by Liz | Jan 13, 2008 | main
God, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the thing I am
And Wisdom to know the difference.
I first learned that prayer – those words as a teenager. I’ve repeated them and prayed them frequently since that time. But, they meant something quite different to me then than they do now.
At the time, my mother had found us support — an AlaTeen group. That’s for children/teenagers living with an alcoholic parent. Understandably, my comprehension of that prayer was aimed at the external: I couldn’t change my father, I really couldn’t change where I lived. I understood that what I could work with was my external reactions to the situation. Try not to scream and cry, try to remain calm and try to find a way out. And Wisdom – that was just knowing where to draw the line.
Fortunately I went away to college. I look at students today in amazement. So many go home more weekends than not. “Helicopter parents” who hover over them are not uncommon. When I left, my mother and I think grandmother drove me down, helped me move into my dorm room, and I reluctantly got myself home for Thanksgiving break. I made a break for it.
But the world was a confusing place. I did learn that there was a layer beneath that I could work with (here goes the first layer of the onion skin peeling off.) I discovered the Catholic Student Center — I began to make a break with my protestant, Calvinist, background. One of the scariest decisions I realized I would be making was that I was going to join the Roman Catholic Church. Some folk may not understand the radical nature of that decision in my life. I can still return to the spot where I was sitting, on a small hill, next to a fig tree (isn’t God poetic?) when it occurred to me that I was really going to do this. I recall thinking, like Moses, “not me God, take Aaron!” because it was such a tremendous step for me. A fundamental type of change that I could make – not just in how I reacted to someone else, but an internal change in the way I saw the world.
Courage to change is no sweet little prayer. Courage to change is a powerful, life changing request. Courage to change means really being open to what can be changed and what should be changed. Courage to change means facing your demons, your fears, your addictions, yourself. Courage to change means having to walk into the unknown into a way of being that has been heretofore hidden from your sight. Courage to change implies willingness to die to old ways. Courage to change means admitting that there are things that need to be changed.
Sometimes I’m ready for that prayer. Sometimes I say the words but I don’t mean them. Sometimes, I’m just too tired to even think about it. Often it is just easier to pretend that something can’t be changed, or maybe just doesn’t need to be changed. That’s when the Wisdom piece comes into play.
Wisdom – I see her as that stirring that shows me, often gently, that there are somethings that you just have to accept. I’m really not going to change how tall I am, the real color of my eyes or my hair, or the past. Or even my preference for introverted, thinking approaches to life. I’m not going to change the fact that I was a bottle baby and not a breast-fed one. I’m not going to change events like falling off of the porch into the forsythia bush (which still invokes terror 50 years later) or listening to my sister scream in the dentist’s office after she fell and broke off her two front teeth (I was not quite 4, she was about 18 months old). I’ve learned that the emotions these things invoke are signs and can tell me where change is needed.
And so, I pray these words cautiously. Very cautiously. Precisely because the answer to that prayer can be so earthshaking.
by Liz | Dec 1, 2007 | main
My mother has remarked more than once that I always wanted to succeed at things I’m not good at and ignore the things that come naturally. Leave it to Mama to see through you…
The comment has also been made that I’m a bit like Groucho Marx: “I refuse to be a member of any club that will accept me as a member.” If I’m good enough to belong, they must not be worth joining.
And, I look at the ministries of others, and wish that was mine. And yet I back away from participating many times. Tell me that the music as mass was wonderful and I’ll smile and say “Thank you” but inside I’m thinking that “the angels must have blocked your ears from hearing the off-key notes and the rather less than mediocre voice.”
One of my friends refers to this desire to have a different ministry, to want some glory (but avoid the pain of leadership) as “Holy envy.” Yup – I want someone else’s gifts. Someone else’s call.
Looking deeper, I see that maybe it’s not that I have so much envy: sometimes I fear failure. If I really go for the A and fall short, I’m a failure. If I settle for the sure B, then I could’ve done the A if I had wanted to. Nobody is the wiser.
Another friend has tried to console me by reminding me that I am perfect – perfectly me. I gave that talk, once. It is the Ideals talk for a Cursillo weekend. Know yourself. Know that you are perfect in who your are. You are created perfectly in the image and likeness of the Creator (Even though you can’t use those words in that talk.) I even used the example that my dog, Grace, is perfect – perfect in her very “dogginess.” She’s not a cat, or a rabbit or a human. She is perfectly dog.
It seems easier for me to love another person through the rough edges, the broken parts and the little quirks than it is to respect those same quirks in myself. When will I learn that the mirror I must look into is my own — not the mirror of comparison to others?
