Author: Brenda J.R. Goodman

"I write because I do not know what I think until I read what I say." ~Flannery O'Connor. I often write through a theological lens, embracing mystery over certainty, opening to the expansiveness of wonder, writing and waxing poetic about theology, pop culture, politics, grief, and all things messy, painful, paradoxical, and beautiful, in sacred spectrums & both/ands. I am a chaplain, mystic, vegan, runner, waterskier, baseball fan, and writer, who loves photography, poetry, books, podcasts, art, theater, movies, good TV, and music (especially classical, jazz, and the 80's). Partner to JohnE, mama to Taylor and Nathan (my little, not so little anymore, theologians). I value connection, kindness, and compassion in all endeavors. I am an American Baptist Christian Agnostic. I believe paradox is an important teacher, woven throughout our living and spirituality. Still playing my trumpet, but the chops aren't what they used to be. I am a Myers-Briggs INFJ (strong I & J, on the fence leaning N & F), and an Enneagram 5, wing 4. I have recurring dreams about being able to fly, and exploring caves. “Here is the testimony of faith: darkness is not dark to God; the night is as bright as the day.” ~Barbara Brown Taylor "We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives." -Toni Morrison

Do Not Be Afraid


Have you ever thought of the words, “Do not be afraid” as a blessing? Autumn is here, a new season, new program endeavors (school, church, etc.), new harvest, the blanket of cooler weather arriving to rest the earth, new dying to new beginning. I decided to post this blessing on my blog so it may continue to be a blessing for me and for you. I wrote it after being invited to provide a blessing for students, faculty, and staff during the Opening Convocation at The Iliff School of Theology. Often when I sermonize, or prepare for blessings and prayer, I ponder the yearnings in my own heart. I recalled my own visceral emotions from being a new student in graduate school, and asked myself what I would have liked to have been blessed with as a beginning seminarian. 

I also recalled what one of my dear mentors, Rev. Greer said as he commented about my first sermon that I gave in my ordaining congregation. Knowing me well, he could see how I had preached from a vulnerable place. “[Sermons] are not only windows for others into the ancient stories of our faith tradition. They are windows into ourselves. Good preaching, in my humble opinion, speaks as much of, and to, the soul of the preacher as it does to the souls of those listening.” This is what he called preaching with integrity. When I preach, bless, write, pray, lead, it comes from my own sacred space of wonder, infused with Spirit to whom I call upon with open heart, mind, and body. Where do your thoughts and prayers take you? Is it to a place of head or heart? Is it to a place of attachments, or freedom? Do you take risks in response, or remain comforted by the same wineskins unable to receive fresh wine? (Mk. 2:22) 

It is easy to fall into fear when something new presents itself. My teacher, in the Benedictine Spiritual Formation Program, used to greet us, encourage us, and send us out with the all important reminder to not be afraid. Fear is an unfortunate, driving force in much of our world, even in some religious circles, and it warps and shadows the light of release, vulnerability, possibility, and willingness to listen and to change. Brene Brown, a research professor and writer, talks about people who have a profound capacity for joy, and how they can lean into vulnerability because of it. (I quoted her in my first sermon by the way!) She explained that being joyful is vulnerable because we tend to go straight to how that joy might be taken away. Fear sneaks in, and we imagine what might go wrong instead. I think this falls inline with new beginnings as well. She said that people who “soften into joy” (or, as I would add, begin something new, or courageously begin to change) instead of using a blissful moment as a “warning to start practicing disaster, they used it as a reminder to practice gratitude.”

While the context of the following words are within a seminary of new/seasoned students and professors embarking on a new year of academic studying, teaching, and reciprocal learning, may these words also be a blessing in whatever newness you find yourself in. The running theme is a blessed reminder to not be afraid. (Is. 44:8, 54:4, 51:7, Acts 18:9, Joshua 10:25, Jeremiah 46:27, 30:10, Zech. 8:15, Lk. 12:4, Mt. 28:10, 14:27, Mk. 5:36, Jn 14:25, and so on…you get the point…I could go on and on. The words “Do not fear”, “Do not be afraid”, “Fear not” are all over the sacred scriptures, and for good reason…and for a blessing):

