I currently have 2 bottles of amoxicillin 400 mg in my refrigerator, one for each of my children. Two teaspoons for my son twice a day to treat pneumonia. One teaspoon for my daughter twice a day to treat a double ear infection. Fun times...
Of course I am being facetious here. There have actually been several quite heart-wrenching moments in these last few days. Holding my children in my arms as they were miserable and in pain, and feeling completely helpless and inadequate in my ability to take away their suffering. Because, for some reason, I still have not accepted yet--5+ years into the parenting experience--that I cannot take away their suffering. I can, however, be with them while they go through it.
I have recently been thinking about whether or not the god of my imagination finds him or herself in the same predicament as I do as a parent. Does god have the capacity to take away the misery and pain that we human beings suffer? Or is god merely with us in these dark times? Unable to intervene. Unable to alter the course of things or take away the transgressions. But fully able and willing to hold and rock and whisper to us as we go through this human experience. Sometimes I think I know my own answer to those questions, but then I find myself on my proverbial knees praying for exactly what I want god to do for me?
I recently wrote this in the "Notes" section of my iPhone. I do that sometimes to empty out all the words that swarm around in my mind. I wrote: "god is in between the notes in the music. god is in the transition from one yoga posture to another. god is the breath of silence between two people in conversation. god is present in the dawn and the dusk. god is in the moment just before a kiss. god is there the hour before the doctor gives the diagnosis. god is that untouchable, unknowable, untraceable mysterious space where anything is possible. Where past, present and future converge into one stillpoint. Where all is perfect. Imperfect and all."
Reading this again, I still believe this. But, upon deeper reflection, I begin to knit my brows in wonder, "is god really in or is god with?" Which preposition is correct? In my own personal theology I've come to agree with folks like Unitarian Universalist Chaplain Kate Braestrup and now deceased UU Reverend Forrest Church who had both talked publicly and wrote about their belief that god is not an interventionist in our human lives. Which is another way of saying, like me as a parent, god cannot take away the pain and suffering of us human beings. But god can, and does, show up as presence in our lives to love us as we move through these seemingly unbearable experiences. And to paraphrase Anne Lamott in her book Operating Instructions "it's not enough, except it is."
I will try to remember god is with me, just as I am with my children, during times of darkness.
I will also try to remember god's presence in the next few weeks while a very important person in my life will have surgery to treat her recently diagnosed breast cancer. I am scared for her. And I am helpless. But despite my powerlessness, I will try to not lose sight of the value of showing up for another in times of dread and devastation. Fear and frustration. To be with her. Knowing full well, "it's not enough, except it is." After all, god does, right?
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Embodying Christian Virtues
It's December, and Jesus is everywhere. On front lawns. Sung to, and about on the radio. To be referred to often in my church services as Christmas approaches. And it causes me to pause, and reflect back on my growing admiration for this prophetic man.
I'm not a Christian. Never have been. My parents spent a handful of years bringing my sister and I to the local Protestant Congregational Church growing up. Or, more accurately, one parent would bring us, the other would do the grocery shopping at Stop & Shop because both tasks were after all, chores. But to their credit, as my parents approached most parenting tasks I think, they thought the act of having us attend church services and Sunday school for several years would help us later to know what religion is, and that would be a good thing. Kind of like the equivalent of taking a book out of the library on religion. Or the modern day equivalent, doing a google search. A mere intellectual endeavor to be a more well-rounded person. So I never got turned on to Christianity or Jesus through that experience. I didn't get turned on to anything religious in that experience- though I did like listening to the bell choir...
In the past couple of years though, I've found some aspects of Christianity useful, even helpful, as far as JC is concerned.
The Unitarian Universalist Church I go to is historically a Universalist Church, and it was founded in 1821 in a nearby town. When the church moved to it's current location, an enormous stained glass window of Jesus and his disciples came with the congregation, and it now fills the sanctuary. For those of you who don't know much about UU history, this denomination has Judeo-Christian origins, but is now I would say not identified as a Christian Church despite it's lineage. Though, Jesus certainly makes his appearances within the service, but then so does The Buddha, Mary Oliver and Howard Thurman. I must admit though, I've come to kinda like when Jesus takes the floor.
