From Sling-Shot Gliders to Weeping Camels

Tags

Camels, Essays, gobi desert, inspiration, lifestyle, Mongolia, New Guinea, Story of the Weeping Camel, WWII

I long ago learned that if I were to talk politics every day, my head would explode. I want things done now and usually my way. That seldom happens in the political sphere, so I am often frustrated and well, to be honest, freakin’ mad at the idiots that stand in my way of utopia.

So I often engage in learning about things that are far from the land of Washington D.C. Which explains why we often watch weird stuff on TV. It’s pure escapism from the slow-as-molasses moving of a progressive agenda.

And, learning can be a humbling experience. Take last night.

Jon Stewart had a guy, Mitchell Zuckoff on, who wrote a book about a plane crash in New Guinea. Only three survived out of 24. This, during WWII. A group of paratroopers was sent in, but there was no way to land a plane nor walk out. Eventually parts of a glider were air dropped in, and a set of goal posts erected, between which was strung a giant rubber band. The glider was affixed somehow, and a low-flying plane with a hook, captured the band, and catapulted the glider over the mountains where it landed safely.

I kid you not. The glider was named Faggot, and such planes were universally known as flying coffins. One person from that group is still alive today.

If that isn’t incredible enough, I offer you the documentary called “The Story of the Weeping Camel“.

For this we travel to the Gobi desert into the land of the Mongols, who live in round portable houses called Gels and raise camels, sheep and goats. Life is harsh but seemingly happy. The people subsist mostly on camel’s milk with a bit of meat.

All is well. The female camels are dropping their babies. The mothers are tied up so that assistance can be rendered if necessary. All goes well until the last of the expectant mothers finally begins to give birth. It is apparent that she is having a somewhat rare white colt. He is big, and the men help in pulling the gangly babe free.

This is her first birth, and given it’s difficulty, she is decidedly not interested in the colt. Days go by and she makes every effort to evade his attempts to nurse. Of course the family (four generations) offer as much help as possible, milking the mother and trying to get down enough to keep him going. When let loose, the colt follows the mother relentlessly, but she will have nothing to do with it.

A discussion is held by the men, grandfather, father and son. Of course there is only one solution–an ancient ritual, but alas there are no near neighbors of the desert who play violins (or what passes for that in Mongolia–generally a three-stringed instrument that looks more like a guitar).

A trip must be made to the “Centre” what appears to be a smallish town-trading center, one serviced with electricity and a certain modernity. The oldest boy (about 12 or 13) and his brother (about 7) set out on camels to locate a violin player.

They stop at a lone neighbor part way for refreshments. These folks have a satellite hook-up and the younger boy is mesmerized by the cartoons being shown on the TV. A truck and motorcycle are also evidence that the two are closer to “civilization.”

After being told to follow the power lines, the boys finally arrive at the Centre. Crowds of youngsters play games in the dirt around dozens of Gels and wood frame buildings. The boys apparently find relatives and tell them of their needs. An aunt (or equivalent older woman) leads them to the school, where a dance class is interrupted to locate the musicians. Second floor it is. The violin teacher is located.

The boys return home and advise that the teacher has much work, but will come. Indeed, he arrives aboard a motorcycle and the ritual soon begins.

A woman, wife to the youngest adult male and mother of at least one child, begins to caress the tied-up camel mother. She begins to sing in a three-tone voice that goes on for a few minutes. Then the violinist joins her, and the song continues for some time. The colt is slowly brought forth. The mother noses it, and looks off to the horizon.

The colt is urged to the teat, and all hold their breath, as the singing and playing continue. The colt begins to nurse, and for the first time, the mother does not try to walk off. The camera zooms in to her eye, and a distinct tear forms, and then more, until her eye is flooded with water.

The colt drinks his fill. Quietly the song ends, the woman moves away, the violin stops, and the family who has remained at a respectful distance, smiles and congratulates each other on the success of the ritual. Mother and colt are left alone, the mother now solicitous of her child, nuzzling and watching over him.

So.

We who are so filled with our exceptionalism can but shake our heads and remember that there is more in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our “civilized” philosophies. With much apology to Shakespeare, I remember again, that this world is full of so much that we do not understand, and are in our arrogance too “smart” to realize.

May you find something amazing in your life today that makes you stop and ask, just how much is still wonder in the world we inhabit?

 

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Marriage 101

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emotions, growth, inspiration, lifestyle, marriage, psychology, relationships

First, let’s get this straight. I am not a marriage counselor, and I don’t play one on TV. Still, I think I’ve learned a thing or two in 61 years of which nearly twelve have been lived in fair wedded bliss.

We’ve been watching a show most of you probably haven’t heard of. It’s called Addicted to Food. It revolves around a treatment center and the work of around eight men and women who suffer from extreme eating disorders, ranging from compulsive eaters, bulimics, and purgers. I don’t suffer from any of these, but I do flirt with compulsive eating. Eating emotionally. So I figured I might get a tip or two.

As one might suspect,emotional eating usually stems from issues one has from early childhood, or some other traumatic event in youth or young adulthood. One eats to keep from feeling and then dealing with the underlying issues.

