Creative Work Avoidance: Horsing Around with Wordle

 Click on image to see it...bigger

Ever play with Wordle? The last time I did was about four years ago but after reading a post by Steve Woodruff titled, "A Creative Visual Resume," I decided this was a perfectly wonderful way to avoid doing other work this afternoon.

To create this Wordle, I edited my LinkedIn profile a bit and then plopped it into the generator provided at the Wordle site. I then futzed around with the font, layout, and color until I decided to go with this version that really does capture me and my career to date. Missing are references to having good hair days and cats because I don't reveal that stuff on my resume. Maybe I should?

Social Media: Gateway to the First Century

 
I was delighted when the guys at Two Friars and a Fool (@TwoFriars) invited me to write a post for their blog. And even more delighted when they agreed to a post about how social media just might help restore some of what was good about church before it became the Church.

You can read the entire post, "Social Media: Gateway to the First Century" here.

This is my brain...on Catholicism?

Want to guess who first alerted me to the research report about faster brain shrinkage among Catholics, born-again Protestants, and atheists? The email included this observation, "Now this explains why you became Roman Catholic." Very funny.

Really, I did laugh. But after reviewing the methodology, I know this research couldn't possibly apply to my aging hippocampus.

Participants, all 268 of 'em, were primarily "Southeastern Protestant Christians" aged 58 and older. I, on the other hand am a Jew who was born in NYC to parents from Brooklyn; Jesus didn't show up on my radar as Christ until I was in my 40s; cavorting with Jesuits has helped my thinking expand; and being Roman Catholic does, at times, make my brain explode. Dayenu.

Saying "Yes" to Jesus

Over at People for Others, my friend Paul Brian Campbell, SJ has asked readers, "When you say 'yes' to Jesus, to what are you saying 'yes'?" While he probably didn't intend it as a meme, I'm going to treat it as such but first, some background.

"To what are you saying 'yes'?" emerged as an in-house conversation at Loyola Press. I'm not surprised because I was privileged to visit there earlier this month.

Believe me, "a Jesuit ministry" isn't just a snappy tag-line for these folks. The culture of Ignatian Spirituality in general and the Examen in particular is present ─ fully and really.

I was keenly aware of how the ability and willingness to prayerfully consider God's presence in all things is the ground of being at Loyola Press. Pretty H.S. impressive, especially since I was there to discuss social media tools and techniques.

Now, back to what it means to say "yes" to Jesus...

At People for Others I briefly commented how, for me, it has meant going into free fall but not really, because I always know there's a net.* This, dear readers, is a post facto explanation.

Truth to tell, saying yes to Jesus was a moment of clarity in a murky kind of way because I had no clue what saying yes would mean. I said yes because I'd already said no for many years and, having reached the end of my rope, I finally let go.

I had no clue that saying yes would involve saying yes to a way of life, a commitment to community, lots of angst over religious expression(s), and a deeper appreciation of my Judaism. All this has emerged over time with no end in sight. And yes, thanks be to God.


*That would be "net" as in fall protection, not Internet!

I Am My Own Best Entertainment

Don't know what you do for evening entertainment at the end of a long week, but for a rip-roaring great time I crack open a can of A&W Diet Cream Soda* and take online quizzes. I like ones designed to assess spiritual and religious identity.

I always begin my quiz fête with Belief-O-Matic (TM) at Beliefnet. At times, my scores for Orthodox Quaker, Reform Judaism and Hinduism are much higher than my score for Roman Catholicism. Tonight, my score for Roman Catholicism was also my score for Eastern Orthodox and Sikhism. Go figure.

Other results were also. . . interesting.

When, according to Belief-O-Matic, my spiritual and religious beliefs scored in alignment with those of Mainline Liberal Protestants, I decided to take the What's Your Spiritual Type quiz, where I scored as a "Questioning Believer" ─ only 11 points away from "Candidate for Clergy."

But according to What Kind of Catholic Are You, I'm a "Divine Office (Moderately Traditional) Catholic," possibly because of my answers to questions about liturgy, music and church décor. Frankly, I would have classified myself as either an "Ignatian Exercises (Moderately Progressive) Catholic" or a "Centering Prayer (Very Progressive) Catholic," even though I want to run screaming from the sanctuary whenever we're supposed to sing, "On Eagle's Wings."

