Spiritual Ruminations

Two of my dearest friends are on pilgrimage in Israel. My hope is that the depth
of experience I felt when I was there on pilgrimage in 1994 will be theirs as well.
It may well be more, but it is of an interior realization. The images and landscapes
are still a deeply felt part of my being - life long present and ever re-newing in
their personal journeying and awakening.

Funny that this would be part of a different journey here. I was invited to be a
part of another dear friend's granddaughter's Bat Mitzvah recently. The grounds
were similar. The roots of spiritual experience had common experience. I had
a personal draw of mutually experienced spiritual self knowledge.

Perhaps it was the beloved psalms all our traditions share and the beauty of hearing
them chanted along with prayer. I felt I was in a continuum of shared worship and
liturgical wonder, I belonged in both. The mutuality of it all was both a comfort
and also something new - something trying to define itself in the core of my very
being. It was the oneness I felt, both home and not at home.

Then the reason we were there to be witnesses, a young person was declaring their
citizenship in the temple, the taking on of the adult responsibilities to the community
of faith and the expression that their study and proclamation of faith demanded that
their presence and willingness to enter a higher responsibility be noticed and accepted.

Christian confirmation should do the same thing, but it does not. The community
of faith and tradition in the temple and the support it gives from both family and wider
community is, in a trite way of expression, almost overwhelming to the witness
of yours truly. The assumption and taking on of responsibility in the place of faith
realized is what this ceremony is about. And it is bigger than the casual observer
generally notices or comprehends.

So, true this is to the pilgrim, walking the ancient steps and digging deep to realize
their own place in the bigger picture.

My wonder blooms. My appreciation for rites and their possibilities grows. And
my faith journey tugs my soul into the realm of re-discovery.

R

The Quartet

I recently attending a very good friend's granddaughter's Bat Mitzvah in North
Carolina. It was a truly spiritual experience for me in many ways. But ultimately
it was the people who dominated the blessing I felt.

My dear friend and I could be a duet - endlessly and continually creating new
tunes, reprising old ones and always developing new themes and creating new
textures and melodies. Into this duet a trio reconstituted itself returning to beloved
music and favorite songs. But the trio was emboldened into a quartet with the presence
of the trio's third person's marriage partner who brought new depth and melody
to the music we created in our intertwined relationships. With four songs inter playing,
the possibilities seemed endless until the final denouement.

Others joined this basic quartet as the events unfolded in ceremony and celebration. And
a new symphony of delight and mutuality of expression made its presence known. Life
can be music when ears are opened and hearts freely express their true feelings.

And this is a mitzvah - a blessing - so deeply experienced that the core of one's
being is forever altered.


R

Marsh Sounds at Dawn

Those of us who live near the marshes are blessed by the delightful cacophony of sounds
in the early morning hours emanating from our natural surroundings. Often I have been on
the telly and my callers have asked - just where are you? I think of it as the Serengeti
experience. It is a symphony of sound that never becomes ordinary. It is a  multifaceted
and evolving series and clusters of beautiful sound.

Near six this morning, something quite different occurred. Of late I have had a pair of
ducks quacking and splashing in the tepid waters defining my fresh water marsh. And
their little ducklings have been seen taking their early morning swimming lessons. When
one sees these things, there is an ownership and unexpressed responsibility for their mere
presence.

However, this morning's breaking light was disturbed by the frantic quacking of the
mallard. When ducks fly in there is a certain sound to the splash. Today there was not
only wild splashing but terrified quacking. I arose from my slumber and looked out
from the security of my upper story porch to see what was the matter. Both the male and
the female were swimming erratically in circles, quacking in a disturbing manner
and the little ducklings were trying to stay near the mother. What was going on?

