Happy Birthday William Stafford!

Thank you, Garrison Keillor, Writer's Almanac, and Public Radio for this divine information! William Stafford poetry has saved my life, moved my life, invited me to stay-put-in-my-life, and love in ways that I never knew possible. I am thankful to William Stafford and the Universe that created this man, this poet, this kind of prophet. Join me in celebrating his birth! Read a poem or two of his and breathe deeply.

I've copied one of my favorites below the bio: "A Ritual to Read to Each Other."

***

It's the birthday of poet William Edgar Stafford, born in Hutchinson, Kansas, in 1914, the same year as American poets Weldon Kees and Randall Jarrell and John Berryman. Among his best-known books are The Rescued Year (1966), Stories That Could Be True: New and Collected Poems (1977), Writing the Australian Crawl: Views on the Writer's Vocation (1978), and An Oregon Message (1987).

Stafford received a B.A. and an M.A. from the University of Kansas at Lawrence and, in 1954, a Ph.D. from the University of Iowa. During the Second World War, he was a conscientious objector. He refused to be inducted into the U. S. Army. From 1940-1944 he was interned as a pacifist in civilian public service camps in Arkansas and California where he fought fires and built roads. He wrote about the experience in the 94-page prose memoir Down In My Heart (1947), which opens with the question, "When are men dangerous?"

In 1948 Stafford moved to Oregon to teach at Lewis and Clark College. His first major collection of poems, Traveling Through the Dark (1962), was published when Stafford was 48. It won the National Book Award for poetry in 1963. He said, "At the moment of writing... the poet does sometimes feel that he is accomplishing an exhilarating, a wonderful, a stupendous job; he glimpses at such times how it might be to overwhelm the universe by rightness, to do something peculiarly difficult to such a perfection that something like a revelation comes. For that instant, conceiving is knowing; the secret life in language reveals the very self of things."

Stafford usually wrote in the early morning. He sat down with a pen and paper, took a look out the window, and waited for something to occur to him. He wrote about simple things like farms and dead deer and winter. He wrote about the West and his parents and cottonwood trees. He wrote, "In the winter, in the dark hours, when others / were asleep, I found these words and put them / together by their appetites and respect for / each other. In stillness, they jostled. They traded / meanings while pretending to have only one."

Stafford served as a poetry consultant to the Library of Congress in 1970, a post now designated "American Poet Laureate." He published more than 65 volumes of poetry and prose. He was a professor of English at Lewis and Clark College, Portland, Oregon, until his retirement in 1990. He died on August 28, 1993 at his home in Lake Oswego, Oregon. About his own works, Stafford once commented, "I have woven a parachute out of everything broken."

***

A Ritual to Read to Each Other
by William Stafford, from The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems © Graywolf Press.
Reprinted with permission.

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give - yes or no, or maybe—
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

"Living with Hope" A Reflection on Fr. Nouwen's Prayer for Today

Living with Hope

Optimism and hope are radically different attitudes. Optimism is the expectation that things - the weather, human relationships, the economy, the political situation, and so on - will get better. Hope is the trust that God will fulfill God's promises to us in a way that leads us to true freedom. The optimist speaks about concrete changes in the future. The person of hope lives in the moment with the knowledge and trust that all of life is in good hands.

All the great spiritual leaders in history were people of hope. Abraham, Moses, Ruth, Mary, Jesus, Rumi, Gandhi, and Dorothy Day all lived with a promise in their hearts that guided them toward the future without the need to know exactly what it would look like. Let's live with hope. -Fr. Henri Nouwen

I'm fairly certain I'm not the only one on the planet who has periods when they feel hopeless.

This business of selling my house, paying off all of my debt, and inching forward in my dreams, (toward the greater call to love and create well - in some sustainable fashion!): well, that's EXCITING! But it's a lot. It's a lot to hold, to carry, to move in and through, and stay positive and hopeful about. (This image of a little turtle hauling a house 10 times his size uphill just flashed into my brain.) Ack!

But the thing is: I don't have to HOLD this all. I don't have to haul it all myself either. And I'm not! It's more apparent to me now, than ever before in my 39 years on the planet: that I'm not completely in charge and in control and making all right-action in my life happen. Huh-uh. Because it's just not humanly possible. There's definitely Someone, Something Greater at work here. And knowledge of that Power, is the underpinning of this blasted Hope business.

But it's hard! It's really hard to believe! Especially when you have formulated and been reassured that "YOU ARE IN CHARGE" and "YOU ARE IN CONTROL" and "YOU ARE ALL POWERFUL."

***

In sixth grade, Joey Schulte, this hot older boy at Sacred Heart in Norfolk, Nebraska, said to me: "Girl, it looks like you've been hauling five gallon buckets your whole life." I was dumbfounded by what that meant.

Am I wobbly? Are my arms spread at a distance from my body? Do my hands constantly curl around imaginary handles? Do I always have a look of carrying a heavy load?

Needless to say, Mr. Schulte's comment made a lasting impression in my mind. "I'm the girl that hauls things." (Why couldn't I be the hot girl? The sweet girl? The funny girl? The cute girl? The sassy girl? Let's not go there. That's another blog!)

