Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Who By Fire
I took a class field trip today to a Hindu temple, where devotees are celebrating the beginning of the 9-day holiday of Navratri. The holiday is dedicated to celebrating the power of the feminine divine, or shakti, who takes many incarnations.
Later I went to my local Jewish temple for erev Rosh Hashanah, which begins the ten Days of Awe in the Jewish liturgical year.
In both religious celebrations, the focus is on the power of God, but also on grace, in the divine gaze of the shakti and in the mercy of Adonai.
Most importantly, there is also an emphasis on tasting the sweetness of the present moment.
Zora Neale Hurston writes,
There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
I've always loved that quote from Their Eyes were Watching God, which occurs at the beginning of the novel. By the end, you realize that in Janie Starks's life, whether the years have ended with question marks or periods matters little. The text of those years has a depth and importance that transcends the punctuation, and has brought her home.
On Rosh Hashanah, the liturgy requires that we ask questions. Questions are what begin and ultimately fill the books of our years, as our relationship with God is rarely a dialogue. Perhaps from an outside perspective, it would seem that we greet our years with honey because it makes them easier to swallow. In Judaism, however, the sweetness lies in the questioning.
From Leonard Cohen, a classic:
Happy New Year!
Later I went to my local Jewish temple for erev Rosh Hashanah, which begins the ten Days of Awe in the Jewish liturgical year.
In both religious celebrations, the focus is on the power of God, but also on grace, in the divine gaze of the shakti and in the mercy of Adonai.
Most importantly, there is also an emphasis on tasting the sweetness of the present moment.
Zora Neale Hurston writes,
There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
I've always loved that quote from Their Eyes were Watching God, which occurs at the beginning of the novel. By the end, you realize that in Janie Starks's life, whether the years have ended with question marks or periods matters little. The text of those years has a depth and importance that transcends the punctuation, and has brought her home.
On Rosh Hashanah, the liturgy requires that we ask questions. Questions are what begin and ultimately fill the books of our years, as our relationship with God is rarely a dialogue. Perhaps from an outside perspective, it would seem that we greet our years with honey because it makes them easier to swallow. In Judaism, however, the sweetness lies in the questioning.
From Leonard Cohen, a classic:
Happy New Year!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Uncreated Light
While spending the last two Sundays steeped in a mystical world of incense, bells and icons in my local Greek Orthodox Church in order to be better able to teach about Orthodoxy in my world religions class, I encountered something unexpected: a new way of thinking about light.
According to Orthodox Christian theology, it is possible to see and experience the presence of God, which is called the Uncreated Light. This is what the Orthodox consider to be divine grace. Whatever your suffering, you are still worthy of entering into the endless folds of the uncreated, Eternal Light. In doing so, you will undergo a process of deification where you are transformed into divinity for the purpose of healing the world.
In 14th century, Greek monks on Mt. Athos developed a way of meditating that gave them the ability to see this Light. With chins resting against their chests and gaze turned inward, they scandalized Western Christians who disbelieved in the possibility that God would clothe a person in divinity through His energies. The monks considered themselves having found a secret path to Love, a gateless gate with no door or key. When not meditating, they sang hymns of mystical union written centuries earlier by Saint Symeon the New Theologian,
He Himself is discovered within me, resplendent....Entirely intertwined with me, He embraces me entirely. He gives Himself totally to me, the unworthy one...
The monks' quest for the Uncreated Light reminds me of the Zen quest for enlightenment, which usually begins with a question pointing out the futility of created things:
The world is such a wide world, why do you answer a bell and don ceremonial robes?
The message here is that if we want to draw from the deeper well of divine energy in meeting life's challenges, we may need to re-commit ourselves to the journey toward Love, seeking that which is behind, or beyond, the created. Far from being powerless to do so, we have the ability to transcend the lives we lead in our work clothes (ceremonial robes) performing our expected duties (answering bells).
Let's take some time this week in whatever way we can, to do what the 14th century monks did: figure out how try on the brilliant robes of grace.
