Tag: Spirituality

ANABAPTIST ETC.

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

As I said at the time …

You ask about “Anabaptist.” I’ll try for a short answer and hope it works. In the early Protestant Reformation, three major streams emerged. The Anabaptists accused the Lutherans and Calvinists (Reformed, Presbyterian, and English Puritan churches, among others) of not carrying the faith far enough and, as a consequence, were severely persecuted by them and the Roman Catholics. As the first to argue for a strict separation of church and state, they became pacifists who warned that any official state church seriously compromises the Gospel. The movement exists today as Mennonites, Amish, Church of the Brethren (or, in its older forms, Dunker), River Brethren, Bruderhoff, Amanas, Hutterites, and – by extension – the Society of Friends, or Quakers. It traces its roots to the Waldensians, the communalistic radical Christian movement against whom the Inquisition was launched. Its traditions include non-violence, simplicity, discipleship, community. You can see the absurdity in having one of them as a military chaplain! (In Catch-22.)

The term itself means “rebaptized,” an argument that infant baptisms (which that first generation had undergone, before the Reformation emerged) were invalid: the only authentic acceptance of faith could be made as an adult.

Because the Mennonites took literally Amos 5:23, “I will hear thy viols no more,” they banned instrumental music from their lives. Somehow, though, they practice four-part unaccompanied singing that seems to be part of their genetic endowment. Their hymnals cover the range of church music, from all denominations and eras, as long as it sings well. Whether gathered as six or eight people standing in a circle in someone’s living room, or as six hundred adults singing a Bach chorale at a wedding, the effect is quite moving: you have to be loud enough to contribute to the worship, but soft enough to be aware of everyone else. As an old-style Quaker once told me, “Jnana, thee has to remember that in their singing, the Mennonites are experiencing something very much like what we feel in our silence.”

Kenneth Rexroth, whose ancestry was in the Dunker/Brethren tradition, details much of this history in one of his collections of essays. (Don’t have the title at hand, but it’s the one about communalism.) Another poet who was Brethren is William Stafford.

You mention Thomas Merton. He inherited some of this tradition through one of his parents who was Quaker. But he felt the liberal Meeting (as Friends’ congregations are known) he attended as a child was well-intentioned but superficial, and yearned instead for the depth of its earlier generations. The rest, as they say …

Have you seen Kathleen Norris’ The Cloister Walk? As a Protestant who draws strength from her retreats and friendships in the monasteries of the Great Plains, she has some wonderful insights into abbey life.

OK, I promised to keep this short!

And I do hope your parking problems with J have found an appropriately adult resolution, other than your turning the other cheek – which, to continue all this theology, was originally an act of defiance, causing the abusive person to lose face. (By the way, 7th and Race, I take it, is Zinzinnati?)

Blessings …

TURNING THE TABLES

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

Something I ask among Friends, from time to time: What would you be if you weren’t Quaker? It’s an insightful exercise, unearthing answers that point to individual tastes in worship, spiritual practice, and friendships.

My answers have changed over the years – from Judaism to Zen or Unitarian to Mennonite (of the faster variety) or maybe even Eastern Orthodox (for the Greek dancing and music as well as the mysticism and discipline). I know strongly, too, what I would never be – and we’ll leave those unnamed. Look deeper, and you may see what is most precious to you at this point in your spiritual journey; perhaps it’s the richness of the story or tradition, the social witness in the face of injustice, the emotional response to music or even dance, the warm embrace within a disciplined community, the comfort of a timeless dimension, even a particular aesthetic. The fact is that we can be fed, in stretches, by practice with other faith bodies, especially through those periods where we find ourselves conflicted within the our own stream. We can learn, too, from their experiences and sometimes come away with something that enriches our own way.

The exercise can also help us greet visitors who come through our door, acknowledging that they, too, bring something to the service, even if it’s only for one morning. I see, too, how the question demonstrates the great variety of responses within our own circle, as we return to worship and work together.

FROM THE FLAT GRAY FIELDS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

As I said at the time …

Standing in the blank fields of Ohio … gray March … the utilitarian cemetery … beside my mother’s grave, knowing soon my father, too, would be planted here.

As it turns out, not as soon as I envisioned. He recovers somewhat. Several years later, I return to the spot, this time with my sister. We explore more, find other great-great-grandparents buried in a cemetery two or three miles away – not at all where I previously thought.

This time, I begin to appreciate the section numbers of township maps, as I place my ancestors’ farms, how often they abutted each other. How many, only a mile or two from this spot, back when these lands were mostly forested.

