Spirit, Flesh and A Goldfinch

In our backyard we have a large expanse of ground devoted to native plants. Right now, mid-August, the natives are at their absolute best with most species in full bloom. The garden is home to many creatures, bees, butterflies and birds. There was evidence of a rabbit's nest last year, and we saw a deer walking through early this spring. 

As I sit in my deck chair with my coffee of a morning, I am entertained by a great many goldfinches. The fledglings have fledged and now happy families of finches dance from one eight foot tall cup plant or goldenrod to another. Beautiful little things in the sunlight.

Flesh or spirit? I ask myself. 

As a believing Christian, I have juggled arguments about spirit and flesh over the years. We are flesh, we have "fleshy" needs, but we are spirit as well. We are exhorted to live in spirit and put away the flesh. Our lives, however, require that we meet the needs of flesh in providing for ourselves and our families, for keeping safe and for building communities. The goldfinch seems to have no trouble pursuing these ends and just see how he glorifies God!

Of course, these birds are earthly creatures, are flesh and blood and bone. They live for a while, eat, procreate, see to their business of food, shelter and safety, and then die. So...flesh. But as I consider them in their beauty and in their tireless work, they seem suddenly spirit to me. As creatures of God, there is a God-ness in them,  

When Nicodemus wonders how a person can be reborn in the spirit, Jesus declares that "Spirit is spirit and flesh is flesh." Helpful? Yes, actually, to me it is. It tells me that spirit and flesh are not a dichotomy, are not a choice. Flesh is a given, but spirit is a gift. We live in the flesh, but we can access spirit in any circumstance. 

In as simple an example as a meal, a risotto that I will make for our supper: there is rice, butter, scallions, peas, Parmesan cheese and salmon. All of these derive from the earth, from the same creation from which I have my being. All of these came to me through the agency of some other person(s), growers, fishermen, sellers. I am united to these people and these creatures, first as a creature of the one God, but more immediately in my act of preparing the meal and consuming it. How do I feel about this?

Am I thankful and respectful; do I savor each mouthful with pleasure? Or do I merely consume away? In other words, am I a lover or a user? Flesh uses, spirit loves. That is just my opinion, of course. 

When I look really hard, at the goldfinch and see its God-ness, when I know that God-ness is in everything I might ever see, certainly in every PERSON I might ever see, then I am "in the spirit".

What I must do now is weed out the times when I am merely using. I might use the road I drive on to get to church, but I'd better not be using the people I meet there. I might not love the bag I use to carry groceries home, but I'd better love the people I make meals for. Maybe not everything can be a goldfinch for me, but I know for sure that the more things that are that goldfinch, the happier and more spirit-filled I will be. 

Rot in Hell

For someone like me who doesn't believe in "hell" in the traditional sense, saying that someone should rot in hell has, perhaps, less force than if a Jonathan Edwards or a Dante Alighieri were to say it. Nevertheless, this is an expression I have used in the past --  of course, that was in the very distant past.

Although I have grown out of such expressions, "rot in hell" resonates for me in a special way. This is something I might have muttered when someone took my parking space, or my boyfriend. Perhaps a political rival or a goal scorer on an opposing team should rot in hell. Should Hitler or Pol Pot likewise rot in hell?

It's safe to wish this on someone when you know it won't happen. There is a satisfaction in stating strongly your disgust with a disgusting person, murderer of millions or stealer of parking spots. But it has always seemed either too great a wish or too mild. If Hitler or Stalin should rot in hell, is it fair to send Rosemary Henton (infamous boyfriend stealer) there with him?

Dante solved this matter poetically with his many levels of hell. The poor souls he met suffered according to their sins, and they most definitely did rot. 

And here because of the horrible excess
Of stench thrown upward from the unfathomable pit... canto XI

The poet thus describes the horrendous odors emanating from these condemned ones. Only his poetic resolve enabled him to descend further and further into worse and worse conditions.

