"Now, emboldened by the presence of the monks, huge crowds have joined the demonstrations in protests that reflect years of discontent over economic hardship and political repression." -- from the 9/27/07 NY Times coverage of the protests in Myanmar and the Buddhist monks who have joined in.
"We proclaim the Gospel of what God has done and is doing in Christ, of the dignity of every human being, and of justice, compassion and peace. We proclaim the Gospel that in Christ there is no Jew or Greek, no male or female, no slave or free. We proclaim the Gospel that in Christ all God's children, including women, are full and equal participants in the life of Christ's Church. We proclaim the Gospel that in Christ all God's children, including gay and lesbian persons, are full and equal participants in the life of Christ's Church. We proclaim the Gospel that stands against any violence, including violence done to women and children as well as those who are persecuted because of their differences, often in the name of God." -- from today's statement by Episcopal bishops in response to the concerns of Anglican bishops worldwide about the ordination of gays and lesbians.
Have you ever felt emboldened by your religious leaders to march in the street for something you believe in?
Can you picture thousands of barefoot Episcopal priests staring down an army?
It is indeed something to proclaim the Gospel. But it is something else to live it.
I've never figured out what it means to have the status of a full and equal participant in the life of the Church if a "broader consensus" must be won before you and your legal spouse may partake of the same blessing bishops routinely bestow on pets, boats, and golf courses.
I wish my church could get back to doing God's work on behalf of Jesus's favorites: the poor, the brokenhearted, the outcast, the sinner, the captives, the ones without hope.
So much is left undone. We will have much to answer for in the end.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Star Gazing
I'm catching up with unread magazines that piled up over the summer and discovered David Owen's article about the disappearance of the night sky in an August New Yorker.
Owen writes that terrestrial illumination of the night sky by artificial lamps have washed out our view of the stars. The Bortle Dark-Sky Scale classifies the sky along nine points. In Galileo's time the night sky across the globe would be a Class 1. Most American suburbs are Class 5, 6, or 7.
With a homemade telescope less powerful than one you'd buy an eight-year-old, Galileo described the moon's terrain, could see that the Milky Way was made of individual stars, and that Jupiter had moons (which he called planets). Most Americans have only seen the the Milky Way in pictures, yet in Galileo's day it cast a shadow over the earth on clear nights.
Today, star-gazing is nothing like it was for our grandparents. Even from the Grand Canyon -- that vast protected area -- the brightest feature on a clear night is Las Vegas 175 miles away.
I still remember the thrill of seeing a true night sky (probably a Class 4 or 5) on a clear summer night while camping on the shores of Lake Huron 11 or 12 years ago. Having always lived in cities, I didn't know that you could see satellites streak across the sky, or that there were shooting stars every night, or even that the sky held so many stars. It hadn't occurred to me that the stars on Orion's belt were just the brightest stars. Believing my eyes, I thought the stars I could see were the only stars in that part of the sky.
I know. It's crazy. Ignorance becomes a truth if it's reinforced often enough.
How impoverished our existence is without the night sky. I need the stars to remind me of my lack of consequence -- that my life, my problems are quite small. To remind me of the vastness of all I do not know. Of the mysterious heavens. It was 1992 when the Vatican officially confirmed Galileo's findings that the Earth moved around the Sun -- only 359 years after he was tried for heresy under threat of torture by the Inquisition.
In those days to look at the night sky could be dangerous because the right mind could draw unsettling conclusions about the nature of things. Nowadays, the night sky might still have something to teach us about our place in the universe -- if only we could see it.
Owen writes that terrestrial illumination of the night sky by artificial lamps have washed out our view of the stars. The Bortle Dark-Sky Scale classifies the sky along nine points. In Galileo's time the night sky across the globe would be a Class 1. Most American suburbs are Class 5, 6, or 7.
With a homemade telescope less powerful than one you'd buy an eight-year-old, Galileo described the moon's terrain, could see that the Milky Way was made of individual stars, and that Jupiter had moons (which he called planets). Most Americans have only seen the the Milky Way in pictures, yet in Galileo's day it cast a shadow over the earth on clear nights.
