I asked my ex, my partner of almost twenty years from whom I separated three years ago, the co-parent of a teenaged kid, to attend a $14 community education session with me and update our wills.
We had spent thousands of dollars asserting, in two different states, that we were in fact related to one another: that sharing a home, a car, a life, a bed in fact meant that we would be responsible to one another even after death did us part. It turns out that, as difficult and expensive as that assertion of relatedness was, telling the state we had broken up was a breeze, and cheap to boot.
Our state of Minnesota, and our nation, enthusiastically agrees that we are no longer an item. In fact, they never believed that we were. Since we were all in agreement about this matter, I entered the community ed class in a calm place. I’m cheap, and my cheap self felt pretty happy that $28, for the two of us, would get our affairs in order.
I’m not saying I didn’t feel a tinge of sadness. I wondered, as I felt our after death wishes fit so easily into the pre-typed will templates which the lawyer leading our session had brought, just how much it had cost our relationship to be swimming upstream all those years, asserting that in fact love does make a family. I wondered if, had we been able to relax and float instead, supported without exerting an ounce of energy, our relationship might have survived.
But mostly I concentrated on filling in the forms accurately and quickly, initialing what needed to be initialed and checking boxes that needed to be checked. Everything goes to the kid. Check. Until the kid is 25, not too long now, a trust is established, with the following executor. Check. My ex and I whispered in consultation, no tension or disagreements between us, only wanting to get things set and done.
Most of the people in the room appeared, from their questions and comments, to be leaving their estates to their husbands and wives. They checked the box that said, to my spouse until their death, and then after spouse’s death to our children (insert names here).
But then. At the next table, a man, probably in his late 60’s, raised his hand. “If I want to leave everything to my friend, and then after he dies, to the kids, what box do I check?”
The lawyer clarified. “You want to leave everything to your friend?” “Well, yes, for the rest of his life,” said the man. “And then to our kids.”
The lawyer said off-handedly, “Well, you need to write on the blank line that you disinherit your children.”
The man’s mouth fell open in horror. “I don’t want to disinherit my children! I just want my friend to have what he needs for the rest of his life, and then the children would get it!”
The lawyer asked, as if he were cross-examining a witness, “Did you not say that you wanted to leave 100% of your estate to your friend?” The man nodded. “So that leaves zero percent for your children. Hence you must disinherit them.”
My mellow cheap self was suddenly gone from the room, and my mother tiger self was sitting in my seat instead, with adrenalin-clear vision. I was picturing what it would be like for my own kid to learn, after my death, that she had been disinherited. Like every other adopted child she will be processing, for her entire life, some amount of grief and loss about her birthmother. At that point, she’d also be processing the death of one of her parents. And then to be disinherited on top of it? I wondered, quite seriously, if she would survive.
Glancing at the man who had raised the question, I realized that I didn’t even know if he was gay or trying to care for some other friend after his death. But I did know I wasn’t going to sit quietly. I raised my hand. “So you are saying, “ I asked the lawyer, “That a gay couple could adopt or bear a child, raise that child together, and then they would both have to disinherit that child in order to provide for each other legally?”
The lawyer looked bored. The forty or so people in the room looked longingly at their will templates, studiously not looking up. I went on, “So you are saying, that even without the proposed Consititutional amendment on our ballot in November, which explicitly states that marriage is only between a man and a woman, loving and committed couples are forced to renounce either their children or each other in order to have legal wills?” The lawyer looked annoyed, but I couldn’t resist pushing it. “Are you saying that?”
“Look,” the lawyer said, “I didn’t say it was fair. I said it was the law.”
My ex and I finished filling out our forms, had them notarized, and left. As we walked out, this $14 class didn’t feel like such a bargain.
“We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake. . . .Only that day dawns to which we are awake.” Henry David Thoreau
A couple of months ago, I took the Union of Concerned Scientists online quiz (http://www.coolersmarter.org/) designed to tell me how to reduce my carbon footprint. It was called 20 days, 20 ways, and 20% less carbon. I was surprised and pleased with what this quiz told me. It told me to buy a new more fuel efficient car! Really, it told me to buy a new car! I wanted a new car. My old car was pretty efficient, but it was nearly 10 years old with 180,000 miles on it. It was never a beauty and had become pretty ugly, but it was still reliable. I couldn’t believe that the concerned scientists were telling me to get a new car. It didn’t exactly seem like a “green” message to buy something new. But my wanting mind was aroused. Just at that same time, my daughter, who sells Hondas, sent me an e mail to say that she had a low mileage used Civic hybrid. Just what I wanted! So, I bought this new- to-me car, and it does get somewhat better gas mileage than my old car.
