St. Francis - In Giving, We Receive

St. Francis of Assisi reminds us that In Giving, We Receive. That phrase may seem at first glance a total contradiction, but some of my sweetest memories involve my receiving as a result of my giving. I remember one of my mentors told me the summer before I started teaching that there were only two things I needed to know to be a successful teacher: “You have to love your subject, and you have to love your students.” In short, you have to be passionate about what you teach and whom you teach. Teaching is a relational affair among teacher, student, and subject matter. You give a great deal of yourself, of course – your knowledge, your expertise, and your care. But no matter how much I have given, I have received even more – trust and gratitude from my students, a deepened understanding of both the literature I have taught and the students I have mentored, and something I didn’t originally anticipate - a deeper understanding of myself. Teaching has been a profound gift that has enriched me in every way possible – and given me gifts beyond measure.

Benedict - Serious Faults

In The Rule of Benedict, when Benedict discusses serious faults and subsequent excommunication from the community (in this case, the monastic community), he reminds us that  we all make mistakes and transgress against our communities and, consequently,  often need time “to decide if being out of the community is really what [we] want, really what [we] need, really what will bring [us] happiness “ Time for reflection and self- examination can give us the opportunity to explore with focus and conscientiousness what we need in order to lead us back in the community with renewed commitment and vigor. Hence, the value of sabbaticals or long vacations or discernment retreats. As Sister Joan Chittister says in her commentary on the rule, “a human being needs help to be a human being.” We need one another in community.

Navajo Nation

I have recently taken hikes on land in the Navajo Nation and sensed the power of that landscape – majestic and mystical, supremely mythical, and even eerily other-worldly at times. We know how sacred the land is to the Navajos and other Native American cultures.

It is easy to feel that sacredness when walking through the mesas and arroyos, the canyons and peaks, gazing upon the multi-colored sandstone. As we notice the petroglyphs on those sandstone walls, we realize through those primitive pieces of art and records of a culture just how long we humans have been on this earth. The humans who carved the petroglyphs on those walls are our ancestors and family, and the landscape is our precious legacy.

Love and Power

Some people think that hate is the opposite of love. Some would argue, however, that power is love’s opposite. To lord power over another is to deny him his emotional freedom and to enslave him. Love is about setting someone free, honoring his individuality, and giving him room to grow into his own. 

The connection that occurs in a loving relationship results in expansiveness. We become our best selves through loving and being loved. Someone else’s power over us diminishes us. Truly loving relationships improve our emotional health as well as our cognitive health: we become more present, more alert, more aware of not only the beloved but also ourselves. Love is, in short, a powerful path to self-knowledge.

John McPhee - Draft No. 4

John McPhee - Draft No. 4

I just read Sam Anderson’s article on John McPhee in last Sunday’s New York Times magazine. In it, we are reminded of how obsessed McPhee is with structure in his writing. His new book Draft No. 4 emphasizes the primacy of structure and its great pay-off. McPhee tells Anderson, “Structure has preoccupied me in every project.” Anderson says that “Structure, in McPhee’s writing carries as much meaning as the words themselves.” It used to be that structure was a key piece of any writing instruction. It certainly still is in McPhee’s writing course at Princeton. In fact, Draft No. 4 is essentially McPhee’s writing course, which he has been teaching since 1975.  Unlike McPhee’s course, many writing courses today give up structure to free writing or self-expression, asserting that obsession over structure can limit the imagination or squelch creativity. McPhee attributes his obsession with structure to his high school English teacher who made him outline all his papers before he wrote them. When I started teaching, my mentor and the chair of the English department emphasized the essential value of outlining to free students to express themselves, pinning down the structure so that meanings could flow smoothly and organization and clear expression could be givens. I am so grateful for that instruction. It certainly made me a better writing teacher and a clearer writer.

Grand Canyon

I just returned from a trip to the Grand Canyon. Because I have a dog, I couldn’t get down into the Canyon, but I was able to take a wonderful long hike from the Village out to Hermit’s Rest along the South Rim. It felt like an otherworldly experience, as though I were not only stepping back in geological time but also entering a world uniquely its own. The words that came to my mind to describe the experience and the views were “majestic,” “magnificent,” magical,” ‘mysterious.” Regardless of one’s religious inclinations, the Canyon is definitely a spiritual space, one that touches one and moves one to the core. I will be forever grateful that I now have those astonishing vistas as part of the furniture of my imagination – to nurture and inspire and heal. 

A Found Poem

Seamus Heaney

The famous Irish poet Seamus Heaney was not particularly religious, but this poem gives us a glimpse into the power of the liturgy for him and the words that comprise it. The words may appear simple, but their pull is profound “like well water far down.”

