Tag Archives: Sacred

Dec19

Lamps and Light from Three Traditions

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Don’t you feel, just a little, pricked and prodded with hope by the tiny lights that flicker around us at this time of year? So many people put lights in windows, wrap them around stairs, weave them through evergreens, hang them outdoors to sway in the wind … making the darkness a little brighter.

And it’s not so much that darkness is unwelcome … there is a slumbrous, restful quality to deep velvety darkness … we can close our eyes and sink into it. Rest. Find peace. Yet we can be warmed, held, and uplifted by each small light that is kindled within it, too.

So I wanted to share sacred texts from three traditions about lamps and light. This idea crosses many cultures and faiths. It is a reminder that we are all deeply connected.

In the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament, we find this passage: Psalm 18.28 —
“It is you who light my lamp;  the Lord, my God, lights up my darkness.”

And also, Psalm 119:105 —
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”

In the New Testament, we find this verse: Matthew 5:14-16 —
“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

In the Qur’an, we find the following passage: Qur’an 24:35, Ayat an-Nur, The Light Verse —
“Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The Parable of His Light
is as if there were a Niche and within it a Lamp:
the Lamp enclosed in Glass: the glass as it were a brilliant star:
Lit from a blessed Tree, an Olive, neither of the east nor of the west,
whose oil is well-nigh luminous, though fire scarce touched it:
Light upon Light! Allah doth guide whom He will to His Light:
Allah doth set forth Parables for men: and Allah doth know all things.”

Sep24

Home

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Yesterday I started field education. That’s an internship, so to speak, working at another church. I’ll gain valuable parish experience and perform new and familiar roles in a congregation that isn’t my home church.

The difficult part of this transition is that Chris and I spend every Sunday morning together, and we have so few chances to spend time in each other’s company, that I miss those mornings … even though we’ve only spent one Sunday apart. In addition, First Church in Ipswich is the longest I’ve ever been rooted in one faith community. We’ve belonged there for 18 years. To spend a schoolyear away from my own congregation, working elsewhere, feels as if the ground is shifting under my feet.

Along with all of the other transitions, it feels as if parts of me are being torn away.

Yes, I know intellectually, that this stretching and moving away from what’s familiar and easy, is all necessary. To work and grow in this new vocation, I must step outside my comfort zone, which in this case is my own community.

It’s what I want. That’s what I tell myself, though I miss what I must give up to be there. Even after one morning away.

So yesterday I spent my first morning in a new congregation. Spent time with both pastors, who have already welcomed me onto their staff. Met some of the congregation’s compassionate and committed lay leaders and community members. Witnessed the youth of this church presenting their summer mission trip to Maryland.

It was all quite nice. Safe. Just not my own faith community.

Finally, at the end of yesterday’s worship service, a friend of mine appeared. I hadn’t expected to see her there. She belongs to this new church where I’m working (I didn’t realize it). One of the ministers is her daughter (I didn’t know that either).

This friend of mine used to be on staff at Winthrop Elementary years ago, where both Sarah and Jessie attended school. She was especially instrumental in Jessie’s successful interludes at school. We all shared an intense journey together each time Jessie made the re-entry to Winthrop classrooms and culture. Her office was often a retreat, when Jessie needed a safe sanctuary to collect herself. They developed a special friendship independent of my connection to this woman. She represents, even now, some of the most wonderful and tempestuous experiences in our long journey with childhood cancer.

So when she appeared unexpectedly in front of me, at the new church, we leaned across the pew and hugged each other. I think I yelped with happiness.

Then I burst into tears. Held onto her much longer than the embrace of friends exchanging greetings. Hung on as if she was holding me up.

I think a knot of emotions all rose to the surface. Every loss and transition I’ve experienced in the last few weeks and months. And maybe ever years.

So much has changed. So much has fallen away. Jessie is gone. Sarah is off at school. I’m starting college again. Chris and I are struggling to find times to maintain connection. And I’m spending a lot of time away from my entire community, including the church which sustained us through everything.

My friend received that grief with a hug. And then I was laughing, overjoyed that I know someone in this new place, this new congregation with whom I’ll sojourn for the next two semesters. Growing. Reaching outside myself for something more. Connecting with something greater. Trying to remain rooted in what continues to be important to me: family and community.

When my friend greeted me in that new house of worship, suddenly I felt as if this new church could also become home.

Can you be at home in two places? Or even more places? Of course you can.

I have many homes. My house on North Main street in Ipswich is intimately familiar, though rather empty now. Ipswich is where I feel connected. First Church’s congregation has been our extended family for years. Already the Harvard graduate school campus feels comfortable.

And now this new church? When I first sat through the worship service, it felt just a little off-kilter and strange. As if I was trying to transpose my former surroundings — the place and feelings of worship among old friends — onto a new and different congregation. Perhaps I was. I * want * to feel comfortable and connected there. But as we all know, as I must remind myself, that comes with time and experience.

Then my friend reached over the pew, and held onto me while I acknowledged everything I’d lost. And everything I’m trying to reclaim. Suddenly, it began to feel more like a new home. Another circle of belonging.

Sep21

Autobiography … What Faith Do I Claim?

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One of the homework assignments in a few of my classes has been to write and present a Spiritual Autobiography. Hmmm. It feels self-absorbed and narcissistic, in many ways, to focus inwardly and then to talk about oneself in this context. To an audience of peers and professors.

Yet it’s an important question to pose for ourselves. We need to be familiar with this story. To know why we arrived at a Divinity School to study. And what we want as the outcome of this time in graduate school. What is our connection to the Sacred?

I think it’s a question that all people pose for themselves at one time or another. What does my faith mean to me? What do I believe? What makes meaning out of the world to me? What do I hold as Holy or Sacred or bigger than myself?

As students and facilitators, we discuss milestones. Events or people or experiences or texts that shaped our faiths. Or raised questions that we’re still trying to answer.

Many of us consider our personal views of the sacred or the divine. Identify the language and images we use around those ideas. For some of us, the language might be a Trinitarian Christian concept (God-Jesus-Holy Spirit). For others it might be monotheistic Allah or Yahweh. For others it is a Boddhisatva, or a Goddess, or a different deity.

