What are we doing this for?

September 13, 2010

You haven’t heard from me in a while as I haven’t felt ready to publish.

I wrote a piece on Glenn Beck and my realization of how alike we are. Though I have far different opinions than he, I spout them off just as much and often base them on little to no research. There’s too much of that in the world right now.

Then I wrote a piece about saying goodbye, after a dear friend’s father suddenly passed away. How can we possibly say goodbye to those we love the most? And what circumstances are we granted to do so? It was too soon and too personal to send.

So I’ve waited. Waited until new inspiration came.

And it did, in a Washington, DC yoga class. In tree pose, to be exact. Now, usually, in tree pose, I’ve had too much iced green tea to be able to balance, or my head is spinning with thought and I can’t focus. Tonight was markedly different. Earlier in the day I had toured the National Cathedral with my boyfriend. We walked slowly through detail after detail of beauty, dedication, and devotion to God. A place where people of all faiths, or no faith, are welcome to pray, to wonder or just be reverent.

I thought of the cathedral while I was in tree pose. “Do this for God.” My standing foot pressed more firmly into the Earth, my hip relaxed, my hands reached higher above my head, and a calm strength spread through my body. When my teacher asked us to look up to the sky, I didn’t fall.

I’ve been thinking about this lately – doing something for a purpose larger than myself rather than for my desire for praise. I’ve come to discover that when I do things to gain someone’s favor, be it my yoga teacher, my colleagues, my boyfriend, or God, it doesn’t really work out so well. I trip up. I start thinking I have to be perfect or I will lose something precious.

I’ve come to believe that it’s my effort and my intent that matter. Not perfection. Effort to follow God’s will and not my own in a relationship. Intent to do my job well for the good of children, not the praise of others. Effort to stay in tree pose – even if I fall out.

Part of what inspired me at the National Cathedral is that no part of its design was too small for dedication. Every corner, inside and out, was hand carved for a purpose. Not to please God, but for God.

When I’m able to make the switch from doing something for a lesser motive to doing it for God, I feel an immediate, visceral difference. I exhale. I let go of control. I’m easier on myself and more in sync with the natural flow of life. This is my source of living, working and loving with gentle strength and less ego.

What would feel different for you if you did it for a greater purpose? I’d love to know.

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Choosing Love

August 17, 2010

I find it so easy to hate from a “righteous” place. I’ve done it a lot. I do it still. Just the other morning at 7-11, I felt it looking at a Time Magazine cover photo of a young woman whose nose and ears had been cut off by decree of the Taliban.

I hate the Taliban, what I know of the Taliban at least. When I indulge in my fury, it gives me a little high to feel so strongly about something; then I crash with frustration at the realization that fury alone won’t change anything. Upon hearing about a crime against humanity such as the butchering of the Afghan woman, I feel hate grip my mind, body and heart.

Many people who work to right social injustices find their fuel in anger, yet at what cost and to what end when that anger boils over?

Hate against hate does nothing for the world. Hate doesn’t conquer inequality. Hate won’t change the minds of those I disagree with. Hate will do nothing except burn me from the inside.

Constant rage is not sustainable in a human being. It seems to me that hate-filled bodies are more susceptible to disease of the same “angry” nature. Similarly, I think the degree of fervent hate in the world and our own country is growing to a level that is unsustainable. Just like a 105 degree summer day with 90% humidity is often broken by a massive thunderstorm; at some point, hate will crash.

What will we have left? I imagine the shredded, burned remnants of what it once meant to live in community. Maybe though, after the crash, we’ll be able to start again. If one person can remember what it is to love.

One of my heroes, Morris Dees, founder of the Southern Poverty Law Center, knows a lot about hate, having fought legal battles against white supremacist groups for more than 40 years. The SPLC has documented 932 known hate groups currently operating in the United States; 22 of them in Virginia.

I received an email from the SPLC that ends: “People of goodwill can make a difference in the fight to expose organized racism and hate in our country. Remember to be an advocate for justice and speak out against hate wherever and whenever you see it.”

I added my name as a “voice for tolerance” on the SPLC’s “Stand Strong Against Hate” map. What will it do? I think it is a small, public way to speak out for a different world – one moved by care for each other.

Rob Bell writes in Velvet Elvis, “The goal here isn’t simply to not sin. Our purpose is to increase the shalom in this world.” He defines shalom as God’s goodness. I believe that goodness is expressed as love.