Let’s face it. Most of us come from dysfunctional families to one degree or another. That is the key, here, the degree. For the degree and our personal psychological “givens” determine whether we will suppress our pain through addiction (be in food, alcohol, drugs, gambling, sex, or anything that we can dream up), or whether we will grow up, take control and responsibility and build healthy lives. 

We bring  our unresolved issues to the marriage, and whether we believe it or not, realize it or not, we expect the other person, this love of our lives, to fill the hole, making everything all better. They cannot of course, for they come with the same hole, caused by something very different, and expect the same of us.

That is the child we are. Most of us are in fact children no matter our age. Some of us, thankfully are adult about parts of our lives, and those parts allow us to function fairly normally most of the time. Some of us are fully adult and they are our models. We are lucky indeed if we have someone who can model adulthood to us.

We are children, mostly because we, most of us, most of the time, are ego driven. We are out for ourselves, out to protect ourselves at every cost. Taken to an extreme, such narcissism causes us a great deal of trouble. But even if we are empathetic and compassionate to a degree, we still look out for number one most of the time.

As babies, we cried and screamed if we were wet, hungry, or uncomfortable. As young children we began to learn boundaries–that the entire world didn’t revolve around us all of the time. As teens and young adults, we perfected and fine tuned the art of manipulation. We learned to “do for others” to get a reward. We learned to bat our eyes, we learned to laugh at the bosses jokes. We learned how to read the emotional needs of others and use them to get what we wanted.

And mostly we never saw ourselves in this way. We saw ourselves as successfully negotiating the social world. Give and take, befriend and be befriended.

Marriage, because it is based first and foremost on emotion, presents a person with a whole new animal. In the first months and perhaps years, we are all directed to the other person in our lives. We put them first, we think of their needs, we do for them, often without any real conscious thought for ourselves.

But passion fades, and one day one wakes up and finds a very ordinary person beside oneself. This person has bad breath, snores, scratches and burps, and well the list goes on. They vomit and have dirty underwear. They have bad habits, they say the “wrong thing” sometimes. They are all too normal.

This is where one’s level of adulthood becomes important.

For if we are still children, still into blaming others for past events, still victims, still looking and expecting someone to fix us and everything, we are headed for a disaster. For now, we will return to the manipulation game we have come to know so well.

Except now we are manipulating the beloved. We are doing things for them, but now we expect reward. We are choosing the right moment–their time of weakness–to get our way on some issue of the moment. We are “keeping score”.

Unless we have some measure of adulthood. If we have come to this marriage, or during it, arrived at the place where we are responsible for ourselves, then we never get to “keeping score.” We do for the beloved because we still wish to, without expectation of repayment. We take delight in the doing of it.

More especially , we don’t look to play upon our beloved vulnerabilities, rather, we approach serious issues when they are in most control, so they have the ability to make good decisions, negotiate fairly, and arrive at a mutual decision that will stand the test of time. We don’t take advantage, we don’t want to.

We don’t use the other person to shore up our own shortcomings. We can know that we are right on issue A and never have to beat a discussion into the ground until our spouse agrees that we are right. We can let them think they have won, because we know that it’s “not worth a fight”.

We don’t care about clothes on the floor, toothpaste squeezed wrongly, or toilet paper placed incorrectly. If there are pliers on the kitchen counter, or the wrappings of a candy bar on the bedroom dresser, we smile, place things where they belong and thank our lucky stars that we have someone who is otherwise so good to wake up next to.

We don’t sweat the small stuff. We work on our own failings and missteps. We know that as we mature, our ability to bring a mature attitude to the partnership of marriage increases. We can ask for help, we can ask for opinion, but in the end, the work is ours. And if we are very lucky, we married someone who pretty much does the same.

If the benefits were only to ourselves, that would be enough. But they redound to the marriage itself, making it stronger, more flexible, more compassionate.

And that is what makes a marriage something to be prized as a most precious possession.

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Migrating to New Horizons

Tags

happy things, Humor, inspiration, marine biology, whales

Did you know that a gray whale has one of the longest migrations of any animal? From the Bering Sea to western Mexico, some 18,500 Km.

And they do this while hugging the coast most all the way. That I did not know.

Al-Jazeera has an imbedded video, if you would like a peaceful and happy moment today.

♣

I read through about one hundred “political” posts today, and then said, “what the hell,” this is simply too depressing. We are featuring  happy things, and thoughtful things.

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Speaking of which, March Madness has started and the first game of the regular Round 2 (Round one games occurred yesterday and the day before to “set” the final 64), is today at 11am. Oh it’s my favorite time of year, spring busting out, and college basketball. We don’t “fill out the brackets” but we fill in each teams win on the chart. Great antidote to all that ails ya.

♣

And a happy St. Paddy’s Day to ya. No corned beef and cabbage for us. I forgot when we were grocery shopping a couple of weeks ago. We’re having salad and grilled turkey sandwiches. I wish I had some corned beef though, they would make some fine sandwiches doncha think?

h/t Wounded Bird

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I’ve been engaged in the last few days with Tim, our dear friend from Straight-Friendly. He and I are both posting every day in Lent. If you want a bit of uplifting, no better place to get it. His post today digs deeply into what we consider most important in our life. Will we answer the call? When I said, posting every day, I meant at Walking In the Shadows, my other blog.

