What Do You Do?

It never fails. You're at a party, or meeting friends of friends. And someone asks The Dreaded Question: "So, what do you do?"

What do I do? I do lots of things. I write a blog. I dabble in poetry. I listen to prog rock. I love my wife. I take care of two spoiled kitties. I act and volunteer at a community theater. I take walks. I read. I binge-watch shows on Netflix... Oh! What do I do for a living?

It's really rather sad how we are defined by our jobs. Don't get me wrong; I like my job. (Usually; we all have our moments, don't we?) But my job doesn't define who I am. I had been pondering this idea a bit recently, and on the way home from work (I teach at a business school, BTW), I heard part of a TED talk about this very subject. The speaker was relating how this is a new phenomenon. Three hundred years ago, people weren't introduced by their occupation but by where they lived and who their family is. I like it! "I'm Rob of the Adams and Buch houses, and I live in the Borough of Ephrata." That says as much (or more) about me than what I do for a living.

We're more than what we do for a vocation, aren't we? I think we are beautiful, complicated beings. Like a diamond, we can't be described by a single facet. You've got to see us from all angles, in different lights, perhaps moving about us to see us from different vantages.

I know, it's usually asked innocently (unless there is some ulterior motive like sales). And sometimes it's the default question because we don't know what else to ask. But I for one will endeavor to put some more arrows in my quiver: How do you know so-and-so? Where are you from? What did you think of the show/speech/movie? If the other person is that excited about his or her job, I'm more than willing to listen.

But I won't ask. I want to get to know you, not your job.

Another Opening, Another Show

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest opened Thursday at Ephrata Performing Arts Center, my home away from home. Opening nights are always exciting times, the culmination of weeks of rehearsal, getting familiar with the text, finding each character's own story as well as the weaving together of all those stories into a bigger picture.

But the opening of a show is also the beginning of something. As our director (the inestimable Mr. Timothy Riggs) reminded us before that first curtain, we've just taken the first step of the journey. After that first performance, there are ten more to follow. (As I write this, we've done two, so now there are eight left.) Through those successive shows, there will inevitably be growth. To be certain, the basic bones of the show won't change. But we as an ensemble will not turn in the exact same performance twice; such is the nature of live theater. We will find new things, little nuances, each night. Some of them will be accidental and some will be conscious little choices. And through both, the organism of the play will evolve over its three-week lifespan. It's such a thrilling experience to be part of that maturation.

And as always, there is the beautiful organism of the ensemble itself. Seventeen actors, the director, the stage manager, the technical staff—all of us have come together for a common purpose. And it becomes quite the lovely little community; it always does. Some of these folks I've known for years and have worked with before. Others I met at the call-back auditions. And as always, I cherish the bond that we have all formed. It's always a little bittersweet, too, when the final show (and the cast party that follows!) ends. This particular chapter of our lives will be over, but I for one will have several new friends that I hadn't before and memories to treasure. I'm sure others feel the same.

And each of us will leave the experience the better for it. Not only have we interacted with a wonderful piece of American drama, but we also lived the communal experience of theater for a time. For me, there's nothing like it.

Bheannaigh lá Fhéile Pádraig!

Here it is, the High Holy Day of the Diaspora (not to mention everyone back in the Old Country)!

Ah, St. Paddy’s Day . . . so many things to so many people. Recently, it’s mostly become a drinking holiday, especially here in the US. I understand it was traditionally a very religious holiday in Ireland. And of course, it’s time for everyone to celebrate their Irish heritage (or to imagine one, if necessary!).

Being of Irish (Scotch-Irish, more precisely) descent, I come by the celebration naturally. St. Paddy’s Day was always celebrated in my family, along with the requisite corned beef and cabbage. (I enjoy it much more now than I did as a wee lad!) And with my latent discovery of the richness of Celtic spirituality, I am more invested in the wearin’ of the green than ever.

Almost every major city has a St. Paddy’s Day parade or celebration—even some of the smaller ones. York, PA, has been holding a parade for 31 years. And nearby Lancaster is hosting a block party sponsored by a couple local businesses. Does any other saint enjoy such popularity and feasting? I suppose a case could be made for St. Nicholas in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, and of course St. Francis—especially with the current pope. I have to think, though, that a lot of Patrick’s esteem comes from his association with the Emerald Isle. It’s estimated that over 100 million claim Irish ancestry, a number 15 times that of Ireland itself.

