Beloved Bewildering

Coming Home

2011-07-05T20:20:00.000-07:00

I've been gone a lot in the last month. And it's been an amazing month, for sure. (Ordination into Unitarian Universalist (UU) ministry, an inspiring conference of UU's during which we spoke about our participation in the growing movement for immigrant/human rights and anti-racism in Arizona, and a family reunion in Denver celebrating my Granddad's 95th and Grandma's 92nd birthdays). And now, I am home. For three weeks. ah... I sigh with relief to be in one place and grow my roots in this town I'll be living in.
I feel/ hope that in my return, a new chapter is beginning. I am making friends in Kalamazoo; having new experiences, like doing yoga in Sam's basement and swimming in her pool afterwards and working on a Community Supported Agriculture farm (Heron Homestead) with a couple awesome young people; cleaning up my house and finally putting away my winter sweaters that I do not need in this 80 plus degree weather!; making lists of things to do that prepare me for the coming year; writing thank you letters to all who gave me good tidings for my ordination...
I just feel so much abundance in my life right now. It is such a wonderful, beautiful feeling. Coming home last night on the airplane from Detroit and watching the fireworks all along the way was just the perfect way to end a chapter and begin another. With blessings from my family and friends for my new life here in Kalamazoo with budding friendships and deepening ministry.

When Birds Sing

2011-04-05T08:59:00.000-07:00

When birds sing,
listen for the return.
One may be joyfully proclaiming,
I'm here!
I'm alive!
Hear my song's sweet sound.

But more often,
there are many songs combining.
I am here!
Are you here?
I AM here!
What tells you so?
You are here, you hear me.
I hear you! You hear me.
My voice sings in your sweet song.

Grace

2011-04-05T08:58:00.000-07:00

Last week, I went for a walk in the Kleinstuck preserve- a small sanctuary of wild life near my house. Half way around the loop, a side trail leads towards the center of the marsh, with a bench inviting rest.
There I stood, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders: A solo pastor to a congregation longing to grow. A single life in a soul longing to open. New to town and new to ministry. Things have gone well so far, but when I stumble, who is here to catch me? My friends here are mostly still acquaintances. So much to carry on my own two shoulders, and yet the wisdom of the earth whispers, “lay your burdens down! Rest in this beauty and this grace.”
And then, I heard footsteps behind me. Someone had turned off the main path and was nearing the shore where I stood. I turned around. A young man and his dog.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Is your name Grace?”
“I just found a cell phone on the trail and the owner is grace.”
“No,” I said. “But thanks for asking.”

Grace. Oh, grace! I forgot about you! Without you, the world is so heavy. One plus one equals two and there is no room for mystery, magic, forgiveness and grace. Everything in judgment graves.
The truth is, we reside in grace. We live and give home to grace.
A sweet kiss from God.
A gentle push of the wind.
The release of grief.
An opening of the heart.
A reminder of our deep, deep place in the family of things.

In Awe and Anticipation

2011-02-21T17:07:00.000-08:00

"Eighty-five million people live in Egypt, and less than 1,000 died in this revolution- and most of them killed by police," said one organizer in Cairo on 2/11/11.
As Roger Cohen writes on 2/14 in a New York Times OP-ED piece that 2/11 may be the most effective antidote to 9/11. Islamic radicalism has thrived not because of lack of U.S. authority and military might. Islamic radicalism has thrived because of lack of diversity (of every kind) and political courage to encourage diversity in the U.S. and abroad. Cohen writes of the unlikely encounters between two Egyptians- a young Westernized woman who returned to Egypt for the protests and a man of Muslim Brotherhood sympathies- on the streets of Cairo. "Right now Egypt has no president, no vice president. no constitution, no parliament and no significant police presence on the streets. But it has the meeting of generations between these two Egyptians; and it has a new sense of nationhood forged through countless other barrier-breaking discoveries of 18 shared revolutionary days."
Egypt is proving us wrong. Egypt is proving all of us wrong who believed that Islam was a simple, one-sided faith that was anti-Western and anti-Democracy. Egypt is proving all of us wrong who believed that young people are complacent. Egypt is proving all of us wrong who think grass-roots, non-traditional leadership will bring chaos and thus violence.
What has happened in Egypt will mark, I believe, this entire century. It is an answer to the deep need for peace in the world. If only people will listen. It is an answer to those on the right who try to pose Obama as sympathetic to terrorist groups. Now, with only Obama's firm and gentle words supporting the protesters, Egypt may become a greater force against terrorist groups than our years of war in Afghanistan and Iraq combined. Let this be a new day for religious and racial pluralism, and world peace.

Service As Our Prayer

2011-01-17T11:18:00.000-08:00

Sermon at UUCC Jan. 9th, 2011
Cassandra Howe

Before Christmas, Joe invited me to the Enduring Spirit art exhibit at WMU. As I walked from piece to piece, I noticed my emotions changing. I was grateful for being “let into the lives” of the people in the portraits. I connected with many parts of people’s stories. But I was also struck with the sobering realization that I have judged these very people every day of my life. I judged even as I offered spare cash, served hot meals, gave articles of clothing.
After spending some time looking at the art, Joe motioned to the notebook and magazine article on the table. Several people had written in the notebook. “I struggle too,” One person wrote. “These stories and pictures help me not to judge, but to listen,” wrote another. “We are more alike than unalike,” left a third, quoting the African American feminist author, Maya Angelou.
From the article, I learned the initial question that inspired this project- who in society doesn’t get to have their portrait taken? Answering the question for himself, Tim, the artist, worked with MwC and the members to set up a way to gift the members with their own portraits.
Perhaps most striking piece of project for me is not the product- but the process. Tim spent thirty minutes with each person photographed. The time was very intentional. For the first ten minutes, Tim asked questions like, “who are you? What do you like? What has life been like for you?” The next ten minutes, he took shots, and finally, he had each person choose their favorite ones for printing.

When I think of the amount of money I pay to sit with my doctor for ten minutes, once a year if I’m lucky, I realize how precious time is. What a gift it is to have ten minutes of another person’s thoughtful attention. Another person’s care. Who gets time like this in society? Who gets to have their story heard?
Another thing I like about the process is that it is ongoing. The art is not finished. Even though it is framed, hanging on the walls, it is not finished. Each one of us is part of the art when we go up and begin to read, peeling away the layers, listen to what the stories and the pictures behind the words are telling us. As Tim writes in the article, we have to earn the pictures. Exhibit not just about sharing pictures and stories. It’s about human relationship. We earn relationship by opening to it. By taking time to listen. To watch. And to learn.

Rachel Naomi Remen writes, “We can only serve that to which we are profoundly connected, that which we are willing to touch… we serve life not because it is broken but because it is holy.”

Service, like compassion, not about helping those less fortunate than ourselves, but about realizing our kinship with all beings.
I was recently in Seattle for Christmas. I grew up there, so I was able to visit family and friends from high school and college who either returned or never left the rainy city. One of the people I visited was my godson, Carter. At one and a half years, he is learning and changing every day. one of his recent phases is giving. He likes to give you whatever he has in his hands (or his mouth).
Our impulse to give starts at a very young age. Even before we learn to give, though, we learn to receive. We receive our mothers milk. If we are lucky, we receive warm embraces from friends and family. Smiles. Affirmations. These gifts come from our parent’s desire not for us to get over our infancy, but from their desire to see us grow. They give because they love us- they believe in us, and see our wellbeing as part of their own.
It is important to remember this foundation for giving. As we grow older, giving and helping become more tricky. It is interesting to think of how this works in our language. Whatever is “for you” may be helpful, but also has the potential to be harmful. I think of things that are supposed to be “good for you.”

Some really are good- like vitamins. But others- like keeping unhealthy secrets or putting up with abuse- are really more about the other person’s greed than them caring for your wellbeing. I also think of the phrase, “I’ll pray for you.” After deciding to go into Unitarian Universalist ministry, for example, my fundamentalist Christian friends’ comments, “I’ll pray for you,” meant something completely different than the same words offered by a more spiritually sympathetic friend.

Helping you. Pray for you. But we don’t often say, “I serve for you.” We ask, how can I be of service? In service, it’s not just for you, or from me, but we are participating in an act of communion. An act that seeks the well-being of all involved. A recognition that my house is your house, my joy is your joy, my sadness is your sadness, and my life is your life.
Serving others is an extension of a person’s devotion to God, of our ability to live out the fullness of our humanity.
Serving is at the core of our Unitarian Universalist faith. Universalists recognized that salvation is not about the individual. It is about all of humanity. Their belief that Jesus’ death on the cross saved everyone inspired them to seek to uplift all of humanity right here on earth.
Service that is connected with our underlying human connection and our individual birth blessing can be heard in our first and seventh principles- as we affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every human being, and the interdependent web of which we are all apart.
Service stemming from our common humanity can also be heard in the very first covenant of a Unitarian church- in Dedham, MA in 1637. a covenant that is spoken in many UU churches to this day:

Love is the doctrine of this church,
The quest of truth is its sacrament,
And service is its prayer.
To dwell together in peace,
To seek knowledge in freedom,
To serve human need,
To the end that all souls shall grow into harmony with the Divine -
Thus do we covenant with each other and with God.

Service is our prayer. Prayer, for me, is less about asking or reciting. More about reaching. A longing for union with the oneness that is all of life. in service, as in prayer, I experience a renewing connection with others and with life. I receive as I give, and as I give my full attention to something that is both part of me and beyond me, I learn to deeply listen.

In college I joined a delegation from the UM church of my childhood that was traveling to Guarjila, a small town in El Salvador. We had recently become a member of Sister Parish- a group that pairs together different faith communities across national boundaries. Having heard about mission trips, where the northerners occupy their time building houses or planting trees, I was a little surprised to learn that we were just going to bet here. To hang out, was how one high school companion phrased it.
Once there, I understood that we were there to build relationship. Seeing relationship as foundational to true service, our first several trips to El Salvador were primarily focused on sharing stories, learning history, playing and worshipping together. The organization is not against service projects or fundraising for a specific need in the community- it just recognized that the most effective and transformational service comes out of authentic relationship.
One of the ways that trip impacted me was in my awareness around international trade agreements and US role in the Salvadoran military. I joined others from my church in attending the School of the America’s protests in Georgia in following years, and we joined other organizations in Seattle working to educate around international trade and economic justice.

I smile when I think of how different my experience was from a typical mission trip. Instead of handing out bibles, we learned about Liberation theology from the local residents. Instead of assuming, “we know more than you,” or, “what we have will save you,” we took a deep breath, and listened.

We serve life not because it is broken but because it is holy.

In Judaism, Tzedekah, giving with justice and compassion, comes from the belief that all of creation is a gift and we have a responsibility to return to it a righteous balance. Monetary giving is seen as an extension of justice (Zevit 80). Even with the high esteem placed on giving, it is understood that more than money is needed to restore greater kindness.
The Babylonian Talmud states, “One who gives a coin to a poor person is rewarded with six blessings, but one who encourages that person with words is rewarded with seven.”
To me, the various levels of giving noted in Judaism are less about how much you give, or how much you do, but how much you risk. Often, giving a moment of our time can be more risky, than any product or purchase we might have. Whatever we are able to give, it can be a pathway to the divine. On Mt. Sinai, Moses took off his shoes and found he was standing on holy ground. How can we, in our service, take off our shoes and open ourselves to transformation and change?
Service comes from realizing our kinship with all beings. As we open ourselves to others, we open more fully to ourselves.

The mission of UUCC reflects this understanding of service. The first line states, “our congregation provides a welcoming community that cherishes diverse perspectives.” You go onto commit yourselves through service to make a difference in the world. There is wisdom in your order of words. First, you need community, for in community we build relationship, the foundation for service. We serve when we greet each other Sunday mornings. When we risk telling our stories, the joyful and those full of pain. We serve when we commit to justice-seeking organizations in the community. And when we organize our resources to give in common and with intention, because that is how we find meaning and growth.

Examples of service surround us. Literally, hanging on our walls. We are the first house of worship to host this exhibit. What does it mean to give sanctuary, literally, to this kind of radical relationship? Next week we welcome new members into our congregation. How can we bring more of who we are into this room? How can we offer ourselves more generously to the people we come across, every day of our lives? We will need all of who we are, if we are to make lasting and positive change. May we open ourselves to the challenge of service, calling us to deeper presence, listening, action, and care.

Works Cited:

Zevit, Rabbi Shawn Israel. Offerings of the Heart: Money and Values in Faith
Communities. Virginia: The Alban Institute, 2005.

Would you Harbor Me?

