A Very Deep Longing for Less
A longing is a yen, an urge, a raw want. A longing is a haunting, an anxiety, a holy irritation. A longing is a kernel of wish, a seed of soul, a reach for stars.
At present, I am captive to a very deep longing – FOR LESS. I want to clear out all the clutter from my mind, my heart, and my soul. I have hoarded so much useless crap. I am exhausted from stacking “shit” up to the ceiling. I just want to get rid of it. Take it to the dumpster. Close the lid. Let go, and let God. Even God has no use for all this stuff?
I am on overload. I am overwhelmed. I am so damn over IT. I cannot be perfect. I cannot keep everyone happy. I am not it control of anything or anyone. I am not in charge, other than ironically of a few maxed-out charge cards. I can perform no tricks, let alone a miracle. Sublime is way out of my league.
I am bone tired, as in weary. I could sleep for days. This is a side effect of boredom and despair competing. I yearn to hide. I even revel in this quarantine, like it is the context for true freedom. All the air is stale. My body sags and sags. My spirit withers. My soul has shrunk to the size of gnat gonad.
Life is just swarming, and as we know, we have no chance in Hell of catching the wind. Still, there we all are, sprinting and spinning and swirling and going nowhere, but digging a deeply profound hole. We are so addicted to digging. We call it digging IN. We should call it digging OUT. We are buried under an avalanche of lies and deceit and absurdity of every size and shape and color.
So, where is the HOPE in all of this? I don’t know. There…I have said it. I find it paralyzing to try and figure out the directions for putting together HOPE.
However, I still want my crack at creating a bit of magic laced HOPE. I want to step up to the plate, sigh deeply, do a Babe Ruth point to the fences, and swat one out of the park. But, down deep, even then I suspect I would probably miss second base and be tagged out by some pimply shortstop who would keep pointing and laughing at the missed bag.
I guess all I am trying to say is that in today’s world HOPE will not come cheap. It will not be quick or easy or second nature, nor even third or fourth or fifth nature. HOPE will demand our very best, significant discipline, a great depth of character, true integrity, and above all else, maturity.
If we still think hope is to be found within the economy, we are, well, just plain STUPID. Hope must be for everyone, everywhere, and it will require tremendous service and sacrifice and even suffering from one and all. We are climbing a mountain, not taking a stroll.
We don’t have maps. We have a few instincts, homing urges, and a seed of sense that we need to come back to Life on Life’s terms. We are in for major changes in our lives and lifestyles. We do know this. We feel strangely certain. Not dead certain. In fact, the opposite, it is a certainty which functions as a verb. Alive and awake and aware. A torch. A sun. The light of HOPE.
I hear people say they just cannot wait for things to get back to normal. They want to get back to business as usual. I doubt there is a normal anymore, or it will be akin to being told that a normal temperature is now 101 degrees. Our normal has been utterly transformed, like the farm the Prodigal Son experienced upon returning from squandering his fortune. I believe there will be a whole new business as usual. Our new business will be saving our Earth. It will not be about being saved for some Great Sin Free Beyond, but about being called to locate the Heaven in our midst.
I have few ideas of what this Kingdom will look like. We have no set of blueprints I know of. We just have a clarion call to love our enemies, lift up the lost, bring in the outcast, and to celebrate the joy of being human and free and beloved. Our new normal begins at the bottom, when we sit there and stare, and muster the courage and wisdom to wave a white flag. At last, we can stop playing God, and get back to the wondrous task of following.
We must follow a road less traveled. We must follow a path which will take us on a most difficult pilgrimage. We must follow an offensive man named Jesus, who shared a vision and a voice a long time ago. Jesus envisioned a life and lifestyle which was saner, simpler, and so much kinder. Jesus had a dream of so much LESS.
Less busyness. Less noise. Less nasty and mean spirited. Less divided. Less arrogant and grandiose. Less bragging and boasting and battling for greatness. Less of everything but goodness. Jesus was focused on a genuine good life. Jesus called us all to good living, not the state of being incessantly entertained. Jesus saw an opportunity to make someone’s day every day, and how this could be enough, enough to satisfy our souls eternally.
At present, I am captive to a very deep longing – FOR LESS. I want to clear out all the clutter from my mind, my heart, and my soul. I have hoarded so much useless crap. I am exhausted from stacking “shit” up to the ceiling. I just want to get rid of it. Take it to the dumpster. Close the lid. Let go, and let God. Even God has no use for all this stuff?
I am on overload. I am overwhelmed. I am so damn over IT. I cannot be perfect. I cannot keep everyone happy. I am not it control of anything or anyone. I am not in charge, other than ironically of a few maxed-out charge cards. I can perform no tricks, let alone a miracle. Sublime is way out of my league.
I am bone tired, as in weary. I could sleep for days. This is a side effect of boredom and despair competing. I yearn to hide. I even revel in this quarantine, like it is the context for true freedom. All the air is stale. My body sags and sags. My spirit withers. My soul has shrunk to the size of gnat gonad.
Life is just swarming, and as we know, we have no chance in Hell of catching the wind. Still, there we all are, sprinting and spinning and swirling and going nowhere, but digging a deeply profound hole. We are so addicted to digging. We call it digging IN. We should call it digging OUT. We are buried under an avalanche of lies and deceit and absurdity of every size and shape and color.
So, where is the HOPE in all of this? I don’t know. There…I have said it. I find it paralyzing to try and figure out the directions for putting together HOPE.
However, I still want my crack at creating a bit of magic laced HOPE. I want to step up to the plate, sigh deeply, do a Babe Ruth point to the fences, and swat one out of the park. But, down deep, even then I suspect I would probably miss second base and be tagged out by some pimply shortstop who would keep pointing and laughing at the missed bag.
I guess all I am trying to say is that in today’s world HOPE will not come cheap. It will not be quick or easy or second nature, nor even third or fourth or fifth nature. HOPE will demand our very best, significant discipline, a great depth of character, true integrity, and above all else, maturity.
If we still think hope is to be found within the economy, we are, well, just plain STUPID. Hope must be for everyone, everywhere, and it will require tremendous service and sacrifice and even suffering from one and all. We are climbing a mountain, not taking a stroll.
We don’t have maps. We have a few instincts, homing urges, and a seed of sense that we need to come back to Life on Life’s terms. We are in for major changes in our lives and lifestyles. We do know this. We feel strangely certain. Not dead certain. In fact, the opposite, it is a certainty which functions as a verb. Alive and awake and aware. A torch. A sun. The light of HOPE.
I hear people say they just cannot wait for things to get back to normal. They want to get back to business as usual. I doubt there is a normal anymore, or it will be akin to being told that a normal temperature is now 101 degrees. Our normal has been utterly transformed, like the farm the Prodigal Son experienced upon returning from squandering his fortune. I believe there will be a whole new business as usual. Our new business will be saving our Earth. It will not be about being saved for some Great Sin Free Beyond, but about being called to locate the Heaven in our midst.
I have few ideas of what this Kingdom will look like. We have no set of blueprints I know of. We just have a clarion call to love our enemies, lift up the lost, bring in the outcast, and to celebrate the joy of being human and free and beloved. Our new normal begins at the bottom, when we sit there and stare, and muster the courage and wisdom to wave a white flag. At last, we can stop playing God, and get back to the wondrous task of following.
We must follow a road less traveled. We must follow a path which will take us on a most difficult pilgrimage. We must follow an offensive man named Jesus, who shared a vision and a voice a long time ago. Jesus envisioned a life and lifestyle which was saner, simpler, and so much kinder. Jesus had a dream of so much LESS.
Less busyness. Less noise. Less nasty and mean spirited. Less divided. Less arrogant and grandiose. Less bragging and boasting and battling for greatness. Less of everything but goodness. Jesus was focused on a genuine good life. Jesus called us all to good living, not the state of being incessantly entertained. Jesus saw an opportunity to make someone’s day every day, and how this could be enough, enough to satisfy our souls eternally.
Devotion 1: Less Noise, More Quiet
Our world is noisy. There is a din on many days. It is made up of warring divisions, feuds, lies, guilt, shame, and the mad scramble up the ladder of success. It is hard to hear ourselves think. It is even harder to listen to our souls. We have grown all but deaf to our callings, and the same might be said of hearing eternity’s echoes, the amazing sounds of Grace.
Much of the noise is the result of small talk. A lot of gossip and talking about people. A good deal of back biting and innuendo. As one might expect, a swarm of belittling. It gets nasty and mean spirited. It is meant to cut and wound, even abuse. The resulting dissonance is like an eddy of nonsense, loud and confusing. There is zero harmony.
It makes us twirl, but not dance. We are inwardly spinning. Like tops knowing they will soon collapse, only to recoil and do it all over again. It is exhausting spiritually and quite draining emotionally. We are often spent.
The yearning for quiet is palpable. Our bodies literally ache with the need to hear nothing, which, ironically, is filled with everything. If we are wise, we will go for a walk, or seek out some sacred spot, a place we trust to be soaked in silence. Our souls have homing sense for silence.
Once home, the soul will listen to the silence. It is like hearing the snow fall. It is a tinkling. The sounds are pure and clean, just enough to notice. Just above the wee sound of a whisper, a shy voice calling us to pay attention.
Soon, we will begin to unclench; our faces un-wince; our teeth cease to gnash or grind. Our souls sigh, and speak the lovely old language of calm. Our breathing slows and stills. Our spirits steadily rise. Our stress shrinks. Our whole being is restored.
It is hard for us to stay there -- in the silence, I mean. We quickly feel guilty about doing nothing. We start to pound the nails of “ought” and “should” and “must” into our hearts. But, on some days, we do shoo away these task centered words which spawn so much gnat-like worry. We settle into the quiet. We refuse to be shoved out the door of our Sabbath rest. We simply surrender to the glorious quiet.
Once we wave the white flag, eternity shows up, as it always does. When we claim powerlessness, eternity skips right on in, and takes up residence at our side – or has our back, as the saying goes. Then…we lose track of time. The vindictive clocks and calendars vanish.
We are “in” Heaven. Heaven is not endless time, but the absence of time. Heaven is built upon a thick rock of silence. It is rooted in solitude and stillness and letting the spinning stop. Yes, stopping is critical to the soul, and key to the doorway to Heaven. Stopping is the beginning of all things spiritual.
There is no sweat. There is no worry. There is no guilt. There is just Grace galore, and the presence of the knowing we are enough. It was so easy. All it took was a slice of opening for the silence to enter. Heaven was just around the corner. In our midst. It is a perspective and an attitude of tranquility.
The uproar quiets. There is a hush, a holding of our breath. A seed has been planted, and it is already heading upward toward the Light. We can feel it lifting us with it. Up and up, and on the up and up. We feel ready to come clean, and be honest, and embrace Life for all it is worth – which is one Heaven of a lot.
LESS NOISE. MORE QUIET. THE CAPACITY TO LISTEN TO THE SNOWFALL. HEARING OUR OWN SOULS. HEEDING THE ECHOES OFF THE CANYON WALLS OF GOD’S SOUL. AMAZING GRACE IS INDEED A VERY SWEET SOUND.
Much of the noise is the result of small talk. A lot of gossip and talking about people. A good deal of back biting and innuendo. As one might expect, a swarm of belittling. It gets nasty and mean spirited. It is meant to cut and wound, even abuse. The resulting dissonance is like an eddy of nonsense, loud and confusing. There is zero harmony.
It makes us twirl, but not dance. We are inwardly spinning. Like tops knowing they will soon collapse, only to recoil and do it all over again. It is exhausting spiritually and quite draining emotionally. We are often spent.
The yearning for quiet is palpable. Our bodies literally ache with the need to hear nothing, which, ironically, is filled with everything. If we are wise, we will go for a walk, or seek out some sacred spot, a place we trust to be soaked in silence. Our souls have homing sense for silence.
Once home, the soul will listen to the silence. It is like hearing the snow fall. It is a tinkling. The sounds are pure and clean, just enough to notice. Just above the wee sound of a whisper, a shy voice calling us to pay attention.
Soon, we will begin to unclench; our faces un-wince; our teeth cease to gnash or grind. Our souls sigh, and speak the lovely old language of calm. Our breathing slows and stills. Our spirits steadily rise. Our stress shrinks. Our whole being is restored.
It is hard for us to stay there -- in the silence, I mean. We quickly feel guilty about doing nothing. We start to pound the nails of “ought” and “should” and “must” into our hearts. But, on some days, we do shoo away these task centered words which spawn so much gnat-like worry. We settle into the quiet. We refuse to be shoved out the door of our Sabbath rest. We simply surrender to the glorious quiet.
Once we wave the white flag, eternity shows up, as it always does. When we claim powerlessness, eternity skips right on in, and takes up residence at our side – or has our back, as the saying goes. Then…we lose track of time. The vindictive clocks and calendars vanish.
We are “in” Heaven. Heaven is not endless time, but the absence of time. Heaven is built upon a thick rock of silence. It is rooted in solitude and stillness and letting the spinning stop. Yes, stopping is critical to the soul, and key to the doorway to Heaven. Stopping is the beginning of all things spiritual.
There is no sweat. There is no worry. There is no guilt. There is just Grace galore, and the presence of the knowing we are enough. It was so easy. All it took was a slice of opening for the silence to enter. Heaven was just around the corner. In our midst. It is a perspective and an attitude of tranquility.
The uproar quiets. There is a hush, a holding of our breath. A seed has been planted, and it is already heading upward toward the Light. We can feel it lifting us with it. Up and up, and on the up and up. We feel ready to come clean, and be honest, and embrace Life for all it is worth – which is one Heaven of a lot.
LESS NOISE. MORE QUIET. THE CAPACITY TO LISTEN TO THE SNOWFALL. HEARING OUR OWN SOULS. HEEDING THE ECHOES OFF THE CANYON WALLS OF GOD’S SOUL. AMAZING GRACE IS INDEED A VERY SWEET SOUND.
Devotion 2: Less Fog, More Focus
I recently took a quick walk along the shore of Lake Michigan. The lake is a spiritual home for me, as it is for many residents of my hometown of Racine, Wisconsin. My painful knees keep me from walking far, but are still good enough to wobble a hundred yards or so.
Around my usual half-way mark, a thick lumpy white fog lumbered in off the lake. It hovered just above ground, and in its “London-ish” nature, made it so I could literally not see my hand before my face. I dramatically slowed my step.
I find being in a thick fog, to be a bit like a twirled cone of vanilla and chocolate ice cream, only this time it is the feelings of eerie and anxiety which are braided. My anxiety began to increase, when I tripped over a large wedged crack in the sidewalk and almost plummeted to the ground. The image of my needing a new hip or knee swelled in my stomach. Though acting confident, my fear grew raw. Fog can hide real dangers.