Today, star-gazing is nothing like it was for our grandparents. Even from the Grand Canyon -- that vast protected area -- the brightest feature on a clear night is Las Vegas 175 miles away.
I still remember the thrill of seeing a true night sky (probably a Class 4 or 5) on a clear summer night while camping on the shores of Lake Huron 11 or 12 years ago. Having always lived in cities, I didn't know that you could see satellites streak across the sky, or that there were shooting stars every night, or even that the sky held so many stars. It hadn't occurred to me that the stars on Orion's belt were just the brightest stars. Believing my eyes, I thought the stars I could see were the only stars in that part of the sky.
I know. It's crazy. Ignorance becomes a truth if it's reinforced often enough.
How impoverished our existence is without the night sky. I need the stars to remind me of my lack of consequence -- that my life, my problems are quite small. To remind me of the vastness of all I do not know. Of the mysterious heavens. It was 1992 when the Vatican officially confirmed Galileo's findings that the Earth moved around the Sun -- only 359 years after he was tried for heresy under threat of torture by the Inquisition.
In those days to look at the night sky could be dangerous because the right mind could draw unsettling conclusions about the nature of things. Nowadays, the night sky might still have something to teach us about our place in the universe -- if only we could see it.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Days of Silence, Days of Awe
My father's death has bludgeoned me into an unfamiliar silence. The days between posts feel like accusations -- days when I should have written something but didn't.
"Should."
In this unfamiliarly quiet and solitary state, I sense accusations everywhere. The dust under the beds, the dishes in the sink, letters unanswered, pounds not lost, words not found. But, of course, these "shoulds" are all my own. No one convicts me for the dust or the dishes or the letters, or the silence.
These are the Days of Awe in the Jewish calendar -- the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur -- a liminal time of introspection when Jewish tradition holds that God writes everyone's name in the book of life and decides who will live and who will die (and how) this year.
One rabbi writes that these are days to experience our brokenheartedness in a deep way as we attend to our lives and all that is done and undone, known and unknown, broken and whole.
These are days to sit in awe and silence at the great mysteries of life and death as God/the world/life announces our place in the family of things (with a nod to Mary Oliver).
"Should."
In this unfamiliarly quiet and solitary state, I sense accusations everywhere. The dust under the beds, the dishes in the sink, letters unanswered, pounds not lost, words not found. But, of course, these "shoulds" are all my own. No one convicts me for the dust or the dishes or the letters, or the silence.
These are the Days of Awe in the Jewish calendar -- the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur -- a liminal time of introspection when Jewish tradition holds that God writes everyone's name in the book of life and decides who will live and who will die (and how) this year.
One rabbi writes that these are days to experience our brokenheartedness in a deep way as we attend to our lives and all that is done and undone, known and unknown, broken and whole.
These are days to sit in awe and silence at the great mysteries of life and death as God/the world/life announces our place in the family of things (with a nod to Mary Oliver).
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Happy birthday to the whole world
The Jewish high holidays celebrate the birthday of creation and call humanity to reflect, repent, and recommit to the healing of the world. When you reflect on your life, you bump into death as well, so the holidays are also a confrontation with life's fragility and death's mystery.
On Rosh Hashanah it is inscribed
On Yom Kippur it is sealed.
Here is a humorous and deep offering from Leonard Cohen
And who by fire,
who by water,
who in the sunshine,
who in the night time,
who by high ordeal,
who by common trial,
who in your merry merry month of may,
who by very slow decay,
and who shall I say is calling?
And who in her lonely slip,
who by barbiturate,
who in these realms of love,
who by something blunt,
and who by avalanche,
who by powder,
who for his greed,
who for his hunger,
and who shall I say is calling?
And who by brave assent,
who by accident,
who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
who by his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
who in mortal chains,
who in power,
and who shall I say is calling?
On Rosh Hashanah it is inscribed
On Yom Kippur it is sealed.
Here is a humorous and deep offering from Leonard Cohen
And who by fire,
who by water,
who in the sunshine,
who in the night time,
who by high ordeal,
who by common trial,
who in your merry merry month of may,
who by very slow decay,
and who shall I say is calling?