Oh, the undoing of the Joey Schulte comments in our minds: this is a call I believe we all have!

While I'm fairly certain - that on some level - Joey did think he was flattering me by noting some apparent strength I possessed, it's taken me years to unravel this concept and embrace the fact and GIFT that I'm not carrying this load by myself. As of late, I'm aware that I'm not carrying anything! God, the Divine, Love, some Angels, Ancestors, my Friends, the Handyman, my Realtor, Arlo -- they are carrying things! They are carrying me! And they are giving me hope!

I like what Nouwen says, or reminds me of here - that I don't need to know what the future looks like. I just need to live in this present moment, trust that all of life is in good hands, in other words: have hope.

Hmmm....Yes!

On that note, I'm going to clean. Which, incidentally, does involve two large buckets that I get to carry.

Oh....one step a time!

Peace, blessings, giggles,
Melissa

Jesus, the Lizard

I write lots of poems. I'm fascinated by the imagery and metaphor offered by my Christian faith. (Well, all faith ideas and language excite me, actually!) And when I'm angry, sad, searching, trying especially to stay put, I make these feeble attempts at seeing and identifying the immediate moment in some kind of image, some kind of language -- that creates or captures or conveys the Divine at play before my eyes.

So what follows is from this space of contemplative writing and prayer work. This falls on the heels of a series of Advent and Christmas poems, that perhaps someday will become a tiny collection for larger consumption.

Today. It's simply my prayer therapy.

If this speaks to you, let me know. Oh. I'm in a mood, you'll see. Dire, dark, doubting. Writing the poem is a form of exercise, (exorcise!)

Ultimately, all who read my blog are aware that light and joy and love cast out the dark. But tending to the dark, is vital for knowing illumination.

peace,
Melissa


"Jesus, the Lizard"

by Melissa Borgmann

Expectant of a pink or brown skinned baby,
(whatever tone your ethnicity invites you to imagine)
Writhing limbs, wrinkled and fresh from birth:
Arrival into this scene, onto the Earth!
Balmy babe with lungs that scream a divine song, "Hello!"

And I walk toward the star.
My own gifts in hand, (oil, matches, myrrh...all redundant.)
I'm glad for the wise company, of course, and this invitation from
the sky,
from dreams,
from God:
to follow.

We inch forward collectively.
Trusting each step in the sand,
the dissolution of no concern:
Faith tells us what is concrete and ahead.
And we step.

Arriving finally, peering into that space,
only to see:
Leathered horny flesh and tail -
Straw-bound and cradled,
an exhausted mother revealing nothing save for done-ness.

Imagine our dismay.

"The Light, please!": A reflection on today's poem

Don't we all want a little light when dis-assembling something?

Assembly?
Yes!

Why not dis-assembly?!

***

I'm just thinking of last night. Standing in the shadowy hallway of my home, where I am actively conquering dark corners, darker closets, and unpacking them. Taking things down, out, looking at them, laying them aside.

"I must clean!"

I will clean.

I do clean.

Last night's surprise contents of this supposed linen and medical supplies closet:

Includes the never-opened-embroidered-pillow-cases-From Laura Ashley in London.

(Good God! The sticker price in pounds was still fixed to the packaging! Who was it that was in London, before the European Common Market, and returned with this delightful gift? Hmmm....)

It is Christmas again.

Over and over in my house, these days, as my own un-packaging/ unpacking goes.

***

And that takes me back into the heart of this poem by Jane Kenyon.

It's after Christmas. Taking down the tree. She is at work in her own dis-assembly.

Bless Ms. Kenyon as she aligns this process with death! (Murder!)

Read the poem! Read and breathe it in.

Go to her description of the lingering balsam fir. The scent in memory, in unlit spaces.

Oh, if we all might have, or know extravagance in such seemingly dark times....

This is my prayer for the day.

LOVe!

Melissa

Poem: "Taking Down the Tree" by Jane Kenyon, from Collected Poems (buy now) © Graywolf Press, 2007. Reprinted with permission.

Taking Down the Tree

"Give me some light!" cries Hamlet's
uncle midway through the murder
of Gonzago. "Light! Light!" cry scattering
courtesans. Here, as in Denmark,
it's dark at four, and even the moon
shines with only half a heart.

The ornaments go down into the box:
the silver spaniel, My Darling
on its collar, from Mother's childhood
in Illinois; the balsa jumping jack
my brother and I fought over,
pulling limb from limb. Mother
drew it together again with thread
while I watched, feeling depraved
at the age of ten.

With something more than caution
I handle them, and the lights, with their
tin star-shaped reflectors, brought along
from house to house, their pasteboard
toy suitcases increasingly flimsy.
Tick, tick, the desiccated needles drop.

By suppertime all that remains is the scent
of balsam fir. If it's darkness
we're having, let it be extravagant.

Cracking Open - Reflection on today's poem

Have I ever had a guy friend whose wife has left him? (Have you?)

Can't say that this has happened to me personally. But the notion of being "cracked open," I recognize. In being left myself.

Abandonment, seeming abandonment (I mean: are we ever truly "LEFT"?) invites transformation.