A native, a student at a then-new state university, a journalist who worked on three of its daily newspapers (each in a different quadrant of the state), I’ve spent a third of my life in Ohio. Married there and, a few years after returning, divorced; nearly married there again, too. Many of my ancestors, I’ve learned, settled Montgomery County in its first decade.

Yet, reviewing my creative writing – the poetry, fiction, and essays – I find little that’s directly about Ohio. Curiously, those few passages typically appear in pieces about other places – Indiana, Washington State, the East Coast. What instead becomes apparent is the fact that my roots remain, complexly and paradoxically, embedded in Ohio. Unavoidably, in my years as an exile, much of my writing comes out of those Buckeye origins. Whether my years away have been the result of forced expulsion (job market, especially) or of self-chosen escape, I nevertheless carry inevitable values, images, and expectations that are not just Midwestern, but more distinctly, those of the Miami Valley. As I’ve delved into my ancestry, moreover, I find also a forceful sub-current of dissenting religious practice and witness in overlapping Dunker (Brethren), Quaker, and Mennonite farming circles planted there – and to these, mysteriously, it would seem, I’ve returned in new settings.

Surveying material currently available for submission turns up very little with even the word “Ohio” in it. (Some fiction, essays, and genealogical writing need more revision before their release.) The five poems enclosed (an offer of first North American serial rights for work you select) do, however, spring deeply from the state – not just the land, but also the emotions. Maybe it’s a sense of the lovers, who were also Buckeyes. Maybe the awareness of mechanical work and objects. Maybe the crossroads nature of the state, looking west (in one poem, the prairie that stretches into Illinois) as well as east, to Baltimore and New York (as in “oysters”) or even, as stated, England. Maybe the underlying naïve outlook that becomes vulnerable to betrayal. Or the dreams of acting (hints of Broadway or Hollywood). Whatever the combination, something of the state is compressed into the fabric of these pieces.

Here’s hoping they work for you.

~*~

For the record, they didn’t.

 

YOU CAN’T LOSE IF YOU DON’T PLAY

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

One of the ways Quakers have stood apart from the larger society is in our opposition to gambling. Across America, though, the tension has grown in recent years, as governments (led by New Hampshire’s example) and Native American tribes have engaged in lotteries and casinos. Even causes we support commonly turn to raffles as fundraisers.

Still, we can witness to the fact that a lottery is an inefficient way to raise money for education or other socially valued causes. If you want something, you should be willing to pay for it directly, rather than expect someone else to foot the bill. As for gaming, the odds are vastly against winning, and I long found myself working far too hard to enjoy throwing hundreds of dollars down the drain. Even a weekly Megabucks ticket adds up. As one of my coworkers insisted, “Lotteries are a tax on stupidity.” He might have added, “a tax on despair,” as well, especially for lower- and middle-class families whose purchasing power keeps shrinking in the current economic climate. If anything, the glamour of gaming masks this reality. Maybe, just maybe, the hope goes, I’ll escape my condition. Friends have warned against the inclination to expect something for nothing or at someone else’s expense. I’m just as concerned about the quest for “fun” replacing a work ethic, or the way the entertainment media are shaping the everyday theology of the masses. Look closer, then, at the Foxwoods or Tri-State Lottery Commission commercials. Fantasy and reality diverge sharply.

Yes, it’s tempting. As in “temptation.” Even so, we believe in speaking Truth to Power. Need I say more?

LIVING HISTORIES OF FAITH

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

In the end, ours is a deeply personal faith. The best writing and best vocal ministry among us come from the well of individual experience, and even when it counsels us to a course of action, its voice seems to arise more in confession and self-discovery than from any outward agenda. What we have is both timeless and fresh.

Paradoxically, this has also called us to be part of a community of faith – individuals who also respond to this voice. The fact that we have come to sit facing one another in a circle – or, more accurately, a hollow rectangle or square – says something about the value we place on each other’s presence in this enlarging vision.

As Friends have long argued, there’s a big difference between solid doctrine, or solid teaching, which Quakers treasured, and dogma or creed, which they rejected. In asking “What canst thou say?” they sought answers that had been tested in the heart as well as in practice. It was much like taking up mathematics, for instance, with the question, “How do YOU solve that problem?” or going into the kitchen with a talented cook. No wonder queries have been such a central part of Quaker teaching!

I like a faith that’s not afraid to question. It keeps me going deeper. And going back for more.

