Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Questions to ponder

My time here in Berkeley is quickly coming to a close. I leave this 4th floor guest room tomorrow at 7:45 a.m. to make my way to the San Francisco airport. The plane will leave at 11:15 a.m. and I will be home around 11:00 p.m.; a mere 12 hour travel across the country, minus the three-hour time difference.

My trip has been all that I could have wished for, prayed for, and much more than I possibly could have imagined. I have felt deeply connected to people, and cognizant of the immediacy that we lend to one another in relationship.

My women’s spiritual circle, which met almost weekly last year, gathered spontaneously this evening. Within that circle of trust, the conversation is deep and rich. Because of our intention to share our spiritual journey, and to hold each other accountable somehow, we immediately connect in a heart space of joy and meaning.

I ponder whether this heart space is dependent on a search for an ultimate meaning and the sharing of intimate stories. Might a simple truth be that we achieve a level of relationship with people that mirrors what we are willing to give?

And if that is so, is there unshakeable value in the adage that we make our own reality? And is that, quite simply, the quality of our love?

Monday, August 27, 2007

Anticipating a balance

There is discussion at dinner about whether the world is broken. And I chime in almost immediately that our particular world—that which is gathered around a table for a community meal—wants for nothing. I acknowledge, however, that our community harmony, our relaxed state of sharing a meal, would not be possible if we were, say, in Iraq.

M. has spent the summer in the Artic Circle among the Native Americans. In a village of 150, she says that there is great beauty and evil. The evil is in the greed and the power aspired to by feuding families. She says that she has never felt closer to God than at the edge of the world. She was never lonely there, as she is here, amidst the comfort and the comfortable.

My eyes tear up in unexplained joy and emotion. I am moved by the stunning reality that people gathered around a table of wholesome food freely put forth ideas and concepts that they struggle to understand. It is a gift to have such a conversation, especially in the midst of such brokenness.

It’s an ironic choice, and a bittersweet reality, that causes me to wonder whether the nature of our world is inherent balance. And that if we choose, the brokenness will lead us to an inner wholeness that we can’t quite fathom, yet.

I can only hope that it is so.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Everywhere you go, there you are

I’ve come to Berkeley for a week to help with the Starr King School for the Ministry’s orientation of the entering class. I have spent my days in the school kitchen helping to prepare both breakfast and lunch to the incoming class of 14.

I’ve come because I wanted to stay connected to the school as my studies will find me doing fieldwork at home this next year. It is possible that I will never be in residence here for an extended period of time again.

But I am in residence this week, safely ensconced in Sister Margaret’s three-room suite in the old Gibbs guest house at the Episcopal school here at the Graduate Theological Union. My surroundings are amazingly familiar. It feels as if I have never left, and it feels as if I could stay on forever. Still, I will be happy to board the airplane on Wednesday morning and officially begin my schoolwork at home shortly thereafter.

I have come to peace about my journey through seminary. I have come to realize that there is no one way that we accomplish that which we aspire to, and that we can find sure footing within ourselves on whatever path we choose.

We can be a part of communities, both far and near, because we maintain a relationship with them. We can be a part of everything, when we hold everything in our heart. The adage “home is where the heart is” has a new meaning to me as I understand that our hearts are our homes and those that we carry there, are present with us, wherever we find ourselves this day.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

In search of answers

They say that once you leave, you can never go back. And that’s true, in a way. It’s not that you can’t go back to wherever you have always been; it’s just that it’s changed -- mostly because you weren’t there.

My summer has been the slow realization of that truth.

For the first couple of weeks, I was simply delighted to be home. It was great to go places and to be told me by virtually everyone how delighted they were that I was home. And I agreed, it was great to be back.

After a while, in a nebulous kind of way, I lost my direction. It wasn’t so much that I wasn’t still happy to be here, but there was a recognition that no one really “needed” me to be here. I found myself a bit superfluous to my own life.

Confusion racked my consciousness. Questions arose. Why was I limiting my educational experience to be in a place where it was not necessary for me to be? What did I think I had to offer when, in actuality, people were doing really fine without me?

When I received the news that my aunt in California had three to ten months to live, I researched going back to Berkeley. I thought about how much easier it would be to simply sit in classes and do what I was told to do. Fortunately, there was no room in the dorm. There was no alternative but to make my way through the confusion.

I contemplated taking a break from my education.

And even as I decided that a leave of absence might be the best choice, I took steps that brought me closer to understanding “fieldwork” in the Upper Delaware.

It’s all a bit awkward. There’s no one who really needs me to do anything, in one sense of the word, except me. I need to be taking positive steps that might serve to add meaning to our world. I need to be a productive student of life, engaging in real lessons that promote my learning about community, commitment and our relationship to each other and our greater world.

No one is asking me to contribute; no one is pressing me to be a part of the solution. Maybe that’s part of the problem. Or maybe it’s the answer.

I ask myself who is responsible for community; that essential ingredient that gives our lives their point. And I come to the conclusion that it’s all of us. For better or for worse, it is in this arena that I will find my education and, hopefully, my life’s fulfillment.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

My Aunt Irene

The last time I spoke with my Aunt Irene, I was a little bit teary, and not unlike me, a bit unsure of myself.

She was quick to respond. “If you don’t know what you are doing, just read your blog,” she responded.

She was right, of course. If anyone knew what was on my blog, the documentation of my time in Berkeley, it was Aunt Irene. It seemed that so sooner than I posted my latest musings about my time at seminary, she was quick to respond and tell me what she thought.

And no sooner was I back in the Upper Delaware, or maybe even before, my mother informed me that my aunt was my biggest fan. I knew it to be true.

I knew it to be true, mostly because she always insisted that I call her Aunt Irene, even though, at fifty, I thought that I could just call her “Irene.”

But she insisted that I call her my aunt. She insisted that I recognize that I was in relationship with her. And I think that is what made my Aunt Irene special, special to a lot of people. The most important thing to her was the genuine and loving relationships that she could have with the people she cared about.

In a conversation with my cousin David a couple of days after her peaceful death, he assured me that if ever I am in doubt of myself, my Aunt Irene would be an angel on my shoulder. “I’m sure,” he said, “that she has already visited you several times since she passed on Saturday.”

I can only hope it to be true.

In this day of fragmented society, it’s reassuring to know that there are people who live unassuming lives that give the world, and those individuals within it, the gift of unconditional love and support, and unfailing family connection.

For that was what was important to my Aunt Irene. And I will be forever grateful for the gift of sharing that relationship with her.