It's official

I hate being cold! Winter offers very little to me in the way of comfort. Nonetheless, it does have a certain beauty as you can see from this Christmas gift in my garden.

Christmas Blues

Yesterday I had what I can only call "the Christmas Blues". I'm not sure what brought them on but they were prompted to stay by cold, dreary weather and a stuffy head. My mother used to say that Christmas was bittersweet. As a child I thought that odd. There we were, surrounded by tinsel, presents, yummy food and good music, so where was the down side? But she was an alien in a foreign land, as scripture says. We'd lived overseas ever since I could remember and she even before that - we were sojourners. It was the only way of life I knew, I didn't find it odd. But she knew another in her youth, and she missed the family and friends that filled those years but who she had left behind. (My mother would never have seen it, but her story is that of Ruth, only she followed her husband rather than than her mother-in-law - she'd never have done that! But I digress.) I suppose now I have more leavings than I care to think about and memories of them, for some reason, are stronger at Christmas, which, indeed, makes it bittersweet.

Here's to all those I've left behind. Cheers!

It's Christmas Day!

Happy Christmas to all my readers! (All 3 of you...LOL)

What's in a name

Earlier this year some of the residents at my dad's nursing home formed a choir. It's made up of about 15 people who sang in their church choirs, community chorus and who just plain love to sing. My father is the only man! They rehearse weekly and give occasional concerts for the other residents and family members.

Nursing home residents live there not by choice but out of necessity due to physical or mental deterioration from disease, trauma or age. However, the choir can sound amazingly good - at times. Now, it's not the Morman Tabernacle Choir, but what they lack in talent they make up in enthusiasm. But this post isn't about singing it's about living life to its fullest no matter what the obstacles. It's about remaing positive and joyful even under the worst of situations. It's about Angela. Angela suffered a stroke a couple of years ago that has left her paralysed down one side and wheelchair bound. Her speech consists of three phrases: "No" "Yes" and "I know." But Angela can hum, and so when the opportunity presented itself, she joined the Tara Gospel Bells. And you can see her in the second row, chin tucked in as she hums her part. She projects her pleasure through her smile and demeanor, and her enthusiasm for life is contagious. Her parents must have known something when they named her!

"So, you don't like the blue one?"

Why do jokes about guilt always involve Jewish mothers? I'm here to tell you that guilt is the prerogative, if not an imperative, of ALL mothers. Yes, even those who think they are raising their children to be independent, free thinkers. Instilling guilt is handed down as part of the family tradition. Our mothers learned it from their mothers who learned it from theirs, who learned...you get the idea. The mother of a Catholic friend would say to each child as they were heading out, "Remember you are a daughter of this household and a child of God." Guilt! My mother was a past master at instilling guilt: "I'm so disappointed in you. What will your father say?" But to her credit, she was quite oblivious to it. When I finally confronted her (in my twenties), she was genuinely remorseful. In fact, I felt awful about...oh, wait...more guilt! And I inherited it. Having no children to heap my inheritance on, I often choose friends (sorry!). And of course there is always my sister, who, at times, I'd like to feel guilt about not being close enough to share in parental caregiving (sorry, Sis). But really, the lesson is simple - only we can make ourselves feel guilty. So if you are ever one of the recipients of my largesse, simply smile, decline and walk away. Sure it will hurt but in time, I'll recover - no really, you don't need to worry about me. (See how easy it is? )

And now for the rest of the story: A mother gave her son two shirts, identical in all but color. One was green, one blue. He goes into his bedroom to try them on and comes out wearing the green one, and his mother says, "So..."

It's one of my favorite stories!

A random thought about deadlines...

Are deadlines moving closer together or am I becoming more scattered the older I become? Whichever it is, it's freaking me out! Have I fooled others and even myself all these years into believing that I'm organized? Someone recently told me that you can't be creative and keep to a routine. I certainly know I have trouble with routine, so does that make me creative? Or am I simply disorganized? How does one declutter one's brain? Just a random thought squeezing through the very congested lanes of my gray matter.

A not-so-final note

I'm just back from Susie's funeral - what a great celebration! Over 600 of us singing her "fave" hymns and renewal songs. Listening to the beautifully sung Webber Pie Jesu, sharing the Bread and Wine around the altar that Susie, as deacon, would have set. "The homilist reminded us that Susie's legacy lives on, her love for family and friends lives on. She is not gone, not forgotten. One of the last things she did, he told us, was to bless those gathered around her. What a gift!

