A Vacation Meditation

"You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment." - Henry David Thoreau.

It's Finally Come To This, Has It?

Computer to Marry Texas Couple

"Trauma Tourism"? Hmm.

I'm currently studying for certification as a PTSD counselor and this topic has been claiming more and more attention in the field, namely that the "hit and run" school in the grief counseling industry is of limited use as a therapeutic model. In fact, it may do more harm than good. What is now being emphasized is encouraging people to have long-term and committed membership in clubs, organizations and similar groups that can, in times of need, remind one of other aspects in life rather than those at the source of the trauma. In other words, well, in my words, this means be a part of a church congregation.

I was wondering when a proper study of PTSD counseling in the aftermath of this century's most traumatic event would take place.  I'm sure it's hardly definitive, but it's a start.

Therapy can exacerbate trauma and make things worse according to a study looking at the counselling given to New Yorkers in the aftermath of 9/11.

The report, to be published in the journal American Psychologist next month to coincide with the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks, found that reliving the events was harmful for many survivors.

Mental health professionals flooded the city in a wave of 'trauma tourism' after two planes struck the World Trade Center in 2001 according to the report.

And this is hardly surprising: "But the main psychological benefits were felt by the psychologists rather than the patients...."

The Seventh Sunday After Pentecost

This week Isaiah gives the marketplace call, Paul is at his best [and not lying], and Jesus offers the 1st Century version of a drive-through.  All this plus my colleagues: a Romanian monk/iconographer and a computer in Texas.

The lections may be found here.

Surfboard Tales, Part Seven

As in any sport or activity, there is a certain amount of superstition in surfing. Surfboards, which are nothing more than foam and fibreglass, can be imbued by their owners with mythic qualities rivalling that of fabled Mjolnir. Similarly, a particular pair of boardshorts or a wetsuit may become an item of totemic power.
My surf buddy, Terry, had a hat that apparently served that purpose for him. Originally, I didn’t know the hat’s provenance; it seemed to me just to be an olive “boonie” hat that could be found at any army surplus store. I know he wore it both as sun protection and to keep his head warm in the water. Other than the practical, there seemed to be no other reason for its ubiquity.

One particularly wild day in Newport Beach, California, Terry lost the hat in a vicious wipe-out that, in his words, should have “busted my fool neck”. Despite a thorough search, we could not find the hat in the water anywhere. I suggested that, given the current was rather strong that day, it had probably already travelled to Huntington Beach, five or six miles up the coast. He grunted and revealed, “I had that hat on the first day I was able to stand up on a board; and every day since. That hat has power. It should be in a museum.” He was a little grumpy for the next couple of days. Given the fact that he’s eternally affable, this was a little worrying.

A few days after we returned from the West Coast, I got an excited phone call from him. “Check out the O.C. Register [the daily paper in Orange County, CA]” he said, sending me a link via e-mail. It was an article about a Huntington Beach surfing competition that started the weekend we returned. “Look at the photo.”

It was a picture of one of the winners. He was a typical looking young man for his sport: longish blond hair, well-tanned with 0% body fat, holding aloft some obtuse trophy. However, the one thing that stood out, perched on the back of his head, was an olive boonie hat.

“You see it?” asked Terry, “I told you that hat had power. He must have picked it up in the waves, put it on, and it let him win that contest. Don’t ever doubt the power of that hat. I feel better now.  Balance has been returned to the world!” Should I mention that this is someone who works on Wall Street?

I am far too wise in the mysteries of the world and the surf to ever disagree with Terry about the hat and its power. In fact, the next summer in south Jersey, all of us bought our own boonie hats, in a variety of colors, to wear in the water during the season. It was one of the best seasons we'd ever experienced.

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved© 2011]

Thanks, Dan

Amazon Shuts Down Associates Affiliate Program In Connecticut Over Online Sales Tax

The State of Connecticut has begun to tax Amazon.com for items purchased through websites such as this one, even though Amazon.com has no physical presence in the state. In return, Amazon.com has shut down their Associates program, the one that guaranteed us a 4%-6% donation for every purchase.