For some silly reason, I had the distinct urge to run to my car, which was no more than about sixty or seventy yards away. Of course, I wisely resisted the stupid yen and slogged my way to the safety of my vehicle.
As I pulled away from the curb, I quickly recognized the obvious... The fog remained - How foolish? I laughed at myself, and swallowed a swig of humility. I pulled back over to the curb, and decided to just wait it out. It would be a good hour before the fog conceded victory to the sun.
Many of us choose to live in such a fog. Our minds go wild with worry. Our minds list a litany of tasks and obligations, while “critical chores” thunder overhead like carnival bumper cars. We futilely try to organize and sort and rank the hours of our day. We seek perfection. We will hopelessly try to keep everyone happy. We function like that scrappy little pink Energizer bunny, as if we will never run out of juice.
Well, we do run out of juice. We frequently function on empty, or chose to continue while the fuel gauge is in the red zone. We grow weary, our energy depletes, and our spirits sag and begin to shrivel. We truly do burn out. The fire in the hearth is no more than a wisp of smoke, and only adds a layer of grime to the fog.
The fog in which we often choose to live, is made up of expecting too much from ourselves, and seeing a full life as no more than being busy, busy, busy. We also spin a fog out of denial, detachment, and the desire to make the world go away. We may actually succeed for a time in making the world disappear, but in its place spins an experience of deep loss and loneliness.
The fog is blinding. It keeps us from being in focus, or seeing things with any future clarity. The fog not only reduces vision, it blurs it badly, to the point of making us feel a complete loss of direction. Like a pilot who cannot locate the horizon, we are out of control, and have unknowingly entered a pirouetting free fall.
The fog can do major damage, especially if it is thick and prolonged. It is best then to be grounded, diverted to a safer place to land, or lifted out of the haze to a space where the air is more transparent.
What lifts the fog? The light and the warmth of the sun. An excellent symbol for us as well, as we are at our best when our vision is clear and undimmed, when WE are illuminated. Then we can see where we are going, and even know why we are going there.
Think of it like this. What does it feel like when the eye doctor finally spins the magic wheel, and finds just the right lens? We feel relieved and a shiver of elation. It feels so good to see things properly. We are back in focus, and the fog swept away. The blessing of sight restored. A tiny miracle.
This is just what our soul needs these days. At a time when meaning and value and worth are so often hidden under a bank of fog, we quietly long for focus, to see the horizon and beyond. Focus is our deep and daily yearning. An awareness of point, purpose, and priorities. An envisioned belief we matter and can make a difference.
When stuck in a fat slab of fog, it is impossible to accomplish much of anything. The best we can do is to be patient, persevere, and wait it out. When the fog begins to melt and slim shafts of sun emerge, we ironically call it a “God sky.” And so it is, literally and metaphorically.
LESS FOG, AND MORE IN FOCUS: A CLARITY AND BRIGHTNESS; A CAPACITY TO WITNESS BEAUTY; AN ABILITY TO SEE ONE’S DREAMS; THE ENVISIONING OF HOW TO MAKE THOSE DREAMS COME TRUE.
Around my usual half-way mark, a thick lumpy white fog lumbered in off the lake. It hovered just above ground, and in its “London-ish” nature, made it so I could literally not see my hand before my face. I dramatically slowed my step.
I find being in a thick fog, to be a bit like a twirled cone of vanilla and chocolate ice cream, only this time it is the feelings of eerie and anxiety which are braided. My anxiety began to increase, when I tripped over a large wedged crack in the sidewalk and almost plummeted to the ground. The image of my needing a new hip or knee swelled in my stomach. Though acting confident, my fear grew raw. Fog can hide real dangers.
For some silly reason, I had the distinct urge to run to my car, which was no more than about sixty or seventy yards away. Of course, I wisely resisted the stupid yen and slogged my way to the safety of my vehicle.
As I pulled away from the curb, I quickly recognized the obvious... The fog remained - How foolish? I laughed at myself, and swallowed a swig of humility. I pulled back over to the curb, and decided to just wait it out. It would be a good hour before the fog conceded victory to the sun.
Many of us choose to live in such a fog. Our minds go wild with worry. Our minds list a litany of tasks and obligations, while “critical chores” thunder overhead like carnival bumper cars. We futilely try to organize and sort and rank the hours of our day. We seek perfection. We will hopelessly try to keep everyone happy. We function like that scrappy little pink Energizer bunny, as if we will never run out of juice.
Well, we do run out of juice. We frequently function on empty, or chose to continue while the fuel gauge is in the red zone. We grow weary, our energy depletes, and our spirits sag and begin to shrivel. We truly do burn out. The fire in the hearth is no more than a wisp of smoke, and only adds a layer of grime to the fog.
The fog in which we often choose to live, is made up of expecting too much from ourselves, and seeing a full life as no more than being busy, busy, busy. We also spin a fog out of denial, detachment, and the desire to make the world go away. We may actually succeed for a time in making the world disappear, but in its place spins an experience of deep loss and loneliness.
The fog is blinding. It keeps us from being in focus, or seeing things with any future clarity. The fog not only reduces vision, it blurs it badly, to the point of making us feel a complete loss of direction. Like a pilot who cannot locate the horizon, we are out of control, and have unknowingly entered a pirouetting free fall.
The fog can do major damage, especially if it is thick and prolonged. It is best then to be grounded, diverted to a safer place to land, or lifted out of the haze to a space where the air is more transparent.
What lifts the fog? The light and the warmth of the sun. An excellent symbol for us as well, as we are at our best when our vision is clear and undimmed, when WE are illuminated. Then we can see where we are going, and even know why we are going there.
Think of it like this. What does it feel like when the eye doctor finally spins the magic wheel, and finds just the right lens? We feel relieved and a shiver of elation. It feels so good to see things properly. We are back in focus, and the fog swept away. The blessing of sight restored. A tiny miracle.
This is just what our soul needs these days. At a time when meaning and value and worth are so often hidden under a bank of fog, we quietly long for focus, to see the horizon and beyond. Focus is our deep and daily yearning. An awareness of point, purpose, and priorities. An envisioned belief we matter and can make a difference.
When stuck in a fat slab of fog, it is impossible to accomplish much of anything. The best we can do is to be patient, persevere, and wait it out. When the fog begins to melt and slim shafts of sun emerge, we ironically call it a “God sky.” And so it is, literally and metaphorically.
LESS FOG, AND MORE IN FOCUS: A CLARITY AND BRIGHTNESS; A CAPACITY TO WITNESS BEAUTY; AN ABILITY TO SEE ONE’S DREAMS; THE ENVISIONING OF HOW TO MAKE THOSE DREAMS COME TRUE.
Devotion 3: Less Crazy, More Sane
At first, I absolutely hated the song, CRAZY, by Patsy Cline. Mainly, because my sister played it incessantly, and the lyrics felt like a long needle being poked into my eyeball. Back then, I never understood what the words meant, a fact my sister would sarcastically repeat on numerous occasions. Much later, when I fell in love for the first time, the lyrics became bright and clear and resoundingly accurate.
Crazy is a universe. It is a state of being. It is when we are caught in a web of worry, or stuck in mud thick enough to sink a cow. It is a soul tied up in knots so tight, the only way to be free appears to be to cut them off. Crazy is dwelling in and on. Crazy is like a tongue to a chipped tooth -- it just can’t stop seeking out that twinge of pain. Crazy is a house where you never feel at home, or that you belong. It is a place you can neither get out of, or into.
Crazy is an obsession. A cloud which can block out the sun. A betrayal which may linger for years. A wound which refuses to heal, only it is on the heart, where you can’t witness its oozing drip; nor apply any salve. Crazy is like watching a TV with the horizontal hold not working. It just flips and flips and flips. Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results each and every time.
Crazy is human, and can keep us from enjoying anything and everything. It can be purely destructive. It isn’t like chaos, which stirs the pot and whips up a creative fervor, this is a frenzy so fast and furious it can only lead to a fall or a faint. It is the squeezing out of the joy in our soul.
What I have found to be most helpful in battling the “crazies” is to immerse myself in some sanity. Sanity is calm, centered, and grounded. Sanity has strong roots, and an uncanny knack to find the necessary light. Sanity isn’t safety, nor even security, but a sense of acceptance of one’s Self and Life as a whole. It is the spiritual wisdom of waving the white flag.
There are certain habits which tend to restore my sanity. A long walk. Watercolor painting. Listening to nostalgic music. Beauty. Nature. Water. Taking photos. Making a call to an old friend, someone who has previously gone through the “crazies” with me. Writing a letter. Making a gift. Reading a favorite author, like Barbara Kingsolver or Louise Erdrich or Annie Dillard or Barbara Brown Taylor. Losing myself in a good play or an excellent film. Savoring good friends and food and conversation.
Compile your own list. Keep it on hand, like an anti-venom in snake country. Surrender to the sanity. Fill your tank back up. Awe and wonder and lumps in the throat can all be quite spiritually therapeutic. Be still and know you are not God. Be still and know you are beloved by God. Be still and know you are human, and more than enough. Be still and know God is everywhere in the here and now. Pay attention. Take notice. Focus. Seek. Stop, look and listen, and the sanity will waft in and all around, and transform the vise of crazy into a caress of calm.
REJECT THE CRAZINESS. CHOOSE THE CALM OF SANITY. AVOID THE CULTURAL CALLS TO BE OVERWHELMED, BUT RATHER SELECT A DAILY DIET OF SERENITY. BE AT EASE. BE SURE TO KNOW YOU ARE NOT ALONE, AND ARE BELOVED. BE CERTAIN – GRACE IS TRUE. BE CONFIDENT -- THIS TOO SHALL PASS.
Crazy is a universe. It is a state of being. It is when we are caught in a web of worry, or stuck in mud thick enough to sink a cow. It is a soul tied up in knots so tight, the only way to be free appears to be to cut them off. Crazy is dwelling in and on. Crazy is like a tongue to a chipped tooth -- it just can’t stop seeking out that twinge of pain. Crazy is a house where you never feel at home, or that you belong. It is a place you can neither get out of, or into.
Crazy is an obsession. A cloud which can block out the sun. A betrayal which may linger for years. A wound which refuses to heal, only it is on the heart, where you can’t witness its oozing drip; nor apply any salve. Crazy is like watching a TV with the horizontal hold not working. It just flips and flips and flips. Crazy is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results each and every time.
Crazy is human, and can keep us from enjoying anything and everything. It can be purely destructive. It isn’t like chaos, which stirs the pot and whips up a creative fervor, this is a frenzy so fast and furious it can only lead to a fall or a faint. It is the squeezing out of the joy in our soul.
What I have found to be most helpful in battling the “crazies” is to immerse myself in some sanity. Sanity is calm, centered, and grounded. Sanity has strong roots, and an uncanny knack to find the necessary light. Sanity isn’t safety, nor even security, but a sense of acceptance of one’s Self and Life as a whole. It is the spiritual wisdom of waving the white flag.
There are certain habits which tend to restore my sanity. A long walk. Watercolor painting. Listening to nostalgic music. Beauty. Nature. Water. Taking photos. Making a call to an old friend, someone who has previously gone through the “crazies” with me. Writing a letter. Making a gift. Reading a favorite author, like Barbara Kingsolver or Louise Erdrich or Annie Dillard or Barbara Brown Taylor. Losing myself in a good play or an excellent film. Savoring good friends and food and conversation.
Compile your own list. Keep it on hand, like an anti-venom in snake country. Surrender to the sanity. Fill your tank back up. Awe and wonder and lumps in the throat can all be quite spiritually therapeutic. Be still and know you are not God. Be still and know you are beloved by God. Be still and know you are human, and more than enough. Be still and know God is everywhere in the here and now. Pay attention. Take notice. Focus. Seek. Stop, look and listen, and the sanity will waft in and all around, and transform the vise of crazy into a caress of calm.
REJECT THE CRAZINESS. CHOOSE THE CALM OF SANITY. AVOID THE CULTURAL CALLS TO BE OVERWHELMED, BUT RATHER SELECT A DAILY DIET OF SERENITY. BE AT EASE. BE SURE TO KNOW YOU ARE NOT ALONE, AND ARE BELOVED. BE CERTAIN – GRACE IS TRUE. BE CONFIDENT -- THIS TOO SHALL PASS.
Devotion 4: Less Certain, More Mystery
Dead certain. The spiritual home of the self-righteous, the know it all, those who have all the answers. Dead certain. Lacking a pulse. No signs of life. No movement. No growth. It just sits there like a lump. It isn’t truly a confidence, but more a choice to eliminate all questions.
Dead certainty is a fact. Fiction tells the story, and brings it to life, but facts nail it down at all four corners. Facts without a story to tell, a story worth hearing, are as dull as dirt.
In our culture today there is once again a religious call for certitude. Religion is acting cocksure again, safe behind thick walls of unwavering conviction. The fanatically religious cling to the facts of their faith expressed in creeds and spiritual slogans, like being born again or saved, and approach Life without a shadow of doubt upon it, in fact, no shadows are allowed.
The youth of our nation are fleeing this certainty in droves. They are simply turning their backs and walking away. They are not anti-religious, they just live with so much uncertainty on a daily basis, religion appears to be offering them answers to questions they have never even asked – and do not foresee asking.
Religion speaks in the language of infallibility. It is black and white. There are no greys or maybes or what ifs. There is just a brilliant white light of Truth. It is blinding, and yields a blind faith. No questions can be asked. No doubts raised. Just close your eyes, and think real pretty.
Since much of American religion has joined hands with one particular political party, there is a profound sense of no longer being able to hold our elected officials accountable. Candidates speak as if anointed, and govern as if embodying the voice and will of God.
I like my Life mysterious, swarming with questions and doubts and wondering and pondering and being dumbstruck. I like feeling awed, or being blown away by the miraculous shimmer of an event or emotion. I like not having a clue. I love to escape into a mystery. To wander all about its twirling innards, having my mind blown, my soul stirred, and to be inspired to seek contact with a truly Higher Power.
I have grown a deep fondness for science, and find abundant faith there, such as the magical results of the Hubble telescope sending us images of a glorious grandeur almost painful to behold. I like the wisdom of science, which declares the semi-certainty of OCCAM’S RAZOR, which claims that the simplest explanation is usually the right one. I get that much more than I get the Nicene Creed.
I like science’s reliance on common sense. I wholly believe in evolution and the Big Bang Theory, and find both to expand the mystery, not unravel it. If I am going to speak of a virgin birth, or living inside a whale, or turning water intro wine, I want to do so with the soul of a poet, as one who knows the meaning of a metaphor, and understands that a myth is not a falsehood, but the best attempt of a human to put the inexpressible into words.