____________________
Iliff School of Theology
Opening Convocation
 
Blessing from an Alumna
9/16/2015
———————————-
 
On behalf of all Iliff alumni, a blessing:
Students, professors, leaders, staff, and community,
Do not be afraid.
As you cross thresholds may you be mindful that they are thin places.
Do not be afraid.
As you move from canned answers to compelling questions, remember that critical thinking is intimate and emotional, and that seminary wholeness requires spiritual attentiveness as the equal, if not the greater, to academic excellence.
Do not be afraid.
As you receive such richness in your learning, may you give with abundance.
Do not be afraid.
As you ponder all things intellectual and scholarly, factual and historical, may you encounter Mystery and find rest in the poetry of having no answers.
Do not be afraid.
As you shape this place with who you are, may you recall the ancestors who walked where you walk, and let them breath in you.
Do not be afraid.
As you evaluate what you are learning, may you ask yourself how you are loving.
Do not be afraid.
As you release your grasp and let go, may you embark on the necessary work of grief. You will grieve, but
Do not be afraid.
As you encounter the structures of institutionalism, take the risk to be joyful, and to be vulnerable, and to fail, so that empathy doesn’t get shoved away by ego and perfection.
Do not be afraid.
May you be challenged to move beyond just finding yourself because you’re in a new location and a new experience, but because you are becoming yourself as a pilgrim, who is changed by real relationship to something of value.
Do not be afraid.
As you read books, excerpts, quotations, pericopes, and your vocabulary grows with delicious new words, may you not abandon the profound in words of simplicity, like grace, thanks, hello, belief, forgiveness, love.
Do not be afraid.
As you carry the financial burdens of educational costs, may you act in solidarity with the marginalized at every cost…and
Do not be afraid.
As you discuss, debate, question, read, write, and research, may you find sacred silence, space, soul nurturing rituals, and community.
Do not be afraid.
As you bravely share your sacred story, may you gently catch the sacred stories of others, and be changed by them.
Do not be afraid.
In the midst of all that is complexly and beautifully human, may you be directed by Divine leading.
Do not be afraid.
May you balance academic discipline with humble discipleship. 
Do not be afraid.
As you work your brain in seminary, may you be careful not to check your unique faith or your heart at the door. 
Do not be afraid.
May you all be responsible learners and leaders who don’t forget the essentiality of hearT work in the midst of harD work.
Do not be afraid.
As you deconstruct and reconstruct, may you find courage in the process of dying little by little knowing that it will free you to live into new beginnings.
Do not be afraid.
As you balance studies and teaching, families and work, may you find rest, peace, and play. It’s okay…
Do not be afraid.
As you doubt yourself, your reason for being here, your purpose, and your future, may you know deeply that You. are. enough.
You cannot hear the words, “Do not be afraid” too many times. So be blessed by them, and say them, again and again, to yourself and to each other.
May the Source of all wisdom and knowledge grant you strength and sustenance through the coming year. Blessings and Peace to you.
Amen

Blue Light: A Poem About Spirit, and Life’s Complexity and Beauty

Pentecost Sunday. Romans 8:6 says, “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” I often find that dance, art, journaling, pondering, praying, breathing, grieving…are ways in which we attempt to embody and reflect Spirit’s furtive, yet ubiquitous nature, engaging Spirit with experiences of the inexplicable. Even as Spirit intercedes with “sighs too deep for words,” this poem is my attempt to describe through poetic prose the way in which Spirit shows up, transforms, sustains, and breathes through all of life; evident, but never fully in our grasp.

Blue Light
Blue Light, Spirit, like the essence of night
Soft, tranquil, gelid
A hushed, low luster
It eases the burden I secretly maintain
It shoulders me into a breath of simplicity
I rest in Blue Light, carried
Like a snowflake brushing my ear with a loud silence
Whispering an invitation to float
Like snowflakes, wherein forgotten droplets of water hold the universe
Frozen in a delicate design, and I can see it,
A blue-lit instant
Power in the bursting of a flowering bulb
A soul sensation like a paint brush on my carnal canvas
Exposure of a deep yearning; a visceral longing
Igniting the spark to be a Creating, Connecting being,
Sensually ethereal
Gripping as a melancholy, musical drone
Fiery, as a jazz blue note, unable to be written on the score of life
It fills my soul to lift me into genesis of dance 
Places me on edges of lament,
Blue Light

Imagining the courage to die little by little
Freed to live in the new beginning of every moment
Blue Light revealing…I am to be mutable
While I am enough
The magnitude of awakening 
The mysterious Sound

Created in me, created in we, 
Blue Light.

