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Whose are you?
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October 2012
“Perhaps home is not a place, but simply an irrevocable condition.” —James Baldwin
I finally cleaned the back yard the other day, a task I had spent several months avoiding. In fact, in about 90 minutes, I accomplished something that I had actively avoided for at least sixteen hours. I calculate those hours from the time I spent staring out the kitchen window, cursing the mess and myself for not cleaning up the mess.
So you might be wondering what finally propelled me to do it? Was it a guest coming, someone I wanted to impress? Nope. Just the day before, two friends stopped by independently, having called to say, “I’d love to stop by and see your garden.” I showed them around the beautiful, well cared for front yard, with a dismissive “ignore the back yard,” as if they could. Didn’t bother me a bit.
Was it the fact that the dog dug a huge hole in my perennial garden because she could no longer access the parts of the yards which are hers to dig, full as they were by chest high weeds? Nope. Those holes have been coming for a while. They’re annoying, but mostly I couldn’t see them for the weeds.
Was it that we had a hard rain the other night making weeding easier and providing a pleasant temperature? Well, that didn’t hurt any, but it wasn’t the deciding factor. There have been scads of rains that have not motivated me in the past.
What finally propelled me out the back door to this long-avoided task was simply this: I wanted to avoid another task even more. Suddenly the activity which had been on the top of my procrastination list was bumped. Suddenly, the back yard was the lesser of two evils. I woke up thinking about what I needed to do, and thought, “You know, I REALLY should clean the back yard!”
Five minutes into the job, I was thoroughly happy, wondering why it had taken me so long to get there, delighted by how quickly a huge mess could turn into tidiness (and lawn bags full of limbs and weeds) and vowing, though with little credibility with myself, it would never happen again.
Have you ever noticed this: The same task can be done to avoid something else, or to simply accomplish the task itself? For me at least, each one of these ways of doing something has a distinct energy, rhythm, and value.
Much has been made of simply doing what you are doing. Ram Dass’ book, “Be Here Now,” was the Bible for my generation, and what he didn’t say about simply being in the present, Thich Nhat Han finished off with all of his mindfulness talks about doing the dishes when you do the dishes and stuff like that. Sure, I’m good with all of that. Who can argue with it?
But what about the value of being here later, or earlier? Or going somewhere else altogether because we just can’t bear to be where we’re supposed to be? There’s a certain lifeforce in that as well, though I’m not aware of any religious teachings which embrace it as central. Although Unitarian Universalism comes close sometimes. I mean, as much as we like to say, it’s not about what we don’t believe, it’s what we do believe, that’s only partly true. In reality, for many of us, knowing what Unitarian Universalism is NOT was of keen importance, before we would commit ourselves to taking the time to learn what it was.
So my backyard is clean, for the moment, and I’m not going to tell you about this other task I’m avoiding. I don’t even want to think about it!
This week I attended the memorial service of a beloved soul light. First my professor, later my friend and colleague, he was a Jesuit priest whose very life was a prayer of compassion and grace.
There is a Unitarian Universalist story about prayer that goes something like this:
Dear Whomever,
Please…
Thank you.
In many ways it captures the human elements of life – a craving for intimacy and ultimacy, uncertainty, need, gratitude. It is possible to ask the universe at large and to say thank you in general, though this is not always a satisfying prayer.
My Jesuit friend taught this Unitarian Universalist another way to pray. He said that there were really only three essential elements to any prayer and they could be prayed through almost any life situation or stages of faith. The three elements are:
Yes.
Thank you.
I love you.
Yes. Thank you. I love you.
Yes. Yes to the divine spark within me, yes to the calling to ministry, yes to showing up to my life and my work with all my human imperfection, yes to the joy and the sorrow, yes to this sometimes difficult and always beautiful world. Yes.
Thank you. Thank you for the gifts of breath and water and beloved soul lights. Thank you for radish sprouts and coffee and journals with blank pages. Thank you for songs and symbols and stories. Thank you for connection and communication and Carnival. Thank you for sight and insight and the darkness too… Thank you.
I love you. I love you, spirit of life and love, creator and created, that which was and is and ever shall be. I love you, source of hope and diversity, comfort and challenge, interdependent web of all existence. I love you.
Yes. Thank you. I love you.
It is a prayer I can pray – come hurricanes and high water, elections and power outages, while waiting for a holiday or for results from the lab. It is a prayer I pray each day.
My Jesuit friend used to say that he wasn’t a great theologian, but that he did know how to put deep spiritual understandings into ducky and horsy language. It was this gift, in fact, that made him a truly great theologian – one who will be deeply missed by all who encountered his gentle wisdom.