When I first began to visit this church, I had just left a UU church which I would describe as Humanist and verging on Atheist in nature- to say the least, there was no floor to ceiling stained glass window of Jesus in the sanctuary. And when I first entered my current church and saw the big man with his beard, long hair, and flowing robes standing center stage, literally right behind the pulpit, I was a little put off. I even began to have second thoughts about finding a new spiritual home in a church. I thought, maybe my spiritual journey was meant to fly solo?
But I continued to go. Not very consistently at times. Not taking part in the Lord's Prayer section of the service. Not too open to the services honed in on the Christian themes and history. But persevering none the less because I decided my spiritual journey was not supposed to be taken all alone.
Somewhere along the way though, I found I began to like to hear about Christianity, well, more specifically, Jesus. I became intrigued when I learned he died in his 30's- I'm in my 30's. My respect grew when I found out that he liked to hang out with the forgotten ones (in the year 2014 or 14, it seems 2 millennia has not changed this much) like prostitutes and the terminally ill. I began to take part in the Lord's Prayer when some members, though certainly not all, recited it along with the minister after singing the prayer Spirit of Life. I particularly liked saying the line: "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us" since forgiveness as a spiritual practice has always been a tough one for me.
In fact, the more I learn about him, Jesus that is, I was surprised to find out that his words (at least the words that have been passed down to me) really reflect a nonjudgmental and compassionate stance- 2 positions I generally more associate with Buddhism than Christianity since most of the Christians I've met seem to be extraordinarily judgmental. But the story about Jesus seeing the group of people in the street with a plan to stone a woman, a prostitute I believe, to death, began to shift my thinking about the association I had been making between Christians and judgment. Now, please forgive me if I am getting some of the details wrong here, that is not my intent. But my understanding is upon seeing this group in the street about to murder this woman for her "sins," Jesus said to the mob, "he who has not sinned shall cast the first stone." And with that, the crowd dispersed. I love that story. It not only encourages a nonjudgmental stance, but also encourages us to see the humanity in us all with a spirit of humility- a virtue I very much value.
So maybe Jesus would be more of a friend than a foe if I were to meet him today? Maybe we have more in common than I initially thought. Maybe my first impressions were just that, first impressions. Maybe there is a whole lot more there beneath the superficial surface of seeing Christians preachers on television on Sunday mornings and sitting in my Congregational Church as a child just for the point of sitting there.
In my last post I spoke of a book called The Great Work of Your Life by Stephen Cope. In the introduction to his book, as Mr. Cope is setting the stage to discuss the general plot of the Bhagavad Gita, an important yogic text, he refers to a quote by Jesus that I had heard before, but was glad to be reminded of: "If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you." This is from The Gospel of Thomas.
More and more I read about Jesus in the context of other prophets and traditions, like Thich Nhat Hanh's book Living Buddha, Living Christ (a great read if you haven't read it already), and I find that I might have been selling this guy short. Just because to me he is no more the son of god than you or I, does not mean that I might not gain and grow from his teachings. Perhaps my own previously narrow thinking about Christianity is a reflection of the very judgment that I had looked down upon in what I perceived from some of the Christians I have encountered.
So this month, in celebration of Jesus, I will honor virtues such as: nonjudgment, compassion and humility. But, since I am a UU, probably more important for us than celebrating a prophet and his teachings, would be embodying these virtues in my day-to-day activities. That is the task. That is the challenge. Taking dogma to where the rubber meets the road as it seems all lasting prophets did and do. I will try. Will you?
I'm not a Christian. Never have been. My parents spent a handful of years bringing my sister and I to the local Protestant Congregational Church growing up. Or, more accurately, one parent would bring us, the other would do the grocery shopping at Stop & Shop because both tasks were after all, chores. But to their credit, as my parents approached most parenting tasks I think, they thought the act of having us attend church services and Sunday school for several years would help us later to know what religion is, and that would be a good thing. Kind of like the equivalent of taking a book out of the library on religion. Or the modern day equivalent, doing a google search. A mere intellectual endeavor to be a more well-rounded person. So I never got turned on to Christianity or Jesus through that experience. I didn't get turned on to anything religious in that experience- though I did like listening to the bell choir...
