A peaceful night and a perfect end...

A dear sister in the congregation I pastor departed this life last night, Friday the 20th of April, in the Year of Our Lord 2012. Her name is Janet Biggart. Her husband preceded her into glory about a year ago. Now they rejoice with each other and with the saints triumphant in resplendent glory. High were her hopes. Great was her faith. Happy was her end. And she met it well.

I used to wish for a quick death. I hoped it would be relatively painless as well. I always thought of being caught in an explosion, or a car crash, or something sudden arising from one of the more dangerous sports I used to enjoy. I hoped this way because I was wanted to avoid pain. I thought this way because I was forgetting what I was praying for all the times I said the nunc dimittis at the end of Compline. Hundreds of times I asked "For a peaceful night and a perfect end..."

I was (in part) echoing the words of St. Simeon found in the beginning of the Gospel of Luke. He was wishing for a good death now that he had seen the Savior. What an odd and offensive thing to wish for in our time! I am surely going to accused of being morbid and obsessed with death. If you know me, you know a morbid fascination with death is not a vice I war against. If anything it is an energizing reality for me. Up until the mid-20th Century, death was a much more present reality to everyone everywhere than it is now. The throw-away phrases 'keeping short accounts' and 'live every day as if it were your last' come to mind. Not because I think we should all proceed with whatever debauchery and decadence appeals to us, but for the sake of getting and keeping 'things in order' with the people that form the integral webs of our lives.

Janet Biggart spent well the days she had remaining to her. She was already in failing health when her husband, Terry, departed. She knew her time was finite in the short and the long of it. A hundred days or a hundred years, she knew she was mortal. She embraced the "Gift of Men." God answered the prayer of St. Simeon, the nunch dimittis, for Janet. She was given the grace of a good death. To not only face death with courage and hope, but live well throughout the process. Her deeply Christian embrace of mortality gave her supernatural traction and power in her final times.

These days, I think a little cancer might do. 6 months or so would be enough. Enough time to say and do everything that needs to be done, in case I've left things undone. (Which I almost certainly will.) I would also prefer my wife to have preceded me, lest she have to be alone.

In case I do indeed get my earlier wishes, I'm trying to keep accounts not 'as short' as possible, but 'as full.' I fail a lot at this.

God help me to walk as well as Janet Biggart, in both the living and the dying.

Seeing and Being Seen

I used to think that dressing up and going out in public to see and be seen was a vanity of sorts. A smallish and tolerable vice. I’ve changed my mind of late. Certainly there is a vice in ostentation, attention seeking, and overly sexualizing our appearances in public. That being said, how we dress, how we walk, where we walk…they matter...and can be implements of giving life to one another. Cumulatively, different subcultures dress and speak certain ways. I am not saying anything revelatory in that. There is another subsidiary level to this though: how we walk. Our gait, our, mannerisms, our gestures (along with our clothing and other decorations) have a communal and moral dimension. They reinforce certain spiritual and emotional realities for the person seeing and person being seen. All you have to do is look at the central place dance plays in religion, politics, and even warfare the world over. We as North Americans view dance as primarily recreational and romantic. This is an example of how hard we find it to see our bodies as political, theological, and supernatural instruments. This is also another reason why I like liturgy and various degrees of formality in common life. We are creating spiritual realities left and right, in everything that we do. There is nothing without some small ultimate significance. The promise of grace should help us to rest in this, not be troubled by it.

It’s easy enough to say that a person’s posture and face express how they feel, what they think, even perhaps what they believe. Once again, I’m saying nothing new in that. 

BUT,  I think those things also function reflexively. We not only express what we think, feel, and believe in our walk. We reinforce and cultivate them for ourselves and the people around us as we walk. Juxtapose the strutting walk of a thug and the upright posture of an assertive but un-threatening gentleman. Think about how it makes you feel. Think about how you feel about a community composed of members who do one or the other. The hung head and shoulders of a victim not only signal their hurt, but it will shape their vision of themselves, their self regard, and even their physiological reactions. Even if we can’t always articulate the inchoate message we’re communicating to others and ourselves, we are nevertheless expressing something very real. I root this idea in our incarnate nature. We were made as fully embodied creatures, not in the model of ‘ghosts in the machine’ proposed by modernity. Our embodiment is not an accident. Our bodies not only express ‘us,’ they shape ‘us’ because they are us. We are a natural/supernatural unity. Made for Heaven from the things of Earth. A metaphysical scrambled egg.

The ancients had a word for all this outward moral/aesthetic holism. It was called ‘countenance.’ For us it has come to be merely an archaic way of referring to a person’s facial expression. For the ancients, it gathered together what we might call the ‘energy’ and ‘feel’ of a person as a whole in a given situation, with the expression of the face given centrality. In our culture of great abundance and variety, I would include clothes and jewelry in this as well seeing as how we have so much choice and control over them.

