Archive for September, 2007
September 28th, 2007
This morning I found this posted on a couple of Myanmar/Burmese Blogs.
BaganNet, Myanmar’s main ISP has been shut down for so-called “maintenance reasons” and most of the telecommunication services have been cut off or tapped. Information flow out of the country has been strictly monitored and even the amateur photographers are warned to be very careful as the Junta is hunting down the sources.
Numbers of blog posts have been reduced tremendously these days; nevertheless it’s very encouraging to see that some freedom bloggers are still in contact with the outside world and are working their best to keep the world up-to-date with latest Myanmar news.
The marches begun by monks and nuns, are still going on even as the crackdown has begun. That the telecommunication links are being cut is an ominous sign.
Small things still count. You can sign a petition to support the people of Burma here. The petition will be sent to United Nations Security Council members (including the dictatorship’s main backer China) and to media at the UN, while also alerting the Burmese to our support:
September 26th, 2007
Yesterday during a few stolen moments I had read poetry. Yesterday, before I heard the news of the freak death of the son of old friends, I had read this poem:
You tell me on your birthday
your wife’s best friend gave birth;
hours later, her mother died.
You can’t understand so much joy
and grief in one day.
I tell you of the monks in Tibet,
who eviscerate the corpses,
with four long knife cuts in the morning sun,
then let the vulture’s have their fill.
One monk crushes the bones,
mixes them with barley
for the vulture’s last meal of the day.
Nothing’s left.
The Buddhists call it sky burial:
the soul’s shortcut to Nirvana.
There is no sense to things,
I tell you, nothing to understand;
only life’s certain pain
and the vultures waiting
for the next soul
to carry on their wings. -Wendy Morton
Unless we are put to shame in our hope, a worry at least one Psalmist had, our crazy hope is all we have.
But when night falls on you like a hammer, when life as you know it ends–full stop–where does hope go then? Where do the painted ponies, the golden fields, the scarlet sunrises go then?
No Nirvana, no heaven, no round and round, no circle game, no hope.
Now is not the time for hope. Not right now. Hope would only mock.
Technorati Tags:
Grief,
Hope,
Wendy Morton
September 25th, 2007
A couple of blind men, siting on the curb, hoping to be heard by someone rumored to be an itinerant healer, yelled, waved, flailed, and in spite of being told to shut up, brayed all the more, shouted for mercy. And as the story goes: “Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes. Immediately they regained their sight and followed him.”
Our moments of faith and grace don’t come to us in these biblical ways. Not mine anyway. I’ve seen no burning bushes, witnessed no angels buzzing. Nor have I seen healing in New Testament ways. I’ve not seen crippled people leaping out of their warped frames, or eyes blind from birth suddenly open.
But like you, I have seen “conventional miracles,” or graces. This year, in two operations separated by a couple months, my mother had cataracts removed from both her eyes. In her generation’s way of stoically managing things, she had lived with them for too long. Almost becoming accustomed to the dulling of her sight. But the pain and growing shadows finally moved her to seek help. That and some persistent nudging from her children.
There was no yelling or shouting for healing, unless my mother did this inwardly–something I’ve personally turned into an art form. But knowing her, no, I don’t think so. But I know she would have prayed before her operation, as we all did.
After the first operation my sister-in-law chauffeured mother to her check-up. Beth said, “She almost had a bounce in her step!” (Which I think is great for a somewhat arthritic 85 year old.) “She has no pain at all, and was quick to relate to me that when she looks with her right eye closed things appear kind of yellow. But when she closes the left eye and looks only with the right eye–the one that was operated on–things look much brighter, no yellow tinge, things are not cloudy, edges are sharper and colours are much more natural. She rather enjoyed looking at the scenery en route.”
Conventional grace is still grace.
Technorati Tags:
Grace,
Miracles,
Sight
September 20th, 2007
Poets always offer perspective.
Maybe it’s the autumn leaves but this ancient Hebrew stanza laid me out again.
All flesh is like grass
and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers,
and the flower falls.
There is comfort in mortality in a way there isn’t in the promise of security. Mortality, properly occupied, may be our freedom; and the pursuit of long-life, security, and semi-permanence, a manacle.
Might mortality-occupied change our lives? Could it compel us to follow a lusher, grander, path? Even at our peril, even if the promise of inner-richness was mixed with great risk, which it always is, wouldn’t we take the new road revealed by mortality-occupied?
We can be held hostage by the initials we carve in hardwood. While our in-the-mean-time, which it the true stuff of our day, is squandered by stock-index ghouls and false wages and familial guilt.
In mortality-resisted, our true project, which is our awake and connected soul in relationship, is traded for a semi-conscious glutinous-soul, dying for want of a source.
Technorati Tags:
Psalms,
Mortality
September 18th, 2007
While initially heartened by Iraq’s cancellation of Blackwater’s licence to do “business” in Iraq–the revocation coming because of the killing of 11 Iraqi civilians in Baghdad–the on-second-thought came quick enough. Second thought: Since when does Iraq tell an American firm what to do?
And sure enough, today, Iraq appears to be backing down from it’s resolve to withdraw Blackwater’s “business” the license.
