The Renovare group which I joined a few weeks ago studied the Holiness Tradition last week. We were asked to pick an exercise and practice it this week and report on it tomorrow night. The question, then, will be, What did you learn about yourself and God as a result of this exercise?
I realized that the Holiness Tradition is the one I was brought up with. My grandparents were Methodists, and that was the church I was baptized in. My grandmother worried some about sin, and was unhappy that my grandfather very occasionally smoked a pipe or a cigar, and that he sometimes played cards on Sunday. She was a great card lover herself, but had been taught that to do so on Sunday was a sin.
My mother must have railed against that tradition, at least a little bit. She told me about tent meetings she had to attend as a child, and how disgusting she thought it was to turn around and kneel facing the seat cushion she’d just sat on, or someone else had.
Even though she did not believe the Bible to be literally true, (and I don’t know what my grandparents believed about that,) she was a stickler for rules. We didn’t talk about sin though. She did consult Emily Post’s and Amy Vanderbilt’s books of etiquette for the proper ways to behave, but she was strangely quiet about the Bible. The Book of Common Prayer was in her hands every morning when I got up though, so I know she was grounded in the goodness, and forgiveness, of God.
Back to the Renovare question, what I learned, on reflection, was that it wasn’t at all easy to separate the “shoulds” and “oughts” that came to me in Mother’s voice from the true meaning, to me, of God’s commandments. I’m certain I frequently sent my mother to the end of her wits and patience by saying, “Yes, but….” I had, and still have, a burning desire to think things out for myself and to find my own understanding of what is true.
Is that “sin,” wanting to understand and make sense of what I read on my own terms? Instead of accepting God’s word in faith? Maybe so. Maybe not.
If I want to think that my desires are God’s, then yes. If I’m puzzling about it, hunting for what God wants for me, with a willingness to entertain his will for me at least, before I actually choose…that seems okay to me. In fact, it seems important to do so, to believe that God cares for me and wants the best for me before I commit.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Saying Goodbye to Butch
Today was Butch's funeral, and it fit him perfectly, although his pastor said Butch would have been embarrassed to have so much attention. I think that is true. At least thirty people were standing in the small church, which was missing a back pew because Butch had unscrewed it and removed it a few months ago. He’d noticed that there was no good space for people in wheel chairs; they had to sit behind everybody or in the aisle until he made a place for them. He paid attention to things like that.
Butch and his family did more for me than I did for them, and it was such a simple thing they did. They were glad to see me. You may think that isn’t much, but it doesn’t happen all the time.
When people are dying, they don’t usually have a lot of energy; and they don’t have a lot of reason to want to spend what they have getting to know strangers. That’s a fact.
Butch made the effort, and so did his family, even though their pastor came frequently as well. It was as if life was a banquet to Butch, and he didn’t want to leave any dish untried.
His nurse came back to the office a few weeks ago with chocolate peanut clusters he had made. She told me to try to get his recipe. When I asked him, he offered me a box of the clusters too. The pastor said today that Butch never gave out the recipe to anyone, and he supposed God was trying to get it out of him now.
In the eyes of the world, Butch was not an important man. He lived in a modest house filled with many tables and book cases he had made. He loved to work with wood. He held several different jobs, and I’m sure he did them all with honesty and fairness. He managed to get an AA degree, and wanted to finish four years of college, but hadn’t been able to. He had children to educate by then. Those children asked him recently how he could give up his dream like that, wasn’t he sorry. He looked at each of them and said, “You are my dream.”
There’s a saying that goes something like this: Your life may be the only Bible some people read. I’m glad a lot of people ‘read’ Butch's life.
Butch and his family did more for me than I did for them, and it was such a simple thing they did. They were glad to see me. You may think that isn’t much, but it doesn’t happen all the time.
When people are dying, they don’t usually have a lot of energy; and they don’t have a lot of reason to want to spend what they have getting to know strangers. That’s a fact.
Butch made the effort, and so did his family, even though their pastor came frequently as well. It was as if life was a banquet to Butch, and he didn’t want to leave any dish untried.
