Felicity Wright

Travels

Grace Happens Part III (a.k.a. “Encouragement”)

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Encouragement – it seems like an ordinary word that simply means “the act of encouraging” or “the state of being encouraged.” Ordinary. Bah. Humbug.

Not so! Encouragement is the bedrock of our faith, the source of our hope. This is because it is derived from “courage,” which itself comes from the Latin cors, or heart. And so “encouragement” literally means “giving heart to.” When we encourage our children, our friends, and those who are struggling, we are literally giving them a piece of our heart. And is this not the very heart of the gospel?

As I join nine others in our service trip to Nepal, I have been encouraged in so many ways. I particularly want to thank Ginny Curinga, Amy Greene, Alice Middleton, Laurel Morrison, and Jason Wright who went way out of their way to contribute money and supplies. And many more of you have provided encouragement through your prayers, enthusiasm, and help in working out logistics like dog, house, and garden care.

Please don’t stop!

I am the oldest person going on the trip and thought I was doing very well (having graduated from Dr. Dark Chocolate, M.D., to the 12-step Elliptical Program). But in the last few days, my lower back has started acting up (the same area where I had surgery four years ago.) I’m sure that it is stress and anxiety, but I really don’t want to be a burden to the other folks AND I want to help the orphanages and join in the trek.

So please continue to pray for me, for Carla, for the other eight, and for the orphaned children who need our help. I am usually a bit reluctant to ask for prayers (preferring to be the “strong” one who prays for others), but humility is a virtue and I’m learning. I need your encouragement and your prayers.

But as you “give a piece of your heart” to me and the others on this trip, please also look around you to find someone closer to home that needs encouragement. Remember that encouragement is a seed that, when sowed freely and tended lovingly, provides food and nourishment for years to come.

Thank you.

Grace Happens! (Part II)

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Two important life lessons: 1) whenever you’re unhappy, go help someone who is worse off, and 2) when you are doing good and having fun simultaneously, that is heaven on earth!

In the previous blog, I alluded to an upcoming mission trip to Nepal. It happened quite by accident when my friend Carla Friedrich, a Swedenborgian minister in San Diego, put a note on her Facebook page asking for volunteers to help birth a dream of founding a Children’s Home, probably in Mexico. She linked with the Wayfarer’s Chapel in Los Angeles that was planning a mission trip to an orphanage in Nepal and then connected with a second home in Nepal, created and run by Swedenborgian missionaries and supported by the church.

She was asking for friends to join in the mission project, make a film, and create a business/promotional plan. Having time on my hands and some experience in business, I jumped at the opportunity. Grace happens!

The trip – which begins on September 18 and ends on October 11 – includes three segments of about a week each:

1. The full group of “Carla’s five friends and helpmates” plus the six-eight Wayfarers’ Chapel folks will do mission work at Ama-Ghar Children’s Home in Kathmandu. I don’t know if I’ll be hammering, painting, cleaning toilets, or tutoring. Check out www.ama-foundation.org for pix and details.

2. Then we split. The Wayfarers’ Chapel folks stay at Ama-Ghar, while “Carla’s five” go to Loving Arms Mission, in another part of Kathmandu. While there, we help with those children and get started on the film and business plan. See http://www.lovingarmsmission.org

3. Returning to the full group, we embark on a spiritual pilgrimage in the Himalayas with seven of the ten original women Nepalese sherpas. It’s an amazing story because they come from different communities and castes, and they are now working to promote empowerment opportunities for women and youth. See http://hopebuilding.pbworks.com/Ten-young-women-who-climbed-Everest-inspire-Nepal%27s-youth,-women-to-dream-big

During our time in Nepal, Kymri Wilt (another of Carla’s friends and a professional travel photographer) and I will be adding to our blogs and putting photos on Facebook. (Kymri’s is http://miraterra.blogspot.com.)

