Gospel of Judas?

Some of us watched a National Geographic TV show last night called The Gospel of Judas. Those are two words you don't hear together... especially this time of year when the focus is on why Jesus had to die. I remember sitting in a dark church one Maunday Thursday, railing at God: What kind of father are you anyway!?! How could you, why would you do this to your own child? Many people have tried to answer it for me over the years... but it's still one of the things on my list to ask God when I see Him. "My ways are not your ways, saith the Lord." No kidding.

Anyway, there is a Coptic codex (old papyrus book) that was supposedly found in Egypt, near the site the Nag Hammadi library was discovered. It has been painstakingly analyzed, carbon dated, and translated by Coptic experts who all agree it is authentic. The Codex contains a gospel... of Judas, and a very different take on who he was, and why he did what he did in those last days.

The funny thing is I've heard this story before. Now that's eerie. I have also always felt that Judas was maligned in the Bible for reasons not readily apparent. There are too many instances where Jesus can read the minds of the people around him. You're telling me he didn't know he had a bad apple in his barrel? I don't think so. No, the portrayals of Judas get worse with each successive Gospel until John outright slams him, calling him a thief, liar, agent of Satan.

In the Gospel of Judas, he's the only one who gets who Jesus really is and what his mission really is... the one chosen by Christ to do the unthinkable... to turn him over to the authorities. Whoa! That would certainly give new meaning to "the first shall be last and the last first."

The reality is this gospel is just one of many of the Gnostic gospels circulating during the first three centuries after Christ's death. There were dozens, possibly as many as thirty, of these gospels floating around. They were eventually squelched and thrown out as heresy when the current version of the New Testament was compiled. There were lots of reasons for the editing and censoring. Many had to do with the continued survival of the early church, but some because the gnostics were mystics and believed each person could tap into God's grace directly. No need for a hierarchy of church fathers telling you what to do, how to behave, how to be Christian. I probably would have been a gnostic.

Palm Sunday

Coffee without cream isn't coffee. It's a whole different drink. And while I know that there are folks who will disagree, it's the way I learned to drink it as a child, when I was seven years old. (My short term memories may be slipping, but my long term ones are still very much in tact.) I was sitting at the breakfast table with my mom. Packing boxes littered the kitchen because we had just moved into a teensy weensy apartment. My dad had recently skipped out to marry another woman, who just happened to have another daughter. We were two abandoned girls in a cheap crummy apartment.

My mother was pouring herself a cup off coffee, and I said, "I want some too."

Normally she would have said, "when you get older." But that morning she got down a cup and saucer for me and poured half a cup. She pushed the can of evaporated milk across the table. "Okay, try it, see if you like it." I added the milk and several spoons of sugar before getting it just right. "I like coffee." I said.

"Well, I guess you're old enough to drink it, then." she said. And that's the way I've drunk it ever since. I've switched from sugar to splenda, and from evaporated milk to raw milk or non-dairy creamer, but it's still the only way to drink coffee. In New England coffee with cream is called "regular". Southerners don't make that distinction, but it makes perfect sense to me.

So what does this remotely have to do with Palm Sunday? Just this: coffee without cream is not coffee, and Holy Week without the passion of the cross is not Holy Week. Here in Brewster we are focusing our lives... our worship, meditation, rising and going to bed, work schedules and food consumption... all around the sacredness of the Universe, in particular, our Mother Earth. Our species has lost its connection to this greater picture of God's love through creation, and we are making a deliberate effort here to live sustainably, creatively and carefully, giving thanks for the natural world and all that is in it. I wholeheartedly support that effort. Yet, when we were deliberating over the liturgical choices for our very first Holy Week at Melrose, I was uncomfortable. I wanted to be here and I didn't. I prayed. The most exquisite clarity came to me when I accepted that for me, the traditional observance of this coming week's events was the connection I needed to make with God.

I suffered a major meltdown on Palm Sunday several years ago during the Passion Gospel that the Episcopal Church insists on enacting. Ever since, this one Sunday has been a killer for me. As a protestant child I never experienced it as anything other than a triumphal march around the church grounds, singing hosannas and waving palm fronds. The Passion wasn't even mentioned where I went to church... or if it was, I never noticed. We went from palm fronds to Easter eggs. But as an adult Episcopalian I was introduced to this anachronistic element... from Hail the King! to crucify him! in less than ten minutes. What's with that?

Several explanations were forthcoming when I was finally brave enough to ask. One was practical: Most folks can't get off work for a three hour service on Good Friday so we give them a mini version on Palm Sunday. That didn't cut it for me. Another version made a little more sense in an existential sort of way: Life changes. Sometimes instantaneously. One minute you're flavor of the month, the next you're fired for no good reason. (I could relate to that.) Still, I've never been at peace with the way we do it. Give the man a break! Let him be triumphant for the whole day, not just for the time it takes to read the Gospel. But nobody's asking me.

Holy Week, as it has been observed in our community, follows through with what we know of the last days of Jesus' life. Each day goes deeper into the mystery and brings us closer to Good Friday. The traditions were designed for this purpose, and it can be an emotional and spiritual wringer if you surrender to it completely. I got closer last year than I've ever been, but I also had a ton of overwhelming sacristan duties that tapped my strength, tried my patience and interfered with my focus. I want to go for it this year. And a little voice is telling me I need to. Holy Week without the passion of the cross is coffee without cream. and I just can't drink coffee black.

Mmmmore mmmemes

I found this very cool blog called Sweet Memes (sweetmemes.blogspot.com).Here's an interesting one to try: Go to Wikipedia and look up your birth day (excluding the year). List three interesting facts, two births and one death, including the year.

Facts:
1946 - The UN General Assembly voted to establish its headquarters in New York City (my city).
1962 - The Mona Lisa was assessed at US $100 million, the highest insurance value for a painting in history.
1999 - Charles M. Schulz, creator of the comic strip Peanuts, announced his retirement.

Births:
1503 - Nostradamus, French astrologer and mathematician (d. 1566)
1897 - Margaret Chase Smith, American senator from Maine (my birthplace) (d. 1995)

Death:
1591 - Saint John of the Cross, Spanish friar and poet (b. 1542)

Now wasn't that fun?

ABC's of me

Okay, time for a little lightness. Here's a meme just in from my daughter-in-law...

Accent: none actually, CBS standard English (how boring)

Booze of choice:? Vodka with Kahlua

Chore I hate:? vacuuming

Dog or cat:? Both

Essential electronics: Laptop, digital camera

Favorite perfume(s): don't wear them, but I like nice smelly bath stuff

Gold or Silver: silver

Hometown:? moved too often to name one... maybe Jacksonville, Florida

Insomnia?:? Not usually

Job Title:? Sister

Kids?: Two sons (one has a birthday tomorrow), one granddaughter, 3 and 1/2 grandsons

Living Arrangement:? convent with five other women, one cat, one dog, six ducks

Most admired trait:? Honesty (also the most disliked trait)

Number of Sexual Partners:? Now? none. (before? none of your business)

Overnight Hospital Stays:? Two bouts with pneumonia and two childbirths

Phobia:? Burning alive

Religion:? Christian with Buddhist tendencies

Siblings:? not a one

Time I wake up:? Between 4:30-5:15

Unusual talent/skill:? I can teach you to ride a motorcycle

Vegetable I refuse to eat:? slimy okra... I'll eat it fried

Worst habit:? Laziness

Yummy foods I make:? Enchiladas, guacamole, scones, muffins, okara burgers, salmon spread... ad infinitum (did I mention I love to cook?)

Zodiac sign: Sagittarius

Salt

Today's Bible study from Mark 9:42-50... was one where the translations we always use were quite different. One spoke of the refiner's fire, the other two of "being salted by fire". In one translation the verse goes on to say "if salt has become bland, with what will you renew it? Maintain salt among yourselves and be at peace with one another." That sparked our imaginations as the discussion turned to salt as a healing agent. One sister had had a canker sore on her tongue recently, and had used salt water to rinse. Salt water stings when it hits an open wound... but it also seems to draw out the poison.

We thought about ourselves as community... how we each come into the group with our own woundedness and how inadvertently we do rub salt into each other's wounds. My reaction to your action triggers old baggage in both of us. It can get pretty salty. Yet in this passage this is considered a good thing. The refiner's fire is not meant to destroy, but to make pure.

There's a fine line, though, in using salt to sting someone, just because we think they should smart a little, and using it to heal. That's where the be at peace with one another comes in, I guess. Not an easy balancing act.

Meditation space

Still thinking about those golden calves... The funniest thing happens sometimes, when it's time for me to think. I get the time. I travel by train into the city once a week to do my volunteer work at St. Bart's Church. It's an hour and a half train ride. I never rode trains much before... always planes for long trips and autos for short. It's the American way. I either need to get there fast (because my time is too valuable to waste) or I need to be able to stop when I want to (because my convenience is more important than those gas emissions.) We are blessed to have mass transportation here in New York State, but a lot of times we still don't use it. I've been blessed to use it three times in the last week.

The train from Brewster to Grand Central has become a meditation space. I buy a cup of coffee at Suz' Caboose, and it usually lasts til Katonah. So does the view. I look out the window at the landscape and watch for changes. Yesterday a swan with her two babies was on the lake. Even at that distance I could see how fluffy and uncoordinated they were. Once the coffee is gone, I pick up my knitting. Knit one Hail Mary, knit two full of grace, knit three the Lord is with you. And so it goes. I think about the luxury of being a religious: having time to pray built right into my schedule. Who else gets that? I think about the companionship of the sisters I live with. If one is driving me bonkers, there are four others I can seek out to be with. There are six of us to share the cooking, the cleaning up, the daily chores. Who else gets that?

