I am struggling to remain optimistic with President Barack Obama's administration. The hoped for promise of change has not come, as of yet. I did not expect over night changes. Truth be told, I thought President Obama's campaign slogans were just that--slogans to win his campaign for the presidency. Still, I wanted him to win for many reasons even though I had my own personal reservations. Generally speaking, I am deeply suspicious of politicians.
His election to the presidency was a historic night. I was in awe. The next day I cried, as I shared with my students my elation that I had lived to see the day when an African American would be elected to the highest public office in the United States. My tears were as much for those fallen ancestors in the struggle that had not lived to see a black man become president, as much as for their descendants that did.
President Obama's victory represented many things. That historic night I was proud to be a part of a country that was able to make a collected shift in conscious to envision the possibility of a man of color leading this nation from the oval office of the White House. I admit in my naivete that I never imagined the overwhelmingly racially charged backlash that would accompany that shift in conscious. Old demons don't die easily or willingly.
President Obama's election was a hammer on the head to the lingering, if not continuing legacy of slavery in America. Racial discrimination and bigotry in all of its manifestations remains a collective stain on the psyche of our nation. Our country must still still atone for its hostile neglect of the indigenous, native American people, as well as other ethnic minority groups along with its mistreatment of women and poor whites.
America is still attempting to come to terms with the multi-racial and multi-ethnic heritage of this country. Even President Obama, with his claims to being multi-ethnic is clearly uncomfortable addressing the complexity of race in American life. He seems afraid to address the issue of race for fear that he will be seen, as partisan. Yet,our country is not post-racial, though following Dr. Eric Michael Dyson's lead, our country should strive to be post-racist without losing the wonderful contributions of ethnicity.
With all of the above written in place, I am uncomfortable admitting that I am at odds with the President on some of his decisions. I think a bail out plan for "Wall Street" was wrong at the expense of proposing a similar bail out for the "average" Joe citizen that did not conspire to corrupt the financial system of our country. I do not understand his reluctance to pursue criminal investigations into the Bush administration. Underprivileged people are disproportionately represented in the penal system for crimes of lest severity than those that may have been committed under the former presidential administration.
I am disheartened that President Obama is pursuing a military intervention in Afghanistan that cannot be won. The dilemmas of the Middle East will not be resolved through military might. History has demonstrated that fact quite impeccably. The United States is facing imperil on a domestic level that will have repercussions for generations. There are too many people in our country without health insurance, employment, or housing to merit secondary consideration for a misplaced priority of military intervention in another part of the world.
I am in the compromised position of wanting to support President Obama, because of what he represents to so many of us. I understand that Obama, the symbol, is not Obama, the person. Yet, Obama is "our" president for many that have never been able to say that in good conscious before him. Many of us have "bought in" to the system like never before because of him, and probably will continue to do so. I just wish I could move past the nagging doubt and suspicion that I don't trust some of the decisions he is making.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Offering Support
I am often surprised by the honesty and vulnerability of the women with whom I work with in support groups. The groups are designed to empower women to improve the quality of their lives by learning new coping skills and working through the difficult issues of the past. Consistently, these difficult issues revolve around various forms of abuse often involving the men in their lives, i.e. husbands, boyfriends, fathers, brothers. It goes without saying that it probably is as challenging for the women in the group, as it is for me, to serve as the group's facilitator.
The primary form by which the group members communicate with each other is through sharing their stories. Their accounts are often situated around painful, traumatic events. The unfortunate enduring consequence of these events are the life lessons that these women developed in terms of negative self-esteem images around their value, as women. Understandably, many of these women struggle with anger, depression, anxiety and other mental health issues which in some instances can lead them to engage in harmful behaviors such as eating disorders, chemical addictions, and physically harming themselves.
My primary stance with these groups is to be an empathetic, non-judgmental presence. I am there to listen, to offer support, encourage, and empower. Empowering, to be sure, is more than just offering re-assurance. Sometimes it requires challenging the negative assumptions the women make about themselves; for instance, like helping them to see that they can expect to be treated fairly by the men in their lives including the absence of emotional, physical and sexual violence. Other times, challenging calls into question decisions they are currently making that seem to perpetuate their dissatisfaction and unhappiness. Regrettably, some of these women assume that "this is just how it is," and they will never have more.
This work isn't easy by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it's quite painful. Personally, it has caused me to re-examine many of the relationships I have with women in my life. Like any man, I am guilty of taking for granted certain things about the women that I care about in my life. And, while I think some of those expectations may be culturally conditioned or an expression of how the different genders relate, the fact is that they are there. I suppose that even the most consciousness man must vigilantly confront some level of sexism in his being.
I do think that one of the positive contributions I make to the women in the support groups I lead is that for a few hours they get to experience a man that is intentionally attempting to be responsive to their feelings. I try my best to validate their attitudes, assumptions and beliefs about that which matters most to them. Said more directly, I am offering care without wanting anything in return other than to see these women become the best of what they want to be.
Likewise, I continue to offer them care when their wounds are so deep they may never be able to fully recover from the abuse. In a small way, maybe by being there for them, they may learn they can be there for themselves. Perhaps, for me, it's one more attempt to contribute to pushing the balance a wee bit to the good. In some sense, I get to right some of the wrongs I have unintentionally caused the women in my life previously because I was too busy being a man.
The primary form by which the group members communicate with each other is through sharing their stories. Their accounts are often situated around painful, traumatic events. The unfortunate enduring consequence of these events are the life lessons that these women developed in terms of negative self-esteem images around their value, as women. Understandably, many of these women struggle with anger, depression, anxiety and other mental health issues which in some instances can lead them to engage in harmful behaviors such as eating disorders, chemical addictions, and physically harming themselves.
My primary stance with these groups is to be an empathetic, non-judgmental presence. I am there to listen, to offer support, encourage, and empower. Empowering, to be sure, is more than just offering re-assurance. Sometimes it requires challenging the negative assumptions the women make about themselves; for instance, like helping them to see that they can expect to be treated fairly by the men in their lives including the absence of emotional, physical and sexual violence. Other times, challenging calls into question decisions they are currently making that seem to perpetuate their dissatisfaction and unhappiness. Regrettably, some of these women assume that "this is just how it is," and they will never have more.
This work isn't easy by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it's quite painful. Personally, it has caused me to re-examine many of the relationships I have with women in my life. Like any man, I am guilty of taking for granted certain things about the women that I care about in my life. And, while I think some of those expectations may be culturally conditioned or an expression of how the different genders relate, the fact is that they are there. I suppose that even the most consciousness man must vigilantly confront some level of sexism in his being.
I do think that one of the positive contributions I make to the women in the support groups I lead is that for a few hours they get to experience a man that is intentionally attempting to be responsive to their feelings. I try my best to validate their attitudes, assumptions and beliefs about that which matters most to them. Said more directly, I am offering care without wanting anything in return other than to see these women become the best of what they want to be.
Likewise, I continue to offer them care when their wounds are so deep they may never be able to fully recover from the abuse. In a small way, maybe by being there for them, they may learn they can be there for themselves. Perhaps, for me, it's one more attempt to contribute to pushing the balance a wee bit to the good. In some sense, I get to right some of the wrongs I have unintentionally caused the women in my life previously because I was too busy being a man.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Shouldn't Take It So Hard
A few weeks ago, I was home bound with a bad cold. Consequently, I had to back out of a interfaith retreat where I was scheduled to give a presentation in the Chicago area that had been scheduled several months in advance. Holding out hope to the last moment, there was little improvement with my health. With counsel from a good friend and the organizer for the retreat, I decided to stay home for fear that I might be contagious. Seemingly, with the entire nation on guard from the threat of the flu and H1N1, I did not want to aggravate the fears of others that they would catch something from me.
I need to acknowledge that I have a propensity to exaggerate the negative side of an issue. Optimism is not the first place I go when faced with disappointment. While regrettable that I could not attend the retreat, it was not the end of the world. At least, to the rationale mind. Still, I woke up the morning of the retreat at home and in a bad mood. Somewhere between a temper tantrum and a quasi-depressive state of mind, I had a minor pity party where I was both the guest and host.
Deep down I knew what was bothering me. It wasn't the retreat, though I did want to be a part of it. I was coming up on the third anniversary of a particularly troubling time in my life and ministry around the time the retreat had been scheduled. Some years ago, I was the rector (pastor) of an aging congregation where I fought daily battles against a vocal minority that disagreed with my leadership style and the direction with which I was taking the church. These naysayers were mean spirited and quite cruel in their attempts to get me to resign.
Looking back, my contributions to the dysfunction that I can see is that I was a bit head strong and anxious to prove something to myself, and might have been more abrasive in my leadership than needed. And yet, I was also caught in situation with a once prominent church facing serious decline and irrelevancy, because they would not address the hard issues before them. This congregation had an inordinate amount of anger, grief, and fear that far surpassed the limited experience I had to manage this situation.
Fraught with a lack of support and understanding from my superiors, I was sidelined from my work for 90 days by a baseless accusation from a disgruntled employee. While eventually resolved in my favor, my detractors used this as the final straw to ask me to leave the congregation. Rather than respond in care to the difficulty I had encountered, they chose to abandon me and consciously withhold the care that I could have used from them.
Like quite a number of people, I am a causality of the church's inability to practice what it preaches. There is an old saying that the church is the only army that shoots its wounded. So, fast forward to last month, my inability to be a part of the Chicago retreat set up a scenario where I was having to fight against the perception that I was once again being sidelined from a community and work that I cared a great deal about.
I need to acknowledge that I have a propensity to exaggerate the negative side of an issue. Optimism is not the first place I go when faced with disappointment. While regrettable that I could not attend the retreat, it was not the end of the world. At least, to the rationale mind. Still, I woke up the morning of the retreat at home and in a bad mood. Somewhere between a temper tantrum and a quasi-depressive state of mind, I had a minor pity party where I was both the guest and host.
Deep down I knew what was bothering me. It wasn't the retreat, though I did want to be a part of it. I was coming up on the third anniversary of a particularly troubling time in my life and ministry around the time the retreat had been scheduled. Some years ago, I was the rector (pastor) of an aging congregation where I fought daily battles against a vocal minority that disagreed with my leadership style and the direction with which I was taking the church. These naysayers were mean spirited and quite cruel in their attempts to get me to resign.
Looking back, my contributions to the dysfunction that I can see is that I was a bit head strong and anxious to prove something to myself, and might have been more abrasive in my leadership than needed. And yet, I was also caught in situation with a once prominent church facing serious decline and irrelevancy, because they would not address the hard issues before them. This congregation had an inordinate amount of anger, grief, and fear that far surpassed the limited experience I had to manage this situation.
