A whale of a tale

There’s an old saying about worries or cares being like having a monkey on your back. Yoga is sometimes referred to as the practice of quieting the monkey brain. The visual is not hard to grasp – a pesky, distracting monkey constantly turning your attention from whatever is before you, to instead satisfy the Curious George at your back.

I also love the pop song, “Shake it off” – though I don’t mean the Taylor Swift version. I mean Florence and the Machines: “It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake it off.” But come to think of it, Taylor’s song is pretty similar in intent: “Haters gonna hate-hate-hate-hate-hate. You just gotta shake it off, shake it off.”

There was once a man named Jonah. (Josie, seriously where are you going with this, now?)

Jonah was being called by God. I’m paraphrasing here but essentially God was saying, “Hey, go over to that town Nineveh and tell them to quit being so sinful. They’re doing all kinds of stuff that you know I don’t like. Please be my hands and be my voice and tell them to stop and find peace in me.”

If you’re familiar with the tale, you know that Jonah runs away to hide from the Lord’s call but God, ever clever and snarky, has Jonah get swallowed up into a fish (technically a mammal) that delivers him via express-whale to the shores of Nineveh. Jonah eventually does as God commands and tells the people of Nineveh to repent. They listen and their lives are renewed.

The story is one that I’ve known since I was a child but I may have never really heard it. How familiar is the experience of something tugging at your heart but your mind tells you to run far, far away. Then, just when you think your head is about to be buried in the sand, God upends the situation and you come face to face with it. “Do I say the thing I’m struggling to stifle?” “Do I offer up the help I’m scared will be rejected?”

It strikes me that Nineveh was the monkey on Jonah’s back. And while he was trying to just shake-shake-shake it off, God had a plan.

Nineveh is still a land of consequential actions, being situated on the shores of the Tigris River in Iraq. As recently as this week, ISIS soldiers were terrorizing the people of Nineveh Province.

I wonder if there might be some modern day Jonah trying to shake off a call from God to go serve His people in Nineveh. And can you imagine a bigger whale than ISIS to drive that Jonah to their shores? God be with you, Jonah. And a moment of thanks to realize my own monkey is not so hard to carry, quiet and 'shake it off' by answering God's call.

A Spirited Run

I’m not a runner. Well, technically I trained for a 5K and completed it with only a few walk breaks but I think there’s a reason you don’t see 3.1 car stickers. Anyway, because I’m not a runner I’ve never experienced the delightful-sounding “runner’s high.” That moment when you transcend sidesplitting, shin-aching drudgery to a Zen-like oneness with your path.

I have however known the enjoyment of being so engrossed in an enriching activity that it felt like I was “in the zone.” Things were just flowing, my body was an extension of my mind and they were in perfect harmony. Man, that’s an awesome sensation.

There’s also the uniquely satisfying feeling of epiphany. That aha moment when an insight strikes. Two previously uncorrelated ideas come together in a magnificent pairing that just makes sense. Once you’ve thought the thought, you can never un-think it.

What I find interesting about all of these situations is that they often follow what neuroscientists and human behaviorists would describe as a struggle-struggle-exasperation-burst sequence. When we quit trying to control the outcome and instead give in, that’s when the subconscious magic happens.

You’re running, you’re running, you’re hating life, you’re running, you’re running, and out of nowhere all is well in the world.

You’re encountering resistance to your project, you’re trying to find new alternatives, you get ready to start a new task and suddenly you find you’re knocking the project out of the park.

You can’t figure out the solution, you pull an all-nighter just turning the problem over and over in your mind, you finally opt for a shower and boom, the answer stares you in the face.

While all of this is fascinating (IMHO) you may be wondering what it has to do with spirituality. Indulge me a few minutes more.

It was Friday. Since I give up meat every day (though technically I’m vegetarian by choice, not as an act of devotion) I had decided that this Lent I would give up dairy and eggs on Friday as a special sacrifice; I’d be a Lenten Vegan.

While I wasn’t fasting per se, eating food without cheese is super boring so my lunch had been pretty basic. Then it was time for daily Mass at 5:30 and the act of kneeling plus fewer (and blander) than usual calories paired with a high-pitched hum in the back of church left me feeling tired. Exhausted, really.

I offered up my fatigue and acknowledged that I had enjoyed more food, more sleep and less stress than many millions of other people in the world that day. I kept on “churching,” and suddenly the hum became an energetic vibration resonating within my very being. The feeling of exhaustion became surrender and I released that pesky trait of trying to keep the whole world in order all on my own.

