Would you find it helpful?

I have two questions for you. 

So far I've written some short posts that are essentially a prompt for a spiritual practice you might try.  I've also written slightly longer pieces that are reflections of some issue related to spirituality. 

Do you find one or the more helpful to you?

I'm also wondering about the medium of communication.  Not everyone accesses information most readily through the written word.  I made an animated video a while back to explain the process of using the prayer beads I describe in my book Simply Pray: a modern spiritual practice to deepen your life.  Several years ago I made a series of short videos addressing questions related to spirituality and, of course, today podcasts are all the rage.

Would you find one of these other media (that are not dependent on the written word) helpful?

 I'd love to hear what you think!  My goal for this site is to make it meaningful whether or not you decide to invite me to join your spiritual journey as a spiritual director.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Of Cages & Keys

Imagine a drawing done in pastel chalk, very impressionistic, showing a person sitting on a bench inside a jail cell.  The cell door is open, and there are shackles lying on the floor that are also open.  The person is free to leave, yet is still there -- as effectively imprisoned as if the door was barred and the chains were on. I drew that picture several years ago.  It was during one of the 9-day residencies that were part of the Shalem Institute's 2-year Spiritual Guidance program.  We'd been given a sheet that had several passages of scripture on it, and were asked to read through them all, slowly, and then to read through them again until one seemed to be calling out to us.  Then we were to read that passage over and over, slowly, and see where it took us. I found myself drawn to Isaiah 453: 1-3:

But now thus says the Lord,    he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel:  Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;    I have called you by name, you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.  For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

As I read these words I found myself being drawn closer and closer to one sentence:  "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you."  Eventually it was just the last four words that became a mantra for me, "I have redeemed you."

The image that came to my mind along with those words is the one I described above.  A person -- me, actually -- sitting in a cell, believing myself to be imprisoned, completely oblivious that I have already been "redeemed," that I've already been set free.  Like the narrator of the U2 song, "Love Rescue Me" the truth of my situation is that, "No man is my enemy; my own hands imprison me."  I just didn't realize it.

I don't think I'm alone in this, either.  It's actually extremely common for us humans to be held back by, essentially, ourselves -- our self-judgement, our internalized condemnations, our expectations of not being enough.  Even when we are told repeatedly that we're free to go out and live our lives fully and richly, authentically being our true selves, we so often stay in our cells because we believe that that's where we belong.  Or, at least, because that's where we think we're stuck and we don't see any way out.  Yet the spiritual teachings of all of the great religious traditions I know anything about is that the way *out* of our experience of imprisonment is to recognize that we've always been free.

In the movie The Greatest Showman there is a song called "The Other Side."  Hugh Jackson's "P.T. Barnum" is trying to convince Zac Ephron's character "Phillip Carlyle" to join him, subsidizing Barnum's show.  The metaphor of cages & keys runs throughout the song. Barnum tells Carlyle that the later can break free of the life of drudgery in which he's trapped.  Barnum sees Carlyle as imprisoned by his conventional lifestyle, and offers him a key to freedom.

"[Y]ou can do like you do, or you can do like me, stay in the cage, or you'll finally take the key.  Oh damn!  Suddenly you're free to fly ..."

For his part, though, Carlyle doesn't see himself (or, at least, doesn't want to see himself) as trapped, arguing that he "quite enjoys" the life Barnum sees as a cage.  He doesn't want what Barnum's selling because he doesn't think he needs it.

"[Y]ou go and do like you do, I'm good to do like me.  Ain't in a cage so I don't need to take the key.  Oh damn!  Can't you see I'm doing fine ..."

Whether or not you've seen the movie you can probably guess that the two do end up striking a deal because they come to realize that each has something to offer to the other, each is something that the other needs.  In doing so, they find a third way to use the cage & key metaphor. "So if you do like you do, and if you do like me, forget the cage 'cause we know how to make the key." Good news, isn't it?  That cell you feel you're imprisoned in?  The door's already opened, the shackles are lying open on the floor, the ransom been payed, and the deep reality is that you're not really imprisoned at all.  If we listen to the wisdom of that "voice of quiet stillness" within, we'll realize that they cage is no danger to us, because our spirit knows how to make the key.

 Pax tecum,

 RevWik

Where is God IN This?

Jacob Wrestling the Angel, 1876
by Léon-Joseph-Florentin Bonnat

Sometimes we find ourselves in a very challenging place -- a place where fear, pain, and despair grow like weeds.  It is natural to want to find a way to "the other side" of whatever problem(s) we're dealing with.  We want to "heal" as quickly as possible.  We want to find our way out of the darkness, or return to cool shade after being too-long in the harsh light.

It's not always a good idea, though.  We can skip too quickly from pain to relief, from struggle to succor.  Douglas John Hall has written, 

“It is the propensity of religion to avoid, precisely, suffering:  to have light without darkness, vision without trust and risk, hope without an ongoing dialog with despair—in short, Easter without Good Friday.”  

To continue using the Christian metaphor -- between Good Friday and Easter morning there's a day in which Jesus's body is in the tomb, and his companions were scattered and afraid.  On that day no one yet knew (at least not for sure) that there would be a resurrection.  More than a few, and maybe even most, must have believed that Jesus's death on the cross was it.  The end.

