Not made by human hands

Posted: August 26, 2018 in Uncategorized

Today the Sabbath song began with the sopranos,
the autumn bugs droning their entrance,
glorifying the day, every day
every sacred day.

This temple they fill is not made by human hands,
always more expansive than our wanting imitation.
The whole created universe is the theater of the spirit,
its wisdom filling every nook, every thought,
billions of years, beyond time.

Our every attempt to package the Whirlwind falls short,
especially when arrogance dares name it absolute.
Defiance: Infinity shall not be contained by little systems, ever,
and the sweetest spot is always the one under our feet,
which is every spot, everywhere.

Come choirs of creatures, angels of galaxies,
and the high priests of the cosmos.
We do not create you, Oh Mystery,
but you have birthed us, wherever and whenever
we take one breath of awe and wonder.

That shall be enough, declares the Big God,
hiding nameless above our manufactured little gods.
Silence! Take off the shoes of your life. If you can’t find it here and now
you will never find it anywhere.

Phone Booth

Posted: August 20, 2018 in Uncategorized

One night I was awakened by the ringing of the phone and I was so deeply asleep that I thought it was part of a dream. But it was not. The sound came from beside my bed and I groped in the darkness for my phone. I answered with  a gravely hello. The voice on the other end was a man’s voice. The first and strangest thing was that he asked who I was, as though he was dialing numbers randomly, not sure who would pick up. I sat up on the side of the bed, struggling to clear my head and make sense of what I just heard. I asked who was calling and he gave me his first name. And then I asked him what he needed.

I don’t know, he answered. When I asked where he was he said At a phone booth. Not even a cell, but a phone booth. Where can you even find those any more? I asked him where the phone booth was and he said I don’t know. Then I asked him where he came from and he said I wish to God I knew. He asked again who I was and I gave him my first name. I tried one more time and asked him to maybe describe where he was. With some irritation he replied In a phone booth – I told you. And he hung up.

I sat there in the dark, dial tone on the other end. Surely this wasn’t a dream.

What isolating desperation would drive a person to call random numbers in the middle of the night hoping for a connection with a stranger? What do you do when you don’t know where you really came from, where you are, or what you need? Is a phone booth a real place? Is the voice at the other end a real voice?

And what of the untimely intrusions into our sleep, our dreams, our space? Is this some  moment of divine epiphany, the new reality breaking into our old one? Are we meant to be connected? Is this phantom to be added to my to my prayer list now and forever?

Or, since it was a phone booth, was this from another time, a quantum skip across decades? Was he calling ahead and is now long dead? Was he stuck between dimensions? Did he abide in phone booth purgatory? Or was the caller actually me earlier in life, calling my future self up, looking for some clues? I don’t remember making that kind of call.

Or what if all that was actually a dream and I just didn’t know it? In that case, what characters of the psyche were in conversation? The past self and present one, phone booth self to cell self?

If I’m honest with myself most of my prayer life is exactly like that call. It’s random and comes out of who knows where, certainly not per-programed. The flavor of most of my most impactful spiritual connections is decidedly phone booth-to-stranger-middle-of-the-night fare. I’m left scratching my head, even when the right thing seems to have happened.

I’d rather not get another call like that again. But I might, you never know. And if I do I hope I can listen better than I did the first time – to the voice on the other end, the sound of my own breathing, and whatever mysterious thing hangs suspended in that dark interval at the intersection of time and space.

Bless me this night, O God,
and those whom I know and love.
Bless me this night, O God,
and those with whom I am not at peace.
Bless me this night, O God,
and every human family.

Bless us with deep sleep.
Bless us with dreams that will heal our souls.
Bless us with the night’s silent messages of eternity
that we may be set free by love.

Bless us in the night, O God,
that we may be set free to love.

— J. Philip Newell

The late John O’Donohue has a lovely collection of poems entitled To Bless the Space Between Us (2008) and he often plays with what it is to occupy the in-between spaces, the twilight times. It is on that liminal edge that we often find the fullness of life and fullness of God.

I like his poem The Interim Time:

You are in the time of interim
Where everything seems withheld.

The path you took to get here has washed out;
The way forward is still concealed from you.

“The old is not old enough to have died away;
The new is still too young to be born.”

You cannot lay claim to anything;
In this place of dusk, your eyes are blurred;
And there is no mirror…

What is being transfigured here is your mind,
And it is difficult and slow to become new.

The more faithfully you can endure here,
The more refined your heart will become
For your arrival in the new dawn.

Just in from friend Tabitha Isner who is running for the US Congress in Alabama: She reports that their internet security surveillance tools have detected over 1300 recent attempts by Russian hackers to break into her campaign server/data base. This is happening right now.

This represents a continuing attack on our democratic processes by a foreign adversary. However often this malevolent force is denied by the current Administration and members of Congress, it remains a clear and present danger. This is for real. This is not fake. This is not imaginary.

So why isn’t this attack named for what it is?  Why are we not doubling down to protect ourselves? Why are we covering for the Russians? What is the source of this unwillingness to act?

With the release of the late Hans Rosling’s essential book, Factfulness, we have a new opportunity to embrace a bird’s eye view of the world … and its changing … based on the hard data rather than conjecture. This is sorely needed in a time of free-wheeling exaggeration and distortion of reality as it is.

Starting with population statistics numbering in the billions we are provided with a larger lens through which we may actually see global changes – many for the best – that have taken place since 1800. This includes poverty, infant mortality, education, war and more. Our assumptions are challenged by actual shifts that are measured over decades.

