The Witness of Daniel Berrigan and the Rest of Us

Daniel Berrigan died over the week-end.  I think of him as shaping my theories of social justice and Christianity, although it was through the way he lived his life rather than through his writing.

I think of the ways that I've tried to live my life as witness.  It hasn't been as flamboyant as the ways that the Berrigan brothers lived their lives.  We can't all be dumping blood on government records  and nuclear warheads, after all.

Tuesday night, my spin class was cancelled, so I headed home.  Our Comcast service is disrupted again, this time the phone, not the Internet.  So I called and requested that my bill be reduced to reflect that I only had a half month of service--this was granted.  My spouse grilled the fish, and we headed to the porch for supper.

What a delight.  My spouse is finishing up a semester of teaching Ethics at the community college, and he's been having a great time.  We talked about how teaching Humanities in general, Ethics specifically, is the most important subject, about how the Humanities teaches students how to live an honorable life.  I like to think that our work is as important as the work of the Daniel Berrigan, although it's a different type of work in some ways.

And let me just contemplate this:  our work might impact more people in the end than the more flamboyant social justice demonstrating.  In so many different settings, we have both worked with students who come from a disadvantaged place in society--education may be their best shot at a better life, and we have helped.

In these later years, I've worried about the amount of debt that students take on as they work towards this better life.  I've worried about being part of the system that enslaves the modern student.

I suspect that Daniel Berrigan would lecture me about how I am complicit and therefore must make different choices.  I think of students who need more people like me, people who care about their success and want to help them through.

Ah, living the moral life--it's not as easy as my 19 year old self thought it would be.

Cinco de Mayo Marriage

Today is Cinco de Mayo.  How many of us know how this holiday came to be?  The Writer's Almanac web site tells us, "It commemorates the Mexican victory over the French in the Battle of Puebla in 1862. In a David-and-Goliath confrontation, the 8,000-strong, well-armed French army was routed by 4,000 ill-equipped Mexican soldiers, and though it wasn’t a decisive battle in the course of the war, it became a symbol of Mexican pride. It’s also become a celebration of Mexican heritage and culture in the United States."

For many of us, it's just another excuse to drink, like Saint Patrick's Day.  But what if we looked at this holiday with new eyes?  Today, I'll be thinking about how great odds can be overcome.
I don't have many Cinco de Mayo memories, but my favorite one came recently.  My spouse is a notary, and so several people who want to avoid being married by clergy have come to him.  He always offers to help create a ceremony, and so far, no one has said, "Nope--just notarize the documents." 

He helps to create a marriage ceremony that is rooted in faith, and since his faith is Christian, they are ceremonies that reflect his Christian outlook:  marriage as partnership/relationship rooted in love, the love of the couple for each other, the love of God for the couple, the way that love strengthens us for the tasks ahead.

So far, friends are the ones who ask him to officiate, so he has a sense of whether or not they'd want readings from the Bible or from some other source.  He has been asked to do a homily for most of the ceremonies.  So far, there's been no singing, but that could be an option.

Last year on Cinco de Mayo, he officiated at his first same-sex ceremony.  Our friends had decided to seize the opportunity to be married, and they wanted it to be on Cinco de Mayo, since they had had their first date on that day.  Although I don't remember many details, I do remember it as a beautiful service complete with Mexican wedding cookies (which I might call pecan sandies at Christmas time).  And their union is recognized by the state of Florida, a legal opening which had just occurred at the start of the year.

I think back to my younger years, in 1986 when the Supreme Court ruled in Bowers v. Hardwick that the state of Georgia could regulate sex between consenting adults.  I despaired of ever seeing a day when my same sex friends could wed their beloveds.

And here we are 30 years later, and that change has come--a victory that seems similar in scope to the Mexicans defeating the French.  I see it as a victory for love in the face of hate.

I realize that the battle isn't fully won, and that there are still many places, same sex or otherwise, where love still needs to overthrow hate.  But on this Cinco de Mayo, let us celebrate the victories that we have seen with our own eyes.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, May 8, 2016:


First Reading: Acts 16:16-34

Psalm: Psalm 97

Second Reading: Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21

Gospel: John 17:20-26

This Gospel always inspires Trinitarian thoughts when I read it: to whom does Jesus pray, when he prays? Why does Jesus have to pray, if we really believe in what we say we do, which is a Triune God? Is it a divine version of talking to oneself?