2011-01-17T11:04:00.000-08:00

Sermon by Cassandra Howe
Jan. 16th, 2011, UUCC

Last month I drove out to South Haven, and went for a walk on the shore of Lake Michigan. It was a little windy here when I left, and I was amazed at the strength of the wind when I got out of my car. I was also amazed at how quickly I became worn out from the cold wind and rain. What would have normally been an easy walk along the beach, turned into an exhausting, “why am I doing this, again?” pointless excursion.
Life can be like a storm. Just like ships out at sea, we need harbors in which to rest. Nourish ourselves. Gather strength for the journey. Harbors are important for a crew’s journey, and can be life-saving. Often they’ll have light houses shining out for boats lost in bad weather.
Harbors have three essential characteristics:
1. Sturdy walls or land formations that protect the inside from storm and weather. 2. An accessible and open entrance 3. Water deep enough to set an anchor.

I love that both the firm, sturdy walls, and the wide, open entrance are needed for an effective harbor. Both of these help to create an inner environment of calm waters deep enough to lay an anchor. Deep enough to rest and restore.
Religious community is like a harbor. We need firm walls and an open entrance in which to gather, to rest, to learn, and to return, fully engaged, into the world.
As a religious community, we strive to give safe harbor to the many who come our way. What do we offer each other at the water’s edge? How do we encourage one another to grow? To heal? To seek deeper meaning in our daily life?
Today we welcomed six people as members into our community. In an era of rugged individualism, committing to live and grow with others is a radical act. A choice that affirms our interdependence and deep union with all of life.

One of the functions of religious community is to deepen our understanding of hospitality. Together, we expand our concept of neighbor. In the parable of the Good Samaritan, we are told the law states: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself.”
Whether or not one believes in God, we can appreciate the importance this reading places on the second part of the sentence: love your neighbor as yourself. It is spoken in the same sentence, the same breath. Loving our neighbor as ourselves was considered as important, and as challenging, as loving God with all your soul.
When I was young, I would help my mother send out newsletters- probably between 100 and 200 newsletters, a few times a year, to people living with AIDS. She was part of a group of people that put on “Strength for the Journey,” an annual retreat for people living with AIDS in the Seattle area. For anyone who has helped with mass mailing, you can relate to the taste of stamps and envelopes that will forever be engrained in my mouth.

When I started, didn’t really have a concept for what AIDS was. I just did it because my mom told me to. When I got older, I grew to have more pride in the work my mother did for people living with AIDS. It wasn’t until I was in high school did I learn something that really helped to ground my work for social justice.
A brief introduction to my adolescent revelation is that I was born six weeks premature. Today, it’s not a big deal. In 1981, it was. I was severely anemic and was given two blood transfusions that probably saved my life. What I realized when I was in high school, was that I was born at the cusp of the medical knowledge around AIDS. What I cannot be sure of is if they were screening for AIDS at the time of my birth. I could have been one of the attendees for this conference. Suddenly, these people to whom I was stamping and addressing envelopes were no longer strangers. They were part of my family. People with whom I felt a common destiny.

Dr. King writes, “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.” “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
The parable of the Good Samaritan is a story of radical hospitality. Left for dead, it was not the beaten man’s family that stopped to mend his wounds and bring him to safety. It was his enemy. A person with whom he knew no commonality. With whom he had a history of hatred and un-ease. The Samaritan did not just lightly help him. He put water and oil on his wounds. He carried him to a safe place and, when he had to go, made sure that the wounded person would be taken care of until he was well enough to care for himself.
The Greek word for hospitality is philo-xenia. Literally love of stranger. This story of hospitality are not just about comforting one of our own. It’s about reaching across boundaries of race, class, politics and religion. In his act of hospitality, the Samaritan was healing not just the individual, but society as well.

Love of stranger. Who are the strangers in our midst?
I would say religious community is a stranger. I speak as someone who grew up in liberal religion, and now serves a religiously liberal institution as a minister.
Liberals have an ambivalent relationship with organized religion, to say the least! Often, people who have worked for change within liberal religious institutions, find that you are free to do anything you feel called to do, as long as you are willing to do it alone.
The well-known architect Frank Lloyd Wright, who was a Unitarian, and who designed many of our churches spoke the mind of many of our members. When asked what he thought of organized religion, he said, “why organize it?”

We are right to feel ambivalent. Religious community has often been more oppressive than liberating. More soul confining than soul uplifting. Consider the sex scandals of Catholic priests, and the painfully slow response for justice by Catholic leaders. Or, the role certain Christian groups like the Family are playing in elevating violence towards gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender people around the world. Fundamentalists in every religion are igniting hatred and intolerance. This is heavy. Scary. Real. And makes me want to run the opposite direction from organized religion.
But just because these violent acts are loud does not mean that they get to define what is religious community. Even amidst terrible oppression by religious authorities, people have gathered together to protect their religious convictions. Of love of neighbor. Of freedom. Dignity. Truth.

As Unitarian Universalists, we have a history rich with people acting boldly to create space for religious tolerance and pluralism. People who sought not uniformity, but authenticity.
The history of the flaming chalice, the symbol of our faith, is one such act. In Prague, in the early 1400’s a man names Jan Hus anticipated later reforms of the Church by offering mass not in the traditional Latin, but in the local language, so people could understand. During communion, he gave them not just bread but wine, an element previously reserved for clergy.
These may seem like small acts to us, especially as communion is something many of us don’t feel much connection to. But in his time, these were bold acts, and in 1415 he was condemned for heresy, and burned at the stake. The flame of his death was not forgotten by his followers, who linked it with the chalice of inclusion, as he had offered it to everyone.

Skip a few hundred years to 1939 when the Unitarian Service Committee enlisted a Czech artist named Hans Deutsch, to design a symbol. He chose the flaming chalice. You can find the chalice stamped onto documents from WWII, a formality needed to assist the service committee in rescuing Jews from Nazi persecution.
Just before that time, in 1920, back in Prague, a man named Norbert Capek created the Flower Communion- a simple ritual performed by many UU congregations- including this one- each spring. He created it as a ritual everyone could participate in- whether you were Jewish, Catholic, Protestant, agnostic or atheist. In the ritual, each person brings a flower from their own neighborhood (or grocery store), and adds it to the common bouquet. At the end of the service, everyone then receives one flower, taking home a piece of beauty brought by someone else. Capek publicly opposed the Nazis and thus was killed during the war.

Today, UUs stand with others in the struggle for rights of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender folks in the US and abroad. Rev. Jill from Peoples and I are working with other clergy and lay leaders to put on Kalamazoo’s first National Prayer Hour on Feb. 1st, to highlight the violence against gays in Uganda. As our country becomes more polarized religiously, I see more of a need for a faith that seeks pluralism instead of homogeneity.
Dr. King writes, “There are some things in our social system to which all of us ought to be maladjusted.”
Perhaps part of why we are all here is because we don’t want to be adjusted. We need help from one another to stand true to our higher ideals. In community we learn to love the stranger. Perhaps the strangers in our midst are not distant people who we do not know. But people in our own families. People with whom political and ideological differences have stunted relationship and meaningful conversation. Perhaps the strangers in our midst also read of and feel the hate rising and lament, as we do, the death of communion, the promise of peace, by an increasingly polarized nation.

May we give harbor to the strangers near and far. May we make strong walls that shelter us from the wind, and give us strength for the journey. May we open wide our welcoming doors, inviting the wanderer in from the storm. And may we seek to give one another deep waters from which to rest, to seek, and to grow.

Works Cited:

Barnwell, Ysaye. "Would You Harbor Me?" Musical composition, Safehouse, 1994.

Buehrens, John and Forrest Church. A Chosen Faith: An Introduction to Unitarian
Universalism. Boston: Beacon Press, 1998.

Beuhrens, John and Rebecca Parker. A House for Hope: The Promise of Progressive
Religion for the Twenty-first Century. Boston: Beacon Press, 2010.

Miracles

2010-12-22T17:54:00.000-08:00

What makes a miracle? Is it an impossible event- something that goes against common understanding? Or, can a miracle be claimed by gratitude- like the reappearance of a lost child, or the gift of beauty to a forlorn soul?
December is a month of miracles. Stories of miracles reside in the tale of Christmas, the birth of the Christ Child, and Hanukah, the eight-day flame that existed from only one day’s worth of oil. In both these stories, the miracle is not in grand fanfare and impressive stunts. It is in the hard labor of Mary giving birth to a child, found in a manger. It is in the meaning of one lone flame, surviving from oil, the blood of the earth. Instead of stretching to find miracles “out there,” these stories remind us that what is truly important, indeed miraculous, is what we have right here.
I appreciate that this month-of-miracles rests immediately before the New Year, and my new year’s resolutions. Instead of setting goals that serve to satisfy my expectations, my resolution is to be open to surprise. To the way life defies my expectations, and that from the ordinary unfolds the extraordinary.
The Sufi poet and mystic Rumi writes “Giving thanks for abundance is sweeter than the abundance itself.” How can we be the makers of miracles by our manner of receiving life? By living with a heart full of wonder and awe for this world in which we live?

Joanna Macy and Kristin Tippet

2010-12-12T14:21:00.000-08:00

I love "Speaking of Faith", now "onBeing"
Here is a little piece from Joanna Macy and Kristin Tippet's conversation on Sept. 16th, 2010:

Speaking about Macy’s environmental activism (particularly around radioactive contamination and nuclear arms):

"Ms. Tippett: Something that's very present for me as I'm reading about you and the passion you've had for this for a long time is you — you also were always very aware of a sense of grief as you realized …
Ms. Macy: Oh, yeah. Grief got me into it.
Ms. Tippett: Yeah. And I think that right now, say right now in this moment as we're speaking in 2010, the spectacle that's very present for people, maybe more in the forefront — certainly more in the forefront of peoples' minds than nuclear power or nuclear weapons were in the '70s — is the Gulf oil spill, right?
Ms. Macy: Oh, yes.
Ms. Tippett: Right. And there is this grief about that. And you really work with people to hold on to that, to take their grief seriously, right?
Ms. Macy: Or not to hold on to it so much as to not be afraid of it because that grief, if you are afraid of it and pave it over, clamp down, you shut down. And the kind of apathy and closed-down denial, our difficulty in looking at what we're doing to our world stems not from callous indifference or ignorance so much as it stems from fear of pain. That was a big learning for me as I was organizing around nuclear power and around at the time of Three Mile Island catastrophe and around Chernobyl.
Then as I saw it, it relates to everything. It relates to what's in our food and it relates to the clear-cuts of our forests. It relates to the contamination of our rivers and oceans. So that became actually perhaps the most pivotal point in, I don't know, the landscape of my life, that dance with despair, to see how we are called to not run from the discomfort and not run from the grief or the feelings of outrage or even fear and that, if we can be fearless, to be with our pain, it turns. It doesn't stay static. It only doesn't change if we refuse to look at it. But when we look at it, when we take it in our hands, when we can just be with it and keep breathing, then it turns. It turns to reveal its other face, and the other face of our pain for the world is our love for the world, our absolutely inseparable connectedness with all life."

On The Other Side

2010-12-08T06:48:00.000-08:00

An old Buddhist Saw:
Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.
After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.

Last Thursday, December 2nd, 2010, I passed the Ministerial Fellowship Committee- the evaluative board that reviews each candidate for ministry, and who's approval opens the doors for ordination, and, well, employment. Thank GOD that's over!!! It was quite the journey to get to this moment... a lot of anxiety, reading, discussing, huge waves of fear, and even some excitement mixed in the bunch. I don't think I needed to go through the depths of especially the fear, but I guess that's where I am in my life, so be it.
In fact, I knew. I knew that the couple weeks before the interview would be harder than the interview itself. It is hard to prepare for such a significant "rite of passage"/ test alone. Of course, I was part of a study group of other candidate ministers, and we "met" weekly over the phone over the last several weeks, but by alone I really mean lonely. In a new town, new job, living alone for the first time in my life. It has been a lonely last six months for me and sometimes I am not that good at giving my own self the "hospitality of spirit" that I seek to offer in my ministry. But I am getting better. I hope.
I love that Buddhist saying (a colleague of mine sent it to me). When all is said and done, I still have the same list of things to do, the same things that annoy me or elevate my anxiety. I will still have my fear. Self-doubt. Workaholism. These are all part of my "minister." But I also have what lies on the other side of these harsher qualities: I also have my power. Self-love. Passion for ministry. Perhaps one thing I learned from all of this is how to be a better friend to myself. By having more self-compassion, fear means less to me. It's still there, but I can invite it in, serve it tea and cookies, and, satisfied, it moves along its merry way.
Before the interview, I drove out to Lake Michigan. It was a really windy day- the turquoise and darker blue waters patterned one after the other on the wild shore. I had a cold, but I walked that beach anyway. I needed that power. I needed the wildness and the playfulness of the great waters. At the end of my walk, I picked up a stone and gave it my hope for the whole week: that I learn something. Perhaps I have- it may be one of those "escapes words" kinda learning.

Claiming God

2010-11-10T18:50:00.000-08:00

Rainer Maria Rilke’s words come to me these days as I find more truth behind this broken relationship that as long made it’s stay on my heart this year.
Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is the live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.

