Monastery Retreat: Final Post

One Minute Review: UP

I took the girls to see Pixar's newest film, Up. The one minute review is on the Hajjpod Podcast. Check it out.


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The Fish

Yesterday, Memorial Day, I took the girls fishing. This is something they've been asking to do for a long time. We've never done it, partially because I didn't know where to take them.

That problem was solved by my good buddy J-- who took his boy down to Williamsport in Maury County where they have a fishing pond (16 acres) for kids 16 and under. So yesterday I took the girls to Academy where they bought their polls and then down to the pond. That was a long trip, about an hour.

We bought a $5 daily license and rented a boat for $8. Then we went onto the pond. It was pretty empty with few other groups on the shore and no one else on the water. In the future I will bring a rope and tie us up to a dock or something. I spent a great deal of energy just keeping us from being pulled to the far shore by the current. What kind of a pond has a serious current?

S-- didn't catch any fish, but she did catch me, the boat, her sister's hat, and my watch. E--, on the other hand, landed a 16-17 inch keeper. She was so excited. We pulled the fish out of the lake and put it in our cooler. She and her sister watched it, touched it, and talked about it. As soon as we got home, I cleaned it and cooked it for her. She ate it with gusto.

When the fish was dying in the cooler, E-- asked me if it was murder. I asked her what she had eaten for lunch, and she said "chicken nuggets." I told her that the difference between that chicken and this fish was that we never knew the chicken. Knowing the fish brings an appropriate sadness to eating it, as well as a deeper sense of our connection to the earth and thankfulness for God's good gifts. She seemed to buy that argument.

So, here are some pictures. First, E-- and S-- fishing, then E-- with her fish, and then E-- eating her fish. Enjoy.

Monastery Retreat, Post Six: Red Rock Chapel

There are two chapels at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. The first is the amazing adobe one they monk call “the Church.” Designed by a Japanese architect, Thomas Merton himself attended its grand opening and wrote eloquently about it.

The second is what I call the “red rock chapel.” If you leave the monastery grounds and walk for about a third of a mile or so, you might find a trail on your left. This trail leads up and up towards the surrounding mesas. If you took it, you would walk past blackened pine trees, dead of a pestilence that settled here a few years ago. You would also notice that the air is thin, and that you can’t move as quickly as you normally would.

Eventually, you would come to a stream. If you are fortunate, little or no water is running in it. This stream has cut a wide incision in the mesa, and it will be your trail now. Walking above the stream, or in it, the incision grows ever deeper and more narrow. Soon you are pressed in by tall, sheer rocks on either side. The walls are rust red and smooth. You do not want to be here if it begins to rain. Four times, you come upon huge boulders that block your path. They are stacked up, and are taller than you. These boulders must be climbed over, they can’t be gone around. You will either go over them, or you will turn back.

After these, you will be stepping from large rock to larger rock, picking your way up the stream. And then, there ahead and a bit to the right, you will see two shadows in the white rocky sides of the mesa. These are entrances. You can climb past them, but not up through them. If go around them, and you will find yourself near the mesa’s summit.

Of these entrances, the one on the right leads to a narrow passage that is fairly open to the sky, with three pools terraced one over the other. These are filled either with water or mud. You might prefer this place to the other. The other entrance, the one on the left, is my red rock chapel.

Its floor is narrow and sandy. It is perhaps 70 feet deep and ends in a cleft of boulders. If it were raining, you would be at the bottom of a violent waterfall. The walls of the chapel are sheer red rock, 40 feet high or so. Of course, it isn’t a “real” chapel. There are no crosses, no pews, no glass (stained or otherwise). But, for me, it is a place of worship.

So today I sat there, in the chapel. I lay down in the sand. I prayed. I sang to God, the Rock of my Salvation. I spent time quietly there, looking up past the crimson and orange walls to the slit of blue sky. I was deeply grateful.

You are not going to believe this

Behold. A song written by my friend J-- and his 8 year old boy. J-- is on the guitar, his 8 year old is on the drums. This song was done live, one take. Yes, they wrote it. And, yes, that is an 8 year old playing the drums. 8. You must listen.

The New iHajj Look

Hey all,

Welcome to the newly redesigned iHajj.net. If you are reading this on facebook (as all my posts get imported as notes there), you don't know what you are missing.

