I don’t have any memory of it, I don’t have a picture of it, and I can’t tell you what street it’s on. I wasn’t there for very long in this Charleston, South Carolina dwelling. All I know about my first home: I was welcomed, cared for, and loved by everyone who lived there. That’s quite enough.
This is the first in a series about home. Click No Place Like Home(s) above to learn more…
Yesterday was Pentecost, the celebration of the Holy Spirit alive and moving in this world. I arrived early to set up for the high school class I lead, only to find that a fundraising car wash and the need for extra acolytes had reduced my class to just me. Several hours of preparation and a twenty mile drive for nothing more than a few minutes in an empty room and a return trip home. My thought on the drive home: what a waste of time.
And I was right, it was a waste of time: just in a way I didn’t appreciate until I was more than halfway home. I was so focused on the time I spent prepping for something that didn’t happen that I disregarded the celebration of the Spirit who always moves in unexpected and mysterious ways. I ignored the grace of so many youth and adults scrubbing cars to fund the mission trip to Puerto Rico. While I wasn’t rude, I certainly wasn’t gracious about the whole thing.
In truth, preparation for learning in faith is never a waste of time; I had the chance to pray for my class and learn something new. It’s a testament to my own lack of perspective that I forgot this. The real waste of time: I had the chance to see the Spirit moving in surprising and wonderful ways and I turned a blind eye to it. Not a waste of my precious time, but a rejection of the gift of sacred time the Spirit offered me.
O Lord, open my eyes to see your grace and my heart to love the gifts you give. In Christ’s name I pray, Amen.
Where there is Mercy and Prudence,
There is neither Excess nor Harshness. St. Francis, The Admonitions XXVII
[The Message of St. Francis, New York: Penguin Studio, 1999, p. 9]
Prudence: 1. The ability to govern oneself by the use of reason; 2. sagacity or shrewdness in the management of affairs. 3. Skill and good judgment in the use of resources; 4. Caution or circumspection as to danger or risk [Merriam-Webster online dictionary www.merriam-webster.com]
Being prudent isn’t the same thing as being a prude (a person who is excessively or priggishly attentive to propriety or decorum, Merriam-Webster). A prude fulfills the letter of the law for its own sake, or to feel morally superior to those who don’t. He or she may feel a smug sense of satisfaction by avoiding mistakes or pointing out the transgressions of others, but there’s no real life or love involved. Ironically, excessive focus on doing things properly in all times and places is also blindness to the rest of this life-giving world – the very opposite of prudence.
The virtue of prudence is sound judgment, a grasp on the bigger issues involved in daily actions, respectful and effective use of resources, and the good sense to stay out of danger. Self control isn’t for its own sake, nor is it a means of shaming others. The whole point is to live in a way that brings good things to self and others, to bring self and neighbor together.
I rarely think about the word prudence, but I do my best to practice it in my daily living. I don’t want to judge others harshly to feel good about myself and I don’t want to use more than my share of the world’s resources. I want to live a good, rich life with a minimum of worldly goods; I want to help others do the same. I can’t be prudent and a prude at the same time – if I can remember that simple truth, my blessings won’t be at the expense of others.
It’s Mother’s Day, and I’ve been up for almost three hours. I called my sister a few minutes ago, wishing her a good day. I’ll call my mom in another hour to wish her well and to say thank you for the life and love she’s given me – and for the prayers she continues to say for me.
The first time I laid my newborn sons in the crib at home, I gave them over to God in prayer. I said that same prayer every night, and still do with some modifications (For most of the year, it’s a long distance prayer for my older son). At sixteen and twenty years of age, they often stay up later than I do, so it’s now part of my going-to-bed prayers rather than a putting-them-to-bed prayer. I think it’s made being a mother more of a joy than an anxiety, and I’m sure it’s given me the strength to let them grow into their holy lives. I don’t own them and I don’t know what life holds for them. I do know that God loves them even more than I do. Perhaps I say this prayer to remind myself of that…
Gracious God, this night I give my son back to you in faith and hope. He is yours even more than he is mine. May you return him to me in the morning, to love and to raise. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Row house by Colin Fredrickson
[St. Francis’ Prayer will return in a few days…]
Where there is Mercy and Prudence, there is neither Excess nor Harshness.
