The Elephant in the Room

I've recently been privy to a conversation relating to the arts (in this case a movie) and their relationship with truth. I have yet to see the movie in question, so I cannot specifically address its content.

But the discussion brought to mind a larger issue among some people of faith. I think the big question in all this is What is truth (or Truth, if you prefer)? Of course, other questions stem from that big one: Can we know the answer? Who holds the answer?

And on and on. As with most matters of faith/spirituality/philosophy, I don't think that there is a simple answer even to these questions about answers. I believe that there is truth, but my qualms come in our ability to grasp it. It reminds me of metaphors about trying to hold fog or drive a nail in jello. Now, don't think that I'm saying that there are no answers or that there is no truth. But again, I think a metaphor addresses the conundrum well.

There's an ancient Indian fable about blind men trying to describe an elephant after touching it. However, each of them only touches part of the elephant, so he thinks that this small part represents the whole animal. One touches the trunk, one an ear, one the tail, one a foot, and one a tusk. Obviously, they report very differently about what kind of animal this is.

I think that God, religion, truth, eternity, and such matters are like this. One person sees things from a Christian perspective, one from a Muslim perspective, another from Hindu, and so on. And I think if we look at it objectively, we might see that there is truth in each and there are shortcomings to each. A problem that we in the West seem to have that those from Eastern traditions don't is that we want there to be a Final Answer. There must be a right-or-wrong, black-or-white distinction made. But all of this is a product of our very limited minds. Life is not an algebraic equation where we are solving for x, with only one right answer.

Maybe there is a final answer, an absolute truth. And I think we do well to seek it. But we tread on thin ice indeed when we claim to have discovered that final and definitive answer.

French author Andre Gide summed it up well: "Trust those who seek the truth; doubt those who find it."

Happy Samhain!

Halloween is a rather strange holiday. For many in the more traditional Christian circles—particularly evangelical ones—it's kind of taboo. But anyone who knows me at all knows that I don't have much truck with entrenched tradition, particularly taboos. So bring on the ghosts and goblins!

As with many holidays on the Western calendar, Halloween is an amalgam of pagan and Christian festivals. There is some debate as to the exact roots of modern Halloween celebration, but most agree that the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain was a major component. Samhain was the new year in the Celtic calendar, marking the end of the "light" half of the year and the beginning of the "dark" half. It fell around October 31–November 1 at the point halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice.

Unfortunately, the church has often had a problem with anything that acknowledges darkness, much less embraces or celebrates it. I think this is to our great detriment. It seems rather naive to ignore the dark aspects of life. Many ancient cultures had no such problem (including, ironically the Hebrew tradition that gave birth to Christianity). They understood that life just wasn't all sunshine and happiness. Winter always came, as did night...and, of course, death. Actually, an examination of much of the literature—and particularly art—of the Middle Ages reveals something quite different. There was often imagery that acknowledged that death was a constant companion for everyone, regardless of station.

Now, I'm not implying that we all need to participate in the Danse Macabre, but we do need to be aware of it. And anyone who has gone through the death of a loved one knows this on a very real level. So although there is natural resistance to dwelling on our own mortality, we need to face it sooner or later. And maybe sooner is better.

At any rate, the Celts (and others) of old had an appreciation of the darker side of life. And it wasn't necessarily seen as "evil." There's a certain beauty in night, and in winter, isn't there? And Samhain was seen as one of the "thin" times when the spirit world could easily touch the everyday world. And while that can be scary, it can also be marvelous. I think if we allow ourselves to be open to the wonder of darkness, and the beautiful calm and unifying clarity it can bring, we will be the richer for it.

Requiem

Two weeks ago, my grandfather—almost 90—passed away. The memorial service was the following Friday, and I shared some thoughts. They are recorded here, with just a few edits:

On Monday of this week, I had a standing appointment with my spiritual director. Knowing about Grandpa’s passing, she asked me if I wanted to keep the appointment. “Oh, yes,” I said. I’m glad I did. She helped me so much in processing and dealing with his passing.

She asked me how Grandpa was a gift to me. What a question! I know that he was a gift in many ways to many people. Two things came very quickly to mind. First, he was a great expression of embodied love. He wasn't often verbally expressive of it; he just lived that way. As everyone could attest, he would do anything for you. There was never any request that he wasn't willing to grant. I couldn't begin to count the times he helped me financially, physically, and with advice. He really personified love in a very practical, tangible way. And everyone who knew him was richer for it.

The second way that he was a gift to me was the joy that he always brought. Some of my earliest childhood memories were simply that Grandpa always made me laugh. Again, I’m sure this isn't news to anyone. He just loved to laugh and have a good time. There are few people who were more joy-filled than Bob Buch.

After I mentioned these two gifts, my director then asked how I thought I could honor him in my own life. And simply put, I would want to continue his legacy of personified love and joy. If I could exhibit half the love and the joy that he did throughout his life, I would consider that I had lived a good life.

For the last several months of Grandpa’s life I was involved in a stage production of Tennessee Williams’ Night of the Iguana.  One of the main characters in the play is traveling with her grandfather, who is close to death and is composing a poem. They both realize that completing the poem will be his last act in this life. At the end of the play, the poem is finished and the grandfather does in fact die. You can imagine the impact of rehearsing this death of a beloved grandfather over and over. The completed poem is a poignant symbol of mortality. And I’d like to end by sharing it now.

How calmly does the orange branch

Observe the sky begin to blanch

Without a cry, without a prayer,

With no betrayal of despair.

Sometime while light obscures the tree

The zenith of its life will be 

Gone past forever,

And from thence

A second history will commence.

A chronicle no longer gold,

A bargaining with mist and mould,

And finally the broken stem

The plummeting to earth; and then

An intercourse not well designed 

For beings of a golden kind

Whose native green must arch above

The earth's obscene, corrupting love

And still the ripe fruit and the branch

Observe the sky begin to blanch

Without a cry, without a prayer,

With no betrayal of despair.

O Courage, could you not as well

Select a second place to dwell,

Not only in that golden tree

But in the frightened heart of me?

Iguana

Time for another theater post!

The community theater I'm involved in, Ephrata Performing Arts Center, is presenting Tennessee Williams' The Night of the Iguana in a few weeks.

Over the last few years, I've become a real fan of Williams' work. I always knew that he was considered a great American playwright, and I remember enjoying The Glass Managerie in high school (although I now doubt that I fully understood it then). But this will be my second (small part in a) Williams play in four years. And even though they have been small parts, I am still involved in the process and immersed in the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual journey.

Williams tends to write very emotional, very deep pieces. Some would call them depressing. Yeah, they do deal with difficult issues; life is sometimes difficult, and I think good literature should reflect that. In Iguana, the central character, T. Lawrence Shannon, is a troubled man of the cloth leading a tour group through Mexico in the 1940s. He has a personal crisis, and the play explores how it affects him and those around him—who are dealing with their own crises as well. It's been said that not much happens in this play; and yes, if you just follow the plot points, there aren't many. But the internal journey that at least four characters undertake is profound. Death, faith, sexuality, and personal connection are major themes. Can't get much more serious than that! Universal themes are explored on a very personal level—another mark of good literature. Even though most of us will never be troubled ministers, 97-year-old poets, spinster art hawkers, or widows running a hotel in Mexico, everyone will find mirrors of themselves in one or more of the characters.