 Lately, I've been thinking about the prayer life of Christ, which we get a glimpse of in this Gospel. I find it deeply moving to think of Christ praying for me. I think of him praying for those that will come later (in our case, much later, 2000 years later) and want to weep in amazement. To the very end, Christ prays for his followers, for those that have been and those that will be. In these last prayers, he continues to focus on his central message of showing God's love to the world.

Christ also reminds God that he wants to share the glory that God has given him. He wants to give that glory to his followers. Think on that for a minute. What if you actually were capable of being like Jesus?

Many theologians would argue that we are, in fact, capable of being Christ like. If we but believe, anything Christ could do, we could do too. Of course, that would mean we'd have to shuck off the ideas of success, the way the world defines it. We'd have to give up our comfortable habits of anger, greed, meanness, looking out for our own skins. We'd have to practice radical love. The good news: the more we practice being Christlike vessels of radical love, the better we'll become at it.

Here, as with any change, it's better to start with the tiniest of baby steps. Maybe this summer is a good time to increase your charitable giving. Maybe you want to donate some time to work with the poor and the oppressed. Maybe you want to remember to pray for those who aren't as fortunate as you are. Maybe you want to clean out your closets and give your surplus to those who have little.  Maybe you want to adopt an artistic practice that will help you notice the presence of God.

How else can you be a Christ-like light in the world? We are surrounded by people who are poor in spirit, people who are suffering terrible blows. You could be there for them. You could be the person in the office who always has a smile and a kind word and reassurance that all will be well and all manner of things will be well (to use mystic Julian of Norwich's words). You could sow the seeds of hope and help fight despair. You could be the person that makes people wonder and whisper, "I wonder what his secret is? What makes her so capable of being happy?" Maybe they'll ask and they'll really want to know, and you can talk about your faith. Maybe they'll just be drawn to you and hang out with you, and you can minister that way.

A smile is easy. Praying for the world, like Jesus does, is easy. And it's these little changes that lead to happier habits. Eventually, you've changed your trajectory and you didn't even realize it. Maybe you'll look back from a certain vantage point and say, "That was when I started to claim my glorious destiny. That's the starting point that led me on a road to be this close to the Christian God wants me to be."

Begin today.

Passover Inspirations

I have written before about the slogan that I associate with posters and fabric wall hangings from the 70's that proclaimed "Bloom Where You Are Planted" (see this post, for example).  It's one of those sayings that because of its ubiquity, I rarely see anew.

Rabbi Rachel Barenblat recently wrote a post that made me think about that process of blooming, of how explosive it can be, and perhaps even painful:  "Can you imagine what it's like to be a tulip curled into a bulb, waiting patiently through the long and perhaps snow-covered winter for the indescribable call to unfold, to stretch toward the light, to shatter and expand and become something glorious and new?"

She discusses this blooming in the context of the Passover story:  "The Pesach story is like that. It's the beginning of our unfolding into the nation we continue to become. As a people we were curled into a tight place until we were brought forth from there -- maybe by the same ineffable force that whispers to tulip bulbs when it's time to burst free and emerge from underground."

I find it interesting to consider how we react to that whisper.  Some of us can never make a move--we might stay curled in our tight places forever--after all, it's warm there, with a steady paycheck, and we know what to expect from our cramped quarters.

When we think about Passover, we may not think about flowers and blooming.  Rachel brings up one of them:  "We realize that we don't need to stay where we are. We realize that we could choose to risk the unknown, even though it's scary, even though we don't know what lies ahead. The Pesach story says: take the leap. Step into the sea and trust that it will part for you."

I love this vision that says that the sea won't part until we've waded into it.  Once I posted this inspiration in a prominent place:  "Leap and the net will appear."  I like Rachel's wording better.

In this season of spring holidays, let us not lose sight of our blooming, the seas that lay ahead of us, the resurrection that is possible.

What if God Needs Us to Appreciate/Create Beauty?

My friend Vonda Drees recently published this image on Instagram:

She wrote this about it:

"‪#‎Senses‬ are ‪#‎sacred‬ ‪#‎thresholds‬." ~John O'Donohue, A Blessing for the Senses, Anam Cara

This brings to mind the Teresa of Avila quote, "Christ has no body but yours," which I usually hear in the context of service. This image, though, makes me wonder about her words in the context of sensing beauty.