Then from the reeds emerged in a great series of splashes, a coyote on the hunt. I
felt I lived in a quiet, unassuming place where the struggle for existence of the
"lower" predators did not interface. Not so. I wanted to scream to save my newest
friends - the ducks - but could not raise a voice. And would that have been enough to
deter the coyote anyway? So, I took my binos to see what might be happening at
a closer range, only to discover that indeed it was a coyote and that the mallard male
was doing everything to lead the coyote away from his family, quacking to distract
the maneuver and flying off only to return to begin the distraction again and again.

The coyote arched his back to pounce and attain his prey, but seemingly failed.
The other birds chirped and flew in panic about the scene, commenting on the
danger to their fellow mates.  Then all seemed to quiet. Were my ducks safe and the
predator quelled? I know not. My deeper hope is that the morrow will come and I
will hear the playful splashes of my little duck family and that the coyote will
have moved on to more tempting and less allusive prey.

The possibility of this violence in my backyard was alarming, and my inability to
intervene left me feeling helpless. Yes, it is just nature doing its natural thing, but
the question comes to mind - if I were in a similar situation with my fellow humans -
would I have the courage to intervene? Would I be frozen in inaction? And if so......
what would that say about me? What about you?



R

Chasing Goblins

Families are tough. We think all is copacetic, but there are always
unexpressed undercurrents. What do we do about them and more
to the point, what can we do about them? The dysfunctionalality of
family relationships is ever present. And more often than not - totally
undealt with. No one is brave enough or hopeful enough to feel
that they might be effective  in bringing about restoration and
reconciliation. So we quietly, with great trepidation, move
delicately forward and in so doing - do not really move any where
at all. We are stuck.

This is not abnormal, and so - we tip toe onward, unable or more often
than not unwilling - fearfully - to attempt to face the hard work
of mutual understanding. And in so doing we become frozen in our
unwillingness to face the very things that bring us to dysfunction.

I don't know why this is on my mind just now - well actually I do,
but movement is not mine to make and so I feel  a deep degree
of frustration and disconnect.

When family parties can not face the deeply embedded issues
that haunt and cause separation because they can not acknowledge
or "remember" what the root causes are, where is one to begin to
offer a means of healing?

So we remain frozen in the inability to choose healing and change.
We are stuck with the choice of doing nothing and therefore denying
the possibility of new life.

The pointlessness of this choice leaves me in a place of maddening
frustration. It is cruel and not in any way what I believe is what we
are called to be. When we can not choose to effect change, we end up
choosing the status quo and that disallows any potential for reconciliation
or/and forgiveness.


R

What?

I come into some kind of consciousness. I find that I am not alone.
There is a beautiful body next to me. I do not know who it is. I am
unaware of where I am. I can not speak words. The world is not
in control.

I think I am in Boston - near the Common. I rise and enter the world with this
this person at my side. We wander out into a world that is totally empty.
Suddenly, a wind stirs and grows and out of nowhere people enter the
reality. I lose the person I am with.. I wander on.

I am alone and in an unknown world, but yet - in an odd way - still familiar.
Where do I go. Where is refuge? I seem to feel an old hotel is near. Do I have
the resources to stay there? Then, I can not find it. I am in an arcade of shops,
glassed in and very unfamiliar. I flee outside as it appears that it is closing
time and the electrics tell me it is time to move on.

Where do I go? Outside the warm clear day dissolves into bizarre clouds. And
dark clouds emerge from nowhere. Rain begins to sprinkle and I pull this strange
overcoat up over my head. Rain darkens and spreads over me with huge intensity.
I walk on and walk and walk and walk.

The rain turns into snow and I trudge onward. It is the only choice. Somehow,
I find a store front that is open and I enter. There are people there who are
welcoming folks from the reality outside. It is very unfamiliar. But I stay.

Who are these people and why am I here and what is to be? Names are
taken and an unexpressed invitation is present to stay the night for a very small fee.
Few words are spoken, but it seems safe. I stay under my first name only.

I am at risk, but options are few.

Then.......I wake. Was this only a dream? If so or if not I am shaken..............




