Recently I signed on to be part of a “blog tour” — in which different bloggers would read and reflect on Tony Jones’ new book, The Teaching of the Twelve: Believing & Practicing the Primitive Christianity of the Ancient Didache Community. I was supposed to write about this book on December 7. Alas, the gremlins of miscommunication did their work, and I did not receive my copy of the book until Tuesday — the day after I was scheduled to offer my .02 to the trans-blogged conversation. My apologies to Tony Jones, to Paraclete Press and to anyone following the blog tour who came to this blog looking for my own unique perspective: obviously, my own sense of ethics mandates that I not write about the book until I have a chance to read it, and given that my life right now is pretty largely devoted to Christmas retail, it may be a couple of days (or so) before I get the book read. But under the rubric of “better late than never,” I will read the book, and comment on it as soon as I can, even though the blog tour itself will have officially ended.

In the meantime, if you want to see what other folks have said about this book, visit Paraclete Press’s Didache page — and scroll down to see links to all the blogs that have written about this book.

Today is the feast day of Juan Diego: the visionary of Mexico who received the apparition of Our Lady of Guadalupe in1531.

In Mysticism: The Nature and Development of Spiritual Consciousness, Evelyn Underhill has a chapter called “Voices and Visions.” Julian of Norwich was a visionary. So was Birgitta of Sweden, Hildegard of Bingen, Catherine of Siena, and Francis of Assisi. Receiving visions seems to be very much part of the stock in trade of the mystical life.

The prophet Joel, whom Peter quoted in his Pentecost sermon, said “It will come about after this that I will pour out My Spirit on all mankind; and your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions.” Dreams and visions: are they merely the neon lights of the inner life? A yawning trap into which the gullible and naive and over-imaginative will inevitably fall? Or is there some real and important connection between being conscious of Divine presence and Union with God, and a heightened or altered experience of vision? While plenty of the “A list” mystics like those I mentioned above were truly supernatural visionaries, does this mean that all of us are called to receive such visions? Or can one be a true mystic in a much more humble and down to earth way?

I’m pretty much an agnostic about all this. I rather agree with John of the Cross, who in the Ascent of Mount Carmel suggests that supernatural “apprehensions” or knowledge, while potentially a genuine blessing, is also fraught with both psychological and spiritual dangers, chief among them being the capacity for self-delusion, ego-inflation, and pride: the idea that “God has chosen me so therefore I must be really special.” John sensibly counsels his readers that “all heavenly visions, revelations, and feelings — or whatever else one may desire to think on — are not worth as much as the least act of humility… Consequently souls should not look for their happiness in these supernatual apprehensions, but should strive to forget them for the sake of being free.” Ah, yes. Do old men dream dreams and do young men (and women) have visions? You bet. But these things are less important than humility, charity, and true freedom in the Spirit.

I’ve always loved the idea that the Holy Spirit can break through our psychic defenses and bring to us knowledge or insight that can  have a truly transformational impact on who we are and how we function in the world. And I believe such “interruptions” are possible, even in our hyper-cynical age. But I also believe that such things should be neither defended against, nor actively sought. After all, there are no guarantees: a true vision might be far more terrifying than comforting. In the meantime, so much wisdom and insight is available to us all, through the riches of Sacred Scripture and the writings of the saints and mystics, and through the ordinary work of trying to grow in humility, charity, and the virtues. We don’t need the “neon lights” of supernatural visions, most of us. And to me, this is cause for great thanksgiving.

Now, I titled this post “Vision” rather than “Visions.” And that is because, while I think for most aspiring contemplatives the question of supernatural visions is more of a potential distraction than anything else, there is still a pretty important relationship between mysticism and vision — as in “learning to see more clearly.” Perhaps what the contemplative life calls most of us to is not the dramatic experiences of a Hildegard or a Julian, but rather to a more gentle path of learning to see all things with the eyes of love. The more we learn to use our eyes (and our mind’s eye) to see with love and humility and compassion, the more we will grow in true mystical vision — even if what we “see” never has any whiff of the extraordinary or supernatural about it at all. For the contemplative life — what Richard Rohr calls in his newest book, “learning to see as the mystics see” — is both entirely down to earth and utterly transformational. It will help us to have a new vision: the vision of the mystics, which is nothing more nor less than learning to see ordinary things the way God sees them.