I think about everything I've learned since coming to this community: how my attitudes have softened in very significant areas, yet how I'm still the same person, with the same issues. Those issues play out differently, but they are part and parcel of who I am. I have changed and I have not changed. (Another one of God's practical jokes?)

Is this community a golden calf? I think it could be if I allow myself to get caught up in doing all the right things for all the wrong reasons. And what would be the right reason? My relationship with God. Does this community enhance and support that relationship? Hey... so far so good.

golden calves

My friend gives me his sermons to read, since I don't get out to hear him anymore. He was finishing one up today when I arrived to sling cans in the church pantry. I asked him what it was about, and he mumbled something about God changing his mind about destroying the people. Oh, you mean Nineveh? No, the Israelites. Oh, when Moses stood in the breach? Yes, that's the one. But his sermon wasn't really about God changing his mind. It was about fear.

He began by talking about the fear of falling being an inborn human trait. I think that's so, I did a ropes course once where I had to fall backwards out of a tree twenty feet above the ground. It felt like dying. Once the harness caught me, I laughed hysterically for at least five minutes.

But in this case, he equated that falling feeling to the way the Israelites felt when Moses was gone so long on the mountain. They felt abandoned, and abandonment I can definitely relate to... I remember waking up once as a small child and finding my mother and father gone. I screamed bloody murder for what seemed like hours. Apparently they were just next door for a few minutes, and couldn't comprehend the fit I was throwing. That fear was unbearable. It may have been the foreshadowing of my dad's later abandonment, and the reason I have issues (as they say.)

So Moses is gone. Gone a long time. Gone with God. And the link between God and Moses somehow got crosswired to God is gone. Aaron!!! we need new Gods. Anyway, my friend went on to talk about golden calves and Moses interceding, and threw in a quote from Herbert Driscoll about needing an ultimate focus for one's life... "a commitment that is ultimate". Uh oh. The "C" word. Be careful what you ask for, little girl.

But I got to thinking about just how necessary it is to try to find a substitute when God is gone. Not that God is ever gone. But He's a silent cuss sometimes, and it feels the same. The void is unbearable; the sense of abandonment is overwhelming. Faith helps. But faith is a capricious commodity. Once you begin the downhill spiral, it isn't easy to reconnect to faith. So the Israelites built a golden calf. (Not an especially intelligent choice, but they were probably working from memory and the available jewelry at hand.)

If God is my ultimate focus (and that's what I'm striving for) then when I feel deserted, what might be my golden calves? I can't answer that at the moment. But I think it's worth exploring as I face into this storm called commitment. When it happens, if it happens, I want to be totally aware of when I start melting down the jewelry.

Shell shock

Today was a long day... (what I once would have called a long damn day...) a facilitated meeting in the city with all the sisters: difficult topics, things we'd discussed already but still had not resolved, nerves frayed, feelings hurt. "Plowing the same ground" is what I called it, an expression once used on me by an ex-lover... and rightly so. I wasn't happy with the status quo in that relationship, but couldn't make it turn my way. So I kept discussing it, hoping he would see my point, hoping he would change his tune. He never did.

Tonight, on the other hand, three of us attended the installation of a rector in a nearby parish, a woman who celebrates for us twice a month. As with all celebrations of this sort, I was moved to tears by this outward, visible sign of commitment.

I feel the same tingling in my bones at life professions, weddings, baptisms... so much hope and potential invested in such an unknown future. In these moments of professed commitment, I live vicariously. Something stirs up my own need to commit, my own deep understanding that this road I'm on is the right road, the one God has chosen for me.

But I also question it on a regular basis. I struggle daily with: Yes, it seems right now, but is it forever? Yes, I am gaining a new awareness of my own contradictory capacity for cruelty and compassion, but is this place merely a training ground for something else? Is there unfinished business that I must resolve, is that what God has in mind? Inquiring minds want to know... my inquiring mind wants to know the end of the story before I'm through the second chapter.

Yet the sermon tonight touched me. (Slammed me is more like it.) "Living in community requires more than good manners. It requires hard work." was the first statement that zinged past me like a bullet. I was still recoiling from that, when he sent the next volley, so while I unconsciously knew it had hit me broadside, what I consciously thought was I needed a pen to write it down, because I was too stunned to comprehend exactly what he'd said. Even now I have no idea what he said. Whatever it was, it exploded somewhere deep, and life will not be the same. Ever.

Tonight I received communion with an entirely new understanding of Good Friday, a totally new appreciation for the Son of God, a ridiculous new willingness to let my gratitude rule my life. Will it last? Beats me. Will I flag? Most likely. Do I care? Not at the moment. At the moment I am at peace with investing all my potential in an unknown future... because it's the least I can do to say thank you. Thank you. THANK YOU.

The Lord Will Provide

I just love Barbara Crafton's way with words. What, you've never heard of Barbara Crafton? She's an Episcopal priest, actor, writer, spiritual director, wife, mother... all time incredible wonderful woman. And she's funny. She wrote a hilarious book called Some Things You Just Have to Live With... Musings on Middle Age that made me wet my pants, but she also writes serious, thoughtful meditations. She's done them for Advent, Lent, the Psalms. Take a look at her website found on my sidebar: The Geranium Farm.

Anyway, she also sends out emos. These are almost daily meditations on whatever she's thinking about at the moment, and she sends them by email to a select list. (You can be included just by asking. See her website.) Today's made me laugh out loud, given my rant on Ken Gire's putting words (not supported by scripture) into people's mouths. For some reason her doing it doesn't bother me in the least. I like her style. I like her. Ken I don't know. The following is from her emo today. (See if you can figure out who is who in the conversation... duh.)

"...but what good are these for so many?" —John 6:9

Well, that depends -- how foolish are you willing to be?
But it could get really ugly. There are way more of them than there are of us.
Yeah. But then, a lot of them won't like a three-mile hike back to town in the dark, either.
But what happens when we run out? Five loaves and two fish aren't enough. We won't be able to feed everyone!
And how many are you feeding now?
Um...none.
Right.
Well, what's our exit strategy?
What's an exit strategy?
Oh, jeez.
Yeah?
No, I mean, I don't like this. This is not going to end well.
It hasn't ended yet. Just wait and see. Trust me.

Sometimes, you have to start your good thing, even if you don't have an ending clearly in mind. Sometimes you just have to do the good thing right now, even if you don't know how you're going to finish it. Even if you don't have all the pieces yet. Even if you don't know what all the pieces are.

The Lord will provide.

No Guts, no Glory

As I've mentioned before, (ad nauseam, probably) I'm still involved in the online course: The Universe Story. All my reading and dialog with other students is beginning to take its effect on every aspect of the way I think and process other information. [When you consider a history that's been unfolding for 13.7 billion years (the current estimate), it's no wonder it's taking me so long to process it.]

You may also remember I'm also involved in an online book club. (See link in the sidebar called "Book Club".) We're reading Moments with the Savior by Ken Gire, and I'll say right now, were it not for the group members, it's a book I would have put back on the shelf long ago. Gire's style is too schmaltzy for my taste, and he takes tremendous liberties with his meditations, putting extra thoughts and words into peoples mouths and hearts that aren't supported by scripture. When did that become an issue for me, you may rightly ask. Aren't I always reading more into those particular written Words myself? Maybe so, but this guy makes me look like a literalist.

Anyway, one of the chapters this week was on the Transfiguration. The sacrificial nature of the Universe is one of the compelling pieces that (for me) links the Universe story to Christ.

In our culture, most people avoid pain, suffering, even sacrifice, at all costs. Yet it seems Christ was the only one who understood that the way God ordered the unfolding of time and space, galaxies and evolving life on planet Earth, required death. Required that one species be sacrificed to nourish and bring forth the next. Millions of years ago the first cells realized they could eat each other to live. Through evolution that way of nourishing ourselves was passed down to today's life forms. Some species eat plants, others eat animals, humans do both. It is an intricate web, each part sustaining and complementing the others, but all are a part of the whole web of life. For humans to believe that we need not play the game as other life forms do, is both blasphemy and idiocy. As we continue to destroy and degrade all life forms (in an attempt to make our own lives more comfortable) we end up destroying ourselves.

The Transfiguration was a glimpse of glory... heaven on earth, the kingdom come. Gire thinks that everything paled in the face of that astounding light. My sense would be that everything glowed even brighter because of it. Here finally was one human being with the face of God, who could see and understand the ways of God and was trying to teach them to his fellow humans. But as Peter did, we do. Let's memorialize the event and then we won't have to live it ourselves. Christ was trying to tell us... no guts, no glory. Literally.

Try it, you might like it meme

This one is courtesy of my daughter-in-law. (See her link on the sidebar.) This woman actually loves my son. What more could a mother ask for?

What are ten things you would tell other people to try?

1. Eating organic for three months
2. Blogging
3. Substituting cilantro for parsley
4. Raw milk
5. A full body massage
6. Cooking with wine
7. Getting rid of things you have two of
8. Ginger scones
9. A money magnet
10. Living on half of what you earn

Questions, questions, and more questions

Have been on a reading jag... some books I read because I liked the author's other works, some because they are required for a course, some because the picture on the cover looks interesting. I have no discipline in place for my reading. Usually there are five or so books on my bedside table and I'll drift through them all every night, a few pages here, a chapter there.The goal is to finish the book, that much I know, but some books never make it to the finish line. They wear out their welcome and I put them back on the shelf. I may read them years later when the cosmic need arises, or not.

