FAITH HOUSE Manhattan

Living Room Gathering - Song of Songs: A Ritualized Reading of the Sexiest Book in the Bible

Last Saturday evening (June 13, 2009) the Faith House Living Room gathering was focused around an exquisite little treasure of literature integral to Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and all people who love Love. Check out the pics. Over the years, our director Bowie Snodgrass has become an expert in this piece of literature and has developed an amazingly simple way to experience the seductiveness of God. Here is the outline that she has created and we utilized, which includes the entire text of the book. I hope you will catch another opportunity to hear Bowie leading this ritual. The second best would be to do it yourself in your synagogue, church, mosque, local library, or with friends! The story of the Universe is a love story and your own experiences of love with people around you (your lovers, friends, children, parents, neighbors) are all retelling that story of the Universe. To the intoxication! (~ Samir Selmanovic)

PRELUDE – Play music inspired by the Song of Songs while people gather

WELCOME & INTRODUCTION – Bowie Snodgrass (5-10 min)

OPENING TOUCH & SMELL – Pass around Frankincense & Myrrh or Pomegranate scented Lotion for people to put on themselves

BACKGROUND ON SONG OF SONGS – Poet Harry Ellison on importance of Song of Songs in Jewish history and as a source of inspiration for spiritual lovers of God, artists, poets, and in his own life.  (5 min)

MOMENT OF SILENT ANTICIPATION (1 min)

RITUALIZED READING – See script below (20-25 min)

COMMUNITY SHARING – People share around their table or in small groups (10 min) then share with whole group (10 min)

CLOSING – Smell spices (like in a Havdalah service)

POSTLUDE – Play recorded music inspired by the Song of Songs

Approximate Running Time: 1 hour

* * *

The Song of Songs

5 Females
4 Males
1 Royal Messenger (male or female)

Supplies

•    Script with full text of Song of Songs for readers.  Recommended that people listen to readers, rather than read text in a bulletin. We used the JPS Translation, with selections from a translation by Union Theological Seminary professor, David Carr
•    Posters, or projections, or leaflets with activities and verses everyone reads together
•    Scented lotion, preferably with scents from the Song, e.g. Pomegranate or Myrrh
•    Drinks to sip, wine and/or milk & honey and/or pomegranate juice
•    Fruits to eat, fresh or dried, e.g. apples, apricots, grapes, dates
•    Images, e.g. prints of paintings inspired by the Song of Songs; we used images of flowers by Sadie Rosenthal
•    Fragrant spices, e.g. cloves, cardamom
•    NOTE: The place we met did not allow candles or incense.  I recommend adding them somewhere below if allowed. 

SCRIPT

MALE 1:    
The Song of Songs, by Solomon.

FEMALE 1:    
[speaking to male]    

Oh, give me of the kisses of your mouth,
For your love is more delightful than wine.
Your ointments yield a sweet fragrance,
Your name is like finest oil—
That’s why the young women love you.
Draw me after you, let us run!
Bring me, O King, to your chambers.
Let us delight and rejoice in your love,
Savoring it more than wine—
Like new wine they love you!

My Dad, and Thank You

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Last Thursday, May 28, my father Sead Selmanovic unexpectedly passed away at age 72. The funeral was held on Monday, June 1, in the main cemetery of the city of Zagreb, the capital of Croatia.  Several hundred people attended.  An Imam from the main city mosque conducted a simple and meaningful ceremony.  Before our walk to the grave, standing next to the casket, I gave a short talk addressing those present.  I have translated it into English for you below.  After the ceremony, we all went to the mosque to celebrate my father's life. The next day, I went to the grave one more time.  Here are two pictures I took with my mobile phone, one from the city mosque, and the other one from the grave.  My deep felt gratitude to many of you for your condolences and words of love and care.

_________________________

Dear Respected Friends,

We have gathered here because we loved, cherished, and honored my father.

He was truly one of a kind. 

Dad, from you I learned to love. Love passionately: life, myself, others, and Allah, the Gifter of Life. Without your persevering and deep fatherly love, I would not understand or experience God's mercy and love. Without your trust in me, I would not know how to trust in others.  Our relationship was not simple, but it was strong, sincere, and always nourished with your love and care.