A few days ago I lay on the floor under the ceiling fan trying to get cool. My boyfriend was sitting across from me. As he spoke, I wasn’t really paying attention to his words; instead, I was watching the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled and thinking how happy I am with him in my life. Lately, I feel filled with love, and while I feel blessed to experience it, I believe love is also a choice.

I’ve heard many times the expression that “hurt people hurt.” I would reason then that the moment-to-moment choice to fill myself with love or hate has a direct impact on the world and others around me. In the face of so many social issues that get my ire up  (way up!), I pray that I may choose my response carefully lest I add to the problem instead of help to alleviate it.

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Hope and Humility

July 26, 2010

  “Hope is a decision.” – Jim Wallis, founder of Sojourners, in a Speaking of Faith interview  

I’ve been thinking about hope and humility. If hope is a decision, I believe humility is as well. I came to this theory in my yoga class. The instigator was chaturanga pose, my nemesis, a reverse push-up in which you slowly lower your body like a plank to a hover a few inches above the floor. I’m not very good at this pose. In fact, I hate it.  

This week I found myself getting angrier and angrier at my teacher each time she asked us to do another one, until, in a moment of grace, the word “humility” came to me. I decided to just accept that the pose is hard for me rather than wish I could do it as well as my classmates.

Letting chaturanga be an intentional exercise in humility is a relief. It helps me let go of my frustration that I’m still doing it on my knees (A.K.A. the “girl” version) after 11 years of practicing. There are a lot of things I wish I were good at, but I’m not. The expectation that I even need to be is what I’m letting go. Anne Lamott writes in her book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life:

“Perfection is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people… It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.”

I know that cramped feeling. I know insanity. In fact, it creeps up on me any time I disappoint a friend, compare my arm strength to that of my fellow yoginis, or am embarrassed that I need others’ talents to balance out my shortcomings.

Humility is a welcome alternative. Thank you, chaturanga, for teaching me this lesson. I’m not a big fan of the phrase “lighten up,” as it is often delivered in a condescending tone, but indeed, when I decide that it’s OK to be less than perfect, I lighten up. 

In a common Sun Salutation yoga sequence, one moves from chaturanga to upward-facing dog pose, described in Yoga Journal as “an invigorating backbend that opens the chest and shoulders.” If chaturanga feels like humility, then upward dog feels like hope. From one to the other in one breath. Bowing my heart to God; opening my heart to God.

With intention, I move from accepting my place in the order of things to using my gifts to create something new. Over and over again.

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What’s on your A list?

July 20, 2010

A friend of mine is working towards a joint master’s degree from Duke University’s School of the Environment and Divinity School. It’s exciting to hear about her intention to combine the two fields of study for the good of the planet. Our conversations about all of the theology she is learning are incredibly enlightening and fun. They confirm my desire to work for social justice driven by an ever-unfolding understanding of the responsibility I’ve taken on by being a child of God. She recommended to me – a Bible neophyte – that I read the Old Testament’s Book of Amos for a good dose of social justice.

So I added “Read Amos” to my newly organized to-do list for the weekend. Last week I took a workshop on planning, focus and prioritization, an experience I hope will make me more “efficient and effective” (or at least punctual!) Particularly now that I have a super cute, salmon-pink planner making it all the more fun to get organized! One tip offered was to rank the importance and urgency of daily tasks with an A, B or C. I ranked reading Amos a B since “Pay Bills” was a bit more urgent, if not more important.
 
I wanted to read Amos without looking at the footnotes to see what I could absorb on my own. Luckily, it was pretty easy to get the gist of the following admonition from the Lord:

“I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (Amos 5:21-24)
 
You might recognize that last line from Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have A Dream” speech. I yearn to hear more of its kind in church, to inspire and embolden us to follow his and others’ examples.

I admit though that I was feeling a bit anti-church this morning after reading about the Vatican’s including the ordination of women in the same “grave delict” category as the sexual abuse of children. If that kind of thinking is Christianity, what am I doing getting dressed up to go be a part of it? I then reminded myself that my church has two ordained women priests! So off I went and asked God to please let me hear something I need to get past my doubt.
 
I walk in and what’s being read aloud? Amos! Now, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard Amos in church. Granted, I’m usually late so I well could have missed it! I couldn’t help but feel that God had asked them to read it just for me, as a way to say, “Yes, you are meant to be here today.”

Adding to the list of grace-filled coincidences of the morning was priest Randy Hollerith’s sermon. In it, he noted how some people rank their to-do lists as A, B or C priorities. Hey! I just learned that little organizational trick in my training! Randy closed by saying, “The demand for justice is God’s ‘A’ priority.”

