Monday, September 12, 2011

On Being Attentive -- Daily Miracles


Miracles

By Walt Whitman

1819-1892



Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the
ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

*********
Thanks to Jacob Stone (Walt Whitman scholar and aficionado extraordinaire) for sending this to me.

-- Brent

On Being Attentive -- One Thing, Part 2

As I said in an earlier post, I often notice that I've driven the 22 miles (though according to Mapquest it's really only 20.59 miles) to work without being fully present to the sights and sites around me. And, in so doing, I miss living large chunks of my in the present -- the only place where I can truly live. Or experience God.

It's not that when I think of things past or solve problems future that I cannot encounter God in them. I can. But I don't really experience God in them. I remember God working in the past and pray for God to be with me in the future, but the only place I can really experience God's presence is in the present.

While I live in the country, I work in the heart of the city. I often find it easy to be attentive to the present and the possibility of God-surprises whilst walking in the prairie. But once I jump in the car and turn the ignition and make my way to the city, I lose track of attention. I slip into auto-driver mode. In doing so, I discount the possibility of an encounter with God in a place where I spend at least 1/3 of my life. So I need to learn to be attentive to both those places -- country and city -- for possible God-sightings.

Today I decided to practice attentiveness on my way to town. And, like my experiment yesterday of paying attention to single things, I decided that would do so on my way to work. I would not try to take in the civic panorama in its vastness. Instead, I would look for "ones".

It started easily enough. Traveling on the highway, glanced in my rear view mirror. A car was closing on me fast. I mean really fast. Blue and red lights flashed. It was a state policeman on a run. I prayed for him, that he would be safe in his hurry. Then I noticed a pillar of smoke in the westbound lanes. As I approached, I saw that it was a car on fire. One car. Blazing tires and engine and body; belching smoke. The state policeman had pulled a quick U-turn and was heading to the car. The fire department had just arrived and by the time I passed the scene, the car was not to be seen -- it was hidden amid the belching smoke and billowing steam from the water being poured on the car. And so I prayed God's blessing on the driver of that car -- a blessing for her or his safety and comfort.

As I rounded the bend in the highway that leads into the city, I beheld our midwestern skyline. Surely nothing nearly as spectacular as New York or Chicago's, but still with buildings reaching for the sky. The tallest one caught my attention. I can't tell you its current name. It's a bank building (at least I think it still is). And I remembered that yesterday was the tenth anniversary of 9/11 when terrorists decided to crash airplanes into tall buildings. I saw the building from the west, the south, the east, and the north as I made my way to my office. And I prayed for it and the people who would work in that singular structure. I prayed that they would experience life-giving moments inside that conglomeration of concrete, steel, and glass -- that their day there would be more than drudgery, but that it would have moments of joy.

Then, as I walked from the parking lot to my office, I passed a bench on the walkway that passes by my windows. One, stretched out, was an old pair of khaki pants. Forlorn. Tattered. Left by who? And why? And so I prayed for their owner, for whatever needs he had. For a sense of God's presence for him.

As I walked on, I thought of how often I would have passed those 45 minutes completely oblivious to the opportunity to pray and experience God. And I prayed, and continue to pray, for an attentive spirit.

Even as it comes one thing at time.

-- Brent

Sunday, September 11, 2011

On Being Attentive -- One Thing

I generally think of myself as a fairly attentive guy. But then there are days I realize I've driven 22 miles to work without really noticing the road surfaces, passing sights, road construction crews, and the myriad things that line my way. I've spent the time in my head while my body took me safely along the oft traveled route.

I'm that way at other times, too -- at the office, at home, out walking in the woods. I, as a friend of mine says, "Think too much."

I miss so much of life whilst living in my head. Including God-sightings that are taking place around me, but which I rarely notice.

So I've decided to try to slow myself down, figuratively, if not literally, by taking time to pay attention. And, since there's no better time to live in the present than the present, I decided to start today.

Of course, today is, in some ways, an enormous day. It's the 10th anniversary of monstrous attacks on our nation. Attacks which changed much about the way we live. There was much opportunity to pay attention to that -- television broadcasts, news articles, and much more.

There was too much -- at least for me. So I decided that I would simplify. I decided to try to spend this day focusing on single things. To see the individual things that comprise the whole of life.

So, after Meeting for Worship this morning, I came home, put on my comfortable old jeans and boat shoes, picked up my camera, lit my pipe, and went out to pray. I often pray with my pipe and camera. The camera helps me focus. To look at the little picture. The pipe helps me tend my breathing... to slow it down.

I first wandered through Nancy's garden between the house and the barn. Autumn is on it's way and the flowers and bushes show that. I paused to look at individual flowers. To see the singles that made up the whole.

In a lesson that I guess God thought I needed, I quickly noticed that each single was multiple. Multiple stems or petals or tiny florets teaming with honeybees and butterfly. Still, I would not have noticed the bees and flutterbys had I not looked at individual flowers.

I made my way out onto the prairie. The big blue stem grass is dying, bending low. Coneflowers, asters, iron weed, goldenrod are feeding the thousands of insects. Each individual plant contained its own unique beauty and each contributed to the diversity of and beauty of the prairie as a whole. The loss of one black eyed Susan would have diminished the landscape.

Walking quietly, pausing to focus and shoot, I head bees buzzing, butterflies' whispering wings, small animals scampering through the prairie, and birds calling warnings to and about me.