♣

If you would like to ponder something a bit less deep, well ponder this one:

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Temperatures are soaring to about 65 today. Yesterday it was mid 50’s. We still have snow if you can believe that. In among the trees in long swaths that don’t get a lot of sun. Why they need sun to melt is odd. It was 49 this morning when I got up. I want to go out and tap the remaining snow on the shoulder, “s’cuse me but the train has left the station. Move on, move on.” It is ignoring me.

♣

Cats are smart, and then dumb at the same time. Ever noticed that? We left the back door open last night. So the spring-drunk felines could go in and out at will. Just enough for them to get out. This morning I find two of them on the front porch, looking like orphans. Duh, the back door is open guys. Remember how you got out? And we are not gonna have a happy time if you bring in another mouse like you did last night. Stop playing with the poor things. Kill them and be done with it if you must, but NO more playing with them. Makes me feel all hurty inside as I gather them up and throw them out.

♣

I confess the mouse was still alive when I threw it as far as I could. I couldn’t kill it, although I’ve bashed a dying bird with a shovel. Just can’t do it with my hands. I can kill lobsters all day long, and spiders, and all manner of unfuzzy, uncute things. That’s shameful isn’t it?

Oh, shoot, now I’m not being the least bit uplifting. Well, go watch the game, and get happy. And have a beer on me, and some corned beef, WHICH I FORGOT TO BUY!

**the spell check is on the fritz. Sorry if you find errors.

Related Articles

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An Island in the Storm 08/13/10

Tags

God, inspiration, Paul Tillich, Psalm 139, theology

   

We have been trying to keep Fridays a rant free zone. Usually we include a lot of humor. Today it’s a bit different. Paul Tillich is a superb theologian with broad credentials. In two books, The Shaking of the Foundations and The New Being, he collects some of his sermons upon request. I read the following one this morning and was so bowled over that I realized I MUST share it with you. I am reprinting it in full because it has become public property. You can read it and others from the books at religion-online. (also linked along the sidebar) And by the way, there is a message for the non-believer as well as the believer. This is simply exquisite and I hope you will take the time to take in these words of wisdom.   

The Escape from God   

 O Lord, thou hast searched me and known me!
Thou knowest when I sit down and when I rise up;
thou discernest my thoughts from afar.   

Thou searchest out my path and my lying down,
and art acquainted with all my ways.   

Even before a word is on my tongue,
lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether.   

Thou dost beset me behind and before,
and layest thy hand upon me.   

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high and I cannot attain it.   

Whither shall I go from thy Spirit?
Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?   

If I ascend to heaven, thou art there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, thou art there!   

If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there thy hand shall lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.   

If I say, “Let only darkness cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to thee,
the night is bright as the day;
for darkness is as light with thee.   

For thou didst form my inward parts,
thou didst knit me together in my mother’s womb.   

I praise thee, for thou art fearful and wonderful.
Wonderful are thy works!   

Thou knowest me right well!
my frame was not hidden from thee,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately wrought in the depths of the earth.   

Thy eyes beheld my unformed substance
in thy book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.   

How precious to me are thy thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!   

If I would count them, they are more than the sand.   

When I awake, I am still with thee
O that thou wouldst slay the wicked, O God,
and that men of blood would depart from me,
men who maliciously defy thee,
who lift themselves up against thee for evil!   

Do I not hate them that hate thee, O Lord?
And do I not loathe them that rise up against thee?   

I hate them with perfect hatred;
I count them my enemies.   

Search me, O God, and know my heart!
Try me and know my thoughts!   

And see if there be any wicked way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting!   

(Psalm 139 RSV)   

1. “Where could I go from Thy Spirit, and where could I flee from Thy Face?” These are the central words of the great 139th Psalm. They state in the form of a question the inescapable presence of God. Let us consider this statement, and the powerful images in which the Psalmlst tries to express it. God is inescapable. He is God only because He is inescapable. And only that which is inescapable is God.   

2. There is no place to which we could flee from God which is outside of God. “If I ascend to the heavens, Thou art there.” It seems very natural for God to be in heaven, and very unnatural for us to wish to ascend to heaven in order to escape Him. But that is just what the idealists of all ages have tried to do. They have tried to leap towards the heaven of perfection and truth, of justice and peace, where God is not wanted. That heaven is a heaven of man’s own making, without the judging presence of the Divine Face. But such a place is a “no place”; it is a “utopia”, and idealistic illusion. “If I make hell my home, behold, Thou art there.” Hell or Sheol, the habitation of the dead, would seem to be the right place to hide from God. And that is where all those who long for death, in order to escape the Divine Demands, attempt to flee. I am convinced that there is not one amongst us who has not at some time desired to be liberated from the burden of this existence by stepping out of it. And I know that there are some amongst us for whom this longing is a daily temptation. But everyone knows in the depth of his heart that death would not provide an escape from the inner demand made upon him. “If I take the wings of the dawn and dwell in the midst of the sea, Thy Hand would even fall on me there, and Thy right hand would grasp me.” To fly to the ends of the earth would not be to escape from God. Our technical civilization attempts just that, on order to be liberated from the knowledge that it lacks a centre of life and meaning. The modern way to flee from God is to rush ahead and ahead, as quickly as the beams before sunrise, to conquer more and more space in every direction, in every humanly possible way, to be always active, to be always planning, and to be always preparing. But God’s Hand falls upon us; and it has fallen heavily and destructively upon our fleeing civilization; our flight proved to be in vain. “When I think that the darkness shall cover me, that night shall hide me, I know at the same time that the darkness is not dark to Thee, and that night is as bright as day.” To flee into darkness in order to forget God is not to escape Him. For a time we may be able to hurl Him out of our consciousness, to reject Him, to refute Him, to argue convincingly for his non-existence, and to live very comfortably without Him. But ultimately we know that it is not He Whom we reject and forget, but that it is rather some distorted picture of Him. And we know that we can argue against Him, only because He impels us to attack Him. There is no escape from God through forgetfulness.   

