Questions. We all have them. And most of us have numerous questions for which we have no answers... I know I'm always searching for a myriad of answers to numerous questions, complex and simple alike.
But, sometimes, I wonder if I really know what the questions are. Let me rephrase that. Sometimes I don't know what the Questions are. Did you catch that subtlety? Questions... capital Q. The BIG QUESTIONS of life. As Socrates said, "The unexamined life is not worth living." I think I agree. I try to engage in examination at every opportunity.
It's simple, what I'm seeking in this blog, really. I want to know the Questions that are worth examining. I've come up with a few.
WON'T YOU HELP ME come up with more????
Here's what I have so far:
* Who am I?
* Why am I here?
* Am I (humanity) all there is?
* Is there a Higher Power, and if so, what is the nature of that Higher Power?
* If there is a Higher Power, what is my relation to it?
So... for you small number of folk who read me from time to time, please, set me on a new quest.... what're the questions?
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Baa Baa Black Sheep... that's ME!
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful... well, maybe not so fateful, actually... life. I think it's going to be a long one, though I'll try to keep it short. It's the story of evolution. Or at least the evolution of one life. Mine.
I was born in Council Bluffs, Iowa, USA. At 1 1/2 years old, my family moved to Omaha, Nebraska, just across the mighty Missouri River from Council Bluffs. Omaha is a more economically vibrant community than Council Bluffs, and is about 10 times larger. Council Bluffs equals small town hicks, Omaha equals suave urbanites... well, as far as this part of the country is concerned, anyhow!
Dad was an engineer working with a local gas company that was destined to become a major corporation, part of the now infamous Enron. But dad was also back in school, studying law. By the time I was old enough to really hold on to my memories, dad was a Patent Attorney (the only one in all Nebraska) in private practice. Our family was a good, solid middle class American family, a mom, a dad, 3 kids, a dog or two (until I was in Kindergarten) and a cat, two cars in the garage... though, no picket fence. Picket fences simply weren't done in our neighborhood. We really wanted for nothing, as far as I knew. Our house was a white ranch with rust colored shutters, and red brick lower walls. We had 7 elms in our yard, all of which survived the elm sickness of the 70s. I learned to climb those trees, and had a blast doing so!
We stayed in our western suburbs, going to school, and church, and doing our shopping. We were Republicans. Most folk in the area were. We shopped down the street at the local stip mall. Dad worked downtown, a part of the city that made me cringe. I hated going there. We had to, from time to time, as the better department stores were there. I was never so happy to have the mall open up out by us! And then a second!
I went to the local public school for a few years, then a new Catholic Church opened it's doors and a school and I transferred there. For high school, I attended a private, catholic boarding school. I hated being away from home.
One year, as part of our education, we had to go downtown to a really nasty part of town, and helped out in a new shelter for the homeless... we had to help clean and scrub to make it ready for the coming residents. I hated it. I preferred my nice clean whitebread suburbs.
Well, let's fast forward a bit. I went off to college. I wasn't really sure what to do with my life, but two very divergent paths seemed open to me, and of interest. One was the Catholic priesthood. The other the military. I read those famous lines in John "If you love me, feed my sheep." Three times, Jesus asked "Do you love me". Three times he was assured of that love. Three times he responded "Feed my sheep." I read those lines, and thought yes, I'll do that. But other opportunities offered themselves, and in the end I enrolled in ROTC, got a scholarship, got married (yes, to a woman!) and headed off to my first military base assignment. I spent 4 years there, divorced, moved to California, and volunteered my time at my nice upper middle class Catholic Church. I, the lone, staunch Republican, ex-active duty army officer, in Berkeley, California in 1987. Berkeley. California. The only city in the United States with it's own foreign policy, diametrically opposed to that glorious foreign policy of the worlds' greatest leader, Ronald Reagon. Radical Lefties in a Liberal (shudder) state.
I offered my services to the pastor. He asked me to sit on the Social Justice Committee. The rest of my committee members were mostly university professors and professionals from around the community.
Now, let me ask you this... do you remember what was going on in the world in 1987? Ronald Reagan was president, fighting the mighty Evil Empire (which would crumble in a few more years) via proxy wars in El Salvador and insurgencies in Nicaragua.
And here I sat, in a room full of radicals, the lone Republican. They wanted us to bring in illegals from El Salvador and I didn't like that one bit. Don't really remember much else, other than this. I only post it so that you get a picture of my character at that time.
Comes 1991, and I move BACK to Omaha to begin studying for the priesthood. I was provided housing in a home deep in downtown part of the city. I remember driving down to the house feeling a great deal of fear and concern. It dawned on me that day that my "yes" to what I perceived as God's calling was really a "Yes, as long as I get to do ministry to rich white folk."