Moving into the woods, larger animals moved away from me. Deer? Coyote? I had my glasses off as I focused on clover blooms in my path, so I have no idea. Being near-sighted does help one focus on the singular that is close by.

Autumn's approach was apparent in the woods, as well. How to see that story? A photograph of the entire woods is too much with too little detail. A picture of one dying leaf is all that is needed. The special Fall scent that fallen leaves send up as they lay on the ground, filling with raindrops from a passing shower, and then drying in sun that comes out. I looked at many of them ... one at time. I slung my camera over my shoulder -- its work was done. Now I was just here to look at things one by one by one.

My pipe went out, the tobacco all gone. It was nearly lunch time, so I headed back up to the house. Walking back through the prairie, I continued to look a single flowers, grasses, leaves on the path. A light rain began to fall. I watched the individual rain drops darken my shirt with their moisture, alight on stalk of big blue stem.

I noticed my breathing was nice and slow. My mind was full... but not of the usual chatter that goes on there. Instead it was full of wonder and beauty of that which I was walking through and participating in.

It was one of the singular walks of my life.

-- Brent

Friday, September 09, 2011

The Rapture -- Or President Ron Paul?

After hearing Rep. Ron Paul in the Republican Candidate's Debate the other night, I kept thinking of the consequences of eliminating all the government agencies he wants to close. No more Interstate Commerce Commission. No more Federal Aviation Administration. No more ...

Reminded me of this old postcard of "The Rapture."

Ron Paul as the Second Coming? I think I'd rather be left behind.

- Brent

Thursday, September 08, 2011

Sickened by Unseemliness in Simi

I saw and heard something last night that made me sick to my stomach. It was during the Republican Candidates Debate from the Reagan Library. It wasn't the sniping at each other or Obama or Bernacke or climate change or social security or Hilary Clinton or any of the other bugaboos that these men and woman are always undertaking that made me sick. No. It was an outburst of almost riotous self-righteous applause when NBC's Brian Williams mentioned the 234 executions in Texas under Rick Perry's governorship.

The crowd, literally, broke out in a roar that smacked of blood lust.

I was disgusted. And ashamed.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. As H. L. Mencken famously said, "Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people."

But it wasn't the lack of intelligence that made me sick. Rather it was the lack of compassion.

Off and on throughout the evening, various candidates scored applause points by mentioning how they were people of compassion and their party was the true party of compassion.

And then the audience cheers the deaths of other human beings. That is beyond me.

I am not raising here the debate about the role of capital punishment in the United States (though I will say I find it personally abhorrent and inconsistent with my understanding of anything close to the Christian gospel). What I found disgusting was applauding the state-mandated deaths of other humans.

Even if you believe that capital punishment is called for, does that mean you cheer when someone is executed? Do you roar approval at the mention of how many the state has put death -- whether you think their deaths were warranted or not? I would hope not. I would hope that we would rather be sobered by any man or woman's execution. That we would mourn that a life came to an end that way.

This is not to equate our mourning for them with our mourning and respect of the executed's victim(s). Rather, we should mourn because, as John Donne says, "any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind..."

Those of us especially who call ourselves Christians (and I imagine a fair number of the applauders at Simi Valley last night would call themselves Christians) should especially refrain from such displays of behavior that are contrary to our Lord's gospel. Do we who follow Christ seriously believe that Jesus rejoices when a man or woman is executed? Do we who claim to be compassionate in the name of God think that our God is smiling and applauding when one of his creatures is put to death?

The applause for executions made my stomach churn, my face redden in embarrassment, and my heart as a Christian hurt.

-- Brent

Friday, August 26, 2011

Lost Quaker Journals: #7 -- Richard M. Nixon

From the archives of the Association of Bad Friends. All rights reserved.









Richard Milhous Nixon, born and raised a Quaker in southern California, was the 37th President of the United State. He was a graduate of Whittier College (a Friends school) and the Milhous family (from Indiana before moving to California) had long been Quaker. Jessamyn West, the novelist, was his cousin. Nixon is largely known for the Watergate scandal, during the investigation of which it was revealed that he had a propensity for ... um... "plain speech" -- though not of the variety usually approved of by Friends.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Free Book!

Contest! be the 20th new follower of our twitter feed and win a free copy of Brent's "Mind the Light" http://t.co/b0Ro5Tt

http://twitter.com/#!/WakenYourSenses

Sunday, August 14, 2011

"Snow Trail" -- Second Place

Here's my photograph that took second place in "Non-Professional, Black and White Scenic" at the 2011 Indiana State Fair.

Here's the technical information for those of you who care about such things:
Camera: Nikon D80
Lens: Nikon DX AF-S 18-135 (32mm)
1/200 second; f 7.1; ISO 200
Location: Ploughshares Farm, Mooresville, IN
Processed in Adobe Lightroom and Nik SilverEfex Pro
Printed on my Epson R2880



Saturday, August 13, 2011

The Quaker Whoopee Cushion


New from Bill Stone Enterprises! It's the "Old Quaker Whoopee Cushion," the fun product made with Friends in mind. Slip an "Old Quaker Whoopee Cushion" under the bench pad at Meeting and watch the Friends quake. When a weighty Friend plops his backside down, out comes the sound of silence. Imagine the look on the gathered Meeting's faces!!

The "Old Quaker Whoopee Cushion" is perfect for unprogrammed and programmed Friends alike. It's one size fits all shape works on benches, pews, pulpit furniture, choir chairs, and more.

