I realize I often use the word "ponder" in these musings and thought I might say something about what I mean by it.
The title of this blog "Under the Castor Oil Tree" is an allusion to the end of the OT book of Jonah. The story ends with Jonah on a hill overlooking Nineveh, pondering all that has happened. The tree he sits beneath, withered and dead from a worm at that point, is --some scholars believe--a Castor oil tree. After running away from God only to get thrown in the sea and swallowed by a great fish that regurgitates him right where God wanted him to go...and after proclaiming the destruction of Nineveh only to have God spare the city because the people repent--much to Jonah's disappointment...and after sitting in the blistering sun asking God to kill him only to have God cause a tree to grow and shade him, until God kills the tree---well, I don't know about you, but that seems a lot to ponder about.
You can google ponder and find out how any number of dictionaries define it. But what I mean is an experience that causes you to say "Huh..." to yourself and start to wonder about the deep down meaning of things.
Pondering, as I use the word, isn't directed toward discovering an answer to your quandary or a way out of whatever quagmire you find yourself in. Quite the contrary, what I mean by "ponder" is to muse and wonder and consider the implications and possibilities of things. "Answers" are for fraidy-cats--people unwilling the examine the quandary for its own sake or explore the quagmire rather than struggle to get out. If you keep saying "Huh..." to yourself over an extended period of time, you're doing what I call pondering.
I have a friend who I think either ponders most everything or simply has developed a habit of saying "Huh...." He has raised saying "huh..." to an art form. Others who know him actually try to distinguish between the tones and timbres of his wide assortment of 'huh's...'
That wouldn't be a bad thing for all of us to be habitual about--wondering, considering, reflecting...all of which are a part of pondering. The older I get, the more things there seem to be to ponder upon....
Happy pondering....I hope your tree doesn't die....
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
The projectionists
So I have this hat--I've always had a hat of some kind since I truly believe if your head is warm, you'll be warmer...but that's just me. This hat I have is, obviously to me, a lion. There is a brown and yellow and white mane from ear to ear in two inch long fringes of yarn and that motif is continued down to two yarn masses on either side of my hat, attached to the ear flaps. There are two brown ears--a little like Mickey Mouse ears but smaller--on the top of the hat and the hat itself is the downy gold/yellow of a lion. My brother-in-law gave me the hat and I love it and wear it everyday and forget sometimes to take it off.
My hat gets giggles and smiles and out-loud laughter. A guy in a convenience store in Baltimore--a guy with lots of piercings and tattoos and jelled hair told me, "Man, I hate to say it, but that is one 'rad' hat...." I'm not sure what 'rad' means--some play on 'radical' I suspect, but, being polite, I thanked him for his observation.
Here's the thing--my hat is so obviously a lion to me that I am amazed at what people tell me they think it is: a Viking, a Mohawk Indian, an Arab, a Hindu, a Peruvian (that one is understandable since it looks like those hats except for the fringe mane and the ears and was, according to the label, made in Peru) and, my favorite, an Ewok. (Of course, some people, I know, think I look like an idiot in my hat, but I don't mind.) H. told me "I can't take you seriously in that hat," and I replied, "that might be the point...."
So, lots of people 'project' things on my hat. "Projection", of course, is a really important concept in psychology that most people have no concept about in day to day life. Most of us always think of ourselves as video cameras--recording what we experience with our senses. I would suggest it is more true to think of ourselves as movie projectors--putting our own thoughts, interpretations, judgments, ideas, opinions on the clean, white screen that is what we think of as 'reality'. If you asked me (I know you didn't but I'm going to tell you anyway) most of what we assume is objective reality is really what we have 'projected' on life as we know it. And the fact that we assume we are 'recording' makes the fact that we're really 'projecting' doubly hard to notice and realize.
Whenever someone says to me, "Are you feeling alright?" I tend to assume that they aren't feeling quite up to par. So I ask them how they feel and almost always they tell me about what's bothering them. Same thing goes for "Are you tired?" or "Are you angry?" or "Are you a little depressed?" Almost always whoever asks me stuff like that is 'projecting'. I'm just the screen, for goodness sake.
