I read my son’s most recent blog about disambiguity and anxiety, and I liked what Tolle had to say about sin and missing the mark. I absolutely agree! My son’s dad used to say that sin was something that separated us from one another and from God. I agree absolutely with that too, and I’ll get to that later. I’ve experienced anxiety in different ways, but in reflecting on that, I realize that they all have the same result. Having deadlines for school or work and worrying about getting it all done in time caused anxiety for me. Slighting or sniping at a loved one causes anxiety for me as well. Not doing something I promised to do causes anxiety for me. In all those examples, I have missed the mark. If I were better prepared or had not waited so long, I would have anxiety about a deadline. If I thought before I spoke, not hurting someone I care about, I would not have anxiety. And if I lived out my promise (or didn’t make one in the first place), I wouldn’t feel anxious.
When we don’t do what we intend to do, and know that we can, we are falling short of our own self-expectation. When we do something intentionally that we know can be hurtful, we are also falling short of our self-expectation. And we are in a state of cognitive dissonance. We feel separated from what we consider our “best” self. We feel separated from a person, or a group of people, that we hurt or disappointed. We’ve missed the mark.
My belief, which is where my spiritual searches have led me, is that God represents our “best” self. When I am the most disambiguous, to use my son’s word, is when I am sure that what I’m doing, where I’m going, and what I’m feeling, are all with my best self. That’s when I feel a oneness with God, because I’m at one with myself. That feeling can come over me especially when I’m in a place of peace: watching the waves at the ocean, sitting in a boat on Gull Lake with the beauty of trees, rocks, water, sunlight, and quiet all around me. It’s not as easy when there are the distractions of phones ringing, demands on our time, all those things that must be done. We lose track of our best self because we’re trying to take care of too many things. I think that Buddhists and those who meditate regularly have the answer. They are able to clear their minds and focus on the calm and their oneness with all creation. It doesn’t matter whether that oneness has a name. One can call it God or a spiritual state or nirvana or best self or light. I love that my son use’s “Namaste” as his signoff. I first saw that word when my friend’s daughter Katie used it in her email address, and I had to look it up. One definition says “The light within me honors the light within you”. It could be “My best self honors your best self” or “The holy within me honors the holy within you” or “God within me honors God within you”.
That’s what I think it means to be “spiritual but not religious”. God to me is not a religion; God is always there within me and everyone else, our best selves, and when we honor one another’s best self…spirit… light…God, whatever is all good, then we are doing and being all that Christ taught us to be. One needn’t go to church, and so very many people who don’t go to church and would say they don’t believe in God are doing “namaste” every day of their lives.
We see all that goodness in nature because nature does not have the human tendency to separate itself into “good” and “bad” or into any state of polarity. Summer doesn’t fight with winter; trees and grass live peacefully together. Wild animals accept that they have predators just as they need prey. They need to eat, and that weakest gazelle will be the lions’ next meal. No intention to harm, and they kill quickly. Snap the neck.
What many find in going to a church is a community of people, a way to do caring things for people more efficiently as a group, a way to give from their best self. I think that many other people have a need or desire to be told what to do and what to believe because they somehow haven’t gotten past the judgmental part they grew up with. It’s hard to understand how someone can “worship” a God who they believe would strike down a homosexual or a prostitute or a thief.
When I was eleven and in 6th grade, I had a friend from the other end of the street who introduced me to shoplifting. I knew it wasn’t “right”, but it was fun for a time, it was daring. I didn’t need any of the things I stole; I did it for “fun”. My mother questioned me on a few acquisitions. “Jane gave (or loaned) them to me”, I’d say, and I knew I was lying. I don’t remember how long this went on, but I began to feel separated from my mother; I began to believe I might go to jail. Finally, I broke down one night and told my mother (for whom it was certainly not news) that I’d been stealing from Kresge’s. I swore I’d never do it again. And I cried a lot. But my mother held me, assured me that she loved me, and I slowly began to feel reconnected with her. Religions call that “atonement”, which means “to become at one with”. At-one-ment.
That’s what I seek. Namaste!
More to come…
March 17, 2009
March 12, 2009
Organized Religion and Lost Boys
One of the things that inspired me to start blogging was when my Chicago son started his blog, and in his list of things he wanted to share was the following:
“I am mistrustful of organized religion, but deeply respectful of spiritual people.”
When I saw him in December, he voiced that sentiment as well, and after getting the message twice, I feel moved to respond. Not just to him, but to examine my own feelings on the subject.