In the Hebrew scriptures there is a story told about Jacob and how he wrestled one night with an angel by the Jabbock River.  All night the two struggled.  As dawn approached, the angle begged Jacob to let them go, but Jacob refused, saying, "I will not let you go until you bless me."

If we move too quickly from the first snowflake to the first crocus, bypassing the cold hard winter; from the cross to the resurrection, jumping over the time in the tomb; from our problem to its resolution, without spending enough time in the problem; we can lose out on whatever blessing our struggle might contain.

This is not as simple, or simplistic, as the idea that "every cloud has a silver lining."  That phrase is often used to dismiss the real pain, or confusion, or fear we're feeling.  Don't worry; be happy.  Nor is it quite the idea that "everything happens for a reason."  It's more like saying, "because things happen, we have the chance to learn something."

A spiritual director may well ask you, "Where is God in the midst of this problem?  What is its blessing?"  They aren't encouraging you to ignore your current struggle, thinking instead of better things to come.  Instead, we're encouraging you to embrace it.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

What Is Your Song?

Last week I read an article about a beautiful practice of the Himba people of Namibia.  Apparently, when a woman is thinking about having a baby, she goes off by herself.

When a Himba woman decides to have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, alone, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child who wants to come.

And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches him the song. When they make love to physically conceive the child, they sing the song of the child as a way of inviting the child.

The Himba are not the only people who believe that each of us has a song that is unique to us and which, in some ways, contains or conveys the essence of who we are.

Try going to sit under a tree (literally or metaphorically) and listen for the sound of your song.  It might be a song you know and love.  It might be a tune you've never heard before.  Even if you're not able to hear a specific song, you can still think about what type of song it would be:

• is it something instrumental, or something with lyrics?
• is it jazz, classical, heavy metal, easy listening?
• does it have a traditional or avant-garde structure?
• have you heard this song before, or is it something new?

As I often suggest, if you journal take note of where this exploration takes you.  And again as always, you could talk about this with a spiritual director.  (You might even sing your song together!)


Pax tecum,

RevWik

Switch Things Up

In my book Simply Pray: a modern spiritual practice to deepen your life I describe four different types of prayer:  Naming, Knowing, Listening, and Loving.  I describe in detail in the book, of course, and I wrote a post here -- Types of Prayer -- back in September of 2018.  Here's the briefest of overviews:

• Naming prayers are like prayers of praise, thanksgiving.  They focus on naming the things we are grateful for in our lives -- the glory of a sunrise, a loved one's presence in your life, your life itself, the Infinite and Inestimable I Am.
  
• Knowing prayers are like prayers of confession.  That term -- confession -- carries a lot of baggage for a lot of folks today, some of it deserved and some not.  Think instead, then, of Step 4 of Alcoholics Anonymous:  "a searching and fearless moral inventory."  Just as a shopkeeper should take inventory regularly, making note of the things they have that are in good shape as well as those that are outdated or in some other way(s) spoiled.  No shame, no blame, no condemnation.  These prayers aim to help us in truly knowing ourselves -- strengths and weaknesses, both.
  
• Listening prayer is about silencing the internal chatter and listening to what the writer(s) of  the Biblical book 1 Kings called "the still small voice."  (I've been told that a better translation is "the voice of quiet stillness.") 
  
• Loving prayers are analogous to prayers of petition or supplication.  Call to mind those who are in need of support, strength, comfort, love.  Make sure to include yourself in these!  These prayers are an opportunity to express your loving intentions.

Is there one of these types of prayer that speaks most strongly to you?  Some religious traditions tend of focus more on one than the others, and many people seem to have a natural inclination toward one.

As an experiment -- switch things up.  For a month (or even just a week, depending how frequent your practice is), spend less time with the type of prayer to which you're usually drawn and emphasize a type you'd be more likely to minimize.  If you keep a journal, note what this switch surprises you with.  This could also provide a great topic for conversation with a spiritual director.


Pax tecum,

RevWik

One for All and All for One

A. Powell Davies, pastor of All Souls Unitarian Church in Washington, D.C., once wrote:

"The years of all of us are short, our lives precarious. Our days and nights go hurrying on, and there is scarcely time to do the little we might. Yet we find time for bitterness, for petty treason and evasion. What can we do to stretch our hearts enough to lose their littleness? Here we are – all of us – all upon this planet, bound together in a common destiny, living our lives between the briefness of the daylight and the dark, kindred in this: each lighted by the same precarious, flickering flame of life, how does it happen that we are not kindred in all things else? How strange and foolish are these walls of separation that divide us!"

It's so easy, though, to fall into "us" and "them" thinking -- as a species we seem to be hardwired to distinguish between who's "in" and who's "out."  Resisting that urge, that frequently unconscious habit, can be incredibly difficult.

Successfully enlarging our circle of inclusion is not just something we will do with our minds; it takes an expansion of our hearts as well.   And that's a spiritual undertaking.  "Love one another ... regardless" is a teaching that can be found in virtually every religious tradition (even though most religious traditions don't quite practice what they preach).  Even simply becoming aware of when we're defining someone as "Other," learning to see what we've so often be oblivious to, can be a spiritual practice.

