GO FORTH!

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the
person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell.
There are no maps of the change. You just …come out the other side.”
(Stephen King, The Stand, p. 449)

This was the experience of many religious leaders such as the Buddha, Jesus, Muhammed, Lao Tzu and one of my favorites, Moses. This passage by Stephen King struck me because, as we approach Passover, I've been thinking of the story of the biblical character Moses, the people of Israel and the journey they took. They are at the end of the story so very different than they are at the beginning of the story. And the Moses at the beginning of the story is like you or me.

I am an American in the 21st century. All around me – not in the palace of my suburban house or street, but certainly in my community and throughout the world – there are people suffering from the abuse of power, the cruelty of enslavement, the grind of inhumane living conditions. And yet, my daily life as a princess of the world continues with warmth, love and comfort. Yes, surely I try to “do my part” to alleviate some of the burden of others. But at the end of the day, I really just want to be snug as a bug in a rug with my family and friends.

Moses was similar -- until he stepped out of his box and, in a moment of passion, without premeditated planning or excuses, he acted to right a wrong. His intention was not to take on the whole system. Not at that point. That came later. At this point he was just reacting to a particular situation. He wasn’t even thinking of the consequences. But having done the “right thing” and as rationality began to sink in making him realize that he could “lose his job” as well as his place in society, he retreated. He “gave it all up”, went out to the country and lived off the land.

It was there where he comes into contact with the power of the universe, that which we call G-d. And Moses came into contact with G-d because he took the first step by turning toward the burning bush to listen. That’s one of the things about Moses – and the whole story – which often gets lost in the telling. The liberating freedom and change only came when Moses and the people went forth took the uncharted steps with "no map of the change." But like so many of us, they did it kicking and screaming. Moses comes up with a lot of reasons why he shouldn't be the one to lead. And the power of the universe just keeps saying "go, go forth, go."

It really is remarkable when you read the book of Exodus, which means to go forth, how often the verb 'to go' is used! Go, go, go…And I don't think it's accidental that the story begins with the details of his birth. Because birth itself is CERTAINLY a going forth, kicking and screaming, without knowing the consequences! So this regular guy – who tried to get out of being called because of his perceived weaknesses -- went back and took on the greatest power structure of his time even though it wasn't comfortable, safe or easy!

I can think of a number of people in history and in the world today who are similar. There are the ones who quickly come to mind like Nelson Mandela or Martin Luther King. Leaders who could have had a much easier life if they had just kept quiet. But there's also Aung San Suu Kyi, the political leader in Myanmar who was under house arrest for many, many years because she demanded free elections in her country and young Malala Youssef who was shot in the face for saying girls in Pakistan should have an education yet still continues to speak up. Or the hotel manager in Rwanda who saved over 1,000 people during the genocide in his country. There are the whistle blowers such as who spoke up about dangers at their companies. Or the imprisoned soldier who refuses to go to war because it's an unjust war. Or the cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo – who, while I disagree with their using pictures of Muhammed, bravely faced threats and ultimately death in the name of their freedom to do so. And the survivors are continuing in their footsteps. "No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell."

Even in our unheroic everyday lives it's difficult to step out of our safety zone to help others.  What about the kid -- or teacher -- who sees someone being teased, or knows that cheating is rampant, or sees an injustice in their community? Will they speak out?  What about the old woman who is sitting on the sidewalk, hungry, cold and muttering to herself?  Will we offer her shelter or take her to a shelter?  Or will we speak up for ourselves or a colleague who we suspect is being abused, sexually, domestically, or racially?

It’s not easy. We know our comfort zone even when we’re not comfortable there. To step off the edge of the abyss, not knowing what will happen, how you will fall or if you will get hurt is scary. It’s easier to stay put and put up. How willing and courageous are any of us to make change?

When Moses finally gets the people out of Egypt, when they are no longer enslaved, what kind of response do they give him? The first time that they lift up their voices and speak -- what do they say? You might think that liberation would bring joyous appreciation and gratitude. After all, Moses has gone out of his way to help, to find another way, trying to change the status quo and give them freedom. And he did some amazing things to make it happen. You might think that they had enthusiastic confidence in his leadership. After all, he’d gotten them out of difficulty already. Perhaps they would now have the fortitude and courage to take charge of their lives. After all, they had a good role model for such behavior.