I suppose the implication of this is that we should be mindful of how we dress and how we walk with one another. In embodying a countenance day by day, we are constantly becoming and helping others to become certain sorts of people as we see and are seen. We should love each other in our promenading together. May our sidewalks become sidewalks in the Kingdom.  We should walk with the oppressed and hurting (thoughtfully, carefully, without commodifying and emptying their culture’s artifacts and mannerisms), and be part of the renewing of their countenance even as ours are renewed. For me, that could begin by becoming less judgmental about the ‘thuggish strut’ I find so offensive. Perhaps I'll strut a bit myself. We’ll see.

'Hooding the falcon' or 'Why I fancy my evening walks'

In the sport of falconry there is a piece of equipment called a ‘hood.’ Between attempts at game or while traipsing between the field and their home a falconer will put a rather funny looking leather hood on his hawk. Falcons and most other birds of prey are quite fierce and aggressive. They are gifted with powers of sight few humans can comprehend. Seeing game or another hawk, they might try to cast off their handler. They also don’t share mankind’s fear of the dark. It is actually quite calming and restorative for them to be in the dark rather than exposed to the stresses of car travel, other animals, or what have you.  While I am l not usually given to the restiveness of the falcon, I know I share some of that fieriness with my feathered brethren.

Enter the evening walk. Going in the gloaming. Sashaying at sunset. Specifically, Greenlake.

2.8 miles of humanity and nature mildly mixing. A place to see and be seen. Most evenings, it is usually getting on towards sunset when I arrive there. 

The semi-darkness is good for me. It forces me to rely on other senses than sight, which is usually an enjoyable exercise. I’m reaching the point that I know where I am by scent alone, unless there is a lot of wind or perfume obscuring things. The perfume is not always unwelcome, though. Strangely enough, in this magic moment in the half-light, a certain sort of intense eye contact and mutual inspection becomes more acceptable. In the broad daylight and in the pitch black it would be inappropriate, even frightening. In that little time though, more smiles and face to face gazes happen. I don’t know why. One doesn’t always have to know the hows and whys of a specific grace to enjoy it and name it good. 

I’m getting too technical though. Quite simply, the vesper light is healing and a tool in God’s hand. The hooded falcon will more often than not puff out its feathers and settle into a certain repose on the falconer’s fist. Sometimes they even fall asleep. I’ve come to realize I am sitting on God’s fist, being tamed bit by bit by the calming effects of the evening with it scents, people, animals, gentle movement, and our unique social moment as we promenade together around the lake.

Trades

Lately I've been entertaining the idea of returning to my roots and going in the direction of a satisfying trade. Fine carpentry, boatbuilding, and working on diesel engines or airplanes attracts me the most. So does home building as whole. Something about providing that for people (especially as a ministerial and charitable act when I can afford to do so) sounds quite satisfying. There is also something to be said for starting with X (raw materials, broken things, and other sorts of unformed matter) and ending the day or the week with Y (a completed object). I know regardless of how I make my tents in this world I will mostly likely learn carpentry at some point. If something is beautiful, useful, and well made, I usually fall very quickly in love with it. My model of the 'worker priest in the world' is also satisfied by such a vision. It's important for Christian leaders and ministers to be among the people they assume to serve. Not just mingling, but putting their hands to the task at hand.

Sister Helen

"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." - Helen Keller

A Little Fun

From the Associated Press
French Intellectuals to be deployed in Afghanistan To Convince Taliban of
Non-Existence of God
[Paris]

The ground war in Afghanistan heated up yesterday when the Allies revealed
plans to airdrop a platoon of crack French existentialist philosophers
into
the country to destroy the morale of Taliban zealots by proving the
non-existence of God. Elements from the feared Jean-Paul Sartre Brigade,
or
'Black Berets', will be parachuted into the combat zones to spread doubt,
despondency and existential anomie among the enemy.

Hardened by numerous intellectual battles fought during their long
occupation of Paris's Left Bank, their first action will be to establish a
number of pavement cafes at strategic points near the front lines.
There they will drink coffee and talk animatedly about the absurd nature
of
life and man's lonely isolation in the universe. They will be accompanied
by
a number of heartbreakingly beautiful girlfriends who will further spread
dismay by sticking their tongues in the philosophers' ears every five
minutes and looking remote and unattainable to everyone else.

Their leader, Colonel Marc-Ange Belmondo, spoke yesterday of his
confidence
in the success of their mission. Sorbonne graduate Belmondo, a very
intense
and unshaven young man in a black pullover, gesticulated wildly and said,
"The Taliban are caught in a logical fallacy of the most ridiculous. There
is no God and I can prove it. Take your tongue out of my ear, Juliet, I am
talking."

Marc-Ange plans to deliver an impassioned thesis on man's nauseating
freedom
of action with special reference to the work of Foucault and the films of
Alfred Hitchcock.

However, humanitarian agencies have been quick to condemn the operation as
inhumane, pointing out that the effects of passive smoking from the
Frenchmens' endless Gitanes could wreak a terrible toll on civilians in
the area.

