When portions were served to them from Joseph's table, Benjamin's portion was five times as much as anyone else's. So they feasted and drank freely with him.
–Genesis 43:34
Like a good meal, faith takes thought and preparation, but ultimately it is meant to be enjoyed. Faith is how you feast on the fullness of what it means to be a human being. It is how you fill your soul with the energy you need to live like eating at a richly filled table.
A lack of faith can lead to a spiritual hunger so debilitating it can feel like starvation. Starving for faith can be as harmful as starving for food because finding ways to feed your soul is a far greater mystery than visiting the kitchen.
Viewing a feast in this way, the Last Supper takes on a whole different meaning. Guests around this table were feasting on the body and blood of Christ, in communion with him because they needed more than bread and wine.
The French derivation of the word "companion" is "with bread." It is in this light that the extinction of the family dinner table and the proliferation of "fast food" are most tragic. It is the love of Christ that the disciples most needed, and it is love from others, simple companionship, that so many of us need today; and yet it is missing.
Like Jesus and his disciples, a spiritual feast begins with food and a conversation. If the way to a person's heart is through their stomach, a good meal and good conversation may be the most spiritual experience we can have.
If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.
–Ernest Hemingway
Where are the places where you feast on more than bread and wine?
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
14. Laugh
Abraham fell facedown; he laughed and said to himself, "Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?’
–Genesis 17: 17
Why do we laugh?
Sociologists have pondered this question for some time, but there has been no definitive scientific "use" determined for this outward manifestation of inner joy.
Scientists have, however, linked the tendency to laugh and smile to longevity. In fact, the smile is such a powerful force, that when the 44 muscles on the "facial palet" are configured just right, we feel better. Social scientists tell us that, merely by moving the face into "laugh position" or "smiling," even if we do not feel like it, we can jumpstart chemical reactions in the brain that actually make us feel happy or help us to climb out of a funk. Moreover, when we are nervous or feel anxious, we naturally smile, a primal survival response designed to help us connect with another person, thereby defusing a stressful situation.
So, the next time you are in a stressful situation, look at the faces of your colleagues, children, spouse, and notice the smile reflex. Your mother was not right when she said "wipe that grin off your face, I'm trying to talk to you about something serious!" Our smile is how we reach out.
Laughter and smiling are ways to invite others to join with you and connect. Laughter is something you can do equally well with total strangers or intimate friends. It is a non verbal universal language for "you and I both think this is funny, therefore we must share a bond."
Having laughed with someone, you can’t ignore them, assume the worst about them, or hurt them on purpose. Maybe laughter, after all, is the essence of how we survive as a species; at least on Monday mornings.
Sadness is the root of all humor.
–Mark Twain
What makes you laugh?
–Genesis 17: 17
Why do we laugh?
Sociologists have pondered this question for some time, but there has been no definitive scientific "use" determined for this outward manifestation of inner joy.
Scientists have, however, linked the tendency to laugh and smile to longevity. In fact, the smile is such a powerful force, that when the 44 muscles on the "facial palet" are configured just right, we feel better. Social scientists tell us that, merely by moving the face into "laugh position" or "smiling," even if we do not feel like it, we can jumpstart chemical reactions in the brain that actually make us feel happy or help us to climb out of a funk. Moreover, when we are nervous or feel anxious, we naturally smile, a primal survival response designed to help us connect with another person, thereby defusing a stressful situation.
So, the next time you are in a stressful situation, look at the faces of your colleagues, children, spouse, and notice the smile reflex. Your mother was not right when she said "wipe that grin off your face, I'm trying to talk to you about something serious!" Our smile is how we reach out.
Laughter and smiling are ways to invite others to join with you and connect. Laughter is something you can do equally well with total strangers or intimate friends. It is a non verbal universal language for "you and I both think this is funny, therefore we must share a bond."
Having laughed with someone, you can’t ignore them, assume the worst about them, or hurt them on purpose. Maybe laughter, after all, is the essence of how we survive as a species; at least on Monday mornings.
