Cleaning as Meditation

Today I had two cleaning women in to assist in getting the apartment in shape for a gathering on Sunday.  They uber-cleaned the bathrooms, kitchen and living area;  I am still working on the family room and bedroom several hours after they have left. The women who came today are clearly professionals. They had special cleaning clothes, divided up the work in a very few minutes, and went about their work post haste and within three hours, the place...at least the place where they were working, was sparkling. I am actually trying NOT to use anything that might mess this cleanliness up!
I can't say that for the spaces I am tackling.  I am still "working " on them. Okay, I took a break to write this, but I promise...I will get back to it, at least by Saturday afternoon.
One thing about cleaning that is personally difficult is that I am allergic to dust  Just so you understand, dust that is just sitting around on something is a bit bothersome, but if I leave it alone, I can live with it. However when it comes to a point that the accumulated dust is very heavy; I need to get rid of it as it can really get me sneezing. Just so you know, moving the dust around causes more discomfort than just wisking it away with a cloth or a wipe that picks it up and is disposed.


Those who know me well...siblings especially, will attest to the fact that I never liked to clean. I had many personal devices to avoid it. Most of them did not work. As an adult, I found that you could actually pay someone to do it for you. This knowledge made me happy.


One of my late husband's cousins was adamant about not hiring cleaning folks to assist her with cleaning her home.  She felt guilty because the Grandmother she loved so dearly had spent her early time in the States as a domestic. My paternal Grandmother, Teresa "Tessie" Cummiskey Redden, also started her time in this country as a maid in a house in Manhattan which is certainly nothing to be ashamed of...that is one way to start the ascent up the American ladder of mobility. On a recent trip to Ireland, a second cousin from Longford pointed out that Tess's grandkids did very well in America: entrepreneurs, educators, accountants, contractors, union officials and administrators...not too shabby for the decendents of a domestic servant.  It should be duly noted that the women who were at my home today were also immigrants from the Caribbean and Eastern Europe working to make things better for their children as well.


So one thing that I do "get" about cleaning and arranging stuff is that it can be extremely meditative.
I think it is the repetitiveness of the work: removing the books, dusting the shelf, wiping the books, returning the books; dusting the table, spraying the table, wiping the table, drying the table; sweeping the floor, "swiffing" the floor, drying the floor; moving the chairs, vacuuming the rugs, putting the chairs back; during this time I have found myself repeating the Trisagion: "Holy God, Holy and Mighty, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us." I find it immensely calming and centering; two things meditation should do.   I have found that allowing myself to meditate while I clean makes the chore more bearable, almost enjoyable. And meditation is such an important part of my personal spiritual discipline, that allowing myself to engage in it while engaged in domestic work is a real blessing. And we can pray us and all those who clean:


Lord, may our feet that walk here chase as hard after you as they chase after one another. May we not follow what the crowd is doing, but where you are leading. May we go where you send us with joy and courage. May our hands that wash here be dirty from doing your work. May we always reach out to help those in need. May we be lifted high in worship each and every day.

"Spotlight" on the process...

This evening I took the bus, ferry and subway to a movie theater in Manhattan at Union Square so I could see "Spotlight", the movie about how the Boston Globe broke the story of clerical sexual abuse in the Archdiocese of Boston, and how it was systemically covered up by people in power who should have been looking out for the victims and not the perpetrators. I found it fascinating watching the meticulous process the reporters went through in gathering information, verifying sources and seeking out the kernel of truth that was obscured under layers and layers of  bureaucracy and ecclesial blocking. The leads were wonderful; I especially loved Stanley Tucci's performance as the attorney operating outside the "good old boys" network, branded as a kook who doggedly speaks for the under-represented.

But this is a story that is all too familiar to those of us who grew up in the mid  century Roman Catholic neighborhoods of urban America. This is not to say that other adults who worked in close proximity to children are exempt from accusations of being sexual predators in our midst, for there have been educators and others who are guilty of the same crimes. Nor is it only Roman Catholic clergy who are the sole perpetrators; these predators exist across denominational lines.  However, there appears to be systemic factors in the selection and training of Roman Catholic priests which  make it easier for those who are potential abusers to slip into the ranks.

I have felt for some time that segregating young men in a forced same sex community where they are unable to develop healthy interaction with members of the opposite sex does, in a real sense, force an arrested sexual identity upon them.  In denying them social contact with women, even women in their own families: mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins; these men live their lives at a great disadvantage, unable to successfully tap into the gifts, talents and insights wise women can give them.

