I am not looking forward to Holy Week. I never do. This Sunday will be Palm Sunday and then two people dear to me will have major surgeries on Monday and Tuesday. Am reminded of how connected we all are. I have always loved the notion of the soul. It hasn't gotten much press in my own children's lives, and am grateful for this poem by C.K. Williams in the Jan/Feb. issue of The Atlantic:

Brain

I was traversing the maze of my brain: corridors, corners, strange narrow caverns, dead ends. Then all at once my being like this in my brain, this sense of being my brain became unbearable to me.

I began to wonder in dismay if the conclusion I'd long ago come to that there can be nothingthat might reasonably be postulated as the soul apart from body and mind was entirely valid.

Why, as many I cherish-Herbert, Hopkins, Weil-have believed, shouldn't there be a substance neither thought nor matter that floats above both, lifts from both as mist at dawn lifts from a lake?

Here was only this cavern registering the hours of my life, and dissipating, misplacing all but so few. If I could posit a soul, might this be its task: to salvage in a convincing way all that I'd lost?

Would that be what's meant by consolation? And if there were a soul, and its consolations, would I perceive the mist and lake of other souls, too? Would I love them more than I already do?

And the lake, and the dawn, and the rudderless barque I picture there: would I love all that more, too? And the mountain behind, scribbled with trees? And the lace of the dark seeping down, seeping down?

March 15, 2010

three weeks til Easter. We are more than halfway there. It's been 26 days since Ash Wednesday. Yesterday we were in Gualala taking our leave after a restful, rejuvenating four days at The Sea Ranch. We had to return our keys, do a little bridal shower shopping at our favorite shop (Placewares), and drop off our recyclables. We also went to mass at Mary Star of the Sea Church up on the hill overlooking the ocean. Architecturally the church itself is lovely... lots of light, lots of light colored wood and a cement floor painted the color of water. As one looks out there are tall trees and the ocean in the distance and until very recently, a small garden and several headstones from early settlers. This time Pete noticed a new path and what looked like a station from the Stations of the Cross. It was! a crew of parishioners have installed a path into the woods with stations along the way. Simple blue and white ceramic tiles with images from Christ's passion and death tell our story. The story of our salvation. Without his hanging from a tree for all to see.. would we know how much God loves us? As much as we seem to run away from that truth... I'm not sure anything short of the gift of his life would get through to us. I think I'm going to find an outdoor set of the station s in my neighborhood, walk and recollect the story. Before it's Easter.. and I won't know what it's all about.

Don't know much trigonometry

from the book of Deutoronomy and today's readings: “However, take care and be earnestly on your guard not to forget the things which your own eyes have seen, nor let them slip from your memory as long as you live, but teach them to your children and to your children’s children.” Here, Moses is speaking to the people of Israel and encouraging them to remain faithful to the Lord, their God. He reminds them to hold on to their own experience and to share that experience with their children. Memory is very important to the Jewish people. I asked the question a while ago: if we are the Body of Christ, what part of the body are you? The answers from people were astounding. My sister: left hip. Another sister: shoulders. Another: arms.
another: ears. Two of my elders I would suggest are "memory". Their favorite thing to do is to recall events from the past. One is a story teller. The other is an historian. In any case, they both hold on to pieces of stories and are compelled to relate them to people who will listen. Because I have a poor memory, I really marvel at and appreciate this contribution to my world view. My mother in law can chronicle the history of the East Bay, in particular her neighborhood, which store used to be where and who owned it and to whom they were married and divorced. It goes on! My father likes to tell stories about his family in southern Ohio. I think most of them are true, but in any event, they are all amusing and worth the listen. They reveal the culture from which he came and to some extent, genetically from whence I came!Like the time his father threw a rock and hit the bull right between the eyes, felling the bull. All in self defense. Feats of strength figure prominently. It is important to remember. and in particular, to remember how God has been with me.. "faithful and ever living God"... always.

March 9, 2010 A Good Woman

My sister Peggy in her new sweater that matches my walls!

Feast of St. Frances of Rome. She was a good woman. I know so many and Pope Benedict will never hear of them. Today's readings are BEAUTIFUL. They speak of God's tender mercy for his people and in the gospel today Jesus teaches us that we are to forgive those who trespass against us seventy times seven times. That is not unreasonable if we consider how much our God loves us over and over and over again and loves us even when we turn our backs on our call to relationship with the Holy One. I think it's hard to imagine that there is a love like that. The closest I come is how much I love my chillens. Last night I was remembering how when the boys were little we'd lounge around on our bed.. when they were two and three feet tall!... and stare at the ceiling, talk and I would worship their little selves. They were such miracles. Every word they said was brilliant or funny. They were beautiful!!! to me. Lying still in our bed gave me the eyes to see how lovely they were and allowed me to be very present to them. Lying still. Just hanging out. I'm so grateful for that memory that came unannounced and unsought last night. I was waiting for Pete to come to bed and had time to just lie there. Remembering. Gift. That is how much we are each loved... .like that. Even with snotty noses, morning breath, cradle cap, (I saw all those things too), and dirty diapers. We are LOVED.

