Hope's Cafe

When I was in junior high, my parents moved from a small town where I had lived since birth, to a larger town very different in character from the one from which I moved.  I struggled through eighth grade to find a place for myself.  In ninth grade, I sometimes had a group of four friends. Sometimes I had two sets of friends when the four would split up in petty arguments.  My favor would be sought by each side, encouraging me to support their “side” of the disagreement.  I sometimes attempted to be peacemaker.  More often, I sat it out on the sidelines, as they were not very receptive to my efforts.  I could hardly believe they could so easily find cause for dissension.     

              Years ago, when my daughter was small, I acquired a battered little book called Let’s Be Enemies.  I think a friend whose children were older passed it on to me.  Ironically, it did indeed look like a couple of “enemies” had used it to bash each other.  The book told the story of two little boys who got into some conflict and swore never to be friends anymore.  Yet in a very short time, they discovered their friendship was more important than their disagreement. 

              As I contemplate the world today, I long for people to see their differences as less important than their commonalities, their self-interests in the context of mutual cooperation for the greater good.  I came across an interesting article on the site “How to Heal Our Divides” by David McRaney,  which addresses the author’s questions of:  Why do we argue? What purpose does it serve? Is all this bickering online helping or hurting us?

              McRaney invited famed cognitive scientist Hugo Mercier, an expert on human reasoning and argumentation to be a guest on his show.  Mercier explained that we evolved to reach consensus.  “Groups that did a better job of reaching consensus, by both producing and evaluating arguments, were better at reaching communal goals and out-survived those that didn’t,” Mercier reported. 

              Consensus seems predicated on the willingness to listen to others and also to taking time to educate oneself on the issues, two characteristics that seem sadly lacking.  Critical thinking is in short supply, a matter for another blog!

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  “But just as they did in Philadelphia when they were writing the constitution, sooner or later, you’ve got to compromise. You’ve got to start making the compromises that arrive at a consensus and move the country forward.”

Colin Powell

Easter was rather subdued this year.  This winter has been a strangely hard one, a yo-yo of cold and snow interspersed with warm temperatures that keep the roads muddy from unfinished road work last fall.  The weather seems undecided what it wants to do.  Life itself feels uncertain.  In this post-Easter season which seems perhaps more “aftermath” than “afterglow,” I ponder “Days of Joy and Laughter.”

For centuries in Eastern Orthodox, Catholic and Protestant countries, the week following Easter Sunday, included “Bright Sunday,” (The Sunday After Easter).  It was observed by the faithful as “Days Of Joy And Laughter” with parties and picnics to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection.  Churchgoers and pastors played practical jokes on each other, drenched each other with water, told jokes, sang and danced.

 This custom was begun by the Greeks in the early centuries of Christianity and was known as “Holy Humor Sunday.” Still celebrated in some churches, it is sometimes known as “Joke Sunday”, as in the joke is on the devil because Jesus conquered death. 

How do we recapture that sense of lighthearted living, that capability to rebound from disappointment or hardship?  Ironically, or perhaps not, April is National Stress Awareness Month.  (I learned this from my Silver Sneakers site, which was promoting healthful habits like proper nutrition and exercise.  I am now signed up for Zumba online in the morning.  We’ll see how that goes!)

I am reminded that one way to address difficulties is to pay attention to one’s body, the signals we give ourselves of what we need.  I can fight sleep like a child when what my body is saying is “Please take me to bed.  I’m tired.”  I can reach for sweets when I’m fully aware that a dose of protein is what my body is in search of.  I can collapse on the couch when my awareness is that I would feel so much better if I took even a short walk.  Yes, yes, of course, sometimes it can be wise to collapse on the couch or to have that cookie. We can indulge ourselves in some way without making it an habitual practice. 

And, as always, we can stop long enough to ask ourselves, “What am I grateful for in this moment?”  “Count your blessings!” as the old hymn goes. 

Let us live into spring, giving attention to our wellbeing and our blessings. 

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus: Recipe for Life from Thrifty Fun (*or I suggest design your own. 😊)

Ingredients:

• 1 cup good thoughts
• 1 cup consideration for others
• 1 cup kind deeds
• 3 cups forgiveness
• 2 cups well beaten faults
• Tears of joy, sorrow and sympathy
• 4 cup prayer and faith

Back in my therapist days, I went to a workshop that included an exercise  related to self-esteem.  I recall half of us sat in a circle while the other half walked around the circle whispering affirmations in our ears.  One woman whispered “You have the most beautiful smile.”  I had never given any thought to my smile.  But I certainly was aware of it after that.

One day I was at an outdoor café and a woman I had worked with years before called out to me as she walked by.  She came over and said “I would have known that smile anywhere!” 

