Upside Down and Inside Out

A new video from OK GO just got released and it's racing through social media like a viral monster. The effects are gorgeous as the quartet performs, seemingly in one take, the video in weightlessness. No wires. Just a plane with zero gravity.

I watched it a couple of times marveling at the special effects and the joyful playfulness of it all. But I paused it the third time when I started to really pay attention to the lyrics. (The bold lettering is by me).

Upside down and inside out
and you can feel it.
Upside down and inside out
and you can feel it, feel it.
Don't know where your eyes are
but they're not doin' what you said.
Don't know where your mind is baby
but you're better off without it.

Inside down and upside out
and you can feel it.
Don't stop.
Can't stop.
It's like an airplane goin' down.
I wish I had said the things you thought that I had said.
Gravity's just a habit that you're really sure you can't break.

So when you met the new you,
Were you scared?
Were you cold?
Were you kind?
Yeah when you met the new you,
did someone die inside?

Don't stop.
Can't stop.
It's like a freight train.
Don't stop.
Can't stop.
It's like an airplane goin' down.
Don't know where your eyes are
but they're not doin' what you said.
Don't know where your mind is baby
but you're better off without it.

Looks like it's time to decide.
Are you here?
Are you now?
Is this it?
All of those selves that you tried;
wasn't one of 'em good enough?

'cause you're upside down and inside out
and you can feel it.
Inside down and upside out
and you can feel it, feel it.

Don't stop.
Can't stop.
It's like a freight train.
Don't stop.
Can't stop
until you feel it goin' down.
I wish I had said the things you thought that I had said.
Gravity's just a habit that you're really sure you can't break.

Upside down and inside out
And you can feel it
Don't stop
Can't stop
Until you feel it goin' down
Upside down and inside out
And you can feel it
Don't stop
Can't stop
Until you feel it goin' down

I don't usually pause for pop music any more. Showtunes, yes, quite extensively so. But pop music hasn't touched me in years. Perhaps because we're just starting Lent, I'm sensitized. Rev. Susan Russell at All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena described during her Ash Wednesday homily that we must not give up epiphanies for Lent. 

Do not give up epiphanies for Lent!
Do not become so inwardly focused that we forget to notice – to give thanks for – to respond to – those encounters we can and will have with the holy in the next 40 days. Do not become so focused on our own “journey with Jesus” that we forget that as long as there are still strangers at the gate, walking humbly with our God is not enough. Not even close to enough.

You can read the full text at ASCIdea,org . I needed to hear that sermon yesterday. So much of Lent is self-focused. When I started serving (taking on) during Lent rather than just giving up, I found myself discovering, "epiphing", so much more that just through introspection. And I needed the reminder because discernment has turned me to reflect on myself far more than normal.

Back to this song. After the awe of the visuals abated, and I listened to the words, I was struck at how important it was to be open to insights and epiphanies. This came at a wonderful time, at the start of Lent, during my discernment process. And I saw it because someone important to me for my discernment shared it online.

With Lent and with discernment, we are in a state of discovery and heightened awareness. Sometimes that process can shock or disturb. Sometimes you feel joy, and other times you need to dive ever deeper into assessing your motives and perceptions. Take the lyrics in this verse:

So when you met the new you,
Were you scared?
Were you cold?
Were you kind?
Yeah when you met the new you,
did someone die inside?

Have I met the new me? YES. This blog wouldn't exist if I didn't feel for the past several years that there's an authentic me yearning to be known, trying to be outward and overt. I pushed it away for years, especially the younger me during the times I was handling issues of sexual orientation. I pushed it away because I felt as though I was meeting a new me.

Was I scared? Yes.

Was I cold? Yes.

Was I kind? Increasingly to others, and yet not to myself.

And, when I met the new me, I was watching someone die inside.

All this is heightened during the contemplative Lenten season.  I see the world in need and I see myself more awake, more humble, more present. I'm no longer speeding through on the freeway of life, but pausing to take a picture and to ponder. But when this persisted outside of Lent, I was facing a changing understanding of me.

I don't think I'm different. I just think I'm recognizing what I'm really all about. Perhaps others have known this. I imagine that this might be why people have tolerated me even when I'm not the kindest, nicest person on the outside. Everyone has a bad day. I feel like I had a bad couple of decades. Lenten reflection and discernment draws me to better see my authentic self. 

It's not technically a new me. 

It's a revealed me.

Looks like it's time to decide.Are you here?Are you now?Is this it?All of those selves that you tried;wasn't one of 'em good enough?

And then this verse drives it home. Like the masks I referred to Ash Wednesday morning ("The Masks Come Off", they come off and we see our mortality, our humanity, our real selves.

WIth Lent or discernment, it's time to explore, but at some point it's time to decide. What do you to do with what you're discovering? Do you move towards a living out what you're discovering?

Do you go and help those who are sick, homeless, in pain?

Do you go and bring justice to those who have been put down?

Do you bring the message of Christ's healing love to those who have long grown cynical and alone.

Or... Do you sit and fall back into your dream state?

I don't intend to fall back asleep. I pray that those walking on a Lenten journey with me or who accompany me on my discernment will help me stay the course. But it's not easy.

Gravity's just a habit that you're really sure you can't break.

Let's look for ways that we together can soar through the heavens, lovingly, playfully, tossing water balloons and breaking pinatas in the sky, and see that our past selves have held us down unnecessarily.

Gravity's just a habit. We can serve others and have fun looking beyond it. Let's go out together this Lent and break our habit.





http://letallwhoarethirstycome.com/2016/02/upside-down-and-inside-out.html

We will return to dust... Meanwhile

Placing the ashes on the foreheads of friends in the congregation had me thinking about our mutual journey.

On Ash Wednesday, we tear the veil that keeps us sane. We acknowledge that we all must die eventually and return to the dust, the stardust, the heavens of which we are made. Will this grand unmasking leave us in an existential void?

Or, can we use this great reminder for something else? Can we, must we take this humbling reality and use it as a salve to heal those around us, as they journey through life? Our voyage will one day land on inevitable shores, but it's in caring for those who walk with us and after us, like those who walked before us, that we pry open the heart to share the grace that is there for us to accept.

The life we must one day surrender is not a life without ramification. We are in a symbiotic relationship with every creature on this earth. We are in a symbiotic relationship with the earth itself. A life without that interdependency is a life not lived.

And, like all relationships where one feeds the other and vice versa, the removal of one of those lives not only does great harm but can endanger or imperil the other. We mutually rely on each other. It's in our successful, healthy living that we can flourish. Together.

So yes, we will return to dust... And yet, meanwhile....