I did not expect the car would change me, but it has. The car has changed my driving behavior by making me pay attention. Between the top of the steering wheel and the bottom of the windshield is a big graphic that tells me how fast I am going and what my immediate – in that very moment- fuel consumption is. Most of my driving is on the Pennsylvania turnpike. In my old car, I was not paying much attention to how fast I was going. I kept up with the traffic which meant I was generally speeding. My speed wasn’t constantly visible to me. Every once in a while, I would look down and see that I was going much too fast. Or I would see a state police car ahead of me, look at my speed and slow down. I had heard that fuel economy was improved by going consistently slower, but that was not visible to me. Now, my car tells me. I cannot avoid seeing how fast I am driving and how much fuel I am using. I am paying attention, and because I am paying attention, I am driving more responsibly, generally close to the speed limit. I have reduced my carbon footprint more than I might have because I am not speeding. I have reduced my risk of having an accident or getting a speeding ticket. I may have become a little obsessive about trying to increase my fuel economy, but right now it seems like an amusing and useful game. I am paying better attention as I drive.
What, you may be asking, does this have to do with religion or with life? Quite a lot, I think. When we can pay attention to the moment, then we can be really alive. We can choose. When we speed through life on automatic, we are not really living our lives. Anything that helps us to pay attention helps us to awaken to life and thus to grow.
Buddha means “the awakened one.” Buddhist scholar, Robert Thurman, said that Buddhism means awakening and therefore he considered himself to be an evangelist for awakening. Awakening, he said, means “understanding what’s going on, being kind to others. The minute you awaken to the cause of suffering, which is your self-preoccupation and your self-misperception, you’ll begin to have a happier time. And the more you awaken to your interconnection with others, the more free of suffering you’ll become.” (www.beliefnet.com/story/141/story_14141.html)
I don’t think of driving as a spiritual practice, but it has become another reminder to pay attention, to be awake and to live in this very moment. Observing myself with this car reminds me that changes in our awareness change the way we live. May you be awake and alive in the moments of your life!
Imagine this:
The day is hot and the line at the gas station is long.
After all, it’s the least expensive gas in town.
I pull in behind a tan Toyota, tired and dusty – ready to fill up my
gas tank and make my way home.
Only the Toyota isn’t moving.
The Toyota and its occupants seemed to have settled in for the afternoon.
Parked and content to sit next to the gas pump without actually
exiting the car to pump the gas.
I was cranky and
growing increasingly annoyed as the seconds – and I do mean seconds – ticked by.
All the other pumps
were occupied and I was stuck waiting with
mounting impatience behind this car that
was going no-where, doing nothing…it was just sitting there.
Finally – after about 30 seconds wait time – the driver of the Toyota emerged
apologetic and mildly frazzled:
“My car” she says “It won’t start. I’ve never had car troubles before.
I just had the battery changed yesterday.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to her.
I only drive my car, I don’t actually know a single thing about cars.
Just then, in a flash, they seemed to arrive out of thin air –
unlikely superheroes – two men were pushing the Toyota.
One, a lanky white guy with a buzz cut, covered from neck to wrists
in tattoos. He was guiding the rescue. Steering the car through the window
as he pushed.
The other, young clean cut Latino gave his all to the task.
I finished pumping my gas and to justify all the hours I put in at the gym,
I joined in pushing the car and driver to safety.
Once safely parked, the three of us fanned out in search of jumper cables.
It became an “operation” and just like that, I forgot that I was hungry, tired, and dusty.
At one point, I paused to look at us. An unlikely tangle of individuals
coming together in community to help a neighbor in need.
Sure, we didn’t live next door to each other, but in that moment
in that gas station, we were neighbors:
A Caribbean woman, an Asian American woman, Latino youth, tattooed white male – we were all working together for a single purpose
Human kindness / overflowing
in a small – yet for the driver of that Toyota – significant way.