You did not talk or care very much about another world. You gave your attention to this world — goodness, justice, honesty, and the beauty of this world. It seems you have decided to live in one world at a time. And now you are at the threshold of a new future.

We are all travelers here. We come to this world and leave.  "Grandfather dies. Father dies. Son dies."  Although we think that this order is right and a part of a good life, our parting is always so unexpected and painful. I am left with some life before me, and my prayer is that I will love and raise my daughters the way you loved and raised my sister Bisera and I, and that I will love my spouse the way you loved mom. I would like to do at least a part of the good that you have done for others. Thank you. Not only from me, but also from the multitude of people here, your friends who came to say farewell. Thank you also in the name of many who will be touched by you through your influence in our lives.

My father remains in our lives not only as a memory, but as inspiration and a guide.

Let's give the last honor in our thoughts, or our prayers, to common humanity and Goodness that sustains life. (SILENCE)

My father, you were a great lover of life and therefore a faithful friend of God. Our hearts are torn, because although we are parting from you and although our sorrow runs deep, your example of love towards life is higher and stronger still. Following your example, we are united in celebration of life, as Mevlana Rumi, one of the great teachers of Islam has thought us:

"Call the drummers and tambourine players. May your steps to my grave be dancing steps. Be drunk with love, and clap, so that people may know that friends of God go happy and with a smile to the place of meeting."

Dear Dad, see you beyond the threshold of this life!

God Is Not a White Man

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Here is the video that is as comforting as it is challenging. Any thoughts? Thank you Rev. Vince for sending this to us.

From my Whirling Cousin In Istanbul

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Following is an email and pictures I have received from my second cousin Bekir Yenerer who lives in Istanbul, Turkey, and is following Faith House on the web. This is published with his permission.

The first picture, I took last year in Istanbul at the 800-year celebration of the birth of Rumi Mevlana. It was published in the newspapers here in Turkey. The others are from Yalova, taken during the yearly meeting of an international Mevlana organization, including people from 44 different countries and religions. The meeting went on non-stop for 40 days. I went for four days and we all felt like brothers and sisters there. In this prayerful whirling dance, all the incidents and details of life disappear and the only thing left is God's love, everything else, including me, disappears. The whole cosmos is God's shadow. Enjoy the pictures. I am so glad we have connected again.

 

Live Words: The Way the World Is Structured

No individual can live alone, no nation can live alone, and anyone who feels that he can live alone is sleeping through a revolution. The world in which we live is geographically one. The challenge that we face today is to make it one in terms of brotherhood....

Through our scientific and technological genius, we have made of this world a neighborhood and yet we have not had the ethical commitment to make of it a brotherhood. But somehow, and in some way, we have got to do this. We must all learn to live together as brothers or we will all perish together as fools. We are tied together in the single garment of destiny, caught in an inescapable network of mutuality. And whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. For some strange reason I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the way God's universe is made; this is the way it is structured.

~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

(from A Knock at Midnight: Inspiration From the
Great Sermons of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.)

A Jew's Prayer for the Children of Gaza

This past Friday, I (Samir) went to welcome Sabbath and worship with our Jewish brothers and sisters of Romemu community on the Upper West Side. It was four hours of singing, dancing, food, tears, laughter, hugging, wisdom and compassion. Here is a prayer by Rabbi Levi Weiman-Kelman of Kol HaNeshama, Jerusalem, that we prayed together. You might want to read it in your churches, mosques, or synagogues. Imagine, you can have Christians reading a Jewish prayer for Muslims. God will hear.

If there has ever been a place forsaken, Gaza is that place.

Lord who is the creator of all children, hear our prayer this accursed day. God whom we call Blessed, turn your face to these, the children of Gaza, that they may know your blessings, and your shelter, that they may know light and warmth, where there is now only blackness and smoke, and a cold which cuts and clenches the skin.

Almighty who makes exceptions, which we call miracles, make an exception of the children of Gaza. Shield them from us and from their own. Spare them. Heal them. Let them stand in safety. Deliver them from hunger and horror and fury and grief. Deliver them from us, and from their own.

Restore to them their stolen childhoods, their birthright, which is a taste of heaven.

