Once again, this afternoon, belittlement reared its ugly head, or so it felt. I try to live with respect for different religious perspectives than my own--there is good to be found in all world religions. I try to resist temptation--the temptation to be defensive--to say, "don't you know me well enough to know the serious reflection I bring to living a life of faith?"
Ironically, a discussion of "respect for life,"--mutual sadness that the breadth of the term does not seem to be a part of its use--led to the derivation of the story of Maundy Thursday, and the actual events of the story.
Our agreement regarding the narrow use of "respect for life" in some discussions was missed. A precious opportunity was missed.
Taking biblical stories literally, or symbolically became a "gotcha" moment. My antenna went up. "Quick, an attempt of entrapment is forthcoming."
I succumb to defensiveness. "Many Catholics take a broader view. Not every Catholic view 'respect for life' narrowly." A defensive volley was lobbed back at me--reference to those who do have "a simple faith--a simplistic Catholic view."
I grieve. I mourn. Three people of integrity. Trapped in different ages of the same Church. Pushed away...Drawn into...a Universal Church. Different faces. The same heart.
There is good to be found in all faith traditions. "Affirm, defend and promote the supreme worth and dignity of every human [being]. I mourn. All three are members of the Universal church.
"Support the free and disciplined search for truth..." Though packaged differently, at the core, Universalist, and Catholic search for truth with the same depth of commitment.
There are differences--important differences. I mourn. Yet, in my mourning, I question--do important differences preclude unity? Do important differences preclude a unified pursuit for truth made the stronger by the diverse perspectives of the same truth? Do the important differences preclude embracing the truth in Paul's words to the Corinthians?
"So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love."
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Maundy Thursday and Disbelief
Last night, belief, logic, and belittlement clashed, and I failed on all counts to live with integrity within its triangle. I was raised by my parents--two individuals who were raised during a time when they experienced the rituals of Christ's life. Absent from their experience, as I understand it to be, was a lack of how Christ teaches us to meet and build upon the events of his life--the spirit and wisdom by which he lived his life. How do you explain Holy Spirit in logical terms--a 1940s white ghost?
How do we affirm the life of Christ without sterilizing it to its bare realities? How do you prove the truths Christ lived in concrete terms. These questions drove two people of integrity from the Christian Church. The subsequent answers they have lived, in part, is to belittle individuals, who commit themselves to Christ's life as being simple-minded. My parents do live lives built upon much of what Christ taught and advocated--called for in our lives.
In 1982, I committed myself to a life of celebration that exceeded logic's limits--reason's realm. I committed myself to learn from, grow through, and live what Jesus lived. In so doing, I was not decrying the foundation of the Universalism of my upbringing--there is good to be found in all world faith traditions, and we should support one another in a free and disciplined search for truth.
Drawn to Christ by questions in search of answers beyond logic, or logic as it was lived in my home, I committed myself to listen to the words of Christ, to observe, and affirm--authenticate--Christ's teachings in my own life going forward. Contrary to first glance, Universalist/Unitarian fellowship is not, or need not be diametrically opposed to Christianity. I did not reject my Universalist roots as it seemed to my family and a Christian mentor. No. I embraced Christ as I saw him in expressed in a Catholic campus community, through Mass, and in the diversity of friends.
Since 1982, I have not done well in meeting the criticism of faith in Christ. The only meeting I have done has been in trying to share my life freely--trying to share how I live my life. I do not do well to meet questions of fact that I understand to be static within Jesus' life historically ignorant of its vibrancy to life today. I do not mean to imply that the way I live is better. I do not want to entrap myself by belittling logic's limits, or reason's realm.
In recent years, I have heard two types of Catholics, and Christians identified. There are the thinking Catholics, and then there are Catholics. Polite disdain is the best description I know to give to the attitude toward Catholics. Rather than engagement with all Catholics, as I understood the call of Universalism to be--finding the best in all faith traditions--I am met with belittlement of other Catholics, and the smug tolerance of thinking Catholics. I hear complaints that Catholics, and other Christians, I do not witness the recognition of the smug criticism, and intolerance. I speak of Catholics, because it is in the Catholic Church that I have met beauty. Yet, the same basic distinction has been drawn between Christians and Christians.
I confess I do not understand the distinction--the need for smugness, intolerance, and recognition. I want to understand. I do understand that I met a different Catholic Church--a different expression of Jesus--in 1982 than was experienced in the 1940s. I do know that they experienced a monolithic expression of Christianity. There was one, and only one, way to be Catholic.
I was astounded to discover the rich diversity of Christian faith's expression. My new college friends did not fit into neat little boxes. Intellect was not mutually exclusive to Christian faith. Yet, intellect was not a guarantor of Christian faith. Integrity was not the titled property of intellect. Christian faith was not--is not--integrity's competitor.
I can etch in stone definitions of Christianity's core--of Catholicism's essence. Yet, I cannot etch in stone a static description of Christ, of Catholicism, of Christianity, as I will live it for the rest of my life. I can and will share as much as a tolerant door--a tolerant window--is opened to me.
How do we affirm the life of Christ without sterilizing it to its bare realities? How do you prove the truths Christ lived in concrete terms. These questions drove two people of integrity from the Christian Church. The subsequent answers they have lived, in part, is to belittle individuals, who commit themselves to Christ's life as being simple-minded. My parents do live lives built upon much of what Christ taught and advocated--called for in our lives.
In 1982, I committed myself to a life of celebration that exceeded logic's limits--reason's realm. I committed myself to learn from, grow through, and live what Jesus lived. In so doing, I was not decrying the foundation of the Universalism of my upbringing--there is good to be found in all world faith traditions, and we should support one another in a free and disciplined search for truth.
