Today, in my Old Testament Class, I got totally called out on "latching onto a warm, fuzzy God." We were talking about Hosea, the prophet in the Bible known for marrying a permiscuous woman, violently and then tenderly reclaiming her affection, and comparing their relationship to God's relationship with Israel. In addition to the many domestic violence issues, there is another metaphor of God as a parent. I chose to cling to this image instead of the abusive spouse. And for this, my professor pointed out my choosiness.
At first I was chastized (my first instinct always being "I'm wrong, sorry!"), but then I got a little miffed, and then I started to think (possibly Steed's goal all along?) What do we do with parts of the Bible we don't like? I tend to gloss over them, claiming that the God of the New Testament is my God and not the Old Testament God of wrath. Yet, as we looked closer into the issue, it became apparent that God might have been using this passage to call attention to the violence, comparing the men of Israel (well, Judah really) to the woman within a marriage. Saying that "if your wife acted to you the way you are acting to me, God, you would consider yourselves justified in punishing her. You would consider violence the only way to hold onto your pride. Yet, how much greater is my love for you, that instead of violence and shame, I bestow love upon you in the end. That I call you time and time again back to me?" Everyone talks about the forgiveness that Jesus brought, but it occurs to me that perhaps Jesus merely came because we weren't understanding all of the messages before that God was handing out time and time again.
Regarding the Bible as being full of understanding I might just not know yet, instead of picking and choosing and just glossing over parts I don't like/understand. Wow, what a concept.
Humility gets ya sometimes :)
Friday, October 1, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Yoga (first posted 9/10/10)
Yesterday, a friend of mine invited me out to Yoga to the People. I had never gone before, although I used to practice yoga (sporadically, at best, but practiced nonetheless). I'd been kind of off all day, after fighting with my alarm clock in the morning and not having time to do centering prayer (as mocking as it is, I'm determined to master it!). It had been about a year since I last did yoga, and before that probably another year. But, since I know what "downward dog" means and tend to consider myself fairly skilled at "tree pose," I thought I'd go along.
When I arrived, it was slightly crowded. By the time the class started, it was VERY crowded. I was squished next to my friend, who bashfully let me know that she was very new at yoga and so she couldn't always follow along. I jokingly reassured her with my "oh, no worries, I usually spend half of yoga in child's pose!"
Little did I know... Once class started we focused on our breath and began to move through the "flow sequence." Ten seconds into downward dog and I was feeling very hot (with all the other bodies in the room), slightly faint, and my squashed up stomach was feeling nauseous and full from a lunch of pizza five hours ago. Woof.
I did a couple flow sequences, trying to find strength in warrior one and two (usually my favorite poses) and mostly just trying like mad to hold onto my consciousness in the heavy, damp air. Finally, I gave into the feeling and put myself into child's pose (as we had been assured we could return whenever we "lost our breath").
Child's pose, for those of you who don't torture yourself with the pretzel-bending and breath-finding of yoga, is when you kneel and sit back on your feet while you bend over your knees, put your cheek to the floor, and stretch your arms in front of you. It gives one simultaneously a feeling of hiding within a safe, dark space and prostrating oneself completely in front of the great practice.
Though I tried to join the flow for each new pose sequence, I really did spend 75% of the class folded up into child's pose. While in child's pose, I focused on my even breath, and tried to find strength in the listening to my body and giving myself the space I needed, instead of feeling like a lame, weak, out of shape person who CAN'T EVEN DO YOGA.
After class, soaking with sweat and content in my breath, red-faced with embarrassment acquired as I faced my friend (who had totally kept up with the whole pace of the class), I chuckled to myself as I walked to the BART to head home thinking: God, if you were trying to force me to find space for centering, you did it.
Quote from class (from Leonard Cohen): "Everything is cracked. That's how the light gets in."
Another point for the universe.
When I arrived, it was slightly crowded. By the time the class started, it was VERY crowded. I was squished next to my friend, who bashfully let me know that she was very new at yoga and so she couldn't always follow along. I jokingly reassured her with my "oh, no worries, I usually spend half of yoga in child's pose!"
Little did I know... Once class started we focused on our breath and began to move through the "flow sequence." Ten seconds into downward dog and I was feeling very hot (with all the other bodies in the room), slightly faint, and my squashed up stomach was feeling nauseous and full from a lunch of pizza five hours ago. Woof.
