(Note: these journal posts are essentially unedited, meaning you get me as stuff was pouring out of my brain unpolished and chaotic. Occasionally--not often--I delete something that's just too damn embarrassing or might invade another person's privacy.)
TUESDAY, AUGUST 30, 2011
The best I can do is try to face each day as if it is the first day of a new life. I should try to bring a sense of wonder to each new day. I almost said "childlike wonder," but I don't remember that I faced very many days with wonder when I was a child. Mostly I faced life in fear and shame. For me, there is nothing childlike about wonder....while my approach to life has never been to assume a default position of wonder, or joy, or whatever, I have known moments of wonder, of joy, of...love. Many of them. And, perhaps, those moments were more precious to me because they came in isolation. If one lives in a perpetual state of bliss, how is one to appreciate happiness? How does one know one is happy? Don't good feelings exist within ourselves because bad feelings are there, too?
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 2011
I detest almost all contemporary Christian "praise music." I'm sure that I could find some I like if I were to search diligently, but I really think it is not worth the effort. In the first place, the songs I've heard constantly refer to God as "our" God, as in, "Our God is an awesome God." Granted that he's awesome, God is not "our" God. There is only one God, so he is everybody's God, whether they acknowledge him or not....to claim the universal God as "our" God strikes me as presumptuous, hubristic, and exclusionary--all traits that--I believe--God reviles.
Another thing that bothers me about "praise music"--aside from the fact that the compositions are primitive and the lyrics banal and insipid--is its one-dimensionality. I find shallowness, in fact, to be a problem with just about all evangelical religion. It never seems to get beyond the "Ain't God great!" phase. It seems so wrapped up in the self--the personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I have no problem with praise per se. All worship, I believe, should contain a substantial praise component--not because God needs our praise, but because we need to express together our love for God and our profound gratitude for his grace. But if worship begins and ends with praise, it is shallow worship and the grace obtained from it is cheap. Worship should contain an element of praise. It should also contain a hefty dose of confession and repentance, education concerning God's word, celebration of the Christian community, and the challenge to live a life of discipleship--sharing not just God's good news but God's good works. And most evangelism--Sojourners, perhaps, excepted--stops after praise--20% of worship.
MONDAY, MARCH 26, 2012
The early protest songs of Bob Dylan have never been more relevant than they are today. "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll" could just as easily have been written about Trayvon Martin.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
On Journaling
Well, 24 hours and nobody has read yesterday's post. That's okay. I'm really embarrassed by it. It was stream-of-consciousness writing, as almost all my writing is, but even so, it was pretty bad. I've looked back over the journaling I've done over the last few years, and I see some bright spots, but mostly I see confusion, disorganization, poor grammar, and flights of emotion that wouldn't be out of place in an eighth grade boy experiencing his first crush. Oh! the highs and lows! What stand out mainly, though, are the preaching sanctimony and the pride I take in my negative qualities. And here I go again, bragging about how bad my writing is.
I have to remember that journaling is not supposed to be literary, unless you're Samuel Pepys or someone like that. Journaling is the first draft of the defense of your life--your first attempt to express what you will say when you stand naked before the Great White Throne. These words, rushed and unpolished as they are, go far in revealing your true self, at least they do as long as you are honest and remember that you are not writing for an audience. Your thoughts and words are your only possessions, and they are precious and meaningful, however rambling and ill-chosen they are.
So I take ownership of the words I write. They reveal unpleasant things about me, mainly that I'm not nearly as smart as I usually think I am. But they also reveal the better angel of my nature. With due humility I can say that hidden in the dross of five years of nearly daily journaling are some gems, some real flashes of insight, and some fine turns of phrase. Maybe I can publish those in a slim little pamphlet some day.
Anyway, if you, should stumble upon this blog post some lonely night: if you don't keep a journal now, start one. Write in it regularly. You don't have to write every day, but the more you write the better you will get at it. Don't edit yourself. Write as fast as you can. Write anything that comes into your head. I try to avoid the stuff like "Dear Diary, today I got up and had corn flakes for breakfast,..." but that's just me. After years of writing, I'm still stuck with the notion that everything I write has to be profound. Your writing will feel stilted at first, but as you continue, you will find that you feel less self-conscious and more natural. You will train yourself to write down what you really think, and you will think about things that you've never thought about before, or you will think about old things in new ways. Above all, be honest, as honest as you can. Write as though you are having a conversation with someone who knows everything there is to know about you but who still loves you anyway. You will constantly surprise yourself. You will sometimes amaze yourself. You will (frequently, in my case) embarrass yourself, even though you're pretty sure no one will see this stuff before you're dead. And if you have advance warning about your death, you may have time to burn it all if you want to.