My hunger and tiredness became an invitation to experience the Mass differently. In that moment the scripture readings took on a different tenor, the pleasant smiles of others in the pew took on greater warmth. My environment was changed because I was changed. I knew that I was unequivocally at the right place at the right time. Or more truly, at His place at His time.

It wasn’t a complete transformation. Let’s be honest, about 35 seconds after this blissful moment my stomach growled, my back ached and I pulled my coat around my shoulders to fight off the chilliness of a sparsely attended church.

But I could still savor that moment when I let go, and let God. It was the taste of a spiritual runner’s high. (And for the record, it was way better than cheese.)

Where have all the Prophets gone?

Late-90s singer Paula Cole pondered about the loss of rugged cowboys. My question is less relationship-related and focused instead on the mouthpieces of God. Those great, enlightened sages like Isaiah and Ezekiel. Judging purely by the antiquity of those names I'm led to ask, Where my prophets at?

Spoiler alert: The answer is under your nose. Literally below it by about an inch.

Most tales of the prophets may be just that; tales. Exaggerated fish stories. I don’t say that to diminish the importance of prophets nor their message. My point is simply that prophets, like Jesus, were humans. Dudes and dudettes placed on this very Earth. 

What was unique about prophets was their ability to share the revelations born of their relationship with God. We’ve heard that God has spoken through the prophets (heck it’s in the Nicene Creed) and I believe that. But should we assume that prophets were extra-holy? Extra-human? Free from error?

Surely there are examples of prophets contradicting one another. So, what? Does that mean God is a flip-flopping hypocrite? Or does it mean that just like recording a song and playing it back over MP3 versus LP versus Spotify, the replay quality degrades. It’s imperfect. When God speaks through humans it’s not God “live” – it’s God “on-tape.” 

So how do you get access to a live recording? PRAY!

Each one of us can call upon that ultimate holy musician and listen quietly for the sometimes imperceptible (though sometimes booming and clanging) voice of God. And then we go out and tell our story. We talk about our relationship with God and the promises it reveals. We become prophets.

Now I’m sure scholars would argue (probably accurately) that I’m using the word “prophet” too loosely. And maybe I’m not even using it correctly at all. Though a quick Google search educates me:

Maybe I’m not so far off, or maybe the more proper word is “evangelist” or who knows. Mea culpa. If my words fail it’s because they’re human words. If my meaning sticks, it’s because it’s God’s message. 

I guess in summary, being a prophet doesn't necessarily mean a life lived on the corner of main streets with a cardboard sign. It may not mean leaving your career and family behind. Being a prophet means following the call God sets out uniquely for you. For me, it was publishing this post. For another prophet, it might mean sharing a smile with somebody discouraged or taking an extra moment to show kindness to a stranger. 

If you are inspired to proclaim God's will in any shape or form, then according to Google and my rationale, YOU are a prophet. May the Lord help each of us to earn that title daily.

My Thermostat: Is Seeing, Believing?

Living in the Midwest has been interesting this summer. More articulately, it’s been hot. Record heat, dramatic drought, it’s definitely been trying. And so thank goodness I’m fortunate enough to have an air-conditioned home; even if I keep the thermostat set high. I like the heat, but I do have a limit.

It seems my air conditioner had a limit, too. Somewhere around the fourth consecutive day of 105+ degree temperatures I noticed my home was warmer than usual. It was in the evening and the thermostat thermometer read 79 so I decided to sleep on it and see what the next day brought. (Rookie homeowner mistake.) The next day I was met with unquestionable heat and a thermostat in the 90s. The repairmen were booked for the day, “Oh, honey you should have called last night, you know we book up all our appointments the evening prior.”

I sweated through another balmy night and the next day the repairman arrived, replaced some stuff and voila! cool air was once again blowing through the vents. At this point it was afternoon so my house had been baking in the sun and had no intention of cooling off quickly. Cut to later that evening, the thermostat now reads 87 but surely the house couldn’t still be that warm. I hold my hand up to the air vent and yes that is definitely cool air. I think it’s cool air. It seems cool. Hmm. Well, it’s definitely air moving. I ask my friend who has braved the sauna-house and she confirms it doesn’t feel like 87. But maybe it’s just because it’s so hot outside? Hard to tell, really.