Seeds crack and then grow. Takes a lot of water and sunlight, though.

(Again, all first hand experience. Doesn't take being male and divorced to get there.)

Enjoy Ms. Bass' work; the landscape and gardening she gets to by the end of the poem - is reassuring.

(I recognize the desire to garden well. )

Peace, Smiles,

Melissa

Poem: "I Love the Way Men Crack" by Ellen Bass, from Mules of Love, Vol. 1. © BOA Editions, Ltd., 2002. Reprinted with permission.(buy now)

I Love the Way Men Crack

I love the way men crack
open when their wives leave them,
their sheaths curling back like the split
shells of roasted chestnuts, exposing
the sweet creamy meat. They call you
and unburden their hearts the way a woman
takes off her jewels, the heavy
pendant earrings, the stiff lace gown and corset,
and slips into a loose kimono.
It's like you've both had a couple shots
of really good scotch and snow is falling
in the cone of light under the street lamp—
large slow flakes that float down in the amber glow.

They tell you all the pain pressed into their flat chests,
their disappointed penises, their empty hands.
As they sift through the betrayals and regrets,
their shocked realization of how hard they tried,
they way they shouldered the yoke
with such stupid good faith—
they grow younger and younger. They cry
with the unselfconciousness of children.
When they hug you, they cling.
Like someone who's needed glasses for a long time—
and finally got them-they look around
just for the pleasure of it: the detail,
the sharp edges of what the world has to offer.

And when they fall in love again, it only gets better.
Their hearts are stuffed full as éclairs
and the custard oozes out at a touch.
They love her, they love you, they love everyone.
They drag out all the musty sorrows and joys
from the basement where they've been shoved
with mitts and coin collections. They tell you
things they've never told anyone.
Fresh from loving her, they come glowing
like souls slipping into the bodies
of babies about to be born.

Then a year goes by. Or two.
Like broken bones, they knit back together.
They grow like grass and bushes and trees
after a forest fire, covering the seared earth.
They landscape the whole thing, plant like mad
and spend every weekend watering and weeding.

From "Here to There": Celebrating the Leap into 2008!

Friends,

Please join in celebrating the sweet steps, jumps, leaps! that we all are invited to take into the New Year....I want to recognize the courage and faith that any inching-forward requires, and simultaneously hold the beauty of being still in the present moment.

Hmmm...Yes!

My dear Phillipian faith friend and love, Michael Benham, sent the image and poem above, as part of his New Year's Greeting. Michael's work always inspires me. And this Benham-special I thought a perfect way to close out my own year and usher in the new...

As I've not posted a blog in over a month, Michael's words here have a buoying effect, inspiring not just a year-end entry in this online-meditation-space, they also arrive as invitation to imagine that which seems impossible, and "go for it!"

"It's the belief that we can not do it/ and still take that leap"

This past six weeks of quiet in the blog-sphere has been a kind of equivalent to my sizing up the jump ahead. I have been feeling like what I imagine Jimmie, (the sweet child in the picture) to be feeling before his leap: fear, possible trepidation, doubt.

"Is this physically possible? How much momentum do I need?
Can I calculate my landing point before I jump?
Are bruised limbs, or broken bones a possible consequence?
If so, who will pick me up?
Could I die?"

HA!

But Michael's picture is not about the before or after: he's captured the mid-way point! And it seems to me to celebrate the process of leaping in and of itself!

So: as I hold fast (and as loosely as possible) to my own fears, and cling to the voice and invitation of God-within me to do what I feel called to do, I similarly invite you to do the same. Don't get too hung up on what the outcome will be in your new years' ventures, just trust yourself, and take one step towards that.

(This will hopefully be the last cliche-like, Hallmark-card-kind-of-advice-writing-that I ever do.)

Now: Happy New Year!

Blessings!

I Hope this hasn't made anyone puke!

Peace and Inspiration in your world!

Till 2008,
Love,
Melissa

Prayers for our Church

November 19, 2007

Friends, Fam, Faith peeps,

I'm struggling in my response and prayer to the Catholic Church and it's Human Leaders, regarding this topic of Christ's Love and GLBT FAMILIES.

What follows is my feeble attempt at prayer and succinctness, in what feels an ocean of uncertainty, anger, hope, fear, love, mystery, and a grand call for discernment....

...........................................................

When did Christ say, "Nope, my body is not for you?" That's my essential question to the ordained and professed leaders of the Catholic Church who want to deny communion to anyone. To anyone! Please tell me, Where did Jesus draw the line? When did He practice exclusion? Please!

The following excerpt from our newly installed Archbishop, John Nienstedt, breaks my heart, as he quotes Church Teaching:

"Those who actively encourage or promote homosexual acts or such activity within a homosexual lifestyle formally cooperate in a grave evil and, if they do so knowingly and willingly, are guilty of mortal sin. They have broken communion with the church and are prohibited from receiving holy Communion until they have had a conversion of heart, expressed sorrow for their action and received sacramental absolution from a priest." - Archbishop Nienstedt of Minneapolis, St. Paul, in Catholic Spirit Article, "Four points on the church's teaching about homosexuality In God's Good Time"

(http://thecatholicspirit.com/main.asp?SectionID=14&SubSectionID=14&ArticleID=1079)

As Michael, another Catholic restated and summarized:

"He's saying that parents, family members, and members of faith communities who affirm and support their LGBT children, friends, and fellow parishioners in forming loving and committed relationships, and in living healthy and authentic lives, are "cooperating in a grave evil" and are "guilty of a mortal sin." Furthermore, they've separated themselves from the church and are not to receive Communion!"

