One of the videos I uploaded during the Lambeth Conference, 2008 was an interview with a man in charge of the construction of an outdoor labyrinth at the University of Kent, overlooking Canterbury, and oriented towards the towers of Canterbury Cathedral.
The crew completed the labyrinth in half the time they had projected, cutting thousands of York stone blocks on site and laying them in the newly-designed labyrinth pattern, the work of Jeff Saward who drew on labyrinths from several indigenous cultures, as well as Western models like the famous labyrinth of Chartres Cathedral.
The reason for the haste in construction was so that the labyrinth would be complete before the Lambeth Conference ended. I had the privilege of taking part in a dedicatory service near the end of the Conference, meaningful to me as I have the honor of serving in the diocese that is the birth of labyrinth movement, home of the Rev. Lauren Artress and the labyrinths of Grace Cathedral.
This past summer Sheila and went back to Canterbury, to hear our friends in the Piedmont Singers from Virginia sing Evensong at the cathedral. After the mid-afternoon Evensong, there was a draught of time before we would join the singers for dinner, so we went to the university in order to walk the labyrinth.
There, on that huge, sprawling, yet beautifully ordered, organic labyrinth we saw an English woman walking a young Rhodesian Ridgeback. He was red-wheaten in color, like our beloved Blaise, who had died only a few months before after an extraordinary life of 14 years. Really, he was the most beautiful Ridgeback I have every seen, next to Blaise.
Blaise was a great being, as the “Tale of Jumping Mouse” describes a bison – great in heart, in spirit, in intelligence, and bodily strength. Diagnosed with cancer on our car trip across the country to move to San Francisco, she lived on for three years, out of love for us, I believe. Like so many people, she hung onto life because she had a mission, supporting her human family.
Nobody in our family but me liked the movie “The Jane Austen Book Club,” but I have my reasons. A central reason was that one of the characters raised Rhodesians, and in explaining about the breed to another character said, “Rhodesians are matriarchal.” Lots fell into place about Blaise and our family then. I had always seen how deeply she loved us, and anyone who spent any time with her also knew what a dominant and dominating personality she had. I finally saw that the two went together; she was mothering us all those years.
The labyrinth is, if you will, the field of our being. In it we meet, recapitulate our life journey. These meetings are not in the mode of ghostly visitations, but in the manner of anamnesis, a representing. Thus, walking the labyrinth may be an occasion of transformation, brought about by prayerfully encountering the past, learning from the past in our present, and emerging into the new life that follows.
Blaise’s great being now inheres in our family as a whole, I think. The quality of unswerving devotion and love, the mothering principle, always there among us, I can now identify, celebrate, and honor.
We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming. Ephesians 4:14
The above verse came to mind as I’ve been thinking about the health care debate in this country. When the specter of socialism was invoked regarding the “public option,” its doom seemed certain. Then, almost overnight, the public option was re-branded as “Medicare:e” (Medicare for everyone), and suddenly new life was breathed into the idea.
The Ephesians verse referred to dissent and confusion in the nascent Christian movement, proving that a base in faith is no vaccine against facile currents of shifting opinion. I would like to point out, however, that while it is common to deride the massive legislative work of The Episcopal Church’s General Convention (I have heard the 300+ resolutions referred to as “so what” resolutions in the main), our deliberative process, bringing to bear passionate, expert people from many perspectives on any one issue under debate, and submitting each resolution that makes it that far in the process to the vote of the whole representative democratic body, gives us ground to stand on in areas like health care.
Due to the work of the 2009 General Convention, I am able to say, not only on my own, but on the basis of the above-mentioned legislative process, that our denomination believes there should be quality health care available for all in this country, and that at best there should be a form of what is called the “public option.” Individual Episcopalians may well differ from the substance of the relevant resolution that is the basis for the above statement, but that is understood in a denomination that has embraced a democratic process, and, further, that values the diversity of minds that make up our church.
And finally, it is most important to me that I can say, within the public debate, that our church’s stance on health care rests on our faith, our apprehension of Christ who lifts up the dignity of all people, regardless of the presence or absence of worldly markers of success.
Only a few days after I developed an extensive pulmonary embolism, I slipped out of the house, against both medical and spousal advice, and was picked up by a driver to go to City Hall and speak at a hearing of the Planning Commission in favor of a plan that would allow the rebuilding of St. Luke’s Hospital. In conversation with the driver, a man in his sixties who lives 20 miles south of San Francisco, I learned that all four of his sons had been born at St. Luke’s, and that it was a place he loved and valued.