Family members each sported a pink ribbon on their dress or lapel acknowledging the breast cancer that claimed Susie's earthly life. In fact, looking over the congregation I saw numerous others - women and men - wearing pink, each in her or his very own shade. So many of us have been touched by this incidious disease. How many more funerals must I attend before we find a cure?

Goodbye and farewell

Early Wednesday morning a friend lost her battle with breast cancer. It was a very long war with several battles, actually. The thing is, though, when you were with her during any of that time you didn't know she was at war. She was always upbeat, smiling. She genuinely took pleasure in life. She was a gentle warrior on other fronts as well. In 1985, she became the first woman to be ordained a deacon in our diocese (women's diaconal ordination had been approved in the 1950s, mind you), and she never stopped quietly nudging the local church authorities to allow women full access. She took her servant ministry very seriously. Having married into one of the well-heeled local families, she had ready access into our high society's drawing rooms where she rarely missed an opportunity to talk about the plight of the less fortunate and to "encourage" some philanthropic giving!  And she was very hands-on, too, ministering around town to the sick, the poor, and the needy. I remember her arriving at my door many years ago with an entire roasted chicken two days after I arrived home from a hospital stay (that was nearly as good as my friend PK coming over and scrubbing my bathtub!), "Not staying," she said. "Just thought this might come in useful." It seems that she died in the same manner she lived, with compassion for others - quickly, quietly surrounded by people she loved and who loved her. They will miss her, we all will miss her, in the midst of celebrating a life well lived.

Hello Who?!

"Hello, Gorgeous!" You talking to me? Surely not on this drizzly, cold bad hair day in December. Okay, so it's only the name of a hair salon but who cares, it makes me smile. I recently changed hairstylist (Lor' that's like a divorce and remarriage!). I  thought it just a cutesy name, you know, one of those silly things that hair stylists do to entice customers, along the lines of "Curl Up & Dye". But there's something to be said for it, 'cos it  really lifts your spirits when some guy answers the phone with, "Hello, Gorgeous!" Sure it's pure fantasy and only last a minute but who cares - it's my fantasy!

Happy Birthday JK!

Here's to a long and happy life! Just think of all the wisdom you've accumulated - may it serve you well.

Cats and Cupboards

What is it with cats and dark places? The other morning I seemed to spend most of my getting-ready-for-the-office time chasing George out of closets and cupboards. And if I lose him in the house, I can usually find him curled up in the rag bin at the back of the pantry. I remember once when I was a teenager we were looking after a cat that belonged to friends gone on holiday. (At this point, I can see my sister frowning and thinking she doesn't remember this - it's okay, Sis, your memory's not going, you were away at college.) He disappeared for TWO days and we were panicking. I mean this was a pure bred, pure white beauty, the pride of his human family. We searched high and low with no luck until my mother opened the linen closet and found him curled up asleep. We'd looked in there but white on white doesn't show. When we woke him, he had that "What's your problem?" cat-itude that you either love or hate. So where is this random thought going? It's just that there are days - such as recently - where I'm so busy that my head's spinning, and I'd so like to crawl into the rag bin, curl up and sleep for a couple of days. That's all, nothing deep or profound.

"Thankful"

With Thanksgiving

Here's what I learned this year: Even though the Pilgrims hosted the first Thanksgiving dinner in America, the holiday itself actually has its origins almost 170 years later, after the Revolutionary War had been won and the American Constitution had been adopted. In 1789, Congress approved the Bill of Rights, the first 10 Amendments to the Constitution. Congress then “recommended a day of public thanksgiving and prayer” to thank God for blessing America. President Washington declared November 26, 1789, as the first national day of prayer and thanksgiving to the Lord. Another 75 years later, after the Civil War ended, President Abraham Lincoln established the last Thursday in November as a day to acknowledge “the gracious gifts of the Most High God” bestowed upon America. Every president did the same until 1941 when Congress officially made Thanksgiving a national holiday.

