Yom Kippur

 Yom Kippur began yesterday at sunset.  Last night, we smelled smoke and this morning there is news of a fire in Napa.  While I am grateful that we were able to travel to Mendocino when we did, these devastating fires sadden and frighten us all.  We owe the earth some attention: not to prod into production, but to be allowed to heal.   

I have always appreciated Yom Kippur, a day set aside for prayer, fasting, and atonement.  If possible, let us all fast in some way today, and spend time in prayer for those who hunger and thirst.  For those who have been wronged. For those who have been mistreated. This includes our earth: the air, the land, the sea, all the creatures.  We pray for all creatures fleeing in fear. Let us remember that we are a nation known to turn sacred land into parking lots and shopping malls.  We do have some atoning to do.  

Let us begin.    

   

As we prepare ourselves to stand in the Light of Yom Kippur
We call on the heavens and earth,
We call on the ancestors,
We call on our children’s, children’s children,
And we ask for help.
Help us enter into this Yom Kippur with open and willing hearts.
Help us be present to the beauty and fragility of life.
And help us turn toward love.
May love be upon our hearts, may love lift our spirits, may love guide our hands.
Let us love the world so much that our hearts break open in love
And lights of healing, grace and compassion flow through us to all the world.
 
Shana Tova, Shabbat Shalom.
Blessings to all,
Rabbi Yael    

 Rabbi Yael Levy's meditations have helped me understand at least some of the Jewish traditions, including the tradition of reading Psalm 130 during Yom Kippur.  If you want to learn more, I suggest viewing  awayin.org.  May we always be willing to learn from one another.  We journey together. 

Blessings on your prayers. May you feel God's loving presence sitting with you today. 

Psalm 130 

Out of the depths I call to you, Infinite One.
Please, listen to my voice.
Please, hear my pleas as I humble myself.
If we were only our misdeeds, who could possibly stand?
For with You, Source of All, is forgiveness.
We are in awe.
I place my hope in the Unfolding Mystery.
My entire being hopes.
I wait with openness and hope for the Divine Presence.
My soul yearns for the Presence
Among all those who yearn for the dawn.
Let us wait and hope for the Infinite One,
For with the Infinite One is great love and power to heal.
The One will free us from the burdens and shame of our misdeeds.
Let us look toward to all that will be with hope.  

  

Rabbi Yael Levy

   

photograph:  San Leandro, September 21, 2020    

  

  

Mendocino

For a few days last week, Tyler, our dog Jack, and I stayed at the Andiron Inn in Little River, just outside of Mendocino. Although Tyler had made reservations awhile ago, as our departure date drew close, we became uncertain about whether or not we should be traveling in a time of Covid and poor air quality. Finally, after my having a dream about flying geese, and our learning that the air quality in Mendocino had cleared and was considered very good, we decided to go.

The inn is quirky and the owners were delightful hosts. On our second day there, one of the owners walked up to me and said, "Since your cabin has a kitchenette, I am giving you this egg." I found myself holding a small turquoise blue egg that one of her chickens had just laid. While I admired its beauty, I was having some trouble imagining what to do with it. The pans in the kitchenette had seen better days, and since we had not come with the intention of cooking, we had no other eggs to supplement the offering.

We eventually settled on the idea of scrambling it. With no butter or oil on hand, we resorted to using some Pam spray that we found in a cabinet. Not feeling terribly confident of the outcome, I cracked the egg into a plastic cup and mixed it with milk, salt, and pepper. I left the scrambling to Tyler. We were both surprised that the beleaguered pan performed admirably. Tyler coaxed the egg out of the pan into the shape of a rolled omelet. We cut it in half and shared. It was a delicious and satisfying reminder that God's gifts are often subtle. In order to savor them, we need to learn to pay attention. When we do, we can find sustenance, and the knowledge that sometimes we need far less than we think. There is healing in that revelation, not only for ourselves, but for the world. 

     

I did not think to take a picture of the egg. In fact, I took very few pictures. Nor did we spend a lot of time in the actual town of Mendocino.  Concerns over Covid had closed several places, and in other shops and restaurants there were lines to get in. We simply were not in the mood. I did visit a fine market there, and picked up some provisions so we could simply relax in our cabin and on our deck.  Ft. Bragg, while a little less picturesque, was a little more open and we spent a nice morning walking and window shopping and we were able to visit a gallery.   The ocean was where it was supposed to be, and was fairly flat. Tyler did some cold water snorkeling, while Jack and I walked along the beach.  A friend had suggested a book, Braiding Sweetgrass by  Robin Wall Kimmerer.  The author has a PhD in botany and is a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation.  When I tried to order the book, it was backordered, so I loaded in on my Kindle.  It is a thoughtful read, written by a woman trying to bridge two worlds, so I did go ahead and place an order for the book.  Some books I just need to mark so I can refer to later.  In addition to some vintage cookbooks, which were really fun to read, in the cabin was a cheap twelve string guitar.  Tyler sat on the deck and restrung it.  Every afternoon, the inn keeper would walk the goats, Peanut Butter, Sugar, and Cocoa by our deck.  The goats would join the outdoor communal yet physically distanced social hour and then would be led to alfalfa and bed.  As night and morning both began bats would fly close.  The nights were beautifully dark with a crescent moon and glistening stars.  On Sunday morning, I heard geese again.  I thought we would take our time going home, but alas, the smoke was heavy in Anderson Valley.  Like the geese so often do, we just kept going.      

