An Angel Got Her Wings: Kim Kalicky

Some of you are familiar with Kim Kalicky's story. I've written about her here in this space a number of times over the years and she also appeared in my book, Sin Boldly, in the chapter titled "Annus Horribilis." (See Kim's stories HERE. My original column about the Thanksgiving I spent with Kim and her family can be found HERE.)

Kim went home to Jesus last Friday after a brave and epic five-year battle with cancer.

Kim was a nurse, a mother, a wife, a beautiful believer. An inspiration to me. I am blessed to have known her even the little that I did.

She was full of light and joy and had the most infectious laugh. Kim reminded me of a real-life Tinkerbell. All she was missing was the wings. 

Please keep her husband, Tom, and their children — Sonny, Taylor, Jacob and her eldest son who's name I can't recall— and all those who knew and loved this magnificent woman in your prayers.

White As Snow: A Lenten meditation





White As Snow
By U2

Where I came from there were no hills at all
The land was flat, the highways straight and wide
My brother and I would drive for hours
Like years instead of days
Our faces as pale as the dirty snow

Once I knew there was a love divine
Then came a time I thought it knew me not
Who can forgive forgiveness where forgiveness is not
Only the lamb as white as snow

And the water, it was icy
As it washed over me
And the moon shone above me

Now this dry ground it bears no fruit at all
Only poppies laugh under the crescent moon
The road refuses strangers
The land the seeds we sow
Where might we find the lamb as white as snow

As boys we would go hunting in the woods
To sleep the night shooting out the stars
Now the wolves are every passing stranger
Every face we cannot know
If only a heart could be as white as snow
If only a heart could be as white as snow

Friday effluvia



If you've never heard the Grateful Dead's rendition of Van Morrison's "And It Stoned Me," it's a real treat. Enjoy and happy weekend all!

The Dude Abides, baby.

Join Maudey here from 6-8 pm Friday night March 5 at Laguna Beach Books, 1200 S. Pacific Coast Highway in Laguna Beach, CA,  for a book event and costume contest. Come dressed as your favorite Coen Brothers film character and you could win a fabulous prize.

 

We're serving White Russians and Oat sodas. Get a free Dude Abides beer cozy with every purchase of The Dude Abides: The Gospel According to the Coen Brothers by your host, Cathleen Falsan aka God Girl.

Join us in a toast to Joel and Ethan and the Dude himself, Jeff Bridges, and wish them luck in the Oscars on Sunday.

Happy Day of the Dude to one and all!

Tsunami Saturday

You know you're not in the land-locked Midwest any more when your village is watching the sea for tsunamis.

An 8.8 earthquake 6,000 miles away in Chile has sent a roiling ocean our way. My perspective has literally and figuratively changed so much since moving to the shores of the Pacific.

Six-thousand miles away and we feel it here. The ocean connects us. It doesn't separate us.

 That thought reminds of something the Sufi poet Rumi wrote:




"The shop of Oneness,
The Ocean that has many harbours,
Yet where there is no division
Between man and man, or woman,
But only a unity of souls
In the process of return to their Creator,
Whose breath lives inside each one
An helps to guide us home."


The San Francisco Chronicle has published the following graphic that explains how the tsunami waves have traveled across the Pacific to our shores.

Watch a live-feed of Aliso Beach in Laguna Beach HERE


The photo above is from the Laguna Beat Web site.

UPDATE, 8:15 pm: Three footers, that's all, folks. Still, Mother Earth's stretchings are impressive.

GODSTUFF

BUDDHISM MEANS ALWAYS HAVING TO SAY YOU'RE SORRY: TIGER WOODS EDITION

Apart from the Dalai Lama, who reportedly had never heard of him until earlier this week, Tiger Woods is the most famous Buddhist on the planet.

But until Woods invoked his Buddhist identity during a televised mea culpa for cheating on his wife and a spectacular fall from grace, like most of his fans, I had no idea the golfer was a follower of the Eight Fold Path.

“I was raised a Buddhist and I actively practiced my faith from childhood until I drifted away from it in recent years,” Woods said. “Buddhism teaches that a craving for things outside ourselves causes an unhappy and pointless search for security. It teaches me to stop following every impulse and learn restraint. Obviously I lost track of what I was taught.”

To me, Woods’ lengthy apology felt true and complete. But I am not a Buddhist.

I wanted to know what his mea culpa sounded like to Buddhist ears, so I checked with a few Buddhist friends to gauge their reaction.

“His apology was sincere, humble and brave,” according to Robert Joshin Althouse, head of the Zen Life & Meditation Center in Oak Park, Ill. “It went a long way to redeeming him in the eyes of his fans. Now he needs to follow his words with actions, and Buddhism has plenty of teachings for helping him do that.

“One of the central teachings of Buddhism is compassion. The moral foundation of this religion is based on the elimination of suffering. All Mahayana Buddhists take a vow to live their lives for the sake of liberating others from suffering. This kind of bravery and compassion never gives up on anyone or anything. That would seem to be the very nature of redemption itself.”

My friend Carolyn Reyes, a lawyer and Buddhist convert from Christianity who practices at the Zen Center in San Francisco, thought Woods sounded “robotic” and that his comments about his Buddhist “faith” were an opportunistic attempt to appeal to fans with religious convictions.

That said, Reyes went on to say that Buddhism has taught her that, “We are all addicts. Drugs, sex, etc., are some sexy addictions that I don’t struggle with, but mine are just as destructive. My addiction to wanting to be liked is high on my list of countless habitual patterns. How often to I really greet the moment with fresh eyes, a wide-open heart, free of preconceived ideas, expectations and prejudices?”

Robert Inchausti, a professor at California Polytechnic State University who has written widely about Thomas Merton and Buddhism, said Woods’ apology reminded him of Jack Kerouac’s novel Big Sur, which recounts the beat poet’s “lost” weeks at a friends cabin in Big Sur struggling to overcome a debauched lifestyle and the effects of crushing celebrity. Like Woods, Kerouac — at least for a phase of his life — practiced Buddhism.

