Tuesday, March 11, 2014

PAUSE 
AND GO WITHIN

Poem For Today - March 10, 2014


The Cities Inside Us

 

We live in secret cities
And we travel unmapped roads.

We speak words between us that we recognize
But which cannot be looked up.

They are our words.
They come from very far inside our mouths.

You and I, we are the secret citizens of the city
Inside us, and inside us

There go all the cars we have driven
And seen, there are all the people

We know and have known, there
Are all the places that are

But which used to be as well. This is where
They went. They did not disappear.

We each take a piece   
Through the eye and through the ear.

It’s loud inside us, in here, and when we speak
In the outside world

We have to hope that some of that sound
Does not come out, that an arm

Does not reach out
In place of the tongue.

© Alberto Ríos, “The Cities Inside Us”
from The Smallest Muscle in
 the Human Body. Copyright © 2002
 by Alberto Ríos. 

3  IMAGINARY PLACES 
TO VISIT:  
A GARDEN, A DESERT  
AND A HILL 


INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “3 Imaginary Places to Visit: A Garden, a Desert and a Hill.”

When we read today's 3 readings, many themes and thoughts come jumping up out of the text. I'd like to reflect on some of those themes and images:

·        A Garden and It’s Trees
·        The Tree of Life in the Middle of the Garden
·        Serpents and Snakes Sneaking in the Grass  
·        Temptation
·        Sin - Falls from Grace
·        Desert,
·        Temptations: the Big Ones

 CLOSE YOUR EYES

I'd like to begin with a guided imagery and imagination trip. Close your eyes and picture the following 3 scenes. Or picture the following as a dream that you had and this is what you saw.



First of all, you're in a beautiful garden. There are lots of trees - especially fruit trees. There are animals roaming around. They are friendly - Bambi or Teddy Bear like. There are all kinds of flowers. The garden is lush and beautiful. There are water falls and streams. Your feet like the feel of green grass underfoot. Your eyes see the glistening fruit. Your ears are picking up the musical sounds of this tropical paradise all around you.

As you’re meandering through the garden, you spot this special looking fruit tree. You stop. It’s there that you begin to hear a hissing snake – with a seductive whispering voice that says,  “Take and eat!”

You hesitate because you had also heard another voice say, “”Don’t take. Don’t eat from this tree. You can eat from any tree in the garden except this one.”

You think, “There’s always a catch!”

You have entered a new phase of life. Up till you heard those voices you thought, “All is good” -  but now you realize there is forbidden fruit.

You think for a moment: there are plenty of other trees in this garden to pick fruit from. You remember hearing that there is this other tree. It’s called “The Tree of Life” and you know it’s in the middle of the garden.


So secondly, you go looking for that tree. You keep walking around till you come to a hill. There it is: the tree in the middle of the garden - The Tree of Life.

But this tree is not what you expected. It’s not a peaceful moment as back there at the tree with the forbidden fruit.

This tree is different. You see a crowd of people crucifying a naked man on that tree. They are spitting and cursing at him and you can't believe that people can be that cruel to another human being

You hear the words, “Take and eat.”

You don’t. You wonder: “Should I go back to the other tree? You remember that’s where you heard those same words, ‘Take and eat!’ You stand there torn between both trees.”

You look at your watch. It’s getting late. You know will be looking for you – in the garden - in the cool of the evening.

Next, the third image hits you. You picture yourself in a desert for 40 days – the complete opposite of the garden.  That place was easy. This place is tough.




You start to hear deep inner temptations – three  big ones.

First you feel the temptation to sensuality - to pig out, to stuff yourself with food, or stuff, or lust, or money and you are overwhelmed in your body with the choices you have to make.

You say “No!” to this temptation. You choose to say, “Yes” to  the Spirit because you know there is more to life than what you can see and taste and touch.

You ponder this choice – there in the desert – an experience so, so different from your garden experience. Slowly you realize – as you look back at the whole of your life -  that this first temptation is part of everyday life - moving in out of traffic - moving in and out of gardens and deserts - and hills of your life.

