As I’ve stated before, I have a love-hate relationship with social media… particularly Facebook.  Although it can be quite entertaining, educational and even inspirational at times, it’s mostly an outlet for unabashed vanity and narcissistic exploitation that exposes itself in all age categories.  I’ll stop there.

This past weekend I did enjoy a few pictures on FB from an event that happened last weekend in Atlanta called:  The Dragon-Con 2013.  I didn’t have the energy to explore it too deeply, but the pictures that I did see were… ummmm… special.  Obviously, there are lots and lots of grown-ups still into fantasy or at least the fun of it.  That’s kewl… I think.   Guess it’s not much different than me pretending to be a golfer.  Trust me… that too is a fantasy.  What are you pretending at?

I mention all that because it got me thinking about a phrase I hear often from the folks that I do commonly read on Facebook:

“I need (spiritual) community!”

My first thought is always:  “Yes you do.”

My second thought is:  “Do you have any idea what real spiritual community is?”

My third thought is:  “Do I know what it is anymore?”

Most of what people call “community” is nothing more than a “belonging system”.  It’s a place or a group of people that make you feel like you belong.  The Dragon-con people are a belonging system.  It’s a safe place to wear the costume, apply the paint, and be in the role.  There is mutual appreciation and respect for the courage it takes to do all that!  Its whole purpose is to provide a place to see and be seen.  To blow off a little steam.

Go for it Batman… Yoda… and Wolverine!  The world is safer because of you.

But, if I’m not mistaken, “spiritual community” is supposed to be something else.  Sometimes, our so-called “spiritual communities” are nothing more than “religious belonging systems”.

We wear the apropos costume, we apply the paint of what we want to project, we live in the role, we respect and measure each others piety and it’s definitely a place to see and be seen.  Sorry, that’s pretty hard… but, there is “some” truth in it.

Real “community” should be something different.  “We” or “me” can’t be the center of what holds us together.  It’s supposed to be forged and bonded by a bigger and stronger reality that pushes us to change internally.  It can’t operate from our egocentric impulse and perspectives.  It can’t morph according to our every whim and appetite.  There has to be a deeper foundation other than what seems to be “the hot word” for today.

There needs to be an element of confrontation.  A voice, an influence, a ribbon of unwavering truth that won’t let us give in to our internal bitchy voice of selfish immaturity that wants to govern us constantly.  Community notices when we stink and offers much needed soap and water.  It’s not afraid of our gaps or the gaps in this world, and might even be willing to soil itself in order to fill a gap or two if possible.

It provides contrast and encourages coming out of the pretense.  “Take off the costume… remove the fig leaf… quit hiding… be real”.  You might find it in an institution, a movement, or with the spiritually hip… but don’t hold your breath.

Just because you’re with the band… doesn’t mean you’re in the band.  Anyone can sit in a pew.  Are you there to conform or transform?  What’s easy and obvious may not be right for you.  Don’t be afraid to look around.

Community IS out there.  But don’t follow the pretty people and expect to find the gold.  Smell for the smoke… look for the broken… recognize the trail of tears… search for the honest.  It could be with the guys at the pub or on the back deck with brews and cigars; or with the chicks doing yoga after work, but real community is magic without the fantasy.

The thing you’re looking for—the genuine love of a spiritual family–may not feel like love at all when you first encounter it.  But the penetrating whisper of the Spirit’s white noise will tell you to “wait and see”.  But make no mistake, spiritual community is down with getting down into your pit when you can’t climb out by yourself.  Messy is just a part of the understood norm.

Keep looking if you’re thirsty for community.  It won’t be complete until you get there.

-MDP-

xo

The truth can be frikk’n hilareous!  Enjoy!

“Suffering is the necessary feeling of evil.  If we don’t feel evil we stand antiseptically apart from it, numb.  We can’t understand evil by thinking about it.  The sin of much of our world is that we stand apart from pain; we buy our way out of the pain of being human.

