Sunday Words: A belated birthday homage to Rilke

Last Sunday was the birthday of Rainer Maria Rilke, who is one of my all-time favorite poets (although, I confess, he had to grow on me at first). And here is one of my all-time favorite poems by Rilke, perfect for a Sunday, or for any day, if you ask me:

1

I live my life in growing orbits
which move out over the things of the world.
Perhaps I can never achieve the last,
but that will be my attempt.

I am circling around God, around the ancient tower,
and I have been circling for a thousand years,
and I still don't know if I am a falcon, or a storm,
or a great song.

-- from Das Stundenbuch

On Sabbatical

sabbatical  n.  a break or change from a normal routine (as of employment); from the Hebrew shabath "he rested"

A little voice inside, known in these parts as intuition, has been whispering sabbatical to me. My right brain -- librarian that she is -- has scoffed at the voice: "Absolutely not! You must keep writing poems!" My left brain -- creative wild child -- is giving the voice a double thumbs-up and saying "Groovy, man." I'm going with my left brain, and with intuition.

In the Catholic church, and in many other religious traditions, we are amidst a time of joyful waiting called Advent. I love Advent, except for the reality that most years it's more a time of stressful hurrying -- not joyful waiting -- as I attempt to cram a bazillion extra tasks into days and weeks that are already full. As I've learned over and over again in this life, if something isn't working well there's usually something one can do to change it. Enter: the little voice.

So I've decided (or intuited) to take a wee sabbatical from drafting poems for the rest of this month. I plan to keep reading and learning from good poetry, submitting at least once a week, and revising the Mail Order Bride series. I'll still be here blogging. But I'm giving myself a break on generating new work.

That breezy, rushing sound you hear is me exhaling. Until I came to the idea of a sabbatical, I didn't realize how much pressure the Librarian puts on the Wild Child to produce!produce!produce! I'm a little nervous that I'll lose my momentum, and the Librarian would like me to believe that if I take a break now I'll never get back into a good drafting groove again. She's a little hyperbolic.

Dear Librarian, I appreciate your role in my life, but I want to make cookies with my children, make my house fair as I am able, trim the hearth, and set the table. I want to take walks in the morning, sit down in the afternoon to put my feet up, and click a few things off my holiday to-do list every day. I want to avoid another Speechless Wednesday.

Let the joyful waiting begin... 

Thankful Thursday: Good Advice

Today I am thankful for all the good advice I've received from older, wiser women.  This week, especially:  "Your life is your prayer right now."  This advice was typically dispensed from the pew behind us at church, as my then-toddler children used Husband and me as jungle gym/cat scratching pole.

I am convincing myself that this advice still applies during an Advent that seems more "O Come, O Come, Oh $%#t! I Forgot About the Cub Scout Meeting Tonight" than "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel."

Seriously, though, I love to get advice from older, wiser women.  Thank you to all the older, wiser women in my life.  Amen.


(P.S.  If the spirit moves you, share advice from the older and wiser that you are thankful for in comments).

Three Things That Left Me Speechless at Dinner Last Night

All perpetrated by individuals under the age of ten.

1.  "I don't believe in God or Jesus or any of that stuff you can't prove.  But I'm still a Christian!"  (Being speechless, I did not go into the definition of the word Christian just then).

2.  Full-body demo by AJ to explain to Sister that the phrase "to stand in awe" does NOT mean to stand up in front of something and look up at it and say "Awwwww."

3.  Three words I thought I'd never hear:  "More sauerkraut please!"

Now That's My Kind of God

A poem by Kaylin Haught:


God Says Yes to Me

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I dont paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes


(It hangs above my writing desk. Tape it to your bathroom mirror, your coffee pot, your kitchen window, or your cell phone. I promise you'll smile more.)

What a Young Jewish Girl Has To Do With Lent

Last night around ten o'clock, I finished reading Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl. The house was quiet, and once I turned off my reading lamp, dark. The children had long been in bed. Husband was deep in slumber. I couldn't sleep at all. I tossed and turned and felt very small, very alone in a big, wide, and sometimes cruel world.