Wrong. No sooner are the people free then they find themselves between a vast sea in front of them and the fierce army of Pharaoh behind them. They do what most of us would do: They complain and blame. Thanks a lot Moses, they decry sarcastically. "What a revoltin' development this is" -- and it's your fault! We would have been better off staying where we were, with what was known and comfortable than out here in this god forsaken land where we’re sure to die. As bad as the bad old days were, they weren’t as scary as being here at a moment of change at the edge of the abyss. The past, no longer accepting them but still pursuing them will do them in. The future is nothing but a shimmering pool to drown in.

But the story doesn't end there. Nor does the Red Sea just open up and separate. No, before their way becomes clear, before they have an alternative that will save them, they need to start walking into the water. They need to take the step into the abyss. They need to go forth. Only then will their lives change, only then will they no longer be hounded by the habits of the past. Only then will they find freedom.

Can we, like Moses, like the people of Israel, like heroes around the world step out beyond our comfort zone, pass-over the status quo mentality and make the changes in our lives and in this world that need to be made? It will change us if we do. Because like Moses and the people of Israel, anyone who "goes forth" on a journey to change things will be changed in the process. Which brings me back to Stephen King:

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the
person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell.
There are no maps of the change. You just …come out the other side.”
(Stephen King, The Stand, p. 449)


So go forth, enjoy the scary journey and be courageous!

ON ANOTHER LEVEL

This is a different kind of writing than I usually post.  It's what they call 'narrative non-fiction'  (I think.) and more autobiographical.  Let me know what you think!  -- Jane

ON ANOTHER LEVEL

When I was a little girl, I loved to watch my mother get ready to go out but literally, on different levels.  On the surface I saw a lovely lady looking fresh and coiffed.  She wore her green silk brocade shirtwaist dress with gold threads that shimmered. There was a smell of face powder and freshly applied lipstick which always required some strange but interesting facial expressions.   There were the instruments of beauty lying on the dresser such as tweezers, emory boards, and, the one which seemed, even to my unschooled mind, the closest to a medieval torture devise: the eyelash curler.  There was a good smelling perfume in a lovely cut glass bottle.  And all of it glittered with the reflected light shining from the thick glass top of the dresser.  Life, temporarily, on that level, seemed suffused with the sophisticated stability of a Connecticut suburb of New York City.

But as much as I loved that level, there was another realm that enchanted me:  If I bent down I could look into the side of the thick glass and see into a different world.  It was like floating in a green, sunlit ocean of calm that extended indefinitely.  And yet, at any moment, with the mere lifting of my head, I could be back in the everyday world above.  Then return, then back, then return, then back.  I could watch her, and know that the other world existed just below the surface.  Or, I could be in the other world and not see her.  I would try but could never be in both worlds at the same time.

 In the same years I had special places I'd go to.  There was a grove of trees on a hill near our house.  These pines provided me with a room of solace, a place to be alone and wonder about my life, and my family.  I could pretend it was a cottage in the country where I lived alone in another era or it was a secret hideout of a daring scout.

There were two other trees that were special.  One was for climbing.  I'd jump up to catch the lowest branch, then bring the legs around, hoisting the body up and climb high into the leafy top.  There, with the breeze and the sun on my body and a view of the surrounding area, I would feel like a sea captain at the top of a mast with a sense of exhilarating freedom and mastery.   The other tree was for more contemplative moments.  Like the biblical imagery of a tree nurtured by a stream, it sat, shady and serene, with a crook in it just right for reading.  And that too would take me to other worlds at other levels.

Saturday mornings in the Spring and Summer I'd join my father at the tennis courts, though never to play tennis.  Instead, it was Doc’s snack shed set high above a child’s vantage point and the woods and stream beyond the stone wall that brought me there. In his little green hut, Doc, the calm old man with a lean and lined mustachioed face, was the Zen master of all sodas and candies.  From his perch he would patiently and quietly observe the faces of those choosing from his domain of treats.  Sometimes I had enough allowance saved up and with me to buy something on my own.  Usually it required a great deal of cajoling and plaintive pleading with my father (also known as whining) to achieve my goal.    Those times, when the sun was so unbearably hot, the game so interminably long, and the spending campaign finally successful, made the taste of a cool, wet can of grape soda or the sweetened licorice of Good and Plenty all the more delicious. 

