Monday, September 24, 2012

Be Not Afraid

Be not afraid...these are the words that emerge from darkness, from silent prayer tonight.  And there is so much I fear, though I am sometimes barely aware.  Fear looms in the anxious- in moving cars, on the edge of daydreams, in the nervous twist of my fingers through my hair.

I forget sometimes the fears of childhood; it is not such a carefree place as one might imagine.  My 8 year old has developed these irrational fears lately, this week obsessing over germs and poison.  (Meanwhile she is fearless- much to my dismay- on the edge of steep mountains!) But I forget the creative imagination of a child- that I was once like her, though my monsters wore other disguises.  I hid instead from creatures that crept around in the dark of night- and from the endlessness of time.

These days I miss the childhood fears- the ones that were born of an overactive imagination. These days my fears are darker and truer to life.  I fear for my children's lives- that they will know despair and pain I cannot protect them from. I fear war and intolerance- the faces of hatred, the fists of angry revenge, stories from Libya, Iran, Afghanistan...and the city across the river.  I am afraid when I read about ice caps melting and temperatures rising. I am afraid of this powerlessness I feel sometimes, and I am afraid that I cannot any longer keep the world at bay.

But mostly I fear hopelessness.  And perhaps it is in that place- in the moment of holding fast to hope, in the turn toward prayer- that the words are recalled to consciousness:  Be not afraid. They return like courage summoned to the call, and I push up against those edges- not because the fears are uncalled for, but because I am called to face them.  Over and over again- so many things I think I cannot do, things I think I cannot be.  But everything is a plunge, every moment-- to do and to be and to live from the hope that lies still within this heart.

Recently a friend told me she did not quite know how to cope with the uncertainty she was experiencing in her life-- she knew only how to muster enough hope for the moment.  On the day we spoke, she was making banana bread.  It was not the answer to solve her problems, but it was an answer to get her through the day.

This is how it is so often for me- to know only what I can and must do now, in the moment that is right before me. Tonight what I must do is to face my own vulnerability around the things I fear. I tell my daughter that we can face the scary things together, and together we draw cartoon monsters that symbolize our deepest fears. This is the first courageous step- to look them in the face- to see what is the imagined- and what is the real.

It seems that many people I know and walk with are taking these courageous steps in their lives- whether it is peeling back the layers to reveal their truest selves, or entering dark places in this world to live more fully into a call. Ironically, perhaps, these courageous steps are actually steps toward greater vulnerability and exposure.

I experienced this myself this past weekend in officiating my sister's wedding ceremony.  I honor my sister and her husband, for marriage is a courageous plunge. On a daily basis in married life, I face my own vulnerability every time I put aside my own ego and pride and remember each decision is not all about me.  Every time my husband and I forgive each other and heal the rifts between us, we are courageous- exposing our soft hearts, letting go of our sharp edges.

It was a gift to honor their love and commitment. I was able to offer my full presence, and to help her create something beautiful from the heart. It was also a challenge to my courage- for though I have led worship within my congregation, it was the first time I've been asked to lead anything so personal- for someone I dearly love- before family and friends of many different religious and spiritual views. I realized my fear only in the second it was too late to say no! But the fear was pointless-- this was a gift I could not not give, as I held in my heart a sister whose generosity of spirit has been a guide to me my whole life.  There are some gifts where we cease to know who is giver and who is receiver; the ceremony was one of shared grace for all of us present.

In this moment of reflection, words arise to celebrate the courageous movements forward so many us are taking:

These are the places where courage is summoned:
to gently birth the vulnerable soul,
to live from the center of this heart,
and to pray with the ones who seek-

We are many here, new on this journey.
We are clumsy, perhaps timid and shy

as we face our edges.  But we are here together-
held in that grace, and we are not afraid.


Tuesday, September 11, 2012

September 11: Where we were then, where we are now

It is September 11th, 2012, and we are once again reminded, as if we could ever forget.  The question- Where were you when you heard the news?- suddenly strikes as odd- as if our small stories as onlookers, amid the stories of those who endured the falling towers or lost loved ones in the tragedy of that day eleven years ago, matters.

And yet it does matter- not only where we were then, but more importantly where we are now.  As I stand on this day at the retreat center where I work, looking out over the Hudson River, looking out toward West Point where a cannon shot sounds- I wonder if the ground beneath me has changed at all.  It was a morning much like this, with clear blue skies, when I awoke in the Black Hills of South Dakota, on retreat with my twelfth-grade World Lit students, Lakota high schoolers from Pine Ridge. I remember the news on the radio, the second tower as it fell before our eyes where I had gathered with other teachers to watch the TV news. And I remember the dumbfounded numbness, the shock and the pain, as we all walked in silence to hang tobacco prayer ties in that sacred ancestral land.

I remember not only this- but also what came after in the months that followed-  the dreamed nightmares of terror, and the real ones as war ensued- the pain of a student who had lost a friend in Afghanistan, the recruiters in our halls, and the native kids who joined that battle on foreign ground.

So, yes, it matters where we were... because we carry the stories with us.  And it is these stories that help to shape what it is that we do now.

Remembering, I know that everywhere I stand is sacred ground-- ground that has known pain, and ground that must know healing and renewal, through the work of our united hands.  Safety is an illusion of the privileged, and there are too many other stories of terror forgotten. Pain echoes through the years- in voices beneath crumbled tower walls...and in the cries of women slaughtered at Wounded Knee. The wounds of 9/11, felt so intimately, connect us to a world that suffers tragedy and loss too often through the violence of human hands-- if we dare to open our broken hearts.    

So, yes, it matters where we were.  And it matters where we are now.  

Because if our eyes saw terror then, then will our hands reach out for healing now? In the midst of rubble, there is a voice that cries-   May peace prevail on earth.

What is the one thing you can do for peace?

Our actions are like tiny stones. Alone we cannot do much... but together, we might build that bridge to peace.

It is September 11, 2012, and we are once again reminded, as the posted signs everywhere read: We will never forget.  And yet, all too often these days, I wonder if we have forgotten.

Forgotten the terror that still pervades the lives of too many people throughout the earth. Forgotten that we are still, eleven years later, engaged in war. And even more- forgotten the call- the call to heal, to work for reconciliation, and to build a bridge to peace...one tiny stone at a time.

May we keep our vow to never forget; and may we join in unity, with people everywhere, for peace.