And there is all sorts of 'projection' stuff put on me because I'm a priest. People almost swoon when they know I smoke. One wonderful woman left the church because I say things like "bitch" and "shit" and "fuck" from time to time. And when I tell people about my skepticism and doubts about this whole Christianity thing, they cross themselves and break out in hives. "A priest wouldn't...should...always...never...."--things like that are all projections. I am who I am AND I am a priest.
Whenever I have a strong initial opinion about someone or something, I try to remember to ask myself, "where did THAT come from?" whether the opinion is positive or negative. Somebody somewhere probably taught me something about whatever it is I'm reacting to and I'm projecting my unconscious on to the person I'm encountering. About the worse one for me is when I meet someone I know is wealthy. I have lots of junk floating around in my unconscious about 'rich people' which I immediately project onto the next 'rich person' I meet. And most of it is negative and unkind and terribly unfair and keeps me from really encountering people who have money in an honest way. Just today at a funeral I met a woman who was attractive and charming and very friendly. I took an immediate liking to her until she told me her last name. She is part of one of the wealthy families of Waterbury and my opinion of her turned on a dime (or a trust fund!) but I noticed what was happening and was able to continue our conversation and walked away liking her greatly. I realized if I had known her last name before we started talking I wouldn't have given her a chance. I would have been projecting in technicolor if not 3-D and never realized what a genuine and nice human being she was....That's what I'm talking about.
It would behoove me and all of us (I would suggest) to walk around knowing fair well that we are more like movie projectors than video camera and ponder our opinions about people, issues, stuff by asking, "wonder where that came from?"
It's not a BAD thing, that we 'project' constantly. We're actually pretty much wired up that way in the factory. But it is definitely a GOOD thing to realize that about ourselves and, whenever we are paying attention, to ponder and reflect about what is 'real' and what we have 'projected' on reality.
Just a thought for your castor oil tree time....And mine....
My hat gets giggles and smiles and out-loud laughter. A guy in a convenience store in Baltimore--a guy with lots of piercings and tattoos and jelled hair told me, "Man, I hate to say it, but that is one 'rad' hat...." I'm not sure what 'rad' means--some play on 'radical' I suspect, but, being polite, I thanked him for his observation.
Here's the thing--my hat is so obviously a lion to me that I am amazed at what people tell me they think it is: a Viking, a Mohawk Indian, an Arab, a Hindu, a Peruvian (that one is understandable since it looks like those hats except for the fringe mane and the ears and was, according to the label, made in Peru) and, my favorite, an Ewok. (Of course, some people, I know, think I look like an idiot in my hat, but I don't mind.) H. told me "I can't take you seriously in that hat," and I replied, "that might be the point...."
So, lots of people 'project' things on my hat. "Projection", of course, is a really important concept in psychology that most people have no concept about in day to day life. Most of us always think of ourselves as video cameras--recording what we experience with our senses. I would suggest it is more true to think of ourselves as movie projectors--putting our own thoughts, interpretations, judgments, ideas, opinions on the clean, white screen that is what we think of as 'reality'. If you asked me (I know you didn't but I'm going to tell you anyway) most of what we assume is objective reality is really what we have 'projected' on life as we know it. And the fact that we assume we are 'recording' makes the fact that we're really 'projecting' doubly hard to notice and realize.
Whenever someone says to me, "Are you feeling alright?" I tend to assume that they aren't feeling quite up to par. So I ask them how they feel and almost always they tell me about what's bothering them. Same thing goes for "Are you tired?" or "Are you angry?" or "Are you a little depressed?" Almost always whoever asks me stuff like that is 'projecting'. I'm just the screen, for goodness sake.
And there is all sorts of 'projection' stuff put on me because I'm a priest. People almost swoon when they know I smoke. One wonderful woman left the church because I say things like "bitch" and "shit" and "fuck" from time to time. And when I tell people about my skepticism and doubts about this whole Christianity thing, they cross themselves and break out in hives. "A priest wouldn't...should...always...never...."--things like that are all projections. I am who I am AND I am a priest.
