no accident

The airbag explosion was loud and unnerving. Combined with the concussive sound of the impact, everyone on the crowded sidewalk turned to look. A slow moving truck stopped short and the vehicle following too closely behind couldn't maneuver quick enough. With shattered glass and twisted metal everywhere, I hesitantly approached. But what could I do? I let the critical moment slip by and didn't get involved. 

That's the case with much of our lives. We let other people handle it, or, more often than not, allow our selfish concerns to take precedence. Who are we today and where is our moral fiber? What are the principles we stand up for and how do we show what we truly believe in? When will we get involved and not let go of our convictions that love, justice, and freedom is more than a dream of how things could - or should - be?

It's all too familiar - like today's reading of Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem and impending demise - we hear it all too often. We have good, noble, and appropriate intentions, but when the tires hit the road and we're called to stand up for what is right and for what we believe in, we remain gap-mouthed and staring spectators, not making an impact.

Often, we are like Peter, who lacks the courage to be steadfast and denies his faith;

Like James and John, who give in to their earthly emotions and can't get involved;

Even the authorities, who yearn for the passionate violence of Barabbas instead of the quiet peace of Christ, remain on the sidelines.

Sometimes, we are like Simon - who is coerced to be an accomplice; Or the soldiers - who are just following orders; And those crucified alongside him - who can see no active power in love. We have all been there.

Perhaps we are like Mary - who is a powerless bystander; Or like Pilot - who has no resolve for justice. Each and every one of us is like Judas - though we swear that we could never be the cause of such destruction. Yet, we are all in the crowd - as we yell, "Crucify him" - not just today, but every day, causing a major slowdown on the road to earthly divinity.

We are crucifying our values by not being present, not preparing the way, by not being true to our heart's desire. We bring an early and undeserving death by denying our inner spirit, by deserting that which we love, and choosing a more convenient way. Palm Sunday, like every story we read in the gospels, is not an historic - once in a lifetime, now it's over, event. Palm Sunday is a collision with today, yesterday, and tomorrow. It is every Sunday, and every Sunday is every day. Are you comfortable on the sidewalk, or will you be the driver in the story of life and stand up for love, compassion and humility. It's no accident, you have to make it happen.

love, always,

pia

god given

God so loved the world that he gave us - something beyond ourselves - something we don't have, something we need. This oft-quoted verse is an exclusive declaration which seems to promote a tome of helplessness and removal. I have a hard time subscribing to it because I know there's something more.

For god so loved the world that he gave us - something with true power - something within ourselves. He gave us light and life; bringing tangible stardust to manifest in the birth of creation. We are truly given an all-together-now vesture of grace to enable life.

Yes we were given a precious life, but it is up to us. It is we who give the eternal life now. In revealing our salvation, in our hopes and dreams, we bring light and life to the world. This is why we are here. For we are made by and for the divine and we are given for the spirit of life.

We can affirm this inheritance, claiming the presence of our relationship as sons and daughters of creation. Or shall we let love wither, disowning and condemning the world? In a way, this is what Jesus asks in today's gospel: Do we remember what we are entrusted with? Can you believe that you make a difference

and give life to the world?

As a volunteer for HeadCount, I endeavor to register voters, not for any party, not for any cause, but so each and every one of us can make a difference. Yet, I am so often dismayed with the disaffected. Those who deny their authority, who cling to a perverse selfishness. They skulk in the shadows of their "I do not matter," asserting there is inconsequence of their acedia.

But ennui is the darkness Christ warns us of. A careless evil inflicted by averted eyes. No light shines from this empty hope. Mine is neither optimism nor pessimism, it is simply conviction of life; a life given to us to fully and freely live.

But the disaffected say, "I am but one, what can I do? Does it really matter if I remain on the side?" The choice to say yes or no is our freedom to belong to life. The indecisive have no place to stand. How can you love if you don't participate. Apathy has no voice but is a smug defiance of our inherent power. Can the mute dare share in the success of hope?

You are the one life is challenging to do something - for someone - be it yourself or another. You have it within you. You don't need to look for it somewhere else. Give your god-given being to light the world, for god so made the world for love and this love will make a difference.

love, always,

pia

Jesus was a bike mechanic

Yesterday while installing some new fenders on my bicycle, I ran into a minor difficulty. I thought I had all the tools necessary, but not realizing I would have to remove the rear rack first, I was short one precious instrument. It wouldn't have been a problem if I was at home - for I have a fairly deep set of bike-specific tools there - but I was at my office where only architectural modeling accouterments are found. A #10 metric box wrench was what I needed but where would I find one? It seemed that my project would have to wait for another day. However, searching the model shop I came across a 3/8" wrench. It wasn't quite right, but perhaps I could make it work.