Drawn to Christ by questions in search of answers beyond logic, or logic as it was lived in my home, I committed myself to listen to the words of Christ, to observe, and affirm--authenticate--Christ's teachings in my own life going forward. Contrary to first glance, Universalist/Unitarian fellowship is not, or need not be diametrically opposed to Christianity. I did not reject my Universalist roots as it seemed to my family and a Christian mentor. No. I embraced Christ as I saw him in expressed in a Catholic campus community, through Mass, and in the diversity of friends.
Since 1982, I have not done well in meeting the criticism of faith in Christ. The only meeting I have done has been in trying to share my life freely--trying to share how I live my life. I do not do well to meet questions of fact that I understand to be static within Jesus' life historically ignorant of its vibrancy to life today. I do not mean to imply that the way I live is better. I do not want to entrap myself by belittling logic's limits, or reason's realm.
In recent years, I have heard two types of Catholics, and Christians identified. There are the thinking Catholics, and then there are Catholics. Polite disdain is the best description I know to give to the attitude toward Catholics. Rather than engagement with all Catholics, as I understood the call of Universalism to be--finding the best in all faith traditions--I am met with belittlement of other Catholics, and the smug tolerance of thinking Catholics. I hear complaints that Catholics, and other Christians, I do not witness the recognition of the smug criticism, and intolerance. I speak of Catholics, because it is in the Catholic Church that I have met beauty. Yet, the same basic distinction has been drawn between Christians and Christians.
I confess I do not understand the distinction--the need for smugness, intolerance, and recognition. I want to understand. I do understand that I met a different Catholic Church--a different expression of Jesus--in 1982 than was experienced in the 1940s. I do know that they experienced a monolithic expression of Christianity. There was one, and only one, way to be Catholic.
I was astounded to discover the rich diversity of Christian faith's expression. My new college friends did not fit into neat little boxes. Intellect was not mutually exclusive to Christian faith. Yet, intellect was not a guarantor of Christian faith. Integrity was not the titled property of intellect. Christian faith was not--is not--integrity's competitor.
I can etch in stone definitions of Christianity's core--of Catholicism's essence. Yet, I cannot etch in stone a static description of Christ, of Catholicism, of Christianity, as I will live it for the rest of my life. I can and will share as much as a tolerant door--a tolerant window--is opened to me.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Inside Anger...Joyful Radiance...
The light you give off
Did not come from a pelvis.
Your features did not begin in semen.
Do not try to hide inside anger.
Radiance that cannot be hidden.
A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings
Rumi [David Banks, ed.]
Rumi's reflection today had been beyond my understanding. I was born into a logical, rational life. Inside anger, and joyful radiance must be tempered--reserved. Anger and radiance may be revealed only under moments of tight control, and certainty. Or, so I learned. So I believed to be the only possible way to live a decent life.
There is a huge difference between Minnesota Nice--putting a smile to cover up frustrations, hostilities, aggressive feelings--and radiance. Minnesota Nice is Politeness's child. Politeness is shallow. Politeness is deep only in the depth of her insult to her recipient.
There is a huge difference between happy and joyful. I am not--I refuse to be--a happy person. Happy is shallow. Happy is an unwilling companion to challenge. Happy welcomes no adventure--no lessons from challenge.
Joyful listens, hears, feels, mourns, celebrates, and shares with all who meet her. Joy and Radiance are intimates. Joyful Radiance are partners of the soul. May we be agents of Joyful Radiance.
Did not come from a pelvis.
Your features did not begin in semen.
Do not try to hide inside anger.
Radiance that cannot be hidden.
A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings
Rumi [David Banks, ed.]
Rumi's reflection today had been beyond my understanding. I was born into a logical, rational life. Inside anger, and joyful radiance must be tempered--reserved. Anger and radiance may be revealed only under moments of tight control, and certainty. Or, so I learned. So I believed to be the only possible way to live a decent life.
There is a huge difference between Minnesota Nice--putting a smile to cover up frustrations, hostilities, aggressive feelings--and radiance. Minnesota Nice is Politeness's child. Politeness is shallow. Politeness is deep only in the depth of her insult to her recipient.
There is a huge difference between happy and joyful. I am not--I refuse to be--a happy person. Happy is shallow. Happy is an unwilling companion to challenge. Happy welcomes no adventure--no lessons from challenge.
Joyful listens, hears, feels, mourns, celebrates, and shares with all who meet her. Joy and Radiance are intimates. Joyful Radiance are partners of the soul. May we be agents of Joyful Radiance.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Free Speech and Name-Calling
Just now, someone commented on the burning of the Koran. Evidently, on April 18, 2011, Andrew Ryan--a former English soldier--was sentenced to 70 days in jail for burning the Koran. The commentator said that he understood, and defended the right of free speech, yet, something to effect that this idiot needed to be stopped from his action of burning the Koran.
I do believe in the freedom of religion. As a citizen of the United States, I did not face any action from the American government--state, federal, or local--when I changed my religious affiliation from Universalism/Unitarianism to Christianity. When I joined the Catholic Church, I did not fear any adverse action from the government. Concerns I had with regard to my actions--my affirmations--related to individuals, not to the government of my native land.
I do believe in freedom of speech. I am enriched by sharing ideas with people, whose ideas differ from my own. If we are open to being enlightened, both of us will grow from the free exchange of ideas. I am a native-born U.S. citizen. I have never been faced with the choice of affirming my allegiance to a country external to my birth. So, in some ways, I feel less qualified to speak as someone who appreciates fully the right to speak freely--to speak freely without suffering retribution from my government. Technology is a partner with freedom of speech that makes this blog, and many other blogs viable forms of expression. I do appreciate that opportunity. No, it is a guilty pleasure:)
Yet, as strong as my commitment is, I cannot reconcile the acceptability of name-calling. I abhor it. No amount of commitment to free religious belief, or free speech gives license to any name-calling. It just doesn't. Whether the name-calling be done to the face of the individual or group being targeted, neither is acceptable. Neither form of name-calling is moral, just, ethical, or humane. Many people refer to respect for life, and never consider name-calling to be subject to standards of human decency. I am a very open-minded, reasonable, and rational individual. I am open to compromise on most everything else. Yet, name-calling is not open to compromise. If I arrive at the precipice of name-calling, then I am being called to make amends with the soon-to-be target of any name-calling.
