I've decided that one of the things in life that I absolutely cannot stand... the thing that I hate more than peanut butter, lima beans, sticky fingers, and false love... the thing I hate as much as I love spring rain, the sound of an orchestra tuning, hymnals, the smell of appledirt, and a good friend's hug... the thing that makes my skin crawl and my blood pressure rise (which is hard to do!)... the thing that I would do anything to completely eradicate from the planet, solar system, and entire universe if I could... is religious intolerance.
Why? Why do you hate someone just because they believe something different from you? Why are you so sure that what you believe is right, is right? Are you just that full of yourself? Or has the higher power spoken to you and told you that you are right and everyone else is wrong? And, if the later is the case, how sure are you that you weren't just hallucinating? How can you so absolutely judge something that you know nothing about? Take a walk in their dogma for a few moments, will ya? Maybe you'll understand that what they believe is just plain what they believe! It's got nothing to do with you and your god.
Now, I'm not just talking about the idea that "my religion is right, and everyone who doesn't believe what I believe is going to my idea of hell." I'm talking about "we believe that your religion is a cult," and "we believe that if you don't believe what we believe, then you are not only going to hell, but we are going to make fun of you and torment you and exclude you. Because my idea of heaven forbid that I try to welcome you because we don't want any of your kind sneaking in to our idea of heaven." JERKS!
Want to know how many hymns are shared among the major denominations these days? Hey, do you even want to know how many of "your" (and, for the moment, I'm addressing the mainstream Christians out there) hymns are sung by Mormons, Unitarian Universalists, and "fundamentalists"? Yes, that's right, the Mormons have "A Mighty Fortress" in their hymnal. Can you Lutherans shut the front door about them being a cult, now?
What is a "cult" anyway? Dictionary.com defines it as "a particular system of religious worship, esp. with reference to its rites and ceremonies." Well, then. You are all members of cults! Second definition (same source) is, "A religion or religious sect generally considered to be extremist or false, with its followers often living in an unconventional manner under the guidance of an authoritarian, charismatic leader." Ah, well, that's a little harder to pin on Christianity.
But let me interject a story.
Once upon a time, there was this dude. Let's call him Joe. Joe was a pretty charismatic fellow, who attracted some pretty interesting sorts into his group. Got thieves and prostitutes and women who slept with other women's husbands to hang out with him. Got them to change their ways and become "good, upstanding citizens." Then Joe got together a group of followers to live with him. He traveled around, never staying in one place, ate funky stuff, and required some fairly unconventional acts from his cronies. Joe and his peeps didn't really follow the normal pattern of beliefs and were considered quite extremist and false. Sound like a cult? Sound like we could rename Joe as Jesus and be talking about a rather familiar fellow?
You may think that religious intolerance isn't a big deal today, and especially not here in America. I mean, we're not witnessing people getting burned at the stake or crosses being lit on fire or whole television specials making fun of an entire denomination... oh, wait. There was that special on the Phelps family. What are they doing to you? Well, okay, the protests at soldier's funerals is a bit extreme, I'll give you that. But that's religious intolerance, too. They are intolerant of you, so you scream about how stupid it is to be intolerant. Welcome to "I'm rubber, you're glue."
Another story.
So there was an accident on a deserted state highway. And this guy in his car is in a ditch. He got run off the road by some maniac in a yellow sports car. And the lady with the "love Jesus" bumper sticker drives by, 'cause she's late to Bible Study, you know. And the teacher with the cross around his neck, well, he's gotta be up early in the morning... someone will stop for the car. Besides, the guy's already got help on the way with his cell phone, right?
Hours go by. He's stuck in his car, can't reach the cell phone, and it's getting late, and cold.Then
he feels the door next to him open, and hands feel for his pulse, he tries to talk, but his throat is too dry. He drinks the water offered to him, relaxes as he hears the word, "it's okay, buddy, help's on the way. Mind if I offer a prayer while we wait here?" He nods, the best he can. He'd promise to listen to an hour of bagpipe music, just to not be alone anymore. He hears an odd sort of praying, multiple voices... speaking in... tongues? No, that can't be right. And the voice that belongs to the water-giver, praying "Mother Earth you give us life, sustain us here..."
His rescuer, a group of college-age Wiccans, each praying in their own style, and the one next to him stays with him the whole ride to the hospital, calling his wife for him, making sure he's okay, returning the next day to ensure his comfort...
Friday, November 2, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Band Devo
I'm going to talk about fear today.
What were you afraid of as a child? The dark? Spiders? School?
What about high school? What were you afraid of in high school? Bad hair days? Embarassment? Not getting into college? The dark? Spiders?
What about now, in college? What are you afraid of? School? Spiders, the dark, bad hair days, grades?
I have a theory that all fears can be traced back to the fear of being alone. Embarassment, the dark, failure... variations on a theme, yes?
So what are you afraid of in band? Being out of tune? Coming in late? Coming in early? Getting it right, getting it wrong?
I googled "the opposite of fear" and you know what I found? Not courage or bravery or fearlessness. But hope. And in band speak, that's CONFIDENCE. Because I think "hope" is sort of a wishy-washy word. You can hope to do something, or you can know that you are going to do something. You can hope that you are going to do your best in band today, or you can be confident and do your best.
If our goals are up there (point to goal arrow near the top of the very high ceiling), how confident do we have to be in order to get there?
If Doc got up here and conducted like this (conduct timidly), how would that affect our playing? How does it affect our audience when we play "wimpy wimpy wimpy" (done in hefty commercial voice)?
What difference would it make if Doc conducted like this? (Conduct strongly, confidently) What difference does it make to our audience when we play hefty hefty hefty Confidently?
How do you want to be heard today?
What were you afraid of as a child? The dark? Spiders? School?
What about high school? What were you afraid of in high school? Bad hair days? Embarassment? Not getting into college? The dark? Spiders?
What about now, in college? What are you afraid of? School? Spiders, the dark, bad hair days, grades?
I have a theory that all fears can be traced back to the fear of being alone. Embarassment, the dark, failure... variations on a theme, yes?
So what are you afraid of in band? Being out of tune? Coming in late? Coming in early? Getting it right, getting it wrong?
I googled "the opposite of fear" and you know what I found? Not courage or bravery or fearlessness. But hope. And in band speak, that's CONFIDENCE. Because I think "hope" is sort of a wishy-washy word. You can hope to do something, or you can know that you are going to do something. You can hope that you are going to do your best in band today, or you can be confident and do your best.
If our goals are up there (point to goal arrow near the top of the very high ceiling), how confident do we have to be in order to get there?
If Doc got up here and conducted like this (conduct timidly), how would that affect our playing? How does it affect our audience when we play "wimpy wimpy wimpy" (done in hefty commercial voice)?
What difference would it make if Doc conducted like this? (Conduct strongly, confidently) What difference does it make to our audience when we play hefty hefty hefty Confidently?
How do you want to be heard today?