Sadness is the root of all humor.
–Mark Twain
What makes you laugh?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
13. Play
They rose early the next day, and offered burnt offerings and brought sacrifices of well-being; and the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to revel. –Exodus 32:6
I would do well to aspire to the simple, genuine purposelessness so readily exhibited by children building sandcastles on the beach. Why do they do it? The "work" they put into their creation is soon washed away, as if it never existed. There must be some intrinsic value to the play itself.
As an adult, I have lost the ability to do something simply because it is fun to do. In fact, there are strong sanctions in the adult world, formal and informal, against engaging in an activity simply for the sake of pleasure. When does this happen? Where, on my to-do lists, is there a space for "play," or is the very nature of a to-do list about extrinsic value of a reward offered by a boss, a spouse, or a client?
In some settings, it is only the quantifiable that is valued. The prevailing cultural norm of many adult institutions is built around what can be counted or defined as effective. How would you measure pleasure? The argument could be made that people who like their work are motivated by the pleasure resulting from a job well done, but there may be a higher pleasure-plane accessible to you through engaging in behavior that is an end in itself vs. a means to an end: call it the sandcastle principle.
Maybe, as an adult, you have experienced a sort of indoctrination into a culture of watching others play: a concert, an organized professional sports, even your own children on the stage or the field. The pleasure you experience in this vicarious act of witnessing may fall short of the experience which is accessible only when you follow the sandcastle principle.
Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do; play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.
–Mark Twain
What are the spaces in life that we reserve for the pure and cleansing experience of purposelessness?
I would do well to aspire to the simple, genuine purposelessness so readily exhibited by children building sandcastles on the beach. Why do they do it? The "work" they put into their creation is soon washed away, as if it never existed. There must be some intrinsic value to the play itself.
As an adult, I have lost the ability to do something simply because it is fun to do. In fact, there are strong sanctions in the adult world, formal and informal, against engaging in an activity simply for the sake of pleasure. When does this happen? Where, on my to-do lists, is there a space for "play," or is the very nature of a to-do list about extrinsic value of a reward offered by a boss, a spouse, or a client?
In some settings, it is only the quantifiable that is valued. The prevailing cultural norm of many adult institutions is built around what can be counted or defined as effective. How would you measure pleasure? The argument could be made that people who like their work are motivated by the pleasure resulting from a job well done, but there may be a higher pleasure-plane accessible to you through engaging in behavior that is an end in itself vs. a means to an end: call it the sandcastle principle.
Maybe, as an adult, you have experienced a sort of indoctrination into a culture of watching others play: a concert, an organized professional sports, even your own children on the stage or the field. The pleasure you experience in this vicarious act of witnessing may fall short of the experience which is accessible only when you follow the sandcastle principle.
Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do; play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.
–Mark Twain
What are the spaces in life that we reserve for the pure and cleansing experience of purposelessness?
Saturday, October 18, 2008
12. Music
Why did you flee secretly and deceive me and not tell me? I would have sent you away with mirth and songs, with tambourine and lyre. –Genesis 31:27
When I was a little boy, I recall walking in on my father in the midst of conducting his own private orchestra. He was wearing a pair of headphones the size of cabbages and waiving around a pretzel rod as if it were a baton. I wondered, as I watched, how someone could get so lost in a piece of music, a thing you could not see or touch.
It was only after watching my father over the course of several such performances that it occurred to me that he was, in fact, seeing and feeling the music, though I had yet to figure out how he was perceiving these sounds as sights and tactile sensations. As he listened, all else disappeared and time evaporated. I wondered if he'd attended a special school to learn how to conduct so well or how to experience music in this way.
For me, music was something to be listened to and an "ear only" experience. For my father, music was something to be watched and it transported him to other places. As I listened through the years, I learned to start with the titles of the given pieces to give me a hint of what the composer had in mind. These titles often provided an initial image, but sometimes were more confusing than no title at all. It was about the time my parents took me to see Fantasia by Walt Disney that the scales fell from my eyes and a whole world I never knew existed was opened to me.
