by Liz | Sep 6, 2009 | main
Football season in the SEC is now officially open. At one level, I see this as so much hooey. But, deep in my bones, it is exciting. As I left work on Friday afternoon, the atmosphere crackled like a festival. The FiJis (over at ‘Bama, those boys might be known as Phi Gams, but here on the Plains, they are Fiji’s) had the couches out on the lawn alongside the monster speakers that blasted us with a serenade somewhere between rock and country. Tailgaters were relaxing at picnic tables and outdoor folding chairs inside their spots that were marked with orange safety tape. Kids sporting football jerseys played on the sidewalk.
When I no longer work at the Library, I think this will be one of those scenes I will miss… it’s hard to explain the simultaneous thrill and peace that I experience on Friday afternoons in the fall, when the Tigers are playing at home. Life is good. All shall be well. The universe is in order.
It might be shallow. There are those who might take my enchantment with this mystery of being as sacreligious or heathen. But, I noticed that in today’s Gospel, Jesus healed a deaf mute, not by standing over him and praying but by touching him – up close and intimate – put his finger in the deaf-mute’s ears, spit and touched his tongue. That is getting close. That is being present in whatever way is necessary for healing. And so, I’ll enjoy my Friday afternoon experiences where I feel touched. I will enjoy the time where the joy and excitement, and sense of belonging to a community are palpable.
Oh, yes… in the South, football is alarmingly like religion.
by Liz | Mar 19, 2009 | main
I was a teenager in the late 60’s and early 70’s… last of a generation who’s world view was heavily colored by the Viet Nam war and the draft. The guys in my class were the last to face the draft lottery knowing that a low number really meant they were going.
One afternoon, I was riding in the car with my mother… a very proper, lovely woman (OK, as a teenager, maybe I didn’t see that so well); The radio is playing Crosby, Stills and Nash. The words floated through the air and Mama caught them. I still remember her thoughtful comment — “That’s good advice: If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.”
I’m not sure her vision of that was the same as the singers’. But she had a point and it comes to me at various times. There are those that I have a strong connection with, that I love. They live elsewhere. They may indeed love me in return. But, the fact remains that they have a life there and I have one here. So, it becomes my call to “love the one(s) I with.”
I think Jesus did just that — that he is my example. The gospels seem to indicate that he had those that he loved and cared about as any human does. Mary, Martha, Lazarus, John… and yet, in all the stories we see a man who was present in the moment. He was approached by a leper – he loved the one he was with. He felt a woman touch his hem — he stopped, and loved the one he was with. He was present for those he was with at the time.
Not always easy to do — but well worth trying to do.
by Liz | Nov 10, 2008 | main
I have a friend who observes: Practice doesn’t necessarily make perfect. Practice makes Permanent.
An astute observation, I think. Its truth is probably why I have such a hard time breaking bad habits. I’ve had so much practice at them, they must be treated seriously in order to stop. They are pretty well ingrained. Permanent (unless I really get out the Ajax Magic Eraser and go to work.) Its truth is also the reason I find it so easy not to make myself sit down and pull together even a single paragraph to post every morning. I’ve not practiced enough to make it a part of my life.
[My apologies, Jack, if I got this all different that you meant it.] In his homily yesterday, Fr. Jack made connections between the first reading where Ezekial sees the water (Life from God) flowing out of God’s house, the temple, and Jesus as the temple – or the house of God. God cannot be constrained by a building. God won’t fit into the Sanctuary. Jesus became the temple – so now God is in a person, walking around. The final connection is the second reading: We are all temples of God. Even me. It therefore behooves me to respect that temple that is myself.
At this point I begin to chuckle as I remember a Jimmy Buffett song in which the women character speaks in frustration at the man: “I treat my body like a temple; you treat yours like a tent.” Let’s have some respect here!
Why does this have any relationship to practice? If I am to remember that God resides with me, I have to practice. I need to write. I need to pray. I need to stop and remember, over and over and over. Until I have practiced so much that it is truly a part of me.
