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Trust and Faith

9/23/2015

Do you remember when you first lost your trust?

Maybe your mom berated you in front of your friends or your dad didn’t show up for.....anything.  Maybe your sister teased you about the “potholes” on your face or your brother beat you up.....again.  Maybe you told your best friend an intimate secret and found that secret “all over school.”  Or worse, maybe your uncle touched you in a wrong place and somehow you couldn’t or wouldn’t tell someone.

Possibly you can’t remember the circumstances but can remember the sense of pain, violation, and surprise often associated.  This was true of me--I just remember I was around 6, it had to do with my mother and a reprimand, and I somehow felt betrayed by the person I had worshipped up to that point.  How could she?

These experiences are devastating because trust is so important.  Webster’s dictionary defines trust as a “basis for reliance, faith, or hope,” and we are born needing and wanting to trust we will taken care of and loved.  Trust is also the essence of the spiritual life, where we have the vulnerability to “let go and let God” because we trust He will be there for us.

No wonder we’re left reeling when this trust gets ruptured.  And when it does we’re left with a question: what happens next?  For some, the experience is hurtful but leaves a small scar, becoming an isolated experience outweighed by mostly positives with their family and friends.  But for others the rupture evolves into a breach, as betrayal after betrayal wears down the hopeful heart and distrust becomes the norm.

Breaches lead to self-protection which can lead to a vow: “I’m going to shut down and not let anyone hurt me again.”  There is power in such a vow, a way to take control in an uncontrollable environment.  Children aren’t equipped to sort out painful experiences and closing the floodgates may be the best decision at the time.

But as our life moves on the cure becomes the disease when battening down the emotional hatches becomes the default setting.  We are programmed to pull away and protect ourselves in our relationships and have trouble getting close.  True intimacy is then replaced by coping mechanisms and role adaptations as the substitutes for trust replace trust itself.

When we’re born to trust and hardwired to mistrust, when we want to let go but need to hold on, we are in conflict.  And with a bit of courage we look for a solution: Therapy?  God?  Both? Involving God is usually a good starting point but many harbor grudges, wondering where He was when their spirit was being broken.

This is where faith comes in, both in God and in the possibility of trusting again.  For some it may feel like a leap: I have no reason to trust but I sense the need so I’ll try.  Others have had glimpses of either God’s provision or of life before their trust went south and decide to take a risk.  For most the gravitation to faith involves the acknowledgement of the Roman soldier: “I believe--help me with my unbelief.”

This is certainly the paradox I’ve experienced as I’ve spent a lifetime sorting through the breach I felt and the vow I took.  For years I had anger at the protective side of me that seemed to set up roadblocks every time I wanted closeness.  But more recently I’ve replaced the anger with a conversation, thanking this protector for wanting to shield me but seeing if we can focus on a new set of priorities.

Over the years I’ve also gained perspective on how to turn my weaknesses with trust into a strength.  Sometimes those with an abundance of trust can become complacent in seeking God; my fears and pain in this area have possibly made me more hungry, not to mention more empathetic to those who struggle like myself.

And the Hound of Heaven has done His work, helping me with perspective and slowly but surely helping me grieve and move on.  He indeed was there when my spirit was broken, and has been there throughout the healing process.  Mistrust to trust is an arduous journey, but with faith in God and the possibility of change, we can move past painful memories and open our hearts anew.

5 Comments

Scout's Honor

8/1/2015

4 Comments

When you think of Boy Scouts, what comes to mind?  Discussions about the inclusion of gay leaders?  Ambivalent childhood experiences?  And how about Girl Scouts?  Cookies?  An idyllic of a fresh-faced girl in a green outfit dripping with eagerness and sincerity?

When I think about Scouts, I think about values, and how they’re seen in today’s world.  “Timeless Values” is a phrase written on a recent Boy Scout Logo and values are at the forefront of what Scouts are about.  These are encapsulated for Boy Scouts in a Scout Oath, a Scout Motto ("Be prepared"), a Scout Slogan ("Do a good turn daily"), and even a Scout Law.

Are values a good thing?  I think most would say they are, but many moderns might question the timeless part, the part where “tried and true” values and beliefs are handed down “blindly” from generation to generation.  Isn’t teaching historic values to youth a way to usurp their freedom, a way to keep them from deciding for themselves what is right and wrong?  Isn’t that why “value free education” has become a staple of our school systems?

Indeed in the present zeitgeist, Scouts and all their mottos and slogans can be seen anachronistically, a quaint holdover from the past.  Kudos can be given for their hard work and discipline, but all this lofty language just ladens these poor kids with time bound prejudices and unrealistic expectations.  And what about all the guilt they feel for not measuring up?

