Tag: COVID-19

Pilgrimage at home

There’s a good chance that a whole lot of people are feeling stuck at the moment. Stuck at home, stuck in a rut, stuck in the time warp of several weeks known collectively as blursday.

And this won’t do. We are far too busy, we have too much to do to be sitting at home. We believe Tom Cochrane when he tells us, “Life is a highway, I want to drive it all night long.”

Of course, if you are like Holly, Michael, and Daryl from “The Office,” or me, or a lot of people, you realize how old that song gets, how old that way of thinking gets, and how easy it is to get “stuck” and restless with that approach to life.

Maybe we needed to pull the car over anyway. And get out and look around. Thomas Merton helps me do that. The photo at the top of the page was taken by Merton in northern California in 1968. I first came across it in an incredible multimedia piece by Emergence Magazine. One of the most calming, soul-opening, wonder-producing things I have ever watched, if you have 11 minutes, this video captures more of how I feel about God, spirituality, solitude, and pilgrimage than just about anything I have found.

I say this frequently, but Merton has been one of the most influential thinkers in my faith walk; he not only speaks to my soul, he often speaks my soul, and sends me into wonder and awe and connection and helps me find my own words for my own journey.

In the film, Merton talks about the metaphor of the journey.

“Going off where God leads you… We’re all on a journey, we’re all going somewhere… The geographic pilgrimage is the symbolic acting out of an inner journey. Every moment and every event of every person’s life on earth plants something in their soul.”

Thomas Merton

In the photo, Merton and company have pulled over. They are out of the car. I think that’s significant. Journeys aren’t always about traveling physical distance; you run the risk of missing what’s going on around you.

Pilgrimage is one of my favorite words. It has been since the first time I heard it–it imprinted on me in a deep way, like it was already waiting in me, just to be woken up, and it may end up as part of a tattoo. Pilgrimage is equal parts an interior word as it is exterior/geographic.

There was a great deal of care and thought given to the house where I live by people who lived here before me. There is a winding path of stepping stones from the back deck, around the yard, to what has become my writing shed/sanctuary. The stones sit above the puddles when rain collects in the yard and it also makes a meditative, mindful, intentional walk in any weather. There are days when I try to make each stone a prayer. Among the stepping stones, there are two with pottery, stones, sea glass, rocks and found objects incorporated into them.

“Living is the constant adjustment of thought to life and life to thought in such a way that we are always growing, always experiencing new things in the old and old things in the new. Thus life is always new.”

Thomas Merton, “Thoughts in Solitude”

If I think about it, a walk across the yard can be a symbolic pilgrimage. It can take me somewhere new, even while taking me to the same place each day.

If I take each step as a prayer…

“God utters me like a word, containing a partial thought of himself. Let me seek then the gift of silence and poverty and solitude, where everything I touch is turned into prayer. Where the sky is my prayer; the birds are my prayer; the wind in the trees is my prayer. For God is all, in all.” (Merton, Emergence video)

At the door to the shed is the second art-dazzled stone. It puts creativity right at the doorstep. The kind of journey, the kind of art we need right now, maybe the kind we always need is the kind that connects us. It’s the art where we can see another and be seen by another, in the truest sense. And it’s a journey into and from our own solitude that shows us how we are connected.

Into our solitude…

“What can we gain by sailing to the moon, if we’re not able to cross the abyss that separates us from ourselves? This is the most important of all voyages of discovery and without it all the rest are not only useless but disastrous.” (Merton, Emergence)

And back out…

“Our task now is to learn that if we can voyage to the ends of the earth, and there find ourselves in the stranger who most differs from ourselves, we will have made a fruitful pilgrimage. This is why pilgrimage is necessary, in some shape or other. Mere sitting at home and meditating on the Divine presence is not enough for our time. We have to come to the end of a long journey and see that the stranger we meet there is none other than ourselves.” (Merton, Emergence)

Pilgrimage, really faith is about transformation. It’s both about finding ourselves, which we have to do first, and then seeing ourselves in others and them in us.

Whether we are at home or when we can get back out into the world, we are on the same journey. And if we want to get the most out of it, we are going to have to get out of the car. We’ll want to meet the strangers. And meet ourselves. Maybe we will come out of this pilgrimage at home finding ourselves more connected than when we started.