Read the play when you're in the mood for something emotionally challenging; and if you're in Lancaster County in September, come and check out the production. I'll leave you with the lovely poem composed by the aforementioned poet in the play:

How calmly does the orange branch
Observe the sky begin to blanch
Without a cry, without a prayer,
With no betrayal of despair.

Sometime while light obscures the tree
The Zenith of its life will be
Gone past forever, and from thence
A second history will commence.

A chronicle no longer gold,
A bargaining with mist and mold
And finally the broken stem
The plummeting to earth; and then

An intercourse not well designed
For beings of a golden kind
Whose native green must arch above
The earth's obscene, corrupting love.

And still the ripe fruit and the branch
Observe the sky begin to blanch
Without a cry, without a prayer,
With no betrayal of despair.

O Courage, could you not as well
Select a second place to dwell,
Not only in that golden tree
But in the frightened heart of me?

Olympic Fever

I have to admit it…

I have Olympic fever. I didn’t mean to get it. Often the Summer Olympics come and go for me without much notice. I usually prefer the events in the Winter Olympics. And maybe I just usually have more time to watch them in February than in August.

For some reason, it’s been different this year. To some degree, I have Joan to thank. She asked me in July at some point if I was planning to watch the opening ceremonies. I hadn’t been planning to, especially, but I agreed. I’ve been hooked ever since.

Yes, the opening ceremonies were over the top. There were parts that I just didn’t get. But overall, they did what I’m sure their producer (Danny Boyle) and the IOC wanted: they grabbed me and didn’t let go. I was caught up in all the spectacle. I loved the representation of Britain transitioning from an agrarian to an industrial society. I especially liked all the drummers. (What can I say—I’m a sucker for percussion.) And of course, I always thrill at the parade of nations. Everyone is so excited to be there, and it’s contagious.

And thanks to the ubiquitous coverage of the NBC networks, almost everything was available. On the first morning of competition, I found myself looking for whatever live coverage I could find—bicycling, volleyball, soccer, even table tennis. And despite being unable sometimes to avoid spoilers, I’ve been watching as much prime time coverage as I can.

Again, there are always naysayers. There’s more doping going on than people realize…cash bonuses should not be awarded in the Olympics…professional athletes should not be allowed in the games…etc.  I know all these things. And if I were thoroughly involved in the sports, I might think more seriously about them. But as a casual observer, these considerations are overshadowed by the excitement and drama of the games.

Here are a few of the moments that have most struck me:
• Michael Phelps is an amazing athlete. USA swimming has not seen his like since Mark Spitz in the 72 games. And Phelps had accomplished more.
• It’s great to see US gymnasts excel in a sport traditionally dominated by other countries.
• The emergence of Team GB on its home soil has been heartwarming. Especially for Andy Murray over the equally likeable (and generally better) Roger Federer. It’s interesting, too, that in many sports England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland typically field their own teams in international competition—but here they compete together.
• Many Olympic athletes have inspiring stories, but that of Oscar Pistorius of South Africa is astounding. He was the first amputee runner to compete in an Olympic event, though he failed to qualify for the final heat.

These are just a few observations so far. I’m sure more will occur these last few days of the games. At this point, I’m ready for Sochi in 2014 and Rio in 2016.

Senseless

The world has always been a dangerous place. There has been violence, murder, and hatred as long as there have been people.

Recently, it has been thrown on the front page of the news in gory illustration. Between the Colorado theater shootings and the Wisconsin temple shootings, eighteen people were killed. And amid the grief and mourning, we naturally question if these tragedies could have been prevented. Or more to the point, we wonder how to prevent future recurrences. Do we need to amend our gun laws? Should there be stricter security? How do we punish the guilty?

These and similar questions are completely reasonable, and some of them should be seriously considered. And of course anger is understandable. Even anger at God. How could a loving, all-powerful God allow such things? And to make matters worse, some try to provide answers—as if we have them to offer. Are any of these answers useful? “God has a plan,” or “everything happens for a reason.” And so on. Sigh.

Platitudes like these are never helpful. In fact, they can really hurt. Was it in God’s plan for all these people to die? If so, I don’t know that I want anything to do with such a God. And I honestly think that sometimes there is no reason—beyond the simple truth that we are broken people living in a broken world. There is in a way a bleakness about this perspective, as if there is no reason perhaps for anything. I would say that some things happen for a reason that we soon figure out; some, for a reason that we discern much later; some, for a reason that we may never discern; and some, for no reason at all.

It’s all part of life. Much of it is beautiful; some is very ugly indeed. Does this mean that God likes the ugly part? I would think not; but then, I also tend to believe that we are not just simply pawns on God’s cosmic chess board with no say in where we are moved. That, I think, would be a pretty bleak picture. Yes, there are certainly things we cannot control. But we all have choices to make. In any given situation, we choose how to respond. That is at once both comforting and scary. We are not, however, stuck with our current course. However difficult, however dire, we can always choose.

To hope.

The Endless Knot

The first aspect of Celtic spirituality that I want to mention is one of the more visible ones, and it's pretty essential to the whole mindset: the Celtic knot. Visible in most forms of art that appear in Celtic cultures, the Celtic knot features twisting, interlocked lines and shapes. It often includes figures representing animals and spirits, and it regularly appears in some type of circular pattern.

Besides being visually interesting (following all those lines is reminiscent of looking at an M.C. Escher piece!),  there's an important concept being illustrated. To the Celts (among others), there's a connected-ness to everything. Not only are all the members of a family or community connected, but the communities themselves are as well. Everyone is connected. And the rest of the natural world is connected to us humans. The animals, the trees, the streams, the rocks. And even more importantly, the spiritual world is connected to the physical. In the Greco-Roman way of thinking that largely shaped Western Christianity, the spiritual and physical realms are poles apart.

There has long been a schism between so many aspects of reality—between self and others, us and them, the good and the bad—that we who were raised into it can't even see it for what it is. And I'm not shaking my finger at people who were brought up in this way of thinking. What else did we know? But it is such a liberty, such a relief, to begin to see that it's really all connected.

It's rather sad that so much of Western thought is built on the premise of separation. It's the sort of zero-sum game wherein in order for me to win, someone else has to lose. When did the whole concept of winning come from, anyway? Why do we have to have winners and losers? This whole business of living is not a contest.

It's all about life. Some things give life and some things sap it. And in our Endless Knot, what gives life to one part gives life to all.

The Old Blood Sings

One of my favorite fantasy series, The Wheel of Time, features the following quote: “The old blood is strong in Emond's Field, and the old blood sings.” (Emond's Field is the fictional village where the epic story begins.)

