Music, poetry, and art can be medicine for unsettling, violent times. Take a moment to seek beauty today (and every day). It will help to settle your soul in the face of what we are all experiencing right now.
Free access to 60,000 works of art in the National Gallery. They also have a wonderful Chrome extension that randomly chooses a piece of art to display anytime you open a new tab on your computer.
“Where there is cake, there is hope. And there is always cake.”
Dean Koontz
Hard times call for sweet things, particularly if they are easy to make and really, really good. This week I had a small culinary epiphany… Clafouti, (which is one of my favorite desserts ) is a cousin to the delicious dessert known as a Dutch Baby as well as a new favorite dessert of mine (and Christopher Kimball), Pan de Elote.
What they have in common is that they are all “blender cakes”.
Here’s the basic blueprint – a little bit of flour (of your choice), some eggs, some liquid, a sweetener (as much or little as you want) and various flavorings. They all go into a blender before being poured into a pan to be cooked.
So easy.
So fast.
So delicious.
You’re welcome!
Here are the three blender cakes I’ve cooked and can attest to…
This is my favorite clafouti recipe. Clafouti is traditionally made with cherries, but berries, pears and other fruits work well, too. I often add nuts (usually slivered almonds) as well.
A Dutch Baby is almost identical to a clafouti in terms of the ingredients, but you add the fruit afterwards. Here’s the NY Times recipe for a classic sweet Dutch baby. You can also make a savory Dutch Baby if you are looking for a fast dinner.
And then there is the life changing, amazing Pan de Elote or “Mexican Corn Bread”. (which has nothing to do with the cornbread most of us know). My favorite recipe for Pan de Elote calls for fresh corn, but frozen or canned work well, especially for those of us who don’t have a lot of extra time to cook.
Here’s a few more blender cakes that look easy (and fast) that are on my list to try!
Vanilla blender cake is basically a sponge cake, but most recipes say it has the moist crumb of Japanese sponge cake (which is not at all a problem!) Adding fruit like peaches or bananas is an option, too.
It may have been different for you, but as a child Lent was never explained to me in a way that made sense … and I had lots of questions:
What is a Liturgical year??? (I grew up in a Protestant church so this was never really explained)
Why 40 days? (except it’s really 46?)
Why do we call it Lent?
Why “give up” something? (And why is chocolate always on the list?)
The Liturgical Year
Like the seasons,the structure of Christian (and most other religious) worship follows the solar year. Not surprisingly, the Christian calendar has its origin in the Jewish calendar, which revolves around the Sabbath (the origin of our week) and Passover (once a year in the spring, which set the annual cycle of a year).
From before the time of Christ, the GraecoRoman world kept Saturn’s day (on what we now call Saturday) as the first day of the week. Since no other origin can be traced for the seven-day cycle, it would appear that they adopted the week from the Jewish system. The Romans did not, however, name the other days of the week definitively until the third century of the Christian era.” (The Liturgical Year – It’sStory, 2000)
Prior to the 4th century, there was no “liturgical year” as we know it now… there was only Easter (which like Passover, has a date decided by the lunar calendar). The very early church (the first 200 years) fasted to prepare for Easter, which is the practice that led to subsequent Lenten practices.
Shared by Deacon Art Bass on Facebook
The origins of “Lent”
In 313 CE Constantine, the emperor of Rome, announced that no longer would Christians in Rome be persecuted. In fact, having seen a vision of a cross on a shield in battle, he converted to Christianity and made it the official state religion of Rome. (And, as we say… the rest is history)
Prior to that time, it was not easy to be a follower of Christ. In 217, Hippolytus described what it took to become a Christian. “After being carefully screened, candidates were admitted to a three-year period as “hearers of the word.” As well as attending their own sessions of instruction, they were permitted to be present at the liturgy of the word, but not for the prayer of the faithful or for the eucharist (II, 16-19), participation in which is the privilege of the baptized members of the community.” (The Liturgical Year, Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops, 2017)
It was only after three years of intense study and discipline that new Christians could be baptized – which always took place during the celebration of Easter. This was not a trivial decision. Those who chose to follow Christ during the first 3 centuries risked persecution, torture, and even death.
From Three Years to Forty days
It’s not surprising that after 313, when persecution of Christians was no longer permitted, that more people sought to join this new religion. It’s also not surprising that a) baptisms still took place on Easter and b) you still had to commit to study and discipline before you could be baptized.