The Christ we follow asks us to be in relationship with each other, in families and in communities. When it was time for him to die, he instructed John to take care of Mary. That's our charge as well. We're to take care of each other as though we are taking care of the mother of Christ, for Christ.

And throughout the Gospels, almost every parable and story talks about His care for the needy and the sick. That's not a coincidence. There would be no miracles if Christ left the sick to fend for themselves. Miracles arise out of caring for the life of the other.

So yes, we face a mortality on Ash Wednesday that weighs on us heavily throughout Lent. We see and acknowledge that our loved ones as well as we ourselves will no longer be able to share an intimate laugh or tear some day. But we must be the healing love that binds our past joys and pains to our future joys and pains. With a little care and perhaps some stitches, the wound of death can still connect the living, breathing tissues left behind.

May we all on this day of dust also remember to be the grace and healing for the our families, for the human family, for the earth.

http://letallwhoarethirstycome.com/2016/02/we-will-return-to-dust-meanwhile.html

The Masks Come Off - An Ash Wednesday Reflection

Lent came early this year. The festivities from Christmas ended abruptly at Candelmas, February 2, and just one week later, we wrap up with Mardi Gras.

Sunset, Mardi Gras, 2016 while walking in Altadena

And now, a few hours after the feasting, the meat, the pancakes, the beads, the booze, the masks, the merriment all are put away. We wrap it up and we look squarely at the 40 day season of penitence called Lent. 

And the masks come off.

Because all that play and fun and food are temporary pleasures. We roam this earth and enjoy these delights, but in the end we all return to the earth. Like Adam. Like every person since, including Jesus. Pauper and prince must one day lie forever more. Like the moon that waxes into fullness, we all eventually must yield and wane.

But like the moon, we don't disappear. We may not be visible, but our presence is felt. Our gravity remains. We can still block out the light of the sun. All without being seen.

Like every year, some of my friends say goodbye to loved ones, friends, parents, and it's never easy. We don't want to let go and we hope that they stay with us forever. But it's impossible to do this. We're of the earth and we must return. It rips me apart saying goodbye or watching others do so. But it's our fate as human beings

As you enter this Lenten season, let me help you take off your mask, as I take off mine. The word "sincere" comes from the Greek and means "without mask". Let's take off these masks and look at each other in true sincerity.

Let's appreciate and love our respective humanity, both of each other and all our brothers and sisters who roam this mysterious world. Let the Spirit that animates us shine forth in our eyes, like the stars that shine around an unseen moon, moving us and guiding us towards that precious dance we know as life.

http://letallwhoarethirstycome.com/2016/02/the-masks-come-off-ash-wednesday.html

Don't Speak

There's a wonderful line in the movie and Broadway play "Bullets over Broadway". Whenever the young writer, played by John Cusack, tries to express his infatuation with the veteran movie actress (Diane Wiest), she pushes her hand into his face, smushing his eyeglasses, and blocks him mouth. She says this while melodramatically saying "Don't speak. Don't speak! Don't speak."

You may notice that there are times when I don't post things to my blog. It's not that I have little to say. I think most people are shocked whenever I express such a thought. No, I'm simply in a mode of listening rather than speaking, of tuning in rather than merely hearing.

Listening isn't the same thing as hearing after all. You have the sense of hearing at all times, even in your sleep. You may not be responding on a conscious level, but the ear drums are responding and the brain is detecting auditory signals. But you're not listening by default.

To listen is to take in the sounds and to incorporate them into your active mind. You may be processing, remembering, reacting, or all three. When I listen, I'm surprised at times with what I have been hearing, with what I was not processing just moments ago, not remembering, not reacting.

And life sometimes moves us in a direction where we're so knocked around that we don't have the mental legroom to go the extra mile and actually listen to what our ears are telling us. We're busy planning, judging, and explaining.

So sometimes, when I feel as though I've reached a point of saturation, I realize that I might not actually be listening.

And listening isn't just with our ears. Have you ever clanged a gong, a glass, a bell and listened to the resonating sound? Have you done so while holding that object? You may notice that the object continues to vibrate, well past the moment that you stopped hearing the sound.

Our bodies feel things, hear things, grasp things without our ears. All our senses contribute to our ability to take in the external world. Our cerebral mind may be too busy to cope with all that input, so it filters out things that it deems extraneous. Feedback that might be redundant. Sounds that might be irrelevant. Sights that might be unremarkable.

So with our entire physical being, we go through life not "listening to what we hear". Or, perhaps it's not "noticing what we our senses have found".

And in those times I feel overwhelmed, I pause and breathe. I walk. I dispel the words coming out of my mouth that block me from listening to the rhythms of life, from seeing the child of God before me, from feeling the heartbeat of the Holy Spirit.

And I kick myself off my comfortable place, sit perched and alert, watch, listen, feel.

And I don't speak.



http://letallwhoarethirstycome.com/2016/01/dont-speak.html

Advent Meditation - Reading the Leaves

I've always walked and hiked a lot, especially in the past few years. I've realized that I notice more in the world and have more opportunities to reflect on things going on in my life when I go outside, putting one foot in front of the other.

The other day, during this cool December month, I was walking just after sunrise, noting the whiff of firewood from the night before, and found myself gazing at a large maple tree down the street from my home. I know this tree well, as it stands in front of a small house and is naturally decked out at this time of year with exhilarating autumn colors. I stared at the shimmering golden maple leaves, and the unraked layers scattered around the base. As I got closer, feet crunching on fallen foliage, I was struck by an odd vision. Two or three leaves were spinning wildly as they clung to the branches. They were twirling in the wind, trembling, vibrating on the bare twigs.

What made me take notice of these particular leaves was the obvious contrast to the other thousands of others on that tree. The other golden forms were perfectly stationary, as though in a painting. Motionless. Oblivious to those two or three quaking ones just a few feet away. I thought, "Oh, I actually might be able catch these spinning leaves just as they fall away to the ground - a perfect autumn moment on my walk." So I stepped towards the tree and gazed at the shivering ones hoping to catch them in the act of falling. I came to a stop on the lawn below the leaves. I watched and waited to see a spectacle that admittedly is repeated millions of times a day this time of year, but would be seen only by me, at this moment, at this place.

But it didn't happen, at least not in the way that I expected. As it turns out, as I was staring at the twirlers, I saw out of the corner of my eye an unexpected movement. I turned my head, and one of those motionless leaves broke off and started to drift downwards, wafting this way and that, before gently landing on the damp ground below. It was one of the stronger leaves that fell. I looked up, and the spinning leaves still quivered manically in the wind. I looked up and the stationary ones still remained motionless.

