Commencement Day 2022

 

For Max and Hazel, and all the grads of 2022

You may not remember the first step you ever took,

but look, here you are, stepping off the dais,

as newly minted today, as you were then.

For years—too many, it seems—you’ve been told:

Line Up,

Move forward,

Look Up,

Look Down,

And STOP!

The world, now, is your oyster, as they say,

but they never tell you what this means:

The world is your classroom perpetual and teacher,

and every day brings a new challenge 

that writes a new lesson

for you to be tested on,

culminating in the greatest

of all questions:

“How do I make a difference

while I’ve got the day-to-day grind on my mind?”

This is the question for the ages;

All the great sages and philosophers have pondered the issue,

and here is what they said (abridged):

Line Up: Conform to goodness in everything.

Move Forward: Challenges are not intended to thwart your trajectory.

Look Up: Nothing in the vast universe is beneath your notice.

Look Down on nothing and no one; 

atoms—as people—differ in constituency, 

but coexist together in the same metaphenomenon;

honor that truth by learning to be together

in cooperation with all that is.

Stop at nothing achieve your goals, even as they shift.

Be yourself, accept yourself, even as you change and grow;

you hardly know it, but you’re already a techie,

  inventing and reinventing yourself,

inside and out, in every moment.

When you accept all others as equals,

this is where all dialogue begins,

and today is where the seeds are planted

for the gardens of tomorrow;

All that is left to do, then, is tend them, wisely,

today and tomorrow—always.

© 2022 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

This Is It - Episode 3: Finding Purpose

He’d returned from being on the road. He’d been traveling, observing, learning, and teaching. From time to time, he’d return to see how things were at home. Each time, it seemed things had further deteriorated. 

The occupation was putting more and more strain on the people. The average person found it difficult to make ends meet, as more and more taxes were being levied—some to fund pleasure palaces and cities meant to honor men who had no honor. Building the city of Tiberius over the bones of the dead, not good—unclean. No pious person could live there.

Having made his way out into the world, he learned that there were more ways of worship than what Jerusalem offered; the farther you traveled away from the Temple, the greater chance of discovering a new sect of people who proclaimed to know better, more perfect ways of divine observance. And then there were the Greek gentiles and all their gods—and their philosophical thinking. Everyone was competing to be “right.” 

But more immediately, having returned home for a visit, the family spoke to him about their growing concern for cousin John, his ministry and mission. He had not seen John much over the years; as an adult, John had become a bit odd and estranged from immediate family. He’d found he couldn’t live indoors, and had left town to live in the countryside. And then he’d found a purpose—and now had a following. The family feared his purpose would make him a target. Perhaps an intervention was necessary.

And so he had been shadowing John, at the behest of family, to see what it was all about, to hear what John had to say. He found that with much of John’s talk, he was in full agreement. 

Daily, he had witnessed the same corruption John spoke of, impinging on the lives of the people. It wasn’t enough that the Roman occupation was burdening the people with new taxes and gentrification, but there were things going on in Jerusalem, even at the Temple, that were disquieting to him. Human nature, business as usual, quid pro quo—whatever you wanted to call it, the world seemed utterly at odds with what the scriptures taught was “the way it should be.”

What disturbed him personally was that people were complacent in their powerlessness, rote in their observances and treating their mundane daily tasks as a burden rather than a blessing—or worse, as an emptiness rather than a fulfillment. It was easier to point fingers of blame than it was to find solutions from within the foundations of faith. The politics of everyday secular life was dividing people, and the life of the sacred was begging for renewal.

He watched as John helped people to renew their covenant, to acknowledge their need for healing, to turn back to the holy one. Person after person walked away refreshed and with new purpose. For how long that might last, who knew—but in the moment, with the support of the crowd, this was a shining moment in the life of a soul.

And a feeling welled up in his own soul, a need not to intervene, but to be a part of this movement and in support his kinsman, John. 

