On this Good Friday I have been contemplating the suffering of Jesus the Christ that we for some obscure reason call Good Friday. I bet he didn’t call it that. I know he didn’t welcome suffering. I know he felt abandoned in the midst of it. He cried out, perhaps as much from the experience of betrayal as from the agony of crucifixion. So I wonder where we get the idea that being stoic is Christ-like. I’m thinking of Jesus in the Garden asking God to find some other way for “Thy Will Be Done”. He sweat blood not to mention tears of agony just knowing what he faced.

So I hereby proclaim that it is not Christ-like to enjoy suffering! Or even to just shut up about it. Especially in prayer. Or in church. I’m thinking it’s okay to howl at the moon or the sun at the break of day when the need arises. And that God howls right along beside us.

Of course, for practical reasons, it is not helpful to complain all the time or to look for things to be wrong so we can complain, or howl. In fact, laughter is much more useful than screams. And bitterness has no use at all even when thoroughly deserved.

This is what I have found to be helpful when true suffering has come my way. First, to be honest about what is going on (for me this only comes after a lovely blanket of denial turns out to be a delusion). Then to just be with God in it whether that involves the prayer of talking out loud to The Divine (preferably when no one else is around lest more suffering come your way) or putting on soothing music (I like Daniel Kobiaka’s Timeless Motiion) or going for a walk with loud, complaining music singing in my ears through the iPod. And then to truly, truly remember that there is nothing that happens to us that isn’t designed to bring us closer to God-wakefulness. This has taken me decades to understand but oh the sweet release when I know this in my bones. Everything is designed to birth the Divine, or perhaps merely to resurrect what is already there.

Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an
indomitable will.

Ghandi

The grinding wheel of Time doth mar
  Full many a life of moon and star
  And many a brightly smiling morn—
  But still my soul is marching on!
  Darkness, death, and failures vied;
  To block my path they fiercely tried;
  My fight with jealous Nature’s strong—
  But still my soul is marching on!

Paramahansa Yogananda

I have fond memories of sitting at the dinner table with my parents and brothers at precisely 6 pm every night but Sunday. Dad would have arrived home from the hard physical labor of his job as a residential electrician and foreman. He would have finished his ritual wash-up with “Goop” (I wonder if they still make that?) at the kitchen sink, washed out his thermos and set it out to soak clean, showered and changed into some atrocious looking but comfortable outfit. Looking back on it, I imagine he was totally exhausted. Most nights my brothers would kick each other under the table or try to tease me to make me cry (which I faked doing quite effectively). Mom would try to get us to talk about our days without much success but we are all better for her efforts. At some point in the meal, Dad would be “out of the loop” of our conversations and Tom foolery. He would be staring off into space, probably thinking through some problem at work, figuring out how to get something done faster and better, or how to save the company some money, how to beat his time on the previous job or how to motivate a younger worker without telling them off. Or perhaps he was thinking about side jobs to supplement the family income. “Dick! Dick? ” Mom would say as Dad apparently didn’t hear a word any of us were saying. Then one of us kids would wave our hand in front of his eyes and he would slowly turn and relax his lips into an ” O” like a zombie, stare blankly then shake his head in such a way that his lips would sake back and forth and we would all collapse on hysterics.

After dinner while we all cleaned up, Dad would retreat to his olive green lazy boy and cogitate some more. His work was his pride if not always his joy. He raised us all, children and grandchildren alike, to be hard workers, honest and proud of whatever work we did. One of the many things that bugged him in life were people who did not understand that their work was a reflection of their faith. Until the day he died, Dad’s work was the same for him as worship. What a great way to live!

“Do not do what you want, and then you may do what you like”

Sadasiva

Have you ever tried to count the number of things that are on your mind at any one time? I used to make a game of that when I was a kid trying to fall asleep at night. In later years I came to observe that the more I thought about something, the greater it became. And the more thoughts, the greater my anxiety. Like when I try not to think about chocolate, I can’t think of anything else. But when I choose to think intentionally rather than worry or fret, the good things become more apparent and more powerfully present.

“Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.”