So I got to see a leaf fall. What I saw was what I wanted to see, what I waited to see, but it wasn't how I expected to see it. 

And as I took a couple of steps back towards the street, one last shape caught my attention. I saw pigtails and two large blue eyes. It was as though a young child - straight out of central casting to play the role of Cindy Lou Who, the tiniest tot on the Grinch Who Stole Christmas - was gazing out the front window of the modest home. Her head was propped on her hands, her elbows planted on a sofa, her big round eyes staring at the tree. It seems she hadn't noticed me.

I'm not certain what she was looking at, what she was waiting for. Did she want to see the leaves fall as well? Was she wondering where her Mom and Dad had gone to at this hour? Perhaps she was wondering what was for breakfast. But she was waiting and watching up towards the tree. But as I started my departure, she moved her head suddenly, surprised to see someone else there with her. Of course, I was concerned that I had startled her. But she just tilted her head slightly and smiled. She smiled broadly, with innocence and gentleness.

Advent is a season where we often run around madly, racing from one store to the next store, or from one e-store to the next e-store, staring at our phones as we wait in line. We do it because we want to make Christmas special for the ones we love, those who are planted in our lives. We do extra shopping, decorating, cooking on top of our normal chores, with work and family commitments. We spin around the city and it's a wonder we just don't collapse. That we don't fall to the damp ground below. Yet we somehow hang on. And our joys almost always come from unexpected ways. 

We're asked to spend Advent waiting for the baby Jesus. We're asked to be alert, to be watchful, with childlike innocence and wonder. It can often be challenging, if we let our attention drift in the wind to this mall and that concert, to this show and that party.  

May Advent keep us all awake at the sunrise, alert, in a state of wonder, head in our hands, staring out the window for something that perhaps only we can see, perhaps something we all can share. And may it surprise us with meaning far greater than we ever expected.

Do you see what I see?

After the rains above Los Angeles, Feb 2014

From a place of beauty
where the bouncing wind thumps
against a wood frame window

Watching shape shifting clouds
wander confused and dazed
between the mountains and city below

Listening to parrots chatter
catching coyotes scampering
smiling at that cat rolling in the grass

I sit restlessly
frustrated
not in a state of peace.

Unease competes with my senses
like an itch on my back
distracting me from appreciation

Because in places far away and maybe even nearby
the same glorious sights, sounds, and smells
thud hollow on the heart.

For if I were a refugee, a hungry child, or a widow
would I see, hear, and feel
the same things as the privileged

this man who sits in his warm home he calls his own
staring out the window
seeing the beauty because of good fortune?

Footsteps of the Flies

Some times of our lives or of the year, we seemingly seem to be bumped by death from the left and by the dying from the right. We hear our mortality creeping up behind us, and we see tears and pain in front of us.

It's easy to let loose, go full on emo and drown ourselves in the sorrows of nihilism and fate. We drift alone on an island, fearful of what life has in store for us next.

Last Friday I saw the staged version of Lord of the Flies for the first time. My niece performed in an all-girl production, where they changed the characters from Ralph, Simon, Jack, and Piggy to Rachel, Simone, Jackie, and Piggy. It added a new dimension to see young girls in a classic modern story.

The broad themes stayed the same: the natural tendency for order and rules vs the natural tendency for tribalism and war, the Christ-like lover of peace being misunderstood by all, the innate criminality in some, the futility of intellectual blindness. But the use of girls ensured that these themes were understood to be truly across the human race, and not just among men. The cast was not allowed to lean on a simplistic boys-will-be-boys crutch. And the emotions felt ever more raw.

I bring it up because this show preceded a weekend that also included a memorial for a family member who passed on. That loss of innocence described in the book often times accompanies the departure of a friend or relative. It's part of our nature to question life and our natural place in it.

Lord of the Flies as a title arises literally from Beelzebub, or Baal-ze-bub. That deity is now viewed as a demon or devil. It's as though the devil arises when we're adrift on an island alone. The book implies that the devil is in us, and we hear the footsteps of the devil when left to our own devices.

But we aren't alone on an island. We have each other and most importantly, we have those who brought us here. Unlike the story, we weren't left here by accident. Our ancestors and friends paved a way for us in ways small and large.

Which brings me to this All Saints and All Souls day prayer that I've been saying for the past few years. It's obviously a slight reworking of Hebrews 12 and the prayer attributed to Saint Francis. But it merges them into a journey of hope.

We aren't adrift on an island, cast away to fend for ourselves. We have footprints in the sand that we can follow. And we can lay a path for those who come after us. So yes, like the beast in Lord of the Flies lurking in the shadows of our darkest night, we may find ourselves crawling in fear. At first. For now.

And then we can awake to a dawn, strengthened by the sunlight, supported by those clouds of relationships new and old, walking on the paths that were paved to bring us to this place of beauty. We may not be on this earth for very long, but we are not alone. That sound we hear is not the Lord of the Flies buzzing out of death. It's the prayer of hope that willed us into being. We exist because the love of others brought us here and we too can bring life to those who follow.

Be Not Afraid

Playful in the crypts below Lima, Peru's cathedral. January, 2012.

There's nothing to fear but fear itself.

Don't be a scaredy-cat.

Over and over throughout the Bible, we're told to fear not.  (Except when God's pissed off. Then yeah, be fearful.)

All this courage and fearlessness is thrust upon us. We're supposed to have a strong spine, a stiff upper lip.

And yet. in many ways, it's a tough sell for me. We do have fears. Some carry angst over monsters, others clowns and dolls, some over violence in our streets, and still others criminals. Apparently, many fear even people of a different ethnicity or culture, walking on the other side of the street. That's fear. That's real.

And even the Biblical exhortation to be not afraid can be rough. Don't be afraid? It's not easy when you watch the news. And even if you're faithful, don't be fearful ... unless God's mad? It's like a menacing parent who says they love you but won't hesitate to whip you silly if you don't fall in line. That fear is intrinsically mixed in with love, and frankly it's hard to find that sort of relationship anywhere close to being unconditional love. You see that more in horror movies involving kidnappers. A simple understanding of Biblical courage might be unpersuasive.

Besides, humans as a rule don't like to be genuinely afraid, so we don't need to be reminded to be courageous. Instead, avoid fear, transform fear, deflect fear. We act out in anger and aggression in order to avoid situations and feelings of fear. True fear debilitates and we, in our fight or flight reactions, show that we will do whatever it takes to reduce these terrible feelings. And when we can't evade the horrors of life, anxiety and/or depression settles in to offset the enormous negative energy. Counterproductive as it might seem, but negative emotions are sometimes the only way to counteract other negative emotions.