I find my faith to be a verb, not a noun. I have zero use for creeds, other than offering insight and appreciation for the history of religion. I learn about life from deeds, not creeds. I want my faith to grow and mature and change and doubt and question and become and break and bend and be lovely and alive, and yes, very human.
Dead certain. A real conversation ender. A gag on the spirit of our youth. A sad belief in playing God. A reverence for an infallible papacy which even today’s Pope wants to discard. No, I find such certainly to be a squandering of Life’s richness and charm and seductiveness. I find it wicked and wanton. A demonic force with Nazi like intentions.
I don’t want a Pope of any kind. I do not want a President who is incessantly telling us he is a genius, and has all the answers, and to trust his hunches more than the studied accuracy of true experts. All of this certainty is no more than necrophilia, a warping of Life by an addiction to deadness.
Erich Fromm, in the book THE ANATOMY OF HUMAN DESTRUCTIVENESS, exposed the true nature of the Hitler regime. He said it was spawned by a mentally ill culture which had become obsessed with all things decadent…decaying…dead or dying…rigid…legalistic…black and white – NECROPHILIA.
Fromm also advocated for a culture of biophilia, the opposite of Hitler’s dark vision. BIOPHILIA is the love of change, a willingness to compromise, a celebration of diversity, a tolerance of difference, a maturity which is comfortable living with all the greys, and a people rooted in mercy. He stated how biophilia centered folks are at ease within all the opposing forces and wild ups and downs of Life, and are courageous in facing a crisis, a mistake, or a call for change or forgiveness, or even a call for an admission of guilt.
Fromm made it quite clear that those who love Life more than Death are those who embrace and entertain mystery on a daily basis and never lose their appetite for it.
I am not sure if I would call myself a BIOPHILIA CENTERED SOUL. It just sounds terribly clunky, but I catch the drift, and sure know what the “love of death” creates. It manufactures a culture which is more fascinated by aliens and angels than real human beings, and offers up a vision of Heaven in the Great Beyond, rather than here and now on this good earth. Death becomes the sole doorway to being close to God.
Well, I like getting to know God now. I like experiencing the holy and spiritual in the day to day, the little ordinary things, the many miracles which jam each dawn to dusk. I love my life, and Life as a whole, and I so want to show my new grandson just how breathtaking it all can be. I want to tell him all about the generous and gracious Jesus of the Gospel of Luke, and about a theatrical character named “Auntie Mame”, a woman wide eyed with wonder, and bursting with humor, and love, and ready for an adventure every single day.
I don’t want to tell him he can have it call, because he shouldn’t. I don’t want to tell him he is smarter or better than anyone else, because he is not. But…I do want him to know he is enough, beloved, cherished, adored, and a genuine gift to me, and his Mom and Dad. I hope to help him understand how to please God, by coming to his senses, coming down to earth, coming back to Life, and coming around to taking time to nurture his soul and his version of a Higher Power.
I want him to know all about the genuine good Life, which is of course, all about goodness. He was born to be good. He has all the goods he will need to have an ordinary but extraordinary life.
EMBRACE THE MYSTERY. HOLD THE MYSTERY TO YOUR SOUL. BEHOLD THE MYSTERY. ENTER THE MYSTERY. MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME THERE. BE AT EASE IN THE WILD TUMBLING OF MYSTERY. ROLL WITH IT. GO WITH ITS RAPIDS LIKE FLOW. DON’T TRY TO STEER. JUST LOOK UP AND FOLLOW THE STARS. YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL. YOU ARE NOT IN CHARGE. DON’T GRASP THE MYSTERY TOO TIGHT. HOLD THE MYSTERY IN YOUR HEART, AND FEEL ITS FRESH LIFE. BREATHE IT IN, AND RECEIVE IT. SWALLOW IT WHOLE. LET IT OPEN AND EXPLORE YOU. LET IT GRAFT ITS GRACE UPON YOU. BE TRANSFORMED. BE MADE WHOLE. BE FOUND HOLY.
Dead certainty is a fact. Fiction tells the story, and brings it to life, but facts nail it down at all four corners. Facts without a story to tell, a story worth hearing, are as dull as dirt.
In our culture today there is once again a religious call for certitude. Religion is acting cocksure again, safe behind thick walls of unwavering conviction. The fanatically religious cling to the facts of their faith expressed in creeds and spiritual slogans, like being born again or saved, and approach Life without a shadow of doubt upon it, in fact, no shadows are allowed.
The youth of our nation are fleeing this certainty in droves. They are simply turning their backs and walking away. They are not anti-religious, they just live with so much uncertainty on a daily basis, religion appears to be offering them answers to questions they have never even asked – and do not foresee asking.
Religion speaks in the language of infallibility. It is black and white. There are no greys or maybes or what ifs. There is just a brilliant white light of Truth. It is blinding, and yields a blind faith. No questions can be asked. No doubts raised. Just close your eyes, and think real pretty.
Since much of American religion has joined hands with one particular political party, there is a profound sense of no longer being able to hold our elected officials accountable. Candidates speak as if anointed, and govern as if embodying the voice and will of God.
I like my Life mysterious, swarming with questions and doubts and wondering and pondering and being dumbstruck. I like feeling awed, or being blown away by the miraculous shimmer of an event or emotion. I like not having a clue. I love to escape into a mystery. To wander all about its twirling innards, having my mind blown, my soul stirred, and to be inspired to seek contact with a truly Higher Power.
I have grown a deep fondness for science, and find abundant faith there, such as the magical results of the Hubble telescope sending us images of a glorious grandeur almost painful to behold. I like the wisdom of science, which declares the semi-certainty of OCCAM’S RAZOR, which claims that the simplest explanation is usually the right one. I get that much more than I get the Nicene Creed.
I like science’s reliance on common sense. I wholly believe in evolution and the Big Bang Theory, and find both to expand the mystery, not unravel it. If I am going to speak of a virgin birth, or living inside a whale, or turning water intro wine, I want to do so with the soul of a poet, as one who knows the meaning of a metaphor, and understands that a myth is not a falsehood, but the best attempt of a human to put the inexpressible into words.
I find my faith to be a verb, not a noun. I have zero use for creeds, other than offering insight and appreciation for the history of religion. I learn about life from deeds, not creeds. I want my faith to grow and mature and change and doubt and question and become and break and bend and be lovely and alive, and yes, very human.
Dead certain. A real conversation ender. A gag on the spirit of our youth. A sad belief in playing God. A reverence for an infallible papacy which even today’s Pope wants to discard. No, I find such certainly to be a squandering of Life’s richness and charm and seductiveness. I find it wicked and wanton. A demonic force with Nazi like intentions.
I don’t want a Pope of any kind. I do not want a President who is incessantly telling us he is a genius, and has all the answers, and to trust his hunches more than the studied accuracy of true experts. All of this certainty is no more than necrophilia, a warping of Life by an addiction to deadness.
Erich Fromm, in the book THE ANATOMY OF HUMAN DESTRUCTIVENESS, exposed the true nature of the Hitler regime. He said it was spawned by a mentally ill culture which had become obsessed with all things decadent…decaying…dead or dying…rigid…legalistic…black and white – NECROPHILIA.
Fromm also advocated for a culture of biophilia, the opposite of Hitler’s dark vision. BIOPHILIA is the love of change, a willingness to compromise, a celebration of diversity, a tolerance of difference, a maturity which is comfortable living with all the greys, and a people rooted in mercy. He stated how biophilia centered folks are at ease within all the opposing forces and wild ups and downs of Life, and are courageous in facing a crisis, a mistake, or a call for change or forgiveness, or even a call for an admission of guilt.
Fromm made it quite clear that those who love Life more than Death are those who embrace and entertain mystery on a daily basis and never lose their appetite for it.
I am not sure if I would call myself a BIOPHILIA CENTERED SOUL. It just sounds terribly clunky, but I catch the drift, and sure know what the “love of death” creates. It manufactures a culture which is more fascinated by aliens and angels than real human beings, and offers up a vision of Heaven in the Great Beyond, rather than here and now on this good earth. Death becomes the sole doorway to being close to God.
Well, I like getting to know God now. I like experiencing the holy and spiritual in the day to day, the little ordinary things, the many miracles which jam each dawn to dusk. I love my life, and Life as a whole, and I so want to show my new grandson just how breathtaking it all can be. I want to tell him all about the generous and gracious Jesus of the Gospel of Luke, and about a theatrical character named “Auntie Mame”, a woman wide eyed with wonder, and bursting with humor, and love, and ready for an adventure every single day.
I don’t want to tell him he can have it call, because he shouldn’t. I don’t want to tell him he is smarter or better than anyone else, because he is not. But…I do want him to know he is enough, beloved, cherished, adored, and a genuine gift to me, and his Mom and Dad. I hope to help him understand how to please God, by coming to his senses, coming down to earth, coming back to Life, and coming around to taking time to nurture his soul and his version of a Higher Power.
I want him to know all about the genuine good Life, which is of course, all about goodness. He was born to be good. He has all the goods he will need to have an ordinary but extraordinary life.
EMBRACE THE MYSTERY. HOLD THE MYSTERY TO YOUR SOUL. BEHOLD THE MYSTERY. ENTER THE MYSTERY. MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME THERE. BE AT EASE IN THE WILD TUMBLING OF MYSTERY. ROLL WITH IT. GO WITH ITS RAPIDS LIKE FLOW. DON’T TRY TO STEER. JUST LOOK UP AND FOLLOW THE STARS. YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL. YOU ARE NOT IN CHARGE. DON’T GRASP THE MYSTERY TOO TIGHT. HOLD THE MYSTERY IN YOUR HEART, AND FEEL ITS FRESH LIFE. BREATHE IT IN, AND RECEIVE IT. SWALLOW IT WHOLE. LET IT OPEN AND EXPLORE YOU. LET IT GRAFT ITS GRACE UPON YOU. BE TRANSFORMED. BE MADE WHOLE. BE FOUND HOLY.
Devotion 5: Less Fear, More Faith
These are truly scary times. Our American culture feels swollen by the stress of sustained fear. It is a shaking of our foundations.
It is pointless to compare the swarming fears of these days of pandemic, to other times of fright. In a time of significant dread, when we squirm with worry, and yearn to get a handle on it, it remains a raw mystery we can neither grasp or fully control.
We can show our fear respect, and we can cope with it. We can be at our best, and retain our hope and humor and humility. We can come together and unify. We can be true communities. We can offer total support to those who are working in our hospitals and clinics – those on the front lines.
Most fear is rooted deeply in the unknown. We are not in charge. We cannot confidently predict the future. This is a fear with a life all its own. It has lessons to teach, wisdom to impart, and it will demand we pay attention. We have officially been put on notice.
Fear is a daily reality for all humans. It may be a wisp, a breeze, a gale, or a tsunami. This pandemic appears to be like a hurricane which will last many months. The devastation will be internal and spiritual, as well as external and physical. The long terms costs on every level of our being are impossible to discern right now – maybe they never will be.
How do we combat fear? First, and foremost, we name it and claim it. We do not pretend it is not there, or that we have it on a leash. We will need to learn to embrace its presence. It is not an invited guest, but it doesn’t help to think of it as an intruder. We must face this opponent with humility, even modesty, but also with a bold and determined belief in our capacity to triumph.
This is not a time to talk or act like a bully. This is not an enemy which will care one whit how tough we talk, or how cocksure we behave. This is an enemy which will only respect our being smarter, not better.
It is smart to stop. It is smart to follow the calls to social distancing. It is smart to be patient. It is smart to be persevering. It is smart to put our health before our wealth. It is smart to expect our government to pull out all the stops in offering our people the help and support they need and deserve – especially the least of these.
This is not the time for political or religious squabbles. This is not the time to think we have all the answers. The world just shrank. There are no walls to contain this virus. No domes to keep us safe. There are just good people being good to one another, and joining hands and hearts and being physically and emotionally and spiritually present and supportive.
This is not a time to abide racism of any kind. This is not a time to have any use for elitism, aristocratic notions, or letting the gap grow larger. This is a time which literally screams with the need for us to close all the damn gaps. Knock down the damn walls. Have the courage to recognize that this virus celebrates equality, and if we are to be a victorious foe, we will need to do the very same.
These are hard times. Most of the world deals with hard times on a daily basis. For most of us, this is pretty new. So, we must get down to growing up. We must be mature. We cannot throw tantrums. We can’t rant and rave and stamp our feet. We must join forces and souls and tackle this crisis head on.
America, this is a defining moment! This is a critical time in our history when we will be judged by our willingness to put the WE before the ME, the HEALTH before the WEALTH, and the KINDNESS before all the partisan NASTINESS.
We know what history will write. We know it in our hearts. We know it in our souls. We know it as individuals and as a nation. History will not speak of our GREATNESS during this crisis, but about our GOODNESS. That will be, and has always been, eternally THE BOTTOM LINE.
DO GOOD. BE GOOD. GOODNESS KNOWS. IF WE ARE TO FEEL GOOD AGAIN AS A PEOPLE, WE MUST FEND OFF OUR FEARS WITH A STEADFAST FAITH WITH A BELIEF IN OUR ABILITY TO HELP HEAL THE WORLD AND A TRUST IN ONE ANOTHER TO SERVE AND SACRIFICE WHEN ASKED. WE NEED A FIERCE DETERMINATION AND HOPE TO GET PAST THIS PANDEMIC AND BE AN EVEN BETTER AND SMARTER AND MORE LOVING NATION. ONE NATION UNDER GOD, HOWEVER YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR HIGHER POWER. THE KEY WORD THERE IS, OF COURSE, UNDER.
It is pointless to compare the swarming fears of these days of pandemic, to other times of fright. In a time of significant dread, when we squirm with worry, and yearn to get a handle on it, it remains a raw mystery we can neither grasp or fully control.
We can show our fear respect, and we can cope with it. We can be at our best, and retain our hope and humor and humility. We can come together and unify. We can be true communities. We can offer total support to those who are working in our hospitals and clinics – those on the front lines.
Most fear is rooted deeply in the unknown. We are not in charge. We cannot confidently predict the future. This is a fear with a life all its own. It has lessons to teach, wisdom to impart, and it will demand we pay attention. We have officially been put on notice.
Fear is a daily reality for all humans. It may be a wisp, a breeze, a gale, or a tsunami. This pandemic appears to be like a hurricane which will last many months. The devastation will be internal and spiritual, as well as external and physical. The long terms costs on every level of our being are impossible to discern right now – maybe they never will be.
