A while back I wrote about my sister-in-law's bout with cancer. She has bravely battled Stage 4 cancer for 14 months now. Having gathered at her house with family for Thanksgiving, I was struck by the toll her cancer has taken. Even though doctors told her recently that they could no longer justify treatment, she voices a confidence and resolve that her fight is not over yet. Today after visiting the funeral home to discusss funeral arrangements, she was off to the Cancer Treatment Center in Illinois for a second opinion and support for her renewed will to defeat the disease.
When someone is so immersed in the fight to live, it seems awkward to consider how one might choose to die. My sister-in-law is somewhat secretive about her fight, I suspect to spare family from the overwhelming pain and the despair of being up against such an ominous foe. The family is apprehensive to dig too deeply for fear of hampering her spirits. And so both remain silent, afraid to speak openly. In my years of ministry I saw this same tension play out between the family and the one facing the life-threatening illness.
One of the things I become mindful of when I watch Survivor on Thursday nights is how comforting, reassuring it is to venture out in the jungle with someone leading the way. It is less scarey for those who follow the leader because you know something of what you are encountering and can prepare yourself for it.
Dying, like anything unknown, is scary. I would hope when I face my own death that I can be for my family and friends that person leading the way for those who will inevitably follow in my footsteps. My dying would take on meaning if I could in some way make the experience a little less scary for them by being open to sharing what I am experiencing... Like the one on Survivor leading the tribe into the jungle and confronting all the things that scare and intimidate for us.
Like my sister-in-law, I would fight as bravely as she has until such time as acceptance and embracing my death becomes a more valiant course. A couple of summers ago I had the privilege of traveling along Michigan's Great Lakes' shoreline. I am in awe at the sight of water, the different shades of blue and green and teal. I suppose my affinity for the water probably has something to do with the water in which we were formed in our mother's womb. My fascination with the water is perhaps a return to the security and nurture of the womb as I pass from this life to the next season of my existence.
And so I have let it be known that my way of dying would be to sit myself in a chair overlooking the scenic green waters of the Great Lakes. I would stay right there until I breathed my last, taking in the beauty and awesomeness of God in nature. I hope I have that privilege instead of facing my death in a hospital bed.
How would you face your death?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Heaven Help Us
Sitting in the waiting room until my name was called to see the dentist this afternoon, I skimmed through the December 2005 issue of Readers Digest until falling on an article about an upcoming Barbara Walters' television special on Heaven. With only a couple of minutes to spend I never got that deep into the selection let along finish the article. Still a couple of things stood out.
There are 10,000 religions! Nine out of ten Americans believe in an afterlife with a majority believing they will realize it whatever it might be. Walters went to an Israeli prison where she interviewed a 21 year old Palestinian who, when only 17, participated in a foiled suicide bombing attempt. He wanted to kill Jews he recounts, believing he would be rewarded by entering into paradise where he would experience "joyous sex on silken couches amid rivers of milk and honey." Walters, a Jew, asked whether he believed she would be welcomed into paradise. The response sounded something like expect to rot in hell.
Then she interviews the head of the National Association of Evangelicals, the most politically influential religious group in the country. Is it possible, Walters asks, for a person to make it into heaven without accepting Jesus as their personal savior? Matter of factly and without hesitation the answer was, "No."
These thoughts set my mind into high gear pondering the contradiction inherent in such an exclusive view of religious entitlement with respect to attaining a heaven or paradise. While I do not purport to be an expert on world religions, I think it is safe to say that a majority are built on embracing as many people as possible into their fold. Community. Oneness. Yet somewhere along the line this view as been twisted as religions have become closed minded and divisive. The doors to an invitation God extends to all are closed by the religion's adherents.
Does anyone else see a contradiction here?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
There are 10,000 religions! Nine out of ten Americans believe in an afterlife with a majority believing they will realize it whatever it might be. Walters went to an Israeli prison where she interviewed a 21 year old Palestinian who, when only 17, participated in a foiled suicide bombing attempt. He wanted to kill Jews he recounts, believing he would be rewarded by entering into paradise where he would experience "joyous sex on silken couches amid rivers of milk and honey." Walters, a Jew, asked whether he believed she would be welcomed into paradise. The response sounded something like expect to rot in hell.
Then she interviews the head of the National Association of Evangelicals, the most politically influential religious group in the country. Is it possible, Walters asks, for a person to make it into heaven without accepting Jesus as their personal savior? Matter of factly and without hesitation the answer was, "No."
These thoughts set my mind into high gear pondering the contradiction inherent in such an exclusive view of religious entitlement with respect to attaining a heaven or paradise. While I do not purport to be an expert on world religions, I think it is safe to say that a majority are built on embracing as many people as possible into their fold. Community. Oneness. Yet somewhere along the line this view as been twisted as religions have become closed minded and divisive. The doors to an invitation God extends to all are closed by the religion's adherents.
Does anyone else see a contradiction here?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Spiritual Renaissance
Yesterday marked the beginning of Advent. There's something about the Advent-Christmas and Lent-Easter seasons that, like facing a life-threatening crisis, instills a desire to take ones relationship with God a bit more seriously. People will show an openness to and try to incorporate into their lives spiritual practice and discipline and acts of piety. They'll read more from the Bible, pray more often or longer, meditate, contemplate and reflect and some may even participate in acts of charity and service. Then just as surely as the seasons come and go, interest and enthusiasm will fade after the holidays are over and folks will return to their former, less committed selves.
Why do you suppose people in general tend to be so non-committal about addressing the spiritual side of life and being? Do you suppose it's because we have such a hard time with commitment in general, with commitment of any kind? Do you think it reflects a failure on the part of organized religion to offer meaningful rites and rituals that touch the spirit and soul? Or do you think it has anything to do with the disrespect that seems to characterize one religion's openness toward all others, one denomination's openness toward all other denominations and one path's openness toward all other paths? Does it have anything to do with the aggressiveness with which some religions evangelize to the world or the judgmental character that colors such efforts? Does it wind up just being the hypocrisy that runs rampant over the religious landscape?
Think about it, none of the great spiritual masters to date (Old Testament Patriarchs, priests, prophets and kings, Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, etc.) has captured the collective imagination of humanity. Do you think the human race will ever experience a spiritual renaissance and, if so, what do you think it would take to bring such an era about?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Why do you suppose people in general tend to be so non-committal about addressing the spiritual side of life and being? Do you suppose it's because we have such a hard time with commitment in general, with commitment of any kind? Do you think it reflects a failure on the part of organized religion to offer meaningful rites and rituals that touch the spirit and soul? Or do you think it has anything to do with the disrespect that seems to characterize one religion's openness toward all others, one denomination's openness toward all other denominations and one path's openness toward all other paths? Does it have anything to do with the aggressiveness with which some religions evangelize to the world or the judgmental character that colors such efforts? Does it wind up just being the hypocrisy that runs rampant over the religious landscape?
Think about it, none of the great spiritual masters to date (Old Testament Patriarchs, priests, prophets and kings, Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, etc.) has captured the collective imagination of humanity. Do you think the human race will ever experience a spiritual renaissance and, if so, what do you think it would take to bring such an era about?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
My Spiritual Journey
"The journey you wish to take can only begin from where you are right now this very minute." - Ron Atchison
I decided to write an intimate portrait of my spiritual journey before I ran across the Ron Atchison quote. In some respects that is what I've been doing here on xanga all along since starting my blog. But writing about "spiritual things" isn't necessarily the same as recounting the story of my spiritual journey.
Contrary to what Atchison claims, my spiritual journey doesn't begin right here, right now. In a real sense, it didn't even begin with my birth. My journey is but a jaunt along a path paved by those throughout history who have already undertaken it. Most of what I've seen has already been discovered yet my uniqueness guarantees there will be some surprises along the way.
The unconscious lessons of my infancy - unconditional love, protection, trust, nurture - serve as a point of departure for my spiritual journey. I covered a lot of ground in these early years without ever realizing it. Before I consciously asked my first spiritual question, I had progressed in my understanding of the ways of the spiritual realm.
Looking back at my childhood I recall experiences of intense emotion which, for the first time, had a profound impact on who I was and how I saw myself. These became the first conscious steps taken on my spiritual journey.
As a 3 years old I experienced my first conscious taste of fear. A young and troubled distant relative, perhaps a psychopath, who lived in the attic of my maternal Grandmother's house next door, made it a habit of jumping out of nowhere to scare my cousin and me and would chase us through the woods behind our house. He was my boogeyman and every bit as scarey as Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers or Jason.
Also around this time I had my first conscious encounter with being critically ill and the disconnect between what I wanted to do and what my body allowed me to do. Instead of doing the things that normal 3-4 year old boys would be doing, I spent a significant amount of time in and out of the hospital living in oxygen tents to treat pneumonia, asthma and a series of respiratory complications.
I had my first taste of abandonment as a 6 year old. School had been dismissed early because of tornado warnings. Long after everyone had left for home, my cousin and I found ourselves alone on the playground. We eventually rearranged some large stones in an attempt to "build" a car that we could "drive" home. This was also my first experience of salvation as, after what seemed like hours but was likely only a matter of minutes, our teacher discovered us playing alone on the playground as she left the school and gave us a ride home.