“Compared to Kerouac’s cry from the heart, Tiger Woods’ ‘apology’ is pale and seems a bit cagey,” Inchausti said. “If he is wrestling himself free from a false sense of entitlement, as he put it, it’s clear he hasn’t even begun to wrestle himself free from the protocols of celebrity. This is probably as much our fault as it is his.”

For Stephen Asma, a professor at Columbia College in Chicago and author of the new book Why I Am a Buddhist: No-Nonsense Buddhism with Red Meat and Whiskey, thought Woods’ explanation of how Buddhism will help him get his life back on track was helpful and accurate.

“Craving is what causes suffering and he was really stepping in it,” Asma said. “That was what he was sorry about and that is what’s on everyone’s map of his unethical activities…Those things that enslave you — your own craving — is basically how we define a sin in Buddhism.”

Woods’ mother, Kultida, who taught her son about Buddhism, is from Thailand — a “cultural Buddhist,” Asma explained. “Cultural Buddhists’ attitude toward their religion is very different from Western Buddhists. They wear the cloak loosely. They’re not strung up by it.

“They take a charitable approach to themselves and the moral life. In other words, they sin, they recognize it, they know they’ll have to pay for it, but then they get back on the horse and try again.”

Many people, Buddhist or not, have been harshly critical of Woods’ apology, calling it too little too late, a publicity stunt, disingenuous and hollow.

Asma disagrees.

“I think that tells us more about ourselves as an audience than it does him and his moral infractions,” he said. “We have moral outrage toward celebrities and people can’t get enough of that. No matter what his apology would have been, some people would not have been satisfied.”

"I forgot ... how big."




Extraordinary.

GODSTUFF

A THOUGHT FOR LENT:
DISCOVERING GRACE IN THE PAGES OF PLAYBOY

I must be an acrobat

To talk like this

And act like that

—            U2, “Acrobat”

I am not now, nor have I ever been a subscriber to Playboy magazine.

I have, however, been to the Playboy mansion. Once.
It was about five years ago and I was there to interview Hugh Hefner — about God.

Now I realize that the Playboy mansion is an unlikely spot to go looking for spiritual insight, but I believe I learn the most interesting things about God sometimes in the places some people say God isn’t supposed to turn up. That discussion with Hef was enlightening, provocative and troubling, but rich and valuable. I was blessed by the time I spent with the octogenarian Playboy, and privileged to witness the openness and candor with which he talked about faith and doubt, joys and regrets, doubts and his eternal hopes.

So when I thought about writing a something to coincide with this Lenten and (subsequently Easter) season, I was not entirely surprised to find fodder for deep reflection in the pages of Playboy.

The November 1976 issue to be exact. That’s where the classic, lengthy interview with then-presidential candidate Jimmy Carter, just before he was elected, appeared. In it, Carter talks openly and authentically about his Christian faith, and, moreover, the reporter, Robert Scheer, paints a complicated, faceted, fascinating picture of a man of navigating the treacherous political waters of public service.

At the time, such a deep exploration of a politician’s faith was groundbreaking. Nowadays, a kind of spiritual litmus test for the presidency is par for the course. Revisiting the 36-year-old piece on Carter the -Christian-and-the-candidate made me long for the time when such explorations were new and fresh.

In Scheer’s lengthy profile, Carter comes across as a man of devout, abiding faith – the kind that is a compass for every area of his life and, yes, his politics. But Carter isn’t a theocrat. He’s not trying to bring everyone else (including his rather ribald campaign staffers) in lock step with his own beliefs. He’s kind and more than tolerant. He accepts people for who and what they are and if he’s interested in proselytizing, his approach is to lead by example, and not a doctrinaire, iron fist.

Carter rose to prominence during the turbulent early hours of the Civil Rights movement, confronting insidious and violent racism of his home state of Georgia as it wrestled to become what he called the “New South.”

Scheer doesn’t portray Carter is a messianic figure or a perfect man who ever makes decisions for the greater good and in love. Carter is weak and faulted and, the reader feels, that is part of what makes him so appealing and authentic.

One passage in particular in Scheer’s story gave me pause – a catalyst to take stock not only of how we assess public figures, but also of my own heart and soul.

“The real heroes of the era were less then 10 miles up the road in either direction from his home all his life, taking the most terrible punishment, and [Carter] won’t admit that he shunned them like nearly everyone else. Like all of us,” Scheer wrote. “Carter is addicted to the theory that we progress by stressing our virtues rather than by dwelling on failures; this is the major theme of his campaign speeches. There’s undoubtedly some merit to this approach, but it seems to me that it includes serious learning from past error.”

Would that we all would understand the truth of that statement.

We may be believers, but our belief is sometimes shaky. We may be redeemed, but we are far from perfect creatures.

None of us wants to be defined by our worst moments. And our faith tells us that God doesn’t define us that way, either. That doesn’t mean, however, that we should try to obscure our shortcomings, inconsistencies and failures, whether moral, ethical or of conscience.

Lent, which begins in most of Christendom in a few days, is the period during which we believers are meant to be preparing ourselves for the coming Eastertide. We are supposed to take stock, prayerfully. Repent. Prepare our hearts and souls for the resurrection. Lent is the time when we should be the most honest with ourselves and with God. Look our sins and shortcomings and failures straight in the eye.

As I understand it, the point of the Easter story — of Jesus’ suffering, death and resurrection — is that we can’t fix ourselves by ourselves. We cannot live a perfect life that would earn our place in the kingdom.

Lent points to Easter and the point of Easter is grace.

We can’t do it by ourselves. In fact, it’s nothing that we do ourselves that remakes our hearts and minds into the kind of perfection that God deserves from the people he loves (and who are supposed to love God).

Our leaders (civil or religious) should not be expected to live perfect, consistent lives any more than the rest of us should. We are all hypocrites. We are all conflicted. We all make mistakes.

To pretend otherwise is a lie that cheapens the grace that goes before us all.

GODSTUFF

AVATAR IS EPIC. A SPIRITUAL MASTERPIECE? NO. 

 


      James Cameron’s Avatar is a game-changer.

      Visually and science-fictionally epic.

      A technological masterpiece.

      But is it also a spiritual masterpiece, as some critics have suggested?

      Avatar takes place on Pandora, a technicolor primal rainforest teeming with dinosaur-like creatures, bugs and beasts, and magical flora that one critic described as “the garden of Eden, but with teeth.”

