Here is an unspeakable secret: paradise is all around us and we do not understand. It is wide open. The sword is taken away and we do not know it: we are off: "one to his farm and another to his merchandise." Lights on. Clocks ticking. Thermostats working. Stoves cooking. Electric razors filling radios with static. "Wisdom," cries the dawn deacon, but we do not attend. -Thomas Merton
It’s a chilly Friday morning and the flurries flaking down on the National Shrine Christmas wreaths, the Sedes Sapiente statue, my own uncovered head lead me to reflect on the last three years. Michigan and 4th, place of my discernment, setting of my first encounter with living in the institutional church!
My spiritual director, my friends, even the parking attendant mystic I speak to on my way to class seem to be stretched thin these short December days. Maybe they sense my unrest. Maybe they don’t rest themselves. Maybe they understand without being asked that they can’t answer my question, the one that led me here to seminary in the first place. God. Man. Why?
“Mysss—teery,” says Fr. Regis, emphasizing his point over and over in my spirituality class. “To be baptized is to invite martyrdom, to be plunged into the paschal mysss—teery.” Regis is a brilliant man. It’s because he asks the right questions, and though he has opinions, he doesn’t pretend to have the answers.
Fr. Jerry, my old, dead spiritual director, resting in the middle of Georgetown’s campus once told me that to be a priest was to make your life a sacrifice to God, and to facilitate Christ presence in the lives of others. If this is true, the object of the spiritual life is to continually accept the reality that you are to be as gift given to the world through the Church.
If this is the case, it doesn’t seem to be enough. While we are renewed and full of joy one day, we are old and worn out the next. We become like last year’s Christmas gifts: used up, broken, lying in the trash heap, diminished by the terror of living.
But God invites us to renewal, to live the present, to forget our worries and cares. Consider the lilies in the field. If God cares thus for them, will he not care for you? We are promised a light yoke and an easy burden. Are these choices or realities?
As I sojourn on in formation it seems more and more seminary is something to be endured. Give the right answers on the tests, present the right face to the community, attend the right events for the diocese. Every item in its box, every box in its place sealed covered and properly stored to be examined if authority deems it fit at a later date. It is organized and neat, and they are organized and neat, walking around in their dainty white collars acting holy. The greatest sin of all might be that I am perceived as one of them.
If the institutional Church is the condemned and the people of God are the woman then I am Peter in the courtyard, denying the truth over and over, shouting louder than the cock can crow. I am a free thinker, my mind is mine, and I refuse to conform to another man’s rules. To the unthinking clerics I say, I am with you, but I am not one of you. I will seek the paradise that is open, lasting and free for the taking.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Until Democrats Become Democrats Again
At this point the 2010 midterm elections are over and the punditry has just begun. All night long on Tuesday I kept listening to the talking heads ponder what the Republican takeover of the House and GOP gains in the Senate mean.
The Republicans are better organized, and despite their small government, fewer taxes rhetoric which favors the rich, have become the party of the people. Withstanding the usual last minute liberal appeals, droves of angry whites and upper middle class minorities turned out at the polls to support the GOP. So what does this mean for Democrats, whose ironic “Change” and “Hope” bumper stickers have faded and who now wish only to be oppressed in a sane, civilized manner (if John Stewart is to be believed)?
Since the 1980s, Republicans have controlled the story in American politics. We Democrats are the party of issues like Social Security, Unemployment, Medicare, Healthcare and the like. GOPers from push-polling Lee Atwater to Karl Rove belong to the party of articulated vision.
While Democrats strove to separate themselves from the far left and appeal to business friendly interests, Republicans were marketing the compassionate conservative, defending poor unborn babies, helping economic windfalls trickle down, and taking stands against the owners of Welfare Cadillacs. After an eight year Clinton White House, they pulled out all the stops to take back the executive office and promptly gave the wealthy a tax break and plunged the country into two wars.