I was a Boy Scout once and not a very good one, inconsistent in going to meetings and quitting after about a year and a half.  It’s been about 50 years so my memories are hazy, but something remained clear--I had/have memorized the Scout Law.  When I now write that a Boy Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent, I didn’t cut and paste this from the internet--it has stayed with me.

Why?  Certainly rote memorization is involved, but there also seems to be something about these attributes that caused me to internalize them.  For possible understanding, I’ve decided to take a look at this defining dozen:

Trustworthy
To be worthy of trust, a high calling indeed.  Most people have trouble trusting today, and if you’re the person I can lay down my defenses with, you’re worth your weight in gold.

Loyal
I’m in--come what may.  Not a fairweather friend, not a Johnny come-lately; I am there for you now and will be there for you in the future.

Helpful
What can I do for you?  Help you move, babysit your kids, hear your story?  We all need help; we all need helpers.

Friendly
More than niceness, but that too.  I’m bringing the care and calm and consistency of a friend to our interaction and want you to benefit from it.

Courteous
Defined as being “polite, respectful and considerate in manner.”  All people, all ages, all backgrounds, get treated like the images of God they are.

Kind
A soft word that has a strength about it.  Often associated with the word benevolence, a disposition to do good.

Obedient
An eyes wide open doing what is asked or needed without hesitation.

Cheerful
Upbeat and beyond.  Bringing a mood to any interaction which adds, not subtracts.

Thrifty
Thriftiness is saying I’ll get the most out of the least.  We’re not talking miserly and cheap; we’re talking being a good steward of what we have.

Brave
Courage in the midst of fear.  I may be scared, I may be disheartened, but I’ll still step up to the plate.

Clean
Next to Godliness or not, cleanliness has a baptismal quality to it, to be washed anew.  To be clean we need to remove the dirt, literally and figuratively, to get to what’s there.

Reverent
To revere something bigger than ourselves.  I bring an attitude of humility and sincerity to my life and relationships when I keep a perspective of always    looking up.

Hmmm--pretty cool.  Certainly these are my takes on these virtues, but I think they are staying with the spirit of the Scouts that embraced them.

Do the Scouts and their leaders consistently live up to all these lofty principles?  I imagine not.  But the fact that they sometimes miss the mark calls to mind G. K. Chesterton’s famous line about Christianity: It “hasn’t been tried and found wanting: it has been found difficult and left untried.”  At least the Scouts are giving it a shot, involved in an organization that believes in these principles, showcases them, and in essence is them.

Do “timeless values” need to be redefined to each generation?  Of course they do.  Modern principles of empowerment and cross-cultural awareness can and should be a part of the Scouts of today.  And progress is indeed being made: a look at a recent Girl Scout website shows fresh-faced girls in green outfits who kick butt.

But working at redefining timeless values seems to me a better idea than always thinking we need to reinvent them.  Recently 12 year old Boy Scout Thomas McNally saved his choking mother’s life in Long Island, New York soon after getting a merit badge for learning the Heimlich Manuever.  He was quoted as saying: “I’m just doing what you’re supposed to do.”  I imagine he got his “supposed to” along with his Heimlich from the Scouts, and not only his mom is blessed by this attitude.

4 Comments

Vince Lombardo

7/31/2015

14 Comments

No, this title is not a typo.

Yes, the photo on the left is of Vince Lombardi, the famous football coach of the Green Bay Packers.  And yes, I will be referring to Coach Lombardi in this blog.  But the subject of this writing is Vince Lombardo, my grammar school coach and teacher who had as much influence on my life as any player Coach Lombardi coached.

A block and a half walk from my home in Pacific Palisades, California was Corpus Christi Parish and School, across the street from the Palisades Park.  This configuration of school, church, and park formed the epicenter of my youth in the 1960‘s (I started in the K-8 school in 1960 at the age of 4 and left in 1969 at 13), and if I wasn’t home eating meals or sleeping I was probably in one of these 3 places.

My predictable (and womblike) environment got stirred a bit with the coming of 7th grade when the school started treating us as young adults--we actually started changing classrooms and moving from teacher to teacher for different subjects!  But most importantly the start of my 7th grade year heralded the coming of Vince Lombardo, a dynamo of a coach and teacher who was going to Loyola Law School downtown and looking for a few extra bucks to afford school and marry his fiancee Linda.

