The Unclad Soul

I have been fascinated with medicine since I was a boy. Somewhere along the path of middle school, I thought I might be a doctor. As a kid, I got a toy doctor’s kit one Christmas and everyone in the family was targets of my doctoring. Though, as I remember it, I think my brother Terry was the only one who actually tolerated being one of my patients. Later, in high school, I figured I wasn’t smart enough to be a doctor after all. I wasn’t any good at math or science. But as long as I can remember I wanted to help people. My grandparents were a big part of our family life. And they were a huge influence on how I saw the world. Loving, gentle, caring, I learned from them a deep compassion for others. And as they got older, I felt such tenderness for them and the increasing limits of their bodies and minds. I eventually decided to go into the ministry. And there is certainly an aspect of healing in that if one takes it seriously and is dedicated to it. I enjoyed the compassionate...

Life is often defined by small acts of goodness, kindness, love. When I was a boy, I had reoccurring bouts of tonsillitis. My tonsils were large and they seemed to be always getting inflamed. Each time, the doctor would prescribe an antibiotic in capsule form. I hated trying to swallow those things. So my maternal grandmother, whom I called Momo and who with my grandfather lived a few blocks from us, would come over each morning that I was sick, open the capsule into a tablespoon, mix in a little honey, and give it to me. “Here, sweetie,” she would say. “Swallow it all at once.” It went down so easily. In one of the early congregations that I served as a young minister, there was a dear church member, an older woman slightly mentally challenged. Her life had been sadly difficult. Never given a proper education or help with her disability, she floundered but somehow made a life for herself. Every now and then she would bake a loaf of homemade bread for me and my wife. She would...

And what is it that stirs your soul in these maddening days? What melts your heart? What enlivens you? What makes you want to run flat out full speed until out of breath you stop and hold your arms out to the sky? What motivates you to smile, to laugh out loud, to relish the moment with delight? What creates deep inside you, feelings of warmth, of affection, of love? Is it music? Listening to a beautiful song, being moved by the music and the lyrics? Is it reading a captivating book, following some story whether in a novel or some historical setting, that keeps you turning the page? Is it a movie, whether sitting in a theater or watching at home on live streaming TV, a movie that holds you in its spell until the credits run at the end? Is it attending a play, perhaps a musical, like Hamilton, Les Miserables, the Lion King, or some other fantastic performance that soars and enlightens and sends you home emotionally spent, or tingling inside, or singing all t...

In this Season of Advent, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, candles, food and festivities, giving and cheer, I keep thinking of Bob Marley’s beautiful music, especially his, “Redemption Song.” “Old pirates, yes, they rob me Sold me to the merchant ships Minutes after they took me From the bottomless pit But my hand was made strong By the hand of the Almighty We forward in this generation Triumphantly Won't you help to sing These songs of freedom? Redemption songs …” That is the message of this Season, whatever tradition you follow. Pirates still exist. People are still being sold in sex trafficking and sold out in politics. There are minorities and the elderly, the homeless and the disabled, who remain in the bottomless pit. Won’t you help to sing the songs of freedom? The Statue of Liberty is firmly anchored in New York Harbor, her light still beaming. But freedom escapes many beneath her lamp. People caught in poverty, in opioid addiction, in low w...

(This week was my brother's birthday. This is for him.) The weeks have scurried on and turned into months now and still you are gone, but, here as well. There are remembrances of you, photos, emails, and memorials, both small and large. Your voice is in my memory and now and then I hear you speak, recalling old phone conversations where together we cursed politicians, phony preachers, a sleeping church, and, where we replayed the last major golf tournament, Tiger’s life collapse, Phil’s implausible shot, Rory’s power swing, and Spieth’s relentless grit and skills. We grieved Mom’s difficult life, Dad’s mysterious remoteness, and our own flaws and foibles and foolishness. And, there is your laughter, still floating in my consciousness; a laugh that drew you up, shoulders raised, head lifted, eyes closed, a sort of breathless moment of immobility, slow motion seconds of you drinking in great gobs of elation and jubilance ending in coug...

“Laughter’s the nearest we ever get, or should get, to sainthood. It’s the state of grace that saves most of us from contempt.” ~ John Osborne, Playwright

Novelist and poet, Heather Sellers has written, "I think everyone has one day like this, and some people have more than one. It's the day of the accident, the midlife crisis, the breakdown, the meltdown, the walkout, the sellout, the giving up, giving away, or giving in. The day you stop drinking, or the day you start. The day you know things will never be the same again."  The death of my brother Jim became one of those days for me. I knew his situation was deteriorating. I knew his body was shutting down. But when his daughter Natalie called and said he had just passed away, I suddenly felt I was floating off in some moment of bewilderment. Could he really be gone? The past months had been difficult, watching his rapid decline. And yet, I had somehow become attached to that scene of him in his room in the nursing home. His big screen TV. The stack of videos on the counter beside it. The small serving tray at his side that held his reading glasses, the ever read...

