In the Labyrinth But Not Alone


“Be still, and know that I am God.”  For many of us in ministry, this can be a challenge.  There is so much to do!  But if I take it to heart, if I turn from the clamor and haste for quiet moments in God’s presence, I find that I cannot do without the silent, slow pauses that restore my heart.

Some years ago I was introduced to the experience of walking a labyrinth for spiritual renewal.  This tool appears at first glance to be a maze; however, it differs from a maze in that the path always leads to the center and then back to the exterior.  One cannot get lost in a maze.  Its purpose is to slow us down and focus attention to the present moment for the sake of openness to God.

I had to follow the winding path to the center on a few occasions before my inner gremlins could be appeased and unhurried openness to God settled into my spirit.  Although I do not practice its use often, whenever the image comes to mind, it delights like a precious secret that makes me smile.  It symbolizes the gift of God’s abiding presence that never leaves me; I have only to slow down and allow myself to be aware of it.

When I served as a chaplain in a nursing home for the elderly, I got a lot of daily exercise walking the long hallways back and forth.  One day as I made my usual fast-walking, task-driven way down the corridor, a recent practice in a labyrinth came to mind.  My imagination leapt at the idea, juxtaposing the two so that I could regard the maze of hallways as my own labyrinth.  Was it possible that I could recognize God’s presence and experience renewal even in the midst of my responsibilities?  Could my spirit become more settled and alert if I slowed my steps and relaxed into the present moment as I was beginning to learn to do?

It became a helpful perspective in a place where physically slowing down was imposed upon the residents, like it or not.  I learned to be more present to them, a kinder listener, a better friend to them.  It became my practice so that as I greeted each resident and staff person, mentally I was in the labyrinth with them, conscious of the trinity of presence: myself, my friend, and God.

These days I am taking instruction in spiritual direction.  Currently we are exploring the interior landscape with Gerald May in his book The Awakened Heart.  He encourages his readers to be open to a word, an idea, or an image that God might have for us, a key to unlock a door so that the “little interior glance” of Brother Lawrence can happen at any moment of the day.  This glance calls us back to love, to peace, as we allow ourselves to acknowledge God’s presence in the moment.

So I asked God for a word or image.  It is not something to be achieved or discerned; it is given.  If it does not arise, it is not necessary in this time of my life.  No worries, then.  Simply be ready to receive it if it comes, I told myself.  God is good, and knows what I need at each point in my life.

I am in Mali, West Africa, as I write this, visiting our Luke Society director Indielou Dougnon.  We first stayed at the mission guest house in Kayes, acclimating ourselves to our environment of western Africa.  We have heard the call of the muessin several times a day mixed with the braying of the ubiquitous donkeys and the voices of the children in the school next door.  We went down to the river bank to ride a pirogue, a sort of African gondola that took us across the Senegal River to the market.

It is a typical African market: the tangy smell of human bodies mingled with the sour odor of fish on display, the suffocating exhaust fumes from the motos.  It is noisy, bustling, alive.  It is hot, the air heavy in the interior stalls.  The vendors call out to us, “Venez ici!”  Come here!  I can’t be distracted or I will get jostled hard by someone hurrying to bring supplies to one of the stalls.   I don’t allow my eyes to linger on any of the wares unless I am serious about buying them, lest the vendor draw me in with a hard sell.

Suddenly a word comes to me in the midst of it all.  “Labyrinth.”  Yes!  I have not thought of it in years, but it instantly rings true as the image God has for me.  My companions and I are deep in the maze of the market, but we will not get lost.  When God is with me, I am always on my way to the center for intimate union, or to the exterior with renewed energy and purpose.  But most of the time is spent on the way itself, and rarely is it a solitary enterprise.  Those I encounter are in it with me, albeit unaware.  I am aware of God’s presence there.  I can see each one with the eyes of compassion and love.  God is as present with me amid the pulsing, clamorous market as in the private, precious moments alone with God.

Indielou takes us out to his clinic in Aite the next day.  It is a bumpy, winding, three-hour ride through the sahel.  We observe the dessicated millet stalks, defeated by drought.  We discuss the distinctive behavior of goats and sheep.   We smile as we finally spot the familiar hill and water tower of the village.  Indielou leads us on a tour the well-kept facility where we appreciate the professionalism and pride of the staff.   Yes, God is here too.  The love of Jesus shines through the dust of an African village as the people are treated for malaria, giardia, diabetes, dehydration, and numerous other maladies.