Fraught with a lack of support and understanding from my superiors, I was sidelined from my work for 90 days by a baseless accusation from a disgruntled employee. While eventually resolved in my favor, my detractors used this as the final straw to ask me to leave the congregation. Rather than respond in care to the difficulty I had encountered, they chose to abandon me and consciously withhold the care that I could have used from them.
Like quite a number of people, I am a causality of the church's inability to practice what it preaches. There is an old saying that the church is the only army that shoots its wounded. So, fast forward to last month, my inability to be a part of the Chicago retreat set up a scenario where I was having to fight against the perception that I was once again being sidelined from a community and work that I cared a great deal about.
I got it together in a day or so that no one was against me, I wasn't a failure, or any of the stuff I was tempted to tell myself. More so, when the calendar day of my anniversary actually came around, I had a great day. The sun was shining. I had a full day of teaching students and counseling patients. I was in a great mood. Perhaps, a few scars have healed, though by no means all.
It occurred to me recently that by attempting to see beyond the pain of a past I can't change, I could focus on a present that was actually better than anything I have ever experienced up to this point. I believe I am at a point in my life where what I do matters. I have some measure of autonomy around my career and personal life that is important to me. And, in a small way, I think what I do makes a difference.
I am pushing the balance a little bit to the good, as a priest, teacher and counselor. I hope I have enough humility to accept those moments I don't measure up to what I aspire to be. It helps me then to forgive others that that failed me knowing that despite my best intentions, I too have hurt and failed others. And, I remain committed to do what is normally good enough with a couple of extra steps in between.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The End (Just Please Not Today!)
The last several weeks have been extremely busy with a new teaching schedule at work, preparing for an upcoming art show, and launching a new contemplative meditation group. I admit had I not been home sick the last several days it may not have occurred to me to make an entry. Since no one contacted me about updating my blog, it may be a fair assumption that I was not missed.
My thoughts are somewhat more organized though still clouded. I haven't been so much out of it, as more in a casual fog of sleep and medication with television as an audio/visual companion. Sipping on green tea with lemon and honey, I've been listening to Peter Yorn and Scarlett Johansson's, "Break Up." I had forgotten I had a stereo until the Yorn and Johansson CD arrived in the mail from Amazon.com. Given my predilection towards being behind the times when it comes to most things, I still purchase CDs over and against downloading.
Whenever I'm sick, and alone too long in my apartment, I eventually start thinking about death. My consciouss reflections about death are in the contemplative sense of its greater meaning, not in the depressed driven response of suicide. I worked with dying patients enough to know that there is nothing romantic about it.
It may be that death is an anti-climatic response to living. Without undermining it, death is the end point; the concluding measurement to a given span of time from birth to its culmination. Nobody gets out of this experience alive, not even Jesus or Buddha. Perhaps, the late comedian Selma Diamond said it best: "I laugh, I cried, it became a part of me." For what it is worth, the notion of eternity is rather terrifying to me. It seems about as cruel and unjust as the notion of re-incarnation. One time on the ferris wheel of life is enough for me. My fear of death is coming back to do this life all over again.
I made the mistake of bringing up the subject of my death to my mother a few days ago. In a playful spirit to combat the nasal congestion and excessive coughing, I began to talk about which hospital I would like to receive treatment should my illness get worse. It then occurred to me that our conversation would be as good as time as any to discuss certain things about the eventuality of my death. The important matters like the arrangements I would like made, certain people to contact, my favorite songs I want played at the memorial, and several other things. She abruptly ended the conversation, and was upset with me for some time for bringing it up.
Again, I am not in the least bit fascinated with death. If I had my way, I wouldn't be there when it happens. I do have this fantasy, somewhat defiant and juvenile, that when I die I'm going with my middle finger in the air. I don't know if that is my way of mocking God. At least, no more so than those times when I thought God was mocking me with His silence.
I am generally not worried about some after life, judgment bound scenario where I have to give an explanation for one thing or the other. If there is some admission exam to heaven that depends on my explaining the choices I made, right or wrong, then I guess I am not getting in because that is too much work. It is rather absurd to think that in the great scheme of things, my life would be worth explicating after the fact. If anything, my response if questioned, by God or man, to state quite frankly that I did what I could to make the best of a bad situation.
Life has been rather good to me at this point. I want to ride it out to the end. If, by chance, my family does not abide my wishes to cremate me, I would hope they have the decency to put on my grave stone that I left this world still owing people money. I want to go out making jokes. Or even better still, I would love for my final words to read, "I told you I was sick."
My thoughts are somewhat more organized though still clouded. I haven't been so much out of it, as more in a casual fog of sleep and medication with television as an audio/visual companion. Sipping on green tea with lemon and honey, I've been listening to Peter Yorn and Scarlett Johansson's, "Break Up." I had forgotten I had a stereo until the Yorn and Johansson CD arrived in the mail from Amazon.com. Given my predilection towards being behind the times when it comes to most things, I still purchase CDs over and against downloading.
Whenever I'm sick, and alone too long in my apartment, I eventually start thinking about death. My consciouss reflections about death are in the contemplative sense of its greater meaning, not in the depressed driven response of suicide. I worked with dying patients enough to know that there is nothing romantic about it.
It may be that death is an anti-climatic response to living. Without undermining it, death is the end point; the concluding measurement to a given span of time from birth to its culmination. Nobody gets out of this experience alive, not even Jesus or Buddha. Perhaps, the late comedian Selma Diamond said it best: "I laugh, I cried, it became a part of me." For what it is worth, the notion of eternity is rather terrifying to me. It seems about as cruel and unjust as the notion of re-incarnation. One time on the ferris wheel of life is enough for me. My fear of death is coming back to do this life all over again.
I made the mistake of bringing up the subject of my death to my mother a few days ago. In a playful spirit to combat the nasal congestion and excessive coughing, I began to talk about which hospital I would like to receive treatment should my illness get worse. It then occurred to me that our conversation would be as good as time as any to discuss certain things about the eventuality of my death. The important matters like the arrangements I would like made, certain people to contact, my favorite songs I want played at the memorial, and several other things. She abruptly ended the conversation, and was upset with me for some time for bringing it up.
Again, I am not in the least bit fascinated with death. If I had my way, I wouldn't be there when it happens. I do have this fantasy, somewhat defiant and juvenile, that when I die I'm going with my middle finger in the air. I don't know if that is my way of mocking God. At least, no more so than those times when I thought God was mocking me with His silence.
I am generally not worried about some after life, judgment bound scenario where I have to give an explanation for one thing or the other. If there is some admission exam to heaven that depends on my explaining the choices I made, right or wrong, then I guess I am not getting in because that is too much work. It is rather absurd to think that in the great scheme of things, my life would be worth explicating after the fact. If anything, my response if questioned, by God or man, to state quite frankly that I did what I could to make the best of a bad situation.
Life has been rather good to me at this point. I want to ride it out to the end. If, by chance, my family does not abide my wishes to cremate me, I would hope they have the decency to put on my grave stone that I left this world still owing people money. I want to go out making jokes. Or even better still, I would love for my final words to read, "I told you I was sick."
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Smoothies and Meditation
I was scheduled to lead a meditation group recently at a local yoga studio. Our group meets under the auspices of the Center for American Buddhist Practice, a non-dogmatic group that makes room for all kinds of spiritual folks: Buddhists, Christians, Hindus, non-believers, anyone that wants to get together to sit for a few minutes in silence, pray together, and discuss in a non-coercive way the teachings of the Buddha. In fact, you might call our group a sangha. A sangha is an intentional spiritual group.
Following the meditation, I planned to give a short talk. I wasn't sure what the subject would be, but I knew the theme would be loosely built around learning to trust one's own experience. I'm starting to imagine that a key component spirituality is about learning to validate one's self. (I don't have much tolerance for anything that promotes separation. If it doesn't build people up, I'm not interested in discussing it.) Besides, I don't believe in completely finalizing any talk I give because I always want to leave room for inspiration. Maybe it's a rationalization on my part, but the energy of the moment causes me to think better on my feet.
Showing up a few minutes early to the yoga studio, the door was locked. No one was in the building and our group would have no place to meet. Sitting on the font steps of the studio watching the evening traffic dwindle down, the emerging option seem to be to hold a discussion group at the Starbuck's across the street. Too late in the evening for caffeine, I surmised we could hold an impromptu meditation "meet and greet" over smoothies and pastries.
As one person after another showed up, everyone seemed largely relaxed and ready to hang out. I was surprised by the group that gathered, as it appeared to be our largest number in recent memory. While waiting for late comers, the different group members began to talk about one thing or the other. This seemed in contrast to the awkward silence that often permeates our more formal gatherings.
Surprisingly, a drum circle meeting in a different part of the building showed up at the last minute. While we still didn't have access to the yoga studio, we huddled together in one of the massage rooms. A couple of us moved the massage table into the hallway while a few others grabbed a few cushions to make a make shift meditation circle. Our group continued our open sharing punctuated by moments of meditative silence. We started about 15 minutes past our regular time, and continued an additional 30 minutes passed our end time.
The spontaneity of how we gathered this particular evening allowed us to relax, and enjoy each other's company. Genuine good will fosters community. Our sangha was a temporal association of a open hearted people willing to be with whatever happen that evening, because we were facing it together. We meet the Sacred whenever we meet each other authentically and with good intention. That's all that anyone can ask for, I think. At least, that's what my experience tells me.
Following the meditation, I planned to give a short talk. I wasn't sure what the subject would be, but I knew the theme would be loosely built around learning to trust one's own experience. I'm starting to imagine that a key component spirituality is about learning to validate one's self. (I don't have much tolerance for anything that promotes separation. If it doesn't build people up, I'm not interested in discussing it.) Besides, I don't believe in completely finalizing any talk I give because I always want to leave room for inspiration. Maybe it's a rationalization on my part, but the energy of the moment causes me to think better on my feet.
Showing up a few minutes early to the yoga studio, the door was locked. No one was in the building and our group would have no place to meet. Sitting on the font steps of the studio watching the evening traffic dwindle down, the emerging option seem to be to hold a discussion group at the Starbuck's across the street. Too late in the evening for caffeine, I surmised we could hold an impromptu meditation "meet and greet" over smoothies and pastries.
As one person after another showed up, everyone seemed largely relaxed and ready to hang out. I was surprised by the group that gathered, as it appeared to be our largest number in recent memory. While waiting for late comers, the different group members began to talk about one thing or the other. This seemed in contrast to the awkward silence that often permeates our more formal gatherings.