For some folks, there isn’t a specific deity or name that defines what is sacred. Maybe there’s a “Creative Force.” Or for some of my classmates, connection with the Sacred is inseparable from being human.

Some of these ideas may sound like heresy, if you are uncomfortable with the reality that people around the world follow many different religions. If you believe, or your faith tells you to believe, that there is only “one true way.”

I don’t put the idea of “one true way” into quotations to belittle that concept … just to acknowledge that not all belief systems require that people follow their way of thinking, being and doing. Not all belief systems consign everyone else in the world to Hell if they don’t convert. I’ve never been comfortable or okay with the concept that my faith is the only faith, and that everyone else is outside the circle and isn’t going to be okay, isn’t going to heaven, isn’t going to evolve to the next phase of being … I cannot reconcile that. Never could. Still can’t. Maybe it’s not my job to work out that dichotomy. I’m just admitting that I don’t embrace it.

Interestingly, many people in this era consider themselves to be spiritual, but not religious. And it’s a fair distinction.

Religion, as such, is the human-made institution that grows up around the seeds of a faith. For example, Christ and his first followers, for instance, were Jews. They were not Christians. And initially, Muhammed and his people weren’t Muslims with a capital “M.”

These Prophets didn’t necessarily believe they came to start new religions. Simply to bring a message to the world.

What evolved afterward, the codifying, the creation of a structure of authority and governance, administration and policies and laws and practices … those aren’t the original parts of any faith. Those are Religion with a capital “R.” They are systems developed and put into place by humans around the original messages brought to us by Prophets. At least, that’s my simplistic definition of it, but I think it’s a reasonable one.

I’ve learned, in the past few weeks, that saying that there’s one version of any Religion is also naïve. Is there one acknowledge and universal experience of Christianity? Christians would chuckle if you ask that. There are so many variations on what Christianity means and how it is experienced, starting with the major division between Catholic and Protestant. And you can go on from there.

The same is true of Judaism and Islam. Do you belong, for instance, to a temple that is Orthodox or reformed? Is the Judaism of a temple in Brookline, Massachusetts similar to the Judaism on a kibbutz in Israel? Unlikely.

Some contemporary scholars say that is it more accurate to acknowledge many Islam(s) rather than one Islam. Because again, these Religions, though springing from the seed of one origin, have developed within varied social, historical, ethnic, political, economic, and geographical contexts. Islam practiced in the neighborhoods of Chicago is different than Islam experienced in London or living in a nation such as Turkey. It has markedly different interpretation and practices in Afghanistan or Iran than in parts of India or Indonesia.

Some people following a specific Religion (with a capital “R”) will say there is only one true version, and all other schools that fall under that same umbrella or label are false. Not the real thing. But which version of any Religion is real? True? The only authentic one?

Those sorts of schisms and arguments are probably another reason why so many people in the world don’t want to be called Religious. For a lot of folks, technicalities lose sight of the whole point of faith. It sounds something like this. “Who cares about the semantics? Can’t we just pay attention to the original message? Can’t we get back to the bigger reason for why we worship and pray?”

Spirituality, on the other hand, seems to be a more universal impulse in humans to seek a connection with something greater than oneself. Something that some of us would call Sacred. Maybe some others would call it Nature or the Universe.

More people consider themselves to be Spiritual than to be Religious. Many people don’t want to be categorized, labeled or aligned with a particular tradition. It’s feels like a bad word or way of imposing limitations, for a lot of people.

And in a way, although I realize I am fundamentally Trinitarian (Christian), I am also connected to other practices. Yoga traditions, which can embody Christian references as well as others. Aspects of Buddhism that I have been taught. Native American beliefs that I find in poetry, art and stories. Teachings handed down from Asian origins by mentors who instruct us about spiritual practices as well as physical ones in martial arts classes such as kickboxing or karate classes. Jewish and Islamic offerings that I share during special holidays with my community. Other influences.

I don’t discount or turn away from the beauty and truths that I find in other places, other faiths. I incorporate them. I learn from them. I listen to them. Maybe I learn their practices, when those may help to offer balance or healing in my life.

Yet I am also learning not to make the mistake that all these Religions or practices are, underneath it all, the same. That’s a dangerous mistake. These are different faiths. The people who claim them also experience and view the world through a somewhat different lens.We live in a pluralistic world; that’s okay. In fact, that’s complex and amazing.

Yet we can inform and inspire each other. We can live peaceably. Build community. Share a world together.

Sep19

New Things, New Year: Encountering Other Faiths

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On one of the first days of Rosh Hashanah, which is THE (or one of many, depends on whom you ask) Jewish New Year, I tried something new. Part of this graduate school time is to work and study and play among people of many faiths. Develop chances to visit, to dip my toe, into other experiences.

Along the way, perhaps to better understand and embrace different traditions as something akin to my own cultural identity … connected, related … though not the same. I’m learning to make that distinction.

Yes, we can share many facets of history, belief and experience in common. Yet we don’t have to be one homogenized, same-everything confluence of cultures. The days of the immigrant melting pot, when we shed our pasts, changed our names, and tried to be like everyone else (usually in a white American-European-Protestant-Christian context) are over. In the past several decades, it has become increasingly safer for people to claim their roots, their ethnicity, their language, their religion, their race, their gender identity, their individuality. That should be okay.

Does this sound idealistic? Yes. Possible? Yes. Easy to do? No? A work in progress? Always.

We should be able to live side by side, yet be different from each other. Coexist in a pluralized society that respects and wrestles together with constructing a civilization that accommodates and welcomes diversity in many forms.

As part of this journey, I want to de-mythologize other faiths. Remove the stereotypes, biases and assumptions that I have internalized, or at least carried with me as an unconscious filter.

One of the forms of education I am receiving is to recognize other religions, practices and beliefs as different, but not as something that occurs “outside” a spectrum of societal patterns. Not “apart” from what we define as culture and civilization. Not “other” or “alien.” Not wrong, bad or in any way unacceptable.