Again, who ever gets to decide who is worthy of God's love? Where did Jesus give us these rules about who can receive Him, and who doesn't get to?

What is our call or response to words that are hate-filled, yet seemingly uttered from a place of love?

Do leaders and community members see how these are hateful words?

Does the Archbishop recognize these words as participating in death, rather than generative and life-filled?

How is the denial of Christ's body ever NOT a participation in crucifixion?

How am I called to think, pray, act, as a Catholic who LOVEs her faith, and yet is heart broken by Human Leadership?

How do I love it all?

How do I hold Christ at the center of all discussion?

How do I see both crucifixion and resurrection in such testimony? Do I want to also be one to say, "NO" to God's love?

Do we recognize, as faithful beings, the nails being driven into His body when we simply stand by? Am I okay standing by and not doing anything? What does it mean to witness and be complicit in such denial of Jesus?

Do you see or recognize yourself, and your own body and spirit, your own faith, in this conversation? In these questions?

Prayerfully, Humbly, Discerning,

Melissa

"Unity in the Heart of God" - Another Nouwen Reflection

Unity in the Heart of God

Love unites all, whether created or uncreated. The heart of God, the heart of all creation, and our own hearts become one in love. That's what all the great mystics have been trying to tell us through the ages. Benedict, Francis, Hildegard of Bingen, Hadewijch of Brabant, Meister Eckhart, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Dag Hammarskjˆld, Thomas Merton, and many others, all in their own ways and their own languages, have witnessed to the unifying power of the divine love. All of them, however, spoke with a knowledge that came to them not through intellectual arguments but through contemplative prayer. The Spirit of Jesus allowed them to see the heart of God, the heart of the universe, and their own hearts as one. It is in the heart of God that we can come to the full realisation of the unity of all that is, created and uncreated.
- Fr. Henri Nouwen

What's this "unity" business? Oh, yes, yes, intellectually, or on some quantum knowledge level, I get that "We Are All One." It's something I ramble off and hold as a tenet in the "Melissa-Borgmann-book-of-faith-and-understanding-of-the-Universe." (We all have our own books, right? Like little scrappy journals inside our hearts where we store pithy quotes and fortune cookie fortunes.) Well, I do, and this notion of a unified body of LOVE exists there.

But what does that MEAN? And what does that call me to do? Or be?

Ack!

I read this reflection of Nouwen's this morning, and it smacked me in the center of my chest. I love Henri, and some days he speaks to me; other days, not so much. Reading these emailed passages is simply part of my morning routine. I pray using them, but sometimes wonder, "What is the quality or nature of my prayer?"
"Who's it for?"
"Why do it?"
"What does it matter if I'm at home drinking coffee, walking around in a t-shirt and tending to some dead spiritual dude's words or not?"
"I mean, REALLY, in the grand scheme of things: does it DO ANYTHING?"

I left a life of teaching, of feebly attempting to MAKE CHANGE in the world, to do this? Scantily clad, caffeinated prayer-warrior work?

Please.

But there's something in here today. There is something in this contemplating business, in this almost-rote activity of pouring over words and ideas, and sitting still with them in my heart. Stirring the pot of potato/turkey sausage/ pepper chowder I just made for tonight's dinner guests, I thought, "Yep. We are all one. And this prayer business and thought and heart work, it's as important as preparing food."

So, what? Where's that bring me? "I'm just a little potato in this soup of love?" Or: "We are all peppers and turkey sausages on some level?" I mean, if we are to hold this idea of "WE ARE ONE" to be true, then doesn't that follow?

Does it offend you if I call you a "turkey sausage"?

And if that is so, Sweet and beloved Creator/Christ/Benevolent and Enlightened Buddha, how do you react if I tell you you are the same and ONE with Hitler? With Osama? With George W.? With Mother Theresa? With Ghandi?

It is something to consider, or hold, if you are like me, and believe in this business of unity.

"We are all one."

Sweet Planet Earth, does that scare you?! To tell you the truth: it knocks me on my ass. Levels me. I'm Saul, on the road, getting struck down and blinded by Love. I'm trying to see clearly, I'm grasping at the dusty road, trying to feel my way, and wondering what conversion means, what peace means, what healing is possible - given my blasted, on-my-butt-blindness.

OR:

I'm sitting at the Visitation Monastery on Girard in North Minneapolis. It's a Saturday, and I'm surrounded by Visitation Companions and Sisters, and I'm being asked to contemplate the pierced heart of Christ. I'm being invited to make meaning of an organ that is the pumping machine of the body, and is pierced to the core, and yet still works? I'm being asked to hold my basic knowledge of cardiology alongside my basic knowledge of Love's Mystery.

..........

