Mark's Web Site: A quiet place with just a bit of pretension.

I've had to do some shopping in Singapore.  I am always taken by the graciousness of those who will take my money.  The ritual begins by squaring oneself with the customer so that you are standing face to face.  Then, the bill is presented with two hands and a slight bow of the head.  Money is received with two hands and accepted with another bow of the head.  Finally, change is returned, again with two hands a bow.  It happens when you spend thirteen hundred dollars on a television, it happens when you pay three dollars for a taxi ride.  It is the ritual of two people exchanging value. 

Ritual is an acknowledgement of an important event in human life. Trade is an event that we in the west live out many times a day with virtual unconciousness.  We see it as daily business, having little meaning, often an invconvenient piece of our day that interfers with what we really want to do.  A larger purchase, such as a television or a car, we'll acknowledge with a lot of questions to ensure that we are getting everything we expect.  For the daily business, we seldom make eye contact with the vendor, never mind actually acknowledge the value they have added to our lives.  We reach into our wallets, pull out a credit card or some bills, and casually toss them on the counter.  We may hand them to our server, but always with one hand, and very seldom with eye contact.   

I wrote this in August, 2003 shortly after returning from a Quest in Vermont with members of my men's group.  It was the events of this weekend that directed me to study for ministry and serve to guide my path today.  The Quest is a four day event in which we each spend time alone on a site in the woods, fasting, meditating, writing.  I embarked this time with an intention to engage with the spirits however they presented themselves.  I spent the four weeks leading up to the Quest clearing my world, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, so that I could quest freely.  I arrived early and spent the weekend with my friend Wade.  

Friday night, Wade’s cabin

Dream

I was part of a group who were introduced to a sect of people. They were identified by a wrist band that gave them certain powers. We met with some of them at their place, entering through the kitchen and then moving to other areas of the building. When we left, Ted E. and I went to his place. I had forgotten something so I had to go back the home of the sect. As I entered the kitchen several other members challenged me, people I had not met. A heated confrontation ensued. I left and walked to a group of sect initiates in another part of the forest. A young boy was remorsefully beating on a tree with a rock; a large area of bark was worn away making a niche of sorts. Beside him a man was beseeching him to stop. Beyond the tree, an adult male member of the group was hanging crucified from a tree, impaled by spiral spikes. I looked further, and several others were similarly impaled.

Sunday evening, Ellen and Arthur’s house

I bought a new desk this weekend.  It's used and it was a great deal I found on Craig's List.  I've been needing a new desk ever since I tried to move my old one by myself a couple of years ago.  It is pretty heavy so I had to drag it across the carpeted floor.  Naturally, the leg caught in the carpet and the side of the desk pulled apart.  This caused one leg to set a bit askew, which caused the bottom drawer to fall off its track.  That and the fact that the laminate on the edges of the desktop had been peeling off for years just brought me to the conclusion that I needed a new desk. 

Actually, I came to this conclusion about the time I broke my desk.  I've been looking on Craig's list on and off for the past couple of years for something that would serve me better as a "work space" rather than just a desk.  I had visions of a modular command center from which I could launch out into cyberspace.  The primary desktop for my personal desktop computer and a separate ell for the laptop from work.  Maybe some under-storage for all those thing I can't find the will to throw out.  A hutch over top to stack the papers I refuse to file.  Special spaces for the electronic equipment I need to surround myself with  - complete with a re-charging station that will centralized the many cords and cables I need to keep my life mobile and electric. I would be in control of my life in a place like that.

I came upon this shrine as I was walking near my hotel.  The sidewalk went under a highway and the ground was barren.  There was no one about but there were some bicycle carts parked nearby.  A barrel had been cut in half to be used for firepits.  My first thought was that this is a place for the homeless to gather.  In the States, I might consider this a dangerous place, but here, with this shrine lit up and incense burning, I had no fear.  It seems to offer a place of peace for those whose destitution might lead them here.  I wonder if there are some monks nearby who maintain it.  I took my picture and left a prayer for those who stay here.

I am in the midst of a five week business trip around the world.  I started in Rio de Janeiro, came through Miami and Manila, and now I'm in Singapore.  I'll stop in Paris on the way home.  It has been exhausting yet enlightening.

Let me start with the airline industry.  Now here is an enterprise that needs a complete renewal.  This year, due to cutbacks from high fuel costs, the industry has no excess capacity.  As a result, its ability to rebound from common weather delays has vanished.  A one hour thunderstorm in Boston resulted in a two hour delay in the departure of my flight to Miami. This, of course, caused me to miss my connection to Rio and I had to spend the night and most of the next day in Miami.  On the other hand, a typhoon in Hong Kong caused me to miss my connection there.  Fortunately, it was early enough for me to catch the next flight out later that evening.  The delays due to congestion were extraordinary. 

I have just begun reading Shelley Tochluk's book Witnessing Whiteness.  In the first chapter she mentions several ways that white folks, in good faith, have tried to deal with feelings of "dis-ease" that result from dominating our culture.  I found myself in each and every example.  First there is the denial of color.  My argument is that we are neither black nor white, just different shades of tan. 

I was devastated last week when the New England Regional Subcommittee on Candidacy denied my application for candidacy. I will see the reasons written in a letter in a couple of weeks. Good thing 'cause when they used the word "deny" I stopped listening. Christina says that God has shut this door because He has greater things planned for me. I will not deny that.

I've spent the summer in Maine doing a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education. The experience ranks as one of the most profound in my life. To simply be present with people as they struggle with the most difficult times of life - serious illness, a loved one dying, or facing death themselves. It is a humbling.

I spent the weekend attending an Alternatives to Violence Project workshop at NCC in Concord. It was a very touching and moving weekend. The men there are, for the most part, on their way out of the system. Some came because they wanted the certificate to show the parole board, some came because they wanted some relief from the boredom of the tiers, and some were genuinely interested in curbing their use of violence to resolve conflicts. By the end of the weekend, I think a new community had been formed, and most of the men gained some value from it.

Early in my stay here in Tel Aviv my new friend was telling me about life in Uzbekistan. He is Muslim, although like 80% of the people on the planet, he does not practice his religion regularly. He said to me, "There are three things we say a man must do: raise a son, build his home, plant a tree." This sounded to me like an honorable tradition that any young man would be willing to aspire to. I wondered why we have no equivalent in American wisdom.