At The Naming of a Hindu Child

Meditation:  We share the Word


Since it has pleased the Almighty to bestow upon N1 and N2
the gift of a child, N3, let us now give thanks:

Heavenly Father, you have blessed us with your presence in  this world.
We thank you for the life of this child, N3, entrusted to our care.
Help us to remember that we are all your children, and so to
love and nurture him, that he may attain to that full stature
intended for him in your eternal wisdom.

Lord, you have taught us that whoever receives a little child
in your name receives you.  We give you thanks for the blessing
you have bestowed upon N1 and N2 in giving them a child. Confirm
their joy by a lively sense of your presence with them, and give them
calm strength and patient wisdom as they seek to bring this child to
love all that is true and noble, just and pure, lovable and gracious,
excellent and admirable, following the example of all who are blessed.

- Modified from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer: Thanksgiving for a Child

The Invisible Made Visible or 'When We Pray'

When we pray,
God doesn't come near;
God doesn't drop in,
God is already here.

When we pray,
God doesn't say 'Oh!'
'So that's what they need!'
God already knows.

So when we pray-
What happens then?
If God knows, is close,
What is prayer then?

Perhaps prayer is
Something WE do
To walk with Love;
And each other, too.

-LE

The Voices We Will Not Hear

Alternate Title: 'We Are The Friends'

They are wrong.
They are so very wrong.
We can't hear their voice.

They call out to us - they say:
Isn't this injustice?
Isn't this torture?
Isn't this slavery?

But we can't hear.
We talk louder.
We talk about other things.
We talk about their failings;
We talk about their sin;
We talk about their error.

They sit in their ash-pits,
Covered with sin,
Covered with death,
Covered with sores,
Maligning righteousness,
Indicting the good we do,
Trying to pull us down with them.

They call out to us - they say:
Is this right?
Is this fair?
Is this justice?

But we won't hear;
Instead we talk about maintaining order,
We talk about helping others,
We talk about sharing,
We talk about becoming involved.

They moan on their death-beds accusingly,
They sigh from their cells,
Their deaths scream out to us,
Maligning righteousness,
Indicting good,
Trying to pull down God.

They call out to us - they say:
Would you want this?
Would you choose this?
Would you live this?

But we refuse to hear,
Instead we talk about precedent,
Instead we talk about independence,
Instead we talk about the needs of others,
We shift away so that they don't contaminate us.

They shuffle in their shackles frighteningly,
Occasionally they catch our eyes uncomfortably,
They abusively mention their lost children,
They truculently bring up their lost freedom,
Trying to make us feel sorry for what they deserved,
Trying to shift the argument,
Trying to unseat justice.

They call out to us - they say;
Would you do this to your friend?
Would you do this to a servant?
Do you still keep slaves?

But we won't hear;
We make up stories about them that might be true,
We talk about the rights of others,
We talk about how they cannot be trusted,

They are wrong.
They are so very wrong.
We can not hear their voice.

Raise Your Light!

The sun rises, the sun sets
The moon waxes and wanes

The green life rises and leafs out

Fauns and children are born and grow

Old people hold hands, walking into the sunset

Rain waters the earth
Blue skies catch our breath

Birds sing
Fish splash
Squirrels leap
Chipmunks search the undergrowth for seeds

Woodpeckers knock, while skunks hunt for grubs below
Tiny sparks of life burrow in the earth and dance in the air

People help each other
People they know
And people they do not know

They set up funds, institutions, and ways of life to see to the care and shelter of others
For people they will never meet, for those who will come long after they have gone

Others have labored, and we have entered into their labors

Good is not the exception
We live in a very blessed world

We do not light a single lamp in the darkness
But add our light to the constellations lighting the sky

We do not sing alone in a vile place
But join the celestial chorus

There are those who do not hear
Who turn away
Who see the dark first, who struggle to pick out any good
Who cannot see how very blessed we are
Who cannot imagine the world of sharing that we really live in
And we must sing to them
And raise our light, our hearts

There is enough grace,

enough good,

… enough God for all of us

Raise your light!