My initial conscious experience of separation and loss was at the age of 7. My parents bought a new home in the neighboring suburb. In the move I lost everything that was familiar to me - my room, my house, my neighborhood friends, my school.
By age 10 I had my first taste of death of someone close. My maternal Grandfather succumbed to cancer. Over a period of weeks I had witnessed his confinement to a hospital bed in their trailer's living room and the ravaging effects of a disease that literally ate him up into nothingness before my eyes.
It was at this same time that I began to put on weight and became a chubby child, facing cruelty for the first time in the taunting and ridicule of peers.
These experiences and others like them tore the first gaping holes in my emerging view of the world. The world was scarey, health was fragile, we sometimes found ourselves alone, there was no permanency to the things that make us comfortable and secure, those we love don't live forever, people were cruel and I was not worthy of respect. The need to fill these holes and make my world whole again drove my spiritual journey in my early years.
In my early years the spiritual journey was not framed by religious instruction or church attendance. This did not mean, however, an absence of values. I was taught from the beginning that we had a moral responsibility to be our brother's keeper and that our existence was defined by identification with family. I was taught there were rules we live by and consequences when those rules were broken.
The closest thing to a religious experience prior to my adolescence was the assassination of President Kennedy in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Life came to stop and time stood still. Eyes fixed on the television set, each image became etched indelibly on my mind and heart. I felt an awkward mix of sadness yet at the same time an awe for the pomp and pagentry.
I learned that dreams could be gunned down and the good died young. I learned that there were rituals that could bring us all together, carry us through our common grief and bring about healing and reconciliation.
It wasn't adolescence that made my teenage years turbulant. It was my mother's mental illness. Dealing with the changes brought on by puberty took a backseat to behaviors in my mom that defied explanation or understanding.
To say that watching your mother bang her head on the cupboard until her forehead bled while loudly chanting that she wished she was dead was unsettling is an understatement. It was impossible to predict what would provoke those too frequent episodes. My dad would get in the car and drive away leaving my younger sister and I alone. My manner of coping was to withdraw to my room with the door shut and locked. It was the only place I felt safe... or at least could hide. I lived my teen years as if walking on eggshells, afraid of doing anything that would trigger another outburst.
Bi-Polar. OCD. Borderline. It doesn't matter anymore what those years were all about beyond their having an impact on my spiritual make up. I thank God my mom is better now and has been so for the last thirty years.
I learned that the world is unpredictable, that sometimes there is no explanation for what happens. Sometimes all we're left with is unanswered questions. There are things in life we may never understand. And these lessons lent a sense of urgency to my spiritual quest.
Despite growing up in the 60's, I was never into the drugs or free sex scene. I wanted to be a teacher and that's all that really mattered to me. The war in Viet Nam played out on television sets nightly. I observed a growing rift between young and old, black and white, hawk and dove. A part of the idealism of my youth died in 1968 with the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. Hope and dreams went up in smoke as riot-torn cities burned and napalm bombs detonated on the other side of the world. Innocense was lost. I learned brokenness, hopelessness and despair. I learned that evil was a powerful force to be reckoned with.
Another defining moment for my spiritual journey occurred between my junior and senior years. As a sophomore and junior I weighed 210 pounds and was a lineman on my high school football team. Whether attributable to will power or anorexia I do not know, but I returned for my senior year a mere shadow of my former self weighing in at 138 pounds. I was struck by the instant celebrity status I gained among my peers. Everyone wanted to hear my story. One of my assistant football coaches who also coached track urged me to try out to see what I could do with the sleeker, slimmer me. People took notice of me only after I became "hot" looking. But even though the newfound popularity and attention felt good, I knew that appearance had nothing to do with who I was. I learned that it didn't matter who a person was on the inside. Life was driven by the superficial, by outward appearances.
The greatest surprise of my life came at the end of my senior year when I received my high school's Art Departmental Award. I was dumbfounded by the recognition but it drove home an appreciation of the power of art in any of its forms to convey truth.
These latest of life's lessons further defined the issues that would encompass my spiritual quest. I set off for college in search of understanding and answers to the complexities and contradictions and conundrums of life.
I set out for Western Michigan University in pursuit of a career as a middle school math and art teacher. I took with me a host of unanswered questions and a thirst for understanding or answers to the complexities, contradictions and conundrums that had challenged my childhood.
When Edward Kennedy quoted Yeats at the funeral of his assassinated brother Robert in June 1968, he spoke of a spirit that characterized RFK's life and was pervasive in youth at the time:
"Some men see things as they are and say 'Why?'
I dream things that never were and say 'Why not?'"
The times presented a cultural climate conducive to questioning every convention with an open mind. While volumes could be written about this spirit's impact, it did place me at the right place at the right time for the soul searching I needed to experience.
During this time I explored and experimented with a number of spiritual disciplines and churches, but didn't find a home until I came in contact with John Grathwohl, a priest who loved liturgy and was an activist when it came to living his faith. He became my mentor, I took instructions in the Catholic faith and became a Catholic at the Easter Vigil.
The Catholic faith didn't provide all the answers I was looking for but John's life made sense to me. My hunger was unquenchable and I soon found myself entertaining the idea of the priesthood.
Liturgy appealed to my artistic nature. The power and timelessness of the rituals connected me to the God I loved more than anything the world had to offer and the community that both gathered around and was defined by its participation in them. My interest took me to Notre Dame where I had the opportunity to explore further my fascination with liturgy.
At this time I continued to ponder the possibility that I was being called to the priesthood. Having completed the prerequisites for secondary education and a teaching major in math and a minor in economics, the only thing that separated me from my career was one last semester of student teaching. In order to keep the door open to the seminary however I added another year to my undergraduate studies to pick up a major in religion, a minor in philosophy and the language requirements for admission to the theologate.
Upon graduating from WMU, I was off for the seminary to study theology. Toward the end of my second year, I began to harbor doubts about my readiness to continue. In just three short years I had gone from converting to Catholicism to nearly being half-way on the road to ordination to the priesthood. It didn't seem right to continue without first giving myself a spiritual "time out" to give God a chance to speak to me and either confirm a return to the seminary or send me off in another direction.
Instead of sharing the next installment of his very interesting and special journey, YNOT's post yesterday dealt with the frustrations of parenting his 13 year old daughter who has discovered her interest in boys. How much easier it is when the reaction to the opposite sex is "Eeww" or "Yuck!" How do you keep the lines of communication with your teen open and preserve mutual respect yet set appropriate boundaries that give the space needed for her to continue to unfold and mature while at the same time protecting her from situations where she'll find herself vulnerable or susceptible to unnecessary hurt? They just don't teach that in school, do they?
Ynot's anguish was cause for me to revisit when I first found myself star-struck over a girl. This too represents an important milestone in my spiritual journey. It was the spring of 1963. I had just turned 12 and 6th grade was winding down as summer approached. I can't pinpoint when it happened, but at the snap of a finger my interest in sports, in cars, in things mechanical and in other "boy stuff" faded in the shadow of an infatuation with Jean Taylor.
I doubt I even understood what it all meant at the time. Had I discovered girls because of some change going on within myself or did I set my sight on Jean Taylor because other boys were hooking up with a girl and I didn't want to be left out? Mind you, it was different for my generation because there was no such thing as cell phones, instant messaging and xanga. These staples of modern technology may have pushed me along faster than I was emotionally mature enough to handle.
At any rate, we're at recess (yes, I said "recess") and are playing a game of softball. My team is at bat and as I go to the plate with runners at second and third base and one out, the kids began to taunt me with crescendos of "You better get a hit or Jean Taylor won't like you anymore!"
Kids are cruel that way. Good grief, talk about pressure! Determined to hit a homerun to win Jean Taylor's heart, I tightened my grip on the bat and leaned into the plate to meet the pitch with as much power as I could muster. Strike one. I stepped away from the plate to do the "between pitches fidget" dance to the beat of further taunts. "Jean Taylor," I thought, "this one's for you!" Strike two.
I could feel the momentum of the pressure shift from "can do" to "oh, no." As I stepped to the plate for the third pitch, I was fearful and tentative. "I've got to do this for Jean Taylor!" Strike three.
I was crushed and couldn't shrink any lower than I felt at that moment. I had no way of knowing that what transpired on that playground in the spring of 1963 would become a metaphor for my luck in life with women.
For the next three years I served as Youth Minister for a church comprised of over 1000 families. It was the same Church where I had first met John Grathwohl but he was no longer the pastor there. With his departure also went the quality of the liturgy. The same sermon was preached Sunday after Sunday and became so canned that the congregation actually began to lip sync it! My spiritual hunger was not being met and I was not alone.
I also took one last stab at dating and finding Mrs. Right. I never understood or fully appreciated manditory celibacy. Among my peers in the seminary most saw it as part of what you had to accept if you felt God was calling you to be a priest but it was not essential to the priesthood itself. It is a powerful witness IF God were calling you to a life of celibacy, but the call to priesthood and the call to celibacy were two distinct calls.
I had a serious relationship with three different women during my time out from the seminary and actually got close enough to one in particular that I could picture a life with her. But God didn't stop tugging at my heart and I concluded in the end that His call was too persistent and undeniable.
After a three year sabbatical I readied myself for a return to the seminary.
