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In This Moment
On Mourning
Two communities continued their grieving this week.
The town of Guinsaugon, Philippines, is gone. Eighteen hundred people, wiped away by a mudslide last Friday, are gradually being found and laid to rest in mass graves, each holding twenty to thirty people. With no one left to identify the dead, priests from nearby villages come to perform religious rites while small groups of strangers stand silently nearby as witnesses to the passing of these human souls they never knew. A few survivors remain dazed by the incomprehensible moment which removed the world as they knew it, replacing it with the silence of the unknown.
Another community, located in West Warwick, Rhode Island, recalls its loss in a gathering of three hundred, near where The Station nightclub used to stand. Three years ago, on February 20, 2003, one hundred people died in one of the worst fires in United States history. Those who escaped with their lives still carry the horror of the night in their memories. Insufficient exits prevented the crowds inside from escaping the rapidly moving flames, ignited by the band Great White's pyrotechnics. Scrambling to get out of the way of the escalating neat and destruction, some who made it to the doors leading to the cool haven of the night air found themselves blocked by a growing pile of human beings, trampled by others passing over and past them. While litigation, new laws improving fire safety, and time have begun to heal the emotional wounds, the physical signs of that night remain on limbs that stop short of completion and grafted skin reshaping itself to new locations.
These two communities, separated by half a world, embody Jesus' words from the Sermon on the Mount shared in Matthew's gospel. "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted (Matthew 5:4)." While the few remaining residents of what was Guinsaugon are still in shock, theirs is a familiar space in which anyone who has suffered a loss has found themselves. Disbelief mingled with a deep sorrowful pain which only time and gentle reverence can ease. It is at this stage of mourning that we depend on those around us to carry the daily tasks, the burden of living itself, until we are able to begin to live again on our own. The people of Guinsaugon are blessed with the comfort of pastoral leadership to bury their friends and family with love and respect, and people who are able to mourn on their behalf until they can pick up this full mantle of grief for themselves.
Those who have gathered in the brisk New England winter air each year on this tragic anniversary know these beginning lessons of personal resurrection. They have reconnected with day-to-day living, encountered the rage and the acceptance of altered realities, and are now united once again to remember. But while in past years they have recalled the incident that brought them together, this year the focus seemed to have shifted a little more to remembering those whom they loved, and who have also moved on.
Hearts and spirits are known to heal slowly, in their own time and space. That is simply, poignantly, a fact of life. But we also know God's love and understanding of loss, and eventually, new hope in the Psalmist's words: "Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning (Psalm 30:4)."
Until next time, God's blessings.
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In This Moment
Spring Is When You See Pavement
Growing up in Wisconsin has blessed me with an appreciation for many things. The Green Bay Packers offered lessons in football, loyalty in struggles, and joyful gratitude in triumph. Our license plates still read, "America's Dairyland," conjuring up sweet memories of the best ice cream in the world. Lake Michigan stretches as far as the eye can see, welcoming dreams to soar above it and take flight. But the Wisconsin weather taught me more about the balance and fulness of life as part of God's creation than anything else I've ever experienced.
The Door Peninsula, the thumb that sticks up into Lake Michigan, is where my life began. Summer was my first season, gifted with bright sun, crisp blue skies and a gentle breeze referred to as "God's air conditioning" by the locals. The scent of the water surrounding us was as tangible as the soft lapping of its waves were to the easy rhythm of life in rural America in the 1960's. But dramatic thunder storms also blasted through our area frequently enough to keep our attention. Farm reports on the local radio station reminded us town folk that while we were drawn to respect the power of nature's force, others in our extended community were more closely aligned with its fortunes. Orchards and corn fields can only offer their bounty when weather and caretakers share a good working relationship.
Fall came early, leaves deepening in color quickly after we harvested the plums and pears from our own backyard, and and soon after that, returned to school. The mingled aromas of processing apples and fireplace wood smoke lingered among us lazily, as if pondering a distant sight from a front porch swing. Autumn was considered a preparatory time, a time for gathering in summer's bounty in as many ways as possible. Canning fruits and vegetables, preserving jams and jellies, and drying beans were holdovers from pioneer days that still made sense. But we also experienced the local high school homecoming celebration, including a huge bonfire that bound us to each other and to the land itself, allowing us a little more outdoor time before the seclusion of winter.
