Doing it right

"You need to learn to swear," he told me.
"A Quaker like you, so controlled
--it's not healthy."

I wondered if he might be right.
I did feel choked up at times
by the undone dishes and frayed edges,
not to mention the major injustices of life.

Leaning into memory, I brought up
words from TV and novels, phrases
my grandfather had used when provoked.
I rehearsed them mentally,
avoiding the mirror.

A few weeks later,
something he said (I can't remember what),
--a twist of sarcasm, a patronizing hint--
and a voice whispered, "Now."
I looked straight at him
and with a keen and measured ferocity said,
"I just don't give a hell."

In the following silence, I realized
I hadn't quite brought it off.
Finally he said, "If you're going to swear,
at least do it right."

Warning: I'm practicing.
Next time I'll get it.
Mountains will quake.

On googling my name

Recently I googled my name to see what information was out there on the WEB. The search reminded me of just how common my name is. Even a check that included my middle initial, J., netted some 14,600,000 sites! It was hard to find me in all the Nancy Thomases scattered throughout the virtual universe.

Actually, I did find me on page 5 of one of the searches, with a link to my Barclay Press blog. Further down the list (and many pages later) I came up with my own blog, mil gracias. It took a bit of patience; I’m well hidden.

A Book Finder search uncovered quite a list of publications by Nancy Thomas, and interestingly enough a book I edited, Footprints of God: A Narrative Theology of Mission, led the list. Other books by Nancy Thomas in that list included The Great American Afghan, The Great Tiki Drink Book, When Love Is Not Enough: A guide to Parenting Children with Reactive Attachment Disorder, and Infectious Diseases of Wild Birds. I had no idea I was that versatile!

In other words, if someone met me, remembered my name and then tried to find out more about me on the Internet, here’s what he might learn:

--that I am one of the leading authorities on parenting emotionally disturbed children;

--that I am a nationally-known contemporary folk artist who does prints, abstract children’s art, children’s calendars, ceramic figurines, sculpture, hooked rugs, pins, stained glass, all kinds of stuff for home and garden. My work is prized throughout the country. My latest abstract, “Couple Dancing in the Snow,” sells for $100;

--that I am a celebrated documentary photographer whose “ART captures the Physical, Mental and Spiritual experiences that constitute LIFE.” (I’m really good);

--that I am a taxi driver in Milton, Vermont;

--that for more than 25 years, I have “been the editorial voice of the most widely circulated knitting magazines, including Vogue Knitting, Family Circle Easy Knitting, and Knitter’s Magazine.” My latest book is A Passion for Knitting, hot off the press;

--that the Nancy Thomas Award was set up in my name to honor professionals who are addressing the issues of the inclusion of young children with disabilities;

--that although I hold a degree in electronics and engineering, I am a story-teller at heart and believe that “writing is a door into a world of possibilities;”

--that I have been a non-dieting fat woman since 1976 and am one of the founders of the FAT LIP Readers Theater;

--that I own and run the Duncanville Feed Store in Texas;

--that I practice clinical psychology in Ponte Vedra, Florida.

I even came up with a site that invited me to read my obituary, but I declined.

A bit overwhelming, to say the least. It tempts me to feel generic.

But I’m not generic. None of us are. I am unique, in spite of my common, ordinary, repeatable name. Actually, I began to love my name when I discovered what it meant. Both names, Nancy and Jane, mean “grace.” I don’t think my parents knew that when they named me; Nancy and Jane were favorite aunts and cousins on both sides of the family.

But they did indeed name me “Grace Grace,” God’s double-whammy grace child. My unique name/person is etched on the palm of God’s hand, and God needs no search engine to find me.

Neither do you.

The shining prepositions

Several weeks back the gathering word in our unprogrammed time of worship came from 2 Corinthians 4 and contained this verse:

For God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shined in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ (2 Cor. 2:4).

I responded in two ways. The first was amazement at the scope of what Paul is saying, almost to the point of incredulity. Secondly, my professional editorial self kicked in and I thought, “You can’t string together five propositional phrases. That’s not good writing. At least not in English.” That’s true. If I found that many prepositional phrases all in one line, I’d re-write the sentence.

But here you have it. Creator God, the one who said, “Let there be light,” shines that light into our hearts to give an incredible gift:

The light
--of the knowledge
--of the glory
--of God
--in the face
--of Jesus Christ.

And I’m not about to edit any of it out.

Actually in Greek, there is only one prepositional phrase and four possessive nouns (genitive case, for you Greek scholars). In other words, God shines into our hearts the light pertaining to the knowledge that pertains to the glory that belongs to God in the face (the lone prepositional phrase) that belongs to Jesus. Technically, it still seems to need some editing.