Turkey is still the traditional meat of choice, although the bird's history might have taken a different tack if, in 1782, it had won out over the Bald Eagle and become the national symbol. One man in its corner was Benjamin Franklin who argued that it would have been a more appropriate symbol. "A much more respectable bird and a true native of America," he pointed out. Franklin conceded that the turkey was "a little vain and silly," but maintained that it was nevertheless a "bird of courage" that "would not hesitate to attack a grenadier of the British guards who should presume to invade his farm yard with a red coat on." Congress was not convinced, however. The eagle remained the national symbol.

Trust

Someone once told me, "Everyone lies." Really? I don't. Now I don't mean the, "This tofu turkey is delicious!" kind of lie. I'm talking about the broken promises kind. When I was around 12 (or 13 most likely, because that was the year my mother told everyone that she didn't think she'd survive!), I remember lying to my father about having completed a homework assignment. I didn't have the sense to cross it off in my homework assignment book - I attended a convent school, what can I say, we had homework assignment books - so when he asked to see the book, there was my lie...in ink! Yes, he was angry, and yes I was punished, but more than that, I could tell he was disappointed. I never wanted to disappoint him again. Now I realize that that goal is far fetched and can cause years of therapy, but the truth is it became a foundational character building block for me. To this day I don't want to disppoint people. I don't believe in breaking promises. I don't lie. So when someone breaks a promise to me, particularly when it's someone I trust, I'm devastated. Not only does it tell me I misjudged the character of the person but because it shows that the person has no respect for me.

The Cycle of Life?

My book club just finished dissecting Sue Miller's "The Senator's Wife". It was a good read and led to a lively discussion. One part that really struck home for me was when the protagonist, an independent, self-reliant woman in her 70s ruminated on adult children eventually taking over the lives of their elders. How the parent essentially is forced to become the child, prevented from making decisions or thought to no longer have sound judgment. When it became necessary for me to make decisions for my father, I wonder how he perceived it? How does he perceive it still?

Dignity in Poverty

In her recent Newsweek article, Seeing Dignity in Poverty, Julia Baird says that today "poor people appear in mainstream media only when they are obese, sick, or sad: powerless and to be pitied," so different from Dorothy Lange's Dust Bowl portraits of "handsome homeless" from the 1930s. Ms. Baird doesn't suggest that the poor of today have no dignity, her criticism is of their portrayal in today's media and of our own turning away from their very real plight during the current recession. However, the very idea of comparing the two is intriguing. The different medium used by Ms. Lange allowed her to capture and freeze a moment in the life of her subject. We have no idea how her subject would have reacted if given the opportunity to speak to a reporter on a live newscast. Although looking at this photograph, I believe there's a difference between being poor and being destitute. Nonetheless, it's an interesting article that raises some interesting questions, at least in my mind.

Photo Caption: "Nipomo, Calif. Mar. 1936. Migrant agricultural worker's family. Seven hungry children. Mother aged 32, the father is a native Californian. Destitute in a pea pickers camp, because of the failure of the early pea crop. These people had just sold their tent in order to buy food. Most of the 2,500 people in this camp were destitute."

Flooding in UK

Elizabeth

This week Franciscans worldwide celebrate the life and ministry of Elizabeth of Hungary, patron saint of the Franciscan Third Order. She died in 1235 at Marburg, aged 24, worn out from her dedicated work among the destitute and sick. Daughter of a king and wife of a prince, Elizabeth took to heart Jesus' command to feed the hungry, tend the sick, sell everything and give to the poor. The latter didn't exactly sit well with her in-laws! In 1227, whether by force or voluntarily, the young princess, now a widow, and her children left the Wartburg Castle, her home in Eisenach, Germany. The following year, she took the dress of the Third Order and moved to Marburg. (Click on the link for "the rest of the story.")

So a special blessing on all those out there named Elizabeth!

One interesting footnote is that the Wartburg is where Martin Luther reluctantly stayed - for his own safety - for ten months in 1522 after he was proclaimed  a heretic by the Church and an outlaw by the Emperor for having denounced the corruption of Rome. While there he translated the New Testament from Greek into German and composed the hymn "A mighty fortress is our God".

So Let's Keep Dancing!

 Friends laugh, some even scoff but I'm not ashamed to admit it, I love Dancing With the Stars. I love this "rags to riches" type of thing; the chipping away at the block of marble to reveal a finely chisled sculpture. It always appeals. And who doesn't love those gowns with their seed pearls and sequins lovingly sown on by the dancer's mother (old family joke). But the real reason I love it? I'm secretly thinking, "If she can do it, surely there's hope for me!"

