Connection. So important!

       Folks who have been around the University of Denver for the last six months will know that we have had four students (including a June 2012 graduate) die -- all of different causes.  In addition, we've had a member of the housekeeping staff, as well as a not-quite-as-recent alumna.  In short, it's been a difficult several months.  In all of those cases, I've been privileged to be a part of the care teams that have helped those affected, from family to co-workers to fellow students.  And, this afternoon was the most recent, a visit with a grieving family and friends.
      Indeed, over the five years I have been at DU, I've been a part of numerous funerals/memorials.  It is always a humbling honor, to be invited into such a raw situation.  One thing, however, profoundly has struck me over the last couple of weeks:  I have wished I had known all of those folks better. A pretty common feature of memorial services in this day of PowerPoint or iPhoto slideshows is a video montage, drawing together moments of the individual's life.  Added to that are all of the memories, professional and personal, that friends, family and colleagues bring to the ceremony.  We often hear the favorite songs or poems.  Themes arise.  From housekeepers to administrators, students to professors, children to parents . . . every person has a story.  A unique, funny, wrenching, gripping, everyday story.   Memorials provide an opportunity to hear them, to share them, to marvel at the beauty of lives lived.
      I often don't know the person being memorialized very well; sometimes I don't know them at all.  But I often leave the service feeling like I've missed something by not knowing them.  I know I can't know everyone, so that's not the point.  It is rare enough to be invited into that inner circle for a moment . . . and I cherish it.
      No, I can't know everyone.  But I come into contact with folks every day; we all do.  And for many reasons we often shrug off the opportunities to enter into the other person's story.  We miss their richness because we're too busy, too pre-occupied.  Or we may be too shy, too reticent, to share our lives.   And I believe, given the experience of these last few months, we are poorer for it.  Television.  Internet.  Fences.  Distractions.  All keep us apart, or provide excuses for making the connections we all crave.
      We miss one another, in more ways than one.
      I, for one, want to hear your stories now.  So, interrupt me.  Remind me of this.  And hold me, and each other, accountable.
   
Blessings,

Chaplain Gary

No quick fix, so . . . buckle down

            A few weeks ago, my 9-year-old son asked me why babies cried as soon as they were born.  We were in the car going somewhere, and this question came out of the blue; it must have had something to do with some TV show he'd been watching.  Happy that I didn't have to address the "other" question about babies, I did my best to talk about the shock of the move from womb to cold air, as well as the upside down spank that helps clear the air passages.  And then he said, "It would be great if there were a pill for that."
       Not too long after that conversation, I heard an advertisement on the radio for some new weight-loss pill.  "No harsh diet regimen!  No exercise required!" the ad claimed.  In short, all of the benefit, trouble-free!  Just buy the pill!
       On top of these "quick-fix pill" incidents, I read (and heard news reports on) former Pres. Clinton's statement at the Democratic National Convention on Wednesday that "no president, not even me" could, in only four years, solve the problems the country faced in 2008. Yet we, as an electorate, seem to want immediate change in a system that, almost by design, resists such change.  And, of course, we want the change to be painless for us; someone else can make the sacrifice.
      And then I also heard a news report on some experiments about learning (from an audio source) while we sleep--no work required!  As we anticipate the start of another academic year at the University of Denver, I'm sure that there are some on campus who wish that the research behind this study would translate into hard reality . . . NOW.  Learning made easy; few demands!
       I suppose it's not just "we as an electorate".  It's part of our natural make-up that we avoid pain/suffering.  But most of us know, too, that becoming better at something requires practice, some exercise, maybe some long hours devoted to a task.  Losing weight via a pill is not the same as becoming healthy, which that awful "diet regimen and exercise" might help achieve.  We've bought into a story that "looking good" is the same as achieving health.
      The same phenomenon may be true in religion/spirituality.  Some folk are highly conscious of following all the rules of a particular tradition (i.e. they appear "religious"), but have no depth of compassion.  Others might want to "feel good" spiritually themselves, but find no compulsion to change unjust systems.  Most historical traditions, however, recognize a variation on the old exercise adage:  "No pain, no gain."  The real benefits -- both for the individual and for others -- are found in practice, self-discipline, and service.  How counter-cultural!
      If we truly want change -- political, social, spiritual, emotional -- we're going to have to leave aside the wishes for a quick fix, for a magic pill, for a feel-good moment, and dedicate ourselves to do what it takes for the long haul.
      All the best for a great academic year!