But the biggest tragedy of this situation is that devastation of lives could be avoided; once an incident is uncovered, the guilty adult should be dealt with swiftly and professionally. The child's recovery should be tantamount. Unfortunately, this was not always the case.


In my home parish, an outer borough of New York City, such a case occurred.
An assistant pastor, who had overseen a successful music program and was moderator of the parish's Scouthing program, was suddenly transferred to another state.  Many in the parish assumed he would be the next pastor, or at least get one of his own with the title of "Monsignor" not far behind. The parish grapevine indicated he left voluntarily to be closer to his aging mother, but it was not really true.  He was moved because he was accused of having a liason with a teenaged boy.  My mother was distressed.  How could this be she thought?  Afterall he had officiated at three of her children's weddings....including mine. However, it turned out to be very real.  He went on to continue this behavior in several other parishes in his new state, eventually costing that diocese around $2.5 million in civil suit settlements. He did finally leave the priesthood and retired to yet another state.


What can be learned from all of this, from the pain and suffering it caused, from the abandonment and loss of trust many have felt over this issue?  At the very least, a closer look must be taken in how discernment and formation of clergy is done. Psychological screening and personal evaluations need to be improved for the protection of the innocent.




And on a personal note, I would prefer not to have to travel an hour into Manhattan to find a theater showing this powerful film.

On Reading the Bible in a year

Well, I did it!  I read the whole Bible from cover to cover in a year.  This was something I always wanted to do, and I have my late rector, the Rev. Charles "Chuck" Howell to thank for completing this undertaking.  Chuck was taken from us in July succumbing to a life-long cardiac condition, but a stalwart group of us decided to continue reading on in his memory.  And, boy, am I glad I stayed with this daily regimen. It was a long journey from Genesis to Revelations, but a road trip worth taking.  There was deceit and deception, murder and mayhem, trickery and thievery, adoration and adultery, fornication and tom-foolery...better than any soap opera or even "Keeping Up with the Kardashians".


Kim, Kourtney, Khloe, Kendall and Kylie, that sisterly cohort of over indulged California girls, whose life events, no matter how insignificant they may be,  are followed by millions of fans cannot hold a candle to the lives of those biblical women I have read about this year: Sarah, Rebecca, Rachael, Leah, Ruth, Deborah,  Esther, Bathsheba, Jezebel, Miryam, Michal, Mary, Elizbeth, Martha, Mary Magdala, these are women of substance and faith. Their roles in the faith history of monotheistic religions are important and multifaceted. Sarah laughs when she overhears that she will bear a son in her old age; Rebecca has a major hand in the rise of Jacob over his brother Esau; Bathsheba's youngest son by King David will rise to be his heir, Mary, the God-bearer, keep all things locked in her heart and was instrumental in the first public miracle of her Son.






And those sets of brothers!  You just know it is not going to play out as society expects. You may think the oldest is going to win out, but it just doesn't happen, think of Esau and Jacob, Joseph and his crazy siblings, David and his band of rowdy older brothers, Peter and Andrew, and those sons of Zebedee: John and James.




There is also some real dysfunction in familial relationships out there: Abraham is said to have tied his son Isaac to an altar and raised his knife intent on killing him as a blood sacrifice to Yahweh. Okay, an angel intervened at the last moment, but do you think that father-son bonding was the same after that?  I think not. And Sarah does not come off any better.  First she "gives" her servant Hagar to her husband so he can have an heir, but, when she sees the child of that union, Ismael, playing with her son, she convinces Abraham to send the boy and his mother away into the desert with a limited amount of water condemning them to a horrid death.  Of course, once again, divine intervention prevents this from happening.




In the gospels, we get some glimpses of Jesus acting, well, not as nice as we'd like him to be. At the wedding feast at Cana when he is approached by his mother informing him that there is no wine left, his fist reaction is basically.." Ma, Ma...this is not my problem" before he turns the water into wine.  Or how about staying behind in Jerusalem at the age of thirteen, and then responding in a rather flippant manner when his parents finally find him...being about his Father's business, must have gone over well with the folks who were raising him. And how about his admonition to Martha when she just needed an extra set of hands to get the dinner on the table.  She gets told that her sister, the one not doing her share of the dinner prep work, has chosen "...the better portion."  What do you suppose Martha was thinking? "Oh, of course, silly me." or "Really, really Jesus??? Dinner will be late, thank you very much."

And there were moments of pure joy. Having the opportunity to read though the psalms and savoring the beauty of their symbolism and metaphor; closely following the letters of Paul as he travels across the Middle East corresponding with those in Ephesus, Corinth, and finally Rome; enjoying the glimpse into Paul's personal life in his letters to Timothy and Philemon, taking a closer look at the letters of James, Peter and Jude; these were some of the joys of spending ten minutes a day with Scripture.

