liftthescreen

 Blog – -The mosaic of our lives 

How do we reflect on our lives? Where do we begin? I focus here on four ideas that work together to launch us into reflecting on ourselves. Call them ideas for spiritually.

Just who are you? Who is living your life? This is the question of identity. Age, health, ethnicity and gender, occupation, social class placement—these all play into our identity. A checklist of these items is helpful. I’ll bet  there are some features of identity we would like to skip over. “Who am I?” can a challenging question.

What’s the  meaning of my life? This requires looking at a bigger picture than our identity, even the whole picture. This is really asking what your personal metaphysics is. Each of the religions tells us about the meaning of our lives. Secular scientific humanism has its own answer to the question. Of course, some views say that life has no meaning, and if that is what a person. belief, that is important, too.

As a Christian, I believe that my life takes place within the hand of God, and that my life is part of God‘s providence.

 Purpose. With my given identity, Within the framework of meaning that I hold to, what is the specific purpose of my life. As  a Christian, I believe that the purpose of my life is to contribute to God’s work of bringing the creation to fulfillment, while living a life of love – – loving others, and the world, as Jesus loved us. This is a very general statement of purpose, but it does help me to eliminate some possibilities, and embrace others. Amassing, wealth and becoming famous may be ruled out, for example.

Direction is the only one of these four that we have some control over. Meaning is given to us, or not. The same is true of our identity and our purpose, as well —it may be synonymous with our calling or vocation. These may be in place—or absent—while we are headed in the wrong direction. Direction, like identity is bound tightly to our situation in life. Those  of us who are past fourscore and ten years, for example, know our direction is conditioned by mortality. Nevertheless, we can map it out within the parameters of age.

Identity, meaning, purpose, and direction – – these are pieces in the mosaic  mosaic that is our life. It is the task for us, of personal reflection and even spirituality. These ideas only get us started, but at least it’s a start

(c) Phil Hefner, 3/1/2023

Two poems originally written in free verse believable, that transformed into more tightly structured forms.

Poems of Recovery

By Phil Hefner

Grounding

 1/17/2023

My search is for grounding

for the deep-down of things

where freshness of living

is to be found

that’s where I can stand

when my world spins

beyond my comfort zone

twists in forms beyond

my understanding

call it really real

where there’s a center

that holds where chaos

is calmed where

everlasting arms

reach to hold me

firm

where is this ground

how will I find those arms

perhaps in heaven above

or a memory of a past love

or best of all in you dear friend

Grounding: a sonnet

1/26/2023

My search is for the deep-downness of things,

Where streams of life flow unimpeded, strong

And undergirded by rock-solid earth. I long

For the center that holds when chaos brings 

Fears and shakes me from my comfort zone.

Twisting my world in ways beyond my ken.

I reel and falter, in a state of vertigo. And then

It dawns on me: I seek the really real, the tone

Of the cantus firmus, the melody that grounds

And envelopes me with its resonating sounds—

like the mother-God’s everlasting arms—

Protecting me from all besetting harms .

Where do I find grounding —over the rainbow in skies of blue?

In the memory of past love? Or, dear friend, in you?

I’ve found the ground

2/3/2036

I’ve found the ground

that I sought 

but I am not where I was

th ground has shifted 

I jumped into the air

but did not land 

in the same place

The world is still there

but it is a different world

Up is heaven

here below the earth

the people are here

but it’s a different world 

and I need a map

For stable worlds

gazetteers abound

not much help

for a world that’s changed

gazetteers abound

not much help

For a world that’s changed

We wander life’s wilderness without a map

2/8/2023

We wander life’s wilderness without a map

We wander. Life’s wilderness without a map,

Affords no straight line route for travel,

There is no short cut, every road may be a trap.

Atlas, compass and gazetteer of no avail.

So, we wander life’s wilderness. Without a map,

it’s a trackless jungle full of dangers and peril.

A desert’s endless dunes—our minds snap,

Our eyes see mirage where there’s only sand aswirl.

We wander life’s wilderness without a map,

But we rely on our own heart’s compass, 

Our own sense of true North—we wrap

Our hopes in humble prayer, because—alas!—

We wander life’s wilderness without a map.