And that kind of seeing would be the most amazing vision of all. May God grant it to us all. Amen.

Three ministers — a Baptist, a Presbyterian, and an Episcopalian — were having lunch one day. One of them posed this hypothetical question: “If you knew you only had a week to live and could only preach one last sermon, what would your topic be?”

The Baptist enthusiastically said, “I would preach on the absolute necessity of each person to make his or her own free decision for or against Christ.”

The Presbyterian countered, “I would preach about the absolute sovereignty of God and recognizing that we have already been predestined to our eternal destiny.”

The Anglican thought about it for a long moment, and then said, “Well, I suppose I would preach on the lessons assigned for the day.”

N.B. I heard this joke years ago, from an Episcopal pulpit, of course. It danced across my mind this morning during my prayer time and so I thought it might amuse my readers.

I’ve asked Santa to bring me a Kindle for Christmas. I’m not sure if he will, but it never hurts to ask, right?

One of the reasons why I want a Kindle is because there is a growing selection of — you guessed it — mystical and contemplative works available electronically. And so here is a list of some of those books. If you have more luck with Santa than I do, then I hope you’ll refer to this list when choosing books for your Kindle.

• Revised Standard Version of the Holy Bible, Catholic Edition
• Anonymous, The Cloud of Unknowing and Other Works
• Anonymous, The Little Flowers of Saint Francis of Assisi
• Anonymous, The Way of a Pilgrim & The Pilgrim Continues His Way
• Anonymous, Theologia Germanica
• Benedict of Nursia, The Rule of Saint Benedict
• Bernard of Clairvaux, On Loving God
• Brother Lawrence, Practice of the Presence of God
• Dorothee Soelle: The Silent Cry: Mysticism and Resistance
• Evelyn Underhill, Practical Mysticism
• Evelyn Underhill, The Life of the Spirit and the Life of Today
• Evelyn Underhill, The Essentials of Mysticism
• Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life
• Gerald May, Will and Spirit: A Contemplative Psychology
• Ignatius of Loyola, Selected Writings
• James Hannay, Wisdom of the Desert
• John of the Cross, The Ascent of Mount Carmel
• John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul
• John Ruysbroeck, The Adornment of the Spiritual Marriage and Other Works
• Jonathan Edwards, Religious Affections
• Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love
• Martin Laird, Into the Silent Land
• Meister Eckhart, Selected Writings
• Meister Eckhart, Sermons
• Nicholas of Cusa, The Vision of God
• Plotinus, The Enneads
• Teresa of Avila, Interior Castle
• Teresa of Avila, The Way of Perfection
• Thérèse of Lisieux, The Story of a Soul
• Thomas Aquinas, On Prayer and the Contemplative Life
• Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
• Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer
• Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude
• Thomas Merton, When the Trees Say Nothing
• Various, The Cell of Self Knowledge
• Various, Selections from the German Mystics of the Middle Ages
• William Law, A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life

I’m sure many more are going to be added in the months and years to come. Now, if only Paulist Press would hurry up and get the “Classics of Western Spirituality” series on Kindle!

P.S. As more contemplative or Christian mystical titles available on Kindle come to my attention, I’ll be adding them to this list. So if you see someting that’s not on this list, please let me know.

The following prayer comes from the 14th century Flemish mystic John Ruusbroec, also known as John Ruysbroeck. I think it’s one of the loveliest examples of eucharistic spirituality that I have ever come across. It comes from his work called “A Mirror of Eternal Blessedness” and this translation is taken from The Spiritual Espousals and Other Works, published by Paulist Press.

