Originally written by Mary Schmich and published in the Chicago Tribune on June 1, 1997. More well known as "The Sunscreen Song" by Baz Luhrmann.
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss.
Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.
Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.
Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Truth on its way to being truer
1 Corinthians 13:8-13
A phrase sticks in my mind from recent reading. . . . "Truth on its way to being truer. . . ." Can something true become truer? In absolute terms, no, it's either true or it isn't. But, in terms of our understanding of truth, surely the answer is yes. Our understanding is only partial, and our grasp of the truth something that has to develop and mature. An apple's an apple from the first swelling of the bud, but there's little joy trying to eat it at that stage. It needs time to ripen.
If we could grasp that it would save so much pain and conflict. We fight so hard to protect "the truth", yet often we are only fighting to protect our own imperfect understanding of it. Like children, we cling to our first experiences. We hold tight to a few proof texts we learnt in our spiritual adolescence, as though that was the limit of what God has to teach us. Really, the truth we know is only the hors-d'oeuvre, a first course to whet our appetite for what comes later. The problem is that we're too insecure to follow the truth wherever it leads; we prefer to cage it, tame it, pretend that we possess it all.
Truth has to move on, not abandoning but enriching what went before. The end result is a deeper truth that may look very different from our original version. I remember an early orchestral concert in my teens. The power and drive of Sibelius' Second Symphony floored me. It opened my mind to new things, but it's not the only music I listen to now.
Truth is a life-long, inner pursuit, but we make it with him: we in him, he in us (John 17:21,23). The truth lives in us, encouraging, leading us into deeper truth; and helping us to work it out in daily living.
"God is on the point of your pencil, on the edge of your ploughshare," as Teilhard de Chard in says. I'm not sure I grasp the full meaning of that, but it contains the assurance that he's part of my life, sharing what I do, what I am. Even sharing my search for deeper truth, and leading me into it.
It's comforting, Lord, to think I have the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Reassuring, to peg the world down,
hold it fast in the chains of my small knowledge.
Tie it up and relax.
But Lord, the truth's a sleeping giant.
And when he wakes
all my Lilliputian certainties are torn out, screaming,
by a twitch of his hand.
My little dogmatisms damaged past repair.
Your truth stands towering over me.
However far I reach on tiptoe,
however much I try,
it stays beyond my reach.
Too great to hold, too high to comprehend.
Forgive my arrogance.
I can't reach further than truth's shoelace
and yet I claim to know it all.
I try to tame you,
hold you in the cage of my timidity.
Make you predictable and safe.
The truth is -
and there I go again, Lord, telling you -
it frightens me to think that all the world I see out there
is only a beginning..
That as I walk, hesitating, towards the far horizon
it moves away.
However much I see and learn, there's more.
And what I hold, though precious, is still partial,
the dim image of the glories yet to come.
Lord, turn my mind around.
Help me to realise that what I see
as never-ending quest, a constant learning,
is not a threat, but an adventure, lived with you.
Help me to understand that the infinity that beckons me,
is an infinity of love.
And as I take the road afresh, each day,
I’m not sure where it leads, or where I’m going,
but I’m going there with you.
And that’s enough.
From: No Strange Land by Eddie Askew
(all proceeds support The Leprosy Mission)
A phrase sticks in my mind from recent reading. . . . "Truth on its way to being truer. . . ." Can something true become truer? In absolute terms, no, it's either true or it isn't. But, in terms of our understanding of truth, surely the answer is yes. Our understanding is only partial, and our grasp of the truth something that has to develop and mature. An apple's an apple from the first swelling of the bud, but there's little joy trying to eat it at that stage. It needs time to ripen.
If we could grasp that it would save so much pain and conflict. We fight so hard to protect "the truth", yet often we are only fighting to protect our own imperfect understanding of it. Like children, we cling to our first experiences. We hold tight to a few proof texts we learnt in our spiritual adolescence, as though that was the limit of what God has to teach us. Really, the truth we know is only the hors-d'oeuvre, a first course to whet our appetite for what comes later. The problem is that we're too insecure to follow the truth wherever it leads; we prefer to cage it, tame it, pretend that we possess it all.
Truth has to move on, not abandoning but enriching what went before. The end result is a deeper truth that may look very different from our original version. I remember an early orchestral concert in my teens. The power and drive of Sibelius' Second Symphony floored me. It opened my mind to new things, but it's not the only music I listen to now.
Truth is a life-long, inner pursuit, but we make it with him: we in him, he in us (John 17:21,23). The truth lives in us, encouraging, leading us into deeper truth; and helping us to work it out in daily living.
"God is on the point of your pencil, on the edge of your ploughshare," as Teilhard de Chard in says. I'm not sure I grasp the full meaning of that, but it contains the assurance that he's part of my life, sharing what I do, what I am. Even sharing my search for deeper truth, and leading me into it.
It's comforting, Lord, to think I have the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Reassuring, to peg the world down,
hold it fast in the chains of my small knowledge.
Tie it up and relax.
But Lord, the truth's a sleeping giant.