God Is Not Alone

God is not alone

God is with God’s self, a Trinity

God is with Creation, a vast Unity

God is with us all, an extensive Plurality

God is with the saints, a choir of Sanctity

God is in our homes, a member of our Family

God is with us each, in personal Fraternity

And we are with God

When we care

When we help

When we share

When we love

When we create

And when we show mercy

God is Love

And Love cannot exist alone

What to Wear?

When we go a feasting
We wonder what to wear
Which shoes go on our feet
If we should 'do' our hair

Is this a time for white
Or should we all wear black
Should we buff our buttons bright
Or could we wear a sack

When we enter in
If we aren't like the rest
We might feel singled out
The cuckoo in the nest

But some don't have the means
To buy a fancy suit
For them 'What to Wear'
The question is quite moot

So when we gather in
And hope that all will come
I'd like if we dressed humbly
Both rich and poor as one

And maybe the Lord God
Who forgives our sinfulness
Will value every single soul
No matter how we dress


Peace
LE

Something Interesting to Look At

I love it when creative people colaborate, and here is a wonderful example - Enjoy:

A peaceful Lent to you -

LE

Tell Your Story

It has been a while since the passing of Madeline L'Engle, but thoughts of her and her writing keep coming to mind, and so maybe, in this meditative season of Lent, contemplating the following words from this spiritual woman is appropriate:

“Why does anybody tell a story?” Ms. L’Engle once asked, even though she knew the answer.
“It does indeed have something to do with faith,” she said, “faith that the universe has meaning, that our little human lives are not irrelevant, that what we choose or say or do matters, matters cosmically.”

So, my guests and friends, share your stories. It will help us all, more than we can know.

Peace,
LE

All Lenten Thoughts

The Others

It seems like there are always 'others'.
Bad people, stupid people, ignorant people;
people we don't like;
People it is ok to hate.

Perhaps their last name is Clinton,
Or perhaps their last name is Bush;
Or Paul, or Kennedy, or Obama;

Or perhaps 'the others' are a race;
Or a belief;
Or a gender;
Or a sexual orientation;
Or a nationality;
Or a class or category.

We hate them, and everyone who likes them.
We hate what they represent.
We put bumper-stickers on our cars awash in hate or contempt;

We post vitrol on websites,
We wear buttons and T-shirts that drip anger, lies, and hatred.

We tell jokes that dehumanize;
We repeat slander;
We mock;
We make angry, racist, sexist, and paranoid comments.

We find it hard to relate to anyone who likes the other.
Who sees good in them.

We can't countenance a single good thought about them.

And this is unfair.

It is unfair to the other.
It is unfair to those who love or appreciate them.
It is unfair to the world of people who don't want to pass a litmus test to even speak to us.
Or who find that in our presence their speech must be censored.
And it is unfair to us ourselves - because hate blinds us to the truth.

And the truth usually lies in a third place,
Distant from the hills and trenches of our petty wars.
And it is to the truth that we must find our way.

If we can be honest with each other,
If we can hear the voice of the other and not blot it out,
Not block it out with hate;
Not ignore it.
Not censor it.
Not turn it off.
Not walk away.
If we can be in dialog with the other;

We will be wiser people.
We will be richer people.
We may be kinder people.
We may find better leaders.
We can step aside from our anger.
We can cease our fighting.

But first we need to open the gates of our heart and truly listen.
And open our minds to truly hear.

May We Find Peace
LE

The Grace of Baptism

I like baptism
I like the gathering of the community
I like the approach, the welcoming of the candidates
I like the blessing of the water
I like the vows taken by and for the candidates
I like the ritual of washing
I like the symbolism of immersion
I like the unity of the body of Christ in the church.