Jesus did not numb himself or withhold from pain.  Suffering is the necessary pain so that we know evil so that we can name evil and confront it.  Otherwise we somehow dance through this world and never really feel what is happening.

Brothers and sisters, the irony is not that God should feel so fiercely; it’s that his creatures feel so feebly.  If there is nothing in your life to cry about, if there is nothing in your life to complain about, if there is nothing in your life to yell about, you must be out of touch.

We must all feel and know the pain of humanity.  The free space that God leads us into is to feel the full spectrum, from great exaltation and joy, to the pain of mourning and dying and suffering.  It’s called the Paschal Mystery.

The totally free person is one who can feel ALL of it and not be afraid of any of it.”

Richard Rohr from Days of Renewal

I’ve read this over and over again.  The truths of Rohr’s thoughts spin in my mind like a Rubiks Cube:  Pain is normal.  Suffering is real.  It is in the life package.  Pain is normal.  Touching any of it confirms life.  His mystery is in it.  Pain is normal.  Sober knows all of it.  Pain is normal.  Pain is normal.  Pain is normal.

Where did we get this cupcake gospel that we hear about on Sunday mornings, where everything works all the time and Jesus came to keep all the big bad wolves away from our front porch?  A quick peek through the windows of our most secure refuge confirms life is hard… and it’s probably supposed to be that way.

The totally free person is one who can feel ALL of it and not be afraid of any of it.

I think if you are even remotely tapped into social media, you’ll see that a lot of people are in pain, experience suffering and are mostly undone by anything that touches their family, health, possessions, or comfort.  Although it may not be the right place to vent such agony, we spill our stuff readily and loudly in the most awkward forums.  So much so it makes me wonder sometimes if we have any real friends or family that we can actually do the heart work with.

There is a “sacredness” in what breaks us.  Loss hammers a condensed confirmation of how much we loved what we had.  Loss allows us the right to keep moving, but why we move and how we move never takes us very far from what we lost.

Our empty hands and aching heart grope for reason and answers that never fit inside the blank spaces left behind.  When that really settles on us, we need the strength His body offers.

The things that make us more pliable, weepy, and more in touch with our feeble yet desperate need to be handled by our benevolent God, are all ultimately held by His light.  Nothing escapes His notice.  It is good to really know that very deeply.

None of us are excused from this table.  This table doesn’t move and some seasons demand that we sit and partake of what is being served on that table.  Therefore, a little tenderness and genuine concern for each others plight is an invitation for us to move off of the observation deck and become the mercy of God.

What are we doing for each other that does beyond words?  Can we not pretend we understand their pain (unless we really do) and just serve those who sit in overwhelming hurt?  A prayer, lots of prayer, a card, a coffee, a couple stiff drinks, chocolate, a cigar, mow their lawn, wash their clothes, clean her house, buy groceries, a really long hug, a movie, or simple time together can be the absolute refreshment of heaven.

Pain is normal.  Love is life.  Not being afraid sometimes requires a friend.  Are we free enough to be that for each other?

Thanks Richard!  Great word.

-MDP-

So here is the conclusion of this tale in THE GHOST CHRONICLES.  Thanks you so much for all your comments.  It was an honor to get to share it with you.  -MDP-

CLICK HERE TO READ:  Gold In Them There Hills – Part 3

The 2nd part of “Gold in Them There Hills” is now ready in THE GHOST CHRONICLES!

CLICK HERE TO READ:  Gold in Them There Hills – Part 2

It’s been a while, but we just posted a new article in THE GHOST CHRONICLES  on the Kingdom, Inc. blogsite.   It was a great memory and I loved telling you the story.  Thanks for reading!  -Mike-

CLICK here to read:  Gold In Them There Hills – Part 1

I’m sure there was a lot of conviction and excitement about the practice when the hospital opened its new campus in 1989.  I wondered if they understood that daily prayer was still important, valid, and effective.  I wanted to thank them and confirm it to them in case they had forgotten.