Wisconsin winters are legendary. Snowstorm on top of snowstorm, ice packed on street surfaces one or two inches thick, and drifts and show piles so high at street corners you cannot see around them or toss anymore snow on top of them. Raw, bitter winds that push below zero temperatures beyond cold. "Bundle up" wasn't a cheery phrase with which to send children out the door for school each day, but a dictate to survive and live by. I learned solid driving skills on that solid ice beneath my car tires. Caution in sneaking into an intersection between snow piles, tap-tap-tapping the brakes to avoid an unnecessary skid, and the deep wisdom of letting the car warm sufficiently, so as not to stall out with a dead battery at the first stop sign a few blocks from home. I also learned to be judicious with time spent outdoors, and mindful of weather that encouraged me to stay home, make due with what we had, and be patient for the passing of the storm.
Easier to understand then, that spring in Wisconsin carries a lot of hope on shoulders crouched against the last vestiges of winter's fierceness. The ground hog may be making a stab at predicting the seasonal transition on February 2, but all that was to me as a child was a very early, very cruel April Fools joke. Spring in my world came much later, usually late March or early April, about the time Holy Week and Easter Sunday rose up on the calendar like tulips struggling to burst forth as a reminder that there is hope. When the sky began to stay lighter longer, when we weren't quite as cold as we ran the last block home after school, when the snow drifts began to sag and shrink, we knew we were almost there.
It is no surprise, then, that even though each season of the year taught me about God's creative, enduring power in the world, as well as God's ongoing, loving care for human beings living in beautiful and extreme circumstances, spring taught me the great lessons of hope and faith. The seasons will continue their rhythm as God's promise, just as they have done for more years than we know. But another constant will also remain for the hardy souls of Wisconsin. Days will lengthen, snow will melt, but spring is when you see pavement.
Until next time, God's blessings.
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In This Moment
Dancing With God
Have you become addicted to Dancing With The Stars? If so, you are in good company because there seem to be a whole lot of us watching. If not, let me share with you the premise of this highly-rated television program. In this second season, ten celebrities are each paired with a professional dancer who trains them in multiple ballroom dances, such as the Fox Trot, Rumba and Viennese Waltz, over the course of an eight week period. Each week the couples perform one or two dances live with a full orchestra before a studio audience and a national audience glued to their televisions at home. The dances are critiqued by a brutally honest panel of three professional judges, as well as the viewers at home, who may call in their support for their favorite dancers. The judges' scores carry equal weight with the viewing audience's, so it's anybody's guess each week who will be sent home as the competition narrows the field of contestants to the best and/or most popular. However the voting turns out, you can rest assured that each week brings glamor, glitz and guts.
My guess is you can get on board with the glitz and glamor part, but guts? How much courage does it take to hop around a dance floor in pretty outfits to obviously adoring fans?
In a word: plenty.
Consider a few of the participants in this grand adventure. Jerry Rice is a former National Football League wide-receiver. As Most Valuable Player for the Dallas Cowboys Super Bowl XXIII win, he is acknowledged as one of the greatest athletes of all time. Rice is the first to clarify that, as hard as football was some days, ballroom dancing is harder every day. Lisa Rinna is a former soap opera star who now, at age forty-two, is hosting a talk show, raising two daughters with her husband, actor Harry Hamlin, and has, by her own description, a "crazy busy life." As the weeks have progressed, she has described various body parts as achieving Olympic proportions of pain. But she remains determined to reach for this goal, of winning the whole deal, and telling other women over forty that they can do anything they want to with equal hard work and determination. Stacy Keebler, a wrestler by profession, brings a natural talent to this newly-acquired skill of dance, and revels in the opportunity to compete with herself to achieve more skill, and more delight in this new endeavor.
All of these people have accessed their life's work in very diverse and public forums. But in this dance venue, they have exposed their own personal creative process in an unfamiliar location. While comfortable in the skill of their individual expertise, they have chosen to lay bare their willingness to enter a whole new world, learning its rules and intimacies before millions of critics and a panel of experts.
Two thoughts have crossed my mind as I return to this program every Thursday and Friday night, watching the drama play out among the cast. First, I see the respectful, intimate bonds among this talented body of people. Secondly, it is clear how very much we can learn from them as people of faith.
Perhaps because each of these celebrities has attained success in their fields, they are secure with that, and they see their dance experience as a unified effort among themselves, not a divide and conquer publicity stunt. When they speak of each other it is with pride and warmth, often calling each other family. They support each other in triumph, and in less stellar moments. When the announcement is made on who will be going home, and will not be returning for the next week of competition, the sadness is palpable. Glitz and glamor and live orchestra aside, this is a genuine, albeit temporary community of caring, gifted people.