"I stood willingly and gladly in the characters of everything - other people, trees, clouds. And this is what I learned, that the world's otherness is antidote to confusion - that standing within this otherness - the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books - can re-dignify the worst-stung heart." ~ Mary Oliver, Poet/Essayist

In my sleep, I was visited by a man in a flannel shirt with autumn colors in small squares. He wore a solid brown necktie unloosed at the collar. His hair was white and bushy, sort of like Einstein’s. He smoked a pipe and had the voice of Gandalf, Ian McKellen’s great character in The Lord of the Rings. There was nothing menacing or alarming about his presence. He spoke softly, quietly. His face was rugged and carried deep lines of age and wisdom.  His eyes, blue and intense, were nevertheless warm with soft light in them. He reminded me of my maternal grandfather whom I called Pop, a big loving man with a deep Southern drawl. I told the gentleman this and he said, “You can call me Pop if you want.” I said, “Ok.” “What troubles you?” he asked, as he put fresh tobacco in his pipe and lit it. It smelled of cherries or cloves or something sweet and delicious. “I wonder if I got it all wrong,” I said. “How so; got what wrong?” “People. Life. Meaning,” I said, a...

“For one wild, glad moment we snapped the chain that binds us to earth, and joining hands with the winds we felt ourselves divine!” – Helen Keller

Good Morning Good morning to the great trees That bend above this little house; Good morning to the wind that comes And goes among the leaves, and sings; Good morning to the birds, the grass, Good morning to the bare ground; Good morning, pond across the way That must have opened both its eyes; Good morning, everything that shines Or doesn’t shine; good morning, mole And worm and nesting mouse—good morning, Morning to all things that ever Were and will be, and that are. ~ From, “Good Morning: Last Poems,” by Mark Van Doren

I recently spent a day in Oklahoma City with my brother, Jim, who has muscular dystrophy. He fell at home a few weeks ago and had to have surgery. He is now in a rehabilitation center. The doctors and physical therapists are trying to get him to a place where he will have some measure of independence. He will not, however, be able to return home. It’s possible that he could go into assisted living, but more probably, he will have to go to a nursing home and live there. He is facing all of this with a lot of heart and reality. He knows his health has seriously deteriorated and   living   alone is no longer an option for him. But he is also experiencing, understandably, a certain sadness about his situation. I feel sad for him as well. Jim was once a tall, healthy, athletic guy. He played baseball in high school. Was a terrific swimmer. He loved to play golf. In his late 20’s he began to experience a weakness in his arms and legs. As time went by and his symptoms worsen...

“White collar or blue, the worker is taken to be a machine. Engaged, not as a whole person, but as a tool of production, he becomes alienated from his work and himself. No wonder the worker is more interested in sports or gossip than in his or her work. No wonder, in the words of popular bumper talk, he ‘would rather be fishing,’ or she ‘would rather be shopping.’ Work devoid of meaning and spirit, work without discipline and satisfaction of a job well done, is work without joy." ~ Laurence G. Boldt, Career Consultant/Author 

“Life's passed along to us empty. We have to make up the happiness part.”   ~ Richard Ford, Novelist

“My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird— equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. Here the calm deep in the speckled sand. Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work, which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.” ~ Mary Oliver

“Every smile makes you a day younger.”  ~ Chinese Proverb

“Sometimes I dream that everything in the world is here, in my room,  in a great closet, named and orderly, and I am here too, in front of it,  hardly able to see for the flash and the brightness— and sometimes I am that madcap person clapping my hands and singing;  and sometimes I am that quiet person down on my knees.”  ~ Mary Oliver, Poet/Writer

“You are that which you are seeking.”  – St. Francis of Assisi, Catholic Mystic

“You'll have a good, secure life when being alive means more to you than security, love more than money, your freedom more than public or partisan opinion, when the mood of Beethoven's or Bach's music becomes the mood of your whole life … when your thinking is in harmony, and no longer in conflict, with your feelings … when you let yourself be guided by the thoughts of great sages and no longer by the crimes of great warriors … when you pay the men and women who teach your children better than the politicians; when truths inspire you and empty formulas repel you.” ~ Wilhelm Reich, Austrian Psychoanalyst/Author

“I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees. All night I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom. By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times into something better.”  ―  Mary Oliver , American Poet