A Lenten prayer: 'Grant me to see my own errors and not to judge my brother'

Lent is upon us. 

My first experience of this season of simplifying life, recommitting to spiritual growth, prayer, fasting (both from certain foods and from negative attitudes expressed internally and externally alike) was this time last year as a new Orthodox Christian.

Looking to go deeper this time around. People say, "I'm giving this or that up for Lent," etc. But really, its not what we "give up," but what we open up to receive in terms of love for others, focus on what's really important, and resting from the chaos around us.

I fell in love with this prayer of the season, attributed to St. Ephrem the Syrian, last year.

This year, it is more than mere recitation. It has become a prayer of my heart.

For me, and other seekers of Christ, what could better sum up what we should hope for from Lent, and the life of a believer?

An Akathist for Jesus Christ, and my Dad

In the Eastern Orthodox tradition and practice, those mourning a departed loved one often pray the "Akathist to Jesus Christ for a Loved One Who has Fallen Asleep."

A long title, and a long prayer, too, begun on the day of death and continued through 40 days. It is intended as comfort for the departed, but it is also that for those mourning, as I am learning.

And, it is beautiful; its imagery poetic, its words both emotionally and spiritually direct as its intentions are simple. It embraces the bitter and the sweet with arms of compassion, and hope.
Being Orthodox for less than two years, this is all new to me. But I'm trying to fulfill this for my father, who passed away on Thursday last . . . and for myself, at 65 still an infant in this ancient, predenominational Christian faith.

There are many phrases, petitions and praises within the Akathist that are moving and beautiful. But this following portion continues to stand out as I say it, watching candles flicker and incense drift past the crucifix on my wall and out a window:

"When earthly sojourning is ended, how graceful is the passing to the world of the Spirit; what contemplation of new things, unknown to the earthly world, and of heavenly beauties. The soul returns to its fatherland, where the bright sun, the righteousness of God, enlightens those who sing: Alleluia!"

Certainly, there are many such prayers for the dead in our various faiths. Years ago, I joined in the Mourner's Kaddish in support of a Jewish friend who had lost her father. And as a reporter many years ago, I participated in a Ute sweat lodge ceremony in which a native friend blessed his ancestors.

People in every culture seem to have the innate desire to seek comfort from a compassionate, loving realm of the holy.

It is not for me to judge the effectiveness of anyone's acts of faith, nor need I accept, even if I respect, the cosmos-view behind them. I have, and firmly hold my own; I trust in God's love and compassion to judge me, and them, by what Truth we have and honor.

Love, and our common humanity, should mean something precious to all of us -- no matter how convinced we are of our particular path.

The rest of it is a mystery, and if we say we believe in God, then that should come with the humility of admitting we do not know it all when it comes to such things as eternity, infinity, and immortality -- not even a crumb of it.

The true arena of faith, then, is in our hearts. We each struggle with our own shortcomings and pray/strive to improve and grow, or we surrender and excuse our flaws in self-delusion.
So, if faith rules within, it is expressed without.

My Dad showed me much, by example, in how to do that -- without judging the recipients of God's grace and ours, and in trying to love without conditions.

Now that he has passed, it seems little enough to pray for him. How it plays out "there," I don't know.

But at the very least, I am comforted that the ancient words of an ancient faith we shared are another way to say again, "I love you. I miss you. I will see you again."

This Pilgrim's progress, and yours

Saturday morning, I took the dogs for a walk along the Jordan River's back trails. 

Once I got past the abandoned shopping carts, one homeless man's well-established and, uncharacteristically clean campsite (and a few impromptu refuse dumps, it was beautiful. 

The trek was a John Bunyanesque metaphor AND, to a point a metaphor, for a spiritual journey. I walked into areas where the well-worn foot trails became hints in the brush and through the limbs of trees, raining down gold and red foliage with each sigh of breeze; into sunlight filtered through the canopy and reflected in the frost on a downed cottonwood, and glistening from the moss on rocks. Beyond, power-blue skies, and clouds of fluff.

