Gotowa bibliografia na temat „Morning worship services”

Enriching Our Worship 1 (1998) provides official supplemental liturgical texts for the Rite II services of Morning and Evening Prayer, the Litany, and the Holy Eucharist in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer. The materials can be used either as a substitution for as much or as little of the Prayer Book services as one desires, or as a complete rite. One of the guiding principles of Enriching Our Worship 1 is to use only non-gendered language for God. This essay considers the eucharistic portions of Enriching Our Worship 1 from the perspective of trinitarian theology and proceeds in three stages: I begin with an outline of the specific revisions of Enriching Our Worship 1 to the 1979 BCP Rite II for the Holy Eucharist; second, I ask what sort of trinitarian theology Enriching Our Worship 1 expresses; finally, I consider the principles that guide these revisions and offer a critical assessment of the sources used to buttress these principles.

PT. DMS Tours and Travel is one of the institutions engaged in Hajj and Umrah services with a large number of pilgrims. Services provided by PT. Daanish Mika Salsa Tours and Travel, namely: Administrative services, including registration and document processing. Manasik guidance services, carried out 3 times with lecture, simulation and discussion methods. The transportation service provided is the transportation of pilgrims starting from the point of embarkation, while in Saudi Arabia, and returning to the place of debarkation from Indonesia. Accommodation services, PT. Daansh Mika Salsa Tours and Travel provides five-star hotel facilities, ranging from three, four and five stars according to the package chosen by the congregation. Consumption service, Each pilgrim will get food 3 times a day, namely in the morning, afternoon, and evening, and the tarvel provides additional Indonesian menus while at the hotel. Health services, carried out before departure and during worship.

Religious culture is applied in schools so that the good habits of students, so that the strategy of developing religious culture is essential to be applied to schools so that students have a noble character in Islamic education. The purpose of this study is to describe the strategy of developing a religious culture to shape students' character. This research is qualitative. Data collection obtained through in-depth interviews, observation, and documentation studies. This study's subject was determined based on a purposive sampling technique with information from the homeroom teacher. Checking the validity of the data starts with using a check and continues with the triangulation technique. The results showed that the strategy of developing a culture of religious and improving the character of students at SD Muhammadiyah Tonggalan, 1) creating a religious atmosphere in schools including allocating half an hour to learn to read the Qur'an before the lesson begins, do the Dhuha, Dhuhr, Asr prayer, Ramadan fasting, qurban worship, hajj rituals, social services, Sunday morning teachings, also (2) habituation of Islamic values. The research findings expected to illustrate that the strategy of developing religious culture can shape students' character.

The cult of. St. Joseph based on contemporary prayer books The ongoing year of St. Joseph is a great opportunity to have a look at the cult of the Saint in the light of the available prayer books. The article presents the diversity of the cult and discusses various forms of the worship since its beginning. It analyses prayers to St. Joseph such as: the litany, the novena prayer, the Rosary, the Oath, the Morning prayers, the Scapular prayer, the Akathist and other prayers, services and songs in honour of St. Joseph. The aim of the article is to encourage Christians to adapt the cult of St. Joseph to their individual needs. Abstrakt Trwający w Kościele Rok św. Józefa jest okazją do spojrzenia na kult tego świętego przez pryzmat dostępnych modlitewników. Począwszy od zarysu historii kultu, w artykule ukazano różnorodność jego form. Omówiono następujące rodzaje modlitw ku czci św. Józefa: litanie, nowenny, szkaplerz, płaszcz, cześć nieustającą, miesiąc ku czci św. Józefa, telegram, różaniec i koronkę, godzinki, akty i oddania, pieśni, akatyst, a także inne modlitwy oraz nabożeństwa: siedmiu boleści i radości, septennę (siedem kolejnych śród), siedmiu niedziel, do Przeczystego Serca (pięciu pierwszych śród miesiąca), do opieki. Artykuł stanowi zachętę do osobistego praktykowania nabożeństwa do św. Józefa dostosowanego do indywidualnych potrzeb wierzących.

The liturgical section of The New English Hymnal contains musical settings for both eucharistie orders of the Church of England’s Alternative Service Book 1980. The modern-language service, Rite A, is provided with a newly-composed congregational setting in speech rhythm. The texts of Rite B use the traditional language of the Book of Common Prayer, and are given a musical setting taken from The Booke of Common Praier Noted by John Marbeck, published in 1550. An accompaniment is added, and the text is adapted where the original is no longer accurate. Its inclusion in this new hymn-book is evidence of the popularity which Marbeck’s setting has enjoyed for more than a hundred years. Its rediscovery took place in the nineteenth century through the influence of the Tractarians and their successors, who sought to revive traditional liturgical practices such as the singing of plainsong during worship. The Booke of Common Praier Noted is a musical setting of parts of the first English Prayer Book, which had been promulgated in 1549. The appearance of a second Prayer Book in 1552 rendered Marbeck’s work obsolete, as the new book expresses a different attitude towards music in worship. The 1549 Prayer Book encourages singing in many of the services, not least the Office of Holy Communion. The clerks, singing-men usually in minor orders, are expected to take a full part, and the normal eucharistie celebration is one which is sung virtually throughout. The Offices in the 1552 Book contain very few references to singing, and the clerks are nowhere mentioned. The only direction for singing any part of the order for Holy Communion is found at the end, when ‘Glory be to God on high’ may be said or sung. A rubric at Morning Prayer allows for the singing of the lessons in that service and at Evening Prayer, as well as the Epistle and Gospel at Holy Communion, so that the people may hear them more clearly. It is possible that the retention of this reference to singing from the first Prayer Book may have been an oversight, as the rubric is situated away from the main body of the service.