This is the situation in today's gospel reading. We find Jesus coming to the Jerusalem temple and he finds the merchants using the wrong wrench for the job. At the bike shop it is imperative to use the correct tool to get the job done right and we're adamant that mechanics be good stewards of the resources. If you use a #10  spanner instead of a #10 wrench, although they are the same size, you're liable to ruin it. It's just not made to do that work. So it's no wonder the Christ is furious when he sees the vendors extorting the pilgrims. The cattle, sheep, and doves sold for sacrifice are not the appropriate means to worship god.

God doesn't need our sacrifices - only a sacrifice of love. The divine cannot be bought - neither with money nor goods - but we act as if money can buy us healing, love, and relationships. And that's what drives Jesus crazy, so he drives a wrench into their works. He knows it's not the right tool for the job.

Approaching the bike, I too thought, "No, this isn't right," and pressed to locate the appropriate tool. Eventually I found one, and with the right tool in hand, the work was completed easily and successfully. The right tool for the job is love. We are made for love just like that nut securing my rack was made for a #10 wrench. The wrong one always brings us to ruin. Listen to Jesus, he was a pretty good wrench monkey, he knows that love is what it takes.

love, always,

pia

Looking at the stars

Not too long ago I placed an ad looking for a roommate. Of the many responses I received, some I asked to come for a showing and an interview, and others I merely thanked for their interest. Typically, half of the respondees are out-of-state young men or women who desire to move to the area. Although some have employment lined up, there are others who assure me that they'll figure something out after they arrive. They don't know exactly why they are drawn here, but deep down there's a hope, a longing, to fill the emptiness in their heart. It's admirable, taking that leap of faith, and much like Oscar Wilde's quip, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." Perhaps I could be more trusting, but I prefer to have something a bit more reliable.

But I know what it's like. When I met Theophane the monk, it was love at first sight. Immediately I knew that I wanted to be a Religious. It took a few years of discernment before I embarked on the journey, but it was a purpose to which I was called. I thought my life issues were finally resolved, so I left everything to give everything that I had.

It was like that for Jesus. We read today that for some reason he leaves his home and makes his way to the Jordan River. He's baptized by John, and the Spirit propels him on his life-long mission. "The time is fulfilled," he tells us, and life - his, and ours - was never the same.

We recognize these times as life-changing events - a once-in-a-lifetime dream come true. But it's not like that at all. In reality, every moment is life-changing. I pondered this last night while on an evening's stroll. While looking at the waxing crescent moon in the western sky, I wondered about the planet that trailed closely by. Venus, the Roman god associated with love, shown ever-so brightly with Jupiter at a distance. Tonight, the planets reverse. Jupiter, the god of the sky, overtakes her. I then thought about the political world where Christ overtook Jupiter as the principal deity of the Imperial world. I was reminded how things change, and as such, we never live happily ever after. We my be lost. We figure it out and try our passion. Then change occurs and we must discern again. When I  got home, I watched a favorite movie, "The Singing Nun," and felt the yearning for the Convent overtake me once again.

When we give our lives fully to our purpose, just as the Christ gave his in every way and in every situation, this is a self-emptying kenosis. It is no longer I who live, says Paul to the Church in Galatia, but it is Christ who lives in me." This is the spirit of love that fills us. The divine love which we are ultimately called to be for others and for ourselves. Do we have a plan or are we going where the stars lead us? It's not always easy to discern, but if we follow the faint stirrings of our heart, we may find that we are inching closer and closer to god.

love, always,

pia

begin the begin

Before processing into the Church, the choir master asks, "All those who are not here, raise your hand." It always invokes a few smiles and more than a couple of hands waving from those willing to play along with the joke. But the meaning is serious: Are we really here, not just physically, but emotionally. Are we prepared to do the things that need to be done, to put our voice into our song, to lay life on the line.

That's what it's all about: The Hokey-Pokey trivialities that demand our awareness. Are we willing to take charge and claim responsibility for our actions, or do we persistently deflect accountability and acquiesce to circumstance. One thing is clear; the endless dance presents countless opportunities to put your left foot in, or out. We decide how to play the game.