Quarantine All-stars

I’ve come to realize that living life in quarantine isn’t that much different than my daily life. Less nature than I would like, and my work schedule may actually be busier working from home, but on the whole I dig being at home. In the case of the Coronavirus and everyone being home, and teenage girls having to change their mindset; and just the general mental and emotional uneasiness of a global pandemic, there is something different afoot.

When we look back, everyone will have different things that buoyed them, or helped them re-acclimate, helped them connect. So I thought I’d look at some of my quarantine all-stars to date.

You can’t overstate the importance of music. I concur with Friedrich Nietzsche when he wrote, “Without music, life would be a mistake,” and Kurt Vonnegut who said his epitaph could say, “The only proof he needed for the existence of God was music.”

I am a fan of Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats. I’ve dug hearing them on 103.1 WRNR. Hearing the title track from his new solo album, “And It’s Still Alright” on the radio, I’ve always let it play. Then multiple people started weighing in with how good the whole album is. Rateliff started writing the album at the unraveling of his marriage and later had to get through the death of a close friend. From his website, talking about the album, and how he worked through what the album wanted to be:

“out of his restless subconscious, helping him address some big life questions — the ones that have stumped philosophers, statesmen and profound thinkers since time began, exploring the unsteady terrain of love and death. But in the end, what he really was doing was creating an homage to his friend.”

It’s an album about questions; it’s an album about getting through things; it’s an album with lines that stick in my head, such as, “If the world goes strange, its dying flames / Would light the end of the last morning.”

Questlove, live from his house, paying tribute to Bill Withers.

A different take on quarantine soundtrack has come from Questlove of the Roots. With the band staying home, Questlove has been holding DJ sessions from his house, raising money for different causes, and paying tribute to eras of music, with his Native Tongues Review, and to Bill Withers who just died, with Bill Still. I am telling you, if you want to put something on in your house and let it play for a couple hours, Native Tongues brings back an era of hip hop with A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, the Jungle Brothers, you name it, some formative bands, and just blending it altogether. And Bill Withers, man, the whole session is just smooth and flowing and feels good.

I’m used to Questlove being the drummer and front man for one of my favorite bands. He’s written books and been featured in great articles, and this social media scholar and DJ is just another aspect of a guy who carries the cool banner for this, and other eras.

From music to movies. I’ve watched Rian Johnson’s “Knives Out,” multiple times now. I didn’t catch it in the theaters, so one night I kicked back and pulled it up at home. And I knew I needed to check it out again. So a few nights ago, I pulled my daughters into the next screening. Both girls loved it, Anna (18) said it was the best movie she’d seen in a long time, and maybe one of her favorites. It’s a great whodunnit-typed movie; it’s got James Bond (Daniel Craig) and Captain America (Chris Evans), who play roles nothing like their famous characters; and as someone who likes to figure movies out, even when halfway through the movie you think you know everything, you don’t. Not even close.

Screens certainly dominate media these days. And I am psyched that “Cheers” is now on Netflix; “The Office” is a constant connection, time-filler, and connector between the girls and I, who quote it back and forth frequently; and I have them part-way through the series “Lost,” which was a favorite show of mine while it was on TV.

You know I have to finish with books. We have had substantial reading going with work–studies of John’s Gospel, which started last October, a quick devotional through Matthew’s Gospel for Lent, and looking for our next online classes–but in this case, I am looking at the just for fun reading.

On the graphic novel front, Kieron Gillen’s “Once and Future” plays King Arthur’s legend into our modern world, which is a trippy, mythical, re-imaging as a kind of ghost story. I ate Arthurian legend stuff up growing up (named our Golden Retriever “Morgan” after King Arthur’s sister when I was nine) and Gillen has become a writer who I try to read about everything I can from. Christian Ward is known as an artist, but is trying his hand at writing and in Machine Gun Wizards, he looks at Eliot Ness and prohibition, but if prohibition was outlawing magic, not booze. And what can I say about Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman,” which was cited as one of the 100 best books (not graphic novels, books) of the century. It bears reading and re-reading. And since a friend and I are currently taking Gaiman’s masterclass on storytelling, this seemed like a great time to dig back into the world of dream and open my imagination.

I’m 180-something pages into Emily St. John Mandel’s “Station Eleven,” which we will be doing an online/Zoom book club for in the very near future. I am having a lot of fun with it. It’s set after the collapse of civilization due to a global pandemic virus. This is one of the blurbs that pulled me in:

“An audacious, darkly glittering novel set in the eerie days of civilization’s collapse, Station Eleven tells the spellbinding story of a Hollywood star, his would-be savior, and a nomadic group of actors roaming the scattered outposts of the Great Lakes region, risking everything for art and humanity.”