How do we combat fear? First, and foremost, we name it and claim it. We do not pretend it is not there, or that we have it on a leash. We will need to learn to embrace its presence. It is not an invited guest, but it doesn’t help to think of it as an intruder. We must face this opponent with humility, even modesty, but also with a bold and determined belief in our capacity to triumph.
This is not a time to talk or act like a bully. This is not an enemy which will care one whit how tough we talk, or how cocksure we behave. This is an enemy which will only respect our being smarter, not better.
It is smart to stop. It is smart to follow the calls to social distancing. It is smart to be patient. It is smart to be persevering. It is smart to put our health before our wealth. It is smart to expect our government to pull out all the stops in offering our people the help and support they need and deserve – especially the least of these.
This is not the time for political or religious squabbles. This is not the time to think we have all the answers. The world just shrank. There are no walls to contain this virus. No domes to keep us safe. There are just good people being good to one another, and joining hands and hearts and being physically and emotionally and spiritually present and supportive.
This is not a time to abide racism of any kind. This is not a time to have any use for elitism, aristocratic notions, or letting the gap grow larger. This is a time which literally screams with the need for us to close all the damn gaps. Knock down the damn walls. Have the courage to recognize that this virus celebrates equality, and if we are to be a victorious foe, we will need to do the very same.
These are hard times. Most of the world deals with hard times on a daily basis. For most of us, this is pretty new. So, we must get down to growing up. We must be mature. We cannot throw tantrums. We can’t rant and rave and stamp our feet. We must join forces and souls and tackle this crisis head on.
America, this is a defining moment! This is a critical time in our history when we will be judged by our willingness to put the WE before the ME, the HEALTH before the WEALTH, and the KINDNESS before all the partisan NASTINESS.
We know what history will write. We know it in our hearts. We know it in our souls. We know it as individuals and as a nation. History will not speak of our GREATNESS during this crisis, but about our GOODNESS. That will be, and has always been, eternally THE BOTTOM LINE.
DO GOOD. BE GOOD. GOODNESS KNOWS. IF WE ARE TO FEEL GOOD AGAIN AS A PEOPLE, WE MUST FEND OFF OUR FEARS WITH A STEADFAST FAITH WITH A BELIEF IN OUR ABILITY TO HELP HEAL THE WORLD AND A TRUST IN ONE ANOTHER TO SERVE AND SACRIFICE WHEN ASKED. WE NEED A FIERCE DETERMINATION AND HOPE TO GET PAST THIS PANDEMIC AND BE AN EVEN BETTER AND SMARTER AND MORE LOVING NATION. ONE NATION UNDER GOD, HOWEVER YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR HIGHER POWER. THE KEY WORD THERE IS, OF COURSE, UNDER.
Devotion 6: Less Miserable, More Content
Having been a minister for forty plus years, I long ago came to reconsider Thoreau’s contention that most people lead lives of quiet desperation.
I would contend modern Americans are quite vocal and loud about our complaints, and reveal a spirit which is often quite miserable. We whine and complain, bitch and moan, rant and rave and throw numerous adult tantrums. We seldom keep our inner turmoil secret. These days, we tend to find ways to advertise our state of being, like a neon sign grafted onto our souls.
This oft witnessed malaise or despair is seldom claimed by name. We act as if we still somehow give off an aura of contentment. The truth is that many of us are frequently possessed of a fussing and fuming spirit which rips about the room like a balloon released before being knotted. When we are filled with such fury, we never create a mood of calm for anyone.
This is, as always, a bad mix. Denying the obvious. Pretending not to see what is staring us in the face. Concealing a flaw in our character. We strive to camouflage our discontent under heavy layers of busyness and success. We fail. We fail, ironically, miserably.
I think this is the result of a blend of shame and guilt. We bellyache while knowing that by any standard in the world, our lives are indulged with great stability, security, and relative ease. I guess it is a good thing we feel at least a bit ashamed of whining, when parts of the world spend most of their day in search of food and water, or lack medical care. At least we still have SOME perspective on the matter.
However, when you have an eyelash in the eye, it is in your eye, and no matter how seemingly insignificant, it does provide a dose of genuine pain. This is the Truth of being miserable. We may have no excuses for being so, but that does not erase the reality that it is indeed our personal pain. It is there, and we do feel it.
The world we live in today often leaves us feeling as though we are on a grueling hike, and all forward motion is provided by somersaults. We are queasy. Sick to our stomachs and souls. Weary and unbalanced. The sky above is spinning. The earth below is quaking. We exist in a period of monumental change. It feels like an apocalypse, and the Armageddon is spiritual, as the battle is waged within our soul.
There is no possible way we will leave this pandemic experience, and go back to business as usual. It has been and will be too traumatic, and the future will see us incessantly looking over our shoulders. This is not to say we will not feel normal, at peace, or content again, but we will do so from a new point of view. We have had a massive dose of reality. We have hopefully been jarred loose from our indifference and apathy.
We now clearly know that our neighbors are ALL the people on the planet. We see how fragile our economy is, and how much the free market can be like a cancer cell. We will spend myriad decades seeking to redefine security and stability, let alone success. We will be forced to behave with greater simplicity, share more, sacrifice much more, serve one another, and try to be people of significance and substance. There is no way back from this precipice. We already jumped.
This is a moment in time which will demand us to mature. We must take stock. We must open our eyes, our hearts, our minds, and our souls, and become a kinder and more tender people and culture. We will need to chose to forgive everyone everything. We will be required to remove all conditions from our loving.
If we do not, well, the issue is clear, we risk extinction. We enter the eerie realm of the possible becoming probable. We become the people whose will may have knowingly destroyed the Earth simply by choosing to ignore all the warning signs. It is a most weighty matter we carry on our shoulders from here on out.
We may very well choose to sit quiet again as they continue to roll back the regulations on keeping our air and water clean, but there will be no smirks or snarky laughs. We know the price of our silence. As we literally watch the icecaps melt, is there anyone out there who will label this “no big deal”?
Evil is knowingly choosing to be destructive of Life. Yes, we are all evil at times. Now, the issue is whether we will sell our whole soul to this wantonly destructive process, and do so collectively as well as individually.
**********
Personally, I have been shaken by these times. I feel off kilter. Wobbly. Not rooted. Not grounded. Anxious, and a bit unbalanced. Still, I remain stunned at how quickly I can find a miraculous morsel of divine Creation, and behold a reason for being.
Just yesterday, I looked out the window to witness a lovely sunset. The sky was powdered in melon, and the steamy clouds were all pale pink and lilac, and the descending dusk was dipped in a deep cobalt blue. I grabbed my camera, got in my car, and knew exactly where I was going.
It is a small pond on a back road about ten miles outside of the city of Racine. A week earlier, I had noticed a shoreline of tall spiky reeds, the remnants of once proud sunflowers. They stood at attention, and the sunset offered a glorious backdrop. They looked like giant deep purple zinnias, or mini-fireworks, and they appeared to have been dipped in honey, the lighting aura all liquid and gold. I snapped several shots.
Then, I just stood there for about fifteen minutes. I oozed contentment. I felt so calm and collected, so at home in the universe, and within this little life of mine. I felt good. It felt sweet. The sourness drained off. The bitterness blew away. I had no complaints. Just a respect for the quiet dignity of a magnificent Creation.
We need to take the time to behold the Earth, and to bask in its wisdom and wonder. It is one sure way to shut us up, and free us from the miseries of our own creation. It is a sure thing. It is trusting God, as we understand our Higher Power, to restore our hope, and give it a rhyme and a reason once again.
It is out there waiting for us to notice. Pay attention. Stop and look and listen. Beauty is still the best eraser of misery. Sensing the Divine nature of the all of it, is one sure way to make the whining cease. Oohs and aahs just never sound like complaints, not even remotely.
LIKE A GENIUS SPIDER, WE HAVE SPUN A WEB OF MISERY. THE WEB IS SHAPED AND FORMED BY A GRID OF ARROGANCE AND IGNORANCE, AND SPECKLED BY THE INSECT CARCASSES OF OUR PRIDE AND FOOLISHLESS. OUR SOUL HAS BECOME ENTWINED IN THIS STICKY WEB, AND WE ARE FLAILING IN OUR EFFORTS TO RID OURSELVES OF THIS TACKY TWINE. I SUSPECT EVENTUALLY WE WILL FREE OURSELVES, BUT STRANDS OF THE GOOEY CRUD WILL REMAIN FOR A LONG TIME, AND IRONICALLY, JUST AS DURING THIS PANDEMIC, WE WILL BE CALLED UPON TO WASH OUR HANDS REPEATEDLY. HOWEVER, IN THIS CASE, WE WILL BE WASHING AWAY THE GRIME WHICH COVERS OUR SOUL. IT WILL REQUIRE A THOROUGH WASHING AND WRINGING OF OUR SOULS, AND AN ETERNITY OF DRIP DRY.
I would contend modern Americans are quite vocal and loud about our complaints, and reveal a spirit which is often quite miserable. We whine and complain, bitch and moan, rant and rave and throw numerous adult tantrums. We seldom keep our inner turmoil secret. These days, we tend to find ways to advertise our state of being, like a neon sign grafted onto our souls.
This oft witnessed malaise or despair is seldom claimed by name. We act as if we still somehow give off an aura of contentment. The truth is that many of us are frequently possessed of a fussing and fuming spirit which rips about the room like a balloon released before being knotted. When we are filled with such fury, we never create a mood of calm for anyone.
This is, as always, a bad mix. Denying the obvious. Pretending not to see what is staring us in the face. Concealing a flaw in our character. We strive to camouflage our discontent under heavy layers of busyness and success. We fail. We fail, ironically, miserably.
I think this is the result of a blend of shame and guilt. We bellyache while knowing that by any standard in the world, our lives are indulged with great stability, security, and relative ease. I guess it is a good thing we feel at least a bit ashamed of whining, when parts of the world spend most of their day in search of food and water, or lack medical care. At least we still have SOME perspective on the matter.
However, when you have an eyelash in the eye, it is in your eye, and no matter how seemingly insignificant, it does provide a dose of genuine pain. This is the Truth of being miserable. We may have no excuses for being so, but that does not erase the reality that it is indeed our personal pain. It is there, and we do feel it.
The world we live in today often leaves us feeling as though we are on a grueling hike, and all forward motion is provided by somersaults. We are queasy. Sick to our stomachs and souls. Weary and unbalanced. The sky above is spinning. The earth below is quaking. We exist in a period of monumental change. It feels like an apocalypse, and the Armageddon is spiritual, as the battle is waged within our soul.
There is no possible way we will leave this pandemic experience, and go back to business as usual. It has been and will be too traumatic, and the future will see us incessantly looking over our shoulders. This is not to say we will not feel normal, at peace, or content again, but we will do so from a new point of view. We have had a massive dose of reality. We have hopefully been jarred loose from our indifference and apathy.
We now clearly know that our neighbors are ALL the people on the planet. We see how fragile our economy is, and how much the free market can be like a cancer cell. We will spend myriad decades seeking to redefine security and stability, let alone success. We will be forced to behave with greater simplicity, share more, sacrifice much more, serve one another, and try to be people of significance and substance. There is no way back from this precipice. We already jumped.
This is a moment in time which will demand us to mature. We must take stock. We must open our eyes, our hearts, our minds, and our souls, and become a kinder and more tender people and culture. We will need to chose to forgive everyone everything. We will be required to remove all conditions from our loving.
If we do not, well, the issue is clear, we risk extinction. We enter the eerie realm of the possible becoming probable. We become the people whose will may have knowingly destroyed the Earth simply by choosing to ignore all the warning signs. It is a most weighty matter we carry on our shoulders from here on out.
We may very well choose to sit quiet again as they continue to roll back the regulations on keeping our air and water clean, but there will be no smirks or snarky laughs. We know the price of our silence. As we literally watch the icecaps melt, is there anyone out there who will label this “no big deal”?
Evil is knowingly choosing to be destructive of Life. Yes, we are all evil at times. Now, the issue is whether we will sell our whole soul to this wantonly destructive process, and do so collectively as well as individually.
**********
Personally, I have been shaken by these times. I feel off kilter. Wobbly. Not rooted. Not grounded. Anxious, and a bit unbalanced. Still, I remain stunned at how quickly I can find a miraculous morsel of divine Creation, and behold a reason for being.
Just yesterday, I looked out the window to witness a lovely sunset. The sky was powdered in melon, and the steamy clouds were all pale pink and lilac, and the descending dusk was dipped in a deep cobalt blue. I grabbed my camera, got in my car, and knew exactly where I was going.
It is a small pond on a back road about ten miles outside of the city of Racine. A week earlier, I had noticed a shoreline of tall spiky reeds, the remnants of once proud sunflowers. They stood at attention, and the sunset offered a glorious backdrop. They looked like giant deep purple zinnias, or mini-fireworks, and they appeared to have been dipped in honey, the lighting aura all liquid and gold. I snapped several shots.
Then, I just stood there for about fifteen minutes. I oozed contentment. I felt so calm and collected, so at home in the universe, and within this little life of mine. I felt good. It felt sweet. The sourness drained off. The bitterness blew away. I had no complaints. Just a respect for the quiet dignity of a magnificent Creation.
We need to take the time to behold the Earth, and to bask in its wisdom and wonder. It is one sure way to shut us up, and free us from the miseries of our own creation. It is a sure thing. It is trusting God, as we understand our Higher Power, to restore our hope, and give it a rhyme and a reason once again.
It is out there waiting for us to notice. Pay attention. Stop and look and listen. Beauty is still the best eraser of misery. Sensing the Divine nature of the all of it, is one sure way to make the whining cease. Oohs and aahs just never sound like complaints, not even remotely.
LIKE A GENIUS SPIDER, WE HAVE SPUN A WEB OF MISERY. THE WEB IS SHAPED AND FORMED BY A GRID OF ARROGANCE AND IGNORANCE, AND SPECKLED BY THE INSECT CARCASSES OF OUR PRIDE AND FOOLISHLESS. OUR SOUL HAS BECOME ENTWINED IN THIS STICKY WEB, AND WE ARE FLAILING IN OUR EFFORTS TO RID OURSELVES OF THIS TACKY TWINE. I SUSPECT EVENTUALLY WE WILL FREE OURSELVES, BUT STRANDS OF THE GOOEY CRUD WILL REMAIN FOR A LONG TIME, AND IRONICALLY, JUST AS DURING THIS PANDEMIC, WE WILL BE CALLED UPON TO WASH OUR HANDS REPEATEDLY. HOWEVER, IN THIS CASE, WE WILL BE WASHING AWAY THE GRIME WHICH COVERS OUR SOUL. IT WILL REQUIRE A THOROUGH WASHING AND WRINGING OF OUR SOULS, AND AN ETERNITY OF DRIP DRY.