It comes in grey or gray.

And it's only $19.95 plus postage and handling.

BUT WAIT. Order in the next 20 minutes and we'll throw in another "Old Quaker Whoopee Cushion" at no extra cost. AND THAT'S NOT ALL! The first twenty callers will receive a copy of "Walk Cheerfully: The George Fox Jokebook."

Just call 1-666-QUAKER. Operators are standing by.

Lost Quaker Journals: #6 -- Hannah Whitall Smith

From the archives of the Association of Bad Friends. All rights reserved.

May 27, 1875 I do not care what the title my publisher put on my new book says, sometimes the Christian life is just not that happy. And that's no secret. Especially when some Christians send me letters telling me what I got wrong. "Dear Mrs. Smith -- I read the heresy you published. You will burn in Hell for all eternity for what you wrote. Please turn from your vile ways. In Christian Love, Miss Prudence Pureblood." "In Christian Love", indeed. Well, let me tell you. Miss Pureblood can take her Christian Love and stick it[editor's note: the rest of this sentence is illegible]. -- Journal of Hannah Whitall Smith


Hannah Whitall Smith’s book The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life, first published in 1875, is still in print and is an extremely popular book among Evangelical and conservative Christians. Less popular is her spiritual autobiography, The Unselfishness of God And How I Discovered It. Published in 1903, it has three chapters which explain how she became a Christian universalist. She was also the mother-in-law of Betrand Russell.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Lost Quaker Journals: #5 -- Charles Elmer Hires

From the archives of the Association of Bad Friends. all rights reserved.

April 1, 1876

This new temperance movement is driving me wacky. Women armed with hatchets chopping up saloons. It's just unseemly. It's enough to drive a Quaker to drink. What I wouldn't give for a pint of stout right now. Still, there has got to be some way to make some money on it. That Canadian fellow McLaughlin may be on to something with his "Ginger Ale." What could I come up with? .... Hmmm, how about "Sassafras Ale?" No. I've got it. "Root Beer!" We can have our beer and our temperance, too! -- Journal of Charles E. Hires.


Hysterical Historical note: Modern bottled root beer was developed by Quaker pharmacist Charles Elmer Hires. In 1876 he was selling 25 cent packets of powder which could make five gallons of root beer. In the 1880s he developed a syrup of the concoction for use in soda fountains. That soon followed by kegs of root beer and modern bottling.

Despite it being a non-alcoholic drink, the temperance ladies (primarily) were not amused by it's name. Hire's one-upped them by marketing his root beer as "The Temperance Drink."
I could find no word on what the current stance of the Women's Christian Temperance Union is towards Hire's "Greatest Health-Giving Beverage in the World."

Sunday, August 07, 2011

Lost Quaker Journals: #4 -- Daisy Douglass Barr

From the archives of the Association of Bad Friends. all rights reserved.
March 10, 1923

What to wear to church tomorrow? Ha! I wish there was a choice. But it’s always black or gray. Especially when you are the pastor. I’d look so much better in… um… white! That’s it. I’m going to start dressing in all white. Maybe even a white head-covering. That would give plain clothes a whole new look. White is right! -- Diary of Daisy Douglass Barr

Hysterical historical note – Barr was pastor at Friends churches in New Castle and Muncie, Indiana. Famous as a preacher in the early 20th century, she was infamous for being Imperial Empress of the Indiana Women's Ku Klux Klan at about the same time.
Further note: The photo is not of Barr, but rather one of her compatriots from the Indiana Klan dressed in Imperial Empress garb.

Wednesday, August 03, 2011

Lost Quaker Journals: #3 -- John Dillinger

From the archives of the Association of Bad Friends. all rights reserved.

July 22, 1934

Guess I’ll go catch a picture show tonight. I had this nagging feeling all morning that I should go back to Quaker Meeting. It’s a little embarrassing to think about after having been kicked out of Friends’ Sunday School in Mooresville, Indiana. So I went out across Chicago to try and find one. It was impossible! No signs anywhere to help identify what’s a Meetinghouse and what’s not. And not even a Yellow Pages ad. I’ll tell ya, a bank is easier to find on a Sunday than a Quaker church is. I did see a woman in red hanging ‘round the Biograph Theater. Maybe she’s one of those fast Friends I’ve heard of and can direct me to the nearest Meeting
. – The Diary of John Dillinger

Monday, August 01, 2011

Awaken Your Senses: Meditation Video

Lost Quaker Journals: #2 -- George Fox

From the archives of the Association of Bad Friends. all rights reserved.

CHAPTER I. Boyhood -- A Seeker: 1624-1648

When I came towards nineteen years of age, being upon business at a fair, one of my cousins, whose name was Bradford, having another professor with him, came and asked me to drink part of a jug of beer with them. I, being thirsty, went in with them, for I loved any who had a sense of good, or that sought after the Lord.

When we had drunk a glass apiece, they began to drink healths, and called for more drink, agreeing together that he that would not drink should pay all. I was grieved that any who made profession of religion should offer to do so. They grieved me very much, having never had such a thing put to me before by any sort of people.

Wherefore I rose up, and, putting my hand in my pocket, took out a groat, and laid it upon the table before them, saying, "If it be so, I will leave you."

Looking upon the Society of Friends now as I write these words, I wonder if I shouldst not have stayed with Bradford and hadst a few more beers. Barkeep, another round… -- George Fox: An Unauthorized Autobiography

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Lost Quaker Journals: #1 -- Annie Oakley

From the archive of the Association of Bad Friends. All Rights Reserved.


