Quick Panoramic Tour

The BB launches his technically-challenged self into the 21st century, with fear and trepidation.

Here is a brief video scanning my back yard from the south wall across the west side and on to the north wall. My apologies for picture quality; this was shot with my cell phone. Freshly deflowered virgins the world over might testify that the first time can sometimes be a bit rough.



This was taken just after I replaced five plants and also put in four new vines.

I hope to get better at this. Blurry as this may all be, you can see that I have been busy.

Conventionalism

Austin Cline has another terrific Sunday posting over at the General's place. [Surely you know about the "Official Online Organ of the Glorious Conservative Christian Cultural Revolution." It's a great place for clever snark, but that's my inner Frenchman speaking. General J. C. Christian is very serious. ]

Cline discusses "Authoritarian Personality vs. Authoritarian Worldview." He distinguishes between those who need authoritarianism and those who foster it for their own purposes. There can be overlap, of course.

This is one of many discussions about this topic. Cline draws on James Waller's book, Becoming Evil and also refers to Theodor W. Adorno's writing in The Authoritarian Personality.

Here is one provocative sentence (with an epexegetical phrase to clarify what is meant):

Conventionalism [rigid adherence to conventional, middle-class values] appears to be what lies behind all forms of bigotry, discrimination, and exclusion.

Short and interesting article. The BB says "check it out."

Behold the demonic

Frederick Kagan, one of the neo-con architects of Bush’s surge policy. Crooks and Liars says "This is the personification of the banality of evil." Sounds about right to me.

Because we are all created by God and in God's image and bear the light that enlightens everyone that comes into the world, I see no permission for any of us to call another person evil. But "by their fruits you shall know them" and we can discern words and deeds to be evil. I'm just sayin'.

I don't know how we as a society can survive if we tolerate falsehood and cruelty as casually as we note the current temperature and weather.

Check it out.

Primal stuff

Here you go, sports fans: Central California vineyards. I would give excellent odds that these are Thompson seedless being grown either for table grapes or raisins. I am uncertain whether this would be vines owned by Uncle Bob or just some I photographed eons ago while driving around. It is a scan of an old photo taken with an inexpensive camera, so the resolution and color are both anemic.

In any case, THAT'S MY SOIL! My relatives would all laugh at such an extravagant claim, given that I could never pass for anything but a citified bookworm. Still, I think that "roots will out." I may avoid the San Joaquin Valley but I cannot hide from it. (Cf. article below.)

Here is something I wrote on 14 December 1979:

Earth, water, wind, and fire--
These feed my starveling soul.
Intricate rhythms of particular leaves,
branchwoven, splendid, define the sky
and echo the dancing sun.
I take frequent walks
and am often silent.
Farmor said she had two ears
and one mouth.

* Farmor (Swedish for father's mother) refers to my paternal grandmother, Marie Katherine Strid (née Moberg). She was born on 1 December 1887 in Stockholm, Sweden, and came to California with a gracious letter recommending her to care for children. I have a copy of the letter (in Swedish) somewhere. She and Farfar (grandfather) met in Kingsburg, California, a small farming community that once was dominated by its immigrant Swedish population. They were married on 17 December 1907 and my father, the firstborn, came along promptly the following September. Grandmother died on 5 January 1974. My mother died on the same day in 1985. Our neighbor Betty in El Cerrito died on 5 January also. Twelfth Night is always wistful for me.

Although I am hazy on a couple of identifications, we have here the following (l. to r.): Uncle John Calvin (?); Aunt Hazel; Farmor = Grandmother Strid & Farfar = Grandfather Strid; my sisters Iva & Shirley (foreground); my parents Paul (hiding) & Hallie; Great-grandmother Maria Augusta Westin Moberg holding unidentified baby (Cousin Glen?); Aunt May; Uncle Lloyd.

Sunday afternoon garden thoughts

Most of the items in my yard are thriving. I love the bright lemon-yellow splashes of the sundrops (aka Texas primrose). While I am waiting to see them set fruit, the sundry peppers are all growing. I have been harvesting zucchini every few days and it appears that tomorrow morning I can gather a couple of yellow straight-neck squash. The cherry tomatoes are incredibly sweet, though I have given away more than I have sampled myself.

Last night I had a sandwich for supper: some middle eastern flat bread smeared with cream cheese and then some thin ham slices and one of my tomatoes sliced. Several grinds of black pepper and that was it. It was yummy.

Now some things have failed. several of my lavenders have simply not made it. I yanked a couple out and am about to yank a couple more. It is time to replace some things (as I replaced the gazanias with salvia a while ago). So I stopped at the Home Depot garden center on my way home from church this morning.

There is a spot where I had several lavenders and some coral carpet roses. Two of the lavenders are headed to the trash, now to be replaced with another coral rose (with the stunning single blossoms shading from rich coral at the edge to white at the center) and some double purple petunias.