To round out tonight's inquiry, I took Do You Know Your Matzoh from your Moshiach and was ridiculously thrilled to discover I got all but one of 18 answers correct.

In case it's not totally clear, I am my own best entertainment. So, what do you do on Friday nights?


* Horrors: A&W Diet Cream Soda is not available in Baltimore, Maryland. I've been forced to import it from New Jersey.

Identity Theft: Calling for Honor Beyond Thieves

Supposedly there's "honor among thieves" or so the proverb goes . . . except when someone notes that there is, in fact, "no honor among thieves."* WhatEVER.

Since I'm currently in the throes of dealing with identity theft, I've decided it's time for more accountability by these scoundrels. Going to steal my identity? Then I really think you should also:

• Do my laundry
• Pay all my bills
• Call my mother on a regular basis
• Floss my teeth
• Schedule me, not you, for a spa day
  

*I found these interesting thoughts about the expression here.

A Trip to the Library

About a month before moving, I was charmed by a little girl who was hopping from foot-to-foot while singing, "Happy Birthday to me!"

We were at the local library and instead of shushing the child, I considered chiming in. The reason for the kid's exuberance? It was her eighth birthday which, in that family, meant it was time to receive a library card of one's own.

"Wow," I said, "happy birthday to you! What a special day!" No, she didn't dismiss me as an addlepated weirdo. Instead, she received my congratulations with joyful gravitas. I thought about her today when I went to the Roland Park branch of the Enoch Pratt Free Library for my new library card.

This is the 12th book borrowing card I've been blessed to have in the past 50 years of library membership. Blessed? Absolutely! Libraries have always felt like sacred space to me and all the high tech stuff doesn't sully that feeling one jot or tittle.

To Tatt or Not to Tatt...Ew?

To commemorate (What a) Year for Priests, Paul Brian Campbell, S.J. has offered readers of People for Others the opportunity to ask any question they might have about priesthood. My immediate question for him was, "are you nuts?" Still, I admire his willingness to serve the PoG* this way.

Turns out I needn't have worried much because the ten questions that will be reduced to five via voting are predictable and lacking in luster, with this exception: "Is it ok to get a tattoo?"

According to my calculations, at least four people want this query to be in the final five ─ not enough to rate an entire blog post by Paul, who has nevertheless confessed an "occasional urge to get A.M.D.G. inked on [his] upper arm."

Maybe it's the factoid of being raised Jewish, but I view tattooing as something of much more interest and significance to Jews, especially those who are Torah observant. (And, ok, Christians who might be a bit too fond of quoting Leviticus.**) In other words, I have difficulty wrapping my brain around why anyone would ask a Roman Catholic priest about tattoos.

Jews of a certain generation (mine) were raised to believe getting tattooed guaranteed exclusion from a Jewish cemetery which, as it turns out, isn't true. Also, we grew up around Shoah survivors whose arms had been brutally tattooed by Nazis.

Is it ok to get a tattoo? Can a Roman Catholic priest say getting a tattoo is okay without sounding like a supersecessionist? Probably ─ if he's up on the debates among Jews on the matter.

GenY and Millennials have come up with creative interpretations of Leviticus 19:28, my faves being from Punk Torah, especially this "Ask the Alterna-Rebbe" video about body piercings and Judaism. I also recommend Monica Rozenfeld's article in Busted Halo, "Tattooed Jews" for an overview of arguments about body defilement, idolatry, and self-expression.

I was keen on "body art" for myself during the 1980s. Alas, by the time I'd decided what I might want and where I might want it, my skin had lost enough collagen to ix-nay the project. Since that sorry skin slide continues, a tattoo is not in my future, although if I had the skin tone, pain tolerance, money and time I'd want one that looks like this:



*People of God
** Especially, Leviticus 20:13

Does This Dress Make Me Look...Holy?

This morning's laugh-groan-laugh and h/t to A Concord Pastor Comments whose post about First Communion Dresses appeared on my screen before I'd yet eaten.

And thank God I'd not yet taken a sip of anything. It probably would've splattered onto my screen as I read about one British retailer's promise not to "...Sell The Same Dress To Another Child At The Same Mass" (capitalization in the original).