 
I was glad to be reminded of what needs to be at the top of my to-do list Monday morning. 
 
What’s on yours?

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Living Out Loud…Why?

July 15, 2010

On my makeshift altar, there is a card with a quote from Emile Zola that reads: “If you asked me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.” I believe I did as well. I came to talk about real things. I came to share my heart and to feel yours.

I need that reminder as I contemplate why I write and share this blog with you all. It’s scary to do so. In the last three weeks, I’ve been on vacation and I’ve started a new job; the time off from writing was freeing. I felt free from the dread of Monday morning – Should I have hit send last night? Free from the feeling of vulnerability – Did I say too much? Will they think I’m crazy for baring my soul? And free from doubt - Who cares what I think?

But I want to connect. With you. With my spirit. With a deeper truth.

It’s the uneasy feeling of vulnerability that makes me regularly question whether I should keep doing this. Vulnerability seems like a very good thing to avoid! Other people don’t say these things about their lives out loud. That seems like such a safer and saner way to live.

I realize though that it isn’t just my writing that makes me feel that way – my whole life ethos is dependent upon a willingness to be vulnerable. I feel it walking up the aisle towards the Eucharist. Talking about the future with my boyfriend. Being authentic with his family. Starting a new job. Leading a contemplative workshop for my friends and their husbands. Hoping for something I really want.

When I seek safety instead of risking vulnerability, I need to ask in whose service am I writing and is the risk worth it? I believe that I live out loud in service to God.

Does fear of embarrassment or total mortification ever hold you back from giving what you have to give? What if that very thing you are afraid to share matters more than you know?

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Love in His Way

June 14, 2010

I’ll be on vacation the next two Sundays, including Father’s Day, so I’d like to take a moment to honor my Dad who died eighteen months and one day ago.

What I want to say is that I loved him and I miss him. I remember the slightly southern and humble yet strong sound of his voice on the telephone. When I spot older men with silver white hair who dress like he did–in khakis, short-sleeved shirt and white tennis shoes–my heart skips a beat. Then I remember he’s no longer here.

He walked with a limp he acquired from a hip injury when he was young. Deciphering just how it happened was a favorite past time for me and my four sisters–football injury! falling from a tree! tumbling down a ravine! No matter how many times he told the real story, we always forgot it. After one of his several surgeries, my older sisters made me up to look like I was 13 in a yellow jumpsuit, heels, and eye shadow, because 9-year-olds were not allowed to visit the hospital. For years, we played with the weighty, silver ball and joint device that was removed from his hip. It seemed like part of my Dad.
 
I first came to Christianity at 21 because, after several years of distance and fighting with my own father, I needed a loving Father figure and I found one. (Now I yearn to hear “Our Mother” as well, but that’s a theological discussion for another day.) I needed a Father who forgave me for not being perfect–or so I thought. It took years to realize that perfection isn’t the point of being here nor was it what my own Dad, or God, expected.

I learned that perfection is not the point of parenthood either. I came to understand that parents are simply human. I hear so many people talking disappointedly about their mom or dad not being all they wanted or needed. I did that. I held back love from my imperfect, human father. And I regret it.

Dad, I forgive you for not being perfect. Please forgive me for expecting you to be.

I’ve come to respect that my Dad loved in his way. That was all he could do and it was enough. Even when he wasn’t “there”, maybe I needed it that way so I could become what I was supposed to become. Maybe, I can love God as He or She or It is too, instead of needing God to be exactly a form that I understand and “approve” of in any given moment.

I pray that when I am a parent, my children will forgive all that I don’t fulfill for them. I trust that God and others will fill in where I come up short and my children will grow into their own.

God, since he’s with you up there or out there or somewhere, would you please thank my Dad for me? For his frustration at my ill-heeding his guidance. For giving so much of his life to us. For his loneliness, heartache, and worry. For his piano playing, Redskins watching, and commitment to his growth as a man that led to all of this for me. Please thank him for his love.

Dad, I love you. Happy Father’s Day.

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God in All Things

June 7, 2010

I recently learned that the pelican was an ancient symbol of Christ. According to Father William Saunders, “The legend was that in time of famine, the mother pelican wounded herself, striking her breast with the beak to feed her young with her blood to prevent starvation. Another version of the legend was that the mother fed her dying young with her blood to revive them from death, but in turn lost her own life… Given this tradition, one can easily see why the early Christians adapted it to symbolize our Lord, Jesus Christ.”
 
Just a few days after I read this, I saw these devastating photos of sick and dying pelicans on the Gulf Coast.
 