      The hero, a young marine called Jake, is accepted into the local indigenous culture — the Na’Vi — where he learns the ways of the 10-feet-tall blue-hued humanoids who live in harmony with nature and with one another.

      Through a kind of intergalactic Bildungsroman, Jake emerges transformed — physically, emotionally and spiritually — and must decide whose side he is on: the humans or of the Na’Vi.

      Along with mind-blowing special effects and astounding feats of cinematic storytelling, James Cameron created a spiritual backstory for Pandora.

      Unfortunately it is in this arena — the spiritual — where his virtuosity falls short.

      The Na’Vi worship a Gaia-like deity called Eywa. They commune with her in every area of life, with the mediation of a female shaman.

      One of the Na’Vi characters explains that “our great mother does not take sides … she protects only the balance of life.” Eywa is the watchmaker — a distant creator who put the world in motion and then stepped back, only intervening to restore the balance of all of life.

      Eywa is an impersonal god. The Na’vi worship her and meditate at the foot of her tree of souls, where they can communicate with the souls of the Na’vi who have passed on.

      It’s a beautiful idea.

      In creating Na’vi theology, Cameron has taken the most inoffensive bits from a variety of spiritual traditions — including pantheism, Eastern spirituality, Native American theology, and animism —  with the aim of appealing to the largest possible audience without raising many religious hackles.

      The result is a picture of a God that I found terrifying, not nurturing.

      Eywa doesn’t take sides, we are told. But in the climactic battle scene, where the mining company strafe-bombs the Pandora rainforest, destroying its sacred spaces and killing many of the Na’vi — Eywa does intervene.

      Then we witness long battle scenes where the Na’vi are saved, but scores of human soldiers are killed. And we, the audience, find ourselves cheering.

      What kind of a God takes sides in that way? Why are the lives of the Earthlings any less precious than those of the Na’vi, or even the trees on Pandora?

       The hand of Eywa appears and she is an angry destroyer, protecting her own turf and laying waste to the interlopers. If this god Cameron has created is all about the inter-connectedness of life, why does that connection stop with humans?

      Perhaps the most insipid spiritual message of Avatar is that somewhere — out there — there is a beautiful Eden unspoiled by selfish humans. An “other” place full of beauty and wonder. Nature at its most inspiring. The kind of place we yearn for, having killed our own Mother earth (as is the premise in Avatar).

      Call me a Pollyanna, but I haven’t given up hope yet on old Mother Earth. And, frankly, I think this world of ours is a spectacularly beautiful place. The incandescent colors and creatures and geography of Pandora are glorious, but, to me, it looks a lot like here. Only brighter.

      The creatures that inhabit our Earth are just as spectacular and epic as the fictional ones Cameron created.

      If only we had the eyes to see them…

      Would that the Na’Vi theology could have taught Jake and his cohorts to see the beauty that already exists, where they came from.

      As I walked out of the theater, I couldn’t get another film out of my mind. And no, not Star Wars, the film to which Avatar is being compared.

      My mind drifted to the far-less epic  film “Joe Versus the Volcano.” In that story, written by the playwright John Patrick Shanley, Joe lives in a grey, dank world – he’s a cog in a machine. Until he wakes up.

       In my favorite scene, Joe is drifting in the open sea on a raft, delirious from thirst and sun exposure. On a full-moon night, he awakens and staggers to his knees, in awe of what he sees, perhaps with clear eyes for the first time.

      “God whose name I do not know, thank you for my life,” Joe says. “I forgot … how big. Thank you for my life.”

      Avatar is spectacular, but it isn’t real.

      We forget how beautiful our own world is. Here’s hoping that some of the millions of fans who are awed by the Avatar experience, will also see it for what it could be.

      A wake-up call to open our eyes. Lest we forget.

It's the pilgrimage, stoopid.

I was thirteen...


1983. From REM's album, Murmur.





1984. Manchester, UK.




1986. Dekalb, Illinois.




1999. Bologna, Italy.





2003. Minneapolis, Minnesota.




2008. Cardiff, Wales.

Elegy.

"There is very evidently one rather terrible hallmark common to all persons who look for God, and apparently with enormous success, in the queerest imaginable places - e.g., in radio announcers, in newspapers, in taxicabs with crooked meters, literally everywhere. (My brother, for the record, had a distracting habit, most of his adult life, of investigating loaded ashtrays with his index finger, clearing all the cigarette ends to the sides - smiling from ear to ear as he did it - as if he expected to see Christ himself curled up cherubically in the middle, and he never looked disappointed.) The hallmark, then, of the advanced religious (and I graciously include in the definition of an 'advanced religious,' odious though the phrase is, all Christians on the great Vivekananda's terms; i.e., 'See Christ, then you are a Christian; all else is talk') - the hallmark most commonly identifying this person is that he very frequently behaves like a fool, even an imbecile. It's a trial to a family that has a real grandee in it if he can't always be relied on to behave like one."

— Mr. J. D. Salinger in "Seymour: An Introduction."

Sidewalk epiphanies?

A reader sent me this photo on my Facebook fan page yesterday. 
I don't know the reader personally (the post was sent by what appears to be an anonymous FB account) but I do appreciate the love.


Apparently the reader who calls him/herself "Joey Pukelles" was aggrieved by my less than ceremonious departure from the pages of the Chicago Sun-Times earlier this month and, armed with pink  chalk, expressed his or her feelings on the sidewalk outside the Sun-Times building on Orleans (aka the Apparel Mart building where there's a Holiday Inn at the top). 


I'm assuming "The Don" mentioned in the sidewalk tribute refers to the editor who sacked me. He's also the one who said I couldn't mention my departure in my final columns. So, yeah. That's probably him. 



Hey, Joey (or whoever you are.) Thanks.
I'm not interested in reclaiming my gig at the Bright One. 
It's time for new, bigger and better things. 
But it is really nice to be loved. 

Even if it's fleetingly inscribed with sidewalk chalk.

GODSTUFF

     

Samskara

Rainwater, found water

Feeds the weeds,

Choking blossoms, fruit, vines

That climb and reach for light.