The Importance of Encumbrances

My neighborhood abuts against a main east-west arterial through north Seattle. From this arterial multiple roads enter my neighborhood. The road my house is on was paved many years ago and has withstood the passage of time with the same degree of admixture most old roads do; the odd pothole, loose pavement turning to gravel,  and the absence a clear definition between where the pavement ends and the mossy dirt beside the road begins.

One very important modification was made at some point in the road’s life however: two smallish cement traffic features. Imagine something in the order of a traffic circle, but instead of creating a circular flow of traffic, they are offset in such a ways as to make you swerve rather awkwardly between them.

Their purpose is only to allow one car at a time.

My first 6 months of encountering these traffic features was sometimes an opportunity for abstract reflection on the arcane minds of traffic designers in Seattle. More often than not they were a chance to behave like a teenager and feel the cool ‘swoopy’ feeling of going through what amounted to a very short slalom. Occasionally I also just hated them for being in my way. Impeding my choices. Curtailing my freedom. I mean, these damned things made me slow down, pay attention, be aware of others, and even sometimes (the horror!) give way to another car!

I liked them very much. 

Seattle drivers are known for (as I suspect, in all fairness, many drivers everywhere are) a distinctly passive aggressive streak. They (usually) won’t pass madly, go too much over the speed limit, or in general be an active nuisance to others. However, one thing they are known for is a perfected indifference to each other. Vehicular neglect. They may not cleanly get around you, or want you out of their way, but God help if you’d like to merge. They will just sit, either truly unseeing or just not caring. And always, always, the studied and intent lack of eye contact.  (In reality, they want around, to pass you, to tailgate you till can feel them breathing on your neck…but we’re far too nice to do anything about it here in Seattle.)

I’d rather someone tell me, decently and in order, to fuck off.

But I’m really not hoping to talk about traffic per se, other than it shows us something about having a lot of anonymity, power and freedom that abstracts us from other people. I want to get back to those traffic features…

Only allowing one car through at a time means I as a driver had to enact a host of virtues. Forethought, social interaction, the self-limitation of personal power, placing myself second, patience, and a certain sort of civic conviviality that is necessary for any community bigger than a few dozen people to function. 

Hell, I even waved.

Many artifacts from our culture participate in this ‘un-encumbering dynamic.’ Technology in general because of the quick power it provides, the disposability of online ‘relationships,’ the endless duplication of every possible practical item necessary (or unnecessary) to life to avoid the reality of sharing something, the little cocoons of insulated luxury we spend our lonely free time in, and the ease and eagerness with which we leave home, family, and community to name a few. 

A world with some number of encumbrances (imperfect roads that don’t let me zoom on my merry way, a broken family, a spouse who just won’t do things the right (my) way, the senescing of our bodies and powers of mind, the computer failing me and forcing me into other more incarnate ways of relating) can serve as a useful prop for God. He shows me that I too am ‘but dust’ and am not (currently) fitted for a life of unrestrained power and freedom anyway. It would make me miserable in the end. More importantly, and more happily, the imperfect world of limited resources, time, and freedom forces me to face others, and perhaps, by the grace of God, to embrace them as the gift that they are. I need Paul’s truck. He needs my blender. I need my gay neighbor’s pain, alienation, and other-ness. He needs my reactionary and backward Christianity! I need ‘them’ with their virtues and vices. They need me with my virtues and vices. (If for no other reason than to teach them patience with a fusty old pedant!) The little bits of grace we show each other are windows into another world.

I think it important at this point to distinguish between encumbrances that orient us towards others and those which pull us away from others or otherwise wreck us. You’ll have to figure which is which in your own life. Nor am I saying one should never be rid of this or that particular discomfort or impediment. I’m saying we ought to be suspicious of the plan to remove all sense of imperfection, the need for others and their grace toward us, and testy little inconveniences from our life. I’ve had those plans, and I know where they lead. 

Someday, all things will be renewed. This world and its many structures will die and be resurrected on that glorious cosmic Easter Day. This dynamic we struggle through for the time being will be undone. No more sickness, sorrow, pain, and tears. The same perfect power and love the pushes the stars in their courses will have invaded and remade even the darkest recesses of my heart, and hopefully yours too. We will not need our encumbrances to remind us and make us love other people. Perfect power, freedom, and love. I think we know this deep inside too, hence our desire for perfect power and freedom now. These inklings and intimations have been masterfully placed within us, and while we tend to use them as excuses to hurt one another, they are bread crumbs leading us home if we’ll let them be. But the time is not yet ripe. A seed must die if it’s to give rise to a plant. We are already on our way, we are not there yet.

For now though…

Endless consumption, easy power, instant response times, action and movement utterly devoid of  difficulty and delay, especially without the difficulty, delay, and blessing of other human beings is a rather anemic vision, don’t you think? Our encumbrances are sometimes heavy. Perhaps we might be wise to get rid of some of the heaviest ones. Nonetheless, we should try to be thankful for the ones we can be, the good ones; they keep us from floating off the earth altogether.