And when he wakes
all my Lilliputian certainties are torn out, screaming,
by a twitch of his hand.
My little dogmatisms damaged past repair.
Your truth stands towering over me.
However far I reach on tiptoe,
however much I try,
it stays beyond my reach.
Too great to hold, too high to comprehend.
Forgive my arrogance.
I can't reach further than truth's shoelace
and yet I claim to know it all.
I try to tame you,
hold you in the cage of my timidity.
Make you predictable and safe.
The truth is -
and there I go again, Lord, telling you -
it frightens me to think that all the world I see out there
is only a beginning..
That as I walk, hesitating, towards the far horizon
it moves away.
However much I see and learn, there's more.
And what I hold, though precious, is still partial,
the dim image of the glories yet to come.
Lord, turn my mind around.
Help me to realise that what I see
as never-ending quest, a constant learning,
is not a threat, but an adventure, lived with you.
Help me to understand that the infinity that beckons me,
is an infinity of love.
And as I take the road afresh, each day,
I’m not sure where it leads, or where I’m going,
but I’m going there with you.
And that’s enough.
From: No Strange Land by Eddie Askew
(all proceeds support The Leprosy Mission)
Monday, May 03, 2010
Do not consider anything unclean that God has declared clean (Acts 11:9)
Fred Craddock, tells about a church he knew. He remembered it as the status church, First Church Downtown, it was called. Everybody who was anybody went to that church, when Fred was a boy. Not just anybody could walk in there and join. Income and proper attire seemed a membership requirement at First Church. Need was say? People of Color need not apply.
As you might imagine, First Church did not receive many new members. Members simply grew older. As an adult, Fred learned that First Church had closed. Too few people of the “right type,” I guess.
Fred had occasion to go back to town and discovered that old First Church was still standing. But now it was a restaurant, a fish restaurant. He walked in the big gothic doors and, sure enough, where there had once been pews, now there were tables, and waiters, and diners. He looked down the nave of the old church and where the communion table had once stood, now there was a salad bar.
He walked out the front door, back down the steps, muttering to himself, “Now, I guess everybody is welcome to eat at the table.”
(From a sermon by William Willimon, "When the Outsiders Become Insiders")
As you might imagine, First Church did not receive many new members. Members simply grew older. As an adult, Fred learned that First Church had closed. Too few people of the “right type,” I guess.
Fred had occasion to go back to town and discovered that old First Church was still standing. But now it was a restaurant, a fish restaurant. He walked in the big gothic doors and, sure enough, where there had once been pews, now there were tables, and waiters, and diners. He looked down the nave of the old church and where the communion table had once stood, now there was a salad bar.
He walked out the front door, back down the steps, muttering to himself, “Now, I guess everybody is welcome to eat at the table.”
(From a sermon by William Willimon, "When the Outsiders Become Insiders")
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Covenant Prayer
God of the Covenant,
I place my life in your hands – for it to be yours to direct and not mine
May you decide what I should do and with whom I should do it;
May you guide when I should be active and when I should rest;
May you sustain me when I am well and when I suffer;
May you be reflected in me when I am praised and when I am challenged;
May I give thanks to you when I enjoy abundance,
and when I know what it is to go without;
May my whole life be given in service of your love and salvation,
use all that I have and all that I am for your purposes;
And may I always remember that you, O God, and I belong to each other.
This is my commitment - I stand by it.
And I ask that you, Jesus, bear witness to it.
Amen.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Move off the page
You, majestic sovereign…move off the page!
Move off the page to the world,
move off the page to the trouble,
move out of your paged leisure
to the turmoil of your creatures.
Move to the peace negotiations,
and cancer diagnoses,
and burning churches,
and lynched blacks,
and abused children.
Listen to the groans and moans,
and see and hear and know
and remember, and come down!"
(Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggemann).
Move off the page to the world,
move off the page to the trouble,
move out of your paged leisure
to the turmoil of your creatures.
Move to the peace negotiations,
and cancer diagnoses,
and burning churches,
and lynched blacks,
and abused children.
Listen to the groans and moans,
and see and hear and know
and remember, and come down!"
(Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggemann).
Monday, February 01, 2010
Prayer based on 1 Corinthians 13
Love is patient;
for our quick-temperedness:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is kind;
for our indifference towards others:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is not envious;
for our petty jealousies:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is not boastful;
for our pretentiousness:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is not arrogant;
for our opinionated views -
Lord, have mercy:
Christ, have mercy:
Love is not rude;
for our crass behaviour:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love does not insist on getting its own way;
for our false sense of our own importance:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is not irritable;
for our resentful behaviour:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love does not rejoice in wrong-doing;
for our rejoicing in all the wrong things:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
May God show us mercy,
forgive us our sins against love
and lead us to life that lasts:
AMEN.