This quote kind of hits home for me. Of course, we all carry with us the DNA of our parents, grandparents, and so on. But there is a thinking in many ancient traditions that we carry much more. Native Americans, Celts, many Asian traditions, and others believed that the collective memories and spirits of our ancestors live on in us. I don't know how empirical this may or may not be, but I think there's something to it. A contemporary example would be some in the Southern states who seemingly remember the Civil War as if it just happened yesterday. In fact, many in the North joke that their Southern brethren act as if the war never ended. (I don't think everyone in the South finds it amusing.)

How is this possible? I can't speak for Southerners, but I think people who seriously explore history can become so immersed that a certain immediacy evolves. One really can find oneself in the mindset of that time and place.

I have found myself in that very situation over the last several years. In beginning research for a book idea, I started to examine Celtic spirituality. Part of my heritage is Irish, so I felt an affinity for this topic. As my study continued, the affinity grew into a true fascination. I felt so drawn to the Celtic culture and the Celtic philosophy that it started to reshape my own. In particular, the Celtic approach to spirituality—specifically Christianity—wormed its way into my personal worldview.

In coming posts, I will explore what this means. I don’t mean to set up my way of thinking above anyone else’s or to denigrate other views.  My aim is to explain my vantage point as I discuss things here. The secondary benefit would be that some readers might encounter a new way of viewing things, or at least a desire to further explore certain ideas.

So I would simply encourage everyone to keep an open mind (good advice in any case, I would hope). You might discover some new ways of looking at things. And perhaps your own Old Blood will sing within you!

Independence Day

We all celebrate or birthdays every year. Well, many of us do. Some rebel against them and only grudgingly yield to the pressure to mark the day at all.

The United States celebrates its birthday on July 4, a day usually populated by fireworks, picnics, and general summer merriment. As a kid, I remember the Fourth of July as THE major highlight of the summer. We usually did a cookout at my grandparents' place and the watched the local fireworks display--just a few blocks away and from their back yard. On a few occasions, I was permitted/encouraged to go expend some of my youthful restfulness at the mini-carnaval at the high school.

Years go by, and some traditions fall away. Our annual fireworks watch did. Eventually the fireworks display itself moved over a mile away, so we couldn't even see most of them from the back yard any more.

So what does the Fourth of July mean to me now? I still enjoy watching fireworks; this year and last we enjoyed them from the porch of our B&B in New Jersey (see previous post). Our family only occasionally does the gathering. And that's okay; we see each other pretty regularly anyway.

I know people connect to Independence Day in many different ways--some as I mentioned above, some with strains of Lee Greenwood or Toby Keith. These days I tend to get history-minded. I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that I was in a production of 1776 a while back. (I played Witherspoon from NJ.) I find myself thinking about what it must have been like to be in that time of great turmoil. How frightening to be willing to forsake the only national identity one had ever known--a subject of the greatest empire on the globe. To turn toward what? Apparently the founders had no real idea what this new nation they were birthing would be. The First and Second Continental Congress seemed to give very little hope for any kind of unity. Delegates from, say, Connecticut and South Carolina seemed to have more in common with their English cousins than with each other. They were very much foreigners to one another. And they had serious disagreements on such issues as the scope of centralized government and the institution of slavery.

It's rather amazing that they were able to put their differences aside, at least long enough to achieve their common goal. The issue of the power of the federal government saw an ill-conceived outcome in the Articles of Confederation before finally being settled in 1787. And of course, the issue of slavery--and, yes, of states' rights--came to a tragic head less than a century later. But still, those brave, forward-thinking men were able to achieve their goal, a new nation founded in freedom and self-government.

There have certainly been some bumps along the way. But I'd say the Great Experiment has worked.

OCNJ

This week my wife Joan and I make our annual pilgrimage to Ocean City, New Jersey.

I use the word pilgrimage very intentionally. On the surface, there's nothing particularly spiritual about Ocean City, no more so than any other beach resort town. But for us, it's a chance to recharge our spiritual batteries. Any type of vacation can do this, of course. Getting away from the daily grind, particularly work, is essential once in a while to maintain one's sanity. And certainly everyone will find his or her own special place. For us, that's OCNJ.

It's a family resort town (i.e., dry), which takes it out of the college kid circuit. It also limits our options for drinks with dinner, but that's okay. It's just a short drive over the bridge to restaurants that do serve alcohol. We found a lovely little B&B a block and a half from the beach, and we've been staying there every summer for years. It really has become a home-away-from-home for us. It's so comfortable and relaxed being familiar with where we stay, where we eat, where we walk, where we shop.

Aside from the comfort and peace of the overall vacation experience, the beach itself has become a sort of sanctuary for me. I used to be not so much a beach person, but Joan so loves it that she converted me. One of the biggest obstacles for me was the sunburn. I'm so fair-skinned that just a bit of exposure turns me into a lobster. But a big umbrella and faithful application of sunscreen has handled that issue.

With the sunburn obstacle out of the way, I've been able to allow my soul to connect to the heartbeat of the shore. The ancients talked about liminal times and places, in between one thing and another. Dawn and dusk are examples, and so is any place where earth, water, and sky meet. So the seashore is definitely one of these places. The thinking goes that in these liminal places (and times) the division between spiritual and physical reality is very thin. This is why groves, wells, rivers, lakes, and the seashore were always sacred places. Remember the scene in City of Angels where the angels gathered at the seashore at sunrise? It's the total convergence of day and night, land and sea.

I've been coming to a place in my life where I'm seeing that dividing line as thin in more and more of everyday life. But I especially appreciate these liminal experiences. There's a refreshing of the soul and an opening of the heart and mind to truths too profound for words. I am all about words; I love to read and find great release and freedom in writing. But there are times that words fall short. When faced with great beauty or deep truth in life, there are just sometimes too deep for words to express the cries of our hearts and spirits.

That's what the ocean is for.

The Greatest Love?

Whitney Houston famously sang that the greatest love of all is learning to love oneself. Maybe it's really just the first step...

St. Bernard of Clairvaux—the eleventh century abbot, not the St. Bernard that the dog breed was named for (that was apparently Bernard of Menthon)—was the founder of the Cistercian Order of the Catholic Church. He wrote that there are four ascending levels of love through which we pass:

1. Love of self for self's sake
2. Love of God for self's sake
3. Love of God for God's sake
4. Love of self for God's sake

(Sometimes the most insightful ideas are found in ancient sources. Despite all our technological advances, we still often miss such simple yet profound truths.)

I find it very telling that in this progression, we begin with two levels for the sake of self and move into two higher levels of love for the sake of God. (As with any great truth, this need not only apply to the Judeo-Christian tradition; insert your own higher power here.) It's human nature to begin with everything focused on self. But in the growing and maturing process, we hopefully move beyond this tendency. In fact, for some of us, that first love of self is actually a big step.

