Happy Thanksgiving!

I have no intention of spending Thanksgiving Day at a computer. In fact, I have all kinds of other plans, but I did want to wish all readers a happy -- and tasty -- day. As for me, I have a guest (friend) from Washington, DC, who has been here all week with me. Doah and I intend to attend the Thanksgiving Mass in the morning, then our whole family will go over to the community dinner that is sponsored by our parish. I think it is a bit unique. Every year the entire community (our town has only a little over 1000 people, including children) is invited to a free Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant-like building that our parish owns. Those who have cooking talent provide the food. Others serve or clean up. Since I have absolutely no cooking talent, my family and I serve on the clean-up crew. Every year hundreds eat for free -- rich and poor alike (and together). It is a great way to spend Thanksgiving!

However you spend your Thanksgiving, I hope it will be a day to remember and a day for which you find yourself grateful!

If God Loves Me, Why Can't I Cook?

The following excerpt from my latest book, Believer in Waiting, seems quite appropriate on the day before Thanksgiving (when I will not be cooking but helping to clean up after a community dinner where my family and I will receive the benefits of those who can cook -- this is an event that takes place every year and is sponsored by our parish; it is for everyone, whether rich or poor, alone or endowed with many local family members and friends; it is a community event that all look forward to and to which each contributes in his or her own way by cooking, serving, or cleaning up).

Everyone knows that I cannot cook a decent meal. As for the rest of my homemaking skills, let us just say that my passing grade in Home Economics as a child was a gift from a teacher who liked me but not necessarily a reflection of my homemaking ability. I think she just did not want to ruin my straight-A average. Maybe she gave me the grade for effort rather than result.

When my kids were growing up, if I wanted to get them to do something, I would just have to threaten to cook dinner myself rather than their dad. Even as youngsters, they knew how to cook well. (Their spouses love that.) As an adult, Doah wrote a book with my help, an exercise in understanding and developing literacy. The topic of all the tales in the book is my sad lack of homemaking skills and the horrendous outcome of my attempts to use them. The stories are as true as they are hilarious. Why I got missed in the distribution of talents that most women have, I may never know.

Every once in a while, though, I try to remedy the situation—to no avail. On Donnie’s birthday recently, I decided to make him dinner, freeing him from that daily task. He protested, but then realized that this was going to be my gift to him so he let me try. I had purchased some fresh squid; they are easy to cook. A salad and some vegetables, rolls, desserts—voila! a great dinner! Except it was, following historic patterns, not edible. Donnie made himself a toasted cheese sandwich, and, as happens in such cases, I ate the inedible meal just to prove something. (Just what I am trying to prove in these cases, I am not sure.)
So, I ask, if God loves me, why can’t I cook? This question parallels the kinds of questions that my catechism kids ask: if God loves me, why can’t I do something I want to do, why don’t I get an A grade on my project or test, why can’t I have a specific gift or opportunity, i.e. why is life so tough sometimes? I love the book by Lorraine Peterson that attempts to answer this question: If God Loves Me, Why Can’t I Get My Locker Open? I recommend it to all parents, catechists, and teenagers.

In thinking about this question, a possible answer begins forming in my mind. I cannot do things perfectly because I am human, ordinary. Not everything I want will go my way because it should not go my way because I am human, ordinary, and need to grow and learn. I need to walk in the path of the cross because it is that path that brings a different kind of life, one that leads to resurrection, one that is pleasing to God.

And then the life of Jesus comes to mind. He did not choose to live an extraordinary life but an ordinary one although the way he lived it was extraordinary. If he had not lived an ordinary life, we would not have the wonderful example of how we, as ordinary, human beings, can and should live. He gave us the example of how to live the way God would have us live, how to be servants to those around us, how to improve life for others, and how to bear our cross, whatever that may be, with grace and trust. He gave us the answer to the question that my catechism kids ask.

Oh, yes, now I know the answer. Why can’t I get the locker open, cook a meal for my husband, receive only accolades, have no financial worries, birth only healthy children, etc.? I cannot do those things precisely because God does love me! Just like God loved Job. Just like God loved Jesus!

Poverty

At a retreat I attended last summer on St. Francis and Franciscanism, the question came up of the vow of poverty as taken by St. Francis and his followers. This is one of three vows that today's followers of St. Francis are asked to take, the others being a vow of charity and a vow of obedience. The Bible verse that came up was the following rather well known and often cited verse from Matthew (19:21), in which Jesus responds as follows to a wealthy young man who asks what he must do to be deserving of eternal life:

"Go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me."

There were a number of wealthy people at the retreat. In fact, probably only those individuals with some money could have afforded to attend the retreat. This particular verse created some consternation with them until the priest who led the retreat interpreted the verse in a way that they found comfortable to accept, and one in which I have seen it interpreted on a number of occasions, a non-literal interpretation. To support the priest, here are a couple of other sources that use the same interpretation.

