Praying with all my heart

Praying this morning with all my heart. Thich Nhat Hanh, the great Zen Buddhist master of Plum Village is France is seriously ill in hospital. He is eighty-eight years old and has been unwell through this last year, recently suffering a massive brain haemorrhage. Thay has worked tirelessly his whole life for peace and forgiveness, for wise practice of compassion and loving-kindness. To have breathed the same air in this lifetime is a great honour. 

Lifting Thay into the light. Here is a man the Lord Jesus loves very much . . . Seigneur, celui que tu aimes est malade. Seigneur, prends pitié. O Christ, prends pitié. . . Watch over him now, loving Lord. This man who has taught others the way of loving-kindness . . . who has lived in self-discipline and established compassion . . . his whole life has been the thing you love best, Lord Jesus . . . reach down to him, determine his course, enfold him in the peace of your good purposes . . . You in whose hands are all our days. Ah, Lord Jesus, take good care of this man.

This I pray, this I pray.    

May he be peaceful. May he be set free.

     

The brothers and sisters of his community at Plum Village have asked that we maybe set a little time aside to chant with them today. Here they are.




UPDATE NOVEMBER 16th

Plum Village, 15 November, 2014

To all Plum Village Practice Centers,
To all Practice Centers and Sanghas World Wide,
To our Dear Beloved Friends,

Thầy is now in a hospital with a highly reputable neurologist monitoring his progress. He is in the right place with the best possible care and attention. New tests have been done. Doctors report that Thầy is showing good progress in terms of remaining stable and not having major changes in his condition during this critical part of his recovery. The area of hemorrhage has not grown and his vital signs are normal.

In the early morning, Saturday, November 15, Thầy opened his eyes for the first time since his cerebral hemorrhage, to look at his attendants for a brief moment. He was very conscious and attentive to what was happening around him, lifting his left hand to touch the attendant next to him. Since then, he has also opened his eyes several times and his gestures of communication are clearer, nodding or shaking his head to respond. Thầy has been able to rest and sleep peacefully for several hours each day. The doctors are cautiously optimistic and remind us that Thầy’s condition is still in a critical stage and conditions can change at any moment.

UPDATE NOVEMBER 26th

Official Announcement

Re: Thay’s current condition

Plum Village, 22 November, 2014

To all Plum Village Practice Centers,
To all Practice Centers and Sanghas World Wide,
To our Dear Beloved Friends,

The doctors have expressed surprise at Thay’s resilience and stability over the last week, as the intensive treatment continues. Thay’s blood pressure and pulse are stable, he is still breathing on his own, and he is becoming increasingly peaceful. However, in recent days Thay has been sleeping more deeply and communicating less.

The monks and nuns attend our teacher continuously at his bedside, breathing with him, embracing him with their love, praying that the millions of healthy cells in Thay’s body may become millions of bodhisattvas, helping his brain to heal. As Thay’s condition remains critical, please intensify your practice of generating the energy of Great Compassion of Avalokita for Thay.

Let us support Thay by sustaining our practice of mindfulness throughout the day, wherever we are, keeping Thay alive within us and within our community. With deep conscious breaths and mindful steps, let us allow Thay’s teachings to ripen within us, helping us see Thay’s continuation body and Thay’s sangha body.

May we let go of resentments against those who have hurt us, and release our fear and sorrow, by coming back to the calm and gentle breathing that Thay has transmitted to us. This is the best way we can support Thay and be his beautiful continuation.

With trust and love,

The Monks and Nuns of Plum Village

UPDATE DECEMBER 1st

Official Announcement

Plum Village
November 30, 2014

To all Plum Village Practice Centers,
To all Practice Centers and Sanghas World Wide,
To our Dear Beloved Friends,

As the Winter Retreat continues to unfold in all our practice centers in Europe and America, Thay’s condition in the hospital remains stable.