More wars have been started and more people have died defending or opposing religious ideals than for any other reason. Well over 6 million people were killed and countless more subjected to unspeakable living conditions simply because they were Jews. I don’t know the body count from the Crusades and the Spanish Inquisition, but all those “holy wars” were no less a blot on humanity than the Holocaust. The situation in the Middle East, the Holy Land, the Cradle of Civilization, is solely based on the differences between organized religions.
I deplore these practices, these prejudices, the proposition that “my religious beliefs are more valid than your religious beliefs.” I am sad that I grew up in a household where I heard prejudice against Roman Catholics and Jews. When I liked a boy, in junior high and high school, my father would say “it’s OK as long as he isn’t a Catholic or a Democrat.” Seriously! My parents were good people, educated, well read, non-practicing Episcopalians, and devout conservatives. Early-learned stereotypes die hard.
Organized religion has caused governments to remove children in indigenous populations in order to dilute the gene pool (leading to the eventual dying out of the culture), teach them Christianity and insist that they never use their native language. I didn’t know anything about these practices until I saw “The Rabbit Proof Fence” several years ago, and after that I learned that the Anglican Church in Canada, and even the Episcopal Church in the U.S. were involved in similar activities with the Native Americans. These practices certainly weren’t taught in any history class I had!
Organized religion has produced continuous fodder for psychiatrists and psychologists, as they try to help people deal with their guilt, resentment, and anger at a God who they believe has let bad things happen to them.
All of the above are valid reasons for hating organized religions, but it is only one side of the coin.
I am a member of an organized religion, the Episcopal Church of the United States of America (ECUSA). Yes, after all that. After learning that “my” Church was complicit in the “cleansing” of indigenous peoples, I continue to maintain my affiliation with them. As was so passively said by our outgoing president in 2008, “Mistakes were made”. And we can’t go back. I believe our National Church has apologized for that mistake, and so now we move on.
The Holy Wars continue and, like the poor, will probably always be with us. But let’s take another look at what organized religion means.
When disaster strikes, such as the Tsunami in Indonesia, hurricane Katrina, and the devastating earthquake in China, not only ECUSA, but countless other major religious organizations provided immediate help with people and money. There are ministries in the Sudan and other African countries, which aren’t solving the big-picture issues, but are providing food, clothing, clean water, education, and hope to millions of people. Some of those providing aid in the form of clinics and education are the “Lost Boys of the Sudan” (see paragraph at the end, copied from Wikipedia) who found refuge in the U.S. in 2001 and have returned, many as medical personnel, to help their own. And they do that under the aegis of ECUSA and other religious denominations. There are missions in every city that are organized, staffed, and financially supported by organized religious groups. There are volunteers from most every religious denomination in hospitals, nursing homes, blood banks, food banks, homeless shelters, etc., who give their time and talents to be where people are in need. Of course, there are always individuals who do that on their own, and there are other organizations that perform equally “good works”, such as Rotary International, other fraternal organizations, business clubs, etc.
But in my humble opinion (which contrary to popular belief is not an oxymoron!), the most important thing about organized (and unorganized) religion is the community it provides for its members. A community arises because of a shared value or interest. In general, people want to hang with like people. An individual may be part of many communities—a little theatre group, the PTA, the Masons, a temple or church, a knitting guild, where together they are more than the sum of their parts. People may gather in an ad hoc manner to deal with an issue that one person alone cannot handle or present credibility. A petition is an example of an ad hoc community—the signatures represent a community of people who may never meet, but their interest and commitment to an issue bring them together and are very powerful. However one feels about labor unions, they were formed because individual people could not force changes in the workplace. We no longer work 16 hours a day for a pittance. We no longer tolerate sexual harassment or gender/race discrimination in the workplace. It’s not always perfect, but it beats the conditions of a century ago.
There’s no undoing the past. The human suffering over countless generations cannot be glossed over or ‘canceled out’ by any amount of good. However, let us acknowledge and give thanks that there is good being done every hour of every day by good people out there making small and large contributions of their money, time, and talents to move toward a better world of compassion and peace.
I still struggle with what it means to be “spiritual”. I have often said the same thing myself, “I’m not religious, but I’m spiritual.” What does that mean to me? What does that mean to my son? What does that mean to you?
Following is information about the Lost Boys of Sudan, from Wikipedia:
“Many of the boys came from the predominantly Christian and animist southern section of Sudan who were fleeing persecution by Arabs that dominated northern Sudan. The name was given by aid organizations, including the International Rescue Committee program which resettled some of these refugees from Sudan to the United States.