And who in her lonely slip,
who by barbiturate,
who in these realms of love,
who by something blunt,
and who by avalanche,
who by powder,
who for his greed,
who for his hunger,
and who shall I say is calling?
And who by brave assent,
who by accident,
who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
who by his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
who in mortal chains,
who in power,
and who shall I say is calling?
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
The God-Gap in Giving?
The poor are more generous than the rich as it turns out. Even Bill Gates' billions can't skew the numbers. According to Arthur C. Brooks at Syracuse University, "The two most generous groups in America are the rich and the working poor." The poor give the greatest percentage of their income, the rich the greatest net amount of money. But overall 75% of American charitable giving comes from individuals not private foundations like the Gates Foundation.
What accounts for this? Brooks says that religious practice is the single-most important variable in predicting giving -- of money, volunteer time, even blood. Religious people are 10 percent more likely to give money to charity; 21% more likely to volunteer their time; and two times more likely to donate blood than people who claim to be non-religious.
In initially looking at survey data, Brooks saw that there was only an $8 difference in household giving between residents of South Dakota and San Francisco. Yet, after accounting for differences in income and cost of living, he found that South Dakotans gave 50% more to charity than folks in San Francisco. The one consistent and overriding variable he found is religious faith and practice -- even of the non-traditional kind.
He discovered that foundation directors from each state even tell the same God-story. In South Dakota, foundation directors say children learn to tithe and continue to do so even if they no longer attend church. In San Francisco, foundation managers explained the low numbers by saying that S.F. was a "godless" place. (Maybe, maybe not. That's not been my experience of the Bay Area.) But based on Brooks' hypothesis, the spiritually focused of S.F. are likely to give more than their atheist neighbors.
And not just to their own religious organizations, he says. People of faith in the U.S. gave more after 9-11, Katrina, the earthquake in Kashmir and the Tsunami. Brooks says that individual U.S. citizens together gave more after the tsunami than any single national government including our own.
The God-factor apparently plays a part politically as well. Conservative households in America donate 30% more money to charity each year than liberal households.
According to beliefnet.com Brooks has been registered in the past as a Democrat, then a Republican, but now lists himself as independent, explaining, "I have no comfortable political home." He is a behavioral economist who also writes a column for the Wall Street Journal. His new book is called "Who Really Cares: The Surprising Truth about Compassionate Conservatism."
One of the key differences between liberals and conservatives, he says, is their relative conceptions of the role government should have in serving the commonweal. Liberals may not give to charity in part because they believe that it is the government's responsibility to care for the poor. "Now there are lots of religious liberals out there," Brooks says, "but there are three times more religious conservatives than there are religious liberals in America today -- and that's driving the biggest part of the Right-Left charity gap."
Brooks also found that those who give regularly to charity are, on average, happier and healthier than those who don't. This is consistent with public health findings about the relative health of people who belong to religious congregations. They tend to be healthier and longer-lived than those who have no religious affiliation.
This research makes even more aggregious, in my mind, the exploitation of the working class, good-hearted, God-fearing bible belt Christians by the Cheney administration. The same people who are the most likely to give of their money, their time and their blood are giving and giving their lives in Iraq. There's more than one way to give blood.
What accounts for this? Brooks says that religious practice is the single-most important variable in predicting giving -- of money, volunteer time, even blood. Religious people are 10 percent more likely to give money to charity; 21% more likely to volunteer their time; and two times more likely to donate blood than people who claim to be non-religious.
In initially looking at survey data, Brooks saw that there was only an $8 difference in household giving between residents of South Dakota and San Francisco. Yet, after accounting for differences in income and cost of living, he found that South Dakotans gave 50% more to charity than folks in San Francisco. The one consistent and overriding variable he found is religious faith and practice -- even of the non-traditional kind.
He discovered that foundation directors from each state even tell the same God-story. In South Dakota, foundation directors say children learn to tithe and continue to do so even if they no longer attend church. In San Francisco, foundation managers explained the low numbers by saying that S.F. was a "godless" place. (Maybe, maybe not. That's not been my experience of the Bay Area.) But based on Brooks' hypothesis, the spiritually focused of S.F. are likely to give more than their atheist neighbors.
