I have been looking at all the small children who live around here getting ready for Halloween. There must have been parties at school because there were a lot of spooks and goblins and fairies and supermen walking to school on Friday. It was a wonderful procession. And last night, coming home on the streetcar from downtown the car was full of adult versions of pretty much the same thing. I hadn't expected that but I guess they too were going to parties.
I am not sure why adults like to dress up but I get the feeling that for children it is, in some sense part of the journey of discovering who they are or who they might like to be or to be like. It seems to me that children are really able to get into the part that their costume suggests and their imaginations transport them to anywhere and anyone they like. For the adults, I presume it is just fun and there is no real imaginative sense that they are what their costume is. (I say 'presume' because as an adult I have never liked putting on costumes and would do anything I could to avoid it.
But this whole thing about imagination - raised most recently by my great-niece Michal - brought me one step further towards thinking about what part longing also plays in our lives. As children as we live in our imaginations and they have free play, do we long for the things we imagine or long to be the thing we imagine? I think I am making a difference here between wanting and longing. I see longing as a much more powerful emotion. At difficult times in my childhood I can remember longing to be an adult though I know now that my imagination led me to long for an adulthood that was pretty unreal. Oddly too, I do still remember longing to know God and that for me, was a gift that I think is still with me. Those are things that are quite powerful memories for me.
But as adults what part, if any, does real, serious longing play? Do we long to be loved? Do we long to learn to love? Do we long for health or to be different or to be younger or older? Do we long for God even when we don't know what or who we might be longing for? or ... do we long at all?
But it also occurs to me as I write this that there is another part to the whole question of longing - if we long for something, do we set out to achieve it or do we just long...? If the latter I suspect it feels pretty futile after a while. So maybe the whole issue of longing also involves being open to the journey to satisfy it. Just as imagination is meant to result in some new depth of creativity, I wonder if longing isn't part of moving forward.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Simple faith?
This weekend I went to my local Catholic church on Saturday evening and on Sunday to Rosedale United church with my brother and sister-in-law. In both services the reading of the Gospel was the same. Someone asks Jesus (hoping to trip him up perhaps) 'which commandment of the Law is the most important?'( Perhaps expecting a rather complicated, institutional reply). Jesus replies however, that the greatest and first commandment is to love God with all your heart, and mind, and soul. He then goes on to say that there is a second commandment like that, 'you shall love your neighbor as yourself'. These are the commandments that come from Jesus' Jewish heritage.
I was struck first of all by one thing that the Deacon at Saturday's service said. He said that that word 'like' meant that the second commandment was as important as the first; that essentially, to love your neighbor is to love God, or conversely, to love God means to love your neighbor. This is the way we show our love for God. I sometimes think we forget this in our practices of religion. We may think that going to religious services is a sign that we love God or that by saying certain prayers it is a sign that we love God. I guess these may be some kind of reflection of our love but it seems to me that the core of all faiths is, more than anything, meant to be a quite practical living out of the love that God is and has for us. It is, as Doug said next day, meant to be quite simple.
At the Sunday morning service, Doug (who gave one of the best sermons I have ever heard) quoted from a hymn we had just sung. The hymn by Carolyn McDade is called This Ancient Love and, to quote from the sermon's description of the hymn: 'God is a woman who has wrapped her arms around the hills and the sea and the wounded child and she says, as we wrap our healing arms to hold/ what her arms held/ this ancient love, this aching love, rolls on. Doug then pointed out the main themes of the hymn: There is love; it comes from long before us; it is both deep joy and deep pain; and it rolls on.
I loved this sermon in part because it reminded us that God is simple; simple love. There is nothing complicated here. And yet of course, we know that we find real, unselfish loving pretty difficult in the day to day. But the hymn reminds us that God wraps metaphorical healing arms around us and that God's love is an aching love and an ancient love. God's love is not going to leave us any time soon.
As I hear it, both of these sermons tell us that our faith at its heart is simple, uncluttered, free and full of joy and love. We seem to have become so bogged down in the institutions of our faith (religion?) that we may have lost sight of this, the heart of all faiths.