The referral box to the right, that has been in place for almost three years, has been removed.

Any purchases made from the booklist to the right will be honored, of course, but with no donation to Christ Church forthcoming. As they say in Rastafarianism, "Babylon, mon."

Thanks for the support over the past few years. We raised approximately $300 a year through this initiative, which was hailed by the diocese last year as an innovative parish fund-raising program.

And just because I'm upset about this right now, I'll reveal the following: Gov. Malloy goes to a tanning clinic. So there!

When People Don't Believe In God, Anything May Be A Religion [Part Four]

Judge shuts down 'religious' sex club

"Judge Ken Molberg approved the request Tuesday to temporarily close down The Playground, which owner Wyakie Glenn Hudson claims serves as a religious ministry...."

Or, Christians Could Protect The Poor Themselves. Or Is That Crazy Talk?

Ads by Christian groups pressure lawmakers to protect the poor in debt talks

1. Watching What? 2. What's A Wave Bear?

Wave bears watching

[Update:  Looks like they changed the headline to something more specific from the original posted above.  Pity.]

The Best Surf Songs Of All Time

What, are you a snob?  You know you want to look at them.  I tell you what, next month I'll post the best hymns of all time.

Really, what's better than "Miserlou"?  Well, maybe "Mr. Moto".

Surfboard Tales, Part Six

It isn't permitted in Ocean City anymore, but when I was about 13 or 14 we could still go down the boardwalk steps to the beach at night. A lot of the high school and college kids did so and built fires and brought guitars, smoked cigarettes and sometimes pulled from a bagged bottle of Miller High Life. I was a straight-arrow kind of kid who didn’t smoke or drink, and I was conspicuously younger than most of them, but they let me enjoy the music, company and laughter, as long as I kept an appropriate distance. One evening a collection of Hare Krishna members, complete in saffron robes and with shaved heads, joined the evening beach set with their drums and other percussion instruments, handing out some delicious vegetarian dish that my friend, Jerry, refused to eat because he was afraid that it might have LSD in it. It was all a rather typical scene in the late 1960’s. The particular thing that united us was that we were beach people, with the royalty of the set being the surfers.

One of the surfers was a young man in his early 20’s who had recently returned from Vietnam. These days we would say that he had post-traumatic stress disorder; in 1969 it was still called “battle fatigue” or “shell shock”. It was not something that was treated in any real manner back then. He was pale and gaunt, despite spending most of his days on the 7th Street beach, the one that was marked for surfing only, and most of that time in the water. He was never in the center of any activity; he hovered in the outer orbit of the people around the beach fire, slightly visible in the orange glow. Mostly, he would stare at the waves and the phosphorescent lines that they made at night. He looked like he had gazed into some terrible abyss, had seen some ghastly truth, and was still trying to figure it out while knowing that he never could or would. He was known only by his ironic nickname, which was “Baby”.

One night Baby started a conversation with me. I don’t know why, except that I tended to the outside orbit of the beach fire, too. He just started talking, without looking at me, about how much he enjoyed the music, how much he had missed it over the past two years. That, and the caramel corn on the boardwalk and the cheeseburgers from a shack that stayed open late into the night. Baby then told me some lurid tales of Vietnam; so lurid that I wasn’t sure if they were true and wondered if he did so just to see my reaction.

He then asked me if I had seen that morning’s newspaper. It had been filled with stories about the horrific murder of a houseful of celebrities in Los Angeles. My mundane response was something like, “Yeah. Pretty bad.” Then he looked right at me; it was so startling that I think I stopped breathing for a moment.  He said, “That’s why I ride the waves. They’re wild and they’re mad. If I can master a wave I can master the madness.” He was silent for awhile afterwards; then he walked off into the darkness.  I didn't move until my friend Jerry came over to ask me if I thought Baby was on LSD.