A couple of friends have asked if they could help. I don’t have much room for school supplies, but head lamps (for children who need to study when the electricity has gone off) and financial gifts are always welcome. If you wish to help make Carla’s dream come alive, we’d be delighted. (I’m paying airfare and trekking costs of $2000, and Carla hopes to get a grant to cover some of our room and board. But we need about $50/day to cover food and lodging, so there’s a big gap that needs filling). If you are able and willing to support us, you can: 1) mail a contribution directly to me, which is easiest for me but not tax-deductible for you; or 2) make a tax-exempt gift by sending a check to “Nepal Service Project,” and mailing it to Wayfarers’ Chapel; 5755 Palos Verdes Dr. South; Rancho Verdes, CA 90275; Att’n: Rev. David C. Brown. If you do this, please let me know so that I can properly thank you.

Of course, you can also check the websites for the two orphanages (above) and get connected that way.

But please know that your prayers and encouragement are the most important gifts, so please keep them coming. And you might want to subscribe to my blog so that you don’t miss out on the coming goodies. Thank you.

Grace Happens! (Part I)

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This is the first of two blogs on the misfortunes (literally) of the last six months and the amazing events happening now. After reading this, please subscribe and stay tuned for the next story, on the adventure of a lifetime.

Ted Kennedy Jr.’s story about going sledding just after losing his leg left me teary and gasping for breath. Here are his words as his eulogized his father:

But today I’m simply compelled to remember Ted Kennedy as my father and my best friend. When I was 12 years old I was diagnosed with bone cancer and a few months after I lost my leg, there was a heavy snowfall over my childhood home outside of Washington D.C. My father went to the garage to get the old Flexible Flyer and asked me if I wanted to go sledding down the steep driveway. And I was trying to get used to my new artificial leg and the hill was covered with ice and snow and it wasn’t easy for me to walk. And the hill was very slick and as I struggled to walk, I slipped and I fell on the ice and I started to cry and I said “I can’t do this.” I said, “I’ll never be able to climb that hill.” And he lifted me in his strong, gentle arms and said something I’ll never forget. He said “I know you’ll do it, there is nothing you can’t do. We’re going to climb that hill together, even if it takes us all day.”

Sure enough, he held me around my waist and we slowly made it to the top, and, you know, at age 12 losing a leg pretty much seems like the end of the world, but as I climbed onto his back and we flew down the hill that day I knew he was right. I knew I was going to be OK. You see, my father taught me that even our most profound losses are survivable and it is what we do with that loss, our ability to transform it into a positive event, that is one of my father’s greatest lessons. He taught me that nothing is impossible.

For reasons that will soon be clear, the last six-nine months have been like traversing a slick driveway, worrying that I might break a leg, slide into traffic, or worse. Basically, I felt like a victim. The can-do attitude that was had anchored me in past years was buried in a snowdrift. I knew there was a loving Father* out there and that nothing is impossible (eventually!) but I couldn’t feel His strong, gentle arms carrying me up that hill I couldn’t climb alone.

In the past, when those dealing with feelings of victimization came to me for ministerial support, I would listen sympathetically and reassure them that they are not bad people and they are not alone. Then I encourage them to get therapy (if appropriate) and do three things: 1) create some beauty – art, gardening, music, writing, anything – in their lives; 2) reach out to those in greater need; and 3) make a list of five-ten simple easy-to-do things and complete at least three of them. In doing so, they will regain some semblance of self-esteem and slowly – with the encouragement and help of others – their lives will turn around. Good advice, no?

But now I was on the receiving, not the giving, end of such wisdom. Recognizing that I needed professional help, I made an appointment with Dr. Dark Chocolate, M.D., Personal and Family Therapist. Seeing my maladjusted state, he recommended regular sessions. When he was unavailable, I went to one of his colleagues at Self-Help Therapies, P.A., either Ms. Freecell, M.S.W., or Mr. Spider, M.F.T. The three of them also recommended group therapy, so I joined four-six others in regular Red Wine Group sessions. (I always came away feeling better after these meetings, especially when Dr. Chocolate led them.)