A Found Poem

Like everybody else, I bowed my head
during the consecration of the bread and wine,
lifted my eyes to the raised host and raised chalice,
believed (whatever it means) that a change occurred.
I went to the altar rails and received the mystery
on my tongue, returned to my place, shut my eyes fast, made
an act of thanksgiving, opened my eyes and felt
time starting up again.
There was never a scene
when I had it out with myself or with another.
The loss of faith occurred off stage. Yet I cannot
disrespect words like ‘thanksgiving’ or ‘host’
or even ‘communion wafer.’ They have an undying
pallor and draw, like well water far down.

 – Seamus Heaney (2005)

Living With Contradiction

In her book Living With Contradiction, an Introduction to Benedictine Spirituality, Esther de Waal reminds us that “We all stand in need of healing. We are all seeking wholeness.” She asserts that “We all know that unless we attend to our inner conflicts and contradictions, not only will we find ourselves torn apart by our inner divisions but also we shall very likely inflict wounds on those around us.” The good news is that “Our God, the God of love, does not want a broken and divided self. He created us for fullness of life.” There is not an ah-ha moment when wholeness comes or our brokenness disappears. It is the search of a life-time, and we cannot make the journey without God’s help; he is the potter to form and transform the clay that we are, to make the old give way to the new.

Thirst

In her beautiful poem, “Thirst,” Mary Oliver reminds us that we are all thirsting for something we do not have, longing for the thing that will complete us and make us both whole and holy. We must be patient for the moment when we come to understand and also ready for that moment of revelation and epiphany.

Another morning and I wake with thirst
for the goodness I do not have. I walk
out to the pond and all the way God has
given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord,
I was never a quick scholar but sulked
and hunched over my books past the hour
and the bell; grant me, in your mercy,
a little more time. Love for the earth
and love for you are having such a long
conversation in my heart. Who knows what
will finally happen or where I will be sent,
yet already I have given a great many things
away, expecting to be told to pack nothing,
except the prayers which, with this thirst,
I am slowly learning.

— Mary Oliver, Thirst

I Am Not Italian

Billy Collins reminds us that when we travel, even if we are not natives in the country, we can “do as the Romans do” and enjoy the delights of the local culture. By drinking an espresso in a “little white cup,” the speaker – not an Italian – can taste “the same sweetness of life” as the locals.

I am Not Italian, Billy Collins

I am not Italian, technically speaking,
yet here I am leaning on a zinc bar in Florence
on a sunny weekday morning,
my foot up on the smooth iron railing
just like the other men, who,
it must be said, are officially and fully Italian.

It’s 8:40 and they are off to work,
some in offices, others sweeping the streets,
while I am off to a museum or a church
to see paintings, maybe light a candle in an alcove.
Yet here we all are in our suits and work shirts
joined in the brotherhood of espresso,

or how is it said? La fratellanza dell’espresso,
draining our little white cups
with a quick flourish of the wrist,
each of us tasting the same sweetness of life,
if you take a little sugar, and the bitterness
of its brevity, whether you choose to take sugar or not.

Gratitude

When we have been unjustly hurt, our reaction might understandably be anger and resentment, and we might be motivated to retaliate. Let’s say we experience a great loss because of someone else’s actions against us – a life-changing and devastating loss. How do we get beyond vengeance against the one who caused the loss and move towards gratitude for what we had that was lost?  It’s a hard change of heart and mind: being thankful that we had the lost thing at all – a person, a job, a prized possession – for however long, rather than resentful for having been deprived of it. Gratitude can be a powerful avenue through the trauma of loss. It does not minimize the intense pain that always accompany the work of rebuilding one’s life in an entirely different context, but it can take away the feeling of anger and the conviction that a terrible injustice has been done, and it opens the way for thanksgiving and renewed trust in the world.

Trinity Sunday

Last Sunday was Trinity Sunday for Christian traditions who believe in a Trinitarian God. It is a complicated theological concept – and many scholars have tried to make logical sense of three Gods in one: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I find that metaphors help.

One sermon I heard used the images of the lover (God), the beloved (His Son, in whom He is well pleased), and the spirit of love that engulfs them and imbues all of us (the Holy Spirit). I have also heard of the metaphor of the dance to help us understand. God is the creator of the dance; his Son is embodying the dance, and the Holy Spirit is providing the music that make a harmonious dance possible. Both metaphors make clear that the concept of the Trinity is a relational one. We all strive to live in loving, harmonious relationship to our God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – and to one another.

Pentecost

Last Sunday was Pentecost, the visitation of the Holy Spirit upon the twelve and by extension to us. The gift of the Holy Spirit is a profound gift, infusing us with the strength to do God’s will : help the poor, say our prayers, spread the gospel.  

