Beginning’s End

It began with an ending.

But I guess, as with many things in life, it’s true to form.

When one door closes, another opens.

And with it, maybe even more in 2020, with a twinge of sadness as I believe accompanies most New Year’s Eve’s.

As we rolled into the roaring 20’s, none of us, myself included, ever could have imagined what was going to unfold.  There may be some irony in the fact that I began the year sick, with something not called the flu but respiratory, feeling like I couldn’t breathe.  I suppose, a premonition of what was to come for me and millions of others as the year would progress.

The feeling of being unable to breathe, though, goes beyond a respiratory or asthmatic issue.  It’s a true sign of feeling overwhelmed by life.  I simply remember the early days of the pandemic, with the level of uncertainty and unknowns associated, the anxiety at times was feverish, wondering whether I had caught this mysterious virus.  Yet, still not enough.  There’s more to it for me.

So, it began with an ending, peppered with some sadness.  It would begin with a closure to my time at Bethlehem Farm and the eventual, and what seemed like, imminent, search for what was next in life would begin to unfold.  In many ways, looking back, the pandemic was a blessing in disguise.  It forced the world to stop and gave me some time to catch my breath while recognizing I was beginning at ground zero.

I have often returned to the scene from The Shawshank Redemption when Brook’s is released from prison after decades of living his own “quarantine”.  The world had changed so much during that time he didn’t know how to function.  He felt like the fish out of water.  In some ways, my time at the farm gave me an incubation and transitional time to gain some confidence after feeling as if I fell flat on my face and to begin to prepare for this journey ahead.

After sixteen years as a preacher, and a pretty good one at that, it felt as if my words of transformation, community, oneness, and so many others were finally catching up with me.  Better yet, I was catching up with my own heart.

If I’m grateful for another experience this year, it’s the young people who have given me tools to move beyond the “fish out of water”.  Many have become friends in the process and colleagues in various ways.  As someone who spent more than a decade teaching them, it was my time to rely on them in trying to make sense of technology, networking, lingo, alignment, and so many other experiences which gradually became a part of the norm for me.

It doesn’t mean any of it came easily, like most things in life.  If you truly want something, you’re going to have to work for it and will most likely come with pain and obstacles along the way.

I was putting a consistent pressure upon myself to get a job and quickly.  Needless to say, with a pandemic, a wrench was thrown into the process beyond my control.  Every time I’d hear from the church, it was as if a flare was being shot, even after the fact at times.  It wasn’t easy and led me to speak to a psychologist along the way as well as begin with a coach who understood and understands me.

If I look back, I begin to realize we have very little experience when it comes to discernment and knowing the landscape of the heart, even by an institution which claims to have a leg up in the “business”.  Like most corporations, it’s about numbers, maintaining the masses, and very little to do with understanding the radicalness of listening to one’s heart and truly discerning one’s truest path in life.  If I were going to do anything for myself, it was to find people who understand this and enter into alignment with them.

I’m grateful for the handful of people who do.  I’m grateful for my friends who do.  I’m grateful for my family who have been more than patient with me and given me plenty of opportunities in some challenging days.

I am truly of the mindset that we mustn’t just toss aside 2020.  I give a mere snapshot of what has occurred in my life, but there is this experience of which we shared in our own ways.

As I was watching a recap of The Today Show this morning, I found myself somewhat emotional and an inching in of that sadness again.  It’s easy to forget what it was like in the early part of the year, and as they showed clips of them practically sitting on top of one another, riding rides at Universal Studios, and others, it was hard to ignore the laughter and joy of the moments, of what it was once like.  We all miss the moments, but there will come a time again when we can once again unite without worry.

Here we are now, standing on the threshold of endings and beginnings, closings and openings. 

Myself included, in more ways than the ending and beginning of a year.

Thresholds are the most important of times.  They are our liminal space of in between.

If I have learned anything or become humbled by experience, it’s the necessity of dealing with the pain and obstacles.  If this is the way 2020 was viewed, then deal with it and walk straight into the pain associated with it.  It’s not all bad, no matter who you are or what you have experienced.

Gratitude is key.

Interior space is key.

It becomes nearly impossible to face uncertainty and the unknown without the due space within ourselves.  If I continue to feel overwhelmed, confined, or drowning by reality, it’s unrealistic to step into the possibility of another year with a fresh set of eyes.

