Sarah & Jan

In our Thursday AM study group at St. Andrew we are reading Jan Richardson’s wonderful book, In the Sanctuary of Women.

Tomorrow we at 10:00 am we will be discussing chapter one.

It is about Eve.

Jan ponders lots of questions about Eve.  Among them is one something like this:

What prayers persist beneath the layers of paint on your life?

Jan says there are blessings buried beneath the layers of who Eve has become to us.  These blessings have become nearly impossible to discern because of the layers others have added to her story over the centuries, “a patina of interpretation and the crackling of conflict, lines laid down by those who have sought to inscribe their meaning across the canvas.  They have looked into the layers and said . . . “

What do you see within Eve’s story?

What hovers for you beneath and between the lines of the text?

What blessing in Eve’s life do you find with your own eyes?

And, now . . . among Jan’s blessings for you are these:

Throughout this day and this night, may you know the breath of God breathing in you.

and

May you discover that Wisdom and Courage are lovers.  Their secret is that their dwelling has no lamps.  At sunset they say a prayer that in the night their ears hands noses tongues will tell them what they need to know . . . The neighbors find them odd, but their children – Compassion, Integrity, Hope – have learned the wonder of a heart unhiding itself, coming as gift to our deepest eye.

and

When all about you lies in pieces, may the Holy One make of them a passage.

and

May the desires of your heart draw you toward creation and connection.  May you know always and always, you are not alone.   The Mother is in you.  The Father is in you.  The wind, the fire, the sea, the touch of your love, the mountain, the desert, the plateau, the city, the country, the song, the prayer, the silence, the laughter - boisterous/ebullient joy, the tears – aching/forlorn sobbing, the quiet hope of the flickering candle, the sand of the beach, the food on your table, the wine of your tasting,, the sight and sound of the sand hill crane in flight . . .may all these and more remind you . . . you are not alone!

and

May the Holy One, who created you from words and dust and called you good, inhabit your every hunger, dwell in each desire, and encompass you in the choosing that lies ahead.

While in Portland, I saw this Jan Richardson blessing on the cupboard by the Brownell sink  . . . the seed contains . . . the nest and branches will hold . . . oh yes!

the porch watcher

During my lenten trip to Portland, Oregon for a visit with my daughter and her family, we had dinner at the home of a family who are dear friends of theirs.  Propped on the friends’ front porch was the pottery face in the image above.  It was leaned up against the blue siding of their home.  The face intrigued me, so I took a picture.  Imagine that!

Later that night my son-in-law, Jeff, was showing me a photo which won him first place in a photography exhibit.  He showed me a few of the steps he had taken with the image to transform it from the original picture to the final framed art he submitted for the show. It is a magically whimsical view of a high flying carousel.

That got me a bit curious about the picture I had taken which was, by now, named “the porch watcher.”

So, I played with the image a wee bit.  My play was not anything as magnificent as Jeff’s, but I created three versions of the porch watcher which each elicit a different set of feelings within me.

The third one exudes radiant welcoming love.

Jeff liked it too.

Which one speaks to you?

The Thursday Study group is reading, Marcus Borg’s book, Speaking Christian.  In one chapter he says that prior to 1600 the word “believe” comes from the Old English be loef which means “to hold dear.”

I do wonder what would happen to us if we began to see differently enough to know “believe” as “belove.”

Borg says “To believe in God does not mean believing that a set of statements about God are true, but to belove God.  To believe in Jesus does not mean to believe that a set of statements about him are true, but to belove Jesus.”

Thank you Marcus.  Thank you Jeff.  Thank you porch watcher.  Thank you Jim.  Thank you Donna.

with great hope, phil garrison

Tonight the moon rose full in Sarasota.  I remembered.

Beautiful moon tonight

And, I read tomorrow’s meditation from Mark Nepo’s The Book of Awakening:

The Ropes & Wheels That Carry Us

Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty - 

that is all you know on earth,

and all you need to know.

- John Keats

These are the famous last lines of “Ode on a Grecian Urn” uttered by the young English poet dying of tuberculosis at the age of twenty-four.  The poem is an understandable complaint by a tender being against the harshness of life.  But suddenly, by voicing his pain of living, the young poet comes upon a profound realization.