Later in the day, Indielou drives us to Aasoum, a settlement where his friends Fatimatou and her husband are the only Christians.  The people greet us warmly, the children eagerly posing for photos and then giggling at the result on the screen of the cell phone.  Smiles are the only language we can speak with them, but Indielou is in his element.  He often visits his friends in Aasoum on weekends when it makes more sense to stay in the bush than to go home to Kayes.

As he drives us back to Aite, he honks his horn along the way at people he knows in each hamlet.  We stop to pick up an elderly couple who, along with their family, have loaded up the donkey carts with all of their possessions.  It is moving day, because there is no more water where they were.  No problem; they can hitch a ride with their friend.

I am in Indielou’s labyrinth.  His, too, is populated with fellow humans in need.  He reveals God’s presence to them.  His smile, his care for their health, and his friendship are the keys that open their lives to God’s love.  His dedication to following the dusty, bumpy path among the Fulani, Soninke, and Moors of west Africa inspires me to keep the interior glance active wherever each day takes me in my own labyrinth.  God is here, among the people.  My way is not hindered by those I meet, but is enriched by the God who loves us all.


She Knows

Need ideas for the lectionary (RCL) text this week?  Go to “Menu” and “Lectionary Sermons” for my weekly posting.  

this-is-the-starIt was a fiercely cold, December Sunday afternoon when my four-year-old granddaughter Rydia spent a few hours with me, stirring batter for Christmas bread, listening to the Advent IV Bible story, hunting for objects in an “I Spy” book, playing you can’t catch me.”  We pulled This is the Star from the holiday stack of books to read together.  It is a beautifully illustrated rendering of the nativity in a “this is the house that Jack built” type of poetry.

I couldn’t resist reading it the way my mother read another poem to me as a child.  It was a piece about a pig that couldn’t get over a stile, with all sorts of characters pitching in to help.  Mom would go faster and faster as she made her way back to the first line: “Pig can’t get over the stile and I shan’t get home tonight!”  Just so, I sped up as I got to “…that saw the star in the sky.”  Rydia enjoyed this little game.

As we turned the final pages, we paused to marvel at the picture of the tiny baby, as the authors wisely abandoned the verse form and wrote simply, “This is the child that was born.”  A moment of wonder as we looked over the shoulders of the holy family, a magus, a shepherd, and a cow to see the baby nestled in the hay.


We continued to the last page, then the endsheet and pastedown, where I sensed that the illustrator had us looking through angels’ wings to glimpse the special star.  Rydia asked what it was.  I said, “I think they are angels’ wings.  What do you think?”

“It’s the inside of the baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  It’s the inside of the baby.”


Knock, Knock. Who’s There?


“Somebody ought to do something.”  How many times have you said that to yourself as you marked yet one more piece of evidence that our society is floundering?  I’m just as guilty as the next person of despairing over circumstances, then pushing my anxiety aside, filing it into an overstuffed file of “things I can’t do anything to change.”

Except this time we’re not pushing it away.  Last night several of us gathered for the first of what we hope will be many evenings of dialogue about issues that matter.  Note the word “dialogue,” not debate or argument or unfriending.

If recent years of growing tension in the public square didn’t show us that we have to find a better way of being together, the presidential campaign did.  We are a society of sound bites, Facebook memes, and internet trolls.  I believe that we all yearn instead to know one another more deeply, and to be known.  Our fast-paced lives are dominated by busy schedules and information overload that leave us little time for meaningful relationships.  Yet those relationships are what give us life.  The only reason we dare add one more item to our schedules is because this is an investment in becoming citizens of what Martin Luther King, Jr. called “beloved community.”

Exactly one week after the 2016 presidential election, I had what seemed like an epiphany.  I was mulling the idea of a dialogue group after discussing it with my friend Wendy.  The words “Knock, knock” inserted themselves into my consciousness.  I have learned to pay attention to these occasional stirrings, recognizing them as gifts from the Holy Spirit.  (Most of the time, anyway.  My inner compulsions have their voices too, but I can usually tag them as pesky gremlins and move on.)


Knock, knock.  Well, who’s there?