Fourth month 4, 1875 – Another dry Meeting for Worship. Sometimes I feel that I would just as soon shoot myself before sitting through another such. Friend Methuselah Mills stood and spoke during Meeting – again. Why must he speak every Firstday??? And toss that infernal coin up in the air over and over whilst speaking? If I had my .22 I’d shoot that thing right out of the air. Hmmm, that gives me an idea… -- Journal of Annie Oakley

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Current Clerks List: Association of Bad Friends


Here's the current clerks list of the Association of Bad Friends
•J. Brent Bill -- co-clerk and co-founder of Association of Bad Friends
•Jacob Stone -- co-clerk and co-founder (and unindicted co-conspirator) of Association of Bad Friends
•Ginny Mills -- Clerk of Non-Birthright Quakers (who are not as good, and so never as bad, as Birthrights)
•Bill Clendineng -- Crank
•Staṡa Morgan-Appel Goddess of Unprogrammed Laughter& Goddess of Sacred Snark
•Vonn New -- Clerk of Americans for Servicing their Friends Committee
•Angie Reeks -- Clerk of Rolling Eyes, and ROF Laughter
•Amy Woods Hostler -- Clerk of Backsliding
•Gil Skidmore-- Co-clerk [pronounced Clark] of Awkward British Friends
•Laurel Whisler -- Clerk of Always Looking on the Bright Side of Life, in a Pessimistic Sort of Way
•Annie Glen -- Clerk of the Royal High and Holy Potatoes
•Michael Cronin -- Representative to Wikiquakes
•Andrea Walsh -- Clerk of Yearly Meeting Registrars
•Deborah Suess -- Clerk of Closeted Dancin', Handclappin, But Ain't Got No Rhythm Quakes
•Becki Swantner Heusel -- Clerk of Birthright Methodists Gone Quaker
•Bill Downall -- Clerk of the Committee on Alternatives to Non-Violence
•Ann Armstrong -- Clerk of Hybrid Multi-branch Friends
•Chuck Fager-- Clerk of the Committee on New Quaker Cliches
•Jane Stokes -- Representative for Clerks of Micro-mini Worship Groups that pay Attention to Food, not Business
•Meredith Egan --Clerk of Questioning the Rules against Educating YAFs in the Appreciation of great Islay or organic farm-brewed Beer at Gatherings Committee
•Tatiana 'Tania' Hamboyan Harrison -- Clerk of "I've got 99 beliefs but Just War Ain't One
•Dorene Cornwell -- Clerk of the Still Didn't Get the Memo Committee on E-mail Immoderation
•Richard Lee -- Clerk of the Hide your Light under a Barrel Committee (if I can also help to empty the barrel)
•Helen Gibbs -- Co-clerk of the Meeting of Friends needing Therapy because by the Time they Heard about YF, they were too Old
•Richard Lee -- Clerk of the Intensely Complicated Simplicity Committee
•Gretta Stone -- Clerk of BAD Yearly Meeting Registrars
•Chris Wynn -- Clerk of Middle Road Wilburite Friends who serve as Hireling Pastors of Programmed Meetings
•Colin Lincoln Holloway -- Non Clerk of Feral Friends & Rock & Tree Herding
•Dawn L. Rubbert -- Clerk of Birthright Lutherans Gone Quaker
•Anne Wright-Lohaus -- Clerk of Late Bad Friends
•Patrick Ruth -- Clerk of the No damn Organic, Meat & Potatoes, Beer with a Straight Shot Advancement Committee
•Charley Earp -- Chief Conspirator of the Winstanleyite Communist Quakers (Digger Primitivists)
•Rami Zentgraf -- Bad Librarian
•Beth Jenkins Chandler -- Clerk of Birthright Catholics Gone Quaker Who Think "Dogma" Is the Greatest Religious Movie Ever
•Raymond Edward Bartolo Slaughter--Clerk of the Nerd Subcommittee of the Liminal Lifestyle Query Group
•Kathleen Lawson -- Clerk of the Empresses of Everything, Liaison to the subcommittee clerks, task group clerks and preparatory meeting clerks AND Clerk of the Committee to Devise New Anagrams
•Leslie Elise Ford Khalsa -- Clerk of the Heinously Unfriendly and Hypocritical Poseur for the AFSC...(I have the tattoo!)
•Patricia Jackson -- Clerk of Herding Cats Committee
•Elaine Caldwell Emmi -- Clerk of the Perpetually Connected Seekers
•Helen Gibbs -- Clerk of the Discussion Group Reviewing the Decision to Nominate that the Rapture is Due to Happen in October this Year
•Leesa Whitson -- Quaker Party Girl (AKA Social Night Facilitator)
•Matthew Boyce -- Clerk of Friends with Ego Disorders
•Kathleen Lawson -- Clerk of the Committee to Teach New Songs to Liberal Friends
•Rami Zentgraf -- Cerk of the Bad Hospitality Committee

You may notice that some Friends have named themselves as clerk of more than one committee, but that is keeping with the accepted Queries and Testimonies of Friends -- "Is thee's badness evidenced by the over-riding belief that THEE and only THEE can fully understand and direct the needs of THEE's (not the Lord's or the Meeting's) committee.

Nominations are still open.