The book itself didn't move me so much. The book itself wasn't what kept me awake. It was interesting; certainly very well-written and articulate; a valuable historical record of one experience of the war. But mostly it was the diary of a fourteen- (and then fifteen-) year-old girl, full of teenage angst, puppy love, and squabbles with parents. What moved me more than the entries themselves was the arc of Anne's story that unfolded outside her diary. She hid with her family in "the house behind" for about two years. The Gestapo discovered and imprisoned them in August 1944 -- after the D-Day invasion, but several months before the liberation of all Europe. Anne Frank and her sister Margot died of typhus in March 1945 at Belsen concentration camp. The camp was liberated just weeks later on April 15, 1945. Anne Frank's story happened, with variations on a theme, six million times to other Jews, and five million times to gentile civilians also exterminated by the Nazis during World War II. That's the cruel world showing its face right there.

There several entries in the book that did strike a chord with me, however, and one in particular that I've been mulling over all day. It's her entry from Wednesday, May 3, 1944, and it goes like this:

"I don't believe that the big men, the politicians and the capitalists alone, are guilty of the war. Oh no, the little man is just as guilty, otherwise the peoples of the world would have risen in revolt long ago! There's in people simply an urge to destroy, an urge to kill, to murder and rage, and until all mankind, without exception, undergoes a great change, wars will be waged, everything that has been built up, cultivated, and grown will be destroyed and disfigured, after which mankind will have to begin all over again."

I happen to agree with Anne Frank's perspective on war, and have often thought that war really begins under every single roof in this world. It begins with the way we love our children, with the way we teach them to manage conflict, with the things we teach them about people who are (or who appear to be) "different" than we are, with the things we teach them about power, with whether or not they learn compassion -- that old-mile long walk in someone else's shoes -- at our knees. It begins with the atmosphere in the family: is it overwhelmingly an atmosphere of war or of peace? In our little family, I think the atmosphere is mostly a peaceful one. But there's always room for improvement.

Which brings me to Lent.

In Western Christianity, Lent is a period of preparation -- through prayer, repentance, sacrifice, and almsgiving -- for the commemoration of the Passion and Resurrection of Christ during Holy Week and Easter. (Word-lovers out there: the word Lent comes from the Old English word for spring). Over time, the Church has focused less on giving up, say, chocolate, and has encouraged, for lack of a better phrase, the "doing of something extra" during Lent to bring the believer into closer relationship with God. Of course, there is no reason not to do something extra during any other time of the year, but being mere humans, we get into our ruts. I, for one, find it helpful to have a season set aside during which I pause, reflect, and think about what I could do better. For me, in my own personal brand of spirituality, I am more apt to set aside the issue of the God-concept, and focus on doing something that will bring about something good in the world, something that will bring me into closer and more meaningful relationship with the people in my life, something that will alleviate some form of suffering, big or small.

And so, having read Anne Frank's diary and her ideas about the origins of war, I have settled on my Lenten observance for this year. My observance will be to spread peace.

Peace as in "a state of tranquility or quiet." Peace as in "harmony in personal relations." (Merriam-Webster dictionary).

I know that my largest area of influence is under my own roof, so I will start here. I know that in order to be peaceful, in order to bring peace to others, I will need to take care of myself. I'll need to get enough sleep (crabby mommies are not peaceful mommies). I'll need to catch myself before I do too much -- whatever that means on a given day -- so that I can avoid being overly sore and stiff (sore and stiff mommies are not peaceful mommies). I'll need to keep tabs on my supply of patience, and be honest with myself and my kids about how much I have on a given day, and I'll need to say No sometimes (impatient mommies are not peaceful mommies). I'll need to build in times for silence for my Introvert Self (drained introverts, whether mommies or not, are not peaceful). I'll need to find time for my writing (creatively-deprived Me is not a peaceful Me). I'll need to try hard to smile during the hours from five o'clock to eight o'clock in the evening, when I am tired and tend to have a pinched look on my face (pinched-looking mommies do not appear to others to be peaceful mommies).

I'm very tempted to say No Yelling during Lent. I'm afraid I might not be able to live up to that one, though. And really, a good, healthy (emphasis on healthy) Yell is necessary every now and then. But the goal of spreading peace seems good, seems positive, seems like doing something more for my own little world here in South of the River, and for the big, wide, and sometimes cruel, world too.