St. Francis (The Admonitions, XXVII)
[The Message of St. Francis; New York: Penguin Studio, 1999, p. 9]
Here’s another cross pattern, Prudence matching Excess and Mercy a foil for Harshness. One of these pairs is enough for today…
Years ago, I had a daily calendar/notepad – sticky notes with the date and a short saying. Most of them I’d use for this or that purpose, then toss them away. A few struck such a chord that I stuck them to my desk. One of these sayings:
There’s brutality and there’s honesty: there’s no such thing as brutally honest.
Words can be the an ocean wind in Winter – cutting, cold, penetrating muscle and bone. They whistle in our ears and bend our backs. We shrink before them, turning in upon ourselves to avoid exposure. Long after the words are spoken, our teeth still chatter and the shivers remain. In our frostbitten souls we hold a question and we fear its answer: Could such words be true?
In a small sense, cutting words shine a light. Faults and imperfections come with being human. A careless tongue or sharp wit can highlight such things. We are reduced to a collection of blemishes and incompetence. But this isn’t really the truth – it’s a keyhole version of reality, allowing only one small look at an unseen whole.
The big lie such words tell isn’t so much what is said but what is implied: if we aren’t perfect, we are worthless. The lie lies in believing the implication. Truth be told, the words would be something like this: You aren’t perfect, and you never will be. I’m not perfect, and I never will be. But we are precious, and a unique gift to this world. We are loved, and anyone who tells us different is sadly mistaken.
If I use words to cut down, I have a keyhole’s view; when I stand up and open the door, only words of love can describe what I see.
Love for the whole and mercy for the imperfections – true words always offer a glimpse of these.
Where there is fear of God to guard the dwelling,
there no enemy can enter. St. Francis
Admonitions XXVII
[The Message of St. Francis, New York: Penguin Studio, 1999, p. 9]
I’ve never been a fan of the “fear of God” language. I think it’s too easy to mistake its true meaning for the false idea that God will harm anyone and everyone who makes a mistake or behaves in a less than morally perfect manner. My definition of the “fear of God”: Yikes! My life is laughably brief and limited compared to the age of the universe and scope of God’s creative action within it. Time didn’t begin with my birth and won’t end with my death. After all, I am a very small person in a very big cosmos.
At the same time, knowing my relative size and duration within the universe is not a commentary on my value or significance. There is no such thing as an insignificant life. Every single one is unique, precious in the eyes of God. You and I may only take up a speck of space and moment of time, but such specks and moments change the very nature of this whole universe.
When I accept my limited existence and my unique place in the grand scheme of things, then I claim the blessing of God’s love for me and every other being that ever has or ever will grace this vast universe. No one can take my place or steal God’s love from me. I dwell in God’s love, so do you, so does everyone else. Who can steal what is freely given? Where there is enough love for everyone, how can there be enemies? And with God, there is more than enough.
Where there is Poverty and Joy,
there is neither Cupidity nor Avarice.
St. Francis, Admonitions XXVII
I’ve never considered poverty and joy natural companions, but I can see how Poverty and Joy are. Poverty is the ability to separate what is necessary from what is not, and Joy is the gift that comes with choosing the necessary.
Why is it that I’m willing to spend so much time and energy chasing after the unnecessary things when they cost me Joy?
Dear Lord, give me the wisdom to know what is necessary and what is not – and the common sense to choose Joy over unnecessary things. Amen.
[For the complete prayer, click “Walking with Francis from Easter to Pentecost”]
Where there is Love and Wisdom,
there is neither Fear nor Ignorance.
St. Francis of Assisi
[The Message of St. Francis, New York: Penguin Studio, 1999, p. 9]
There doesn’t seem to be much Love or Wisdom in the air lately – or at least on the air. Fear and Ignorance, though, are readily available on television and computer screens. The airwaves are full of frightened voices and ignorant commentary. Some of it is unintentional – the result of damaged hearts, minds, and spirits. Some of it is intentional – designed to sell listeners on a new product or political opinion. Manipulating the frightened and unaware isn’t particularly difficult, and it is often profitable. But don’t let this fool you: there is a lot more to life in this time and place, it just isn’t as obvious or promoted.