What we as people of faith can learn by the dancers' example was placed before us long ago by Paul, the author of the first letter to the Corinthians. "Love is patient. Love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful. It does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth (I Corinthians 13:4-6)." When we each dance to the rhythm of the life for which we are created, we bring our whole selves to this thing we call Christian community, an adventure that requires all that we have to give. Even when we aren't sure of our steps or of the beat of this larger experience, we are still connected to each other through, and by, our Creator. When we realize it, recognize it, believe it, live it, we are able to dance for joy, and dance with God.
Until next time, God's blessings.
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In This Moment
Check "Other"
Filling out forms, for any variety of reasons, is a tedious necessity of life. Medical offices, employment agencies, educational institutions, credit card companies, even churches, are all tracking us by asking us to fill out forms. Name, address, and telephone number are standard. Some have a more detailed agenda, asking for all of the above plus where we work, how long we've been there, and whether we "rent, own, or other" where we live. The first two choices are common: renting frequently leads to owning, the great American dream. Other is for people who are outside those usual boundaries. House sitting, inn keeping, and dormitory dwelling all fit into this category. But so does homelessness.
In his book, Under the Overpass: A Journey of Faith in America, Michael Yankoski chronicles his choice to temporarily leave his comfortable upper middle class life for life as a homeless person. Accepting the challenge of his pastor to "be the Christian you say you are," Yankoski and a friend traveled among six cities in the United States, seeking out the Christian church's response to some of the most at need people in our culture.
But before setting out on this adventure, Michael Yankoski held little understanding of the day by day existence of a person with no physical home. Unless any of us have been homeless or worked directly with someone who is homeless, most of us share that ignorance. Consider then the basic structure of your day. Your alarm clock awakens you, you get up, shower, brush your teeth, have coffee and breakfast, perhaps organize and direct your family to begin their day, then head off to work yourself. How would your day be different if your home was several cardboard boxes duct taped together and tucked up against a bridge support so the wind would have a harder time blowing it away? Your alarm clock is the sunlight filtering in through the openings around your front door flap. Your bathroom is at the gas station a mile down the road, although a shower is a luxury you haven't experienced in quite sometime. Your first, sometimes only meal of the day, is at a series of soup kitchens. Work is a dream off in the distance. It is difficult to see yourself as a part of the rest of the everyday world when you are dirty, undernourished, and afraid most of the time.
While we who have homes can begin to imagine what homelessness is like, we cannot truly understand the daily frustration and misery of living in the wealthiest country in the world and still not having enough to even have the basics of food and shelter. What many of us do to cover that inadequate understanding is to blame those who are homeless for their own circumstances. If they hadn't squandered their money, or drank or gambled it away, they wouldn't be where they are. So, they need to figure their own way out of it, or we're enabling them, right? No, I don't think that's right at all. I would put what money I have on the bet that most people who are homeless didn't wake up in a comfortable bed one day, decide to walk away from it all, and head over to the grocery store dumpster to collect building materials for their new residence.
But Michael Yankoski and his friend did. They left a usual life and set out to discover how well we as Christians treat people who clearly have less than us, people who don't look very nice and smell very bad. The reviews of our response are mixed at best. Despite Jesus' explicit directive to treat people as we would want to be treated, and to think of each person we help as if they were Jesus himself, most people turned their eyes and their hearts and did not help the two travelers. The bright hope is that some did reach out and include the two men in loving, generous, tangible ways. Although having the choice to go back to their lives, Yankoski and his friend were not content in the wealth and ease to which they returned. Rather than joy, they expressed a realization of the "terrible dangers of lacking nothing."
Perhaps that is the point at which we who are comfortable in our homes get stuck, this dangerous position of lacking nothing. If we lack nothing physically we come to believe our material wealth is our salvation. Believing that, we more readily ignore those to whom so little would mean so much, blame them for their lack of initiative, and hold fast to the mind-numbing grace of the God of Consumerism. It's easy to do if fear of losing our material salvation is stronger than our love of God who always stands with the poor and disenfranchised.
Interesting, then, that on any form handed him, Jesus would have checked other. Jesus was homeless. Do we blame him for his situation? Would we welcome his own not very nice looking, smelly self into our churches and homes today?
Until next time, God's blessings.
