A Thousand Winds....

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there.

I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am a diamond glint on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the autumn rain.

When  you awake in the morning hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of birds circling in flight.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there.

I do not sleep.

- Mary Elizabeth Frye



Today I attended the memorial service for the wife of a dear friend, one of those friends whom you hold in high esteem and yet never quite seem to have or find the time to get as close to as you would like.  I knew his wife socially but can't recall more than a few brief conversations.  But I wasn't surprised to learn that she was an incredible, multi-faceted, deep and kind person today (or that she was a beloved colleague, friend, family member, mother and wife/soulmate).  Turns out that she was just as unusual and outstanding a person as her husband ... and perhaps even more so....

When I arrived, I chose to sit next to another friend (among many) whom I hold in high esteem and with whom I am not as close as I would like to be.  It turns out that he had been asked to share a tribute, about which he was nervous and clearly emotional.  I had no idea that he knew my other friends and - glibly, it turned out - assured him that he - and it, the experience of delivering the heartfelt tribute - would be fine.  It further turns out that he and my friend's wife had been colleagues and close collaborators and friends.  (This is one of the delicious ironies of life that I've come to appreciate much more in middle age: that just when you think that you know something or someone, it turns out that you've barely scratched the surface.)

When I arrived, he was clearly in a sad and morose mood, and as we began to talk - about subjects unrelated to the present situation - this improved immeasurably.  He thanked me for this and I was touched and honored to be able to support him in what was clearly a difficult moment.  Then he honored me in an even greater way by asking me to assist him by backing him up: in case he was overcome during his tribute, he asked me to step in and finish reading it.  I was touched and honored even more deeply.

In a word, his tribute was wonderful.  It was respectful, filled with admiration, at times funny and at others pained (and painful).  A clear, multi-faceted and impressive picture of my friend's wife sprang into view and, for many of us, helped us to draw closer to her in death in a way that we wished we had experienced in her lifetime.  And my friend the eulogizer made it through despite a few moments of emotion from which he had to retreat briefly.  As he exited the stage, I congratulated him on his fine remarks, hugged him to calm and heal him and he exited quickly via a side door.

After a couple of minutes when he didn't return, I went to find him ... and he had been overcome: his dear friend's death had indeed hit him hard and he was sobbing deeply.  I comforted him briefly and walked around the corner to stay available should he need me.  When he appeared a few minutes later he was better composed and appreciative of my presence.  And then it hit me....

I - and many of us, I suspect - live with regrets every day, many more than I would like.  Among the most affecting of these in recent years is the regret engendered by the death of friends to whom I was insufficiently close and whose passing wounded by reminding me of the missed opportunity during their lifetime.

But in this moment, I was experiencing life at its most transcendent and meaningful: I was 'there' for a friend, one to whom I hope to be closer in the future, but, more importantly, one for whom I was present when I needed to be at that very moment.  And I appreciated the opportunity.  In profound and ennobling clarity, I was indeed present and in the moment, fully alive, loving wastefully (or, at least, honestly and altruistically) and being all that I can be (which, in this situation, meant being an empathetic and compassionate friend).

So as I struggle with the regret of not being able to live fully, love wastefully and be all that I can be in every moment, it hit me: sometimes, life is fully lived by achieving moments/glimpses/flashes of this eternity in the midst of the temporal.  At that moment - and perhaps only for a shining moment - I was living as I hope to and I felt my humanity fully.  It was a moment, yes, but also a harbinger: the more that I dare to be present, the greater the possibility that I'll be able to reach my higher self ... at this point, it seems, in response to another's need but eventually, hopefully, on command/proactively in alignment with my vision for my life.

Which brings me back to the purpose of that day, to reflect on the life and legacy of a friend.  And as I reflected on the poem in her memorial program, Mary Elizabeth Frye's A Thousand Winds, I had another revelation: this is how I've come to see immortality.  I no longer believe in the cloud-filled heaven about which I was taught as a child but I do still believe in (a kind of) immortality.  And I believe that the Kingdom of God about which Jesus Christ spoke can be and is a present-world reality (too).  I believe that we experience the eternal, the timeless in the midst of life/in the time-bound, from time to time to time (or, perhaps if we're particularly evolved, regularly) ... as I did at the memorial service earlier today.

