Ask Your Professor

Every semester, all semester long, from Day 1 and sometimes before Day 1, I give my students surveys. Survey means to “look over,” but actually I think of them more as “listening tours.” I plan countless hours, pouring myself into course design and then into the time-intensive buildout on Canvas. Then I meet students, listen to them through surveys, in conferences, and in other ways, and then day-by-day tailor-make my courses to fit the actual individuals in them. It takes more work and isn’t always easy, but it’s worth it.

This semester I taught 3 courses, two of which were Advanced Research CWR4B, designated as fully online for students who are immunocompromised or are dealing with other challenging illnesses and precarities. They are a wonderful two sections of students, and we’ve had a good semester. But several have gotten COVID, there’ve been deaths in the family (not uncommon anymore), and they’ve known other hardships, family emergencies, and other stresses.

One survey that is pretty much given every year about this time is my End-of-Year survey. Students do it and upload it as an assignment. I give them time to do most of it in class, and most finish in the 20-30 minutes we take for it. The survey contains these prompts for my students in Advanced Research CWR4B:

Please respond to questions below. When done (only one thoughtful sentence each, please), upload your survey on Canvas:

  1. Who are you? (one thoughtful, detailed sentence only, per prompt, please)
  2. How has the research you’ve done influenced your understanding of who you are–how has it shaped, changed, or affirmed your identity?
  3. Of all you learned in CWR4B, what most surprised or delighted you to learn, and/or what are you most proud of that you’ve accomplished in CWR4B this semester?
  4. What did you learn about the research process or about libraries that will stick with you longest as you go forward in your remaining time at Cal as well as into your career? Also, please just add “yes” or “no” here: Did you meet with a librarian one-on-one? If so, with whom, and how did that one-on-one meeting help you become a better researcher? If not, just write “No.” It was not a requirement–I’m just curious.
  5. During our many in-class and on-Canvas discussions, what is one story/experience you learned about another classmate or from another classmate that really changed how you view the world or research? You may omit or include the classmate’s name, as you wish.
  6. What class activity or assignment most helped you understand how to navigate the library’s research treasures, and what work that you did on your own most helped you understand what it means to research?
  7. What was your definition of research coming into CWR4B, and what is your definition now of research here in our last weeks of CWR4B? 
  8. What do you yourself most need and want to do to finish strong in CWR4B? 
  9. What can I most do to help you as our semester together ends?
  10. A question about online class delivery, to help me help future researchers / students / R4Bears: To provide accessibility to all students, our CWR4B is designated as a fully-online learning/class to help students with immunocompromised health and/or other challenges. What is the one most difficult aspect of a fully online course that you find most difficult, and what can I do about it to make that aspect better?

I remind students of my rationale in this way: “Metacognitive activity is a strong component of any excellent researcher’s toolbox (as are empathy and compassion). You know I’ve listened to you through surveys since Day 1 and all during our time together. Here is another chance a) for you to reflect on your personal journey and identity and b) for me to listen to you and to learn more about you and how you learn and what you’ve learned. So these surveys help you, they help me, and they help future students.”

I decided to mix it up a little this year, and led in to this End-of-Year survey by asking them the class before it to answer these two questions just in the Zoom chat: “What keeps you grounded, and If you could ask me anything as a Cal professor and/or as a human being, what would you ask me?”

Here are questions from two classes of first-year students and sophomores. Their questions were so sincere and wise that they brought out in me not just ad hoc comments in the next class period (the class where I also asked them to take the End-of-Year survey) but made me sit down, take handwritten notes on my ideas for responses, and then type them up, and then revise them. I also recorded them because I only had time to read each class’s questions and my responses, since this time of year especially we have much to get done in class. If you’d like to listen to this 25-minutes “Ask Your Professor,” it’s on my YouTube Channel at “Ask Your Professor,” and you’re invited to subscribe too, once there.