Pull and tug, forget the fertilizer and the

Topsoil.

Found water gives life, accidentally

On purpose.

Starve them, turn out the light, make them

Thirst for found water and

Find none.

Sip the found water.

Capture

it

in

a calabash,

a new wineskin,

upturned palms.

Sip the wine, the miracle of living water

Found where the well

was dry.

Be the succulent drinking deeply

when there is

Rain

and abiding until

Found water falls

Again.

Jim Wallis is a rock star.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Jim Wallis
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Health Care Crisis

Listen to this man.
He's on to something.

For Carlos.






Carlos Hernandez Gome blessed me with his friendship.
A sweeter, kinder soul I've never known.
Rest well in the arms of Jesus tonite, Papi.
I love you.

]]

GODSTUFF

THE WEARY KIND: 

ONE JOURNEY ENDS, ANOTHER BEGINS

We love a redemption story.

The profound appeal of rags-to-riches-to-rags-to-riches or the fall-from-grace-followed-by-a-spectacular-comeback is about as ingrained in our American psyche (and soul) as rooting for the underdog, generosity to those in distress and second chances.

When I walked into the movie theater earlier this week for an 11 a.m. show of the new film “Crazy Heart,” I was expecting to love it. I am a diehard Jeff Bridges fan (he is the Dude, after all) and almost as big a fan of T Bone Burnett, who wrote the original music for the film.

What I wasn’t anticipating was being deeply moved spiritually — transformed by it, in some small way, really.

As I sat through the previews in the darkened, almost empty theater, I did something I haven’t done before in that kind of a venue: I prayed.

For whatever reason, I felt led to talk to God before the film started. “Help me to see what you want me to see in this movie,” I prayed. “Let me be open and awake to your truth in it. Allow it to change me.”

“Crazy Heart” is an extraordinarily beautiful film about real redemption. Bridges, who plays the protagonist Bad Blake, gives the performance of his already august career, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, playing Jean Craddock, a fledgling journalist and Blake’s love interest, is so good and true and believable that she more than once moved me to tears.

Bad Blake is a down-on-his-luck country singer who lives on the margins, basking in the last vestiges of the light of tremendous success he enjoyed some years earlier, before alcoholism and despair all but snuffed it out.

Despite the nickname he embraces with a swagger, Blake is not a bad man. He is weak and ill, floundering in the hell he has created for himself with one unfortunate decision after another and the albatross of addiction.

Blake has redeeming qualities. He is a remarkably talented musician. He tells true stories of pain and loss. And he possesses a yearning for and ability to love ardently.

He is not a lost cause, even if he doesn’t believe that about himself much of the time.

When he opens his heart to love and be loved, he is transformed, though not without once again stumbling over his own weakness and selfishness.

Blake is on his last legs, but he’s not out of chances.

He just needs to make enough room in his topsy-turvy world for them to happen.

As I watched the film and listened to the glorious music (Bridges has a beautiful voice, as does Colin Farrell, who plays Tommy Sweet, a country superstar who was mentored by Blake and owes him a debt for his mega-success), the big story behind (or above) the plot began to come into focus.

While God is not a character listed in the credits, I believe the film is told through God’s gracious, and sometimes mournful, eyes.

Blake is loved and cherished, beautifully and wonderfully made — a creator in the image of the Creator.

But he keeps getting in his own way, repeatedly screwing up, failing and disappointing himself and those who care for him most.

He hits bottom and rises.

Still, in the midst of true redemption, not all is set right. There is no magic pill, no secret password to undoing all he’s done. He has to live with the consequences of his mistakes. But he lives. And there is hope for beauty and love in his future.

A magnificent, heartbreaking song emerges from the pain and destruction. It’s called “The Weary Kind,” and serves as the musical theme for the film.

It says, in part:

Your body aches…

Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate

The days and the nights all feel the same

Whiskey has been a thorn in your side

and it doesn’t forget

the highway that calls for your heart inside

And this ain’t no place for the weary kind

And this ain’t no place to lose your mind

And this ain’t no place to fall behind

Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Bad Blake’s is a weary redemption. But he is redeemed.

I walked out of the theater and checked my voicemail. There was a message from my editor at the Sun-Times asking me to give him a call.

I knew why he was calling before he told me. My journey at the paper was over.

The reasons for my departure from the paper where I’ve written about God and faith and religion and what (and why) we believe, are sadly familiar to anyone who has paid attention to the slow decline of the Fourth Estate in recent days.

Budgets are being cut. The news hole in the physical paper is shrinking.

The man who dispatched me is the same fellow who hired me a decade ago. I cannot imagine he took any pleasure in sending me on my way.

Learning that my tenure at the paper was over left me feeling sad and, yes, weary.

As grateful as I am for the extraordinary opportunities, both professional and personal, my time at the Sun-Times has given me, I was even more grateful for the transformation of my heart that had taken place in that dark theater.

My heart was soft and pliant. I was not angry or bitter.

I was, and am, grateful. For the door closing and another that is sure to open.

For lessons hard learned.

For encountering the living God in unexpected places.

And for the hope of redemption.

My next column will be my last in these pages.

Thank you for taking this journey with me and I wish you grace and traveling mercies for whatever happens next.

Talk amongst yourselves ...



While I get my last two columns in sharable shape, a reader sent me the above video.
Thanks, Scott.

Maggie's Farm
By Bob Dylan

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
No, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
Well, I wake in the morning,
Fold my hands and pray for rain.
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin' me insane.
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor.
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more.
Well, he hands you a nickel,
He hands you a dime,
He asks you with a grin
If you're havin' a good time,
Then he fines you every time you slam the door.
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more.
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more.
Well, he puts his cigar
Out in your face just for kicks.
His bedroom window
It is made out of bricks.
The National Guard stands around his door.
Ah, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more.
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more.
Well, she talks to all the servants
About man and God and law.
Everybody says
She's the brains behind pa.
She's sixty-eight, but she says she's twenty-four.
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more.
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
No, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
Well, I try my best
To be just like I am,
But everybody wants you
To be just like them.
They sing while you slave and I just get bored.
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.

Leaving Las Vegas - An Update






Slam!

That was the door closing.

