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An Extraordinary Day
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Sunday morning I awoke suddenly, near 8:30. Michael was already up. I rolled over and turned on KUHF and NPR Sunday edition. I was just in time to hear a favorite segment, "This I Believe," which showcases essays written by ordinary people. I heard Isabel Legarda speak about her "spiritual work" as an anesthesiologist. The Latin root of spiritual, she wrote, is spiritus, meaning breath, inspiration. They are words that resound in both medicine and faith. Someone once asked her to describe in one sentence the most important idea at the heart of her religion. It came to her like a sudden breath: Every person is precious. Her spiritual life had been "frayed" after seeing so much suffering in children in her residency. One day she learned how to give manual breaths to help a child breathe. Then her life turned; as she took on the responsibility of sustaining the life-breath of others, she slowly opened up to "Spirit" once again. Every day she began to see herself in touch with the sacred as she worked. She felt she was on holy ground in the O.R. as the preciousness of every being fed her faith as "Spiritus lives." I hurried to get ready for Mass. It was Pentecost Sunday and I wore red, the color of fire and spirit. On the holy ground of St. Anne's Church our choir sang with one voice Veni Sancti Spiritus (Come Holy Spirit), and Father Tom led us in prayer. It was his birthday, the day he took his first breath. As a young boy, he had been excited about the drama of the wind and fire of the Holy Spirit. He was expecting real fire and wind, but soon learned that this was a symbol of how God talks to us, of how Christ remains present to us. Father Tom said that it was also the birthday of the Church. He added that this is not a one time event, but keeps happening every day, as that Holy Spirit inspires us with the breath of Life. Through clouds of incense from the swinging gold censor, we indeed felt the sacred Breath of God. Veni Sancti Spiritus. After Mass, Michael and I went to the Vietnamese Guandi Buddhist Temple to celebrate the birthday of the Buddha. Winding our way through neighborhoods that had seen better days, we passed the Pentecost Holiness Church. I had just seen a white seagull soaring against the rain dark clouds. It reminded me of the seagulls that flew all around the minarets of the illuminated Hagia Sophia, the Church of Holy Wisdom, my last night in Istanbul six years ago. I had thought of the Holy Spirit then, blessing that ancient city. The Hagia Sophia, the Pentecost Holiness Church, all symbolic bridges from St. Anne's Catholic Church to the Guandi Temple of the Golden Buddha. When we arrived, 20-30 devotees were processing barefoot, chanting with five monks, who were dressed in curry and saffron colored robes. We walked with them, pouring jasmine-scented water over the figure of the child Buddha three times. Inside on the big altars were many bowls of oranges and mangos, apples and peaches, and berry-studded muffins. There were pots of white lilies and bouquets of colorful mums and gladioli. Instead of the gold sensors from Mass, here there were golden bowls filled with burning sticks of fragrant yellow incense. Whether frankincense or Asian perfumes, all of it is holy-holy smoke--rising to the sky, with our prayers and wishes, our hopes and dreams. On the central altar, the serene gold Buddha blessed us. A statue of Kuan Yin stood there as well, the Divine Mother of Compassion. Like Mary, she hears the cries of a wounded world. She hears our prayer for Peace. So many things captivated my senses-the wooden floors and bare feet, the golden incense burning, fans blowing through the open-aired temple, words and blessings spoken in a language I did not understand. There were red envelopes, welcoming smiles, humble monks, and prayerful hands raised in blessing. Michael was gifted with a special prayer bracelet made of bone. We both were touched by the beautiful and heartfelt ceremony. Father Tom's words echoed in my mind. Pentecost is not a one-time event, it keeps happening. The wind and the fire, the breath and the songs are everywhere. Veni Sancti Spiritus. It is all connected, all one. We all yearn for one peace. At Mass we prayed for "peace in our day." Christ is the Prince of Peace, as is the Buddha. Isabel Lagarda wrote that all beings are precious. Buddha teaches that all beings are holy; Christ said to love one another. My thoughts went to the Bill Moyers interview from the previous Friday night. He interviewed Asian American writer Maxine Hong Kingston. He explained that no one has done more to help Veterans of War bear witness to their unspeakable experiences than she. One poem from 1995 is about the "word," the word that is human creation. "As we express each word, we make more of the world," she said. Ted S., a veteran of the Vietnam War, wrote:
This is the poem that will help save my life.
Ms. Kingston added, "When we listen, we breathe in one another's words, and so this poem is about breathing in each other and communicating." My faith caught fire again this weekend, the Memorial Day weekend, a time to remember those touched by war. I feel new energy as I am inspired by the words of others. I breathe it all in; I yearn for peace, for Spiritus. The breath of Pentecost keeps happening everyday. Come Holy Spirit. Veni Sancti Spiritus. Come peace. -Lucia |