From the Corporation Sole: A person who has been initiated into a Religious Order may take a vow of poverty at any time during their membership in the Order. The vow of poverty is not to be interpreted as being for ever poor, but rather to sharing everything in common. Those who embrace a vow of poverty do not claim private ownership of any possessions: everything they have is used for the common good of the Religious Order.

From a Secular Franciscan website: Poverty was another thing that worried me when I was first discerning a call to the Franciscans. The example of Francis was one of total financial poverty... I later learned ... that one could live in spiritual poverty while being financially wealthy.

I did not say anything because my reaction was diametrically opposed to the interpretation of the others. After all, Matthew tells us that the young man went away sad "because he was wealthy." It seems, then, that perhaps a literal interpretation would not be inaccurate, and certainly St. Francis interpreted the passage literally. Yet, our retreat priest supported the view of the secular Franciscan above although it would have been interesting to see how he might have reacted to my experience for, you see, I have done this literally.

At the retreat, I said nothing, following my father's guidance that it is better to be silent and let people think you are a fool than open your mouth and prove it. So, I simply listened to the scads of people, most of the 60 there, who did have something to say, all of it along the lines that while St. Francis may have interpreted it literally, (1) we really cannot do so today and (2) the passage was never meant to be interpreted literally.

How sad, I thought, as I recalled my experiences with the literal interpretation and the intense pleasure and sheer joy that came from it.

A little over ten years ago my husband, Donnie, and I sold or gave away everything we owned. All our fledglings had grown up and in one fell swoop had flown from our nest to new nesting places of their own. Our 13-room house, with its suite of empty bedrooms, required dusting and cleaning for no occupants and with no extra hands to help. Further, I enjoyed little time at home because of an international consulting job that came me up in the air most of the time. If I were to have any income at all, I had to spend many days each month on a plane.

So, we decided to buy a fifth-wheeler RV and park it on a river in a wilderness area -- which brought us lots of excitement whenever the river flooded -- and planned to travel the country in between consulting jobs as soon as we could afford to buy a hauler for it. We never were able to buy that hauler, however; the kids always needed something, and we had old debts to pay. Three years later, when I was offered a job in Jordan, we gave the RV to a neighbor and moved to the Middle East.

In 2000, to return to my original story, we had 13 rooms of goods to unload. Nearly nothing would be needed for the RV -- just a few personal items, such as a minimum amount of clothes for work and play, and some work items, such as our two computers. That was it. There was room for nothing more.

So, we told our children that they could take whatever they wanted from the family heirlooms and any other treasure trove they saw lying around our large house, and they did. Surprisingly, there were no disagreements among them as to what each took.

Then I had to do something with my 5000 books (yes, I have typed the correct number of zeroes there). Being an academic at the time, I looked upon my books as my personal treasure. Letting go of them was particularly difficult. However, I ultimately found a very enjoyable way to do so. I contacted friends all over the world who ran libraries or training programs in need of books, offering the books for free if postage were reimbursed. My books went to programs as diverse as Harvard University and an English Teachers' Association in Uzbekistan. The rare books I had collected from Siberia I sent to the Slavic Library at the University of Illinois; books there do not circulate, and so I knew I would be able to visit my books again were I ever to need to use them (I have not had that need in the last ten years). With Lizzie being a graduate student there and my having led summer workshops there, finding my way onto campus and into the library would not be difficult.

We held a yard sale for the remaining items. Some sold; many did not. Then, we opened our house to a neighbor who collected items for the impoverished communities in the Philippines. He rented a large u-haul, and off went everything else!

It was quite a liberating experience, and we have not felt the need for "things" since. We took nothing except four suitcases to the Middle East -- mostly clothes and work equipment (especially Donnie's electronics). We brought nothing back from the Middle East when we returned to the USA in 2006 except for those same clothes and electronics. (Oh, and, of course, the cats that we rescued there.)

There is something magical about letting go of everything. Letting go and giving away worldly possessions creates a different and more important kind of wealth. That is what I think Jesus was telling the young man who, like many modern wealthy folks, just did not want to hear it. So, irregardless what the retreat priest told us, irregardless how some, perhaps most (?), secular Franciscans interpret the "vow of poverty," and irregardless of how anyone might prefer to treat Jesus's words metaphorically, like St. Francis, I plan to continue taking them literally.

Hugging God

A few nights ago, I was walking and talking with God when an overwhelming desire to hug God passed through me. Well, you know, we humans are physical beings, so why would we not want to have some kind of physical contact with the supernatural if we are programmed for physical contact with the natural? So, I expressed that desire: "I would really like to hug You!"

That Voice that I hear upon occasion responded in a surprising way: "Hug My people!"

Well, maybe, on second thought, that is not so surprising at all. After all, God is within each of us.

I think I will right away start doing a lot of hugging of God!

