Easter Saturday: overlooked but, oh, so important

One of the most memorable Easter sermons I ever heard preached had nothing with Good Friday and the complexities of who killed Jesus and why. It didn’t mention the empty tomb or celebrate the renewed presence of Jesus on Easter morning. It didn’t really have much to do with Jesus at all. It was about Easter Saturday and what the people did in the time in between.

Really, it was about us, and what we do with the overlooked but, oh, so important time in between tragedy and triumph.

Easter Saturday: the metaphorical day after loss. The day when the pain is raw and fresh, and we don’t know yet about the joy to come. During the time in between we can’t see joy. We can’t see how it will take form in our lives. We look to the future and see more of the same.

The preacher of this sermon urged us to remember the Easter story during difficult times. When we survive the initial shock and turmoil and find ourselves in the desert of grief that follows, we can keep the flicker of hope alive.

Be watchful. Look for it. Joy will come with the dawn some Easter morning.

Intutition and rationality at Easter

“The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.”
—Albert Einstein

Is there a time of year when our rational mind battles more with our intuition than at Easter? The Easter stories often make people turn away from faith. Their rational minds can’t accept something they see as supernatural mumbo-jumbo, so they toss out the whole enterprise. They don’t even give sacred intuition a chance.

So many things to puzzle through. An empty grave. Jesus appearing to people after he died. How, on earth, can we rationally deal with it all? We can’t, so I guess we have to float above the earth a little and open the sacred gift of our intuition.

The moderator of the United Church of Canada, Rev. Gary Paterson, addresses this in his Easter message. He refers to people in the Easter story who meet Jesus in some way after he has died, but they don’t recognize him. Mary thinks he’s a gardener, and other men spend an entire afternoon in conversation with him, but they see him as an ordinary Joe.

It’s a recurring theme, this unrecognized Jesus. Only later, when these people share sacred moments with him, do they see things differently.

Rev. Paterson suggests that perhaps we can choose to use “resurrection glasses” to see the ordinary events, and all those ordinary people, in our lives through the lens of sacred intuition gifts. Without them, we see gardeners and ordinary Joes; with them, we see the sacred in everyone.

The resurrection glasses are readily available to us, we just have to choose to put them on.  Just for fun, try putting on those resurrection glasses this Easter, and see what gifts your sacred intuition brings to you.

Downton Abbey, or Honey Boo Boo?

I polished my silver. I brewed a pot of tea and sipped it from my china cups. I even extended a pinkie.

You will have to excuse me. I cannot help myself; I am suffering from Downton Abbey Fever.

It is my guilty pleasure. Unlike some friends who confess to clandestine marathon sessions of Honey Boo Boo, for me, Downton Abbey is the sly indulgence. Downton Abbey portrays so many aspects of society that were so very, very wrong, you see, and yet, I want them.

To sweep down a staircase and make an entrance before an audience that would gasp at the splendour of the gown and jewels my lady’s maid placed just so upon me. I want that. To sit in a dining room and have my meal proffered to me on silver platters by the footman. I want that. To choose a book from the thousands available and while away an afternoon by the fire (built by someone else) in the library. I want that. To catch the wafting scent of climbing roses as I stroll on 4,000 acres of lush green lawn or on groomed footpaths shaded by pear trees. I want that.

I want that. Who wouldn’t?

To fulfill my fantasy, I set aside the other side of the story told so plainly in Downton Abbey: class differences based on accidents of birth, racism, anti-Catholic sentiment, virginity prized over good character, poor prison conditions, and an unjust justice system. (Pretty flimsy evidence against Bates, didn’t you think?) I set aside that women of the time couldn’t choose to wear pants, let alone vote. I set aside that a servant woman’s life could be destroyed by a youthful indiscretion while the daughter of an earl could suffer no long-term ill effects from a similar mis-step.

To fulfill my fantasy, I set aside the seedy underbelly and ponder the beauty and art of Downton.

Then I cast my eyes to Honey Boo Boo and the sort—the guilty pleasure of others. I ponder shows that glorify backwardness, mean streaks and obscenities, and reality TV that features more bleeps than words. I ask myself: Where is the beauty and the art there? There is none. There is no fantasy flip-side.

I don’t want that. Who would?

Given the choice between people who are too buttoned-up and those too unbuttoned, I will choose the ones without pasty, exposed midriffs. I will put my kettle on the boil, place my silver spoon in the tea-pot, and set out my favourite china cups.

I will settle into my comfortable couch, surrender to Downton Abbey Fever, and dream.

The first Christmas gifts were not reciprocal

You know the scenario: Someone you know and love, but don’t usually exchange gifts with, suddenly appears before you holding out a brightly wrapped Christmas gift. She beams with joy, because she has found the perfect thing for you. She saw it in a store, thought of you and just had to get it.

Do you receive the gift with unqualified gratitude? Or do you think, “Oh, no! I don’t have anything for her”?

