Using Words

When I write, the words I use,  seem so limited, so small, and somehow empty.  My words, no matter how I place them in a sentence or a phrase, never seem able to  measure up to the “big” idea or the mystery of what I am trying to describe or explain.  My words seem unable to express what I feel, what I think, and what I want to share.  I suspect this is why I have always admired and been captivated by the way in which others can use words which “speak.”  I’m amazed at how some can put words together and say what they mean, express an idea, share what they see, and tell, with their own words, a deep mystery or beauty.  As Kazantzakis (whose use of words has stirred my soul for over 55 years) puts it:  “Under my authority (as a writer) I had nothing but twenty-six lead soldiers, the twenty-six letters of the alphabet.”   That is all any of us have, just the letters of the alphabet, letters we join together into words, words that we string together in an attempt to express mystery, beauty, ideas, and our own inner thoughts.  My words seem so small in comparison to those of a William Shakespeare, Nikos Kazantzakis, or a Maya Angelou and this is why I am an avid “Quoter,” always using the words of others, because their words speak more clearly than my own.  

Have you ever heard a more beautiful use of words than those strung together by Joyce Kilmer,  “I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree.”  How Kazantzakis’ words speak (even though originally written in Greek and translated into the English language) “I was always bewitched by three of God’s creatures—the worm that becomes a butterfly, the flying fish (of Knossos) that leaps out of the water in an effort to transcend its nature, and the silkworm that turns it entrails into silk.”  Who can forget Shakespeare who wove words together in such a way as to speak to his time and for all time, “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”  Then, too,  I am a great fan of Dr. Seuss’ who makes words speak, “You have brains in your head.  You have feet in your shoes.  You can steer yourself any direction you choose.  You’re on your own.  And you know what you know.  And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…”

There is a beauty and power in words, whether strung together in poetic verse, musical stanza, prose, or in casual conversation.  There isn’t a word for everything, but there are good words for most things and we need to find those good words and use them. 

Words can be like the mist which hides and covers up,
or like lights that make things visible.

Wandering Thoughts While Praying

Whatever happens to come to my mind in these morning hours becomes the subject of this blog.   It may come from something I’m reading, or a personal experience or memory, or a wandering thought that comes as I attempt to pray.  Why is it that my thoughts tend to wander more when I pray than at any other time?  Wow! What a question? I can read a good book and stay focused.  I can meet with and dialogue with a friend and stay focused.  I can engage in a project and stay attentive to the task. What is it that causes my mind to wander so when I pray? 

Apparently this “wandering mind” issue has been a real dilemma for all the saints, who, through the centuries, have attempted to pray.  Why?  Because the praying I’m talking about is the kind of praying that requires one to “Come in, come in, come all the way in.”  This kind of praying requires one’s all—mind, spirit, emotions, everything and all that one is.  This kind of praying is not primarily a matter of making requests, or asking for blessings, or healings, or favors.  This kind of prayer always begins with oneself, what he or she must do, not with denunciations of society and its wrongs.  This kind of prayer is not attempting to have God change Mary or John into what one thinks Mary and John ought to be, but to change the Pray-er.  Is it any wonder that attempting this kind of praying would create wandering thoughts.  In this kind of praying one becomes acutely aware that all of the projected sins of society are present within him (or her).  The Pray-er must begin from within his or her own depths “to purify the springs of history within his or her own heart.”   It is a fact well known  that any time we have to focus on our “real” selves (inner or outer) we immediately begin to wander away from the subject.  We avoid facing ourselves in the normal routine of living.  How much more do we avoid it in prayer via our wandering thoughts?

Then there is the matter of the One to whom we pray. When we attempt to pray, we are supposedly seeking communion with God.  Who has an adequate description of God?  Who really knows God as God?  We say that God must be like Jesus?  But do we even know Jesus? When we face any Unknown, our thoughts and fears take our minds everywhere.  So it is that our minds wander when we, who do not yet know ourselves, attempt to pray to One whom we do not yet know.  Such wandering thoughts prevent us from penetrating beyond the anteroom of prayer.

Easter Living and Dying

Yesterday I had my annual appointment with my 52-year-old cardiologist whom I’ve known since he was six-years-old.  The good news is that I won’t see him again (as my cardiologist) until January 2019 (at least I’m hoping that will be the case). I was taken aback when he told me that a friend we had in common had recently died.  I had not heard this news.  In fact, this friend had called me in the latter part of August to tell me of her husband’s sudden passing.  Following her call I wrote her several notes and tried to call her several times.  Now I understand why those notes and phone calls went unanswered.  “There’s a grief that can’t be spoken, There’s a pain goes on and on, Empty chairs at empty tables, now my friends are dead and gone.”