In the second level, we are eventually able to take our eyes off ourselves to see and love Another. (I find it interesting that love of other people is not part of this progression. It may be that we can only do that after we have passed through these first four loves.) Yet even here, our focus on God still contains that selfish motive. We love God for our own sake. Still, it's a start—a necessary one, I would say. There's no jumping directly from 1 to 3, just as we cannot go from childhood directly to adulthood without going through the pains of adolescence.

Finally, we are able to start loving God and ourselves for God's sake. This is a huge step for many of us. To see ourselves through the eyes of another—whether that be God or another person—takes a good deal of perspective, empathy, and honesty. None of which come easily. I would venture that one must come to this place only through many years or many hardships. Or both.

At any rate, the longer I am on this earth (sometimes I feel like an infant, others like an old man), the more I believe that it all comes down to learning more what love is and how to do it better.

Breaking the Third Commandment

The twentieth chapter of Exodus reads, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.” (I always feel like I want to switch to King James English when quoting the Ten Commandments.)

But what does it mean to “take God’s name in vain”? For years and years, the answer was very simply put: no cussing. As is so often the case with ancient texts, however, the answer is not so simple. Real truth never is. As humans—and especially as products of Modern Western thought—we often look for the quick answer.

I’ll be honest with you: I’m not easily offended by the language people use. There are certainly times where blue language is inappropriate, of course. And I will say that I don’t appreciate its use in those circumstances. However, I also think there are times when foul language is quite appropriate. Sometimes nothing else fits the situation. A prime example for me is the movie The Departed from 2006. I absolutely love the movie, and it holds the record for most uses of the f-bomb (237) to win Best Picture. I know that many people were offended by this, but I certainly was not. The movie would have been less realistic without the blue language. Working class Irish characters in Boston without the f-bombs? Not buying it.

As I said, I understand if some people are offended by language, and I will always try to respect that. But I have a problem with the curse police that some have become. Language has become one of those “purity code” markers that the Pharisees of today use as a litmus test. If certain words are heard to come from someone’s mouth, well then that person can’t be a Christian, right? Visions of Dana Carvey’s Church Lady come to mind.

Now as I said, I am all about being respectful to others in the use of language, but that’s not what I’m talking about. So what does “taking God’s name in vain” mean to me? I think it’s a much less specific transgression (like the late George Carlin’s Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television), but it’s one that might actually be offensive to God and should be to those who call themselves followers of God. I think the vainest use of God’s name is the hurtful, callous, spiteful, judgmental, damning, and even violent way that people will treat each other in the name of God and religion.

History is littered with examples including the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Salem witch trials, the slave trade, the Klan, segregation, the Troubles in Ireland, and on and on. And sadly, the offenses are not all historic. Every day, Christians, Muslims, Jews, and others (although the monotheistic religions seem to be the worst perpetrators) commit everything from genocide on down to slander and discrimination for religious reasons—not to mention our attitudes toward others.  And those “lesser” transgressions are more common and more insidious than the large scale ones.

Yes, language can be rude, offensive, and hurtful. (And there are more than just a few magic words to do it, I would add.) But it’s our actions that really take God’s name in vain.

Blithe Spiritualism

In just a few days, Blithe Spirit will be going up at the community theater at which I am involved (ephrataperformingartscenter.com/). I've mentioned this theater before, but this is the first production I've been involved in since I started this blog.

Blithe Spirit is a Noel Coward comedy from the 1940s that is considered one of his masterpieces. It really can be seen as the granddaddy of all the dryly funny British sitcoms that have come along over the years. It involves a socialite writer who invites a medium to his house as research for a book. She ends up conjuring the spirit of his late first wife, and the whole ball really gets rolling from there. It's quite a funny show, and I encourage anyone in the Lancaster County area during the month of June to come check it out. Coward wrote the play as pure escapism for 1941 England, and it serves that same purpose very well now.

But this post is not just about the show itself. It's been over two years since I've done a show, and I'm reminded of the truly spiritual process involved. Any form of art has a spiritual component. There are some truths that are beyond the power of words and reason to convey. We've all experienced this when faced with certain paintings, music, and so on. Having seen hundreds of live theater productions and participated in dozens, however, I am convinced there is in it a quality not found anywhere else. From the audience's perspective, one experiences an immediacy, a very real connection not possible in film or television. It's true of dramas, comedies, and musicals. Anyone who's enjoyed good theater would certainly agree.

As a actor or production person in live theater, that special connection really explodes. The audience participates in live theater, but in a more passive role. To be on the creative side of things is truly where the magic happens. Throughout the entire process of conceiving and writing a show (which I'll have to imagine for now), to planning and visualizing , to casting and staging, to rehearsal, and finally to production—it's a collaborative and very enriching form of creating. I feel that a community theater is not just made of people from a given community; it also becomes a community as it prepares and puts up a show. Even when I started doing shows in high school, there was a very strong sense of community involved in the process. That was a big part of what got me hooked.

I've been involved in more serious, artsy drama such as Streetcar Named Desire and Pillowman (a Martin McDonagh play that must be seen to be believed). And there is no denying the spiritual nature of good drama to touch people. The same is definitely true of musicals, some of which have scores that will make you cry or inspire you immeasurably. And in a good comedy, there is a spiritual life of its own. Yes, it's often seen as escapism. But that should not denigrate its value. It connects us too. Victor Borge said it very well: Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.

Not that there's anything wrong with that...

The issue of marriage equality has been swirling around the public consciousness for some time now. Might as well jump into the fray.

For the uninitiated (I guess there might be a few), the title of this post comes from a Seinfeld episode from the series' fourth season (The Outing) in which an overheard conversation leads a college newspaper writer to believe that Jerry and George are gay. The ensuing attempt to correct the error leads to the catchphrase that has become rather iconic. According to the cast and writers, GLAAD originally had a problem with the show. However, when the phrase "not there's anything wrong with that" was added, it was praised for its even-handed dealing with the issue.

Many more learned people than I have already made the scholarly points about sexuality and marriage equality, so I'll just add my own thoughts and experiences. It seems that there are two major problems at work here. The first is, bluntly, that some straight folks see homosexuality as "icky." Oh, they often hide behind scriptural proscriptions—which I'm convinced are either mistranslated, misread, or went the way of accepted slavery. The point is that so many can't get past the image of what two same-sex people do in the bedroom. And that fixation seems more than a little perverted, I must say. If we can just get past that sick obsession, we will find that we're all people with the same wants, fears, hopes, and failures. And don't get me started on the whole "threat to the institution of marriage" argument. How does the behavior of anybody else threaten how my spouse and I live? Besides which, we heteros have done enough damage on our own, thank you.

The other major issue is actually more systemic, I think. Somehow,  too many of us (and I include myself in a trying-to-evolve sense) set ourselves up as the judge of everyone and everything. One of my favorite lines from the Simpsons (lot of truth to be mined in good sitcoms!) is when Flanders tells Homer that he is going to Christian camp to learn to be more judgmental. Sigh. Too true, Ned. Again, I like to think that I am evolving from that mentality. It's a hard habit to break, though. We so often think that we have life and other people all figured out. And we know just what they should do. Never mind our talent for making a right mess of our own lives. We may never get around to telling them, of course. There's a certain satisfaction to silent condemnation. That was always my modus operandi. Honestly, if we can just accept that we're all in this together and at least start moving toward acceptance, maybe we can get closer to—wait for it...