Surprisingly, a drum circle meeting in a different part of the building showed up at the last minute. While we still didn't have access to the yoga studio, we huddled together in one of the massage rooms. A couple of us moved the massage table into the hallway while a few others grabbed a few cushions to make a make shift meditation circle. Our group continued our open sharing punctuated by moments of meditative silence. We started about 15 minutes past our regular time, and continued an additional 30 minutes passed our end time.
The spontaneity of how we gathered this particular evening allowed us to relax, and enjoy each other's company. Genuine good will fosters community. Our sangha was a temporal association of a open hearted people willing to be with whatever happen that evening, because we were facing it together. We meet the Sacred whenever we meet each other authentically and with good intention. That's all that anyone can ask for, I think. At least, that's what my experience tells me.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Many Paths to God
A friend of mine recently became a devotee of Her Holiness Mata Amritanadamayi. She is more popularly known as Sri Amma, the Holy Mother, the hugging saint. Perceived by many as the feminine incarnation of the Divine, she expresses unconditional love through the act of hugging. People from all over the world travel to have darshan (holy sight of a sacred individual) with Amma. Many seek to be held by her the way a mother holds her children.
In describing his first experience of Sri Amma, my friend said that he was blown away by being in her presence. His life had been changed. He instantly requested a mantra (prayer), and became her student on the spot. Interestingly enough, my friend is a Buddhist priest. Buddhism, by definition, is an atheistic, philosophical and/or religious perspective.
My friend spent many years living as a monk in Fo Guang Shan, a Chinese ecumenical Buddhist order. He and I co-lead a local Thursday night meditation service in the Ch'an/Zen tradition. It may seem rather odd that he and I would be co-leading this meditation given my background in Christianity, and his move towards Hinduism as a Shakti (sacred feminine) practitioner. Ch'an/Zen is an experiential form of Mahayana Buddhist practice that emphasizes experience in meditation over dogma and doctrine.
Arguably, because of its anti-dogmatic stance, it is practiced by many that by definition are not Buddhists. However my friend defines himself, he does seem happy. His companion is overjoyed as well. She is a member of the Self Realised Fellowship of Yogananda.
Another friend of mine, a former Presbyterian who converted to Hinduism decades ago, operates a universal/interfaith center named the Living Insights Center. The center is designed to educate individuals around many of the primary world's religious and spiritual traditions. My friend is rather eclectic. He devoutly attends the temple on Monday to observe the Shiva puja (ritual worship). Yet, he participates as a singer and drummer for an annual Native American ritual, and he is a Reiki master. He walked away from a lucrative law career to practice his faith.
Perhaps, my friends are all confused, but I must emphasize that they are happy! What if they have found something that many are struggling to accept that God isn't a brand name copyrighted by one religious tradition? There is an emerging realization across consciousness that authentic spirituality is more fluid and open than previously thought. The message appears to be quite simply: There are many paths to God!
What if God is the inclusive One, and the separatist has been those of us that attempt to pigeon hold God into one category of religious practice? God isn't a Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, etc. God is God. Across all of our traditions, God really is Unconditional Light and Love? And, in the words of my spiritual grandfather Bishop Dr. Ajari, "Unconditional Love is Enlightenment."
Whatever names we use, whatever practices we undertake, the primary practice is the awareness of the Divine Presence. It is the awareness of the Divine Presence that heals, that manifests abundance, that answers prayers, that transforms lives. Our words about God are often inadequate ramblings around an attempt to categorize the Sacred. It is a sort of irony that the more we talk about God, the more it indicates our lack of understanding about God.
I can't help but think that a God of unconditional love is about building people up, not tearing them down. Real faith suggests that the Divine Presence is about encouraging, not discouraging. The Sacred promotes love and compassion, not anger. I am convinced that the barometer of authentic spirituality is the celebration of life. The absence of the celebration then is anything but God. Be in joy, be in love, be in God.
In describing his first experience of Sri Amma, my friend said that he was blown away by being in her presence. His life had been changed. He instantly requested a mantra (prayer), and became her student on the spot. Interestingly enough, my friend is a Buddhist priest. Buddhism, by definition, is an atheistic, philosophical and/or religious perspective.
My friend spent many years living as a monk in Fo Guang Shan, a Chinese ecumenical Buddhist order. He and I co-lead a local Thursday night meditation service in the Ch'an/Zen tradition. It may seem rather odd that he and I would be co-leading this meditation given my background in Christianity, and his move towards Hinduism as a Shakti (sacred feminine) practitioner. Ch'an/Zen is an experiential form of Mahayana Buddhist practice that emphasizes experience in meditation over dogma and doctrine.
Arguably, because of its anti-dogmatic stance, it is practiced by many that by definition are not Buddhists. However my friend defines himself, he does seem happy. His companion is overjoyed as well. She is a member of the Self Realised Fellowship of Yogananda.
Another friend of mine, a former Presbyterian who converted to Hinduism decades ago, operates a universal/interfaith center named the Living Insights Center. The center is designed to educate individuals around many of the primary world's religious and spiritual traditions. My friend is rather eclectic. He devoutly attends the temple on Monday to observe the Shiva puja (ritual worship). Yet, he participates as a singer and drummer for an annual Native American ritual, and he is a Reiki master. He walked away from a lucrative law career to practice his faith.
Perhaps, my friends are all confused, but I must emphasize that they are happy! What if they have found something that many are struggling to accept that God isn't a brand name copyrighted by one religious tradition? There is an emerging realization across consciousness that authentic spirituality is more fluid and open than previously thought. The message appears to be quite simply: There are many paths to God!
What if God is the inclusive One, and the separatist has been those of us that attempt to pigeon hold God into one category of religious practice? God isn't a Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, etc. God is God. Across all of our traditions, God really is Unconditional Light and Love? And, in the words of my spiritual grandfather Bishop Dr. Ajari, "Unconditional Love is Enlightenment."
Whatever names we use, whatever practices we undertake, the primary practice is the awareness of the Divine Presence. It is the awareness of the Divine Presence that heals, that manifests abundance, that answers prayers, that transforms lives. Our words about God are often inadequate ramblings around an attempt to categorize the Sacred. It is a sort of irony that the more we talk about God, the more it indicates our lack of understanding about God.
I can't help but think that a God of unconditional love is about building people up, not tearing them down. Real faith suggests that the Divine Presence is about encouraging, not discouraging. The Sacred promotes love and compassion, not anger. I am convinced that the barometer of authentic spirituality is the celebration of life. The absence of the celebration then is anything but God. Be in joy, be in love, be in God.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Something About Her
The last two months have been an amazing blur. Obviously, in a good way, though. I have been fortunate to enter into an intimate and committed relationship with my companion. My lady is a sensitive, passionate person that inspires my own creativity and excitement for life. By most accounts, I am crazy about her, as evidenced by three abstract paintings I did recently that were born out of my desire for her.
There is a certain synchronicity around the time she came into my life. We met within days of the lost of one of my beloved mentors. The first few days of his death left me uncertain as to how I would handle the impact of his passing. A former Catholic priest, I felt comfortable asking for his intercessory help from the other side. I prayed that he would send someone to ease the pain of being alone and without his guidance.
I needed someone in my life. Not just to ease the lost, but as a calling to be in a relationship with someone special. That is when she showed up. Yes, I believe it was my mentor's support that made our introduction possible. She does, as well. One of the initial points of common between us is that she had attended several of my teacher's events prior to my relationship with him.
She is a wonderful woman. Attractive, cultured (she speaks nine languages), intelligent and intriguing, I am grateful to be in relationship with her. So far, our differences seem cause for connection rather than separation. She is Swedish, I am African American. She left home early on to discover the world vis a vis her travels around Europe. I went directly from high school to college not far from where I was raised. There are other things, but suffice it to say, it works.
From my previous failed relationships, I hope this one will be different. By all early indications, I think she gets me. One of her initial compliments to me was that she identified early on that my visual art is the product of my poet's heart. I feel relaxed around her and that I can be myself. I trust I do the same for her. We have been able to talk about our points of disagreement, too. I like that we both know to use the phrase, "I'm sorry."
Besides, I dig the little stuff about her, too. She knows how I like my morning coffee. I know the kind of wine she prefers in the evening. It is the simple things that grab my attention, not the big productions that run out of steam in a few days. Most importantly, she loves me. And, I love her. That's where she and I start and end. We can figure out the rest later.
There is a certain synchronicity around the time she came into my life. We met within days of the lost of one of my beloved mentors. The first few days of his death left me uncertain as to how I would handle the impact of his passing. A former Catholic priest, I felt comfortable asking for his intercessory help from the other side. I prayed that he would send someone to ease the pain of being alone and without his guidance.
I needed someone in my life. Not just to ease the lost, but as a calling to be in a relationship with someone special. That is when she showed up. Yes, I believe it was my mentor's support that made our introduction possible. She does, as well. One of the initial points of common between us is that she had attended several of my teacher's events prior to my relationship with him.
She is a wonderful woman. Attractive, cultured (she speaks nine languages), intelligent and intriguing, I am grateful to be in relationship with her. So far, our differences seem cause for connection rather than separation. She is Swedish, I am African American. She left home early on to discover the world vis a vis her travels around Europe. I went directly from high school to college not far from where I was raised. There are other things, but suffice it to say, it works.
From my previous failed relationships, I hope this one will be different. By all early indications, I think she gets me. One of her initial compliments to me was that she identified early on that my visual art is the product of my poet's heart. I feel relaxed around her and that I can be myself. I trust I do the same for her. We have been able to talk about our points of disagreement, too. I like that we both know to use the phrase, "I'm sorry."
Besides, I dig the little stuff about her, too. She knows how I like my morning coffee. I know the kind of wine she prefers in the evening. It is the simple things that grab my attention, not the big productions that run out of steam in a few days. Most importantly, she loves me. And, I love her. That's where she and I start and end. We can figure out the rest later.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
In Gratitude for my Beloved Teacher
This past June has largely been a difficult month for me beginning with the passing of one my beloved teachers, the late Rev. Ron Roth, on June 1, 2009. The ending of the month was no better with the death of the King of Pop, Michael Jackson on June 25, 2009. Both men were important to me for various reasons. It would be disingenuous for me not to mention Michael given the amount of hurt I have experienced at his passing.
