Advent 1

Sister Clair Joy offers this portrait of Mary and Elizabeth, celebrating "one elusive moment of joy and wonder," as we begin this season of Advent. (thanks to Image and Spirit)

I did a Google search expecting to find an appropriate image of an Advent wreath with a solitary lit candle. I also considered stopping and unpacking my decorations to find the Advent wreath my Mom gave to me many years ago - St. Francis and the animals - how did she know way back then? - and snapping a photo of it. In the end I searched on "Advent 1" and came across this image.

Language disappeared and my gut emotional reaction to the image informed me that this was what I was looking for - the image, the emotion, the feeling of Advent.

It will come as no surprise that I find much of what is left of the public celebration of Advent/Christmas almost repulsive. In the mysterious workings of the Holy Spirit, I find myself finishing up a rereading of Brave New World by Aldous Huxley on this very Sunday.

Much of what we remember of the plot focuses on the decanting of humans into categories of workers, the abhorrence of childbirth and motherhood, the worship of all things Ford. What I discovered, however, in this middle-aged rereading, is the corporate consumerism essential to this dystopian future. The "conditioning" process of the children includes the reinforcement that to mend and reuse is anti-social ("stitches mean no riches"). Society encourages a disposable, throw away model. Only games that require the players to buy much necessary accoutrement are encouraged. Only activities that require the repeated use of transportation are acceptable.

If all of this is sounding uncomfortably familiar then you are a long way towards understanding my personal angst with how we "celebrate" Christmas.

I have a series of Facebook posts/comments up at the moment in which I rail against the militant atheists hell bent on destroying religion/spirituality. For example, Greta Christina posted this piece on AlterNet. I started by questioning why these folks don't begin by suggesting a moratorium on these "Christian/Pagan" holidays. A very lively discussion evolved that wound down with a request from me via my status update to all to share what they find aesthetically pleasing this time of year.

This is the pregnant time of year. A season of expecting. The result will be new birth - new life - the return of the light - hope as salvation (that is to say the life affirming "saving" strength we get from renewed hope). In the Christian tradition superimposed on the pagan tradition, that hope--that light--comes in the form of a new born baby boy.

The days grow shorter, the light grows dimmer, we are facing the darkness of another winter season. Listen to the things people say this time of year - the emotional battening down of the hatches - the digging in for the long haul.

Our ancestors lived in fear that the light was leaving for good - that if we were not worthy, the warmth of Spring would not return - we still live with that fear metaphorically, these days more so than ever. Will that important job ever materialize? Will we manage to keep our homes? Will our soldiers ever come home? It goes on and on and on...our fear and anxiety. Will the darkness never end...will the light stay away for good this time.

And so in Advent we wait in the growing darkness. We prepare ourselves.

I have always been a bit envious of my Jewish friends who have a real New Year's holiday - one with spiritual meaning beyond amateur night at the bar. With Rosh Hoshana their year begins again - they are given another chance at living their lives in a more perfect way, a more loving way, a more holy way.

Advent 1 - today - is our New Year's Day on our Liturgical Calendar. It rings in the season that will continue until the Christ child is born. Our Jewish brothers and sisters celebrate their sense of renewal in a matter of days. We have an entire season and it has become buried under the weight of too much "Christmas."

Much of the religious Christmas music is liturgically meant for the 12 Days of Christmas which begin on December 25 and continue through Epiphany. By pushing the Christmas celebration ever earlier on the secular calendar - Advent becomes more and more obscure. In the end we lose that sense of renewal and rebirth - the celebration of the return of the light - the defeat of the darkness.

Christmas becomes one helluva party - no more relevant to our spiritual well being than our secular New Year's Holiday on January 1st. As my friend Michael says, "It's fun."

I have posted before on the need for ritual -- the need for the mystical. This need is not counter to rationalism - rationalism also serves it's purpose - it brings us medicine, electricity, green energy, political discourse. But just as children need to have art and music and storytelling along side their math and science in school, I believe that humanity needs its spiritual traditions.

When we lose all of that - if Greta Cristina et al have their way - we will truly be living in a Brave New World. Peace.

Silence Is Golden

Those of you of a certain age remember when television stations signed off for the night, playing the national anthem, and then ending up broadcasting a test pattern before sometimes cutting their signal completely.

As a young kid in the early 1970's, one of the biggest of the "big kid" rituals was staying up late, past your bedtime. If you managed to stay up late enough, you watched as the five or six stations all shut down for the night.

It was a magical point of the day. Your parents were asleep. Your younger siblings were asleep. There you were in a totally quiet house and even television was gone for the night. My preference for silence must have started at a young age.

I remember one time spending the night at the next door neighbors' house ,and Adam, Chris and I were determined to stay up all night - that was the next "big kid" level beyond just staying up late. It must have been during summer vacation, because the sun rose fairly early and we snuck out of the house and went for a walk.

We went all the way down our road to 55th Street which is normally a busy street, but at 5AM on a Sunday in the summer in 1975 it was completely empty. The streets were empty, like some apocalyptic horror movie. We did push ups in the middle of the intersection. Once again the silence, the stillness, was captivating.

