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ARCHIVES 2000
November 2000 - Sitting and Listening
Eight of us spent Saturday sitting zazen in the basement of the Mennonite church with Bay area Zen priest Layla Smith. Oh, what a clear channel! Although new to the world of sitting meditation, I knew enough indulge my body with an enormous pile of blankets and pillows. Hallelujah! I was almost pain free. Last year, when I first heard Layla speak she defined sitting as serious bodywork. The yoga student in me recognized the woman spoke The Truth.
Thus, despite being warned she carries a meditation stick, I entrusted my body-mind-spirit to this wise and compassionate woman to experience my first official “day” of sitting. I saw no stick. “Day” turned out to mean alternately sitting tall by half hours and walking meditatively; lunch and lecture; ending with tea and discussion. That “day of sitting” was do-able. Having flirted at the edge of meditation the past couple of years, finally I knew enough to expect the day to be silent. Luckily I have almost let go of any interest in meeting sitters. My question at the end, over tea—had I put it well—was: where is the high ground to bring Boise region meditators together for the gift of hearing a fine visiting teacher from the coast!
Sunday morning a small group of us reconvened at dharma bums (Boise style) Brian and Jane’s home to again sit/walk/talk with Layla before she flew home. Derailed my Sunday church habit. Why so few of us turned out to be with this gem continued to puzzle me!
That evening I couldn't resist getting my musical fix at the Vineyard, my “evangelical Christian” haunt. As usual, the music pulled me right in, even though the words weren't on the screen. Behind me a pile of young men tried to figure how to bring up the words for the right song on the computer. Luckily the songs were basic. Standing, I opened my arms in the spirit of the music. Not high overhead like a hard core evangelist (though I've been known to do that). My way.
Suddenly I remembered the story of a monk (in the eastern tradition), sitting in backs of theaters showing horror films, absorbing the energy of the audience. The story goes, he figured he might as well use the free energy. Energy is Energy. Similarly, I felt as though I was taking advantage of the presence of holiness, despite a sometimes “foreign” belief system. In the spirit of the monk, I soaked up holiness. Singing with eyes closed (thanks to no words), heart open, I sank deeply, plugging into the sacred hoop. In my book, Holiness is Holiness, no matter whose name is on it, wherever I find it. Shifting “Name of the Lord” to “Love of the Lord”, I pondered, Where is Love in today's churches? The old “message v. messenger” controversy.
Stayed to hear Tries opening words. As he began to wrap up Malachi, he commented on the craziness of these times. I nodded vigorously, tempted to shout a hearty “Amen!” I needed to hear that. When I comment about the chaos I sense, often there are blank faces. Not so with Tri. He's plugged into the world at large, a keen listener and observer; he affirms my sense of rampant chaos and change. Thank you! I'm OK!!
Dashed off--a tad tardy--to dinner at a friend's new home. As I walked in I suddenly re-met a familiar face I never expected to see again: the woman who “inadvertently” omitted my name from the list of hospice training attendees. At the time, I sensed, this was because my original hospice training had no religious affiliation or focus. I have spent more time outside than in Christianity; it's been a long, winding path home. I read The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, Stephen Levine, Ram Dass and others. I'm sure our discomfort was mutual. How small the world and imperative to make peace with all. As I joined the dinner table and other more familiar faces, evidently our charming hostess could not contain a wicked streak (to use a friend's term). To my absolutely horror, she greeted me bluntly with, “How was the Buddhist weekend?” Well aware of existing doubts at the table, I hissed, “Lovely, just lovely”.
Indeed it had been a wonderful, clarifying, intimate sitting retreat. But, how I hate being set up in the hot seat! Much prefer to use my own timing to introduce touchy topics. Or, being more truthful, I like to be the one to drop the bombs, rather than be bombed! Soon, my teacher of the evening, brought out a question from her Bible study group: can “nonbelievers” pray? This sometimes called “nonbeliever” (depending where you are by the elephant) who knows every thought is a prayer, was not about to bite the hook following the bomb. Left response to others.