Beyond the technicalities, I continue to bask in the amazement. It’s simply too big to take in with my mind. But I feel my heart expanding.

What is it exactly that God beams into our hearts? Basically, it’s knowledge. The knowledge of God’s glory. This has to be a knowledge that goes beyond rational possession of information. It’s experiential, intuitive, deep-level revelation, the how-can-this-be-true sense of wonder at something utterly beyond and above us.

“The glory of God.” Perhaps we’ve heard and repeated that phrase so much we’ve become immune to the wonder. The glory of God—the beauty, might, mystery, majesty of the Creator—a theme that runs through the Scriptures from that first “Let there be light” to the final vision of the glorious city with her shining King. A theme that runs through creation, that roars in the oceans, whispers through the trees, teases us with hints of more in all the mountain wildflowers of all the far and near places in all the world. The glory of God.

And how do we have access to the knowledge/experience of this glory? It comes as we gaze at the face of Jesus Christ. Intimacy with Jesus opens us up to the shining gift.

How can this be? How can I just keep walking around, conversing with people, eating sandwiches, opening and closing drawers just as though life should go on as normal, when I know of the very real possibility that God will zap my heart with the knowledge of glory. Is possibly doing it right now. I think of the line from ee cummings’ poem about the good Samaritan who lifted the wounded man into his arms and “staggered banged with terror through a million billion trillion stars.” That seems like a more appropriate reaction.

Yet life does go on as normal. And I’m glad, not yet being prepared to handle too much glory. I think of all that’s happened since my last blog:

--the media images of the killing of Osama Bin Ladin, scenes of people rejoicing in the streets of New York and numerous small towns across our nation, and my mixed reactions—patriot, Quaker pacifist, compassionate missionary;

--a week of work both stimulating and tedious, interacting with students, preparing documents, getting ready for a trip;

--time with family, celebrating the 16th birthday of my granddaughter, long phone conversations with my daughter on how she’s dealing with her son’s autism, early morning walks with Hal.

All of the ordinariness and holiness of life. Normal, common life in a small town on planet earth. But it’s here where that amazing, shining string of prepositional phrases begins to operate. God, shining into my heart, the light

--of the knowledge
--of the glory
--of God
--in the face
--of Jesus Christ.

Oh, my Lord, how can this be?

Messages from another world

When Hal was about 9 years old, his parents gave him several sets of encyclopedias, rejects from the Christian school to which they had been donated. Too out-dated for the school to use, they provided hours of fascinating reading for a young boy curious about all of life. We recently came across these volumes while sorting through the boxes in the old family home. They make even more fascinating reading today, almost seeming like messages from another world.

The five-volume American Educator Encyclopedia has the ambitious subtitle, “A Thoroughly Modern Work Designed to Meet the Needs of Every Age,” (1936. Wallsworth D. Foster, ed., Chicago: The United Educators, Inc.). The following come from the sections on commerce, religion and war and show a certain idealism that was just beginning to fade in the time of the rise of Hitler.

Commerce:  “In commerce there is an exchange of property, in which each party gains what he desires. But commerce is no longer the mere barter of savages. It is a vast system is which all the world shares. It helps to make prices and wages more equal. It also keeps them more fixed, for, if one group will not pay a fair price, the goods may be sent elsewhere….It brings people all over the world into greater sympathy with each other, and gives them more knowledge of each other” p. 433).

Religion: “All men are religious. No tribe has been found so low in savagery or barbarism that it did not acknowledge some relation to a supreme being and in a crude way try to give expression to that relationship” (p. 3046).

War: “…though an enemy may be starved into surrender, wounding, except in battle, mutilation and all cruel and wanton devastation are contrary to the rules of war, as are also bombarding an unprotected town, the use of poison and the employment of torture to extort information from an enemy. Works of art and the industries of peace are usually considered as exempt from destruction. The World War, however, showed that in actual conflict all these rules may be disregarded by a wanton adversary….The supreme problem before civilization at the present time is not the mitigation, but the abolition of war” (p. 3802).

Would that the results of commerce and globalization were greater sympathy, but it seems that the supreme problem before us is still the abolition of war.

More lenten poems from the book of John

Day 29, John 14:15-31

How can you make your home in me?
I’m too small. There’s no space
for infinite Trinity in here.
The rooms are crowded, and some
of the windows haven’t been opened
in years. The air is stale.
Cobwebs hang in the corners of the
ceiling. The whole thing needs
a spring cleaning and a new
paint job. With my current means
and energy level, I can’t possibly
get it ready for you, Lord, even if
you could find a way to fit. I guess
you’ll have to do it yourself.