After zooming in on that solemn vow, I noticed the politically correct gender neutral language (i.e., "child") and amused myself briefly by pondering a slew of little boys dressed in drag before smacking myself upside the head. Then, I visited another site, swallowing several times while trying to digest this overwrought ad copy which reads, in part:

"Here is an ultimate gorgeous girlie First Communion dress with distinctive sheer swirly layered skirt that twist and twirls with movement that every little girl and parent will just fall in love with."

The sentence structure snagged my attention but not for long because I became quickly entranced by the word "girlie" and the notion that having a "distinctive sheer swirly layered skirt" might have anything to do with receiving -- and being nourished by -- first Eucharist. Concord Pastor, Fr. Austin Fleming, makes a similar observation.

I, however, offer this solution to the soul-shaking, identity-challenging problem of having a distinctive girlie dress on such a special blessed day: let them wear uniforms.

I'm thinking plaid, which would probably go well with the latest translation of the Roman Missal.

'Tis the Season to be Unconscious

Back in October, the American Family Association* starting polling members about Christmas blah blah. Would members be willing to boycotting at least one national retailer for failing to use the word "Christmas" in holiday advertising? Guess they were, because at the beginning of November the AFA called for a two-month boycott of Gap, Old Navy, and Banana Republic stores.

I believe in First Amendment rights, which I liberally interpret to include every American's right to sound/read unaware, insensitive, or downright stupid. Normally, I choose to ignore these kinds of campaigns. I'm having more difficulty doing so this year, probably because I'm more focused than usual on what passes (or doesn't) as interfaith dialogue.

Ever the glutton for aggravation, I've spent time trolling the blogosphere for posts and comments about the AFA campaign. First, the good news: a fair number of observers manage to zoom in on the offensiveness of turning an important Christian holy day into a celebration of retail transactions. I'm with them on that, but my non-rhinoplastied nose is still out of joint.

These commentaries still fail to zero in on what, as far as I am concerned, a more radical issue: not everyone in the world magically becomes Christian during December. Assuming that everyone does (or should) is beyond insensitive. It's insulting to Jews and Muslims.

Old habits of being die hard -- or not at all. I was baptized (as an adult) years ago, but having been raised Jewish, I nevertheless derive some seasonal cheer from knowing Christianity didn't even exist when Jesus was born. Heck, December 24th didn't even exist.

I confess: pondering this generates the same frisson of glee I feel whenever I have an opportunity to explain that Jesus wasn't Catholic and Christ was not his last name.


*The AFA "represents and stands for traditional family values and exists to motivate and equip citizens to reform our culture to reflect Biblical truth on which it was founded."

Blogging at Jewcy.com

Although doing so would certainly put me into a much-needed theta state, I haven't ditched blogging for chanting the Litany of the Saints. Quite the contrary. This week, my adrenal system is working out at Jewy.com.

Jewcy describes itself as: an online media outlet/blog, social network, and brand devoted to helping Jews and their peers expand the meaning of community by presenting a spectrum of voices, content, and discussion.

I was invited to come over for a week-long play date by editor, Lilit Marcus whose writing is delightfully thought-provoking in both content and style. Exhibit A: "New York Is My Israel." Exhibit B: "A History of My Jewish Identity Viewed Through Men I've Dated."

My posts to date reveal yet more about my interior experience as a [adjective]:

"Why Is There a Menorah on the Altar?" (Monday, 11/9)
"The Muzuzah and the Crucifix" (Tuesday, 11/10)

Hope you'll click over to read more and will spend time visiting the entire site while you're there.

My High School Reunion: Identity and Faith on Saturday

By Saturday morning of my high school reunion, I was pretty darn full of...myself. The previous evening I'd heard, "you look exactly like you did in high school" a zillion times. (Really? Gray roots were showing back then?)

I was also feeling rather perky thanks to a powerful combination of achieving Internet connectivity and getting a good night's sleep. Thus fortified, I drove to the high school for nearly six hours of schmoozing. Identity and faith continued to be a central topic but not because I was so darn busy fulfilling Matthew 28:18-20. I had other stuff to do.

This other stuff included but was not limited to paying off a bet I'd made with one of the reunion organizers. (He won a jar of macadamia nuts.) I also wanted to find out for myself if a former football player who scared the snot out of me really does now study with a guru for months at a time in India. (He does.) And, I wanted some quality time with Peter Balakian.