And then there's Halloween.

It's a holiday that, when I was a kid, was surrounded by mirth and mild fear. Increasingly, it became one of terror, where haunted houses migrated from the corny to bloodbaths. This holiday is now worth 8-10 billion dollars each year in the USA. Thanksgiving is worth less than 3 billion, not including travel. The numbers alone might cause the blood to drain from your face.

By definition, the word Halloween comes from the phrase All Hallow's Eve (All Holy's Eve). All Saints Day is November 1 and All Souls Day (for those who haven't quite made it to sainthood) follows on November 2. The night before, or Eve of, All Saints Day, like the Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve, is a time to begin celebrations. The concept of Halloween shifted from focus on Saints and Souls in all their holiness to the dead. More than that, it's moved to the terrifying.

Why do we do this? What is the joy in creating fear in others? The mild stimulation certainly can raise adrenaline. There's also the merriment associated with giving someone a playful fright, a "boo!" moment. Some enjoy gory movies and entertainment, and Halloween provides a date as a focal point for such diversions. Looking around me, I think we can agree that this is the most common situation.

In contrast, we have some who feel that all this is utterly satanic in every respect. They assert that any enjoyment of the dead, the monsters, the blood, and the costumes celebrate a pagan and demonic heritage. I'm not in agreement with these folks, as the history I've described clearly has ties to the remembrance of the saints and the dead.

I think that Halloween has become our subconscious effort to make light of death, to create opportunities for cathartic release, for us to admit our fears and release the rage that would otherwise become manifest if left unchecked.

We aren't calling up demons from other worlds. We're dispatching demons inside ourselves.

My Halloween costumes, when I dress up, have been one of three types: the victim, the maniacal, and the fictional or historical human character. The one exception to these tendencies is that I once dressed as the Grim Reaper. It might be boring, but I prefer to get a laugh or a wry smile out of my costume rather than a frightful chill.

Do I miss out on the catharsis? I'm not sure. I enjoy the efforts of others to induce the fear, but I don't feel the need to immerse in it. It's almost as though there's too much in the real world to create real fear. What subconscious-clearing monster must I confront that can top the horrors of today's news headlines?

Others though enjoy the fright. And I give them latitude in that delight. If that fright lessens the existential or all-to-present dread that permeates our every day life, then I'm in favor of it.

Biblical exhortations to be not afraid aren't meant to eliminate simplistic, superficial fears after all. I think they are intended to root out our real fears and our faith-killing monsters. The opposite of faith isn't doubt. Doubt is often a key indicator of an underlying and powerful faith.

No, the opposite of faith is fear. Real fear. Because when we are afraid, we cannot love. And when we cannot love, we cannot follow the one and only commandment given to us by Christ: to love one another.

So let's give ourselves a fun "boo!", a playful surprise, a well meaning monster. Or, if you're like me, dress up like Harry Potter, or a judge, or road kill. Let's be joyful, knowing that our reverence for the dead might be helped when we acknowledge, admit, and embrace that death and the unknown are indeed frightening.

And let's hold hands as we ask for love, blessings, and candy. We won't be afraid, if we walk hand in hand, knowing that we have each other's love for all eternity.

Good Grief

We're surrounded by death. It's on the news every few minutes. It's so widespread and pervasive that we've even become desensitized to it. Look at the gun deaths out there on our streets every single day. We watch and we slowly turn the tv stations to sports, Netflix, or cooking shows. We pull up Facebook, register our sadness online, and scroll on.

The pain and suffering of those immersed in death feels unbearable and seems impossible to contain. So we let it slip by. Forget Andy Warhol's prediction that we'll each have our 15 minutes of fame. I think today we spend 15 minutes in grief before it's time to turn our attention to the next obsession, our celebrity-of-the-hour of our psychological Id.

We genuflect towards the plight of others and we move on. Is that resilience? Are we strong against what blights our souls? When we turn away from our emotional distress towards something more "productive"?

Or is that denial? Where we turn our backs on the fearful and look instead to alternative realities? When we fill our minds and lips with anything and everything but that which causes us such heartache?

Novodevichy Cemetery & Convent
Moscow, Russia, June 2012

Last year, we lost Stephen's gregarious brother Tim. He left us in a way that created enormous emotional upheaval. I last saw him 9 days before our wedding. He passed away one week exactly before we walked down the aisle at All Saints Pasadena. Our celebration, something we dreamed about because we never thought it could be possible, was forever tainted by the painful departure of someone we expected to be there in the pews with us. We wore buttons with his face to remember him, so he's in all our wedding photos, but it wasn't the same as having him laugh with us, sing with us, sigh with us.

The morning after the wedding, hours after our celebration ended, we collected the reception flower arrangements and brought them to Tim's memorial.




Life is like that. Grief works on us at times we can't control. Death has no on-off switch.

Then last week, we lost Stephen's Uncle Dave. His passing was quick, and his pain didn't get drawn out over months. But it also means that the opportunities to say goodbye weren't there either. Sure, we had a hilarious time filled with family, stories, and games while camping at Yosemite a couple months ago in August. So we at least saw him a few times since the wedding. But many of the family didn't get a chance to say a proper goodbye. The grief sits heavily when you can't find closure.

Grief sometimes smacks you like a sucker punch to the gut when you're looking the other way. You don't expect exactly when it hits, you're not sure how it will feel, you often are bewildered at the pain. It's not fun. I've never enjoyed it and don't enjoy watching others as they cope with it.

But I stand there with them, together, holding hands, holding heads, holding hearts, so that we can cope without feeling alone. No, I don't enjoy it when others grieve, but grieve they must.

I wish them a good grief.

Not a good grief like Charlie Brown often lamented. Not an exhortation of frustration of something that passes quickly. But a heartfelt, purging, cathartic grief that has no time limit and has no agenda. With a pain that brings us intimately in touch with the billions of people who came before us and will come after us.

For it's in feeling that pain that we reconnect with our humanity, the same humanity that we so fleetingly ignore or pass by because we have no time. Love and loss are time-churning, time-consuming, clock burners. There's no rush and yet the intensity sometimes makes us want to push ahead faster. We want to fall in love faster. We want to cope with loss faster.

And like love, loss cannot be rushed. Our souls are pruned, our hearts bandaged, our psyches mended. The vacuum created by the change may be enormous and may be miniscule, but that gap exists nonetheless.

How quickly we lament that gap. We cut back our rose bushes and see the barren twigs, urging new buds to appear. But life doesn't work that quickly. God not through with us in the timeframe we want. And we can't ignore forever the need to prune back that which is no longer alive in the garden of our lives.

