seen, if we were taking a picture of our galaxy outside its boundaries.  If we were to take in all known galaxies, earth would be as elusive as the Higgs-Boson particle is to atomic physics.  Consider that we are living on a planet in the universe the size of Higgs-Boson and are looking within our physical, sub-atomic reality for the smallest particle called Higgs-Boson.  

Perspective counts here folks -- even if it bends the mind!!!

In these morning musings, I remembered a portion of Psalm 144...a poetic writing attributed to David in the height of the Era of Kings in pre-Diaspora Israel:  "O Lord, what is man that you should be mindful of him, or the son of man that you should (even) care for him?  Man is like a breath; his days are like a fleeting shadow..."  (Ps 144:3-4)  Like the smallest possible sparks of light are we in the vastness of creation.  Yet, we are told we are of greatest value.

The human ego is a conscious construct of the mind that gives us the reality of "self" in the context of are surrounding conscious reality.  We can inflate this sense of "self" to the point that an individual can think of him/her-self as the center of almost everything.  How important...in the perspective of the universe...are our machinations, pronouncements, and efforts to be the center of attention?  If we take away the lenses of  macro/micro perspective, we are left with the duality that we have invented for self-justification.  In order to be whole, I have to be right and in control.  That means that others have to be wrong and not in control.  As I really wake up to this day, I realize there is not a duality of life/death, or good/evil, right/wrong.  Motion is constant...and we are moving at blinding speeds...literally.  Gravity is the weakest force in the universe and the only "seatbelt" we have, as we hurl through space and time.  Time, in fact, is a unit of motion.  This makes age and experience relative to our capacity to truly be in any given moment of that motion.  Nothing is going to stop for us.  

Lest you think that I have careened onto a road of gloom and doom, I submit to you that this is really good news.  If we let go of the ego construct as THE defining reality of who we are, the true "driver" of our life becomes abundantly clear.  There is an essential center of our being that connects us to both conscious and hyper-conscious reality.  For lack of anything better, we call it "Self" (the "S" is capitalized).  In my tradition (Judeo-Christian), Jesus, asked the question, "what does it count to gain the whole world at the cost of True Self?..." (Mark 8:26 or Matthew 16:26).  Other traditions have similar considerations in this life journey.  It is a question for everyperson.  

Most biblical scholars/translators use "soul" in place of  "True Self" in translating the biblical texts above.  The Greek language of the original writings is much more sublime than English.  Our theological language -- regardless of our religious tradition -- is a product of filtering experience through the ego structure to create a relational structure we call doctrine.  Doctrine can quickly become dualistic.  In the Hegelian model, this dualism should be synthesized into a new conceptualization.  In our reality construct, however, we maintain the duality of, say, "orthodox" vs. "heterodox."  That means that someone has the real truth and someone else is a heretic/blasphemer or worse.  We are currently "stuck" in this false reality...as evidenced by our own socio-political machinations of the moment.

On this day, I am comforted by Dame Julian of Norwich (1342-1416).  After a prolonged illness from which she nearly died, Julian had a series of mystical visions...gifts from Spirit.  At the end of those, her summary words were:  "And all shall be well...all manner of things shall be well."  It was the voice of True Self.  Dualism no longer existed for her.  It was the continuum of creation reality.

The ego, in its created place, serves rather than drives.  It gathers information, processes what our senses take in, but does not qualify or quantify (i.e. make judgement).  The True Self...informed by its own nature as Divine Love... embraces the experience and engages our environment and external experiences with an open stance...seeking synthesis in the presentations of all actions (judged dualistically by the ego).

Well, I woke up thinking about death...mine?  One day I will no longer engage this reality in the manner I do now.  I am deeply affected by the experience of Dr. Eben Alexander, MD (Proof of Heaven).  There is a reality far greater....a hyper-consciousness.