I've read most everything that Daniel Quinn has written. The Story of B was my first, then Ishmael. After that I was hooked. So I've just finished The Holy, by far the darkest of his novels I've read so far. One sister started it before me and handed it off because it was too scary. I'm not much for scary anymore, myself, but hey, it was Daniel Quinn. So I began reading. Yes, it was scary to begin with and got worse as I went along. This is Daniel Quinn? I asked myself. I kept reading. Ah... concepts I've heard before... familiar territory with a twist. I loved it. But, as most of his books do, it raised questions. Why do we see the world as we do? Who told us it had to be this way? What authority did they have to say it had to be the only way to think?

I know I am a liberal who treads the razor's edge between truth and blasphemy. I've been cut more than once. But I also know in my heart of hearts that our God wants more from us than a blind "yes sir, no sir, anything you say sir..." If it were not so, why give us brains? Brains that can reason and question and realize on a deep level that there are some things we just don't (and maybe never will) understand.

High School Memories

Okay, here's a high school meme from Natty and Seeking Something, both sister bloggers. (You can read their blogs by checking out the sister bloggers ring in the sidebar. I told you already, my toolbar doesn't have a link button!) And my high school was a long damn time ago, so don't expect much.

1. Who was your best friend(s)? Marcia, Libby, Linda, & Ann
2. What sports did you play? none, too uncoordinated.
3. What kind of car did you drive? My mommy's... and once, my uncle's jeep.
4. It’s Friday night, where are you at? Behind the preposition. No, at a record hop. (groan)
5. Were you a party animal? Nope
6. Were you in the “In Crowd”? We probably thought so.
7. Ever skip school? Only that one time when I ran away from home.
8. Ever smoke a cigarette? probably could have, but didn't until college.
9. Were you a nerd? Yes, but we didn't know that word then.
10. Did you ever get suspended/expelled? No, but I got into a ruler fight with some boy and was sent to the principal's office.
11. Can you sing the Alma Mater? No, but I can sing my grade school Alma Mater.
12. Who was your favorite teacher? Paul Pettingill and Claudette Blais... hey! she became a nun.
13. Favorite class? Study Hall (I got to hang out in the library and play with the rubber cement.)
14. What was your school’s name? Lancaster High School
15. School mascot? Can't remember, did we have one?
16. Did you go to Prom? Now that's a good story. I went with two boys.
17. Would you go back again and do it over? Not unless I could know everything I know now. I'd be a whole lot more compassionate and a little less arrogant.
18. What do you remember most about graduation? We had a major scandal the day after.
19. Favorite memory of senior year? wearing sundresses to school the Monday after we all went to the lake.
20. Were you ever posted on the senior wall? Don't think we had one.
21. Did you have a job your senior year? I had summer jobs from the time I was fifteen... worked after school cleaning my mother's beauty shop. (no pay)
22. Who did you date? Other than that junior prom thing... nobody. My heart throb was way older than I was and wouldn't date me. He only took me places in broad daylight, like skiing, hiking, always with a group.
23. Have you gained weight since then? well, duh. I probably weighed 100 lbs then.
24. What did you do after graduation? Went to college.

The Problem with Pronouns

Recently when I was posting on another site (link to Book Club on the sidebar) I was expressing certain personal beliefs concerning God, and used the pronoun He (She). I've done this before with varying success, but this time I was called on it by another participant in our group. She asked "Do you believe God could be a woman?" Uh oh... loaded question.


My answer at the time was: Do I think God is a woman? No. And Yes, I believe God has feminine aspects we don't recognize in our patriarcal language. While that was a truthful answer, it goes much deeper than that. I was brought up on the standard King James Version of the Bible. It's beautiful and poetic language. There are many psalms that I still prefer in that language..."I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills... The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...", etc. But the language is basically masculine when we speak of God: Lord, King, His imperial Rule.

Inclusive language in worship is a huge issue for some of us. While it really isn't that huge for me, I do know that God is bigger than that... and sadly, we have no suitable pronouns in English to describe Him (Her). "It" (which is neutral) certainly doesn't cut it; God is not a thing. In fact if I get right down to it, for me God is a verb... always moving, transforming, creating, encompassing, loving, compelling... a force so powerful and integral to my being that I sometimes forget Him/Her/It on a conscious level. Like breathing. Without breath I would die. Yet I don't think about breathing much of the time. When I do slow down enough to concentrate on my breathing (during meditation or in moments of crisis) I am grounded by it. Grounded in my physical body, grounded to the physical world I inhabit, yet linked inextricably to the spiritual dimension in which I encounter God. In those encounters I "get" (understand, know) the force that surrounds me, fills me, protects me, upholds me, in ways too large and too small to describe in words.

That's the trouble with pronouns.

Remember you are stardust...

Sister Lilli Ana posted a thoughtful meditation for Ash Wednesday, (See link to her blog in sidebar) inspiring me to continue with my Lenten images.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

Friday Five

This "Friday Five" from fellow sister blogger Susan Rose... (who got it from somewhere else)

I've been reflecting this week on the gift of friendship, of people who will be there no matter what you need or when you need it. Sometimes a friend accompanies us through a dark place or dances with us through a joyful time or simply walks down the road of an ordinary time beside us. Name five friends who have been there when you needed them.

I thought this would be an easy post. No way. Impossible to limit it to five, so there are more missing than listed. But here goes anyway...

Charlie... My high school church youth advisor, who rescued me from a dysfunctional alcoholic home, taught me my first lessons in compassion by being compassionate, took me to my first Benjamin Britten concert, let me drive his car, sent me roses on my sixteenth birthday... the first love of my life.

Jean... who gently brought me back into the body of Christ by convincing me I'd like singing in the choir with her. Who grieved with me during my mother's death, and notified everyone about the memorial service, who has patiently suffered my outrageous comments and foul mouth, and still loves me.

Nan... the only friend I know who loves giving presents as much as I did, who could always anticipate when I'd be depressed and have some special treat waiting at my workstation, who offered sound advice without ever judging. She was also the best boss I ever had: the perfect combination of friend, colleague and supervisor.

Richard... who loved me at a time when I was sure nobody could, would or should; the father of my two beautiful children, who danced with me at our son's wedding, even though he was remarried and his wife had to sit it out alone.

Steve... who has had more good sense on more occasions than I care to remember, when I've impulsively spoken without thinking... who told me once when I said I thought I wanted to be a priest, "Why can't you find a way to use the talents and the gifts God has already given you?" and was more right than he'll ever know.

Hearts of Stone

I realize for most moviegoers, this post will be outdated. But yesterday I went to see Brokeback Mountain... one of the most disturbing and heartbreaking films I've seen in a long time. I say disturbing... that word is inadequate. I was not disturbed by the sex scenes... I found nothing there gratuitous or obscene, simply the reality of life. What disturbed me was the reality of violent intolerance on the big screen, in my face. I live in a convent. We practice, with some success, a culture of tolerance for each other and for our annoying idiosyncrasies. On the bigger issues, we can actually be compassionate and forgiving. I forget that the world is not inclined to be compassionate, but cruel, ugly and judgmental... that people condemn out of hand, and actually kill each other over practices they don't understand or don't agree with or believe are somehow alien or immoral.

In this case, love could not be open. The time, place, culture... all worked against these two men. They did the best they could. Tried to fit in, lead society's version of "normal" lives, but there was nothing but a wake of heartbreak in their choices. God forgive us this kind of intolerance.

Creative project: Tinfoil Icons

Some of you have emailed me directly about the tinfoil icon project, so here are some directions in case you want to try this yourself. Keep in mind that icons are meant to be viewed by candle light and these are no exception. Also keep in mind that scanning a crinkly shiny surface is the pits. They look a whole lot better in real life. :)


Supplies you'll need:

Tinfoil (we used heavy duty, but any kind will work)
Sharpies in a good variety of colors (Staples carries a 24 pack with lots of pastel shades for appx $15)
A picture to trace (color book style pictures are great, but any picture you can outline will work)
Cardboard for padding
Soft pencil

Directions:
Lay down a sheet of tinfoil shiny side down on the cardboard. Gently tape the image you want to trace over the tinfoil, both top and bottom. (This keeps it from shifting while you work.) Your final image will be a reverse of this, so you may want to scan and flop your original. Now with a soft pencil trace all outlines you wish to include in your finished icon.

Remove the tracing and turn over the tinfoil so you are working shiny side up. Using sharpies, color inside the raised indentions created from your tracing. You can blend colors by outlining an area in a darker shade and coloring over it with a lighter shade. (Experiment on a scrap piece of tinfoli.) You can also add texture to your finished icon by laying it over textured material (braiding, loosely woven cloth, sandstone) and gently rubbing over the desired area with the top of a closed sharpie. This is called burnishing and it gives some cool effects.

Prayer for an Insecure Heart

Hey, God. I know you listen.
Are you listening?
I know, too, that you don't necessarily
answer—at least not right away...
at least not in words that match
my questions and complaints.

But I know you listen. Are you listening?
First, help me always to remember
to thank you: for life, for breath,
for knowledge, for talent.

My worry is those gifts will be wasted
in my inexperienced hands—that I
will not have listened closely enough,
that my preconceived ideas of what you want
and your purpose in my life
will cloud my mind and interfere
with your Spirit's flow.

