It snowed last night. Only the second snow of the year in Connecticut, for God's sake, and it's already well into January.
One thing I've noticed (two things actually) is that Bela, our Puli dog, loves to eat snow and more often than not, it makes him throw up--cold on warm, who knows why...but the evidence is there.
The other thing I've noticed is that Bela will never, in his Puli brain, make the connection between "eat snow...throw up" and stop eating snow.
That makes me different from my Puli. Human beings make the connections between actions and results.
Except, oh my!, Republicans in the House have passed repeals of the Affordable Care Act about 80 times now and it hasn't been repealed.
And, oh my!, we as a nation keep getting involved in wars in the Middle East though none of them end well.
And, oh my!, we in the Western Hemisphere keep thinking, against all evidence to the contrary, that if we're only patient enough everyone will decide to just get along.
And, oh my!, we keep imagining that if we only give rich people tax cuts and other benefits, all that wealth will 'trickle down' to the rest of us.
A friend of mine says the difference between rats and human beings is that if you stop putting cheese down one of the avenues of a rat's maze, the rats will stop going there. But human beings will keep doing the same things over and again, expecting the cheese to be there and things to turn out differently if we only do it one more time.
So, in the end, I eat the snow and throw up and don't get the connection. We all do, I think.
Ponder that.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Je suis Charlie
I don't understand a word of French, but I love satire.
Satire is my favorite form of humor. I devoured MAD magazine as a child and as an adult it is the satire of The Colbert Report and the Daily Show and Saturday Night Live that fuels my laughter. Political Satire is the heart of humor for me.
The murders at the French magazine "Charlie" (in English) today are beyond reprehensible, they strike at the very nature of freedom and free expression and what Western Civilization stands for and is about.
Nothing is beyond joking about whatever it is. There is no 'sacred cow' in a free and literate society.
So, these dastardly murders, to 'honor Alla' and kill talented, creative journalists is, for me, the last straw.
I've often reasoned with people about Islamic terror by pointing out that Islam is 500 years or so younger than Christianity and if we look back to the 1500's, Christians were being as outrageous and violent as some Islamic terrorists are today.
That argument no longer holds up.
We live in the 21st century, not the 15th. People in the civilized world can not be murdered with impunity because of their sense of humor.
Islam had got to get hold of itself and judge from within or else the Western World must somehow disarm the extremes of Islam.
I still defend and support the vast majority of Muslims, especially in the West, who simply want to maintain their distinction while assimilating into a new world.
But the murder of satirists is beyond the pale.
If you can't laugh at it, you can't include it.
We are all Charlie.
Something must be done to stop--and I mean STOP--the extreme and violent elements of Islam.
What's going on in Syria and Iraq must somehow be blotted out.
I'm a liberal with a capital L--and this has to stop. It has to stop.
Alfred E. Neuman, be on guard. There are people who think some things can't be laughed about.
That's the most frightening thought of all.....
Satire is my favorite form of humor. I devoured MAD magazine as a child and as an adult it is the satire of The Colbert Report and the Daily Show and Saturday Night Live that fuels my laughter. Political Satire is the heart of humor for me.
The murders at the French magazine "Charlie" (in English) today are beyond reprehensible, they strike at the very nature of freedom and free expression and what Western Civilization stands for and is about.
Nothing is beyond joking about whatever it is. There is no 'sacred cow' in a free and literate society.
So, these dastardly murders, to 'honor Alla' and kill talented, creative journalists is, for me, the last straw.
I've often reasoned with people about Islamic terror by pointing out that Islam is 500 years or so younger than Christianity and if we look back to the 1500's, Christians were being as outrageous and violent as some Islamic terrorists are today.
That argument no longer holds up.
We live in the 21st century, not the 15th. People in the civilized world can not be murdered with impunity because of their sense of humor.
Islam had got to get hold of itself and judge from within or else the Western World must somehow disarm the extremes of Islam.
I still defend and support the vast majority of Muslims, especially in the West, who simply want to maintain their distinction while assimilating into a new world.
But the murder of satirists is beyond the pale.
If you can't laugh at it, you can't include it.
We are all Charlie.
Something must be done to stop--and I mean STOP--the extreme and violent elements of Islam.
What's going on in Syria and Iraq must somehow be blotted out.
I'm a liberal with a capital L--and this has to stop. It has to stop.
Alfred E. Neuman, be on guard. There are people who think some things can't be laughed about.
That's the most frightening thought of all.....
I look at pictures....
There are all these loose pictures in my desk. Sometimes I look at them. They are from decades....
My father and his Aunt Annie--both long dead. My father and Aunt Ursa., Both long dead. My father and some man I don't recognize. All it says on the back is "cookout 1978"--37 years ago. Josh wasn't born and neither was Mimi. And who is that guy with my Dad?