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Pillow V. Backpack
Disclaimer: MINE! Written around, oh, say... April? May? Ish? Some year in high school.
I’ve been cheating on my pillow with my backpack.
Pillow found out and has been treating me coldly ever since. He’s threatening to leave—I don’t know what I’ll do! I can’t sleep without him, and now I’ve gone and messed the whole thing up.
I remember the first night I spent with Backpack. Oh how smart he was, so strong and so full. I didn’t realize I had spent the whole night until my alarm went off and I hadn’t seen Pillow at all.
It was like that the first few times—I’d be so engrossed in Backpack’s smooth talking that I’d lose all track of time. Then, slowly but surely, every time I was with Backpack, I’d think about Pillow. The late night meetings weren’t as fun, and all I could concentrate on was how Pillow had treated me. Pillow had been so kind, so nurturing, always supporting me and helping me relax after a long day. At first, Backpack was exciting, and could offer me the things Pillow couldn’t—trips to far away place, amazing pieces of trivia, sometimes even food and money!
But eventually he turned abusive. Oh the fool I was! I thought he truly cared! Really he is just a dead weight on my shoulders. He hounds me with his constant hunger, and keeps me from my family and friends. He even tells me what to wear when I’m around him. See, he can’t handle my bare shoulders, And the physical control! If I try to move him the wrong way—well, let’s just say I’ve got enough sore muscles and bruised limbs to last a lifetime.
Oh Pillow, why didn’t I stay with you? I was such a fool, could you ever take me back? I… I’ll find someway to break it off with Backpack. He’s leaving for three months soon anyways, and when he comes back… Don’t worry Pillow; nothing will ever come between us again.
I’ve been cheating on my pillow with my backpack.
Pillow found out and has been treating me coldly ever since. He’s threatening to leave—I don’t know what I’ll do! I can’t sleep without him, and now I’ve gone and messed the whole thing up.
I remember the first night I spent with Backpack. Oh how smart he was, so strong and so full. I didn’t realize I had spent the whole night until my alarm went off and I hadn’t seen Pillow at all.
It was like that the first few times—I’d be so engrossed in Backpack’s smooth talking that I’d lose all track of time. Then, slowly but surely, every time I was with Backpack, I’d think about Pillow. The late night meetings weren’t as fun, and all I could concentrate on was how Pillow had treated me. Pillow had been so kind, so nurturing, always supporting me and helping me relax after a long day. At first, Backpack was exciting, and could offer me the things Pillow couldn’t—trips to far away place, amazing pieces of trivia, sometimes even food and money!
But eventually he turned abusive. Oh the fool I was! I thought he truly cared! Really he is just a dead weight on my shoulders. He hounds me with his constant hunger, and keeps me from my family and friends. He even tells me what to wear when I’m around him. See, he can’t handle my bare shoulders, And the physical control! If I try to move him the wrong way—well, let’s just say I’ve got enough sore muscles and bruised limbs to last a lifetime.
Oh Pillow, why didn’t I stay with you? I was such a fool, could you ever take me back? I… I’ll find someway to break it off with Backpack. He’s leaving for three months soon anyways, and when he comes back… Don’t worry Pillow; nothing will ever come between us again.
Friday, September 28, 2007
The Lass from the Low Countree
Note: This is my own personal story. There is NO factual basis for this to be the backstory of this piece. If you wish to use this story, contact me for permission. That being said, you might want to read up on your smallpox and cowpox facts before beginning. Also, a note: it's not quite all that beautifully polished, but you'll get the idea easily enough.
“Annabel, get your head out of the clouds.” Oh, how often had she heard those words lately? She wasn’t focused, she wasn’t practical. How did it matter to them where her mind went while she peeled potatoes? Alright, maybe she missed a few spots here and there, but a little potato skin wouldn’t harm a person. That sickness she had heard Him speak about… now that would do some harm.
“Father’s never going to send you back to the market, you know. Not after the way you’ve been dreaming your days away since he let you go last week. Jane’s been having to do nearly all of your chores over again.” Her sister, Clare, the eldest of the three, was prone to exaggeration, and was always trying to look after young Jane. Clare had more practical matters to think of, as she was to be married in a year. Her future was set, no more time for daydreams. How could she understand Annabel’s love of the village, where so much happened… where He was? “What happened last week that you are so far away?” But no, Annabel smiled simply and shrugged, moving on to the next task, ignoring Clare’s question, resolving to focus more on her chores.
For she had similarly resolved not to tell her family what events had transpired at the market last week. She was sure that they would worry and fret. Hadn’t He warned the crowd of the sickness spreading across the land? Her parents would simply hold her and her sisters close to home, and then she might never see Him. They wouldn’t believe the most important part. That as their handsome Lord spoke to the crowd, warning them to stay away from the nearby villages that the sickness had already been to, he had looked straight at her and promised to do his noble best to keep their tiny village safe and healthy. He promised to keep her safe. Well, perhaps he didn’t say that, exactly. But oh, he meant it. She could tell. How often did Father say one thing and mean another? It was just the same.
A dusty cloud on the horizon, moving quickly. She continued her sweeping of the porch, using her curiosity to slow down, reasoning that she was simply taking the time to make sure she did her job well. A few moments later, she identified the little bay pony as her uncle’s and the rider as Robin, her cousin. Adorable little Robin had grown up to be quite the adventurous young man, although usually her uncle did not let him go so far from home on his own. It was a shame that they lived too far away to visit more often. Still, they were close to enough to see once in a while… her heart froze. Robin was dismounting and she could see the shadows in his eyes. No, there were shadows in his face, too. She was frozen. She couldn’t move. It didn’t matter. His too-thin body, worn from more than just the long ride, had swept past her, calling out for her mother. She could hear them moving around, her mother gathering up herbs and having Robin repeat back her instructions, word for word.
Before she knew it, Robin and his little bay were racing away again, and her mother was standing on the porch steps, watching him disappear over the horizon. When not even a speck of dust trail was visible, she turned back toward the house, giving Annabel a weak smile and saying, “finish soon, dear one, then come help me with dinner,” before disappearing herself into the house once more. Father would be back from the market with Jane soon, and at dinner they would all surely find out what Robin’s hasty visit was about.
Annabel sat numb as her mother recounted Robin’s visit. Her father then spoke of the market, how everyone was afraid of any strangers. And how, living so far from the village himself, many had regarded him with veiled fear in their eyes. At least Jane had been spared that, for she had been at her singing lesson and then with her friends at the dressmaker’s shop. A simple comment that they had had no visitors at home lately had spared her the fear that Father had been victim of.