Friends, I have no answers. But I share my ramblings with you, as Nouwen stirs things in me, and I tend to listening to my own pierced heart and these notions of alignment, love, unity.

Let me know if anything comes up in your reflections.

Prayerfully,
Melissa

Heart as Wide as the World: A reflection on Nouwen

Hey Faith Peeps!

I'm with my priest, Fr. Pat on loving All Saints and Souls days. Calling forward the idea of the sweet and inspiring lives of those that have gone before us, and letting the love they lived burn in our hearts: it makes me happy.

And it takes me into the center of how I understand Fr. Nouwen's words here*.....That what I live and HOW I love, isn't all mine or from me. I'm not generating this heat, this action, this enthusiasm and appreciation for all that is around me. Huh uh. It comes from the Divine, and how the Holy Lives and Spirits of ancestors and saints are at work in my DNA. I'm serious!

Just ask yourselves, "What's encoded on these bones? Whose memories are alive in my muscle tissue? What has been engraved in my heart? Does my blood carry the stories of those who have lived before me? How does that influence what I see, how I act, where I reach and what I embrace?"

Resting in these questions, (and the many inspired by my grandparents -- and Saints like Margaret Mary and Theresa and Augustine) I know that my heart is as wide as the world, open and receiving and in awe....

Peace, Prayers, Happy Ruminating,

Melissa

*Heart As Wide As the World

The awareness of being part of the communion of saints makes our hearts as wide as the world. The love with which we love is not just our love; it is the love of Jesus and his saints living in us. When the Spirit of Jesus lives in our hearts, all who have lived their lives in that Spirit live there too. Our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents; our teachers and their teachers; our pastors and their pastors; our spiritual guides and theirs - all the holy men and women who form that long line of love through history - are part of our hearts, where the Spirit of Jesus chooses to dwell.

The communion of saints is not just a network of connections between people. It is first and foremost the community of our hearts.

A Poem about Mother Theresa

So I've been reading "Mother Theresa: Come be My Light - The Private Writings of the Saint of Calcutta."* It's the controversial text that discloses the contemporary saint's "dark night of the soul" --not "feeling" God's presence, after she so clearly received a calling to serve Jesus and the poorest of the poor.

Forty plus years of not really knowing if God was there!?
Can you imagine? What compels a human being to continue on in the face of such doubt or second guessing?

These are just a couple of my questions!

What would it really be like had Mother Theresa left the slums, said, "No" and gotten a porche? It's ridiculous, right?

I've been waking up recently with her on my brain, wondering what Calcutta -- and the rest of the world for that matter, would be like had she said, "Nope. I'm done with this business."

What follows is a poem toward this end. Of course, let me know what you think!

........................................

Poem: "Mother Theresa gets a Porsche" by Melissa Borgmann

Mother Theresa gets a Porsche

No. I will not love God anymore or do His will.

No more of this poverty bull sh-t, either.

The poorest of the poor?

Please.

That just makes me pathetic and miserable, too.

Do you see me smiling as I speak?

A decade of service was one thing, this 40 years of ministering to the lowly is enough.

I'd like a nice home, car and security. A 401 K is something others have, yes?

Thank you.

Enough of this "yes" business. I say, "Yes" to myself.

If there is a God, I think He'd like me to be happy and
smile - with some feeling behind it.

Christ is amazing. Not sure how He managed His time on the cross.

Blasted blood and holes in His body. Thirsty, too.

Had to be miserable, strung up there and stinging with aloneness.

Abandonment is a wretched thing.

Believe me, I get it.

...................................

Peace, Faith,

Happy leanings into the mystery of it all,

Melissa


http://www.amazon.com/Mother-Teresa-Come-Be-Light/dp/0385520379

Jesus is in the Damdest Places!

Happy Sunday to all!

The following poem* showed up in today's Writer's Almanac and it tickled me. Christ in the suburbs? Please! The guy, whether son of God, or simply a really good man-teacher-prophet, appears in lots of places. Back then. Now. In this case, (ironically to me), Jesus shows up in the 'burbs where He's/ he's causing scandal.

I love it!

Feed people, stir up the pot of contemplation and action, and hang out with whores, and HEY! you're going to rub some folks the wrong way. Especially those in cul-de-sacs! (Wow! that's judgmental of me, isn't it?) Seriously, though: who doesn't want to commit a Jesus-figure behind bars --or to some private wing of a psyche ward? Especially when they threaten the status quo, security, and invite in the bums! Ack! Locking up such a fella: that somehow keeps us all safer, and free from scandal, right?

(My sarcasm may be sneaking out.)

Incidentally, X.J. Kennedy's poem reminds me a wee bit of one I wrote about two months ago, after being on retreat and around my good friend, Franciscan Nun Sr. Rafael Tilton. As I place them next to one another, it strikes me how mine appears the other side of the scandal -- literally and figuratively speaking. It's as if some of the sympathetic neighbors got together and jotted this down, post-crucifixion. Perhaps a bit regretful?

Enjoy....

Peace,

Melissa

..........................................