Remind us, O Lord, of the child Ishmael, who is the father of all the children of Gaza. How the child Ishmael was without water and left for dead in the wilderness of Beer-Sheba, so robbed of all hope, that his own mother could not bear to watch his life drain away.

Be that Lord, the God of our kinsman Ishmael, who heard his cry and sent His angel to comfort his mother Hagar.

Be that Lord, who was with Ishmael that day, and all the days after. Be that God, the All-Merciful, who opened Hagar's eyes that day, and showed her the well of water, that she could give the boy Ishmael to drink, and save his life.

Allah, whose name we call Elohim, who gives life, who knows the value and the fragility of every life, send these children your angels. Save them, the children of this place, Gaza the most beautiful, and Gaza the damned.

In this day, when the trepidation and rage and mourning that is called war, seizes our hearts and patches them in scars, we call to you, the Lord whose name is Peace:

Bless these children, and keep them from harm.

Turn Your face toward them, O Lord. Show them, as if for the first time, light and kindness, and overwhelming graciousness.

Look up at them, O Lord. Let them see your face.

And, as if for the first time, grant them peace.

The Invitation Home (Part 2)

~ by Juliet rabia Gentile

(This is a continuation of the last week's article. To read Part 1 click HERE.)       

 Konya is a small industrial town set like a dusty jewel in the crown of Central Anatolia. It is famous and widely visited only due to the fact that it holds the tomb of Mevlana Jelaladdin Rumi. Over the years since Mevlana Rumi’s death on December 17th 1273, a mystical order based upon his teachings called the Mevlevi order grew. The ritual practice called Sema that one associates with Mevlevis or whirling dervishes – think spinning figures in generous white gowns with funny tomb stone shaped hats whirling for hours - developed out of an incident in a marketplace right there in the town square in Konya. Everything that we know about Rumi has been preserved by his students and family members and can be found in the landscape or in the hearts of the people of Konya.

My flight from Istanbul touched down several hours late due to a burgeoning fog that wrapped itself around Konya’s empty streets like an old friend. Soon after my arrival the phone began to ring and plans mounted up. The celebrations in Konya were well under way despite the cold and fog: there was no time to rest!

It is tradition that Sufis gather together from across the globe every year for seventeen days leading up to the Shebi-Arus celebration which culminates on December 17th. This event known as the “wedding night” commemorates the time when Mevlana Rumi went to join his Beloved. The anniversary of his death is celebratory rather than somber. In fact Rumi wrote in one of his poems, “if you harvest the wheat growing over my grave and bake bread with it, it is sure to intoxicate!” So strong was Mevalana Rumi’s love for God that his fragrance still attracts lovers of all walks of life, religions and nationalities, some 800 years after his death, like bees to honey.

My first stop in Konya was the informal headquarters of the trip: Dervish Brothers Center. DBC was the place of beginning and ending of all journeys and adventures and was visited by many dervish sisters despite its name. It was a place to make and break plans, listen to music and poetry, sip endless cups of tea and have intimate discussions extending into the morning. Before long I had lost track of the number of dhikrs, impromptu musical gatherings, meals and endless prayer vigils I had attended. One highlight of historical importance was a Sufi dhikr held at the tomb of Shems i Tabriz (the mystic thought to be responsible for the full flowering of spiritual wisdom in Rumi’s adult life). This beautiful prayer ceremony which somewhat spontaneously coalesced after the afternoon prayer in the Mosque of Shems was well attended and miraculously accepted by the Mosque authorities, a quiet, though great victory for Sufi activity in Turkey.

One of curiosities of traveling to Turkey is that everywhere you go you encounter people and businesses selling Sufism and Sufi paraphernalia (not always authentic) to tourists, even while its practice is illegal under Turkish law. You may ask yourself why, at a time when Islam is weighed down with fundamentalisms of various stripes and colors, would anyone want to suppress an interpretation of Islam based upon the principle of universal love? Well, despite changing public and political opinion in favor of Sufism, its practitioners are still vulnerable to law enforcement, therefore making the beautiful that day a great triumph towards further opening the gates of understanding and tolerance. 

Perhaps more than any other lesson this journey to Konya taught me the importance of tolerance and understanding, even when I fell short. When you are in a strange country, speaking a new language the importance of open heartedness and true understanding become crystal clear. You become acutely aware of your utter dependence on the kindness of others and their willingness to cover your faults. It takes truth, sincerity and perseverance to navigate cultural divides and find common ground with the other in often difficult or awkward circumstances.