“You didn’t mention His Lordship speaking last week, Annabel,” Father was asking her. She should have realized that he would have heard about it this week. She should have mentioned it, for then maybe Robin wouldn’t have come in the house. But no, had was just tired from the ride, he couldn’t have brought the sickness to her home. Everything would be fine. She swallowed her own fear and replied that she had noticed a crowd, but had been trying to finish her shopping and not return home late, so she had not paid much mind. Jane looked at her oddly, for she had always been able to tell when Annabel was being untruthful, had always been able to tell what she was really thinking. A quick glare and Jane turned back toward her food, as Father began speaking of other events of the day, people he had run into and the price of flour, allowing Annabel’s mind to wander.
He would come to save her soon. He said he would. He would come—“…will be making his spring tour of the country this week,” Father was saying, looking at each of his children in turn, as Annabel’s attention snapped back toward reality, “so be sure you mind your manners should His Lordship stop by here.” He was coming. A tour of the countryside was a perfect excuse to come take her away. Oh, to even see him again would bring her such great joy. The rest of the night’s chores were only half-done at best, as Annabel’s mind thought ahead to the coming week, when he might arrive, and all manner of other dreams.
The next day Mother collapsed in the yard. Thankfully Father was at home, working in the barn, and he picked her up and carried her into the house. He sent Jane out to the barn, as if the cows would keep her safe. Although, perhaps it was true. Jane did love the animals so much. Then again, Jane had been sick with the cowpox only a few months ago, and was perhaps not quite recovered yet. Father instructed Annabel and Clare to continue about their chores as usual, and he cooked dinner, and cared for Mother so carefully. Jane slept that night in the barn.
The next day Clare stayed in the house. She tried to get her work done, but Annabel found herself working harder than ever to make sure everything got done. Father had not gotten up yet, and was sicker than Mother had been. When Jane tried to come in and help with the chores, Annabel gave her some quick food and sent her back out to care for the animals. If she was harsh with Jane, it was for her own good. No sense in them all taking ill, now.
The sun rose merrily on the fourth day after Mother’s collapse. As the fields filled with the golden rays, and Mother was able to get up and help a bit with the chores, Annabel began to feel a bit of hope. Until she noticed the rash on herself. She kept quiet about it. It was probably just because of the new fabric her dress was made of. Mother would never notice, since her eyesight seemed to be failing a bit since she had taken ill. And she was only so tired because she had been working so hard for the past few days. A little extra sleep and she would be fine. But why was it so cold?
Annabel took a few extra moments while sweeping again, this time to try to absorb some of the sun’s warmth into her body. She had been chilled all night, and the day’s light wasn’t helping her to feel any warmer. The realization that Father was not going to get better only added to the cold seeping into every part of her body.
Another dust cloud bloomed on the horizon. Robin again, she mused, and returned to sweeping. When she next looked up, however, she realized that the horse and rider couldn’t possibly be Robin. It was, instead, a full-grown man, on a magnificent white stallion. Only a person of high birth could have such a glorious horse. Oh, joy of joys! Him! Could it really be him? And, of course, it was.
Horse and rider slowed and stopped just inside of speaking range of the horse. He stared at her in calloused indifference as she curtsied, smiled, and spoke to him. “Oh, good sir, how good of you to stop by our quiet home. My Father is not able to come speak with you right now—" but he was turning away, quickly. Annabel called after him, “No, wait! I can come with you, I’m not sick, only Father—" but it was too late, he was gone. How could he leave her so harshly, so quickly?
As she turned back toward the house, her legs gave out from under her. Jane was there, quickly, quietly, giving her a warm drink, and singing a quiet lullaby. She struggled against her younger sister’s arms, but Jane had always been able to tell what was she was really thinking, and no amount of protest would convince her that Annabel was just tired. As Jane helped her into the house, still singing, Annabel wondered if the flowers were sleepy today, too, or if the wind was singing with Jane, or Jane with the wind.
Father and Annabel were buried next to each other in the meadow behind the house. Annabel used to love to sit out where the flowers grew free and talk to them. Maybe they could hear her, for they always seemed to be answering, nodding in agreement, or shaking with laughter. Clare recovered except for some scarring, and when her fiancée was taken by the sickness just before the wedding, she moved in with his family, to care for his aging parents. Mother’s eyesight never did return fully, and I stayed with her, caring for her, and singing to her as often as she asked. His Lordship never did get the sickness, and he ruled fairly, but without sympathies, to the full extent of his days. Annabel never told me specifically how she felt about him, but then again, I always was able to tell what she was really thinking no matter what face she put on to the world.
Oh, he was a lord of high degree,
And she was a lass from the Low Countree,
But she loved his lordship so tenderly!
Oh, sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.
One morn, when the sun was on the mead,
He passed by her door on a milk-white steed;
She smiled and she spoke, but he paid no heed.
Oh, sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.
If you be a lass from the Low Countree,
Don't love of no lord of high degree;
They hain't got a heart for sympathy.
Oh sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.
(Song by John Jacob Niles)
“Annabel, get your head out of the clouds.” Oh, how often had she heard those words lately? She wasn’t focused, she wasn’t practical. How did it matter to them where her mind went while she peeled potatoes? Alright, maybe she missed a few spots here and there, but a little potato skin wouldn’t harm a person. That sickness she had heard Him speak about… now that would do some harm.
“Father’s never going to send you back to the market, you know. Not after the way you’ve been dreaming your days away since he let you go last week. Jane’s been having to do nearly all of your chores over again.” Her sister, Clare, the eldest of the three, was prone to exaggeration, and was always trying to look after young Jane. Clare had more practical matters to think of, as she was to be married in a year. Her future was set, no more time for daydreams. How could she understand Annabel’s love of the village, where so much happened… where He was? “What happened last week that you are so far away?” But no, Annabel smiled simply and shrugged, moving on to the next task, ignoring Clare’s question, resolving to focus more on her chores.
For she had similarly resolved not to tell her family what events had transpired at the market last week. She was sure that they would worry and fret. Hadn’t He warned the crowd of the sickness spreading across the land? Her parents would simply hold her and her sisters close to home, and then she might never see Him. They wouldn’t believe the most important part. That as their handsome Lord spoke to the crowd, warning them to stay away from the nearby villages that the sickness had already been to, he had looked straight at her and promised to do his noble best to keep their tiny village safe and healthy. He promised to keep her safe. Well, perhaps he didn’t say that, exactly. But oh, he meant it. She could tell. How often did Father say one thing and mean another? It was just the same.
A dusty cloud on the horizon, moving quickly. She continued her sweeping of the porch, using her curiosity to slow down, reasoning that she was simply taking the time to make sure she did her job well. A few moments later, she identified the little bay pony as her uncle’s and the rider as Robin, her cousin. Adorable little Robin had grown up to be quite the adventurous young man, although usually her uncle did not let him go so far from home on his own. It was a shame that they lived too far away to visit more often. Still, they were close to enough to see once in a while… her heart froze. Robin was dismounting and she could see the shadows in his eyes. No, there were shadows in his face, too. She was frozen. She couldn’t move. It didn’t matter. His too-thin body, worn from more than just the long ride, had swept past her, calling out for her mother. She could hear them moving around, her mother gathering up herbs and having Robin repeat back her instructions, word for word.