It doesn’t take away the sadness associated with the journey.  We are, after all, still human and live through experiences in our own way.

However, stepping into an unknown new can be both frightening and exciting at the same time.

I find myself there as I stand here on this threshold myself.

It’s been quite a ride, recognizing life isn’t defined by a job or career. 

As a matter of fact, there is simply life and what you choose to do with it is what will empower.

I had to move beyond a small world thinking.  Better yet, I had to walk through the small world thinking before I could move to the space to see myself as a life, not a job, career, or anything else.

It’s my life and how I choose to live it which will define me in the year ahead.

I’m convinced we do life wrong all too often.  It leads to overdosing, depression, suicide, midlife crises, and many health issues.

We live to survive rather than to live.  We live to get, giving up dreams and possibility.

I’m too old.  I don’t have the experience.  It’s not what others want for me.  Etc., etc., etc.

My goal for 2021 and stepping into the new year is quite simple. 

As I continue to be birthed into my truest self, my goal is to help people give birth to themselves.  Work through the pain, remove the obstructions while expanding the walls, and holding possibility in your arms like a newborn babe.

The question is asked, “How can a person once grown old be born again?”

With a simple change of mindset from impossible to possible, anything can happen.

We have lived through a shared pain.  At times we have clung to the walls of our beliefs and thoughts as they dissipate around us.  Together, we are being given the opportunity to give birth to possibility.

Our future depends on it.  Our children’s future depends on it.

Even as we bid adieu to 2020, there is a great deal to learn from the experience.

It’s our choice whether we choose to learn.

Of course, there’s sadness.  There always is.

But there’s a hell of a lot to be grateful for as well.

Therein lies the possibility for 2021.

Happy New Year!

Belonging

Leviticus 13: 1-2; 44-46; ICor 10: 31–11: 1; Mark 1: 40-45

I was listening to a podcast this week with Brené Brown.  If you don’t know her, she in some ways rose to fame with a TED Talk she had done a few years ago on vulnerability and has since written many books.  The episode I was listening to, she happened to be speaking about “belonging”.  Belonging, according to her, demands us to be who we are, our most authentic selves even if the group expects something else from us.  She would say that the deepest pain that we can experience is a loneliness that comes with not feeling like we belong, even within our own family and community.  The paradox, as she puts it, is that feeling of loneliness actually is fed when we try to live up to the expectations of the community rather than being our authentic selves, sacrificing our truest selves for the sake of a false sense of belonging.

This sense of belonging and not belonging strikes a cord many times in Scripture, especially in the healing stories of the lepers that we hear today.  Their separation, even more so, has nothing to do with their own choosing.  The community, the law, the authorities, and certainly the fears force the leper to be separated and not belonging to the community.  They are inflicted with the rejection of the community simply because their disability is seen with the naked eye.  It’s all based on this sense of being unclean and somehow they are going to pollute the community.  Yet, here comes Jesus.  His approach seems rather radical for the community and the leaders because he sees the leper for who he really is.  He’s going to step out of the comfort of the illusion of being clean to encounter the human person in their suffering and pain and their sense of separation that feeds into that lived reality.

We’ll hear many stories like it throughout the gospel and probably scratch our heads and why this is so much of a problem for the community and leaders of the time.  What happens when the leper returns to the community?  The leper simply shows back up like nothing ever happened and reintegrates into the community.  Or so we would think.  And we think that the leper even cares about such things anymore.  The healing that takes place with the leper has implications on the community and their way of thinking and their judgment of this fellow human being.  The judgment of the community upon the leper now becomes challenged and is also revealed in the healing of this guy.  Their own shortcoming and what they have deemed important is revealed along with the healing.  They will be left with a choice as the story goes on to whether believe in Jesus or continue to surrender themselves to the law, the prescriptions, the expectations, and most especially their fear and judgment.  That’s the rub that these healings invoke within the community.  We can be grateful for the healing, but we all know that the pain runs deeper and can the person stand as they really are, owning that sense of belonging now in the face of this newfound uncertainty.

