Friday, December 20, 2019

Cooking with the Ancestors

We have returned to our house, but almost everything is either dusty, or packed and sealed in a brown box that looks just like the other brown boxes sitting next to it, or lodged in some cranny of the garage.  Yet, Tyler and I were able to cook dinner last night, and we ate at the dining room table that we love.  This morning as I was trying to organize a kitchen cabinet, I came across some dried black-eyed peas.  Suddenly believing in the adage that there is no time like the present, I put them to soak for a few hours.  Later, as I stood in the kitchen chopping onions, celery, and green peppers, I grew homesick for Texas - a feeling that began earlier that morning when I sent an email to my in-laws who now reside in the state where I more or less grew up.     

Now, Mother, a staunch believer in eating black-eyed peas on New Year's Day, would never have cooked black-eyed peas the week before Christmas. However, I sensed her understanding, although she would probably be a bit suspicious of the addition of collard greens, at least until she tasted them.  Yes, there will be cornbread tonight. Do I believe black-eyed peas bring good luck when eaten on New Year's Day?  No, but I do believe traditions can give us a deep sense of connection. It really is not luck we seek but love, and sometimes we simply need to remember where our strength comes from. 


I have no pictures of West Texas on my phone, but this picture taken at Mission San Miguel in 2015 seems to come close to the spirit of sensing a further horizon, regardless of whatever window we may be looking through at the moment.          
   

Thursday, December 12, 2019

Help Is on the Way

"Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them. Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it.'”   
 Isaiah 30:20-21   
  
It was with gratitude that I read this scripture this morning.  The Advent reflections sent by Nancy Small through Monasteries of the Heart are proving to be stabilizing in a time of some upheaval in my life.  Learning to view these upheavals as simply part of learning to walk a path of peace is reassuring, and the reminder that teachers are all around, guiding us, is profoundly encouraging.  We do, however, need to learn to pause and listen to what is being spoken to us.   Eariler this week, I was talking to a woman in memory care.  She spoke of some of her struggles and then added, "As long as I don't get nervous, I find the way."  I thanked her for sharing that wise insight with me. She smiled and said, "But it is not always easy, is it?"   
 
No, it is not always easy, but the way will be made known, and encouragement is just around the bend.    
 
Blessings on your journey.  Don't be nervous.   Do not be afraid.     
    
photograph: Half Moon Bay, July 2019  
This morning I woke from a dream where I am standing in a beautiful golden field.  In the dream light is shining all around.  I woke happy. Who would not?   

   
 
     

Thursday, December 5, 2019

The Journey of this Time

"Then the reign of God for which we strive with every breath will come in all its fullness."  
Sister Joan Chittister, OSB 
The Liturgical Year
   
photograph:  San Leandro, December 2019  
This is one of the rare uncropped images I have on my camera that also makes phone calls. It so speaks of Advent to me.  Today, we prepare to move out of our house for a few days.  I am slowly dismantling the altar I have on the mantle.  As I wrap each item and place in a box, I do so with gratitude.  While at times I get cranky or confused because the house is not calm, the overarching story of this time is the reminder of the importance of a table, a kitchen (we cannot access ours now), the cooking and sharing of a meal, of an altar that beckons me to pause in the chaos for just a moment and remember that we are of God.  However untangible that may seem,  we learn such knowing is the only tangible "thing" we have. God cannot be grasped, but can be lived.  Only there can we find peace.  The rest is journey.    
   
   

Monday, December 2, 2019

Filling

This quote came in this morning's email.  It speaks to me of Advent. Yes, we can lead a meaningful life.   I am grateful for the reminder.  I am also grateful that the dahlia is San Leandro's city flower.   

We humans contribute to the world’s gloom, like dark shadows on a dark landscape.…But now this man from Nazareth comes to us and invites us to mirror God’s image, and shows us how. He says: you too can become light, as God is light. What is all around you is not hell, but rather a world waiting to be filled with hope and faith. This world is your home as surely as the God who created and wrought it is love. You may not believe it, but you can love this world. It is a place of God. It has a purpose. Its beauty is not a delusion. You can lead a meaningful life in it.


