Poetry Sunday: "Infrastructure"

Since this poem is so rooted in the news events of the week, I can't resist posting it here.  I do wonder if it will have any relevance, beyond historical curiosity, once this election year is far behind us.  I think that it will:  we will always have bombastic billionaires who want to build walls and the religious people who speak truth to that power, even as they are part of the powerful.


Infrastructure

From behind a wall
of security forces and fans,
the pope advises us to build
bridges, not walls. Unlike prophets
of old, he boards his private plane
to return to his enclave.
Does he dine
on locusts and wild honey?

From behind a wall
of wealth, the real estate mogul blusters
about possible attacks by Muslim
fanatics. He boards his private
jet and heads to the next campaign
stop, a contrail of vast sums
vanishing into vapor.

The rest of us go to our jobs
as we hope to maintain our slipping
old on security of any kind.
We’ve watched immigrants and robots
move into our workplaces.
We know no walls will hold
back the hunger for cheaper labor.
We wonder when the bridges
will crumble beneath our aging cars,
what river our final resting place.

Purgatory Project

My writing project that is bringing me the most joy is a surprise to me.  I'm going to call this work the purgatory project going forward.

Some background:  Back in December, my atheist writer quilter friend had written an amusing piece of fiction in which she imagines she's come to consciousness in purgatory. I then wrote what is probably one of my most favorite things I wrote last year.  My friend wrote from her point of view; I wrote from the point of view of God who was dealing with my friend's wrong perceptions of where she was and what she needed to do next.

My friend wrote a response, and then on Tuesday, I wrote another response.  installment, one which imagines God as welcoming all to the table to discuss politics:  Hitler, Dorothy Day, my atheist friend, and Marx.  Buddha and Mohammed are there too, and they're all watching the political debates, the way we might watch TV.

Here's a paragraph from Tuesday's piece (the speaker is God): 

"I pour us all tea, the only antidote for this campaign season. I set out the dainty sandwiches and the butter cookies. I could answer some of these questions, but I know that the joy comes from the arguing, not the settling of the existential issues."

I sent the piece to my quilting group, and my atheist friend and I had a rousing conversation over Tuesday lunch.  Then my friend wrote another piece and wove our stories together.  Our Hindu writer quilter friend has also written a purgatory piece, although her faith doesn't have purgatory--well, neither does my Lutheran faith for that matter, and my friend's atheism would preclude purgatory too.

Yesterday, I had an interesting discussion with my Hindu friend who wonders if we're not all writing thinly disguised autobiography.  She has noticed that our atheist friend's purgatory is remarkably similar to her present life.  I said, "But the part about having to stay at parties with make-believe drinks making small talks with people she doesn't like.  In present life, we can leave those parties.  In her purgatory story, she can't leave."

My friend gave me the arched eyebrow, and I suddenly realized my error--sure, we can leave the boring obligations, but we're still not released from having to go.
Yesterday, I wrote a piece that had been inspired by events of the week:  God as administrator.  It answers the question about how we came to have so many religious books with rules handed down by God.  God assures us that the words weren't captured correctly:  "What human amongst you hasn’t experienced the same thing? You craft an e-mail, and you spend lots of time in revising and clarifying before you send it out. And what happens? People see all sorts of meanings that you didn’t intend. And then you send out more clarifications and the meaning gets more twisted, and eventually you move on to other issues."

But here's my favorite part of that writing in the voice of God:  "My other creatures don’t seem to have this trouble. Spiders don’t spin webs hoping to gain entrance into heaven by their good behavior or by some set of rules that they imagine I’ve handed down about spiderwebs. They spin webs because it brings them joy—and gives them a way to provide for themselves. Some spiders take all sorts of creative liberties, and some take the quickest route."

I've said it before, but it's worth repeating:  it's an interesting way of doing theology and an interesting way of having conversations about religion.  I know that conservative traditions would frown on me writing in the voice of God, but happily, I'm not part of those traditions.

Stay tuned!  There will be more installments coming.

Bridges and Walls: the Architecture/Infrastructure of Faith

It's been interesting to hear the pope's recent comments on whether Christians are more likely to build bridges or walls, to see how the media reports his comments, and to hear the responses.