ABSTRAKKeigiatan peinangguilangan beincana yang dilakuikan oleih MDMC Suilaweisi Teinggara meiruipakan reispon banjir bandang yang teirjadi di Kabuipatein Konawei Uitara builan Juini 2019. Banjir bandang yang teirjadi akibat cuirah huijan yang tinggi seihingga meiluiapnya air dari Suingai Lalindui, Suingai Lasolo, dan Suingai Landawei meingakibatkan banjir di eimpat Kabuipatein di Suilaweisi Teinggara yaitui Konawei Uitara, Konawei, Konawei Seilatan, dan Kolaka Timuir. Dampak banjir bandang itui yaitui keiruisakan banguinan, ruimah, masjid dan infrastruiktuir jalan, jeimbatan puituis, ratuisan lahan heiktar peirtanian/ peirkeibuinan/ tambak teireindam dan gagal panein. Tuilisan ini beirtuijuian uintuik meindeiskripsikan peinangguilangan beincana banjir yang teilah dilakuikan oleih Muihammadiyah Disasteir Manageimeint Ceinteir (MDCM) Suilaweisi Teinggara pada builan Juini 2019. Ada beibeirapa tahapan yang teilah dilakuikan yaitui; a. Asseismeint deingan meingirimkan tim dari Leimbaga Peinangguilangan Beincana Pimpinan Puisat Muihammdiyah uintuik meinuinjaui beincana; b. Peingorganisasian deingan meimeintuik tim reilawan dan meimbuika pos koordinasi (Poskor) yang beirada di Uiniveirsitas Muihammadiyah Keindari lantai V dan meimbeintuik Pos layanan (Posyan) di Deisa Tangguiluiri Keicamatan Aseira, Kabuipatein Konawei Uitara; c. Reilawan meimbeintuik tim SAR meimbantui meimbeirsihkan fasilitas uimuim seperti balai desa, sekolah, dan tempat ibadah; Tim Keiseihatan membuka pelayanan kesehatan dengan penerima manfaat 259 pasien laki-laki dan 108 pasien perempuan;Tim Logistik membagikan bantuan paket sembako kepada 749 orang; tim psikososial melakukan kegiatan olahraga senam pagi di posko pengungsian dilanjutkan makan bersama, selanjutnya juga memberikan edukasi pada anak-anak; mengadakan lomba menggambar. Kata kunci: peiran reilawan; banjir bandang; MDMC ABSTRACTDisasteir manageimeint activitieis carrieid ouit by MDMC Souitheiast Suilaweisi arei a reisponsei to flash floods that occuirreid in North Konawei Reigeincy in Juinei 2019. Flash floods that occuirreid duiei to high rainfall reisuilting in oveirflowing wateir from thei Lalindui Riveir, Lasolo Riveir, and Landawei Riveir reisuilteid in flooding in fouir districts in Souitheiast Suilaweisi nameily North Konawei, Konawei, Souith Konawei, and Eiast Kolaka. Thei impact of thei flash floods was damagei to buiildings, houiseis, mosquieis and road infrastruictuirei, brokein bridgeis, huindreids of heictareis of agricuiltuiral land / plantations / ponds weirei suibmeirgeid and crop failuirei. This papeir aims to deiscribei thei flood disasteir manageimeint that has beiein carrieid ouit by Muihammadiyah Disasteir Manageimeint Ceinteir (MDCM) Souitheiast Suilaweisi in Juinei 2019. Theirei arei seiveiral stageis that havei beiein carrieid ouit, nameily; a. Asseissmeint by seinding a teiam from thei Muihammdiyah Ceintral Leiadeirship Disasteir Manageimeint Instituitei to visit thei disasteir; b. Organizing by forming a voluinteieir teiam and opeining a coordination post (Poskor) locateid at thei Uiniveirsity of Muihammadiyah Keindari on thei fifth floor and forming a seirvicei post (Posyan) in Tangguiluiri Villagei, Aseira District, North Konawei Reigeincy; c. Volunteers formed a SAR team to help clean public facilities such as village halls, schools, and places of worship; the Health Team opened health services with the beneficiaries of 259 male patients and 108 female patients; the Logistics Team distributed basic food packages to 749 people; the psychosocial team conducted morning gymnastics sports activities at the evacuation post followed by eating together, then also provided education to children; held a drawing competition. Keywords: voluinteieir rolei; flash flood; MDMC