Moments such as these unfold for us everyday.
We can choose to step into them or step around them.
It’s always a choice. It’s always a choice to slow down and give our full attention.
To see another into being.
To stop and engage giving of our very best in that moment
whether to ourselves or to others.
No one else has the right to define for you
what your best may be at any given moment.
Only you know what that is
what it looks like
feels like – and truthfully, what you have the reserves for
because, let’s face it: there is a lot of need in the world
There are needs everywhere…and we determine when and how much we give.
Sometimes we are asked to stretch way beyond our places of comfort
To truly see another…to attend…to listen…to be present…to give…
When that happens, when we are able to do that, when we reach back out into the world
Sometimes a little bit of magic happens.
A little bit of salvific hospitality leaps into our reality…into someone else’s reality
and for a moment, we are less lonely.
We are less afraid.
It is June. The trend is that day-time high temp in June will be around 110F. July and August will be about 10F additional for each month. In Yuma, AZ, I remember being uncomfortable at 115F. In Kuwait, I was fascinated with how hot it was at 120F. (Ok, short story: As a former helicopter guy, one of the things my body has learned, while walking around a spinning helicopter, is to step sideways if I happen to walk toward the hot part of the engine exhaust plume. I’ve done it so often, I hardly notice I am doing it. In 2004 when I was in Kuwait – on the way to Iraq – I came out of the air-conditioned chow hall and stepped into the heat of outside. It felt so unusually hot that I instinctively stepped sideways, thinking I would avoid some engine exhaust. Of course there were no engines nearby – it’s just that hot out there.) We’ll see how Afghanistan shapes up. It surprises me that the locals wear what looks like such heavy clothing .
This week I did a lot of good traveling and got out to some of the “two-tent” patrol bases. One of the things about Marines is that the less they have, the less they tend to complain about. They seem to just decide to make the best of it. I usually try to take some care packages out to them when I go. This time, we delivered better than any care package I could bring them. Each little patrol base got a generator and an air-conditioner – a big one. They’re going to think they are at the Ritz Carlton. At the end of June, we will try for a morale boosting flap-jack breakfast including at the small bases – flapjacks by backpack (honestly we ride in trucks). Thank you all for your generosity in making this possible.
RP and I put a lot of work into the USO tent last week before we started traveling. This week we finished it off. We built a home-made couch. It is slightly reclined with an ergonomically contoured bench. We found some shipping foam for the bench. Old tent crates were attached together to make shelf towers and an entertainment center. This Friday, movie night will be on our brand new 27 inch TV. Thanks again to those who sent kettle corn for the pop corn cooker. We have a small café set up to one side and a 300-book library and care package distribution to the other side. There is also a United Through Reading recording studio where Marines and Sailor can record themselves reading a book to their children. Air conditioning to follow. We converted the front door-flap into a solid wooden door with hinges.
This brings me to what feels like a moment of heresy. This war has been going on for a decade now. People have been sending care packages out here for ten years – most of it gets eaten. Some of the thicker novels however, are difficult to chew. So after the books are read, they get put in a giant box called a tri-wall. It’s a 50 cubic foot reinforced cardboard box. We now have one and a half tri-walls of books. We can’t leave them behind, so many will have to be destroyed. They were sorted by virtue of being on a best-seller list or written by a prize-winning author. Our 300-book library is all on the “top shelf.”
Air conditioners are slowly making their way from the big bases to the smaller ones and from the large tents/buildings to the smaller ones. In the meantime, I have rummaged through our version of Home Depot, which we call the DRMO pit. DRMO means something like defense reutilization management office. Like many military acronyms, its technical meaning morphs to local circumstance. Our DRMO pit is a semi-organized pile of class-4 (wood/construction) supplies, hescoes, and things that don’t work anymore. I hope this isn’t insider-trading, but if you haven’t got Hescoe in your retirement fund, consider it. When there is a war, hescoe sales must go through the roof. Hescoes are a wire frame cube with felt-lined walls. They unfold like some sort of erector set. They get lined up neatly, then the bulldozer fills them with dirt and you have a wall. They come in many sizes. So, back to the make-shift air conditioner. I found some old rain gutter, a bent hescoe (small size), some plastic tubing from the medical staff, and a plastic trash bag. I put it all together with zip-ties and now I have swamp-cooler. Water from the plastic tube flows along the rain gutter to soak the sheets of felt and a desk fan helps evaporate the water. It looks like it works, but I can’t tell for sure because my thermometer says 86F no matter what the temp is.