This, he felt to his core, was the sign he himself had been waiting for, in order to make his own purpose manifest.

So, he stepped forward, out of the crowd, and said, Me. Take me. I’ll be next.

© 2020 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen and songsofasouljourney.blogspot.com

A brief note about my literary exploration of the ministry of Jesus of Nazareth: I have undertaken this exercise having read, sung (in several languages), meditated and prayed on the contents of the Synoptic Gospels (as well as the Non-Synoptic Gospels) for at least 45 years. In that time, I’ve accumulated a bit of a library (which comes as no surprise to those who know me), and I try to follow modern scholarship. Here is a partial list of the authors and books that come to mind as I write these episodes:

Ballentine, Debra Scoggins, The Conflict Myth & the Biblical Tradition; Oxford University Press 2015

Erdman, Bart, various titles

Gaus, Andy, The Unvarnished New Testament; Phanes Press, 1991

Herzog, William R., Parables as Subversive Speech; Westminster John Knox Press, 1991

Louden, Bruce, Greek Myth and the Bible; Routledge, 2019

Tatian, Diatesseron; www.earlychristianwritings.com/diatessaron.html

Wajdenbaum, Philippe, Argonauts of the Desert, Routledge, 2011

Ward, Keith, The Philosopher and the Gospels, Lion Hudson, 2011

Yosef ben Maityahu (Titus Flavius Josephus), various writings

Influences

Wind, hot and dry,
filled the lanes with dust,
intruding through every crack,
invading every door and window.

Waves of flame,
reaching as from above,
came to stay and oppress every brow,
and we were filled with a divine madness,

Such that suddenly
all different voices were one voice,
all messages one message,
all humanity, each unique, yet one.

This is how all truly is,
verily, verily, unto ages of ages:

We are one family, sharing space and time;
we belong to one another.

How else could God make the case
but to strike us with understanding,
if only in a moment of brevity,
and then charge us with handling the rest?

Such is the mystery of Divine Influence.
Each of us is intended to intervene
to maintain the sanctity of all our lives;
everyone has a role in this heavenly task.

Be fired with your divine purpose!
Of all colors, shapes, the plethora of singsong tongues
proclaims the truth that divine fire exposes:
There is but one people, one life, one purpose.

Ye have been touched, all of ye!
Gather your whits about you,
for each day’s intent is this fire,
this purpose of divine life-giving influence.

Peace be to thee and your neighbors all!
Alleluia, Alleluia, and amen,
and blessings be to ye all
unto the ageless ages.

© 2019 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Called Out

Out of the silent dust

was I called to be

Blown by some sacred breath
into the spring of existence,
particles stirred by
quaking earth and fire,
drowned by storm,
invisibly formed

Some distant song
carried its precious mass
through the void

“Who will go for us?”

Ears to hear, then unexpected response,
“Send me!”

And just as I Am is,
I became further I,
germinated,
embodied,
and released
with eyes to see,
ears to hear,
breath with which
to make voice
into the matchless
universe,
legs with which
to wander the shadowed valley,
arms and hands with which
to grasp, to gain, to give

According to each day
according to every season
according to any moment,
of which all are new
births under different light,
searching, and seeking,
wandering and weeping,
struggling,
learning
being,
serving,
loving,
in vital witness,
as ever be can be,
woven as am I of paradoxical parameters,
warp and weft, contradictory

[right and wrong,
sickness and health,
real and false,
free and oppressed,
generous and miserly,
careful and careless,

studious and ignorant,
shy and outgoing,
loud and silent,
joyful and angry,
studious and perfunctory,
color, full and less,
visible and invisible,
and so on, ad infinitum]

This song,
mine and ours,
knows no end
but partial ends forthcoming

by and by
—one knows not the wherefore nor why,
only that existence presses forward,
revolving and evolving,
perhaps toward,
and even sowing,
knowing

[shall ever I do?
shall ever I know
what I is, am and ever was
or why,
and if then,
what next might be/is,
what might be beyond
or what beyonding might bond?]