3. “Where could I go from Thy Spirit? O, where could I flee from Thy Face?” The poet who wrote those words to describe the futile attempt of man to escape God certainly believed that man desires to escape God. He is not alone in his conviction. Men of all kinds, prophets and reformers, saints and atheists, believers and unbelievers, have the same experience. It is safe to say that a man who has never tried to flee God has never experienced the God Who is really God. When I speak of God, I do not refer to the many gods of our own making, the gods with whom we can Live rather comfortably. For there is no reason to flee a god who is the perfect picture of everything that is good in man. Why try to escape from such a far-removed ideal? And there is no reason to flee from a god who is simply the universe, or the laws of nature, or the course of history. Why try to escape from a reality of which we are a part? There is no reason to flee from a god who is nothing more than a benevolent father, a father who guarantees our immortality and final happiness. Why try to escape from someone who serves us so well? No, those are not pictures of God, but rather of man, trying to make God in his own image and for his own comfort. They are the product of man’s imagination and wishful thinking, justly denied by every honest atheist. A god whom we can easily bear, a god from whom we do not have to hide, a god whom we do not hate in moments, a god whose destruction we never desire, is not God at all, and has no reality.   

4. Friedrich Nletzeche, the famous atheist and ardent enemy of religion and Christianity, knew more about the power of the idea of God than many faithful Christians. In a symbolic story, when Zarathustra, the prophet of a higher humanity, says to the Ugliest Man, the murderer of God’ “You could not bear him to see you, always to see you through and through . . . You took revenge on the witness . . . You are the murderer of God.” The Ugliest Man agrees with Zarathustra and replies, “He had to die.” For God, according to the Ugliest Man, looks with eyes that see everything; He peers into man’s ground and depth, into his hidden shame and ugliness. The God Who sees everything, and man also, is the God who has to die. Man cannot stand that such a witness live.   

5. Are we able to stand such a Witness? The psalmist says, ‘’0 Lord, thou hast searched me and know me.” Who can stand to be so thoroughly even in the darkest corners of his soul? Who does not want to escape such a Witness? And who does not want to become one who can deny God in theory and practice, an atheist? “Thou knowest when I sit down, and when I stand up . . . Walking or resting, I am Judged by Thee, and all my ways are open to Thee.” God knows what we are, and He knows what we do. Who does not hate a companion who is always present on every road and in every place of rest? Who does not want to break through the prison of such a perpetual companionship? “Thou discernest my thoughts from afar , . . Lord, there is not a word on my tongue which Thou knowest not.” The Divine Presence is spiritual. It penetrates the innermost parts of our own spirits. Our entire inner life, our thoughts and desires, our feelings and imaginations, are known to God. The final way of escape, the most intimate of all places, is held by God. That fact is the hardest of all to accept. The human resistance against such relentless observation can scarcely be broken. Every psychiatrist and confessor is familiar with the tremendous force of resistance in each personality against even trifling self-revelations. Nobody wants to be known, even when he realizes that his health and salvation depend upon such a knowledge. We do not even wish to be known by ourselves. We try to hide the depths of our souls from our own eyes. We refuse to be our own witness. How then can we stand the mirror in which nothing can be hidden?   

6. Is the Ugliest Man right? The Ugliest Man is a symbol of the ugliness in each one of us, and the symbol of our will to hide at least something from God and from ourselves. The Ugliest Man seems to be right, when we consider the support he receives from saints, theologians and reformers. Martin Luther was as strongly grasped as the psalmlst by the penetrating Presence of God. He stated that in every creature God is deeper, more internal, and more present than the creature is to himself, and that God embraces all things, is within all things. But this most intimate Presence of God created the same feeling in Luther that it did in Nietzsche. He desired that God not be God. “I did not love God. I hated the just God ¼ and was indignant towards Him, if not in wicked revolt, at least in silent blasphemy.” Following St. Bernard, the great master of religious self-observation, he continued, “We cannot love God, and therefore we cannot will Him to exist. We cannot want Him to be most wise . . . and most powerful.” Luther was terribly shocked when he recognized this hatred for God within himself. He was not able to escape as shrewdly as his theological masters, who recommended that he not think constantly of the searching Presence of God, and thus avoid the blasphemy of hating God, Luther knew with the psalmist that no escape is possible. “Thou art behind and before me, and on every side of me, laying Thy Hand upon me.” God stands on each side of us, before and behind us. There is no way out.   

7. The pious man of the Old Testament, the mystical saint of the Middle Ages, the reformer of the Christian Church, and the prophet of atheism are all united through that tremendous human experience; man cannot stand the God Who is really God. Man tries to escape God, and hates Him, because he cannot escape Him. The protest against God, the will that there be no God, and the flight to atheism are all genuine elements of profound religion. And only on the basis of these elements has religion meaning and power.   