Yes. Thank you. I love you.
We human beings have many times many different prejudices. I’m not trying to make a value statement in saying that, just naming something that I believe is an inherent aspect of human nature. We are deeply prejudiced beings. The primary difference I have seen among human beings was whether or not they were aware of their prejudices.
Why is it impossible for us to not be prejudiced? Because we are beings of infinite yearnings and finite knowledge. We feel called to make decisions and judgments, even though it is impossible for us to have perfect knowledge of all that is around us.
At the base of my argument on this issue is a theme I’ve turned to many times before, and that is that while objective reality and objective truth do indeed exist, it is impossible for human beings to ever comprehend, grasp, or access it. Each time we seek to define any objective reality, or any objective or ultimate truth, we are prevented from doing so through our own limited perspective as a single human individual, and by our incapacity to grasp all knowledge that can be related to any given subject.
And yet, even with the incapacity to achieve objective reality or ultimate truth, many human beings inherently yearn for it. While objective reality and ultimate truth do indeed exist, we human beings do not have the capacity to discern or conceive it. We spend our lives in our own masses of perceptions, preconceptions, prejudices, and assumptions. And as I do not know all of humanity, even my statement that no one can access objective truth must itself be a subjective statement, no matter how objectively I frame it.
Religions have long realized this tension between the human desire to encompass ultimate truth and objective reality, and our near complete incapacity to do so. Some theologians have even proposed this tension as the ultimate source of all human religion… the attempt to address this tension by designating an ultimate truth a
It is the middle of the night and my unit has landed at Bangor International Airport, in Maine, for a short stopover before we leave American soil for Afghanistan. We will not be home for many months. We hope we will all come home alive, but in war, as in life, there are risks, there is uncertainty, there is the real possibility of death.
Before we left our mobilization site in Texas I brought a self-selecting group of my soldiers on retreat—a Spiritual Fitness Retreat. We did this to prepare our souls for war, drawing from the wisdom of warrior cultures in earlier times and adopting and adapting spiritual disciplines, rituals, and rites of passage, to serve the needs of the soul.
War is a Rite of Passage—I have learned this from my mentor Ed Tick—and this rite in history has included several key components: time apart in a sacred space, guidance by elders, trials that recreate the war experience, blessing and gifts from the community in whose name the warrior serves, and initiation into the warrior path. At our retreat we did all these things, and in some mysterious and beautiful way the community came together around us.
Ascension Mena, who established the Holy Trinity Retreat Center in eastern El Paso, hosted our gathering; local ministers, including Sabine Green and Sarah Heartsong, lead the gathering in a drumming circle and Warrior Rite; Hugh Scanlen, a purple heart recipient from two combat tours in Vietnam and elder mentor on the Warrior Path, offered wisdom and guidance; Mahonri Telles and Matt Hopper, both Iraq combat veterans, drew from Native American and Nordic traditions respectively to teach us to activate our shadow with the “warrior cry” and create meaning with Norse Rune symbols; others too many to name came and provided healing through Reiki and gifts of medicine pouches for us each to carry.
Now is the time to depart, but we leave with the blessing of the community, our souls cared for by the ancient wisdom rituals and rites of warrior cultures in earlier times.
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.
One of the major themes of this election cycle has been one of individualism vs. “collectivism.” The argument of those on the individualist side seems to be that people need to take responsibility for themselves. If we do too much to shelter people from the harsher realities of life, then, it seems, people will lose initiative to take care of themselves and will become dependent on the system to support them.
I can see the point of this argument. We have all known people who seemed to feel like the world owed them a favor, who didn’t seem to want to step up to the plate and take responsibility.
But here’s the thing: I don’t think you really understand what it means to be responsible until you start taking some responsibility for more than your own little life. Certainly, the whole idea of what it meant to be responsible changed drastically the moment I became a parent. Suddenly, working and paying my household bills seemed like a trivial task compared with the need to make sure that nutritious meals turned up on time, that baths and clean clothes and bedtime all happened at the appropriate moments, that enriching opportunities for learning and growth appeared—without any pressure or agenda. And all those tasks are minor compared with the responsibility of providing just the right blend of openness and limits, of connection and independence, of work and play and rest. And we won’t even go into what it takes to maintain a loving composure in the face of two-year-old temper tantrums or the eye-rolling snideness of a teen.