Some might go through the motions in this transitory position but not Mr. Lombardo (which we respectfully called him)--he seemed to embrace just about everything about the school and us.  With dark Italian features, large eyes, and a friendly smile, he was both intense and approachable; any incongruity was between his size (small) and force of personality (vast).  He also had the gift of gab, a feature he used to complement, motivate, and assuage the ill at ease (say Mother Celine for example).

My first memories of The Coming of Vince were his work as coach, where he quickly got involved with the boy’s football, basketball, and baseball teams.  Grammar school coaches in the sixties were usually glorified managers but Coach Lombardo was giving us sophisticated offenses and defenses and participating himself in practices as a quarterback or guard.  With all this hands-on care and direction we quickly became successful in both our CYO league and play-off games, giving Corpus Christi a source of pride and us a sense of accomplishment.

For me personally growing up, sports was a salvation.  A naturally shy kid whose insecurity was embellished by the fact I was a year younger than most of my classmates, I’ll never forget the day in 4th grade when I surprisingly won a class vs. class running race and seemed to simultaneously locate a sense of self.  When Coach Lombardo embraced my sports abilities on these successful teams this self-esteem was renewed, along with a burgeoning school popularity.

Playing for a coach that believes in you can be heart candy for a young adolescent, and my hero worship for Mr. Lombardo knew few bounds.  I also saw him as a father figure--my dad at that time was loving but often missing (physically and emotionally), and when Mr. Lombardo showed some attention it helped fill the vacuum.

Vince was also our history teacher, and he taught the subject like he coached sports, aggressively and enthusiastically.  Beyond the facts were the narrative, him telling stories and stories about stories, often about American Presidents and other historical figures he liked.  Tolstoy may have decried the great man theory of history but Mr Lombardo didn’t--his favorite president was James K. Polk, a man of action and “manifest destiny.”  Agree, disagree, whatever; all of it was far more interesting than memorizing a bunch of dates.

Beyond the lessons learned from him as coach and teacher were the life lessons he taught to these young teenagers finding their way.  You would find yourself watching him--how he treated his fiancee and other teachers, how reverent he was at Mass, how he dealt with complainers and deifiers (like me).  And as you learned and gained respect for him you wanted him to respect you  in return and most of all, like you.

Every school seems to have a Vince Lombardo, some transcendent teacher and coach who helps you find yourself and set your course.  Thank God.  And I thank God for Vince, my guy at my school, who has influenced my life in innumerable ways since he appeared like a comet during my 7th and 8th grade years.  More than just the fact I majored in history in college and have been a college coach in tennis--my interests, my mannerisms, the way I deal with other men--all can be traced back to Mr. Lombardo at Corpus Christi.

He of course married Linda and started a family, and after influencing others for years at the school he left to start a successful law practice, with many of his clients those he had coached or taught. For several years after he kept in touch with his weekly basketball game on campus, where the vertically challenged Vince could be seen backing into the post and launching his Lombardo “2 Surprises Hook Shot,” the first being the shot wasn’t blocked and the second that it actually went in.

An old joke with Vince Lombardi was that his wife and he were in bed during a winter in Green Bay and she said “God, your feet are cold.”  Of which he replied: “You can call me Vince.”  Recently when my Therapist Supervisor asked me what image best described my relationship with God, I spontaneously answered “Coach,” meaning someone who both cared for you but also wanted you to do your best.  I learned that from Vince Lombardo, who like the other Vince certainly wasn’t God but was a Messenger to young men like me when they needed it most.

14 Comments

Braces

7/24/2015

7 Comments

I am turning 60 in January, and in doing so face a series of existential questions.  Am I doing all I can to prepare emotionally, intellectually and spiritually for my future death?  Is my financial house in order, with my will and estate thoughtfully planned?  And of course most importantly: should I be getting braces?

Those who think the latter question pales in significance obviously haven’t witnessed my choppers from hell.  To say my teeth are merely crooked and yellow is an injustice to the negativity.  And the culprits aren’t just a few upper incisors: I have my own oral Civil War going on, with the North and South waging a fierce battle for Quien Es Mas Squaloros.

And my masticaters aren’t just disgusting in a vacuum, they put a damper on my whole face.   Presently my mug is an amalgam of counterbalances, with the massive nose offset by the deep set eyes and fullish lips.  But just when the facial scales start tipping to the positive (the strongish chin, sexyish cleft, cuteish dimples), the terrible teeth invade the equation, careening my overall from an 8 to a 5.

But with the miracles of modern science (braces, surgery, boatloads of whitening stuff), I could quantum leap back to the 8 I had before teething.  No more traumatizing the viewing public every time my lips part.  No more slamming my mouth shut when my picture is taken.  The question shouldn’t be should I, it should be why didn’t I before?