A motto of one of the main characters is “Survival is insufficient.”

Sometimes when we enter new territory, it’s not novelty we need, but familiarity. We need something to ground us and help us get our footing. I’ve written a lot about Jim Harrison, who I consider one of the writers to have the biggest impact on me, both through his writing, his persona, and how he lived his life. And despite having written numerous great novels, novellas, and short stories, it’s often his poetry that I end up keeping nearby.

I was reminded recently of Harrison’s poem, “I believe.” He lists things he believes in, which include: steep drop-offs, empty swimming pools, the overgrown path to the lake, abandoned farmhouses, gravel roads that end, leaky wooden boats…”

You know what? I’ll let you read it for yourself, noting that the poem ends with “struggling to stay alive in a world that grinds them underfoot.” Let me just say that music, movies, books–these thinks aren’t just diversions that distract us from what’s going on in the world; instead, they are connection, connecting us to the artists, connecting us to something bigger than ourselves; connecting us to each other through music, art, and stories; and in the process of creation, connecting us to God.

Don’t bury your talents

We all bring something to the table. And what each person brings is necessarily different from what anyone else brings. And if you subscribe to the notion of life taking a village, a community, part of what makes everything work is each of us adding our own gifts.

This week in our Lent small group, we read Matthew 25 in N.T. Wright’s “Lent for Everyone,” which includes the parable of the talents. In the story Jesus tells, the master goes on a journey and leaves a sum of money (talents) with three different slaves. He gives the first slave five talents, the slave turns it into 10; he gives the second two talents, he turns it into four. The master is pleased and rewards them. The last slave is given one talent, is scared, buries the talent, and just gives it back to the master when he gets back. The master is not happy and wants him thrown out into the dark where bad stuff goes down.

The things about parables, about stories, if they aren’t memorable, they aren’t worth much. Some of them are harsh, and each of the stories Jesus tells are meant to get a message across. Whereas a talent in the story is currency or money, it is a word that works for us in our time as well: talking about our own talents.

Wright breaks it down for us in his commentary after the reading:

“…each of us has been put here with a particular purpose and calling, which only we can do. Our task is to find out what that is and to do it. That remains true whether the purpose is playing the trumpet, cooking meals, planting trees, performing heart transplants, or even preaching sermons. Sometimes, of course, it’s a struggle to discover what our calling is.”

N.T. Wright

We could stand to listen to Jesus, and to Wright, during this time of pandemic with COVID-19 calling for so many different responses from all of us. Some of the shining talents that have come to light at Christ Church Easton during this time, are the musical and video editing skills of members of the church’s music ministers, bands, and choirs. “Hold Us Together,” “Stand in Your Love / Chain Breaker,” and “Be Still My Soul,” have each become Facebook phenomena going far beyond anything the church has recorded or media that it has created. The comments about the hope and connection people are feeling from them have had hearts overflowing all over. I still have a hard time getting through any one of the videos without breaking down.

None of this happens if contemporary music minister Ray Remesch doesn’t step up and say he can direct, record, and edit videos; if Alive @ 5 music minister Bruce Strazza isn’t using his technical expertise, above and beyond his musical talent, to make sure the staff and the band have the systems and equipment they need to work remotely; if the musicians and singers don’t make the time to bring their skills to the table; and Tracy Kollinger doesn’t research and figure out the best ways to upload and stream live videos. We’ve had different staff and volunteers who have stepped up and into different hats in both subtle and profound ways.

Obviously these aren’t front-line jobs. The talents of doctors, first responders, school systems and community volunteers working to make sure kids and families are fed; grocery store and restaurant workers coming up with new ways to stay open and feed people; there are so many people offering and stretching their talents in so many ways, that it is nothing short of remarkable. People are stepping up with the gifts they have been given and are increasing their talents, not burying them.

There are also those of us that are waiting, maybe unsure what gifts we bring to the table, and unsure about the timing and way we might use them. In his commentary on the parable of the talents, Wright has some thoughts:

“…each of us is called to exercise the primary, underlying gifts of living as a wise, loving human being, celebrating God’s love, forgiving, praying, seeking justice, acting prudently and courageously, waiting patiently for God’s will to be done.”