One way that I’m grappling with this goal is to take classes. To study other religions through their history, art, development in different nations and languages, their connection to governments and politics, and through a glimpse into their sacred revelation. To understand each religion in its role as part of our broader American (Western) tradition, as well as its presence in other parts of the world. To this end, I’m taking two classes on Islam. It makes me look differently, already, at world events and the media coverage of them, political rhetoric, and our responses to them.

On the other hand, it’s best to get to know diversity up close. To form relationships with people who identify themselves in association with a variety of race, ethnicity, nationality, religious tradition, gender association, cultural affiliation and other characteristics. To make friends. To get to know each other, and put a face on “differences.” To study and learn together. Ask each other questions. Share each others’ traditions. I can do so with my classmates. We all learn and share with each other, and it’s safe to ask questions and explore diversity in this setting.

Back to the “new thing” I experienced.

Yesterday I attended a Rosh Hashanah New Year’s service. It was an improvisational service led by one of the students, Jeremy. It included many readings and songs in Hebrew. Jeremy’s voice rose, rich and redolent, to the rafters. His face shone with happiness to share this time with us.

We participated in some responsive readings in English. We recited a statement of faith (This rarely happens in the  annual Jewish tradition, since this is a religion of practice versus creed, unlike Christianity, but much like Islam. In fact, it may only happen in this service each year.) We remembered the departed. We considered and let go of our trespasses from the past year, since this is a time of letting go and starting anew.

Side note: My friend Miriam, however, celebrated somewhat differently. Among other rituals she and her children participated in Tashlick, which is the act of releasing crumbs or pieces of bread in a moving body of water. Naming regrets or transgressions, and letting them go. Setting new intentions for what you can do right, better and with more integrity in the coming year.

At the end of the worship service Jeremy sounded the shofar. This is a ram’s horn. It makes a blatting cry. It resounded through the chapel. We all listened to its echoes fade.

I cannot say I understood or connected with all aspects of the service. The parts in English resonated with me. They’re akin to my own statements of faith, and align with my beliefs. I felt bound in community.

Here’s the frustrating part. Admittedly, I was restless, listening to long passages in a language I don’t understand, regardless of how beautiful they were.  I felt, right then, like a little kid attending a classical orchestral concert, with no education or appreciation for what I’m listening to, and a tendency for my mind to wander, even while I try to pay attention and let it all soak in. * sigh *

A fellow student Lauren explained that much of the language (Hebrew, so I didn’t understand some of it, though we were provided with translations) of the service is a metaphor from archery. The intention is to recognize where we have “missed the mark” and improve our “aim” through our actions and intentions, so we will be “on target” in the coming year.

Another student, a Muslim peer, also attended the Rosh Hashanah service.  Like me, she’s trying to learn. To expand her understanding on an experiential level. She asked permission to record Jeremy’s recitation. I haven’t asked her why she wanted to record it, although I suspect that the Hebrew chants echo with the art and practice of oral recitation of the Qur’an.

The echoes fell silent. The year has begun. It is a sweet time, these High Holidays, in the Jewish year. We dipped apples in honey. Left the room, a little lighter in spirit, and perhaps a little wiser … or more foolish and opened-up … than we’d arrived.

Aug30

Go In to Go Out

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Yes, we all know by now, the seasons are changing, and many of us find ourselves in transition. In the middle of all this change, chaos and bustle, self-care becomes more important than ever.

After all, most of us are responsible to and concerned for other people in our lives. We serve as partners, friends, colleagues, caregivers, guardians or advocates of some kind. We are engaged in relationships with people who need or expect some connection with us.

Yet if I don’t make it a priority to pay attention to my own wellbeing, who will do it for me? Admittedly, I don’t claim to know what that means for everyone else. Probably you know what’s good for you, and what’s not. You know what you want to do, what you should do, and what you’ll do anyway …

I have a well-intentioned debate with myself almost every day. It takes on countless variations. Sleep in or wake up for yoga? Drink caffeine or water? Take the stairs or use the elevator?  Walk or drive?

So this is just another reminder to me … and anyone else who needs it … to make time for what helps maintain equilibrium.

  • Sleep. (It’s the greatest gift we can give our bodies and minds, which are designed to rely on this daily renewal in order to operate at best capacity.)
  • Movement and exercise. (Our bodies work better when we use them. People in recover from joint replacements, for instance, are often supported and encourage to move as soon as possible, especially to reclaim as much function as possible.)
  • Nutrition. (Eat well. Hydrate. Choose healthy meals. Refuel.)
  • Spiritual practice. (Prayer, meditation, reflection, journaling, music, etc.)
  • Pastime or avocation. (Something you love to do, that engages a different part of the brain or different muscles, changes your rhythm and focus, and helps you switch gears. Maybe it’s yoga or running or reading  or crossword puzzles or cooking.)

Today, in a “being well” session during a week-long orientation at Harvard University, we were encouraged to continue our spiritual and physical self-care practices, regardless of how hectic life gets. After all, when we’re the most pressed for time and energy, when we’re pulled in too many directions, when we’re overwhelmed … that’s exactly when we need balance the most.

The reminder was posed as, “We go in, so we can go out.” This was the wisdom offered by Kerry Maloney from the Office of Religious and Spiritual Life at Harvard Divinity School. Her challenge suggested that we take care of ourselves (“go in”) so that we can serve others (“go out”).

By this, she meant that we turn inward … that we engage in self-care at the level of mind, body and spirit … so that all those integrated aspects of ourselves are whole and in good health. By maintaining internal equilibrium, we have resources and energy available to share with our loved ones and our larger community.

It’s a timely reminder, as we hasten toward the next page in the calendar, and enter an autumn humming with appointments, commitments, obligations and activities.

 

 

Aug28

Obstacles as Blessings

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A wise person from my past once made the observation that we grow frustrated by obstacles. Yet if we look again, we might realize these are providential occurrences. Blessings.

For instance, we’re in a hurry to arrive at a destination. We’re driving. Ahead of us, someone is going slowly. Below the speed limit!