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In This Moment
Superhuman Powers
While updating some changes to my web site this week, I was also able to enjoy an update on the changes in the life of a business associate's young son. At fourteen months old there are many firsts in his life, all witnessed with joy and enthusiasm by his parents. The first steps came at ten months, running soon after. This past weekend saw the advent of leaping from his bed, then running to share the news with his surprised parents. What is quite wonderful is that each first is accompanied by the celebration that this small human wonder has acquired a new super power, the ability to stretch beyond all the physical boundaries that previously shaped his life. While an assumption at the birth of each child possesses all of these amazing feats, they are no less a miracle each time Creation gestures to the newness of life among us.
My guess is that Jesus' disciples struggled mightily with their firsts as followers of the Messiah. Inclusion in Jesus' inner circle had its perks: traveling with a man clearly close to God, privileged theological deconstruction of parables and teachings others were not privy to, and an immediate, up-close course in faithful living, literally from the Master himself. The downside was formidable: separation from their families, potential expulsion from the Temple, and even death as an enemy of Rome. Seemingly enough to deal with, the disciples were also regularly invited to look at the world as God presented it to Jesus to share with them. Consider whom Jesus described as blessed: the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers, and those who were persecuted for their faith in their God. Consider also that the disciples, along with the crowd who first listened to the Sermon on the Mount, were told they were salt and light, that Jesus had no intention of overriding the law or the prophets with his own ministry, and that "turn the other cheek" was replacing "an eye for an eye."
Nudging our own modern consciousness with updated imagery isn't necessary because we still ramble among these stories and declarations as if in a foreign country years later and after generations of interpretation. Unlike children reaching forward with every fiber of their beings, we adults confuse ourselves with our fears and anxieties, limiting the strength of that superhuman power within us. Free will usually diminishes in translation to imprisoned fate, placing a stranglehold on the joy of discovering just how far God is willing to take us. Having faith like a child is quite literally being willing to experience resurrection and rebirth whenever we know God to be leading us onward. You may not remember your first steps, but you may remember the first time you rode your bike without training wheels. How did it feel to write your own name for the very first time? Remember the first speech you gave or the first solo you sang? You managed all of them because, even though you may have had some anxiety, you overcame it, and stepped forward with faith, believing you could do something you had never done before.
God gives us the opportunity to experience this glorious, freedom-filled success long before we have time to practice the fear of believing we cant. Learning to walk and talk are the two most complicated and challenging things we ever do as human beings. Thank God these endeavors come right at the beginning of our lives, or my guess is there would be a lot of people content to remain silent and settled into their sofas. Sadly, there are a number of people who have stranded themselves in that exact mindset, too afraid to take a stand, speak their minds, stretch their boundaries, and leap joyfully into a life of faithful abandon.
Perhaps there is still hope for us to remember that first leap of faith from our beds, running with exhilaration to share the good news with our parents, who wait with joy and love to celebrate the grace of our superhuman power with us.
Until next time, God's blessings.
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In This Moment
Nobody In Florida Wears Pantyhose
On a recent business trip to Florida, my jet propulsion experience began with a 3:00 AM wake up call to make a 6:35 AM flight. Knowing the challenge that early rising would be on a cold January morning, my clothing for the next day was laid out and ready for me to slip on without a thought. Night transcended into a rosy dawn as the plane took off on schedule and arrived early. The first thing I noticed as I disembarked was the warm, humid air floating over me like a day at the beach. The interviews for which I had traveled progressed positively, and by the time lunch time came, I felt I had already experienced a productive day. While chatting with a potential colleague on a break before the next session, I jovially commented that I didn't wear pantyhose and high heels for just any occasion any more. We both laughed, and my conversation companion shared a powerful piece of wisdom: Nobody in Florida wears pantyhose.
Our meetings continued, but her comment gave me pause about all the assumptions we make about each other, how we think, what behaviors we choose, and especially about our spiritual beliefs. Because if nobody in Florida wears pantyhose, what do they wear? And what other fashion differences are hidden beneath long-held assumptions by those of us living in the forty-nine other states and the rest of the world? Although it is very clear to anyone who has worn pantyhose why they are not a practical garment in a hot, humid climate, my guess is that understanding variances among individual beliefs is not such a clear-cut venture, if we acknowledge those variances as existing and holding validity in the first place.
