Laurel Massé

Moving day

Dear readers, I am merging this blog with my new website at www.laurelmasse.com. All the posts and comments have danced over to the new venue. There will be some further tuning, as there always is, and so this blog will stay up for a little while, but from now on, the pieces I've written here and those I'll be writing in the future, as well as information about my concerts and recordings, teaching and preaching, and everything else that forms part of my eccentric career will be available at www.laurelmasse.com.

Thanks are due to Typepad, for the simplicity and elegance its platform offers to a novice blogger. It was a great place to begin.

Skandalon

My title is a Greek word that turns up fairly often - 44 times - in New Testament. As you can guess, it is the source of the words scandal and scandalize, and it means stumbling block, something one trips over, something that causes one to fall. These things happen in life, but no one should be placing the stones so as to cause a fall, as Jesus said. "Woe to the world because of stumbling blocks! Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to the one by whom the stumbling block comes!" (Matthew 18:7). Paul wrote, in his letter to the Romans, "Let us therefore no longer pass judgment on one another, but resolve instead never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of another... Let us then pursue what makes for peace and mutual edification." (Romans 14:13,19)

When two women from the Russian punk band Pussy Riot were tried and sentenced for an activist action in a church (or committing sacrilege in a church, depending on one's point of view), I became involved in an online discussion led by a member of a Christian religious order. I felt that person's position against the women of the band, even in light of the pain and anger the action had caused, was extremely harsh, and I posted a comment questioning that stance. We back and forthed a little bit, chapter-and-versing, but in the end, I was smacked down by Thomas Aquinas. Oof! Serves me right, perhaps, for messing with [a person of unnamed gender who is a member of an unnamed religious order of an unnamed denomination].

About a month has passed, and now a conflagration triggered by insults to the founder of Islam and his followers has caused riots, and killed our ambassador to Libya, along with several members of the embassy staff. These deaths are not justifiable in any way. They are heartbreaking. Information currently suggests that the protests were used by outside agents to cover the murders of the ambassador and embassy personnel. I am trying to separate the killings done by a few from the anger displayed by so many, across several countries.

If Pussy Riot's action was sacrilegious, it seems to me that the film Innocence of Muslims is, too. If we are to accept that churchgoers were hurt and scandalized when the punk band disrupted the sacred service, how can we not see that devout Muslims would be outraged by this film?

Someone - I think it may have been Fran Lebowitz - once wrote, "Your freedom to wear a lime-green polyester pantsuit ends where it meets my eye." There are limits, even for we Americans. I have heard people say that though the film is regrettable, we have freedom of speech. Yes, we do. Here. If we stay within our own borders. But elsewhere, where American law does not apply, we have to abide by the laws and customs of the country we are in. Even at home, we have to be prepared to accept the consequences of that free speech. In Muslim cultures, one does not make a picture of or a joke about the Prophet. I am sorry to have to say this, but really, if a five-year old can figure out that it's unwise to pull the kitty's tail, can't alleged adults predict that riots and violence will be the result of such "free speech"? That may someday change, but we are not the ones to force that change.

There is another definition of skandalon: the movable stick that triggers a trap, the stick that has to be carefully and deliberately set in order for the trap to function.

Someone made a movie defaming the prophet Muhammed. I have read it was intended to be a Christian evangelization tool. Most people smart enough to make a movie are probably too smart to have made such a colossal misjudgement, but it didn't matter much, because only about ten people ever saw the film prior to now. So who really decided it would be a good idea to release such a film, and to post a trailer on YouTube at this particular time? And who funded it? $5,000,000 went into that film. Instead of criticizing the quality of the production, why are we not asking who put up the money? Because it's not that easy to find that kind of money. If five million dollars grew on every tree, I would have planted an orchard, and be having a very different life right now.

Most Christians agree that it is, at the very least, bad manners to show blatant disrespect to Jesus Christ. Responses vary from person to person. Grief. Rage. A shrug. A prayer. But there is always a reaction. So what, then, makes it OK to similarly disrespect Muhammed?

Nothing. It is not OK. And we misrepresent the God of love we profess to follow when we allow it to happen in His name.

I don't know what the religious I conversed with last month might say about what happened and is happening in Libya, Tunisia, Sudan. And Aquinas? I have not studied his work much, so I don't know that, either. But I do know this: three months before his death, Aquinas, while serving at Mass, had a mystical experience that led him to say, "All that I have written seems like straw compared to what has been revealed to me."

 

I love the book of you, the lure of you...