We are forever being called to begin over and over. How will we respond? Are we ready to catch it or shall it pass without regard? In "Begin the Begin," rock icon, Michael Stipe of R.E.M., sang, "Birdie in the hand / for life's rich demand / The insurgency began / and you missed it."  We may not realize it, but every moment requires a response that is either life-affirming or -denying. The choice is ours. Shall we be mindful enough to take hold of life?

Perhaps this is what the gospel is exhorting us to this morning. Jesus is confronted with a solicitous invalid begging for a chance to begin again. The divine, recognizing his determination, scandalously reaches out to him. Because he denies his limitations and asks, he is given an opportunity.

As the choir lines up before the service we are given our chance. On the wall outside the choir master's office, there is a quote from Goethe which reads, "There is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: That the moment one definitely commits oneself, Providence moves too…Whatever you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now." There is no other time than now to change your life, and impact another's, forever.

love, always,

pia

bring help

Do you remember the movie "Walkabout"? I haven't seen it since it first came out 40 years ago, but recently I endeavored to watch it again. As a child it was profoundly stunning and at the same time, terrifying. Yet this time it was just as memorable although in a different manner.

The movie is about two children abandoned in the Australian outback and their eventual rescue by an Aborigine boy who is on his walkabout - his 6 month coming of age initiation into manhood, surviving, or not, by his own skills alone. It is a wonderful movie containing breathtaking landscapes with a deep sociological message as well - far beyond the theme of being lost and getting found.

The unnamed children - all the better to make this a universal epic - are twelve and five years of age. At first the young boy fails to grasp the seriousness of their plight. But after wandering helplessly in the desert, long days scrambling up craggy mountains and down sand dunes, enduring the brutal environment, his "are we there yet?" supplications overwhelm him. He soon tires and surrenders to the elements, only saved by his older sister who persuades him to press on. It is a metaphor for life - a spiritual journey of determination through predicament.

But there comes a point when adversity is too much. Life is arduous, and like the young boy, we desire a respite from its trials. The exhausted pair soon choose to prepare for their end beneath a solitary tree - they have done all they could on their own. They intend to let life take them instead of taking hold of life. It is then that a strange outsider comes to bring salvation.

In today's gospel, the Christ comes to the aid of Peter's mother-in-law in much the same fashion. She is lost in a sickness - perhaps desperately heartbroken for her daughter who has lost her husband to a disparaged, mendicant rabbi. She is healed by this strange outsider, and subsequently, so too are the countless others who are drawn by his magnificent powers. The story could end happily ever after here, but that's not the critical message being conveyed. For the gospel implies that the healing is not where salvation begins. Upon entering new life we are compelled to action. The cure to Peter's mother-in-law's ailment is to get up and serve the rabble who have gathered to gawk. Likewise, Jesus suggests there is more to do. He promptly leaves the scene of his glory, seeking to bring the neighboring towns the miracle cure of a new and better way of life.

He could have stayed in Capurnaum. He was a hero, worshipped and adored for his regenerative acts. But although it is nice to garner praise and admiration, there is no resting on where we've been - for we cannot live in the past - we must press on to the end. Taking Peter's mother-in-law as an example, the gospel tells us that we must get up and serve, continuing beyond the safety and security of our accomplishments. This is the epitome of the boddhisattva's vow.

Walkabout, however, concludes on a less then triumphal hope of salvation. Rather it is the nihilistic longing of a past that continues to dominate our lives. This is not the archetypical "hero's journey." The protagonists may have returned from their mythic adventure, but have failed to grasp, nor can share, the import. The children use the help given to them for their own purposes neglecting those around them - especially their savior - ignoring the larger social concern. It is a bleak commentary on the society at large. But neither can the Aboriginal boy return to his civilization. All remain forever lost in an alien world. In the end we learn that to find the help we need, we must bring it to others.

love, always,

pia

re-gifting

With a deft swipe of the hand, the young man attacked the pile of colorful Dum Dum lollypops splayed about the tiny table. Before one could utter, "Please, take one," or "You're welcome," he was off, lost in the netherworld of the dark club. My cohort planted them as an inducement for people to stop. If we were lucky, someone with a sweet-tooth might engage us for one, and as devoted HeadCount volunteers, we would entreat the supplicant to register to vote. Whether they said they were already registered or not made no difference, all were welcome to our sugary snare. We had nothing else to lure a frightfully indifferent crowd - no concert poster or CD from the headliner to give away, no interesting contest or survey to comply - just our voter registration forms and our candy. That would have to serve as gift enough.