A Spiritual Director can help us navigate the new terrain in which we will inevitably find ourselves.  They can listen to our stories of successes, as well as those of when we've been unable to see that underlying commonalty.  None of us will get this "right."  In fact, that can be said of every single thing the Spirit calls us to.  It is the effort, though, the desire to try, that is the practice part of "spiritual practice."

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Let Beauty Become Your Mantra ...

A member of the congregation I serve just came into the office and shared with me this passage from In Love With The Mystery by Ann Mortifee:

Let everything we do be done
for Beauty: how we keep our rooms,
tend our garden, or prepare our food.
They say the Spirits love Beauty.
Let Beauty become your mantra
and your devotion.  Your inner life
will bloom.  Synchronicity will
frequent your door.  Wild creatures
will come to call.  And your own
heart will grow bright and full
with the same Beauty that you adore.

"Let Beauty become your mantra ..."

I find that a tremendously lovely thought.

What do you think?  Does this idea of beauty as a "mantra" and a "devotion" speak to you?  If it does, what do you think it calls you to? 

• Remaining (or becoming) aware of the beauty around you?  
• Becoming (or remaining) aware of the beauty within you?
• Seeking beauty even in what appears anything but?
• Striving to create beauty as you move through the world?

Even more fundamentally,

• What do you think of when you hear the word "beauty?"  
• What makes something "beautiful?"  
• Where do you find beauty most often?
• Conversely, where have you never, or rarely, found it?

If you journal, these could be excellent prompts for your exploration.  If you meet regularly with a Spiritual Director, they could provide a partner to play with these questions.  (And if you don't dance with a Spiritual Director, why not?!?!?)

Pax tecum,

RevWik

"Buddha with Flowers"  by Walker

Resurrection

On the Sunday when most Christian's celebrate Easter, the Unitarian Universalist congregations I've served have always held a special service called, "A Rite of Spring:  An Eastertide Celebration in Two Acts."  (If you're interested, here's a link to the full text.)

After looking at how the story of Jesus' crucifixion and, more specifically, the time in the tomb before the resurrection echoes the lessons taught by the natural world through the cold, hard reality of winter, and how both point to a reality we all know of such "tomb time," the service then celebrates the undeniably good news of the resurrection stories, the inescapable fact of renewal in springtime, and the promise that neither will the wintry "tombs" in our lives have the last word.

To my mind, one of the most important lines in the service comes near  the end:

The question is not whether we believe in resurrection but whether we have known it —known it in our own lived experience, seen it in the lives of others, felt it in the world around us.

My question for you, then, is when have you experienced "resurrection" in your life?  What have been the times you have felt most "dead," "entombed," and what did it feel like when you burst forth like a crocus through the last dusting of snow?

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Which Way?

It is often said that there are, generally speaking, two paths -- the apophatic way and the kataphatic (or cataphatic) way.

Apophatic comes from the ancient Gree -- ἀπόφασις -- and means, "to deny."

Kataphatic also comes from the ancient Greek -- κατάφασις -- and means "to affirm."

Most people are most familiar with the kataphatic path, also called via positiva.  In theology this is the approach of focusing on what God is -- God is good; God is loving; God is merciful; God is like a playful puppy.  (That last one's mine, and I think it's a pretty good description of God -- always there, always glad to see you, always showering you with love ...)  The Universalist side of the Unitarian Universalist tradition I serve has sometimes been described as having a theology that can be summed up in just three words:  God Is Love.  That's unquestionably an example of kataphatic theology.

In theological terms, the apophatic path, the via negativa, focuses on what God is not -- God is not evil, God is not petty, God is not a Buff Santa in a Toga.  The Catholic theologian Augustine of Hippo famously said, si comprehendis non est Deus.  (I wrote it in the original Latin because this is one of the few Latin phrases I actually know by heart!)  "If you understand it, it's not God."  This is about as apophatic as you can get -- God is so transcendent, so unknowable, so mysterious that if you think you know something about God, you're wrong.

The theologian Matthew Fox teaches that in Creation Spirituality (not to be confused with Creationism!), there are actually four spiritual paths, which are seen as stages of a journey:

• First, we travel the Via Positiva, in which we experience "awe, delight, amazement."  
• Next we find ourselves on the Via Negativa, on which we find "uncertainty, darkness, suffering, letting go."  
• This leads us to the Via Creativa, the path of "birthing, creativity, passion."  
• Finally we travel the Via Transformativa, were our focus is on "justice, healing, celebration."

Of course, it's not as though this is a one-way trip; there is no straight thru-line.  We go in circles, encounter switch backs, find ourselves in the same place but at a greater or lesser altitude, and sometimes just set up camp for a while.

Where do you find your spirit these days?  Which of these paths do you think you're on?  Do you think you've changed paths over the years?  Remember that other terms for "Spiritual Director" are "Spiritual Guide," and "Spiritual Companion."  We are all on spiritual journeys, and it can be good to travel with someone who knows something of the terrain.  No one can walk anyone else's path(s), yet it can be nice to have a companion with us as we go.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

The Sound of Silence

What is silence?

It's "golden," of course, whatever it is.  

A lot of people would answer my question by saying that "silence" is the absence of "sound" or "noise."  

I find myself thinking about what the 17th century Jewish-Dutch philosopher Baruch Spinoza said of "peace:"

"peace is not mere absence of war, but is a virtue that spring from, a state of mind, a disposition for benevolence, confidence, justice."