Whether teaching, healing, running, ministering, or taking care of other duties, the world will be a better place if each of us does so while, as the Psalmist writes,
...dressed in a robe of light (104:2).
From Saint Symeon:
Do not say that men cannot perceive the divine light, or that it is impossible in this age!
Never is it found to be impossible, my friends.
On the contrary, it is entirely possible when one desires it.
(Hymn 27, 125-132)
According to Orthodox Christian theology, it is possible to see and experience the presence of God, which is called the Uncreated Light. This is what the Orthodox consider to be divine grace. Whatever your suffering, you are still worthy of entering into the endless folds of the uncreated, Eternal Light. In doing so, you will undergo a process of deification where you are transformed into divinity for the purpose of healing the world.
In 14th century, Greek monks on Mt. Athos developed a way of meditating that gave them the ability to see this Light. With chins resting against their chests and gaze turned inward, they scandalized Western Christians who disbelieved in the possibility that God would clothe a person in divinity through His energies. The monks considered themselves having found a secret path to Love, a gateless gate with no door or key. When not meditating, they sang hymns of mystical union written centuries earlier by Saint Symeon the New Theologian,
He Himself is discovered within me, resplendent....Entirely intertwined with me, He embraces me entirely. He gives Himself totally to me, the unworthy one...
The monks' quest for the Uncreated Light reminds me of the Zen quest for enlightenment, which usually begins with a question pointing out the futility of created things:
The world is such a wide world, why do you answer a bell and don ceremonial robes?
The message here is that if we want to draw from the deeper well of divine energy in meeting life's challenges, we may need to re-commit ourselves to the journey toward Love, seeking that which is behind, or beyond, the created. Far from being powerless to do so, we have the ability to transcend the lives we lead in our work clothes (ceremonial robes) performing our expected duties (answering bells).
Let's take some time this week in whatever way we can, to do what the 14th century monks did: figure out how try on the brilliant robes of grace.
Whether teaching, healing, running, ministering, or taking care of other duties, the world will be a better place if each of us does so while, as the Psalmist writes,
...dressed in a robe of light (104:2).
From Saint Symeon:
Do not say that men cannot perceive the divine light, or that it is impossible in this age!
Never is it found to be impossible, my friends.
On the contrary, it is entirely possible when one desires it.
(Hymn 27, 125-132)
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Vanishing
Attaining the annihilation of the self is the true aim of the bodhisattva, or enlightened one. It doesn't mean becoming nothing, it means becoming the depth of all things.
How is it possible to be the depth that can hold the universe? No one is capable of being that alone, or for any extended length of time. It takes thousands of people collectively being that depth for one person to arrive.
As we enter in and out of selflessness, we experience renewal. Sometimes we get lucky because others help us to feel needed, and that need allows us let go of our selfishness to help -- in those times, our becoming the depth is a gift we are given.
On long runs, I sometimes feel as though I am un-becoming; losing the "me" that I hold onto so tightly in my life. It is a good feeling. Brought down to my most essential elements, it becomes clear that even those are not really mine. The blood, the heart, and the breath are water that will return to their source.
From Mary Oliver:
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
--from her poem, "Sleeping in the Forest"
From Foday Musa Suso and Philip Glass, a beautiful song called, "Spring Waterfall":
How is it possible to be the depth that can hold the universe? No one is capable of being that alone, or for any extended length of time. It takes thousands of people collectively being that depth for one person to arrive.
As we enter in and out of selflessness, we experience renewal. Sometimes we get lucky because others help us to feel needed, and that need allows us let go of our selfishness to help -- in those times, our becoming the depth is a gift we are given.
On long runs, I sometimes feel as though I am un-becoming; losing the "me" that I hold onto so tightly in my life. It is a good feeling. Brought down to my most essential elements, it becomes clear that even those are not really mine. The blood, the heart, and the breath are water that will return to their source.
From Mary Oliver:
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
--from her poem, "Sleeping in the Forest"
From Foday Musa Suso and Philip Glass, a beautiful song called, "Spring Waterfall":
Sunday, September 18, 2011
May You Open Your Eyes
Blessings that you will cross safely the week ahead! I just found this poem from Lucille Clifton, one of my favorites:
"Blessing the Boats," by Lucille Clifton.
