Budgeting for the Search for Meaning

It's an odd world when something like ministry is quantified. Yet, it's done all the time.

I had an interesting conversation with someone this week who works at an institution that is primarily Catholic, but has numerous members who don't identify with any religion. Curiously, while most surveys usually include a "none" category for those who don't affiliate with any religion, this institution's categories include "Other" and "Unaffiliated." How these are different is anybody's guess. Are they different from a "none" category? Perhaps. It seems different to me to say you're "unaffiliated" rather than to identify with being called a "none." An unaffiliated person might be someone who has simply stopped attending religious services for a while, or who only attends with family members on occasion.

Still, if the survey doesn't tell you, the participant, what these categories mean, there is no chance that the participants meant the same thing when they filled it out. And this of course means that the participants are a very diverse group, who might or might not have things in common.

There might be a small percentage of the respondents who are unaffiliated because when they go to religious services, they are bored. This could be because the clergy and members aren't raising the bar so that the messages people hear in services are challenging; or it could be because the members and clergy lack a sense of reverence. Then again, there might be people who are unaffliated because they can't reconcile science and religion.

The list could go on and on. Where do you start, what do you grasp onto, when you want to understand something about why people are unaffiliated with official religions? It is like to trying to grasp onto a sand dune on a windy day; clouds of the sand blow away and shift, even as you are walking on them.

This is why it makes me incredulous to think that one might have to prove - in a quantifiable way- that the unaffliated need support and community in their search for meaning. And yet, imagine this: University X knows it has a larger unaffiliated population, but it resists putting resources towards this population... at least until it can be proven that this population will turn out for real, tangible events that require at least one person's - if not more than 1 person's- time to make happen. In essence, then, the search for meaning has to make it into the budget.

But how do you budget for something you have never seen before? When I make a budget, it's based on what I really spend on things I know I buy. I haven't even met the people in this group yet. At least, not directly. What next?

Trying to Build Hope

When I first started this blog, it was merely a few months after I had been confirmed in the Episcopal Church. In but a year and a half, I had seen in fast forward the extremes of beauty and harm that a faith community can bring to its people. Harm done in the context of religion is a special kind of harm because leaders in a faith community- both lay and clerical- become stand-ins for the divine. When people in these contexts hurt us, the process of recovery can take years- or sometimes never happen at all. On the other hand, when a faith community commits itself to continually learning to accept and forgive its people unconditionally, remarkable healing can take place.

Of course, the idea of learning to accept and forgive others can be an overwhelming idea. Are we supposed to be able to unconditionally forgive those who have committed terrible acts against us- whether those are acts are tangible acts of violence or intangible, emotionally hurtful behavior where we feel ignored, disrespected or unwanted? The idea of adopting such a stance by ourselves is daunting.

But we are not supposed to do this by ourselves. No, I am not saying we should not aim to improve ourselves, but this is where a community learning to take this stance can be a source of healing. For when we cannot, by ourselves, accept everyone unconditionally, perhaps the community can do it for us. And if we commit to being part of such a community, then we gradually may transform ourselves and others, and this process may be a source of healing.

But what does this look like? How does a community do this? I have experienced this in several communities. What all these communities shared was a deep reverence and love of beauty, and these values led their members to live out all their communal actions with intention and presence. When they gathered together for liturgy, every step, every word, every gesture, every note sung, was a prayer. When they gathered together in meetings and in coffee hours, every moment was a moment where someone could be welcomed through the actions they were involved in. In one particular community where I saw this, the people were not especially gregarious; in fact, it was a parish of introverts. Many people had a hard time initiating conversations with new people. But their actions spoke for them. Welcome, I saw, was not about effusive greetings.

The liturgical way is not the only way this can happen in a faith community. I happen to have a bias towards incense, sung liturgy and worship filled with bowing and other physical ways of being engaged. But this is not the only way to be a community. It is not for everyone. But reverence, love of beauty and intentionality are for everyone; they are the things that make a community's life sustenance for the people. And spiritual sustenance brings healing.