But it was a slow night. Prevented from canvassing the crowd, we camped out by our table hoping that our treats would entice the passersby. By night's end I had signed up a meager half dozen new voters while giving away scores of lollypops. Not terribly successful, but perhaps one that will make a small difference in a divisive and disengaged culture. 

Yet perhaps our offering was not the true gift. For a selfless gift is something given without anticipation of receiving anything in return. "The most precious gift is your true presence," says Thich Nhat Hanh. And this was confirmed by the countless people who came by, not for our free treats, but to acknowledge our commitment, saying, "Thanks for being here." The only real gift is the one you can't give away.

This could be a way of understanding today's story of Jesus' baptism. He comes to the banks of the Jordan as we come, as ordinary men and women, in search of the gift of the spirit. But he receives the unique presence, not from some outside source, but from that which came directly from himself. He teaches us that you can't look for a gift, you must be it. We must live in such a way as to become the gift of love to the whole world. 

That's what the Gospels are trying to tell us: We are the beloved, the irreplaceable and unique gift of the divine. The only appropriate response then is to share your wealth and worth with others because the universe gives so much in return. Don't look for a return on your investment. Be extravagant. Trust that the selfless service you give will meet its ultimate destination - connecting the common thread of existence - enabling one gift of love to multiply in to another. In essence this is the original re-gifting.

love, always,

pia

a finger pointing to the son

Piled in the back of the station wagon like a bunch of soft toys juggled by a mischievous hand, the children listened intently to the banter of the adults in the front seat. Bob Kagen, looking fondly over the pastoral landscape stretching beyond Botsford Hill Road, inhaled deeply and proclaimed that there was nothing like the smell of fresh cut grass. Ollie slapped the steering wheel and bellowed a large laugh. Taunting his buddy, he replied that what he smelled wasn't grass at all, but horse manure. The rollicking back seat thought that the gaffe was hilarious, but being a child from suburban New York, I wasn't sure I could tell the difference either.

It can be easy to misidentify something we're not familiar with. When we trust in our own limited experience it's easy to get things wrong. Then there's a need for someone to get us back on the right track. And that's the point of the gospel message this morning. John the Baptist, with fire and brimstone, has come to show us to the true road. "Make straight the way of the lord," he professes, and a page later, "He must increase, but I must decrease." And like the Zen story of the monk Hotei pointing to the moon, the Baptist is only a finger pointing back to our original path. 

Some get caught up thinking about the particulars. Who is this wild man that corrects our ways? What is the point of knowing the difference between increment and excrement? And who is this other we do not know? Yet, Eckhart Tolle explains that: "The truth is far more all-encompassing than the mind could ever comprehend. No thought can encapsulate the Truth. At best, it can only point to it." Blogger Myrko Thum says analyzing the pointer is pointless. We don't need to find, nor can we find, the Christ outside of our true self. "Turn your light inward," Dogen Zenji said, "and you will illuminate the self." Only then will you know what's horse s__t and what's not.

love, always,

pia

three times

Everyone is searching for happiness. Yet happiness is fickle and elusive. It seems to be affected by just about everything. Things out of our control, from the weather to the news, cause anger, anxiety, and frustration to arise. Yet even things in our immediate domain, such as how much sleep we get or our overloaded holiday schedules, inflict undue clutter and stress. Theophane, a Trappist monk, used to tell me that all people are deluded. The burglar steals because he thinks it will bring him happiness. He is unaware of his own pain and incivility. Perceiving that fulfilling our individual wants and desires will bring a permanent state of ease and gratification, it is in effect, the true cause of our suffering.

So it was with alcohol. Three times in my life have I imbibed too much in the search for happiness. The first was in college when my friend Gene and I thought it might be fun to experiment with rum and coke. Both inexperienced drinkers, the result was disastrous. To this day, the smell of rum, even in cooking, makes me nauseous. The second time I had just been fired from a job and overdid my consolation in beer. Consequently, I have lost much taste for it as well. And finally, about nine years ago, while working at the Fillmore Auditorium, a friend coerced me with one too many. By then, two vodka and cranberry's had me staggering, so I made a vow that I would not drink in excess ever again. In fact, it is an extremely rare occasion that you would find me with a drink in hand at all.