(c) Phil Hefner 2023

Grounding

My search is for grounding

for the deep-down of things

where freshness of living

is to be found

that’s where I can stand

when my world spins

beyond my comfort zone

twists in forms beyond

my understanding

call it really real

where there’s a center

that holds where chaos

is calmed where

everlasting arms

reach to hold me

firm

where is this ground

how will I find those arms

perhaps in heaven above

or a memory of a past love

or best of all in you dear friend

(cPhil Hefner 1/17/2023

Grounding: a sonnet

My search is for the deep-downness of things,

Where streams of life flow unimpeded, strong

And undergirded by rock-solid earth. I long

For the center that holds when chaos brings 

Fears and shakes me from my comfort zone.

Twisting my world in ways beyond my ken.

I reel and falter, in a state of vertigo. And then

It dawns on me: I seek the really real, the tone

Of the cantus firmus, the melody that grounds

And envelopes me with its resonating sounds—

like the mother-God’s everlasting arms—

Protecting me from all besetting harms .

Where do I find grounding —over the rainbow in skies of blue?

In the memory of past love? Or, dear friend, in you?

(c) Phil Hefner 1/26/2023

Where are they now, what are they doing?

Reflections on life after death

My wife, Neva, passed away duringChristmas week. Writing at this time, this  blog installment can be considered part of my grieving, but it deals with difficult intellectual and theological issues. In the days after her death, my mind uncontrollably asked questions, even though I knew there could be no answers. I know perfectly well that these questions are unanswerable, but at the same time, I can’t stop asking them.   They are intrinsically  compelling. Christian faith undergirds my questioning. That faith makes the questions both necessary and possible. If I believed, naturalistically,that we are nothing more than bundles of matter, dispersing through burial or cremation, there would be no doubt about where things stand—at least in the short-term—the days or weeks or centuries it takes for our molecules to merge with the environment. Life after death could be traced to the remembrances of those who live after us, as well as the lasting impact of our actions and ideas. Believing in a resurrection of soul and  body quickens the mind’s inherent curiosity about something more—questioning ensues.

The days after Neva died, I asked myself “Where is she now?” And “What is she doing?” I really wanted to know. If you have a picture of the heavenly city with streets paved in gold, then you “know” where she is. A friend whose husband died a year ago, said to me, “I like to hope that the two of them have met and ate walking together.” Of course, that isn’t really an answer to my question. Just where is the New Jerusalem and where are they walking?

My question seems to be asking about location, but geography doesn’t work here. There is no geography tp the soul’s location after death. It’s like asking, “What happened before the Big Bang?” Since time came into existence with the Big Bang, there is no “before.” We, on the other hand, are permeated by “time,” so we cannot avoid asking questions that assume “time.”  It is impossible to “locate” the soul of a living person; if anything, even more impossible after death. We use emotive terms that provide no answers: “with God,” 

in eternal peace,” “in paradise with Jesus,” and the like. Just as common sense has difficulty comprehending the non-temporal happening of the Big Bang, it is incomprehensible that after death the deceased is “nowhere” and “doing nothing.” That’s why my mind uncontrollably asks questions it knows it cannot comprehend.

Questions about the body are another matter. Since the matter of our body—its atoms and molecules—will never disappear, immortality and resurrection of the body is a credible belief. Those atoms will surely enter into new relationships and be transformed, but will not be destroyed. Although as a practical matter it may not be possible to trace the future course of our body, in theory it would be possible, if we made adequate observations with appropriate instruments. But, practically, even though we know that our atoms and molecules are still in existence in some ways, it is impossible to locate them. It is exciting to contemplate, however.

In the Apostles Creed, Christians affirm the resurrection of the body. After all, since our bodily matter is indestructible, resurrection of the body, in some form, is a credible belief. St. Paul writes that the resurrected body will be different from our earthly body.  But how are the resurrected body and soul related? Some Jews believe the the soul loosens from the body only in a slow process Bodies are stored for a week or more in the mortuary before they are cremated or interred. Has the soul already gone its  way? As the atoms of our body are evolving in new forms and relationships, do they meet up with our soul at some point?

In my theological education, I was  instructed to be skeptical of a soul separable from the body. Ted Peters recently blogged on this point, referring to the thinking of Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Benedict that resurrection of the body was the correct belief, with no emphasis on separable soul. Ratzinger was standard reading in ,y seminary and graduate school days, too. 

However, as Neva’s body lay in storage for more than a week until official permission was finalized for cremation, I concluded that Ratzinger’s proposal is also this-dimensional language, trying to deal with the other-dimensional world I was asking about. What was “resurrection of the body” in those storage days? And was she not also a soul? I agree with Peters and Ratzinger. I also agree with mentor Church historian Jaroslav Pelikan,  who reminded us that talk about soul and its immortality (which is dominant belief in the early centuries of Christianity) and talk about resurrection of body (equally ancient belief) are both appropriate if we are clear both take place as God’s action.

