In the Wounds of Manzanar

I'm feeling something today. I was on a pilgrimage to the Manzanar National Historic Site with folks from church and the diocese to remember all the Japanese American families that were forced to sell their possessions and move into internment camps. Up to 120,000 men, women, and children were imprisoned for up to 4 years for no other reason than they had at least one great great grandparent who was born in Japan.

I walked around feeling such tremendous sadness and outrage. I couldn't imagine what it must have felt like to have dust blowing into the barracks relentlessly. Or having no privacy in the bedrooms or in the bathrooms. These folks weren't soldiers. These folks weren't convicted of any crime. They were just feared not for what they did but for what they looked like.

I kept thinking about what it must have felt like for them all. How do you forgive and reconcile with people who are oppressing you? Where's the grace? Where was God?

So I kept searching. Seeking. I couldn't believe that God could be here.

And then we stumbled upon an artificial pond, made of stones and cement. It had two wings, sort of like angel wings, with a bridge crossing over. On one side was a rudimentary, primitive stone lantern made of rocks from the area. Lovingly, the lantern lined up with the bridge, which lined up with a path that went off towards a mountain. And the lantern was built to look like that mountain.

The soil was hard. Hard as the hearts of the government and soldiers who imprisoned all these innocent people. Flinty as the people who turned their backs to the plight of the "evacuees" who were collected and concentrated in these camps. Dry as the faces that could no longer cry as their families were torn apart.

And in these wounded grounds, the people built gardens, and ponds, and serene spaces filled with sacred quiet. In these painful voids, they found God, unearthed beauty, raised up life-affirming inspiration. And I sensed what it felt like to have the the Holy Spirit comfort and inspire you. And I sensed what it felt like to believe that there was hope.

This wrapped around me as I contemplated the Gospel reading for this Sunday. We read once again the story of Thomas, aka Doubting Thomas, and his transition from doubt to belief.

Now Thomas (also known as Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!” Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” John 20:24-29

On the long bus ride back, I pondered the scripture from a different perspective. I thought, what if the wound that Thomas explored wasn't just in Christ? What if he was exploring the wounds in himself? In his side, in his hands, in his heart? What if Christ wanted us to touch our own wounds as well as his? That in touching all these wounds, we can believe in God?

And in doing so, in feeling those wounds, in reaching our hands into the places that we protect from painful touch, in caressing these sacred places, we can believe that Christ is present. We can believe in his miracles. We can believe that our inspiration for healing, our Christ, showed us the path into our bodies so that we can find our own healing. Our own miracles. In exploring the wound, we can remember what our bodies are made of, what we are made in the image of, what we need to be made whole.

And with that thought, I remembered the pond. That in this wounded place, someone touched the ground and created a place for healing waters to flow. And with the water flowing into the pond, inviting even more life - birds, squirrels, rabbits - to come, rest, and heal.

We don't have to demand to see the wounds. They're all around us. Sometimes the wounds are wildly painful like at Manzanar. Sometimes they are wounds that only we know. May we touch these wounds - invited by Christ to see that they are real, invited to believe in his healing presence - and discover the grace of God in the most unexpected places.

You will not always have me

Gratitude can be expressed in many ways. Most people write a card or buy a gift or dinner to the person they want to thank. Some offer to lend a hand, to raise a wall, to show their appreciation for whatever was given to them.

And some things leave you wondering how best to say thank you. Perhaps you might not even know that the feeling you have is gratitude, much less how to best express it. I often find myself forgetting all the things I have that can make me feel grateful, as long as I notice them. But when I do notice them, I am more than honored to share my feelings of gratitude and love for the kindness given.

Let me describe a little story that happened last week. I was at a work conference in Phoenix and a business colleague who I have known for at least a couple decades was attending. He brought his 90 year old mother along, picking her up at the airport after her flight from her home in Florida. She's a charming, delightful person and I immediately enjoyed her presence. At one of the receptions, he asked me to tell his mother about my volunteer efforts at Laundry Love. I described how I volunteer at a couple of Laundry Love offerings: one in Hollywood, one in Eagle Rock. I shared that we offer 2 hours where folks who are struggling to make ends meet can wash their clothes, receive detergent, dry their items, and even toss in a dryer sheet, with the funds coming from donations and from local religious organizations. Folks can walk away with some dignity wearing clean clothes; some families don't have to choose between laundry and food; some folks can walk into a job or job interview wearing clean apparel.

She thanked me for telling her about this volunteer work and was glad to hear that it was becoming popular across the country. And the next night at the conference, she brought me to tears. She had walked over to my dinner table and grasped my hand, gently but firmly placing money in it. "Thank you for what you do. I do hope that Laundry Love can use this."