Throughout the 1980s I was known as 'the deejay priest.' Almost every weekend I deejayed at least one high school dance, wedding reception or parish/community event. I started out modest with a decent personal sound system in 1982 and, with the channel of communication it opened with youth and the personal joy it brought me, my hobby unfolded into a budding professional business. Known first as 'Sound Station' and changing the name three years later to 'Cruisin' to the Tunes!' my reputation as the deejay priest grew by leaps and bounds. The evolution of my deejaying years took me through large music collections in five different formats - first vinyl singles, then vinyl albums, then on to cassettes, music videos and, with the birth of compact discs, on to CDs. I had a professional sound system, full light show and live video with two large monitors on either side of the stage.
I became something of a peculiarity if not an oddity and as interest grew I started receiving phone calls from newspapers throughout southwestern Michigan interested in writing a feature. Many of these features became syndicated. I will never know how far my story spread.
Music has always been special to me, a mystical door to innermost and transcendant feelings. A song by itself not only could elicit a memory and its accompanying mood, but also could actually propel me back in time to the moment itself. Even today as I work within the prison, I have playing in the background collections of music carefully put together to carry my spirit again and again through my personal story.
In 1990 one of the most amazing gigs of my lifetime came to an end.
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
I decided to write an intimate portrait of my spiritual journey before I ran across the Ron Atchison quote. In some respects that is what I've been doing here on xanga all along since starting my blog. But writing about "spiritual things" isn't necessarily the same as recounting the story of my spiritual journey.
Contrary to what Atchison claims, my spiritual journey doesn't begin right here, right now. In a real sense, it didn't even begin with my birth. My journey is but a jaunt along a path paved by those throughout history who have already undertaken it. Most of what I've seen has already been discovered yet my uniqueness guarantees there will be some surprises along the way.
The unconscious lessons of my infancy - unconditional love, protection, trust, nurture - serve as a point of departure for my spiritual journey. I covered a lot of ground in these early years without ever realizing it. Before I consciously asked my first spiritual question, I had progressed in my understanding of the ways of the spiritual realm.
Looking back at my childhood I recall experiences of intense emotion which, for the first time, had a profound impact on who I was and how I saw myself. These became the first conscious steps taken on my spiritual journey.
As a 3 years old I experienced my first conscious taste of fear. A young and troubled distant relative, perhaps a psychopath, who lived in the attic of my maternal Grandmother's house next door, made it a habit of jumping out of nowhere to scare my cousin and me and would chase us through the woods behind our house. He was my boogeyman and every bit as scarey as Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers or Jason.
Also around this time I had my first conscious encounter with being critically ill and the disconnect between what I wanted to do and what my body allowed me to do. Instead of doing the things that normal 3-4 year old boys would be doing, I spent a significant amount of time in and out of the hospital living in oxygen tents to treat pneumonia, asthma and a series of respiratory complications.
I had my first taste of abandonment as a 6 year old. School had been dismissed early because of tornado warnings. Long after everyone had left for home, my cousin and I found ourselves alone on the playground. We eventually rearranged some large stones in an attempt to "build" a car that we could "drive" home. This was also my first experience of salvation as, after what seemed like hours but was likely only a matter of minutes, our teacher discovered us playing alone on the playground as she left the school and gave us a ride home.
My initial conscious experience of separation and loss was at the age of 7. My parents bought a new home in the neighboring suburb. In the move I lost everything that was familiar to me - my room, my house, my neighborhood friends, my school.
By age 10 I had my first taste of death of someone close. My maternal Grandfather succumbed to cancer. Over a period of weeks I had witnessed his confinement to a hospital bed in their trailer's living room and the ravaging effects of a disease that literally ate him up into nothingness before my eyes.
It was at this same time that I began to put on weight and became a chubby child, facing cruelty for the first time in the taunting and ridicule of peers.
These experiences and others like them tore the first gaping holes in my emerging view of the world. The world was scarey, health was fragile, we sometimes found ourselves alone, there was no permanency to the things that make us comfortable and secure, those we love don't live forever, people were cruel and I was not worthy of respect. The need to fill these holes and make my world whole again drove my spiritual journey in my early years.
In my early years the spiritual journey was not framed by religious instruction or church attendance. This did not mean, however, an absence of values. I was taught from the beginning that we had a moral responsibility to be our brother's keeper and that our existence was defined by identification with family. I was taught there were rules we live by and consequences when those rules were broken.
The closest thing to a religious experience prior to my adolescence was the assassination of President Kennedy in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Life came to stop and time stood still. Eyes fixed on the television set, each image became etched indelibly on my mind and heart. I felt an awkward mix of sadness yet at the same time an awe for the pomp and pagentry.
I learned that dreams could be gunned down and the good died young. I learned that there were rituals that could bring us all together, carry us through our common grief and bring about healing and reconciliation.
It wasn't adolescence that made my teenage years turbulant. It was my mother's mental illness. Dealing with the changes brought on by puberty took a backseat to behaviors in my mom that defied explanation or understanding.
To say that watching your mother bang her head on the cupboard until her forehead bled while loudly chanting that she wished she was dead was unsettling is an understatement. It was impossible to predict what would provoke those too frequent episodes. My dad would get in the car and drive away leaving my younger sister and I alone. My manner of coping was to withdraw to my room with the door shut and locked. It was the only place I felt safe... or at least could hide. I lived my teen years as if walking on eggshells, afraid of doing anything that would trigger another outburst.
Bi-Polar. OCD. Borderline. It doesn't matter anymore what those years were all about beyond their having an impact on my spiritual make up. I thank God my mom is better now and has been so for the last thirty years.
I learned that the world is unpredictable, that sometimes there is no explanation for what happens. Sometimes all we're left with is unanswered questions. There are things in life we may never understand. And these lessons lent a sense of urgency to my spiritual quest.
Despite growing up in the 60's, I was never into the drugs or free sex scene. I wanted to be a teacher and that's all that really mattered to me. The war in Viet Nam played out on television sets nightly. I observed a growing rift between young and old, black and white, hawk and dove. A part of the idealism of my youth died in 1968 with the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. Hope and dreams went up in smoke as riot-torn cities burned and napalm bombs detonated on the other side of the world. Innocense was lost. I learned brokenness, hopelessness and despair. I learned that evil was a powerful force to be reckoned with.
Another defining moment for my spiritual journey occurred between my junior and senior years. As a sophomore and junior I weighed 210 pounds and was a lineman on my high school football team. Whether attributable to will power or anorexia I do not know, but I returned for my senior year a mere shadow of my former self weighing in at 138 pounds. I was struck by the instant celebrity status I gained among my peers. Everyone wanted to hear my story. One of my assistant football coaches who also coached track urged me to try out to see what I could do with the sleeker, slimmer me. People took notice of me only after I became "hot" looking. But even though the newfound popularity and attention felt good, I knew that appearance had nothing to do with who I was. I learned that it didn't matter who a person was on the inside. Life was driven by the superficial, by outward appearances.
The greatest surprise of my life came at the end of my senior year when I received my high school's Art Departmental Award. I was dumbfounded by the recognition but it drove home an appreciation of the power of art in any of its forms to convey truth.
These latest of life's lessons further defined the issues that would encompass my spiritual quest. I set off for college in search of understanding and answers to the complexities and contradictions and conundrums of life.
I set out for Western Michigan University in pursuit of a career as a middle school math and art teacher. I took with me a host of unanswered questions and a thirst for understanding or answers to the complexities, contradictions and conundrums that had challenged my childhood.
When Edward Kennedy quoted Yeats at the funeral of his assassinated brother Robert in June 1968, he spoke of a spirit that characterized RFK's life and was pervasive in youth at the time:
"Some men see things as they are and say 'Why?'
I dream things that never were and say 'Why not?'"
The times presented a cultural climate conducive to questioning every convention with an open mind. While volumes could be written about this spirit's impact, it did place me at the right place at the right time for the soul searching I needed to experience.
During this time I explored and experimented with a number of spiritual disciplines and churches, but didn't find a home until I came in contact with John Grathwohl, a priest who loved liturgy and was an activist when it came to living his faith. He became my mentor, I took instructions in the Catholic faith and became a Catholic at the Easter Vigil.
The Catholic faith didn't provide all the answers I was looking for but John's life made sense to me. My hunger was unquenchable and I soon found myself entertaining the idea of the priesthood.
Liturgy appealed to my artistic nature. The power and timelessness of the rituals connected me to the God I loved more than anything the world had to offer and the community that both gathered around and was defined by its participation in them. My interest took me to Notre Dame where I had the opportunity to explore further my fascination with liturgy.
At this time I continued to ponder the possibility that I was being called to the priesthood. Having completed the prerequisites for secondary education and a teaching major in math and a minor in economics, the only thing that separated me from my career was one last semester of student teaching. In order to keep the door open to the seminary however I added another year to my undergraduate studies to pick up a major in religion, a minor in philosophy and the language requirements for admission to the theologate.
Upon graduating from WMU, I was off for the seminary to study theology. Toward the end of my second year, I began to harbor doubts about my readiness to continue. In just three short years I had gone from converting to Catholicism to nearly being half-way on the road to ordination to the priesthood. It didn't seem right to continue without first giving myself a spiritual "time out" to give God a chance to speak to me and either confirm a return to the seminary or send me off in another direction.