If I were to resort to name-calling, then I would be missing the opportunity to transform my venom into passionate advocacy for an issue or individual being denigrated. I cannot commit myself to name-calling. I cannot avoid opportunities to serve as an advocate.
I do believe in the freedom of religion. As a citizen of the United States, I did not face any action from the American government--state, federal, or local--when I changed my religious affiliation from Universalism/Unitarianism to Christianity. When I joined the Catholic Church, I did not fear any adverse action from the government. Concerns I had with regard to my actions--my affirmations--related to individuals, not to the government of my native land.
I do believe in freedom of speech. I am enriched by sharing ideas with people, whose ideas differ from my own. If we are open to being enlightened, both of us will grow from the free exchange of ideas. I am a native-born U.S. citizen. I have never been faced with the choice of affirming my allegiance to a country external to my birth. So, in some ways, I feel less qualified to speak as someone who appreciates fully the right to speak freely--to speak freely without suffering retribution from my government. Technology is a partner with freedom of speech that makes this blog, and many other blogs viable forms of expression. I do appreciate that opportunity. No, it is a guilty pleasure:)
Yet, as strong as my commitment is, I cannot reconcile the acceptability of name-calling. I abhor it. No amount of commitment to free religious belief, or free speech gives license to any name-calling. It just doesn't. Whether the name-calling be done to the face of the individual or group being targeted, neither is acceptable. Neither form of name-calling is moral, just, ethical, or humane. Many people refer to respect for life, and never consider name-calling to be subject to standards of human decency. I am a very open-minded, reasonable, and rational individual. I am open to compromise on most everything else. Yet, name-calling is not open to compromise. If I arrive at the precipice of name-calling, then I am being called to make amends with the soon-to-be target of any name-calling.
If I were to resort to name-calling, then I would be missing the opportunity to transform my venom into passionate advocacy for an issue or individual being denigrated. I cannot commit myself to name-calling. I cannot avoid opportunities to serve as an advocate.
Life Changes...A Changing Life...
On April 26, 2011, I will turn 51. Had you told me two years ago that I would be living as I am now, I would have laughed at you. Yet, in 2011, here I am. This is the life I am called to live.
When I left the paid work world, I was not at all sure what my life was supposed to be, much less than what I wanted it to be. I was not retiring, yet, I did not know what to call my new life stage. Retired, as I had witnessed it in my life, did not describe what I was entering. In closest terms for me to describe, I was on disability. But, what did that mean?
My transition from full-time employment to on disability was abrupt. Most people left their place of employment on a long-anticipated, established date. Coworkers, and supervisors knew the date, and there was time to say thank you, to reconcile any short-term or long-term differences. There were no conversations regarding, "What are you going to do, once you do not have to go to work each day," and "If I were leaving work, I would...." There was no time to prepare for such a drastic change in living. Retirees returned to work, and said, "I don't miss the work, I miss the people." That was inconceivable to me. How could 24 years of my life be erased from my memory? Yet, that is what I would say now. I do not miss all of the people I worked with for more than 24 years. I do miss some of those people. I am in touch with some people. I do not miss the pressures of work. I do miss the treasure hunt for information that I traveled with those who had questions, and needed answers. That treasure hunt was not a daily journey, yet, when I loved that journey, and I am guilty of infecting many.
When I tried to conceive what my life on long-term disability would be, I had no model to consult. I felt guilty. My conception of long-term disability was someone who was completely unable to leave their home. Perhaps, the person's life circumstances were more drastic than that. I had no idea. As much as I told former colleagues that I would be "The next chapter will be to strengthen myself physically as much as is possible....I must discover opportunities that call upon my mind, rather than tax my physical abilities." I had no idea what the words I had been given to express meant. I had no idea.
The physical weakening that led to my exit from the work world defined my life for the next year and a half. I needed to embrace the Serenity Prayer.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
I sought the courage to identify what I could not change about my new old self. I needed to learn how to accommodate to my weakening body--my right ankle--and my capacity to stand up from the ground. For a lifetime, I had resisted fiercely anyone who dared to say that I could not do a task that I was undertaking. After all, I had never lived with the capacity to use both hands. From birth, my right leg had been shorter than my life. I did not undertake tasks that required a perfect balance. OK, I dressed up as a little ballerina. But, the balance beam was not narrow, by any stretch of the imagination. I never was a gambler in any casinos. The only challenge I undertook was that of a response to, "Do you think you can do that?" As much as I resented the comment--the lack of faith in me, all I could say was, "Do you want to make a bet?"
Oddly, the suggestion that I consider going on long-term disability was made in Las Vegas. In my mind, it was a long shot--the biggest gamble I had ever made. The stakes were high--my future. What was I getting myself into? This gamble flew in the face of all that I had been taught. "You will learn to live independently."
Courage to change the things I can.
This entailed identifying what, how much, and how I could restore my compromised right ankle, my weakening left hand--I could not lose her strength, I just couldn't--and my capacity to stand up from the ground. Accepting the things I could not change was more elusive for me to identify. Yet, the things of courage were more concrete to identify. Though identified more concretely, the things of courage were much more difficult to change. Bending from my knees to the ground were not a part of my things of courage. I knew better than to squander any courage I might be given on a youth's capacity that I had relinquished to an accommodating life. My things of courage calling for attention were my right ankle--she was on her last leg--and my left hand--she was my sole source by which I could squeeze everything out of my life.
How much?
To what degree could I hope to be restored? Before I could accept my compromised health, I needed to identify what my restored self would look like life--what would she feel like. What was I praying to be restored was essential. What was I not praying to be restored in my body?
