Where Moshe is reminded that Hashem's ways are not our ways...

This morning I discovered that I have 15,001 emails in my Yahoo inbox (that's almost 8 years' worth, for those who want to know), so I've taken it upon myself to delete at least 1,000 a day. Starting with the earliest, which I am deleting en masse, I've paused occasionally to read the odd email with an interesting subject line, or from a guy I later became involved with. As I read one from said gentleman and deleted it, another one from a cataloguing friend popped up to take its place: that became my current status. I saved that one. Then another - this one. As Prince of Egypt came into my consciousness yesterday (I posted Ashira L'Adonai on my facebook wall), I couldn't help but note the synchronicity. Another part of this synchronicity was that I happened to be listening to Chris de Burgh's One world yesterday, and the second verse begins:

I believe there is a God: but it doesn't mean that my God is greater than yours - it only means we all have the right to believe, 'cos nobody knows it for sure, for sure...

And as Archbishop Bloom points out in this story, not even he who met Hashem in the burning bush can define who G-d must be to the rest of us:

One day Moshe finds a shepherd in the desert. He spends the day with him and helps him milk his ewes, and at the end of the day he sees that the shepherd puts the best milk he has in a wooden bowl, which he places on a flat stone some distance away. So Moshe asks him what it is for, and the shepherd replies, "This is God's milk."

Moshe is puzzled and asks him what he means.

The shepherd says "I always take the best milk I possess and I bring it as an offering to God."

Moshe asks "And does God drink it?"

"Yes,” replies the shepherd, "he does."

Then Moshe feels compelled to enlighten the poor shepherd and he explains that God, being pure spirit, does not drink milk. Yet the shepherd is sure that He does and so they have a short argument, which ends with Moshe telling the shepherd to hide behind the bushes to find out whether in fact God does come to drink the milk.

Moshe then goes out to pray in the desert. The shepherd hides, the night comes, and in the moonlight the shepherd sees a little fox that comes trotting from the desert, looks right, looks left, and heads straight towards the milk, which he laps up, and disappears into the desert again. The next morning Moshe finds the shepherd quite depressed and downcast. "What's the matter," he asks.

The shepherd says "You were right. God is pure spirit and He doesn't want my milk."

Moshe is surprised and says "You should be happy. You know more about God than you did before."

"Yes, I do", replies the shepherd, "but the only thing I could give Him has been taken away from me."

Moshe sees the point. He retires into the desert and prays hard. In the night in a vsion, God speaks to him and says "Moshe, you were wrong. It is true that I am pure spirit. Nevertheless, I always accepted with gratitude the milk which the shepherd offered me, as the expression of his love: but since, being pure spirit, I do not need the milk, I shared it with this little fox, who is very fond of milk."

It reminds us that I AM THAT I AM, who is All that Is, lives in relationship with every part of creation - from the galaxies to the tiniest single cell - and that requires an infinite number of presentations to be in relationship: one for Moshe, one for the shepherd, and one for every being He is in relationship with, meeting them where they are.

Random thoughts on the nature of things

Over the last few weeks, or months, even, I've been thinking of a particular metaphor that arises from having a father who is an engineer (as does the embarrassing fact that when people first spoke of models on a catwalk, I thought, "Why the hell are they having a fashion show underneath a bridge?").

I've been thinking about the idea that foundations need to be rigid, but structures on those foundations need to be flexible.

So, let's take my chosen religion - Catholicism.

God's existence: foundation. Trinity: foundation. "For God so loved the world...": foundation. "Thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. ": foundation.

THAT is the foundation. The rest is structure.

And that's my problem. Too much of what is *structure* and needs to be flexible is treated as foundation - hierarchy, form, rules that are generated by underlying principles, not ends in and of themselves.

Too much flexibility, and a structure is worthless, true. But there needs to be some give, and right now, I think the Church has become petrified. The Holy Spirit needs space and nooks and crannies and the ability to FLOW to do its work. I worry that Catholicism no longer has that.

The problem is that we confuse rigidity with strength and flexibility with weakness; yet it is so often the opposite. Leaving aside religion, many problems in secular society come from rigidity: a rigid idea of beauty; a rigid idea of what constitutes 'success'; rigid labels, which ignore the fact that we all have complex stories; rigidity in problem-solving; a rigid idea of what our life is supposed to look like. Rigidity far too often leads to brittleness. It's no wonder the world is such an unhappy place.