Fantasia was just the object lesson I needed to jumpstart my sense of the visual aspect of music. In this world, talking about the color of music made perfect sense, and music became a method of prayer or a way of seeing some deeper part of myself that was inaccessible during the day when other sounds, less pleasing to my ear interfered with such inner vision.
After silence, that which comes the closest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
–Aldous Huxley
Where in your "noisy" life have you made an intentional space to "hear the music"?
When I was a little boy, I recall walking in on my father in the midst of conducting his own private orchestra. He was wearing a pair of headphones the size of cabbages and waiving around a pretzel rod as if it were a baton. I wondered, as I watched, how someone could get so lost in a piece of music, a thing you could not see or touch.
It was only after watching my father over the course of several such performances that it occurred to me that he was, in fact, seeing and feeling the music, though I had yet to figure out how he was perceiving these sounds as sights and tactile sensations. As he listened, all else disappeared and time evaporated. I wondered if he'd attended a special school to learn how to conduct so well or how to experience music in this way.
For me, music was something to be listened to and an "ear only" experience. For my father, music was something to be watched and it transported him to other places. As I listened through the years, I learned to start with the titles of the given pieces to give me a hint of what the composer had in mind. These titles often provided an initial image, but sometimes were more confusing than no title at all. It was about the time my parents took me to see Fantasia by Walt Disney that the scales fell from my eyes and a whole world I never knew existed was opened to me.
Fantasia was just the object lesson I needed to jumpstart my sense of the visual aspect of music. In this world, talking about the color of music made perfect sense, and music became a method of prayer or a way of seeing some deeper part of myself that was inaccessible during the day when other sounds, less pleasing to my ear interfered with such inner vision.
After silence, that which comes the closest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
–Aldous Huxley
Where in your "noisy" life have you made an intentional space to "hear the music"?
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
11. Silence
I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest, but trouble comes. –Job 3:26
Pure silence can be quite earsplitting. In our crowed world, I am not sure many of us will ever get to experience absolute silence ever again.
Walking through a deep forest shortly after a heavy snow, it is possible to lose yourself in the absence of sound. With three senses disabled, there is less to distract you. Given the reduction in stimuli, what fills the balance? Is it the Holy Spirit; and before I know it, I am communing… am in communion… with nature.
It is so difficult to find such silence in places other than nature. Can you find it in a shopping mall, a classroom, or a restaurant? And yet you experience communion in places other than a snowy wood. Maybe the capacity to commune has more to do with finding a silence within myself.
A mentor of mine once observed that the word "silent" and the word "listen" are comprised of the same letters. "In order to do the one," he said, "…you must first learn to do the other, and to listen, you must be intentional about it." There are very few times when real life will yield to the possibilities of silence, or where the absence of anything, sound included, is valued.
The value of being able to conjure inner silence, however, is inestimable. It takes the place of the deep snowy wood at those times when going into the wild is not possible. Finding the silence inside requires effort we’re not used to extending, for in committing to such an undertaking, I commit to leaving, even temporarily, worlds in which I have grown comfortable, worlds that have rewarded my tolerance of the cacophony associated with it all, worlds where I am leaving something, everything, on a quest for an absence, rather than a presence.
See how nature- trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the start, the moon, and the sun, how they move in silence. We need silence to be able to touch souls.
–Mother Teresa of Calcutta
How kind of daily effort can you devote to finding or creating the silence to hear what is most important to you?
Pure silence can be quite earsplitting. In our crowed world, I am not sure many of us will ever get to experience absolute silence ever again.
Walking through a deep forest shortly after a heavy snow, it is possible to lose yourself in the absence of sound. With three senses disabled, there is less to distract you. Given the reduction in stimuli, what fills the balance? Is it the Holy Spirit; and before I know it, I am communing… am in communion… with nature.
