AM I GLAD I’M ON MY WAY OUT AND ANXIOUS TO GO? OR AM I SO FASCINATED I WANT TO STAY FOR A VERY LONG TIME.
The day is dreary. I need to turn a light on just to read. And I fall asleep to make up for what I lost last night remembering how my family was hurt by a friend who turned on us – an old hurt long handled but insistent on returning with full force every once in a while.
And then I open my favorite magazine, YES, page 11 to be exact, and I find an article whose point is summarized as follows.
“ … The pandemic is a crucible burning away and altering the structures that comprise the old paradigm, remaking who and what we are. When we emerge, we will have crossed a permanent threshold, from which there is no return, because there is simply no more “normal” to which to return. The question before us is this: As we pass through the threshold, will we extinguish everything in our desperation to cling to a past that has run its course? Or will we recover the courage to embrace the strange uncertainty of a different paradigm? …
“Only the choice that considers all and not a few will get us across the threshold into the crucible, and through the portal to the other side. Many of us are already taking that leap. We are stronger when we take it together. I’ll meet you there.”
So here’s the question I ask myself. Do I want to live through the turmoil that’s sure to come? Or do I want to be around to see the world where polluted skies, homelessness, hunger, racism, prejudice, injustice, destruction, and an unfair health system go out of style as we move to a world where children – all children – can grow with joy, health, confidence in the future, and happy success?
I guess my best evidence is my reaction when my Acura was flying through the air on its way to a hard landing back in 2015. I was just plain fascinated with what was happening even though a part of me knew I could well end up dead.
I guess I’ll choose to hang in as long as the cosmos will let me
Time out from focusing on “My Father’s House” to pay attention to the church season ahead. Yes, it is in the Christian tradition, but I hope it will be of interest starting with my atheist friends and on down, because I think we all care about the ultimate goal of the season – at least as I understand it.
To tell the truth, the season never meant terribly much to me personally before I grew up in my much later years. I do remember the year when I wanted to be like so many of my friends, so I gave up something – reading the comics. That was a major sacrifice given that my parents were scared to death about the effect the “funnies” might have on me. After all, I did greedily consume the violent ones. I guess maybe that sacrifice accomplished something – I found I had the strength of will to survive such a long period of time without a comics fix.
I was probably about 13 years old the year I gave up boys. I’m not really sure in recollection what that meant since I was certainly not busy dating, or even particularly attractive to the other sex. I do know there were times when Hallie had to go off to dances (or something) by herself because of my determination. What did that sacrifice accomplish? I don’t know – maybe a respite from having to deal with whatever changes were going on inside me.
I remember a friend in college who gave up pistachio ice cream for lent – her least favorite ice cream, I think.
And I began to hear of Catholic friends who celebrated something called Tenebrae at church on the Thursday before good Friday, working the way to Easter.
Then there was the very fortunate discovery that, at least to the Catholics in the family I married into, Sundays were a kind of day off from the Lenten fast, as was Saint Patrick’s day. That worked out well because my son’s birthday was March 17, so my Lutheran family and Lou’s Catholic family could all enjoy birthday cake between meals at his celebration. That’s when I realized that the forty days of Lent really were forty days.
As you can see, I was a slow learner. It happened one day when I was reading the gospel lesson on the crucifixion at a women’s meeting at church that I started to cry. My son was the age of Jesus when he died on the cross. The sadness washed over me. This was real! No wimpy story of some magic that happened on those two pieces of wood crossed together at the front of the church.
Finally, when I was old enough that I should have known better for decades, I realized that Tenebrae began on Maundy Thursday. Why “Maundy?” Because that’s the day that Jesus, knowing the torture, humiliation, and death he was about to endure, gave his disciples – and us — the new commandment to “Love one another as I have loved you.”
Now I can say this next thing without censure, because the Lutheran church was wise enough to block my idea of being a minister – wrong body type (until sometime in the 60s by which time I did the church the favor of giving up on the idea.)
Maundy Thursday is the most important day in the church calendar year. The new commandment – love!
Awake at 3:30 am last night, I tried to terminate the sad thoughts of all the suffering going on in the world so I could go back to sleep. Warm chocolate almond milk and raw cashews enjoyed in my comfortable chair, distracted by reading, usually does it. This time I was reading “Sojouners” with a series of articles on Lent and my thoughts piled up on “What can I do to make this Lenten season meaningful?” Giving up something just doesn’t hack it. Just as eating everything on my plate didn’t feed the “starving people in India” when I was little. It’s not about satisfying my need for personal goodness. Do something? I’ve always been a physical coward and now my age just gives legitimacy to such avoidance.
What do I do as I enjoy my comfortable chair in my comfortable home with comfortable food available with a walk down the hall? I don’t know. Sign petitions? Donate for social justice? A drop in the bucket. Maybe that’s enough. It takes many drops to make an ocean.
I know it’s important to feel the pain, but not so much that I can’t feel the joy, or even spread it. Any suggestions?
I picked this up in church on Saturday evening, but I don’t think one has to be religious to recognize the challenge.
This blessing is known as the Franciscan Four Fold Blessing, a devotional discipline derived from the teachings of St. Francis of Assisi (1181-1226) and St. Clare of Assisi (1194-1253)
May God bless us with discomfort. Discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that we may live deep within our hearts.
May God bless us with anger. Anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that we may work for justice, freedom and peace.
May God bless us with tears. Tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation and war, so that we may reach out our hands to comfort them and turn their pain to joy.
May God bless us with foolishness. Enough foolishness to believe that we can make a difference in this world, so that we can do what others claim cannot be done..
I’m really not very good at experiencing joy. Happiness, sometimes, and yes to occasional satisfaction. But Joy? Today is an exception. Things have fallen into place for a couple of people I love and I am excited! It’s not my business to tell you who or what, but it is my business to tell you I love this almost indescribable experience.
If I were a good Minnesotan, I’d be claiming that my prayers were answered. Whatever the case, I am very grateful. And in the meantime, I’m enjoying some fun plans for myself! I hope these words may help to spread that feeling to some of you.
I Chose to change to this blogging service because I found it easier to comment on other people’s blogs who were using WordPress, but I’m not hearing from anyone, so I think I’m just blowing into the wind. Am I right? Is there something I can do to rectify it?
What I’m being is vulnerable, I guess. Which brings me to a great presentation of authenticity, shame, and vulnerability. Well, really about lots more. It’s thanks to Pastor Beth Warpmaeker who posted it on Facebook. I know I’m “not normal” as one complimentary friend said, so maybe I’m just weird to think it’s great. To me, though, it taps into so much about forgiveness. When I tried to explain to myself why it seems that folks can forgive terrible crimes, but the little things cause long term resentment, I arrived eventually at shame. That one is called stupid, or has one’s boyfriend stolen, or finds one’s children ignored, for example, suggests a deficit in oneself. Murder, on the other hand, is clearly the fault of the perpetrator. Shame doesn’t get in the way of deciding whether to forgive.
So now, I’ll be vulnerable and try to attach the link here. If you do choose to watch it, be prepared to spend some time. It’s not a quickie.
monagustafsonaffinito 