I've always felt a special affection for and affinity with Peter. This, I believe, is because my mother made sure two things happened by the time I entered fifth grade. First, I was taught how to play the string bass. Second, I was shown documentary footage of Nazi death camps being liberated by Allied forces. As a result, I spent several formative years standing behind Peter while he played cello in the elementary school orchestra and to this day I consider genocide a clear and present danger. By genocide, I'm thinking Rwanda and Darfur, not...oh never mind.

Don't know if he still plays cello, but Peter has become a poet known for his prize-winning memoir, Black Dog of Fate and work about the Armenian genocide.

In Black Dog of Fate, Peter captures perfectly what it was like to grow up where we did and at a time when no one thought twice about making comments like, "You're eating like a starving Armenian" and "Don't try to Jew down the price." Peter's memoir revealed how I wasn't the only one whose childhood was shaped by a collective unconscious memory of diaspora.

While tucking into lunch, I learned that Peter is currently teaching a course in "Genocide" at Colgate University. ("Mom! Dad! I got an A in genocide!!") We chatted about antisemitism; the first century and Constantine. This proved to be perfect prelude to conversations throughout the day during which I was asked, "Why Catholic?" in the most thoughtful and thought-provoking ways.

Exactly the question I've been pondering lately, but one I put on hold to enter the embrace of Vigil Mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel that evening before reconvening for the gala dinner.

My High School Reunion: Faith and Identity on Friday

So, I didn't attend Temple Sinai on the Friday night of my high school reunion weekend. I did not come to this sanity-affirming decision all by myself. A dear friend reminded me what happened during an impromptu visit years earlier.

Silly me, I'd stopped by the synagogue office to ask for permission to tour the sanctuary and was treated to an inquisition. Because visiting from out-of-town wasn't a good enough reason, I got huffy in return, "My grandfather of blessed memory designed and built the bimah. My family donated most of the landscaping." (Because reforesting Israel wasn't enough.)

"Well, we don't want people wandering around," snarled the synagogue secretary. I muttered dayenu and promptly decided to expand my tour to the kitchen where I once scrounged around for B'nai B'rith breakfast leftovers. (One Youth Group activity I remember.) Take a WAG, did I open the refrigerators?

With that memory reignited, I decided to ditch services and join the cloud of witnesses gathering at a local restaurant. Thanks to the humorous grace of God, the first clutch of classmates happened to be those who'd attended Our Lady of Mt. Carmel (Roman Catholic) parochial school before transferring to public high school. Bemused curiosity all around about what the h-e-double hockey sticks had happened to me.

Not for the last time during the weekend did I trot out my "Jewish in identity, Christian in faith and Catholic by religious practice" trope.

As it turned out, I really didn't have to brace myself. The big negative reaction never came, not from them nor from classmates with whom I'd once raided the refrigerators at Temple Sinai. Instead, on Shabbat I was treated to a delightful riff about what the nuns would have done with me had I attended OLMC. Think: The Trouble with Angels meets Doubt and The Sound of Music.

Thus began a weekend tuned to the Self-Discovery Channel. Saturday would be even more illuminating in the domain of faith and identity, although I do plead guilty to indulging in unrepentant schadenfreude at times.

Discovering My Power Animal

You know about "power animals," right?

They're what anthropologists term a "cultural universal" because every known culture develops some kind of system of totems to signify tribe, clan, or family. At the personal level, power animals serve as protective spirits, convey power, and enhance woo-woo Oneness.

During the 1990s, lots of not-really Hindus and not-really-Buddhists became not-really-Native Americans. These 30-something Seekers invested in turtle rattles. They swapped out drumming before satsang for drumming during Vision Quests.

I, for one, skipped this stop on my way to becoming a Catholic Christian. Nevertheless, over a decade ago, I did allow a not-really-clear friend to explore her potential as a shaman. I let her bang a drum and then shake a turtle rattle over my head to summon my power animal.

Although I'd been under the thrall of cats for years, I was not at all surprised when a Great Heron flapped its way into my cosmic energy field. For years these magnificent birds had appeared in the most propitious ways, which is amazing considering my location in Suburban Captivity.