Democrats found their spine long enough to win back both houses and the Presidency, but froze up and watched their political capital vanish in a series of bogged down debates concerning the economy and healthcare. Suddenly the Republican Party embraced the far right, just as they had embraced Christian fundamentalists in the 80’s and became the party of protest just in time for the midterm elections.
The liberal ideal was once that of higher wages and better treatment for workers. It was the party that advocated education for the middle class and equal rights for all citizens under the law. Somewhere along the way however, the Left quit giving the electorate a vision and instead began to operate within the GOP version of the American dream.
Many Democratic candidates began running right in order to appeal to big money interests and shed the half-crazed hippie or out of touch idealistic professor stereotype. Their opponents rightly deemed them the inconsistent knock off brand competing against the real deal conservatives. In 2008, Obama’s victory was a victory for the liberal vision. But that vision was abandoned nearly as soon as the president took office and Democrats find themselves once again the party on the outs.
In 2008 Democrats thought they had achieved change. What we got was a brief reprieve followed by more of the same. The pattern will continue until Democrats take control of the story and become Democrats again.
The Republicans are better organized, and despite their small government, fewer taxes rhetoric which favors the rich, have become the party of the people. Withstanding the usual last minute liberal appeals, droves of angry whites and upper middle class minorities turned out at the polls to support the GOP. So what does this mean for Democrats, whose ironic “Change” and “Hope” bumper stickers have faded and who now wish only to be oppressed in a sane, civilized manner (if John Stewart is to be believed)?
Since the 1980s, Republicans have controlled the story in American politics. We Democrats are the party of issues like Social Security, Unemployment, Medicare, Healthcare and the like. GOPers from push-polling Lee Atwater to Karl Rove belong to the party of articulated vision.
While Democrats strove to separate themselves from the far left and appeal to business friendly interests, Republicans were marketing the compassionate conservative, defending poor unborn babies, helping economic windfalls trickle down, and taking stands against the owners of Welfare Cadillacs. After an eight year Clinton White House, they pulled out all the stops to take back the executive office and promptly gave the wealthy a tax break and plunged the country into two wars.
Democrats found their spine long enough to win back both houses and the Presidency, but froze up and watched their political capital vanish in a series of bogged down debates concerning the economy and healthcare. Suddenly the Republican Party embraced the far right, just as they had embraced Christian fundamentalists in the 80’s and became the party of protest just in time for the midterm elections.
The liberal ideal was once that of higher wages and better treatment for workers. It was the party that advocated education for the middle class and equal rights for all citizens under the law. Somewhere along the way however, the Left quit giving the electorate a vision and instead began to operate within the GOP version of the American dream.
Many Democratic candidates began running right in order to appeal to big money interests and shed the half-crazed hippie or out of touch idealistic professor stereotype. Their opponents rightly deemed them the inconsistent knock off brand competing against the real deal conservatives. In 2008, Obama’s victory was a victory for the liberal vision. But that vision was abandoned nearly as soon as the president took office and Democrats find themselves once again the party on the outs.
In 2008 Democrats thought they had achieved change. What we got was a brief reprieve followed by more of the same. The pattern will continue until Democrats take control of the story and become Democrats again.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Questions From an Atheist
Isn't your life meant for Eternity? What does the present matter? Or are you in a constant state of "Now" as the Lord is?
Speaking in eschatological terms, yes, the Christian life is an acting out of the New Covenant the end result of which is eternal life. But when I wake up in the morning, I hear my alarm going off, I smell my coffee brewing, I feel the penetrating warmth of the water pulsating out of the shower head. In our life on earth, this is all we have. We have the ability to think about the past, and anticipate the future, but these thoughts are reality only as we define it. So as human beings we craft our perception of events (which I will loosely call reality).
When I think of Christmas break for instance I can think of an argument with a friend from West Virginia like it happened 20 minutes ago. To me that argument is very real; the words, the tones used. The situation as it was at that time is defining what I think of my friend presently. My friend on the other hand does not feel the same way. He forgot about the silly argument after it happened and went back to painting in his studio.