It is so difficult to find such silence in places other than nature. Can you find it in a shopping mall, a classroom, or a restaurant? And yet you experience communion in places other than a snowy wood. Maybe the capacity to commune has more to do with finding a silence within myself.
A mentor of mine once observed that the word "silent" and the word "listen" are comprised of the same letters. "In order to do the one," he said, "…you must first learn to do the other, and to listen, you must be intentional about it." There are very few times when real life will yield to the possibilities of silence, or where the absence of anything, sound included, is valued.
The value of being able to conjure inner silence, however, is inestimable. It takes the place of the deep snowy wood at those times when going into the wild is not possible. Finding the silence inside requires effort we’re not used to extending, for in committing to such an undertaking, I commit to leaving, even temporarily, worlds in which I have grown comfortable, worlds that have rewarded my tolerance of the cacophony associated with it all, worlds where I am leaving something, everything, on a quest for an absence, rather than a presence.
See how nature- trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the start, the moon, and the sun, how they move in silence. We need silence to be able to touch souls.
–Mother Teresa of Calcutta
How kind of daily effort can you devote to finding or creating the silence to hear what is most important to you?
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
10. Your Last Hour
In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground. –Luke 22: 44
As Jesus was living his last hours on earth, he did what he loved most. He sat with his friends and he loved. He loved in so many ways it boggles our all-to-human minds.
He ate. In his last hours, he chewed the unleavened bread. He dipped it in oil and looked at his friends and savored the bitter yeast and the sweet grain. He lavished in the richness of the oil and the sacred moment with those who he’d traveled for three years.
He drank. He poured the wine and said remember, “You have to start over.” He talked about forgiveness and toasted the grace that is each new moment in a way that 2000 years later we still find sacred and precious. In his last moments he gave a toast so profound millions deliver it daily, in fact, hourly throughout the world.
He was honest. He told his friends what he thought of them, and made it clear that he was going to die. He told them how he was going to die and that even though he would be betrayed, he loved them and that they would end up in heaven together. The truth is only painful if we are attached to this life. He embraced eternal life, and so he spoke without fear.
He prayed. He spoke without fear, but he didn’t want to die. He gave his life because he knew he had to; so he prayed.
What would you do with your last hours? Why are you not doing it now?
No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time.
–James Baldwin
What would you do if you had just a few more hours to live?
As Jesus was living his last hours on earth, he did what he loved most. He sat with his friends and he loved. He loved in so many ways it boggles our all-to-human minds.
He ate. In his last hours, he chewed the unleavened bread. He dipped it in oil and looked at his friends and savored the bitter yeast and the sweet grain. He lavished in the richness of the oil and the sacred moment with those who he’d traveled for three years.
He drank. He poured the wine and said remember, “You have to start over.” He talked about forgiveness and toasted the grace that is each new moment in a way that 2000 years later we still find sacred and precious. In his last moments he gave a toast so profound millions deliver it daily, in fact, hourly throughout the world.
He was honest. He told his friends what he thought of them, and made it clear that he was going to die. He told them how he was going to die and that even though he would be betrayed, he loved them and that they would end up in heaven together. The truth is only painful if we are attached to this life. He embraced eternal life, and so he spoke without fear.
He prayed. He spoke without fear, but he didn’t want to die. He gave his life because he knew he had to; so he prayed.
What would you do with your last hours? Why are you not doing it now?
No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time.
–James Baldwin
What would you do if you had just a few more hours to live?
Monday, October 13, 2008
9. Human Being
Then the LORD God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. –Genesis 2: 7
Are you a human being, or a human doing? Our world is always going to be busy. We are driven to do things better—this is the very nature of our myth about what makes life worth living—and even if you want to go slow, you will be affected by the pace of life around you. If you want slowness naturally, go to the mountains. If you want to experience slowness in the midst of chaos, become a human being again.