Forgive me, God. I am so insecure.
My faith hiccups in fits and starts.
Could you once again tell me it will
be all right and that I will be enough?
Thank you God. I know you listen.
Are you listening?

Happy Valentine's Day

Thanks to Jules for this link...

Your Candy Heart Says "Hug Me"


A total sweetheart, you always have a lot of love to give out.
Your heart is open to where ever love takes you!
Your ideal Valentine's Day date: a surprise romantic evening that you've planned out
Your flirting style: lots of listening and talking
What turns you off: fighting and conflict
Why you're hot: you're fearless about falling in love

What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

Sunday's Sermon

Lessons for the Sixth Sunday of Epiphany:
2 Kings 5:1-14
1 Corinthians 9:24-27
Mark 1:40-45

As I write this I'm still in Cody, WY where for the past three days I had both the pleasure and honor of leading a workshop on "Creativity and Spirituality" at Thomas the Apostle Center. In this retreat setting we explored different ways of expressing the Holy... in art, meditation, alternative worship liturgies, music, drumming, not to mention a very frigid labyrinth walk. We used methods that were both ancient and modern, and my intent, as leader, was to provide time and space for these participants to think outside the box... but more importantly, to encourage them to be as creative as they were led to be.

My final task for the weekend was to preach at Christ Church. As this Sunday had already been designated "Evolution Sunday" the sermon was to be on the topic of Evolution vs. Creationism. But the Scripture lessons were mostly to do with healing, or at least health related, (as you'll see). Time for me to put my money where my mouth was about thinking outside the box, and come up with something of value to say based on the texts at hand. I gave it my best shot, and the congregation was wonderful about bearing with me. What follows are excerpts to give you the gist of the sermon:

Beginning with the lessons: basically, you could say they are all about health. The first and last deal specifically with illness, (both cases just happen to be leprosy) and their subsequent healings. Then in the middle there's Paul's letter to the Corinthians where he essentially says: "Keep in shape! Stay fit so you can run the race, but more especially so you can run it to win." For Paul, keeping fit in this context is of utmost importance. He's not concerned about your abs or your muscle tone or that you'll be more attractive and have more friends. He wants you to win. Paul would be an excellent Olympic coach, except that for him, this is a race of life and death, a race of good over evil.

So... what does health remotely have to do with evolution?
Not much.

So lets dig a little deeper. In 1 Kings we have a story of a quite important man—Naaman, commander of the armies of Aram. He's successful, yet he's also been brought low by the disease of leprosy. In his time this disease doomed anyone who contracted it to the life of outcast. (Much as the disease of AIDS has done in our own society.) But his wife's slave girl knows of a prophet in Samaria, and she claims he can heal Naaman. At this point I'd like to take a different spin on the text and suggest that the story is not so much about healing as it is about misconceptions and preconceived ideas. Case in point: Naaman's king. He sends a letter of introduction to the King of Israel. "Here's my very important commander of my army; heal him of his leprosy."

Whoa— that's not what Naaman's wife's slave girl said. She said prophet, not king. But kings have their own ideas of how these things work. They know all about political ramifications and appropriate protocol, and Naaman's king only talks to other kings. He only has part of the picture and that's what he acts on.

Moving on... the King of Israel gets the letter and he panics. Tears his clothes. Probably convenes his cabinet— and comes up with the second misconception—the conclusion that the King of Aram is trying to pick a fight.

Thankfully Scripture makes a long story short. Elisha the Prophet hears about the problem and sends his king the message "Not to worry. Send him to me and we'll get him healed and the God of Israel will be glorified." So Naaman arrives at the prophet's house with his contingency of camels and gold and silver and party outfits, and we're on the brink of our third misconception.

Elisha sends out the hired help. Leaves Naaman essentially parked at the curb while the valet delivers the message "Go dunk yourself seven times in the Jordan." Naaman is insulted. He has in his mind a very vivid and preconceived idea of how this healing should and therefore will occur. he has no room in his mind for an alternative approach, and as a result he shuts out totally a healing opportunity that's staring him smack dab square in the front of his face. He won't see it. It's not possible.

But Naaman is a lucky man. He has servants who appeal to the side of his ego only they would understand..."If the prophet had asked you to do something difficult, you'd have done it. So why not give this a shot? What do you have to lose?"
Well, if you've read the lesson, you already know the rest of the story. They prevail and Naaman is healed. In spite of himself, he gave in to that last appeal to think outside of the box.

Now lets move on to Paul. (Bless his heart.) I think that's what they say in Texas... about somebody who can be difficult or disagreeable. Well, Paul, bless his heart, has a very good point in this scripture. But he's also missing a very important piece of the puzzle and mystery of our life together in Christ. And that is the concept that Henri Nouwen calls the power and ministry of the Wounded Healer. Paul makes the assumption that only the fit can win the race for Christ, and in my heart of hearts I know that's just not true. It's a preconceived and dated idea that leaves no room for broken people to minister to other broken people. Yet we do it all the time. If I have sinned (and I have) then I have walked in your sinful shoes. And I can compassionately embrace you because in this we are more alike than we are different.

Now to the final lesson: in which the leper, who starts out so exquisitely humble in his statement of faith, "If you choose you can heal me"... once healed decides he knows more than the Son of God what to do with this information. Despite Jesus specifically saying "Tell NO one", he spreads the story all around the countryside. From one end of town to the other... and as a result, Jesus cannot walk the streets openly anymore.

So, in conclusion... (to those of you who have waited so patiently for me to get to the evolution vs. creation part, you can stop holding your breath.) Because I'm not going to say much about that. Except this: These three lessons are brimming with examples and metaphors of people and situations where someone had a preconceived idea about what God looks like and how God acts. These ideas were based on their own individual pieces of the puzzle. They were, in truth, partly correct. It was in assuming that they were totally correct that they sinned, and ended up missing out on the mystery and majesty of what was smack dab square in the front of their faces.

Genesis gives us one of the most poetic and condensed metaphors for God's creative process. Evolution, along with the New Story of the Cosmos and our unfolding Universe, gives us a much more drawn out and detailed description of God's creative process. For me, each is an individual piece of the puzzle. As we study both, let us pray that we do not assume that the box in which we wish to stick our God is where He, or She, or It, or We will stay forever. Amen.

Looking ahead...

My apologies to anyone who's tuned into my nothing-more-than-drivel for the past week. Been totally under the weather with allergies/asthmatic bronchitis. The penicillin is finally kicking in and I'm now focused on what's ahead this week: my first retreat in Cody, Wyoming.

This same retreat was scheduled for last September, but had to be cancelled for lack of participants. Now it's on the docket again and I've approached the whole weekend with an attitude so unlike me, it's scary. I'm usually an organized compulsive nit-picky details-oriented person. Yet all my thinking toward this retreat has been wide-screen, big picture conceptualizing. I already had a theme: thinking creatively... outside the box, a title: Glimpses of Heaven, and an assortment of fun creative projects in mind, but it wasn't until Saturday that I had the energy to even notice the obvious fact that my ducks were spread all over the place and none of the necessary little details had been considered.

My generous and compassionate sisters came to my rescue. Yesterday we staged a mini-rehearsal in the afternoon and I was able to talk through my ideas and get immediate feedback. (Need more cardboard, another set of sharpies) We watched one of my meditation slideshows (the music wouldn't work) and then attempted one of the creative projects... painting icons on tinfoil with sharpies. Okay, if that sounds ghastly, just remember the theme: thinking outside the box. (The finished results were incredibly beautiful, with a somewhat Mexican flavor.)

It takes a village is somewhat of a cliche these days. But my village gave me valuable feedback, more great ideas, and the confidence that this aardvark project would not only fly, but would be fun too. I'm relieved and inspired, but most of all grateful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Do the "i's" have it?

This morning I was lying in bed (coughing as quietly as anyone can with a touch of bronchitis) and thought of a great post. The theme started with "i"... and I worked it all out in my brain what I would say. Except now I can't remember. Imagination? Was that it? I can't remember. Intuition? Inspiration? It's a total blank. Maybe I should just go back to bed. If I remember, I'll let you know.

Is this getting boring?

Sorry guys, but I seem to be only up to quizzes. (Allergies got me way down)

You Are a Newborn Soul


You are tolerant, accepting, and willing to give anyone a chance.
On the flip side, you're easy to read and easily influenced by others.
You have a fresh perspective on life, and you can be very creative.
Noconformist and nontraditional, you've never met anyone who's like you.
Inventive and artistic, you like to be a trendsetter.
You have an upbeat spirit and you like almost everything.
You make friends easily and often have long standing friendships.
Implusive and trusting, you fall in love a little too easily.
Souls you are most compatible with: Bright Star Soul and Dreaming Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

Snow it is...

This quiz just in from my sister-bloggers...
I'm not sure about the serenity part, but I think people can get sick of me pretty quickly...

You Are Snow

Magical yet potentially destructive
You are well known as fun to play with
People anticipate your arrival but then are quickly sick of you
You are best known for: your serenity
Your dominant state: reflecting

What Type of Weather Are You?

Flamed???

My last post was such an AweWakening for me. (For those of you who don't recognize that term, it's the title of our community's newsletter.) There I was, just writing one of my typical "what-a-dingbat-I-am" posts… and fell prey to my too occasional need to spout in four letter words my frustration/anger/surprise (you fill in any other blanks that come to mind). I used to swear a lot. I swear less these days. My best record is with driving… I always swore at stupid drivers. Now I say "hello!" every time some jerk cuts me off or doesn't use his blinkers.