—

“Gripping, as a melancholy, musical drone…Fiery, as a jazz blue note, unable to be written on the score of life…” Having been ordained on Pentecost Sunday last year (wow! it’s been an entire year!), I share here an excerpt from my seminary/ordination theological papers. I wrote in one section, as was required, about Spirit:

“Spirit cannot be chained in a word; its historical manner is ever the moan…” -Jones and Lakeland. This reminds me of a musical drone-constant, erie and mysterious. The Song of Athene, by contemporary composer, John Tavener, begins with a vocal bass drone. It is one, very low note, continually sung throughout the entire piece. It is soft, resonate, distant, but without it, the rest of the notes would not be filled and supported the way in which they are. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7q1VRiwZF0 Song of Athene, Tavener) I invite you to listen to the piece and imagine that continuous note as a metaphor of the Holy Spirit. (This piece includes a reference to Luke 23:42, “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”) On the other hand, Spirit is also aligned to the energy of jazz: fiery, motivating—as opposed to, but in addition to, subtle and quieting. “…the jolt of joy when a jazz note finally leaps off the map of meaning into the improvisational nowhere of “insanity”. -Jones & Lakeland. Spirit is like this. The “blue note” in jazz, akin to Spirit, plays in a slightly lower tone than the major scale note, expressing itself in a way that changes the entire feel. It cannot be written on the score, it is not a drastic shift, but its influence is profound. In much the same way, Spirit cannot be “written” on the “score of life” but it has a profound impact on a life of faithful discernment, contemplation, and action. Wynton Marsalis, trumpet player and composer (a favorite of mine), can play using what musicians call circular breathing. The instrumentalist breathes in through the nose while continuously pushing air out of the mouth so that the notes are not interrupted. (http://vimeo.com/39864391 Cherokee, Ray Noble, arranged by Wynton Marsalis- Circular breathing example begins at 2:12.) Watch the continuous breath at 2:12 as Wynton plays. It is incredible! Spirit is like this movement of breath.

—
Jones, Serene & Lakeland, Paul. Constructive Theology: A Contemporary Approach to Classical Themes. Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg  
     Fortress, 2005.


Jonah on My Mind

REGURGITANT JONAHDOX
 
In the dark, depths of bellies and holds of ships 
truths of uncertainty are the only waters on which to sail. 
For the story of Jonah is an absurdity where 
the revealing of unknowing is the upchucked truth. 
 
A silent prophet runs away from a wind-hurling God
Is Jonah resistant, or is God? For God is revealed as a 
nonsensical changing of the changeless One, 
who wants to proclaim wickedness of humans, then compassion for the living!?
 
Such ambiguity gives reason again and again to desire 
the putrid belly of a fish, where darkness calms, 
and oh to be centered in the body of such a grand creature- 
in the gut of intuition; perhaps fish are gifts to be inside of…
 
But then Jonah is let out, not to be birthed, but to be 
spewed, vomited…Provisions of fish given and why? 
Only to be transformed into regurgitant projectiles..
I’d rather stay in slime..
 
But I am Jonah, the only one in the story who is given a name! 
I am called, and the earth and its surroundings respond to me, don’t you see? 
 
I sleep during storms because I am confident, but not so is the 
God of annoyance by Ninevites, this so-called God who demands me 
to employ the power that God is supposed to hold…
 
Were it not already in God’s possession? 
Or has God’s absence only made my story true- 
as the named one, Jonah: wisdom identified?
 
Perhaps Jonah is God and God is Jonah. 
Maybe Jonah is you, where disobedience is divine, 
where sleep is sacred, where bowels of fish mirror visceral experiences- 
providing new lands and destinations…where emotions are real, 
where your insistence on the absurdities of life’s leadings 
make God the one who changes. Can God be changed? 
 
…You, the one with identity, you, the Jonah who reminds God
by your devious wit, creating a God who is worthy to believe..
because you have a name…
 
“Should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, 
in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons 
who do not know their right hand from their left and also many animals?” 
This God asks. And of course Jonah silently knows, hidden under his anger. 
The named one Jonah, in a revered recalcitrance 
finally creates the God of compassion worthy to be known…
 
And all along you thought Jonah was the one who didn’t get it. 
For is it not good to question what we have been told? 
 
And so Jonah’s story, which is our story, is told, 
from pendulums of emotions, from daring adventures 
and risk taking endeavors where the divinity of humanity is affirmed.
 
Embrace the absurdity! Let us all run away with wind-hurls, 
travel the seas, go to the depths of fish-gutsy questions and rebelliousness, 
spewed onto lands where the two most powerful words are voiced 
by the least expected ones, those Ninevites who got it right when they said, 
“Who knows?”