To get us there Rosling had to identify the distortions that create an untrue worldview. These distortions are many times due to human nature; our second nature mechanisms to survive. But also the way that very long trends of a positive nature – which can be fairly boring – are missed as the short term negatives are more dramatic and interesting.

He helps us be on guard against defining by the extremes vs the majority, bracing against a solely negative critique, challenging projections assumed to continue in the same way, moving beyond fear-based assessments, getting things in scale or proportion, avoiding generalizations, taking note of slow change, stopping blaming one source for complex problems, and looking for long-term solutions when everything seems urgent.

Here is a person who looked the facts in the eye and did not turn away. He never said that events were not bad when they were or underplayed tragedy. But at the same time he counseled the long-view, one that is more encouraging that it might seem. For example, just one statistic – in terms of children dying worldwide before their fifth birthday, in 1800 44% of children before age five died. Today that number is 4%. That is a huge shift. And of course that statistic varies depending on the level of poverty where the sample is taken from.

With all of those measures seen differently and often more positively, Rosling still identifies what he defines as the “mega-killers.” These are the very big global risks that we should worry about and for which much can be done. They are five and are likely to transpire because they either have before or are occurring right now:

Global Pandemic. An example is the Spanish flu following the First World War that killed 50 million people – more than the war itself. Pandemics can be controlled with adequate early prevention health care and careful monitoring by agencies like the World Health Organization to coordinate global responses.

Financial Collapse. In a globalized world the consequences of huge financial meltdowns are catastrophic. They create instability, poverty, suffering and conflict. They are notoriously difficult to predict and those who can often will not because they choose not to or profit from runaway markets or artificial bubbles.

World War III. We need to offset the terrible human inclination to violence, retaliation and escalation in war. Every means possible should be employed to create international understanding, cooperation and the eradication of poverty which generates conflict. Diplomacy and denuclearization is more important than ever before.

Climate Change. It is happening now. Only a global response can create the right impacts to offset the pace of climate change. It is already happening as evidenced by things like avoiding leaded gasoline. Most of the CO2 emissions come from the most affluent countries so they bear more responsibility for the greatest action.

Extreme Poverty. This is present misery that affects about 1 billion people. It fosters epidemics because of lack of health services. War and terrorism hide in its desperate shadows. Poverty leads to civil war which creates more poverty. A relative world peace since World War II has enabled growing prosperity in most of the world. There is no guessing as to the solutions: peace, schooling, universal basic health care, electricity, clean water, toilets, contraceptives, and microcredits to get market forces started. As those in extreme poverty become more affluent they will have less children and the quality of life with improve, regardless of the country in which they live.

This is a book that every person who cares about understanding our real world, finding hope where we are, and the ways to continue making slow improvement must read. For me, it is one of the most important books I have read in the past few years.

 

 

I recently attended a symphony performance in which the William Tell Overture was first on deck. The audience sat alert through the martial calls and percussive pace. Beside me to the right sat an elderly woman dressed to the nines having a delightful experience.

With each rising line and syncopated cadence she giggled with girlish glee. This was something special for her, the source of pure pleasure. I thought she must be remembering each and every time she had heard the Overture before.

At the end, even before the applause died down, she turned to me and said, “I could imagine the Lone Ranger riding in at any moment!” I’m sure she did.

I am amazed at how deeply music penetrates the chambers of memory and emotion. Music allows us to remember and re-experience that which is normally hidden. As cousin to a smell, the sense of sound imprints and attaches in unique ways. And age is no obstacle. In fact, music seems to leap over the walls of age back to the time when it was first heard.

You could guess that the woman sitting beside me was in her eighties. She might look it and her driver’s license confirm it. But in the end I would have to disagree. She was no more than ten years old, catapulted back to an earlier time.  She was the one who laughed out loud during the grand pause at the end, which was, if you asked me, the best part of the symphony.

On Falling

Posted: June 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

I’ve heard it said that if you fall during a dream
and hit the bottom of whatever is below
your number is called, the gig is up.
You’ve fallen into the vortex of finitude
and there’s no back door.

But I don’t believe that for a second
because falling is first cousin to flying.
It’s just that with falling you can’t buy a ticket in advance
and usually on the way down
you don’t know what direction you are headed.
Sometimes there’s screaming and clawing at the air.

The truth is you probably wouldn’t have jumped
off the high dive in the first place
without some uninvited encouragement.

I knew a guy like that one time. He went by Eutychus,
a funny name considering that it means lucky.
Everyone thought he was a goner. But no.
The bottom wasn’t really the bottom after all.
What he hit hard was a beginning
and that surprised him as much as anyone.

But boy did he fall.
Or was it fly?

Santiago de Compostela

Posted: June 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

My friend, James Brooks, just completed walking the Camino. Couldn’t be more proud of him for his spiritual and physical accomplishment!

Dr. James R. Brooks's avatarSacred Stirrings

Yesterday, June 29th, I completed the Camino Frances. It is difficult to explain how it felt to walk into the plaza. Maybe these pictures will help. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me along The Way… pilgrims and those back home. Special shout out to my Camino family. We booked out an entire restaurant with our Camino celebration dinner. Now for the pictures.

Walked through the gate with Clayton (Australia), Raeanne (Canadá), me, Mike (Canadá), and Frank (Germany)

What a fantastic moment!

This is my walk onto the plaza

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In 1864 President Abraham Lincoln took up pen to write a letter of consolation to the widow Lydia Bixby of Boston. It had been reported to Lincoln that she had lost all five of her sons in battle. And here is what he wrote:

Dear Madam,

I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.

I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.

Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,

A. Lincoln