Source: “Doors to the Feast” 
Jörg Zink, as quoted in today's "Daily Dig" 
     
photograph:  San Leandro, August 2018 
     
     

Sunday, December 1, 2019

Blessings this Advent, and Always

"Life is not meant to be escaped, we learn, as the liturgical year moves from season to season, from feast to feast. It is meant to be penetrated, to be plumbed to its depths, to be tasted and savored and bring us to realize that the God who created us is with us yet." 

Sister Joan Chittister, The Liturgical Year   
   
   
  

Saturday, November 30, 2019

Expanding the Journey

This morning I have been pondering the following  statement from The Yoga of Jesus, Understanding the Hidden Teachings of the Gospel by Paramahansa Yogananda, compiled by the Self-Realization Fellowship.  Yogananda lived on this earth from 1893-1952.  When he wrote of humankind, he used the then accepted term "man".  With much respect, I have altered that use slightly.  As we begin our Advent journey, let us let us give our souls some breathing room for expansion.  I know I, too often, try to grow small.  Such reduction is not the way;  we are on a journey to the Christ within, a love that knows no boundaries.       
  
Recognition of the immanence of God can begin as simply as expanding one's love in an ever-widening circle.  We condemn ourselves to limitation whenever we we think soley of our own little self, our own family, our own nation.  Inherent in the evolution of nature and humanity back to God is the process of expansion. The exclusivity of family consciousness - "us four and no more" - is wrong. To shut out the larger family of humanity is to shut out the Infinite Christ. One who disconnects from the happiness and welfare of others has already condemned his or her self by isolation from the Spirit that pervades all souls,  for those who do not extend themselves  in love and service to God in others disregards the redeeming power of connection with the universality of Christ. Each human being has been given the power to do good; if we fail to utilize that attribute, our level of spiritual evolution is little better than the instinctive self-interest of the animal (page 66).      
    
As I write this, our dog is curled up beside me.  I had to laugh as I reflected on the last sentence.  We adopted Jack through a rescue group about a decade ago.  He is still very much a "We are a family; we don't need anyone else," sort of creature.  What I cannot laugh about is whatever trauma he experienced before coming to us. Humanity still has a way to go.  Yet, that is the gift of Advent - a reminder that the journey is ultimately one of love, and love heals.  



Thursday, November 28, 2019

Reorienting

I think the past few weeks have shifted my life - not dramatically, but subtlety.   There is, of course, the continuing kitchen reconstruction.  Our dining room table is still in the garage and the refrigerator resides in an otherwise empty dining room.  At the end of next week, we will need to move out entirely for a few days.  There is this cold and my subsequent loss of voice.  For the past couple of years, most of the colds I have experienced have caused a voice loss.  My speaking voice will croak its way back into existence, but my singing voice is always quite slow in returning. There is always that moment when I realize that I cannot speak, or speak very little. Singing is out of the question, and I do not feel comfortable serving Communion in such a state while also coughing and sneezing.  At that point, my active ministry must come to a temporary close.  This experience is a lesson in patience; I have to let healing happen in its own time.  Yet, two friends have gently intervened.  One friend dropped off some ginger and her recipe for ginger tea; another passed on some lemons.  I have made use of both.  