Regular readers will know that I live in a log cabin in the woods with only two nearby houses. I don't have television. I have managed to create a life style that captures that early morning stillness all the time. This is the monastic part of me. This is the Enneagram Five part of me. "The world is invasive, I need my privacy." I often want nothing more than to shrink my world down to my home, sometimes even to a small portion of my home.

There's a significant irony here. Did you see the recent news reports on the man who was believed to be in a coma for twenty-three years? Apparently he has been conscious the entire time, but unable to move and communicate with his family. I almost began to hyperventilate reading the story. To be completely trapped in one's own body would be the ultimate horror.

Somewhere between shrinking my world down to a couple of rooms, but before shrinking it down to just an immobile body, is my ideal. That, of course, is why I am drawn to the Carthusian monks. It is probably a good thing that I am too old to join their order. I can dream about it without it being a serious possibility.

I was to be in Chicago for Thanksgiving today. Through a mis-communication I ended up having to cancel my trip. My mom was sad, my dad was crying. They were very disappointed. My mom has subsequently posted on Facebook today about her memories of the big gatherings on this holiday at my great-grandmother's house on the South Side of Chicago and my grandmother's house on the North Side. My unexpected absence brought on some wistful memories and wishing for holidays past. They both were looking forward to having their four kids together for a holiday gathering and that didn't happen. That is perhaps my biggest regret about the cancellation.

However, scattered across the Facebook newsfeed are multiple comments about those unfortunates who are alone today without family or friends. The sentiments are genuine, but I think they also project their own fears of solitude and loneliness.

In the end, I chose to stay home with the dogs (and cats and rabbits and fish) rather than go to one of the gatherings occurring in the area where I know I would have been welcome. I've been playing quiet music on iTunes. I have a toasty warm fire going in the fireplace/wood stove. I'm still in my pajamas.

I experimented and made what I will call Turkey Soup a la Brussels. I found some chicken backs and some freezer burned turkey and some overly frozen brussel sprouts and whipped together an interesting soup that is reminiscent of split pea - but with pureed brussel sprouts and turkey. I topped it with croutons and opened up a can of jellied cranberry sauce. It was delicious and probably low cal to boot. I have had a wonderful, peaceful day despite the disappointment of a canceled trip.

When I was in nursing school, one of the instructor's taught me an important lesson: Don't assume the widow is sad. She just might be relieved that the old bastard finally kicked off! This might be the first day of her freedom.

Well, to that adage I would add, don't assume the solitary soul is sad and lonely. Many folks out there are sad and lonely and the "holiDAZE" only aggravate their situation. There are some of us though that live with this kind of solitude all the time and relish the silence. It is golden.

I know that I am loved. I know that I have friends who care about me. If I did not, spending Thanksgiving with a group of people - ANY group of people - would not alleviate that pain. To all of you, my friends and family, cyber and real or both - I am thankful for the love you bring to the table for our daily feast. Peace.

Grasping For The Brass Ring...

...only to discover it's made of cheap plastic.

This is a notorious clip of then Governor Sarah Palin performing a common political stunt "ritual" this time of year. I can't get it out of my head. I made some snarky status update over on Facebook about Joe Lieberman and my new Profile Pic as a turkey and a link to this You Tube video made it into the comments.

It is so easy to pick on Sarah Palin and to see this video clip as just another Palin gaffe. However, what really made my head spin was thinking that this clip is a perfect metaphor for life in this corporate republic these days. By now I hope you've watched the entire video clip. Sarah Palin has chosen a turkey farm in her hometown as the local for picking a turkey to "pardon" before Thanksgiving 2008.

First off let me say that I watched this video within hours of reading that the Governor of Texas, Rick Perry, had allowed an execution to stand despite the recommendation of the Texas Board of Pardons for clemency. For the first time this "harmless ritual" seemed rather offensive in light of continued capital punishment throughout the nation. I'm not trying to be overly P.C. here - but politicians regularly make a big HA HA joke about pardoning the turkey before the execution. It's kind of sick really...unless you think that capital punishment is joke worthy.

This wasn't meant to be a rant against capital punishment and "pardoning" turkeys, however. What I began to see in this video clip is a reenactment of much of the crap we are fed regularly from our leaders. Sarah Palin, the politician, is making a big show of pardoning a turkey at this turkey farm that is set up to butcher turkeys. As she continues to speak, we are witness to actual turkey slaughter continuing to occur behind her.

The juxtaposition of a meaningless "pardon" - like the turkey will really go off and live a better life after this - with the continuing "executions" in the background reminds me of so much of the theater we call politics. Substitute President Obama for Sarah Palin. Instead of pardoning a turkey, he's peddling his bailout of Wall Street, and in the background we see the head of Goldman Sachs continuing to hand out million dollar bonus checks to the upper echelons of the firm.

This is how things work in the United States. The alluring promise represents the brass ring in the title. (The link will explain what brass rings were all about.) So much of what we experience is just stuff and nonsense--pardoning turkeys while the real butchering continues unabated.