When I wasn’t focused on Doc’s candy heaven, I would wander beyond the stone wall and venture into the woods beyond.  There, in a patch of undeveloped land probably no bigger than a city block, I found another world beyond the everyday.  Wedged between the main street and the courts, it was probably one of those leftover lots that one whizzes by, not even noticing, on major commercial roads around the country  The little stream gets clogged with trash thrown from cars or by teens walking past, but never through.  But to me, this place was a beautiful, pristine forest, the jungle, the Garden of Eden without anyone else. The sun filtered through the trees and it felt as grand and as beautifully lit as a Hudson artist painting.  Ferns and frogs abounded.  Dragonflies flitter over the water which moved so lazily.  And I was an Indian princess camped on the side of my people’s life source.  I was a fairy princess joining the dance of the little people’s fair.  I was a solitary traveler like Rip Van Winkle lost in a different time.  I was fully in another world and when it was time to come out, I felt refreshed and renewed.

I suppose those times of being in a different realm or level are similar to what one experiences with meditation or those heavenly moments of transcendence -- you go beyond everyday life, and you ‘come back’ refreshed and renewed.  But you can’t be at both levels at the same time.  If I pay attention to what's happening on the surface, I can't be in the place of calm.  Even today, when I'm snuggling with my husband or sons, it won't feel blissfully sweet if I'm thinking about all the things that need to get done.

I sometimes worry that kids today don't have places on a different level.  It seems they live in a world of veneer, without ever seeing or being beyond it. Their towns have nothing but housing tracts and strip malls.  The fields and woods that were there have disappeared and only their names remain.  Or they don't feel safe.  People wake up to the TV, rush to the car, get to the job or the school, talk whatever talk, walk whatever walk, go to organized afterschool activities, rush through dinner and chores, watch TV and social media, and go to bed exhausted.  They don't even honour their dreams, a nourishing spring that is definitely at a different level!  When the weekend comes they rush to the sports, or malls or the home improvement stores and busy themselves with restaurants and movies.  There's nothing wrong with any of that.  It's just that, it reminds me of that old pop song by Peggy Lee, "Is that all there is?  Is that all there is?"  And the answer, in my experience, is no.  There is a deeper level to life all around us there for the seeing.  We just need to stop and go there.

WHERE WORLDS MEET

The following article of mine was published in the Journal News, a Gannett Newpaper, on January 24 and 31, 1998:

 

When I was 19, a group of friends and I were camping on a beach in India on the Indian Ocean.  It was nighttime, and we had a campfire near the coconut palms.  Understand that in India, at night, in those years, the sky was rounded, dome-like, and the stars were thick and went on forever.  I walked away from the warmth and the people, down to the edge of the sea where the moonlight glimmered on the water and the phosphorous sand sparkled in the waves.

I stood there in tremendous awe of this lively vast universe.  I recognized that I was standing at the meeting place of three infinitely different and diverse worlds: land, sea and sky.  And at the same time, it felt like a metaphor for the ‘Jungian psyche.’  The ocean was the swirling, deep, collective unconscious.  Space, full of dark and light, was like the infinitely unlimited imagination of personal consciousness.  The land, terra firma, was like the ego, that which I am consciously aware of, that which I can see and know.  Sts. Augustine or Patrick would have likened it to the Trinity: with God represented by the ocean, source of all life, becoming manifest on land represented by Jesus, and infused with the Holy Spirit of the air.  But to me, it was a moment of moonlit, elemental enlightenment, which both grounded me and allowed me to soar.  To use a term by the noted Protestant theologian, Paul Tillich, I experienced a dimension of depth.  And that moment transformed and enriched my life significantly.  I call it a religious experience.

Rachel Carson, in her book The Edge of the Sea, begins “The edge of the sea is a strange and beautiful place…an elusive and indefinable boundary.”  It is a strange and beautiful place.  But I think that part of its beauty, its thrill, its liveliness, is that it is the meeting place of boundaries.  All children love to play the game at the beach where they run up to the water’s edge and run back, shrieking with delight as the water comes forward.  Or stand and feel the water wash away the sand from around their feet.

Why are those moments so exciting?  Perhaps because we stand there recognizing, as I did that night, that we are on the edge, and that makes us feel quite alive.  We feel we’re on the edge of the land and the sea, and we’re aware we are on the edge of the globe!

In fact, our whole lives are lived on the edge in other ways also.  We live on the edge between birth and death.  Not between life and death.  No, life is what we do between birth and death.  And it’s in those moments that we’re most aware of being between that we become truly alive.

Dr. James Fowler, who has written on the psychology of religions, woke up once in the middle of the night suddenly completely aware that one day he would be detached from all the life around him and he would die.  He writes in his book, Stages of Faith: “In that moment of unprecedented aloneness…I found myself staring into the abyss of mystery that surrounds our lives.  As never before I found myself asking, “When all these persons and relations and projects that shape and fill my life are removed, who or what is left?  When this biological embodiment of me ceases to function, is there – will there be – any I?  When the ‘I’ steps into the velvet darkness, will there be this center of consciousness, this ‘I am,’ or not?”

