Lunch at Noon & Intracoastal Lights
May 04, 2009
I embrace emerging experience. I
participate in discovery. I am a butterfly.
I am not a butterfly collector. I want the
experience of the butterfly. William
Stafford
We spend our entire lives indefinitely
preparing to live. Paul Tournier
The husband knew he could not adequately care
for his wife, now in the final stages of
Alzheimer's. He found a compassionate
facility, and visited her every day. At noon
for lunch.
Not 11:59.
Not 12:01.
Noon. Every day.
Until the day of a minor accident when he found himself in an Emergency Room, his arm being stitched by a nurse as the clock approached the noon hour.
"I need to leave," he said ill at ease.
"Hold on," she told him, "we're not finished here."
"But I must visit my wife at noon," he said.
"Well," she told him gently, "today you can be a little late."
The man told the nurse the story of his wife and of the facility where she lives and how when he visits she does not even recognize him, does not know who he is. The nurse patted his hand and said, "That's okay hon. You can relax. If she doesn't even recognize you, there is no harm in being late this one day."
"No," the man insisted. "I need to go. I need to be there at noon. I know she doesn't recognize me. But I need to be there because I still recognize her."
Invited to guest preach at another parish, Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor asked the priest, "What do you want me to talk about?"
"Come tell us what is saving your life now," he told her.
Taylor writes, "I did not have to say correct things that were true for everyone. I did not have to use theological language that conformed to the historical teachings of the church. All I had to do was figure out what my life depended on. All I had to do was figure out how I stayed as close to that reality as I could, and then find some way to talk about it that helped my listeners figure out those same things for themselves." (From An Altar in the World)
The husband who visited his wife everyday at noon understood. He knew what was saving his life today.
Joseph Campbell says that we must "have a room, or a certain hour (or so) a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don't know what you owe anybody, you don't know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. . .if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen."
There was plenty of disquieting news this week. The kind that makes me want to go sit in my garden, ignore the creditors, pull a few weeds, eat dark chocolate and listen to Otis Redding. I avoid all conversations that presuppose the very worst.
Yes, I know that bad stuff happens. But I also know that it's not about what can go wrong, it's about where we choose to look, or see, or how we pay attention.
Last week I spent a few days with some old friends. It's a ritual. We gather about the same time every year. And yes, they are old, as in we've been friends a long time-over 25 years. And yes, they are old, as in they (like me) take an odd pleasure in getting their AARP discount at the movie theater.
We spend the days on a friend's boat, swapping stories, talking about the way life is, and the way life should be if we were in charge. And how life is not easy for some of us-struggles and challenges with kids, or jobs, or marriages, or expectations. Or all of the above.
We don't use our time making a Bucket List, but instead, enjoy the days with its endowment of gifts, taking great delight in the little things.
Einstein once said, "Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted." That's a good one to bank on. So that's what we did; Allowed ourselves to be enchanted. Giddy at the sightings of soaring manta rays, in awe watching gentle manatees play in the Gulf near our boat, silenced in amazement at a family of osprey (mom and dad with four young), imperial and imposing in their nest above the sign that read "Manatee Zone. Slow speed. Minimum Wake."
We pointed at dolphins and herons and egrets. And enjoyed sunsets that made us forget everything on our worry list. (Sitting on the beach my friend asked me about my worry list from a year ago. "What was on that list? You know, the things that paralyzed you, made you think you wouldn't make it another day?" "I can't remember," I told him. "I rest my case," he said.)
When the sun dissolves on the horizon, and the water turns the color of spewed lava, my friend Ed blows a conch shell. It is his variation on a Benedictine Compline, a prayer to end the day. We raise our glasses and toast life and these moments of grace.
One night, on the boat we returned from dinner late, well after dark. This is a dicey affair (I had no idea). We were in the intracoastal-waterway, a stretch along the western coast of Florida from Sarasota to Long Boat Key to Manasota Key and Boca Grande, filled with islands and peninsulas, and vast mango groves, looking prehistoric, or like perfect hideaways for a Carl Hiaasen novel.
In places the water is shallow, only a foot or so above sand bars. So, traveling after dark is not just an adventure. It can be dangerous (on the shoals and all that, not to mention pirates, although retired Floridians in polyester shorts don't provoke the requisite amount of terror and panic.)
Ed's tone is clear, "Watch that red blinking light. Pay attention. We need to stay left of that. If we don't, we're on a sand bar." This is a trip that requires watchfulness.
I've come full circle. Back with the husband, sitting with his wife at lunch.
To navigate any difficult water in our lives, we need markers.
"I need to visit my wife at noon," the man told the nurse.
"Everyone needs a sacred place," Joseph Campbell reminds us.
This is a non-negotiable.
So where is you sacred place?
We do not go there merely to fulfill an obligation.
We do not go there just to be a good person.
We do not go there to impress people we know.
We go there because if we don't go, we lose a part of our soul.