(adapted from a prayer at http://home.clear.net.nz/pages/bfletch/c213.html)
for our quick-temperedness:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is kind;
for our indifference towards others:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is not envious;
for our petty jealousies:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is not boastful;
for our pretentiousness:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is not arrogant;
for our opinionated views -
Lord, have mercy:
Christ, have mercy:
Love is not rude;
for our crass behaviour:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love does not insist on getting its own way;
for our false sense of our own importance:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love is not irritable;
for our resentful behaviour:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Love does not rejoice in wrong-doing;
for our rejoicing in all the wrong things:
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
May God show us mercy,
forgive us our sins against love
and lead us to life that lasts:
AMEN.
(adapted from a prayer at http://home.clear.net.nz/pages/bfletch/c213.html)
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Prayer of the Despised
Today we come to you, Lord, we, the despised. We are not a sorry procession, but a repugnant one. We do not even arouse compassion or hatred, tenderness or sympathy. We are simply despised; we disgust people. The leper arouses compassion. The fiercest criminal stirs up hatred or terror. The mentally ill or the retarded inspire pity or protectiveness. But there is no place reserved for us in the catalogue of the works of mercy.
I, Lord, am a drug addict; for all practical purposes, I have resigned from the human race, I have lost all hope of regaining my self-control, of becoming myself again. There are other people who have drugged, not their bodies, but their consciences and hearts. But nobody despises them. At worst, they are feared.
I, Lord, am a homosexual. I don’t like women. Now and then, I go with another man. I commit fewer sins than my brother who certainly does like women and who even takes up with other men’s wives. But no one at home or outside turns their nose up at him; they don’t find him repugnant; on the contrary, sometimes they even admire him. But everyone, both men and women, shy away from me. And I am acceptable only to someone who, like me, also feels that he has been cast off by normal society.
I, Lord, am a drunkard, but a poor one. I’ve been on the bottle for many years. They don’t want me at home because they’re ashamed of me, and so I’m left to stagger around the streets like a sick dog. When people see me coming, they hastily cross to the other side of the street. Even a beggar occasionally has the consolation of having someone approach him and although hurriedly, put a small coin in his hand. But nobody comes near me; except perhaps a policeman to hustle me off to jail.
Yet, Lord, there are others who also get drunk, but they do it at exclusive parties in the suburbs and, because they are influential, people only laugh good-naturedly at their drunken antics. They are readily forgiven and, if necessary, excuses are found for them by their hangers-on, who cover up for them. No policeman ever lays a finger on them. I wonder-am I more repugnant when drunk than they are, just because I get loaded on cheap wine, while they do it on expensive whiskey, vodka, and gin.
I, Lord, am a prostitute. I can’t claim to be one of the girls, not any more. Because now I’m old and fat and tired. I have no one now to pay the rent of an apartment for me and buy me nice things. I am one of those who have to be satisfied with what my “customers” feel like giving them. I no longer have a nice apartment to entertain my clients in, and I don’t have money to advertise in the newspapers as a “masseuse”. I have to be satisfied with hanging around cheap bars in the slums or street corners in the cold and rain, hoping some poor wretch will be willing to pay me a few coins for the remnants of my favors. People passing in their cars look down their noses at me and quickly turn away so as not to meet my eyes. I am despised even by the high class call girls who, glittering with jewels and wrapped in furs, glide by in big cars driven by their so-very-respectable “patrons”.
We and so many others whom society does not even pity; we the despised of the earth, who arouse neither hatred nor pity nor fear, but only disgust, today we come to you, who are sinless, because we believe that, if you do exist, you will not despise but will even forgive us.
We aren’t trying to hide or to make excuses for the sins that have caused us to be cast off by society. We only hope that perhaps you, who not only forgive, but also excuse, will be able to avoid humiliating us further and to tell us, as once you told a man possessed by the devil, that saving us will let others see your glory and mercy in us.
Remember, you said you came to save what is lost. And who is more lost than we who do not even arouse pity? Sometimes a ray of hope lets us dream for a moment that perhaps you may bring yourself to love even us.
- Father Juan Arias
I, Lord, am a drug addict; for all practical purposes, I have resigned from the human race, I have lost all hope of regaining my self-control, of becoming myself again. There are other people who have drugged, not their bodies, but their consciences and hearts. But nobody despises them. At worst, they are feared.
I, Lord, am a homosexual. I don’t like women. Now and then, I go with another man. I commit fewer sins than my brother who certainly does like women and who even takes up with other men’s wives. But no one at home or outside turns their nose up at him; they don’t find him repugnant; on the contrary, sometimes they even admire him. But everyone, both men and women, shy away from me. And I am acceptable only to someone who, like me, also feels that he has been cast off by normal society.
I, Lord, am a drunkard, but a poor one. I’ve been on the bottle for many years. They don’t want me at home because they’re ashamed of me, and so I’m left to stagger around the streets like a sick dog. When people see me coming, they hastily cross to the other side of the street. Even a beggar occasionally has the consolation of having someone approach him and although hurriedly, put a small coin in his hand. But nobody comes near me; except perhaps a policeman to hustle me off to jail.
Yet, Lord, there are others who also get drunk, but they do it at exclusive parties in the suburbs and, because they are influential, people only laugh good-naturedly at their drunken antics. They are readily forgiven and, if necessary, excuses are found for them by their hangers-on, who cover up for them. No policeman ever lays a finger on them. I wonder-am I more repugnant when drunk than they are, just because I get loaded on cheap wine, while they do it on expensive whiskey, vodka, and gin.
