No, really

I'm actually pretty good, though a little scattered lately, so don't get freaked out by what I am about to write, friends.

Today I pulled down my copy of Nouwen's The Inner Voice of Love from my shelf. It's made up of his journal entries written during one of the most challenging periods of his life. From the introduction:

This book is my secret journal. It was written during the most difficult period of my life, from December 1987 to June 1988. That was a time of extreme anguish, during which I wondered whether I would be able to hold on to my life. Everything came crashing down - my self-esteem, my energy to live and work, my sense of being loved, my hope for healing, my trust in God... everything. Here I was, a writer about the spiritual life, known as someone who loves God and gives hope to people, flat on the ground and in total darkness.

What had happened? I had come face to face with my own nothingness. It was as if all that had given my life meaning was pulled away and I could see nothing in front of me but a bottomless abyss.

The strange thing was that this happened shortly after I had found my true home. After many years of life in universities, where I never felt fully at home, I had become a member of L'Arche, a community of men and women with mental disabilities....

I know people who can insert their own locations and events into this story and describe their own anguish. You do, too.

A friend emailed me about another book we had discussed, and this came to mind as something else that she might find useful, as she is wrestling with grief. Maybe I pulled it down because I'm reading about suffering and reconciliation from Thurman for one class. Maybe it's because I'm reading about L'Arche for another. Maybe it's because fall is a time where I'm a little ... upturned, perhaps in anticipation of the winter. Maybe it's because fall seems to be a time to remember.

I'm not in the same place I was the first time I read it. That's a gift. That's work and grace and aid from those who loved me. God, what would you have done if no one ever picked you up? (What if someone around you needs help getting back up?) What if you resisted being picked up for a long time? You there with stubborn pride and distrust.

I wonder what it would be like to read it again. When I read it for the first time I took the advice of the Suggestion to the Reader at the start of the book to read only one entry at a time. If you ever decide to read it, perhaps in a time of grief or because you want to learn about grief, I recommend reading one entry at time.

Meh. There's plenty of other things to read right now.
----

In the past few days I've heard stories of friends here who have experienced tremendous pain, trauma, and betrayal.

On my run this morning, in the midst (really? midst?) of prayers and movement, I began to weep a little as I thought of how these people were hurt and abused. The women who were raped. (I get mad at the devastation that abuse causes and usually at the perpetrators, too.) The men betrayed by their partners' infidelity. (I get mad at the people who betray or cheat one those so wonderful who love them.) The lover neglecting the other's happiness - forgetting that in relationships you are supposed to care if the other person is hurt or suffering. (I get mad when we are so selfish and when we only look at ourselves. [Hey. Nice blog you got here.])

There are so many things to pray for. But, does God exist? Does she pay attention? We understand and make sense of Jesus more through the story of suffering, of humanity, than any atonement theology - some sickening mathematical formula that makes God kind of evil and makes God's love conditional on our actions. What? What?

Anyway, I don't have anything profound to say about suffering right now... Just know that what you gain by surviving whatever you survive is something big and important, though it huuuuuurts. It has opened you up to something bigger than what everyday life provides. Some day you might even save someone else's life. Or give them relief from the springs of their trauma or their long loneliness.

OK. It's time to listen to some loud metal and climb some rocks. Or sleep.

I have some more to say about grief, but I'm tired now. Good, though. Lucky, too.

Take care.

Splat

Busy, busy, busy. That's what you are. You've got papers to write, books to read, people to see, love to give and receive, burps to emit.

1. bikes:












Next weekend - Connecticut State Championships for cross. The Yale team has not sent folks to any cross races this year (though there have been a few entrants into mountain races). This will be fun to watch, though. I wonder how Connecticut feels about beer hand-ups. We have some PBR in the fridge that needs to go somewhere.


dos) Running: 3-5 days per week I'm getting in a four-mile run, usually before my 9 a.m. or 8:30 a.m. class. THAT IS SOME EARLY SHIT. I love mornings. I love sunrises. I don't love too-early alarms for early runs then rushing through a shower and no stretching and bag-packing and lunch-packing and... whine whine whine. Yes, I've thought about showering less often. Yes, I shower less often. No, you didn't notice.

I'm going to try to substitute yoga for one morning of running. Centering practices are important, especially for us scattered folks. Morning runs are for some silence and prayer, but they're also for athletic achievement, even if it's just for me right now. It's hard to compete with a tired body.

drei: MDiv: I'm not feeling pulled to seek ordination right now. With who? I've had more churches than, ahem, bikes.

four - Eyeballs: My vision is getting worse, but I just can't get used to wearing glasses all the time. So, if you see me, there is a chance that I don't see you. Sorry. Wave and say hi!

5 - Chaos: Is it valuable, holy, good to have a little sacred in one's room or home? I used to think such things were useless, especially for us low-church/no-church folks. But after living with Nanette (pastor of Wicker Park Grace) this summer I'm starting to value sacred space more as a way of remembering God than a place for worship. If a space helps create a better sense of peace in our mind, doesn't that help us connect better with the Divine? Isn't that why we find God so much in nature? Somehow my dresser, dusted with incense ash and good ol' regular dust and sitting below my jewelry, isn't a sight for holy eyes.

















Probably the first step is to take down the name tag.

Do you have any sacred-ish space in your home?

Speaking of jewelry:

6 - (being): I have this ring.
