Then a picture of me from the 1980's--with a gray clerical shirt and a collar--my beard and hair dark brown...who was that guy?
A picture of Emma, my granddaughter, within an hour of her birth--staring at an alien world with more than a little concern on her face., A picture of my daughter, Mimi, holding baby Morgan the day of her birth--eight years and more ago in New York City. Then Josh and Cathy with one of the twins....
Then a picture of Jorge Gutierrez and Scott Allen and me--three friends from West Virginia and beyond, all of us Episcopal priests, at some time when my beard is pure white and my hair is pushing pure white and Jorge is growing gray and Scott, much younger than us, looks like a kid. I have on my multi-colored scarf, so this is from the 90's or later--maybe some General Convention when we were all deputies. I just don't know.
Like broken into moments on paper, photos, and no context for much of it, though I know the time, the date.
(Now I remember the photo of Jorge and Scott and I--at Deven Hubner's ordination, where I was the preacher and Scott was the ex-husband and Jorge lived in that Diocese in upstate New York.)
Seeing one's life laid out on photos is often odd, not a bit unsettling, but finally full of wonder and joy.
My Dad and those long dead. My grandchildren and and children profoundly involved. How amazing is it just to be alive?
Answer me that.....
My father and his Aunt Annie--both long dead. My father and Aunt Ursa., Both long dead. My father and some man I don't recognize. All it says on the back is "cookout 1978"--37 years ago. Josh wasn't born and neither was Mimi. And who is that guy with my Dad?
Then a picture of me from the 1980's--with a gray clerical shirt and a collar--my beard and hair dark brown...who was that guy?
A picture of Emma, my granddaughter, within an hour of her birth--staring at an alien world with more than a little concern on her face., A picture of my daughter, Mimi, holding baby Morgan the day of her birth--eight years and more ago in New York City. Then Josh and Cathy with one of the twins....
Then a picture of Jorge Gutierrez and Scott Allen and me--three friends from West Virginia and beyond, all of us Episcopal priests, at some time when my beard is pure white and my hair is pushing pure white and Jorge is growing gray and Scott, much younger than us, looks like a kid. I have on my multi-colored scarf, so this is from the 90's or later--maybe some General Convention when we were all deputies. I just don't know.
Like broken into moments on paper, photos, and no context for much of it, though I know the time, the date.
(Now I remember the photo of Jorge and Scott and I--at Deven Hubner's ordination, where I was the preacher and Scott was the ex-husband and Jorge lived in that Diocese in upstate New York.)
Seeing one's life laid out on photos is often odd, not a bit unsettling, but finally full of wonder and joy.
My Dad and those long dead. My grandchildren and and children profoundly involved. How amazing is it just to be alive?
Answer me that.....
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
So cold the moon
So
Cold the Moon
I
went out on our back porch,
which
faces East,
and
the wood creaked from the cold.
My
teeth got cold,
smoking
a cigarette.
It's
almost too cold to smoke,
but
not just yet.
Smoke
in my mouth and smoke
from
our neighbor's chimney
in
front of the moon and Venus,
just
below.
The
moon is so full tonight,
through
the smoke,
and
so cold.
I
used to hate the chill,
but
no more.
Something
clear and silent
about
the cold
gives
me a quiet joy.
Something
pure and crystalline
about
such cold.
Something
smokey and dark,
and
something in the moon,
so
high, so frozen, so alone.
Except
for Venus, just below.
To
the East from my back porch.
And
smoke—across the moon
and
in my mouth,
with
my chill teeth.
Jgb
Epiphany
2015
Monday, January 5, 2015
OK, I've had it with the NYPD
I've been watching with amazement as Police Officers have turned their backs on Mayor de Blasio at the two funerals of NYPD officers executed last week. The only thing odder is that the assassin, claiming to be avenging the deaths of unarmed Black men at the hands of the police, chose to kill a Chinese and a Hispanic police officer.
This second back turn was not only to the mayor but to the Police Commissioner in New York who told them not to do it.
I've been trying to think of what the equivalent action would be in my life--to turn my back on a bishop I did not agree with or felt unsupported by? I've certainly sat in the private office of several bishops and aired my differences with them, but it would never occur to me to try to embarrass a bishop in a public setting. Such things aren't done in polite society to your superior.
I guess the NYPD has shown it doesn't travel in 'polite society', which, if I understand it, was roughly what de Blasio said in his campaign for mayor. And a lot of New Yorkers must have agreed.
To Protect and Serve has become to 'Dis and Taunt.
Whatever happened to the chain of command in the police? Why do they think they can disobey their Police Commissioner and disrespect their mayor.