In 2001, about 3801 Lost Boys arrived in the United States, where they are now scattered in about 38 cities, averaging about 100 per city. Halted after 9/11 for security reasons, the program restarted in 2004, but peace talks were underway in Sudan, and so other refugee crises in other countries took priority. As of 2006, the largest population of Sudanese refugees in the United States is in Omaha, Nebraska which hosts about 7,000 people. A variety of charities helped bring Sudanese refugees to the United States, such as Catholic Charities. A variety of programs have been done to help and understand these displaced people, everything from reconnecting them to their traditional dancing to dental work to replace teeth which had been removed by traditional custom, but whose loss is negative in the USA.
Most of the boys were orphaned or separated from their families when government troops systematically attacked villages in southern Sudan killing many of the inhabitants, most of whom were civilians. The younger boys survived in large numbers because they were away tending herds or were able to escape into the nearby jungles. Orphaned and with no support, they would make epic journeys lasting years across the borders to international relief camps in Ethiopia and Kenya evading thirst, starvation, wild animals, insects, disease, and one of the most bloody wars of the 20th century. Experts say they are the most badly war-traumatized children ever examined.
When villages were attacked, girls were raped, killed, taken as slaves to the north, or became servants or adopted children for other Sudanese families. As a result, relatively few girls made it to the refugee camps.”
More to come...
“I am mistrustful of organized religion, but deeply respectful of spiritual people.”
When I saw him in December, he voiced that sentiment as well, and after getting the message twice, I feel moved to respond. Not just to him, but to examine my own feelings on the subject.
More wars have been started and more people have died defending or opposing religious ideals than for any other reason. Well over 6 million people were killed and countless more subjected to unspeakable living conditions simply because they were Jews. I don’t know the body count from the Crusades and the Spanish Inquisition, but all those “holy wars” were no less a blot on humanity than the Holocaust. The situation in the Middle East, the Holy Land, the Cradle of Civilization, is solely based on the differences between organized religions.
I deplore these practices, these prejudices, the proposition that “my religious beliefs are more valid than your religious beliefs.” I am sad that I grew up in a household where I heard prejudice against Roman Catholics and Jews. When I liked a boy, in junior high and high school, my father would say “it’s OK as long as he isn’t a Catholic or a Democrat.” Seriously! My parents were good people, educated, well read, non-practicing Episcopalians, and devout conservatives. Early-learned stereotypes die hard.
Organized religion has caused governments to remove children in indigenous populations in order to dilute the gene pool (leading to the eventual dying out of the culture), teach them Christianity and insist that they never use their native language. I didn’t know anything about these practices until I saw “The Rabbit Proof Fence” several years ago, and after that I learned that the Anglican Church in Canada, and even the Episcopal Church in the U.S. were involved in similar activities with the Native Americans. These practices certainly weren’t taught in any history class I had!
Organized religion has produced continuous fodder for psychiatrists and psychologists, as they try to help people deal with their guilt, resentment, and anger at a God who they believe has let bad things happen to them.
All of the above are valid reasons for hating organized religions, but it is only one side of the coin.
I am a member of an organized religion, the Episcopal Church of the United States of America (ECUSA). Yes, after all that. After learning that “my” Church was complicit in the “cleansing” of indigenous peoples, I continue to maintain my affiliation with them. As was so passively said by our outgoing president in 2008, “Mistakes were made”. And we can’t go back. I believe our National Church has apologized for that mistake, and so now we move on.
The Holy Wars continue and, like the poor, will probably always be with us. But let’s take another look at what organized religion means.
When disaster strikes, such as the Tsunami in Indonesia, hurricane Katrina, and the devastating earthquake in China, not only ECUSA, but countless other major religious organizations provided immediate help with people and money. There are ministries in the Sudan and other African countries, which aren’t solving the big-picture issues, but are providing food, clothing, clean water, education, and hope to millions of people. Some of those providing aid in the form of clinics and education are the “Lost Boys of the Sudan” (see paragraph at the end, copied from Wikipedia) who found refuge in the U.S. in 2001 and have returned, many as medical personnel, to help their own. And they do that under the aegis of ECUSA and other religious denominations. There are missions in every city that are organized, staffed, and financially supported by organized religious groups. There are volunteers from most every religious denomination in hospitals, nursing homes, blood banks, food banks, homeless shelters, etc., who give their time and talents to be where people are in need. Of course, there are always individuals who do that on their own, and there are other organizations that perform equally “good works”, such as Rotary International, other fraternal organizations, business clubs, etc.