Instead of sharing the next installment of his very interesting and special journey, YNOT's post yesterday dealt with the frustrations of parenting his 13 year old daughter who has discovered her interest in boys. How much easier it is when the reaction to the opposite sex is "Eeww" or "Yuck!" How do you keep the lines of communication with your teen open and preserve mutual respect yet set appropriate boundaries that give the space needed for her to continue to unfold and mature while at the same time protecting her from situations where she'll find herself vulnerable or susceptible to unnecessary hurt? They just don't teach that in school, do they?
Ynot's anguish was cause for me to revisit when I first found myself star-struck over a girl. This too represents an important milestone in my spiritual journey. It was the spring of 1963. I had just turned 12 and 6th grade was winding down as summer approached. I can't pinpoint when it happened, but at the snap of a finger my interest in sports, in cars, in things mechanical and in other "boy stuff" faded in the shadow of an infatuation with Jean Taylor.
I doubt I even understood what it all meant at the time. Had I discovered girls because of some change going on within myself or did I set my sight on Jean Taylor because other boys were hooking up with a girl and I didn't want to be left out? Mind you, it was different for my generation because there was no such thing as cell phones, instant messaging and xanga. These staples of modern technology may have pushed me along faster than I was emotionally mature enough to handle.
At any rate, we're at recess (yes, I said "recess") and are playing a game of softball. My team is at bat and as I go to the plate with runners at second and third base and one out, the kids began to taunt me with crescendos of "You better get a hit or Jean Taylor won't like you anymore!"
Kids are cruel that way. Good grief, talk about pressure! Determined to hit a homerun to win Jean Taylor's heart, I tightened my grip on the bat and leaned into the plate to meet the pitch with as much power as I could muster. Strike one. I stepped away from the plate to do the "between pitches fidget" dance to the beat of further taunts. "Jean Taylor," I thought, "this one's for you!" Strike two.
I could feel the momentum of the pressure shift from "can do" to "oh, no." As I stepped to the plate for the third pitch, I was fearful and tentative. "I've got to do this for Jean Taylor!" Strike three.
I was crushed and couldn't shrink any lower than I felt at that moment. I had no way of knowing that what transpired on that playground in the spring of 1963 would become a metaphor for my luck in life with women.
For the next three years I served as Youth Minister for a church comprised of over 1000 families. It was the same Church where I had first met John Grathwohl but he was no longer the pastor there. With his departure also went the quality of the liturgy. The same sermon was preached Sunday after Sunday and became so canned that the congregation actually began to lip sync it! My spiritual hunger was not being met and I was not alone.
I also took one last stab at dating and finding Mrs. Right. I never understood or fully appreciated manditory celibacy. Among my peers in the seminary most saw it as part of what you had to accept if you felt God was calling you to be a priest but it was not essential to the priesthood itself. It is a powerful witness IF God were calling you to a life of celibacy, but the call to priesthood and the call to celibacy were two distinct calls.
I had a serious relationship with three different women during my time out from the seminary and actually got close enough to one in particular that I could picture a life with her. But God didn't stop tugging at my heart and I concluded in the end that His call was too persistent and undeniable.
After a three year sabbatical I readied myself for a return to the seminary.
Throughout the 1980s I was known as 'the deejay priest.' Almost every weekend I deejayed at least one high school dance, wedding reception or parish/community event. I started out modest with a decent personal sound system in 1982 and, with the channel of communication it opened with youth and the personal joy it brought me, my hobby unfolded into a budding professional business. Known first as 'Sound Station' and changing the name three years later to 'Cruisin' to the Tunes!' my reputation as the deejay priest grew by leaps and bounds. The evolution of my deejaying years took me through large music collections in five different formats - first vinyl singles, then vinyl albums, then on to cassettes, music videos and, with the birth of compact discs, on to CDs. I had a professional sound system, full light show and live video with two large monitors on either side of the stage.
I became something of a peculiarity if not an oddity and as interest grew I started receiving phone calls from newspapers throughout southwestern Michigan interested in writing a feature. Many of these features became syndicated. I will never know how far my story spread.
Music has always been special to me, a mystical door to innermost and transcendant feelings. A song by itself not only could elicit a memory and its accompanying mood, but also could actually propel me back in time to the moment itself. Even today as I work within the prison, I have playing in the background collections of music carefully put together to carry my spirit again and again through my personal story.
In 1990 one of the most amazing gigs of my lifetime came to an end.
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Look Within
In his book The Power of Now, Eckhart Tolle frequently reminds his readers that he is not teaching anything that we do not already know. Cheril Carter-Scott in her book If Life Is A Game, These Are the Rules echoes that sentiment when she observes "Deep inside, you already know all you need to know."
Such an empowering truth, but do we really believe it? We greet our inner voice with distrust and heed it only after its been verified by external sources.
Consider the many wonderful spiritually-themed xangas. Are these not, in part, an expression of the writer's inner voice seeking common acceptance or ratification? Why are we so uncomfortable expressing and embracing the profound, life-altering spiritual truths etched within our heart, our spirit, our soul?
A legitimate concern might be the fear of confusing the inner voice of truth with the voice of the ego. Only by sounding out our inner voice through the ears of those we trust can we minimize the risk of being played by the ego.
If we agree with the premise that the answers to our innermost questions rest within us then it is also important to consider who or what the origin or source of the inner voice is. Is it the voice of God? The voice of a collective unconscious? Or is their no inner voice other than that of the ego?
What is the source of our inner voice? What inner truth or lesson do you have the hardest time believing or trusting?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Such an empowering truth, but do we really believe it? We greet our inner voice with distrust and heed it only after its been verified by external sources.
Consider the many wonderful spiritually-themed xangas. Are these not, in part, an expression of the writer's inner voice seeking common acceptance or ratification? Why are we so uncomfortable expressing and embracing the profound, life-altering spiritual truths etched within our heart, our spirit, our soul?
A legitimate concern might be the fear of confusing the inner voice of truth with the voice of the ego. Only by sounding out our inner voice through the ears of those we trust can we minimize the risk of being played by the ego.
If we agree with the premise that the answers to our innermost questions rest within us then it is also important to consider who or what the origin or source of the inner voice is. Is it the voice of God? The voice of a collective unconscious? Or is their no inner voice other than that of the ego?
What is the source of our inner voice? What inner truth or lesson do you have the hardest time believing or trusting?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Suicide - Conclusion
A call in the middle of the night. A 17 year old boy, less than 3 months away from graduating from high school, has committed suicide. His family hurts. His peers at school question.
What would you say to this family? What would you say to his friends from school? Where is God to be found in such a turn of events?
In the end only God is God. No theological study, no dogmatic teaching and no zealous evangelization is going to change that. God's historical track record is One who just doesn't give up on us. The God that Jesus spoke of is a loving father with arms ever extended, inviting us to surrender to that love and live our life within his embrace. God is not bound by our judgmental pronouncements and narrow mindedness. As a person of deep spiritual hunger and profound faith, I am banking on God who is merciful beyond all telling and who is much more generous in extending grace to us than we are toward one another.
In the instance of suicide we must keep in mind that sin has always been seen as a willfull act to do that which our informed conscience knows is wrong. What can be willfull about an act that's shrouded in desperation, aloneness, brokenness and hurt? Can anyone be more "lost" than at that moment when life has become so unbearable that the only way out is to end it?
Our religious tradition has much to say about the importance God places on seeking the lost. And so I leave you all with one final question to ponder...
Would God - no, could God - abandon such a person?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
What would you say to this family? What would you say to his friends from school? Where is God to be found in such a turn of events?
In the end only God is God. No theological study, no dogmatic teaching and no zealous evangelization is going to change that. God's historical track record is One who just doesn't give up on us. The God that Jesus spoke of is a loving father with arms ever extended, inviting us to surrender to that love and live our life within his embrace. God is not bound by our judgmental pronouncements and narrow mindedness. As a person of deep spiritual hunger and profound faith, I am banking on God who is merciful beyond all telling and who is much more generous in extending grace to us than we are toward one another.
In the instance of suicide we must keep in mind that sin has always been seen as a willfull act to do that which our informed conscience knows is wrong. What can be willfull about an act that's shrouded in desperation, aloneness, brokenness and hurt? Can anyone be more "lost" than at that moment when life has become so unbearable that the only way out is to end it?
Our religious tradition has much to say about the importance God places on seeking the lost. And so I leave you all with one final question to ponder...
Would God - no, could God - abandon such a person?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Suicide
I dread being woke up in the middle of the night by the disheveling ring of the phone.
Several months following Jennifer's death but before the winter was ready to relinquish the season to spring I received one of those ominous calls. A parishioner was calling to ask if I could visit. The state police had just informed them that their 17 year old son committed suicide. His wife was understandably distraught and he also hoped I would talk to their 14 year old son. Shortly before 2:00 am, I had dressed and hit the road.
One of the difficulties of serving a large inner city church of 2,000 families was that you never get to know a significant percentage of your parishioners. If they attended Church at all, they would either slip out early to avoid the traffic or disappeared out a side door without your ever seeing them. I had no recollection of the family I was asked to visit.