Anticipating the future is similar to thinking about the past. We use our perception of past events to try to predict how the future will turn out. There is a huge sports media industry dedicated to doing just that. So, the Duke and North Carolina men’s basketball teams are going to play. Sportscenter is digging up the stats: wins and losses, home and away records, each team’s performance in the last few games. The coaches and players are watching film of the last game they played against one another trying to see what their opponent will do.
All this time, money, energy and planning goes into determining how the game will play out. But once the teams tip-off the game takes on a life of its own. Players are up and down the floor, bodies are on the ground, a power forward twists an ankle and leaves the game. No amount of anticipating the game could have predicted the way the game went. So too when we think of our future. No amount of thinking or planning will tell us what tomorrow brings.
So that brings us back to the present moment. One of the Psalms says “our lives are 70 or 80 years, and most of those are loneliness and pain.” Our temporal condition means that we cannot know the eternal except through grace (if we believe in that). Most Buddhists would say (and I am inclined to agree) that after years of practice we can attain a constant state of now.
We can attain Buddha-hood, we can attain enlightenment after we have mastered the path of the Bodhisattva. I would say that this is not the same state that God is in, and that as Christians we cannot know that state while on earth, except through Jesus, but even Jesus is clear that the son is not the father.
Going back to the second part of the Psalm, our lives are loneliness and pain if we define them in that way. Our lives are precious gifts if we define them in that way. Happiness, an uncaused state, is brought about by the shedding of layers upon layers of conditioned thinking. We think that to be happy we must prove ourselves, we must be respected by others, we must have x amount of money in the bank, a spouse by age 30, a large house full of children at 35. This is so much garbage. We put conditions on happiness and we never attain it. We only have a brief resting place between getting one thing we want and striving after another.
So basically, since we define our existence, our lives can be either hell on earth or heaven on earth. If we can choose to live in the present moment, we can choose to be happy. If we can choose to be happy we can bring untold amounts of joy to others. Bringing joy to others, we find that we are reinvigorated by them and receive joy ourselves. And this is how we change the world. We change it by changing ourselves.
Speaking in eschatological terms, yes, the Christian life is an acting out of the New Covenant the end result of which is eternal life. But when I wake up in the morning, I hear my alarm going off, I smell my coffee brewing, I feel the penetrating warmth of the water pulsating out of the shower head. In our life on earth, this is all we have. We have the ability to think about the past, and anticipate the future, but these thoughts are reality only as we define it. So as human beings we craft our perception of events (which I will loosely call reality).
When I think of Christmas break for instance I can think of an argument with a friend from West Virginia like it happened 20 minutes ago. To me that argument is very real; the words, the tones used. The situation as it was at that time is defining what I think of my friend presently. My friend on the other hand does not feel the same way. He forgot about the silly argument after it happened and went back to painting in his studio.
Anticipating the future is similar to thinking about the past. We use our perception of past events to try to predict how the future will turn out. There is a huge sports media industry dedicated to doing just that. So, the Duke and North Carolina men’s basketball teams are going to play. Sportscenter is digging up the stats: wins and losses, home and away records, each team’s performance in the last few games. The coaches and players are watching film of the last game they played against one another trying to see what their opponent will do.
All this time, money, energy and planning goes into determining how the game will play out. But once the teams tip-off the game takes on a life of its own. Players are up and down the floor, bodies are on the ground, a power forward twists an ankle and leaves the game. No amount of anticipating the game could have predicted the way the game went. So too when we think of our future. No amount of thinking or planning will tell us what tomorrow brings.
So that brings us back to the present moment. One of the Psalms says “our lives are 70 or 80 years, and most of those are loneliness and pain.” Our temporal condition means that we cannot know the eternal except through grace (if we believe in that). Most Buddhists would say (and I am inclined to agree) that after years of practice we can attain a constant state of now.