Mark my words, what will finally emerge as "health care reform" will really end up looking like quite the boondoggle for the insurance companies. The Change We Can Believe In was not universal. Much of the scary inflated Executive Branch privileges and powers implemented by W. have been kept in place. The wars are still continuing; Guantanamo is still open, no one talks about Bagram Air Base, however; the men who got us into the financial mess are running the show for the President.

The Great Oz just keeps on plugging along - pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. Pretend you don't see the blood draining from the butchered turkeys - after all, one Tom has been "pardoned and so everything is just fine. Hey, live it up a little! The recession's over after all. Peace.


There they go again, damn progressive trouble makers, can't they just leave well enough alone?

The Importance of Ritual

What I feel may be lacking in the lives of my many atheist friends and family members is a sense of the mystical. Rational thought only can carry us to a certain point - rational thought does not help us process tremendous grief.

Earlier in the day, the vet offered to keep Cosmo alive on the table until I could get there if (as in fact it was the case) they found such disease that I decided not to have them wake him up from the anesthesia.

When I received the call, I realized that what I had to say to Cosmo no longer needed breath in his body. My spirit could speak to his spirit regardless, and so I told them to let him go and that I would be there to collect him within the hour.

When I arrived there was a candle lit at the counter. It is likely that on surgical days, the animals make messes once they are sedated. The candle might very well serve a practical purpose. I still felt that the candle was lit for Cosmo - irrational? who the f*ck cares...

They had him laid out in the back. The vet had a large black plastic bag ready. However, she asked me how I wanted to transport him, did I need her to carry him, did I need some time alone. Tears were streaming down my face, she did her best to reassure me that what we did was the best for Cosmo. I didn't really need to be told, I knew; but the reminder helped. I also knew that there was no way I wanted my dog put into a garbage bag.

I told her we could wrap him in the plastic and then I would wrap him in my coat. I carried him out to the car and gently laid him on the passenger seat. I couldn't bring myself to stop for gas even though the warning light was on. I'll do that tomorrow morning on the way to work.

Once home, I laid him out on the bed and made preparations for what needed to be done. I knew in my heart that I needed to let the ritual unfold. I played some awesome gospel music on the stereo. I lit the three wick candle on the table - thinking of the Trinity as I lit each wick. I moved the ottoman to the open area by the table and covered it with the plastic bag.

Cosmo loved to sleep on the floor in the closet on some old sheets and a quilt. I chose a flannel sheet, folded it up and laid it out on the ottoman. I then placed Cosmo on the sheet as the music played and began sewing him up into the sheet as his shroud.

While I did this, the three other dogs each came over at different times and touched noses with Cosmo. My choice of the ottoman was so that he would be at their height while I prepared him. I have no rational doubt that they came over out of curiosity. However, the symbolism for me, the lone human present remained important. In their own way, they each said good bye.

When he was sewn up in his shroud, I carried him out onto the porch and laid him on the picnic table. I kept the other dogs inside for this next bit as much to keep them from annoying the kittens who had spent the entire day at home thus far as to allow me to stay focused on digging the grave.

I picked the south portion of the lot. I have an acre of land and the south third is wooded with a pathway that winds around that portion of the property. The southern border has a low piled rock "wall." I found a spot up near the wall and began digging.

Chris came over to help me dig. His girlfriend and baby came along and they brought Cedar, Cosmo's favorite buddy. I wanted to have Cedar present for the burial but had been self-conscious about asking. Cora sprinkled some unpopped popcorn into the open grave - sort of a food for the other side gesture. I laid him gently in the grave and covered him up. Chris put Cedar into a "sit" while Cosmo was being settled in. Chris and I then rolled a large stone over the grave and placed some other stones to protect him.

Later in the evening, my other neighbor Heidi and her daughters came over to pay their respects. Cosmo was always filching some of the stale bread Steven brought home from the bakery for the chickens, so I suggested the girls bring some to put on his grave.

We wedged the hunks of bread in between the rocks. Frankie, Zoe and Lola had followed us out to the site. After some sniffing, Lola came over and took a bite from the bread. The other dogs did the same. Those of you who practice a Eucharistic centered faith will see the symbolism as well. Rationally I realize it was simply bread on the ground, but nevertheless their actions spoke of things mystical and irrational.

Things of the spirit need not be rational. They need not be proven true. Their purpose is not about determining factual truth, but rather about seeking an expression of Truth. Peace.

Rest Well, My Little Friend...

Cosmo "Joe" Shell - August 1997 - November 2009

"...Remember, dogs are not afraid, they are not carrying anxiety and fear of the unknown. So for them it's only about whether this day holds enough companionship and ease and routine so that they would choose to have those things more than anything else and that they are able to focus on those things beyond any discomfort or pain or frustration they may feel. How great is his burden of illness this day, and does he want/need to live through this day with this burden of illness as much as I want/need him to? If I honestly believe that his condition is such, his pleasures sufficient, that he would choose to persevere, then that's the answer and we press on. If, on the other hand, I can look honestly and bravely at the situation and admit that he, with none of the fear or sadness that cripples me, would choose instead to rest, then my obligation is clear.

