BOXING DAY

And today (Boxing Day) is the day that the privileged members of the Victorian Bourgeoisie traditionally shared year-end gifts of appreciation with their servants. It's a tradition that survives today, at least here in the US, principally in the form of tips to the paperboy and the doorman, or maybe one's hairdresser, or gardener, or anyone else who provides a personal service. According to Wikipedia, its origins are ultimately found in the Roman tradition of the Saturnalia, a week-long year-end revel where slaves and masters reversed their roles, and large amounts of alcohol were consumed by all.

In the 19th century Frederick Douglass wrote bitterly about how the "holiday" between Christmas and the New Year was used by white slaveholders to degrade African American slaves - first by encouraging widespread drunkenness, and then pointing to the same as "evidence" that slaves were simply not capable of managing what little freedom they were allowed. The modern day African American holiday of Kwanzaa emphasizes the exact opposite values, and especially a reaffirmation of "the communitarian vision and values of African culture and...its restoration among African peoples in the Diaspora, beginning with Africans in America and expanding to include the world African community."

Personally, I still feel a great deal of ambivalence about what to think or do about these awkward seven days that mark the transition from one calendar year to the next, and separate the first half of the church Program Year from the last. I'm glad for the rest, but panicked by expectations, and worried about things I can't control, and will never be able to control But I'm also intrigued by the idea of a seven day holiday that begins with a Celebration of Unity, and ends with a Day of Assessment, and in between lifts up the communitarian values of cooperative effort, shared enterprise, creativity, and self-determination. But mostly I think I just like the colored candles.

from the Official Kwanzaa Website, www.officialkwanzaawebsite.org

CHRISTMAS DAY

And now that the Christmas Eve service is over, I'm not scheduled to preach again until January 11th. Next Sunday Kitsy and the Worship Committee have something special planned for the end of the year, and the Sunday after that (January 4th) Will will be leading our traditional "Burning Ritual," an alternative service of Joys and Concerns where the participants secretly write their regrets from the previous year on a scrap of paper, and then burn them in a large metal bowl we have set up at the front of the Meetinghouse. So when I'm finally back in the pulpit myself on January 11th, I will hopefully be feeling rested and energetic again, and ready to resume the every-other-Sunday preaching schedule we've mapped out until Easter.

Meanwhile, I still haven't gotten around to writing my annual Holiday Letter either, which seems a little redundant given the amount of blogging I've done this year. Still, it is a tradition I would hate to interrupt, and perhaps just that small and gentle contact...an e-mail with a link to the text of the actual letter itself -- will be sufficient. I sure have enjoyed the cards, letters and e-mails I've received from so many of you. One of my favorites actually contained the suggestion that in light of the recent events of December 14th in Bagdad, we need a new Constitutional Amendment protecting the right to Bare Feet.





Oops! Forgot that I was blogging on One Day Isle. This sort of post is much more worthy of The Eclectic Cleric. Maybe I'll see you over there.

CHRISTMAS EVE

And this is what I'm using for my new computer "wallpaper." When I see photographs like this, it's easy to reflect back on what a wonderful Dog Parker really was, and the qualities that made her that way. But mostly it was just the time we spend together. Not every waking moment, certainly; in fact, ,if anything, the opposite -- it was the time this little dog spent sleeping in my bed that really imprinted us one to the other. That and the weekend road trips to those small congregations where I was consulting, and there were always so many new and interestng people to meet, and she always had to be on her best behavior.

In any event, an excellent Christmas Eve candlelight service tonight, if I do say so myself. A comfortably-full sanctuary, a half-hour of easy caroling, and then the traditional service of carols and readings, followed by my Annual Christmas Eve Homily -- a little pre-celebration socialism to truly usher in the Spirit of the Season. And I was also able to give our Sexton the Boxing Day gift we had secretly collected for him the previous Sunday. Delighted to say that we surprised him twice: first when he felt the thick envelope, but even more so after he had opened it. So that was a great thing too, all thanks to a simple suggestion at the Staff Meeting from our Church Administrator that we really ought to try to do something a little special for our Sexton this year. So I made the appeal and the people responded...and another George Bailey moment gets "paid forward" by this church.