I thanked her and could not get the story out of my mind. It was such a caring gesture at a business setting. It's not something you see often at a technology conference unfortunately. It was an intoxicating, infectious moment. Her gratitude filled me with my own gratitude. Gratitude creates gratitude, like love creates love. If you've read Diana Butler Bass's latest book "Gratitude", you'll find numerous examples like this moment, and I cherish these moments that connect me with things I've read, with my left brain life, with hand-grasping-hand gestures of love.

It made me think of one of the Lenten gospel readings of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus welcoming Jesus into their homes. Mary lavished oil on Jesus's feet, drying it with her hair. Others balked at the extravagant gesture but Jesus said let her be. You will not always have me.

We should not be afraid to love those who bring love into our lives, into our homes, into our hearts. We should lavish them with the gratitude that fills you, because love and gratitude are not zero sum games. They grow and proliferate when we share them abundantly. There's no need to hold back. Be generous in your love and gratitude for love is generous with you. Nothing in this world is permanent, and everything moves on. So show it now. Share it now. Be thankful now.

Picturing a Scary Love

Sometimes I think the Holy Spirit works tricks on me, because She likes to throw coincidences at me that catch me by surprise, leaving me to wonder what I'm supposed to make of things. Two different sets of coincidences in two days make me think, "ok, someone's trying to get me to think about this."

The first coincidence was on Sunday afternoon. Kristen Johannesen, an artist friend, had an exhibition going on at the Avenue 50 gallery in now trendy Highland Park, a neighborhood of Los Angeles. She and I were very close in high school and so I wanted to see her latest work. And, for some reason, perhaps because I knew he lived near there, I invited another high school friend, Glenn. Now, it wasn't planned, but Glenn and Kristen were influential in getting me to see photography as something as other than poorly cropped, overly posed family photos. They were particularly skilled in black and white photos and I learned much from them through the years.

I would have gone into the gallery but there was a poetry reading going on so I thought I'd wait outside. I paced a little. I watched the Gold Line metro go by a couple times. Then I decided to stand at the doorway and listen to the poetry. And I was stunned.

In the main gallery, there was a sign that said "Viva Las Fotos - A Memorial for Laura Aguilar", along with a photo of Laura. Laura's a friend from All Saints Pasadena, a brilliant photographer who died earlier this year. Her memorial in church was just one month ago.

I had first met her years ago, when she and I would set up the Taize service. She never talked about her profession. She would set the candles on the table and sat with us as we prayed, sang, and worshiped together. And one time, when I was taking photos of the candles, she adjusted them for me so that I would have a better shot. And another she asked if I could help her get the candles in just the right positions for her perfect photos. And they were beautiful. They were beautiful because she's a gifted photographer who until that day was just my friend Laura. Since then, I learned from others that her work has been shown in famous galleries and the tips she had been giving me were like private lessons from a master.

The main room of Avenue 50 Studio was filled with homages to Laura, created by other artists. And another room held some of her work from 1990 that had been filed away and forgotten. And there was a beautiful Dia de los Muertos ofrenda for her.

As I walked through the gallery with Kristen and Glenn, it occurred to me that perhaps the three who gave me the most guidance on photography were in the same space. The veil between the physically present and the spiritually present was remarkably sheer that afternoon. Laura was smiling at us from another level and it was a soothing balm to the grief.

Then yesterday, I was working away and popped a couple videos to play in the background. One was "Addams Family Values", one of many of my regular flicks we watch as Halloween approaches. It's a movie that juxtaposes unconventional (ok, amusingly scary) love and affection against what's expected from us. It's subversive, ironic, and a great way to celebrate the different faces of love.

After I finished working, I sat down to watch "Coco". This Dia de los Muertos movie came out last year, a celebration of family, love, and the timelessness of unity. My face was awash in tears, which happens whenever I watch it. I mean, the abuela look just like my own grandmothers!

Then before I walked over to an evening meeting, I took a look at this week's lectionary. It happened to be from the Gospel of John - the story of Lazarus and Jesus raising him from the "stink of death".

I couldn't help but reflect on this second set of coincidences. I just watched two movies, ostensibly about Halloween and Dia de los Muertos, but were about unifying love that goes beyond the living, lies outside the pace of the regular world, explores family and death. And now I'm thinking of Lazarus, his family, and the love that brought Lazarus back to life. It was a quiet, pensive walk that made me think of the concept of contrasts. And I found myself taking photos of images that made me think about juxtaposed, jarring contrasts.

There was a time when I'd laugh off a coincidence or two. But the ones from the past couple days, well, I think I was meant to reflect on them instead. Love, friends, and family eventually confront death. Death can be scary. Death can push away. Death can cause denial.

But death can also just be one scary moment, a blip in an endless timeline. We fear the loss, but that loss is effectively illusory. In love, in believing in love, in giving in to love, we can salve the hurts and walk out of our dark caves, into a timeless unity.