I, Lord, am a prostitute. I can’t claim to be one of the girls, not any more. Because now I’m old and fat and tired. I have no one now to pay the rent of an apartment for me and buy me nice things. I am one of those who have to be satisfied with what my “customers” feel like giving them. I no longer have a nice apartment to entertain my clients in, and I don’t have money to advertise in the newspapers as a “masseuse”. I have to be satisfied with hanging around cheap bars in the slums or street corners in the cold and rain, hoping some poor wretch will be willing to pay me a few coins for the remnants of my favors. People passing in their cars look down their noses at me and quickly turn away so as not to meet my eyes. I am despised even by the high class call girls who, glittering with jewels and wrapped in furs, glide by in big cars driven by their so-very-respectable “patrons”.
We and so many others whom society does not even pity; we the despised of the earth, who arouse neither hatred nor pity nor fear, but only disgust, today we come to you, who are sinless, because we believe that, if you do exist, you will not despise but will even forgive us.
We aren’t trying to hide or to make excuses for the sins that have caused us to be cast off by society. We only hope that perhaps you, who not only forgive, but also excuse, will be able to avoid humiliating us further and to tell us, as once you told a man possessed by the devil, that saving us will let others see your glory and mercy in us.
Remember, you said you came to save what is lost. And who is more lost than we who do not even arouse pity? Sometimes a ray of hope lets us dream for a moment that perhaps you may bring yourself to love even us.
- Father Juan Arias
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Will you come and follow me (The Summons)
Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?
Will you go where you don't know and never be same?
Will you let my love be shown, will you let my name be known,
Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?
Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?
Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean, and do such as this unseen,
And admit to what I mean in you and you in me?
Will you love the "you" you hide if I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?
Will you use the faith you've found to reshape the world around,
Through my sight and touch and sound in you and you in me?
Lord, Your summons echoes true when You but call my name.
Let me turn and follow You and never be the same.
In Your company I'll go where Your love and footsteps show.
Thus I'll move and live and grow in You and You in me.
-- John L. Bell (Iona Community, Glasgow.)
(From “Heaven shall not wait” Wild Goose Publications 1987)
Will you go where you don't know and never be same?
Will you let my love be shown, will you let my name be known,
Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?
Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?
Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean, and do such as this unseen,
And admit to what I mean in you and you in me?
Will you love the "you" you hide if I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?
Will you use the faith you've found to reshape the world around,
Through my sight and touch and sound in you and you in me?
Lord, Your summons echoes true when You but call my name.
Let me turn and follow You and never be the same.
In Your company I'll go where Your love and footsteps show.
Thus I'll move and live and grow in You and You in me.
-- John L. Bell (Iona Community, Glasgow.)
(From “Heaven shall not wait” Wild Goose Publications 1987)
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
The Sout Project
This is a first for this blog.
I am not a prolific blogger (I prefer the more interactive environment of Facebook and Twitter) and I am not good at putting my thoughts "on paper". I am more of a relational person - I enjoy one-on-one or small group interactive discussion. But, one thing I am definitely not is a reviewer - Oh, I love to discuss stuff but, again, it's a case of "let's chat over coffee".
In this case though, I felt I had to make an exception. That's because I was asked to review something that I believed in the moment I first heard about it. I believed in it because it holds to some of the values that I hold most dear: Collaboration, Diversity, Spirituality, Inclusiveness. The project I'm talking about is "The Sout Project":
From the website:
The album is truly diverse and eclectic and, it is deeply spiritual. It seems to draw on the ancient traditions of contemplative spirituality (like Taizé) while blending traditional African sounds with a hint of Eastern and even modern electronica and house beats.
To be quite honest I am not a huge fan of electronica and house music but I found that the unique blend grew on me. It reminded me very much of the "Spirits: Music for the Soul" series of CD's (which are amongst my favourite CD's).
It is extremely diverse and will not appeal to all. Some may find it a bit repetitive at times (especially lyrically) but when one understands the contemplative disciplines (e.g. Meditation) one will be familiar with the place of repetition. Some (traditionalists) may not like all the "imagery" like, "You are our network and we are the nodes" (in the song "Story" based on the ancient Celtic prayer, "Be thou my vision"). But, "everything can change if we learn and live a new story beginning today, beginning now, beginning with you and me" (same song).
And that may be the lesson of this project; we need to learn to live a new story that breaks the pattern of "fear, revenge and greed" that we have been living and that what's this project attempts to do.
I applaud Nic Paton (grandson of the author Alan Paton) for this effort. Nic has always been slightly (OK, maybe not so slightly) subversive but his passion for Inclusiveness and for the Love of God (prevalent from his first collaboration with "Friends First") will continue to force us to think outside of the box and to embrace the Other (the neighbour that Jesus refers to in the parable of the Good Samaritan) and will help lead us to the Peace his grandfather fought for.