And why, you may ask, did I need such intensive psychological and spiritual support?

Looking back, it probably started when I resigned as pastor from the church, although I believe it was the most loving thing to do. It had became clear that I was a lightning rod for disappointments that began before my tenure and would continue long into the future unless I withdrew from the situation and let others take over.

Soon afterwards, I was asked to support an amazing project developing a cultural awareness programs for non-native Alaskans. I was thrilled to research and develop a lecture series, educational web programs, and traveling exhibits that would introduce people to the gifts and challenges of the Iñupiat (Eskimo) culture. Unfortunately, just as we were hitting our stride, the project imploded when political issues and financial stresses halted the effort. I fell hard.

About the same time, the adult son of a close friend was helping me with yard work. After a year of trust and appreciation, he returned to his previous drug and gambling habits – and also stole cash, checks, and equipment from me. I understand how hard it is to get clean from one’s addictions (as shown by my need to visit Dr. Chocolate on a regular basis), but I nonetheless felt betrayed.

Then the biggest trauma – the cancer that broke my spirit and turned me into a victim – concerned my tenants. I had moved from the larger (upper) unit to the smaller (lower) unit as a way of saving money when I left the church, renting to a lovely couple with two fine boys. When the recession hit, the father (a self-employed contractor) could not find work. Monthly rent payments were late or for partial amounts. I tried to help by recommending him to friends and hiring his wife to help on my website; I worked out a new payment plan. Seeing them in tears, I paid to get their dog out of the pound after he had run away. I loaned them money for a much-needed date. While I was not their minister, it seemed that I had become their savior.

And then the payments stopped entirely. She received a minimal salary as a freelance web designer and office manager, and he had no work. They begged; I implored; things got worse. The fact that California law greatly favors the tenants did not help. So when they owed me over $6,500, I finally evicted them (after all, I was unemployed and broke also). My anxiety was heightened because they lived above me, and I feared for what they might do to my house, my dog, or me. I had to wait a month until they actually left – another $2,000 lost. In the process, for the first time in my life, I was paralyzed by fear.

I changed the locks, struggled to regain my footing, and slowly inched up the icy hill. Friends sustain me; tomatoes ripen despite aphids and weeds, Kyrie’s four puppies are healthy and growing, and even the occasional stranger brings words of comfort and good will. In particular, I thank Alan Olson who wrote to tell me that he had enjoyed my website and blogs and wondered why I hadn’t written in several months. He ended: “So, I am just a voice out of the cyber-virtual fog of the internet, calling out to encourage. Keep writing, keep encountering, keep expecting that what you see before you is only a veiled covering for what truly ‘is;’ and lies beneath the surface.”

Like Teddy Kennedy’s words to his troubled son, simple expressions of encouragement can also be the steady voice of hope. Thank you, Alan.

Yes, grace happens!

But wait! – there’s more! If you call 1-800-THANK-GOD within the next 10 minutes, we’ll double the offer and you can have two doses of grace for the price of one!

… About three weeks ago, Carla Friedrich, my best friend when we were at the Pacific School of Religion, put a note on her Facebook page asking for volunteers to join in a service trip to Nepal and help her develop a film and business plan for opening a new orphanage. Details will be in the next blog – coming later this week.

And, then, when I told Dr. Chocolate about Nepal, he decided that I was no longer in need of therapy. However, he gave me the address and phone number for a 12-step program that could be helpful. It’s called 12-step Elliptical.

I’m heading there now….

* I apologize to myself and others who cringe at the idea of a patriarchal god, but the image of Teddy Kennedy’s care for his crippled son and God’s love for all of us is just too beautiful not to use.

Spiritual Blindness

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For various reasons that I will explain in a future blog, I have been tardy — well that’s an understatement — in posting blogs.  Although there will be a gap when I go to Nepal (to be explained in another future blog), I promise to post something almost every week.  So, here’s part of a sermon that I gave recently in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  I hope you enjoy. The scripture I chose was Mark 10: 46?52, when Jesus meets the blind beggar Bartimaeus.