8. Christian theology and religious instruction speak of the Divine Omnipresence, which is the doctrine that God knows everything. It is difficult to avoid such concepts in religious thought and education. But they are at least as dangerous as they are useful. They make us picture God as a thing with super-human qualities, omnipresent like an electric power field, and omniscient like a super-human brain. Such concepts as “Divine Omnipresence” and “Divine Omniscience” transform an overwhelming religious experience into an abstract, philosophical statement, which can be accepted and rejected, defined, redefined, and replaced. In making God an object beside other objects, the existence and nature of which are matters of argument, theology supports the escape to atheism. It encourages those who are interested in denying the threatening Witness of their existence. The first step to atheism is always a theology which drags God down to the level of doubtful things. The game of the atheist is then very easy. For he is perfectly justified in destroying such a phantom and all its ghostly qualities. And because the theoretical atheist is just in his destruction, the practical atheists (all of us) are willing to use his argument to support our own attempt to flee God.   

9. Let us therefore forget these concepts, as concepts, and try to find their genuine meaning within our own experience. We all know that we cannot separate ourselves at any time from the world to which we belong. There is no ultimate privacy or final isolation. We are always held and comprehended by something that is greater than we are, that has a claim upon us, and that demands response from us. The most intimate motions within the depths of our souls are not completely our own. For they belong also to our friends, to mankind, to the universe, and to the Ground of all being, the aim of our life. Nothing can be hidden ultimately. It is always reflected in the mirror in which nothing can be concealed. Does anybody really believe that his most secret thoughts and desires are not manifest in the whole of being, or that the events within the darkness of his subconscious or in the isolation of his consciousness do no produce eternal repercussions? Does anybody really believe that he can escape from the responsibility for what he has done and thought in secret? Omniscience means that our mystery is manifest. Omnipresence means that our privacy is public. The centre of our whole being is involved in the centre of all being; and the centre of all being rests in the centre of our being. I do not believe that any serious man can deny that experience, no matter how he may express it. And if he has had the experience, he has also met something within him that makes him desire to escape the consequences of it. For man is not equal to his own experience; he attempts to forget it; and he knows that he cannot forget it.   

10. Is there a release from that tension? Is it possible to overcome the hatred for God and the will that there be no God, that there be no man? Is there a way to triumph over our shame before the perpetual Witness and over the despair which is the burden of our inescapable responsibility? Nietzsche offers a solution which shows the utter impossibility of atheism. The Ugliest Man, the murderer of God, subjects himself to Zarathustra, because Zarathustra has recognized him, and looked into his depth with divine understanding. The murderer of God finds God in man. He has not succeeded in killing God at all. God has returned in Zarathustra, and in the new period of history which Zarathustra announces. God is always revived in something or somebody; He cannot be murdered. The story of every atheist is the same.   

11. The psalmist offers another solution. “I praise Thee for the awful wonder of my birth; Thy work is wonderful. For Thou didst form my being, and weave me together in my mother’s womb. None of my bones were hidden from Thee, when I was made in secret and molded in the lowest parts of the earth.” Using the old mythological idea that men are formed in the abyss below the earth, he points to the mystery of creation, not to the creation in general, but to the creation of his own being. The God Whom he cannot flee is the Ground of his being. And this being, his nature, soul, and body, is a work of infinite wisdom, awful and wonderful. The admiration of the Divine Wisdom overcomes the horror of the Divine Presence in this passage. It points to the friendly presence of an infinitely creative wisdom. It is this mood which runs generally throughout the Old Testament. A great scholar, with whom I conversed once on the will to death in every life, exhibited the same mood, when he said, “Let us not forget that life is also friendly.” There is a grace in life. Otherwise we could not live. The eyes of the Witness we cannot stand are also the eyes of One of infinite wisdom and supporting benevolence. The centre of being, in which our own centre is involved, is the source of the gracious beauty which we encounter again and again in the stars and mountains, in flowers and animals, in children and mature personalities.   

12. But there is something more to the psalmist’s solution. He does not simply consider the creative Ground of his being. He also looks to the creative destiny of his life. ‘’Thine eyes saw the sum total of my days, and in Thy book they were all written. They were counted before they ever came into existence.” The psalmist uses another old mythical symbol, which is the record of earthly events in a heavenly book. He expresses poetically what we today call the belief in an ultimate meaning of our life. Our days are written and counted; they are not merely accidental. He Who sees us most intimately looks at the vision of our whole life. We belong to this whole; we have a place of the utmost importance within it. As individuals and as a group, we have an ultimate destiny. And whenever we sense this ultimate destiny, whether or not it appears as great or insignificant, we are aware of God, the Ground and centre of all meaning. We can join in the psalmist’s cry of admiration: “How mysterious Thy thoughts are to me, O God! How great the sum of them is! If I were to count them, they would outnumber the sands; and if I were to come to the end of them, the span of my life would be like Thine!” The psalmist thus conquers the horror of the all-reflecting mirror and of the never-sleeping Witness by his recognition of the infinite mystery of life, its Ground and its meaning.   