  • If you could go back and do anything different during your time in college what would it be/ why?
    • Worry less about grades. But it’s complicated by the system. Studying in high school with hopes of college was my way out of trauma. My academic scholarships that paid for college were dependent on maintaining top-notch grades, so that complicated my life and added stress. People told me later I had the first 4.0 in college history. My alma mater was founded in 1873 and was known for academic rigor and grade deflation. Eventually, my whole identity was tied up in a 4.0, and that wasn’t healthy for me. I did read and learn a lot, though, thankfully. Good grades were what would enable me to get an education and change my dicey home and socioeconomic circumstances. That stress contributed to panic attacks and recurring stomachaches.
  • What has been a memory that has impacted your life? Has this influenced  why you wanted to become an educator?
    • I’ll never forget when I went for my college interview. Dr. Paulina Noble, an English professor, interviewed me. She must have seen a skinny brown kid who was shy, hunched, not confident, but here’s what she said to me: “You have smart eyes.” I carried that comment with me like a powerful secret, wore it inside me like a magic cloak for years, never forgetting her words. This small award-winning liberal arts college in northwest Georgia offered me the most in scholarship money, so of course I chose it. That and for Dr. Noble.
  • Was there a turning point in your life that guided you to be where you are (career wise, mentality wise)?- open to interpretation
    • I don’t know what age I was because there were many growing-up years that were and are a blur time-wise. But I remember sitting cross-legged on a rough-textured, late-1960s-era, garish orange carpet, quite worn but always clean. I was high school or maybe college age. This is my childhood bedroom. Suddenly I realized I had to forgive someone because if I didn’t it would be mortally unhealthy for me. And I asked the Universe for that. Help me forgive x-person for x and x and x and x. I don’t want to, but if I don’t, I’m worried for myself. I don’t know how to either, but help me do it. Somehow. I felt a shift. New space opened. I can’t explain it, and it took time, and honesty about my experience, and new boundaries, and it was hard, but after some years, it was done. In some ways, it goes on even into today, because healing from trauma takes ongoing self-compassion, much learning about and honoring of my voice, much meditation, and lots of healthy community.
  • Could you give us one piece of advice as college students?
    • Trust your gut.
  • Who was/is your role model and why?
    • Well, at 6, it was Batman. The cartoon version from the 1960s. He had genius-level intelligence, was a master detective, a master escapologist, was in top condition physically, was a martial artist, and fought for good and for the underdog—all things I wanted and felt I lacked. Later, my true role model has always been my first and longest best friend, my mother, who exemplifies that person who believes in you, no matter what, and who tells you, always, that they believe in you 100%. She has always seen people as people, never valuing a CEO or a Superintendent or a wealthy person over a cleaning person or a teacher or a person who is homeless or poor. She treats everyone with respect. Her model taught me a lot about kindness. How kindness isn’t earned by some rules that change depending on whether someone is “useful” to another or not, but that kindness is given to all. My mother is the type of person whose heart aches knowing that one person in the world is hungry, without a home, without healthcare, and without love, so that sticks with me, because she has lived out that concern-for-others her whole life.
  • It honestly surprises me that some educators care a lot about their students (you!) but others just teach the course material and provide minimal support. How would you inspire other educators to provide the care that students appreciate and need most times?
    • Thank you, first. Your kind words encourage me. I don’t know how to do that, how to inspire others in this way. I think that intention matters because as a teacher, there is so much listening involved, and no matter how much you plan and prepare (which for me is countless hours), you have to be a kind of jazz musician, where you also are willing to turn up, listen to your students and their situations and strengths and needs, and then respond in the moment to those unique human beings who make Cal great (you all). That means you have to be willing to revise your carefully planned curriculum as you go, rather like an experienced, much-practicing-beforehand jazz musician riffs. Michelle Obama said in an interview, “Don’t hug unless you mean it, because people will know the difference.” Her words made me think: “Don’t teach unless you mean it, because people will know the difference.”
  • If you could have any other career what would u have done?
    • Race car driver in Europe or a therapist.
  • What’s your least favorite part about being a professor at Cal?
    • Grades. I could write a paper or even a book on how I think grades are tied to an ancient oppressive system that doesn’t encourage learning; however, I teach composition, research, and public speaking, where students aren’t learning how to do heart surgery. I do think we are learning comparably important skills: how to spot mal-, mis-, dis-information, how to respect each other and have cross-cultural conversations, how to be good citizens, how to cultivate healthy community, how to honor your voice, and how we can contribute to the Common Good.
  • What is one piece of advice you would give a college student for the future?
    • VOTE.
  • If you decided not to be a professor/writer, what do you think you would be doing right now?
    • I’d be lonely, because students have brought such meaning to my life! (I really like how you put together “professor/writer” here in your question.)
  • What is the best gift you’ve received?
    • So many. Life. My children. Sean.
  • Did you face any hardships while a student and female that made you question your profession/career? If so, how did you overcome it? I’m interested in stories of overcoming adversity from a female perspective.
