Look at the moon, not the finger

There is a good reason why our present pope is the first to take the name of St. Francis: St. Francis rejected the power and wealth of the Church, and went instead to find Jesus with the poor and in nature. Pope Francis is the first pope, to my knowledge, to reject wealth and power.

After his conversion St. Francis stripped off his fine clothing and wore a plain brown robe. He had always been repulsed by lepers, but after his conversion he began to kiss their sores and identify with them. He spent so much time with lepers he contracted leprosy himself.

Pope Francis points us to the poor and oppressed, where he finds the spirit of Christ. Like St. Francis, our pope finds Christ in the poor, the vulnerable and oppressed — even in animals and the rest of God’s Creation. You can see his face light up when he is with children. He finds joy and freedom with them.

Jesus calls us to leave our fine clothes and find the same joy and freedom. “Fine clothes” is a wonderful metaphor, representing the way we want to appear to others — the way of our egos: I am an attractive person, an important person, an intelligent person, a funny person — even a humble and loving person. These fine clothes – what a burden they are! Francis got rid of his — literally and metaphorically — and found joy and peace.

I get irritated when TV commentators view Pope Francis through a political lens: What point is he trying to make? What is his agenda?

Furthermore, we are dualistic when we analyze Francis (and others): he is either this or that, left or right, right or wrong, black or white. The best answer to the question, “is someone this or that” is often — “yes.”

I see the pope as a finger, pointing at the moon. The Buddha said, “My teaching is like a finger pointing at the moon. A thinking person will use the finger to see the moon; an unthinking person will never see the moon.” 

Pope Francis is the finger, pointing us to the Ultimate Truth of Christ. But most of us are blind. We obsess about the finger.

The Gospel of John reports a confrontation between Jesus and the Pharisees. Jesus heals a blind person, but the Pharisees couldn’t “see” it. He says to them, “you see, and yet you are blind.”

Quit studying the finger! Take a deep breath. Look at the radiance of this Moon. Open your heart; let go of the things you are proud of. Embrace mercy, compassion and justice. You will find peace and joy there. Jesus said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Sitting and musing

I’ve been writing down my dreams for a couple of years now. It helps me sleep. My dreams used to be exhausting — I was late for a worship service, couldn't find my robe, my music, etc. Or I was with my youth choir on tour, and it was time to get back on the bus, but I couldn’t find the kids to round them up. I would wake up more exhausted than when I went to bed.

Recently my dreams have been more pleasant. We (always “we”) are resting after some work, and eating something or just talking.

Last night I dreamed that we were at a resort, taking a break from some work. I reflected to my companion that as a college student, a bunch of us went to the same resort to help move all the chairs from the dining/meeting room so the floor could be restored. Then we moved the chairs back. Maybe it was a volunteer project, or maybe the resort paid us, I told whoever I was talking to. We sat and mused.

Sitting and musing is what old people do, if they are lucky. Having finished our work, we sit and muse. Our lives become more inner-directed, and in the sunlight of morning or afternoon, we reflect. This is when we can become useful to younger people. We have time to listen, and we have more inner space in which to reflect.

Sitting and musing is pleasant. Very pleasant.

There are plenty of things to do and I do many of them: chores, exercise, shopping, lunches with friends. But I am careful to keep my schedule loose — loose enough to savor each activity.

And to have time to sit. And muse.

The Okra Leaf

I was sitting on my patio one late fall, watching the afternoon sun do what the sun does — shining through things, making shadows, blinding me. I noticed the leaf of an okra plant nearby. I was doing what retired people do — looking — and the sun was doing what the it does best — shining through the leaf.The colors and patterns of the okra leaf burned themselves on the back of my eyes. They streamed into my heart. The intensity of my gaze was streaming toward the leaf, a living thing. The line between me and the leaf was non-existent. The leaf was in me and I was in the leaf. We were one; we were two, but first, one.

Here’s a question for you: where does the leaf end and where do I begin? Where is the bright line that separates me from the leaf? I like to have things in well-defined containers. Where does my container end and the okra’s container begin?

One with Creation

My thoughts are still swirling around the ideas I encountered at “The Francis Factor,” sponsored by the Center for Action and Contemplation.

Two themes have emerged from the speakers: 1) one finds freedom and joy — indeed, one’s True Self — in oneness with Creation. 2) One finds freedom and joy in poverty — in living with, and working for, the poor. This post will focus on the first theme.

Ilia Delio, the theologian-scientist, showed how creation is evolving towards unity— towards The Christ, the Source of all energy and the universe itself. This evolution is becoming apparent in experiments in quantum physics, where atoms affect other atoms at great distances and appear to exist in two places at once. Our own deeds, even our thoughts and emotions, affect others and Creation. Our hatreds infect others and Creation itself. Our love affects others and Creation itself. We are one with Creation. We are one; we are two. But first, one.

On our way home from the conference we stayed a couple of days in Big Bend National Park. Morning and evening, the Vernon Bailey Mountain displayed its changing colors as we sat on our balcony. On the last day I sat and watched the mountain and listened for its message. It spoke to me of Creation’s steadfastness (and God’s).

I will enter another dimension of life someday, and Vernon Bailey may be there, too. But mainly it said to me, “I will be here for a very long time.” I felt peace and rest in its presence.