Some days you feel all is perfect. Life is a garden. You’re in paradise. Some days you feel hot and bothered. Life is a desert. You’re being sand blasted.

Then you’re hit with the second temptation here in the desert. You sense life’s struggles. Sometimes life feels like it’s all burden.  You feel tempted to avoid work and choose the easy way out by being superficial. It's the temptation to "flash" - to try to dazzle the others with surface trash rather than substance. You remember moments when you were in school and you had to write a term paper. You fake it. You put together junk and you know it. You put your work in an expensive binder. You put in graphs or pictures and use all the computer tricks you know to make it look good. But down deep you know you didn't do your homework.

Then comes the third temptation. You are tempted by power - to Lord it over others. You have a job - any job - and people are under you and you are tempted to use them or ignore them or not listen to them. You see it in government. You see it in the Church, but now you see it in yourself. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. What will you do? What will you choose?

You wake up! You open your eyes. You realize that life sometimes is moments in a plush garden – where all is good – but from time to time your eye spots  forbidden fruit. Sometimes its moments on a hill – seeing someone being crucified. And sometimes it’s like being in a desert being hit by big time temptations.

TODAY'S READINGS: BEGINNING LENT

While I was doing the guided imagery above, what thoughts hit you? Where did you go? What will Lent 2014 look like for you?

As we begin Lent,  the Church wants us to reflect on heavy duty stuff. Today it gives us 3 readings that should be reflected on over and over again. We are in the garden of Eden with Adam and Eve. We are in the Desert with Jesus. We are in the heart of Paul as we find his thoughts in Romans and we have to do some heavy praying and thinking.

Lent is a way of getting us to enter our hearts and see them as a plush garden or as a dry empty desert – or as moments on a hill – sitting under his cross – the Tree of Life.

Many churches – like our church – have this big barren cross up here. How do we see it?  Is it the tree of life for us?

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS

Lent provides us with 40 days to think about all these life issues.

Take sin and temptations to sin. We know they are real. The person who thinks they are without sin, let them turn over the first stone within their hearts. Surprise they will find worms everywhere. Enter deeper into ourselves and we’ll find snakes everywhere. We have snake pits within.

We also have fruit trees in abundance.

So we also have beautiful qualities.

But somehow as we grow older, we begin to discover the knowledge of good and evil. We make choices and we eat of its fruit. We bite into a beautiful apple and discover it's half rotten and a worm crawls within.. The temptation looked perfect from a distance, but we blocked out the ramifications of our behavior.

Take original sin. We run into people who say that they don't believe in Adam and Eve – that story about these two characters in the early pages of the Bible. We run into people who tell us that they don't believe in original sin.

We are tempted to laugh at them, but we choose not to. We know everyone needs to learn all these things are both real and imaginary.  They really exist – but they exist in every human heart.

That’s what a myth is – a story – that helps us understand our story.

Inside each of us is paradise, the garden, the tree with the forbidden fruit on it – as well as the tree of life in the center mountain of our heart – as well as the desert of emptiness.

Adam and Eve is our story. Christ is our story.

It takes time – and sometimes a life time of coming to church – to hear these scriptures – these writings to see, to discover, to learn that they are not just any literature. They are the thoughts of many people put together over many re-tellings on basic human situations.

Have you wrestled with the idea of original sin? I do every time I do a baptism of a baby.  Here is this tiny baby – innocent – and so, so cute. Then I am saying these prayers over this baby – using words like, “kingdom of darkness” and “original sin” and I feel “funny”.

Where is the God who says, “All is good!”

Why are we saying that this little brand new baby – has sin within him or her?

Then I step back and realize – we’re looking at the big picture here.

Give this kid time. Give this kid time to realize that life has forbidden fruit and temptations in the deep desert periods of life. And let’s give this kid – help – strength for the future. Give him or her parents who will give him or her lots of love and good example.

I heard and have never forgotten the saying, “If you want to change a person, you have to change his or her grandfather and grandmother.”

