Shining Spirit

An artist has been at work here! Welcome to The Gallery of Gratitude. Amazing how stunning the simple can be. What’s in the gallery where you live? 

“Just gimme a rock! I’ll show that guy!
Stand back and give me room!
He brags and boasts and struts around;
he’s full of gas, that pompous clown!
This day he meets his doom!”

“Now, David, please control yourself,
and look what’s here at hand.
Goliath there is ten feet tall
and you, my lad, are rather small
to take on such a man.

“His armor weighs as much as you;
his spear is twice your height!
Those muscles in his arms are huge
and you? O, David, you will lose
if you pursue this fight.”

“Get out of my way and hand me that stone;
today the giant dies.
That puffed up windbag’s in for a shock.
Let’s see if he likes this jagged rock
between his glaring eyes!

“See how he snarls and stamps his feet;
he tries to look so mean.
He thinks he’s caused us fear today,
but insults hurled are merely a play
to scare us from the scene.

“Well, Goliath, old boy, if you’ll turn just a bit,
a little more profile please.
Wrapped here in my sling is a present for you
delivered expressly from Yahweh and crew.
Let’s see how you look on your knees!”

“O, David,” they cried, “your aim’s found its mark.
Goliath is flat on his face!
We knew all along we could count on you, lad;
never a doubt that the power you had
was sufficient to end this disgrace.”

“That’s strange,” David said. I thought you were sure
that a small man would be in the way.
I remember you saying: ‘Go home to your sheep’,
that only the big men were able to keep
the giant from claiming the day.”

One little rock and one little man!
And now the people all say
that out of the turmoil and fear in the crowd,
David stepped forth, refused to be bowed,
and became a great leader that day.

(A reflection on I Samuel 17)

The woman was sick for eighteen years.
She had lived through sorrow, heartbreak, and tears,
and then one day, at the time for prayer,
she knelt in her anguish and deep despair.

It was then that she felt a gentle touch.
Who, she thought, would dare to do such?
Who would touch a woman like me,
crippled, possessed, as all can see?

His eyes showed compassion as he gave her good news.
“You’re healed of your sickness, you are free to choose
a new way of life as you stand straight and tall.
Stand straight with me now; let’s show them all.”

As she rose to her feet, there was heard a cry
from the synagogue leader standing nearby.
“How dare you heal on the Sabbath day!
You violate Law, you clearly betray

The One who established the sacred Law,
and we, standing here, all clearly saw
that you touched this woman, and that, I contend,
displays the depth of your horrid sin.”

As the now healed woman made her way to the door,
Jesus turned to the man: “There is one thing more.
You are a hypocrite, a fraud and a fake.
You act out religion in order to make

the crowds think you’re holy, above all the rest.
But you, sir, have failed faith’s basic test.
You neglected to love in the midst of her pain.
You do all this for personal gain.”

A murmur was heard to spread through the crowd
until a man finally stood and spoke aloud:
“Today we have heard truth spoken here
and seen love confront irrational fear.

Surely the God we praise in this place
laughs in heaven at the leader’s face
and applauds the courage it took to say
that grace and mercy will show us the way.”

(A reflection on Luke 13:10)

Habit: an acquired behavior pattern regularly followed until it has become almost involuntary. I have one. It’s called the Manzanita News & Espresso. A very “homey” feeling, very friendly folks, interesting art work on the walls, wonderful pastries, even a community bulletin board where you can rummage through all kinds of local news and upcoming events, (there’s a raffle at the Methodist church around the corner, for instance) and, as one would expect, excellent coffee. The next time you happen to be passing through Manzanita, I recommend it highly. My morning isn’t complete until I have said: “A 16 (oz.) vanilla latte, please.” But, truth be told, and while it’s true that the coffee is excellent, one of the most striking things about the place is the feeling of welcome waiting just inside the door. The unique little building is not a “cookie cutter” coffee establishment. The word “unique” fits it well. The layout, the furnishings, the old building itself seem to say “come on in.” Everyone. 

The deal was sealed for me when, a couple of weeks ago, the paper sign taped to the glass partition near the cash register caught my eye. Everyone is welcome here. Not just the “everyones” who fit traditional norms. If you are hungry, come on in. There’s food here. And if you’re thirsty, drink, too. Doesn’t matter who you are, you are welcome.

That has a very familiar ring to it.