    • My father told me I couldn’t go to college. He said he had three children behind me, and he couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t help me, and I shouldn’t even apply. I was a senior in high school. So I used money from my job at Granny’s Fried Chicken and quietly applied to three colleges, and it was so expensive to do that. I was the fast-food restaurant’s opening employee, getting there at the crack of dawn to set up the ice cream machine, stock out the restaurant, get the tator tots ready to go for deep frying, chop the coleslaw by hand with a huge knife, sweep the parking lot, and get the cash registers up and running. Once I made it into college, I worked as a secretary to a professor to earn money to pay for my books. This was 1979, and one semester a professor had us buy 8 books, all expensive, and my book bill was $400, which for that time was hugely costly. I looked it up. That’s about $1,650 in money today, for one semester’s worth of books. And all during my years at college, there was hardship at home. I treated schoolwork like it was a job. I worked hard to stay in school and was stressed 24/7, but a few kind professors helped me keep going, too. I’ve never forgotten them or their kindness. I try to pay it forward.
  • What are some of your favorite books/ books you recommend to read!
    • There really are too many to mention. I’ve spent countless hours reading. Some of these are from my growing-up years. Pippi Longstocking. The Alchemist. All of Carl Jung. Flowers for Algernon. Anne of Green Gables & Percy Jackson, which I read to our children. Watership Down. Kon-Tiki: Across the Pacific on a Raft. Tolkien, especially The Hobbit. All of Mary Oliver, poetry and prose. Diary of Anne Frank. The Outsiders. Heidi. The Little Prince. All of D. W. Winnicott. All of Ann Ulanov, especially Primary Speech.
  • What was the worst piece of advice someone gave you?
    • An English professor at my college whom I looked up to told me when I shared my desire to write children’s books: “You don’t want to do that.” Then told me: “Here’s why you don’t want to do that.” This professor’s response helped me see what not to do. I would listen instead.
  • A piece of advise for finding your passion
    • Be self-compassionate. Be kind to you. Listen to your heart. Be with people who support you 100%. Don’t be shy about telling people what you bring to the table. Hone your public speaking skills in your downtime, even if by practicing what you’d say if someone asks you: “Tell me about yourself.”
  • What is one awesome thing about being a professor that you’ve discovered over the course of your career?
    • I realized over time that what I say to students and genuinely mean, and what I hope for students (which is that you self-actualize and succeed), I also hope for myself. I only realized that fairly recently. Cal students taught me. So I truly mean: “Honor your voice. Contribute to the Common Good. Go forth and conquer, O ye mighty ones.” And also I think, I’m reminding myself of all that.
  • What is your dream destination to vacation at
    • Georgia—to see my family. Next—Anywhere in Hawaii.
  • What keeps YOU grounded?
    • Meditation. Breathwork. Walking. Walking meditation. Being out in nature. I go to the marsh to see creation’s beauty. I go to remember I can’t fly and how beautiful bird flight is. To marvel. Family and friends keep me grounded.
  • What do you think Cal can do better?
    • Listen to students and act on what is said.
  • What’s the most interesting thing you have experienced or the most interesting interaction you’ve had?
    • Standing before the Grand Canyon. That awe is profound. And I’ve had the joy of meeting a lot of people (especially authors) I respect and admire who are also famous, but that’s not what stays with me in the end because everyone is just a person, no matter how accomplished. So here’s my story. When I was in graduate school, my brother was in a severe wreck, he and his friends hit by a drunk driver, who died. Two of my brother’s best friends died. They were in their late teens, early twenties. Gone. I left graduate school at UGA for a week to tend to him. He had nearly died. I was trying to make all As since that was what was expected, and UGA had just shifted to a new way of testing Ph.D. students, and a lot of my friends had failed out of the program, which was distressing. It was all about intellect and analysis, and the stress to perform was heavy. At the end of my time in grad school, I was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa, so I made it, but this was during my Master Degree, so my success was by no means assured yet. Meanwhile, my brother had a cracked skull from the wreck and a chip had come off of it. I saw it. He was also in a back brace, sleeping on the sofa because it was stiffer and also he couldn’t be moved back to a bedroom yet. One night when he was asleep and I was up watching him, ready to bring him water, and help with whatnot, I was thinking how he almost died. I looked over, and he was enveloped, even cocooned in a white light the likes of which I’d never seen before nor since. A graduate student trained to question everything, I was like, This can’t be. I must be imagining things. So I closed my eyes, turned away, kept them closed for a beat to “reset,” then turned back, and opened them. This white light that I’d never seen before and I’ve not seen since was still there. I did that a third time. Still there. So I stared at it. It wasn’t scary but it also wasn’t earthly. It was Other. All I could figure was it was like my brother had been to the other side, he’d been dipped in it, and he had somehow come back. This light was from that dipping. I still don’t know what it was.
  • Anything I would ask Professor would be what motivates you to wake up every morning? For students it’s to push through schools, or grades, etc. but what is that thing for you?
    • I get up wanting to help students honor their voices and succeed. I am still so grateful for teachers K-12 and professors who did that for me. There were many. I want to help empower and inspire students to invest in themselves and (continue to) contribute to the Common Good. To do that, two things are needed. I’ve got to continue trying to honor my own voice (a work in progress), and I’ve got to figure out new ways daily to listen to my students, to what they are really saying, and then act on that.
  • what inspired you to write a lot of your books on spiritual translations?