Meanwhile, men and women will go on thumping their chests, rattling their metaphorical sabers, standing in judgement, crying for revenge, looking for the worst, being proud of the badge of identity they wear that makes them more special or better than anyone else.  These things will go on, as Creation groans in its birth pangs (a paraphrase of a statement by Paul the Apostle).   Yet, there are a growing number of people from all walks of life and spiritual traditions who are awakening into True Self.  It is a good day.  Life is a beach.

Love and Blessings,

Fred

Silence

This morning I arose early.  My wife, Denise, was already in the kitchen downstairs...preparing to go to the nearby Hospice office.  She is one of the RNs on call for this Saturday.  This means that most all of this day will be just me and our dog, Duchess, at home.

Our townhome is quiet.  It is officially a year old...receiving it's certificate of occupancy by the builder on 25 March 2012.  We will officially be here one year on 4 April.  Like all condominiums and homes built since 2006, our home is built like a fort...concrete block reinforced with iron rods and concrete...poured concrete between the first and second floor (rather than wood)...special trusses locked into place with tile shingles...shatter-proof windows and reinforced garage and main entry doors.  In fact, the only wood in this construction are the roof trusses.  This construction is called "Miami-Dade Code," which is being used by much of south coastal Florida following Hurricane Andrew in 1992 and the severe hurricanes of 2005.  The 28 buildings and 224 condos that comprise our community, "Stonehaven," are not going anywhere for a long time.

I share the above details to emphasize that, when I say it is quiet, it is seriously quiet.  We can hear close-in machinery, or an occasional dog barking, or a close-in seagull calling.  Other than that, I never even hear our neighbors.  There's nine inches of concrete between each condo.  Because both first and second floors are concrete, there is no creaking, squeaking or much ability to hear whoever is upstairs or downstairs.  Often, Denise and I simply call each other on the cell phones...if I am in my study upstairs and she is somewhere downstairs.  It is quiet...very quiet.

Today is known as Holy Saturday.  It is really my first Holy Saturday since retirement.  My chronological first was last year (2012), and, as I shared in yesterday's blog, we were moving into this townhome last Holy Week, and I was still drugged from major surgery at Mayo, Rochester, which had implanted a total joint in my right shoulder.  I have little memory beyond extreme discomfort from surgery, travel and the movers (very good movers, by the way).  Today, I have time to reflect.  Today is different from any Holy Saturday in the past 38 years.

The ripping and tearing that makes Good Friday is done.  The Solemn Liturgy of Good Friday in my tradition (Anglicanism...Episcopal Church in the USA) is one of the most powerful of the liturgical year.  The final collect (liturgical prayer) of that liturgy is, for me, like the launch of a small, rudderless boat onto an uncharted sea.  The early Celtic monks in the British Isles used small, oval shaped, rudderless boats made usually of animal hide...called Coracles...setting out with only what was needed to land where God, wind and current would take them.  This is how I feel at the close of the Good Friday Solemn Liturgy.  It carries through Holy Saturday.

Many liturgical churches post that the precincts of the parish buildings remain in silence from Maundy Thursdy until the Great Vigil of Easter.  That has always been fairly well accomplished in parishes I have led.  Office doors stay closed to mask necessary parish work.  There are quiet sounds of folks moving about making various preparations for the next time of worship...an occasional "stage whisper" conversation, as final details are discussed and clarified.

Holy Saturday is both a day of emptiness and one of preparation.  Every Holy Saturday of my active parish work was spent at the church.  The day began with a simple Office of Prayer with gathered staff and volunteers.  The Altar Guild got busy quickly.  The worship spaces that had been stripped bare since Maundy Thursday must be polished, cleaned and reset with the linens, vessels, icons and other furnishings.

Hiding in rooms for a few days had been a dazzling array of flowers, plants and greenery.  I have always been blessed with women (and men) who can create the most magnificent floral displays for Easter worship.  With deft efficiency, the cold and barren spaces would come to life with color, sweet odors and a kind of "electricity" of anticipation.