Love.

Heart Thinking

You may have noticed that I changed the subtitle of the blog. I came to think the original one a bit rambling, and it perhaps didn't truly capture the nature of the blog as much as I originally planned.

I recently read a description of contemplation—thinking with the heart—that really struck me. So here we are. Looking over the nature of the posts, there is some whimsy to be found, but they're mostly dealing with spiritual matters in one way or another. So the new subtitle captures that theme pretty well, I think. We certainly don't want to detach our minds or avoid serious thought. But we also need to be careful about living in our minds, where we can get ourselves into very dark and troubling places. (See previous post.)

As with so much of life, we need both ends of the spectrum—as well as everything in between. The head and the heart must both be instrumental in our living. And throw the gut in there, too. We've all had those moments where we may be thinking or feeling one thing, but our gut tells us to be cautious. That's the very definition of a gut-check. The more we can learn to integrate all three into our lives, the healthier and more balanced we will be. A wise person once encouraged me in the process of making a decision, that I should determine where my head, heart, and gut are on the matter. If two of the three agree, then continue to sit with it. If all three line up, then it's likely a good choice.

The Still Center

A few years ago at an arts retreat, my wife (who may soon be doing a guest post here!) did a seminar on the idea of the “still center.” The gist of the concept is that many times the world around us is spinning wildly like a huge wagon wheel, but we can be the still center of the wheel, unaffected by the spinning and holding our position. It’s a great oversimplification, or course, but that’s the central metaphor.

And it’s one that I’ve found myself going back to often over the past several years. We all have times in our lives when that wagon wheel is spinning like a top; I certainly have. These are the times that we’ve got to be that still center, or we end up at the end of the wheel spinning out of control. Of course, this is easier said than done. I think sometimes we go through that spinning for a while before we begin the process of finding the stillness.

It’s often a matter of our attitude and our thinking. Honestly, how much can we influence the circumstances of life? But we do have control of our reactions, our attitudes, and our thoughts about those circumstances. Or at least we can. I think the key is to find that stillness within yourself and be able to tap in to it when necessary. Where does this stillness come from? It’s got to come from somewhere beyond the conscious mind: the spirit…the subconscious…God… Your mileage may vary.

The point is—and trust me, this was a LONG time coming for me—the conscious mind is often what gets us in trouble.  We worry, fret, and anticipate trouble to the extent that it cripples us. Again, I speak from experience. As I started to open up to contemplative thought and reading a bit about pioneers in it, both ancient and modern, some concepts really helped me.

One of the oldest is from Julian of Norwich, who lived in England in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. It’s very simple, yet I have found myself using it as a mantra. It may seem naïve or Pollyannaish, but it has proven quite profound.

One of the more contemporary people that I follow in this regard is Eckhart Tolle. Some of his quotes have become a second Bible to me, a real source of inspiration and comfort. To me, these thoughts cut to the real heart of my problem many times. I find myself going back to them often, particularly when I feel myself straying from that still center. Here are two of my favorites:

The primary cause of unhappiness is never the situation but thought about it. Be aware of the thoughts you are thinking. Separate them from the situation, which is always neutral. It is as it is.

Always say “yes” to the present moment. What could be more futile, more insane than to create inner resistance to what already is? What could be more insane than to oppose life itself, which is now and always now? Surrender to what is. Say “yes” to life—and see how life suddenly starts working for you rather than against you.

These ideas do nothing at all to change my circumstances; how could they? But they are invaluable in helping me to get back to the still hub in the center of life’s wheel.

Deliver Us

Thirteenth century theologian Eckhart von Hochheim (Meister Eckhart) once wrote “Pray God deliver me from God.” At first glance, this statement seems the very heart of blasphemy. But as is often the case, it demands a closer look. Eckhart was tried for heresy, which was a typical reaction in the Middle Ages (some things don’t change…).

At first blush, this statement seems to want nothing to do with God, which is undoubtedly where the heretical accusations arose. But if we think about this plea a bit rather than dismissing it outright, something else is there. Perhaps Herr Eckhart was thinking not of dismissing God per se. Perhaps he was thinking a little deeper. (In the Middle Ages, as now, “deeper thinking” was problematic in the eyes of those who hold the power.)

The thing that we may need delivering from is our concept of God. Ah…now perhaps we have something. I believe Meister Eckhart came to realize that the ideas/concepts/notions that we hold about God can easily become too entrenched. Most of these notions, I would venture, are learned from parents, elders, clergy, tradition, and, yes—scripture. The trouble is that God is not easily grasped by our little minds. We get ideas, we develop theology, we even come up with religions. And there’s nothing wrong with those things. We do well to grapple with spiritual things and to try to bring our very rational minds to terms with them.

But we need to be prepared for the eventuality that our ideas are wrong—or at least, incomplete. How often has human history shown that no matter how much we think we understand something, there will always come those “oh, wait!” moments? So doesn’t it stand to reason that we’ll have those realization moments with God as well? In fact, it’s very liberating. We may have our opinions, even our deeply held values, but there’s no pressure to get everything right—there’s no final exam at the end of it all. Come to think of it, is there really a way we can get it all right? I don’t think God expects that of us. So maybe we should let ourselves—and each other—off the hook, too.

Politics, Morality, and Other Dirty Words

"These are the times that try men's souls." Thomas Paine wrote these words to begin his American Crisis series of pamphlets at the dawn of the American Revolution.

There have been many crises over the past 200+ years to which that thought might also apply. The 911 terrorist attacks come quickly to mind, not to mention the two world wars and countless other wars since 1776.

In its own way, the Presidential election cycle has become a very soul-trying time every four years. It says a great deal about the soul of our nation, and about each of us individually. Sometimes it brings out the best in people. And all too often, it brings out the worst. It's saddening, and I must say embarrassing, to watch American politics these days. I'm all for debating the issues; there are often important things that need to be debated publicly. But the way some in both major parties demonize each other doesn't resemble debate so much as it does Jerry Springer.

As a registered Democrat, I am more than willing to admit to some childishness and vitriol from the leaders of my party. But recently those on the other side of the aisle seem to be trying to corner the market. And what bothers me the most is the usurpation and distortion of faith by the religious right. Many in the right wing paint themselves as the standard bearers of morality and truth, crying loudly about "family values" and decrying the left's "war on religion." Problem is that a lot of what the religious right props up as morality are far from the virtues that Jesus espoused in the Sermon on the Mount. In fact, they have become modern versions of the Pharisees for whom Jesus reserved his harshest criticism. And as a Pennsylvanian, I am rather embarrassed to be from the home of Rick Santorum, perhaps the chief Pharisee.