The other night we paid attention to the red light.
And we made it to the harbor safely.
Here's what I learned: One light at a time.
I hope the same for you.
What is saving you today?
For me, today, it is my garden.
I am in my garden.
I will write my Sabbath Moment later tonight. For now:
I am not Phoning.
I am not Blogging.
I am not Twittering.
I am not Texting.
I am not Emailing.
I am not mentally editing the to-do list in my head.
I am resting. And for now, I am in safe harbor.
Our life has become so economic and practical in its orientation that, as you get older, the claims of the moment upon you are so great, you hardly know where the hell you are, or what it is you intended. You are always doing something that is required of you. Where is your bliss station? You have to try to find it. Joseph Campbell
Notes from Terry
1. Mark you calendars
terryhershey/grace-in-the-garden
May 15 - 17 in Davis, California. Grace in Action, a faith-based ministry serving the homeless in our community invites you to GRACE IN THE GARDEN, a weekend celebration of gardening, spirituality, and embracing life.
Saturday, May 16 -- Grace in the Garden with Terry Hershey, Warren Roberts and Others / Davis Community Church
Sunday, May 17 -- Worship with Terry Hershey / United Methodist Church of Davis
A weekend benefit for Grace in Action
Contact: office@grace-in-action.org or call 530-792-1053
2. Terry's new CDs, Born to Dance and Sabbath Moments are coming soon. They have been slightly delayed in production. Thank you for your patience.
3. Coming This Summer: THE RELAX, REFUEL, RESTART RETREAT. Begin making plans to attend. Sign up now for early registration.
www.loyolapress.com/relax
The Relax, Refuel, Restart Retreat is a great way for catechetical leaders and others in parish ministry to rest, re-energize, and take steps to find balance in their busy lives. Find the city in your area and bring your entire parish / church leadership team! You will not want to miss this day.
Call 773-281-1818 x 287
Not 11:59.
Not 12:01.
Noon. Every day.
Until the day of a minor accident when he found himself in an Emergency Room, his arm being stitched by a nurse as the clock approached the noon hour.
"I need to leave," he said ill at ease.
"Hold on," she told him, "we're not finished here."
"But I must visit my wife at noon," he said.
"Well," she told him gently, "today you can be a little late."
The man told the nurse the story of his wife and of the facility where she lives and how when he visits she does not even recognize him, does not know who he is. The nurse patted his hand and said, "That's okay hon. You can relax. If she doesn't even recognize you, there is no harm in being late this one day."
"No," the man insisted. "I need to go. I need to be there at noon. I know she doesn't recognize me. But I need to be there because I still recognize her."
Invited to guest preach at another parish, Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor asked the priest, "What do you want me to talk about?"
"Come tell us what is saving your life now," he told her.
Taylor writes, "I did not have to say correct things that were true for everyone. I did not have to use theological language that conformed to the historical teachings of the church. All I had to do was figure out what my life depended on. All I had to do was figure out how I stayed as close to that reality as I could, and then find some way to talk about it that helped my listeners figure out those same things for themselves." (From An Altar in the World)
The husband who visited his wife everyday at noon understood. He knew what was saving his life today.
Joseph Campbell says that we must "have a room, or a certain hour (or so) a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don't know what you owe anybody, you don't know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. . .if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen."
There was plenty of disquieting news this week. The kind that makes me want to go sit in my garden, ignore the creditors, pull a few weeds, eat dark chocolate and listen to Otis Redding. I avoid all conversations that presuppose the very worst.
Yes, I know that bad stuff happens. But I also know that it's not about what can go wrong, it's about where we choose to look, or see, or how we pay attention.
Last week I spent a few days with some old friends. It's a ritual. We gather about the same time every year. And yes, they are old, as in we've been friends a long time-over 25 years. And yes, they are old, as in they (like me) take an odd pleasure in getting their AARP discount at the movie theater.
We spend the days on a friend's boat, swapping stories, talking about the way life is, and the way life should be if we were in charge. And how life is not easy for some of us-struggles and challenges with kids, or jobs, or marriages, or expectations. Or all of the above.
We don't use our time making a Bucket List, but instead, enjoy the days with its endowment of gifts, taking great delight in the little things.
Einstein once said, "Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted." That's a good one to bank on. So that's what we did; Allowed ourselves to be enchanted. Giddy at the sightings of soaring manta rays, in awe watching gentle manatees play in the Gulf near our boat, silenced in amazement at a family of osprey (mom and dad with four young), imperial and imposing in their nest above the sign that read "Manatee Zone. Slow speed. Minimum Wake."
We pointed at dolphins and herons and egrets. And enjoyed sunsets that made us forget everything on our worry list. (Sitting on the beach my friend asked me about my worry list from a year ago. "What was on that list? You know, the things that paralyzed you, made you think you wouldn't make it another day?" "I can't remember," I told him. "I rest my case," he said.)