What did a resurrected body look like to me? Others' conceptions--even those closest to me mattered little, if I did not have a strong sense of it in my own life. I am not saying that my vision would be perfect, or what a resurrected body would look like--would be in my life. But, if I was to have any hope than I better change resurrected body from a it--a thing--to an intimate in my life.
I could not jump to the step of addressing the how before I understood the how much. Though not fully understood by some who loved, and love me, by the grace of God, I knew that the answer to how could change on the basis of how much, my right ankle could be restored to her younger self. My right ankle, my left hand, my left hip, each and every body part of my body is not an it. They are my intimates. They are she, they are her. Only when I call them by their given names am I worthy to make decisions in their best interests--decisions in our best interests for a full life together.
My vehicle to understanding how much was ankle surgery. That action would reveal to me an answer to how much.
How?
This question frightened me. To some, the concrete form of how--a scooter, or a wheelchair--seemed clear. Yet, I had not arrived at the concrete foundation I needed in order to wheel forward. Others' attitudes, physical boundaries--navigating those physical boundaries--and my perceptions of individuals I had seen in my life were my biggest obstacles.
Wisdom to know the difference.
Before I could find solace, and embrace any wisdom, I needed to return to the matter of courage. What of courage was I not addressing? Now that I knew answers to today's things of courage was I not acting upon? Only after I answered and acted upon those questions could I hope to be granted any wisdom.
The Serenity Prayer is not a prayer to be navigated, and lived once and for all. That might be nice, but, life doesn't work that way.
On April 14, 2011, I was given a gift that I would never have imagined to be a gift--a wheelchair. With the accommodations of recent years, I need to discover where I want to go outside of my home that I put out of my mind as unrealistic destinations. With compromised stamina now restored, I may look at the outside world again, and try to get back into circulation once again.
Had you told me two years ago that I would be living the life I am, I would have laughed at you. Yet, this is the life I am called to live. Yikes!
What did a resurrected body look like to me? Others' conceptions--even those closest to me mattered little, if I did not have a strong sense of it in my own life. I am not saying that my vision would be perfect, or what a resurrected body would look like--would be in my life. But, if I was to have any hope than I better change resurrected body from an it--a thing--to an intimate in my life.
My vision is far from perfect. Intimate though my resurrected body may be, if there is any hope of my intimate being perfected--fulfilled--such intimacy must be shared--respected, and embraced.
Yikes!
When I left the paid work world, I was not at all sure what my life was supposed to be, much less than what I wanted it to be. I was not retiring, yet, I did not know what to call my new life stage. Retired, as I had witnessed it in my life, did not describe what I was entering. In closest terms for me to describe, I was on disability. But, what did that mean?
My transition from full-time employment to on disability was abrupt. Most people left their place of employment on a long-anticipated, established date. Coworkers, and supervisors knew the date, and there was time to say thank you, to reconcile any short-term or long-term differences. There were no conversations regarding, "What are you going to do, once you do not have to go to work each day," and "If I were leaving work, I would...." There was no time to prepare for such a drastic change in living. Retirees returned to work, and said, "I don't miss the work, I miss the people." That was inconceivable to me. How could 24 years of my life be erased from my memory? Yet, that is what I would say now. I do not miss all of the people I worked with for more than 24 years. I do miss some of those people. I am in touch with some people. I do not miss the pressures of work. I do miss the treasure hunt for information that I traveled with those who had questions, and needed answers. That treasure hunt was not a daily journey, yet, when I loved that journey, and I am guilty of infecting many.
When I tried to conceive what my life on long-term disability would be, I had no model to consult. I felt guilty. My conception of long-term disability was someone who was completely unable to leave their home. Perhaps, the person's life circumstances were more drastic than that. I had no idea. As much as I told former colleagues that I would be "The next chapter will be to strengthen myself physically as much as is possible....I must discover opportunities that call upon my mind, rather than tax my physical abilities." I had no idea what the words I had been given to express meant. I had no idea.
The physical weakening that led to my exit from the work world defined my life for the next year and a half. I needed to embrace the Serenity Prayer.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
I sought the courage to identify what I could not change about my new old self. I needed to learn how to accommodate to my weakening body--my right ankle--and my capacity to stand up from the ground. For a lifetime, I had resisted fiercely anyone who dared to say that I could not do a task that I was undertaking. After all, I had never lived with the capacity to use both hands. From birth, my right leg had been shorter than my life. I did not undertake tasks that required a perfect balance. OK, I dressed up as a little ballerina. But, the balance beam was not narrow, by any stretch of the imagination. I never was a gambler in any casinos. The only challenge I undertook was that of a response to, "Do you think you can do that?" As much as I resented the comment--the lack of faith in me, all I could say was, "Do you want to make a bet?"
Oddly, the suggestion that I consider going on long-term disability was made in Las Vegas. In my mind, it was a long shot--the biggest gamble I had ever made. The stakes were high--my future. What was I getting myself into? This gamble flew in the face of all that I had been taught. "You will learn to live independently."
Courage to change the things I can.
This entailed identifying what, how much, and how I could restore my compromised right ankle, my weakening left hand--I could not lose her strength, I just couldn't--and my capacity to stand up from the ground. Accepting the things I could not change was more elusive for me to identify. Yet, the things of courage were more concrete to identify. Though identified more concretely, the things of courage were much more difficult to change. Bending from my knees to the ground were not a part of my things of courage. I knew better than to squander any courage I might be given on a youth's capacity that I had relinquished to an accommodating life. My things of courage calling for attention were my right ankle--she was on her last leg--and my left hand--she was my sole source by which I could squeeze everything out of my life.
How much?
To what degree could I hope to be restored? Before I could accept my compromised health, I needed to identify what my restored self would look like life--what would she feel like. What was I praying to be restored was essential. What was I not praying to be restored in my body?