Meanwhile, I the priest had a particular series of preparations.  At or near the entrance into the main worship area, a simple table had been placed, on which was a simple white linen.  In the center of that table, I placed a triple layered aluminum foil base upon which an habachi-style grill rested.  (Note:  this is where being a guy and former Boy Scout gets to have fun).  Having painstakingly gathered just the right small pieces of wood, I created a tipi-style assembly of those sticks in the grill base underneath of which I have placed a small piece of rolled cardboard soaked in paraffin.  An SOG utility knife and a ferrocerium fire starting rod completed this part of the ensemble.

What I just described existed to light and bless the New Fire of Easter.  Along side that ensemble was the four foot Paschal Candle with the elements that were put in place and blessed at the beginning of the Easter Vigil.  All of this took about an hour or so.  I had been able to use my hatchet to splinter sticks of wood.  I had tested the ferrocerium stick by vigorously thrusting the edge of the utility knife blade down the edge of the stick to create a shower of sparks.  I had used the same knife to trim the Paschal Candle so the brass follower will sit securely.  I had used a hammer and nail to insure that the holes were prepared on the candle to receive the wax ornamental nails on the cross that decorates the candle.  The Paschal Candle is the symbol of "Resurrection Light"... the "Light of Christ."  It burns at every liturgy during the coming Great Fifty Days of Easter.

When all of this was accomplished, and I had rehearsed with staff and parishioners involved in  the coming liturgies, and walked, with clergy staff and Altar Guild leaders, through final elements of preparing our worship spaces...seeing that all things were in place, and insuring that the paperwork for those being baptized at the Vigil was complete and at hand......When all that was done, it would be early afternoon of Holy Saturday.  Everyone was either gone or had repaired to other places for their own preparations.

It was then...in the quiet of the church...that I could hear it...Nothing.

For many, nothing is a scary space.  I did, one time, sit in a sensory deprivation chamber as an experiment.  Deprived of all sound, light and ability for voice reverberation, one can quickly get the idea of "nothing."  The scientist and philosopher in me doesn't accept "nothing" as a state of being.  If you can describe "nothing," then it is something.  "Nothing" is an integral part of being.  It is part of the tapestry of existence.  The simple truth is that it is "nothing" because we have no data to describe what that is.  Well, we do, but it makes our brains hurt to deal with it.

During the time between late 1987 and through most of 1988, I went through something very profound.  I have few words for it.  The narrative for the experience would not make sense out of context or on "paper."  Suffice it to say, I came upon a black hole...deep, pitch black, wide and frightening.  I could not run from it or avoid it.  Wherever I went, it was there.  I tried to convince myself I was going insane...but I didn't have time for that.  I had a congregation to lead and care for....a wife and two young daughters...a diocesan school to administrate.  I don't have time for this!!!!  I yelled one evening.  "Yes you do," came a soft reply...like a mother teaching a child to walk.

Two moments of awareness let me know that the "nothing"... the black hole...was, indeed something.  The soft voice gave me the name....I AM.

Without ponderous storytelling, I will simply say that being in that "Nothing" was the greatest comfort ever.  But, I began running from it...hard...around 1991.  Why?  Because, this nothing-that-was-something asked of me what I feared the most:  Vulnerability and the risk of rejection.  My ego was not able to embrace that.  I have described the effects of that in a January 2013 blog.

Today is Holy Saturday.  The disciples were dazed, confused, lost and feeling like all they believed had become Nothing.  They found their way back to that familiar upper room and gave each other what encouragement and comfort they could.  "What has happened to us...what is to become of us?!" was no doubt the topic of conversation.  Practical Peter even talked about going back home to go fishing again...maybe after this Passover Day is complete.

In the churches I worked, I would sit in the spaces of worship for two or three hours each Holy Saturday...my upper room.  The emptiness was palpable.  The cynic in me would argue with my soul about snitty things like, 'parishioners don't care...they won't come.'  Then, 'those whose hearts are open will be here.'  The cynic:  'I need a beer.'  My soul, 'that's self medication...you know you don't drink during Holy Week.'  Cynic:  'Is all this we have done too much or not enough?'  Soul:  'You have always worried too much...just get quiet and listen.'  This would go on for a time.  Then, suddenly, it would stop.  Folks were here, but I could not see them or hear them.  I just knew it somehow.  "Nothing?"  Not really.