So why do I hesitate?  Part of it is alluding to my first existential question: isn’t there just something spiritually suspect about trying to look younger when I’m getting older?  Is getting “work done on my face” at the age of 60 raging against the dying of the light or merely an avoidance of the need to face and embrace my mortality?  Do I really want to get all dressed up with nowhere to go?

And more importantly, let’s say I do successfully surgerize and peroxide my way into some pearly whites--do I really want my teeth to go from poor stepchild to star of the show?   People could still be distracted from my sexyish cleft.  And let’s not forget the cosmetic slippery slope--I start pulling the trigger on fixing my teeth and soon I’ll be getting a hairpiece, tummy tuck and breast augmentation.

Then there’s the money/estate deal.  Sure I’m a bit ahead financially (after marrying and inheriting well), but I need to remember the inscription on my parent’s pillow in their den: “Money isn’t everything but it does keep the children in touch.”  I start doling out dough for braces and breasts and before you know it my daughter doesn’t call and I have grandchildren living on the street.

Obviously I need some perspective, and as I often do when decisions arise, I look to the lessons of history.  Certainly great men and women lived and died for centuries without changing their appearance when they aged. Then again Tom Cruise re-did his teeth and did Mission: Impossible III; George Washington kept his lousy teeth and only had two terms in office.

So maybe embracing braces is the way to go.  I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, and even  when my teeth can’t chew they should still be able to sparkle.  And if I happen to spend a little too much in the process, I’ll at least insist on an open casket where mourners and orthodontists alike can appreciate the handiwork.

7 Comments

Forevermore

7/7/2015

2 Comments

I just can’t help myself.

I know, I know: thinking about heaven is a no no in today’s world.  We’re all about mindfulness, being in the moment, focusing on the here and now.  I mean c’mon: isn’t now all we have, all we are responsible for, and all we need?

So my bad here.   It’s just that I find myself, especially as I’m getting older, yearning for something more, something that seems both in and out of my grasp.  And this yearning seems more than conjecturing, more than some kind of extended wish fulfillment, something that is simply beyond.

Sorry--sidetracked again.  I’m sure it makes sense that focusing on some nebulous afterlife is a form of escapism.  Feeling stressed out?  Daydream about stresslessness.  Existential unhappiness?  Think pie in the sky.

But to be honest, my thoughts about heaven don’t always gravitate to the grooviness.  Sometimes eternal bliss just sounds a little boring.  We’re talking forever here, and a gazillion times a gazillion years is a long time to hang out.  What are we going to do: sit around singing hymns all day?

But there’s a part of me that really believes God knows how to party.  Maybe we’ll do extensive traveling around the extensive universe.  Or maybe we’ll consider the universe in a drop of water, if there is any.  Maybe we’ll get insight into why God used Tammy Faye Baker to spread His Gospel for so many years.  Or most incredibly, why He’s used me.

There I go again!  What a digressor!  And the reality is you’re preaching to the choir to us Christians on the living for now deal--the Bible pretty much commands it, for God’s sake.  We’re familiar with the Old Testament story of manna only for the day and the New Testament daily emphasis for “tomorrow has enough troubles of its own.”   We’re taught that the past is forgiven, the future is in God’s hands, and that the present is where we should set our attention.

So don’t worry--I’m a believer.  It’s just that at times my head along with my heart gets in the way.  Part of it is a do the math deal: if indeed there is even a possibility we are going to live for eternity (the aforementioned gazillion x a gazillion years), then putting all our eggs into this timespan on earth basket seems a wee bit.......short-sighted.

But when I’m distracted like this, I think of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who in his book Finding Flow proves that he’s more than just a guy with the world record for most syllables and consonants in a name.  He takes Pascal’s Wager on the existence of God and heaven (“if you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing.”) and turns it on its head, saying “when in doubt, the best strategy is to assume that these seventy or so years are our only chance to experience the cosmos, and we should make the fullest of it.”

He’s our guy.  But just when I’m ready for full conversion, a few pesky “what if’s” crop up for me.  Sure being “in the moment” is great, but what if what we need more is perspective, something bigger than ourselves and our world at any given time or time period?  Certainly people can be lost in the moment along with found, be a slave to the moment along with feeling freedom.

And then there’s the biggest “what if,” as in what if we as people weren’t made for now and wondering about heaven but made for heaven and wondering about now?  What if this moment and this period and this life were just a season of sojourning?  Could it be going to heaven isn’t leaving home but going home?

Whoa--at it again.  Maybe all my digressions are telling me to embrace my agnowsticism.  Not that I don’t think now is important, but I just get the sense that the ultimate mindfulness is thinking about (and yearning for) heaven.