To honor my ancestors, I picked up a small Thompson seedless grapevine. This was the staple of the vineyards around Fresno as I grew up, your basic table grape and the source of all those Fresno County raisins (one-fourth of the world's supply back then). My grandparents and my aunts and uncles grew them and I remember one late summer when we grandchildren were allowed to help roll the raisins up in brown paper. The fine dust of San Joaquin Valley vineyard soil perdures in my memory.

The Thompson seedless can join the flame seedless planted earlier.

Flame seedless gravevine

The two purple potato vines I planted earlier are doing well so I bought two more to replace a couple of plants in the blue border that did not do well. I hope that with the passage of time the potato vines will obscure vast swathes of the south wall. Expanding on Frost: Something there is that does not love a cinder block wall. It is an inexpensive and efficient material for exterior walls but I loathe it on aesthetic grounds.

And so I also picked up two white potato vines and two common trumpet creepers to help obscure and eventually cover more of the walls surrounding my back yard.

Climbing Blaze rose: the first batch of blossoms

Had I the wealth to live in a home with lovely traditional adobe walls, I would enjoy looking at them. Or stone walls, or some kind of rustic wooden fence. But given the situation, I am going for living things to soften and beautify.

Best wishes for an enjoyable, safe, and restorative summer to y'all. And tomatoes that taste like tomatoes!
--the BB

Time to update

No matter how much my interior image resists the passage of time, the hour has come and now is to put a current photo in here. Behold, the BB as of today.

Taking the Plunge

It's all Firedoglake's fault.

The gang over there has been forming a group on Facebook and encouraging everyone to join in.

Sigh. What's a techno-luddite to do?

I might have resisted. But I didn't.

My Facebook page is here.

Why does Miss Dickinson come to mind?

I'm nobody. Who are you?
Are nobody too?
Then there's a pair of us. Don't tell.
They'd advertise, you know.

How dreary to be somebody;
How public, like a frog,
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog.

[If I have misquoted here, chalk it up to memory. This has been with me since high school. Thanks to Mr. Amend for insisting we memorize poetry. He also insisted we call her Miss Dickinson and not just "Emily."]
--the BB

Toward a wholistic theology

Some years ago during one of the annual gatherings of the Council of the Associated Parishes for Liturgy and Mission, the topic of same-sex relationships and liturgies was being discussed. Many contributed to the discussion though I specifically recall Juan Oliver pushing the discussion toward a larger approach.

What I carried away from that particular round of discussion was that we need to do our theology in the broadest and most interrelated fashion possible. In the case of human sexuality, for instance, we need to do more than discuss the topic in terms of creation, theological anthropology, salvation, and sanctification. We need to articulate how we understand human intimacy in terms of our understandings of the Trinity, the Kingdom of God, Incarnation, Church, mission, and all the rest.

An occasional Bible verse will not suffice, nor will invocations of the purpose(s) of sexuality. There is much more involved than revelation (whether viewed as fixed or ongoing) or issues of justice.

I would very much like to know what is being said and written on human intimacy and perichoresis (the mutual interpenetration and indwelling of the Trinity); ways in which human relationships show forth the Reign of God; the role of committed love in manifesting redemption and communicating Good News; inclusive discussions on sexuality and sanctification; ways in which the fruit of the Spirit is nurtured in human relationships of all kinds, etc.

I know these topics are discussed and the preceding paragraph could invite massive compendia of links and bibliographies. My suspicion is that most expressions in these areas come in the form of private discussions, poetry, local liturgies, scattered articles, and the field of pastoral care. My sense is that these topics have been explored widely and, perhaps, quite profoundly. The Episcopal Church did not suddenly or arbitrarily decide it would be good for People of God to have an openly gay bishop. Decades of experience, struggle, and discernment went into the decision. Friends who have met +Gene testify to his compassion, pastorality, and holiness. It would be a blessing if all bishops could be so beloved as he is by those who have come to know him.

Perhaps these random thoughts are a plea for some gifted theologians to compile yet one more discussion of human intimacy (and for God's sake--literally--not just about sexuality) that is tight, coherent, and comprehensive. If what we say about intimacy is not being profoundly related to all the areas of theology, then we risk imbalance and superficiality at best.

I know we can do better than holiness code denunciations on one hand and cries for justice on the other. (Not that I stand in the middle of the discussion; we all know I am way on the side of inclusion, trusting God to have already sanctified creation.*)

Well, just wanted to say it.
--the BB

* Cf. the Eastern Orthodox liturgies of the Theophany (in the Festal Menaion) and Peter's vision of a whole sheetload of critters.

My Georgia O'Keefe Moment

While watering the garden yesterday morning I looked down at the zucchini patch and the image above greeted me. This necessitated a dash into the house for my camera.

