I've been noticing moths these days.
These mostly tiny creatures who don't live long are, for the most part, beautiful and exquisite.
The designs on their wings are so detailed and delicate. Their little furry feet are so sweet. I used to be afraid of moths--I don't remember why--but now they fascinate me.
You have to admire Mother Nature for coming up with moths.
I think it was something about how erratic their flight is that used to freak me out.
But now I think that is probably a result of evolution. Moths that flit and dart around are harder for a predator to catch, so they survive and multiply and slow, even flying moths got knocked out of the evolutionary chain. That simple, I think.
We're leaving tomorrow to go see Cathy Chen, our daughter-in-law and mother of Emma, Morgan and Tegan, get sworn in as a judge in Baltimore.
I'll resist as much as I can saying 'Here come the judge" when she enters a room. I can't guarantee I'll be successful in that.
Mimi and Eleanor will be there along with two of Bern's first cousins. We're all in the same hotel and that should be a hoot.
Be back Saturday to tell you all about it.
Meanwhile, ponder moths for me.
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
Timing is everything
My friend, Mike M., told me in a response to an earlier post that he's glad we're not on Oak Island now.
So am I, Mike.
Florence is coming to land right where Oak Island is, that place I love. I fear for the island we've visited for over 40 years.
I actually thought, earlier, that we would be there this week and was shocked when Bern told me when we'd be leaving. I thought it was the week after Labor Day, not the week of Labor Day.
It sounds like a monster of a storm.
My heart is with Wilmington and Oak Island and Southport--all in grave danger just now.
So am I, Mike.
Florence is coming to land right where Oak Island is, that place I love. I fear for the island we've visited for over 40 years.
I actually thought, earlier, that we would be there this week and was shocked when Bern told me when we'd be leaving. I thought it was the week after Labor Day, not the week of Labor Day.
It sounds like a monster of a storm.
My heart is with Wilmington and Oak Island and Southport--all in grave danger just now.
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
"by our love, by our love...."
I've now twice done the Liturgy from General Convention this summer that was the Integrity mass.
Integrity is GLBTQ Episcopalians and their friends. I was the chaplain to Integrity Connecticut for 5 or 6 years and they met for 10 years or more at St. John's, Waterbury while I was the Rector there. Integrity is close to my heart.
Howie from St. James found the liturgy on line and printed it out. It is wonderful!
And one of the wonderful things is the music they used. One of the hymns is "They will know we are Christians by our Love'.
It's been rattling around in my head for days now and causes me to ponder how the hell anyone would know we were Christians by our love?
Many of us Christians are not very 'loving'.
Many of us are in favor of the atrocity that is our immigration practises. Many of us do not trust 'the other' in our midst. Welcoming strangers is not our strong suit--many of us Christians.
Last Sunday's gospel was Jesus meeting the Syrophonecian woman who asks him to heal her daughter.
To the Jesus in Mark's gospel, that woman is the absolute 'other'.
In the first century even Jewish women did not talk to Jewish men in public. And she was a Gentile. She was 'the other'. For the 'other' to instigate conversation with a Jewish teacher/prophet was unheard of--abomination.
Jesus is cruel to her. He tells her the dogs should not eat the children's bread.
Calling someone a dog is a remarkable insult in any culture. But in first century Israel, it was even more so. Dogs were not 'pets' then--they were either workers or nearly wild. And calling a woman a 'dog'--especially a female dog--is even today a case for the 'Me Too' movement.
But the woman confounds him. She says, 'but even the dogs can eat the crumbs from the children's table'.
For the only time I can think of in the gospels, Jesus changes his mind.
The woman shows him she is not 'the other', she is one of God's beloved too. So he heals her daughter at a distance and she finds the girl well when she returns home.
"The Other" has much to teach us. We are a nation that has embraced wave after wave of 'others'--not always gracefully, but eventually.
"The Other" has much to teach us--most of all, how to love them. Then and only then will 'they know we are Christians by our love, by our love...."
Integrity is GLBTQ Episcopalians and their friends. I was the chaplain to Integrity Connecticut for 5 or 6 years and they met for 10 years or more at St. John's, Waterbury while I was the Rector there. Integrity is close to my heart.
Howie from St. James found the liturgy on line and printed it out. It is wonderful!
And one of the wonderful things is the music they used. One of the hymns is "They will know we are Christians by our Love'.
It's been rattling around in my head for days now and causes me to ponder how the hell anyone would know we were Christians by our love?
Many of us Christians are not very 'loving'.
Many of us are in favor of the atrocity that is our immigration practises. Many of us do not trust 'the other' in our midst. Welcoming strangers is not our strong suit--many of us Christians.
Last Sunday's gospel was Jesus meeting the Syrophonecian woman who asks him to heal her daughter.
