I drive the 150 or so miles from home to home yesterday, traveling from where I now live to where I once did – to family and gatherings, to laughter and memories, to new rituals and old – whenever I take this drive, I am literally traveling into my own past – maybe that’s part of the problem – the present is not my past and thus cannot sustain my expectations, whatever they may be, for things are not the same nor should they be – I’m not so why would they be? But maybe that’s the thing – that I am not the same cries out for something to remain unchanged and what better terrain than my past – already written and rewritten long ago – but of course, it is not my past into which I travel – that trick of mind simply will not do and each change in the lay of the land chants change . . . change . . . change . . . and it, if not all, is well and for today, that will do.
Showing posts with label the past. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the past. Show all posts
Saturday, May 10, 2014
A Far Country
I drive the 150 or so miles from home to home yesterday, traveling from where I now live to where I once did – to family and gatherings, to laughter and memories, to new rituals and old – whenever I take this drive, I am literally traveling into my own past – maybe that’s part of the problem – the present is not my past and thus cannot sustain my expectations, whatever they may be, for things are not the same nor should they be – I’m not so why would they be? But maybe that’s the thing – that I am not the same cries out for something to remain unchanged and what better terrain than my past – already written and rewritten long ago – but of course, it is not my past into which I travel – that trick of mind simply will not do and each change in the lay of the land chants change . . . change . . . change . . . and it, if not all, is well and for today, that will do.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
What Shall I Carry Over Into 2014?
The practical things . . .
a home
a car to carry me from here to there
a telephone to carry our voices
food – we do not clean our cupboards come the new year – I wonder why
the computer – repository of so very much and so very little
the cat and candles
and me – for I am the same – mostly – today as yesterday
The necessary things . . .
love of and for
purpose
meaning
life
passion and compassion
curiosity
The longed-for things . . .
time with friends
surrounding laughter
embracing warmth
dreams
silence
a way to say the need-saying things
The things left behind making room for new things . . .
time wasted on past hurts past lies past time wasted
old dreams
stale bread – with regret, for I have no one to give it to, use it for
old grudges – I shall have to seek some new ones
the desire for how things might have been
heavy suitcases – this shall be a year of traveling light – or so I think
resolves – I shall either do or not do
a home
a car to carry me from here to there
a telephone to carry our voices
food – we do not clean our cupboards come the new year – I wonder why
the computer – repository of so very much and so very little
the cat and candles
and me – for I am the same – mostly – today as yesterday
The necessary things . . .
love of and for
purpose
meaning
life
passion and compassion
curiosity
The longed-for things . . .
time with friends
surrounding laughter
embracing warmth
dreams
silence
a way to say the need-saying things
The things left behind making room for new things . . .
time wasted on past hurts past lies past time wasted
old dreams
stale bread – with regret, for I have no one to give it to, use it for
old grudges – I shall have to seek some new ones
the desire for how things might have been
heavy suitcases – this shall be a year of traveling light – or so I think
resolves – I shall either do or not do
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Am I Who I Was?
Time passing inspires a bit of reflection on things and people gone by – it’s inevitable, isn’t it?
In my own case, I live in a slow land, so there’s a bit more time for reflecting. And of late, I’ve reconnected with folks from various stages in my own past – e-mail, FB, lunch get-togethers on a recent trip back home and even the forgetting of my fellow high-school classmates (who didn’t invite me to the reunion, forgetting that even though I have moved quite a bit, my mother still lives in the same house I lived in way back in high school) – all these connections draw me back to different stages in my life, from high school through seminary.
Most days, I’m not much of a look-back kind of gal. My kids remember details from our lives together that have long ago slipped my mind.
So it’s a rare treat and challenge to look back and see myself in the eyes and hearts of others with whom I was so bound once upon a time.
The question arises: am I who I was? And if not, who have I become?
Some answers are obvious; some obscure; some, I suspect, I’ll never know.
Some life lessons are apparent:
1. Nothing is forever. All those times, those epochs of my life, seemed at the time to be the endless horizon of what my life would be – but horizons are tricky things and every thing does pass away, sometimes with startling suddenness, just as often like the proverbial thief in the night, but slip away they do.
2. Things and people actually do change. We’re not the same – not as each other and not even as ourselves. There’s enough resemblance to connect, but change is integral to the body human.
3. For my own part, I am nicer than I used to be. Much. Which is not to say that I am nice – far from it. But it’s a journey and I’m good with that.
4. I wouldn’t go back even if I could.
5. It’s okay to be forgotten. I’m just not that important. And that too is okay with me.
Some lessons aren’t so obvious:
1. The child I was still inhabits this old-lady skin and she can take me by surprise sometimes – usually in a good way, but not always.