Now, I don't doubt that some of these folks have good motives. At least I hope they do. Perhaps it's just a product of the current political climate that engenders this vicious mentality. Somehow, we need to find our way back to respectful and reasonable political debate. But right now that seems to be a long way off.  

Easter

I had been working on a post about Easter, but I was not happy with it. I kept tinkering, but it just wasn't working.

I don't think I can say it any better than Richard Rohr: " Most of human life is Holy Saturday, a few days of life are Good Friday, but there only needs to be one single Easter Sunday for us to know the final and eternal pattern. We now live inside of such cosmic hope."

Happy Easter, everyone!

Not Just a Game

Like a good number of people over the last couple years, I am a big Game of Thrones fan.

I should say I am a big Song of Ice and Fire fan. I have read the first two and a half books in the George R.R. Martin series, but I've only seen three episodes in the first season of the HBO adaptation. I will say that I am very impressed so far. Everything looks and feels right. I had none of those "he shouldn't be playing that character" or "that's not how that should look" moments as I watched. I think the series is quite well done, and the casting is nothing short of superb. Sean Bean, Peter Dinklage, Kit Harrington, and Maisie Williams were particularly great, I thought.

At any rate, I think that Martin's books represent the best of speculative fiction: great world building, well developed characters, and thrilling stories built around strong themes and truth about humanity and society. One of the first things that struck me in the book (and was well portrayed on TV) was where Eddard Stark sentenced a man to death and did the deed himself. He tells his young son that the man who pronounces the sentence should swing the sword. Imagine if we followed that idea today! Maybe we wouldn't be so cavalier about killing.

Another thing that I find especially compelling in this series is that there are very few pure "good or evil" characters. The good characters all have their flaws, and the seemingly evil ones either have hidden hurts or secret motives for what they do. Just like in life. The older I get, the more I come to realize that the world is not nearly as black and white as I once thought. We almost never have the whole picture when we pass our judgments on people or events.

If you are not yet a fan of either the books or the HBO series, give them a try.

St. Francis and Trayvon Martin

I am certainly not the first to weigh in on the Trayvon Martin shooting. It's obviously a horrific tragedy anytime a young life is cut short. The nation's heart goes out to the community and especially to the family of the victim.

But there is something larger here. Time will tell if Mr. Zimmerman had reason to be suspicious of the young Mr. Martin, or if he was acting on some amalgam of paranoia, hatred, fear, prejudice, or something else. The bigger, more systemic issue is the stand-your-ground laws that exist in Florida and 21 other states. I understand people's right to self-defense, although I still have concerns about deadly force in self-defense. But if someone feels threatened, and the threatening party then retreats...I'm not confident that the threatened person should have the legal right of pursuit.

Again, the specifics of this particular case are still unfolding, and there are likely facts and issues that we have not yet heard. There always are. But I shudder to think that there are laws on the books that encourage the threatened party becoming the threatening party.

Here's where St. Francis comes in. I believe that if I were a Catholic, I could easily be a Franciscan. I consider myself one at heart. As recounted by one of my spiritual mentors, Fr. Richard Rohr, OFM, St. Francis is said to have both tamed a wolf and embraced a leper. In his day, lepers were the most unclean people imaginable, and Francis supposedly had used to be appalled by them. But then, in a moment of inspired compassion, his heart broke and he embraced a leper that he saw along the road, giving this poor soul the first human contact in the person's life. According to the other story, a town in Italy was being terrorized by a wolf, which attacked livestock and people. Francis set out to do something though he had no idea what. The beast was savage and wild. But after praying and talking to the wolf (which apparently was not out of the ordinary for Francis!), he walked right up and treated him as we would a family pet. These two legends (factual or not) illustrate two struggles in our souls that must be faced: embracing the other/outcast and taming the beast that is within us.

All of us must face these two challenges of life to one degree or another. We can become so insular, so tribal, at times that we have difficulty even seeing the other, let alone identifying or empathizing. In this latest tragedy, we have to put ourselves in the shoes of both the persecuted victim—whether it was real or perceived; is there truly a difference?—and the scared, suspicious alleged shooter. Why do we ever feel the need to shoot first and ask questions later, so much so that we legislate the right to do so?

This incident—with its specific and horrific tragedy—is also a morality play for us all. We are all of us Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman, facing at times the leper and the wolf. How we respond is up to us.

Equinox

Happy Vernal Equinox!

Unlike the solstices, which are opposite one another, the equinox is the same for northern and southern hemispheres. Besides the obvious beauty and overall renewal that comes with spring (not to mention spring training!), spring is a time of balance. The days and nights are equal—exactly so at the equinox, and nearly so for a while before and after.

Balance is such a key part of life. And it's something that's there all the time. Night balances day, winter balances summer. Sadness balances joy. (I think I hear Byrds singing.) If we seek that balance in our lives, we're the richer for it. And I don't mean finding the neutral middle ground, but seeking the full swing of the pendulum. Running after happiness all the time is empty if we don't let melancholy or sorrow settle in sometimes. It's all part of being alive.

Is it easy? No. Although, in a way it's less stressful. Pursuing the highs of life all the time is tiring. Thank God for them, and enjoy them while they last. But it's unrealistic—impossible, come to think of it—to think we can live there all the time. Part of the problem, I think, is our internal judgment system. We judge everything—circumstances, ourselves, others—as good or bad. And then we let those "good" or "bad" things determine our attitudes. Simplistic as it may seem, the mantra that "it is what it is" can be a huge boon. It's all part of life. To quote the wisdom of the 80s sitcom (I seem to do that a lot here): "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life."

So enjoy the beginning of spring. Enjoy the rain and the sun. And when we get to the autumnal equinox, hopefully we can have a healthy attitude as the pendulum swings that way too.

Erin go bragh!

We'll be away over the weekend, so I won't  be posting on St. Patrick's Day.

I have a friend who's a lovable curmudgeon, and he tends to be very grumpy about St. Patrick's Day. He thinks it's a divisive holiday that separates the Irish from everybody else. I've tried to tell him that it's not that way, but he'll have none of it. I really hope that there aren't many who feel that way...judging by how crowded the bars are on St. Paddy's Day, I don't think there are.

Personally, I enjoy all the diversity. I love learning about and celebrating cultural differences. Enjoy the party! Cinco de Mayo?  ¡Naturalmente!...even though I have no Latino blood in me at all. Purim? L'Chaim! See, it's the celebration of all the cultures that makes life such a rich mosaic. To bust out the classic Star Trek reference (and who doesn't love those?), it's IDIC—Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination. As mentioned in my previous post, there is great wisdom in SciFi!

There is also great wisdom in many ancient traditions. And one of the pillars of Celtic wisdom was hospitality. It was assumed that if one was traveling, one could stop at a home along the way and get a meal and a place to sleep. It seems to be a direct application of Jesus' teaching to care for one another, and this concept was apparently one of the things that made the Irish so ready to embrace Christianity all those years ago.

From what I hear—and hope to see myself one day—the Irish still take their hospitality very seriously. Strangers are always welcome, especially to share a pint! So in that spirit, I lift my glass and wish everyone the happiest St. Paddy's Day!