But the reach of Ireland stretches far beyond those of us whose ancestors once called Ireland home. The contributions of Irish—and more broadly Celtic—culture are immeasurable: literature, art, religion, tradition, and of course whiskey!

So let’s celebrate it all! Listen to some Cranberries, Clannad, or Irish Tenors. Break out the Yeats and Joyce. Have a pour of Jameson or Bushmill’s or a pint of Guinness.  Éirinn go Brác!

Oneing

It’s really sad, but things here in the US and worldwide seem to keep trending to the divisive. The terrible situation in Crimea (and Ukraine in general) is just the latest chapter in the tragedy. And divisions are evident in many other places. The American political parties are a pretty strident example as well. And another vote for Scottish independence is slated for September of this year.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with people wanting to be free from oppression—in fact, it’s pretty darn noble! And political discourse is what drives a democratic system. The problem is when hatred and demonization take the place of honest and well-reasoned difference. And it’s heartbreaking.

The funny thing is, when viewed with a wide-angle lens, we’re all connected. Everything is. Fourteenth-century mystic Julian of Norwich (one of my spiritual heroes!) called this phenomenon oneing—a term taken up by Richard Rohr (another hero) for a recent book. The original description was of the human soul with God, but it applies much more broadly.

And I think if we look closely (or maybe broadly is more apt), we can see those connections. The ancient Celts saw and celebrated those connections. So did the Jews and many other wisdom traditions. Tragically, Plato (and other Greek philosophers) saw divisions between things, particularly between the spirit and the body.  It was a serious error when the King James Version of the bible translated as flesh what would have been better rendered as false self or ego.

We need to better understand and embrace the unity of all things—the universe, people, ourselves. Again, Master Yoda is wise:  “You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes. Even between the land and the ship.” Yeah, I know, it’s largely taken from Asian philosophy. But it’s so much cooler coming from an ancient 3-foot tall Muppet.

Seriously, the more we can see and appreciate the interconnectedness of all things, the more respect we will have for things that are seemingly different, and the more balance we will find in ourselves.

Namaste!

Sic et Non

It’s funny how some issues keep resurfacing for me. Some time ago I posted about paradox, and I’ve revisited the idea once or twice since then. And here it is again.

One of my daily readings is a meditation by Fr. Richard Rohr, OFM. His teachings have been instrumental in my spiritual path for the past several years. Recently Father Richard did a brief series of posts based on Sic et Non, a Medieval Latin text that presents a series of theological and philosophical questions. The upshot of this—or at least the takeaway that Fr. Richard relates—is that for many of the Big Questions of Life, the answer is “yes and no.” Notice the ancient yin and yang symbol:the dark and light areas are connected by a sinuous line, not a straight clear-cut one. There is a black area in the middle of the white and a white area in the middle of the black.

But our minds don’t like this answer. And we impose our insistence on black-or-white, right-or-wrong judgments on everything—religion, ethics, business, government, philosophy—and worst of all, people (including ourselves!). How did we (in the Western world, at least) get to this place? I’m sure there are many reasons, including the Industrial Revolution, Calvinism, Puritanism, the Scientific Method, and perhaps most of all, the marriage of Church and State starting with Constantine in 313. I’m not saying that any of these things are evil in and of themselves (although Constantine may carry the lion’s share of any blame there may be).

The problem arises when we try to apply this dualistic yes-or-no thinking to something as complex and mysterious as spirituality. I continue to realize—and keep reminding myself—that more and more of life isn’t so cut and dried. Life is not a scientific experiment or a mathematic equation. All things do not apply equally to everyone. Nor does the same principle necessary apply to the same situation every time. At first, this realization is confusing and rather disorienting.

But it’s also very freeing.

And please understand—I don’t mean that there are never any absolutes. Hatred is always wrong. Love is always the best path. But the more I understand, the more I see that I don’t understand; and some things I will never fully understand.

But more and more . . . I’m okay with that!