Hi folks... just a reminder that I am voxing (bloging at vox.com). My url is:
www.onpilgrimage.vox.com
peace,
Michael B
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Sharing dreams
The older I get, which really feels odd rolling off the tongue, the more I value the people who offer meaningful gestures that let you trust they believe in your dreams.
One expects their parents (I wish everone had that kind of parent) to have a reasonable amount of encouragement to offer their child's dream - but the day one realizes their parents, and others, really does believe in that dream with you - that's a great day.
I've been taking a few steps toward one of my dreams - perhaps the only or most real dream I have. Every time I have a disconcerting moment - or I totter a little bit - someone this week has been there say "you can do it!" Kind of like Lisa's parrot in Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sadaris. But more real - because it hasn't been just with words, it has been with gestures. Like a fellow student who slipped a note under my door with a check in it, to help me with some logistics, or a people from whom I expected skepticism saying, "I want to join you." It felt like someone sent me a bouquet of gestures that say, "Michael, it will be hard, but ever petal from this bouquet is the world is saying 'YES'!".
I hope that I can be a rose petal yes to another persons dream in their much needed flower delivery. Sometimes it is obvious, but often, the hidden frustrations are what people most need help with. We really have to watch for the moments in others' lives when they need a little bouquet of support.
One expects their parents (I wish everone had that kind of parent) to have a reasonable amount of encouragement to offer their child's dream - but the day one realizes their parents, and others, really does believe in that dream with you - that's a great day.
I've been taking a few steps toward one of my dreams - perhaps the only or most real dream I have. Every time I have a disconcerting moment - or I totter a little bit - someone this week has been there say "you can do it!" Kind of like Lisa's parrot in Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sadaris. But more real - because it hasn't been just with words, it has been with gestures. Like a fellow student who slipped a note under my door with a check in it, to help me with some logistics, or a people from whom I expected skepticism saying, "I want to join you." It felt like someone sent me a bouquet of gestures that say, "Michael, it will be hard, but ever petal from this bouquet is the world is saying 'YES'!".
I hope that I can be a rose petal yes to another persons dream in their much needed flower delivery. Sometimes it is obvious, but often, the hidden frustrations are what people most need help with. We really have to watch for the moments in others' lives when they need a little bouquet of support.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Prophesy to breath:
I love the reading about the dry bones, but this year it felt like I was hearing it for the first time.
This time, the commandments to prophesy stuck out to me. I usually tend to think of prophesy as something cerebral, intellectual. We prophecy to enlighten, and to change someone's mind.
But here, we overhear God commanding Ezekiel, prophesy to the bones, and prophesy to the breath.
And Ezekiel did, saying, "Come from the four winds, O breath." And then the breath did come, and life entered the newly sinew-covered, epidermal-wrapped bones, and they stood on their feet. That must have been an awesome sight.
Prophesy to bones? Prophesy to breath? How sad that God had to show people their hard-heartedness by saying, 'Look, I can't get dead, dry bones out in the desert to listen better than you will!'
With the US at war with so many people, other countries in their own fighting, and women and children in so much pain and suffering, I think of how many bones are going out into the desert, and will one day stand before us as a witness to our own inhumanity.
This time, the commandments to prophesy stuck out to me. I usually tend to think of prophesy as something cerebral, intellectual. We prophecy to enlighten, and to change someone's mind.
But here, we overhear God commanding Ezekiel, prophesy to the bones, and prophesy to the breath.
And Ezekiel did, saying, "Come from the four winds, O breath." And then the breath did come, and life entered the newly sinew-covered, epidermal-wrapped bones, and they stood on their feet. That must have been an awesome sight.
Prophesy to bones? Prophesy to breath? How sad that God had to show people their hard-heartedness by saying, 'Look, I can't get dead, dry bones out in the desert to listen better than you will!'
With the US at war with so many people, other countries in their own fighting, and women and children in so much pain and suffering, I think of how many bones are going out into the desert, and will one day stand before us as a witness to our own inhumanity.
Finding the inner blog:
So these last few days, I've found it difficult to blog as I catch up from being gone to Santa Barbara (he says dreamily).
I've also noticed how my blog, at times is it's own moment of lingering, increasingly on phrases from the lectionary texts in the Episcopal Church, but many aren't. I'm thinking to myself, "okay, you called this thing holy lingering, but you aren't really talking about that much." In part that's because you can only beat a dead horse (not condoning animal-abuse!) so much, but also, I'm not really taking much time to actually lingering these hectic days, and as I slowed down in my blog writing, I felt like I was loosing one of the places where I was intentionally lingering each day - with a text or a moment or a memory.
That's one of the things I miss about pilgrimage - walking requires you to slow down, pay a little more attention, try to be a little burp of peace in the world.
The hard part is conjuring up the muscle memory of alowing down, lingering over my experiences and thoughts, searching for the gold flakes of God's love and mercy in the river worn mountain-dust in my life-pan.