Finally, however, we have someone who hits exactly the right note for rotting in hell - in our modern conception, not as Dante would have it. Walter Palmer, trophy hunter and killer of the famous Cecil the Lion can rot in hell. When I saw the sign someone had pasted up on his office door that read "Rot in Hell" in big black letters, I knew that finally this expression had found its true home. At last the trope fit the crime.

The outrage voiced against this person has gone well overboard; people love bandwagons and across the internet people vied with each other for the highest disdain, the most outrageous fury. But that first day, when the sign appeared on our local news, it was perfect.

What do I think Walter deserves? Forgiveness, obviously, as we all do, especially me who laughed out loud at that sign. What do I think will happen to Walter in the afterlife? I think he will rest in the arms of his creator finally. I think he will see whatever it is that makes him want to do what he does for what it is. I believe this is also my final realization.

God has all the time in the world for people like Walter and me to see ourselves and all of creation as God sees us. Even Rosemary will look back at tenth grade and shake her head in dismay. All the villains of history will do likewise. This is what I believe; this is the story that God is telling and enacting.

Meanwhile, Walter, Rosemary, Adolph....you know what you can do.  JK

One Church-y Word I Have Trouble with is "Mercy."

Words can be great stumbling blocks for me. Toward most words, of course, I am entirely neutral. “Mustard,” “lopsided,” brace” (as a noun or verb) elicit no emotions whatsoever. Others like “rodeo” “makeshift” and “bellow” I love to hear or, better yet, say, yet there are some, I cannot bring myself even to think.

As a regular church goer, I hear certain words every week, and I sometimes wonder what effects these repeated words have on other parishioners. Are people driven away by words like “offend,” “blood,” or “power?” What if people love to hear words like “eternal,” and “holy” and return week after week because where else are you going to hear such talk? 

One church-y word that I have had a lot of trouble with over the years is "mercy." The implied relationship between the one who shows mercy and the one who receives it casts me, and all worshipers, in a miserable light; we are despicable sinners who deserve ever-lasting torment. Worse than that is the image it suggests of God. There is a maniacal despot who might bless or curse depending on his whim - sort of a Red Queen type of god. Or the movie gangster who might show mercy to the deadbeat if he does him a favor. Although I was taught something very like that growing up, I no longer see us before God begging to be spared what we richly deserve, nor do I see God as being ever poised to condemn us.  

So when, a few months ago, I became interested in The Jesus Prayer, sometimes called The Prayer of the Heart, I came face to face with “mercy” and had to deal with it. The prayer goes like this: Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of the one true God, have mercy on me, a sinner. 

Variations abound, but “mercy” is always in there. I considered amending my version of the Jesus prayer to omit “mercy” entirely, to say instead “be in my heart” or some other phrase, but I was not at ease with this modern approach. Change something that is 1500 years old just to suit my taste? No and no.

In my research about the Jesus Prayer, I encountered a fascinating piece of information. "Mercy” or “eleison” in Greek, is related to the word “oil.” As much as I might resist the word “mercy” in prayer and scripture, that is how much I am drawn to the word “oil.” There is something abundant and comforting about oil as it’s found in Scripture.

Images of oil abound in our sacred texts, in both the narratives and in the Psalter. In Genesis (28:18-22), after his dream of the ladder and the angels, Jacob pours oil on the stone he had used as a pillow and declares he will make it “God’s house.” Oil was the finishing touch on the tabernacle that Moses built in Exodus (37:29). Samuel anointed both Saul and David for kingship in 1^st Samuel (10:1 and 16:12-13 respectively). The practice of anointing rulers continues to this day.

In the Episcopal church, oil is used in Baptism and when the sick are anointed and blessed. The prophet Isaiah (61:1-3) claimed his calling “…because the Lord has anointed me, he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted.” 

Why is oil such a soothing image, while mercy suggests pain and misery? Oil is calming; oil is lavish. When the woman anoints Jesus with expensive oil at Bethany, people are scandalized at the “waste.”