Who’s there?  We have spent so much time debating the issues and the failings of the candidates, letting the fever pitch of the media invade our personal relationships, we have forgotten to care about the person behind the position.  We have caught the insidious disease of demonizing and objectifying our neighbors instead of asking them why they think and feel the way they do.

We have forgotten that each person has a story.

On the day that I got knocked on my noggin with inspiration, I traveled a few hours to Des Moines to hear Krista Tippett speak at Drake University.  She is the host of “On Being,” one of my favorite podcasts wherein she interviews people from different disciplines about spirituality and the art of living.   The page is described as “Taking up the big questions of meaning with scientists and theologians, artists and teachers — some you know and others you’ll love to meet.”

I have been reading Tippett’s latest book, Becoming Wiseso I wasn’t surprised when she proposed the need to create spaces for civil conversation in our country.  She is bold to assert that the word “love” has been absent from the public square, but it needs to be brought front and center as the ground on which we grapple with issues and listen to each other, probing to understand what is at stake for each person so that we can work together to make thoughtful decisions about our common life.

An epiphany, and a lecture by a wise teacher.  It felt like a calling, then, when these events converged.  It gave me the courage to move ahead with the idea of creating a space where people can come together to talk about political issues, societal concerns, and questions about the meaning of life in a gracious atmosphere.

It is my turn to “do something.” And so “Knock Knock” was born as the pilot group met last night and gingerly began discussing an excerpt from an “On Being” podcast titled “How to Live Beyond This Election.”  Those participating shared their longing to understand their family and friends, to navigate discussions thoughtfully and with curiosity instead of devolving into anxious argument.  We tried listening for understanding, and it felt wonderful.  It was only one dialogue, but we were smiling, and asking questions, and verbalizing our concerns, and experiencing a small measure of healing.

Each time we meet, a “Knock Knock” will get our discussion going: an excerpt from a podcast or blog, a news story, a song–an item that gets us thinking and talking.  We will ask what it is in our own stories that resonates with it.  If it is an issue that requires political action, what is at stake for each person?  We will ask the why beyond the what.  We will pay attention to “who’s there.”

With this beginning, we will gain momentum.  We will wade together into the messy issues of our time with tools for dialogue that I believe will be more than civil.  As we shared our hopes and concerns in a wine bar on a cold December night, we all agreed that we have to start somewhere. What better place to start, than with love?

To learn more about starting your own group, go to “The Civil Conversations Project” online, created by Krista Tippett and her On Being staff.  Choose “Act” in the menu.  Go for it!  





Advent Oil

Need ideas for the lectionary text this week?  Go to “Menu” and “Lectionary Sermons” for my weekly posting.  


In Jesus’ conception, there is one virgin being prepared.  In a haunting parable (Matt 25.1-13) about the end times, there are ten virgins, five of whom are properly prepared.  In the manner of armchair lectionary critics, I might have placed the parable in Advent.  But there are only four spots to fill, so second-guessing is easy.  Regardless, it has a primary place in my own Advent season this year.

Having been introduced to Malcolm Guite by a colleague, I find myself captivated by his sonnets.   This year I am reading his Waiting on the Word, his selection and exposition of poems for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany.  Today’s reading (December 3), is John Donne’s “Annunciation.”  The richness of this tribute to Mary is unpacked expertly by Guite, but even my own slow reading of the piece yields precious insight.  The incarnation is mystery enough to behold for a lifetime, if only by pondering the last line:

Immensity, cloister’d in thy dear womb.

In this year’s Advent, my imagination juxtaposes the annunciation with the parable of the ten virgins.  I have always understood the oil in their lamps to be a symbol of preparation for the Day of the Lord.  Be faithful.  Be alert.  Move on to another parable.

But what is involved in preparation?  The lamps must be refilled.  The wise ones brought
oil with them, but they only had enough for themselves.  The foolish ones had to find another source elsewhere.  They missed out on the advent of the bridegroom, because they did not have enough oil.
Oil in the Scriptures is both a staple and a sign of God’s provision and blessing.  It is used for healing, for lamps, for anointing, and refreshment.  Where there is oil there is life and goodness.