But in my humble opinion (which contrary to popular belief is not an oxymoron!), the most important thing about organized (and unorganized) religion is the community it provides for its members. A community arises because of a shared value or interest. In general, people want to hang with like people. An individual may be part of many communities—a little theatre group, the PTA, the Masons, a temple or church, a knitting guild, where together they are more than the sum of their parts. People may gather in an ad hoc manner to deal with an issue that one person alone cannot handle or present credibility. A petition is an example of an ad hoc community—the signatures represent a community of people who may never meet, but their interest and commitment to an issue bring them together and are very powerful. However one feels about labor unions, they were formed because individual people could not force changes in the workplace. We no longer work 16 hours a day for a pittance. We no longer tolerate sexual harassment or gender/race discrimination in the workplace. It’s not always perfect, but it beats the conditions of a century ago.
There’s no undoing the past. The human suffering over countless generations cannot be glossed over or ‘canceled out’ by any amount of good. However, let us acknowledge and give thanks that there is good being done every hour of every day by good people out there making small and large contributions of their money, time, and talents to move toward a better world of compassion and peace.
I still struggle with what it means to be “spiritual”. I have often said the same thing myself, “I’m not religious, but I’m spiritual.” What does that mean to me? What does that mean to my son? What does that mean to you?
Following is information about the Lost Boys of Sudan, from Wikipedia:
“Many of the boys came from the predominantly Christian and animist southern section of Sudan who were fleeing persecution by Arabs that dominated northern Sudan. The name was given by aid organizations, including the International Rescue Committee program which resettled some of these refugees from Sudan to the United States.
In 2001, about 3801 Lost Boys arrived in the United States, where they are now scattered in about 38 cities, averaging about 100 per city. Halted after 9/11 for security reasons, the program restarted in 2004, but peace talks were underway in Sudan, and so other refugee crises in other countries took priority. As of 2006, the largest population of Sudanese refugees in the United States is in Omaha, Nebraska which hosts about 7,000 people. A variety of charities helped bring Sudanese refugees to the United States, such as Catholic Charities. A variety of programs have been done to help and understand these displaced people, everything from reconnecting them to their traditional dancing to dental work to replace teeth which had been removed by traditional custom, but whose loss is negative in the USA.
Most of the boys were orphaned or separated from their families when government troops systematically attacked villages in southern Sudan killing many of the inhabitants, most of whom were civilians. The younger boys survived in large numbers because they were away tending herds or were able to escape into the nearby jungles. Orphaned and with no support, they would make epic journeys lasting years across the borders to international relief camps in Ethiopia and Kenya evading thirst, starvation, wild animals, insects, disease, and one of the most bloody wars of the 20th century. Experts say they are the most badly war-traumatized children ever examined.
When villages were attacked, girls were raped, killed, taken as slaves to the north, or became servants or adopted children for other Sudanese families. As a result, relatively few girls made it to the refugee camps.”
More to come...
February 27, 2009
Enjoy the Now
For years I’ve engaged in the pastime of dividing the world into two camps; e.g., those who like cats and those who don’t, or those who read the Sunday comics and those who don’t. There’s another one that I don’t very often mention because it feels like I’m exposing a great weakness, but I think that it’s time I take that risk. Those who love me don’t seem to care, and they’re the only ones I really worry about anyway. There are those who are basically lazy and those who are at the Type A end of the scale. I’m the former. You’ll notice I always put the category I’m in at the beginning.
Let me explain what I mean by ‘lazy’. I am quite content with doing nothing meaningful. I can look at my untidy house for days (sometimes longer) before feeling any motivation to do something about it. When I don’t like what I see, I go about cleaning it up. Maybe not all of it, just what bothers me. When my kids were still at home, they always knew when someone was coming over; Mom was cleaning house.
I can sit endlessly playing Spider Solitaire, which will remain a challenge and an addiction until I can win 50% of the time. Then I’ll stop, but it will probably be succeeded by yet another challenging game. I started years ago with a game that caused “golfer’s elbow” (it wasn’t even “Golf”), and yet continued to play. Then I started to play “FreeCell”, a solitaire that engaged me until I was introduced to Spider. I tell myself I’m using my brain, because I do have to think ahead about the consequences of a particular move, I have to look at patterns, and see possibilities that aren’t immediately obvious. Surely that skill must have some place in the real world, right?