Oil is love. Corpses were anointed with oil at burial, a last generous act of love to the departed. The psalmist rhapsodizes about oil:

Oh how good and pleasant it is 

when brethren live together in unity! 

It is like fine oil upon the head 

that runs down the beard, 

upon the beard of Aaron, 

and runs down upon the collar of his robe.    Psalm 133

Fellowship is like oil! Community. Vocation. Liturgy. All these are like oil.

Like everything in creation, oil comes from God. It is, therefore, good, a sign of God’s loving kindness, generosity, wild abundance ….. in short, everything I like.

You make grass to grow for flocks and herds

and plants to serve mankind

that they may bring forth food from the earth

and wine to gladden our hearts

Oil to make a cheerful countenance

and bread to strengthen the heart.   Psalm 104

So how can mercy be like oil? I worked with this idea for a long time until I was able to see that mercy is God’s generosity to us. His love for us is poured out like oil. When we love and care for each other we are embodying God’s mercy which is extravagant and beautiful - like oil. It is not a sign of his power; it is a sign of his love. When I am willing to see mercy as oil, I can ask for it. A merciful God is a generous God, a loving God. My God. Not the Red Queen. She would have no part of oil.

I thank my merciful God for Lewis Carroll’s Alice through the Looking Glass, for Metropolitan Anthony Bloom and his wonderful article on The Jesus Prayer*, and for the Psalmist who gave us this verse:

You have put gladness in my heart

more than when grain and wine and oil increase.
Psalm 4

*http://www.orthodoxa.org/GB/orthodoxy/spirituality/JesusprayerGB.htm

"and Judas Iscariot who betrayed him"

Lately, I have felt the urge to ponder a phrase from the daily readings in my Daily Office Book. One day this week it was "new wine skins" from Mark 2. Yesterday it was "honey in the rock" from Psalm 81. I have stayed with these phrases throughout each day and they have given me much in return. 

You may recognize this as a feature of lectio divina, which I do practice often. The difference here is that I am not focusing deliberately on a small passage from the readings. I am not trying for a lesson. The phrase just jumps out at me and I hold it for a day. I do not try to articulate any meaning or develop any prayer from it. Maybe I should. But for now I am just going with the flow.

Today's phrase was "and Judas Iscariot who betrayed him." This is from Mark 3 and recounts the calling of the 12. Mark is not known for pulling his punches. He doesn't respect our sensibilities and there is an warning about mature audiences. He is a maximum-impact-with-minimal-verbiage kind of writer. 

This phrase just smacked me in the face. Jesus called Judas. Jesus calls me. I have something in common with Judas. This phrase puts the calling of Judas level with his betrayal. It says before Judas betrayed Jesus he was chosen. 

So what is so great about being chosen? We know the answer, don't we? Being chosen, being called, as we are, out-weighs everything. It's irreversible. 

Mark could have prettied up his story and placed some conditionality on Judas' call. He could have written it in any number of ways to lessen the call to Judas, to make him an afterthought. But, no. That call stands. As does mine. And yours.

Julian Retreat

For six days in mid June, members and affiliates of the Order of Julian of Norwich, a contemplative order of monks and nuns in the Episcopal Church, met at a Redemptorist retreat center in Wisconsin for prayer and community. In the Order, prayer and community, though not exactly interchangeable, are very connected. Whether we are together, as we were last week, or miles apart as we usually are, our prayer binds us to each other, to the church, and most importantly, to our Savior.

For this post, I am going to let the pictures tell the thousand words that I really don't have about the beauty and power of this event. Above is a peony taken from the garden at Julian House Monastery. 

The first three days of the retreat were spent in silence. Except when our own voices were raised in prayer, only our retreat leader's voice was ever heard.