I wear it some days. Other days I don't. These walks of repair in or of our lives sure are interesting things. Carry on with yours, people. Tell me about them some time. Remember your heart. God put it there.


7. Ego: It's mysterious (and flattering and an honor) to me that people have subscribed to this blog in Google Reader. It's because you want ministers who use swear words, isn't it. Often I wonder who you are.

Peace. Be still.

Interfaith marriage

I have this friend. Hi. He says, not in a condemning way, but in more of a "huh?" kind of way, that he doesn't really understand interfaith marriages.

I have another friend who is newly married to another friend and theirs is an interfaith marriage. She's Christian and he's Jewish.

That pal is Rebecca, whose blog often contains things that teach me about life and love, and she is contributing to this website: Fifty Percenters: In Praise of the Non-traditional Jewish Family.

Rebecca wrote the following to me:

As you prolly know, I am working on a blog project with a woman in Montreal that is trying to create an online community of people who are engaging Judaism in non-traditional ways. We are trying to move beyond the discussion of whether or not intermarriage will destroy the Jewish people by working from the premise that it will not, that it is here to stay and that some of us need to take leadership roles for how to constructively help Judaism adapt to this new dynamic. The website can be found www.fiftypercenters.com.

Well now isn't that going to be interesting?

More about my pal:

PrincessMax/Rebecca is the Christian partner in an interfaith marriage. Both she and her Jewish husband practice their faiths individually and share what they can of each other's traditions. She considers this lifelong process of cultural and personal reconciliation fulfillment of God's consistent commandment to mend the world. You read all of Rebecca's posts here and you can contact her at: rebecca AT fiftypercenters.com

Rebecca said some things about love, marriage, and companionship that I think are nice.

Back to work!

Do you want my ham?

(I took these from the internet.)

On Friday morning a group of us from my Theologies of Christian Community class went to visit the Amistad Catholic Worker house here in New Haven. Well, not here in New Haven. It's a bit less than three miles from my house, which is father than I ride my bike around town. It's on the other side of town, separated by a connector to the interstate. Egad. There are other dividing lines in New Haven, and I think I live near one of them. It's not right, but it is the way it is right now.

We arrived shortly after 7 a.m., and a handful of classmates were already there. Some were helping to prepare food. Others were cleaning up the yard and sorting cans of food and clothes for Goodwill. We dove (dived) in and helped until it was time for us to go inside.

We met Mark Colville and a couple of his daughters, and a man named Herb (yes?), who were our hosts. Joan J. was cutting pineapple. Jen was cutting onions. I don't know what Irene was doing but it was something kitchen-related.

I wondered for a moment why all the women from class who arrived earlier were doing kitchen work. I love kitchen work, so I don't fault them at all. There were men in there. Mark and Herb were preparing food and the table as well. I guess it just struck me that all the other females from our class were in the kitchen and all the dudes were outside. I don't know. It doesn't deserve much exploration because I know the Amistad house does not assign women to certain roles and men to others and never let them overlap, but I'm just marking that I noticed it... I guess. It's not at all a criticism of the women in my class, either.

Anyway, it was time to go inside and eat. Mark spoke with us for a few minutes, saying that this isn't a soup kitchen but a place of hospitality and community. So we were supposed to eat with the folks who walked in the door - not just serve them.

Eep! In the past, I would have been uncomfortable. Not because of those who would walk in the door (I hope) but because by being a guest myself, I was participating fully in what was going on.

You want me to sit at this table?

I know a handful of people, most of them have been women, who seem much more comfortable serving - only serving - than participating in the party. A few weeks ago, we had a potluck at my house for this same class and I had to stop myself more than a couple of times from playing host - and from remaining outside the scene. I wanted to do everything to make sure that my classmates were comfortable. I wanted to do everything right. That's nice and all, but sometimes that comes at the expense of participation and being present (ugh, what a phrase) to those around us.

Now I have this little voice that reminds me, "Hey, fool. Stop finding ways to stay safe on the side. Join the conversation."

There's more to all this, but I don't have time and this blog ain't a therapy session. The point is that it's OK to let someone else refill the water pitcher while you sit. It's very OK (can you make something "very OK"?) to break away a little from striving to do things perfectly. There is no perfection anyway.

Back to, you know, something other than me:

We accepted the invitation to sit with the visitors who walked in the door. We sat in a small kitchen, about twelve seated around a table and others on a pew or on chairs around the room. It was cozy and warm. Over the hour or so, folks from the community came in, ate, chatted, and left. Some stayed the whole time, others just spent a little time there, and it was all fine.

I spoke for a while to a man named Romeo. He practices and teaches some form of Tai Chi in the park every morning. He used to live in Winston-Salem, NC, and so we chatted about how much we liked that city. We didn't talk about how he got there or if he had a house or anything like that. That's good.

I asked him if he wanted the ham slice off of my egg sandwich. I didn't want to be rude to this wonderful house that provided me breakfast, but I'm just not ready to eat pig again. Someone else would definitely enjoy it more. He did want it. He asked if I wanted his pineapple, and I took it. (You betcha!)

Then we drank more coffee.

I'd like to go back there.

I think that's all I have to say for now.

El Salvador to investigate the assassination of Oscar Romero

El Salvador to investigate the assassination of Oscar Romero

This is kind of a big deal