- Philippians 4:4-9

On this Ash Wednesday, may the thoughts that steer us away from the peace of Christ that passes all understanding be turned to ashes and the thoughts that center us in Our birthright of peace as sons and daughters of God flourish

I am reading Practicing the Presence of Peace by Bear Gebhardt

He uses the term peace in a way that I would use the term Christ or the Holy Spirit but the meaning is the same. Here is a quote to illustrate:

I’ve learned that living in peace is the most practical and most natural and most generous thing we can do for ourselves and for everybody around us,” he said. “I’m convinced that some day everybody will come to understand and practice this simple truth”

The book is a very practical guide to practicing the awareness that all of life is lived within God’s presence. I have experienced this in my life as I continue to learn to live with chronic pain. When I am able to remember, or rather to access the peace that I easily access in meditation, the pain becomes less personal. I even have a sense of somehow bearing this pain as a spiritual practice that somehow is useful to life beyond me.

I’m not sure if I am able to express this very clearly. It isn’t like being a martyr. It is an awareness that whatever the particular pain is, it isn’t about me. It’s about the suffering that we all share just by being human in a fallen world. The pain I experience is from a genetic disorder that cannot be fixed. I have found that merely accepting that pain doesn’t mean that I’ve done something wrong brings a peace in and of itself. But taking it step farther, I see the pain as an invitation to just be in God’s presence. Well, truthfully, that’s on my good days. In the worst of it, my mind just goes numb and I am more like a little child in her fathers arms being rocked and comforted. And my words aren’t so peacable.

I hope this is helpful to someone! I’d love to know of others who have found deeper meaning in their own suffering. Please write. I’d love to hear from you.

My father was passionate about economic justice, and the belief that all people are worthly. His two political heros were Tommy Dougas (the greatest Canadian other than my husband in his eyes) and Harry Truman. About 6 months before he died, he was on one of his many expositions about Harry Truman. At one point I turned to Mom and said “I suppose we will miss these lectures when he is gone.” She rolled her eyes as only she can do and said “I suppose we will.” Yes, we do.

On the other hand, over the years Dad would have coffee or breakfast on a weekly basis at The Seven Dwarfs with many men with whom he disagreed. He didn’t give up on them. He volunteered at the hospital in transport and always sought to treat each patient with love and respect, and to go the extra mile for their benefit.

It seems that when he wasn’t lecturing “the choir” about his viewpoints, he was actually practicing peace with those with whom he disagreed. Perhaps it was his humility that empowered him to do this, or perhaps it was his way of showing compassion to those he thought had trouble being compassionate. Certainly he was practicing being Christ to them. Or maybe he just liked teasing them and joking around with the owner of Seven Dwarfs! I know for certain he engendered their love and respect. What a peaceful world this would be if we could all do the same.

About 10 years ago, my parents noticed that their friends were getting older, many of them disabled or recently widowed and isolated. So they took it upon themselves to reach out to someone nearly everyday by either a visit or a phone call or a card. When Dad passed on last May, one might think that Mom would rightfully think of herself as one of those people. But no, within a few weeks she was back at it with cards she makes herself or phone calls made or rides given. Now she is 85 but it doesn’t often occur to her that she is older too. Although she is occasionally the recipient of other’s calling her, she still has a daily discipline of reaching out even when she doesn’t feel like it. It helps that Mom has never met a stranger. I well remember a phone call she got when I was about 8 years old, back in the day of one household phone with an extremely long cord on it. As she talked, she cleaned and talked and listened. Half an hour later, the caller realized she didn’t know my mother and had thought she had called her sisiter! Mom has made freinds everywhere she has gone and made many more over the internet. I don’t think she thinks of her caring as a discipline. It’s just who she is. But people notice. This past All Saint’s Day she was nominated by her Baptist church as a saint. And so she is and so we all can be.

I’m not sure where I came across this quote but touches me in the spaces of myself that I find most embarrassing.

“Wounding and healing are not opposites. They’re part of the same thing. It is our wounds that enable us to be compassionate with the wounds of others. It is our limitations that make us kind to the limitations of other people. It is our loneliness that helps us to to find other people or to even know they’re alone with an illness. I think I have served people perfectly with parts of myself I used to be ashamed of. ”

- Rachel Naomi Remen