2. High school is nothing like real life. Never was, never will be.
3. We are our families and yet we are not. Mysterious, that.
4. Some people, as well as some things, are better left in the past.
5. The ever-shrinking list of those who were there, those with whom we share the memories, is, all by itself, a cause for sadness, as the ones who can know and understand the scrapbook of a life gets smaller and smaller. Telling is not the same as remembering. Sometimes you really did just have to be there.
Am I who I was?
Yes.
And no.
And that’s okay with me.
In my own case, I live in a slow land, so there’s a bit more time for reflecting. And of late, I’ve reconnected with folks from various stages in my own past – e-mail, FB, lunch get-togethers on a recent trip back home and even the forgetting of my fellow high-school classmates (who didn’t invite me to the reunion, forgetting that even though I have moved quite a bit, my mother still lives in the same house I lived in way back in high school) – all these connections draw me back to different stages in my life, from high school through seminary.
Most days, I’m not much of a look-back kind of gal. My kids remember details from our lives together that have long ago slipped my mind.
 |
| Me with Judge Handlan - early 1980's |
So it’s a rare treat and challenge to look back and see myself in the eyes and hearts of others with whom I was so bound once upon a time.
The question arises: am I who I was? And if not, who have I become?
Some answers are obvious; some obscure; some, I suspect, I’ll never know.
Some life lessons are apparent:
1. Nothing is forever. All those times, those epochs of my life, seemed at the time to be the endless horizon of what my life would be – but horizons are tricky things and every thing does pass away, sometimes with startling suddenness, just as often like the proverbial thief in the night, but slip away they do.
2. Things and people actually do change. We’re not the same – not as each other and not even as ourselves. There’s enough resemblance to connect, but change is integral to the body human.
3. For my own part, I am nicer than I used to be. Much. Which is not to say that I am nice – far from it. But it’s a journey and I’m good with that.
4. I wouldn’t go back even if I could.
5. It’s okay to be forgotten. I’m just not that important. And that too is okay with me.
Some lessons aren’t so obvious:
1. The child I was still inhabits this old-lady skin and she can take me by surprise sometimes – usually in a good way, but not always.
2. High school is nothing like real life. Never was, never will be.
3. We are our families and yet we are not. Mysterious, that.
4. Some people, as well as some things, are better left in the past.
5. The ever-shrinking list of those who were there, those with whom we share the memories, is, all by itself, a cause for sadness, as the ones who can know and understand the scrapbook of a life gets smaller and smaller. Telling is not the same as remembering. Sometimes you really did just have to be there.
Am I who I was?
Yes.
And no.
And that’s okay with me.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Sermon Cliff Note: Holding Fast & Letting Go
Archeologist Robin vanAuken writes of her vocation as being a ‘steward of the past’.
But not all that is past is created equal. Some is treasure. Some is trash. Context makes the difference.
How many of us have gone through the leavings of someone we loved after they died? How much of what they left behind did we keep? How much did we give away or toss away? Context matters. Their past is not ours.
In deciding what to keep, my Great-Aunt Virginia undoubtedly asked, “might I need this”? When I’m going through my dead Aunt Virginia’s papers, however, I do not ask whether she might have need of it. The question I ask is not about Aunt Virginia’s need; it’s about mine. And that shift in the question changes everything.
But what has that to do with stewarding the past? With what we of today are to keep from yesterday to carry in to tomorrow?
Everything.
It has to do with humility.
It has to do with care.
It has to do with understanding.
And it has to do with love.
Humility: some people of the past genuinely believed that the ownership of another human being was not only consistent with being a godly person, but it was so entrenched in their worldview that they genuinely believed the person over whom they claimed ‘ownership’ had a duty to be owned and not resist. We have to be humble about our understandings when it comes to things biblical. Sometimes we get it wrong. Seriously, harmfully, wrong. And almost always, our wrongness arises out of our certainties, out of our pride that we can know absolutely what God intends – not only for ourselves, but for others as well. Our certainties, especially when they concern what someone else should do, must be tempered with humility, with the simple realization that I might be wrong. Or those I revere who came before me might have been wrong. Their path need not be mine.
Care – as Christians, we have a duty of care. But care of whom? Of what? And to what end? In Luke 9.60, Jesus tells a young man whose father has died to leave the dead to themselves and come now. It’s cruel-sounding, this command not to even attend his own father’s funeral.
The call to the Christian is to be concerned with, to care about, the things which concern God. And when it comes to the work of this world, God makes it clear that God’s focus is on the living, not the dead – on the present and not the past.