In the past couple of years though, I've found some aspects of Christianity useful, even helpful, as far as JC is concerned.
The Unitarian Universalist Church I go to is historically a Universalist Church, and it was founded in 1821 in a nearby town. When the church moved to it's current location, an enormous stained glass window of Jesus and his disciples came with the congregation, and it now fills the sanctuary. For those of you who don't know much about UU history, this denomination has Judeo-Christian origins, but is now I would say not identified as a Christian Church despite it's lineage. Though, Jesus certainly makes his appearances within the service, but then so does The Buddha, Mary Oliver and Howard Thurman. I must admit though, I've come to kinda like when Jesus takes the floor.
When I first began to visit this church, I had just left a UU church which I would describe as Humanist and verging on Atheist in nature- to say the least, there was no floor to ceiling stained glass window of Jesus in the sanctuary. And when I first entered my current church and saw the big man with his beard, long hair, and flowing robes standing center stage, literally right behind the pulpit, I was a little put off. I even began to have second thoughts about finding a new spiritual home in a church. I thought, maybe my spiritual journey was meant to fly solo?
But I continued to go. Not very consistently at times. Not taking part in the Lord's Prayer section of the service. Not too open to the services honed in on the Christian themes and history. But persevering none the less because I decided my spiritual journey was not supposed to be taken all alone.
Somewhere along the way though, I found I began to like to hear about Christianity, well, more specifically, Jesus. I became intrigued when I learned he died in his 30's- I'm in my 30's. My respect grew when I found out that he liked to hang out with the forgotten ones (in the year 2014 or 14, it seems 2 millennia has not changed this much) like prostitutes and the terminally ill. I began to take part in the Lord's Prayer when some members, though certainly not all, recited it along with the minister after singing the prayer Spirit of Life. I particularly liked saying the line: "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us" since forgiveness as a spiritual practice has always been a tough one for me.
In fact, the more I learn about him, Jesus that is, I was surprised to find out that his words (at least the words that have been passed down to me) really reflect a nonjudgmental and compassionate stance- 2 positions I generally more associate with Buddhism than Christianity since most of the Christians I've met seem to be extraordinarily judgmental. But the story about Jesus seeing the group of people in the street with a plan to stone a woman, a prostitute I believe, to death, began to shift my thinking about the association I had been making between Christians and judgment. Now, please forgive me if I am getting some of the details wrong here, that is not my intent. But my understanding is upon seeing this group in the street about to murder this woman for her "sins," Jesus said to the mob, "he who has not sinned shall cast the first stone." And with that, the crowd dispersed. I love that story. It not only encourages a nonjudgmental stance, but also encourages us to see the humanity in us all with a spirit of humility- a virtue I very much value.
So maybe Jesus would be more of a friend than a foe if I were to meet him today? Maybe we have more in common than I initially thought. Maybe my first impressions were just that, first impressions. Maybe there is a whole lot more there beneath the superficial surface of seeing Christians preachers on television on Sunday mornings and sitting in my Congregational Church as a child just for the point of sitting there.
In my last post I spoke of a book called The Great Work of Your Life by Stephen Cope. In the introduction to his book, as Mr. Cope is setting the stage to discuss the general plot of the Bhagavad Gita, an important yogic text, he refers to a quote by Jesus that I had heard before, but was glad to be reminded of: "If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you." This is from The Gospel of Thomas.
More and more I read about Jesus in the context of other prophets and traditions, like Thich Nhat Hanh's book Living Buddha, Living Christ (a great read if you haven't read it already), and I find that I might have been selling this guy short. Just because to me he is no more the son of god than you or I, does not mean that I might not gain and grow from his teachings. Perhaps my own previously narrow thinking about Christianity is a reflection of the very judgment that I had looked down upon in what I perceived from some of the Christians I have encountered.
So this month, in celebration of Jesus, I will honor virtues such as: nonjudgment, compassion and humility. But, since I am a UU, probably more important for us than celebrating a prophet and his teachings, would be embodying these virtues in my day-to-day activities. That is the task. That is the challenge. Taking dogma to where the rubber meets the road as it seems all lasting prophets did and do. I will try. Will you?