Lord,
you have said, “Without me you can do nothing.”
You have also said, “unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood, you have no life in you.”
You have said in addition, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me and I in him.”
Lord, I am presently a poor sinner and unworthy of the heavenly food which you yourself are. Nevertheless, Lord, you have given and left yourself for the sinner who is displeasing to himself, who contritely confesses and laments his sins, and who has a genuine trust in you. Such a person is pleasing to you, for you have taught us that you came to call not the just but the sinner, so that he might repent and do penance for his sins.
I am therefore bold and outspoken, forgetful of myself and of all my transgressions because of your grace, for you yourself have said, “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will refresh you.” You have also said that you are our living bread which has come down from heaven and that anyone who eats it will live forever. You are also the living spring which flows out of your Father’s heart by means of the Holy Spirit.
As a consequence, Lord, the more I eat, the more hungry I become, and the more I drink, the more thirsty I become, for I cannot take you fully into myself and consume you. But I ask you, Lord, of your great nobility, that you take me fully into yourself and consume me, so that I might become one life with you and in you and that I, in your life, might be able to rise above myself and above all particular forms and exercises to a state devoid of forms — that is, to a state of formless love where you are your own beatitude and that of all the saints. It is there that I will find the fruit of all the sacraments, of all particular forms, and of all holiness.

And all God’s people said, “Amen!”

When I was a teenager I used to attend the Fisherman’s House charismatic prayer and praise meeting in Hampton, VA. This was a non-denominational, neo-pentecostal Christian youth group, evangelical in its theology. On the meeting just before Christmas, the leader of the group commented that “we don’t particularly observe Christmas, because any day can be the day when Christ is born in someone’s heart.”

That observation has always stuck with me. And even though I love the liturgical year and am very happy to celebrate Christmas as the Feast of the Nativity, I see this as a both/and scenario: we can celebrate the actual holiday as appointed by the liturgical calendar, and we can rejoice at how Christ is continually coming, continually finding new “birth” in the hearts of those who love him.

St. Benedict said that the life of a monk should be a continual lent. As a Lay Cistercian, I have taken this idea to heart. Of course, we Lay Cistercians insist that Lent is not a morose time, but a time of joy as we continually give ourselves to God and continually turn back toward the Divine Mystery.

If life is a continual lent, perhaps this means we are preparing for a continual Easter: a continual time of rebirth and renewal and resurrection, not limited to the first Sunday after the first full moon of spring, but occuring whenever anyone experiences a rebirth of hope, of love, of compassion in their hearts. Just as Christ is continually being born, so is he continually bursting forth in new, unexpected, unplanned, unpredicted life — life that cannot be safely contained in the calendar of the church year!

So, if we are called to a continual lent in preparation of that ever-present Easter, ought not we see our lives as a time of continual advent, in watchful waiting for that ever-present Christmas? If every day is a day when the hope and love of Christ can be born anew in the hearts of those who love him, then every day is a time of expectancy and of hope. And just as the church commends to us advent as a time of contemplation and, yes, of joyful penitence, so we can join the monks in their continual lent by making every day of our lives a continual advent.

Let us join together, in watching and waiting for the coming of God. Let us join together in turning back to God. Let us celebrate the ever-new ways we give birth to the Divine Image in our lives, every day. And let us celebrate all the ways in which that same Divine Image breathes new life in us and through us.

Amen and amen.

If you enjoyed the video of “Here Comes the Sun” that I posted the other day, here are two more from my friend Sean Robert Ramuno — especially for all you Allman Brothers and Moody Blues fans. Happy listening!

I’m still pondering the categories of “wild” and “tame” in relation to God, to the mystical life, and to my own work as a writer. If you’re just joining the conversation, read yesterday’s post and comments to get a sense of where I am.

My fellow blogger Benjamin David Steele (whose original thoughts sparked my reflection) posted on both his and my blog that he meant no insult by describing my blog as “tame.” I want to go on the record as saying I never saw that as an insult. I saw it as criticism, in the best sense of the word: an honest assessment that weighs both the strength and the weakness of a given work. As the variety of comments posted here over the last 24 hours make clear, there are many different ways to approach these questions of God’s wildness, our civility, and how sometimes the Divine untameness intrudes on, disrupts, interrupts, shatters, and reconfigures our illusory sense of being in control.