The labyrinth is a good place for contemplation, and there was one on the grounds. I am not a big fan of labyrinths, but I did walk this one several times. And I noticed some things about it. Here, on a sign just outside it,  are the directions for walking the labyrinth. Notice the bird droppings.

The paths in the labyrinth are laid out with mathematical precision. The stones that line the paths were clearly chosen for their uniform size and shape and color, yet there are many irregularities. Weeds grow in the paths. 

Walking the labyrinth can be challenging. Sometimes the paths are gentle and straight; sometimes there is a sharp turn and you might lose your balance.. Sometimes you feel that you are close to the center and your journey is nearly fulfilled. Then, with the next step, you are heading in the opposite direction. Pretty soon, you have to give up predicting your walk - how soon you will reach the center, or the exit - and just walk. 

The chapel is an important place in the retreat. Here the daily office is said, the Eucharist is celebrated and retreatants go to pray on their own. You can see the chapel empty (but for me) in the early morning and again with people waiting for the start of Eucharist. 

Brother Gerry, a Redemptorist who lives on site, has forty beehives. Here is one of them as well as some of its product. 

There is a tradition at this event to have a used book sale. A flat rate of $2 per book!! All proceeds go to the Order with the remaining books donated to the Cathedral's (Milwaukee) book sale. Maybe next year I'll be able to resist. 

The sisters at Julian House are expert soap makers and not lacking in a sense of humor either. 

The last three days (called Julian Fest) are spent with lots of talking and celebrating. Prayers and Eucharist continue as before but meals are noisy and there is lots of social time. On the penultimate day, we gathered for a group picture.

With this result.

Peace Sign

I drive into the Twin Cities about once or twice a month. Taking the freeway, I exit on Randolph Avenue in Saint Paul either to have lunch with a friend or keep an appointment with my spiritual director. 

Often there is a person holding up a sign at the off ramp. The person wants money, I suspect actually needs money.

There are lots of reasons not to give such a person money. They might spend it on something unsavory. They might be a scammer and not really in need at all.They ruin the look of the neighborhood nearby. (I have actually heard these last two excuses from a few people.)  They should make use of the many social services available to the poor. Etc. Etc.

I always give them money, as much as I can, in fact. Buddhists will tell you – and have told me – that it is a blessing to have the opportunity to give. It’s a grace. That’s how I see it.

Others will say that what these folks really want is some interaction, a greeting, a conversation, to be seen. It’s hard enough for me to talk to people I know well, much less strangers, much less someone who might view me as somehow other. And I've seen too many Uncle Tom scenarios where the privileged person makes nice with the under-privileged person and is rewarded with jollity and deference. Nope. I won't act that part.

But I always smile and say something: how’re you doing? God bless you. Stay warm. Something quick and superficial. Usually, I have a green light and barely have time for a smile before I have to turn onto my street.  Today I had a red light.

There was the first woman I'd ever seen in that spot. She was late middle age, early fifties, I’d say. Slightly overweight and very shabby looking. Her pink knit pants were dirty as if she’d been sitting on the ground. The sign she held was a piece of bent cardboard with a message on it. The message was so wordy and so long that I’m sure no one could have read it.

But I knew what it said.” I lost my job 18 months ago and have to feed three children. I am alone and any help would be appreciated. “  Or something like that. As she was, no one would be hiring her any time soon, even in our state of full employment. 

I reached out my window and handed her a bill, smiled at her and said God bless you. She asked God to bless me, too and she seemed a bit surprised. Do women not hand out money to other women? To her? Do they not invoke the Lord?

Waiting for the light to change, I wondered if I should roll down the window and ask her a mild question or mention the possibility of rain. Then the light turned green and I looked out my window to wave to her. 

She was waiting for me. Giving me the very biggest smile she had, she flashed me the peace sign. I was just able to manage a quick peace sign back, turn the steering wheel and continue on my now very merry way.

