Thoughts for Our Times

Last weekend I had the privilege and honor of meeting with Cynthia Bourgeault and eleven others whom Cynthia called together to deeply consider the Wisdom mandate in the face of the social and political upheaval occasioned by the election in November. Through the common intention to be open and receptive to the calling addressed to us both individually and collectively, we met in silence, prayer, practice, teaching, and conversation. Getting bearings from Teilhard, Gurdjieff, Wilber, and Fitzgerald—Cynthia’s teaching was never more brilliantly insightful. Through our time together we were both drawn more closely together in solidarity of heart and then dispersed out into the world to respond to our individual callings of prayer and action. Read Cynthia's "Conscious Circle" here.


What I experienced last weekend was participation in one of many circles. Besides the Wisdom community, for me some of these circles have included a parish community, a havurah, the Round Table of Faith Leaders, InterFaith Works of CNY, participation with refugees, and on and on. What I would like to convey to you in this moment is that all of our circles are connected. We are all joined in commonality of purpose. And although our actions may run the gamut and include political demonstration, leverage and influence through community and political action, deep prayer and silence, or some combination of all of these and other actions—the most important thing to remember is that we are all connected in one heart.


And if I were to dare to name this common purpose, I would use the phrase, “the higher human collectivity,” and I would use the word, “love.” No matter what your spiritual path or religious background, no matter the descriptors our culture might use to identify you, no matter what your life situation might be—you belong to me and I belong to you. We are all integral parts of a greater Whole—this greater human collectivity. And we are all being called into action—whatever that action may turn out to be—because the fabric of our human collectivity is being threatened by power, greed, fear, and a sense of entitlement.


Please know that with all of my strength of being, I am with you; and I deeply trust you are with me. May the power of love that unites us overcome the darkness that now threatens.

Daily Inspirations: 2014

The Syracuse Post Standard, October 2014

1. Sunday

In my first couple of years of college I got a part-time job in the psychiatric unit of a prominent urban hospital a short distance from campus. Apparently, the administration had found it helpful to have a well-intentioned, if completely untrained, college student on the floor. While at that time I was thinking about the possibility of a psychotherapeutic profession, trust me, I was completely in over my head. My anxiety was totally off the charts.

I remember on one of my first nights, there was a young woman who was threatening suicide and who had locked herself into the music room. Of course, they had extra keys. They apparently thought it therapeutically advisable to have this young, untrained college student go in and engage her. I myself was not at all sure this was a good plan and felt like a bit of a victim myself as I was almost pushed into the room.

Oh my God, what was I going to say? How could I—feeling as scared and nervous as I was—be in any way helpful to this woman in such psychic pain?

I sat down next to her and was quiet for a few moments. While that might have been considered strategic, I was actually just waiting for my heart to stop pounding enough, so a word or two might come out of my mouth.

“I guess we’re sort of stuck with each other tonight,” I softly offered. “Maybe you could tell me a little something about yourself…”

And so a dialogue began. I heard her life story, and she heard mine. She went on living that night, and so did I. Both of us were in some way healed in the authentic sharing of life stories. This is the power of meaningful dialogue.

2. Monday

While we are living in a time when vitriolic debate is heard all around, there is an appalling lack of true dialogue. What is the difference between debate and dialogue? Debate is what we watch on the cable news stations, where, completely invested in their own position, people talk over each other without ever listening, let alone hearing, the other person. Dialogue is an exchange of perspectives wherein each person is truly open to the other person’s reality. Dialogue includes respect for the other and value for their point of view.

3. Tuesday

Dialogue, as I mentioned yesterday, is very different than debate. True dialogue brings a certain spaciousness to the conversation such that each person has the room for his or her perspective to change. Indeed, this is how growth takes place. By opening ourselves to the truth and reality of others, our own minds can be expanded. When, on the other hand, we think we have all the answers and that we are in sole possession of the truth, our minds are shut, and we can learn nothing further.

4. Wednesday

To open our minds to the other in dialogue certainly does not mean that we are necessarily going to agree with everything the other is setting forth. Our capacity for discernment requires that we value our own experience and sense of things. But when we are able to bring a certain openness and when we are willing, to the best of our ability, to stand in the other’s shoes and see the world as he or she sees it, we then can benefit and grow from the other’s perspective.
 