What did a resurrected body look like to me? Others' conceptions--even those closest to me mattered little, if I did not have a strong sense of it in my own life. I am not saying that my vision would be perfect, or what a resurrected body would look like--would be in my life. But, if I was to have any hope than I better change resurrected body from a it--a thing--to an intimate in my life.
I could not jump to the step of addressing the how before I understood the how much. Though not fully understood by some who loved, and love me, by the grace of God, I knew that the answer to how could change on the basis of how much, my right ankle could be restored to her younger self. My right ankle, my left hand, my left hip, each and every body part of my body is not an it. They are my intimates. They are she, they are her. Only when I call them by their given names am I worthy to make decisions in their best interests--decisions in our best interests for a full life together.
My vehicle to understanding how much was ankle surgery. That action would reveal to me an answer to how much.
How?
This question frightened me. To some, the concrete form of how--a scooter, or a wheelchair--seemed clear. Yet, I had not arrived at the concrete foundation I needed in order to wheel forward. Others' attitudes, physical boundaries--navigating those physical boundaries--and my perceptions of individuals I had seen in my life were my biggest obstacles.
Wisdom to know the difference.
Before I could find solace, and embrace any wisdom, I needed to return to the matter of courage. What of courage was I not addressing? Now that I knew answers to today's things of courage was I not acting upon? Only after I answered and acted upon those questions could I hope to be granted any wisdom.
The Serenity Prayer is not a prayer to be navigated, and lived once and for all. That might be nice, but, life doesn't work that way.
On April 14, 2011, I was given a gift that I would never have imagined to be a gift--a wheelchair. With the accommodations of recent years, I need to discover where I want to go outside of my home that I put out of my mind as unrealistic destinations. With compromised stamina now restored, I may look at the outside world again, and try to get back into circulation once again.
Had you told me two years ago that I would be living the life I am, I would have laughed at you. Yet, this is the life I am called to live. Yikes!
What did a resurrected body look like to me? Others' conceptions--even those closest to me mattered little, if I did not have a strong sense of it in my own life. I am not saying that my vision would be perfect, or what a resurrected body would look like--would be in my life. But, if I was to have any hope than I better change resurrected body from an it--a thing--to an intimate in my life.
My vision is far from perfect. Intimate though my resurrected body may be, if there is any hope of my intimate being perfected--fulfilled--such intimacy must be shared--respected, and embraced.
Yikes!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Prison...Prisoners...Prison Life...
Prisons, prisoners, and prison life has touched my life at arm's length--superficial knowledge, and deep wonder. Television portrayals, and news coverage have colored my understanding. A deeper understanding calls for several steps to be taken.
First, what television coverage, profiles, and portrayals have influenced my current understanding? Extremes provide the best fodder for news coverage. Charles Manson, Serbian leader Slobodan Milosevic, Susan Smith, O. J. Simpson, Bernie Madoff, Minnesota noted prisoners Tom Petters, and Denny Hecker are very random names, who come to mind--individuals who have been covered in the news.
In midnight's dark shadows, I turned channels to find MSNBC's Lockdown series, which profiles individuals imprisoned in various prisons in the United States. The series provides a bird's eye view of prison life. Fears of the worst being commonplace have led me to turn away. Yet, my insatiable curiosity--not morbid, but genuine curiosity--has drawn my eyes and ears back to attention.
Those examples explain some influences on my current understanding of prisons, prisoners, and prison life. Yet, that is not the end of my knowledge, understanding, and questions.
My attention was sparked by a personal connection. I do not doubt, yet, I cannot judge the crime committed that led to imprisonment. Beyond a basic aversion to judging other people, what positive goal is achieved by imposing judgment? The judicial system has imposed its judgment. Some ask what the objective of imprisonment is--punishment, or rehabilitation. I lean toward a rehabilitative view of prison. To affirm my belief, the question becomes, "What may I do to further rehabilitation?" Letter writing. Do I need to do better? Yes.
What do I know--structurally, what do I know?
There are divisions of prison types. The United States has state and federal prisons--correctional institutions. Those two prison systems have two subdivisions--women's and men's prisons. Within each prison system there are levels of security--low security, minimum security, medium security, and maximum security.
Federal correctional institutions [FCI] are managed by the Federal Bureau of Corrections. There are six regions into which federal prisons are divided: Mid-Atlantic Region; North Central Region; Northeast Region; South Central Region; and Western Region. Minnesota is within the North Central Region. Federal Correctional Institutions within Minnesota are located in Duluth, Rochester, Sandstone, and Waseca. I confess I do not understand how placement decisions are made. I do know that placements are not based on proximity to a criminal's hometown.
I was surprised to learn that visits to prisoners were as long as seven or eight hours. I do not know what factors enter into setting the length of each visit. Is the visit length determined by standards that apply to every individual, who is imprisoned? Is visit length determined solely by a level of contact? I do know that prison lockdowns cancel all scheduled visits during that time, which makes sense. Are there other factors that enter into the conditions during a visit. I was surprised to learn that more than one individual could visit a prisoner at the same time. There is a strict procedure by which an individual must be certified as a visitor before a visit.
Two other forms of contact include telephone, and e-mail privileges. I confess that I know nothing regarding the procedures, standards, or requirements that apply to telephone privileges. I do know that there is a well-regulated e-mail system. Before any e-mails may be exchanged, permission must be granted by the individual, who is imprisoned. If I wanted to correspond with a given prisoner, I would have to send a message to the prisoner to secure the permission of that individual. It is possible for an individual imprisoned to reach out to an individual with whom they want to correspond electronically. Before e-mails may be exchanged, the individual to whom the prisoner has invited to correspond. Once invitations are made and accepted, the exchange of e-mail messages is conducted differently than the standard e-mail procedures that I and other readers of this blog use. There is an intermediary e-mail server known as Corrlinks. The prisoner, or the individual, who has been certified as a correspondent, signs into the Corrlinks system. Just as you and I do, the name of the prisoner or correspondent is entered in the To line. Similarly, there is a Subject line, followed by a message dialog box. But, there are two differences with Corrlinks. Once the message is sent to the individual, the recipient receives a message from Corrlinks indicating that they have a message from the other individual. There is one final very important distinction between standard e-mail practices and Corrlinks e-mail practices. Messages sent through Corrlinks are monitored for content. I was a recipient of an invitation to correspond with an individual, who is imprisoned. I am aware that my comments may be monitored. I do not include any content that might be construed, in any way, to be controversial--content that might get the individual imprisoned in trouble. That would defeat the purpose of trying to offer a connection to the outside world--an offering of hope for a brighter future.