Reader, peace to you for Lent and always.

Learn more about Anne Frank and her legacy of peace, tolerance, and courage here.

Set Down This

Today is the Feast of the Epiphany, the day many Christians mark the manifestation of Christ to the world (U.S. Catholics celebrated Epiphany last Sunday; it has become a moveable feast in order to increase the number of people who are able to celebrate it within the context of the Mass). The Epiphany story many of us know involves the visit of the Magi to the Christ child: Caspar, Balthazar, and Melchoir with their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrhh.

The concept of the Epiphany, and an epiphany, is really fascinating to me and I would love to share with you all the thoughts I have about it, and all the interesting things I've learned about the Epiphany/epiphanies. The thing is, I really need a nap. So I am going to mark the Epiphany in my very favorite way of all, which is to share T.S. Eliot's The Journey of the Magi with you.

The poem is an interpretation of the Magi's journey to visit the Christ child, and its effect on their lives once they returned home. It is a poem of conversion, and it begins with lines borrowed from a 17th century sermon by Lancelot Andrewes:

"'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'"


The poem goes on to describe the difficult journey, the changing landscape, the fortitude it required of the Magi who thought perhaps they were being foolish to keep on, and their anti-climactic arrival. As the poem moves toward its conclusion, it cuts right down to bone:


"All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death?"


Because I am trying to be a good girl when it comes to using copyrighted material, I have shared with you here a few excerpts and now I encourage, exhort, and beg you to go read the whole poem here. It's a powerful (tho' perhaps not exactly comforting) way to think about conversion, epiphany, and, for those of you who celebrate it, Epiphany.

On Faith

Last week, The Bean and I were hanging around right before bedtime (I’m so lucky that he still likes to cuddle from time to time, even though he is a Big Kid now). At one point, he looked at me and asked, “Mom do you think there really is a God?”

Oh, crap, I thought, I’m really not ready to have this conversation quite yet. Can't we wait until adolescence?

"Hmmm," I said, "That’s a pretty big question." I was trying to buy myself some time. The wheels were turnin’, believe me, trying to come up with an answer that was at once truthful and age-appropriate. Lucky for me, The Bean beat me to it, saying:

"I think you and I probably have similar brains about this. Sometimes we think there could be a God, and other times we really aren't sure."

Again, I didn’t say much in response. Just waited to see where the conversation would go.

"It makes me wonder," he continued, "I mean......., what is all this about anyway? And, if there is a God, why would he create us just to live for a little while and then die, and why would he make us only last until our extinction? Because we are going to become extinct, you know."

(I am quoting more or less directly here, at least as far as my admittedly spotty memory can manage).

Finally, I decided I’d better say something substantive. So I said,

“Well, I’m not always sure what I believe about God, Bean. But one thing I am sure I believe in is the presence and power of love in the world, and that it’s important to be kind and do good during our lives.”

"Yeah, and anyway, some people think God is love," he said.

"That's right," I said. And that seemed to satisfy him for the moment, and heaven knows I was exhausted just listening to his existential ponderings. So we wrapped up for the night and went to bed.

**

I have been thinking of this conversation a lot over the last week. There’s a part of me that wishes I could’ve given him an easier answer: Of course there’s a God, and God loves you, and cares for you, and watches out for you, and has a plan for your life. This is what I believed, once. It was a comforting belief. One that helped me to find my place in the world, the universe. One that grounded me and helped make sense of this often incomprehensible life.

But the longer I live, the more I see and experience, and the more I study sacred texts, the easy God of my youth doesn’t hold together anymore. When this development first began to unfold in my life, it was very uncomfortable for me, and I worked feverishly to develop an understanding of God that could work for me. I read lots of books, sacred texts, and commentaries on sacred texts; I put on my thinking cap and thought and thought and thought. The harder I worked, the more I read, the more I thought, the more despair I felt, because the puzzle just wasn’t coming together.