We can attain Buddha-hood, we can attain enlightenment after we have mastered the path of the Bodhisattva. I would say that this is not the same state that God is in, and that as Christians we cannot know that state while on earth, except through Jesus, but even Jesus is clear that the son is not the father.
Going back to the second part of the Psalm, our lives are loneliness and pain if we define them in that way. Our lives are precious gifts if we define them in that way. Happiness, an uncaused state, is brought about by the shedding of layers upon layers of conditioned thinking. We think that to be happy we must prove ourselves, we must be respected by others, we must have x amount of money in the bank, a spouse by age 30, a large house full of children at 35. This is so much garbage. We put conditions on happiness and we never attain it. We only have a brief resting place between getting one thing we want and striving after another.
So basically, since we define our existence, our lives can be either hell on earth or heaven on earth. If we can choose to live in the present moment, we can choose to be happy. If we can choose to be happy we can bring untold amounts of joy to others. Bringing joy to others, we find that we are reinvigorated by them and receive joy ourselves. And this is how we change the world. We change it by changing ourselves.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Traveling
As I write this I sit in Marshall’s computer lab, a place that at different times has been study center, escape haven and newsroom for me. It’s now June and I’m still traveling. DC, Wheeling, Weirton, Huntington, St. Louis, Chicago, St. Louis, Huntington, and the final destination, Northern Panhandle.
It’s my second stopover in my hometown and time has begun to drift. The constant déjà vu element of this trip is no longer shocking, and I half expect to see my past self, with long, curly hair and notebooks in hand emerge from Old Main, or be standing outside the Java Joint engaged in constant political debate.
In the past weeks I have seen people I no longer see, gone places I no longer go, thought things I no longer think. Place and time impress upon us as much as we define them. Marshall in the summer is still quiet, and from the library one can hear the constant pitter patter of the water from the Memorial Fountain striking the basin.
In St. Louis, the Arsenal Street house is the same as it always has been. When I walk in my guest room I am half surprised that I instinctively know where the light switches are, where I can plug in my cell phone, how the metal chain on patio door blinds lets the light in while the stiff cloth string pulls them back. The Arch still watches over my part of south St. Louis and the ornate steeple of St. Francis De Sales leans toward Gravois Avenue, pulling ever more slightly apart from its foundation.
These places are in me, and I am in them. Past, future and present blend and I am no more significant than a drop of water in the Ohio River meandering slowly but steadily toward the sea.
It’s my second stopover in my hometown and time has begun to drift. The constant déjà vu element of this trip is no longer shocking, and I half expect to see my past self, with long, curly hair and notebooks in hand emerge from Old Main, or be standing outside the Java Joint engaged in constant political debate.
In the past weeks I have seen people I no longer see, gone places I no longer go, thought things I no longer think. Place and time impress upon us as much as we define them. Marshall in the summer is still quiet, and from the library one can hear the constant pitter patter of the water from the Memorial Fountain striking the basin.
In St. Louis, the Arsenal Street house is the same as it always has been. When I walk in my guest room I am half surprised that I instinctively know where the light switches are, where I can plug in my cell phone, how the metal chain on patio door blinds lets the light in while the stiff cloth string pulls them back. The Arch still watches over my part of south St. Louis and the ornate steeple of St. Francis De Sales leans toward Gravois Avenue, pulling ever more slightly apart from its foundation.
These places are in me, and I am in them. Past, future and present blend and I am no more significant than a drop of water in the Ohio River meandering slowly but steadily toward the sea.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
My Priest Chews Tobacca
It has been said that no man can be a prophet in his homeland. I have nearly always heard this expression used with a negative connotation, usually when someone in the ministerial profession is relating a problem with a friend or family member they cannot change.
But a few days ago, as I sat on the porch of my friend’s old farm house, downing Yuenglings and eating steak and chicken, I couldn’t help but thank God for this fact. Most of the people gathered that day were not regular church goers, or even Catholic. They’re the kind of folks that find God in nature and have little tolerance for organized religion.