Gone is the three column look. Gone is the world of tiny fonts. Gone is the full-screen display. Behold the funky search bar, the easy-to-use top menu, and the huge lettering.

Tell me what you think!

The Meaning of Disability

I was recently interviewed for an academic study on the way various religious groups view disability. This is a particularly interesting area to me because my father lived with a disability throughout his life. Following is the first question I was asked, and my (cleaned up) verbatim response.

Question: Today, the first question that I would like you to respond to is what is your understanding of the purpose/meaning/significance of disability according to the teaching of your religion?

That’s a very good question. What I am about to say is not emotionally very satisfying but it is a sound theological answer. In Christianity, we believe that God made the world good and that God made all things well. But as a result of human sinfulness, direct human rebellion against God, all creation is now broken. A word that you sometimes hear Christians use is the word “fallen.”

This means that creation is broken, that sin has come into the world. When we say "sin," we don’t just mean moral problems or things people do that are unethical. We mean all forms of corruption. This corruption affects us ethically, but it even affects us physically.

Christians do not historically believe in a disconnect between spirit and body, even though you will find many Christians today who have a false understanding of their faith and believe there is a separation. The physical aspects of this world are just as corruptible as the spiritual or the ethical. All forms of physical corruption, all things that are not good, are evidence of the Fall. Things like tornadoes, diseases, cancers, that sort of thing, starvation, and then ultimately even problems in the genetic code of human beings. These come from the Fall.

So even genes have gone astray and have done things to the human being that God did not intend. These sometimes cause disability. And also there are accidents which cause people to be disabled, diseases that cause people to be disabled, things that come upon one later in life. We see these as evidence of the Fall, as evidence of the sinfulness of the fallen world.

We do not, however, this is important, we do not believe that disabilities are the result of the individual person’s own sin. In other words, a person is not born with, for instance, Down's Syndrome because they are sinners or because their parents were sinners, but because all humanity is in a fallen state. That’s the same thing for disease. We don’t believe that you have heart disease because you are a sinner, because God is punishing you.

The reason we don’t believe that God is punishing you is because of the Cross, that God in his body accepted all the punishment for humanity.

At the same time, there are disabilities that would be the result of your own sinfulness. For instance, you are driving a car 120 miles an hour, drunk, you run into a tree, you break your back and you can no longer use your legs. Okay, that’s the result of your own stupidity, your own sinfulness. But it is not in fact God’s punishment, it's just the natural result of your own choices.

I do understand that there are people who believe that disabilities are God given and I would disagree with that, I don’t believe that they are God given. Christians believe that human beings are resurrected, which means that our eternal life is a physical life as well as a spiritual life. And we believe that at the resurrection, our bodies will be perfect. I don’t believe that at the resurrection there will be people with cancer, or one arm, or M.S. I actually believe that every human being, even the people who do have those conditions today, will be made entirely whole. And, once again, this is the direct result of what the God-Man Jesus does for us on the Cross.

Finally, I would say that all pain in our life has the potentiality of directing us towards God. Any pain, whether it results from a temporary condition, heartbreak, a divorce or even a disability. This suffering has potential to cause us, and those who know us, to know God in a deeper way and to develop compassion, to share in the sufferings of Christ and therefore to advance in our relationship with the Lord. Of course, pain also has potential of driving us away from God. People have the option of taking pain as a reason to be angry with God and to disobey Him. That is not the purpose of our suffering.

One Minute Review: Angels and Demons

The One Minute Review of Angels and Demons is on the HajjPod Podcast. Before rushing out and spending $10 a ticket, take 60 seconds of your life and hear the review. Please.

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Monastery Retreat, Post Five: Weeds

Last week, I was on retreat at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert in northern New Mexico. While there, guests can not contact the outside world through any normal means. Therefore, one does not blog from the Monastery. However, I did take along my handy AlphaSmart NEO and did write several posts. I will be uploading these posts over the next several days in order to let you in on my retreat.

It is now my third day at the monastery. My days consist of services in the chapel, meals in silence in the refectory, long walks in the desert, and much prayer and reading.

I have been reading Brennan Manning's book "the Signature of Jesus." Every year I ask the Lord to show me a book through which he might speak to me, and many times Brennan Manning's books come with me. This one is like many of his others, spotty and rambling. But filled with deep insight and helpful in-my-face reminders of the love of Christ and the hard road of discipleship.