One of the scripture passages that seems to haunt me in these times is where Paul says something along the lines of: “For now we see in a mirror darkly, but then we shall see face to face.” I think I need to clean the mirror so I can see more clearly. Let the light shine into the corners a bit more brightly. And look in my own mirror, not keep trying to peek in everybody else’s.
by Liz | Sep 7, 2007 | main
Compassion seems to be the recent recurring theme in my thoughts and prayers. It was in the forefront of ideas in one of my recent reads – “Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain” by Sharon Begley, which reports on a meeting of neuroscientists, buddhist scholars and the Dalai Lama. One story related in the book has stayed with me for a couple of weeks. It is the story of a Tibetan Buddhist monk who was imprisoned by the Chinese for 18 years with all that entails – toture included. Upon his release he made is way to Dharamsala, the current home of the Dalai Lama where he seemed happy, peaceful and amazingly unscarred by the previous 18 years. When asked what he feared most in prison, his response was almost startling – “I feared most that I would lose my compassion for the Chinese.”
How does one develop such compassion? It is evident in so few of us – in this monk, in Jesus on the cross, Mother Teresa… The Buddhists get there by meditating for many hours. I suspect that Jesus and Mother Teresa and others got (or will get) there by similar routes. The world would be a better place if more people were able to develop this compassion – it might actually look more like the Kingdom of God that Christians strive for.
This compassion is a desire to relieve the suffering of all of God’s creatures. It does not require that the object conform to my standards of behavior or belief. It calls to mind the outlook of Vincent de Paul – to see Christ in the face of the poor. But beyond that, it calls one to action to relieve that suffering. Not just think about it, but to act.
There have been times when I have been there – not a often as I would like, but often enough to have a small taste of it, and know that it is a call to holiness, a call to wholeness, a call to oneness with the world and the creator.
Now, it seems I am back to Thomas Merton and Active Contemplation. And somehow, I must move beyond just pondering this idea and actually practice.
by Liz | Jun 22, 2007 | main
Last night, as I was strapping on my CPAP it felt like this was just another one of my many tethers. I’ve had it a month. It fits under my nose and pushes air into my lungs so that I can sleep – really sleep – through a long hose that attaches me to the machine part. When I roll over the hose follows me, keeping me tied to it. If I have to get up in the night, I have to remove it. My tether.
There are other tethers in my life. My cell phone that allows me to stay in touch with family and friends. Always seems to follow me around. If I forget it, the battery dies, I don’t hear it or just don’t answer, then there are messages – “Where are you?” “Call me.” Another tether.
And, Grace and Cooper are tethers. They have to be fed every night. If we are going away, then we have to find someone to take care of them. They follow me around the house almost like ducklings instead of schnauzers. Can’t just walk off and leave them.
I guess tethers are good. They anchor me to reality. The keep me in line. They give shape and form to my days. I guess…
I’d like to be free of some of these things – who wouldn’t prefer to be able to sleep and dream and wake refreshed without a machine to keep you breathing at night? Who wouldn’t like to be able to take off and go without worrying if 2 furry companions have food and water while you’re gone. Who wouldn’t like the idea of sometimes being able to go walkabout without the cell phone.
These early morning writing sessions help me to figure out which tethers are useful and life giving and which are restrictive life-sucking external bindings that need to go. Some days I know that the strongest tether I have is faith — and that is an internal, grounding line. It doesn’t tie me to a machine at night. By contrast, it grounds me wherever I am – I’m guessing that if I ever truly went walkabout, I couldn’t leave faith behind. For that matter, it might actually become more evident.
There are disciplines and practices that emphasize becoming centered or grounded. I’ve not always been successful at following them, but in the times where I start my day around being aware of these anchors, life surely seems more free. If I get the chance to start the day at mass, somehow things seems to fall into place. Or, if I get up and write and sort through the every present thoughts and feelings, the rest of the day runs so much better.
This journey is depending on my understanding the tethers – I’ve had a lot of frustration and anger at the church (RC and other), and yet when I start exploring, I find that the center of it all is my relationship a person – history calls him Jesus. But, I see that person in other people today, and I seek to see that person in all. That is the Way. Without that anchoring Way, all the other tethers become restrictive chains. References to the Goddess, the insights of myth, throwing out much of the traditional trappings of the church – I find that at the core, I’m back in that relationship with the Way.
So – here we are. I’ll have to figure out how to focus on the positive connototations of “tether” because at this point, I just don’t have the will or desire to cut them all and float free – hell, I don’t even seem to have the will to cut the ones I need to. But, that’s my next step.
by Liz | Jun 20, 2007 | main
Yesterday the library had a small Juneteenth celebration. I was glad I read the entire email explaining the origins of Juneteenth, because just looking at the date, my first thought was – “Is this a summer solstice celebration?” Turns out it is a commemoration of the slaves being freed in Galeveston Tx in 1865 and is also known as Emancipation Day or Freedom Day (see Wikipedia). And a part of our little celebration included a questionaire/survey that we were encouraged to fill out.