Steele is a fan of author Philip K. Dick, and has presented me with this concept of “God in the gutter” which derive’s from Dick’s work. It reminds me of a book I read many years ago called In Search of God in the Sexual Underworld: A Mystical Journey. It’s been years since I read it and so my memory may be less than stellar here, but I recall the book as an honest look at the lives of pimps and prostitutes, strippers and drag queens, and others who typically are not shown much hospitality by “polite” religion. The “mystical” bit in the subtitle doesn’t refer to contemplation so much as to the reality of God’s presence even when God is hidden — and, heaven knows, there are plenty of layers of hiddenness in the sexual underworld. And of course, grace happens, even in the lives of those who have been rejected by the mainstream, and that was the point of this book. But I suppose when we’re talking about grace, we have to be careful here. We can say “Yes, God is present in the lives of sex workers” and it has a rather paternalistic and maybe even smugly superior ring to it: the unstated other half of that sentiment being: “… and as soon as they clean up their act, they’ll be welcome at our church.” Which is just about what the older brother of the prodigal son would say.

If Jesus were walking the earth today, I don’t think he would be spending too much time in the nicely decorated offices of First Baptist or Sacred Heart Catholic or St. Alban’s Episcopal Churches. He’d be out in the wilder places of our supposedly civilized world. Which I suppose is something that we who are so embedded in the institutional church need to keep in mind. But I also think that trying to connect with the untamed God isn’t about what can be called “do-good-er-ism.” In other words, it’s so easy to decide that escorts, or homeless people, or drug addicts, or prisoners, or whoever else pushes your particular tame/wild buttons, are hapless victims who need to be rescued. What this means is that we secretly want to makeover the whole world in our own image. And in this hidden desire of ours, we are not motivated by love, for it’s yet another subtle attempt to control and to dominate — to yank God out of the driver’s seat and put ourselves in it instead. Such efforts are doomed to failure. God is so wild that our attempts to control God will always backfire.

The monastery where I work is in the midst of a large capital campaign, and I’m sure everyone, both inside and outside the cloister, is cognizant of the tremendous folly of trying to raise millions of dollars in the midst of the worst recession (and its “jobless recovery” aftermath) since the great depression. But someone mentioned to me the other day that, when the monastic community originally built their monastery and church back in the 1950s, they had no idea where the money was coming from, and the Abbot at the time said, “If God wants this monastery built, we’ll find the money; and if God doesn’t want it, then I don’t want it either.” That’s the same spirit guiding the monks in their efforts today. And that’s a bit of wild faith, and it’s precisely the kind of wild faith I want. To set out to do outrageous and incredible things, confident that if God wants them, they’ll happen, and if God doesn’t want them, they’re not worth doing anyway. We don’t have to believe (have faith) in the work or the projects or the money themselves — all we need to have faith in is our wild, untamed, transformational God.

The Neopagans have a little chant about the Goddess that goes: “She changes everything she touches, and, everything she touches changes.” Welcome to the world we live in. Jesus continually invites us to the summit of Mount Tabor, where the transfiguration happens again and again. In a burst of light, everything changes, forever and ever. And we can’t control a bit of it. All we can do is decide if we’ll accept the invitation or not. And then trust the process.

A blogger named Benjamin David Steele has written a very nice review of my blog. Here are a few tidbits:

Let me recommend a rather lovely blog.  It’s well written and the author seems well informed.  The blog in question is The Website of Unknowing and the author of it is Carl McColman …[who] began as a Christian who became a Neopagan and who then later returned to Christianity via mysticism…. Beyond these interests, McColman demonstrates a fairly wide and intelligent selection of ideas and writers.  In particular, I was happy to see Ken Wilber mentioned rather prominently.  But he also blogs about a spectrum of Judeo-Christian writers and ideas from the traditional to the liberal … In some ways, his religious interests, although wide, are a bit more tame than my own.  He apparently avoids political issues (at least in this blog) and I didn’t see him write about the fiction genres of horror and sf …  But I did find quite interesting his post about the movie Where the Wild Things Are.  All in all, his blog has a Boomer sensibility about it.  It turns out he is a young Boomer at the age of 48 … To me there is something simultaneously appealing and tame (in an inclusively politically correct way) about Boomer spirituality….  However, McColman’s thinking has some meat to it.  He isn’t intellectually lazy and he is aware of the dangers of “boomeritis.”

In other words, “it’s really good, but a bit tame.”