I was struck first of all by one thing that the Deacon at Saturday's service said. He said that that word 'like' meant that the second commandment was as important as the first; that essentially, to love your neighbor is to love God, or conversely, to love God means to love your neighbor. This is the way we show our love for God. I sometimes think we forget this in our practices of religion. We may think that going to religious services is a sign that we love God or that by saying certain prayers it is a sign that we love God. I guess these may be some kind of reflection of our love but it seems to me that the core of all faiths is, more than anything, meant to be a quite practical living out of the love that God is and has for us. It is, as Doug said next day, meant to be quite simple.
At the Sunday morning service, Doug (who gave one of the best sermons I have ever heard) quoted from a hymn we had just sung. The hymn by Carolyn McDade is called This Ancient Love and, to quote from the sermon's description of the hymn: 'God is a woman who has wrapped her arms around the hills and the sea and the wounded child and she says, as we wrap our healing arms to hold/ what her arms held/ this ancient love, this aching love, rolls on. Doug then pointed out the main themes of the hymn: There is love; it comes from long before us; it is both deep joy and deep pain; and it rolls on.
I loved this sermon in part because it reminded us that God is simple; simple love. There is nothing complicated here. And yet of course, we know that we find real, unselfish loving pretty difficult in the day to day. But the hymn reminds us that God wraps metaphorical healing arms around us and that God's love is an aching love and an ancient love. God's love is not going to leave us any time soon.
As I hear it, both of these sermons tell us that our faith at its heart is simple, uncluttered, free and full of joy and love. We seem to have become so bogged down in the institutions of our faith (religion?) that we may have lost sight of this, the heart of all faiths.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Celebration
This last weekend was a very special one in my family. It was the Bat Mitzvah of my great-niece Michal and her friend Karuna. I had never attended a Bat Mitzvah before - in part I guess, because it is only fairly recently that Judaism has recognized that girls should have this rite of passage as well as boys.
We arrived at the place where the ceremony was to take place - a Unitarian Church! This small Reconstructionist community is, I gather, too small to have their own synagogue so they share with the Unitarians. I think this is a marvellous gift of ecumenism. As I understand it, Reconstructionist Judaism is trying to adapt to 21st century people perhaps both in liturgy and in lifestyle. All I can say is that it was a very 'community' gathering, a very welcoming one and a very reverent one.
This particular day was the Sabbath and also the celebration of Succoth which I think is also called the feast of Tabernacles. So the service was very long - from about 9:30 to just after 1 pm. I can honestly say that there was not a moment when I felt restless and wondering when it was going to end. It was a service rich in joy and thanksgiving and even, mourning. Michal and Karuna (whose name means compassion) each had to chant in Hebrew a passage from the Torah which I imagine was not at all easy. They had been preparing for a year! Then later each had to read a reflection they had written on the passage they had read and leave the congregation with some questions to discuss. Michal had recited the passage where Moses asks to see God and God says no but stand here and I will go by and (basically) you can see my back. Karuna had recited the passage where God writes a second set of tablets after the first had been smashed.
It was interesting to hear what each of the girls made of the passages and the questions that came to them. Michal, if I understand correctly, was raising questions about seeing God or not seeing God, imagination and reality and the role of imagination in faith. (I am not doing her justice I'm afraid). Karuna was sharing some of her own questions about whether she even believed in God and why she continued to the end in this journey to her Bat Mitzvah. After each talk there was a lively and thoughtful discussion from anyone who chose to respond.
Both before and after there were innumerable celebrations and meals and parties and I was deeply moved by the strength and joy of the family life of this small congregation. I was also tremendously impressed by the maturity not only of Michal and Karuna but of the other 13 year olds who were their friends and relatives. If our world is to be in their hands then I feel very much more at peace. It is not that they will be without weakness or difficulty but that they seem to be thoughtful and kind now and one can believe that that will continue into adulthood.
We arrived at the place where the ceremony was to take place - a Unitarian Church! This small Reconstructionist community is, I gather, too small to have their own synagogue so they share with the Unitarians. I think this is a marvellous gift of ecumenism. As I understand it, Reconstructionist Judaism is trying to adapt to 21st century people perhaps both in liturgy and in lifestyle. All I can say is that it was a very 'community' gathering, a very welcoming one and a very reverent one.
