The Other Side of Silence

For two years, I've been on a quest of contemplation, what Thomas Merton called "the center, the existential altar which simply ‘is.’” 

My guides have been Henri Nouwen's The Way of the Heart, Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation and The Way of Chuang Tzu, and the anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing. I've spent two weekends in a Trappist monastery and two weekends in a rustic hermitage on the shore of Pomme de Terre Lake. 

My first experience of sustained solitude at the abbey began with the hope of "hearing the whisper" and ended in the ice cold sea of doubt. Slowly I thawed from that experience, and my brief stay several months later in the rustic hermitage felt healing. 

Another trip to the abbey in early 2012 helped bring some familiarity to this practice of contemplation. Now I just returned from the solitude of the 15 x 15 hermitage on Pomme de Terre. 

What enlightenment do I have to pass along? Not much. Instead, I'm finding:

The quieter I am, the less I have to say 

Martin Luther King, Jr. National Memorial

While in Washington DC a few days ago, I visited the new Martin Luther King, Jr. National Memorial. It's a new memorial, just south of National Mall, in a direct line between the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials.

First I spent some time at the Lincoln National Memorial. So impressive and solemn, but also linked with the legacy of Dr. King. I contemplated that famous day in 1963, the bravery, compassion and eloquence demonstrated on those very steps. How ludicrous it would have seemed to all of them that someday the country would build a memorial to Dr. King on this hallowed ground. More believable, I'm sure, would have been the tragic news that first they would kill him.

With an almost heavy heart I took the short walk, less than half a mile, southeast of the Lincoln Memorial. As I approached the memorial, the first thing I saw was an immense, granite boulder with a channel cut straight through the center, and the Jefferson Memorial just visible on the other shore of the Potomac Tidal Basin.

As I got closer, I could see the "missing" center of the granite was pushed several yards ahead.

I walked through the unnatural valley and approached the center stone, where King's granite body gazes out over the water.

He's holding something, maybe a draft of a new speech. If I'm wondering what he's thinking about so seriously, if I'm wondering what he would share with me today, I need only look around me. Some of his most memorable thoughts are carved on the 450-foot curved wall that extends from either side of the granite boulder behind him. The themes of equality, compassion, peace and justice are so consistent that I have no doubt it's what he would still say to me. Though I wish he were still with us, still leading the way, I take direction from one of my favorites of his quotes:

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. That is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.

The final word in reality, not just in the ethereal future that may great us after death, but in reality. A reality that he understood would end for him with evil triumphant. May this memorial be a continuation of the message of the power of unconditional love, a stone that outlives evil's temporary triumphs...





You Were Pretty As A Picture

A few friends on Twitter enjoyed a September project dubbed #photofun. Every day there was a predetermined topic and our assignment was to take a picture that represented that topic. The idea was suggested by Niki, and as the contest commissioner she declared the picture had to be taken by you and on that day. As far as I know, only phone cameras were used.

It was loads of fun, sometimes insightful, and at one point it so riled the anger of several participants they committed a break-in and burglary. For real.

I picked a "best" picture from each day. Picking a "best" was arbitrary, of course; biased, naturally. Feel free to agree, disagree, and link to your own favorites.

Day 1. Self-Portrait.

Day 2. Your Favorite Shoes

Day 3. Hands

Day 4. Clouds

Day 5. Breakfast Today

Day 6. Books

Books Honorable Mention (because about 5 people had this idea)

Day 7. High Angle

High Angle Honorable Mention (for having the highest actual angle)

Day 8. Sunset

Sunset Honorable Mention (the idea submitted by my 8-year old, and he's holding the sunglasses for me)

Day 9. Fresh Fruit

Day 10. Animal

Day 11. Silhouette (perhaps Best in Show)

Day 12. Sun Flare

Day 13. Reminds You of Childhood

Day 14. Someone You Love (drawn by one of the little girls in the picture, and includes her unborn new brother/sister)