At home, surrounded by the comfort of “my family, my city, my country” it is easy to become complacent and intolerant. It is harder to extend a hand of guidance, friendship, or love. We think our lives don’t depend on it.

In a rapidly shrinking global world colored by increasing violence and polarization, perhaps now more than ever we are challenged to open, rather than shut down, to question and learn, rather than judge. This realization, which I experienced directly rather than ‘thought about’ was one of the most precious gifts I received from Mevlana Rumi and my journey to Konya. In the shadow of His light I witnessed the power of personal connection. The soul stirring invitation afforded by a warm glance, a smile, a prayer – signals that reach across language, race and religion.

In the airport on the way home we encountered that divine fog once again, hemming us in as we waited for hours in the small Konya airport. In the huddled masses there were various fellow pilgrims from England, Pakistan, South Africa and Iran. As the hours wore on and we shared stories, fruit, tea and tears it became crystal clear that we were all drawn to Konya from our various far-flung destinations for one reason: love.

Despite what shade our skin was, what language we spoke or what lives we were returning to, we were all, in our essential natures, one. In those hours of listening to the stories of my fellow pilgrims, the inner meaning contained in Rumi’s famous verses - the importance of extending the invitation of love to others, despite what we think of them - was revealed. This is true Godliness, this is the invitation Home.

"Come, come again
Whoever you are.
Pious one, infidel, heretic, fire worshipper.
Even if you promised a hundred times
And a hundred times you broke your promise,
This door is not the door
Of hopelessness and frustration.
This door is open to everyone.
Come, come as you truly are."

The Invitation Home (Part 1)

~by Juliet rabia Gentile

Since July my colleagues at Faith House Manhattan; Samir, Bowie, Jill, Lauralea and I have put much energy and thought into building a brick and mortar Home for people of all traditions or faiths, or of no particular faith at all. In early December, following a successful Faith House Living Room gathering entitled, Holy Journey: Hajj and Eid ul Adha, where we hosted various leaders from the Muslim Community in New York City, I departed to Turkey for both a personal, spiritual journey and a ground-laying expedition for an International Conference of Sufi women.

On the lengthy plane ride it dawned on me: Istanbul is my spiritual Home. Home is a laden word. For some it conjures happy memories and warm feelings while for others, like victims of violence or exile, the word signals profound grief and longing for what once was. Growing up in and around New York City, a place forever in flux and transition, the word has meant many things to me at different times. Over time I learned not to settle into one set notion of home. Therefore this thought came as a surprise. Perhaps all of us have at one point or another felt a longing for a physical home-land and similarly have felt a pull inward, a longing to find a personal sanctuary, a spiritual home to bring peace, balance and rooted-ness to our life.

Being a student of mysticism I have been taught to seek and find this center in the locus of my “heart.” Called qalb in Arabic and gunul in Turkish, the heart I speak of is not the physical heart but your emotional center where your soul resides, where one’s true essential humanity is to be found. The door to this home is always open, the entrance always immediate.

Despite this fact, on this bitterly cold day in early December I was decidedly on an outer journey into space and time. I was set to arrive in Istanbul, Turkey for a few days and then make my way to Konya, in Central Anatolia, for the Shebi-Arus (literally, wedding day) festival in honor of the poet Mevlana Jelaladdin Rumi, known as “Rumi” in the west. This trip was a long anticipated pilgrimage which I had dreamt of for years.

Islamic tradition relates that the Awliya or (Saintly friends of God) never spiritually die and therefore old cities like Istanbul and centers of spiritual learning, like Konya –places where many Awliya lived and died, are potent places to visit. Therefore I always prepare spiritually and mentally to receive whatever teachings these visits have to offer. You could say I use these travels as litmus tests or sign posts for my own spiritual journey. Spiritual pilgrimage in all traditions is like a continual Sabbath, a state in which your mind and heart are at peace and open to receive the treasures placed before you by God. In this state of openness, every person you meet, every place you visit has something to teach you.

