Mango Season
February 09, 2009
Things which matter most must never be at
the mercy of things which matter least.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."
Harry Chapin
In his book Too Small to Ignore, Wess
Stafford (President of Compassion) tells a
story from his childhood on the Ivory Coast
of Africa. About a village visited by a
convoy of French colonial officials for a
government survey. Their questions had to do
with "expectations of the future." (Including
numbers and size and growth and
development.)
Stafford writes, "The chief and his tribal elders tried to explain to their exasperated visitors that they really didn't know the answers to those kinds of questions, because the future had not yet arrived. When the time came to pass, then the results would be apparent." This, to be sure, made the officials less than pleased. And they left, in a huff.
That day, at dusk, the village gathered in the chief's courtyard. He said, "I want to talk to the children tonight."
"We are not like them," the chief said. "To them time is everything. . .the smaller that men can measure the day, the more angry they seem to be."
"The present is now-the days we live today. This is God's gift to us. It is meant to be enjoyed and lived to the fullest. The present will flow by us, of course, and become the past. That is the way of a river, and that is the way of time. The Frenchmen cannot wait for the future to arrive. They crane their necks to see around the bend in the river. They cannot see it any better than we can, but they try and try. For some reason, it is very important for them to know what is coming toward them. They want to know it so badly that they have no respect for the river itself. They thrash their way out into the present in order to see more around the bend."
They miss so much of the joy of today all around them.
Did you notice that as they stormed into our village, they didn't notice it is the best of the mango season?
Though we offered them peanuts, they did not even taste them.
They did not hear the birds in the trees or the laughter in the marketplace.
We touched them with our hands, but they did not really see us.
"They miss much of the present time, because all they care about is he unknowable, the future. . .The present is all we can fully know and experience, so we must.
"We must love each other. We must smell the hibiscus flowers. We must hear the singing of the weaverbirds and the grunts of the lions. We must taste with joy the honey and the peanut sauce on the rice. We must laugh and cry and live."
Whether he knew it or not, the Village Chief took Jesus seriously. Remember when Jesus said, "Behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you." Meaning "is-right now-in the midst of you-right here."
Meaning, this moment can be the "Sacrament of the Blessed Present," this ordinary moment, a container of grace.
Meaning, that the visible and the invisible are one.
The Celts called some places, 'thin places', places when and where the sacred is almost palpable.
"All of earth is crammed with heaven
And every bush a flame with God
But only those who see take off their shoes."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
What's our alternative? We can walk in reverence, taking off our shoes. Or we can tell ourselves that the kingdom is yet to be, somewhere in the future, something we are willing to give up today for. And we give up who we are today, for who we think we should be.
I experienced this jarring disconnect watching the Super Bowl. So I'm fixed on the sofa, present to the moment (I use the verb with license, as I was multi-tasking, checking email, reading the newspaper and talking on the phone). While watching the game, we are continuously peppered with advertisements (teasers) about future programming. Each program described as the event or program or episode "we've all been waiting for." And to think that this game was what we had been waiting for. How could we have been so wrong headed? Apparently, life doesn't officially begin until "the next thing." (Mental note: Add this information to my list on my Blackberry, so that I'm sure not to miss life when it happens.)
I was helped by reading Eugene O'Kelly's book, Chasing Daylight. It is a book about the last three months of his life. O'Kelly reinforces what we all know to be true. This moment, I have a choice. I can receive the gift of life and embrace it, and immerse myself in it. Or, continue to live in oblivion, asleep, distracted, and waiting. And in the process, we bury the very things that might set us free (borrowing from Stephen Levine). Such as stopping, stillness, listening, hearing, tasting, touching, seeing, smelling and embracing.
In an episode of The West Wing, CJ Craig (White House chief of staff) is wired, tense and distracted. Her love interest shows up, middle of the workday, at her White House office, "to take her for a walk." She consents (but not without a fight, you know, so much "to do"). On the walk, she fidgets and asks, "So, what was so important, taking this walk."
He says, "Just to see."
"Well," she tells him, "this is not the day for it."
Sure, I want to live this moment mindful of the sacred, but this is not the day for it. As if there is a special day for it?
In our western mindset, living in the present becomes a staged event. Staged to be "spiritual." As if this is something we must orchestrate. Or arrange. And we sit stewing in the juices of our self-consciousness. Am I present? What am I doing right or wrong? All the while, missing the point.
A Hasidic Rabbi was interrupted by one of his followers while he was tending his garden, "What would you do, rabbi," the student asked, "if you knew the messiah was coming today?" Stroking his beard and pursing his lips, the rabbi replied, "Well, I would continue to water my garden."
Its about making the choice:
To be open.
To be available.
To be curious.
To be willing to be surprised by joy.
Stafford writes, "The chief and his tribal elders tried to explain to their exasperated visitors that they really didn't know the answers to those kinds of questions, because the future had not yet arrived. When the time came to pass, then the results would be apparent." This, to be sure, made the officials less than pleased. And they left, in a huff.