Here are a few more Parker pictures, just because I had them available. It astonishes me to notice how much she had aged between the time that first photography was taken when she was still a puppy, and the photo taken at the Seaside Rehab, only a few months before I finally was able to let go and say goodbye....



And yet I am also confident that our Spirits will be reunited again, just as depicted on this card my Aunt made -- the two of us sailing off downwind...though whether that represents the sunrise or the sunset really depends on our ultimate destination.... Guess I'll just have to trust my moral compass on that one. And maybe I will have to sail upwind just a little....

THE LONGEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR

I know it's been way too long since I last posted here; no excuses, really, other than the same old ones I've always used: I'm sick, I'm busy, I've got a lot of other pressing priorities which conflict with spending the time I need to writing here. Big excitement this past week has been learning, literally a day late and a dollar short, that my tiny little Eastern Massachusetts Unitarian Universalist Ministers and Employees Group is going to be changing their Health Insurance carrier from Harvard/Pilgrim to Blue Cross. I'm not at all happy about this, because from my perspective Harvard/Pilgrim has always been an EXCELLENT Health Insurance provider, and with the exception of the out-of-network second opinion I received at Sloane Kettering, I've never had a hassle with them. And who knows? Blue Cross may turn out to be just as good. But changing ANY insurance plan at this point of my life is going to be a hassle: now I'm probably going to have to go back and get all new Primary Care Physician referrals, and re-preauthorizations for my CT scans and other tests...it's just a big pain in the tuckus which frankly I didn't need.

In any event, I still feel very fortunate to have health insurance at all, and am so grateful for the care I have received from my physicians and other health care providers, as well as the support of my friends, family, colleagues and congregation; it makes it easy to feel optimistic, even in the midst of this dark and gloomy season of the year. Delightful Solstice service yesterday, BTW, all planned out by our Minister of Music Charlie Grindle and Ministerial Support Team member Kitsy Winthrop. My contribution was limited to welcoming the visitors at the beginning of the service, and supervising the announcements, as well as assisting with the collection of the offering, which included a "special" offering we were trying to keep secret from someone in the church. I'll know Christmas eve whether or not we actually pulled that one off. I'll be so excited if we do.

People have either been asking how I feel, or commenting on how good I look, and the truth is yes thanks both -- I've been feeling absolutely fantastic these past few weeks, ever since we juggled the meds for controlling the side effects from my first round of chemo, and it makes such a huge improvement in my quality of life. I'm sleeping better too, and having my Dad here to chauffeur me around makes all the difference in the world. Last night almost seemed "normal" -- after church we came back home and kicked back for awhile, then around 4 PM went out for pizza at Bonobos (where I used to spend almost EVERY Sunday evening last winter) where I had a hot cider instead of what would have been my usual cold microbrew, and enjoyed a Pepperoni pizza while my Dad had Caesar salad and a slice of my pie. Outside the blizzard raged, but we were warm, snug and cozy across from the woodburning pizza oven, and were safe home again by 5:30.

It's not really a new lesson, but it's something that I find continually reinforced again and again by my illness, especially in this season of contemplation and renewal. If I can just learn and remember to let Life come to me, rather than constantly striving and grasping for the things I THINK I want or need, but which eventually prove hollow and disappointing... like I said, it's not a new lesson. It's probably the oldest lesson in the book. But it's an important lesson nonetheless, which brings together all those conflicting yet complimentary virtues: patience, persistence, tenacity, ambition, desire, gratitude, generosity, forgiveness, hope, aspiration, trust and confidence....Faith in its most pure and unadulterated form...Hey! -- what did you expect from a preacher anyway? Faith in its most pure and unadulterated form. No wonder I'm looking and feeling so good.

EAT, SLEEP, READ

This was the sign in the window of the Longfellow Bookstore here in Portland, which I parked in front of this afternoon while my Dad (who had just picked me up from church after the weekly staff meeting) ran into the bank to deposit a check. And the irony of it impressed me immensely -- because I HAVE a lifestyle now that is pretty much "eat, sleep, read" but such simple things such as getting to church, shopping for groceries, or going to the bank are essentially impossible for me without the assistance of someone like my Dad. Without my Dad (or the assistance of someone) I am essentially housebound, and when not eating or sleeping am either reading or writing, or getting ready to travel to a medical appointment -- the one destination where the assisted/independent living center provides transportation for me if I need it.