While St. Luke’s has been a valuable asset to this man and his family, I wonder if he has access to the excellent preventative health care that I have had, that has almost undoubtedly saved my life. The Christ I encounter in the Gospels and in my prayer life would, I believe, say that by being a child of God this man was as entitled as I, a person of privilege, to excellent health care. I’m glad to be part of a church that can and does say so.
MHA
This video post from General Convention 2009 is late in coming, but is so very worthwhile. If you saw the earlier video interviews I posted with the Episcopal Peace Fellowship youth presence at GC2009, please watch this one, an interview with one of The Episcopal Church’s elders, really a “living treasure” in my opinion.
Pamela Moffatt is a member of an Episcopal parish in Washington, D.C., and also takes part in one of the extraordinary Spiritual Support Groups of the Church of the Savior in D.C. (Diocese of California folks have seen her in the moving video on Spiritual Support Groups we showed at the June 6 workshops on Area Ministry), and she came to the General Convention to give testimony on nuclear weapons to the legislative committee on which I served.
When you think about a church that has Pamela Moffatt and also the great young people on the EPF videos, I think the picture that begins to emerge is of a diverse church of great richness, that doesn’t simply tolerate but explores, appreciates, and celebrates difference.
MHA
This is prosaic blog update, composed on Monday night after a very long, eventful weekend.
First, I want to thank Bishop Steven Charleston for his time with the Diocese of California. My commitment to provide a dedicated, senior staff person to support ethnic and multi-cultural ministries, and to invite into that rich constellation of existing ministries meaningful connection with Oasis and with the Women’s Clericus - all this had a good start in Bishop Steven’s time with us. I also want to say that his prior and ongoing commitment to the work of paramount importance to our world, embodied in the Genesis Covenant, which he helped create, is one that has my full support and my prayers. Please see, for example, the recent Paul Krugman column in the New York Times regarding the already-present environmental crisis to get a sense of how mainstream, thoughtful commentators have come to see the urgency of the position the world is in with regard to environment.
My recovery from prostate surgery has been going very well, until, like a thunderbolt I found myself completely winded after a short four-block walk last Friday afternoon. That night I experienced pain in my lower back, and continued shortness of breath. I wondered if I was coming down with pneumonia from immobility during the recovery, despite the fact that I had gotten myself up and walking from the night following the surgery on.
On Saturday I was running a temperature of about 100, but my breathing, while not normal again, seemed marginally better. I took part in the blessing of Will and Matt’s marriage, a beautiful ceremony in the cathedral, and an honor in which to have a part.
Saturday evening, continued difficulty breathing and slightly elevated temperature. Sheila and I decided to go to the emergency room. During a 15-hour stay in the emergency department at UCSF it was determined that a blood clot had broken away from veins in my lower left calf and made its way into my lungs – I had an extensive pulmonary embolism, with one large clot in the pulmonary artery, and smaller ones branching out through the lungs. I was eventually admitted to the hospital, after being put on blood thinners, and was discharged on Sunday evening.
Here has been the mental challenge for me: taking in the paradox of how serious a pulmonary embolism is (I learned, for instance, that pulmonary embolisms kill more people each year in the United States than does HIV/AIDS and breast cancer combined; 300,000 per year), how large and extended the embolism in my lungs was, and, on the other hand, how well my body had handled the crisis. Throughout twelve hours of monitoring vital sign monitoring my oxygen absorption remained close to 100% and my blood pressure never plummeted (nor soared). The medical staff kept commenting on how strong my body was.
This surprising event means that my recovery has been extended a bit, but I’m still in fact recovering. I’m back under the careful, tremendously competent eye of my primary care physician who mercifully shows me no mercy, and have the best help possible in Sheila.
Sheila, who made me laugh in the hospital when we feared that a group of doctors about to visit the room might clear her and our daughters out and she said, “I’ll just say, ‘I’m a doctor,’….and added in a whisper… ‘of bugs.’” It is actually a mixed blessing to make me laugh after the catheter has been removed, but really laughter is always worth it.
The overriding sense Sheila and I have is that we and this bewilderingly beautiful world, all are in God's hand, and we have experienced the wholeness implied by this image in the hundreds and hundreds of messages of prayer and love that have come to us over these weeks. The fundamental feeling is of gratitude.
+MHA
During the time leading up to my surgery, and during the recovery here at home, I’ve been reading two books on prayer that have given me great sustenance, both in terms of food for thought, and as guides for my practice of prayer. The books come out of very different religious and cultural traditions, but as has been found over and over again when the subject is esoteric religion, there is a fascinating, and I would say hopeful deposit of deep truth that connects both writings.
