The other day a homeless friend made this request: “Give me some words of encouragement, like you would give to a son.”  That sent my mind (and heart) into pondering.  What could I say?  God is with you.  You are loved. I take that  for granted.  But what meaning would it have for him? Maybe that doesn’t matter.  I believe it.

My thoughts became more practical. Don’t ever give up.  Take care of yourself. Are those words of encouragement? I happen to know that he is down on the world.  Could I say, don’t focus on what is wrong with everyone else.  Focus on something that is good.  You have a good heart.

Words of encouragement are hard.  The fact is, that if someone is on a self destructive path…I want to say, stop!  And immediately I wonder where the will comes from to embrace self care and seek help.

I am well aware of the importance of living in the now. Being mindful, noticing, slowing down, opening one’s heart and mind to what is. Along side of the value of the NOW is the reality of the FUTURE.  Look ahead.  Ask how the way you are living now impacts you for the future and not only you, but those around you. And don’t even try to forget the PAST but learn to give gratitude for what was good and forgive all that wasn’t and accept all the grey areas in between where mixed blessings met.

If you have read this far, you can probably tell that I have no clear words of encouragement for my homeless friend, spoken as if he were my son. I think if I leave a note for him it will say, “Be well, my son. Your life matters!”  And I am thinking how much each of our lives matters and how much the lives of my birth sons matters to me.  Enough to jump out of a burning building with them in my arms to save their lives as a mother did this week.  Or enough to know that since they came into my life, they are always in my heart and I love them with all I am, with deepest gratitude, not generically, but each for who they are. Enough to know that words fail.

My homeless friend has been homeless for as long as I have known him.  He is a survivor. And he has not, so far, chosen any other life. Maybe he can’t.  So, now I say, “Your life matters!  Be a survivor! And, I say, “In God’s name, you are my son. God be with you. God loves you!”

Easy for me to say, of course. Maybe I could just say that what I want for you is health and well being and peace. You have to for whatever reason. say, I love you.  Love yourself. Don’t be weighed down by health concerns. fear of let anything get in the way of your ability to be

Yesterday I  bought a  book entitled, “Too Young to be Old.”  It has good ideas for exercise and diet. And indeed, some young people are faced with conditions that make them feel old before their time.  And if they can do something about that, great!  But I got to thinking that I am too old to feel young.  And that is as it should be. As life stages go, being young is for the young…unless you are Peter Pan or one of his clones. “I don’t want to grow up.”  But if I write a book entitled, “Too Old to Feel Young,” how popular would that be?  I think I would like to write it anyway.

The real problem lies, it seems to me, in how we view youth and age.  Being old is not such a bad thing though our stereotypes of it are.  Now that I am old, I know that I do not feel or act the way old people are supposed to…whatever that is, (and the images in my mind are not pretty.) I don’t feel young.  I do feel alive and glad to be living each day and working as long as I can. And loving a kind of love that feels like forever love.

Take faith for instance. I confess that my once bubbly, unquestioning religious perspective and faith is gone.  My faith has had to come to terms with life and unending challenges both from within and without.  I miss the simplicity that I had to leave behind to appreciate the depth and complexity that is still emerging. I would love to end up with an elegant mature simplicity but I am not there yet. I confess to a somewhat contained cynicism about life. And yet, I remain an optimist, I think, and optimist with wide open eyes. (Though I am sure I have blind spots.)

There is a way to embrace all that I loved about being young and love in new generations, without worshiping youthfulness. Let’s celebrate age diversity and give each life stage its due.

Th downside of being old is that one is closer to death if life is as it should be.  So, yes, there’s a major challenge of our last life stages. Leading the way into the unknown. But before that, if one embraces life fully, continuing to confront the many mysteries, realities, and histories that lie on life’s continuum, we can embrace the known.

These are unfinished thoughts. Much to contemplate. For now, I salute Barbara Walters who is old and alive without being youthful. She is a bit timeless, but that is different.

It has all happened so fast.  I finished my work as Interim University Chaplain at Tufts. My daughter-in law’s mother died.  My son had stents placed in his heart and came to visit three days later. And we drove to our hide-out in Pennsylvania, all within a week!  People ask me how I feel about any of these things and I don’t know. Nothing has settled in.

It will in time. For now, no fancy descriptions or reflections, just recording.  I will come back to these things when the motion wears off.  All I can think of now is that love lives strong. Love for Dorothy and her family. Love for my work and the people with whom I worked so closely, love for all my sons, the joys of my life, love for my husband who drove all the way to PA and settles in with me, and appreciation for this place and love for all who live and lived here for without them, I would not be writing this. And thinking of my forebears, my grandchildren are all engaged in new adventures which I celebrate  My sure love follows them, of course!