In the silence I heard, It's so simple! We are all One!
October 2000 -TrinityAnother churchathon (attending more than one Sunday service). Crawled out in the dark to 8:30am mass at Sacred Heart. If I'm going to their retreat, I oughta visit. Nice spirit, ordinary folks. And a familiar face, Nancy, in the bell choir! Modern music; mumbling priest!
After chatting with Nancy, dashed down to 10am traditional mass at St. Johns. Packed like Christmas day! Tons of kids! Something special going on? Love that cantor lifting her arm, and those lovely melodies she lines out to us. And the traditional choir. Two young priests, who will be grand as they mature, performed the service. No black priest, though, unless black hair counts in blond Idaho! Same readings as Sacred Heart but this time I was able to hear better. Significantly different interpretation. Powerful ceremony with new members and their sponsors. Congregation lifted their arms over the new ones. Community!
Then off to Vineyard 11am service. As soon as I walked in I fell into the spirit of the music (in spite its modern-ness). Changed “Fear of the Lord” to "Love of the Lord" as I sang out. "Arms of Love” is wonderful! We sang my favorite, "Breathe"--"This is the air I breathe...". Tri was right on the cusp of what is happening in the world today. (He too was hunting last weekend, I learned.) He gives the personal touch to a sermon that I need, the only way I can understand the Bible. He gave the best discussion of marriage and divorce I'd ever heard. Totally non-sexist. He's new thought and doesn't know it!
Afterwards I lunched with a woman I've chatted with several times. My first "date" after 10 months of attendance!
Suddenly that morning I realized I've developed my own Trinity: New Thought talks and prayer; traditional music and ritual; evangelical music and sermons. Good grief! Three religions to fill my soul? Whatever! Mary/Kathianne; Father Joe; and Tri! New Thought, Old Music, and the passion of evangelism! Ho!
October 2000 - Old SoulsAs always, my mind spins with the richness of having been “on the road”. Both coming and going from Minneapolis I stopped at a community church in West Yellowstone. On my second visit my curiosity about the theology behind the service was so intense I queried the associate pastor who said to my surprise, Presbyterian! Not like the Presbyterian church where I've sung in choir! The lightness of the MT church and it's God, and the healthiness of the community took me back. To me the service was a remarkable modern techno-fusion blend of theology, like a Afro Celtic-didgeridoo band I once heard! After the service I met Covenant (Swedish) Christians, Lutherans and Catholics, all part of one congregation. Whow! I love it anytime I find seemingly different Gods gathered together. In fact, car camping that Sunday morning, I awoke in a fine mood, humming that old tune "We gather together" which I probably hadn't sung in years.
I was sorry the senior minster whom I heard earlier was away. So was my neighbor, who turned to introduce himself, as did his wife. They were leaving town for the winter and had hoped to say good bye to him. Tom was on "vacation", which I believe during fall in the West is a euphemism for "hunting". The service was capably facilitated by a lovely young associate pastor. However, so much for women's lib; I wanted Tom. The sermon was given by an ever so young, serious fellow, (ministerial candidate I learned afterwards). He used the parable of the prodigal son changed to the parable of the prostitute daughter in Travers City who goes to Detroit. At first I looked away, irritated. Can't relate to that one any better than the original! He meant well.
Soon, though, I was smiling, thinking of Kathleen Norris and her local stories. His short hair was parted in the center, his earnest face flushed. Afterwards, the music ripped along, led by 2 girls in black tights, one not so young, skirts well above knees, and a fellow who looked to have been around the block, a hard live-er I warmed to. All were a little shy, not slick. Community. Up, down, up, down we sat, stood (like Catholics, I thought). I'd just tucked my feet into cross legs when it was time to stand.
I particularly loved the "prayer" part of the service, a powerful blend of prayer and meditation that I had never seen in a church. Three questions: What do I want to ask my loving God? What do I hear God (him, of course) say; and What would I like to give to God? Sufficient time for each. Not an uncomfortable, short pause. Recall fondly how controversial silence was with the UUs in Spokane. To my surprise, in this community, I knew exactly what I want to ask, my mind shut up and listened; and then I knew exactly what I needed to release.