Because he needs to know in his giant heart, beyond any doubt, that I will have the courage to make the hard decisions on his behalf, that I will always put his peace before my own, and that I am able to love him as unselfishly as he has loved me. After many years, and so very many loved ones now living on joyously in their forever home in my heart, this is the view I take."

Cosmo came into my life on the Sunday before Labor Day weekend 2003. There had been an ad in the Mining Journal: "Free to a good home...6-year-old Schipperke..." The college student who had been hiding him illegally in her apartment because her parents no longer wanted to keep him, was forced to find him a new home.

He was always a bit on the neurotic side (kind of like his Dad), but, over the years, he shed much of his inhibitions and thoroughly enjoyed his life. More than any of my dogs, Cosmo smiled. This earned him one of his many nicknames - Smiley Joe Wiggle-Butt. Schipperkes have only stump tails so he would wag his back side vigorously to make up for it.

Cosmo loved living in the woods. Out here he could run and run and run and still want to run some more. In recent years, he would finally come home limping and I would bring him in for a time out, but he'd be ready to go out again after only a few minutes. For all his timidness, he loved to run with the big dog from next door, Cedar, and took apparent pleasure in hollering at him as they ran up and down Maple Rd.

Now he is free of pain and he can run in the woods as long as he chooses to. His spirit is here with me in my heart. He was and will always be the classic good dog. Rest well, little buddy.

Speaking In Tongues So To Speak

This is a painting of the Tower of Babel. Most of us could lay out the basics of the story. It is part of the Book of Genesis. Humanity becomes so cocksure that they decide to build a tower to the heavens. God in yet another pique of Old Testament neurosis and jealousy smashes the tower and curses humanity with multiple tongues so that they cannot ever cooperate so successfully again. That's my 60 second summary. Before I continue now, I will go to my Bible and reread the story before continuing. Perhaps you could do the same.

Not much there really, Genesis 11. Actually I was surprised - no smashing of the tower - just a confusion of the languages and a scattering across the globe. Interestingly it also follows on the heels of the Noah story just after God promising to never destroy all of humanity again. A wee bit dysfunctional this O.T. God, eh?

It's funny really how this brief episode in Genesis gets lumped in there with the really big story lines. Is this just an American curiosity courtesy of some Cecil B. DeMille Hollywood special effect that has wormed it's way into our cultural memory? Or is it something deeper? --a greater truth that touches us perhaps.

Recent events--personal, national, global--have me thinking again about how ultimately imperfect communication really is. We have this amazing gift starting with the evolution of our brains and mouths allowing us to vocalize and form auditory symbols based on sound - words that form language.

My dogs attempt to communicate - Zoe has this whine that can mean: a) I need to go outside and squat, b) I want to go outside and play, c) the water dish is empty, d) pay attention to me you have food, e) the other dog has the rawhide, Daddy, and I want it... I have to work hard to notice and interpret what it means.

I forget that I have to work nearly as hard in interpreting what other humans mean with their communication, and, with all the hard work, it is often not an exact understanding.

In addition to our abilities as a species to speak and write and read, we have invented numerous devices to share our thoughts and words - books, printing, telegraph, telephone, television, computers, the Internet, instant messaging, e-mail, Facebook, Twitter...

I add those last few as examples of how speed and convenience have trumped our efforts to explain and be exact...need we really say more than "WTF?" or "how r u?" The brilliance of Dostoevsky and Shakespeare are no less misinterpreted.

I used to think the Tower of Babel story was just about a simple little tale to explain how we ended up with different languages all over the globe and how that keeps us from communicating well. Maybe...just maybe...it is another story from the Old Testament that explains how we got to be human. How we continually strive for Truth and God and Heaven (as Robert Browning said, "A man's reach should exceed his grasp or what's a Heaven for?") and how despite our God given communication skills we repeatedly trip and fall and stumble in attempting to communicate that Truth or God or Heaven.

We end up merely speaking in tongues trying to interpret what the whine means this time.

Peace.

Achieving A Desired Outcome

Back in the day I was a Pediatric Nurse. Those of you who have dealt with children of a certain age know that once a child figures out he or she has a will of their own, they seek to exercise that will--which quite often leads to a scenario in which the parental figure requests a child to do a particular task, and the child, asserting his/her will, refuses. Once at this meeting of the unstoppable force against the immovable object - stalemate often occurs.

What we were taught in nursing was to offer the child a choice - "Do you want to take your medicine before you eat your sandwich or after you eat your sandwich?" The goal is for the child to take the medicine. It is presented in away that offers the child the illusion of a choice, when in reality a metaphorical fork in the road is placed, and both roads lead to the same destination.

Some will suggest that by starting with this example, I am suggesting that the adults below are children or child-like...rhetoric and logic were never my strong points. The above is to illustrate, on a simple level, what I believe transpires on a more complex adult level below.

There was a man that I initially admired. However, over time watching this man in action I began to question his actions to the point of e-mailing him and telling him that I believed he was very skilled at creating process that justified his agenda. In it's most simple form - namely offering the pediatric patient a limited set of choices that ultimately achieves your goal - my example above is just that.