The place is well-kept and looks newly remodeled everywhere inside.  Soothing colors, lush carpets, leather furniture, and a wide assortment of fake and fresh flowers everywhere.

For a Catholic hospital, I saw few images and icons.  They’re there, but nothing overbearing.  You were free to ignore them or embrace them, but they scattered about.

Overall the hospital is inviting and busy.  The halls are jammed with nurses, aides, and administration people doing their thing.  Everyone is on task.  Few walk slowly.

Ever noticed that people are generally pleasant and smile when you greet them in hospitals?  It’s like a positive attitude and a smiling face is part of the healing culture and mission of the place.  It can really be nice to visit that environment.

First, I went back upstairs to see if I could find the nurses that had taken care of my dad for the 5 days he had been admitted.  I recognized no one.  It was a different shift.  So I jumped back on the elevator and went back to the lobby.  The Chaplain’s suite was right around the corner.  This was my primary mission for this visit.

When you entered the door, there was a little stained glassed chapel to the left.  I knew it was in there because my mom told me she had visited the place.  She had begun to connect the dots on my dad’s failing condition by how the orders were being issued concerning his lack of ability to ingest food and liquids.  Once the dominos began to fall, the room shrank considerably for her, and she needed space and air.

Mom had found herself in that chapel.  A very small black woman was sitting in a pew when mom entered.  She noticed that mom was weepy.  She immediately grabbed mom’s hand and told her that God was with her and that she’d get through whatever it was that she had to face.  Mom said that little woman prayed soothing words and unintelligible words in the Spirit.  Peace moved back into her heart.  My mother’s report was simple:  “Once she prayed, I knew everything was going to be ok.”

To the right were 3 doors.  Only one of the doors was open, so I went inside.  All of my stereotypical notions were satisfied in a moment.  His back was to me.  He was staring at a computer screen while holding a steaming Lean Cuisine.  The whole room smelled like whatever that once frozen “dead thing” was in that plastic container.  Gross.

I cleared my throat.  He spun the chair, swallowed hard, and set the plate and fork down in a single move.  A napkin was near, and he finished up nicely.

While all that was going on I made my assessments.  Why do we do that?  We look at someone and begin to make decisions.   It’s just dumb.  But, I did it anyway.

Powder blue, short-sleeve dress shirt.  Check.

Navy blue, powder blue stripe tie.  Check.

Navy blue, polyester slacks.  Check.

Black belt.  Check.

Ivory colored Rockport walking shoes.  Check.  The image was complete.

“Can I help you?”

“No, I do not need anything today, but I want to tell you how important it is for you people to do what you do.”

Now he’s assessing me… thinking:  “Geez we get all kinds in this joint”.

I made a short introduction of myself and recounted the lick of God.

“I’m pretty sure you guys have had thoughts of:  Is anyone listening?  Does anyone pay attention?  Is this helpful… at all?” 

His tired smile said it best.  He knew exactly what I was talking about.  I had read his mail.  I had read every pastor or minister’s mail.

I quickly briefed him on what had happened.

Three days before dad died, the doctor showed up early in dad’s hospital room.  Probably around 7:45am.  I had gotten up early and drove to the hospital because I wanted to be there when he showed up.  I didn’t think he had good news, and I didn’t want mom to be alone.  I was right.

This doctor was a kid.  Under 35 years of age, but a stud.  Serious, yet in tune with the emotional weight of what was going on.  He greeted dad briefly but wasted no time in pulling mom, my sister, and myself outside into the hall.

“I got nothing.  He’s in bad shape, and it’s not going to get any easier. He’s on the tail-end of this recently diagnosed disease.  He needs to go home with hospice.  They’ll make him comfortable.  It’s not going to take long.  I’m sorry.”

There was more, but none of it trumped the message I just shared with you.  When you need to lance a boiled-up infection, you want a sharp knife.  He was absolute perfection for what we all needed.

He hugged my mom and my sister and then shook my hand.  It was a deep stare into my eyes and heart.  He didn’t say it out loud, but we both knew this news sucked, yet it was liberating altogether.  It was time to let dad go.

