MineAllMine

this is just a test

2010-01-05T08:32:00.001-06:00

test

Dipping my toe, testing the water

2008-08-01T10:16:00.001-05:00

Hello world.

I know there are thousands and thousands of you just waiting for my return to the blogosphere. I'm sorry to have deprived you myriads of people of my insight and wisdom.

Okay, now that I've exercised my delusions of grandeur, perhaps I can actually write something more based in reality.

Hi, Jeremy. Sorry to have been silent so long! Your email this morning caught my eye, and I responded. But after hitting send, it dawned on me that perhaps in my response was the germ of a new beginning, and I'd plant it here and see if maybe a new creation might appear.

I'm going to start today by just posting what I sent you in email... or at least some of it (slightly edited). And we'll wait to see if any more comes to me.

You asked me how God was moving in my life. I responded thus:

... [F]rankly my friend, I'm not sure that God is. In the months after Mom's dying, I became so focused on Dad and on work and on Scott, that it took me a couple of months to realize that my relationship with God had, for all intents, shrivelled to nothing. By November, I no longer sensed God's presence in my life, nor could I reach out and find that Presence again. Prayer became totally empty for me. It was as if God and I had agreed to leave each other alone... and GOD alone was living up to the bargain.

During this period, I pulled back from all responsibilities in my church, feeling totally burned out on them. In February, I decided to not return to church. By that time, I would come in to church, sit down, and by 3/4 of the way through the service (sometimes by 5 minutes IN to the service) I'd feel such a rage overtaking me. I'd leave in a fury when service ended. I made the decision it was time to not come back until I'd found and defeated the demon in me. Okay, no I'm not saying this in the context of possession.

Now, I'm rooted enough in my faith, and in Christian tradition, and in theology to know that God has never left me in this time. Nor, indeed, had I wandered all that far from God. During this time, I continued to see my Spiritual Director; and my pastor and I get together to discuss theology and "whatever" every month over dinner. In spite of my crisis of faith he kept me close to himself as one of his advisors, and that helped.

Beginning in April, I've begun to come out of this "Dark Night of the Soul". In May, I returned to church (a short absence!) Once I sat down and said "Okay, God, I don't understand what is happening in my life, but I accept your invitation to delve more deeply into the mystery of You," I began to make some minor headway. I've learned that my understanding of the Christian God was insufficient. In fact, I've come to believe that the Christian understanding of God is itself direly flawed. I find myself becoming more and more a disciple of Bishop Spong (though I do have some issues with him).

My pastor and I have begun a series of discussions... we are working our way through the Gospel of Thomas together. And I'm finding in Thomas more of what I believe than I ever did in the Synoptic Gospels or in John, at least in this stage of my life.

I have returned to this blog time and time again, Jeremy. I sit and stare, read old passages; nothing comes to me. I so want to write, but when I sit down to do so... nothing comes.

Well, we'll have to wait and see, my brother, what God has in store. Maybe, just maybe, as the Dark Night gives way to Dawn, the words or the ideas will come to me.

Untitled

2007-12-18T14:16:00.000-06:00

Mom died. She died the day after my last post here. It's taken me this long to say it, though.

The first few weeks afterwards, I thought, would be the hardest. But there was so much to do; in the minutes and hours and days immediately following her dying, there was the visitation and funeral to plan, and oh, I don't even know what I did during those days... they're all a whirlwind now. And of course there was Dad to contend with. Poor Dad. He's totally lost without her. He put up a bold front those last months, but his own Alzheimers was beginning to have an impact.

There, in her room at the nursing home, waiting for the Coroner to come and take her away, I stood with Dad. Neither of us could sit... there was a nervous energy in us. Dad looked at me as I looked at mom. "Well, I suppose we better start getting me moved back to Omaha."

"We will Dad, but don't you think we should wait a little while, until things have calmed down."

"You're probably right."

The Coroner came, as did a police officer (purely procedural). Mom was taken away.

"I suppose we should start getting me packed up to move back to Omaha."

"Yeah, Dad, you're right. But let's get some of the other things we have to do taken care of first."

"What things?"

"There's the funeral to plan, Dad. And the boys and their wives are flying in..."

So we headed over to the Mortuary, as I called Dad's twin brother. He joined us at the Mortuary.

The director stepped out to get us coffee almost as soon as we sat down. Dad turned to Uncle.

"I think we need to get over to my apartment and get me packed. I need to move back to Omaha now."

"Why don't you come stay with me for a couple of days, Lou?"

Dad agreed.

But Monday, the day of the visitation, we'd all caved in... my brothers and I and our spouses met at Dad's apartment, packed him up, threw his stuff our vans and our cars, and moved Dad over to Omaha. Then dashed back to our homes and hotel rooms to get showered and changed so we could get to the mortuary for the visitation... it wouldn't do to be late!

Those weeks were the easy ones, I now see.

For now the depression sinks in. Now I face the darkness. It was settling in months before Mom died, I just didn't see it. I thought I was tired. It wasn't until two months after Mom's death that it dawned on me, that I was able to put my finger on it.

For too damned close to fifty years, I have known the presence of The Divine. There has never been a time when I didn't feel, didn't know The Divine presence. And that presence helped sustain me.

Well, actually, I should say until now, there has never been a time. Because, now is that time. Now, I sense only darkness around me.

Anyhow, that's where I am right now.

Let's play catch! (up)

2007-09-06T11:39:00.000-05:00

My writing here is sketchy... I realize that. And I doubt that any of my readers, or the few there were, are with me any more to see this. But, I thought I should at least attempt to get caught up on my life here.

August 9, 2007, just as promised in my last post (March 20, 2007) Scott and I stood before a minister overlooking the beautiful Moraine Lake in Alberta, Canada, and professed, once again, our love for each other. We were pronounced "husbands" by Rev. David D. of Calgary, AB, Canada.

We returned from Canada excited and flush with joy on our wedding... only to discover we'd left the camera in the rental car. Thankfully, Rev. David was able to retrieve it for us, and has now sent it along to us, so we have our pictures!

When time permits, I'll post the pictures we have. And maybe even the text of our wedding ceremony. And, in fact, I'll post a bit more about the wedding trip itself.

For now, I just want to catch up on my life.

Unfortunately, also on our return, I had to make the decision that I've been dreading. We had to move Mom in to a nursing home. Dad also had to leave their home at the Assisted Living facility, as the nursing home is 20 miles awy, and I couldn't have Dad driving that far. It took us a week to make arrangements, a week to pack, and a third week to fully move everything out of their old apartment.

And now, it seems, a lot of that effort will have been wasted. Mom stopped eating after moving in to the Nursing home. And, as of the day before yesterday, is now taking no nutrition or hydration. It is only a matter of days before she dies, I'm sure. It is so hard to write that. Even though I know it.

So, THAT brings you all up on my life. There's really nothing to report, because the last year has been involved in seeing to the day to day needs of my parents, my job, and my family, and there's been no energy left for creativity.

Heavens knows this post certainly doesn't qualify as creative writing.

I take thee....

2007-03-20T13:41:00.000-05:00

Some years ago, I wrote about marriage. I said basically, that while an official, recognized by the state marriage was important, married in the sight of God was the more important. In August 1997, my partner Scott and I had done just that, gotten married in the sight of God in a Holy Union.

Well, ten years have now gone by. Scott and I are more in love today than ever we were back in 1997.

And this year, come August 9, 2007, we will officially celebrate our 10th Anniversary by doing what I seemed to discount in that previous post. Scott and I will stand, once again, before God and our fellows, and declare to God that we want to continue for another 10... no 100... no forever... in marriage.

We're going to be going to Calgary Canada to be married in a beautiful setting that we discovered a couple of years ago, Moraine Lake.

And I just couldn't be happier!

My Journey Continues

2006-12-14T14:20:00.001-06:00

I've noticed something recently. I was remembering a back-packing trip I took ages ago, alone, into the high country near Estes Park, Colorado. I remember the sense of awe and majesty I had with every change of the trail. I remember also that I felt far more alone than I had expected to. By that I mean, I was SEEKING solitude. I wanted to be alone. I thought it would a good experience. Instead, I found that being alone in this situation meant not having anyone to share the awesome beauty with. In fact, that loneliness caused me to do something I really regretted in later years. I turned back. I didn't finish my goal. I allowed myself to listen to my own doubts and fears. I wish I had.

But at one point on the trail, I encountered a couple of men, a man and his son, actually. We were at a particularly rough part of the trail, and we helped each other up and over that spot. Not much to it, really. But remembering that, caused me to remember something from other hikes I've been on. I remembered how when the trail was rough, and not easy to get over, folks, total strangers, tend to pull together. At least I think that has been my experience when the overall endeavor was one of choice, as most hiking trails are.

I was thinking about that as I was pushing 70 on the interstate between my home and the office this morning (yes, in a 60 zone, so sue me.) On the freeway, these days, it seems to be rare to see folks helping each other. A turn signal frequently means someone will speed up to prevent you from getting in front of them. Breaking because one is going to fast means the person behind will pull up on your bumper expecting you to move. In short, Interstate driving, as experienced in our society today, is pretty much every person for themselves... dog eat dog... that kind of thing.

And THAT realization, coupled with the memories - oh so pleasant memories - brought to mind another contemplation. Albeit, a short one. It's all the focus my brain can muster... short contemplations.

When the trails we walk on our journeys through life are hard and narrow, it seems to me to be easy to reach out to those around to lend a helping hand, and to be willing to grasp the proffered hand of another.

But when our journeys flatten out on to the freeways of life, as they often do, we tend to think a little less of those around us... it's just us and the highway, getting us to a place we've never been, but can't wait to reach.

When I consider that, it makes me glad the interstate is about to end, and I look forward, once again, to the travails of the thorny path on which my journey soon will... okay MAY... lead me.

And what's more, it's on those narrow, thorny paths that OTHER finds us most open to listen, more willing to reach out for help; more willing to accept.

Busy, busy, busy

2006-12-14T13:50:00.001-06:00

It sure has been a long time since last I wrote. I'm not sure why that is. I think partially it's because I really haven't felt like I had anything worthwhile to say.

I'd like nothing more than to be a writer. I think, however, that writing is a gift; and I suspect that my lack of having much to say is a rather brazen indication that I don't have that gift. When I want to, I think I can write well. But there's a difference between writing something well, and having what it takes to "be a writer."

So I'm not a writer. It won't stop me from writing on my blog when the mood hits.

The past months have been nuts. First of all there’s my job. The big problem from the perspective of spending time writing posts for my blog, when it comes to my job, is that, well, I have one. When I first started posting to this blog back 2004, I had lots of spare time at work. Sometimes, I still do; generally, however, every week gets more and more busy. There’s not a lot to say other than that. Lots of work, less idle time, less blogging.

Add to that the stress that comes from knowing that all this work I do is, eventually going to come to an end. It’s been 11 months since our merger, and I was told then that they’d only be keeping me around for 12 – 18 months. I sort of expect a pink slip any day. That wears at the soul, dragging me down. To make matters worse, I still don’t know what I want to do with myself after I leave. I think to some degree I suffer from a bit of depression.

Then there’s my family. They take a lot of time. Especially my folks. Both of them have Alzheimer’s (I think I’ve written about that before.) Mom is getting pretty close to the end of her life. By that I mean that the prognosis is that she’ll last anywhere from a week to another 3 – 4 years. But mentally, she’s already gone.

Dad, too, is now becoming more pronounced. I’ve had to take over his finances.

If it weren’t for Scott, I suspect I’d feel pretty sorry for myself sometimes, even though I do have my health, with no concerns (other than diabetes, which I keep mostly under control.) But Scott is my surety in troubled times. He’s the bastion of strength I sometimes don’t feel for myself. Scott is the rock of stability, emotional and spiritual, that I cling to when everything seems to crash in upon me, and I feel in danger of washing away into a sea of grief or despair. Scott is, in short, my everything, the stuff which makes me who I am. Without that man, my life would be empty, a shell. Yes, I love him.

And what little time is left after spending my hours at work and hours with my parents is consumed by my commitment to my church. There are times I just want to chuck it all and leave. But after Scott, my friends at church are the next most important thing in my life. Soon, the load there is going to diminish… maybe. We get a new pastor, after floating aimlessly for 2 years without one. Okay, not so aimless. We’ve done pretty well for ourselves, actually. But it still will be a good thing to have ‘someone at the helm’ again!

And when that comes, maybe Scott and I will have time for ourselves again; time to forge an even surer tie between us. And time to work on our house, work that has gone largely undone in the past year because of all the other activities we’ve taken on!

Violence

2006-06-09T14:17:00.000-05:00

I have discovered what violence does to one. Specifically, I have discovered first hand the effect that an assault with a deadly weapon has on the victim.

I don't know if my assailant thinks what he did was assault. I wonder if he realizes how incredibly stupid he was, and how terribly lucky he is? Or maybe he just doesn't care that his act of stupidity could have caused serious injury to myself... and to others?

Sir, I must tell you, I've actually referred to you as "the gentleman" in talks with the police and the insurance company. You certainly are no gentleman. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps you had just left the casinos and were angry because you had lost your entire life's savings. Perhaps you were running late for work and your oh so important job wouldn't understand you're being maybe a minute or two later than you were going to be. Either way, you're an idiot and I hope you get caught.

I have no idea what your problem was, obviously. I'm probably wrong on all counts. But intentionally ramming me on the interstate yesterday morning has really had a negative impact. I was speeding, sir, doing 10 miles over the speed limit, yet obviously not fast enough for you. Your efforts to get me to pull over failing, you just rammed me. Yes, my car is damaged. It's not much really. You have some too, as a result... Oh, did I mention, I got your license plate number? The police have it too, now.

Do you want to know what the cost of your stupidity was? NO? That doesn't surprise me. I'm really sure you DON'T care. I'll tell you anyhow.

It's cost me a new bumper. It cost me a trip to the doctor, I now have whiplash. Fortunately, it's not severe. But sir, your actions have gone far deeper than a dented bumper, or sore muscles. Your actions bruised me profoundly. I have no clue why. But your attack on me, your assaulting me with your automobile in a way that you MUST have known could have caused extreme damage, even death, has shaken me to my bones. What if I'd lost control? What if you'd NOT been dead on center when you hit, but instead hit off to one side or the other, causing my van to veer, perhaps flip? That happens with minivans, you know? By the way, I've just got to ask... what WAS so important that you'd intentionally cause damage to your own late model SUV? It really was a nice looking vehicle. I'm sure it doesn't look so good now.

I get misty eyed over nothing. I can't concentrate, now; I find myself sinking into a near trancelike state while talking with friends. I can't focus on work, so you've cost my employer two days of productive work.

Sir, I just gotta say this. You suck. You suck! You are such a god damn worthless pile of shit occupying human skin. So, piss off. I hope I'm right, I hope you were angry because you just lost your entire life's savings.

The "L" Word

2006-05-17T15:59:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I read one of my daily blogs last night. Guy was talkin' about a meme that he'd gotten involved in. Basically it works like this... you make a comment on the guy's blog, and he then assigns you a letter. You're supposed to come up with 10 words that begin with that letter, along with an explanation of what the word means to you and why. Then you pass along letters to those who want to play along. So, I responded. It sounded FUN!

You see, while the person whose blog I got this from is a REAL writer, I do enjoy writing, feel myself no stranger to it. Realize I'm nowhere good enough to ever dream of publishing. But 10 words? Should be easy, right? He assigns me the letter L.

L words
10 of them
together with their meanings to me and why they came to mind.
Ugh.

I've been thinking about this all day long, and I'll be dang-nabbed if all of a sudden there is a dirth of L words. Not one comes to mind for a long time... okay, 1 does, but I think, NOOOOO... that's too obvious. Can't go with that word... Lesbian... I mean why? Okay, so, I finally decide to go with it, just to get the ball rolling, ya know? This ain't easy, man!

1. Lesbian: Uh, what does it mean to me? Why? Uh, that should be obvious... Lesbian. a woman who is attracted to other women, and not, generally, to men. I mean, I'm queer, folks! I see references to GLBT every damn day, so what is going to be the first... okay 2nd word that comes to mind? Lesbian. Like, DUH! (BTW, the 1st word is a name, and I'll protect that person from this!)

So I think to myself, okay that worked well, I've identified the 2nd word that comes to mind, now what.... Hmmm. Let's see. I woke at 5... as I go through my day, what L words come unbidden to me, BEFORE I got this assignment?

2. Leak. Yup, actually the 1st L word today. Actually, it was the 4th word to come to my mind today. It was preceded by "Gotta tak a". I find I usually only need to take one leak a day, so that's a good word for this list. the rest of the day, I'm consumed with "Going to the potty." "Needing to Pee." and "Takin' a piss". But first thing in the morning, I take the one and only leak I'm going to take all day.

3. Lecherous. okay, I'm using it as a euphemism or rather a synonym for "horny". This is an L list, after all, not an H list. Lecherous... my partner comes out of the bedroom about 20 minutes after I awake... once the coffee's made. I see his hot bod, and I'm immediately feeling h.... uh, I mean lecherous.

4. Limber. As in Not. As in it's time to jump on the treadmill while aforementioned partner showers... my legs are stiff. I'm so friggin sore. My knee locks up almost immediately... fuckin' arthritis. I need to str... no, I need to LIMBER UP! -- or-- conversely, perhaps that's not the reason this word makes the list... Limber... as in dang, if I were just a little more limber, partner and I could do it THIS way... that would be a blast! I mean....

5. Luscious: I'd love to be limber enough to bend like this so that I could take partner's luscious.... ahem, uh, you get the idea.

6. Lousy: I've had my shower, but I'm still feeling lousy... I'd have much rather not had to use my hands this morning.... just thinking of that luscious....

7. Late: Yeah, Late makes the list... I spent so much time in the shower this morning thinking those lecherous thoughts, letting the hot water try to sooth out some of the kinks in my neck, and pleasuring that now I'm friggin' late!

8. Lazy: I've sat at this desk now for a couple of hours, and frankly, I'm feeling lazy. I think it's time to nap... nope, can't do that. Closing my eyes makes me think lecherous thoughts about my limber, luscious partner, and frankly, that makes me feel lousy... 'cause ain't nothin' I can do about it! (I'm at work, remember?)

Okay, this is getting hard now. The contest fool, pay attention! The contest... or meme, rather, is getting very difficult... I need 2 more L words. And preferably words that will not require I take a protracted break in the men's room.... Having a dictonary would certainly help right about now!

Did you know a web search for "L" will pull up 1,010,000,000 links? I don't think I'll visit them all. Might take a little longer than I have today. 2 more Ls... think eric, THINK!

Okay... just got back from the restroom... gotta come up with 2 more words.

9. Loser. There's a good word... now, I'll admit, it's not the first word that came to mind, but it's the second... asshole doesn't begin with an L... and those are the two words that automatically ALWAYS pop into mind when I see any headline with the word BUSH in it. Oh, wait. This headline has to do with something found in a bush at a park... well, whoever put that there was a loser, so it fits!

Uh, get your mind out of the gutter folks! I went to the restroom to take a piss, not... anything else.

And you can't prove otherwise.

10. Living. Ah, now that's a great L word! Living... as in "It's great to be..." Ain't life grand? There's so much to see, so much to do... and as a friend points out, it's better than the alternative!

Sexual Morality?

2006-05-11T10:53:00.000-05:00

May 11, 2006
Weather: Mostly sunny, 50 degrees.

Dear Diary:

Okay. I was SUPPOSED to start a diary, and be more dedicated to it. So, bad, BAD Eric.

And I don't have much else to write today, either. Last night went to hear a speaker here in Omaha. We have a couple that underwrite a speaker series, bringing people from around the world to speak about ethics, morality, etc. It's called the Holland Lecture Series.

Anyhow, last night's speaker was Rev. Haffner, who spoke on the topic of "sexual morality, justice, and healing". It was an excellent talk, and was amazingly in line with my own thoughts on the connection between sexuality and spirituality.

We (a group from my congregation) and I went with a purpose, hoping to hear something about a topic she wrote about, but she didn't touch that topic... so from that perspective, it was a bust. But what she DID speak about, had two effects on me. First, I really felt an immediate connection with what she was saying and an agreement with her observations. The second one was a bit slower in coming, as she caused me to really stretch my current positions on some issues of sexual morality... helping me to look at some issues in a bit of a different light.

Anyhow, all's good here.

Ciao!

And another thing

2006-05-08T17:52:00.000-05:00

Rather than edit my previous post to add this, I'll just create this as an addendum.

Ahem. Now, let's see how we do this:

May 8, 2006
Weather: Mostly sunny, 76 degrees.

Dear Diary:

This morning I had to get up and FOREGO my morning coffee. No, that's wrong... I had to forego my morning Coffee. That's Coffee with a Capital C. I also had to forego my cereal, my milk, and any water.

But, oh the joy! In their place I got to feast on Milk of Barium! BLLeeaaaaacccckkkkkkkkkk!

So, the doctor thinks this pain (which I had assumed was an injury from lifting some marble) may be Diverticulitis. Now, I have to confess I never knew I HAD a divertick but, hey, he says I do... or at least he implied I had one by saying it was infected.

Anyhow, now we'll see how that goes.

On another front, I'm wondering what's up... I've been a total BITCH lately! I mean, I think I've related in the past that I have an issue with rage. Rage and I are on a first name basis. But this isn't rage, it isn't anger, it's just... bitchiness.

I've snapped at folks at work. Oh, and here I need to interject that I was wrong, it IS related to rage, because my bitchiness starts out as simple bitchiness, but graduates into full blown rage once I get behind the wheel.

But more importantly than the people at work I've been bitchy too (because after all, who gives a rat's @ss about them????) is I've been bitchy to the man I love. And that just plain sucks. As in totally, unequivocally, unabashedly SUCKS with a major ! at the end.

So, diary, tell me, you greatest of confidants... what the f@ is up?

Well, that's it, oh dear one... 'Til the morning.

E

Not too bad!

2006-05-08T17:49:00.000-05:00

Okay, people liked my sermon yesterday! I was really quite pleased with it myself... except for the ending. The second I was done and walking away, I knew it was wrong... that it needed more.

In fact, I think that, in retrospect, when I ended the sermon was just starting! Ending with that quip about praying to God being like the Amazon flowing UP to water a little daisy... I knew what I meant. A few others did too... but they told me they were left wanting more.

So, it's a challenge. I need to hash this out. Because, and this is funny to me... I KNOW what I meant... but I don't know how to say it.

Getting case of the nerves!

2006-05-07T06:40:00.000-05:00

Today, I'm preaching again. When I first said "Yes, sure, I'd be happy to preach" I was feeling very confident. Today, not so much.

I'm not sure why I get this way... I literally go through cycles where I can get up in front of church and do anything... and then become totally afraid to even get near the front. I'm obviously heading into the "bad times" again. It's one of the reasons I left the seminary... imagine a priest who was terrified of saying mass! LOL.

So, here's the sermon, just in case you're interested.

"The Amazon"

Did you know that the Amazon River is the world’s SECOND longest river, but at any one point in time it has the highest amount of water flowing down it. In fact, no other river in the world even comes close. Remember that.

I love spring-time. I like watching the trees, and seeing the bud's sprout on the branches. You know how it is? You look over at some trees and you wonder "Are those BUDS I see?" About the time that those tree buds become obvious, I start watching the poor little rose bushes that grow in my front yard... did they survive the winder? Did the poor little one on the end survive being run over by Gary the first time he mowed the lawn this spring? It's the prettiest, if the smallest of all our roses. It's dusty purple of a shade that I just really love. From the look of it this morning, if I had 2 more weeks before this sermon, I could have brought in one of it's flowers to show you.

About the same time that the trees are beginning to bud, and the roses are stirring into life, some tulips that we've never remembered to take up under our front windows pop out through the sod, and in just a few days they bloom... a beautiful blood red with yellow stamens. Once those are in flower, it's time for the funny blue flowers by the front stoop to show up. Bottle nose something or others!

For the most part, the phlox didn’t make it through winter this year… though a few still valiantly bloom. Next to them, are some wild violets that we didn’t plant… they just found their way to our yard.

All the annuals in the flower beds in the front are gone, naturally... just ugly shoots that need to be taken out.

About this time every year we look at our garden, and Scott says “It’s time to plant.”

“Yup”, I say. And then Scott goes off, buys some flats of annuals, brings them home, and we prep the front beds, and Scott plants.

Scott can verify that I am NOT a gardener. If we’re going to have a garden, it’s Scott that’s going to have to put it in… then, once it’s in, I’ll water the flowers, and I’ll admire their beauty once they’re in bloom. But the credit for our gardens, such as they are, falls to Scott.

Today is known to many as “Good Shepherd Sunday”. The Psalm and the Gospel are shepherd stories. And the NT Reading fits in with them fairly well. “I am the good Shepherd” is one of the better known sayings of Jesus. He used that symbolism, because the people of his time… even the city folk of Jerusalem… would have understood that symbolism. Israel, in Jesus time, was still very much an agrarian, shepherding society.

I suspect that the larger majority of us in this room only know about shepherding by reading about them or hearing about them in church from people like me, who went out and read about them from someone else who wrote stories about shepherding in order to clarify the “Shepherd” stories of the bible. And those writers… well, most of them have very little first-hand knowledge of sheep or shepherding!

What would Jesus use today for his metaphors? I honestly don’t know. But I do know that, even if many of us will never see a sheep except at the petting zoo at Henry Doorly, or encounter shepherds, except perhaps while watching Brokeback Mountain, most of will see flowers this spring. Most of us will admire their beauty. Most of us know that flowers need watering.

Some of us will even know that the prettiest gardens are maintained by gardeners who plant new flowers when old ones die, pull the weeds out to keep the flowers from being strangled. We’ll know that these gardeners will make sure the plants have food, either by mixing fertilizers in with the soils before planting the flowers, or by mixing them in the water they use to nourish the plants.