But baptism is a peculiar thing
We do it once
We do it for others
And not for ourselves

Baptism is the Rubicon of Christianity
Once done, we have crossed over
We belong
We are sealed as belonging to Christ

Baptism is a sacrament to many Christians

An outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

The sign is the wetting, the bathing, the annointing, ...and the grace?

The grace is the forgiveness of sins available to the repentant Christian through Jesus Christ.

And perhaps this is the forgotten beauty of baptism: not its celebration of becoming a member of the body, not the spiritual vows made to actively seek to turn from evil, -these are outward signs- but the initial recognition that we are all in need of perfection, that we all have stumbled, that we all need forgiveness, and that in particular the candidate is recognizing his or her errors, and is formally repenting and seeking forgiveness.

And perhaps this is what Jesus brought to baptism that it did not have before: the authority to say:

"Rise and walk, for your sins are forgiven you."

Rise and walk, and if you stumble, pick yourself up, and walk again.

May you, dear reader, also Rise and Walk

Peace,
LE

Good Grief

'Good Grief' seems to be a catchword for me lately. This piece is inspired by the passing of a great man, who we mourn. Certainly this is 'good grief'; to remember and miss those who have gone on to their reward, to honor their place with us, and share our memories:

They push off from here most every day
And for the farther shore
The saints sail onward to the place
Where head those Christ adores
The journey there is not so long
The river is not wide
They do not suffer on the trip
To Jordan’s other side

We wish them peace
And pray their souls
Into our Maker’s care
We will miss their presence here
And the all they used to share
A goodly crew sets off each day
From ports around the globe
To take up crowns and find their place
Beneath God’s mighty robe

We miss them all, so very much
And this grief is good.
Our lives are short and worth a lot
In death it’s understood.
So shed your tears and hold your friends
As tightly as you may
Because this world is not a place
That we may always stay.

And wait for joy, for it will come
Least on the other side
When all our hard day’s work is done
And we with the saints abide.
And there with our beloved saints
We’ll see the Lamb upraised
And cast our crowns upon the ground
May Jesus Christ be praised!

For Frank, and the great company of all the saints,

LE

Normally ExtraOrdinary

“A hero is someone doing extraordinary things, what I did was not extraordinary. It was a normal thing to do.” - Irena Sendler

Irena, risked her life, and suffered much torment to rescue 2,500 children from the Nazis. But in her eyes, her risk, torture, and soic self-sacrifice were just 'normal' things to do.

May we all be such people, that risking our lives and suffering for our neighbors is merely a 'normal' thing to do.

But if it is not normal to love so much, then let us be extra-ordinary, and may God bless us with the courage, the energy, and the strength to change the world such that the extrordinary becomes normal.

Peace,
LE

Outrageous Easter

In my dream we were planning the funeral of a good friend, someone we loved a lot.

We were just getting started, gathering around a large table.

Family and friends were there, and around the table there were several who did not feel wlecome, or worthy to sit, and we were encouraging them to do so.

There was room for all.

And once we settled, and had started discussing, we realized a funny man was behind us...
...painting huge Easter eggs on the picture window that was there.

Even funnier, he didn't paint from his imagination, which you might think he would with such a simple subject. Instead, he had a friend who was arranging and holding large colorful Easter eggs so that he could paint them 'from life', draping fabric about them, and positioning them just so.

We talked about the two of them, and thought they were just a bit crazy.

But upon waking, I am not so sure.

In your times of mourning may you find moments of outrageous Easter.

LE

A Remarkable Accounting

How much do I owe you?
Someone asked me today;
I said not to worry
And sent them away

I am glad that they asked
I'm glad I can share
I am glad that I'm able
To be more than fair

And maybe I'll find
When I'm called to account
That my debts are reduced
By an equal amount

Or even forgiven
Of me, every one
By a remarkable accountant
That we call God's Son

And so in good faith
Let us each forgive
Following our God's example
Of how we should live

Peace,
LE

SB responded in verse:

Nothing for something
A holy exchange
The commerce of kindness
Beautifully strange

Very nice, thanks.

