Tummy monsters

When my brother The Artist was married twenty years ago, I drove with my brother The Wookie and his wife to be from LA to my parents. To give my sister a break, we took my niece, now a journalist, then a toddler on the five hour drive. Her father had told me a few days earlier that when she was hungry, she said she had "monsters in her tummy" (even at that age, she had a way with words).

We stopped for fries and burgers at the start of the trip. About 20 minutes from the end of the drive, my niece woke up and said she had monsters in her tummy. I fed her some of the cold french fries. Big mistake. Turns out these monsters were not interested in food - she was car sick. Oh dear. We arrived at my dad's, and he watched as we drove up and all leapt out of the car dragging child, car seat and all out and calling for the hose. He said it looked like a fire drill.

Niece met me at the airport late, late Friday night to catch a ride with me down the coast. We'd both missed dinner so I said I'd risk it again and feed the monsters in her tummy. We stopped for fries and burgers and laughed about hungry monsters - and those that you feed at your own risk.

Ashes to Ashes

Landing at San Diego airport, night or day, is a memorable experience. You fly right through the building of downtown. As I landed here tonight, all the memories of flying here with Tom's ashes washed over me. Watching the downtown, familiar building flashing by, that landing almost a quarter century ago was the first time I ever came alone to Tom's home town.

My mom had stayed with me for a few weeks after the funeral. She and I flew together back to the west coast, then she went on home and I went to see Tom's parents. Bringing the ashes of their only son. The short flight from LA to San Diego was the first time I'd been physically alone since the whole nightmare began -- but in reality I was alone all the time.

I'm alone on this trip, too, hopscotching across the US to be with the rest of my family for my Aunt Mar's funeral tomorrow. Between the blizzards and the general chaos of my life these days, it seemed uncertain if I would make or not. But I am here -- still carrying ashes.

From web to print

Open Laboratory 2009 - a juried anthology of the best of the science blogosphere from last year has appeared. Edited by scicurious, it's available here. I have a piece in it - a smoother version of this post on the use of helium to preserve documents. I'm fascinated with the interplay between web and print that ultimately produces this volume.

Want a copy? Order one -- or if you're feeling lucky, leave a comment before March 5th and I'll draw a winner at random. The rest of the pieces look great - on everything from the flu to charismatic megafauna (whales and chimps) to the statistics of human milk production.

Column: Reading is the First Ground

This column appeared in the Catholic Standard & Times on 25 February 2010.

In the beginning was the Word: the Word was with God and the Word was God. — Jn. 1:1

“Has anyone seen Three Cups of Tea?” Mike asks as his eyes roam the shelves. His spring semester starts in a few days, and with it the English course that assigned this book to read over the summer. “Did you read it yet?” I wonder, trying to gauge what the crisis level is if we can’t find the book. “Of course,” came the response, complete with eye roll. “I just want to refresh it.”

Living in a house where bookshelves occupy nearly every bit of free wall space, finding a particular tome in the collection can be a challenge. The books are set in motion by their serial readers and the silent conversation they’ve had with the author. And since each conversation is a bit different from the previous one, so is a book’s landing place. At times I’ll find Marilyn Nelson’s poetry sharing shelf space with the Desert Fathers, until it takes up residence with Annie Dillard’s essays; while bits of the science fiction collection are in orbit from living room to Victor’s office and Chris’ school bag and back.

The early Christians, too, let books speak to them — and move them. In the Apostolic Tradition, a third century collection of Christian practices attributed to Hippolytus, Christians are encouraged to undertake sacred reading: If there is a day when there is no instruction, let each one at home take a holy book [from Scripture] and read enough of it to gain some profit from it.

Over the centuries, the Church’s monastic tradition encouraged the sacred reading that second century theologian Origen called lectio divina. Guigo II, a Carthusian abbot of the 12th century, writing to his friend and fellow monk Gervase, described the practice: “Reading is the first ground that that precedes and leads one into meditation; meditation seeks busily, and also with deep thought digs and delves deeply to find that treasure; and because [that treasure] cannot be attained by itself alone, then He sends us into prayer that is mighty and strong.”

Guigo used the image of a ladder to provide a more formal guide to lectio divina. The four rungs to climb were lectio, meditatio, oratio and contemplatio. In more modern terms: read, consider, and pray.

Begin by picking a passage from Scripture and read it, slowly, contemplatively. Read it aloud if you can. Pause when a word or phrase speaks to your spirit. Let that phrase ring in your mind, soak in, spin around to be seen from a different perspective.

Turn to God, let Him speak to you. Speak to Him in your heart. Pray to rest in Him — to be granted the grace of contemplation. End by speaking to God of your gratitude for this time.

This practice of sacred reading should be unhurried. St. Ignatius of Loyola reminds us not to be anxious to move on. It is a practice of simplicity and humility; it should be approached without a desire to get through a text, or without any expectation of great spiritual insights, or of mystical experience. It is a way of waiting in joyful hope.

Like the migrating books of my household, sacred reading sets the Word in motion. It moves us to prayer but also to action. Guigo tells us what is expected of those who climb the ladder: “after such knowing that we set ourselves to work that we may attain those virtues that were in them.”

The Church continues to enjoin us to risk conversation and conversion through sacred reading. Pope Benedict has encouraged us to renew our commitment to the practice, certain that it will breathe new life into the Church: “Assiduous reading of sacred Scripture accompanied by prayer makes that intimate dialogue possible in which, through reading, one hears God speaking, and through prayer, one responds with a confident opening of the heart.”

This Lent, I recommit to seeking God in the sacred books, desiring to move beyond the words, to follow the text back to the beginning when the Word was with God, in hope that the Word will become flesh in me.

---

God our Father, You are the author of true consecration and peace. Please grant that we may fittingly worship Your divine majesty by this gift and, by our participation in this sacred mystery, may truly be made one in mind and heart. Amen. — From the prayer over the gifts, seventh day of the Christmas octave

Thou shall not tempt the Lord, thy God

Last year, while on the Long Retreat, I came down with a nasty stomach bug. So, while contemplating Christ's long fast in the desert, I too, was fasting (albeit for different reasons). The wind howled in a fierce storm outside. Even if I had felt up to walking, a walk would not have been in the cards. Even my hardy English neighbor gave it a pass. The setting was great for meditating on Christ's temptation -- though I wasn't tempted by food, there were other things that drew me away.

This week facing a medical test for which I needed to be sedated, I joked that -- in the midst of what has been a chaotic few weeks -- I would get a nap, and be out of the office for the rest of the day.

Thou shall not tempt the Lord. I just heard that Gospel read on Sunday, and you would think I would have listened more closely. Instead of a calm dreamy day at home, I ended up sicker than sick. My NYT rule precludes my giving any details, but suffice it to say even my 13-year old, who deeply enjoys things gross, decided he didn't want to hear about it either.

I remember wondering during the Long Retreat that -- since food was not in the least attractive at that moment, would I still be able to grasp what the tugs and pulls were in this scene? In the end, I suspect I had a deeper understanding. My own inadvertent fast stripped away the superficials and let me see that what tempts me most are not the momentary physical indulgences and comforts -- but the desire for certainty and predictability, a need for such spiritual comforts. What could and would I do, if I were willing to embrace uncertainty wholeheartedly in that realm?

This recent experience pushed me right back into the Exercises - confronting me once again that question, what would I dare if I were willing to step outside my comfort zone?

And I loved the bantering of the two protagonists -- all carried on in the language of the psalms.