5. Thursday

What is the greatest challenge to true dialogue? Certitude must be right up there. When someone is convinced that they have the corner on the truth and that anyone who happens to disagree with them is wrong, not only do we find certitude—we also find stubborn closed-mindedness. But isn’t certitude what our religious traditions reinforce? Aren’t we implored to “believe”? Actually, faith is not certitude of belief; it is a trust that includes openness to new possibilities—the unfolding of new possibilities that we haven’t even yet dreamed of.


6. Friday

This advanced technological age finds our world on the cusp of potential change. For the first time in human history the “secrets” of other peoples, their cultures and religions, can be opened with a click on Google. Real dialogue is now more possible. Dialogue partners can now clear up previous misconceptions. We can even understand the other not just from our side of history and experience, but also from theirs. Through this discovery each partner has the potential of discovering something in the other’s tradition that unlocks something previously submerged and undisclosed in our own.
 

7. Saturday

The kind of dialogue I mentioned yesterday could very well contribute to the development of a higher form of consciousness—a global consciousness—that would not have been possible before in human history. My hope is that it brings to fruition what might be called the “Second Axial Age.” Here, while we would retain our current unique identities, we would at the same time grow into the deeper sense of being one human family. This, of course, follows the insight of all of our spiritual traditions: We are all connected (and related).

The Abundant Life

One of the most pervasive themes of Jesus’ teaching is God’s abundance.  The glass is neither half-empty nor half–full; it is filled to the very brim and spilling over—overflowing with the goodness of God.  Seeing life from a unitive consciousness, this is what Jesus sees when he views the universe.  And he wants to bring his disciples to this way of seeing, and he wants to bring us to this unitive consciousness as well.  Because he experiences the great well of God to be completely abundant and never-ending, he doesn’t need to store anything up for himself.

Jesus invites us to a revolutionary path — a reckless path of giving ourselves away.  We are being called to squander what we have through the seemingly thoughtless act of self-emptying.  Jesus’ extravagant generosity shows us who and what God is.

Jesus dies to the demands of his smaller self in order to open up to his Larger Self, to God.  But he doesn’t do this through inner renunciation—the way you might think he would.  He takes, instead, the radical path of pouring himself out for the sake of others.  He holds nothing back, and through his radical self-giving he shows us God’s boundless generosity. He preserves his holiness—not by avoiding the messy parts of life—but by giving himself completely and clinging to nothing.  And this is the path he calls us to.

Trinity: Dancing with the Stars

As you well know, many parishes have their patron saints—saints after which they were named, like St. Alban’s and St. David’s.  And as I have said before, this is a custom that originally grew out of the practice of building churches over the tombs of the martyrs.  For churches named for saints, their patronal saint days are important celebrations.  These are the days when their particular saints are commemorated, and they become days of special significance.

Well clearly, we here at Trinity do not have a particular saint for whom our church is named; but, honey, we have the whole Godhead!  That makes today a very special day for us.  Today is Trinity Sunday.  Trinity Sunday always falls on the Sunday after Pentecost and marks the conclusion of the liturgical commemorations of the life of Christ and the descent of the Holy Spirit.  It points to the fullness of the Godhead in three persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  And while we say that the Trinity is a mystery that cannot be fully comprehended, there are some things about which we can speculate.  And we just may want to take our cues for this speculation from some ancient and deep spiritual wisdom.

In the fourth century in Cappadocia –which is the territory that occupies the present day Turkey—there arose a great contemplative wisdom school led by three of the giants of our spiritual tradition—Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory of Nazianzus.   Moving beyond just their minds and opening their hearts, they touched the power of the archetype of the Trinity.

Now I think it’s safe to say that the religious leaders who initially pounded out the theological concept of the Trinity earlier in that century and put it into the creeds were probably more concerned about political expediencies and organizational uniformity than they were moved by any kind of spiritual motivation.  Nevertheless, these Cappadocian Fathers looked more deeply than the need to bring uniformity to the Christian belief system.  In fact, they looked more deeply than the individual persons of the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—and they intuited in the relationship among the three the flow of loving energy that was shared one to another.  Not only did they find the code that pointed to the mystery of God, but they also found life’s very pattern.

What is symbolized here in the Trinity, then, is a mutual outpouring. The Father pours himself into the Son and the Son pours himself into the Spirit, and the Spirit pours itself into the Father—and around and around we go.   And do you know the word that is used for this outpouring?  Kenosis.  You’ve heard me use that Greek word before.  It is the life-giving surrender taught and, even more importantly, lived by Jesus.  It is a dying into full kingdom life through the outpouring of love and through surrender to the flow of the divine energy.