Whenever I have a strong initial opinion about someone or something, I try to remember to ask myself, "where did THAT come from?" whether the opinion is positive or negative. Somebody somewhere probably taught me something about whatever it is I'm reacting to and I'm projecting my unconscious on to the person I'm encountering. About the worse one for me is when I meet someone I know is wealthy. I have lots of junk floating around in my unconscious about 'rich people' which I immediately project onto the next 'rich person' I meet. And most of it is negative and unkind and terribly unfair and keeps me from really encountering people who have money in an honest way. Just today at a funeral I met a woman who was attractive and charming and very friendly. I took an immediate liking to her until she told me her last name. She is part of one of the wealthy families of Waterbury and my opinion of her turned on a dime (or a trust fund!) but I noticed what was happening and was able to continue our conversation and walked away liking her greatly. I realized if I had known her last name before we started talking I wouldn't have given her a chance. I would have been projecting in technicolor if not 3-D and never realized what a genuine and nice human being she was....That's what I'm talking about.
It would behoove me and all of us (I would suggest) to walk around knowing fair well that we are more like movie projectors than video camera and ponder our opinions about people, issues, stuff by asking, "wonder where that came from?"
It's not a BAD thing, that we 'project' constantly. We're actually pretty much wired up that way in the factory. But it is definitely a GOOD thing to realize that about ourselves and, whenever we are paying attention, to ponder and reflect about what is 'real' and what we have 'projected' on reality.
Just a thought for your castor oil tree time....And mine....
Things not to laugh at....
I saw an ad in the NYTimes about the winners of the Australian Open Tennis Tournament. Two of the folks were in wheelchairs--they had won the doubles for quadriplegics. I know it will use up all my Political Correction Points, but, really, should quadriplegics play tennis? There is a reason it's call 'disability'.
I once told a blind member of the parish about the fact that the buttons on the "drive through" at my bank had Braille characters on each of them. I wondered if she'd been tempted to 'drive through' anywhere. She laughed and laughed and told me, quite sensibly that the bank probably didn't want to have two kinds of automatic keypads and put the same one in the drive through as in the walk in. She's probably right.
But, for goodness sake, there are reasons being in a wheelchair or blind is called "disabilities". There are simply some 'abilities' that not everyone has. Which reminded me of a terribly politically incorrect joke.
A rabbi, a Baptist minister and a Roman Catholic priest were playing golf together. (Notice how Episcopal priests seldom show up in jokes--we are that irrelevant....) At the fourth tee they were slowed to a stop by a group in front of them. They were disgusted--all of those Holy folk--by the wait they had to endure and were saying terrible things about the group ahead of them.
An employee of the golf course was riding by on a cart and the three religious folk asked him why the group ahead were holding things up so much.
"This is a new program," the employee said, "we're very excited about it. Those golfers are part of our 'blind golfers' initiative. You'll notice they have guides to help them line up their shots and talk to them about the course...."
The RC priest said, "Well, I'll have to say several rosaries to make up for the terrible things I said about those poor blind people."
The Baptist minister said, "I'll have to be on my knees for hours asking for forgiveness for my comments about them."
The Rabbi said, "Why can't they play at night?"
So much for political correctness....
I once told a blind member of the parish about the fact that the buttons on the "drive through" at my bank had Braille characters on each of them. I wondered if she'd been tempted to 'drive through' anywhere. She laughed and laughed and told me, quite sensibly that the bank probably didn't want to have two kinds of automatic keypads and put the same one in the drive through as in the walk in. She's probably right.
But, for goodness sake, there are reasons being in a wheelchair or blind is called "disabilities". There are simply some 'abilities' that not everyone has. Which reminded me of a terribly politically incorrect joke.
A rabbi, a Baptist minister and a Roman Catholic priest were playing golf together. (Notice how Episcopal priests seldom show up in jokes--we are that irrelevant....) At the fourth tee they were slowed to a stop by a group in front of them. They were disgusted--all of those Holy folk--by the wait they had to endure and were saying terrible things about the group ahead of them.