To the Jesus in Mark's gospel, that woman is the absolute 'other'.
In the first century even Jewish women did not talk to Jewish men in public. And she was a Gentile. She was 'the other'. For the 'other' to instigate conversation with a Jewish teacher/prophet was unheard of--abomination.
Jesus is cruel to her. He tells her the dogs should not eat the children's bread.
Calling someone a dog is a remarkable insult in any culture. But in first century Israel, it was even more so. Dogs were not 'pets' then--they were either workers or nearly wild. And calling a woman a 'dog'--especially a female dog--is even today a case for the 'Me Too' movement.
But the woman confounds him. She says, 'but even the dogs can eat the crumbs from the children's table'.
For the only time I can think of in the gospels, Jesus changes his mind.
The woman shows him she is not 'the other', she is one of God's beloved too. So he heals her daughter at a distance and she finds the girl well when she returns home.
"The Other" has much to teach us. We are a nation that has embraced wave after wave of 'others'--not always gracefully, but eventually.
"The Other" has much to teach us--most of all, how to love them. Then and only then will 'they know we are Christians by our love, by our love...."
Monday, September 10, 2018
When did I write this?
I was going through the full file box I have looking at stuff I wrote long ago when I happened across a poem called, either "Kasmir on Christianity" or "Kasmir's theology". I have both titles at the top of a hand written piece of yellow, lined 8 1/2 by 11 paper, much worn,
I think I probably wrote it in college, after becoming an Episcopalian and worrying about the Nicene Creed (which I still ponder and worry about, all these years later!)
At any rate, here it is in iambic octameter rhymed verses. (I was an English major after all!)
KASMIR'S THEOLOGY
"Now let me get this right," he said,
while sitting upright on his bed.
"Now what you tell me may be true,
I have this question to ask you."
Wise Kasmir smiled when 'ere I winced,
and with his argument commenced.
"This Jesus man you preach to me,
a god or man--which will he be?
For now you say he's son of Jove,
who once the devil's foot did clove.
Who did the earth create quite eased,
inventing creatures as he pleased.
To twice destroy them with his ire,
with water once, one day with fire.
And saved a remnant of the few
to give to them the name of Jew.
And this great god did trod the earth,
surcease of sorrow, not of mirth.
(Though Zeus, I hear, did oft dare fate
with fairest nymphs to copulate.)
But I forget, he's not your ONE.
Your god is whole devoid of fun.
At any rate, he walked around
and legend holds passed farm and town.
And yet no footprints I can find
prove him to be of gait divine.
But at that point you change your thought
and say he's 'human' with no fault.
Such contradiction I once saw
and that was in your 'Golden Law'.
Born in a stable, old and rude,
carpenter's son and doubtless crude.
And still you praise his works of love
and hold him in your mind above
the sons of tailors and of priests
(sons of divines are not the least
in number of the sons of man...
deny that Christian, if you can.)
And don't you claim your Jesus boy
thought of his god and not his toy?
And shunned all play in search of truth?
Is this your common human youth?"
Kasmir was warming to his task
and said, "come on, remove the mask,
make up your mind, don't trouble me,
of which one type can Jesus be?
Is he a mortal--call him such.
Could I be roasted by his touch?
Then he's a god and name him so.
And don't hang down your head so low--
look in my eye, I want the facts!"
Reclining on his bed of tacks,
he boldly told me with a frown,
"your whole religion's upside down.
Now wait until I charm this snake,
I have another point to make."
Alas, his point he'll 'ner impart.
One of his nails slipped though his heart.
The cobra bit him on the toe
and I decided I should go.
Instead of watching Kasmir bleed,
I left his to his perfect creed.
I think I probably wrote it in college, after becoming an Episcopalian and worrying about the Nicene Creed (which I still ponder and worry about, all these years later!)
At any rate, here it is in iambic octameter rhymed verses. (I was an English major after all!)
KASMIR'S THEOLOGY
"Now let me get this right," he said,
while sitting upright on his bed.
"Now what you tell me may be true,
I have this question to ask you."
Wise Kasmir smiled when 'ere I winced,
and with his argument commenced.
"This Jesus man you preach to me,
a god or man--which will he be?
For now you say he's son of Jove,
who once the devil's foot did clove.
Who did the earth create quite eased,
inventing creatures as he pleased.
To twice destroy them with his ire,
with water once, one day with fire.
And saved a remnant of the few
to give to them the name of Jew.
And this great god did trod the earth,
surcease of sorrow, not of mirth.
(Though Zeus, I hear, did oft dare fate
with fairest nymphs to copulate.)
But I forget, he's not your ONE.
Your god is whole devoid of fun.
At any rate, he walked around
and legend holds passed farm and town.
