Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Adviento 3: El Anhelo de la Humanidad

From time to time, I have the privilege of sharing a brief meditation at my church (Grace Episcopal Church, right across from the State Capitol in Madison, Wisconsin). In Spanish. I don't usually post these things on the blog, but hey. Why not? A few of our readers will be able to understand it.

El Adviento es mi favorita estación del año litúrgico, porque creo que la esperanza, el anhelo es un parte muy importante de la vida cristiana. También es parte de la condición humana. El anhelo es nuestro compañero cada día. Y a veces es un compañero incómodo, ruidoso, un poco salvaje. Como María esperando el nacimiento de su hijo Jesús, esperamos la llegada de Dios en nuestro mundo, en nuestra nación, en nuestra comunidad, en nuestro trabajo, en nuestra familia.

Esperamos la intervención de Dios en nuestros problemas y nuestras relaciones. A causa de este anhelo, entendemos el milagro de la venida de Dios. El mundo también tiene ese anhelo, aunque muchas personas no lo entienden. Cada día, en cada parte del mundo, cristianos esperan el reino de Dios. Como oramos: “Venga tu reino. Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo.”

Como la Virgen María, esperamos con gozo y confianza un nacimiento maravilloso: de la justicia, de la paz, de la unidad, de la compasión, de la igualdad, del entendimiento, del amor profundo y abundante entre todos los pueblos del mundo, en otras palabras, el nacimiento del reino de Dios en la tierra. Y esta esperanza crece in nuestros corazones, como un niño precioso, poco a poco creciendo en la fuerza. Tenemos que alimentarla y cuidarla y mantenerla calentita como una madre cariñosa. El desánimo siempre la busca como un lobo feroz. También el miedo. Y el odio. Y la falta del perdón. El hambriento y la desesperación. Esas enfermedades del mundo pueden devorar nuestra esperanza. Pero podemos protegerla en oración, en la comunidad de la iglesia, en leer las escrituras, y en la alabanza entusiasmada.

Si la justicia y la compasión y la paz sean fáciles, no las valoremos, no entendamos que preciosas son. No entendamos la grandeza del regalo de Dios. El anhelo nos forma. Y no estamos solos en ese anhelo. Lo compartimos con la Santísima Virgen María y Juan El Bautista. Cuando ella dice que Dios “puso en alto a los humildes [y] llenó de bienes a los hambrientos,” ella no habla del mundo presente. Porque todavía hay los pobres, los hambrientos, y los desamparados en nuestra comunidad. Pero María confirma que Dios ya ha hecho, ya ha vencido. Y nosotros, juntos con María y todos los santos, podemos vivir en la victoria de Dios.

Es un gran privilegio, un gozo participar en la lucha para las cosas que Dios valora más. Juntos con los discípulos de Cristo en todas las edades y épocas y en todo el mundo, y con nuestros hermanas y hermanos aquí en la iglesia. Tenemos la honra de compartir con Cristo en una lucha de más importancia. Esta lucha nos forma, como el anhelo nos forma. Siempre tenemos que recordar que servimos a Uno que ya ha vencido. Él ha compartido no solamente su victoria, mas que su lucha con nosotros. Porque en la lucha, podemos entender el significado, la importancia de la victoria.

El anhelo, la lucha, y la victoria nos forman en la imagen de Dios. Este es nuestra esperanza, que vamos a ver, cara a cara, Jesús en su trono, Jesús, nuestro rey, Jesús en su victoria. Este es nuestro anhelo: que vamos a ver la justicia y la paz de Dios, el reino de Dios en toda su gloria. En su primera carta a los Corintios (capitula 13, versículo 12), San Pablo escribió: “Ahora vemos de manera indirecta, como en un espejo, y borrosamente; pero un día veremos cara a cara. Mi conocimiento es ahora imperfecto, pero un día conoceré a Dios como él me ha conocido siempre a mí.” Este es nuestro gran anhelo, y la esperanza de María y Juan El Bautista, y todos los santos: Dios con nosotros, Emmanuel.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Hard Times

Hardly a day goes by anymore when I don't ask myself, "Where are we going and why are we in this handbasket?" Just when I think I can wrap my mind around it, or even come close to it, I discover that it is actually much worse than I thought.