It wasn't hard to do. I didn't find alcohol attractive, the taste was mostly unappealing, and the deleterious effects outweighed any pleasure I received. Unfortunately, it's not so easy for many people, but there is a point where we have to repent of our ways and change our behavior. Not just in drinking, but in anything unhealthy that we think will bring us satisfaction. And this is what John the Baptist is calling us to do: Out of the wilderness of unmindfulness, recognize your unskillful actions and resolve never to repeat them. Make yourself clean, he proclaims, by returning to righteousness and resisting evil.

In the same way, Toni Morrison in her classic novel "Beloved," has "Baby Suggs, holy, offer[ing] up her great big heart. She did not tell them to clean up their lives or to go and sin no more....She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine. That if they could not see it, they would not have it." If we are unaware of our circumstances we shall continue to live in ignorance. Through right living, unwise choices originating from delusion, aversion, and attachment, can purify our soul. Three times I had hoped that drinking would be enjoyable, might drown my regret and sorrow, and perhaps, gain me a new companion. None of these came to be and ultimately changed my mind about what was good. A continual returning to the divine indwelling may be the only real source of happiness.

love, always,

pia

train in vain

A late New York night, Evie and I peered down the empty subway tunnel pondering when the next local 1 train would finally take us downtown. We had been anxiously waiting for some time and I was getting quite concerned. I wasn't up for the walk, and having already paid our fare, hailing a cab was not in my vocabulary. We would just have to be patient for our savior to come. Every noise brought hopeful anticipation but ultimate disappointment. The slightest rustle of a lone rat on the tracks below, the ker-plunk of the turnstile echoing the arrival of a solitary traveler, or the stertor* of a vagrant asleep on the single pew beside us, ignited our senses that our destiny would soon be fulfilled. But no light was coming our way. Would it ever come? Could we be saved from this underground hell before I fell asleep? My watchful doubt was lifted when the faint rumbling of wheels steeled on track was discerned. It was but a deadheading train collecting trash that clambered by without stop. Oh, when would our time come?

In "Everyday Zen," Charlotte Joko Beck relates a story about a man who waits for the E train to enlightenment. Just like Evie and myself, he waited a long time. Others soon joined him on the platform and all were waiting for something. Something that would take them where they wanted to go. Mostly, we are waiting for our hopes in dreams: In things that we think we need. Although good in themselves, they inevitably fail to deliver what we're truly seeking. The obscene lines for urgent Black Friday shopping are signs of this perverted hope. The fragile reliance on the temporal future will only leave us waiting in vain.

This waiting is a denial of the present. When we are unaware of the power of our attachments and aversions, we have fallen asleep and have missed the train. That's why Jesus tells us to "Keep awake - for you do not know when the [train] will come." Today is the arrival of Advent which announces the good news that the train is coming, has come, and will come again. We must wake up and realize that there is no need to wait. We are already on the train and have been since the beginning. Joko Beck concludes her parable by saying *that there is no train. There's nothing to catch, nothing to wait for, and nowhere to go. In other words, we have arrived.

After some time Evie turned to me with an enlightenment. "It's in the wind," she said, "You'll know it when you feel it." Even before you hear a sound you'll know it's coming. We stopped our waiting and took off on our journey.

love, always,

pia

* Today's "word of the day" at Thesaurus.com meaning a heavy snoring sound.

us and them

Yesterday I witnessed the Occupy Wall Street protesters marching in downtown Denver. The dissatisfied and meager 99% are rallying a nascent - though some might say a nescient - cry nationwide against the powerbrokers and their cronies. It was quite exciting but what struck me most were the chants and banners which plainly made the distinction between us and them. All I could hear, however, was a classic rock song playing in my head: 

"Us (us, us, us, us) and Them (them, them, them, them)

And after all we're only ordinary men

Me (me, me, me me), and you (you, you, you, you)

God only knows it's not what we would choose to do"

Almost forty years ago Pink Floyd recorded "Us and Them" on perhaps the seminal rock album of all time, "Dark Side of the Moon." To commemorate the anniversary, they recently released a deluxe version of the masterpiece containing not just the original version, but additional live performances, outtakes, demos, and scores of unreleased material. It is known by all of my generation through and through, and although an undeniable favorite and much-loved, I haven't listened to it in ages. But when I finally put this new collection on my iPod I remembered why this music was so important. Personally I was always enthralled by the exceptional experience of the music, but the words have never been more relevant. The band continues their tome of separation...