    • First, for my own healing. They pulled me to them inexplicably even before my intellect quite knew what they were offering me. The works I’ve translated are widely acclaimed ancient medicine for the soul, self, body, and mind. Childhood trauma led me out into nature, as it did Mary Oliver, the poet. While there, nature saved me, as it did her, and I started meditating, without and before knowing it. The books I translate are all about kindness. They are universal, for everyone. They have global appeal and reach across religious, wisdom tradition, and other divisions, to anyone wanting to know how to be more human (in the best sense of that word). Their authors lived in the 900s, in the 1300s, in the 1600s, and in other ancient times. Though these authors are technically “dead,” they are alive to me, and translating them is what first gave me a community of friends who help me a) deal with my shadow self and also b) discover the gold in my shadow, the good in me and my talents. Since then, I’ve been fortunate, through translation, to make friends with those who are doing this work also today.
  • What’s your favorite part about being a professor at cal
    • You. You all. Period. My students. Learning from and teaching my students. You all inspire me. Daily.
  • what is your favorite part of your career? As an author/professor/translator…what do you like about each job?
    • As an author, I love how writing articles and books helps me be and stay a student. As I’m researching and writing and revising, I regularly experience those moments of “WTF am I trying to do here? What does this mean? How will I organize this?” Genuine confusion. That’s part of the learning process, when done well. So being an author reminds me how students feel starting something new. It makes me more compassionate as a professor. Then, as a professor, I love when a student says, “I see!” after many struggles, and when a student writes me years later to say, “Thanks for the recommendation. I got my dream job!” As a translator, I love how translation requires me to listen actively so that I can hear what the work and what the author are actually saying rather than what I wish they were saying. That means, I only translate texts that are kind and open-minded inherently. Translating is the most intimate form of reading, it’s meditation, and it requires applying all of my linguistic and scholarly skills in an intense way over sustained periods (a marathon of sorts, and one I love, and trained for). Translating, I find that these classic texts translate me to myself. I grow. I heal. I translate these works for everyone, including my students, and I do it with an inclusive mindset, hoping we can find more peace, meaning, and joy in these texts.
  • What’s your favorite way to spend a day off?
    • With my family on a hike in Briones Regional Park. Or, alternatively, with a book and a cup of coffee or tea.
  • I would like to ask how do we manage stress and emotional downfalls towards the end of the semester? It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions this week and sometimes I just feel like I am stuck.
    • I’m so sorry to hear you feel stuck. We all know this feeling, and it’s never fun. The awareness of it is helpful, though, so I applaud you for that. It seems for me the solution is complex—being with family and friends; trying to eat well, sleep, drink water, meditate, exercise (one reason walking meditation is so helpful to me); having a support group I check in on and who check in on me; and going to therapy (is sometimes exactly what I’ve needed)—and Berkeley has student-to-student therapy too (which I learned about from student leaders when I was on the Mental Wellness Taskforce, nominated to that by students: https://cabutcher.weebly.com/support-for-students.html Student-to-Student Peer Counseling at Cal and Lean on Me are two programs you can find there on the collaborative teaching website my CWR1A and CWR4B students made. Please try to be kind to yourself. Also, practicing self-compassion (as researched by Kristin Neff) helps me to no end.
  • What is the best piece of advice you have received?
    • Three come to mind. A student once said about a comment I made in class, “You do you, Dr. Butcher.” I love that. My therapist in Rome, Georgia, said to me often, “Trust your gut. Don’t forget—trust your gut.” That has stuck with me. A wise person once said to me, “Forgive yourself for where you’ve let yourself down or hurt others. Then ask for forgiveness from anyone you have hurt, and atone, do better. Change. Always practice self-compassion.”
  • What’s a piece of art (movie, book, music, etc) that changed the way you looked at the world?
    • Monet. I mean, there are so many movies, books, music, etc, but Monet comes to mind at once. I love how he paints Rouen Cathedral and haystacks, so many of these “same” paintings but at different times of day and/or year, which makes all the difference. He finds the beauty in the nowness of today’s light and this time of day in this season of the year. Those series of paintings are remarkable. When I was a Rotary Scholar at The University of London, these paintings by Monet were exhibited at London’s Royal Academy, I went alone. With Sean. With friends. With family visiting. With friends visiting. I went and went and went. And when I was a Rotary student at Heidelberg eight years before that, right after I graduated from college, I was just an international student from a very rural part of Georgia, Monet was NOT part of my vocabulary, nor were museums. A friend invited me to Zürich, Switzerland, and I went to the Kunsthaus (Art Museum), and there was a wall-to-wall water-lily painting by Monet so all-encompassingly and unbelievably beautiful that before I knew it my usually conscientious, color-within-the-lines 22-year-old self heard an alarm going off. A security guard approaching I darted off realizing I’d touched it without knowing I was going to. Something about Monet.
  • What was your most wonderful experience in college?
    • College was hard for me. Sorry to disappoint, but it was, every day hard for me. I was living through family hardship then, and undiagnosed dyslexia and depression, and putting one foot in front of the other was a gargantuan achievement that cost me so much energy. On the face of it, I looked happy, accomplished, thriving, doing all the extracurriculars and well, but I was dying inside. Among all that, having a kind, brilliant teacher take my writing seriously—Wilson Hall—he commented on my work as I do on yours—gently and specifically. He helped me move from perfectionism in writing to trying to honor my voice. Also, during college we went on field trips for Dr. Hall’s environmental class, up in the beautiful wilderness of northwest Georgia Appalachian foothills. We went hiking and canoeing the rapids, and we all spent one night alone, apart from the group, all by myself, just twinkling stars in an ink-black sky, and that experience has been formative and generative for me, to this day. And I’m very grateful not to be living with depression now and that’s one reason I emphasize therapy and asking for help.