When I arrived, the state police and sheriff's department were still there conducting their investigation searching for clues that might explain what had happened. I sat down with Chuck and Betty and their 14 year old son Chris. They related what police had told them, questioned why such a thing could have happened and shared memories of the son and brother who would not be coming home. And I listened. Together we cried, embraced and prayed that God would offer some sense of peace and understanding.
Lance was a quiet kid but they were not aware of his ever being in any kind of trouble. He seemed to get along with his peers and had lots of friends at school. He was looking forward to graduating from high school and going to college in the fall. For some unknown reason he had taken his car and driven to the other side of the state where police attempted to execute a stop for a traffic violation. He fled and a high speed chase ensued. Lance pulled off onto a gravel road in the country where he stopped running, lifted a handgun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
What would you say to this family? What would you say to his friends from school? Where is God to be found in such a turn of events?
I encourage you to comment with your thoughts. Look for the conclusion to this post tomorrow. I will share how I approached this difficult moment to comfort this family and grieving friends at school.
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Several months following Jennifer's death but before the winter was ready to relinquish the season to spring I received one of those ominous calls. A parishioner was calling to ask if I could visit. The state police had just informed them that their 17 year old son committed suicide. His wife was understandably distraught and he also hoped I would talk to their 14 year old son. Shortly before 2:00 am, I had dressed and hit the road.
One of the difficulties of serving a large inner city church of 2,000 families was that you never get to know a significant percentage of your parishioners. If they attended Church at all, they would either slip out early to avoid the traffic or disappeared out a side door without your ever seeing them. I had no recollection of the family I was asked to visit.
When I arrived, the state police and sheriff's department were still there conducting their investigation searching for clues that might explain what had happened. I sat down with Chuck and Betty and their 14 year old son Chris. They related what police had told them, questioned why such a thing could have happened and shared memories of the son and brother who would not be coming home. And I listened. Together we cried, embraced and prayed that God would offer some sense of peace and understanding.
Lance was a quiet kid but they were not aware of his ever being in any kind of trouble. He seemed to get along with his peers and had lots of friends at school. He was looking forward to graduating from high school and going to college in the fall. For some unknown reason he had taken his car and driven to the other side of the state where police attempted to execute a stop for a traffic violation. He fled and a high speed chase ensued. Lance pulled off onto a gravel road in the country where he stopped running, lifted a handgun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
What would you say to this family? What would you say to his friends from school? Where is God to be found in such a turn of events?
I encourage you to comment with your thoughts. Look for the conclusion to this post tomorrow. I will share how I approached this difficult moment to comfort this family and grieving friends at school.
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Jennifer - Part Two
This is the continuation of a previous post on 8/23/2005...
Following Jennifer's funeral, the students of the small, lakeshore community school resumed the customary pursuits of adolescence. Though the question "Why?" will likely accompany them throughout their entire lives, some found comfort in imagining that, because she was the good person she was, God had wanted Jennifer for a special purpose known only to him.
No picture of a Friday night in the fall would be complete for me without including the stadium lights, cheering crowds and marching bands that surround high school football. The Laker football team asked me to be their chaplain and I graciously accepted. It meant I got to ride on the team bus and watch the games from the sidelines. Everyone expected LMC to have a good season under their new head coach but no one could have predicted the magic about to unfold.
Jennifer's death forged a mystical bond among this group of kids and I felt a part of it. I was asked to lead the team in prayer before, during and after each game. In my prayer, I tried to reassure them that in Jennifer they had a friend who now knew what it was all about, who experienced what we could only speculate about. The first two games were big wins, outscoring their opponents 50-12. Game three was a struggle. The visiting Lakers were outplayed and late in the game were lucky to have the ball one last time in a scoreless game. Following a sideline prayer, the kids took the field and scored on a Hail Mary pass into the end zone as time expired, winning 8-0.
LMC breezed through its next four games, outscoring opponents 184-18. Their next foe took them away to play their rival for the league championship. Trailing 14-18 with time running out, it looked as though the dream season was about to come to an end. I was again called upon for a sideline prayer before the team returned to the field. As in game three, an impossible, miraculous razzle dazzle play nailed the win, 20-18. The team and fans were jubilant in celebration, but paused in the end zome in prayer to thank God - and Jennifer - for making their season possible.
The last game of the season was to qualify for the state playoffs. The ratings did not favor the Lakers making post season play but they needed a win to have any chance at an invitation. Once again LMC found itself down 0-3 late in the game. For the third time a sideline prayer and a miraculous play pulled the game out, 6-3. Luck finally ran out, however, as their perfect season did not earn them their berth for a bid at a state championship. If they had, I have no doubt this group of kids would have won it all.
The kids believed that God - and Jennifer - was with them that fall and that was all the inspiration they needed to experience the impossible.
A question to ponder as you consider this post is...
When have you experienced the impossible in your life and what was your inspiration?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Following Jennifer's funeral, the students of the small, lakeshore community school resumed the customary pursuits of adolescence. Though the question "Why?" will likely accompany them throughout their entire lives, some found comfort in imagining that, because she was the good person she was, God had wanted Jennifer for a special purpose known only to him.
No picture of a Friday night in the fall would be complete for me without including the stadium lights, cheering crowds and marching bands that surround high school football. The Laker football team asked me to be their chaplain and I graciously accepted. It meant I got to ride on the team bus and watch the games from the sidelines. Everyone expected LMC to have a good season under their new head coach but no one could have predicted the magic about to unfold.
Jennifer's death forged a mystical bond among this group of kids and I felt a part of it. I was asked to lead the team in prayer before, during and after each game. In my prayer, I tried to reassure them that in Jennifer they had a friend who now knew what it was all about, who experienced what we could only speculate about. The first two games were big wins, outscoring their opponents 50-12. Game three was a struggle. The visiting Lakers were outplayed and late in the game were lucky to have the ball one last time in a scoreless game. Following a sideline prayer, the kids took the field and scored on a Hail Mary pass into the end zone as time expired, winning 8-0.
LMC breezed through its next four games, outscoring opponents 184-18. Their next foe took them away to play their rival for the league championship. Trailing 14-18 with time running out, it looked as though the dream season was about to come to an end. I was again called upon for a sideline prayer before the team returned to the field. As in game three, an impossible, miraculous razzle dazzle play nailed the win, 20-18. The team and fans were jubilant in celebration, but paused in the end zome in prayer to thank God - and Jennifer - for making their season possible.
The last game of the season was to qualify for the state playoffs. The ratings did not favor the Lakers making post season play but they needed a win to have any chance at an invitation. Once again LMC found itself down 0-3 late in the game. For the third time a sideline prayer and a miraculous play pulled the game out, 6-3. Luck finally ran out, however, as their perfect season did not earn them their berth for a bid at a state championship. If they had, I have no doubt this group of kids would have won it all.
The kids believed that God - and Jennifer - was with them that fall and that was all the inspiration they needed to experience the impossible.
A question to ponder as you consider this post is...
When have you experienced the impossible in your life and what was your inspiration?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Change
Featured Grownups With Content is asking members to consider a post this weekend on the theme of change. I think this is a great idea, so belatedly here is my contribution...
I wonder why change frightens people so. Afterall, everything that is continuously unfolds. Nothing remains constant. Growth. Evolution. Journey. Change. That's life!
That we fight change seems on the surface to be human nature. We are most comfortable when we are in our element, when we surround ourselves in the familiar. And so we stubbornly cling to the things in our life that have always been. At work the answer to why we do what we do is all too often little more than because its the way things have always been done. For some, the effort to fight change is so intense and persistent that they find themselves engaged in weekly visits to their psychotherapist and looking for the elusive pill that will bring happiness. But how can one find true happiness while living life contrary to nature?
Attitude and perspective are critical in keeping our emotions in check. Emotional discord or restlessness is the culprit most likely to rob us of a sense of wholeness and peace. It is important therefore to look at change maturely and with the right attitude. Change isn't the enemy. It's our friend.
Through embracing change instead of fighting it we can own the direction our life takes as it inevitably unfolds. When we face each new day anticipating our progress along the journey and greeting the changes taken place that leave us so much more than what we were the day before we will have learned to harness the power and beauty of change.
A question to ponder as you consider this post is...
Looking back, has resistence to change ever made a positive contribution to your life?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
I wonder why change frightens people so. Afterall, everything that is continuously unfolds. Nothing remains constant. Growth. Evolution. Journey. Change. That's life!
That we fight change seems on the surface to be human nature. We are most comfortable when we are in our element, when we surround ourselves in the familiar. And so we stubbornly cling to the things in our life that have always been. At work the answer to why we do what we do is all too often little more than because its the way things have always been done. For some, the effort to fight change is so intense and persistent that they find themselves engaged in weekly visits to their psychotherapist and looking for the elusive pill that will bring happiness. But how can one find true happiness while living life contrary to nature?
Attitude and perspective are critical in keeping our emotions in check. Emotional discord or restlessness is the culprit most likely to rob us of a sense of wholeness and peace. It is important therefore to look at change maturely and with the right attitude. Change isn't the enemy. It's our friend.
Through embracing change instead of fighting it we can own the direction our life takes as it inevitably unfolds. When we face each new day anticipating our progress along the journey and greeting the changes taken place that leave us so much more than what we were the day before we will have learned to harness the power and beauty of change.