Obviously there are things happening all the time out here that I probably shouldn’t write about. Keep praying thanks for body armor. I can write pages to you about what camp life is like. I could even tell you about the events of war. What is harder to explain is what happens inside a person – in the deepest part of their being. My sermons strive to touch on being prepared for our inner-being to change. It’s likely that for most of us, we will simply go home with a significant experience behind us. For some, the experiences jar the soul a bit more. Because of our training, people can do things (and have to in order to survive) quickly enough that their conscience doesn’t get to weigh in fully before the action is complete. I am grateful to Ed Tick for his book, War and the Soul, which gives words to the experiences of so many.
Some of you have heard me say before that seminary and basic training have many similarities. Drill Instructors and CPE supervisors have a certain access to the core of who a person is. It is interesting that in this counterinsurgency fight, the thing that we have to pay attention to most is relationships. Maybe I am just seeing it this way because of my own formative experiences as a minister. At this moment, and from this vantage, it seems to me that history has driven the style and conduct of war into such a small corner that the list of things we call “civilized” and the list of things we call “uncivilized” are hard to distinguish. For example, can building a school be an act of war? Maybe war has always been that way for humanity – a search for our best in the midst of our worst.
Church last week was nice. We had three protestant services reaching 20 people and one Unitarian Universalist service reaching 10 people. The movie last week was The Count of Monte Cristo – a journey through pride, vanity, despair and revenge. This week it was Five Love Languages – relationship skill building. Next week it will be Hollywood’s original action thriller, The Long Kiss Goodnight – a desperate, do-anything search for one woman’s missing identity.
As far as I can tell, the swamp cooler is working. Someone buy carbon credits for me; the fan runs off a diesel generator.
Seanan
Disclaimer: All entries to CLF/Quest Military Ministries page reflect the personal views of the contributor. The views expressed here are in no way to be construed as an individual or individuals speaking in their official capacities for the agencies, departments, or service branches they serve in. This is not an official publication of the Department of Defense, the U.S. Army, U.S. Navy, U.S. Coast Guard, U.S. Marine Corps, U.S. Air Force, any government agency, or any other organization.
I am now the proud and comfortable owner of the best Hello Kitty bedding ensemble in Afghanistan. One of the possible lessons here is that, “What comes around, goes around.” My friend John and I often sail together. I am technology averse – I prefer old-school charts and a plotting board. So my sailing kit contains a bucket full of plotters, and rulers, and compasses, and a big plywood board that won’t blow away. John’s sailing kit is lighter and more nimble – and frankly better. He hops aboard with his I-pad. It has all the charts and GPS and compass built in. And he carries his I-pad in a cute neoprene Hello Kitty case. (He says it was the cheapest case on the shelf.) Needless to say, the I-pad has been a reliable source of mirth. Anyway, not many of us have a real bed with a mattress out here – I happen to be one of the fortunate. However, I lacked proper sheets. Now I have sheets, so, another possible lesson here is gratitude. Thank you John, for the sheets, the story, and permission to re-tell. Photo’s forthcoming.
The congregation of the battalion is somewhat over a thousand people. Given that there is a war going on, we are dispersed all over the place. So RP (my assistant’s Navy designation is RP) and I get to travel around with a ministerial road show. We usually lead a worship service. There is usually movie night with popcorn – usually involves a values-message. And we usually do some United Through Reading video recordings – to help people stay connected with loved-ones back home. Each place we go is a little bit different. I prefer being at the smaller camps where it is easier to connect with people personally. Last week the Marine Corps Times reporters were here. You can find the blog and some photos at marinecorpstimes.com/battlerattle.
Today it is starting to get hot. The folks that have been here before explain that this is just a warm up for the real thing. My impression is that even today, the air is so hot and still that it is reluctant to be breathed. The black flies seem to be heat activated, so I have re-decorated with sticky-tape bug catchers.