And when the Song calls me back
to that valley of bones
that river of dust,

Be, as I’ll be
marked:
Return to Sender,
Am I to I Am,
Thine to Thee.

© 2019 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

(A meditation for lent on International Women's Day)

Meditations in Fast Times: 16. let sunrise break through fog

Note to Readers: Now that I am nearly half way through, I wanted to say a little something about what this series of posts is all about. “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work, others from my own readings. The intertextual approach Eliot used in his writing could be cryptic, as he was alluding to many other writings, as well as personal experiences; the average person would find annotations helpful, but he did not annotate the work. A few scholars have made attempts to do so; I have worked on my own annotations. While the style of Eliot’s writing was considered “modern,” “post-symbolist”, even “neoclassical,” it must be said that all writing, throughout time, has carried subject, rhythm, tone and trope, forward from the past. Eliot did not invent intertextuality; it can be said that every text is a product of intertextuality. One of the ways that we draw listeners or readers in to whatever new idea (if any) we might have is by offering familiar context from the past, much like making a hat-rack available, on which we can hang something familiar and then introduce something new, or ponder what never changes.

                16.

let sunrise break through fog,
that there be joy in the morning!
yet, even so, even so,

for though the flowers bloom
under beaming majesty,
there is continual cause for wonder.

let me ponder my flight
that fonder I might grow
of this childhood,

for what and for why
did this seed burst forth
into bloom?

let me consider
self as emerging
from some deep interior,

for it must be
that there is every
purpose under the sun,

let me seek mine own,
attempt to outgrow
the stories of my youth,

for it is true
that most being seeks
to find completion in purpose

let me therefore accept
the world and
serve it,

for surely it is all life
that being supports
and, mutually supported, is;

let me therefore give thanks that
being is and teaches continually
through osmotic exchange

for what purpose, then,
if not to fold and enfold,
to mix and mingle?

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

In the Garden of Delights: 3. Cuach

I have made thee,
given thee two arms
a vessel to have, to hold, to be,
to rise up, cast by and keep from harms.

Ye, I have filled,
be therefore a loving cup,
overflow with love, be spilled,
for this needy world, so hard up.

Mouth wide for song,
voice alive with vibrance;
the world to which you belong
needs your care, love, and guidance.

Centering from the calm,

I cast this oath: observe!  
I pour you out to be a balm;
not to own the world, but to serve.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Weed Patch

Fall seeds brought color to a waning year;
rains helped greenery linger through Winter;
Spring now shines on a tangled flourish of weeds.

Taller and more robust, seem they,
than all the truer plants,
as if to boldly take over the world.

Truth is, they have served the sweeter plants,
as a cover to hold in the nourishing water,
a canopy against any exceptional heat from the sun.

Pulled at the roots, they soon shall be,
to dry in the sun and be turned to mulch,
while the flowers drink water and light.

For weeds,
life is short,
but full.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Advent

When the feasting is done,
the workers return to the fields,
the householders return to the hearth;
the boards are swept of the leavings,
and actions return to sameness.

Is this indeed our lot?
Is this what all the celebration was for?

That being abounds in sameness
is a misapprehension
of our purpose.

The Divine One sighs.

Celebration,
it should be a sending forth
into revolution,
nothing less than
a miracle of conception,
that will be nurtured
with warm and loving hands,
an alchemy of all the elements
and all that is unseen.

Life cannot be measured,
cannot be calculated
into minutes of this,
hours of that.

Life is even beyond
the measure of the mead
that raises warmth to the cheek,
that raises the inner spirit toward
the unexpected.

Life is the journey,
pushing beyond all boundaries
of the known and comfortable,
to a place wholly unknown.

There is no arrival,
but expect the abyss
to be open before you,
waiting.

A divine bridge will appear
for all who have the courage
to step forward.

This is the morning after,
the Dawning Day of Next,
wherein we meet God
in the work of creation.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen