Rocka My Soul

When the poor man died,

he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. Luke 16:22

Earlier this week a strange convergence occurred.  This line from Luke appeared in the lectionary text on the same day I completed viewing the Showtime series, “The Borgias”and saw the film “Spotlight.  There is much to be said about the juxtaposition of these two media events and the historical content they portray. This is for another day.  Today, I share my reflection on the the greater whole of the three and the important message they bring to the Lenten season.

The “bosom of Abraham,” that most cherished place at the table of eternal love.  This is place of rest, peace, and endless delight in the courts of the G-d of Hosts.  It is our promised inheritance as the baptized People of G-d. 

I cannot see these words or think of this spiritual without reliving cherished remembrances of my dad and me, an awestruck 4 year old, sitting at the piano singing this, my favorite in the “Fireside Book of Folk Songs.  As only a four year only can insist, we sang it again and again.  Occasionally, Joshua fit the Battle of Jericho provided contrast. Growing up is tough and the loss of innocence painful.  Those experiences of safety fade as we become acquainted with the world around us. Sometimes this transition is seamless. On occasion, it is very painful.

“The Borgias” and “Spotlight” each expose the rawness of this unwelcomed assault.  Old and young alike are subject to the excruciating pain of innocence lost, what was the hoped for place of safety became the locus of deception.   How does this happen?

African innocents asked the same question as their parents and tribal leaders sold them into slavery. The locus of safety, the haven of care was shattered. How could this happen?

Yet, through it all, these African slaves continue to teach us the lesson that can only be known to those who hold the promise of the bosom of Abraham.  It is joy that carries the day.  The ever-present joy of knowing that by faith we are promised a special place at the table of the eternal banquet.  G-d holds those who violently shatter innocence, betray trust, to account.  By baptism we live into the joy of knowing that the Kingdom of Heaven is ours and with Lazarus, we will thirst no more.

No room for sadness in this celebration. Rejoice in this season of renewal.

Rocka my soul in the bosom of Abraham

Oh, rock o’my Soul.

I may be weak, rocka my soul, but thou art strong, rock o'my soul.

I'm leaning on, leaning on, I'm leaning on his mighty arm.

Oh, rocka my

Rock o'my soul in the bosom of Abraham

Oh, rocka my Soul.

My soul is fed, rocka my soul, my soul is free, rocka my soul, 

I'm going home, going home, I'm going home, to live with thee

Oh, rocka my

Rocka my soul in the bosom of Abraham

Oh, rocka my Soul.

Encounter with a Catechumen

My dear Christopher,

You were beaming at lunch yesterday. It was an unexpected treat to spend time with you on the spur of the moment.  I am always excited hear about your life and all that you do.

When you told me about your journey as a Catechumen, I was excited and oddly proud.  I was immediately a little envious of my friends whose work it is to guide this process for so many.  Yes, the Romans have worked for centuries to have answers and justification for its many positions in life and faith.  They do provide an anchor and clarity that many other traditions do not.  There is a real power in the ritual and comfort in the structure.

I am sorry for what came next. I was awash with my woundedness, despair, feelings of rejection, and rage.  Hearing that you are being introduced to a the weak piety passed off as teaching wrenched my gut.  It is not even accurate articulation of the Catechism.   I will spare you a long discourse on sacrament.  

Forgive me, my friend, for casting a pallor on your joy.  This was no mere projection. It was all out explosion.  I am genuinely thrilled that you are continuing your journey and are so excited.  I wish that I could be with you in that holiest of nights and share your joy.

My lunch with you was a moment of grace. Lesson: It is not all about me. It is truly about the enduring love of the One who made us and continues to love us even as we are broken open, who blesses us with pilgrims on the road to Emmaus.  Thanks for your generous spirit and being the vessel of my 2016 Transfiguration, hitting me over the head with the message, 'Listen to Him.'

Christopher, you were and are a Christ-bearer.  Welcome to the community of faith.