As I had become more aware of my smile, I was more conscious of taking time to smile at people.  Once, on a break from another workshop in downtown Chattanooga, I took the opportunity for a short walk.  I encountered a homeless man, disheveled looking, hunched over as he walked.  He lifted his head and I smiled at him.  He broke out in a smile and stood up straight.  He went on his way, as did I, never a word exchanged.  Yet something significant seemed to have happened.

As I write this blog, it is Maundy Thursday, the day Christians call to remembrance Jesus’ last meal with the disciples before his death.  Scripture recounts his washing the disciples’ feet, a symbol of humility and serving one another.  For many years, there was a priest in Chattanooga who made a ministry of  washing and treating the feet of the homeless.  What a powerful gesture! What a ministry!

We really have so many opportunities to uplift one another if we take the time to notice.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  “Most smiles are started by another smile.”

As a kid, Saturday mornings were fantastic:  grab a bowl of cereal and take in the cartoons and other Saturday morning fare.  As an adult, Saturdays became more regimented:  get the laundry and housecleaning chores underway.  But since I began this current pastorate, some Saturdays have become real treats because periodically we have craft days.

 While we often do a craft associated with the season of the year, today, as we enter into “Holy Week,” I led “Wind of Spirit, Beads of Blessing.”  We enjoyed visiting with one another while we made wind chimes and prayer beads, with beautiful results. 

Prayer beads and wind chimes both have been around for centuries.  The exact origin of prayer beads remains uncertain but their earliest use probably traces to Hindu prayers in India.  Buddhism likely borrowed the concept from Hinduism.  They vary in their use by the different traditions which include Islam, Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Bahai, and more recently Protestant denominations.  Jews use knots on their prayer shawls for the same purpose. The intent, however, is the same: to increase focus during prayer time. 

In 1980, an Episcopal group in Texas, exploring methods of prayer, devised Anglican prayer beads, which have 33 beads representing the 33 years of Jesus’ life.  Some traditions use 99 prayer beads, some 108.  Catholics have 54.  All numbers have symbolic meaning to that particular tradition. 

Wind chimes do not have the same purpose but many people experience them as meditative and spiritually uplifting.  The harmonious sounds can represent balance, harmony and blessings.  As chimes sway in the breeze, they symbolize the ever-changing nature of life and the importance of embracing change with grace and resilience.  In Biblical times the high priests’ garments were adorned with bells in the belief that the sound warded off evil when they were in the midst of their sacred duties.  And the use of cymbals was crucial in religious ceremonies.

Of course, as much as I enjoyed the crafts today, it was the sense of community engendered as we worked together that was the greatest blessing. 

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  (Insert “women” where it says “girls” and you have a description of our time spent as friends together at craft day)  Girls should be strong together. Strong like steel, merry like the tinkling of chimes dancing in the wind. — Kristin Halbrook

In 2017 our son in law invited Terry to join him for a wood carving school in the tiny town of Elbigenalp, Austria.  Jenna and Sebastian and I tagged along.  She and I took a lot of walks and spent a lot of time on the little balcony outside our room, just comfortably chatting and  drinking in the scenery, while Sebastian played with his toys.    But one day, after Jenna had been out on a walk by herself, she returned  exclaiming, “Mom, you have to see this! There is a church with all these bones in it!”  

Later we trekked over to the church, descending many stone stairs to the “ossuary.”  An immense pile of skulls and bones were stacked behind some iron bars, an astounding sight I can tell you. 

An ossuary, or ossarium— a chamber for storing human bones—can be described as a place founded to house skeletal remains, often used when cemeteries are overcrowded and burial space is scarce, as, for example, during the plague in the Middle Ages. Bodies are first buried in a temporary grave, and later removed to allow for increased use of space. 

There is an even more extensive history of this practice.  Throughout ancient and medieval times and in the Catholic and Orthodox faiths, displaying and maintaining the bones of the deceased, was a way to honor the dead. The “Bone Church” in the Czech Republic contains 40,000 to 70,000, including an impressive chandelier of bones which contains at least one of every bone in the human body. 

The Bone Church is the result of the accumulation of bones after the mid-14^th century outbreak of the Black Death, followed by the Hussite Wars in the 15^th century.  The bones were piled up pyramid style in the basement where it was used an ossuary.  In 1870, a local woodcarver and carpenter was employed to organize the bones.  After bleaching and carving them, he decorated the interior of the church, which has been described as “a breathtaking macabre result.” 

Even earlier, Jews in the Jerusalem area practiced “ossilegium,” or secondary burial.  About a year after the initial burial, when the flesh had decomposed, the bones of the deceased were placed in a small stone box, called an ossuary.  These boxes were elaborately decorated and served a similar purpose to our preservation of the ashes of loved ones. 