This man was on the edge.  But he’s not alone.  We all are. 

The word religion comes from two Latin words: ‘re’ and ‘ligare’.  It means to connect again.  And that’s what religions try to do.  They try to connect us again, bring together these two polarities in our lives, birth and death, like a yin-yang symbol, so that we can live fully.  Beginning with our awareness of birth and death, each religion attempts to grapple with, describe, define and re-experience the experiences of birth and death.  The description and definitions may be different for each religion, but I think that ultimately, we’re all standing on the same edge – between birth and death – and each religion is trying to make sense out of what that means.

Religions also try to reconnect our little finite selves beyond the boundary of our edge to the energy flow of something larger and deeper.  Call it the meeting place of the immanent and the transcendent, the now and the eternal, the material world and the spiritual world, the everyday and the extraordinary – it is at this edge where religions live.  In the Qur’an, Sura Qaf reminds believers that the God who made the heavens and “firmly set mountains and made grow therein [something] of every beautiful kind” also “created man and knows what his soul whispers to him, and [is] closer to him than [his] jugular vein.”

Robert Ellwood, author of the textbook on world religions entitled Many People, Many Faiths describes it this way: 

“For religion, the line between is not seen as solid…The main idea behind religion is that it is full of doors and windows and much commerce passes between the two sides.  Words and people pass through those invisible doors and the world is full of places and occasions that are like windows to the other side.  This porous borderline, where the action is, is the realm of the religious.”

Maybe that’s another reason why the edge of the sea is so awesomely strange and beautiful: because by being there we remember that no one realm is the only reality that exists, just as no one view of truth is the only one.  The sea has a beauty and reality quite different and no less real than that of land or air.  Buddhism, in trying to describe nirvana to us, said it’s like trying to explain to a fish what it’s like to walk on land and breather.  It’s impossible.  Yet it doesn’t mean that the other reality doesn’t exist.  It only means that we can’t conceive it.

The seasons remind us of being on the edge as well, for they are different realities bound together.  In fact, perhaps part of the reason we feel most invigourated in the fall and spring, besides the temperature, is that they are the edge seasons: the seasons between the full ripe richness of life and the deadly dearth of life. So it is with each religion.  In different spiritual languages, they attempt to put into words, actions and metaphors our human experience of being on the edge between birth and life, the known and the unknown, the here and now and the beyond.  To rephrase Rachel Carson:  “The edge is a strange and beautiful place…an elusive and indefinable boundary.”  Let us savour and enjoy our time being here on the edge.

 

 

 

PROPHETS

“Visit the sick, feed the hungry and free the captives.” So said the prophet Muhammed, peace be upon him.

“Let the oppressed go free…share your bread with the hungry. And bring the homeless poor into your house….” So said the prophet Isaiah.

In the U.S., we will soon celebrate Thanksgiving. So I thought it’s a good time to talk about something that’s common to Muslims, Christians and Jews: the message of the prophets. All three groups see the role of the prophets as important to their religions and each group sees the message of the prophets – taking care of the needy in our midst -- as a central message.

What is a prophet? A prophet is someone who is a messenger or mouthpiece for God. To Jews, Christians and Muslims, the 16 biblical prophets [with the addition of Muhammed for Muslims] used words and actions to try to get the community back into right relationship – with each other and with the essence and power of life which they called God. Said the scholar Abraham Heschel:

“The prophet was an individual who said No to his society, condemning its habits and assumptions, its complacency…” (Heschel, The Prophets II p. xvii) The prophet Amos said: “I hate, I despise your feast days, and I will not smell in your solemn assemblies” (Amos 5:21) because, he felt, they were full of hypocritical posturing.

But they didn’t just “say” no to society, they acted in a way that got people’s attention. Wrote one author about the prophets:

“They staged what are known as prophetic acts – wild attention grabbing, God-inspired pieces of performance art. the prophets were the inventors of street theater.” (Jacobs, The Year of Living Biblically p. 88) Jeremiah went to the equivalent of the Capitol in Jerusalem with a huge vase which he smashes and says this is what will happen to the kingdom if they don’t stop being so materialistic. Isaiah took off all of his clothes and wandered naked through the streets as he shouted his message. Hosea married a known prostitute faithless to him in order to illustrate how faithless the people were to their vows of caring for each other and God. Pretty dramatic ways of speaking truth to power!