Two other forms of communication is available to some individuals, who are incarcerated. I do not know the extent to which either of these resources are used, but, I do know that they exist.
First, prisoners may have access to limited databases containing legal information, which may help them to research appeals to their convictions. Second, prisoners may receive books from Amazon.com, and Barnesandnoble.com. They may receive subscriptions to the New York Times. There may be other subscriptions they may receive--at least that is what I understand. I do not know whether there are restrictions as to types of publications from Amazon.com, and Barnesandnoble.com. I am not trying to spell out correctional institution regulations. Rather, my purpose is to give a sense of what information is available to individuals in prison. The information that is available is an important element in the view of the world prisoners have during their incarceration.
Second, individuals in prison may receive, and do appreciate personal written correspondence--old-fashioned letters. I have been led to believe that these individuals may receive a limited amount of pictures within each letter. The exact number escapes me. Going back to my recent post Insurance...Prayer for Safekeeping, examining prison life makes me aware of what I do have that offers me hope in dark moments, when I am most in need. Although I rarely look at them, I have several shelves of albums--both correspondence, and pictures. I have correspondence dating back to my childhood. I find great solace, or comfort in knowing that those treasures are near to me.
I cannot write a lifetime of letters to a prisoner, yet, I can share the simple, everyday activities of my life with someone whose life circumstances are stark. I do not want to contribute to glorifying everyday life outside of prison. I want to offer hope, but, I do not want to be a party to any false glorification.
I am reminded of Thornton Wilder's play, Our Town. I was a high school junior, when I saw the play for the first time. I missed the subtleties of the play. I thought it was boring. Since that time, it has become one of my favorite plays. When Emily tells the stage manager, after she has died, that she wants to go back to one day in her life to relieve it, he gives her sage advice. Essentially, the stage manager tells Emily to pick an ordinary day, rather than a milestone day. He said that there would be many details of the day to notice that would be lost in relieving a more momentous day. In my correspondence, my aim is to take heed of Wilder's message. I try to share the ordinary events of my life. I have no desire to preach--it serves no purpose in the prisoner's efforts to build a better future. I try to provide a connection between the prisoner and the outside world that the two of us know.
I may not know the exact events, and experiences of individuals in prison. Yet, I cannot use that as an excuse not to try to understand, not to try to expand my imagining of prisoners' life circumstances, and experiences.
First, what television coverage, profiles, and portrayals have influenced my current understanding? Extremes provide the best fodder for news coverage. Charles Manson, Serbian leader Slobodan Milosevic, Susan Smith, O. J. Simpson, Bernie Madoff, Minnesota noted prisoners Tom Petters, and Denny Hecker are very random names, who come to mind--individuals who have been covered in the news.
In midnight's dark shadows, I turned channels to find MSNBC's Lockdown series, which profiles individuals imprisoned in various prisons in the United States. The series provides a bird's eye view of prison life. Fears of the worst being commonplace have led me to turn away. Yet, my insatiable curiosity--not morbid, but genuine curiosity--has drawn my eyes and ears back to attention.
Those examples explain some influences on my current understanding of prisons, prisoners, and prison life. Yet, that is not the end of my knowledge, understanding, and questions.
My attention was sparked by a personal connection. I do not doubt, yet, I cannot judge the crime committed that led to imprisonment. Beyond a basic aversion to judging other people, what positive goal is achieved by imposing judgment? The judicial system has imposed its judgment. Some ask what the objective of imprisonment is--punishment, or rehabilitation. I lean toward a rehabilitative view of prison. To affirm my belief, the question becomes, "What may I do to further rehabilitation?" Letter writing. Do I need to do better? Yes.
What do I know--structurally, what do I know?
There are divisions of prison types. The United States has state and federal prisons--correctional institutions. Those two prison systems have two subdivisions--women's and men's prisons. Within each prison system there are levels of security--low security, minimum security, medium security, and maximum security.
Federal correctional institutions [FCI] are managed by the Federal Bureau of Corrections. There are six regions into which federal prisons are divided: Mid-Atlantic Region; North Central Region; Northeast Region; South Central Region; and Western Region. Minnesota is within the North Central Region. Federal Correctional Institutions within Minnesota are located in Duluth, Rochester, Sandstone, and Waseca. I confess I do not understand how placement decisions are made. I do know that placements are not based on proximity to a criminal's hometown.
I was surprised to learn that visits to prisoners were as long as seven or eight hours. I do not know what factors enter into setting the length of each visit. Is the visit length determined by standards that apply to every individual, who is imprisoned? Is visit length determined solely by a level of contact? I do know that prison lockdowns cancel all scheduled visits during that time, which makes sense. Are there other factors that enter into the conditions during a visit. I was surprised to learn that more than one individual could visit a prisoner at the same time. There is a strict procedure by which an individual must be certified as a visitor before a visit.