*Poem: "A Scandal in the Suburbs" by X.J. Kennedy, from In a Prominent Bar in Secaucus: New and Selected Poems, 1955–2007. © The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007. Reprinted with permission.(buy now)


A Scandal in the Suburbs

We had to have him put away,
For what if he'd grown vicious?
To play faith healer, give away
Stale bread and stinking fishes!
His soapbox preaching set the tongues
Of all the neighbors going.
Odd stuff: how lilies never spin
And birds don't bother sowing.
Why, bums were coming to the door—
His pockets had no bottom—
And then-the foot-wash from that whore!
We signed. They came and got him.

***

Poem: "Out of Control Christ" by Melissa Borgmann

Out of Control Christ

He spread himself too thin, you might say.

Oh, always trying to do good, that one.

Now look, flailing, accused and abandoned, weepy at the end, too.

Does no good to have the Rabbi out of action.

Damn fool.

A Prayer by Zac Willette

A while back, I wrote and shared the prayer of Oscar Romero.
Increasingly, I've been finding it more and more helpful -- actually
necessary -- to extend prayerful thoughts in not only this blog, but
through my emailing correspondence.

What follows is in this same vein, and in the tradition of Romero.

My friend Zac Willette, (pictured here between Margaret Post and me) wrote the following prayer. He is working on
his Masters in Divinity at Weston in Cambridge, Massachusetts. In
this prayer, it is evident to me of dear Zac's heart, faith, spirit;
his divinity certainly coming forward in a masterful way...

Yes, it's a prayer that reminds me of the Salvadorian Archbishop's
because of its expressed humility and hope; its balance of faith with
a kind of trembling fear; the sheer humanity of it -- alongside the
awesome power and knowledge of the holy emanating.

I don't know.

I just really really like it.

And if you are searching for some words to begin a meeting, or to convene your work within a collaborative space of faithful beings, I recommend this prayer. Highly.

Love to Zac!
Peace and blessings to you all!
Melissa

Oh! And please let me know if you DO use it! I'm sure that would make Zac Willette's day!

***

God who is Creator of us and Brother to us and Advocate for us
We show up here in this place
weary from what drains us
and yet somehow awake,
full of to do lists and worries we know too well
and yet hungry for what we do not know.

We gather in your presence
with hopes and fears that compete for our attention
with desires you have put deep in our hearts
and with desires we've allowed to distract us from joy.

Help us, loving and mysterious God,
to see how you show up
in wondrous and irritating ways
to comfort and challenge us
to patiently form us
and endlessly transform us.

Make us strong in love,
deep in faith,
and inexhaustible in hope.

Guide us in our time together
and give us the strength to let ourselves be guided.

Amen.

-Zac Willette
http://zacwillette.blogspot.com

I love Sharon Olds.

Poem: "35/10" by Sharon Olds, from Strike Sparks: Selected Poems 1980–2002. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2004. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

35/10

Brushing out our daughter's brown
silken hair before the mirror
I see the grey gleaming on my head,
the silver-haired servant behind her. Why is it
just as we begin to go
they begin to arrive, the fold in my neck
clarifying as the fine bones of her
hips sharpen? As my skin shows
its dry pitting, she opens like a moist
precise flower on the tip of a cactus;
as my last chances to bear a child
are falling through my body, the duds among them,
her full purse of eggs, round and
firm as hard-boiled yolks, is about
to snap its clasp. I brush her tangled
fragrant hair at bedtime. It's an old
story—the oldest we have on our planet—
the story of replacement.

On Cultivating Wisdom: A reflection on a Richard Rohr Reflection

Beloved People:

In my research this afternoon for information on this upcoming conference on Jesus and the Buddha -- at the Center for Contemplation and Action in New Mexico -- I came across this daily reflection posted by Franciscan, Richard Rohr.

It takes me to Mncedisi Dabula, in East London, South Africa, and conversations we have had on "rites of passages" -- in the case there, for young men in the community.

I'm not so sure what Mnce would say about Rohr's thoughts and impressions of these African and Asian rites. Mr. Dabula is not a bashful man, and while the topic seems a delicate one, it's intriguing to me this stance that Rohr takes, also unabashedly.

Thinking about all this, these questions surface for me:

How do Westerner's cultivate Wisdom in their youth?

What is up with the rest of the planet (in terms of faith, stance, tradition, rites) regarding this topic of dreams of youth?

How are we similar? Different?

Is it ever fair to generalize?

What role does religion play in all this business of cultivating wisdom?

How many pathways, doors into wise action, living, consciousness are there?

Could we count them?

Are we okay if we aren't wise?

Who determines this anyway?

Is there a grade we get in school for being wise?

What would a "Cultivating Wisdom" course look like?

At what point would you enroll yourself or your spouse or your children?

Hmmm......

Happy Contemplating!

Blessings, Peace,

Melissa

.............................................