Then, quietly, came the understanding that whatever God is -- a creator and sustainer of life; the presence and power of love in the world; a kid with an ant farm; or nothing at all -- there is no such thing as puzzling it out. Faith, for me, is not an intellectual position to be proven and defended. It is not a list of truths that I must accept (or reject). It is not a group of people who have “figured it out” and found the one path to salvation.

Faith is a way of living. It is a way of stepping forth into every day, in gentleness and hope. It is a way of interacting with others: honoring them, valuing them, treating them as you would like to be treated. It is messing things up over and over again, but trying to do better next time. It is caring for those who need care. It is a way of finding peace despite life’s struggles, despite suffering, despite tragedy. It is a way of being in the world: awed at its precious beauty, grateful for each new day.

It is a way of living with the Mystery of it all.

And so the question of the existence of God (or, the existence of God as some would define God) no longer feels all that important to me. Because (a) I’m not going to be able to figure it out, and (b) proof of the existence (or not) of God is not going to change the way I live my life. I will live a faith-filled life, some might call it a godly life, either way.

At the end of the day, that may be the best that I can do for The Bean (and the other children), but I am hoping it will be enough. Enough so that they have something to cling to in the storm. Enough for them to find meaning in their lives. Enough to help them to be sturdy and cheerful folks bringing love and peace and forgiveness to a world where love, peace, and forgiveness are desperately needed. And enough that they will stop from time to time, and stand in awe of the beauty, the wondrous mystery, of it all.

Call that mystery “God,” if you like. Sometimes I do.

Sunday Night Prayer

Here's a prayer for those of you who, like me, find that "the world is charged with the grandeur of God" (that's Gerard Manley Hopkins; read the whole poem here).


Song of Amergin

I am the wind that blows across the sea
I am the wave of the deep
I am the roar of the ocean
I am the stag of seven battles
I am the hawk on the cliff
I am a ray of sunlight
I am the greenest of plants
I am a wild boar
I am a lake on the plain
I am the word of knowledge
I am the point of a spear
I am the lure beyond the ends of the earth
I am the god who put fire in your head
Who made trails through stone mountains
Who knows the age of the moon
Who knows where the setting sun rests


Some believe the Song of Amergin is oldest surviving poem to be composed in Ireland. It was composed several hundred years before the birth of Christ (which technically makes it a pagan prayer, but since it's so beautiful, and since the world is charged with the grandeur of God, I'm hoping God won't mind).

[Photo credit goes to my dad: Sunrise over Torch Lake]

May today there be peace within....

Here is a prayer attributed to St. Therese of Lisieux that I have always loved. Part of why I love it is that there is no mention of anyone's dark and sinful nature, and because it is flexible enough to work for people (like me) who may not exactly buy the notion of God as Benevolent Grandfather in the Sky. And if the word God feels too constricting for you, try one of the many names of God in this post.

Anyway...... here's the prayer:


May today there be peace within.

May you trust God that you are exactly where
you are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities
that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received,
and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be confident knowing you are a child of God.
Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul
the freedom to sing, dance, praise, and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.


More on St. Therese here.

Things Do Not Always Go According to Plan

I have been walking around for the past day and a half muttering the words, "Let go, goon!"

Let me explain.

When Husband and I were first married, I had one of those page-a-day calendars with an illustration and a quote for each day.  There was one that I had torn out and taped to the refrigerator.  On that page was a person at a crossroads.  There was a directional sign.  One arrow pointed ahead and was labeled:  "The rest of your life."  One arrow pointed back the way the person had come; it read:  "No longer an option."  At the bottom of the drawing, in all caps, it said:  "LET GO GO ON".  But the spacing was such that, if you glanced at it quickly, it sometimes looked like "LET GO GOON."  So Husband and I began saying that to each other when one or the other of us was frustrated about something we had no control over.  Since then, "Let go, goon!" has been an oft-uttered phrase around our house.

**

I had a plan for yesterday.  It was the last day of preschool, my last day to myself, I kept thinking, until the summer babysitters are available in a few weeks.  I was planning to do some writing.  I was planning to run to the post office and mail a package to my mom.  I was planning to stop at the fabric store and get a button for my tan pants.  I was planning to write a few thank-you notes.  I was planning to order groceries.