Today during the worship service, the mongoose ran by the front door of the chapel – right in the middle of the sermon. I had to try to keep a straight face. The sermon was on prayer as a way of being present in the moment. I was talking about our practical habits of “attention to detail” as a parallel to the spiritual practice of meditation – they both strive toward being un-distractible. I managed not to laugh. I think the mongoose was looking for the mosque as he did not stop for the Christian Unitarian service. Next Saturday is Soulful Sundown (modified version) at which, I will strive to have a more inclusive message.
You all probably saw the “super moon,” as our news papers were calling it. The moon made its closest approach to the Earth over the last couple days, and that corresponded with the moon’s full phase. It was bright enough that we could read outside.
We have had a few injured people come through our aid station to be stabilized on the way to higher care. After spending a tour in Iraq (2004-2005) flying casualty evacuation missions, it is interesting for me to be on the other end of the helicopter. It is a time of prayer and reflection as I witness all the teamwork and coordination. It is usually a young Marine or Navy Corpsman that is first on scene and who provides first aid. Then the patient gets transported, usually by ground vehicle, to the aid station. We have a trauma surgery team and other medical staff out here who work on the patient. Meanwhile a helicopter gets notified of the med-evac mission. I was in a bit of a trance yesterday as I left the aid station and watched the helo land, the door pop open, and the medic jump out to receive the patient. As quick as that, the helicopter was gone again.
It is also interesting for me to meet the different people that somehow migrate toward conflict. I met some of our plumbers who came from India. Some of our construction team members are from various African countries. And of course I couldn’t help myself from going out to meet some of the helicopter crews. There is a civilian Ukrainian crew that flies on contract and operates old Soviet helicopters. I’ve mentioned before that our Marines and Sailors get basic instruction in one of the three main languages spoken in Afghanistan. I’m still trying to make sense of the contrast between war and all of this international cooperation and multi-culturalism.
I hope you all are well, and that you are engaged in interfaith dialogue in your communities.
Seanan
Disclaimer: All entries to CLF/Quest Military Ministries page reflect the personal views of the contributor. The views expressed here are in no way to be construed as an individual or individuals speaking in their official capacities for the agencies, departments, or service branches they serve in. This is not an official publication of the Department of Defense, the U.S. Army, U.S. Navy, U.S. Coast Guard, U.S. Marine Corps, U.S. Air Force, any government agency, or any other organization.
Hello All,
It seems like it’s been a busy couple of weeks, although there has been some down time. Traveling out here is a challenge. It’s not like the bus runs on a regular schedule. Although busses getting cut from the schedule is beginning to be as familiar in the States as out here. Anyway, traveling with the uncertainty of when my next transportation will arrive (or when the person I am waiting for will arrive) makes it seem busy even if it isn’t.
Chow continues to be good and the plumbing continues to work. Cross your fingers (or I’ll have to cross my legs). And the mongoose apparently figured out not to drink the anti-freeze in the motor pool where he likes to hang out – I still see him/her/it occasionally (your concerns appreciated). They keep telling us it will get hot out here, but thankfully it has barely broke 90F so far. I’m sure it’s just around the corner.
The other night when I was at a different base, our mortar teams fired some rounds sometime after midnight. The blast is fantastic, especially if you aren’t expecting it. It shook the earth and my teeth. There is an interesting moment of consideration when the first boom sounds – is it something that I need to worry about enough to wake up and don my flak jacket. I waited for a few seconds and was encouraged by the light “whump” that follows the big “boom.” The “whump” indicates a flare rather than an explosive round. It turned out to be an illumination mission – the mortars were just firing flares so our guys could see across the valley.
We got a new chapel tent and it was moved to another part of the camp. The old one had been there for years – since the UK occupied this position several years ago. We had movie night last night – the audience chose Rudy over Rocky. Popcorn and care packages were handed out. Tomorrow the Catholic Priest will be here to lead services. The location of the old chapel became the new spot for the gym.
Ok, gotta catch the bus.