I never saw Baby again at night, and only occasionally in the daylight, on his board out on the waves of 7th Street, waiting for the best one, the largest and the maddest; waiting for just the right wave to master.

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved© 2011]

What? An August Newsletter? Mellow Has Been Harshed

So I thought that last month’s newsletter would serve as the summer edition, as summers are slow in Roxbury and parish events dwindle like the attendance on a humid Sunday. [Remember, folks, the church is air conditioned.] The only thing is, Carol, the most conscientious parish secretary with whom I’ve ever worked, decided, since she managed to gain access to Tim Beard’s cache of photographs, to put out an August edition. Of course, she also expects something from the Rector.

Now, I’m about a week away from vacation and am thinking more about whether or not I need new sails or which brand of surf wax I’ll try this year than about the narrowly spiritual matters that usually claim my attention in fulfilling this responsibility. However, as I’m also putting together a two-week reading list, I thought I’d share with you some of the book titles in which you may find some interest.

The Genesis of Science: How the Christian Middle Ages Launched the Scientific Revolution by James Hannam
A history of Christianity’s role is providing the foundation for the coming age of science and technology, shattering a lot of the errant preconceptions still taught in contemporary education.

The Fathers Know Best, edited by James Akin
“The Fathers” in this case are those generally known as the Early Church Fathers, the original holy men and theologians who built upon the works of the disciples. This is an annotated collection of their writings, complete with biographies.

The Looming Tower by Lawrence Wright
As we are approaching the terrible 10th anniversary, I’m re-visiting this book that I originally read five or so years ago. It is the history of Islamic fundamentalism, such as we have known since the 20th century. It’s interesting to note that the world view of Al-Qaeda was formed at a dance at a Methodist church in Colorado in 1949.

A Fine Madness by Elliot Baker
A funny, quirky novel that explores the life of a contemporary poet and office carpet cleaner suffering from writer’s block. Not only does it examine the curiosities of the creative process, but it also pokes great fun at psycho-therapy.

Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of your Child by Anthony Esolen
This is a provocative analysis and critique of contemporary child rearing and education. What is of particular interest to me is how what the author calls “the denial of the transcendent”, or leaving as unacknowledged the religious impulse of children, is limiting their intelligence and appreciation of life’s possibilities.

Fishing the New Jersey Coast
How’d this get in here?

Self-Working Card Tricks by Karl Fulves
Rainy days at the beach are the worst. Use this book to amaze friends and family. Sure to break the ice at parties.

Cradle of Gold: The Story of Hiram Bingham by Christopher Heaney
Bingham was the discoverer of Machu Picchu. As with most stories of spectacular discovery, the events leading up to and surrounding the grand moment are fascinating.

These and other books and products may be purchased through The Coracle with the parish receiving a donation of 6% of the purchase price.  Just click on the selections offered on the list to the right to access your Amazon.com account and start buyin'.

Update: The State of Connecticut has begun to tax Amazon.com for items purchased through websites such as this one.  In return, Amazon.com has shut down their Associates program, the one that guaranteed us a 4%-6% donation for every purchase.  The referral box to the right, that has been in place for almost three years, has been removed.  Any purchases made from the booklist to the right will be honored, of course, but with no donation to Christ Church forthcoming.  As they say in Rastafarianism, "Babylon, mon."

The Theology Of Social Security

When the American church helped usher in Social Security, it abdicated its responsibility to care for the poor.

Sixth Sunday After Pentecost

This week Solomon displays his wisdom to God, who rewards him with even greater sagacity; Paul gives the Romans one of the greatest belief statements in Christianity ["For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."]; and Jesus offers his third agricultural parable.

All this plus the Parable of the Lobster Trap. 

The lections may be found here.

Prayerful Response

It is horrifying to imagine 10 or 20 killed, my mind cannot conceive of the more than 80 that is the currently reported number.  Seeing a photo in the European press of the victims still scattered about the island that was the site of a portion of yesterday's atrocity in Norway did nothing other than shove my conception further into numbness.  Having twice been in the presence of mass trauma, one nature-made and one not, I am reminded not only of the sights associated with such an event, but of the sounds and the smells.  Yes, the term "horror" seems inadequate.