That day, at dusk, the village gathered in the chief's courtyard. He said, "I want to talk to the children tonight."
"We are not like them," the chief said. "To them time is everything. . .the smaller that men can measure the day, the more angry they seem to be."
"The present is now-the days we live today. This is God's gift to us. It is meant to be enjoyed and lived to the fullest. The present will flow by us, of course, and become the past. That is the way of a river, and that is the way of time. The Frenchmen cannot wait for the future to arrive. They crane their necks to see around the bend in the river. They cannot see it any better than we can, but they try and try. For some reason, it is very important for them to know what is coming toward them. They want to know it so badly that they have no respect for the river itself. They thrash their way out into the present in order to see more around the bend."
They miss so much of the joy of today all around them.
Did you notice that as they stormed into our village, they didn't notice it is the best of the mango season?
Though we offered them peanuts, they did not even taste them.
They did not hear the birds in the trees or the laughter in the marketplace.
We touched them with our hands, but they did not really see us.
"They miss much of the present time, because all they care about is he unknowable, the future. . .The present is all we can fully know and experience, so we must.
"We must love each other. We must smell the hibiscus flowers. We must hear the singing of the weaverbirds and the grunts of the lions. We must taste with joy the honey and the peanut sauce on the rice. We must laugh and cry and live."
Whether he knew it or not, the Village Chief took Jesus seriously. Remember when Jesus said, "Behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you." Meaning "is-right now-in the midst of you-right here."
Meaning, this moment can be the "Sacrament of the Blessed Present," this ordinary moment, a container of grace.
Meaning, that the visible and the invisible are one.
The Celts called some places, 'thin places', places when and where the sacred is almost palpable.
"All of earth is crammed with heaven
And every bush a flame with God
But only those who see take off their shoes."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
What's our alternative? We can walk in reverence, taking off our shoes. Or we can tell ourselves that the kingdom is yet to be, somewhere in the future, something we are willing to give up today for. And we give up who we are today, for who we think we should be.
I experienced this jarring disconnect watching the Super Bowl. So I'm fixed on the sofa, present to the moment (I use the verb with license, as I was multi-tasking, checking email, reading the newspaper and talking on the phone). While watching the game, we are continuously peppered with advertisements (teasers) about future programming. Each program described as the event or program or episode "we've all been waiting for." And to think that this game was what we had been waiting for. How could we have been so wrong headed? Apparently, life doesn't officially begin until "the next thing." (Mental note: Add this information to my list on my Blackberry, so that I'm sure not to miss life when it happens.)
I was helped by reading Eugene O'Kelly's book, Chasing Daylight. It is a book about the last three months of his life. O'Kelly reinforces what we all know to be true. This moment, I have a choice. I can receive the gift of life and embrace it, and immerse myself in it. Or, continue to live in oblivion, asleep, distracted, and waiting. And in the process, we bury the very things that might set us free (borrowing from Stephen Levine). Such as stopping, stillness, listening, hearing, tasting, touching, seeing, smelling and embracing.
In an episode of The West Wing, CJ Craig (White House chief of staff) is wired, tense and distracted. Her love interest shows up, middle of the workday, at her White House office, "to take her for a walk." She consents (but not without a fight, you know, so much "to do"). On the walk, she fidgets and asks, "So, what was so important, taking this walk."
He says, "Just to see."
"Well," she tells him, "this is not the day for it."
Sure, I want to live this moment mindful of the sacred, but this is not the day for it. As if there is a special day for it?
In our western mindset, living in the present becomes a staged event. Staged to be "spiritual." As if this is something we must orchestrate. Or arrange. And we sit stewing in the juices of our self-consciousness. Am I present? What am I doing right or wrong? All the while, missing the point.
A Hasidic Rabbi was interrupted by one of his followers while he was tending his garden, "What would you do, rabbi," the student asked, "if you knew the messiah was coming today?" Stroking his beard and pursing his lips, the rabbi replied, "Well, I would continue to water my garden."
Its about making the choice:
To be open.
To be available.
To be curious.
To be willing to be surprised by joy.
Poems / Prayers
Music to feed the soul
Amazing Grace -- Il Divo
www.youtube.com/
Why I am happy
Now has come, an easy time. I let it
roll. There is a lake somewhere
so blue and far nobody owns it.
A wind comes by and a willow listens
gracefully.
I hear all this, every summer. I laugh
and cry for every turn of the world,
its terribly cold, innocent spin.
That lake stays blue and free; it goes
on and on.
And I know where it is.
William Stafford
Thank you, God, for the consolation you offer,
the hunger you satisfy,
the thirst you quench,
and the healing you produce in those who respond to your love.
You have touched our lives in ways that make us fulfilled.
Now use what we have shared to provide fulfillment in other lives, among our neighbors, near and far.
Amen.
(First Community Church, Columbus, OH)
Peace,
Terry Hershey
