Of course "going to church" in Second Life still seems more amusing than completely serious. If it were the opposite, I'd worry I was entering into some sort of Matrix lifestyle. I think what is interesting about Second Life is that it does provide an opportunity to "worship" without actually having to go long distances -- or any distance -- to a physical church. In my case, I now live a little further out of Seattle than I might have thought possible while still claiming to live in the "Seattle area".
Anyhow, here is the text of the query for Friends Meeting for Worship: October 3, 2009
Centering Thoughts
"We get most upset with those we love the most because they are close to us and we know that they are aware of our weaknesses…If only we could learn to live with our inadequacies, our frailties, our vulnerabilities, we would not need to try so hard to push away those who really know us…We can love others with their failure when we stop despising ourselves because of our failures."
Archbishop Desmond Tutu
Reflect on these words of Desmond Tutu and how they may reveal truth to you about your relationship to God and to other people.
I enjoyed listening to this 30 minute radio piece about silence, part of a bbc series called "Something Understood." It touched on how silence can rejuvenate and how it can hurt. The intro:
Silence is something many of us crave in a world full of clamour, but, as Fergal Keane discovers, it means much more than the mere absence of noise.
I was unable to attend the Quaker retreat this weekend so I decided to return to Second Life where a meeting for worship is held every Saturday at 10 Pacific Time. It has been several months since I last logged on to this colorful world. My avatar looks like he is just fine, sporting the same haircut, same cool jeans, and same dark red shoes. He seems to be able to handle pretty much anything and come through unscathed. Next, perhaps he will be speaking to me like Humphrey Bogart in "Play it Again Sam", that wonderful Woody Allen movie from 1972. Bogart gives dating advice to Woody Allen who suddenly finds himself single.
Come to think of it, isn't my avatar supposed to be me? Isn't that point of virtual worlds? To speak of my avatar in the third person is surely heresy. If only fine clothes were as affordable in real life as there are in Second Life...
Regardless of those questions however, it felt good to be back in the Quaker Meeting house on Cedar Island in SL. I admit it may seem odd to attend church in Second Life, especially a Quaker Meeting featuring silent worship. People can still "speak out of the silence" via the local chat IM feature. Today's theme centered around trust and I shared some of the challenges I have faced around the frayed trust with some of my longtime Quaker friends. And like many real life meetings for worship, this one began with a query:
Centering Thoughts for Spetember 26: Friends Meeting for Worship
Reflect today on the intersection of a lifetime of preparation, a willingness to trust our Present Teacher, and the ongoing circumstances and needs that confront us.
Each of us brings our lifetime of learning, knowledge, and competence with us to each day, each person and each new circumstance we face. Some of us are more confident than others in believing that we are capable to meet these circumstances.
While we may or may not have confidence in ourselves, each of us has the potential to trust. The question is, to what or whom do we put our trust in? Friends have long held that Christ, our Present Teacher is inwardly available and knowable by each who seek. Are we able to trust for that which we need in this moment?
For, there are surely no lack of needs to attend to and no lack of people to befriend. There is no lack of opportunity for partnering in good work and for serving and loving.
Let us look for the places where our preparation, along with our trust meet in service and love, in the light!
It was probably for the best that I did not attend memorial services for Jose Hernando. Or that I did not arrive in time to witness his father speak to the bicyclists gathered in his memory Sunday. I even missed the moment of silence at the very spot where Jose was struck down inexplicably by an oncoming van along Lake Washington Boulevard last month. I wanted to be there. I was just running late.
Not knowing Jose personally, I only know about what I have read and heard. He was 44. He was married. He was the father of two children. He had ridden his bicycle for years.
One member of our team described how he first met Jose back in 1990 when he played in the local band "First Thought" at Rock Candy, the famed Grunge venue.
“Over the past few years I would see him riding and we would talk about the old days and the music scene,” my teammate said. “He was currently dealing with all the same issues we do -- trying to train while working and raising two young girls.”
I remember hanging out at Rock Candy back in 1990 even if I only really went there a few times. I was not a regular. But like Jose, I would become a regular in a different role: changing diapers, trying to race my bike, and thrive at a big company.
And like many of us on local teams, we ride, race, and reach for something more – all on faith that it will be safe. But like mountain climbers, we know the risks.
So I joined the memorial ride as it progressed around the south end of Lake Washington Sunday. It was a sobering sight to see riders from multiple teams bicycling toward me as I rode in from the south to meet them.
When the memorial event finished on Martin Luther King Blvd, I caught up to one rider whose efforts reflected a dedication that stands out even among the local cycling supremos. In the morning, she won near top honors at a half ironman triathlon. In the afternoon, she came out for her teammate.
Easter comes a day early as we gather out on the peninsula for the annual Easter Egg hunt.