Christians pray in a variety of ways.  As I have been your rector for two years now, you know that, in the words of a former parishioner of mine and now dean of Virginia Seminary, I can be a very "Augustinian".  That is, I find that the best way to pray is to seize whatever I can summon in the way of intellect and physical ability and make something happen.  Whether it is organizing a charity concert or building a guitar, sometimes just repairing a small piece of the parish or rectory, I find that form of prayer to be satisfying and appropriate, as it connects my actions to something greater.

But there are atrocities which challenge my intellect and cannot be affected by anything I can do physically.  Whether it is Oklahoma City or September 11th or yesterday in Norway or any number of massively cruel actions committed by one human, or group of humans, on others, all I have is prayer at its simplest and most basic.  Some words, clumsily chosen and expressed, that represent a petition that I can barely define.

This article is from a number of years ago, now.  I had a physical copy of it for some time but it was lost in one of the many moves of the past 25 years.  Naturally, I was able to find it on the Internet.  Please click on the paragraph below to read it in its entirety.

It is difficult for modern Christians to pray precisely because we carry within ourselves the very questions about how God works in the world -- or makes any difference in the world -- that cause the so-called atheists among us to turn their backs on God in melancholy outrage. Further, we wonder, are we constantly to go through the motions of asking -- when we know we can do for ourselves? Weren’t we created to be creative, hardworking beings? Aren’t our talents given to us precisely so that we can produce? And is it not an embarrassing fact that because we generally don’t need God to bail us out, when we do become desperate and could indeed use help we are almost ashamed to ask? We don’t want to be like the shameless son who never visits his parents except to hit them for a loan.

Hey, I Saw This Cartoon When I Was A Kid

Bear gets head stuck in jar

An Obituary Of Note: Artist Of A Lost Art

Alex Steinweiss, Originator of Artistic Album Covers, Dies at 94

Surfboard Tales, Part Five

Like any avocation, surfing has developed its own slang over time. Some of it is venerable and well-planted in the American idiom. Terms like “wahine”, “kahuna”, and “wipe-out” have been heard and, at least partially, understood by many. However, there are more examples that are either specific to a particular surf beach or are so transient that they don’t survive for more than a season. The last time I was on the West Coast, I was speaking to a surfer who was bringing me up to date on the local patois.

Surfer: See that?

Me: What?

Surfer: That move the dude just did.

Me: No. What was it?

Surfer: It was like a 360, but with a flair. It was a roundabout fandoozie.

Me: A…what?

Surfer: Now check that. That’s an acetone shorts.

Me: It’s an acetone…?

Surfer: Shorts. ‘Cause he went so fast, see?

Me: No, I don’t think I….

Surfer: Now check the cavefish over there. He’s about to porpoise.

Me: Wait, I know what it is to "porpoise". He’s riding up the wave instead of down, right?

Surfer: Right. Watch him launch.

Me: But, what’s a cavefish?

Surfer: He is, ‘cause he’s so white. See, he’s a fishbelly.

Me: Okay.

Surfer: Man, I did this porpoise once. I just blasted off like a space shuttle. I called it a “moon porpoise”.

Me: “Moon”?  Because you were heading for the moon?

Surfer:  Nah, I lost my board shorts about half way up the wave.

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved© 2011]

This Week's Blessed Virgin Mary Watch

Oklahoma couple find image of Virgin Mary in shower tile

An Important Safety Note

As we all know by now, it will be hot on Thursday and Friday; maybe Saturday, too.  I know just about everyone has some form of air conditioning, but if you don't, or if there is a malfunction and you wish to escape the heat, please know that the parish house will be offered as a so-called "cooling center".  We'll make it as comfortable as we can.

All you need to do is let us know, however, so that we can keep it unlocked and cooliciously ready.