These reflections may seem pointless, even absurd. From this I take a lesson. We are fully embedded in a world with certain dimensions. Death and resurrection bring in another dimension. It is impossible for us to comprehend or enter into this dimension. Our dimensionality defines our finite nature. The dimensionality of other worlds stretches our finitude beyond its limits. Our dimension thinks in terms of time and location, so it no wonder we irrepressibly ask our questions.

It is amazing that our minds and spirits can entertain the idea of other-dimensional world and recognize the impossibility of our entering those worlds. We can define our own finitude. In pondering death, we hit up against the other-dimensionality. Afterlife and resurrection are beyond the dimensional barrier. That is why our only option is faith. Faith is not holding absurd ideas: it is trust—that, as St. Paul writes, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. We cannot say more. Whether my present dimension or Neva’s, We are the Lord’s.

(c) Phil Hefner 1/13/2023

On December 28, I’ll be preaching for the first time on Holy Innocents Day—marking Herod’s slaughter of babies in his attempt to dispose of newborn Jesus. I found it to be a rich experience, so I’m sharing it.

Jesus came into the neighborhood

Christmas Day  in Bethlehem with  the manger scene is easy to sentimentalize and turn into a manger scene that we put up one a year. Today, marking the slaughter of the Holy Innocents reminds us that Jesus was born into the real world.  In that real world, Jesus was born into poverty, a nobody, into an ethnic minority in a vast oppressive Roman Empire. Our conventional telling of the Christmas story misses this almost completely. Jesus became a threat to this world he was born into, because he preached radical change in almost every way. Nobodies were as important as kings. Prostitutes, foreigners, ethnic enemies, Roman soldiers, not to mention common laborers like Peter and Andrew—all were his people. And conventional powers that he didn’t want him around. John’s Gospel says, the light came into the world, and the world did not accept him. Eugene Peterson paraphrases this with “he moved into the neighborhood, and neighborhood did,’t want him.”

This is the real world—poor people are not respected, ethnic minorities are discriminated against. Homeowners want to keep outsiders from living in their space.

Herod didn’t know all this, but he didn’t want  another king, even a king peace, challenging him. Pontus Pilate and the High Priests, beginning with Caiaphas, figured this out. Mary, Joseph, and Jesus escaped Herod, but Caiaphas and Pilate succeeded in getting rid rid of the new man in the neighborhood.

Today we are reminded that the wrath aImed at Jesus struck innocent people—in this case, infants. Today we join Rachel in weeping for these innocent victims. We also remember that it is this real world that a Jesus came to save. The neighborhood didn’t want him, but Jesus came just for this, to save the neighborhood from itself. 

But that didn’t come easily. We can get a sense for why battle and warfare images are in our tradition. The Herod’s of this world do not give up easily. The neighborhood does not suddenly soften. Affordable housing is resisted today as much as it was in Bethlehem—no room in the inn, for homeless people, immigrants or the poor. Jesus’ work of salvation involves struggle and combat against evil. Jesus’ neighborhood is open for everyone, affordable housing for all, and it is ruled with love. That is the neighborhood we long for. In Jesus Christ, God brings it—we call it the New Jerusalem, the New Neighborhood.

Phil Hefner—12/28/2022

September 12–I am writing this from my hospital bed which is parked in the hallway of the emergency room. I am watching the workers, the technician, the people who push hospital beds, the stock clerk, and the people who deal with the mountains of trash that hospitals produce. At the entrance to every room there is a cupboard. I watch the worker—the stock clerk—going through each drawer of the cupboard, checking to see what they are lacking. In one drawer, he places urinals. In another, various types of catheter bag. Each drawer needed to be refilled with the items that he has on his cart. When the nurses, the doctors, and technicians need an item, they know exactly which drawer to go to, and they expect to find it supplied. I know the name of my doctor, and I know who the name of my nurse, but I have no idea who the stock clerk is. I note, as well, the women who are filling their carts with trash bags piled high. They replace each bag with a fresh one. The woman who navigated the labyrinthine hallways to get me to the x-ray lab was obviously expert in what she does. She told me she is working in four different hospitals in this complex and she hast to know the tunnels below ground and the hallways above. My situation posed real difficulties for the x-ray technician. On several occasions she had to stop, scratch her head and devise a way to deal with what the doctor’s orders called for.

