Rev. Ellen Alston
A candle wick with dancing flame can focus my sight and thinking. For these few moments, all other reality pales and melts away at the edge of my spirit’s peripheral vision. My senses fill with light, heat, “rainwater” aroma, the pungent taste of struck-match sulphur, and a stillness punctuated by crackles and palpable silence. My breath deepens and slows.
“I’m lighting a candle for you,” a friend says, and these simple words, like a laser beam, pierce and connect layers of memory and meaning:
-Candles I’ve seen burning in the holiest of times and places: sparks that mark a moment or a sense of momentum.
-The primal pull to gather up and circle around a lively flame, singing “rounds” and leaning into syncopating tunes and telling of the Story, while flickering lights and playful shadows prance and glance on each face and being.
-The Advent wreath: devotional center for hearth and home – teaching and reaching for the practice of waiting and watching and trusting God’s life and leading that are well ahead of us, but never apart from us.
-My earliest role of leadership in the church: to process with “the Light of Christ” from the back of the sanctuary to the altar at the front, where burn the pillars of timeless tradition and promise in Christ, reminding us of who we are and how we are sent to bear that Light for the world as we depart to serve.
And my favorite… the transformative, down-to-the-molecular-level chemical reaction and inside-out change wrought in and through the tongues of fire. Hovering, slightly and surely tethered to the earth by a single waxen cord, yet rising and aspiring to stand bright and tall, how like my heart and mind is that attentive flame!
Spirit of the Living God, purify my thoughts and motivations, even my prayers, as I am consumed and forever made new by your Love! AMEN.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
Beckoning the Light
Ellen Blue
As I mentioned in my post on Lauren Winner’s chapter about Sabbath, I was invited to have Sabbath dinner at the home of Barbara and David Kline one Friday while David was rabbi at Temple B’nai Israel in Monroe. David is a reform rabbi, but the Klines chose to keep kosher, a decision that made cooking the meal a spiritual task in itself.
Having taken a graduate-level course in the history of Bible lands and done my paper on women’s role in Judaism, I knew more than the average non-Jew about what to expect. I was nevertheless unprepared for the profound spirituality of the meal and the extent to which its sacredness flowed directly from Barbara.
I had learned that the temple’s destruction caused great change in Jewish religious expression, and that the focus moved from temple/sacrifice to synagogue/law during the Exile. The home’s dining table became the new altar, and though a very different kind of ritual occurred there, it was no less important.
I’d read about the candle lighting that signaled the beginning of Sabbath and knew that the woman whose home the meal took place in performed it. I knew Barbara would reach forward and make a gesture of beckoning, drawing the light toward her. But just as reading about Eucharist is no substitute for having taken communion in a community of beloved companions, the power of this ritual escaped me until I sat at Barbara Kline’s table as she performed it. The creation of sacred space and time requires confidence and spiritual presence – gravitas – and the sacredness of that meal astonished me.
This does not mean that David and their daughter were not eager and involved participants. I believe their meal occurred each week with just as much significance and joy. All three were completely present to the ritual and performed their roles, including the singing of songs, completely unselfconsciously. David also interpreted for my husband and me what the Hebrew meant and what the blessings signified.
Jim and I left Monroe in 1995, and the Klines don’t live there now, either. When I began to think about this post, I googled them. I first encountered an article about their daughter. Shira is their youngest child and the one who still lived at home when we were guests. What David did impressed me; what Barbara did, preparing the meal and presiding at the table, impressed me more. But what impressed me most was how their daughter, then in her early teens, was so comfortable and happy with the ritual that she had no reservations at all about participating, even singing, in front of strangers.
In fact, Shira became a professional musician. She moved to New York and worked in theatre for a while. In April 2010, she told Julie Wiener of _The Jewish Week_ that “the only problem with theater was it canceled Shabbat completely. There was a show every Friday night.” I can see why she would find it such a loss. The richness of the experience, the opportunity to disengage, not in a negative turning away from the world but in a positive turning inward toward the sacred, made that meal one of the most meaningful spiritual events of my life. I am grateful still.
As I mentioned in my post on Lauren Winner’s chapter about Sabbath, I was invited to have Sabbath dinner at the home of Barbara and David Kline one Friday while David was rabbi at Temple B’nai Israel in Monroe. David is a reform rabbi, but the Klines chose to keep kosher, a decision that made cooking the meal a spiritual task in itself.