One book, Into the Silent Land, by Martin Laird, comes out of the Western Christian contemplative tradition. Laird marshals relevant material spanning 1,700 years of Christian contemplation, uses evocative illustrations to elucidate spiritual principles, and gives clear direction on practice.
An example of his illustrations, which I quoted in a sermon at Grace Cathedral recently, was of his taking a walk across open fields with a friend who has four dogs, all of the same breed. Three of the dogs ranged over the land, stretching themselves, giving themselves to the opportunity of unfettered space. The fourth stayed close to the two men, running in tight circles beside them. Laird asked his friend if he knew why this dog ran so differently than the others. The friend replied that this dog, a rescue dog, had been confined in a cramped pen for an extended period, and the only exercise possible was to run around the perimeter of the slightly-larger enclosure in which the crate was contained, a few times a day. Laird used this illustration to speak of the perceptual confines in which we typically move, though God creates us to a larger, infinite life of divine love.
The other book is The Energy of Prayer, by Thich Nhat Hanh. The first book of this superlative exemplar of Buddhism I ever read was Peace is Every Step. A paperback copy of the book that had been chewed by our dog-friend Maria went with me as I read it slowly while serving as chaplain at Episcopal High School. It was interesting to me that over and over again people in the school community would stop me to ask about the book, simply from seeing the title. Students, faculty, office staff, dining room cooks and servers, and maintenance crew members all wanted to know about the book. I took it to mean that Thich Nhat Hanh was tapping into a deep desire in many of us, the desire to find peace in every day life.
This recent book, The Energy of Prayer, is written by Thich Nhat Hanh as a Buddhist living in France, who speaks across the world, but often in Europe and the United States. Thus, he addresses prayer with a sensitivity to Christian-Buddhist dialogue. As with all of his writing, The Energy of Prayer is written in limpid prose, giving me lots to ponder in a few sentences on any particular sub-topic of prayer the author covers.
One of these areas, to which I’ve been going back day after day, even as I move on with the book, is on what Thich Nhat Hanh calls the hard work of praying comprehensively. By this he seems to mean with an awareness that to move into a desired reality, the subject of a prayer, it may be necessary to see what must die in the current life configuration. This reminds me of a powerful passage in Ronald Rolheiser’s writing, on accommodating the Paschal Mystery to our everyday lives (or our everyday lives to the Paschal Mystery); particularly the need to identify those dreams of ours that have died, but yet have a hold on our daily lives; to acknowledge the true death of those dreams; and then to receive the new life God holds for us.
Sheila Andrus reports that Bishop Marc did very well with his surgery this afternoon. The surgeon, she said, was extremely positive about how the surgery went and the outcome. It is not yet known when Bishop Marc will be released from the hospital, but that will happen in the next few days.
The Andrus family are all very grateful for the prayers and good wishes that they have received and they look forward to this time of healing.
Last Monday I took part in a service at Grace Cathedral initiating a week of intense work by a group of four Tibetan lamas, and a group of teenagers from Oakland, part of Tools for Peace, wherein they created intricate, harmoniously beautiful mandalas made of colored sand.
Each element of the spiritual project had been undertaken with attentiveness. For instance, the sand itself was gathered at a spot in the Himalayas, brought to the United States for the purpose of making these particular mandalas, and dyed here.
There were several layers of meaning attached to this week-long project: the creation of the mandala is a way of proclaiming the Buddhist doctrine of impermanence; and also raising awareness and support for Tools for Peace.
Tools for Peace is an educational program, currently supplemental to school curriculums, that helps young people live compassionately, mindfully, non-violently. Not only that, but Tools for Peace helps process negative feelings, like aggression, anger, and competitiveness.
Venerable Lama Chödak Gyatso Nubpa is the spiritual center of Tools for Peace. The teacher of both Jamie Price, the executive director of Tools for Peace, and k.d. lang, both of whom devote themselves to this inspiring work to change the lives of young people in our urban schools, Lama Gyatso was unable to be present during the mandala project at Grace Cathedral, due to illness.
The week culminated with several linked events of intense beauty, power, and meaning. Saturday night several hundred people gathered in the nave of Grace Cathedral to see the completed mandalas. k.d. lang sang five songs of unmatched purity and beauty; three young people and two teachers who have worked with Tools for Peace spoke; a team of chefs who work with Alice Waters prepared and served a beautiful meal in a transformed Gresham Hall of the cathedral. All of the above helped people understand the work of Tools for Peace and to raise financial support for this important work.
