too smart/too late

Out of the blue it struck me. Like a swift blow to the stomach, Martina's remark came as a shock, and it knocked me from my confident bearings. "You're quite arrogant," she decried with burning eyes and pursed lips. It was an awkward moment because I felt, quite the contrary, sincere, almost humble. It was nothing I said that caused her resentment, but a condescending attitude that hurt just the same. It was one of the last times we were together but I remember well her lesson of non-verbal communication. Sometimes you don't have to say anything to say the wrong thing.

I tried to refute the accusation but my inadequate words were of little value, offering anything but empathy. Ultimately, pride was the source of my insolence. I knew what was best and even as I remained silent the words were plain to hear; "I was superior." And even if I didn't realize it, I was making sure that she did. Overcome by a need for self-validation, I wanted to impress rather than support. A deep insecurity led me to search for acceptance from others rather than where it can be truly found - at the inner source.

This is precisely what leads to Jesus' rebuke of the religious elite. He cites their consummate study but cautions, "Do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach." They may speak the wisdom of compassion yet they can't hear the cry of those in need. The Buddhist teacher, Thubten Chodron says, "Believing themselves to be learned, talented, and excellent, proud people are self complacent. They don't want to and cannot learn from others. Their pride keeps them in a stagnant state."

With our vast knowledge we tend to insulate ourselves from what's important. Pride keeps us from increasing and practicing our true wisdom. Instead of benefiting others we end up hurting them. Everyone deserves to be listened to. Everyone deserves our respect. Sometimes, however, we may be too smart for our own good.

love, always,

pia

bring in the clowns

When I was young I must have had a fear of going to sleep. Nightly, I would plead to my mother to "sit with me a little bit" until I nodded off into dreamland. I did this not to coax a favorite bedtime story - though a few pages of "Where the Wild Things Are" or "Charlotte's Web" were never discouraged - but to assuage the subliminal terror of being alone. Like the deranged zebra in Garth Stein's novel, "The Art of Racing in the Rain," who torments Enzo's sleep, I was occasionally terrified by a crazed jack-in-the-box that watched me from a shelf in my room. Even so, I wasn't consciously afraid of this, or similar monsters under the bed, or recurring nightmares of a giant moon perched outside my window, I simply wanted the surety that someone would always be there to protect me.

Seems like an ideal job for an omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient god. However, as a child the idea of an invisible phantom being a comforting ally was the furthest thing considered. The impossible deity was unfortunately more like that jack-in-the-box than the familial intimacy of my parents. Sharing the disagreeable traits of my foe; god was a cold, ever-watchful, and sneering clown, all the while taking sordid notes of all my daily misdeeds. He (for it was a "he" in those days) wasn't one to be trusted as he was poised to pounce on my defenseless soul. And in the rare instances when I did call (to god, not his evil twin), there was little account of his existence. I can't remember one time where he helped me with my homework or subdued that boxed devil. I was alone with my demon and it was no wonder I entreated my parents to quell the night.

Despite my misgivings, however, I didn't give up on god. But as much as I tried, he didn't make sense. So it's not surprising that I've resonated with today's difficult gospel passage for many years. In response to a pharisaical test, Jesus poses the rabbinical riddle: "If (King) David calls him (the Messiah) Lord, how can he be his son?" It's a mobius strip argument that has no satisfactory answer. The religious elite, like a computer in an endless loop, shut down and leave the Christ in his glory. It's no help and much like the Buddhist conception of Samsara - an endless cycle of suffering.

Curiously, this same eternal knot is also a symbol of unity. It is an intertwining of all that is: the good, daytime jester coequal to the bad, dark, and lurking spirit. Like an M. C. Escher drawing where each image is dependent upon the other, Jesus continues to emphasize the inseparability of religious life and secular activities. Last week he visioned a coin as his tool, today the ungainly father is son is father enigma. He tells us not to fear because we are never alone. The answer to life's puzzle is the interconnectedness of all beings protected by the unending love of god. And that's all we need for a good nights rest.

love, always,

pia

who's side are you on

On Wednesday I read an article about fans of the Philadelphia Flyers hockey team jeering rival players that were displayed on their arena scoreboard. Considering even my subdued passion for sports teams, I can understand the fitful reaction. Caught in the contest's frenzy, I might have behaved in a similar bass way. For having disliked the Broad Street Bullies since my beloved Islanders were still a major threat on the ice - harking back at least 25 years - had I recognized them in my home venue, my blood might begin to boil. Unfortunately, the reason for the unwelcomed Philadelphia response was a public service announcement in support of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. During a break in play, the solicitation for donations by the worthy cause sent the crowd into knee-jerk apoplexy. The reaction was seen as crass even if they weren't booing the anti-cancer charity itself. Their loyalty, common to many non-sports scenarios as well, was unequivocal for they knew who's side they were on.