But the Cappadocian Fathers took it one step further.  They saw in the Trinity the inter-circulation of love, the perfect receiving and the perfect giving of love that they called perichoresis.  This is an ever flowing mutually of giving and receiving.  And literally translated, it means “the dance-around.”

Well, off course, that’s it: the dance of life! The dance of reality!  Jesus comes forth from the Father and the Spirit and enters human life—and not so much to die for our sins—although I know that’s the standard doctrinal line—but to illumine the pattern of life and its code.  But this is something that happens more than just between Father, Son, and Spirit.  Jesus becomes the incarnation of this loving dance-around in order to invite us to the dance!

Now, don’t you just know this to be true?!  Can’t you feel that in your very bones?  If you do, you know it not because it’s what you’ve been taught; it’s because you know it to be true through your own intuition and experience.  This is called participatory wisdom, because you know it from the inside.

Now, hang on to that for a minute while I shift gears.

Many religious people are at odds with scientific people because they think that modern science is undermining religious belief.  You know, creationism versus evolution, and that sort of thing.  And of course, if you are only operating on a literal level, you’d better be threatened by science because it will contradict everything you believe is true—but again, only if you’re operating on a literal level.

But I love science, especially what I understand of quantum physics, and I welcome its discoveries.  Because do you know what they are finding?  And their conclusion holds true whether the trajectory of inquiry is in the direction of the smallest sub-atomic particle or the vast expanse of interstellar space.  The energy of the universe, they are discovering, is not located in the protons and neutrons; the energy, they are discovering is not found in the planets or the stars.  The energy is in the very space—the relational space—between them.  Reality, they are finding more and more, is relational, and the energy comes from their abiding relationships with each other.

In other words, Good People, it’s not in the objects—it’s in the dance between them.  Science here seems to be confirming the mystery of the Trinity—this dance-around.  Again, it’s not in the Father—it’s not in the Son—it’s not in the Holy Spirit—it’s in the mutual outpouring between them.  People, it’s in the dance—the dance-around.

This absolutely changes everything.  Don’t you see?  We thought that spiritual life was about us.  We thought we were supposed to attain some certain level of goodness or holiness to please God or to be rewarded by him.  Or if we were really devoted, we thought it was about Jesus and our being like him in order to get to heaven.  And we thought that we could get there by our moral righteousness or by our correct theological and doctrinal systems of belief.  And God love us, we have worked that just as hard as we could.  We’ve tried to be good.  We’ve tried to be righteous.  Our efforts by-and-large have been honest and sincere.  But it’s not about any of that.  We’ve tried to believe all the right stuff, but it’s not about that either.  It’s about the dance.  Or let me repeat the word I used a minute ago.  It’s about the flow—the flow of life that is the dance.  And what the Trinity reveals is that we are invited to the dance.

And so it’s not about being right or good or righteous or upstanding or any of that stuff.  It’s about entering the flow.  How do you do that?  Look at the Trinity.  Here is the pattern of life right in front of us.  It’s a mutual outpouring: perfect receiving and perfect giving.

You see, it’s not really about the protons and the neutrons, and it’s not about the planets, and, look it, it’s not really about us.  We’ve thought of ourselves as these solid little bodies, these little subjects, as if we were solidly moving though life.  But that’s the wrong model because it’s not about the electrons and the protons, it’s not about the planets and the stars, and it’s not about us. It’s about the flow of life that flows with us, and around us, and through us.

And in order to move toward perfect receiving and perfect giving, we don’t have to believe certain things and we don’t have to do more—we don’t have add up moral actions—we don’t have to achieve anything.  We actually need to do less.  It’s about surrendering and letting go.  It’s about getting ourselves out of the way, so to speak, in order for the flow to move through us.  In other words, my friends, it’s about the dance.

And here’s the thing.  The flow isn’t something that we’re responsible for creating.  It already exists; it’s already here.  In fact, we’re already in it, and all we have to do is to open to it and to say, “yes” to it.  All we have to do is not to block it.  But I know, I do, that that is sometimes easier said than done.  Because as we get older—and I know that some of you have considerably more than my nearly sixty-one years—we often get more tired and more fearful; we get stuck in our ways and cranky when they seem to be threatened.  And we are tempted to say “no” to life instead of “yes.”

