Here is the bitch of it: for all my understanding and faith in a higher power – life is still not fair sometimes.  How can this be?  Where is my God from the 1^st Testament?  A righteous and violent God who punishes those who sin?  He will cast out the unworthy, right?  Then I remember rainbows. Later in the 1^st Testament, God gave up leveling the ‘fallen’ or debauched communities with floods and plagues to punishment them.  He became the God of boundless Grace.  I like to think he matured, he grow-up and discovered you can’t punish someone out of bad, but you can love them out of it. 

According to the Bible, rainbows became his personal sign of his infinite love for each of us.  However personally, some days I long for the Bad-ass God who likes to smite the wicked.

When I am caught in the unfairness of a situation or with a person, I try to comfort myself with the belief, “I can only see in part, You (God) see all.”  Sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn’t.  I am reminded of Jesus on the cross crying out his last to his Father – have you Forsaken Me?…I know that desperation, the fear of being abandoned as you know in your heart you have done all that has been required of you, yet still you hang on the cross, waiting.  How can this be?   “I can only see in part…”

I just saw Avatar over the weekend and because of all the hype, I did not want to like – fortunately I loved it.  It was gorgeous.  The theme of energy and interconnectivity is absolutely part of my believe structure. 

 Thus I was surprised yesterday when I started to hear criticism about the ‘white messiah’ saving the people in the movie.  Aghhhh, have you seen the movie?  He’s a cripple.  Yupe, he does have white skin and he can’t walk.  He is constantly last – last off the plane, rejected and judged because of outward appearances.  This character is one of the least among us.  (Ringing any bells – the last shall be first…)

 The concept of a messiah saving the community is a cross-cultural story.  The idea that there are signs and that a savior will come to make this right again is as old as time itself.  Check out the bible, Buddhism, any sacred text will have this story – it’s a longing we all share to be rescued. 

 Yes, the movie runs a bit long – that’s my only complaint.  However, Cameron has created an unbelievable feat – he has changed how we see movies.  The 3-d effects sink you into the picture, instead of feeling like the scenes are set up to show 3-d images.  The 3-d format has finally been integrated into a movie seamlessly.  Bravo!

Sure, at first glance it would seem these two women have very little in common, but let’s ponder this idea: both were too young when one afternoon their lives changed forever; both were strong & independent; and both were fiercely loyal. 

 Scarlett was my first hero.  I read Gone With the Wind probably six times before I was eighteen.  I loved that Scarlett was tough as nails all while looking good and batting her eyelashes.  I instantly connected to her love of the land - her red earth…Obviously the Irish thing was a huge pull, but I loved that Scarlett grew-up too.  Her heart and its wantings changed with time and age, from men to friendships. 

 Like Scarlett, I didn’t appreciate the value of female friendships until after I had had children – women were always competition before. Take Melanie - she was no simpering fool although she often appeared helpless due to her ill health, but time and time again she supported Scarlett when no other would.  Whereas Ashley appeared to be noble and forthright, but really he was an anchor to the past instead of the rock Scarlett first perceived him to be.  Melanie was the rock…and Scarlett.

 Scarlett would do anything, say anything to protect her beloved Tara and what was hers.  Of course there were costs in this.  Things were sticky – as she saved Tara and gave her family a home, she stole her sister’s fiancée, all while penniless and gorgeous in her new green, velvet dress, a.k.a. the parlor drapes.  How could you not love her???

 Mother Mary wasn’t so easy for me to attach to initially.  First off – the story of a virgin birth, can we say tramp?  Cover-up?  It took me years to allow the possibility of this story, the leap of faith.  I had to come to understand the teachings and environment of these stories.  I discovered there was much more space in the details of the events. 

 As you may know Jesus was a Jew and his story was originally told by spoken word through his disciples – something akin to a Rabbi.  Well, one forgets that the Rabbi told stories and allegories to teach their followers – the details were shifted a bit to keep the story interesting and connect to audience they spoke before.  They were, in many cases, the entertainment of the day.

 For example, Jesus was forever going off for 40 days – to the desert, in isolation, whatever, but did he go off for forty days?  Back then, when someone said, “forty days,” it just meant a long time.  The audience then knew this; however it is us, the exact interpreters that need things to be black and white.  This taught me about flexible thinking…but I digress, back to Mary. 

 Mary has always challenged me not only by the virgin birth, but also, how could she just stand there during the crucifixion of Jesus?  How could she not shout out, “Stop, stop, take me.  Take me, please, please, take me…”  What kind of mother was she???

 It took me years to discover she was exactly the kind of mother I strive to be everyday.  She supported her son and the decisions he made for his life because she trusted him…and God.  This was Jesus’ life and she stood by, faithfully until the end. 

 How could she deny the truth of what Jesus predicted to unfold?  Hadn’t she also heard Gabriel announce her own difficult path?  How many called her a tramp as she walked by? Perhaps her village shunned her…but she accepted her path and held fast to her own truth.  How could her child do less when so called?  And again, where else would Mary be, but at Jesus’ feet as he shouted out his last? 