13. But suddenly, at the climax of his meditation, the psalmist turns away from God. He remembers that there is a dark element in the picture of his life—enmity against God, wickedness, and bloody deeds. And since this element disturbs his picture, he asks God to eradicate it. In sudden rage, he shouts, “If Thou wouldst but slay the wicked, O God, and make the men of blood depart from me, who oppose Thee in their thoughts, and utter Thy name in their crimes! Should I not hate them that hate Thee, O Lord? Should I not despise them? I hate them with the deadliest hatred. They are also my enemies!” These words should disturb anyone who thinks that the problem of life can be solved by meditation and religious elevation. Their mood is quite different from that of the previous words. Praise turns into curse. And the trembling of the heart before the all-observing God is replaced by wrath towards men. This wrath makes the psalmist feel that he is equal with God, the God from Whom he wished to flee into darkness and death. God must hate those whom he hates; and God’s enemies must be his enemies. He has just spoken of the infinite distance between his thoughts and God’s thoughts; but he has forgotten. Religious fanaticism appears, that fanaticism which has inflamed the arrogance of Churches, the cruelty of the moralists, and the inflexibility of the orthodox. The sin of religion appears in one of the greatest Psalms. It is that sin which has distorted the history of the Church and the vision of Christianity, and which was not fully avoided even by Paul and John. Of course, we whose religious experience is poor and whose feeling of God is weak should not judge too harshly those whose lives burned with the fire of the Divine Presence and spread this fire ardently all over the world. Nevertheless, the sin of religion is real; and it contradicts the Spirit of Him, Who forbade His disciples again and again to hate His enemies as the enemies of God.   

14. Yet, a change of thought and feeling brings the psalmist suddenly back to the beginning of his poem. He feels quite obviously that something may have been wrong in what he has uttered. He does not know what is wrong; but he is certain that God knows. And so he concludes with one of the greatest prayers of all time: “Search me, O God and know my heart. Try me and know my thoughts. And see if there be any false way in me; and lead me the perfect way.” At this moment he asks God to do what, according to the first words of the Psalm, he does relentlessly anyway. The psalmist has overcome his wavering between the will to flee God and the will to be equal with Cod. He has found that the final solution lies in the fact that the Presence of the Witness, the Presence of the centre of all life within the center of his life, implies both a radical attack on his existence, and the ultimate meaning of his existence. We are known in the depth of darkness through which we ourselves do not even dare to look. And at the same time, we are seen in a height of a fullness which surpasses our highest vision. That infinite tension is the atmosphere in which religion lives. In that tension Luther conquered his hatred for God, when he discovered in Christ the Crucified the perfect symbol for our human situation. It is the tension in which modern man lives, even though he may have lost the way to traditional religion. A human being can be ultimately judged by whether or not he has reached and can stand that tension. To endure it is more horrible and more difficult than anything else in the world. And yet, to endure it is the only way by which we can attain to the ultimate meaning, joy, and freedom in our lives. Each of us is called to endure. May each of us have the strength and the courage to bear that vocation! For it is to that vocation that we are called as men.   

Taken from The Shaking of the Foundations, by Paul Tillich, NY: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1948.

Who is My Neighbor?

Tags

bible, Good samaritan, inspiration, Jesus, Jude, Luke, Mel Gibson, neighbor

It’s a good question. One that we should be asking ourselves on a regular basis. As is my usual method, a number of instances which brought this question to mind coalesce, and I realize that God is asking me to probe more deeply.

The Gospel today was from Luke 10:25-37, the parable of the Good Samaritan. As you recall, Jesus relates the story of the man who is beaten and robbed and left by the side of the road. Both a priest and Levite pass by, apparently following ritual purity laws, moving to the other side of the road.

A Samaritan sees the man and comes to his aid. “Who is the neighbor?” Jesus asks. Of course the answer is obvious.  As our rector said, the question asked by the lawyer,”Who is my neighbor?” also seems obvious and unnecessary to ask in the first place.

But, I can see the lawyer’s dilemma. We don’t treat everyone the same, so perhaps not are our neighbor. Yet Jesus seems to imply that there is but one answer: everyone is my neighbor.

Unfortunately it was not and is not so clear to us, I don’t think.

It was clear to William James in his classic, The Varieties of Religious Experience. In a lecture on saintliness, he points out that saints are noted for their treatment of all persons with equal love and charity. Unlike the rest of us who are all too willing to fight “fire with fire” and treat others with the same meanness they may treat us.

James is unwilling to let go of the saints being the better angels here. In a rare insight into the human psyche, he claims, regarding the tendency to categorize humans into “good, bad, and in the middle:”

“We have no right to speak of human crocodiles and boa-constrictors as of fixedly incurable beings. We know not the complexities of personality, the smouldering emotional fires, the other facets of the character polyhedron, the resources of the subliminal region. St. Paul long ago made our ancestors familiar with the idea that every soul is virtually sacred. Since Christ died for us all without exception. . . .”

Yet, far seeing as his sentiments are, we need look no further than scripture to find plenty of evidence that suggests that we must too be wary.

St. Jude says this in Jude 17:20-25:

When there are some who have doubts, reassure them; when there are some to be saved from the fire, pull them out; but there are others to whom you must be kind with great caution, keeping your distance even from the outside clothing which is contaminated by vice.