But… I forget that people I don't know sometimes read my blog. Our technology has spawned this crossbreed between a private journal and a newspaper's headlines. Like video games, blogging can be seductive, sometimes addictive. Some bloggers set up elaborate counting methods to report how many hits they get every day. Even Blogger.com counts how many people read your profile. I noticed my numbers doubled when Mark Mossa featured me in his blog. (My toolbar doesn't have a link button… but his blog is You Duped Me Lord at markmossasj.blogspot.com) and the numbers increased again when I joined Sister-Bloggers, a blog ring. It's cool to know more people read what I have to say. Probably for me, not so cool. Too easy to get a swelled head… So, when I was taken to task for swearing in my blog, what happened?

Well of course there was my immediate righteous indignation. I'm old enough to be that child's grandmother, for heaven's sake. Who is she to tell me what I can and cannot do? That attitude shifted pretty quickly as I was reminded that "out of the mouths of babes" comes great wisdom, and I was shoved back into a more suitable place of humility. Look at it this way: this young woman wants to be a nun when she grows up. Her religion has given her specific parameters for how she should act in this capacity. Who am I to shatter her illusions? She will have plenty of time to discern in her own journey that nobody's perfect, especially not those in habits.

But wait, there's more. (Anyone besides me remember the gingko knife advertisements?) So I worked through my initial upset that I had been flamed on my own blog, but my loyal fans did not. Whoa Nellie! I don't remember having this many comments on many other posts. Maybe I should swear more often. Seriously, some of you I don't even know who you are, but you wrote such loving things about me. I'm awestruck. (That's similar to AweWakened.) And humbled even more. God uses everything. Amazing Grace.

Oops

I had what I would term a "mother-in-law scare" this past week (one of those cases where all the available clues lead to worst case scenario to the 12th power). I received a belated birthday package from my older son and his wife with a strange return address in his handwriting. No note inside… just a collection of assorted wonderful and thoughtful gifts (I always credit my daughter-in-law with the taste for these selections, even though I've been wrong about that in the past.) Call me sexist. I admit it. I believe that women (in general) have an inborn knack for choosing gifts. But I had sent her a birthday package earlier in the month and had had no response. So… address change, no note, no response to earlier emails, what the f*ck, over! I emailed them both. What's up? No response. Then I emailed her on her birthday and it bounced back… no such recipient. Uh oh. My son has bi-polar disorder. She has been a Godsend as far as helping him stay on his meds. They have split up in the past. I put two and two together and freaked. Sooooo. I played Jewel Quest for an hour on my computer while I revved up the courage to call them. I called her cel number, figuring she would be more likely to spill any beans. But my son answered. Hello. I heard her voice in the background too. (Huge sigh of relief as well as huge embarrassment over my once again jumping to totally inaccurate conclusions.) Do you suppose they'll forgive me since it was only because I care about them so much? Nah…

Hell and High water

A friend of mine, who started out as my partner in crime in this community, (we were postulants together) was just received by the Order of St. Helena on Wednesday. I was supposed to be there. It was supposed to be a surprise. I even had a gift for her and everything.

But as the saying goes, all hell broke loose on Wednesday morning. A baby duck was injured by our sometimes duck-eating dog, the power went out during Morning prayer, a tree limb blew down in the school driveway, we had to clear the debris in a torrential rainstorm before the school was evacuated, frozen food had to be ferried to an operating freezer in another building. Only one vehicle was available since the windshield wipers went out on the other one… you get the picture.

I had just finished reading The Alchemist so was looking at these events with a new understanding of omens. Just too many to count for one morning. I used Sister's cel phone (our phones were out too) to call the convent and tell them I wouldn't be able to make it. I was aware of an odd mixture of disappointment and resignation, and noticed how different this reaction was to how I might have behaved even a couple of years ago. I thought of my mom, and how she would say I was a "determined cuss" with a mixture of pride and exasperation. There was a time when neither hell nor high water would stop me in my tracks. That changed somewhere along the way. So the question arises… at what price did I learn to let what is be okay? Maybe that's not even the right question.

Monday meme

Susan Rose, one of my sister bloggers tagged just about everyone who reads her posts. Good enough excuse to do another meme thingy… Fours are the theme today:

Four Jobs I've had in my life:
1. Navy photographer
2. Bookkeeper
3. Computer graphics animator
4. Magazine art director

Four Movies I could watch over and over (and have):
1. Last of the Mohicans
2. Bram Stoker's Dracula
3. Steel Magnolias
4. Working Girl

Four Places I have lived:
1. Portland, Maine
2. Jacksonville, Florida
3. Newport, Rhode Island
4. Charlotte, North Carolina

Four TV Shows I Lov(ed) to Watch:
1. Stargate SG1
2. West Wing
3. Friends
4. Joan of Arcadia

Four Places I have been on Vacation:
1. Ireland
2. Hawaii
3. Wales
4. Newport, Rhode Island

Four Websites I visit Daily:
1. Baking Sheet
2. my sister bloggers
3. mediabistro
4. my daughter-in-law's blog

Four Favorite Foods:
1. Enchiladas
2. Pizza (with anchovies)
3. Steamed clams
4. Indian food

Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now
1. The beach
2. The beach
3. The beach
4. Ireland

Four People I Tag for this Meme:
CG, LA, my daughter-in-law, and anyone else who wants to play

Do you suppose I'm depressed?

As I've mentioned before, I'm taking an online course called "The Universe Story." The purpose of the course is to inspire the student to revere the Universe itself as a living, self-organizing, sacred creation. The subtitle of the main book (also called The Universe Story) for the course says: From the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era, A Celebration of the Unfolding of the Cosmos. This goes beyond ecology-mindedness and tree-hugging. It requires a leap from thinking about the universe as a place, and understanding it as a Being. I have to admit I'm still not there. I do get it's not a place, any more than my body is a place for the red blood cells that travel through it, that each is a part of a larger more complex identity. But then I go: so what?

For one thing, all the scientific data compiled to strike awe into my soul has done just the opposite; it leaves me depressed. Back in the bacteria/single-celled days of our ancestry we learned how to eat each other. Aggression ruled. Some cells survived because other cells allowed themselves to be consumed. Another book called Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond gives an early example of the Maori overtaking the Moriori and killing them all off. The Moriori had adopted a way of life that was peaceful and simple. They were no match for the warlike Maori who apparently felt no remorse for the slaughter. Agression ruled again.

What's so different today? Jesus said: Love your enemy. Do good to those who hate you. But from the beginning of time those who believe this have been the ones who have sacrificed (or been sacrificed) so the aggressive could live. What's wrong with this picture? Jesus also said: The meek will inherit the earth. But it looks like that won't happen until after the rest of us have ruined it for all human habitation. They'll inherit a dump. Wahoo.

Only Child

two of my ring-sisters took this test. I may be the first to actually wind up in the ballpark. (I am an only child.)

You Are Likely an Only Child


At your darkest moments, you feel frustrated.
At work and school, you do best when you're organizing.
When you love someone, you tend to worry about them.
In friendship, you are emotional and sympathetic.
Your ideal careers are: radio announcer, finance, teaching, ministry, and management.
You will leave your mark on the world with organizational leadership, maybe as the author of self-help books.

The Birth Order Predictor

My first "review"

At the suggestion of a friend (who earlier had tuned me in to Joan of Arcadia) I requested that last night we watch the pilot for the new series "Book of Daniel".

Good grief! What can I say? Monty Python goes to church? I am so confused about what this series is trying to do… could it be: collect all stereotypical symbols available to the western world and splash them around the screen in a sit-com? If so, it was funny only because (about a third of the way through) we started asking "what haven't they covered?" There was substance abuse, sexual promiscuity, racism, the gay issue, stealing,embezzlementt, drug dealing, alzheimers, power plays and Jesus Christ Himself as a very non-Jewish stand-up comic. I'm sure I've left something out…

The English seem to be able to mock themselves with more success than we do. Case in point: The Vicar of Dibley series. We bungled it big time. What surprises me, is that Aidan Quinn and Ellen Burstyn, both excellent actors, allowed themselves to appear as part of the charade. The Episcopal Church-bashing didn't bother me: I'm used to poking fun at myself, and there were enough Catholic innuendos to offset anyone thinking this was about our church only.

Surely this can't be a hit?

Feast of the Epiphany

One left his business—
a profitable trade in spice.
The next kissed his wife goodbye.
How long will you be gone?
…Uh, not sure exactly, a while.
The last, with more money than brains,
was the ringleader: Hey, it will be
an adventure. A road trip. A Quest.
So off they went. It was a guy thing.

They had knowledge,
they wanted wisdom.
They had wealth,
they wanted treasure.
They had the answers,
they wanted the truth.

And what did they find?
Indeed, a child had been born.
Oh, and a corrupt monarch
was happy to kill the competition.
They dropped off their gifts
and took the back roads home—
(best to keep a low profile
with other people’s politics.)

Journey over, quest closed,
back to work, home, life.
well, that’s one version…

—Epiphany 2005

Beginnings

I love beginnings. A new year, a new month, a new moon… each one thrills me in its own way. I look around, take stock, see possibilities, and more importantly, see what's unfinished, holding me back from what could be.