"With (with, with, with, with), without (out, out, out, out).

And who'll deny that's what the fightings all about" 

It breaks my heart that the social climate of this country has catastrophically polarized corporate capitalism against the public welfare. Political ideologies rage without due concern for long term solutions to our serious problems. It appears that we live in an selfish age where to help, not just the needy, but the other has become irresponsible. We have no use for the other. Tragically, our own special interests and individual concerns now outweigh the collective good. Are we forever separated into us and them?

Our readings this morning, unfortunately, do not help as they stress the incompatible divisions. Both the Old and New Testaments demonstrate that we have been struggling with this problem for a long time. Those who do the right thing, that is, the people who help those in need are rewarded. Consequently, those who refuse to give are denied god's grace. Matthew's gospel is particularly fiery and vindictive in such a way. But this idea of separation arises with only short-sighted consciousness. We are not alone, nor are we the 99%. We cannot separate ourselves from each other or from the earth. We are intimately - 100% - connected and to deny a part of one is a death to all. Perhaps we should consider the Buddha's portrayal of the two reed bundles leaning against each other. When one bundle is removed, he cautions, the other cannot remain standing. 

Zen practice uses a technique called the ten ox herding pictures that may represent a practitioner's advancement on the path to becoming enlightened. It begins with "In search of the bull," and it describes our current situation: 

"In the pasture of this world, I endlessly push aside the tall reeds in search of the bull.
Following unnamed rivers, lost upon the interpenetrating paths of distant mountains,
My strength failing and my vitality exhausted, I cannot find the bull.
I only hear the locusts chirring through the forest at night."

We eventually realize that the bull has never been lost. And as such, there is no need to search. Only because we separate ourselves from our true nature, do we conceive him missing. Our senses confused, we lose our way. We see many roads but do not know the way. Many chose the way of greed, some take the path of fear, others the road of power, but they all lead further away from home.

The only avenue that returns us from the dark side of the moon is to remember that there is no us or them. When we come to understand our unity we shall progress together to a better world. Although we are ordinary men and women, god knows we can choose the right thing to do. Let us not leave anyone out - the 99 or the one percent.

love, always,

pia

trust fund investing

The veritable personification of god sternly sat in judgment listening to my plaintive defense. The longer we sat the more my confidence was shaken. And we sat for a long time. Finally I cried out in desperation, "I don't know if I can. I am so unworthy." His eyes twinkled from behind a full beard that buried his face in thick wool and a knowing smile spread across Brother Micah's lips. "Truly, we are all unworthy," the monk confided. But that's not the answer I wanted to hear. I had hoped for some assurance that everything would be okay, but all I got was an affirmation of risk and that made me nervous. Perhaps I shouldn't take the chance.

Each day we take many risks of minor consequence, but when we're playing with fire - when life as we know it is on the line - then the unknown scares us. That's what causes the judicious servant in today's parable to play it safe. He doesn't want to take a chance losing his god-given talent, so he hides it and therefore has nothing to show for it when the credit is called due. He is scorned and condemned, but considering the market's ups and downs recently, it may not have been such a bad strategy. Similarly, Lorraine bemoaned the fact that her retirement account lost a bundle this year and wondered if it would have been best to hide it under a mattress. I won't even look at mine for fear of the worst. So what chance do we have?

First of all, this isn't a lesson in investment, unless of course it's an investment in a trust fund. The Nike* Christ is saying "Just Do It," and don't hold back. Trust and give all the love you have and you will reap a bounteous reward. However, we often get the feeling that what we have to give is hardly enough. With our meager talent we shall never prove ourselves worthy. But we are not called to calculate risk, but to give love. The prudent who offer little do much to offend. 

There will always be risks for life is necessarily uncertain. But the rich opportunities will only arise when we don't deny the goodness and gifts of the universe. All that is true; All that is good; All that is wise, comes from answering with confidence the call that the divine has placed upon us. If there was no risk there would be no growth. And without growth we would not have lived. In the end, a life safely lived is not lived at all.

love, always,

pia

* Greek goddess of victory, not of Oregon shoes.

a different way to go

No, it wasn't a glorious fall day that brought out the best in everything. The dull sky loomed forlorn without brilliance and the chill nipped ever so that it might be best to remain content at home. Nonetheless the afternoon was calling me outdoors. And justified with some errands to run, I hopped on my bike and sprightly went on a 20 mile junket. I wanted to follow a route that Amy and I took a few years prior but somewhere along the way I veered off course. Still, fond memories flooded my mind as I recalled our day together talking of her reconnecting with Andy and eventually buying a large stash of windup toys for our mom. Even though unplanned, somehow I had found another way to get where I wanted to go.