Wright

In this case, God’s will has nothing to do with the pandemic virus sweeping the world, but everything to do with how God’s people are called to respond. It’s up to us, to use the talents God has given us to give back to the community, our neighbors, and thereby the world.

It could be praying; it could be reaching out to a friend or family member; it could be supporting local businesses who are going through an unprecedented time; it could be feeding people; it could be staying home and being available when ready; it could be giving hope and humor and peace to someone who needs it.

What’s asked of us is not to bury our talents, but to be open, to increase them, and to share them. There is hope there.

Contributing a Verse

Sometimes it’s there, just below the surface. My mind is distracted, looking for the familiar, but knowing it won’t come from there. It’s something new.

A beautiful morning, or evening, outside, smelling cut grass, swooning in the start of spring. It seems like normal. But go to grab groceries and it hits: it’s eerie. Off. Something is not right. You can feel it.

We are all called to respond in our own ways. To stay home, yes, but also called to look differently, think differently, maybe to live and be differently. I’ve been trying to get my head around it.

Before COVID-19 arrived, Fr. Bill Ortt put out a Lenten challenge at Christ Church Easton: 1) Find a word that speaks to you; 2) choose a Bible verse that uses your word; 3) Memorize your verse and pray, meditate, reflect on your word/verse as a Lenten mantra of sorts; 4) Write your word on one of the small, wooden crosses the church gives out. And if you are inspired to, take a picture and share your cross-verse.

There have been some wholly wonderful responses. “Heal,” “light,” “love,” “pray,” “faith”–it’s been inspiring to see and read how people came to their word (or their word came to them) and what they are doing with the experience.

My word wasn’t there at first. Or it was, but I wasn’t listening.

As a church, when it was clear that we weren’t going to be gathering together for a time, we had to figure out what that meant; what it looked like; how to stay relevant, be there for people; how to continue to shine a light; how to connect; how to help people be hopeful. We had to do things differently.

We had to create something new. Or at least new to us. We moved our meetings, small groups, and prayer gatherings to ZOOM. Worship services (what would worship look like now?) to Facebook Live. And our music ministries became video artists–I stop every time I hear/watch “Hold Us Together,” “Stand in Your Love / Chain Breaker,” or “Be Still My Soul.” These are videos that have been viewed tens of thousands of times now on Facebook and shared widely. They strike a chord, they speak to hope and faith and love and connection. They weren’t a priority before social distancing, until they became one of the key ways to communicate. This is a time that is teaching us how to create, how to be differently, how to look at what’s important. And it’s not about adapting to a temporary predicament–it’s about moving toward, embracing something new.

I am fascinated by stories. As a writer, I read them, listen to them, think about them, and hope to share and tell them in new and interesting ways. But with between work, two teenage daughters, life, it’s not always easy to make time to write.

As I sat, prayed, reflected, my word, both professionally and personally was there all along: CREATE. And when I started looking through Bible verses, Isaiah practically smacked me upside the head:

“For I am about to create new heavens
and a new earth;
the former things shall not be remembered
or come to mind.”

Isaiah, 65:17

In this time, our time, maybe we are called to look at our lives with an eye towards creating better lives.

Maybe we are called to look at our personal and collective stories, and tell new ones.

If our world is necessarily knocked off its axis, perhaps we can look at how to get it spinning around love, kindness, community, sustainability, and creativity.

If I stay home, simply waiting, doing things as I’ve always done them, and at the other end of this pandemic, just shrug, and go back to business as usual, what have I learned or gained from the experience?

This isn’t meant to be some Pollyanna motivational speech. I know my shortcomings. I know I will be lazy, I will fall short, I will miss opportunities. I try to own my humanity, my flaws, and my mistakes. But the idea behind a word, a mantra, a verse to think, pray, reflect on, is what I set my eyes to–what I aim towards, what I strive for. And in the face of a global virus the world is responding to in ways that none of us have seen in our lifetimes, it is a legitimate time to look at our lives and think about where and how we are and where we want to be.

Each spring, I go back to Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass.” It’s become a way to enter the season of rebirth, of resurrection. And this year I am hit especially by his “O ME! O LIFE!” in the same space and way that Robin Williams quoted it in Dead Poets Society.

We are here. We exist. It didn’t have to be, but it is. And in life’s powerful play, we may contribute a verse. That is what we create. But it’s up to us.

I want to wake up open to what it is God is creating in the world and creating in me.

“Create in my a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit.”

(Psalm 51:10-12)