Day 15. Action

Day 16. Mason Jar / Jelly Jar

Day 17. Bokeh

Day 18. Eyes

Day 19. Summertime

Day 20. Water

Day 21. Micro

Day 22. Landscape

Day 23. Black & White (it was Henri's 2nd birthday)

Day 24. Love

Day 25. Citrus

Day 26. Favorite Color

Day 27. Your Weakness (other than me, only superficial weaknesses submitted, but I guess it was called Photo Fun, not Photo Psychoanalysis)

Day 28. Transportation

Day 29. Trees

Trees Honorable Mention (because I love to see palm trees)

Day 30. Family (everyone submitting their family was a winner that day)

Is It True That Perfect Love Drives Out All Fear?

This week I am reading the autobiography of John Lewis, and I watched the documentary Restrepo.  The contradictions can't be brighter.  Do we confront evil with violence or with nonviolence?

John Lewis was instrumental in the civil rights movement, considered one of the Big Six.  John's humble autobiography is a testament to his sincere and complete commitment to nonviolence.  As indignities grew to burnings, horrific beatings, and even multiple murders, John held firm to his value that love and nonviolence were the only lasting answer to evil.

Restrepo is a documentary movie of a remote outpost of U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan's Korengal Valley.  These soldiers were put into an impossibly dangerous situation, where good motives and diplomacy were useless against the daily attempts to kill them.  These soldiers responded exactly as they were trained and with the equipment in their hands, killing both "bad guys" and innocent people.  When the men mourn the deaths of their brothers, the captain of the outpost sums up the entire cycle by exhorting his men, "We need to go out there and make them pay... we need to make THEM feel the way that we're feeling."  

I can't do justice to the two themes presented above, but I am struck (again) by the humble and powerful path of nonviolence.  The unique bravery in saying 

I offer my back to those who beat me,
my cheeks to those who pull out my beard;
I will not hide my face from mocking and spitting.

The words hang ridiculous in the air immediately after I read them.  To what extent can I really live that level of love?  It feels dangerously vulnerable.  It also feels like a conversation worth having, a way of life worth exploring. 

I Didn't Get to Heaven, But I Made it Close

I sat in the front of the cart, bracing my hand on the steel edge as I twisted to get a view of what lay ahead. The tracks guided our cart, in a ponderous pace, into an immense cavern. The curving rock walls were visible on either side, lit red from below by an unseen source, though the flicker and smoke gave me a pretty good idea. I could see a split in the tracks ahead. I looked back at those riding with me, a circle of about 6 people that filled our iron cart. A guy in the back sat close to what looked like some controls, and I wondered which way he'd turn.

The cart wrenched left, and I could tell by the sway of his body and the look on his face that he had no more control than I. There was nervous laughter in our group and a small joke that he should have turned right. As I really looked at us for the first time, we seemed like any ordinary group of people I'm surrounded by on any ordinary day, familiar but not intimate. Another turn in the tracks. Hands gripped the sides harder, a few even reached for each other.

I turned again to the cavern and could see other tracks, thought I could see another cart full of people in the distance. The dim glow and occasional smoke made it hard to see a possible destination. I felt afraid because I didn't know where I was, and I was also afraid I did know.

A sharp left around a towering stalagmite, and a long, straight stretch of tracks came into view. I could see because straight ahead was a chasm whose round opening was bright with fire. It was a fire too intense for flames, hot enough for dancing volcanic sprays. And the tracks led directly into the hole.

Our fate no longer deniable, our sorrow erupted, but in a strangely calm way, crying and words, but not hysteria, a true mourning. We grabbed hands and arms. I faced straight into the growing chasm. I could see the bend of the rails drooping over the edge. Hot tears on my face, holding tightly onto the others, I spoke for the first time. "I love a lot of people, I hope I see them in an afterlife!" Knowing my existence was about to be extinguished, I repeated over and over, growing louder in a fervid mix of desperation and hope - "I love a lot of people, I hope I see them in an afterlife!" "I love a lot of people, I hope I see them in an afterlife!" "I love a lot of people, I hope I see them in an afterlife!"