On the morning of September 11, 2001, New York City-based Community Relations Service (“CRS”) Regional Director Reinaldo Rivera was at a New Jersey summit on racial profiling. At 8:46 a.m., an American Airlines 767 crashed into the North Tower of New York City’s World Trade Center. Because Rivera was with the New Jersey state attorney general, he quickly learned of the attack. Rivera immediately called his staff members, who at that moment were traveling to Long Island, New York, for an unrelated case. Getting into Manhattan had already become difficult, so Rivera instructed his conciliators to remain on standby. At 9:03 a.m., another 767, United Airlines Flight 175, flew into the World Trade Center’s South Tower. September 11 initiated a new, fraught-filled era for the United States. For CRS, an agency within the United States Department of Justice, it was the beginning of a long-term immersion into conflict issues that involved discrimination and violence against those whose appearance led them to be targets of anti-terrorist hysteria or mis- placed backlash. Appropriately, in the days following 9/11, the federal government, including the Federal Bureau of Investigation (“FBI”), concentrated on ferreting out the culprits of the heinous acts. However, the FBI discovered that Middle Eastern terrorists were responsible for the tragedies, and communities around the nation saw a surge of violence against people who appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent, requiring a response to protect those who were unfairly targeted. These outbreaks began as soon as September 12. Police in Illinois stopped 300 people from marching on a Chicago-area mosque. In Gary, Indiana, a masked gunman shot twenty-one times at a Yemeni- American gas station attendant. In Texas, a mosque was hit by six bullets. On September 15, a man who had been reported by an Applebee’s waiter as saying that he wanted to “shoot some rag heads” shot a Chevron gas station owner Balbir Singh Sodhi, a Sikh-American. The man, Frank Roque, shot through his car window, and five bullets hit Sodhi, killing him instantly. Roque drove to a home he previously owned and had sold to an Afghan-American couple and fired on it. He then shot a Lebanese-American man. According to a police report, Roque said in reference to the 9/11 tragedy, “I [cannot] take this anymore. They killed my brothers and sisters.” Former Transportation Secretary Norman Mineta said, reflecting ten years later on the hate crimes that followed the attack on the World Trade Center, “The tragedy of September 11th should be remembered in the sense of making sure that we [do not] let our emotions run away in terms of trying to show our commitment and conviction about patriotism [and] loyalty.” The events created a new chapter in American race relations, one in which racial tensions and fear were higher than ever for Arabs, Muslims, South Asians, Sikhs, and others who could be targeted in anti-Islamic hysteria because of their physical appearance or dress. In 2011, a CBS–New York Times poll found that 78% agreed that Muslims, Arab-Americans, and immigrants from the Middle East are singled out unfairly by people in this country. Shortly after the September 11 attacks, this number stood at 90%. The same poll also found that one in three Americans think Muslim-Americans are more sympathetic to terrorists than other Americans. To address these misconceptions in the years following 9/11, CRS has done a significant amount of outreach, dispute resolution, and training to mitigate unfounded backlash against Arabs, Muslims, and Sikhs. Under CRS Director Freeman, the agency produced Sikh and Muslim cultural-competency trainings and two training videos: On Common Ground, which provides background on Sikhism and concerns about safety held by Sikhs in America; and The First Three to Five Seconds, which provides background on Muslims and information on their interactions with law enforcement. In 2009, President Obamas signed the Matthew Shepard-James Byrd Junior Hate Crimes Prevention Act. The Act explicitly gave CRS jurisdiction to respond to and prevent hate crimes. For the first time, CRS jurisdiction expanded beyond race. Specifically, CRS was now authorized to work on issues of religion, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, and disability in addition to race, color, and national origin. When I became CRS Director in 2012, following the continued incidents of unfounded violence and prejudice against those perceived as sharing heritage with Middle Eastern terrorists, I directed the agency to update the trainings and launched an initiative for regional offices to conduct these Sikh and Muslim cultural-competency trainings. In the years following 9/11, controversy has continued over racial profiling of Arab, Muslim, and Sikh individuals. Owing to the nature of the attack, one particular area of ongoing concern is access to airplane flights. Director of Transportation Mineta recalled how the racial profiling he witnessed echoed his own experience as a Japanese-American citizen: [T]here were a lot of people saying, “[We are] not [going to] let Middle Easterners or Muslims on the planes.” And I thought about my own experience [during World War II] because people [could not] make the distinction between the people who were flying the airplanes that attacked Pearl Harbor and the people who were living in Washington, Oregon, and California, who looked like the people flying the airplanes. In response to this problem, CRS trained thousands of law enforcement and Transit Security Association employees on cultural professionalism in working with Arab, Muslim, and Sikh individuals. The work of addressing the profiling and mistreatment of Arab-Americans, Muslims, and Sikhs also spiked after the 2013 bombing of the Boston Marathon. CRS conciliators again reached out to leaders throughout the country at mosques and gurdwaras to confront safety and security issues regarding houses of worship and concerns about backlash violence based on faith, nationality, and race. Since 9/11, CRS’s work on racial profiling continues to respond to increasing conflicts and tensions both within the United States and around the globe. In the wake of the 9/11 tragedy, CRS adjusted its priorities and reallocated resources in the wake of the September 11 tragedy to address the needs of targeted communities and further intercultural understanding. CRS did so by increasing the religious awareness training provided to law enforcement and other agencies, and it committed more resources to working with Muslim and Sikh faith and advocacy organizations and people. This work was not originally envisioned when the 1964 Civil Rights Act created CRS. How- ever, this new focus reflects how the model of the African-American civil rights movement has inspired other efforts to attain equality and justice for minority groups in the United States. Just as the tragedy in Selma helped lead to the passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act, the Oak Creek tragedy helped lead the FBI to update its hate crime categories. Former FBI Director James Comey articulated this idea best in his speech to the Anti-Defamation League, stating “do a better job of tracking and reporting hate crime to fully understand what is happening in our communities and how to stop it.” The Community Relations Service has evolved over time since its 1964 origins, and a substantial component has been the work in response to post 9/11 unfounded racial and religious violence.

This article examines the experience of online worship among 13 participants ‘attending’ virtual services in Cambridge. We focus upon an online formal Eucharistic service and a more informal Sunday evening non-Eucharistic service. After providing an overview of the literature on online religion, more specifically the possibility of a virtual religious community and the performance of online Eucharist, we present data from semi-structured interviews which were analysed through thematic analysis. The interviews reveal that virtual services, while better than nothing, have significant limitations in terms of participation, belonging, and the kind of religious experience engendered. While only two participants expressed the view that the virtual service was better than the live service, the majority found that the virtual service lacked a sense of connectedness. However, everyone agreed that it was different from a television broadcast in several important ways. The overall view was that celebrating the Eucharist was not possible online, because congregants could not actually partake of the bread and wine blessed by the priest which, for them, was an essential aspect of the ritual. For most people there was neither spiritual communion, nor a belief in consecration at a distance, leaving them feeling they were not really participating in the Eucharist. The participants in the study who engaged with both the Eucharist in the morning and the non-Eucharistic service in the evening generally seem to have preferred the latter. The data from this study are congruent with studies of diverse faiths which reveal the perceived importance of physical presence, contact and connection as being important for ritual effectiveness.