Yielding Yawn

My babies are 15 and 11 now, and at times, I recall their babyhood years like something right behind, tapping me on my shoulder. I still sing to and with my children, but I love the warmth of remembering the way a mother’s song comforted them when they were so little. Tender moments singing lullabies to my children evoke two things: deep awareness of what it means to be a mom…and poetry. I have sung several songs to my daughter and my son over the years, and one favorite is, “Blackbird” by the Beatles. Another favorite is, “If I Had Words” mostly known from the movie, “Babe” but the original was written in the 70’s. Those are the two I sang the most to them. One night, after singing, “Blackbird” Nathan fell asleep, and I walked away from his bedroom with that ache in my heart, that love that is so indescribable. I began to cry, and knew I needed to write. It seems the only way, sometimes even better than photography can, to capture the memory. Tears flowed out of me much like the time I would watch him sleep, standing over his bed after our breastfeeding days had come to an end, and I would cry, and cry, and cry, grateful for the bond, and grieving the loss of that intimate time. Or, the time my daughter moved into her own bedroom, no longer sleeping in my room, and I told my husband, “I feel like she went away to college already!” Every time your child experiences something momentous, it’s like all of these events add on to each other, and weave themselves tighter around your heart. There’s a quote I heard once that says, “Having a child is like having your heart walk around outside your body.” It’s relative to all things painful and joyful. I couldn’t have said it any better myself. When the tears came that night, and I began writing about it, I realized that those rising depths of emotion come not only from the mother-child bond of sweet-evening, song-filled goodnights, but from the Great Lullaby Mother whose Song always sings in us, but was glimpsed fully and fleeting- that dear moment by the ache of my heart, the lump in my throat, and the tears of truth. Here’s the poem I wrote that night after “Blackbird” and my boy:

Yielding Yawn (Inspired by singing lullabies to my son, Nathan)
“Blackbird” sung maternal and slight
His head turns over with the moon
Cheek nestled into resting night
And his yawn accepts the tune
Eyelids cover the day’s adventure
Into dreams of boy-filled new
Resonant heaven in song’s measure
Lullaby Mother, and a twilight two
—
And just for fun:

Are You Rushing or Are You Dragging; How Do We Live Into a Good “T” Tempo?

Here is my late night wannabe movie critic review and theological lens on the move, Whiplash:

You can’t have good art without enveloping the human element of relationship, and the foundation of love that sustains life. The teacher, Fletcher, in the movie, “Whiplash” is a beast, who tries to squeeze performance out of its needed humanity. He fails. There is no way a good jazz band would put up with teaching like that, not to mention play well. There was no connection, no camaraderie among the band members. They learned well from their teacher displaying contempt toward one another. The music “acted” as if they were connected- and this was the unrealistic (but enjoyable!) part of the film. I scoffed at Fletcher when he accused his student of not being able to find the tempo. Nice try, but there is no way anyone could find a tempo with such a short cue. His fusspot, to-the-tee, tyrannical teaching was no fit for the world of Jazz. Jazz is not so precise, but rather chaotic and creative like the order out of chaos in the Creation Story, and a God who likes to experiment…Jazz players, and the whole world of jazz genre, where freedom, creativity, and improv are at the heart of it, would never gel with that kind of pitiful pedagogy. Now, I only have high school and early college experience playing in jazz band, and my strength is in amateur classical trumpet, although I loved paying jazz; and I’m sure there are some tough, hard line instructors out there, but unless discipline (not abuse) comes with love, excellence comes at too great a cost. Since I cannot help but to watch movies with a theological lens, I see Fletcher as the God that deserved to be told “F*** you” as the student, Andrew did- mouthing the words to him as he played with confidence in the final scene of the movie. What price does one pay when trying to prove oneself to this kind of God? Almost death, as we saw. An abusive, vindictive, violent God will produce a cringing devotee, myopically focused on pleasing this “Most High” to the point where the devotee will be isolated, and blaming others, fearful, and dangerous, and there will be no community-an essentiality to life. Jazz, like Spirit is evident, but never within our grasp, as both teacher and student fail to realize. In the final scene where Andrew drifts into a state of euphoric trance, like that of a Sufi Whirling Dervish, the camera focuses on his chest, and you can almost see his heart pounding inside- is it made new?! Perhaps he achieves the perfection of love and discipline, and like that of the prodigal son, he came onto the stage after being embraced and kissed by his father, and perhaps he sees then and there that he didn’t make a fool of himself on stage, having been set up by Fletcher…no, he had been a fool in life, neglecting what truly matters. Does his performance reflect a new found balance between love and (not abuse, but) discipline (because you have to have both)? Does his sudden partnership and newly found connection with Fletcher that culminates in the grand finale end of “Caravan” signify forgiveness and transformation? Is that a reflection of the one scene we thought Fletcher might actually find redemption when he shared his grief over a former student’s death? Fletcher himself said he never had a “Charlie Parker” but he tried…well no wonder. We do not know how the story continues, but if they were unchanged, then surely Nieman and Fletcher will both die young.