All Change

"In life we cannot avoid change, we cannot avoid loss. Freedom and happiness are found in the flexibility and ease with which we move through change." So says my Buddha's Little Instruction Book.

Saturday in the Park with Ben :>)

What a glorious weekend weatherwise we just had! One of those lovely fall days full of sunshine and warmth. Yet I woke with the blues on Saturday. I suspect we all have those unexplainable days occasionally. So to shake myself out of it I took my dog, Ben, to the park where they were holding a Children's Book Festival. It's a large park, so there was plenty of space to walk unencumbered but when we came upon the festival, what a marvelous crush! Children of all ages, faces painted, paper crowns upon their heads, carrying book bags, talking to local authors, listening to story-tellers, taking in WORDS. My blues floated away to merge with the clear, blue sky of that lovely fall day. And Ben enjoyed the outing, too.

Working on a chain gang...

Yesterday I received yet another chain email. You know the kind: make a wish and send this to X number of people, including the sender, to ensure that your wish will come true. I'm here to tell you, they don't work, because I'm still receiving them and my constant wish is that people will stop emailing them to me. Yet why do I hesitate each time before deleting them? Do I even know 12 women who have touched my life that I can forward it to? Can I just email it to the sender 12 times? Will my deleting it ruin everyone's chance to have their wish come true? I seriously doubt that good or bad karma 4 days from deletion has anything to do with my choice to forward or not to forward. Let's face it, none of us knows anyone who's received the 12,000 recipes they were promised in chain letter #3,000...or do you?

I file everything under "F"

I've been cleaning out my home office. It's a daunting task made somewhat lighter when I came across this anonymous quote: Those who keep a tidy desk will never know the unutterable joy of finding that which was thought to be lost.

Say Cheeeese...

Growing up with bull-mastiffs, I can attest to their love for and protectiveness towards their "charges". Both mastiffs (pictured here) and their smaller cousins, the bull-mastiff, make great family pets in my opinion.

With Glasses Raised

Today is Veterans Day in the US, a day when we honor those who served or are serving in the military. It was initiated after the cessation of the Great War, the "war to end all wars" but which turned out to be only the First World War. The fact that we humans haven't evolved enough yet to solve our differences peacefully doesn't lessen the dedication of our veterans or dilute their courage, and honor them we should. And let's also use the day to remember all those, whether in uniform or not, who serve or served in war-torn parts of the world to strive to make a better place for all of us: rescue workers, medical personnel, negotiators. On a personal note I remember my mother, a WW II Army nurse, and my uncle who died rescuing soldiers from the beach at Dunkirk. There are many more who work tirelessly to improve the lot of others, often at great cost to themselves. You have your own list - don't forget them.

17th Century Nun's Prayer

Lord, thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older and will some day be old.

Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.

Release me from craving to straighten out everybody's affairs.

Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy.

With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all,

but thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point.

Seal my lips on my aches and pains.

They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them becomes sweeter as the years go by.

I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others' pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility

and a lessening cocksuredness when my memory seems to clash with the memory of others.

Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint - some of them are so hard to live with -

but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the Devil.

Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and talents in unexpected people;

and give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them what I see.

Amen.

I'm Sorry

          These two little words - well, three if you want to be precise - are the ones I miss most in the American culture. It's not that Americans don't apologize but it's certainly a more rare event than in Britain, where people say "Sorry" a lot. (Yes, contracting it even more as Brits do!)
          Didn't hear what someone said? "Sorry" with a questioning inflection will have them repeating it. Someone misdials and reaches you rather than the intended person? "Sorry" from both parties means, "I apologize" and "No problem." The store is out of an advertized item? "Sorry" means, "We apologize for the inconvenience". Your friend is down with the flu? "Sorry" means, "Sorry to hear that you're sick." Had an argument with a friend or colleague? "Sorry" means "Although I haven't changed my position, I apologize for the way in which I stated it."
        Does using it often dilute it? I don't think so. It gives one  a sense of empathy or at least sympathy. It says, "I've been there and done that (or had it done unto me) and I understand." Saying "I'm sorry" shouldn't make us legally libel for anything. Could it be that very fear, in our litigious society, causes us to hear it rarely in the business world and and even infrequently in our personal lives? If that's the case, I'm REALLY sorry!