The peace sign is an insider thing. It says we know each other. It says we are compatriots, tribesmen. We share beliefs, experiences. We are in league. I don’t think I've received such a greeting in thirty years. There was a time when it was so common it barely meant anything. Long hair, a string of beads, a flowered shirt - flash the sign. March for peace, Civil Rights, Animal Rights - flash the sign. In line for a Stones concert - flash the sign.

Today, though, it meant a lot. We were not just two people behaving civilly to each other. She was a person to me and I was a person to her. And it was she who broke the barrier, not I.  Just for that second, there was something real between us. She gave me what I was not able to give - a human moment.

A Different Kind of Mother - A Different Kind of Day

Robert Frost famously and rightly said, “Home is where, if you go there, they have to take you in.” The woman and her son dying of thirst in the desert surely knew, if they’d ever doubted it, that the place they recently left was no home and never had been. A slave is property. She can be used just as a piece of crockery is used, fill it with what you want, have it for a while then toss it all out.

Sarah was finished with Hagar and Ishmael. There was no need of either of them once Isaac was born. In fact, it was possible that Abraham, the old romantic, might just decide to let Ishmael share in Isaac’s inheritance. So out the door they went into a desperate and deadly future.

How much of a mother to Ishmael was Hagar? At first, she was simply a vessel to deliver to Abraham some sort of son so that his line and fortune would continue. Did she love Ishmael then? Did she delight in his little-boy antics, or did she withhold that love knowing he would not be hers for much longer? He would have a clear future. She might be allowed a livelihood. Would he cherish her or would she embarrass him when he came into his true place?

We will never know because that story did not play out. What did play out was their exile from the house and land of Abraham. Certainly, wandering there in the desert Hagar loved Ishmael. They shared fear, hunger, thirst, despair. Did she look at him and feel she had failed him? If she’d been just a bit more conciliatory, would they have been allowed to stay? If he’d been just a bit less beautiful, clever, full of himself, would he have been more tolerable to Sarah? Can you possibly ever wish your child to be less than he is?

Unable to bear the sight of his dying, she placed him a ways (a bow shot) off and wept. It was then that an angel of the Lord opened her eyes and showed her where a spring flowed and their thirst was no more. The angel assured Hagar that they would be safe now and that God had heard the voice of the boy. “God was with the boy and he grew up,” we are told in Genesis. Was this a happy ending?

The theme for Lent at our parish this year was “In the Desert”. Our prayer group held a number of sessions on this theme, one of which was a lectio divina prayer on Hagar’s story. As we prayed with the text, the people in the group (even the men) focused on Hagar’s motherhood -- not on her meeting with the Lord, which is what I wanted them to focus on. They could not turn away from this homeless mother and her unwanted child. They said that motherhood was itself a desert. Even in the midst of a loving family, it can be a lonely job with a world of uncertainty.

Our prayers at the close of the session were said for the mothers we know and had and are, for mothers who wonder about their abilities and about their future. We prayed for children who find themselves out on the street. We prayed for the self-righteous, cold-hearted mothers who turn them away.

Earlier in the story Hagar, taking refuge in the desert from Sarah’s mistreatment, was told that Ishmael would be a “wild ass of a man with his hand against everyone and everyone’s against him.” I had always felt this to be of little comfort to poor Hagar, but my friends in prayer group decided that it meant that Ishmael would not be pushed around and owned as his mother was. He would be his own person and if that meant having his hand raised against everyone, then so be it. Before he’d be a slave, he’d be buried in his grave, to paraphrase the song. *

Hagar and Ishmael are not exactly heroes in the Judeo-Christian tradition.They are written out of the narrative early on. But that day, that mother and that child in that desert spoke to us. They told us that God takes care of even the outcast, even the foreigner, even the trouble-makers --- especially the trouble makers.

Happy Mothers Day.

You can find the story of Hagar in Genesis 16. 17. 21.

* “Oh Freedom” a American folk song, associated with the Civil Rights Movement    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veiJLhXdwn8