Death is a reality.  It is  a reality we usually try to ignore.  But that really can’t be done.  Dying is as real as living and life itself will not allow us to ignore death’s reality.   Elton Trueblood wrote, “One of the most striking ways in which a human being is unique among creatures is that, while all creatures die, man alone knows that he dies.”  Thus, through the ages, people have dealt with death, not as a morbid and despairing thing, but as a new beginning.  Long before the Christian era, men and women, in the face of death, held the conviction that death was not necessarily the end, but might reasonably be followed by a conscious existence far more wonderful than the one we know now.  Socrates, four hundred years before Christ, told his judges, “I desire to prove to you that the real philosopher has reason to be of good cheer when he is about to die, and that after death he may hope to obtain the greatest good in the other world.”  

As an Easter person, I grieve for those who are no longer living in this world with me.  I miss them terribly.  My life has been diminished by their departure.  There are empty chairs at empty tables now that my friends are dead and gone. As an Easter person, I ask the same questions Kihil Kibran asked.  I affirm what he affirmed.  Do not ask me how I know what I affirm to be so, for I have no rational explanation other than my Easter rationality.

  

“Where are they now?  Are they somewhere in an unknown region?  Are they together?  Do they remember the past as we do?  Are they near this world of ours or are they far faraway?  I know that they live.  They live a life more real, more beautiful than ours.  They are nearer to God than we.”  (Kahil Kibran) 

All doors are meant to open.

Mobilization, Deployment, Engagement

MOBILIZATION, in military terminology, is the act of gathering, assembling and readying troops and supplies for war.  In spiritual and psychological terms we should always be in a state of mobilization personally (gathering, assembling, readying and preparing) for the challenges of life.  Mobilization is essential to face whatever today and tomorrow may bring.  For that reason, I regularly take time to mobilize my  memories, to bring them back into consciousness, to gather them “as a hen gathers her brood under her wing.”  I take time each day to recall and retrace all my travels, not only experiencing once again the thrill of those early adventures, but also learning from them.  Mobilizing my memories brings back to my mind all the great “Star Persons” who lit my soul’s candles and nourished the spirit within me.  Mobilizing my past experiences and memories also brings to mind the obstacles, the challenges, and the hurt though which I have passed. (It should be noted, “wounded soldiers” can also serve).  We must be in a constant state of mobilization, always getting ready for the next step.  Mobilizing memories and experiences of the past is not a morbid exercise of a mind grown old and feeble.  It is, rather, a gathering, assembling, readying and preparing all that we have been and all that we are for whatever “action” may be required of us today and tomorrow.  By the way, the opposite of mobilization is demobilization (all action ceases, it is the end).

DEPLOYMENT, in military terminology, is “the movement of troops and equipment to a place or position for military action.”  In spiritual and psychological terms this means taking our mobilized self—all our memories, all our knowledge, all our experience, all that we are, to the place where the action is.  By the way, the opposite of deployment is to be removed from where the action is!

ENGAGEMENT, in military jargon is to join the battle, the action, the war.  The “war” or action for which we have mobilized ourselves and now deployed ourselves awaits us.  There are all kinds of wars that need to be fought these days and these wars, like all wars, require mobilization, deployment, and the willingness to engage.  

The Epiphany Star

Epiphany is a Greek word meaning “appearing, showing forth, and/or shining forth.”  In the western Church, Epiphany is a celebration of the visit of Magi, who were guided by a star to the manger in Bethlehem.  That star, however, is mentioned in only one of the gospels (Matthew) and neither the star or the wise persons are ever mentioned again in any of the New Testament writings.  I don’t know why that is.  And it doesn’t really make any difference.  Matthew wrote to  and for the Jewish community and attempted to link everything about Jesus to the Old Testament.  I think the “Star” and the “Three Kings” story that has become so much a part of our story probably came from Isaiah 60:

“Arise, shine, Jerusalem, for your light has come; 

and over you the glory of the Lord has dawned.

Though darkness covers the earth and dark night the nations,

On you the Lord shines and over you his glory will appear;

Nations will journey towards your light and kings to your radiance.”

The star symbolizes and describes the meaning of Epiphany—the “shining forth” of light.  The star that Matthew alone writes about has become a cherished Christmas symbol for many of us and has inspired many of our Christmas hymns.  It even fits in with those creative words recorded in Genesis:  “Let there be light!”  It also makes John’s gospel sing:  “All that came to be was alive with his life, and that life was the light of men.  The light shines on in the dark, and the darkness has never mastered it.”  I like the “star” as a symbol of my Christmas story—it fits.