There are work-arounds I could hire an attendant, and doubtlessly will sometime after my Dad goes home at the end of the month; but the one excellent candidate I had identified to the job folded his tent and moved to Montana for the winter (which caused me to question his judgment just a little, even if he does have family there!). My fantastic neighbor has been, well, fantastic about carting me back and forth to church, and to various other essential errands too...but she has a life of her own which is incredibly busy in its own right, and I'm always a little concerned that the time she spends helping me is lost to her completion of her own activities. And I suppose I could always call a cab, or draw upon other willing church volunteers (as I occasionally have) to help me get from point A to point B.

But the irony has to do with the nature of freedom and "independence." How many of us have daydreamed about having a life where we are free to devote ourselves almost exclusively to reading -- to the comfortable chair, and the pot of warm tea on a rainy afternoon under a bright reading light. There's nothing better in the world! Except when that's the ONLY activity that you can do by yourself, and your "independence" is dependent upon the kindness of others....

One Day Isle?

No, these are not UFOs, or a picture of what awaits us on the other side of the rainbow bridge, the terminus of that "bright tunnel of light" so routinely reported by those who have undergone a "near-death" experience. Rather, it is a photograph of the lithograph that hangs on the wall of the waiting room at my Physical Therapist's office, with the two banks of overhead florescent lights reflected in the framed glass. But it COULD be that other place, at least in my imagination... with the moored boat, and the lighthouse, lots of lawn for Parker to run on, and a waterfront cottage filled with books. It could be that place....

Not that I'm planning to visit that place anything soon. The imagination is a wonderful thing. Yes, it allows us to see things that aren't really there: to view images of realities that exist only in our minds, and then (perhaps) to make those things real. "If you have built castles in the air," Thoreau writes, "your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them." These days, a good portion of my time is devoted by necessity to that first endeavor. But I still have hopes of building a solid foundation as well, so that these bold visions might have a solid base to sustain them. Then I really will feel like I have accomplished something important with my life.

Good Mourning, Good Grief!

And I've been thinking a little about all the things I've "lost" as a result of this cancer, and grieving them as i would any loss. Although the irony is that the two things I miss and grieve most were not "things" at all, but actually living beings, and their loss had nothing really to do with my cancer at all. The first of these is my mom, who actually passed away on June 10th, 2007 - yet who I will always associate with this place and this ministry since she held back word of her diagnosis until after I had completed my first candidating sermon here (on Mother's Day that same year), and because I have missed her just about every waking moment since, espcially after being diagnosed with cancer myself. And my second great grief is the loss of my beloved companion animal of 13 years, "The Adorable Parker," who I sent ahead to wait for me at the Rainbow Bridge this past October 4th, and who I also continue to grieve almost every day, although not nearly so intensely as I do my mom.

But between these more profound sources of grief, I continue to mourn a small handful of more mundane losses, which are far more closely related to my cancer itself.

I mourn the loss of my ability to walk, and the corresponding lack of mobility that goes with being confined to a wheelchair pretty much every waking moment of the day. This may not be forever; God knows I'm doing what I can in Physical Therapy to build up the supporting muscles around my back, and hopefully to figure out ways to minimize the pain and increase my endurance. But at this point it sure seems like an awfully long road to walk (with plenty of annoying stairsteps along the way) Grief comes easily in comparison. Especially since it is something I have to live with every single day of my life.

I mourn the loss of my ability to drive my car, and the corresponding lack of mobility that goes with THAT! This is a very different kind of lost freedom - to have to depend on others simply to get to church, get to the store, get to my study at the Eastland or to a Restaurant or the Hospital. The irony here is that physically I am probably capable of operating my car now, even with the clutch and the standard shift. But the amount of narcotics I need to take in order to keep my pain under control really prohibit me from safely operating a motor vehicle, not to mention the question of how do I get to the car in the first place, get the wheelchair in the trunk where it belongs, get myself back behind the wheel, drive to where I'm going, get the chair BACK out of the truck for me to sit in again, and.... Again, not entirely outside the realm of possibility. But a pretty long road to go....