Day 30, John 15:1-27

How can I abide in you,
my Lord? I go for hours
without even thinking of you.
Prayerless days are not
uncommon, and if I’m
not in crisis mode, I find
my joy in other pursuits.
I don’t naturally turn to you
in my open spaces. I don’t
gravitate to the center.
Some kind of centrifugal
force spins me away,
in spite of my longing
to abide. Please help me.
Pull me in to you.

Day 33, John 18:1-27

“I am he” is the seismic center.
It spreads in expanding rings.
The bodies fall outward,
circle a setting sun.
Torches, weapons,
a bloody face, arrest
and betrayals spin,
but the center holds.
Even so, night deepens.
Even so, this unbearable cold.

Day 34, John 18:28-40

“What is truth?”
the politician asks,
not sticking
around for an answer.
The question hangs
in the air while
the man born
to be king awaits
his coronation
in silence.

Day 35, John 19:1-27

“Dear woman, here is your son.”

Even from the cross
you attend to the details,
express affection,
provide for your own.
It’s from the cross
that you provide for all
your own, bring into line
the messy details of all
our lives, say your immense
and costly I-love-you.
From the cross.

Day 36, John 19:28-42

Out of the pierced side
of the God who died
flow all the terrors
of all the nights
the rapes the abductions
the children lost and
the mothers mourning
sirens and sleeplessness
thunder in far off places
the confusion of the archangels
and all my tears, all my sorrows
carried in the stream
that flows from his side.

Day 37, John 20:1-18

Missionary, apostle to the apostles,
beloved friend of Jesus,
tears still wet on your face,
it was love that thrust
you forth, joy that gave
your feet wings, wonder
that filled your voice
with gospel. Woman of God,
pure and trembling one,
you will remember always
his voice, “Mary,” forever
calling your name, “Mary,”
causing you to run
from the garden to the city,
from Jerusalem to Bombay,
to Barcelona and Cleveland,
to Cochabamba and Kigali,
telling us all,
“I have seen the Lord!”

Day 38, John 20:19-31

All doors being closed
you came and stood
among them. Even now you
defy our doors and doubts,
choose to stand
in our midst. Glory.

Down on the farm: toward a Quaker missiology

Yesterday in unprogrammed worship, the gathering word came from George Fox’s “Epistle to all who go to plant new farms in America:”

In all places where you do outwardly live and settle, invite all the Indians, and their Kings, and have meetings with them, or they with you; so that you may make inward plantations with the light and power of God and the grace, truth, and the spirit of Christ, and with it you may answer the light of truth, and the spirit of God, in the Indians, their Kings and their people, and so by it you may make heavenly plantations in their hearts for the Lord, and so beget them in God, that they may serve and worship him, and spread the truth abroad; and so that you may all be kept warm in God’s love, power, and zeal, for the honor of his name.

In certain circles of the contemporary Quaker movement, people are attempting to express a Quaker theology of mission (ie, a Quaker missiology), drawing from the writings and the history of Friends. (See, for example, Ron Stansell’s book, Missions by the Spirit: Learning from Quaker Examples, 2010.)
(Perhaps a brief definition would be helpful here. By “missiology” I refer to the theory or theology behind the participation of God’s people--the church--in God’s purposes in the world, purposes that encompass the whole of life.)

A hour’s reflection on George Fox’s advice to colonizing farmers in the 17th century, corroborated by many other documents, yields the following Quakerly missiological principles:

--This is mission for the lay person, not a called out  missionary band (although that is another way God works). These agents of mission were farmers going about the business of homesteading and cultivating the land, their first vocation.

--The field of service was wherever they happened to be. As they carried out their vocation, they were to partner with God in God’s work with the people around them.

--Although immigrants, they were not to remain strangers in the land. Fox admonished them to reach out to the original inhabitants. They were to enter into relationship with their neighbors, to “have meetings.”

--Mutual respect would characterize these relationships, with either party—farmers or Indians—initiating the meetings. Fox’s advice hints of hospitality and reciprocity.

--In the term “all the Indians and their Kings,” there seems to be some attempt to understand and respect the leadership structure, and perhaps other aspects of the culture as well, although we can’t read the insights of modern anthropology into Fox’s understandings. But at least we find here a seed of cultural respect.

--There is a consciousness that these Quaker Christian farmers had something of value to share, “the light and power of God and the grace, truth, and the spirit of Christ.”

--There is also a consciousness that God is already at work among the Indians, that “the light of truth and the spirit of God” in these people will answer to that of Christ in the immigrant farmer/missionaries. Not only do these farmers not start from ground zero as they share the light of Christ, they have something to learn from the Indians. Again, we see that note of reciprocity and respect.

--Fox focuses on the inward work that results in new life, the “begetting” of conversion that issues forth in worship and the further spreading of the light of Christ.