I try to write every day, usually during my lunch break at work. Eating takes 5 minutes. Going to the can takes another five minutes. That leaves me fifty minutes or so to write. I write about what I'm thinking about that day. Maybe I saw a quotation that got me thinking. Maybe something in the news stimulated me, or maybe a long-lost memory will pop out. Sometimes I struggle to get fifty words out--even after years of journaling I can't always write so much as a full page--but sometimes something snaps and the words just seem to write themselves as fast as I can guide the pen. Some of my worst writing has been done that way, but also some of my finest.
One final word: I try to avoid writing when I'm horny. The results are not good. Enough said.
Bottom line: Write, damnit! You'll be glad you did.
I have to remember that journaling is not supposed to be literary, unless you're Samuel Pepys or someone like that. Journaling is the first draft of the defense of your life--your first attempt to express what you will say when you stand naked before the Great White Throne. These words, rushed and unpolished as they are, go far in revealing your true self, at least they do as long as you are honest and remember that you are not writing for an audience. Your thoughts and words are your only possessions, and they are precious and meaningful, however rambling and ill-chosen they are.
So I take ownership of the words I write. They reveal unpleasant things about me, mainly that I'm not nearly as smart as I usually think I am. But they also reveal the better angel of my nature. With due humility I can say that hidden in the dross of five years of nearly daily journaling are some gems, some real flashes of insight, and some fine turns of phrase. Maybe I can publish those in a slim little pamphlet some day.
Anyway, if you, should stumble upon this blog post some lonely night: if you don't keep a journal now, start one. Write in it regularly. You don't have to write every day, but the more you write the better you will get at it. Don't edit yourself. Write as fast as you can. Write anything that comes into your head. I try to avoid the stuff like "Dear Diary, today I got up and had corn flakes for breakfast,..." but that's just me. After years of writing, I'm still stuck with the notion that everything I write has to be profound. Your writing will feel stilted at first, but as you continue, you will find that you feel less self-conscious and more natural. You will train yourself to write down what you really think, and you will think about things that you've never thought about before, or you will think about old things in new ways. Above all, be honest, as honest as you can. Write as though you are having a conversation with someone who knows everything there is to know about you but who still loves you anyway. You will constantly surprise yourself. You will sometimes amaze yourself. You will (frequently, in my case) embarrass yourself, even though you're pretty sure no one will see this stuff before you're dead. And if you have advance warning about your death, you may have time to burn it all if you want to.
I try to write every day, usually during my lunch break at work. Eating takes 5 minutes. Going to the can takes another five minutes. That leaves me fifty minutes or so to write. I write about what I'm thinking about that day. Maybe I saw a quotation that got me thinking. Maybe something in the news stimulated me, or maybe a long-lost memory will pop out. Sometimes I struggle to get fifty words out--even after years of journaling I can't always write so much as a full page--but sometimes something snaps and the words just seem to write themselves as fast as I can guide the pen. Some of my worst writing has been done that way, but also some of my finest.
One final word: I try to avoid writing when I'm horny. The results are not good. Enough said.
Bottom line: Write, damnit! You'll be glad you did.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
From My Journals
June 23, 2009
After I worked out, I went to the chapel to pray for the first time in a long time. I don't count the formulaic prayers said at church. They're too new-agey and feelgood. Confession--the admission of sin--seems to be out of fashion these days. I don't think you should overdo it, but, to me, a healthy prayer life includes the full and frank admission of one's wrongdoing ("sin") and request for pardon. But what do I know.
I got there at 10:15 P.M. I sat quietly and read the story of David and Goliath from 1 Samuel 17. I don't know why. It's a good story, though. Maybe that's reason enough to read it. I can just imagine the ancient Israelites gathered around a campfire while the local bard spins the tale, with appropriate gestures and sound effects, pregnant pauses, etc., while his audience sits spellbound,
After that, I tried some of that mindfulness breathing that I read about in Thich Nhat Hanh's book about anger. As I inhaled, I said, silently, "Breathing in, I inhale the love of God." As I exhaled, I said, "Breathing out, I breathe out my fear of life." I tried to repeat this twenty times, but always after repeating it four or five times, my mind would wander.
After that, I knelt on the handy kneeler--this is a Catholic chapel--and said another silent prayer, something like, "God, I need faith. To get it, I'm supposed to expose myself to you. Well, here I am. If it is your will, help me find just enough faith so that I come back tomorrow."