Having taken a graduate-level course in the history of Bible lands and done my paper on women’s role in Judaism, I knew more than the average non-Jew about what to expect. I was nevertheless unprepared for the profound spirituality of the meal and the extent to which its sacredness flowed directly from Barbara.
I had learned that the temple’s destruction caused great change in Jewish religious expression, and that the focus moved from temple/sacrifice to synagogue/law during the Exile. The home’s dining table became the new altar, and though a very different kind of ritual occurred there, it was no less important.
I’d read about the candle lighting that signaled the beginning of Sabbath and knew that the woman whose home the meal took place in performed it. I knew Barbara would reach forward and make a gesture of beckoning, drawing the light toward her. But just as reading about Eucharist is no substitute for having taken communion in a community of beloved companions, the power of this ritual escaped me until I sat at Barbara Kline’s table as she performed it. The creation of sacred space and time requires confidence and spiritual presence – gravitas – and the sacredness of that meal astonished me.
This does not mean that David and their daughter were not eager and involved participants. I believe their meal occurred each week with just as much significance and joy. All three were completely present to the ritual and performed their roles, including the singing of songs, completely unselfconsciously. David also interpreted for my husband and me what the Hebrew meant and what the blessings signified.
Jim and I left Monroe in 1995, and the Klines don’t live there now, either. When I began to think about this post, I googled them. I first encountered an article about their daughter. Shira is their youngest child and the one who still lived at home when we were guests. What David did impressed me; what Barbara did, preparing the meal and presiding at the table, impressed me more. But what impressed me most was how their daughter, then in her early teens, was so comfortable and happy with the ritual that she had no reservations at all about participating, even singing, in front of strangers.
In fact, Shira became a professional musician. She moved to New York and worked in theatre for a while. In April 2010, she told Julie Wiener of _The Jewish Week_ that “the only problem with theater was it canceled Shabbat completely. There was a show every Friday night.” I can see why she would find it such a loss. The richness of the experience, the opportunity to disengage, not in a negative turning away from the world but in a positive turning inward toward the sacred, made that meal one of the most meaningful spiritual events of my life. I am grateful still.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Let There Be Light
Rabbi Dr. Jana L. De Benedetti
At the end of each description of each day of the first Creation story in Genesis it says, “There was evening and there was morning.” This teaches us that God defines a day as starting in the evening and continuing in the morning. Throughout the Torah (Five Books of Moses) God commands us to make certain days holy, including Shabbat, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Passover, and Shavuot. In order to set those days apart from the ordinary days, we light candles before the sun sets, to welcome and sanctify the Holy Day.
Traditionally the candles are blessed at home, with the family gathered around. In many synagogues candles are blessed at the beginning of the evening worship service for the Holy Day. At home after the blessing for the candles is finished, the children are blessed – and often the spouses also are praised. The tradition of lighting two candles is thought to come from the fact that the two versions of the Decalogue (one in Exodus and one in Deuteronomy) command us about Shabbat in slightly different ways: one says, “keep” and one says, “remember.” We light two candles in order to do both. In some families instead of two separate candlesticks, a menorah is used. Some families have a tradition to use a menorah that has as many people as are in the immediate family. When I was growing up, we used a five-branch menorah until my sister was born, and then we switched to a seven-branch menorah.
The word “menorah” is mentioned many times in Torah when God is instructing how to make the seven branch menorah for the Tabernacle. This menorah later became the menorah in the Temple in Jerusalem which experienced the miracle of the oil at the Chanukah (dedication) of the Temple that inspired the lighting of the Chanukah menorah. A Chanukah menorah has eight branches, representing the eight days of the miracle, and of the holiday, plus one branch used for lighting the rest. It is obvious from the biblical explanations of lighting a menorah that for thousands of years, they were burning oil lights, and only recently wax candles became more common.
The candle lighting “ceremony” is a beautiful, spiritual way to usher in and sanctify the Holy Day that is about to begin. Since God forbade work on every one of the Holy Days, we need to be sure to light the candles before sunset. We also light them before we say the blessing. Every other blessing we say comes before we do the thing we bless – we bless the particular food before we eat it, we say a blessing for doing a commandment before we do the commandment. However, since we are forbidden to light a fire on Holy Days (and especially Shabbat), we are careful to light the fire before the sun goes down. The procedure is to light the candles, then block the light of the candles from your view by either covering your eyes or having your hands block the light of the candle from your view, then say the blessing that reminds us that God is the Ruler of the Universe and commanded us to light the Holy Day / Shabbat lights, and then finally move our hands away so that we can see the lights – as if for the first time. There is a common tradition to add another few meaningful steps… one is that after lighting the candles, and before saying the blessing, we move our hands as if to bring the light closer to us – to physically welcome and invite the Holy day into our lives. Often people say a silent, personal blessing after the candle blessing is said and before we look at the candles – it is another powerful way to recognize how close we are to God and God is to us as the Holy Day begins. Most often the candle lighting and blessing is done by the woman of the home. If there is no woman, a man should do it, and as described above, the whole family should participate. It is a powerful thing to acknowledge that most often in the home, the woman is responsible for the spiritual light of the family.
Light is often used as a symbol for the spiritual – and even for the spirit. There is a tradition among many Jews to light a candle as a reminder of the spirit of a deceased loved one. A tall candle is lit immediately after a funeral – and the candle will burn continuously for 7 days. As this candle slowly burns down it becomes an almost physical way of releasing the spirit of the loved one, and helping us to move on. Then on each anniversary of the loved one’s death, a candle is lit in the evening of the anniversary – this candle burns at least 24 hours. It serves as a reminder for the entire day of the anniversary of the death. The Holy Days also incorporate special prayers and readings to honor and remember those we loved who are gone.
Light is a powerful symbol of the divine spark that makes us human. A wonderful aspect of candlelight is that when we share it, the world becomes even brighter. Usually when something is shared, each person gets a part of what is shared. When sharing light, each person gets to let their own light shine, which significantly increases the light in the world. By lighting candles as the sun sets, we are reminded that even a small light dispels the darkness. We pray that we can bring awareness of the enlightenment of God’s spirit into the world.
At the end of each description of each day of the first Creation story in Genesis it says, “There was evening and there was morning.” This teaches us that God defines a day as starting in the evening and continuing in the morning. Throughout the Torah (Five Books of Moses) God commands us to make certain days holy, including Shabbat, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Passover, and Shavuot. In order to set those days apart from the ordinary days, we light candles before the sun sets, to welcome and sanctify the Holy Day.
Traditionally the candles are blessed at home, with the family gathered around. In many synagogues candles are blessed at the beginning of the evening worship service for the Holy Day. At home after the blessing for the candles is finished, the children are blessed – and often the spouses also are praised. The tradition of lighting two candles is thought to come from the fact that the two versions of the Decalogue (one in Exodus and one in Deuteronomy) command us about Shabbat in slightly different ways: one says, “keep” and one says, “remember.” We light two candles in order to do both. In some families instead of two separate candlesticks, a menorah is used. Some families have a tradition to use a menorah that has as many people as are in the immediate family. When I was growing up, we used a five-branch menorah until my sister was born, and then we switched to a seven-branch menorah.
The word “menorah” is mentioned many times in Torah when God is instructing how to make the seven branch menorah for the Tabernacle. This menorah later became the menorah in the Temple in Jerusalem which experienced the miracle of the oil at the Chanukah (dedication) of the Temple that inspired the lighting of the Chanukah menorah. A Chanukah menorah has eight branches, representing the eight days of the miracle, and of the holiday, plus one branch used for lighting the rest. It is obvious from the biblical explanations of lighting a menorah that for thousands of years, they were burning oil lights, and only recently wax candles became more common.
The candle lighting “ceremony” is a beautiful, spiritual way to usher in and sanctify the Holy Day that is about to begin. Since God forbade work on every one of the Holy Days, we need to be sure to light the candles before sunset. We also light them before we say the blessing. Every other blessing we say comes before we do the thing we bless – we bless the particular food before we eat it, we say a blessing for doing a commandment before we do the commandment. However, since we are forbidden to light a fire on Holy Days (and especially Shabbat), we are careful to light the fire before the sun goes down. The procedure is to light the candles, then block the light of the candles from your view by either covering your eyes or having your hands block the light of the candle from your view, then say the blessing that reminds us that God is the Ruler of the Universe and commanded us to light the Holy Day / Shabbat lights, and then finally move our hands away so that we can see the lights – as if for the first time. There is a common tradition to add another few meaningful steps… one is that after lighting the candles, and before saying the blessing, we move our hands as if to bring the light closer to us – to physically welcome and invite the Holy day into our lives. Often people say a silent, personal blessing after the candle blessing is said and before we look at the candles – it is another powerful way to recognize how close we are to God and God is to us as the Holy Day begins. Most often the candle lighting and blessing is done by the woman of the home. If there is no woman, a man should do it, and as described above, the whole family should participate. It is a powerful thing to acknowledge that most often in the home, the woman is responsible for the spiritual light of the family.
Light is often used as a symbol for the spiritual – and even for the spirit. There is a tradition among many Jews to light a candle as a reminder of the spirit of a deceased loved one. A tall candle is lit immediately after a funeral – and the candle will burn continuously for 7 days. As this candle slowly burns down it becomes an almost physical way of releasing the spirit of the loved one, and helping us to move on. Then on each anniversary of the loved one’s death, a candle is lit in the evening of the anniversary – this candle burns at least 24 hours. It serves as a reminder for the entire day of the anniversary of the death. The Holy Days also incorporate special prayers and readings to honor and remember those we loved who are gone.
Light is a powerful symbol of the divine spark that makes us human. A wonderful aspect of candlelight is that when we share it, the world becomes even brighter. Usually when something is shared, each person gets a part of what is shared. When sharing light, each person gets to let their own light shine, which significantly increases the light in the world. By lighting candles as the sun sets, we are reminded that even a small light dispels the darkness. We pray that we can bring awareness of the enlightenment of God’s spirit into the world.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Never Grow Old?
Rev. Joseph Awotwi
As I blog on aging an old song comes to mind. I do not recall who sang it. The words are, “Growing old, growing old, I wish I’ll never grow old.” A struggle for me that I have not shared is about aging and how we treat the body. It is a struggle for me because I see people who are making every effort to hide the fact that they are aging. This is done through manipulation of the body. They color the hair black to hide all traces of graying – a sign of growing old. My own dad at the age of hundred had “black hair.” I had never known him not to have black hair. I am not against looking young or beautiful but to what extent do we give credit to the God that created us when we choose to make our gray hair black? Or re-shape our eyebrows to make them look as Hollywood tells us they should look? What does that say about God’s creativity? Should we encourage breast augmentation? Or surgery to remove the wrinkles that tell that I am getting older? What do these practices say about our God’s creativity? If I really believe that God made me, and God’s creation is good, and God is proud of God’s creation why would I indulge in any such practice? It is an ongoing struggle – looking young and giving honor to God for God’s beautiful creation without the implied action that God did not do a good enough job. I love the Rabbinic story in Lauren Winner’s book about Abraham and his son and old age. I wish it were in the Bible!
When does aging begin? How can Christians grow old or age gracefully? As I thought about Christians aging I realized that I cannot recollect one time that I heard a sermon [or personally preached one!] that spoke directly to aging. Magazines and studies about aging are marketed to “mature citizens” instead of all Christians. How can our faith communities embrace and speak about aging when collectively we have not seen it as important enough to speak to it in an arena of all Christians? Alas! We have once again allowed the un-Christian culture to set the pace for us Christians to follow.
I happen to have a young-ish appearance. I recall when in the mid-seventies I grew a beard only because I wanted to look older. A supervisor about twenty years my senior said to me that she knew why I was growing a beard. Then added, “You think it makes you look old. It really does not.” Having burst my bubble, I considered dying my beard gray! When we are young we want to be old; when we are old we want to be young. How can we grow up and not sing, “I wish I’ll never grow old?” Is it because we are afraid of what happens to us in old age that someone sang those words?
When I look over my life I realize that what we do to the body and our concern (or is it fear?) about growing old are but symptoms of a deeper issue. That deeper issue is lack of gratitude to God for God’s creation – me. Tied to that is lack of thankfulness to God for how God has made me. In view of this awareness I wish all would join me this Lenten season in a new way of praying.
PRAYER: I thank you God for my kinky hair, now part black and part white. I thank you God for my eyebrows that you made in your wisdom and not by Hollywood standard. I thank you God for my nose that some think is too big and others think it is too small. I thank you for my lips that are not thick enough for some people who can’t even draw a lip, and too thick for others that cannot make a lip out of clay. Please Lord, double my love for you and my wisdom for each evidence of aging seen in me. Amen.