We grit our teeth, talk to ourselves, complain out loud, gesticulate and generally grow agitated. The woman making this observation, Rev. Sue Remick, challenged her listeners to reconsider whether the slow driver ahead was a problem or a gift. She suggested that this driver, going slowly and causing us to brake and travel at a more thoughtful pace, even causing us to arrive late, was placed in our paths to keep us safe.

Such situations – like a maddeningly slow driver, or losing your keys so you leave the house later than you’d like, or getting a call just as you’re about to walk out the door — could be read as cautionary signs. Blessings in our travels. Fateful moments that we could interpret as a chance to take a little time. Breathe. Pay attention. Stay safe. Slow down.

Some people call these moments “God winks.”

My kundalini yoga instructor has her class recite a specific chant three times at the beginning of many sessions. She also says the chant to herself three times before she turns on the ignition in her car. She believes that it is the difference between safety and danger …  this discipline that causes her to pause, focus, take a little extra care, and begin her journey with a breath of prayer to bless her way. She thinks those few seconds of repeating sacred words, invoking divine assistance, may have saved her life more than once.

I say this same prayer to slow a wheeling mind at night, or to calm me down when I’m angry or overwhelmed, and need to breathe slowly and deeply.

In any situation, you can be annoyed by the delay. Feel your blood pressure escalating.

Or you can breathe. Say a prayer. And try to be grateful for the frustratingly slow driver, or missing keys, or extra errand that sends you on a detour … and consider it a blessing. You may not know just what fate you have escaped today. Or what fate you have embraced.

Such an interpretation is entirely yours to make … but if the event is the same, regardless of how you respond to it, you might as well receive the benefit of it, yes?

After all, if you arrive safely at your destination, or even find yourself going someplace else altogether, you are one step further along your journey … wherever it may take you.

 

Aug26

To Swear or Not to Swear

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One of my friends considered not going on a date with a new “guy” because he describes himself as someone who doesn’t swear. She was concerned that he might not be zesty enough for her … as in … too nice, too polite, too banal.

Uh-oh. If we choose not to swear, are we dull? Stuffy? Self-righteous? Repressed?

Is swearing sexy? Hip? In touch? Wordly? Authentic? Real? Daring? Defiant?

Like lots of us, I grew up in a house where cursing was unacceptable. Fortunately or unfortunately, I overcame that early training. I curse. Not lots, but more than some people (though I hope it’s in limited situations) and much less than other people.

Mind you, I have an opinion about this bad habit of mine. (See, I already used the word “bad.”) It’s hard not to sound judgmental of myself, because in general, I think profanity is unnecessary. I have access to an amazing language, and plenty of creative and colorful and insulting ways to express myself without using socially forbidden words.

Yet unsavory words now pepper my vocabulary from time to time. Mostly in private conversation with friends, if I’m very emotional when describing something, or when I’m driving by myself and frustrated over traffic situations, or at home and have a domestic accident (drop or break something or hurt myself).

The problem with swearing, at all, is that it slips out at less desirable moments. In public. In front of the kids. At work. You slip. You swear. Oops.

It happens in places where you’d prefer not to be heard using profanity. For a number of reasons: unprofessional, socially awkward, undesirable role modeling or provocative.

Swearing is a habit, like any other, that can become persistent and sub-conscious. You might not notice how much you do it, unless you start to pay attention (to times when you use it, how often it pops into your conversation, the context in which its more common for you, etc). Even if you think you’re in control of your language, sometimes the wrong words just tumble over your tongue at embarrassing or appropriate times, especially if you’ve gotten into a habit that makes them easier to use than other phrases.

Which of course leads to an argument for the virtue of not swearing at all. And yes, back in the olden days, when my kids were younger, I really cleaned up my vocabulary.

“F*ck!” turned into the exclamation, “Fffffffuuuuhhhhh … Fudge!” or “Frick n’ frack!” (Although some folks prefer the elongated “Fudge-sicles!”) “Sh*t!” became “Sssshhhhhh … shoot!” or “Sssshhhhh … sugar!” I even used crazy ones, like “Tough shnoogies or tough banana peels.” (Eeewww, are you scared yet?)

As a point of reference, feel free to enjoy these creative studies of the many uses of the word f*ck. It’s also available on Youtube. *sigh* Funny and naughty and ticklish.

My family will even argue that “frick” itself is a swear. I don’t think so. I think it’s lifted from something like Looney Tunes, and might be a substitute, but since I’m not using the actual naughty word, it shouldn’t count against me. But since it bothers others, I’ve deleted it (for the most part) from my vocabulary anyway.

Often enough, though, a swear word sneaks into my speech patterns. More often than I’d like to admit. (Usually when I’m very deep into an emotional conversation with close friends. But in other situations, as I admitted earlier.)

It doesn’t surprise me so much when I do it, because I know that I have this bad habit. Yet, I’m still shocked, at times, when I hear it from others. Especially when it seems to be a routine part of vocabulary, and the person who uses the profanity is virtually desensitized to it.

When my child or her friends, for instance, drop the f-bomb, it feels shocking to me. After all, we don’t ever aim swears at or near her. Or her friends. Why would they think it’s okay to use them in our vicinity? Or around each other?

It especially alarms me if profanity is aimed at each other.  Curses flung like missiles, lobbed with the intent to hurt, are danger signs (in my opinion).

If another parent swears near or at their child? I’m horrified. Why teach your child that it’s socially acceptable at all. Really, it’s not.

Or worse, why ever model for your child that it’s okay to call him or her names? Should our children ever think that it’s justifiable for us – or anyone else — to call him a “d*ck” or her a “b*tch?” If we heard a boyfriend or girlfriend calling our child such terms, we’d be alarmed, right? If parents use such terms around children, how can our children ever believe that such treatment or expression is off-limits? (Again, such language regularly aimed like a weapon at children or partners can be a red flag … it’s a cautionary sign.)

No, we’re not saints. Yes, we get angry at each other. Friends. Family members. Strangers. Ideally we don’t let rip with profanities. Occasionally we might cross the line.