Sister woke up with a fever and an earache.  There went my plan.

No problem, I thought.  New plan.  Drop AJ at school, then go to the doctor with Sister and be back to pick up AJ.  Order groceries while they nap.

No appointments 'til noon.  New plan.  Leave AJ at school for the afternoon,  forget the groceries - go pick up a roasted chicken for dinner, take Sister to the doc, pick up the prescriptions, then pick up AJ.  Be back in time for a quick nap, then go get The Bean from the bus stop.  

No roasted chickens.  None?  None.  AJ's school calling: he's not feeling well, could I come get him earlier?  Prescriptions not ready yet.  Half-an-hour wait.  New plan.  Go get AJ now, then pick up prescriptions.  Quick rest.  Then get The Bean.  Defrost a meatloaf for dinner.

Prescriptions still not ready.  Ten minute wait.  New plan. Wait for prescriptions.  Call M. to see if she can pick The Bean up from the bus stop.  Try to keep people from falling asleep in the car (including myself).  Hope Sister and AJ will rest once we're finally home..... if we ever actually get home........

So went my day.  And I found myself getting really out of sorts because things were not going according to plan.  Nothing huge or insurmountable, just a hundred little changes to how I thought my day would unfold.  And I didn't like it at all.

Then I heard those three little words in the back of my mind, "Let go, goon!" and I started wondering:  Why is it still so hard for me to embrace the fact that things do not always proceed according to plan?  I mean, I know this already!  Some relatively major things have not gone according to plan in my life.  Living 650 miles away from home and family?  Wasn't in the plan.  Developing a debilitating chronic illness?  Wasn't in the plan.  If I know from my own life's journey that plans are an illusion, why is it so hard when day-to-day things don't go the way I think they will, or the way I want them to?

**

I read something last week, a quote by Francois Fenelon, who said:

"There is only one way to love God: to take not a single step without him, and to follow with a brave heart wherever he leads."

Somehow, this advice seems easier to apply to the big things in life: cross-country moves, serious illnesses, and the like.  I've been able to rise to the challenge for those big things.  I've tried to be brave, strong, enduring, and peaceful amidst difficulty and disappointment.  But what if I applied this advice to life's smaller disappointments?  What if all the hundred little things that don't go according to plan each day, each week, each  month, are not just minor disappointments but are also another step down one's spiritual path, are also part of the call to one's true life?  It's something I've been thinking about a lot for the past 24 hours. 

Until I puzzle it out a little more, "Let go, goon!" will have to do.

Two Poems

It has been a while since I've posted any poetry, so here are a couple poems I've been working on lately:


--these drafts have been removed--

The Many Names of God

I have had God on the brain. Considering that we Catholics are amidst our high holy days, the Triduum (meaning “three days"), I guess it makes sense that I would have God on the brain.

And so, with God on the brain, I was thinking of all the different names there are for God. Sometimes I find it easier to pray, and to find peace in the idea of God, if I use a different name (i.e., not “God”). Contemplating the many different names for God that have been used throughout the ages helps me to remember that, really, God cannot be described by our words nor contained in our thoughts. Whatever God is or is not, one thing I feel sure of is that God is beyond what we can conceive or express.

Here are some of the many names for God that have been used since antiquity. I have tended to draw from the Judeo-Christian tradition, since that is the tradition I claim. Some of the oldest names for God are:

El - supreme God; used by ancient Hebrews (before they were really the Hebrews, I guess) to describe the God above all gods. Remember, this was back when our ancestors were transitioning from polytheism to monotheism.

El-Roi - God Who sees me; from the story of Hagar and Ishmael in Genesis 16. Hagar calls God El-Roi after having seen God and survived (the ancient Hebrews had a strong belief that a person could not see God and live).

El-Shaddai - God of the mountain; an expression of God’s might

YWHW - In English, vowels were added to make it “Yaweh.” In the Jewish tradition, the name of God is never spoken aloud (even when written, it is typically “G-d”); so we aren’t really sure how this was pronounced by the ancient Hebrews, who used this name for their God once they accepted monotheism around 1000 BCE. Etymologically, YWHW is related to the ancient Hebrew word to describe existence. This is the name for God that we get from Moses when he asks God who should he say God is, and gets the famous answer “I AM WHO AM” (Exodus 3).