I suppose no author wants to be called “tame,” — I certainly don’t. But this review fascinates me, for on the very same day that Steele wrote these words, my wife and I had a conversation about two books I’ve been reading: John Crowder’s Miracle Workers, Reformers and the New Mystics: How to Become Part of the Supernatural Generation, and Robert J. Wicks’ Prayerfulness: Awakening to the Fullness of Life. I was telling her about how I was enjoying both books, but for radically different reasons. Wicks, a professor of pastoral theology at a Catholic college in Maryland, has written a gentle, sensible, thoughtful, and practical guide to cultivating an ongoing spirit of prayerfulness in the ordinary rhythms of daily life. It’s a wise book, but it is also one that could easily be criticized for being tame. Crowder, an itinerant charismatic revivalist, meanwhile has written a bombastic, edgy, envelope-pushing book that argues for faith that God will raise up in our generation mystics who will make John of the Cross or Meister Eckhart or Teresa of Avila look like beginners. I love his thesis, but… but… his writing is anchored in a literalist reading of the Bible that colors not only his theology, but his understanding of politics, history, and anthropology. Not only is he a true believer in signs and wonders, but he is convinced that Christians must aggressively evangelize adherents of other faiths (particularly Muslims). Needless to say, 90% of the time I’m arguing with Crowder’s assumptions and premises. But what keeps me going back to the book is the fact that I so heartily and enthusiastically agree with him the other 10% of the time. I agree with his call for uncompromising faith, and in his celebration of the mystics throughout history as passionate ambassadors for the awe-inspiring  work of the Holy Spirit. Crowder believes in a God without limits, and his writing, outrageous though it may be, is infectious in how it communicates that heady faith. There are many ways in which I could criticize Crowder’s work, but I’ll grant it this: it’s not tame.

So, what am I to do with these two books: the one that I am largely in agreement with, but that frankly I find rather, well, safe and predictable and, dare I say it, “tame”? Or the one that makes my blood boil, that alternatively I find silly and naive and in-your-face and thought-provoking, but that I feel plenty of passion in response to it, in both affirming and critical ways? I like pretty much everything that Wicks is saying, and I agree with his humble vision, pastoral common sense, and evident desire to help his readers to grow in authenticity and healthy spirituality. Frankly, the Benedictine in me has a clear sense that Wicks’ mature, grounded spirituality is better suited for the long haul than Crowder’s colorful but miracle-hungry vision.

Prayerfulness is psychologically grounded, astute in its understanding of how both grace and the resistance to grace operate in ordinary peoples’ lives, and gentle in the ways in which it challenges (or, rather, encourages) its reader to make simple but clear choices for a life surrendered to the ongoing transformation of Christian discipleship. The New Mystics is aggressive, combative, bold, and enthusiastic in its confident belief in the power and present glory of God — but it also suffers from dualistic thinking and an oppositional, culturally imperialist, and tribal-minded approach to things. Wicks is by far the more polished writer and mature thinker; Crowder is more entertaining and more fun. If I were asked to endorse one and only one of these books, I’d have to go with Prayerfulness — even though it would just reinforce Benjamin David Steele’s criticism of my work.

“He’s wild, you know. Not like a tame lion.”

— Mr. Beaver in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

There’s a part of me that has an almost erotic yearning to give everything I’ve got to this wild, untamed God, without reserve, without compromise, without holding anything back. And Crowder’s vision taps into that nerve. The New Mystics celebrates the possibility of truly being on fire for God, truly being so immersed in God-consciousness that miracles and wonders simply dance through our lives like the toys in Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. The problem I have with Crowder’s ideas is that they simply ignore the philosophical, scientific, and even ethical challenges to his underlying theology. Granted, those challenges are the project of modernity, but blithely announcing that we have now moved into the postmodern age does not give one license to dismiss the modernist critique of pre-modern beliefs.

So, to summarize: I believe what Robert Wicks has to say, but I’m not particularly excited by it. Meanwhile, I’m inspired by at least some of the ideas that John Crowder champions, but I simply don’t believe his underlying worldview.