I’m not sure what is being presented here.  But clearly it does not sound like Jesus’ words to the lawyer, nor that all are our neighbors without fail. Jude seems to suggest that we must be careful of the truly evil among us, keeping our distance as he says.

It confuses me assuredly.

But it reflects certainly who I am.

One need not spend a long time on this blog to realize I have very unkind things to say about any number of people I consider to be self-serving evil presences among us. We can start there.

But I really got to thinking about this after the latest rounds of excrement to exit the mouth of Mel Gibson. We have long since decided that we no longer can watch Mr. Gibson’s movies, given his past expressions of racist thinking. It seems now that this man considers all who are not white to be something scornful and not quite as good as himself.

It’s all ironic given that Jesus was a Jew. And with all due respect for Mr. Gibson’s ultra orthodox positions, most scholars are pretty clear that Jesus had no desire nor intent to become something else. He seemed intent on correcting Judaism, not starting a new religion altogether.

Given that Mr. Gibson has  noted his displeasure with Jews, African Americans and Latinos, I suspect he harbors no love for Arabs, Eskimos or American Native peoples, to say nothing of Asians, Indians and Greenlanders.

Overall, I’m inclined to think rather poorly of the man, again as I say, so ironic, given his ultra conservative position as a Roman Catholic. I don’t know as I’ve heard an explanation as to why he had an affair, a child out of wedlock, and is either in the midst of, or legally divorced. None of these comport with the rigid believes of the right wing Roman Catholic. I have no idea whether he receives communion, but those who espouse his positions regularly call for the barring of various politicians from receiving, based only on their voting record on abortion.

I figure, based on the Samaritan story that I shouldn’t think so ill of Mr. Gibson. I would like to think I would assist him should I find him bloodied and beaten in the street. But I’m not so sure I’d invite him in for dinner. Jude suggests perhaps that is a wise choice on my part, but, frankly between Jesus and Jude, I’m opting that Jesus carries the weight.

Maybe I’m missing something here. I guess it’s pretty clear that sainthood is not right around my corner, at least. If you have any ideas about where to draw this line, I’d be happy to hear them.

Looking Up And Finding Clouds

Tags

depression, inspiration, Iowa, life, life in the meadow, Memorial Day

I find myself strangely depressed the last few days, and it seems incongruous to me, given the beautiful weather we’ve been having. I’m very driven by weather I’ve learned. So it’s been puzzling to find myself fairly lethargic lately.

In trying to figure out why, I’ve come to the conclusion that two things are wearing heavy on my heart: the Gulf coast tragedy and the ongoing sadness of those in our parish family who are struggling with major health issues. Our deacon’s daughter is struggling with a deep brain injury, from an accident several weeks ago, and the road to recovery will be a long one. The Gulf coast, as we all know, will be effected by the oil spill for decades probably.

I think mostly, I feel helpless in the face of these two events. There is nothing much I can do. I pray. Everyday. At least against the oil spill, I can vent my anger, since there is a lot of blame to go around.

But, countering that, I’ve been nudged by a couple of other folks. Fran, from There Will be Bread, in a post I recall reading on FB, indicated that she wanted to move into a more positive mode, celebrating where we could join together, rather than emphasizing differences. I’m always superbly uplifted by Jan of Yearning for God for the same reason. It’s always about good stuff there, ways to connect with the divine and happy references to happy dogs.

Of course there is always Tim at Straight-Friendly for honest and beautiful inspiration. And there is for sure a smile whenever Jim at OkJimm’s Eggroll Emporium decides to set down his beer and take up his pen.

Another blog was pointed out to me by the folks at WordPress the other day. A “blogging success story” that I guess gives all of us who really love this writing business, hope. Like Ree Drummond, who has gone from family blogging to national recognition and a new cookbook, with stops at GMA and The View, via Pioneer Woman, Neal Pasricha has zoomed to the top of the heap with his blog 1000 Awesome Things. There is now a book out, and no doubt more to come. Neal claims that he started his blog to find something good and uplifting to help him keep a positive outlook.

I’ve been realizing lately that I’ve been slowly but surely gravitating more to blogs that have something solid I can hang onto, something that tells me more about life and living it well. It’s not to say that I am off the political spectrum. For indeed I find the likes of Tom at Politics Plus, and Dcap at distributorcap NY forever funny, informative, and witty.

Please also note, that in featuring these particular blogs, I don’t mean to slight dozens of others that I follow daily or near daily and appreciate for their inspiration and/or political acumen. These are just the first that came to mind.

What does all this mean? Oh, nothing in particular. I’m not thinking to alter this blog much if that is what you were thinking. I just realized that perhaps when I seem in a rut of rant, or in constant self-analysis in which I usually come up short in my own estimation, it may be time to turn the tables to stuff that is a bit lighter.

I was caught up yesterday in watching the news. The entire weekend has been filled with tributes, and remembrances of veterans, and well it should. However in this household, those thoughts are close at hand most all year, and the constant reference to death and dying is especially wearing. But a woman, spending her Memorial Day with her son at Arlington Cemetery, remarked that she and her family had always “celebrated” the holiday, but now it was celebrated in a very different way.

I realized that that happened to me, without much recognition when I married the Contrarian nearly eleven years ago. It is somber, not a day for play. We do fix a good deal of food and enjoy that, but the day itself is quiet. For us, the constant though understandable references to veterans is tiresome and painful. It recalls for my husband memories he has struggled a near lifetime to forget.