I was watching a team at work. Each worker, no matter how humble their task, is essential for the team. If the garbage piled up, if the nurse can’t find the urinal or the catheter bag, if the x-ray technician is not ingenious in doing her work – – the doctor will not be able to make a diagnosis, and nurses cannot implement orders.

There is evidence of our class system here in the hospital. Sociologists tell us that the social class system is the way society distribute status and rewards.The team is not primary in the social class system. Rather, there  is a pecking order of individuals—not a team. And the pecking order does not take into account how essential the worker is. It is not even based on native intelligence – – the x-ray worker displayed a lot of that. It is based on how many years of education it takes to qualify for the position. And then there is the Gee-Whiz factor. Gee-Whiz, the doctor can perform amazing surgery. Nobody says, “Gee-Whiz, that stock clerk is really doing a great job.”

In other words, the work of the hospital requires a team of  many members, interacting with each other in a competent and professional manner. But the people in the team are not rewarded for their teamwork and for their essential place in the team. They are rewarded, both monetarily and in terms of respect, according to the American capitalist social class system, which the French call “savage capitalism.” Karl Marx saw that the whole system is faulty and needs revision. Unfortunately, Marx is passé today, largely because the people who took his ideas most seriously were just as tyrannical and cruel as the capitalist systems that Mark was denouncing.

The last time I was in the hospital, I read about Walt Whitman’s view that his fellow citizens and their needs must become items of his own self-interest. That is essential, he wrote, if democracy is to flourish. 

I think of Benjamin Franklin’s proverb:
“For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.

For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

(c) 9/30/2022 Phil Hefner

September is a metaphor

days grow shorter

leaves take on colors

winter’s cold corpse

coming to blanket the land

the calendar heads into

the home stretch—

our thoughts turn to

mortality—it’s metaphors 

all the way down

But metaphors stay true

though September is 

a time of dancing and loving

the days to December

are precious and few 

September’s days are golden

and warm—days for 

feeling and holding

and not letting go

(c) Phil Hefner 8/15/2022

Labor Day falls on the first weekend of September. I propose that we change the holiday’s name to Essential Workers Day. The term, essential workers, has taken on a new and important meaning during the pandemic, and it should change the way we think about Labor Day.

Who are essential workers? They are the base, the infrastructure, on which the work of society depends. The chef imagines and puts together the meal that brings oohs and aahs from the diners. But without line cooks, waitstaff, bussers, dishwashers and janitors, the chef will never be able to begin work. Koehler and Moen may design breathtaking bathrooms and kitchens, but without plumbers and their helpers, the water will never be hooked up. Architects ,and general contractors may envision fine buildings, but those buildings will never rise without hod carriers, common laborers, bricklayers, HVAC workers and the other trades. Medicine at the forefront will not be practiced unless doctors have the support work  of nurses, orderlies, technicians of many sorts, janitors, and tradespeople who keep operating rooms functioning. This applies to all health care facilities and retirement communities. These workers are the truck drivers who make the supply chain work, and factory workers who produce cars and refrigerators. Recently, the exploited sector of academia—teaching assistants and athletes—have formed unions.

You get the picture. We know the chefs, architects, and doctors by name, but who knows the name of the dishwasher or line cook on whom the chef is totally dependent? Who knows the names of the five workers who were killed, or the 100 who were injured, in the constructing of Sears Tower? These are sometimes called the “grunt” workers. They often have fewest benefits and are the first fired. If undocumented workers are available, they will be hired, because they get even lower wages and benefits. 

These workers are the people that Labor Day intends to honor. And they have not had an easy time. Karl Marx (1818-1883) turned things upside down with his theories that made these workers the pivot of society. These workers are the laboring class, the “proletariat,” the “proles” of Orwell’s novel, 1984.

Essential workers have never had an easy time of it in the United States. Workers find their voice in labor unions. The National Labor Relations Act of 1935, also known as the Wagner Act, is a foundational statute of United States labor law. It guarantees the right of private sector employees to organize into trade unions, engage in collective bargaining, and take collective action such as strikes. 

From the beginning, efforts to unionize have met with opposition, even violence, from employers and their hired police. Twenty-eight states have“right to work” laws, which make it difficult to form unions. Some states are anti-union. In 2014, Nikki Haley, governor of South Carolina said, “We discourage any companies that have unions from wanting to come to South Carolina.” In 2015, Governor Rauner of Illinois attempted to remove the right of  public service employees to collective bargaining. Even today well-known companies like Amazon and Starbucks actively oppose unions. This may be because union members earn on the average 11% higher wages and set the standard for non-union workers in the same industry.