Devotion 7: Less Religious, More Spiritual
I am a mostly retired minister. I still do the occasional wedding or baptism, however, at the age of seventy, I am often called upon to officiate at funerals. I treasure all these opportunities. They make me feel needed and somehow still connected to the Church. It always feels satisfying.
In the past decade, when asking families or couples about what they hope for at their special service, there is a consistent preamble I hear. “Pastor Grimbol, I just want you to know that I am not very religious, but I do consider myself to be spiritual.” I have come to a much deeper understanding and appreciation for this expressed sentiment.
First, I noted that it was the same comment being made for a wedding, a baptism or a funeral. Second, I have learned that folks who say it have a genuine motivation. They wish to acknowledge they see a change in themselves, a moving away from religion. Third, and finally, what I first thought was no more than a cheap excuse is usually a statement of longing, a yearning to become more spiritual, a deep desire to nurture a long absent soul.
I would encourage most folks to become less religious. I know, more than a bit ironic. However, I have come to agree with what it is that turns so many adults and youth off and away from organized religion. Pastors know what they are saying, we just do not want to hear it.
They are saying that religion is too organized. They do not want their soul confined by a creed, or spouting words they barely understand, and which offer no real assistance or help to their daily lives. They are saying they are tired of all the dogma and doctrine debates, rules and regulations, dos and don’ts, as it feels to them like being cloned.
They are saying they are bored. They are not anti-religion, or even anti-ritual or anti-liturgy, they just need some variety, and some change. The Church tends to be in one big rut, and as my grandmother often said, “The only difference between a rut and a grave, is the depth.” They want to be challenged and comforted and called, lifted up to higher ground. They want to cultivate their own original faith and ministry. Bottom line – too much of the same old thing.
They are saying no to being indoctrinated. It feels like being brainwashed. They have no desire to be told what they must believe, and they have even less desire to hear about a Heaven as a reward, or a Hell as a punishment. They want inspiration about how to enjoy their lives, and how to make a difference. They want to know they matter. They want tips on a genuine good life, a life full of being good, and doing some good. No, not as a fanatic or do-gooder or holy-roller, but having the discipline of compassion and care.
They are saying they would like to feel at home and intimate in a community which cares, and has a vision and a voice. They are looking for a place and a people where they are not unified by what they believe, the creeds, but by how they choose to live and act, the deeds. They long for a living faith. A faith which is awake, aware, and alive to all the wondrous possibilities of each day. They want an original faith. They want a faith which is a verb, not a noun.
What they mean by spirituality is rooted in two very basic concepts. They see spirituality as being the same as MATURING. When we grow, we grow up, we become on the up and up. Spirituality is a journey, not a destination. It is a walk, not a talk. It raises questions and does not pretend to have all the answers. It celebrates diversity, not conformity. Spirituality quivers with awe and wonder and doubt, and is always expanding and moving and changing, and reaching out for the mystery and the Truth.
Spirituality is also hard work. SPIRITUALITY DIGS DEEP. It demands conviction and commitment, and requires service and sacrifice. Spirituality is not shallow. It is not empty. It is not artificial. It is not captured on a bumper sticker, and is often found where we least expect it. There is a depth to real spirituality, not some quick flash feeling of contentment. True spirituality transforms us, scrapes away some of the make-up and grime, and grafts on generosity and graciousness. It is also a process which possesses a steady pulse of humility, humor, and hope.
At this point in time and my career, I would highly recommend less religion, and more spirituality. We know the difference. One feels safe and cozy and familiar. One feels like a breath of clean fresh air after a long summer of hot and humid. There is nothing wrong with either.
I would contend, however, there is something right about those looking for something else, who wish to take a risk on the new, and desire to be filled with the fresh breeze of the Spirit and to fill up their soul with an energy and purpose and meaning which can help recover their joy in being alive. I believe with my whole being that spirituality is the call of the 21st century, and the vision which can inspire us to healthier and more hope filled lifestyles.
Just a hunch. I think many of us sense that we are living like spoiled brats. It all about me, and never about we. It is way too much about Wall Street and wealth, and too little about the Kingdom and health. I suspect that we know we know. We know we need to be transformed at our core, which is our soul.
Like Dorothy, we need to leave technicolor Oz and head home to the simplicity of black and white Kansas. Like ET, we need to go home to where we belong, and fit, and have our meaning. Like the Prodigal Son, we need to stop squandering our fortune, and come to our senses, and come back home to the place where Grace resides.
Spirituality is indeed the way to go, and the path back home.
RELIGION HAS BECOME A MOLD FOR MANY, AND SPIRITUALITY OUR MEANS OF BREAKING THAT MOLD. LIKE A COLORING BOOK, RELIGION TAUGHT US ABOUT PERSPECTIVE AND COLOR AND CREATING AN IMAGE. SPIRITUALITY IS HOW WE PAINT A LIFE. WE PAINT ON A WIDE CANVAS, AND WITH A TRUE CELEBRTATION OF BOTH GREYS AND MYRIAD COLORS, AS WELL AS THE OCCASIONAL BLACK AND WHITE. SPIRITUALITY IS ALWAYS ORIGINAL, AND ITS GOAL IS TO DEVELOP A SIGNATURE STYLE.
In the past decade, when asking families or couples about what they hope for at their special service, there is a consistent preamble I hear. “Pastor Grimbol, I just want you to know that I am not very religious, but I do consider myself to be spiritual.” I have come to a much deeper understanding and appreciation for this expressed sentiment.
First, I noted that it was the same comment being made for a wedding, a baptism or a funeral. Second, I have learned that folks who say it have a genuine motivation. They wish to acknowledge they see a change in themselves, a moving away from religion. Third, and finally, what I first thought was no more than a cheap excuse is usually a statement of longing, a yearning to become more spiritual, a deep desire to nurture a long absent soul.
I would encourage most folks to become less religious. I know, more than a bit ironic. However, I have come to agree with what it is that turns so many adults and youth off and away from organized religion. Pastors know what they are saying, we just do not want to hear it.
They are saying that religion is too organized. They do not want their soul confined by a creed, or spouting words they barely understand, and which offer no real assistance or help to their daily lives. They are saying they are tired of all the dogma and doctrine debates, rules and regulations, dos and don’ts, as it feels to them like being cloned.
They are saying they are bored. They are not anti-religion, or even anti-ritual or anti-liturgy, they just need some variety, and some change. The Church tends to be in one big rut, and as my grandmother often said, “The only difference between a rut and a grave, is the depth.” They want to be challenged and comforted and called, lifted up to higher ground. They want to cultivate their own original faith and ministry. Bottom line – too much of the same old thing.
They are saying no to being indoctrinated. It feels like being brainwashed. They have no desire to be told what they must believe, and they have even less desire to hear about a Heaven as a reward, or a Hell as a punishment. They want inspiration about how to enjoy their lives, and how to make a difference. They want to know they matter. They want tips on a genuine good life, a life full of being good, and doing some good. No, not as a fanatic or do-gooder or holy-roller, but having the discipline of compassion and care.
They are saying they would like to feel at home and intimate in a community which cares, and has a vision and a voice. They are looking for a place and a people where they are not unified by what they believe, the creeds, but by how they choose to live and act, the deeds. They long for a living faith. A faith which is awake, aware, and alive to all the wondrous possibilities of each day. They want an original faith. They want a faith which is a verb, not a noun.
What they mean by spirituality is rooted in two very basic concepts. They see spirituality as being the same as MATURING. When we grow, we grow up, we become on the up and up. Spirituality is a journey, not a destination. It is a walk, not a talk. It raises questions and does not pretend to have all the answers. It celebrates diversity, not conformity. Spirituality quivers with awe and wonder and doubt, and is always expanding and moving and changing, and reaching out for the mystery and the Truth.
Spirituality is also hard work. SPIRITUALITY DIGS DEEP. It demands conviction and commitment, and requires service and sacrifice. Spirituality is not shallow. It is not empty. It is not artificial. It is not captured on a bumper sticker, and is often found where we least expect it. There is a depth to real spirituality, not some quick flash feeling of contentment. True spirituality transforms us, scrapes away some of the make-up and grime, and grafts on generosity and graciousness. It is also a process which possesses a steady pulse of humility, humor, and hope.
At this point in time and my career, I would highly recommend less religion, and more spirituality. We know the difference. One feels safe and cozy and familiar. One feels like a breath of clean fresh air after a long summer of hot and humid. There is nothing wrong with either.
I would contend, however, there is something right about those looking for something else, who wish to take a risk on the new, and desire to be filled with the fresh breeze of the Spirit and to fill up their soul with an energy and purpose and meaning which can help recover their joy in being alive. I believe with my whole being that spirituality is the call of the 21st century, and the vision which can inspire us to healthier and more hope filled lifestyles.
Just a hunch. I think many of us sense that we are living like spoiled brats. It all about me, and never about we. It is way too much about Wall Street and wealth, and too little about the Kingdom and health. I suspect that we know we know. We know we need to be transformed at our core, which is our soul.
Like Dorothy, we need to leave technicolor Oz and head home to the simplicity of black and white Kansas. Like ET, we need to go home to where we belong, and fit, and have our meaning. Like the Prodigal Son, we need to stop squandering our fortune, and come to our senses, and come back home to the place where Grace resides.
Spirituality is indeed the way to go, and the path back home.
RELIGION HAS BECOME A MOLD FOR MANY, AND SPIRITUALITY OUR MEANS OF BREAKING THAT MOLD. LIKE A COLORING BOOK, RELIGION TAUGHT US ABOUT PERSPECTIVE AND COLOR AND CREATING AN IMAGE. SPIRITUALITY IS HOW WE PAINT A LIFE. WE PAINT ON A WIDE CANVAS, AND WITH A TRUE CELEBRTATION OF BOTH GREYS AND MYRIAD COLORS, AS WELL AS THE OCCASIONAL BLACK AND WHITE. SPIRITUALITY IS ALWAYS ORIGINAL, AND ITS GOAL IS TO DEVELOP A SIGNATURE STYLE.
Devotion 8: Less Blame, More Mercy
We are experiencing a devastating pandemic. America has already lost 50,000 of its citizens. Our economy is in a downward spiral, and million are unemployed. We are all scared. The degree may vary, but the fright is a presence we can see on all our faces.
Blame the Chinese. Blame the immigrants. Blame the governors. Blame the mayors. Blame the Church. Blame the lack of preparedness. Blame those who first called the pandemic an impeachment hoax. Blame the scientific community for not screaming even louder or earlier.
We all know the futility of the blame game, and its sheer stupidity. We are all to blame. Humanity is to blame. Who knows the root causes of this pandemic and why waste precious time on trying to name a villain?
After 9/11, America had the good will of much of the world, which we promptly squandered by needing to find an enemy, then claiming they had weapons of mass destruction. We had our bad guy, but we quickly lost our own status as a good nation. Sadly, we defended going to war on one big whopper of a lie. There were no weapons of mass destruction. Many would contend we had also named the wrong enemy.
Yes, we do need to know the sources and cause of this pandemic. We need expert advise on how to be better prepared to fight something so swift and furious and lethal. We need to heed the wisdom of a scientific community who has been offering a pandemic warning since 2011, maybe even earlier.
But for now, we do not need nasty partisanship. We can’t call a screaming match a good discussion. We cannot keep lying or pretending to have all the answers. We must know the experts from the amateurs. We must avoid the idea of a quick easy fix. We must make mature sound well informed choices, and decisions which take ALL of us into account.
Yes, the frustration is palpable, but it has nothing to do with liberty. Nobody has the right to a behavior which so clearly puts others innocently at risk. That is not only absurd, it is such a blatant misuse of the Constitution. Just as crazy utilizing the Constitution to legitimize privately owned assault weapons. No Founding Father could have ever comprehended such absurdity in the first place.
On this one, we do not need to hear much from politicians, Big Business, the Insurance lobby, or the libertarians. We need to hear from the scientific community and medical establishment. We need to hear from the CDC. We need concise, incisive, and accurate advice. Give us the facts. Don’t stoke our fears. Don’t hammer a wedge between us. Bring us together. Give us some hope.
Ironically, I think a good solid place to begin our search for answers is with a major dose of mercy. We are all at the mercy of this pandemic. We must accept that it is taking us on a wild roller coaster ride, and will be with us for an extensive period of time. Mercy is a good place to start, as mercy always requires persistence and tenacity and time. It is never swift.
Mercy means recognizing that the whole world is suffering. People are dying all over the globe. Our American crisis is not bigger or worse than any other nations. It is an international tragedy, no matter how you look at it. We need to feel genuine compassion for all the peoples of the world, no matter what their color, religion, or politics. We must care. We must care about everyone everywhere. We must expand our loving even to our enemies.
I believe mercy to be divine to its core. I believe it is the mandate of Creation. I believe it is the first law of being human. We must forgive one another. We must refuse to get enraged with one another. We must find the hope of mercy in the midst of all this darkness. Mercy seeds Grace, and can offer us a ray of hope.
My late friend, Forrest Church, the beloved Senior Pastor of All Souls Church in NYC, told me repeatedly in the final months of his life, “Grimbol, forgive everyone, everything. From my perspective, it makes perfect sense, trust me.”
I do. I also hope we will coat our efforts and concerns and fears during this time, in a thick rich coat of mercy. It will make things so much more emotionally and spiritually easier, and HOPE all that more likely to be born anew.
ALL HOPE IS BUILT UPON THE FIRM FOUNDATION OF MERCY, AND IT IS MERCY ALONE WHICH INSPIRES A GENUINE AND MATURE FAITH. IT IS UPON THE STRONG SHOULDERS OF MERCY, THAT THE BURDENS AND JOYS OF A LOVING RELATIONSHIP DO REST
Blame the Chinese. Blame the immigrants. Blame the governors. Blame the mayors. Blame the Church. Blame the lack of preparedness. Blame those who first called the pandemic an impeachment hoax. Blame the scientific community for not screaming even louder or earlier.
We all know the futility of the blame game, and its sheer stupidity. We are all to blame. Humanity is to blame. Who knows the root causes of this pandemic and why waste precious time on trying to name a villain?
After 9/11, America had the good will of much of the world, which we promptly squandered by needing to find an enemy, then claiming they had weapons of mass destruction. We had our bad guy, but we quickly lost our own status as a good nation. Sadly, we defended going to war on one big whopper of a lie. There were no weapons of mass destruction. Many would contend we had also named the wrong enemy.
Yes, we do need to know the sources and cause of this pandemic. We need expert advise on how to be better prepared to fight something so swift and furious and lethal. We need to heed the wisdom of a scientific community who has been offering a pandemic warning since 2011, maybe even earlier.