Bless me, Father!

In my enthusiasm to dig out from the mountain of paper in my house, this nearly ended up in the shredder. It's really not a blessing I'd like to toss away so lightly: Peace.

Even in times of outer conflict, may we all experience that deep calm that grounds us and sees us through.

(Thanks, Sis, for sending this to me.)

Upon waking...

Why do people say, "The world is her oyster" when they want to imply the "her" can have anything she wants? Would anyone ever want an irritant perpetually rubbing her the wrong way even it did result in a small shiny object that when matched with another equally small and shiny object would make a great pair of ear-bobs?

Just a random thought upon waking.

Tea and ... another ritual

"To awaken, sit calmly, letting each breath clear your mind and open your heart." Oh, and one more thing: don't listen to the morning news - the reported mayhem, violence and pestilence can have an adverse affect. At least wait until you've had a cup of tea.

Sunday Ritual

When I first moved to the States 34 years ago I never shopped on Sunday. I'd lived in several different countries as a child and young professional. None of them had stores open on Sunday. In fact, none of them had stores open past 5 p.m. except one day a week. Being raised in a Christian household, it never occurred to me that Sunday wasn't everyone's day of rest and I firmly believed in that day of rest. But there are different religions with different obligations. Besides, several professions - medical, for instance, require 24/7 shifts that would make it difficult to get to the shops during "regular" hours. So over the years I come to recognizd the need for Sunday and evening shopping hours. But I still believe we need a down day, even if it's not Sunday. It just makes sense - a time for regrouping, relaxing and refreshment. Rather like switching off the computer to reset it, our brain and body need to switch off from daily routine, do something totally different so we can reset ourself.

So how come I find myself with so many others cruising the shopping aisles on a Sunday dressed in our "going-to-meeting" clothes? Has this just become a Sunday ritual?

Can you relate?

Seeing into the Distance

What do you think?

Last night in an interview with Charlie Rose, Catherine Drew Gilpin Faust, President of Harvard, said that today there's a lot of information available to us but that's not the same as knowledge or wisdom. Juxtaposed to my recent experience at the Social Media conference, I find that worth thinking about. What do you think? Are we losing out with all the sound bites and minutia that's out there on social networks such as Twitter and Facebook?

The Future is Now

I've just returned from a Ministry2.0 conference on Social Media. Wow! The organizers (and they were brilliantly organized I must say) packed a lot into two days. My head is swimming with ideas and know-hows and go-tos. Hopefully they'll all still be there next week. One thing that Deacon Geri and I want to do is make this blog successful, which for us means getting all y'all in on the conversation. So first things first: if I've coded it correctly :>), you can now receive new postings via email, by clicking Subscribe to Musings on the Bluff by Email or just click on the link on the sidebar to add "Musings" to your homepage.

Inglourious Basterds

I've just returned from watching the newly released movie, Inglourious Basterds, with a friend. I don't know what bothered me more the huge amount of gratuitous violence or the audience's reaction to it. When German soldiers were being brutally clubbed to death, movie-goers laughed - not the kind of embarrassed laugh but the "Yeah, go get 'em, tiger" laugh. Juxtaposed to that was the cinema within the movie that had the mainly Nazi audience laughing while over 200 American soldiers were being picked off by a German sniper. It was hard to gauge the reaction of those around me to that scene. I wonder if those who laughed earlier saw the similarity. The total lack of humanity in this movie - not to mention the total lack of historic fact - is appalling and the audience's applause at the end is frightening. How many of these movie goers will be sitting in church tomorrow?

Life's Perspective

This is the view from my sister's flat in Yorkshire, England. (It's also now my "happy place" - a view I can conjure up in my mind when the pressures of life start to overwhelm!) I didn't even notice the pole as I was taking the picture. My focus was on the beauty of the cliff, the play of light and the incredible colors of the rock strata. I suppose this image is a little like life. There's often a pole right in the center which can mar the view! The lesson is to focus on the beauty and ignore the flaw that I have no control over. It's not always easy but it is always possible. So what do you see? The cliff bathed in afternoon sunlight or the lightpole?