Today the editor-in-chief of the Sun-Times forbade me to mention my impending departure from the paper in my last two columns.

That was a deal-breaker.

After so many years of writing from the heart, to not mention I was going bye-bye felt disingenuous and wrong.

So I'm done.

No more columns for them.

I'll post my last columns here tomorrow so you can see what my intentions had been.

Thank you for your support and good humor.

Leaving Las Vegas (well, the Sun-Times, actually)

For those of you not following me on Twitter or Facebook, I wanted you to know:

Yesterday I lost my gig at the Chicago Sun-Times, the paper where I've been religion writer (reporter and/or columnist) for nearly a decade.

Budget cuts. Shrinking paper. Yada yada yada. 

I'll explain more on Friday in my penultimate column for Chicago.

My last column for the Sun-Times will run on Jan. 22.

One door closes.

Another opens.

(Photos  from Zanzibar Town, Zanzibar. October 2007) 

Found grace.

 

Saw "Crazy Heart" today.

Such a blessing.

The music was ... stunning. And Jeff Bridges: masterful.

I'll write more later, but here are the lyrics to the song "The Weary Kind," which serves as the film's musical theme.
Above, Mr. Bridges plays it for ABC News.


THE WEARY KIND
Your heart’s on the loose
You rolled them seven’s with nothing lose
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
You called all your shots
Shooting 8 ball at the corner truck stop
Somehow this don’t feel like home anymore
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
And this ain’t no place to lose your mind
And this ain’t no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try
Your body aches…
Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate
The days and the nights all feel the same
Whiskey has been a thorn in your side
and it doesn’t forget
the highway that calls for your heart inside
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
And this ain’t no place to lose your mind
And this ain’t no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try
Your lovers won’t kiss…
It’s too damn far from your fingertips
You are the man that ruined her world
Your heart’s on the loose
You rolled them seven’s with nothing lose
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind


Below is a video of the song's composer, I believe, Ryan Bingham (he has a small part in the film), performing the gorgeous song:



 

GODSTUFF

ESCAPE WINTER'S ICY GRIP WITH SPIRITUAL BOOKS

Each summer, I compile a spiritual summer reading list with the idea that those long, lazy, balmy days give us extra time to read for pleasure (and not just on the commute to and from work.)

I don’t know about you, but the summer came and went and was filled with so much stuff that most of books I intended to read still sitting untouched on my nightstand.

Now the Cold Miser has cast an arctic spell on Chicago, blanketing the city with what feels like a mile of snow, while its citizens find shelter inside for the foreseeable future. There are only so many Netflix movies and DVR’d episodes of The Barefoot Contessa that any one person can watch to pass the time until the weather turns more human again, so you may find yourself with ample time to read.

January has always been my high time for spending time in books — taking journeys in my imagination to escape winter’s icy grip when a tropical vacation was nowhere in sight.

Here are a few new books in the spiritual genre that might help you pass the time and embark on a holiday, a new adventure or a quest (from the warm comfort of your living room.)

Go back in time (on a long, strange trip):

The Harvard Psychedelic Club: How Timothy Leary, Ram Dass, Huston Smith, and Andrew Weil Killed the Fifties and Ushered in a New Age for America

By Don Lattin

With equal parts keen historicity and great humor, Lattin, the former religion writer for the San Francisco Chronicle and one of the nation’s preeminent religion journalists (who is known as “Moon Doggie” to some of his colleagues on the God beat), chronicles how these founding fathers of the so-called New Age movement in the U.S. and worldwide met at Harvard in the early 60s and — despite rivalries, infighting and backstabbing — managed to change the spiritual landscape for generations to come.

Lattin is a virtuoso explicator of the counterculutural fringes of American religious life. If you dig The Harvard Psychedelic Club you might also want to check out Lattin’s other books: Following Our Bliss: How the Spiritual Ideals of the Sixties Shape Our Lives Today and Jesus Freaks: A True Story of Murder and Madness on the Evangelical Edge.

Discover the spirituality (and delight) of snow:

Spiritual Adventures in the Snow: Skiing & Snowboarding as Renewal for Your Soul

By Marcia McFee and Karen Foster

McFee and Foster both are theologians and avid outdoorswomen who have found spiritual enlightenment and connection on snowy mountain slopes. “Activities that are exhilarating and fun are not usually thought of as spiritual,” they write. “But to the contrary, such ventures may well point us to our most profound spiritual connections. For when we are able to come fully into the present moment, turn off the noise in our minds, feel our true essence as complete union of body-mind-spirit, we enter into a kind of ‘other worldly’ state of ecstasy that we can experience only as a spiritual dimension.”

Step into someone else’s (uncomfortable) shoes:

That Bird Has My Wings: The Autobiography of an Innocent Man on Death Row

By Jarvis Jay Masters

Writing from San Quentin prison’s Death Row, where he is appealing his death sentence for the murder of a prison guard (a crime for which he claims he is innocent), Masters recounts a troubled life that took him from a heroin-addicted mother to foster homes to drug addiction to prison, and how his renewed faith gives him hope for the future — whatever it may hold. Masters, who spends much of his time meditating in his cell, wrote the book by hand, using a ballpoint pen filler (the only writing implement allowed.) Painfully honest and surprisingly uplifting, Archbishop Desmond Tutu says the memoir, “is a plea for reform, for common humanity, and I share his hope that this moving story will redouble our efforts to make sure that every child matters.”

Go inside (yourself):

The Liturgical Year: The Spiraling Adventure of the Spiritual Life

By Joan Chittister

A Benedictine nun and prolific writer, Chittister takes a look at the spiritual rhythm of the year and why the Christian church celebrates what it does when it does. In what she calls “a journey of the soul through the map of Christian time,” Chittister unpacks the liturgical year, connecting it to a life’s work of becoming a true follower of Christ, or, as she lyrically puts it, “an exercise in spiritual ripening.”

Look at the future (with new eyes):

Rediscovering Values: On Wall Street, Main Street, and Your Street

By Jim Wallis

We all know the economy stinks and we’re living in nervous, tension-filled times, wondering what the future holds for our pensions, our children, and, perhaps, the soul of our nation. In this field guide, Wallis, the bestselling author of God’s Politics and The Great Awakening and the leading voice among Christian progressives, insists that if we focus only on answering the question, “When will this crisis be over?” we’ll end up making the same mistakes that got us into this mess in the first place.