But all of them were trying to get across the same message: we are commanded to be good and just to everyone. It wasn’t just a nice suggestions to be nice, we are required to practice social justice all the time.

The prophet Muhammed, who believed that the same God who spoke to Abraham, Moses, David and Jesus spoke to him, said “One who tries to help the widow and the poor is like a warrior in the way of God,” “Every good action is a charity.” and “God is not kind to him who is not kind to people.” (al-Bukhari)

For Jews, Muslims and Christians, the prophets’ message of social justice has been heard – sometimes louder than other times – throughout history. It is why so many social action organizations exist in our world today and why so many try to change the world. The reason Muslims fast during the month of Ramadan and Jews fast on Yom Kippur is to experience what it is to be hungry so you can help those who really are. And it’s why each group is commanded to give to and act to help others.

People often wonder if there are prophets in the world today. I think they still exist. I think MLK was a prophet. His bus boycott, the marches and his sermons against racism and the war in Vietnam dramatically got the point across that this society must change. In his sermon, “The Drum Major Instinct”, Reverend King is very clearly speaking in the prophetic spirit when he said:

“If somebody doesn't bring an end to this suicidal thrust that we see in the world today, none of us are going to be around, because somebody's going to make the mistake through our senseless blunderings of dropping a nuclear bomb somewhere. And then another one is going to drop. And don't let anybody fool you, this can happen within a matter of seconds. (Amen) They have twenty-megaton bombs in Russia right now that can destroy a city as big as New York in three seconds, with everybody wiped away, and every building. And we can do the same thing to Russia and China.

But this is why we are drifting. And we are drifting there because nations are caught up with the drum major instinct. "I must be first." "I must be supreme." "Our nation must rule the world." (Preach it) And I am sad to say that the nation in which we live is the supreme culprit. And I'm going to continue to say it to America, because I love this country too much to see the drift that it has taken.

God didn't call America to do what she's doing in the world now. (Preach it, preach it) God didn't call America to engage in a senseless, unjust war as the war in Vietnam. And we are criminals in that war. We’ve committed more war crimes almost than any nation in the world, and I'm going to continue to say it. And we won't stop it because of our pride and our arrogance as a nation.”


I think Malcolm X was a prophet. In fiery speeches and interviews, in his willingness to put his life on the line he made it clear that his objective was “complete freedom, justice and equality by any means necessary." He said “Early in life I had learned that if you want something, you had better make some noise.” and: “if we don't stand for something, we may fall for anything."

Today? I don’t know. Perhaps we only know who the prophets in our midst are after a bit of time has past. Perhaps it's the comedian Jon Stewart, who always speaks out against the hypocrisies of our government and the need for justice. Maybe it's the young woman, Malala Yousafzai, who spoke for Muslim girls getting an education and was thus shot in the head. Maybe they are the people who are written about in the book Divine Rebels: American Christian Activists for Social Justice by Deena Guzder. Or people on the front line of climate change/environmental issues. Maybe it's the person who is organizing a food and clothing drive in our town for those effected by the economy. But I do know that the message of the prophets – whether from a Muslim, Jewish or Christian perspective is still with us: do justly and love mercy.

So, as we eat our meat or soy Turkeys this Thanksgiving, let's remember the message of the prophets. There are plenty of ways to make this world a more just, and caring place. I shall end with the same quotes with which I began:


“Visit the sick, feed the hungry and free the captives.” So said the prophet Muhammed, peace be upon him.

“Let the oppressed go free…share your bread with the hungry. And bring the homeless poor into your house…If you put yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness…and you shall be like a watered garden.” So said the prophet Isaiah.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

DEATH: What's Life Got to do, Got to Do with it?

Death has been on my mind the last couple of months.  But in fact, I've thought about and written about death a lot over the years.  Below is something I wrote so many years ago, I can't find the document on any of our computers -- only the hard copy which I've retyped!

What will happen when this body gives out?  Where or what will the "I" that I've lived with so long go to, or do, or be, or not be?  How many people in how many ages and cultures have asked those questions?  Yet, for as smart as we are, as insightful or knowledgeable as we might be, we don't have an inkling of an answer for that one.  All we have are the ideas and hopes that we are brought up with and hear about from this side of death.  And those ideas differ from religion to religion, culture to culture.  Each answer effecting not only what we think will happen, but how we live our lives now as a result.

