June 26: Eucharist, Visions of God, Silent Fairy Tale, Louise Gluck, "The Horse and Rider"

His [Ives'] strongest feelings about Him, it seemed, came about on Sundays, when, at around eleven, all the church bells in the neighborhood rang.  On his way to High Mass with his family, he always felt as though they were partaking in a special ceremony, like a royal wedding or a pharaonic rite out of ancient Egypt.  In the good weather a crowd always gathered on the church steps, the ladies in their bright dresses and white gloves, their light blue and pink and white hats with bird pins and veils; the men in suits; a special occasion, the marriage of the spirit to the flesh, Ives would later think in those dramatic moments when, closing his eyes, he knelt by the communion rail and awaited the Eucharist.

Ives pictures God in many ways.  He sees God as the vaporous goodness of people; an all-knowing Eye watching over the human race; colored winds circling in the sky; and the Charlton Heston version, with white beard and booming voice.  But his favorite vision of God comes at Christmas--a little infant in a manger, surrounded by adoring people and animals.  Above all, Ives sees God as a force of love.

I think that's the reason I'm drawn to Mr. Ives' Christmas. The different versions of God.  Through the centuries, Christians have depicted God in many ways.  The European version was closely related to the ancient Greek depictions of Zeus--bearded and bare-chested, stretching His arm out across the heavens.  Of course, the Europeans also painted Christ as sandy-haired and blue-eyed and white-skinned.

I'm not sure I have a clear notion of what God looks like.  I'm not against a God that's feminine.  After all, God is the Creator of all things.  S/he gave birth to the universe and everything in it.  The only reason we say "Our Father, who art in heaven" instead of "Our Mother, who art in heaven" is because ancient Israel was a patriarchal society.  Men ruled and women served, for the most part.

Currently, I have a more inclusive vision of God in my mind, a Being Who is both female and male.  After all, God created man and woman in His/Her likeness.  That means that Adam and Eve were both reflections of God's image.  Don't misunderstand me.  I don't think God has breasts and a penis.  No.  I mean that God is an Entity of both male and female spirit.

I know this is pretty deep stuff for a Friday night.  I'm sorry.  I've been thinking about God a lot this week.  My sister, the one who's been so ill, is back in the hospital in ICU.  This time a neurologist has been consulted, and she determined that my sister has swelling in both ventricles of her brain.  That would account for my sister's rapidly changing mental status and her inability to focus or keep her eyes still.  Today, my sister had an MRI, and tomorrow she will undergo a lumbar puncture.  The neurologist wants to determine the source of the brain infection.

So, I've been talking to God a great deal these last few days.  God the Father.  God the Mother.  God the Son.  God the Spirit.

Once upon a time there was a friar named Humboldt.  Humboldt lived a simple life in a monastery, getting up to pray before sunrise, eating oatmeal for breakfast, praying all morning, eating oatmeal for lunch, praying all afternoon, eating oatmeal for dinner, and then praying all evening until he went to bed.

Humboldt had taken a vow of silence.  He hadn't spoken in almost 60 years.  One night, Humboldt fell very ill and took to his bed.  The other friars of the monastery nursed him, tried to make him eat oatmeal and drink cold water.  However, after a few days, it was obvious that Humboldt was dying.

The head of the monastery came to Humboldt's bedside and said, "Friar Humboldt, you have been a good and faithful servant of God all your life.  Please, before you go to heaven, impart on me the wisdom you have gained from all your years of silent devotion."

Humboldt opened his mouth and cleared his throat.  With much effort, he took a deep breath and spoke his first words in 60 years:  "Oatmeal is lumpy."

The head of the monastery looked at Humboldt and shook his head.  "All you ever do is complain."

Moral of the story:  Stir your oatmeal as you cook it.

And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.

The Horse and Rider

by:  Louise Gluck

Once there was a horse, and on the horse there was a rider.  How handsome they looked in the autumn sunlight, approaching a strange city!  People thronged the streets or called from the high windows.  Old women sat among flowerpots.  But when you looked about for another horse or another rider, you looked in vain.  My friend, said the animal, why not abandon me?  Alone, you can find your way here.  But to abandon you, said the other, would be to leave a part of myself behind, and how can I do that when I do not know which part you are?

What's your vision of God?