It is this that is captured in the CD for me and the more I listen to it, the more I find myself challenged to think beyond my own story - to take the traditional and find new ways of expressing it (or giving expression to it). It is a testament to the work of David Bosch (whose wife Annemie makes and appearance on the CD) who spearheaded a Post-Colonial understanding of God's mission in the world.
Listen to it. Give it a chance. But, above all, be willing to embrace that which is Other in order that we might all grow. I could have been more critical of this project but, I believe in it's spirit and I believe we all have something to learn from that spirit.
Thanks Nic for challenging us. Keep going!!!
I am not a prolific blogger (I prefer the more interactive environment of Facebook and Twitter) and I am not good at putting my thoughts "on paper". I am more of a relational person - I enjoy one-on-one or small group interactive discussion. But, one thing I am definitely not is a reviewer - Oh, I love to discuss stuff but, again, it's a case of "let's chat over coffee".
In this case though, I felt I had to make an exception. That's because I was asked to review something that I believed in the moment I first heard about it. I believed in it because it holds to some of the values that I hold most dear: Collaboration, Diversity, Spirituality, Inclusiveness. The project I'm talking about is "The Sout Project":
From the website:
sout : salt (rhymes with “note”, Afrikaans)
1. A preservative and flavourant.
2. From the Sout(h).
The Sout Project is ready for launch, with its debut album, “Story”.
This fresh expression of "world emergent" music has been conceived and recorded in Cape Town, South Africa.
While deeply engaged in diverse musical traditions, and oozing creative musicality, "Story" is more than just an album: it represents a vision, woven into song. Eclectic and ecumenical, the music emerges from a spiritual journey which is being shared by many others across the world.
Featuring the American writer and visionary Brian McLaren, the dazzling African choir Siyaya, the haunting Xhosa traditional musician Madosini, the poignant voice of "tribal elder" Annemie Bosch, and a dizzying array of exotic instruments & organic electronica, the Sout Project is a broad collective of creative people, singers, instrumentalists, writers, and prophets, curated and cajoled by composer/producer Nic Paton.
“Story” will appeal to spiritual seekers and seasoned worshippers alike, as it frames the concerns of today’s world as well as some ancient responses to perennial questions, in an inclusive, open ended invitation to take part in the Divine drama, this Story in which we find ourselves.
The album is truly diverse and eclectic and, it is deeply spiritual. It seems to draw on the ancient traditions of contemplative spirituality (like Taizé) while blending traditional African sounds with a hint of Eastern and even modern electronica and house beats.
To be quite honest I am not a huge fan of electronica and house music but I found that the unique blend grew on me. It reminded me very much of the "Spirits: Music for the Soul" series of CD's (which are amongst my favourite CD's).
It is extremely diverse and will not appeal to all. Some may find it a bit repetitive at times (especially lyrically) but when one understands the contemplative disciplines (e.g. Meditation) one will be familiar with the place of repetition. Some (traditionalists) may not like all the "imagery" like, "You are our network and we are the nodes" (in the song "Story" based on the ancient Celtic prayer, "Be thou my vision"). But, "everything can change if we learn and live a new story beginning today, beginning now, beginning with you and me" (same song).
And that may be the lesson of this project; we need to learn to live a new story that breaks the pattern of "fear, revenge and greed" that we have been living and that what's this project attempts to do.
I applaud Nic Paton (grandson of the author Alan Paton) for this effort. Nic has always been slightly (OK, maybe not so slightly) subversive but his passion for Inclusiveness and for the Love of God (prevalent from his first collaboration with "Friends First") will continue to force us to think outside of the box and to embrace the Other (the neighbour that Jesus refers to in the parable of the Good Samaritan) and will help lead us to the Peace his grandfather fought for.
It is this that is captured in the CD for me and the more I listen to it, the more I find myself challenged to think beyond my own story - to take the traditional and find new ways of expressing it (or giving expression to it). It is a testament to the work of David Bosch (whose wife Annemie makes and appearance on the CD) who spearheaded a Post-Colonial understanding of God's mission in the world.
Listen to it. Give it a chance. But, above all, be willing to embrace that which is Other in order that we might all grow. I could have been more critical of this project but, I believe in it's spirit and I believe we all have something to learn from that spirit.
Thanks Nic for challenging us. Keep going!!!
Monday, November 09, 2009
There’s a wideness in God's mercy
There’s a wideness in God's mercy
Like the wideness of the sea;
There's a kindness in God's justice
Which is more than liberty.
There is grace enough for thousands
Of new worlds as great as this;
There is room for fresh creations
In that upper home of bliss.
For the love of God is broader
Than the measures of our mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.
But we make God's love to narrow
By false limits of our own;
And we magnify God's strictness
With a zeal God will not own.
If our love were but more simple
We should take God at God's word;
And our lives would be illumined
By the presence of our Lord.
From: Frederick William Faber (1814-63) alt.
Like the wideness of the sea;
There's a kindness in God's justice
Which is more than liberty.
There is grace enough for thousands
Of new worlds as great as this;
There is room for fresh creations
In that upper home of bliss.
For the love of God is broader
Than the measures of our mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.