When I left, I felt calmer than when I arrived, but I didn't feel particularly enlightened.
June 24, 2009
It's very peaceful, as you might expect, in the Adoration Chapel. No distractions--just silence and the presence of a few other folks who are praying, meditating, or just reading. I did the same thing tonight as I did last night: read the Bible (Isaiah 55 & Romans 3). Then I did the breathing thing: "Breathing in, I inhale the love of God. Breathing out, I breathe out my fear of life." Sometimes, though, it came out as, "Breathing in, I inhale the fear of God," or "Breathing out, I breathe out the fear of death." Hmmm.
Lastly I prayed. All I really remember is that I prayed, "I'm available, God. Please help me maintain enough faith to come back tomorrow."
June 25, 2009
I made it back--the third day in a row! There are always people there, at the Adoration Chapel. It's open always. I've been in there at 3:30 A.M. and still there are people praying. I think maybe they sign up for the prayer detail to make sure someone's always there to make sure nobody steals the crucifix. People look up sometimes when I enter. I can tell they know I'm not Catholic. For one thing, I don't genuflect as I cross in front of the altar. But they don't seem to mind. They haven't thrown me out yet.
It is quiet in the chapel, quiet and still. I find it restful just to sit and try to open myself to God. There's no particular trick I use for that. I just say to myself, "Okay, I'm here. Let's listen for God and see what happens." I haven't heard him yet. Tonight, I relaxed and just tried to calm myself. Then I read some Bible, Mark 11 this time. I seem to be skipping around, more or less at random. I do make a conscious choice about my reading, though, not like the Catholics do with Lectio Divina. Then I did my meditation/breathing: "Breathing in, I inhale the love of God. Breathing out, I breathe out my fear of life." It was easier this time. I find that if you focus on the words--really pay attention--you don't get as much background noise. Words like this--a mantra--arte not supposed to matter. But I need them. I guess that ninjas don't get to be black belts overnight, and it takes practice to be good at reaching out to and receiving God.
Tonight, I also read some Thomas Merton--New Seeds of Contemplation. I read part of the chapter on salvation. The good father can be obscure to muddy thinkers such as myself. All his writing seems abstract--very little practical instruction on how to be a contemplative. You have to have true humility, he says, but he doesn't tell you how to get there. Do you just say, "I'm not much of a much. Don't mind me." over and over until you start to believe it? Do you always act as though you are humble, even if you aren't? Do you take pride in your humility? He tells us that the goal of contemplation is to find your "true self." In finding this true self--and he gives no definition of what that might look like--you actually lose yourself and subsume yourself in God. He was obviously influenced by the Eastern Zen Masters.
Merton. Now there's a genius. He leaves me confused. He leaves me with more questions than answers. Father Thomas, how do you achieve that state of Christian satori of which you speak so eloquently? How do you do it? You seem to be saying that the way to God is to stop trying to find God. Don't try--just be. Make yourself available to the spirit of joy--or maybe emptiness--trusting God and knowing that he will lead you to your true self and to him.When you get there, you'll definitely know it, but you won't be able to express it, because God is beyond human expression. In another context., "The Tao that can be expressed is not the Tao." Are you saying that the God who can be expressed is not God?
You seem to be saying, "Stop trying to be what you're not. You can only achieve fullness by emptying yourself. Open your mind and your heart--accept yourself as you are, knowing that somewhere inside you--behind your ego, your greed, your pettiness, your jealousies, your attachments--resides your true self. It wants to emerge, and God wants it to emerge, but there is so much shit in the way. Releasing that shit is the object of contemplation. So you contemplate, but you contemplate without seeking anything in particular. Seeking detachment is its own attachment. When you can rid yourself of all desires--even the desire for union with God--then, at last, you will come home and be united with God.
At least that's what I think the good Father is saying. Serious business to you and me. But as Merton says, "What is very serious to men is often very trivial in the sight of God." So don't take it too seriously.
After I worked out, I went to the chapel to pray for the first time in a long time. I don't count the formulaic prayers said at church. They're too new-agey and feelgood. Confession--the admission of sin--seems to be out of fashion these days. I don't think you should overdo it, but, to me, a healthy prayer life includes the full and frank admission of one's wrongdoing ("sin") and request for pardon. But what do I know.