But weeding out this habit, like any other that embarrasses you, can pay dividends. If you pay attention, take note and try to change your behaviors around its use, it can effective. Over time you can eventually minimize or eliminate it.

Then you’re less likely to slip up. Do it in the wrong place or time.

In addition to other forms of profanity, there’s also the casual misuse of sacred names. The use of “God or “Jesus Christ” as part of a curse is offensive or insulting to many people. This was taboo in my childhood (my dad was a minister, after all, and we were always aware of our public behavior).

In a way, part of my liberation as a young adult was to start using this forbidden language … even if I never thought it was socially “okay.” I remember experimenting with its unfamiliar, but oddly-satisfying use as a form of cursing, once I was out of the house, beyond hearing range of my parents and the disapproving feedback of my immediate childhood church.

It remains a casual, unconscious part of my vocabulary now. I still don’t think it’s okay, but I do it. Sometimes, when I really pay attention, I manage to convert such a curse into something else. I’ll say, “God bless it!” But I mean the opposite, of course (“God dammit!”) Does it count if you say the right words, but mean the wrong thing?

All in all, I realize that I have allowed a distasteful (to me) habit to creep into my life, and I want to weed it out. I’m about to go to graduate school to study sacred subjects, for goodness sake. I want to be sensitive about this habit, and respectful to others and myself, and eliminate it, because I’ll feel like a better participant in a diverse, multi-faith community if I’m not deliberately offending people with this language.

This also makes me wonder about when people suffer from Alzheimers or dementia. Forbidden curses or sexually explicit expressions appear in their conversation, and yet often these words come from people who would never have sworn or spoken inappropriately to others, before their illness progressed. Why does it happen? An educational article from an Alzheimer’s resource explained this process.

This disease damages the formal language centers of the left side of the brain, but doesn’t initially impair the right side of the brain. The right side of the brain stores specialized functions around language and communication:

  • One part  of the right side of the brain handles singing and music, which is why people can sing familiar hymns or lyrics,  but can’t finish a sentence.
  • The second specialized function on the right side is “automated” or involuntary retrieval of social skills involving language. Such as, “Hello.” “Bye.” “Please.” “Thank you.” “How are you?” “Fine” “Okay.” “Oh, yes”. This skills are so engrained that they pop out, even appear as appropriate responses to polite questions, but may not indicate that the speaker actually knows what she or he is saying, or that they understood what was said to elicit this response.
  • The third specialized function of the right side of the brain involves taboo or socially-forbidden words and phrases. Impulse control areas of the brain have been damaged in many situations, so that this taboo language is suddenly accessible without any barriers or filters. As the person’s brain seeks access to language, and cannot use the left side’s formal language center, it may use alternatives, including this stored body of learned words that were once off-limits. They’re substituted without any attachment to a specific meaning, or appropriateness of use. They just emerge, without any editor, since areas that manage impulse control have also been damaged along with the formal language center of the brain.

For the record, let me also say that just because you use clean, polite language doesn’t make you a saint, martyr or even a “good” or “bad” person. All those qualities are inside you. Words are just an external expression.

And as we know from specific illnesses like those described above, certain physical conditions can trigger the use of such speech. So you cannot always read someone’s character or health based on what comes out of his or her mouth.

So should we never curse? Heck. Gee. Blimey.

I think we’re entitled to let loose sometimes. For instance, I happen to like the image on the left.

I’ve mentioned “Book of Job” moments in my life. When I’d hurl invectives, scream primal screams, curse and swear at the ocean or the night sky, because the hurt or anger wouldn’t stop.

Our emotions are valid. Expressing them is normal and healthy. Occasionally doing it with profanity is part of our human condition.

So please understand, this isn’t about suppressing your feelings. You should express yourself. Openly. Honestly. Deeply. Safely.

I’m not suggesting that profanity doesn’t have a place and a role in our world. Just that it’s use has social and cultural weight; so there’s a time and a place to use it. Or not. (Most of the time, it’s probably not necessary.)

If I keep this commitment to myself, and work on this habit, thereby eliminating curses from my conversation, will the absence of swear words make me less zesty as a person? Less appealing? Less authentic? Less in touch? Less?

I don’t think so.

Will my choice to edit swearing out of my vocabulary affect others? Make them self-conscious? Cause others to watch their language and filter themselves around me? Maybe. Although I don’t want people to clean themselves up, change their personal forms of expression or communication in my presence … or to think they have to change …  paying attention to our use of language can’t hurt any of us.

The friend who hesitated to date the new “guy” with the clean language, who won’t swear? She went out with him anyway. Apparently he’s interesting. And a good kisser. He’s got plenty of edginess and opinions … with and without “f*ck” and “sh*t” in his vocabulary. Nice, but not too nice.

I’m tempted to toss out one last swear in this journal. For the road. For old time’s sake.

But I won’t. I’m starting my work on profanity (or its lack) right now.

Fudge.

Aug22

Listen for the Music

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This past weekend I finished 25 hours of training in order to teach or facilitate OWL (Our Whole Lives) curriculum for either middle school or high school students. It’s an intense, honest and complex program to present information with the core values of self worth, sexual health, responsibility, justice & inclusivity. It was created as an non-religious approach to this subject by UUA / Unitarian and UCC / Congregational denominations so that it can be used in secular settings; companion books available from UUA or UCC denominations discuss the role of faith in this context.

I attended the training for several reasons. It’s a balanced curriculum that has been taught by many organizations, including my church, and is used nationally by thousands of churches, health programs, schools and military facilities. I wish it had been available to my own children in our town; we had to provide this information through other resources. (Our children need factual and comprehensive information on this topic, but that’s a different conversation, and may be uncomfortable for many families from different faith backgrounds or traditions, yet I cannot apologize for my beliefs, many based on personal experience, around this topic.) At some point I’ll probably be a facilitator for this program in my own faith community. Additionally, the information seems invaluable in the context of graduate classes about hands-on care for different constituents such as teens or trauma victims.

