"And They Were All Together in One Place.."

Hymn to the Spirit...

“Hymn to the Spirit”

Spirit from heaven, our faith awaken,
And give our hearts new songs to sing.
It is from you that every breath is taken,
You dwell within each living thing.
Grant us your peace, and with love surround us,
And be our souls’ most welcome guest.
Your many graces are all around us,
And with your gifts we are most blessed.

You speak to us in so many voices,
In times of laughter, in times of tears.
This world presents us with many choices.
Our lives are filled with hopes and fears.
You plant the seeds of truth inside us,
All worldly cares to rise above.
You speak the words that alone can guide us:
You speak of wisdom, you speak of love.

Spirit from heaven, our faith awaken,
And give our hearts new songs to sing.
It is from you that every breath is taken,
You dwell within each living thing.
Oh may your hand be on our shoulders,
And guide us through every passing day,
As time moves onward and we grow older,
‘til we are home with you to stay.
**************************************************
My words to the traditional Irish tune, "Kerrickfergus". sung by the choir of St. Joseph Church, St. Johns, MI
TPM;1991

HEY! I'm Trying to Listen for the Spirit!!!

I am not a “party animal”. I’m not particularly fond of large noisy gatherings. I’ve been known to come in the front door, say hello to everyone, grab a drink, and leave by the back door. Or you can find me in some little nook, either looking at the books on the host’s bookshelves(one of my favorite things to do anywhere,) or talking very seriously with one or two people.

In the church year, I prefer Advent to Christmas (just not a “fa-la-la” person) and Lent to Easter. And Pentecost, with those “born of the spirit” people, brings to mind hazy memories of one incredibly large and loud college party, where one of my teachers and I were hitting on the same girl, a freshman whose father was on the Board of Trustees, and I woke up searching for a bottle of beer that didn’t have a cigarette butt in it. But I digress.

If you read the account of Pentecost in ACTS, it really is a noisy gathering, full of rowdy people screaming in languages they didn’t even know, showing off with miracles and trying to out-baptize each other. And, of course, as the early church grew, their fervor did not die down; they seemed bent on making as much commotion as possible. I guess the Spirit can do that to people. (Imagine if they all had blogs!!!)

My admiration grows for the early “Desert Fathers” (and Mothers,) who, amidst all the post-Pentecost hoopla of evangelism and church-forming, went off into the desert, one by one, each to be alone and search for God.

So much religious noise (I’m being kind) permeates our surroundings today. So many people, it would seem, have licenses from the Spirit to play games of “I know something you don’t know” and “I’m saved and you’re not.” And you get extra points for being very loud. (Don’t believe me? Look up “spirit” or “Pentecost” on YOUTUBE.) So here I am, at this party, and depressed as hell because I can’t find the back door that leads to the desert. What’s happened to the desert , anyway?

What a Dump!!

In biblical times, people were exiled to the desert by their enemies ----the ones around them and the ones inside them. The desert was useless ---barren, uninhabitable except by most unpleasant creatures. If you went there it was unlikely many people would follow you. Today, of course, the desert is anything but barren. With modern irrigation and water-diversions, it is in danger of disappearing altogether, replaced by casinos, water parks, golf courses, and retirement villages. As a desolate image, it’s lost a lot of its meaning.

A metaphor these days for desolation and isolation might be the landfill. ‘Been to one lately? You go there to dump that old couch or bedsprings, or anything else even the alley-cruisers reject. They charge you by size or truck full. Then they tell you where to drop it off. You can drive for miles down what barely passes for a road, over this wide treeless expanse, till you get to the dumping area for your junk.



It smells. You pray you see the rats and the snakes before they see you. That’s right. You pray. Even on a busy day, it seems there’s no one around for miles and miles. Prayer just pops out of you. If God wanted to talk to you alone, this would be the place. (Sorry, I just can’t shake the image of God as some mob boss, sneaking up behind you and saying “Hey Louie!!!!” God loves to do that in the Old Testament, just to see Abraham or Moses jump out of their skin.) It is a most uncomfortable place. I think God loves to talk in uncomfortable places. It’s quiet there.

***********

Summersound

As I await the awakening of the 17 year cicadas ----and I really am looking forward to them; their sound, along with their less sleepy relatives, and the crickets and fireflies, complete the “Midwestern Summer’s Dream” for me: lying on the porch swing, beer or iced tea and a just-begun book on the table next to me, the hazy sunshine or early twilight and the non-cooling gusts of wind----anyway, as I await the cicadas and their “hamburger-on-a-grill” mating calls, I’ve been thinking about the time period of seventeen years. It really is quite a chunk of time.

The first time I was around for this cycle was 1956 –I was 4 years old. By the next time, 1973, I was 21, there had been 4 presidents, some yaha’s walked on the moon, the Beatles had gotten together and split, my father had died and I had discovered love was not everything they said it was, but sex was more. From 21 to 38 (1990) was probably the smoothest jump: good times, bad times, hello’s and good-bye’s. I discovered sex was not everything but love was mysteriously more. But from then to now was one hell of a ride!! (Use your imagination…)

But here’s the real kicker: The good Lord willing and I’m around---which is no sure bet, of course ---- it will be 2024 and I will be 72!!! You can do the math for your own age, but that should have you looking skyward about now. I love my Mother dearly and she’s in better health than me, but she is 93. If the cicadas get to sing for her 110th trip around the sun, the drinks are on me!!
Seventeen years is more than enough time to lose people we know and gain new ones. [Hello, young Celeste and Andrew!!! Say hello to the cicadas we won’t be around to hear!]