This particular day was the Sabbath and also the celebration of Succoth which I think is also called the feast of Tabernacles. So the service was very long - from about 9:30 to just after 1 pm. I can honestly say that there was not a moment when I felt restless and wondering when it was going to end. It was a service rich in joy and thanksgiving and even, mourning. Michal and Karuna (whose name means compassion) each had to chant in Hebrew a passage from the Torah which I imagine was not at all easy. They had been preparing for a year! Then later each had to read a reflection they had written on the passage they had read and leave the congregation with some questions to discuss. Michal had recited the passage where Moses asks to see God and God says no but stand here and I will go by and (basically) you can see my back. Karuna had recited the passage where God writes a second set of tablets after the first had been smashed.
It was interesting to hear what each of the girls made of the passages and the questions that came to them. Michal, if I understand correctly, was raising questions about seeing God or not seeing God, imagination and reality and the role of imagination in faith. (I am not doing her justice I'm afraid). Karuna was sharing some of her own questions about whether she even believed in God and why she continued to the end in this journey to her Bat Mitzvah. After each talk there was a lively and thoughtful discussion from anyone who chose to respond.
Both before and after there were innumerable celebrations and meals and parties and I was deeply moved by the strength and joy of the family life of this small congregation. I was also tremendously impressed by the maturity not only of Michal and Karuna but of the other 13 year olds who were their friends and relatives. If our world is to be in their hands then I feel very much more at peace. It is not that they will be without weakness or difficulty but that they seem to be thoughtful and kind now and one can believe that that will continue into adulthood.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Transformation
Not surprisingly I still keep thinking of various things that occurred during our recent trip to England. One of the things that keeps coming to mind is something that my niece Susan was adamant that she wanted to do.
A few years ago Susan had gone to London with a friend on their way to a cycling trip in France. While they were in London they visited the small but very special Courtauld gallery. During that visit Susan had seen a relatively unknown still life by Monet which had touched her deeply and which she had never forgotten. So, on this trip she kept saying that this was one thing she really had to do: to see that painting again.
One of the qualities of great art or music or books or poems is that they can touch us at some deep level. They have a quality that is far beyond the superficial. This kind of touching can be so profound that we do not find it possible to put our experience into words. So, it is not an intellectual experience but a profoundly spiritual one .There is a sense - sometimes an overwhelming one, sometimes a slighter one - that we will never quite be the same because of this experience.
Some people say they have been deeply touched by one particular sunset for instance, or by a view that leads them into another place, or a piece of music that somehow changes everything for them. This experience has, I think, a name: it is called transformation. Have you ever gone to the theater and been so carried into what is happening there that you know it has in some inarticulate way, changed you? That is an experience of transformation. It is, as I mentioned, not an intellectual experience - it is something much, much deeper and more permanent and it is, I believe, a gift.
I don't know whether Susan found her second viewing of the painting as powerful as the first - perhaps not, because often it is a single moment that happens, never to recur. I believe we all have had such moments in our lives and I think such experiences are moments to treasure because we are touching that within us that is life-giving.
A few years ago Susan had gone to London with a friend on their way to a cycling trip in France. While they were in London they visited the small but very special Courtauld gallery. During that visit Susan had seen a relatively unknown still life by Monet which had touched her deeply and which she had never forgotten. So, on this trip she kept saying that this was one thing she really had to do: to see that painting again.
One of the qualities of great art or music or books or poems is that they can touch us at some deep level. They have a quality that is far beyond the superficial. This kind of touching can be so profound that we do not find it possible to put our experience into words. So, it is not an intellectual experience but a profoundly spiritual one .There is a sense - sometimes an overwhelming one, sometimes a slighter one - that we will never quite be the same because of this experience.
Some people say they have been deeply touched by one particular sunset for instance, or by a view that leads them into another place, or a piece of music that somehow changes everything for them. This experience has, I think, a name: it is called transformation. Have you ever gone to the theater and been so carried into what is happening there that you know it has in some inarticulate way, changed you? That is an experience of transformation. It is, as I mentioned, not an intellectual experience - it is something much, much deeper and more permanent and it is, I believe, a gift.