Take the Muslim view:  this is the one and only time a person comes around.  What you do with this "one precious life" as the poet Mary Oliver calls it, will determine what happens to you -- the you that is eternal and fully, individually you.  there's no coming back, no 'do over.'  For Muslims, there will be a day, Akira, of judgment, of reckoning.  On that day, that one day, all souls from all time and places will be judged by God and that will determine whether one goes to heaven or hell.  Says the Qur'an about that day:

"Then a soul will know what it has given and what it has held back...
What can I tell you about the day of reckoning?
Again, what can I tell you of the day of reckoning?
A day no soul has a say for another
and the decision is at that time with God." (Sura 82, The Tearing)

So, your actions and your intentions in this lifetime have long term consequences!

Compare that to Hinduism in which life is a constant 'do over.'  You didn't get it right the first time?  Back on the wheel of life to try again -- and again and again and again.  There are consequences to your actions here too.  But there is no judge who will determine what happens.  It's strictly cause and effect.  Like driving a car.  If I move the steering wheel left, the car goes left.  If I put the foot on the brake, the car stops.  If I treat people well, I will be treated well.  If I am greedy and mean, I will suffer the consequences -- perhaps not in this life, but in the next.

Whether we are Hindu or not, we all understand that when it comes events in this life.  When I look at baby pictures of myself, I don't look like the same person and in many ways I'm not.  Something continues to the next stage -- adolescence, adulthood or old age, even if it doesn't ook or act the same.  But how I was treated as a baby, the love I did or didn't get, the things I did or didn't do then, determine to an extent who I am today and who I will be when I'm older.  Just extend that idea beyond death and one has a clearer picture of the Hindu understanding of what happens to us after death.  The atman, the energy force that resides in this lifetime in our bodies will continue on to some other form based on our actions -- good or bad -- that determine what will happen to us in our next life.  The  goal, however, is that one day our atman will be released from the cycle of rebirths and rejoin the great ocean of energy known as Brahman.  Say the Katha Upanishad, an ancient Hindu Scripture:

"Lo! I will declare to thee this mystery of Brahman never failing.
And of what the self [atman] becomes when it comes to the hour of death.
Some to the womb return,
Embodied souls, to receive another body;
Others pass to lifeless stone in accordance with their works
In accordance with the tradition they had heard."

Christians are more similar to the Muslim view.  The person who dies will be resurrected as whom they are and they will either go to heaven or hell.  But there is a difference between the physical and the spiritual.  Said Paul in his beautiful (and very Greek) letter to the Corinthians:

"What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.  and what you sow is not the body which is to be, but a bare kernel, perhaps of wheat or of some other grain... So it is with the resurrection of the dead.  What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable.  It is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory.  It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power.  It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body.  If there is a physical body, there is also a spiritual body." (I Cor. 15.35-44)

Indigenous cultures, the original natives of many places such as Africa, Asia and the Americas, seem to have similar ideas to each other as to what happens after death.  In all of those traditions the spirit or ghost of the deceased becomes more powerful and more influential in the life of the community.  the Akan of Africa, for example, believe that:

"There is a reciprocal relationship between the dead and the living and both sides have a role to play in keeping the relationship alive... the dead have a duty to protect, intervene, and mediate on behalf of the living, and as it is believed that death increases one's powers, the dead are able to offer more help and assistance." (Professor Kofi Asare Opoku, Nananom Nsamanfo: The Akan and their Ancestors, AAR, 2000)

When Robert Coles, the noted child psychiatrist who has studied the beliefs of children of many different cultures interviewed a young Hopi girl, she made it clear that to her people, the ancestors who had already died, were living on the mesa and communicated with the living people through birds.

Jews are perhaps the only group that does not clearly delineate what happens to a person after death.  In the Torah, the first five books of both the Jewish and Christian bibles, God says "I set before thee life and deth, choose life."  And so, the whole focus of Judaism has been this world, this life.  For a group as loquacious as the Talmudic rabbis, who argues about all kinds of things, they were relatively silent on what happens after death.  One sees both the ideas of resurrection and reincarnation in Jewish texts.  But as my Jewish grandfather used to say, "There's enough to worry about here, you think we need to worry about what happens next?"  and yet, for a culture that doesn't focus on what happens after, there are all kinds of practices related to the care of the dead.

For Buddhist, there is no death because there is no me -- change happens all the time so the "me" that existed before, doesn't exist anymore anyway.,  It's kind of like my skin.  I know that this largest organ of my body sloughs off as new skin grows, so that the skin that was me seven weeks ago is not the same skin that is me now.  We are, according to the Buddhists, nothing but skandha, a collection of strands that have temporarily come together, for now, and that will dissipate like a cloud, when the time comes.  Or, like a candle that lights another candle, the energy will transfer.  Of course, that might be what the historical Buddha said, and it might be what many Buddhists around the world think.  But there are other Buddhists, Pure Land Buddhists for example, that have quite a different view.  For them, we will go to a place, the Pure Land, if we live right and if our intentions at the moment of death are focused and pure.