This sentiment has been repeated in many ways, by many people, in many times and places.

Is "silence" like this?  Is it also not merely the absence of something, but a think on its own?  Is it not just an absence but, instead, a presence?  Many contemplative/meditative traditions talk about entering, sinking into, or resting in silence.  This suggests to me that these traditions understand it to be something.

Have you ever thought of silence like this?  If so, how has that effected your understanding of the life of the spirit?  If not, how do you think it might do so?

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Whatever the Weather

To a greater or lesser extent, depending on where you are, spring has begun!

Hallelujah!

It's long been recognized that many people have a strong emotional interconnectedness with the weather.  Seasonal affective disorder (with the incredibly apt acronym SAD) is a real phenomenon, affecting 6% of the population each year (with another 20% or so exhibiting at least mild symptoms).  It's serious, too. No less a body than the Mayo Clinic encourages people not to "brush off that yearly feeling as simply a case of the 'winter blues' or a seasonal funk that you have to tough out on your own."  As someone who's had a life-long relationship with depression, I would echo that advice.

Is there an analogous interconnectedness between weather and our spirituality?  It might be hard to tease this apart from the effect weather has on our emotions, yet I do believe that our spiritual lives and our emotional lives are not mere clones of one another.  They are connected, to be sure.  What in life isn't connected to everything else?  This is one of the fundamental truths of Buddhism, sometimes called "dependent co-origination," and sometimes more simply, "this is, because that is."  Nothing exists unless everything else exists, because nothing exists entirely independently.  How can we think, then, that body-mind-spirit-emotion aren't inextricably linked?  

Nonetheless, just because things are linked does't mean that they are identical, so I return to my wondering:  is there a link between our spirits and the seasons analogous to that between the weather and our emotions?

I'd love to hear your thoughts ...

Pax tecum,

RevWik

"Music is What Feelings Sound Like ..."

Isn't that a great quote?  I haven't been able to find out (definitively) who said it, but whoever it was really kind of nailed it, didn't they?  Music can get our bodies moving; it can inspire us to dig deep and pull out our courage.  A song can help us to really feel our sorrow, or can perfectly express our joyful exhalation.

On her blog Notes from the Far Fringe, my friend, the Rev. Kimberly Debus, has a section called "Hymn by Hymn," in which she posted a daily reflection on the hymns in the Unitarian Universalist hymnals Singing the Living Tradition and Singing the Journey, one hymn each day.  I know several people who always seem to wake up with a song stuck in their head use it as a kind of journal prompt, reflecting a little each day on why that particular song might be on their mind.

I had a musical practice for a few years, when I was living on Cape Cod and working in Boston.  The commute by bus was about an hour and a half each way, and I took to listening to one piece of music, repeated, for the entire trip.  By the time I arrived at South Station it had become a part of me, like my in-breaths and out-breaths.

What's your relationship with music?  Is it part of your spiritual practice?  Might it be (without your even being aware of it)?

Pax tecum,

RevWik

This was one of my favorite song-prayers during those bus ride commutes:

What is prayer?

A couple of weeks back I wrote about a woman who has had a real impact on my spiritual life -- Sr. Rose Mary Dougherty.  I had both the good fortune and the true blessing of meeting and learning from her during the Spiritual Guidance program I did with the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation.

I just began reading her 2009 book Discernment: a path to spiritual awakening.  Her Introduction includes this powerful paragraph:

"[I]f you were to ask me what prayer is, I would turn the question back to you:  What is prayer for you?  What honors your desire for God?  What expresses the desire of your heart?  Who are you?  What allows you to life the fullness of your being?  Allow your experience of prayer to be your guide as you move through these reflections."

I think we could invert her last thought, also -- allow these questions to be your guide as you move through your understanding of prayer.  I hear her saying that prayer:

• honors our desire for God
• expresses the desire of our hearts
• grows out of and informs who we are
• allows (and encourages and perhaps even requires!) us to live the fullness of our being

I encourage you to take some time to sit -- or walk, or dance -- with these questions.  They are great questions to bring to spiritual direction.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Seeing Something New in the Old

Fr. Richard Rohr is a Trappist monk whose writings speak to so many people -- progressive Christians and progressive non-Christians alike.  His Center for Action and Contemplation offers daily meditations, brief reflections on a theme like "From the Bottom Up," "Unknowing," and "Transformation."  He explore each theme for a week, and on Saturday he offers summary of the week's reflections.

This past week's theme was, "This Is My Body."  He was exploring the traditional Christian concept of "incarnation" in what for many would be a highly provocative way.  That's one of the things I absolutely love about his writing.  It puts me in mind of phrase I learned during my chaplaincy training (about which I wrote back in May), "Tell me about this God you don't believe in.  I probably don't believe in that God either."  Rohr seems to me to be saying, "Tell me about this teaching you don't believe.  I probably don't understand it that way."