On the return, although being more careful to maintain the preconceived path, I soon ventured a unique course. Again it mattered little, for which ever way I traveled there was something to marvel. Here was a group of roofers on their lunch break imbibing the sweet strains of Conjunto Norteno accordion. I pondered the coincidence when I came across a second just a few blocks away. In a park I spotted a father and son tossing a football in long, perfect spirals, and later, two girls gathering the last of the quickly fading snow to make a one ball snowman. When I rode past the house where Lorraine lived when I first met her, the smell of freshly baked bread and the ruckus of a truckstop jamboree ignited my senses. Each of these events formed part of a, now, glorious day.

Yet if there was only one of these recollections it still would have been a blessed afternoon. It's not the cumulative total, nor is it any one thing that creates the specialness, but the discreet attention to the individual. One is not better than the other for each was a gift of the divine. The best of everything awaits in anything. The way to love has no prescribed path because there's more than one way to get there.

The same is true with our relationship with our true self. There's more than one way to follow the inner light. In today's lesson from Matthew, Jesus preaches his first gospel message which sums up his spiritual convictions. He proclaims there are many roads to the golden heart: Be compassionate, sincere, humble, or merciful and you will arrive, he says. Seek justice, peace, or long to love and you meet the holy. Don't be attached to anything except finding yourself, and you will. The New Testament could end here and it would still get us where we need to go.

The Beatitudes offer us many ways to reach our destination and each one is filled with grace. We don't need to follow all of them to wind up at our spiritual home, but if we truly follow one, there's a good chance we'll reach them all. When we recognize the blessedness of life we won't be content with what's at home, we'll want to go out and fully experience the love that's everywhere to behold.

love, always,

pia

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

to be is to do

The "redlines" arrived on my desk unannounced and unwelcome. There weren't many, but the imperatives staring me down demanded in no uncertain terms to "Make the following changes." To say the least, I was a bit indignant. My "superior" sense of design, color, and proportion was being challenged by what I selfishly deemed to be unjust, coming from uncritical reason. These changes were not for the better, I scoffed, but arbitrary and imprudent. After fuming over a hurt ego for a spit, reluctantly I deferred. But only just so.

Recanting my stubborn refusal to change, I sifted through the pages and began to accommodate my superior's requests. At some I shook my head in disbelief, vowing that I could never affront my masterpiece with such embarrassment, but eventually found the resolve to make good. Others, however, I assented to quickly but proudly failed to perform. In the first scenario I started out wrongly but corrected my action, and the latter had good intentions but no follow through. It was a deja vu rendering of today's gospel parable. In both instances, words and actions did not align. The protagonist said one thing yet did another.

It isn't what you say you are going to do that's important, it's what you do*. And this is the point of Jesus' obvious story: Results matter; Intentions, well, not so much. He condemns the religious elite for starting out on the righteous path but ending up perversely distorting their objective. They mean to follow god but instead get sidetracked with innuendo and intrigue. More concerned with dead legal formalities than the life behind their words, the authorities proclaim: Do what I say not what I do. The unacceptable (the tax collectors and prostitutes), on the other hand, may have begun their journey in the wrong, Jesus infers, but finish strong by following the good. Their actions speaking louder than their words.

Who we are is shown by what we do. We inhabit the divine as the divine is in us and we must share the spirit to make it come alive. The self-emptying, humble, and loving Christ is born in our works. His adversaries speak only to confuse and disable. Our intimate nature seeks our involvement not just our words. We are called to follow through on our promises. Are we ready to say yes - yes to our obligations, yes to the right choices, yes to the god we intimately know and who knows us, yes to live the life of Christ?

love, always,

pia

* Of course the end doesn't justify the means. There is more than doing the right thing. What's not addressed, and arguably more important, is how we do what we do.

lights on, nobody home

A new roommate moved in to my condo last week. Unfortunately, day by day I have become increasingly dismayed over a multitude of instances which I consider violations of my space. Cabinet doors are routinely left open, items are left scattered about after their use, shoes sit on the furniture, lights left indiscriminately on, and the toilet remains unflushed. When I return home I consistently find something not being attended to. I wanted, not an admission of guilt, but a simple "I'm sorry," but none was forthcoming. I felt hurt because my home - and by extension, myself - was not being afforded the respect it deserved. The expectations of an orderly house have been abused.