I feel like I am finally starting to live my way into an answer. An answer for why I could not stay with Fady. I have spent the last six months still bearing the painful “why,” unable to really understand. The break-up was on his terms and his terms only. But it is finally becoming my terms and that feels so good and the heaviness lightens significantly.
“God,” he, an atheist, said. “It is about God.” As a Unitarian Universalist and as someone who believes in the reason-defying qualities of love, I believed with all of my heart that we would work through this- Our love was stronger than this label- related divide.
And now, I realize, he was right. Ok, so God did divide us. But it’s not a God held by clouds holding a wand and interacting from afar. It’s not even a God such as that I believe in- a higher power that moves in and among all sentient beings, opening us up, calling us closer to life. It’s the God that is community. God as our pull out of our isolated existence towards a greater cause of societal transformation. God is not a cerebral choice to “maybe” participate in community… mmm… tomorrow? It is a deep human need for community. For in order to know ourselves, we must seek the Other. It is a deep feeling that we need each other in order to grow. This is the center of the God I believe in.
It doesn’t concern me whether one finds their power in something beyond or within humanity. Theist or humanist can worship together when there is mutual desire to grow and deepen as spiritual and response-able beings in this hurting world. It concerns me that one opens oneself to change, to transformation, through relationship and commitment.

By opening ourselves to change, we create change. There is no other way. At last, this loss is on my terms. And with it, I find a renewed sense of self, calling, and devotion to the transformational power of God/community.

My Sacred Sad

2010-11-10T18:46:00.000-08:00

My heart is full. Full of sorrow and anger and longing and even peace. I long to connect with my longing. And lately it is sorrow that has brought me closer to the earth, closer to my heart. It is sorrow that most resonates with me and I kneel down with my hands on my face, tears washing away these barriers I have made. Barriers to feeling. To life. To love. My sorrow is not a barrier to love. It is a way to love. Many times I judge my seamlessly endless grief over a lost relationship. “Still?” I ask. “Your still not over him?”
Yet, what does this judgmental question do that is good? Nothing! It only makes me more foreign to myself. Something not right, unacceptable, wrong. Broken hearts take their own sweet time to heal. As a friend recently told me, “You never stop loving someone.”
No matter how badly they might have hurt you, and no matter how resentful in the day, when the night comes, it is that unmet love that lingers.
I thank God for my sadness. Tears pull me closer to the earth, the home of my soul, the Ground of all Being. And I find peace.

Deep Peace

2010-11-03T06:14:00.000-07:00

Last night I felt a tiny change. Something like thorough joy nestled inside my body. Not the temporary level of fleeting emotions- the surge of happiness or the crush of inadequacy. But this feeling was more thorough, like grainy mud instead of feathers. What happened? Well, breath. There is a wonderful little yoga studio really close to my house run by one woman. It is very community-oriented, much like I experienced at the aikido dojo in Oakland. If you attend regularly, you begin to get to know other regularly attending folks and conversation in the front room lingers up to a half hour or longer after class ends. Last night I was able to breathe deeply with three other women, for a couple hours! It filled me with life, a reminder of who I am, in relationship with all beings. This morning it was like I woke up with someone else by my side. Of course, it was just my cat, who is always there. But there was an extra company, one that I brought, in my room. In my bed. In my daily tasks and pages upon pages of reading. It is good to have a friend... I am cherishing these days of returning to who I am/ to God.

Ntosake Shange's words from "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf" come to mind:
"I found God in myself and i loved her, i loved her fiercely."

Recognition

2010-10-21T08:24:00.000-07:00

“It’s Cassie!” This joyful noise sounded across the parking lot to my bewildered ears. A vendor at the small farmers market I was entering had remembered me from our conversation the previous week.
Having lived most of my life in places where I either had a given community (college and grad school) or had simply grown up there, I am beginning to realize the significance of being recognized. Hearing our name is a way of knowing we are alive, that we are part of a larger whole, that we belong.
The significance of naming can be seen in the Hebrew Bible, where there is at least one whole chapter to naming the descendants of Noah, and names are intentionally written throughout the Bible.
Last week there were four known suicides by young men who identified as gay. One way to think about various forms of oppression is an unwillingness by society to fully recognize different groups of people as part of the human community. I remember a lesbian member of a congregation I was part of describing her appreciation for the community. That she felt known by the community, giving her a sense of freedom to be recognized for who she was- not just her lesbian identity, but for her whole self, of which that was apart. Recognition is essential if we are to feel at home in our bodies and in a larger community. It is a deep and holy human need.
The woman who called my name may never know how much hearing “Cassie” meant to me. Small gestures of recognition go a long way. By looking another in the eye, asking their name or sharing our own, we are telling another that they matter- that who they are is worthy of attention, deserving of care.

My Sorrow Lies in the Moon

2010-10-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

My sorrow lies in the moon
I wake to a tender heart
seeking connection
and there lies my Sorrow,
Full and Patient
smiling down on me with a gentle face
Love's compassion,
I release and breath arrives
I fall more deeply in communion with the Soul.

One the last day of summer...

2010-09-22T18:10:00.000-07:00

and the eve of a full moon! There's nothing like a farmers market, fresh tomatoes and a good beer to relax a person into their new home. It is so nice to breathe deeply here, and feel this place becoming more like home every day. Last night I went to an interfaith justice organization, ISAAC (who knows what it stands for!), and was overwhelmed/ inspired by all the amazing people working for change in this city- housing funding for the homeless, early childhood education stuff, and more... After I left the church where me met, I hopped on my bike and soon was racing the incoming storm. Leaves were flying at my face and wind pushed me from all directions. Lightning and thunder were nearing in... only a few more blocks to go...,but the sky opened and the rain poured and I arrived home grateful from dry clothes to put on.
There is nothing like a good storm to make you feel alive! "The time is now!" kinda feeling.
This ministry thing is quite overwhelming and also very exciting for the same reasons. The reasons are that everything is completely new. From facilitating the staff relations (there are three of us), to trying to figure out the answering machine to the church office to re-record the greeting, to how to get to know the congregation (do I invite people into my home, or maintain a more private approach?) There is also the public figure aspect. Again, totally exciting and totally scary all at the same time. After the meeting with area ministers last night, and watching these powerful community organizers speak so eloquently and inspirationally, the executive director and the community organizer came up to me right after the meeting to welcome me in and see if I wanted to have coffee!??! Me?? I'm just... you know... I don't know what I'm doing yet!!!
So, I am still (perhaps you can tell) getting used to the idea of being a public representative of society's morals.

Aside from ministry, I have discovered that Kalamazoo is really a "country-city." I call it that because, to my sadness, everything shuts down on Sunday. That's just when I'm ready to let loose and party! There's also an intact ecosystem in my backyard. Zele (my cat) has communed with the raccoons, and has caught two mice. I went for a bike ride on Monday and after twenty minutes I was biking besides farms with cows. Moooo. People are really friendly here- some charming young women selling veggies at the farmer's market tonight invited me to their bi-monthly potluck at their house after only a few moments of conversation. I can walk around my neighborhood listening to the crickets at night and feel completely safe.
Ah.... So, life is overwhelming and good right now. Good night!

The Child

2010-08-18T13:48:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I went home to Seattle for a combo wedding/ camping extravaganza. I think of the bible verse, I was thirsty, and you gave me drink... and that is what this weekend was like for me. I was hungry for wonder, and the earth filled me till I was overflowing. I still am on a high from all the beauty.
Shooting stars- 7 in one night! why sleep in a tent when you have magic happening above you!
In fact, why sleep at all? I love that about stars! I think faith can be pictured as a person waiting up for the stars. Something so far away, so unknown, and yet so important. There is something about witnessing the mysterious "out there" that pulls on the deep "in here". The unknown-yet-so-core-to-our-being parts of ourselves that connect so strongly to the beauty we experience.
And then there was the sun- WARM (I won't say "hot" now that I've lived in Cincinnati for the summer- over 100 "heat emergency days," baby!) and perfect! And the gentle sea breeze to cool if you chance at being slightly over-heated.
Dancing, swimming in the Sound (and later a glorious mountain lake with snow still lingering on the edges!!!)
As I hiked up the mountain, I felt I was hiking back in years. I felt like a kid again, overtaken by wonder. Oh my GOSH!!! That FLOWER IS SOOOOO BEAUTIFUL!! (perhaps you get the idea :)
Or just letting the heat of the sun and the beauty of the mountains fill me up and make me pause and say "thank you."
sometimes my thank you is quiet, floating on the breath. And sometimes it is a loud squeel as I shout from the mountain top or jump into a cold mountain lake.
I have wanted to strip myself of my youth. There are times when I wished I was older, more experienced, more "weighty"- holding my ground, knowing my boundaries, certain about everything...
and I have turned against this excitement, this openness, this love that is my child.
To be a minister is not to kill your child, cassie. No. It is to know it and let it give you life. Openness is the seed to your growth. Take this unashamed love of life and enter your work fully as you enter and receive the beauty of the earth.

Letter to myself

2010-08-02T17:51:00.000-07:00

Let go of your need for confidence. Put an arm around your fragile, uncertain, hurting self. And do not let go. There is no such thing as too many tears. You are more important than your job, your passions, and even your calling to ministry. What's most important is that you are able to love yourself even when you don't want to.
DO NOT TRIVIALIZE WHAT YOU ARE LIVING FOR:
Swimming
Supervision meetings with Ruth
Therapy with Leslie
Hope for home
Zele (my cat)
Reading the New York Times

Healing

2010-08-02T14:05:00.000-07:00

little moments of perspective grace my days more often... a smile pokes fun at my heavy seriousness... gratitude for a push of the wind or driving in the car with my cousin's voice singing songs of love and struggle. healing is a returning to the self- a self that absorbs all that I have been through. not purging it out but reconciling it within, and still being able to remember was it is to laugh from the bottom of your being, to delight at the sound of music, to find peace in unexpected moments. it takes time to fully accept who i am. not there yet, but piece by broken piece i come to know, and love, myself.

Prayer for a Kitten

2010-06-12T19:43:00.001-07:00

Driving South on 75 today I swore I saw a kitten on the highway. Smack dab in the middle. At first, I thought it was a plastic bag, but it didn't fly up with the air of passing cars as plastic bags do. I don't know how it had survived up until then, and who knows how long it lived. I saw its fear, as cars going seventy missed it by inches. It turned it's head into it's fluffy chest, praying, perhaps, for some miracle. Helpless, I continued to drive, only able to call the police and hope for its life. What terror. What smallness, and preciousness of life in the middle of a highway.

Coming Home

2010-06-12T19:24:00.000-07:00

I just got home after housesitting for two weeks and interviewing for a job five hours away. As I unpack my car and enter a house I have called home, Zele, my cat, meows and makes her presence known. In her affection, she asks, "Where have you been?" Even though she was fed loyally by my housemate, she looks so tiny, rumpled, unloved...So does the house.
Perhaps it's me.
How much am I what I see?
I crave this house- the dusty brick walls, the natural light and the humid air flowing through the open windows. I crave physical home. Carve space for heart and hearth.
On my drive back from Kalamzoo, I sang with Chris Purenka-a song writer/ singer. She has great songs for being angry, and at 7 am, it was wonderful to be angry in my car, with the windows down. Singing my anger brings me back to my body- to the fact that broken relationship is broken body. To my touch with Fady- to the touch that was soooooo beautiful and it was ours.
How he loved me doesn't just evaporate, it is ripped out of me. Time is irrelevant. It still hurts- having my insides ripped out- and I curl up in soft tears and hot words.
It feels good to be still. Perhaps that's all I know right now- stillness. I sit on the front porch with Zele lounging on a chair next to me. Bags to unpack, essays to write, emails to attend... all await me. But here I am, in the time before all this returning begins. In the time just for me, and my cat, and the lazy afternoon humidity.
It is hard to just sit. I am not good at it! I find similar renewal in running and swimming, but it is not the same as pausing. I lean back and rest my head on the rough brick wall.

Room of Tears

2010-05-21T21:01:00.000-07:00

Oh, room. You are my tear room.
Walls, carpet, bed, windows
Dark, warm breeze flowing through
All made of these salty tears of my heart.
These tears that have made me
these last few weeks.
My form has vanished
to the waterfall of sharp hot tears.
Sometimes they are cooler and fall softly
Shades of green, tender shoots.
This room knows it all.
My tears, my laughter make this place.
These walls. This rug. This bed. The windows, open to the sky ever-changing.
Dear room, please continue to hold me and all my tears.

Reclaiming Self/ Spring Cleaning

2010-05-21T20:56:00.000-07:00

As I sit alone in my room full of sunshine,
I love the world as myself.
I love this love- it is new
A choice to love myself for all that I am:
shy, honest, timid, deep, loud, trusting, sensitive, oblivious, daring, trusting, serious, slow...
I choose me. Other's perceptions matter a fraction to what I can carry in love and compassion, knowledge and quest.
It is good to be alone and I breathe a deep sigh of relief to feel this way again.