But let me say this.  “No” will not get you what you most deeply need.  Only “yes” will.  And that is because it is not so much you and your little self that is supposed to fit into this pattern of life.  You have been created with that pattern inside your very being.  Your DNA is the same as God’s DNA.  You have been created for the dance, my friends.  It is your deepest nature.  And it is the dance that will set you free—free to receive and free to give.

I end with a vision.  It is the vision of the dance as it may be expressed here in this parish family—in the family we call “Trinity.”  It is a vision of diversity—different kinds of people with all kinds of differences of belief and orientation.  But it is a vision of the dance here in our little corner of the world—with each of us honoring the others in respect of their differences. But all of us engaged with one another in the flow—the dance of life.  It is a vision of the People of God.  It is vision of the Trinity.

Perhaps this vision is expressed in Rublev’s icon, “The Trinity.”  Andrei Rublev worked in the Moscow artistic school in the first part of the fifteenth century.  He was a painter (or we say, a writer) of religious icons.  More than just an ordinary painting, an icon serves as a window from this world into the divine realms.  They, therefore, cannot be grasped or understood by the intellect alone.

This subject matter of this well-known icon is taken from the mysterious story in the Old Testament where Abraham receives three visitors as he camps by the oak of Mamre.  In Christian interpretation the three guests were linked to the three Persons of the Trinity: God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit.  So while on one level this picture shows three angels seated under Abraham’s tree, on another it represents the dance-around of the three persons of the Trinity.

And while there are many aspects of this icon that might draw our attention and many subtleties over which we might pray, I want to end simply by directing your attention to the open space in the front of the table.  Do you see it?  That space is for you—actually, for us.  For we are invited to complete the circle by joining in the dance.  God desires us to join the dance and enter the flow.

Besides the Cappadocian Fathers, I am indebted to the spiritual writings of Cynthia Bourgeault, Richard, Rohr, and Raimon Pannikar for their work inspired reflection on the Trinity.

 

An Ash Wednesday Meditation

One of the great and enduring graces of our tradition is the liturgical year.  Following a meaningful and coherent cycle, we are led through the celebrations of the Christian year that are informed by the events of Jesus’ life.  Ash Wednesday, as you all know, marks the beginning of Lent, the forty-day period that precedes Easter.  And if Easter is the pivotal point of our faith, Lent is the time of preparation when we do the spadework and the cultivation for something very new to emerge at Easter.

Although there are many things we can’t control in life (most, actually), I have always believed that the preparatory work of Lent really does influence our experience of Easter and the meaning Easter has for us.  Lent, I believe, is a great and wonderful gift.  But to receive its greatest blessing we must reach for its deepest meaning.

But learning how to move meaningfully through Lent is not necessarily either clear or easy.  Mostly this is because Lent has become a caricature of itself.  We give something up for the forty-day period—call it a fast—and hope that it will do something for us.  Unfortunately it usually doesn’t, and we are left awash in disappointment and disillusionment.  Mostly this is because we are not aware of our hidden motivations to use spiritual experiences like we use everything else—to convince ourselves that we actually can control something or earn something or merit ourselves—even if it is only for forty days.  Of course, that kind of reasoning turns the true meaning of Lent around a full 180 degrees.

But really, we should know that spiritual realities—although they use the stuff of everyday life—are of a different order altogether.  It’s not like we can simply add up the little things we do and think that they will get us to a better spiritual place.  It just doesn’t work that way.  In fact, instead of doing more in order to make our spiritual lives more meaningful, I will be suggesting that we do less.  But let me get there step by step.

What if we were to look inside of Lent and see its deeper meaning?  I know there are all kinds of erudite theological books that propose to do just that, but there is another—a more unassuming little volume—that opens up the meaning of Lent as no other book I have ever read.  And this book doesn’t even propose to be about Lent!

Of course, the book to which I am referring you have heard me mention many times before. It is entitled Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life by Philip Simmons (1958-2002). The author was a professor of Humanities at Lake Forest College. When he was diagnosed with ALS (usually known as “Lou Gehrig’s Disease”), Simmons left his teaching position and retired to his small New Hampshire hometown, where he wrote this book of twelve essays—reflections on life and living, death and dying.