Before she knew it, Robin and his little bay were racing away again, and her mother was standing on the porch steps, watching him disappear over the horizon. When not even a speck of dust trail was visible, she turned back toward the house, giving Annabel a weak smile and saying, “finish soon, dear one, then come help me with dinner,” before disappearing herself into the house once more. Father would be back from the market with Jane soon, and at dinner they would all surely find out what Robin’s hasty visit was about.
Annabel sat numb as her mother recounted Robin’s visit. Her father then spoke of the market, how everyone was afraid of any strangers. And how, living so far from the village himself, many had regarded him with veiled fear in their eyes. At least Jane had been spared that, for she had been at her singing lesson and then with her friends at the dressmaker’s shop. A simple comment that they had had no visitors at home lately had spared her the fear that Father had been victim of.
“You didn’t mention His Lordship speaking last week, Annabel,” Father was asking her. She should have realized that he would have heard about it this week. She should have mentioned it, for then maybe Robin wouldn’t have come in the house. But no, had was just tired from the ride, he couldn’t have brought the sickness to her home. Everything would be fine. She swallowed her own fear and replied that she had noticed a crowd, but had been trying to finish her shopping and not return home late, so she had not paid much mind. Jane looked at her oddly, for she had always been able to tell when Annabel was being untruthful, had always been able to tell what she was really thinking. A quick glare and Jane turned back toward her food, as Father began speaking of other events of the day, people he had run into and the price of flour, allowing Annabel’s mind to wander.
He would come to save her soon. He said he would. He would come—“…will be making his spring tour of the country this week,” Father was saying, looking at each of his children in turn, as Annabel’s attention snapped back toward reality, “so be sure you mind your manners should His Lordship stop by here.” He was coming. A tour of the countryside was a perfect excuse to come take her away. Oh, to even see him again would bring her such great joy. The rest of the night’s chores were only half-done at best, as Annabel’s mind thought ahead to the coming week, when he might arrive, and all manner of other dreams.
The next day Mother collapsed in the yard. Thankfully Father was at home, working in the barn, and he picked her up and carried her into the house. He sent Jane out to the barn, as if the cows would keep her safe. Although, perhaps it was true. Jane did love the animals so much. Then again, Jane had been sick with the cowpox only a few months ago, and was perhaps not quite recovered yet. Father instructed Annabel and Clare to continue about their chores as usual, and he cooked dinner, and cared for Mother so carefully. Jane slept that night in the barn.
The next day Clare stayed in the house. She tried to get her work done, but Annabel found herself working harder than ever to make sure everything got done. Father had not gotten up yet, and was sicker than Mother had been. When Jane tried to come in and help with the chores, Annabel gave her some quick food and sent her back out to care for the animals. If she was harsh with Jane, it was for her own good. No sense in them all taking ill, now.
The sun rose merrily on the fourth day after Mother’s collapse. As the fields filled with the golden rays, and Mother was able to get up and help a bit with the chores, Annabel began to feel a bit of hope. Until she noticed the rash on herself. She kept quiet about it. It was probably just because of the new fabric her dress was made of. Mother would never notice, since her eyesight seemed to be failing a bit since she had taken ill. And she was only so tired because she had been working so hard for the past few days. A little extra sleep and she would be fine. But why was it so cold?
Annabel took a few extra moments while sweeping again, this time to try to absorb some of the sun’s warmth into her body. She had been chilled all night, and the day’s light wasn’t helping her to feel any warmer. The realization that Father was not going to get better only added to the cold seeping into every part of her body.
Another dust cloud bloomed on the horizon. Robin again, she mused, and returned to sweeping. When she next looked up, however, she realized that the horse and rider couldn’t possibly be Robin. It was, instead, a full-grown man, on a magnificent white stallion. Only a person of high birth could have such a glorious horse. Oh, joy of joys! Him! Could it really be him? And, of course, it was.
Horse and rider slowed and stopped just inside of speaking range of the horse. He stared at her in calloused indifference as she curtsied, smiled, and spoke to him. “Oh, good sir, how good of you to stop by our quiet home. My Father is not able to come speak with you right now—" but he was turning away, quickly. Annabel called after him, “No, wait! I can come with you, I’m not sick, only Father—" but it was too late, he was gone. How could he leave her so harshly, so quickly?
As she turned back toward the house, her legs gave out from under her. Jane was there, quickly, quietly, giving her a warm drink, and singing a quiet lullaby. She struggled against her younger sister’s arms, but Jane had always been able to tell what was she was really thinking, and no amount of protest would convince her that Annabel was just tired. As Jane helped her into the house, still singing, Annabel wondered if the flowers were sleepy today, too, or if the wind was singing with Jane, or Jane with the wind.
Father and Annabel were buried next to each other in the meadow behind the house. Annabel used to love to sit out where the flowers grew free and talk to them. Maybe they could hear her, for they always seemed to be answering, nodding in agreement, or shaking with laughter. Clare recovered except for some scarring, and when her fiancée was taken by the sickness just before the wedding, she moved in with his family, to care for his aging parents. Mother’s eyesight never did return fully, and I stayed with her, caring for her, and singing to her as often as she asked. His Lordship never did get the sickness, and he ruled fairly, but without sympathies, to the full extent of his days. Annabel never told me specifically how she felt about him, but then again, I always was able to tell what she was really thinking no matter what face she put on to the world.
Oh, he was a lord of high degree,
And she was a lass from the Low Countree,
But she loved his lordship so tenderly!
Oh, sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.
One morn, when the sun was on the mead,
He passed by her door on a milk-white steed;
She smiled and she spoke, but he paid no heed.
Oh, sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.
If you be a lass from the Low Countree,
Don't love of no lord of high degree;
They hain't got a heart for sympathy.
Oh sorrow, sing sorrow!
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod,
And no one knows she loved him but herself and God.
(Song by John Jacob Niles)
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
endings
Endings are hard to write. Especially when your narrator dies. It makes writing the ending a bit difficult. But I think I have figured it out.
See, I have this piece that I'm working on in my voice lessons that's a folk song. However, I haven't been able to find out if there is any specific backstory on it, so I wrote my own.
Unfortunately, the line "now she sleeps in the valley where the wildflowers nod," means that I can't just have it end all happy-peppy. Hmmm..........
I'll probably post the story up here when it's all finished and polished. For now, go Google the lyrics to "The Lass from the Low Countree" by John Jacob Niles.
See, I have this piece that I'm working on in my voice lessons that's a folk song. However, I haven't been able to find out if there is any specific backstory on it, so I wrote my own.
Unfortunately, the line "now she sleeps in the valley where the wildflowers nod," means that I can't just have it end all happy-peppy. Hmmm..........
I'll probably post the story up here when it's all finished and polished. For now, go Google the lyrics to "The Lass from the Low Countree" by John Jacob Niles.