Consider for a moment the endless opportunities for worship in Christian communities in the United States. Have you ever worshipped in a church other than your own, or in a congregation from another denomination? What are some of the things you noticed that are different than your customary surroundings and practices? Was the sanctuary traditional, with pews, a pipe organ, and a choir loft and stained windows at the front? Or was the worship area more contemporary, with individual chairs, wide, bright windows welcoming abundant sunshine and warmth, and a band tuning up before everyone else arrived? Settling into your seat, did the bulletin hold familiar hymns and prayers, or did you learn as you went along with the service? Were the scripture readings worded as you recalled from your last hearing, and how did the minister interpret the main points of what the scripture held? Looking around you, did you pay attention to the people gathering together to worship that day? They most likely weren't the same people with whom you normally attend church, but they are people with whom you have this one activity in common. Having come together that day, you were embodying the simple premise of the twelfth chapter of Paul's first letter to the Corinthians: "Indeed, the body does not consist of one member, but of many (I Corinthians 12:14)." We are all a part of the one body of Christ as Christian believers, but we each bring our God-given uniqueness to that body.
While there are elements held in common among believers in Jesus Christ as God With Us, as well as among congregations of believers, it is this sense of knowing God created each of us as separate entities, yet all still in God's image, that unifies and strengthens the body of Christ, the embodiment of God in action here on earth. Because we are unique, we each develop our faith out of that uniqueness, our experiences, relationships and choices all shaping our faith and understanding of God With Us.
Despite our awareness of that personal nature and promise of our relationship with God, we frequently persist in believing, and pushing others to believe, that since there is one God, there is only one way to believe, which is the way we believe. Challenge that, and we ourselves are challenged to consider our own faith, maybe even expand or deepen it in some new or unusual way. Because, believe it or not, nobody in Florida wears pantyhose.
Until next time, God;'s blessings
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In This Moment
Evaluations
Checking our progress against our goals is a pretty standard process in the employment world. Hired to do specific tasks for a defined wage or salary, our supervisors want a documented understanding of how the mutual arrangement is working out for both parties. What can be an honorable, affirming opportunity to communicate our achievements and potential growth frequently seems to be reduced to measuring statistics of right and wrong, resulting in anticipatory misery, and limiting the zeal for the aforementioned potential growth. Any wonder our major concern at annual review time is whether we will live to see the still-employed side of the next downsizing. I'm not surprised, then, to see the unabashed glee on the part of actors nominated today for Oscars. These are people who feel downsized after every job, and even the most successful and famous have publicly stated they are never certain they will ever work again. To be so honored in a business culture enamored of youth and money must feel as good as it gets.
We are accustomed to work evaluations, and as much as we cringe over them, we expect them, accept them, and move on with our lives. We aren't necessarily so forthright in accepting evaluations from friends and relatives may have of us, these reviews more commonly known as opinions. while we believe as a culture that we all have a right to our own opinions, the general rule of thumb is that our own is best, and we don't like having anyone else's differing opinion leveled at us. When that does happen, we usually label that passing judgment, sometimes cracking our Bibles open to whichever Gospel writer nailed the topic best. In short, we are not comfortable with hearing what people think of us not because they may be right, but because we assume they are wrong, which means we have to prove them wrong to maintain our selfhood.
Looking at ourselves is not so different an experience. Living inside our own heads is a challenge. We each know ourselves best, and can become quite skilled at juggling all sorts of thoughts and beliefs that sometimes mesh, and often times don't. Human beings are contradictory souls. Living with ourselves and each other isn't for sissies. It requires strength, resiliency, honesty, and above all, love. Quite frankly, though, I don't see many people who are good at loving themselves. We women never seem happy with ourselves, and we invest a lot of energy in displeasure over how we look, our relationships, our children's behavior and futures, and the state of our finances. I'm sure that men rally around their own self-condemnation tents with cymbals and tambourines too, still stuck in old cultural patterns of wondering if they make enough money, possess enough property, and are upwardly mobile enough to stay in the game.
What does loving ourselves have to do with any of this? Why do we waste so much energy proving God wrong in creating us by doing everything in our power to remake ourselves over in a societal vision of misery and frustration?
What would it mean for us to consider the world as Jesus presented it to the Pharisees when they asked him which was the greatest commandment? "He said to them, 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. and a second is like it. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets (Matthew 22:37-40)." Jesus gives us a wonderful snapshot of the Pharisees trying to put him into a defensive position, one in which they are sure there is no right answer, Rather than dig into proving the Pharisees wrong about him, Jesus proceeds with the truth of God's word, even as he himself embodies the truth as God's Word.
If we woke up in the morning approaching the day knowing we stood in God's love as our truth, my guess is that we wouldn't worry so much about living by someone else's rules and observations, but would be more inclined to reflect the image of our Creator in our thoughts, words, and actions. We would trust ourselves, be more open-minded and understanding about other people's behavior, perhaps be more gentle and forgiving overall, especially of ourselves.
Until next time, God's blessings.