In addition, I have been reading My Journey to Lhasa written by Alexandra David-Neel and first published in 1927.  It is impossible for me to describe this book.  She was born in France in 1868, and even as a child she dreamed of going to a land of vast stretches of emptiness, high mountain peaks, and silence.  These she found in Tibet, and she lived, studied, and traveled there for years.  She was a learned Buddhist, lama, an opera singer, and speaker of several languages.  At one point she decided to do a pilgrimage  with her adopted son to Lhasa, which was closed to foreigners.  She and Yongden "tramped" (her expression) on foot. She had to disguise herself as a peasant woman travelling with her son.  To say they travelled lightly is quite the understatement. They crossed high mountain passes (I believe the highest was 19,000 feet), often eating very poorly, and sometimes not at all.  They found shelter wherever possible.  When a peasant family would extend hospitality, hygiene was frequently non-existent.  Yongden, who also was a lama, could travel as a poor pilgrim lama and often served in that capacity to those they encountered.  However, she could present herself only as a simple old peasant mother. She darkened her skin with grease, soot and dirt. She also darkened her hair, added yak hair braids, and topped her disguise off with a dirty hat. The several month, often perilous journey, which she usually referred to as an adventure, did culminate in Lahsa.   She would eventually return to France and live to be over 100 years old.  
While I do not see myself crossing mountain passes on foot, I find the idea of pilgrimages intriguing.  For several years as a Lenten practice, I have read The Way of a Pilgrim, translated from Russian by R.M. French (the original author is unknown) and first published in 1930 (this past year was an exception as I decided to journey with Julian of Norwich).  The Way of the Pilgrim is the story of a peasant who sets off to learn how to pray without ceasing.   I think if we are paying attention, our very lives are pilgrimages, and perhaps that is the subtle shift I am experiencing.  Advent often feels to me to be a reorientation, much like Lent.  I am reminded that on this journey there is the unexpected, the joyful, the humorous (some of her observations are quite funny), and there are times when much courage is needed.  Travelling light is highly recommended regardless of one's faith tradition.   

Tibet has undergone many changes, including violence, genocide, destruction, and the exile of its spiritual leader. This edition includes a foreword written by the Fourteenth Dali Lama in 1992.  I found this paragraph insightful and I think those of us in the western world would do well to contemplate these words:
   
"..for too long Tibet cherished its isolation. Foreigners were actively discouraged from entering the country. A sense of material and spiritual self-sufficiency allowed conservative elements among Tibetan policymakers to overlook the importance of friendship with the outside world. We paid a heavy price for this aloofness later."   He added, "Sadly, due to changes imposed on the Land of Snows and its people in recent years, much of what David-Neel describes is lost forever, which only increases the value of her account."    
  
I have yet to find a lotus of a thousand petals that I can actually photograph, so I dedicate this red rose to Alexandra David-Neel.  I am grateful.  
     

photograph: Oakland, November 2019

Monday, November 25, 2019

Unending the Journey

Yesterday I preached twice on the story of Zechariah.  I love everything about that story.  Because I have had a cold and consequently  lost my voice for a couple of days,  I found a new meaning in Zechariah's silence; a silence that led him to simply go home and wait for Gabriel's pronouncement to come to fruition in the birth of his son who would be named John.   The resulting Canticle of Zechariah that is spoken after his long silence is beautiful,  and I am always inspired by the verse, "And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways (Luke 1:76). "  I envision an awe struck father holding a tiny baby, and lovingly baptizing him with a true seeing.  I feel those words are for any of us who dare to call ourselves Christian.  The love inspired in us can help make the way known for others because we know we all are tenderly held in divine love. We are all children of God. 
 
Yet, calling ourselves Christian and letting Christ live within us are not necessarily one and the same.  In the afternoon when I preached a second time at New Community of Faith,  it was the last verse of the canticle,  "to guide our feet into the way of peace," that resonated deeply for me. Sometimes this small congregation, like many, struggles to be at peace with one another. Yet, in that moment, I sensed a deep love in that sanctuary, a presence that is willing to guide us.   
 
I have been pondering the attached photograph for a few days, thinking that it signified a tree of life for me.  However, this morning I think again of the way of peace.  It is indeed a path that is not always smooth.  While it can begin broad and wide with lots of room for us and all the baggage that we insist on carrying, the channel will inevitably grow narrow, sometimes frightfully so.  In order to make our way through that narrow gate, we may need to discard much. That is exactly what Jesus encourages us to do: to not only take the narrow gate, but actually seek it out. We may fear leaving behind attachments, but both scripture and this photograph remind me that no matter how narrow the gate, we are on a path that never ends.  Let us learn to walk it in peace, revealing Emmanuel, "God with us", to all who fear they are on a dead end road.   Even if we are, the good news is we can always turn around.      
   
