Life Together Matters

The last few months have been deeply painful for anyone who believes that, as the name of this blog suggests, we are all just here to walk each other home.  Politicians preach racial, ethnic, and religious profiling, police are trained to see our streets as was zones, private citizens in the United States insist on their "right" to arm themselves with military-grade weaponry, the people of Great Britain separate themselves from the European Union in protest over too many layers of unresponsive government, and random acts of violence tear cities apart in the name of, what? ISIS?  Homophobia?  Generalized fear and anxiety?  We seem to live in dark and fearful times.

The challenge for people of faith and good will is to figure out how to respond.  There are many possible options, among them withdrawal, prayer, social action, political activism.  Each has its benefits, of course. Withdrawal at least protects the heart and soul from the daily assaults of violence and fear-mongering, and withholds from the provocateur the reward of a response, either of fear or of sympathy.  Withdrawal may limit the spread of evil in the short run, but it does not promote the good.  Prayer is a powerful tool in the hands and hearts of believers, especially prayer that promotes the conversion of perpetrators, and reconciliation with victims.  Even more powerful is the kind of prayer that effects deep transformation of the inward life of the pray-er, the one who prays.  Social and political action are necessary elements in the healing of the world, but without confronting our own potential for anger and conflict, our efforts will drain us, and ultimately come to not very much.

While I have chosen to ground my spiritual practice in contemplation, and live in a hermitage, I remain committed to the principle that companionship, compassion, and love are the only things that can heal the world.  To be a companion to black people, gay, lesbian, and differently-gendered people, Muslim people, to whoever has been cast aside, wounded, and rejected by others, this is the Great Commandment of Christ, and as far as I can see, the only practice that has the power to heal the world's wounds.

Black Lives Matter.  The lives of the poor, the sick, the suffering, the oppressed matter.  These are the ones we are called to walk with, to live with, to stand with. Only in companionship and compassion can we make a lasting difference.  Walk with me.  Let me walk with you.

What Bliss, That We are Dust

Ash Wednesday -- such a dark and solemn day in so many churches.  Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.  No matter the care you take to be healthy, to be successful, to be beautiful, all will turn to dust and worms and ashes.  You will die, and you will be judged, perhaps by an angry and vengeful God, so you'd best use this season of Lent to beat yourself into submission before it's God's turn to beat you into submission.

I've noticed in the past few years that some clergy have taken to the streets with Ashes to Go for the folk who don't make it to church on Ash Wednesday.  The rationale is that people these days are too busy to get to church, but they'd like to "get their ashes" anyway.  I suspect, however, that however real their busyness may be, it's not the real reason why churches are increasingly empty on Ash Wednesday.  I suspect that the deeper reality is that the message that has traditionally come with those ashes is terrifying, and instinctively people avoid it.

There is a much larger story to Ash Wednesday, though, a deeper truth hidden in the dust and ashes we so fear.   Just as Jesus showed us in his own passion and death, in our death is our liberation.  In our willingness to abandon our egos and agendas and self-development programs lies the path to actual freedom.  In acknowledging our impermanence lies our very bliss.

Dame Julian of Norwich experienced her visions of God's limitless love and mercy towards his
cherished children in the context of a near-deathly illness.  St. Francis of Assisi carried the stigmata of Christ's crucifixion as bodily reminders of the inevitability of death itself, calling the end of life "Sister Death."  Ramana Maharshi felt himself near death at a young age, and laid himself down to fully experience his transition, at which point he recognized the presence of divine consciousness within himself.

Rather than the solemn and terrifying threat of damnation, Ash Wednesday may be received as God's invitation to burn away our obsessions and illusions until all that is left is Love Itself, the pure consciousness of God.  What bliss that we are but dust -- the dust of the earth, and the dust of the stars -- and that God's Love is what animates this collection of passing matter.  I will use this season of Lent to discover what God can burn away, and leave me with the Divine Alone.

 

Life in a Hermitage

One week ago, I began an new adventure – while on retreat with my brothers and sisters in the Lindisfarne Community I took vows to deepen my commitment to a life of prayer, study, and contemplation, declaring my home to be the Wild Goose Hermitage of the Lindisfarne Community.  It was not what I’d ever expected to be or to do, after all, I’m married with step-children and grandchildren, I teach at a small college, and have friends and relations from California to Northumberland.  What does it mean for a 21^st century Christian to commit to a life of contemplation?

Mind the Gap

On my first trip to London I noticed the very helpful signs that were posted in useful places.  "Look Right" appears at crosswalks so that pedestrians check one last time for oncoming traffic.  And on train platforms the message "Mind the Gap" keeps passengers from slipping a foot into the space between the platform and the train itself.

While contemplating the ancient story of Christ's birth over the past few days, however, a very different application of the phrase, "mind the gap," came to mind.  The whole point of the Incarnation, the whole reason why God sent His Son, as it was taught to me for many years, was to reach across an unbridgeable gulf between God and humanity, and close the gap Himself.  In the same way, the purpose of the crucifixion was so that Christ could pay a debt, our debt, that we could not pay on our own.  Both of these interpretations suggest a separation between God and God's beloved human community that has never made sense to me.

An Advent Meditation on Justice

 What follows is an Advent meditation which was shared today with my brothers and sisters in the Lindisfarne Community.  May it be a blessing to others.

Brothers and Sisters,

Many of us are deeply troubled by the violence in our streets.  Race, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, class, even religion, all the things we thought back in the 60s and 70s that we'd confronted and named and faced down seem to be roaring back with a vengeance to divide God's beloved children into warring camps. And yet, the very word, religion, comes from a root that means to bind back together what has been separated.

The Indestructible Core

Has anyone else ever received the spiritual blow to your head, or heart, or ego, the one that turns everything upside down?  It's happened to me a couple of times, and I sometimes call it the "cosmic 2 x 4," it can hit that hard.

This one was completely unexpected.  A few weeks ago. the wonderful Elizabeth Gilbert posted a quick exchange from a recent interview onto her Facebook page.  At a public event, an attendee walked to the microphone and asked, "What do you know more than anything?" 

Back to School

It's September, and for us students and teachers, that means getting back to the work of teaching and learning.  For the past several years I have actively been and done both things, teaching in a small college as an adjunct assistant professor in Religious Studies, as well as crafting my doctoral dissertation on three texts that tell the stories of early medieval Celtic (and one Anglo-Saxon) saints.  Both endeavors are stimulating and inspiring, both get my intellectual juices flowing. And what's particularly fascinating is that in both settings I find, in Wesley's words, my heart strangely warmed.

Soul & Psyche, 2

Greetings, Dear Ones,

This post will pick up from the previous one, reflecting on ideas from The Darkening Spirit, by David Tacey.  Tacey's book is an exploration of the ideas of C.G. Jung on religion and spirituality, and promises a proposal for what religion might begin to look like in the future.  I have read the first four chapters, and find much to savor in these pages, some of which I will be chewing on in this blog.

One initial question has to do with why it is even necessary to imagine "what religion might look like in the future?"  Hasn't the Church always been what it is?  A place for worship and service, where some people lead and most people follow, and between the vestry and the choir and Sunday School most people find a place to fit in?  Well, I haven't been active in any institutional churches for about a decade now, but from what I hear from friends in the field, this form of "being Church," while it is still very much alive and well in some corners, is either dwindling in numbers or chronically tied up in controversy in others.  And all the while the voices of modern (and post-modern) atheism are loudly crying that religion is not only the opiate of the masses, but the cause of much of the pain and misery in the world.  In such an environment, how could religion simply keep on as it has?  Bidden or unbidden, change will come.