When I arrived in Istanbul, the city was windswept and subdued by rain. The streets were virtually empty as people took a much needed rest after a week of Eid ul Adha (feast of sacrifice) celebrations. That first morning I met up with a young dervish (spiritual initiate), Kemal, who is a life-long member of the Halveti-Jerrahi Sufi order (a Sufi order founded in the 17th century in Istanbul). That day Kemal took me around to some of the sights of Istanbul including Topkapi Palace, which holds Holy relics of the Prophet Muhammad and my favorite Tea garden, the ‘Mystic Water Pipe.’ I ask you where else one can sip Turkish ‘cay’ and smoke a ‘narguila’ (a popular water pipe for scented tobacco in flavors ranging from rose to mint) all the while surrounded by floor to ceiling carpets, lamps and stray kittens cozying in warmth? This is perhaps the best way to adjust to a slower pace of life and to take in the ambience of the old world. After a few days of paying my respects and sending salams to the various Sheikhs of different Sufi orders and branches, it was time to prepare for the real adventure. I was soon to depart to that blessed city, Konya that I had long heard about and longed to visit. What I would find there, of course, defied my expectations and proved to be a memorable and life-changing experience.

(for Part 2 click HERE)

Peanuts Theology

Thank you Lauralea for sending us this cartoon!

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THAT CAN HELP US LAUGH ABOUT OURSELVES!

Live Words: A Fourfold Song

There is one who sings the song of his own life, and in himself he finds everything, his full spiritual satisfaction.

There is another who sings the song of his people. He leaves the circle of his own individual self, because he finds it without sufficient breadth, without an idealistic basis. He aspires towards the heights, and he attaches himself with a gentle love to the whole community of Israel. Together with her he sings her songs. He feels grieved in her afflictions and delights in her hopes. He contemplates noble and pure thoughts about her future and probes with love and wisdom her inner spiritual essence.

There is another who reaches toward more distant realms, and he goes beyond the boundary of Israel to sing the song of man. His spirit extends to the wider vistas of the majesty of man generally, and his noble essence. He aspires towards mans general goal and looks forward to his higher perfection. From this source of life he draws the subjects of his meditation and study, his aspirations and his visions.

Then there is one who rises toward wider horizons, until he links himself with all existence, with all God's creatures, with all worlds, and he sings his song with all of them. It is of one such as this that tradition has said that whoever sings a portion of song each day is assured of having a share in the world to come.

And then there is one who rises with all these songs in one ensemble, and they all join voices. Together they sing their songs with beauty, each one lends vitality and life to the other. They are sounds of joy and gladness, sounds of jubilation and celebration, sounds of ecstasy and holiness.

The song of the self, the song of the people, the song of man, the song of the world all merge in him at all times, in every hour.

                                ~ Rabbi Kook (1865 - 1935)

Live Words: An Optical Delusion

A human being is a part of a whole, called by us a universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest ... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.

                                    ~ by Albert Einstein

Live Words: One Body

Only when we see ourselves in our true human context, as members of a race which is intended to be one organism and 'one body,' will we begin to understand the positive importance not only of the successes but of the failures and accidents in our lives. My successes are not my own. The way to them was prepared by others. The fruit of my labors is not my own: for I am preparing the way for the achievements of another. Nor are my failures my own. They may spring from failure of another, but they are also compensated for by another's achievement. Therefore the meaning of my life is not to be looked for merely in the sum total of my own achievements. It is seen only in the complete integration of my achievements and failures with the achievements and failures of my own generation, and society, and time.             
   
                                                    ~ Thomas Merton

God and the Human Face: A Shavuot Reflection

~ Rabbi Or N. Rose is an associate dean at the Rabbinical School at Hebrew College and the co-editor of Righteous Indignation: A Jewish Call for Justice (Jewish Lights Publishing). Rabbi Rose is a friend  and precious source of wisdom and encouragement to Faith House.