Monday, September 17, 2007
How I feel on... ...the war in Iraq (part I)
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone,
Young girls picked them, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the young girls gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the young girls gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the young girls gone,
Gone to young men, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the young men gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the young men gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the young men gone,
Gone to soldiers, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Gone to graveyards, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the graveyards gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the graveyards gone,
Gone to flowers, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.
Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.
Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.
Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.
When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.
I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.
But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.
In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.
So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind
When you find that 1960s protest music has started being applicable again... what does that say?
Long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone,
Young girls picked them, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the young girls gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the young girls gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the young girls gone,
Gone to young men, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the young men gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the young men gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the young men gone,
Gone to soldiers, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the soldiers gone,
Gone to graveyards, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the graveyards gone,
Long time ago?
Where have all the graveyards gone,
Gone to flowers, every one.
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.
Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.
Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.
Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.
When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.
I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.
But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.
In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.
So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind
When you find that 1960s protest music has started being applicable again... what does that say?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
what you wear
I never used to think about what I wore. I wore clothes that were comfortable, looked good on me, and that was it. But now, thanks to the metro, I think about it a bit more. Example: I was wearing an old Youth Encounter event t-shirt. One that said something like, "In Christ there is a new creation," and had a picture of a stick dude jumping through a cross made of water. Now, wearing it around campus means next to nothing: I'm part religion major, on the music and worship committee, and so it makes sense. But wearing it on the metro the other day, I was highly aware of the message I was sending about myself. I mean, whenever I see someone on the metro or at 6 Flags or such, wearing anything churchy or Jesus-related, I automatically assume they are trying to be outspoken about their faith. But maybe they're just like me and just wearing whatever's clean and comfy. Either way, if I make those assumptions about people, I should also assume that other people will make those assumptions about me. There have been a couple of different shirts that i've seen, at walmart or whatever, that I've thought were cute and wanted to buy, but realized that that isn't the message I want to send to the world.
By noticing what I notice about people, I realize what I should pay attention to in myself more.
By noticing what I notice about people, I realize what I should pay attention to in myself more.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
How I feel on... ... homosexuality
In response to what I think was a postponement on the decision of the blessing of same-sex marriages by the ELCA Churchwide Assembly, a postponement that, I think, includes not allowing said blessings until the 2009 Assembly makes its decisions, I'm going to post my feelings on the matter. (If anyone has more acurate information/deciphering of what the assembly voted on, please, let me know. I read through the report of the memorials committee, but can't make heads or tails of it, since it includes "no" memorials and DC Metro's "yes, and make a liturgy, too, please" memorial.)
So we begin.
How I feel on...
...homosexuals, in general.
I feel the same as I do about people who eat peanut butter. I, personally, don't like peanut butter. But, I'm not going to condemn everyone who does. Whether I was born not liking peanut butter or it was a result of environmental conditioning is irrevalent. I just don't like it and that's the way it is.
Some people do like peanut butter. Whether they were born liking it, or that's a result of environmental conditioning is irrevalent. They like peanut butter and that's the way it is.
...marriage.
"I used to believe that marriage would diminish me, reduce my options. That you had to be someone less to live with someone else when, of course, you have to be someone more." (Candice Bergen)
"A good marriage is one which allows for change and growth in the individuals and in the way they express their love." (Pearl Buck)
"That is what marriage really means: helping one another to reach the full status of being persons, responsible and autonomous beings who do not run away from life." (Paul Tournier)
Marriage, to me, is the public annoucement, religious celebration, and private covenant declaring that this relationship is True, Deep, and Love. A homosexual couple can still raise children (little Max at LP is adorable, and has two awesome dads), and while I know that I pay too much attention to making sure I don't do anything differently I certainly don't mean to, or want to. (I did it with the women at LP too... encountering something new, and focusing too much on not reacting made me feel constantly like I was reacting.)
... ordination of folks in committed, same-gender relationships.
I was baptized into the priesthood of all believers. I know and understand that in order for the church to accept the ordination of practicing homosexuals, it first needs to let them get married. (Otherwise you come up against all the people who "are for it, except that they are practicing sex outside of marriage.") And while I sometimes entertain the thought of it, I am certainly not one to say, "well then just don't be a practicing homosexual." Because denying who you are is denying who God created you to be. Because denying who you are is denying the gifts God has given you. Because denying who you are is opening the door (or perhaps a sign of the open door) to self-hatred... and that is so not cool.
Some quotes about love... (of any kind)
"Love is... Let's see, how can I define love? I can't. Love is. Love is, youngling, love is."
"To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven." (Karen Sunde)
"Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be." (Anton Chekhov)
"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." (David Viscott)
"Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence." (H. L. Mencken)
"Gravity. It keeps you rooted to the ground. In space, there's not any gravity. You just kind of leave your feet and go floating around. Is that what being in love is like?" (Josh Brand and John Falsey)
"Think about a woman. Doesn't know you're thinking about her. Doesn't care you're thinking about her. Makes you think about her even more." (Martin Sage and Sybil Adelman)
"You can't love anyone until you understand that you can't love everyone." (Real Live Preacher)
So we begin.
How I feel on...
...homosexuals, in general.
I feel the same as I do about people who eat peanut butter. I, personally, don't like peanut butter. But, I'm not going to condemn everyone who does. Whether I was born not liking peanut butter or it was a result of environmental conditioning is irrevalent. I just don't like it and that's the way it is.
Some people do like peanut butter. Whether they were born liking it, or that's a result of environmental conditioning is irrevalent. They like peanut butter and that's the way it is.
...marriage.
"I used to believe that marriage would diminish me, reduce my options. That you had to be someone less to live with someone else when, of course, you have to be someone more." (Candice Bergen)
"A good marriage is one which allows for change and growth in the individuals and in the way they express their love." (Pearl Buck)
"That is what marriage really means: helping one another to reach the full status of being persons, responsible and autonomous beings who do not run away from life." (Paul Tournier)
Marriage, to me, is the public annoucement, religious celebration, and private covenant declaring that this relationship is True, Deep, and Love. A homosexual couple can still raise children (little Max at LP is adorable, and has two awesome dads), and while I know that I pay too much attention to making sure I don't do anything differently I certainly don't mean to, or want to. (I did it with the women at LP too... encountering something new, and focusing too much on not reacting made me feel constantly like I was reacting.)
... ordination of folks in committed, same-gender relationships.
I was baptized into the priesthood of all believers. I know and understand that in order for the church to accept the ordination of practicing homosexuals, it first needs to let them get married. (Otherwise you come up against all the people who "are for it, except that they are practicing sex outside of marriage.") And while I sometimes entertain the thought of it, I am certainly not one to say, "well then just don't be a practicing homosexual." Because denying who you are is denying who God created you to be. Because denying who you are is denying the gifts God has given you. Because denying who you are is opening the door (or perhaps a sign of the open door) to self-hatred... and that is so not cool.