I've also noticed how my blog, at times is it's own moment of lingering, increasingly on phrases from the lectionary texts in the Episcopal Church, but many aren't. I'm thinking to myself, "okay, you called this thing holy lingering, but you aren't really talking about that much." In part that's because you can only beat a dead horse (not condoning animal-abuse!) so much, but also, I'm not really taking much time to actually lingering these hectic days, and as I slowed down in my blog writing, I felt like I was loosing one of the places where I was intentionally lingering each day - with a text or a moment or a memory.
That's one of the things I miss about pilgrimage - walking requires you to slow down, pay a little more attention, try to be a little burp of peace in the world.
The hard part is conjuring up the muscle memory of alowing down, lingering over my experiences and thoughts, searching for the gold flakes of God's love and mercy in the river worn mountain-dust in my life-pan.
Archbishop murdered:
Our war in Iraq has created a lot of victims. All war does. My prayers go up for Chaldean Catholic Archbishop Paul Faraj Rahho's and two of his companions. He was ambushed only a few weeks ago. I am so sorry for my sisters and brothers in Iraq, whatever faith they may profess, for the horrors of war they see - it is so difficult to imagine, here in comfortable US. My heart also goes out to the soldiers - I know that they, too, suffer things we cannot imagine.
Before he died, did he pray for those who were killing him? Was he afraid? Was he confident? Did he sense Christ present with him? I am not suggesting unreasonable expectations for him, but just reflecting more on what I would do - what would I think, or do, or be in this situation?
As Christians prepare for Palm Sunday and Holy Week in the Western Christian churches, I think it is important to reflect on the lives of the martyrs of the faith - those who, unlike most US Christians, really do put their life in harm's way, and not by going out on impossible missions, but by their daily living - driving to work.
In the midst of Lent, we remain a resurrection people, and so can pray for God's mercy with hope and continue our journey in confidence that God's power to make all things new is infinitely more creative than the destructive forces we face in our own lives.
Before he died, did he pray for those who were killing him? Was he afraid? Was he confident? Did he sense Christ present with him? I am not suggesting unreasonable expectations for him, but just reflecting more on what I would do - what would I think, or do, or be in this situation?
As Christians prepare for Palm Sunday and Holy Week in the Western Christian churches, I think it is important to reflect on the lives of the martyrs of the faith - those who, unlike most US Christians, really do put their life in harm's way, and not by going out on impossible missions, but by their daily living - driving to work.
In the midst of Lent, we remain a resurrection people, and so can pray for God's mercy with hope and continue our journey in confidence that God's power to make all things new is infinitely more creative than the destructive forces we face in our own lives.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
see me at VOX
Hi Folks,
I've been try to do double duty on blogspot and vox, but find I'm really drawn to vox for right now. I hope you will check out my blog there until this one comes to full term ;)
http://onpilgrimage.vox.com/
Thanks - Michael B
I've been try to do double duty on blogspot and vox, but find I'm really drawn to vox for right now. I hope you will check out my blog there until this one comes to full term ;)
http://onpilgrimage.vox.com/
Thanks - Michael B
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Pilgrimage or Fugitive: Lent
Run, run, run, as fast as you can - you can't catch me I'm the gingerbread man! Okay, rediculous strart, but it came to mind. My dad and I used to, and still sometimes do, take rides through the countryside. We'd eat fried pig skins (disgusting, huh?), and drink whatever our favorite soda was (usually, for me, rootbeer). Now that I have revealed to you how thoroughly Mississippian I am, I suppose I can share with you have formative it was. Not only in developing a bond with my father - strong enough for me to chose to "come out" during one of our drives - but in helping me think about pilgrimage.
As I ponder Holy Lingering, I am promoting moments of stability that punctuate our pilgrimage. Pauses for reflection allow our roots to grow a little deeper and find some sustenance, before picking up and moving on. This is countercultural , especially the USA. When I look at my father, I wonder if his own love of travel was not only a movement forward, but a movement "away from". Pilgrimge, like any travel, has often included those who were fleeing.
The difference, I think, between a pilgrimage and a fugitice is the pilgrim runs toward and with love. The fugitive is running away. Perhaps my study and interest in holy lingering is a call for me to engage the practices of the season of Lent: to thoroughly search myself, to present my sins to God, to make ammends as possible with those whom I have offended, and know by grace and mercy the compassion and love of God.
As I ponder Holy Lingering, I am promoting moments of stability that punctuate our pilgrimage. Pauses for reflection allow our roots to grow a little deeper and find some sustenance, before picking up and moving on. This is countercultural , especially the USA. When I look at my father, I wonder if his own love of travel was not only a movement forward, but a movement "away from". Pilgrimge, like any travel, has often included those who were fleeing.
The difference, I think, between a pilgrimage and a fugitice is the pilgrim runs toward and with love. The fugitive is running away. Perhaps my study and interest in holy lingering is a call for me to engage the practices of the season of Lent: to thoroughly search myself, to present my sins to God, to make ammends as possible with those whom I have offended, and know by grace and mercy the compassion and love of God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