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love you back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that.
"Blessing the Boats," by Lucille Clifton.
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love you back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that.
Worthy of the Grace
The liturgy was written by Saint John Chrysostom, a 4th century Greek theologian who is famous on one hand for his eloquence and humility, but on the other for chastising early Christians who felt moved to practice Jewish traditions. He wanted a complete separation between people who felt unified in worshiping God despite theological differences.
While Chrysostom wrote beautiful liturgy, in other writings he called Jews "pigs" and "drunkards." The anti-Jewish tone that he helped institutionalize in Church theology, which was based on his interpretations of the Gospels, is deeply regrettable. Perhaps he needed his own words as much (or more) than anyone else:
...forgive me everything wherein I have offended you every day of my life.
The mystical love of God expressed through the Eucharist is the focus of Orthodox Christian worship, as is a petition for God's mercy. Ironically, the liturgy seemed very Jewish in some ways: not the words so much as the structure, and the running theme of awe in response to God's love. When the blood of Christ (communion wine) was paraded around the sanctuary, I thought of how the Torah is paraded in synagogues around the world.
The Orthodox prayer for forgiveness and the repeated "kyrie eleisons" (Lord have mercy), which I found so touching today remind me of a poem from the beloved Russian poet Anna Akhmatova:
Forgive me that I ignored the sun, and that I lived in sorrow.
Forgive, forgive, that I mistook too many others for you.
I've loved that poem since I found it in college, and have always considered it a prayer.
Perhaps the most moving part of the service was when the Father called for parishioners from other parts of the world to recite loudly the Lord's Prayer, Jesus' adaptation of Jewish liturgical prayer for his followers, in their native languages. One at a time, the prayer was repeated over and over in Greek, Church Slavonic, Russian, Ukranian, Spanish, Arabic, French and English.
After the service today, I took in a long run -- one in which my legs were aching severely by the end. I started visualizing myself as running a monk's run, which had something in my mind to do with complete surrender. To what, exactly, I wasn't sure, but that wasn't the point. All that seemed to matter was becoming worthy of that which I was doing, and of the gift of my body, and the health that running brings. Saint John may have understood this desire when he wrote,
...make me worthy of the grace.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Teach Me Wisdom
Here's a beautiful meditation for tomorrow from Psalm 50, which I came across while reading the Russian Orthodox liturgy for Compline, the evening service:
Behold, You desire truth in the inward being. Teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
Behold, You desire truth in the inward being. Teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Because I Could Not Stop
I called my parents at 8:30 this morning because I knew they were in the Newark airport getting ready to board a plane that would fly up into a brilliant blue sky.
In terms of probabilities, the odds of an air emergency happening this morning were the same as the odds any other morning, but I was on edge.
Last night, I watched Flight 93, a movie about the United airlines flight that departed from Newark ten years ago today with four hijackers on board. Although the passengers made a heroic attempt to re-take the plane, the hijackers ran it into the ground.
This morning, I wanted my parents home. In a role reversal surprising for me, I told them to be sure to call when they landed.
After we finished talking, what made sense to me was to get out of the house and go to a place where I could literally immerse myself in something as profound as this day, the ten-year anniversary of September 11, 2001.
I told my three-year-old, who was on the couch watching cartoons, that we were going to the ocean. Fortunately, she thought that was a great idea.
As far as impossibly beautiful waning summer days at the beach go, this one was perfect. It was everything to feel alive, to swim with my child, and in some small way, to commune with the spirits of the dead.
On the two-hour drive back home, I realized how important it had been for me to spend the day in motion. I thought about Emily Dickinson's words,
Because I could not stop for Death...
Ten years ago, I walked into a convenience store on my way to work in the morning and saw a fuzzy image of the north tower of the World Trade Center in flames. I didn't understand the significance of what was happening, and when I got to work a few minutes later, I delivered the news that no one had yet heard. We turned the radio on and listened as the second plane hit.