An employee of the golf course was riding by on a cart and the three religious folk asked him why the group ahead were holding things up so much.
"This is a new program," the employee said, "we're very excited about it. Those golfers are part of our 'blind golfers' initiative. You'll notice they have guides to help them line up their shots and talk to them about the course...."
The RC priest said, "Well, I'll have to say several rosaries to make up for the terrible things I said about those poor blind people."
The Baptist minister said, "I'll have to be on my knees for hours asking for forgiveness for my comments about them."
The Rabbi said, "Why can't they play at night?"
So much for political correctness....
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Running away from the storm...
We were in Baltimore, visiting Josh and Cathy and our three granddaughters when the storm was getting all the news. We were coming back on Saturday, but as Friday passed and the snow started at 2 p.m. or so, it seemed foolish not to leave early.
We left at 5:30 and ran away from the storm through Maryland and Delaware. The snow was thick and it was very dark, but there was little traffic and we made good time. Somewhere in southern New Jersey, we simply drove out of snow. Snow one moment, no snow and dry roads the next. By the time we got to the GW Bridge the speed limit south of Philadelphia had been lower to 35. So, we were running before the storm.
A big question, it seems to me, is how to know when to run and when to stay put. "Hold 'em or fold 'em" in poker terminology. "Flight or fight" in animal instinct form.
Getting out of Baltimore with the storm of the century bearing down and knowing I had to be here for church and Monday funeral isn't a great example. That was an easy choice.
But when a friend or co-worker tells a homophobic or racist or sexist joke, when is it best to walk away and when does it seem right to challenge them?
When the church stands for something that is intolerable, when is it best to 'just get along' and best to 'take a stand'. And how do you know you're right???
The Tea Party people had a convention in Memphis or Nashville--some Tennessee city--this weekend. I think they are hyper-negative, reactionary and dangerous--but when do I find it necessary to say that or do something about my belief? And, as always, how to I know I'm right....?
When to run and when to stand your ground. A lot there to ponder under our castor oil tree, I'd say....
We left at 5:30 and ran away from the storm through Maryland and Delaware. The snow was thick and it was very dark, but there was little traffic and we made good time. Somewhere in southern New Jersey, we simply drove out of snow. Snow one moment, no snow and dry roads the next. By the time we got to the GW Bridge the speed limit south of Philadelphia had been lower to 35. So, we were running before the storm.
A big question, it seems to me, is how to know when to run and when to stay put. "Hold 'em or fold 'em" in poker terminology. "Flight or fight" in animal instinct form.
Getting out of Baltimore with the storm of the century bearing down and knowing I had to be here for church and Monday funeral isn't a great example. That was an easy choice.
But when a friend or co-worker tells a homophobic or racist or sexist joke, when is it best to walk away and when does it seem right to challenge them?
When the church stands for something that is intolerable, when is it best to 'just get along' and best to 'take a stand'. And how do you know you're right???
The Tea Party people had a convention in Memphis or Nashville--some Tennessee city--this weekend. I think they are hyper-negative, reactionary and dangerous--but when do I find it necessary to say that or do something about my belief? And, as always, how to I know I'm right....?
When to run and when to stand your ground. A lot there to ponder under our castor oil tree, I'd say....
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
linear time confounds me
Back in June I preached a sermon about being here 20 years. I had the seven top reasons I'd stayed so long. OK, I couldn't come up with 10 or ran out of time or something....
But the first reason was this: "I lost track of time...."
Which for me is pretty easy. I often feel like Billy Pilgrim in Kurt Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse Five". Billy Pilgrim, Vonnegut writes, is 'unstuck in time'.
Like me, sometimes. I am hard pressed to get any chronological order in my life beyond "Before/After" I got married, "Before/After" the kids were born, "Before/After" I came to St. John's. That's the extent of my mastery over linear time. It confounds me.