"The Dreams of Youth"

Hindus and Buddhists are way ahead of us Westerners in terms of what their young people idealize. They're led to idealize holiness, inner freedom, inner truth, rather than simply outer success. Our drive for outer success has given us tremendous advantages in terms of the scientific and industrial revolutions, but Asia and Africa are more able to triumph over the inner world. Wisdom is still idealized as the value that binds them together. During my travels I was glad to see, in Africa especially, the almost universal puberty rites and initiation rites still in place. Basically they are intense, three-month CCD programs that work. The young people are taken apart by the wise men or women of the tribe and taught what wisdom is: This is what holds us together as a people. This is what we stand for, this is who we are, these are our values. And when those young men and women return from those kind of groupings, they know who they are. In our culture were forever searching for our values, what we want to believe in, what we might want to commit ourselves to. Adolescence, the time of open options, now lasts until age thirty-two in the West! In some cultures adolescence really ends as early as sixteen and seventeen. You often see that in the self-assurance of young people who find their ground and meaning much earlier. I suspect we actually are stunted and paralyzed by having too many options. We are no longer the developed world; we are the overdeveloped world.

Fr. Richard Rohr,

Daily Reflection for Wednesday, October 24, 2007.

http://cacradicalgrace.org/

Interview with God// reflection

Aunt Mo and People:

These forwarded God things can arrive and be all cheesy and make me want to sort of hurl on the producer/ creator....(It's the sad truth.)

This one* to spoke to me this morning.

It arrives from my sister in law, Jodi, in Omaha, who I had the pleasure of kicking it with this past weekend. She and my brother Ben, and their three sons have created this life that inspires me: living pretty simply out in the country, with Love, Family, Faith, seemingly at the center of things.....

Well, they inspire ME. (Not a life for everyone, for sure! But still, there is joy that radiates from this rural space of open farm land and boy amusements -- that tickle this girl -- and the energy they put into creating fun...Remodeling the house? Playing football, drawing pictures of aliens and watching soccer and sports on TV...-- A most recent endeavor: Jodi learning to hide vegetables in the food she prepares: spinach in brownies?!...)

Anwyho, I'm up, getting ready to do morning prayer in my house, making coffee, lighting my Buddha candle, walking around wrapped in the prayer shawl Jody Tigges made me, and opening the window shades....As I'm doing this, I get this clear message: "God overwhelms you with love everyday. You never doubt that He is here and in charge. " I was smiling at the trees outside, and wondering how today this Love might manifest further.....

I came to sit down and read scripture, and rest quietly in the message, ("Gird your loins and light your lamps..."?!) and then found my way to this email and website link entitled "Interview with God."

There's some good stuff in here, again: that spoke to me. Lines about being children, living simply, losing our health in order to acquire wealth, teaching forgiveness by forgiving....

If you have time, watch it. Enjoy!

Peace, Love,

M

The wisdom in this presentation will make one reassess one's hectic life .... regardless of personal or religious beliefs.
*http://www.theinterviewwithgod.com/

Peace Ball 2007!

What event brings together elected city officials, clergy members from around the Twin Cities, activists and artists concerned with social justice, parents of murdered children, North Side friends and neighbors, and representatives from private and non-profit organizations -- interested in the social fabric of our urban and glorious North Side?

That's would the Peace Ball, my friends.

Saturday, October 13, 2007, marked the occasion for the 4th Annual Celebration; this year, taking place at the Lundstrum Center for Performing Arts in North Minneapolis.

What follows are snapshots and inspiring words from the Peace Foundation event. (All photos taken by Brian Mogren.)

Enjoy!

Thanks to Beth and Steve Borgmann, my awesome parents,
who sponsored a "Borgmann Family" table.

Pictured above, from Left to Right, Front:
Sharifa Charles, (Former North High Student, Project Success Facilitator)
Julia Dinsmore, (Author of "My Name is a Child of God: A First Person Look at Poverty")
Angela Riley (Mother of a son murdered July 27, 2006. Attending with "Mothers of Crime Victims. Org")
Me
Ann Shallbetter (Choir Member and Parish Council Representative, Church of St. Philips)
Chris Williams (Journalist, The Catholic Spirit)
(Behind)
Gawolo Kpissay (Community Activist and Friend, Former Teen Group Member at the Church of St. Philips)
Daniel Kerkhoff (Artist, Contemplative, Peace Activist, World Traveler and Teacher)
Antoinette Bennaars, (Biologist, Choir Member, Church of St. Philips)
Jasmine McConnell (Former North High Student/ Poet/ Community Activist)

****
From the program, and spoken aloud by Peace Foundation President, Sondra Samuels to the crowd gathered:

"Tonight, Let's Party Across the Divide! Ours is a movement of the heart. Through relationships across race, class and geography we have committed to working together to end local violence. Our work is hard. Coming together across divides can uncover unhealed racial wounds and feed misunderstandings. Though not easy, building trusting relationships an changing hearts is our true work. So tonight, be sure to party across the divide! Meet and talk to people you don't know and who don't look like you. Oh yeah, and be sure to dance with them, too."

AMEN!?

****

Brian Mogren, Friend, Photographer, Northside Resident and Peace Presence, embracing beloved friends and Peace Foundation Folks: Sondra Samuels, President, and Husband/ Partner, City Councilman Don Samuels

Soul Tight Committee

I love this picture of the dance floor, with Julia Dinsmore coming into focus in the crowd.

Toni and Ann

Embracing Elinor Anderson-Gene', (filling in for Reggie Prim with her artist, dancer, community-loving self.)