Today I awoke on my own at 5:20 am. Stirring so early probably has something to do with going to bed around 10 pm. There is really nothing to do here once the sun sets, and I am exhausted by the end of the day.

Getting up that early meant I made it to Lauds (the second service of the day), followed immediately by Mass. There are few moments of worship more beautiful than the Abbot standing near me, leading a quartet in a Latin chant to the Lord. And there are few moments of worship more irritating then watching Eucharist happen and knowing I am not invited. Watching only priests receive bread and wine while everyone else takes only the bread is also highly annoying. Oh well, comes with the territory.

Today I worked. Working is requested of all guests, and lasts about 4 hours. I presented myself with one other man, a deaconal candidate from a Catholic congregation named Pat. You never know what you will get with "work." My favorite is to mind the giftshop, which means I can browse and read. Today, though, I got my nightmare assignment. Not sweeping, moving things, cooking, or cleaning. Those would have been fine. No, I got weeding.

I hate weeding. And this was no ordinary weeding. There is a large cloister garden in which the monks have sown wildflowers. Well, now the place has been taken over by one particular flowering weed that they don't want. So, Pat and I were sent to remove these intruders. And there were tons of them. And we had to do it without stepping on all the good flowers that were trying to come up. It was back breaking.

I got to know Pat, which was nice. He is a retired electrical lineman, and is about to be made deacon. The father of three grown to almost grown boys, he is a native of this area. The only thing I didn't like about Pat is that he grew up, and still lives on, a farm. Therefore, he was twice as good at this weeding thing. His stacks of weeds kept dwarfing mine. I will say this for him, at some point he started just putting all the piles together. Perhaps he did it out of a sense of order, but I'm going to believe he was trying not to shame me.

I worked this morning instead of reading because a large part of Brennan Manning's word to me in this book has been about service. About looking outward and putting your faith into action. Early this morning, I read something like: "put down this book and go serve someone." So, I thought I had better comply.

Weeding was a good service for me. I prayed during it. I find it humbling, to the point of humiliating. My parents used to send me out to weed, and it was just about the worst thing I could imagine doing. That said, humility is an essential gift, one that I would prefer to choose for myself rather than have God press on me.

The great meal of the day happens after work. Boy was I ready for it. But I think I will talk about meals in the next post.

Monastery Retreat, Post Four: Reading

I brought one backpack on this retreat. Every physical thing I will need for these days is in that backpack. This is not a requirement of the monastery, the rental car, or the airline. This is my way to keep myself in the place of greatest simplicity.

I brought two books in that backpack: a Bible and Brennan Manning's "The Signature of Jesus." This is a book I have never read, but I will work through it while I am here.

I prefer to read outside, in the guesthouse courtyard. They used to have rustic leather and wooden chairs by each door. These have been replaced by big plastic adirondack style chairs. They are not nearly as attractive, in fact they are quite out of place. But they are much easier to sit in.

As I read, I underline things. I write in the margins. I also write in the small notebook that sits beside me.

Here are some of the things I have written down as I read Manning's book this morning. Some are quotes, some are thoughts.

• I am a word from God. God utters no false word.
• What Jesus longs to see in radical disciples is what he saw in little children: a spirit of sheer receptivity, utter dependence, and radical reliance on the power and mercy and grace of God mediated through Jesus Christ.
• "Father, do with me whatever you want." --Charles de Foucauld
• The essence of faith may be to be convinced of the reliability of God.
• The question is not "is Jesus like God?", but "is God like Jesus?"
• God gave you as a gift to himself.
  

After I read for a while, I went inside and engaged in Lectio Divina. My Lectio came from 2nd Samuel chapter 22, a chapter I was led to by the Spirit. I wrote down the phrases that most jumped out at me, and meditated upon them. Here is what I wrote:

The Lord is my rock
and my fortress and my deliverer
My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge . . .
For who is God
but YHWH?
And who is a rock
except our God? . . .
The Lord lives.
Blessed by my rock.
Exalted be my God,
the rock of my salvation.

When one is so surrounded by rocks of all sizes and colors, these words come into sharp focus. When I can look up and see rocks that could crush a man, and rocks that could crush a house, and even small rocks that could kill Goliath, these words have deep meaning.

Monastery Retreat, Post Three: From Cathedral to Abbey

The Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi is the dominant feature of downtown Santa Fe. Its Romanesque towers, Stations of the Cross, side chapels, and San Damiano crucifix serve as a spiritual touchstone for me. I have rarely attended Mass at the Cathedral, but I have never passed through Santa Fe without taking a moment to pray under its vaulted ceiling.