Owen

Zika, Exodus, and Hardened Hearts

I look forward to lent if for nothing else but for the Office of Readings.  I read the Exodus story with the excitement and imagination of a young boy. It is an adventure story packed with magical events and intriguing plots all woven around quite a cast of villains and heroes. I have an entire 21^st century mini-series using the plot worked out in my mind. Someday.

This year as I read about the plagues, the hard hearts of Pharaoh and the Israelites, the trepidation of Moses and the interventions of G-d, I am focused on the emergence the zika virus.  As amazingly set to music by Handel, we hear again, “He spake the word and there came all manner of flies…..and the locusts came without number….”

Did the pestilence have to come?  Certainly not.  Had the whole lot been open to G-d’s insistent call, the story would have been so very different.   Flip to another culture and another time and reread Oedipus.   Same message. Different format. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Translated to our time, in this context: Power, greed, narcissism embolden us to believe we can control the expression of G-d.

One of my favorite classes to teach it the “Politics of Green.”  It is a hybrid course that  is based in political ecology.  There are many Pharaohs building pyramids in our time.  How long will politics and economic theory drive the agenda that is leading the world to destruction?  What are today’s plagues?  Zika is the latest of several I can easily name:  Coal slurry in the Elk River, West Virginia; autism; HIV; cancer clusters; destruction of the Amazon rainforest, The Bhopal Disaster.  We manipulate food sources without regard for the longitudinal impact of the genetic modifications.   When do we melt our hard hearts and see that creation is a precious gift?  This can only happen when we turn toward and see the face G-d.

Here the Catholic in the Diaspora can join easily with the voice of Pope Francis. Laudato Si  call us all to account.  This document cries out with a clarion call to change the heart of stone and awake to the destruction we have wrought on our earth and upon each other.

On each day of creation, G-d saw that it was good. “The earth is full of the goodness of the Lord.”  Do we believe it is good enough? 

"Harden not your hearts ....."

Two versions to consider

Babbling words, hymns of praise

Jesus said to his disciples:

“In praying, do not babble like the pagans,

who think that they will be heard because of their many words.

Do not be like them.

Your Father knows what you need before you ask him."

Matthew 6:7-8

I opened the scripture texts for today and stopped at this admonishment to the disciples.  In my heart, this command resonates like a siren.

With no interest in getting enmeshed in a the  various translations of the Roman Missal, I am stepping back to look at the broad landscape of worship.  These ideas are evoked  both by my experience and by the many, varied feedback I have received in the short, few posts made to date.

Words, words, words.  These shape the worship of the faithful.  In the Roman rite and in the varied rites of the Reformation, the emphasis on words is deafening. This is in contrast to an emphasis on the Logos. Prayers rattled by clergy and faithful cloud the room with fog.  Cumbersome, uninspired constructions dull the senses of the assembly.  Try as I will, it is often difficult to follow a prayer from beginning to end. Multiple, often competing images, distract me.  Offensive allusions shock me as the bad grammar bemuses me.

It is in this numbing experience we find the answer to the question my friends and I often ponder, “How did the young people of today find and connect with Eucharistic adoration? “  They found it because they are looking for quiet.  They found it because they know, as well all do, that the essence of relationship is the ability to sit quietly in a room with your friends and have the courage to be.

From their silence arises an expression of an ageless truth; from the quiet rises their song. It is music that comes from being broken open by Logos in the frightening safety of their silence.   Their melody emerges from the deep river of the collective being as community with the trust that only silence fosters.  They sing what they believe, simply and robustly.

I am not advocating a rejection of a community expression of faith in active, full participation. In fact,  I am searching for a deeper level of richness in this experience. Integrating silence, alone or shared, is required to provide balance.  I am longing for  words selected for their poetry, rich in  meaning to those that hear them.  It is these words that supports the richness of reflection in that silence.  These words eliminate babble.  I hope for those times when the Liturgy of the Word is more than a collection of words. When the babble of convoluted prayer formulae ends.