Although I had read it previously, this book had particular meaning for me when I re-read it while I was recuperating from my cardiac surgery six years ago.  It eloquently expressed both the difficulties and the blessings I was moving through.  And I have returned to it every year since.  If you do nothing else this Lent other than read this book, you will find your life enriched and deepened.  And the letting go of Lent—which is, fundamentally, the subject that this book tackles—might bring you to an Easter joy and freedom that can only be found by relinquishing some of those things without which we fear we could not do without.  But, of course, here is the Gospel mystery that is fraught with paradox—that we find our lives by losing them.

In one of his essays, Simmons uses a Zen story that might serve as an appropriate introduction to our entry into Lent:

A man who was walking across a field was spotted by a tiger that, hoping this was dinner, starting chasing him.  Running for his life, the man ran as fast as his feet could carry him, but the tiger kept gaining on him.  The man was chased to the edge of a cliff, and, alas, he had no other choice but to leap.  The only chance to save himself was a branch sticking out of the cliff’s face halfway down.  The terrified man grabbed the branch and clung on to it for all he was worth.  Looking down, however, he was totally undone by what he saw: another tiger!
Then the man saw growing out of the cliff a small plant.  It was a strawberry plant, and there on a branch was one, lone ripe strawberry.  Letting go with one hand, the man found that he could stretch his arm out just far enough to pluck the strawberry with his fingertips and bring it to his lips.
How sweet it tasted!

You have probably been through a tight time or two in your life.  And probably from your experience in having gotten through that time you likely could have derived a couple or three nifty little learnings, like:  “we mustn’t wait for disaster to strike—we should stop and smell the coffee right now,” and “even when disaster does assail us, we can always count our blessings,” and “it’s always our choice to see the glass half full or half empty.”

But the Gospel takes us deeper than all those pithy sentiments, and Philip Simmons is able to point to that depth.  He rightly acknowledges that life is not a problem to be fixed but a mystery to be lived.  And what is it we are being asked by this mystery?  To be present—to be fully present—and to hand ourselves over to it.  In other words, we find the fullness of life by letting go of all our supposed solutions and trite explanations.  This letting go, Simmons declares, is the first step in learning how to fall.

And so instead of a flashy list of remedies to life understood as a problem, Simmons offers us what he calls mystery points—counterintuitive considerations to turn our worlds upside down.  Here they are:

  • If spiritual growth is what you seek, don’t ask for more strawberries: ask for more tigers.
  • The threat of tigers and the leap from the cliff are what give the strawberry its savor.  They cannot be avoided, and the strawberry can’t be enjoyed without them.  No tigers, no sweetness.
  • In falling we somehow gain what means most.  In falling we are given back our lives even as we lose them.

In thinking about Lent as the preparation for Easter, we might be tempted to think that, just as Jesus rose from the dead and overcame the fear and hatred that got him crucified, so too might we eventually triumph over all the forces that oppose us.  Although we are coming to accept the fact that we cannot pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps, most all of us hold out the hope that God can do what we cannot and that ultimately God will bring us vindication in the final end.  Undoubtedly that is true.  But understanding things on that level in that sequence puts us way ahead of ourselves and keeps us from the fullness of this present moment (and the strawberry).

Without disclaiming this kind of ultimacy, I nevertheless have to say that Lent is really about something else altogether.  Yes, there may well be some ultimate triumph inherent in the life of faith, but that is not its means and that should not be its motive.  No, there is something deeper.  In Lent we have the opportunity to find the fullness of life in the falling itself.  In Lent we can strive to live more fully in the mystery and work intentionally to give up our efforts to control by needing to understand and figure it all out.  More than assuming that we will automatically come out in one piece on the other side (that is, the Easter side), in Lent we can find something akin to the hidden victory in the vulnerability of the falling itself.  And that is the deep truth that is spoken when the ashes are imposed on your forehead.  It doesn’t mean that you are a sinful wretch; it means that as a human being you are marked with the vulnerability of finitude.

For the truth of life is that we are falling—falling in ways that are painfully obvious, falling in ways that we have yet to discover.  It’s tigers above us, tigers below.  But there is in the midst of the falling that red, ripe strawberry.  Will we reach out to enjoy it?

It just may be that the Kingdom that Jesus is calling us to is not defined by “victory” in the usual way we think about “victory.”  If this is so—and I really think it is—then giving up something in Lent to prove ourselves worthy or to earn some kind of vindication in the end actually cuts against the deepest and truest meaning of where Lent might bring us.