As he walked off, mom and sis both buried their heads in my chest.  It was a clinch that had never happened between the three of us… ever.  My words—their words were useless.  We needed each other to get through this.

All of a sudden (15 seconds after our initial embrace) another voice entered our conclave.

Apparently, every day at 8:00 a.m. a chaplain prays for the patients, staff, and visitors over the intercom system.  I can’t tell you what he prayed on that day.  All I can tell you is that God licked us.  Licked us?

Picture a root beer Dum-Dum sucker in your hand.  You lick it wet.  Confirming indeed that the taste matches the wrappers advertisement.  You then plunge the sweet morsel into your mouth, even spinning the sucker to enhance the flavor!  It was created for that very purpose!

As prayer bathed down upon our little triune huddle, I felt the lick of God’s heart upon our hurting souls.  It wasn’t the words or even the style of the prayer—it was the Spirit—the heart of the one who prayed.

It was perfection.  I even opened my hands to receive the gift.  It was a prayer so tender, yet equally pointed and obscurely generic.  It was what we needed in that moment.  That sterile hallway became church, His body, His blood—life in the midst of a message of death.

It was more than a guy squawking into a microphone some religious duty.  It converted that corridor into the very presence of God.  It was sacred and it was holy.   God had indeed licked us, kissed us, and held us well.  We all knew it.

I’m not sure that I’ve ever appreciated a single prayer more than that one.

The chaplain grabbed the dirty napkin as he was blinking away tears now.  I hugged him and thanked him again for the thankless job he was committed to.  We said goodbye, and I left.

There are other things I could tell you about that day, and maybe I will at some point.  It takes a long time to process this kind of life interruption, and I don’t want to be in a rush to get over it.  Savor is spoiled by sensational hurry.  God is still talking to me, and I want to honor the righteous work of grief that is stored up in my heart.  The loss of my dad has me touching my own mortality—once more.  More than ever before… I want to finish well.

BUT may I remind each and every one of us that when we pray, we have no idea of how deeply it might touch a situation.  People frozen in fear have trouble interceding for them selves.

Prayer can be packaged as sensitively as my mom’s interceding mystery friend, or it can be generic and out of the sphere of personal touch altogether, but opportunities are everywhere to unwrap what needs to be unwrapped so God can lick what needs to be licked.

I need this message more than anyone!

Hopefully you and I will be reminded and encouraged to spill our prayers often and faithfully.  Our prayers DO avail much.  Probably much more than we ever dream or imagine.  Never doubt the lick of God.

Have you had a chance to bite into Brennan Manning’s  All Is Grace:  A Ragamuffin’s Memoir?  If not, do yourself a favor and make that happen as soon as possible!

BUT, I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you that it’s a tough read.  Legalistic people who care more about how things look are going to struggle with this VERY REAL story.  It’s not for the religious faint of heart.  It’s messy and somehow I think this might possibly be what Paul was suggesting when he wrote:

Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of “the brightest and the best” among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these “nobodies” to expose the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies”? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have—right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start—comes from God by way of Jesus Christ. That’s why we have the saying, “If you’re going to blow a horn, blow a trumpet for God.”  1 Corinthians 1:26-31, The Message.

I truly hope and pray that you’re curious enough to check it out.  I loved every minute of that read!

If there is anything that we need to tap into during this Easter Weekend, it should be the majestic marvel of what we too flippantly handle and proclaim as GRACE.  The expanse and depth of grace is much too vast to even try to explain or define.  Yeah, we like our acronyms but they’re sometimes just too trivial to carry the rich message of such a universally proportioned truth.

I wonder if we really see what is in front of us every single day?  Do we recognize the grace that engulfs us?  Are we remotely grateful… at all?  Is that the banner that hangs over our life?