Here’s the million dollar question: Can the sensibility and wisdom of Prayerfulness be integrated with the fire and pluck and passion of The New Mystics? To use a more pagan metaphor, how do we combine the cool rationality of Apollo with the joyful ecstasy of Dionysius? Is it even possible? Crowder (like Steele), is considerably younger than I am, and Wicks is older still. Am I just trying fruitlessly to bring youth and maturity together? Is it possible to lose ourselves in ecstasy, only to turn around and turn around and suddenly catch our breath in a place where everything is beautiful in its stillness? When we give ourselves to the untamed lion, is it inevitable that we will become tame ourselves? Or, perhaps, as the lion surrendered to the violence of his adversary, will we find in our self-emptying a new opportunity to roar?

Here is a bit of sunshine for your chilly December morning: my friend Sean playing “Here Comes the Sun.” Sean is a wonderful guitarist, who has played professionally for most of his adult life… he has been an inspiration to me in my faltering — but persevering — attempt to learn an instrument.

It’s December. The month of Advent, my birthday, my brother’s birthday, the feast of the Immaculate Conception, my parents’ wedding anniversary, Chanukah, the Winter Solstice, Kwanzaa, and of course, Christmas. As one song says, it’s the most wonderful time of the year. But as another song says… it will be magic, again.

Long time readers of my blog know that I kick off December every year by listening to that wonderful song by Kate Bush, “December will be Magic Again.” For those of you who may not know the song, please check out the videos below (they are both worth watching, even though the one where Kate’s wearing her red silk PJs and acting quite coquettish is rather silly, but it features an interesting alternative arrangement of the song). And if you’d like to read the lyrics — and get a feel for why I love this song so — check out what I wrote about it five years ago today.

Happy December, everyone!

Yesterday I wrote about Fran’s and my experiencing recording stories for StoryCorps. We both enjoyed it so much that we’ve been talking all weekend about getting some decent recording equipment and doing more. I’d love to sit down with some of the monks in Conyers and get them to share some of their stories; although my father is pretty ravaged with dementia, on his good days he still can spin a yarn or two, and meanwhile my brother and uncle (both named Don) are pretty good at telling tales. And then there’s Fran’s side of the family…

All of this dovetails with a longstanding interest that I have had, to incorporate more media into this blog. I don’t see myself ever doing a podcast with any sense of regularity (see my musings on Discipline from earlier this month: I’m doing good enough just keeping the written part of this blog going), but I would like to create a few MP3s on select topics: maybe an introduction to Julian of Norwich, or to Benedictine Spirituality, or to lectio divina, all of which could be archived at this website and available for free download. And of course, every MP3 would begin and end with “Hi, this is Carl; visit my blog at www.anamchara.com” — so in addition to the joy of talking about my favorite things, I could do a little bit of bloggish promotion as well.

Okay, while we’re at it: ever since Patton Dodd, formerly of Beliefnet, put the bug in my ear, I’ve also thought a lot about video. I don’t know if anyone really wants to look of my grey-bearded, avuncular face; but I guess I won’t know until I try. It would be easy enough (and pretty enough) to shoot some footage by the lake at the monastery, or at the austere summit of Stone Mountain, or even in a book-cluttered corner of my own home. Again, my only commitment will be to rattle on about topics near and dear to my heart.

So, what’s stopping me? Mainly a lack of gear. I used to have a minidisc recorder and a mini-DV camcorder; both of those were taken from me when my house was burglarized the April before last. While I replaced most of the other stuff that was stolen (two computers, an ipod and sound dock, two digital camers, etc.), we never bothered to replace the recording equipment. They were both old technology, even in early 2008; and we were like many families in that we spent a tone of money on the camcorder only to use it just once or twice a year; likewise I hadn’t used hte MD recorder since my days as a Neopagan speaker/teacher had come to an end.

But now, thanks to StoryCorps and that long-simmering conversation with Patton, I’m interested in doing more recording. So: does anybody out there in blogland have any suggestions for gear I should get? Here are my parameters:

1. I want easy. No minidiscs or video cassettes (or, for that matter, DVDs). I want to record straight to a memory card, for ease of exporting into my computer.
2. The video recording is strictly for online use, so it doesn’t need to be super-high-quality. But the audio recording could conceivably find its way onto a CD at some point, so there I’ll be fussier for the perfect sound. The minidisc recorder was awesome in its clarity and lack of ambient hiss or hum — I used to teach classes in a bookstore where, just outside the classroom door, several fountains and windchimes hung. The recordings were crystal clear, not only of my voice, but of the soothing chimes and running water in the distance. So I want my new audio recorder to have at least that level of fidelity.
3. Mac compatibility: I know that most equipment is, but I still need to say it.
4. Cheap. Remember, I work for a monastery. I live simply.
5. Portable. Obviously that’s true with the camcorder, but I need the audio equipment to be easy to carry around as well.