My interest in Blackwater however is over its founder. You see, Blackwater was founded by Erik Prince, a former Navy SEAL, and a multi-millionaire right-wing fundamentalist Christian from a powerful Michigan Republican family. His wealth came from his father, Edgar Prince, who headed Prince Automotive, an auto parts and machinery manufacturer.
Prince shares Bush’s Christian views and not surprisingly is a major Republican contributor. His social circle includes Gary Bauer, who, with help from his father, started the Family Research Council.
Whether Blackwater is the most powerful mercenary army in the world, with a blank cheque from the Bush administration, as Jeremy Scahill claims in his book, or whether it is just a private security firm operating in a war zone, and other zones–like protecting corporate holdings during the New Orleans flood–one thing is clear; it has become the most successful security organization, and the richest, in the history of security firms (a.k.a. mercenary armies).
And why? Well, probably because Blackwater does have something like a blank cheque from the Bush administration.
September 17th, 2007
My wife Deb and I just got back from performing my niece’s wedding. (James and Ida Marie) I have a brave niece. We’d never done anything like this before,
I’ve included a few pictures. We originally went for the Jezebel / Desert Father combo, while the mother’s, wheeling in Ida Marie and James’ adorable daughter, went for an Ozark theme…
The following is/was my “homily.” Fortunately Deb’s message was bedrock stuff.
I had a marriage thought, well, it’s not my thought, it’s Robert Louis Stevenson’s. To my mind, it’s a near perfect description of the state of marriage. He said: “All marriages are mended garments.”
It’s true, while the whole ensemble starts out relatively pristine, only too soon, there’s occasion for a bit of mending.
But of course, even mended garments can look exquisite.
Sometimes a marriage can look so beautiful, nothing needed, no spangles or sequins to dress it up; it’s just this fine silky thing. And it feels wonderful against the skin and looks as radiant as a starburst. And you just pray someone drops by to see you in it, perhaps especially in-laws.
Other times, you look down and it’s like you’ve got on these gray sweats with embarrassingly large holes, past bagging up and taking to Goodwill. You wouldn’t dream about going out, and all you want to do is lock the doors and watch TV.
Most often however, marriages are somewhere in between…like a pair of comfortable blue jeans, or a sweet periwinkle sweater, or a forest green house coat you just love to lounge in, or maybe a standout shirt you picked up at Winners that you wash over and over again, without too much fading, and hardly any shrinkage.
Inevitably however, there will be a little wear, some fraying. Sometimes things wear through at the back, where you can’t see, and you need a friend to point it out to you.
Whatever the case, you’ll need some patches. You’ll want to use good material. Something pre-shrunk and tested that won’t come apart after the wash. (I think Jesus made this point once.)
But when it comes to the mending, stitching is key. Seems to me, stretching the metaphor, love is in the stitches.
A good love-stitch brings us back in contact with each other. And there’s nothing better or more important than a great double-stitch at the stress-points. Because it’s precisely here, in the stress points, where we learn love. Learn to bear things, believe, and hope all things, for the sake of each other, and curiously enough, the sake of ourselves.
And when things are looking good, dance in that dress, sashay in that suit.
And when things are looking good, don’t be tempted to pick at invisible lint. And don’t let anyone else pick at invisible lint. Just recline, relax and enjoy, even accessorize for fun.
And remember to remember, just how you feel in those clothes, how beautiful a cared for marriage can look.
In the end, a good marriage garment is part memory-cloth. So you can always find your way back to the love that brought you together, and then, once again, move toward the love that rejoices in truth, is patient, is kind and enduring.
September 13th, 2007
I have no doubt that Dr. Charles Stanley is sincere in his desire to encourage the U.S. troops fighting in Iraq. But his “Messenger” struck me as, well, a garish idea.
It’s not so much the smack of self-promotion in the guise of “filling a great need” by providing the army with “spiritual nourishment.” It’s the aura of pronouncement, of the square-toed Sunday school teacher who tells you what it’s like, what you need, when you know he has never been where you’ve been.That is, it’s “In Touch’s” envelope of safe and willing ignorance of what really goes on and what happens to the psyche of soldiers in war, specifically this sad and detestable war. (Here I would implore Charles Stanley’s ”In Touch” readers to go out and pick up Chris Hedges’, “War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning.”)
Now, I’ve disagreed sharply with Stanley on a couple of previous posts–over his Biblical justifications for war, which in effect is a Christian sacralizing of war–so maybe I’m over-reacting, or maybe I’m reacting to him, personally. I’ll let you decide. If you’ve a moment (to squander) here’s what’s on his site:
Thousands of U.S. troops are now stationed around the world. Far from their families, friends, and churches, they have a tremendous need for encouragement and truth from the Scriptures. But their missions often carry them far from a chapel and chaplain.
Understanding the need for spiritual instruction that men and women in combat areas have, Dr. Charles Stanley said, “In Touch wants to help military chaplains share the love of Jesus with U.S. soldiers. Today’s technology is providing amazing ways to share the gospel with people around the world.”