Wallis calls the book a “moral compass for the new economy,” and says we have to reclaim fundamental values that have been misplaced. “It's time to stop keeping up with the Joneses and start making sure the Joneses are okay,” he says. “The operating principle of God's economy says that there is enough if we share it.”

GODSTUFF

2009: THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS AT THE YEAR'S END




Last year was a year of new beginnings, challenges and expectations. It was also a rich year for spiritual pondering.

As is my tradition in this space, here are some of the most intriguing spiritual thoughts, prayers and insights I discovered (or rediscovered) in the past year.

Perhaps there's something in the words below that will be helpful or enlightening as we begin a new year and a new journey.

Happy New Year!

“She worked and lived without extravagance and without waste. Her nest was a neat small cup the size of herself asleep…When she went into it for her daytime sleep, she slept drawn into a ball, her eyes shut, her tail curved around so that its outer end lay under her nose. Her sleep was an act of faith and a giving of thanks.”

— Wendell Berry in his book Whitefoot

"Stop helping God across the road like a little old lady."

— U2 in "Stand Up Comedy"



"It's hypocrisy more than anything in our society that we consider unforgivable."

— John Portmann, a professor of religious studies at the University of Virginia and author of A History of Sin: Its Evolution to Today and Beyond



"Our selves, our destinies, are being created constantly through our thoughts and actions."

— Barbara Ann Kipfer, in her book, 1,001 Ways to Live in the Moment



Bless the hands of the people of the earth,
The hands that plant the seed,
The hands that bind the harvest,
The hands that carry the burden of life.
Soften the hands of the oppressor and
Strengthen the hands of the oppressed.
Bless the hands of the workers,
Bless the hands of those in power above them
That the measure they deal will be tempered
With justice and compassion. Amen.

— The National Farm Worker Ministry’s prayer for Labor Sunday 2009




"I am thankful for my mom and dad. I am thankful I can hear people laughing. I am thankful for friends. I feel thankful for love."

— My son, 10-year-old Vasco, in his Thanksgiving Day prayer



"We have a choice. We can either choose the aggressive and exclusive tendencies that have developed in practically all religious and secular traditions or we can cultivate those that speak of compassion, empathy, respect and an impartial 'concern for everybody.' "

— Historian Karen Armstrong and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who released the Charter for Compassion in November



"If in thirst you drink water from a cup, you see God in it."

— the Sufi poet Rumi



"God has always called us as Christians to be good stewards of His creation and we have the privilege of joining with Him in His plan for complete reconciliation and redemption of creation."

— Rachel Lamb, a sophomore environmental studies major at Wheaton College




"We are wired to be present. We are built to honor the senses. We are creative to be attentive, or literally just to be. But somewhere along the way, life chokes the music and the poetry out of us. . . . I pause to be surprised, to let the cares of the day be carried away and to let my soul catch up with my body."

— Author Terry Hershey in his book, The Power of Pause: Becoming More by Doing Less



"If we took a spiritual MRI of the American soul, we'd probably see an incredible yearning for being forgiven and granting forgiveness. . . . That's expressing itself in this incredibly voyeuristic and confessional culture of ours."

— Rabbi Irwin Kula



"Why does [God] make us feel the questions if He's not going to give us the answers?"

— Larry Gopnik (portrayed by Michael Stuhlbarg) in the Coen Brothers' 2009 film "A Serious Man"



"Don't worry about getting the poses exactly right. All you really need to do is lean in the right direction.''

— Shakta Kaur, instructor at Kundalini in the Loop yoga center in Chicago



"We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. ... Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and begin again the work of remaking America. . . . What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition on the part of every American that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character than giving our all to a difficult task."

— President Obama, in his inaugural address




"God of new beginnings, we are walking into mystery.
We face the future, not knowing what the days and months will bring us or how we will respond.
Be love in us as we journey.
May we welcome all who come our way.
Deepen our faith to see all life through your eyes.
Fill us with hope and an abiding trust that you dwell in us amidst all our joys and sorrows.
Thank you for the treasure of our faith life.
Thank you for the gift of being able to rise each day with the assurance of your walking through the day with us.
God of our past and future, we praise you."

— "Prayer for New Beginnings" from the Web site of St. Mary's Hospital and Medical Center in Evansville, Ind.

GODSTUFF

ONE OF THE WORST IDEAS OF THE DECADE: WWJD?



Earlier this month, the nice folks over at the Washington Post's Outlook section asked me to write an essay about what I thought the worst religious idea of the past decade was. I ended up giving them two essays, as I couldn't quite decide which I thought was "worse."

They chose my essay on the so-called Prosperity Gospel. (You can read that one HERE.)

I thought I'd share my other essay with you in this space.

My other vote for worst religious idea of the decade?

WWJD (aka Using Jesus as a Marketing Tool)

What would Jesus do?

Probably not what we would do.

That’s because we’re not Jesus. And, frankly, that’s the point of Christianity last time I checked.

Jesus was God come to Earth to redeem it and us. He was, the Bible says, perfect. Sinless. Holy. He always made loving choices. He always did the right thing. He always had the right answer.

More often than not, we don’t do the right thing or have the right answer because we’re imperfect, driven by our appetites and desires; selfish and wounded.

The answers we give to the WWJD question say much more about us than they do about the Son of God. We project our ideas about the world and stamp them with a four-letter divine imprimatur.

I’m pretty sure Jesus wouldn’t relish having his message reduced to a bumper sticker, or worse — a marketing scheme to sell rubber bracelets, trucker hats or sweat-shop-produced cotton-blend t-shirts.

The WWJD movement turns the Gospel into a slogan and makes Christianity a brand rather than a radical idea that can change the world.

The word “Christian” was meant to be a noun, not an adjective.

There is no such thing as “Christian rock music,” or a “Christian novel,” or a “Christian retail.”

My friend Rob Bell, pastor of Mars Hill Church in Michigan and author of the book Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith puts it this way:

“The problem with turning the noun into an adjective and then tacking it onto words is that it can create categories that limit the truth. Something can be labeled Christian and not be true or good.”