May your Halloween give way to a celebration of the love and spirits of all the souls and saints in your life. May that celebration be a picture that you can place in the ofrenda within you.

Lenten Reflection: Letting Jesus Wash Our Feet on Our Journey to Love

All Saints Pasadena, April 1, 2015

This morning's gospel reading was most of John 13. I'll focus on John 13:34-35 specifically.

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.

The commandment to love one another is astonishingly simple and also frightfully difficult. It just sounds so much easier to say that to actually do. Because of that, and because my posts this week are revolving around the drama around so called "Religious Freedom Restoration Acts", I'll consider the issues of love for some of the parties concerned.

Many feel that they aren't acting in a discriminatory fashion when they wish to deny services to others. When confronted with historical facts about race and gender discrimination, they often respond that those Christians were mistaken to discriminate against people who could not help the way they were born. In contrast, they feel that they can serve this ultimate command by Christ by pointing out that by serving those who choose to be immoral (those who elect to live in a gay lifestyle), they are in fact acting out of love. This benevolence manifests itself as a parent would direct a child to avoid danger and head in the right direction. It's done out of love and is not seen malicious.

I get that, possibly because I grew up in a devout, ethnic Roman Catholic family, even though I know that most LGBTQ do not feel it's a choice.

I also see that Christians want to support and love those who seem discriminated against simply because they are choosing to live out their faith in the manner that seems consistent with their reading of the bible. This truly is love to me, as many people who are beset upon by others may find themselves needing help and healing. The modern RFRAs, though I disagree with their wording, operate out of this desire.

Then also we have to see that government leaders may have reasons other than brutal political machinations when moving forward with these so called Religious Freedom Restoration Acts. They may sincerely believe that their love of Christ and their fellow like-minded believers commands them to ensure that the population is not put at a disadvantage culturally because of their faith. In other words, they are legislatively trying to stem the growing shame that a culture intent on secular diversity is creating around those of similar faith.

On the cultural side that I come from, it's difficult to accept that love can be expressed when it harms another person. I personally am amazed when the state of Ohio argues in court that marriage equality is not needed because LGBTQ have too much power to be considered a disadvantaged group. This flies in the face of the fact that minorities typically don't have more power than the majority, that LGBTQ mean income is less than cis-hetero mean income, that the significantly higher suicide and homelessness rates of LGBTQ is inconsistent with the idea that LGBTQ are in fact in positions of privilege, and that murder rates of transgender people are unacceptably higher than in the cis-hetero population.

I believe that love should not harm others. The concept of "tough love" may have its place. Sometimes it helps dislodge a co-dependent situation. But we aren't facing such co-dependency here. Tough love just makes life tough.

Ironically, to those who favor these RFRAs, when LGBTQ and their allies try to support each other in love, this is considered persecution and a leftist reflect action. I don't see a difference in mutual support between the first example above and this one. Yet most on both sides use this assistance as a stick to pummel those who disagree with them. Love is kind and disagreements mean that you have people trying to lovingly support those they agree with and frankly I don't see a problem.

The most shocking development of this week has been the frightening force that big business has had on the political process in Indiana, Arkansas, North Carolina, Louisiana, Georgia, and in the past Arizona. Those favoring LGBTQ equality have benefited when huge companies like Apple, Google, Starbucks, Walmart, and Salesforce come out of the closet in their favor. Smaller regional companies such as Angie's List and the various Chambers of Commerce have also been astonishingly pro-diversity. Traditionally conservative companies such as NASCAR, the NCAA, and sporting entities have also weighed in favoring diversity to the surprise of most of the country.

Is this out of love? Is this a reflection of the love that Christ asked during the Last Supper? Unfortunately, I must be cynical and feel that it's not likely so in the larger corporations. These companies recognize that the country as a whole now favors non-discriminatory policies. To go against this would be to put their future economic viability and stature at risk. Moreover, companies such as Walmart and NASCAR may be dominant in places that would prefer the modern RFRA laws, but their greatest growth in market share is clearly in urban, populated areas and in younger, pro-diversity segments. They risk stunting their growth opportunities in these large markets. So I think the cold, cruel calculations in those companies happen to fall on the side of diversity, but it's the sort of support that can be bought. It's not love as Jesus intended.

There are exceptions. I truly believe that the CEOs of Starbucks and Angie's List have consistently been on the side of diversity for a long time. It's in their leadership that even with Indiana's changes, Angie's List still will not expand in Indiana until a true non-discriminatory law is put into place.

We may love Christ, but the Gospel is exasperatingly challenging. I find it hard to love those who harm me. I might say "impossible" but I'm truly trying to allow for that love to exist. In light of yesterday's Gospel reading ("Lenten reflection: When Hugging Jesus Separates Us from God"), at least I'm not always acting in fear and moving away reflexively. I'm trying to move closer, trying to make that journey to walk in His way of love.