Many of these people I only get to talk to a few times a year. They wonder why this seemingly normal person has gone to seminary, and always let me know they don’t consider me better than anyone else.
It’s a far cry from school, where so many of my peers practice one-upsmanship when they begin to doubt that they indeed channel God, or when they get the inkling that every other person has the same call to holiness.
Joining a group standing around near the coolers on the porch, it wasn’t long until I was found by the father of a good friend.
“My priest,” he said. What’s that?” pointing a bony finger at the can of beer in my hand.
“Just a beer,” I replied with a grin on my face.
“Well,” he said, considering the implications. “That’s okay.”
We reminisced about shooting and gutting a deer back in November, and his Christmas present to me, a shell casing on a chain.
“You know,” he mentioned out of the blue. “You’re never going to get me to go to church.”
“Sir,” I replied. “I never said I wanted to get you to go to church. You can believe what you want.”
“I believe in Jesus,” he said. “But Jesus never told me to go to no church. The first time he went to church he told all the elders how it was, and the second time he opened up a can of whoop ass.”
I could only laugh as I walked with him out to his car. He told me to pray for him when no one was listening, and motioned to the crowd gathered on the porch as he made his exit.
“Hey,” he said loudly, causing the ruckus around the grill to pause for a moment. “Did any of you know that my priest chews tobacca?”
But a few days ago, as I sat on the porch of my friend’s old farm house, downing Yuenglings and eating steak and chicken, I couldn’t help but thank God for this fact. Most of the people gathered that day were not regular church goers, or even Catholic. They’re the kind of folks that find God in nature and have little tolerance for organized religion.
Many of these people I only get to talk to a few times a year. They wonder why this seemingly normal person has gone to seminary, and always let me know they don’t consider me better than anyone else.
It’s a far cry from school, where so many of my peers practice one-upsmanship when they begin to doubt that they indeed channel God, or when they get the inkling that every other person has the same call to holiness.
Joining a group standing around near the coolers on the porch, it wasn’t long until I was found by the father of a good friend.
“My priest,” he said. What’s that?” pointing a bony finger at the can of beer in my hand.
“Just a beer,” I replied with a grin on my face.
“Well,” he said, considering the implications. “That’s okay.”
We reminisced about shooting and gutting a deer back in November, and his Christmas present to me, a shell casing on a chain.
“You know,” he mentioned out of the blue. “You’re never going to get me to go to church.”
“Sir,” I replied. “I never said I wanted to get you to go to church. You can believe what you want.”
“I believe in Jesus,” he said. “But Jesus never told me to go to no church. The first time he went to church he told all the elders how it was, and the second time he opened up a can of whoop ass.”
I could only laugh as I walked with him out to his car. He told me to pray for him when no one was listening, and motioned to the crowd gathered on the porch as he made his exit.
“Hey,” he said loudly, causing the ruckus around the grill to pause for a moment. “Did any of you know that my priest chews tobacca?”
Friday, May 21, 2010
A Peaceful Death
If the purpose of life is to come into deeper communion with the present moment, and to enjoy the life of the mind, what does it mean when you grow old and begin to lose that mind?
My grandmother won't eat. It's another day at the Alzheimer's ward of the care facility that has been her home now for the past month. When I push the button and walk in the usually locked doors, I begin to glance around. I look around like I walk, quickly and with purpose. If I pause to gaze on the sadness, I will be too vulnerable and elderly, out of their mind women will try to talk to me.
As I spot my grandmother, one of the residents greets me with her customary "Hey Boy..." I try not to jump out of my skin and wait for the second half of the greeting, "...when you get done with her, come have some fun with me."
I keep moving past another resident who stands outside of her room and tries to invite me in to look at her stuffed animals, pictures and things. The residents all share the same kind of loneliness. It's a loneliness that's even deeper than regular human loneliness. It's an emotion that comes only when you can't even rely on your own mind, on your own self, and you don't know who you are anymore.