Good morning, and thank you for inviting me here to lead worship with you today. I was here for the General Synod a couple of months ago, and I’m delighted to be back in your wonderful city.

You’ve probably figured that our theme today is blindness – particularly the kind of blindness where we see only what we expect to see and thus miss what’s really important. At the risk of making a total fool of myself, I’m going to share a personal story. I have to tell you that is remarkable in its stupidity, and the only explanation I can possibly come up with is that I was pregnant at the time. Now, I’m not sure why that suffices as an excuse, but it’s the best I can do.

It happened in the springtime, right around Easter. A pair of mourning doves had made a nest just outside my kitchen window. There was a thin, gauzy half curtain such that I could watch the goings-on in the nest without their knowing. Once – just once – I found the nest unattended, with two tiny white eggs well nestled there. I found it auspicious, being in “the family way” myself, that these doves – these symbols of love and peace – had chosen my windowsill for their home.

It took me a few days to notice that the mother didn’t budge from her nest. All the while, the male sat watchful about twenty feet away, perched on the telephone while, cooing at her. At first, I was pleased, the mother incubating the future babies, the father alert and protective.

But then, something happened. Again, I can only excuse my subsequent behavior on my condition. But, as my due date approached, I also noticed that the female dove never left the nest. Hour after hour, there she was, blinking her eyes, nodding her head back and forth, but otherwise not a twitch. And I began to over-identify with her. There was the male, chirping at her from his perch of freedom, while she sat, devoted, attentive, and trapped in her motherhood. I kept waiting for him to bring her a worm or a seed or something. But no – just that constant harping.

My irritation grew. And then it began to fester. I am one of these lucky people who had a loving father and a good marriage, but suddenly every male in the universe became suspect. My husband, my father, my male colleagues at work, my dog – I began to eye them suspiciously. What selfishness lurked beneath the surface of the male species?

And, more importantly, what should I do for the poor dove? Should I take a small amount of bird feed and a bowl of water and put it on the sill close to the nest? My brain said that it was stupid to worry, and that one should not interfere with Mother Nature, but my heart was filled with empathy … and helplessness.

I asked my bird-loving friends what to do, and they were clueless. I researched it in bird books, but there was nothing on the proper care and feeding of an abandoned – well, not abandoned, but emotionally abused – mourning dove. Before invading her peace with the tender offerings of food and water, I – fortunately – called the Audubon Society’s help line.

An agreeable young woman answered the phone, and I explained my predicament. She was sympathetic as she acknowledged that this question had never come up before. She put me on hold while she went to ask one of the ornithologists.

When she got back on, she asked whether I was sitting down. When I said, “Yes,” she asked whether the male dove were still up there on the telephone wire cooing – that was her term, I called it yammering – at his mate.

When I said, “Yes, he is,” she said, with a slight chuckle, “Well, what you’re looking at is the female, not the male. It’s the father that’s sitting on the nest. They switch every twelve hours – she sits on the nest at night; he’s there during the day.

So there we have it – not only are doves the universal symbol of peace, but actual representatives of equality among the sexes!

(Well, I’m proud to say that I was humble enough to eat crow and apologize to all the men in my life.)

Now, you’re probably asking about the connection between my stupidity and our gospel lesson. Well, blindness – specifically spiritual blindness where we see the obvious and miss the truth – is a powerful theme in the Bible. Isaiah and the other prophets regularly scolded the Hebrew people for falling away: “Bring forth the people who are blind, yet have eyes, who are deaf, yet have ears!” Jesus also chastised the Pharisees by calling them blind fools.

And not just the Pharisees. This gospel story comes at the end of a long journey from Sidon, to Tyre, back through Galilee, to Judea, and now Jericho, the last stop before Jerusalem and the crucifixion. When the disciples fail to recognize the miracle of the loaves and fishes, Jesus asks, “Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes, and fail to see?”