I believe that my parents and grandparents are immortal because they are always with me in my mind and heart ... and so they are with my wife and my children and stepchildren and my family and friends and all with whom I interact.  I've passed them and the myriad lessons that they taught me on in innumerable interactions and ways.  They are an important and meaningful part of me ... and so their influence and impact is an important and meaningful part of mine....

I believe that I'll be immortal in this way, too: in the influence that I've had on the lives that I've been privileged to touch during my earthly life.  And maybe that influence/presence attenuates over time, but it's there, just like I'm ever mindful of my parents and grandparents and all the others who've touched me so indelibly in my life and am passing on these gifts in my interactions every day.

So, indeed, even though I don't wish to be buried after my earthly life, no one should stand at my metaphorical grave and weep, because I won't be there, either.  I'll be alive in the hearts and memories of those I've touched, in those transcendent moments when they experience the eternal in the midst of the temporal in some way that I've influenced, in whatever they hold sacred that relates in whatever small way to me.  And I'm OK with this: it seems better than a cloudy heaven to me....

And now my dear friend's wife will live on in me more meaningfully, too:  In part because of who she was, especially as described by those who had the privilege to know her better than I.  In part because of whom she touched in her earthly life who've now touched me more meaningfully (and, in once case, indelibly).  And in part because of the experience of the eternal with which I was gifted while celebrating others' timeless experiences of her.

And that's the funny thing about the timeless in my experience: it can come in the most unexpected and sublime ways and at the most unexpected and sublime times.  Earlier today I went to pay my respects to the dead and to support the living and ended up living timelessly for a glorious moment.  I'm not clear as I'd like to be about how I can get closer to living that way more consistently, but I am clear that the serendipitous opportunities to do so that I've experienced happen more often when I engage fully with life rather than shrink from it, when I offer and share myself openly and honestly rather than retreat and protect myself and when I honor and engage the humanity of others and in so doing find my own....

Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.

- John Milton

We All See God Differently ... And Yet We Are All Children of God....

What you see and hear depends a good deal

on where you are standing; it also depends

on what sort of person you are.

- C.S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew

Often, my priest, Rev. John Mennell, will ask a simple question when folks are gathered in some worthwhile pursuit at our church.  "Where have you seen God lately/this week?"  Invariably, in response to this simple inquiry, I will be flooded with recent intimations of the Divine, as I was recently on a retreat with members of the Men's Group at my church, at the most recent meeting of the group at church yesterday morning and, last night, at a dinner with several members of my church.  In each of these varied settings, I felt a sense of the Eternal in the temporal, the Kingdom in the here and now, which, for me, is how I experience God at this point in my life.

 

The House of Antioch, as the group of members of our church who meet regularly for a meal, fellowship and friendship is called, is a diverse group.  Most of us are "8 O'Clockers," members who attend the earlier, music-less, more contemplative service at that time.  The others attend the traditional, choral service at 10am and one of that cohort is a former Senior Warden - in effect, the Chairperson of our Vestry/governing board - though you would never know it from her unassuming demeanor.  Those of us who attend the early service are a varied group, too: one couple is retired and joined the church several years ago upon returning to live in town; another is a practicing attorney whose faith journey is welcomed and supported in our progressive, open church environment; and my wife and I are the final couple in this cohort, her a five-year member who joined at my suggestion before we became a couple and me a 25-year member who's now active in numerous church "ministries," including its Spiritual Enrichment effort.

 

Before we were selected to join the House of Antioch - in the context of an effort to have church members gather outside of worship services to get to know each other better in informal settings - for the most part we knew each other, but not well.  Suffice it to say that after only two dinners, this has changed - we are getting to know each other quite well - and this experience is one of the cherished ways that I have seen (read = experienced) God lately.