At this point there are daily harvests of a handful of cherry tomatoes. The larger tomatoes have a few shifting into shades of orange but not a ripe red yet. I have harvested three early zukes but there has been a slight pause in production there. The sundry varieties of peppers scattered about the yard are all growing and some blossoming. It will be interesting to see what sort of harvest eventuates.

On a totally unrelated topic, MadPriest's nostalgic romp through the music of the Tribal Rock Musical Hair (here, here, and here - and really, did we need to see the tie-dyed extravaganza? Can no one's past have privacy?) has sent me into a nostalgic time warp, singing along with the music (and recalling probably 90% of the lyrics). [Now, why can't I remember what I was about to do in the present? Sigh.]

I had blessedly softened the memory of just how large a part the drug culture played in the lyrics of the musical and was not offended but definitely startled as I listened again. My memories have focused on what I loved about the musical: its energy, its defiance, its desire to create community without oppressive structures, and its loathing of war. In this it captured much of what I valued then and still value now.

From the standpoint of one rooted in the Church I rather wished the youth of that era (my era) were aware of the life-affirming and liberating aspects of the Gospel that I cherished, rather than seeing the various churches, and "organized religion" in general, as oppressive, stodgy, stultifying, and overall inimical to the human spirit.

To this day I have many friends, and encounter many strangers, who want to affirm their spiritual journey somehow while making it clear that somewhere along the line they have been burned. They drag out the tedious line: "I'm spiritual but I have no use for organized religion."

I think I know what they are trying to say, and I certainly don't cut organized religion much slack myself, but I want to say, "Oh, grow up!" The meme that was just trotted out reeks of adolescent thinking, with a simplistic view of both spirituality and religion.

Religious acts, rites, formulae, beliefs, traditions, etc. that are carried out dutifully but have no insight or passion, no deeper connection between the believer and the Ultimate, are essentially hollow and dead. We all know that. Religion can be quite "unspiritual." The "letter" (the dry external stuff) can kill while the "spirit" gives life. This insight has been around a while, so it's not new. Acknowledging it does not let us off the hook.

So, what are you doing, or going to do, about it? What are you doing for your spirituality? Are you content to leave it floating gaseously in the ether--vague and without direction? Is that going to help you grow in depth, breadth, and fuller life? Will that help you be of some use in the healing of the planet?

Of course, if pressed, folks can name a great deal more about their spiritual principles, but they are usually uncomfortable doing so. There is a great deal they might affirm about the value of creation, of other people, of community, of the way we treat each other, what we are here for, how we should live with one another, and what gives life meaning.

That we need to get to know each other and trust each other before we talk about these things is more than fair.

But where do these values come from? Are they not the teachings of the great wisdom traditions and religions of the world? Why yes, they are. They emerge from the life-giving spirit, not the outward rituals. And these values are part of the general discourse because religious traditions have preserved them, explored them, and express them. A very few of us have independent insights. We are all inheritors and it's a bit churlish to deny whence we receive our gifts.

But how do we live out these beliefs? By putting them into action, embodying them in our words and deeds, doing so in specific places and times--in other words, making them incarnate.

In order for people to do anything together, social organization kicks in. It is reality. It is neutral. Organization may be good, bad, or indifferent. It may enable and enhance the desired activity or stifle and thwart it. It may leave us feeling more alive, more effective, more actualized, or it may leave us drained, frustrated, hurt, and even dehumanized.

If you put your spirituality into action in any manner other than one-on-one, you are participating in organized spirituality. Deal with it.

The word "religion" comes from Latin and refers to that which binds us together. If your spirituality has anything to do with what builds community, it is religious. When you give time to a food bank or ride a bike for AIDS charities or walk or run to fight breast cancer, you are participating in an organized effort that builds community, binds us together, and probably has a spiritual vision behind it.

Ah, you may protest, but I don't have to buy into a belief system when I do those things, so it's not religion.

Ah, I reply, you have already, by your actions, expressed a belief that we are all in this together, that alleviating suffering is an appropriate expression of caring about each other, and I would even wager that behind your actions lies a story about someone you love. A huge complex of beliefs and values lies behind it all.

Some of us see something transcendent (even holy) lying beyond and deeply within all this. Some of us do not. But the line between organized religion and (we don't call it disorganized , do we?) spirituality is really a very fine line, if there is one at all.

As for bodies that intentionally consider themselves religious and organize themselves as such.... If their organization nourishes life, community, wholeness, peace, joy, love, compassion, etc. then being spiritual doesn't preclude any of this. And if their organization does not do this, or does just the opposite, then doesn't being a responsibly spiritual person imply some obligation to change the organization?

OK, not everyone is called to change organizations, especially those with which one does not identify. But I would suggest that responsible spirituality calls for me to live my beliefs (this is not negotiable). Secondly, it invites but does not require me to participate wherever my beliefs can be expressed with folks who share life-nurturing goals. Thirdly, it empowers me to stand up for life and reject that which nourishes and celebrates death (whether that is manifested in social, political, or religious spheres).