I got there at 10:15 P.M. I sat quietly and read the story of David and Goliath from 1 Samuel 17. I don't know why. It's a good story, though. Maybe that's reason enough to read it. I can just imagine the ancient Israelites gathered around a campfire while the local bard spins the tale, with appropriate gestures and sound effects, pregnant pauses, etc., while his audience sits spellbound,
After that, I tried some of that mindfulness breathing that I read about in Thich Nhat Hanh's book about anger. As I inhaled, I said, silently, "Breathing in, I inhale the love of God." As I exhaled, I said, "Breathing out, I breathe out my fear of life." I tried to repeat this twenty times, but always after repeating it four or five times, my mind would wander.
After that, I knelt on the handy kneeler--this is a Catholic chapel--and said another silent prayer, something like, "God, I need faith. To get it, I'm supposed to expose myself to you. Well, here I am. If it is your will, help me find just enough faith so that I come back tomorrow."
When I left, I felt calmer than when I arrived, but I didn't feel particularly enlightened.
June 24, 2009
It's very peaceful, as you might expect, in the Adoration Chapel. No distractions--just silence and the presence of a few other folks who are praying, meditating, or just reading. I did the same thing tonight as I did last night: read the Bible (Isaiah 55 & Romans 3). Then I did the breathing thing: "Breathing in, I inhale the love of God. Breathing out, I breathe out my fear of life." Sometimes, though, it came out as, "Breathing in, I inhale the fear of God," or "Breathing out, I breathe out the fear of death." Hmmm.
Lastly I prayed. All I really remember is that I prayed, "I'm available, God. Please help me maintain enough faith to come back tomorrow."
June 25, 2009
I made it back--the third day in a row! There are always people there, at the Adoration Chapel. It's open always. I've been in there at 3:30 A.M. and still there are people praying. I think maybe they sign up for the prayer detail to make sure someone's always there to make sure nobody steals the crucifix. People look up sometimes when I enter. I can tell they know I'm not Catholic. For one thing, I don't genuflect as I cross in front of the altar. But they don't seem to mind. They haven't thrown me out yet.
It is quiet in the chapel, quiet and still. I find it restful just to sit and try to open myself to God. There's no particular trick I use for that. I just say to myself, "Okay, I'm here. Let's listen for God and see what happens." I haven't heard him yet. Tonight, I relaxed and just tried to calm myself. Then I read some Bible, Mark 11 this time. I seem to be skipping around, more or less at random. I do make a conscious choice about my reading, though, not like the Catholics do with Lectio Divina. Then I did my meditation/breathing: "Breathing in, I inhale the love of God. Breathing out, I breathe out my fear of life." It was easier this time. I find that if you focus on the words--really pay attention--you don't get as much background noise. Words like this--a mantra--arte not supposed to matter. But I need them. I guess that ninjas don't get to be black belts overnight, and it takes practice to be good at reaching out to and receiving God.
Tonight, I also read some Thomas Merton--New Seeds of Contemplation. I read part of the chapter on salvation. The good father can be obscure to muddy thinkers such as myself. All his writing seems abstract--very little practical instruction on how to be a contemplative. You have to have true humility, he says, but he doesn't tell you how to get there. Do you just say, "I'm not much of a much. Don't mind me." over and over until you start to believe it? Do you always act as though you are humble, even if you aren't? Do you take pride in your humility? He tells us that the goal of contemplation is to find your "true self." In finding this true self--and he gives no definition of what that might look like--you actually lose yourself and subsume yourself in God. He was obviously influenced by the Eastern Zen Masters.
Merton. Now there's a genius. He leaves me confused. He leaves me with more questions than answers. Father Thomas, how do you achieve that state of Christian satori of which you speak so eloquently? How do you do it? You seem to be saying that the way to God is to stop trying to find God. Don't try--just be. Make yourself available to the spirit of joy--or maybe emptiness--trusting God and knowing that he will lead you to your true self and to him.When you get there, you'll definitely know it, but you won't be able to express it, because God is beyond human expression. In another context., "The Tao that can be expressed is not the Tao." Are you saying that the God who can be expressed is not God?
You seem to be saying, "Stop trying to be what you're not. You can only achieve fullness by emptying yourself. Open your mind and your heart--accept yourself as you are, knowing that somewhere inside you--behind your ego, your greed, your pettiness, your jealousies, your attachments--resides your true self. It wants to emerge, and God wants it to emerge, but there is so much shit in the way. Releasing that shit is the object of contemplation. So you contemplate, but you contemplate without seeking anything in particular. Seeking detachment is its own attachment. When you can rid yourself of all desires--even the desire for union with God--then, at last, you will come home and be united with God.
At least that's what I think the good Father is saying. Serious business to you and me. But as Merton says, "What is very serious to men is often very trivial in the sight of God." So don't take it too seriously.
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