A human doing is concerned with their “To Do” list first. The most important thing in a human doing’s life is making a list and check everything off the list. That is the cycle of a human doing’s life, and it will be repeated day after day, taught to the human doing’s children as the best way to live, and create a world where it is very busy, mostly disconnected from other people’s deeper feelings, and as a result, too often, lonely.
A human being goes slow wherever they are. That doesn’t mean they can’t get things done quickly, it means that there is an intention in the doing that transcends lists and deadlines: Lists will be written, and deadlines will be met. But the purpose of the experience is to be.
To be is to savor the moment, wherever you are, whether pain or pleasure, and recognize that all of it happens connected to love. God doesn’t make the pain or the pleasure; God created a world where these things can happen, and they do because of the cycles of human life. The human being doesn’t avoid the ups and downs of human experience, but looks for the heaven within any experience and seeks to be conscious of how God is a partner in every experience.
I think that God in creating Man somewhat overestimated his ability.
–Oscar Wilde
What do you want to do to become more of a human being?
Are you a human being, or a human doing? Our world is always going to be busy. We are driven to do things better—this is the very nature of our myth about what makes life worth living—and even if you want to go slow, you will be affected by the pace of life around you. If you want slowness naturally, go to the mountains. If you want to experience slowness in the midst of chaos, become a human being again.
A human doing is concerned with their “To Do” list first. The most important thing in a human doing’s life is making a list and check everything off the list. That is the cycle of a human doing’s life, and it will be repeated day after day, taught to the human doing’s children as the best way to live, and create a world where it is very busy, mostly disconnected from other people’s deeper feelings, and as a result, too often, lonely.
A human being goes slow wherever they are. That doesn’t mean they can’t get things done quickly, it means that there is an intention in the doing that transcends lists and deadlines: Lists will be written, and deadlines will be met. But the purpose of the experience is to be.
To be is to savor the moment, wherever you are, whether pain or pleasure, and recognize that all of it happens connected to love. God doesn’t make the pain or the pleasure; God created a world where these things can happen, and they do because of the cycles of human life. The human being doesn’t avoid the ups and downs of human experience, but looks for the heaven within any experience and seeks to be conscious of how God is a partner in every experience.
I think that God in creating Man somewhat overestimated his ability.
–Oscar Wilde
What do you want to do to become more of a human being?
Sunday, October 12, 2008
8. A Drop in the Bucket
The Kingdom of Heaven is like a bucket in which you place one drop, and suddenly, it’s full. –Modern Parable
Heaven is a place we work to build here on earth. This may run contrary to your idea about what heaven is. In fact, the ideas of “work” and “Heaven” may be antithetical if you see Heaven as the afterlife, or, on earth, as grace that happens naturally.
I don’t know for sure what Heaven is, but I can hope. Rather than a place where I go when I die, maybe it is a place I help to create while I am alive, every day in the here-and-now, and something I leave behind to those I love. This idea is appealing because it invites me to think about the agency I have to improve the world right now.
If the life of each person is a drop, and each person endeavors to do good work, then the bucket will fill quickly. Keeping it filled becomes a labor of love. You and I help each other know Heaven.
Hell, by extension, is an empty bucket, vacant and hollow, rather than a dark place filled with demons, sulfur that, although it burns eternally, yields no light. If this is true, then any hell has the potential to be a Heaven through my efforts. Hell is within my control rather than thrust upon me as a definitive part of my humanity, or as an alternative I need to fear if I don’t “get into” Heaven.
In fact, if I should fear anything, it is my own lack of initiative to fill the bucket. My lack of motivation, the sort of emptiness that befalls each of us from time to time, is Hell. But it can also be the reminder of what I need to do with my life.
If the world looks wrong/And your money’s spent and gone/And your friend has turned away/You can get away to Heaven/On this aeroplane/Just bow your head and pray.
–Woody Guthrie
What heavens are you building to fill the emptiness in your life?
Heaven is a place we work to build here on earth. This may run contrary to your idea about what heaven is. In fact, the ideas of “work” and “Heaven” may be antithetical if you see Heaven as the afterlife, or, on earth, as grace that happens naturally.