After the time of Constantine, however, the Church found itself in a world that was less openly hostile. Converts flocked in. Gradually the strict discipline of the catechumenate, which had been a three year process, was abbreviated to be totally encompassed in the six weeks of Lent.(The Origins of the LIturgical Year, Talley, 1991)
Why 40 days? When the Council of Nicea met in 325 CE they decided to formalize the preparation to match the recorded 40 day fasts of Jesus, Moses, and Elijah.
Why Sundays are not included.
Sundays are considered a celebration of Christ’s resurrection, so they aren’t considered part of the 40 days of Lent (which is why it is actually 46 days)
Why do we call it “Lent”?
Easter and Passover both occur during a window of dates that fall in the late spring (because they are based on the lunar calendar). The word “Lent” means spring: From Merriam-Webster dictionary. The origins of “Lent” are from the “Middle English lente springtime…from Old English lencten; akin to Old High German lenzin spring”
If you are Christian (and especially if you have a Lenten practice) I hope this helps you understand why this isn’t about giving up chocolate. (Seriously). For those who follow other paths, I hope this will shed some light on some of the practices of those around you, practices that we don’t usually talk about.
p.s. About the ashes… Ash Wednesday is always 46 days before Easter. It’s a practice that was established during the 9th-11th century so there would be a clear beginning for Lent. It’s based on many Biblical texts about ashes being a sign of repentance.
p.p.s. I’m not an expert… so if you are, please let me know what I’ve omitted (or misrepresented).
Medical training is based on active learning – studying textbooks and articles, listening to experts, seeing patients, setting up procedures and then performing them, reading images, looking at slides. This kind of learning is straightforward – You do the task, get feedback (in a variety of ways), and then adjust to improve.
I’ve never really thought about passive learning in medicine … until I learned about this recent study from the Institute of Neuroscience at the University of Oregon that clearly showed that passive exposure improves active learning (at least in mice).
Based on my experience as a medical educator, that rings true for medical students and residents, too. Watching experts do a procedure over and over won’t ever replace learning to do the same procedure – but it does seem to be a habit embraced by superstar medical students and residents (in addition to their deliberate and very active learning).
“The core insight here is appealing precisely because it’s so easy to act on. Passive exposure costs almost nothing. No extra willpower, no additional scheduled practice time, no special equipment. You just need to put yourself in contact with the material you’re learning.”
How can you add a little passive learning to your day (in addition to rereading and highlighting notes or listening to a recorded lecture)?
Just listen. The ideal way to take advantage of the didactic courses in the first two years of medical school (and subsequently in clinical rotations and residency) is to engage actively with the material during the lecture. (Yes, I’m serious… and here is how to do it). But if you find yourself unable to really engage it turns out that “just listening” (i.e. being a passive learner) isn’t a complete waste of time. You can also attend departmental Grand Rounds or other interesting lectures as a first year medical student (Most of them are before your classes start or during lunch). You won’t understand much… until you do (which is always exciting!) . You can find a list of these lectures on every hospital and medical school website (Here’s an example from Baylor College of Medicine). These are public lectures so you won’t be out of place. If anything, they will be delighted there are basic science students interested enough to attend. (p.s. there is often food, too…)
Just watch. “Shadow” in the first two years of medical school…ask senior students or residents (who will ask their attendings) if you can watch surgery, follow someone in clinic, or go on rounds with a team. When you are on a rotation, “just watch” surgeries that you aren’t assigned to (which is a lot easier in minimally invasive procedures because you can watch it on a screen). The same goes for “just watching” a pathologist looking at slides, or a radiologist reading images, etc. You can also take advantage of YouTube to “just watch” videos of procedures, how to do a physical exam, etc, etc.
Passive exposure will never replace active learning (a really important point!) but just watching and just listening aren’t a waste of time… and may help make active learning a bit easier.
“Nonviolent protests are twice as likely to succeed as armed conflicts – and those engaging a threshold of 3.5% of the population have never failed to bring about change.” (Robson, 2019)
“There are no more ancient bookends than sunrise and sunset. For millennia we have lived between their cycles. We have come to internalize their rhythm. Unconsciously we are aware of them even if we do not see them. My ancestors taught that it was important to acknowledge these daily transformations: the promise of a new beginning and the invitation to a deep rest. Hope and peace. We live in the balance between sunrise and sunset. We live between expectation and fulfillment. I will greet the sun when I first see it and I will embrace the night when it comes quietly to claim me. I will search for wisdom between the bookends of time.”
This is the text of the sermon I was to give today. Like many churches in the path of this weekend’s severe winter storm, we cancelled our in-person services to keep each other safe.