 

At last night's dinner, after some 'secular' discussion about various topics - including the often taxing demands that professions make on those who pursue them and, especially, on their families - we began to speak about matters spiritual.  Eventually the discussion turned to how we see God, spurred, in part, by a recounting of the unique perspective of our former Bishop, the Rev. John Shelby Spong, on the subject.  What ensued was a robust, multi-faceted reflection on the Divine, replete with perspectives as diverse as the members of our group.  It was an elevating, Spirit-filled exchange from which we all benefited, and in and after it I perceived the presence of God.

 

As we shared openly about how we perceive Him/Her/It, there were an honesty and stepping beyond vulnerability that was palpable, as was a clear respect for each other's contributions to our collective exploration.  In this supportive environment, doubts were shared openly and challenging questions were put to the members of the group.  (One of my favorite of the latter occurred when one member, a retired CEO and lifelong [or "cradle"] Episcopalian, proffered energetically in response to another member's idiosyncratic perspective on God, "Isn't that just an glorified form of Humanism?")  In sum, for more than an hour on what became a long but uniquely satisfying evening, our group groped, shared flashes of inspiration, questioned and wrestled with our perceptions of the Divine, what it means to be a Christian and/or Episcopalian and how we each see God a little differently.  It was truly a wonderful, illuminating experience ... and, for me, a profoundly meaningful God-experience.

 

Among the propositions with which we wrestled was Bishop Spong's belief that we are called by God to live fully, love wastefully and be all that we can be, which echoes the sentiments of the second century bishop St. Iraneus of Lyons who perceived that the Glory of God is man - now more inclusively phrased as "the human person" - fully alive.  What struck me was how the group engaged on this passionately, especially how it relates to our Patron, Jesus Christ, what it means to be a Christian in the 21st century and how this compares to and contrasts with other religions/belief systems.  Some members felt that it captured this calling well and others wanted more.  In other words, there was a healthy - I think - diversity in how we see and experience God....

 

So, today, as I made my way through modern theological sage Karen Armstrong's latest book, I was struck by similar themes revealed in an exploration of the development of Jainism and Buddhism.  The Jains' patron was Vardhamana Jnatraputra, reverently called Mahavira by his followers.  For him, Ms. Armstrong notes, "the only way to achieve liberation (moksha) was to cultivate an attitude of friendliness toward everyone and everything.  Here, as in the Upanishads, we encounter the requirement found in many great world traditions that it is not enough to confine our benevolence to our own people or to those we find congenial; this partiality must be replaced by a practically expressed empathy for everybody, without exception."  (The Upanishads are a collection of foundational Hindu texts dating, scholars believe, from before the 6th century BCE to the beginning of the Common Era.)

 

Ms. Armstrong continues that "Jains, like Upanishadic sages, taught their disciples to recognize their community with all others and relinquish the preoccupation with 'us' and 'them' that made fighting and structural oppression impossible. ... Jain meditation consisted simply of a rigorous suppression of all antagonistic thoughts and a conscious effort to fill the mind with affection for all creatures.  The result was samayika ('equanimity'), a profound, life-changing realization that all creatures were equal."

 

Then, when examining the founding of Buddhism, the author observes that "The Buddha's enlightenment was to live for others.  Unlike other renouncers, who retreated from human society, Buddhist monks were commanded to return to the world to help others find release from pain."

 

Comparing the two belief systems, Ms. Armstrong concludes that "Buddhists and Jains were self-made men, reconstructing themselves at a profound psychological level to model a more empathic humanity."  (Emphasis mine.)  Sounds a lot like loving wastefully to me....

 

And that's the point, as we struggled to comprehend and synthesize in our group last night and, indeed, as believers of good will the world over seek to do, it would appear that there are common themes running through our different ways of seeing God, be they individual or collective.  One of them is this principle of Universal Benevolence, that we are called by our Source to be loving in our conduct to our fellow man/humans, irrespective of their religious or other affiliations.  In essence, then, we are called to remember always that we are Children of God first and to honor this inner divinity in our interactions with each other.  Another way to say this is that we are called to love each other as God loves us, unconditionally, without discrimination for the receiver or concern for reciprocation ... indeed, wastefully....

 

So, for me for example, this makes the "marriage equality" and other issues pertaining to affirming and celebrating the humanity of our LGBT brothers and sisters quite simple: they are Children of God first and foremost and thus deserve to be treated lovingly and supported in every way that those of us who are not LGBT want to be.