The high point of union membership was in the 1980s, when 20% of workers were in unions, compared to 10.3% today. Thanks to the automobile, steel, and coal industries, along with the Teamsters and service unions, labor unions wield considerable power, especially at election time.

During the recent pandemic, essential workers were called, 

“Heroes”—but their wages were seldom increased. Today we experience a shortage of essential workers. Hospitals, healthcare facilities, hair salons, railroads and airlines, and many other places report difficulties in finding workers. There are several explanations put forth to explain this, but it remains a puzzlement and a worry. Perhaps the pandemic moved  people to reconsider their lives. Perhaps these workers feel that they no longer want to work in jobs where they are under appreciated, underpaid, and frequently overworked.

On this Labor Day there will be parades, cook-outs, and speeches. Essential workers will be praised. But will life really be made better for these workers who make our lives possible? Labor Day is also a time for reflection and deepening our understanding of how our society works and the essential people who make it possible to work at all.

(c) Phil Hefner.  8/14/2022

It is a gif.  To be one with all the world

does not come as an act of the  will.

Even deeply yearning may be in vain,

but remaining  inwardly open and still

a sense of belonging may descend like softest rain—

That is the gift to be one. With all the world—

a bewildering array of shapes and sizes,

inert masses and strangest creatures hurled 

at us, and folk who come in many guises,

it is a gift to be one with all the world—

a gift as elusive as sublime—absurd

yet written in the stars, our lives unfurled

on this planet in galaxies enswirled.

It is a gift to be one with all the world

Phil Hefner.  6/23/2022

I want to introduce a new word into the discussion of guns and the horrendous killing that gun shooters inflict upon our society: Lamentation.

We are hurting—all of us—actual victims, families, classmates, teachers—our whole society. This is a time of hurt. Amanda Gorman expresses it in her recent poem, “Hymn for the Hurting”—

             “Everything hurts,
             Our hearts shadowed and strange,
             Minds made muddied and mute.
              We carry tragedy, terrifying and true.”

“Hurt” is pain and grief that something has been lost. One mother, getting the news that her son had been gunned down in Millennium Park, cried out”It’s like my soul has left my body,” a father whose son was killed in Uvalde, Texas, said, “My soul is broken in two.” Such comments tell us how deep the hurt is, how deeply we grieve. Parents grieve that they must leave the neighborhood where they have lived their entire lives, move to another city where their children can live in safety. Traumatized classmates require therapy.

Grief is loss that can never be restored, hurt that has no healing. “Thoughts and prayers,” words that we hear so often carry sympathy and wishes for a better future. “Action” is also spoken—pass new laws, limit the guns. In our current times, thoughts and prayer sound like mere lip service and action almost always settles for half-measures. Action eyes a better future. None of these plumbs the depths of hurt and grief in the here and now. Better laws and heartfelt prayers are good, but they do not put a parent’s soul back together. They don’t take hurt seriously enough.

Lamentation points to something different. Mourning, taking into oneself the hurt of the grieving people. It’s a very deep sympathy and empathy—both of which speak of suffering with someone else.

We may learn from the Latin American healing traditions, curandero. Chicano writer Rodolfo Anaya’s great novel, Bless Me, Ultimate, is a fine introduction to these traditions. This centuries-old tradition has been described as “radical empathy,” because the healer takes into herself the situation of the person she will heal. The healer establishes a relationship with that person. In the process, the curandera is herself transformed. It has been said that the curandera model doctors and psychological therapists today.

Lamentation can come close to radical empathy. It can contribute to healing this time of hurting. But it will require that we go beyond thoughts, prayers, and action—and allow ourselves to be transformed by relating to those who hurt from gun violence.

When God became incarnate in the first century, he appeared in Jesus of Nazareth, a man  of the hurting segment of humanity—Jews oppressed by Rome. He grew up in the world of the working class, subsistence farmers, hungry people, and beggars. He lived with people who were outcasts. He did not make excursions to do charitable acts for those who hurt—he became one of them. Paulos Pasolini portrays this most forcefully in his 1964 film, “The Gospel according to St. Matthew” and Gerd Theissen does the same in his novel, Shadow of the Galilean. Jesus was executed because he identified with hurting people—and called for changes that enraged the powerful people who benefited from hurting others.i

In Matthew 23, we read Jesus’ lament over the Jerusalem that put him to death: “O, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.“ This is the lament of a healer.

There is much more to be said about hurting, healing, and transformation. How to bring it to bear on our present gun violence is an even greater challenge.

(c)Phil Hefner 16 June 2022