In Indonesia it appears logical, it has a lot of "tahlil". Even has become fleshamong Muslims. Before Islam came there was no "tahlil". It used to be people'shabits if someone dies after neighbors gathered at the funeral home andsometimes they gamble to stay up until morning. Then came the cleric called a"Wali Songo" to change the habits of people get together and play gambling begathered to pray for the deceased which called "tahlilan". "Tahlil" comes fromthe word "" ھلل - یھلل - تھلیلاwhich means to read lafadz " "لاإلھإلاااللهwhich meansthere is no god but Allah. That is the purpose of reading “tahlil” was read versesor dhikr of Allah. The rituals like this is not just a "tahlil ", but there are also"Manakib "," Istighosah "and others.But in so far is that all based on the power ofmoney. Many of the chairman of the "tahlil" put a price on his services.Sometimes there are individuals and there are also tahlil institutions serviceproviders. Usually this tahlil services performed for seven days after someonedead. But there is also held because there are certain necessities such as incalling for a single day during the ritual forty days of death, hundred days ofdeath, a thousand days of death, birth of a baby, seven months of pregnancy and others.In taking wages in terms of worship is a lot of disagreement amongscholars,there should be and there should not be. And both have a legal basis tosupport this.Keywords: tahlil, manakib, istighosah

[Editors’ note: this lyric essay was presented as the keynote address at Edith Cowan University’s CREATEC symposium on the theme Catastrophe and Creativity in November 2012, and represents excerpts from the author’s publication Threading Light: Explorations in Loss and Poetry. Regina, SK: Hagios Press, 2011. Reproduced with the author’s permission].Essay and verse and anecdote are the ways I have chosen to apprentice myself to loss, grief, faith, memory, and the stories we use to tie and untie them. Cat’s cradle, Celtic lines, bends and hitches are familiar: however, when I write about loss, I find there are knots I cannot tie or release, challenging both my imagination and my craft. Over the last decade, I have been learning that writing poetry is also the art of tying together light and dark, grief and joy, of grasping and releasing. Language is a hinge that connects us with the flesh of our experience; it is also residue, the ash of memory and imagination. (Threading Light 7) ———Greek katastrophé overturning, sudden turn, from kata down + strophe ‘turning” from strephein to turn.Loss and catastrophe catapult us into the liminal, into a threshold space. We walk between land we have known and the open sea. ———Mnemosyne, the mother of the nine Muses, the personification of memory, makes anthropologists of us all. When Hermes picked up the lyre, it was to her—to Remembrance —that he sang the first song. Without remembrance, oral or written, we have no place to begin. Stone, amulet, photograph, charm bracelet, cufflink, fish story, house, facial expression, tape recorder, verse, or the same old traveling salesman joke—we have places and means to try to store memories. Memories ground us, even as we know they are fleeting and flawed constructions that slip through our consciousness; ghosts of ghosts. One cold winter, I stayed in a guest room in my mother’s apartment complex for three days. Because she had lost her sight, I sat at the table in her overheated and stuffy kitchen with the frozen slider window and tried to describe photographs as she tried to recall names and events. I emptied out the dusty closet she’d ignored since my father left, and we talked about knitting patterns, the cost of her mother’s milk glass bowl, the old clothes she could only know by rubbing the fabric through her fingers. I climbed on a chair to reach a serving dish she wanted me to have, and we laughed hysterically when I read aloud the handwritten note inside: save for Annette, in a script not hers. It’s okay, she said; I want all this gone. To all you kids. Take everything you can. When I pop off, I don’t want any belongings. Our family had moved frequently, and my belongings always fit in a single box; as a student, in the back of a car or inside a backpack. Now, in her ninth decade, my mother wanted to return to the simplicity she, too, recalled from her days on a small farm outside a small town. On her deathbed, she insisted on having her head shaved, and frequently the nursing staff came into the room to find she had stripped off her johnny shirt and her covers. The philosopher Simone Weil said that all we possess in the world is the power to say “I” (Gravity 119).Memory is a cracked bowl, and it fills endlessly as it empties. Memory is what we create out of what we have at hand—other people’s accounts, objects, flawed stories of our own creation, second-hand tales handed down like an old watch. Annie Dillard says as a life’s work, she’d remember everything–everything against loss, and go through life like a plankton net. I prefer the image of the bowl—its capacity to feed us, the humility it suggests, its enduring shape, its rich symbolism. Its hope. To write is to fashion a bowl, perhaps, but we know, finally, the bowl cannot hold everything. (Threading Light 78–80) ———Man is the sire of sorrow, sang Joni Mitchell. Like joy, sorrow begins at birth: we are born into both. The desert fathers believed—in fact, many of certain faiths continue to believe—that penthos is mourning for lost salvation. Penthus was the last god to be given his assignment from Zeus: he was to be responsible for grieving and loss. Eros, the son of Aphrodite, was the god of love and desire. The two can be seen in concert with one another, each mirroring the other’s extreme, each demanding of us the farthest reach of our being. Nietzsche, through Zarathustra, phrased it another way: “Did you ever say Yes to one joy? O my friends, then you have also said Yes to all Woe as well. All things are chained, entwined together, all things are in love.” (Threading Light 92) ———We are that brief crack of light, that cradle rocking. We can aspire to a heaven, or a state of forgiveness; we can ask for redemption and hope for freedom from suffering for ourselves and our loved ones; we may create children or works of art in the vague hope that we will leave something behind when we go. But regardless, we know that there is a wall or a dark curtain or a void against which we direct or redirect our lives. We hide from it, we embrace it; we taunt it; we flout it. We write macabre jokes, we play hide and seek, we walk with bated breath, scream in movies, or howl in the wilderness. We despair when we learn of premature or sudden death; we are reminded daily—an avalanche, an aneurysm, a shocking diagnosis, a child’s bicycle in the intersection—that our illusions of control, that youthful sense of invincibility we have clung to, our last-ditch religious conversions, our versions of Pascal’s bargain, nothing stops the carriage from stopping for us.We are fortunate if our awareness calls forth our humanity. We learn, as Aristotle reminded us, about our capacity for fear and pity. Seeing others as vulnerable in their pain or weakness, we see our own frailties. As I read the poetry of Donne or Rumi, or verse created by the translator of Holocaust stories, Lois Olena, or the work of poet Sharon Olds as she recounts the daily horror of her youth, I can become open to pity, or—to use the more contemporary word—compassion. The philosopher Martha Nussbaum argues that works of art are not only