Sunshine, strong winds, and distant dark clouds combined to create an unusually rich texture to the day.
The girls and I went down to Olympia today to visit our friends Greg, Elinor, and Hazel. It started pouring rain like you wouldn't believe. Then the snow came down. That was when the kids wanted to go outside.
Lucy and Hazel got warm in the hot tub afterward.
Here, Ella and I try to taste the snow.
I must write a correction to yesterday's post. I learned today that David didn't die afterall! He lives!
It was James who was shot dead by rival gang members. James was the fourth child at the homeless shelter and I had forgotten about him somehow. In my interview today with writer Dan Baum, I was reminded about James and remembered him as a more distant kid, not as present as his older siblings. Dan told me James grew up to be the "bad guy" who would seek vengeance on gang rivals in DC.
So I am relieved to hear that little David, who was the toughest two year old I've ever met, has gone on to live. A year or so after I left my job at the shelter, I saw David on the evening news. He had gone missing and it was somehow big news. Clips showed a joyful mother reuniting with her son David.
As the footage aired, I remember saying to those around me at work, "Hey I know that kid. That's David, the toughest two year old in the world!"
Lately, I've been casting my memory back to 1983 to recall the circumstances that have now led me to be featured (in a small way) in a book about growing up in black urban America. I was working as the live-in staff person at a shelter for homeless families in Washington D.C. The three story brick house was located on N Street across from Luther Place Church whose progressive pastor had declared the church a sanctuary for refugees from El Salvador.
Among my most vivid memories was sitting in a church service as the pastor welcomed an El Salvadoran family, whose faces were covered in scarves to protect their identity from the immigration authorities under Reagan.
There was a lot of hardship on that street such as homeless women, short and long term homeless care, and alcoholic treatment. But there was some hope too -- like a free medical clinic available to anyone. The hope seemed to shine most brightly in the the children living in the shelter where I worked. I remember my girlfriend at that time saying how the kids could have so much fun and be happy with nothing. They would play on the steps outside the house, goof around, and laugh a lot. We knew they could teach us something about how to live and enjoy life in the present.
Still, the prospects for these African American kids weren't very good. After all, their families were homeless and split apart. My girlfriend and I would play with the kids. But for the most part, we were dropping into a world we didn't know -- determined to shunt aside our comparatively priviliged background.
One of my friends who came by repeatedly was John Prendergast. He could connect with almost anyone, especially African American kids. Gradually he got to know three children at the house: Michael, Sabrina, and David -- whose family had arrived shortly after I helped open the shelter in January 1983. After about 9 months, I completed my stint at the shelter and found a place with my girlfriend -- still in D.C. but a little further out of the hood.
John kept his relationships going with those kids and sort of took them under his wing as part of his work with the Big Brothers program. Now 27 years later, I get an email from the writer Dan Baum who is writing a book about John's 20 plus year friendship with Michael. Michael's brother David was shot dead by gang members, I later learned.
John had gone on to work in the Clinton White House as an advisor for African Affairs and now works as a human rights advocate for some of Africa's most afflicted areas: Darfur, Congo, and Uganda. He's made a name for himself as the person who connects with Hollywood stars, like Angelina Jolie, in their efforts to bring attention to the plight of people living in these stricken areas.
So I guess in this particlular case, I am what Malcolm Gladwell calls a "Connector" in helping bring John and Michael together. I'm going to speak with the writer tomorrow evening. I can't wait to hear more about their story!
I'm starting to wonder if the right wing Republicans are foaming at the mouth purely as a conspiracy to motivate me to attend day-long Democratic Party political events and return home running for the checkbook.
Even though the annual WA State Democrats PCO Training Day was more like watching Democrats celebrate on Cspan, I nevertheless drove home wondering why I felt so compelled to attend -- but glad that I did.
It was good to see Congressman Adam Smith so fired up and seemingly on target in his support of the president (and capably opposing the GOP). I was happy to hear how the Gregoire campaign won its campaign from the two insiders who shared their stories. And I listened with great interest on the next generation of the Obama campaign's organizing committee, whose official name escapes me at this late hour.
I gained little of immediate practical value in terms of political organizing, and refrained from speaking or asking any questions, which can be hard for me sometimes. Others spoke my mind railing against Congressional Republicans and hinting that maybe it's time for our governor to start acting like a bona fide Democratic governor. Okay, I guess no one said the last part in those exact words. Maybe she's doing all she can. I can't really tell yet. I'd rather do my homework and then speak.
I do feel this though: We have a president facing up to the toughest problems. Can the governor do that too without gutting everything she stands for? .
Oh and BTW I loved the crab feed, complete with clams and salmon and the good company of others from the 37th Legislative District where I live. That is a true Northwest experience!