Prior to the Jews use of “ossilegium,” the Zorastrians, used a deep well for this function as long as 3,000 years ago.  The called it “astudan,”  literally “the place for the bones,” and had many rituals and regulations regarding it.

Despite its practical application when burial space is limited, the bones were intended to remind people of their mortality, encourage them to live their lives morally, and to recognize death as the “great equalizer.”  One dies whether one is male or female, a king or a pauper, beloved or despised.  Worthy considerations as we age.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  “We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will” – Chuck Palahniuk

Consider the following:

“It is a particularly bitter irony that in the developed world with its bounty of goods and services, people increasingly struggle with what is termed time poverty.  They would much rather have a sense of time affluence; in fact, many have reported that they would prefer it to an increase in their income.

This comes from a book review of the book How to Inhabit Time:  Understanding the Past, Facing the Future, Living Faithfully Now.  The author draws from theology and philosophy, as well as from art history, literary criticism, and music theory. 

While  at some point we all have likely said “I just don’t have enough time,” the phrase “time poverty” apparently came into its current usage in the midst of the pandemic.  As more people were working from home, work and home life became more blurred.  Even more reliance on technology was another result, as we sought to stay connected when in-person gatherings were not advisable. 

In a fascinating article by Laura Giurge and Ashley Whillans, the authors explore time poverty and the various factors that contribute to it: “ Although wealth has risen around the world, material prosperity has not translated into an abundance of time; on the contrary, rising wealth often exacerbates feelings of time poverty . Defined as the chronic feeling of having too many things to do and not enough time to do them , time poverty is increasing in society. Data from the Gallup US Daily Poll – a nationally representative sample of US residents– shows that, in 2011, 70% of employed Americans reported that they “never had enough time,” and in 2018, this proportion increased to 80%.”

Giurge and Whillans identify organizational, institutional, and psychological factors that contribute to time poverty.  One example: globally the average for time spent commuting is 300 hours per year travelling to and from work.  Statistics on government paperwork are even more startling.   In 1980 the United States Congress passed the Paper Reduction Act, which was revised in 1995 to further address the time consumed in paperwork.  Yet Giurge and Whillan report that “In 2015, federal government paperwork demands cost US citizens 9.78 billion hours or the equivalent of $215 billion a year in lost wages. In 2019, the US Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs (OIRA)—the agency that oversees the implementation of governmental regulations—estimated that paperwork burdens had grown to 11.6 billion hours.”

These factors would seem to interplay.  Someone applying for Medicaid has eligibility paperwork that can range from 24 to 31 pages.  How difficult for some of these folks and how stressful and depressing that could be.

Despite the challenges these factors present, we can cultivate attitudes that are intentional about our use of time and that help us to care for ourselves and one another.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  “The bad news is time flies.  The good news is that you are the pilot.”  Michael Altshuler

 Four years ago, Terry and I were taking care of our grandson Sebastian.  Our son-in-law was immersed in a frantic effort to get from his work assignment in Africa to Maryland where our daughter was hospitalized in unexpected early labor.  As if that were not stressful enough, Sebastian woke up pulling his ear and crying “Take it off! Take it off!”  We got him quickly to the doctor’s office. His ear was so full of wax that it had to be cleared out before the ear could be examined.  In the following days, Sebastian was astonished by the gift of his renewed hearing.  He would frequently say “Listen!” or “Did you hear that?”  How much he had been missing!

Sebastian wasn’t hearing things because of his infected ears.  But how much do we miss because we simply aren’t paying attention?  Mary Oliver, whose poetry I have recently quoted in this blog, wrote “Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”  What a succinct and delightful formula.  What might be the outcome of living in such a way?  I would love to hear from readers about your own experiences with paying attention, how it impacted your experience of wonder, and how you have sought to share what you have discovered. Please put your comments in the spot designated for responses.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus: The good news from that week I described was that  our son- in- law was whisked from the airport directly to the hospital and was there for the birth of Sebastian’s baby brother, who arrived safely after several difficult days.   Happy fourth birthday, Gabriel!

Glory be!  I discovered my copy of Woven Flecks of Thought , which I despaired of ever recovering.   “Dangerous Times” in this collection caught my eye. 

As a child in my small Oklahoma town, I roamed pretty freely.  One day a woman I recognized from church stopped to offer me a ride.  I was five. All I could think was I should never accept a ride from anyone.  Maybe she was disguised as someone I knew.  I refused the ride.  She was clearly offended.

 I must have passed this on to my daughter.  When she was six, I was delayed at work, which meant she needed to be transferred from the after school program to the 24 hour day care operated by the same folks. She expected I would pick her up and this did not seem trustworthy to get in a van to go somewhere else.  She fought them as they tried to get her to go in the van.   