Perhaps that is why I am at odds with myself and the world today. Too much weekend. And the damnable turkeys are still attacking our garden, nipping a pepper plant here and there. And the mosquitoes have radar tuned to me, making it hard to be outside. I am constrained to live with tons of OFF which no doubt is not healthy, but at 60, I figure to die of something else before that cancer matures.

So, here’s to sun and light breezes, and waking up to a cacophony of music in the trees as a dozen varieties of bird greet the day. Here’s to good food, good beds, good movies, and happy pets. Here’s to yawns and fresh coffee brewing. To not having to wear sweaters and socks and caps to keep your ears warm. Here’s to barbecue and pasta salads, and good friends. Here’s to equality and justice and compassion and empathy. Here’s to fresh water and rain forests, and sunrises and sunsets. Here’s to love, and forgiveness, and curiosity. Here’s to companionship, and passion. Here’s to life, good, bad or otherwise, for it changes tomorrow, never give up hope in that. This Bud’s for you! (Frankly I hate Bud, being a Dos Equis person myself-but you get the point.)

Peace and God Bless

The Quest of our Lives

Tags

Christianity, God, inspiration, morality

 I don’t recall exactly when it was that I decided I wanted to be a good person. Not that most people sit down and make that decision usually. Most, I would hazard a guess never even think of it.

And surely nobody reclines upon couch and ponders which of the two they will aspire to. I mean even the worst of the worst doesn’t see themselves as dedicated to being bad. Shit happens, they would argue.

I would assume that my decision to seek a holier way of being (becoming a saint, now that desire seems in itself sheer chutzpah) arrived in my mind sometime around the time of my “conversion.” 

It seemed somehow part of the package–become a Christian–think about reforming your life. Like peanut butter and jelly, they seem to go together. It’s not that I was not a good person beforehand. I was more, shall we say, not concerned much, about the details. I was law abiding, didn’t go out of my way to deliberately cause trouble with others, was sociable, that kind of thing.

But I admit, I usually put me first, and my bad mood usually impacted on those around me. I have never had much in the way of patience, certainly with the limitations of others whom I needed to accomplish my goal. I still have problems trying to understand why patience is so virtuous. Why can’t I expect that the clerk at Walmart actually knows the names of the veggies she is checking out? Do I really have to tell you that you are holding a cabbage for goodness sake?

So, upon conversion, I figured I should try harder to not be impatient, not be short, not be snide and sarcastic in the face of incompetence and laziness among those who were being paid to DO THEIR FREAKIN JOB.

Perhaps some of my ongoing failure to do as well as I would like is the result of my conversion not being an earth shattering thing. Basically I came to the proposition that God was pretty much an even bet, and common sense lay in opting for Him as opposed to against him. And besides, more important for sure was that I wanted to believe He existed. I found life somewhat meaningless without God.

Perhaps, since I was not blinded by the light, heard the angelic voice, or saw a bona fide miracle, I never took it as seriously as I should.

In any case, I’ve not found my success rate nearly as good as I had hoped. It seems to surge here and there, on Sundays for sure, and while and after I’ve read a particularly moving spiritual book. Sometimes the selflessness of others causes me to rededicate myself. But, sadly I seem to fall back into the same old patterns, grousing and crabbing about politicians, and  others who seem insensibly dull when it comes to things I consider obvious.

I have plenty of examples around me, people who seem always serene, always polite, kind, gentle. Who respond to insults and snotty behavior with quiet calm voice. The Dalai Lama of course, Desmond Tutu, are stellar examples. But I can point to a few in my church, who seem to me, always to  find the inclusive way in their interactions.

I on the other hand am all to dualistic. I fail the I-Thou in favor of I-you in personal encounters. I can preach the right thing, I just don’t do it nearly well enough. I’m right, you are wrong, and I’ve concluded by the way that you can’t be fixed without the intervention of the Almighty, and that ain’t me. So I dust off my hands and move off in disgust, ready to consign you to the trash heap of useless beings who just take up oxygen.

I don’t want to harm you, mind you, I just want you to shut up, sit down, and leave the running of the world to those of us I designate as knowing how to do it. Humility is ground under my feet wouldn’t you say? My arrogance is overflowing don’t you agree?

I can’t begin to know how many others there are like me. I hope most, but I fear a good many less. All I can do is keep remembering that God is merciful–that has to be true, since if He were not, I’d  have been fried into a crispy critter long ago. So I rededicate myself for the 3,492 time to doing better.

You know those stickers you see on the back of trucks sometimes? The one’s that say–“How’s my driving? Call 555-2121. ” Well I sometimes think it would be a good thing for us humans too to wear such a thing. But then again, I usually know as soon as I speak whether I’ve been good or bad in my quest to be a better person. Still, keeping count may be useful.

If you have suggestions I’m all ears. (Actually not, I’m pretty much composed of the usual limbs like most everyone else!) Which reminds me of the parody of Julius Caesar–“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears!” (throw a sack of ears on stage left!)

Seriously, I am getting older by the minute and don’t have much time (perhaps less than I think when you actually think about it), so if you can help, I’d appreciate it. This treadmill is getting tiresome, I’d like to move on up the mountain.