Some quotes about love... (of any kind)
"Love is... Let's see, how can I define love? I can't. Love is. Love is, youngling, love is."
"To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven." (Karen Sunde)
"Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be." (Anton Chekhov)
"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." (David Viscott)
"Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence." (H. L. Mencken)
"Gravity. It keeps you rooted to the ground. In space, there's not any gravity. You just kind of leave your feet and go floating around. Is that what being in love is like?" (Josh Brand and John Falsey)
"Think about a woman. Doesn't know you're thinking about her. Doesn't care you're thinking about her. Makes you think about her even more." (Martin Sage and Sybil Adelman)
"You can't love anyone until you understand that you can't love everyone." (Real Live Preacher)
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Sermon
In June, I attended the funeral of my high school’s campus minister. When the time came in the service for the Lord’s Prayer, a young woman in her late teens approached the podium. With no music, and no accompaniment, she began to sing. Our printed bulletins being no help, as all they said was “Lord’s Prayer” and the girl’s name, we the congregation abandoned our attachments to prescribed order, and slowly, but steadily gaining and growing in conviction, joined in. It was the “good old version” that somehow nearly everyone knew. And by the time we reached “for thine is the kingdom,” the whole assembly was praying with fullest strength of heart. It was powerful. It was prayer.
There’s a religion professor who said in class once, “God, thank you for this rain, for it helps us appreciate the sunshine.” That’s prayer. A child prays with his parents before bed each night, a teenager murmurs a quick, “God, help me,” before an exam, a Bible study group closes by reading a psalm together, a homeless person cries a wordless appeal toward heaven. It’s all prayer. At my college I’m a member of the Chapel Choir, where we close each rehearsal by singing the first verse of “Go, My Children,” and I play in the Band, where we close each concert by playing “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” and singing (yes, our band sings) “The Lord Bless You and Keep You." That’s prayer. An artist picks up brush and paint and pours out his soul onto canvas. That can be prayer.
For, what is prayer but communication with God? And wow, it seems there are a lot of ways to communicate with God. Words, music, colors, body language, laughter, tears, joy, anger. So many ways to pray. And with so many ways to pray… is there a right way to prayer? As a church music major, I wonder… is it better to chant a psalm , or to sing a hymn by Martin Luther? Is worship accompanied by an organ better prayer than three friends mumbling a quick blessing before a meal? Is a prayer full of praise and thanksgiving better than a prayer full of sorrow and accusation? Perhaps to answer those sorts of questions, we must first ask, why do we pray?
We pray in church as worship. We do “PTA” prayers: Praising, Thanking, Asking. We pray for good weather on vacation and for rain for farmers. We pray for guidance for our leaders and we pray for the health of our children. But why? Who does prayer benefit?
Is prayer for us? Like in the Gospel, we tell God what we want, and then we’ll get it, right? Luke tells us that if we ask God for an egg, God’s not going to hand us a scorpion. But then again, I can easily picture God as the mom who would very likely hand me a plate of broccoli if I asked for a cookie. God watches out for our health—in all areas of our lives—not just what we think we want and what we say is best for us.
So who is prayer for? Is it for God? Do we have to keep God up-to-date so that God doesn’t loose touch with what’s happening in the world? But… God’s with us, so doesn’t God know already? Oh! Maybe it’s like the dad who gets the call from the principal: “Your child was fighting in school today…” but when the school day is over, he still asks, “so, how was your day… anything you want to tell me about?” Or what about the accident you see on 495 and go home and look up on the news to see what happened—even though you were there. God knows what happens… but still wants to hear it from us simply to hear it from us. The human element. How we saw what happened. So who is prayer for?
Jesus and his disciples were hanging out and Jesus goes off to a “certain place” to pray. I can imagine the disciple watching him from a distance, asking each other, “how does he do that?” Or perhaps, “what’s he praying that takes so much time? Why does he do it so often? How can we be like him in how we pray?” So Jesus comes back over and they ask him: “Lord, teach us to pray.” And Jesus says, “Oh, something like this…” But then he doesn’t stop after what we now call the Lord’s Prayer. He keeps going. He tells a parable that ends with further prayer instruction. Ask. Seek. Knock. Be persistent.
I imagine that the disciples were probably just as baffled by prayer as we are today. To dare to talk to the divine. Even Abraham was cautious in speaking to the Lord. How can we, mere mortals that we are, approach the Holy? For that matter, how can the Holy understand us? Maybe that’s why the disciples approached Jesus about prayer. As Paul says in our second reading today, “For in him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily.” Jesus bridges that gap between Holy and human. In Christ there is communication between crowned and crippled, understanding between creator and created, and relationship between eternal and mortal. Lord, teach us to pray.
There are so many ways to pray: in a congregation, by yourself, with a congregation, leading a congregation, singing, speaking, writing, drawing, prayers that are already written, prayers you pray as your heart thinks up the words, already written prayers that you make into a new experience as you go along—like my experience at the funeral in June.
Lord, teach us to pray. What is the right way to pray, we want to get it right. Well, unfortunately for humanity’s desire for a simple, straight answer from God, we’re not going to get one this time, either. As so very often happens in matters of God and theology: there is no black and white.
So let’s get back to: who is prayer for? Prayer, defined by Luis de Grenada as “any raising of the heart to God,” is for relationship with God. To pray—to communicate with the divine—is to open yourself up to the possibility of a deep, profound relationship with God. A relationship so strong that nothing—not even death—could ever break it. And so the question becomes how to build that relationship. How do we pray in a way that cultivates our relationship with God and makes prayer two-way deal? We are human, we are aware, painfully even sometimes, of that gap that Jesus bridges. We need relationship with God because we need God. Prayer is for both sides. Prayer is that relationship with God. So how do we do it?
Lord, teach us to pray.
How about the key to making any relationship “successful”? Honesty. They told us at freshman orientation at college it was the way to get along with a new roommate. It’s what they told me at the beginning of the summer was how to have a good internship experience right here. Be open, be honest. If there were a straightforward answer to “what’s the right way to pray?” I think that “be honest” would be it. If we are honest with God (and that involves being honest with ourselves!), our relationship with God will grow and deepen and bear fruit. Whether that honesty is a psalm, a hymn, a shout of joy, an argument of frustration, or a silent sigh of despair.
So we are back to, “Lord, teach us to pray.” Lord, helps us to be in a relationship with you. Help us to find the means—be it words, music, crayon, paint—help us find the means to be honest with you. Encourage us to tell you when we’re joyful, when we’re doubtful, when we’re angry. Be patient with us as you were patient with Abraham. Be gentle as with a frightened child. Lord, teach us to pray. Guide us ever into fuller relationship with you. Give us the courage it takes to be honest. As the disciples asked Jesus so long ago: Lord, teach us to pray. Amen.