What is the meaning of the word, "Christ."  It's often been said, "'Christ' isn't Jesus' last name."  It's often understood as signifying Jesus' God-hood. Yet what if you don't believe in those teaching?  What if you believe that Jesus was a man, a human person, who was not God but had, instead, 

"[an] identification with God so complete, [a] relationship so intimate, that they seemed to be one and the same.  Jesus saw the world with God's eyes; he loved the world with God's heart; and his acts were ultimately the acts of God.  Those who looked at Jesus saw God's face, and they met God directly through him."  [That's from my first book, Teacher, Guide, Companion: Rediscovering Jesus in a Secular World, p. 38.]

What does this do to the concept of "the risen Christ"?  There is a spiritual way of understanding it that does not require the overthrow of the human experience of life and death.  John Dominic Crosson notes that the word "resurrection" is different from the word "restitution," and that one need not believe in the later to believe in the former.


In the meditation "The Universe is the Body of God," he quotes the theologian Sallie McFague:

"The resurrected Christ is the cosmic Christ, the Christ freed from the body of Jesus of Nazareth, to be present in and to all bodies."

That certainly changes things!

So often we get stuck with a particular understanding of a word, rather than experiencing a reality.  So often we refuse to see anything in a particular teaching because of the way we were taught to think of it.  Yet at least equally as often, to quote Inigo Montoya, "I do not think that word means what you think it means."  And if you take that new meaning with you back into the rest of the text and the teachings, whole new meanings open up.

Christianity is by no means the only way we humans have tried to make sense of that space between being born and having to die.  Yet for those who have left behind that Christian tradition in which they were raised, or who have never even explored it because of what they've heard it's about, I offer an encouragement to look again, and to look anew.  You might be surprised by what you find.

This is one of the ways a spiritual director/companion can help you with your journey.  They provide a space in which to dance with questions of meaning.


Pax tecum,

RevWik

Rest in Joy

I had the immense good fortune, and true blessing, of having the opportunity to learn from this amazing woman. She was a nun in the order of the Sisters of Notre Dame, a sensei in the White Plumb Asanga, one of the founders of the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation (through which I met her), and one of the gentlest, fiercest, most spiritually profound, and delightfully mischievous people I have ever met. My friend Ethel Hornbeck describes her as, “a kind spiritual badass.”

Two stories stand out for me as I think of Rose Mary.  During one of the residencies in Shalem's Spiritual Guidance program, it snowed overnight -- a lot.  My friends Ethel, Scott, and I were sitting at lunch, wishing that we'd brought sleds, or ski, or something (because there was a perfect hill outside).  As I remember it, Rose Mary must have overheard us, because as she walked by to bring her dishes into the kitchen she leaned over and said, quietly, "I think that there are some really big trays in the back of the kitchen."  She didn't tell us to go out and have fun sledding, yet she did remind us just how playful the Spirit can be.

The second story is one I think of often.  During one of her talks on spiritual direction she told us about the time she walked with a directee on the grounds of the convent.  The sun was warm, the air was still, and she was exhausted (from traveling, as I recall).  Along the path there was a large tree with a circular bench around it.  The two sat, with the tree between them, and as the directee talked, Rose Mary fell asleep!  She woke up, noticed that their session was up, and brought their time together to a close.  

She said that she felt awful, and was trying to figure out how to apologize to the man.  But he called her ... to say that it was one of their most powerful sessions!  She was a little relieved to know that he apparently hadn't noticed her extended silence, yet was also a little chagrined that one of this person's most helpful sessions with her had been one which, for all extents and purposes, she wasn't present for.  Cautiously, so as to give nothing away, she asked what about the session had been so important to him.  He said that it was her ability to listen to her without getting defensive, and she learned that he'd been talking about his feelings about women, authority figures, and the Catholic church.  As a female authority figure in the Catholic church, she might well have become defensive, yet because of her "absence" he had been able to speak freely.

After telling us this story she said something like, "Now, I'm not recommending that you fall asleep during a session ..."  It was a great reminder that, ultimately, the mysterious, mischievous, playful Spirit which comes and goes as it will is the most important element in this work.

Rose Mary died last week.  I thank God for her life, for the chance to have known her even just a little, and for the truth that (as I say at memorial services and believe with all my heart) -- life is stronger than death, and love is stronger than anything.  I would say, "rest in peace," but I do believe that that would get too boring for this remarkable soul.  So, instead, rest in joy, Sister.


Pax tecum,

RevWik

Seeking beauty

At the end of Children's Worship at the congregation I serve, the chalice flame lit at the beginning of the service is extinguished as everyone says together, "It is finished in beauty."  This has now been added at the end of the benediction the congregation in the sanctuary says each week.

"It is finished in beauty."

It's a lovely, dare I say beautiful, way to bring an end to such sacred time.  On it's own, though, it's incomplete.  That's because, in addition to being finished in beauty, it is also begun in beauty.  In fact, I'd go so far as to say that it's sustained in beauty.

Last week I raised the classic question of a spiritual director:  where do you see God in this?  It's a question that can be asked no matter what the "this" is.  Whether we're in the midst of joy or sorrow, clarity or confusion, anger or grief, hopelessness or hope, celebration or concern ... wherever we are in our life, God is with us.  This question is designed to encourage us to listen for God's voice, look for God's fingerprints, feel for God's embrace.

As I've written about before, of course, that word -- "God" -- is extraordinarily problematic for some of us.   It has been so misused (as I would say) that for many it is simply irredeemable.  There are others for whom the word "God" isn't at all problematic -- it's absolutely meaningless.  Like "purple dancing unicorns," the word points to nothing.  It quite literally has no meaning.