One thing I learned from September 11 is that each second has a depth and power that makes it entirely new and able to completely alter our lives. Just as the power of the universe is in every atom, it is also in every moment. Whether it will create or destroy us, we have no way of knowing.
Emily Dickinson writes that Immortality can fit into a horse-drawn carriage. In present-day terms, maybe she would agree that it would just as easily fit into a cozy, VW Golf on its way to the beach or into an airplane taking off on a brilliant blue-sky day. Certainly she would find affinity in Indian spiritual leader Sri Chimoy's words,
My eternal days are found in speeding time...
As powerful and final as some moments can be, at least Immortality moves with us. In the company of the Eternal, we will never be alone.
In terms of probabilities, the odds of an air emergency happening this morning were the same as the odds any other morning, but I was on edge.
Last night, I watched Flight 93, a movie about the United airlines flight that departed from Newark ten years ago today with four hijackers on board. Although the passengers made a heroic attempt to re-take the plane, the hijackers ran it into the ground.
This morning, I wanted my parents home. In a role reversal surprising for me, I told them to be sure to call when they landed.
After we finished talking, what made sense to me was to get out of the house and go to a place where I could literally immerse myself in something as profound as this day, the ten-year anniversary of September 11, 2001.
I told my three-year-old, who was on the couch watching cartoons, that we were going to the ocean. Fortunately, she thought that was a great idea.
As far as impossibly beautiful waning summer days at the beach go, this one was perfect. It was everything to feel alive, to swim with my child, and in some small way, to commune with the spirits of the dead.
On the two-hour drive back home, I realized how important it had been for me to spend the day in motion. I thought about Emily Dickinson's words,
Because I could not stop for Death...
Ten years ago, I walked into a convenience store on my way to work in the morning and saw a fuzzy image of the north tower of the World Trade Center in flames. I didn't understand the significance of what was happening, and when I got to work a few minutes later, I delivered the news that no one had yet heard. We turned the radio on and listened as the second plane hit.
One thing I learned from September 11 is that each second has a depth and power that makes it entirely new and able to completely alter our lives. Just as the power of the universe is in every atom, it is also in every moment. Whether it will create or destroy us, we have no way of knowing.
Emily Dickinson writes that Immortality can fit into a horse-drawn carriage. In present-day terms, maybe she would agree that it would just as easily fit into a cozy, VW Golf on its way to the beach or into an airplane taking off on a brilliant blue-sky day. Certainly she would find affinity in Indian spiritual leader Sri Chimoy's words,
My eternal days are found in speeding time...
As powerful and final as some moments can be, at least Immortality moves with us. In the company of the Eternal, we will never be alone.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
You Who Are Perfect
Most of us try to find ourselves in good places -- for example, in our running, our work, our families and our travels. While these may be fulfilling aspects of our lives, they aren't the houses for who we are.
According to the Book of Deuteronomy, all of this looking is missing the point:
You will be blessed when you come in and blessed when you go out.
-Deuteronomy 28:6
If we are blessed no matter where we go, then we are less like seekers and more like seasons. Wherever we are, we are where we are supposed to be, in tune with everything else in the universe.
As the season changes from summer to fall this September, let us reflect on our state of blessedness, which exists no matter our situation. You are, as W.S. Merwin writes, "perfect in the dew."
To the Light of September
By W. S. Merwin
When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not
and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground
but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later
you
who fly with them
you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night
perfect in the dew
Source: Poetry (September 2003).
According to the Book of Deuteronomy, all of this looking is missing the point:
You will be blessed when you come in and blessed when you go out.
-Deuteronomy 28:6
If we are blessed no matter where we go, then we are less like seekers and more like seasons. Wherever we are, we are where we are supposed to be, in tune with everything else in the universe.
As the season changes from summer to fall this September, let us reflect on our state of blessedness, which exists no matter our situation. You are, as W.S. Merwin writes, "perfect in the dew."
To the Light of September
By W. S. Merwin
When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not
and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground
but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later
you
who fly with them
you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night
perfect in the dew
Source: Poetry (September 2003).
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