   

photograph:  San Leandro, November 2019 

Saturday, November 9, 2019

Everything But the Kitchen Sink

Until some time next week when the cabinets are re-installed, our kitchen sink is out of commission.  Fortunately, we do have a sink in the downstairs utility room, and the dish rack is now on top of the dryer.  This morning, as I was moving back and forth from the utility room to the kitchen to put away some dishes, I thought: this, too, is yoga. I am grateful I can walk the short flight of stairs between the two floors.  Holy ground.  

This time of year, before the rains come, I see a lot of the humble jade plant languishing just outside people's doors, due to lack of water. They will endure, but some water now and then is kind. I was happy to come across this one taking in the sun and doing quite well.   
     
      

  

Thursday, November 7, 2019

Practicing

Once a month I spend a few minutes with a physician who was born in India. She married a physician, and they lived and worked in several countries before coming to the bay area.  She was moved from assisted living to a memory care floor several years ago, and while I cannot say she is flourishing, she seems content.  After her move, I asked her how she liked living on the new floor.  She replied that it was okay, and then she added, "I believe these people live honestly."  I do regret not being able to talk to her more about her last position as a physician because it sounds intriguing, but she does not, or cannot speak of it.  Yesterday, I told her that I have been reading "Autobiography of a Yogi" and it has re-kindled a desire to see India.  She said that she sometimes misses India.  I asked her where she thought I should visit.  She looked at me for several seconds and then replied, "New Delhi.  I think there you will  see what you need to see. It has all of India."  She then added that she trained there.  We talked a little about yoga, and she said that she used to do yoga, but then added, "At a point you do not need your body to do yoga."  She is in a wheelchair, and moves very little.  I confess I silently prayed that I might be able to use my body for yoga for awhile longer.    
  
In the course of our conversations, she will repeatedly ask, "How are you?" This she did yesterday as well.  However, after about the third time of my telling her that I am well, she looked at me, paused, and then added, "Yes, I believe you are."  She did not ask after that, but until her health declines significantly, I know she will again. That is okay.  I think what she is saying is that she cares.       
  
As we sat in the quiet of the dining room (everyone else was watching a loud singing program in the living area), I felt such love for her, and I told her this.  She said that she loved me as well and she is glad I come to visit her. She does have dementia, so our conversations move slowly, but those of us who know and love people with dementia must never confuse slowness with a lack of depth. To sit in the presence of Love, and experience that light is a gift, and I pray I never take that for granted. Every once in awhile she will ask me, "Now what is it that you do?"  I tell her I am a pastor, but I could just as easily say, "I am one who is learning to love."  Maybe that is what the practice of yoga and the practice of ministry are really about: learning to live in love.      
   
   
photograph:  San Leandro, October 2019   

 

 

Friday, November 1, 2019

Light

We live in light.  We cannot touch it.  We see only a momentary reflection.  I shall walk in astonishment today.  What else is there to do?  Oh, yes, all sorts of tasks.  But what are those compared to being simply astounded by what is being illuminated?  Blessings on your light filled journey.  This is how we know love. 
"The speed of light in a vacuum is 186,282 miles per second (299,792 kilometers per second), and in theory nothing can travel faster than light. In miles per hour, light speed is, well, a lot: about 670,616,629 mph. If you could travel at the speed of light, you could go around the Earth 7.5 times in one second."   
www.space.com     
"I cannot think of better advice to send. I hope you like it.  May you stay in your infinity."   
Rumi, A Year with Rumi, Coleman Barks, page 93      


Saturday, October 19, 2019

A Reminder

Trust in the Lord and do good; 
so you will live in the land, and enjoy security.
Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.  
Psalm 37:3-4   
 