2 Comments

Wonderland

7/6/2015

3 Comments

Corey has a decision to make.

Ever since reaching puberty, Corey had struggled with her weight.  At first she tried to accept the extra pounds, but a few searing “lard face” comments from schoolmates left her increasingly self-conscious.  This self-consciousness multiplied after her second pregnancy, when her weight started to balloon and wasn’t coming off.  By the time she reached middle age she was more than 100 pounds overweight, labeled with that subtle phrase MORBIDLY OBESE.

Although Corey’s husband seemed to accept her and she knew intellectually “she wasn’t her weight,” she often felt lousy about herself.  Sometimes she felt invisible, as when co-workers didn’t seem to notice her and she was passed over for promotions.  Sometimes she wasn’t invisible enough, as she felt judgmental eyes on her when walking in public.  At times she felt embarrassed; at times outright shame.

Not that Corey took these weight challenges lying down.  She had tried “every diet ever conceived,” estimating she’d lost more than three hundred pounds in her life.  She had read books, attended seminars, and exercised whenever possible.  But somehow the weight always seemed to come back, and often with a vengeance.

Corey is now approaching 50 and the ramifications of carrying the extra weight is starting to wreak havoc.  She is now pre-diabetic, and her blood pressure is up.  Her joints ache, her back hurts, and she has chronic pain in one of her knees.  To counteract this, she doubles down on her diets, trying out all the latest weight loss fads but coming out with the same results.

At her wits’ end, Corey considers weight loss surgery after seeing a few newspaper ads and watching an episode of Oprah.  She does her due diligence, researching the various weight loss options online.  She wrestles with the idea, seeing the pros and cons, and tries to envision herself doing what she first considers a drastic measure.

But as she gets ready to embrace the idea, she is surprised and put off by a few family members and co-workers who thinks she’s making a mistake.  “Isn’t surgery an easy way out? Where’s your willpower?  She also notices the most vociferous objectors tend to have weight issues of their own.

She goes back and forth until one day she has an aha moment when taking her two year old granddaughter to an amusement park.  After waiting 20 minutes for the ferris wheel she can’t fit in the seat and her granddaughter’s look of disappointment scorches her soul.  “That’s it,” she thinks.  “This isn’t about others and their opinions, this is about me and my health and those I love.”

The next morning she calls Puget Sound Bariatric Center, which offers surgery options such as the Gastric Bypass and LAP-BAND but specializes in the popular LapSleeve, where 80-85% of the patient’s stomach is removed.  To help make this surgery a success the Center also specializes in comprehensive before and aftercare, which includes multiple visits with the surgeons, nutritionists, exercise physiologists and psychotherapists.

I am privileged to be one of the latter at Puget Sound, and my initial contact with Corey comes with a psychological assessment we do with each of our patients.  I ask her about her personal and family background, looking for indicators such as abuse and trauma and other possible precursors for weight gain.  Since Corey has never seen a therapist before, she finds these questions challenging but does her best to answer.  I also reiterate that the surgery is a tool more than a quick fix, that a lifestyle change will be needed for her to be successful.

Part of the goal of the intake is to get a sense of why the weight was gained in the first place.
Certainly genetic factors come into play with weight challenges, but environmental/psychological factors can also be important.  We want to know what our patients gain by gaining weight (Safety? Protection from unwanted relationships and responsibilities?).  We want to know how trauma has affected their lives (Low self-esteem?  Need to self-sabotage?).

In Corey’s case her unsettled family (her parents divorced when she was 10) coupled with the weight problems with her early onset puberty left her searching for ways to ease the inner turmoil.  At this point food became both her problem and her solution, her way to self-medicate and cope with life.  This continued as her life progressed, as almost any life challenge triggered her eating.  Bored?  Eat.  Anxious?  Eat.  Angry?  Eat.  With all the “payoffs” from this emotional/comfort eating, you can see why Corey says she’s addicted to food.

So Corey has the surgery, not only to lose weight and keep it off, but to establish a new relationship with food.  And that she does, but after a few months she finds herself spending a boatload of money on online shopping, and thinks there’s more to it than just outfitting her shrinking physique.  In a follow-up session I reiterate the idea of transference addiction (we had talked about it earlier), where people will look for one addiction source when another is taken away.  She thinks this is what’s happening with the shopping, and soon finds some perspective.

As Corey’s story reveals, weight loss surgery takes courage, as those involved not only go through the challenges of surgery but need to take a hard look at themselves.  But there is also joy and freedom, as the weight which has been a weight slowly but surely recedes. And with this process also comes humor--at our last session Corey mentioned she is planning to show the film of her surgery when hosting this years’s Thanksgiving dinner (dessert?).