There are so many things falling into the "even worse than I thought" category that now I'm just lumping them all together: the economy, muscle spasms, the unfathomable depths of corporate greed and callousness, the state of my 401K. Part of my personal pathology is that I feel overwhelmed very easily. And lately I have been feeling intensely overwhelmed.

Rather than listing all of the contributing factors, though, I want to list all the things I tell my friends when they ask the handbasket question, the things I try to tell myself, although I don't always manage to get through.

Juliana of Norwich, medieval mystic:
All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well.
This is the long, long, long view. Ultimately, everything will be fine. All the crises and weights and conundrums will ultimately come to naught. At the very bottom and at the very core of everything, there is goodness, light, truth, beauty, justice, joy, and most of all, love. And because of that, "All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well."

Haldir, elf of Lothlorien (from J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings):
The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.
True, there is great evil afoot. Evil is rampant in the world and having a heyday. But don't let it steal the show. Evil is always noisier, flashier, and more demanding. Good is quieter, steadier, stronger, content to work for the broader long-term benefit. If you sit quietly in the morning light, you can smell it. It is very powerful and available to all who seek it.

Despair can have its own deadly allure, but it is a great deceiver, because good is always more powerful and more enduring than evil. Always.

Another quotation from the Lord of the Rings, this time from the movie, The Two Towers:
Frodo: I can't do this, Sam.
Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.
In the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Ah, Samwise the brave and wise, the most fiercely loyal of friends. You could do worse than use Sam as a role model. There is indeed some good in this world, and it is most definitely worth fighting for.

This morning I was feeling, well, you know, overwhelmed and a bit blue. And a dear friend sent me a link to this video. It totally transformed my perspective. As she told me, "It's long but worth it."



When Tom came home this afternoon, not long after I watched that video, I told him how awesome and wonderful he is. And then I sat him down to watch the video while I got ready to go. I heard him laughing while I was in the shower.

No matter where we're going, no matter how fast, no matter how directly downhill—no matter that we're in an overcrowded handbasket—we can still be kind and encourage each other and love each other and focus on the things that really matter. We can spread more joy, more love, more hilarity. And those are most definitely the things that are worth fighting for.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Aretha's "America" for a Patchwork America

It was amazing to see and hear Aretha Franklin, the 66-year-old Queen of Soul, the woman who sang "Respect" and "Chain of Fools," sing "America" during the inauguration ceremony today. As I watched and listened, I thought of how my mother might have reacted to Aretha's performance. I think quite possibly, as a classically trained musician, my mother would not have approved. I do not mean to cast aspersions on my mother, only to mark the change between generations, and the change I am relishing today.



My parents' America was most definitely a white America. Regardless of how open-minded and progressive and supportive they strove to be, they viewed colored people (the term we used then) as "other," and along with "other" were unspoken, powerful undertones: "less refined," "less well educated," "less advanced," "less capable," just less.

That was the America I grew up in. But the America I saw on the Washington mall today is a multi-America, a "patchwork" America, in which there are many varieties, all of us with so much to offer, all of us a gift, all of us precious and bright and capable and strong. A shift took place in the deep recesses of my mind and heart, a shift that has been in the works for many years: the "other" became "us," not assimilated into a melting pot, not an extension of white America. It was as if I could feel the patchwork being stitched together.

President Obama said in his speech today, "we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness." He himself embodies that patchwork heritage: the son of an African immigrant and a white woman from Kansas, he lived for a while in Indonesia when he was a child. He knows what it is to be an outsider, and yet he has benefited from some of the greatest advantages and privileges this country has to offer.

As I listened and looked around at what once would have been white America, I saw and loved the patchwork in all of its delicious diversity. Oooh, this is ever, ever, ever so much better. I don't feel embarrassed or tentative or apologetic to embrace Aretha as one of my own. She's not just an artist I have loved and admired all my life from afar. She is one of us, and I am one of her people, just as she is one of mine.

We are still distinct, each with her own heritage, his own flavor. There is much we have yet to learn from each other, many stories that still need to be told. But all the same, we are one people, we are one nation, we are brothers and sisters with a common vision and a common purpose, more closely allied with each other than we have ever been before.