Creating process to justify one's own agenda. Creating the illusion of group self-determination when the desired outcome is already decided by the "power brokers." I have experienced this in a number of places in my adult life. It is a form of control - control of the masses.

At my place of employment the new administration is very big on surveys conducted by outside consultants, round table discussions, anonymous hot line numbers. The illusion of group self-determination and participation. "See how much we listen to you..." Very few people are fooled by this. In the end, the financial picture is such that sacrifice is made over and over again, and, whether we like it or not, "Be glad you have a job" is the sub-text throughout.

This post isn't about my work experience really. It's about hypocrisy and mendacity.

Imagine a variation of Professor Harold Hill (a character from The Music Man. In this example though, he really does sell boys' bands - he's not a charlatan per se. Before he came to River City, Iowa, he was in another state where he worked hard at promoting boys' bands. When the time came to select a new "governor," Harold was very active in the process trying to promote a candidate who also supported boys' bands. He and those like him believed they had selected such an individual only to discover in the end that they were mistaken. The new "governor" was much less enthusiastic about bands that they believed.

So Harold was invited to come to River City where the "governor" said, "We're very much interested in boy's bands here - come on over." Now as boy's bands was Harold's bread and butter, he jumped at the chance.

Once in River City, working from the "governor's" office - he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He created educational material for the citizens of River City that instructed them in the ways of boys' bands; he participated in national boy's bands organizations. He was happier than a pig in...well, you know what I mean.

One day the "governor" was suddenly called away and River City needed to select a new "governor." Harold was now very much a part of the inner circle of the town "councilmen." Before they presented a plan to the citizens, many conversations went on behind closed doors. "We have to be sure that our next "governor" supports boys' bands as much as we do..." and the "councilmen" agreed.

Now this was a legitimate concern for the leaders of River City. The boys' band had become very important to the citizens, but it was especially important for Harold Hill - after all, he made his living off of boys' bands and all the essential accouterments that went with boys' bands. He didn't want a repeat of what happened in the other state. He felt rather settled amidst the good people of River City, so he proposed a radical solution. "We need to revise the way we select our "governor." In fact, we need to find away to implement band into the very office of "governor." and the council members agreed.

For the next few months, until the annual town meeting, Harold and some assistants mapped out what they felt the town needed - a "governor's committee" grounded in boys' band principles - they laid out exactly how they felt that the process should occur. In fact, they skillfully developed a process that would justify their desired outcome.

At the town meeting, the citizens were informed of the new idea - looking at a new way of selecting a "governor" - "...because it is very important that we get just the right "governor" who understands the boys' band philosophy that is so much a part of who we are..." "In the coming weeks, each neighborhood will hold a meeting to discuss this plan after watching a carefully prepared DVD that explains why this is so important."

A special group of citizens were gathered together to look at the results of the neighborhood meetings and interpret the notes, and then work out exactly what the "governor's committee" would look like. Harold made sure to attend the first few sessions of this special group to make sure they got started on the right foot. Of course, the well crafted process had already begun for the citizens were to look at how the special "governor's committee" might work - not whether or not we should have one at all.

Any potential criticism was squelched by the repeated suggestion that the overwhelming work load of a single "governor" is what lead to the sudden departure of our last "governor" -- we don't want that to happen again, right? The previous "governor" had been so beloved and his departure so unexpected, that no one questioned this logic.

The special citizens' group met behind closed doors and periodically released information sheets that explained their progress. All along, the talking points included the importance of finding someone who (1) really really really understood boys' band philosophy and (2) really really really understood us...perhaps you can see where this is headed?

Eventually the group announced that in the name of true boys' band philosophy they would not hold a conventional election - rather they would determine the final candidate for "governor" as well as the make up of the "governor's committee." When the representatives of the citizens gathered to "vote" they would have the opportunity to affirm the "committee" or reject the "committee" - thumbs up or thumbs down.

Who could they settle on who would be an expert on boys' bands and an expert on River City...who? Who would be the perfect candidate? Some of us in River City were not surprised when they settled on Harold Hill himself.

As I said before, "Harold" is very skilled at creating process that justifies his agenda...

Would you like to take your medicine before you ate your sandwich or after you eat your sandwich?

If You Are Not With Us, You Are Against Us

Both of these guys have been pissing me off lately. Senator Joe Lieberman (I-CT) and Representative Bart Stupak (D-MI) have taken positions in the health care reform debate that I have found troubling.

Bart Stupak is my representative in Congress. He leads the Pro-Life Caucus and essentially held up the vote on health care reform legislation unless he could obtain a vote on an amendment prohibiting the funding of abortions by any federal money. His amendment passed.




Sen. Lieberman is very much against a "public option" in the health care reform debate and has suggested he may actually filibuster against the party he caucuses with in the Senate - some are saying he would do that against his own party and thereby make history, though technically he is an Independent, having lost the Democratic primary in his state to a more liberal candidate and then winning re-election as an Indie.

I passed on the AlterNet linked article: "Joe Must Go." I sent scathing e-mails to Bart Stupak's office, threatening to work for any challenger he may face in the coming year. My dander was/is up and I feel stymied to act on my anger.