The text for these thoughts is Matthew 4:12-23, and, in particular, these verses:
As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishers. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him. Jesus went throughout all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.
The video at the end is meant to be played as an integral part of the sermon.
When Jesus spoke these words roughly 2000 years ago, he didn’t say them in English. I know that’s obvious, but it bears repeating. Jesus spoke Aramaic with his family and friends. He was able to read Hebrew, which was the language of the temple, and he spoke Greek, which was the common language of the Roman Empire (which is why the gospels were written in Greek). When the gospel according to Matthew was written, “akoloutheō” (ah-ko-loo-THEH-oh) was the word used for “follow”.
Akoloutheo is also the root of the English word “acolyte”. That association may help us understand what Jesus actually meant when he said “Follow me” because an acolyte is “a person who attends or assists a leader”. Its modern use is mostly related to the church; Acolytes are the people you see every Sunday preparing the communion table, lighting the candles, and carrying the cross.
In other words, when Jesus said “follow me” to his first disciples, it wasn’t a metaphor. It meant “walk with me, assist me, attend to me”. This sense of “hands-on” following is also present in the English word “follow”. In Old English the meaning of the word “follow” was to “accompany”. The word most likely evolved from the proto-Germanic word *full-gan, or “full-going”.
Understanding this etymology helps us with today’s reading. Because if “following” Jesus means to accompany him, to be “full-going”, to be completely invested, it’s asking for something more than most of us learned growing up in church. Because following Jesus is not just about “giving your life to Christ”, it’s about walking into the world led by a radical way of being that completely upends powers and principalities. It’s about full-on, hands-on, joy-filled discipleship to bring the kindom of God to earth as it is in heaven.
Of course they dropped their nets and left everything behind.
When Jesus said “follow me”, he was clearly instructing Simon, Andrew, James, and John to travel with him towards the kindom of God… But it also meant they could walk away from oppression.
Fishermen in the first century Rome weren’t what we think of today. They didn’t own their boats – and they didn’t own the fish they caught. Both their boats and the fish they caught belonged to the Emperor of Rome. When they hauled in their nets, the biggest fish went to high ranking Romans. Any remaining fish that could be sold were sold to make money for Rome. As a result, fishermen in first century Rome were as low in the social order as tax collectors. They were just collecting fish for Rome instead of coins.
Of course they dropped their nets and left everything behind.
They assisted him, attended to him, learned from him as he “went throughout all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.”
Word spread quickly. Crowds began to gather.
People then, like now, were hungry for good news, sick of being oppressed and frightened, desperate to be healed. They lined roads to welcome him and sat in crowds gathered to hear his teaching. They offered places for Jesus and his disciples to stay and provided them food.
It’s actually not that hard to imagine…because right now, in our country, there are crowds gathering to hear similar good news, crowds lining streets and gathering in schools and in churches to hear profound teaching on how to bring peace into our lives and the world.
For those who might not be aware, a group of Buddhist monks who live in Fort Worth left their home in October on a Walk for Peace. They are walking 2300 miles from Fort Worth to Washington DC… not to protest but to carry a simple message, one that resonates with the teachings of Christ – Peace is within each of us, a peace that passes all understanding… a peace that can heal the world.
I find it fascinating (and important to remember) that everything we see is perceived by our brain and then translated into an image. For example…the white on the outside of these “petals” is exactly the same as the white inside (Asahi Illusion)
“Taken together, an estimated 117 billion people have collectively lived on our planet, and, of that total number, 7% are alive right now.” (Open Culture)
“Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.”
Who knew? (other than the 403K people who have watched this video).
And this. (There is still such kindness in the world)
“During an earlier London run, West was inspired by children he saw in the lobby dressed as Belle and as princes. He noticed many of them wore glasses. Belle now wears glasses any time she reads onstage, including scenes in the Beast’s library.” Houston Chronicle
If setting goals and trying to use willpower doesn’t work, what other options do we have?
Is there a way to use the New Year as a new beginning without setting ourselves up for failure?
Make it easier (based on neuroscience)
Andrew Huberman came up with the term “limbic friction” to describe how our limbic system (which pulls us towards comfort) creates resistance to doing things that take discipline, things that aren’t fun when we do them. In this great podcast, he describes a different way to make resolutions, a system he developed based on neuroscience:
Pick 6 habits you want to change.
For 21 days, try to do 4 of them every day (which means you can skip 2).
If you miss days or do less than 4 don’t try to make them up (or beat yourself up).
After 21 days, go on “autopilot” for 21 days to see which ones have “stuck”. No habit trackers, no long term failures, just a tiny experiment (thank you Anne-Laure Canff!) that you can repeat as you often as you want.