And I, I lean on God and move on and take a deep breath and give thanks.

Easter, 2013.  What a blessing to have almost the whole family together  and to hold those who are not here in our hearts.  Gratitude!

“The day of resurrection, earth sing it out abroad! ”  The day before Easter, on Easter Saturday, I wrote these words: This is a day when Christians around the world,  stand still waiting,  remembering Jesus crucified and buried.  Death had descended and had not yet been defied.  I have avoided the reliving of Jesus suffering during holy week this year. I couldn’t stand the focus on the details of violence.

I knew how the story ends, the stone rolled away, the empty tomb, the defiance of death, the resurrection. I am ready to celebrate Easter with its promise of new life and defiance of the forces of death.

Now it is Easter Monday. Time to choose life, the triumph of life, with my whole being. Resurrection is a mystery that points to a reality, the possibility of ultimate human resilience, the ability to affirm and hold on to life. We know there is adversity and finally, death. Now comes the time to look deeper and focus on life’s blessings;  to feel God and Love having the last word.

The Easter story is amazing because it calls us to live out the redemptive side of life, not with rose colored glasses on, but even in the face of  humanity gone awry and our human limits being challenged. Life is stronger than death. Love is stronger than hate. Peace is stronger than violence.

Jesus is like the bush in the Moses story that burned but was not consumed. When he saw that bush, Moses knew he was standing on holy ground.  Jesus is our holy grounding, facing injustice and crucifixion, he is not consumed.  He is the one who has passed through suffering and death and emerges whole on the other side. He leads the way.  Easter is about living on the redemptive, forgiving, amazing side of being human and divine.  Claiming life.

There on our roads we can see the face of God in the risen Christ and know that we are loved and able to love.  There on the road we see  ourselves reborn, fulfilled. There on the road we see Christ in one another.  A radical reality even when we aren’t seeing it.

So, around our Easter table we break bread and eat fish just as the disciples did with Jesus so long ago after the resurrection.  Maybe the post resurrection stories were more teaching tools than historic fact. They nonetheless reflected a real experience that the disciples had of Jesus presence.  I had an experience of Jesus’ presence in those beloved faces around our table. Accept imperfection. Embrace the gifts. Love is here. We are risen and rising!. Generation after generation.

“Welcome happy morning, Forgetage to age shall say, death today is vanquished, heaven is won today.”

I have spent most of today clued to the live coverage of President Barak Obama’s Inauguration to a second term on the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s holiday. .I sensed in his remarks, the energy of righteous anger. His first term seemed hard with reelection always at his shoulder. Now, with that behind him, he announced his agenda with clarity; an agenda that is inclussive of all, respectful of the earth, and committed to yhr future.

son of a white woman and a Kenyan national has been elected to a second term. He is now walking down the parade path, down Pennsylvania Ave. and I am holding my breath. Dear God., keep him safe. I am indeed affected the deaths of John and Robert Kennedy and King. He looks confident and happy as he and Michelle move along.
When I was beginning my ministry, the Civil Rights Movement was just getting into gear. One of the struggles was the right of blacks to eat at lunch counters in the south. From that time to now when an African American having lunch in the White House as President elect…eating lobster and bison, ptrdifing! Head of what we have come to call “The free world.”
Today I am very proud of the United States!

In a conversation with one of my sons about getting from our home to Boston,  I said I hated to take public transportation.  The next day I was standing in line getting my senior Charley Card.  (A Charley Card is used to pay for riding the T.)

It happened that I needed to get into Boston the very next day and taking the Red Line made most sense. The cost of riding on the T had doubled since last I paid attention. We were in the one subway stop area where getting a Senior Card would significantly reduce the fee.  I talked my husband into our trying to get one.  But what a bureaucratic mess we stepped into!

We were underground having gone up and down many stairs many times during this excursion. We found ourselves walking down a long wide corridor at the end of which was a small room inside of which several people were processing folk:  seniors, people with disabilities. and employees needing special cards.  There were long lines outside and inside the room.  There were people sitting on the floor. All waiting and waiting.  We got a number and asked how long the wait would be.  Three hours!

We were told that it’s like this every day.  My husband wanted to leave.  I knew I would not ever try this again if we didn’t stay. Against the advice of the man directing traffic, we went off to have lunch, number in hand.  When we came back, we still had another hour to wait!