My grandmother is weak. She won't eat because she says she doesn't have an appetite. But she keeps dropping weight, more than 20 pounds since she first entered the nursing home. Maw Maw is starving to death and doesn't even know it. She can barley walk 40 feet and has to take breaks. She's cold and has a sweater either on or by her side no matter what the temperature is. She remembers the past very well but can't remember short term conversation. She asks for the code for the door in a round about way, saying things like, "how did you find me?"
Like my dad, I have begun to tell her the code. I feel that if she can remember it, she deserves her ten or so paces of freedom before she is dragged back in by the nursing staff. I realize however, that Maw Maw's chances of remembering the code are about as good as me hitting a home run out of Busch Stadium. She cries over things that happened 60 years ago and asks the same three questions over and over again.
It's amazing to see this once proud woman, who lived an active life not even want to go anywhere. When I asked if she wanted to go out for a frosty (something she used to do with my brother, sister and I when we were young), she said she didn't have the energy or the appetite. When I tried to take her on a car ride, she didn't want to go. When I brought her the Stewart's Hot Dog she asked for, she claimed to be nauseous and threw the covers over her head when I unwrapped it.
I hate going to the hospital, but I feel like I have an obligation to continue to go every morning for the remainder of my vacation. I may not be able to get my grandmother to take even a baby bite of food, but I can provide a break in the monotony of institution life while she still knows who I am. I still have not answered my question, but it brings to life the blessing at the end of night prayer: "May the Lord grant you a restful night, and a peaceful death."
My grandmother won't eat. It's another day at the Alzheimer's ward of the care facility that has been her home now for the past month. When I push the button and walk in the usually locked doors, I begin to glance around. I look around like I walk, quickly and with purpose. If I pause to gaze on the sadness, I will be too vulnerable and elderly, out of their mind women will try to talk to me.
As I spot my grandmother, one of the residents greets me with her customary "Hey Boy..." I try not to jump out of my skin and wait for the second half of the greeting, "...when you get done with her, come have some fun with me."
I keep moving past another resident who stands outside of her room and tries to invite me in to look at her stuffed animals, pictures and things. The residents all share the same kind of loneliness. It's a loneliness that's even deeper than regular human loneliness. It's an emotion that comes only when you can't even rely on your own mind, on your own self, and you don't know who you are anymore.
My grandmother is weak. She won't eat because she says she doesn't have an appetite. But she keeps dropping weight, more than 20 pounds since she first entered the nursing home. Maw Maw is starving to death and doesn't even know it. She can barley walk 40 feet and has to take breaks. She's cold and has a sweater either on or by her side no matter what the temperature is. She remembers the past very well but can't remember short term conversation. She asks for the code for the door in a round about way, saying things like, "how did you find me?"
Like my dad, I have begun to tell her the code. I feel that if she can remember it, she deserves her ten or so paces of freedom before she is dragged back in by the nursing staff. I realize however, that Maw Maw's chances of remembering the code are about as good as me hitting a home run out of Busch Stadium. She cries over things that happened 60 years ago and asks the same three questions over and over again.
It's amazing to see this once proud woman, who lived an active life not even want to go anywhere. When I asked if she wanted to go out for a frosty (something she used to do with my brother, sister and I when we were young), she said she didn't have the energy or the appetite. When I tried to take her on a car ride, she didn't want to go. When I brought her the Stewart's Hot Dog she asked for, she claimed to be nauseous and threw the covers over her head when I unwrapped it.
I hate going to the hospital, but I feel like I have an obligation to continue to go every morning for the remainder of my vacation. I may not be able to get my grandmother to take even a baby bite of food, but I can provide a break in the monotony of institution life while she still knows who I am. I still have not answered my question, but it brings to life the blessing at the end of night prayer: "May the Lord grant you a restful night, and a peaceful death."
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