But for now, we do not need nasty partisanship. We can’t call a screaming match a good discussion. We cannot keep lying or pretending to have all the answers. We must know the experts from the amateurs. We must avoid the idea of a quick easy fix. We must make mature sound well informed choices, and decisions which take ALL of us into account.
Yes, the frustration is palpable, but it has nothing to do with liberty. Nobody has the right to a behavior which so clearly puts others innocently at risk. That is not only absurd, it is such a blatant misuse of the Constitution. Just as crazy utilizing the Constitution to legitimize privately owned assault weapons. No Founding Father could have ever comprehended such absurdity in the first place.
On this one, we do not need to hear much from politicians, Big Business, the Insurance lobby, or the libertarians. We need to hear from the scientific community and medical establishment. We need to hear from the CDC. We need concise, incisive, and accurate advice. Give us the facts. Don’t stoke our fears. Don’t hammer a wedge between us. Bring us together. Give us some hope.
Ironically, I think a good solid place to begin our search for answers is with a major dose of mercy. We are all at the mercy of this pandemic. We must accept that it is taking us on a wild roller coaster ride, and will be with us for an extensive period of time. Mercy is a good place to start, as mercy always requires persistence and tenacity and time. It is never swift.
Mercy means recognizing that the whole world is suffering. People are dying all over the globe. Our American crisis is not bigger or worse than any other nations. It is an international tragedy, no matter how you look at it. We need to feel genuine compassion for all the peoples of the world, no matter what their color, religion, or politics. We must care. We must care about everyone everywhere. We must expand our loving even to our enemies.
I believe mercy to be divine to its core. I believe it is the mandate of Creation. I believe it is the first law of being human. We must forgive one another. We must refuse to get enraged with one another. We must find the hope of mercy in the midst of all this darkness. Mercy seeds Grace, and can offer us a ray of hope.
My late friend, Forrest Church, the beloved Senior Pastor of All Souls Church in NYC, told me repeatedly in the final months of his life, “Grimbol, forgive everyone, everything. From my perspective, it makes perfect sense, trust me.”
I do. I also hope we will coat our efforts and concerns and fears during this time, in a thick rich coat of mercy. It will make things so much more emotionally and spiritually easier, and HOPE all that more likely to be born anew.
ALL HOPE IS BUILT UPON THE FIRM FOUNDATION OF MERCY, AND IT IS MERCY ALONE WHICH INSPIRES A GENUINE AND MATURE FAITH. IT IS UPON THE STRONG SHOULDERS OF MERCY, THAT THE BURDENS AND JOYS OF A LOVING RELATIONSHIP DO REST
Devotion 9: Less Tame, More Wild
This is tough to admit. Not painful tough, more embarrassing tough. It feels itchy and sticky and uncomfortable. Still, it is a fact about myself I have always known.
I was raised in a house drenched in fear. My mother told me if I went out past the buoys in Lake Michigan, I would surely drown. She never once mentioned learning how to swim. She also told me, on my first solo sojourn with my pals to the 4th of July parade, that horses were highly prone to stampede. During August thunderstorms, when the sky went dark grey to black to eerie green, we were led to the basement and prepared for our trip to Oz.
My father was far more subtle. He simply listened to the police radio every night, and would often comment to me, “Well, Billy, IT isn’t happening here.” I was always left holding the bag of just what the IT was.
This fear was thick and pervasive, and coated my entire childhood. I grew up to play it safe. I did not climb trees or fences. I did not explore or go on adventures. I took no risks. I played it safe. I seldom, if ever, did anything even remotely wrong. I remember when I got my license to drive, I never left the city limits of Racine, because I did not know how to fix a flat tire, and was too embarrassed to admit I was lacking the manly technical skills.
I always made choices based solely on being popular, pleasing adults, and having a spotless reputation. I did not rebel. I did not act up. I did not do anything which might arouse suspicion or a warning. I presented a pristine puritanical image, which, trust me, was far from the truth. I had a soul littered by secrets.
I was very tame boy and young man. I heard my mother and my aunt’s warnings about “wild boy” influences, and I steered clear, and in fear, of anyone with such a label. I was wildly afraid of fighting and went to great lengths to avoid a fist fight, which I never had, not once. Even the thought of being a “wild boy” was terrifying. I can honestly say I never even entertained the possibility.
Bottom line, I wanted to be cherished and adored. And I was. However, I soon learned that being worshipped is not being loved.
I would encourage any teen today to cultivate a sense of wildness in their soul. I no longer think of being wild as necessarily reckless or dangerous, though it can be. I think of it more as being adventurous and a bit of a risk. It is exploring and trying and choosing to do and be new things. I think rebellion is a normal and healthy part of adolescence.
One thing I might wish to point out is, after years of examining the causes of teen depression and suicidal thinking, I came to the point of warning parents to beware of the child described as, “too good to be true.” Those so called are truly too good for their own good, and their perfectionism and people pleasing sits upon their souls like a ton of bricks. It will stifle their breathing, and eventually lead to snuffing the life right out of them.
Wildness is freedom. It is making a choice, and risking a failure or flop. It is trusting a hunch or intuition, and following a star or calling. It is seeking to find meaning and answers. It is the avoidance of conformity and cloning. It is saying no to someone else being in charge. It is claiming the right to be true to your own Self.
Wildness is movement. It is going away. It is moving against the grain. It is outside of the box. It is risking feeling like a foreigner, or alien. It is a leap of faith. It is a decision to grow up, mature, become, and make the changes your heart may call you to make. Being wild is growing toward the light. It is also often a rejection and an abandonment, a leaving behind, and a choice to try a whole new way.
I always found it fascinating when I would ask a Confirmation class how they saw the life of Jesus, they would quickly ascertain that he was a rebel, a risk taker, and a champion of the unpopular. Youth note that had Jesus played it safe, he would never been crucified. I think that you, far more than adults, understand why we call Good Friday “good.”
If you want a description of a life devoted to a wild ride, just reread the Beatitudes … MATTHEW 5:1-12. Then imagine what it was like to hear this quite offensive message for the very first time. Basically, it was Jesus telling people that those he though of as blessed and happy, were the very people the world saw as cursed and miserable.
I will never be a rebel. Maybe with my mouth from time to time, but it is not a walk I often choose to make. Still, being wild is something I value deeply, and believe is a sure thing in the maturing department. I doubt I could ever fully release myself from the grip of my fear driven roots, but I can advocate for parents to improve their wing making skills.
STANDING UP FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN. MAKING A MOVE. TAKING ACTION. A LEAP OF FAITH. TAKING A RISK. A JUMP FOP JOY. THE CALL OF FREEDOM. THE CALL OF A HIGHER POWER TO OBEY YOUR VERY OWN SOUL. THE FOLLOWING OF YOUR HEART. BEING LED BY THE GRACE OF A STAR. A PILRIMAGE. A SACRED SOJOURN. A SEEK AFTER GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY. THE FINDING OF BOTH IN THE MIDST OF YOUR OWN LIFE. THE RECOGNITION THAT THE BIGGEST RISK IS NOT DYING, BUT FAILING TO REALLY LIVE BEFORE YOU DO.
I was raised in a house drenched in fear. My mother told me if I went out past the buoys in Lake Michigan, I would surely drown. She never once mentioned learning how to swim. She also told me, on my first solo sojourn with my pals to the 4th of July parade, that horses were highly prone to stampede. During August thunderstorms, when the sky went dark grey to black to eerie green, we were led to the basement and prepared for our trip to Oz.
My father was far more subtle. He simply listened to the police radio every night, and would often comment to me, “Well, Billy, IT isn’t happening here.” I was always left holding the bag of just what the IT was.
This fear was thick and pervasive, and coated my entire childhood. I grew up to play it safe. I did not climb trees or fences. I did not explore or go on adventures. I took no risks. I played it safe. I seldom, if ever, did anything even remotely wrong. I remember when I got my license to drive, I never left the city limits of Racine, because I did not know how to fix a flat tire, and was too embarrassed to admit I was lacking the manly technical skills.
I always made choices based solely on being popular, pleasing adults, and having a spotless reputation. I did not rebel. I did not act up. I did not do anything which might arouse suspicion or a warning. I presented a pristine puritanical image, which, trust me, was far from the truth. I had a soul littered by secrets.
I was very tame boy and young man. I heard my mother and my aunt’s warnings about “wild boy” influences, and I steered clear, and in fear, of anyone with such a label. I was wildly afraid of fighting and went to great lengths to avoid a fist fight, which I never had, not once. Even the thought of being a “wild boy” was terrifying. I can honestly say I never even entertained the possibility.
Bottom line, I wanted to be cherished and adored. And I was. However, I soon learned that being worshipped is not being loved.
I would encourage any teen today to cultivate a sense of wildness in their soul. I no longer think of being wild as necessarily reckless or dangerous, though it can be. I think of it more as being adventurous and a bit of a risk. It is exploring and trying and choosing to do and be new things. I think rebellion is a normal and healthy part of adolescence.
One thing I might wish to point out is, after years of examining the causes of teen depression and suicidal thinking, I came to the point of warning parents to beware of the child described as, “too good to be true.” Those so called are truly too good for their own good, and their perfectionism and people pleasing sits upon their souls like a ton of bricks. It will stifle their breathing, and eventually lead to snuffing the life right out of them.
Wildness is freedom. It is making a choice, and risking a failure or flop. It is trusting a hunch or intuition, and following a star or calling. It is seeking to find meaning and answers. It is the avoidance of conformity and cloning. It is saying no to someone else being in charge. It is claiming the right to be true to your own Self.
Wildness is movement. It is going away. It is moving against the grain. It is outside of the box. It is risking feeling like a foreigner, or alien. It is a leap of faith. It is a decision to grow up, mature, become, and make the changes your heart may call you to make. Being wild is growing toward the light. It is also often a rejection and an abandonment, a leaving behind, and a choice to try a whole new way.
I always found it fascinating when I would ask a Confirmation class how they saw the life of Jesus, they would quickly ascertain that he was a rebel, a risk taker, and a champion of the unpopular. Youth note that had Jesus played it safe, he would never been crucified. I think that you, far more than adults, understand why we call Good Friday “good.”
If you want a description of a life devoted to a wild ride, just reread the Beatitudes … MATTHEW 5:1-12. Then imagine what it was like to hear this quite offensive message for the very first time. Basically, it was Jesus telling people that those he though of as blessed and happy, were the very people the world saw as cursed and miserable.
I will never be a rebel. Maybe with my mouth from time to time, but it is not a walk I often choose to make. Still, being wild is something I value deeply, and believe is a sure thing in the maturing department. I doubt I could ever fully release myself from the grip of my fear driven roots, but I can advocate for parents to improve their wing making skills.
STANDING UP FOR WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN. MAKING A MOVE. TAKING ACTION. A LEAP OF FAITH. TAKING A RISK. A JUMP FOP JOY. THE CALL OF FREEDOM. THE CALL OF A HIGHER POWER TO OBEY YOUR VERY OWN SOUL. THE FOLLOWING OF YOUR HEART. BEING LED BY THE GRACE OF A STAR. A PILRIMAGE. A SACRED SOJOURN. A SEEK AFTER GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY. THE FINDING OF BOTH IN THE MIDST OF YOUR OWN LIFE. THE RECOGNITION THAT THE BIGGEST RISK IS NOT DYING, BUT FAILING TO REALLY LIVE BEFORE YOU DO.
Devotion 10: Less Bored, More Joyful
“I AM BORED TO DEATH!”
The refrain of childhood, often spoken on those days spent in school or confined to one’s room. A cornerstone chant of adolescence. The mumbled sigh of many adults.
I think children use the phrase as a means of declaring their right to be entertained, and to demand the full-time attention of a parent. It is also a means of expressing the reality of not knowing what to do that one hasn’t done a zillion-times before. Thus, it expresses a lack of freshness, a state of sour stupor. I also sadly believe it shows the steady decline of curiosity and imagination and wonder in our children today. Their technological gadgetry is so much more exciting than their days.
For the teen, it is a mantra, an effective means of declaring Life to be unworthy of attention or notice and the placing of oneself on a pedestal high and lifted up and above, beyond all mundane matters taking place on the earth below. It's also the declaration, “I don't enjoy my own company, and I must have the company of my peers at all times.” The peers are never the cause of the boredom, but rather, they alone share a spiritual understanding of it.
Boredom, as we know, is also a primary ingredient in the creation of the spiritual context conducive to addiction. The teens statistics on addictive and compulsive behavior are well documented and staggering. Addiction is built upon a firm foundation of finding nothing all that interesting. Addiction is saying a resounding “NO!” to whatever Life has to offer.
Adults have a hard time admitting their boredom, and so they wear it. A grimace on the face. Wincing eyes. Clenched fists. Grinding teeth. Tics and twitches. Itches and yens. A body stressed to the point of snapping. Boredom is what adults call being burned out, overwhelmed, exhausted, or void of meaning. They carry a shroud of death on their shoulders, and give off a spirit which states their soul is heavily burdened or spent.
No matter at what age boredom in experienced, it remains a choice. It is a decision to ignore all other possibilities. It is a glaring lack of gratitude. It is a swarming guilt in having fun or rest. It is the belief that every moment of every day must be spent proving our worth. It is a flat-out rejection of receiving anything from anyone. It is giving up on God. It is a shrug of the soul.
Ironically, I suspect the biggest source of boredom is busyness. Our lives are so frenzied and agitated with expectation and demand we become paralyzed, deadened, callus and cold, our spirits function like carcasses. Even children and teens are bound to ridiculous schedules of practices and rehearsals and meets and matches and games and hobbies and artistic endeavors, and, of course, the desperate need to find the hours to be spent texting or talking or gaming on their magical gadgets. Adults tend to establish TO DO lists longer than their arms, and fail to place either God, a Higher Power, or themselves upon them.
The choice of boredom is a way of surviving and complaining and establishing our supposed supremacy, and it is also a convenient way of avoiding living Life on Life’s terms. It is how many of us, especially our youth, manage to squander the fortune of each and every day. It is a means of denial. It is a technique for avoiding responsibility. It maims most dreams, and kills the spirit which might create a genuine hope.
Boredom literally slays joy. Boredom sucks out the excitement of the soul. Boredom depletes the human spirit of the resources needed to be awake and alive and aware. Boredom yields robots. Boredom manufactures heartless living. Boredom is marching in place in quicksand. Boredom is dying before we die. Most of all, boredom mugs us of our happiness, including the gift of enjoying our day.