The Burden of a Heart

2010-05-21T20:54:00.000-07:00

The burden of a heart
is love breaking and love making
is to open even when opening has betrayed you
is to care for things larger than yourself for no rational reason
is to learn the hard hard lesson over and over again of letting go

Prayer

2010-05-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

Oh, God! Where has my calm gone?
I fall on my knees shouting
WHO AM I???
Who am I, my God??
Am I touch? Kiss? An ear?
Am I a pulpit? A letter? A word?
Am I a heart, broken and whole?
God, I lose my form sometimes and don't know who I am.
I feel lost with nothing to hold onto.
Who am I, my God? Who am I?

The door

2010-05-14T06:35:00.000-07:00

The door shut.
tightly.
and I cried.
Falling to the ground,
I moved my fingers along the floor,
desperately wanting, seeking
any light, any sign
of space
between the edges of door and earth

none.
no air
no opening
just dark, solid wood.
I lean up against it,
touch it's smooth surface.
pound.
why???
"why are you shut so tightly?" I cry
A part of me was behind that door.
My love, my eyes, my lips and tongue and words and peace.
My body, touch, attention.
How can it suddenly be shut when it was open so wide
so much love.
that felt mutual.
And yet, this door is not mine.
it is his and I must touch it. face it. wear it and then lay it down.
He could not, no. He would not know me completely.
And I knew it, even as I felt he knew my deepest pieces.
hot
cool
blue
green
bright red
tears adorn the edges of this door shut so tightly.

Lessons on Intimacy

2009-11-21T13:23:00.001-08:00

To live in this world you must be able to do three things:
To love what is mortal;
to hold is against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
And, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
Mary Oliver

I write on a day of mild temperature and soft, passing clouds. I am on-call at the hospital- the day shift on Saturday which keeps me here from 8:30 am till 8:30 pm. I sit outside (always close to a door to the hospital or a phone) soaking in all that this first unit has been for me. We just completed our final evaluations of our first (of four) units that will make my full year as a chaplain resident. Feeling number one: exhaustion.
(oh! I hear sirens! May have to stop to attend to the incoming medical alert)
Back to exhaustion. The pace this year is incredibly demanding. I am on-call over night at the hospital once a week at least and also here on-call once a week during the day (sometimes on the weekend days). Our on-call schedule is on-top of our regular work hours which are supposed to be from 8:30 am to 5 pm, but I usually manage to leave around 4 or 4:30 and notice the other residents do too . Then we have weekly reflection papers and verbatim papers (analyzing an interaction with a patient/ family.
So, it’s a lot of time at work and a lot of intense experiences in that time. One good thing is I’m learning how I deal with such a crazy/ emotionally intense schedule. Meditation and prayer has become much more important for me. I notice when I haven’t meditated for several days. I feel out of touch with myself and with the Divine. Sleep is important (although that is often what I am lacking). And running. I live close to a little park that hosts big, old oak trees that have gifted me with vibrant yellows and oranges this fall. The little pond with ducks floating around and the little over-grown trails on which I run are a respite to my tired soul. There is nothing like dirt to sooth a weary soul.
Another thing I am learning is about emotional intimacy. One of the biggest lessons on being a chaplain is learning how you are with yourself in times of anger or grief, or any emotion that isn’t comfortable or familiar to you. How you are with yourself impacts how you are with others. You can see this in families- when a Grandmother, for example, is telling her daughter that it is God’s will that her child just died, you wonder how she is with accepting her own grief. Because grief for her is uncomfortable, she doesn’t know how to deal with the grief of her daughter and wants to “fix” it through a simple explanation.
As a chaplain, I am learning about my “base” self- what is most familiar to me- feeling stable and strong; feeling happy and wanting to help others feel happy and safe. Sometimes I am so attached to my “base self” that I neglect the unfamiliar, uncomfortable and unknown parts of my being that need attention and care. I tend to pass over uncomfortable feelings or “get them out” with a good run. I am so used to being the “happy and cheerful” person, I don’t know how I will be accepted by others (or myself) in times of sadness. Chaplaincy is helping me to grow other parts of myself (listening, serious parts) that connect more with people’s grief and anger.
Intimacy is paying attention to the whole of who we are- to the uncomfortable and comfortable, frightened and confident, weary and strong. It is being present with oneself and also risking sharing these things with other people.

Little snippets of my year thus far:
• Being present to the parents of a two year old who was a “roll over” (suffocated in sleep.) When they arrived at the hospital, the doctors tried five times to revive the pt, to no avail. The devastation was uncontainable. There was nothing- absolutely nothing- I could do to help sooth or make the situation any better.
• Jumping every time the pager goes off (this has happened a couple times in this writing). And the words “thank you!” exiting my mouth when “ortho-eval” reads across the pager (one of the pages we chaplains don’t have to respond to!)
• Finally at home and grateful for tears running down my cheeks after being on-call tending to a large Amish family whose ten year old son had gotten hit by a car. They had learned that his preliminary tests showed brain death.
• Talking with teens on the psych ward- sometimes feeling like I am making a difference and other times being frustrated at the insurmountable wall some of my patients have to climb to get to a place of stability and healing.
• Talking with my uncle Sandy and feeling my own grief. Sandy is one of my closest relatives who will be with us in this land of the living for only another few days, possibly weeks. I try to talk with him every day and find great comfort in hearing his voice and sensing his calm for his own death.
• Friends and kitchens. Making new friends from the swim team I joined and through my roommate Becky. Conversations floating on the wings of savory aromas in this beloved room. Kitchens are harbors for intimacy. Laughter and tears, delicious and spoiled food, warmth (ovens) and cold (freezers)- all found in this one room. Everything falls apart and comes together in kitchens.
• Vegan baked goods! The joys of living with a friend who is vegan and loves to bake! Chocolate cupcakes with frosting stacked so high the cupcakes fall over…perfectly moist zucchini bread… chocolate molasses cookies… YUM!
Well, that is all for me! Signing off before the pager scares the living day lights out of me again! Love, Cassie

Cincinnati

2009-09-06T12:30:00.000-07:00

Cincinnati is proving itself to be a good home for me thus far. My life consists of walking to and from Cincinnati Children's Hospital (only 2 miles from my house!), trying to make midwest parks more into runner friendly places than they were meant to be (story below), picking and eating tomatoes from my roommate's garden (more on that too!), and petting my cat (trying to make myself feel better after leaving her alone most of the day as I'm at work), and plunking away at our new (antique) piano.
The cultural transitions I've experienced so far:
PARKS-after running circles around picnic tables and grills for half an hour, I finally exclaimed to Becky (my roommate), and she confirmed, that in the midwest, you go to a park to "have a good time." You go to party, hang out, grill up some good meat. Trails are short and overgrown, if they even exist. In the northwest, "park" is synonymous with trees and trails for walking, running, galloping or rolling. I am learning to like sidewalk runs all the more...
Cultural transition no. 2: RAIN.
This is weird, because when you think of Seattle, you think... rain, right? But it's not actually rain like the rain here. It's mist. or cloud that is really wet and drips down sometimes. When it rains here, you can't actually do much. And if you are driving 70 mph on the highway, then, well, let's just say I was praying.
Cultural transition no. 3: TOMATOES.
If you aren't ready to talk about tomatoes, or eat tomatoes for that matter, at least three times a day, then you will have a hard time living here. People here not only love their tomatoes, but, after seeing splattered tomatoes in the road, use them for such things as pranks or decorations.

I have met my chaplain resident team and feel good about them and my supervisor, all of whom I will be getting to know in fairly intense ways this year. My feeling right now (work really starts on Tuesday) is actually quite a bit of nervousness. I am scared I won't be a good chaplain. Afraid I won't grow, won't be able to find/ harness the skills I need to be a good spiritual carer for someone dealing with tremendous loss and change.
I've also noticed that it's been hard for me to really rest since coming. Its been fun to move in with a good friend, set up my room, explore new places. But it's been hard for me to relax. Maybe because I have so many unknowns, and have yet to make this place home. I am really really hoping that will change. I know that if I am going to survive this year, it will be at least because I have learned how to find deep rest in this city.

Green in my Soul

2009-09-05T14:51:00.000-07:00

Green in my soul
savor this color
easy to desire wholeness
completeness
certainty
fog kisses the mountain tops
shades of gray kiss my soul

On top of Blue Mountain
we are surrounded by cloud
white and blue and gray move in and out,
breathing as the ocean breathes
glimpses of the land come and go
a dance of vision
a breath of senses

Something so holy hidden in a cloud
fog with stone,
smooth, sharp, purposeful stone

One moment clarity abides
the next, a mystery

Savor the green in your soul
the places of unknowing
with every breath, mountain loving fog
fog changing mountain

From the top of Blue Mountain
I arrive at another trail junction
now walls, not fog, surround me
But mystery awaits
in rooms and hallways,
in hearts and bodies and minds and longings
In prayers and diagnoses
In birth and death

I want to be a chaplain already perfect, confident, sure
But let me cradle my green
My own fog of sacred youth
and wander these halls with stone and fog together

Trail Magic

2009-08-11T12:35:00.000-07:00

One of the gifts that I came to appreciate while hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail for 12 days (and carrying food and supplies for 12 days as well) is floating in water. What an incredible thing. For hours we go around, holding our own weight or a thirty-five pound back-pack on your hips and shoulders. And then, given a couple feet of water, you learn release. Suddenly you don't even have to carry the weight of your own head. Tilt your head back and let the water hold you. Spin, gently, and feel your heart open to the sky.
Lakes and rivers deep enough to float in were such a treasure on the PCT. While swimming in Pike Lake near White Pass, I came across two little purple flower blossoms, floating out from shore. A beautiful blue dragonfly chose my arm to be its landing spot. A family of ducks quacked their way to a humorous landing in the lake.
With sore feet and longing heart, these gifts mean the world to me.

When you backpack, you learn about a thing called "trail magic." Trail magic is when you are given food freely. You may have asked for it, or it was just offered, but either way, you end up with more food because of the generosity of another hiker, known as a trail angel. Sometimes, when hikers are the benefactors of trail magic, they want to, shall we say, pay it forward. One such couple set up a five gallon bucket on the PCT and filled it with everything hikers dream of- snickers, pay days, nutter butter cookies, goldfish crackers, recees peanut butter cups, and more. They keep it maintained and have a little log book for hikers to sign. You would not believe the joy this little bucket of goodies gives hikers (myself included)!!!

There is something so special about unexpected gifts. Within the first few days of our trip, Tamara and I came across an early huckleberry patch. Ripe huckleberries in July!!! Gifts unexpected make you pause. They help you remember where you and and what you love. They remind us that productivity is not the sole purpose of our days, but that joy and thanksgiving are part of the breath by which we live.

The PCT

2009-08-11T11:27:00.000-07:00

There is nothing like hiking for 12 days to make you appreciate the little conveniences in life. Not only flush toilets, but the absence of biting mosquitos while pooping. Chairs. Running water that is not only relatively easy to access but ready to drink (no filtering required!). Water is a big one, as my friend Tamara and I hiked during the record-breaking heat of Seattle's summer. The experience sure made me not take for granted the sacred significance of running water, and the incredibly resting feeling of being able to wash oneself in cool, clean water.
We hiked from Cascade Locks on the Columbia River to Chinook Pass near Mt Rainier. 187 miles in 12 days. That rounds to about 15-18 miles a day. While it was nice to be able move all day, I am glad to not be spending the entirety of my day walking.
The trip was gorgeous. We passed through Mt. Adams Wilderness and the Goat Rocks (just South of Mt. Rainier.) I miss the rhythm I felt I was just beginning to unite with- of waking and reclining with the sun, filtering water, opening my senses to nature's surprises, and sitting in the dirt. It was exhilarating to be able pass mountains. We would see Mt. Adams and Rainier so far in the distance, and then, after a couple days of hiking in the valley, the trail would lead us up, and we would suddenly be resting at the base of such an enormous creation. A creation alive with lava and melting snow (and glaciers- let's lighten our carbon footprints, folks!!) and moving rock. And the wildflowers... we must have hit them at their peak, for not only were they a treasure for our eyes, but also our nose. With the lupin abounding, we were in flower fragrance heaven.
Having never been backpacking for longer than five days, the sheer length of our trip was new to me. Thoughts of food and few other things filled my mind as we walked. I was amused by what became important to my hiking partner and me, in comparison to what many people are concerned about in Western culture.
What hikers care about:
- their poops
- their pee (color, frequency)
- water access
- copyright date of the trail guide book
- trail signs!
- of course, food
- going to bed before dark

What hikers don't care about:
- their odor
- being caught naked
- asking people for food
- privacy
- sweating in front of others

Well, that wraps up my very enlightening, I'm sure, entry! Yay for rain in Seattle!! (it is so weird to be writing that!)