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I wanted to preserve this idea, as I, too, tend to see this quote about Christ's body in terms of our hands being the ones to do the work of healing the world--which I usually interpret as feeding the poor, healing the sick, doing social justice and charity work that is so often gritty and dirty.

But what if God needs us to appreciate beauty?  How might my days be different?

And if God counted on us to create beauty?  My days would be different yet again.

How Should Christians Celebrate May 1?

May 1 is May Day and International Worker's Day, and thus, it is celebrated in a wide variety of ways.  We don't usually think of this day as a Christian holiday, but in many ways it is.  So how can Christians celebrate?

--Today, Anglicans, Episcopalians, and Lutherans celebrate the feast day of Philip and James; others will celebrate May 3.  These are not the most well-known disciples.  Today you could reread the Gospels, a kind of literary Easter egg hunt, to try to find them.

----Make a bouquet of flowers.  If Spring has yet to come to your neighborhood, or if it's already left, buy some flowers!  Or get a plant, which will give you joy for many more weeks.  Say a prayer of thanks to the various creators along the way that got this beauty to you.

----It's probably too late to launch a Maypole.  In my elementary school in the 1970's, we had a May Day celebration that focused on flowers and Maypoles, not on workers.  Looking back, I'm amazed that our teachers were able to rig together a Maypole.  We spent weeks practicing the weaving of the ribbons in the Maypole dance.  We had a whole Mayday festival.  Parents came.  There was a Mayday king and queen.

So, you probably can't dance around a Maypole today.  But if you have some ribbons, you could weave them together and think about what might make you happy enough to dance.  God wants us to have joy in our lives--what brings you joy?

--Our Bible shows us time and time again that God wants us to look out for the dispossessed, and May 1 is a great time to do that.  Write letters on behalf of the unemployed, the underemployed, everyone who needs a better job.  Write to your representatives to advocate for them.  What are you advocating?  A higher minimum wage?  Safer working conditions?  Job security?  Work-life balance?
--Send some money to organizations that work for worker's rights.  I'm impressed with the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, which works to protect the migrant workers in the fields of Florida, but you certainly have plenty to choose from.

----Can you create something that weaves these strands together?  Here are some possibilities:  a sculpture made out of ribbons that explores the world of migrant workers.  A poem that celebrates flowers and contemplates the ways that we love some blooms (flowers) but not others (algae, cancer).  A painting that uses weaving in some ways to think about the past century of efforts to enlarge the workplace and make it safer.  A short story that updates the story of Philip--who would he be today? 

Retreat Retrospective

A week ago, I'd have been about to head to Richmond for the women's retreat put together by the women of my mom's church, St. Stephen Lutheran Church in Williamsburg, Virginia.  We went to Richmond Hill, a retreat center in urban Richmond, in a gentrifying neighborhood (or perhaps already gentrified).  Above the door is a reminder of one of the missions of Richmond Hill:

The retreat center is 2 or 3 buildings:  a historic house, a historic church and school, and parts of the building which look newer.

And of course, there are lovely gardens--someone has designed amazing creations in what is actually a very small space for walking gardens.

There's an amazing labyrinth:

I love the old church/chapel, where the community gathers 3 times a day to pray for Richmond and for a variety of other people and places:

The chapel has a wall of historic stained glass windows:

The meeting room, contained in the historic house part of the center, had windows on three sides; it was a great space where we gathered throughout the retreat to discuss parables, to experience contemplative movement, and to make cards that will be sent to parishioners throughout the year.

Along the hallway to the main meeting room were smaller spaces.  Here I am facilitating a workshop on spiritual journaling:

Here's a different meeting room:

My mom used the word "austere" to describe the rooms, which are simple with single use community bathrooms down the hall.  The rooms were spacious and the beds comfortable.   We remade the beds when we were done, and we prayed for the next retreatents as we prepared the room.

The retreat center has 10-16 people who live at the center full-time and take care of it.  The community has elements of a monastic order, although they are not vowed to place and they do not require a lifetime commitment.  There are small apartments for them tucked into various spaces throughout the center.  And there are common spaces; below is the lounge just outside the dining area:

Along the way, we were reminded of the overriding purpose of the retreat center:

And thus renewed, we headed back into the world, to be the light, the salt, the yeast, the city on a hill.