Shadow Work

There’s a side of life that most of us don’t want to face, a part of ourselves that we’d just rather ignore.

Some of us do a really good job of this. Like Luke Skywalker, we want nothing to do with the Dark Side. Ah, but Yoda is wise. There’s a reason he made Luke go into that cave. He needed to face the scary stuff. And when he defeated the image of Vader, it was himself.

There’s a shadow side to all of us. And we’ve got to face it. Not to get angry about it or destroy it, or obsess over it. But we must face it. And what do we do with it? Ay, there’s the rub. I think the most genuine response is sadness. It is sad to realize things about ourselves that we don’t like. And it’s disheartening to learn that there’s no quick fix for it either. Could this be the “thorn in the flesh” that Paul talked about in Corinthians? Or that Billy Joel sang about in “The Stranger”?

It’s often a painful process to face the shadow in yourself. It never seems to happen too early in life. Perhaps because it takes a certain level of wisdom—or, at least maturity—to confront it. Sometimes we just need to recognize it and carry it around with us until we know what to do with it. Hopefully we’ll uncover some meaning in it.

And hopefully we can get to a point where we’re not afraid of this side of ourselves. It’s part of who we are, after all. Many of the ancient wisdom traditions fully realized this balance of dark and light, and I think it’s something we in the Western world especially need to regain. If we don’t see—or refuse to acknowledge—the shadow side of ourselves, it can trap us. But once we see it and begin to deal with it, we can move past it…or through it…or with it. I don't think we can really be whole without coming to terms with this side of ourselves.

And trust me; I have not conquered this concept. But I have begun learning about it and dealing with it. It’s not exactly fun, but there is a freedom in it. Perfection isn’t our goal, anyway, is it? If it is, we’re doomed before we even start. And who wants that pressure?

Next to Normal

So far all my posts have been exclusively spiritual. And now for something completely different...

Well, not really. I believe there's a spiritual component to most things. And that's especially true as relates to the arts. ANYway... my wife and I are active in community theater. Our company does really terrific work (I will admit to being more than a little biased!), and we've been seeing every show since 2000 and performing/supporting since 2003.

The theater has long been known for doing edgy stuff along with some more standard fare, although even that usually has some kind of unique spin. I've had my theatrical boundaries stretched and loved every minute of it. I liked some shows more than others, but I don't regret seeing or being in any of them. The show that opens this week is one that neither of us is directly involved with (although my wife's company is the show sponsor), but it's one that we are both looking forward to tremendously. The show is Next to Normal, a modern musical. It centers on a woman dealing with mental health issues.

I know, it seems like an odd subject for a musical, and I guess it is. But the show is so real, so human in the treatment of the material, that it is utterly compelling. Much of the drama is played out through song, and the music and lyrics are provocative and engaging. I found myself empathizing with each character at some point. Each of them has a very relate-able story to tell.

So much of life doesn't fit into the pretty picture we would paint. There's a lot of messiness, a lot of chaos, a lot of, well...life. We can drive ourselves to all kinds of problems by having some kind of lofty expectations about what life should be. Who says what "normal" is, anyway? We just do the best we can to deal with the life we have. In the words of Natalie, the young girl in the show, sometimes all we should hope for is "close enough to normal to get by."

(BTW, if you are in the Lancaster County environs between March 8 and March 24, check out the show: www.ephrataplayhouseinthepark.org/)

A Matter of Perspective

So much of our reality depends on our attitude and our perspective. The following two poems, I believe, serve to illustrate this concept. The first one I wrote when I was in a pretty bleak emotional place. The second was inspired by a group discussion of Isaiah 43: "I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."

Desert

The scorched earth

is parched and cracked

and even the desert flowers

wither in the blazing heat.

The wind has scoured

and the sun has baked

every trace of life

from this barren landscape.

But in time

the rains will fall—

soft at first, and then

with a torrent

that bathes everything

in the hope of new life.

Biota

The blistering sun
makes shimmering waves
against the baked earth.
Most life
would not survive an hour
in the blast furnace air.

And yet
some things thrive here.

Hardy plants
stubbornly adapt
with deep roots
and spiny leaves.
Scorpions and tiny lizards
scurry between shade and sun,
fighting
to eke out their lives
in this alien landscape
that they call
home.

Lectio: Continuing the Conversation

The problem with limiting ourselves to a literal, dogmatic reading of the Bible—or any sacred text, for that matter—is very basic. Most sacred texts are ancient, and we try to approach them with our modern Western minds.

The challenge is to go deeper with the text. Too often we want to ask Did this happen literally as it says? Can that be proven? How do I know I am right about it?  How does it line up with my/our dogma?

Most of us have been there at one time or another. I know I was...for longer than I would like to admit. But these questions do nothing but confound us, twist up our theology in knots, and alienate a good number of others. They're all about security and ego. The deeper, truer approach would be What is God doing or saying here? What does that say about God? What can it say to me here and now in my 21st century life? These are not easy questions. And there are rarely easy answers. It causes us to sit uncomfortably with the issues until we find the truth. And hold on to your hats here—it may not be the same truth for each of us.

It took me years to let go of the need to always be right about things and to always need answers, like filling in the answers in a Sunday School questionnaire. It's a relief to realize that God cannot be figured out or boiled down to definite answers. I've come to think that I wouldn't actually want a relationship with a god that could.

This kind of conversation with Scripture is not easy, nor can it be fully explored in a blog entry. But if you've never explored this kind of relationship with a text that can still be as vital as it ever was, it's well worth the effort.

Lectio: First Step

To paraphrase the Grateful Dead, my experience with scripture has been a long, strange trip. And I imagine that many people have found themselves at similar places along this path as well. From conversations I've had and comments I've read, at least some have.

When I first came to know God, I had a very literal relationship with scripture. I took every word at face value and approached the Bible much as one would approach the Constitution or any other legal document. This approach serves one well who is just becoming familiar with it, but the application pretty much stops there.

The early Christians commonly understood four levels with which to proceed in scripture reading (a method they called lectio divina): literal, symbolic, moral, and mystical. Unfortunately, many Christians today stop at the first level, the literal reading. I will be the first to admit that I was at that place for a number of years. In my defense, many fundamentalist-based churches defend this method. In fact, they will often vilify those who even consider moving beyond it. At any rate, I was certainly complicit in this approach.

But there are problems inherent in stopping our process at this point. A disconnect occurs with what we claim to believe about the Bible. One of the issues, I think, is simply a confusion between the concepts of truth and facts. Literally-minded people tend to view the entirety of scripture as verbatim legal document, like a contract in which every jot and tittle is to be defended and proven for constitutionality. We drove ourselves crazy arguing over things like where Cain's wife came from and whether Creation took six 24-hour days.