 

So, too, with respect to the less fortunate among us: they are Children of God first and foremost and thus deserve to be treated lovingly and supported in every way that those of us who are more fortunate wish to be.

 

Also with respect to those who are different from us: they are children of God first and foremost and thus deserve to be treated lovingly and supported in every way that those of us who are not "the Other" want to be (because there is no 'us or them,' only us, Children of God...).

 

And ... well, you get the picture....

 

So, to sum it all up, as I experienced exhilaratingly with my fellow members of the members of the Men's Group both on retreat and not, with my fellow members of the House of Antioch last night and in the pages of Karen Armstrong's latest piercingly insightful book today, we all see God differently, in idiosyncratic ways that both reflect and celebrate the diversity in which He/She/It created us.  Yet we are all Children of God, endowed by our Creator with abundant and yet different gifts and lives.  May we ever recognize this, that beyond being human we are something even greater - of God - and live accordingly ... which for me, means a continuing but joyful struggle to live fully, love wastefully and be all that my/our Source created me to be and, in so doing, to support my fellow Children of God humbly and gratefully as they do so, too....

 

In closing, a sincere thank you to those of you along my path who've helped me in ways large and small, intentional and accidental, to come closer to understanding the ineffable mystery of the Divine.  Please know that I see and appreciate you both as God's gifts and as proof of His/Her/Its profound, enriching and indelible presence in our world....

 

You must ever act in consciousness of your divinity and recognize in each being a brother, a Child of God.  The whole world is one family.

- Sri Sathya Sai Baba

 

Beyond the Giving Up to the Giving....





Every possession and every happiness is but lent by chance

for an uncertain time,

and therefore may be demanded back the next hour.

- Arthur Schopenhauer

 

This Lent, in an attempt to jumpstart an effort to regain control of my life and address long-delayed opportunities to move beyond bad habits and replace them with good ones, I decided to give up three symbolically important things: caffeine, added salt and added sugar (from soda).  It's day two and the ramifications of this choice - and some of the initial costs - are clear: I've bitten off quite a bit and the real question is can I chew it....

 

It wasn't always this way.  Long ago, I was younger and none of these substances posed nearly the threat to me that they do now.  And yet time passed and I didn't reform ... which is a really nice and (too) exculpatory way of saying that I chose not to change.  And now I'm older, fatter, more tired and have less leeway in terms of my health ... and I'm still addicted to these substances.

 

Actually, in the case of caffeine, I'm addicted again.  When my son Maxwell was born, I gave up caffeine cold turkey and kept this discipline - with one notable exception - for more than ten years.  I started again when a dear friend and I began to share conversation and comfort over a cup of coffee or two.  And then I reintroduced coffee as a complement to my sacred reading time.  And then I took a glass or two of Coke at dinner with my sons (and, boy, did that familiar gurgle feel wonderful!).  And then ... I was hooked again.  So, at least with respect to caffeine, I have some hopeful history.

 

But things have changed with respect to caffeine, too: I'm now up in the middle of the night working on this blog because the withdrawal headache about which I was warned by supportive friends has indeed announced itself intensely.  I was fortunate that I had no such withdrawal symptoms fifteen years ago, but that was a different time and I was a different (and much younger) man.

 

This headache follows a day when I felt the absence of caffeine profoundly: yesterday I felt like I was in a fog most of the day, unable to move at full speed and awake but tired and not alert.  When I didn't add salt to my mid-day meal of low-salt New England clam chowder, it was on: the challenge of what I was undertaking was as clear as the lunch was unappetizing.  It's good chowder - I've had it many times before and enjoyed it - but without that "pinch" (read = numerous shakes) of added salt, it seemed far less appealing this time.

 

And my stepdaughter left the ginger ales - both regular and cranberry - out on the table where I was working so that temptation was just a foot away all day.   In other words, yesterday I began to grasp what I was undertaking ... and today I'm still but more committed,  not just intellectually as I was when I made this Lenten pact with myself, but emotionally and physically now that the costs of doing so are abundantly clear and painful....