One thing being spiritual does not allow is an unexamined life (Socrates told us that a very long time ago), being content with a vague affirmation of rainbows and kittens, and sitting on our asses while people suffer. I don't think most folks who prefer being known as "spiritual" over being thought "religious" are indulging in unexamined lives or indifference. I just think they are more "religious" than they think and that they are fostering a false dichotomy. Religion is what happens when we practice our spirituality.

And, being raised in the United States and nurtured with democratic ideals, I think that in faith matters as well as political ones, We the People have to take responsibility for how we organize to live in community and pursue our inalienable rights.

As Pangloss concludes: Il faut cultiver notre jardin (we must tend our garden).
--the BB

From My Housemates to those of Padre Mickey

Numerous, though not all, members of the BB's family pictured here in our former home in California. Clockwise beginning with the purple-ribboned seated bear: Porphyry, Dillinger, Fr. Anskar, Otter the Great, Manuel Mapache, Margaret Macrina (Maggie), Leo, Paddington, Pample, Thermopylous; on the floor L to R: Hephzibah, Belle, Sally & Jonah; and my father's family in the photo.

Lest the august guardians of Padre Mickey's home (who were certainly left at home during a recent vacation as much to guard the home as for the sake of their safety) feel slighted, they are hereby saluted and duly recognized by my children.

So here's to Gallito Mescalito, Mr. Red Peanut Bank, Mr. Chompy's Chewed-up Kitty Toy, and the Egyptian Hippo of Love from all the kids at Desert Farne.

In further solidarity, the BB wishes to inform Padre Mickey that the BB chats with his kids all the time.

We are also commanded to convey best wishes from His Orthodox Majesty, Maximiliano Cuauhtemoc Juarez Primo, Emperor of El Cerrito, Archduke of Hercules, and Margrave of the Great River ("Cocoa" to his friends). His O. M. is not pictured as he is busy napping in my bed right now.

Some of us feel the world would be saved from much folly and not a little grievous sin if we took ourselves less seriously.
--the BB

I'm just saying

"But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security."

Screw fireworks; remember why this day matters!
--the BB

God help me; I'm bland

I have noted of late several blogs showing a rating. Curiosity led me to find out where I might stand. The result:

Mingle² - Online Dating

How terminally dull of me. The only consolation is that it could have been worse. One mention of "the infernal regions" and two mentions of "enhanced interrogation" got me the PG-13. I euphemize here lest I receive a harsher rating just for this.

I shall try to be more startling in future.
--the BB

Bring back John 3:16!

It has been a while since I spotted someone in a crowd holding up a sign that reads "John 3:16." This is probably more because I have not watched many sports events and news programs on the television lately.

I have just been shocked into nostalgia for such signs.

Let's review our Bible, shall we?

ουτως γαρ ηγαπησεν ο θεος τον κοσμον ωστε τον υιον τον μονογενη εδωκεν ινα πας ο πιστευων εις αυτον μη αποληται αλλ εχη ζωην αιωνιον

When I was just a little cub, the very first Bible verse most of us memorized was John 3:16: "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

Kwa maana Mungu aliupenda ulimwengu kiasi cha kumtoa Mwanae pekee, ili kila mtu amwaminiye asipotee, bali awe na uzima wa milele.

I rather like adding the following verse: "For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved."

I point out that the word the Fourth Evangelist uses for "world" here is the Greek kosmos, a polyvalent word for both the socio-political system that sets itself against God and thus incurs divine judgment and the object of God's love. The evangelist manages not only to live with this tension but to proclaim it. For all that is said about the world, God nonetheless loves it. This is basic Bible 101a stuff.

Porque de tal manera amó Dios al mundo, que dio a su Hijo unigénito, para que todo aquel que cree en El, no se pierda, mas tenga vida eterna.

Although I have, through most of my life, been somewhat put off my chow by folks who do evangelism in the all-up-in-your-grill style (yes, the style in which I was raised), there is no question that John 3:16 is, and always has been, foundational to my understanding of God, Jesus, and issues of salvation. The soteriological message is grounded in, and begins with, the premise that God loves the world. Period. This is our starting point. It is related to the assertion in 1 John 4:8 that "God is love."

Also hat Gott die Welt geliebt, daß er seinen eingeborenen Sohn gab, auf daß alle, die an ihn glauben, nicht verloren werden, sondern das ewige Leben haben.

What sent me flying back to this anchor verse of Scripture was the song "God hates the world," performed here by the folks from Westboro Baptist Church (famous for their website godhatesfags.com - no, I'm not making this up).


http://view.break.com/278059 - Watch more free videos

Watching this video as folks sway and smile while singing about God's hatred is, to put it mildly, unsettling. Not surprising, if one has followed the career of this congregation, headed by Fred Phelps. They are the folks who picket funerals of U. S. troops with their "God hates fags" and "It's too late" signs, proclaiming judgment on our nation for tolerating gays.