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary

Billboard's Top 100?

Two weeks ago, my wife and I were in Los Angeles for a wedding reception, mini-vacation, and belated anniversary celebration.  Since we were traveling alone, we decided that any entertainment/activities we might choose would be things that we would NOT do if we had our children with us.  So, on Friday afternoon, we rented a tandem bike and rode up and down the Santa Monica strand/bike path.  And, in the evening we went to the Hollywood Bowl.       In advance of our trip, dear spouse imaginatively suggested we visit that icon of entertainment.  She told me that the concert would be the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra with the Colombian guitarist and singer, Juanes.  It's not as if we had much choice; we figured it would be fun -- even if we knew nothing about Juanes (I thought "Classical guitar -- great!").  The morning of the concert, there was an article in the LA Times about the evening's performer.  I came to learn that Juanes is one of the most successful Latin popular music artists over the last decade or so.       We arrived at the Hollywood Bowl, carrying our Trader Joes' dinner (as were many other concert-goers!).  When the lights went down and Juanes took the stage with his ensemble, I quickly realized that my expectations were going to be blown sky-high.  Most of the concert was in Spanish.  The concert-goers ran the gamut from (as one reviewer put it) "elderly couples with a wine and cheese picnic basket, Asian young adults enjoying sushi, Colombians waving their flags, and plenty of seductively dressed young Latinas".  There was lots of squealing and dancing in the aisles (and seats).  And there was FABULOUS music.        Who knew?  Well, it turns out, a lot of people -- those who, unlike me, don't limit their radio stations to a certain genre.  Dear spouse and I were blown away.  And I was reminded of a realization I had some years ago:  "I bet folks in Rome, or Tangiers, or Singapore, or Kampala don't pay much attention to theNew York Times bestseller list.  I certainly don't know what's "hot" on Le Monde's bestseller list orPravda's.        Billboard magazine keeps track of the top 100 songs in many different categories/genres:  classical, pop, country, urban; Japanese pop, French songs, etc.  Most of us -- if we're music-listeners -- only listen to a few.  Similarly, unless we read a foreign language, or a book has been translated and deemed "hot", we rarely care about books not by American authors (at least those we might read for pleasure).  We often have a tendency to limit the scope of our experience to that which is most familiar.  We often do that religiously/spiritually as well . . . and, I suspect we're equally impoverished by that.        Over the last three days, I have stood in front of several gatherings of incoming international students at the University of Denver.  When I told them that I believe that they enrich our university community immensely, I did so with a new appreciation of what I was saying.  An evening with  Juanes at the Hollywood Bowl can do that to you.  The final number "Odio por amor"*, has the refrain (sung in English), "It's Time to Change"**.  Amen. Blessings, Chaplain Gary *  The lyrics (in English) can be found here:  http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3530822107858833231/ **  If you're interested in the finale of the concert (mentioned and depicted above), take a look at this YouTube video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oc-SPEKYO5I).

