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Reflection: Calling - PG# 4813 (2004/2005) Long ago, a rabbi, blind and old waited with the people of a village for the king to arrive. Knowing that the rabbi was blind, a cynic said, “What is the point of a blind man waiting to see the king?” The rabbi answered, “Fool. Not only will I know when the king arrives, but I am able to understand what is happening better than everyone else.” When the legion appeared, the cynic shouted with the crowd, “The king is coming!” “No he is not,” the blind rabbi said. And as predicted, the legion went by without the king. A second legion marched down the road and again the cynic joined the crowd and shouted, “The king is coming. The king is coming!” Again the rabbi said the king was not coming and once again he was right. A third legion marched by and this time the crowd fell silent. But the rabbi exclaimed, “Now the king is coming!”
Reflection: Grace - PG# 4607 (2002/2003) When I was a little girl there was a game I used to always play on the playground. I used to pretend that I was a wild mustang running back and forth, yearning to be free with the wind blowing through my mane. I loved this game and I had a sense of personal belonging and freedom during it. One particular day, the softball team that always played in the field next to me turned around, started to mock me, started to neigh, started to laugh at me. This moment when I felt so disconnected from whom I really was, of not belonging, stayed with me my whole life. For some reason I was teaching Sunday morning Bible class and I told this story to my class. After I told the story, a hush fell onto the room and I thought, "Why did I tell this story? Had I disclosed too much? It was too personal." Two weeks later, they brought me a small present: a beautifully wrapped box. I lifted the lid to the box and out of the box came a beautiful silver pin of wild mustangs. They looked at me and they said, "You told that story about who it was you used to be and who it is that you have become, yearning to be free, creative, running, feeling that you belonged out into the world. And when you told that story, we understood in our own lives that we need to embrace who it is that we are, the painful memories as well as the good memories, and in embracing that, become who we were always meant to be." Another hush fell onto the room. But this time it wasn’t one of embarrassment. It was one of grace. It was a feeling that God’s love was all around us and within us. It was the feeling that we were connected to our past, to our future and to one another. Grace: the feeling that you are at love and at one with God and God’s universe.
Reflection: Healing - PG# 4614 (2002/2003)
Reflection: Hope - PG# 4604 (2002/2003)
Suddenly, I realized a sunflower is not a sunflower because of the way it looks. A sunflower has captured our hearts because of the way it behaves. It spans the heavens for the light. What is the difference between a person who is defeated by their circumstance and one who is not? It’s not the circumstance. We know people who have difficult lives and live now a life of blessing and others who had minor things happen but seem to be defeated. The difference between those two people is the one that lives a life of blessing, late one night, had a small voice inside of them that said, "You’re not going to get me!" That person somehow had a soul that knew to behave like the sunflower, constantly living in hope that things will get better, spanning the expanse of the sky, looking for the light.
Reflection: Humility - Eyes - PG# 5408 (2010/2011) The Jewish mystic, Moshe Cordovoro, said there are eight ways to practice humility, each corresponding to a place on the body. One way is with the eyes. “Do not close your eyes to the suffering of the poor,” he wrote. “Think as much as possible of their predicament. Look for the good.” You know the man on the street, the one with the tattered clothes, and ratty bags asking for money? Do you see him? Even when you give him a dime or a dollar, do you look into his eyes and see him? The suffering of the poor is invisible to us. We need to see the weak, the lost, the hungry, the sick, those who are cast out, the vulnerable. The practice of humility correlates to the ability to see another’s pain with compassion. If this is so obvious, then why is it so hard?
Reflection: Humility - Head - PG# 5412 (2010/2011) The Jewish mystic, Moshe Cordovoro, said there are eight ways to practice humility, each corresponding to a place on the body. First, the head. “Lower your gaze,” he wrote, “a person who raises their head upward glorifies himself.” The other day I set out to practice lowering my gaze. I saw the ground beneath my feet and felt each step. I noticed the tracks of a bird and I saw a blood worm finding her way back into the richness of the earth, and I saw dandelions and thought, though they are weeds, today I see their beauty. Then I started to look up and saw before me my shadow. I knew that at that moment I had a choice, to keep my head down and behold the beauty of the earth, or to leap ahead, following shadows. Maybe this is what the prophet Micah meant when he said, “…and walk humbly with your God.”
Reflection: Humility - Mouth - PG# 5415 (2010/2011) The Jewish mystic, Moshe Cordovoro, said there are eight ways to practice humility, each corresponding to a place on the body. One way is the mouth. “Express good words of Torah,” he said. “Do not speak ugliness, curses, anger, or frivolous talk. Speak well, expressing benevolence and blessing.” God created the world with a word: Let there be light. God gave us the Ten Commandments with ten utterances. What we say creates worlds. What we say can also destroy. We all know that child who is now an adult and grew up with criticism, constant utterances that diminished the light of who he was and still is. And then there is the person who grew up with words of wild unfettered praise. What a gloriously positive and joyful person she is. Speak like God and say let there be light; and God saw that the light was good.