I am totally confounded, amazed, stricken, astonished and flabbergasted that when I leave in, what is it?--80 some days, that I will have been the Rector of this church for over 21 years. (I could take a pencil and paper and figure out exactly how long--but 'over', 'not quite', 'about' and 'somewhere in there' is the best I can do in my head about time.)
Someone asked me today, "doesn't it seem like 'yesterday' that you came to St. John's?" And I had to tell them, 'well, yes, in one way, in another it seems like I've been here forever.' Linear time, like I told you....
So, here I am 80 some days from the end of yesterday and forever. Harriet told me today that the dream I told you about--especially the losing of my dog--had something to do with fearing I would lose my 'center'. There was a lot more about that, but that's the essence of it all. And now that I think about it, that's exactly right--I'm in danger of losing both yesterday and forever when I leave.
I know 'all will be well', but this linear time thing has me really screwed up. 86 days--that's it--I did that with pen and pencil and a calendar.
God I'm going to miss all this....
But the first reason was this: "I lost track of time...."
Which for me is pretty easy. I often feel like Billy Pilgrim in Kurt Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse Five". Billy Pilgrim, Vonnegut writes, is 'unstuck in time'.
Like me, sometimes. I am hard pressed to get any chronological order in my life beyond "Before/After" I got married, "Before/After" the kids were born, "Before/After" I came to St. John's. That's the extent of my mastery over linear time. It confounds me.
I am totally confounded, amazed, stricken, astonished and flabbergasted that when I leave in, what is it?--80 some days, that I will have been the Rector of this church for over 21 years. (I could take a pencil and paper and figure out exactly how long--but 'over', 'not quite', 'about' and 'somewhere in there' is the best I can do in my head about time.)
Someone asked me today, "doesn't it seem like 'yesterday' that you came to St. John's?" And I had to tell them, 'well, yes, in one way, in another it seems like I've been here forever.' Linear time, like I told you....
So, here I am 80 some days from the end of yesterday and forever. Harriet told me today that the dream I told you about--especially the losing of my dog--had something to do with fearing I would lose my 'center'. There was a lot more about that, but that's the essence of it all. And now that I think about it, that's exactly right--I'm in danger of losing both yesterday and forever when I leave.
I know 'all will be well', but this linear time thing has me really screwed up. 86 days--that's it--I did that with pen and pencil and a calendar.
God I'm going to miss all this....
JD is dead
It's been over a week since JD Salinger died and I'm just now writing about it. Part of that is that it has taken some time for it to sink in. Not that he was always in the front of my mind or a part of my thoughts--my goodness, he hasn't published in 30 years or more! But he is in my long-term memory in a powerful way.
When I was 13 years old, my cousin, Mejol--who was as close to being a sibling as I ever had--locked me in her bed room with a copy of 'Catcher in the Rye' and a Bob Dylan album. Mejol was 5 or so years older than me and often went on vacation with us and spent a lot of time with me. I idolized her and would do whatever she told me to. So I read the book and listened to the album and have never been the same.
Since I am such a sophisticated, worldly wise, cultured person (tongue firmly in cheek!) people find it hard to believe I grew up in one of the most provincial and isolated places in the country--the rural coal fields of southern West Virginia. My cousin Mejol went to college and studied literature...and so did I. While in college, she became an Episcopalian...and so did I. She was my lens into the wider world when I was a kid. So Salinger and Dylan in one sitting...well, I have no idea what she had in mind but it shifted my world-view that day. We even named our son Joshua DYLAN in order of Bob and I spent years trying to 'be' Holden Caufield.
Everyone needs a 'Mejol' in their life--someone to open unopened door, even doors you don't know are there and simply invite you through them. I am who I am as much for the influence of Mejol than anyone in my childhood.
I thank her and I mourn the death of JD. It's a part of my youth dying...'course that started happening years ago....
When I was 13 years old, my cousin, Mejol--who was as close to being a sibling as I ever had--locked me in her bed room with a copy of 'Catcher in the Rye' and a Bob Dylan album. Mejol was 5 or so years older than me and often went on vacation with us and spent a lot of time with me. I idolized her and would do whatever she told me to. So I read the book and listened to the album and have never been the same.