Nonetheless, the question is worthwhile.  I would contend that whether or not you find the word "God" palatable, or meaningful, it points (like a finger at the moon) toward a quality of life that is sustaining.  Perhaps that's the reason that word is often replaced with the phrase, "Spirit of Life." So asking where you find God in your current situation is really asking, "where do you see something sustaining in this?"  Or, to put it yet another way, "where do you see beauty?"

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the saying goes, and there are lots of things that can be counted as "beautiful."  I've heard that Einstein was once asked how he knew his General Theory of Relatively was correct and he answered, "because it's beautiful."  (If that story is apocryphal I'd rather not know.  As the theologian Frederick Buechner said of the Christian story, "It's too good not to be true.")  There's even a Wikipedia page for "Mathematical Beauty," which contains this quote from the writing of Bertrand Russell:

"Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only truth, but supreme beauty—a beauty cold and austere, like that of sculpture, without appeal to any part of our weaker nature, without the gorgeous trappings of painting or music, yet sublimely pure, and capable of a stern perfection such as only the greatest art can show. The true spirit of delight, the exaltation, the sense of being more than Man, which is the touchstone of the highest excellence, is to be found in mathematics as surely as poetry."

Sublime.  Delight.  Exaltation. Where are these right now?  Can you see anything that elicits any of this?  Wherever you are in your life at this moment, whatever is happening in and around you, can you see/feel something that lifts you up, reminds you of the "more than," and which can be a touchstone for you?  That's a big part -- maybe really the most important part -- of what I'm asking when I ask, "Where is God for you in this?"

And here's a little something paradoxical -- beauty isn't always beautiful.  By that I mean only that the "beauty" that will sustain us in some situations doesn't "look" all that "beautiful."  We'd be hard pressed to ... well ... to press it into any of the well-established categories society has agreed to call by that name.  Even Russell's "cold and austere" description of mathematical beauty could be recognized as "beautiful."  Yet there have certainly been times in my life -- and perhaps in yours as well -- in which there was simply nothing that I could, by any stretch of the imagination, describe as "beautiful" (at least, as people generally use the term). 

Nonetheless, when encouraged to really look -- really listen, taste, touch, smell, feel -- I found that I could always find an answer to those questions:  "Where is the life-sustaining beauty in this?"  "Where is God in this?"

What do you say?


Pax tecum,

RevWik



P.S. -- The great bop pianist and composer Thelonious Monk wrote a piece titled, "Ugly Beauty," and contemplating that paradoxical juxtaposition has always been helpful to me in my spiritual growth.  I also bring this up because it's a really cool tune (apparently the only waltz Monk ever wrote).  Enjoy:

The Great Question

If you have ever worked with a spiritual director before, or are doing so now, there's a question you've probably heard:

Where is God in this?

I suppose you could say that this is the question of the spiritual life.  Where is God -- in this experience, this relationship, this feeling, this crisis, this confusion, this moment.  I often try to describe the difference (in really general terms!) between a therapist and a spiritual director like this:

• When you visit a therapist while in the midst of a crisis, let's say, the therapist is going to try to help you to understand it and/or to figure out how to get through it to the other side.
• When you go to a spiritual director while in the midst of a crisis, the spiritual director is going to try to help you find where God is (where the Holy is, where the Sacred is, where Love is) right there in the midst of it all.

Hence, where is God in this?

A friend of mine from Japan once told me that there's no way to ask the question, "Where am I?" in Japanese.  He said that no Japanese person would ask a question with such an obvious answer -- "Where are you?  You're here, of course!"  According to this friend, the question you ask when you're lost in Japan is, "Where is here?"

Similarly, I suppose the question "where is God in this ...?" has a pretty obvious answer, too -- "Here!  Everywhere!" I guess, then, that what we're really asking is, "Where do you see, or where are you experiencing, God in this ...?"

This way of asking the question allows for an extremely common answer that some folks seem to think is an inappropriate one, no matter how true it is:  "Where do I see God in this?  Where am I experiencing the Sacred right now?  I don't!  God is nowhere to be found!"  That doesn't seem very "spiritually advanced" to a lot of people.  Maybe even you.

When the author of Matthew recalls the words Jesus spoke from the cross he includes these words in Aramaic, ""Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?"  The author of Mark remembers this too, that while Jesus was dying he quoted the 22nd Psalm -- "My God, my God ... why have you forsaken me?"

If Jesus can look around and not see God, if Jesus can feel abandoned by that Holy Love which is the foundational reality, it should certainly be okay if you or I feel that same way.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Together

We have come to the end of our extended meditation on the Rev. Kathleen McTigue's New Year's reading: 

The first of January is another day dawning, the sun rising as the sun always rises, the earth moving in its rhythms, with or without a certain as the day of new beginning, separating the old from the new.  So it is:  everything is the same, bound into its history as we ourselves are bound. 

Yet we also stand at a threshold, the new year something truly new, still unformed, leaving a stunning power in our hands: 

What shall we do with this great gift of Time, this year? 

Let us begin by remembering that whatever justice, whatever peace and wholeness might bloom in our world this year, we are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet, the embodiment of all the best visions of our people.  