I mourn the loss of my old apartment, and more specifically the joy and the freedom I experienced living there my first year here in Portland. I loved my West End neighborhood, the local restaurants, the easy walks to church and to the Eastland, and just being able to get out and around. And then suddenly I'm in the hospital and that whole part of my life is over. I continued to lease that place from April though July in the hope of being able to return, but finally gave it up when the lease was up. A pretty expensive storage locker, even if "hope" was the most important thing I stored there after all....

I mourn the gym, and those days not so long ago playing pick-up hoops with the over-35's in Concord, or at Nantucket High School, and even the undergraduates at the University of Oregon. Most of all I mourn the Boston Sports Club in Waltham, where I could go in the late afternoon and enjoy a circuit through the resistance training machines, a half-hour's worth of basketball shoot-around, a quick jacuzzi and sauna, and still be home in time for dinner and whatever evening meeting awaited me at church. Never really did make that kind of connection here in Porland. Thought about the "Y" (which was both affordable and convenient), but kept procrastinating and procrastinating...and now it's just another thing to mourn. Somehow I doubt that I will ever be playing even modestly-competitive basketball again...but a sauna and a jacuzzi every now and again would be nice! And my real ambition now is to get fit enough to sail.

There are other things I mourn as well of course, but these four activities (and the freedoms they represent) are the ones I miss the most. And at the same time, I'm also quite grateful for the things I CAN still do....

I'm grateful that I am still able to preach as often as I do -- that I can climb those half-dozen stairs into the high pulpit every other week, and share with the congregation whatever small wisdom I may have to impart that Sunday.

I'm grateful for the support of my friends, my family, and especially the members of this church, who have made it so easy to fight this disease without growing discouraged, and who have done so much for me personally to keep my spirits high, and to help me hold body and soul together.

I'm just grateful to the Mysterious and Sacred Powers of the Universe itself, the Spirit of Life, our Loving and Benevolent Creator, Chance, Luck, Opportunity, Good Fortune -- whatever it is that has given me this highly unlikely (at least statistically) shot of self-reflective consciousness: this all-too-brief "dual reality" of "being alive and having to die." Like every one of you who are reading this blog, I am a small part of the Universe becoming conscious of itself, and thus speculating about what it all means, and my own purpose and meaning within this grand (and perhaps accidental) design. Good God, what a Mystery! Are our minds even remotely equal to the task? Yet if we start out small by learning to Know Ourselves, and then gradually expand outwards from there: always authentically, always faithful to the things we have learned, yet open-minded enough to encounter other learnings....

Is it any wonder that gratitude always trumps grief in my experience, and that optimism rather than mourning remains the principal mood of the day....

How Time Flies!

And i can hardly believe that it's been over a week since I last posted here. No excuses, really; just a "normal" week where I got a little carried away with outside activities, and never really got around to things like this. I did have a nice visit frow some freinds from Nantucket over the weekend, and I also preached on Sunday, a sermon titled "Naughty or Nice" {LINK} which did take up a little of my time and attention. I know a lot of people get a little worried when I don't post, but this time it's actually GOOD news -- I'm feeling a lot better, rather than worse.

I'm also struck from time to time by how closely my living experience here at the Senior Assisted/Independent Living Center resembles that of living in a college dormitory. I've certainly had plenty of experience of the latter, where the days also tended to revolve around meals, the mail, afternoon naps and staying up WAY beyond my bedtime. But here, in place of classes, we have medical appointments instead, and apart from that there just isn't that much time left over. Plenty of activities scheduled though, from daily Bingo and a variety of exercise classes to old movies in the theater and shopping trips out to the Mall or Wal-Mart. We often get school or scout groups coming through the building this time of year as well, here to perform community service, or sometimes simply to perform. And it's certainly been an interesting experience for me so far.

We all take our meals each day at our assigned tables: my three "messmates" include two retired postal workers (both now in their nineties), who grew up here in Portland, have been retired longer than I've been in the workforce, and (in one instance at least) still have fairly large extended families in the area. My third companion (isn't that what the word literally means? - someone with whom we share bread) is another man about my own age (early fifties), who also has some sort of disability, but continues to hold down a job (as a dishwasher in a nearby reastaurant).