(This is not a paid advertisement. It’s the Gospel truth.)

Friends, this is a tree! One tree, not several trees. It is a living, breathing, life-giving part of creation and it is remarkable. When I see a tree like this, and I don’t often, I let my imagination kick into gear. I have no idea how old this tree is, but you can bet it has seen lots of history go by. Maybe hundreds of years ago someone sat right there under the tree and pondered the stars or the great waters. Might have been your ancestor or mine. Think of the history this tree has witnessed over the centuries. I also wonder how many hurrying people have driven by the tree, noticed it but didn’t really see it, and felt no emotional tug at their souls. Lots, I imagine.

A few decades ago, people concerned about ecology and the treatment of the planet, were called “tree huggers,” remember that? Well, try giving this one a big hug. We should try, because this tree and millions of others have contributed a lot to keeping our planet-home alive, and us with it. Each time I drive by this particular tree here in Oregon, I wave and say hello, and “thank you” for standing strong through storms, tsunamis, and the arrogance of human beings who believe that the purpose of a tree is to be cut down and turned into a street address in Chicago. God dreamed creation into being, fashioned it, breathed life into it, and gave it to us to take care of. And that includes this ancient monument that lives and breathes like we do. We are to be stewards of creation, and it’s time we held up our end of the agreement.

The sea is liquid life, ebbing and flowing, serene and savage, beautiful and frightening. It is never the same from day to day. But the mountain is changeless among the changeable.

God, who is found in the strength of the mountain and in the flexibility of the sea, grant us this day a full measure of both, that we may see and appreciate all the variations and diversities of life while, at the same time, standing in wonder and gratitude for strength and power that are ours from the Spirit that is our constant companion. Guide our way, we pray, so that we may cherish the gifts of this day.
Amen

Talmud is the name of a collection of ancient teachings and stories, a compilation, that is regarded as sacred by the Jewish community of faith. Woven through The Talmud are stories, rich and powerful, that go far beyond Judaism. An example:

When Akiba was on his deathbed, he bemoaned to his rabbi that he felt his life was a failure. His rabbi moved closer and asked why, and Akiba confessed that he had not lived his life like Moses. The poor man began to cry, admitting that he feared God’s judgment. At this, the rabbi leaned into his ear and whispered gently: “God will not judge Akiba for not being Moses; God will judge Akiba for not being Akiba.”

Admiring someone is one thing, but trying to be that person usually creates big problems. In junior high school, I admired a track star named Eddie. I was pretty swift when I was a kid and I figured that I could get even faster if I could run with the same style and technique as Fast Eddie. His natural running style was rather unique. His arms swung rather wildly and his stride was uncommon, a little half-step when he came off the starting blocks. I am sorry to say that my admiration became idolization. I want to run like Eddie became I want to be Eddie. I changed my style to match his and it was a disaster. No further details necessary, I quickly discovered that I can’t be someone else: the best I can do is to be me.

God will not judge Roger for not being Eddie; God will judge Roger for not being Roger. Maybe this story is one you need to think about, not in reference to someone else, but to yourself? The sacred scripture that I share with my Jewish friends, the Hebrew scriptures I call The Old Testament, is pretty clear: “You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.” In my faith, I believe there was no template or construction manual. I am me and you are you, and nobody else is exactly like either one of us. Nobody can explain it, but each of us was put together and given a shove into the world so that we can be uniquely ourselves. For only by being my authentic self will I be able to love you honestly, serve you truthfully and live in this world humbly, knowing that each one of us is on a journey to experience The One who started all this. As I am not you and you are not me, so our life journeys will be different, and I will honor all the differences on my way to re-union, a re-union now, in the present tense. I’m not talking about death and after-life. Home is in the heart of God now, in this moment. There is room enough for all of us.

Perhaps the most profound statement about my life and about the implications of my life is: I am not Eddie.

Like bookstores? I do. One of the items on my “What To Do When I Get Bored” list is drop in for a visit at the mega-bookstore in the shopping mall. It’s like visiting old friends. I walk up and down the aisles, make note of new books that catch my eye, get a coffee in the first-floor coffee shop, stroll some more and before you know it, I’m back in a good mood and all is right with the world. Management used to provide big, soft leather chairs for customers, but they’re gone. I think they figured out that some people were making the bookstore into a library. Who would do such a thing?