A few of us may know that some really, really pretty flowers like roses get that way because the gardener carefully prunes the flowers, directing the growth and the resources of the plant in specific ways to ensure that a few promising buds get the most nutrition and grow strong, rather than numerous buds getting little nutrition and thus being weak.

All of this is foreign to me. I just know that no matter how much work Scott puts in to our garden, those plants will die and produce NOTHING, unless one of us waters those plants.

I know this about how gardens and today’s message interrelate. I know there are flowers in the world. Those flowers are you and you and me. I know there is a Gardener; I know that Gardener is our Parent, God. And, I know that just as human gardeners pour water on their flowers, so God pours his love on each of us.

I know this too. If a human gardener decides to water his daisies, then gets called away, leaving the water to run and run and run, the daisies will get too much water, and they’ll drown!

But when God waters us with his love, it’s like the whole of the Amazon River flowing down to water one little daisy.

Can you imagine that kind of love? Have you ever encountered it before? A love so overwhelming, so intense, that when you’re caught up in it you feel like you’re going to drown, to suffocate… and it’s a GOOD feeling?

There have been a few times in my life when I have experienced that kind of love. And when I do, it’s always because God is there. It feels just like that image of the daisy and the Amazon…

I think all of us can feel that love if we open ourselves up to the awesome splendor and wonder of God’s love for us.

God loved us so much that God became ONE of us. And, as the second reading this morning stated, that love was so intense that GOD DIED FOR US. FOR ME. FOR YOU. AND YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM.

Is that a secret to anyone in here? If it is, I am proud to spill the beans! GOD LOVES US, each and every one of us with a love as immense as all the waters of the Amazon flowing down to water one little daisy.

I don’t know how to say it any better than that.

But I do know what to add TO that.

You see, someone shared a message with me on Friday, about an old man who came into church, dressed in grungy clothes. The man came in every day and prayed a simple prayer that went something like this:

"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, JESUS, HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER'S FRIENDSHIP AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN... DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY. SO, JESUS, THIS IS JIM CHECKING IN, TODAY."

Then, one day, the old man came to church no more. The pastor went looking for him, and eventually found him in the hospital. He learned that the old man was alone, with no visitors. But, when he spoke of that to the old man, the old man told him he had it wrong. the old man had a visitor every day. That visitor would come in and sit at the foot of the old man’s bed… and he’d say:

"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, JIM, HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN, SINCE WE FOUND THIS FRIENDSHIP AND I TOOK AWAY YOUR SIN... I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR YOU PRAY, I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY. AND SO, JIM, THIS IS JESUS CHECKING IN, TODAY."

I read that message on Friday, and I realized something, and if you all remember nothing else from this poor sermon today, remember this:

When we pray… to God, it’s like all the water of the Amazon flowing up to water one little daisy.

How can ya say no?

2006-04-21T07:48:00.000-05:00

How can I say no to a friend?

I've been tagged by my Fellow Traveller.

So, now to the matter at hand. 6 Random Things About Myself.

Uh.... Hmmmmm..... six, huh?

1. I'm happily married to the man of my dreams... whom I met in an AOL chat room while living 1100 miles away from him! We've been together 11 years (from our first date) as of next week.

2. I once (24 years ago) married one of those "other" types of people... I think they're called women. Ew. Actually, she was sweet, if a bit on the frigid side (I had to move to Antarctica to warm up!)

3. I come from a totally normal family; you know the type... the Cleavers? Though, I was nothing like Beaver. And my brothers weren't much like Wally, either. Now that I think about it, we weren't very much like them at all, except, well, we were pretty boring... unless you call a motorcycle gang brother who played in a rock band exciting.

(You know, this would be a lot easier if I wasn't trying to keep it to at least a PG rating. Sigh)

4. When I was 3, I tried to help Mom by going out to get the milk (back in the days when milk was still delivered to the door... in glass bottles.) I was in my underpants and barefoot. I dropped the milk and walked through the glass... you can guess the hours spent at the ER waiting to get the glass pulled out and stitches.

5. When I was 16, I played leapfrog with our cat... a game I'd played with Sam for years. He'd be asleep all snug and cuddly on the chair, and I'd run and jump on the chair just missing him then over the back of the chair. Scared the poor kitty half to death! Well, sometime between the last time I played this game, and this particular time, I must have grown another inch or two... cause I hit my head on the ceiling and cracked it nicely open! My hot neighbor boy who was spending the night with me (I think we called him Reiny... his name was Reinhold! And yes, he was at my house because I was trying to get into his pants... and had almost succeeded before I pulled THIS stunt. So there goes my PG rating.) ran next door and got the neighbors older brother (long story, there) who was up visiting from Mexico and was another HOT adorable Mexican and a doctor to boot... oh I swoon just thinking about those two hot, hot, hot young men leaning over me.... Anyhow, another ER visit, more stitches...

(Hmm... detouring from my PG rating was fun, maybe I should take it all the way to XXX? Okay!)

6. When I was 24, and not so happily married to that "other" type... I was at the mall, went into one of those clothing stores that sell primarily to young guys, and .... no, can't do this one... Definitely not PG.

6.1 One year, (I was about 26), I house sat for a cousin who owned a "farm" out in the country... okay wasn't much of a farm, was more of a horse ranch... only ranch isn't quite the word either... she bred Arabians. And she had this magnificent, glorious home she and her husband had built... and it was set into the side of the hill, so that you could walk around to the back and step up on to the roof. And did I mention it was out in the country? And that it was way secluded from people and the road??? So, there I was taking care of the house.... Did I mention that I'm not very good with "horse chores"? So anyhow, I was house sitting.... and it was a glorious late spring day, in the upper 80s... nice breeze; so I stripped off my clothes and just kinda hung... uh, yeah.. hung around the yard, and finally went around back and laid on the roof to get a good tan. Problem was, when you're on the roof of her house, you can't hear cars in the driveway... so there I was, lying on the roof getting my tan in my "altogetherness". And all of a sudden I hear a step on the roof. I open my eyes... and there's the 19 year old boy my cousin had hired to feed the horses.... He's looking at me... he's smiling... (Did I mention he was gorgeous? and that he had one thing in common with my cousin's stallion? and that he seldom wore a shirt?) the rest takes us beyond the PG... okay, I passed that a LONG way back... but to go further would even exceed R. Ahh... the memories....

Next?

Jer, how 'bout's I tag YOU back??? Came across this here:

I say ... and you think ... ?

Ambition::
Meatloaf::
Celebrity::
Coach::
Slacker::
Reflection::
Original::
Risk::
Saved::
June::

2006-03-28T12:58:00.000-06:00

Your Power Color Is Teal

At Your Highest:
You feel accomplished and optimistic about the future.
At Your Lowest:
You feel in a slump and lack creativity.
In Love:
You tend to be many people's ideal partner.
How You're Attractive:
You make people feel confident and accepted.
Your Eternal Question:
"What Impression Am I Giving?"

What's" Your Power Color?

Animal Tales

2006-01-31T12:36:00.000-06:00

It's been so long since I actively wrote here that I find it difficult to decide what to write about. In fact, I’m not sure but what that hasn’t been the problem for some time… writer’s block. If so, it’s sure a long streak of blockage! My tagline for this blog reads “…This is just a place for thoughts about... well, whatever I might think about. God, work, life, boredom. Dogs. Cats. Whatever.” And yet, to comprehend this block of mine is to almost say “I’m not having any thoughts.”

I have a dog. I have a cat. But what should I write about them? There’s not much to say. They’re not particularly into any interesting antics. Unless Pepsi (that’s the cat) suddenly becoming extremely affectionate of late counts. It doesn’t matter what I am doing. I might be eating dinner, or working on the laptop or reading the paper, even… he’ll just walk into the room spy me sitting there, and hop up in my lap, crawl up on to my chest, dig in his claws for dear life, and lay down. Then he’ll proceed to purr loudly, rubbing the top of his head against my cheek. Did I mention the claws? But his presence has an effect… soon, I drift off to sleep and we, uh, catnap together!

Then there’s Nikki. She is the dog. The apple of my eye, now that Travis is gone. She loves Scott. She adores me. When we come in at night from a hard day at work, she stands up on her hind paws as high as she can and peers at us until we open the gate and let her in to the living room with us. Then she dances around, still on her hind paws. She goes to Scott for a greeting, then glues herself to me… follows me into the den where I put down my coat… then into the bathroom where I take care of some of the coffee that’s pressing on my bladder… then back into the living room. I take her outside, she runs… does her business, then back to my side. The only thing that draws her away from me is the sound of Scott rattling plates in the kitchen. She has this doggy sense that tells her precisely when it is time to run into the kitchen to get her piece of raw meat. Then back to my side.

I sit down on the sofa while Scott cooks, and Nikki curls up in the seat next to me… as close as she can get. Sometimes, it’s not close enough and she rolls herself over into my lap. If I shift positions just wrong, lean a little forward, she flies off the sofa and looks back at me as if to say “Where’re we going, huh, dad?”

When dinner is served, she curls up and watches every move, knowing the plate will be hers to clean soon enough. And that’s her life… gluing herself to me, and when I’m unavailable, to Scott. Or, she’ll go over and lie next to Scott turning so she can keep her eyes on me… I swear, she sleeps with BOTH eyes open just to keep tabs on my every movement.

And that pretty much describes everything there is to say about DOGS and CATS. Ever. Or, at least until we get the next one of either. We used to have 3 dogs and 3 cats. Now we’re down to 2 of each, but 1 of each belongs to Gary and neither spend too much time with us… in fact both avoid us if they can… and that’s just fine by me!

Oh, and does anyone know a dachshund breeder here in the middle of the country? I promised my Scott I’d get him a pup soon… I think it’s time to honor that promise. And then, I suspect, there’ll be LOTS of dog stories for me to tell!

Long Past Due

2006-01-29T09:01:00.000-06:00

Well, it's been a LONG time since I posted here last. It's been nearly 3 months, and they've been incredibly eventful... though from this post it may not seem to be. Busy, mostly.

After my trip to New Jersey, I was immersed in my work... far too immersed. My associate's ("Tom's") departure in mid-November tripled my work load, and much of these past months has been spent trying to figure out just what it was he did... not that he didn't do a lot, but he did so much, and left most of it undocumented.

We hired a consultant in December to assist me in the process of getting caught up to date with all the work, and to help me troubleshoot issues that arose with Tom's processes and databases.

At the same time, as the Christmas season progressed, I helped produce, direct and perform in a reader's theater presentation at church that took most of my spare time.

Then, during the first week of January, our company announced our future. We acquired or merged with a competitor this month, and some employees were not going to be continued in their positions as a result.

In the cheery words of my manager "there is no position for you in our end state." This means that I move from the database management team to the Integration Team for a period of 12 - 18 months, after which I will no longer have a job with my company... the company I've worked for these past 10 years. Que sera, I guess.

I was pretty devastated by that news... in spite of actually kind of hoping for it... the dream and the reality are often two different things, eh? It's taken most of January to return to some sort of equilibrium.

Of course, I don't have to stick around for a year. But they're dangling an awfully tasty carrot in front of me to keep me going, so unless something tremendous comes along, I'll stick it out.

But it's not all been hard work and stress... my honey and I have just returned from a 6 night cruise from Galveston, TX, to Cozumel, Belize City and Costa Maya. I kind of don't want to go back to work tomorrow!

We got back last Thursday night. The first news from our roommate was that the upstairs toilet had sprung a leak. Friday, when we pulled the stool out, we discovered the leak has apparently been ongoing for years, as the hardwood floor under it is mostly rotted away by the moisture. We replaced the wax ring, but that wasn't the problem... the problem is the gasket between the tank and the bowl, and naturally THAT has to be special ordered, so we'll be without a toilet for 2 weeks. That leaves 1 for 3 men. Ick.

Then, while we were out of the house on Friday, one of our roommate's "friends" entered my office and stole our digital camera. Thankfully I'd already downloaded all our cruise pictures.

And THEN, Saturday morning at 3:30 a.m. we got called by the church's security company. We got to the church to discover the place surrounded by cops, the fire dept, and a K9 unit. Seems a homeless guy broke through a window, then proceeded to cook himself up over 5 whole chickens over the open fire of the stove!

And that brings us up to date on my life as of today. I'm going to TRY to get back to writing more here. But, no promises!

Why New Jersey?

2005-11-08T05:56:00.000-06:00

God only knows. It's not a place I'd visit on my own.

However, our corporation has offices here. And in those offices works a man with a certain set of skill sets working on a particular range of environments. I need to learn those skill sets, as said man has decided to resign, having been made an offer "he couldn't refuse."

And so I will spend two weeks here.

Now, next week will be more fun, as Scott will be joining me. We'll do a bit of site-seeing at night, seeing NYC.

Maybe take in a show. If we can find one that interests us.

East Coast Musings

2005-11-07T16:19:00.000-06:00

Well, I've arrived in New Jersey. I'm warmly ensconced in my riverside hotel in Jersey City. As I gaze out the window, to my left if I could crane my neck out that way, I'd see the Manhatten skyline. I look east, out over the river, and towards the ocean. There, just a little to the right is "The Statue". That emblem of freedom, of hope, of relief. The Statue of Liberty.

At least this is what I saw earlier today, when it was still light out. It's only 5:23 eastern time, and already the sun has set. I look out to the east and see a suspension bridge, it's suspension cables outlined in green lights. Directly in the center between the two suspension towers and up is a crescent moon, it's reflected light playing out, dancing on the waves on the river. It's a lovely sight. But my mind still sees that statue, knowing that black spot just.over.there is where it stands.

This is the first time I've laid eyes on it. It is, for me, a poignant sight. It moves my soul. I think of the youthful vitality of a nascient nation that received it from across the ocean. I think of the countless (by me, anyway) immigrants to our shores seeing it for their very first time. Seeing it as their ship chugs towards it's berth.

I think of the joy they felt, the sorrow at leaving their homeland, mixed with joy at arriving in their new life. I think of the relief many felt knowing that now.they.were.free. They were arriving in the most free country on earth.

I think of the optimism of the words inscribed upon it.

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door

In the century after this "new colossus" was erected, this young vibrant country, empowered by thosing huddled teeming masses who struggled to reach these shores, became arguably the most mighty superpower this planet has ever seen.

This view out my window is, however, a poignant and bittersweet view for me. For the promise of those words now rings hollow. The freedom of which the statue speaks seems fleeting, ephemeral now. Oh, I think the promise is still there, can still be found.

But, with all apologies to my reader...s... this nation has the wherewithal and fortitude to lead the world in all areas in those things democratic and free. But we have surrendered the moral highground that we once, presumably, held.

Our current president, and unlike many I don't think he's an idiot, just merely an evil, evil man; this president works tirelessly to deprive the citizens of this country of their birthright of freedom. For him, freedom is grand... for the rich. And we have no one to blame. WE elected him. (Okay, not me, I voted against my better judgement for Kerry.) We have only ourselves to blame.

I look out, now, upon that statue; I think of it's promise to a country newly born. And it saddens me that merely 125 years or so after it's construction, this is a country already on it's descendence.

And that saddens me terribly.

Okay, I'll bite: Friday's Feast

2005-11-04T16:04:00.000-06:00

Appetizer
What was the last game you purchased?

Uh, don't remember. One of the "Call of Duty" games.

Soup
Name something in which you don't believe.

I don't believe that God visits disaster on humanity for any reason.

Salad
If you could choose a television personality to be your boss, who would you pick?

Ty Pennington. He's easy on the eyes, and a nutcase... oh, and did I mention he's easy on the eyes? How's that for shallow?

Main Course
What was a lesson you had to learn the hard way?

That integrity is priceless.... once lost it is virtually impossible to regain, though it can be with years of hard work.

Dessert
Describe your idea of the perfect relaxation room.

Okay, this one is easy. It would be a room in a cabin, located high on a hill overlooking a hugely panoramic vista with a huge window. Quiet music, low light, and a raging fire in the fireplace. A nice cozy armchair, and a wall full of books.

The Intelligence of Dogs

2005-10-13T14:07:00.000-05:00

This post is inspired by another blog I read this morning.

Dogs are smart. Most of us think otherwise; we see them do some incredibly dumb things. But in those things driven by instinct or by breeding, they can be quite intelligent... in their own doggy way.

In 1999, Scott and I became dads to two White German Shepherd Dogs. They were so cute at 8 weeks old... big bundles of soft, snow white fur with black little eyes and black little noses. We adored those two, and I suspect we'll never quite feel that strongly for any other pups. That we lost both of them at very early ages was crushing to us. We named them Savannah and Travis.

It was about the time they were 8 or 9 months old that we caught on to the sharpness of their instinctive intelligence. Scott and I were out, and Pam, our friend with whom we shared our home, was home alone. Pam was a pretty tough, feisty little lady. Only 4 feet tall, she'd have ripped the gonads off of anyone who messed with her, and fed them to the offender had she been so inclined. But, no matter how tough one is, it's always nice to have a little added protection!

So, it was late evening, a dark night. Pam had the windows open, and the lights in the main room were out. Savannah was at her post, lying beside Pam facing out into the main room. Travis was at his post, across the room facing the door, also lying down. Suddenly, Savannah's ears perked up and she raised her head, sniffing at the air. Travis, who always lay in such a fashion as to see the front door and at the same time keep Savannah in his line of vision, took his cue from Savannah's heightened state of alert and rose to his feet, hunched down, hackles up, ears back.

Pam related later that night when we got home that Travis began silently roaming the perimeter of the room, stopping periodically at the open window. The windows in that old room were level with Travis' head on the inside, and just about head height to a man or woman on the outside.

So, anyhow, Travis began making the rounds of the room, stopping at all the doors to listen and peer into the darkened room beyond, then moving on, coming to a stop at the open window. Here, he would hunch down so his head was below the sill level, and lift his nose to sniff. Then he'd do the circuit again.

After a few circuits he moved in beside Savannah, lowered to his belly and took the same stance as her... but she would rise, hackles up, ears back and start the rounds, repeating what Travis had just finished.

Pam related that this happened for about 10 minutes, every now and then the one guarding Pam would emit a very low rumble, barely audible to Pam, though obviously quite audible to the other.

When about 10 minutes had passed, both dogs dropped to their bellies and began edging towards the open window. By now, Pam had reached for her phone. The two dogs moved to inches from the window, lying on their stomachs with their ears and noses alert. By now Pam could hear the gravel of the driveway crunching under someones steps.

Now, I can only imagine how this transpired. I see myself sneaking up on an open window. It's dark inside. I get to the window, put my hands up on the sill and pull myself up to peer inside. Before I can even focus my eyes, two white ghostlike and HUGE dogs appear in front of me, all teeth, and growls and barks.

Pam said she heard the man emit a high squeal, and then heard nothing but the sound of running footsteps retreating into the night.

Pam swore to me the two dogs looked at each other with grins on their faces then went and returned to their posts. Savannah by Pam, facing out into the main room; Travis at his post, across the room facing the door, also lying down.

2 years later, just days before we lost Savannah, I saw very similar behavior at our new home. The story is too similar to relate, but both took turns guarding and patrolling, before sneaking up and scaring the crap out of a prowler, so I know what Pam said is true.

Addendum

2005-10-12T14:52:00.000-05:00

Okay, there's not much I detest more than SPAM. I'm sick of spam.

I can either disable commenting on my blog, which would make me very unhappy... because I always love seeing all those comments. ahem, yes, well, anyway, I don't want to do that.

So, dearies, I've enable word verification. Please tolerate it!

At last! We're finished! or ARE we??

2005-10-12T14:32:00.000-05:00

Okay, so you know I've been involved for the past month moving my parents out of their house into an Assisted Living environment.

Dad really wanted a two bedroom place, but one wasn't available until next year, so he settled on a 1 bedroom.

It's been a busy month arranging for the moving (we did it ourselves) clearing out the old house (all 2 years old) selling the house. Monday night we moved the last box out, and declared "Yeah! We're done! Now we can get back to the projects at our own house."

So, today we went to lunch with the folks. As we were leaving, one of the business managers met us in the hall..."Could you stay, please? I have some news for your parents."

We went back in to the apartment. "I have some news!" declares the lady, "A 2 bedroom place just became available!"

And so it ends... and begins again in one brief moment. Sigh. Fortunately, this move should take all of 6 hours, and that's if we go slow.

Anyone care to help????

Finally!

2005-10-11T10:41:00.000-05:00

At last. We've got Mom & Dad moved out of their house. Scott and I moved the last box last night. The house is empty. The hustle/bustle, can't do anything, no life process of getting them out is done. I sigh a deep sigh of relief... and look forward to the next challenge facing us.

The sale closes Thursday. Alas, Dad apparently moved out of the house, into the new facility, and walked away completely from the sale process. I find out yesterday that there is a ton of things he's dropped. So now I get to deal with that... but this too shall pass, and it's not as stressful as the move was.

Of course, during the process I have acquired a ton of stuff... some antiques, some things that just have special meaning to me, memories of life long ago... a time when I was the child, and THEY were the parents. Now it all seems, somehow, reversed.

We have no room for these new "things". Our dining room has been, for over a year, filled with stuff that had no home anywhere else. Much of it was slated for our Garage (or Yard) Sale... the one we are going to have in 3 months... the same one that we've BEEN going to have in 3 months for the past 3 years! Last night, I could barely open the doors to walk in to the room to put in... just... one... more... thing. I half expected to hear a big "BOOOF!" as I closed the door... the sound of the room exploding it's contents out into the street.

But I learned something in this move. I can do better financially from DONATING this stuff to the Goodwill, or the Salvation Army, or some such. So THAT is the next mission. Clear out the dining room, get rid of the, uh, well, CRAP that is stored in there and move in the new from Mom & Dad. I'm looking forward to being able to set a dining room table for Christmas (I have no hope of accomplishing this by (USA) Thanksgiving Day.

So, life is good. Always!

O! Canada!

2005-10-10T16:28:00.000-05:00

To my Friends in the Great nation to our north:

Happy Thanksgiving Day!

God Bless!

Revelling

2005-10-05T07:04:00.000-05:00

Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, revel in
God! (Philippians 4:4a)

Some of you are aware that I'm going through a rough
time these days with my job and with my parents. The
combination of the two has left me feeling overly
vulnerable, emotional, and quite overwhelmed.

Today, I reread the above verse from this coming
Sunday's NT reading. I looked up the word revel. I
mean, I know what it means contextually, I use the
word, but I wondered just what does it mean to revel
in God? Party Hearty in God? Well, yes, I suppose
that, too.

But if I plug the Mirriam Webster definition into that
verse it reads:

Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, take intense
pleasure or satisfaction in God!

Isn't that a great concept?! All day, every day, take
intense pleasure and satisfaction in God!

What a great way to embrace the day... what a great
way to put the worries and the stress and the
pressures of hard jobs, illness, death, or problematic
homelifes to the side, to turn them over to the God
who is so present that we can take intense pleasure
and satisfaction in that Presence!

For me, to take that degree of pleasure and
satisfaction in God, I see myself enraptured, standing
emotionally naked before my Creator, bathed in the
warm... hot even... light of God's enduring love, a
love so powerful, a love so intense, nothing, NOTHING,
can overcome it. A love so powerful that not even the
grave or death itself could even put a damper on it.

Wow, God! Thank you!

Review

2005-09-24T06:42:00.000-05:00

What a week! It's been a pretty hard one here.

About a month ago, my parents put their house on the market, and made arrangements to move into a retirement community. Last week, my sister-in-law M arrived in town to help them prepare for the move.

Saturday, Scott and I spent the day helping with preparations, planning to do more on Sunday. But Sunday before we could get to the house, M called to inform me that she'd talked with the folks and Dad was going to go to the ER. He wouldn't tell her which one. There are 3 major choices.

We spent 30 minutes tracking him down, then rushed to join him. We lost the entire day as we waited at the hospital. It was hard on Dad, and by the time we left, he was exhausted.

Monday was the big day. Scott and I arrived at the house with the truck from U-Haul and by 5 p.m. had moved all the big items they'll need in their new apartment.

Tuesday Dad was still weak and tired, but tried valiantly to help with the ongoing preparations. That night we all decided to take the night off.

Wednesday night, we moved more stuff. Dad was even more exhausted, Mom is of little help due to the Alzheimers. We spent part of the day at the doctors with Mom, as she has stopped eating, hasn't had a real meal in over a month, and M felt we needed to go back to the Dr to see what more could be done. We were told that very likely we should prepare for the end, that it was likely that mom's brain was shutting down her digestive system. Mom is still enough "with it" that she could adamently declare that we were not to feed her intraveinously.

Thursday M and the folks were back at the house... suddenly dad just announced he couldn't do any more and sat down... M told me he was sweating heavily. He decided to go to the doctor but steadfastly refused to allow M to accompany him. He finally relented to allowing Mom to go with him. M called me, and I rushed over to the dr office.

Dad was admitted to hospital, but the preliminary diagnosis was not good.

M spent the night at the apartment with Mom and Friday we all met back at the hospital... Mom had an appointment for a CT Scan to see if there was a physical problem preventing her from eating.

By the time we got up to Dad's room, they'd conducted a load of tests, and were preparing to release him. ALL of the dire diagnosis of Thursday were wrong. He wasn't bleeding internally... his heart was NOT giving out, indeed, his heart was far healthier than the average 80 year old!

Dad is dehydrated (they rehydrated him intraveinously) and exhausted from over-exertion. He's taking the weekend off, and Scott and I will take on the daunting task of working at their old house.

And Mom announced on arriving home at the new apartment that she was STARVING! She ate 2 cups of pop corn, the most nutritious thing she's eaten in weeks. And she was looking forward to having grilled salmon in the dining room.

So, it seems to have worked out... but the stress and anxiety of the week left me drained. I know I need to be strong for them. But its very hard to watch my parents decline like this. We've been blessed with a close lovin relationship, and I hate how the cards have turned.

And that dear reader(s) is my week.

Friday's Feast

2005-09-16T14:34:00.000-05:00

Well, some time ago, I promised myself I'd never give in to the "meme" or "tag" game... but it's been so long since I wrote, I decided to give it a shot. So, here goes.