OK, so I’m addicted to a computer solitaire game. I also can be found doing crosswords (only the “Sunday” type will do) or the most devilish level of Sudoku, and we all know they’re good for the brain. Meanwhile, the dishwasher needs to be emptied, floors swept. I do multitask, though. While I’m Spidering, crosswording or Sudokuing, I’m also listening to NPR, soaking up news and commentary (unless I’m too rapt about the game and manage to tune out another oil spill or drill).
I have to admit I chide myself at times, thinking of all the things I could be doing instead of warming my desk chair for Sheba (she’ll jump up as soon as possible after I relinquish the chair). I could go drive along or sit by the ‘big water’, my favorite place for meditation and contemplation. I could be watching a movie; I usually have a couple from Netflix I haven’t watched. I could be reading. I could be knitting. Actually, I want to get back to knitting; it’s relaxing, productive, and there’s something to show for the time I’ve spent.
I know people who are not happy unless they’re doing something. Always on the go, they schedule their lives with barely enough time to change clothes between commitments, or so it seems to me. Silicon Valley seems to me to be full of Type A people, and it’s no doubt why this valley became rich and a technological mecca. I get very tired, as in sleepy, when I think of these 80-hour-a-week types. Maybe they love their jobs, and maybe they’re making money hand over fist, but I can’t help but think they’re missing something. Do they have time to think about life, God, politics, love? Do they take time to stroke the cat, walk the dog, wonder about what it’s like to be a solo goldfish in a little bowl? Do they take the time to read to their son and daughter before bed (are they even home then?) or take them to the park where they and the dog can run free? Do they listen to what’s happening around them?
As soon as I start saying “I should be doing….”, I usually remember to stop myself and say, “Mary, you’re doing what you need or want to do. If you wanted to be [fill in the blank], you’d either be doing it or looking for the way to do it soon. Enjoy the now.”
That’s really what it’s about. Enjoy the now. We’re stuck in the now, so deal with it. The laundry will get done, the floor will get swept, but….oh, excuse me please, Riley needs to be loved for a bit.
More to come…
Let me explain what I mean by ‘lazy’. I am quite content with doing nothing meaningful. I can look at my untidy house for days (sometimes longer) before feeling any motivation to do something about it. When I don’t like what I see, I go about cleaning it up. Maybe not all of it, just what bothers me. When my kids were still at home, they always knew when someone was coming over; Mom was cleaning house.
I can sit endlessly playing Spider Solitaire, which will remain a challenge and an addiction until I can win 50% of the time. Then I’ll stop, but it will probably be succeeded by yet another challenging game. I started years ago with a game that caused “golfer’s elbow” (it wasn’t even “Golf”), and yet continued to play. Then I started to play “FreeCell”, a solitaire that engaged me until I was introduced to Spider. I tell myself I’m using my brain, because I do have to think ahead about the consequences of a particular move, I have to look at patterns, and see possibilities that aren’t immediately obvious. Surely that skill must have some place in the real world, right?
OK, so I’m addicted to a computer solitaire game. I also can be found doing crosswords (only the “Sunday” type will do) or the most devilish level of Sudoku, and we all know they’re good for the brain. Meanwhile, the dishwasher needs to be emptied, floors swept. I do multitask, though. While I’m Spidering, crosswording or Sudokuing, I’m also listening to NPR, soaking up news and commentary (unless I’m too rapt about the game and manage to tune out another oil spill or drill).
I have to admit I chide myself at times, thinking of all the things I could be doing instead of warming my desk chair for Sheba (she’ll jump up as soon as possible after I relinquish the chair). I could go drive along or sit by the ‘big water’, my favorite place for meditation and contemplation. I could be watching a movie; I usually have a couple from Netflix I haven’t watched. I could be reading. I could be knitting. Actually, I want to get back to knitting; it’s relaxing, productive, and there’s something to show for the time I’ve spent.
I know people who are not happy unless they’re doing something. Always on the go, they schedule their lives with barely enough time to change clothes between commitments, or so it seems to me. Silicon Valley seems to me to be full of Type A people, and it’s no doubt why this valley became rich and a technological mecca. I get very tired, as in sleepy, when I think of these 80-hour-a-week types. Maybe they love their jobs, and maybe they’re making money hand over fist, but I can’t help but think they’re missing something. Do they have time to think about life, God, politics, love? Do they take time to stroke the cat, walk the dog, wonder about what it’s like to be a solo goldfish in a little bowl? Do they take the time to read to their son and daughter before bed (are they even home then?) or take them to the park where they and the dog can run free? Do they listen to what’s happening around them?