I am in a season of life that is not unlike Advent, so the mood of Advent itself feels especially intense this year.  For some months I have sensed a preparation for something that is to come.  God’s Spirit seems to be painting provocative designs on the walls of my imagination.  My prayers are often wordless yet profound.  I feel a great potential stirring.  A parable about oil lamps being refilled resonates.  Poems and images of Mary bearing a secret touch a deep cord.

The Messianic secret is one of the mysteries of the gospels, yet it rings true for me right now.  There is the oil of life, and also the image of the seed, which in Mary is the beginning of God’s “new thing.”  (Isa 43.19) The small seed of God’s inbreaking needs time in the darkness, time to germinate.  It must take in the nutrients required.  There is no need to hurry; indeed, pushing it to yield its fruit too soon will spoil it.

We bear a secret, disciples of Jesus Christ.  We share Mary’s role as Theotokos, God-bearer.  The substance of the secret is the Love that formed the universe.  As such, it is not only secreted (hidden) within us, it is also secreted (generated or released) from us in myriad ways.  The “immensity” of God is borne into the world in the tiniest of ways, by a thought or a glance, a soft touch, a word fitly spoken.

And so one more secret bearer is imagined.  Mary poured oil on Jesus’ head (Jn 12.3) at a dinner given in his honor.  Judas objected to the extravagance.  He could not see that her gesture came from a deep place, where love had been pulsing and expanding until it had to find expression.

At Christmas time—at any time—when God’s love is made manifest, may we be ready, filled with the oil of God’s life, so that the flame may be lit and we may see it.

How a Lab Coat Can Get You Through Thanksgiving, and Other Tips


It feels very arrogant of me to offer tips on talking with others who typically annoy or frustrate you.  How do I know what it’s like to talk with your sister-in-law who treats you like the dirt on her shoe?  I’ve never sat next to your father when he is pontificating, with food in his mouth no less.  True.  But I have picked up a few clues along the way, and if they are helpful to you, maybe you will not be so anxious the next time a holiday rolls around.

With that caveat, I propose a few approaches.

Curiosity has become a very important word for me.  Instead of entering a strained conversation with defenses and arguments at the ready, adopt the position of an interviewer.  On the few occasions when I could muster enough objectivity to ask them, questions like these have turned the conversation in a more positive direction:  This issue seems really important to you.  What is at stake, do you think?  When did you first realize that this mattered to you?  Who or what helps you understand this issue better?

The ability to ask these kinds of questions requires a lot of self-awareness.  When you get upset at someone’s remarks, what is happening in your body?  Where do you get tense?  If you are able, try to take a few slow, deep breaths to soften that part of your body.  You don’t have to keep listening to the annoying babble; you can direct your attention to your own reaction and helping yourself stay calm.  If you are able, you can ask yourself what it is about this exchange that makes you anxious.  That will tell you something about yourself that you probably need to recognize.

One of the problems we have with family members is the memory of past difficulties.  It is very hard to leave old hurts behind and forgive.  (For you this might seem impossible; for example, I cannot imagine how excruciating it must be to sit in the presence of someone who has abused you.  Secrets burn inside and make you feel desperate.  For such things, a few tips cannot help you resolve the problems; you need to get help to deal with all of this pain.)

For those whose memories are not as damaging but are just irritating, you might take on a stance of compassion.  Try to see the other person as not just a representative of a political party or religious group or race or economic status or sexual identity.  Instead, think of him/her as a fellow human being with a story, a history of experiences you have not shared.  If it helps, picture him/her as a child, vulnerable and playful.  Or recall a memory of a touching moment, or when you shared a laugh together.  Remember that the anger/frustration you feel will pass, and you will be able to love your family again if you choose. turkey-lab-coat

Here’s a tricky one: let them have the last word.  Sounds crazy, I know.  But face it, you will never convince them of your position, or get them to see the holes in their own.  You just won’t.  So just sit there and let them expound without responding.  Look at your watch and see how long it takes to say every single thing they want to say, with only an “interesting…” thrown in occasionally if you can’t remain silent.  Imagine yourself in a lab coat testing your theories about opinion-sharing.  If that fails and you actually get into an argument with them, letting them have the last word means they have to deal with the terrible things they said lingering in the air instead of justifying their bad behavior because of the way you reacted.  It really does work, sometimes.