-- Brent, Presiding Clerk of the Association of Bad Friends and Emperor of the Universe

Thursday, June 09, 2011

RsOFL -- Religious Society of Friends and Texting

I admit to geezerhood. So much so that when I first started getting texts on my phone that I often couldn't figure them out. Or figure them out wrong. Like, why were so many of my women friends telling me that they loved me a lot? LOL. Lot's o' Love, right?

I'm not very bright, I know. But now, OMG, BM&Y, I can MYOB and text you about ur's ASAP.

Now, thanks to the crack international research team at the Association of Bad Friends (headed by Helen Gibbs of Cambridge, England and Chuck Fager of Fayetteville, NC), there's a whole new bunch of Quaker txtng stuff I have to learn.

Here's the list that Gibbs and Fager, with help from others on their research team, have come up with so far.

CQUMB -"Chuckling Quietly Under My Breath"?
PFMWHAMS "Please, Friends, May We Have A Moment of Silence?"
CTCTF "Could Thee Clarify That, Friend?"
ITGTHOOH! "I'm Trying To Get The H*** Out Of Here!"
SER "Surreptitious Eye Roll"
TIANTWNHOTM "That Is A Name Which Would NOt Have Occurred To Me"
LYLS "Let your life speak"
ITCR "Is the clock right?"
YKSPTSTAW "You know she planned to say this all week." (Referring to people who take the silence as a moment to deliver a sermonette.)
TFSMM "That Friend speaks my mind"
MANCMTW - "Must avoid nominations committee"
IIWNQ -- "If I was not Quaker!"

AFAIK, 404, Quakes are the only denomination (religion, set, cult, whatever) to come up with their own txtng lingo. For once we're ahead in the game.



ROFLMAO, 4COL



Brent

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Racing Lessons: # 3 "Eyes Front"

Heading toward 100 mph in a turn is no time to gawk or sight-see. I learned that quickly -- emphasis on the quickly -- the other day whilst tooling around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Okay, I was doing a bit more than tooling around -- zipping around, zooming around, rocketing around. At least that's how it felt to me.

The first time through the short chute between turns 1 and 2 though, I thought, "Hey, wait a sec, I'm coming up on the stands where I've sat for the races I've attended." Stand G. So, as I drew closer to it, I looked up to see what it looked like from the vantage of a car on the track.

Not a good idea. For one, I was strapped in securely enough, that it was hard to turn my body and/or head to get a good look at something zipping by at 90-100 mph. For two, I was zipping by at 90-100 mph and had no business trying to see that which was falling rapidly behind me. I whipped my head back to the center line of the car and noticed it was continuing to go straight and I was into the curve. So I had to turn and get the car back on line.

I did have a lead car in front of me, leading the way, showing the line through the curves. If I wanted to get the full experience of the drive, I had to forget sight-seeing, focus on the back end of the lead car, and step on the gas. Which I did. As I closed in on the lead car, he sped up and led me though the turns quickly and safely. And I got to speed up as I looked toward and trusted my guide.

How like life that is for me. I often meander at high speed through life, gawking at the sights around me and taking my eyes off of my Guide. And coming dangerously close to the wall! So long as I keep my eye on my Guide, I am shown the way and vouchsafed, ultimately, to the end. And provided with a trip that is, at times, fun, scary, exciting, and filled with learning. So long, that is, as I keep my eyes front and centered on Christ.

"Jesus, Savior, pilot me..." around all the tracks of my life. And keep my eyes front!





-- Brent

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Racing Lessons: #2 Hold Firmly but Loosely

120 mph seems pretty fast when you're sitting a few inches of the ground. I've never driven 120 mph before (I don't care what that Ohio State Patrolman said!).

And everything happens really quickly,too. That's how I learned lesson number 2. "Hold firmly but loosely."

I will say that instruction was not given in the "pre-race" (not that I was really racing!) instructions, but I remembered it from the few times I've ever driven a car "at speed" (including my old MG). Everything at speed is accelerated -- and not just the mph.

I relearned that when I was whipping through turn 2 the first time at maybe 80 or 90 mph. I realized, as I exited turn 1 and was accelerating to catch up to my lead car, that I was passing the G Stands, where I've sat at every race I've attended. I looked up to see if I could catch a glimpse of my "usual" seat and by the time I turned my head back around to look at the track in front of me, I was closing in quickly on the turn 2 wall. So I gave the steering wheel my usual Interstate 70 lane change effort and found myself changing the equivalent to 3 lanes!

Yikes!

The steering was ... um... sensitive. So I gripped the wheel tightly as I sped up to catch up to my leader and find the line through the turns. Every time I breathed or thought about sneezing, I moved up or down the track. As I crossed the yard of bricks for the first time, I realized I had a death grip on the steering wheel. So I took a deep breath, relaxed my grip a bit, and hit the accelerator as we moved through turn two.

As I remembered to hold the steering wheel firmly, but loosely, I found that the car was less "twitchy" and easier to steer -- and faster through the turns. And, at least to me, my track times picked up as I relaxed my grip on the wheel and guided the car along the line I wanted it to take.

Firm but loosely is another life lesson I've had a long time learning. I tend to hold on too tight to that which I love or am afraid of losing. And, in the process, I spin out of control and am in danger of crashing into a wall. That is true whether it is people in my life or the ineffable presence of the Divine. The tighter I hold, the more the smooth line of speed around the track eludes me. But when I relax my grip, holding the wheel firmly enough -- but just, then good things happen. The tires grip as they should because I'm not jerking the car all over the place with every breath. My relationships are not jerked all over the place. The presence of the Divine is not forced by my illusion of control.