  “GRATEFUL BECAUSE OF GRACE”

A few mornings ago I read a few lines that really stirred me.  I’m submitting these words because I think there is supreme value in gratitude for the grace we live in.  It’s a game changer about how we present ourselves, how we respond to challenges, how we relate to people who can be ugly to us, or how we see a  world that seems to be flipped upside down from some of our most sacred values.

Instead of another chocolate bunny, I give you this:

When Job’s life is about to be taken away from him, he can say one of two things.  He can curse God, as he does for a moment, and say, God, why not fifty-one years?  Or he can surrender to love and grace and say, God, why fifty years?  Why did I deserve anything?  When we take on that attitude, we’ve made a decision for grace.

“Naked I came into the world, and naked I will leave” (Job 1:21).  What do I have, brothers and sisters, that has not been given to me?  All is grace.  All is given.  Who gave me this hand?  Who wiggles these fingers?  Who created this eye that I cannot explain or understand? 

I cannot even make this hair grow.  It is all gift.  From beginning to end, everything is grace, everything is given.  There is nothing we deserve.

We have no real rights.  There is nothing we have to have.  When you lose your friend, your lover, your life-giver, you can curse God and say, Why was he taken?  Why was she taken?  Or you can say, Why was she given at all? 

You can say, Why is that love gone?  Or you can say, Why did I deserve a moment of love?  Why did I deserve a second of this life? 

God is creator and I am creature.  God created me out of nothing and some years back I did not exist at all.

“Yahweh gives and Yahweh takes away.  Blessed be the name of Yahweh” (Job 1:21)

Richard Rohr, O. F. M. from Days of Renewal

Jesus said, “But I tell you the truth, it is to your advantage that I go away; for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you; but if I go, I will send Him to you.”  John 11:27, NASB.

He Is Risen!  Hallelujah!  ALL is GRACE!

-MDP-

It’s a fair question.  “I mean, Mike, there are hundreds and thousands of needs around us, right here.  I don’t have to get on a plane and fly abroad to find ministry.”

I totally agree!  BUT, if you’ve never gone to a foreign land for a missions endeavor or spiritual pilgrimage…

YOU NEED TO GO AT LEAST ONCE.  

Notice that I didn’t use the words: thrill, excitement or stimulation.  I’m not talking about a zip-line adventure in the Amazon.  Yeah, your 3-day all-inclusive in Cancun doesn’t count either.   There is nothing wrong with any of that, but that’s not what I’m referring to here.

I’m talking about mud huts, sewage in the streets, trash heaps that are home to hundreds, homes where unwanted babies live, children selling their bodies for pocket change, more beggars than you can count, and the emptiness in eyes that are absolutely without natural or spiritual hope.  It will chill you to the bone.  Yeah, you need to see it, smell it, cry over it… maybe even be a little undone about it.

You’ll find out some things about yourself.   But, probably not what you’d expect.

I’ve been going at it a really long time.  I have “some” experience.  I personally think it would do you a world of good.

I love the story you’re about to read.  A good story helps grow your appetite and gets the juices flowing.  This is why I believe it is necessary for you to go… at least once.

If you need direction, motivation or insight… let’s have a conversation.  I have some thoughts.

 -MDP-

*   *    *    *    *

Americans come at life expecting everything to work.  It always has.  I was born with silver spoons in my mouth.  I had a strong family and was loved from the beginning.  My parents paved a path for me.  Do you realize what a head start that is?  It’s wonderful.

But there’s a dark side:  People from privileged backgrounds expect that path always to be paved; they expect everything to work out.  When it doesn’t, they’re not only disappointed, they feel wronged.  They think, How dare reality not work out for me!  Why should I have to suffer?  How dare the air conditioner not work!

That explains the morose, quasi-depressed state of so many affluent countries and peoples.  When you go to poor countries, these peoples who don’t have anything and for whom everything is going wrong from morning until night (and if you’ve been there you know I’m not making this up) tend to be much happier than we are!

And our tendency is to look and say that they shouldn’t be happy, they have no reason to be happy.  They don’t seem to have an agenda.