I have received and read Bible Gateway's  "Verse of the Day" for years.  Sometimes I am led to delve deeper into the text and sometimes I simply delete.  This particular verse actually made me smile.  Delight is a path, not a destination.  Delight allows us to drink deeply of this moment, knowing God is intimately present, healing, and beautiful.  What other desire could measure up to this?  Who or what else is there to trust?   

   
photograph: June, 2019 
Sonoma State University   

    

Monday, October 14, 2019

Dry Houses Are a Good Thing, But Maybe Not for Otters


Absolutely one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems.  I am grateful to Panhala for sending it this morning.        

We, too, have trouble with vowels, because we are convinced that we must live our lives as stately nouns.   Today, I shall try to be more lively.  

Alas, I have no pictures of otters.   A lovely scene from Los Osos 
(September 2015) will just have to do!   


 
Almost a Conversation
 
I have not really, not yet, talked with otter
about his life.
 
He has so many teeth, he has trouble
with vowels.
 
Wherefore our understanding
is all body expression —
 
he swims like the sleekest fish,
he dives and exhales and lifts a trail of bubbles.
Little by little he trusts my eyes
and my curious body sitting on the shore.
 
Sometimes he comes close.
I admire his whiskers
and his dark fur which I would rather die than wear.
 
He has no words, still what he tells about his life
is clear.
He does not own a computer.
He imagines the river will last forever.
He does not envy the dry house I live in.
He does not wonder who or what it is that I worship.
He wonders, morning after morning, that the river
is so cold and fresh and alive, and still
I don't jump in.
 
~ Mary Oliver ~
 
(Evidence)  
 


Saturday, October 12, 2019

Hanging on to the Letting Go

We have been moving things around in the house to accommodate  the dismantling of some of our floors, and the noisy fans that are supposed to go for twenty four hours.  I struggle with and in the noise and at the moment they are unplugged - a temporary reprieve.  However, in the shuffling, I found  a book of Rumi poems given to me by a friend a few years before she died  (as much of any of us die).  Her memory often surfaces, and at times I hear her laughter as I mutter a lament about some matter that eventually reveals itself as being surprisingly trivial.  My laughter joins hers as it always has.   It is a good thing to hold this book,A Year with Rumi by Coleman Barks, and  I give thanks for all the ways we humans are connected. As intangible as poetry is, its strength is enough to hold us securely in love.        
   
A Single Brushstroke Down  
 
Light dawns, and any talk of proof 
resembles a blind man's cane at sunrise. 
 
Remember the passage, 
We are with you wherever you are. 
  
Come back to that. 
When did we ever leave it? 
  
No matter we're in a prison of forgetting 
or enjoying the banquet of wisdom, 
we are always inside presence. 
 
Drunkenly asleep, tenderly awake, 
clouded with grief, laughing like lightening, 
angry at war, quiet with gratitude, we are nothing 
in this many-mooded world of weather  
but a single brushstroke down, 
speaking of presence.   

   
Coleman Barks adds, "The word Allah in Arabic begins with strong downward mark."

   
   

Tuesday, October 1, 2019

Pondering the Beatitudes

"Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, 
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 
Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you 
and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.  
Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, 
for in the same they persecuted 
the prophets who were before you."  
 
Matthew 5:10-11  
   
Jesus then goes on to tell the disciples that they are the salt of the earth and and the light of the world.  This morning, as I often do, I find much comfort in the Beatitudes.  I  hear Jesus whispering, "Keep going," when I read the Sermon on the Mount.  There is always more.  There is the blessedness of God, a love that knows no end and is for all.  As the psalmist says, "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it (Psalm 139:6).  
 