That was then. This is now. Over the weekend, my true power animal was suggested via email by a really-very-clear friend. As far as I know, no turtles were killed and rattled to reveal that my true power animal is -- a Gadfly.

My Chanukah: When Worlds Collide

Be Not Afraid of Chanukah

A rabbi, a priest, and a minister...

I broke my fast from religious news yesterday. Thanks to God's infinite grace and good humor the top commentary on David Gibson's blog was titled, "What is the point of interfaith dialogue?" John L. Allen titled his column, "Interreligious dialogue impossible, pope says, but intercultural dialogue good."

Being me, I immediately envisioned the Vatican's repeal of the Nostra aetate document. Turns out B16 is trying to make a point about shifting the focus of interfaith dialogue from apologetics to practical matters of mutual concern -- like world peace.

I'm thinking we should switch to interfaith stand-up.

More specifically, I'm suggesting that religious leaders sponsor open mike nights at local comedy clubs. Just a guess, but I think interfaith dialogue would go a lot better if our conversations started with this venerable invocation: "a rabbi, a priest, and a minister were in a row boat..."

Amen?

An Author's Life: Nourishment (V)

You might not think that sitting in front of a computer screen is hard, hunger-generating work but it's all that and more.

For me, book writing generates a snack-a-thon of major proportions and so for this latest endeavor, I've been fixated on three major food groups: salty, crunchy, and carbonated.

When I worked in and wrote for the holistic health industry, I learned to appreciate the body's wisdom. I learned to honor food cravings. So what if I'm craving salami, Cheez Doodles, and Diet Cream Soda instead tofu, carrots, and kuchika tea? Craving = body wisdom.

Now I'll admit to feeling a wee bit guilty, not to mention bloated, but the writing has been going relatively well -- considering it's book writing -- and I don't want to mess with that by switching to leafy greens and lean meat.

Plus, I'm observing portion control by getting small bags of the Doodles. The label on the cream soda explains that it has "no nutritional value" which, as far as I am concerned, means it's benign. Gornish mit gornish, so to speak. The salami? What can I say? I'm writing about how Christians need to be more educated about Judaism's legacy.

Pathetic? I'll be sorry? You'd think so. But I had blood work done two days ago and someone from my doctor's office called to say, "Your blood work looks great! Your cholesterol is very low!! Keep doing what you're doing!!!"

I know. I hate me, too.

A word about astrology...

Of course I dabbled in astrology. Is there anyone with my demographic profile who hasn't? This went on during the 1980s and because I'm a chronic over-achiever, my dabbling went well beyond reading horoscope columns. It went beyond Western astrology. My natal chart and transits were mapped by a Vedic astrologer.

This all came to a screeching halt after I was baptized. Within months of that blessed event I heard the proverbial Small Still Voice say, "I made the stars and planets. You want to know anything? Ask me." There's more to this story. When is there not? Basically, I never again looked at a horoscope or consulted an astrologer.

Still, I cannot help but think and feel (but not necessarily believe) there's something to being born a Pisces. And without naming names, I'll note that I've had conversations about the Pisces factor with devout Catholics who were also born under this sign. Viewing astrology as a bucket of hogwash doesn't stop us from saying at times, "must be a Pisces thing" or even, "is Mercury in transit or what?"

So this morning, when someone mentioned the current moon phase, I caught myself thinking, "that would explain this feeling of flopping around on the shore in not quite enough water." Maybe. Maybe not. At least I'm clear about who holds my safety net.

The Gehakte Leber Test

Anyone who knows about me and my work knows I'm fascinated by how people accommodate multiple identities, especially when cultural identity has become tied to religious identity. Many assimilated American Jews, for example, tend to consider their Judaism a cultural identity having nothing to do with religious observance.

For the past couple of days I've been fixated on this quote from a recent Christian Science Monitor article, "More Blacks Explore Judaism." This from a black woman who had been raised as a Baptist in the South:

"It's odd to see black people convert to Judaism, and even Jewish people look at me strangely, I'm not going to lie," says Ms. Chaim "But once everybody sees that I can recite the prayers in Hebrew, their attitudes change."

Hey, I may in full communion with the Roman Catholic church but I still have the chutzpah to shrug and say, "Prayers in Hebrew? Big deal. What happens when they try her chopped liver?"