I sometimes wish that my garden were nothing but succulents. They're hardy. They don't need pruning. They just grow. But it's a false expectation. Even cactus plants need pruning.... eventually. It just takes a lot longer to get there. No, the only thing that doesn't have a rejuvenating process are inanimate objects. Stones. Bricks. Pebbles.

They don't die back.

There's no pain of loss that accompanies life.

And there's no chance for life made new.

Amidst the pain of losing someone swirls the often unstated fear, the dread of facing our mortality. As we watch others move away from us to worlds we do not grasp or understand, we can't help but wonder at our own departure. Will we suffer? Will we have a chance to say goodbye?

Let me share with you some words from Mark Nepo. These are words that he writes out of his terror from his life threatening health conditions. But it strikes me as similar in feelings to how many cope with grief.

During this time, I was unable to find my bearings, had no sense of center, and was unsure about everything. But in the center of my terror, there was a small voice stirring, emanating, and building from under all my trouble. It didn't speak in words, and I was unaccustomed to listing for it or to it. I know now it came from the core of all life and all time and began to assert itself through the bottom of my personality, the way sunlight passes through a crack in a barn. This was my first feeling of the touchstone of grace that would grow and lessen my terror over time.

Mark Nepo, Inside the Miracle

Grief may not be what we seek but we still need it to get past loss. I don't wish you to cry over death very often in your life, but when you do find yourself in a time of grief, I pray that you let the process work in you. Let the pruning be a productive one, creating space in your heart, so that life and be fruitful once more, basking in the sunlight that you've allowed into your core.

May your pain be a good grief.

Beatitudes 2.0

Photo by Christina Honchell

Lutheran Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber came to visit All Saints Pasadena once again, this time with her new book "Accidental Saints". I was working the photo booth but got especially excited when I was asked to lead the final hymn Amazing Grace, after her presentation finished.

It was the culmination of an hour of talks, filled with prayers and stories that touched all of us in the church. Theologically, there wasn't anything that differed markedly from what we at All Saints Pasadena usually hear from our pulpit. What felt different was her delivery.

She's direct and to the point. She doesn't shirk from swearing. Nadia sticks to being her authentic self. She did confide that she's had discussions in the past with her bishop about her communication style, but by being true to herself, she shows herself to be more honest and believable in her relationship with God.

That's not to say that those who don't swear have an untrue relationship. She just won't change herself superficially just to be polite.

One of the most moving moments was when Nadia shared her modern Beatitudes. I include them here for you.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the agnostics. Blessed are they who doubt. Those who aren’t sure, who can still be surprised. Blessed are they who are spiritually impoverished and therefore not so certain about everything that they no longer take in new information. Blessed are those who have nothing to offer. Blessed are they for whom nothing seems to be working. Blessed are the pre-schoolers who cut in line at communion. Blessed are the poor in spirit. You are of heaven and Jesus blesses you. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.Blessed are they for whom death is not an abstraction. Blessed are they who have buried their loved ones, for whom tears are as real as an ocean. Blessed are they who have loved enough to know what loss feels like. Blessed are the mothers of the miscarried. Blessed are they who don’t have the luxury of taking things for granted any more. Blessed are they who can’t fall apart because they have to keep it together for everyone else. Blessed are the motherless, the alone, the ones from whom so much has been taken. Blessed are those who “still aren’t over it yet.” Blessed are they who laughed again when for so long they thought they never would. Blessed are those who mourn. You are of heaven and Jesus blesses you. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who no one else notices. The kids who sit alone at middle-school lunch tables. The laundry guys at the hospital. The sex-workers and the night shift street sweepers. Blessed are the losers and the babies and the parts of ourselves that are so small. The parts of ourselves that don’t want to make eye contact with a world that only loves the winners. Blessed are the forgotten. Blessed are the closeted. Blessed are the unemployed, the unimpressive, the underrepresented. Blessed are the teens who have to figure out ways to hide the new cuts on their arms. Blessed are the meek. You are of heaven and Jesus blesses you. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the wrongly accused, the ones who never catch a break, the ones for whom life is hard – for they are those with whom Jesus chose to surround himself. Blessed are those without documentation. Blessed are the ones without lobbyists. Blessed are foster kids and trophy kids and special ed kids and every other kid who just wants to feel safe and loved and never does. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Blessed are they who know there has to be more than this. Because they are right. Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are those who make terrible business decisions for the sake of people. Blessed are the burnt-out social workers and the over worked teachers and the pro-bono case takers. Blessed are the kids who step between the bullies and the weak. Blessed are they who delete hateful, homophobic comments off their friend’s Facebook page. Blessed are the ones who have received such real grace that they are no longer in the position of ever deciding who the “deserving poor” are. Blessed is everyone who has ever forgiven me when I didn’t deserve it. Blessed are the merciful for they totally get it.

As you can see she took the original and expanded them with examples that may resonate more effectively to the modern ear, especially here in the USA. The original Beatitudes are from the Sermon on the Mount and are in Matthew 5:3-11.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,     for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn,     for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek,     for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,     for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful,     for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart,     for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers,     for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,     for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.

I can't stop thinking about this updated list. It's similar but it focuses on things that are more tangible, more direct. They arise from stories in the pews and in the streets. She didn't change the blessings. She painted real faces, faces awash in tears, of those who the blessings are poured upon.