a primary means for an individual to express her humanity through catharsis, as Aristotle claimed, but, because of the attunement to others and to the world that creation invites, the process can sow the seeds of social justice. Art grounds our grief in form; it connects us to one another and to the world. And the more we acquaint ourselves with works of art—in music, painting, theatre, literature—the more we open ourselves to complex and nuanced understandings of our human capacities for grief. Why else do we turn to a stirring poem when we are mourning? Why else do we sing? When my parents died, I came home from the library with stacks of poetry and memoirs about loss. How does your story dovetail with mine? I wanted to know. How large is this room—this country—of grief and how might I see it, feel the texture on its walls, the ice of its waters? I was in a foreign land, knew so little of its language, and wanted to be present and raw and vulnerable in its climate and geography. Writing and reading were my way not to squander my hours of pain. While it was difficult to live inside that country, it was more difficult not to. In learning to know graveyards as places of comfort and perspective, Mnemosyne’s territory with her markers of memory guarded by crow, leaf, and human footfall, with storehouses of vast and deep tapestries of stories whispered, sung, or silent, I am cultivating the practice of walking on common ground. Our losses are really our winter-enduring foliage, Rilke writes. They are place and settlement, foundation and soil, and home. (Threading Light 86–88) ———The loseability of our small and larger worlds allows us to see their gifts, their preciousness.Loseability allows us to pay attention. ———“A faith-based life, a Trappistine nun said to me, aims for transformation of the soul through compunction—not only a state of regret and remorse for our inadequacies before God, but also living inside a deeper sorrow, a yearning for a union with the divine. Compunction, according to a Christian encyclopaedia, is constructive only if it leads to repentance, reconciliation, and sanctification. Would you consider this work you are doing, the Trappistine wrote, to be a spiritual journey?Initially, I ducked her question; it was a good one. Like Neruda, I don’t know where the poetry comes from, a winter or a river. But like many poets, I feel the inadequacy of language to translate pain and beauty, the yearning for an embodied understanding of phenomena that is assensitive and soul-jolting as the contacts of eye-to-eye and skin-to-skin. While I do not worship a god, I do long for an impossible union with the world—a way to acknowledge the gift that is my life. Resonance: a search for the divine in the everyday. And more so. Writing is a full-bodied, sensory, immersive activity that asks me to give myself over to phenomena, that calls forth deep joy and deep sorrow sometimes so profound that I am gutted by my inadequacy. I am pierced, dumbstruck. Lyric language is the crayon I use, and poetry is my secular compunction...Poets—indeed, all writers—are often humbled by what we cannot do, pierced as we are by—what? I suggest mystery, impossibility, wonder, reverence, grief, desire, joy, our simple gratitude and despair. I speak of the soul and seven people rise from their chairs and leave the room, writes Mary Oliver (4). Eros and penthos working in concert. We have to sign on for the whole package, and that’s what both empties us out, and fills us up. The practice of poetry is our inadequate means of seeking the gift of tears. We cultivate awe, wonder, the exquisite pain of seeing and knowing deeply the abundant and the fleeting in our lives. Yes, it is a spiritual path. It has to do with the soul, and the sacred—our venerating the world given to us. Whether we are inside a belief system that has or does not have a god makes no difference. Seven others lean forward to listen. (Threading Light 98–100)———The capacity to give one’s attention to a sufferer is a rare thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle. – Simone Weil (169)I can look at the lines and shades on the page clipped to the easel, deer tracks in the snow, or flecks of light on a summer sidewalk. Or at the moon as it moves from new to full. Or I can read the poetry of Paul Celan.Celan’s poem “Tenebrae” takes its title from high Christian services in which lighting, usually from candles, is gradually extinguished so that by the end of the service, the church is in total darkness. Considering Celan’s—Antschel’s—history as a Romanian Jew whose parents were killed in the Nazi death camps, and his subsequent years tortured by the agony of his grief, we are not surprised to learn he chose German, his mother’s language, to create his poetry: it might have been his act of defiance, his way of using shadow and light against the other. The poet’s deep grief, his profound awareness of loss, looks unflinchingly at the past, at the piles of bodies. The language has become a prism, reflecting penetrating shafts of shadow: in the shine of blood, the darkest of the dark. Enlinked, enlaced, and enamoured. We don’t always have names for the shades of sorrows and joys we live inside, but we know that each defines and depends upon the other. Inside the core shadow of grief we recognise our shared mortality, and only in that recognition—we are not alone—can hope be engendered. In the exquisite pure spot of light we associate with love and joy, we may be temporarily blinded, but if we look beyond, and we draw on what we know, we feel the presence of the shadows that have intensified what appears to us as light. Light and dark—even in what we may think are their purest state—are transitory pauses in the shape of being. Decades ago my well-meaning mother, a nurse, gave me pills to dull the pain of losing my fiancé who had shot himself; now, years later, knowing so many deaths, and more imminent, I would choose the bittersweet tenderness of being fully inside grief—awake, raw, open—feeling its walls, its every rough surface, its every degree of light and dark. It is love/loss, light/dark, a fusion that brings me home to the world. (Threading Light 100–101) ———Loss can trigger and inspire creativity, not only at the individual level but at the public level, whether we are marching in Idle No More demonstrations, re-building a shelter, or re-building a life. We use art to weep, to howl, to reach for something that matters, something that means. And sometimes it may mean that all we learn from it is that nothing lasts. And then, what? What do we do then? ———The wisdom of Epictetus, the Stoic, can offer solace, but I know it will take time to catch up with him. Nothing can be taken from us, he claims, because there is nothing to lose: what we lose—lover, friend, hope, father, dream, keys, faith, mother—has merely been returned to where it (or they) came from. We live in samsara, Zen masters remind us, inside a cycle of suffering that results from a belief in the permanence of self and of others. Our perception of reality is narrow; we must broaden it to include all phenomena, to recognise the interdependence of lives, the planet, and beyond, into galaxies. A lot for a mortal to get her head around. And yet, as so many poets have wondered, is that not where imagination is born—in the struggle and practice of listening, attending, and putting ourselves inside the now that all phenomena share? Can I imagine the rush of air under the loon that passes over my house toward the ocean every morning at dawn? The