The medieval mystic Mechtild of Magdeburg wrote, “The day of my spiritual awakening was the day I saw-and knew I saw-all things in God, and God in all things.” Oil-covered pelicans. Oil-covered Christ. Both drowning in the Gulf. One not able to take flight for the weight of oil in her feathers; the other present in her agony. These photos are my awakening. 
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With apologies to my pet-owning friends, I admit that I usually care more about humans than animals. I also confess that the environment has not been an issue to which I’ve devoted my passion. Rather than washing my own lettuce, I buy salad in plastic containers. I waste water by turning the shower on before I’m ready to get in. I think only about what I spend on gas, not my consumption. That contributes to the demand for oil, which has led us to this disaster.
 
“The day of my spiritual awakening was the day I saw-and knew I saw-all things in God, and God in all things.”
 
Dear Mother Earth, I regret that I have taken you for granted and given you far less attention that you deserve and require. Dear Christ, I have not completely understood your presence in all things until I saw these suffering birds.
 
Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu said in a Speaking of Faith interview, “At the center of this existence is a heart beating with love.” I imagine that heart is breaking right now as it feels for its creation in the Gulf.
 
So what can we do now that it’s happened? Many of you are far more experienced than I regarding taking care of that with which God has entrusted us. I just took this Center for Sustainable Economy quiz to measure how much land and ocean my lifestyle requires. Yikes! Apparently we would need 4.35 Earths if everyone lived like I do! Here are their tips for minimizing our ecological footprint. Please share your own suggestions.
 
I believe we can also pray for the families of those who lost their lives, our sisters and brothers who lost their livelihoods, the ailing pelicans, the endangered whales, and the dying starfish. As Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön teaches in When Things Fall Apart, we can breathe in the pain of all of God’s creatures and breathe out whatever we feel would bring them relief.  
 
“The day of my spiritual awakening was the day I saw-and knew I saw-all things in God, and God in all things.”

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Art for the People

May 27, 2010

I had such fun last Sunday visiting the newly reopened and expanded Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (VMFA). Being in that magnificent space, experiencing excitingly new art and sacred ancient works, I understood the Museum’s ad campaign “It’s Your Art” and I was moved. It is indeed a people’s museum. 
 
It was such a different crowd and vibe – down-to-earth while also elegant – from what I’ve felt in some of our country’s more well-heeled museums. There were young people, old people, and families. There were children everywhere looking closely at art, talking about art, and laughing innocently about the pieces that made them uncomfortable. Best of all – there was no shushing going on!
 
Peeking into the third-floor restaurant, I was welcomed in by the maître d’, who informed me, “It’s your art” despite my shorts and t-shirt. Some people were in their Sunday finest; most were casually dressed like me, as if coming to the Museum were as common as going for a walk. And such a nice walk it is! The redesigned grounds are gorgeous and welcoming. Granted, I live just 3 blocks away, so I’m particularly fond of this beautiful new building in my neighborhood. Or rather, I am in her neighborhood, as she is definitely the Grand Dame sitting effortlessly and elegantly among row houses and magnolia trees.
 
Admission to the VMFA is free – always. I believe this is the very reason it feels like a museum for all of us. I was so proud of the Commonwealth of Virginia for investing in a museum for her citizens.
 
Years ago, I worked for the National Endowment for the Arts when we, the United States, were supporting visual artists, choreographers, theaters, dance companies, museums, arts education, and grassroots art in communities all across the country (at a mere 35 cents per taxpayer, per year.) It was an exciting, thriving agency at that time, with passionate, dedicated employees and volunteers. I worked in the dance program where I witnessed ballet and modern dance legends consider grants for new commissions, and I sat in on vibrant discussions on folk art, painting, American musical theater, and more.
 
Then the simmering culture wars heated to a fury. Controversy over works by Robert Mapplethorpe and Andres Serrano led to the forced resignation of then-NEA Chairman John Frohnmayer. I’ll never forget his gathering the agency staff for an emergency meeting, at which he sang “Simple Gifts” as his farewell. In the years following, our nation’s support for the arts was severely reduced. I’m grateful that the NEA’s budget allocation is on its way up again. I believe in private citizens supporting our national culture, but I also believe it is critical for our country’s heart and psyche that our government does so as well.
 
I’d like to say thank you to the corporate and citizen donors who made the VMFA’s fabulous new building and campus renovation possible. Thank you to those who have contributed collections and dollars for the Museum to acquire treasures for all of us to appreciate. You’ve inspired me to do the same. And thank you most of all to the Commonwealth of Virginia for believing culture is valuable and essential for her people.

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