 

Yet, for Christians, isn't that what Lent's about, suffering ourselves in tribute to our Lord's ultimate suffering and sacrifice?  Well, that's what I was taught as a child ... but just like my bad eating/drinking habits, I have to overcome this bad spiritual one, too.  At mid-life, I appreciate the symbolism but now question the motivation.

 

Seems to me there is indeed great benefit in testing oneself as chosen Lenten prohibitions inevitably do.  Particularly for those of us fortunate to lead relatively comfortable lives, discomfort, as estranged as we typically have become from it, can be a great teacher.  Among the lessons is one of perspective: I am often reminded of my good fortune when I'm suffering the inconvenience of chosen lack because I become more aware that there are many for whom such an experience is normal.  To put it simply, what are chosen inconveniences for me are often real problems for others.

 

Accordingly, now I see Lent and its modestly painful commitments differently: I'm not suffering to emulate my Lord as a prelude to the commemoration of His death, I'm suffering to bring myself into greater awareness of the broader human condition - to which He was so attuned during His life - so that I can emulate His life.  Lent for me now isn't about preparing for Jesus's death and resurrection as much as it is about walking a mile in His sandals and being attuned and fully connected to the lives of others as He was, which is inevitably painful.

 

So, I choose to suffer not because it reminds me of how Jesus died - and, conceptually, transcended death via his Resurrection (which I no longer consider to be a bodily one, but, in the interest of not digressing further, I'll save that for another time and another blog post) - but to remind me of how He lived, fully attuned to and engaged with humanity, living simply and focused on helping others to experience love and joy in the here and now (in what were far more challenging and uncomfortable circumstances in that day and time).

 

Thus, Lent has become about living more simply but more authentically and powerfully.  Jesus had nothing in a material sense and yet His was a life that we remember, revere and, supposedly, emulate two millennia later.  In giving up some of my creature comforts, I remind myself that there are far more important things on which I could and should focus, especially being present/in the moment and loving with those around me, a way of life that I now believe to be Jesus's greatest legacy.  I can't get to the miracles and much of the other Christian dogma with which we've adorned Him in our practice of religion, but I can get to and be powerfully and profoundly swayed by His example of a fully loving, sacrificial life.

 

To borrow from the inimitable Bishop John Shelby Spong, Jesus lived fully, loved wastefully - that is, without discrimination as to the receiver or concern for reciprocation, etc. - and was all that He could be, fully human and, in so being, the incarnation of the Divine which I have come to believe is within all of us.  The reason that I consider myself a Christian is not because I believe in the Church and its teachings as much as it is that I'm amazed by, called to be ultimately respectful of and humbled to emulate (some extremely modest portion of) Jesus's earthly example, a life so fully human and loving that it evidenced that God is ever-present and that His Kingdom can be experienced and lived on earth if we so choose.  I don't think that there's a heaven up above (as I was taught to believe as a child) - and, if there is, I don't know if I'll get there - but I do know that we can live in an eternal way in this life, as Jesus did, and that's what I'm seeking and struggling to do more consistently ... and that's why challenging myself during Lent in small but significant ways is so meaningful, because it reminds me of the far greater challenge of Jesus's example to which I can strive every day.

 

Let's face it, few of us who are Christians really emulate our Patron particularly well.  First off, we're far more self-centered and selfish than He: He lived his life for others, completely committed to being loving and enabling in the lives of others, which is not how we in the modern West approach life.  We're far more committed to living as well as we can - which, typically, means more materially comfortably over time - while adding in a little Jesus/religion - or, at least, claiming to - as we do.  Not only don't we go to church that much any more, but our collective behavior seems to appear less aligned with His example over time.  I will simply note the irony that so many of self-described born again and fervent Christians advocate policies that seem in direct contradiction to Jesus's example -  including/especially their self-aggrandizing demonization of the poor and the Other - and move on....

 

Returning to my primary point, I ask these questions unrhetorically, especially of those of us who profess to be Christians: Who among us is willing to emulate Jesus's example fully?  Who among us is willing to live immaterially and focus solely on being a loving presence in the world?  Who among us could be a modern-day Follower of the Way, as the early Jesus-emulators were?