Thank you for asking me these questions. You all rock, Go, Bears!

Please note: I am proudly a lecturer, an adjunct professor, thankful to be teaching at a school that encourages respect for all people, but “Ask Your Adjunct Professor” doesn’t have quite the same snazzy, short ring to it as “Ask Your Professor.”

Chant

Chant. We could sing more.

I sing everyday. It’s my name. Carmen means “song or poem.” Even on days of challenging ways, I sing. I’ve always been thankful to live under and with and through a name that means “song or poem.” It’s like my very name reminds me, “Did you sing today?”

Kindness. We could be kind more.

Every true religion has kindness as its core. Same for every true philosophy and wisdom tradition. One way I listen to the Mystery at the heart of the Heart is I sing. While my brain swirls and loops and careens, like winds in March, my song holds my heart against love and I deepen into tenderness, as I sing.

A friend shared with me the Medicine Buddha Chant. Some 1400 years young, it’s as old as Beowulf. And totally otherwise has nothing in common with Grendel’s poem. It’s a prayer for healing from the fakery of duality. It’s a prayer for the dissolving of negative thoughts. It’s a prayer for the healing of past traumas. It’s a prayer for bringing calm energy.

A friend shared it with me. He’s a Buddhist teacher. I sing it often. Through the marsh. Down sidewalks. Folding clothes. Sitting at the computer. And in bed at night, quietly.

I think of the billions of souls and bodies and selves who’ve sung it before me and who sing it now with me and I with them, together. You see it spelled many different ways when transliterated. Here is what I am singing:

“Teyata om bekanze bekanze maha bekanze radza samudgate soha.”

Here is my meditative translation of that, with my friend’s approval:

“It’s like this. Om, sacred tone of the universe, holy body, holy speech, holy mind. Medicine Buddha, King, Supreme Healer. Eliminate and remove the pain of illness of mind and body, eliminate and remove the pain and illness of spiritual suffering, and greatly eliminate and remove any slightest imprints left on my consciousness by disturbing thoughts, Ocean of goodness and wisdom, may my prayer go to the highest, widest, deepest, in sincere intention, blessing, I offer this prayer and let it go out.”

I also made a short translation and a melody for the original and the English version, and I sing both:

“Teyata om bekanze bekanze maha bekanze radza samudgate soha.”

“Sacred Song of the Universe, heal me, heal us | Deeply heal us where our mind-heart wanders from Love.”

I’m posting these, sung, on my YouTube Channel, if you want to listen, sing with silently, or sing along aloud: https://www.youtube.com/@CarmenAcevedoButcherPresence

Remember, you’re singing for yourself, not as a performance.

The way life really is, for yourself, not performance.

Blessings on you, with love.