Appetizer
Do your closer friends tend to be male or female? Why do you think that is?

Gender only matters to me in bed. I look at the personality to determine who my friends are. That said, my closest circle of friends at this time are both male AND female, but with a slightly higher number of women.

Soup
If you could wake up tomorrow with a new talent, what would it be?

Time management skills. Mine totally suck.

Salad
Name a household cleaning item that you would recommend to others.

Simple Green. I like the smell, it kills bacteria, and cleans well.

Main Course
What do you strive for in life?

Socratic virtue: Balance. That and fantasical wealth... I'm thinking $150 million will probably be sufficient.

Dessert
On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how funny do you consider yourself?

Maybe a 6... but I'm factoring in that I find myself a hell of a lot funnier than others do. I'm usually the only one who laughs at my jokes. That said, I heard a joke last night that everyone else laughed at, and I'm still trying to get it. "Two nuns are sitting in a bar. One turns to the other and says 'I wonder where the soap is?'. The other replies 'That's for sure!'". Is it just me? I don't get it! That's funny?

Update on the Walking

2005-08-07T06:50:00.000-05:00

Wow! I just had a fascinating experience on my walk this morning.

About a block before I got to where "my" deer normally grazes, and where we commune each morning, I happened to be looking towards a vacant lot. My eyes spied movement.

At least 7 deer had heard me walking and were running off towards the wooded hills. Then, I heard a clatter, and saw on the street ahead of me an eighth deer running off towards my left. I took a moment to watch these graceful animals, then started my walk again.

Almost immediately I sensed movement off in the direction the larger herd had dashed. Looking over, I saw a deer in full run, heading straight for me!

I stopped to watch, unsure what was going to happen. "You can't be serious," I thought "Surely this deer isn't going to attack me, is it?"

Six yards from me, right at the roads edge, the deer brought itself to a stop, then turned partially.

It was a young deer, a fawn, it's spots still clearly visible in the dawns light. He looked right at me. We stood, less than 20 feet apart gazing at each other. I looked behind him, and there, in the trees I saw the rest of the herd watching intently.

We stood there, virtually toe to toe (hoof?) for several minutes, then he nonchalantly turned and walked away.

I was totally humbled by this. Thank you, God.

What's the buzz... tell me what's happening!

2005-08-06T06:29:00.000-05:00

My church has been abuzz, of late, about "The Homeless Problem". Many don't want them hanging around our property. We feed them on Sunday mornings, and to many in our congregation that's too much. Let's keep them away the rest of the week! They scare us.

I'm committed to helping our homeless. I am a staunch supporter of our Sunday Breakfast Ministry. I prepare meals, at my own expense for up to 60 one Sunday each month. I've done it two Sundays a month when the need was present. I feel strongly about the rightness of this ministry, at almost all cost to all other ministry in our church. I feel so strongly about it that if the congregation ever decides to terminate the ministry, I may have to leave the congregation.

Why? Frankly, the homeless scare me, a little, too. I'm relatively shy, an introvert, I don't talk easily with folks I don't know and can't relate to well. My ministry to these folks is two-fold. I cook their breakfast one Sunday a month. And I stand in the food line serving them and doing what comes natural to me... I pay them respect. Each scoop of eggs or ham or bacon or whatever comes with a "Good Morning, Sir! Thank you for joining us today!" Or, "Good Morning, Ma'am! It's a pleasure to see you!" They're human beings, and they deserve common courtesy as much as the VP of my division at work. PErhaps more.

Why am I so devoted to this ministry? Perhaps it's because I come more and more to embrace the words of Peter:

9But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people,£ in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. 10 Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

I remember my bishop (RCC) referring to gays as "faggots". I recall the numerous condemnations of me as a gay person put out by the Vatican. I hear the sneering attacks on my humanity by major, national evangelists... you know the ones. I have seen people turned away at churches, told they are not welcome, not wanted, unloved. I have seen those who have been graced by a gracious God, turn away those they disapprove of, in acts of utter UNgraciousness and even cruelty.

Once I wasn't anything. But then I discovered that not only am I something very important, someONE very important, but I learned to accept that my God made me who I am, and I am Chosen, a royal priesthood, once I didn't matter, but now I realize I AM part of a people, still scorned by the churches, I've received mercy at my loving Parent's hand. I AM somebody.

How foolish, then, and how ungrateful, could I be as to turn away ANY of God's people because they don't conform to societal norms. Because, for whatever reason, they have found themselves destitute and bereft?

So, no, I don't think we have a homeless problem at my church. We have, in our pastor's words "a homeless situation"... more to the point, perhaps, we have a homeless opportunity.

An opportunity to share the love that has been given us unconditionally by our Parent with others who need that love just as much as we do - maybe, no PROBABLY, more than we do.

Walking

2005-08-04T15:16:00.000-05:00

Have I mentioned here that I've taken up the sport of walking? Well, I have.

I don't know a lot about addiction. I'm lucky in that vein... I've never had a problem with alcohol... IF I have a drink, I have A drink... maybe 2. It's been nearly a decade since I've been drunk. And I've only ONCE tried an illegal drug... I took a hit off a cousin's joint. Okay I took several.

Well, I DO smoke. So I fully admit to having at least one addiction. I imagine somewhere out there, there's a Smokers Anonymous program (and please don't misconstrue that comment... I mean no disparaging remark to AA).

But now, I seem to have developed another addiction... to walking! (Another side note... I really don't intend by this comment to minimize addictions.) I can't seem to get enough! And when I walk I need, NEED, to know how far I've walked! I get a bit of a natural high off of a good walk!

I washed my pedometer this week. $60 down the drain... almost literally! I forgot it was attached to my shorts and threw them in the washer. By the time the new one arrived, I thought I'd go crazy not knowing how many steps I'd taken each day.

Every morning, I get up before dawn and get a cup of coffee. Then, I go check email and skim through my list of blogs, opening them all in tabs, then closing the tabs that have nothing new. I leave the remaining tabs for later.

Then I get dressed. First the socks, then the shoes... then, ahem, my underwear, t-shirt and shorts. Why? I have no clue. All other times of the day, I dress the NORMAL way, with shoes and socks last. TMI?

Then, I grab my bottle of specially prepared gatorwater and head out the door. I walk up the hill, listening as I walk (no stroll, this, I mean WALK... HARD!) to the sounds from the houses as families wake up.

About 8 blocks up the hill, the hill starts to steepen. Two more blocks and the hill is now pronounced. I turn right and walk a block over, then left and another block, then right once more. I'm at the foot of Eliott... This is a STEEP hill... without breaking stride, I begin my climb. I have to change my gait a little, or the arthritis of my knee would lock me up. But I keep my pace. By the time I'm at the top of the hill, I'm out of breath, but I don't stop.

I start down the other side. By the time the hill levels out to a bit of a downward slant, my breathing is back to normal. This is good.

Because now I finally slow down and creep another 20 yards until the hill to the right gives way to the edge of the lawn by the nursing home. There she is. Every morning. She's a beautiful girl, always with her two children trailing along.

She looks up at me with those big beautiful eyes, every bit of her attention now on me as she tenses.

I stop. I whisper sweet nothings to her. Finally she relaxes. Behind her, her children look expectantly at her, waiting for her to give some kind of signal. They utterly disregard me. It's MOM who they focus on.

After several minutes, I tell her I have to go. She nods her assent, then bends her long graceful neck to her task. I turn and walk off, looking over my shoulder at her. Every morning it's the same... and for some reason, every morning a tune from Sound of Music pops into my mind... I wonder... am I in love?

"Doe... a deer... a female deer!"

A little further down the path, I sometimes see a raccoon run down in to the creek at my approach. Then I'm over the bridge, and across the highway. From here, its a straight shot down to another highway, a right turn, and 10 minutes later... an hour after starting off... I'm home. I check my faithful pedometer. 5,485 steps. Let's see, a 3 foot stride, 5,485 steps... that's 16,455 feet...uh, come one brain do it... do it.... dooo ittt... ah, yes! 3.11 miles. Sigh. Tomorrow I need to add some to my route. 3.11 miles a morning is just NOT enough!

Scott is now up, feeding the cats. Nikki jumps all over me as though I've been gone a week. The lights come on. I strip off the shoes and socks, the shorts and, uh, shorts. I put a towel over the office chair so that the sweat which now streams off me won't damage the stained fabric... then pour another coffee, sit down and read the blogs that interest me.

I always finish with the same one... one of the few bloggers I feel like I'm beginning to know.

It's now 3:30 p.m. I only have 12 and a half hours before I can do my walk again. I need it! I WANT it! I can't wait!

I'm Back... maybe

2005-08-03T13:00:00.000-05:00

(See correction about Lake Moraine below. 8/4/05)

Well, I'm just finally getting settled back in to the hum-drum of daily living after a 10 day vacation... sort of.

Scott & I left on July 21 for a two-pronged vacation. For the first 5 days, we visited beautiful Calgary, Alberta, Canada. This was a blast!

Our first full day, we rented a van and drove up to Jasper National Park and Banff National Park. It was a fun drive, and the views were just awe-inspiring. These parks are home to what I believe to be the most beautiful mountains in North America (perhaps shy of Alaska, which I've not visited...yet.) The Bow River which ran parallel to the highway was a magnificent green color. We saw Elk. Wanted to see bear, but didn't expect to, and didn't.

When we got to Lake Louise, we drove over to the ski lodge and rode the chair lift up to the 6850 foot level. I honestly don't have the kind of language to describe the view! Far off across the valley lay Lake Louise. The air was crisp, clear and with just enough warmth to make the trip up and the visit to the nature center there a delightful experience.

After travelling back down the mountain, we continued along to the west just so we could say we'd visited British Columbia, then made the nearest turn around, and headed back to Lake Louise. This time, we drove up to the lake and walked along it's edges for about an hour. The three people with me all took off a shoe and tested the water. That wasn't good enough for me... I removed both shoes, rolled up my jeans and waded out as far as possible without getting my pants wet. Oh, my gosh! Was it ever cold. But, really, after the numbness set in, it was quite enjoyable!

After leaving the lake, we drove back towards the road (Trans-Canada Rte 1, aka TC-1, by the way) we saw a turn off for another lake, Moraine Lake. Feeling adventurous we followed this road for 11 kilometers (a bit over 6 miles) up a 75% grade (ear-popping time!)

When we finally arrived we discovered that we'd made a fantastic decision. Moraine Lake was far more beautiful, in my opinion, than Lake Moraine! (NOTE (8/4/05): Uh, sorry for this last sentence. It should have said "Lake Moraine was far more... than Lake LOUISE!) I've never seen water that blue! I've never seen anything NATURAL that color blue! The closest I can describe it is... check out a neon "Open" sign... the blue neon ring around the outside... that's close!

Walked over 12 miles that day! Beautiful scenery, good friends, nice companionship... and the man I love... what more could a guy ask for????

The remainder of our time in Calgary was spent at our church's General Conference. Each morning, the four of us woke up, and walked around the city, down to the river (still the Bow) and back up to our hotel... about 3 miles. The rest of the day was spent in awesome worship and reasonably good workshops.

Then it was time to put the cool, crispness of Calgary behind us, as Scott and I flew on to Washington DC, with it's haze and 99 degree heat, and humidity that was almost unbearable.

Washington DC is in actuality a pretty fantastic place to visit. We got to see many of the sights. But I'm so glad it's only a place to visit for me. I'd hate to live there!

We joined my mom and dad for dad's "96th Infantry Division Reunion". It's probably the last one this big, and it was 60 years since the end of the war. It was fun seeing Dad meet old army buddies, in some cases for the first time since he was evacuated from Okinawa.

It was a very stressful time for us, though. Mom's Alzheimer's is taking a serious toll and the stress of the event and travel really showed. I think she had fun. I hope she did! I did, just knowing that it's one of the last memories of her I'll carry.

Of all the cities I've visited in my travels around the globe, Calgary is probably the only one I could REALLY get into. Small enough to be similar in size to Omaha, yet with a distinctly big city air to it. Folks aren't hooked on the macho man image there, lots of folk walk and bike, and there's a decent rapid transit system.

I'm no huge U.S. jingoist. The USA is, to me, just one more country in which to live. No better, and no worse, than any other country. Our legal system and form of government are potentially among the best, yet how we use them, and abuse them, means that potentiality is never reached.

I won't bash my country. I won't bash any other country. I'm happy here.

But if I HAD to leave, I suppose Canada might be a nice place to settle. Not that they're likely to want me!

I'd like to say I was surprised by the anti-American sentiment I encountered there... though it was appropriately directed towards the government, not to individuals. But I wasn't surprised. Not after 5+ years with the Australopithecus that currently pollutes the White House. I'd have called him a Neandertal, but frankly, didn't want to insult that species.

I'm hoping to return to my posting on a more regular basis soon. When I do, though, I plan on writing about what interests me. And if I seem to get stuck in a particular topic or area, well, that's just the way it is. I write for me. If others enjoy it, that's great! If not, I do truly apologize. I've really enjoyed getting to know the one or two folks I've met through my blog.

The Tramp

2005-07-11T13:30:00.000-05:00

Before I begin this blog, I think a definition or two is in order. And before the definition, an apology to "The Fellow Traveller". I just two minutes ago sent you an email explaining why it was unlikely I'd be bloggin any time soon. And Voila! Out of the clear blue, inspiration.... such as it is.

"Tramp [Noun]"

1 a : a foot traveler b : a begging or thieving vagrant c : a woman of loose morals;
2 : a walking trip
3 : the succession of sounds made by the beating of feet on a surface (as a road, pavement, or floor)
4 : an iron plate to protect the sole of a shoe
5 : a ship not making regular trips but taking cargo when and where it offers and to any port -- called also tramp steamer

I've taken to walking, lately. It was recommended as a form of activity for one who was, otherwise, pretty inactive. I find I've actually become a bit addicted to this form of activity.

A little over a week ago, I found myself in Branson, Missouri, at a family reunion. Table Rock lake was just across Highway 165 (or was that 265?) from our motel, and the entrance to the State Park was just few dozen yards down the road. There is a nice walking trail along this shore of the lake, starting at the park's marina, and running to the dam that created the lake. From the Marina to the Dam was a total of 2.5 miles.

My first afternoon there, I walked from the park down to the Marina, then back, a mere 1.6 miles. This is where the point of this blog, such as there is one, comes to the fore.

As I was walking up the road, I found myself in the middle of the entrance to the boat ramp as a car coming the other way decided they wanted to turn into the ramp area. I was in the way. I chose not to run to clear the way for them (inconsiderate of a mere pedestrian, don't you think?) as i) it was hot, ii) I was a little tired, iii) I have arthritis, making it a tad hard to run and iv) it was all uphill.

As I passed the passenger door of the car, the female passenger muttered loud enough for me to hear (like, duh!) "Tramp!".

Me! A Tramp! Of course, I'm not a pleasant man. I don't take kindly to being called names, and I'm tired of doing so. So, I didn't let this go. I muttered (loud enough for the passenger to hear me, like duh!... no, I won't tell you - you can guess! But I must interject an abject apology to my dog Nikki. Sorry girl, didn't mean to demean you to such a degree!)

But today, I looked up the definition of Tramp... and I see I may have been too hasty to judge the darling lady in the car.

Perhaps she was just calling me what I was! A Foot Traveller. Surely she couldn't have determined from observing me for 5 seconds that I was a beggar or a thief. On the other hand, I suppose I MIGHT have looked a bit of a vagrant. Now, as to being one of loose morals, I totally challenge ANYONE to be able to determine that from watching a tired, sweaty man struggling up a bit of a hill!

And, it's true, I was on a walking trip. My feet are a bit largish, so I do tramp as I walk, slapping my battleships with each step (especially on road, pavement of floor surfaces... uh, what else is there?)

I think I'll categorically deny definition 4. Just doesn't fit. I'm not an Iron Man. I have never BEEN an Iron Man. And I think it is relatively safe to say that, at 47, with arthritis in both knees, it is highly unlikely I shall ever BE an Iron Man.

Which leaves us with definition 5. I suppose to a petite, vapid and totally brainless little thing sitting in a sports car, I might be mistaken for an ocean going vessel. But that part was just plain mean of her. I mean, after all! I've lost 23 friggin' pounds, thank you very much!

Emergent/Postmodern, eh?

2005-06-15T08:50:00.000-05:00

Okay...

I can buy MOST of what this survey/quiz says about me.

But 64% Roman Catholic? Ewww.

Must I be insulted by anonymous Quizsters? ;)

And, that the quiz indicates I'm 4% fundamentalist... I guess, ok. I can see that. In fact I'd a thunk it was higher.

Oh, what the hell....

2005-06-15T05:47:00.000-05:00

You scored as Emergent/Postmodern. You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this.

Emergent/Postmodern

93%

Modern Liberal

68%

Roman Catholic

64%

Neo orthodox

61%

Classical Liberal

57%

Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan

54%

Charismatic/Pentecostal

39%

Reformed Evangelical

21%

Fundamentalist

What's your theological worldview?
created with QuizFarm.com

Baboons and Cheetahs

2005-05-20T09:41:00.000-05:00

It's funny how the strangest things can get my attention and lead me off in a direction that may have nothing to do with anything.

Today that happened. I was reviewing my Spam folder prior to emptying it. Near the top was one with the subject line "We need people BAD!" (It was from "Research Group".)

I read that and my thought immediately was "That's what I was saying yesterday!"

We need people BAD. I've heard a lot of people in my life say "Oh, I don't do church. I mean, I believe in God, but I commune with God alone, not in church."

Well, I can respect that. I too commune with God alone. I love sitting on a beach, or on a mountain top, in the middle of a desert or a snowy prairie, and connecting with my Divine Companion. Just the two of us, preferably (but not necessarily) under a wide, cloud-free, starry sky. My Companion speaks to me there, or just cradles me, my head against His shoulder (in those times, my Companion is definitely present to me as male.)

But we need people BAD. It's the tinder of numerous voices lifted in song, praise and worship to the Companion of All that keeps the spark glowing. I need that too. As much as I need the quiet times beneath starry skies.

And whether or not folks admit it, I really think we ALL need the group. Today, my references to the Divine Other specifically refer to that Reality as Companion. God is our Divine Companion, walking with us wherever - WHEREVER - we sojourn. It is that Companion who caused us to be; and I believe that Companion which causes us to be social creatures, not solitary ones.

Some of us are largely social, for whom a little quiet time now and then is nice. Others of us are largely private, for whom social time now and then is healthy.

But ya know, I don't care whether one is primarily social, or primarily private. Sojourning alone or in groups, we all must seek out the Companion.

Baboons and Cheetahs.

It only takes a spark...

2005-05-19T08:52:00.000-05:00

Gosh! It's been nearly 3 weeks since I posted last. I feel bad about that, in a way, but not really. My blog serves as an outlet for ME to write when I feel the need to, or when I feel led to. The day it becomes a burden is the day I close it down.

I embarked, over a month ago, on a rather strenuous journey here to define my understanding of God. In my efforts, I forgot a simple fact that we as humans can never know the ultimate truth of who and what God is.

That said, I can express my understanding of who God is to me at this point in time; I can attempt however poorly to express the reality of God in my life as I experience God today. My journey thus far has taught me that this expression of God today will surely change by tomorrow.

Recently, I was part of a conversation that discussed why we should never turn someone away. In my rather limited ability to fully express myself clearly - or perhaps more truthfully, in my tendency to over simplify what I'm trying to say - I said "Because when we turn someone away, we turn away Jesus." It was pointed out to me that I was by that statement forcing Jesus into the role of cosmic policeman.

So, on my drive today (fully 3 weeks after said conversation) I was meditating on what I truly meant.

In 1 Corinthians 3:16 (The Message) Paul says to us "You realize, don't you, that you are the temple of God, and God himself is present in you?"

Each of us, whether the vilest criminal and sinner or the most pious of holy persons, is the temple of God; and in our temple is what I have come to call a "God-spark".

Some of us never encounter this spark within ourselves. Others commune with it daily. Our quest in life, ultimately, is to seek down into ourselves and encounter this God-spark, even merge our spirits into it.

When we engage in this quest, each encounter with another person enables the sparks within each individual to glow brighter. The more we open our hearts to others, the more we kindle our God-spark.

First, the mild glow spreads then blossoms into a gentle, lightly flickering flame as of a small candle in a darkened room. With each encounter, with each subsequent growth of our circle of association, that flame continues to grow.

God more fully exposes to us the reality of God's presence within each of us. At times, our God-sparks can dwindle back to a little spark, at others when we encounter each other in worship, a conflagration occurs. God's presence in each coalesces into God's presence to all. Profound experiences of God's presence in and to the world are felt, I believe, when the God-spark in us explodes into a wildfire.

When I turn away, or fail to welcome, a stranger, I am turning away not only that individual, not only Jesus, but another God-spark, another opportunity to meet God and to ignite in the world the wildfire of God's love. I diminish myself as well as the other.

This is what exclusion does to our world. Exclusion on a social or cultural scale deepens the darkness of spiritual night that surrounds us all, threatening to encroach and snuff us out. We as a society needs to, must learn that exclusion is not protection but ultimately our downfall. When society learns to welcome and embrace the diversity of experience around us, the wildfire of God's love can burn so fiercely as to deprive the dark of it's power. Imagine, a world awash in a flame so bright that the very night is banished.

Call it God's love, or Allah's love, or call it what you will, my vision can not override yours, and my truth of the Divine Other is not yours. But that Divine Other, in all it's many facets and manifestations is true for all. When that Divine Other is aflame in this world, oh what a world that would be!

Continuing on...

2005-05-03T10:13:00.000-05:00

What can we know (or think we know) about the nature of God? A correlative question would necessarily be (in light of my foregoing discussion) Can we accept the following hypothesis: "God is immutable, human comprehension of the nature of God is not"?

This is how I ended my last post over 2 weeks ago. I can't say I've given it a lot of thought in that time. I had hoped for some comment, but none was forthcoming. So, I'll answer my second question. Yes, I accept the hypothesis that God does not change, but human comprehension of the nature of God does, indeed, change.

Once we looked around, and we connected with a divine reality, we figured there must be many of them to explain the forces about us....

Then we began to allow that understanding to coalesce into the understanding that there was but one divine reality that explained all of them... But we weren't yet ready to comprehend our own natures sufficiently, nor were we able to fathom something that was not essentially a grander us, namely we anthropomorphized our understanding of God... and the concept of the old man with flowing robes and a beard was born!

And on this old man, we placed our own faults and failings, while trying to declare him to be without faults and failings... so we contrived this concept of the angry God, wreaking vengeance and violence on the world on our behalf.

Our comprehension of the Divine paradigm changed, mutated to accept oneness. In time, some came to see that the divine paradigm was changing once again... this time to embrace a loving Divinity. And this space and my time are too finite to delve into the entire evolution of humanity's understanding of the Divine.

So, what can we know (or think we know) of the nature of God?

I'll throw out one or two things that I am comfortable in saying I know.

First, I'm comfortable with the notion/understanding that the Divine is ultimately responsible for the coming in to being of all creation... hence I'm comfortable in saying that this Divine Other CREATED all things. The method, however, of this creation is at this time incomprehensible.

Second, I'm comfortable with the notion that God is limited by God's own Will. In other words, while God is not limited by external laws of nature or other forces imposed upon the Divine, God has chosen to impose upon God's self, limitations.

So, thirdly, I can say I'm comfortable with the concept that God is Love, and the source of all Love.

Now, it's your turn. Can you add to this list?

The Journey Continues

2005-04-14T09:33:00.000-05:00

The Wanderer (yes, Jer, I was referring to you) posted a response on his blog yesterday, as well as commenting directly on my post. And his response and comment now, in turn, elicit a response from me.

First I want to clarify my comment about the immutability issue. I should have proofread my post more thoroughly yesterday, as I didn't complete my thought. Here's what I said:

For instance, one dogmatic statement comment to much of Christianity has to do with the concept of immutability. Namely, God is never changing, God does not change, and God cannot change, because God is all perfect. If we expect to accept that religion needs to change to meet new paradigms, what does that say about God's immutability? That is something I think most people have a hard time getting around. While at this particular moment in time the most virulently opposed to religious change, the most reactionary, fearful and thus dangerous group with confronting this issue is Fundamental Islam. However, Fundamental Christianity and Fundamental Judaism is not far behind. Indeed, the fundamentalist sects of just about every single religious structure on the planet is facing these questions, and becoming dangerous as a result.

I don't believe God changes. It's perhaps one of the few of the bedrock dogmas of Christianity that I can accept. I acknowledge in my heart that the God of today is the God of Creation, the God of History, the God for tomorrow. What changes, what is far from immutable is how we as humans understand God, and perceive God's handiwork in the world around us. The iconization and idolization of what many, if not most, Christians refer to as Holy Scripture retards the growth of human understanding by "plastinating" dogma at one point in time and denying us the ability to progress in understanding God. And progressing in that field of understanding is, contrary to common belief, a good thing. We have codified the cessation of spiritual growth by accepting a nearly 2000 year old definition of the concept of dogma. (Another clarification is needed here; I cannot address most Protestant understanding of the concept of Dogma, I can only speak for Catholic Dogma, and in that, Catholic Church holds that dogma is immutable.)

Secondly, I no longer look to the Roman Catholic Church to make progress in any field or endeavor in human understanding of the divine, as it is hopelessly locked in it's idolization of itself. While some Catholic scholars may make progress in this regard, it is foolhardy, in my opinion, to expect that the magisterium of the Church will ever embrace their work. For this reason, I am now convinced that the Catholic Church is destined over time to decline in the western world to a state of utter irrelevancy.

Third, and finally (at least for THIS post) Jer asks in his comment to my previous post, "How do we proceed?") My initial response is "What?!?! I only pose the hypothesis; don't expect me to do anything about it!" But, actually Jer's question is an interesting one, and one I'd like to explore. So, "How do we proceed?"