Today is 30 March 2013.  It is Holy Saturday.  I have no need for hatchet, knife, ferrocerium stick or other materials.  My basic vestment...my cassock-alb...is in the vesting room at St. Boniface Episcopal Church on Siesta Key...five miles away.  It is where I worship in retirement.  It is where I have walked Holy Week.  Tonight, I will watch the Rector of St. Boniface light the New Fire and bless the Paschal Candle.  My former bishop in West Missouri...now retired and living in St. Petersburg...will preside at the Vigil Liturgy.  He was the Assistant at St. Boniface in the early 1970s.  Tomorrow, I will assist the Rector at the 9am Easter Day liturgy.  I have no script.  I need none.

Today...outside of writing this...I am in silence.  Silence.  Almost.  Nothing.  Never.  A while back, I turned and faced the black hole from which I spent some years running.  We are friends.  It is part of me.  Nothing?  No, something....I AM.  I AM is with me.  Holy Saturday...Holy Silence.

Amen.

Fred+

Desolation: Good Friday

Desolation; from De-solare = to be abandoned; to be laid waste

The End is the Beginning
Last evening was the first time, since retirement, that I have been to a Maundy Thursday liturgy.  Last year (2012), we were literally moving into our Sarasota home; and I was less than two weeks out of major surgery.  I barely remember Holy Week last year.

Last evening, as I sat in the congregation of St. Boniface, I was struck by the last actions of the liturgy.  As a symbolic ritual of what Good Friday means, the sanctuary (altar area) is completely stripped of everything but the bare furnishings.  Clergy, acolytes and altar guild quietly and efficiently remove linens, cushions, candles, floral arrangements, silver, brass, gold and the Reserve Sacrament (Eucharistic bread and wine is reserved in a special receptacle called an aumbry to be taken to the sick or for other sacramental needs between liturgies).  In the final action, the senior priest "washes" the top of the altar...usually with a special cleansing polish...to signify it being barren.  On many altars, a simple wooden crucifix is then placed and remains until Easter preparation.

I have done this ritual, as a parish priest, 34 times.  I am caught by the power of it as much each year...especially as I leave the altar area with the lights fully dimmed and absolutely nothing but a wooden crucifix.  Usually, the one from my office, which is three feet tall.

Last night, I knelt in awe as I watched this being done by others.  I realized that I had audibly exclaimed:  "Lord have mercy."  The two teenagers in front of me sort of glanced back.  I was taken by the sense of desolation.  All that was familiar and made that worship space special was gone.  It had been laid waste.  Good Friday had begun.

Chaos
One of my colleagues once described order as "controlled chaos."  I have found this amusing insomuch as experience quickly verifies the observation.  One of our daughters used to describe unsettled experiences as being "random" (a sudden change in family plans for an outing would elicit a, "this is totally random" reaction from her).  It's a good descriptor of what ensues when order and planning gets impacted by unanticipated actions...like a bowling ball hitting the pins.

The disciples knew that something was up.  The days had been tense, since they had arrived with Jesus in Jerusalem.  What they did not expect is to see how an evening of ordered experiences (as surprising as they may have been...see yesterday's blog) suddenly became unraveled in Gethsemane.  Like a bowling ball hitting pins, they scattered in all directions...some hiding...others blending into the crowd...one following but in denial...the 12th committing suicide out of shame and fear.  When order turns to chaos, everything becomes random.

Emerging into the quiet, pre-dawn dimness of this day, I was struck by how empty I felt.  It was not a fearful emptiness but one that softly hinted of displacement.  Because I am one who lives within the seasons of Christ-life, it was a recognition that, while the historical day of crucifixion was some 2,000 years behind me, death and desolation remain partnered in our experience.