The real kick in the gut comes at the end when a very little girl sings the chorus, obviously thrilling to the attention and praise she gets, and then gives a shy smile. The juxtaposition with a theme of hatred is beyond creepy and I don't need to ramble on about it.

Car Dieu a tant aimé le monde qu'il a donné son Fils unique, afin que quiconque croit en lui ne périsse point, mais qu'il ait la vie éternelle.

They have a web page with this glaring title: "'God Loves Everyone': The Greatest Lie Ever Told - 701 Passages Proving God's Wrath & Hate for Most of Mankind."

Now, I remember when I was in my early twenties and wrestled with what I believed. Immense quantities of psychic energy had gone into keeping my worlds compartmentalized throughout childhood and adolescence. Now my worlds were colliding: faith, science, sexuality, politics, reason, emotion--the works. What I had been taught, what I observed, and what I felt were all clashing against each other and I desperately sought some way to bring them into a semblance of relatedness.

As a senior in college I decided to start all over. My guiding principle was "Jesus is mine and I am his and all the rest is up for grabs." Who is God? Who am I? What is the Bible? What is sin? What is salvation? What is a human being? Who is Jesus? Where is meaning found? You know the questions.

Being a lover of the mystery of words (and the Word), I did word studies on sin, salvation, and realated terms. I concluded that sin was about damaged or broken relationship. Because relationship is what matters, beginning with our relationship to God, that is what makes sin so terrible. I rejected dualism, so sin was a subsidiary reality, something that could not even exist without the prior reality of relatedness (cf. Augustine of Hippo and his teaching on evil as the "privatio boni").

For me, "salvation" was right relationship: with God, with oneself, with others, with creation. In this I anticipated the comments about the Messiah in the Catechism of The Book of Common Prayer 1979, but this was back in later college and early Baptist seminary years (1967-1970).

“The Messiah is one sent by God to free us from the power of sin, so that with the help of God we may live in harmony with God, within ourselves, with our neighbors, and with all creation.” (BCP, 849)

This was my vision of "shalom," salvation, eternal life, etc. It is what we are saved FOR, a vital point for someone who had spent the first two decades of his life hearing what we were saved FROM (sin, death, and hell). My question had always been: "I have believed in Christ and accepted God's gift; now what?" My roots were big on saving folks from hell but rather weak on a doctrine of sanctification, or growth in holiness, or journey of faith, or ascetical practices. This is a huge part of why I was attracted to the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox traditions who had more for the faithful to do than collect spiritual scalps through an evangelism that sounded to me more like bad news than Good News.

My friends and family will tell you that I am a pack rat, a collector, someone who had trouble tossing stuff out. This proves true in theology as well. When I find something to be obsolete, irrelevant, or simply not fitting into my "system," I either struggle to redefine it or put it on hold, waiting patiently for the day when it makes sense.

Ибо так возлюбил Бог мир, что отдал Сына Своего Единородного, дабы всякий верующий в Него, не погиб, но имел жизнь вечную.

This is why I could build a theology based on love and inclusion and still refuse to toss out the concept of the wrath of God. When someone I love is hurt, when those I love suffer, I do two things in varying degrees: I grieve and I get angry. It is not all right when evil and injustice are done. Language about God can only be analogous and metaphorical, so I don't assume that God's emotions match and are limited by mine. But I can understand God grieving and fuming at humans wreaking havoc on each other and God's creation. But wrath, divine anger, is subsidiary, a function of love, a manifestation of concern. And if all the parties involved are objects of God's love, it gets complex in a way I cannot sort out, but then I am not God and don't have to try to be God.

Put humorously (I hope my readers can read this for its irony): God hates it when we're hating on each other.

So, if I jettison any concept of divine wrath I run the risk of viewing God as indifferent, which is the opposite of loving.

Deus amou tanto o mundo que deu o seu único Filho para que todo aquele que nele crê não se perca espiritualmente, mas tenha a vida eterna.

All of that is an aside to preclude confusion about whether my understanding of God's love is all nicey-nicey, sugar-coated sentimentality. Sugary religion makes me sick too. But at least I can honor its loving intention.

A religion of hatred, however, is another thing altogether. I don't understand it. I can "get" folks driven by fear of the other into defensiveness, and further driven by fear into hatred, and thence into violence. But attaching that in any way, shape, or form to Jesus.... Simply beyond me.

Koia ano te aroha o te Atua ki te ao, homai ana e ia tana Tama kotahi, kia kahore ai e ngaro te tangata e whakapono ana ki a ia, engari kia whiwhi ai ki te ora tonu.

And thus I want to "go back to basics" - as in, John 3:16. Whatever else we have to say, it all begins here: God so loved the world....