I did a couple flow sequences, trying to find strength in warrior one and two (usually my favorite poses) and mostly just trying like mad to hold onto my consciousness in the heavy, damp air. Finally, I gave into the feeling and put myself into child's pose (as we had been assured we could return whenever we "lost our breath").
Child's pose, for those of you who don't torture yourself with the pretzel-bending and breath-finding of yoga, is when you kneel and sit back on your feet while you bend over your knees, put your cheek to the floor, and stretch your arms in front of you. It gives one simultaneously a feeling of hiding within a safe, dark space and prostrating oneself completely in front of the great practice.
Though I tried to join the flow for each new pose sequence, I really did spend 75% of the class folded up into child's pose. While in child's pose, I focused on my even breath, and tried to find strength in the listening to my body and giving myself the space I needed, instead of feeling like a lame, weak, out of shape person who CAN'T EVEN DO YOGA.
After class, soaking with sweat and content in my breath, red-faced with embarrassment acquired as I faced my friend (who had totally kept up with the whole pace of the class), I chuckled to myself as I walked to the BART to head home thinking: God, if you were trying to force me to find space for centering, you did it.
Quote from class (from Leonard Cohen): "Everything is cracked. That's how the light gets in."
Another point for the universe.
Centering Prayer (first posted 9/10/10)
Lately, I've been trying my hand at centering prayer. Centering prayer is a lot like meditation: you pick a word to focus on and use to pull your mind back if it wanders. Sounds pretty chill, right? Sounds like an excellent practice, right? Relaxing, focusing, centering...
WRONG!
Centering prayer may be all well and good for those who have mastered their minds, who are excellent at focusing, or who have absolutely no thoughts at all. I am none of these things, so I am AWFUL at centering prayer.
Let me just talk you through a session so you can picture exactly how difficult this practice is. I'm sitting on my bed, cross-legged, with my palms uplifted (opening my body for prayer, you know). I've set my alarm for fifteen minutes (a twenty minute practice is recommended, but, even though I think I'm pretty much awesome, I'm willing to start slowly).
The word I pick to center myself on is from my Bible readings for the day: Humility. From now on, as you read, picture yourself in my head for about 30 seconds.
Humility. Humility. Humility. I'm thinking about the word humility in a white room, free of distractions. Its a big sign...maybe made of white wood. Or maybe silver. NO! There is NO sign, there is only Humility. You are PRAYING! Humility, humility. I'm in a white room...maybe sitting on a white couch. No! No couch. Just me. And humility. humility. humility. humility. I can't wait to tell my roommate about this and how hilarious it is that I can't focus. NO! I'm NOT telling ANYONE about this. I AM PRAYING!!! HUMILITY!
You can imagine how smoothly the other fourteen minutes and thirty seconds went. By the time my prayer alarm went off I was sweating and my hair was disheveled and I was stumbling out of my room to tell my roommate what a spaz I am.
Not the awesomest today. Not even close.
WRONG!
Centering prayer may be all well and good for those who have mastered their minds, who are excellent at focusing, or who have absolutely no thoughts at all. I am none of these things, so I am AWFUL at centering prayer.
Let me just talk you through a session so you can picture exactly how difficult this practice is. I'm sitting on my bed, cross-legged, with my palms uplifted (opening my body for prayer, you know). I've set my alarm for fifteen minutes (a twenty minute practice is recommended, but, even though I think I'm pretty much awesome, I'm willing to start slowly).
The word I pick to center myself on is from my Bible readings for the day: Humility. From now on, as you read, picture yourself in my head for about 30 seconds.
Humility. Humility. Humility. I'm thinking about the word humility in a white room, free of distractions. Its a big sign...maybe made of white wood. Or maybe silver. NO! There is NO sign, there is only Humility. You are PRAYING! Humility, humility. I'm in a white room...maybe sitting on a white couch. No! No couch. Just me. And humility. humility. humility. humility. I can't wait to tell my roommate about this and how hilarious it is that I can't focus. NO! I'm NOT telling ANYONE about this. I AM PRAYING!!! HUMILITY!
You can imagine how smoothly the other fourteen minutes and thirty seconds went. By the time my prayer alarm went off I was sweating and my hair was disheveled and I was stumbling out of my room to tell my roommate what a spaz I am.
Not the awesomest today. Not even close.
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