As I blog on aging an old song comes to mind. I do not recall who sang it. The words are, “Growing old, growing old, I wish I’ll never grow old.” A struggle for me that I have not shared is about aging and how we treat the body. It is a struggle for me because I see people who are making every effort to hide the fact that they are aging. This is done through manipulation of the body. They color the hair black to hide all traces of graying – a sign of growing old. My own dad at the age of hundred had “black hair.” I had never known him not to have black hair. I am not against looking young or beautiful but to what extent do we give credit to the God that created us when we choose to make our gray hair black? Or re-shape our eyebrows to make them look as Hollywood tells us they should look? What does that say about God’s creativity? Should we encourage breast augmentation? Or surgery to remove the wrinkles that tell that I am getting older? What do these practices say about our God’s creativity? If I really believe that God made me, and God’s creation is good, and God is proud of God’s creation why would I indulge in any such practice? It is an ongoing struggle – looking young and giving honor to God for God’s beautiful creation without the implied action that God did not do a good enough job. I love the Rabbinic story in Lauren Winner’s book about Abraham and his son and old age. I wish it were in the Bible!
When does aging begin? How can Christians grow old or age gracefully? As I thought about Christians aging I realized that I cannot recollect one time that I heard a sermon [or personally preached one!] that spoke directly to aging. Magazines and studies about aging are marketed to “mature citizens” instead of all Christians. How can our faith communities embrace and speak about aging when collectively we have not seen it as important enough to speak to it in an arena of all Christians? Alas! We have once again allowed the un-Christian culture to set the pace for us Christians to follow.
I happen to have a young-ish appearance. I recall when in the mid-seventies I grew a beard only because I wanted to look older. A supervisor about twenty years my senior said to me that she knew why I was growing a beard. Then added, “You think it makes you look old. It really does not.” Having burst my bubble, I considered dying my beard gray! When we are young we want to be old; when we are old we want to be young. How can we grow up and not sing, “I wish I’ll never grow old?” Is it because we are afraid of what happens to us in old age that someone sang those words?
When I look over my life I realize that what we do to the body and our concern (or is it fear?) about growing old are but symptoms of a deeper issue. That deeper issue is lack of gratitude to God for God’s creation – me. Tied to that is lack of thankfulness to God for how God has made me. In view of this awareness I wish all would join me this Lenten season in a new way of praying.
PRAYER: I thank you God for my kinky hair, now part black and part white. I thank you God for my eyebrows that you made in your wisdom and not by Hollywood standard. I thank you God for my nose that some think is too big and others think it is too small. I thank you for my lips that are not thick enough for some people who can’t even draw a lip, and too thick for others that cannot make a lip out of clay. Please Lord, double my love for you and my wisdom for each evidence of aging seen in me. Amen.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
The Gray Hairs I Covet
Rev. Valerie Robideaux
“Hi! Welcome to Centenary! You can find a seat over there. Are your parents here?” The Centenary student-admissions ambassador was very welcoming. She had a lovely smile that could put any first-year student at ease on their summer visit to enroll in classes. I smiled back at her and thanked her for her warm display of hospitality and responded, “Oh, thanks but I work here.” That’s right. I was 28 and mistaken for 18. I have several other stories like this, such as being carded at a movie theatre because the PG-13 movie was going to let out past state curfew for minors 16 and under. I was 24 and married.
Many adults tell me I will one day be thankful for my youthful appearance; however, as a young professional on a college campus, I find this cultural crown of blessing a bit thorny. Because I often am mistaken for a minor, and quite possibly a pre-pubescent boy when I have really short hair, I admire my elders. I must confess that I look forward to salt and pepper hair, wrinkles on my face, and the wisdom gained through life experiences.
Lauren Winner states, “The Hebrew word sayvah, gray –as in gray hair –is etymologically connected to the word for repentance, teshuva: The process of aging, then, is the process of setting wrong things right” (99). I long for the time and space to set wrong things right. I often live in constant fear of failure, getting in trouble, and disappointing others. I don’t know about you, but I am very grateful for the gift of time, maturity, and reflection.