More soon, Seanan
Disclaimer: All entries to CLF/Quest Military Ministries page reflect the personal views of the contributor. The views expressed here are in no way to be construed as an individual or individuals speaking in their official capacities for the agencies, departments, or service branches they serve in. This is not an official publication of the Department of Defense, the U.S. Army, U.S. Navy, U.S. Coast Guard, U.S. Marine Corps, U.S. Air Force, any government agency, or any other organization.
Hello All,
I had been here on my post for a week before I saw that we were right near the river. From inside the barriers, on this flat plain, it’s hard to see much of anything beyond the camp walls. One of the guys asked me what I thought of the view of the river, and I thought he was talking about the canal (the canal is what I previously told you was the river). So now I know where to go to see the river – the top of the stairs. And it’s great to see all the green. On one side of us is a ridge, several miles long, that is mostl gravel. And on the other side is the town.
I managed to get outside the wire on a trip up to one of the other camps. We had late Easter service, movie night (Laugh Your Way to a Better Marriage, highly recommended for single and married, very funny), and United Through Reading. RP (my assistant’s designation is “RP”) recorded videos of Marines reading stories to their children – then the DVD gets mailed back to loved ones in the States and kids can watch Dad (or Mom) read them a story.
The trip up to the other camp was interesting – if for nothing else it was my first trip outside. We mostly drove through little villages along the side of a river. Lots of farm fields and in all that, plenty of poppy. It provokes an interesting set of feelings that I recall from seeing both the beauty and destruction in Iraq. The poppy fields are very pretty with white and purple flowers. And they have an evil green bulb that the heroine comes from.
I have an interesting exercise in attentiveness. It’s very dark out here at night and going to the pee-tube requires a careful approach and reasonably good aim (or a big flash light). On my way back to the hut, I get a spectacular view of the sky. It’s a good moment to just pause and appreciate something beautiful. We are moving from the winter constellations to the summer constellations. Scorpio is just climbing up over the horizon late at night. And Orion, the hunter, is sliding slowly toward the ridgeline. Soon his feet will be on the ground and the summer fighting season will begin.
Chow is still great, and I’m still losing weight – getting too hot to eat much. I manage to exercise a few times a week, so I feel good for the physical activity. Most of the showers still work, so we are able to stay clean. I got a newer computer – ou can tell the “y” key doesn’t work very well. But the CD drive works on this one, so that’s good. The computer guys out here are doing amazing work. We were told there were plenty of computers out here, and there are, but the are all so full of dust, that one thing or another doesn’t work on most of them. This is just part of what I mean when I say everything happens slowly. You have to take extra time to figure a way around the little ankle-biter problems. I am very happy to report that my surplus of guitar paraphernalia allowed me to deliver a complete set of guitar strings to a Marine who had a guitar and who knew how to play it, but couldn’t because of broken strings.
Thanks for all your emails, Seanan
Disclaimer: All entries to CLF/Quest Military Ministries page reflect the personal views of the contributor. The views expressed here are in no way to be construed as an individual or individuals speaking in their official capacities for the agencies, departments, or service branches they serve in. This is not an official publication of the Department of Defense, the U.S. Army, U.S. Navy, U.S. Coast Guard, U.S. Marine Corps, U.S. Air Force, any government agency, or any other organization.
You know who you are.
You put your own life on hold, move across the country to sit by the bedside.
You process the hospital bills, pay them, know they matter more than the car you had thought you needed.
You explain patiently, one more time, to the one who won’t remember.
You make 100 phone calls searching for a kidney donor.
You hold the shaking body through the nightmares, even in your sleep.
You take time to find the one food she will still eat.
You rub ice chips on his lips, and then chapstick.
You find hours you don’t have, rush to the hospice. You’ll sleep later.
You know who you are.
You couldn’t do anything else.
It is your privilege and your duty to be right where you are.
The aspect of my personal faith that seems to bring about the most confusion in friends and colleagues is that I believe I have a deep and abiding personal relationship with a God that is incapable of knowing that I even exist.
I find that the confusion about this theological point rests not only with those more theologically conservative than I, but also with those more theologically liberal or secular than I. More conservative ministers and theologians are confused by my claim that I can have a personal relationship with a non-personal God. My more liberal and secular colleagues question the same thing, but with the opposite emphasis.