Finally, after the sun set and my house had a fair chance in the fight to cool it, my thermostat returned to its usual temperature and the house felt ‘right’ again. As I settled into bed, comfortable for the first time in several days, I reflected on how strange it was to “feel” something but to “see” something else. My senses were telling me cold air was blowing and that the house was cooling off and yet my brain was processing a numerical figure and trying to make right the dissonance.

Oftentimes with faith we ask to see so that we may believe; “Just give me a sign, God.” But sometimes what we see makes us question what we believe; “How could a loving God do that?” As a perpetual optimist, I’m often slapped with the comment; “You simply see what you want to see.” And as a Catholic who sometimes struggles with the institution; “You only believe what you choose to believe.”

Maybe it’s a classic “both, and” situation. Both the house was hot, and the air was cool. Both my brain, and my senses were ‘right’ in their judgment. Seeing is both believing, and doubting. Just as faith may be both anchoring and releasing.

The Slinky: A Study in the Spectrum of Sin

I recently had an insight (while searching for an alliterative headline) that the Slinky proves an excellent analogy for the spectrum of sin between good and bad that I have been noticing lately. If you will, imagine a slinky from your childhood and label one end “good,” or right relation and one end “bad,” or sin.

Now think about that Slinky when compacted and held tightly together. The distance between the good and bad is very, very short – perhaps an inch. Or if you imagined a metal version versus the plastic kind, that distance may be even less.

Next, consider the Slinky extended wide, accordion-style with one end stretching long to the other end with good to bad being very, very far apart. I think this helps me understand how before, within an inch you could cross from good to bad. But now with the distance of an inch, you are simply one inch away from good. You might even be six inches away from good but still be on the healthy side of the good to bad spectrum. This comforts me when I see where I stand on an issue compared perhaps to where my peer group or family stands on that issue. Even though I may be more liberal or farther away from the “good” starting point, I still haven’t crossed over to the sin side.

Then I also think about a Slinky sitting at the top of a staircase. With just a simple push the Slinky is sent on a collision course of top over bottom, good over bad, good over bad. I’ve also felt like this before in my sin life. Like I’m tumbling over and over and unsure which way is up.

Or, imagine when you hold the Slinky ends in both hands. You lift your left hand, everything cascades to the right. You lift your right hand, everything cascades to the left. Left. Right. Left. Right. Good. Bad. Good. Bad. Just when you think you’ve lost a particular dirty sin, habitual momentum brings it right back.

And then for those who’ve ever seen a toddler with a Slinky, or a Slinky that met its demise through an unfortunate encounter with the family pet, you can see how completely gnarly the spectrum of sin can get. You may be much closer to the opposite end that you realize, all the while thinking you’re comfortably sitting aside good.

All of this is to say that while good and bad may be concrete, defined, black and white concepts, the spectrum of sin seems to expand and contract. It seems to allow more room on some issues than on others and is much harder to pin down.

Corpus Christi: A Celebration of Non-Violence

In yoga, we talk about the notion of ahimsa, non-violence. And to me, that hits home when I am able to detach myself from the inner monologue and become a simple observer. In those moments I tend to detect the most violence I've had to endure. It is a battle waged against myself. As a rule, I think, we cut deepest with those whom we love most. Perhaps it’s because we know their weak spots or perhaps because we know they'll love us unconditionally. Perhaps it’s because they are the closest extension of ourselves. And like I said, the inner monologue is a place of great violence. Filled with insecurities and confusion, the turmoil of regrets and anticipations, the will versus the spirit. It can get downright ugly.

For me, ahimsa isn't something that happens on the street. It happens in my own headspace. And the beauty, I believe, is that when the violence stops inside, it seems to make the anger and judgment and attitude and righteousness and indignation stop on the outside toward others. If we can learn to gently accept the inner monologue, we can start to see the whole world as a dialogue.

Ahimsa is a Sanskrit word. Corpus Christi is a Latin phrase. Both are grounded in God. Jesus was the recipient of extreme violence while living a life of ahimsa – He called it “love.” In Eucharist we celebrate His body being broken for us through the breaking of the bread. Perhaps this Corpus Christi we can also celebrate the breaking down of violence both physically and in our own minds and see God’s pathway to ahimsa, to non-violence, to acceptance, to love. Love both outward and inward.