So, in closing, I comment this discipline to you, but suggest you do it in community...get a group together who will also commit to this year of reading. We used "The NRSV Daily Bible"; it divides the whole book into daily readings with meditations and prayers for each day.  I'd offer to send mine to whomever would like it, but I have already promised it to a friend.

Rememberances of Christmas past.

Alright, I admit it, I get a bit melancholy this time of year.  Don't get me wrong, I am no Scrooge; I really do like Christmas. Humm...I really LOVE Christmas. The crèche on the foyer table, the lighted trees across this island, the presents sitting wrapped under my personal little tree, the ornaments collected over years of family fun and travel, the holiday meal of ham, roast beef or turkey, depending on which family member is in charge, the choristers singing the traditional music of the season, the annual Christmas pageant with a new Mary each year beaming in her blue tunic surrounded by angels, shepherds, assorted livestock and wise men: these things make this time of year a special time for friends and family.

But as I look around I begin to think about those Christmases Past a la Ebenezer Scrooge, and begin to wax nostalgic thinking about those no longer here and some remembered, cherished gifts received and given on this holiday.

As a young child, I received a red cowboy hat which I wore for quite a long time until it became rather tatty and worn.  My father told me it had to be washed, and after dousing it in the sink with hot water and wringing it out, much to my horror, this beloved felt creation turned into a limp and dripping red fabric mess, and, over my protestations, it was finally thrown into the garbage heap by my very happy parents. Yet that unpleasant episode has created in me a penchant for interesting head gear, and I have a wonderful collection of hats for all occasions, although I have not recently bought a new cowboy hat; it is not impossible that one may turn up in the collection in the near future. Of course, I will make sure it never is exposed to hot water.

During my teens, I received a faux fur 3/4 length coat that I loved. It was the late 1960's, so it went well with the mini skirts we were wearing at the time.  I vowed that one day I would buy a real fur coat, and I have done so on several fronts.  Over the years I have owned a raccoon jacket,  full length mink and raccoon coats, and a beaver finger length jacket.  I currently have two mink jackets in the closet; one in a chevron section pattern and the other full skinned. Many of my fur purchases were at second hand events where used furs are resold for charity, and I have in turn donated several for the same purpose.  I feel I am giving these coats a new life and renewed purpose.  And, no, I don't feel guilty wearing them.


During my college years, I received a single lens reflex camera since I signed up for a photography course.  Well, the course closed out and I never took it, but the camera got lots of use.  I brought it with me on my honeymoon to England.  My husband asked to look at it one day, just to see how it worked, and his obsession with photography began. For the next 39 years, I was his production assistant, and never got to take another photo with that camera or the others he collected over the years, including lenses and filters. After his death, I gave them to my son-in-law who also is an excellent photographer, and I bought one of those digital point and shot cameras that I now use when I travel.

And of course, the most important Christmas gift, in 1976 I gave birth to my firstborn on Christmas morning.  It is hard for me to believe that she will be 39 this Christmas Day, and that her brother, my youngest, is currently awaiting the birth of his first child.  Time marches on

But besides remembering significant gifts form Christmas past, I also miss the people who are no longer with us to celebrate this most wonderful of holidays. And I oftimes feel a bit melancholy when I think about friends and family members who are no longer here.  But I think one way to honor their memories is to continue to enjoy the traditions they began.  So we'll put a candle in the window on Christmas Eve so Mary and Joseph can find a place to stay as my Mother did all those years ago.  I will make the Jul Glogg that my Father-in-law taught me to make and will remember that his departure from tradition was to use whiskey instead of aquavit...I will use rum. In honor of Aunt Eleanor, I will try to make her carrot and raisin salad. We'll leave a plate of Christmas butter cookies, some carrots and milk for Santa and his reindeer.  And on Christmas Eve we'll gather at our parish church to sing the traditional carols searching for peace on earth in this time of peril and raise our lighted candles welcoming the Christ Child, the Light of the World, into our hearts again.