While I have talked about this in other articles (including here), I believe that there is no division in God, that every moment of every day we are intimately involved with God; in a flight of birds, in a breath of wind, in a cab driver who cuts us off, in a moment on the Zen cushions… all one, all God. We are a part of God, and nothing can be more intimate than this. God is a holy spirit that is intimately involved in all things, and we are intimately involved in the part of God we can touch and sense.
However, God does not, in any personal way, know that I exist as an individual. I wonder whether God is even capable of “knowing” in any human sense. More, my faith in God does not require God’s knowing of me. I am “known” simply in my being, along with all of being, and together we are becoming… and becoming… and becoming.
I do not believe that God is “consciously” involved in human life, except that we are a part of God, and we are consciously involved in our own lives. Human Free Will is a part of God. What prevents us from sensing this is our own delusion of division and self… our own conflicted natures. Issues of whether God is omniscient or omnipotent depend upon God having a human understanding of knowing or of power, and I do not believe that to be true. God simply is, and we relate to God because of that.
As one minister/professor colleague of mine has said to me, this theological stance is fairly complex, and inspired by both my understanding of Christian Faith and my experience of Zen Buddhism. It is in part this belief that holds me in Unitarian Universalism, in that it inspires in me my connection to the inherent worth of all beings and the interconnectedness of all existence, two core principles of Unitarian Universalism.
A few years ago, in a communication within the Army Chaplain Corps, I found this statement: “Whereas the Chaplaincy, as spiritual leaders, model faith and belief in the Hand of God to intervene in the course of history and in individual lives;”. Now, I can do some theological circumlocutions and come to a place where I can accept that statement (if not agree with it), those circumlocutions are somewhat intensive. I certainly could not accept it in its obvious, literal intent. For me, God does not intentionally intervene in human history or individual lives… God simply is, and human history and individual lives change and mold in reaction to God’s existence. To paraphrase Albert Einstein, God does not play dice with the Universe, because God is the Universe and all within it.
If a belief in an intervening God who has a personal relationship with individual lives is a prerequisite to be a military chaplain, then perhaps I have some thinking to do about my call to ministry. If, rather, the document that quote was taken from actually is trying to define what the theological center of the Chaplain Corps is, then I accept that I am theologically on the margins but can still find a place. I will, in Unitarian Universalist prophetic tradition, continue to speak my truth, the truth that is written on my heart by my life, by scripture, by the flight of birds and the existence of evil, and let “Einstein’s Dice” fall how they may.
Yours in Faith,
Rev. David
My thirteen-year-old daughter and I have different ideas about what it is that she will be doing with her summer vacation, which will be upon us in a few days. I think that the summer before she enters high school would be a good time to get a jump start on subjects she finds challenging. Also a good time to learn to type properly, or play the piano. Not to mention that there are a good number of household projects that could use some manual labor. I know that she will be bored with the vacant hours, and I have warned her repeatedly that her days will not be spent in front of the computer or TV screen.
And I keep asking her just what it is that she expects to do this summer. What is it that her days will look like when she is not off at camp or visiting an out of town friend? All I get for an answer is that she doesn’t know – and doesn’t want to be asked.
She doesn’t have a way to say it, but I think what she is looking towards is sabbatical time – a Sabbath of the school year where she can, to paraphrase Whitman, loaf and invite her soul. She wants to be free from pressure, free from schedule, free from things that have to be done and other people’s expectations that she do what other people think is good for her. That’s what the Sabbath is for. It is a time of forced openness, when you give up work and see what remains. Outside of the structure of daily life your soul gets a chance to stretch out.
OK, I confess I’m a little scared to see what remains for my young teen outside of her structured life. It’s hard to trust that her soul will be well served by weeks of openness. But there’s something to be said for being bored, for sitting with the emptiness long enough that something from deep inside might come to fill it. There’s not that much to be said for being the mom who has to listen to the whining that accompanies that boredom until that mysterious something comes along, but I guess that comes with the territory.
There isn’t any magic formula that decrees how much of our lives needs to be given to work, or to improving our selves and the world around us. But the tradition of the sabbath and the sabbatical teaches that a seventh of our time is not too much to give our souls the space to expand. I’ll let you know how it goes.
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