Yesterday, even though it was the new year and the first day of the month (double whammy), I couldn't get motivated. Today is different. A day late is not necessarily a dollar short. This morning I was up early and made a list. I haven't made a list in ages… they work for me. The downside is I sometimes end up serving the list instead of it serving me. I fudge items so it looks like I did more than I actually did. (Will keep that in mind this year.)

Once I made resolutions for the month, not the whole year. That was easier to handle. Chunking down I think it's called. Taking stock means looking at what works and trying to do more of it, looking at what doesn't and trying to do less. Not easy to do less of what doesn't work, but still a noble goal for 2006.

Well, actually…

Sr. Catherine Grace's New Year's Eve blog was the inspiration for two of us to make party hats. We also played charades last night. I don't especially like charades. I'm not good at games.

Yet at my advanced age I've lost all sense of pride, so… when it was my turn to act out my phrase I launched into the effort with abandon. Sounds like… hair! The group went through the entire alphabet but never came up with "They're". Okay, second word: Sounds like… bust! And yes, I was pointing to my chest and other words surfaced before they got it. But nobody could come up with "just". Third word: second syllable… lines! First syllable… sounds like… hide. Nobody could think of "guide." Frustrated and laughing so hard I was about to wet my pants, I turned my party hat around so it drooped down over my eye and grabbed Simon's bone and did my best imitation of a swashbuckling pirate. Suddenly the group came alive. Pirates! Johnny Depp! "They're just guidelines!"

"Well actually, they're just guidelines" was one of the phrases from the first Pirates of the Caribbean that was a standard response from my Novice Guardian my first year in community. We were experimenting with the whole formation process and I was one of the guinea pigs. Every time something would contradict something else we'd been taught, out would come the stock phrase. It was as frustrating then to hear it as it was to act out last night.

But that first year I learned flexibility in a way I'd never experienced before. As irritable as I would get over what I perceived as glaring inconsistencies in what was expected of me, I softened and mellowed and surrendered to the inevitable response. "Well, actually, they're just guidelines." How fitting I would draw that one from the hat.

New Year's Eve

It's not New Year's Eve that we'll celebrate here. We'll celebrate it of course, but first we'll celebrate First Vespers of The Feast of the Holy Name. On the eighth day Jesus was taken to the temple to be presented, circumcised and officially named. Eight days from Christmas just happens to coincide with New Year's Day and the early church treated it as a fast day to offset the festivities celebrating Janus, god of beginnings.

For most Christians circumcision is a choice made for health or cultural reasons, not something we do to keep a covenant with God. Not so for the parents of Jesus. We now call the feast The Holy Name, shifting the emphasis from the cutting to the naming. Both of my sons were circumcised in the hospital, one immediately after his birth. (The doctor's reasoning was: he was already in shock from the birth trauma, one more little cut was not going to make much difference.) Not so for Jesus.

I've read that the name Jesus was not unusual in his time. Certain names were popular and used over and over. Case in point: Mary. We have the Virgin Mary, Mary of Magdala, Mary of Bethany… the list goes on. But after Jesus' naming we don't read about any other Jesuses in the Bible. He's the one. God Delivers.

My own given name was a source of embarrassment and irritation for me as a child. I was named after my grandfather, who apparently bemoaned the fact that he had four grandchildren (three of them boys) and my uncle had not thought to name a single one after him. His name was Claude, and I was named Claudia, because my mother, bless her heart, wanted to please him. But as a Navy child I was forced into new school situations every time I turned around. The inevitable question: "What's your name?" was the one I dreaded. I would answer "Claudia" and the disappointing responses would fly: "Never heard that name before… Did you say Gloria? Oh Cynthia, please sit over here… That's the dumbest name I ever heard…" And there was no way to shorten it, any nickname only made matters worse: "Clod, Clodhopper". It wasn't until college that the idea occurred to me to use my initials, CJ as a nickname. I have college friends who still call me that.

It wasn't so bad being Claudia as an adult, but I was still more than pleased to change my name when the time came to be clothed in the habit of the community. My name of choice, Claire Joy has its own story. But that's for another post.

Feast of the Holy Innocents

My literal heart, my chronological need for B to follow A always skips an irritable beat when we celebrate this feast before Epiphany. I want the wise men to come and leave and then celebrate. (Not that celebrate is the term I would use to describe the murder of children).

Some say that there's no historical proof that Herod slaughtered babies in Bethlehem… that it never happened. Okay then, why does such a story ring so true, feel so close to home?

That's a no brainer. The greedy and fearful have always killed the innocent to achieve their directives. They call it expedience, collateral damage, the ends justifying the means… and down through the ages atrocities have been covered up when the ends weren't met, and the means suddenly took on a different spin. Too close to home, this story. Even my personal chronological preferences give way to the awesome truth that evil still moves in a world where God exists.

Feast of St. John the Evangelist

This from today's Gospel reading: "And what about him?" Peter asks. And Jesus pretty much says "None of your business."
I need that stamped into my brain. My DNA needs to carry that message throughout every moment of my life. But it doesn't.
I am constantly asking "What about her? Why doesn't she have to…(fill in the blank)? Why does she get to skip Morning prayer whenever she feels like it? Why am I the only one cleaning up the bathroom? Why, why, why? (translate: whaaaa, whaaa, whaaa) And of course the answer is right there. My journey is not her journey. We are each called by God to do and be certain things for God. Call it our mission, destiny, purpose in this life… whatever. It's not about how fair it looks on the surface, or how differently we perceive our call. It's between me and God. What about her is none of my business.

In the darkness

It's not quite first vespers of Christmas, but this is about the only time I'll have to post before the festivities overtake my already hectic schedule… the poem and image were done the Christmas of my first year in community. (The muse had other plans this year for some reason.) Wishing you all a blessed Christmastide…
love,
Claire Joy


In the darkness of our times
the message was delivered… encoded, encrypted, undecipherable.

In the darkness of our hearts
the promise was fulfilled… imperceptible, disregarded, ignored.

In the darkness of our souls
The answer… failed to meet our expectations.

We failed to see your glory in a single twinkling star.
We failed to hear your voice in a newborn’s hungry cry.
We failed to see your love in innocence, humility… this birth against all odds.

This child’s destiny
Unimaginable, impossible… yet true.

Your light shines still.
And we, like deer, are blinded, frozen in our illusions.
So convinced that our goals are valid, we stand in the Presence
yearning for the truth and cannot comprehend that it is here already,
among us, within us, filling and surrounding us.

No glittering glory… only tender compassion
No mighty judgement… only merciful forgiveness
No shout of triumph… only silent, willing sacrifice.

This child’s destiny
Incomprehensible, impossible… yet true.

—Christmas 2003

Let the good memes roll

As some of you know, my daughter-in-law blogs. In fact, she was the initial encouragement for me to write one too. She writes about her life: married to my son (hilarious), as a Dean of Students in a Las Vegas high school (scary, funny, outrageous) as an intermittent step-mom (their son lives with his biological mom most of the time), and she does these meme things. Here's her latest series of questions:

Given the choice between these pairs, and no other alternative, which would you choose?

1. Salt or Pepper? I only get one? (damn) okay… pepper! I get soy sauce too, right?
2. Oreos or Milk? Milk, lots more versatile, not as fattening.
3. Peanut Butter or Jelly? Peanut butter, homemade. You want my recipe?
4. Going blind or going deaf? Blind… (I'm already going deaf and hate it!)
5. Out of toilet paper** or out of soap? Soap. (that was really a hard one.)
6. Shoes or socks? Shoes, sandals in summer.
7. Saliva or tears? Tears, I got milk.
8. Telephone or computer? Computer, way more versatile, just like milk.
9. AC or hot water? Hot water (remember, I have no soap)
10. electricity or vaccination? Electricity (need it to recharge the laptop)

More from Eden

Bible Verses you love to hate

There are just some Bible passages that leave me fuming. Case in point: yesterday's parable of the wise and foolish virgins… or bridesmaids today, since virginity is no longer the be-all-end-all it once was. But on to the story… You've got these silly girls, so awhirl in their excitement over the wedding that they forget to bring extra fuel for their lamps, and you've got the anal retentives who always come on time, prepared for all contingencies (that would be me).

As fate would have it, the groom is late (inconsiderate of him, don't you think?) and the girls fall asleep with their lamps lit. Oops, here he comes… wake up, get ready! but wait… "We're out of juice, the silly girls cry… give us some of yours."
"No!", the self-righteous ones proclaim… "we won't have enough for ourselves. Go buy your own."

And you know the rest of the story. Groom arrives, those who are there go in, and the door is closed and locked. Tough luck you silly girls, the Lord doesn't even know you.

Now wait just a minute… This is not the same God of compassion and forgiveness I've come to know and love. This is not the same Word of God that comes from Luke that says "lend generously, without expectation of repayment." This God is somebody else.

As a #1 on the Enneagram, I've had to learn (quite painfully) over the last couple of years that not everybody views the world with the same eyes as I do. Not everybody has to learn the right way to do something, and subsequently does it that way. Not everybody even thinks there even is one right way. And neither do I anymore. I have sisters who make their travel plans at the last minute, often don't even know their flight numbers, let alone forget to bring extra batteries for their flashlights. My job is to be generous and forgiving and accepting of them, because they in turn have their own strengths to add to the diversity of our community.

So if I were to rewrite this parable I'd say something like this: The ones with the extra oil would say to the ones with just enough, "Hey!, You know the groom may not show up on time. Lets blow out your lamps for now to save on fuel and we'll share our light until he comes. That way, we'll all be here to go in when he arrives." And that's exactly what they did. Amen.