Just before this meeting with Bartimaeus, John and James are squabbling over which of them will sit closest to Jesus when Jesus comes into his glory. This naturally infuriates the other ten, who see the two brothers engaging in one-upsmanship. Throughout the whole long journey, Jesus has been trying – unsuccessfully – to explain what it means to be the Christ. He sees service; his followers see glory. You can feel his frustration. So, coming just after these arguments, the story about Bartimaeus adds an important new dimension to Jesus’ message.

Most of us struggle to find Christ in the people around us. We get distracted by looks, accents, style, externals. Not so with Bartimaeus. Blind though he was, he didn’t have any trouble recognizing Christ. In fact, he did a better job of recognizing Christ than everyone else in Mark’s gospel. The contrast between him and the disciples is laughable.

But there’s more – much more. Throughout the gospels, Jesus heals large crowds of blind, sick, and lame people. But none of them has a name. Except Bartimaeus. Of all of the poor and disabled people in all of the gospels, only this loud, in-your-face nuisance of a beggar, Bartimaeus, is given a name.

Why? — The name itself means “son of Timaeus,” so it is curious that he is referred to as “Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus.” It’s like saying, “Johnson, son of John,” or “Timaeus’ son, son of Timaeus.” What is going on?

There are several clues. First of all, Timaeus means honor. Secondly, the son of Timaeus — that is, the son of honor – refers to Jesus as the son of David – not once, but twice. Every Jew living in the time of Jesus knew that the Messiah – the king – would come from the house of David. But Bartimaeus is the only one in the entire gospel of Mark who honors Jesus in this way.

Third, he shouts. He is fearless. He knows something so important that he isn’t going to shut up, regardless of the consequences. There are a few episodes – but not many – in this gospel where people are loud. Mostly they are demons or nasty crowds.

Finally, Bartimaeus follows. This is the most significant clue. Blind Bartimaeus recognized Jesus for who he was, proclaimed it publicly, regained his sight, and became an apostle. That is so important, that I will repeat it. Unlike everyone else in Mark’s gospel, blind Bartimaeus recognized Jesus as the Messiah, announced it, and followed. That’s worthy enough – and unusual enough – to warrant a name.

In the children’s sermon this morning, I shared the story about The Little Prince. The fox is a special character, for he teaches the Little Prince how to tame – actually, how to love and to be responsible for – another living creature, whether it be a human being, a wild fox, or a thorny rose.

And then he shares his secret: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” The Little Prince ponders that lesson and realizes that he needs to return to his home planet to care for his special rose. He then explains to the narrator: “The eyes are blind. One must look with the heart.”

So it was with Jesus and Bartimaeus. The disciples were vying for honor – James and John wanted to be honored above the other ten. Jesus chided them, urging them not to be like the Gentile rulers who lord it over everyone else. The entire chapter of Mark discusses true as opposed to false glory – which is not of status, but in service. And then suddenly the picture opens, and the son of honor is on the roadside, begging. He alone recognizes Jesus as the son of David, the true king, the person who serves and the one who should be honored.

Bartimaeus alone can “see” Jesus with the heart, since he cannot see with his eyes. Bartimaeus has spiritual vision and can see the essential things – to use the words of the fox and the Little Prince – that the others miss entirely.

What about us? How do we look at the world? Imagine that you are walking up a dusty path in Palestine – or, better yet, in the slums of Grand Rapids, or Chicago, or Detroit. You come across a blind beggar shouting from the edge of the sidewalk. The person is dirty, smelly, nasty. Can you see only the visual image, or can you also see that person with your spiritual eyes? Can you see the helplessness, the hurt, the despair, the emptiness? Can you also see the hope? Does that person have a name, or is he or she just an anonymous drain on society? Can you see the possibility inherent in this lost and downtrodden individual?

Jesus could. Jesus could see with the heart. Jesus could see the love within that troubled body.