But we make God's love to narrow
By false limits of our own;
And we magnify God's strictness
With a zeal God will not own.
If our love were but more simple
We should take God at God's word;
And our lives would be illumined
By the presence of our Lord.
From: Frederick William Faber (1814-63) alt.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein
Once there was a tree and she loved a little boy. And every day the boy would come and he would gather her leaves and make them into crowns and play king of the forest. He would climb up her trunk and swing from her branches and eat apples. And they would play hide and go seek. And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree…
Very much…
And the tree was happy…
But time went by, and the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone. Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said: “Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.”
“I am too big to climb and play,” said the boy. “I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?”
“I’m sorry” said the tree,” but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. But, take my apples, Boy, and sell them in city. Then you will have money and you’ll be happy”
And so the boy climb up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away. And the tree was happy…
But the boy stayed away for a long time…and the tree was sad. And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy, and she said: “Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and be happy.”
“I am too busy to climb trees,” said the boy. “I want a house to keep me warm,” he said. “I want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”
“I have no house” said the tree. The forest is my house. but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy”
And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build his house.
And the tree was happy…
But the boy stayed away for a long time. And when he came back, the tree was so happy she could hardly speak. “Come, Boy” she whispered, “Come and play”
“I am too old and sad to play,” said the boy. “I want a boat that will take me far away from here. Can you give me a boat?”
“Cut down my trunk and make a boat,” said the tree. “Then you can sail away…and be happy.”
And so the boy cut down her trunk and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy…
But not really.
And after a long time the boy came back again. “I am sorry, Boy,” said the tree, “but I have nothing left to give you — my apples are gone.”
“My teeth are too weak for apples,” said the boy.
“My branches are gone,” said the tree. “You cannot swing on them.”
“I am too old to swing on branches” said the boy.
“My trunk is gone,” said the tree. “You cannot climb”
“I am too tired to climb,” said the boy.
“I am sorry” sighed the tree. “I wish that I could give you something…but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry…”
“I don’t need very much now,” said the boy, “just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, “well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down, sit down and rest.”
And the boy did…
And the tree was happy…
And the boy loved the tree…
Very much…
And the tree was happy…
But time went by, and the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone. Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said: “Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.”
“I am too big to climb and play,” said the boy. “I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?”
“I’m sorry” said the tree,” but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. But, take my apples, Boy, and sell them in city. Then you will have money and you’ll be happy”
And so the boy climb up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away. And the tree was happy…
But the boy stayed away for a long time…and the tree was sad. And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy, and she said: “Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and be happy.”
“I am too busy to climb trees,” said the boy. “I want a house to keep me warm,” he said. “I want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”
“I have no house” said the tree. The forest is my house. but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy”
And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build his house.
And the tree was happy…
But the boy stayed away for a long time. And when he came back, the tree was so happy she could hardly speak. “Come, Boy” she whispered, “Come and play”
“I am too old and sad to play,” said the boy. “I want a boat that will take me far away from here. Can you give me a boat?”
“Cut down my trunk and make a boat,” said the tree. “Then you can sail away…and be happy.”
And so the boy cut down her trunk and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy…
But not really.
And after a long time the boy came back again. “I am sorry, Boy,” said the tree, “but I have nothing left to give you — my apples are gone.”
“My teeth are too weak for apples,” said the boy.
“My branches are gone,” said the tree. “You cannot swing on them.”
“I am too old to swing on branches” said the boy.
“My trunk is gone,” said the tree. “You cannot climb”
“I am too tired to climb,” said the boy.
“I am sorry” sighed the tree. “I wish that I could give you something…but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry…”
“I don’t need very much now,” said the boy, “just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, “well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down, sit down and rest.”
And the boy did…
And the tree was happy…
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The Furious Longing of God
"The apostle Paul may have understood the mind of Jesus better than anyone else who ever lived. He sums up his whole understanding of the message of Jesus in Gal. 5:6 when he writes, 'The only thing that matters is the faith that expresses itself in love' . . .
. . . Back in the late ‘70s, I was living in a monastery in Philadelphia. Some millionaire friends from New York City called and asked if I’d like to come up to the city for the week, go to a play on Broadway, eat at Sardi’s. This, dear reader, was not a hard decision to make.
One evening we went to a play and, after the first act, we went out in the street for intermission. The tuxedoed husbands got into a dense discussion with their bejeweled, evening-gowned wives on the influence of the German philosopher Schopenhauer on Samuel Beckett’s “Theatre of the Absurd.” Obviously they asked me what I thought.
I was about to deliver an observation so profound that it would render the discussion moot for eternity, when she walked by. She was not one of the beautiful people. She wore a cab driver’s cap, double-breasted man’s suit with the pockets ripped out, holes in her nylons, and tennis shoes.
As she approached, I noticed she was peddling “Variety” newspapers, the show biz paper. In those days it cost 75 cents. So, in a gesture of great generosity, I reached in my pocket, handed her a dollar, and waved her away, then returned to my wealthy friends awaiting my next astute observation on the absurd.