See why I hate horoscopes?

Happy Birthday to me!

Your Birthdate: December 14

You work well with others. That is, you're good at getting them to do work for you.
It's true that you get by on your charm. But so what? You make people happy!
You're dynamic, clever, and funny. And people like to have you around.
But you're so restless, they better not expect you to stay around for long.

Your strength: Your superstar charisma
Your weakness: Commitment means nothing to you
Your power color: Fuchsia
Your power symbol: Diamond
Your power month: May

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Adam's apple

Day 5: Rest & Retreat

Eden still weaves through my creative endeavors. So many ideas to explore, and as they take shape, it now makes perfect sense (to me) that I would be attached to the images from Genesis to reflect on my Universe readings.

As goals stack up, I've done maybe half of what I hoped: Harry Potter and Fra Angelico (sacriligious to put them in the same breath?) St. Bart's pantry, lunch with my best friend, two really decent naps, and study, study, study… plus a software bonus totally unexpected: Photoshop 7! New buttons, new filters, more memory…

I never got to the Cloisters, but it snowed those huge snowglobe flakes yesterday morning, so I spent quite a while just gazing out the window. Tomorrow I travel home to Brewster: rested, broke, and looking forward to home. That's actually what it's about for me anyway, a time apart to reevaluate and reaffirm just how special home is.

Day 3: Rest & Retreat

How can it be Day 3 already? Where is the time going?
Well… more than a few hours were spent in Photoshop with (as yet) no satisfactory Christmas image to speak of. The muses were inclined instead toward Eden, as images kept arising on that subject. The idea for an Eden series peaked a few years ago, but I never did much more than think about it. Why now? With all the studying I'm doing for my course: The Universe Story you'd think I'd be painting galaxies and microbes, not Adam and Eve in the forest primeval. A primary goal of the course is to create a "new" story for our time… one that sets the human being into/and as part of the unfolding of an organized and sacred Universe. The "old" story of course sets Humans as the pinnacle of God's creation, and the moon and stars and earth only serve as backdrops, things to subdue and conquer. I'm out of sync, somehow, because I'm called artistically to render that old story while I simultaneously study the new one. (Freud would have fun with this.)

Day 1: Rest and Retreat

Our community offers two different kinds of vacation for its sisters, one is "family time" which, as everyone knows, may or may not be restful. The other is called Rest and Retreat. Last year (at just about this time) I stayed home, slept late, worked on a few projects, ate lunch with friends, restored the creche figures, read a good trash novel. It was perfect.

This year I have similar activities in mind, but I actually have goals for my rest time. Okay, that probably sounds like an oxymoron, I know. But I'm behind in a lot of things I really want to do, and a couple of things I really need to do: For one, an online course called "The Universe Story" which started smack dab in the middle of our garden harvest. I need to catch up on the readings and the postings, no small feat since I've dragged my derriére from the outset.

I want to design a Christmas card and as yet, have had no direct inspiration. I'd like to see the latest Harry Potter movie, visit the Metropolitan's Fra Angelico exhibit, and return to the Cloisters for an afternoon of meditation. I have a Friday lunch appointment with my best friend. I have six days… a room with a DSL connection, a city that looks like a fairyland, background sounds of sisters chanting the daily offices. It doesn't get much better than this. :)

Mission Statement

I have a whole new respect for the Council of Nicaea.

Here in Brewster, we're in the process of hammering out a vision statement for our house: a comprehensive (yet concise) set of words that reflects our ethos, understanding and vision… the New Story, the organic farm, all the programs we hope to create that will further awareness of the sacredness of not only our mother Earth, but the entire Universe.

And while we're not at all worried about naming heretics, we are having a devil of a time crafting in words what each of us believes in our hearts. At present we are seven women with varying degrees of understanding of who God is, what God's love looks like. Today we got caught up in the words "manifestation" vs. "revelation" of the Divine. (And we're still on point one.)

Yet the discussion itself, as unproductive in results at it seemed, was enormously helpful. To hear my sisters articulate the depths of their souls is not the standard fare of our regular discussions. Each had something to add that was important to her. And though we never agreed on a final final first point, but we did agree to sit with and pray about a tentative wording that was close.

I wonder if that's how they did it in Nicaea.

Feast of St. Andrew

I was an only child myself, so I never suffered the pangs of living in the shadow of an older sibling's light. But I had two sons, and watched my younger one defer to his older brother for many years. When they were boys, the older was smarter, louder, the instigator for their shenanigans. Much like Peter, he was impetuous and quick with answers and disclaimers. My younger son would often disappear into the woodwork, he was so adept at being invisible beside his brother. He also put up with his brother's bullying long after he was physically able to take the upper hand. Like Andrew, he was the thoughtful one, the practical one. He still is.

Andrew lived in the shadow of an impetuous brother. We only hear about him a few times in the Bible, next to Peter who continually hogs the limelight (for better or for worse). Andrew introduced people to Jesus (his own brother in fact) and found which kid had the lunch for Jesus' food miracle. Sometimes our job is to be a light. Sometimes it's to be a mirror for another's light. That takes inner strength and a willingness to lose our egos to a greater cause. Andrew certainly fit the bill. Here's to Andrew!

Forgiveness

I think the concept of forgiveness gets a bum rap because it's another one of those ironic God Truths. Folks assume that the forgiver is the one sacrificing his grudge on the altar of God, when in fact the act of forgiving is like a very strong antibiotic to help the forgiver heal.

The ones being forgiven often don't even know about it, so it's not always FOR them. They don't know or they don't care or they are dead. Even if someone asks you to forgive them, they aren't always ready for you to do it. Guilt, embarrassment, needing to find a glimmer of justification for whatever it was they did, will prevent the graceful acceptance of your forgiveness. It's for YOU. You get the prize, not the sacrifice.

Just one minor detail… letting go. You have to let go of being offended. Being wronged. Being hurt. Always a catch…

Birthday Gospel meme (what's a meme, anyway?)

December 14th (12:14) is my birthday, although I should probably look up 1:12, the date I was due to be born, according to my mom. I spent a good deal of time reading both horoscopes for a while… neither did me much good. I had a natal chart done once, too. But the woman explaining it seemed awfully interested in projecting her own issues onto my chart, so I took that with a grain of salt as well. There are some religious who believe that astrology is of the devil. I can't go there. The wise men were astrologers. They left everything to follow a star they'd never seen in the sky. The angel of the Lord came to them in a dream, for heaven's sake. I doubt they were of the devil.

Anyway… on with the meme. (Translation is NRSV, it was handy)
Matthew 12:14
But the Pharisees went out and conspired against him, how to destroy him.

Mark 12:14
And they came and said to him, "Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality, but teach the way of God in accordance with truth. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?"

Luke 12:14
But he said to him, "Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?"

John 12:14
Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it: as it is written…

Well that was definitely humbling. Betrayal, treachery and a horse's ass. Yep, that could pretty much describe me if I were looking at it from the devil's point of view. On the other hand, how blessed to be one who starts out saying "No!" seeking to rid myself of God's grace, talking cleverly around the truth of it, being confronted head-on with that very grace… and then finally being sat upon by the most high God, "you're not getting away, my dear… stand still; we're going to Jerusalem."

Advent I

O let us not, for evil past,
be driven from thy face at last,
but with thy saints for evermore
behold thee, love thee, and adore.
—from Hymnal 1982, #63

Advent… time of preparation, the New Year in the Western liturgical calendar, and kairos time. I'm a literal person when it comes to the church calendar and my liturgy. I don't like Holy Innocents day coming before Epiphany and I don't like to hear John the Baptist yelling in the desert when he's supposed to be leaping in Elizabeth's womb. But that's how it is with kairos time, and I'm learning (painfully) to accept it.

My first year in community had a batch of challenges. Advent was one of the difficult times: I was heavy into comparisons with all my previous Advents… and the convent version kept coming up short. No Lessons and Carols, no shopping, no decorating for Christmas. It was a mini-Lent, and wasn't one Lent a year enough already?

Last year I came into Advent a week late and a dollar short. I'd just spent three months in Wyoming and I was happy to just be home. I still had rest time coming and spent much of it restoring a beautiful, but badly beaten set of creche figures that had been in our community since the 50's. The very fact that the sisters let me even touch these things, let alone repair them and paint them was both flattering and intimidating. What if I wasn't as gifted an artist as I made myself out to be? What if I made them worse than they already were? I tested the waters with the massive stone walls that enclosed the cow and donkey. I painted a little of the backside of the walls, mixing dry pigments with polymer, just as I had been taught so many years ago. Okay, didn't mess up there. I moved on to a Wise Man. So far, so good. It all came back. Besides, the pigments had once belonged to a sister who had painted (in fresco) wall-sized murals in public buildings… she was a legend in our community. I felt like she was watching over me. "You're not messing up with my paints, Sister Claire Joy!" Work on those figures became my Advent prayer.

This year I'm in a different place again. I had a hard transition from city to country in late summer and am just now feeling the peace that comes from turning yet another corner in the spiral dance of life. When I'm in a long stretch of spiritual dearth I can't see the corner coming until after I've turned it. I think I'm actually looking forward to a mini-Lent this year. (Go figure)

Happy Thanksgiving

Wishing all of you Thanksgiving blessings…

including: a grateful awareness of how truly abundant life is,
recognizing how we easily lose focus and concentrate on what we don't have; granting forgiveness to ourselves and to everyone else when we do that, and always… relaxing into God's infinite patience with his creation, which includes us.