There is also Genesis 1:31:

"And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good. "

We all pick and choose which parts of the Bible and the tradition we emphasize and use as a lens to understand the rest. All of us. Now you know some of mine.

Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. (1 John 4:7)

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

--The BB

Clothing in Beauty

Yes, still wrestling with water usage. The first sixty years of my life (yes, children, I really am that old, so let's have some respect) were spent in California, a state whose history is one of water wars. I now am a citizen of New Mexico where water is even more scarce.

Today, as I watered the garden I was thinking, as usual, about the lifeblood of our Mother. Another aspect of what I was doing came to me. I am helping to clothe our Mother with green things, working with the life force within Ina Maka and the light of Ate Wi to invite the plant nations to flourish in this little patch. I am delighting to clothe our Mother in beauty as various leaf forms and lovely flowers adorn her. As green things work their photosynthetic magic, the air of the planet is renewed. Habitat is also established for all manner of burrowing, creeping, leaping, and flying relatives.

There are undoubtedly wiser ways to manage water use, but what I do is intended to honor Ina Maka, not to squander her life thoughtlessly.

Ah, endless self-justification, eh? We are such ignorant, sinful, self-deluded and deluding creatures. To think that the Creator would entrust to the two-leggeds the sacred task of tending harmony and balance. Helmut Thielicke was right: if any sin may laid to the charge of God it is gambling.

The Firstruits:
My first cherry tomato and Anaheim chile

The first blossom on the Crimson Blaze climbing rose

There are a couple more cherry tomatoes lurking deep in the heart of this photo

And here are some Anaheim chiles

In other news:
Mark MacDonald, Bishop of Alaska, has just been confirmed to serve as Bishop of Navajoland. He will leave his position in Alaska, though he will be serving concurrently as bishop for the First Nations of Canada as well as for Navajoland. May all the First Nations walk in beauty and we learn to join them.

I am honored to have some of my thoughts posted at The Episcopal Majority. My thanks to the patient editor!
--the BB

Nuance? Backpedaling? You decide

"Tournament of Roses" variety

While thinking in one context yesterday I wrote something that, in another context, is thoughtless and irresponsible.

I said there was nothing wrong with either my wanting to see things grow in the desert or trying to reproduce a Berkleley hills garden in my little corner of the world. When I said there was "nothing wrong with either of those two things" I meant in a psychological sense. In an ecological sense there is a great deal to ponder and criticize.

What sort of respect for this part of the world can I possibly show when trying to make the desert (technically "high grasslands," I have been informed) into something it is not? And how responsible am I being with resources?

I am conscious of the life-blood of our Mother, that most precious reality of life in this corner of the world: water. I water by hand, use lots of mulch to minimize evaporation, and think about the precious gift of water as I nurture each growing thing. The front yards in my neighborhood are all xeriscaped and drip irrigation provides just enough to keep things alive. Overall, according to my water bill, I am well below average household use. Still, I cannot escape discomfort when using water. Nor should I. May the Creator keep me conscious of the consequences of my actions.

In addition to bringing joy to my own heart, I hope my garden will lift the spirits of others and that future harvests of fruits and vegetables will nourish body and soul alike.

Salvia, dwarf marigolds, and sweet alyssum

"Piñata" rose variety

Firstfruits
This morning I harvested my first cherry tomato. I spotted the globe of bright red in the depths of the greenery while watering this morning. No idea how it evaded my sight previously but this morning it seemed to shine and cry out, "Here I am!"

I brought it in, sharpened my paring knife and sliced it thinly. Added a leaf of basil from the yard, julienned and sprinkled on top. Three drops of olive oil on the plate, a sprinkle of salt, some freshly ground black pepper. Quite satisfying.

I then made a thank-offering throughout the garden, beginning at the tomato patch and walking deosil about the yard, sprinkling tobacco and giving thanks. No, I do not smoke tobacco; in fact, I abhor cigarette and cigar smoke. But I do offer pipe tobacco to the Creator and the seven directions. We must not take without offering respect and thanks.
--The BB

A Son of the Soil (in spite of myself)

I spent a lot of time in my back yard last week, tending to my garden.

When I moved to Albuquerque I realized afresh how large my back yard seemed. Maybe 50 by 40 feet of sand mixed with fine adobe clay. Except for the tumbleweeds that spring up with great vigor, it was rather barren.

Bill inspired me to plant some fruit trees. I followed this endeavor with roses, mostly bare root, and on Maundy Thursday I became so bold as to plant tomatoes, foolishly assuming I was past frost danger. Two days later it snowed. The tomatoes, however, survived.