Kansas

2009-06-02T14:04:00.000-07:00

I did not expect to fall so completely in love with Kansas. The sweet prairie air. The plethora of stars. The deep, deep green that comes after months of rain. Dad and I visited my Godmother and Great Aunt, Bonnie in Saint Francis, Kansas. Even though he hadn't been there in years, he knew, intuitively, exactly where her house was. (It helps that St. Francis' downtown spans the grand expanse of a few blocks and it's outlying neighborhood reaches only several slow roads beyond that). A little bird was waiting for us on Bonnie's porch. We knew we had guessed correctly.
Bonnie was waiting for us with a bowl full of cherries and a smile that soared off her face and into her neighbor's back yard. It was so good to see her, one of the precious people in my life with whom I feel a real soul connection. I don't really remember what we talked about, but that was not what was important- it was her deep understanding of me, and me of her, that was so refreshing.
We then continued onto Hays, Kansas where Bonnie's daughter Ione and her husband Mike live. If I could marry a place, I think it would be their front yard. (And Ione and Mike too!) Tall trees stretch towards the crescent moon, hanging low in the warm blue sky. Frogs and crickets adorn the night with beauty and laughter from the kitchen kisses the sleepy prairie to rest.

Home meet Cassie, Cassie, Home

2009-06-02T13:19:00.000-07:00

I have found that the weather changes just as much in May in Cincinnati, Ohio as it does in the rainy season in Oakland, California. It goes from a little less humid to really humid, cloudy to sunny, and then thunder-stormy and rainy all within an hour or less. I am sitting at Rohs Street Cafe, just a couple blocks from my new home. It feels so good to call this place home. It came so quickly and completely for me. My room has three long windows and a ceiling fan that whirs quietly and comfortingly. Light fills my room screaming "WELCOME!" at the top of its lungs. The walls beg for my adornments and my bed carries my tired body.
Rest.
Laughter.
Gourmet vegan food.
Green growing things.

Rest embraces me like a cool cascade
falling over me, my spirit, overflowing, falls into this refuge of rest.

Farmers Market Blessing

2009-04-10T09:40:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday it was kind-of rainy. In the bay area, when it is cloudy, you can't ever depend on the weather staying the same from moment to moment or block to block. I was at school and needed some fresh bread and veggies so biked to the farmers market. It just so happened that it was lunch time and I was hungry and there was a really yummy-looking mexican food stand just standing there, waiting for my hungry belly and wallet. So, I ordered two taquitos with fresh avocado salsa, black beans and rice (remember, I said HUNGRY!). Then, there was the problem of where to sit. They hadn't set up the table and chairs due to the intermittent rain (it was not raining at that moment, and I was praying it would hold long enough for me to eat lunch). SO, I found a Safeway plastic bag in my bag and sat on the curb, feasting.
The light was just magical. The rain had made everything just stand on end with vibrant green. The clouds were moving and light and dark and everything in between. There was a good size stream of rain water running down the side of the road, by the curb where I sat. And then about 10 kids probably around the age of five came to where I was sitting. They were probably on a field trip, or getting outside to let out some energy during this brief rest of rain. One kid saw the stream of water and the curb. I could see his thought wheels turning. Suddenly he started running towards me. I held my food close. Run, run, run, leap over the water and onto the curb. He turned around with a huge grin on his face. The others turned their attention to this fun game and joined in, running and jumping over the stream and onto the curb. "I can fly! I can fly!" they all started chanting as they ran. I was enthralled. Ok, I was also a little worried that one of them would fall and splash the rain water all over my precious lunch, but the entertainment was hard to beat. The teacher woman looked over at me empathetically as she tried to get the kids to jump a little further away from me. I told her that it was fine and fun to be surrounded by kids and I could move if I wanted.
More than fun, it was kind-of a public, impromptu blessing. I was worn and feeling burnt out and here was this wave of energy and excitement for life buzzing, singing and leaping all around me. The rain and damp air were my water and the kids my ministers for this strange kind-of baptism I had fallen into.
I also noticed another, younger girl who was not part of the group but there with her father looking longingly at this fun game happening. Her dad asked her if she wanted to jump and she timidly nodded her head. They walked over and he held her hand and she tried it out. This was a challenge that the kids had plunged into with intense playfulness. It was kind-of scary (for me sitting there in the target line, and for the little girl who was a little smaller and newer to the game), but that didn't mean joy and fun couldn't be added to the challenge.
As someone who often takes life too seriously, getting weighed down by the seeming enormity of challenges, I so savored this little blessing of farmers market children on this rainy spring day.

Being open to the movement

2009-02-28T08:16:00.000-08:00

Some mornings I wake up and am enwrapped in sweetness. In love of life and love and God... I love it when that happens! And this morning is one of those days. When I was doing my little morning movement prayer thing, the words, "be open to the movement" came to me. I thought they were funny because they can have so many different meanings, which I like.
Right then I was thinking about what I had to do today. I was (and possibly still am) planning on going swimming after aikido, but my body feels like resting. Maybe today will be a rest day... I think sometimes I get so caught up in schedule and lists of things to do, to get done, that I don't open myself the movement of what my body wants, and what the earth, Spirit, day is saying through my body.
I also just saw the movie "Milk." Last week I went to "the city" (San Francisco) and say Milk in the Castro theatre, which is this large old-fashioned movie theatre. It was sooooooooo cool! The movie theatre we were in was actually in the movie, which was even more awesome (it takes place in the Castro). Oh my gosh, what a good movie! One of the things that struck me was how you couldn't separate Harvey Milk from the movement. I thought of this when I was wondering how Harvey kept his ego in check. I wonder this about famous people in general- so many people just loved him, and he was so critical to the successes of defeating Proposition 6 and to spreading hope for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people across the country. But Harvey probably knew that he was an much indebted to the movement has the movement was to him. It wasn't all on his shoulders- he was riding the crest of a wave that had started long before him and is continuing now. I think there is something really freeing about that- the "being significant and insignificant" all at the same time. We make our mark perhaps because of the openness and readiness of the people around us. And we are marked because of the qualities espoused by another person, but also because we are open and ready for such qualities.
Another cool thing about that movie is afterwards I really felt like my life and my body came from somewhere. I don't come from a void. History and social movements in this country have shaped how I think about myself, what I am passionate about, and what I can DO in this world. It's wonderful to feel part of history.
Last Tuesday I went to Sacramento for a hearing on Proposition 8. Senator Leno had made a resolution (#7) to the legislature saying that the legislature would state an opinion, and that being that Proposition 8 changes the constitution. While the legislature actually has little real power in how the court decides this, the difference between amend and revise (or change) is hugely significant, and is what is going to the courts this week. If Prop 8 revises the constitution, then proper process pre-election was not followed and the whole thing is invalid. If it is a simple amendment, then it stands. Ok, off to scarf down breakfast!

like the weather- feelings move through too

2009-02-13T15:19:00.000-08:00

Last night I felt a spirit in my room. It helped that it was windy and stormy outside, and that there was something making tiny little rustling sounds somewhere underneath my bed. Monsters, perhaps...
When I woke up this morning, it was gone- that feeling. I went for a run and there was sun breaking through the clouds at times. I felt like it really was a new day- not just another day, but a new one. I felt like I had somehow returned to myself, or to someplace I loved and felt at home in.
Self-doubt and feelings of nothingness have been my companions this year and last fall. I thought I would do a ritual to get rid of them. For my birthday, perhaps. You know, strip down and jump in some cold body of water. That would do it- no more doubt and self-criticism. Strip- relinquish- gone. the end.
My Spiritual Director (kind-of like a therapist person, but more spiritually oriented) smiled as I told her about my plans for a ritual. Then she asked me what these feelings look like. I realized they had a form. A very cartoon-like form, in fact. My self-doubt and feelings of nothingness are embodied in a little long-haired furry creature who has two tiny feet and two tiny hands that barely stick out of his gray fur. With two big eyes and not much expression at all. Just a strong attitude of nothingness. Sometimes this little guy sits on my shoulder. Sometimes he gets right down and personal and gets inside my heart.
Once I realized my feelings had a creature to go with them, then they didn't seem so heavy. I could TALK to them, by golly!
It seems like the harder I tried to convince myself that I was "over" my bouts of depression and feelings of worthlessness, the quicker they turned around and stuck right to me.
I don't know whether I have achieved some sort-of "healthy" relationship with my feelings, but I am savoring feeling at home in myself right now. And it does help to not ignore my less-than-loved parts of me. Hell, I could make a comic strip out of them! Or write a valentine to them!

Evaluation, part II

2009-02-01T08:57:00.000-08:00

I am sitting with this new feeling kept right about where my rib cage parts above my tummy. It feels like when you take a bite of cake that's a little too sweet- it makes your throat almost tickle with the sweetness. That's the feeling I got right now, excpet a little deeper. I get the same feeling when I have a big crush on someone. Except now I believe my crush is on me-as-minister.
Wow. Affirmation really helps my own self-image and confidence about the "me-as-minister" me. I didn't realize how much it would empower me to more deeply believe that this journey I'm on is a powerful one, not only for me, but for the world as well. With that one "granted candidacy" verdict, I feel so much more committed to this journey.
One of the other things I learned about myself in preparing for this interview is that I do much better when I allow myself to just feel what I am feeling. Much of the time, that was nerves. OH MY GOD, did nerves ever strike me! The couple days prior to the interview were largely unstructured, which I thought would be good- give me time to review my various evaluations, psychological report, etc. Perhaps this was good, but when alone, I am much more vulnerable to being overwhelmed by nervousness.
One of my responses was to convince myself of why I shouldn't be nervous. Remind myself of all my experiences and knowledge and ministerial qualities. This helped sometimes, but what most calmed me, was, perhaps surprisingly for the non-Buddhists among us, to accept my nervousness. To connect with my feelings as they were in the moment. This was the most helpful thing. It's like my feelings of anxiety and fear needed some validation or recognition in order to be released.
Another moment of grace that brushed my cheek in the weeks prior to this interview/ rite of passage was a message a dear friend of mine left on my phone. I was on my way home from Cincinnati (after interviewing for a chaplain resident position at Cincinnati Children's hospital (which I GOT!!)), I listened to a new voice mail during my lay-over in Salt Lake City. My friend is fifteen and is part of the youth group at Wallingford United Methodist Church, the church I grew up in and am still a member of. She was trying to describe to another friend of hers how she could be Christian and not believe in hell. She wondered if I, too, did not believe in hell, and was hoping to talk with me about it. Who? Me?? Wh-... oh yeah... seminary, friendship, commitment.
It was then that I realized that even if the committee did not pass me, I was already a minister. I have my whole life, the knowledge I've gained from dear friends, and years at seminary to remind me of my responsibility to reciprocate the gifts I have been given. While getting approved certainly helps, every day opens to millions of opportunities to return to the world a portion of what I have received.

Evaluation

2009-01-29T21:38:00.000-08:00

Right now I'm good. Cool. Relaxed. Ready. But where was this feeling three hours ago? My process of preparing myself, psychologically, spiritually, mentally, and physically for the Regional Subcommittee on Candidacy has been quite the journey. I don't want to forget all the different phases I have traveled through (repeatedly sometimes) to this night, two nights before my interview. Three hours ago I wanted to scream. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and run away. Hide. Something to get away from the pervasive feeling of unworthiness and fear.
One of the things that helped was actually accepting those feelings. (Cassie, this is a high-stakes interview! This is the FIRST really high-stakes interview you've had in your life! Of course you will be scared, nervous, concerned!) Once I validated my feelings, they magically became softer, more manageable, less powerful.
ah. breathe.
The other thing that helped was Aikido. Tonight was a basics class and I found myself teaching a lot. I was one of the more advanced students (which is unusual- usually I am closer to the "new" side.) I DO have knowledge and I CAN share it with others and when I do, it HELPS people. How neat. Sometimes, it is just important to remember that.
One of my bigger "growing edges" as we like to call them at Starr King, is claiming my "ministerial authority" (another term in seminary). On the reverse, I have problems with timidity. I had a realization today. I think a lot of my timidness comes from pursuing such a life-absorbing career at a relatively young age. A lot of things (like this interview process) are new to me, and I am very much in the learning stage, and less in the "I confidently know what I'm doing" stage. I can get there. I have gotten there. I just need to remember how I grew last year during my internship. How I was with people who faced a death of a loved one, or who were struggling with a teenage child. But one thing I am not willing to do is make my timid nature an evil. Even my more raw parts of myself can become great treasures for my ministry and I truly believe that being a beginner is a precious and valuable thing in society. When I translate timidity to being new, there is a resource for me as a minister. I can really connect with people as they enter life transitions, facing change and new beginnings.
There are parts of timidity I want to leave behind. Lack of self-knowledge and self-love. I can dismantle these by, wild guess, getting to know myself and loving myself more completely.
Another part of my process of preparing for this interview has been through dreams. Two nights ago I had a dream where I was in a car with a few other friends and we were trying to find this house where there was going to be a special ceremony (possibly Islamic ceremony, but I forget). This place was in unknown territory and we had this tiny map and it was dark and we couldn't see it very well. We were using our intuition, and suddenly the road became very very steep. So steep that the car could not motor itself up it; we had to push the car up the hill. The road was actually made of pizza dough. At the bottom of the hill, the dough was baked. It was easier to drive/ crawl up it- there was more texture and sturdiness. As we got closer to the top of the hill, the pizza dough was not quite baked all the way through. When you pulled on it, it would stretch. It was slower going, but it still worked. We still were able to get to the top of the hill by pulling on the more doughy dough.
Last week I caught myself wishing that I was thirty something and already formed. I had worked through all of my "growing edges" and was very settled in my body and who I was. I had magically skipped all the growing stages and was more of the finished product. I then became very sad. What a loss! What a tragedy to skip over all the lessons and experiences of growing and figuring out who one is! That is one of the most precious parts of life- and to wish it away??!
I think of myself as the dough that's towards the top of the hill- not quite baked all the way, still a little doughy. I'm not incapable. Even though the dough is more elastic than the baked dough at the bottom of the hill, it still assisted the caravan in getting to the top. It just took a little more time. There are times when I need more time. More time to learn and reflect. More time to savor the privilege of being a beginner.
And then, sometimes (more often than I realize) I DO have authority and I just gotta OWN it! (Prayers are appreciated if you read this before Sat, the 31st at 3 pm.)