Epiousios

“Our Father, who art in heaven. . . .” starts a prayer that has echoed down generations. Have you ever wondered what this oft-repeated prayer in the Christian tradition sounded like in one of the earliest English versions? Traditionally named the “Pater Noster,” I remember it as the “Sermon on the Mount Prayer.” How did it sound on the tongues of people who said it hundreds and hundreds of years ago in English? Very Germanic, with some Tolkienesque elfish-like liltings, as we’ll hear.

Here you encounter the beautiful Old English version. This prayer Jesus taught his students is found in the texts called the Gospels or “Good News,” in the books of Matthew at 6:9-13 and Luke at 11:2-4. I will read it in Old English from around the year 1000 C.E. My sources include Professor Roy Liuzza’s brilliant work on the Corpus Christi College Manuscript 140 (1994), translations of the Latin Vulgate, Sarah Ruden’s Gospels: A New Translation, many dictionaries with treasure, and my own experience with the Presence.

Through study, I became aware of the hapax legomenon or “unique use”—literally: “being said once”—here of epiousios, said “eppy-oo-see-ohs” (click here to hear the pronounciation), long translated as “daily.” This word epiousios is only found in Matthew and repeated in Luke in the same context. Translated as “daily” down through the eons in “our daily bread,” epiousios has been handed-down and handed-on doggedly as “daily” year after year after century after millennium, but again, since it’s only technically used once, in one context, in the anthology, there are no other uses to compare it to. Now many scholars don’t think it means “daily.” Imagine that.

Just this one word epiousios makes open-minded, research-loving, and contemplatively regarded translation suddenly seem quite vital to life and our well-being.

Some well-read scholars mention that epiousios may mean “tomorrow.” Which would suggest that Jesus, the man Rabbi Rami Shapiro enthusiastically calls the “God-intoxicated Jewish mystic,” would be recommending in his teaching that his students pray this way: “Give us today our bread for tomorrow.” How would that make sense? For Jesus also says, “Be mindful of the lilies in the field and how they grow—they don’t work and they don’t stress. . . . Don’t worry about tomorrow then. Tomorrow will take care of its own self.” (Matthew 6:28, translated by the author).

So the long and short of it is that no one knows what epiousios means. For thousands of years, this word has been prayed as “daily” when actually there may be more to it than that.

When I say this word, “eppy-oo-see-ohs,” I think of Cheerios, the honey nut kind, which are so delicious, and I am grateful for all food in my life. I was taught that growing up. When I would grumble about my hair not looking right or boyfriend troubles or driving junker cars that had such old batteries we often spent every winter morning jumping each other off to get cranked and going, I’d be told, “Do you have food to eat? Be grateful for that instead of grumbling. People are hungry in the world. Yet you have food.” Now gratitude is a habit that has become a part of my life, admittedly sometimes more than others.

I also think about how we have enough food in the world where everyone could eat and not worry about their next meal/s, if greed and a prevailing scarcity mindset didn’t prevent it and create billionaires instead. If we didn’t have an economic system built out by greed, which the Christian New Testament calls the “root of all evil.” Why is the legal minimum wage in Georgia $5.15? See DOL. Why is the federal minimum wage $7.25?

Why also would this petition—“Give us this day our daily bread”—be what Jesus asked for? Growing up, it never made full sense to me, since I was also taught in Sunday School that “God is love,” and love is generous, while “Give us this day our daily bread” seems repetitive, desperate, and part of a scarcity-based mindset. Which the God-intoxicated Jewish mystic did not have. He had an open-hearted, sharing, and inclusive 5-loaves-of-bread-and-2-fish-can-feed-a-multitude way-of-seeing (Matthew 14). So I moved as a kid toward interpreting this line of the prayer as, “Count your blessings. Be grateful.” Because I was taken to church three times a week, and we prayed this prayer at nearly every gathering at least once, I needed it to chime with Love. Otherwise, mindless repetition would make my brain spasm if the words didn’t feed me in some way.

And when Jesus says, “You always have the poor with you,” I didn’t think he meant that as fact, more like: “But really, why do you still have any who experience poverty among you? Didn’t you share everything out with those less fortunate and afflicted by the unfair systems?”

Today’s research into epiousios revealed that this Greek word is polysemantic, complexifying such questions with its multiple meanings. The ousia in it can mean both the verb “to be” or “I am” (from the verb eimí), and the noun “substance.” Epi- means, among other things, “on, at, besides,” even “intensely so.” So epiousios might mean “be present with.”