I think the process for working out for ourselves an understanding of What/Who God is begins with stating the basic question which will guide our considerations, followed by a supposition or understanding of the goal, then finally the posing of a question (or more).

I know that I am hardly the first individual to pose the questions in my previous post. In fact, those who read this post know that I have read some of Spong's books and that Bishop Spong does indeed address much of this. But I'm uncomfortable with Spong's assertions, and I'm even more uncomfortable replacing one icon with another. So, to the topic/hypothesis.

I believe that, for now, the question is simple: "Is God relevant to humanity in light of the phenomenal growth of scientific knowledge?"

The supposition on which I would build my process is that since human understanding of God is mutable, any results of the process are themselves subject to change over time, even the lifetime of those arriving at the results.

And finally the question to be posed as an initial understanding of the task would be a simple one. What can we know (or think we know) about the nature of God? A correlative question would necessarily be (in light of my foregoing discussion) Can we accept the following hypothesis: "God is immutable, human comprehension of the nature of God is not"?

A Conundrum

2005-04-13T09:50:00.000-05:00

(Note: Before I begin, I have a question for my fellow wanderer: Have I offended you, brother? Now, on to today's post?)

I don't know when it started. I suspected it began about the same time that the first human, or perhaps even human LIKE, person molded a clump of mud into a figurine and declared that it represented a god.

Whenever it began, for countless thousands of years humankind has asked ontological and metaphysical questions. Who are we (as in humankind)? Where'd we (again, humankind) come from? How did all we (ahem, see above) perceive come into being? There are numerous other questions of this nature, and someone has thought them. I suppose there are ontological and metaphysical questions yet to be conceived. I'm almost sure of it.

Anyhow, at some point in the far distant past, our ancestors stopped answering the "Where'd we come from" question with "From my parents" and reached back beyond that to the ultimate where'd the first one come from, or has this gone on forever? At some point, seemingly simplistic answers ceased to suffice. As early humankind put questions together to realize that there were NO simple answers, ontological and metaphysical thought processes began. (I guess this is a question for the philosophy of the history of philosophy studies?)

So, where'm I going with this. Simply that at some point one or more of those early philosophers came up with a concept of divinity.

Over time, millennia to be sure, groups of humans came to identify with a set of gods that could provide them with answers to those troubling questions. And, just as humankind evolved further, so the religions evolved into more and more complex schools of theological and philosophical beliefs.

Now, let me be clear, you have read I hope enough of my blog to know that in spite of early claims, I do believe in God. There is, in my opinion and belief structure, SOMETHING behind those religions.

What these religions did, and the reason they evolved, I believe, is that as humankind continued to think on the questions and their initial answers to them, as the thought itself became more and more refined, the practice as perceived also became more refined. Religion as it stood became less real, and needed to grow to embrace the new questions and the new perceptions of divinity.

I guess, what I'm trying to say is that I believe religion as we practice it is a constantly evolving construct. In millennia to come, assuming we avoid destroying our habitat through cataclysmic nuclear war or more slowly through environmental neglect, and assuming the environment doesn't destroy (rebirth?) itself through natural causes (did you see "Supervolcano" on Sunday?), then in the coming millennia, religion and how we practice it will evolve into something we may or may not recognize.

As people of faith, and here I'm speaking of the philosophical theologians, both educated as such, and those lacking formal education, as these thinkers reflect on who and what God is in light of the expansion of knowledge they will see that religion itself cannot remain static. Religion, and the practice of it, must change to meet the new paradigms confronting it as scientific knowledge of the natural realm expands.

The precepts of Christian faith in it's current configuration met the spiritual and religious needs of humankind for a time. But that may or may not be true any longer.

In the field of religion, humanity shows its nature to be fearful of change. We resist moving into new areas of thought because we have difficulty comprehending that dogma is not black and white, no matter how much we want it to be.

For instance, one dogmatic statement comment to much of Christianity has to do with the concept of immutability. Namely, God is never changing, God does not change, and God cannot change, because God is all perfect. If we expect to accept that religion needs to change to meet new paradigms, what does that say about God's immutability? That is something I think most people have a hard time getting around. While at this particular moment in time the most virulently opposed to religious change, the most reactionary, fearful and thus dangerous group with confronting this issue is Fundamental Islam. However, Fundamental Christianity and Fundamental Judaism is not far behind. Indeed, the fundamentalist sects of just about every single religious structure on the planet is facing these questions, and becoming dangerous as a result.

In the "Children of the Book" world (Judaism/Christianity/Islam) I suspect that in the long run, the ones destined to have the most problem with change (and hence the most significant propensity to dangerous behavior) are the Christians. With Judaism and Islam, the question revolves around for them, who/what is God and what is to become of God in the new paradigms? Christians have to add to that Where does Jesus fit in? When the dust settles, whether in this century or in the next millennium, where will Jesus be in the economy of heaven?

When I confront this issue, I realize just what a complex task I've set myself, as I seek to answer these questions for myself. Because, even being open to the assertion that it MUST change, I fear the answer myself; I frequently doubt the hypothesis itself.

What a Difference a day makes....

2005-04-08T11:10:00.000-05:00

Sung to the tune, of course.... 24 little hours in a day.

I woke up a different person today than I was when I awoke yesterday. Okay, not really. But, yes, really. Okay, let's face it... I believe we ALL wake up each day different in some way than the day before.

First off, let me back up a little. Last Friday I had to be taken to the local ER after I developed symptoms of lightheadedness and dizziness, feelings of constriction of my chest, some minor pain in my left shoulder, and numbness in my 3 left fingers of my left hand. The company's EMT determined my BP was far too high for her comfort, and observed that I was beet red and that my ears "almost literally glowed". Oh, and I just didn't feel too well.

Well, the doctor at the ER didn't think too much of my "issues". He was pretty ho hum about it. By 4:15 I was released, with a "strongly recommended" admonishment to see my doctor.

So, yesterday I saw my doctor. I was expecting a little tsk, tsking and an increase in my medications once again. My oh my did my visit NOT live up to those expectations. First of all, he won't increase the meds. Instead he's insisting I see the electro-cardiology (like I've been thinking about doing) and has told me that I probably will have to have the ablation surgery. Okay, that didn't make my day... even though I HAVE somewhat expected it.

But that was only the first of his pronouncements. The more significant one caught me way off guard. I have been diagnosed with Diabetes. That makes me not too happy. (Can you see the German reserve in me?) Daily finger pricks. I like pricks, let's face it. But not THAT kind of prick. I'm trying to psych up for it with that old queeny stand bye: "Hurt me, oh yeah baby, HURT me!" But that's not really helping.

********

What else? Hmmm.... Oh, on the subject of the Pope's passing and funeral. I've been reading about this "Spiritual Last Will & Testament". Got to thinking about it, and thought, Hmmm... Sounds like something I'd not mind doing. So I went out to the Internet and read a few samples.

Nope. Not going to subject you folks... or ME... to that. Ain't gonna happen.

But the Pope's passing has moved me. In death, and in the suffering he faced in the hours before death (I read a news item that interviewed his personal physician about those last hours that said in effect Yes, the pope had suffered greatly in those last hours... which is a whole 'nother topic I may or may not write about) he showed great grace and dignity, and was I feel, an example for all of us. His desire to bear that in solidarity with his Savior was inspirational to me. In spite of all his other flaws.

I read this morning after the funeral (no, I haven't watched it yet.... maybe later) a quote from a priest in Poland: "our Vatican umbrella has been taken down. We are now adults and must carry on with what we have learnt..." What an interesting statement... especially the last. "We are now adults and must carry on..."

That seems to be my primary problem with my RCC roots. The Vatican and more pointedly our bishops and archbishops see us just that way... as children. It's time for us to become adults, not to rely so heavily on some centralized teaching authority. We... okay I... need to come to grips with the simple fact of my own previous posts. My reality is that God is Divine Other, indwelling in my own spiritual cathedral, my soul. I may soil that soul, but nothing will drive that Divine Other from me. It is up to ME to find that Otherness, not for the dogmatists of some distant ecclesial body with parental hangups to direct me in how, when and where to search.

Just as in Scripture and in everything else for that matter, the church, be it Roman Catholicism or my own UFMCC, may provide material of great worth for my journey, but it is TRULY for me to sample that material and decide for myself.

The fact is, God IS within me, and hence knowledge of that Divinity also resides within. To find the ultimate destination I must, finally, look to the vessel of the journey itself.

The Pope provided for me what is perhaps one of the greatest services by his example... the good and the bad... in finding that Otherness. Pope John Paul Magnus... yes, I believe that... set his eyes and followed his Shepherd. He fell far more than his church will ever acknowledge, but all of us do. His brokenness and failure to embrace ALL God's Children hurt many of us to the quick... and beyond. He drove some of my fellows away from the Church, and worse, from the Divine Itself. And in that brokenness proved his own humanity. In living that brokenness and humanity, I think, is his final testament to his depth of spirituality and THAT is what I can glean from his time on Peter's Chair. As he set his sight on Jesus, and followed to the best of his limitations the way of Jesus, I think he can provide for many of us an example of how WE can follow Jesus.

Godspeed Il Papa!

2005-04-01T10:04:00.000-06:00

In May, 1996, I walked out the doors of St. Meinrad School of Theology with a Masters Degree for the last time. It marked for me the end of a process, the end of an epoch. Because when those doors shut, my 38 years as a Roman Catholic came to an end. I loved the Church, it had nurtured and cared for me through some very rough times, and through some beautiful times.

But for me, the path on which the Church had set itself was unsupportable. The words and policies of my own Archbishop had cut me to the core, had killed within me something precious. I could, I found, no longer practice as a Catholic with good conscience.

I professed a love for that institution, even as I walked away from it. Not considering myself to be a "Recovering Catholic" (a term I found, and find, offensive) I considered myself, instead, a Catholic in Exile... an exile from which I knew then, and know now, I would never be able to return.

As the years have passed, I've found a new church home, a new Church, "True" for me in the same way that the Catholic Church is True for it's followers. As unjust edict after unjust edict spewed from the antiquated walls of the Vatican, I found myself hurt more and more. It came to a place, a time, when the thought of walking through the doors of a Catholic Church became unthinkable to me.

But through it all, I've held an abiding love for the man who has led that institution for all my adult life. I personally believe he will go down in the annals of the Roman Catholic Church as one of, if not THE, greatest popes of all time. And the history of the world will, I also believe, rank him as one of the greatest and most important leaders in the world in the last quarter of the 20th Century. I know in the last 20 years there are none who have had as much respect from the greatest number of people. Next to him the current fraud in the US White House is a pale shadow of a human; in stature, John Paul is a giant next to a toy soldier compared to the "Leader of the Free World" (Side note: Please, someone, help me stop laughing!)

It's true, some of the documents and words that have hurt me the most have come from John Paul, or with his blessing. To me, though, that has proved nothing other than John Paul II is, above all, a human with all the failings that humanity suffers. I still see him as a deeply spiritual man, with a heart for Jesus that is huge. I believe he doesn't see that his words are hurtful, that they are, in deed, wrong.

In a funny way, he is one of three people who keep my ties to the old RCC alive. With his passing, I know that that period of my life is truly over.

And so, as I watch the news, anticipating the worst with every minute, my heart breaks, my eyes tear, and my mind grieves for the loss of this great man. But to see his ongoing suffering wounds me even more.

So, Godspeed, Il Papa!

Okay, okay! If you insist...

2005-03-24T13:49:00.000-06:00

Gosh, I'm disappointed no one asked me about being chased by lions or by baboons or by a hippo!

I wonder why? Surely the fact that no one is reading my blog has nothing to do with it! Nah!!!!! That's not it.

So, Mr. MineAllMine, won't you please tell us (me and my friends here) one of your stories, please? Huh? Come on!!!!!!

Well, if you insist.

We were visiting Meru National Park. When I was a little boy, there was a movie about a lion named Elsa. This true story took place in Meru National Park. In real life, the savannahs of MNP were even more spectacular than in the movie. Mount Kenya towered in the near distance, it's snow capped peak so close to the equator took my breath away. I can remember gazing at it in awe from our camp in the morning... I just can't remember which direction it was from the camp, but I think it was north-east.

Okay, this isn't one of the stories I intended to tell. I just came from doing a web search on MNP. I wanted to find out where that mountain was, but I read something that broke my heart.

When I was there, we were taken to a special preserve in the park... it was where the Park Service rangers and security personnel were housed. At various times, animals who were of special interest, and in special danger were brought there for safety.

We arrived within hours of the birth of a new, white (square-lipped) rhinoceros. I remember seeing this beautiful beast, grazing on hay and cut branches, looking deceptively serene, while her newborn struggled to nurse. Now, to just about any but die-hard animal lovers, I'm sure it's hard to imagine a beautiful rhinoceros. Trust me. Looking at this monsterous beast with it's baby at it's side I was moved by the beauty of it.

I just found out that the last rhinoceros, a white, in MNP was poached in 1988. This park, home to rhinocerii for millenia, is no longer.

While white rhino are not extinct, at least not yet, I'm sadded by this. I don't understand why this happened. I don't understand the poacher mentality.

I don't feel like telling my story any more. Maybe later.

Fond Memories

2005-03-22T08:58:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure why, really, but this morning, as I showered, I was thinking about the three months I spent living in Kenya. Several of us went, and then scattered upon arrival to the four corners of that beautiful country.

A few spent their summer in little villages in the countryside, miles away from "civilization". The families they stayed with still spread cow manure on the inside walls of their homes to keep the walls from drying out.

I stayed in Nairobi, the capitol of Kenya. Unlike my associates who really lived a rough existence for those 3 months, the home I lived in had two servants and I was given my own bodyguard. My "country-kin" lived with their villages head chieftain. I lived with a government official, and his family were always in danger of kidnapping and other dangers.

About two weeks after arriving in-country, I confirmed that I apparently had a death-wish. The first night in Nairobi, I started to cross a street. I looked to my left, it was clear, and I stepped out. Fortunately for me, the man behind me saw my mistake and grabbed me, pulling me back onto the sidewalk as a car came barreling past me, just inches from where I'd been standing. (Someone needs to teach those folks to drive on the right damn side of the street!)

Anyhow, two weeks into my trip, we went on a trip to Nakuru, situated in the Great Rift Valley. Nakuru is home to Lake Nakuru which is famous for it's (real, live) pink flamingos... Thousands of these beautiful birds settle in it's waters. The streams and rivers which feed this lake are home, too, to crocodile. And in the lowlands around the lakeshore, are swamps populated with great swarms of mosquito.

We spent a beautiful, hot sunny day wandering around, then drove into town (after chasing the monkeys off our Land Rover) for dinner.

That night, back in Nairobi, actually out in the Ngong Hills area on Nairobi's outskirts, I began feeling rather poorly. By the middle of the night, I was waking literally every hour on the hour, and vomiting.

On Monday afternoon, the man I was staying with came home from work, and, with our bodyguards, got me loaded in the car for a trip to the hospital. During those first hours at the hospital I remember two events. The first was while we awaited the doctor. I looked out the window and saw a Kenyan Army truck pull up outside. Several prisoners were unloaded, in shackles. I turned to Erasmus and asked "What's going on?".

"This past weekend, a battalion or larger, of Somalis invaded the north. Our army drove them back and these are some of the prisoners." Back then, the Somalis were constantly raiding the northern borders of Kenya.

"Were they wounded?" I asked.

"No, but the Somali are a poor people, most of those men have never seen a doctor. We'll give them physicals to ensure they're healthy. We are a civilized people."

"Will they be returned, then?"

"No. They'll stand trial, and if found guilty, they'll be executed." I never had a chance to find out if he was serious.

The second one was between moments of absolute delirium. I awoke to find a technician by my bed. Simon, my bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. The technician had come to take some blood for testing. He was drunk. VERY drunk. Obviously BLIND drunk because he took my arm, sighted down the needle with one eye closed, swaying, then JABBED. After seven attempts, he (by pure luck, I'm sure) managed to find a vein and drew the required blood. He put the blood on his tray, and turned to walk away.

Try an experiment. Put 7 test tubes on their side on a flat, rimless tray. Pick up the tray, turn suddenly in any direction.

Resignedly, he put the tray down, turned back to me, picked up another needle.

I screamed. Loudly. And then passed out.

Three days later I awoke. I was in a different ward. The people around me were all of European descent. The man next to me pressed his buzzer, and when the speaker by his ear mumbled he spoke two words. "He's awake."

Later that day, I the doctor came in to see me. His words struck terror into my still foggy brain.

"Well, young man. My name is Dr. Eric _________. You gave us a scare. Let me start by telling you that you have Malaria and are quite jaundiced, which leads me to believe you have Hepatitis." His words faded. I remember we chatted for a while, then he left the room. A month later, I too left the room.

None of my clothes fit, anymore, I'd lost 30 pounds. I had one skill picked up from that month's visit. I was so thirsty, I could upend a large bottle of coke and chug it in one slug. I also remember being in a park with all these little kids standing around, as some guy bought me coke after coke, and I entertained the gaggle by chugging them all. Odd.

Months later, back here in the US, I went to the doctor so that he could run tests and determine what treatment regimen I would undergo. It would be for life, he informed me. A couple of days later, he gave me the results.

"Eric, we've taken 3 separate blood samples from you. I've good news. You do NOT have Malaria, and you do NOT have hepatitis. I've consulted with several specialists here in the US. It seems you didn't have Malaria, but A malaria... a fever. And you were jaundiced because you had severe food poisoning, and your liver was probably damaged. You're going to be fine."

He was right. It took six months, but I finally recovered. However, to this day I am a total lightweight when it comes to alcohol. One beer gives me a hangover. Two and I'm drunk as a skunk.

Do skunks drink? Do they get drunk? Is that why some folks are stinking drunks?

I remember my time in Kenya, though, not for my near death experiences (there were three more... perhaps someday I'll mention my being chased by three of apprises more dangerous creatures, a hippo and a lion.. and a troop of baboons.)

What I remember is the absolute beauty of its people and culture. I remember the times spent with my bodyguard, and 5 other Kenyans as we made our round of the Meru area. It was when I first came to realize the vastness of our world, and the diversity of peoples, and indeed, of nature.

And that I could persevere in just about anything.

Nick at Night???? Nah... not really.

2005-03-03T09:30:00.000-06:00

"I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again." John 3:3

Well, I could take the Real Live Preacher up on a suggestion and write about "Nic at Night" but, I won't. I'll leave that for the more skilled amongst us. (BTW, Nic... as in Nicodemus... the one Jesus is addressing in the above verse.)

For years, I've always read that verse and wondered. Like Nicodemus, I wonder how can one be "born again". What does one have to do? I know, unlike Nicodemus, that this no physical birth or rebirth that Jesus spoke of. It's a spiritual birth. But just what work do we have to do, what books do we read, what changes do we have to make in our lives to accomplish this act of spiritual rebirth? When will we be ready for that rebirth?

I remember as a teenager being heavily involved in the Catholic Charismatic Renewal in my town. When most normal teenagers were out gallivanting about on Saturday night, I was at Prayer Meeting. I met a girl there, we dated (almost always with both sets of parents present) eventually got engaged, and the married. I remember that night I prayed for the Gift of the Holy Spirit, and the experience of receiving that gift. I remember that was the night I experienced my "Born Again!" experience.

So much water has flown by that bridge since then. So many miles have been walked on my journey. The hands of the clock have spun far too many times to revisit that night, to renounce it or to embrace it. Was it genuine? I don't know. I can't say, and I don't really care to revisit my beliefs on that score.

Because today, I feel differently towards that verse than I did back then (almost 30 years ago!). I still wonder at what things do I have to do to warrant that experience of being born again. As I age, not so gracefully, I might add, I am gaining an inkling that we are not born again, in any sense, physical or spiritual, as a fait accompli. The rebirth Jesus spoke of must of necessity, it seems to me, be a process not an act. It's something we are constantly undergoing.

Today, however, I read two passages of scripture that really put my focus on this rebirthing process. The first one is the same verse, but from "The Message" version of the bible. "Unless a person is born from ABOVE..." That ever so subtly (or maybe not so subtly) changes the whole flavor of the verse. Now it's no longer "A person must be..." That kind of change answers, in part, the "What must I DO?" question that arises from the verse... we don't do anything, the rebirth is from above... it's, dare I say it? A gift from God, this rebirth is part of the constant flow of Grace from above that is ours for the taking.

But a second verse, one from the Old Testament (or as my church likes to term it "Ancient Hebrews") really makes this strike home. Isaiah writes that God says:

"I have done it, and I will carry you;
And I will bear you and I will deliver you." (Isaiah 46:4)

I have done it. What? I have caused your new you to come into being, perhaps?
I will carry you and I will bear you... now THERE'S a pregnant turn of phrase! I see it now, this image of a pregnant God, carrying my NEW, reborn spirit.
I will deliver you. Whoa! That's not a passive thought, to me... it's declarative... and more importantly it's a promise! I WILL deliver you.

This will come, it will happen, I WILL deliver you, you WILL receive this rebirth from Above.

And I believe that. I believe it because I believe in this journey I'm on, this process of ever becoming a new being... drawing nearer, chronologically and physically to the Other Within.

On the day I make that connection, on the day I come face to face with that One Within, that is the day I'll receive my full rebirth.

Threenesses

2005-02-18T09:22:00.000-06:00

The other day, while doing a search on information regarding the three dimensions of Physics:

Space, Time, Mass

I came across a blog from several months ago which introduced me to the concept of Spiritual Dimensions.

There are, it would seem, three spiritual dimensions to go with the three primary dimensions mentioned parenthetically above. Well, not so much as MATCHING those above, but in the sense that there are three mentioned. Know what I mean, Vern?

Three spiritual dimensions: Vertical or "up"ward, Horizontal or outward, and interal.

The Vertical dimension of spirituality is the dimension of relatedness between ourselves and the Other "out there". God in Heaven, in otherwords. According to the site that introduced this to me, the individual strong in this dimension is comfortable with prayer, worship and "other religious-related things and activities."

The Horizontal dimension of spirituality is the dimension of relatedness between ourselves and others. Our neighbor, friend, and even enemy. The individual strong in this dimension "is into
helping others, community service, social justice, good works, etc."

The Internal dimension of spirituality is the dimension of relatedness between ourselves our soul, or that spark of Other dwelling within us. According to my source, the individual strong in this dimension is harder to, ahem... PIGEON HOLE than the others, but "tend to find strength, energy, confidence, and peace from within, drawing from an inner source, often unknown to be deeply rooted in God."

I've been thinking on this a lot since reading that site. Three dimensions of spirituality, three dimensions of the physical world, three persons of Trinity.

And one can rather easily relate the three areas:

Space - Vertical - God (Father, Mother, Parent, Creator)
Time - Horizontal - Jesus
Mass - Internal - Holy Spirit

Okay, now, I have a little problem with that last one... But I suspect it wouldn't be hard to define it better so as to make better sense.

Asked how the concept of Trinity fits with his theology, Spong addresses the Trinity in this way (it's one of the things from Spong that I can really identify with):

I experience God as that which is beyond all human categories, the Infinite Other. That is what Christians call the "Father and Almighty Creator."

I experience God as Depth within, closer than my breath. That is what Christians call the Holy Spirit.

I experience God as a reality flowing through human lives and, for me, uniquely present in the life of Jesus.

These three experiences of the Other also fit the pattern above.

I'm not sure where I want to go with all of this. But it's interesting to me. Something to fill the time while commuting every day. Something to occupy my mind. And, a framework for a way to pray.

It has been asked of me, so let it be - a sample

2005-02-11T14:17:00.000-06:00

Chapter 1

Before time began, One Existed. And the existence of This One can not be comprehended. The One Existed, and the One Loved – for love’s sake. As a result of this love for love’s sake, the One decided to create. So the One whispered “Let it begin.”

From deep within the One, the first dimension, mass, came into being; huge, massive, highly concentrated matter. This mass, which before the One’s whisper did not exist, now came into being and exploded with a force exceeding all force but that of the One who’s whispered command summoned it.

With the expansion of the detritus of this explosion, there came into being the two dimensions of Time and Space. Whereas before the whisper neither Mass, Time nor Space existed, now within the One and contained by the One, Mass, Time and Space came into being. Because Mass, Time and Space now existed, the One, who is One of Orderliness, looked upon the chaos of the explosion and deemed it appropriate that order be imposed. Upon Mass, Time and Space a set of ordinances which would come to be called “Laws of Physics” was imposed. The One was pleased with this beginning.

Pigeon Hole Christianity

2005-02-11T11:05:00.000-06:00

What is more natural to us as human beings, at least as human beings birthed and nurtured in the epistemological framework of Western Civilization, than to categorize... EVERYTHING?

If we can conceive of it, we must categorize it. In fact, every word in this document can be categorized into at least one category.

So, it's not unusual that we categorize types of Christians. In short, we pigeon hole them.... thus the title of this entry.

The better we know something, the more we categorize it. So, most of us from the west categorize all Jews into a single category. All Muslims, likewise fit into a single category. But we (I'm speaking in very general terms here) know Christianity fairly well. So we break it down into categories. Were we Muslim, we might categorize Islam into numerous sub-groupings, while lumping all of Christianity into a single group. The same can be said of those of Jewish background.

As Christians, we are aware of the over-arching categories of Christianity, namely Catholic, Protestant and Orthodox.

There are smaller categories as well. There's fundamentalists, and literalists; evangelicals; conservatives, liberals, radicals. There're creationists and, well, non-creationists. There are traditionalists and 'post-modernists'. I could go on and on, I'm sure.

No matter how disorganized we are as humans, we tend to get pretty stuck on these categories. So, it's unlikely that we would think of someone as a fundamental, evangelical liberal. A Post-Modern creationist? I doubt it. On the other hand, some categories do mix well. I guess it all depends on where various categories fit on the spectrum of Christian thought.

I wonder if anyone has put together such a chart? Probably.