God's Gift

As I write this I'm visiting family - and new friends - in the north of England. Today one of those friends spent the day driving me around the Yorkshire moors and touring the house and grounds of Castle Howard of Brideshead Revisited fame. It was an absolutely marvelous day including tea and scones. The weather, always unpredictable in the British Isles, was sunshine one minute and rain the next. The countryside was full of breathtaking scenery: yellow gorse, sheep and lambs free to graze & wander everywhere, pheasant, quail, and rabbits. I felt as though I was on a This England photo shoot! Kodak moments abounded. As I framed a picture of a distant dale bathed in sunlight I said, "What a pity there's no blooming gorse in the foreground." Never contented with God's gifts, always wanting more or something different. I immediately regretted my lack of gratitude. My friend and I laughed about it and agreed it's typical of human-kind. But God had the last laugh. Just around the next bend God gave us a rainbow, probably saying,

"How about this, then?"

Today is Earth Day! And the Episcopal Church is celebrating creation in Eastertide. Let us be mindful Christians and take the best care we can of the Creator's marvelous gift to us so that all God's children now and in the future can enjoy the sustenance it provides through the abundance of Divine Love.

Butterflies

Today is Yom HaShoah, the day we remember the victims of the Holocaust. Last year I went to the JEA - Savannah's Jewish Center - for an evening of memories and reflections and was greatly moved. Yesterday I ushered at a memorial concert at the same center. The auditorium was festooned with cut out, vibrantly colored paper butterflies intended to bring to mind Pavel Friedman’s poem, The Butterfly. Again I was greatly moved. Then on Sunday as I watched The Courageous Heart of Irene Sendler, I reflected not only on those who perished but on those who survived and on those who took great risks to help them. Then I thought of those today who through being born in the “wrong” family, the “wrong” faith, the “wrong” gender are persecuted even unto death. And I ask myself, what risks am I taking for them?

Walking in the Garden

Yesterday – Good Friday –my dog, Ben, and I took a long walk through beautiful Bonaventure Cemetery. As we both tired slightly, our exercise turned into a lovely afternoon amble, allowing me time to look at names and dates carved on headstones (Ben still preferred the bushes and trees!). Headstone is a misnomer in several cases, as many family plots display quite elaborate monuments, perhaps memorializing an essence of the deceased for the descendents.

As I wandered around the Jewish section, admiring the beauty of the Hebrew engraved headstones, I noticed several crypts. It brought to mind the Triduum, the Three Holy Days from Maundy Thursday to Easter Sunday. First, I thought of Joseph of Arimathea and his gift of the tomb in which to bury Jesus. He took quite a risk, after all he was a member of the Sanhedrin and this wasn’t likely to advance his political career. Scripture doesn’t tell us what happened to him, although according to the Gospel of Nicodemus, he did spend some time in prison for this. It also brought to mind how often I play it safe when it comes to my faith.

Next, I thought about that part of the creed that states that Christ descended into hell – Holy Saturday, for me is the worst day in the Christian calendar, one usually forgotten, masked by preparation for Easter Sunday. Jews believe that before they can enter Gan Eden (aka, Heaven) where they’ll enjoy the “rays of the Divine Presence” they must first endure a painful, spiritual cleansing, a process known as Gehinom (aka, Hell). So the Light has left the world –symbolized by removing the sanctuary light from the church on Maunday Thursday. Jesus is in Hell, atoning for the sins of humankind, continuing to suffer even after crucifixion. But we are not left in the Dark for long. Thank heaven for Easter!

I looked at each of the crypts. The one thing they had in common was that their doors were closed and locked. Where was the symbol of the rolled away stone, the empty tomb? The Light returns, the darkness of my soul – my tomb – has been redeemed through an incredible and totally unselfish gift of Divine Love. Wow!

Passion

Let's be honest, when we're told that someone is passionate about something or someone, we think of them having an ardent affection for them. But passion isn't always affectionate; it can be just the opposite, in fact. One can just as easily have a passion for overindulgence (not me, of course!). Passion is really the intense emotion we have for someone or something. So I was surprised to learn that the derivation of the word is the Latin pati, to suffer, from which we also have the word patient. Perhaps it makes more sense when we consider the Passion of Christ, for here we certainly witness the suffering of Jesus and his patient endurance. Henri Nouwen writes that from the moment Jesus was arrested, his active ministry changed to that of being acted upon by external agents or forces, which is actually the third definition of the word, passion, according to Merriam Webster.