hot dust under the cracked feet of that child on the outskirts of Darwin? The gut-hauling terror of an Afghan woman whose family’s blood is being spilled? Thich Nhat Hanh says that we are only alive when we live the sufferings and the joys of others. He writes: Having seen the reality of interdependence and entered deeply into its reality, nothing can oppress you any longer. You are liberated. Sit in the lotus position, observe your breath, and ask one who has died for others. (66)Our breath is a delicate thread, and it contains multitudes. I hear an echo, yes. The practice of poetry—my own spiritual and philosophical practice, my own sackcloth and candle—has allowed me a glimpse not only into the lives of others, sentient or not, here, afar, or long dead, but it has deepened and broadened my capacity for breath. Attention to breath grounds me and forces me to attend, pulls me into my body as flesh. When I see my flesh as part of the earth, as part of all flesh, as Morris Berman claims, I come to see myself as part of something larger. (Threading Light 134–135) ———We think of loss as a dark time, and yet it opens us, deepens us.Close attention to loss—our own and others’—cultivates compassion.As artists we’re already predisposed to look and listen closely. We taste things, we touch things, we smell them. We lie on the ground like Mary Oliver looking at that grasshopper. We fill our ears with music that not everyone slows down to hear. We fall in love with ideas, with people, with places, with beauty, with tragedy, and I think we desire some kind of fusion, a deeper connection than everyday allows us. We want to BE that grasshopper, enter that devastation, to honour it. We long, I think, to be present.When we are present, even in catastrophe, we are fully alive. It seems counter-intuitive, but the more fully we engage with our losses—the harder we look, the more we soften into compassion—the more we cultivate resilience. ———Resilience consists of three features—persistence, adaptability transformability—each interacting from local to global scales. – Carl FolkeResilent people and resilient systems find meaning and purpose in loss. We set aside our own egos and we try to learn to listen and to see, to open up. Resilience is fundamentally an act of optimism. This is not the same, however, as being naïve. Optimism is the difference between “why me?” and “why not me?” Optimism is present when we are learning to think larger than ourselves. Resilience asks us to keep moving. Sometimes with loss there is a moment or two—or a month, a year, who knows?—where we, as humans, believe that we are standing still, we’re stuck, we’re in stasis. But we aren’t. Everything is always moving and everything is always in relation. What we mistake for stasis in a system is the system taking stock, transforming, doing things underneath the surface, preparing to rebuild, create, recreate. Leonard Cohen reminded us there’s a crack in everything, and that’s how the light gets in. But what we often don’t realize is that it’s we—the human race, our own possibilities, our own creativity—who are that light. We are resilient when we have agency, support, community we can draw on. When we have hope. ———FortuneFeet to carry you past acres of grapevines, awnings that opento a hall of paperbarks. A dog to circle you, look behind, point ahead. A hip that bends, allows you to slidebetween wire and wooden bars of the fence. A twinge rides with that hip, and sometimes the remnant of a fall bloomsin your right foot. Hands to grip a stick for climbing, to rest your weight when you turn to look below. On your left hand,a story: others see it as a scar. On the other, a newer tale; a bone-white lump. Below, mist disappears; a nichein the world opens to its long green history. Hills furrow into their dark harbours. Horses, snatches of inhale and whiffle.Mutterings of men, a cow’s long bellow, soft thud of feet along the hill. You turn at the sound.The dog swallows a cry. Stays; shakes until the noise recedes. After a time, she walks on three legs,tests the paw of the fourth in the dust. You may never know how she was wounded. She remembers your bodyby scent, voice, perhaps the taste of contraband food at the door of the house. Story of human and dog, you begin—but the wordyour fingers make is god. What last year was her silken newborn fur is now sunbleached, basket dry. Feet, hips, hands, paws, lapwings,mockingbirds, quickening, longing: how eucalypts reach to give shade, and tiny tight grapes cling to vines that align on a slope as smoothlyas the moon follows you, as intention always leans toward good. To know bones of the earth are as true as a point of light: tendernesswhere you bend and press can whisper grace, sorrow’s last line, into all that might have been,so much that is. (Threading Light 115–116) Acknowledgments The author would like to thank Dr. Lekkie Hopkins and Dr. John Ryan for the opportunity to speak (via video) to the 2012 CREATEC Symposium Catastrophe and Creativity, to Dr. Hopkins for her eloquent and memorable paper in response to my work on creativity and research, and to Dr. Ryan for his support. The presentation was recorded and edited by Paul Poirier at Mount Saint Vincent University in Halifax, Nova Scotia. My thanks go to Edith Cowan and Mount Saint Vincent Universities. ReferencesBerman, Morris. Coming to Our Senses. New York: Bantam, 1990.Dillard, Annie. For the Time Being. New York: Vintage Books, 2000.Felstiner, John. Paul Celan: Poet, Survivor, Jew. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001.Folke, Carl. "On Resilience." Seed Magazine. 13 Dec. 2010. 22 Mar. 2013 ‹http://seedmagazine.com/content/article/on_resilience›.Franck, Frederick. Zen Seeing, Zen Drawing. New York: Bantam Books, 1993.Hanh, Thich Nhat. The Miracle of Mindfulness. Boston: Beacon Press, 1976.Hausherr, Irenee. Penthos: The Doctrine of Compunction in the Christian East. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1982.Neilsen Glenn, Lorri. Threading Light: Explorations in Loss and Poetry. Regina, SK: Hagios Press, 2011. Nietzsche, Frederick. Thus Spake Zarathustra. New York: Penguin, 1978. Nussbaum, Martha. Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Oliver, Mary. “The Word.” What Do We Know. Boston: DaCapo Press, 2002.Rilke, Rainer Maria. Duino Elegies and the Sonnets to Orpheus. (Tenth Elegy). Ed. Stephen Mitchell. New York: Random House/Vintage Editions, 2009.Weil, Simone. The Need for Roots. London: Taylor & Francis, 2005 (1952).Weil, Simone. Gravity and Grace. London: Routledge, 2004.Further ReadingChodron, Pema. Practicing Peace in Times of War. Boston: Shambhala, 2006.Cleary, Thomas (trans.) The Essential Tao: An Initiation into the Heart of Taoism through Tao de Ching and the Teachings of Chuang Tzu. Edison, NJ: Castle Books, 1993.Dalai Lama (H H the 14th) and Venerable Chan Master Sheng-yen. Meeting of Minds: A Dialogue on Tibetan and Chinese Buddhism. New York: Dharma Drum Publications, 1999. Hirshfield, Jane. "Language Wakes Up in the Morning: A Meander toward Writing." Alaska Quarterly Review. 21.1 (2003).Hirshfield, Jane. Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry. New York: HarperCollins, 1997. Lao Tzu. Tao Te Ching. Trans. Arthur Waley. Chatham: Wordsworth Editions, 1997. Neilsen, Lorri. "Lyric Inquiry." Handbook of the Arts in Qualitative Research. Eds. J. Gary Knowles and Ardra Cole. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 2008. 88–98. Ross, Maggie. The Fire and the Furnace: The Way of Tears and Fire. York: Paulist Press, 1987.