The balance of carefully crafted words and silence prepares us for our robust expression of Eucharistic thanksgiving.  This is our opportunity to reclaim what the young people have learned on their own - it is good to sit with those you love and listen to the musing of the Spirit.  Silence give voice to our encounter with the Spirit and propelled by the Spirit to give robust praise, simply and joyfully.

“Stilled and Quiet is My Soul” by S. Sister Toolan , RSM, is a simple reminder of this call to contemplation.  Lent continues to call us to that cold, brisk place where we are taught to pray.

I apologize for the poor fidelity of the recording.

http://www.w8k.net/#sociallymusic.com

Lent I -- Blow the North Wind

On this first Sunday of Lent, those of us in New York awoke to our own mid-winter desert experience - record low outdoor temperatures.  It redefines our understanding of desert.  Often, the idea of a desert is misrepresented as a being identified with heat.  Deserts are neither warm or cold - they are dry. The arid, cold desert is equally challenging, beautiful and strident as those in warmer climates.

Jesus is tempted in the desert. The reality of his humanness comes into focus as his dark side emerges.  Why are we so fearful to know and love the Jesus of human experience? There is no weakness here, only grace.  It strikes me that his desert is our desert, the place where the cold wind blows.

The institution has a dark side - Christ as head of the Church infuses it with his divinity and his humanness.  Why are we as individuals and as a family of faith so fearful of embracing this cold place?

The cold wind of encounter with God cleanses with a surgical precision.  The cold wind is an astringent to shrink our inflammation.  The cold wind insists on slowing our movement and facilitates the germination of spring.

As Jesus grapples with his human temptations, he rejects a worldly kingdom of wealth and power. How then has the institution of Church emerged as it is?  How is Christ its head and cornerstone? Has the institution become the embodiment of what Jesus rejected?  I will never forget the day, many years ago when, faced with never ending AIDS deaths and new infections, well meaning colleagues would repeatedly say,  we cannot "Scandalize the faithful." And, again repeated the phrase that there was a clear distinction be made between the  "Internal and external dialogue."   It was not the deafening silence that pained me. It was the fear of embracing the brokenness of those suffering and speaking truth. Who does this "Dance of the Internal Dialogue" protect?  There might as well have been an invitation entitled, "Welcome to the dark side. Know our fear."

Working in the AIDS epidemic brought me to the fringes.  It brought me to encounters with the cold wind of the renewing Spirit. We move into this season of the Great Encounter with the cold wind blowing in, over, through and around our garden spreading the seeds of the pleasant fruits of truth, light, and grace-filled love. Step into the cold wind of the unexplored darks places, the places of fear and  brokenness,  reject the protections of power and place and be welcomes as the beloved invited to eat the pleasant fruits of resurrection.

Awake O North wind and come thou South

Blow upon my garden that the spices may flow out

Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits"

Daniel Pinkham, Wedding Cantata, movement 3

Back to that Bitter Cold December Kind of Day

Greetings!

I just finished a phone call with my mom.  You have to know that this is a dyed in the wool, rosary bearing, First Friday attending, Centering Prayer practicing, 80+ year old Catholic.  It has happened. She has joined the diaspora.

Her relatively large parish, in terms of Vermont parishes, was a thriving hot-bed of activity just two years ago.  Empowered laity, robust soup kitchen serving meals daily, engaged liturgy, great preaching, over the top singing and lots of smiles on the faces of the people.  You know what happened. New pastor appointed, fresh from North American College, whose vision of parish community was more hierarchical than collegial. Attendance dropped 50%. Parish school replaced parish life as the focus of concern.  A clear proponent of the "smaller, purer church," the sermonizing is reminiscent of a 1950 parish mission, replete of theological curiosities like "The Holy Spirit raised Jesus from the dead," Interesting.

Mom still feed the hungry at the soup kitchen, still says her prayers and meditates, still believes deeply in the faith that has connected her to the earth all these years.  She does, not however, often join the community around the table.