Thay continues to rest peacefully with the ticking clock on his pillow, and we sense that he is relying on his deep awareness of breathing, rooted in Store Consciousness, to guide his healing process. Even the doctors have been surprised at the consistent level of oxygen in his blood. Thay is truly the best breather in the world, inspiring us to deepen our full awareness of the breath. Thay continues to remind us that each day we are alive is a miracle, and that simply to breathe is a gift.

The latest scan shows that Thay’s hemorrhage has slightly reduced in size. The edema is still present, but has not worsened. The doctors have met to re-evaluate their approach and review how to nourish Thay’s body more as we enter medium-term treatment. Thay continues to receive 24-hour care from his monastic attendants as well as hospital nurses. We are very grateful for the commitment of the hospital neurologists who are maintaining Thay’s healing process with open hearts and minds.

Earlier this year, Thay accepted an invitation from Pope Francis to go to the Vatican on December 1 & 2 to support a global initiative to end modern slavery. A delegation of 22 monks and nuns, including Sister Chan Khong and Thay Phap An (Director of our European Institute of Applied Buddhism in Germany) are now in Rome to realise Thay’s wish.

We continue to be grateful for your messages of support and the energy of mindfulness and compassion being generated for Thay. Wherever we are, we know that our practice of nourishing and healing ourselves is the best way we can all take care of Thay, and take care of the present moment.

Because suffering is impermanent, that is why we can transform it.
Because happiness is impermanent, that is why we have to nourish it.

-TNH, 10th June 2014

With trust and love,

The Monks and Nuns of Plum Village

Writer

The life of a professional writer is odd. Quite lonely. Requires a fierce dedication, like a concentrated flame – the hard blue option on the Bunsen burner, not the orange floaty flame.

You have to get yourself absolutely centred on your focus, eliminating all distraction, and keep it there. You have to come back to it, come back to it, come back to it, fasting from human society until it becomes alien to you and you no longer know how to do it or scarcely what it means.

You have to be able to mine deeper and deeper, finding every seam of thought and insight in your subconscious, making it give up everything it has – because every article, every devotional, every Bible study, every individual thing you write, comes from the germ of an original idea and those are what it is so very hard to come by.

You carve out the time you need and defend it against all comers, and lock into the focus, and bleed the subconscious until it is wrung dry.

And then it’s done, the work for today, and there you are bewildered – peevish and disoriented, cast up on the shore of a world become alien by virtue of its very normality, unable to settle to anything, appalled by being alive, as vacuous as a goldfish, as empty as fracked earth.

People say, ‘I want to be a writer,’ ask, ‘what do you have to do to be published?’ Oh, that’s easy! You have to eviscerate the living core of your soul and formulate it into words that can reconstruct its vital meaning, its tender, honest life. And then you offer it for sale. You make your deadline.

More thoughts on church

From my post the other day about plain and simple worship with no correlated socializing, a very interesting comment thread developed. Two commenters put their finger on something that has been an issue for me, that I’d like to look at more closely. I don’t think I have any solutions, but the questions are strongly felt, and I am inching my way towards a reconsideration of a lifetime’s assumptions.

Here are the questions my commenters asked, that I wanted to stay with and muse on a bit longer:

‘I understand and share your longing for "worship"...On the other hand, Scripture itself seems to point toward "community". Surely there is place for both?’  (Rebecca)

‘I wonder whether church goes beyond my needs. Whilst I crave a singular worship experience, maybe it is those very connections that help me to better love and be loved and to give to others? Is their need greater than mine?’  (Lucy Honeychurch - but my emphasis of the 'my', which seemed to be implied.)

Meanwhile, over on Facebook, in the comment thread that developed there, a friend (she reads and comments here, but I won’t give her name as my Facebook page is not public) made the point:

‘There is, of course, a place for both types of community and worship. Children, in particular, are not inclined to sit still for an hour while adults do boring stuff that they don't understand. Once they would have been expected to, like it or not. But I can't help feeling that this was rather selfish on the part of the adults.’

Again, she put her finger on a difficult aspect of this.