As the story unfolds and we move into the Lenten Season, we’ll see that the community will move to this false sense of belonging, giving into the fear of the political and religious figures, around the common enemy in Jesus.  There will be an unwillingness to encounter these characters in the healing stories in their own humanity because meeting people in their own suffering reveals our own sense of worth, and lack there of at times.  It reveals our own insecurities on life.  It reveals our own fears and judgments that we have towards others who may be different, even when it’s not their own choice.  It reveals, at the heart of it, just how difficult it is for us to change in the face of it and to see what’s most important for and in our lives.  Their sense of belonging, the lepers and all the rest we encounter and who have been pushed to the margins for one reason or another, has nothing to do with us.  Brown will go onto say that it’s a matter of the heart.  It’s a matter of accepting ourselves as we are, belonging to ourselves, and ultimately belonging to the Christ.

Paul tells us in today’s second reading about imitating Christ as he has and that imitation comes in the form of going out and meeting the other as they are, as a human person.  Most of what divides us is of our own making and choosing.  The implications of our own sin not only impacts us but the life of the community.  We imitate the Christ when we show compassion, when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, when we meet suffering head on in our lives and in the other.  Paul understood that when he seeks the benefit of the many and not his own.  He understood his own insecurities and judgments but wasn’t going to allow his own thinking to prevent him from imitating Christ in that way.  If anything, Paul teaches us that our own sense of belonging comes first with an acceptance of our belonging in and with Christ.

The greatest paradox, more than anything, is these healings not only reveal the far reach that God has in trying to heal one who has been separated, rejected, unloved in going “outside the camp” as we hear in Leviticus.  When we recognize that our own sense of belonging has bearing on it, the demand of the Gospel is to do the same.  It’s much easier to give into the expectations of the community and the fear associated with not fitting in, being rejected, but the fullness of life and the restoration of that life can only come when we belong in and with Christ.  The implications of our own choices should weigh on our hearts.  As a community, a country, a world, we need to see the other as we are, as human persons, who are often hurting and suffering in less obvious ways that the leper and in need of that human contact that binds us as one.  When we feel we can’t, more often than not it’s our own fears, the expectations we’ve created, the laws and prescripts that have been decided on by the group, that prevents us from taking that step as Jesus does today out into the world so that what we do here really matters.  When we find our sense of belonging in Christ, we recognize that there is only one choice in who belongs and who doesn’t and it isn’t even ours to make.  When we see each other as human persons rather than our judgment then we all belong.

Gratefully Living Without

Galatians 4: 4-7; Luke 2: 16-21

Like most of you, I spent part of this Christmas week with my family, which includes all the chaos with kids and such but also reflecting back on Christmas past. At one point some of us commented on how much Christmas has changed since we were kids. As you may know, I’m one of six. We were by no means rich but also not living in poverty, but we certainly learned to live without. As a kid, that seems like torture. You always want what is new, bigger, better, more advanced, and so on. But now, I can look back, as I’m sure many others can, and to see that that is a great lesson to learn in life, learning to live without and not having this constant need to be stimulated with the latest gadget. It’s hard to be grateful when I’m never quite satisfied and certainly only plays into the hand of the consumer culture. We can never have enough and yet, in the end, we only find gratitude without.

There’s a lot that stands in contradiction with the stories we hear throughout this Christmas season, including the continuation of the Christmas gospel we hear on January 1st each year. The shepherds finally find their way to Mary and Joseph and the new born babe to share what has been seen and heard. But there they stand at the center, Mary and Joseph, overwhelmed by what has taken place and the enormity of what has unfolded. But the story is really just beginning for them. If they had to carry with them what we have come to expect on Christmas morning they would never be able to make this journey. They really become refugees and go with nothing but what they have and of course, what is most important, the Christ, who will lead them on the way. As a matter of fact, they would face demise if they carried what we carry and maybe that’s the real point of the story. If we keep it at historical level we miss the point as to how their journey is our journey. It’s a journey of faith and trust and learning to take nothing with us along the way. It only slows us down in the first place and quite frankly, if we need to clutter our lives externally, we most likely are doing it internally as well leaving no space in the crib for the Christ. It will even become the message that Jesus conveys to the disciples of taking nothing with them for the journey while learning to trust and have faith in something and someone much bigger than themselves, in the unseen deep within them.