In looking at the conundrum now, it seems obvious to me that our first mistake was in approaching an ancient text with 20th and 21st century Western minds. It's just not as easy as we tried to make it. The language difference is the first major barrier, but the entire mindset is so different. For example, the ancient way of communicating truth was much more in step with metaphor, allegory, and story. Our way of thinking is so dissimilar that we must work at looking through the proper lens.

When we do, the result is worth it. More about that in a later post.

Loving Paradox

One of the things that I've come to understand about contemplation and mysticism is the new way in which one can encounter paradox.

The modern Western mind has never been comfortable with paradox. It reminds me of the refrain from Frost's "Mending Wall": Something there is that doesn't love a wall. Well, to most of the Western world, something there is that doesn't love a paradox. It's a loose end that needs to be tied up. It's a mystery that must be solved.

In many parts of life, that's a useful way to approach things. In crime solving, for example, loose ends must be tied up. Same for the world of science. Answers must be found. However, there are some parts of life that defy solving. And as I mature (read "get older"), I have come to believe that they are more pervasive than I had once thought.

Particularly in the realm of spirituality and religion, paradox is virtually the norm. How can God be both three and one? How is Jesus fully human and fully divine? And those two are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg! The problem is that somewhere along the line, Western philosophy became enamored with finding answers—ones we can understand. The Socratic Method, the Enlightenment, and the Industrial Revolution, while amazing things, condition us to use the same dualistic mindset where one thought must be proven absolutely and universally true at the expense of another thought, which is then absolutely and universally false.

It is often through great philosophical  and spiritual struggle that we come to realize that much of life doesn't fit into the neat boxes we have constructed. In fact, we may discover that those boxes have no real meaning. Although on the service it might be seen as naive, I think it is a profound truth that "it is as it is." Yes, there are things that we must come to terms with. There are parts of life that we need to understand.

But there is a deep freedom and peace in accepting the inherent paradox of many things. And perhaps we will move beyond merely accepting it to embracing it.

Bazinga!

My wife and I are quite new to the party, but we have become addicted to The Big Bang Theory. It is one of those rare sitcoms where we find ourselves laughing out loud. Obviously, the characters and the situations in which they find themselves are way over the top (thus the humor). However, I find myself identifying to some degree with most of the characters on the show at some point or other.

Outrageous as he is, there are parts of Sheldon that I identify with. There are times that the things that make us special can also cause us to feel out of place. As a child, I was saddled with the curse of being labeled as “gifted.” Part of me definitely enjoyed this distinction, and my parents and teachers liked it; but for my peers, it was not a badge of honor. Instead, it marked me as weird and different. It wasn’t something that I dwelt on, but there were certainly times that I felt out of place.

In fact, the varying insecurities of each of the characters are pretty universally relatable, I think. We all have our discomfort in different situations and for different reasons. Of course, each of the characters also has strengths. And hopefully we can relate to those as well. Sometimes they’re even the same thing.

Our other favorite sitcom these days is Modern Family. It’s also outrageous and downright silly at times. For the uninitiated, it centers on the extended Pritchett family, of which 60-something Jay is the patriarch. He has remarried to a vivacious Colombian of about half his age who has a ten-year old son. Jay’s daughter Claire is married to real estate agent Phil Dunphy and has three kids. Mitchell, Jay's son and Claire's brother,  is in a same-sex marriage with Cam, and they have adopted an Asian girl named Lily.

On the surface, only the Dunphies have a “traditional” marriage. But despite their differences, all three model strong, loving families. As silly as the situations often get, every episode ends with a hopeful, loving moment—without being maudlin or heavy-handed. Even crazy sitcoms can teach us something!

Lenten Adventure

For many people Lent is about giving something up. I've done it myself...chocolate, sweets, etc.

How about adding something instead? The next six weeks could be dedicated to stepping out in praying, being more thankful, trying new things, allowing space for joy in one's life...the possibilities are practically endless.

For myself, I'm going to spend the time flexing my creative muscle. Every day during the season I'll be more intentional about writing something, whether it's here, in my personal journal, or wherever.

I think one of the keys to any kind of exercise like this is not to be too legalistic about it. The last thing any of us need is another set of dos and don'ts. But it can be a good opportunity to stretch the self a bit and see what we're capable of.

Anyone else want to join me in this adventure? I'll let you know how my experience goes. I'd like to hear about any of your journeys as well. Keep me posted!

A Primer of Sorts

I've been asked to provide a "Mystics for Dummies" explanation for those who may be unfamiliar with the topic.
I'll limit myself somewhat in my response, as this could otherwise go on for pages and pages. First, I'll limit myself to my own knowledge and experience on the subject. I feel that I've only begun to dip my toe into the sea of richness that is mysticism. And second, I'll stick to the Christian mystical tradition. Despite the traditions of other religions—which I understand to be equally rich—the Christian tradition is the one I find myself in.
I know that in some circles mysticism is viewed very skeptically. Some fear that being mystical implies straying from scripture (a pure misunderstanding, IMHO) and from theological orthodoxy. In the very broadest sense, mysticism refers to communion with God. Some use the term union, which again is a scary term to the traditionally minded. I hold to the belief that communion —and indeed, union—is something very much to be sought.
As far as tradition goes, there is a treasury of great Christian mystics whose paths we may follow. They include Origen, Augustine, Pseudo-Dionysius, John Scotus Eriugena, Bernard of Clairvaux, Francis of Assisi, Theresa of Avila, Ignatius, Julian of Norwich, Meister Eckhart, John of the Cross, and Brother Lawrence. Some more modern names include Evelyn Underhill, Thomas Merton, and Fr. Richard Rohr (my spiritual mentor in many ways).
A word of caution: looking into at least some of those names, one is likely to see them called heretics. Just remember that heresy is defined by those who hold the power.
As I am beginning to come to terms with mysticism, one of the keys to me is the practice of awareness. We in the West have developed such a dualistic, "either-or" kind of mindset. And to experience any true sense of the presence of God—or any spiritual truth—we need to develop space within ourselves for "both-and" thinking. Another way of looking at this is that we need to get our own minds, particularly our preconceptions out of the way. Only then can we open up to the possibilities of More.
So that's the starting point. I look forward to diving deeper into this practice. And as I said in my initial post, I'll offer some discussion here.
For further reading, I would recommend Richard Rohr's Everything Belongs and The Big Book of Christian Mysticism by Carl McColman (another of my spiritual mentors).

Maiden Voyage

Welcome! Don't know if anyone is going to have any interest in what I have to say here, but maybe some will.

I begin this blog not as an expert in anything (I'm certainly not!), nor as someone who has "arrived" (still enjoying the journey!). I hope to post somewhat regularly, but I won't guarantee every day. Comments are always welcome.

The name of the blog comes from Rush's Power Windows album from 1985. I am a big fan of Rush, and the idea of some type of allusion seemed good for the name of my blog. Plus, I couldn't think of anything original. *grin*

Mysticism is something I've been interested in lately, and I intend it to be a theme of this blog. I'll end with a few lines by the great Neil Peart:


The more we think we know about
The greater the unknown
We suspend our disbelief
And we are not alone...