The year can be new ground for the seeds of our dreams.  Let us take the step forward, together, onto new ground, planting our dreams well, faithfully, and in joy.

What stands out for me most in the last paragraph is her invitation, her encouragement, that we move forward into this newness together.   It is true that we must life our own lives, that no one can live our lives for us.  In that sense, we do travel the path of life alone.

At the same time, though, we humans are communal people.  It can be argued, has been argued, and, I would argue, is really beyond arguing, that we are not truly "alive" if we are entirely alone.  We need one another.

This is one of the reasons that many spiritual directors prefer to refer to themselves as spiritual companions.  Those of us who do this work are not usually too interested in being overly directive.  We do, though, want to keep you company as you walk your own pathway of spirit.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

I Must Do What I Can

Last month began "unpacking" a New Year's reading by the Rev. Kathleen McTigue: 

The first of January is another day dawning, the sun rising as the sun always rises, the earth moving in its rhythms, with or without a certain as the day of new beginning, separating the old from the new.  So it is:  everything is the same, bound into its history as we ourselves are bound. 

Yet we also stand at a threshold, the new year something truly new, still unformed, leaving a stunning power in our hands: 

What shall we do with this great gift of Time, this year? 

Let us begin by remembering that whatever justice, whatever peace and wholeness might bloom in our world this year, we are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet, the embodiment of all the best visions of our people.  

The year can be new ground for the seeds of our dreams.  Let us take the step forward, together, onto new ground, planting our dreams well, faithfully, and in joy.

I've been looking at one paragraph a week, and there are two left, so next week will be the end of the series.  For today,

Let us begin by remembering that whatever justice, whatever peace and wholeness might bloom in our world this year, we are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet, the embodiment of all the best visions of our people.  

So often we hear people say -- or, perhaps, we, ourselves, say -- that there's so much wrong in the world and just wish someone would do something about it.  Does that sound familiar?  This can be about something the scale of, say, climate change, or something happening at the local level.  Actually, it can be even closer than that -- it's not too uncommon to hear a person bemoaning some problem they're facing and wishing that someone or something could be done about it.

Declaring that "we are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet ..." that are needed to effect change, though, makes waiting for someone else to do something patently foolhardy.  A challenge of the decision to engage the life of the spirit is that we will be reminded, over and over again, that "we are the ones we've been waiting for."

That can be overwhelming.  I know.  So I want to offer something that might just take the edge off a bit.  These words by Edward Everett Hale (who, ironically, was so involved in so many things that he was sometimes called Edward Everything Hale):

I am only one,
Yet still I am one.
I cannot do everything,
Yet still I can do something.
And because I cannot do everything,
I must not hesitate to do the something
that I can.

Perhaps here, then, we find an answer to last week's question.  What shall we do with this great gift of Time, with our one wild and precious life?  Nothing more, yet nothing less, than the something that we can.

Now the question becomes, what is that something?

Pax tecum,

RevWik

What will you do?

This month I'm inviting us to "unpack" a New Year's reading by the Rev. Kathleen McTigue: 

The first of January is another day dawning, the sun rising as the sun always rises, the earth moving in its rhythms, with or without a certain as the day of new beginning, separating the old from the new.  So it is:  everything is the same, bound into its history as we ourselves are bound. 

Yet we also stand at a threshold, the new year something truly new, still unformed, leaving a stunning power in our hands: 

What shall we do with this great gift of Time, this year? 

Let us begin by remembering that whatever justice, whatever peace and wholeness might bloom in our world this year, we are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet, the embodiment of all the best visions of our people.  

The year can be new ground for the seeds of our dreams.  Let us take the step forward, together, onto new ground, planting our dreams well, faithfully, and in joy.

By now you know the drill -- we've looked at the first and second paragraphs already.  Today, let's look at the third which is, I believe, the most important of them all:

What shall we do with this great gift of Time, this year?

Whether you think of this reading as pertinent particularly to he beginning of the new calendar year, or the beginning of any new chapter of a person's life, this question is one of the most fundamental we can possibly consider.  

Mary Oliver's poem, 'The Summer Day," lifts up this same question while also pointing rather clearly toward an answer.  (Her death this year truly was a great loss.  I know many people who have experienced her writings as, if you will, contemporary scripture.)

The Summer Day
Who made the world?Who made the swan, and the black bear?Who made the grasshopper?This grasshopper, I mean --
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down -
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

So, tell me ...

Pax tecum,

RevWik

A New Normal

This month I'm inviting us to "unpack" a New Year's reading by the Rev. Kathleen McTigue:

The first of January is another day dawning, the sun rising as the sun always rises, the earth moving in its rhythms, with or without a certain as the day of new beginning, separating the old from the new.  So it is:  everything is the same, bound into its history as we ourselves are bound. 

Yet we also stand at a threshold, the new year something truly new, still unformed, leaving a stunning power in our hands: 

What shall we do with this great gift of Time, this year? 

Let us begin by remembering that whatever justice, whatever peace and wholeness might bloom in our world this year, we are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet, the embodiment of all the best visions of our people.  

The year can be new ground for the seeds of our dreams.  Let us take the step forward, together, onto new ground, planting our dreams well, faithfully, and in joy.