TRAIL MARKERS AND FIELD GUIDE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

As I noted at the time …

It remains work, except for that sense, in the practice of the art, of being alive. Aware. Totally there, at times. A balance, between inspiration breath within and exhalation the atmosphere without.

Yes, it would be wonderful if we were all so spiritually deep that pure worship and our daily work of gardening and cutting firewood would be sufficient. But from experience, we can see that too often what resulted from enforced exclusion of color and imagination from our lives leads, over time, to extinguishing personality our gifts, as a group, are diminished and rather than loving delight, a bitter boredom sets in bringing with it, the backbiting profits of Satan. Which brings us full circle!

I believe we are expected to bring something back to the world from our solitude. Expected to be visionaries and priests. But not, as some would claim, shaman not unless we want to stake our life on the healing power of the individual work. Perhaps, as was recognized in Zen some time ago, when we start writing and singing and painting from this experience, the spiritual movement is already past its zenith. Nonetheless we also know the power of the Zen-suffused works of painting, poetry, pottery, architecture, tea ceremony, various martial arts.

Tantra: as means of going deeper. Concentration. Vibrations. Here the importance of the work of art is not the surface itself but what it triggers within the psyche of the viewer. That is, the canvas we Westerners revere is not so important mere surface of paint. The reverberation within the viewer is, ultimately, the point of value. (All that the viewer brings to the work, or the use of religious icons in the Eastern Orthodox traditions.)

Art as discipline. Self-discipline. Form. Submission/obedience. Never ending practice.

Stravinsky’s “limitations make art.” Heifitz’s love of movies yet no time to attend.

Solitude. Prophecy. Communion. Community. Vision. Hard labor.

Magnetic center point of growth.

Simplicity/direction versus art/artifice.

A separate life, our art? Or integrated?

Having something to say to express. Versus blue smoke and mirrors. Spiritual man has no need to be clever. Distrust of tricks. (Difference between craftsmanship and trickster?) Rather, to stand naked. Irony? Sarcasm? Or loving concern for the good of all? Celebration! Creation/creating. Versus discovery. Contrived versus organic. Maybe everything is different when played on a blue guitar. Not at all!

Exploring the Mystery. Connections. Links.

Here I am, writing (a) fiction about (b) sex and drugs and other aspects of searching. Also, (c) poetry from my pre-Christian experience. Some of my fellowship would argue that’s not where I should be. Some have been praying for me through this period. The kind of work that could get me read out of Meeting. Is this acceptable activity for a free Gospel minister? All I can do is explore the Truth as it’s been given to me.

How, then, turning outward into community or the world? To be candid, including the desire to get laid, the poet’s quest, the troubadour. Yet most of us, as “artists,” are out of touch with our communities. This is a manifold argument, too complex and heated to explore here, except to say.

Perhaps we really do need to be actively intertwined with our community to write well. Not necessarily a community of fellow artists, either. Rather, an intimate fellowship. Speak honestly, critically. Now look at the faces on the magazine covers or workshop brochures. How few look like people you’d like to meet! How much anger, hatred, envy, darkness brooding comes through. How little serenity, how little joy. (Would I want any of them for neighbors? Even the ones whose work I admire?)

Yet through the act of writing, I’m also more aware of qualities in other workers. Interesting. One measure of admiration is seeing something in someone’s work and recognizing a quality I wish I had but know I don’t. So I read that with gratitude and admiration rather than jealousy. Fellow workers in the fields.

Think of the spontaneous and to our “trained” ears, trite verse composed and uttered at Ohio Yearly Meeting, that when shared received an immediate reaction: “I would like to see that included in the published Minutes” and it was, because it expressed a communal feeling.

In the ancient Shah’s court, the poet stood at one end, and the jester, at the other. When one moved, performed, the other remained absolutely motionless: the unspoken balance.

THE FREEZER IN THE BARN

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

In one of our discussions of feasts and fasting as spiritual practices, a Friend mentioned purchasing a used freezer and how much he and his wife have saved over the years – by purchasing in quantity when supermarkets have sales, especially. It tipped the balance in our own decision to buy one, which we fit into the barn.

My wife’s no slouch in the grocery specials department, but its bigger value has been in preserving our own produce. How wonderful in January to pull out our own peas, or our own strawberries in February, or our own tomato sauce in March (if there’s any left!). Often, while she’s digging around in its drawers, she comes across surprises. Eggplant, anyone, already sauteed? And we never go wrong with a roast chicken bought on sale or, while it lasted, something from the half-pig we met at the farm.