As a young woman in my 20s, driving from Dallas to Waco on an extremely hot August day, I saw a man, overweight, likely in his 50s, trudging down the road, gas can in hand.  His face was beet red and sweating.  I went through the entire litany in my head about the danger of offering rides.  The image of my mother scolding my father for, once again, having offered rides to servicemen who were hitchhiking from the base in Wichita, when he had been there visiting his father.  My higher instinct kicked in and I stopped.  He was so relieved.  I drove him to the next exit which had a gas station.  It seems like I offered to wait and drive him back to his vehicle but as I recall he was calling his brother-in-law from the gas station. 

What halcyon days it seems now when the biggest fear was about accepting or offering rides to strangers, the days before 24 hour news cycles reporting bombings of mosques and churches, mass shootings in schools and concerts and city parks and theaters.  How do we respond?

Hopefully not by living in fear, which is a “mind-killer….the little-death that brings total obliteration,” wrote Frank Herbert. He continued: “I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  “Dangerous Times”

Brother

Yesterday, I saw you up ahead

climbing the long hill.

Your left leg buckled as you pushed on

stumbling with the bags you carried.

I know that road; I drive it every day

Old houses leaning under the kudzu vines

Deserted gas station

Bus stop half a mile away.

You stopped to rest on your cane.

I wanted to offer you a ride, but caution won.

These are dangerous times, we understand.

I hesitated,

but I drove on.  I am safe.

My heart is heavy.

Sister

At the red light you stand under the store awning

Rain and wind whip your light coat

You are drenched and shivering.

The light turns green.  I want to help you.

I drive slowly on and watch.

You shift your bundles and bow your grey head against the

storm

and fighting your umbrella, cross the street.

I argue with myself.

Life is hard. 

What harm can come?  Just two women.

I back up, turn around, offer you a ride.

You look at me, smile weakly, shake your head no and walk

on.

I know…yes,

These are dangerous times.

              Mary Campbell Monroe in Flecks of Thought

Every time a Mary Oliver poem crosses my path, I am again astounded by her profound sense of life.  Her writing is so powerfully beautiful, elegant, exquisite.  Yet she is so succinct in conveying her thoughts. I was searching for her poem “The Cosmic Dancer,” when I encountered this one:

 “When Death Comes”

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn;

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,

tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

Mary Oliver left this world in January 2019 at age 84, clearly not having “simply visited this world.”  Reading her words reminded me of another Mary, a published poet as well, and a dear friend of mine, who died in January this year, having been well on her way to 102.  Mary Monroe was a delightful little sprite.  She had her own style in every way, yet her poetry had the same way of captivating me both with its beauty and its concise delivery.  Single poems had won awards and been published.  But in 2020 at age 99, she selected some of her favorites into a book titled Woven Flecks of Thought. Sadly, I think my copy did not survive this move.  I am in search of another. 

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Cafe Bonus: “Poetry … is the revelation of a feeling that the poet believes to be interior and personal which the reader recognizes as his own.” — Salvatore Quasimodo, from a speech in New York, quoted in The New York Times. 

Before the pandemic, I had been attending a dream group at the Center for Mindful Living in Chattanooga.  I have always found dreams fascinating, likely an interest first sparked by my mother’s captivation by them.  When I came across a six week course in dream work through Spiritual Directors International, I decided to sign up, despite the fact that this is the same six weeks of Lent.   I hardly need anything else on my plate, but I recognized I missed having that group. And it is rare these days that I do something simply for myself. 

The first session was a reminder of some of the basics about dreams, items I recalled from the Chattanooga dream group.  These basic principles are:  1) There is no such thing as a dream with only one meaning or level of meaning.  2) No dream comes to tell you, the dreamer, what you already know.  3) All dreams come in the service of health and wholeness. We are encouraged to keep a dream journal,  and to record dreams in it in first person, present tense.  We are instructed to give the dream a title and date it. 

I have had some periods of intense, vivid dreaming.  I spent a full year or more after Terry’s heart attack having dreams where he would be present and then he would just fade out.  Alternatively, I would be trying frantically to reach him, usually during a storm.  Those were easily understood to emanate from my anxiety.  Some are less clear.  This week I had a dream where I was nearly paralyzed and only after much effort was I able to speak what I wanted to say.  I have pondered this one.  Where in my life am I feeling that?

There are those who dismiss dreams as random neurons firing or offer some other explanation.  Maybe some of them are.  But the possibilities they offer for exploration are, in my estimation,  one more avenue available to us to learn and develop.  I find that tantalizing.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  In ancient times, people put a lot of stock in dreams.  Rulers often made important decisions based on dreams and their interpretation.  This was the impetus for my book Dream in Progress, a book of meditations based on dreams in the Bible.