Reflections on the Beatitudes – Part 3

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

It used to be that I would wake up in the morning filled with dread, pain in my head and in the pit of my stomach, angry at myself for being so weak and unable to hold my own. I would be meeting with a supervisor, and I just knew that I would melt into submissive behavior, with the childhood admonishments of “respect for my elders”. 

Susan Cain wrote a book and delivered a TED talk about introverts, and I recognize myself in her words. I am not a total introvert – over the course of my career I have developed leadership, coaching and communication skills. I can present a training program, and I can ask for directions at the department store. But in my soul, I savor the luxury of solitude and the triumph of excellence over criticism, traits that are often associated with meekness. When these feelings of dread come up, I seek solace in prayer and in faith, and keep certain printed quotations on my vision wall:

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

“Plant seeds of expectation in your mind; cultivate thoughts that anticipate achievement. Believe in yourself as being capable of overcoming all obstacles and weaknesses.” Norman Vincent Peale

“Things don’t go wrong and break your heart so you can become bitter and give up. They happen to break you down and build you up so you can be all that you were intended to be.” Charles “Tremendous” Jones

Several years ago, there were books, movies, television shows, podcasts, you-name-it, on the Law of Attraction, where just thinking positively would bring what you desire - just put it out to the Universe. I have learned that faith works when you work with it. Yes, you have to ask. Yes, you have to pray bold prayers. But you have to do your part. In my life, I have been guided to plant, cultivate, and believe that I would be rewarded for excellence, good will, and ministry. 

My timeline is not God’s timeline, so I have also had to learn about patience and moving beyond setbacks. My stories have happy, hope-filled, satisfying endings, as I have often recognized the results of the seeds I sowed – like receiving a new job doing what I love, or coming out of a serious illness. In such periods of meekness-turned-faith, I know that I have inherited the earth.

Reflections on the Beatitudes – Part Two

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 

One of the definitions in the Chinese symbol for mourning is, “Wear the willow.” The willow tree (“weeping willow”) is associated with sorrow, especially over the loss of a loved one. What an odd metaphor! The willow tree is so graceful, long branches of slender leaves swaying in the wind. Even the winter branches, bare of their soft green leaves, continue to sway gracefully. As a child, I loved the willow tree at my sister’s home, as it gave me a sense of grace and peace. Never would I have associated it with mourning or loss. I never even made the connection between weeping and willow – my focus was on “willow”.

Now, in reflecting on this second beatitude, I focused on the word “weeping”, as I recalled the times I mourned – the times my heart broke – and why some were so much more painful than others. A broken heart – that seems like such a melodramatic metaphor, but in my experience, the pain truly is akin to a broken arm or leg, or some other extreme body pain. I recall the flood of tears I experienced after my father died and I returned to San Francisco, when I was also experiencing a broken relationship – the difficulty breathing, sleeping, eating, and seeing beyond the fog of tears. I sat at the cloudy-grey rocky Pacific coast, letting the angry waves crashing against the rocks bathe me in the mist, melting into the tears that just would not end. I thought I would never be consoled, never love or be loved as deeply as I had in the preceding two years. No one would understand, no one would care, no one would come to my rescue.

But that day, I gave it time – I sat on my perch by the sea and allowed myself to be washed until I could see clearly. I saw seagulls diving into the sea for their dinner. I saw a man and his dog playing catch with a piece of driftwood. Suddenly the grey clouds broke, and I saw blue sky. More people came strolling along the beach, some holding hands, stopping for a quick kiss before they proceeded. Instead of sadness, I felt happiness for them. I saw a beautiful sunset.

I had survived the day, and I knew I would begin a new chapter with hope and faith for the larger, all-encompassing love that would come again. The seaweed that resembled the branches of the willow tree washed back into the sea.

 

Reflections on the Beatitudes – Day One

The Apostle Matthew is one of my favorite apostles, so I decided to study the Book of Matthew, and dedicate my next series of blogs to him. The most famous of the New Testament writings is Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, in which He presented the eight Beatitudes (Matthew 5: 3-12, NIV). In my next blog series, I will reflect on them in my life, line by line. 

