Lost Quaker Journals: #9 -- John Greenleaf Whittier

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

WALT WHITMAN, on a summer's day,

Lolled ‘round the meadows sweet with hay.

Singing, of himself in his merry glee

Whilst worthy men crafted poetry.

Leaves of grass shall soon turn brown,

While other poetry still resounds,

'Tis songs sung of heroic human quest

Not some nameless longing filling WW's breast.

From whence do his strange thoughts bubble up?

Perhaps too much soma in his small cup?

He speaks of the grass and flowers and trees,

But never leaves his dingy cities

And low of cattle, and song of birds,

Are sounds his ears have rarely heard

Alas for poetry that’s a bunch of fudge,

I’d rather be a rich repiner than such a drudge!

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these: "Whitman wrote again!"

Ah, well! for real poets some sweet hope lies

That his work be greeted by a printer’s denies;

And, in the here and now, angels may

Keep his “poems” from the light of day!

I hope, if I ever have some institution named after me, that nobody finds this journal of my really heartfelt poetry. Alas, that would be sad.

-- JGW, Ninth-month 19, 1860

Lost Quaker Journals: #8 -- Walt Whitman

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

Ninth-month 19, 1860 --

I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
not Vermonters,
And rejoice that I do not write,
Rhyming poems like JGW -- Moll Pitcher, Barbara Fritchie, Maud Muller, bah...
The saddest words of tongue or pen are not "It might of been" but are
"It not ought to have been" but Whittier penned it anyway.

I loafe and invite my poems,
I lean and loafe and brew my soma, but not for some churchly-hymn.

My poems, every poem of my poems, form'd from this soil, this air,
Not some rhyming dictionary or nights spent playing Scrabble,

Creeds and rules of poetry I hold in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but should be quickly forgotten,
I freeform my lines, no slave to format, I permit myself to speak at every hazard,
Poetry without royalty check (unlike that other Quakerly poet), filled with original energy and my own self!

-Walt Whitman,

On Being Attentive -- Two's by Two

After looking at singular things for a few days, I decided I would try to be attentive to "two"s -- and started on Twos-day (okay, bad puns are singular). I thought that being attentive to twos might be a bit more difficult. After all, there are many ones -- but how many twos are there?

As I brushed my hair (yes, I have some hair that still needs tending) in front of Nancy's dresser, I looked down and noticed our senior pictures sitting on her desk. No, not senior as in the age we are now, but senior as in seniors in high school. Two very earnest looking teenagers looked back at me from their formal professional black and white portraits. I said a prayer for those teens as I thought of how their lives were turning out to be far different (speaking for myself at least) than they imagined they would as seventeen year olds. I wished God's blessings for and on them.

As I moved to my chest of drawers to pick up my wallet, keys, and superfluous comb, I saw another set of senior pictures -- those of my sons Ben and Tim. I see those pictures (and another just behind them of the boys as very young boys) every day. But today I saw them afresh and as a possibility for the primary speech of prayer. As I reflected on their lives (Ben as business man, husband and father in Japan and Tim as good, kind Hoosier fellow), I prayed silently -- God knows the words I would speak could I really name the longings of my heart for these young men.

Spotting -- and praying for -- twos has been a bit easier than I thought. Two women just jogged by my office window. Two strangers that I was able to bless with a little prayer, though they, I am sure, will never know that they were being prayed for. Nor do they need to.

The prayers and attentiveness benefit me (singular) as much as them (twos), I am sure. The act of being attentive throughout the day is opening me to a richer prayer life than my usual "Thank you" or "Help me" or other simple prayers. It also feels more "me" than when I try to pray the hours (which is not my tradition) or try some other prayer practices that just don't quite fit the Bill (so to speak).

I wonder what other twos God will place before me to notice this day?

-- Brent

Stay for Pay: Church/Meeting Growth -- The Bad Friends Way

As many Friends, good and Bad, know, I (Brent Bill) have thinking about ways to revitalize Quaker life (not the magazine!) in the 21st century. Thus I've offered my "Modest Proposal" series (visit it here or download a pdf of it here).

But, of course, those writings are very deep and thoughtful and practical. Not much fun, I guess. Association of Bad Friends co-clerk Jacob Stone and I (with help from our Bad spouses) have come up with some other ideas in the past -- such as the inclusion of the Quaker Whoopee Cushion as a way to enliven Meeting and perhaps attract a more fun-loving bunch of Seekers.

Whilst those earlier ideas were great, the newest one from the Research and Development Sub-committee of the Advancement and Outreach Committee of the International Association of Bad Friends for Meeting Expansion and World Domination (Corporate motto: "We see a great people to be snookered") is simply stupendous.

We call it "Stay for Pay."

Simply put, Quaker meetings will begin paying people to attend Meeting for Worship.

Brilliant, isn't it?

Instead of taking an offering during or after worship, local meetings will pass out cash to attendees. Below is the proposed payment schedule:

Action	Payment
Attend Meeting for Worship (entire service)	$10
Give good vocal ministry (5-7 on clerks’ scale)	$5
Give great vocal ministry (8-10 on clerks’ scale)	$7.50
Give outstanding vocal ministry (leaving people crying, laughing, ready to march on DC, etc – without mentioning anything about God or Jesus or John Woolman)* *unprogrammed meetings only	$10
Give outstanding vocal ministry (leaving people crying, laughing, ready to go door to door on evangelization campaign, etc – without mentioning anything about how God or Jesus is your best Friend and made you rich)* *programmed meetings only	$10

Vocal ministry (other than the outstanding category, which has obvious criteria) would be rated Olympic style, with three or four clerks holding up signs with their scores for the message.

It's a win/win situation. Meetinghouses will be packed and a family of four will walk away with enough money to go do something enjoyable on Firstday afternoon! Who could ask for more?

And the best part -- it's not going to cost any money! That's right. Every Friends meeting seems to be sitting on some stash of endowment cash that they can't spend. Here's an opportunity to put the proceeds that have been piling up for the past one hundred years in the Phoebe Ann Mosley Memorial Straight Shooters and Outreach to Indigent Orphans of the Spanish American War Fund to work. The legal team of Stone, Bill, Stone, Stone, Stone M O'Gwynn will be glad to help with the details of modifying the conditions of the endowment.

For more information on this amazing program and how your meeting can franchise this opportunity for its use, contact us at 1-666-BAD-QUAK.

-- Brent

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

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

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

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