A question to ponder as you consider this post is...
Looking back, has resistence to change ever made a positive contribution to your life?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Special Place, Sacred Space
While camping with my family in the summer of 1959, an 8 year old Don took off on a hike into the woods and discovered a bluff overlooking the bend in a river in the northern lower peninsula of Michigan. This place has captured my imagination ever since and whenever I visit I feel at home there. Being there brings me into the presence of the transcedent God and Mother Earth. Sitting on the bluff I feel small in the scheme of life and at the same time large in the knowledge that there is a unique yet significant role I am destined to play. I have returned to my special place several times and spend time there whenever I find my life in some kind of transition.
We need special places and sacred spaces because we need to step out of the rat race of life to focus and gain perspective. We need a place where all of life’s distractions can be left behind while we focus on the two most important relationships of our existence - our God and our inner self.
Special places and sacred spaces can take many forms, from an actual geographical place like my bluff overlooking the riverbend to an altar we've created in the corner of a room. Or it may be a mystical inner place we find and can return to through meditation.
This weekend's question...
Where is your special place or sacred space? How often do you go there? What does going there bring you?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Cancer Sucks...
It has become real cool these days to sport at least one elastic band around your wrist. My family wears the yellow "Live Strong" wrist bracelet. We also wear buttons proclaiming "Cancer Sucks." My sister-in-law’s body is ravaged by 4th stage cancer.
It is a miracle she is still with us. The driving force in her valiant year-long battle is her 14 year old son whom she doesn’t want to leave without his mom. Like my aunt before her, she worked in the health care profession and should have recognized and acted upon the warning signs that tried to grab her attention. I'm sure things would have been handled differently if given the opportunity but life doesn’t give us "do overs."
Teresa’s life consists of trips every three weeks to the Cancer Treatment Center in Illinois for what is purportedly the most "kick ass"chemotherapy available. In between she is in and out of hospitals to deal with its complications. Now I have back problems that some day will require surgery so I have learned to live with pain but I wouldn’t embarrass myself by claiming to know the degree of pain my sister-in-law must endure every minute of her life. Then there’s the ancillary hardships that increase the burden, most pressing of which is trying to remain financially solvent in the face of rising medical bills. Computers that generate shut off notices could care less that you’re waging war for your very life.
Needless to say she gets discouraged. If you feel moved to send her a card to help lift her spirits, please send it to: Teresa Wiley, 203 Canal St., Augusta MI 49012. (It would be appreciated.)
What has happened to Teresa has been a wake-up call for me to cherish every moment and every opportunity that comes my way, to take nothing for granted. It has tempered my tendency to want to feel sorry for myself. It has given me a different perspective from which I determine my priorities. Today’s question is an invitation to share...
What wake-up calls have you received and how have they changed your life?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
It is a miracle she is still with us. The driving force in her valiant year-long battle is her 14 year old son whom she doesn’t want to leave without his mom. Like my aunt before her, she worked in the health care profession and should have recognized and acted upon the warning signs that tried to grab her attention. I'm sure things would have been handled differently if given the opportunity but life doesn’t give us "do overs."
Teresa’s life consists of trips every three weeks to the Cancer Treatment Center in Illinois for what is purportedly the most "kick ass"chemotherapy available. In between she is in and out of hospitals to deal with its complications. Now I have back problems that some day will require surgery so I have learned to live with pain but I wouldn’t embarrass myself by claiming to know the degree of pain my sister-in-law must endure every minute of her life. Then there’s the ancillary hardships that increase the burden, most pressing of which is trying to remain financially solvent in the face of rising medical bills. Computers that generate shut off notices could care less that you’re waging war for your very life.
Needless to say she gets discouraged. If you feel moved to send her a card to help lift her spirits, please send it to: Teresa Wiley, 203 Canal St., Augusta MI 49012. (It would be appreciated.)
What has happened to Teresa has been a wake-up call for me to cherish every moment and every opportunity that comes my way, to take nothing for granted. It has tempered my tendency to want to feel sorry for myself. It has given me a different perspective from which I determine my priorities. Today’s question is an invitation to share...
What wake-up calls have you received and how have they changed your life?
May peace be with you and yours...
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Are We Guilty?
Many of you know that a couple of weeks ago I embarked upon a journey to write a book, a story I am sure was placed in my hands by God herself, a book God himself wants written. This exercise has renewed my appreciation for divine inspiration. I’ll admit the bias I bring to this project. I don’t buy the use of "because that’s the way we’ve always done it" as the sole justification for anything. I believe that any time one considers an issue, a dilemma or problem, maturity of judgement requires that there is no limit to what is placed on the table of consideration. Anything great that’s ever come at any point in history was born out of an open mind. With that said, here’s a little snippet...
THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO JOHN M.
1 I didn’t set out to write a gospel. 2 But then I wasn’t expecting what happened when I visited the secret place of my childhood, a sacred space I always returned to when I found my life in transition. But more about that later. 3 What could I possibly have to say that hasn’t been said already by the four gospels of the current canon and an unfolding tradition covering two millenia? 4 But I was urged to take another look.
5 Instead of bringing the ancient and timeless truths of sacred texts forward, institutional religion at times seems more intent on placing its closed mind in a backpack and hiking back in time to justify itself. 6 I was reminded that we don’t have a gospel that concerns itself exclusively with recounting who Jesus was, what he had to say, what he asked us to consider doing and what happened to him as a result. 7 We have some of that in its purest form in the gospel of Mark which embellishes least upon the primary source Q known by all of the gospel writers. 8 By the time Matthew, Mark, Luke and John sat down to commit to writing what had been to that point an oral tradition, followers found themselves removed from eyewitnesses to the actual events that took place. 9 When they did write they faced particular challenges and circumstances that necessitated their intentional filtering of the story to address and answer those concerns. 10 The result I was told were texts that perhaps better reflected the birth and infancy of an institution than the story of the man who was its cornerstone.
Today’s question then is...
Is organized religion, our practice of faith, our religious experience, to any extent guilty of being concerned more with self-justification than it is with coming to know the heart, spirit and soul of Jesus? If so, where today do you see this playing out most?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO JOHN M.
1 I didn’t set out to write a gospel. 2 But then I wasn’t expecting what happened when I visited the secret place of my childhood, a sacred space I always returned to when I found my life in transition. But more about that later. 3 What could I possibly have to say that hasn’t been said already by the four gospels of the current canon and an unfolding tradition covering two millenia? 4 But I was urged to take another look.
5 Instead of bringing the ancient and timeless truths of sacred texts forward, institutional religion at times seems more intent on placing its closed mind in a backpack and hiking back in time to justify itself. 6 I was reminded that we don’t have a gospel that concerns itself exclusively with recounting who Jesus was, what he had to say, what he asked us to consider doing and what happened to him as a result. 7 We have some of that in its purest form in the gospel of Mark which embellishes least upon the primary source Q known by all of the gospel writers. 8 By the time Matthew, Mark, Luke and John sat down to commit to writing what had been to that point an oral tradition, followers found themselves removed from eyewitnesses to the actual events that took place. 9 When they did write they faced particular challenges and circumstances that necessitated their intentional filtering of the story to address and answer those concerns. 10 The result I was told were texts that perhaps better reflected the birth and infancy of an institution than the story of the man who was its cornerstone.
Today’s question then is...
Is organized religion, our practice of faith, our religious experience, to any extent guilty of being concerned more with self-justification than it is with coming to know the heart, spirit and soul of Jesus? If so, where today do you see this playing out most?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
What Are You Looking For?
Because there are multiple spiritual paths and each of us advances along the path of his choosing at different rates, we may not find such a common thread when considering what our number one spiritual need or hunger is. When I started to think of examples, I realized early on that such a list could be endless.
My number one spiritual hunger is for community. Since becoming a xanganian a month ago, I have met and connected with some of the most incredibly amazing people representing a vast diversity of spiritual maturity and insight. Although there can be some degree of satisfaction entering into "virtual" relationships or community, "knowing" these people has stirred a longing to surround myself with their likes. I wonder what it would be like if we could live together in a small village out in the middle of nowhere. What kind of community might be possible? Imagine being nurtured, inspired, recharged in such a place! I know such a community could help me rise and ascend to the next level.
Expressing my own greatest longing is in no way intended to stifle or limit your own reflection for it is in the richness of a diverse response that we find ourselves most enriched. In that spirit, today's question is:...
What is your number one spiritual need at this moment in your life? What represents your greatest spiritual hunger? What are you looking for?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
My number one spiritual hunger is for community. Since becoming a xanganian a month ago, I have met and connected with some of the most incredibly amazing people representing a vast diversity of spiritual maturity and insight. Although there can be some degree of satisfaction entering into "virtual" relationships or community, "knowing" these people has stirred a longing to surround myself with their likes. I wonder what it would be like if we could live together in a small village out in the middle of nowhere. What kind of community might be possible? Imagine being nurtured, inspired, recharged in such a place! I know such a community could help me rise and ascend to the next level.
Expressing my own greatest longing is in no way intended to stifle or limit your own reflection for it is in the richness of a diverse response that we find ourselves most enriched. In that spirit, today's question is:...
What is your number one spiritual need at this moment in your life? What represents your greatest spiritual hunger? What are you looking for?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Would Jesus Have Blogged?