I stepped out of the pain, the detritus of human shortcomings, the bitterness of some lives expressed with disdain for themselves, and nature, the cast off wreckage of dreams, even, and into beauty.
It was like going to a cathedral, quiet but for the sighs and whispered prayers of the private penitent, looking up and finding myself walking inside the sunlight of stained glass with saints and sinners, all of us forgiven.

It was, for a blessed, crystal clear moment, being caressed and absorbed in that deep, abiding Love. . . and being reminded, again, that He is with me, and with all who just pause to let go the offense, to forgive, and be aware, to be present.

This, my Lord, transcends mere human doctrines, buildings and their grasp at the out-of-context pieces of scriptures while willfully ignoring the whole.

And, finally, here is a truth I've discovered. If you say you are a Christian that "whole" calls upon us to judge OURSELVES. We, and often poorly and with failures too numerous to count, "sin" -- fall short of the mark, from the word's Latin roots.

Paul put it this way in 1st Corinthians 5:12-13: "For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Do you not judge those who are within the church? But those who are outside, God judges."

And from what I believe, that latter part is in Love and compassion beyond our imagining.

Thus ends the sermon. smile emoticon


If all, some or part of it resonates, I didn't waste my time, or yours.

Be blessed. It's up to you.

Life: Is it what happens to us, our how we happen to live?

A friend and longtime journalistic colleague of mine asked the other day why I hadn't blogged recently.

My answer was that life had been too complicated of late, that I had been reticent to write more about the downward spiral of Alzheimer's and dementia with my parents, the disappointments of work, loss of perceived purpose, etc.

In short, I have been waiting for something more positive, uplifting to write about.

The arrival of my second grandson was, without a doubt, the best of a trying beginning to a new year. My daughter and son-in-law send pictures, and we video chat (Skype) frequently, to see little Nate, his big brother Gabe, and our only granddaughter, Lela.

Another: This past week, after six years of hard work, my wife, Barbara, earned her B.S. in Accounting from Western Governors University. Her joy and glow of success has been a treasure, and for her an indescribable mix of elevated self-worth, victory over the odds, and meaning.

Those are the brightest moments these days. Those are the sailboats we choose to crawl aboard -- yes, choosing to sail toward the sun rather than sink deeper into the darkness of choppy seas.

Life goes on, in all its exhilaration, the laughter and tears of a new generation, and unavoidably, the sorrow and ongoing losses of the last generation.

It  dawned on me, then, that if I waited for some dramatic turn in fortune to blog again, I would be doing Life a disservice. And, I would be waiting a very long time.

We humans like to divide what happens to us into "good" or "bad." We are blessed, or cursed; loved or hated; appreciated or dismissed; relevant or discarded, relegated to less-ambitious roles by younger superiors, etc.

If you maintain the usual human linear assumptions -- our finite, fail-safe manner of thinking and experiencing life -- all of that seems true.

But nothing truly is linear. Matter, energy and our souls are alike indestructible. Mountains erode into sand; sunlight is absorbed by plants to feed and, when they flower, amaze us higher life forms; and corporeal bodies are born, age, break down and eventually decompose to their base elements, only to return as the elements of new life.

The "Breath of Life," that profound, ethereal and yet reassuring expression of creation and existence and rebirth into an infinite existence, exposes as woefully inadequate that linear view of Time, or Being, or Purpose.

We are in error if we do not realize that Reality, according to physicists and theologians alike, extends far beyond the meager dimensions in which we live and perceive.

We attempt to grasp at an understanding of the Creative Intelligence, visualizing human-like super beings holding sway over our lives. But in our hearts, we know that "God" is a Presence both horrifying in its difference from us, and in its iinfinite nature, and as wonderful, and awe-inspiring in its limitless embodiment of what we call "Love.”

And when it comes to Love, we perceive even that with only a microscopic, fragmentary understanding.

We see beginning, middle and end, and think we understand the nature of things. He sees all Time, all its permutations, alternate outcomes – and Space, what we perceive and the wilderness of endless stars, planets, life forms beyond -- as One.