Today, after the 11 o’clock Eucharist at Grace Cathedral, the mandalas were ritually destroyed, all the precise colored patterns swept into the center of each mandala, scooped up and poured into the San Francisco Bay. One of the lamas gave a teaching on impermanence before the ritual dissolution. He likened the creation and destruction of the mandalas as like a nation having an army, or a home having a security system; by meditating on impermanence we learn to value our lives, moment by moment, not have the fullness of life robbed by investing in false ideas of permanence.
My own thoughts while taking part in sweeping away the beautiful patterns of the mandalas were that not only are seemingly-durable structures of violence and injustice in fact passing, but also that there is a great relief in knowing that even beautiful work, heartfelt and good, also, as such, always coming to an end, that it can be laid down without thought to its enduring. All these thoughts were very freeing.
Bringing my meditation into my Christian faith, I thought of love enduring, and God also enduring, though structures that contain love, and ways of understanding God are subject to impermanence.
I felt a deep connection with the Tools for Peace people, and a loving respect for them and their work. I hope for a lively, ongoing relationship that will be of service to a suffering world, and will promote deepening, mutual understanding.
I’m a member of a coalition of bishops called Bishops Working for a Just World, that’s been around most of the seven-plus years I’ve served as a bishop. In the beginning I was the liaison between the coalition and Episcopalians for Global Reconciliation (EGR), where I was a board member.
The work of EGR has been to promote the understanding and engagement of The Episcopal Church in the Millennium Development Goals. Being involved with the MDG work has been transformative for me. It has taken me to the UN Plaza in New York to be part of vigil to keep the UN’s attention on the MDGs; to the White House as part of an ecumenical lobbying group of faith leaders; to South Africa with the Pilgrimage for Peace and participation in the TEAM Conference, focusing on the MDGs and particularly on AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa; into work with Bonnie Anderson writing some of the legislation that helped The Episcopal Church embrace the MDGs in the 2006 General Convention.
Within Bishops Working for a Just World I’ve had the privilege of working closely with the highly professional, talented, dedicated staff of The Episcopal Church’s Washington Office of Government Relations. They brief BWJW members of legislation related to policy stances The Episcopal Church has taken in General Convention, and have facilitated lobbying efforts by member bishops on the Hill in DC each fall.
From both these organizations and related experiences I’ve learned that lobbying, and advocacy is extremely important, and deeply unappreciated within the life of the Church.
I just came back from the fall gathering of some BWJW members in Washington, where the six of us attending were greatly aided by the Government Relations staff to do congressional lobbying in the areas of health care, immigration, environment, and education.
Our lobbying is not based on any one bishop’s personal opinions, but comes directly from resolutions passed at our General Conventions. Thus, for example, we put forward support of a health care reform that would provide universal health care, at an excellent level for all Americans, with a preference for a single-payer system, or, failing that, a public option.
Episcopalians are active in their communities, promoting so much good based on their deeply understood and held faith values, inculcated by our sacramental worship and the preaching-in-community. The next horizon is to help our lawmakers know of both the work you do, and the values you hold dear.
Daily Bread
Last week I wrote about the common pressures of our world, the shared adversity of a time and moment, having the shaping power of kneading, if we open ourselves to the Holy Spirit in our passage through the difficulty, or, indeed, if we ask the Holy Spirit to illumine our memories of that which we’ve experienced.
The day I wrote I received the results from a prostate biopsy. The biopsy showed that cancer was present, “low grade.” My age (young for prostate cancer) and some features of the cancer, however, pushed strongly towards a surgical treatment.
My primary-care physician (Karen Khoo), urologist (Stuart Rosenberg), and surgeon (Peter Carroll) are all superb, I’ve been timely about my annual check-ups, and this is a common cancer, caught at an early, low-grade stage, and I have the most loving, strong supportive wife and daughters; that is, I have, I think, good prospects.
Still, cancer frightens me. Cancer killed both my father and his brother. I’ve had in my mind since I was a young adult that I wanted to live long enough that my daughters wouldn’t lose their father as early in life as I did, and I didn’t want to put Sheila through grief and loss. Below all that was the deposit of grief, incomprehension, chaos and fear that engulfed me when my father died.