Shekinah - meaning “dwelling” or “settling”; expresses the concept of the spirit of God with us in a particular place (such as in the Ark of the Covenant during the wandering, or in the Temple in Jerusalem).

And other names for God in the Bible include:

Alpha (and Omega)
Ancient of Days
Beginning
Branch
Creator
Desired of All Nations
End
Gentle Whisper
Guide
Immanuel (“God with us”)
Light
Lord
Potter
Rock
Seed
Source
Truth
Way

And some of my own personal names for God (is this sacrilege?) are:

Source of All Holiness
Great Mystery


And now, just a little God-humor: Last week, I took Sister to Mass with me. During the period of quiet prayer after the homily, she asked in a rather loud voice, “What is God doin’ up there?” I very confidently replied, “I have absolutely no idea!”

On My Nighstand

Here’s what’s on my nightstand right now:

The Little Black Book: Six-minute reflections on the Weekly Gospels of Lent 2009
The Little Books were created by The Rev. Ken Untener (1937-2004), a bishop from the Diocese of Saginaw. A friend from our parish has made it his own personal mission to distribute Little Books to others. Each year during Lent, Advent, and Easter, a Little Book appears as if from nowhere, on my doorstep, or is passed to me through a chain of friends.

With a Little Book on your nightstand, you can take part in the ancient practice of lectio divina. Lectio divina is a way of praying the scriptures by reading a short passage each day (usually a progression through one book of scripture) slowly and carefully, and meditating on the words; then paying attention to the words, images, or ideas that capture your imagination. There is one Little Book each year for the seasons of Advent (blue cover), Lent (black cover) and Easter (white cover). If you want to know more about Little Books, visit www.littlebooks.org.

I don’t know about you, but I am waiting for the Not So Little Book for Ordinary Time (green cover).


Sappho
Sappho was an ancient greek lyric poet born between 630 and 612 BCE. She is one of the first, if not the first, women poets whose work is extant; most of work exists in the form of fragments of manuscripts. Look at one here.

Sappho’s work is all full of love, longing, passion, and (famously) jealousy. Here are a couple of my favorite Sappho passages:

From Fragment 16:
Some say mounted warriors, some a fleet of
Ships, and some say foot-soldiers are the finest
Sight upon the black earth, but I believe it’s
Who you desire.

From Fragment 102:
Sweetest mother, I cannot work the loom -
Slender Aprodite fills me with longing for a boy.

(Ooh - she’s got it bad, wouldn’t you say?)

Blue notebook
This I purchased at the White Sale (sale on all paper and notebooks) at Wet Paint. That’s my kind of White Sale. Keep your sheets and towels - give me paper!

I keep it by my bedside so that I don’t lose little snatches of poems that come to me in that boundary-crossing time between sleeping and waking. Here’s an example of what’s inside:


















And in case you're wondering: Yes, making poetry *is* like making sausage.

Partakers of the Divine Nature by Archimandrite Christoforos Stavropoulos, translated by the Rev. Dr. Stanley Harakas
This book explores the concept of theosis, “the union of the human with the divine (p.18),” also referred to as deification. This concept, while also embraced in the Roman tradition, is particularly important in Orthodox Christianity. I have to admit that this book is not an easy read. I usually get about two sentences into a paragraph and throw in the towel. Maybe with time I will get through it. Otherwise, I guess I will just have to stay here in the human realm, beating my breast and gnashing my teeth.


100 Poems from the Chinese translated by Kenneth Rexroth
A collection of work by ancient Chinese poets who wrote between about 700 CE and 1200 CE. One of my favorite things about this collection is the easy come/easy go approach of the translator: “I make no claim for the book as a piece of Oriental scholarship. Just some poems.”

Here’s an excerpt from one of my favorites by the poetess Li Ch’ing Chao:

From “Autumn Evening Beside the Lake”:

The herons and seagulls sleep
On the sand with their
Heads tucked away, as though
They did not wish to see
The men who pass by on the river.