Yesterday's discussion in The Theologian's Cafe focussed on whether xanga relationships helped or hindered real life relationships. Taking the discussion one step further, I began to wonder if God had sent a Jesus or Muhammad or Buddha to us today, would they have had a xanga? Would they have used their xanga to share their message? How would they have promoted their xanga?
Let's face it. Not too many of us nowadays make our living as fishermen. We don't walk or ride the back of an ass to journey to our place of worship. We don't challenge ourselves spiritually by going to the river bank to repent at the hands of a guy who eats locusts and wears camel skin. Quite frankly, folks back then couldn't possibly have imagined life as we know it today with blogs, cell phones and text messaging. Yet our spiritual quest takes us back to such a time and place to try to figure out what we are to do in the day and age in which we find ourselves.
I'd like to pose a series of questions based on this general theme...
If Jesus, Muhammad or Buddha walked among us today, would they have a xanga to help promote their teachings and their path? How would they promote their xanga? Would anyone notice? What today would trouble them the most? In a nutshell, what would their message be?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Let's face it. Not too many of us nowadays make our living as fishermen. We don't walk or ride the back of an ass to journey to our place of worship. We don't challenge ourselves spiritually by going to the river bank to repent at the hands of a guy who eats locusts and wears camel skin. Quite frankly, folks back then couldn't possibly have imagined life as we know it today with blogs, cell phones and text messaging. Yet our spiritual quest takes us back to such a time and place to try to figure out what we are to do in the day and age in which we find ourselves.
I'd like to pose a series of questions based on this general theme...
If Jesus, Muhammad or Buddha walked among us today, would they have a xanga to help promote their teachings and their path? How would they promote their xanga? Would anyone notice? What today would trouble them the most? In a nutshell, what would their message be?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Who Is Your Spiritual Mentor?
Yesterday many wrote in their xangas about their memories of 9/11 and its impact. As we searched our collective soul in its immediate aftermath, we enjoyed a heightened awareness of something that is ordinarily lacking in our experience - heroes. Real life heroes. We became acquainted with a lot of heroes as their stories were told and retold and the inspiration born of their heroism helped heal our nation.
I have noticed recently some xangas discussing their expectations of spiritual guides, advisors or mentors. Do these comments about what we would like to see in a good spiritual mentor suggest that there is currently a void? Who are our spiritual heroes?
My question today is:...
Do you have a spiritual mentor? If so, who is it? Would you be willing to tell the story of your spiritual mentor to inspire members of the xanga community in their spiritual growth?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
I have noticed recently some xangas discussing their expectations of spiritual guides, advisors or mentors. Do these comments about what we would like to see in a good spiritual mentor suggest that there is currently a void? Who are our spiritual heroes?
My question today is:...
Do you have a spiritual mentor? If so, who is it? Would you be willing to tell the story of your spiritual mentor to inspire members of the xanga community in their spiritual growth?
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Life After Death
AN OPEN INVITATION TO ALL QUANTUM PHYSICISTS AND STRING THEORISTS: With the exception of allusions to your field by the likes of Wayne Dyer and Marianne Williamson, I plead relative ignorance and invite you to weigh in on the thoughts I share today.
Doesn’t science teach that all matter is made up of particles that are in constant motion? Nothing is static. All matter therefore is alive in the sense it is continuously in process, continuously unfolding. Even after I die and life as I know it expires, what remains is matter that will continue to evolve even as my physical body decomposes.
And how about that which I cannot see... my thoughts, my ideas, my feelings, my longings, my will? Most of us have experienced intuition at work, knowing or sensing something without seeing or without prior knowledge. How can this be unless these too are made up of particles and therefore enjoy an existence of their own? And if this is the case, then they too are continuous, in process, ever unfolding.
I am awed by the cyclical rhythm that encompasses nature. Living in the midwest, the seasons illustrate this rhythm for me each year as I take in the shoots, buds and blossoms of spring, the abundance and fullness of summer, the transformation and harvest of autumn and the dormancy and stillness of winter. I witness the mild, balmy freshness of spring’s wind and the refreshing nurture of her rain marking the season of newness and promise. I experience the brightness and warmth of summer’s sun call forth the season of activity, enjoyment and play. I feel the crispness of autumn’s air return and behold the unparalleled splendor of fall’s colorful fireworks ushering in the season of recollection and melancholy. I prepare to be blanketed by winter’s snowy darkness in the season of repose. Every year the seasons retell nature’s story of life and makes me a participant.
I also hold in wonder nature’s way of reconstituting herself. Every summer newscasts flash images of fighting wildfires out west. A trip to Wyoming in the fall of 2000 made it all real to me as I saw and was saddened by the magnitude of devastation. But what seems like death and destruction is actually nature renewing herself for in the midst of the charred scars left in the wake of disaster emerges the shoots of new life. In the midwest there are hints of the same renewal along countless paths taken by tornados. My faith reassures me we will witness the same along the gulf coast devastated by Katrina’s fury.
The testimony of nature both consoles me and enlightens me that even though I love life fully, I need never fear death. Death is never an end. It is merely another passage in the continual unfolding and renewal of life. I believe something of me existed before I was born and something of me, something very real, will live on even after my death.
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Doesn’t science teach that all matter is made up of particles that are in constant motion? Nothing is static. All matter therefore is alive in the sense it is continuously in process, continuously unfolding. Even after I die and life as I know it expires, what remains is matter that will continue to evolve even as my physical body decomposes.
And how about that which I cannot see... my thoughts, my ideas, my feelings, my longings, my will? Most of us have experienced intuition at work, knowing or sensing something without seeing or without prior knowledge. How can this be unless these too are made up of particles and therefore enjoy an existence of their own? And if this is the case, then they too are continuous, in process, ever unfolding.
I am awed by the cyclical rhythm that encompasses nature. Living in the midwest, the seasons illustrate this rhythm for me each year as I take in the shoots, buds and blossoms of spring, the abundance and fullness of summer, the transformation and harvest of autumn and the dormancy and stillness of winter. I witness the mild, balmy freshness of spring’s wind and the refreshing nurture of her rain marking the season of newness and promise. I experience the brightness and warmth of summer’s sun call forth the season of activity, enjoyment and play. I feel the crispness of autumn’s air return and behold the unparalleled splendor of fall’s colorful fireworks ushering in the season of recollection and melancholy. I prepare to be blanketed by winter’s snowy darkness in the season of repose. Every year the seasons retell nature’s story of life and makes me a participant.
I also hold in wonder nature’s way of reconstituting herself. Every summer newscasts flash images of fighting wildfires out west. A trip to Wyoming in the fall of 2000 made it all real to me as I saw and was saddened by the magnitude of devastation. But what seems like death and destruction is actually nature renewing herself for in the midst of the charred scars left in the wake of disaster emerges the shoots of new life. In the midwest there are hints of the same renewal along countless paths taken by tornados. My faith reassures me we will witness the same along the gulf coast devastated by Katrina’s fury.
The testimony of nature both consoles me and enlightens me that even though I love life fully, I need never fear death. Death is never an end. It is merely another passage in the continual unfolding and renewal of life. I believe something of me existed before I was born and something of me, something very real, will live on even after my death.
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Longing
I wonder what kind of objections (if any) would be raised if I were to claim that one of, if not the, most important goals in life is to find fulfillment... Fufillment of heart, spirit and soul. Fulfillment implies reaching my destination, achieving my goals. It indicates the end of the quest and the cessation of all longing and hunger. It seems that fulfillment is the harvest of the spiritual quest. But is fulfillment even possible? Does fulfillment exist?
Looking back at my childhood, whenever a birthday or Christmas neared, there was always one gift that I wanted more than any other. Something I just had to have. The toy that would complete my life. I was fortunate (or spoiled) to get that one gift most of the time. But something curious happened. "It" didn't turn out to be "all that." Not long after gaining that which I wanted most I found it no longer captured my interest or fascination. The one thing that was to have completed my life merely gave rise to the next longing.
This irony continued to play out as my life unfolded. When I graduated from high school and left the family nest to claim the world and greet my new life under the power of my own wings, I thought I was sure I had arrived. Fulfillment. But the initial taste of freedom and autonomy only gave rise to further longings. I set out to find success... a good job, a position of prominence, sufficient wealth to live a comfortable life.
But this didn't lead to fulfillment either. I discovered that, even if I were to acquire every possession I ever wanted, if I had no one to share it with I had nothing. And so my quest for fulfillment led me to look for a soul mate with whom I could build my own nest and raise a family. But fulfillment remained elusive and so I set out to show the world that it couldn't realize its full potential without me.
Is fulfillment possible? Certainly if fulfillment were real, it would be something GOD experiences. But does He? I can't imagine a Divine Creator or a Divine Author pausing to take a look at nature, the world and all that inhabits it, or even (or especially) humanity and feeling "fulfilled." There is no way the created reflects what GOD intended it to be. However disappointed, frustrated or yes, even angry, GOD hasn't given up on us yet. Thus not even GOD knows fulfillment. Instead He is driven by longing.
Longing is what keeps life unfolding in the direction of something that will remain beyond our reach - fulfillment. Longing gives birth to hope and dreams. Longing is what motivates us. Longing, not fulfillment, is the most important goal for without it we would cease to be.