Sometimes we're questioned on where we stand. Are we for the team or not? In cases like the one above, it's not always easy to be clear in our priorities. When Lorraine called me at work on Thursday saying she arrived in Yosemite after a long drive, I sensed that there was something lingering and all was not completely well. She didn't offer much information because she understood from my harried tone that I was under a pressing deadline. Two important items were competing for my attention and I had to choose. Regretfully, my job took precedence over my familial obligations. But how was I to care for both? I had to make a choice.

That's what happens in the gospel narrative this morning. Jesus is confronted with a deliberate quandary: Where do you place your allegiance, the inquisitor's chortle their crafty ply, do you support the political state or not? Their scheme was perfectly deceptive and there was no pat answer. Both a yes or a no comeback were wrong. The teacher would have to implicate himself one way or the other. If he chooses one, it's heresy, the other and he's indicted for treason. Either way he loses. So they press to know who's side he's playing for.

We often make definitive "life or death" distinctions in our situations. It's easier, less confusing, and safer to limit the possibilities to either "A" or "B". Yet perhaps we are not dealing with two alternatives in conflict, but rather two options in tension. Could it be that we don't have to take sides? Thus the Christly reply: Choose both. Jesus implies that you can't contain god in a box, selecting or dismissing it with a yes or no choice. The spirit is bigger than we can know and can't simply be divided or pinned down. Radically, it isn't the government or god, it's both and more.

There is a lot of talent fighting for ice time in the game of life. We can react from our projected prejudices, hissing at hated enemies all the while missing the divine intent behind the message. Or, as Jesus tells us, that everything is sacred and nothing can be left out. Today's story presents an Imperial coin which bears the image of the political deity, demanding that we pay homage to society's leaders and laws; yet the mark of god is indelible in each of us, and therefore deference is due to the one above all others. To determine which side your on is ultimately not a toss of the coin, but two sides of the same.

love, always,

pia

a gift

My father's birthday was a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, it's difficult to buy him a present because, first of all, he doesn't really need anything, and secondly, he humbly admits that he doesn't want anything. Maybe birthdays remind him of his age, and like me, we'd both prefer not to get any older than we are. But I wanted to celebrate and give him something I thought he might like. Anything. Simply as a token of my love and happiness that he is my dad. 

I have always liked birthdays. Perhaps it's because it's the day we get showered with attention or maybe it's just cake and presents, but whatever it is, a birthday makes me feel good, important, and above all loved. On the other hand, there are people like my father, who eschew the day - and presents in particular - modestly thinking that it's a burden on the giver. But the giving is equally important as the receiving. Maybe more so because we get to show our appreciation and gratitude even if the gift is a trifle.

At one time or another we have all been given a special birthday gift, one that stands out from all the others. I recall a memorable sixteenth when my father and I drove out to some long-forgotten Long Island locale in the old Pontiac Grand Prix station wagon to get a bicycle. John Lennon's "Be Bop A Lula" was blaring on the radio which was significant simply because we weren't listening to classical WQXR. I loved that bike, yet some of the most precious gifts are the little ones without monetary value. Surprising my mother a few years ago by just showing up on her Denver doorstep when living 2,000 miles away was unforgettable. Regrettably though, there are other gifts we don't even remember having received or not recognized until much later. 

When I was young I received a gift I couldn't play with, wear, or physically use. It didn't feel like a gift but it was something I have cherished my whole life. It was the gift of love from my very dear friend, Margot, who recently passed that is worth more to me than any present imaginable. And today's gospel speaks of this same gift. 

At a prince's wedding, where everyone has been invited, a guest is tossed out for being improperly dressed, that is, coming without a wedding robe. The robe is offered to all and is a symbol, as Saint Augustine says, of "love that springs from a pure heart, a clear conscience, and a genuine faith." Margot had that gift.

We are free to make the choice; to accept or decline the king's gift which is constant, persistent, and a repeatable invitation to god's great party. I'd like to return my friend's gift now - not exchange it - but share it with her husband Jerry, the immediate and extended family whom I love the same as my own, and all their friends who knew her: To share the gift of love.

Intangible gifts are under-appreciated and are often oblivious to many of us. Others don't care about them or think they have little value. Some take them for granted or feel as if they were entitled to them. But the gift of love is the greatest gift and it is the one gift that we can't live without. It is a gift from god and the only one worth giving.

love, always,

pia