No wonder people are afraid of the police. Hell, I'm Afraid of the Police and I'm an aging, white man with nothing worse than a speeding violation on my record! Imagine what young minority males must feel toward them.
And please, will someone with some sense take away the equipment from local police that makes them look like Navy Seals on the way to get bin Laden!
Who guards the guardians, after all....
This second back turn was not only to the mayor but to the Police Commissioner in New York who told them not to do it.
I've been trying to think of what the equivalent action would be in my life--to turn my back on a bishop I did not agree with or felt unsupported by? I've certainly sat in the private office of several bishops and aired my differences with them, but it would never occur to me to try to embarrass a bishop in a public setting. Such things aren't done in polite society to your superior.
I guess the NYPD has shown it doesn't travel in 'polite society', which, if I understand it, was roughly what de Blasio said in his campaign for mayor. And a lot of New Yorkers must have agreed.
To Protect and Serve has become to 'Dis and Taunt.
Whatever happened to the chain of command in the police? Why do they think they can disobey their Police Commissioner and disrespect their mayor.
No wonder people are afraid of the police. Hell, I'm Afraid of the Police and I'm an aging, white man with nothing worse than a speeding violation on my record! Imagine what young minority males must feel toward them.
And please, will someone with some sense take away the equipment from local police that makes them look like Navy Seals on the way to get bin Laden!
Who guards the guardians, after all....
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Another unpreached sermon
I was all ready to give this sermon at St. James for Epiphany but on the way there I remembered doing something very similar two years ago. I checked the service book and, sure enough, 2013. One of the neat things about working for three churches is that you can recycle sermons you like. But not after just two years.
I told some folks at coffee hour about my change in direction and someone asked, "do you think we'd remember something from two years ago?"
"Of course," I said, "I never underestimate lay folks."
And I never do.
But this is worth posting here, I think.
I told some folks at coffee hour about my change in direction and someone asked, "do you think we'd remember something from two years ago?"
"Of course," I said, "I never underestimate lay folks."
And I never do.
But this is worth posting here, I think.
Epiphany
Listen to the words of Isaiah:“…
A multitude of camels
shall cover you, the young
camels of Midian and Ephah…”
Epiphany
gets me thinking about Camels.
Camels
are remarkable creatures—a miracle of design. Without Camels the
history of northern Africa and what we call the Middle East would
have been very different.
And
the Magi wouldn’t have made it to Bethlehem.
Camels
have two humps and are larger than their one-humped cousins, the
dromedaries.
Those
two humps are made of fat for the camels to live on when there’s
nothing to eat.. And when they do eat, they eat the sparse, thorny
plants that survive in the desert.
Camels
have thick fibrous pads on their feet to keep the heat of the sand
from burning them and to maintain better balance. They can travel 70
miles a day and can store 30 quarts of water in their stomachs. In
extreme heat they can go without water for nearly a week.
Camels
have flaps on their nostrils that close during sandstorms.
They
are a miracle of design. You couldn’t make up an animal more suited
for that part of the world than a camel. And since they can carry 600
pounds on their backs, they made trade and exploration possible in
the harsh, barren regions of the middle East.
Because
of Camels, great and sophisticated civilizations flourished in one of
the most inhospitable areas of the world.
Camels
almost certainly carried Balthazar, Melichior and Caspar on their
long journey to from Babylon to Judea.
So,
Epiphany makes me think about camels and about those exotic
astrologers they carried to Jesus.
Bethlehem
was a tiny village in the first century when the Magi arrived. A
back-water town. A “one horse” town—or, more accurately, a “one
camel” town.
The
Magi were wealthy men from a high priestly caste. They were
sophisticated—and important enough to demand an audience with King
Herod and to cause a stir in Jerusalem.
Bethlehem
must have seemed strange and primitive to them.
I have
a mental picture of the Magi as they approached Joseph’s simple
working class house. They must have wondered if their calculations
were somehow off, it they had read the heavens incorrectly. How could
the Golden Child the stars had foretold be here in this ordinary
place?
The
word of their arrival would have spread like wild-fire through
Bethlehem. The whole village must have come out to gawk and wonder at
these astonishing foreigners. Their caravan would have drawn a crowd
of on-lookers, pondering what would bring men of unimaginable wealth
to such an unimportant place.
Balthazar,
Melichior and Caspar were used to marble palaces and royalty. Yet
there they were, ducking their heads to enter the low doorway of a
carpenter’s house, dropping to their knees on the straw-covered,
dirt floor, opening gifts of astonishing value before a simple,
teenaged girl and her toddler son.
Epiphanies
seldom come on camel back.
Epiphanies
are seldom wrapped in silk and gold.
Epiphany
is the unconcealing of God in the midst of life. And epiphanies
seldom come on camel back. God is seldom revealed, seldom unconcealed
in the spectacular and remarkable events of life.