Is the season of Lent really a gift of time and reflection, a process of setting wrong things right? Perhaps this is a season for aging—for spiritually maturing. When I allow myself time to slow down and breathe and space for the Holy Spirit to move, God’s eternal perspective begins to invade my fears. I don’t know about you, but I am very grateful for that gift.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His will; that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever in the next. Amen. (Serenity Prayer, Reinhold Niebuhr)
“Hi! Welcome to Centenary! You can find a seat over there. Are your parents here?” The Centenary student-admissions ambassador was very welcoming. She had a lovely smile that could put any first-year student at ease on their summer visit to enroll in classes. I smiled back at her and thanked her for her warm display of hospitality and responded, “Oh, thanks but I work here.” That’s right. I was 28 and mistaken for 18. I have several other stories like this, such as being carded at a movie theatre because the PG-13 movie was going to let out past state curfew for minors 16 and under. I was 24 and married.
Many adults tell me I will one day be thankful for my youthful appearance; however, as a young professional on a college campus, I find this cultural crown of blessing a bit thorny. Because I often am mistaken for a minor, and quite possibly a pre-pubescent boy when I have really short hair, I admire my elders. I must confess that I look forward to salt and pepper hair, wrinkles on my face, and the wisdom gained through life experiences.
Lauren Winner states, “The Hebrew word sayvah, gray –as in gray hair –is etymologically connected to the word for repentance, teshuva: The process of aging, then, is the process of setting wrong things right” (99). I long for the time and space to set wrong things right. I often live in constant fear of failure, getting in trouble, and disappointing others. I don’t know about you, but I am very grateful for the gift of time, maturity, and reflection.
Is the season of Lent really a gift of time and reflection, a process of setting wrong things right? Perhaps this is a season for aging—for spiritually maturing. When I allow myself time to slow down and breathe and space for the Holy Spirit to move, God’s eternal perspective begins to invade my fears. I don’t know about you, but I am very grateful for that gift.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His will; that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever in the next. Amen. (Serenity Prayer, Reinhold Niebuhr)
Friday, March 23, 2012
A Holy Obligation
Rev. Mimi McDowell
When I grow up, I want to be like Sally. Sally turned 91 a few months ago. I visited her recently in her new home. She just moved to a small one-bedroom apartment at a retirement community, leaving the townhome where she had lived for many years. She wasn’t forced to move though. Sally made the decision herself because she knew the time had come.
Unlike many people, who minimalize or deny the effects of aging, Sally is very honest about it. When I visited with her at a church function a few months ago, Sally said to me, “I am fine, but I have had a few falls lately. I haven’t been hurt, but it has begun to concern me. When the time comes that I don’t need to live alone, I am going to move to an assisted living facility. I don’t want to put that burden on my family. They have been so good to me, but they should not have to be forced to make that decision for me.” Sally didn’t want her family to feel obligated to take care of her; so when the time came, she made the decision for herself.
Lauren Winner tells us that Jewish tradition holds that “the aged are not to be dismissed or ignored, but honored.” (Mudhouse Sabbath, p. 94) And with that comes an obligation to care for our elders. An obligation that is, at times, simple and joyous; and at its most difficult it is often exhausting and burdensome. We don’t often like to think in terms of obligation. It seems to me to carry a tone of legalism, and there is some truth in that. An obligation is a binding promise, a contract, a sense of duty. It requires our faithful attention to the person or task at hand. But it isn’t an empty, meaningless contract. In fact, as Winner points out, obligations are the bedrock of our relationship with God and they govern many of our relationships with others.
Let’s face it, we are all aging. I am now 54 years-old and, almost daily, I notice something new about this aging body – a new ache or pain, increasing difficulty in reading the small print, a new wrinkle here or there, or the way the fat seems to shift to new places in my body. But, if I am lucky, I will live to age as gracefully as Sally. Yet no matter how I age, I won’t live forever. As the saying goes, “None of us are getting out of here alive.”
So today I met with an attorney to discuss my Last Will and Testament. I made decisions about how my assets and possessions will be disbursed after my death. Not a particularly cheery thing to think about, but a necessary one. I also executed a Durable Power of Attorney that gives another person the authority and, dare I say, the obligation to care for me if/when I am no longer able to do it myself. I chose a person whom I love and trust implicitly and one who I know will take this obligation very seriously. Because, in the end, what more sacred and holy obligation can there be than to care for ones we love? Seems like I remember Jesus saying something about that …
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12)
When I grow up, I want to be like Sally. Sally turned 91 a few months ago. I visited her recently in her new home. She just moved to a small one-bedroom apartment at a retirement community, leaving the townhome where she had lived for many years. She wasn’t forced to move though. Sally made the decision herself because she knew the time had come.