 I believe, Mary knew the glory to be on the other side for Jesus.  You see, Mary knew magic and miracles every day – every time she saw Jesus’ smile she was reminded how real they truly are…

 There you have it - Scarlett and Mary, two heroines of tales gone by guide me each day to a brand new tomorrow, where possibilities unfold and magic is surely lurking just beyond…

 Who are your heroes??? 

I went to see the movie the Golden Compass last week.  I have read all three books in the series with waning interest.  What began turning me off in the second and third books was his obvious and negative view of religion.  The books – instead of making me question religion and its role in society – I became repelled by his obvious dislike of all things holy.

 Now I get the complaints about religion – violence in the name of God, a way to control the masses…Heard it all before, even spilling from my own lips at times.  I too had a Mother who identified herself as a recovering Catholic and pretty much my entire childhood was shrouded in negative views of any church and of course, God.  However, I was still curious…I have always thought it a bit naïve to criticize something not fully examined. So as an adult I joined a several different Bible studies to discover the truth for myself.

 Surprise of all surprises, I discovered a living book that spoke to my life right now.  Interestingly, the first Bible study I did was with a fundamentalist Christian (I am most definitely not) because I wanted to challenge myself.

 We read the Gospel of Matthew and one day we were reading Jesus words about his message.  He discussed how men would use his message and twist it to there own meaning, however love was truly the center.  Amusingly, as we discussed this passage, we began to disagree.  My friend really believed if you don’t follow the bible (really a fundamentalist interpretation) then to hell you go…What did you not read the loving words of Jesus – ALL are welcome????  She really could not see an all-inclusive loving God and certainly no other interpretations of God through other religious books were acceptable.

 Personally, I don’t feel any religion has a lock on God.  God is for all of us no matter how you find him/her whether through meditation, nature, different religions, books, whatever.  My image of God is clearly displayed in the story of the Prodigal Son. 

The father, i.e. God, runs arms outstretched for his wayward child.  The son only needs to turn to his father, who has been looking down the road hoping to see his child return.  The father celebrates the return and even chastises his other son for being resentful of the celebration.  I so understood that other brother’s anger and then I realized the truth.  No matter what you have done, God is there, pouring out his love and calling you home. 

 I don’t have to be perfect to be in relationship with God.  I can stumble, I can fail.  It doesn’t matter, God still waits and longs for me – each of us no matter what.  That is power, that is love. 

 So as I read each book in Philip Pullman’s series, I became more repelled.  It malice and distain for religion became more clear with each page; evil angels, the Magisterium (in the Catholic Church, an actual board of power,) the issue of souls, etc.  Honestly, it smacks of an immature and fixated negative view of religion.  I really wonder if he has done any real challenging scholarship on spirituality and religion.  I get the feeling that Mr. Pullman has no respect for spirituality and actually has a “less-than” view of those who do.

In fact when I finished the last book all I could think was, “Wow, this is sad.  How depressing to be so cut off from the magic of life.  How can do you find peace?  So lonely.”  I can honestly say I have no desire to read anything by him again, because I just have no interest in witnessing material that pedals hate, separation from God and violence towards kids guised as a children’s book.  Yuck.  This seems to at least be something that could reserved for adult books. 

What do you think?

For the past few years, I’ve been going on the women’s spiritual retreat with our church.  I had never been on a retreat before a few years ago.  The only other time I voluntarily lived with women was in college and only then because boys were too messy and smelled funny.

To be perfectly frank, in the past I never liked women all that much.  I usually had only a few close girlfriends growing up and the rest were guys.  Women were always too emotional, too catty for me.  They would cry easily and I could laugh with the guys.

Tears have always made me uncomfortable.  I don’t like to cry.  Both my parents were coaches, so needless to say tears were frowned upon.  If anyone started crying in my house, you were sure to ridiculed until the tears were replaced by hot anger.  Quickly, I learned to stuff all my emotions and found refuge in humor.

In my early twenties, I began uncovering all of those stuffed emotions—rejection, humiliation, anger, hurt, desperation, fear, longing, on and on.  A list of emotions we all run from, but never quite stay ahead of.  I also found  tears.  Yuck.  Aching, lost tears that would come pouring out at the movies, while watching soap operas, even commercials, the Olympics…It was pitiful.

I sought help and worked successfully with an excellent counselor.  There were lots of tears and healing, thus leading to the next phase in my life, marriage and kids.  It was only after “birthin’ babies” that I discovered the true value of girlfriends.  Girlfriends know your shoes, especially when they are covered in spit-up and the kids’ breakfast.  Not only could you laugh with your girlfriends, but you could cry too.

I joined a Mommies group after my daughter was born and found a wonderful circle of women.  I soon discovered that if one Mommy started crying, invariably someone else began sniffling and so on and so on.  Same went with the babies, one baby cries and soon there was a roomful wailing.  You did not cry alone.  Many times I would find myself welling up with tears and even sometimes, tears fell.  This was all very new to me.