And yet no footprints I can find
prove him to be of gait divine.
But at that point you change your thought
and say he's 'human' with no fault.
Such contradiction I once saw
and that was in your 'Golden Law'.
Born in a stable, old and rude,
carpenter's son and doubtless crude.
And still you praise his works of love
and hold him in your mind above
the sons of tailors and of priests
(sons of divines are not the least
in number of the sons of man...
deny that Christian, if you can.)
And don't you claim your Jesus boy
thought of his god and not his toy?
And shunned all play in search of truth?
Is this your common human youth?"
Kasmir was warming to his task
and said, "come on, remove the mask,
make up your mind, don't trouble me,
of which one type can Jesus be?
Is he a mortal--call him such.
Could I be roasted by his touch?
Then he's a god and name him so.
And don't hang down your head so low--
look in my eye, I want the facts!"
Reclining on his bed of tacks,
he boldly told me with a frown,
"your whole religion's upside down.
Now wait until I charm this snake,
I have another point to make."
Alas, his point he'll 'ner impart.
One of his nails slipped though his heart.
The cobra bit him on the toe
and I decided I should go.
Instead of watching Kasmir bleed,
I left his to his perfect creed.
Sunday, September 9, 2018
Trumplessness
A whole week with 7 adults who hate the not named president as much as I do--and a 2 year old we'll surely teach to hate him--what could be better than that?
This--a Trump-less week. No TV news, no radio, no newspapers.
For a whole week I experienced "trumplessness".
And it was heavenly.
In two more years, I pray and pray, 'trumplessness' can be all day every day.
I pray.
What joy that will be.
This--a Trump-less week. No TV news, no radio, no newspapers.
For a whole week I experienced "trumplessness".
And it was heavenly.
In two more years, I pray and pray, 'trumplessness' can be all day every day.
I pray.
What joy that will be.
You Couldn't Make It Up
Our trip to Oak Island was so great you couldn't have made it up.
Close friends.
Perfect weather.
An ocean only a little more wavy than a lake.
Great food. "The Big Fish"--a stuffed Red Snapper as the highlight.
Wine and beer and bourbon for those interested.
Lots of books to read.
Mimi and Tim and most of all, 2 year old Eleanor.
Silence and laughter.
No watching TV news!!!
A kite that went so high it ran out all it's string--300 feet at most.
Pelicans every morning and evening.
Gulls and sand-pipers a plenty.
No bugs except sweet singing ones.
The sound of ocean all the time.
A wondrous house with fine A/C.
Nobody on the beach after Labor Day.
How good could it be?
So good you couldn't make it up....
Glad to be home but full of memories and these memories last....
Close friends.
Perfect weather.
An ocean only a little more wavy than a lake.
Great food. "The Big Fish"--a stuffed Red Snapper as the highlight.
Wine and beer and bourbon for those interested.
Lots of books to read.
Mimi and Tim and most of all, 2 year old Eleanor.
Silence and laughter.
No watching TV news!!!
A kite that went so high it ran out all it's string--300 feet at most.
Pelicans every morning and evening.
Gulls and sand-pipers a plenty.
No bugs except sweet singing ones.
The sound of ocean all the time.
A wondrous house with fine A/C.
Nobody on the beach after Labor Day.
How good could it be?
So good you couldn't make it up....
Glad to be home but full of memories and these memories last....
Sweet Peas may take over the world
We got back from Oak Island last night. This morning, Bern told me, 'sweet-peas may take over the world'.
Before we left she had torn up a lot of the little blue plants because they had been taking over some other plants. She just tossed them on some dead brush in the area beside our deck which is, in essence, a pet cemetery. There are three dogs, four cats, a dozen or so guiena pigs, two birds and a rat buried in a ten foot by 16 foot area. She puts weeds she pulls there too, and cut grass. I toss corn husks down there and dead house flowers. I'd call it a compost area except the squirrels and chipmunks use it for Lord knows what.
When we got back, all the sweet-peas had found root again and are flourishing.
A hearty and spreading kind of plant.
The world could be taken over by worse things that those blue flowers.
Lots worse....
Before we left she had torn up a lot of the little blue plants because they had been taking over some other plants. She just tossed them on some dead brush in the area beside our deck which is, in essence, a pet cemetery. There are three dogs, four cats, a dozen or so guiena pigs, two birds and a rat buried in a ten foot by 16 foot area. She puts weeds she pulls there too, and cut grass. I toss corn husks down there and dead house flowers. I'd call it a compost area except the squirrels and chipmunks use it for Lord knows what.
When we got back, all the sweet-peas had found root again and are flourishing.
A hearty and spreading kind of plant.
The world could be taken over by worse things that those blue flowers.
Lots worse....
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