In fact, we wound up buying a second freezer at a yard sale — and both are packed with goodies.

 

A PILLAR OR MILESTONE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

When I was asked to write a newspaper column two or three times during my senior year of college, I chose – out of the blue – to call it “A Corinthian Column.” Maybe it was just a quirky play on words, crossing the distinctive Greek architectural element with a then very vague sense of New Testament or even prophecy. At the time, my faith was somewhere between agnostic and logical positivist – and vehemently anti-Vietnam war and, to a milder extent, anti-Christian. Yet when someone asked, “Where do you think you’ll wind up, as far as religion goes?” I blurted, “Probably something like Zen-Quaker” – this, when I had little idea of either practice or, for that matter, the way that becoming a yogi a few years later would lead me here in the radical Christian sphere.

Decades later, being nominated to serve as clerk of our meeting had me feeling a similar sense of embarking anew. I could list a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t be clerk. First confession: my motto tends toward “Just do it,” and I worked under relentless daily newspaper deadlines. Either way, this means my patience easily wears thin in many Quaker business sessions. Process? I also wish we had a better system of upholding of our community than committee work. Even so, here we are, all the same.

In the interim, Corinthian Column abbreviates to “C.C.” – the same as Clerk’s Corner. When I set out, I intended to draft some short pieces for the congregation’s newsletter – holding each to just three paragraphs – for upcoming issues. Collect random thoughts on our practice, especially. Maybe even without much (overt) theology. So here’s what happened, Friends. Rarely did it hold to just three ‘graphs, though I usually kept it under a page of copy.

What has surprised me is the way these became pastoral letters after all, much the way the Apostle Paul did, in his own letters to the Corinthians. Yes, I largely avoided the theology, unlike Paul, though I address it elsewhere. The effort of living as a community of faith is interesting enough, as it is.

~*~

You may have guessed many of those newsletter items have now resurfaced in one guise or another here at the Red Barn. My intent this time is aimed at encouraging your own spiritual exploration and growth and possibly even some mutually enhancing discussion of how one tradition can infuse new life or understanding for another.

I love hearing of similar encounters from other directions.

MISSING IN ACTION

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

While I wrote this for a Quaker audience, I’m hearing it’s true in many other faith traditions.

~*~

It’s not just teenagers, first, and then small children. Where are the men? Looking at attendance patterns across denominations, one might ask if religion’s becoming a “women’s concern.” (We might contrast this to some Orthodox Jewish traditions, where the women stay home, figuring men need to do the heavy spiritual work or at least some soul-searching, so everyone will benefit; pardon me if I oversimplify in reaching for a point.) It’s bad enough we Friends now expect the teens to disappear, as well as the college-age youths. There are mornings in our worship when women outnumber men three-to-one, or more. I’m calling for some equality here, or we’ll all suffer. (I recall one researcher who pinned the decline of the Shakers to four decades before the actual collapse became apparent; the point came when the number of men joining the movement fell off sharply.)

Admittedly, there are some pretty powerful countercurrents running through American society. Many of the men are working six-day weeks to make ends meet, and Sunday’s the only day for rest – if not a second job itself. Sports has replaced religion and even politics as the male topic of discussion. Some church planners have gone as far as to suggest stadium seating in response, and Starbucks during the sermon is already customary in the trendiest congregations – especially those gathering in rented movie theaters. This doesn’t even begin to address single-parent or two-worker families, soccer leagues, the claustrophobia-inducing Saturday rounds of shopping, parties, or entertainment venues. Something’s deeply out of balance.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not calling for any return to patriarchy, and I’m grateful for many of the ways feminist theology has liberated our understanding of Scripture and early church practice. I’m even concerned that women pastors are largely confined to the smaller, lower-paying parishes – or excluded from others. I’m proud of the leadership women have provided in our Quaker Meetings.

I’m simply lamenting the fact that we’re not as diverse and vibrant as we might be. Any suggestions?

WHO’S THERE?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Overhearing a cadence of one of the littlest kids in our otherwise silent worship sounded like “Knock, knock!” – which, the mother confirmed afterward, it was.

In the room, though, the pattern led to my silent echo:

“Knock! Knock!”

“Who’s there?”

“God!”

A pause, with multiple directions:

“God who?”

Or “Go away, I’m busy!”

Or Revelation 3:20 or even Matthew 7:7 or Luke 11:9 and 13:25.