If you’ve had experience with recording equipment, please let me know. Comment here or email me at mccolman at anamchara dot com… and of course, I’ll also be in the market for at least two microphones: a lapel mike for the video work, and a bigger mike for the audio recording.

Thanks.

Yesterday my wife and I recorded an interview with StoryCorps. Fran interviewed me. I talked about my childhood memories of religion, my spiritual awakening at age 16, my entry into and eventual disillusionment with the charismatic renewal, and my adult journey from Episcopalianism to Neopaganism to Catholicism, always with the foundational interest in Christian and world mysticism impelling me forward.

It was quite a lot of fun. StoryCorps is set up at our local public radio station, so we recorded my story using broadcast quality equipment. We were there for about an hour, and recorded for about 40 minutes. We received a CD of the talk, which I haven’t had the courage to listen to yet, but I think it will sound pretty good. All StoryCorps recordings are archived at the Library of Congress, so a copy of our session will be archived there, presumably forever. All that the good folks from StoryCorps asked from us in return was an optional $25 tax-deductible contribution. What a bargain.

I want to go back and record another session, this time with Fran as the storyteller and me as the interviewer. She certainly has some tales to tell, particularly about giving birth to, and raising, a profoundly handicapped child. But she’s not sure she wants to do this. She’s not as much of a showoff as I am!

If you live in Atlanta, StoryCorps will be here through most of 2010. I’d encourage you to set up an appointment and go tell your story. I’d love to do it again, but I won’t hog time as a storyteller — although I sure would be happy to interview others, and if my wife won’t take me up on the offer, maybe someone else will.

If you don’t live in or near Atlanta, be sure to check the StoryCorps website to see in what other cities around the nation StoryCorps recordings will be taking place. It’s such a beautiful thing: telling our stories, and listening to others tell theirs. We need more of this in our world. Hats off to the StoryCorps people for facilitating such a wonderful thing.

Angharad Wyvern AKA Yewtree over at the dance of the elements has tagged me with this impossible task. It’s called “The Bible in Five Statements” challenge:

Summarise the Bible in five statements, the first one word long, the second two, the third three, the fourth four and the last five words long. Or possibly you could do this in descending order. Tag five people.

Ay yi yi.

Okay, but only because I don’t know how to say “no” to memes, and this one, if nothing else, is quite a puzzler. And also because I’m looking forward to inflicting it on my five victims. Disclaimer: this is nothing more than a snapshot of where I happen to be at the moment. Check back with me next year, next month, next week, or even later this afternoon, and I’m sure I will come up with entirely different responses.

To summarize the Bible in five statements…

1. Interruption
2. God story
3. Sacred myth evolving
4. Transformational mystery expressed textually
5. Western wisdom source, often misunderstood

Yewtree mused on the challenge of this exercise so eloquently that I’m just going to quote her:

What aspect of this multivalent text to focus on? The liberal or the conservative interpretation? Western Christianity or Eastern Orthodoxy? A Kabbalistic or esoteric interpretation? The Arian and Unitarian views? Changing human perceptions of the divine – from tribal thunder god to all-embracing universal consciousness? How notions of justice changed from tribal codes apparently dictated from the top of Mount Sinai towards concepts of compassion and inner conscience (starting with Micah and Amos, and later promoted by Yeshua)? Very tricky to summarise all that in 15 words…

Yup. That pretty nicely summarizes the craziness of this exercise.
So I am tagging Mike Morrell, Fencing Bear, Darrell Grizzle, Episcopalifem, and the Girl Who Cried Epiphany. But there are others I’d like to hear from, so even if you’re not on this list, please wrestle with this knotty problem and share your offerings with me, here on this blog. You all know that I’m a lame slacker when it comes to reading other peoples’ blogs, so please, post your thoughts here. I know that’s an irritating thing for me to say and an annoying request for me to make… but try to just embrace it as an interruption to your day…

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