I don't know whether Susan found her second viewing of the painting as powerful as the first - perhaps not, because often it is a single moment that happens, never to recur. I believe we all have had such moments in our lives and I think such experiences are moments to treasure because we are touching that within us that is life-giving.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Time
While I was away in the UK last month I was so very aware of several friends who had become ill before I left and whose illnesses had come as a sort of a shock. Naturally, they became part of my daily prayer so they were never, ever far from my mind. But I also realised that the increasing number of people I know who are suffering illness in some way provides an ever more insistent reminder of the passing of years and the amazing fragility of life.
As I pondered this I was trying to think why the awareness of it increases more each time. In passing, I notice now that the subject of health occupies an awful lot of the conversation of many people I know. That didn't used to be the case of course, because when we were young and strong, doctors and health received relatively little attention. Having said that, I do get a sense that in the 30 years I was away, out of circulation as it were, the subject of health even for young people seems to be of more interest. What vitamins do you take? what do you or don't you eat? what exercise do you get? There are huge numbers of ads on TV related to health as well. What is this about? Does it mean even younger people are feeling more vulnerable?
But getting back to people in my age bracket I do understand that the sense of increasing vulnerability is very realistic. In the middle 70's and beyond you know absolutely that life is coming to a close and as you see around you so many friends with canes or walkers or pacemakers or wheelchairs or whatever, you know that time has something of a different quality. I would call it a quality of preciousness - others of course may see it quite differently. I see time is becoming infinitely more precious and infinitely less infinite!!! As a for-instance, I read about things in the paper that the city is planning for the year 2020 and I think, realistically I believe, that the odds are I may not be alive for that. Whereas, not long ago ( so it seems) it would never have occurred to me that I would not be around.
Time is of course, hugely mysterious. I once tried to read Stephen Hawkings book 'A brief history of time' and understood not a word. But all the same, time is what we live our lives in. Think of all the generations who came before us - where have they gone? There was a time when they lived just as we do - youth, middle age, old age - and then, what???? It is awesome and mysterious and I think, a gift.
So, is this too depressing? I hope not. For whatever reason death is an absolute given for every single one of us. And life has no guarantees of length or quality or goodness. But I do find now, in older age that as each day unfolds the minutes and hours become more of a gift to me, they are more precious and I am grateful for that. I really am learning that I don't need to waste time worrying about tomorrow because I have just this moment that I am sure of and that is okay.
As I pondered this I was trying to think why the awareness of it increases more each time. In passing, I notice now that the subject of health occupies an awful lot of the conversation of many people I know. That didn't used to be the case of course, because when we were young and strong, doctors and health received relatively little attention. Having said that, I do get a sense that in the 30 years I was away, out of circulation as it were, the subject of health even for young people seems to be of more interest. What vitamins do you take? what do you or don't you eat? what exercise do you get? There are huge numbers of ads on TV related to health as well. What is this about? Does it mean even younger people are feeling more vulnerable?
But getting back to people in my age bracket I do understand that the sense of increasing vulnerability is very realistic. In the middle 70's and beyond you know absolutely that life is coming to a close and as you see around you so many friends with canes or walkers or pacemakers or wheelchairs or whatever, you know that time has something of a different quality. I would call it a quality of preciousness - others of course may see it quite differently. I see time is becoming infinitely more precious and infinitely less infinite!!! As a for-instance, I read about things in the paper that the city is planning for the year 2020 and I think, realistically I believe, that the odds are I may not be alive for that. Whereas, not long ago ( so it seems) it would never have occurred to me that I would not be around.
Time is of course, hugely mysterious. I once tried to read Stephen Hawkings book 'A brief history of time' and understood not a word. But all the same, time is what we live our lives in. Think of all the generations who came before us - where have they gone? There was a time when they lived just as we do - youth, middle age, old age - and then, what???? It is awesome and mysterious and I think, a gift.
So, is this too depressing? I hope not. For whatever reason death is an absolute given for every single one of us. And life has no guarantees of length or quality or goodness. But I do find now, in older age that as each day unfolds the minutes and hours become more of a gift to me, they are more precious and I am grateful for that. I really am learning that I don't need to waste time worrying about tomorrow because I have just this moment that I am sure of and that is okay.
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