I am now without a community like this. I have searched within my own tradition, and it is not within my reach. As more time passes since my experience of healing faith communities, it becomes tempting to think it was but a dream. But I know it was not; and part of why I know it was not is because that way of being - the sense of reverence for the divine, beauty and intentionality-are still the ways I try to carry out my daily life, even though they are not to be found in the Church I call my faith community.

I teach religious studies at a local Jesuit college. Of my almost sixty students, most of them grew up Catholic and their faith has been a driving force in their lives. On their first assignment, I asked them to write goals for the semester. As this course is part of the core curriculum where they learn how the Jesuit mission can inform their life as a student and beyond, I wanted them to step back a bit and think about what this opportunity to reflect upon religion might give them. Sadly, many of my students wrote about how guilty they felt for not going to church, and many of them set a goal to go to church regularly. Some of them said they felt they were "bad Catholics" for not going to church. But what none of them said was why they stopped going. While I do not know why many of them stopped going, I know that few of them have been invited to read scriptures with a creative frame of mind. And I know from what many of them wrote that they view a religion class as a chance to become closer to God. And so I know that in my classes, I must approach them with the care of someone who knows how much religious communities can be a source of harm and healing.

For now, these classes are the only way I have to develop communities as a source of healing in the church. When I moved here for the work I do now, I gave up being part of a Church where the healing stance I've written about here was the goal. One day I hope this will change and that I will be able to do this work in the church, not only in a classroom. And like my students who feel bad for not attending their church regularly anymore, I hope all the people who have helped form me in the communities I have been part of before will not give up on the fact that one day I will be able to give back to the Episcopal Church. It is still the community that defines my path, even if I do not feel welcome in the local iteration of the Episcopal Church where I am.

Is it okay to leave a faith community over not being fed?

Recently I read two different articles, one about reasons why one should not leave the church; the other about reasons it was ok to leave the church.

The former article's #1 reason was, "Because I am not being fed." The argument was that, as mature persons of faith, we should not expect the church to be responsible for "feeding" us. Rather, we should have the means to obtain what we need spiritually without the church handing it out to us on a platter.

I agree with this to an extent. After all, as mature persons of faith, it is possible to have more developed spiritual practices, as well as many images of God, so that if one or more of our routines is disrupted (such as a parish community not feeling fulfilling), it is possible to draw upon other resources: i.e. God does not just belong in houses of formal worship, but also the houses of our selves out in the world. As in Psalm 84:

2

The sparrow has found her a house
and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young; *
by the side of your altars, O LORD of hosts,
my King and my God.

3

Happy are they who dwell in your house! *
they will always be praising you.

4

Happy are the people whose strength is in you! *
whose hearts are set on the pilgrims' way. 

 

 So there is much truth to this idea, I think.

 

I'm also reminded of a notion I learned from a congregational development training- the idea that churches benefit from having what are called "mature practitioners"--that is, people who have well-developed prayer lives, and who bring their presence into church services with them. Others benefit simply by others who come to church, and who lead contemplative lives outside the church. It's much like going into an empty cathedral that feels full of presence - because many have prayed and worshiped there before. A full prayer life in a place or a person brings life to others.

But what of those practitioners themselves, if they are coming to a place where others are not prayerful? Where reverence is not valued? Where they must always draw upon their own wellspring, rather than feeling they can sometimes-not always, but sometimes-lean on the community, much like the woman who gripped the hem of Jesus's cloak?

This is the problem, I think, with saying it is never ok to leave somewhere because of "not being fed." Because sometimes it is not just that people are not being fed; it is that the church is asking them to feed it (or her, if you prefer).

Consider this. The article about leaving the church that I referred to at the beginning of this post continued on to draw an analogy between one's relationship to the church and dating. It implied that commitment is to be valued more (I agree) and that those seeking "should put their shopping carts away and roll up their sleeves." That's fine ... but if the dating metaphor is valid, then it is also okay to walk away from a dysfunctional, unhealthy and one-sided relationship. This is the reality many people face in parishes, and which keeps people away from the church.

So, is it okay to leave a faith community over not being fed? I would say "sometimes." It requires careful discernment, no doubt. But it not always a bad reason.