I see this lone adjective epiousios in the Sermon on the Mount Prayer as being “present-with-us.” A new translation then might include: “Give us this day our just-being bread” or “Give us this day our awareness-that-You’re-present-with-us bread” or “Give us this day our Nowness bread.”

Some see in epiousios the epi- as meaning only “over” and thus “supersubstantial,” or “transcendent.” But epi- in epiousios can mean “on” and thus “present with” and “immanent”—the sacred in the every day, the sacred in the mundane, the sacred in the silky sound of sugar poured into a mug of fresh coffee. The tang on the tongue and the silkiness of wine. The word Presence means something very similar with its prae- “before” and esse “to be.”

The Douay Rheims Catholic Bible version gives for Matthew 6:11: “Give us this day our supersubstantial bread,” translated from Jerome’s Vulgate: “panem nostrum supersubstantialem da nobis hodie.” Could the “supersubstantial” also mean “life-sustaining”—”Give us this day our life-sustaining bread.” And why might not the God-intoxicated Jewish mystic mean many wisdoms here? We could hold at one time: “Give us,” as in “Let us be aware we’re being given this, living in and from that awareness,” and “Let us be grateful for” our Cheerios and God’s Presence, so thankful for all F/foods.

Many scholars suggest epiousios modifying bread might mean “Eucharistic bread.” That could be true. But since it’s a ritual only happening in institutionalized churches, isn’t there room for more? Wasn’t Jesus inclusive always, always meaning Love is all-the-time and everywHere? And what is divine Presence if not Bread?

Also, I love the word “supersubstantial” because it can mean “superessential,” not merely as in “above or transcending all substance or being,” but as in “exceedingly, very essential,” the essence of Life. And even when our minds fall onto a binary track, as we might tend to do, if a person wants to take super- as “above,” then it is counterbalanced here with the sub- which is “below or under.” So “above” meets “below” in the here-and-now of *sta– in stantial/stance, which means “to make or be firm.” That which is, Is. The past traditional take on this word epiousios seems to be “it’s God’s transcendence,” but I see epiousios as divine immanence, the spirit indwelling all creation, making all creations, all creatures, all humans, and all beyond-humans sacred.

Since one of my best friends asked me to, I’ve read the Sermon on the Mount Prayer in Old English from around 1000 C.E. and posted it and my translation of it in modern English, on my YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/c/CarmenAcevedoButcherPresence, more specifically here.

I expand the opening direct address to be more inclusive, since the “Our Father” leaves a good many people out. Can the divine only be masculine? Is the divine also feminine? Is it both and also neither? Is it all of these and beyond all of these?

Also, what should we call this prayer? Jesus’s Prayer? The Sermon on the Mount Prayer? The more we move away from the language of domination, slavery, power, and ruling, the more love we can open up to, accept, and share.

Fæder ure, Módor ure, Ældran ure,
þu þe eart on heofonum,
si þin nama gehalgod.
To becume þin rice.
Gewurþe ðin wille on eorðan
swa swa on heofonum.
Urne gedæghwamlican hlaf
syle us todæg.
And forgyf us ure gyltas
swa swa we forgyfað urum gyltendum.
And ne gelæd þu us on costnunge,
ac alys us of yfele.
Soþlice.

Our Father, our Mother, our Parents,
you who are in the Here-and-Now,
may your name be honored in all we do.
May your Presence be recognized.
May your Love be done on earth
as it is in your Home.
Give us this day our bread
of your Presence.
And forgive us our harmings of others,
as we forgive those who harmed us.
And don’t let us know danger,
but keep us from harm.
So be it.

Thank you for reading and listening, and for your kind presence in the world. Peace to all.

Notes:

“Ældran” means “older ones” or “elders,” translated here as “Parents” in honor of the Christian embodied Trinity.

The “heofon” Sarah Ruden translates as “in the skies.” That ancient cosmogony seems to risks furthering the alienation that comes from only conceiving that divinity is outside our earth, and far from us, when mystics like Hildegard see the viriditas or greenness of divinity in all of earth. And “heaven” has from its first days in English also meant “God’s home” in any place on earth, not just in a no-place “beyond the sky,” also: “celestial space,” “peace, paradise,” and “a state of everlastingness,” even “Love.”

The “ġehālgod” means in Old English “be made holy,” from hālgian, while holy, whole, health, and hale are all cognates with hālig. The “ġehālgod” means “consecrate” and has both intention and action in it. We intend to be whole and we act to love the world whole. “May your name be hallowed” seems to mean “May I become whole in Love, and may I contribute, even in small ways, to the world being whole in Love.” “May I be healthy, whole.” “May the world be healthy, whole.” Because the Presence is healthy, whole.