 The metaphors around the Pentecost are tongues of fire, streams of water, streams of breath: all elements of the natural worlds help us understand the power of the experience. If it is a river, let it flow. If it is a wind, let it blow. If it is a fire, let it burn. In all cases, let it do it service in the spirit of God’s love.

Hiking

I have been lucky to live in places where great hikes are readily accessible. I am also lucky to have a dog who likes the hikes as much as I do. There is, of course, the beauty of the external landscape – trees whispering in the wind, streams babbling along the path, wildflowers donning their colors, and birds chirping overhead. There is also the meditative effect of putting one foot in front of the other, as one’s internal landscape begins to echo the beauty of the external surroundings. And then, there is the easy discourse with hikers whom you pass, fellow travelers along the path. Being in nature seems to promote a gentle courtesy, a shared appreciation of the space, inviting us to tread lightly and to be respectful of one another. My dog reminds me that there are other critters along the way, as she scampers after squirrels and bunnies. The full tableau is a gift that inspires gratitude.

Option B

I just read an excerpt from Sheryl Sandberg’s new book Option B: Facing Adversity, BuildingResilience, and Finding Joy. In it she talks about how shocked she was by the number of friends who did not ask her how she was doing after the death of her husband: 

“I felt invisible, as if I were standing in front of them but they couldn’t see me. When someone shows up with a cast, we immediately inquire ‘What happened?’ If your life is shattered, we don’t.” 

She goes on to talk about the white elephant in the room that nobody wanted to touch. Isn’t it odd that folks – even our closest friends – are so uncomfortable in the presence of dramatic emotional pain and loss? Not knowing what to say, they say nothing, a fact that only leads to emotional distance, just what the person in pain does not need. Both sides need to reach out and lean in.

Billy Collins

I recently listened to a performance of Billy Collins reading a collection of his poems. Not all poets read their own poems well, but Collins's readings are superb, the cadence and tone of his voice a perfect vehicle for the poems on the page. Listening to his poems, it is no surprise to me that Collins is so wildly popular. His poems speak of the ordinary and the everyday in a new and often very ironic way that illicits laughter and delight. 

Humor is one of the most distinguishing characteristics of his poetry. He knows how to be both clear and mysterious, simple and profound. Whether he is spoofing love poems that pile on excessive metaphors on the beloved - as he does in "Litany," or describing the poignant vulnerability of a building ruined by an explosion - as he does in "Building With Its Face Blown Off," he is a master of his craft.

Clouds and Daffodils

I recently thought of Wordsworth's "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" when I was watching all the cloud formations as I drove through New Mexico and Arizona. Of course, the poem is really about daffodils and memory, the clouds being simply a simile to describe the speaker's wandering: "lonely as a cloud." But I was glad to be reminded of daffodils, too, especially as winter gives way to spring this April. The daffodils in the poem are "sprightly" and "jocund'" as they "flutter in the breeze." 

As the speaker watches them, he has no idea how much joy they will bring him later, when he conjures them up in his memory and "dances with the daffodils."  So powerful is memory that it can reproduce a vivid scene from our past as though it were with us in the present: we experience not only the visual vista but also the emotional experience. 

Thirst

^{Thirst takes many forms, such as the physical thirst for water or the emotional thirst for love. There are also spiritual thirsts, which long to be quenched, as Mary Oliver reminds us in her poem.}

Thirst by Mary Oliver

Another morning and I wake with thirst


for the goodness I do not have.

I walk
out to the pond and all the way God has


given us such beautiful lessons.

Oh Lord,
I was never a quick scholar but sulked

and hunched over my books past the
hour

and the bell; grant me, in your
mercy, a little more time.

Love for the
earth and love for you are having such a
long conversation in my heart.

Who
knows what will finally happen or
where I will be sent, yet already I have
given a great many things

away, expecting to be told to pack nothing,

except the
prayers which, with this thirst,

I am
slowly learning.

Lion

I recently saw Garth Davis’s movie “Lion” and was deeply moved by the film’s depiction of what it feels like for a small boy to be lost. Saroo, the main character, gets separated from his older brother and then accidentally travels by train over 1,000 miles from his home, ending up in Calcutta, a city foreign in every way from his village. Garth does a masterful job of conveying Saroo’s emotions with minimal dialogue. With a look or a smile, a cry or a frown, Saroo shows his thoughts and feelings. We are reminded of the power of non-verbal communication and the intuitive knowledge of children. Though vulnerable and scared, Saroo is also tough and resilient – and acutely sensitive to his surroundings. Memories of and love for his mother and brother keep him going, determined to get back home. Among questions the movie raises are what constitutes home and family, and how love and memories sustain us through separation and loss.