It is a day that we pray for peace, and of course, that’s first making peace with our own lives but we we also celebrate the Motherhood of Mary who ponders all this within her heart. She doesn’t stand demanding anything of anyone. She already has the space within to try to absorb the mystery that has and is unfolding and to be grateful for the real gift that has been given, of Love Incarnate. For today is also a day to give thanks and to be grateful as we begin a new year. But we too must make that space within our hearts to be grateful rather than trying to accumulate more and more. We too must learn to live without and to find God within what seems like nothingness. The journey Mary and Joseph embark on, and we too, demands us to go to that place of poverty. As refugees they must now flee the terror of Herod and head to Egypt only to eventually make their return at another time with an even deeper sense of trust and faith. They allow the Christ to lead them to the place of exile, to foreign land where they are without, only to find what has always been there and leading them along the way, the Savior that walks and meets them in that very place.

It’s what Paul also speaks of in today’s second reading to the Galatians. He speaks of the fullness of time taking on flesh under the law. Now it’s not just law as we understand it, but rather into the suffering of our lives, that place within us that keeps us bound and weighed down by what we carry. Maybe it’s not the Christmas gifts we may or may not have wanted, or the expectations we had of the holiday that weren’t met, but it could be the grief and pain that we continue to carry with us that makes the journey nearly impossible. Again, Mary and Joseph stand as the iconic figures of the season of making this journey while going without and finding the gift in the midst of it all. We so want to find the Christ in the joy and wonderment of the season, and that’s true, but the Christ is more than that. The Christ meets us where we have allowed our hearts to become exiled. This Christmas invites us to that place of poverty and to give thanks for the gift of living without.

As we continue this Christmas season and begin the new year, we pray for the grace to accept the invitation and walk with Mary and Joseph to our own hearts. Maybe we have to drop things and let things go as move along, but they promise us that what we find, that has always been, will satisfy every longing, where we will no longer be nagged by what seems to be never enough in our lives. Ironically, in the gift of going without, in our own nothingness, we learn the greatest gift, the gift of being grateful not just for what we have but for who and whose we are. Happy New Year!

The Call of the Mountains

John Muir, still credited as the Father of the National Parks here in the States was famously quoted in a letter to his sister that “The Mountains are Calling and I must Go”. I don’t think you can ever appreciate such words until you’ve had the opportunity to visit places like the Rockies or here in Denali to understand the draw to such places, places that have cost many their lives in seeking not just the thrill of the adventure but a call from deep within to the wildest places of our own lives and theirs. Although I could never even begin to fathom the undertaking of those that descend more than 20,000 feet to reach the Summit of Denali (Mt. McKinley), there is something within that captivates you to such beauty and majesty, that when you’re in their presence, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of them, as if they have this innate quality to seduce you to a deeper mystery of and recognition that there is something not only beyond but deep within that is much larger than I can ever begin to grasp.

As we ascended today into a much colder climate, walking along Pika Glacier, it was hard to know where to look next, trying to absorb something that is beyond words. For a moment I drew my camera from my pocket, but I still know that the lens will never quite capture an experience that not only took us to the height of the mountains with thirty-some degree temperatures in late July, but at the same time into the depths of my own being, touching something that is known and yet remains so much a mystery. Of course, it was capped off by flying nearly 11,000 feet to capture a glimpse of the majestic peak of Denali, with a blinding sun bouncing off the pure white of snow to the deep blue skies only known to this Easterner during the months of January and February. But there it was, in all its glory.

Even as I sit here this evening, I can see outside the window part of that same Alaskan mountain range, not nearly as high and cleared of any signs of winters wrath. Of all the excursions that we have the opportunity to participate in on this trip, for me, this was number one. Like Muir, there always seems to be the call of the wild and nothing much like the call of the mountains. For someone who spends a great deal of time around concrete and macadam, it so often seems that the call becomes more faint. Some would say that we become nature deprived and when we do, the call only becomes louder and louder within. Today I responded to that call to go to the greater heights and depths all at the same time.