Reflection: Inspiration - PG# 4803 (2004/2005) God calls us to enter the Mystery. It is the Soul of the Universe, the source of inspiration. The Hebrew word pardes means paradise, mystery, and orange orchard all in one. Once, I was a volunteer farmer in an orange orchard of an Israeli Kibbutz. I'd rise at four a.m. climb onto a flatbed truck to the entrance of the pardes, where I'd pick up a burlap sack from a pile and hang it across my chest. When you first enter the pardes, you are struck by the smell. It is almost intoxicating. Nothing can penetrate the heavy veil of orange that hangs in the air. I look up, and I am utterly astounded by the beauty of it all. As I pick the oranges, my burlap sack becomes heavy and my shoulder sags from the weight. And I ache from the truth of it all. This is the place where beauty, truth, and meaning are as real as smell, color and air. But the Mystery is always there, like the creek behind our house or the smile of a stranger passing us as we hurry along. The great Mystery hangs like fruit asking to be picked, moments that can be our source of inspiration, everyday moments, so plain, that we barely notice them. Enter the Mystery. Enter slowly, softly, enter heart first, because that's where Wisdom resides, invisible to the naked eye, felt only by the naked soul.
Reflection: Joy - PG# 4807 (2004/2005) My friend and I were driving back to the hotel from a meeting late one night in the central Illinois countryside. We were chatting and I was looking out my window when suddenly I saw the Big Dipper, large as half the Midwest sky, dipping into the horizon. “Stop the car!” I yelled to Mimi. Her reflexes landed us on the side of the road in a snowy embankment. For the moment I didn't care. I had never before seen this constellation so large, with every star in its formation bright as the twinkle in an angel's eye. It lay on its side as if pouring heaven's goodness onto the Earth. I was in awe. We sat there with the window open, the cold winter air on our faces, staring at the stars, not speaking. The wind began to pick up. I couldn't see the snow falling but I knew it was there, like the stars in the heaven. Silently, Mimi tried to ease us out of the snow, and as our tires spun, we laughed at the prospect of spending the whole winter on a desolate Illinois road, stargazing by night, dreaming by day. Despite our nervousness, we made it out of the embankment rather quickly, and as we drove away I kept looking over my shoulder at the stars. I thought to myself, “This is a moment to be noticed. Noticed and acknowledged. What a blessing to be alive, what joy to be a witness to God's creation!”
Reflection: Kindness - PG# 4809 (2004/2005) Once there was a great rabbi who traveled to a village and knocked on the door of a poor man. The poor man took him in, fed him, and prepared a bed for him. Touched by the man, the rabbi blessed him and left. The poor man's fortunes began to change and he became the wealthiest man in the area. The great rabbi returned to the village to see the man but he had posted a guard to keep away the beggars asking for help. The rabbi insisted on seeing him and soon the guard led him into a magnificent parlor. There he waited a very long time. Finally the rich man entered the room but it was obvious that he was eager for the rabbi to leave. “Look through that window,” the rabbi said to him. “What do you see?” “People going about their business,” replied his host. Then the Rabbi said, “Look in the mirror. Now what do your see?” “Only myself,” answered the rich man. “Both the window and the mirror are made of glass,” said the rabbi, “But through one you can see others and through the other, only yourself. The only difference between you and the others is a reflective coating. It is time to scratch off the silver.” The wealthy man grew silent. He looked out the window and then looked in the mirror at himself. He then understood what the Rabbi had said and repented. Never again was a needy soul turned away from the home of the wealthy man. Our Rabbi's taught, Al tifrosh mhatzibur, do not separate yourselves from the community. We are here to love and extend to one another goodness and kindness. May it be so.
Reflection: Kindness - PG# 4809 (2004/2005) Once there was a great rabbi who traveled to a village and knocked on the door of a poor man. The poor man took him in, fed him, and prepared a bed for him. Touched by the man, the rabbi blessed him and left. The poor man's fortunes began to change and he became the wealthiest man in the area. The great rabbi returned to the village to see the man but he had posted a guard to keep away the beggars asking for help. The rabbi insisted on seeing him and soon the guard led him into a magnificent parlor. There he waited a very long time. Finally the rich man entered the room but it was obvious that he was eager for the rabbi to leave. “Look through that window,” the rabbi said to him. “What do you see?” “People going about their business,” replied his host. Then the Rabbi said, “Look in the mirror. Now what do your see?” “Only myself,” answered the rich man. “Both the window and the mirror are made of glass,” said the rabbi, “But through one you can see others and through the other, only yourself. The only difference between you and the others is a reflective coating. It is time to scratch off the silver.” The wealthy man grew silent. He looked out the window and then looked in the mirror at himself. He then understood what the Rabbi had said and repented. Never again was a needy soul turned away from the home of the wealthy man. Our Rabbi's taught, Al tifrosh mhatzibur, do not separate yourselves from the community. We are here to love and extend to one another goodness and kindness. May it be so.