Currently, the interiors of the Cathedral are being repainted. The original colors--bright and vibrant--are being restored. It is a wonderful thing to see this old lady being brought back to a youthful vibrancy under the skilled labor of the men on the scaffolds.

I love the baptismal font, a living water font found in the midst of the nave. There is a sign nearby that asks visitors not to toss coins into the it. This is an indication of the type of font it is, and a sad comment on the lack of religious intelligence on the part of the general public.

I light a candle, as I often do, and remember my wife and children from whom my journey separates me. I pray, I sit in silence. After a time, I depart through a side door.

There are several places I like to go in Santa Fe, and I hit most of them. But soon it is time to get on the road.

My journey takes me north of Santa Fe to Espanola (the world’s longest town, my father used to call it). I follow 84 on north and west towards Abiquiu. As I travel on, the elevation continues to increase, as does the beauty of the landscape. I don’t drive through mountains, but through soaring mesas. I am in the high desert.

I pass through the small town of Abiquiu, up to a great reservoir, and finally passed the conference center called “Ghost Ranch.” 15 miles from the nearest town, I turn on a practically unmarked dirt road. I drive on this road for 13 miles more, never going faster than 30 miles per hour. The road winds alongside the Chama river until, at last, it dead ends at the Monastery.

As I drove, I noticed the birds. Birds everywhere, especially on the dirt road. Small birds, large ones like ravens and geese and hawks. The flew beside me, darted around me. I felt like I was under special escort by these wonderful creatures.

I listened to music. I made a special playlist for the trip, put it on shuffle, and was glad that the perfect songs seemed to come up at the perfect moments. I like to listen to songs that I have listened to on past pilgrimages, as well as add new ones. I listen for themes that God might be bringing to my spirit. The thing I keep hearing is the phrase or idea "faith as a child."

Finally driving up to the great wooden sign that welcomes me to the Monastery and wishes me Peace, I get out of the car and give it a kiss. I make my way to the Guesthouse, easily find my room, put away my things, call my lovely wife on the Satellite phone I rent for such excursions, and proceed to Vespers in the church. My physical journey is complete, but I sense a spiritual journey has only begun.

Monastery Retreat, Post Two: The Shed

Last week, I was on retreat at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert in northern New Mexico. While there, guests can not contact the outside world through any normal means. Therefore, one does not blog from the Monastery. However, I did take along my handy AlphaSmart NEO and did write several posts. I will be uploading these posts over the next several days in order to let you in on my retreat.

Post Two

It is Tuesday Morning and I am sitting in my guest cell. I had a pleasant and mainly uneventful trip into the monastery yesterday.

I rented a car, and was given the apex if such vehicles: a brand new white PT Cruiser. I asked the lady at the agency what they were going to do now that the PT Cruiser was going out of production. She gave me a quizzical look. Guess she didn't get it.

In Santa Fe, I was fortunate to find a parking meter. A truck was just leaving, and I nabbed it. Parking in Santa Fe is not unlike parking in Manhattan. There are garages, but they are overpriced and take forever to get in and out of. Then there are parking meters, not nearly as overpriced, but rare, always filled, and somewhat adventurous to park in.

I slipped into my spot easily enough, and then realized I had no change to feed the meter. So I went into a little touristy shop nearby to ask if I could break a dollar. The man behind the counter had the bearing of most art gallery keepers in Santa Fe. He was an artist, damn it, and just because he is working in this store doesn't mean he shouldn't be treated like the magnificent genius that he is. He refused to break my dollar, bus was kind enough to tell me there was a bank three blocks away.

I stepped back from the counter and looked around the store. Painted tiles of pueblos and chili, various Mexican handcrafts, incense. Then I spotted the postcard rack. I grabbed the first one I saw and walked back to the counter. As I stepped up, another man appeared. I put down the postcard, gave him a five, and asked if he wouldn't mind giving back a couple of those dollars back in change. He said 'no problem,' and I watched my artist friend's face as he counted back my coins. He sneered, and I gave him a big ole' grin.

I ate lunch at my favorite restaurant in this state, the Shed. The food is both unique and tasty, the decor is funky, the service friendly, and the prices high. I love the Shed mainly because of memories. It was the place where my family and I would always eat lunch when we came to Santa Fe.