I really cannot imagine what it’s like for those who scale these mountains and peaks and the harm and danger in which they put themselves all in response to this call. No, we aren’t all called in the same way. For some of us, it’s to share the experience and lead others to those very places within, to the Denali of our own souls that takes more than a plane with skis to truly reach, but a symbol and metaphor nonetheless for the seeking of God and self. So there we were, a mere 5,800 feet up standing on the glacier, trying to take it all in. But that’s the challenge for us even in life, knowing we can’t possibly take it all in or know the depths of such beauty and mystery. All we can do is each day respond to the call of the mountains and then go. Despite the risk or any danger of living life with such courage, the more we respond the more we are seduced by the beauty and depth, as if this Mountain has somehow captured our hearts and souls without us even knowing it. For those who choose to stand by and ignore a God of such majesty, it must be hard to explain something so magnificent in a scientific way or the movement of tectonic plates and earthquakes over the years. No, there is something much more here and it captures the minds and hearts of everyone, from the first moment of catching a glimpse.

Today, it was more than a glimpse. It was literally touching and smelling, breathing in something that remains unspoken and yet experienced in such a deep way. As we flew through, shivering at times with fingers chilled, none of it seemed to matter. Nothing seemed to matter because you knew you were in the presence of something great, of something beyond words, of something beyond explanation, and yet, seductive beyond belief, drawing each of us into to the more we seek and desire in life. Like Muir, when the mountains call, you go. Otherwise we torture ourselves, trying to control and direct our own lives, rather than stepping out of the plane into an unknown place within the heart of the Mountain, to have hearts, minds, and perspectives changed by the simple gift of responding to the call of the Mountain.

The Rumbles of the Ocean

I have now spent the better part of this week with the balcony door open in my room, despite the colder than normal temperatures in Ocean City, simply listening to the crashing of the waves on the shoreline. At times I have also sat and watched it, trying to take it all in, if that is at all possible. I was in some desperate need of time with the ocean, a faithful friend on the journey who has been most consistent. As I sat here the first night, exhausted from Easter and not much time off since Christmas, I was struck by just how worn down I was feeling, to the point that there was endless chatter of negativity that I would need to let go of or allow to pass, even if it meant it would pass as slowly as the waves were crashing. If not, I am aware how easy it is to feed those voices within, allowing them to grow into anxiety and fears, rather than trusting in the “slow work of God” and the quiet voice of the Spirit nudging along.

There’s so much you can miss by simply listening to the ocean. You miss seeing the waters’ foam that builds and crashes with the waves. You miss the erosion of the sands as it has been these days, battered against incessant waves, similar to that negative chatter and the tole it takes on my spirit and soul. You miss the unexpected, all the life that washes up on shore or pokes its head out of the waters, reminding me that there is life beyond what I see. Yet, this time I needed to listen more than observe. I needed to listen to the unknown and trust that “all will be well” and that it’s out of my hands, how they crash, the immensity of them, the erosion that takes place, none of which I can control; all I can do is listen to the known and yet unknown at the same time. It’s been so cold and rainy the past two days that I haven’t been out walking so much, to observe, rather, just listening and listening hard, and as time goes by this week, listening with a better ear, much freer of the negative chatter that was consuming me, controlling me, and endlessly needing and wanting to be fed. Yet, letting it go has allowed what should be fed to be open to hearing and listening to the waves crash, gently, yet with great force and power at the same time, washing away all that has died and opening up space for what is to come.

There’s something healing about the waters, even if just listening to them and their continuous cycle. I don’t know if I can explain it, even though I have tried to write about it, but I know deep down that words cannot even begin to suffice or explain something that is beyond head knowledge or understanding. Something was different today, though, as I ventured out and walked the shoreline for the first time in two days. I heard a noise that I had not heard before. Now there is a part of me that believes it was an illusion that the wind was playing on me as it battered the hood of my windbreaker, but as I walked along, hearing the waves crash and hit, it sounded as if there was a rumble deep within the earth as each one hit. It was similar to the way the house shakes when a heavy truck barrels down the road, shaking everything in its path, or what I’d imagine and earthquake to do to the earth, breaking a part and separating what was once one, making space for something new to break forth. That’s what I heard and experienced as I walked along today, the crashing of the waves and the deep rumblings of the ocean floor, groaning as it pushes forward the strength and the immensity of the waters, swallowing up everything in its path, including my feet which felt its bitter wrath of cold today.