The “rice” (said “ree-chay”) that is cognate with reich has been tainted with the Nazi’s Third Reich. Rice and reich are related to the verb reichen “to reach” which includes diverse meanings like “extend, pass, serve, and be sufficient” or as nouns: “extension, passing, service, and sufficiency, even presence.” And when we add in power words like “kingdom” and “Lord” to such a commonly repeated prayer, we bow to the existing systems which Jesus counterculturally resisted, and offered healthy alternatives to. So rather than “your Kingdom come” for “To becume þin rice,” the sentence could mean “your Presence and Love be recognized and reach—be sufficient—even here, even now, in this moment, and everywHere.”

“Give us this day our bread / of your Presence” is written with the line break to emphasize that our physical bread and our spiritual bread are included. Being aware that all F/food is a gift, to be shared. There is also space there for including eucharistic bread, if one wishes it.

Sarah Ruden says about “temptation” or costnunge here: “Temptation: The word peirasmos refers to outward tests of all kinds, including those done on inanimate objects; but interrogation under torture could be a reference in some passages of the Gospels. Torture of noncitizens was routine in evidence gathering in the Roman legal system, and large-scale persecutions of Christians had begun before any of the Gospels’ texts were finalized. ‘Test’ or ‘ordeal’ covers this without suggesting sexual tantalization, in which the Gospels evince almost no interest.”

The “yfel” is usually interpreted in an unhelpful binary way. Most mystics teach it as “intending to harm.” The word evil itself has Faustian hints from the Proto-Indo-European *upelos for “going over and beyond acceptable limits.” This root meaning for “evil” of “exceeding due measure” or “overstepping proper limits,” as the Oxford English Dictionary puts it, seems helpful as a reminder of what being a decent human means.

Sophie

When I studied for a year in Heidelberg at Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg, it wasn’t my teachers who taught me to speak German, it was the children in my life and also a septuagenarian. The teachers scared me. Combine dyslexia with I-can-write-and-read-German-but-I-can’t-speak-it-or-understand-it, and I was a mess in class. Walking down Plöckgasse to the main library to review, I studied the cobblestones and feared the next class session when I’d be called on to speak haltingly.

Meanwhile, the Buschbeck family took me in. Sophie Buschbeck was 79 to my 22. She was a widow. She lived on Mozartstrasse and loved music. She took me with her to the blind Gemüsefrau to buy vegetables, she took me on walks up and along scenic and historic Philosophenweg, she took me to church, she took me to visit shut-ins, including one famous former concert pianist who’d only play for Sophie, she took me to art museums, she invited me to a Christmas with a real tree and beeswax candles burning on it, and she had me clean her rugs and her toilet and wash her steps. And she cooked a roast chicken for me every Friday since “Americans like roast chicken.”

She went from Frau Buschbeck and the formal “Sie,” to asking me to call her Mutti and use the intimate “Du.” And her grandchildren said things to me like (except, in German): “You speak as if you have a hot potato in your mouth!” Which is apparently how my Southern accent elongated the crisp German syllables to their ears. And “We don’t say it like that!” Meanwhile, their parents kept telling me my German was “hervorragend!” “terrific!” When it wasn’t.

Her husband was a Lutheran minister in World War II and was five years in a Russian prison camp. She said that every day she asked God to send her “Mann”—her husband home, and one day she looked out from her balcony and saw an unrecognizable figure but with a gait she knew, a way of walking she went to embrace. Haggard, underweight, his face disheveled and marked with suffering.

“And,” she told me (also in German), “for every time I asked God to send him home to me, I now try to thank God as many times. Which is what you must do, Carmen. You must thank as often as you ask for something.”

So when I use German, after all those asks to “Please help me speak and hear/understand it,” I am thankful, every single time I use German in any way, I feel gratitude to Mutti Buschbeck and her family.

[I]ch möchte Sie, so gut ich es kann, bitten, lieber Herr, Geduld zu haben gegen alles Ungelöste in Ihrem Herzen und zu versuchen, die Fragen selbst liebzuhaben wie verschlossene Stuben und wie Bücher, die in einer sehr fremden Sprache geschrieben sind. . . .

Leben Sie jetzt die Fragen.

From Rainer Maria Rilke, Briefe an Einen Jungen Dichter

I wish to ask you, as gently as I can, dear friend, please have patience with everything unresolved in your heart. And try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms, and like books written in a very unknown language. . . .

Live the questions now.
From Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet, Translated by Carmen Acevedo Butcher