So, why all this discussion of category? It's because of a small project I've taken on, somewhat at the behest of a fellow pilgrim (yes, the one elsewhere addressed in my blog. You know, the one I don't name, except when I call him Jeremy which may, or may NOT be his or her name, just in case you're wondering.)

See, it's like this. How do I categorize myself? Or more to the point, how do I reconcile my theology with the spectrum mentioned above? This is especially troubling because you see, I think of myself as a (takes deep breath) Conservative, evangelical, post-modern, non-creationist, fundamentalist Traditionalist liberal. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!

How do I reconcile all this? Should I?

So, I decided to sit down and codify my beliefs, at least to some small degree. And I've begun by rewriting the book of Genesis... at least, I've begun to. I know the chapter structure of the first 7 chapters. I've written the first 2 or 3.

Wanna read them? Ya gotta ask! Just wait, though. Before you say yes, are you sure you know what you're getting into? I've a bit twisted mind, you know. By reading these you may get sucked into the swirling maelstrom of my madness. Or, you might just laugh and throw it away!

Oh the Irony of it all

2005-02-10T09:14:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. As we go forward into this Christian season of Lent, I hope to write a little more, but we shall see.

Yesterday, after work I went to church for our Ash Wednesday worship. Normally, Wednesday is reserved for our bible/book study. Doing my duty as this quarter's worship coordinator, I filled in for those positions that had not yet been filled by other volunteers. In addition to Opening Prayer and the Affirmation of Faith, I did the readings. Unfortunately, I didn't do my duty as well as I had hoped. Our worship leader changed the order of worship for the night, so after the opening prayer, I lead the Affirmation of Faith, only it had become "The Call to Worship"... not too bad; then I launched into our readings (very interesting, as the worship leader had chosen "The Message" as the version for last night.) That was where I messed up. Seems the worship leader had moved the "Confession" from after the sermon to before the readings... oops. Oh, well.

All this is, however, incidental to what I intend to comment on. The Gospel last night was from Matthew 6:1-21. Here's a sample from the first verse: "Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them."

This whole pericope from scripture, Matthew 6:1-21, is about not showing off our faith for the sake of appearance.

By about the 5th verse, I was beginning to feel a major case of giggles coming on. It was rather funny, I thought, indeed quite ironic that we were gathered for Ash Wednesday worship, listening to "do not do your acts of rightiousness before others", and cautions to do our praying in private, and yet, by the time we left, we were all going to be wearing our little signs of the cross in ash spread on our foreheads!

It was all I could do for a while, to hold my guffaws, especially when this message of private acts of prayer and righteousness continued into the sermon. Had I failed, had the guffaws burst out, I'm sure the worship leader would have scewered me... and that would be terrible... the worship leader was my partner, Scott!

Why is it that we do that? This Ash Wednesday observance? I know from my history of christianity classes that today's little cross of ash is the descendant of earlier times, times when the day was marked, not by a tiny cross of ash, but by pouring handfuls of ash upon ones head.

But, why? Jesus himself said "Don't do that! Don't show off your devotions and your 'holiness'. It doesn't mean a thing to God, and you receive your rewards from your peers and those about you. I ain't gonna reward you for it!" And really, it's nothing new... Isaiah, too, preached these outward signs were meaningless. Hear Isaiah on the topic:

"Don't you think I've had my fill of burnt sacrifices, rams and plump grain-fed calves? Don't you think I've had my fill of blood from bulls, lambs, and goats? When you come before me, who ever gave you the idea of acting like this, Running here and there, doing this and that--all this sheer commotion in the place provided for worship? "Quit your worship charades. I can't stand your trivial religious games: Monthly conferences, weekly Sabbaths, special meetings--meetings, meetings, meetings--I can't stand one more! Meetings for this, meetings for that. I hate them!

You've worn me out! I'm sick of your religion, religion, religion, while you go right on sinning. When you put on your next prayer-performance, I'll be looking the other way.

No matter how long or loud or often you pray, I'll not be listening. And do you know why? Because you've been tearing people to pieces, and your hands are bloody.

Go home and wash up. Clean up your act. Sweep your lives clean of your evildoings so I don't have to look at them any longer. Say no to wrong. Learn to do good. Work for justice. Help the down--and-out. Stand up for the homeless. Go to bat for the defenseless." (From "The Message" (MSG) © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson)

I can just hear Him now. Both of them, Jesus and our Creator. "No, no, no, no! Why aren't you listening?" Dang, we're a hard-headed people!

Does he see his shadow?

2005-02-04T14:02:00.000-06:00

Hey all,

Just coming out for a second to touch bases.

Into day three of a VERY sore neck and headache. Can't turn my head to either right or left, and tilting back hurts too... and the soreness I think is causing a really bad headache. On top of that, I've been fighting several days worth of severe chest pains. I'm guessing it's time to go see the cardiologist again. Crud. I really don't want this surgery. I was hoping the medicine would take care of it.

Other than that, nothing to write about... I don't create well with these headaches. Keep well.

Grace - according to eric

2005-02-01T09:29:00.000-06:00

"Every day I learn something. As long as I show up to class. As long as I show up for my own life."

Yesterday, Jeremy piggy-backed a portion of his blog off of a statement I made in my previous post. Today, I return the favor...

I mentioned yesterday that the Executive Director of the MCC was the guest preacher at church. Her topic was "Keep walking through those doors". Keep showing up, in other words.

No matter what other problems get in the way, we need to keep walking through the doors. When conflicts seem to be too much... just keep walking through the doors. Keep coming to church. Keep plugging away at this beautiful ministry we call MCC Omaha. Just do it. Or as the words of our Affirmation of Faith expressed in closing: let us. Let Us. LET US.

For 31 years, MCC Omaha has served the GLBTISEtc community of Nebraska and Western Iowa. For 31 years, conflict has been a part of that service. And for 31 years, folks have continued to walk through those doors, keep on coming. Sure, faces change, but we keep on plugging. We keep coming back, and we keep trying. Maybe we'll change. We need to change, in order to grow. But change or no change, we'll keep plodding along. I believe that. I trust that as a promise.

The problem with conflict, and the thing about it that prevents people from coming back through those doors is that conflict is the ultimate in "ungrace". Conflict can only occur when forgiveness and repentance are absent.

We need to be careful in our interactions at church... and in all aspects of our lives. When wronged, when decisions are reached that we disapprove of, it's okay to express that. It's not okay to attack the ones making the decisions, the one who wrongs. That is the kind of conflict I see, though.

When wronged, it's okay to address that "Hey, you wronged me by..." And there can be only one valid response to that. "I'm sorry you felt wronged by my action." IMO, it's okay to express why an action wronged me... or why I took the action that wronged the other, but the paramount aspect of that exchange must be the expression of regret for wronging, and the followup forgiveness. When we don't do that, we fail to demonstrate God's Grace to the other, and to the rest of the community.

And when decisions are made that we disagree with, the answer isn't to walk away. The answer is to walk back in through those doors, and address the decision, and why you feel it's wrong. Perhaps if enough people calmly and lovingly were to express displeasure (oh, and pleasure TOO) with the actions taken, we could put aside the stupid, petty squabbling that seems to all too often fill the walls of our churches, places of work, places of play, homes.

It's the grace-filled interaction of people of faith in our churches that demonstrate God's grace to the world. It's a form of interaction that all too rarely finds form in action. At ANY place of worship.

I find that sad. I truly believe that is one of the best ways to demonstrate God's love... loving each other as God has loved us. It's called Grace.

Jeremy also called me to task (well, I THINK he was calling me to task) for my continued reference to my being too old....

Okay, let's set the record straight... (Yes, I use that word...) I am not old. I'm not too old for anything except perhaps well, we won't go THERE.

I am squarely, and centrally, located in the throes of Middle Age. Which means that I still have half my life ahead of me to accomplish. Mission. Whatever.

So, I'll try to tone down the "Oh, woe is me, I'm too old..." bull hunky. 'Cause that's what it is, and I know it.

John the Baptist and other Visionaries

2005-01-31T11:36:00.000-06:00

Oh, man! I do NOT know what to make of this!

For background, our church has entered into another perennial transition. As part of this transition, our 31st Anniversary service was preached by the new Executive Director of the UFMCC. Her sermon was excellent!

Scott and I picked up this person at the airport, then took her out to eat with most of the members of our Board of Directors.

MCCs around the world do communion differently from church to church. However, one of the things I've seen that seems to be consistent is that when one goes forward to receive the eucharist (both 'species', by intincture) one is prayed with/for if one wants. At first, as a 'catholic-in-exile', this practice was pretty odd for me. Now it's quite normal. I digress.

I went forward for communion to the Executive Director Sunday. During the prayer (and this is what I don't know what to make of) she indicated that I reminded her of John the Baptist because of my passion and drive.

Oi. This is the guy who lost his head early in the ministry of Jesus, ate locusts and wore itchy clothes. I guess we do have some similarities. He lost his head, and I'm told I've lost my mind.

I told the director, as I drove her back to the airport, that I draw the line, though, at eating wild locusts (or tame ones, for that matter.) She suggested I be careful where I draw the line... God has a funny way of getting us to step across lines... especially if WE'RE the ones who draw them. Oh, and I prefer silk to horse hair ANY day! Or even cotton. Or wool... as long as it's the soft kind.

And, hey, aren't I a little old to be setting out on some kind of wild-eyed mission?

Aren't I?

Please. Please say I am too old. Please?

I feel like whining, so bear with me... or not.

2005-01-26T15:22:00.000-06:00

This'll be relatively short. I think. But I just have to whine. I wanted to talk to a really good friend about this today, but she's just not in a place to hear me, to even listen. She asserts she understands, but I don't think she does... she doesn't because she hasn't let me say anything other than I'm in a whiny mood. So, you all get to hear me out.

About a week ago, our division underwent a little reorganization, and we ended up with a new Director, a man I think will be good to work with. Today we met with this gentleman. He wanted "to get to know you all". So we went around the room(s) (it was a teleconference, as our team is split up between Omaha, Baltimore and Secaucus) and introduced ourselves, including how long we've been with the company, what we do here, and whether or not we're married, have brats, hobbies, you get the idea...

And that's what's put me in a pissy mood.

I get so fucking tired of hearing about everyone's family, the adorable little munchkin snotty faced brats (no I don't really hate kids... except when I'm in this funky mood).

Man. Talk about rubbing ones sexuality in other peoples faces. Those damn straights. Oughta be a law against 'em.

That's all.

No it's not. Ya know, I just want to say, "And I'm married to the greatest guy in the whole world" when it comes to me in one of those things.

Wouldn't THAT be a hoot? I'd love to be able to watch everyone's face!

On Death

2005-01-25T15:22:00.000-06:00

Death. Having just written about the passing of my beloved Travis, I can't get my mind off of death. Well, okay, I can, but I don't want to. So there.

And so, fellow pilgrim, you've really gotten into me today. And so, once again, I write in response to you... and to one you wrote in response to... I'm assuming your post was a response to this post.

Which brings us back to death. I've been relatively sheltered from the experience of late. Yes, Travis is gone, so is Savannah, and Pam. Jim & Jerry left in 1998. Fran on New Years Day this year. I guess someone I've at least known and cared about has died just about every year for the past five years.

I know in the years ahead there's a lot more to come. My folks are nearing that passage, I know. Sometimes a little cloud seems to come up and hint that my passage is approaching as well, but I generally discount that thought. I don't fear it, I just don't trust the message.

But I've noticed that death is effecting me differently than it used to. It really hit home with Fran. After the rosary (my family is Catholic, even if I'm not) I stood beside her casket with Mom. Mom got misty eyed... I know she'd cried earlier in the day. She'd cried lots. My eyes misted a little too. But I looked at the body in the casket and thought "That's not Fran."

I saw it in Travis too, even before he died. You look at the face of the one you loved and... it's not them. That wasn't Fran's face, it wasn't Travis looking back at me in those final hours. They were the faces of the bodies that I was familiar with, but there's more. Gosh, I can't put my finger on it... can't get the concept out here.

Life is a journey, I've written here. Or a dance. But it's culmination here on planet Earth is not the end of the journey... nor the end of the dance.

Is there an end? I don't know if I'll ever know. And I'm not sure I should even care.

I do know this. That we all come, eventually, to a place where we can not go beyond in our current mode of transportation... we come to a place where the shell that has defined us is no longer capable of going on. We transition to a different place. "Abraham" calls it the Energy Stream. I call it heaven. I really am not sure there is a difference.

It shouldn't be something that makes us sad, either at our own dying or at the passing of our loved ones and friends.

Most of us do mourn the loss of others. I know in spite of these words I'll mourn the passing of my parents. Christianity hints pretty strongly that death should not be a time of sadness for us, but of celebration. Celebration because the one who is gone has achieved the prize, is with God. I remember during my time with the Benedictines that they celebrated the passing of a brother. They put on their whitest garments, and they sang happy songs. They may tear up, saddened, but over all rejoicing. They mourned what we all really mourn... OUR loss of the one going. They recognized it for the innate selfishness that is what mourning truly is.

Death, where is thy sting? Only we who live are stung. Those who die are not. They are set free, transitioning from this earthly reality to another reality, one that I trust is happier than this one, but different, that's for sure.

Yeah, OK, call me weird

2005-01-25T14:20:00.000-06:00

I'm weird. I have to face that little fact. I'm weird. I believe in that which we all believe, yet spend our lives denying. I just read this blog, by my fellow pilgrim. He emailed me earlier inviting me to check out his writing... and this isn't what he focused me towards, but this caught my attention. My fellow pilgrim "sees things". You know. THOSE things. I'm not telling. Go read his blog and find out for yourself. My first thought was a really more of a physical reaction. I rolled my eyes. But I shouldn't have. 'Cause I've seen that, too. Been there, done that, now I want the shirt.

So, pilgrim, I'll share my tale... or is that tail... you decide.

In 1998, my partner and I adopted Travis, a 6 week old White German Shepherd Dog pup, and his sister, Savannah. These two quickly earned the mutual applause "Monster", devouring in short order a full 5 piece sectional and it's successor sofa, not to mention numerous other otherwise inedible substances. This isn't about their shenanigans, though. When Travis was 1 1/2 years old, he began having epileptic seizures. His seizures almost always occurred at night, and I'd awake at the first sound, and sit with him through the night... In those wee hours I learned so much about my own humanity. I became comfortable holding his rigid form, cleaning up his vomit, his excrement... I didn't mind being soaked in his urine. I knew his thoughts, and in time he came to know mine. My life, our life, became rooted in Travis's patterns of seizure activity.

I know more than once I called him back from that other place, that place that seemed to call him inexorably to it. He returned the favor once. We had taken him with us on a road trip to Kentucky, and one night in the hotel "something" happened, I don't know what, but it seemed I severely pulled, in my sleep, several muscles around my chest and rib cage. I never felt it, but at some point that night, I began to have trouble breathing.

Laying on my side, my breathing stopped. I couldn't move, I couldn't breath, I couldn't do anything to rectify the situation. I lay there, silently panicking. Travis came to me, and pushed me over onto my back and that kick started my breathing again. This happened two more times that night before I finally decided to wake up Scott.

One year ago this coming Thursday, Travis could no longer battle the "monster" as we came to call his epilepsy. One year ago today, he had a horrible episode of seizures. I had to hospitalize him. His living body came home the next day (a year ago tomorrow) but that which was Travis was not in that living body. The following day, Scott and I held our little boy as we eased him on his path to that other place that had called him for so long, so relentlessly. We both knew he joined Savannah there, and Pam.

Twenty four hours after he passed, Scott and I joined my family for a week in Mexico. I didn't want to go, but couldn't back out. That first night in Puerto Vallarta, well actually early the next morning, I woke before 4 a.m. At first, I thought I heard his body flailing in the throes of a seizure, and when I realized he was gone, I wept silently. O Travis, my beautiful boy, I miss you so, I thought.

It was then I felt his nose on my elbow, and turning my head saw him briefly. Then he was gone. This happened every morning I was in Mexico, awaking feeling depressed, then his cold wet nose and a glimpse before disappearing. On our last morning there, I slept a little later than I had been, and I awoke feeling relatively happy. As I crawled out of bed quietly so as not to awaken Scott, I saw him. He sat quietly looking at me, his tongue hanging out, that expression of happiness and bright intelligence on his beautifully radiant face. He thrust his nose at me then walked to the door to the balcony (we were on the 6th floor) and looked back at me. I opened the door for him and he walked out, and just kept walking until he disappeared from sight.

I didn't think about it much. Until last night, when I had that vague sense of a shadow in the room, and Nikki stirred and started wagging her tail. Then it was gone, and instead of making me get up, Nikki just rolled over and went back to sleep.

Yes, sweetie. I know. You're so much happier there!

So, yes, pilgrim, the reality is I DO believe you saw and experienced what you wrote about.

Addendum to excuses

2005-01-23T07:47:00.001-06:00

Oh, the bane of laziness!

After emailing in my previous post, I did a little searching around. Why, I wondered, is my Privacy Service preventing me from logging in to my own blog to post? And why can't I play games?

It seems at some point I blocked blogger.com from setting cookies on my computer! So, I cleaned THAT up, and voila! Here I am, posting from the dashboard, and all is well with the world.

The games thing was a little harder to solve... but, I did. So, now I can blog away, and play Gin to my hearts content.

If I were a cat, I'd purr.

Excuses, excuses, excuses...

2005-01-23T07:16:00.000-06:00

In November, 2004, my home computer crashed. I had noticed it slowing down significantly and I knew I have a fairly robust computer. Then, my privacy software notified me that it suspected there was at least one spyware app on it, so I downloaded a spyware detector. Sure enough, there was not one, not two, but over 250 separate spyware or spyware related software that had found a home on my harddrive. I wiped them. My computer returned to it’s regular robust behavior. And then 2 days later, crashed. Like a brick. Bam. Dead.

Thanks to the rather remarkable folks at Dell, who had already seen this phenomena (the spyware detector I had purchased was from a major spyware provider! And it was unstable on WinXP systems.) I was able to get into my system JUST enough to back up all my files to CD. I could only get about 300 Mb per CD, as opposed to the normal 750, but hey, who cares? I got my data safe and sound.

And then, I completely wiped my harddrive, and reloaded it from the ground up. Somehow, unfortunately, and I really would like to know how THIS happened, but I LOST one CD of data… the one that had the most important stuff on it! Oh well. I still search from time to time… it’s bound to turn up, I guess. Or not.

Why do I write about this? It’s totally NOT in keeping with my normal themes. Well, one side effect of this is that for some reason, I absolutely can not do some things I used to do. I can’t go to Yahoo!Games and play my Gin, or Collapse… or any other game for that matter.

And I can’t get logged in to blogger.com in order to post. I can’t do it with Firefox. I can’t do it with Explorer. It’s really rather irritating. I’m relegated to posting here only from work.

Until Friday. That’s when I (re)discovered that I could post via EMAIL! So, this is my first post from email, on a weekend, from home for over 3 months. Trouble is… I don’t really have anything to say. Just felt like burning a little bandwidth to explain why I don’t usually post on weekends.

So… Pilgrim. I stand by my earlier post to you. If you find your path to God In Us travels through Judaism, or Jewish Mysticism, then that is the road you need to travel. I can not, nor do I wish to, judge you for that. God brings all who listen to God along many routes. My path leads one way, yours another. And yet, the two paths converge inexorably at a single point.

I do believe that there are paths that don’t lead to this singular place I call God In Us. But those paths are reserved to those who choose not to listen to the siren song of love reverberating in our bones… the primal homing beacon of God’s Love.

Those who do choose to listen and to follow that beacon will get to the destination. And I think it’s rather remarkable, my friend, that even if we choose different paths we can still travel together.

So now, we operate with two separate metaphors, eh? We dance together to different tunes, or we travel together on different paths. Perhaps we can dance together on our separate paths?

Response to a fellow Pilgrim

2005-01-20T09:05:00.000-06:00

Hey, Pilgrim!

I'm sorry it's taken me two days to get back to you. We were at church Tuesday until nearly midnight, then yesterday my boss was hanging over my shoulder all day. Last night, it was back to church for a meeting with our outgoing pastor, then a study group on "Grace". I was home by 8:45, but just too wiped out to attempt anything deep.

Yes, I stand by my assertion that it's all about the journey, or as I write here, it's all about the dance. How each of us finds God is an individual thing. In all of us, God resides at a deep inner place. Finding and communing with God In Us is the journey we are on; how we find that place is not important, as long as we find it. Finding God In Us is the only task we, as humans, undertake that matters.

Jesus told us, according to John 14:6ff, "I am the Way and the Truth and the life. No one comes to the Parent except through me." Now, it's not my intention to use scripture as clobber text to "keep you from making a mistake". Rather I use this text first as a jumping off place. You've been devoutly Christian most of your life, with a few periods when you felt alienated, either from God or the church. Perhaps at times, you've felt that it was one and the same thing. I obviously don't know this, it is just what I have perceived from your blog entries.

As one who has had a close walk with God as a Christian, how do you feel about losing/giving up your beliefs in Jesus in order to convert to Judaism? How about Eucharist? How will it's loss effect you? You've expressed at least once how you MISSED Eucharist in the past couple of months. Are you able to forego it? No matter how much I've tried to find other truths, other ways to God, I come back to Christ mainly because Jesus's love for me has drawn me inexorably.

Christianity has many faults. We live more by the breaking of the teachings of that faith than by the following. Our churches are rife with false understanding of Jesus' teachings. I think all religions, however, can say the same thing, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, etc. All fall short of their core teachings.

What does Christianity offer that the others don't? Anything? And I ask this, not from how Christianity is currently lived, but from the perspective of the core teachings of the faith, uncluttered (to whatever degree possible) by the detrita of millenia of addition by humanity. In other words, if I go back to the Gospels themselves, what does Jesus offer me that all the others don't?

I think that is the core belief that all of us, all of humanity, are flawed and basically hopelessly selfish, and YET... and yet, God Loves us anyway. There's nothing we can do to deserve anything from God, and yet God gives us everything. It's the concept of Grace, Pilgrim, that I believe to be the unique factor of Christianity. There's nothing we have to do to make ourselves worthy of God. We can't, Jesus did.

Having said that, and going back to John 14, Jesus is the way the truth and the life. But the next verses are even MORE of a key to unlocking Jesus than that phrase, a phrase by the way used by Christians to condemn all non-Christian peoples. The next verses say: "If you really knew me, you'd know my parent as well. In fact, from now on, since you do know me, you DO know my parent, you've SEEN my parent."

What I understand from that statement is this. Jesus is saying "I AM the parent. I, the PARENT, am the only way to the Parent, I, the parent, am the only truth, the only life. There's no other way to Me, than THROUGH Me." In other words, John 14:6 is not a clobber text for the non-Christian; it's a simple statement of truth.

God is the way to God. Turn to God, and God will bring you to God's self. However you do that, turn to God. If that means you find God in Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, and any of the faiths I've left out, then that is how you find God.

Finding God, the Journey We All Must Undertake, is the only thing that matters. Finding God at the end of the Journey or at the beginning, or at any place in between is the only goal that counts.

To me, this means that there are many roads to follow on this journey. All will get you to your destination, God. But only if you pay attention.

Good luck on your path, my friend. I look forward to whatever time I can spend walking it with you. Even vicariously.

Your Fellow Pilgrim

Well, I didn't have the time, but I did it ANYWAY!

2005-01-19T02:00:00.000-06:00

Withdrawn (I) 59.46% Outgoing (E) 40.54%
Imaginative (N) 60% Realistic (S) 40%
Emotional (F) 67.65% Intellectual (T) 32.35%
Improvised (P) 51.35% Organized (J) 48.65%

Your type is: INFP

You are an Idealist, possible professions include - information-graphics designer, college professor, researcher, legal mediator, social worker, holistic health practitioner, occupational therapist, diversity manager, human resource development specialist, employment development specialist, minister/priest/rabbi, missionary, psychologist, writer

Take Free Career Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Okay, now, I know there are at LEAST two folks out there who read my blog, who know me well enough to comment on this... so, ladies, I EXPECT a response from you! Is this ME, or is this NOT me. You may respond Annie Onamously, if you wish.

A response of sorts

2005-01-14T10:55:00.000-06:00

I see my comments on children inspired a new friend to address the same topic. Cool! He's a great guy, from what I've read of him. As I follow his life (his blog is a little more informative of that than mine is of my life) I am moved, often nearly to tears, by his concern for his spouse.

Well, turn about is fair play, I guess, so today's post is inspired by Jeremy's. As I "put pen to paper", or in 21st Century-ese, fingers to keyboard, I have no clue where this will go, how long it will be or anything. We'll find out together, I suppose. As such, this will be a two part post.

First, to address one of Jeremy's "rants". Yes, what P. Harry did was inconceivably stupid. One expects better of someone of his background. I think. There are few comparisons in the world to P. Harry and his brother. As royalty, so much is expected of them from an early age. Tons more than is expected from just about any other child. In recognition of this, throughout his childhood, the media, for the most part, gave him a lot more privacy than a royal should expect; this was especially true after his mother was killed. Perhaps that wasn't as good a thing as it was assumed to be. You see, I think he grew up thinking that somehow he was immune to the media's attention. Perhaps he grew up, even, thinking he was... well... normal. I could wear that stupid costume to the costume party. It would be just as stupid and inconceivable for me. But I could get away with it. The media wouldn't be there, and even if the same picture was taken of me, the media wouldn't have purchased it. Who'd have cared?

Maybe Harry, accustomed to being coddled by the press, thought it wouldn't matter.

Now, mind you, I am in NO WAY WHATSOEVER excusing what he did. It was, as I state above, mind-bogglingly stupid. He needs to apologize. Not to me. And not, really, to the world. But specifically to all who suffered under the iron fisted cruelty of the NAZI party.