I've also allowed myself to be sucked back into the cyber debate over the failed selection of the candidate for bishop here in the Episcopal Diocese of Northern Michigan. The diocese held it's annual convention last weekend and finally made some public statements concerning moving forward. Unfortunately, the chair of the Standing Committee couldn't pass up the opportunity to whine about the "trial by internet" that she feels the candidate received.

One of my Facebook friends linked to a blog post at Father Jake Stops the World which I couldn't help investigating. Of course, I also couldn't help commenting either. At one point a response (which is now deleted) challenged my integrity and accused me of simply not liking the candidate. This triggered other responses from other individuals, leading to the deletion and apology. E-mail was sent. Facebook messages were sent. The pot has once again been stirred.

Today one of the local diocesan voices popped up in the comments section of the post and challenged my "characterization of the diocesan election process." It seems, though, that she was confusing my comments with some of the other comments. Most of my comments stem from not liking the candidate. I stand guilty of the accusation made by Fr. Jake.

What is not readily apparent throughout all the blogs and all the commenting and all my contributions to the dialogue is that I did not always feel this way about this individual, but came to feel this way over time while working with this individual. What has been brought into question subsequently seems to be whether I have gone about this appropriately or not.

Who was it that said, "If you are not with us, you are against us!" As I sat here tonight, feeling the return of the nervous knot in my stomach, drafting my response to post at Fr. Jake's blog, my neurotic character began to get the upper hand. I once again began to doubt what I had done and said. My ego stepped up the plate to defend myself - I was only standing up for what I believed - I gave voice to my concerns and for that I was castigated. That's when my super ego leapt up and hit me with the accusation of hypocrisy..."Yes, you were only standing up for what you believed in, just like Joe Lieberman and Bart Stupak, eh? How dare you defend yourself in that manner after condemning them!"

If only it were all that simple, eh? I have been pondering it all ever since and this blog post is the result. Angry democrats are accusing Joe Lieberman of biting the hand that has fed him. They are calling for President Obama to strip him of his committee chairmanship. Constituents and Pro-Choice voters are similarly calling for the political head of Bart Stupak. It would be easy to accuse them both of simple politicking. They are "traitors" to the party, not ethical men.

I then begin to think about how many folks in this diocese must think about me. I can only assume that my name has come up in some circles as one of the notorious bloggers who kept the "trial by internet" going. Clearly in their minds I am a "traitor" to the cause. I lack integrity. I am simply being mean spirited. In their eyes I have not been acting ethically.

What does it take to stand up against the organization and say "no?" I have been praised for my actions. I have been prayed for by those who were fearful for my safety (a bit much, I think, but appreciated none the less). I received enough "attaboys" to not be completely paranoid about what I have said on the internet on blogs and comments and in e-mails. I stand by what I have said though I am certain it has angered and probably hurt some individuals up here.

That damned super ego won't leave well enough alone though. Some critics have stated that there was ample opportunity to speak up and in their minds I did not - choosing to undermine things surreptitiously after the fact via the internet. Like my own personal Glenn Beck, the super ego has latched onto that one for the moment and is beating me with it mercilessly.

The truth of the matter is that (1) for reasons involved with his administrative behavior in the congregation I do not care for the man anymore, (2) he was a prime mover & shaker behind the process and the main author of the process, (3) I know from his own words that he left his previous diocese and came here because the man elected to be bishop did not support mutual ministry in the manner in which they were lead to believe - I believe that he was determined to never see that happen again (hence the special process), (4) we were repeatedly told that we had to be careful that we chose a bishop candidate who would be true to mutual ministry, (5) and then look who ended up selected.

I worked the process as best as I could. I asked pointed questions during the feedback session early on in my congregation. I shared my personal concerns with members of the discernment team in private conversations. At the time of the convention in 2008, I refrained from participating because I believed, as did others, that the choice was essentially a "done deal" - at least one member of the discernment team who I cannot name also felt this way - she believed that there were members of the team who wanted the candidate to be chosen and did all they could to maneuver things in that direction.

My intention was to wait and learn the results in February and if the scuttlebutt turned out to be correct, I would not be making an exit on the heels of the announcement. It came to pass and I was resolved to leave the church. Imagine my surprise then when folks out in the greater church began to pick up on some of the very issues I raised in private.

Those with whom I spoke in real time still didn't believe he wouldn't receive the required number of consents. However, his sermons and liturgies that he proudly kept posted on the churches web site began to be circulated. In the end, he did not receive the consents he needed and here we all are.

Ellie stated in her comment at Fr. Jake's blog post that I am "glad that he didn't get elected." Ellie, glad isn't the right word - I am relieved - but that's different than glad. I would have much rather preferred he recused himself from consideration as a candidate from the beginning. That simple act would have solved many, many problems.

Teh New Misses Shellz

The Naming of Cats by T.S. Eliot

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey--
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter--
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.



And so I am settling in on some good names...

UPDATE: I am pleased to announce the names of the two new kittens. They are officially christened Anne Boleyn Boudicca (fluffy with an extra toe) & Catherine Aragon Latifah (sleek). They will be casually known as Abby & Cal. Please welcome them to the family.