WWJD turns a noun into an adjective and then makes it into a label that can be applied to anything and everything, reflecting nothing about what Jesus actually said or did.

We don’t know what Jesus would drive, or who he would bomb, or how he would vote. We don’t know whether he’d be a vegetarian, a libertarian or a Luddite. We don’t know whether Jesus would listen to rock music, watch HBO or prefer a Mac to a PC.

What would Jesus do?

The prophet Micah from Hebrew scripture had the best answer I know of when he said, “This and only this is what the Lord God asks of you: to act justly, to love tenderly, and to walk humbly with your God.”

But that’s hard to fit onto a refrigerator magnet.

The better question is “What did Jesus tell us to do?”

For that we have answers.

Love unconditionally.

Judge not.

Feed the hungry.

Clothe the naked.

Visit the prisoners in jail.

Take care of the poor, the orphaned, the widowed.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Christmas prayers.



One old.
One new.

The first has stood the test of time, of eternal truth and joyous thanksgiving.


A Christmas Prayer

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Loving Father,
Help us remember the birth of Jesus,
that we may share in the song of the angels,
the gladness of the shepherds,
and worship of the wise men.

Close the door of hate
and open the door of love all over the world.
Let kindness come with every gift
and good desires with every greeting.
Deliver us from evil by the blessing
which Christ brings,
and teach us to be merry with clear hearts.

May the Christmas morning
make us happy to be thy children,
and Christmas evening bring us to our beds
with grateful thoughts,
forgiving and forgiven,
for Jesus' sake.

Amen.


The second came from one of our pastors, Jay Grant, in his weekly prayer letter.
It's my prayer this Christmas and throughout the new year.


That during this Christmas week,
we would all love our friends, family and neighbors,
especially the most difficult ones.
That we would bless and not curse.
Smile and not frown.
Hug and not keep a distance.
Be pleasant and not rude.
Encouraging and not discouraging.
Forgiving and not resentful.
Looking for the good and not the bad.
That we would express love at every opportunity.

Amen.

Jay also sent along the following video with the words: " It’s hard to describe it, but I’ll try. It’s the beauty God. The mystery of Christ. It’s the music of heaven arising from seeming tragedy. It’s the sacredness of life come forth from the womb. It is pure inspiration."

Thank you, Jay.

Merry Christmas to all and prayers for a grace-filled new year.

GODSTUFF

THIS HOLIDAY SEASON, TRY THE GIFT OF PRESENCE




The following is an actual exchange. Unedited -- except to remove the profanity.

The setting: Mid-morning at a gift boutique in a suburban village.

The time: Nine days before Christmas.

The players: The pleasant female store clerk, a 40-something soccer mom-type customer and me (browsing for stocking stuffers).

Enter the frazzled soccer mom.

"Some people are unbeLIEVEable!" she says, to no one in particular.

"What happened?" the clerk says.

Enraged, soccer mom continues: "This woman out there said I parked too close to her car. I didn't hear her at first so I said, 'I'm sorry, what did you say?' And she said, 'YOU HEARD ME!' "

"Oh my goodness . . . '' the clerk says, attempting a sympathetic tone before soccer mom interrupts.

"I was like, 'I didn't hear you, and it's a wonder because you're such a loud, fat [falalalalah, hum to yourself]!' Some people!" she shouted, flinging her scarf over her shoulder and storming back out to the sidewalk.

Stunned silence.

"Bah humbug, huh?" the clerk says in a small voice, to me.

"Ho ho ho, right?" I say.

"This time of the year, some people just lose all of their . . . '' the clerk pauses, searching for the right word.

"Humanity?" I suggest.

"Yeah," she says. "And sense."

'Tis the season to be surly. And overwhelmed, overextended and overcommitted.

I get it. We all have moments when we forget where and, more importantly, who we are. We are so busy thinking about the next 10 things we need to get done before tomorrow and how much everything is going to cost and what everyone is going to think that we lose sight of the here and now.

We're thinking of what to make for Christmas dinner and what to buy for that difficult family member who never seems to be pleased with any of the gifts we've given in the past, and whether we'll be able to make the Wii work on Christmas morning and whether it's too late to order a cord of wood, and, and, and . . .

Stop. Please. Take a moment and take a breath.

Sure it's trite, but try to remember the reason for the season. Even if that reason is, for you, not specifically to celebrate the birth of Jesus, it is about something bigger than you. It's about being with the ones you love, about sharing quality time together and taking the time to feel the joy, love and peace that the holidays are supposed to inspire.

But in order for that to happen, you need to be present. And I don't mean just physically.

The other day I was baking gingerbread cookies for my son's class "winter party," and found myself becoming increasingly agitated. As I was cutting the dough and trying to keep flour off of the floor, I was simultaneously making a mental list of all the things I needed to do before family and friends arrive from out of town for the holidays. The list got longer and longer, and I grew crabbier and crabbier.

When my son appeared at my elbow to see if he could help with the cookies, I almost snapped at him to get away.

I was making cookies, but I wasn't there. In my mind I was slogging through the muddy, crowded streets of Scroogie Stresstown, trying to find a parking space.

And then I burned my hand snatching a tray of almost-burnt gingerbread from the oven.

So I stopped. I took a breath, walked into the living room and put on some Christmas music. I looked at my child and the tree we'd just decorated and pulled myself, kicking and screaming, back into the present.

Everything improved when I remembered where I was, what I was doing right then and why.

Among the stocking stuffers I bought the other day after the scary soccer mom went on her way to terrorize more holiday shoppers was a little book called, 1,001 Ways to Live in the Moment by Barbara Ann Kipfer. It's a small tome -- about 4-inches-square -- perfect for the heel of a Christmas stocking.

Actually, I ended up buying three copies: two for my closest girlfriends -- both consummate multitaskers and, like me, slightly-frazzled soccer moms -- and one for me. Inside there are 373 pages of small, practical suggestions and inspirational quotations about remaining in the here and now.