I remember visiting the Home for the Destitute and Dying in Jamaica.  People lay in rags, with the smell and the lack of food and the sores.  I thought, How could anybody live this way?

From my world, it was like hell.

And yet I came as a priest to talk and pray with people.  I’d stop and say, “Well, how are you?”  They’d say, “Oh, fine.”  And I’d want to say, “Fine?  You’re not doing fine.  You’re doing terribly!  How can you say you’re doing fine?”

“Can I do anything for you?”  I’d ask.

One woman replied, “Oh, just recite a psalm with me, Father, just recite a psalm.”  And here the big Scripture man couldn’t think of a psalm.

This humble lady picked out my obvious embarrassment.  Here I am, the great priest, coming to help her, and I can’t even remember a psalm by heart.  She sees it on my face and starts singing Psalms 23.

“Just join in with me, Father.  You just come along.”

There is a profound message here for our affluent culture.  I knew I had met “the first in the Kingdom of God.”

Richard Rohr O. F. M. from Letting Go:  A Spirituality of Subtraction

The picture looks harmless enough.  Though this view comes from one particular origin, it looks like we have options about how we travel and which paths we choose.  Thus, one forest with multiple trails.

I love the thoughts you are about to read from Richard Rohr.  I used to live in an ultra-conservative spiritual environment.  I know the pressure of having to get it right, be right, say it right and demand right from everyone around you. 

Every direction you took, every path you chose, was littered with signs of “warning” about the dangers of being outside good doctrinal thought.  My quandary has always been centered around the question of who is it that ultimately gets to decide what is good or bad doctrine? 

For the most part, we’re all using the same Bible to formulate our stance and forts.  In case you haven’t noticed, opinions (which we have lots and lots of these) and even “convictions” (which is the stuff we’d be willing to die for) about what is right and what is wrong are as numerous as the stars in the heavens.  Everyone can’t be right and everyone can’t be wrong. 

Oh wait, you’re right and everyone else is wrong?  Ohhhh… got it.  Perfect.

Fearful living is a miserable way to live.  I’m convinced the Friar is right.  If playing it safe is the goal then stop exploring and just be content with what you know already.  Personally, I’m bent that way by training and by rhythm.  So I have to push myself to read, think and experience life outside of my comfy box.

If I only choose the “right” path ever time, then the path on the left never gets explored.  What if there is a cave to explore over there…  a waterfall I’ve never seen…  a crystalline aqua-blue pool that demands a skinny dip…  a challenging terrain that begs to be climbed above the tree line? 

Don’t you want to check that out– at least once?  Fear says “hell no!”  (Give me a break… I’m NOT talking morality here!  I’m referring to thought, expansion of understanding and spiritual experience.)

Nothing wrong with the “right” path (I spent quite a bit of time and energy writing RAW TALKS WITH WISDOM, hoping to influence our love affair with the right paths of Lady Wisdom’s sound counsel).  But, I also don’t want to be confined to only one side of God’s forest.

Oh yeah… one more thing.  FORGET hanging out with the Holy Spirit if all you want is “right”, “safe” and “comfortable”.  It ain’t gonna happen!  HE ain’t scared (especially of you being scared).  Cheers mates!  -MDP-

We prostituted Christianity when we told our people they had to “save their souls.”  That attitude often affirmed the ego “spiritually,” which is very dangerous and deceptive.  We called it the journey into holiness, but it was often disguised and denied self-interest.

Saving one’s soul and falling in love with God are two very different journeys.  Because we told our people to save their souls, they got into spiritual consumerism, gathering sacraments, holy works, and ascetical practices–all affirming the false self.  Now we’ve got these big Christian egos walking around, who are very self-protective, satisfied and conservative in the wrong way.  Conversion is not on their agenda.  Every preacher or teacher knows what I’m talking about. 

An unhealthy conservatism is incapable of exodus, of risk, of passion, and, therefore, perhaps incapable of the living God.

Richard Rohr, O. F. M.  from Letting Go:  A Spirituality of Subtraction