What did the Pope say?  Here's how NPR reported it on their website:

"'A person who thinks only about building walls, wherever they may be, and not building bridges, is not Christian. This is not in the Gospel,' the pope said, according to the Catholic News Agency."

As an English major, I understand what he's trying to say.  Jesus came to create community, except for a few of those passages where he seems cranky and not interested in that mission.  And the whole concept of being in the world but not of the world suggests wall building, in our minds at least, of a sort.

I also know that in some communities that wall building needs to happen for healing to occur.  People who have been abused by loved ones need to build strong walls so as not to be hurt again.  Churches need to be walled spaces that screen carefully to keep out those who prey on the weak.  I could go on and on with these examples, but I suspect that the pope was not talking about these kinds of walls. 

I don't usually go to literal meanings, but perhaps the pope was talking about literal walls to keep out the poor and destitute, building walls to make sure that we keep our wealth for ourselves.  That literal meaning I could support.

The pope was not talking about our personal walls--no, he was making a political statement, about the world's poor and the world's wealthy.  And clearly, he was making a judgment about the politicians who want to build these walls.

The pope occupies an interesting place:  he's both a prophet, in the traditional sense, speaking truth to the powerful.  But he's also one of the powerful.  His words move across the world in a way that the words of a modern Micah or Nehemiah or John the Baptist would not.

Many of us in the first world also occupy that place.  We may feel that we are not part of the rich and the powerful, but in terms of the planetary economy, even the poorest first world inhabitant has more resources than much of the non-first world.

What we do with those resources is a different matter.  And here, again, the words of the pope resonate.  Are we building walls or building bridges?

What can we do to help construct good bridges?

What Bubbles Beneath

We are in the early days of Lent.  Perhaps we still feel our hearts are carved of stone, unable to soften and uncurl.

Perhaps we find our souls in the branches of trees that have yet to bud.

Maybe we see ourselves as trapped in a labyrinth, only one path to follow, even though we may resist the circling.

But know this:  much bubbles beneath the frozen surface.

Your soul blossoms like a flower growing through the brick staircase.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, February 21, 2016:

First Reading: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

Psalm: Psalm 27

Second Reading: Philippians 3:17--4:1

Gospel: Luke 13:31-35


This Gospel is one of those that might tempt us moderns to feel superior. We're not like that wicked Jerusalem, are we? We don't stone the prophets and others who are sent to us. We're a civilized people.

But think of how many ways there are to kill the messengers of God. Let's start with our individual Bibles. Do you know where yours is? Have you touched it this week? This month? This year?

After all, one of the main ways God has to speak to us is by way of the Scripture. And if we don't read our Bibles, we lose out on a major avenue of communication with God. You might protest that you hear the Bible plenty when you go to church on Sunday. And that's great. Far too many churches have very little scripture as part of the weekly service. But it's not enough. We'd be better off if we read our Bibles every day. It's far too easy to be seduced by the glittering secular world; a daily diet of Bible reading can help us remember God's claim on us and our purpose in the world.

But the Bible isn't the only way we can learn about God and our place in the community. We can read the works of other holy people. There are plenty of books out there that can help us be more faithful. My reading list is fairly eclectic; if you're new to this, I'd start with the works of Henri Nouwen, Kathleen Norris, Madeleine L'Engle, and Thomas Merton, among many others.

You could also listen for God. Many of us are pretty good at talking to God, especially if we're in trouble. But we're not very good at listening. Henri Nouwen suggests that we take 10 minutes a day to quiet our minds, to sit and just listen. You might also keep a journal, which can be a very valid form of active meditation for busy Westerners. Don't just write down what happens to you during the day. Keep a list of things for which you're grateful. Keep a list of your heartfelt desires. Make a space for any sorts of intuition you have. Ask God for insight. Keep a keen ear for what God replies. Write it down so you won't forget.

We stone the prophets sent to us by God by ridiculing, of course. There are many effective ministers and churches out there. Just because one church's style doesn't work for you doesn't mean that you should work to tear it down. We should all be about the same business: being a light for Christ in the world, so that we can help people find their way. If someone else's techniques work, we should celebrate that.

We stone the prophets that God sends to us by refusing to pay attention. Look at your life. To whom do you pay highest allegiance? Your God? Your boss? Your nation? Your family? What keeps your loyalties split? How can you find your way back to God?