In my own life, it shows up most clearly in respect of my grandchildren. They (with their mother) attend church at a small village chapel in the countryside. It is a most loving faith family; welcoming, kind, inspiring, open to change. Everyone in the chapel is on the church council (this frequently happens in the small village chapels), so all decisions are made and actioned together. Music is a mix of traditional and new, and a projection screen fits in unobtrusively alongside a traditional pulpit, organ and sanctuary area.

In that chapel, the stained glass window in the sanctuary was designed and made by my daughter Alice, and the cross above the pulpit by Bernard, my previous husband – the last piece he completed before he died. Even he, with his deep dislike of all things ecclesiastical, felt comfortable in that little chapel.

Simple, plain, cheerful, reasonably democratic, it would be the obvious choice of worship community for me.

Since my first grandchild came along, it has also gradually increased its attending children from usually none to a small number – perhaps half a dozen or so. The adults in that church have a real heart for children, and have given huge swathes of time to working with the village children in school and after-school activity settings. Children are always welcome there.

Children are also always welcome at the big high-church Anglican church where the Badger goes. They are loved, encouraged – and so are the many chronically ill and disabled folk who come along pushed in wheelchairs or accompanied by assistants from the care facilities where they make their home.

This, in my opinion, is absolutely, unequivocally, one-hundred-per-cent a good thing. Jesus said ‘let the little children come to me and do not try to stop them’. Jesus had a special soft spot for the helpless, the sick, the outcast and little children. A church that doesn’t welcome children (in practical terms as well as theoretical) is not his church at all. I am all in favour.

But. Oh, isn’t there always a ‘but’!

A couple of years ago, I went along to that little country chapel, and came away quite shaken. It had been my intention to maybe settle there as a regular worshipper. It was during Advent, and the tree and crib figures had been put on display.

The children in the church ran about everywhere. One mother brought in her children (late), and they ran in and found places to sit (not near her), and got out their electronic games. Any thought that occurred, they either called across to her or ran across to tell her (then back again). One of the older children encouraged the younger ones into tinkering with the crib figures and dismantling tree decorations. All the children a lot of the time ran round the whole church and – rather like flocks of starlings – in circles round and round the central space at the front. Sometimes adults remonstrated with them, but it seemed to make very little difference.

Meanwhile, in the big church where the Badger goes, something similar happened at the back, where the children liked to congregate because toys had been set out for them. Of course toddlers and crawling babies cannot usually stay still the whole length of a church service, but these were children of perhaps eight to ten years old. Sometimes a cup would be knocked over and broken from the crockery made ready for after-church coffee. Once a free-standing notice board was felled with an almighty crash in the middle of the intercessions. In the back few pews, the care assistants accompanying the (quiet, orderly, reverent) disabled worshippers chatted continually at normal speaking volume.

I cannot say I have any objection at all to any of this. If it seems appropriate, if it makes people feel welcome and relaxed – then I am all in favour.

In similar wise, if making the passing of the peace into a time of social exchange and general chat is the cultural norm of the church, I don’t mind – I don’t think it’s wrong. I’m not against quiz nights and alpha courses, after-church coffee, mince pies and mulled wine with the carol services; it’s excellent, it’s great.

But it isn’t me.

I understand why other people should not be forced to worship as I wish to do – that would be terribly selfish of me. I understand that church envisioned as a community social event is very healthy and positive.

But I don’t want to go. And what I don’t understand is why I should, or why not to go might be selfish. It seems that if things are done my way and the other people don’t want to attend church because of the way I do things, I’m being selfish (yes, I see that). But if things are done the other way and I am the one who doesn’t want to go – it’s still me being selfish (and I don’t get that).

I have no criticism to make, I do not disapprove, I applaud the openness and the moving with the times. I accept that church as I knew and loved it has gone and is no more. I don’t grumble about it, because I think it is hugely important that church is inclusive, and that the little ones have a chance to join in. God bless them, God bless them. I love them. But church as it is today just isn’t me. 