There’s a religion professor who said in class once, “God, thank you for this rain, for it helps us appreciate the sunshine.” That’s prayer. A child prays with his parents before bed each night, a teenager murmurs a quick, “God, help me,” before an exam, a Bible study group closes by reading a psalm together, a homeless person cries a wordless appeal toward heaven. It’s all prayer. At my college I’m a member of the Chapel Choir, where we close each rehearsal by singing the first verse of “Go, My Children,” and I play in the Band, where we close each concert by playing “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” and singing (yes, our band sings) “The Lord Bless You and Keep You." That’s prayer. An artist picks up brush and paint and pours out his soul onto canvas. That can be prayer.
For, what is prayer but communication with God? And wow, it seems there are a lot of ways to communicate with God. Words, music, colors, body language, laughter, tears, joy, anger. So many ways to pray. And with so many ways to pray… is there a right way to prayer? As a church music major, I wonder… is it better to chant a psalm , or to sing a hymn by Martin Luther? Is worship accompanied by an organ better prayer than three friends mumbling a quick blessing before a meal? Is a prayer full of praise and thanksgiving better than a prayer full of sorrow and accusation? Perhaps to answer those sorts of questions, we must first ask, why do we pray?
We pray in church as worship. We do “PTA” prayers: Praising, Thanking, Asking. We pray for good weather on vacation and for rain for farmers. We pray for guidance for our leaders and we pray for the health of our children. But why? Who does prayer benefit?
Is prayer for us? Like in the Gospel, we tell God what we want, and then we’ll get it, right? Luke tells us that if we ask God for an egg, God’s not going to hand us a scorpion. But then again, I can easily picture God as the mom who would very likely hand me a plate of broccoli if I asked for a cookie. God watches out for our health—in all areas of our lives—not just what we think we want and what we say is best for us.
So who is prayer for? Is it for God? Do we have to keep God up-to-date so that God doesn’t loose touch with what’s happening in the world? But… God’s with us, so doesn’t God know already? Oh! Maybe it’s like the dad who gets the call from the principal: “Your child was fighting in school today…” but when the school day is over, he still asks, “so, how was your day… anything you want to tell me about?” Or what about the accident you see on 495 and go home and look up on the news to see what happened—even though you were there. God knows what happens… but still wants to hear it from us simply to hear it from us. The human element. How we saw what happened. So who is prayer for?
Jesus and his disciples were hanging out and Jesus goes off to a “certain place” to pray. I can imagine the disciple watching him from a distance, asking each other, “how does he do that?” Or perhaps, “what’s he praying that takes so much time? Why does he do it so often? How can we be like him in how we pray?” So Jesus comes back over and they ask him: “Lord, teach us to pray.” And Jesus says, “Oh, something like this…” But then he doesn’t stop after what we now call the Lord’s Prayer. He keeps going. He tells a parable that ends with further prayer instruction. Ask. Seek. Knock. Be persistent.
I imagine that the disciples were probably just as baffled by prayer as we are today. To dare to talk to the divine. Even Abraham was cautious in speaking to the Lord. How can we, mere mortals that we are, approach the Holy? For that matter, how can the Holy understand us? Maybe that’s why the disciples approached Jesus about prayer. As Paul says in our second reading today, “For in him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily.” Jesus bridges that gap between Holy and human. In Christ there is communication between crowned and crippled, understanding between creator and created, and relationship between eternal and mortal. Lord, teach us to pray.
There are so many ways to pray: in a congregation, by yourself, with a congregation, leading a congregation, singing, speaking, writing, drawing, prayers that are already written, prayers you pray as your heart thinks up the words, already written prayers that you make into a new experience as you go along—like my experience at the funeral in June.
Lord, teach us to pray. What is the right way to pray, we want to get it right. Well, unfortunately for humanity’s desire for a simple, straight answer from God, we’re not going to get one this time, either. As so very often happens in matters of God and theology: there is no black and white.
So let’s get back to: who is prayer for? Prayer, defined by Luis de Grenada as “any raising of the heart to God,” is for relationship with God. To pray—to communicate with the divine—is to open yourself up to the possibility of a deep, profound relationship with God. A relationship so strong that nothing—not even death—could ever break it. And so the question becomes how to build that relationship. How do we pray in a way that cultivates our relationship with God and makes prayer two-way deal? We are human, we are aware, painfully even sometimes, of that gap that Jesus bridges. We need relationship with God because we need God. Prayer is for both sides. Prayer is that relationship with God. So how do we do it?
Lord, teach us to pray.
How about the key to making any relationship “successful”? Honesty. They told us at freshman orientation at college it was the way to get along with a new roommate. It’s what they told me at the beginning of the summer was how to have a good internship experience right here. Be open, be honest. If there were a straightforward answer to “what’s the right way to pray?” I think that “be honest” would be it. If we are honest with God (and that involves being honest with ourselves!), our relationship with God will grow and deepen and bear fruit. Whether that honesty is a psalm, a hymn, a shout of joy, an argument of frustration, or a silent sigh of despair.
So we are back to, “Lord, teach us to pray.” Lord, helps us to be in a relationship with you. Help us to find the means—be it words, music, crayon, paint—help us find the means to be honest with you. Encourage us to tell you when we’re joyful, when we’re doubtful, when we’re angry. Be patient with us as you were patient with Abraham. Be gentle as with a frightened child. Lord, teach us to pray. Guide us ever into fuller relationship with you. Give us the courage it takes to be honest. As the disciples asked Jesus so long ago: Lord, teach us to pray. Amen.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
amen
I want a cat. I know that I haven't been too good at keeping my violet happy, but it doesn't let me know when it is sad. A cat, I firmly believe, will not just sit on the windowsill and sulk until I notice it. Hungry, a cat might check its food bowl to see if there is food. Siniy just sat there, moping. (She seems to be recovering... there is hope!)I want a cat.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Polyanna
Well. Traveling today has been yuck.
For one, and most annoying, is that while I have free wireless internet in this lovely hotel room that I have to stay in because I'm stuck in Cedar Rapids and the airline wouldn't even pay for it, my computer is a piece of shine and won't let me stay connected for more than two seconds at a time. Grr. I need a new wireless adapter. Grr.
But I'm managing to see the light in some moments.
Example: the new airline I heard of today. Aliegant Air. (Giggle) Try it. Say it out loud. Confuse those around you. Aliegant Air. Or, as it sounds when said aloud, especially over the PA system in the airport: Leigonair. Like the mold spores. Hee.
And the internet SSID for this place is called Innflux.
Or how 'bout the fact that I'm paying over a hundred dollars for this shiny room... which has two queen size beds. And there is totally only one of me. Argh.
Or something I am actually smiling about: they almost sent me to Atlanta to get to Baltimore. Instead I'm going through Cinncincati. Random.
But it's late, and it will probably take me awhile to get this actually posted. All I want is to have this trip finished!
But hey: at least I'm not at the Krawl Inn!