I don’t know for sure what Heaven is, but I can hope. Rather than a place where I go when I die, maybe it is a place I help to create while I am alive, every day in the here-and-now, and something I leave behind to those I love. This idea is appealing because it invites me to think about the agency I have to improve the world right now.
If the life of each person is a drop, and each person endeavors to do good work, then the bucket will fill quickly. Keeping it filled becomes a labor of love. You and I help each other know Heaven.
Hell, by extension, is an empty bucket, vacant and hollow, rather than a dark place filled with demons, sulfur that, although it burns eternally, yields no light. If this is true, then any hell has the potential to be a Heaven through my efforts. Hell is within my control rather than thrust upon me as a definitive part of my humanity, or as an alternative I need to fear if I don’t “get into” Heaven.
In fact, if I should fear anything, it is my own lack of initiative to fill the bucket. My lack of motivation, the sort of emptiness that befalls each of us from time to time, is Hell. But it can also be the reminder of what I need to do with my life.
If the world looks wrong/And your money’s spent and gone/And your friend has turned away/You can get away to Heaven/On this aeroplane/Just bow your head and pray.
–Woody Guthrie
What heavens are you building to fill the emptiness in your life?
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
7. Name the Storm
Peace, be still! –Mark 4: 39
Jesus is in a boat with his disciples taking a nap, and a nasty storm tears at the boat and terrifies the men with Jesus. Jesus sleeps. As it gets worse, they beg him; “Please, help us. Wake up, or we will be destroyed.”
Imagine him in the back of the boat, maybe not even opening his eyes. Then, calmly and without fanfare, he lifts his hand and says, “Peace, be still,” and the storm stops.
The question is “How?” We can’t do what Jesus does. We can’t make the serious illness, financial stress, relationship crisis, and daily burdens go away by simply saying, “Peace, be still.”
Our question is how can we take away the torment from the trouble? The disciples had to ride out the storm, but they made it worse by letting their fear overwhelm them.
The technique that you can use, the same as Jesus saying “Peace, be still,” is to name the storm. Say the thing that is really causing you trouble, look it in the eye, and admit the hold it has over you. There is nothing that love cannot overcome no matter how long it takes and how ugly it looks right now, but the process has to start by being honest that something is wrong. There is wind, rain, and waves and you are scared.
When you name the storm, you are admitting to yourself that there is a core problem in your life that you need to get right. We can’t choose the results of our lives, but we can find peace and be still as we work on the life we choose.
The myth of unlimited production brings war in its train as inevitably as clouds announce a storm.
–Albert Camus
What storm—to which God always says, “Peace, be still”—is terrifying you today?
Jesus is in a boat with his disciples taking a nap, and a nasty storm tears at the boat and terrifies the men with Jesus. Jesus sleeps. As it gets worse, they beg him; “Please, help us. Wake up, or we will be destroyed.”
Imagine him in the back of the boat, maybe not even opening his eyes. Then, calmly and without fanfare, he lifts his hand and says, “Peace, be still,” and the storm stops.
The question is “How?” We can’t do what Jesus does. We can’t make the serious illness, financial stress, relationship crisis, and daily burdens go away by simply saying, “Peace, be still.”
Our question is how can we take away the torment from the trouble? The disciples had to ride out the storm, but they made it worse by letting their fear overwhelm them.
The technique that you can use, the same as Jesus saying “Peace, be still,” is to name the storm. Say the thing that is really causing you trouble, look it in the eye, and admit the hold it has over you. There is nothing that love cannot overcome no matter how long it takes and how ugly it looks right now, but the process has to start by being honest that something is wrong. There is wind, rain, and waves and you are scared.
When you name the storm, you are admitting to yourself that there is a core problem in your life that you need to get right. We can’t choose the results of our lives, but we can find peace and be still as we work on the life we choose.
The myth of unlimited production brings war in its train as inevitably as clouds announce a storm.