Here's one of my favorites: "Feeling good is worth far more than looking good -- and it makes you attractive in itself. So if you're enjoying yourself in company, resist the temptation to check your appearance in the mirror. . . . The real you is the one looking out with vitality, not the one looking back with anxiety." I'm going to try to remember as we make the rounds to holiday celebrations that it's about presence and not about my hair.

Another stellar suggestion was a quote from Cervantes: "He who sings scares away his woes." So this year, when there's a chance to sing Christmas carols in church or at a party, I'm going to sing. Loud. Even if I'm off key.

And then there was this: "Respect for others, reliability, kindness and compassion are all key. Living in the moment does not mean acting impulsively, without thought of the future." So being present might mean not taking that extra cup of spiked eggnog or overspending on a gift just because you KNOW they'll love it.

Kipfer ends her 1,001 suggestions with this: "Our selves, our destinies, are being created constantly through our thoughts and actions. Attune yourself to the inherent creativity of your life. Let enlightenment be the finishing touch on your masterpiece."

This Christmas, show up. Be there, and it's sure to be a blessed one for you and the ones you love.

GODSTUFF

HOW HARRISON FORD HELPED ME EXPLAIN HANUKKAH TO A 10 YEAR OLD



Last week, the postal carrier dropped off two boxes from Amazon.com filled with DVDs of Christmas movies. Among them were “Polar Express,” “The Nativity Story,” and two boxed sets of the Rankin/Bass stop-motion animation TV specials I grew up with in the 1970s.

The new DVDs added to our already enormous Christmas movie collection. It’s our 10-year-old son’s first American Christmas and when it comes to that holiday and all of its stories, secular and sacred, we’ve got the bases covered.

But some of our closest family friends are Jewish and we’re want Vasco to know about Hanukkah, too. Unfortunately, when it comes to Hanukkah movies, the pickings are maddeningly slim.

We’ll probably show him Adam Sandler’s goofy animated flick, “Eight Crazy Nights” and, in a few years, maybe we’ll let him watch the racier “The Hebrew Hammer.”
There are a few child-oriented Hanukkah films out there but our son is used to the production quality of “Finding Nemo” and the Harry Potter epics, so hand puppets and low-budget animation just won’t fly.

The folks at the Sesame Street Workshop’s “Shalom Sesame” series, which explores Jewish and Israeli culture and history, have a Hanukkah special, which I’ve ordered, but that skews a bit young for a fourth grader.

Vasco already knows what a menorah is and is fascinated by the enormous dreidel erected at a public park nearby, but it has been a challenge explaining what Hanukkah is all about without the help of his favorite medium: movies.

We want him to know that Hanukkah, like Christmas, is not just about getting gifts and lighting lights. There is a powerful spiritual story behind the superficial cultural retellings the winter holidays receive.

For those of you who could use a little help, here is a short version of the Hanukkah story:

About 2,200 years ago, the Jewish people were living in Israel under the rule of Greco- Syrian kings. One of those kings, Antiochus Epiphanes, a particularly nasty fellow, forbade the Jews to practice their religion and tried to force them to worship Greek gods. When they refused because it was idolatry and forbidden by God, he killed them.

The nasty king even installed a statue of the Greek god Zeus in the Jew's Holy Temple in Jerusalem and, as was the custom in Greek worship, sacrificed a pig on its altar. Having had enough of the terror, Judah Maccabee, the son of a Jewish priest, and his four brothers led a revolt against their oppressors and, after three years and against all odds, they managed to drive the Greco-Syrians out of Judea. It was their faith and obedience to God, the story goes, that led them to victory.

The Jews set about cleaning and recon-secrating their holy temple and needed to keep an oil lamp lit day and night as part of the ritual. But they only had enough oil for one day, and it would take another week to press olives for more. Miraculously, the lamp in the temple with barely enough oil for one day stayed lit for eight.

On Hanukkah, which comes from the Hebrew word that means "dedicated," Jews around the world light a menorah for eight nights to remember that miracle and the victory of the Maccabees over their oppressors.

That's a little difficult to explain to a 10-year-old who's still learning English.

But there's something essential in there that he can grasp. Hanukkah is about having the courage and the faith to live and be who you are supposed to be amidst a culture that says you shouldn't or can't.

Oppression is something that he can understand. Each of us has experienced the heavy mantle of oppression whether in huge, systematic ways or small, personal dramas.

Having the faith and the chutzpah to be who God made you to be when you're being pressured to do otherwise or are living among people who don't understand you or put you down because you're not the same as them is a universal experience.

When that Hanukkah story became clear to me, I realized we already owned the perfect movie and had recently watched it.



It's not new, high-tech or edgy. Pixar isn't involved, and there is no accompanying line of children's tchotchkes that Vasco wanted to run out to Target to buy.

The best film I can recommend to parents and children this Hanukkah is the 1979 flick "The Frisco Kid," starring Gene Wilder and and a very young Harrison Ford.

Set around the turn of the 20th century, Wilder plays Avram, a Jewish rabbi from Poland who is dispatched to the United States to serve a new synagogue in San Francisco.

Avram is a righteous, if terribly naive, man, and his cross-country journey is jeopardized by three con men who beat him, steal all his money and toss his Torah scroll from a covered wagon after pocketing the silver tass, or breastplate, that decorated the front of its velvet cover.

Ford's character Tommy, a bank robber with a decent heart, befriends Avram and accompanies him to San Francisco, fending off all manner of obstacles and enemies. Throughout the sometimes life-threatening journey, Avram consistently makes difficult decisions to do the right thing, according to his faith, and not the easier thing.

The rabbi refuses to ride his horse on the Sabbath until the sun sets, even though he and Tommy are being pursued by a lynch mob. God seemingly rewards his faithfulness and they get away.

Along the way the rabbi and the robber become friends, and we learn a lot about Judaism, ethics and the faith that it takes to do what you're supposed to do just because it's right. "Come here chicken, I'm not gonna hurt you, I just want to eat you," a near-starving Avram says in one scene, chasing his would-be dinner. "I don't wanna hurt you, I just want to make you kosher."

Trust me on this one. Try "The Frisco Kid."

You might learn a little something — about Judaism or perhaps about being your highest and best self in the midst of turmoil.

Surely you'll have a few laughs and that will make for a very Happy Hanukkah.