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Looking back at my childhood, whenever a birthday or Christmas neared, there was always one gift that I wanted more than any other. Something I just had to have. The toy that would complete my life. I was fortunate (or spoiled) to get that one gift most of the time. But something curious happened. "It" didn't turn out to be "all that." Not long after gaining that which I wanted most I found it no longer captured my interest or fascination. The one thing that was to have completed my life merely gave rise to the next longing.
This irony continued to play out as my life unfolded. When I graduated from high school and left the family nest to claim the world and greet my new life under the power of my own wings, I thought I was sure I had arrived. Fulfillment. But the initial taste of freedom and autonomy only gave rise to further longings. I set out to find success... a good job, a position of prominence, sufficient wealth to live a comfortable life.
But this didn't lead to fulfillment either. I discovered that, even if I were to acquire every possession I ever wanted, if I had no one to share it with I had nothing. And so my quest for fulfillment led me to look for a soul mate with whom I could build my own nest and raise a family. But fulfillment remained elusive and so I set out to show the world that it couldn't realize its full potential without me.
Is fulfillment possible? Certainly if fulfillment were real, it would be something GOD experiences. But does He? I can't imagine a Divine Creator or a Divine Author pausing to take a look at nature, the world and all that inhabits it, or even (or especially) humanity and feeling "fulfilled." There is no way the created reflects what GOD intended it to be. However disappointed, frustrated or yes, even angry, GOD hasn't given up on us yet. Thus not even GOD knows fulfillment. Instead He is driven by longing.
Longing is what keeps life unfolding in the direction of something that will remain beyond our reach - fulfillment. Longing gives birth to hope and dreams. Longing is what motivates us. Longing, not fulfillment, is the most important goal for without it we would cease to be.
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Diversity
In some circles diversity is feared. Closely aligned with affirmative action, diversity is taken as a threat to the status and standing of the majority. Some people really believe that unless you look like or talk "American", you don't belong here. Lost in this view is any connection to the origins of our nation as the "melting pot" of the world.
The real gift and beauty of diversity is its inherent irony. It opens our mind to the richness of human experience and opens our eyes to the fact that, no matter how different from each other we may seem on the surface, we are fundamentally one united by the same longings of the heart. Imagine the impact genuine diversity could have on the face of the earth... if instead of fearing each other we embraced each other in partnership in this thing we call "life." Diversity is a spiritual value that cries out to be an alternative to the "do it the way of the mighty and powerful" attitude prevalent in today's world.
Sisters and brothers all are we!
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
The real gift and beauty of diversity is its inherent irony. It opens our mind to the richness of human experience and opens our eyes to the fact that, no matter how different from each other we may seem on the surface, we are fundamentally one united by the same longings of the heart. Imagine the impact genuine diversity could have on the face of the earth... if instead of fearing each other we embraced each other in partnership in this thing we call "life." Diversity is a spiritual value that cries out to be an alternative to the "do it the way of the mighty and powerful" attitude prevalent in today's world.
Sisters and brothers all are we!
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Ripples
There’s an almost poetic quality to the image of a stone cast out upon the water setting into motion a series of ripples from the point of impact. The size of the stone and manner of impact determines the rhythm and shape of the rippling. Though they fade as they journey outward, the ripples are felt nonetheless along whatever route they take. Even should they encounter something that alters their pattern or course, they continue on into time nevertheless.
Every thought and every act likewise sends forth ripples out into the universe. We cannot therefore take the consequences of our actions lightly for they potentially color, alter or shape the course of history. Tremendous responsibility is placed on us when we consider the scope of influence of our thoughts and actions.
9/11 was a defining moment in history and has forever changed the way we view life and interact with the world. Our collective innocense and naivete was replaced by anger and fear. The ripples set into motion when the towers fell will continue to gently pass over us and color our experience forever.
We likewise cannot underestimate the effect the ripples of our nation’s policy will have both upon us and our world. In a climate where the electorate has indicated a concern for moral values, it has been sad to watch our president’s seriocomic attempts to redefine and place a noble spin on our involvement in Iraq. The real tragedy is the rippling effect of our presence there is stirring up so much more cynicism, ill regard and outright hatred for our country and its intentions than any good that could possibly come from it. We cannot beat the world over the head with our might in an attempt to pound it into submission to our will and at the same time hold on to any hope that the world will come to respect us.
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Every thought and every act likewise sends forth ripples out into the universe. We cannot therefore take the consequences of our actions lightly for they potentially color, alter or shape the course of history. Tremendous responsibility is placed on us when we consider the scope of influence of our thoughts and actions.
9/11 was a defining moment in history and has forever changed the way we view life and interact with the world. Our collective innocense and naivete was replaced by anger and fear. The ripples set into motion when the towers fell will continue to gently pass over us and color our experience forever.
We likewise cannot underestimate the effect the ripples of our nation’s policy will have both upon us and our world. In a climate where the electorate has indicated a concern for moral values, it has been sad to watch our president’s seriocomic attempts to redefine and place a noble spin on our involvement in Iraq. The real tragedy is the rippling effect of our presence there is stirring up so much more cynicism, ill regard and outright hatred for our country and its intentions than any good that could possibly come from it. We cannot beat the world over the head with our might in an attempt to pound it into submission to our will and at the same time hold on to any hope that the world will come to respect us.
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
"Saved"
I haven't posted in a couple of days because GOD has been hard at work in my life. As a result, I find myself more excited and anticipative about what lies ahead than I have been in a long, long time. This morning I was saved.
I recall a comment recently blanket posted by a rather zealous Christian across xangas associated with a spiritual themed blogring. In it tyler_is_not_important used the usual fundamentalistic lexicon about the need to be saved and the necessity of inviting Jesus into my heart as my personal savior in order to share in the redemptive/salvific benefits of the cross. There are committed christians everywhere who can time, date and circumstance stamp the moment each was "saved."
I believe whole-heartedly that Jesus was more than a mere historical figure and that his life and teachings draw us closer into the experience of GOD than was available to man before him. That in Jesus GOD took on our humanity, walked in our shoes and embraced the totality of our human experience, including the warts, flaws and cracks - even suffering and death - is what the incarnation is all about. I believe there is redemptive value to the life of Jesus and that the more intimately one enters into a relationship with him the richer the level of meaning and purpose his or her life can acquire. I believe that any salvific value to the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus, i.e "the cross," is a matter of grace and therefore subject to GOD's rules rather than man's. Given the countless ways and ceaseless efforts of the Creator throughout history to reach out to the created in search of a relationship and the myriad ways the created have found to turn away is a testament to the immensity and generosity of GOD's grace.
I guess this all boils down to my feeling "saved" by GOD many times - today included - and I can only hope there are many more! I woke up this morning keenly aware that GOD had a special task in mind and had chosen me to carry it out - to write a book GOD wants written! Thinking I was just going to sleep in on a lazy Saturday morning, when I awoke my mind was too busy with the flood of inspiration and ideas that danced within it. I have long felt that writing was to be a part of who or what I am all about and this morning GOD put his stamp of approval on it. Oh how good it is to feel that you have a special purpose, that what you have been chosen to do is vitally important and that GOD is at your side to give you whatever it takes to bring it all to fruition! Today I feel... "saved!"
And may all of you too be "saved," finding yourselves called to a special purpose only you can fulfill!
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
I recall a comment recently blanket posted by a rather zealous Christian across xangas associated with a spiritual themed blogring. In it tyler_is_not_important used the usual fundamentalistic lexicon about the need to be saved and the necessity of inviting Jesus into my heart as my personal savior in order to share in the redemptive/salvific benefits of the cross. There are committed christians everywhere who can time, date and circumstance stamp the moment each was "saved."
I believe whole-heartedly that Jesus was more than a mere historical figure and that his life and teachings draw us closer into the experience of GOD than was available to man before him. That in Jesus GOD took on our humanity, walked in our shoes and embraced the totality of our human experience, including the warts, flaws and cracks - even suffering and death - is what the incarnation is all about. I believe there is redemptive value to the life of Jesus and that the more intimately one enters into a relationship with him the richer the level of meaning and purpose his or her life can acquire. I believe that any salvific value to the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus, i.e "the cross," is a matter of grace and therefore subject to GOD's rules rather than man's. Given the countless ways and ceaseless efforts of the Creator throughout history to reach out to the created in search of a relationship and the myriad ways the created have found to turn away is a testament to the immensity and generosity of GOD's grace.
I guess this all boils down to my feeling "saved" by GOD many times - today included - and I can only hope there are many more! I woke up this morning keenly aware that GOD had a special task in mind and had chosen me to carry it out - to write a book GOD wants written! Thinking I was just going to sleep in on a lazy Saturday morning, when I awoke my mind was too busy with the flood of inspiration and ideas that danced within it. I have long felt that writing was to be a part of who or what I am all about and this morning GOD put his stamp of approval on it. Oh how good it is to feel that you have a special purpose, that what you have been chosen to do is vitally important and that GOD is at your side to give you whatever it takes to bring it all to fruition! Today I feel... "saved!"
And may all of you too be "saved," finding yourselves called to a special purpose only you can fulfill!
© Copyright 2005 gentlefootprint. All Rights Reserved.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