When Keats says, “Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty,” we are forced to ask:  Are they the same?  Deeply, I think not.  Rather like X and Y chromosomes, they make up the fundamental elements of life that no one can do without.  They are the yin and yang of existence – one cleanses the wound, while the other heals the wound.

This is “all you need to know.”  Beauty, wherever we find it, is the salve that keeps us vital and fresh.  But Truth, in its uncompromised and naked story, no matter how harsh, has a Beauty all its own that is cleansing.

That is why we must remember the Holocaust and other atrocities exactly as they were.  That is why it is essential to bear honest witness to our own naked stories.

Still, as wise as the message he came upon is, there is an equal lesson in how young Keats came upon it.  for only by voicing our tender pains can we find our way to the deeper Beauties and Truths that like ropes and wheels can carry us.

Thank you Patty & Keenan for the gift of this fine book of meditations for the year.

God bless the moon and God bless us. . .

Good night moon . . .

I appreciated it.  Maybe you will too.  We will pray it tomorrow at St. Andrew:

Lords Prayer


Translation by Neil Douglas-Klotz in Prayers of the Cosmos

O Birther! Father- Mother of the Cosmos

Focus your light within us – make it useful.

Create your reign of unity now-

through our fiery hearts and willing hands

Help us love beyond our ideals

and sprout acts of compassion for all creatures.

Animate the earth within us: we then

feel the Wisdom underneath supporting all.

Untangle the knots within

so that we can mend our hearts’ simple ties to each other.

Don’t let surface things delude us,

But free us from what holds us back from our true purpose.

Out of you, the astonishing fire,

Returning light and sound to the cosmos.

      Amen.

sunset at the Siesta beach labyrinth on February 19

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 8,800 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 15 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

Thank you for being part of it through wellsofwellness.org.

Our new year’s blessing for you continues the theme of this webpage:

May 2013 be for you, a year of vibrancy, beauty, tears, and grace.

VIBRANCY

In today’s paper, Frank Bruni’s editorial, “This New Year, seek peace with your body, avoid promises,” included his final paragraph:

We’re so much more than these wretched vessels that we sprint or swagger or lurch or limp around in, some of them sturdy, some of them not, some of them objects of ardor, some of them magnets for pity.  We should make peace with them and remain conscious of that, especially at this particular hinge of the calendar, when we compose a litany of promises about the better selves ahead, foolishly defining those selves in terms of what’s measurable from the outside, instead of what glimmers within.”

May your vibrancy be enhanced as you make peace with your body and define yourself by what glimmers within.

Our St. Andrew Church sign today reads:

2013, May it be a year of Light.

May it be so.

BEAUTY

On Friday afternoon, I drove over to Miami to visit a person in jail.  I saw him in the morning on Sat.  He looks and sounds well and hopes to be released in the spring.  That afternoon, I came back to Sarasota via Tamiami Trail, Hwy 41.  What a magnificent ride.  It took me through Big Cypress National Preserve.  It is deep in the Everglades.  It is an area verdant with birds and gators, water and sky, trees and air plants.  It is lively and lovely.

Among the pictures I took are the following ones of an egret near the end of a boardwalk nature trail at Kirby Storter Roadside Park.  I’ve named the series:  reflection.

To see beauty, and hear it, I encourage you to look at the images, then play Yukino Kano’s, Reflection in the Water, by Debussy, then look at the images again:

Egret looking, Big Cypress National Preserve, the Everglades

Egret seeing

Egret knowing

same picture, upside down

egret tasting, portrait

egret tasting, sideways

egret, the other way

egret, taking flight

Beauty abounds.

Right-side up, upside down, sideways.

Beauty abounds.

May you encounter beauty often in 2013, and be surprised each time.

TEARS

In earlier posts I have written about the stinging tears of loss, the compassionate tears of justice, the resilient tears of doing what you have to do even when it is ever so hard.

My hope for you in 2013, is that you will see more clearly, hear more compassionately, touch with greater care, and act with greater courage because you have wept these kinds of tears.

But I also hope you will experience tears of awe.

Poetry is one doorway to such tears.

Mary Oliver is an artisan of awe.  Here she is reading three of her poems:

May you, in 2013 become an artisan of awe.