Same with the big Christian festivals where the worship is organized according to the format of a rock concert. Am all in favour. Isn’t me.

When I say, 'isn't me', can I make clear - I mean as in, it does my head in and I just can't stand it. I'm not talking about a simple matter of taste or preference. I have always delighted in all sorts of different ways of doing church - from cathedral worship to smells and bells to anabaptist.

Each to his own. I don’t want to put a damper on anything, interrupt, or interfere. But I don’t want to go any more.

For a long time I buckled under the pressure of my sense of obligation – that I ought to be at church. But – like many other people – as I grow older I find it less easy to be what I am not in order to please others.

So I pray. I love and trust the Lord Jesus and I try to live my life as I think he would want me to. I hold the church in love, and each week as Sunday approaches I hold into the light of God’s blessing the various church communities with which I have been connected; but I don’t go.

I have tried attending Quaker meeting, which I dearly love. But again, there is the pressure towards socializing, and strong overt reminders of our duties in that direction. And then - oh Lordy! makes me blush - oh dear - last time I went to meeting, I was one of only two people who offered spoken ministry in the course of the meeting. In the Afterthoughts, a couple of others spoke. One of the Friends observed that he had been sitting in the meeting wondering why he was there, seeing no point to it at all, until the two Friends had contributed their Afterthoughts. My spoken ministry in the main part of the meeting had been about together holding the light, and had included reference to Siegfried Sassoon’s beautiful words ‘In every separate soul let courage shine; a kneeling angel holding faith’s front line.’ Too late, I realized this was probably a serious faux pas because of Quaker Peace Testimony! Uh-oh.

I don’t want to be a jarring note in any faith community. It’s because I love them, because I don’t want to be selfish and spoil things, that I don’t go (and because of the rather terrifying intra-congregational wars and aggression but that's another issue). Not being there is the best contribution, given what I am and what they are, that I can make.

I know it seems so unsatisfactory; for now, it’s the best I can do.

Rumer Into Colour

I wonder if you know the UK singer-songwriter, Rumer? In case not (or even if you do), I thought you might enjoy a listen to her new album Into Colour which comes out on the 10th of this month; this article includes an exclusive stream where you can hear all the songs.

There is so much about this particular album that I love, but my favourite thing about it is its courage. Rumer is bi-polar, and that alone inevitably means each day requires her to be brave. She went through the sorrow and agony of miscarriage, and picking up the pieces and going on from that is always, always a hard and lonely road. And then of course, she has taken the human reality of her soul into the sometimes so cynical world of the music business, let them try to make her product of her music, her voice, her life. Reading the comments on the article I linked you to, where Into Colour is streamed, I feel bruises on my spirit when I scroll through the thoughtless candour of those who have come along to air their opinions. That’s what happens, if you publish anything – a story, a song. You show the world your soul, and what do you get? Some bright spark who wants to tell you you’re just like Karen Carpenter. Oh, please!

I love the song I am blessed. I love Dangerous, with its insight into how terrifying it can be to start again. I well know that feeling. I think the song Butterfly will speak to every woman who ever lost a baby. And Better Place – that's so lovely.  My favourite of all is You Just Don’t Know People, with its maturity of reflection, and its hope.

As we talked about this new album over breakfast this morning, our Alice said what a blessed relief it is to be offered songs where you can actually hear the words. Amen to that! 

I love the honesty of this music, too – not only the emotional honesty as Rumer allows us to share the working through of the deep experiences that have shaken her inner world (it takes courage to public share those things), but the artistic honesty; lyrics that put into words the movements of the heart, carried by original melodies. That’s another thing I love about Rumer’s music – it has actual tunes. So many commercial songs are churned out artificially – constructed bands singing constructed ditties – that proper singer-songwriter work like this is a rare joy. It takes me back to the wonderful flowering of music in the 60s and 70s when musicians like Carole King and Joni Mitchell brought their heart and soul to the public stage.

Fab, I think. How about you?