I grew up with Michael's music and his presence in my life as far back as I can remember. I have never imagined a day without Michael Jackson. While I am choosing to focus this entry on Ron, it is important to note that I believe Michael to be an inspiring artist, humanitarian and healer. A troubled soul, perhaps. I refuse to believe that his conduct was inappropriate with children. I am grieving his death. I am grateful for all that his life and work contributed to mine and millions of others.
With regard to Ron, for the last forty days, I have lit candles and incense in front of his picture. When I started this ritual, it was in imitation of the practice observed both in the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles (they were written by the same author) where there was a forty day period between the Resurrection of Jesus and Pentecost when the Apostles received the Holy Spirit to continue the healing and teaching ministry of Christ. The imagery of the Holy Spirit was liken unto a gushing wind, a powerful fire, that transmitted a sacred energy to the Apostles. I vaguely remember whatever high minded notions I began my forty ritual, but it has ended in a rather different place than I would have assumed.
My forty day process has been primarily about grief. By grief, I mean mourning the death of my teacher. I have had a tremendous amount of sorrow at his passing, as well as an uncertain sense of anxiety and trepidation about what the future would hold for me. As an aside, I have discovered that many spiritual people don't do well with grief, as an emotion or process. They tend to have high minded notions regarding the death process or use lofty language to describe their beliefs about life after death. All of which, by the way, may be true.
Still, as a therapist and spiritual teacher in my own right, I recognize denial when I experience it. Spiritual caregivers must take death seriously as a process; at least, that is, for those still alive in the wake of someone's death. Knowledge by itself doesn't help people to deal with their emotions. Regrettably, it may only help them to deny or suppress it. Spiritual caregivers have to face their own fears about death to help others do the same.
In the aftermath of my teacher's death, one of the things that I have stared to realize is that as long as one's spiritual teacher is present, the student can hold some level of ambivalence regarding the teachings. In some respects, a student doesn't have to engage certain spiritual practices, because the teacher is available to do them on behalf of the student. Faith, then, becomes the lending of trust to the teacher, rather than trusting the experience one has with the teachings themselves.
Ron's death has forced me in some capacity to confront what I believe. By belief, I don't mean a cognitive assent to statements of truth. Instead, I define belief as developing the capacity to make personal meaning and contain the experiences derived from engaging the spiritual practices given by the teacher. The responsibility for one's spiritual practice belongs with each of us, not a teacher.
My grief over his death has been extremely painful but valuable. I have been able to let go of the person of Ron to invite the spirit of Ron to become more a part of my life. Ron taught me how to connect with the Sacred that he identified as the Presence in several different religious traditions. Ron was a mystic. I remember him saying that he did more work for the dead than for the living. With his death, the shift of emphasis may now be aimed at the living.
Of one thing I am certain: I am one of the legitimate successors to his teachings. Both in the body and spirit, he continues to teach me things that are elevating my own work as a teacher, healer and artist. Whatever shape my own life and work takes, I am incorporating the best of what he gave me.
*On a personal note I need to mention that Ron has already demonstrated his intercession on my behalf by responding to a deeply held prayer of mine. I shared with Ron during the first few days of his transition that I would need help to make it through the 40 days. Through his intercession, I have met an amazing woman, a healer, a muse and companion to help transform the burden of his passing into an opportunity of grace and support. I am deeply moved by her love and light. I am already a better person for it. As Jesus did not leave the disciples alone, so Ron has not left me alone either. Thank you Ron for bringing S- into my life.
I grew up with Michael's music and his presence in my life as far back as I can remember. I have never imagined a day without Michael Jackson. While I am choosing to focus this entry on Ron, it is important to note that I believe Michael to be an inspiring artist, humanitarian and healer. A troubled soul, perhaps. I refuse to believe that his conduct was inappropriate with children. I am grieving his death. I am grateful for all that his life and work contributed to mine and millions of others.
With regard to Ron, for the last forty days, I have lit candles and incense in front of his picture. When I started this ritual, it was in imitation of the practice observed both in the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles (they were written by the same author) where there was a forty day period between the Resurrection of Jesus and Pentecost when the Apostles received the Holy Spirit to continue the healing and teaching ministry of Christ. The imagery of the Holy Spirit was liken unto a gushing wind, a powerful fire, that transmitted a sacred energy to the Apostles. I vaguely remember whatever high minded notions I began my forty ritual, but it has ended in a rather different place than I would have assumed.
My forty day process has been primarily about grief. By grief, I mean mourning the death of my teacher. I have had a tremendous amount of sorrow at his passing, as well as an uncertain sense of anxiety and trepidation about what the future would hold for me. As an aside, I have discovered that many spiritual people don't do well with grief, as an emotion or process. They tend to have high minded notions regarding the death process or use lofty language to describe their beliefs about life after death. All of which, by the way, may be true.
Still, as a therapist and spiritual teacher in my own right, I recognize denial when I experience it. Spiritual caregivers must take death seriously as a process; at least, that is, for those still alive in the wake of someone's death. Knowledge by itself doesn't help people to deal with their emotions. Regrettably, it may only help them to deny or suppress it. Spiritual caregivers have to face their own fears about death to help others do the same.
In the aftermath of my teacher's death, one of the things that I have stared to realize is that as long as one's spiritual teacher is present, the student can hold some level of ambivalence regarding the teachings. In some respects, a student doesn't have to engage certain spiritual practices, because the teacher is available to do them on behalf of the student. Faith, then, becomes the lending of trust to the teacher, rather than trusting the experience one has with the teachings themselves.
Ron's death has forced me in some capacity to confront what I believe. By belief, I don't mean a cognitive assent to statements of truth. Instead, I define belief as developing the capacity to make personal meaning and contain the experiences derived from engaging the spiritual practices given by the teacher. The responsibility for one's spiritual practice belongs with each of us, not a teacher.
My grief over his death has been extremely painful but valuable. I have been able to let go of the person of Ron to invite the spirit of Ron to become more a part of my life. Ron taught me how to connect with the Sacred that he identified as the Presence in several different religious traditions. Ron was a mystic. I remember him saying that he did more work for the dead than for the living. With his death, the shift of emphasis may now be aimed at the living.
Of one thing I am certain: I am one of the legitimate successors to his teachings. Both in the body and spirit, he continues to teach me things that are elevating my own work as a teacher, healer and artist. Whatever shape my own life and work takes, I am incorporating the best of what he gave me.
*On a personal note I need to mention that Ron has already demonstrated his intercession on my behalf by responding to a deeply held prayer of mine. I shared with Ron during the first few days of his transition that I would need help to make it through the 40 days. Through his intercession, I have met an amazing woman, a healer, a muse and companion to help transform the burden of his passing into an opportunity of grace and support. I am deeply moved by her love and light. I am already a better person for it. As Jesus did not leave the disciples alone, so Ron has not left me alone either. Thank you Ron for bringing S- into my life.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
In Memory of the King of Pop
Michael Jackson's death has devastated me. I don't know how to write about it. I have known his music my entire life. It feels as if I have lost someone I knew personally. His death hurts deeply! I cried long and hard over it. I keep telling myself this is a bad publicity stunt, a joke gone too far. I don't want to accept that Michael is dead!
I am not alone in my reaction. I have been stunned by the outpouring of grief by fans all over the world that loved him. I didn't realize or had forgotten how much he was appreciated. The King of Pop was recognized as a genius everywhere except in his own country. He should have been revered as a national treasure rather than reduced to some sort of oddity.
For all of his talent, he was a tortured soul. It is ironic that an artist whose music literally changed lives could not be saved by it. While his troubles were largely exploited, if not exaggerated by the media, there are certain things about him that I never believed. For all of his personal angst, I never believed that he was a pedophile. I am angered that even in death, the American press continues to re-hash the same old accusations regarding his supposed debt, casting doubt regarding the paternity of his children, ridiculing his changing appearance, and so on.
The scrutiny of the American press, and the soul destroying mechanism of the entertainment industry hastened Michael's demise. I am angry that for all the good this man brought to the world that he was reviled for it. I am saddened that the genuine care and support of his fans were not enough to save him. I am at a lost that like many African American men, he died prematurely.
I refuse to reduce Michael to a tragedy. He deserves better than that as his epithet. I have too many fond memories of him to remember him that way. For instance, I was blown away by when he performed on Motown's 25th Anniversary special. Yes, I saw him do the moonwalk on TV for the first time along with his dynamic performance of "Billie Jean." I was speechless after his performance on the '88 Grammy Awards with his gospel, soulful rendition of "Man in the Mirror." I watched faithfully the premier of video after video late into my college years including "Black or White" and "Remember the Time."
Michael is the reason there is an African American presence on MTV and its affiliated stations. He broke through, crossed over, led the way for artists of color onto the pop stations. Michael had to surpass many obstacles to reach the world music community. He earned the right to be the King of Pop.
I am still trying to make sense of Michael's passing. This blog entry is incomplete. I don't know what to make of it. In fact, for right now, I have to think about Michael's death more as a friend that I won't see for a while rather than accept the finality of it. In time, I can write something more adequate. Suffice it to say, he was the world's greatest entertainer.
I am not alone in my reaction. I have been stunned by the outpouring of grief by fans all over the world that loved him. I didn't realize or had forgotten how much he was appreciated. The King of Pop was recognized as a genius everywhere except in his own country. He should have been revered as a national treasure rather than reduced to some sort of oddity.
For all of his talent, he was a tortured soul. It is ironic that an artist whose music literally changed lives could not be saved by it. While his troubles were largely exploited, if not exaggerated by the media, there are certain things about him that I never believed. For all of his personal angst, I never believed that he was a pedophile. I am angered that even in death, the American press continues to re-hash the same old accusations regarding his supposed debt, casting doubt regarding the paternity of his children, ridiculing his changing appearance, and so on.
The scrutiny of the American press, and the soul destroying mechanism of the entertainment industry hastened Michael's demise. I am angry that for all the good this man brought to the world that he was reviled for it. I am saddened that the genuine care and support of his fans were not enough to save him. I am at a lost that like many African American men, he died prematurely.
I refuse to reduce Michael to a tragedy. He deserves better than that as his epithet. I have too many fond memories of him to remember him that way. For instance, I was blown away by when he performed on Motown's 25th Anniversary special. Yes, I saw him do the moonwalk on TV for the first time along with his dynamic performance of "Billie Jean." I was speechless after his performance on the '88 Grammy Awards with his gospel, soulful rendition of "Man in the Mirror." I watched faithfully the premier of video after video late into my college years including "Black or White" and "Remember the Time."
Michael is the reason there is an African American presence on MTV and its affiliated stations. He broke through, crossed over, led the way for artists of color onto the pop stations. Michael had to surpass many obstacles to reach the world music community. He earned the right to be the King of Pop.