 

Truth be told, few if any of us can commit so fully to practicing what our Lord preached and practiced.  Instead, we focus on living as we choose and then fitting Him and His example into our lives to varying degrees (but most often modestly at best).  But the 'giving up' of Lent is a reminder of what our practice of our faith could be: absent some of our creature comforts, can we still choose to live abundantly, lovingly and impactfully?  I believe so, which is why I'm trying to "be good" for Lent by committing to living better/more healthfully.

 

And, in addition to the discipline of forbearance (i.e., 'giving up'), I'm also practicing giving more.  I'm committing to being more present, to living more fully and lovingly and to being a blessing to all with whom I interact.  This, to me, is the more challenging goal: can I really summon the will to emulate Jesus more and more consistently in the mundane conduct of my daily life?  That's the real challenge of Lent, to give as Jesus gave - to be my higher self, more present, more loving, and indeed more alive - than I am normally.  And, even more importantly, to remain like this when Lent ends, being practically re-born/resurrected as a better, more loving person every day and in every season.

 

So, much like Lent is now about learning to be more conscious of the opportunity to live like Jesus - not just in the giving up but, more importantly, in the giving - Easter is now about evolving to a permanently more transcendent way of life.  In effect, I'm practicing in Lent to be the person I hope to be forever after Easter ... which means that in ways small but significant - and hopefully in increasingly profound and meaningful ways over time - I'm seeking to be like my Patron, to live fully, to love wastefully and to be all that the Good Lord has created me to be.

 

But first I have to survive without caffeine, added salt and added sugar while being more selfless and loving.  Hmmm.  Pray for me, please....

 

My mission as a Christian is ... to assist in the task of helping all people "to live fully, to love wastefully and to be all that they are capable of being."  This is Christianity grounded in a radical understanding of humanity.

 

The reason I call it Christian and the reason I claim my identity as a Christian is that when I look at Jesus, I see in him a life fully lived, a love wastefully given and the courage to be himself in all circumstances. ... So Jesus is the human life through whom the meaning and the presence of God is mediated to me.  I can then join with St. Paul in the assertion that God was in Christ.

- Bishop John Shelby Spong

 

 

A Beginning, Not An End....

Now this is not the end.  It is not even the beginning of the end.

But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

- Winston Churchill



Yesterday I was blessed to hear a strong sermon by the Rev. Canon Gregory Jacobs in the context of my church's Black History Month celebration.  Canon Jacobs claimed as his theme "Celebrating the Spirit of Jubilee," based on Leviticus 25, and then proceeded to examine the developments in American social-racial history in the past 150 years through this prism.  Along the way, he deftly weaved in perspectives on Jesus Christ's commitment to social justice in His time, the unfinished business left to us as beneficiaries of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s Dream and lessons learned from the scriptural story of Elisha's succession of Elijah.  When he finished, I felt illumined, elevated and inspired ... and fully aware of what had just happened: in our generally progressive and social liberal church, our comfort zone had been breached, a challenge had been issued and a bit of real world had made it into our typically composed meditation on the spiritual.  And it was great....

 

It was great that we had been called out, had our (too) comfortable hour of institutional religion disturbed and been forced to deal with some of the less pleasant realities outside of sanctuary while still within it.  It was great that in a context of a sermon about how a Jubilee was still possible - and necessary - for us we were acquainted with the realities of the Great Migration and the New Jim Crow, the rollback of voting rights hard won a half-century ago and the disenfranchisement and demonization of "the least, the last and the lost" among us.  It was great that what happens "out there" during the other 167 hours of our week was pointedly and poignantly related to what happens "in here" during our weekly worship in church.

 

I particularly enjoyed that Rev. Jacobs related the years 1865, 1915 and 1965 to 2015, noting the end of the Civil War in the first, the beginnings of the Great Migration in the second, the passage of the Voting Rights Act in the third and the challenges of continuing racism in the last.  While many in our country - and, likely, a few in our very own congregation - believe that racism has (largely if not totally) been conquered because we have a (half-)Black president, the Canon challenged us to acknowledge its continuing, insidious presence in our lives.  As he noted that Blacks and whites generally have significantly different views on its current vitality, I couldn't help but think that this was likely true with the members of our parish, too.  And therein lies the opportunity....