The redemption of Bully McFister

I looked up Bully McFister today
You know, the one that used to steal your lunch money, and hit you for no reason? Who liked shooting small animals with his bb-gun and bragging about it? At length? The one who liked to make fists with one knuckle sticking out and hit us as hard as he could in the bicep to give us bruises? That guy, you remember.

Well I felt like looking up the old crew and I 'Googled' his name. I thought I might at 'best' see a police blotter report of a robbery or a shootout, or even more likely nothing at all. But no, he pops right up, I see evidence of a creative soul, a sharp mind, an analytic, go-getting man who writes beautifully. I enjoy reading what he writes, and he is relatively prolific!

I squint at his picture in awe, trying to see the wise-acre who flicked boogers at us all from the back row, who enjoyed picking fights and causing trouble, who left us achingly writing our homework with bruised arms. A faint echo is all I get. Yeah, it's the guy. Who knew? Clearly my elementary-school self judged him prematurely, and I carried that predjudice forward. Somewhere inside the obnoxious troublemaker were the seeds of this new person. A person who contributes much to our world.

So Bully made good. I am glad that he did... ...it somehow seems redemptive. But I feel guilty for assuming he wouldn't, and wonder if we aren't failing many of our boys if they can be percieved as so futureless in school, and yet be so much once they hit the real world. I wonder what Bully's story is... Did he change all at once? Was there a series of transformative events in his life? Or did he just slowly start opening up, once he was away from the strictures, cliques and repressions of the school environment?

I wonder...

But I'm not sure I'll be reaching out to Bully to discuss all this. My arm is still sore.

Peace,
LE


'Bully McFister' is a fictional name that I made up to relate this story, but the story itself is true. For anyone who is actually named this, I pray your life is at least as redemptive as that of my 'Bully'. And for those working and suffering with today's 'Bullies' I ask you to take note. God is everywhere, indeed. Maybe your 'Bully' needs an outlet, a friend, a big brother, or a role model, maybe the investment in him is hard and painful, but he has real potential too. (And I reccommend thick sweaters to protect your arms.)

The Business of Love

Are you awake?
And if you are awake, do you see?
And seeing, do you speak?
And what manner of speech?
Are you welcoming or hard?
Available or distant?
Helpful or not helpful?

Do you note those around you who are hurt?
Those who are regularly put down, insulted, excluded, assaulted? The ones you see being harmed?

And if you did notice, would you offer them a word of comfort? Some direction? A hand of assistance? Or do you stand coldly with those who do the harm?

Remove your steel gauntlets.
Take off your armor.
Put up your barbed helmet.
Pull off your hob-nailed boots.

Wash yourself, cleanse your face, your eyes, your ears, your skin, and be clean;
Annoint yourself with scented oils;
Don soft garments for gentle interactions;
Silken slippers and gloves.

We are about the business of love,
And steel will not serve you today.

Today we Mourn

Today we mourn and pray for those who were lost or injured in yesterday's bridge collapse, and pray for their families and friends.

And we also give thanks that so few seem to have been lost or hurt, for the favorable weather, and for the many helping hands that appeared when needed.

May God turn our mourning hearts to each other, and may we find comfort.

The Mosaic Lion

I dreampt that I was visiting a small town in Italy that was tucked in a niche in the base of a volcanic outcrop, sort of a cross between a dike and a volcanic neck. The outcrop formed a pinnacle in the center and two ridges of the same very dark brown rock swooped down to the plain from which the outcrop protruded at a wide angle, curving ever-so-slightly as if to contain something as they dissapeared beneath the yellow, dusty plain.

And there, between the arms of the outcrop, lay the plaza of the town. And it was not just any plaza, but a plaza made up of many colored bricks that made up a huge, rather realistic mosaic of a proud lion standing in left profile, tail twitched in front of its left haunch, head turned slightly towards the viewer.