Then I decided to go on the women’s spiritual retreat with my church after my son recovered from a health crisis.  Little did I know that spiritual retreats are set up to get you vulnerable, inevitably leading to tears, usually en masse.  I cried the entire weekend and I really, really needed it.

I had been so strong in my belief that my son would recover and in searching/finding the cure, that there had been no allowance for tears.  I was an old pro at stuffing my feeling from childhood.  That survivor had stepped back into my life for a while, but fortunately I was able through this circle of women and cleansing tears to regain myself, my adult.  As much as I have fought it, tears actually bring release and peace.

So I was surprised last year, when I was at the retreat that I shed no tears.  It wasn’t for lack of compassion with the suffering of those around me but I finally discovered the concept of “holding the space.”  I no longer had these wounded places that could be triggered by a friend’s pain or experience.  I was free.

I was free to support my weeping friend by just listening.  I did not need to take on her issues.  I could be her witness.  She could tell her story without having to worry about me.  It was such an empowering feeling to be on the other side.  I knew I had finally passed through and released so many of my painful “hooks.”

Her tears did not make me uncomfortable, they told me of her heart.

Oh, I know another year I’ll go to the retreat, I’ll be telling a painful story and quite possibly be in tears, but now, I know tears from every side.  I see the many facets–cleansing, sadness, joy, pain, triumph…all of it.  I am grateful to be here, in these new shoes, no longer covered in spit-up.  I am grateful to have a circle of women in my life that allow me to be wherever I am on my journey.  Sometimes holding the space, and sometimes being held.  May you find your circle.

I have been participating in a Bible study group with my church for about 3 years now.  I guess it was my curiosity that first drew me to the Bible a very long time ago.

I was not raised in a religious family.  My mother described herself as a “recovering Catholic.”  Needless to say, religion was not discussed in any positive light.  It’s use being only, “a way to control the masses.”

It wasn’t until I started reading a lot in high school and college that my interest was peaked in religious books.  I became an English major in college and there were constant references to the Bible in literature.  I felt like I was missing part of the story by not having any biblical understanding.

Whenever I read the Bible by myself, I felt like I was reading Shakespeare.  Maybe some of the words were familiar, but I certainly didn’t understand the context or the true meaning of the passage.  Like Shakespeare’s works, I perceived the Bible to be for someone else.  It was too hard.

But my curiosity propelled me on.  I just knew I had to be missing something in that book.  In my middle twenties, I studied the Bible with a dear friend who also happened to be a fundamentalist Christian.  Most of her social views were in direct conflict with mine, but I thought, who better to read the bible with then someone who would really challenge my values.

I know we read one of the gospels, but I’m not sure which one.  Very quickly I realized, although we read the same words, we had completely different interpretations.  The Bible I read, spoke of inclusion and love at the center, and hers spoke of the rules.  It really was a fascinating experience and happily, we remained friends throughout our differing views.

I did not truly begin understanding the Bible until a few years ago in our church Bible study.  Oh, I don’t mean I understand everything or even that I don’t struggle with the readings.  Now, however, I get to the other side of that struggle and see the Bible as really a pathway to myself.  It is truly a story about me.

I used to get so angry at Jesus’ disciples.  They didn’t listen.  They would bicker among themselves over who was Jesus’ favorite.  One night, he told them to stay awake and watch.  He even told them of the impending disaster in the morning and what did they do?  Fell asleep, not once, but three times.  This all made no sense to me.  These were the disciples?

Then my wonderful minister asked, “When have you fallen asleep?  Did you ever worry that you were not the favorite?”  It hit me–oh my God, I’m the disciple.  These disciples drive me crazy as I unconsciously see myself in them.  I have let someone down.  I have worried and feared to not be enough.  Does he truly love me best?  The Bible finally became a living book for me.  Finally, it spoke to my life, here and now.

Now, I love going to Bible study.  It’s like a puzzle to me that unlocks, piece by piece.  I still struggle…Just last week, we were reading Matthew 5 & 6.  Many people know these chapters as Jesus’ sermons from the mountain top.  It is an impossible list of ways to live with God culminating with the direction, “You shall be perfect.”(Matthew 5:48)  Well, this was just too much for me.

I think every therapist, every college psych class has preached to give up this obsession with “being perfect.”   Isn’t every self-help book based loosely on this concept?  So, again, I question my minister and she points me to translation.

The actual word used in the Hebrew Bible is “telios.”  The more accurate translation is, be the best you can be in the eyes of God, the most perfect you.  “You shall be the most perfect you.”  Now, this I understand.  This I can embrace, and I have discovered something new.

The idea of “perfect” bothered me because somewhere it implied there was a judge somewhere deciding who was perfect and who was not.  What if I was not?  Being the best I can be, well this allowed for error.

And there I was again, a disciple.  Not a God walking this earth in the guise of a man, but a blundering, stumbling, soul landing in grace time and time again.