Beautiful Lauren Martin of Folwell Center for Urban Initiatives, and
Beloved Franciscan Brother John

Divine Healer, Spirit Woman, Northside Resident, Amoke Kubat, and her daughter Roxanne

Doing one of my favorite things on the planet: connecting folks.
Here, introducing Daniel Kerkhoff to Northside Artist and Residents:
Bill and Beverly Cottmann

Sharifa Charles and Gawalo Kpissay

DANCE FLOOR!

Choir Chicas: Melissa, Ann, Toni

More boogying! Do you recognize anyone?
One of my favorites: Sherman Patterson in his dress blues!

City Councilman Samuels singing for us!

Don Samuels can seriously perform and entertain!

Crowd's Response to the Performance

A Gigantic Thanks again to Beth and Steve Borgmann, the beloved people gathered, and for the philosophy and faith underscoring all of this evening!
What a privilege to witness and participate in the creation of relationships across things that seem to divide us!

Backbends into God's Grace

Walking down Edgcumbe Road in St. Paul this afternoon, I witnessed two girls, maybe 9 or 10 years old, pre-pubescent friends or sisters, attempting backbends in their front yard.

As one was leaning backward, the other had a kind of shadowy embrace around her, providing a kind of security as the first girl leaned or fell into the arched pose. When the first girl's hands connected with the ground, I heard her say, "I did it! I finally did it!"

There was this victorious kind of joy in her voice, and her friend celebrated, shouting,"Yes! You did! Yes!" clapping and striking her fist through the air.

Then there was a pause. I caught their eyes, smiled at both of them. I wanted to applaud.

Then I heard the girl say, "Now, how do I get back up?"

It made me laugh.

The whole scene made me think a lot of things...

I remember those days of gymnastics at the YMCA in Norfolk when I was growing up. Trudging my own little girl body up and into the athletically challenging spaces where we'd train and tone, flip and tumble in our leotards, learning about the limitations and awesome abilities of our limbs.

I liked the routine for a long while. I still recall in my own bones the beauty of that kind of knowing: learning, leaning into my body, pushing it to do things that it didn't necessarily feel inclined to do. (The splits? Roundoff back hand springs? Aerial Cartwheels? Please. )

The backbend for me, in particular, was a similar hallmark in my early gymnastic days, as it seemed for these young girls in my neighborhood.

I was 8. Still attending the one-room country school called "District 20," and reading Nancy Drew novels. Learning how to do a back bend gracefully outside in the yard was a total and complete joy:

Extending my arms upwards, attempting to grow roots out of the base of my planted feet. I'd imagine these tethers into the soil beneath, keeping me anchored, as I arched backwards, leaning, reaching for the ground, springing palms toward the soil corresponding with my heels, and creating this bridge: a kind of backwards body rainbow, sturdy and solid, a feat of faith.

I remember ache in my thighs and stomach muscles. The tension in all things working together as I leaned backward, face to sky, eyes on clouds or sunshine, the pine trees. Oh! To view the world upside down and backwards! To be able to arch yourself and not completely topple, but to find grace and strength in an action so completely non-typical, nonsensical even. (Why does anyone need to do a backbend? Where does this help us in life?)

The recollection brings me joy.

How often do I attempt backbends these days? ....Please! (I'm editing here for eyes and spirits sensitive to shenanigans and over-over-over the top metaphors.)

...................

I started my day attempting to cheer on one delightful, courageous friend named Antoinette Bennaars who was running the 10 mile route of the Twin Cities marathon. I never caught up with her, but I was privy to some powerful witness of other runners, testing their mettle, their human physical limits, and at mile marker eight, at Lexington and Summit in St. Paul: exuding a similar kind of "yes!" to that of my backbending girls, knowing they were doing it!

This theme of endurance, of challenge, of testing the body and its limitations, ran through my experience at mass today. Fr. Pat, in his opening welcome, made mention of another parishioner who we'd been holding in prayer at the Church of St. Philips. Jim Hingeley just completed the 500 mile walk in Northern Spain, called "El Camino del Santiago" or the "Walk of St. James." A sort of pilgrimage he's done - not just once, but twice now! (What compels people? What drives them in their bones, muscles, lungs, hearts, spirits, minds, to do such things?)

As Father was mentioning this, I looked around and caught sight of Dale Timmerman. Our dear and beloved "Deacon Dale" who has battled cancer in his body now: three times, over the course of the last 20 years! This last go round, resulted in the removal of his left lung. And still: he walks, he moves, he lives, he breathes. (How is this really possible? What is necessary for full oxygen flow, circulation in the body? Who is this man? How has God created us?)

It all sort of blows me away.

.............

We all have limitations, right? As humans, we are wrought with our human frailty that we must all face, endure, hopefully even find a way to cherish. I think backbends, marathons, pilgrimages in the way of saints: they all must teach us something about overcoming and receiving the grace of God. They must!

Or else, why? Why attempt them?

Somewhere, back in that little girl body of mine, I think I knew: I just liked the challenge of looking at the world in an upside down and backwards sort of way. I liked bending round and having to align myself with a tree for minute.

It was fun. I felt stronger than perhaps I ever knew I was.