Language

2009-01-17T19:33:00.000-08:00

Life post Rumi immersion doesn't always take me further away from my experiences in Turkey, but sometimes helps me to understand parts better. One memory has stuck around for a while and is begging "blog-space:"
After eating out at this exquisite restaurant in Konya (I am still not over the delicate and perfectly spiced eggplant dishes in Turkey!), some of us decided to go to this zikr several blocks from the Dervish Brothers House. This was our first "zikr out." We walked down this side entrance walk to the glass sliding door where we could hear the drumming. The zikr was well underway. There were restrooms outside and Laurie and I exchanged glances after using them- we'll just say they weren't the cleanest in the world, and the good, old fashioned squat down style. (Actually, I think the squat down style is much more efficient and ergonomically correct than seated toilets).
We had to wait just a few minutes before we could enter for some people to leave (they had reached the carrying capacity of the room). And, actually, It was a good think we went pee, because there was hardly any room to breathe inside, let alone have a full bladder! We sat down in the back (the women were in the back, and the men in the front, close to the instrumentalists and the Shayk.
It was a hot zikr. (Hot, not in temperature, but in energy). People were swaying their heads really strongly and some people were sweating. I just sat there, annoyed with my legs and wishing I could dig a hole in the floor so they would have some place to go. A woman started gasping for air behind me, more urgent and stronger than people do when in the midst of a chant. I looked back and realized she was in another room, separated by a half-wall, and I could not see her. From what I could see, people in the back room were surrounding her, helping her calm down. It was kind-of scary. I was actually convinced that she was in labor and about to give birth, right there, in the middle of a zikr. (I later realized this was not the case). I returned to absorbing the scene of the zikr around me.
After forty five minutes or so, the zikr ended and some people left, but others stayed, talking and sitting around. Shams, Cathy, and I waited to see if something else would happen. Something else surely did happen, and it was really fun trying to figure it out, as the clues dropped, one by one. A couple people came out with rolls of butcher paper, throwing the roll down the room and making a long strip of paper spread on the floor. Oh! Body painting?? Line dancing? They did this two other times to make three rows. People gathered around the rows. Then other people came out with plates full of fruit- oranges, apples, and bananas, mangoes, kiwis... Napkins and knives for cutting came out. Then, people just started cutting and peeling the fruit. Just as soon, pieces of fruit started getting passed around. I had already started on an orange for myself, so I refused the first couple of offers. But I soon realized that the point wasn't to fill up on fruit. The point was to give food to other people. Folks were almost funny with how much they wanted to share the fruit. There was so much fruit getting cut up and passed around, people couldn't eat all of it. People started tossing apples slices across the room to the other tables of paper. The people sitting next to Cathy, Shams, and I were from Germany or some Scandanavian country, we believe. They knew a little English, so we spoke a few words to each other. But more than words, what I remember about our interaction was our communicating through the sharing of food, and their seemingly silly (from my individualist U.S. perspective) desire to share with abandon.

Picasa Web Albums - Cassie - Rumi Immersion

2008-12-27T17:05:00.000-08:00

Picasa Web Albums - Cassie - Rumi Immersion

Snowing Rain

2008-12-26T16:44:00.000-08:00

Surrounded by rain, surrounded by Love
Rain
I sit listening to the soft yet constant pattering of rain on the roof, bathing in the gray afternoon light of Seattle in December. Raindrops shift to snowflakes back to rain this whole day. A day of pause for me, having barely made it home for Christmas. Mechanical problems on the plane in Istanbul caused an unexpected stop in London, where we ended up spending the night. Our consequential missed flight connections caused another night's stay in New York. Two angels dressed up in Delta shirts booked me a flight to "San Francisco" via Seattle (and then Salt Lake City) in order to get me home on time. (Rules are that any rebooking of flights must be to the same destination of the orignial ticket (which was SFO). I was originally going to have a day to rest and repack and then fly to Seattle from Oakland, but I had let go of this plan in London).
Snow
Maybe it's because I am partly sick and recovering from jet lag, but part of me wasn't ready for Christmas. After barely making it home, and returning from a fairly intense journey, it felt strange to be whisked up and pushed along with all of the Christmas traditions and gatherings and people and services. Whoah! Hold on! I'm not ready for schedules and outings and presents and traditions. I just want to sit here, with laughter and stories, until the sounds of hearth's drums lull us to sleep. I just want to bask in the presence of my beloved, spirit touching spirit, with silence our embrace.
The snow is melting from the roads and tree boughs. People return to their cars, scattering slush off the side of the streets. I want this unusual weather to stay a little longer. Freeze this moment- in between venture and return- a few more days. Put a frozen sanctuary around time and just cherish. Cherish before do. Cherish before act.
Snowing Harder
I am surrounded by water, surrounded by Love
The trip gradually allows for my reflection. I think of my homeward bound traveling companions and the ways in which we each fell apart and found strength and even offered others a pillar on which to lean. How Perry, when hearing the announcement of our unexpected landing in London, sensed the deep fear of his airplane row companion. Recognizing the words uttered beneath her breath, he joined her in saying Al Fatiha, the Islamic prayer spoken before each Call to Prayer. How we looked after one another, still sensing the continued pilgrimage we were on. How, in a jet of almost 300 people, we said goodbye to the strangers-no-longer with whom we had shared anxiety and gratitude over the last two days.
What else longs for my remembrance?
Ah, the food! The savory olives doused in olive oil, and the abundant and colorful cheeses! Lentil soup and the piles and piles of bread...
The Call to Prayer on loud speaker sounding out over the gorgeous city of Istanbul.
Remembering perhaps most sorely, the melodies of the Elijas and Sufi chants that keep bubbling up into my throat.
And the zickurs- perhaps the memory furthest from my life here. The risk of entering, with others, into song and chant and rhythm and prayer.
The Dervish Brother's House filled with warm rugs and even warmer hospitality.
And, of course, the precious souls who guided our journey- Ismael Baba, Duja Hanim, Katherin Hanim, Issa Baba, and Ibrahim Baba.
Holding these memories is like sweet honey to my soul.

Grateful for Gratitude

2008-12-20T08:18:00.000-08:00

Giving thanks for abundance
is sweeter than the abundance itself.
Should one who is absorbed with the Generous One
be distracted by the gift?
Thankfulness is the soul of benifence;
abundance is but the hunk,
for thankfulness brings you to the place where the Beloved lives.
Abundance yields heedlessness;
thankfulness, alertness:
hunt for bounty with the snare of gratitude to the King.
Mathnawi III: 2895-2897

At last I sit alone. The Call to Prayer is singing outside the window of my hotel room, cracked open for optimal listening. It is good to sit alone. It has been such a beautiful trip. Beautiful with laughter. Beautiful with the joy of sharing with other human beings the depths of my own heart and the wonders of this world. I have so relished the time with these beautiful souls with whom I have traveled and in this moment I cherish the solitude. I am leaving this adventure tomorrow and the trip now begs my reflection.
I can feel my gratitude. It feels like a cushy box that surrounds me. The edges are soft and when I flex my toes up towards my heart, my gratitude gets more intense and warm. But it is always there. In Konya, Ibrahim Baba (Baba is a term for endearment for people who are special and great teachers. That is my translation at least!) gave a sochbet (class) on gratitude. He spoke how much we (at least in the U.S.) forget to value gratitude. That remembering gratitude is a spiritual practice and also a kind of activism.
When Ibrahim Baba spoke, some thing unleashed inside me. Here I am, Lord! This is me, Ibrahim is talking about. Gratitude and love for life is such a huge part of my being and for so long I have, in small ways, hidden it or not know what to do with it. I have posed it against critical thinking and scorned myself for not analyzing things as readily as my classmates. I do not want to create a binary between gratitude and criticism. I believe one can be a very grateful person and have a critical mind, critiquing culture and systems of oppression in this world. But I have come to prize critique way over gratitude for what has and what is that has allowed me to exist in the present moment. And Ibrahim's words helped me to know myself in a more loving and confident way.
There is so much more to write but I will leave it here for now.
In deep gratitude for this small piece of time I am able to have on this beautiful earth, Cassie

The Song of the Reed

2008-12-16T15:25:00.000-08:00

The Song of the Reed
by Hazrett Mevlana Yelaluddin Rumi

Now listen to this reed-flute's deep lament
About the heartache being apart has meant:

Since from the reed-bed they uprooted me
My song's expressed each human's agony,

A breast which separation"s split in two
Is what I seek, to share this pain with you:

When kept from their true origin, all yearn
For union on the day they can return.

Amongst the crowd, alone i mourn my fate,
With good and bad I've learned to integrate,

That we were friends each one was satisfied,
But none sought out my secrets from inside,
My deepest secrets in this song I wail
But eyes and ears can't penetrate the veil:

Body and soul are joined to form one whole
But no one is allowed to see my soul.

It's fire, not just hot air the reed flute's cry,
If you don't have this fire than you should die!

Love's fire is what makes every redd-flute pine,
Love's fervor thus lends potency to wine,

The reed consoles those forced to be apart,
It's notes will life the veil upon your heart

Where's antidote or poison like this song,
Or confidant or one who's pined so long?

This reed relates a torturous path ahead,
Recalls a love with which Majnun's heart bled.

The few who hear the truths the reed has sung
Have lost their wits so they can speak this tongue.

The day is wasted if its spent in grief,
Consumed by burning aches without relief

Good time have long passed, but we wouldn't care
When you're with us, our friend beyond compare!

While ordinary men on drops can thrive
A fish needs oceans daily to survive

They way the ripe must feel the raw can't tell
My speech must be concise and so fairwell!

translated by Jawid Mojaddedi

The Mevlani order of Tasawwf (similar to Sufism) claims this poem as a primary foundation to their path. We are all searching for a deeper love, a connection with that greater source of Love that is in all of us, in the mountains and hills, and is in Allah. Shams was a dear beloved to Rumi and when he was forced out of Turkey, Rumi started writing his separation poetry. His longing for reconnection with the Beloved does not distinguish between human love and divine love.
When I began this journey, I was coming from a place of a mild but present amount of disconnection and lostness in my life in Oakland/ Berkeley. As this trip has progressed, I realize that I have a lot of fear around exclusion. I am realizing that it is all part of the same thing: my longing for love is a longing for connection with Spirit that is alive in everyone as well as the Great Eternal One. I also think that my quest for this love comes from a need to be known.
Laughter and music, levity and gravity help me to feel known by others. Right now there is a music therapists group staying at the Dervish Brothers House and we have had the opportunity to sit in on some of their sessions. One of the things that stuck with me last night was that we are all reeds plucked from our Source, and that life is about the striving to reconnect with that Source. This is what music is. And I would add laughter, play, deep listening, mind altering substances, sex, food, and, of course, ultimate frisbe.
It is good to be reminded of my incompleteness and capacity for wholeness as we join in the Muslim Call to Prayer everyday, as we do Zicker, remembrance, and raise our voices and our hearts to the One who's love is everlasting and all-embracing. It is good to feel known by my traveling companions. Amein, Evallah.