Think also about what that person sees in you. Will you be seen as a “child of God” or just “a person of privilege”? What wonders lie deep within you that only those with spiritual vision can see? Is it a heart of gold or the dark void of anger, misplaced glory, and spiritual blindness?

Consider a family member, friend, or colleague who has been troubling you in some way. Can you see past the obvious? Can you see the pain – and the possibility – that lie deep within that person? Your eyes aren’t going to help you – only your heart will.

This, for me, is the true miracle of the story: it is not that Jesus was able to cure physical blindness – but rather, that both he and Bartimaeus could see the essential but invisible truths that we all miss when we are using only our eyes. The hero in this story is not just Jesus, but also Bartimaeus.

Earlier this morning, we sang a hymn asking God to “open our eyes, that we may see glimpses of truth thou hast for us.” In a moment, we’re going to sing another hymn  in which we pray, “Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart.” Let us ponder the words as we sing this wonderful tune. We are asking for God to direct our hearts and minds and eyes so that we can see God in all things and Christ in all people.

If you can learn to see in this way – at least part of the time – then you will discover that you, like Bartimaeus, are the stuff from which miracles are made.

A Prayer for Writers (based on process theology)

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When they asked, I was both thrilled and cowed. Dean Alan Jones of Grace Cathedral had always given the invocation in the past – but he would be sailing the South Seas on Friday, February 13, 2009.  And so Elizabeth Pomada and Michael Larsen (the organizers of the San Francisco Writers’ Conference) asked another minister-cum-writer to deliver the opening invocation … and that was … me.

Following the Very Reverend Alan Jones would be a challenge for anyone, for he epitomizes wisdom, courage, and grace in his every written and spoken word. But Elizabeth is my literary agent and Michael is my friend, and I am forever indebted to them. After honoring me with the request, they told me to focus on the needs of writers, be inspirational but not religious, and keep it under five minutes.

So with the blessing of Rev. Jones, the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and the Bible as my guide, I was thrilled to give the following invocation:

Good afternoon. We have come together in this, the sixth convening of the San Francisco Writers’ Conference, to make new friends, explore new possibilities, and encourage each other.  As such, we are “making community” – and surely that is the work of God, or Spirit, or Muse, or Desperation, or whatever we call that force that pushes us to keep writing.  For we know that the challenges are real – in fact, I wonder if sometimes our prayers sound like this:

The Muse is my shepherd,
I shall not want for words.
She makes me lie down with greenbacks that flow from big contracts;
She restores my self-esteem.
She leads me in paths of rhyme and right phrasing
For her arts’ sake.

Yea, even though I stumble over stones of shame and self-contempt,
I fear no writers’ blocks.
For Thou are with me;
Thy words and phrases, they comfort me.

Surely verbs and verses shall follow me all the days of my life
And my books will be bestsellers forever.

In all seriousness, I suggest that, whatever your religious beliefs, you might resonate with “process theology,” in which God is the creative process – more like electricity or magnetism than a person or entity. As you read the Bible or other sacred texts, replace “God” with “Creativity” – I think you will like the results.  And remember what St. John wrote:  “In the beginning was the Word” – the seed planted in us so that we could be co-creators with God.

And so, as we give thanks for the sun, rain, and earth that grew this food, the hands who planted and prepared this feast, and the friends who brought us together, we also honor the Great Creativity that lies at the core of our cosmos and at the center of our yearnings. And thus we pray:

Our Creator, who art in the Eternal Imagination,
Hallowed be Thy powers.
Thy arts be honored, Thy works be written
In the mundane and eternal realms.
Give us this day our daily Word,
And forgive us our mixed metaphors, split infinitives, and the overuse of adjectives.
Lead us not into feelings of inadequacy, but deliver us from the travails of unresponsive agents and unappreciative publishers.
For thine is the glory, the possibility, and the connection with the Eternal Word.
For ever and ever.  Amen.