As you know by now, I’m into week seven of maybe twelve weeks in a very small coastal village in Oregon, population about 600, and that’s in the tourist season. Trust me, this is not the tourist season. It doesn’t take long to stroll the main street, all three blocks of it. So, if I find myself on the edge of boredom…did I mention the cold rain, sleet, and high winds of winter…I just put on four layers of warm clothing and drive over to the local bookstore. Which I did yesterday. It is the most delightful little bookstore in the village. In fact, it’s the only one and more than 10 people could not fit inside. Printed on a free bookmarker I read: ”We believe in the printed page.” On my third or fourth circuit through the store, I stopped in the Poetry Section, about four shelves, and I was delighted to find Longfellow, Mary Oliver, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti almost side by side. Who would have imagined? I probably spent too much time leafing through several interesting books, but then I was the only customer. When I left, I had two new books under my arm and a smile on my face. My electronic reader, which now holds about 400 books, will be lonely for a while as I feel the texture of crisp pages and the satisfaction of a real book in my hands. I believe in the printed page, too.

The tactile pleasure of a new book is very real for lots of people. In life, touch is so important. I wonder how many times over the years I have been privileged to hold a hand in a hospital room, or in prayer in a home, in the joyful welcome of a newborn, at a wedding or baptism, or in the quiet of a hospice room, at a graveside. Hands are held in love and in fear, in hope, in despair, for better and for worse. Counting the couple of years of dating in high school, my wife, Sue, and I have held hands for almost 65 years. Our hands have changed a lot over the years but not the meaning of the holding. I hope you realize how fortunate you are to be able to hold someone’s hand, even if momentarily, as a gesture of friendship, companionship or respect. And I hope you will do that today. It’s good for your soul, in the same way we are blessed by the sacred touch of Divine Love. Be blessed today and be a blessing.

There is a section of sandy beach near my house that seems to be the collecting place for limbs, logs, even full-grown trees that have been deposited there by rising and falling tides, useless items often scarred and broken. Given the shape and location of the beach, it has become the final stop for the fatally wounded. And sometimes I feel called to the place to walk among the debris and listen to the dramas of suffering and destruction.

Everything has a story. For instance, most of the trees show signs of fire damage. Black gashes, charred shreds of bark are common. They tell of great forest fires that ravaged many acres of fine timber. Some of the stately victims fell or were dumped into rivers and finally released to the open ocean. Over time, benevolent tides gave them a final home here in this bay, gently laying them to rest. Their stories, while sad to hear, remind me of life’s unpredictability and the power of nature to interact with humanity.

Once in a while I find a remarkable example of beauty in the midst of these fallen giants. Case in point. Beneath the burned bark of the tree in the foreground is a brilliant color that almost glows in the bright sun. Orange and almost-reds are vibrant. My guess is that if the burned bark of the other trees was stripped away, there would be a feast of unique beauty unrivaled by the artist’s canvas.

I drove out of the parking lot toward home with two conclusions: All living things have stories to tell, all living things, and I restrict my own humanity by not listening to them. And, all creatures and creations on this little dot of life in the universe possess a beauty unique to themselves, a beauty that, when revealed, blesses and expands the world.

Mist almost covered the mountain, a gray fog through which shone the bare outline of the beautiful countryside. I turned into a winding road that led toward home, and there it was. Faint at first, not very distinct, but it was right there in front of me.

I stopped the car in the middle of the quiet road, wrestled my camera from my coat pocket, fumbled with the settings, all the time hoping that the hint of rainbow would not vanish into the mist. It waited. It waited only long enough for me to take two pictures and then it disappeared. All the components of the picture remained, everything except the star attraction that lived for several minutes and then sought out another location to shine in mist and sunlight.

What do you think of when you see a rainbow? Good luck? Memories of other rainbows in other places? I think of the biblical story in which God sets the “bow” in the sky as a sign of covenant, or promise. Memories are often triggered by sights or sounds or smells, some good memories and some not so good. But the shimmering colors of the rainbow will forever mean the covenant holds, promises are kept, hope lives. I needed that reminder in that moment. I needed to know that the deal was still on, the covenant is still honored. And there it was in my line of sight hovering where I could see it as I turned a corner, here and gone. But it was enough. Even a brief glimpse of the sacred is enough to turn your world around.

P.S. How can l let God know that I’m still committed to the covenant?