As soon as I start saying “I should be doing….”, I usually remember to stop myself and say, “Mary, you’re doing what you need or want to do. If you wanted to be [fill in the blank], you’d either be doing it or looking for the way to do it soon. Enjoy the now.”
That’s really what it’s about. Enjoy the now. We’re stuck in the now, so deal with it. The laundry will get done, the floor will get swept, but….oh, excuse me please, Riley needs to be loved for a bit.
More to come…
February 24, 2009
Laughter
Do you laugh enough? I sure don’t. I really want to change that. This morning I went into my supervisor’s office, and he showed me a couple of things his wife sent him about puppies and a cat. I smiled a lot and chuckled some. Then I got a phone call from a colleague who has recently become a friend. We laugh easily with one another, which is probably why our business relationship morphed so quickly into friendship. We laughed over several things during our brief conversation. Then I got a really funny joke from another close friend and I laughed out loud. Feels so good!
None of these diversions lasted long, but the goodness that comes from laughing can last all day. Sometimes. Unless, of course, someone dumps cold water on it. That’s happened at work several times. Apparently, we’re not supposed to laugh at work. We’re supposed to only work at work.
I’m not a sitcom watcher. I don’t like being told when to laugh by a laugh track. Different things are funny to different people and what’s funny today might not seem so funny tomorrow. Laughter is also a shared joy, I believe, at least for the most part. Oh, sure, I get amused by something on TV or NPR, and I laugh, but if I were with someone, seeing and/or hearing the same thing, I would laugh harder and longer.
Some men I’ve dated over the years have tried telling jokes, thinking (or probably not thinking) that jokes are the best way to make women laugh. It doesn’t work for me. I mean, jokes can be funny, of course, but it’s wit, the turn of a phrase, an intonation, that makes me laugh.
Years ago in a household of 4 boys (5, if you include my husband) we’d always watch “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” on Friday nights. We’d all laugh during the show of course, but what was really funny was after the show, in the kitchen, making snacks, when they all took part in “doing” Monty Python. I laughed far harder and longer than I ever did during the show. My Chicago son can still slay me when he “does” former president W.
Much has been written about laughter, how beneficial it is for one’s health and one’s attitude. If I got my daily dose of laughter and hugs, I bet I’d live to 106. Or maybe longer.
I believe that if we follow the things that make us laugh in life, we will find our bliss.
More to come...
None of these diversions lasted long, but the goodness that comes from laughing can last all day. Sometimes. Unless, of course, someone dumps cold water on it. That’s happened at work several times. Apparently, we’re not supposed to laugh at work. We’re supposed to only work at work.
I’m not a sitcom watcher. I don’t like being told when to laugh by a laugh track. Different things are funny to different people and what’s funny today might not seem so funny tomorrow. Laughter is also a shared joy, I believe, at least for the most part. Oh, sure, I get amused by something on TV or NPR, and I laugh, but if I were with someone, seeing and/or hearing the same thing, I would laugh harder and longer.
Some men I’ve dated over the years have tried telling jokes, thinking (or probably not thinking) that jokes are the best way to make women laugh. It doesn’t work for me. I mean, jokes can be funny, of course, but it’s wit, the turn of a phrase, an intonation, that makes me laugh.
Years ago in a household of 4 boys (5, if you include my husband) we’d always watch “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” on Friday nights. We’d all laugh during the show of course, but what was really funny was after the show, in the kitchen, making snacks, when they all took part in “doing” Monty Python. I laughed far harder and longer than I ever did during the show. My Chicago son can still slay me when he “does” former president W.
Much has been written about laughter, how beneficial it is for one’s health and one’s attitude. If I got my daily dose of laughter and hugs, I bet I’d live to 106. Or maybe longer.
I believe that if we follow the things that make us laugh in life, we will find our bliss.
More to come...
February 20, 2009
Homeless
A couple of weeks ago, as I approached the double doors of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, I noticed the sleeping bag at my left. Tucked inside was a darkly bearded man. Behind him was a backpack, and as the faithful congregated, he remained unperturbed and asleep. No one asked him to leave, nor did anyone bring him a cup of coffee and a sweet roll. When we emerged an hour later, he was gone.
I learned a bit later that he’s often there in the morning, and he slept unusually late that Sunday. No one knows his name or his circumstances, but no one harasses him.
Is this the best we can do, “not harass him?” Where does he take care of the necessities of life? Our bathrooms are locked, our church is locked, our parish hall is locked. We don’t have a port-a-potty on our grounds. The Walgreen’s across the street might be open all night, and perhaps they’ll let him use their facilities. But why can’t we?