We are to take care of Jesus’ message, yes. But it is for a purpose and not merely for its own sake. Church is not a cemetery. Nor is it a museum.
Jesus’ message is a living gospel proclaimed by living people to living people. It is a word from the past, but it is a word for the present.
If we preserve Jesus’ message perfectly but keep it under glass, we have killed it. The gospel is a living gospel or it is no gospel at all.
Understanding is necessary in order to have something worth proclaiming. Amidst my Aunt Virginia’s papers were coupons from the 1920's . . . her ledgers of the money she spent day-to-day . . . her bridge scores . . . and stock certificates.
It takes understanding to be able to tell the important from the unimportant . . . that worth preserving unto the next generations and that which can be cast away. Without understanding, one might keep the bridge scores and toss the certificates.
Understanding requires intentionality. It requires listening. It requires learning. It requires letting go of what we think, as if our opinions were our gospel, and being open to learn from others. It requires a teachable spirit, one willing to learn.
Finally, stewarding the past has to do with love – a love that embraces and values the one in need standing right before us as much as we do our memories of those who have gone before – and even more.
To be good stewards of the past challenges us to examine what to keep and what to throw away. And that requires from us large doses of humility, understanding, care and love.
Ultimately it requires that we surrender our own questions of the past and ask instead whether in the keeping or discarding we are about our Father’s business or our own. As church, the only business we have is our Father’s.
Amen.
But not all that is past is created equal. Some is treasure. Some is trash. Context makes the difference.
How many of us have gone through the leavings of someone we loved after they died? How much of what they left behind did we keep? How much did we give away or toss away? Context matters. Their past is not ours.
In deciding what to keep, my Great-Aunt Virginia undoubtedly asked, “might I need this”? When I’m going through my dead Aunt Virginia’s papers, however, I do not ask whether she might have need of it. The question I ask is not about Aunt Virginia’s need; it’s about mine. And that shift in the question changes everything.
But what has that to do with stewarding the past? With what we of today are to keep from yesterday to carry in to tomorrow?
Everything.
It has to do with humility.
It has to do with care.
It has to do with understanding.
And it has to do with love.
Humility: some people of the past genuinely believed that the ownership of another human being was not only consistent with being a godly person, but it was so entrenched in their worldview that they genuinely believed the person over whom they claimed ‘ownership’ had a duty to be owned and not resist. We have to be humble about our understandings when it comes to things biblical. Sometimes we get it wrong. Seriously, harmfully, wrong. And almost always, our wrongness arises out of our certainties, out of our pride that we can know absolutely what God intends – not only for ourselves, but for others as well. Our certainties, especially when they concern what someone else should do, must be tempered with humility, with the simple realization that I might be wrong. Or those I revere who came before me might have been wrong. Their path need not be mine.
Care – as Christians, we have a duty of care. But care of whom? Of what? And to what end? In Luke 9.60, Jesus tells a young man whose father has died to leave the dead to themselves and come now. It’s cruel-sounding, this command not to even attend his own father’s funeral.
The call to the Christian is to be concerned with, to care about, the things which concern God. And when it comes to the work of this world, God makes it clear that God’s focus is on the living, not the dead – on the present and not the past.
We are to take care of Jesus’ message, yes. But it is for a purpose and not merely for its own sake. Church is not a cemetery. Nor is it a museum.
Jesus’ message is a living gospel proclaimed by living people to living people. It is a word from the past, but it is a word for the present.
If we preserve Jesus’ message perfectly but keep it under glass, we have killed it. The gospel is a living gospel or it is no gospel at all.
Understanding is necessary in order to have something worth proclaiming. Amidst my Aunt Virginia’s papers were coupons from the 1920's . . . her ledgers of the money she spent day-to-day . . . her bridge scores . . . and stock certificates.
It takes understanding to be able to tell the important from the unimportant . . . that worth preserving unto the next generations and that which can be cast away. Without understanding, one might keep the bridge scores and toss the certificates.
Understanding requires intentionality. It requires listening. It requires learning. It requires letting go of what we think, as if our opinions were our gospel, and being open to learn from others. It requires a teachable spirit, one willing to learn.
Finally, stewarding the past has to do with love – a love that embraces and values the one in need standing right before us as much as we do our memories of those who have gone before – and even more.
To be good stewards of the past challenges us to examine what to keep and what to throw away. And that requires from us large doses of humility, understanding, care and love.
Ultimately it requires that we surrender our own questions of the past and ask instead whether in the keeping or discarding we are about our Father’s business or our own. As church, the only business we have is our Father’s.
Amen.
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