Central or peripheral

In the days following the shooting at the Sikh gurdwara in Wisconsin, numerous interviews were aired on radio about the basic tenets of the Sikh religion.  Questions seemed to focus mostly on turbans and beards--both visible markers of observant Sikh men.  The reason for that focus seems to be the confusion/identification between Sikhs and Muslims in the years after 9/11.  I was reminded of another problem associated with the tenets of the Sikh faith--especially in post-9/11 America:  the wearing of the kirpan, or ceremonial dagger.  To many in law enforcement, it was seen as a weapon, and not to be allowed on airplanes or in schools or prisons.  To be forced not to wear the kirpan became very problematic to faithful Sikh men.        Listening to those interviews gave me occasion to reflect on the external "pieces" of our religious traditions.  The question that has kept nagging at me is:  "What features of a religious tradition are so central, that to lose--or be forced to forego--(some of) them would cause a crisis of faith?"  For many traditions over the centuries, this has been a reality, but for most of us, we've not been forced to make a choice.       The Jewish people, for example, have experienced the loss of their cultic center, the Jerusalem Temple, as well as their homeland, more than once.  A crisis of faith, to be sure!  Psalm 137 reflects the anguish of exile:  "How can we sing the Lord's song in an alien land?"  Yet, most were able to understand their faithfulness to Torah in a way that was not so site-specific.  In other situations, however, given a choice between being forced to violate Torah or die, many chose death.  What is central?      The earliest Christians were Jewish.  Yet, as the movement expanded beyond its Middle Eastern roots and began including non-Jews, the question arose as to how much of the Jewish legal code had to be observed by non-Jewish converts.  Again, the question of centrality forced soul-searching and choices.  And the process wasn't nice and neat.       Irish Roman Catholics (as well as non-Anglican Protestants), in the 16th and 17th centuries, had their religious practices severely curtailed by the British.  They could not hold public office.  They could not worship publicly -- or give public evidence of their faith.  For many, who found praying the Rosary a central part of their practice, this was very problematic.  The clever among them designed, what came to be known as, the "Irish Penal Rosary", which could be worn hidden and prayed without worry of detection.  An "external" practice had become so central that rather than forsake it, they chose to remake it.        Around the world today there are still plenty of places where such choices are being forced upon the faithful of many traditions.  The impetus for conformity in societies is strong (including our own).  Not really being subject to such coercion, however, I still have to wonder what I could forego without losing the core of my faith.  What part of worship, or music, or (as an Anglican) the Book of Common Prayer, is so central?  Language, for many, is critical.  I wonder, if I were Muslim, what would be the impact of the loss of the Kaaba in Mecca.  There are many other similar features in almost all religions.       So, central, or peripheral?    The questions remain to be answered by us all. Blessings, Chaplain Gary

For purely symbolic reasons . . .

       As I was riding into work this morning, I was listening to an interview with Imam Faisal Rauf, the leading figure behind the Park 51 mosque (or "Ground Zero Mosque") in New York City.  The conversation, and being reminded of the "heat" that lay behind the controversy with placing a mosque near the site of the World Trade Center, fit into something that I've been musing on all week:  the power, use, and misuse of "symbols".
       A definition I like of "symbols" is that they are "words or things that open out onto a plurality of possible meanings, and still have a superplus [sic] of meaning left over."*  Thinking just about Ground Zero -- how many different meanings can we apply?  Or, using a different event, how many meanings can be applied to "Hiroshima" -- which will, no doubt, come up in the news this coming Monday, as we recall the nuclear bombing of that city in 1945?  In either case are the meanings exhausted by the protagonists/antagonists/witnesses?  There is a memorial that has sprung up near the site of the Aurora shootings of two weeks ago.  It symbolizes something different for different people, e.g., a remembrance of those lost, a critique of gun laws, a pledge to make things different.
       At the University of Denver, we've been engaging in a long process of discerning our "brand" -- what does the University mean to various constituencies, and how best can we depict that visually.  The "logo" is meant to symbolize the University, but no one person--faculty, student, alum, donor, potential employer--will understand the logo the same.  Nor should they! (Note:  the new logo is at the bottom of this newsletter.)
       A few weeks ago, I heard a radio call-in contest that asked the question "Which symbol most represents the USA?"  I don't remember the "winning" answer, but you can imagine the answers:  the American flag, Statue of Liberty, dollar bill, bald eagle, the White House, etc.  And, how important are they!  Wow, if politicians don't sport a Flag Lapel Pin, their patriotism is suspect.  The flag, as symbol, means something.  But to some, it means "America, love it or leave it", while, to others, it can mean "In this free land, I can protest injustice and be a proud American."  To others, perhaps non-Americans, it represents a colonial power; to yet others, an aspirational dream.
       What spawned all of this reflection on symbols was hearing a reporter comment on some political action or vote:  "It was done for purely symbolic reasons."  Cheapening a rich word, I thought.  Clearly NOT done for symbolic reasons, but to make a pointed, political, one-dimensional statement.  If we're going to cheapen the word "symbol" (as we have done with the word "myth"), we're not far from cheapening the power of symbols (as we have done with myths).
       As a religious person, and a scholar of religions, I'm aware of the rich symbolic tradition we all hold.  The symbols we claim, we use, we cherish are NOT one-dimensional.  What, in our various traditions, are symbolized by different foods?  Bread:  leavened or un-leavened?  Butter?  Wine?  Rice?  What about water?  Cleansing from impurity.  Entry into a new community.  Symbol of creation.   What about fire?  The symbols depicted above are all rich with meaning, layers upon layers.
        So, in my reading of sacred texts over the last week, I've been hyper-aware of the symbols present in those writings.  I've been hyper-aware, to of the symbols I've seen in the Olympic events, in the commercials, in the language used by commentators.  It has enriched my week, and opened my eyes, my mind and heart.  Purely symbolic!