I so enjoy seeing the paintings on the walls, some of which have been there since I came as a kid. I think of the Indian women who used to come in during lunch and sell their jewelry from table to table. I think of my dad who one time accidentally talked one of them down to $200 on a gorgeous necklace, and then gave her $300 instead since he felt it was more fair. Paying a fair price, even if it means paying more. That's a lesson he taught me, even without meaning to.

After lunch, it was time to visit the cathedral church of St. Francis. But more on that later.

Monastery Retreat, Post One

Last week, I was on retreat at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert in northern New Mexico. While there, guests can not contact the outside world through any normal means. Therefore, one does not blog from the Monastery. However, I did take along my handy AlphaSmart NEO and did write several posts. I will be uploading these posts over the next several days in order to let you in on my retreat.

Post One

I awoke before my alarm. 5:40 am, Monday, May 3rd. I prayed. God has given me this time, and I gave it back to him. I prayed that he would forgive me my many sins, that he would purify me and strengthen me. I prayed that I would return safely.

Sometimes I take this journey with a companion. The last two years I have been to the Monastery with a friend. This year, Christ is my companion alone. I felt that this should be the way of things. My prayer usually is that he would be my companion. This morning, I prayed that I would be his companion. That he would lead and I would follow.

I gave to him all my expectations, all my anticipations. I elect to know nothing but Christ crucified.

I prayed that he might open my mouth, my eyes, my ears, my heart. That he might say to me "ephatha!" I prayed sincerely the old words, that on this journey I would see him more clearly, follow him more nearly, and love him more dearly.

I kissed L-- and E-- goodbye, deciding not to awaken S--. I love them so.

Now I am in the airplane on the way to Dallas. I have been listening to inspiring music on my iPod. I am grateful for it, and for the water and orange juice that the attendant brought. I am grateful that I am on the aisle and the seat next to me is open.

I go with gratitude.

One Minute Review: Star Trek

This should come as no surprise: I have always loved Star Trek. The original series, Next Generation, and Voyager especially. Yes, some of the movies were terrible. But Wrath of Khan? First Contact? I'm all in.

I love J.J. Abrams. Alias, Lost, Fringe, Mission Impossible III. That Bad Robot gets me every time. Well, not every time. Cloverfield made me want to puke. In more ways than one.

So, you put J.J. Abrams, Star Trek, and Sylar from Heroes into the same movie? Could be amazing, or a big pile of space dung. Did I like it, love it, or loathe it? I guess you'll just have to listen to the One Minute Review to find out.

Happy Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day. I am thankful to live with the most amazing mother I know. So, I want to publicly say that she is awesome as both wife and mom. L--, you're the best.

Also, I'm grateful for my own mother, and for my sister who is a mother as well. They are truly special women.

Happy Mother's Day! to all the moms I know, and to all moms who read this. And if you have a mom or know one, you'd better get about the happy business of celebrating her today.

In the Desert

I go into the desert every year. I have a tradition of taking one week a year and going on retreat to the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. This is that week.

Taking the trip to the desert is a spiritual pilgrimage for me. I have a specific way of doing things, places I go, things I do and don't bring. While at the monastery, I do my best to engage in the pattern of the monks. Worship, prayer, work, rest--all following the Rule of St. Benedict.

I have been to many monasteries and stayed in a few. Of them all, I have never found a place that speaks to my soul as deeply as does Christ in the Desert. It is completely removed from society, miles and miles and miles from its nearest neighbor. It is off the grid, isolated, austere. It is a place of deep reverence. Of all the places I go in any given year, it is the place I am most likely to hear the voice of God, the voice of the Devil, and the voice of my inner self. I must go without expectations, in part because my expectations are always violated.

Sometimes I go with a friend; this year I go with Christ alone. I believe that this is a good time for that. I am looking forward to this trip, and there is part of me that can't believe the time is here again.

I will miss my wife and kids, and will stay in contact with them. They are my heart.

If you have a moment, pray for me. Pray for safety, but pray most that I may know God. I will see many of you again this Sunday morning.

8

Today, our younger daughter turns 8. Workers around the world celebrate this day by marching in the streets. Or taking of work and drinking beer. Somewhere in England, women in white dance around maypoles in her honor. And here in America, we go to Chuck E. Cheese's. Happy Birthday, S--!