The festival of Shavuot celebrates God’s revelation of the Torah to the Children of Israel at Mount Sinai.  Throughout the ages, Jewish thinkers have interpreted this foundational narrative in a variety of ways, reflecting their beliefs and experiences.  One teaching on matan Torah (“the giving of the Torah”) that I find particularly inspiring is a sermon by the Hasidic sage, Rabbi Naftali Tzvi of Ropshitz (1760-1827), recorded in the book Zera Kodesh.*

The Ropshitzer (as he is called by Hasidim) begins his commentary by quoting his teacher, Rabbi Mendl of Rymanov, who asserts that at Sinai the people of Israel heard “nothing from the mouth of God other than the letter aleph of the first utterance—‘Anokhi, I am the Lord Your God’ (Exodus 20:2).**”   In other words, what the Israelites heard at Sinai from God was undifferentiated sound or the “sound of silence,” for a freestanding aleph makes no sound at all.  In either case, this interpretation is a significant revision of the biblical text (see Exodus 20:1), as it denies that God articulated any specific content to Israel. 

What leads this Hasidic master to reach such a daring conclusion?  He bases his comment on a statement from the book of Psalms, “One thing God has spoken but two things I have heard” (62:12).  That is to say, while the Divine-human encounter is pregnant with meaning, it always requires interpretation to determine its significance for an individual or community.

Following his teacher’s comments about the aural dimension of the revelation, the Ropshitzer inquires about what the Israelites saw at Sinai.  This is a thorny question because in the book of Deuteronomy there are two contradictory statements about the issue. Deuteronomy 4:15 states, “You saw no image when the Lord your God spoke to you,” but just one chapter later it reads, “The Lord spoke with you face to face at the mountain” (5:4).

The Ropshitzer’s resolution of this contradiction builds upon Rabbi Mendel’s insight about the aleph.  He states that while God was indeed formless at Sinai, the people did see a representation of the Divine—the letter aleph.  Where did the Israelites see the aleph?  Was it projected in the sky as a sign of God’s presence, did it take the form of a pillar of fire or a cloud of smoke?  No, the aleph appeared on the faces of the people of Israel.
 

 

Thinking visually, the Ropshitzer explains that if one deconstructs the figure of the aleph, detaching the upper and lower markings from the central line, the components can be restructured to create two eyes and a nose, the outline of a human face. 

He goes on to say that each eye resembles the letter yud (the tenth letter of the Hebrew alphabet), and the nose between them looks like a vav (the sixth letter).  And when one adds up the two yuds and the vav they equal 26 (10+10+6=26).  Amazingly, this number is the same as God’s most sacred name—Yud, Heh, Vav, Heh (10+5+6+5=26), sometimes rendered as “Yahweh” in English, but considered ineffable, unpronounceable, by Jewish authorities.

   

So what does all of this fanciful exegesis mean?  It means, according to the Ropshitzer, that “every human face” represents both the essence of Torah—the aleph—and the sanctity of God’s name—Yud, Heh, Vav, Heh.  It means that at Sinai the community of Israel came to a heightened awareness of the holiness of every person in their midst—from the prophet to the water carrier, from the priest to the wood chopper.  As the Ropshitzer points out, this notion is first articulated in the book of Genesis (1:27), where the Bible describes Adam, the first human, as a being created “in the image of God.”  

The implication of such teachings is that every person—Jew and non-Jew alike (since we are all descendents of Adam and Eve)—must be treated as a holy being, as a bearer of revelation, as a unique manifestation of the Divine.  This is the meaning, says the Ropshitzer, of the teaching in Psalm 16:8, “I set the Lord before me continually.”  In his words, “The seal of the Holy Blessed One is literally on our faces.”

May we be blessed this Shavuot to experience the great and ongoing revelation of God and Torah in the faces of all those who we encounter.

______________

* I wish to thank my teacher, Rabbi Arthur Green, for sharing this text with me.  See his brief comments on this teaching in Seek My Face: A Jewish Mystical Theology, pp. 111-112 (Jewish Lights).

**  My translation is based on that of Rabbi Lawrence Kushner in his The Way Into Jewish Mysticism, pp. 65-69 (Jewish Lights).

Encounter the Mystics: Julian of Norwich

~ Dr. Frederick Roden is a professor in the Department of English at the University of Connecticut and lives in New York City. He has published primarily on homosexuality and Christianity. He is a lay Associate of the Episcopal Order of Julian of Norwich (see www.orderofjulian.org) and the author of a commentary companion to her text which will be published by Liturgical Press later this year. He is currently working on a book on Jewish/Christian intersections and can be reached at fsroden@aol.com.