I invite you to mark a very different kind of Lent. Let us, then, explore together all the myriad ways in which we are falling.  This is an exploration in vulnerability—a shared vulnerability.  And instead of being a grossly morbid and gloomy exercise, we may just find grace emerging—and strawberries!

An Advent Meditation

There is a journey sewn into the fabric of meaningful life.  Our lives take us from one place to another.  Abraham understood this—he stepped out into the unknown from his hometown of Haran.  So did Moses—he led his people out of bondage in Egypt through the wilderness wandering to the promised land.  But Joseph and Mary also searched for a suitable place for their child to be born, and they searched deep into the dark night.  And the shepherds and wise men followed a special star to find life’s greatest treasure.

Our own lives also are a journey, a quest, to find answers to life’s persistent questions.  But which questions?  Consider the vast array.  They range from the seemingly superficial at one end of the spectrum, like: How can I entertain and distract myself?  Do you think anyone can see my bald spot?  How can I get rid of my slice?  To questions around the concerns of survival and security, like: How can I increase my income?  What is the safest investment in these turbulent economic times? When and where will I retire?  To questions of power and influence, like:  How can I rise to the top of this corporation?  How can I get my way on this committee?  To the seemingly more profound, questions like:  What is eternal?  What is the value of my life for others?

To identify the questions that lead us on in our lives is to expose the depth and direction of our lives.  Advent is the time when we are invited to consider the questions that are instigating and leading our life journeys.  Finding the right questions, the best and deepest questions, makes an incredible difference in terms of where our faith will take us.

I have seen the bumper sticker that reads, “Jesus is the answer.”   I see the profound truth to that simple and straightforward statement.  But the questions that precede that answer are equally critical and tell us a great deal about the life of the believer who is making that claim.  And we must look deep within ourselves to see if our questions are worthy of this cosmic event that is about to unfold.

Are we looking for safety and security?  Are we looking to stand out in life in order to be valued and admired by others?  Are we positioning ourselves in life so that we can get our fair share of the pie?  Jesus, I suppose, can help us with all these kinds of questions.  And they are reasonable and legitimate ways to use our faith.

But if we want to get to the essence of the message Jesus brought to life—if we want to take up his call to us and travel the path he forges for us—if we want something more than the shallow promise of smooth sailing and success—we have to ask the deepest questions, the right questions.

The best questions will bring us the deepest and most profound experience of Christmas.  And the best questions take us beyond the demands of safety and security, beyond the demands of recognition and acclaim, beyond the demands for excessive power and control.  The best questions have to do with the purpose of our lives for others.  The deepest questions concern the ways in which our lives might embody love, forgiveness, and self-giving.

At this deeper level, like every other level, yes, Jesus is the answer.  But here at the level of the deepest questions, it begins to dawn on us that Jesus will not take away or spare us of all of life’s difficulty and disappointment.  Maybe we don’t have to be constantly entertained and distracted.  At this level, we begin to realize that Jesus will not necessarily bring us enduring wealth and success.  Maybe our achievements of money and power are not as important as we once believed.  At this level, we begin to understand that Jesus will not keep us from illness, aging, and, ultimately, death.  Maybe, even though we our lives do not stretch on forever, we are a part of something that was never born and will never die.  Here at the level of the deepest questions, Jesus can bring us to life’s ultimate meaning and purpose—even, or especially, as we ourselves struggle to keep our heads above water.

So, here we are in Advent awaiting the birth of Christ, God’s fullest revelation of the meaning and purpose of life.  But in order to receive this miracle at the deepest level, we must ask the right questions.  This requires finding the time and place for self-examination; this requires an open and vulnerable heart; this requires letting go of the lesser questions in order to grasp the greater questions.  This is the work of Advent.  This is how we prepare the Way of the Lord.

Advent Reality

Dividing the holiday landscape up into two separate paths in the first place is one way in which we set ourselves up.  What if we simply saw reality as it is?  What if we surrendered and let go of our expectations of how we think the holiday season is supposed to be and instead we embraced our experience just as it is.  What if, along side our efforts to deepen our spiritual lives, we at the same time accepted ourselves just as we are?