Unlike many people, who minimalize or deny the effects of aging, Sally is very honest about it. When I visited with her at a church function a few months ago, Sally said to me, “I am fine, but I have had a few falls lately. I haven’t been hurt, but it has begun to concern me. When the time comes that I don’t need to live alone, I am going to move to an assisted living facility. I don’t want to put that burden on my family. They have been so good to me, but they should not have to be forced to make that decision for me.” Sally didn’t want her family to feel obligated to take care of her; so when the time came, she made the decision for herself.
Lauren Winner tells us that Jewish tradition holds that “the aged are not to be dismissed or ignored, but honored.” (Mudhouse Sabbath, p. 94) And with that comes an obligation to care for our elders. An obligation that is, at times, simple and joyous; and at its most difficult it is often exhausting and burdensome. We don’t often like to think in terms of obligation. It seems to me to carry a tone of legalism, and there is some truth in that. An obligation is a binding promise, a contract, a sense of duty. It requires our faithful attention to the person or task at hand. But it isn’t an empty, meaningless contract. In fact, as Winner points out, obligations are the bedrock of our relationship with God and they govern many of our relationships with others.
Let’s face it, we are all aging. I am now 54 years-old and, almost daily, I notice something new about this aging body – a new ache or pain, increasing difficulty in reading the small print, a new wrinkle here or there, or the way the fat seems to shift to new places in my body. But, if I am lucky, I will live to age as gracefully as Sally. Yet no matter how I age, I won’t live forever. As the saying goes, “None of us are getting out of here alive.”
So today I met with an attorney to discuss my Last Will and Testament. I made decisions about how my assets and possessions will be disbursed after my death. Not a particularly cheery thing to think about, but a necessary one. I also executed a Durable Power of Attorney that gives another person the authority and, dare I say, the obligation to care for me if/when I am no longer able to do it myself. I chose a person whom I love and trust implicitly and one who I know will take this obligation very seriously. Because, in the end, what more sacred and holy obligation can there be than to care for ones we love? Seems like I remember Jesus saying something about that …
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12)
Thursday, March 22, 2012
God says it...that settles it
Rabbi Dr. Jana L. De Benedetti
Hebrew Scriptures often mention looking to elders for advice, for leadership, for good judgment. We are taught in many ways to honor and respect our elders. There are also wonderful lessons about aging gracefully. I will share one timely lesson with you.
Passover is coming soon. In the Hebrew Scriptures we find a few places that list almost identical details about how we are to observe the holy day. Scholars have wondered why there needs to be a repetition. When God commands, once should be enough. In the Talmud it teaches that we need the repetition because we forget. If we weren’t created to be creatures that forget some things, then studying the Scriptures would become unnecessary after the first time. We would read it once, and know it. By describing the same thing more than once, God is gently teaching us that it is ok to forget, and it is great to re-examine something. Each time we look at the same thing as we age we see it differently. Another story in the Talmud teaches that it is not the text that changes each time we look at it – we change, we are different each time we look at the text. It is a blessing to gain years and experience and get to see things again. In my congregation, as we get older, we like being reminded that it is ok to forget.
Hebrew Scriptures often mention looking to elders for advice, for leadership, for good judgment. We are taught in many ways to honor and respect our elders. There are also wonderful lessons about aging gracefully. I will share one timely lesson with you.
Passover is coming soon. In the Hebrew Scriptures we find a few places that list almost identical details about how we are to observe the holy day. Scholars have wondered why there needs to be a repetition. When God commands, once should be enough. In the Talmud it teaches that we need the repetition because we forget. If we weren’t created to be creatures that forget some things, then studying the Scriptures would become unnecessary after the first time. We would read it once, and know it. By describing the same thing more than once, God is gently teaching us that it is ok to forget, and it is great to re-examine something. Each time we look at the same thing as we age we see it differently. Another story in the Talmud teaches that it is not the text that changes each time we look at it – we change, we are different each time we look at the text. It is a blessing to gain years and experience and get to see things again. In my congregation, as we get older, we like being reminded that it is ok to forget.
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