Despite real differences in views of reality before and after death, there seems to be some similarities among cultures as well.  all traditions believe that there are consequences to our actions and that how we treat ourselves and others matter.  This life, whether the one and only or one of many, is a test to see if we can be good and care for others.  And all people, no matter what they think happens to someone when they die, grieve for the loss of loved ones.  We may believe they may go on to something else, something better.  But the wailing for a dead child is the same in Hinduism as it is anywhere else.  There is a Buddhist story about a woman whose son died and, distraught, she goes to the Buddha pleading with him to bring her child back to life.  the Buddha agrees -- "But first", he says, "You must find a household that has not been touched by death."  the woman begins her search, knocking on every door in town.  "No" says each place.  "We lost a parent, an uncle, a child, a brother, a sister."  Finally the woman realizes what the Buddha wanted her to learn:  There is no one who is untouched by the death of a loved one.  Somehow, that knowledge itself made it a bit easier for her to accept.

Ultimately, however, we humans are left with what the Spanish philosopher, Miguel de Unamuno, identified as the "tragic sense of life."  Because the "man of flesh and bone, the man who is born, suffers, and dies -- above all who dies .. wishes never to die and that longing of ours never to die is or actual essence." (The Tragic Sense of Life)

I don't know what will happen when this body gives out.  I do know what people think will happen.  And perhaps that in itself is a comfort.  It certainly is a mystery!

FESTIVALS OF LIGHT: DIVALI, HALLOWEEN, HANNUKAH AND CHRISTMAS

At the time of the year when the days get darker and colder, we humans seems to need a festival of light which will give us hope. In the West, we celebrate Hannukah or Christmas – even Halloween and the next day, All Saints Day or the Day of the Dead. But the Hindu holiday, Diwali, which was celebrated last week, is also a festival of lights and the similarities underneath the differences are striking.

Imagine Christmas, New Year, Passover, Easter and July 4th all rolled into one holiday--that's Diwali. Houses are given a spic and span cleaning, people wear new clothes, eat a lot of sweets and get together with family and friends. There are fireworks and all through the house there are lights ablaze -- tiny cups of oil with cotton wicks.

Like Hinduism itself, the diversity of Gods honoured and remembered at this holiday are multi-faceted! So many different Gods and different stories. But two stand out: the story of Rama and the story of Lakshmi.

The Ramayana tells the tale of Rama and Sita. A young prince and his wife, theirs was the love of a lifetime. They were happy, content models of how husband and wife should love and how they should honour their parents. But along came Ravana, a wicked, cruel, power hungry beast. He kidnapped Sita and forced her away --against her will-- to his palace. Rama has lost the “light of his life”. But eventually, with the help of the Monkey God, he overcomes all obstacles and gets her back. (Unfortunately, the story doesn’t have a particularly happy ending.) The story emphasizes the importance of the Hindu value of duty. But it also reminds us, as Halloween does, that there are bad spirits that frighten us and could snatch us away. But perseverance, bravery, and the help of others (including the Gods) conquers the bad guy.
The same can be said for the story of Hannukkah. Bad guys take over the Temple, but perseverance, bravery, and the help of others (including God) conquers the bad guys.

Diwali also celebrates the hope that the New Year, which begins the day after, will be a welcome one. The second story is of the beautiful Goddess Lakshmi. Lakshmi, Goddess of wealth and prosperity, was temporarily expelled from God Indra’s court. In disguise, she wandered in the complete darkness of night with no moon, stars or house lights to guide her. Finally, afar in the distance, she saw a tiny light in a hut. She knocked on the door and was welcomed warmly by the family that lived there. Even though they didn't know who she was, she was shown such hospitality that as thanks she blessed the family and made them wealthy. So Diwali celebrates the welcoming of the spirit of God into each and every household for the New Year.

There is a biblical story of God approaching the home of Abraham in disguise and being welcomed into his home. The value of hospitality, of treating others as if they may be a God – or Goddess – incarnate, even if they’re looking like a beggar is a shared idea.