Recently I noticed that the blogs I read most faithfully are the work of writers. Book writers, I mean, not (for the most part) Facebook posters. I don't know how I initially found some of these blogs. I'll start chatting with Mr. Google about something I want to know, and end up learning something utterly else. Perhaps I have been picking up some feline traits from Mrs. Peel. No sooner have I spotted and pounced on a falling leaf, than, hey! there's another one, further away. Pounce! But wait! Something's rustling over there! Pounce!

I'm like that in the library, too. Yes, yes, of course I go in with something specific in mind, some single book. But when I emerge an hour or two later, dazed and blinky-eyed, my arms are full of books, most of which are not at all related to the one I came in to capture. You know. The one I have forgotten about.

When I come back to the apartment, I greet Mrs. Peel, put on the kettle, and start to look at my literary plunder, hoping, hoping. If I am lucky, if I have chosen well, one of the books will be as good a portal as the book in this video. and that will be very, very good indeed.

Because this is what a real book can do.

 

 

(For those whose French is rusty, the subtitles say more or less this:

At the beginning:

Adult: So kids, again with that book?

Child, reading book: You who read these lines will discover the mystery of Georgian legends...

At the end:

Adult: Let's go, kids. Finish playing with the book. Time to eat).

Turn the radio on

I had a lovely time this afternoon being interviewed by Sandra Lee Schubert of Wild Woman Network. You can listen here.

 

Thank-you note

I received a comment on one of my blog posts yesterday, which is not in and of itself unusual - and thank you all for that! But the post was one I wrote in September 2007, on the occasion of Madeleine L'Engle's death.

I was surprised.

Somehow, it had never occurred to me that something I wrote two and a half years ago would still be part of the conversation, even though I am never surprised when people tell me they love "Scotch and Soda", or "Je Voulais",  which were recorded in the 1970s, for heaven's sake. I'm deeply grateful when that happens, but not surprised. So, apparently I've had a little trouble generalizing. I'd seen that writing is like singing in one way - both are conversations - but missed another. - the conversation is not bound by time. As one who relishes reading old books, I am feeling a little silly about that, and also very jazzed.

It thrills me that you read what I write, and that you care about the things I care about, whether it is the song of a bird or the way someone sings the national anthem, a passage of scripture or a cool blog, the chill of a winter night or the warmth in Elizabeth Taylor's eyes.

So, thank-you, D H-T, for your comment about Madeleine yesterday. Thank you all for your time and thoughtful attention. You might not know how much you mean to me, but I sure do.

 

An ever more perfect union

From President Obama's speech last night:

I believe we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved lives here - they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another is entirely up to us. I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.

I have been reading comments in the press and blogosphere this morning about the president's speech, and have come to a new resolve: I am not going to read comments on political stories anymore. In truth, I have thought this in the past, but always drift back for one more look, like touching wet paint to see just how wet it is. But no more. I know that there are women and men of bright goodness in this country, millions of them, and I don't want my ability to see that light obscured anymore by the smoke of burning hostilities.

It's pretty easy for me to feel, not unamerican exactly, but not-very-American. I lived overseas from the ages of ten to sixteen. These are very formative years, and I had a lot of trouble adjusting to being Stateside again for the start of my senior year in high school. Some of my sense of being a foreigner here never quite fell away. That is probably why I feel comfortable living in a big east-coast city even though I love the wilderness.

I look at newspapers from Britain, Canada, and France fairly regularly, to stay aware of the different perspective that was the only one I had in those years away. This country looks different from a distance, scarier to be sure, but also - often - more wondrous strange and beautiful.

I think what President Obama was able to do in his speech yesterday was to give us a different perspective, to show us to ourselves from a different distance, from a place where the divisions between us melt into insignificance. Where all one sees is that which binds us. Grief. Joy. Loss. Love. And a dream: a vision of how much better we can be than the often-pretty-fine-once-you-get-the-smoke-out-of-the-way that we are.

There were several scripture readings at the memorial yesterday, and the president referenced a few more. Had I a hand in the planning of the event, this is a reading I would have chosen:

One Body with Many Members

Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot were to say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body’, that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear were to say, ‘Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body’, that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many members, yet one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you’, nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’ On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honourable we clothe with greater honour, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honour to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honoured, all rejoice together with it. (1 Corinthians 12:14-26, NRSV)

"Our hearts are broken," President Obama said last night. "And yet, our hearts also have reason for fullness."

I pray to remember to see from that fullness. To be in that fullness. And to carry that fullness out into the world every day.

God bless America.

 

My calling birds

I have read that "calling birds" is a corruption of "colly birds", which is another name for blackbirds, a family that includes many of my favorite birds. Or that "calling birds" refers to any songbird, which is what I am. Either way, I have a special affection for this verse. But "calling birds" also means to me, after years of living in the Adirondacks, the birds you listen to for the news of the day. Is there an owl nearby? A cat? Those very vocal blackbirds will let you know.