Two other forms of contact include telephone, and e-mail privileges. I confess that I know nothing regarding the procedures, standards, or requirements that apply to telephone privileges. I do know that there is a well-regulated e-mail system. Before any e-mails may be exchanged, permission must be granted by the individual, who is imprisoned. If I wanted to correspond with a given prisoner, I would have to send a message to the prisoner to secure the permission of that individual. It is possible for an individual imprisoned to reach out to an individual with whom they want to correspond electronically. Before e-mails may be exchanged, the individual to whom the prisoner has invited to correspond. Once invitations are made and accepted, the exchange of e-mail messages is conducted differently than the standard e-mail procedures that I and other readers of this blog use. There is an intermediary e-mail server known as Corrlinks. The prisoner, or the individual, who has been certified as a correspondent, signs into the Corrlinks system. Just as you and I do, the name of the prisoner or correspondent is entered in the To line. Similarly, there is a Subject line, followed by a message dialog box. But, there are two differences with Corrlinks. Once the message is sent to the individual, the recipient receives a message from Corrlinks indicating that they have a message from the other individual. There is one final very important distinction between standard e-mail practices and Corrlinks e-mail practices. Messages sent through Corrlinks are monitored for content. I was a recipient of an invitation to correspond with an individual, who is imprisoned. I am aware that my comments may be monitored. I do not include any content that might be construed, in any way, to be controversial--content that might get the individual imprisoned in trouble. That would defeat the purpose of trying to offer a connection to the outside world--an offering of hope for a brighter future.
Two other forms of communication is available to some individuals, who are incarcerated. I do not know the extent to which either of these resources are used, but, I do know that they exist.
First, prisoners may have access to limited databases containing legal information, which may help them to research appeals to their convictions. Second, prisoners may receive books from Amazon.com, and Barnesandnoble.com. They may receive subscriptions to the New York Times. There may be other subscriptions they may receive--at least that is what I understand. I do not know whether there are restrictions as to types of publications from Amazon.com, and Barnesandnoble.com. I am not trying to spell out correctional institution regulations. Rather, my purpose is to give a sense of what information is available to individuals in prison. The information that is available is an important element in the view of the world prisoners have during their incarceration.
Second, individuals in prison may receive, and do appreciate personal written correspondence--old-fashioned letters. I have been led to believe that these individuals may receive a limited amount of pictures within each letter. The exact number escapes me. Going back to my recent post Insurance...Prayer for Safekeeping, examining prison life makes me aware of what I do have that offers me hope in dark moments, when I am most in need. Although I rarely look at them, I have several shelves of albums--both correspondence, and pictures. I have correspondence dating back to my childhood. I find great solace, or comfort in knowing that those treasures are near to me.
I cannot write a lifetime of letters to a prisoner, yet, I can share the simple, everyday activities of my life with someone whose life circumstances are stark. I do not want to contribute to glorifying everyday life outside of prison. I want to offer hope, but, I do not want to be a party to any false glorification.
I am reminded of Thornton Wilder's play, Our Town. I was a high school junior, when I saw the play for the first time. I missed the subtleties of the play. I thought it was boring. Since that time, it has become one of my favorite plays. When Emily tells the stage manager, after she has died, that she wants to go back to one day in her life to relieve it, he gives her sage advice. Essentially, the stage manager tells Emily to pick an ordinary day, rather than a milestone day. He said that there would be many details of the day to notice that would be lost in relieving a more momentous day. In my correspondence, my aim is to take heed of Wilder's message. I try to share the ordinary events of my life. I have no desire to preach--it serves no purpose in the prisoner's efforts to build a better future. I try to provide a connection between the prisoner and the outside world that the two of us know.
I may not know the exact events, and experiences of individuals in prison. Yet, I cannot use that as an excuse not to try to understand, not to try to expand my imagining of prisoners' life circumstances, and experiences.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Insurance...Prayer for Safekeeping...
Watching coverage of the 97 tornadoes this weekend, and updating my homeowner's insurance policy seem at odds. Survivors of tornadoes are heard to say that the loss of their property is unimportant in light of the preservation of their own lives. Although I have never survived a natural disaster, or other loss of property, my perspective has been challenged.
No homeowner's insurance, literally, may insure my family, my friends, my faith community. Faith--prayer--is the only "investment" that I may make toward preserving my loved ones, to the degree that I am able to do so.
As to my personal property, I find it difficult to summarize my valuable personal assets. I understand.
My kitchen? My kitchen poses no problems. My kitchen? An electric self-cleaning oven, freezer/refrigerator, microwave, and dishwasher. My living room? A couch, chairs, dining room set, stereo, stereo cabinet, glass/wood display case, and teak chest/table. My bedroom: bed, computer, printer/copier, cds, clothing, books. Original price paid. Some were homemade. Others were purchased so many years ago that their original price is hard to ascertain. Current estimated value? This raises two questions. First, using a search engine, it is possible to approximate some concrete value of the goods. Second, what would the price be to replace the goods?
I do not wish any natural disaster test my statements. With that said, I find myself questioning what to consider worthy of replacement. I do not consider myself to be a materialistic person. I intend no self-aggrandizement.
Rather, what is most important to me? I confess I love clothing. It is not grand, no do I wear any specific piece of clothing to impress anyone--to be elevated to a higher class in society. My enjoyment of classic clothing is for the positive attitude with which it clothes my spirit. I love music. I do not purchase, and own cds in order to be a fan of a musical genre, or of a specific musician. My love of music soothes my soul--calms my spirit.
Books. Were something to take all of my books, there are many that I would not replace per se. How do I place a value on poetry books from my parents--Robert Frost, and a children's anthology book? How do I value a book from my paternal grandfather? My parents' World Book Encyclopedia set from the 1960s.
Pictures of my ancestors dating back to the early 1900s. Writing about my disabilities, research about my ancestors, correspondence from friends and family, and pictures taken throughout a lifetime. These are priceless. In the context of my family, friends, faith community, no prayer of safekeeping is appropriate.
Thank you. Rarely am I speechless to identify what is of value--what are gifts--to me. Yet, when trying to compare what may be replaced with what is priceless, I was left without a single word to enter on a spreadsheet.