Being responsible for a child is a massive undertaking. But it’s only the beginning. Those of us who are truly responsible know that we have responsibilities to our neighbors. We clean up after our dogs, and shovel our sidewalks when it snows. And if you’re going to participate in a democracy then you have a responsibility to make your vote count, to be informed, to weigh in on those matters that concern you, whether it be a traffic light in front of your local school or a giant oil pipeline running across your country. When tragedy hits across the world in the form of a hurricane or a tsunami and we reach out to help, we might realize that our responsibilities don’t end with the borders of our own particular country.
In fact, our responsibilities reach out across time as well as space. Do we not have some obligation to hand off to our children and our neighbors’ children an earth that is still hospitable and green, not to mention an education system that prepares the next generation for a future we can’t quite imagine?
Yes, I’m all in favor of personal responsibility. But I think we haven’t begun to touch our responsibilities until we’ve committed ourselves as broadly and deeply as possible to the health and well-being of all those whom our lives touch.
Politicians throw about plans for health care, Social Security, and Medicare as if they were stand-up comedians trying joke after joke to see what gets a rise out of their audience. To many of us, the effects of these plans are abstract and distant. We intellectually engage with them, thinking that our rational side is best when evaluating how our nation should take care of its old, poor, and vulnerable.
Perhaps instead, we should feel something. This week, I’m feeling anger—make that rage. Why? Allow me to introduce you to my grandpa.
My grandfather turned 87 last week, and I visited him to celebrate and take him out to dinner. Grandpa has an amazing history: Born in Marseille, France, he served in the French Merchant Marine, and then fought in the French Resistance until the liberation of France from Nazi rule in 1944. Soon after, he came to the United States, where he met and married my grandmother and became a U.S. citizen.
Grandpa worked on the docks in Brooklyn, unloading cargo ships, until his back was injured at work, forcing him to find less-physical labor. For years after that, he worked for an independent governmental agency. When he retired from that agency, he was promised a pension as well as health insurance for life (the same health care given to retirees from New York City employment).
Knowing that this was assured, he worked a series of jobs with few benefits: he managed a McDonald’s, he drove a commuter van, he managed a boutique. Then, at the age of 65, he graduated from Police Academy, becoming a special forces policeman in Saddle Brook, New Jersey. There, he was a crossing guard and worked events like parades and school dances as extra security. When he finally retired from work altogether, he was 75 years old.
In late 2010, the governmental agency he worked for was closed down by the state and city. Legislators could not reach a deal to keep the agency, which was supposed to make money, solvent. When the agency was dissolved, retirees got a letter saying that the city and state would no longer be providing them with health insurance. The courts ruled that this was legal, despite the promises that were made by generations of politicians. My grandfather’s health care was left to the whims of Medicare.
No more dental insurance, either, apparently (it was part of the package he was promised for life). For a birthday gift, my parents, brothers and I paid for my grandfather’s dental bill. One of his teeth had become infected, and the extraction and subsequent false tooth cost some $2000. Grandpa otherwise couldn’t have afforded it, and he would have lived with a big gap in the side of his mouth.
Did I mention that my grandparents live only on Social Security checks and that small pension check (thankfully, it’s against the New York State Constitution to renege on the promise of a pension)? From their less-than-$2000 a month in income, they have to pay rent, utilities, food, car insurance, gas (thankfully, they don’t drive much), doctor’s bills and medicine.
Which brings us to Medicare. My grandfather has asthma. My grandmother has high blood pressure. It’s not like they take a raft of pills every day, but those conditions require constant medication. Here in September, they find themselves in the infamous Medicare “doughnut hole.” Apparently, the asthma medication costs $400 a month, and the blood pressure medication $200.
My grandparents don’t have $600 a month to spend on medicine, but because they would die without this medication, they find a way. They beg their doctors for free samples so that they don’t have to refill their prescriptions quite as often. Grandma is currently calling the drug companies to try to qualify for discount programs. Neither of them can wait until 2014, when the Affordable Health Care Act closes that hole.
Because every spare dollar is going to pay for asthma medication, they can’t afford the health care they need, either. My grandfather’s back hurts so much (from that injury 45 years ago) that he can hardly get in and out of a car. I watched him struggle to go out to dinner with us, and I could hardly believe it. His doctor thinks that regular physical therapy would help—but he can’t afford the three-times-a-week co-pays. I’m going to be paying them for him.
Thankfully, my grandfather has a family who can help. But at 87, he doesn’t want to have to ask for it, and he knows that we have other financial considerations. My parents are retired, too, and not exactly flush with cash. My next youngest brother supports his family of 4 on his income. My youngest brother is about to start graduate school. I’ll be paying for grandpa’s physical therapy.