When the sun dissolves on the horizon, and the water turns the color of spewed lava, my friend Ed blows a conch shell. It is his variation on a Benedictine Compline, a prayer to end the day. We raise our glasses and toast life and these moments of grace.
One night, on the boat we returned from dinner late, well after dark. This is a dicey affair (I had no idea). We were in the intracoastal-waterway, a stretch along the western coast of Florida from Sarasota to Long Boat Key to Manasota Key and Boca Grande, filled with islands and peninsulas, and vast mango groves, looking prehistoric, or like perfect hideaways for a Carl Hiaasen novel.
In places the water is shallow, only a foot or so above sand bars. So, traveling after dark is not just an adventure. It can be dangerous (on the shoals and all that, not to mention pirates, although retired Floridians in polyester shorts don't provoke the requisite amount of terror and panic.)
Ed's tone is clear, "Watch that red blinking light. Pay attention. We need to stay left of that. If we don't, we're on a sand bar." This is a trip that requires watchfulness.
I've come full circle. Back with the husband, sitting with his wife at lunch.
To navigate any difficult water in our lives, we need markers.
"I need to visit my wife at noon," the man told the nurse.
"Everyone needs a sacred place," Joseph Campbell reminds us.
This is a non-negotiable.
So where is you sacred place?
We do not go there merely to fulfill an obligation.
We do not go there just to be a good person.
We do not go there to impress people we know.
We go there because if we don't go, we lose a part of our soul.
The other night we paid attention to the red light.
And we made it to the harbor safely.
Here's what I learned: One light at a time.
I hope the same for you.
What is saving you today?
For me, today, it is my garden.
I am in my garden.
I will write my Sabbath Moment later tonight. For now:
I am not Phoning.
I am not Blogging.
I am not Twittering.
I am not Texting.
I am not Emailing.
I am not mentally editing the to-do list in my head.
I am resting. And for now, I am in safe harbor.
Our life has become so economic and practical in its orientation that, as you get older, the claims of the moment upon you are so great, you hardly know where the hell you are, or what it is you intended. You are always doing something that is required of you. Where is your bliss station? You have to try to find it. Joseph Campbell
Notes from Terry
1. Mark you calendars
terryhershey/grace-in-the-garden
May 15 - 17 in Davis, California. Grace in Action, a faith-based ministry serving the homeless in our community invites you to GRACE IN THE GARDEN, a weekend celebration of gardening, spirituality, and embracing life.
Saturday, May 16 -- Grace in the Garden with Terry Hershey, Warren Roberts and Others / Davis Community Church
Sunday, May 17 -- Worship with Terry Hershey / United Methodist Church of Davis
A weekend benefit for Grace in Action
Contact: office@grace-in-action.org or call 530-792-1053
2. Terry's new CDs, Born to Dance and Sabbath Moments are coming soon. They have been slightly delayed in production. Thank you for your patience.
3. Coming This Summer: THE RELAX, REFUEL, RESTART RETREAT. Begin making plans to attend. Sign up now for early registration.
www.loyolapress.com/relax
The Relax, Refuel, Restart Retreat is a great way for catechetical leaders and others in parish ministry to rest, re-energize, and take steps to find balance in their busy lives. Find the city in your area and bring your entire parish / church leadership team! You will not want to miss this day.
Call 773-281-1818 x 287
Poems / Prayers
New Terry Hershey videos
http://www.terryhershey.com
Dance of Joy -- The Sound of Music in Central Station Antwerp
www.youtube/antwerp
For those who missed last week -- Music to soothe your soul --
Ordinary Miracle by Sarah MaLachlan
www.youtube
The Garden
What I want to know, please, is
what is possible, and what is not.
If it is not, then I am for it.
My heart is out of its flesh-phase.
I am done with all of it, the habits, the patience.
Whoever I was, it is growing hazy and forgettable.
Whoever I am, it is for mere appearance's sake.
It is for coin, and foolishness,
and I am thinking of something better.
All morning it has been raining.
In the language of the garden, this is happiness.
The tissues perk and shine.
Truly this is the poem worth keeping.
A mossy house anyone with sense would enter
as soon as the soul begins
to desire the impossible.
I have never felt so young.
Mary Oliver
Today I Awake
Today I awake and God is before me.
At night, as I dreamt, he summoned the day:
For God never sleeps but patterns the morning
With slithers of gold or glory in gray.
Today I arise and Christ is beside me.
He walked through the dark to scatter new light.
Yes, Christ is alive and beckons his people
To hope and to heal, resist and invite.
Today I affirm the Spirit within me.
At worship and work, in struggle and rest.
The Spirit inspires all life which is changing
From fearing to faith, from broken to blest.
Today I enjoy the Trinity round me,
Above and beneath, before and behind;
The Maker, the Son, the Spirit together
They called me to life and call me their friend.
John L. Bell and Graham Maule
Peace,
Terry Hershey