Many years ago and far, far away I lived across the parking lot of another Episcopal church. Everything was in one building, not like the sprawling campuses in California. The church proper and one office were at street level, the choir loft above in back, and the undercroft (basement) held bathrooms, kitchen, and classrooms. The building was always open. This was in the 70’s on an island, a small suburb of Buffalo, where crime was pretty much limited to misdemeanors. It wasn’t unusual to find a note of a Sunday morning in the kitchen, sometimes with a dollar or two, thanking the church for the coffee and a place to sleep. Maybe they were just traveling through, but maybe they were homeless and transients of another sort. Whatever, the church was there with shelter, a degree of warmth, toilets, water and coffee. It was in the early 80’s and after I’d moved with my two boys to Buffalo that the brass candlesticks were stolen and a decision was made, sadly, to lock the church. Not just the pews and the altar, but the building where a weary traveler could find sanctuary. My younger son was one of those weary travelers for a few months and when there was no place left for him to sleep, he made his way to the familiar church, believing it was open. Not too different from the man outside St. Mark’s two weeks ago, and just as sadly, my son slept outside in chilly late September.
What is a church about if not to provide shelter and food and comfort for the homeless, the less fortunate, the hungry, the lost, and the sick? Is that not what Christians are called to do? “As you do unto the least of these my children, you do unto me”, Christ said.
We could blame Ronald Reagan for the homeless pandemic, but blame for past decisions does not solve the present and future homelessness. If we think it’s bad now, think of the near future: millions of jobs lost already, many more to come (mine probably included), and where will those millions of jobless men and women and their children go when they are forced to leave their homes? Many people have friends or family with whom they can stay for a while, but what of those who don’t?
I need to think more about this, because I need to do something about it, and it’s not a slam dunk. It’s complicated.
“All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” This was written hundreds of years ago by a mystic, Dame Julian of Norwich, and I have to believe it.
More to come...
I learned a bit later that he’s often there in the morning, and he slept unusually late that Sunday. No one knows his name or his circumstances, but no one harasses him.
Is this the best we can do, “not harass him?” Where does he take care of the necessities of life? Our bathrooms are locked, our church is locked, our parish hall is locked. We don’t have a port-a-potty on our grounds. The Walgreen’s across the street might be open all night, and perhaps they’ll let him use their facilities. But why can’t we?
Many years ago and far, far away I lived across the parking lot of another Episcopal church. Everything was in one building, not like the sprawling campuses in California. The church proper and one office were at street level, the choir loft above in back, and the undercroft (basement) held bathrooms, kitchen, and classrooms. The building was always open. This was in the 70’s on an island, a small suburb of Buffalo, where crime was pretty much limited to misdemeanors. It wasn’t unusual to find a note of a Sunday morning in the kitchen, sometimes with a dollar or two, thanking the church for the coffee and a place to sleep. Maybe they were just traveling through, but maybe they were homeless and transients of another sort. Whatever, the church was there with shelter, a degree of warmth, toilets, water and coffee. It was in the early 80’s and after I’d moved with my two boys to Buffalo that the brass candlesticks were stolen and a decision was made, sadly, to lock the church. Not just the pews and the altar, but the building where a weary traveler could find sanctuary. My younger son was one of those weary travelers for a few months and when there was no place left for him to sleep, he made his way to the familiar church, believing it was open. Not too different from the man outside St. Mark’s two weeks ago, and just as sadly, my son slept outside in chilly late September.
What is a church about if not to provide shelter and food and comfort for the homeless, the less fortunate, the hungry, the lost, and the sick? Is that not what Christians are called to do? “As you do unto the least of these my children, you do unto me”, Christ said.
We could blame Ronald Reagan for the homeless pandemic, but blame for past decisions does not solve the present and future homelessness. If we think it’s bad now, think of the near future: millions of jobs lost already, many more to come (mine probably included), and where will those millions of jobless men and women and their children go when they are forced to leave their homes? Many people have friends or family with whom they can stay for a while, but what of those who don’t?
I need to think more about this, because I need to do something about it, and it’s not a slam dunk. It’s complicated.
“All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” This was written hundreds of years ago by a mystic, Dame Julian of Norwich, and I have to believe it.
More to come...
February 19, 2009
I sometimes wonder...
My father used to say that - I sometimes wonder -, mostly in exasperation at someone’s foolish or stupid behavior, but I wonder at all manner of things that are less exasperating than they are unexplainable to my limited understanding.