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well…”  This familiar phrase of the 14th-century English writer Julian of Norwich inspired poet T. S. Eliot to look around his broken world—the devastation of twentieth-century war and genocide—and glimpse the power of the Unseen working in and through All Created Thing. We read these words and immediately assume that we should get what we’re asking for, that our prayers should be answered, that the outcome we crave is the outcome God will provide. In Julian’s theology, the answer is: yes and no. For her, as for all the great mystics and poets, the Divine is ever bursting through the material world. She maintains that we cannot know ourselves without knowing God; that God is nearer to us than our own souls. The depth of our human experience is firmly grounded in the Divine: the Divine is fully known in our material experience, not outside of it. Our deepest longings— our truest selves—are inseparable from God.

The problem comes with how things look on the outside versus inside. This question of separation versus inseparability defines Julian’s theology. She had prayed for a full experience of Jesus’s Passion. She wanted to feel the depth of human suffering her God knew. Her desire led to a vision that opened her awareness. Julian could not turn from the suffering human body of her God because there she found her heaven. Her God willed to know human suffering so deeply that it physically “one-ed” God with All Created Thing. Julian’s famous “all shall be well,” so often cited out of context, is God’s answer to her questioning of this eternal “one-ing.” How can all be well given the brokenness, suffering, and separation in the world? How can all be well given what she had been taught to understand as “sin”? In the theology Julian develops, “sin” is literally no-thing. It is separation: the wound that God constantly works to heal—the brokenness of our experience for which we can never be blamed. In and by our wounds (our divisions) we are healed and the world is made whole.

In Jewish terms, that opening is the space of tikkun olam, the repair of the world. In Julian’s words it is the work of “mercy” and “grace” dynamic and active in and through Creation. Julian’s God is a verb. This God’s sole purpose is healing separation. In a sense we have a choice whether to answer this call. Yet Divine Love (inseparable from Divine Reason) continuously works in and through us whether we like it or not, whether we cooperate or not! Julian’s Christianity understands this as the Incarnation, the Real Presence of the Divine acting through our material existence. This “Incarnation” isn’t limited to Jesus: there is no difference between God in Jesus the Christ and God operating throughout the material world. The degree and level of perfection (literally, as “fully realized,” “fully made”) may vary, but the Presence and call to be present is true for all of us in all incarnations.

Julian lived at a time of plague and war. Her society rigidly separated “saved” from “unsaved.” As much as she was a product of her culture, Julian challenged this view in claiming God as one: unity as the work, truth, and destiny of all Creation. She rejected a world-view that separated sheep from goats. While grounded in Christian Trinitarian theology, the singular experience of Divine Love working in and through the world defined that meaning Julian put forth as God’s message for all humanity. 

Julian never stopped asking questions of her God. Although professed as a hermit, her hermitage was attached to a church in a busy market town. Hers was no escape from the world but a way of living deeply in it, fully present to the experience of All Created Thing. With a literal window open to her society (who viewed her as a spiritual director) Julian conveyed her God’s ultimate message: one she spent over twenty years contemplating—the final answer to her question.  At the end of her visionary text (written in a time and place where few men and fewer women read, let alone wrote), she concluded that “Love was His meaning.”  In the end, all shall be Love. Julian did not intend that we await the end of time for realization of this Love. Rather, we are called to awaken to it in our lives as we glimpse the Divine—our truest self—in the face of The Other.

Blessed Julian of Norwich (1343-1423)

THE DAY OF

my spiritual awakening

    was the day I saw

    and knew I saw

       God in all things

       and all things in God.

Live Words: Work of Human Beings

In the beginning, the Creator of the Universe, deciding to make a world, drew in the divine breath in order to make room for the creation coming into being. In this enlarged space, the Creator then set vessels, and into the vessels poured the brilliance of divine light. The light was too brilliant for the vessels, however, and unable to contain it, they shattered all over the universe. Since that time, the work of human beings has been to go about the universe, picking up the shards of creation and trying to mend and transform the vessels by refashioning them in a work called 'the repair of the world.'