But the place to do that is NOT in Auschwitz in two weeks. The palace has that right. You see, when the world commemorates, in a couple of weeks, the 60th anniversary of the liberation of that camp, the focus needs to be on what happened all those years ago. The world needs to address that wrong, remember those who suffered, and reflect on the ongoing genocidal suffering in numerous places today. It doesn't need to focus on the stupid behavior of a spoiled English royal. That is, however, what will happen on Jan 27 when he shows up. The focus will not be on what happened 60 years ago, but rather what happened a few days ago at a stupid party. And that will lessen both the suffering of millions and of the memory of Auschwitz.

No. Harry needs to go to Auschwitz a few weeks later, when it can be about him and his stupid actions, and stand in the middle of the ovens, or the gas chambers, or on the fields where the barracks once stood and face the cameras and the world and tell the world in HIS own words what happened 60 years ago, why it was wrong, and that what he did was stupid and unthinking and that he is sorry for it. Perhaps a few HEART FELT tears would be a good idea. For all of us should stand in those places, and weep. Weep for the realization that when we promised, in 1945 "Never Again!" we lied. We allowed it to happen again. And again. And again. And it still is happening. We still are killing, or standing by twiddling our thumbs, or perhaps tsk-tsking, as people kill millions of other people.

And then the world needs to forgive him.

My life in seminary

2005-01-14T10:49:00.000-06:00

Jeremy told a bit of his story about his first seminary experiences. That has inspired me to reflect on my own, especially as those experiences led, ultimately, to my own estrangement from my Catholic Heritage. In some ways, however, this won't be as detailed as Jer's.

I grew up in a strongly Catholic home. My dad converted to Catholicism after he married my mother. I attended Catholic elementary and secondary schools, living at a boarding school for the first 3 years of my high school experience.

Throughout all those years, I considered the priesthood. Indeed, when I left the Catholic high school I was attending to finish my senior year at a public school, it was precisely because of that consideration. I'd spent so much time enfolded in the stifling arms of my church that I'd not experienced the world. Perhaps a year with "normal" kids would help me to decide.

After high school, I started to college, not yet sure what I wanted to do. At the end of my first full year of college, I was finally faced with making a decision. Priesthood or... or what? Something else. How I came, finally, to decide upon the something else is a long story, and to be honest no longer really all that important today.

I remained, however, fervently devout to my Catholic heritage. I prayed the rosary daily. I found ways to make it to mass nearly every day. I went on to marry, and entered the US Army.

But a voice that I could only define as God's voice was always whispering... always drawing me back to a vocation. My military career was, well, not stellar. I never failed. It just didn't show much promise. On top of that, our marriage collapsed, and in the end we divorced. I had the marriage annulled.

And, in 1987, when I wrapped up my 4 year commitment to the US Army, I set out to answer that calling. It was a hard row to hoe. Many things got in the way. I first looked into the Franciscan order. That I was newly out of the closet coupled with the fact I'd worked professionally with the Boy Scouts after the army put the kabosh on that. It raised "red flags". Gay. Works with boys... you know. Then, I applied to the Dominicans. I was too old (I was 30.)

My sights turned to diocesan ministry. I was accepted by the Archdiocese of my birth, Omaha. But instead of immediately entering the seminary, they wanted to get to know me better, after all, I'd been married. And, while my marriage was annulled (hence, theoretically in the eyes of God and the Church it had never happened) that was a concern to them.

Finally, in 1991, after returning from a stint in Desert Storm (I was still in the Reserves) I entered a Benedictine run seminary to do "Pre-theology", namely all the philosophy requirements. The fog of time has, happily, blanketed much of my memories from that year, but one thing stands out... the reason I left.

I befriended a younger seminarian (keep in mind, I was 32... an old man in the seminary!) who was experiencing confusion about his sexuality, and was pretty well spurned by his classmates. I told him I was gay. That's it. Nothing else. I told him I was gay, because he was telling me that he was gay. He, however, assumed that my self-confession was really a ploy to bed him down, so he told the authorities. I was asked to leave.

It took 2 more years before my Archdiocese would permit me to try again. Two years of EXCEEDING their expectations. They asked I see a counselor to determine if I was a "risk". I chose to, in addition to that, see the therapist not for the 4 meetings they required, but every 2 weeks for 2 years... I also chose a Spiritual Director from among a list of approved priests of the diocese, and immediately signed a request that the SD report, in writing (my idea, not the diocese's) monthly to the Vocation Director. We did THAT for 2 years, meeting monthly, sometimes more. I opened my soul to them. When the Vocation Director scheduled a get together for all potential and current seminarians and invited me... I called up and volunteered to help out in any way I could. I tried to exceed expectations. I succeeded.

In 1994, my efforts paid off, and I was given a scholarship to St. Meinrad School of Theology in Indiana... I would be the first from my diocese to attend that school.

I settled in to my room easily, a few days before I was supposed to arrive. Immediately I began making friends. I was determined to honor my sexuality but to not make an issue of it. I would not deny who I was, but it needn't, I felt, be broadcast, either.

But it didn't take long before it became clear that a number of the folks in our class WERE gay. One was a very much out, gay ex-lawyer, who's partner of numerous years had died from AIDS related illnesses. And then, my staying quiet came to haunt me.

The first person I became friends with came to me one night. Several others and he had spent several hours contriving a list of "all the queers" in the class. He was asking me for my opinion on the list. Oddly enough, MY name wasn't there! My silence had a price.

The next year became an ugly year... the class was split in two with a great deal of anger, yes even hate between the two groups... the gays and their allies on one side and the 'phobes and their allies on the other. Their side, the phobes', was much, much smaller... but as is so often the case, much louder.

Our split was so extreme that the good monks who ran the seminary brought in outside mediators to attempt to help us. It didn't work. But it did quiet down the fight... to a low seething mass.

Into this mix, in the spring of 1995, came an Archbishop and 2 bishops sent on the behest of the US bishops conference to determine if there was a problem at St. Meinrad. There were two concerns. First that the place was rife with homosexuality, and second that heresy had found a home within the walls. The heresy of... FEMINISM!

To my horror, the archbishop was none other than MY archbishop, the Archbishop of Omaha, E.... F...... C...... I was dispatched to collect him and his cohorts from the airport, an hour or so away.

The Archbishop immediately took to me, taking me, as the older man I was, into his confidence. The investigation lasted the better part of the week. At the end of the time, I took him and his fellow bishop back to the airport, and along the way, the Archbishop confided to me their findings. The other bishop was strangely silent. That night, upon my return to the seminary, there would be a gathering of all seminarians, and the Rector would inform us of the findings and recommendations.

I was to call the Archbishop back after this gathering, and, after identifying myself with a catch phrase reminiscent of some WWII spy thriller, report on what the Rector said.

Upon my return to the seminary, I marched myself into the Rector's office and told him about my assignment. He was shocked. (I later learned that the next day the silent bishop called the rector and reported the Archbishop's conversation with me, expressing shock and horror.)

That night, the Rector reported to us the findings, almost word for word, of the gestapo's report. I dutifully called the Archbishop with my report. The Archbishop's response to me is as sharp in my brain today as it was then. "I'll bet I've got the faggots running scared there tonight!"

And that's when it happened. My heart broke, and and a light went out. My love affair with the church of my heritage was irreparably torn asunder that night. It just took me another year to realize it.

In the weeks that came after that fateful night, I learned the Rector had put me on "suicide watch". Every night, several times during the night, a monk from the abbey would come to my room, let himself in, and make sure I was alive. I didn't know this until later. Also, several of my best friends were given keys to my room, and they, too, checked on me when I was sleeping. I didn't realize, of course, how depressed I was, but everyone else knew.

Well, the summer came, I met the man who I'd eventually join in committed love. That summer, too, I attended a gathering of seminarians from my diocese at which the Archbishop mentioned above spoke. He addressed us with an explanation of what had transpired at St. Meinrad from his perspective, regaling the little fascists amongst us with horror stories of the rampant heresy and homosexuality of the place. And he ended with the phrase. "Gays have rights, women have rights, hell, even dogs have rights. The only ones who DON'T have rights around here are bishops." I nearly puked.

Maybe he didn't say hell. Maybe he just said heck.

I returned to St. Meinrad the following fall. Much to my chagrin, folks that were supposed to have not come back did indeed return. Our old tensions were there, and to some degree intensified. On top of the anger and hate, now rested a layer of bitterness and resentment.

I was now open in my sexuality, though living up to the expectations of chastity.

Finally, in February of that second year in seminary a great confluence of events occurred that brought me to the precipice, brought me to that place of life-altering decision.

The first was entering into a program that required me to travel into a major town an hour away, once a week, to "do ministry" in the hospital. This ministry was a mini-introduction to a program called "Clinical Pastoral Education". While everyone else made their way through several different wards, ministering to numbers of people, I was asked to take on one individual, a young, very handsome man, who had AIDS. He'd been diagnosed HIV+ as early as 1983, and was then living with AIDS for 6 years. For 1995, that was extremely remarkable. He touched me in numerous ways.

The second event was an assignment from a professor. He was a Methodist minister working in a catholic seminary. We each drew a card from a pile, then had to write a very long paper about how we'd handle that circumstance. My card read "After Sunday mass, as you are closing up the church a young 15 year old boy comes to you and confesses that he is struggling with homosexual thoughts. How do you respond." Wow. What an assignment. I had the entire semester to research this issue. In the end, my response was totally contrary to Catholic teaching. I got an A+. I realized, however, that I would NOT be able remain faithful to the magisterium, that I would, in all circumstances address the issue by telling the truth I understood. That there need be no struggle with homosexuality, that it was entirely acceptable, indeed pleasing in God's eyes to embrace one's sexuality, not to struggle with it.

And finally, the third event. Our class was attending a mandatory seminar on human sexuality when the class feud broke out from it's hiding place. Epithets were hurled, anger ruled. When it was over, we had mass.

I attended and sat enthralled as the priest, visiting from Washington DC, prayed the Eucharistic Prayer. The long version. From memory, with the Sacramentary closed. With deep passion, a passion that moved me to tears. I wept, uncontrollably, as, at the moment the priest elevated the bread I knew. I KNEW that God spoke to me. God's words were "You will never do that."

And the world as I knew it crashed about me, the walls came tumbling down, and my soul lay in ruins.

A therapist who was in the mass saw, comprehended my experience and immediately came and sat with me until the church was empty, even my friends leaving. I wiped away my tears, thanked the therapist, and left that hallowed place. I wandered listlessly down to the Rector's office. He was at his desk. He ushered me to some easy chairs and we sat down.

I told him that I was leaving, that I'd go to my room and pack that very night. I told him I knew I'd not be able to go on to ordination. His words helped, indeed they initiated immediate healing.

"Eric, I've known hundreds of men who have walked these halls. Almost from the first moment they enter the door, I have a sense as to their calling and their future. When I first saw you, I knew you weren't called to the priesthood. Not everyone who enters this building are. But all are called by God to come here. All who walk here are brought by God to fulfill some purpose, to follow a call to serve God, either in active ministry, or in personal growth. The latter is no less significant that the former.

"I knew you weren't called to the priesthood, but I knew you were being called to bring blessing to yourself and to us. Your spirituality has grown here, and been a source of humility to many of us, seminarian, faculty and monk alike."

He convinced me to finish out the term, as I'd receive a MA at the end.

I never regretted those two years. And I love St. Meinrad with the love and fervor with which I once loved the entire Catholic church.

Frumpiness

2005-01-10T14:03:00.000-06:00

Children. "Suffer the little children..." I must confess, there have been times I have wondered about that turn of phrase. Oh, I know it's from the old King James, and therefore an older understanding of the word "suffer" must be considered. But even so, the phrase is odd to me.

For nearly nine years now, the majority of my church attendance has been in a church where generally there are few children. This drought of children has changed me.

As I grew up, in my 20's and 30's, I adopted many of the attitudes of my parents. I would always fume over the squealing children in church. They were interfering with MY experience of worship. They must be quieted! They must be made to understand that there's no room for screeching in God's House!

Then came MCC Omaha. No, well FEW, screeching children. In fact for months on end there would BE no children. I didn't realize how much I missed them.

Then, about a year ago, I attended church with Mom & Dad at a new catholic church in Scottsdale, AZ. The demographics of this fine church were obviously very young. I found myself welcoming, enjoying even the crying of the children, the supposedly "inappropriate" carrying on of these little ones.

I was very attentive to the presence of children there. On this day, I was reminded of "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." (Matthew 19:14). I also couldn't help thinking "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord." And even a child's cry in the House of God is a joyful noise, for it is redolent of life itself.

At the end of the service, I had a little time to look around. At the rear of the sanctuary (typical of modern construction... very warehouse-like and absent charm) was the Eucharistic Chapel.

This was walled off from the primary sanctuary by what my memory says was two layers of heavy glass or pleas-glass. Etched into the glass were leaves and branches.

I gazed through this wall at the interior. There, in the center of the tastefully appointed chapel was a column, artfully designed to look like the trunk of a tree... or perhaps a very old vine trunk. This housed the Tabernacle. Springing from the top of the column was a structure designed to provide continuity between the trunk and the branches and leaves on the glass wall... the entire effect being to elicit the concept of a vine and branches... or perhaps the Tree of Life.

A little boy of less than 6 was in the chapel. He was quite taken with the "trunk". In short order he learned to open a door on the "trunk" and was confronted with a metal structure. It didn't take long for him to figure out THIS mechanism, either, and soon the Tabernacle lay open, it's contents on display. I was aware of the consternation of those around me, as the parents rushed for the door.

Then a man I had not previously been aware of in the chapel reached the lad first, and took his hand. The wall prevented overhearing his words, but he pointed to the contents of the tabernacle.

I imagine his words, based on the appearance of his face, and the fact there was no apparent fear in the boy, were explanatory of the mystery there enshrined.

When I first wrote of this (much of the above is an edited form of something I wrote in my journal nearly 2 years ago) I was really more alert to the significance of the "tree/vine" imagery.

Today, as I resurrect this tale in order to "jump-start" my blogging again, however, I'm more attuned to the child. To the raucous cacophony of numerous children. To the beauty of little voices in the staid and stale sanctuaries of our churches, so many of which are today devoid of any real life.

I imagine those voices, the children's voices, as metaphor... the metaphor of absence. These voices are a metaphor for what is absent in our churches... yes, oft-times my church, too.

The Holy Spirit is often depicted as a dove, or as a wind or fire. But perhaps the Spirit might better be depicted as children at play. The joy of discovery, the ribald joy of life itself exhibited by children at play might better depict our God far more nobly than the stuffy, frowning faces of most adults at worship.

Our God... MY God... is a God of joy and play. A God who delights far more in surprising us with gifts of exquisite beauty and love and forgiveness far beyond anything we might deserve.

To ..... or NOT to....

2004-12-21T10:10:00.000-06:00

Ah, faithful reader... if there are any! It has been a while since last I wrote.

The past two weeks have been a time of contemplation, of soul-searching; of discouragement and defeat and of exhaustion. Not a time that I normally am able to create or write. My mind, during these times, pulls in on itself choosing to go into hibernation in order to rejuvenate.

My friend, my pastor, has resigned her position. My church has lost a valuable asset. This happened a week ago, and I haven't been able to write about it... haven't known what to write about it.

And truth told, I'm still not sure what to say. I'm not sure what my future at my church is, if there is one, or what.

It has brought so much to light, the anger I feel towards others, the disappointment I feel that after so much work done over the past several years, we still don't know how as a congregation to behave towards each other. I'm not sure if I have the energy to try again.

And yet, I got an email today from someone, from a person that has taken to posting a daily thought (or thoughts) to a list I'm on. This individual's thoughts are usually of the "ho, hum" variety. But today, the thought seemed to speak right TO me.

It was about forgiveness. Forgiveness is something I'm no stranger too. By and large, I forgive almost as fast as I get angry. I almost NEVER carry anger past bedtime. And even when I do, it generally only takes a few days.

But, there are some noteable differences. Right now, I wonder if I'll EVER forgive those I perceive as being behind our current difficulties at church. And while I usually have no problem appending to the previous sentence a statement like "Well, I KNOW I will." Right now, I can't do that.

I've forgiven most people in my life. I've forgiven all my childhood hurts. I only remember ONE person from that period who wronged me, and I can't feel anything other than pity and sadness for him.

I've forgiven just about everyone from my teens. In deed, I've forgiven all individuals that harmed me then, but still need to work on forgiveness toward them as a group... it's coming. Sometimes forgiving means leaving. Choosing to put something behind me by not putting myself in a position to remember. Because remembering can sometimes be a strong fuel.

Heck. I have even forgiven the man who raped me when I was 17. What he did was wrong, but in a funny sort of way, he did me a small favor.

But I've never forgiven the archbishop of Omaha. I know I should, but I hold that anger like a warm blanket around me. I've allowed it to morph into a hatred that transcends mere anger. I've allowed the anger towards "that monk" at Conception to moulder about my feet.

I've even forgiven the people at St. Meinrad, fellow students, who harbored such hate. I look at them, their memories in my mind, and know they never knew they hated me... which I guess is part of my anger towards them... but I've forgiven that. That was MY problem, not theirs... no, not really.

But now I look at these folks at my church. I resent them so. In fact, it may well be that I hate some of them.

"Forgive us our sins, as WE forgive those who have harmed us."

Yeah, I know. It's time to remember that the end can come... most likely WILL come like a thief; I'll not know the hour of it's coming. To be harboring the hatreds and angers then will be a costly burden to bear. Will God look in to my heart and say "Well, you've done so much right, and so much wrong... and frankly, I can forgive you all your wrong, Eric. But YOU said to forgive you to the degree you forgive others... and you haven't forgiven others."

I fear that. I don't fear answering to God for who I am, who I love. I fear answering to God for whom I DON'T love. And that's sad. Because MY God is not one to be feared. MY God is one to look at, gaze upon in wonder and awe. Because MY God is a baby in a manger who lived to show ME how to live.

So, once again, I vow. I swear I WILL find it in me to forgive that bishop, that monk. That group of students who, as individuals were human, but as a herd (yes, a herd) were less than human to me. I forgive them too.

And tomorrow, I guess, I'll forgive that bishop, that monk and that herd again. And the day after. And the day after. And then, maybe someday someone or something will remind me to forgive them all over again... because it took a lot of work to come to hate them this much; it stands to reason, it'll take a lot of work to put that hate aside. Who knows... perhaps in forgiving, I'll come to forgive the Roman Catholic Church, as well.

And those folks at church. I'll work at not letting my anger grow to something that is crippling. And I'll work to forgive them, too.

I wonder if they'll put as much effort into forgiving me?

Almost but not quite....

2004-12-09T13:42:00.000-06:00

This morning's drive to work was marked by the dreary overcast so common to this time of year. Gray clouds lowered over the interstate; trees hunkered down, wrapped in the not-quite-fog, their empty arms upraised in praise, or perhaps surrender. My tires hummed on the damp pavement as I struggled to find the right fit, not too fast, not too slow.

My mind drifted back to the study at church last night, the study of the book of Hebrews. We summarized the past several weeks study as we wrapped up this interesting book, and we remarked on the appropriateness of some verses to our current situation at church. "We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God's word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil." We are, it was agreed, a vicious throng, devouring those who should be leading us, binding them in chains, leading them away into a captivity of spirit that lesser folks would shrink from.

Alas, our study didn't lead to any solutions, just a gnawing sense that something has to change. We'll overcome, we'll move ahead, grow new membership, then repeat the whole process.

One of the church signs I watch for new kernels of enlightenment proclaimed the following:

Jesus - First
Others - Second
Yourself - Last

I thought about that. There's reality in it, as there almost always is in the pithy little pericopes of thought these signs share. It also seemed to me how easy it is for us to get wrapped up in the first and third, but forget the second. Yet, when we put other's first, above all else, we just naturally find ourselves putting Jesus first, after all.

This past Sunday it was again my job to organize the breakfast for our homeless constituents. I did something I hadn't done the previous numerous times I've cooked... I turned over the serving to others.

And I left church feeling so unfed.

It dawned on me, it's in the serving of others that I've been meeting Jesus each week. "Good morning, sir!" "Good morning, Ma'am!" "Have a nice day!" These little comments, so innocent, seemingly meaningless, are most profound when sincerely applied to those our society chooses NOT to respect, or care about. Whatsoever you do...

Another topic last night was equality. We considered that we as a people pay such lip service to this concept. We profess equality of all people, yet don't try to be too equal, you've overstepped your place!

These folk who come in, they deserve respect, they deserve to be treated as my equal. Not because they have succeeded at something, the normal standard of equality, the normative measure for deserving respect. They deserve respect and recognition of their equality, not for what they have done or contributed, or are likely to contribute, but rather they are deserving of respect for the simple fact that they exist. They are humans, created in God's image, and made little lower than the angels themselves.

Melchizedek. From "Malek" and "Tsedeq". King and Righteousness. Old Melchy is mentioned more in Hebrews than in any of the rest of scripture. Considered by some to be a precursor of the Christ, who, like the Christ, came out bearing bread and wine and blessing. How many other times, we asked ourselves last night, has the Christ been made manifest, in hidden forms, to this earth?

Might, we asked, the various suppositions of angelic involvement in human affairs really be the Christ? No resolution to that, either, how could there be? Yet, it seemed to me, the answer is yes. And no. No, because the stories we were specifically considering are of people who more or less miraculously appear, fix a problem or assist in a burden, then disappear from our lives. That seems to me to be a succinctly angelic function.

But I do believe the Christ has appeared to us in other forms than old Melchy or Jesus. I think he's the hitchhiker under the bridge whom I passed by. I think he's that homeless man in the serving line who doesn't say anything but smiles the most beautiful smile.

It's THAT Christ that I hope I'm reaching when I ladle up the next serving of sausage or eggs or potatos.

And speaking of potatos... our guests didn't much like our potatos on Sunday. They were very much undercooked. And the orange juice was, well, a bit watery.

"Well, beggars can't be choosers... at least they left with a full stomach."

If I threw a dinner party, and the potatos were undercooked, and the beverage watered down... I'd be utterly embarassed... so would those who dismissed it Sunday.

How do I tell those who dismiss undercooked potatos and watery OJ, how do I express what is in my heart? "Beggars can't be choosers..." The whole thought is condescending. Coming into this act of servitude with that mindset, that condescending attitude is absolutely the wrong way to go about it. For one thing, I believe it's a prescription for burnout.

I'm not serving beggars. I'm serving Jesus. I don't want to give him/her undercooked potatos and watery OJ. My Sunday breakfast isn't only about getting food to the hungry. These breakfasts are, for me, about the homeless. They're about loving service.

No, I don't want to serve undercooked potatos or watery juice to Jesus. And I don't want to give him divided attention and a distant heart.

The answer is....

2004-12-02T13:32:00.000-06:00

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?

Baa Baa Black Sheep... that's ME!

2004-11-30T13:59:00.000-06:00

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.

Green Acres is the place for me.... Gr...

2004-11-23T10:12:00.000-06:00

Well, it's been a while since I blogged last. Nearly two weeks. I'm not sure, really, why it's been that long. The day after my last post, I left for a trip to Houston, and got back the following Tuesday. Then there was LOTS of work to get caught up on, both at the office, and at church... But, that's that, now's now, and I'm ready to post again.

The focus of my thoughts for the past couple weeks, off and on, have been on the issue of marriage. Of course, we all know the negative focus afforded that topic in this past mudslinging fest, also known as an election. That probably got my mind on the topic.

Then, at the retreat I was on in Houston, we (a group of 52 mostly GLBTIEtc folk) shared the facility with International Marriage Encounter. The first night there, we were lectured on the importance of NOT displaying public affection for each other. Instead we were subjected to the PDA's of straight couples. This irritated me immensely. But that angst is not the topic of this column today, so the heck with it.

Since returning from Houston, I've been reading the blog of a guy who was getting married last weekend. He posted many endearing blogs this past week as the excitement built, then some thoughts since the ceremony concluded.

So... marriage has been on my mind a lot, lately.

What, exactly IS marriage? And what is it we, as gay folk (and all the rest of the alphabetic cohorts of ours) want in marriage? Okay, I'm not going to answer those questions for anyone but myself. Obviously, I can't answer for anyone else.

And my column is not the place for a scholarly evaluation of marriage, either. So if I leave something out, and you happen to come across this blog, see that something is missing, well... get over it. :D

Very loosely stated, I see marriage comprising 3 elements, not all of which are present to each marriage.

First, marriage is between two individuals. It's two people coming together and saying "We want to commit ourselves to each other, to living and loving together." It's probably, in this stage, mostly exclusive to the two. I say mostly exclusive, because I won't rule out that some couples enter into this relationship with an open understanding that there will be others. That's not part of what I want to discuss. So, marriage is between two people.

Second, marriage is the joining of two people together, as in the previous paragraph, in the sight of God or a Higher Power, and for these individuals, it is an agreement to honor their relationship with each other and God as a commitment of some type.

Third, marriage is the joining of two people together as sanctioned by the state.

And this is really the point that began my interest in this blog.

Call it sour grapes... the "Theology of Sour Grapes" or the "Politics of Sour Grapes" or just plain "Sour Grapes". Either way, I just don't see it.

Yes, it would be nice if I could enter into a marriage contract with my partner that is recognized by the state. It would be cheaper if I could, there'd be lots of convenience things, but that's about it.

What's important to me is the first two options. And I have those. I celebrated a Holy Union with my partner in 1997. That means that my relationship with Scott is every bit as valid as anyone who stood before a minister and was "officially" married.

The state has no business in marriage, and needs to get out.

Radical Beliefs

2004-11-10T10:10:00.000-06:00

Micah 6:7-8

Would GOD be impressed with thousands of rams,with buckets and barrels of olive oil?
Would [GOD] be moved if I sacrificed my firstborn child,my precious baby, to cancel my sin?