Reflection: Love - PG# 4800 (2004/2005) My father was always a major influence in my life. He was a man of enormous generosity of spirit. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that he was demoted from a god figure and even then he was only an angel. One day he pulled me aside and said, "Karyn, I want to tell you three guiding principles for your life. The first is a sense of humor. You must have a sense of humor because it will help you get through the bad times. And, honey, you need to work on yours!" "The second thing is," he said, "you need a good name. A good name is important and crucial. It’s what people will see you as and judge you by. It’s who they will recognize. You must be careful of everything that you do in your life because that establishes a good name." Then I forget the third. Years would go by and I would think, "Ok, three things: a good sense of humor, a good name. But what’s the third?" At one point when I was later an adult, my father and I were together and I said, "Daddy, do you remember the time when you told me there were three guiding principles for every life? One is a sense of humor, the other a good name. But I forget the third! What was the third?" My father smiled and his eyes crinkled, filled with love that I had always known and felt as a child. He said to me, "I don’t remember!" And then I realized. I realized that he had set me on my course by giving me the first two principles, but by forgetting the third I had to evolve my own path. It was the search for that third principle that would give me meaning and purpose, the third principle that would be uniquely mine, that would set the course of my life. My father had given me the foundation. The greatest gift of love is that he stepped aside and allowed my own path to evolve, always guiding me, always loving me, and yet allowing me to discover life’s meaning and purpose.
Reflection: Peace - PG# 4815 (2004/2005) 5:00 A.M. just before sunrise, 100 people gather on a beach in Southern Florida to join the thousands around the world in the yearly international meditation for world peace. The air is slightly chilled, the sky shades of red, pink and rose, the ocean ever so quiet. With them are my close friend Carol and my daughter Talia. Talia is a young child of seven. There is no way she is going to sit for an hour in meditation. As the sun rises and light heats up the morning, Talia is walking quietly up and down the beach collecting shells, washing them in the salty water and carefully placing them in the fold of her dress. The group has settled into a deep quiet, hoping to bring the gentle energy of peace down to Earth. At the end of the hour my friend Carol opens her eyes, stretches to a waking state and looks for Talia. Talia's dress is heavy with her treasure. The two find each other. “How was it?” Carol asks my daughter. “Fine,” Talia answers politely. Carol can tell that something is bothering her. “What did you do?” She asks. “I collected shells” “Did you meditate for world peace?” “Yeah, but Carol, it was so beautiful,” Talia blurted out. “And you and your friends had your eyes closed and couldn't see the sunrise. You missed everything!” With their eyes closed, Carol and her companions experienced inner peace; but with her eyes open, Talia witnessed the peace and hope of a new day. In Scripture we pray: O-seh sha-lom bim-ro-mav, O God, You make peace in the high heavens; Hu ya-a-seh sha-lom a-lei-nu - Please, God, help us make peace on earth.
Reflection: Prayer - PG# 4615 (2002/2003) There is a story told of long ago that a bird—a magnificent bird, the most beautiful thing in the world—flew into a kingdom. The king looked at the bird and realized if he could somehow capture this bird then he could be part of the most beautiful thing in the world, that had all the colors, that was large and glorious. So he ordered his people to capture the bird, but the bird flew to the highest tree and they didn’t know how to get it. The people came together and started to think, "If we form a human pyramid, the biggest guys on the bottom on all fours, the next people on their backs and shoulders, and backs and shoulders until we can reach the top of the tree, then we can capture the bird." And so they did until they got to the very top. Then the youngest, smallest child of the community climbed on the backs of all the people, she got up to the top of the tree and went to reach for the bird... The story has an ending, but, frankly, I never remember because there are many possibilities at this point. It’s possible, for instance, that the girl captured the bird and brought it back to the king. It’s possible that the bird flew away. It’s also possible that she sat cross-legged, staring at the bird in enormous awe. What if the bird were prayer? What if prayer, being that elusive, came into our lives as the most beautiful thing in the world? Sometimes we can capture it. Sometimes it evades us. And sometimes in a moment of prayer, we just sit like a child in awe.
Reflection: Prayer- PG# 4800 (2004/2005) One day a young boy who was known to be a simple child came to Rabbi Israel's synagogue to pray. He brought with him a flute that he had made from a reed. During the prayers he became restless, for he was unable to read and participate. He began to play with his flute in his pocket and his father reprimanded him, telling him to settle down. But the prayer service went on. The people continued their prayers with a lifeless drone. Everything had a sense of routine and habit to it. It was as if people were praying out of a sense of obligation racing through the prayers to get to the end. They were going so fast that the simple boy not participate. Finally during the last prayer everybody was standing and mumbling their prayers. The boy could no longer contain himself and took the flute from his pocket, set it in his mouth, and began to play his music. A terror fell upon the congregation. Horrified, they looked upon the boy; their backs cringed, they waited for the walls to fall upon them. But a flood of joy came over the countenance of Rabbi Israel. He raised his hands over the boy and said, “Until this moment our prayers have been dead, falling to the floor even as we speak them. They are joyless and lifeless. But now because of this small boy, with his prayer so sincere and heartfelt, our prayers have taken flight with the clear pure sound of the flute and God has received them with love.” May we all find the innocence and sincerity to allow our prayers to fly. |
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