Now in the city, while I am drinking my morning-strong Yorkshire Gold tea, I read (if you know me, this is no surprise whatsoever). I am reasonably consistent in my morning reading, and it occured to me this morning - how timely! - that I have morning companions who chat with me through various media, "calling birds" showing me what is going on in the world, what it might mean, and who we can be, at both our shocking worst and our shining best.

The first is my prayer book and Bible. The prayer book is falling apart, not so much from use (alas) as from travel, and from being poorly-bound in the first place. And from being stuffed full of dried leaves and found feathers (including peacock down from the Cathedral birds) and little prayer cards. The Bible is a beautiful, leather-bound Oxford's annotated NRSV that I bought for myself a couple of years ago. There are a lot of different translations of scripture lying around this apartment; this is my favorite most of the time. Of course the cover, when the book arrived, was the wrong color. I had ordered classic black, and this one is burgundy red. Befits my past, I guess, but how did the booksellers know? Did they have a little chat with Santa?

Then it's on to the New York Times (Global Edition) which I read online. Often the same things are happening in the news and in the scripture readings. I don't mean events, necessarily, but rather the human response to events.

When I have time, I check out my favorite blogs. My friend Paul Overton's beautiful blog, Every Day is Awesome is one I visit regularly. There is a new post almost every day. That alone is inspiring to me, and what he has to say is honest, thoughtful, and spiced with his wacky humor. I also treasure Léna's Lit.Life and Paula's House of Toast. Both blogs are rich and beautiful.

Finally,  the fourth "calling bird" lately has been William Shakespeare, with whom I am enjoying quite a torrid romance at the moment. Will visits at all hours and gets me drunk on words and passion. What stuns me about his work is the depth to which he explored the human heart, and the sheer extravagance of the talent that allowed him to write of it. There are days, especially now, as I am about to be painting bookshelves, when I think I could get by easily and merrily with no books other than his works, the Bible, and the Book of Common Prayer. No, wait. It would be good to have that great big Oxford English Dictionary, too. And The Wind in the Willows, because I love the chapter where Ratty sees Pan. And Colette's La Lanterne Bleue. And To Say Nothing of the Dog. And, oh dear, there's always an "and"!

What books would you absolutely have to have? And who are your calling birds?

What I Did on my Vacation

I was not on vacation. I just wasn't writing. Life simply got a-hold of me, and that is good. Except for this: I am not a multi-tasker, and am hard-pressed to hold attention on several things at once. I have worried a lot about this over the years. What is wrong with my brain? What is wrong with me?

Perhaps nothing is wrong. Perhaps what I have been taught is "letting balls drop" may really be having tried to juggle more than I can mentally handle in the first place. I should have recognized this a long time ago. The clues were always here, especially in my reading patterns. It was never enough to read one "Black Stallion" book. I had to read them all. And then it was not enough to read all the Black Stallion books. I had to read all of Walter Farley's other books, too. The Island Stallion. Sulky Colt. Even The Great Dane, Thor. Intense focus on one thing, sometimes to the seeming exclusion of others. 

When I am performing, that's what I do. When I am teaching, that is what I do. When I was training dogs, that was the world. When I apprenticed to an herbalist, that was the world. And when other things come at me from the side, I have a hard time dealing with them. This could be a mighty mental discipline, a "being here now". It's not, alas. I wish it was. It's just me, being me. People pitch balls to me that I don't even see sometimes. I just hear the big clatter as they hit the floor!

The past month-and-change has graced me with some challenges, and some more challenges to the half-solved challenges, and it has been a rough Lent. But Easter is coming, is already here; light is very near. And so I rejoice, and praise God. And that is something I can do no matter what else is going on.

Because it's not another ball in the air. It is the air itself.

Thanks, Steve, thanks Apple, stop by anytime!

Little did I know, when using the word "jobs" in the title of my most recent post, that I would become a small part of yesterday's excitement about the new Apple iPad. All I knew is that I was starting to get a lot of hits on this blogsite. Now, I am a performer, and so at first I did think it was because of something I had done. But I couldn't think what. It was all quite bewildering until Stuart, a regular reader here, mentioned something about timing and getting lots of visitors, and when I questioned him about what he knew that I didn't, he told me about my "jobs" title intersecting with "Steve Jobs". The Steve Jobs whom everybody was googling for a day or two.

So, to those of you who visited looking for Steve, I am sorry he wasn't in, but am so glad you visited, poked around, and read some of my writing. I hope some of you will come again from time to time. I'll be here. And Steve, you are always welcome (do consider bringing me an iPad as a hostess gift).

Blessings to you all.