If anything, watch this movie for the fine camera work, editing (although not quite as precise as could be if you’re a viewer with great attention to detail…some things were out of sync…but jazz, right?) and watch it for the jazz music, even though regrettably, getting the full taste of good jazz is almost, just almost, impossible due to the overarching despicable abuse of the teacher, and hubris of the student…If you can, filter that out, and enjoy what you hear. Acting was fairly top notch. 4 out of 5 stars! 

Interstellar: It’s all Relative

Interstellar: it’s all relative. I could just stop there. Or maybe, Interstellar: We’ve only just begun. Simple, short, true. But, then again, this is a blog, so I’ll write a few more words. I watched Interstellar a few months ago. I don’t think I was able to respond to it right away. I had to ponder it for a while. I’ve been journaling about it off and on. Wow, what a trip! If you’re familiar with Christopher Nolan, you know he writes with complexity and so many nuances.
 
Here’s my take on Intersteller, watched through a theological lens. First, interconnectedness, and timelessness as in eternity: I often thought about how our concept of time as compared to God’s (chronos and Kairos) was revealed in the film. I think it mirrors the concept of eternity as not linear.. And of course, it’s all theoretical, both physics and theology. What kinds of forces are permeating the three dimensions we are only currently using? And, are those forces within us? Perceptions of the finite may actually hold the infinite (God within and around- more dimensions).
 
And of course, I appreciate movies like this with high intellect, showing that science and faith don’t have to be mutually exclusive, and that both carry a sense of awe and wonder. This brings me to what I found to be most applicable to my theology in the movie, and that is embracing the unknown, and how when we let go of certainty, when we embrace what we don’t know, that is when humanity shines (and yet, can also reveal the worst in us). Which will we choose? With passion, searching for love, for discovery, and possibility is the ultimate act of substantial faith, and perhaps why humans are even here! And what of resurrection? (Loved the use of “Lazarus”)
 
The environmental message is always showing up in this movie, and it quite smartly, has both personal yearning juxtaposed with the universal reality- the need, in order to truly “survive”, to think beyond ourselves.The concept of hope: This movie shows that edge of humanity, where it is quoted that we define ourselves by overcoming the impossible. There is a motivating factor that comes out of hopelessness, and we “prove” who we really are by when in the face of hopelessness, we still act. One of my seminary professors, when talking about injustice, would clearly state that he is hopeless, and students would try to convince him that there is always hope. Is there? There was an exchange once where one character said something about impossibility…it’s impossible, and Coop responded by saying that it was necessary. A mentor of mine introduced me to a quote by Valcav Havel that reads, “Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism.  It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense regardless of the outcome.” Well, there you go! What’s irrational, but necessary in matters of faith? I also like the idea of thinking that we have only just begun- whatever this journey is…

 
So many things about kinetic energy are evident in this movie: body intelligence- how exchanges on a cellular level are also a massive, cosmic reality. Carl Sagan said we are all made of star-stuff! Oh, and he also said, “For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.”  Isn’t it compelling to think that love is what can make life bearable in moments of death, loss, chaos, and that realization may be simple and grounding, but the mystery of love and its capability to transcend is almost too much to grasp? To bear? And ultimately, what is it about? Love. Dr Brand said, “Love is the one thing that transcends time and space.” Great conversation in that scene of the movie about which planet to choose to explore for viability. 
 
I have to say, my favorite part of the movie is when Coop explains to his daughter that her name, “Murphy” and Murphy’s Law doesn’t mean something bad, but that whatever can happen will. This has some pretty great implications for what we assign labels of good and bad to. Theodicy? Remembering the discussion about nature- as not evil. Dangerous, but not evil. Perhaps the Meaningful lives in the idea that NOT everything happens for a reason. Yet, we can also talk about how space exploration will not rid the problem of evil. The nature of humanity is the paradox of the Imago Dei and our selfish drives, a constant struggle of being human and in self-discovery. 
 
I must also point out, that as a musician, one of the most relevant things for me in greatly made films is the musical score. It can be the maker or the breaker in what makes a good film, in my opinion. And Interstellar‘s score (Hans Zimmer!) is not only brilliant and stellar (no pun intended) but it has theological themes. First of all, there’s an organ! 🙂 It was ethereal, and as much a part of the film, rather than a half-ass attempt to support it. It also allowed profound moments of necessary silence, nothingness and yet total expansiveness. The music was very well woven into the scenes and themes of the movie. The music and themes revealing the ways humans are always trying to grasp the unknown- and some of us do attempt that through religious practices and grappling with faith and in what to believe.
 
And what of colonization? Oh boy, we could go on about that topic…I just wish this movie walked away with more awards than it did. It certainly deserved them.