R

Ministry in the Choir

Approximately 55 years ago I had my debut in the children's choir of
St. Paul's Episcopal Church in the very small town of Sidney, New York.
It was a short lived experience which began in Advent. Being liturgically
unschooled, I do not remember how long it lasted and whether confirmation
occurred before or after my voice changed, I only remember being totally
terrified of the minister. To this day I do not remember the reason for the
terror, but it was real to this shy child of so long ago.

After my voice changed my older and only brother said to me that
my voice was of a low grade "Broadway" style. After that I only
sang in the shower or when I was by myself! In high school I was
only once cast in a musical - and that was in a speaking role. I tended
to be cast in more dramatic roles with the "drama" club.  College brought
me opportunities in the chorus - summer stock also chorus plus some
bad boy roles in children's theatre. But I am digressing.

Fifty years later, I am now singing in the adult choir at St. John's
Episcopal Church in Gloucester, Mass. My boy soprano has become
a bass. My nickname to some is Basil. I am retired and work no
longer holds me back from singing in the choir. It has been a
journey in itself.

Here  are a few things I have noticed. When I sang as a member
of the congregation, I was loud on my good notes and down the
octave when it got "too high."  In the choir I have rediscovered
my falsetto and love to display my deep voice notes. But singing
in a choir means one must try to sing with others and be of one
voice. It is hard work and demands much concentration. The rewards
are the few times when you know that all has come together and the
many sing as one.

But the best of it all is the community one feels and the acceptance of
giving what one has to the whole. We are all imperfect and we all have
some gifts, but ego is set aside and the whole is always more important
than the part. It is a unique expression of the Christian community and
as Paul so aptly put it - we are all individually parts necessary for the
whole body to find its expression. Slight paraphrase.

There is a deep joy in the pursuit of music making. It takes faith and
the willingness to humbly offer what one has to the whole. And in that,
it is a microcosm and model of the true Christian community.

I remember a time in summer stock when the company was offering
"The King and I" when after "We Kiss in a Shadow"  the actors
portraying Tuptim and Lun Tha came off the stage and knew that
their singing was only a millimeter short of perfect. And that is what
our choir and anyone who sings dares to attain. It is the most rewarding
possibility to blend text and music so completely that the voice transcends
its limitations and soars joining spirit and expression to new heights.

It is  task that is both bewildering in its responsibility and a source of
wonderment when is coalesces into a wholeness that not only lifts
the singers to a new level - but arouses or awakens the spiritual in the
ears and hearts of the listeners.

And that is why it is ministry.




R

Palm Sunday/Passion Sunday

I am trying to be honest with my quest this particular Holy Week.
The double edged sword of today's liturgy always catches me up
a little short. The joy of the remembrance of Jesus' arrival in Jerusalem
verses the sudden turn acknowledging what comes after - death and
the hope of the resurrection. Disturbing, yet hope-filled, we look into
the dark parts of our journey and so - into our own lives.

Today, the weather being with us, we began our journey into this week
in the dazzling brightness of morning on Cape Ann before the great
red doors of our parish home. We were temporarily blinded by the light
as we entered into our worship space and too soon, looked deeply
inward at the week ahead. I read the Gospel story from Mark and as
so often before, was spent by the drama and the words that speak it.

From great joy to cavernous darkness in so short a space of time -
how do we try to comprehend all of this. How do we lift ourselves
up into the days ahead. Palm Sunday has always been a challenge
to me. This liturgy just bakes my senses and leaves me wanting
Easter's hope and light to rescue me. But also I realize that I need
the time of the entire week to watch, wait and ingest the story. No
matter how many times I experience it, I find I hunger to do it all
again, hoping to find something new, something to hang onto that
will enlighten me.

It is really tough stuff. And as of this night, I am still wondering how
this year's journey will pan out. So I helplessly wait for the clock to
tick and time slowly pass as I try to yet again to understand the power
of this story and where I stand in it.


R