It's a matter of awareness. To handle things with attentive care, whether through our speech, touch, or mind, is the embodiment of the divine. Of course, it is extraordinarily difficult to be conscious of everything we do and to do it with love, but I saw no evidence of an attempt. An early lesson from the convent was a reprimand for noisily clanging the dishes while placing them in the dishwasher. I was intent on hastily completing my task in order to enjoy free time in other, more pleasant, activities. But my Sisters reminded me that every action required heedful attention - from quietly closing doors to never hurrying. When we wash the dishes we do it carefully that even plastic dishes are given great accord. When we talk we speak with a reverent tongue as if speaking to one most honored. Everything we do is performed as if the our entire life depended on our work - as indeed it does - for the extension of our touch knows no bounds. In such a way, everything and everywhere is a potential for the sacred to emerge.

So a feeling of distress arose on account of my roommate's indiscreet manners. While unmindfulness may have upset the tranquility of my home, anger destroyed my inner peace even more. I became overly anxious and couldn't sleep until I came across a quote by the Taiwanese Buddhist nun, Cheng Yen, who said, "To be angry is to let others' mistakes punish yourself." I quickly realized that my roommate was not purposefully inflicting harm and that only my emotions were the root of my misery. The key to letting go of the pain was forgiveness.

However,  "Everyone believes in forgiveness until he has something to forgive," remarked C. S. Lewis. Why should I forgive when I was the one who (it seemed) required forgiveness? Yet this is what Jesus is attempting to relay to his disciples in today's gospel. In the parable of the Unmerciful Servant, he explains that we are all human and all in need of divine grace. There is no end to forgiveness. Peter, on the other hand, expects a quick fix. He wants to know when his work is done so he can get on to other, more preferable, activities. The Christ tells him that the job is never done. 

Forgiveness is not about accepting unacceptable behavior, it is about relinquishing our resentment and thoughts of revenge. On this anniversary of 9/11

that's something to be mindful of - and perhaps something we should have been aware of ten years ago. But forgiveness takes time for true healing and can't be forced. When we forgive, we let go of of our anger, not our ethics. We can then move on and not be disturbed when the lights are on but nobody is at home.

love, always,

pia

fences

This past Labor Day weekend I helped my father build a fence. He wanted to screen out a stand of junipers that over the years have become bare and unsightly, and although he did the majority of the labor, I found that I also built a fence of my own.

Unlike my father's project, mine could not be seen nor was it entirely useful. I constructed a subliminal fence meant to conceal the suffering from a negative onslaught of self examination. Things that I would rather forget or those that are too painful to live with, my critical mind uncovered and I wished to hide them. In deference to a functioning sanity, my subconscious built a fence around this deep hurt of shame and guilt. A hopeful strategy inflicting a minimal hand blister from the screwdriver of humiliation, but which soon enough is forgotten. However, underneath festers a writhing discontent rendering eventual turmoil onto the unsuspecting visible side.

And so it was this weekend. My usually adequate defenses were torn down, and faults, large and small, overwhelmed my sense of safety. The radical question "Am I looking at myself clearly and honestly?" failed to arise and a ready gainsaying of the provocations appeared to be negligent. Fast I held the gates closed, and in an exasperated resolve, vowed to build a better barrier.

Yet these fences serve only to disassociate ourselves from the true beauty we so hope to see. I wanted to screen out the internal graceless negativity leaving only a secure haven. But my freedom is not found in a separation from the pain but through the wisdom of acceptance. We can't rid ourselves of the things we don't like, these things are what make up our reality. There is always the good, the bad, and the indifferent. The problem is in ourselves and how we relate to what we're confronted with. Our strength and freedom reside not in the protective self but in the uncomfortable confusion of what is.

And this may be the subliminal message that Jesus is attempting to get across in yesterday's gospel. Of course the Christ is alluding to reconciliation of a deviant member of the group, but in effect he may also be acknowledging that all - the acceptable and the unacceptable aspects of ourselves - are part of the One. The joy lies in tearing down the fences and welcoming the undivided soul, not just the parts we find favor with. When we become friends with our Self there is a profound wholeness because nothing has to change and no new fences need to be built.

love, always,

pia