But [GOD]'s already made it plain how to live, what to do, what GOD is looking for in men and women.
It's quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love,
And don't take yourself too seriously--take God seriously.
(The Message)

I grew up in a staunch Republican home. I also grew up in a time when wives TENDED (I don't mean to generalize, here) to vote the path their husbands voted... at least, all the parents who provided role models to me... mom & dad, aunts & uncles, my friends folks. And generally, the kids I knew sided with their parents... so, I was a staunch Republican... and my favorite cousin was a staunch Democrat. It was during those formative years that developed (and maintain) a strict abhorrence of political discourse. Voicing opinions about political issues always induced argument. And I hated arguments... especially with those I love!

As I grew older, my political views became more and more my own. And by the time I left active duty in the US Army (I was a captain! - just had to brag, a little) I was confirmed in my conservativism.

But almost immediately, I was confronted with a new viewpoint... and that conservativism came under assault. Being the good little Catholic boy I was... and seeing as how I was feeling called to the priesthood... I got involved with my local church... and my pastor felt I would be an asset to the parish's Social Justice Committee.

Imagine, if you will, an arch-conservative, militaristic, and yes, arrogant Republican, joining the Social Justice Committee of a church located in (Gasp!) Berkeley, California! I was SO anathema! And I was on said committee with sociologists from UCB... And it was the height of the Nicaraguan conflicts and all the mess in El Salvador.

I was able to get my point across, and to do so in a positive and non-threatening way... I believe I enriched their perspectives... but I also began to feel the walls of my conservative reality trembling.

I can't, with confidence, point to all the various chips and cracks on that wall along the way, but sometime after 1994, those POLITICALLY conservative walls came tumbling down (there are of course, vestiges of those walls remaining...)

The RELIGIOUSLY conservative walls took a little longer to fall, but fall they have.

In fact, politically I feel the Democratic Party is a bit out-dated and far too conservative. And religiously, I don't really think there are many churches that "get it"... and I don't believe ANY denominations do. Though, some come closer than others.

For instance, I love my pastor deeply, and will follow her and her guidance because I believe she's "got it". But, on the whole, I don't really hold much stock in the position of Pastor... at least not as currently modeled in most churches... I really believe that we, as people of God, are the pastors, the leaders.

I also feel that the scriptural reference with which I started this blog entry today is a valid model for our churches activities, if not the true model.

By this, I mean that I believe worship is secondary to our church life. Social Action, Social Justice, Compassion, Fairness... these are the mission we as Christians need to be involved in. These are the actions that Jesus espoused.

Worship leads, if not tempered with copious quantities of Social Action, Social Justice, Compassion and Fairness, to religiosity. It wrongly focuses us on ourselves and doctrine, dogma and rules.

Yet, God calls us to focus on our sisters and brothers in need, in slavery, in subjugation to the basest of powers. Humility (not taking ourselves seriously but taking God seriously,) too, is a necessary ingredient.

Humble involvement in caring for God's children, God's CREATION, is the truest form of worship that I can conceive. I believe this to be true.

Guess I'm just a radical. So was Jesus. I hope I can be counted in that legacy.

If not for the courage of the faithful crew...

2004-11-09T11:16:00.000-06:00

Somehow, I got thinking today about boats. Well, that's a bit overly broad. Specifically, I got to thinking about a particular boat, on a particular lake, with a particular cast of crewmen. More specifically, Matthew 14:22ff.

Not long ago, I read a book entitled, I think, "If you want to walk on the water, you have to get out of the boat". Long name, huh?

I was struck by this story, and what it says about people in general, not just the disciples.

There are 12 folks in what we suppose is a fishing boat. It's not a big boat. By all accounts, it likely not much more than a large row boat. These folks are far out from shore, probably in deep water, it's night time, so the shore isn't visible, perhaps not even lights from shore. The wind is blowing up ferociously, and the "tiny ship was tossed." (credits to Gilligan's Island).

I imagine most of the folks were getting sea sick, and were probably very frightened. All of a sudden, they see their teacher walking towards them on the surface of the water.

Peter, who will soon come to be known as the rock, has had enough of the waves and calls out "Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water."

And the teacher commanded "Come!"

So, in my mind, I see Peter bound out of the boat and start walking towards Jesus; then it hits him. "I can't do this! No one can walk on water!" He looks down, then he sinks like a stone. Only Jesus saves him, pulls him up and helps him into the boat.

For 2000 years, it seems like Peter comes out on the short end of the stick, here. All the homilies and sermons I have heard castigate Peter for taking his eyes off Jesus, for not having faith enough to walk to Jesus.

But there are 11 others, that's 92% of the crew, who were too scared to even try!

Let's look at it another way. This crew of 12 is in a boat at sea in a storm, the boat is tossed viciously in the wind and waves, in the middle of the night. One looks to Jesus, and says "Let me come to you." Ninety-two percent of the crew stays on the boat. They don't know what they may face. For all they know, the boat on which they are being tossed about may break up. Jesus is there, and only 8 percent have the presence of mind to seek him out.

What does that tell me? I'm thinking 100% of us face trials in our life that are too much for us, that have us afraid for our lives, and seem insurmountable. I'm thinking ninety-two percent of us don't ever bother looking to the one we believe we have faith in to rescue us... we don't seek out that one, we don't try to go to that one.

Ninety-two percent of us stay where we are, too frightened by the unknown to look... even to the less known... for help. We stay rooted in fear.

Eight percent of us do turn our eyes on the one and call out for help, wanting to go to that one. Notice Peter's request. It's not "Jesus, if that's you, come to us." He says "Command ME to come to YOU."

And even then, he's not perfect. He falters, even buoyed up by the one's command, he falters. Yet that one still reaches out and lifts him up.

In the end, that one also saves those who aren't calling, who fail to turn their eyes upon the one.

Says something interesting to me about people in general. And it says more to me about that compassionate One, One who works to save not only those who call for help... but those who don't.

A Blessed Weekend

2004-11-08T11:10:00.000-06:00

I just realized that it has been nearly a week since I last wrote or posted to my blog. I wonder why that is.

It's been an eventful week.

First of all, my mom's surgery last Wednesday has come and gone, and proved to be quite anticlimactic. No tumor or cance was found. The surgery was brief, and mom was home by 3. I suspect my new-found hero, Marcus Borg, might disagree with me, but I believe that this lack of cancer was purely miraculous. It was there, now it's not.

I struggled through a boring Thursday and Friday, then Friday evening survived an attack by the killer house cat. Yes, you heard right. I have a major wound on my finger from where this killer chomped down... HARD. In his defense, it was a purely autonomic response caused by a seizure. He didn't mean to bite and cause me 48 hours of intense pain! He's forgiven... was forgiven the moment he released his bite. He never really NEEDED forgiveness!

Saturday, I spent the day preparing the ingredients for a rather large meal. And Sunday morning, I COOKED that rather large meal, feeding about 75 people breakfast... mostly homeless folk.

Now THAT was an experience. It was a GOOD experience. No, it was a GREAT experience. From the arrival at church at 7:15 a.m. until we left.

I had great assistants. Gary was there, and a newer member of our congregation, Michael. Karla got there soon after. And then James, one of the people we feed, showed up... and turned out to be great at cooking. Of course, Scott was there, too, working 5 times harder than I did.

We cooked 40 pounds of potatoes, 200 sausages, 12.5 dozen eggs, and 6 gallons of Orange Juice. And 3 pounds of onions.

But, really, the most awesome part was just to stand in the serving line and watch the reactions of 75 mostly homeless people, children and elderly alike. To plop 2 sausages on a plate and say "Goodmorning, sir (or ma'am)", and to see their smile, and hear their reply, "Thank you". To receive their applause and know that I made a difference that morning.

Is it wrong to say that? I'd have done it even if they didn't respond, but it seemed all that more special to know they appreciated it.

I guess it was that "Eric Camden" moment, needing, wanting to do something for someone else. And realizing that compassion is more than a feeling. It's an action compelled by gratitude.

But it was exhausting, too. I spent most of the remainder of Sunday passed out on the sofa, stirring only to do another load of laundry.

A new definition of a successful weekend to me: Feeling like, for once, I accomplished something of meaning.

It's a good feeilng.

On a new ethos

2004-11-02T11:04:00.000-06:00

Beginning to write today is hard. I want to post something to my blog, but I’m not really sure what to say, or even where or how to begin.

For one thing, I’m already incredibly tired. It’s only 10:30 a.m. and I’ve been up nearly 8 hours already. Really, these early mornings are taking a toll on me, and I’m not sure how to fix it.

Life seems to be changing for me… Again. I discovered late last week that my mom has been diagnosed with cancer. Tomorrow, she’ll be having surgery, and the doctors are hoping to remove all of it. She’s upset, dad’s upset, and I’m a bit worried. This is a hard blow for them. About 4 years ago, it was learned that mom had heart problems, and they’re pretty serious. She’s on medication for them. Two years ago, mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. And now, this. Squamous Cell Carcinoma. If mom didn’t already have all these other issues, I’d likely not be too concerned yet, as according to various sites on the internet, this is very treatable, even if “aggressively malignant”.

Watched “7th Heaven”, last night. This program has become a soapbox for a whole list of societal ills. No episode goes by without some character lecturing on the woes of some issue or another. And sometimes their attempt to tug the heartstrings almost makes one physically ill. And yet, I watch it because it entertains, it’s clean, and remarkably, those little lessons in the plights of this or that group of people are interesting. Maybe not written all that well, or perhaps more to the point, not acted very well. That’s okay. Perhaps that’s the charm.

Last night’s episode was about the underfunded, overworked Children’s Social Services, the Foster Care programs, and the like. Once again, Eric Camden is trying to save the world; this time, it’s 3 orphaned children who can’t live together. At long last, Eric discovers that this is one problem there isn’t a quick fix for. And yet, the fix that he comes up with is fascinating.

What if an entire church community decided to be part of the solution? How novel! A Church community doing something besides filling the pews on Sunday for an hour or three? Okay, I know there are a lot that do just that, MORE that is. But I’m still left with a rather cynical view of the average church. I think the ones that do more are anything but average.

Which brings me to my goal. Marcus Borg, “Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time”. I’m picking up steam reading this one. Marcus has introduced me to a very interesting historical figure, Jesus. And I find myself really connecting to this view of Jesus. Can I sum up this view of Jesus in a line or two? No, Marcus’s view is far too complex for that; but I can sum up one part of who this Jesus is that I find so attractive. The Compassionate Jesus. “Be compassionate, as your Parent is compassionate”. Luke 6:36. Or, as other translations state “Be merciful, as your Parent is merciful”. (I’m providing the inclusive language here, not the translation.) Or, as The Message translates it: “Our Parent is kind; you be kind.” I like that one.

See, that just who Jesus is to me. He’s the teacher telling all those around him, “Hey, folks, God is a kind, compassionate God. You want to be close to God? Be like God. Be kind and compassionate.”

Borg sees Jesus as a “spirit person”, and as a teacher of wisdom, or sage. But he’s not about teaching conventional wisdom, the prevailing wisdom of the society around him. Jesus’s whole message was subversive, an alternative to the wisdom of Middle Eastern society of the 1st century.

It’s remarkable to see the gospels again through this filter of compassion… just about every thing we read in the synoptics is in someway a didactic of compassion.

And that’s what 7th Heaven seems to be about these days. Compassion. Eric seems just about bowled over by the powerful sense of compassion he feels. He can’t seem to really cope with this need to be kind and compassionate. He wants to help everyone and everything around him, and when he can’t his heart seems to break. He’s compelled to act; not by choice but by some seemingly inner force.

It’s a force that is far weaker in me; but I sense it, nonetheless.

Compassion. A politics of living, an ethos that seem so foreign, alien really, to the church of the 21st century. I hope I’m wrong.

SHEKINA

2004-10-30T04:48:00.000-05:00

Wind,
strong and fierce,
the Breath of God.
Hear His voice cry out,
the wind in the trees.
Hear it crying,
sighing,
moaning in the trees.
Walk His trails.
Feel the strength of
His arms
the mountains.
Rest secure,
braced by cool,
fresh air.
Smell the breath of God,
soil, grass, pines.
Hear the song,
the shrill,
piercing,
cry of the hawk
the song of creation's praise,
rising with the winds,
soaring with the hawk,
the clouds joining
Nature's Song of Praise.
Join with her,
be one with Her.
One with God.

In like a, a, a GOOD thing, out like a, a, a BAD thing.

2004-10-29T13:28:00.000-05:00

Over the past couple of months, this space has been generally reserved for my musings on spirituality, with only one side trip into frustration.

I've been relating to this space as a diary, or journal, but one that I willingly shared with any who wished to read. I've tried to open my soul to any who might be interested.

Today, that soul is darkened, saddened. I originally decided not to post today because of my inner gloom... But what good is a journal if it's not a reflection of who I am. Hard to open a window to my soul and then shutter it.

Gloom. Darkness. Despair. Well, gloom and darkness, anyhow. I'm not yet feeling the despair. Who knows? That may come.

This week started off well enough. In fact through yesterday evening, it was progressing along quite nicely. Then we hit the wall.

Well, let me back up just a little. This isn't quite true. The air got turbulent Wednesday afternoon. Kind of like a medium sized pothole on an otherwise smooth road. My visit with my doctor went well enough, and I'm healthy enough, overall, no really bad news. However, he did leave me with the knowledge that if I continue to experience certain symptoms, I may have to have a relatively small surgical procedure on my heart.

This didn't really bother me too much. It's really nothing overly serious, and I'm relatively confident that my medicine will take care of things. But it did make me think a little.

Then, that wall of last night. I got home, and there was a phone message from mom, asking that I call, wanting to know what I'd learned at the doctor's office the night before.

So, I called. Mom's response wasn't quite what I'd expected, a lot calmer than expected. She asked when she'd see me again, and I started to arrange our newly established "Tuesday Night Dinner". She interrupted me and said "Well, I can't keep this up any longer."

She then proceeded to tell me about HER visit to the doctor on Wednesday. She's been diagnosed with "Squamous Cell Carcinoma". Upon reading up on this on the internet, I discover that it is an "aggressively malignant" form of skin cancer that can easily metastasize to inner organs and can be fatal. I also learned that it is relatively easy to treat.

Well, I was okay with this news. Sorry for my dad, whom I know is suffering from this news. Sorry for mom, because, along with her Alzheimer's this is the last thing she needs to have to worry about. But, I felt calm, at peace, knowing that this, too, is in God's hands.

Then, I got to work this morning. Shortly after arriving, and going through my office email, I checked my personal email.

My friend, David, is pastor of a church in Mexico. His partner, Alberto, who suffers from epilepsy, was admitted to the hospital in serious condition earlier this week. This morning's emails informed me that this marvelous young man died yesterday from, presumably, complications from the pneumonia, which in turn was the result of the epilepsy.

And now, I'm feeling gloomy and in a rather dark mood. But, I don't despair. I'm not mouthing platitudes (or, rather, typing them) I'm sincerely not feeling despair over either my mother's cancer OR David's loss of his partner. I do, however, feel remarkably sad. Sad for David. Sad for the loss of Alberto. Sad for my dad. Sad for Mom. Sad for me.

For me it's not a matter of "Life isn't fair," as a very dear friend mentioned. Life ISN'T fair. That's a fact of life. I don't expect anything in life to be fair. I'd be shocked if it were! It's really a matter of dawning awareness. Life isn't only not fair, life is a terminal illness. In the death of a friend, the life threatening condition of my mother, I see my own impermanence. The end of the road is ahead of me. It might be around the corner, or it may be many miles yet. But it's there, and for a fleeting moment, that realization has been crystallized in my consciousness.

Good start, lousy end to this week. And that's the way of life.

Wanna Dance?

2004-10-27T13:15:00.000-05:00

Aurelius (he of snorting fame) used to refer to Liturgy as dance. Nothing should interfere with the Liturgical Dance, he held. Effort must be taken to minimize unnecessary movement. For several years after I left, I strove to encourage this attitude in the church I attend. Finally, I came to realize that we are not a liturgical community. So what if our liturgical dance resembles more a free-for-all than a finely choreographed music hall piece!

Liturgy isn't all that's a dance.

Prayer this morning was going along quite nicely, thank you, until I uttered a phrase that made me stop and think.

"I don't want to dance anymore."

What the hell did that mean, I wondered. Which dance was I tired of?

It's the dance that I do with the Spirit. It's my entire relationship with that Divine Other that has come to be embodied by dance. The movements are finely choreographed. Some cosmic Choreographer has set before me a set of pre-determined steps the flow of which leads inexorably to... Well, that's the problem, what does it lead to.

Ever been to a gay bar, recently? Or watched scenes from Queer as Folk? You know the dance there? Those dances, too, are finely choreographed... though never taught. The rhythm of the music itself teaches the participants the steps; the bodies flow and undulate to the mystic, primal beat.

That music, that dance, as often as not is foreplay. It heats the blood, drives the heart, exercises that part of our mind responsible for the flow of testosterone... I digress.

The spiritual dance of my spirit with The Spirit is like that... It flows to the mysterious beat of the love song sung by that Divine Other. And I want out. Out of the dance.

I want into the bed. I’m tired of the foreplay, I want to immerse myself in that beat, feel the spiritual blood surge against me, hear the pounding of the Other Heart. I want to engage fully in the undulating, primal surge of Spirit love.

"No," my Partner whispers. "You don’t get it."

And it dawns on me.

The dance... It IS the bed.
The dance... It ISN'T foreplay.
The dance... It IS the flow of the love song sung since the dawn of time, coursing through my veins, drawing me to that center place. That Center Place. It’s the beat, that spiritual blood surging, the Other Heart pounding against me. That Other Love entering me, taking me, possessing me... filling me.

The Dance is Life.
The Dance is Unity with Other.

Now is.

Then can’t be until I see it, feel it, sense it, know it as Now.

I need a cigarette.

Rated.... X?

2004-10-26T13:20:00.000-05:00

This week seems to be off to a much better start. Except, this morning, the coffee machine was broken. That's a bad thing... got the jitters! But, it's fixed, so all's well, that ends well!

I just posted a facetious response to another blog. The question was posed "If Jesus was shopping at Amazon.com, what would he buy ('WWJB')" My response was that he'd most certainly buy "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" and "The Gay Man's Kama Sutra."

Okay, maybe he wouldn't buy the "Gay Man's Kama Sutra", but I bet he'd buy some edition of the Kama Sutra.

Some years ago, I became interested in the relationship between spirituality and sexuality. Our society has retained such an odd mix of the old Puritanical revulsion for the latter. Sex sells everything these days, and yet, as a society [America] we have completely divorced it from our view of humanity.

We tend to think of the elements of personal well-being, for example, as being "Emotional", "Mental", "Physical", "Spiritual"... and the like. Seldom do we read a list of human attributes that stipulates the Sexual nature. If we do consider the sexual, we think of it as part of the Physical. I think that's invalid. (Oh, and by the way, I am quite aware that when I speak of "we" in this regard, there are many who ARE aware of the sexual.)

My first realization of this elemental part of my being didn't come to my until well into my life. In fact, it's really only started developing in the past 3 years or so.

But it really hit home one sunny, lazy Saturday afternoon. I had a spiritual experience. My partner and I were engage in slowly, passionately making love when I became aware of that Divine Other present with us. I knew Love at that moment.

I've frequently experienced that Other's Love and presence in the ensuing years.

We are not merely physical or spiritual beings... we are sexual beings, and our sexuality is given us to celebrate our life. Rather than hiding from this, we need to embrace our sexuality. I don't mean promiscuity, though I don't judge that, either. We need to live true to ourselves, physically, emotionally... sexually.

In the beginning, God created... and saw that it was good. It wasn't humanity's nakedness that created the rift. It was humanity's turning from God and allowing externals to come between themselves and God... between humanity and Creation.

!Snort!

So. There!

Et tu, Brute?

2004-10-22T09:13:00.000-05:00

What a crummy week.

TGIF doesn't even begin to express how I feel about today being Friday... And yet, that fact doesn't inspire any real hope, today. I just get to spend a weekend dealing with more of the "same old same old".

I haven't really had much time to write this week, which is too bad, because I've got a couple of different topics bouncing around my intracranial block.

Two come to mind... one, Rage, I'll have to deal with later. Today, a good topic seems to be BETRAYAL.

Because, while on Tuesday my overriding emotional balance was interfered with by a recurring bout with rage, today, my universe is rocked by the realization of betrayal.

Until very recently, I assumed that the people I served on a board of directors with were a team, a cohesive unit dedicated to one thing... service to our organization. I trusted them.

It is a shock to come to the conclusion that I am so utterly naive.

At a meeting this week, 5 of us were present. A decision was reached that a certain situation would be dealt with in a particular way, a way that was pastoral and appropriate... or rather, the person in charge indicated she would deal with said situation in a particular manner, and no one expressed disagreement with that approach.

And yet, one of those five individuals felt it incumbent upon them to run off and, for all intents and purposes, go behind the backs of the board and deal with the situation in a totally different manner... one that was both UNPASTORAL and INAPPROPRIATE.

Of the five, I know which three did NOT do it. That leaves two, one of whom I consider a dear friend, and the other whom I like very much.

I am so hurt and disgusted by this that I don't even know what further to say.

I will be so glad when my office expires in one month.

Funny, betrayal leads directly to that other topic, RAGE. I guess I won't go into that.

God is my Copilot

2004-10-18T13:00:00.000-05:00

Friday I went flying.

It was my first experience flying (as a passenger) in a small plane. The opportunity arose at almost the last minute. I certainly hadn't expected when I got up Friday morning that by noon I'd be in the air.

Friday was a chilly day, relatively strong winds (20 mph) with gusts to 35 mph. I don't like turbulence when I'm in a jet... so, I was a bit concerned prior to takeoff. Sure enough, as our little plane plunged into the sky, things got rough. I grabbed hold of the bottom of my chair, and the back of the pilot's seat, holding on for dear life... but after a few minutes, I was able to calm down enough to enjoy the experience.

At one point in our flight, we approached a sizeable airport runway at a 90 degree angle, then banked left and nosed down to align with the runway. For a brief moment, it felt as though we hung, motionless in the sky.

The key to this is trust. As my stomach churned through that first rough few minutes, I had to rely on the laws of aerodynamics, trusting that those wouldn't change! I also had to trust in my pilot's skills. Surely he wouldn't have taken me up if he wasn't confident in his ability to manage the plane!

I think life is like that. I've seen a few bumper-stickers that read "God is my co-pilot". I've always silently nodded to that thought. After this flight, I was inclined to write that God shouldn't be our copilot, but rather our pilot.

But more reflection has shown me a lot about that. In a way, God IS our pilot... but God is also our copilot. Perhaps, the best comparison is between that of a rookie pilot, learning how to fly, still striving to earn his pilot's license, who is partnered with a far more experienced copilot/instructor.

A copilot can only fly the plane if the pilot relinquishes the controls. In the case of a rookie or student pilot, when conditions become far too extreme for the limited experience of the pilot, the wise thing to do is to relinquish control to the far more experienced pilot. And yet, the rookie always has the right by virtue of the law and tradition, to resume command of the plane at any time.

From my perspective, our daily journey is a lot like that situation. When life is easy, it's fun to fly solo. But at times, life's experiences can get out of hand. Turbulence becomes unbearable, and it seems like our life is going to come crashing down about us... it's normal to seek out the smallest things that we can control. By doing so we hope to gain control of the larger picture. But in times like that, it's good to surrender control to our COPILOT. God is ready to help through those times, but is always ready to give us control back when we want.

To paraphrase scripture, "But for me and my plane, we're turning it over to the copilot!"

!snort!

So. There!

On Definitions

2004-10-14T10:13:00.000-05:00

Spirituality; Faith; That's what my blog has pretty much taken on as a focus. It's what I dwell on, where my thoughts lead me inexorably day by day.

Religion. It's part of that issue of spirituality and faith. But it's not synonymous. For me, and I highly doubt this is unique or original to me, Religion is the cultic manifestation of a belief system, comprised of the rites and practices associated with a particular set of beliefs, dogma and doctrine. In my view, religion is organizational, comprising a plurality; it's corporate practice that may or may not be rooted in actual belief so much as a desire to belong to something meant to give meaning.

Spirituality, on the other hand, while not excluding the organization or plurality, is concerned with things of the spirit that may or may not involve rite, practice, dogma and doctrine. While belief is not an essential element of religion, it is essential to spirituality. Spirituality is relational to Other. It's how we each, as individuals, relate to that Divine Other.

For many, religion and spirituality are exclusive of each other... or seem to be.

In the USA, we've spent 3 years reeling from an act of violence that, at first, united us like we've seldom been united before, but has ultimately led to great disunion. It was perpetrated by a group of individuals who aligned themselves with a group that proclaims itself to be supportive of a particular religion; indeed they view themselves as perveyors of the truth of that religion.

We Americans buy into this, and thus proclaim that the religion in question is evil, that it is a religion of hate and violence. Educated people of faith from that religion, however, deny these claims, proclaiming their faith to be one of peace, one that we westerners don't understand. Yet, each day more and more acts of violence are performed in the name of said religion, reinforcing for us in the USA the belief that it is the terrorists behind the acts that are the true spokesmen for that religion.

Those of us who are Christian see ourselves as people of peace, that peace is one of the central points our Jesus tried to get across. Yet, people in the mideast who hold to another religion have experienced the vicissitudes of war and oppression that those of nominally Christian background have visited upon them. Around the world, many look at Christianity, and are reminded of forced conversions, and enslavement by Christians. From outside, I suspect, an observer can look at both of these religions and draw the conclusion that neither are religions of peace; both are equally violent, with long histories of killing and acts of inhumanity.

Religions really serve best as focal points for individuals. It is the private spiritual lives of the citizens of this world that matter. I've known muslims who were kind, loving, peaceful people. I know Christians who are the same. I've known, or known of, folks of both religions who are hateful, angry, bitter and vengeful. But when we take the time to get to know each other, and look at how individuals relate to that Infinite, Divine Other, we're all much more alike than we realize. All this can be said of all world religions, I suppose, Buddhist, Hindu, Jew, and a host of others I can't recall to name at this point.