Complaining is Spiritual, Too

This was my reflection for the Agape Community on Wednesday, September 11th- but I waited until Sunday to share so as not to spoil the mystery for people who did not hear the readings until Sunday.

Exodus 32:7-14

The LORD said to Moses, "Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely; they have been quick to turn aside from the way that I commanded them; they have cast for themselves an image of a calf, and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, `These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!'" The LORD said to Moses, "I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them; and of you I will make a great nation."

But Moses implored the LORD his God, and said, "O LORD, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? Why should the Egyptians say, `It was with evil intent that he brought them out to kill them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth'? Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, how you swore to them by your own self, saying to them, `I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.'" And the LORD changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.

Luke 15:1-10

All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."
So he told them this parable: "Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, `Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

"Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, `Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

Reflection for September 11^th

I would like to reflect a bit today on the theme of “complaining” in our readings- that is, complaining as a holy practice.

Complaining is not a theme we tend to focus much on, yet it is a behavior we see over and over again in Scriptures. In the gospels, people are always complaining to Jesus for all sorts of reasons- they don’t believe what he is saying-and by ‘they’ I mean the disciples as well as other Jews; he has healed someone and others are demanding he do the same for them. And in the Hebrew Scriptures the Israelites often complain of their plight in the wilderness; and the psalmist complains to God.

Maybe we don’t spend much time on the theme of complaining because we don’t tend to think of it as good behavior. After all, complaining might bring to mind other behaviors we wouldn’t value – such as whining or pleading or demanding … and I don’t know about you, but when I think of times I’ve had to plead with someone or demand something of someone, I tend to think of those as times when I’ve felt helpless, with no other options. And that’s not usually something I look to repeat.

But there are actually many scholars of the Hebrew Scriptures who have looked specifically at “complaint stories.” Broadly speaking, they are interested in when the people in the Hebrew Scriptures are in the “right” when they are complaining. Are they complaining in order to seek justice for themselves and others? Or are they complaining because they are bored, or hungry or tired or frustrated?

Although there’s nothing wrong with asking questions about whether it’s “right” to complain to God, I’d like to set that question aside. I want to instead draw attention to how complaints, in our readings, act like a spark that invites a turning back towards mercy.

In our first reading, our first complainer is God. God is frustrated with the people, who, in Moses’s absence, create an image of a calf, which they worship and sacrifice to. Curiously, God even refers to the Israelites as “your people” as he addresses Moses, rather than acknowledging them as his own. He adds “they have been quick to turn aside from the way that I commanded them.”

Moses responds, you could say by “filing a complaint” in return. He questions God’s anger and says, “Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people.” So here he has reminded God that the people are his people-not Moses’s people. He then reminds God of his covenant with the people, specifically his promise to Abraham that his descendants would “multiply” like “the stars of heaven.” After this, perhaps recalling the rules he had come up with, God changes his mind – choosing mercy instead.

Then, the next line, which is not in our reading is: “Then Moses turned and went down from the mountain, carrying the tablets of the covenant.”

You could say that the complaints in the reading allow the movement in the relationship between God, Moses and the people to take place. The people have turned aside, and God complains in response; and in response to God, Moses pleads that he “turn” from his anger. And because God turns, Moses is able to turn back towards the people, with his faith in God’s promises again renewed. Each of these turns might be likened to the steps in a dance, with each character only able to turn in response to others.

Ok, but about our gospel?

Here again, the reading begins with a complaint, this time from the Pharisees and the scribes, who are “grumbling” because Jesus eats with tax collectors and sinners. While we do not tend to praise the Pharisees and the scribes for their grumbling, it is worth noticing that if they had not complained, Jesus would not have responded by sharing the two parables of the shepherd and the woman with the lost coin. And in both of these parables, there is again a “turning” that results.

In the two parables, two very different people- with very different social roles-find someone or something they have lost. And this finding allows Jesus to remind his listeners that the repentance of just one person – regardless of who that person is- is cause for rejoicing.

And so, thanks to the Pharisees and scribes, the people who were around Jesus at the time had a chance to hear these stories of repentance- which means to “turn around.” And so also do we have a chance to hear these parables- because the Pharisees and scribes cared enough to grumble, which invites Jesus to respond.