And speaking of humor, there is a cute term in the weight loss world for someone who crosses under the 200 pound threshold.  It is wonderland, as in onederland, as in you’ve made your way into the under 200 Promised Land and can use a one at the start of your weight (e.g. 197).  Goals are a part of the weight loss process, and when you’ve reached a milestone might as well have a fun name for it.

I too am in wonderland working with patients like Corey in that I find it wonderful, as in full of wonder.  Courage, honesty, humor--this is not the stuff of those lacking willpower, but of those who want to take a good look at themselves and change their life for the better.  Obviously weight loss surgery isn’t for everyone, but for Corey, it was “the best decision I’ve ever made.”

3 Comments

Glimpsing

4/25/2015

3 Comments

It was 30 seconds that radically changed my life.

I was 15 years old and attending Christmas Eve Midnight Mass with my family at Corpus Christi Church near our home in Pacific Palisades, California.  I’d been to Midnight Masses here before along with hundreds of other services and although I’d had my moments with God nothing up to this point had uniquely resonated.

This Midnight Mass was a High Mass which meant priests beside the Presider were involved, and for no apparent reason I started looking at one who was sitting beside the altar.  Somehow the look of serenity on this priest’s face first caught my attention, then enthralled me, then consumed me.  Joy, uncontrollable joy, had somehow risen out of this moment, seemingly out of nowhere.

What the heck happened?  I didn’t really know and didn’t care: all I knew was that in that 30 seconds my life had changed.  The afterglow continued for several days, with me informing my family of a desire to become a priest.  And although that never materialized, this experience was a kick-start to a long adventure with God and Jesus, one that has lasted until this day.

What has also lasted is a desire to gain perspective on this 30 seconds that happened more than 40 years ago.  Was it truly an outpouring of the Holy Spirit, a visceral touch of God on my heart and life?  Was it merely the giddiness of a high-strung adolescent who was up past his bedtime?  Both? Neither?

If an experience can be known by its fruits I would say the Spirit was involved.  I can also say I naively expected to have more such experiences, to move from blessing to blessing, from high to high.

But to my chagrin this was more an isolated exception; throughout my life I can count similar occurrences on one hand.  This is true for most of us.   It has been noted that St. Theresa of Avila, considered one of the foremost practitioners and experts in mysticism, actually experienced periods of spiritual transcendence/ecstasy for only about 30 minutes in her life of 67 years.

Giving perspective to this reality, it is easy to focus on the “why so little?” side.  Does God not shower us with more overt blessing because of our lack of faith?  Our sin?  Is it a result of the Fall?  Or is it because God knows we couldn’t handle that much blessing, that much eternal in the temporal?

Conjecture aside, what God does give us is glimpses, little and sometimes larger looks into His existence and essence.   We may want trips to the seventh heaven, but what we usually get is an unexpected revelation, a too good to be true coincidence, even a parking spot that opens up mysteriously. These glimpses sometimes get us by, sometimes wake us up, sometimes pull us from the brink.

Some years ago I was the Executive Director of the Hollywood Urban Project, a ministry to the low-income immigrant community of South Hollywood where we used glimpsing strategies with our youth.  We took kids from our neighborhood to nearby colleges to give them a glimpse of what a college campus looked and felt like.  We took kids from the wealthier outside neighborhoods and gave them an Urban Plunge (spending the night in the community house), giving them a glimpse of life in the ‘hood.  Both groups were touched by these experiences.

God’s glimpsing gives us a taste, a bite without downing the whole enchilada.  This is partly because God also wants us to “walk by faith, and not by sight,” not just trusting in experiences but in Him.  He wants a relationship with us, a relationship based on faith and trust where seeking on the way to finding sharpens everything.

But God also knows we need our Midnight Masses along with our “lucky” parking spots.  God indeed knows what He’s doing, and knows when to leave us alone, throw us a bone, or blow us away.  And whether its 30 seconds of bliss or a lifetime of glimpse, God’s timing is always the fullness of time.

3 Comments

To Med or Not to Med

4/15/2015

0 Comments

Something was missing with the bank teller.

As I walked from the front of the line to her window, I noticed a certain bored look and slight reluctance to meet my every banking need. Was she being dismissive as she told me to “please swipe the card?” She must be, and so I came to the obvious conclusion she was dissing me, pure and simple. Is the manager around?

Regaining a bit of objectivity, I decided to lose the complaint and went straight to my car to have a little self conversation.