My friend, Ellie, reminded me a few weeks ago that the gifts in the Christmas story were not reciprocal. In one of the Christmas parables, wise travellers brought gold, frankincense and myrrh to the baby Jesus. The Bible doesn’t go into detail about what Mary and Joseph might have said upon receiving such valuable gifts, but I don’t think it went like this:

Joseph: Mary, the wise men are on their way, and they’re all carrying something.

Mary: Carrying something? What could that be?

Joseph: I’m not sure, but one of them has something shiny. It looks like gold.

Mary: Gold! Oh, no. And I didn’t get anything for them. Do we have something in our baggage that we could wrap up quickly?

From what we can glean from the Matthew version of the Christmas parable (there are no wise men in the Luke version), Mary and Joseph received the first Christmas gift with grace and gratitude. To do otherwise would have made the whole situation awkward, and would have deprived the wise visitors of the joy of giving.

This Christmas, when someone beams with joy as he gives you that perfect something that he brought to you out of love, receive it with unqualified gratitude. Don’t deprive him of the joy of giving.

Christmas traditions and why you may, or may not, need a cat

 Are you trapped in your traditions? Do they serve you, or do you serve them?

I pondered this question after reading a Paulo Coelho blog piece about an ancient Japanese story, which I will paraphrase here:

A great Zen Buddhist master had a cat. The cat was his constant companion even during the meditation classes he led. When the old master passed away, another disciple took his place and continued to allow the cat to join in meditation. When the original cat died, the disciples missed its presence, so they found another.

Disciples from other regions heard about the cat who attended meditation classes, and spread the story around to others. These disciples believed that the cat was the reason for the greatness of the Zen Buddhist master. Other temples began to bring cats to class.

Meditation (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn)

Eventually, writings began to appear about the importance of the presence of cats during meditation. A university professor studied the issue and wrote a thesis about the effects of cats on concentration and energy. Disciples began to believe that cats were essential to meditation.

Soon, an instructor who was allergic to cats decided to remove the animal from his daily classes. Other disciples were aghast and reacted negatively, believing the cat to be essential to their success. But his students made the same progress even without the cat.

Generations passed and, one by one, monasteries began removing cats from meditation. After all, it was quite a burden feeding all those cats. In fact, students began to study the benefits of meditating without animals.  More time passed until “cat,” or “no cat” was no longer a matter of consideration. But it took many years for the full cycle, because “during all this time, no one asked why the cat was there.”

Christmas—one of the most tradition-bound times of the year. Christmas trees, parties with too much rum eggnog, shortbread, gifts, overspending on gifts, turkey, family gatherings, family fights, church services, candles, crèches, Santa, pageants, carols . . .. These things have been part of our current version of the holidays for so long we have started to believe that Christmas is not Christmas without them. If we were to suggest not including them, people would react with aghast negativity.

Why are those “cats” in the room? Is feeding them becoming a burden?

Christmas means different things to different people. For me, it recalls the birth of a compassionate movement toward “all is one.” It recalls the birth of a man who lived the idea that every person contains the divine spark. As I meditate my way toward Christmas this year, whether I invite some of those “cats” to join me or not, the movement toward “all is one” by those of us lit with the divine spark continues regardless.

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Be entertained and learn something, too. Visit Paulo Coelho’s blog at: http://paulocoelhoblog.com/

The Golden Gun is more, and less, than a Golden Gun

Bond, James Bond. (Well, Roger Moore, actually.) In The Man with the Golden Gun he stands on the beach back to back with Scaramanga. (Christopher Lee, if truth be told.)  Scaramanga’s accomplice, Nick Nack (Hervé Villechaize, as in Tattoo), counts down twenty paces in the duel. The camera cuts back and forth between the duel and Britt Ekland in a blue bikini. (Does anyone really care what her character’s name was?)

Scaramanga holds the Golden Gun. No, scratch that. Scaramanga holds a glued-together pen, cigarette case, cigarette lighter and cufflink, for those are the items glued together to form the famous Golden Gun.

Photo from Wikipedia

We visited “Designing 007: 50 Years of Bond Style” at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) on the weekend. Is James Bond theme music running through your head already? Can you picture the gun barrel opening scene? James Bond music and imagery are such a part of our popular culture that even people who aren’t avid fans know them: James Bond himself, the metallic jaws of Jaws, Oddjob’s hat, and the Golden Gun.

Or rather, the golden pen, cigarette case, cigarette lighter and cufflink.

The Golden Gun is a widely known James Bond prop. It’s not just a gun, it’s the Golden Gun—the focus of one of the most famous James Bond scenes. The Golden Gun is revered, by some. The story that goes along with it makes it larger than life.

But, broken down to its essential bits, it is a pen, a cigarette case, a lighter and a cufflink.

People are like that, too. Broken down to our essential bits, we’re just molecules and atoms. Our physical components aren’t what make us interesting: our stories are. The most compelling stories grow out of simple physical materials.

The next time you bemoan your average height, your crooked nose or your less-than-perfect smile, remember, your simple physical components can play great roles. It’s the story you create with them that counts.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  —Mary Oliver,  New and Selected Poems