It is truly a cold December kind of day for my mom,  the members of her community and people of faith everywhere who are faced with  the challenge of the mismatched talents and gifts that is all too common in the clergy.  A maxim of strong leadership is the ability to link talents to charism, skills to job description, talents to task.

It is truly a cold December kind of day for this kid who newly ordained is placed as pastor despite his lack of experience.  In what paradigm is a neophyte placed in a position of such influential, impactful leadership without experience, training, mentoring and acculturation?

I watch from my "separate shore" in amazement, in sadness.  I watch in prayer with the hope that the Spirit will "renew the face of the earth" and end the abuse of all parties trapped in this act of destruction.  As long as we are on separate shores, there can be no growth here, only death.

Here is our corporate dark side.  Here is a place to embrace our brokenness and carry it into the desert.

Peace
Owen

Lord, Teach Us To Pray

Welcome!

I awoke this morning and knew this was the day to start a new journey and adventure.  After many prompts by friends and colleagues, I offer you my ideas, musings, and dreams as a Catholic in the Diaspora.

Why Catholic in the diaspora? I have worked in the Roman rite, wandered through various interpretations of the Reformed tradition, struggles with being faithful to the call, and currently stand in the midst of my reality: I am Roman by design. It is the paradigm through which I experience the world, the language I know and use, the system by which I embrace the Incarnation.  Yet, I no longer find the institution a place of richness and prayer.  I will continue to share my struggle in subsequent entries.  Suffice it to say, I am outsider in my own home.f

So, where does that leave me?  I find myself standing outside the Roman institution by disposition. Make no mistake.  I am weary of the liturgy wars that have consumed my energies since I was in grade 6, tired of justifying the gifts with which I was born to a bureaucracy that is profoundly narrow in focus, and yearning for a community of faith that brings a vibrancy to the world that is as nourishing as it is profoundly transformational.

Does this describe you in whole or part?  Accept this as a potential place to converse about the reality you face.  All are welcome. There are, never-the-less a basic parameter that will be enforced.  As instructed by Paul, "love is never rude."  Rudeness is damaging and debilitating to the Spirit.  hurtful, rude comments will be deleted.  Follow the "1-10" rule.  If your emotional response exceeds a 4 or 5 on the 1-10 scale, it is possible that your are responding to your own issue that has been projected on the content.  Before responding, please take your response into prayer before posting.  There are multiple truths in every situation.  Openness to ideas and situations is our call.  None of us can contain God or control the ongoing work of the Spirit.

Why "Lord, teach us to pray?" On this Ash Wednesday, this song from the early days of the "liturgy wars" strikes me as particularly compelling.  We do stand on separate shores. I feel we have lost our way.

Entering in lent, we face the troubling reality of our baptismal call.  This annual assessment  of our raw, human experience is daunting.  After years of listening to the standard Ash Wednesday tropes about 40 days and 40 nights, desert experiences,  facing our temptations, giving up or taking on a something or another, Baptism is where I land.  What really tempted Jesus?  Was the desert really a frightening place for him?

My reflection today is that it was a period of personal growth.  Imagine, a total extrovert taking time to be alone.  It poses quite a challenge.  It is a challenge to be in touch with our dark side; the challenge to take stock of our fears and weaknesses.  This is our call as the baptised. We must embrace those places of hurt, pain, darkness, fear, sadness, envy, brokenness and bring those willingly to the fullness of the Easter mystery.

I believe this is what Jesus did and modeled for us.  It is the same experience as was brought to us in person of John the Baptist.  Oh, I know, this means that Jesus actually had a dark side.  I jarring idea, I suppose.  But as fully God and human, how else could it be?  Where else could the Tempter find fertile ground?

This lent, I join Jesus in the excitement of the desert experience.  With Jesus, I ask to be taught to pray. With Jesus, I ask for the strength to live my baptismal call to the fullness of grace.

Peace.
Owen