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary
 
*Bean, Wendell C., and William G. Doty.  Myths, Rites, Symbols: A Mircea Eliade Reader. (Harper Colophon, 1976), 342.

Not expecting the unthinkable

This morning, before I turned on the computer, I was pretty certain what I would be writing today.  It had to do with living on the boundaries (inspired by a radio show on Autism and the Divine).  But, once the computer was on, my inbox was full of "Breaking News Updates" about the shooting early this morning at a nearby theater.  As of this writing, 71 people were either killed or wounded.  I immediately thought of two earlier situations when, having a Sunday morning sermon already written, I awoke to tragedies that demanded something else (an airplane crash in Charlotte, and Lady Diana's death).  So, boundaries and autism will have to wait.  Or, at least, autism.        Because, it seems to me, we are always on boundaries, existing on a very thin edge.  As a road cyclist, I'm very aware of the fact that a couple of skinny tires, and my ability to balance in an emergency, are all that keep me from serious injury -- and I certainly know what happens when something affects traction that even my balance-skills can't correct!  The folks who attended last night's midnight showing of the latest Batman movie probably had no idea of the thin boundary they were walking -- nor should it have been on their minds.  None of us can live effective, productive lives if we're constantly looking for monsters under the bed.        Tragedies like last night, however, do remind us that the unthinkable happens.  And, once it does, we begin to try to connect the dots that might help us explain it.  As I've said many times before, in many different circumstances (including the two tragedies to which I alluded above), the answer to the "why" question is ultimately unsatisfying.  Blaming violent movies, or too-lax gun laws (if indeed, they are), will not, in the end, explain the actions of folks who are in a psychological/mental state that would lead them to commit such crimes.        For those reasons I can't ask "Why?" or "Why would God allow . . .?"  I cannot, with all good conscience say "God must have had a good reason for this."  That would not be a God I would want to worship, or serve, or devote my life's work.  I believe in a God who challenges me to ask "Given the tragedy, what's next?"  Mourn, grieve, certainly; there is loss!  But there's more!        Certainly there are some socio-cultural institutions or practices that probably ought be challenged; that's one next step -- a possible next step that will probably be a very steep uphill climb.  Another, more manageable, next step would be simply to realize how thin are the boundaries that separate us and our loved ones from some unthinkable tragedy.  And to remember that our time together is extremely precious.  And to take action in that regard.        There is a vigil scheduled tonight in Aurora for those who wish to join in solidarity.  I was asked by an editor of a national blog-site whether I was going to be there, and, if so, would I sent some reports?  Recognizing how it might sound, I responded that, "No, as one who has not been directly affected, I'm not going.  I'm going to be with my family, and hug my wife and kids extra hard."  The editor, also a friend/colleague, understood completely.         I think that rather than living life looking for monsters under the bed, or in airplanes, or in movie theaters, or asking questions to which there is no satisfactory answer, I'd rather we live life appreciating and celebrating the fleeting beauty that is our life together.  That is one of my best answers to the "What next?" question.         Because we never expect the unthinkable.   ---------         My prayers are with all of those affected by this horrible tragedy:  those who've died, those who were injured in body, those who've been injured in mind and spirit, the shooter, and all of their families.  My thanks go out to all of the first responders:  police, fire-fighters, ambulance crews, doctors and nurses . . . as well as those who will continue the care for all affected:  medical personnel, counselors, clergy, friends and family members. Blessings, Chaplain Gary