Belonging
As I have said before, we humans are very good at avoiding the messiness and "dirtiness" of daily life.  We cover ourselves with dyes and paints; fill our skins with botox; and pay for countless "miracle cures" for whatever we think ails us...all as a way of getting ourselves to avoid the inevitabilities of aging.  One of the largest groups of medical professionals in this part of Florida are plastic/reconstructive surgeons and dermatologists.

We also avoid the messiness of those of different socio-economic and ethnic backgrounds.    America is not without its own caste system.  If it seems unpleasant or "beneath us," we find ways of changing the subject and getting distance from it.  Over the decades of doing mission, I lost track of the number of times I asked for "hands on" help with urgent needs only to be met with something like, "I'm really quite busy...how much money do you need."  Funding masks the problem and makes it go away for those who see it as distasteful.

This is not meant to be harsh, but it is meant to be real.  For most of us, membership is everything.  Within the context of Christian parochial community, we have long had standards of membership within a worshiping congregation.  The Eucharist, that Jesus instituted with his disciples in that upper room?  It was (and is) a complete act of love...a gift of Grace.  It is one thing to understand...yet something else to experience.  Yet, we use the sacraments in very exclusive ways to define "who is in, and who is out."  In my more contemplative moments, I sense a desolation in how we have treated others by claiming Jesus as our "property."

Good
We call this Good Friday for a reason.  From the looks and historical perspective of this day, it is gruesome, ugly, hateful, bloody, judgmental, mocking and singularly horrible.  The Romans committed thousands of executions using crucifixion, beheading and hanging. The Jewish Sanhedrin claimed that it wasn't their way to  execute criminals (but, they did stone prostitutes and so-called heretic often).  However, the Sanhedrin did make deals with the Roman government to do that work for them.  That was the dialogue behind Pilate finding no fault with Jesus, and the crowd being pushed (by representatives of the Sanhedrin) to cry out, "Give us Barrabas; Crucify Jesus!!"

Jesus had the audacity to love sinners enough to spend time with them.  He healed outcasts and told Jews to accept those who were considered unclean, because they belonged to God also.  He ate and drank with the ritually unclean and those who society had shunned.  He flew in the face of authority by throwing money changers out of the Temple and calling Pharisees and Sadducees "hypocrites."  He taught that folks should render to the Roman government what was theirs (Roman money buoyed the eastern Mediterranean economy) and give God honor.

Jesus taught a kind of unity and integrity that was not known in civilization at that time.  He refused the Zealots' plea to lead an insurrection...an armed revolt against both the Roman occupation and Herodian dynasty.  He carried no weapon and spoke of creating relationships based upon loving others as they were loved by God...turning the other cheek; raising up the poor and setting the captives free.  All this he summed up in the Great Commandment and the Beatitudes.

"Good" means that Jesus took all the anger, hate, fear and brokenness of our humanity with him to execution on a garbage heap outside the city wall...a place called Golgotha...the Place of the Skull.

We are reminded that the image of Jesus on the cross is what humanity has done to itself and one another.  We leave this day...Good Friday...with desolation, confusion and a kind of gnawing anxiety.  What is happening here!!

Take Away
On this day -- every year -- my sense of displacement and emptiness is a reminder of my humanity.   Of our humanity.  We still play games of entitlement.  We do everything that folks were doing in the historical days of Jesus.  Two thousand years have gone by, and we are more technologically evolved and mentally more capable.  We have made some progress.  But, slavery, bigotry, hatred, fear, killing, threatening, judging, and marginalizing still happen.  What took Jesus to his execution still happens today under other names and guises.

This is why we need this day...this Good Friday.  That is why, at the Ninth Hour (3pm) every year...the traditional time that Jesus died on the cross...I play the American Folk Hymn, "What Wondrous Love is this, O my soul..."  You can find it on YouTube.  It is Wondrous Love at work that makes this day Good.  God is totally loving us...in spite of ourselves.  Jesus is God saying, "If you want to know what I created you to be...look at Jesus...the pioneer and perfecter."

Sat Nam.  Stabat Mater.

Fred+