–Albert Camus
What storm—to which God always says, “Peace, be still”—is terrifying you today?
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
6. Talent
"…to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability…After a long time, the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them…His lord said unto him, well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord." - Matthew 25:14-23 (excerpts).
I sometimes have an unhealthy regard for the practicalities of life, and have, in fact, been trained to think this way. For example, as a youngster, I was cautioned by my parents, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, to choose something that makes me happy, but that being happy should not be the sole standard by which I pick my life's work.
Implicit in this message is the thought that the things that made me happy would not always provide me with the best livelihood. Sometimes, by right of birth and a sort of passive mentoring, I felt as though I was expected to do what my parents did to raise their family. As the years went by, I realized that I might choose to do something because I was good at it, not great, but good, and so this would be the safe choice, regardless of whether or not I enjoyed the work. I might find that I was great at something, but did not enjoy the work at all. However, because I could make a lot of money doing it, that is what I would choose to do with my life.
I often wondered, if I were guaranteed not to fail according to whatever standard of success I subscribed to, what I would try to be or do. Under these conditions, I might reach beyond the practical concerns that I found bound by in selecting my life's work, or think in terms other than economic realities, thereby separating livelihood from talent.
This thought lends a whole other meaning to the parable cautioning us not to hide our talents. In fact, it is likely that many of us will go to our graves never knowing those things that we were best at or would have most enjoyed doing.
If this is true, then the key to a whole life is to explore as widely as possible all possibilities, and so share our gifts with as many people, in as many situations, in as many places as possible.
Open the doors of opportunity to talent and virtue and they will do themselves justice...
–Ralph Waldo Emerson
What talents do you possess that you haven’t explored?
I sometimes have an unhealthy regard for the practicalities of life, and have, in fact, been trained to think this way. For example, as a youngster, I was cautioned by my parents, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, to choose something that makes me happy, but that being happy should not be the sole standard by which I pick my life's work.
Implicit in this message is the thought that the things that made me happy would not always provide me with the best livelihood. Sometimes, by right of birth and a sort of passive mentoring, I felt as though I was expected to do what my parents did to raise their family. As the years went by, I realized that I might choose to do something because I was good at it, not great, but good, and so this would be the safe choice, regardless of whether or not I enjoyed the work. I might find that I was great at something, but did not enjoy the work at all. However, because I could make a lot of money doing it, that is what I would choose to do with my life.
I often wondered, if I were guaranteed not to fail according to whatever standard of success I subscribed to, what I would try to be or do. Under these conditions, I might reach beyond the practical concerns that I found bound by in selecting my life's work, or think in terms other than economic realities, thereby separating livelihood from talent.
This thought lends a whole other meaning to the parable cautioning us not to hide our talents. In fact, it is likely that many of us will go to our graves never knowing those things that we were best at or would have most enjoyed doing.
If this is true, then the key to a whole life is to explore as widely as possible all possibilities, and so share our gifts with as many people, in as many situations, in as many places as possible.
Open the doors of opportunity to talent and virtue and they will do themselves justice...
–Ralph Waldo Emerson
What talents do you possess that you haven’t explored?
Friday, October 3, 2008
5. Weeds and Wheat
And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, “Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?”
—Matthew 13: 27
Weeds are unavoidable.
Planting a garden, you plant weeds as well. Till the soil, and you make room for the weeds. By birds, wind, and insects: Weeds are planted by nature because where there is bare soil, nature begins to plant.
Weeds are a metaphor for what is not important to us. They survive because like imperfection and doubt and fear, they are part of the world. They remain in a field because we don’t spend time cultivating our soil.
Some of the plants we call weeds can be the most beautiful of flowers like daises or the most delicious vegetable like dandelion greens—just like some of the most painful experiences can provide the most important moments of our lives; but when weeds grow in a field that should be producing wheat, they can kill the crop.
You have wheat in your life. Wheat is the soul-filled experiences you crave like good bread. You can’t make bread without the wheat. The question is: Are you getting rid of the weeds?
