by Liz | Jul 8, 2010 | main
While visiting western NY state, we took the time to make our way to Chautauqua Institute and take in a lecture by David Brooks (the NY Times columnist.) Mr. Brooks and I often look at the same data and come to wildly differing conclusions. Nevertheless, I found his talk to be interesting, enlightening, entertaining and thoughtful. Especially as he reflected on a shifting attitude of the United States with respect to wars and international policy. We lack humility. We, as a nation, are so sure that our way, our customs, our particular enactment of democracy is the THE WAY that we bull our way in to other societies and cultures without taking the time to study and understand what is already there. (If I got your meaning wrong, Mr. Brooks, my apologies. This is what I took away from this part of your talk.)
This arrogance works against the arrogant in so many ways. With “American” culture, I suspect it is just so much self-righteousness in most cases. Not being humble enough to take the time to look closely at others and understand where they are coming from. Assuming that we know best not only for ourselves but for everyone else. In other non-American cases, say Stalin and the old Soviet Union, this arrogance assumed that entire cultures could be overridden and annihilated by rearranging borders (remember Czechozlovakia – now returned to 2 distinct countries – the Czech Republic and Slovakia).
This brings me back to more local concerns. My daughter and I have had many discussions of late. She thinks that I think a different culture equates automatically with good, and by extrapolation, I suspect, that I equate our own culture as “bad.” From my side, I am fascinated by the differences between the beliefs and practices between a Latino culture and a rural Southern Baptist culture. I am delighted as well to uncover the many faces of the Roman Catholic church as one moves from Europe through the Americas and on the Asia, Africa and the Pacific Rim. We bring our own backgrounds to church, but we remain Catholic Christians. If we are humble in this faith, we can say “I am more comfortable and feel more at home in this part of the spectrum” without saying “they are so [loud |quiet | jubilant|unemotional] – that they can’t possibly understand how to be Catholic.”
Humility is a virtue. It seems that the prayer of St. Francis puts it well (my own paraphrasing): Lord, make me a channel of Your Peace… let me seek not to much to be understood as to understand, not so much to be loved as to love.
Have a good day – learn much, love much.
by Liz | Jun 9, 2010 | main
Yesterday I went off on a bender. It started with a thorough scrubbing of the kitchen sink which is now, once again, shiny and white. Then, it turned to the bathroom. I found myself a driven woman, sitting on the bathroom floor with Softscrub, a cloth and a scrub brush, shining up the baseboards – bleaching them out and scrubbing the baseboards and the tile floor. Shiny! White! Clean!
Why does this feel so good? I’ve been pondering that. It seems in part a bit like reconciliation. OK – so that’s weird, I know. But, I have looked at that sink and those baseboards and been bothered by them – just not bothered enough to do something about it. Kind of like those little things that separate me from God — not great, honking, MOTRTAL SINS, but little things that get in the way of a more open relationship. So, yesterday, I addressed the issues. I got out the scrub brush and the elbow grease and I looked the problem in the eye and said to myself “The fix won’t be perfect, but it will be attempted.” I did my part. I quit running from the problem.
I’m not sure that is the whole story. I read about how Contemplatives (monks, etc) engage in physical labor – active contemplation. That seems to be a part of the whole “clean it up” issue. We are both physical and spiritual creatures. All action can be seen as a prayer. That action might be genuflecting in church, making the sign of the cross or making lunch for a 3 year old or an 80 year old. That action might be a dance class or sweeping the floor or singing (to sing is to pray twice, you know.) The physical effort that went into making these parts of my house shiny and white was a form of prayer, I think. I lost myself in the Now. I existed in the moment. And, that seems to be a element of prayer for me.
What shall I clean today in prayer?
by Liz | Jun 6, 2010 | main
Today the Catholic Church celebrates the Feast of Corpus Christi — the Body and Blood of Christ. We have a Nigerian Vincentian filling in while the padre is away on vacation… as I watched in, listened to him and responded in song to his song, I was struck by just how wonderfully diverse this Body of Christ truly is.