Waiting gave us a glimpse of a slice of who we are as Americans, a very motley crew. And, at least, in this venue, a patient lot.  People of all ethnic backgrounds in quite an array of outfits, from a priest to a scantily dressed women, from men in work clothes to women in dress suits.  At one point i saw a women dressed professionally an overheard her say she was in a legal profession.  She looked  like my father’s law partner looked years ago and I almost fell over when she said her name was Helen, his partner’s name.  No it wasn’t she, but it felt surreal.

The whole experience was strange, the long wait, being underground, the muted conversations.  The woman sitting ncxt to me (when I finally got a seat) who had no idea how to match her number to the numbers being displayed on the screen on the wall.  I couldn’t explain because she didn’t speak English.

The good news was that the people processing us were kind and helpful once we reached them. And I am the proud owner of a senior Charley card.

Having gone through this experience,  I will have to take public transportation once in awhile.  That doesn’t mean I have to like it!

I recently attended an excellent forum advocating same sex marriage.  Now that Presbyterians  have removed the ban against the ordination of homosexuals, clearly the next step we need to take is the acceptance of same sex marriage.

But, I am led to write about another matter.

During a question period that took place during one of our sessions, I raised my hand to ask a question. The speaker, looking around the room, called on someone by saying,  “Yes, the woman with white hair and glasses…” I scanned the room and realized he meant me! I didn’t recognize the description.  Somehow my self-perception and his description of my physical reality didn’t match.  I am not saying his identifying me that way was wrong. Reality is reality.  Still I was put off.

When I was a kid, I hated wearing glasses. Now, in my mature years I am being identified as one who wears glasses. I better finally get used to being the “woman in glasses.”  I take comfort in the fact that many people in the room are wearing glasses. Now, about the white hair. When I was a kid, I couldn’t imagine myself ever having white hair.  Even now, I swear it is not totally white.

Maybe I should dye my hair.  If I go that route I will have to get a different hair dresser. My current one, Rita, says she likes it the way it is and if I want it dyed she won’t do it.  My youngest sister advises against it for different reasons.  She says it is too hard to keep up with.

Again I look around at the other attendees at this meeting, I see many grey/white heads, belonging to women and men.

The next day, I was having dinner with a male friend, who it turns out, also has white hair and glasses. I hadn’t particularly notices before. Now I had to suppress the urge to try calling him “my friend with white hair and glasses.”  Would he respond?  I am not sure that men are as likely to be referred to that way.  Or care if they are. My husband for one doesn’t understand my reaction and he is a “man with white hair and glasses.”

Maybe men look distinguished that way (with white hair.) and intelligent (with glasses.) Maybe that’s why they don’t seem as tempted as women are to dye their hair.  I revert to my earlier thinking.  Older women DO look younger with dyed hair.

Okay, clearly I have an issue.  I need to get over it. I am a woman with white hair and glasses.  But please don’t refer to me that way until I grow into my reality.  Refer to the color of my clothes,  the place I am sitting or standing,  my white hair, OR my glasses.  But try very hard to not put the two together.  I am sensitive, silly sensitive.  And who wants an Interim University Chaplain,  which I happen to be at the moment, who can be defined as “the woman with white hair and glasses.”  At least I am not little or I would be  “the little woman with white hair and glasses.”

I write this with apologies to my dear friend who has had really beautiful, naturally curly gray hair since she was in her thirties.

Just know this, looks can be deceiving.

I came across an article in the paper from months ago about the military’s possibile use of Psy Ops to influence the perspectives of  Senators visiting Afghanistan. I saved the piece wondering how many programs are at work that are capable of messing with minds.  How does this process differ from propaganda and advertising? Or for that matter, from the psychological effect of what we listen to over and over again on TV?  I think we all need to take training in this instrument of “warfare” so we can protect ourselves.  Many important inventions have come out of military research and  translated well into civil society. We could use this Psy Op knowledge to enable people to guard against undue influences. Asumijg, of course, that we really want to think for ourselves.  Democracy requires an informed public not a public formed by psychological operations. Trying to make robots think is one thing, trying to make human beings into automatons is another. Lets have  courses on Psy Ops for the public…at least the basics.  I’m in.  Seems like a reasonable part of modern education.

Then, of course, I’m reminded of my studies in family systems and psychology. We would do well to be conscious of what we absorbed from our parents and the effect of the times in which they lived on them. Unprogrammed influences.  That way, we can be more aware of ourselves and our choices.