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Split in Yogic Doubt
My 5 year-old son has pneumonia. Temperatures of 104.1 and 103.5 have scared the heck out of me these last few days. I fear sleeping at night for worry I may miss a dosage of motrin or Tylenol, or both when we've not been able to get the fever under control with just the one. During these times all I want to do is be with him. Hold him. Watch over him. But today I had to go to back to work, and it felt terrible.
It's not that my son was not well taken care of, he was. My husband was home with him- which means my son was being watched like a hawk and fiercely loved by a total papa bear. But the point is, I wasn't home. I wasn't in the place, and with the person, where everything inside of me felt I should have been today. An awful feeling that crystalized for me when my boss asked me how my son was doing, and my only response was to begin to tear up- and I'm no crier.
These work-home dilemmas are so challenging, and I know not unique at all to me. Feeling split between two obligations or two desires, or both, is at times heartbreaking. My colleague frequently makes light fun of me because I am always looking for the win-win in any given situation. But so much in life just does not allow for a win-win. Many times it is a win-lose, and sometimes we must accept the inevitability of a lose-lose. I hate lose-lose situations. I know "hate" is a strong word, but "hate" is the feeling that truly captures my reaction to a situation that I cannot produce a desirable outcome at least for somebody, even if not for me.
I recently read the introduction to a book called The Great Work of Your Life: a Guide for the Journey to Your True Calling by Stephen Cope, Resident Scholar at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in Western Massachusetts. I had read another book by Mr. Cope, Yoga and the Quest for the True Self which was one of those books where every other page I was copying down his words and reflecting in my journal about a thought he had proposed. So, I kinda knew I'd enjoy his other work too. But, imagine my surprise when the first topic he brings up in the introduction alone captures the essence of my current struggle.
Mr. Cope begins to orient the reader to the story behind the Bhagavad Gita, a very important book in the yogic tradition. After learning about the central personalities of Arjuna and Krishna, Mr. Cope introduces the reader to the theme of "doubt." He describes "doubt" as an area of suffering where we are stuck between two powerful pulls. The quintessential rock and a hard place. Where win-win is impossible.
He says:
"Until I began to wrestle with the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita, I thought that doubt was the least of my problems. Grasping and aversion, the classic afflictions pointed to by the earlier yoga tradition, were much more obvious in my life. However as I have begun to investigate the Gita's view on doubt, and as I begin to understand what doubt really is, I see it at work everywhere. I've begun to see the ways-both small and large-in which I am paralyzed from action on a daily basis. Split. Replete with misgivings. Unsure. A foot on both sides of various dilemmas."
When I read this, I felt my own experience was being mirrored back to me in the most obvious of ways. How strange when that happens. How serendipitous.
Mr. Cope adds that doubt in the yogic lineage is defined as a "thought that touches both sides of a dilemma at the same time...the paralyzing affliction." He says "it follows, then, that doubt is the central affliction of all men and women of action." Compile that with a personality that is still caught at times in black and white categories of "right" and "wrong," and a perfect storm for inner conflict in the form of outward suffering has been created.
So what does one do? How does "a woman of action," as I am, not succumb to paralysis when making decisions between bad and worse or good and great? Where if one person wins, another will lose?
I suppose I'd be lying if I said I had the answer to this. But I think there is value to posing the questions. Maybe asking questions is a way to keep the soil loose and workable as in a garden, even if you are still far off from planting the seeds. Of course, having said that, if anyone out there has any wise suggestions, I'd be very open to that too!
It's not that my son was not well taken care of, he was. My husband was home with him- which means my son was being watched like a hawk and fiercely loved by a total papa bear. But the point is, I wasn't home. I wasn't in the place, and with the person, where everything inside of me felt I should have been today. An awful feeling that crystalized for me when my boss asked me how my son was doing, and my only response was to begin to tear up- and I'm no crier.