Passion

How interesting that the root of the word passion is from the Latin “passio,” which means “suffering.” If you are really passionate about something or someone, you will definitely be inspired by and fulfilled by that person or thing; but you will also be subject to pain or heart break.

The passionate way can be rocky even as it is exhilarating. To feel deeply can bring both joy and despair. I believe that living with passion is living a fulfilled life, but we must be ready for the suffering that can come with that fulfillment - especially if we dare to take an unorthodox path or risk to raise our voice for the truth against the prevailing wind.

As we approach the season of Lent and retrace Christ’s last steps, remember that the journey from the Last Supper to the Cross is referred to as “The Passion.”

Perspective: How Things Appear Differently From Up Above

I went flying with a friend this week, and it made me think about perspective: how things appear differently from up above, looking down; how we have to reorient ourselves to recognize from above what is familiar from the ground; how both sizes and distances change depending on our vantage point.

As we begin a new year and a new chapter in our nation’s history, I am going to remind myself to try on different perspectives, especially ones with which I am unfamiliar – to see things fresh and anew. Looking at an issue from multiple angles can help me know it more deeply and more fully, and ask me to step out of my familiar perspective to see from someone else’s point of view.

Consider Wallace Stevens’s poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” in which Stevens asks us to look at the common blackbird in new ways.

Benedict of Nursia's Rule of Benedict

Benedict of Nursia, a mystic and wisdom thinker, lived 1,500 years ago; but his Rule of Benedict continues to guide monastics and lay people alike to this day. The first paragraph of the Rule of Benedict invites us to “listen carefully to his instructions and to attend to them with the ear of our hearts.” 

Careful listening is the key to being fully human and alive. Let nothing go by that could nourish our souls and lend meaning to our lives, Benedict seems to say. I especially like the notion of listening with the “ear of our hearts” – in other words, listening with real feeling, not just intellectual curiosity. In a world of sound bites, we have little practice to listen carefully and with full attention. To do so is to be that much more connected to one another and the world around us at the level of our hearts as well as our minds.

St. Francis and the Sow

On this Valentine’s Day, I would simply offer up this poem that reminds us that we are all lovely and loveable.

St. Francis and the Sow

Galway Kinnell

The bud

stands for all things,

even for those things that don’t flower,

for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;   

though sometimes it is necessary

to reteach a thing its loveliness,

to put a hand on its brow

of the flower

and retell it in words and in touch

it is lovely

until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;   

as Saint Francis

put his hand on the creased forehead

of the sow, and told her in words and in touch   

blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow   

began remembering all down her thick length,   

from the earthen snout all the way

through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,   

from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine   

down through the great broken heart

to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering   

from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them:

the long, perfect loveliness of sow.

Bread - The Staff of Life

I know a wonderful bakery where hundreds of loaves of fresh bread are baked daily: sour dough, rye, farm, and paisano, to name a few. Seeing them all stacked on the racks is a thing of beauty; and once you bite into any one of them, you are transported to a place of comfort and home.

Bread is often referred to as “the staff of life.” I can understand why. Every country and culture in the world has its particular bread, and bread cuts across all socio-economic groups. Consider the  roots of the word “companion”: com and pan: “the person with whom you break bread.”

In the New Testament, Jesus broke bread with his disciples and directed them to “Take and Eat" of the bread that became representative of his body and his love for them and the world. Bread feeds us all, both body and soul.

The Value and Beauty of Hard, Physical Work

In Marge Pierce’s poem “To Be of Use,” she sings the praises of people who work hard in useful endeavors, who pull their weight and make things happen. I worked in a bakery for the first time over the holidays and saw up close people“who do what has to be done, again and again.” I saw the bakers “move in a common rhythm when the food must come in or the fire be put out.” I came to appreciate more than ever the value and beauty of hard, physical work.

People everywhere are made whole through useful, purposeful, “real” work, the end results of which are made visible through careful focus on the task at hand. That end result is filled with satisfaction and even joy, not only for the maker of the bread but also, of course, for the receiver of the loaves.

What does it mean to be “at home”?

I have been thinking about home during this holiday season.  What does it mean to be “at home”? Of course, there are plenty of clichés that try to answer that question. “Home is where the heart is” is one of the most common answers. I certainly agree that what  turns a house into a home is an emotional component that translates mere bricks and mortar into something heart-felt.  Memories associated with a house can also turn it into a home – as we remember good and special times shared there. The physical space turns into an emotional haven as we conjure up those memories. As I think about home, I also think about homelessness and am reminded of the thousands of people throughout the world who have no houses to turn into homes. Where are they this holiday season, and how can we who have homes help them find theirs?