So, I was starting my day with spiritual reading and centering prayer, my normal way of entering the gift of another day of life. As you may know, I’ve been reading my way slowly through Carol Lee Flinders’ rich exposition of the lives of seven Christian women mystics. That day I was still in the midst of the section on Teresa of Avila. I was reminded in the text that Teresa had written a detailed meditation on each phrase of the Lord’s Prayer. For my centering prayer, thus, I chose, “Give me this day my daily bread.”
What I understood from this prayer time was that all that came to me that day, the diagnosis, my fear, my prayers, the love of my family, and of the great people I work with at DioHouse, and the expanding circle of prayer that has been coming my way from that moment – all of this is my daily bread.
Let me push a little further in my understanding of daily bread: might we not say that when we have raised to consciousness the shared suffering of our world, we become like bread, not only passively related, but fruitfully inter-related. Charles Williams’ doctrine of Co-Inherence comes to mind here, which I think was what C.S. Lewis was living into when he prayed that he would be allowed to receive some of his wife’s physical pain and suffering, so that she might experience some relief.
Kneaded by the travail of the world, with our willing openness to the godly possibilities for transformation inherent in all life, we become related to one another in such a way that something beautiful occurs – all of life can be received like wholesome bread.
The Witness of Others – Bread and Body
And so, as people have learned about my cancer, I’ve been getting telephone calls, handwritten notes, and emails from people who, in addition to assuring me of their love and prayers, have become heartbreakingly, beautifully vulnerable by telling me their own stories, or those of their lovers or family members, as they faced frightening illnesses.
I realized how costly the recounting of these stories was, how it was bringing back all the fear, and in some cases the loss associated with the different diseases faced. They did this out of love for me. In this I learned a new way to understand and define prayer, and I thought, here is my daily bread, produced out of suffering and pain, and transmuted by these human bearers of Christ into something life giving.
My surgery is scheduled for September 28, not long away. I’m not planning on writing a great deal about all this, but today, both to try and be helpful to those for whom a little information might be comforting, and to provide my own small understanding of what this all means, I thought it was important to write.
Teaching at Episcopal High School set, if any more setting were needed, school patterns into my overall life. Summer reading, the idea of paying particular attention to a book or a few books over the course of the summer, and then taking learnings from those books into conversation as the “new year” gets underway, in order to learn further, is one of these habits instilled from the years at EHS.
My companion during July and August of this summer was Carol Lee Flinders’ rich book, Enduring Grace: Living Portraits of Seven Women Mystics. There are a bewildering number of insights in the book, expressed in vivid metaphors drawn directly from the works of the subject women, insightfully culled and commented upon by Flinders. In the course of my slow reading of the book, and image and a related idea took hold for me, and gained meaning in the light of contemporary events.
One woman wrote about God “kneading” her, and at the end of the book, which proceeds chronologically, as Flinders treats of Thérese of Liseaux, we read, “With the story of Thérese, and only with her story, we see a fully realized mystic and saint portrayed as someone living at the center of a web of intense relationships: embedded, that is, in an intimate personal context within which everyone is continually affecting everyone else.”
I began to understand the much earlier reference to being “kneaded” as what Thérese was experiencing in her Carmelite community at the end of the 19th century, and by design. But what about all of us, are we not all, always, in a web in which we are all being continually affected by everyone, and everything? Are we, not only religious who have plunged into community with intentionality, being “kneaded?”
While I was reading Enduring Grace I became aware that numbers of our friends, spread over the North American continent and Europe, were experiencing similar disturbing symptoms: panic attacks, depression, anxiety. I remembered sitting in on a lecture in the Wisdom University, meeting in Chartres, two years ago, and hearing the lecturer say that Jung predicted the advent of World War II some years before 1940 because of the increasingly violent dreams his German-speaking Swiss patients were reporting to him. They then, and our friends now were all being “kneaded” by the events of the world.
Yesterday I made bread, a process that is spread out over the whole day. In the second stage of the bread making, when I kneaded the dough, I prayed the Jesus Prayer, and from deep within a meditation emerged: there is the possibility, when global distress is upon us, that we may be formed, as dough is formed, into something wholesome and beautiful. Under the constant pressure of the kneading, the protein unfolds and creates structure and texture. The length of time the dough rises creates depth of flavor. Finally, the fire transforms what time and pressure have prepared into the desired, delicious bread, one good thing out of the inert, disconnected elements that go into making the dough.
The end result, however, is not certain, it is a possibility. The pressure of global distress, working on all of us, kneading us, does not surely produce coherence and wholesomeness. The extra ingredient is what the mystics would call, I think, abandonment to the God who is with us in all this. Abandoned to Love we become whole and good together.