I am still trying to make sense of Michael's passing. This blog entry is incomplete. I don't know what to make of it. In fact, for right now, I have to think about Michael's death more as a friend that I won't see for a while rather than accept the finality of it. In time, I can write something more adequate. Suffice it to say, he was the world's greatest entertainer.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Father's Day
I took my mother and sister out for lunch for Father's Day. We went to a quaint Japanese restaurant at the end of the Delmar Loop. Afterwards, we went for smoothies. I spent the latter part of the day painting an abstract on canvas(that's what it has become). I've been using various shades of green with patches of sand. It looks like one big mess. I hope the drying time will give it a distinctive look.
It hit me while I was painting that I haven't called my father on this day in years! It probably started out as an angst ridden act of defiance. Subsequently, it has mellowed more into a passive indifference. It isn't that I don't love my father. Quite the opposite. Perhaps, at one time, too much. I use to believe that if my father had been more of an active participant in my life, I would have known years earlier what it meant to be a man.
These days I consider the masculine search for meaning part of the existential quest that every guy has to figure out with or without his father's help. It might have been a bit easier with some guidance, though. I'm fairly sure that my old man gave me everything he had to give. It is hard to admit that what he gave me wasn't enough. I stopped being angry at my father when I finally realized he wasn't holding anything back from me. The proverbial well had run dry a long time ago. There was no more water left to fetch.
I remember when I was in the fifth grade, my father promised one evening to come by the house to hear me play the clarinet. I wasn't any good. Yet, I wanted him to hear pass the squeaks and mis-tune pitch looking for him to approve me for the effort. He never called to say he wasn't coming. It's a difficult lesson to learn at such an age that one's father was unreliable. I should mention he didn't have a car for most of my adolescent and teen years. Years earlier before I was around, my mother taught my father how to drive.
I know my father loves me. Regrettably, we don't know each other as men. It's not an issue of blame, so much as having a lack of things in common. Bloodlines aren't enough to make a connection despite the obvious one that exists. I am grateful that I had male mentors along the years that took an interest me. My youth minister Gary, for instance, always took me to the "Father and Son" banquets at the church. Mr. Connolly, an elder statesman in the same church, sent me to camp one year. He always made sure I had a way to and from church when I needed it. He consistently took me to lunch with his family. I always wanted to be his son.
Am I punishing my father when I don't call him for Father's Day? I don't think so, but I'm not sure. There is a part of me that says I shouldn't reward bad behavior for the ways he didn't behave like a father like all the missed phone calls on my birthday. I am willing to admit on a day like Father's Day, there is a bit of pressure to think I should have a different kind of relationship with my father than the one that we have. Honestly, at this point in my life, it really is enough!
I did spend time today with my mother. She taught me how to hit a ball. She showed me how to ride a bike. It was my mother who took care of me when I was sick. I view Father's Day, as a way of demonstrating our appreciation for the people that played their roles in our lives. Maybe as a compromise, this blog can be a half-way step: "Happy Father's Day!" Incidentally, my painting came out all right. Very green!
It hit me while I was painting that I haven't called my father on this day in years! It probably started out as an angst ridden act of defiance. Subsequently, it has mellowed more into a passive indifference. It isn't that I don't love my father. Quite the opposite. Perhaps, at one time, too much. I use to believe that if my father had been more of an active participant in my life, I would have known years earlier what it meant to be a man.
These days I consider the masculine search for meaning part of the existential quest that every guy has to figure out with or without his father's help. It might have been a bit easier with some guidance, though. I'm fairly sure that my old man gave me everything he had to give. It is hard to admit that what he gave me wasn't enough. I stopped being angry at my father when I finally realized he wasn't holding anything back from me. The proverbial well had run dry a long time ago. There was no more water left to fetch.
I remember when I was in the fifth grade, my father promised one evening to come by the house to hear me play the clarinet. I wasn't any good. Yet, I wanted him to hear pass the squeaks and mis-tune pitch looking for him to approve me for the effort. He never called to say he wasn't coming. It's a difficult lesson to learn at such an age that one's father was unreliable. I should mention he didn't have a car for most of my adolescent and teen years. Years earlier before I was around, my mother taught my father how to drive.
I know my father loves me. Regrettably, we don't know each other as men. It's not an issue of blame, so much as having a lack of things in common. Bloodlines aren't enough to make a connection despite the obvious one that exists. I am grateful that I had male mentors along the years that took an interest me. My youth minister Gary, for instance, always took me to the "Father and Son" banquets at the church. Mr. Connolly, an elder statesman in the same church, sent me to camp one year. He always made sure I had a way to and from church when I needed it. He consistently took me to lunch with his family. I always wanted to be his son.
Am I punishing my father when I don't call him for Father's Day? I don't think so, but I'm not sure. There is a part of me that says I shouldn't reward bad behavior for the ways he didn't behave like a father like all the missed phone calls on my birthday. I am willing to admit on a day like Father's Day, there is a bit of pressure to think I should have a different kind of relationship with my father than the one that we have. Honestly, at this point in my life, it really is enough!
I did spend time today with my mother. She taught me how to hit a ball. She showed me how to ride a bike. It was my mother who took care of me when I was sick. I view Father's Day, as a way of demonstrating our appreciation for the people that played their roles in our lives. Maybe as a compromise, this blog can be a half-way step: "Happy Father's Day!" Incidentally, my painting came out all right. Very green!
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Celebrating the Life of My Teacher
A good friend recently shared with me a story about Yogananda, the first Yoga master from India to teach in the West. He was nearing the end of his life, but had postponed his death until his final disciple arrived to meet with him. The interesting part of the story was that it was a disciple he had not yet met. My friend shared that story with me in the context of the passing of our mutually shared spiritual teacher, Ron Roth.
Ron was an amazing man, a gifted spiritual healer, a wonderful teacher. He was a former Roman Catholic priest that left the priesthood in the early 1990s to devote himself to an interfaith healing and teaching ministry. He was an adamant believer that there was only one religion, the religion of love. Rather than attempt to convert people to a particular spiritual path, he invited them to go deeper into their own religious traditions. He sought to bring people together instead of dividing them.
Ron taught that at the heart of each religious and spiritual tradition was the celebration of the Presence, the Deep Mystery of Life, by whatever name we identified it: the Father, the Mother, God, etc. One of his favorite practices was chanting the various names of God from the various spiritual traditions. On Ron's altar, one could find images of various spiritual teachers from Jesus and the Blessed Mother Mary to Shirdi Sai Baba and Ramakrishna.
In the context of Ron's worship services, people were literally healed. Ron said he did not heal, it was God that was the True Healer. Ron's work was to gift people to claim their own healing through their connection to the Sacred. He created a community without walls inviting people of different faiths to come together in the Spirit of Oneness to love God, love themselves, and love others. Towards the end of his life, Ron was recognized by a Indian guru, a recognized Avatar (incarnation of the Divine) to be himself an "Avatar of Causeless Love."
I met Ron prior to the debilitating stroke that left him for the remainder of his life unable to walk and with limited speech. I was led to meet him after reading one of his books. His last public teaching was a small weekend gathering of approximately 50 people in Chicago. That weekend changed my life. Ron set me further on path that led me into prayer, meditation and spiritual healing.
Even in his disabled state, he taught me so much more than I would have discovered on my own. I am the better because of him. Our bond was primarily energetic and spiritual, but no less real. I may have been his last student while he was in the body. I don't know if he was waiting for me, but I was waiting for him. I loved him. And, I miss him dearly.
Ron always said that after his death, he would make more noise on other side. Like St. Padre Pio and St. Teresa of Liseaux, he promised that if we asked for his help, he would provide it. I am not quite sure what I am going to do without the physical presence of a man that was like a spiritual uncle to me. He was funny, insightful, practical, down to earth, and someone with whom I could relate. Ron still has work to do. I do as well. I am one of many that will keep his teachings and spirit available to those that will benefit from them.
Ron was an amazing man, a gifted spiritual healer, a wonderful teacher. He was a former Roman Catholic priest that left the priesthood in the early 1990s to devote himself to an interfaith healing and teaching ministry. He was an adamant believer that there was only one religion, the religion of love. Rather than attempt to convert people to a particular spiritual path, he invited them to go deeper into their own religious traditions. He sought to bring people together instead of dividing them.
Ron taught that at the heart of each religious and spiritual tradition was the celebration of the Presence, the Deep Mystery of Life, by whatever name we identified it: the Father, the Mother, God, etc. One of his favorite practices was chanting the various names of God from the various spiritual traditions. On Ron's altar, one could find images of various spiritual teachers from Jesus and the Blessed Mother Mary to Shirdi Sai Baba and Ramakrishna.
In the context of Ron's worship services, people were literally healed. Ron said he did not heal, it was God that was the True Healer. Ron's work was to gift people to claim their own healing through their connection to the Sacred. He created a community without walls inviting people of different faiths to come together in the Spirit of Oneness to love God, love themselves, and love others. Towards the end of his life, Ron was recognized by a Indian guru, a recognized Avatar (incarnation of the Divine) to be himself an "Avatar of Causeless Love."
I met Ron prior to the debilitating stroke that left him for the remainder of his life unable to walk and with limited speech. I was led to meet him after reading one of his books. His last public teaching was a small weekend gathering of approximately 50 people in Chicago. That weekend changed my life. Ron set me further on path that led me into prayer, meditation and spiritual healing.
Even in his disabled state, he taught me so much more than I would have discovered on my own. I am the better because of him. Our bond was primarily energetic and spiritual, but no less real. I may have been his last student while he was in the body. I don't know if he was waiting for me, but I was waiting for him. I loved him. And, I miss him dearly.
Ron always said that after his death, he would make more noise on other side. Like St. Padre Pio and St. Teresa of Liseaux, he promised that if we asked for his help, he would provide it. I am not quite sure what I am going to do without the physical presence of a man that was like a spiritual uncle to me. He was funny, insightful, practical, down to earth, and someone with whom I could relate. Ron still has work to do. I do as well. I am one of many that will keep his teachings and spirit available to those that will benefit from them.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Old Man's Approval
A few years shy away from forty, there is a part of me that still wants my father's approval. Well, not my biological father. I love my father, maybe too much. In terms of our actual relationship, we are strangers to one another.
Though we are "father and son," we don't know each other as men. I am not sure with what, if any, regret I have about it. It ceased being a sore spot in my life a long time ago. It may be more accurate to write, there is a part of that wants a "father figure's" approval.