Which makes me mad. Our society is failing our elders. It is utterly contemptuous that someone who worked hard all of his life could be reduced to having to decide whether to seek the medical care he needs or ask his grandson for money. It is beyond the pale that my similarly hard-working grandmother (none of whose jobs left her with retirement security either) has to call the doctor and beg for another free asthma inhaler.
So the next time a politician says something about the “doughnut hole,” I want you to think of my 87 year-old grandpa. The next time a politician mentions the promises that we make to our senior citizens, think of my grandpa. The next time someone decides that cutting Medicare spending is the only way to save our nation, think of grandpa. I know I will be.
Toward the end of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says to those gathered, “Judge not, that you not be judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it, will be measured to you.” He then goes on to illustrate this nugget of wisdom with the well known analogy of noticing the log in your own eye before taking the speck out of someone else’s eye.
I experienced a moment of grace a few weeks ago in which I relearned this important message. While on vacation, I was staying in a hotel near Richmond, VIrginia. I came down to the hotel lobby for their complimentary breakfast. Also getting breakfast was an attractive, well-dressed, young woman, probably in her early 20s. She seemed to be alone at first, but after a few minutes a young man arrived for breakfast as well. He was dressed in a tank top shirt, had many tattoos on his entire body, and was wearing a ball cap tilted to the side. I didn’t take much notice of him until he started talking to the young woman in a low mumble. They sat down together, and I thought to myself, “she could certainly do better than him.” At that moment, he took off his cap, took both of her hands in his, and asked her to to say a blessing for the food they were about to eat. They both bowed their heads and prayed aloud together before they ate breakfast.
I was humbled and embarrassed that I had judged this young man based on his appearance and manner. And yet, don’t we all do this? Each of us makes some judgment, positive, negative, or neutral about everyone we encounter. Sometimes we may not even be conscious of it. As we learn in Matthew, we will also be judged, and maybe rightly so. We have to recognize our own issues, prejudices, and fears (the logs in our own eyes), before we can worry about the speck in our brothers’ or sisters’ eyes.
When we judge someone negatively, the first question we should ask ourselves is, “What is it about me and my experiences that brought me to this judgment?” Our concerns and prejudices say more about us than the person we are judging. The way to overcome this is removing the log from our own eyes first.
The next question we should ask ourselves is, “What if I’m wrong?” Chances are, unless you know someone very intimately, your judgments and preconceptions about them are at least partially wrong. How could they not be? The way to overcome this is to get to know someone better. If they are a stranger, as in my case, then that may or may not be possible. Either way, we should reserve judgment, assume goodwill, and afford each person the worth and dignity that they deserve. If we have judged someone we already know, then we don’t know them well enough, and should make the effort to better know them, which can only be done in direct relationship.
This is difficult work, but it is the essence of building a beloved community.
One hundred and fifty years ago today, President Lincoln issued a Preliminary Proclamation that mandated the emancipation of all slaves in Confederate territory that did not return to the Union by January 1 of the following year. It was the beginning of the end of one of the greatest blots upon the face of liberty, a chattel system of coerced servitude in a nation founded upon ideals of equality and freedom.
Lincoln was many things, but let us never forget that he was a politician. He had to assuage the concerns of various constituencies, he had to build alliances, he had to pursue his advantage when necessary and compromise when it was called for. Yet ultimately, the greatness of Lincoln’s leadership lay in his insistence upon doing what he knew to be right, his steadfastness in pursuing that right, and the deftness with which he pursued the right.
The road to true freedom is a long one. Look at how Russia, South Africa, Haiti, Myanmar, and so many other nations have ambled, not always sure-footedly, away from tyranny and slowly, slowly in the direction of embracing human dignity. The setbacks are many, and the outcome far from certain. Our own country has made great strides, but we know there is still much for us to do. Slavery as it was once known in this country is no more, yet its legacy still haunts us. Poverty still cripples dreams in this land of wealth. Injustices still abound among us. There are brief moments in the history of any people when a creative genius like Lincoln steps in and enacts fundamental change. Yet we cannot wait for the strong arm of one person to right our wrongs for us. Each of us needs to cultivate that blend of heroic idealism and cunning pragmatism that made Lincoln our country’s greatest president.
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Quest for Meaning is a program of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF).
As a Unitarian Universalist congregation with no geographical boundary, the CLF creates global spiritual community, rooted in profound love, which cultivates wonder, imagination, and the courage to act.