Joy, just like boredom, is a choice. It is a decision of perspective. Joy is an attitude of gratitude. Joy is seeing Life as pure and precious. Joy is paying attention and noticing, bearing witness to the little miracles taking place around us, and our own capacity to create a miracle by simply loving someone.
Ultimately, joy is a leap of faith. It is not a belief. It is not a creed. It is not a doctrine. It is not the possession of one denomination. It is a genuine spreading of the wings of our souls, and the willingness to let the air currents of the Spirit lift us up in flight. Just as sailing is dependent on receiving the wind, joy is dependent on receiving the holy spiritual presence of Life and Love.
God, or our Higher Power, is at our back, blowing aloft the bubbles of our dreams, and encouraging us to keep focus, endure, be patient and persevere to the end, and cheers us on every step of the way.
Joy is knowing we are beloved. In every fiber of our being, joy is tingling with the enthusiasm to embrace the day. Joy is the power to seize, grasp, hold, behold, the Presence of the Creator. It is the wisdom to know we share in this creative spirit and energy and power. Joy soars. It is the only way we can. We are like gliders, and the winds are the Grace. There is literally nothing else like it in Life.
STALE. SOUR. SPOILED. GRIM. GRIMY. GRIMACING. COLD. CALLUS. CALCULATING.
BOREDOM TRANSFORMS LIFE INTO AN ENDURANCE TEST WHICH NOBODY PASSES. BOREDOM WASTES AND KILLS TIME; BOREDOM INJURES ETERNITY. BOREDOM IS A BAD IDEA FROM THE BEGINNING. BOREDOM IS A DECISION TO WITHOLD LOVE. IT IS A DECISION TO NOT EMBRACE THE MYSTERY OF CREATION. IT IS A REFUSAL OF BEING INTIMATE WITH A HIGHER POWER OF ANY KIND.
JOY IS UNLEASHING THE LOVE DAMMED UP WITHIN US. JOY TRUSTS THE FLOW. JOY RISKS THE GUSH. JOY EXPRESSES THE SOUL AT ITS VERY BEST. JOY DISPLAYS A SPIRIT GROWN WILD WITH THE HOPE OF A FULL LIFE. JOY IS THE MOST CONTAGIOUS EMOTION OF ALL.
The refrain of childhood, often spoken on those days spent in school or confined to one’s room. A cornerstone chant of adolescence. The mumbled sigh of many adults.
I think children use the phrase as a means of declaring their right to be entertained, and to demand the full-time attention of a parent. It is also a means of expressing the reality of not knowing what to do that one hasn’t done a zillion-times before. Thus, it expresses a lack of freshness, a state of sour stupor. I also sadly believe it shows the steady decline of curiosity and imagination and wonder in our children today. Their technological gadgetry is so much more exciting than their days.
For the teen, it is a mantra, an effective means of declaring Life to be unworthy of attention or notice and the placing of oneself on a pedestal high and lifted up and above, beyond all mundane matters taking place on the earth below. It's also the declaration, “I don't enjoy my own company, and I must have the company of my peers at all times.” The peers are never the cause of the boredom, but rather, they alone share a spiritual understanding of it.
Boredom, as we know, is also a primary ingredient in the creation of the spiritual context conducive to addiction. The teens statistics on addictive and compulsive behavior are well documented and staggering. Addiction is built upon a firm foundation of finding nothing all that interesting. Addiction is saying a resounding “NO!” to whatever Life has to offer.
Adults have a hard time admitting their boredom, and so they wear it. A grimace on the face. Wincing eyes. Clenched fists. Grinding teeth. Tics and twitches. Itches and yens. A body stressed to the point of snapping. Boredom is what adults call being burned out, overwhelmed, exhausted, or void of meaning. They carry a shroud of death on their shoulders, and give off a spirit which states their soul is heavily burdened or spent.
No matter at what age boredom in experienced, it remains a choice. It is a decision to ignore all other possibilities. It is a glaring lack of gratitude. It is a swarming guilt in having fun or rest. It is the belief that every moment of every day must be spent proving our worth. It is a flat-out rejection of receiving anything from anyone. It is giving up on God. It is a shrug of the soul.
Ironically, I suspect the biggest source of boredom is busyness. Our lives are so frenzied and agitated with expectation and demand we become paralyzed, deadened, callus and cold, our spirits function like carcasses. Even children and teens are bound to ridiculous schedules of practices and rehearsals and meets and matches and games and hobbies and artistic endeavors, and, of course, the desperate need to find the hours to be spent texting or talking or gaming on their magical gadgets. Adults tend to establish TO DO lists longer than their arms, and fail to place either God, a Higher Power, or themselves upon them.
The choice of boredom is a way of surviving and complaining and establishing our supposed supremacy, and it is also a convenient way of avoiding living Life on Life’s terms. It is how many of us, especially our youth, manage to squander the fortune of each and every day. It is a means of denial. It is a technique for avoiding responsibility. It maims most dreams, and kills the spirit which might create a genuine hope.
Boredom literally slays joy. Boredom sucks out the excitement of the soul. Boredom depletes the human spirit of the resources needed to be awake and alive and aware. Boredom yields robots. Boredom manufactures heartless living. Boredom is marching in place in quicksand. Boredom is dying before we die. Most of all, boredom mugs us of our happiness, including the gift of enjoying our day.
Joy, just like boredom, is a choice. It is a decision of perspective. Joy is an attitude of gratitude. Joy is seeing Life as pure and precious. Joy is paying attention and noticing, bearing witness to the little miracles taking place around us, and our own capacity to create a miracle by simply loving someone.
Ultimately, joy is a leap of faith. It is not a belief. It is not a creed. It is not a doctrine. It is not the possession of one denomination. It is a genuine spreading of the wings of our souls, and the willingness to let the air currents of the Spirit lift us up in flight. Just as sailing is dependent on receiving the wind, joy is dependent on receiving the holy spiritual presence of Life and Love.
God, or our Higher Power, is at our back, blowing aloft the bubbles of our dreams, and encouraging us to keep focus, endure, be patient and persevere to the end, and cheers us on every step of the way.
Joy is knowing we are beloved. In every fiber of our being, joy is tingling with the enthusiasm to embrace the day. Joy is the power to seize, grasp, hold, behold, the Presence of the Creator. It is the wisdom to know we share in this creative spirit and energy and power. Joy soars. It is the only way we can. We are like gliders, and the winds are the Grace. There is literally nothing else like it in Life.
STALE. SOUR. SPOILED. GRIM. GRIMY. GRIMACING. COLD. CALLUS. CALCULATING.
BOREDOM TRANSFORMS LIFE INTO AN ENDURANCE TEST WHICH NOBODY PASSES. BOREDOM WASTES AND KILLS TIME; BOREDOM INJURES ETERNITY. BOREDOM IS A BAD IDEA FROM THE BEGINNING. BOREDOM IS A DECISION TO WITHOLD LOVE. IT IS A DECISION TO NOT EMBRACE THE MYSTERY OF CREATION. IT IS A REFUSAL OF BEING INTIMATE WITH A HIGHER POWER OF ANY KIND.
JOY IS UNLEASHING THE LOVE DAMMED UP WITHIN US. JOY TRUSTS THE FLOW. JOY RISKS THE GUSH. JOY EXPRESSES THE SOUL AT ITS VERY BEST. JOY DISPLAYS A SPIRIT GROWN WILD WITH THE HOPE OF A FULL LIFE. JOY IS THE MOST CONTAGIOUS EMOTION OF ALL.
Devotion 11: Less Callous, More Tender
I had gathered all of the seniors and juniors from our high school youth group to have dinner together, to be followed by the seniors sharing with the juniors what they considered their “best advice” for having a good senior year. It was a traditional event within our program and one which often created a very intimate, lively and productive exchange.
After we inhaled several pizzas and guzzled a half dozen liters of soda, the discussion began. The first senior to speak was Max. This came as a complete shock to everyone, as Max was quiet and shy and rarely spoke up during the dialogue portion of our discussion series.
This is as close as I can recall to what Max said. First, he addressed his fellow seniors:
“I have gone to school with all of you for almost ten years now. I have been a part of this youth group for almost five. We go to a very small high school, and of course, our senior class is equally small. There are fifteen of us.
In all that time I have never once been invited to any of your birthday parties. Not a single one. None in ten years.
Do you have any idea what it was like to know the rest of the class was usually invited, but I was being left out? Do you know how much that hurt? Do you realize how cruel that was to me? Can you imagine if it happened to you? Can you imagine the difference it would make in how you saw yourself?
I know, I have long hair, and wear black. I like being Goth. I like spiked bracelets and necklaces. I like heavy metal. So what? How did I get banned from all your parties? Do you think I like how all of you dress, or the music you listen to? Is it all that terrible that I do not like sports? I have never judged you. But tonight, I am asking you to realize the pain you caused me for no reason at all.
I wouldn't have ruined any of your parties. I would have brought a gift and done my best to fit in, like I do every day at school. Every day I try. Have you ever tried to get to know me? Have you ever made even the slightest effort?”
Max then turned his attention to the Juniors present. Again, I will do my best to capture what he said:
“My advice to you is to include everyone. Not just for birthday parties, but for everything. Whenever you can, make people know they matter. You don’t have to be someone’s best friend, but you don’t have to ignore them either.
I hope you show more courage than your parents. I think it is awful that not one parent ever made sure I was included. I wasn’t invisible. This is Shelter Island, and everyone knows everyone. I also think everyone should care about everyone else – even just a little bit.
When you are Seniors next year, try to be a little compassionate. There is no need to be mean or nasty or exclusive. You are not better or worse than anyone else. We will all do so much better if we do it together.
Thanks for listening to me, but I had to get this off my chest. It has hurt for a long time.”
There was absolute silence after Max spoke, and in fact, nobody else did speak. We just discussed the reality of the pain Max had been forced to endure. It was a real eye opener. It jarred us loose in many respects. I believe it was a truly unforgettable event. Something shifted. We were transformed, even if only for the night. We had been moved.
Every person at the gathering gave Max a hug before they left. Max received the hugs with humility and Grace. He never once said, “Too little, too late.” It was a tender moment.
The callousness of our culture in recent years is spooky. The ease with which people treat others with mocking disdain, racist or sexist innuendo, and the blatant disregard for feelings. It is a true tragedy. It is destroying lives.
We have become way too hard headed and hearted. We need to peel off the calluses, and let our souls bleed a bit. Become more human and humane. Care more. Have greater compassion. Be way more inclusive. Stop judging and condemning others. Stop making others feel like outcasts or rejects. Stop being bigots.
Tenderness is nothing more than being kind, considerate, respectful, empathetic, generous and gracious. Tenderness is the essence of treating others as we would hope to be treated, and certainly how we would wish our own children to be treated.
Whenever I talk to folks about their recent past, I am stunned by their difficulty in remembering events, feelings, thoughts, even experiences. However, if I ask these same individuals to recall being teased or mocked or left out, their recall is immediate and intense.
This is such unnecessary pain. This is cruel and unusual punishment. This is a form of torture. This is one sure way to knowingly damage someone’s soul. It has to stop!
TENDERNESS IS A TOUCH; AN AFFIRMATION OR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT; A GESTURE OF GRATITUDE; THOUGHTFULNESS; SWEETNESS; AND CHOOSING TO BRING OUT THE BEST IN SOMEONE. IT IS LIFTING SOMEONE UP. IT IS MAKING A DIFFERENCE. IT IS GOD’S WORK.
CALLOUSNESS IS COLD. IT LACKS RESPECT AND CARE. IT IS A NUMBNESS CREATED BY BEING SOLELY FOCUSED ON SELF. IT USES WORDS LIKE A WHIP ON A SLAVE’S BACK, MEANT TO INFLICT INJURY AND PAIN, AND INDELIBLE DAMAGE TO THE HUMAN SPIRIT.
WHEN A CROWD IN AMERICA CAN GLEEFULLY CHANT “LOCK HER UP” ABOUT A WOMAN WHO HAS BEEN A SENATOR, A SECRETARY OF STATE, A FIRST LADY, A WIFE, A MOTHER, A GRANDMOTHER, AND A DAUGHTER, WE HAVE INDEED SUNK TO A NEW LOW.
WE HAVE BECOME A PEOPLE PRONE TO DIVISION, BELITTLING, BULLYING, MOCKING, AND HAVING ZERO LOVE FOR OUR NEIGHBORS, LET ALONE OUR ENEMIES. WE MUST MATURE THERE IS NO OTHER WAY, BECAUSE THE PATH WE ARE ON OFFERS US NO HOPE AT ALL.
After we inhaled several pizzas and guzzled a half dozen liters of soda, the discussion began. The first senior to speak was Max. This came as a complete shock to everyone, as Max was quiet and shy and rarely spoke up during the dialogue portion of our discussion series.
This is as close as I can recall to what Max said. First, he addressed his fellow seniors:
“I have gone to school with all of you for almost ten years now. I have been a part of this youth group for almost five. We go to a very small high school, and of course, our senior class is equally small. There are fifteen of us.
In all that time I have never once been invited to any of your birthday parties. Not a single one. None in ten years.
Do you have any idea what it was like to know the rest of the class was usually invited, but I was being left out? Do you know how much that hurt? Do you realize how cruel that was to me? Can you imagine if it happened to you? Can you imagine the difference it would make in how you saw yourself?
I know, I have long hair, and wear black. I like being Goth. I like spiked bracelets and necklaces. I like heavy metal. So what? How did I get banned from all your parties? Do you think I like how all of you dress, or the music you listen to? Is it all that terrible that I do not like sports? I have never judged you. But tonight, I am asking you to realize the pain you caused me for no reason at all.
I wouldn't have ruined any of your parties. I would have brought a gift and done my best to fit in, like I do every day at school. Every day I try. Have you ever tried to get to know me? Have you ever made even the slightest effort?”
Max then turned his attention to the Juniors present. Again, I will do my best to capture what he said:
“My advice to you is to include everyone. Not just for birthday parties, but for everything. Whenever you can, make people know they matter. You don’t have to be someone’s best friend, but you don’t have to ignore them either.
I hope you show more courage than your parents. I think it is awful that not one parent ever made sure I was included. I wasn’t invisible. This is Shelter Island, and everyone knows everyone. I also think everyone should care about everyone else – even just a little bit.
When you are Seniors next year, try to be a little compassionate. There is no need to be mean or nasty or exclusive. You are not better or worse than anyone else. We will all do so much better if we do it together.
Thanks for listening to me, but I had to get this off my chest. It has hurt for a long time.”
There was absolute silence after Max spoke, and in fact, nobody else did speak. We just discussed the reality of the pain Max had been forced to endure. It was a real eye opener. It jarred us loose in many respects. I believe it was a truly unforgettable event. Something shifted. We were transformed, even if only for the night. We had been moved.