The niche in the outcrop, and its little town faced the plaza, faced the lion that was turning to look at it.

And I sat at an outdoor table in that town with my true love, sampling tiny, bitter pickles that were the specialty of the town, as our waiter, who wore clothes with faint, small vertical bands of maroon and brown of varying width and a crumpled looking white apron, explained that eating a lot of these pickles would make us sick, and could be fatal. I told him not to worry, we would be careful, and I awoke.

Is the message of the dream temperance and moderation? Is it more about accepting your situation and nature? Is it about enjoying where you are? Is the lion a pagan symbol alone, or is it symbolic of the watchfulness of Christ, whom I associate with the lion? Why does the lion face the little town, and the pinnacle, and not the plain?

Perhaps this last question I can answer, in a practical way: the lion is posed for someone on the pinnacle, or in a building within its niche to view it.

Perhaps the lion is not concerned with those who might assault the town, but with the welfare of its residents.

Perhaps the theme of the dream is care: caring for yourself and others, being careful, and taking care to appreciate where you are, and who you are with.

Or maybe there is a message in the way the earth in the form of the outcrop, the lion; a symbol of faith, and the town all form an integrated whole, working together to form a place which people can call home.

"They'll Take Anyone"

Jesus stands at the door and knocks,
But not just at your door,
You'll find him knocking along every street
Mine, and theirs, and yours

This feast that we are called to
Is open to all who'll come;
And it's our job to welcome
Each and every one

We must mean it when we say that
Our sins belong to God;
Jesus himself has told us
We may find the guest list odd.

Forgiveness is for sinners,
For us sinners, every one;
And a mixed lot of repentant sinners,
Will make our feasting much more fun.

So may we be among the guilty;
Told: "You'll take anyone",
And be numbered with those oddball saints,
When at last our lives are done.

Peace,
LE

God in The Waiting Places

...

Why does the darlky-tanned hispanic man wait at the shelter of the rural spur line? The trains there are rare, yet I watch as he lets one go by. Is he the same man I glimpsed sleeping in the hot shelter a month ago? It makes no sense to sleep there, in sight of green, shady bowers.

If he has an appointment with someone, or something, why not come closer to the right time? Or perhaps his appointment is with something or someone more mercurial - and he cannot know when, or if it will arrive. Something mercurial, but still worth waiting for.

And who is the older woman in yellow waiting for? She stands in the shade of some green trees, on a sidewalk away from the commuter's shelter and the platform. A freight train rumbles through, I turn for a moment and she is gone. Did someone arrive and I missed seeing them? Did she give up? Is this just a happy pause on her morning walk... ...watching a train or two pass, or does she daydream that someone will arrive, someone she misses?

Who rides all the dozens of bikes that are chained up by the station? They are here when I arrive and there are less when I return, indicating an early schedule, but I never see their riders. Do they ride for pleasure, out of a sense of economy and environmentalism? Are these students off to school? I doubt it. I suspect they are fry-cooks and baker's assistants and day-laborers, and bicycles are what they can afford.

Some religeous pamphleteers arrive, young men in starched yellow shirts and striped ties, soft-covered black bibles and literature clutched in their right hands, bending gently in their grips. They make a vague attempt to reach the commuters at the station, but they are on the wrong side of the tracks, and a train arrives to foil their efforts, whooshing their prospective converts off in the direction of the big city, and leaving no one save me. They glance briefly at me, but the cost/benefit of saving my soul must not seem promising, and they climb back into their beat-up suburban, and motor off, its hole-y muffler resonating loudly.

I resolve to try to meet all these people in the future. This is a waiting place, it is true, and people don't think of their lives as happening here, in the waiting places, but they are wrong. God also waits for us at the way-points of our lives, and while we wait, our lives are going by, and God is showing us people and situations and wondering: "Who will go for us?" And "Whom shall we send?"

May we often meet and recognize God along the myriad paths of our lives, and moreover, enter into God's labors.

Peace,
LE