--There is no mention of the need for cultural change, for civilizing the Indians, winning them over to Western ways. This may be an illogical argument from absence, but it seems to accompany the focus on inward change.

--Fox has an expectation of ongoing mission, as the Indians themselves spread the light of Christ.

--Fox acknowledges the joy and satisfaction (being “kept warm”) of participation in the missional purposes of God in the world.

This is an ideal missiology, garnered from principles in Fox’s admonitions to these farmers. In understanding and expressing a Friends missiology, we also need to look at history, and history often falls short of the ideals of a group or its founders.

In our meeting, after a time of silence, Arthur Roberts cited the Apostle Paul in his observations that “we have this treasure [the gospel of the light of Christ] in jars of clay,” (2 Cor. 4:7). He pointed out that these very immigrating Quakers farmers were, perhaps unknowingly, participating in an unjust colonial system, and that in retrospect, some Quakers have felt the need to make reparation to the original inhabitants. Nevertheless, God worked through Quaker immigrants.

We need to weigh early Quaker ideals in a balance with history. I know very little about Friends relationships with the indigenous peoples of this land, other than the noteworthy experiment of William Penn and his just treaties, and the short term visit of John Woolman to a northern tribe. Were Friends involved, along with other Christians, in the extraction of Indians from their culture in order to “civilize” and “christianize” them?

Arthur Roberts himself has documented the story of Quaker mission among the indigenous people of Alaska, a story that illustrates many of the principles gleaned from Fox’s advice to immigrant farmers, and a story that has resulted in an indigenous Quaker church (Tomorrow Is Growing Old, 1978).

Hal and I have been involved in Quaker mission work all our lives, and we’re still learning. I think Quaker perspectives have much to offer contemporary missiology, ever more important in this age of globalization.

Forty days with the book of John: a poetic response.

As part of our meeting’s Lenten experience, we are reading through the book of John in 40 days. I’ve made a commitment to write a poem a day, something that rises up from my time of meditation on the passage for the day. It’s been a deepening, if somewhat uneven, experience. (I plan on taking a day’s writing retreat next week to write the poems for the days I’ve missed.) The poems are turning into prayers and I find myself being both challenged and stretched. And some mornings, moved to tears. That’s good.  Here are a few of the prayers/poems.


Day 1, John 1:1-18

You were there.
You called forth all things,
Maker and Namer and Poet.
And you come now and stand among us
call us daughters and sons,
out of your fullness
give grace upon grace.

Unspeakable glory,
give us strength to bear the joy.

Day 4, John 2:13-25

This harsh angry Jesus alarms me.
He makes a weapon,
lifts it against both men and beasts.
He even attacks the furniture.
He throws money about
in what looks like a first class
temper tantrum, the seeds of war.
He yells and commands, casts
people out. Apparent pride
and a complete lack of trust
in his fellow human beings
round out this ugly portrait
of a man who scares me.
His Father may have
“so loved the world”
but his son doesn’t appear
to even like it.

Day 6, John 3:22-36

Teach me to step down, my Lord,
to rejoice when I see your Spirit
poured without measure
on other writers, speakers, teachers,
on my children and grandchildren,
on those much younger than me.
Teach me the joy of praying
from the sidelines, “Thy kingdom
come. Thy will be done.”
Let me move with grace into
my changing role. Let it be
all joy.

Day 11, John 6:1-24

This reads more like a Marvel Comic
than the Bible. Multiplied food,
walking on water
through a storm, no less,
followed by laser travel
to a distant shore.
Who are you anyway?
Don’t you see why
people have trouble
swallowing more than
bread and fish?

Day 21, John 10:22-42

I’m not sure I like
being called a sheep
but I do want to be one
who recognizes your voice,
listens and follows you.
Work in my life, Good Shepherd,
Sweet Jesus. Do what it takes
to sharpen my sense of hearing.
Help me to live on tip toes,
alert, attentive, eager
to hear you tell me, “come.”

Day 23, John 11:38-57

Forgive me, Lord,
if the re-telling of this story
has made it so familiar
I lose the amazement.
I should gasp, scream,
cover my face, flee in fear.
Faint, at the very least.
Restore to me, my Lord,
the terror of resurrection.

Day 27, John 13:18-38

As night comes on
and Jesus knowingly faces betrayal,
crucifixion and death, he prepares
his disciples by giving them
two commands: serve one another,
love one another. As though
this is what is needed to face
the dark.
When light is gone,
when the wind howls and
the temperature drops, I’m to
wrap a towel about my waist,
bow down before my peers
and wash their feet
with love. Not the poor,
not out in the streets or
on the mission field. My peers,
my colleagues, my team members.
And after those, all the rest.
Lord Jesus, why is this sometimes
the hardest of all?