God tries to get our attention in all sorts of ways. We're prompt to dismiss our strange dreams (both the night kind and the daydreaming kind) and strange voices (both our own and the ones that come to us from books and other media). We're quick to believe everything our culture tells us about who we should be.

In this time of Lent, we can repent for all the times we've stoned the prophets (metaphorically). We can turn our attention to God and once again, try to be more faithful. God longs to gather us, as a mother hen gathers her chicks (for those of you hungry for female images of God, here's a Sunday gift). Come be part of the brood.

Lenten Discipline Progress Report: Week 1

First, the good news.  I am reading my way through Henri Nouwen's Show Me the Way:  Readings for Each Day of Lent.  I read it after I read the morning prayers in Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours.  It fits nicely with a daily discipline that I already follow.

However, this pilgrim is not doing well with her plan to color on sheets that give me a circle or a square for each day of Lent.  The spaces are too small, and my markers have too broad a stroke.

And frankly, adding another daily discipline to my life--in retrospect, I'm seeing the error of this plan.  But I would like to play more with color and markers.  Should I go to the store and get the perfect notebook?  The one that I have that I'm using as my weekly journal that keeps up with my goals and progress--I'd like something like that.

But do I really need to go to the store?

So, I have returned to the arts and crafts bookcase, and sure enough, I have some old sketchbooks.  They feel almost too big, but maybe the 6 x 8 sheets will be a good antidote to the too-small circles and squares.

The other problem I have with restrictive daily disciplines is that they may edge out the serendipitous discoveries that could come my way.  I had no plans to read The Fellowship:  the Literary Lives of the Inklings  by Carol Zaleski and Philip Zaleski as part of my Lent.  But it's a wonderful Lenten journey.  It's about the literary and spiritual lives of C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien and their circles.

I find it curious that I can read this book and feel absolutely no desire to read the works of these writers.  I have a fondness for some of the theology of Lewis, and I spent my childhood years devouring the Narnia series.  I read The Hobbit, and although I enjoyed it, I couldn't make my way through any other Tolkien work.

When I read Paul Elie's The Life You Save May Be Your Own, I immediately went back to Flannery O'Connor (who, truth be told is never far from my thoughts) and Thomas Merton.  I wanted to read Dorothy Day and Walker Percy.  It was a different experience from The Fellowship.

It's good to remember that we are still in the early days of Lent.  There is still hope for our Lenten disciplines.

God's Promise to David

My church has been exploring the Old Testament, and recently, we read this passage together:

2 Samuel 7:  1-14a

It's interesting to read this passage just a few Sundays after reading about the baptism of Jesus.  We see two men early in their careers.  We see God proclaiming God's pleasure in the two men.  Jesus has yet to do anything impressive.  David, on the other hand, has done quite a bit.

We might think about David's trajectory and feel despair about our own.  David has been plucked from the obscurity of being a shepherd and the youngest.  He has made his way in King Saul's palace.  As God turned away from Saul, it became clear that God favored David.  Chaos ensues, and David emerges to win the throne.  Along the way, he defeats many enemies and wins many battles.

So, at this stage, it's no wonder that God makes this statement of support of David.  But look again at this speech of God's.  God knows that David is human--and if we remember the trajectory of the whole story, we know it too.  David will make massive mistakes, just as we will.  But God declares that even though there may be punishment for those mistakes, as the world will mete out punishment, God's love will remain.

God makes the same promise to us.  God doesn't judge us by the rules of the world.  God loves us regardless.

In these days of New Years resolutions going off the rails for many of us, that's a great reminder.  God chose you. God delights in you. God loves you.

You may find this hard to believe. You may be able to believe that God loves people like King David or Mother Theresa or Archbishop Tutu, or any number of people more worthy than you. The good news is that God loves you the same way. God sees you in the same way.

No matter how much you improve yourself, God will still love you. No matter how many times you lose sight of your goals and move further away from the best self that you could be, God will still love you. Of course God sees your full potential and probably hopes that you'll move in that direction. But even if you don't, God will love you anyway. No matter how miserably you've failed, God will always welcome you.

If we truly believed that God loves us the way God loves King David, would we be empowered to live our lives differently?  What would that look like?