Last week we looked at the first paragraph, noting how often the advent of something startlingly new for us bumps up against the experience of business-as-usual in those around us.  Today I want to take up the next part of Kathleen's reflections:

[W]e also stand at a threshold, the new year something truly new, still unformed, leaving a stunning power in our hands: 

It is important for us to recognize and honor the fact -- and it is a fact -- that when we go through a truly transformation experience like the birth of a child or the death of a parent, for instance, something really has changed.  To those around us who were not, are not, as intimately involved in may want to go back to "normal," may urge us to do so to, yet it's okay for us to affirm that there is no going back to "normal."  Perhaps more accurately, for us there is no going back to that old "normal;" there is, as it's often called, a "new normal."  When I'm talking with grieving family member after the death of a loved one I'll often stick my arm out, palm up, and tell them to expect to feel as though the world has "turned upside down."  I'll turn my hand over, palm down now, by way of illustration.  "It's also important to realize and prepare yourself to accept that the world will never turn right-side-up again.  This upside-down world will become your "new normal"."

The same is true of more easily recognized as "positive" transformations.  Our lives have changed.  Despite being "just another day" in some respects, this "new day" is new.

It's also worth noting that this is true on a much smaller scale with each and every moment of each and every day.  Yes, when I go home this evening after work, my dogs will start running around, barking for their dinner.  And after I feed them they'll start charging for the door and their walk.  It's happened a thousand times before.  And yet, at the same time, this particular running, barking, and charging has never happened before.  If I am awake, if I am aware of my life -- rather than just sleeping through the assumptions of it -- then I will notice that this moment has never come before, and will never come again.

What helps you to savor the uniqueness of this particular iteration of something that's part of the normal course of things?  How have you been able to acclimate yourself to a "new normal"?

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Same Old, Same Old

Last week I called our attention to something written by the Rev. Kathleen McTigue, a meditation for New Years:

The first of January is another day dawning, the sun rising as the sun always rises, the earth moving in its rhythms, with or without a certain as the day of new beginning, separating the old from the new.  So it is:  everything is the same, bound into its history as we ourselves are bound. 

Yet we also stand at a threshold, the new year something truly new, still unformed, leaving a stunning power in our hands: 

What shall we do with this great gift of Time, this year? 

Let us begin by remembering that whatever justice, whatever peace and wholeness might bloom in our world this year, we are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet, the embodiment of all the best visions of our people.  

The year can be new ground for the seeds of our dreams.  Let us take the step forward, together, onto new ground, planting our dreams well, faithfully, and in joy.

Let's look at just that first paragraph: 

The first of January is another day dawning, the sun rising as the sun always rises, the earth moving in its rhythms, with or without a certain as the day of new beginning, separating the old from the new.  So it is:  everything is the same, bound into its history as we ourselves are bound. 

The start of something new can often leave us breathlessly disoriented, whether it's something we think of as "good" or "bad."  When we start a new relationship, decide to become engaged, get married -- each of these happy events can "rock our world" and make everything seem almost distractingly new.  I remember having a hard time driving for several months after my wedding, because I' was described when I saw the ring on my finger every time I looked down at the wheel.

When a couple decides to separate, or when the divorce papers are filed, or finalized, life can take on a similarly strange and almost unrecognizable cast.  So, too, when a baby is born, or a new job materializes (or an old one disintegrates), or a loved one dies, or we receive shocking diagnosis ourselves, or ... you get the point.  No doubt you can offer your own examples of times in your life when everything seemed to change.

And yet your friends and neighbors still got up and went to school or work just as if nothing had happened.  You had to, too.  Oh, people may at first have indulged your repeated exclamations of how disorienting things were now, but after a while they seemed to tire of it.  It's not unusual for the loved ones of someone who's recently died to find that their friends seem to be "returning to their regular lives" while they, themselves, are still deeply grieving.  This, in itself, can throw us off balance.  What is, for us, a New Day seems to everyone else to be Just Another Day. 

Is this something you've ever experienced (on either side of that equation)?  How have you made sense of it?  What has helped you to find a center in this midst of this paradox?

Pax tecum,

RevWik

This Gift of Time

When I (re)launched Pathways of Spirit back in March of 2018, I reference something my friend and colleague, the Rev. Kathleen McTigue, wrote.  I noted then that it had originally been written for New Year's Day, yet could also be considered apropos for the "new day" at the beginning of any new venture.  Given that we've just passed the calendrical New Year's Day, I thought I'd point our attention to it again:

The first of January is another day dawning, the sun rising as the sun always rises, the earth moving in its rhythms, with or without a certain as the day of new beginning, separating the old from the new.  So it is:  everything is the same, bound into its history as we ourselves are bound. 

Yet we also stand at a threshold, the new year something truly new, still unformed, leaving a stunning power in our hands: 

What shall we do with this great gift of Time, this year? 

Let us begin by remembering that whatever justice, whatever peace and wholeness might bloom in our world this year, we are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet, the embodiment of all the best visions of our people.  

The year can be new ground for the seeds of our dreams.  Let us take the step forward, together, onto new ground, planting our dreams well, faithfully, and in joy.

For the rest of this month I'm going to "unpack" this passage a bit, because I think there's a whole lot in there for us to play with.

Pax tecum,

RevWik