Applied research project (D. Min.)--School of Theology and Missions, Oral Roberts University, 2008.
Includes abstract and vita. Translated from Korean. Includes bibliographical references (leaves 150-154).

This chapter investigates how Christian rituals or ritualizing behaviour supplied resources used by scribes in formulating incantations. On the one hand, elements derived from Christian rituals demonstrate the importance and efficacy of those rituals in generating resources for writers of amulets. On the other hand, variations in how elements derived from Christian rituals are incorporated into amulets reveal that, consciously or not, scribes drew on these resources with some freedom. The chapter discusses connections between acclamations used in Christian worship and in amulets; between the services of morning and evening prayer and the selection of psalms in amulets; between christological acclamations used in rites of exorcism and in amulets; and between the cult of saints and appeals to their intercessions in amulets. The chapter also observes that the traditions on which incantations drew were more diverse than those preserved in the authorized liturgies of the Egyptian church.

Abstract Sunday morning worship in the Free Wesleyan Church of Tonga, a Church in the Methodist tradition, is a complex mixture of local and imported custom and culture. True, there are many features that locate the event firmly in Polynesia. There will be a drum (or empty gas cylinder) struck to call worshipers to church. Most will wear around the waist a ta’ovala, a woven mat, to signal respect. All will remove their footwear before entering. Mats and ta1)a cloth in the sanctuary area are traditional symbols of sacred and protected space. Singing will be enthusiastic and competent, and the sermon will harness traditional Tongan rhetoric; the Tongan language has, perhaps, survived so well through its use in such services. Nevertheless, most elements of the service itself will have originated far away from Polynesia. When the service takes the form of Morning Prayer, congregations of Pacific Islanders find themselves sharing in, and continuing to reshape, a liturgy that transmits a whole strand of Christian tradition. The order of service, printed with the liturgical material at the back of the Tongan Methodist Hymn Book, is a translation into Tongan based on John Wesley’s abridgement of the Book of Com• mon Prayer. Worshipers are thus immediately in relation to a Christian tradition developed in England and to the particular cultural, political, and theological factors that shaped it.

‘Word, body, and gesture’ examines the Book of Common Prayer in detail, describing the nature and theology of the English services and prayers, and also their witness to gesture, faith, and worship. The Book of Common Prayer is a book of prayer, but also of ritual: a corpus of gestures, practices, and performances. While rejecting so many of the physical forms of the medieval rites, the Book of Common Prayer created its own grammar of social action. The services of Holy Communion, Morning and Evening Prayer, death, and the role of participation and mimesis are discussed. Special attention is paid to how the book’s rubrics changed from edition to edition, from 1549 to 1552 and afterwards.