The In Touch Ministries Messenger is a nearly indestructible solar-powered audio device designed specifically for the American soldier. It holds more than 70 hours of messages from the ministry of Dr. Charles Stanley, including these powerful series:
-Facing Life’s Obstacles
-Living the Extraordinary Life
-The Ways of God
-How to Release Your Burdens
-Living in the Power of the Holy Spirit
The need is great, and the Messenger will be a vital tool to provide spiritual nourishment to members of the U.S. military. Its lightweight construction, earphone jack, and solar panels for recharging make it the ideal audio player for troops in the field.
In Touch Ministries is committed to delivering 20,000 Messengers to U.S. troops in August 2007. This initiative is powered by Dr. Stanley’s desire to share the Word of God with military men and women everywhere. But its level of success will be a direct result of the support we receive from In Touch partners.
The good news here is that this is something you can feel good about not supporting.
Just one more thing Dr. Stanley. While your helping the strafed and hunkered troops to “Face Life’s Obstacles,” and “Live the Extraordinary Life,” perhaps you take a couple minutes of those seventy hours to explain how their President, with supporters such as yourself, concluded that their lives were necessarily expendable for the illusion of containment of a terrorist element that will only grow as a result of the war and ongoing occupation, and how, again, the war has nothing to do with the control of a diminishing natural resource. And again, how the gospel endorses all this. Or is everything explained in your new book , Landmine’s in the Path of the Believer? (Yes that’s the title.)
September 10th, 2007
Walking in the predawn this morning, the signs of fall of hidden from view, you could have thought you were entering early summer. The slow warm breeze anticipated a clear, sun-soaked day. The air was temperate, beach-buoyant, welcoming. Even the pavement seemed content, distant from any contracting, crack-inducing cold.
This kind of warm-dark covers you like a blanket. It keeps out the ice chips and bayonet wind; it keeps out the tempests and mortal fears.
If I had a baptized or even anointed imagination I’d say it was like walking in Divine wing-shadow. Where, on reflection, we all should walk, at least once a day. Because in this foreshadowing of eternity we are free of the constricting day ahead, and free from any controlling past.
Those who imagine themselves here, who ”image” themselves here, are doing dress rehearsals for eternity–maybe more. Maybe they are actually stitching a piece of eternity into the temporal rising and setting of our day. And in this space we are free and safe.
A safe place is soul refuge. And “safe” is one of the three things we humans need. Safety, belonging and a measure of respect, will see us through, see us grow into brothers and sisters, see us see in the other the best kind of sibling.
God bless free and safe people, who in their presence, make others free and safe.
September 7th, 2007
I see in this park, a subspecies of reality, forms of life, death, and beauty.
I see beautiful people. Faces, bodies, all symmetry. I see friends, walking together, couples playing with children, two people playing bocce-ball, a family chatting and walking and planning.
I see the ungainly. I see people we call handicapped. The ones that remind us by their exteriors that our interiors are rarely symmetrical. It was M. Muggeridge who called them heavenly messengers.
I see a wedding group posing for pictures on concrete stairs bordered by petunias in front of something called a centennial flame.
I see an old man, wearing a once fashionable straw hat leaning into evergreen shrubs taking note of his own anomie. It may be that his entrance into the cold desolation of solitude is a life-line. It may be his precondition to hope.
I see the work of a gardener challenged. I see decrease, no longer imperceptible change, change wholesale–in the leaves of the Elm.
I see us all, knowingly or not, facing immense uncertainty, all standing on the threshold of emptiness, hoping only to propel some part of a well lived moment into the future.
I see beauty in a landing magpie.
I see every rainbow colour in the flared tail feathers and pinions of a landing magpie.
September 5th, 2007
Last night below my window I heard: “Stop! Police!” I heard feet racing on the grit littered back-alley asphalt. And then I heard the dogs barking at someone cornered half a block away. I heard some yelling and then it was over. Only the police car lights raining reflections high on the bedroom wall remained. And the bumpy rhythm of downtown traffic at midnight returned.
I still shrink from sirens, from noises at night. I shrink from “Stop Police!” I’ve never been able to embrace my fears–like it says someplace in a personal development text. I never really knew what embracing would look like, or, I suppose, what it meant.
I understand too well the evolutionary, instinctual, self-preservationist, value of fear. But after that, after the automatic reflex, I’m not sure value and fear should be in the same sentence.
While a night-siren immediately calls up all kinds of fears–where are the kids? will a knock come? will I receive “the call?” is there a break-in, a knife, a gun around the corner? and on and on, it’s what lingers, the fear hang-over, the fears we’ve not quite trained to stay out of range, that can dictate to us our days.
So while I will never embrace my fears, I try not to resist them either. Instead I let them move over me and watch them as they pass, even focus on each fear as it passes. For I have learned that not doing so gives them power. Ignorance of fear only works if it is truly ignorance and not a kind of ignoring.
It seems that identifying fear, giving it a name, is already a response to fear. And perhaps, mysteriously, a benign contemplation of fear leads us toward an opening of love, the final arbiter of fear. Perhaps this was in the mind of the ancient Hebrew poet who wrote ”I sought the LORD, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears.”
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