Isn't it fascinating that the holiday -- while so different on the outside -- has such similar themes on the inside to Halloween, Hanukkah and Christmas? Because these holidays also celebrate good forces conquering evil forces and use the light to keep back the dark. Hanukkah honours those little guys who managed to overthrow the big, bad army and by doing so saved their religious traditions. Christmas recognizes that even a tiny little baby, born against great odds, can grow up to save his people. All souls Day/Day of the Dead which happens the day after Halloween, Christmas and Hanukkah all involve cleaning up and celebrating with family and friends. Like Diwali we shall light our pumpkins, our menorahs or our Christmas trees and sit safely in their glow graced by their beauty, hope, and promise.

As we begin to shiver from cold, as the light fades more quickly from the glumly grey sky, as we face the reality that all life has seemingly left the natural world and as we begin to feel overwhelmed by the powers beyond our control (whether they be work or weather) -- it is now that we really need the reminder that there is meaning in life, there will be a vanquishing of evil, there is a welcoming light ‘at the end of the tunnel’, light and life will return and there is holy wisdom. Against great odds: Rama does get Sita back, Lakshmi does find a light in the forest, the boogey man doesn’t get us, the Maccabees do regain their temple and their ways, the baby Jesus is born safe and sound, and we will see Spring, warmth and long languorous days again!

So here's to the lights of Diwali, Halloween, Hannukah and Christmas. Here's to their promise and their hope and their reason's for celebration!

WONDER

This was an essay I had published in the Jewish magazine, TIKKUN about 10 years ago. It still holds up, I think.


One of my favorite biblical characters is Moses. He is my favorite because of his sense of wonder. Think about it: There he was, out in the desert taking care of his father-in-law's sheep. That's a lonely, boring job -- in a desert no less! Then he saw:

"a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked and behold the bush burned with fire, but the bush was not consumed. And Moses said, "I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt. And when God saw that Moses turned aside to see, God called to him out of the midst of the bush…"

Exodus 3.2

Now, whether you take that literally (which I don't,)or figuratively, Moses saw something so astounding, so out of the ordinary, so amazing that he turned aside to see it. And it was only then that God spoke to him. It was only when Moses was willing to stop his daily routine, stop following or leading the sheep, stop wandering in a la-di-da or driven sort of way, and turn toward to consider this sight before him that the essence of creation spoke to him.

I think about that burning bush almost every day at this time of the year. I look around at these trees with their bright oranges, yellows and reds. I see the sun slant light through the branches and to me, they look like burning bushes. They look awesome and beautiful and on fire although they are not consumed. Unfortunately, too often I'm rushing from here to there or there to here. So while I might take note of those trees, I don't "turn aside to see them" as often as I should. And what would I hear if I did turn aside and see these great sights?

I think trees talk to us. Of course, they don't use words. But with their beauty and their majesty they remind us of who and where we are in this world. So do birds and sky and ground. They speak to us, but we no longer have the patience to listen to them. Our inner ear has atrophied from lack of use. We fill ourselves up with so much human noise that we don't leave any room for nature sounds. Indigenous people always read the signs of nature around them. As did Buddha when he sat under a tree for 40 days and there became enlightened. Or Jesus when he said, "Consider the lilies of the field."

The philosopher Martin Buber, in his short but dense book, I-Thou, wrote that when we have a relationship with someone or something, it's a dialogue or an exchange. We face one another and connect. That's two way communication. The other doesn't have to be a person, it could be a tree, a rock or a bird. But that other is in relation to us so both are affected. When we are in an I-It relationship, says Buber, the other is just a thing, an object, nothing that touches our being. Unfortunately, too often we see the people around us as "its", as mere objects for our use. We see the trees, the grass and the stars as mere backdrops for our lives.

But when we stop and face them, when we turn aside from our own dramas, we can't help but be in awe of the creative power in front of us. It changes our perspective, our whole way of looking at life.

Last night everyone in my family was rushing around. Half of us were coming in and half of us were going out. My husband went out to his bridge game, my older son to a babysitting job, my little one to the TV and I to write this, correct papers AND read the newspaper. But when my older son came home, he took us all outside because Mercury and Jupiter were in an alignment that only happens every 7 years. We looked up at the sky and there they were. It was awesome! Like two stars, these two planets, so far away and seemingly on either side of us, were sitting side by side shining away. Reflected light beaming down on us from millions of miles away and only for now will they be in this place for us to see. We stood there huddled in the dark, little human beings. And I was very glad that despite all that I had to do, I had said like Moses, "I will now turn aside, and see this great sight." Did God speak to me? I think the energy force of creation -- which is what I call God -- speaks to me or any of us every time we turn aside to listen.