So since her talk, I've been thinking about my own examples of the Beatitudes. Her examples are from her ministry. We all have different ministries and my will seem different from hers. After much reflection, I find the my list to be already formed in my head but, until now, not written down.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,     the spiritual but not religious     the seekers of their authentic selves     the suffering who begin to doubt because the pain never seems to end     the sick who fear their own bodies     the stranger in our midst who needs a smile, a hug, a friend     the child afraid to venture outside lest the bullying return     the scared who fear coming home lest they return to a place of anger and judgment for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn,     the spouse who lost the person they've loved deeper than we can understand     the lovers who no longer find the trust and joy in each other's arms and say goodbye     the child who doesn't understand why her parent won't be coming home anymore     the friends who viewed a couple as one, as was meant to be, but now just find hollow eyes     the family shocked at the loss of someone taken too soon by gun violence     the relatives whose loss is viewed by others as collateral damage     the breaking hearts who did not even have a chance to say goodbye     the silent who must watch dementia steal someone's memories away leaving just a body for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek,     the teenager who stays in the closet, fearing that the name of their love will be discovered     the pained who turn to the bottle or to pills to give them strength and energy     the thinker and artist that lacks the opportunity to share     the pastors who heal others but wonder who will tend to them     the friend who realizes that somehow their bodies and souls don't fit a M/F binary     the nurse who washes our sores         the friend that listens to hear us, watches to see us, and grabs our hands to hold us for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,     the foreigner who is told to leave and go to a place of fear and hunger     the friends who cannot walk down the street in a hoodie or even complain about injustice     the mother who just wants to get affordable medical care to plan a family     the inmate facing the final judgment of Man and not our Creator     the families torn apart because of arbitrary rules regarding homeland     the kneeling who face violence because of their love for God, YHWH, Allah, Buddha, Shiva, ...     the proud who won't let others impose their bigotries on them for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful,     the heros who take care of us behind our backs     the friends that know all will benefit from roads, sanitation, health, protection, education     the families who reach out and adopt and care for all children, not just those that look like them     the older sibling, real or implied, who has our backs     the comadre and compadre who listen to our problems without judging us     the teacher who gives of their own time to care for that special child     the mother and father, sister and brother, who just want you to be happy for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart,     the custodians at the church, homeless shelter, and hospital     the teachers who want the most for your child     the person at the grocery line who lets you cut in front of them     the staff at the store and restaurant that share the bathroom even if you didn't or can't buy anything     the ranger who tends to our land so that future generations can marvel at Creation     the homeowner who sees you lost, gives you water, and guides you home     the friend who gives you a ride, cares for a prisoner, plants flowers on a trail for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers,     the police and judiciary that understand that true safety starts in trust     the people who unite us as a human family, rather than divide us like spoils of war     the artists, writers, and musicians who inspire us to love and compassion     the fire crew that calms the fearful neighborhood     the military who put their lives on the line for our protection and not for their glory     the unknown missionary who lies in a shallow grave for the civil rights of brothers and sisters     the good Samaritan whose name we never knew, or whose face we've already forgotten for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,     the ones who care for the Children of God          ignoring false idols          ignoring their own egos          ignoring the sense of their own righteousness for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

May you find examples of the beatitudes in your own life and live out the meaning of God's blessings. I invite you to share them with me, for in sharing your views of blessing, you bless me with your insight and love.

Welcome Musings

When I travel I find myself seeking out museums, churches, and architecture. I marvel at well laid out streets and plazas, delight in local music, and try to learn about local poets and writers. I go to these places and then just walk around, soaking it in, slowly without a fast-paced agenda.

Picasso's Guernica in Madrid, 2015

This is not the stuff that cruise ship tours do as deeply as I prefer.

I just did possibly my most whirlwind trip ever with my parents in Spain, France, Andorra, and Portugal. The trip moved from city to city because they really aren't as into art and music as much as I am. Mom certainly enjoys visiting churches. Dad enjoys the churches and plazas. But all the other stuff, well, they're more practical than I am I suppose.

But is an appreciation for the works of the muse impractical? The classical muses were the writer, the poet, the historian, the musician, the song writer, the astronomer, the dramatic actor, the comedy actor (and architect), the dancer, and the sacred poet. The sacred poet one has always been the hardest to define for me. She's also into agriculture and pantomime which are about as related as string theory is to string cheese. But these goddesses are there, with their side musings, in the pantheon of Greek and Roman (who borrowed liberally) mythology. And they inspire us to see and hear and think outside of our normal cloistered minds.

They are known for devoting themselves to their crafts. Through the ages, most people have an appreciation for the way these arts influence our emotions and thoughts. They inspire in positive and negative ways. And we feel civilized when we find ourselves surrounded by them.

Civilized by our muses. It seems odd to me that we can have our animal or rougher edges softened by the creative arts. How can cerebral arts bring us to pause and marvel? And yet it affects most of us in ways that are hard to pinpoint, connecting our daily lives to something distant and ever-present, something timeless and true. We grow and become more complete when exposed to the muses.

Although my parents may not want to spend all day amongst all the muses, they most certainly enjoy their preferred ones. The buildings and hymns in churches most certainly were represented. And they certainly found ways to become instant friends with strangers whenever they met other Filipinos. They could share stories and histories. It's like the muses, but more intimate, transient, fleeting.

Curiously, painting and sculpture was held in low regard by the ancient Westerners, and did not have a muse. They were the result of manual labor. This surprises me because I so value the inspiration that I draw from these arts. I think today's artists are held in greater regard because we realize that their hands are guided by as inspired a mind as any of the other muses.

Whether respected or not, the muses sing to us, speak us, enter our beings in ways that are unexpected and tangible. We can block them out, ears covered and eyes shut, but we're not immune to their effects.

I think that happens because most of the time we're not trying to cram them into our beings. Instead, we make ourselves open and receptive to them, and in doing so, we let their magic work us over and make us feel more complete. And by welcoming them in, we invite them to create more and inspire us further.

Isn't that similar to many of the relationships in our lives? Our friendships? Our loves? Our congregations? Rather than overtly trying to hard to bring them in, we just open ourselves up and serendipitously discover the ways they tug on the strings of our heart. And together we grow together in mutual affection and appreciation. So that we can laugh together. Cry together. Sing together. Pray together.

May we welcome the new and creative forces all around us and discover the creation from within.

Blessings over Fear

A visit to Lourdes - Sep 2015

I took my parents on a trip to Spain (and France, Portugal, and Andorra) last month. It's the third time I've taken them to Europe. Each time has been one where I gave a gift out of love and gratitude. They paid for my study abroad back when I was an undergraduate. We didn't have much and certainly this just added to their debts at the time.

My time at Oxford was transformative. It was as though my eyes were opened to beauty and possibilities I hadn't expected. True the food was terrible beyond the pale. I exaggerate not. I didn't know vegetables could be boiled so thoroughly that they could look whiter than beyond pale. But the museums, art, people, and opportunity to experience a different culture affected me deeply and I cherish what I learned and continue to learn on every trip I take to this day.

So I thank them with these trips. This one was their first trip to Spain, a particularly meaningful one because our ancestors came to the Philippines from Spain.

I blog this because as with any time you put parents and with their post-adolescent children together, you have an opportunity for conflict. Much as I try to be a caring child, it's human nature to have disagreements with someone who raised you with firm advice. Much as I cherished the time and valued the blessings and opportunity to spend three weeks with my parents, there were moments when I felt as though I were 14 years old again. I'm sure I was a pill then and I definitely could be tough to swallow when I'm petulant or angry now.

The feelings are worsened when mortality is brought into the mix. None of us live forever. Much as I want my parents to be around, I know at some point I must say goodbye to them. Or, far worse, they have to say goodbye to me. Statistically and from family health history, there's much to make me feel that I need to gird myself for the inevitable. Hence, the trip was a great way to learn more about ourselves and to share in our time.