Much of my life has been spent attempting to fill that need for approval through a variety of other means. A number of years of therapy has helped me to realize how I previously transferred that need for a father figure's approval into relationships with women.
In my younger years, I was unfair to the women with whom I couldn't commit. I blamed them for what was missing in the relationship. I didn't realize it was my unwillingness to be honest about my baggage. I think I am doing it now.
Outside of my personal relationships with women, I sought to transfer my need for approval into a need to achieve. The need to succeed can become compulsive like a drug that never meets the underlying emotional void. Over the years through a lot of hard work, sacrifice, and sheer determination, I like the man that I have become. I am a stand up guy.
This morning I had a conversation with my primary male mentor. He has been as important in my life as my biological father, if not more so. Despite some tensions between us over the years exacerbated by my previous anger at my biological father, I have always appreciated him. Even when I wasn't speaking to him, I thought about him constantly. I think he was surprised by how much of what he taught me, I remembered.
Today, I received from him the greatest gift that one man can give to another: his respect. He told me he was proud of me. That meant probably more to me than anything he has ever said. I guess no matter what age a man becomes, he needs another man to tell him he's done well. I got the old man's approval. It feels damn good!
Though we are "father and son," we don't know each other as men. I am not sure with what, if any, regret I have about it. It ceased being a sore spot in my life a long time ago. It may be more accurate to write, there is a part of that wants a "father figure's" approval.
Much of my life has been spent attempting to fill that need for approval through a variety of other means. A number of years of therapy has helped me to realize how I previously transferred that need for a father figure's approval into relationships with women.
In my younger years, I was unfair to the women with whom I couldn't commit. I blamed them for what was missing in the relationship. I didn't realize it was my unwillingness to be honest about my baggage. I think I am doing it now.
Outside of my personal relationships with women, I sought to transfer my need for approval into a need to achieve. The need to succeed can become compulsive like a drug that never meets the underlying emotional void. Over the years through a lot of hard work, sacrifice, and sheer determination, I like the man that I have become. I am a stand up guy.
This morning I had a conversation with my primary male mentor. He has been as important in my life as my biological father, if not more so. Despite some tensions between us over the years exacerbated by my previous anger at my biological father, I have always appreciated him. Even when I wasn't speaking to him, I thought about him constantly. I think he was surprised by how much of what he taught me, I remembered.
Today, I received from him the greatest gift that one man can give to another: his respect. He told me he was proud of me. That meant probably more to me than anything he has ever said. I guess no matter what age a man becomes, he needs another man to tell him he's done well. I got the old man's approval. It feels damn good!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Trying To Love Again (But Not Sure How)
I am starting to wonder if anyone really understands how to make a relationship work. Perhaps, that is too broad a statement. I am not sure that I personally know many people who know how to make their relationships work. Instead, they seem like they are in relationships that are not good to them or for them. It is rather disheartening.
Against the backdrop of the most recent Memorial Day Weekend, I watched the relationships of some of my friends and their significant others seemingly implode. If not implode, struggle to gasp for breath. I have no clue why they were unable to restrain their need to fight publicly. It doesn't really matter what the arguments where about, I suppose. Rather than acknowledge the obvious that maybe they should not be together, they choose fight each other for relationships that are not salvageable.
I am not a pessimist. I am an optimist border on a romantic. I am just honest enough with myself to know that sex , marriage and/or children are not reasons to stay in harmful relationships. Some commitments need to be broken. The fear of loneliness does not abate merely because there is another person in the room.
A few years ago, I was engaged to a woman I kind of liked. I'm not really sure she liked me. I cannot remember either one of saying that we loved each other. I can only imagine her reasons for agreeing to my marriage proposal. I think she was more excited by the idea of marriage than marrying me. I was at a place in my life where I thought I needed a wife, even though I did not necessarily want the woman with whom I was engaged.
Fortunately, we had the sense not to go through with the marriage. It wasn't a matter of fault. I think we were angry with each other towards the end, because neither one of could maintain the facade of being what the other needed.
I think many relationships are failing, because the people in them are not honest with each other. Another word for honesty may be intimacy. It's easy to mistake sexual intercourse for intimacy. Often, sex is genital parts rubbing against each other.
Real intimacy happens in and out of the bedroom. Sex might be enough of a distraction between people who have little to say to each another with their clothes on. When sex isn't enough, the arguments may be another form of distraction.
The next woman I enter into a relationship with I will tell her the truth. I am afraid of intimacy, scared of being hurt. Also, I am unwilling to use my body as a buffer against my anxiety. Depending on what she says back, it maybe the difference between trying to love again or choosing to leave before someone gets hurt again.
Against the backdrop of the most recent Memorial Day Weekend, I watched the relationships of some of my friends and their significant others seemingly implode. If not implode, struggle to gasp for breath. I have no clue why they were unable to restrain their need to fight publicly. It doesn't really matter what the arguments where about, I suppose. Rather than acknowledge the obvious that maybe they should not be together, they choose fight each other for relationships that are not salvageable.
I am not a pessimist. I am an optimist border on a romantic. I am just honest enough with myself to know that sex , marriage and/or children are not reasons to stay in harmful relationships. Some commitments need to be broken. The fear of loneliness does not abate merely because there is another person in the room.
A few years ago, I was engaged to a woman I kind of liked. I'm not really sure she liked me. I cannot remember either one of saying that we loved each other. I can only imagine her reasons for agreeing to my marriage proposal. I think she was more excited by the idea of marriage than marrying me. I was at a place in my life where I thought I needed a wife, even though I did not necessarily want the woman with whom I was engaged.
Fortunately, we had the sense not to go through with the marriage. It wasn't a matter of fault. I think we were angry with each other towards the end, because neither one of could maintain the facade of being what the other needed.
I think many relationships are failing, because the people in them are not honest with each other. Another word for honesty may be intimacy. It's easy to mistake sexual intercourse for intimacy. Often, sex is genital parts rubbing against each other.
Real intimacy happens in and out of the bedroom. Sex might be enough of a distraction between people who have little to say to each another with their clothes on. When sex isn't enough, the arguments may be another form of distraction.
The next woman I enter into a relationship with I will tell her the truth. I am afraid of intimacy, scared of being hurt. Also, I am unwilling to use my body as a buffer against my anxiety. Depending on what she says back, it maybe the difference between trying to love again or choosing to leave before someone gets hurt again.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Cog in the Machine
I enjoy the sound of rain late at night. It has a rather calming effect on me. I appreciate sitting outside my apartment watching it fall. Part of the appeal it has for me that it feels like the rain is cleansing the environment, i.e. the land, the atmosphere, life itself. An eco-friendly baptism of sorts, perhaps? If not baptism, it becomes the water to absolutin for those of us that feel unclean.
Lately, I have felt unclean, sort of tainted. I recently returned from a work related conference out of town around increasing performance productivity. I went as part of my obligation to amass a certain amount of continuing education hours. At the conference, I learned ways to increase my effectiveness as an administrator and motivate others. That was helpful, to some degree.
My concern is not around what I learned related to work performance. It was the culture of expectation permeating the conference that made me uncomfortable. For the sake of increasing effectiveness, I, as an individual, am reduced to being a cog in the machine, an automated robot scripted to say the "right" words, "do" the right things, and think the "right" thoughts. Resistance is futile.
This conference was about coaching the attendees into following a particular paradigm. Underneath the rhetoric of success is a corporate push to achieve at all costs. Of course, the program materials was not written in that way. Otherwise, it would sound rather dehumanizing. Yet, in a post-9/11 area, conformity is the norm; individuality is held suspect.
It was disturbing to be cajoled into parroting back the conference rhetoric. We offered testimony of how our professional lives had been altered for the better, because of the paradigm of success. God have mercy on us, because we plotted ways to alienate our colleagues that did not give allegiance to the prescribed paradigm. It seemed like a virtual reality, almost matrix by design. It was not safe to "wake up" from this nightmare.
My self-administered antidote was to pray, as a means to keep my center. It was the way I could remember my truth. The recitation of prayer kept me focused and awake. I was crying our like a voice in the wilderness. My pleas were earnest, heart felt petitions to keep my sanity, as well as my compassion for others.
I am tainted, because I continue with the perks of the corporate, consumer culture. I have to pretend to be asleep to be a part of the system. I guess food, clothing and shelter are as paramount to personal integrity and autonomy. I am in a world that I hope I will not succumb to being off that world. I still can't believe I paid out of pocket for this trip.
Lately, I have felt unclean, sort of tainted. I recently returned from a work related conference out of town around increasing performance productivity. I went as part of my obligation to amass a certain amount of continuing education hours. At the conference, I learned ways to increase my effectiveness as an administrator and motivate others. That was helpful, to some degree.
My concern is not around what I learned related to work performance. It was the culture of expectation permeating the conference that made me uncomfortable. For the sake of increasing effectiveness, I, as an individual, am reduced to being a cog in the machine, an automated robot scripted to say the "right" words, "do" the right things, and think the "right" thoughts. Resistance is futile.
This conference was about coaching the attendees into following a particular paradigm. Underneath the rhetoric of success is a corporate push to achieve at all costs. Of course, the program materials was not written in that way. Otherwise, it would sound rather dehumanizing. Yet, in a post-9/11 area, conformity is the norm; individuality is held suspect.
It was disturbing to be cajoled into parroting back the conference rhetoric. We offered testimony of how our professional lives had been altered for the better, because of the paradigm of success. God have mercy on us, because we plotted ways to alienate our colleagues that did not give allegiance to the prescribed paradigm. It seemed like a virtual reality, almost matrix by design. It was not safe to "wake up" from this nightmare.
My self-administered antidote was to pray, as a means to keep my center. It was the way I could remember my truth. The recitation of prayer kept me focused and awake. I was crying our like a voice in the wilderness. My pleas were earnest, heart felt petitions to keep my sanity, as well as my compassion for others.
I am tainted, because I continue with the perks of the corporate, consumer culture. I have to pretend to be asleep to be a part of the system. I guess food, clothing and shelter are as paramount to personal integrity and autonomy. I am in a world that I hope I will not succumb to being off that world. I still can't believe I paid out of pocket for this trip.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
My Wife and Kids (One Day, Maybe)?
I had a startling revelation a couple of weeks ago following my recent birthday. Not only am I getting older, but the women I date are getting older, too. I have been largely ambivalent about getting married and having children. Many women in my age range are married with children, some divorcing, and others are getting pass the age of having children. I may become the cliche older guy that has to date a younger woman to have a family. Even with my tendency towards rebellion, I don't see myself doing the whole "baby daddy" thing.