May all our feet be washed by Christ on our journey to love.

Lenten reflection: When Hugging Jesus Separates Us from God

Staying close. Avila Beach, November 2014

Isaiah 50:4-9 was our first reading today.

The Lord GOD has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word. Morning by morning he wakens-- wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught. The Lord GOD has opened my ear, and I was not rebellious, I did not turn backward. I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting. The Lord GOD helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame; he who vindicates me is near. Who will contend with me? Let us stand up together. Who are my adversaries? Let them confront me. It is the Lord GOD who helps me; who will declare me guilty?

The Gospel reading came from John. Here's one line, John 13:21

After saying this Jesus was troubled in spirit, and declared, "Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me."

I will keep this one simple. The mad step backwards in civil rights in Indiana, Arkansas, and other upcoming states can feel like a blow or spit upon the face. It's a veiled attempt to shame and denigrate, to make a second class person in a country where all are supposed to be treated equally.

But as is shown in social media, people are willing to stand up and not be shamed, and to not let their family and friends be shamed. The days of hiding are gone. We can stand together, speak together, work together, confront our aggressors together.

On top of all this is the passage in John which has often been used to paint Judas as a villain. What was Judas's sin before this? Nothing is mentioned in any detail. What we know is that Judas seems to distance himself from Jesus. He seems to be rejecting his teachings and turning him over to those who similarly disagree. He distanced himself from Christ. He happened to do it in a big way, but distancing oneself from God or Jesus is basically a definition of sin. Our lives are meant to move closer to God, not away from God.

Now, Peter himself denied Jesus three times that same night. His sin was no better. Peter distanced himself from Jesus, from goodness, from solidarity and love. He just happened to do it without turning Jesus over to authorities. But sin he did and he wept.

So as I watch the raging storm over legislation allowing businesses and people to discriminate in Indiana, as I watch people embrace the notion that they can push away God's children, I am reminded that we all can easily distance ourselves from our Creator all too easily. We can all deny Christ and reject our common birthright. We all sin when we separate ourselves from our brothers and sisters.

I don't any more hold Judas supremely guilty like the simplistic stories in movies have portrayed him. I see him as no more guilty than me. His sin was to embrace Jesus with false love, and in doing so sent Jesus to his fate. 

We can't legislate love, but we can legislate civil and fair treatment. If some choose to sin by pushing others away, by embracing Jesus with their own false love, by unwittingly separating themselves from God, we must pray that they some day recognize that their sin, like our own, can be hard to see. In their pushing away that which is love, we must stand together and confront them with what they are doing, so that all that distances us can wash away.

And we all, like Judas and Peter, can eventually see how we distance ourselves from God.

May we pray for the gentle Holy Spirit to come down upon our land, hold us ever closer to divine goodness, and nudge and narrow that wide space that separates us from God. 

Lenten Reflection: From the ashes, we bring new life

A century plant on Echo Mountain above Pasadena 2013

We read from John 12 this morning. Here's a couple of lines of John 12:24-26

Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me.

There are many times I lament that we take two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes two or even three back. On so many days we feel like we're backsliding. The story unfolding in Indiana with its recent laws permitting discrimination seems just like this to me.

Sometimes, I weep as we lose friends and family. We at times can say goodbye, other times we're not given the opportunity to say goodbye in person. Loss always seems to much worse when it's something or someone you love dearly. The backsliding feeling can overwhelm us.

And yet, in so many ways, that loss is our own, something that reflects personal needs and desires. John 12 reminds us that what we see and feel masks the big picture. Sometimes we have to see things differently. It's hard to do that. As people, we need love and memories and laughter and joy. Lose a source of that joy and we sense an injustice has been done. We've been robbed of our happiness.

From this, we mourn. We rage. We despair.

But shaking our fist at the sky doesn't accomplish much. Moreover, we might not realize, like the apostles in John 12, that we're seeing things too closely, that we aren't seeing the big picture. Because it's not just a matter of scattering the seeds that we get many plants. We have let the seeds die and create a nurturing environment in the soil to get an even greater abundance of life. We have to let go of what we loved into the soil, then care for what we have buried.

And the God who is love is what gets the seeds to spread. In the soil, from which they came, the seeds eventually bring new life, more life. Yes, from the ashes, we bring the new. With help, the circle since Ash Wednesday becomes complete as we grope our way to Easter. But we have to be intentional about our care, our nurturing, our love. Jesus in John 12 teaches us to change our way of thinking if God is make life out of death. We have to play our part, to serve, to suffer, to bring healing. The seed will lie dormant without us and God.

I don't know if Easter is a celebration or a call to action. Maybe it's both. Easter is about life made new. How can we gain from that without first burying the seed AND watering it? May you bury your pains, heal with soil watered from your tears, and find life made new.