Religion has been for me, a discipline that has helped clear my mind and enabled me to make moral judgments based on the continuum of history and the witness of prophets and great religious leaders along with my own sensibilities in community. There are those who say that religion by its nature is a “psy op” operation on its own.  It can be.  It can also provide a platform from which to discern the idolatries of this world in light of a transcendent reality that includes our finitude but exists beyond it in so many dimensions.

And, when I learn the subtleties of how “psy op” functions,  I can apply that knowledge to any aspect of life.

Last week-end I participated in Baccalaureate and Commencement at Tufts by giving the Invocation as Interim University Chaplain.  This is my second Commencement in this role. I think that qualifies me as a Jumbo.  And I am proud to be one.  Jumbo, of course, is an elephant and Tufts’ Mascot.  Even before I served my first term as Interim University Chaplain, I loved elephants.  When I was a child, I actually rode on one at the zoo.  I have a very faded picture of that event and a very vivid memory of it. I am quite sure that it is a good thing for elephants that that is no longer happening.  Looking back, I am amazed that it ever did.

As an adult, I was able to see elephants in the wild in Kenya.  What an amazing site!  They are, of course, huge, and ungainly, not sleek and beautiful, like a lion for instance, but strong and steadfast and, I think, fun.  I like the fact that they are vegetarians and family oriented.

Two of my favorite books then I was a child were “Sonny Elephant” and “Dumbo.”  So I find myself quite pleased to consider myself a “Jumbo.”

Before Jumbo,  there was the Drexel Dragon, “Mario the Magnificent,”  and the Princeton Tiger.  I am proud to claim both.  Having spent five years on the Harvard Divinity faculty, I thought ai ought at least to know what mascot I am attached to through that connection.  It turns out it is a human,  a caricature of John Harvard in a pilgrim hat.  Nothing against humans or pilgrim hats or Harvard, but that one doesn’t do much for me.  Let’s just stick with the big “H” on that one.

Well, with commencement comes the end of a school year, the beginning of summer school and getting ready for a new year and the incoming class of 2016.  I think I will give the replica of Jumbo standing proud in our quad a good pat and thank you.  Keep your eye on us this coming year and wish us well.

Today was a very frustrating day!  My husband wired money from his bank to another for a friend.  It was supposed to take three days and after eight days, he got the word that it had not gone through.  Some information was incomplete or wrong.  Both of us tried to work with the bank to find out how to correct the problem to no avail. We could not.  The woman at the bank was with a client every time we called.  The two times we reached her she was absolutely no help and seemed rather annoyed that WE were having this problem. The BANK was having this problem and we and the Money were in the middle. We were stuck between banks for days until they figured it out!  They finally did this by writing to our Brazilian friends (who speak Portugese) in Spanish.

No customer service there.

While the bank thing was going on,  I was trying to get my other computer connected to the internet; finally,  I had to call Verizon.  I called, turned on the phone speaker, and prepared to sit on hold for at least a half hour.  When finally reached someone and, after some he decided my computer was broken, after some 0discussion. At the very least, he suggested that I probably should sign up for premium service. (15$ a month)  Oh. and he would send a link to In Home Agent. (This program has never been able to address my issues.)

My head begins to hurt.  In frustration, when my computer asked me if I wanted to delete the problem network to which I was trying to connect, I said yes.  That worked. I was then able to take the needed steps to connect the thing!

These are just two examples.  I have many more.

This is as boring to read as it was to go through, so I won’t go on.  A little taste of modern life.  Three hours after these forays into bureaucracy and technology, I had lost half of a day that had been set aside for fun.  I was ready to turn back the clock to simpler times. Modern Bureaucracy is not only often user unfriendly but the customer is never right.  And technology is fast, but trouble shooting is Sloooooow.  And technicians are often a world away.

I got a headache.  Its all behind me now until next time. I take no spiritual or religious meaning from this except to yearn for humans being human to one another beyond the machines and systems by whom we are employed. I don’t think these institutions or technologies bring out the best in human beings…including me. The answer often seems to be, “pull the plug.”  Begin again.  Maybe we are learning patience.  But I am not fooled.  Patience is not a virtue in this context.

I write this to get it off my chest and out of my tightened muscles.  I know not to sweat the small things.  But, obviously, today they did get to me. I love those times when those of us contacting those working in bureaucracies and those doing the work, actually listen to and side with each other as human beings.  We are all so often just worn down.

The thing is,  I am a minister and chaplain and supposed to be kind and at the very least civil when interacting with others.  For the most part, I am. But, there are times when I find myself driven to frustrated anger.  Sorry.  When that happens to you, I’ll try to understand.  Together let us try to repersonalize our business interactions with one another.