                                    ~ Isaac Luria, 17th Century mystical Jewish theologian

Introduction to Muslim Spirituality: The Sufi Way

SUFISM MAY BE POWERFUL ANTIDOTE TO ISLAMIC EXTREMISM

(an article by Jane Lampman, staff writer of the CSM, Dec 5, 2007)

Images of Islam have pervaded the news media in recent years, but one aspect of the faith has gotten little attention – Islamic spirituality. Yet thousands in America and millions in the Muslim world have embarked on the spiritual path called Sufism, or the Sufi way. Some see its appeal as the most promising hope for countering the rise of extremism in Islam.

In recent weeks, celebrations in cities on several continents have marked the "International Year of Rumi." Sept. 30 was the 800th anniversary of the birth of Muslim mystic Jelaluddin Rumi, who is a towering figure in Sufi literature and, paradoxically, the bestselling poet in the United States over the past decade.

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to continue reading the article click HERE (Thank you Sylvia for the link!)

Live Words: Paradox of Hospitality

"Once we have found the center of our life in our own heart and have accepted our aloneness, not as a fate but as a vocation, we are able to offer freedom to others. Once we have given up our desire to be fully fulfilled, we can offer emptiness to others. Once we have become poor, we can be a good host. It is indeed the paradox of hospitality that poverty makes a good host. Poverty is the inner disposition that allows us to take away our defenses and convert our enemies into friends. We can only perceive the stranger as an enemy as long as we have something to defend."

                                                         ~ by Henry Nouwen

Lovedrunk

~ by Samir Selmanovic

Rumi (Jelaluddin Mevlana Rumi), arguably the greatest mystical poet of any age, was born in 1207 C.E. on the Eastern shores of the Persian Empire, then Afghanistan, and settled in present day Turkey. Over a period of 25 years, he composed over 70,000 verses of poetry about divine love, mystic passion and ecstatic illumination. In recent times, Rumi's work has experienced a renaissance across the globe, and is the most widely read poet in America today. The Year 2007 has been designated by Unesco as the International Year of Rumi. Although Rumi was a Sufi and a great scholar of the Qu’ran, his words reach across religious and social divisions. Even in his own time, he was known as a cosmopolitan. His funeral, which lasted 40 days, was attended by Christians, Muslims, Jews, Persians, and Greeks.

Last week I attended a short meditation class by a wonderful guide (Thank you Michelle!).  She taught us Square Breath, a Sufi practice. It was unlike anything else I have experienced before, centering first on one’s breathing, then on one’s heartbeat, bringing them in sync, one's own person becoming an expression of gratitude for the gift of life and love of God. Sufi's would say, "stain your prayer rug with wine." I did just that this week. I got lovedrunk with God.

After coming home, I resolved that it is time for Faith House to join other peacemakers around the world in honoring Rumi and his legacy at the 800th year anniversary of his birth.  And not only Rumi, but also all the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim mystics who stayed sane at the times when "rational" people lost their mind and warred with one another. I have to admit that my attempt to summarize Rumi's work for you has been frustrating. After years of spotty reading and now hours of collecting material about Rumi's extraordinary life, I threw up my hands and said with Attar, a Sufi master, who commented about Rumi: "There goes a river dragging an ocean behind it."

One of the most brilliant translators of Rumi into English is Coleman Barks.  With his “good ol' boy” soft Southern voice, he can, paradoxically, transport you to Persia, Afghanistan, and Turkey of the Middle Ages. This connection between contemporary American South and ancient Middle East has been one of the most fitting global matches of spirit I have ever experienced. Author Robert Bly says of Coleman: "One of the greatest pieces of good luck that has happened recently in American poetry is Coleman Barks' agreement to translate poem after poem of Rumi. Coleman's exquisite sensitivity to the flavor and turns of ordinary American speech has produced marvelous lines, full of flavor and Sufi humor, as well as the intimacy that is carried inside American speech at its best."

Here are the readings of three Rumi's poems, by Coleman.  These might lead you to the threshold between two worlds. And you will emerge on the other side of this experience first crawling, then walking, then "spreading great silent wings."

"ONLY BREATH"


"CITY OF SABA"


"I HAVE NO NAME FOR YOU"

Get lovedrunk with the mystics. Explore. There are hundreds of poems like these on the internet and in a bookstore near you. May Rumi's whole, provocative, dangling, passionate words never give you peace.