Since I am such a sophisticated, worldly wise, cultured person (tongue firmly in cheek!) people find it hard to believe I grew up in one of the most provincial and isolated places in the country--the rural coal fields of southern West Virginia. My cousin Mejol went to college and studied literature...and so did I. While in college, she became an Episcopalian...and so did I. She was my lens into the wider world when I was a kid. So Salinger and Dylan in one sitting...well, I have no idea what she had in mind but it shifted my world-view that day. We even named our son Joshua DYLAN in order of Bob and I spent years trying to 'be' Holden Caufield.
Everyone needs a 'Mejol' in their life--someone to open unopened door, even doors you don't know are there and simply invite you through them. I am who I am as much for the influence of Mejol than anyone in my childhood.
I thank her and I mourn the death of JD. It's a part of my youth dying...'course that started happening years ago....
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
a disturbance in the Force
I ran over a squirrel today on the way to church. I was driving on Mountain Road and this squirrel did a squirrel thing of running to the middle of the road and stopping and heading back. I slowed down when I saw him/her and then sped up when he started back and then he/she ran right under the car and I heard a terrible thud that was surely enough to brain a pound and a half rodent. I looked in the rear view mirror and imagined he was still standing up, but I know he was dead. I felt awful.
Remember in STAR WARS when the Death Star blows up Obi Wan Ben Kenobi's home planet? The moment it happens though Obi Wan was light years away, he staggered and was helped into a seat. "There has been a disturbance in the Force."
That's how I felt all the way to Waterbury. There was a disturbance in the Force and I had caused it by killing that squirrel.
A friend of mine calls squirrels 'furry tailed, cute rats', which they probably are. But I like them, though they show no sign of intelligence except to run up a tree when danger appears--or, run under a car at any moment, just when you think they know better. Squirrels don't seem to ever 'know better' so they are pretty stupid. Rats are probably, in the long run, smarter than squirrels though without the great tails and the cuteness.
But I felt badly all day, really bummed, for killing that stupid squirrel.
Today is February 2--26 days left in this month, 31 in March and 30 in April. 87 days left before I retire. I'm already feeling a disturbance in the Force. What was I thinking to do this? I'm much like a squirrel that thought it was a good idea at the time to run across the road and then, though it stopped seeming like a good idea at some point, paused and kept running anyway. I thought for a moment that 87 was a prime number but then I realized it could be divided by 3 and 29. Having it be a prime number would have made it more bearable.
I know that 'all will be well' for me and St. John's, but right now I'm in the middle of the road hoping to get across without being brained by the undercarriage of a Hyundai. Or something....
Remember in STAR WARS when the Death Star blows up Obi Wan Ben Kenobi's home planet? The moment it happens though Obi Wan was light years away, he staggered and was helped into a seat. "There has been a disturbance in the Force."
That's how I felt all the way to Waterbury. There was a disturbance in the Force and I had caused it by killing that squirrel.
A friend of mine calls squirrels 'furry tailed, cute rats', which they probably are. But I like them, though they show no sign of intelligence except to run up a tree when danger appears--or, run under a car at any moment, just when you think they know better. Squirrels don't seem to ever 'know better' so they are pretty stupid. Rats are probably, in the long run, smarter than squirrels though without the great tails and the cuteness.
But I felt badly all day, really bummed, for killing that stupid squirrel.
Today is February 2--26 days left in this month, 31 in March and 30 in April. 87 days left before I retire. I'm already feeling a disturbance in the Force. What was I thinking to do this? I'm much like a squirrel that thought it was a good idea at the time to run across the road and then, though it stopped seeming like a good idea at some point, paused and kept running anyway. I thought for a moment that 87 was a prime number but then I realized it could be divided by 3 and 29. Having it be a prime number would have made it more bearable.
I know that 'all will be well' for me and St. John's, but right now I'm in the middle of the road hoping to get across without being brained by the undercarriage of a Hyundai. Or something....
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