I guess the point of all this is the cicadas are like the rings of the trees---trees we maybe remember as smaller than us and now they give us shade, and, yes, a breeding place for the cicadas.

To paraphrase Dylan Thomas’ “Poem in October”:
O may my heart’s truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in [seventeen years’] turning.

The Ascension

The Ascension with Christ giving the Keys to St Peter, Donatello, 1428-1430.

Donatello is regarded as one of the greatest sculptors of the 1400s. This relief is one of the finest surviving examples of his innovative work in extremely low relief (known as rilievo schiacciato). The central figure shows Christ ascending to heaven. He is shown giving the keys to the kingdom of heaven to St Peter. These two separate events, known as The Ascension and The Donation of the Keys, are not usually combined. The Virgin, with her back to the viewer, kneels to the left. This central group are surrounded by the Apostles, the followers of Jesus.
Donatello makes use of linear perspective to suggest distance, notably in the recession of the trees and figures. The lightly etched angels in the sky, the trees on the hills fading into the background , and , further away to the left, the just glimpsed towers of Jerusalem, are bold new developments.

"There are many other things that could be told about Jesus, but if every one of them were reported I suppose the world itself could not contain the books that would be written." (from John 20)

Thanksgiving for These Beautiful Spring Days!!

Poulenc:"Gloria"- I.Gloria in Excelsis Deo



"I have committed crimes against nature, staying indoors on a beautiful day." ---- Pete Seeger

(peacock butterfly)


"There is not a flower that opens, nor a seed that falls into the ground, and not an ear of wheat that nods on the end of its stalk in the wind that does not preach and proclaim the greatness and mercy of God to the whole world.
There is not an act of kindness or generosity, not an act of sacrifice done, or a word of peace and gentleness spoken, not a child's prayer uttered, that does not sing hymns to God." (Thomas Merton)


Poulenc: "Gloria" -II. Laudamus Te"

The Economics of Scarcity

“It is one thing to overvalue diamonds or undersupply tomatoes and find them scarce. It is quite another thing to treat love and affection and trust and regard as entities in short supply. And yet how many of us do exactly that? How often in our relationships do we act as if the stores of love were limited, and if she gets too much of it there will be too little left for me? Is this not the basis of all human jealousies and envies, this instinct that there are not enough of these spirit-goods to go around?”
-------Parker Palmer

First Communion

This is First Communion Weekend. What I remember of mine is the preparation: a lot of memorization of prayers for a second grader, getting fitted for my first suit (yes, it was navy blue, with a white tie.) getting a prayer book and rosary. Being short and first in line, I had to remember my place at the communion rail. I don’t recall the “Jesus experience”, but I do recall some of the girls talking quietly to “Jesus enthroned in my heart” as they walked back to the pew.
To be honest, I don’t remember much of the “Jesus experience” connected with communion at all. I think that’s why I quit receiving sometime in early high school. I didn’t know what I believed about the host, had big doubts about my faith (reading Bertrand Russell in your freshman year will do that!) and felt it would be dishonest and hypocritical to continue to take communion if I wasn’t sure about these things. And even though I sometimes felt closer to the faith, and sometimes farther away, I stayed away from the eucharist until just a few years ago.
I was in the hospital following heart bypass surgery (readers of “ERATO’S HIDEAWAY" blog know some of the gory details,) discovering how beautiful life could be with a “Morphine Drip”, when a Eucharistic Minister paid me a visit, asking me if I wanted to receive communion that morning. Maybe it was an epiphany or maybe it was the drugs or just a case of the “whatever’s”, but I said yes. It was very much like an old friend coming to visit (better---I couldn’t remember most friends that came to the hospital!)--- nothing miraculous, just comforting.
I continue to receive communion often. I’m not sure about the host---and this skeptic probably never will be--- but if anyone’s giving out spiritual nourishment, I’ll try to remember my place in line.(Remind me to tell you sometime why I think the Pope or Cardinals or Bishops or other tiny-minded ministers who would deny the bread of life to someone for their political beliefs or any other reason, are despicable bastards of biblical proportions. Now, where'd I put my blood pressure pills?)
My communion class had their group picture taken at school the following Monday. I’m not in the picture. I came down with the mumps Sunday morning. They ask me why I’m skeptical …

File Under "H"

“When I do something wrong,” he said, “or merely stupid, I find it very useful to draw up --- not exactly a balance sheet; no, it’s more like a genealogy, if you see what I mean, a family tree of the offense. Who or what were its parents, ancestors, collaterals? What are likely to be its descendants ---- in my own life and other people’s, It’s surprising how far a little honest research will take one. Down into the ratholes of one’s own character. Back into past history. Out into the world around one. Forward into possible consequences. It makes one realize that nothing one does is unimportant and nothing wholly private.”

----- Aldous Huxley
“Time Must Have Its Stop”



“Every man’s memory is his private literature.”
---Aldous Huxley


"Remember that there is a meaning beyond absurdity. Be sure that every little deed counts, that every word has power. Never forget that you can still do your share to redeem the world in spite of all absurdities and frustrations and disappointments."
----Abraham Joshua Herschel


"Man is a messenger who forgot the message."
------Abraham Joshua Herschel

"Be Not Afraid"

“Be not afraid” does not mean we cannot have fear. Everyone has fear, and people who embrace the call to leadership often find fear abounding. Instead, the words say we do not need to be the fear we have. We have places of fear inside us, but we have other places as well----- places with names like trust and hope and faith.
We can choose to lead from one of those places, to stand on ground that is not riddled with the fault lines of fear.”
-----Parker J. Palmer