These work-home dilemmas are so challenging, and I know not unique at all to me. Feeling split between two obligations or two desires, or both, is at times heartbreaking. My colleague frequently makes light fun of me because I am always looking for the win-win in any given situation. But so much in life just does not allow for a win-win. Many times it is a win-lose, and sometimes we must accept the inevitability of a lose-lose. I hate lose-lose situations. I know "hate" is a strong word, but "hate" is the feeling that truly captures my reaction to a situation that I cannot produce a desirable outcome at least for somebody, even if not for me.
I recently read the introduction to a book called The Great Work of Your Life: a Guide for the Journey to Your True Calling by Stephen Cope, Resident Scholar at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in Western Massachusetts. I had read another book by Mr. Cope, Yoga and the Quest for the True Self which was one of those books where every other page I was copying down his words and reflecting in my journal about a thought he had proposed. So, I kinda knew I'd enjoy his other work too. But, imagine my surprise when the first topic he brings up in the introduction alone captures the essence of my current struggle.
Mr. Cope begins to orient the reader to the story behind the Bhagavad Gita, a very important book in the yogic tradition. After learning about the central personalities of Arjuna and Krishna, Mr. Cope introduces the reader to the theme of "doubt." He describes "doubt" as an area of suffering where we are stuck between two powerful pulls. The quintessential rock and a hard place. Where win-win is impossible.
He says:
"Until I began to wrestle with the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita, I thought that doubt was the least of my problems. Grasping and aversion, the classic afflictions pointed to by the earlier yoga tradition, were much more obvious in my life. However as I have begun to investigate the Gita's view on doubt, and as I begin to understand what doubt really is, I see it at work everywhere. I've begun to see the ways-both small and large-in which I am paralyzed from action on a daily basis. Split. Replete with misgivings. Unsure. A foot on both sides of various dilemmas."
When I read this, I felt my own experience was being mirrored back to me in the most obvious of ways. How strange when that happens. How serendipitous.
Mr. Cope adds that doubt in the yogic lineage is defined as a "thought that touches both sides of a dilemma at the same time...the paralyzing affliction." He says "it follows, then, that doubt is the central affliction of all men and women of action." Compile that with a personality that is still caught at times in black and white categories of "right" and "wrong," and a perfect storm for inner conflict in the form of outward suffering has been created.
So what does one do? How does "a woman of action," as I am, not succumb to paralysis when making decisions between bad and worse or good and great? Where if one person wins, another will lose?
I suppose I'd be lying if I said I had the answer to this. But I think there is value to posing the questions. Maybe asking questions is a way to keep the soil loose and workable as in a garden, even if you are still far off from planting the seeds. Of course, having said that, if anyone out there has any wise suggestions, I'd be very open to that too!
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Spiritual Inspiration from Civil Rights
The 3 C's: Courage, Compassion, Creativity. Civil Rights Activist Vincent Harding said these were the essential pieces of Dr. Martin Luther King's movement and philosophy. He also talked about Dr. King's "beloved community" and what he called a "love ethic." According to Dr. Harding, "love trumps doctrine every time." Dr. Harding died this year at the age of 82.
I think the legacy of his words and ideas, and others of like mind, are absolutely beautiful and lasting through time. And I like to listen to veteran civil rights activists (from the 50's, 60's and 70's) talk about the spiritual and religious component to the Civil Rights Movement. That aspect of the movement, is one that was not part of my education as someone raised in a white, liberal, secular home.
Growing up I was taught a lot about the 19th & 20th century efforts for equality made in this country by people of color, women, and LGB folks (we didn't talk about T and Q folks yet). Social activism. Civil rights. Gender equality. Anti-discrimination. These were all very big themes to my childhood. My parents, and particularly my mother, were adamant about me being well-educated on the history of oppression in this country, and particularly racism. This meant I was to know about African American heroes like Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks and of course Dr. Martin Luther King. I was to know about the freedom rides, the rash of lynchings, affirmative action, and the middle passage. I was to understand the importance of Brown Vs. Board of Education and defacto segregation which dominated New England urban and suburban areas.
But now, it seems strange to me that the religious and spiritual core of the civil rights movement was all but absent from my education.