Yet one of the best messages I brought home from the training wasn’t about the content of the curriculum itself. It was about working in teams, respecting different backgrounds and viewpoints, and finding ways to honor each other’s talents, strengths and approaches to facilitation. Especially within this message and value-laden context, we worked to accept variations in “body part” terminology, for instance, in order to appreciate the intention of what we were discussing together.

At the beginning of this long weekend of training, we all wrote up a covenant about how we’d work together. And one of the debates we held was about the use of language … could people use “street words” or “common discourse” for body parts in a class that deals with human sexuality, or should we stick to medical terms? For example, should we avoid “boobs” and only use “breasts?” (There were more colorful examples, but my point here isn’t about shock-value, it’s about getting past shock-value.)  We wondered aloud.

Some people find the more casual or common terms to be vulgar or offensive in origin. Others habitually use them, and it’s hard to talk about those topics or body parts without slipping into vernacular language.

Of course, part of what we discussed was the necessity to be aware of our language. The words we use convey values and messages. On the other hand, we wanted people to speak freely.

In the end, though, we decided that if the words were used to refer respectfully to a body part, and weren’t used in a name-calling connotation, that people should use the words they most comfortably choose. Within this context, for the purposes of our classroom discussions, “boobs” are as okay as “breasts.”

(Note: Please understand that there is a whole educational unit about language, the categories it falls into, and when and where to use it, what’s negative, what’s neutral, what’s positive. We do want facilitators and students to consider their language for its own role conveying cultural and personal messages.)

The final agreement, when we discussed this use of language, was to “listen for the music” of the experience. This idea comes from curriculum around peace-making for younger children. (I want to give full attribution but don’t know the author of this curriculum … it’s used in some UUA / Unitarian and UCC / Congregational churches.)

The metaphor is that many notes, chords, stanzas and instruments comprise music. We don’t all have experience with specific types of music: classical, for instance. Or we’re not experts in it. If we attend such a concert, we don’t always remember all the intricacies within a song, just the sense of the music. We can’t analyze every run of chords, every interplay of wind and string, every nuance and bridge. We have to let it all stir together and form an overall impression. We have to “listen for the music” and what it means to us, what it says to us.

When we remember a classical song later, if we’re lacking an expert’s lexicon to discuss it, we recall the music’s overall impression. We discuss or consider the emotion that comes with the experience. We’re appreciating its intentions.

This also applies to conversations fraught with language and discussions about human sexuality, relationships, etc. We wanted the same level of listening within our classroom conversations.

We sought a similar tolerance and appreciation. We might not remember every word. Or be able to agree with every statement.

We wanted to get past the use of the specific terminology to the larger conversation we’re all trying to hold together, and the information we’re sharing.  We got there, but only after much discussion and agreement to use the standard of “listen for the music.” We spent a whole weekend, preparing presentations on many different units of information, organized and presented by lay teachers from all over the country, with many different professional and personal backgrounds. We all learned from each other. And it stopped being about colloquial uses of specific words, and became all about how to present and share this information so that everyone could safely talk about it and explore it and learn from it. We “listened for the music.” And we heard it.

Jul16

Every Prayer

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Every prayer is sacred and powerful, regardless of language and religion. Prayer also comes in many forms. So I have come to believe.

When our younger child Jessie was diagnosed and living with cancer, we learned to appreciate and welcome every form of prayer, positive intention, affirmation, meditative reflection, mantra, chant, song, or any other form of energy ever offered to us. Don’t all faiths and practices, in the end, have the same intention, at least when it comes to sending out cries for peace, hope and healing into our universe? For the sake of one child, or a generation of children?

When we were in the hospital, we wanted and needed every vibe and Amen that came our way. We hung up a cross, Buddhist prayer flags and a hand-made Native American dream catcher. We made a bowl that accumulated — as gifts from practitioners of many healing methodologies or faiths – angels of all sizes and shapes, a Buddhist prayer wheel, stones incised with words like love and believe, prayer cards from saints and sacred sites, crystals with different healing capabilities or properties, necklaces or bracelets strung with symbolic beads and prayer boxes. We received a quilt, blankets and shawl all stitched with more prayers and wishes. We listened to music ranging from vacation bible school songs to sounds of the earth itself, plus hymns, chants and mantras.

We cherished all of them, because they came to us from many parts of the country and the world. Carried home from other people’s travels. Some hand made. All tenderly packaged and delivered, when we were isolated in one small room, unable to go further than oncology unit’s hall or the garden downstairs.

Of course, sometimes people would make observations, sometimes in the guise of a prayer, with the best of intentions or from inside their faith tradition, that we didn’t agree with. Sentiments such as “this happened for a reason,” or God “wants another angel in heaven” or “you’re only given what you can handle.” The Creator in whom I believe doesn’t dole out diseases as punishment, to balance the scales, or to fulfill a predestined script. I understand that other families with different backgrounds found these statements to be comforting and consoling, and I wouldn’t ever negate or argue with those perceptions, where they provide support. Yet if we couldn’t bear to be told such things, we were explicit about asking people not to make certain statements; we established boundaries, when we needed them, even though we wanted every good wish and prayer.

Personally, I cannot imagine a Creator who deliberately creates illness, famine, war, disease, hunger, poverty and other conditions that hurt us. In my estimation, we connect with the Sacred when we find comfort and resources to endure or overcome these situations. Even when people offer strength and help to each other, we act in sacred ways. Maybe we find relief through a song that inspires us or a shower of 10,000 paper cranes. Perhaps acting through a doctor’s quick insight and action or a nurse’s gentle teaching. Playfully lifting us up through a counselor’s silly games or a playmate’s challenge to a feisty competition. Or in the tasty delivery of a homemade meal or steaming beverage. In many small and big ways, the Creator’s presence comes to us as compassion and healing.

Empathy and mending, grace and tenacity, laughter and honesty: these still come to us, in other ways, though that chapter of our lives is over. If you ever listen to my daughter Sarah sing Hallelujah, you will know that prayer continues to be part of our lives.

Yes, I believe in all prayers.

In times of urgency, we ask for help or rescue.