All that should be rigid in our lives is that we acknowledge ourselves and others to be human, with all that entails: the right to be who we are, not an extension of others; the right to mess up; the right to meander; the right to our own definition of success; and above all, the right to a life with equal opportunities to achieve that idea of success, whether you live in America, DRC or Kazakhstan. "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." That is our foundation.

The rest? Flexible.

We would do well to remember Jacqueline Carey's motto for one of the Houses in her Kushiel series: "That which yields is not always weak."

After all, what are the strongest natural forces in our world?

Not rock.

Water and fire. Both of which have core characteristics, a foundation, that make them what they are, but both of which are the ultimate in flexibility of form and movement - even so, their power to save or devastate remains unequalled.

Yet in that immense power, they dance.

Perhaps to recover ours, so should we.

A question of faith...

from the Bishop of Oxford's sermon this morning during chapel at work (they're evangelicals, remember?):

"For me, the mark of an authentic faith is that the person isn't about whether they're really religious or not, it's whether or not they are fully alive ."

YES YES YES.

He continues:

"I've known people whose faith has diminished them, made them smaller. It has prevented them from fully engaging in life."

He has articulated one of my most deeply held beliefs. As a Catholic in my church, my faith is measured by whether I receive communion on the tongue or on the hand; whether I go to a mass where the priest's back is to me; how well I can worship at a priest's feet; how precisely I follow the rules.

But looking around me, all I see is death. People dead to the world, to joy, to God.

As per a favourite poet:

"And an old priest said, "Speak to us of Religion."

And he said:

Have I spoken this day of aught else?

Is not religion all deeds and all reflection,

And that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew the stone or tend the loom?

Who can separate his faith from his actions, or his belief from his occupations?

Who can spread his hours before him, saying, "This for God and this for myself; This for my soul, and this other for my body?"

All your hours are wings that beat through space from self to self.

He who wears his morality but as his best garment were better naked.

The wind and the sun will tear no holes in his skin.

And he who defines his conduct by ethics imprisons his song-bird in a cage.

The freest song comes not through bars and wires.

And he to whom worshipping is a window, to open but also to shut, has not yet visited the house of his soul whose windows are from dawn to dawn.

Your daily life is your temple and your religion.

Whenever you enter into it take with you your all.

Take the plough and the forge and the mallet and the lute,

The things you have fashioned in necessity or for delight.

For in reverie you cannot rise above your achievements nor fall lower than your failures.

And take with you all men:

For in adoration you cannot fly higher than their hopes nor humble yourself lower than their despair.

And if you would know God be not therefore a solver of riddles.

Rather look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children.

And look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain.

You shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in trees."

--"On religion", The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

So you'll pardon me if I judge your faith not by your ability to parrot or follow the rules, but by how you live your life: how you treat others; whether you will risk fully engaging in a mortal life that brings love and pain, happiness and sorrow in equal measure; whether you will risk everything for love, mortal or divine; whether your faith opens you up to others or makes you shut them out, creating a world of 'us' and 'them'.

I have seen 'faith' diminish too many people - they have become small-minded, narrow; desperate for the approval of their superiors; joined the 'more perfect' religious life to run away from their issues and to lead an easy (read: avoiding responsibility) life; they amputate parts of their personality until they fit a soulless mould and there's nothing left of the person God created.

Shortly after that, Bishop John made a point that wasn't explicitly related, but I think ties in beautifully to his comments above.

"When I'm afraid, I lock the door. But when I lock myself in, am I locking Christ out?"

That's the real question, isn't it? "Perfect love drives out fear" - and makes you unlock that door - and yourself.

The truth shall set you free.

Food for thought

William Lobdell's sojourn on the LA Times religion beat is a fascinating journey. I'm looking forward to thoughtful comments on this, though please remember: his lack of faith is NOT a reflection on or criticism of those of you who are deeply committed to your religion - at one point, he even mentions that he envies a friend of his who has that faith. So don't feel the need to defend your church; he's not attacking you. Just listen to how he got to where he is.

Do follow the link in his article to Amy Welborn's entry on the case concerning Fr Uribe. Be sure to read the comment thread - it's fantastic.

I think he says it all - I'm at about the same place with regard to organised religion, though I still believe in God - so I don't have much to add here except a quote sent in by one of the people commenting on his story at the LA Times site:

"Irrevocable commitment to any religion is not only intellectual suicide; it is positive unfaith because it closes the mind to any new vision of the world. Faith is, above all, openness -- an act of trust in the unknown." --Alan Watts

Amen.