The car rides the track smoothly as I allow the physics at work to ... um... work. And that includes my holding both firmly, but loosely.

-- Brent

Monday, May 16, 2011

Racing Lessons: #1 -- Trust

Screaming into turn 3 at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway at 180 mph gave me a new understanding of the word trust. Just a few seconds, literally, earlier, we had rocketed out of the pits, down the pit road, up onto the track, and were hurtling toward turn 3. I was snugged into the back seat of a two-seater Indy car, strapped in behind a driver who I had never before met and had not spoken to. He was already in the car when I got there, suited up, strapped down, helmeted, radiophones in his ears, and ready to go. After I climbed in, he fired the engine and we sat there with him blipping the throttle.

Then the pit crew attendant tapped him on the head, stepped back, and he hit the accelerator. The back tires smoked (at least that's what I heard from those on site), squealed, and I was slammed back into the seat as we went from 0 to 60 in a little over two seconds. He ran up through the gears along pit road, gaining speed with each second. But the time we shot off pit road and up to the outside wall down the back straightaway, I realized that my vision was dimming. I'd be holding my breath ever since he'd taken off!

I took a deep breath, reminded myself that was riding with a professional race car driver who planned on living as long as I did, started to relax a bit when he pulled a left turn and we sped, without him lifting off the accelerator, into turn 3. I forgot to breathe again.

It was then I thought that I could do one of two things. I could either fret myself into a heart attack and die in the back of the car -- thereby earning myself spot on the evening news and infamy at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway -- or I could trust that the guy in front of me was really skilled, the car was really good, and this was going to be among the most exciting minutes in my life.

I decided, against my lifetime of distrust of those who hold my life in their hands at various times (other drivers, pilots, dentists), as we flew across the yard of bricks, to trust. To relax. I even remembered how my friend Buck, a Quaker pastor, says that he thinks learning to trust is the great lesson of the Christian life. So I prayed (quickly), "Buck, I hope you're right," took a breath and relaxed my tense muscles and watch the track surface, walls, trees, golf course, and viewing stands come and go in less than the blink of an eye. Zip through turn two. Zoom into turn 3 and up to the top of the short chute, then jetting down into turn four, up and out. As we hit the main straight, the driver lifted off the accelerator and we turned onto pit lane.

Thirty seconds later, I was up and out of the car, and walking a little shakily toward the safety behind pit wall where people I loved where there to greet me. And I hummed, to myself, a bit of an old gospel hymn that I'd grown up with:
"’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus..."

And Indy car drivers, too...

-- Brent

Monday, May 09, 2011

At Speed: Me and the Indianapolis Motor Speedway

It's the month of May and that means one thing in Indianapolis -- the 500 mile race. Festivities kicked off last Saturday with the mini-marathon and next Saturday the track officially opens, with practice soon to follow.

In between those two dates, I'll be taking my fifth trip around the track. Okay, I admit that the trips so far have bordered on the sedate. The first trip was almost twenty years ago and in one of the tour buses of the IMS Hall of Fame Museum. I think we got up to 30 mph.

But I've also driven around the track in my old MG. Once was for a lap around during the 500 festivities when our granddaughter Ashley was a 500 princess. Top speed on that lap was 45. Two times were with the Indiana British Car Union's fall gathering -- once around the old Grand Prix circuit and once around the oval. I think we got over 60 at one point -- though the speedometer conked out as we passed 55 so I'm really not sure.

This time, though, will be completely different. For my 60th birthday, my step-kids (Michele and Jeff, Laura and Mike, Lisa and Laura, and Chris) and Nancy got me an Indy Racing Experience package. The first part is as a passenger in a two seater Indy car. Other than the extra seat, in every other way, this is a true IZOD IndyCar® Series car. I'll be sitting be hind the driver (one of the current Indy car drivers -- or a past winner such as Mario Andretti or Dario Franchitti (maybe he'll bring along Ashley Judd??)). The car is built on a Dallara chassis and equipped with an authentic racing power plant that can reach up to 180 miles per hour. I'll be experiencing speeds and g-forces similar to those in a real racing situation.

Then, if I survive that part, I'll be driving three laps in a real IZOD IndyCar® Series car that has competed in the famed Indianapolis 500. Yes, I'll be DRIVING. They say that "Speeds are dependent upon each customer's comfort level in the car." How fast can an old man drive if he's trying not to throw-up?



Yes, this time will be completely different than the previous times. The picture above is of my buddy Aaron and I tooling across the yard of bricks at about 30 mph. Later we got about twice that speed through the curves (on 30 year old tyres) and Aaron was holding onto the crash bar and taking someone's Lord's name in vain.



In this case, if Jesus' name escapes my lips on Wednesday when we push through a turn at more than 150 mph, it will not be in vain -- it will be a sincere prayer. I may sound like a line out of an old Harry Chapin song --"It was funny how he had named the only man who could save him now."



It's a great gift for a "kid" who always wanted to be a race car driver. Now at (almost -- not til Wednesday!) 60 I'll be going from 0-60 in around two seconds and being propelled around the track in an automobile that exerts so much downforce that it could be driven upside down. Let's hope I don't experience that!



-- Brent



PS Pictures and commentary (from the spectators such as Nancy, Lisa, my Dad, Aaron and others on hand) will be posted after I quit shaking on Wednesday. I expect, "Screaming like a little girl!" will be among them.