That's another interesting thing about living here, which is that median age is probably somewhere in the eighties, and the women tend to outnumber the men by a ratio of almost 3:1. Yet for the most part we sit at "same-sex" tables. Part of the reason for that I suspect is just that there aren't enough men to go around, but I'm also beginning to wonder whether or not we all just prefer it that way. Not that the conversation around our table tends to be that lively; mostly (when we talk at all) we talk about the food, the weather, what the doctor had to say, democratic politics (the two retired postal workers are both very loyal Democrats), or the latest program on the History Channel. If we're lucky one of the postal workers will sometimes share anecdotes from his service in the Second World War delivering the mail in France. They're all about cultural interaction; nothing "shoot 'em up" at all. But still they changed his life in a life-defining kind of way.

These guys are an inspiration to me. They wake up every morning in pain, limp through their daily activities, eat their meals, read follow the political scene, visit with their families, all the time knowing that most of their life is now behind them, But even so, each new day is also a gift from the universe, to be savored in all its intensity and brightness for as long as god continues to give them.

And it just tickles me so

...when they call me "Father." It's doesn't happen that often, so that when it does it's still a bit of a surprise; but it happens often enough now that I'm kind of learning to like the sound of it. Father, Brother, Sister...such familiar, familial language in an attempt to capture and express a profound commitment to a very special kind of relationship...although mostly I suspect it just happens out of childhood habit, an unforgotten token of reverence and respect.

Much more rarely am I addressed as "rabbi," although in many ways that is a title I would much more proudly embrace. I honestly don't feel like I'm smart enough to be a real rabbi, although now that I'm into my third decade as a UU minister and with a PhD in hand, I'm starting to feel like maybe I could sit in the same room and listen attentively. The Hebrew alone would kill me, although I suppose If I'd been raised with it, it would be different. And no doubt I romanticize the role, just as I'm sure many people romanticize my job: a room full of books, and a life not only devoted to scholarship, but a lifestyle of Devotion AND Scholarship -- and study itself as a form of devotion, or even prayer. I'm drawn as well to the idea of a true Sabbath, with no work of any kind...not even to light a fire. How different from the "Day of Football" so many Americans observe on Sundays in this season, with its associated gambling, drinking and snacking, and hours squandered in front of a television.

Brother & Sister have so many other connotations: the monastic life, or an hermetic one; or perhaps simply participation in an "unprogramed" silent Quaker-style meeting. What does it say about me that the kinds of religious life that appeal to me most (besides the one I've already chosen for myself) are ones that would put me out of a job? Can't explain it, and don't want to try.

In any event, HERE is an amusing little something that I found on another site, filled out for myself and posted over at The Eclectic Cleric, which was my original blog when I first got started doing all this back in 2006. Wasn't all that sure of what I was doing way back then, and I'm still not all that sure now. But since then I've started and stopped perhaps a dozen blogs, including ones for my mom's memorial service and an archive of my letters from Denmark, sermon-blogs for Nantucket, Carlisle, and here at First Parish, a pick-up basketball blog (Obi Wannabe Kobe) which I described as "Old School reflections on the Meaning of Life, Popular Culture, and the Essential Wisdom of Pick-Up Basketball," and of course now this cancer blog, which has accumulated both more readers and more posts than any of the others in so much shorter a time. But I guess there's nothing like a real human interest aspect to gather attention. And this blog certainly has both....

A Red Christmas Cardinal

From time to time I need to remind myself that I don't really need to publish an entire dissertation here each time I post; that sometimes it's enough just to make a quick observation and pass on. For example, lovely service yesterday for the first Sunday in Advent: a comfortably full house, a frisky spirit, fantastic music, and a guest speaker too, Karen Foley, who we invited in at the last minute because people were worried after last weekend about whether or not I was going to be physically up to preaching yesterday. As it turned out, I was feeling fine, and am now looking forward to next Sunday with eager anticipation. Meanwhile, yesterday I helped lead the rest of the service (and especially the Announcements, Candlesharing, and Offertory), while Karen carried the more liturgical/"spiritual" elements (the prayer, lesson and message...plus invocation and benediction) and contributed yet another voice to the expanding chorus of colleagues who have come forward to support me during my illness

I also received a very nice gift yesterday, inspired by a sermon I preached a year ago. Here's the manuscript LINK -- see if you can figure out what the gift might have been....