I’m still thinking. The first question was “Was does Diversity mean to you?” That in a space about large enough for 2 lines. Whoa!
My first reaction is “diversity is good”, but that’s not going to tell anyone what it means to me or how I came to that conclusion. In the context of this celebration, one feels compelled to address the word “diversity” wrt to Black-White relations in the US. That’s just not going to cover it for this global learner. And so, I’ll try to sort out my thoughts on this.
Diversity: the Oxford English Dictionary as 5 definitions, none particularly helpful as they seem to be self-referencing as in
1. a. The condition or quality of being diverse, different, or varied; difference, unlikeness.
or this
b. with a and pl. An instance of this condition or quality; a point of unlikeness; a difference, distinction; a different kind, a variety.
So I go to OED and try diverse, the noun and find something a bit more to the point:
1. Different in character or quality; not of the same kind; not alike in nature or qualities. (Formerly also written divers: see DIVERS 1.)
OK – there’s more, but you get the gist, I think.
My take on diversity is that is keeps life going. Plain and simple. In biological terms, a gene pool that lacks diversity can be wiped out by a single pathogen. In cultural terms, a monolithic society works somewhat the same way – get at the overwhelming common creed, belief, social structure, and down it goes. And, the one that I deal with most often is the office. Heavens – what if we all worked in my eclectic style? Or if we all worked in my boss’s style? Both scenarios would be far less effective, possibly disastrous albeit for different reasons.
And so, LaShawn: what does Diversity mean to me? It means a healthy society with respect for the individuals and their histories, gifts and different approaches to solving problems or resolving issues. It means that those who are descended from slaves can work side by side with those descended from slave-owners. It means that none of us can see the whole picture – no one religious approach, no one moral code, no one menu for dinner. It means that, to paraphrase St. Paul: We are many parts but all one body. And the gifts we have we are given to share [with all for the good of the whole.] If everyone was an eye there would be some real problems in functioning; same if all were ears, or arms or hearts or noses.
Diversity makes it incumbent upon me that I, in my eye-ness, depend on your ear-ness, and both celebrate the difference and learn something more about how to be a bit more of an ear without losing the fact that I am an eye (or a nose or finger or bellybutton.) And the same goes for each of us.
Diversity makes life happen. I look across the our tiny congregation at Mass on Sunday mornings, and I see in the 50 – 60 faces african american and african native, latinos from at least one, if not several different Latin American cultures, faces of different Asian ethnic groups, those who grew up as Roman Catholics, and those who were raised in various protestant flavors of Christianity and even a man who, despite his Jewish heritage has joined our faith. We are rich and poor, uneducated, blue collar, college professor and successful business people. I know of nobody who has come from an Islamic or middle eastern background – although I have no doubt that a person like that would be welcomed. I have no doubt but that some of us find ourselves uncovering our somewhat buddhist approaches to life. And those who often use the feminine when referring to our God intermingled with those who can only refer to Him.
And so, I find that I just can’t answer that question in the space provided. And I find that I probably will struggle with the rest of the questions on that little brief survey.
by Liz | May 26, 2007 | main
A few Sundays ago, I noticed that we had done mass in 3/4 time – every song, every proper except the Gospel Acclamation (and a few bars of the Lamb of God) were 3/4. Rather a musical pun on the entire hour – to have all of the music in waltz time.
Mass is not just a ritual coming together to share our lives and prayer and the eucharist. Mass is rather like a dance, it seems. When my son was in high school, he had a tape that included about 4 songs that would loop and loop. One I remember was “The Dance.” And so, as we move through the steps at mass, we are dancing. Dancing with the Lord, dancing with each other.
During Lent and the Easter Season, Fr. Jack has spent a bit of time before mass teaching – talking about “what happens at mass.” Not what we do per se, what what is happening. He started at the the beginning with the gathering, the penitential rite, the Liturgy of the Word and on through the preface, consecretion, communion… all the way through. I think our waltz was the Sunday he incorporated the Preface into the homily instead of doing it beforehand. Wow! The man stepped out of his own way and let the Spirit speak. And, it was rather like being caught up in a passionate, moving dance – almost a tango.
So, I started thinking about this dance idea. On the very pragmatic level, the musicians, cantors, readers, eucharistic ministers, altar servers, celebrant and assembly must dance well together. Who is leading at this point? What step comes next? Do we spin, or dip, do a standard box step or add a flare? We must be engaged with one another to do this well. And on a deeper, spiritual level, that same applies. We must be engaged with the God, and God with us if this dance is to have the impact it needs on our lives.
I could go on about this for a long time – but I’ll cut it off now, and consider just how wonderful it is to take part in the eternal dance of life and love.