Saturday, May 07, 2011

"Like Lightnings..."

"Spring "
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Nothing is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. — Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

*****
"and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing" -- what amazing lines.

Gerard Manley Hopkins was an English poet and a convert to Roman Catholicism. He eventually became a Jesuit priest. His poems were thought to be not quite up to snuff during his lifetime. He may have used to daring imagery for the time. But, today he is recognized as one of the leading religious poets of all time. He's a favorite of mine.

-- Brent

Monday, May 02, 2011

Stories of Faith

I've had two amazing worship experiences in the past few weeks. Both were with my friends Katie and Jack Patterson.

Katie and Jack, members of St. Christopher Catholic Church in Speedway, Indiana, invited Nancy and me to visit for a Palm Sunday service which featured the proclamation of Jesus' passion. In this case, it was delivered by Bill Fikes. He presented the Holy Week story as presented in the Gospel of Matthew -- and it was absolutely moving and mesmerizing. Bill told the story of Palm Sunday through the burial of Christ completely from memory, moving arouss the front of the sanctuary at St. Christopher's, pausing, pointing, exclaiming, musing as the various characters moved through the story. It was powerful and moving -- all the more so as the result of his humble, understated, yet confident telling of this most important story of faith. I was tremendously blessed by hearing the story afresh -- and musing on which character most represented me. Peter the denier? Judas the betrayer? Pilate the accommodater?

Then, this past Sunday, Katie and Jack joined Nancy at me at our little Friends meeting. Worship opened with dear Friend Florence Emma Peery reading Job 38 -- "Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind: "Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge? Gird up your loins like a man, I will question you, and you shall declare to me."

After some spontaneous singing of hymns, a prayer for the concerns of our hearts, we settled into silence. For a change I was moved to speak -- about how that "Gird up your loins like a man" phrase struck me as God telling Job to "put on your big boy pants" and a few other things that were meant to remind us that we were called to rely not on our own understanding, but upon the greatness and graciousness of God. Nothing too profound, just the musings of a fellow pilgrim in the midst of pilgrims.

Then, after awhile Steve Mills spoke, followed later by Dan Burger. All the messages were very practical -- God at work in our daily lives. Reflecting on them (even my own), I was struck afresh by the thought that the power of Quaker worship and life was its very practicality. No high-falutin' thoughts about the nature or theories of atonement (ransom, substitutionary, satisfaction, etc), as worthy of theological discourse and thought though they may be. Rather, just simple thoughts on how to live our faith in a world that pulls us in many different directions. Which, I thought, is exactly why Quakerism appeals to me -- help for the living of these days.

So, from the elevation of the power of the Gospel story, as told by a lay person who took countless hours memorizing it, to the simple truths of Friends shared out of silence, I have been blessed by encounters with vital, living faith. And I thank God.

-- Brent

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Christ Came Juggling: An Easter Poem

Christ came juggling from the tomb,
flipping and bouncing death's stone pages,
tossing those narrow letters high
against the roots of dawn spread in cloud.
This Jesus, clown, came dancing
in the dust of Judea, each slapping step
a new blossom spiked with joy.

Hey! Listen -- that chuckle in the dark,
that clean blast of laughter behind --
Christ comes juggling our tombs,
tossing them high and higher yet,
until they hit the sun and break open
and we fall out, dancing and juggling
our griefs like sizzling balls of light.


-- Eugene Warren, from The Risk of Birth, poems selected by Luci Shaw

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Our Saviour of the Junk Drawer: Photography

I discovered this Jesus reposing in the junk drawer at the guest minister's condo where I am staying. I hate to admit it (well, no I don't -- I preached on another wee little sinner man this morning -- Zaccheaus) but I was looking for a corkscrew. Instead, I found this little beige Jesus nestled in with the tiny light bulbs, batteries, and other miscellany. -- Brent

Zaccheaus: A Lenten Meditation



Zacchaeus may have been, as the song says, a wee little man, but Jericho, where he lived, was no wee little town. We often have in our minds pictures of places such as Jericho as dusty Judean backwaters, full of small dwellings and people struggling to get by. While Jericho certainly had its poorer population, in the main our mental image of the place is wrong. It was know as the City of Palms, this city where Jesus encountered both blind Bartimaeus and Zacchaeus. Jericho was a thriving economic center. Situated in the rich Jordan valley, it commanded the approaches to Jerusalem and important river crossings to the east. The fragrance from its balsam trees filled the air for miles around. It was known world wide for its rose gardens and the Romans carried its fame, along with its dates and balsam, to the far reaches of their empire.

It was more than an important agricultural trading center and crossroads for the empire, though. It was also the winter resort for Jerusalem’s aristocracy, a literal first century Palm Springs. Kings built winter palaces there. Herod’s alone featured sunken gardens, a Roman style bathhouse, swimming pools and another pool large enough to go boating on. Herod also constructed a large horse and chariot racing course and theater complex for athletic events, dramas and musical. Jericho was a good place to do business for either a blind beggar-man or a tax collector.

Everyone, from kids in Sunday school to those of us who are older, knows that Zacchaeus was short. But he was a wee little man in more than his stature. He had risen to the top of his profession, but how he got there meant he was hardly well regarded. He worked for the hated Romans, collecting taxes or tolls from his own people to help finance the foreign oppression. And while his name is a combination of names meaning “clean or innocent” and “righteous and upright” he is not seen that way by his fellow citizens. Far from being innocent and upright, operating in that rich economic climate, he made quite a bit.