Seven is a good number for me

My daughter-in law, who writes her own funny blog, has issued a challenge… one of those get-to-know-you things where you list a bunch of things people may or may not know about you. Here goes:

7 things to do before I die

1. Actually publish something
2. Take a cruise (anywhere)
3. Go back to Ireland
4. Visit Scotland
5. Live to see great-grandchildren
6. Swim with dolphins or whales, not sharks
7. See Christ in every face

7 things I cannot do

1. Roll my r's
2. Add/subtract without using my fingers
3. Play any sports involving a ball
4. Hike long distances anymore
5. Read music
6. Love a cat that pees on the furniture
7. Figure out my natal chart

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex

1. Smile
2. Sense of humor
3. They think I'm funny
4. Musical ability
5. Generosity
6. Bald head
7. Intelligence

7 things I say most often

1. Uh oh
2. Well, I'm often wrong…
3. And your point is?
4. Okee dokee
5. I forgot what I came in here for
6. Hello (replaces #*@ words when I'm driving)
7. I have no clue

7 celebrity crushes

1. Patrick Stewart
2. Tom Cruise
3. Robert Redford
5. Sam Shepherd
6. Harrison Ford
7. John Denver (yes, I know he died, don't care)

Matthew's spin

Matthew 18: 21-35
Today's Bible study from Matthew was the parable of the "wicked slave," forgiven all his debt by his master, who turned around and refused to forgive another slave who owed him. It sparked some lively discussion. (Of course it may have helped that those of us present were candidates, not professed sisters, so we're still straddling an imaginary fence between the outside world and the inner life of convent.) One of us expressed indignation. After all, the master had already forgiven the first guy. When the tattletale friends of the second guy reported what had happened, he became so angry that he took it all back. Can he do that? Is God like that? Can absolution for sin, once given, be withdrawn just because you sin again?

These were good questions, tough ones. Apparently Matthew wants to reinforce the fear of God in his readers, because it's what he believes God is like. But who died and left Matthew chief interpreter of Jesus' parables? More discussion followed regarding forgiveness in general. Maybe that first slave was so embarrassed (shamed) by his master's benevolence that his guilt led him to want to pay back that money any way he could, and that meant shaking down the first unlucky one he met who still owed him money. When you put yourself in those shoes it can ring pretty true.

We returned to the Five Gospels translation (the one with colors) and sure enough, the scholars believe that the last sentence of that parable was not what Jesus said. It was Matthew's spin. We certainly know about media spin in our own time.

Jesus' point was: pass it on. Let your gratitude work for good, not your shame for evil. Forgive and forgive and quit counting. Seventy times seven. Now we're talking.

The Seven Deadly Sins

According to somebody's definition, the seven deadly sins are those sins which are fatal to spiritual progress. Fatal, not just harmful. Yikes. In case you can't remember them right off hand, I'll give the current list in order of severity (the last is worst): lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. If you google wikipedia.org (my new favorite website) they give a brief history as well as detailed explanations of each sin, and a handy reference of the demon associated with each particular one. That way, if you want to rid yourself of any particular one you know who to renounce. I also learned there are seven virtues, but that's another blog. I'm sticking with the sins.

Why this sudden interest in sin? Monastics couldn't possibly sin… Right. Who do you think came up with the first list?

Anyway, it's like this: I spent day before yesterday in the city convent and saw some old friends at supper. (Wednesday nights are talking meals.) One woman jokingly reminded me that I had not blogged since last Wednesday. Good grief, you're keeping track? Oh dear, pressure. But along with the pressure, there was that insidious glow of arrogance and dare I say it? Pride. The worst sin, mind you, and I was sitting there wallowing in it.

Later in the evening another conversation sparked that same obnoxious glow. Two in one day? Get a grip, girl! So I"ve been thinking about this, trying to understand what exactly in my personality craves praise. (Not that I'm the only human on earth to enjoy praise. I know that.) Still, praise always sounds a warning bell in the back of my head. Old messages from my childhood come barreling down my memory "nobody likes a show-off." or "Just who died and made you queen?"

Knowing that anything I do well is a gift from God is nice, but it doesn't really help. I know it, but when someone compliments me I can't honestly feel it. I may smile shyly and say "thank you" in my most humble voice, but inside my gut I'm crowing like Peter Pan. "Pride goeth before a fall" my grandmother always said. Look out below!

However, the more I think about pride and how it works in me, I realize that feeling these moments of satisfaction is not my real sin. I may be hearing old tapes but the tapes I'm not hearing are the ones I need to listen for. My own sin of pride eats me up when I see someone doing something and automatically think I could do it better. Or if someone makes a mistake that inconveniences me I think "why didn't they (fill in the blank)" as if I had some supernatural power to forsee how their mistake could have been avoided. It's when I recognize these times of insufferable arrogance in myself that I can fall down with true humility and get it. So, let me once again renounce Lucifer, (He's the one… wouldn't you know it?) and keep on plugging away.

Bread in the Desert

Matthew's version of the "Loaves and Fishes" story today produced lots of discussion and insights. This Bible study work can often be a lift off point for my day: new ways to think about myself and those around me.

One sister noticed the posture of Jesus on the mountain: how open and available and ego-less he was. Not only did he spend three days healing the mute, lame, maimed and blind, but he was worried about sending them off without a meal for the journey. She believed her call from this reading was to sit more in that kind of posture herself. What she doesn't recognize is that she often sits in that posture. She is one of the most concerned and caring (gracious is the word that comes to mind) sisters in our group, always willing to show hospitality and go an extra mile. But she doesn't see that in herself.

In a meeting yesterday another sister pointed out that perception is not reality. I know this is true; profound, even. I forget it all the time. My perceptions direct my actions, my reactions, my opinions and my attitudes. Until I'm willing to question my perceptions I can't begin to change them. And to do that I must ask questions of the others I perceive. What did you mean by that? Why did you say it? Why do you keep saying it? What is the reality underneath the imaginary?

Asking questions is tough work. Grueling and uncomfortable work… but necessary I think. If I am to live together with my sisters in harmony rather than constant discord, I need to do this work and do it constantly. The disciples asked Jesus "How do you expect us to find bread in the desert?" He answered by asking another question. "How much bread do you have?"

Thanks be to God

Early this week I was stricken with "Autumn Allergies". Some years this passes me by. Some years it comes in Spring. I never know exactly what I'm allergic to, but the results are always the same… Hay fever, coughing, post-nasal drip—which leads to asthmatic bronchitis. Nasty stuff, that. If I can stem the drip tide, I can sometimes scoot by with no bronchitis. If I can leave the area, I can sometimes fool my body into thinking Fall is over. When I lived in Florida a day at the beach would do the trick. (Salt air heals most all wounds.) So yesterday I guess my body got fooled.

I'm back in the city on Thursdays again. What a joy! I work behind the scenes with St. Bart's Community Ministry program. (That's the church, not the island.) I order food, organize supplies, sling cans and heavy boxes around the pantry, clean, and in general keep things stocked and within easy reach for the volunteers who work the pantry, breakfast feeding, and shelter. I used to work the breakfast feeding and shelter myself, so I know what a bummer it is to be out of cereal or milk, or coffee cups. Although I no longer work on the front lines, I know from experience what they'll need. It's a good fit.

Anyway, apparently the city isn't blooming with the same stuff as Brewster. I felt a little better on the ride back home last night. And this morning I had energy. Amazing what a couple of days of feeling rotten can do for my gratitude factor. And my compassion quotient. Maybe they're related. The sun is shining, I love the world, and it's great to be alive.

Let us bless the Lord…

All Souls Day

I found out this morning that we don't celebrate "All Souls Day" anymore. It's been changed to "The Faithful Departed." When did that happen? Who's bright idea was it to suddenly exclude all the unfaithful departed? Somebody that doesn't read his Bible the same way I do. In our Community, we make up a list to be read at Mass of all our dead friends and relatives that we want to remember and pray for… My own list included a lot of people that I have no idea if they were faithful or not. And, recognizing my own bouts with unfaithfulness, who am I to judge? God is in charge of all that.

For all the Saints…

Last night was Halloween, a time to dress up and make fun of death and darkness, all things spooky that give us the creeps. But today is the Feast of All Saints… a serious time to remember death as the great leveler, and that Life is the eternal promise. We have no idea what "Life" hereafter will be like, but we trust that it will be wonderful, beyond our best dreams.

But our God is a God of great irony: Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Those who wish to save their life will lose it… very little, if anything, in God's Kingdom is as we suppose it will be. Those of us who do not trust in a life after death have little to look forward to. We either do our best because it's all there is, or do our worst because it's all there is. Some of us have a fear of hell or judgement for the life we live now, and that works in varying degree to keep us honest.

I don't think I fear hell as much as I should. I've survived some hellish situations already in this life, and found (in retrospect) that I created a good deal of them all by myself. If there is another hell after death, I'll probably be responsible for it as well.

But I've also experienced in this lifetime what only could be described as the Kingdom of God: moments of amazing peace that came only by grace, not by my effort, glimpses of compassion within myself and shining through others. The memories alone still take my breath away. So for all the saints who are already in that dimension of perfection, I give thanks. I thank the ones I knew who loved me, and also the ones who treated me badly and somehow helped me grow.

Death is the great leveler. I will die at some point too. I hope to see you all on All Saint's Day.