March 5, 2010

On the feast of a St. John Joseph of the Cross, a Franciscan of a community near Naples 1654-1734 : "And by this I wish to know if you love the Lord God and me, his servant and yours—if you have acted in this manner: that is, there should not be any brother in the world who has sinned, however much he may have possibly sinned, who, after he has looked into your eyes, would go away without having received your mercy, if he is looking for mercy. And if he were not to seek mercy, you should ask him if he wants mercy. And if he should sin thereafter a thousand times before your very eyes, love him more than me so that you may draw him back to the Lord. Always be merciful to [brothers] such as these" (St. Francis, Letter to a Minister).

In my reading today there is a lot of attention given to how it is we live in community. Well, this excerpt above from St. Francis lays it out pretty clearly. What is required is nothing short of SUPER human. We must rely heavily on God's grace in order to live in community. Lots and lots of love and forgiveness. In my small group, we are discussing nonviolent communication and how to deal with conflict. We're being given tools. One of my favorite ones is a gesture that we can try that sets the world aright. Put the right hand up as if saying "stop" and your left hand reaches out open, as if to receive. I've been practicing this posture (in my mind) when facing difficult situations with difficult people. IT WORKS! Jesus is depicted in this pose in works of art. In fact, the new diocese of Oakland's cathedral has a giant Christ just like this! You know the one. One hand is up with two fingers up and the other hand is lower and open. The first time I practiced the gesture, it reminded me of Tai Chi... gently holding a ball. and it reminded me of the yin and the yang. Try it and see what comes to mind!

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

St Katharine Drexel (1858 - 1955) who died 55 years ago today. She was born in Philadephia to a rich banking family. In 1889, at the age of 33, she founded the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, dedicated to mission work among Indians and black people. (A survey of the situation in the United States at this time described “250,000 Indians neglected, if not practically abandoned, and over nine million of negroes still struggling through the aftermath of slavery”). She spent her entire life and her entire fortune to this work, opening schools, founding a university, and funding many chapels, convents and monasteries. She died on 3 March 1955, by which time there were more than 500 Sisters teaching in 63 schools throughout the United States.

I'm curious how many of these sisters still exist? So, I looked them up. "Our special concern is for the poor and oppressed especially among the Native American, African American and Haitian peoples," the sisters say on their Web site, www.katharinedrexel.org. "We are 'building up' the Body of Christ through prayer, counseling, education, health care, social work and other corporal & spiritual works of mercy." I'm too lazy to go look up how many sisters actually are still active in the ministry. I'm guessing a LOT fewer.

One of my boys likened me to a cartoon character.. Cluckie from Disney's Robin Hood movie. I'm thinking: many religious sisters would also mirror Cluckie's many fine attributes. Long live the Cluckie's of the world. The world needs MORE of them! www.youtube.com and Cluckie.

Tuesday March 2, 1010

From Psalm 42 from this morning's prayer of the Hours:
"Why are you so sad, my soul,
and anxious within me?
Put your hope in the Lord, I will praise him still,
my saviour and my God."

Sometimes my soul feels orphan-ish. or I forget about it all together. This psalm of today's morning prayer caught me. As I seek to be on more friendly terms with God (a name I can't find a better name for and btw: I have trouble with Lord) most of the time I am aware that I'm operating on another agenda altogether which I'm not finding to be very grounded. Lately, I've been turning to the Liturgy of the Hours, which I would liken to the way Muslims pray. Throughout the day, at intervals of every three hours, there is available to me a formula of prayers created by the Benedictines back in the 500's. The prayers are on-line. This practice connects me to a community of pray-ers all over the world. All over the world there are lay and religious gathering to pray the Liturgy of the Hours. I am tapping into a powerful web of seekers... and when I recall all of the religious sisters and brothers I have encountered in my life, I am reminded of what a motley crew we are. Sr. Reinhildus from Germany, Sr. Tarcissius in N. Little Rock, Fr. Heidt in Minot, the list goes on.. but, we are the Body of Christ. The only way we can function in a healthy way it seems to me, is if we acknowlege our connectedness and recall to whom we are beholden. Back to morning prayer and the down and dirty psalms. (this stained glass is in my mother's church in Colorado, and is a depiction of St. Frances Xavier Elizabeth Cabrini, who came from Italy in the late 1800's to minister to the Italian poor and to children. Her sisters carry on the work all over the world.)