Case in point: how did the wealthiest country in the world get into a situation where people are losing their jobs, seeing their life savings cut in half or losing them altogether, where banks aren’t doing an important part of their raison d’être - loaning money - and where confidence in just about everything is eroding away? There are as many answers as there are pundits. But I still wonder.
On a sunnier note, I also wonder about cats. Yes, I love cats, I have two now, and except for brief times in my life, I’ve always had a cat. Now, I know that cats aren’t dogs, and I have nothing against dogs anyway, if I’m not allergic to the dog. In fact I have two granddogs, Max and Beau, and I really enjoy them when I visit them. Back to cats. I wonder what they think, and there’s no doubt that they do think. I’ve watched them think. I doubt that they think exactly the way humans do, but they do figure things out, and they do learn things, and it’s not just operant or classical conditioning. Some learn faster than others, figure things out far more easily. I wonder about this.
I also wonder why some things have a profound effect on my heart or soul at one time and don’t another time. For instance, sunsets. I’ve seen lovely, beautiful, and amazing sunsets in my life, but I’ve seldom had a sunset fill me with longing for…well, for what I don’t know. Last night driving home from work, I saw a sky that caused such a yearning; it wasn’t just that it was beautiful, it was achingly beautiful. And it wasn’t really a spectacular sunset, just achingly beautiful. I wonder about that.
Years ago I was driving to Connecticut to meet the parents of the woman my son was about to marry, and I happened to hear the Mozart clarinet concerto on the classical station I was listening to. The second movement affected me so deeply that tears rolled down my cheeks; it was not dissimilar to the yearning I felt at last night’s sunset. I’ve heard the same concerto many times since then, and it’s always lovely, but it doesn’t have that profound yearning affect on me. I sometimes wonder.
By this point, you’re probably wondering just who this wondering person is. I’m a woman of a certain age who usually has something to say about most things, and I finally figured that if my son could figure out how to blog, then probably I could too. My son is considerably smarter than I am, but I also figured he’d help me if I ran afoul of the blog police.
Sometimes when I’m at work, I need a break from whatever I’m doing, and I have things I need to impart to someone. Thus, a blog! If every Tom, Dick, and Brian have a blog, then why not me? Indeed!
More to come…
Case in point: how did the wealthiest country in the world get into a situation where people are losing their jobs, seeing their life savings cut in half or losing them altogether, where banks aren’t doing an important part of their raison d’être - loaning money - and where confidence in just about everything is eroding away? There are as many answers as there are pundits. But I still wonder.
On a sunnier note, I also wonder about cats. Yes, I love cats, I have two now, and except for brief times in my life, I’ve always had a cat. Now, I know that cats aren’t dogs, and I have nothing against dogs anyway, if I’m not allergic to the dog. In fact I have two granddogs, Max and Beau, and I really enjoy them when I visit them. Back to cats. I wonder what they think, and there’s no doubt that they do think. I’ve watched them think. I doubt that they think exactly the way humans do, but they do figure things out, and they do learn things, and it’s not just operant or classical conditioning. Some learn faster than others, figure things out far more easily. I wonder about this.
I also wonder why some things have a profound effect on my heart or soul at one time and don’t another time. For instance, sunsets. I’ve seen lovely, beautiful, and amazing sunsets in my life, but I’ve seldom had a sunset fill me with longing for…well, for what I don’t know. Last night driving home from work, I saw a sky that caused such a yearning; it wasn’t just that it was beautiful, it was achingly beautiful. And it wasn’t really a spectacular sunset, just achingly beautiful. I wonder about that.
Years ago I was driving to Connecticut to meet the parents of the woman my son was about to marry, and I happened to hear the Mozart clarinet concerto on the classical station I was listening to. The second movement affected me so deeply that tears rolled down my cheeks; it was not dissimilar to the yearning I felt at last night’s sunset. I’ve heard the same concerto many times since then, and it’s always lovely, but it doesn’t have that profound yearning affect on me. I sometimes wonder.
By this point, you’re probably wondering just who this wondering person is. I’m a woman of a certain age who usually has something to say about most things, and I finally figured that if my son could figure out how to blog, then probably I could too. My son is considerably smarter than I am, but I also figured he’d help me if I ran afoul of the blog police.
Sometimes when I’m at work, I need a break from whatever I’m doing, and I have things I need to impart to someone. Thus, a blog! If every Tom, Dick, and Brian have a blog, then why not me? Indeed!
More to come…
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