Iowa Review
A literary journal published at the University of Iowa. This issue contains a wonderful series of poems on the Annunciation; also an article exploring the judgements we make about parents whose children are found wandering the streets at 3 a.m. (I have lain awake many nights praying that a certain one of my children would never do this, even though he figured out the locks at age 18 months).

The Alchemy of Illness by Kat Duff.
Subtitle: “A woman explores the transforming - and, paradoxically healing - experience of being ill.”

This has been sitting on my nightstand staring at me. I stare back. Apparently, not only is it difficult for me to write about illness; it’s also hard for me to read about it.


My Journal
I use the Infinity Journal by Levenger. It has a leather cover, with refillable inserts available lined or unlined. Mine now also features “cover art” by Sister.  Available at www.levenger.com (the journal, not the cover art).


The History of God by Karen Armstrong
This is a re-read of a book that I think should be required reading for everyone who claims one of the three monotheistic religions. This book traces the development of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism from antiquity to modern times. It is striking to examine the similarities amongst these religions; and for that matter, to understand the interplay of the monotheistic faiths with paganism. Armstrong raises the issue of theology of election (the idea of a chosen people) vs. a religion of tolerance and compassion. She guides us through Church history looking both at the development of sacred texts, and at the social and political influences on the development of Church doctrine and practice. Armstrong also examines how people's conception of God has changed throughout history so that the idea of God could continue to "work" in each new age.

This is a thought-provoking exploration of how we leave our human fingerprints all over our concept of God, and what that means for history (think the Crusades, the Inquisition, or even the influence of religion on American electoral politics in recent years).

The Five Books of Moses: A Translation with Commentary by Robert Alter
Robert Alter has made it his life’s work to render the Hebrew scriptures in English more faithfully than previous translators have done. In Alter’s translations of what is known to us as the Pentateuch, gone are the flowery renderings of the King James, and the salvific foreshadowings found in most (all?) English translations of the holy book (ancient Israelites had no concept of an afterlife, let alone of salvation or eternal life).

An example taken from Genesis 1:1-2:

The KJV has,

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, “Let there be light...”

Alter’s translation:

When God began to create heaven and earth, and the earth then was welter and waste and darkness over the deep and God’s breath hovering over the waters, God said, “Let there be light.”

It really is a treat to read these foundational stories in the direct, concrete, and vivid language used by Alter. He manages to make them beautiful in English despite his primary focus on faithful translation of the Hebrew. I also recommend his translation of the book of Psalms.



Well, it has now taken me longer to write this post than it used to take me to write a five-page paper back in my grad school days.  I'm going to go take a nap now.  What's on your nightstand?

The Good Thief

Today is Saint Dismas' Day.  You might remember him:  according to the Gospel of Saint Luke, he's one of two of the thieves who were crucified with Jesus (the other was Gestas).  Dismas, known as the Good Thief, kind of stuck up for Jesus when he was being mocked by the crowd and by Gestas, saying:

"We have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes; but this man has done nothing criminal." (Luke 23: 41).

He went on to utter one of the best-known lines of Scripture:

"Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." (Luke 23: 42).

Now, all this has always seemed just a little too convenient for me.  He's actually hanging on a crucifix.  The writing is on the wall.  Death looms.  And this is the moment he declares his faith?  And then he gets *sainted* for it?

Yes, yes - I know the parable of the workers in the vineyard; how those who came to work late in the day were paid just as much as those who had labored since morning.  And no, I am not a theologian.  But my faith has never been that neat and easy: just say the words, and you're done.  My faith is a lot messier than that.  Lots of doubts, lots of questions, lots of skepticism.  And yet, I (as John Updike supposedly said of himself) have never quite been able to take the leap of unbelief.

If you look at the etymology for the word belief, you will learn that in its earliest usage, belief meant something along the lines of "trust in God."  Only later did it take on the meaning of intellectual acceptance of something as true.

Myself, I am more comfortable with the older meaning of belief.  Trusting in God, whatever God may be, is more spiritually fulfilling to me than signing on the dotted line of a list of "facts" called a creed.

Saint Dismas got me thinking of all these things this morning.  Happy Saint Dismas day to you.

P.S. You can learn more about Saint Dismas here.