The Last Apple On The Tree

I am in the middle of reading Carl Honore's In Praise of Slowness. According to Honore, we are all victim to a prevalent time-sickness. He writes,

"Why, amid so much material wealth, is time-poverty so endemic? Much of the blame rests with our own mortality...we still live under the shadow of the biggest deadline of all: death. No wonder we feel that time is short and strive to make every moment count...

Time-sickness can also be a symptom of a deeper, existential malaise. Kundera things that speed helps us block out the horror and barrenness of the modern world...

Others think speed is an escape not from life but from death. Mark Kingwell, a professor of philosophy at the University of Toronto, has written...'Despite what people think, the discussion about speed is never really about the current state of technology. It goes much deeper than that, it goes back to the human desire for transcendence...It's hard to think about the fact that we're going to die; it's unpleasant, so we constantly seek ways to distract ourselves from the awareness of our own mortality.' "

He goes on to discuss various ways of incorporating slowness into our modern lives...Slow Food, Slow Cities, etc. Much of what I have read thus far is essentially my justifications for moving to Marquette put down on paper. So what about that lone apple, eh? I'm getting there...have patience.

Anne Rice is famous for her vampire novels. I attempted Interview With A Vampire a couple of times over the years and always gave up, but I am determined to give it one more try. She was very much involved in the movie production, and there is a point made in the movie about the lives of vampires that she must elaborate on in the books. As the vampires age chronologically, society--the world--moves on to a point at which the vampire is no longer able to cope. The character of Louis is important to the others because he can help them adjust to the new ages. Without his help they will fade and give up eventually, their anachronistic lives to much out of sync with the modernity they are facing.

I thought of all of this over the past couple of weeks. As I drive to and from my home I pass a number of apple trees along the way to the highway. The leaves have gradually traded their greens for yellows and oranges and then for browns before mostly flying away leaving a few stragglers and some stouthearted apples behind on the branches.

There they hang deliciously red amongst the barren branches, garnished with a few clusters of brown, crumpled leaves...waiting, ...waiting,...waiting for the fall to the ground.

My uncle's mother will turn 100 next month. She has outlived all of her lady friends. She too is waiting. My neighbor's step-father passed away this week at 98. He had fought and refused nursing home placement, leaving most of his care on the shoulders of his younger wife, Heidi's mother. I commented on how this will relieve her mother of that burden and Heidi agreed, but commented how determined he had been to make it to 100.

Why do we rush through our lives? Why are we so fearful of death? Who really wants to be that last apple on the tree? A vampire hiding away in a mausoleum completely out of sync with the world around you.

It wasn't my intention to write a bleak post about death, but rather to use this image of the last apple as a means of reevaluating how we choose to live our lives. The snows of winter wait for all of us. The fable of the ant and the grasshopper has it wrong. Enjoy life as it happens. Each day is a blessing no matter how it is spent so long as it is appreciated. There is no reward for counting up all the things that will never be done, all the places never visited. That is simply mental hoarding of pointless dreams.

Billy Dean sang about it many years ago..."Gonna hold who needs holdin', gonna mend what needs mendin', walk what needs walkin' though it means an extra mile, pray what needs prayin', say what needs sayin', cause we're only here for a little while." Peace.

Just Kidding...

When kids lash out with a mean spirited comment, perhaps at the cost of one child's esteem in order to win laughs from the rest of the crowd - human pecking order? - he or she will often attempt to wipe the slate clean with the weak, "But I was just kidding."

Let's face it. Humor usually has a bite to it. It often involves ridicule, often with good reason. Think of Tonight Show monologues, for example. There is an inherent social purpose to the humor. However, often the ridicule is deliberate and demeaning - jokes about "fags" or "polacks" or "niggers." The jokes don't have to use those actual labels to carry the spirit of those labels.

Challenge an individual and he or she may fall back on, "Relax! I was just kidding!" The inherent problem is that the situation falls somewhere on the scale between overly righteous political correctness sensitivity on the part of the "victim" and outright mean spirited racial or gender or homophobic prejudice on the part of the teller of the joke. How do we sort it out?

Power is a good place to begin. What are the power dynamics inherent in the joke? These involve the nature of the joke, the make up of the audience, and the social context in which it is told. Confused? Let me try and explain.

A joke is told at an office party about kerdoodles and their inherent pushiness and nearly everyone laughs. The group is made up primarily of kerplutzes. In fact the only kerdoodle present is an up and coming employee who has been making rapid advancement in the ranks. The joke is told "out of earshot" but quite possibly with the intent of being overheard by the kerdoodle. The power dynamic here is clear - an individual threatened by the achievement of another, uses humor to undermine the abilities of another.

The same joke is told by a group of kerplutzes at deer camp - these would be Yooper kerplutzes. There is nary a kerdoodle in sight for miles. Now this joke about the other is fostering a sense of camaraderie. Perhaps the economy has gone sour and the kerplutzes are feeling much more insecure about their financial security. The power dynamic here is more about social groups and tribal behavior - group "us-versus-them" thinking.