It fits in Matthew’s story and it fits our story in the 21st century.  Matthew wanted his Jewish brothers and sisters to know that it was not just “Jerusalem,” not just the Jewish people, who were to receive the light that the darkness cannot quench.  The star (the light), he wrote, led Gentiles (the Magi) to the manger.  Gentiles were hated, despised, considered unclean, unworthy, and unchosen by Matthew’s people. Matthew says this is no longer the case for the star has welcomed all people, all men and women.   The light shines on in the darkness and our human categories can no longer exist in the light.  The wolf will be with the sheep and the lion with the calf and they shall live in peace.  In the light of the star we, too, can visit that new life in the manger, and discover that that life, that that light, is in us all.  In the darkness of the year 1968, a “star” appeared in the form of the placards worn by the Black sanitation workers as they marched in peaceful protest in Memphis:  “I Am A Man!”  In the darkness of 2018, we, too, must follow the Light that shines on all and not just some.

Even in this photo of a few years ago, the star
appears, the light shines, and the wise persons
come, and the shepherds, and the donkeys, the sheep--and
the light shines on in the dark, and the darkness has
never quenched it!

Epiphany, epiphany, Eureka!

Today is Epiphany.  It is a Christian festival commemorating in the eastern Church the baptism of Jesus, and in the western Church the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles in the Visit of the Magi.  The festival or holiday (“holy day”) is preceded by The Twelve Days of Christmas.  Many traditions have developed around Epiphany (similar to what we do at Christmastime).  This morning my daughter-in-law and granddaughter introduced me to one of these traditions via a Facebook post.  Have you ever heard of Befana?  Befana is an old woman who delivers gifts to children throughout Italy on Epiphany Eve (Twelfth Night).  According to the Facebook post,  granddaughter Eleni no longer believes in Santa Claus, but she is smart enough to tell her mother she still believes in Old Befana.

I’m not so much interested in Epiphany with a capital letter these days.  I’m much more interested and attentive to epiphanies beginning with a small letter.  The word “epiphany” beginning with a small letter “e” means “a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.”  Someone has said, “Epiphanies awaken the soul.”  

What good is it that Jesus was baptized and I am not?  An epiphany is a kind of baptism—an immersion and then a coming up out of the water with a whole new understanding of things.   I like to use another word that starts with a capital “E” to explain what I mean by an epiphany—Eureka!  Eureka was the word Archimedes is reputed to have used when, after long study, he discovered a method of detecting the amount of alloy mixed with the gold in the crown of the king of Syracuse.   I've always imagined old Archimedes sitting in a hot bath when his epiphany occurred. “Eureka” is an exclamation of triumph at some new discovery or insight (some epiphany).

Annie Dillard, in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, experienced and wrote about her many “Eureka” or “epiphany” moments with nature.  Wow!  Eureka!  “Do you know,” she wrote, “that in the head of the caterpillar of the ordinary goat moth there are two hundred twenty-eight separate muscles?”  Eureka moments and epiphany moments are one and the same in my thinking.  I’d much rather experience an epiphany moment today and shout “Eureka”  than I would ruminate on, or celebrate the Epiphany Festival in the life of the Church and sing “We Three Kings of Orient Are.”

Eureka!!!

Fifty Years Ago: 1968

I read the current issue of the Smithsonian magazine yesterday.  It highlights the "innovation, rebellion, crisis, and tragedy" of 1968, "The Year That Shattered America."  Mark Kurlansky called 1968 the year that rocked the world. Fifty years ago I was a young 25-year-old Air Force veteran, a husband, a father of two, a student-pastor in a suburban church for the first half of the year,  and then, student-pastor of three rural churches for the second half,  and a seminary student.  The year 1968 not only shattered America, it shattered me.  “It was a year unlike any other in America, and it continues to shape our lives”—including mine.

Having served a four-year stint with the Air Force,  I had strong ideas about patriotism, duty, and military service (and I still do).  These ideas were shaken and reshaped in 1968 by what was happening half a world away in Viet Nam and what was happening here at home.  That was the year of the Tet Offensive and the massacre of thousands of civilians at the Battle of Hue, and the horrible massacre by American soldiers in My Lai and the utter confusion of “American values” it precipitated.  Yes, my idealism was shattered and Viet Nam and its aftermath continues to shape my thinking.

Martin Luther King, Jr., had graduated from the same seminary in which I was enrolled.  In April 1968 he was shot and killed in Memphis.  The reaction was intense. I recall driving city streets patrolled by armed vehicles and National Guard troops.  (I might add that 1968 was also the year of the Prague Spring on the other side of the world). I remember singing with my brothers and sisters, “We Shall Overcome,” even though our hope for justice and equality in America was frustrated not only by King’s death, but by people like George Wallace who was then running for the presidency of the United States of America.

Robert Kennedy and Hubert Humphrey were also in the presidential race in 1968, along with then President Richard M. Nixon who was running on the ticket of “law and order” while at the same time instigating criminal acts.  A “divided America” is nothing new. Kennedy, an advocate for the poor and racial minorities was shot and killed in June 1968.  He was the father of 11 children.  His death, and the death of King, demonstrated the risk and the cost of taking a stand on social justice.  That was fifty years ago—the year, according to the Smithsonian, that shattered America—and the year that also shattered me and reshaped my thinking!