Rituals

The thing about rituals is that they are, by nature, repetitive. Repeating rituals means that we become familiar with them; and we all know what familiarity breeds! But rituals do have a purpose. They recall our history. I think there's truth in the saying, we can't know where we're going until we know where we've come from. So it's important to learn why we keep these rituals in order to grow into the faith. After 2000 years, the rituals can seem somewhat archaic and the reason for keeping them can be lost in the dust of centuries. Maybe some of them should be given a decent burial but there are many that still hold poignant meaning for defining who we are as a community of faith. In a way it's stylized storytelling - and who doesn't love a good story?

Don't Just Do Something, Sit There!

I've just read an article by Barbara Rowley on the Care2 website about multi-tasking. With a touch of humor she's touched a nerve. Is there anyone who doesn't believe they must multi-task to keep up? As Ms. Rowley writes, "There was too much to do for me to devote all my attention to one thing." And for me that includes my prayer life! I find far too often these days my attitude is, "Can we talk about this later, God?" or using travel time as prayer time – not that that's a bad time, but it shouldn't be the only time! According to Edward Hallowell, MD, author of Crazy Busy: Overstretched, Overbooked and About to Snap (Ballantine, 2006) many of us spend a whole lot of time in what he calls the F-state: frenzied, frantic, fearful, forgetful, and frustrated. So what's the solution? Focusing on the task in hand is a start, and sometimes remembering the other 3Rs: rest, relaxation & reflection.

To read Ms. Rowley article in its entirety, click here

Trust & Disappointment

In Henri Nouwen's, A Cry for Mercy, he writes that our petitions (intercessions) are a way of trusting in the fullness of God's goodness. That's thought-provoking. Often my petitions are not answered in the way I expect them to be. I'm sure that's true for everyone at some time or other. So what happens when your expectations aren't met? Are your hopes dashed? Does your faith and trust waiver? Do you question God's goodness? How do you deal with disappointment in God?

JRB

This I believe

Yesterday I listened to a very powerful and moving "This I Believe" from NPR. It was about forgiveness. It made me think about all the real and perceived hurts that I'm holding on to, which really binds up the spirit. It's as though my soul is wrapped in barbed wire and a step in any direction causes intense pain. So I stand very, very still, going nowhere. Now I'm not suggesting that any of us remain in abusive situations or continue our own destructive behavior. But what I believe is that we have to let go of the resentments, the hatred, the vengeful spirit, and the self-loathing that keep us bound. Holding on to them only gives them power.

Do you know the story of the young Indian who was harboring these very things against another? He goes to his grandfather to complain of the injustices being perpetuated upon him. "Grandson," the old man said, "There are two wolves inside me. They struggle with each other. One struggles to divide, devour, ravage, to hurt and even to kill. The other struggles to love, give life, nurture and build." The young boy looked at his grandfather and asked, "Which one will win, Grandfather?" "The one I feed," the grandfather replied.

JRB

So, What Are You Giving Up?

In our Christian tradition, we are in the season of Lent. And who of us has not been asked repeatedly over the last fortnight, "What are you giving up?" Lent is a time of fasting, but surely it's much more than giving up some food item or (bad) habit that we'll go right back to when Lent's over. Vigen Guroian, Armenian Orthodox theologian and educator, said in a recent interview on Speaking of Faith that Lent "is not supposed to be just a time of masochistic self-denial. It's a time in which you put something to rest, when you let go of some of those passions that have disordered your life that led to decisions which were not the best for you or the people around you." I interpret that as meaning that I don't pick them up again when Easter arrives and consequently my life - and those around me -will be changed for good. That makes the choice of what I'm giving up much more serious - and difficult.

Now Let Us Begin

I hate clutter, yet I live with it constantly. I recently read - yet another - article on decluttering. According to the author, those of use who are perfectionists - you know us as A personality types, Js on the Myers Briggs, 1s on the Enneagram and just plain annoying - have the most difficulty. The reason being that we believe that the perfect system has to be devised and in place before we begin. Consequently we rarely do or abandon it when we realize that it's not the perfect system afterall. A bit like my prayer life. Surely Lent is the perfect, er, I mean, a good time to work on this. Afterall, acknowledging the problem is the first step, right? Now where should I put that Prie Dieu? And the icons? And I must have votive candles...and...

Jacqui R. Belcher