I think the idea I am grasping at is bigger than my ability to express. I feel like I'm getting at only a shade of what's really happening. But I can feel it; I can feel the shift. It's big and it's important, and it's worth struggling to put it into words.

Much of my awareness of the shift is no doubt because of our new president. Our new sense of oneness is certainly a result of the message he has been driving home today.
What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility—a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character than giving our all to a difficult task. . . .

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed, why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent mall. And why a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.
Barack Obama is our first black president; he is a joy and a treasure to black America. We rejoice today with our black brothers and sisters; we share their delight and their awe at what it took to bring us to this day. Seeing their reaction to this great day drives home to us how long and hard and painful a journey this has been. And we rejoice that Barack Obama is a president to every American of every skin tone, every culture, every language.

I felt so proud of Aretha today as she sang "America." She is not only a black artist, not only the Queen of Soul and a source of pride for black Americans. She isn't just their Aretha; she's our Aretha. She is a national treasure for all of us.

The wounds and weapons of racism are still with us. The weapons have not yet been utterly vanquished; the wounds not completely healed. We have overcome much, but we still have a long way to go. Nevertheless, progress has been made—real, tangible progress. Our hearts are being knit together, more deeply and more surely than ever before. The patchwork is being stitched together, and all the great treasures who in the past would not have been allowed to shine will grow and flourish and nurture the divine spark that lives in all of us.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

My Kind of Revolution

In his recent In These Times editorial, "The Interactive Presidency," Joel Bleifuss recounts how Barack Obama's online supporters could be changing America's political landscape. We have met the revolution, and it is us.

No doubt about it, this is my kind of revolution. I'm an introvert, and I express myself in writing much better than in talking. I like staying home. I'm happy to rouse the rabble and viva the revolution especially when I can do it from my kitchen with my cat curled up beside me.

Bleifuss begins by asking a lot of questions about how the landscape is changing. The questions are good, because I don't think we've begun to fully realize the many ways that social networking is changing the political landscape. More people sign up for Facebook and Twitter every day, and more and more people are using those sites and others like them to find like-minded individuals and groups. Talk about the ultimate in community organizing resources!

Somewhere along the line last fall, I realized how easy Facebook made it to find more or less like-minded people. I started sending friend requests to anyone with an Obama photo as their profile pic or "Hussein" as their middle name. I was a little hesitant at first to send friend requests to strangers, but nearly everybody accepted my requests, and I didn't really care that much if they didn't. Having accumulated a modicum of allies, I found the excitement of the upcoming election all the more palpable. And there my new life as an online rabble-rouser began.

According to Bleifuss, "Obama’s 13 million supporters hope their new president will take his cues from them—that their voices will be heard above those of status quo Democrats and corporate flacks, and, perhaps, even sway Obama’s centrist inclinations." Uh, that would indeed be me. I'm doing my best to send him cues like crazy, and I'm encouraging my friends and acquaintances to do likewise.

It was discouraging that the answer to the most-asked question in Round 2 on Change.gov didn't get a more direct answer, but the more I think about Eric Holder being the people's attorney, the more I like the idea. I'm not throwing my hands up in despair just yet anyway. I'm going to keep pushing and watching what happens very carefully.

Bleifuss concludes: "The limitation of Obama’s online operation is that, since he owns it, it can’t challenge him should he backslide. Yet to the extent that it circumvents the propaganda of the right, Obama’s online army could make the difference in realizing a progressive agenda."

Well, I for one am most definitely going to challenge him should he "backslide." Obama doesn't own my corner of the Internet any more than he owns my kitchen table. I have found here a lovely little spot in cyberspace from which I can raise my voice, push like hell, laugh uproariously, and rouse the rabble until I'm virtually hoarse. And that's just what I'm going to do and keep on doing it until I run out of virtual steam, which isn't going to be any time soon.

Friday, January 9, 2009

"It's Our Job to Push"



Many thanks to the kind person who, recognizing that I was feeling discouraged, pointed me toward this video.

I have said before that Dubya did nothing if not lower our expectations. However much I share Mr. Coyote's dismay at not seeing any progressives appointed to the Obama cabinet, I agree that "a cattle thief would be better than what we've had."