But I said that's how feelings are made worse. I for one may intellectually accept what will some day come, but emotionally it's not easy. And whenever I saw evidence that my parents were slowing down, or not are more forgetful than in the past, or are ignoring dietary proscriptions by their physicians, I experience the role reversal that often accompanies caring for aging parents. I heard myself scolding for bad eating and getting frustrated by forgetfulness. I've learned to accept the physical slowing down, but then get overly cautious when we aren't slowing down enough.

My mom is the most formidable woman I know. Whenever we moved, she started with entry level jobs yet always rose to be a leader. She finally retired as the Executive Director of the non-education parts of Stanford and Cal State LA. Dad started his professional career as an attorney and became a banker. Even after he retired, and returned to work as a part time teller to keep stave off boredom, he sometimes sold more new accounts than full time staff, winning trips for his successes. And yet he's still strong in his 80s, wanting to carry luggage when I could be doing so for him. Both of them worked all their lives, 2-3 jobs each, just to get us our education here in the USA.

So it bothers me to watch them slow down from the peaks of their careers. And I didn't understand why I was frustrated and angry during the first week of the trip. It took that week to realize that I was getting angry because I was masking my real feelings.

I was frightened.

Fearful of the signs of aging they were showing.

Afraid of someday saying goodbye to them.

And like most men, I resist fear and transform it into other emotions. The fear became anger and frustration.

Once I realized what I was doing, it became easier to accept my feelings. I was, after all, on this trip to enjoy my time with them and share with them the land of our ancestors. What I feared can not be avoided. So stories were told, memories shared, and we were able to experience a trip with the power of healing and transformation that we all wanted to have.

I watched Mom and Dad at Lourdes. They watched others in wheelchairs, on crutches, in arms of others as they processed into several masses for blessings. They did not want to be among those who seemed more needy, as if their needs were any less than the next person. But I understood. They've always deferred to those more needy and this was no different.

I waded into the stream of Lourdes and let my fears flow out of me into the waters. Some view blessing as the transmittal of a prayer or God's grace to someone. But on that day, on this trip, I realized that to be filled with grace and love, I needed to make room in my soul for that love.

The fear had to be released.

An opening needed to be created.

My mind and heart had to wade into the thin space.

And in the darkened void I created but feared, from that willful purgation into the stream at Lourdes, I made room for grace. I stepped out of myself and found fresh air. And with my parents on this trip, I felt the blessing come into me.

Another Day, Another Horror Story

Why must we march through life accepting hellish conditions? (photo July, 2015)

Another day another mass murder in the US. We've become sadly immune at times to listen to run of the mill mass murders of only 3 people. It takes something on the scale of Roseberg, Oregon's campus shooting to grab our attention. Or the church shooting in South Carolina. Or dozens of tiny children at Newtown.

That's why yesterday, a day when everyone was focused on the revolting news arising from Oregon, we didn't even hear about other mass murders that were unfolding. In Florida, a man shot his wife, her boyfriend, and a Good Samaritan trying to intervene and help, before committing suicide. The boyfriend is hanging on to his life but the others have died. This did not make the headlines, probably because unlike Oregon, it's become too common and two of the victims knew the assailant.

That's right. It's not worthy of news, of our attention, because it happens too often. These poor souls don't get the opportunity for our grieving and for our prayers because their deaths were pedestrian. Just average gun deaths.

A painful malaise has gripped us in the face of all this gun violence. I was wondering what snapped in me yesterday though. I immediately posted a comment "No no no... Prayers for the families of Oregon" (Facebook). But it wasn't enough. I felt that the passive acceptance was no longer tenable.

And I was actually confused by my reaction. I wasn't just sad. I was angry. Angry at the system, yes, but also our acceptance of Sheol, of hellish conditions on earth, of living in a burning rubbish pit. I didn't understand why I felt differently, and not happily doing my prayers.

I noticed a comment online from a former employee who wrote "Forget peace and comfort in Oregon. I am praying for angry, world-changing grief. ‪#‎UCCShooting‬" . That was it. That's what I was feeling. I was tired of praying for after the fact consolation of grieving and the dead. Not that I wouldn't, but that I felt it insufficient. I wanted more.

So I wrote online "Praying for resilience and world-changing grief so that prayers for victims and families will no longer be necessary. Praying for a quiet love that is more powerful than the clanging cymbal. Praying that our eyes and ears grown desensitized to these daily horrors can guide our hands and feet and hearts to still the red-tinged waters of the land." (Facebook)

And I felt empowered by this. I think we all can feel empowered. Remember when personal computers were becoming common place but were a mystery to most people? And Apple computer, during the 1984 Superbowl, unveiled an ad that said that the unveiling of the Macintosh computer will show why 1984 (the year) will not be like 1984 (the book). Catch the ad on YouTube. It was memorable because it promised hope that we did not have to accept the doubleplus goodspeak being fed to us.

I felt like we needed to throw our hammers at the military industrial complex that perpetuates this circle of horror. I saw my culpability as unacceptable any more. And I wondered if others felt the same way, though I didn't want that to stop me from doing something about it.

And I saw more posts from others. More comments of resolve. And by evening, there was a statement by the USA President Obama. And a statement by Rector Ed Bacon of All Saints Church in Pasadena. The feeling of exasperation was palpable last night. (Ed Bacon's statement)

Do I expect things to change? Will the National Rifle Association once again be able to convince us that we need to sit down, pray, grieve respectfully, and look at this as a mental health problem not a gun problem, well after the fact. And then watch as the NRA finances politicians who defund health care at the local through national level. Or as they finance politicians who defund health care and benefits to military veterans, people who actually know how to use these weapons, but are now left sick, untreated, frustrated, scared, angry, and armed. Or as they throw out arguments that it's pointless to ban weapons because bans don't work, but then finance politicians who support bans on drugs, abortions, minority voting access, or marriage equality.

I don't personally support gun bans, just like I don't support these other bans. I think that personal responsibility must be taken. We need licensing, certification, and regular training requirements, across the board from the local level on up. The gun industry must be made accountable for the development of dangerous products, just like the auto and other industries. And even though the relationship is not causal in any way, we have to address the popular scapegoat. If it's mental that's being blamed, we need real mental health financing with information that influences the licensing of gun ownership. We don't license the blind to drive; we shouldn't license unfit gun owners. Australia reformed their gun laws in 1996 in the wake of their worst mass murder incident. They haven't had a repeat in the two decades since.