   

While in Mendocino, I said hello to an old woman that I am pretty sure I spoke with a few years ago.  Every coastal town needs at least one or two of the old old out and about. I think I could grow into that role.  On Monday, I turned 68.  I remember when I underwent psychological testing, a requirement for the ordination process, the young woman who was doing the testing asked me when and how I thought I would die.  I really did not hesitate with my answer.  "I will probably be in my late 80's and my heart will finally wear out."  That is the way most of my ancestors passed on.  Seems as good a gauge as any.     

 

However, I hope to return to the coast before then. For now, I will say, it was a fine trip. I never did see the chickens.        

   

 May we all know the blessings of our journey,  

 

Sue Ann   

 

 

Pausing for Sabbath

 Dear Friends, 

Lately I have been pondering Sabbath and healing. Deep healing, I believe, requires our willingness to keep Sabbath. While I shall try to concentrate more on taking a full day of Sabbath, I also want to take note of those moments when I feel God's healing presence - that Presence who asks only, "Pause awhile with me."  Like a trusted friend, God does not always require conversation or good works. It is enough to simply share a moment. 

    

Jack and I took our walk early this morning in the hopes of staying reasonably cool, but we both got pretty warm as we made our way back home.  This persimmon tree beckoned with the invitation of shade and a promise of a sweet harvest. In that moment I needed nothing else.  Sometimes, promise can sustain us like nothing else can.  That is the gift of faith, and of life.             

  

Peace on Your Journey, 

Sue Ann   

    

    

  

   photograph:  San Leandro, September 7, 2020 

Giving and Receiving

 Yesterday, I needed to go to our local drugstore.  There I witnessed conversations that gave me concern, but also great hope.  They took place at the pharmacy window.  When I first walked by, an older man was standing there, and the pharmacist (she may have been a pharmacist's assistant) was trying to explain to him that he could get his flu shot today.  He was confused, probably because of his hearing. It took a couple of attempts on her part to help him find some clarity. Yet, even though she had to speak up in the hopes of being heard, her voice came from a place of kindness. I felt she knew him, but I got no sense of "Oh, no, not this again." Her next client also struggled some with confusion, this time about her checking account. Again, I got the sense the anchorite at the window knew her as she gave good guidance to give her bank a call, but for today pay for her prescription with a credit card. She, too, was invited to get her flu shot.  If you heard only the inflection of her voice, you might think the anchorite was inviting them to tea as she assured them she would prepare things for them if they would take a seat. The plastic chairs beckoned and they quietly settled in.  

  

This week I took part in my first Zoom worship service with a long-term care community.  I was welcomed cordially, and I was delighted to be with them, and to see the activity director again. There really was an air of excitement for us all.  We were even able to talk to some after the homily, and the director helped all of us when our hearing just was not quite enough due to masks and physical distancing.  While Zoom is not perfect, it is a welcome bridge in these times of isolation.  For the sake of the hearing of the residents, it was helpful that I did not need to be masked.     

 

As we closed our Zoom session, I was told that the residents had prepared a song for me and I was asked if I wanted to hear it. That was akin to asking someone walking in the desert if he or she would like a glass of water.  For the first time in years, I loved hearing "Jesus Loves Me," and I simply let the words flow over me. A very important aspect of any ministry to elders is to allow them to minister to us.  In a healthy society that is the role of elders.  They teach lessons about dignity and vulnerability. They guide the young and the not so young, and they keep valuable traditions alive. They teach us to be human.  

  

Were all these moments simple ones?  Of course.  However, it is simple moments that make up our days and nights, deeply influencing the quality of our lives. I am grateful for these sacred gatherings.  I am grateful for all of you.   

   

Stay well, everyone.   

Sue Ann 

     

      

    

photograph: Oakland, September 2020  

During one of my recent morning walks, I came across a box marked "Free."  In it was a notepad with pages entitled, "Do more of what makes you happy."  That seemed to be a suggestion worth bringing home.