Every person at the gathering gave Max a hug before they left. Max received the hugs with humility and Grace. He never once said, “Too little, too late.” It was a tender moment.
The callousness of our culture in recent years is spooky. The ease with which people treat others with mocking disdain, racist or sexist innuendo, and the blatant disregard for feelings. It is a true tragedy. It is destroying lives.
We have become way too hard headed and hearted. We need to peel off the calluses, and let our souls bleed a bit. Become more human and humane. Care more. Have greater compassion. Be way more inclusive. Stop judging and condemning others. Stop making others feel like outcasts or rejects. Stop being bigots.
Tenderness is nothing more than being kind, considerate, respectful, empathetic, generous and gracious. Tenderness is the essence of treating others as we would hope to be treated, and certainly how we would wish our own children to be treated.
Whenever I talk to folks about their recent past, I am stunned by their difficulty in remembering events, feelings, thoughts, even experiences. However, if I ask these same individuals to recall being teased or mocked or left out, their recall is immediate and intense.
This is such unnecessary pain. This is cruel and unusual punishment. This is a form of torture. This is one sure way to knowingly damage someone’s soul. It has to stop!
TENDERNESS IS A TOUCH; AN AFFIRMATION OR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT; A GESTURE OF GRATITUDE; THOUGHTFULNESS; SWEETNESS; AND CHOOSING TO BRING OUT THE BEST IN SOMEONE. IT IS LIFTING SOMEONE UP. IT IS MAKING A DIFFERENCE. IT IS GOD’S WORK.
CALLOUSNESS IS COLD. IT LACKS RESPECT AND CARE. IT IS A NUMBNESS CREATED BY BEING SOLELY FOCUSED ON SELF. IT USES WORDS LIKE A WHIP ON A SLAVE’S BACK, MEANT TO INFLICT INJURY AND PAIN, AND INDELIBLE DAMAGE TO THE HUMAN SPIRIT.
WHEN A CROWD IN AMERICA CAN GLEEFULLY CHANT “LOCK HER UP” ABOUT A WOMAN WHO HAS BEEN A SENATOR, A SECRETARY OF STATE, A FIRST LADY, A WIFE, A MOTHER, A GRANDMOTHER, AND A DAUGHTER, WE HAVE INDEED SUNK TO A NEW LOW.
WE HAVE BECOME A PEOPLE PRONE TO DIVISION, BELITTLING, BULLYING, MOCKING, AND HAVING ZERO LOVE FOR OUR NEIGHBORS, LET ALONE OUR ENEMIES. WE MUST MATURE THERE IS NO OTHER WAY, BECAUSE THE PATH WE ARE ON OFFERS US NO HOPE AT ALL.
Devotion 12: Less Indifference, More Love
I just came back from a ride through the countryside. Per usual, I was looking for good photo spots, and I found a half dozen. This hunt took me four hours. I am quite picky.
I love this time of year, early Spring, when the trees are initially draped in a gauzy sage, and the ground is splotched by daffodils and forsythia bushes. I so enjoy how yellow is the chosen color to herald the arrival of Spring. Yellow is such a warm and buttery color. It makes me think of kitchens and coffee klatches.
I saw all kinds of walkers on my drive. Several sets of Mom and Dad and kids. They looked happy. The older couples held hands. The young couples turned it into some kind of race. Almost all of them waved spontaneously at me, a stranger with a camera driving by. One cute girl, about twelve, made her hands into the shape of a heart, and drove by me with a wide grin on her face.
I found myself thinking about how much our culture needs a huge dose of love. The craving to be cared about, cherished, adored, understood, or believed in is also epidemic, only this one is a spiritual malady.
Too often we are a culture constructed on a foundation of indifference. We even brag about not caring. Many people sneer if you bring up the notion of compassion. Several smirk if you bring up the word refugee, as if they are all an evil pack of thieves out for a free lunch. We have grown detached. We have built thick walls to our hearts, as well as on our borders.
I recently overheard a lunch party of men discussing the need for a wall along the Canadian border. I thought they were kidding. They were not. One guy even proffered the notion of a potential dome to keep our nation safe from missiles and viruses. My mother, were she still alive, would have called it “The Bigots for Lunch Bunch”. I could only sigh and shake my head.
I have long believed that the true opposite of loving, is to be indifferent. To be void of any sympathy, refusing to acknowledge even a drop of pity, and feeling utter disdain for all those people with whom you might disagree.
In today’s divisive age, this means 50% of the population. Indifference is ignoring someone; shunning them for some perceived flaw; ridiculing them for coming to the “wrong” conclusion; or offering them withering looks of scorn whenever the chance presents itself.
The result of my countryside drive and photo shoot, was to fall in love with the day. It doesn’t take much to jar us loose. The sight of sage mist on the horizon, and a dollop of daffodils on a hillside, are more than enough. A young girl offering you the gracious gift of a literally hand-made heart, can pry us free from being a real sourpuss.
I love my life. I truly do. Most of the time.
I love to write, paint, read, take photos, have great meals and good conversations, meander down backroads, and watch a slew of movies. I love foreign films best. I love any film starring our queen of mediocrity, the vastly overrated Meryl Streep. I also deeply love any chance to talk with a group of teens. It was and is my TRUE CALLING.
There is indeed a lot that I love. I truly have no reason to complain. My life is too damn idyllic to allow for such absurdity. However, I do. I complain often and vehemently. I also frequently refuse to claim the solution to my negativity, which is to choose to love. It is that simple. Loving and being down just do not mix.
I would encourage all of us to love more. It can make a huge difference, and it is not all that hard to do or be. Loving is asking someone all about what THEY love. What books they read. What music they like. Their best friends. Their favorite meals. Their best vacation or holiday. Their happiest day. Their concerns, especially those which are of ultimate importance to them. Their bucket list for tomorrow. Their hope for the future. Their calling in Life. There most unforgettable moments. Those times they felt as if they could fly or soar. The dreams which animate their being. And of course, all about their families, flaws and all.
Loving is a seeking. Seeking to know someone. To make sense of them to your own soul. To understand. Loving is to come to our senses, and see inside someone, to get a taste of their life, to smell the scent of their pain and joy, to be in touch with their longings and yearnings, and to listen to their incredibly important story.
Today, I drove back and rolled down my window, and told the young girl she had made my day, and I said an emphatic thank-you. She was proud. I know that. I was glad. Loving can truly be nothing more than choosing to make someone’s day. What a miraculous power we have at the tips of our tongues and fingers, and at times infesting our hearts. Make someone’s day every day. It won’t take much time, and the satisfaction will bloat your soul with gladness.
INDIFFERENCE IS TO FREEZE SOMEONE OUT. LOVE IS A ROARING FIRE OFFERING WELCOME.
INDIFFERENCE IS QUITE MEAN AND NASTY. LOVE IS VERY KIND AND CONSIDERATE.
INDIFFERENCE IS ARROGANCE AND IGNORANCE COMBINED.
LOVE IS THE MIXING OF GRACE AND GRATITUDE IN EQUAL MEASURE.
INDIFFERENCE IS VOID OF COMPASSION AND MERCY AND TENDERNESS.
LOVE IS AN EMBRACE OF THE “ALL” OF SOMEONE, EVEN AN ENEMY.
INDIFFERENCE IS THE DENIAL OF SOMEONE’S PRESENCE.
LOVE AFFIRMS AND ACKNOWLEDGES AND OFFERS ATTENTION TO THAT SAME PRESENCE.
INDIFFERENCE IS A MEANS OF PROTECTION. LOVE IS A MEANS OF CREATIVITY.
INDIFFERENCE HAS GIVEN UP ON SOMEONE. LOVE HAS MADE A COMMITMENT.
INDIFFERENCE DECLARES TRIUMPH. LOVE DECLARES SURRENDER.
INDIFFERENCE IS A CLOCK OR CALENDAR. LOVE IS AN ETERNITY.
INDIFFERENCE IS BEING FOOLISH. LOVE IS AT THE CORE OF WISDOM.
INDIFFERENCE FEELS BETRAYED AND BELITTLED. LOVE KNOWS OF BEING BELOVED.
INDIFFERENCE KEEPS SCORE. LOVE CLEANS THE SLATE.
INDIFFERENCE IS ALWAYS HATEFUL. LOVE HAS NO PLACE FOR HATE.
INDIFFERENCE IS ALL ABOUT ME, MYSELF, AND I. LOVES IS ALL ABOUT WE AND US.
INDIFFERENCE IS AN ETHIC OF EITHER/ OR. LOVE IS AN ETHIC OF BOTH/AND.
INDIFFERENCE IGNORES. LOVE ILLUMINATES.
INDIFFERENCE LIES REPEATEDLY. LOVE CANNOT HELP BUT TELL THE TRUTH.
I love this time of year, early Spring, when the trees are initially draped in a gauzy sage, and the ground is splotched by daffodils and forsythia bushes. I so enjoy how yellow is the chosen color to herald the arrival of Spring. Yellow is such a warm and buttery color. It makes me think of kitchens and coffee klatches.
I saw all kinds of walkers on my drive. Several sets of Mom and Dad and kids. They looked happy. The older couples held hands. The young couples turned it into some kind of race. Almost all of them waved spontaneously at me, a stranger with a camera driving by. One cute girl, about twelve, made her hands into the shape of a heart, and drove by me with a wide grin on her face.
I found myself thinking about how much our culture needs a huge dose of love. The craving to be cared about, cherished, adored, understood, or believed in is also epidemic, only this one is a spiritual malady.
Too often we are a culture constructed on a foundation of indifference. We even brag about not caring. Many people sneer if you bring up the notion of compassion. Several smirk if you bring up the word refugee, as if they are all an evil pack of thieves out for a free lunch. We have grown detached. We have built thick walls to our hearts, as well as on our borders.
I recently overheard a lunch party of men discussing the need for a wall along the Canadian border. I thought they were kidding. They were not. One guy even proffered the notion of a potential dome to keep our nation safe from missiles and viruses. My mother, were she still alive, would have called it “The Bigots for Lunch Bunch”. I could only sigh and shake my head.
I have long believed that the true opposite of loving, is to be indifferent. To be void of any sympathy, refusing to acknowledge even a drop of pity, and feeling utter disdain for all those people with whom you might disagree.
In today’s divisive age, this means 50% of the population. Indifference is ignoring someone; shunning them for some perceived flaw; ridiculing them for coming to the “wrong” conclusion; or offering them withering looks of scorn whenever the chance presents itself.
The result of my countryside drive and photo shoot, was to fall in love with the day. It doesn’t take much to jar us loose. The sight of sage mist on the horizon, and a dollop of daffodils on a hillside, are more than enough. A young girl offering you the gracious gift of a literally hand-made heart, can pry us free from being a real sourpuss.
I love my life. I truly do. Most of the time.
I love to write, paint, read, take photos, have great meals and good conversations, meander down backroads, and watch a slew of movies. I love foreign films best. I love any film starring our queen of mediocrity, the vastly overrated Meryl Streep. I also deeply love any chance to talk with a group of teens. It was and is my TRUE CALLING.
There is indeed a lot that I love. I truly have no reason to complain. My life is too damn idyllic to allow for such absurdity. However, I do. I complain often and vehemently. I also frequently refuse to claim the solution to my negativity, which is to choose to love. It is that simple. Loving and being down just do not mix.
I would encourage all of us to love more. It can make a huge difference, and it is not all that hard to do or be. Loving is asking someone all about what THEY love. What books they read. What music they like. Their best friends. Their favorite meals. Their best vacation or holiday. Their happiest day. Their concerns, especially those which are of ultimate importance to them. Their bucket list for tomorrow. Their hope for the future. Their calling in Life. There most unforgettable moments. Those times they felt as if they could fly or soar. The dreams which animate their being. And of course, all about their families, flaws and all.
Loving is a seeking. Seeking to know someone. To make sense of them to your own soul. To understand. Loving is to come to our senses, and see inside someone, to get a taste of their life, to smell the scent of their pain and joy, to be in touch with their longings and yearnings, and to listen to their incredibly important story.
Today, I drove back and rolled down my window, and told the young girl she had made my day, and I said an emphatic thank-you. She was proud. I know that. I was glad. Loving can truly be nothing more than choosing to make someone’s day. What a miraculous power we have at the tips of our tongues and fingers, and at times infesting our hearts. Make someone’s day every day. It won’t take much time, and the satisfaction will bloat your soul with gladness.
INDIFFERENCE IS TO FREEZE SOMEONE OUT. LOVE IS A ROARING FIRE OFFERING WELCOME.
INDIFFERENCE IS QUITE MEAN AND NASTY. LOVE IS VERY KIND AND CONSIDERATE.
INDIFFERENCE IS ARROGANCE AND IGNORANCE COMBINED.
LOVE IS THE MIXING OF GRACE AND GRATITUDE IN EQUAL MEASURE.
INDIFFERENCE IS VOID OF COMPASSION AND MERCY AND TENDERNESS.
LOVE IS AN EMBRACE OF THE “ALL” OF SOMEONE, EVEN AN ENEMY.
INDIFFERENCE IS THE DENIAL OF SOMEONE’S PRESENCE.
LOVE AFFIRMS AND ACKNOWLEDGES AND OFFERS ATTENTION TO THAT SAME PRESENCE.
INDIFFERENCE IS A MEANS OF PROTECTION. LOVE IS A MEANS OF CREATIVITY.
INDIFFERENCE HAS GIVEN UP ON SOMEONE. LOVE HAS MADE A COMMITMENT.
INDIFFERENCE DECLARES TRIUMPH. LOVE DECLARES SURRENDER.
INDIFFERENCE IS A CLOCK OR CALENDAR. LOVE IS AN ETERNITY.
INDIFFERENCE IS BEING FOOLISH. LOVE IS AT THE CORE OF WISDOM.
INDIFFERENCE FEELS BETRAYED AND BELITTLED. LOVE KNOWS OF BEING BELOVED.
INDIFFERENCE KEEPS SCORE. LOVE CLEANS THE SLATE.
INDIFFERENCE IS ALWAYS HATEFUL. LOVE HAS NO PLACE FOR HATE.
INDIFFERENCE IS ALL ABOUT ME, MYSELF, AND I. LOVES IS ALL ABOUT WE AND US.
INDIFFERENCE IS AN ETHIC OF EITHER/ OR. LOVE IS AN ETHIC OF BOTH/AND.
INDIFFERENCE IGNORES. LOVE ILLUMINATES.
INDIFFERENCE LIES REPEATEDLY. LOVE CANNOT HELP BUT TELL THE TRUTH.