Even as I wrap this up, I sit here listening. No, I don’t hear the rumbling of the earth from my room, but I know what I heard, experienced, and maybe what is happening within me since the two are but one. Somehow and in some way, the ocean has a great deal to teach, if anything, to heal us enough to break us open to begin to see just how connected we are, the larger story that doesn’t belong to us but rather we are a part of with the ocean. The negative chatter has mostly gone, thankfully, leaving me in gratitude that the ocean once again fed me in a way that was necessary, a healing balm that has enveloped me and anyone who takes the time to be one with this massive body of water. Maybe, just maybe, that rumbling wasn’t just the wind blowing through my windbreaker and not even just the groaning of the ocean floor, but the groaning within of a God who calls into the deepest part of the ocean blue, the depths of my being and soul, to a life of love, to the life which God desires.

The Presentation

Luke 2: 22-40

A few weeks ago on the Pope’s Twitter feed there was a quote, “No elderly person should be like an “exile” in our families.  The elderly are a treasure for our society.”  He has spoken of the throw-away culture that we live in, and for many elderly, they are seen as no longer contributing or producing in the way we have become accustom.  Yet, he recognizes a greater gift in many of them as wisdom figures.  They are beyond the “producing” stage of life and now act as guides and as these wisdom figures to many of us, not because of any knowledge they may have, but lived experience, humility, learning to let go of so much, including judgement and expectation, and most importantly, they have never finished growing.  They keep on growing into themselves and into the mystery of God well beyond their years of being “producers” in our society.

Nowhere is that more true in the Gospels than in the stories that bookend the Christmas story.  Prior to the birth of Christ we hear the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth, both well beyond child-bearing years and yet over years of learning to let go and surrendering to God, stand humbly by as God delivers a miracle into their lives.  It leaves Zechariah speechless, still, at his age, unable to fully trust God and given yet another opportunity to grow in faith and trust.  These two figures act as wisdom figures for Mary and Joseph as they learn to trust that same impossible message of life that has been given to them in giving birth to Jesus.

Then there’s the other end of the story that we hear today.  The story of Simeon and the prophetess Anna that we just heard in today’s Gospel.  The story of the Holy Family is cradled in between these two stories and now Simeon and Anna will lead them out of this stage in life to where God leads next.  The message of Simeon is two-fold.  Simeon is first overwhelmed with gratitude for the gift revealed to him in the Christ.  He has awaited many years of his life in a world that has lost hope in the coming of the Messiah and has turned in many different directions looking for answers and certainty in life, and yet, Simeon, and Anna for that matter, simply wait.  Learning to let go, over and over again, of their own expectations of the Messiah and then find themselves overwhelmed with gratitude, to the point where Simeon delivers this beautiful prayer that God may now take him from this world and pass on; the great gift has been revealed before his very eyes and in his heart and soul.

The other side of the message is directed towards Mary and Joseph and probably not one that they had intended to hear.  What young parents want to hear that this is going to be a difficult road ahead.  Just because you have seen the Messiah does not mean that all will go as planned without any pain or hurt.  Simeon tells them just the opposite.  This child will be a sign that will be contradicted, destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel.  Like us, Mary and Joseph had expectations of their son.  Could they ever anticipated their son would be hung on a cross?  Even in the following passage as they make their way from Jerusalem, Jesus is nowhere to be found.  From the very beginning, Jesus has taught to let go of these expectations of who you think the Messiah should be.  Do you not, as parents, often have to let go of your own expectations of who you think your kids should be so that they may become who it is God has created them to be?  They relied on these wisdom figures, these elderly folks in their lives, to point the way in a time of uncertainty and in a time when their lives were immersed in understanding and the raising of their son.

On this feast of the Presentation, we pray that these wisdom figures may be raised up in our lives, in our community and in our world.  So many have gone astray and pulled away from their faith by the desires of success, judgment, and much else that carries much pull in our lives, and we all need these figures to point the way for us, in our own uncertainties, and to learn to let go and to trust as Simeon and Anna teach us in today’s Gospel.  Also, as the Lord is presented to us in this Eucharist today, how are we presenting ourselves?  Are we open to the mystery, delving into the unknown, still learning to grow in our faith and to let go of our own expectations and to see the gift for what and who he truly is?  Have we grown into a spiritual malaise that Malachi often speaks of in his writing where we take all of this for granted.  We pray that this feast provides a spark in our lives to present ourselves fully, openly, and with much gratitude, as we see in Simeon, as the Lord is presented to us.  The gift that lies within is now revealed to us in this Eucharist.