His nurse came back to the office a few weeks ago with chocolate peanut clusters he had made. She told me to try to get his recipe. When I asked him, he offered me a box of the clusters too. The pastor said today that Butch never gave out the recipe to anyone, and he supposed God was trying to get it out of him now.
In the eyes of the world, Butch was not an important man. He lived in a modest house filled with many tables and book cases he had made. He loved to work with wood. He held several different jobs, and I’m sure he did them all with honesty and fairness. He managed to get an AA degree, and wanted to finish four years of college, but hadn’t been able to. He had children to educate by then. Those children asked him recently how he could give up his dream like that, wasn’t he sorry. He looked at each of them and said, “You are my dream.”
There’s a saying that goes something like this: Your life may be the only Bible some people read. I’m glad a lot of people ‘read’ Butch's life.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Trying new things
A woman who I do not know well, but whom I admire greatly, gave me the address to her blog this weekend. Because her husband, some time ago, made a disparaging comment about people who blog, it surprised me that she was among them. I'm guessing she hadn't started it yet, because it wouldn't be like him to pooh-pooh any activity of hers. I thought she was going to ask for the name of my blog as well, but if she did, I missed it.
I began this blog over a year and a half ago, and didn't give it a fair chance. I had just started one at writing.com, a site which was very easy to navigate. My blog there is called Ten-Finger Exercises, because my intention was to practice writing every day. Two blogs were too many, and I hadn't figured out how to use this one yet. Still, I should say.
A blog is, by nature, not private. It feels that way though. I can't imagine anyone stumbling on either of mine by accident, but it could happen. My children read Ten-Finger Exercises fairly regularly, and I've learned which topics appeal to the rest of my readers, as well as which topics do not.
Most of the people who read it and leave comments are not religious; in fact, many are not even people who consider themselves to be spiritual. Nevertheless, they have become my friends. They live in several different countries, come from very different economic circumstances, and are a variety of ages, mostly younger than I am.
I'm taking up this long abandoned blog to try to go a little deeper into spirituality without losing my other audience. At least, I'll give it a try. I'm in the need for something new. I've recently joined a Renovare group, and I don't know if is for me or not. It's not all that hard to find others who want to be religious together, but not at all easy to find people who want to explore and dare to doubt. An old prayer of unknown origin came to my mind in the past few weeks: Give me a doubt to doubt my doubt. I don't say it all the time, but occasionally it fits.
I don't know if anybody will find this blog unless I give them the address. So, if you've wandered here on your own, or especially if you've come hunting for me, please let me know. Otherwise, it's as if I've left a message in a bottle and tossed it into the waves.
Did anybody find the bottle? Was the message legible?
Is anybody out there?
I began this blog over a year and a half ago, and didn't give it a fair chance. I had just started one at writing.com, a site which was very easy to navigate. My blog there is called Ten-Finger Exercises, because my intention was to practice writing every day. Two blogs were too many, and I hadn't figured out how to use this one yet. Still, I should say.
A blog is, by nature, not private. It feels that way though. I can't imagine anyone stumbling on either of mine by accident, but it could happen. My children read Ten-Finger Exercises fairly regularly, and I've learned which topics appeal to the rest of my readers, as well as which topics do not.
Most of the people who read it and leave comments are not religious; in fact, many are not even people who consider themselves to be spiritual. Nevertheless, they have become my friends. They live in several different countries, come from very different economic circumstances, and are a variety of ages, mostly younger than I am.
I'm taking up this long abandoned blog to try to go a little deeper into spirituality without losing my other audience. At least, I'll give it a try. I'm in the need for something new. I've recently joined a Renovare group, and I don't know if is for me or not. It's not all that hard to find others who want to be religious together, but not at all easy to find people who want to explore and dare to doubt. An old prayer of unknown origin came to my mind in the past few weeks: Give me a doubt to doubt my doubt. I don't say it all the time, but occasionally it fits.
I don't know if anybody will find this blog unless I give them the address. So, if you've wandered here on your own, or especially if you've come hunting for me, please let me know. Otherwise, it's as if I've left a message in a bottle and tossed it into the waves.
Did anybody find the bottle? Was the message legible?
Is anybody out there?
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