Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

It's my favorite hour of the day, if the weather is fine -- that hour between 8:00 and 9:00 on a summer night. I always try to be out on my porch for what I call the "blue hour." My porch faces toward the east, so I may be missing a glorious sunset; on the other hand, the waning of the day is a lovely time, too. As the shadows lengthen, a subtle blue cast falls on the trees and neighboring buildings -- in the photo, the light-hued home across the street appears blue. The sky takes on that lucid blue that reminds me of the skies in illustrations by Maxfield Parrish, an early twentieth-century Philadelphia artist. Everything begins to quiet down. Up and down the street, mothers call for their kids, who head home. The chipmunks, who like to parade back and forth along the length of the porch during the daytime, vanish silently into whatever places chipmunks go for the night. The birds, too, begin to settle, with the exception of one bird who sings raucously practicall

After two years of diligent study, 6 in-person intensives, and one Master's thesis, I was ordained as an Interfaith Minister by the Interfaith Temple last Friday, June 10. I also graduated and was awarded a Master of Theology degree from the New Seminary, the world's oldest interfaith seminary. Wow! What an experience! You can see me in the picture -- I'm the short one (of course) on the right. Despite exhilaration and a sense of accomplishment, I was so, so tired  after the ceremony and the long drive home. The following day, I was exhausted, and sat more or less in a lump, staring blankly at the TV. Now, today, I feel a bit better, more energetic. But I also feel ... new. "New" is not a typical feeling for me, as my 63rd birthday approaches in August. But new is how I feel. I feel very tender and vulnerable, as if I have lost a gigantic scab and found pink, baby skin beneath it. This new baby skin has to mature, toughen, with exposure to air and sun. S

The hospice for which I volunteer has been having lots of vigils lately. Fortunately, we have many volunteers. Still, over the course of the month I've been called on several times to sit with and comfort a dying person. Normally the hospice sets up vigils when no family members are available to sit with the patient, or when exhausted family members need to be relieved for a bit so that they can take care of some of their own needs. So it's often just me and the patient, holding hands and  listening to quiet music. I speak words of comfort, sometimes say prayers, and just generally offer a ministry of presence. Last week I was called to vigil with a patient I'll call "Lillian," whose daughter badly needed a break. Lillian was actively dying, and was sleeping soundly with the assistance of morphine. Her daughter was so happy to see me, because she had not gotten away to eat anything since breakfast. She told me some other family members might stop by briefly, a

Sure looks like spring in our town! I think to myself every year that there's no prettier place in May than southern New Jersey (I realize that this is open to debate). All the fruit trees are in full flower, the azaleas are going wild, and the rhododendron are beginning to burst into bloom. And it's no surprise, is it? Because it hasn't done anything but bloody rain, it seems like for weeks. I have several friends who are pluviophiles -- they love rain in any circumstance. Now, I leave you to make your own decision -- but it seems significant to me that both these friends lived for periods in Britain. I've been there several times, and I did see the sun there. But not for long. It made a cameo appearance, let's say. Rain isn't a bad thing, unless you're in Texas, where flooding has been out of control lately, and that's been tragic for Texans in some cases. I could cope with rain. I could sit on my porch with tea and a book, listening to the pit

Look at those sweet cartoon figures to the left,   still in love, after all these years. Haven't we all known sweet old couples who've been married so long that they can finish each other's sentences? And there are even those couples who don't even seem to have to speak. It's almost as if they have telepathic abilities. I've been married nearly 36 years, but my spouse and I are not at this telepathic point yet. Not having to converse would be an attractive option, given some of the crystal-clear interchanges we've had recently. HE: Where'd you put my thing for work? SHE: What thing? HE: The thing I use to work in the dining room. SHE: I didn't put anything anywhere. HE: But my thing is gone. You had to have put it away. SHE: What THING? What is the THING? HE: The plug thing. For the wall. SHE: You mean the CORD? It's the CORD you want? The ELECTRIC CORD? HE: Yes. SHE: I never touched it. Of course, no one is immune to communicatio