I recently met someone in the dating pool. It's way too early to make any decisions about whether we are going to have a relationship. She is a single mother with a 10-year-old. When talking about our aspirations, dreams and hopes, I have to mention the possibility of wanting to get married (someday), and having a biological child of my own. She's in her early 30s, and open to having another child. It seems like the days where I use to talk about finishing a graduate degree, looking for a position that pays well, and finding myself are well...over.
I'm still trying to find myself. My youthful angst is giving way to an almost midlife crisis. The intruding gray hairs into my dreadlocks and beard is proof enough that I'm closer to forty than thirty. Incidentally, I can handle that I am getting older. What I can't handle is that I still can't grow a full length beard.
How come no one ever told me guys have a ticking biological clock? I don't know how I can imagine having a wife and kids when I have not come to terms with my fear of commitment. Maybe I should buy a dog, as practice for learning to take care of someone other than myself.
I recently met someone in the dating pool. It's way too early to make any decisions about whether we are going to have a relationship. She is a single mother with a 10-year-old. When talking about our aspirations, dreams and hopes, I have to mention the possibility of wanting to get married (someday), and having a biological child of my own. She's in her early 30s, and open to having another child. It seems like the days where I use to talk about finishing a graduate degree, looking for a position that pays well, and finding myself are well...over.
I'm still trying to find myself. My youthful angst is giving way to an almost midlife crisis. The intruding gray hairs into my dreadlocks and beard is proof enough that I'm closer to forty than thirty. Incidentally, I can handle that I am getting older. What I can't handle is that I still can't grow a full length beard.
How come no one ever told me guys have a ticking biological clock? I don't know how I can imagine having a wife and kids when I have not come to terms with my fear of commitment. Maybe I should buy a dog, as practice for learning to take care of someone other than myself.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Whine Flu?
I don't get the paranoia about swine flu. I understand it is serious. Still, more people will die from a bad reaction to aspirin than swine flu. That fact doesn't lessen the reality of those infected, but I am wondering why the media is contributing to the fear and paranoia? If I could offer one word to the media, STOP SCARING PEOPLE! The media is shouting "boo," and many of us are yelling "help!"
Sometimes I think the media is in cahoots with the pharmaceutical companies and whoever else might profit from promising over the counter miracles that will camouflage the symptoms without curing the illness. I don't know. I'm not a doctor. I admit it I am clueless. I don't know what the solution is from a medical perspective.
What I know from a spiritual perspective is that fear creates fear. Anxiety breads further anxiety. Folks, calm down. Whatever label that we use to identify the Divine and/or the Sacred is the calming assurance we need to minimize whatever our fears. The Divine blessings must be invoked to combat our limited thinking which is undermining our intellect and shrinking our emotional ability to stay calm and centered. Rather than becoming our fear, let's remember to be courageous.
My unsolicited counsel is to speak peace to the storm of fear. Breathe in calmness, breathe out anxiety. Trust the Divine Presence has healed whatever the calamities of the present moment appears to be.
Sometimes I think the media is in cahoots with the pharmaceutical companies and whoever else might profit from promising over the counter miracles that will camouflage the symptoms without curing the illness. I don't know. I'm not a doctor. I admit it I am clueless. I don't know what the solution is from a medical perspective.
What I know from a spiritual perspective is that fear creates fear. Anxiety breads further anxiety. Folks, calm down. Whatever label that we use to identify the Divine and/or the Sacred is the calming assurance we need to minimize whatever our fears. The Divine blessings must be invoked to combat our limited thinking which is undermining our intellect and shrinking our emotional ability to stay calm and centered. Rather than becoming our fear, let's remember to be courageous.
My unsolicited counsel is to speak peace to the storm of fear. Breathe in calmness, breathe out anxiety. Trust the Divine Presence has healed whatever the calamities of the present moment appears to be.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
It's Not That Serious, Right?
The last couple of Sundays I have celebrated mass there has been a woman that has refused to take communion from me. She was a member of a congregation where I use to serve as rector (pastor) of the church. I am not particularly sure what her issue is with me.
At the current congregation where this woman is a member, I am there a couple of times a month. I work somewhere else as an administrator and educator. The above mentioned woman joined this congregation in protest of my leadership at the last church.
I am somewhat ambivalent about this woman's actions. I genuinely don't care. Since I am no longer her pastor, I don't think it is my responsibility to resolve it. I find her behavior odd, though. It's rather strange that a person would come to church, profess the Gospel, confess their sins and receive absolution, pass the peace, offer the prayers of the church, and then refuse communion. Sleep in, save the gass money and watch "Meet the Press." Okay, that's what I prefer to do, but that's just me.
With regards to this woman, I don't have an issue with her. I don't know anything about this woman. I barely know her name. I actually am somewhat elated that I am worthy of protest by this woman. I appreciate the fact that I mean so much to a stranger that she would take such a defiant stance towards me. I imagine it would be bad form to rob this woman of her disgust towards me by attempting to be charitable towards her.
I know that I have issues that may turn some people off. I just don't think enough of the people that I usually offend to change my issues. G-d forgive me for the hubris of liking myself more than liking those that don't like me.
At the current congregation where this woman is a member, I am there a couple of times a month. I work somewhere else as an administrator and educator. The above mentioned woman joined this congregation in protest of my leadership at the last church.
I am somewhat ambivalent about this woman's actions. I genuinely don't care. Since I am no longer her pastor, I don't think it is my responsibility to resolve it. I find her behavior odd, though. It's rather strange that a person would come to church, profess the Gospel, confess their sins and receive absolution, pass the peace, offer the prayers of the church, and then refuse communion. Sleep in, save the gass money and watch "Meet the Press." Okay, that's what I prefer to do, but that's just me.
With regards to this woman, I don't have an issue with her. I don't know anything about this woman. I barely know her name. I actually am somewhat elated that I am worthy of protest by this woman. I appreciate the fact that I mean so much to a stranger that she would take such a defiant stance towards me. I imagine it would be bad form to rob this woman of her disgust towards me by attempting to be charitable towards her.
I know that I have issues that may turn some people off. I just don't think enough of the people that I usually offend to change my issues. G-d forgive me for the hubris of liking myself more than liking those that don't like me.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Chanting with Krishna Das
Krishna Das is amazing! He led a Kirtan crowd of over 500 hundred people at the Ethical Society in St. Louis on Tuesday, April 22, 2009. It was his first time performing in St. Louis. For many in the crowd, it was their first time experiencing this genuine, grace filled individual and his music. Incidentally, his musicians were awesome, and the chanting was superb.
I was fortunate to meet him the day prior at a dinner party. It was an intimate gathering hosted by a wonderful couple in the trendy central west end of St. Louis. KD (Krishna Das) arrived late after having car trouble in Kansas City, MO. Tired and distracted, he intended to stay for a small length of time. However, as he began to share about his blessed teacher, Neem Karoli Baba, he began rating a joy and love that transformed everyone in his presence. KD seemed to relax and flow into the peace that he was radiating to us.
(I would encourage people to read Miracle of Love by Ram Dass. Another devotee of Neem Karola Baba, he tells many wonderful stories about him.)
One of the things that I admired most about KD is that he does not exhibit the least bit of ego. It may be there, I just didn't experience it. Prior to and after the show, he intermingled with the audience. He made time for everyone that wanted to meet him, take pictures with him, and ask questions. He makes no pretense of being someone other than what he is: a spiritual devotee who offers through his Kirtan practice devotion to G-d and to his teacher.
I originally saw him last August in Columbia, MO. Both then and now, I felt my own heart increasing in its capacity to receive and give love. Sure, I am guilty of sounding like another blissed out, long hair, Earth Day yoga person chanting OM, right? Admittedly, I am all of these things.
Yet, it is rare to be in the presence of a room full individuals whose sole purpose in gathering is to chant the names of the Divine, regardless of our own individual religions and spiritual traditions. Though I am proudly a Christian priest, I am a bit jaded by the relentless dogma and doctrines that arise from many organized traditions including the Episcopal Church, of which I am a part.
Jaded does not mean disloyal or indifferent, but tired of the separation that comes from adhering to one fixed view over another. Chanting Kirtan, I am not advocating a view. I am not evangelizing on behalf of a perspective. Rather, I am offering myself-off key singing and all, in celebration of life itself.
I trust that is what Jazz musician John Coltrane meant by a "love supreme." While committed to a specific path, I do believe all authentic paths lead to G-d. I don't want to stand in the position of having to authenticate for another person their path to follow. I just think their is room for all of us on all of our paths to come together in a spirit of peace, compassion and joy. Some members of the St. Louis community did that with Krishna Das.
Om Shanti.
I was fortunate to meet him the day prior at a dinner party. It was an intimate gathering hosted by a wonderful couple in the trendy central west end of St. Louis. KD (Krishna Das) arrived late after having car trouble in Kansas City, MO. Tired and distracted, he intended to stay for a small length of time. However, as he began to share about his blessed teacher, Neem Karoli Baba, he began rating a joy and love that transformed everyone in his presence. KD seemed to relax and flow into the peace that he was radiating to us.
(I would encourage people to read Miracle of Love by Ram Dass. Another devotee of Neem Karola Baba, he tells many wonderful stories about him.)
One of the things that I admired most about KD is that he does not exhibit the least bit of ego. It may be there, I just didn't experience it. Prior to and after the show, he intermingled with the audience. He made time for everyone that wanted to meet him, take pictures with him, and ask questions. He makes no pretense of being someone other than what he is: a spiritual devotee who offers through his Kirtan practice devotion to G-d and to his teacher.
I originally saw him last August in Columbia, MO. Both then and now, I felt my own heart increasing in its capacity to receive and give love. Sure, I am guilty of sounding like another blissed out, long hair, Earth Day yoga person chanting OM, right? Admittedly, I am all of these things.
Yet, it is rare to be in the presence of a room full individuals whose sole purpose in gathering is to chant the names of the Divine, regardless of our own individual religions and spiritual traditions. Though I am proudly a Christian priest, I am a bit jaded by the relentless dogma and doctrines that arise from many organized traditions including the Episcopal Church, of which I am a part.
Jaded does not mean disloyal or indifferent, but tired of the separation that comes from adhering to one fixed view over another. Chanting Kirtan, I am not advocating a view. I am not evangelizing on behalf of a perspective. Rather, I am offering myself-off key singing and all, in celebration of life itself.