So "what's the point of all this?" you ask. I was thinking about this on my way to work this morning. And I've begun to change. I'm no longer the conservative, republican ex-military man surrounded by arch-liberal professors discussing the plight of the world's poor.
Thirteen years have passed since a cocky, rich, Republican drove in to downtown Omaha. In those years, I've moved a lot, lived all over town, in other states, and am now living over in Hicksville Council Bluffs, again! If I cared to put myself on that ugly "class ladder" that so many American's are so intent upon, I guess I'm still middle class; poverty has not even come close... but I'm not happy. Relative financial success hasn't filled my life with meaning.
Recently, I've started to realize that 18 years ago, an experience I had on the wind swept prairies of northern Nebraska was more than I thought it was. I was reflecting on that sense of calling I had perceived at the start of my college life "Feed my sheep." I remember praying, "God what do you want me to do?" And I remember that request to Feed His Sheep. "But God, what do you want me to DO?" I asked again and again that week. Then, one beautiful evening, as I watched a glorious sunset and looked at an old cross up on a hilltop silhouetted against that sunset, I felt peace and really felt (I still DO believe this) that God spoke to me. "Don't worry. You will do My will." I thought that meant the priesthood, and I dedicated the next 10 years to achieving that goal. I think now, I misheard God. I think God really meant it... "Feed my sheep." "Feed my people." Not with spiritual food, but with real, honest stick to the bones, hot nourishing food.
"When I was hungry, you shook your head in sorrow and wondered why someone wouldn't feed me..." I read that in the bible, didn't I? Isn't that what Jesus said to those who purport to be his followers? Or was it "When I was hungry, you FED me... whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, THAT you do to me." Yeah, that's it.
Jesus was a compassionate prophet, the Son of God. Marcus Borg has that right. Boil away all the rest of the gobbledy-gook of scripture, and focus on Jesus words and actions... he didn't care about the politics of his day, the singleminded insistence on "doing things right"; Jesus merely reflected for us what God wanted him to... that God is all about love, and God is all about mercy, and God is all about compassion. And most importantly that following after God is all about BEING those attributes, modelling those concepts in our life.
I read a sign the other day: "The smallest good deed is vastly superior to the grandest intention."
I can't do a lot. I may be far from poor, but most of my paycheck goes to taking care of myself and Scott, and Gary, too. But I can give of myself. I've found a new ministry... feeding God's Sheep... feeding the homeless at my church. I have to miss worship to do it... and I don't care.
With every sausage I put on a plate, I look into the eyes of a hungry person, and say "Have a nice day, sir." Or "Have a nice day, ma'am."
Every sausage on a plate, every serving of eggs or potatos or pancakes, I give to God. I feed a lot of Jesuses. How many more have I ignored in my life? Far too many.
I was born in Council Bluffs, Iowa, USA. At 1 1/2 years old, my family moved to Omaha, Nebraska, just across the mighty Missouri River from Council Bluffs. Omaha is a more economically vibrant community than Council Bluffs, and is about 10 times larger. Council Bluffs equals small town hicks, Omaha equals suave urbanites... well, as far as this part of the country is concerned, anyhow!
Dad was an engineer working with a local gas company that was destined to become a major corporation, part of the now infamous Enron. But dad was also back in school, studying law. By the time I was old enough to really hold on to my memories, dad was a Patent Attorney (the only one in all Nebraska) in private practice. Our family was a good, solid middle class American family, a mom, a dad, 3 kids, a dog or two (until I was in Kindergarten) and a cat, two cars in the garage... though, no picket fence. Picket fences simply weren't done in our neighborhood. We really wanted for nothing, as far as I knew. Our house was a white ranch with rust colored shutters, and red brick lower walls. We had 7 elms in our yard, all of which survived the elm sickness of the 70s. I learned to climb those trees, and had a blast doing so!
We stayed in our western suburbs, going to school, and church, and doing our shopping. We were Republicans. Most folk in the area were. We shopped down the street at the local stip mall. Dad worked downtown, a part of the city that made me cringe. I hated going there. We had to, from time to time, as the better department stores were there. I was never so happy to have the mall open up out by us! And then a second!
I went to the local public school for a few years, then a new Catholic Church opened it's doors and a school and I transferred there. For high school, I attended a private, catholic boarding school. I hated being away from home.
One year, as part of our education, we had to go downtown to a really nasty part of town, and helped out in a new shelter for the homeless... we had to help clean and scrub to make it ready for the coming residents. I hated it. I preferred my nice clean whitebread suburbs.
