A theology of hope

I attended a evening church meeting tonight... tackling the topic of "free" will and predestination. I thought for sure I knew what I was in for, namely conservative theology. And while that did come up in the time for questions, I was pleasantly surprised by the openness and inclusivity of the speaker's perspective. He did not try to explain away the questions the idea of "free" will or what it might mean to be "predestined", rather he embraced a theology of hope and the idea of fellowship within suffering. What I really wanted to share out of all of this though was the quote he ended the discussion with.

Hope has two beautiful daughters, their names are Anger and Courage- anger at the way thing are and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are.

The words of Augustine rang out in truth for me at least... the profundity of connecting my personal capacity for hope with my passion for justice ministries.

Just, Margaret

Words in my head...

I can't even place where or begin to fathom why these words have been in my thoughts lately. I think it must have something to do with confronting the uncertainty of the future, but wanting to do so with great hope. I do remember that the words Maya Angelo shared at President Clinton's first inauguration were imprinted on my brain by Encarta, the computer encyclopedia on our first family computer. As it opened the last line of the poem were read aloud- a recording of Angelo's performance I'm sure. I remember the words were said with such deliberate promise and I always feel a bit of a shiver of anticipation when I re-read them (I've highlighted some of my favorite words). Count me among the people standing up for hope today.

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.

The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers--desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot ...
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours--your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

Just, Margaret

You've seen this right?

How could you have missed it? All over the morning news programs and entertainment news serials in the US, posted on all the blogs you read. I know I'm a little behind the times in posting this and I wasn't even going to, but I saw the Saturday edition of NBC Nightly News was still questioning why this video (a family recording of a wedding) had gone viral. To offer my own analysis I have to say that its the joy and the love, but it also exudes hope. Hope that Jill and Kevin's future will be filled with laughter and excitement. They're off to a good start, don't you think? Makes me want to join the dance with them. I love it.

Just, Margaret

Waiting

I've been reading Rumi.  Some of you out their may already know that if you pay attention to what's "in my carryon." [smile] My parents gave me the book along with some candy hearts for Valentine's Day.  And the night that it arrived (which was actually several days after Valentine's Day) I just so excited to flip it open to a random page and just began reading.  Everything I had heard of Rumi up to this point was kinda shrouded in mystery.  The people I knew who really enjoyed reading his words, often said I should read him, but never really why.  I'm coming toward an understanding of what they meant.  I always find it remarkable when I connect with an author's words, especially words that were written thousands of years before.  There is something that feels so personally relevant in every passage I've read out of the book so far.  I find myself continually feeling like the words written on the page are ones that I have always intuitively felt, but never able to express.  A real union of souls... 

In the midst of reading Rumi on Sunday during some Sabbath time, I began to think about the coming of Lent.  (Let me illuminate the whole picture:  I was also listening to some music through my faithful Macbook- a mix tape with a little of this and that.  Anyway Matthew Sweet's song I've Been Waiting came on and I thought of Lent.)  And without beginning to sound so preachy (I can't deny that it is in the genes, but I can choose not to indulge [smile])... I thought about how Lent is about waiting, anticipation of something, i.e. Easter, to come.  Its also associated with a time of self-denial, but thats really the part of Lent I can never quite master.  I don't mean being committed to giving up sweets or some TV show, ect.  I mean that I can't master the feeling of self-denial, which I usually think of as being quite negative. 

I've had a lot of experience with waiting.  There are some things in my life that I feel like I've been waiting for for 25 years.  And I guess I could, after all this time, fall easily into doubt... believing that because it (falling in love or figuring out what I'd like to do with the rest of my life or finally finding a place to live for longer than just a few years at a time) hasn't happened yet it never will.   I just can't wait, even in Lent, without looking toward what is to come, Easter, with hope.  Some may consider this optimism to be naive, but I feel blessed to be able to look at life this way.  Hoping and trusting God to guide me through all these experiences is very exciting and it helps me to live more fully into the present.  That brings me back to Rumi, who I feel must have also felt this way waiting for those moments of epiphany, fulfillment of hope, for little Easters.  He writes, "The Most Alive Moment":

The most living moment comes when 

those who love each other meet each

other's eyes and in what flows

between them then.  To see your face

in a crowd of others, or alone on a

frightening street I weep for that.

Our tears improve the earth.  The

time you scolded me, your gratitude, 

your laughing, always your qualities 

increase the soul.  Seeing you is a 

wine that does not muddle or numb, 

We sit inside the cypress shadow

where amazement and clear thought

twine their slow growth into us.    

Just waiting, Margaret

Resolve...

As a result of my extended absence I have several thoughts I've been saving up to share.  Among them is my resolution for the year.  Here's a post that I began writing in preparation for New Years, but never exactly got back to until now.  As it is still January, I think its still relevant.  

 [smile] 

When I was little the act of making resolutions was part and parcel of New Years Eve.  Like stockings at Christmas, hunting eggs at Easter, or black-eyed peas on New Years Day, the act of making a resolution was just something we did.  I remember resolving to write in a diary every day or be nicer to my little sisters.  The regular stuff.  Over the last couple of years I've just stopped making resolutions.  I mean really what is the point most are forgotten in a matter of days, but beyond that its seems pretty irrational to set the course of a year upon a few ideas that may or may not be that well thought out.   Besides who I am on the first day of the year is never who I am on December 31st.  Now I guess a resolution I could live with would be to resolve to make resolutions each day and try to live into them during that 24 hour period.   

Anyway, after giving you all the reasons against making resolutions, I'm going to make a resolution.  On Christmas Day, my Pop said that to love must begin by loving another and letting that love be returned.  A couple of days later I was watching Expiration Date, a movie I received from my parents for Christmas, that was kinda about the same thing.  Anyway I resolved to make this my year of loving radically and perhaps more importantly learning how to be loved... who knows what might happen.   

Just, Margaret

Love/Hate... Love

So the above title really sums up how I've felt this week about my MA program.  I've been attempting for the last two weeks to conquer my massive writer's block with little to no avail and I was beginning to question again what I'm doing here.  Luckily, I guess, my lecture today again put me back on track.  It was all about heritage management.  I know it sounds really dry, but I left super inspired and remembering again why I want to do all this.  [smile]  I'm not going to waste this grad school high so I'll make this a short post and get back to work.  

Just, Margaret

The torch is passed

I love the Olympics and have been watching the pageantry of the games all weekend.  I find the whole time so hopeful and one of the best examples around of our capacity to act humanely.  I love it!  The Chinese have done a beautiful job of upholding the beauty of what it means to come together as a global community.  Since 1996 I have been very faithful to watch the opening ceremonies of the Games and this has bee the most wonderful show I think that I have ever seen.  Amazing!  I can't pick a favorite visual, but I love the idea that they created art live on that large piece of paper and the large globe.  Wow!  Here's the link to NBC's website if you missed what I was talking about.  

The torch was just lit and I know this sounds silly, but my only response is that "Hope springs eternal."  How can we deny the value of our human brethren after witnessing such hope.  I can't.  

Just, Margaret