Ultimately, we have two choices. 

 

We can, in our human arrogance, close the inquiries of our finite minds to the Infinite, to Love, Creation and Purpose beyond grasping; we can conclude that what WE cannot understand cannot exist.

Or, we can accept, embrace and trust the Creator and creative process that led to what we are -- as a species, as well as individual souls.

When intellect reaches its limits, there is nothing more than to surrender to the limits, and thus errors of our knowledge.

And, always, the proper response to Love is to live in it, allowing it to flow through us to others.

Faith: A choice, a yearning to be more than an evolutionary dead-end

Take an evangelical, fundamentalist preacher's kid and mix him with a liberal arts education. 

Season him with more than a few decades of living, and you either come up with an agnostic, a metaphysical schizophrenic, or a believer, stripped down the basics of his faith.

I confess to, at times, flying like a confused, sometimes angry or at least disheartened moth, too close to the flames of the first two fates. The journey to faith — my own faith, not necessarily that of my parents — has been occasionally exhilarating, often painful, and all too human.

It has been, philosophically, an eclectic odyssey. That likely was inevitable, considering my History and Journalism double major and a minor in Psychology, followed by a career in journalism (a petri dish for cynicism, as professions go).

Ultimately, it is human nature that convinces me my faith — albeit skinned of what I concluded were doctrinal and theological assertions created not by an infinite God, but by finite human minds — makes more sense than pure secular humanism.

I could (but don't worry, I won't) write reams on why I find this so. Let a couple observations suffice:

— The fact that our species has not ceased warring with itself since it began, committing genocide on ever-larger scales, makes me bitterly laugh at the idea we are the pinnacle of sentient evolution on Earth. 

 

We may boast how much more sophisticated and civilized our high-tech, educated society is now compared to our stick-wielding, tree- and cave-dwelling ancient ancestors, but we continue to produce the same rotten fruit.

It's still about territory and resources, and who has the right — or might — to claim them. And since such brutal calculus always makes our "better angels" wince, we still use politics, religion, culture and racism as excuses and justification for dehumanizing and dismissing the Other.

— Yet, we desire to be more. I would argue that we were created for more, but are broken. Despite all the pain and madness humankind inflicts on itself and its planet, goodness persistently bubbles up within individuals, and reform movements. 

Changes for the better, history teaches us, are as finite as our bodies . . . yet we continue to reach down to the fallen with one hand, even as we bludgeon our enemies with the other.

So, faith. Because without it, without the saving grace of our Maker, we will remain stuck, either as an evolutionary dead end, or a creation to be ultimately redeemed, reborn and perfected.

I prefer to believe the latter.

"Blind faith?" That's superstition. True faith has no fear of reason.

Learned today that for some folks, "faith" means blind faith, a resolute, eyes-closed, suspension of reason and refuge in circular arguments (i.e., why, if you aren't healed, you lack faith . . . and if you seek to confirm your healing through the docs, that's a lack of faith and, voila, no healing for you!)

Sort of an Evangelistic Soup Nazi approach, I guess. (A Seinfeld reference, folks).

Sad. For me, "blind faith" is more akin to superstition than belief and practice I believe Christ called his followers to emulate.

 

So, to those souls to afraid to test their faith with reality, I offer this from St. Augustine:

"Understanding is the reward of faith. Therefore seek not to understand that you may believe, but believe that you may understand."

And since I'm on a rant, this from Lee Strobel, a self-described former atheist turned believer: 

"Is that what faith is all about—fooling yourself into becoming a better person? Convincing yourself there’s a God so that you’ll become motivated to ratchet up your morality a notch or two? Embracing a fairy tale so you’ll sleep better at night? No thank you, I thought to myself. If that’s faith, I wasn’t interested."

For Strobel, it was the evidence and reason behind open-minded faith that led to his conversion.

And finally this, from C.S. Lewis:

"You can have faith with or without religious affiliation - faith is a state of being. Faith is putting hope and power into that which we can not see now...but know we will see in the future.
"Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted in spite of your changing moods."