Take today. As I’m typing this meditation at Kiskadee Coffee in Plymouth, Massachusetts, people I know are at work, spending time and effort to bring hope and peace into the lives of countless others:
Temple Beth Jacob has been preparing for tonight’s Holocaust Memorial service, offering something holy and nourishing from the humiliation and murder of millions. Thank you, Ms. Hirschhorn and Rabbi Lawrence Silverman.
Christ Church Parish, Plymouth, is getting the sanctuary prepared to host the Holocaust Memorial service because it’s for the whole community and the temple doesn’t have enough room to fit everyone inside. Thank you, altar guild, for your hospitality.
Two sons are flying back home to spend time with their older brother and to decide how to best serve their aging parents. The conversations won’t be easy and the solutions won’t be simple. Blessings and Peace, Barry, Bryan, and Dave.
A substitute teacher is getting to know her students. She’s the third one they’ve had in the past six or seven weeks because their usual teacher has a serious medical condition. May God give you both strength and a fabulous sense of humor, Ms. Corde` and Mr. Tersegno.
Love a la Francis is as much an act of courage and will as emotion. It is meaning good things for someone else, and sacrificing to offer them. It is also meaning good things for self, and accepting the sacrifice of others when offered and appropriate.
But what are these good things, and how can I tell the difference between something that I willingly sacrifice for and something that is at my expense? I don’t have a definitive answer, but here’s my provisional one:
Good Things foster the mind and spirit.
Sacrifice may be costly, but it enlarges the spirit and broadens the mind; something at my Expense shrinks my soul and takes gratitude out of the world.
If I grow in wisdom, I’m sure my take on this whole thing will change. Here’s hoping I’m brave enough to make the attempt.
You can, you should – and it you’re brave enough to start, you will.
Stephen King
[Daily Peace, Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 2015, April 4]
Stephen King has written dozens of books, some of which could be considered modern masterpieces. Two in particular come to my mind: The Green Mile and Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption. The first was written as a serial novel, with small sections released every few weeks until the whole story was told. The second was a short story. These are not horror stories, even though both deal with tragedy, inhumanity, and loss. Neither are typical of King’s usual writings – the scary books everyone has come to expect. Both were made into exceptional movies.
I wonder whether it was a difficult thing for King to write these particular tales. In addition to the usual pressure and difficulty of writing a book – creating characters and story lines, putting in enough description and action to keep the story moving, bringing the whole thing to a satisfying and fitting ending – is added the anxiety that comes from offering something unexpected to an audience that is used to the thrill of the macabre. It’s like offering a chocolate raspberry torte to a child expecting a chocolate chip cookie: who knows what the response might be, but disappointment and rejection are just as possible as delight and enthusiasm.
Perhaps the hardest part of trying something new isn’t dreaming it up or doing the research. Maybe the hardest part is putting pen to paper and writing the first word, sentence, paragraph, and page. Making the jump from going to to doing isn’t something that comes from knowing it’s possible to do or even knowing it ought to be done: it’s a leap of faith only the brave or the foolhardy can make.
Perhaps this is true in things beyond writing. Perhaps it’s true of any worthwhile endeavor.
May God grant us all the courage to take the first step.
There are some things you learn best in calm,
and some in storm.
Willa Cather
[Daily Peace, Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 2015, March 17]
When the chips are down, will this person be there? My parents believed the answer to this question divided trustworthy partners from untrustworthy ones, real friends from the merely friendly. They didn’t think the answer could be found in a person’s wealth, talent, personality, or good looks. Only a storm could strip the surface appearance away to reveal the true nature underneath. This is as true for self as well as other: when the chips are down, will I be there? Knowledge of self and the other that is gained in the answering can be painful, and it cannot be unlearned – storm damage.
But not everything is best learned or revealed in storm. Calm, peace, and order provide a safe structure to grow in, and they foster flexibility and strength of spirit. It’s when the storm blows by that I can learn whether the person who wasn’t there when the wind was whipping around is not a true friend or a true friend who just made a mistake. And if I happen to be the one who ran away at the first sign of the storm, whether I’m a true friend or not is also a lesson best studied in calm.
I hope what I do with the answers to such questions has something to do with love of God, self, and neighbor. Otherwise, what’s the point of asking?
Picture by Jared Fredrickson