Set New Year Destinations (instead of resolutions)
To move us away from the usual rigid “discipline” of New Year’s resolutions, Ryder Carroll suggests that we think of our goals as lighthouses, not rules. You still need to write them down and revisit them often, but only to see if you need to adjust your course, not to celebrate a win (or punish a failure).
“By all means, set specific goals. Build your brilliant lighthouses along the alluring shores of all the places you wish to explore. Just see them for what they are: concepts, ideas, mental landmarks we construct to prevent us from getting lost at sea as we make our way from where we are, to where we want to be. Like lighthouses, goals are only as good as what they allow you to see.”
She suggests that instead of “instead of asking “What should I do?“, we should ask a better, harder question: “Given the constraints of my life right now, what is one small choice that would make my days more humane?” And once you have the answer to that question, she wisely says to limit the answer to something you can do on your worst days… not a lofty goal that requires you to be at your best.
We don’t need resolutions that prove our strength. We need ones that respect our limits. Because the goal isn’t to become invincible. It’s to become someone who can keep going—tenderly, truthfully—inside a life that will always be unfinished.
There is no cure for being human. But there is grace for being human, anyway.
It’s a hard morning in the world today, a morning that follows a series of hard mornings. I feel like we are being inundated with surplus suffering, that our world is carrying so much pain. But as much as we would like to look away, it’s not what this moment calls for.
We need to nurture hope.
Last year, Rebecca Solnit wrote this essay about the despair many of us are feeling.. .and what to do in response to that despair. She helped me understand how to respond to feeling overwhelmed by darkness, how to reclaim our agency so we can shine light into the world.
Hope is a discipline, not a feeling. Which means, like all disciplines, it can be nurtured by specific practices – telling the truth, showing up, being angry (and using that anger appropriately), courage, and using stories to restore ourselves and our communities.
Tell the truth. We don’t have pretend things are ok or try to gloss over the horror of blood on a beach after a celebration of light, in fact it’s a disservice if we do.
When we choose hope we become part of the movement that boldly looks hatred in the face and says out loud “Not this.” When we choose hope, we hold space for others so they, too, can begin to see the possibility of change.
Show up, don’t give up. Presence is far more powerful than most of us give it credit for. Choosing to not look away is a form of presence. So are vigils, cards written to console, protests, prayers, and quiet petitions.
First of all, hope does not mean saying this is not bad, and it does not mean saying that we can defeat it. It just means saying we will keep showing up. That we will not give up.
Be angry. Rebecca Solnit quotes Rev. Dr. Renita J Weems who reminds us that “rage is a form of prayer” because rage is not primarily about anger, it’s about the love and care that underlies that anger. Use the anger as fuel to carry out what love demands of you.
“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him,” GK Chesterson once wrote, explaining why it’s so easy to lose sight of the prime mover that is love.
“Make your mind an independent republic of hope.” This may be my favorite of these disciplines. Human beings are hard-wired for fear. We can’t change our primitive (and protective) fears…but we can choose to override them. Said a different way – We can let ourselves be “colonized” by fear (which is almost always what lies beneath hatred and anger) or we can courageously choose to be “an independent republic of hope.”
“Hope it’s not something you’re born with, it’s something you make. It’s something you decide. And then it’s something you do. You get up every morning and you make it again. The next day you put it on just like you put on your shoes.”
Study the heroes. Remind yourself (and your fearful brain) that there are teachers of hope we can emulate. It’s not just about looking for masters of hope… There are heroes of hope everywhere. By all means read about the heroes of history, but don’t forget to look for small acts of heroism, too … acts of kindness or courage, signs of solidarity, courage in the face of oppression.
We learn who we are and our place in the world by telling stories. There is none more familiar or beloved than the hero’s journey, the tale of one who bravely decides to go into the unknown. It is a universal narrative, spanning time and culture. Yet as the spiritual writer Henri Nouwen once observed, “the most personal is the most universal, the most hidden is the most public, and the most solitary is the most communal.” Hearing another person’s courageous journey, we can’t help but consider our own.
Lay up stores of love, care, trust, community and resolve. The practice of hope, of refusing to give in to despair, requires great care. There are times when the darkness feels overwhelming, times when we all need to be able to access our stores of spiritual nutrition and support. Take care of yourself, build genuine community, and keep your moral compass in good working order for the times you will really need it. Make it a practice to collect stories of love, care, trust, community, and resolve, stories you can return to when your reservoir of hope runs low.