  • That’s often when we’re most likely to bother praying. We’re in need. In crisis. Seeking a miracle, even
  • When our need is extreme, sometimes it makes sense to be specific, and ask for exactly what you need. During cancer treatment, we used to ask for Jessie’s healthy blood counts, protection from infection, remission, and stability. Yes, we also asked for broader blessings, but they could be interpreted many ways: hope, courage, fortitude, healing. These days, we ask for continued emotional connection and healing within our family, and for grace and growth during new adventures.
  • You can imagine, even now, that I grapple with a gut-level reaction that specific prayers weren’t answered. I’m sure you have those feelings, too. Years ago, we requested Jessie’s survival. We have all had those moments, those specific requests we made, that didn’t turn out as we hoped. Over time, I have come to a reconciliation between what I asked for and what occurred. For instance, maybe the only possible resolution, the only form of peace and dignity that remained for my youngest child, was the one that came to her. Letting go and moving on to the next part of her journey, because it was … finally … time. And what kindness remained, in holding her here, in the conditions under which she lived?

When you pray as part of a regular routine …

  • … such as at bedtime every day, prayers can be like an entry in a diary. Or a one-sided conversation. Gentle. Sometimes formulaic. Reciprocal, though the other party is silent, but listening in. “Guess what happened today? Did you hear? I’m thinking of these people … be with them. Know what I’m planning next? Be with me as I take this step.”

At times, we experience Book of Job moments.

  • Like Job, I have cried out, “No! Why?!” Screams of rage or defiance, desolation or confusion. These primal screams are also forms of prayer. Communication with our Creator. Healthy ones, I think, because a real relationship can sustain moments of doubt and anger, fear and despair … these are how relationships grow. Even relationships with Yahweh.
  • After Jessie passed, I thought nothing more, nothing worse, could happen to our family. Yet there have been additional times when my loved ones have been vulnerable, hurt or compromised. All over again!
  • I have called out, at those times, demanding, “Couldn’t we just keep a loved one safe? Haven’t we been through enough?” No, it seems. We are all human and vulnerable, and life will continue, the world will keep spinning, and experiences will accumulate apace, not sparing us either the best or worst of existence, just because we feel time should stand still … give us a respite …. since we have endured so much already. Life isn’t like that. There’s not really a 10-minute intermission between acts. It just keeps going. Sigh.

Happily, we sometimes pray out of gratitude. Celebration. Hallelujah.

  • We pause and reflect, acknowledge a special experience or blessing.
  • Maybe we notice a silent, awesome, profound moment. We give thanks when we feel particularly moved or connected.
  • Or we honor  something special  — extraordinary — such as a milestone. Graduation, anniversary, promotion, birthday, or other landmarks.
  • Sometimes it comes in a moment of laughter and humor. When your perceptions shifts, and a situation strikes you as funny, and you regain balance and connection.
  • It’s a healing practice, to remember to say thank you. To count blessings. To name our gifts and their Source. With praise. Exultation.
  • Because the Creator is in these moments –  the quiet-wow-introspective-soulful ones, and the wild-happy-loud-rowdy-dancing-singing-clapping-hoorah ones — as surely as in the darkest ones.

Sometimes, we’re taught to turn over our situation to the Creator’s consideration, and say, “Thy will be done.” That has always been a tough lesson for me.

Really? Relinquish control, or my idea of what the best outcome would be?  As I’ve said before, and as Reverend Rebecca Pugh reminded us again on Sunday at church, sometimes the answer we receive to prayer isn’t the one we expected. It may surprise us. Alarm us. Challenge us. We may not even realize, until later, that we received an answer at all.

Of course, some folks don’t have a specific religious affiliation. And even if you believe in a divine force or Creator, you may not credit that Someone is listening or intervening on our behalf. That a divine Being is stirring up the pot of events in this world to change fate at the request — on behalf of — of fragile, finite human beings.

I have my own view, based on personal anecdotes and experiences, that causes me to believe that I am connected to a Creator who cares and actually interacts with us. But that’s me. I honor other viewpoints, too.

The cancer mom Jane Roper, who is new to this journey, is receiving many prayers, too. She is eloquent and honest, in this excerpt from her blog:

“… while I respect and appreciate the fact
that other people like to pray, I’m not really a pray-er myself.

Or maybe I am. I certainly engage in prayer-like activities sometimes.
I will silently ask for strength or courage or patience or peace,
either for myself or for others. Last weekend when we found out Clio was sick,
I did a whole lot of desperate, tearful praying
that she’d be OK, and that we wouldn’t lose her.

But I’m not entirely sure who I’m addressing in these prayers.
I don’t believe in “God” in the classic, personified sense
so much as I believe in a sort of force / energy that connects us all,
and is maybe somehow responsible for the incredible
and beautiful creation that is our world (dude).

… But I do believe that people’s
thoughts / prayers / vibes / whatever
can have a positive effect on how
we handle adversity and experience joy.

I mean, I think I do. I’m not sure.

… So. Is it weird that I like other people’s prayers
even though I’m skeptical of my own?”

People are moved to pray at certain times. Even if you’re not sure. If you have doubts. Or you don’t believe in it, not really. Motivated by joy. Or desperation.

As I have said before, I find comfort and personal growth in the habit of prayer. Yet I’m not rigorous about the form that prayer takes for me. I grab hold of opportunities as they present themselves. There’s Sunday prayer in church as a community. There’s meditation in my yoga class in the morning. There’s picking herbs at Appleton. Sipping a hot drink. Paddling in a kayak. Listening to my daughter. Touching my husband. Walking through sunlight and shadow. Playing with a dog. Writing in a journal. Serving others. Singing. Sitting still, noticing the world.

Prayer can be individual or communal. Silent or aloud. Action or words. Directed toward the deity of a specific faith, or simply to the sacred universe. And throughout our lives, we will learn new ways to pray.

Prayer is a tool. A practice. An opportunity. However and whenever you do it, it’s a chance to connect and communicate with something bigger than yourself.