We need accountability not complicity from law enforcement. Umpqua Community College's local Sheriff John Hanlin had once sent a letter to President Obama stating that he would never comply with gun ordinances from the national level. Is that treason or another Kim Davis situation where the government official needs to be removed from office for not upholding the laws? Either way, he's still sheriff, and in my opinion has some blood on his hands.

As do we all. When we sit idly by, spectators in the bloodbath of this Colosseum arena, we abet the continuation of this travesty. That's why my prayer today is different. 

Feeling gratitude that many are no longer willing to stand in prayer and then stand aside, that instead of standing in a circle of passivity and defensiveness, we stand together marching forward. My prayers for grief AND action yesterday have been echoed by many.

I today pray for forgiveness for not doing enough to create a safe place for all made in Her image, for allowing an idolatrous love to flourish unchallenged, for living in a house of fear rather than the house of love we want to call home.

Please stand with me and with others who want to part the red-tinged waters that threaten to drown us. Let's confront the irrational biases against any form of sensible reform. Let's hold hands and say that rather than waiting for someone to feed us, we should learn to fish and feed ourselves. We don't have to sit idly by, praying, accepting the temptation of easy resignation. We can walk through the valley of peace together.

Love your enemies

The words in Matthew 5:44 from Jesus are pretty straight-forward.

But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you

Not to mention Proverbs 25:21

If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink.

And then there's the stretch of Luke that just beats you on the head with the "love your enemies" stuff.

But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

I would be lying if I said that i follow these verses every moment of my life. It's almost impossible isn't it? The reason people would be classified as an enemy, or at least a royal pain in the behind, is that whether intentionally or not, they are making your life unpleasant. Who wants that? If the cause of  my unhappiness is clearly identifiable, it's a natural reaction to get angry at that cause.

And what of the verse of Matthew 5:39

But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also

On the face of it, this one seems to invite you to be a masochist. "Thank you sir, may i have another" whack just does not sound attractive.

Well, turning the other cheek does not necessarily mean taking pain endlessly. These passages to me are more about how we react, how we respond. Surely we have to protect ourselves and defend against violence and violation.

No, to me these passages are about responding in a surprising, unexpected way full of grace and love. Rather than returning assault and insult to assault and insult, we pray for those who offend, love them, offer ways to help and heal them. If forgiveness is central to healing and love, then we can't get to that healing and love without forgiving those who harm us.

These verses were all over my mind this week as I watched the situation in Kentucky where elected county clerk Kim Davis refused to grant marriage licenses to anyone. This she did despite directives from the District Court and from failing on appeal all the way up to the Supreme Court.

My reaction to the avowed "Christian persecution" stance is probably predictable. I'm a Christian and I don't feel persecuted by the change in law. I would feel persecuted in that county, however, if the elected official refused to perform their duties to uphold the Constitution and laws of our country. And a good number of people around the country, as Facebook and Twitter seem to show, were offended by this position.

On the opposite side of the coin, presidential candidates on the right were quick to fall over themselves to support the clerk's right to freedom of religion. The politicization and rhetoric hit the fan in ways where everyone was getting dirty.

And people got dirty. There were many photos of the clerk in the unflattering fluorescent light, as if even Beyonce or George Clooney could look good in county office lighting. People used derogatory, inflammatory, and misogynistic barbs out of their anger at this person. They aired her personal dirty laundry that, admittedly, showed signs of hypocrisy. They made mean-spirited memes that were completely unrelated to what was happening.

And, in their anger, they persecuted and returned hate and venom.

I didn't laugh at any of those remarks. I saw where they came from. They arose out of anger and a feeling of continued persecution. But they attacked a person rather than the elected official. They attacked looks rather than actions. They didn't turn the other cheek.

OK I'll admit freely that I got a great laugh out of the many tweets from a Twitter user @nexttokimdavis who pretended to be a co-worker complaining about sitting in the office next to the clerk. But what I laughed at was not the personal stuff. I enjoyed the common griping that comes when you're trying to do your job and someone else at the office makes things unnecessarily dramatic, the crassness of the media, and the hysteria of the many protesters from both sides. Thankfully, there were only sparing jokes about personal issues.

Is laughing at your enemy loving? I love to laugh. I love to find humor in sad situations. I use humor to sustain me as an optimist. But i think that personal attacks may bring a snicker or laugh and yet in the end leave you without any cathartic satisfaction. I laugh at the circumstance, at our folly, at the system that tricks people into unjust actions because it's more motivating than crying. I try to not laugh at someone's personal expense. I do, but it flies in the face of things that matter to me.

Like loving those who persecute us.

May we all learn how to be loving with each other. We may never agree on certain issues, but the sun rises for all of us, the rain falls on us all, and the rainbow glitters in all of our eyes.

We Wanderers, Given to the Wind, Are Scattered

Frightened and yet soon at peace while in the sky.
Cappadocia Turkey on our Honeymoon - June 2014

"We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered." Kahlil Gibran - The Prophet

I don't think we're intentionally seeking the lonelier way. To me, it happens unexpectedly, naturally. What I seek, what I yearn for, is a closer relationship to Creation, a relationship that's both distant and deeply ingrained inside of me. It's that contradiction that makes it so hard sometimes to stay in touch with the divine. We teeter closer and then farther, ever nearer, ever further. By wandering, we need to leave our safe spaces and head towards areas that can be both exciting and unpredictable, and yet oddly expected. And that journey can feel inadvertently lonely.

The poem says that our wandering occurs even while the earth sleeps. Actually, it implies that our exploration occurs even while we sleep. I find this serenely true. I wake up at times with a peaceful "Aha". I never used to think of epiphanies as calm. But on this journey, I've started to wake up in more quiet states of awareness, of realization. Unlike the Archimedes "Eureka!" of excitement, these are the sort where you sit up and just nod your head in understanding.

So it seems that while the earth sleeps, while I sleep, we all indeed continue to travel. The scientist in me says, of course, we're traveling at a speed of 1,000 mph around the axis of the earth and 67,000 mph around the sun. That's a lot of space to cover and it'd be shame not to discover something after 8 hours of such speeds.

Most exciting to me about this poem is the final statement. We are seeds. When we are ripe, when we are ready, we go out, carried by the wind, held aloft to unknown destinations, and spread life.

Whether you are a young adult, whether you are a postulent, whether you are discovering life in Christ anew, you reach a new form of fullness. And in that fullness, we are released and sent out, by the wind, by the Holy Spirit, by the forces of the community around us, to be scattered.

The scattering is unpredictable.

The scattering can be frightening.

The scattering brings new life.