I was reminded of this rather large and significant hole at church this past Sunday. Our Reverend was not preaching and we had a guest minister, an African American minister, in our vastly white Unitarian Universalist church (outside and inside). In the sermon the guest minister talked to us about the situation in Ferguson, Missouri in which people have had weeks of protest in the street to voice their disdain for another unarmed black person being shot and killed with no apparent justice to follow in the legal system. The minister used the word "hopelessness" to describe some of the feelings that many people of color and particularly African Americans may be contending with. He said the following day, Monday, he planned to go to Ferguson himself to march with the people of Missouri in protest and solidarity.
You could argue this action is an antidote to hopelessness. But I think it could be more. Not speaking for the guest minister of my church, but for some people, action steps to challenge oppression are embedded in spiritual practice. Working toward a beloved community. Engaging in nonviolent civil disobedience. Standing up and responding from a place of love rather than hatred. All of these seemingly impossible tasks, to me, are squarely in the camp of hard core spiritual practice.
And honestly, wouldn't they have to be? For a movement to sustain over time without giving in to the quicksand of hopelessness, self-pity, victim-stance, and cynicism that could be arguably valid for any variety of reasons?
Personally, I draw great inspiration from the spiritual lineage of the Civil Rights Movement. As in, I draw in a deep breath that clears my mind and focuses my attention on the tremendous possibility available to us. If the veteran civil rights activists were able to maintain their 3 C's: courage, compassion, and creativity in the face of brutal oppression and at times, threats or attempts to murder, I believe that I can too in the face of far, far less. It is actually a daring and radical choice to act from a joyful, hopeful, loving, and faithful place. I dare you to try it today...I will try too.
I think the legacy of his words and ideas, and others of like mind, are absolutely beautiful and lasting through time. And I like to listen to veteran civil rights activists (from the 50's, 60's and 70's) talk about the spiritual and religious component to the Civil Rights Movement. That aspect of the movement, is one that was not part of my education as someone raised in a white, liberal, secular home.
Growing up I was taught a lot about the 19th & 20th century efforts for equality made in this country by people of color, women, and LGB folks (we didn't talk about T and Q folks yet). Social activism. Civil rights. Gender equality. Anti-discrimination. These were all very big themes to my childhood. My parents, and particularly my mother, were adamant about me being well-educated on the history of oppression in this country, and particularly racism. This meant I was to know about African American heroes like Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks and of course Dr. Martin Luther King. I was to know about the freedom rides, the rash of lynchings, affirmative action, and the middle passage. I was to understand the importance of Brown Vs. Board of Education and defacto segregation which dominated New England urban and suburban areas.
But now, it seems strange to me that the religious and spiritual core of the civil rights movement was all but absent from my education.
I was reminded of this rather large and significant hole at church this past Sunday. Our Reverend was not preaching and we had a guest minister, an African American minister, in our vastly white Unitarian Universalist church (outside and inside). In the sermon the guest minister talked to us about the situation in Ferguson, Missouri in which people have had weeks of protest in the street to voice their disdain for another unarmed black person being shot and killed with no apparent justice to follow in the legal system. The minister used the word "hopelessness" to describe some of the feelings that many people of color and particularly African Americans may be contending with. He said the following day, Monday, he planned to go to Ferguson himself to march with the people of Missouri in protest and solidarity.
You could argue this action is an antidote to hopelessness. But I think it could be more. Not speaking for the guest minister of my church, but for some people, action steps to challenge oppression are embedded in spiritual practice. Working toward a beloved community. Engaging in nonviolent civil disobedience. Standing up and responding from a place of love rather than hatred. All of these seemingly impossible tasks, to me, are squarely in the camp of hard core spiritual practice.
And honestly, wouldn't they have to be? For a movement to sustain over time without giving in to the quicksand of hopelessness, self-pity, victim-stance, and cynicism that could be arguably valid for any variety of reasons?
Personally, I draw great inspiration from the spiritual lineage of the Civil Rights Movement. As in, I draw in a deep breath that clears my mind and focuses my attention on the tremendous possibility available to us. If the veteran civil rights activists were able to maintain their 3 C's: courage, compassion, and creativity in the face of brutal oppression and at times, threats or attempts to murder, I believe that I can too in the face of far, far less. It is actually a daring and radical choice to act from a joyful, hopeful, loving, and faithful place. I dare you to try it today...I will try too.
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