Well, let's fast forward a bit. I went off to college. I wasn't really sure what to do with my life, but two very divergent paths seemed open to me, and of interest. One was the Catholic priesthood. The other the military. I read those famous lines in John "If you love me, feed my sheep." Three times, Jesus asked "Do you love me". Three times he was assured of that love. Three times he responded "Feed my sheep." I read those lines, and thought yes, I'll do that. But other opportunities offered themselves, and in the end I enrolled in ROTC, got a scholarship, got married (yes, to a woman!) and headed off to my first military base assignment. I spent 4 years there, divorced, moved to California, and volunteered my time at my nice upper middle class Catholic Church. I, the lone, staunch Republican, ex-active duty army officer, in Berkeley, California in 1987. Berkeley. California. The only city in the United States with it's own foreign policy, diametrically opposed to that glorious foreign policy of the worlds' greatest leader, Ronald Reagon. Radical Lefties in a Liberal (shudder) state.
I offered my services to the pastor. He asked me to sit on the Social Justice Committee. The rest of my committee members were mostly university professors and professionals from around the community.
Now, let me ask you this... do you remember what was going on in the world in 1987? Ronald Reagan was president, fighting the mighty Evil Empire (which would crumble in a few more years) via proxy wars in El Salvador and insurgencies in Nicaragua.
And here I sat, in a room full of radicals, the lone Republican. They wanted us to bring in illegals from El Salvador and I didn't like that one bit. Don't really remember much else, other than this. I only post it so that you get a picture of my character at that time.
Comes 1991, and I move BACK to Omaha to begin studying for the priesthood. I was provided housing in a home deep in downtown part of the city. I remember driving down to the house feeling a great deal of fear and concern. It dawned on me that day that my "yes" to what I perceived as God's calling was really a "Yes, as long as I get to do ministry to rich white folk."
So "what's the point of all this?" you ask. I was thinking about this on my way to work this morning. And I've begun to change. I'm no longer the conservative, republican ex-military man surrounded by arch-liberal professors discussing the plight of the world's poor.
Thirteen years have passed since a cocky, rich, Republican drove in to downtown Omaha. In those years, I've moved a lot, lived all over town, in other states, and am now living over in Hicksville Council Bluffs, again! If I cared to put myself on that ugly "class ladder" that so many American's are so intent upon, I guess I'm still middle class; poverty has not even come close... but I'm not happy. Relative financial success hasn't filled my life with meaning.
Recently, I've started to realize that 18 years ago, an experience I had on the wind swept prairies of northern Nebraska was more than I thought it was. I was reflecting on that sense of calling I had perceived at the start of my college life "Feed my sheep." I remember praying, "God what do you want me to do?" And I remember that request to Feed His Sheep. "But God, what do you want me to DO?" I asked again and again that week. Then, one beautiful evening, as I watched a glorious sunset and looked at an old cross up on a hilltop silhouetted against that sunset, I felt peace and really felt (I still DO believe this) that God spoke to me. "Don't worry. You will do My will." I thought that meant the priesthood, and I dedicated the next 10 years to achieving that goal. I think now, I misheard God. I think God really meant it... "Feed my sheep." "Feed my people." Not with spiritual food, but with real, honest stick to the bones, hot nourishing food.
"When I was hungry, you shook your head in sorrow and wondered why someone wouldn't feed me..." I read that in the bible, didn't I? Isn't that what Jesus said to those who purport to be his followers? Or was it "When I was hungry, you FED me... whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, THAT you do to me." Yeah, that's it.
Jesus was a compassionate prophet, the Son of God. Marcus Borg has that right. Boil away all the rest of the gobbledy-gook of scripture, and focus on Jesus words and actions... he didn't care about the politics of his day, the singleminded insistence on "doing things right"; Jesus merely reflected for us what God wanted him to... that God is all about love, and God is all about mercy, and God is all about compassion. And most importantly that following after God is all about BEING those attributes, modelling those concepts in our life.
I read a sign the other day: "The smallest good deed is vastly superior to the grandest intention."
I can't do a lot. I may be far from poor, but most of my paycheck goes to taking care of myself and Scott, and Gary, too. But I can give of myself. I've found a new ministry... feeding God's Sheep... feeding the homeless at my church. I have to miss worship to do it... and I don't care.
With every sausage I put on a plate, I look into the eyes of a hungry person, and say "Have a nice day, sir." Or "Have a nice day, ma'am."
Every sausage on a plate, every serving of eggs or potatos or pancakes, I give to God. I feed a lot of Jesuses. How many more have I ignored in my life? Far too many.
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