Let me love you

2008-12-13T07:27:00.000-08:00

Thıs trıp ıs helpıng me to see that İ love to love God. I probably could've fıgured thıs out a whıle ago, but there's not that many opportunıtıes to really praıse God where İ lıve. İts almost lıke, gıve me somethıng to worshıp, as long as ıt doesn,t hurt somethıng or someone else, and İ'll worshıp ıt. Rather, I think it is, gıve me a way to worshıp, and ı,ll open my heart to ıt. all ways to worshıp lead to Allah. La ılahe ıllallah. Nothıng exısts outsıde of the Oneness of Beıng. I feel I am made to worshıp God. Made to praıse Allah and offer my lıfe ın thanksgıvıng and adoratıon. Of course, sometımes I don,t feel completely at home ın a certaın kınd of prayer or worshıp. But what an honor to be able to experıence all these dıfferent ways to love Allah. And I am so grateful to be wıth people who ı feel know me and I can trust to hold me ın all thıs openıng and rıskıng of love of Allah.

levıty and prayer

2008-12-13T07:17:00.000-08:00

Thank God for Amına Nur. Amına Nur ıs a 6 year old gırl who ıs part of our group. I have a tendency to take everythıng so serıously. I don't know ıf Amına Nur ıs ever outsıde of play. She ıs constantly jumpıng, crawlıng, slıdıng as a lıon, cat, or frog. She ınvolves everyone ın her play and helps me to keep perspectıve. Sometımes I can burden thıs experıence of worshıp and communıng wıth the dıvıne wıth a serıousness that takes me away from thıs world ınstead of makıng me more ıntımate wıth ıt. Blessed Be Allah and Blessed be the beautıful manıfestatıons of play and laughter that gıves Allah reason to smıle and reason to love.

Sema and the movement of Spırıt

2008-12-13T06:59:00.000-08:00

Sema ıs a state of beıng. A unıon wıth the ultımate, wıth Allah, wıth God. When we went to the Sema last nıght, I had the huge gıft of sıttıng next to the Shayka, a descendent of Rumı and a hıghly respected relıgıous leader here. The Sema ceremony consısted of four movements of the semazıns turnıng. Each movement had dıfferent musıc and each brought to me a dıfferent feelıng. Wıth so many semazıns spınnıng ın the mıddle of thıs huge theatre type room, you can feel the breeze they create. As the semazıns are spınnıng, they are becomıng lost ın Love. They enter and retreat from heaven and earth a thousand tımes as they turn and open themselves to the Infınıte Source, the Unıon of All Beıng, God.
I lıke to thınk that I was somehow a part of theır unıon wıth God. That somehow thıs peace was caught on the wıngs of the breeze that brushed my face and kıssed my forehead.

insha'allah and welcome

2008-12-13T06:26:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my Rumi Imersion reflections. The entries that follow are inspired by a class I am currently taking that has taken me to Istanbul and Konya in Turkey and into the rhythm, prayers, and love in which Rumi and his Mevlani followers lived and live. The entries are rather short because internet connection and computer availability here are sparse. Because of this my usual essay stye writing has morphed into a rough kind of poetry. I hope you enjoy and I hope write more thoroughly at some time, insha'allah.

God willıng, Primero a Dios, Ojala, Insha,allah. Here, there is hardly a paragraph that ıs spoken without "insha'allah." It ıs a blessing that each of us are born. Each moment, a blessing, a gıft, an ınvıtatıon towards unıon wıth that whıch holds us, holds all, nothıng exısts outsıde of thıs holding.
In the u.s., ıt is uncustomary to ask for permıssıon and to gıve thanks. We do ıt but it ıs not part of our ordınary, everyday conversatıons. Instead of ınsha'allah, we have ındıvıdual plans, determınatıon, agendas. If we compromıse, ıt ıs a sıgn of weakness, femınınıty, cowardness.
To me, İnsha'allah means acknowledgıng that we are not the ultımate creators. We are not everythıng and cannot know everythıng. There ıs a beauty and mystery that holds us and makes us. We are part of thıs beauty and yet ıt ıs greater that we wıll ever know.
Let us open ourselves to thıs lıfe, thıs gıft, thıs moment. Ameın. Evallah.

Interwoven identities, interweaving compassion

2008-11-24T11:29:00.000-08:00

Hello! I am posting a reflection paper I wrote for the class, "Andalusia," where the Professor asked us, in short, why is this important? WHy are we bothering to study Andalusia and religions in this way? so I hope you enjoy...

Why bother studying Andalusia? Why put forth all this energy and expense towards studying a specific time and place that supposedly is so far away from the current time and place in which we live (farther physically for some than for others, as this is a distance-learning course!)? My question in response is, “how can you not??” How can you not study the inter-relations between Islam, Judaism and Christianity when that is what is true?? The next question for me, then, is, “Why bother studying Christianity, Islam and Judaism as separate and distinct religions?” Why bother studying them without any analysis on contemporary culture and how religion and imperialism have worked together to lift up and push down certain bodies and peoples?
One of the things that struck me in learning about the formation of the early Christian Church was how much the Bishops and Councils tried to ignore Judaism. Actually, much of Christian identity was negative, in that the early Church leaders were defining Christianity by how it was not like Judaism. Judaism was a nuisance to the early Christians who wanted to show the inerrant and complete message of Christianity. The fact that Christianity came from Judaism, and that Jesus was a Jew, just got in the way.
I find this quest for purity related to how we teach religions. If we teach Judaism, Christianity and Islam as separate and distinct, then it is much easier to caste one (or two) as fallible and the other as perfect. What is at work in leaving out knowledge of the common grounds from which the three Abrahamic traditions were born?
Why bother studying Andalusia? Because my traditions depend on it. One of the questions I receive (and that I wrestle with myself) is how Unitarian Universalism can provide depth and meaning in worship if it tries to be everything for everyone. One of my realizations in the course is that all identities, if taken to their depths, come to a place of profound interrelation with all. This course and Unitarian Universalism isn’t about trying to be everything or even consider everything, but loving what you know so much that the many places from which you come is made visible and sacred. This is as true for my United Methodist identity as it is for my UU identity. UUism has as much potential to replicate systems of misunderstanding and purity as does United Methodism or Catholicism or Buddhism for that matter. Said another way, United Methodism has as much potential as UUism to use it’s own complex and interwoven history as a place to further compassion and multireligiosity in the world.
Why bother studying Andalusia? Because my God depends on it. During the Jewish High Holy Days, I was faced with the realization that I love Adonai and pray to Adonai as a non Jew. How does this work? Is this ok? I grew up in a liberal United Methodist Church that sings/ prays/ worships to a God that seemed identical to the loving and intimate Jewish God prayed to at Chochmat Halev. And yet, as a Christian, I have not felt the ways in which Jews are discriminated against institutionally and culturally. (As a person who holds Christian privilege, I often claim Christian even though I don’t actually believe Jesus was divine (any more than the rest of us are)). I have realized that if I want to pray to a God that is God to Muslims and Jews as well as Christians, and that embraces all peoples no matter their faith, then I must reflect this God in my life. Right now I am doing this by learning about the deep ways Judaism, Christianity and Islam have impacted and relate with one another, and by hopefully spreading religious tolerance by sharing this knowledge with my family and friends.
Why bother? Because I depend on it. I just participated in a ½ day workshop with Paul Kivel (a bay-area educator, activist and author) on Christian Hegemony. I was struck by the extent to which how I relate with God, others and myself is influenced by Christian/ imperialist mode of being and thinking. After connecting Christian hegemony with different “isms” like racism, heterosexism, anti-Semitism, capitalism, imperialism, anti-arab, environmental destruction, able-ism, Islamophobia, and sexism, we drew up some of the foundational values that come from a Christianity defined by imperialism. I was amazed at how infused many of these values are in my own personal identity. Even as I tried to “disarm” some values, I was using other harmful values in the process.
Some of these values are:
• Binary systems (something or someone is either good or bad; sinner or saved, God or the Devil. This confines all decisions to be about a moral judgment. It’s hard to hold complexity and hard not to take sides.
• Everything caste in a hierarchy
• Righteous Superiority
• One Truth (that excludes all other “small t” truths.
• Constant threat (everything is under siege from the “Other side”
• Individualism (the most important thing is one’s personal relationship with God. So, one’s personal integrity is most important, and when one has messed up or hurt someone, the most common response is defensiveness (turning the conversation to be about “me” and not about the impact or issue).
• Love (this one is hard for me, but it asks the hard question of how true is universal love? Who is allowed to “fall out” of the Caring Community? To whom does God’s love really include?)
• Missionaries (debunking the “good intentions” idea. The cross has always come with the sword. This has led to incredible increases in poverty and destruction the world over.)
• Dominion over nature
• Linear and binary relationship with time. )That we are progressing as a species. This very much related to feeling we are “on God’s side” or following some divine plan.)
• Apocalyptic
• Jesus as Savior (disempowering to communities if you can’t do it yourself but need some divine intervention to make things better).
• Suffering leads to Redemption (psychological war preparation- suffering as good)
• Don’t compromise (compromising is cooperating with evil. This normalizes struggle)
• Anti-Jewish
• Victimization as the “Chosen People” (again, “we” are always under siege)
• Judgment and Salvation (in the short term, how we (I) internalize judgment and judge others. I build up myself by judging others.)
• Duty to God is most important (and to all higher on the hierarchy)
• Obedience and Submission (one example was CA’s attempt to pass legislation to fund an education campaign about the harms of spanking, which failed.)
• Purity (of soul, thoughts, actions, etc.)
• Everything has cosmic consequences (every decision not just about here and now but has real ultimate consequences)
• Capitalism (the terms individualism actually was invented in the 17th C. with the creation of capitalism. It was used by Adam Smith in the phrase, “economic individualism.” This has led to an atomizing and severing of bonds between people.)

This list is incomplete and rather abbreviated. How this relates to this class and my life is realizing how much fear informs how I relate with myself and others. I think of how the Muslim rulers of Al Andalus didn’t “need” to punish non-Muslims because they didn’t feel threatened by them. Their identity wasn’t based on proving the “Other” as wrong, or even having an “Other” to begin with. When I relate with myself from a place of belief and love (here we are with the binaries again!), over fear, then my personal inadequacies and the inadequacies of my relations aren’t important, as our imperfections as well as our strengths are what connects us.

Follow up with American Religious History professor

2008-11-10T10:54:00.000-08:00

I wanted to follow up (see previous blog) with the conversation I had with my professor of "American Religious History" who has hardly included Judaism and has completely excluded Islam from our class that has a focus on education to foster ecumenical dialogue and understanding. I write this out of a sincere desire to know if what he said was true, as it completely baffles me.
At first he responded to my question around the short time we spent on Judaism by saying that Judaism really isn't big in the picture of U.S. religious history. That we are an overwhelmingly protestant country, religiously and culturally, and Judaism just isn't a big part in our history. Ok, I can kind-of understand that. But I grew up protestant! Of course I can understand a history that mirrors my own personal identity. Is Judaism's small impact on U.S. religious history really true?
When I asked about Islam, the professor defended himself by saying that this isn't a world religion's class and then what about Buddhism and Hinduism and Indigenous religions? I agreed that you have to make choices in creating a class and that there is power in limiting one's scope so one can go deeper. However, Islam, Christianity and Judaism are particularly relevant to one another as Abrahamic religions, religions "of the book." I explained where my question was coming from- from learning about Andalusia (which was very significant in the time and region when explorers were making their way to the "New World.") Islam and Christianity and Judaism were very much in relation with one another, so isn't it possible Islam affected the Catholicism and even the Protestantism that came over to the Colonies? His answer: no. As simple as that- Islam did not affect Catholicism or Protestantism when they founded and spread in the "New World."
Somehow I can't quite believe this. I think of how African American slaves found each other and were able to understand one another because of the exact tune and rhythm of the Islamic prayers they grew up. And how African Americans formed whole denominations and cultures within Protestantism. I also wonder how Islam influenced Catholicism and Protestantism before the start of slavery, and outside of the slave trade. Any thoughts?

no comparison!

2008-11-10T10:51:00.000-08:00

la ilaha ill’allah
Nothing exists outside of the One that is the source of all existence.
This foundational belief of Islam is powerful for me. It deeply challenges me to consider myself with radical love, as no part of me is outside of the Oneness of Life. It also helps me to recognize the ways in which racism, classism and all oppressions are advanced- that certain peoples and ways of being have been cast as “other,” as outside the Oneness who’s very definition depends on total inclusion.
It is hard to get away from the Christian way of thinking that necessitates one dominant and superior religion. My professor connected this with how we as a species have subscribed to the idea that human beings must dominate the earth. For Christians and cultural Christians, we have been taught (directly or indirectly through informal culture and ways of thinking) that it is our religious duty to defeat the chaos and the diversity that is inherent in earth’s creation. You can continue this perspective of domination down the line of oppressions- one superior race, superior way of knowing, so on and so forth.
What is tempting for me as a religious liberal is to put any form of orthodoxy outside the Oneness of all Existence. But am I not just falling prey to the “gifts” of Christian Supremacy of needing something to exclude and extinguish in order to expand self worth and “pure” identity? There is a saying, “There are as many ways to God as there are people and beings on this earth.” All are part of me, as I am part of the Oneness that excludes nothing.
How much do I compare myself to others in order to feel good about myself? I do this way more than I like to admit. In letting go of comparison (which I can do only for brief moments of time), I fall into a feeling of trust and union with God. There is a resilience to judgment and a love that is new that holds me and fills me.
When I remember this deep and eternal union, my judgments against myself and my friends lose power. It’s not that I don’t get angry or hurt by others and myself, but I am able to respond more quickly with compassion and openness. In connection, difference can be shared.