 

It also occurred to me that many of the significant developments in our social-racial history that are celebrated today are thought of as victories - and thus, in effect, endings (because the issue has been resolved) - when in fact they were actually the beginnings of new phases in the battles that engendered them (which often were longer lasting and more challenging than what had preceded them).

 

For example, in American history, what were the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution?  Are we cognizant that the Revolution went on for more than a dozen years after the former was issued and for months after the latter was adopted?  The Declaration was not the end, but, in effect, the codification of the beginning of the War and the Constitution was the confirmation of the beginning of its end.

 

Or, do we really appreciate and acknowledge that the Emancipation Proclamation issued by President Lincoln in 1863 was a great moral victory but the reality is that the Civil War went on for more than two years until it came true?  Do we realize that it was the not the end for slavery in our country but an important harbinger of the beginning of the end for the Confederacy and the 'evil institution'?  Do we acknowledge that hundreds of thousands more had to die before it became more than soaring words on paper?

 

Similarly, with respect to the history of race and social relations in the past century, the famous U.S. Supreme Court Brown v. Board of Education ruling in 1954 was not actually the end of "separate but equal" in our society.  In fact, it took more than a decade for the recalcitrant South to begin to implement it in any meaningful way.  So much for "all deliberate speed."  (For example, about a decade thereafter, fewer than 1% of African-American children in the South went to school in integrated settings and absolutely none did in three former states of the Confederacy.)  [Yes, you read that right.  If you find it hard to believe, check out Prof. Michelle Alexander's profound and incredible The New Jim Crow and be stunned by this and so many other mystifying and troubling realities of our modern history/society.]

 

So, too, with the signature legislation of the Civil Rights Movement, the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts: they also were met with plodding embrace. 

 

Fast forwarding a half-century to our own day and time, what about the full social, legal and religious acceptance of members of the LGBT community?  In the last three weeks, when the US Supreme Court in effect affirmed a federal District Court ruling outlawing discrimination in the granting of marriage licenses, the Chief Justice of Alabama's Supreme Court urged local judges to ignore it.  Was it just me, or did anyone else flash back involuntarily to more than a half-century ago to southern legislators' assertions of interposition and nullification to try to avoid following the law of the land established by the major civil rights rulings?  Plus ca change, indeed....

 

There is no question that whatever the Supreme Court actually rules when it addresses the issue of marriage equality directly later this year, it's clear that this edict (if in favor thereof) and the state laws and court rulings that have already sanctioned it will continue to be subject to grudging acceptance and implementation.  In other words, the passage of these statutes and the affirming legal victories that follow (and result from) them will not be the end of this fight - victory achieved and change fully and finally accomplished - but the beginnings of the next phase in our journey: to move beyond the willful - and often religiously-based and -sanctioned - disregard and disdain of many to proactive and full acceptance of (the humanity and human-civil rights of) our LGBT brothers and sisters.

 

In sum, all of our great societal victories are not ends but beginnings, and it behooves us to acknowledge and embrace this, both so that we don't repeat the heinous mistakes of our collective past and so that we live ever more fully and lovingly in the future.  When we appreciate that these victories are but way stations - joyful, hard-earned and deserved ones, to be sure - on the path to our continued evolution toward the Beloved Community that Rev. King envisioned with and for us almost a half-century ago: an America - and a world - in which we celebrate each others' humanity because we realize and honor the God in each of us.  When we recognize and celebrate that we are Children of God first and American/German/Japanese/Palestinian/Episcopalian/Baptist/Unitarian/Baha'i/Muslim/heterosexuals/homosexuals/transgendered/insert-your-favorite-label-here/etc. second, we'll be able to embrace the opportunity to live fully, freely and peacefully under God and be all that we are created to be while embracing and supporting others fully as they do, too.

 

Until that time, may we be committed to beginnings more than ends - to doing the work of love, acceptance and celebration that comes with each step forward - and thus hopeful that we will celebrate ever more of them in our time and forever more....

 

"The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves...."

-Thomas Merton