Fr. Igwe had this sometimes reticent little parish responding in song. He was contagious. That’s the word, I think: Contagious. He taught a different Gloria. We sang “Amazing Grace” as a creed. He chanted parts of the Preface and the Eucharistic prayer. He was joyful.
Our usual pastor is colorful in his own ways: He loves sports, he is a gifted preacher who can handle a mass that flips from English to Spanish with ease, and he almost always “gets to me.” He too loves to sing although not the same rhythms as our visiting Nigerian. He brings so much to the celebration, especially when he’s not feeling bad.
Pentecost weekend I was at a mass in a nearby parish and saw another “Face of God” as it were in the celebration there.
And so, I am awed at the expanse and variety I find in the Body of Christ. I find that I must pray for God to touch more deeply the parishioner who complained that we had “moved from Pentecost to Pentecostal… can’t we just be Catholic?” because people clapped along with the closing song on the feast of Pentecost. There is room in this body for those who find God in the quiet, in gregorian chant and rosaries along side those who are bubbling over with the joy of the Spirit and must let the Light shine in more physical and vocal ways.
We are many parts — we are ALL ONE BODY.
by Liz | Apr 24, 2010 | main
Just because I don’t make myself post here, doesn’t mean I’m not thinking and praying. It is better for me when I do, because it forces me to focus and wrap words around the things that go on in my head and heart. Writing is clarifying. Writing is stepping into where I am and taking a long hard look. But, it is at times difficult. It shows me things that maybe I don’t want to know.
So, what does that have to do with duct tape? Duct tape is like “the Force” – it has a dark side and a light side and it holds the universe together. And that idea of two-edged swords has been on my mind of late as I transition from full-time, 8-5 employment into this place where I work on my own time and have to reset my schedules. This is a good thing. I find that I am enjoying it immensely. I find that I am much more at peace with myself and the world around me. I find that in many ways I am more productive (at least from my point of view). And, I find that I am concerned that maybe I’m not pulling my share of the load financially or that I have to shape up some of my spending habits. I have to rediscover what things I consider most important in my daily life and find the discipline to follow through with it.
All things in this world come with pluses and minuses. Food — required to live, but too much or too little is not healthy. Exercise – lifting weights builds muscle, but it does so by tearing some down and then rebuilding. Prayer — that one is a bit scary at times… because if I truly listen I am called to change, and don’t let anyone kid you – real change is dying and being reborn.
I think of my children and grandchildren. Each one is a separate, wonderful being. The one that has caused the deepest grief is the one who’s excitement and exuberance in living life can also bring the biggest smile. The one who had no friends at 12 has a circle of friends that circles the globe. The one that often baffled me because we learn so differently is now so close to my heart.
I’m back to duct tape — that shiny, slick side and the sticky white side. Very different, but inseparable — and one must accept both before it can do its work.
by Liz | Apr 8, 2010 | main
My friend died tonight – a little over an hour ago. When I got the call, I just knew. But, I think I knew when it happened. Earlier this evening, in the middle of what passes for choir practice at church, Henry suddenly loomed large in my head and my heart. I felt so strongly that I needed to pray for him.
Earlier today I called Henry. I had such a strong urging inside me to call him. He sounded bad – but he wanted to talk. We used to talk at work. Stand outside and solve problems, discuss philosophy and theology. And so, today we talked about general stuff and how all he wanted to eat was ice cream and fruit. It was a good talk, good sharing. I’m pretty sure at this point that I was open to the urging of the Holy Spirit when I made the call. I’m just as certain that at church the Spirit once again prompted me.
So, is this post about me or about Henry? Both and neither. I think it’s about being sad that my friend has moved on and it’s about that being for me a near occasion of grace. I find it far better to be aware and feel the pain than to be asleep and miss being a part of life.
Thank you God for Henry’s life. Thank you for allowing me to share a small piece of that life. And thank you for the prompting that led me to call and talk with him this morning.