So, in both our readings complaints create room for a new relationship to occur. The Pharisees and the scribes may not have been happy with how Jesus responded, but they nevertheless did have to engage differently with Jesus as a result of his teaching of the parables. And in our Exodus reading, Moses uses his complaint as an opportunity to remind God of the terms of his relationship with his people.

So I’d like to invite everyone to reflect a bit on complaints in your own life, especially those times when you complained or someone complained to you. What happened in the relationship that followed? Did it bring a change—even if that change was not what you hoped for or expected? And although this is a question about very human experiences, we can’t forget that God was the first complainer in our readings today—so you might respond by thinking about complaints God has made to you, or you have made to God.

So I invite your responses to the question of how you have experienced complaints in relationship to others.

Eliding

In this ellipsis time
this bird's wings
slowly lift
but never fully open:
this bird sings
in hope of a comma
she might lean into,
falling into the next clause,
the season of spring ...

Ekphrasis I: "Here I Am"

"Here I Am" (1910) by Leopold Schmutzler, Frye Art Museum

Here I Am

an ekphrasis exercise

1 After his visit
I was drenched
in the density
of loneliness.
Yes, I said
yes.
Here I am,
I said.
And yes,
here
I
am.
Where else
could I be?

 2 But this Gabriel!
he left me no choice.
Is this
my father's
idea of a favor?

3 Favor, then.
Favor I
must find
within this
inscrutable
reality.

4 Fine, then,
I say to you
here I am.
If this unknown future
must be mine
then mine
will I make it.

5 I dress deliberately.
This fine white slip
shall caress me
like the same unseen
wind that brought
your news today.
 
6 And this shawl
immerse me like
the current of this
river I know I am
to swim.

7 If it must be mine,
I say, I will make it mine.
I will hover on my threshold
at home, the only
precipice I know-
and claim your favor
as my own.

8 Oh, yes, I know I am
your humble servant,
but for this moment
I will embrace
my friend, my pride;
I will hold
the immanence
of high noon
and wonder
at my own beauty
and delight
that I,
yes I,
am
Theotokos.

Responding!

Today I visited an exhibit called  Helmi Juvonen: Dispatches to You (R.S.V.P.) at the Frye Art Museum. Helmi, as the artist was known, was both a painter and she made woodblocks. She was very influenced by Native American motifs, though she was not herself Native American. Just a surface glance at her work was interesting enough, but what interested me most was her story, and the story the exhibit was telling about her.

Helmi had several experiences with mental illness, including several long stays in the hospital after experiencing a psychotic break. She ended her life still hospitalized.

She also fell in love with one of her artistic contemporaries, another one of the Northwest Mystics- the group of artists she belonged to in the region. Her feelings were never returned.

One of the curators' summaries of one of her pieces also describes her generosity with other artists. It tells a story of her freely giving away money to other artists who were even less well off than she was when they needed lunch!

The exhibit, then, is a "response" to Helmi. The curators' summary suggests that Helmi's work was calling out for a response, and that the exhibit is a way of responding to her. Responding to the distress she must have experienced in her illness, and the loss she must have felt at never receiving love in return. The curators hoped that we, as viewers, would "read" the exhibit as an "RSVP" to Helmi.

I don't know exactly what it was about Helmi's story that struck such a strong chord for me. Certainly, there are many ways her story resonates! Her struggles with mental illness remind me of my own work with organizations supporting those with mental illness here in Seattle, and her creative response to the inner struggle that mental illness is reminds me of how creating art is way to dig out hope, out from under the many layers of fear that mental illness creates. Creating art, for me, shows me my own inner light that is impossible to see when looking at the external world.

When I went home, I found that simply seeing the exhibit as a response was not enough. Branching out from my own 'Ignatian' prayer routine- which involves a meditation on scripture, followed by a reflection on the day, paying attention to all one's senses in the process- I began to draw based on the feeling I remembered from seeing the exhibit for Helmi. Here it is. It is simple, and not about being good, but about being a response to feeling present-to, and in the presence of someone else's inner world.