As humans we are tainted by sin. We are not God. We are also tainted by God – and his goodness – and we wrestle all our lives with urges of good and evil, sin and grace, the great tug of war of life.

The sacred scriptures, our bible, wrestle with this issue.

In Chapter 9 of John, in the story of the man born blind, Jesus says he was not born blind because of the sins of his father. Yet – on the other hand we have the DNA and the genes and the eyes of our fathers.

I’ve listened to tapes of people in ACOA – Adult Children of Alcoholics – and yes patterns come down in families – good and bad. If our grandparents  could speak, maybe they would say they are sorry for sins and bad example they have show and passed down to us. Maybe they would say that they got them from their parents and back and back and back. So greed begets greed. Lust begets lust. Anger begets anger. I jump on someone for spilling coffee on my note pad and they are steaming at being yelled at, so they go out and pick on someone else and the domino effect of anger ripples across the world - starting with me. Or did I get angry because someone yelled at me for spilling coffee twenty years ago. Hell, I was just a kid.

But this is too simplistic an understanding of original sin and sin in general. We have to go much deeper – and this enough – too much for now.

Good thing we have one more Lent  - and many Lents to come - to tackle these  big issues.

CONCLUSION

I sense each of us has to write our own Confessions like Augustine – to explain what we have come up on all this as of today. Each of us has to write our own Letter to The Romans as well. And let’s throw in the need to make imaginary journeys into the garden and desert in our being – as well as stand under the cross of Jesus – and hear him say, “Take and eat. Take and eat.” Amen.



GETTING HOME - 
THERE ARE MANY WAYS 
TO GET THERE! 

Poem for today, March 9, 2014



Page 65 /
Riding in the Subway
is an Adventure
 
 Riding the subway is an adventure
especially if you cannot read the signs.
One gets lost. One becomes anxious and
does not know whether to get off when
the other Chinese person in your car
does. (Your crazy logic tells you that
the both of you must be headed for the
same stop.) One woman has discovered the
secret of one-to-one correspondence.
She keeps the right amount of pennies
in one pocket and upon arriving in each
new station along the way she shifts one
penny to her other pocket. When all the
pennies in the first pocket have disappeared,
she knows that she is home.
 

  by Frances Chung







Sunday, March 9, 2014

WHEN WAS THE LAST 
TIME YOU WEPT?

Poem for Today - March 8, 2014



ESPECIALLY IN WEEPING

Especially in weeping
the soul reveals
its presence
and through secret pressure
changes sorrow into water.
The first budding of the spirit
is in the tear,
a slow and transparent word.
Then following this elemental alchemy
thought turns itself into substance
as real as a stone or an arm.
And there is nothing uneasy in the liquid
except the mineral
anguish of matter.


© Dana Gioia
Translated from
the Italian of
Valerio Magrelli

Painting: Woman 
Weeping, Rembrandt



WITH A LITTLE BIT OF NCIS


Poem for Today - March 7, 2014



ABANDONED FARMHOUSE


He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.

A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.

Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm--a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.

 
© Ted Kooser,
 "Abandoned Farmhouse"
from Sure Signs: New
and Selected Poems. 1980,
University of Pittsburgh Press



INSIDE STORY

Poem for Today - March 6, 2014


UNSAID

So much of what we live goes on inside–
The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches
Of unacknowledged love are no less real
For having passed unsaid. What we conceal
Is always more than what we dare confide.
Think of the letters that we write our dead.

© 2001 Dana Gioia - 


in Interrogations at Noon.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

ASH WEDNESDAY

Poem for Ash Wednesday - March 5, 2014




ASH  WEDNESDAY


Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?
Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again
Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice
And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.
Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
II
Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying
Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.
Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.
III
At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.
At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.
At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.
Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.
IV
Who walked between the violet and the violet
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs
Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos
Here are the years that walk between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing
White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.
The silent sister veiled in white and blue
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word
But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken
Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew
And after this our exile
V
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
O my people, what have I done unto thee.
Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice
Will the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose
O my people, what have I done unto thee.
Will the veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.
O my people.
VI
Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn
Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings
And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.
Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.