Self A: “Gee Rick, a little over-reaction here? She wasn’t gushing, but wasn’t exactly impolite either.

Self B: “ Nah–this was bad. These slights weren’t slight.

Self A: “Hold on. She was just doing her job.”

Self B: “She should lose her job. Customers don’t need condescension.”

Back and forth we went until Self A won the day. I know my selves and self, and this was more about me than her. Sure she wasn’t the quintessence of customer service, but my mood and perspective were out of proportion, more intense than it should of been. And since this didn’t seem like an isolated instance of irritability I was thinking something was amiss in my sometimes imbalanced brain chemistry.

But amiss isn’t necessarily askew, so I had to take stock of exactly what I was experiencing. Twice in my life I’ve had full blown Clinical Depression–couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, suicidal thoughts, consistently crying–and this wasn’t that. This was more subtle, a sense my system was off, a sense that I’d crossed the line from semi-normal to out of sorts. This was little “d” depression, but depression nonetheless.

Sensing I’m somehow “off,” I’m faced with a decision–to med or not to med? But just in considering this I’m behind the eight ball already, because my offness makes it hard to think clearly. But it seemed like I had to do something (or not do something), so I decided to have another self-conversation.

Self C: What decision? This is a brain chemistry no-brainer. You have diabetes you take insulin, you have depression you take an anti-depressant. Case closed.

Self D: Not so fast. Maybe when you had the full-on Black Dog medication made sense but you can get through a little irritability. What are you, a wimp?

Self C: Maybe you can tolerate being a jerk but what about those close to you? Playing Mr. Moody is just plain selfish, especially in this day and age when medication can seamlessly stabilize.

Self D: Isn’t that what’s wrong with today’s culture–we throw drugs at every problem? And don’t act like taking drugs is seamless–remember last time’s side effects? Dry mouth? Check. Dizziness? Check. Sexual malfunction? Checked out.

Round and round we/I went, getting nowhere. Finally Self D pulls out the ultimate trump card: Do you think God wants you to resort to some artificial means when He is sufficient for you?

Besides being manipulative, bringing God into the picture both muddles and clarifies: the former because God’s will can’t completely be known, the latter because I wants God’s input, even if I can’t be absolutely sure of the answer.

And Self D does have a point: Doesn’t God want me to face my fears and the challenges of growth without deadening the pain? Suffering as a way to salvation may sound a tad medieval, but suffering can be the wake up call C.S. Lewis discusses. To live out my part in God’s play I need to stay sensitive to the Spirit; how can I listen to the still small voice when a pill makes everything hunky-dory?

“How about the strong voices of grace and love?” counters Self C. “We don’t come to God by our sense of grooviness (or uber-awareness) but by grace, a grace where God ensures and enables our fruitfulness, not how attuned we are. And let’s not forget the Ultimate Trump card’s ultimate trump card: love. If some medication can bring some perspective and centeredness to help someone more easily love God, others, and themselves, let it be.

As it turned out, I decided (and am deciding) to take a small dosage of the medication Lexipro. The polarities my voices tend to emphasize were given perspective by a solid desire just to feel more centered and kind toward the people around me, especially during the Holidays. In general it doesn’t feel like I’ve sold my soul and does feel like I’m doing the right thing, at least for the time being.

Now if I can just find some medication for my multiple personality disorder.

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Mama's Boy

4/15/2015

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One of the most profound experiences of my life happened the day my mother died. An aortic aneurism had brought her to the hospital, and my whole family surrounded her bed monitoring her vital signs as she lay unconscious. Seeing her in this vulnerable state unleashed a torrent of emotion in me, as years of self-protective anger and ambivalence toward her vanished immediately. In the ensuing days I envisioned myself crawling up to my mother and grabbing her ankles, seeking her solace and forgiveness.

I was reminded of this experience recently when I walked into the Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary inside St. James Cathedral. I entered on a quest, a desire to get some perspective on Mary, a polarizing person in some church circles who I just wanted to get to know better.

Mary stood serenely, holding the Baby Jesus and surrounded by a myriad of candles. I too was standing, observing from a distance, and what I saw in that pristine face wasn’t providing any answers.

But then I knelt down, and now her bowed head and face seemed to be looking right at me. I was now in the same humble position I had envisioned being in with my mother the days after her death.

Do you have something to say to me Mary? Is my ambivalence toward you also a protection that can be released?

For most of my life Mary has been a bit of a mystery to me. I know I’m not alone. Part of the challenge is how to approach her. Respect? Veneration? Adoration? Worship? Certainly few of us believe Mary is equated with God but the fact she was God’s mom means something. She is certainly worthy of our study, worthy of our respect and depending upon your belief system, worthy of much more.