And then she said, “Father?” In those days, I knew I couldn’t distinguish myself by my virtues, so I distinguished myself by my clothing; I always wore the collar. “Father, could I talk to you a minute?”
I snapped, “What? Can’t you see I’m busy? Do you make a habit of interrupting people in the middle of a conversation? Wait over there and I’ll speak to you when I’m done.” She whispered, “Jesus wouldn’t talk to Mary Magdalene like that.” And then she was gone.
I’d treated the woman as though she were a thing, like a vending machine you put your money into, and out comes your choice. I’d shown no appreciation at all for the little service that she was performing. No interest whatsoever in the little drama of her daily things. Not one ounce of cordial love impregnated with respect for the sacred dimension of her personality.
Frankly, I was so caught up in trying to impress my millionaire friends with how aesthetically brilliant I was that I missed her. If she had even a sliver of a negative self-image when she approached me, I had made a mountain out of a molehill.
Now let’s suppose, just suppose, that this woman came to church on Sunday and there was Brennan Manning, in the pulpit, exhorting her to believe that God loves her unconditionally as she is and not as she should be. My hypocrisy outside the Shepherd Theatre that night made the theatre of the absurd look inviting.
How could she believe in the love of a God she can’t see, when she couldn’t find even a trace of love in the eyes of a brother wearing a clerical collar whom she could see? A shriveled humanity has a shrunken capacity for receiving the rays of God’s love.
And they’ll know we are Christian by our love, by our love, yes they’ll know we are Christians by our love. Or not. "
. . . Back in the late ‘70s, I was living in a monastery in Philadelphia. Some millionaire friends from New York City called and asked if I’d like to come up to the city for the week, go to a play on Broadway, eat at Sardi’s. This, dear reader, was not a hard decision to make.
One evening we went to a play and, after the first act, we went out in the street for intermission. The tuxedoed husbands got into a dense discussion with their bejeweled, evening-gowned wives on the influence of the German philosopher Schopenhauer on Samuel Beckett’s “Theatre of the Absurd.” Obviously they asked me what I thought.
I was about to deliver an observation so profound that it would render the discussion moot for eternity, when she walked by. She was not one of the beautiful people. She wore a cab driver’s cap, double-breasted man’s suit with the pockets ripped out, holes in her nylons, and tennis shoes.
As she approached, I noticed she was peddling “Variety” newspapers, the show biz paper. In those days it cost 75 cents. So, in a gesture of great generosity, I reached in my pocket, handed her a dollar, and waved her away, then returned to my wealthy friends awaiting my next astute observation on the absurd.
And then she said, “Father?” In those days, I knew I couldn’t distinguish myself by my virtues, so I distinguished myself by my clothing; I always wore the collar. “Father, could I talk to you a minute?”
I snapped, “What? Can’t you see I’m busy? Do you make a habit of interrupting people in the middle of a conversation? Wait over there and I’ll speak to you when I’m done.” She whispered, “Jesus wouldn’t talk to Mary Magdalene like that.” And then she was gone.
I’d treated the woman as though she were a thing, like a vending machine you put your money into, and out comes your choice. I’d shown no appreciation at all for the little service that she was performing. No interest whatsoever in the little drama of her daily things. Not one ounce of cordial love impregnated with respect for the sacred dimension of her personality.
Frankly, I was so caught up in trying to impress my millionaire friends with how aesthetically brilliant I was that I missed her. If she had even a sliver of a negative self-image when she approached me, I had made a mountain out of a molehill.
Now let’s suppose, just suppose, that this woman came to church on Sunday and there was Brennan Manning, in the pulpit, exhorting her to believe that God loves her unconditionally as she is and not as she should be. My hypocrisy outside the Shepherd Theatre that night made the theatre of the absurd look inviting.
How could she believe in the love of a God she can’t see, when she couldn’t find even a trace of love in the eyes of a brother wearing a clerical collar whom she could see? A shriveled humanity has a shrunken capacity for receiving the rays of God’s love.
And they’ll know we are Christian by our love, by our love, yes they’ll know we are Christians by our love. Or not. "
From Brennan Manning’s latest book, The Furious Longing of God.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Based on Psalm 84
Bombs overseas and murders in our streets;
families with homes one day are homeless the next.
O, Lord, our souls yearn, even faint to worship you.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house;
we are forever praising you!
Demonic displacements in our cities
and unrighteous gentrification in our towns!
O Lord, our souls yearn, even faint, to worship you today.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house;
we are forever praising you!
We search for your peace and cry out for your presence,
looking for a city whose builder and maker is God.
Thank you, for even the sparrow has a home with you; and so do we.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house;
we are forever praising you!
(from Africana Resources, United Methodist Church USA, )
families with homes one day are homeless the next.
O, Lord, our souls yearn, even faint to worship you.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house;
we are forever praising you!
Demonic displacements in our cities
and unrighteous gentrification in our towns!
O Lord, our souls yearn, even faint, to worship you today.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house;
we are forever praising you!
We search for your peace and cry out for your presence,
looking for a city whose builder and maker is God.
Thank you, for even the sparrow has a home with you; and so do we.