The one gift--the one treasure--that I can put a price on is the electric wheelchair that spans the width of my hallway. When insured, she will transport me to destinations that I have forgotten during the past two years. I am grateful for the time and support that have moved me from fear to resistance, to acceptance, and excitement.
No homeowner's insurance, literally, may insure my family, my friends, my faith community. Faith--prayer--is the only "investment" that I may make toward preserving my loved ones, to the degree that I am able to do so.
As to my personal property, I find it difficult to summarize my valuable personal assets. I understand.
My kitchen? My kitchen poses no problems. My kitchen? An electric self-cleaning oven, freezer/refrigerator, microwave, and dishwasher. My living room? A couch, chairs, dining room set, stereo, stereo cabinet, glass/wood display case, and teak chest/table. My bedroom: bed, computer, printer/copier, cds, clothing, books. Original price paid. Some were homemade. Others were purchased so many years ago that their original price is hard to ascertain. Current estimated value? This raises two questions. First, using a search engine, it is possible to approximate some concrete value of the goods. Second, what would the price be to replace the goods?
I do not wish any natural disaster test my statements. With that said, I find myself questioning what to consider worthy of replacement. I do not consider myself to be a materialistic person. I intend no self-aggrandizement.
Rather, what is most important to me? I confess I love clothing. It is not grand, no do I wear any specific piece of clothing to impress anyone--to be elevated to a higher class in society. My enjoyment of classic clothing is for the positive attitude with which it clothes my spirit. I love music. I do not purchase, and own cds in order to be a fan of a musical genre, or of a specific musician. My love of music soothes my soul--calms my spirit.
Books. Were something to take all of my books, there are many that I would not replace per se. How do I place a value on poetry books from my parents--Robert Frost, and a children's anthology book? How do I value a book from my paternal grandfather? My parents' World Book Encyclopedia set from the 1960s.
Pictures of my ancestors dating back to the early 1900s. Writing about my disabilities, research about my ancestors, correspondence from friends and family, and pictures taken throughout a lifetime. These are priceless. In the context of my family, friends, faith community, no prayer of safekeeping is appropriate.
Thank you. Rarely am I speechless to identify what is of value--what are gifts--to me. Yet, when trying to compare what may be replaced with what is priceless, I was left without a single word to enter on a spreadsheet.
The one gift--the one treasure--that I can put a price on is the electric wheelchair that spans the width of my hallway. When insured, she will transport me to destinations that I have forgotten during the past two years. I am grateful for the time and support that have moved me from fear to resistance, to acceptance, and excitement.
Take Advantage of....Life...
Thinking about taking advantage of the many features on my new wheelchair leads me to understand take advantage of from an entirely new perspective.
I am still ambulatory. In coming days, I will be learning about the features of my new wheelchair. I forget. I am still ambulatory. In coming days, I will need to flesh out what features I do need now, and can use with practice. I am still ambulatory. I need to preserve what capacities I do have--my mind, my spirit, and my muscle tone. I am still ambulatory.
I do have physical needs that led me to face the prospect of getting a wheelchair. I am aging. My right ankle is on her last leg. I am aging. My left hip is making known the weight she has carried for a lifetime--accommodating to a shorter right leg. I am aging. My left hip deserves due respect for her service.
I am ambulatory, yet I do have physical needs. I need to take advantage of what features are helpful to me now--the chair itself, which relieves my right ankle of stress she cannot bear.
Wheelchairs were for old people. I am still ambulatory. Wheelchairs are for people whose speech is impaired.
My right ankle is on her last leg. I am still ambulatory. My left hip is weaker because of the undue burden she has shouldered for a lifetime. She did it without complaint for many years. Yet, she met her limit. She needed help. Take advantage of. How? An ankle foot orthotic. Is that enough? No. Take advantage of. What? What is available? Take advantage of. A wheelchair.
Take advantage of. I am still ambulatory.
The future? I may become immobile. Take advantage of. What? The wheelchair's headrim. I may become immobile. Take advantage of. I may become immobile. The seat elevation feature.
I am ambulatory. I am aging. I have physical needs.
There is far more of a difference in tense between taken advantage of, and take advantage of. One thrives on the vulnerability of an individual. While the other--take advantage of--thrives on making the fullest of the life--the precious gift--one is given.
I am still ambulatory. In coming days, I will be learning about the features of my new wheelchair. I forget. I am still ambulatory. In coming days, I will need to flesh out what features I do need now, and can use with practice. I am still ambulatory. I need to preserve what capacities I do have--my mind, my spirit, and my muscle tone. I am still ambulatory.
I do have physical needs that led me to face the prospect of getting a wheelchair. I am aging. My right ankle is on her last leg. I am aging. My left hip is making known the weight she has carried for a lifetime--accommodating to a shorter right leg. I am aging. My left hip deserves due respect for her service.
I am ambulatory, yet I do have physical needs. I need to take advantage of what features are helpful to me now--the chair itself, which relieves my right ankle of stress she cannot bear.
Wheelchairs were for old people. I am still ambulatory. Wheelchairs are for people whose speech is impaired.
My right ankle is on her last leg. I am still ambulatory. My left hip is weaker because of the undue burden she has shouldered for a lifetime. She did it without complaint for many years. Yet, she met her limit. She needed help. Take advantage of. How? An ankle foot orthotic. Is that enough? No. Take advantage of. What? What is available? Take advantage of. A wheelchair.
Take advantage of. I am still ambulatory.
The future? I may become immobile. Take advantage of. What? The wheelchair's headrim. I may become immobile. Take advantage of. I may become immobile. The seat elevation feature.
I am ambulatory. I am aging. I have physical needs.
There is far more of a difference in tense between taken advantage of, and take advantage of. One thrives on the vulnerability of an individual. While the other--take advantage of--thrives on making the fullest of the life--the precious gift--one is given.
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