Some lack of clarity in approaching Mary has led others to fill in the blanks for us, sometimes co-opting Mary for their own purposes. I’ve spent most of my life going to Protestant churches, and it seemed like Mary was the best kept secret in Christianity. Was this an objective ambivalence about Mary’s life and role or merely a centuries old sectarian holdover from the Reformation?

The Catholic Church has a fuller formed teaching on Mary, emphasizing the Immaculate Conception, Mary as “Mother of God”, and the Assumption of Mary into heaven. There is also an emphasis on Mary’s role as an intercessor with God on our behalf, a concept (along with the Assumption) which is a bit less palatable to Protestants. Objections over these views from various sources have put Catholics on the defensive, and defending a position is always more challenging than critiquing it.

That being said, it wasn’t the theological approach of Mary that was engaging me as I knelt at her feet–it was experiencing the mother of God and mine. Were the two one and the same–was my renewed interest in Mary merely a desire to re-connect with my mom? Some might think so, but I was looking for more, and looking for more than memories to a real presence of both.

Did I find it? Like many spiritual experiences, the end results were both baffling and enlightening as I left the Shrine with many questions but with a sense that something powerful had happened. And I also left with a renewed desire to find perspective on Mary, not wanting to wait to the end of my life to open my heart to her.

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Striving for Sainthood

4/15/2015

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FYI–I’ve decided to become great in God’s kingdom. Like St.Therese of Lisieux, “I don’t want to be a saint by halves,” I want it all. When I go to heaven, I want God to say “Well done, they good and faithful servant,” and then lead me to my rewarded place near the throne. And while on earth, I want to be on the absolute cutting edge of what God is doing in ministry and “perfect as your heavenly father is perfect” in my private life.

Sounds sacrilegious, doesn’t it? Or at least obnoxious. It was uncomfortable even writing about this much spiritual ambition, a phrase which often seems oxymoronic. Check out the Bible–isn’t it replete with verses extolling humility and putting down pride? At best we’re called to stumble onto greatness through grace; in fact, the more we want it, the less we’ll get it.

So I guess I was wrong–God must want me to settle. If I actually make it to heaven He’d like to greet me with “partially well done, my marginal at best servant,” no doubt wanting to be alone by the throne with the rest cowering by the Pearly Gates. And I imagine He’ll use His Whac-a-Mole method for my forays into ministry and growth–shoving my head back down whenever it assertively comes to the light.

That doesn’t sound or feel right either. So I guess balance is needed. Maybe we should adjust our lives like the climate system in a high rise building: when the temperature gets too warm (i.e. we start to get overly ambitious), the air conditioning kicks on to bring the heat down; when the temperature gets too cold (i.e. we start to underachieve), the heating kicks in to warm it back up.

But that sounds like a recipe for mediocrity. What’s the right perspective here?

“…..but whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant.”

Matthew 20:26

Many of us are well acquainted with this profound verse, which communicates the simple but radical idea that humbling yourself in service is a means to greatness. Not sticking out in the crowd, not looking better or sounding better or being better, not dominating or belittling or bloviating, no, the way to the top is from the bottom. It is part of Christ’s rhetoric of reversal (“the first shall be last”), a paradoxical communication of deeper truths.

But when focusing on the servant aspect of this verse, we sometimes miss the call to greatness, the end to which service is a means. Just as the verse extolling us to “love our neighbor as ourselves” also shows the importance of loving oneself, “whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant” seems to lend credence to the idea that greatness is something to be sought, albeit by the path of service.

There are obvious caveats here. One is our looking to be great in God’s kingdom, which of course has its own priorities and value system based on humility and holiness. And this greatness isn’t to be competitive vis a vis others; Websters may define greatness as “markedly superior in character, quality or skill” but our superiority in Christ is only vis a vis the schlepper we could’ve been. And of course grace will play the defining part in how and where this greatness is manifest.

Where I think we get uncomfortable is the idea that God wants us to desire something, especially greatness. Does God want us to want to use the talents He’s given us, want to love others and make a difference in our world, want to help justice roll down? Well, yeah. Sure He wants us to have the humility to know where the power comes from, but as far as humility goes, he seems to condemn false humility along with the lack thereof.

So is the desire of being great and a saint in heaven and on earth a bad thing? I don’t think so, and we do our God, our world and ourselves an injustice by striving and desiring for too little. We may be nothing without God, but with Him we can join the “I don’t want to be a saint by halves” Saint Therese in saying “in spite of my littleness, I can hope to be a saint.”

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