GRACE

Brian and Helen, of St. Andrew, attended a Celtic Christmas Eve service at Scottsdale Congregational United Church of Christ in Arizona.  Within the bulletin for the service, right before the congregation sang “Silent Night, Holy Night” by the light of their candles, the story of Brigid’s Cloak was told by a man born in Wales named John Good.  Can you hear the lilt in his voice?  I don’t know the version of the story he told, but it probably contained some of these elements:

The story is told, St. Brigid went to the king of Leinster to tell him she needed land upon which to build a covent.

“You do, do you?” replied the king.  ”How much do you need?”

“We need only the land my cloak will cover – no more,” answered Brigid.

“Well if that’s all!” said the amused king, “you shall have it.  That can be settled easily.”

On hearing that, Brigid removed her cloak and laid it on the ground.  Then to the absolute amazement and astonishment of everyone watching, the cloak began to grow and grow.  It stretched all round at once, stretching itself out and rapidly gaining speed.  Startled the king jumped back, the cloak was like a living thing.

Finally it stopped.  Brigid looked around her.  In every direction her cloak stretched.  It covered acre upon acre of rich, green, pastureland. With twinkling eyes, she said, “Thanks be to God.”

And as I imagine being in that church on Christmas Eve, I can see the twinkle in John Good’s eye and hear it in his voice, too.

His retelling was followed by a prayer for Christmas Eve.

I have adapted the prayer as Patricia’s and my blessing of grace for you on this New Year’s eve:

Our lives are thin tonight, O God.

Break through to us so we may glimmer from within by the light of Christ.

Our world is thin tonight, O God.

By your Spirit cross the threshold and midwife peace among us.

Our hearts are thin tonight, O God.

Warm us at the hearth of Christ’s turf-fire love.  

We are thin tonight, O God.

Through your Spirit infuse our humanity with your divinity.

Be beneath, within, above, behind, beside, before us as we step ever so carefully from two thousand and twelve to two thousand and thirteen.

Allow us to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel you in our thinness tonight.

Let it be, and let it be so.

Happy New Year!

“. . . and the darkness shall not overcome it”               

May you comfort a lonely one through your hospitality.  

Two beautiful swans near the Publix protest on December 16, 2012, Longboat Key.

May you heal a broken one through your tenderness.

Sharon singing “Miss Celie’s Blues” from “The Color Purple,”  First Sunday of Advent at St. Andrew

May you feed a hungry one through your generosity.

Linda and Yukie are the faces of welcome for the hungry who find their way to the doors of St. Andrew.

May hope’s light shine in and through you each day and night.

Light is at the heart of Christmas.

May the sun’s radiance and the moon’s brilliance lighten your step.

sun and cloud in full sunlight over Siesta Key

May the gentle waves on Siesta’s sand calm your worry.

Siesta waters, ever so gently dancing on the sand.

May the dolphin, the sand hill, the gecko, the pelican, the turtle, and the swan delight you.

Pelican feeding.

May you sense the breath of God beneath, within, above, behind, beside and before you.

soaring on the gentle wind

May your tears for the oppressed lead you to courageous, clear-eyed acts of justice.

a penny a pound is not too much to ask of Publix and of us – Coalition of Immokalee Workers (CIW) protest, Longboat Key, December, 16, 2012.

May your imagination be brilliant, your dreams vivid, your rest refreshing, and your laughter deep.

This sculpture overlooks the Canal from Duluth. It is titled, “Arising.” Reminder that it takes us all to build peace.

MAY YOU KNOW YOU ARE LOVED!

Joy to the tips of your fingers. Oh Yes!

This ancient critter of God’s love was captured via iPhoto today at Twin Lakes Park in Sarasota.

She/he was just there.

Not moving.

Attentive to my presence.

Yet, still.

Listening.

Watching.

Waiting.

Must be Advent.

Anyway, the Thursday Study group at St. Andrew is reading James Hillman’s book, The Force of Character & The Lasting Life.  I am loving his wisdom and recommend the book to any reading this blog.

Tomorrow, we will be talking about chapter 3, titled very simply, Old.   The title for this blog is from that chapter.  What follows are several quotes from the nine pages of his text.  You’ll have to read on and on to find the relationship to the picture from Twin Lakes.

It will be worth your time . . .

What we value most about things called old is precisely their deathless and ageless character.