I trust that is what Jazz musician John Coltrane meant by a "love supreme." While committed to a specific path, I do believe all authentic paths lead to G-d. I don't want to stand in the position of having to authenticate for another person their path to follow. I just think their is room for all of us on all of our paths to come together in a spirit of peace, compassion and joy. Some members of the St. Louis community did that with Krishna Das.
Om Shanti.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Confession
I am preparing to offer my confession in a few days. Unlike Roman Catholics, Episcopalians have the option of confessing their sins privately to a priest, but it is not mandated. It is offered as a form of pastoral care. Since I am a Franciscan Tertiary (I live under the Rule of St. Francis at home, I'm not a celibate friar), I am mandated by our rule to make my confession at least once a year. By the way, Episcopalians technically refer to confession as the "Rite of Reconciliation of a Penitent."
I am getting anxious thinking about it, because I'm not sure exactly what I want to confess. It isn't that I don't have issues or problems; I just am not sure what is worth discussing. Sure, let's assume the obvious, for example. I think about attractive women, alot. It seems rather old fashioned to identify it as lust, but I am not sure what else to call it.
It's not like I want to tell the priest about trips I use to make to the strip club back in my early 20s with my friends. That's kind of embarssing. Not that I went to the club, mind you. That was fun. I just don't want to talk about sex in the house of the Lord. I am assuming it doesn't count what I use to do in college, because that was years ago, right?
Admittely, in terms of other moral failings, I'm not always the most even tempered person. I am prone to hold grudges against others. I wrestle with being nice to people I don't like or that don't like me. Truth be told, I have a tendency to be self-centered and self-involved.
Again, is that worth telling another person? It is stating the obvious. I'm generally pretty honest with myself, or as much as I can be. I like myself, but I am not blind to my faults. I am kind of surprised when others pretend they don't have faults. After years of therapy, I'm use to discussing embarrassing things about myself with another person.
Despite all my sophistication and open mindedness about psychology and 21st century morality, there is still that infantile part of me that wants to square things with the "big man/woman upstairs" just in case I've been wrong all these years. Still, even with all my theological training and supposed understanding, I feel awkward talking to a priest about things that either I talk about in therapy or laugh about with my buddies.
My priest-confessor wants to use Form II in the Book of Common Prayer (Episcopal prayer book) when we meet. He thinks it is more demonstrative of God's grace than Form I (which is pretty hard line and old school). I am fond of the words of invitation in Form II the priest makes before hearing my sin: "May God in his {her} loving kindness enlighten your heart, that you may remember in truth all yours sins and his {her} unfailing mercy" (BCP, p. 449). It's the emphasis on G-d's mercy that I think is pretty cool.
I don't really believed G-d is keeping score of anything that I will say about my sins. I figure s/he already knows. I do believe that whatever we mean by G-d is by nature is compassionate and understanding. I just want to hear it from another person after I tell them what a screw up I am. It feels good knowing I'll be told I'm all right after all. Yep, no matter what I say, the priest has got to bless me. That's very cool. I'll try to listen for the part that says sin more more, but I am a sinner after all, lol.
I am getting anxious thinking about it, because I'm not sure exactly what I want to confess. It isn't that I don't have issues or problems; I just am not sure what is worth discussing. Sure, let's assume the obvious, for example. I think about attractive women, alot. It seems rather old fashioned to identify it as lust, but I am not sure what else to call it.
It's not like I want to tell the priest about trips I use to make to the strip club back in my early 20s with my friends. That's kind of embarssing. Not that I went to the club, mind you. That was fun. I just don't want to talk about sex in the house of the Lord. I am assuming it doesn't count what I use to do in college, because that was years ago, right?
Admittely, in terms of other moral failings, I'm not always the most even tempered person. I am prone to hold grudges against others. I wrestle with being nice to people I don't like or that don't like me. Truth be told, I have a tendency to be self-centered and self-involved.
Again, is that worth telling another person? It is stating the obvious. I'm generally pretty honest with myself, or as much as I can be. I like myself, but I am not blind to my faults. I am kind of surprised when others pretend they don't have faults. After years of therapy, I'm use to discussing embarrassing things about myself with another person.
Despite all my sophistication and open mindedness about psychology and 21st century morality, there is still that infantile part of me that wants to square things with the "big man/woman upstairs" just in case I've been wrong all these years. Still, even with all my theological training and supposed understanding, I feel awkward talking to a priest about things that either I talk about in therapy or laugh about with my buddies.
My priest-confessor wants to use Form II in the Book of Common Prayer (Episcopal prayer book) when we meet. He thinks it is more demonstrative of God's grace than Form I (which is pretty hard line and old school). I am fond of the words of invitation in Form II the priest makes before hearing my sin: "May God in his {her} loving kindness enlighten your heart, that you may remember in truth all yours sins and his {her} unfailing mercy" (BCP, p. 449). It's the emphasis on G-d's mercy that I think is pretty cool.
I don't really believed G-d is keeping score of anything that I will say about my sins. I figure s/he already knows. I do believe that whatever we mean by G-d is by nature is compassionate and understanding. I just want to hear it from another person after I tell them what a screw up I am. It feels good knowing I'll be told I'm all right after all. Yep, no matter what I say, the priest has got to bless me. That's very cool. I'll try to listen for the part that says sin more more, but I am a sinner after all, lol.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Thank "G-d" Lent is Almost Over!
I am glad Lent is coming to an end tomorrow. It's been hard work keeping up the Lenten devotions. I have stayed away from fried foods, neglected my intention of reading the Morning Office every day, and my legs are perpetually cramped from all the zazen meditation I have been doing at the local Zen center.
I have been going to the zendo (meditation hall) a couple of days each week. I wanted to sit intentionally in the silence to connect to "G-d." I suppose it's rather funny that a Christian would seek out "G-d" (whatever that may mean) in a Buddhist center. Buddhism is an non-theistic religion, though I find it to be very spiritual. I came up with the idea to sit zazen as part of my Lenten devotion after reading that an Episcopal bishop-elect had took his lay ordination vows in Zen Buddhism.
Lay Ordination in the Mahayana tradition (the Greater Vehicle,) of which Zen is a part, is comprises of taking 5 precepts (vows). They are: abstained from killing, misuse of intoxicants, false speech, sexual misconduct,and stealing. These are consistent with the baptismal and confirmation vows in the Episcopal Church. Yet, this bishop-elect has been receiving a hard time from some who think it inappropriate for a Christian bishop to practice Buddhist meditation.
In a similar vein, a female Episcopal priest was defrocked (thrown out) by her bishop for proclaiming that she could be both a Christian priest and a Muslim. As both of these are two separate theisitc religious traditions (albeit with a shared origin from Judaism), I can somewhat concede the confusion. Yet, as both are monotheistic traditions, I am not sure that it was completely inappropriate for her to follow both paths. Maybe what we call "G-d" is big enough to transcend our religious traditions? Besides, the former priest in question is an academic. Everyone knows professors are different. I think she should have been given a break.
One of my constant rubs in both situations is that I think the organized structures of our religious systems inevitably puts people in dire straights. I suspect it is not intentional, but what is one to do when part of the way we strengthen our faith is to connect to practices and insights that arise outside of our traditions. Christ was a Jew. The Buddha was a Hindu. Sort of ironic that the traditions they later inspired cannot be reconciled to the traditions from which they came.
Me, myself, I dig the experiences I have been having at the Zen center, as a Christian. Zen is relatively non-dogmatic. They are pretty clear that they see the Buddha as a human being who found a pragmatic way to deal with suffering. If what he taught squares with one's experience, use it. If it doesn't, discard it. That makes sense to me.
As Lent gives way to Easter tomorrow, I realize that I want to be a person of integrity about my faith. I don't want to deny my experiences of faith only to make someone else feel more comfortable. I like hanging out with both Christians and Buddhist. One of my good friends is a Hindu.
I may be wrong, but I don't think "G-d" has a problem with any of it. I think it's our head trip. I keep putting "G-d" in quotations, because I don't want to define the term. I'll leave that to others to fill in the blank. I am cool with what I think I mean by it, but am willing to let my own experience negotiate my meaning. Peace.
I have been going to the zendo (meditation hall) a couple of days each week. I wanted to sit intentionally in the silence to connect to "G-d." I suppose it's rather funny that a Christian would seek out "G-d" (whatever that may mean) in a Buddhist center. Buddhism is an non-theistic religion, though I find it to be very spiritual. I came up with the idea to sit zazen as part of my Lenten devotion after reading that an Episcopal bishop-elect had took his lay ordination vows in Zen Buddhism.
Lay Ordination in the Mahayana tradition (the Greater Vehicle,) of which Zen is a part, is comprises of taking 5 precepts (vows). They are: abstained from killing, misuse of intoxicants, false speech, sexual misconduct,and stealing. These are consistent with the baptismal and confirmation vows in the Episcopal Church. Yet, this bishop-elect has been receiving a hard time from some who think it inappropriate for a Christian bishop to practice Buddhist meditation.
In a similar vein, a female Episcopal priest was defrocked (thrown out) by her bishop for proclaiming that she could be both a Christian priest and a Muslim. As both of these are two separate theisitc religious traditions (albeit with a shared origin from Judaism), I can somewhat concede the confusion. Yet, as both are monotheistic traditions, I am not sure that it was completely inappropriate for her to follow both paths. Maybe what we call "G-d" is big enough to transcend our religious traditions? Besides, the former priest in question is an academic. Everyone knows professors are different. I think she should have been given a break.
One of my constant rubs in both situations is that I think the organized structures of our religious systems inevitably puts people in dire straights. I suspect it is not intentional, but what is one to do when part of the way we strengthen our faith is to connect to practices and insights that arise outside of our traditions. Christ was a Jew. The Buddha was a Hindu. Sort of ironic that the traditions they later inspired cannot be reconciled to the traditions from which they came.
Me, myself, I dig the experiences I have been having at the Zen center, as a Christian. Zen is relatively non-dogmatic. They are pretty clear that they see the Buddha as a human being who found a pragmatic way to deal with suffering. If what he taught squares with one's experience, use it. If it doesn't, discard it. That makes sense to me.
As Lent gives way to Easter tomorrow, I realize that I want to be a person of integrity about my faith. I don't want to deny my experiences of faith only to make someone else feel more comfortable. I like hanging out with both Christians and Buddhist. One of my good friends is a Hindu.
I may be wrong, but I don't think "G-d" has a problem with any of it. I think it's our head trip. I keep putting "G-d" in quotations, because I don't want to define the term. I'll leave that to others to fill in the blank. I am cool with what I think I mean by it, but am willing to let my own experience negotiate my meaning. Peace.
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