Finally the same joke is told at a party made up entirely of kerdoodles. The beer and wine has been flowing. They all have a good laugh. Once again the dynamic is social group and tribal in nature, but the power aspect has shifted. Self deprecating humor often seeks to rally the troops, but in a more defensive, build ourselves up manner.

The very same joke - yet clearly the first of the three scenarios is the worst due to the power dynamics involved. So who's racist here? Who's prejudiced? Simply poor taste?

My understanding of racism involves power dynamics. However, when I googled the word, the on line definitions make no mention of power. The current definitions allow for labeling any individual, act or speech as "racist" that involves the denigration of another group and the belief in the superiority of your own group. With these definitions it becomes possible for a member of a minority group to be racist.

In the past I would have argued that a member of a minority out of power cannot be truly racist as there is no oppression occuring behind the prejudice. In other words, if members of the white majority make statements or tell jokes that denigrate members of a minority - the prejudice involves maintaining the group power of the majority.

If a member of a minority out of power makes statements or tells jokes that denigrate members of the powerful majority - the prejudice is about trying to undermine the authority of the group power of the majority. Can you see the difference?

So where am I going with all this? We just made it through another Halloween. If "Just Kidding" had a holiday, it would be Halloween. And so I share the following image posted yesterday on Facebook.

Now the Upper Peninsula is incredibly white. It is likely that there wasn't a single person of color at this party. What is the "just kidding" that is going on here?

Lose the dark face and the costume can shift to poking fun at a sort of disco style - but I would bet that this individual just decided to dress up like a "black guy." Isn't that a riot? ...what? ...what's the matter?

What is really disturbing is that this is a local television celebrity, albeit at a private party. I suspect that there won't be any fallout over this, but I'm waiting to see if the images end up pulled off of Facebook. The whole thing just makes me wince.

In the end, I will likely chalk this up simply to poor taste and poor judgement (particularly in posting the image on a social network). I'm sure he was "just kidding." Peace.

I Am Keeping An Open Mind

Readers of this blog will be well aware of the health issues I have been dealing with over the past year. I was diagnosed with diabetes at about the same time I began developing stiffness/pain in my fingers and thumbs.

This has progressed to stiffness/pain in most of my joints, as well as carpal tunnel symptoms in both hands.

My blood sugars were under control very quickly, but this other problem lingers, and I wait...and wait...and wait...like refugees in Casablanca.

I used to be skeptical about the true benefits of chiropractic medicine. However, in the months following my episode with pertussis (whooping cough) three years ago, I turned to chiropractors to help with my worsening back pain (from all the coughing). Not only did they correct the back pain, they corrected the sciatica symptoms I had been experiencing, the periodic numbness I would have trailing down my leg. In fact, within a year I was no longer taking my asthma medicine.

That last point can be attributed to a number of things. However, one of the areas that they have continued to adjust involves spinal nerves that feed the lungs. As I said, "I Am Keeping An Open Mind."

The chiropractor has been recommending B Complex supplements for the carpal tunnel and has added magnesium supplements to try and address the problems with my tendons (causing the stiffness in the joints - x-rays/blood tests were unremarkable and didn't indicate inflammation). I have added both of these supplements in the past two weeks.

I friend from high school swears by organic apple cider vinegar and other friends have concurred that this has been a home remedy for generations in this country - in particular with honey. I have added that to my morning dose of cod liver oil. I can see my brothers shaking their heads already.

The most recent alternative treatment I am trying is something called VidalCell - basically a rice bran supplement. A very dear friend who is a breast cancer survivor - now two+ years past the "you have six months to live" when she refused further chemotherapy - and she swears by this product. I called it a product deliberately because I remain skeptical. My internet research suggests that rice bran is indeed a very healthy nutritional supplement. The primary issue then is simply cost - a rather high price for what you are getting. However, it appears that it is not easy to simply go out and get rice bran either.

Once again I am thinking about atheists and rationalism and medicine and faith and God and Nature and all that stuff...

I believe there is a relationship here between my faith and spirituality and my open minded approach to alternative therapies. I have little patience for dogma and absolutism from either end of the argument.

My rationalist/atheist family members and friends will likely scoff at my venturing off the traditional western medicine path. Their all powerful deity is the human brain and what they see is the infallibility of science. If there is no proof that it is not true.

They ignore the fact that science and research is often quite contradictory. Heath care and medicine continues to evolve and is heavily influenced by market capitalism. Why would we want people to get better? We can't keep selling them are pills then? We're about to lose our patent on the drug? Well, lets tweak the ingredients a bit, add a yellow stripe to the purple pill and give it a new name and charge even more!

I find it amazingly ironic that those same rationalists will often put their complete faith in the system and consume the garbage food we are being sold and swallow the expensive magic pills that are being developed.

I have ranted a bit here and have tried not to make absolute statements about my atheist/rationalist loved ones. Mainly I believe they are simply afraid - afraid of the unknown - afraid of ambiguity. I would simply wish them an open mind. Rather than adamantly declaring "There is no God!" I would rather they say, "As of yet the mysteries of the universe are unknowable - your interpretation of the Bible is of no use to me - I am holding out for a different answer and will simply keep an open mind." Peace.