Thank you for journeying with me.  Let us remember to pause and look around. Heaven is very close.  Blessed be. 
 
photograph:  San Leandro, March, 2019  

  

Monday, September 30, 2019

Pondering the Beatitudes

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." 
Matthew 5:9
"This peace is 'much larger' than the mind that needs to understand, label, and explain everything." 
Richard Rohr,  Just This
    
photograph:  San Leandro, September 2019    

      

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Pondering the Beatitudes

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God."   
Matthew 5:8   
    
I think this has to do with our intentions.  On what are we focused?  If we are focused on seeing God's love manifested in this world, we will see and experience that love.  We can take part. If we just concentrate on trying to make ourselves pure, that is simply feeding the ego.  That is a trap because a hungry ego can never be satiated.   
One evening I came home from my yoga class wondering what was I trying to accomplish.  I picked up the book Light on Yoga by B.K.S. Iyengar.  This phrase surfaced: "to gain strength to serve the Lord."  I smiled and gave thanks.    
  
I believe the attached photograph was taken in 2019.  
  
  

Friday, September 27, 2019

Pondering the Beatitudes

"Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy."   
Matthew 5:7    
  
photograph:  San Leandro, July, 2015    


    

Thursday, September 26, 2019

Pondering the Beatitudes

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled."   
Matthew 5:6    
 
In my ministry with SpiritCare, I read from the Common English Bible.  In that translation, the Beatitudes read "Happy are those..."  The change still surprises me, but we should be surprised by Scripture. It is good not only to be surprised, but confused, and even angered.  As long as we stay engaged, some truths will emerge for each of us.   Bible study groups can be very helpful.  One of the elders I serve tells of a Bible study group that he was a part of for over twenty years.  He is quite frail now, but I do believe he was filled by the rhythm of regularly coming together to read, study, and share with people he loved.      
   
I am trying to let the Beatitudes guide my walk.  Yesterday I was reminded that when I am feeling impatient, I am anything but meek.  That was helpful.  I also learned something about being "poor in spirit,"  that willingness to accept my life just as it is, knowing I am on a journey.  This is one of the lessons of the Beatitudes.  I hear Jesus saying, "Keep going; this moment does not have the last word.  There is more."  And that more is God.         




Wednesday, September 25, 2019

Pondering the Beatitudes

"Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth." 
Matthew 5:5   
  
A few days ago, I was waiting to sign in at the receptionist desk at a skilled nursing community.   A robed Buddhist monk was signing out.  The receptionist asked him if his visit had been nice.  He paused, smiled and then his entire essence seemed to illuminate happiness.  He quietly replied, "Oh yes, always so beautiful."   I felt I was in the presence of Christ, and I was humbled at the altar.     
    
In our society, we do not trust the word meek.  It seems to imply weakness, but in that moment, I believe that monk was at complete peace, and that peace is what he offered.  He offered himself. What if we all walked in that peace?  Isn't this the peace that Jesus spoke of when he said, "Peace I leave with you. My peace I give you. I give to you not as the world gives. Do not be troubled or afraid (John 14:27)"?    
 
I encourage us all to have a moment of meekness today; it can change the world.  
  
photograph:  San Leandro, February, 2019       
   

Tuesday, September 24, 2019

Pondering the Beatitudes

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they will be comforted." 
Matthew 5:4   
  
photograph:  San Leandro, February 2019  

   

Monday, September 23, 2019

The Narrow Gate

I think this quote from Eberhard Arnold really articulates what I think of when I read Jesus' encouragement to enter through the narrow gate.  The simpler, the more expansive. That is the gift of traveling light.  
"Our life will become not narrower, but broader; not more limited, but more boundless; not more regulated, but more abundant; not more pedantic, but more bounteous; not more sober, but more enthusiastic; not more faint-hearted, but more daring; not more empty and human, but more filled by God; not sadder, but happier; not more incapable, but more creative. All this is Jesus and his spirit of freedom and peace. He is coming to us. Let us go into his future radiant with joy!"   



 Plough, Daily Dig, September 22, 2019

photograph:  Butchart Gardens, British Columbia, August 2019    
  
    

Pondering the Beatitudes

"Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."   
Matthew 5:3   
        
   

photograph:  San Leandro, April 2019