In
fact, there is a dictionary definition of an “epiphany” that I
memorized many years ago because I knew I needed to remember it. It
goes like this: “an epiphany
is the sudden, intuitive knowledge of the deep-down meaning of
things, usually manifested in what is
ordinary, everyday and commonplace.”
God is
manifested to us like that: suddenly and intuitively. An epiphany
points us past the surface meaning to the deep-down meaning, the
essence, the very core and marrow of understanding.
But
seldom is “god-ness”
manifested in the unusual, spectacular and
extraordinary. When God comes to us, it is in
what is ordinary, everyday and commonplace.
Epiphanies
do not have as much to do with “what we’re looking at” as they
do with “the way we see.”
Let’s
give the Magi credit—they knew how to see.
For two years and thousands of desert miles,
they had expected to find a Prince, a King, a Golden Child in a Royal
Palace. Yet, when they entered that humble home in Bethlehem and saw
that commonplace family in the midst of their everyday life with
their ordinary little boy, they knew how to
see. They
brought out their gifts and they “fell down and worshiped him.”
If
only we knew how to see
so well.
When I
lived in Divinity Hall at Harvard Divinity School, my best friend was
Dan Kiger, who’s became a Methodist minister in Ohio. Dan and I
played Gin Rummy every day for an hour before dinner in his room for
a penny a point. All these year’s later, he still owes me money.
On the
wall of Dan’s room was a poster consisting of thousands of black
dots on a white background. I stared at it for countless hours while
Dan decided what to discard. I thought of it as an interesting
“impressionistic” picture.
Then
one day, while we were playing Gin Rummy, a friend from down the hall
came in to borrow an envelope from Dan. While Dan was looking for an
envelope in his desk, Hank said, “that’s a great picture of
Jesus” and pointed to the poster of a thousand dots.
After
Hank left, I sat staring at the poster for a long time. “How’s
that a picture of Jesus?” I finally asked Dan.
He got
up and pointed to one of the thousands of dots. “That’s his left
eye,” was all Dan had to say. Suddenly, I saw it—it was Jesus!
And I could never again see it as merely thousands of dots.
Epiphanies
are like that. If we only know how to see,
God is everywhere in our world, in our lives.
We
need eyes to see.
We
need to see that God is manifested to us in what is common and
ordinary.
We
need to see the one dot in the millions of dots that is the left eye
of God.
The
Sufi’s have a saying. Whenever you hear
hoof beats, look for a Zebra.
Those
are the eyes we need. Eyes to see Zebras and Camels in the midst of
what is ordinary…eyes to see God in the commonplace…eyes to see
Star Light in the dust motes of our everyday lives…eyes to see the
Christ Child in every child’s face….eyes to see what is “most
holy” in what is “most mundane”….
Friday, January 2, 2015
Home again
Back from Baltimore in just over 5 1/2 hours--including stopping at the kennel to pick up the dog!
Josh and Cathy sometimes take over 7 hours--but they're always traveling on holidays and we go mid-morning or after the 5 pm rush hour.
A piece of road that's been worked on since they've lived in Baltimore (6 years or so) was finished just for this trip. They've opened I 95 express lanes both north and south from just before the tunnel to beyond the Baltimore Beltway. It makes an enormous difference to have now 7 lanes in both directions.
But who wants to know about that? Well, unless you're planning a trip to Baltimore....
Our granddaughters are still the most beautiful, talented and smart girls on the East Coast and maybe beyond. Tegan (who's 5) read us "The Spooky Old Tree", which is one of the Berenstine Bears books if you know children's literature. She's five! I suspected she could read a bit when they were here at Thanksgiving. Morgan works on complex lego things for an hour at a time--I wouldn't last 15 minutes. And Emma sings like an angel.
Good genes is all I can say....
Josh and Cathy sometimes take over 7 hours--but they're always traveling on holidays and we go mid-morning or after the 5 pm rush hour.
A piece of road that's been worked on since they've lived in Baltimore (6 years or so) was finished just for this trip. They've opened I 95 express lanes both north and south from just before the tunnel to beyond the Baltimore Beltway. It makes an enormous difference to have now 7 lanes in both directions.
But who wants to know about that? Well, unless you're planning a trip to Baltimore....
Our granddaughters are still the most beautiful, talented and smart girls on the East Coast and maybe beyond. Tegan (who's 5) read us "The Spooky Old Tree", which is one of the Berenstine Bears books if you know children's literature. She's five! I suspected she could read a bit when they were here at Thanksgiving. Morgan works on complex lego things for an hour at a time--I wouldn't last 15 minutes. And Emma sings like an angel.
Good genes is all I can say....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)