Here is where things stood:
The lush little border on the right is a patch thickly planted with rosemary, lavender, and dark purple petunias. Basil and chives are tucked in there too. The green against the back wall is a Piñata rose that blooms in multiple shades of red, yellow, and deep orange. Two peach saplings (Red Haven in the foreground and Elberta behind it), the tomatoes and Anaheim peppers near the north wall, then a climbing yellow rose between the vegies and the herbs.

Other bare root roses curved around a Methley plum and I planted small beds between the roses, filling them with gazanias, dwarf marigolds, and alyssum. Here is a later view from a different angle, still aiming at the NW corner.
After last weeks efforts, here is a close-up of the NW corner. You can see blooms on the Piñata rose, lush tomato plants, and in between a flame seedless grapevine. Along the wall to the left are lavenders and coral roses. In the center foreground is a row with various peppers and deep red petunias that were just planted. Three kinds of squash have also gone in and three other rows of vegetables and herbs (mostly more peppers and an eggplant). Along the south wall is a border of sixteen plants, about five types all with blue to purple flowers.
And, though one expects no fruit in the first year and precious little until year 3 to 5, I do have four peaches. Here is the largest, currently the size of a small apricot.
I came to two realizations yesterday. (1) Although I could never be considered anything but a "city boy," there is nonetheless something of the San Joaquin Valley soil in me that cries out for growing things in the desert. As aloof as I may have been from my relatives who farmed, this yard project has me quite excited. (2) Looking at what I have been doing in what seemed a rather haphazard manner, it is evident that I have subconsciously been trying to recreate something of the look and feel of a home garden in or near the Berkeley hills: a bit of the East Bay in Albuquerque.

Well, there's nothing wrong with either of those two things. I love the landscape of New Mexico, its sparse and harsh beauty, the vast expanse of sky. I also love my little patch of flowers, fruit trees, vegetables, and herbs.

Thanks be to God for all growing things.

A Neglected Saint

Sant Guilhèm dau Desèrt
(c) 2007 Paul E. Strid

It will be forty years ago this fall since I spent a semester in France, studying somewhat (I was majoring in French) and enjoying myself a great deal. I lived with the family of L'Intendant Général Jean F Urvoy, who was in charge of l'École Militaire d'Administration in Montpellier. I was blessed to travel about with the family and thus came one day to St-Guilhem-le-Desert, site of an abbey founded by one Guilhem. Over the door in my bedroom is a perfectly tacky and very inexpensive crucifix I purchased in a gift shop that day. To me it is sacred because it links me to this fascinating man.

Guilhem [I am using the Occitan spelling of his name] was the grandson of Charles Martel (yes, that one) and thus related to Charlemagne. He was Count of Toulouse and one of the noble warriors who held things together for Louis I, the Pious, a weak monarch who needed all the help he could get. Guilhem was defeated by the Saracens at the Orbieux River but it was a Pyrrhic victory and they lost their taste for conquest in France and withdrew to Spain. He later pursued and defeated them in Barcelona.

Guilhem donated land and had an abbey built in the valley of Gellone and later renounced his titles, divided his realm among his heirs, and became a monk. His exact relationship to St. Benedict of Aniane is complicated by later prestige wars between Aniane and Gellone. He was certainly acquainted with and probably inspired by Benedict, whether he was under obedience to him or not.

Thus the basics on the historical Guilhèm.

His image as a greater-than-life warrior flowered in a cycle of chansons de geste (namely, La Geste de Garin de Monglane) and he is known in this context as Guillaume d'Orange, though he had no historical link with that French city.

Over the past four decades I have often invoked St. Guilhèm, asking his prayers. When it seemed time to write a new icon I wondered which saint it should be. Guilhèm popped into my head since I had no image of him. So, in late May, I began, turning to the internet to refresh my memory.

There I found information on Guilhèm and photographs of Gellone and the later abbey that still stands there and serves as a parish church. Since he was Frankish, I gave him blond hair and blue eyes, but who knows? The Cross of Languedoc in the upper corners is the same as the arms of the counts of Toulouse and has strong emotional content for me since I loved the fierce pride of the southern French. The decoration on the border is adapted from decorative motifs in the Sacramentary of Gellone, a liturgical manuscript of historical interest. The abbey is in the background and the hills are modeled on those surrounding the valley (though from a very different angle than the view of the abbey).

What I was not prepared for was rummaging through dozens of boxes in my garage for one thing (which I did not locate) and coming across two term papers I wrote on Guilhèm during my graduate studies at UCLA. One was for a course in hagiography and another was literary analysis for a class in medieval French literature. This was just two days after beginning the icon. The papers reminded me that his feast is May 28, which was the following Monday.

I rather think Guilhèm wanted his image written and I had not chosen the theme of my icon at all. Fr. Christopher McLaren blessed it at St. Michael's church picnic last Sunday, his daughter graciously wielding the rosemary sprig to sprinkle it with holy water.