For one, and most annoying, is that while I have free wireless internet in this lovely hotel room that I have to stay in because I'm stuck in Cedar Rapids and the airline wouldn't even pay for it, my computer is a piece of shine and won't let me stay connected for more than two seconds at a time. Grr. I need a new wireless adapter. Grr.
But I'm managing to see the light in some moments.
Example: the new airline I heard of today. Aliegant Air. (Giggle) Try it. Say it out loud. Confuse those around you. Aliegant Air. Or, as it sounds when said aloud, especially over the PA system in the airport: Leigonair. Like the mold spores. Hee.
And the internet SSID for this place is called Innflux.
Or how 'bout the fact that I'm paying over a hundred dollars for this shiny room... which has two queen size beds. And there is totally only one of me. Argh.
Or something I am actually smiling about: they almost sent me to Atlanta to get to Baltimore. Instead I'm going through Cinncincati. Random.
But it's late, and it will probably take me awhile to get this actually posted. All I want is to have this trip finished!
But hey: at least I'm not at the Krawl Inn!
Sunday, July 1, 2007
four miles walked
It turns out that the DC metro runs two hours later during the weekends than it does during the weekdays. Which is fine, unless you're trying to get to church early and don't know about this schedule delay. And you walk to your metro stop, see that it's closed, and think "Oh, I'll just keep going on Connecticut Ave, and either hit an open metro, or the church." Which is entirely true, and would have happened. If I had actually turned on Connecticut instead of staying on my faithful L street.
Oops.
So I got lost in a part of downtown DC that a young female probably shouldn't go getting lost in, even at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. And then I called my dad and got directions to Dupont Circle, which was nearby, has its own metro stop, and has Connecticut Ave on it. At the Dupont Circle metro stop I find out that the first train doesn't run until 7:30. It was 7:03 at the time, so I decided to keep walking. I ended up waiting fifteen minutes for the train at the next metro stop I got to, because by that point I could barely keep standing, and I needed to get to church in time for services.
I left "home" at 6:20, and made it to church at about 8. It's normally a forty minute trip. Four miles I walked, not including the return trip, which adds on about a mile. Four miles. In heels. Very uncomfortable heels.
So I now have several beautiful new blisters and I'm going to sleep very solidly.
Oops.
So I got lost in a part of downtown DC that a young female probably shouldn't go getting lost in, even at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. And then I called my dad and got directions to Dupont Circle, which was nearby, has its own metro stop, and has Connecticut Ave on it. At the Dupont Circle metro stop I find out that the first train doesn't run until 7:30. It was 7:03 at the time, so I decided to keep walking. I ended up waiting fifteen minutes for the train at the next metro stop I got to, because by that point I could barely keep standing, and I needed to get to church in time for services.
I left "home" at 6:20, and made it to church at about 8. It's normally a forty minute trip. Four miles I walked, not including the return trip, which adds on about a mile. Four miles. In heels. Very uncomfortable heels.
So I now have several beautiful new blisters and I'm going to sleep very solidly.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Reflections on my first week
I really love my job. I really really do. It's awesome.
Now, I've only been working at it for two days, and we haven't been all that busy yet. And I do know that things are only going to get busier. For example, Sunday. Sunday's going to be like those crazy days back in high school. We have a baptism at each service, acolyte training, baseball game, and a book club thing. I think. It'll be busy, whatever it is that we're doing. And then Monday's got some stuff, Tuesday's not to bad. Wednesday we've got some meetings, and then synod assembly starts on Thursday, goes to Saturday and then I preach on Sunday. Afterwhich there's talent show, and in the evening it's the Sunday school teacher's appreciation dinner at the house and we get to cook for it. Then it's the week before the youth trip and the next week, I think, is VBS. But I'm thinking I need to get a planner or something before that happens... it may sound like I know what's happening next, but I'm sure that there's a lot more happening that I'm not remembering.
I'm home right now. Took the train, spent the night. I've got some errands to run today. Hopefully I'll get them all done in time to pick dad up from work and go to post with him.
See, the thing is, (and yeah, I'm only two days into the summer, so it's early to be thinking for results right away), I really enjoy my job, and I really feel comfortable at St. Paul's and all this... but I know that there's a difference between a specific job at a specific place that one finds enjoyable and that one finds fulfillment at... and the career that one is called to do. But oh well. We'll see. This summer will be an adventure, no matter what happens.
Oh, and the thing that a goldfish and a laser have in common is that neither one can whistle.
Until the next
Now, I've only been working at it for two days, and we haven't been all that busy yet. And I do know that things are only going to get busier. For example, Sunday. Sunday's going to be like those crazy days back in high school. We have a baptism at each service, acolyte training, baseball game, and a book club thing. I think. It'll be busy, whatever it is that we're doing. And then Monday's got some stuff, Tuesday's not to bad. Wednesday we've got some meetings, and then synod assembly starts on Thursday, goes to Saturday and then I preach on Sunday. Afterwhich there's talent show, and in the evening it's the Sunday school teacher's appreciation dinner at the house and we get to cook for it. Then it's the week before the youth trip and the next week, I think, is VBS. But I'm thinking I need to get a planner or something before that happens... it may sound like I know what's happening next, but I'm sure that there's a lot more happening that I'm not remembering.
I'm home right now. Took the train, spent the night. I've got some errands to run today. Hopefully I'll get them all done in time to pick dad up from work and go to post with him.
See, the thing is, (and yeah, I'm only two days into the summer, so it's early to be thinking for results right away), I really enjoy my job, and I really feel comfortable at St. Paul's and all this... but I know that there's a difference between a specific job at a specific place that one finds enjoyable and that one finds fulfillment at... and the career that one is called to do. But oh well. We'll see. This summer will be an adventure, no matter what happens.
Oh, and the thing that a goldfish and a laser have in common is that neither one can whistle.
Until the next
Monday, May 28, 2007
Welcome
Welcome to Traveling Panda, blog 2: Musings.
The blog description (see at the top) pretty much says it all, plus I'll add that you can look forward to a more conversational tone, less historical fact, more blah blah blah.
If this were a movie trailer I'd be telling you to look forward to poems written while at Buchenwald, reflections on May term in general (but my professor gets first dibs on reading that), my sermon(s?) that will happen this summer, once they happen, and a whole host of other fun things. But this isn't a movie trailer, so I'll not tell you about that. ;)
So, since I can't tell you about all those things, I'll tell you a joke.
What do a goldfish and a laser have in common?
The blog description (see at the top) pretty much says it all, plus I'll add that you can look forward to a more conversational tone, less historical fact, more blah blah blah.
If this were a movie trailer I'd be telling you to look forward to poems written while at Buchenwald, reflections on May term in general (but my professor gets first dibs on reading that), my sermon(s?) that will happen this summer, once they happen, and a whole host of other fun things. But this isn't a movie trailer, so I'll not tell you about that. ;)
So, since I can't tell you about all those things, I'll tell you a joke.
What do a goldfish and a laser have in common?
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