If nothing else, you could try humor.  I love the ideas a counselor once shared with me.  He suggests taking the ideas in the room to the extreme and poking fun at them.  If you think Uncle Bill seems like a misogynist (and you are a woman), wear a fake moustache and ask them if it makes him feel more comfortable.  Not a good idea?  Hmm, then you might use the method from a recent episode of my new favorite sit-com, Speechless, “T-H-A, Thanksgiving.”  The family was dreading the prospect of spending the day with Dad’s annoying brother, wife, and son (and “Joan,” not sure who she was).  They decided to make a game of counting their guests’ annoying habits, awarding a prize for the most “humble brags,” catch-phrases, etc.  Of course the story ended happily with some revelations about the family’s underlying burdens and everybody singing Kum-Ba-Yah, but you get the idea.

None of these works for you?  Maybe you can take a cue from one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott.  Her simple creed: “Breathe.  Pray.  Be kind.  Stop grabbing.”  Or you can follow Sofi Papamarko’s handy tips for avoiding awkward moments.  And then cut yourself some slack for being human, and move on.  They’re family, and hopefully someday soon you will be able to laugh—or cry—with them again.

The Gift of Listening

This was originally written for the Spencer Daily Reporter to be published on Friday, November 25. 


Are you a good listener?  Think of a recent conversation that had some substance to it.  Did you interrupt the other person?  Were you preoccupied with waiting for them to finish so you could say what you wanted to say?  Then you probably have some work to do on your listening skills.  If you focused on them and asked questions to help them express their ideas, you are probably a good listener.

Last week I attended a lecture at Drake University by Krista Tippett.  She is a journalist and radio/podcast host who interviews people about their understandings of faith and spirituality.  Her guests are theologians, scientists, business leaders, artists, authors, poets, all of whom have made it their life’s work to explore the connections among humans and with the natural world.  Near the beginning of each interview on her program “On Being,” she asks the guest about his or her story of faith in childhood.  The stories are fascinating.

Tippett’s appearance was well-timed, because she called for civil, more gracious discourse among ourselves.  If recent years of increasing negative rhetoric in the public square didn’t show us that we have to find a better way of being together, the presidential campaign did.  Tippett says, “we are starved, and ready, for fresh language to approach each other.” (from her book, Becoming Wise)  She quotes poet Elizabeth Alexander, who simply asks, “are we not of interest to each other?”

Last Saturday Pope Francis spoke in a ceremony to elevate 17 new cardinals at St. Peter’s Basilica.  He diagnosed the root of the anger that is seething around the world right now.  “In God’s heart there are no enemies…God has only sons and daughters,” he proclaimed.  He said that our gut reaction is to “discredit or curse,” even to “demonize” those whom we view as opponents so we can justify dismissing them along with their ideas.  He reminds us that God’s unconditional love “is the true prerequisite for the conversion of our pitiful hearts that tend to judge, divide, oppose, and condemn.”

We are a society of sound bites, busy schedules, and internet trolls.  I believe that we all yearn instead to know one another more deeply, and to be known.  This is an aspect of being made in the image of God (Gen 1.27).  We are wired to connect with each other, to love and be loved.  When asked what is the most important ethic for our lives, Jesus said that loving God with all of our being and loving one another as ourselves is at the core of authentic human life.  (Matt 22.37-39)

Our fast-paced lives are dominated by busy schedules and information that overwhelm us and leave us little time for meaningful relationships.  Yet it is those relationships that give us life.  We look forward to holidays and birthday celebrations with family, or Friday night beer with a best friend, slices of time in which we enjoy our relationships.  I’ll wager that lying in bed with your child and talking in the dark feeds both of your souls.  Yet we have come to see these as breaks from the norm instead of normality itself.

This need for loving relationships is at the essence of Jesus’ teaching and the pattern of the life he modeled.  He took time to listen to people who lived on the margins.  He told stories about the reign of God, which is focused on people instead of possessions or institutions.  He entered our story, the Word of God come to us as a person who cared and blessed and challenged and forgave us.

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth,” Jesus said.  Those who listen well practice meekness, and they will indeed inherit the earth.  They see people as they are, as companions on a journey that is by turns difficult and delightful, so they recognize and enjoy the riches of life together.