What about the old things you live with?  Are they aging, dying?  The old chair the cat prefers; the old tumbler your hand enjoys holding for your evening whiskey.  ’I love this knife; I couldn’t do without it.’  We say ‘love’ more often about things – tools, shoes, hats – than about persons.  Old is one of the deepest pleasures humans know.  Part of the misery  of disasters like floods and fires is the irrevocable loss of the old, just as one of the causes of suburban subdivision depression – and aging and death – is the similar loss of the old, exchanged for a brand-new house and yard.  Old things afford a supporting vitality; without them we find it harder to be alive.

‘Old’ is itself a very old word, supposedly deriving from an Indo-European root that means ‘to nourish.’

Old English manuscripts love eald (old); it is one of the fifty most frequently appearing words in the medieval corpus of legal, medical, religious, and literary texts and occasional scribbles.  And it mainly carries a positive meaning.  Of forty-nine compound words that incorporate eald only eight are clearly negative, like ‘old devil.’    To include eald in a compound generally brings benefits:  trustworthiness, venerability, proverbiality, value.

Oldness is an adventure.  Stepping from the bathtub, hurrying to the phone, or just going down the stairs presents as much risk as traveling camelback in the Gobi.  Once we were down the stairs and out the door way ahead of our feet.  Now who knows when the trick knee will give out or the foot miss the tread.  Once we learned from the fox and the hawk; now the walrus, the tortoise, (ahhh, the picture above) and the moose in a dark bog are our mentors.  The adventure of slowness.

. . . the very word ‘world’ was once spelled wereald, weoreald:  This nourishing place, so full of eald.  It is as if ‘old’ were hidden inside world . . .’

The best I can say of someone, and the worst, is that she/he is old.

Aging opens the door to ‘old,’ and old age opens it yet wider.  That could be its point.

Wearing thin and wearing out, of course, but old also holds time affectionately.  It loves years, decades, centuries.  Old holds off change, bringing all old things nearer to permanence.  Time is not only destructive; it toughens  as well as weakens.  Time lasts (the earth will live long and long past December 21); it keeps on going and going and going and therefore is no enemy of age or of old.

Attending upon the character development of the young, important though it may be, is less our daily job than uncovering our own.  To be fully old, authentic in our being and available in our presence with its gravitas and eccentricity, indirectly affects the public good and thereby their good.  This makes oldness a full-time job from which we may not retire.

Far better than comparing ‘old’ with external ideas like ‘fresh’ and ‘young’ would be teasing apart the web of ideas stuffed into that one short syllable.  The Bible needs at least nine different Hebrew terms plus many variations, while our English language compacts them all together.

Olam = ancient old times.  Gedem = days of old, as before time.  Rachoq = old as far away and long ago.  For old people like Sarah and Job and for old counselors there is zaqen.  Ziqnah = old age.  ’Cast me not off into the time of old age;/ When my strength faileth’ –  a theme restored in our time and reduced to personal love in the Beatles line:  ’Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I am sixty-four.’

There is sebah, as a good old age of grey hairs, full of days; balah, a sad one, worn out like old clothes.  Then there is athag, to be removed (advanced in years):  ’Wherefore do the wicked live,/ Become old, yea, wax mighty in your power?’  Also, y’shiysh, to become very old, and yashan, which is said of old things like stored fruits, gates, pools.

These kinds of old, and more, course though us.  These are the strands and rhythms of human complexity.  One morning we feel we are a bag of bones, a tattered coat upon a stick; on another day, we belong to time before time began, an anachronism as old as Methuselah.  Some days we know ourselves as a number only: 76, 81, 91.

I am a forgotten castaway, a sharp-eyed wise man, still standing like an old gate, immersed in reminiscence of long ago and far away, enjoying wickedness and power, an old plaything of God like Sarah or Job.  On yet another morning I awaken in fullness of my character and all the days of my life, tearful, grateful, and satisfied.  My complexity cannot be reduced to any of these strands.  To be only a mean old man, or always a list of complaints, or a record-breaking centenarian of 105, or a head flowing with long white hair and issuing long tales of cautionary experiences is to reduce the uniqueness of character to the unity of character.  The Bible does not allow that monistic mistake.

May you ripen, old soul.