Every syllable, every thought, every vision, every hope, every wish, every intention … it all has potency. And when it is directed toward goodness and healing, wellbeing and peacemaking, stability and humor … when it is aimed at building connections … then such prayers, regardless of origin, must be working for the same cause. So I hope. So I believe.

Namaste.

Jul8

Pick Your Own

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I promised myself I’d learn how to recognize and cook one new vegetable every year. See a lean coarse stalk, a leafy feathery head, or rotund soil-crusted root, and know it for what it is. Recognize it as beautiful and tasty, once it’s been scrubbed and chopped, or the outer layer peeled back to reveal its tender interior. The work of a sharp paring knife, and a sense of each plant’s purpose, reveals that each vegetable has its own sweet taste, sharp bite, or clean verdant flavor. And plenty of goodness and nutrition to impart to us.

Why do I care? Me? ‘Cause I’m not a gourmet cook. And I’m a most reluctant gardener. (In fact, I don’t garden. I just don’t.)

Gail with dill from the pick your own part of the Appleton Farms CSA fields

I care, because we have a share at Appleton Farms, the Trustees of Reservations’ CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). It’s also the oldest continuously operated farm in the United States. And it’s a model for sustainable agriculture. Hundreds of families have shares, and receive the bounty of the fields from June into October, with access to a winter supply of vegetables before the end of the year. Plus there’s a dairy store and a small selection of meat (which may appall some readers, but it’s part of this farming model) and access to other locally-made produce, such as honey or bread!

Much of the CSA share is planted, cultivated, and harvested by staff, interns and volunteers on the farm. We don’t have to go out and put seeds in the earth, turn the soil, pull weeds, water row upon row of plants, or participate in the other labor included in bringing a single plant to leaf and table. Instead, shareholders enter the cool interior of the lofty barn, and fill a single large bag with produce already plucked from the earth. We walk among wooden bins overflowing with leafy cabbage and lettuce, chard and carrots, beets and turnips.

So my goal to learn new vegetables and make a meal of them? So far, so good. Well, I learned to identify kohlrabi, which is in the broccoli family according to my friend Meryl, with its bulbous root and leafy stalks; it is good diced small into coleslaw or salad, for instance. A few years ago, I learned to appreciate dark green kale, whether its chopped and massaged into a tasty salad or simmered with sausage in a Portuguese kale soup recipe. I’ve made pesto and fresh salads from the farm’s selection of basil and tomatoes (tomatoes aren’t ready yet, fyi).

Another part of the experience is picking. We wear boots and hats, sunscreen and probably insect repellent, then go out into the fields with scissors and bag, to pick whatever has grown ripe. We come back with snow peas and basil, oregano and snap peas right now. Many herbs, actually.

Again, do I really know what I’m doing? No. But I’ve learned.

Sigh. Or remembered back, to childhood when our family depended on the produce from a large home garden to supplement the meal on the table. My mother, who worked fulltime, nevertheless became adept at canning, freezing and storing produce in ways that it would last through the winter months when our family income was stretched too thin to heat a large drafty house and buy enough food for a family of six, too. As a child, contribution to the garden? Weed. Pick. Shell. Knock beetles and other unwanted infestations, critters that vied for the same green leaves and juicy crop we needed, off the leaves.

Back then it was a burden. A task. A necessity.

Miri gathering herbs at Appleton

Now I go out into the field, often with a friend, and choose which rows I’ll walk down. Bend over and search among the pale green vines, coated in dry earth, for promising sugar snap peas that aren’t too fat or leathery. Snip tassels of dill, bouquets of chive and mint. Visit the flower garden, and bring home a few lacy heads of yarrow, a flower whose name I didn’t know until this week.

Usually, just like waking up for 5am yoga, I debate with myself about the merits of getting out to the farm for PYO (pick your own) moments. I’d be happy enough to take just the share already picked for me, and miss out on the other juicy and floral opportunities. Wouldn’t I?

Okay, okay, I know there’s benefit to the pick your own crops. I’d be disappointed not to enjoy them. Or not to make the effort to partake in that part of the CSA.

So I put away the bag of vegetables already neatly harvested for me, and head out to the fields. Once I’m out among the knee-high rows of early summer crops, kneeling down, sometime alone and sometimes chatting companionably with other shareholders, adults and children, it’s a form of healing and meditation. Something loosens up and gives way.

Out in the fields, amazingly, I grow relaxed. Feel connected.

The presence of the natural world and the character of cultivated land surrounds me. I hear a chorus of birds, some startled out of hiding in tall stalks a few rows away, warbling or crying. Catch the furtive rush of small mammals who share the fields with us. Brush away the drone of a curious insect. Hear a tractor in the distance. Smell the up-close pungency of manure from the dairy pastures.

Pluck. Snap. Snip.

I’m learning to know these shapes and scents, these green and colorful plants, by their leggy vine or bushy shape, their pale flowers and crisp fruition. I have plans for what I’ll make with them. Some fresh. Some baked or stored for later in the year.

Yarrow from the flower garden at Appleton Farm’s CSA

And when I leave the fields? I feel beautiful myself, outside and inside. Like the cultivated crop I am coming to know, one name and recipe at a time, I may be a little dusty and droopy on the exterior, until scrubbed and freshened up. Once peeled back a bit, and bared to the light? Inside of me there is a hard nub of persistence and life, something too tough, bitter or stubborn to bite and swallow, but also a crisp or soft part that is tender, flavorful, nourishing. Some part of myself that’s willing to give way and be made into something new.

In its way, spending an hour or so in the fields at Appleton is a form of prayer. A letting go. Connecting with self and something greater.

My bag is filled with the bounty I’ve chosen or picked. With the promise of meals to come, experiences to share with family and friends as we savor these flavors and times together. And my heart is at ease, reminded of a part of life that it’s easy to miss, either because we don’t have a reason to go into the fields, or we just barter away the chance by shrugging our shoulders and saying it doesn’t matter, really, does it?

It matters. It does. That’s one more thing I’ve come to recognize – and name, for myself anyway — in the shadows of the barn and the broad, green expanse of the CSA fields.