(Re-building the Intangible

As I mentioned in the last newsletter, I recently spent a week in New Haven, CT at the Global Conference of Chaplains in Higher Education.  Held every four years, this conference brings together Chaplains, Deans of Chapels, Campus Ministers, etc. from around the world.  I ate with Swedes, Germans, Australians, Muslims, Jews and Catholics.  We heard from amazing speakers-all from the US, and we had the opportunity to attend some great workshops and roundtables (all of the ones I attended were led by non-Americans!).
      One of the keynote speakers was the Rev. Gail Bowman, who just last month left her position as Chaplain at Dillard University (in New Orleans) to assume a similar role at Berea College (in Kentucky).  Gail was at Dillard when Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast almost seven years ago.  The photo above is of the campus after the storm and broken dikes.  The campus, of course, was evacuated, and the school was closed for quite some months.  When it did reopen, it was in the New Orleans Hilton Riverside Hotel.
      She told us stories of the evacuation and relocations of students, and showed slide after slide of the rebuilding process.  Several of the things she said have stuck with me (and I may return to some of the other of those quotes in weeks to come); one in particular haunted me:  "When buildings get destroyed, attention goes to the buildings, because they're tangible."*  As I recall, this was in the context of the trauma the students had experienced, but how little attention (comparatively) was paid to "rebuilding" them--those who, too, had lost so much.  It made me wonder about the University of Denver's Emergency Management Plan: what provisions are there in that document for caring for the people at the University in the wake of a major disaster interrupting the "business of higher education" here in Denver.  (There may, indeed, be provisions, but, to satisfy my curiosity, I plan on taking a look!)
      Coincidentally, a TED talk appeared in my iTunes queue prior to my return to Denver; I watched it on my smartphone on the plane.  It was titled "Measuring What Counts" with Chip Conley (who runs a numbers of hotels in San Francisco).**  Conley, too, was talking about tangibles and intangibles.  He pointed out that we most often understand success by measuring only the tangibles, the things that hit the bottom line.  Yet the backstory to his talk was that the success of one of his hotels was due to an intangible: the personal care one employee took to ensure that all of the guests were made to feel at home.
      Conley challenged his audience to develop a new metric, a new way of counting what really counts (he pointed to Bhutan's "Gross National Happiness" index).  That seemed, to me, be a very similar challenge implied by Gail Bowman:  to place at least as much emphasis on (re-)building the intangibles-the members of the Dillard community-as the buildings that house them.  And the request that Conley left with his audience mirrors the implicit request of Gail Bowman's:

So what the world needs now, in my opinion, is business leaders and political leaders who know what to count. We count numbers. We count on people. What really counts is when we actually use our numbers to truly take into account our people. I learned that from a maid in a motel and a king of a country. What can you start counting today? What one thing can you start counting today that actually would be meaningful in your life, whether it's your work life or your business life?***


Good question!

Blessings,

Gary
 
*That may not be a precise quote, as I was scribbling madly.  A video of the whole speech can be found at
http://new.livestream.com/accounts/551391/GlobalChaplains2012/videos/1682275

**That talk can be found here:
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/chip_conley_measuring_what_makes_life_worthwhile.html

***See the last paragraph of the transcript, found at the link above.