In this holiday season, we can connect with others in meaningful ways, or we can focus on the trappings and keep family and friends at a distance.  It is our choice whether to busy ourselves with unrealistic expectations, or to keep things more simple and enjoy the people around us.  I suggest that a lasting gift you can give to yourself and to those you love this Christmas will be to listen more deeply than before.

In tomorrow’s post, I will list some practical ways to navigate your holiday conversations.  How to look forward to seeing Uncle Bill instead of dreading his political diatribes?  Well, maybe you won’t be able to go that far, but you can approach him with less anxiety.  It’s a start!  Stay tuned.  

What Flows Through


This post was originally written for The Luke Society‘s blog, anticipating a global audience of  their Christian ministry directors doing medicine among the poorest of the poor in their countries.  

We experienced something remarkable in the United States last week.  There was deep disagreement about which of the candidates should be allowed to take the presidential helm for four years.  Much anxiety led up to the election that resulted in a win for Donald Trump.  In aftermath, many people are grieving.  I do not hear much victory talk from the other side.  It is very unusual for the “winners” to be as subdued as they are.  They do not feel proud of their candidate.

What impresses me is that such a large portion of the populace is paying attention to something seldom discussed in the public arena: our ways of being.  A lot of the talk before the election was not about political policies and platforms.  It focused on the candidates’ way of being.  We were disturbed by the ways that they talked about each other, and stories of how they have treated people in the past.  We want to look up to our leaders, not cringe at their behavior.

“The deepest way in which we are right or wrong is in our way of being toward others.”[i]  How often have we commented on someone’s leadership skills, noting that we do not take issue with their stance but rather with the way in which they push it on others and defend it.

In the absence of other viable choices, many people said that they were voting for their candidates’ policies, not their character.  How sad.  I suspect that the great anxiety surrounding their campaigns brought out the worst, not the best, in the nominees.  They allowed their hearts to be overtaken by the quest for power.

I find hope in the reactions of many of my fellow citizens.  They recognize that this is not how we are meant to conduct ourselves.  Many have expressed a desire to be more united, more compassionate, more understanding of each other.  I like to think that this arises from the imago dei within every person.

I accepted an invitation to gather at the home of a passionate young woman whose preferred candidate lost in the primary elections.  She and her friends are disillusioned about the future of our society.  They needed to grieve together.  As we talked about the divisiveness in our land, I made a plea for us to strive for loving relationships, to see others as persons and not merely objects representing a stance we cannot abide.  The young man seated next to me said that he realizes he needs to do this, but he has no idea how to begin.  I sensed a yearning for good teachers to show him how to do this.

Jesus Christ our Savior is our beloved, wise, teacher.  “Blessed are the pure in heart,” he said.  Pure hearts do not hold onto resentment.  They are soft, malleable, often broken.  They are open hearts, intent on listening and understanding.  They are hearts at peace, for they have been washed and made new by the One who loves them without condition.  They contain hope, love, and joy.

Many make the mistake of thinking that such hearts are too soft, sentimental, weak.  What they have yet to learn is that pure hearts are strong and enduring.  They are not easily invaded by threats of danger.  They persist in expanding and embracing the other even when the risk of injury seems obvious.

Hearts that are pure continuously flow with God’s love that cleanses them, enlivens them, and washes into the hearts of the neighbors they serve.  In this case I am not imagining purity of substance, but of form.  Think of a conduit that is straight and true, completely clean so as not to impede that which flows through it.  Because it is pure, the force of love is not slowed by it, clearing away any detritus that might otherwise linger from secret sin or tainted memory.  Such a heart has great capacity.  It needs not reserve any of the love that courses through it, as the flow itself gives life to the vessel.

A pure heart will not get you elected to public office in my country, I’m afraid.  It is regarded as a sign of weakness.  Yet it was a pure heart that hung on the cross and in so doing, changed the world.    Indeed, pure hearts change the world today.  God is using the pure-hearted vessels of his people everywhere to give life and offer hope in every corner.

I must not leave Jesus’ observation incomplete: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”  Yes, they will.  They will see what God sees, and respond with love.  They will see “the least of these” and know that Jesus’ face is hidden there.  Their way of being will be the way of love, and it will call forth the image of God in others.  Thanks be to God for showing us the way of being pure-hearted in a hard-hearted world.

[i] (Author not given) The Anatomy of Peace, 2015. (Oakland, CA: Berrett-Koehler Publishers), p. 59.