A Believer in Waiting's First Encounters with God

Finally, A Believer in Waiting's First Encounters with God (available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online bookstores) is out. I held the first copy in my hand on September 30. Like Blest Atheist, it seemed to take twice as long to write as I thought it would, but it has been seriously redacted from manuscript days, and so I think the extra time was worthwhile.

Here is the publisher's description: A Believer in Waiting's First Encounters with God allows readers an entree into the world of what might be called a modern-day mystic, a world where spirituality, contemplation, hierophany, and miracles unite. Good, evil, suffering, darkness, unknowing, and the unconditional love of God are the leitmotifs that bind the author's experiences from the physical world to the spiritual realm.

Here is a part of the introduction that perhaps adds a little more information to the publisher's description: It is with some reluctance that I pen this book for I am certain there are readers who will consider my tales tall and my experiences outlandish. They sometimes seem that way to me, too. Yet, I must assume that if these kinds of things happen to me, then they probably also happen to other people, who may be even more reluctant than I to share them. I understand their reluctance. After all, William James called the great Catholic mystics psychopaths. What equally unpleasant labels might be applied to us lesser souls who today experience supernatural phenomena? Equally disturbing is the tendency of some fundamentalists to attribute all mysticism to evil spirits, which baffles me: if they consider demons capable of communicating with us directly, why would God not be able to do the same? Do they really consider God less powerful than Satan? "It is a terrible evil," says St. Teresa of Avila, "to doubt that God has the power to work in a way far beyond our understanding." Although often unbelievable to those who yearn for something that fits human reasoning, our relationship with God is a simple matter if we let God direct it.

As I did with Blest Atheist, I will post a few pertinent passages on my blogs from time to time. (A few, in draft form, have already appeared: see these posts.) I hope that you will enjoy them.

Obedience

I have written a number of posts here about taskings I have been given, and which I have followed through on. Usually, they require me to act like I am nuts (to those who don't believe in God or don't believe that God interacts with people today as God did in the past -- I don't believe that God has stopped talking to us but rather that we have stopped listening) or require me to do things that I find embarrassing, humiliating, and otherwise a tad troublesome. Of course, they are always the right thing to do, and they always focus on helping someone, righting a wrong, and the like. It is just that sometimes I wish God would choose someone else, partly because I am not obedient by nature and partly because, well, why would anyone want to go around making himself/herself sound like a modern-day Jeremiah (if only on a small scale)?

Interestingly, these taskings, to date, have always been things I am supposed to do. Until recently, that is. I have for a few weeks been trying to write a post for this blog about the Voice. Yes, of course, I have written many posts about the Voice. However, I have never sat down and described the Voice in detail the way St. Teresa did -- and maybe she described all that is needed to be described, but I really thought I had something to add to that description. However, each time I wrote a very nice (my opinion) post on the topic, I would hear God telling me: "Don't post it." I have tried 4-5 times, each time with the same message: dont, which is not a word I typically get, except in the case of not leaving my job for a better one. I don't know why I am not supposed to post it. After all, God let St. Teresa of Avila (big disappointment this week -- was in Madrid, Toledo, Alcala but could not get to Avila) write about the Voice in very specific ways. (Of course, there was St. John of the Cross hanging around, telling her not to pay much attention to her locutions, whose advice she did not heed in this case.)

It is all very confusing to me, yet very clear. I will not post or share my description because I am not supposed to. Perhaps because it will do some harm. Perhaps because I don't understand it as well as I think I do. (That happens a lot in life with a lot of things.) All I know is that when God says do something, I do try to do it (perhaps with less posh than someone else would do it, but it gets done). Now God is saying not to do it -- so I will not do it.

Contemplation VIII

An odd thing happened on a recent Saturday morning at a retreat I was attending. Following breakfast, I set off on a short multi-tasking walk, during which I caught up on incoming email and voice mail, there being no connectivity at the retreat center. (I like to think of this as less an addiction and more a life-sensitive triage -- after all, I answered only one urgent email and returned two phone calls -- but an honest self-examination might reveal a different reality.)

Then I returned to my room for a period of lectio divina and silent prayer. Opening the Bible haphazardly, I began to read the psalm I had opened to when I felt the Bible being gently pulled from my hands. I laid it on the floor beside me and immediately found myself enveloped within and without by the Presence in an all-consuming embrace that I believe is what the old mystics called union.

It was a brief encounter but, as always, powerful. It left me out of breath. I have overcome the urge to push away God's advance, and so I relaxed into it that morning, noticing only some difficulty in breathing, not an atypical reaction for me in cases of contemplative prayer and union, where I experience a re-awaking of the sense of a divine invasion that accompanied the hierophany that caused my conversion. I suppose it is still a bit of a fear reaction although of what there is to be afraid I have not the slightest idea.

From the pushaway to passive panicky breathing lies a significant distance trod in a relationship with God. Fortunately, God is also persistent in love. In sha allah, as the Arabs say, with time and more distance traveled together, I will develop the instinct to return the embrace. That is, after all, what I yearn to do.