less

I grew up in the Episcopal church, so Lent always meant, first, Shrove Tuesday and eating pancakes (I had no clue as to why pancakes, normally a breakfast item, took on such prominence to be served at church and at night!), getting ashes smeared on my head during the Eucharist the next day, then all the adults talking about how much they missed desserts, Wednesday night programmes at church where the kids played, and all the adults ate potluck meals of meatless foods and listened to "a talk". Eventually it all turned into Holy Week and then Easter and then on and on the liturgical calendar galloped. I wasn't quite sure what Lent was all about in the midst of this strange routine I witnessed every year. In some ways, I continue to try and understand.

This year, I had a growing sense leading up to Lent that was just a single word: less. I hadn't prayed or meditated to come up with a Lenten discipline or theme. This word just started showing up in my gut, in my intuition anytime I stopped to listen, sometimes even when I wasn't trying at all to listen. Less.

Before I moved back to America, the Lord warned me that it would be rough going against the materialistic tide here. I took heed, but I figured I had endured plenty of things, suffered enough privation that all that materialism and consumerism would be easy to resist. Sure enough, when I got back to the land of Starbucks, Best Buy, and dread WalMart, most of it just reeked to me. I shuddered at the sheer number of shops and shopping venues and the endless push for personalisation and customization: "Have it your way!" -- the endless choices. But as overt as some of this is, I have realised over the last year that much of the ideology behind the marketing and promotion is quieter, more insidious, and it preys upon our basic fears, insecurities, and worries. The essential message, whether you're talking cars, money, food, clothes, phones, travel, prescription drugs, relationships, sex, or weapons is: more. You must have more. If something is good, it is better to have more of it. And you are not okay until you have The More.

Thankfully, Jesus does not think or act this way. Thankfully, through Him, we have a way out of this sticky web of deceit. Thankfully, He says things like: less.

So while I am not abstaining from desserts or alcohol or television or whatever during these 40 days, I am considering everything I do from the vantage point of less. This is not ascetic deprivation, it is a more temperate and steady choosing throughout the day that what I have, and more importantly, who I am, is okay. I can be content not having all of what I might want, either materially or otherwise. And wonderfully, I already feel so much the richer.

Jesus, one word from You, rocks me!

UP

Have been watching a brilliant documentary the past few days called the U;p Series. (I'd give you a link to it, but I don't know how to put that in yet. If you want more info...just write me an email.) I had seen portions of it on the BBC when I lived in the UK, but I have now, in the space of a few days, watched all five DVD's worth. In 1964, a documentary filmmaker decided to follow a group of 15 children from the ages of 7 to 42, visiting them every 7 years for an update. The premise of making the film was the famous quote, "Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man."

Has anyone else seen this? I know a few of you must have. How did it strike you? I was fascinated watching these kids, then adults, as they made choices about school, spouses, family, career, and lifestyle. I guess I find it of particular interest at the moment as my life feels all scattered about like a bowl of bits and bobs dumped out on a carpet, and I am evaluating decisions, choices, roads I've travelled. I could get all very broody about it, but I am trying not to. Analysis is good, to a point. In fact, I am trying to re-learn The Way of the Gut (a celebrated yogi teaching from the 7thC). That is, a way of knowing that bypasses the Analyst and goes straight south: How does it feel -- in my soul, in my ME, in my gut? I think God speaks to me far more clearly there than He does to my head. My head is a giant blender and garbles the message so often, I don't think it can act as a reliable relay anymore. I wonder if this means I am currently experiencing/having a brain bypass compliments of the Holy Surgeon?

Reflecting on the quote above, I try and recollect what or who I was at seven, and what I wanted from life, how I would have answered the same questions put to those kids. Can I remember what it was like to be seven, my seven? One very amusing memory that has come to me in all this and one that actually has something to do with decisions I have just made recently is this: I got sent to pre-school at about age 4/5, and I hated it. I, in fact, hated it almost immediately. I didn't like being fenced in in the playground area or having limits on where I could go. I didn't like being called, "Honey" by some woman that didn't even know me or maybe even my name. I figured out very quickly (first day at pre-school) my way of escape. I threw a ball over the fence and told the nice lady who was calling me honey that I was going to get the ball. Well, once the gate latch was open, I never looked back. I found my way home and was not discovered until my mother came home from work and found me alone in our family room, feet propped up, watching television, eating a peanut butter sandwich. Aha, I don't like institutions. I knew it at 5, and I am just now remembering it at 37. I could have saved myself a lot of hassle if I had passed on that knowledge from my kid self to my adult one!

So, watching this series has been enlightening, simply because it has stirred me and my memory and has reminded me that all that stuff I thought was important at 7, my books about the Wright Brothers, my love of sport and movement, the bright colours of tempera paint, my desire to be and feel connected with others, is just that: important.

my doing

I'm back at the blogging thing...at least...I have energy for it for today...who knows about tomorrow.

Decision:
Talking about The Journey and Doing it are two different things. Zillions (no exaggeration, I am sure) of what I call "standing outside yourself" posts are beamed up to the blognet daily by lots of people who wanna talk about this big, phat journey we are part of: this following Jesus, this Process, this often cryptic and mysterious, and no matter what, whether we like it or not, this conveyor belt towards eternity and The End. And I tire of incessant blether about it all...pointless, parenthetical commentary on what we look like from a corrupt and slanted inner eye, which does lots of supposing and conjecturing but fails in actual perception of what IS. We miss the mark. I miss the mark.

I stand on the precipice of the What's Next for me, in my life, on my Journey. And I am scared. And my stomach turns wondering where this new state highway will take me. I've no money, no job, a complicated family, and a grab bag of personal crap that I would like to get worked out. And I feel angry at all the above-noted BS that masquerades as poignancy and depth that I read in blogs or in the news. We are fascinated with talking about how the Journey might turn out or what mutations it might suffer over time....we wonder and wonder and wonder about it all. And while we're doing all that wondering...the Journey marches. It goes on but we're sort of freeze-frame several steps behind and the real show lives and moves and breathes. And we watch it as it takes place -- from a distance -- objectified but not experienced.

So, I blog tonight, because these words and this writing are ME and they are my DOING, right now, today for today. I do not know what tomorrow holds. And I want to shake my fist at all that irrelevant din and shout, "you're stuffed!".....full of yourself but no wisdom....you tell me of something to come that you do not know and will never set your hand nor your heart to...you falter in what is most necessary: courage.

Grrrr and no apologies for it.