Here are the prayers I composed for the occasion (along with the common for a monastic):

Troparion
A mighty prince relinquishes lands and titles;
A warrior of renown lays down his arms;
The defender of an earthly empire
Turns to a heavenly Kingdom.
Guilhèm forsakes all worldly fame
And follows the Savior into the desert,
Armed only with the Holy and Life-Giving Cross.
There he serves the Ruler of creation with all humility,
Conquers demons, and establishes a garden of virtues.
Bells on earth sing his ascent to Paradise;
“Tant fist en terre qu’es ciels est coronez.”*

* He did so much on earth that in heaven he was crowned.

Kontakion
O God, Defender of your people and hope of the faithful,
You gave your servant Guilhèm of Toulouse
To serve an earthly monarch and defend your Church.
Despising earthly honors, he reached out to Christ
That he might serve the Eternal King
And submitted to the yoke of monastic rule
That he might win a crown eternal in heaven.

Western Collect
O God, whose blessed Son became poor that we through his poverty might be rich: Deliver us from an inordinate love of this world, that we, inspired by the devotion of your servant Guilhèm, may serve you with singleness of heart, and attain to the riches of the age to come; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Holy Guilhèm, continue to pray for me, a sinner, and for us all.

Crossposted at Bearfeathers

While I'm Sharing Poetry

The Pleasing Boy

The pleasing boy
who played by the rules
earned the smug toleration
of the unimaginative—
not affection, respect, or love
(perhaps a quiet admiration
for his ability
to tolerate crap)

It’s not enough,
he concluded tardily,
and decided to take his soul back,
to color outside the lines
and follow his imagination,
to take risks and live
with the consequent failures
as well as exhilarating successes,
to let fly the snarky comment
and show disapproval
as well as bestow
the wonted compliments

He’s gone back to dancing
in streets and hallways,
singing out loud,
drawing on sidewalks with chalk,
naming bullshit,
laughing too loudly,
playing with children and elders—
and even the occasional midlifer
who has begun to wake up
and wants to play too



17 October 2003
(c) 2003 by PES

--the BB

Claire's Blessing

"Reflections" (c) 2001 by PES

This photo was one of those chance shots you get once in a while. It is looking at a print titled "Orchard" by David Smith Harrison. In the reflection one can glimpse oranges on a counter in front of blue tiles and in the distance a eucalyptus grove between the fir framing of the picture windows. The layers of reality and perception fascinated me and the camera was close at hand.

This experience and the resultant photograph shape the acrostic poem based on a birthday card from my friend Claire in 2002. She had written: “Paul, Stitcher Sower Maker Dancer of Life” (signed) C.

Blessed are those friends who evoke the better sides of us and blest are we to have them as friends.

Claire’s Blessing

Sunlight angles down the building faces,
Thin clouds dissolve in the summer morning.
I sit after late breakfast, observing strangers peopling
The avenue, thinking of friends old and new. A
Chained bicycle and I, motions paused—what roads
Have my wild, worn treads touched, what winds felt?
Each day a new stage of unpredictable journey,
Rife with detours, delights, disasters, discoveries.

Sound, sight, smell all pattern each moment—
Oh, the syrup scent in the Red Tractor! Traffic, voices,
Wind-rippled bottlebrush—the other faces
Eyes cannot see but projected in my mind, layering
Realities together. That time I looked at the false Cézanne

Mirrored in the glass of the “Orchard” print, citrus
Arranged casually on the counter, and securely
Kept at a distance, the unruly eucalyptus—
Energies, solid things, representations all at once
Reflecting light—sun, earth, the soul in interchange.

Dappled vision of shifting stuff, what depths and heights
And far-flung reaches penetrate my narrow moments!
Now I sit, poised amid these layered forces, wondering.
Chance and choice and universes will go into my next moment.
Entry to paradise: this moment, each moment—
Raw matter woven into eternal now and boundless bliss.

Oranges and cookie jars, walnut trees, blue tiles,
Farnesi windows, gum trees, fir window frames—all

Laced within each other, lover’s knot—place and
Infinity—sweet, sad singers of life’s song—
Fresh hopes, old aches—all this and
Everything reflected, held, expressed in my heart, and God’s.

August 16, 2002
--(c) 2002 by the BB, of course

Memories of Roses Past

Now that I am growing roses on my own for the very first time and enjoying the little thrills of excitement that come when each bare root bundle of twigs firsts puts out green shoots and then when I see buds forming and, finally, when a rose opens.... Well, it's time to toss a bit of joy and color in here - after all that deadly dull theology and ecclesiastical obsessions.

So here, with a tip of the hat to my beloved ex whose labors made these possible, are some garden shots from May of 2003.

This is Seraphim, the great bell of the garden. How I loved to take that rubber mallet and ring the Angelus for all the neighborhood to hear!

Fragrance to lift the soul!

And a nice gaudy flower to round it all out and cheer us up!

Praise the Creator for all growing things!
--the BB