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” 

As I have gotten older, I have gotten more and more comfortable in being alone without being lonely. I believe it’s because now, when I am alone, I am never alone. I am with Spirit, which to me is a wonder-filled, peaceful place.

It wasn’t always that way. In my early adulthood, I moved away from the warmth and comfort of my hometown to a student internship in San Francisco. I knew no one in San Francisco – no family, no friends, just a job and the community that the job brought with it. I am by nature an introvert and quite shy, so it was hard to introduce myself, let alone establish a friendship. Many evenings, I sat in my tiny room in the Evangeline Residence for Women, a kind of boarding house that was across the street from my work, and wondered why I was there. What was I thinking when I accepted the internship on such a whim? I had no phone in my room (the days before the now-ubiquitous cell phones), and no television. If I wanted any more than the four walls, I would have to seek it out. I sat in a big blue funk.

The Evangeline Residence for Women was operated by the Salvation Army. We had our meals in a community dining room, watched television in a community sitting room, did our laundry in a community laundry room in the basement. Gentlemen were not allowed anywhere but in the front living room, or in the dining room on Sundays. In my shyness, I would go through the buffet line and find a quiet space to eat, fighting away fear and loneliness.

One day, Gladys Estrella joined me at my table. During the course of our meals, Gladys, a spry, chipper extrovert from Guayaquil, Ecuador, asked me to help her with her English by correcting her whenever she used incorrect pronouncement, grammar, or syntax. In return (although probably not as seriously), she helped me with my Spanish. Gladys had made many friends through her work, and often asked me to accompany her on evenings out in the Mission District, with her Central American and South American friends. I learned about the various Latino cultures, but mostly I learned the value of community.

San Francisco is a cosmopolitan city, and I quickly learned how to be adopted into the various communities – Japanese, Chinese, Mexican, Central American, English, African American, Jewish – simply by accepting invitations from other residents and co-workers. Moreover, San Francisco has a fabulous public transportation system; with my monthly Fast Pass, I could go anywhere and explore everything from the San Francisco Bay to the department store bargain basements. On Sunday morning, I would often catch the Number 5 McAllister bus at the front of the residence and go to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park, or all the way out to the Pacific Ocean, for an hour of silent meditation and prayer. It was on those Sunday mornings in the little havens within the big city that I learned how to be alone, without being lonely. I discovered my Spirit, and with it, my strength, independence, self-reliance, and the richness of my own culture within the myriad cultures. 

Sunday mornings in the Japanese Tea Garden changed me from Poor in Spirit to Rich in Spirit, and I found the Kingdom of Heaven.

Reflections on the Prayer of St. Francis - Day Thirteen (Final)

It is in dying that we are born again to eternal life.

“Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.” Rabindranath Tagore

As a young adult, I was blessed to have been in the presence of Dr. Jonas Salk, discoverer of the polio vaccine. Dr. Salk spoke about the necessity of living our lives according to the question, “Am I a good ancestor?” In the same way that Native American tribes speak reverently about their ancestors, we must live our lives in such a way that, generations from now, our children’s children will refer to us as their ancestors, with reverence and honor.

Some of the most beautiful moments of my life are filled with that multi-dimensional, multi-sensory experience of being surrounded by my ancestors, my Spirits – the voices in my head guiding me to a decision; the sensations I feel when I walk into a familiar setting. I remember childhood afternoons after school with my Mother whenever I smell bread baking. I sometimes catch a whiff of my father’s Aqua Velva after shave, or hear the sound of my grandfather’s tobacco spittoon, or dream of the sight of the newspaper cartoons lining the ceiling of my Grandma Sanchez’ attic bedroom, or remember my Uncle Demosthenes when I hear certain classical music. All of my loved ones who have passed into the realm of death – my ancestors – have left an everlasting impression on practically everything I do. They are not just memories – although the memories, too, are powerful and everlasting. They are actual visits from Spirit, for which I try to keep myself open and receptive. These are visits from my ancestors, reminding me of their presence with the guiding light of dawn.

Am I a good ancestor? I will never actually know, but this I do know: I carry the Spirit of my ancestors in me, as they teach me the wisdom of the ages. They never actually died; they were born again in me and live forever in the wisdom I will carry within my own legacy as I become an ancestor.