Blessed are those who dwell in your house;
we are forever praising you!
(from Africana Resources, United Methodist Church USA, )
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
On Prayer
You ask me how to pray to someone who is not.
All I know is that prayer constructs a velvet bridge
And walking it we are aloft, as on a springboard,
Above landscapes the color of ripe gold
Transformed by a magic stopping of the sun.
That bridge leads to the shore of Reversal
Where everything is just the opposite and the word 'is'
Unveils a meaning we hardly envisioned.
Notice: I say we; there, every one, separately,
Feels compassion for others entangled in the flesh
And knows that if there is no other shore
We will walk that aerial bridge all the same.
by Poet, Czeslaw Milosz
Monday, July 27, 2009
Prayer and Life
There is a way of ordering our mental life on more than one level at once. On one level we may be thinking, discussing, seeing, calculating, meeting all the demands of external affairs. But deep within, behind the scenes, at a profounder level, we may also be in prayer and adoration, song and worship, and a gentle receptiveness to divine breathings.
--Thomas Kelly
--Thomas Kelly
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Thomas Merton
MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
- Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude," Abbey of Gethsemani
- Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude," Abbey of Gethsemani
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Mysterium tremendum
In the Celtic triple spiral, there is a space where the three spirals connect. It is both a place of meeting and of sheer mystery. Its vast, vibrant emptiness reminds me that, in this life, we will never know all the names of God. Even as the Trinity evokes, it conceals. We will never exhaust the images we use to describe the One who holds us and sends us, who enfolds us and impels us in our eternal turning.
From: http://paintedprayerbook.com/2008/05/12/trinity-sunday-a-spiral-shaped-god/
From: http://paintedprayerbook.com/2008/05/12/trinity-sunday-a-spiral-shaped-god/
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Christian Spirituality
Christian spirituality is not a life-project for becoming a better person. It is not about developing a so-called deeper life. We are in on it, to be sure, but we are not the subject. Nor are we the action. We get included by means of a few prepositions: God with us (Matt. 1:23), Christ in me (Gal. 2:20), God for us (Rom. 8:31). With, in, for: They are powerful, connecting, relation-forming words, but none of them makes us either the subject or the predicate. We are the tag-end of a prepositional phrase.
Sooner or later in this life we get invited or commanded to do something. But in that doing, we never become the subject of the Christian life nor do we perform the action of the Christian life. We are invited or commanded into what I call prepositional participation. The prepositions that join us to God and God's action in us within the world—the with, the in, the for—are very important, but they are essentially a matter of the ways and means of being in on and participating in what God is doing.
From: Transparent lives by Eugene Peterson
Sooner or later in this life we get invited or commanded to do something. But in that doing, we never become the subject of the Christian life nor do we perform the action of the Christian life. We are invited or commanded into what I call prepositional participation. The prepositions that join us to God and God's action in us within the world—the with, the in, the for—are very important, but they are essentially a matter of the ways and means of being in on and participating in what God is doing.
From: Transparent lives by Eugene Peterson
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Touch me and see
Jesus,
you say,
touch me and see.
I touched you today
when I saw the dogwoods in bloom.
I touched you
on the path by the river
in the greetings of the joggers.
I clung to you
in sorrow
grieving the loss of a friend.
I touched you
this morning at Mass
in the Eucharist.
I touch you
a hundred ways
every
day
(from the Centre for Liturgy, University of St. Louis)
you say,
touch me and see.
I touched you today
when I saw the dogwoods in bloom.
I touched you
on the path by the river
in the greetings of the joggers.
I clung to you
in sorrow
grieving the loss of a friend.
I touched you
this morning at Mass
in the Eucharist.
I touch you
a hundred ways
every
day
(from the Centre for Liturgy, University of St. Louis)
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Following the Christ
Jesus is the microcosm; Christ is the macrocosm. There is a movement from Jesus to the Christ that you and I have to imitate and walk. A lot of us have so fallen in love with the historical Jesus that we worship him as such and stop there. We never really followed the same journey which he made, which is the death and resurrection journey. We don't become the "Body of Christ.”
Unless we make the same movement that Jesus did—from his one single life to his risen and transformed state, we probably don’t really understand what we mean by the Christ—and how we are part of the deal! That is why he said "follow me.” The Jesus that you and I participate in, are graced by, and redeemed by, is the RISEN Jesus who has become the Christ, which is an inclusive statement about creation. Stay with this in the days ahead, and it will all become very simple and clear. But central enough to change the way you see everything!
Adapted from Fr. Richard Rohr, The Cosmic Christ
Unless we make the same movement that Jesus did—from his one single life to his risen and transformed state, we probably don’t really understand what we mean by the Christ—and how we are part of the deal! That is why he said "follow me.” The Jesus that you and I participate in, are graced by, and redeemed by, is the RISEN Jesus who has become the Christ, which is an inclusive statement about creation. Stay with this in the days ahead, and it will all become very simple and clear. But central enough to change the way you see everything!
Adapted from Fr. Richard Rohr, The Cosmic Christ
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