Zacchaeus, in spite of his wealth and professional standing as one of the chief tax collectors, was not happy. According to the Bible accounts, he was not only short in stature; he was also short of both friends and contentment.

But for some reason, he wants to see Jesus. He hurries from his home and tries to get through the crowd to catch a glimpse. No matter how hard he tries to weasel his way through the crowd, he is kept back. You can imagine the people deliberately keeping him from getting through. Here’s a chance to give the little tax collector some pay-back. He always wants some of what the people have. This time they have the best view of the traveling teacher and his crowd and Zacchaeus is not going to take any part of it.

But Zacchaeus is not a man to be denied. He didn’t get to be wealthy by letting the people have their way. He’d scratched and scrambled his way to get what he wanted and he would do it again. So he looked around and spied a sycamore tree growing out over the roadside, offering some sheltering shade, climbable branches of the type favored by young boys and a good view. Off he went, shimming up it and hiding himself in its branches, ready to catch a glimpse of Jesus.

As we all know, his climbing got him more than a glimpse, he got a dinner guest for his efforts. A dinner guest who changed his life. Zacchaeus’ life was never the same after his encounter with Jesus. He marks his change by pledging to give half of what he owns to the poor and return four-fold to anybody he had defrauded. This is far above what the Mosaic Law required. I think it shows that when we encounter Jesus, a new Law, a higher Law is written upon our hearts and encourages us to do all that we can, not just what is required.

In spite of that change, the good religious people grumbled about Jesus going Zacchaeus’ for a meal. It’s one thing to give sight to a blind man as Jesus did just before meeting Zacchaeus. But dining with a tax collector? An agent of the pagan government! He’s a sinner!!

Ouch! That word hurts, even today. Sinner. It’s not something we like to talk about. It sounds so judgmental. Yet, that’s what the people call Zacchaeus and Jesus doesn’t say “No, he isn’t. Leave him alone.” Neither does Zacchaeus. Instead Zacchaeus, though he never uses the word, repents. Repent merely means to turn around – to change direction. Zacchaeus certainly does that. Instead of living life trying to grab all he can get, he suddenly reverses course and puts a right valuation of his wealth. He’s got all this money and he’s going to become a good steward. He’ll repay anybody he cheated – four times what he cheated them. And beyond that, he’ll give half of all he has to the poor.

When he makes that announcement, Jesus tells him, and the crowd, that salvation has come to that house that day and that the purpose of his coming was to seek and save the lost.

Seek and save the lost. Again those words may make us uncomfortable. They are loaded with lots of emotional and theological freight and have been used throughout history to label people. But they are Jesus’ words. He comes to seek and save the lost. What we need to do is to try to drop our prejudiced understanding of them and look at what Jesus is saying.

In the New Testament, the word lost means simply that – lost. It doesn’t mean doomed or damned for all eternity. It means that whatever is lost is in the wrong place. It’s not where it should be. This is true in all of Jesus’ parables (like the one about the lost coin) and about people, too. A thing, or person, is lost when it or he or she is not in the right place. In Zacchaeus and our cases, a person is lost when, on their life’s journey, they have wandered away from God.

We have all had times when traveling that we suddenly find ourselves where we shouldn’t be – sometimes even heading the opposite direction completely. Certainly that was true for Zacchaeus. He was making a pile of money and living well, but he was far from God. That’s what Jesus meant when he said he came for the lost. He came for those of us (and that is all of us) who have been, or may be, in the wrong place.

Likewise, when Jesus talks about “saving” he means restoring. In the New Testament, something is saved when it returned to its rightful place. That’s how Jesus saves us. He returns us to our rightful place, as sons and daughters of the living God. In other words, saved is the opposite of lost – when we are found. We are found when we allow Jesus to bring us home to the family estate of our loving heavenly parent.

This “being found,” “saved,” is what happens when we seek Jesus and he seeks us. Remember, Zacchaeus, like Bartimaeus, did his part. He got himself to a place where he could see Jesus. He knew that for all he had, there was something he lacked. He knew he was not in his right place.

Zacchaeus wasn’t the only one doing the seeking. Jesus sought him out, too. Instead of passing under the tree and continuing along his way, Jesus stopped, looked up and called Zacchaeus down and then led him to the right place. He found him.

Jesus does that same thing today. The everliving Christ restores us to the family of God. That’s something we need to remember this Lenten season. We follow one who came to bring us back where we belong, no longer lost and wandering, but safe, and saved, to the home that is prepared for us.

Whatever happened to Zacchaeus? This despised tax collector, who did everything he could to get his hands on money and wealth, was hated by his neighbors and himself, and was wandering through life, lost and alone. When brought home by the Master, he changed into the person he was meant to be. He grew to fit his name – upright and righteous. The Bible doesn’t say anything else about him, but ecclesiastical tradition does. It says that he was indeed brought home – in a magnificent way. It tell us that, appointed by Peter, the rock on which Christ founded his church, Zacchaeus became the church’s bishop in Caesarea.

What will happen to us? For one we need to use this time of the church calendar (and every day) to look at our own lives. Do we live up to our name as Friends of God? Are we the people we should be? Are we in the right place or the wrong place? If we are in the wrong place, let us make it our prayer, that, like Zacchaeus, we find ourselves in the wrong place at the right time – the time when Jesus passes by.

-- Brent