The VERBal Presence of Jesus

Having moved from St. Augustine’s parish in Oakland to return to my home state of Missouri, I found myself missing many aspects of the parish but especially the community I felt with my small faith sharing group. Several other members of the group had also moved on to their next professional or personal destination and so a few of us starting doing a Google Plus video ‘Hang Out’ once a week during Lent. We followed the same materials as the small groups gathering in Oakland but instead we were a virtual bunch, spanning four time zones to come together and share.

We didn’t know how it would work. Could faith translate across the Internet? Would it be awkward to share personal stories when you were sitting alone in your home? Would technical difficulties make the exchange feel robotic rather than intimate?

It was clear after our first session that those concerns were all unnecessary. God’s presence was as real had the group been gathered together physically. And perhaps that is because God typically reveals himself in actions. “Verbs not nouns,” as we heard Father Mark speak about last week – I had the good pleasure of being physically in Oakland for this homily but could have also experienced it over the webcast – Jesus comes to us in the breaking of the bread. In that action. In that verb. Faith is an active experience, it is not passive. Love requires action. God calls us to love others, to accept others, to appreciate others. Verb, verb, verb.

And so with the faith sharing group, God calls us to share. He does not stipulate the method or the delivery vehicle, just simply that we should commune with one another.

People Watching: A Slideshow of God’s Grace

 

Photo Credit: xedos4 from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I’m the kind of gal who has no problem sitting at a bar by myself or eating in a restaurant alone. Truth be told, I may actually prefer it because I can then indulge in one of my favorite pastimes: people watching.

It’s not just the quirky behaviors of others that mesmerize me; I often fixate on the staggering diversity of physical features within the human species. Tall people and squat people and pointy-nosed people, oh my!

However, the danger in this sport is its gateway nature, potentially leading straight into judgment. For me, it’s hard to stop at the act of observation and not continue on to pass a critique. While I may not be saying, “OMG, Becky. Look at her butt, it’s like so out there!” I do often find myself thinking: “What a strange…” or “How weird?” or, “Isn’t that goofy-looking!” And it’s second nature; I do it automatically.

Heck, even at mass the corner of my eye (while I’m supposedly deep in prayer) is monitoring the aisle and wondering, “Who belongs to those squishy ankles?” “Why would she wear such inappropriate heels to church?” “Doesn’t he know it’s 40 degrees outside? Who wears sandals in this weather?!”

Then the other day, I felt a gentle nudge from God. Not a wrathful God warning me about the ills of passing judgment. But a quiet, compassionate God who reminded me I don’t know everything. And how often do we humans forget that!

Me, the one who can be so accepting of diversity in skin color or religion or sexual orientation couldn’t get out of my own way to also be accepting of people with “funny walks” or “weird eyes that don’t match” or “triangle butts.” I had to question why I would let somebody’s derriere stand in the way of my closeness to God.

Responding to that gentle urging, I started to look anew at one of my favorite hobbies. Sort of like runners trading in their cushioned kicks for a barefoot jaunt, I decided to use my people watching to appreciate the glory, grace and creativity of God. Look at all the types of people He made, every single one unique. Look at all the different bums! And somehow, this release of judgment on others, this openness to all shapes and sizes has made my inner critic a bit more compassionate as well. Maybe even a bit more grateful that God gave me a body shaped exactly like this, for He knew it was perfect in every way for the tasks He was going to ask of me. Which includes being accepting of others.

Thank you God, for whatever is going to happen.

I sat in my mindfulness yoga class today reflecting on the experience of Lent. In the Catholic tradition, this is a time to renew our baptismal promises by rooting out sin in our lives and to experience a deeper conversion to a God-ly life through penance. It can be a sorrowful and gloomy 40 days.

Often times we hear that life is about the journey and not the destination. However, during this Lenten journey of self-scrutiny and soul-tidying perhaps we may do ourselves a favor by instead focusing on the destination. And the beautiful miracle of faith, at least for me, is knowing that the destination is far more magical and wonderful than anything I could possibly imagine sitting here in my current soul-dusty state. How many times has God’s answer to a prayer been more inventive and awesome than what you could have ever conceived? So with experience and faith as my security, I have to believe that wherever my soul is on Easter, it’s going to be a life greater and fuller than anything I can conjure.

So yes, the Lenten journey is no easy task. It is the burden of a cross, in fact. But the reward for all that hard work is a life rich in blessings beyond our wildest dreaming. This Lent, I’m going to do the hard work that carries me through the journey but I think I will steady my focus on the destination. And I may not be surprised to find that it has made the journey joyful.