And not just to their own religious organizations, he says. People of faith in the U.S. gave more after 9-11, Katrina, the earthquake in Kashmir and the Tsunami. Brooks says that individual U.S. citizens together gave more after the tsunami than any single national government including our own.
The God-factor apparently plays a part politically as well. Conservative households in America donate 30% more money to charity each year than liberal households.
According to beliefnet.com Brooks has been registered in the past as a Democrat, then a Republican, but now lists himself as independent, explaining, "I have no comfortable political home." He is a behavioral economist who also writes a column for the Wall Street Journal. His new book is called "Who Really Cares: The Surprising Truth about Compassionate Conservatism."
One of the key differences between liberals and conservatives, he says, is their relative conceptions of the role government should have in serving the commonweal. Liberals may not give to charity in part because they believe that it is the government's responsibility to care for the poor. "Now there are lots of religious liberals out there," Brooks says, "but there are three times more religious conservatives than there are religious liberals in America today -- and that's driving the biggest part of the Right-Left charity gap."
Brooks also found that those who give regularly to charity are, on average, happier and healthier than those who don't. This is consistent with public health findings about the relative health of people who belong to religious congregations. They tend to be healthier and longer-lived than those who have no religious affiliation.
This research makes even more aggregious, in my mind, the exploitation of the working class, good-hearted, God-fearing bible belt Christians by the Cheney administration. The same people who are the most likely to give of their money, their time and their blood are giving and giving their lives in Iraq. There's more than one way to give blood.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Transformative moments
A quotation caught my eye the other day. It's from the liner notes of Keith Jarrett's CD "Radiance" as quoted in Trinity News, a publication of Trinity Church, Wall Street.
Transformative
moments
are
very
rare,
or
they
seem
so
due
to
our
inattention.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Psalms for these days
After my father died, I found that I needed a new spiritual discipline -- something to hang each day on. In hard times, the psalms speak to the heart. So, I am in the midst writing each psalm in my own words, in my own way. These are not translations or "improvements." The biblical psalms are communal songs. They are meant for the community to sing or say. They are what they are.
I'm trying something more intimate; a dialogue with an ever-present inner companion, rather than an omnipotent God that dwells elsewhere. I'm working with the theme, imagery, or direction of the original psalm with a goal of keeping the feel of a psalm and not modern poetry.
Here's a try:
Psalm 5.
Search my thoughts and come to my aid;
I am in trouble again.
I know that if I am quiet in the morning and watch for you,
anxiety and fear cannot get a foothold.
You hold open a door and gladly I enter your house;
the heart of peace.
If only I could stay there always
in your sheltering love.
But my own mind betrays me
with anger, resentment, envy, worry, judgment.
My mind is a yawning abyss of distraction;
my thoughts swing from tree to tree when what I need most is
a clear pool of still water.
Freedom from myself, freedom from the agony of uncertainty
is what I seek;
but suffering waits inside the door.
It never knocks before coming in.
Be my shelter, Friend, for I take refuge in you;
shield me, defend me against the chatter of my own mind.
I'm trying something more intimate; a dialogue with an ever-present inner companion, rather than an omnipotent God that dwells elsewhere. I'm working with the theme, imagery, or direction of the original psalm with a goal of keeping the feel of a psalm and not modern poetry.
Here's a try:
Psalm 5.
Search my thoughts and come to my aid;
I am in trouble again.
I know that if I am quiet in the morning and watch for you,
anxiety and fear cannot get a foothold.
You hold open a door and gladly I enter your house;
the heart of peace.
If only I could stay there always
in your sheltering love.
But my own mind betrays me
with anger, resentment, envy, worry, judgment.
My mind is a yawning abyss of distraction;
my thoughts swing from tree to tree when what I need most is
a clear pool of still water.
Freedom from myself, freedom from the agony of uncertainty
is what I seek;
but suffering waits inside the door.
It never knocks before coming in.
Be my shelter, Friend, for I take refuge in you;
shield me, defend me against the chatter of my own mind.
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