The Looking Glass

2008-11-03T12:49:00.001-08:00

Using an image from one of my classmates, two-way reflection glasses tell, in a way, the kind of way Western culture has been learning about Africa and Afro-culture. Two-way reflection glasses are an interrogation tool used in prisons and other places where prisoners are held. The observer is kept in the dark while the observed can only see him/herself back again, as the glass on that side acts as a mirror. Possibility for any kind of relationship is obliterated.
I have been thinking about relationship and knowledge a lot lately. In my American Religious History class, which has a primary purpose to foster ecumenical dialogue through education, Islam has NOT been mentioned at all (and looking at the syllabus, I doubt it will…but don’t worry, I’ll change that ☺). Judaism got a whole 90 minutes. Of course, there is a lot to cover in just one semester. But it is important to look at how we choose what to include and exclude.
In learning about how Western Anthropology has completely ignored Islam’s long-standing presence and impact in Africa (before and beyond the neatly bound dates and places Islam is said to have entered and existed in Africa), I am realizing how important Islam and Africa are to our history- MY history, everyone’s history. Whether you grew up a Christian, Muslim, Jew, Pagan, Hindu, Buddhist, Earth-centered, Agnostic, WHATEVER, whether you and your people were colonized by Christianity, or whether you have long Christian roots, Islam is part of your history.
There was so much interaction and cultural sharing in the time of Al-Andalus (and also since then and before then), it is impossible to distinguish any single origin for any group. This doesn’t mean we say that and go on with how we have been teaching history. I want to KNOW my Islamic influences! My Jewish influences, etc. etc.
For example, Islam has a very multi-sensory practice of literacy. (By the way, pages (which then opened space for the evolution of books) were actually invented by Muslims, if I remember correctly, and yet Africa is often discounted because of their supposed history as an “illiterate” continent.)
Ok, back to Islamic literacy. Literacy was not evaluated by whether or not an individual could read symbols on a page. No, Islam’s literacy was much more holistic than that. It didn’t just stop at the eye. It was a whole body thing, and a community thing. Communities would grow in knowledge through the way people learned to read. Because there weren’t enough books and pages for people, literature/ prayers/ poems, etc were often called/ read/ sung out loud and people would repeat it. Reading became a collective act for unifying in sound, rhythm, pitch, and meaning taken part by a community.
This was so pervasive that when African slaves were brought over to the Americas, slaves often found others from similar tribes or regions because of the exact way they would pray- the exact tone and rhythm of their spoken words. This influenced the religious expression of the slaves, and this is an important part for any course dealing with “American Religious History.” End point. ☺
In my Unitarian Universalist History class, we are learning about the extensive dialogues and debates people undertook in the, oh gosh, 16th C.?? Anyway, the time of the Reformation and huge religious fervor in Europe and in the U.S. As a U.S. citizen, I was amazed at how committed people were to dialogue even when the dialogue appears (to me, at least) to be incredibly brutal and harsh. People went to great pains to communicate with people they completely disagreed with! (U.S. culture doesn’t appreciate this openness to dialogue, I think, as much as Europe does. We get offended too easily, equating our own personal identity with what we think and what words we say).
Anyway, one particular relationship we were reading about was between a Jew and an Arian Christian. What I love about their story is their commitment to relationship. In the Arian’s criticizing of the Jew’s religion, he was also exposing how much he knew about Judaism (and vise versa). Even in the harsh disagreements, there was a real respect and tolerance for difference that I sorely long for today.
But today, we more often get a two-way looking glass instead of table and tea and conversation, and ignorance founds our relationships (or lack there of). This leads, I think to a culture that idealizes and demonizes things/ people/ cultures. I think idealization and demonization are the same thing, when one considers their impact in the world. They both put someone or culture on a pedestal (the pedestal could be a throne or a burning stake) and the person/ culture is no longer fully human. Once this happens, once there is no access to the imperfections, struggles, pains and joys that bond us on a deep and spiritual level, the possibility for impact is lost, or at least diminished. Once impact is lost, how can we ground our work for justice? How can we truly fight for justice and liberation when we no longer feel connected to the people we are fighting for (and ourselves)?

knowledge

2008-10-27T13:49:00.000-07:00

It takes a while for me to claim knowledge, I think. :) I get used to the learning stage and it’s hard for me to embody confidence. This morning in aikido we were learning a technique. I was the newest person there, even though I have been a student for a whole year, and I kind-of remained in the stage of seeking instruction throughout the whole class. I am used to being the “new student.” Even though I learned it fairly quickly, I was still tentative in my motions. My hope is that I can cherish my learning stage and also grow into my claiming knowledge stage so I can be part of the sharing of much needed and empowering knowledge on this earth.

The Wrong Name

2008-10-27T11:22:00.001-07:00

For six hours while I was in Cincinnati, I phone banked for the Obama campaign. On one of my calls, I talked with an elderly man who was undecided for whom he would vote for president. After talking about his disenchantment with politicians (“who never do even twenty-five percent of what they say they’re going to do!”), he finally got around to the crux of his indecisiveness about Obama. “I just can’t see myself voting for a man for president with that name,” he said. “It sounds too much like Osama Bin Laden or Hussein.” He also said that he was uncomfortable with Obama’s history with Islam. Even though he knew that Obama never practiced Islam, he thought that he grew up in a Muslim family, and, “ya know,” he said, “99% of Muslims are fundamentalist.”
He said that unlike some other people, he wasn’t caught up on the “race thing” because Obama is just as much white as he is Black.
Oh, boy! How was I going to respond to this?? There are so many prejudices underlying what he was saying! How could I be honest to myself and respond in a way that doesn’t alienate him?
I remember talking about the mainstream media and how it wants us to believe certain things about Islam that simply aren’t true- that in fact it is only a small percentage of Muslims that are fundamentalist, and that, as a person who studies religion, I see a lot of similarities between moderate Muslims and Christians, who all believe in a loving God and in the value of strong families (as I was looking at a pamphlet “Obama is a man of faith” with a picture and title of him as a “family man” on it.) I talked about how we can judge things and people by their titles (names, titles of faith, etc.), but what really matters is what’s underneath a title- what people believe and how we live is what matters.
We talked for twenty minutes and I cannot say that I convinced him to vote for Obama. But I did feel like he listened. I did feel like he wasn’t happy with the prejudices he did acknowledge having (and probably wouldn’t be happy with the numerous prejudices I saw that he wasn’t aware of), and he wanted to open up to change. He wanted to gain a new perspective.
Confronting the realities of Christian Supremacy and racism was hard, and yet, I was able to swallow and keep pursuing relationship with this man I did not know. I felt like my kinship with him was more important than the harmful state of his beliefs. Would it have been different if I had been Muslim or Jewish or Black? Perhaps. Perhaps the injury would have been too close to my heart for me to genuinely remain open to this man. But I am glad I did, for there are a lot of people just like him who, with a little care and listening, may turn to want to rid themselves of some of the harmful thinking that they have learned.

Privilege and Praise

2008-10-27T11:02:00.000-07:00

I have been wrestling with the appropriateness of my Jewish immersion during the High Holy Days and my newfound love of Judaism. In the shower, I put new words in the folk song “Shenandoah:” “Oh, Adonai, I long to see you…” Is it ok that I love the Jewish God and yet am not Jewish??? Elohim, Adonai, Hashem…Infinitely loving God whose compassion reaches to every corner and crest of this earth. Whose full power is unknowable and yet intervenes in our daily life if only we awaken ourselves to it. My heart and lungs and mind become one as I sing my love to Adonai, surrounded by the people of Chochmat Halev, unafraid to praise such a beautiful presence, a holy creation. Why has it taken to this point in my life for me to relax fully into what feels to be my most natural state- a state of complete praise for the Holy? There is something about U.S. culture that admonishes such complete and abandoned praise. On the one hand, we punish those who don’t believe in the Christian God. For those who do believe in a Christian God, only believe to a point, we say. Believe, but don’t let it get to your heart. Don’t get too carried away in your affection for God’s love and grace. Don’t lose control.
My inclination for praise is deeper than my social location. I believe that my social location is part of it- My race and class privilege has enabled me to witness, again and again, the sheer beauty of the earth through camping trips and vacations. I have literally known abundance in food and shelter and clothing. The resources made available to me through friends and community have assisted my educational experiences.

And yet, there is something deeper. Something deep in me longs to rest completely and fully in God’s embrace. Something deep in me knows that I cannot rest completely and fully in God’s grace alone- that I am not alone- I am inherently intertwined in community and depend on community to know God in God’s fullest and truest self. And even then we can never completely know the extent of God’s grace.

For the first time, it was ok for me to let go- completely let go of my critical thoughts and opinions. The only thing I had to do was surrender. Surrender to the power of love and community and song to carry us to higher and lower realms. Realms of the holy.

I am caught in this tension between privilege and praise. I am so moved by this Jewish community, Chochmat Halev, whose praise for an infinitely loving and gracious God rings true in my heart. While I immerse myself in Jewish song and ritual, I realize that I am not Jewish. As a white person who can pass as Christian and who grew up United Methodist, I do not feel the danger of being Jewish in a Christian country. What does it mean to say, “I’m a Jew?” What are the ways one’s existence is denied in this country, in this day? One year ago, six people were shot at Jewish Federation of Seattle- targeted by a man who “hated Jews” … In Missouri last week, several middle school students are facing disciplinary action because they started a “Hit a Jew Day.” The U.S. calendar mirrors the Christian calendar. Christianity is the assumed religion of chaplains and spiritual care providers and clients in many public hospitals and prisons. Christian supremacy infiltrates U.S. culture and institutions in so many ways, much of which I do not yet recognize as someone who grew up Christian.

I also want to recognize that I did grow up with an infinitely loving God, made known to me through my United Methodist Church and my parents. This is the God that I pray to and praise in solitude and among friends. There’s a part of me that wants to claim Adonai as my God too. Is there really a Jewish God, Muslim God and Christian God that are separate and distinct? When I try to sink my mental chatter deeper into my body, I want to believe that there is just one God, one loving presence that encompasses all religions, all ways of praise, on this earth. How can I believe this and accept the fact that Christians have long distinguished themselves from Judaism and Islam by separating out a Christian God. Christians (have) purposefully and violently distance and distanced themselves from the Jewish God (persecuting Jews and Muslims) in order to prop up their identity.

How can I be responsible in my growing knowledge and love of Judaism and different faiths? As I find myself deeply fed by Judaism, how can I account for the realities of anti-Semitism and anti-Islamic sentiment and practice that are alive and well in our country and around the world?

My Name

2008-10-25T18:02:00.000-07:00

Maris? Why Maris? (sounds like mah- rees, like "Marice"). I choose to add my middle name to this blog because I like it and because it reminds me of who I am. Maris comes from the word mar- sea, or of the sea. For me, the sea is home. I grew up near the Puget Sound in Shoreline (north of Seattle) and would take walks and cold water plunges in the Sound's chilly grasp. Every time I step into the lapping waves, I dedicate my swim to something or someone. Each dunk a prayer.

While exploring the history of three religions that are almost always positioned against each other, I am continuously amazed at how much they share. It isn't that our differences aren't important- they are! But difference is actually grounds for deeper relation, not no relation or anti-relation.

The deeper connection I experience by swimming in the sea is like the deeper connection I am learning through Al-Andalus. My sea, my prayer, my history. May my name always remind me of this.

Welcome to my blog!

2008-10-25T17:34:00.000-07:00

Hello! Welcome to Beloved Bewildering- my space for exploring Al- Andalus- the class and the place/time. Al-Andalus is the Arabic name for the place and time of modern day Spain, Portugal, Andorra, Gibraltar and a tiny bit of France. It endured from 711 to 1492 under Islamic rule as a relatively peaceful place where Christians, Muslims and Jews all lived together, thrived together, sharing in livelihood, culture and faith.

Al-Andalus-the-class is being taught online at Starr King School for the Ministry by Dr. Professor Ibrahim Farajaje'. And I am one of the lucky students taking the class.

So, please open your heart-mind as I have done for you. I believe that we are all emerging, changing beings. In this light I open up pretty vulnerable parts of who I am, as, I believe, the more I open, the more I learn (and hopefully, grow). I welcome welcome WELCOME you to participate in my learning, as alone, I only learn so much (not very much- I NEED you to learn!)

Thank you for taking part in my life in this way. Love, Cassie