I woke up. Shirt drenched in sweat. Feeling the reality of my uncertainty...

Hear Their Heartbeat

On August 6, 1945, 65 years ago today, the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan. With heat up to 7,000 degrees and blast winds over 600 mph, the bomb obliterated a square mile of the city, killing between 100,000 and 140,000 people. Most of those killed were civilians as Hiroshima had a civilian population of 300,000 and an army base containing about 43,000 soldiers.

Three days later, on August 9, 1945, the United States dropped another atomic bomb on Nagasaki, Japan, a city of about 200,000 people. The blast that day killed between 40,000 and 70,000 people.

Thousands and thousands of women, children and other innocent people were incinerated, deformed or given slow painful deaths. This is a tragically sad day in history.

I take time today to reflect with humility and horror at the unimaginable pain and destruction. I reflect on the horror without judgment of the men who rained it down, themselves trapped in the human pattern of violence and of valuing our own life greater than someone else. The bombs' effect on the end of the war is debated, but that seems to me a distraction from the reality of charred and mutilated women, boys, girls and men. Maybe it ended the war more quickly, maybe it didn't. But it's hard to see any justification for annihilating a city's civilian population, people no different than those in Kansas in 1945, just trying to get through the war and praying their family did too.

Though saddened by America's choices, I am also encouraged by America's renewed interest in eliminating nuclear weapons. We can, and should, lead the way. By remembering the horror and anguish, maybe we can find the courage to take bold steps toward eliminating weapons designed to kill innocent people.

I Was a Stranger

"I love you, but stay in line, on THAT side of the wall. Yes, yes, I know your family is hungry and there are jobs and food here, but just wait your turn. Yes, I know the wait is years long... if at all..."

It's not the wall I oppose, it's the gates. I don't want people dying while trying to cross a desert, I don't want drugs and weapons trucked across the border, I don't want known criminals traveling about freely. So fine, build the wall, but administer the gates openly. Verify what we can, but let people come in.

"What's my concern about you, my brother, coming into 'my' country? Well, your hard work will lower my income. You see, I benefit from having you on that side of the wall. I pay less for my shirt because it's made in your country, by a company that pays your family much less than it would have to pay me. I pay less for my beer because the company makes its bottles in your back yard, and doesn't need to worry about your family's safety like it would mine. I love you, you are my equal, but I depend on cheap stuff."

I must admit my role in the poverty that drives my brothers and sisters from their homes. They don't want to leave their children, unsure if they'll ever hold them again. They don't lightly leave all familiar things behind for a place they don't know, can't speak the language, are not welcome. Maybe instead of worrying about how their arrival will affect my security, my health care, my income, I can actively support life-sustaining practices by those I give money and time.

"How did I get on this side of the wall? I was born here. Luck of the draw, brother, sad for you. How did my family get here? Several generations ago they stood in line, followed the rules, just like I'm asking you to do. Who made those rules? Someone before my family, I had nothing to do with it and neither did my family. Yes, yes, the rules were made by someone AFTER they had murdered, cheated and driven out the original people living here, but that was long ago..."

It's very convenient of me to demand strict immigration practices, now that I and my family are here. I don't need to feel the shame of immoral practices of past generations, but I have the power to make my own choices now. I must consider how present, arbitrary rules continue the immoral acts of the past. I didn't force the Choctaw on their fatal Trail of Tears, but what is my part in the Chavez brothers' fatal journey across the Mexican border into this land where I live?

"I've worked hard, these things are mine, I'm scared of what will happen.  Just stay on that side of the wall.  Please."

"Wait!  Come back!  You are hungry, let me feed you. You are thirsty, let me give you a drink. You are homeless, let me give you a room....  I have plenty."