Abstract Every Summer thousands of Southerners attend gatherings of relatives known as family reunions. The reunion as a type of event is, in fact, known throughout the United States and in many areas of the world where the Scots and their descendants have migrated. The reunion is styled out of a symbolic inventory shared by other outdoor services of worship and of kinship affirmation, and to those who attend the reunion of all the descendants of a common ancestor it takes on the aura of a sacred event, hallowing the kin group and the living family through an intricate symbolic expression of Protestant culture. The Family Reunion Every year since the early 1930s on the third Sunday in July, the Worthy family has gathered under the trees at the old camp meeting ground in North Georgia known as Clear Creek. By Saturday morning relatives have already begun to arrive and to unpack to stay overnight with one of the families who live nearby or to stay over at the family “tent,” a rough cabin that stands with other family tents in a circle around the aging, open-sided arbor, the central building of the campgrounds.

“Divine Service” is a name for the most frequently performed act of public worship that is prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer. Most of this chapter examines the texts of the three liturgical offices in which Divine Service has consisted on Sundays: Morning Prayer (or Mattins), the Litany (or General Supplication), and the beginning of Holy Communion (or the Lord’s Supper), as these would take place on one specific day. Evening Prayer (or Evensong), which is a separate part of Divine Service, is also described. In the course of the discussion the chapter introduces a number of basic terms used throughout the book.

Abstract Not all churchmen concerned about the state of the national church in the early eighteenth century predicted such dire consequences as these from compromises and abrogations proposed in the traditional performance of cathedral choral service. Chanting the prose texts of Morning and Evening Prayer, Litany, and Communion, nevertheless, was at the centre of the liturgical ritual which had defined choral worship for centuries. The extraordinary character of cathedrals and collegiate churches and chapels seemed to depend as much on whether or not they chanted the prayers as on their special status at the top of the hierarchy of institutional bodies within the Church of England. Chanting the prose psalms in harmony ‘by sides’ was not viewed in exactly the same way, for in places where orders were given to cease chanting prayers, the psalmody was exempted.

Abstract “I love the Lord, He heard my cry,” Deacon cries out. The newly gathered congregation, now seated in their pews, echoes his words in a plaintive tune. They do this without the support of piano, organ, or hymnal. Another Sunday morning worship service has begun at St. John Progressive Baptist Church, which, like many working-class Baptist churches in the black community of Austin, Texas, is home to a small congregation. Why the adjective “Progressive” has been inserted into the church’s title is a mystery—and not a very interesting one to its members. Unlike “Free Will” or “Missionary,” it connotes no sectarian leanings or history.

This chapter examines how the relationships formed in Pentecostal churches—both vertical ties to church leaders and horizontal ties among laypeople—are worked out through ritual. Over the course of a Sunday morning worship service, believers move toward increasingly hierarchical practices like preaching, demonstrating the primacy of ties to church leaders in the Pentecostal relational world. However, egalitarian practices like prayer nevertheless persist throughout the ritual, reminding everyone that charismatic authority is by definition unstable. At any moment, the authority of the pastor may be challenged, and his position as a spiritual leader given to someone else. This potential for charismatic hierarchy to be upended serves as an important safeguard against what one believer called “corruption.”

Standing in a Sunday service at a Roman Catholic church in central China recently, an impressive and lively church with discreet electronic boards on the pillars displaying the liturgy in real time, I was struck with renewed force by the difficulty of worshipping with a sense of inauthenticity. This was a rare occurrence; there is usually no occasion to doubt a priest’s or minister’s faith as expressed in the sermon or worship. That morning, however, a disturbing unease at the perception of an inauthentic leader—perhaps not even in the sense of unbelieving, but for presenting a homily that did not ring true and came across as a government circular or directive—was a bleak reminder of the choices that Chinese congregations and theologians have faced for decades....

Abstract On January 9, 1726, after the Sunday-morning service in New York City’s Dutch church, Dominie Gualtherus Du Bois detained his congregation for a few moments to address them on a matter of no small importance. “Inasmuch as under Divine Providence, we are all subjects of his Royal Majesty, George, the King of Great Britain, our most gracious Sovereign,” he began, “and inasmuch as we are living in a Province where the English language is the common language of the inhabitants: there cannot but be a general agreement by each and all of us that it is very necessary to be versed in this common language of the people, in order properly to carry on one’s temporal calling.” But having in effect acknowledged English suzerainty, Du Bois continued in a much different vein. All who “prefer the worship of the Dutch Reformed Church” and “the devout hearing of pious sermons in the Dutch language,” he said, also recognize the necessity “to be versed in the language in which God’s worship is conducted and exercised.” The dominie expressed regrets that, because of “a wretched carelessness of necessary things,” his congregation had “now for some years neglected to have their children receive instruction in the Netherlandish tongue.” Already, Du Bois claimed, their dilatoriness had resulted in a gradual attrition from the church among the younger generation (those, incidentally, most likely to have attended schools run by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel).

Abstract Imagine, if you can, the morning of Monday, September 16, 1963. You are ready to work. Your typewriter is at the ready. You have coffee, maybe cigarettes. No distractions. But there is still an edginess, the pressure to produce, the commitment that words on paper entails. So you delay and retrieve the newspaper at your door. The New York Times headline: “Birmingham Bomb Kills 4 Negro Girls in Church; Riots Flare; 2 Boys Slain.” Continue working? Four children—Denise McNair, age 11, and Carole Robertson, Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, each age 14—killedjust prior to a worship service at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama. Later that day, James Robinson, age 16, is shot in the back by police trying to break up rock throwing between white and black teenagers. And, finally, Virgil Ware, age 13, is shot by a white teenager (an Eagle Scout) who had spent the afternoon at a white supremacist rally. Five hundred National Guardsmen and three hundred state troopers had taken control of the streets. Six black children slain, killed by men, by representatives of the state, by other children. Continue working? Prior to the explosion, the girls killed at the church had heard the completion of Ella Demand’s Sunday School lesson, “The Love That Forgives.” That same day, President Kennedy had stated in an address that “a new national awareness of discriminatory practices against Negroes was bringing progress toward the goal of equal opportunity.”2