Ukes and pans

As some of you may know, I help out at an afterschool arts program at my church.  Over the years, I have written grants with the help of my late rector's wife, and obtained enough funding to run three completely free afterschool school music programs in the New Brighton section of Staten Island. Our two reliable funders are the Staten Island Foundation and Episcopal Charities. We have also been the recipients of monetary donations from friends and parishioners who have seen the value of music education for all children.
Living in New York City means that even in the outer boroughs, we are not lacking for musical talent. Besides, some musicians prefer to take the ferry home to a quieter place that is within close commute to Manhattan, but far enough away from its frenzy that raising kids is easier and downtime becomes time spent with family and friends. And  this trend is working for us. 
The founder of our Children's Choir is a professional singer who for many years during her single life sung in Germany and other places in Europe for several opera companies.  When she moved on to take a position in the Music Department of a local college, one known nation-wide for its Musical Theater grads, she left the leadership in the hands of two other parishoners, both of whom are professional singers.  One of whom is the choir director/teacher at LaGuardia H.S for the Preforming Arts,  which the likes of Liz Minelli, Melissa Manchester, Laura Nyro, Janis Ian and Nicki Minaj attended. I think Liza did not finish since she was starring in the Broadway Production of "Flora the Red Menace" for which she won a Tony in 1965. The Choir is wonderful and they sound angelic and look so as well in their red cassocks and white cottas as they harmonize singing semi-traditional choir music.
I, however, get to oversee the quirky and interesting stuff: ukuleles and steel drums.
New this year, our Uke Group is made up of about 8 children from Grades 2 through 5. At the end of last year, we were approached by our major funder asking if we might consider forming a ukulele class for children.  they had a funder who wanted to fund such a group because he, himself, was a uke player.  We immediately responded in the positive. We contacted a parishioner, a professional Jazz guitarist and soloist, and his wife, a dancer and his able handler, to see if they were interested.  They were, especially once we said their two children would be in the group. Musically in the family won the day! Once we ordered the twelve student and one teacher ukulele, we were off and running! The classes have been both enjoyable and challenging.  Much craftsmanship goes into a stringed instrument, and the Uke is unique. Americans think of it as Hawaiian, but its roots go much deeper. It really is a lute-hybrid evolving from the machete, a four stringed instrument played by Portuguese sailors on exploration ships. Our students are progressing nicely and will be performing at our 4pm Christmas Eve Family Eucharist.
But, I must admit, my heart belongs to the Steel Drums, known as "pans" to those in the Caribbean community.
Pan is a relatively new musical genre.  It is native to Trinidad and Tobago where French, British and African culture collide into something close to Afro-Caribbean-Creole. Original Steel Drums were fashioned out of used oil drums in post World War II Trinidad. The very first pitched steel drums were made from small metal containers and were convex in shape. The steel drum is based on mathematical theories of Pythagoras who calculated the formula for the musical cycle of fourths and fifths, Steel Pans are the only instruments made to follow this configuration. In the 1940's and 1950's pan innovators experimented with the stylings or note patterns, and improved upon the tuning.  Today the drum is constructed from the bottom of a 55 gallon barrel, sunk down in a concave fashion, and tuned with precision.  Pans are very sensitive to heat and cold, handling and environment.  They must be handled with care and respect.  The slightest bump can knock them out of tune, so gentle handling is a must.
But once one has heard a pan master play, there is no going back. The sound is glorious beyond belief...it  can takes you on a magical ride of sound and harmony. I have to state that I am ruined beyond belief for those Subway Serenaders whose slightly unbalanced, but woefully out of tune pans are an abomination to the ear...Get Thee Behind Me!
So, if you have the chance to hear real masters of the ukulele or the steel pan, run...do not walk, to that venue and savor your time there.

Advent I 2015

"Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down” … Luke 21:36

 

Over the past couple of weeks the world has seemed to be turned upside down. : bombings in Paris and Beirut leaving hundreds of lives lost and many more lives changed; cries from politicians at home and abroad seeking to close borders to people fleeing oppression because of  fear that some of them may be seeking to do us harm; armed guards meeting commuters at the ferry terminal and coast guard patrol boats with machine gun toting gunners standing on the bow escorting the ferries across the bay; NY City police practicing in the subway system for a terrorist attack, and a record number of officers patrolling the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.  The list of increased security and heightened awareness of the new worldwide threats to the way we have been living our lives is causing many normal folks to become more and more conscious of the real fragility of life, and the realization that the new normal is not at all what normal ought to look like. The hearts of many are indeed weighed down at this point, and many are unable to see how that feeling can be shaken off. The news from most of the usual providers is bleak,  threatening and just plain old scary. And our political leaders appear to be of no help.  Most are spending their time criticizing others for what they claim is faulty and unpatriotic thinking.  Too many are wrapping themselves in the cloak of patriotism and clearly not thinking the current situations through. Rhetoric and bravado will certainly not get us anywhere. And if you really think about it, this is only one of many things we are thinking about this time of year.