Christ is to be found in the mess and through the mess.  Things really are simply the way they are.  And thinking that they are supposed to be any different, may be an enticing thought, but is not likely to take us very far.  In fact, taking that road any distance at all will get us very lost.  Remember, Jesus was not born in the Bethlehem Hilton.  He was born in a crummy stable that the reeked of animal excrement.  Although Christmas cards can whitewash that fact and make it quaint and cozy, it was not.  It was, in fact, the least likely place in the world for our Lord to be born.  But perhaps, so too are we…

The message for which we prepare during this season of Advent is not that Christ will come when we finally get more spiritual and when we get our lives in order.  He is coming right now, and he will be present in our lives just as they are.  He is no stranger to mess, to pain, to suffering, or to any of the other dark and difficult expressions of the human condition.

The bottom line is this: Christ is not coming for some future time in your life—a time when you might be more spiritual, more worthy, or more ready.  He desires to be born in you right now. He desires to be born in your life just as it is.

Daily Inspirations: 2013

The Syracuse Post Standard, March 2013

1. Deep, Deep Abundance

There is something mysteriously paradoxical at the heart of life.  While everything around us tells us that we must grab what we want, even if we have to wrest from someone else, there is a deeper Wisdom.  When we are willing to share—when we are willing to give ourselves away in love—only then do we discover the profound abundance that emerges from the depths of life and that gives to us unstintingly.

2. To Be Fully Alive

Fear and anxiety desire to freeze things in order to control them.  But Wisdom knows that there is nothing in life that is simply static, nothing that is merely mechanical, and nothing that is not alive.  When we can move beyond our fear and anxiety, that description should fit us as well.  That is, we are constantly flowing with the divine and creative drive; we are not inevitably imprisoned by our history; and we express our truest and deepest nature in our willingness to love and to be fully alive.

3. Intentional Integration

Life is made up of complex, self-organizing systems that are continually re-creating themselves. All parts are parts of wholes and those wholes are parts of other wholes, and the whole business is constantly changing. But this process is anything but random. It moves toward greater complexity and integration. Can we say the same of ourselves…?

4. We are the Whole

It seems safer and more comfortable for us to view life through a lens of distinctiveness and separateness.  Indeed, it seems to give us some control.  We define one thing based on its being different from something else.  And while this is one way of seeing life, the saints and mystics of our spiritual traditions perceived life in another manner.  They saw everything as connected—everything as a whole and part of a larger whole.  Quantum physics has confirmed the veracity of this perspective.

5. Direct Encounters

Human nature seems such that once we have a name for something, we think we understand it.  We do this because the alternative, that is, to intuit the vast non-linearity and unpredictability of life, is truly frightening.  But instead of living in categories that seek to control life, what if we could experience the freshness of life simply by encountering it more directly?  What if, then, we embraced change instead of trying to avoid it…?

6. Creative Change

Creative change in our lives is limited by our perspective.  When we restrict ourselves by utilizing habitual ways of seeing that only work with pre-established mental models, we become blind to emergent possibilities.  To participate in truly creative change we must be willing to let go of that which is familiar and comfortable and venture into the mysterious unknown.  Einstein said, “We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.” Unless we are willing to venture into the unknown, we are destined to perpetuate the problems we have already created.

7. Change, an Everyday Opportunity

The beginning of the calendar year often brings with it thoughts and intentions of change–almost as if turning the page of a new year delivers some much needed momentum for the things we need to either add or subtract from our lives. How silly, though, to reserve change to a particular time of year for every day, every minute, really, brings emerging changes to our lives, even if we don’t always recognize them. Indeed, change is the only constant in life. Or, put the other way around, any time we think we have reached a final conclusion about anything–a conclusion from which nothing can be added or taken away–a conclusion that is no longer open to any new information or evidence–then we have truly relinquished the most accurate perspective in life, and we are choosing to live in self-delusion. Wisdom asserts that life is open-ended and so too must we be.


Does this mean that there is nothing in life that is stable enough for us to bank on? By no means! It does, however, suggest that we learn to hold things lightly–especially ourselves. It seems that most all of our spiritual traditions encourage us to move beyond grasping and clutching at what our small selves insist we need or must be conclusively true. Even though we cannot fully articulate or explain it, there is a larger reality, a larger mystery, to which we all belong, the whole of which we are only a part. While continuously emerging with fresh newness and creativity, this mystery sustains us in this ongoing change. And not so much a “What,” this mystery is better described as a “Who.”