All of us are in process of becoming. Some have chosen a road or path towards becoming kind, loving, peaceful folk striving to live at peace with the world around them; others have chosen a road or path towards lashing out at those who do not hold to their own beliefs, or whom they perceive to have wronged them.

In the long run, I suppose, it's not going to be how I practiced the rites of my religion, but how I interacted with that Divine Other, and the world about me. Can I stand apart from myself and perceive one who has tried to walk with integrity a life pursuing union with Divine Other, or will I see a bitter, angry, and spiteful person who demands of others that which I don't generally live myself?

!snort!

So. There!

Process or Product

2004-10-12T09:19:00.000-05:00

Another day, another mile along the journey. Another panel on the window of my life.

I was contemplating this journey this morning on my drive into work. To be a bit more specific, I was considering what I think God expects of us.

It began, really as I lamented that my walk was less than perfect... that I found it too easy to forget to communicate with that Divine Presence in us all. Days go by, sometimes, when I neglect my spirit.

It seems the Christian life as espoused by my childhood church, and most Christian churches, for that matter, spend far too much effort focused on that. Perfection. Perfection is the ideal. It's what is held up to us. My childhood churches has it's saints which are held up to us as examples of what we should strive for.

Posh! Perfection is not possible. Those saints were not perfect. They were ultimately just as flawed as am I or anyone who might stumble upon this blog. It's not the result that matters. In the great scheme of things, from a spiritual perspective, it's not the result that matters to the Divine Presence, and it's not the result that matters to me.

When it comes to spirituality, not religion, mind you, but spirituality... when it comes to the journey with Divinity that I seek, the result is merely the effort. Process. Our journey, our spiritual actualization, is process, not attainment or destination.

The real sin isn't to be imperfect or even to fail to strive to attain perfection. The sin is to not enter into the process.

My friend today told me she's trying to "focus on finding out who I am, defining me... because I don't know who I am." She's decided to enter the process. Because, I believe that ultimately, it's that quest to "find out who I am, define myself" that IS spirituality, it is process. It's participating in the journey to the Divine Presence, the Other Within.

Reflecting on her comments it comes to me that most of humanity spends a good share of our existence not only not knowing who we are, but also not even trying to find out... or for that matter most are unaware that there is something TO find out.

So, once more, l dive in to this process of seeking that Inner Other that is my destiny. Care to join me?

!Snort!

So! There!

Lifting the Fog

2004-10-08T10:24:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, I met with my pastor about some church business. As we were wrapping up, I brought up my issues with Spong. During the course of our discussion, she told me she thought Marcus Borg's writings on God and Jesus might help me understand Spong better.

Both of us agree that Spong has focused much more on his deconstruction of a theistic God without reconstructing who/what God in actuality is for him. It's not difficult in reading Spong to realize he has a deep love for, and spirituality rooted in, God; But his works, at least those read by us, haven't given us what we need to comprehend his view of God in a Post-Christian milieu.

Anyhow, I left that meeting determined to pick up Borg once I've struggled through the Spong work I'm currently reading ("Why Christianity must Change or Die")

Thursday morning, as I drove to work, I prayed about the spiritual dilemma my study has brought me to. It was one of my better prayer experiences of the past few weeks.

Then, yesterday at noon, I met with my Spiritual Director. In no time at all, we were embroiled in discussion about this dilemma, and about Spong. Once again, that name came up: "Read Marcus Borg", Don instructed me. "He's much more focused on a spiritual re-creation of the Divine."

We left, having determined the best course for my next few weeks would be to put Spong aside, and read Borg's "Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time."

So, I dashed off to my favorite bookstore here in Omaha "Soul Desires". Yes, I was informed, they did have 3 copies in stock. But, they were nowhere to be found. Seems one of the owners had taken the entire Stock to some conference.

Man. I wanted that book, and I wanted it THEN. The other owner convinced me NOT to rush off to Borders but to wait until Monday... promising me I could borrow her copy (hopefully tonight). In the meantime, I picked up another Borg book... "A Portrait of Jesus". Thing is, I'm sometimes a bit too focused for my own good... I WANT MEETING JESUS AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME AND I WANT IT NOW! :D

In other news, met with the doctor yesterday. I'm having recurring chest pains again. We're going to do some tests and increase the Beta-Blocker I'm on. Probably more nothing!

On another note... years ago in my seminary days, I had a professor, Aurelius, who had a humorous habit of snorting through his nose... a sound totally unrepresentable in writing. He'd end his classes with that snort, followed by "So There!". Gave us all something to chuckle about, and no end of fuel for good hearted mocking in our private moments.

Well, that's about it.

!snort!

So! There!

Mental Blackhole

2004-10-06T10:15:00.000-05:00

It's been a slow week. Really, I seem to be devoid of thoughts... like an automaton, I proceed about my life either dully performing necessary tasks, or drifting off into some pointless, mind-numbing exercise in fantasy.

So, I guess that's not totally devoid of thought, but it is of any thought worthwhile to be written down.

I think part of this is because I find myself slipping deeper and deeper into some dark night of spirituality.

I recently took up an interest in reading Bishop Spong's "Why Christianity must Change or Die". His thesis is challenging me immensely. It has called into question my entire faith structure and theology. I haven't fully comprehended his understanding of who/what God is, yet he successfully called into question my own view of who/what God is. I find myself on scary, and shaky, ground. And I'm totally confused as to his christology.

Jesus to me has been at once, through the years, companion, friend, brother, savior, master, and most recently I've come to relate to Jesus as "lover." As hard as it may be for some to conceive of this, I've found some of my deepest moments of communion with the Divine Presence to be when I am enfolded in my earthly lover's arms, approaching that ecstatic moment of release...

But, if I permit Spong to de-deify the Jesus of History, then what does that do to my theology, my christology, my entire understanding of that Divine Presence. How long will it take me to process all that needs processing to reconcile my faith with this new picture of Divinity? Gracious, it's scary!

I began this walk into such uncertain territories last summer... 2003, that is, when I opened my mind enough to listen to a presentation of the concept of Original Blessing as outlined by Matthew Fox. Roughly and poorly summarized, the point of this is that God created all things and blessed them. Far from humanity being conceived in/through original sin as espoused by much of mainstream Christianity, Fox challenges us to accept that all things are created in/through Original Blessing. I think once I get my mind wrapped around Spong, I need to revisit this concept. Because, as I understand it, I have little problem wrapping my mind around this concept. Original Sin as a doctrine is an ugly doctrine... albeit seemingly necessary for an understanding of current Christology.

The other thing that brought me into contact with Bishop Spong was this doxological formula:

"I experience God as that which is beyond all human categories, the Infinite Other. That is what Christians call the "Father and Almighty Creator." I experience God as Depth within, closer than my breath. That is what Christians call the Holy Spirit. Lastly, I experience God as a reality flowing through human lives and, for me, uniquely present in the life of Jesus. That is what Christians call 'The Son'..."

This one resonates with me.

When I came to MCC Omaha, I was confronted with the UFMCC policy of "inclusification". I stopped hearing references to God as Father only, but also as Mother, as Parent, and a plethora of other images. It caused me to confront my understanding... I always knew "Father" to be metaphorical, that God is spirit, and thus Father was too limiting for the Divine Presence. But I continued on with that way of thinking. I still do... when it suits me, when it doesn't Mother often works, as does Parent. But when I truly consider this parent, I realize how limiting any of these images... ALL of these images... really is.

We used to say "God is no gender, thus we can't call God 'Father' or 'Him'... or Mother, for that matter." Yet that is so limiting in itself. God I think is ALL gender, perfect gender. God is the synergistic totality of both genders... God is more than both female and male... God is totally all. I'm not sure I know how to take it beyond that.

So. There!

In defense of being smart(er than I)

2004-09-23T09:34:00.000-05:00

Driving in to work this morning, I listened to some evangelist railing against the intelligentsia and scholarship.

Huh, I scratched my head.

Isn't it amazing that of all people, Christian evangelists would object to scholarship and "the intelligentsia". I know there are those out there that would say that it is totally believable, after all, if someone professes Christianity, they've already demonstrated a lack of intelligence.

I won't argue one way or the other with the latter.

My beef is with that evangelist and his ilk.

The one thing that sets humanity above the animals is precisely it's intellect (though, some may argue otherwise... namely that nothing sets us apart from the animals.)

We, as Christian, believe that God created us. In fact, we believe that "God created humanity in God's own image..." The Psalmist is astounded that "For You have made [humanity] a little lower than the angels"... btw, other texts actually say "You have made [humanity] little lower than God."

My point is this: for all the time humanity has been on this planet, our goal has been the pursuit of knowledge. If God did not wish us using our intellect, the intellect that God gave us in the first place, then why give it? Why not make us slaves to our instincts, rummaging in the fields and running down prey?

Actually, there is humor in this for me. Because the anti-intellectualism espoused by this evangelist really plays right in to the hands of those who WOULD reduce humans to the status of animals, depriving us of personal responsibility and forgiving all our actions, all our faults by merely blaming it on our culture or our environment.

Humanity is meant to rise above our environment. It's the whole point of the Creation stories that humanity is meant to rule the environment, not be ruled by it.

Only by conscious decision not to cave in to the influences of environment can we hope to progress.

Nor do I deny that environment plays a role in our development; I merely believe that we can't fall back on our environment as a sop for our own failings.

Musings on Proslogium

2004-09-21T14:58:00.000-05:00

"Thou wast not, then, yesterday, nor wilt thou be tomorrow; but yesterday and today and tomorrow thou art; or, rather, neither yesterday nor today nor tomorrow thou art; but simply, thou art, outside all time. For yesterday and today and tomorrow have no existence, except in time; but thou, although nothing exists without thee, nevertheless dost not exist in space or time, but all things exist in thee. For nothing contains thee, but thou containest all." Proslogium, Ch. XIX, Anselm of Canterbury.

I have often come back to these words of Anselm over the past decade. Much of his writing really was of little interest to me, but this has stuck in my mind. It is true, Anselm's philosophical proof for God's existence has been easily refuted. These words, however, have been a jumping off point for much of my own philosophy and theology.

What Anselm is saying is quite easy, once you wrap yourself around the antiquated prose. To start, the following must be understood:

1. To be contained by something is to be limited by that thing.
1a. To exist in time is to be contained in time.

2. God is unlimitable.

3. The unlimitable God, therefore, cannot be contained by time.

In addition, Anselm takes for granted that while God is contained by nothing, all things are contained by God. Thus, time is contained by God.

So, to unwrap the opening paragraph, since God is not contained by time, but rather contains all, and thus time, God is outside of time (and thus space.) Therefore, God merely IS. It cannot be said of God that God Was or God Will be. God IS. All things that have ever happened in the past, all that will happen in the future, all these are now to God.

In this understanding then, when we speak of Jesus Christ's Incarnation, that incarnation is simply God, the Son of God, stepping out of the eternal now of God into time and space. For a time, God exists in time and space.

And so, it is possible for humanity to participate with God in the eternal now because as we experience those element's of Jesus life, death and resurrection through worship and prayer, we step out of time and space into the presence which is God. We encounter the eternal now of Jesus when we read of his life, and put ourself into the present of the story.

So, when I contemplate what the Christian cults call Eucharist, that Last Supper of which Jesus partook, when I too partake of Eucharist, I am not doing in memory of him, but rather participating in the now of his gift.

And the journey forks...

2004-09-20T15:23:00.000-05:00

I've spent some time today browsing through other blogs. It's been a humbling experience. In fact, I just finished reading one blog from the beginning of September up to today's post, and am in utter awe of the young man who wrote it. I wish I had the talent he has for self-expression. Here was a young man, gay, Native American, with a true gift that I hope to be able to share for a long time to come.

*****

Past week has been a harsh one for me. I've spent the past 7 months preparing for this week, as Excel gathered for it's annual All Team Gathering. There were all the logistics of preparing for the event. And there was the reality the event would be one of those life-changing moments.

I've served Excel on it's Executive Committee since September 1999. For the first three years, I chaired the body, and then for another year and a half served as Clerk. These past 6 months, I was a member-at-large. Now, I am no longer in service in this way. I was so looking forward to this time being over.

I wasn't expecting the hole it's left! I didn't expect the let down. I have another one ahead... Board of Directors for MCC-O.... I'll be stepping down in just two months.

I viewed my service to Excel as a ministry... we all do. I believe I gave a great deal to that Ministry, and I believe I did it well. There were things I could have done better. I'm sure others would argue that my service was average at best. They may think what they will.

As I approach these next two months, I realize that when that day arrives, and I step down life will take a new direction. I suspect that will leave as deep a sense of loss as this week's. And, I'll be free of the responsibilities that I've carried. Oh-so-minor compared to many people in this world... but these two bodies have been my life for these past 4 - 5 years!

Life after MCC-O-BOD.... what will it look like? I don't know. I honestly wonder if I can truly have no role in life. I want to just step back and wait for that voice to speak to me again... to guide me into the next ministry.

Perhaps it already has. We have a Weekend Exercise to plan and put on in 2005. That's going to take much of the first half of the year.

Then, I really am feeling a strong sense that I need to take the lead in taking an Excel weekend to Australia... and will shoot for 2006 for that.

It's going to be an exciting time, if that really is what I decide to do.

More Questing...

2004-09-12T06:33:00.000-05:00

That bible study the other night has been a fruitful source of contemplation for me these past few days.

"If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, pray, seek my face, and turn..."

It's that "Seek my face" that has gotten my attention. It's part of that Prayer Quest that we are called to join in. See, Moses asked to see God's face, yet he was denied, and permitted only to see where God had gone before.. well, okay, specifically scripture says he was permitted only to see God's backside.

I really believe that what we seek means that merely seeing God's passing backside is insufficient. We need to truly be in God's presence. That means we can only be satisfied by seeing the face of God.

And now for the real me...

2004-09-10T14:39:00.000-05:00

What is Prayer?

This was the question asked in our weekly Bible Study this week. The answers given were the ones I'd expect. Conversation with God; Listening; Communicating with God. All good answers, demonstrating to me, at least, that most there had a good understanding of prayer.

I held back, not wanting to have to explain the answer that was bouncing off the padded walls of my mind. "Melding with the mind of God." Frankly, I wasn't sure what that meant anymore than the others would. It just shouted itself out to me the second I heard the question. I ended up offering that prayer was "a quest for God."

That answer too, while I have a much better comprehension of it's meaning, was vague and I'm glad I wasn't asked to explore it more intensely. The scripture we read seemed to reinforce that.
But I kept coming back to "melding with the mind of God."

I brought it up again yesterday in spiritual direction. Because, as I toyed with the phrase in my mind Wednesday and yesterday, I developed a distinction between MELDING and MERGING. I couldn't explain it. But I had an inkling that there WAS a difference, and I was attempting to express that.

So, I did a simple dictionary search; I wasn't too impressed with the outcome.

Some word paths I took in my quest, though, go like this.

When I tried to substitute Merge for Meld, I pictured a super-highway. Cars merge in from other highways, or from one lane to another. Later, those cars DIVERGE into other lanes, other highways. That sort of expresses my thoughts on prayer... but not really. When the car diverges from the super-highway onto another highway, nothing of the super-highway remains for that car. That's not prayer.

Meld worked better... but I couldn't really define that... I, being a bit of a Trekkie, kept thinking in terms of "the Vulcan Mind Meld". 'Cept, I'm not such a Trekkie that I can recite precisely what that is other than Vulcans could read other sentient minds. It's hard to put this into the language of prayer for me.

You see, what I'm trying to express is that prayer is a process of coming into a deep and personal experience of the mind of God. While we can never KNOW the mind of God, there's a sense in which we should be seeking to come to know, as much as possible, the Divine Presence.

So, I checked out Miriam Webster. The verb "meld" that I want gave me a lame definition of "blend of melt and weld". Oh, now THAT'S helpful. But, it gave two synonyms.... MERGE and BLEND. Obviously I knew MERGE wouldn't work. But BLEND hit's the spot for me..."To combine or associate so that the separate constituents or the line of demarcation cannot be distinguished".

Now you know what I mean... right? ;-}

Again, I don't really believe that degree of mixing is possible between my mind (or anyone else's) and God's mind.

But I believe that's the goal. To enter into the Divine Presence so thoroughly that my mind and that of God's begins to lose it's demarcation. Death for me brings the final opportunity to do that, and do it perfectly. We either do at death succeed in this melding or we are forever separated from God. And in the end, at that moment this final perfect melding is to occur, it's nothing I do or have done that permits it but merely and utterly, the Will of God... the Mind of God which permits or refuses.

In the meantime, we search and seek to find the way that we can best meld with God. And each and every separation from that search, from that prayer, should leave us with some little bit of Divinity intact. When I break off prayer, I should do so acutely aware that some of the meld doesn't break, that some addition to my being has occurred. I must leave prayer, changed.

Oddly enough, however, this does occur. And it's a mini death process. First, I mean this in the sense that no degree of melding occurs unless the Divine Presence wills and invites it to occur. I can seek all I want, but I will not find unless willed/permitted to do so by the One Whom I Seek.

So, when we are not melding with the Mind of God in Prayer, our Prayer is a Quest for the Mind of God. I see, now, that these are two parts of the same process, the same act, known as prayer.

Some Preliminary Thoughts...

2004-09-10T14:38:00.000-05:00

before proceeding.

First of all, on lost/forgotten logins mentioned in the previous post. Now, this makes me feel old. After 3 months unable to remember my login/password for this site, I tried out a combination, and it worked. What's odd about that? It's the same friggin' login/password I use for 90% of my other locations. Just never tried it here. I dunno. Makes me feel so senile. old.

Secondly, I don't know who I'm trying to fool by that previous post. I guess I want to feel like I could, if I wanted, fit into the world of the young gay men from Minneapolis I've been reading.

I can't. I'm not old, but I'm certainly older than they; they live a life, that is different than the one I chose for myself. And the one I'm really happy with. They live in a world of "things to do" and "excitement". I chose to live a nice, quiet life, in a nice, quiet relationship, in a nice, quiet house that I own, in a nice, quiet neighborhood, in a nice, quiet town, in a nice, quiet state, deep in the heartland of the USA.

And there's nothing wrong with that. Just don't fault me from watching the younger folk living, what I imagine to be, a more exciting life in a more interesting city... even though it's like watching life through a television screen... and yearning in some secret place, that I could live that life.

Badly named, perhaps?

2004-09-10T13:20:00.000-05:00

Sigh. For one who styles oneself "One Who Writes" I've fallen a little short. Perhaps I should have styled myself "One who fails to write". Actually, I kind of forgot my login and password for a while. Comes from failing to write!

So what's going on? I've been reading a lot of interesting blogs. Especially from a few guys up in Minneapolis. Sounds like life up there is fun! Guess if you like the cold, that is... ;}

Can't believe how busy things are right now. Though I have to say, after reading Smitty's blogs about hunting for a new place to live I should be thankful that's nowhere near on my horizon! Taking care of the house I'm in is enough. My cats and dogs would hate to be put in so much turmoil.

In fact, I must say, after reading so many other peoples' blogs that my life is really pretty boring... busy as it is! Oh, well, they're all young and I'm not. I guess that's one of the few perks of being young.... having an exciting life. Ah, to be young and gay again.... instead of old and gay. :-}

Nope, no new church... too much effort.

2004-05-19T11:54:00.000-05:00

Yeah, ok. I've munched on that previous post for nearly a week, and it's pretty obvious I'm full of it.

"I don't consider myself a Christian..." "I profess faith in Jesus..."

What is that?!?! Mindless intellectualizing, I guess. Sigh. Yeah, so it's pretty obvious to me I'm a Christian... no matter what I may choose to call it.

I think what I was really trying to say is that there's this dichotomy between my BEING a Christian, and the fact that every time I hear someone ELSE self identify as a Christian, I tense up... I go on high alert, the adrenalin flows. Their self-actualization irritates me.

Huh? They piss me off. What can I say?

You see the reality is I KNOW I'm a Christian. I know what I believe, and in Whom I have an overriding trust.

But I'm used to being told by all those self-identifying Christians out there that I am NOT one. That I'm going to hell. I suspect if that is true, I'll have good company because they will all be there with me.

Then one day, long before I wrote last week's blog, I ran into a Christian... one I've known a long, long time. Actually, I ran into two of them... my brothers.

We were in Puerto Vallarta on a big family outing. Outing. Huh, a good term for that week.

I'm gay. I went to PV with my partner of 8 years, my parents, my brothers and their wives, and my aunt and uncle. My brothers don't know I'm gay.

So there we are, 5 couples enjoying the fun and the sun. My uncle went missing (he's blind.) After locating him, everyone headed off to breakfast but Big Brother # 1 takes me aside.

"Okay, Eric, I've tried for 7 years to get you to let me share your life with you. So when are you going to tell me you're gay?"

Was that a pin dropping I heard 2 miles away?

"Uh, BB#1, I'm gay."

"It's not like I didn't know, One Who Writes. I figured it out in 96."

That's the year I gave up my lifelong dream so that I could live with the man I love.

We talked. It didn't bother him. Didn't offend his sense of Christian morality. Recognized that I devoted great hours to working in the vineyards, so to speak. He told me I had to tell my other brother, Big Brother # 2.

Now, that terrifies me. I've had a sense that if anyone would be able to accept, it'd be BB#1. But BB#2... he's that breed of Christian that sends the blood of gay men cold. A fundamental evangelical... or at least that's how I cubbyhole him.

I'm gay. I KNOW categorizing people is bad. I do it anyhow... do you?

I suck it up, take BB#2 for a walk. And we walk and we talk... and we talk and we walk... we get about as far up the beach as we can, and it's time to turn back. Finally, I broach the subject.

"BB#2, BB#1 told me I have to talk with you, tell you something"

"He did, huh." Now listen folks, I KNOW, and he knows, and what's more he KNOWS I KNOW that he knows what this is all about. Ain't gonna make it easy for me though.

Well, let's make this short. I told him I was gay. He didn't bat an eye. The world didn't end. No peals of lightening charred him or me, for that matter. He was okay with it.

"What matters in the end is, your personal relationship with Jesus." Well, I have that. And I think BB#2 knows I have that.

For the next 3 days, BB#1&2 along with their wives started treating SO and I differently... in a good way. Well, really, they treated him differently... like he belonged. Like he was part of a family.

And so now, we're a big family again. And the trepidation I felt towards BB#1&2 is gone. I look forward to seeing them again.

And ya know. Maybe, Christians aren't so bad, after all.

;D

A New Church?

2004-05-12T09:44:00.000-05:00

Well, it seems to me that I created this blog for the purpose of me writing about things that are important to me. Like me. Or my other favorite topic... me. :D Seriously, though, me is not that important a topic.

One of the things that IS important to me, however, is religion. Spirituality, really. Religion is a bit of a downer for me.

By that, really, I just mean that it is personal relationship to Divinity that is important to me, not adherence to a set of rules and regulations pertaining to aspects of my life and established by some "church" whether or not that church believes those rules and regulations to be imposed or directed by the Divine.

So, having said that, I was driving to work the other day, as I'm wont to do, thinking of all sorts of things. It dawned on me, all of a sudden. I don't consider myself to be a Christian.

Well, some of you may be thinking, like, "who cares. what's the big deal?"

There is no big deal, really. I started life as a Roman Catholic. Until I was 38, I was an especially devout RC. I even was studying to be a priest. After leaving that pursuit, my relationships led me towards other denominations, and so I left the world of the RC behind, but not that of Christianity.

To this day, I am very active in a Christian church... but suddenly it dawns on my that I'm not Christian. Part of me thinks I may never have been one.

I profess faith in Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ. Beyond faith, I KNOW He lives. We talk daily, sometimes in great depth, at others well, being the air-headed blond mortal that I am, it's not always that deep "Uh, hi. It's me."

Hey! Writer! Just one moment here! You just said you aren't a Christian! Yet you just said you profess a knowledge/faith in Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ. Sounds like that's a Christian to me!

True. It's all part of that "I'm spiritual, not religious" argument. I cringe when people tell me they're Christian. That interprets as "I have the right way. If you don't believe what I believe the way I believe it then you can't possibly be a Christian." There's no room in the myopic christian mind for any other perspective.

Of course, there's that other kind of christian. You know the kind. the kind that you wouldn't have a clue they were christian if it wasn't for the fact they identify themselves that way, sometimes, and you've seen them once at a church somewhere.

Actually, I can identify with that last group, even while strongly disagreeing with them. 'Cause what I don't know is what's in their hearts. Sure. They may swear like a sailor (sorry all you sea-farers out there... it's a phrase) but then, hey, so do I!

Really, if I'm going to waste my efforts judging the faulty christianity of others, I'd much rather waste it on those who profess their christianity in such strong and strident manner, and who deny those who disagree with them their self-identity.

Now, see, personally, and I may be wrong here, but personally, I think Jesus was referring to them when he uttered that marvelous epithet "You snakes, you brood of VIPERS!" "Woe to you, , teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites!"

I know, I probably fit into that category myself. It's hard not to, really!

No, I'm not a Christian. I'm a follower of Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ. And I'd like to think that somehow, that makes me different than those I decry.

I know lots of fellow believers... many of whom also may be Christians.

Maybe we should form a new group... a church, perhaps?

First Post

2004-05-12T08:41:00.000-05:00

Well, okay, now that I've created this blogspot, I figgered I best post to it... otherwise it'd be awfully dull, no?

I think I've set this up for just myself. So, I'm wondering if anyone else can see it. That'd be cool, I guess. Not sure why I set it up the way I did... Hey! Leave a comment if you see this. I know it's dumb. Don't come here looking for deep thought on issues of politics. I despise politics. Not nearly as much as I despise politicians, though.

In fact, I'm not sure if this is the place to come to if you're looking for anything deep. I really don't know for sure what I'm going to write!

And, you know, you may come here for days looking for something new, only to be disappointed. Then, one day you'll drop by... and BANG! there'll be 10 posts just on that one day!

So, until the next time, have a great day.

(Now, leave that comment, won't you? I'm dying to see if anyone stumbles across this space!)