This is the time of year when we are bombarded by commercial encouragement to spend, spend, spend on gifts and other memory building events, like lunching with Santa or traveling to a designated Christmas destination for a holiday va-ca with the kids and extended familia.  Do you know that Americans spent over $650 Billion on Christmas related items in 2014? Of that about $1.2 Billion was spent on Christmas trees, and 1.9 billion Christmas Cards were sent last year to people across the United States. Multiply that by the cost of postage. The average American consumer is expecting to receive no fewer than 12 holiday gifts. These numbers are mind boggling. It seems we as a society are wasting and spending more money than is even remotely necessary in celebrating the birth of a child born in a stable in the Middle East to wandering parents who were unwelcomed at the owner’s inn. Perhaps we need to think about how we have weighed down our own hearts at this time of year.

So, in order to just kind of counter those statistics, the Episcopal Church, under the auspices of the United Thank Offering and the Episcopal Migration Ministry has put forth a very modest Advent Challenge. Deemed Advent: Journey from Gratitude to Hope, the United Thank Offering board is challenging Episcopalians to support refugee welcome in the United States.   Sandra Squires, President of the United Thank Offering board has said “Jesus was part of a refugee family, we should be able to relate to the upheaval of today’s refugees through our love of him.” They are asking those of us in the pews and the congregations to donate to the UTO indicating our donations are to be given to the Episcopal Migration Ministries.  This is an arm of the Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society, that has welcomed over 5,000 refugees to more than 30 communities across the United States. These folks arrive here having fled from the most violent and war-torn places on earth. With just a few months of support to get started, refugees become productive, resilient members of our society and economy.

The UTO will match the first $30,000 in donations made to the fund with the indication UTO-EEM in the memo line.  Donation need to be received by the end of December to qualify for this matching grant.

What a simple and convenient way to share our many blessings with others.  I think I can do without a new sweater or scarf from my children or grandchildren, and ask them instead to donate to this campaign. Here is the website where donations can be made: https://episcopalchurch.thankyou4caring.org/

Travel in an Uncertain World

I returned from Europe on Sunday, two days after the terrorist attack in Paris.  To say we were a bit jittery would be an understatement, especially after our flight home was delayed five hours.  We were informed via email of the delay, but were encouraged to get to the airport at the original time of our take off.  We were told that the delay was due to a computer problem in our home city at the air traffic control tower. I have to say, no one really bought that excuse.

The flight home was uneventful, but eerily quiet.  Most of the travelers, I suspect, where thinking about events in Paris, Beirut and on the Russian plane which had departed  from Sharm el Shek.

Now, I am no stranger to terrorist attacks, having lived thorough the destruction of the World Trade Center in 2000. I was teaching at that time, and we could see the smoke emitting from the top floors of the Twin Towers which were visible from the front top floor of our school. Several of us went up to the roof to see what was gong on. We pulled the blinds down in our classrooms.  One of our school aides and three of our teachers had family members who were scheduled to be on one of those buildings.  As life has odd twists, one was late for his meeting, one got stuck on a late ferry, another  very pregnant woman was still waiting for an elevator when the planes struck and the fourth one stopped for coffee on the way to work and lived to tell the story.  But several others, fathers, uncles and brothers of our students did not make it.  Most of these men were either police or firefighters who lost their lives attempting to save others.  Some were aunts and cousins who worked in the buildings as brokers or administrative assistants; regular folks doing regular jobs to support their families.  A friend with Cerebral Palsy, remembering the first time the towers were bombed, walked out of his office, down the stairs and never went back.  He retired the very next day.

Several days after returning home, as I sat on the ferry on my way to my part time job in Brooklyn, I noticed the Coast guard escort on BOTH sides of the boat.  In the past, on occasion, one of the boats would escort the odd boat to and from Manhattan. But on this day EVERY boat had not one, but two escorts, and each boat had an armed machine gunner at the bow. This is our new reality, our new normal.

Today we hear that the group responsible for the violent events in Egypt, France and Lebanon are now making unveiled threats implying they will proudly strike in Washington DC and my own hometown, New York City.

And well, what does this mean for those of us who use various modes of transportation to get back and forth in our daily lives? It means we need to continue living our lives as we always have.  We need to begin trusting in those in our society who are charged with maintaining the social order.  We have to begin trusting that our common humanity will win out over the heartless inhumanity we have witnessed.  And we have to remember that we are all children of the one Creator in whom we live and move and have our being, no matter the name we call that entity: God the Father, YHWH, or Allah.