I winced when the service came to "sharing joys and burdens", a phrase I painfully associate with my church experience in Moscow, when it unleashed a seemingly endless litany of grueling suffering, to the point I thought I was in an oncology wing. But no, most reports were joys. On the spot (this impressed me) the associate framed a prayer for the single mom, etc and the congregation responded, again, a la catholic! Not "new thought", but good enough! At the end of the service, she held up her arms and blessed us, a bit awkwardly, hands loose.
Couldn't help remembering the priest in green “silk” at the Basilica. I longed for his presence. No matter how many school boys he might have buggered, women he might have mistreated (I of course know nothing) he unquestionably relayed a holy presence. His blessing was powerful and compelling. The young gal with trendy clogs under her black robe was beautiful and sweet, inexperienced; the craggy old priest was battled scarred and had arisen. He had learned inclusiveness, forgiveness, survived the changes of Vatican 2 (or perhaps was young enough to have missed them). His blessing was deep and solid.
I seem to need that elder wisdom along my aging spiritual path, a wisdom that seems entirely missing elsewhere from our culture. Luckily we're recreating it; just takes a generation. Or does it? The senior minister who was "on vacation" too seemed like a "young old priest". Sense he too had been there, done that. Very comforting.
It was almost as though I converted to catholicism at the Basilica in Minneapolis! If I had that music and that message every week, I'd be Catholic. The music, incense, the entire service was to die for. How I miss old music! I merely tolerate the new rock and roll stuff; no comparison, the way ancient feeds my soul. I am at home with the Amens, Glorias, and Kyries, simple basic words I hear again and again in Latin. Agnus Dei! Don't know what it means, but I recognize it, hear it again and again.
Although Kathleen Norris quotes uplifting lines from the goode olde hymns, they've not been my church experience. I always seem to run into the bloody sinner ones, which are probably ok, if the uplifting ones are around too, but on their own… I crumple.
It's strictly my personal observation that churches today, like all of us, must change or die, the non-negotiable challenge of the New Millennium. Even my favorite music won't regularly draw me, and I sense others, to a service where we feel that old, heaviness drop onto our shoulders. I seek a community where I am uplifted; I want to walk out smiling and taller, breathing fully; feeling loved and loving; forgiven and forgiving.
I'll have to start visiting catholic churches in Boise to see if there's a Joe Gillespie like I heard in Minneapolis hidden here! The last local priest I heard laid such old fashioned Irish guilt on the missing skiers that I (alone) guffawed. Thought he was joking! Nooo.
How can our Gods seem so different when There is One Life!
September 2000 - Wherever Ground is Holy...As I notice myself humming "You are the sovereign I am, your name is holy", I'm in awe of finding myself beginning the millennium, enjoying an evangelic Christian church--maybe it's charismatic. Beats me. Why those guys spend time arguing about a book written 2000 years ago, I'm yet to understand. In a million years I never thought I'd go to a Jesus church, let alone enjoy one. But I do, because it feels holy, like St. John's Cathedral on Christmas Day; St. Paul's Lutheran; St. Mark's episcopal in Seattle; First Presbyterian down town; the Nazarenes... But then, I never thought I'd end up in Idaho either. Lotta things I never dreamed of. When I consider the alternatives here, it helps put things in perspective. Maybe the radical middle is a response to Mormonism. Again, I'm clue less, curious.
Most Sunday mornings and/or evenings find me singing along enthusiastically at the large Vineyard church on the other side of the river. Sometimes I change the words; sometimes I don't bother. At least they sing all out and I get in my sacred time. Mission accomplished, more or less. Last Sunday after 9 months of watching I raised both arms overhead like a born again, swept away. Life is Good!!
I love watching the congregation, togged out in T-shirts and jeans. Occasionally a gleaming white forehead flashes, sign of a serious cowboy hat wearer, aka redneck. So be it!
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