I will go root away
The noisome weeds which without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
–William Shakespeare
What weeds are preventing you from the meaningful life you crave?
—Matthew 13: 27
Weeds are unavoidable.
Planting a garden, you plant weeds as well. Till the soil, and you make room for the weeds. By birds, wind, and insects: Weeds are planted by nature because where there is bare soil, nature begins to plant.
Weeds are a metaphor for what is not important to us. They survive because like imperfection and doubt and fear, they are part of the world. They remain in a field because we don’t spend time cultivating our soil.
Some of the plants we call weeds can be the most beautiful of flowers like daises or the most delicious vegetable like dandelion greens—just like some of the most painful experiences can provide the most important moments of our lives; but when weeds grow in a field that should be producing wheat, they can kill the crop.
You have wheat in your life. Wheat is the soul-filled experiences you crave like good bread. You can’t make bread without the wheat. The question is: Are you getting rid of the weeds?
I will go root away
The noisome weeds which without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
–William Shakespeare
What weeds are preventing you from the meaningful life you crave?
Thursday, October 2, 2008
4. Your Disease
He stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately his leprosy was cleansed. –Matthew 8: 3
You have a disease. Dis-ease: it is in you like poison. Most of your internal organs are made to get rid of the impurities in your body. The liver, the kidneys, the stomach’s acid and bacteria, and your intestines: They clean out the things that make you sick.
You still have a disease.
You have a way of being in this world that is preventing you from feeling at home in your own skin.
A monk had a brother. The brother was born with Down syndrome. His disease meant that he never lived alone. His whole life, the brother was part of a community for those whose minds were slower.
When the brother died, the monk delivered his eulogy. All the brother’s friends filled the pews of the church. When he left the pulpit, one of them got up and gave him a hug. When the long hug was finished, there was another friend. Before he sat down, the monk received a hug from over thirty friends of his brother. None of them were quick of mind; all of them were quick to love.
Would you stand up in the middle of a funeral to hug a grieving man?
Your disease is the thing that is preventing you from experiencing every moment as a gift. You have the capacity to love in this and every moment of your life. What, like poison freezing your body, is stopping you?
Life is a disease; and the only difference between one man and another is the stage of the disease at which he lives.
–George Bernard Shaw
What disease of mind or spirit or body is preventing you from loving in every moment?
You have a disease. Dis-ease: it is in you like poison. Most of your internal organs are made to get rid of the impurities in your body. The liver, the kidneys, the stomach’s acid and bacteria, and your intestines: They clean out the things that make you sick.
You still have a disease.
You have a way of being in this world that is preventing you from feeling at home in your own skin.
A monk had a brother. The brother was born with Down syndrome. His disease meant that he never lived alone. His whole life, the brother was part of a community for those whose minds were slower.
When the brother died, the monk delivered his eulogy. All the brother’s friends filled the pews of the church. When he left the pulpit, one of them got up and gave him a hug. When the long hug was finished, there was another friend. Before he sat down, the monk received a hug from over thirty friends of his brother. None of them were quick of mind; all of them were quick to love.
Would you stand up in the middle of a funeral to hug a grieving man?
Your disease is the thing that is preventing you from experiencing every moment as a gift. You have the capacity to love in this and every moment of your life. What, like poison freezing your body, is stopping you?
Life is a disease; and the only difference between one man and another is the stage of the disease at which he lives.
–George Bernard Shaw
What disease of mind or spirit or body is preventing you from loving in every moment?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
3. Your Camel
It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God. –Mark 10: 25
Scholars say that in this passage the word “Camel” may have come from a misprint. The passage should read: It is harder for a rope to get through the eye of a needle than a rich man into heaven.
Camel is better. Camels can’t get through needles. A person who is attached to the things of this world cannot get into heaven.
This does not mean you won’t go to heaven after life. God is love; God loves you; God created you in God’s image; after this life the love in you merges with the eternal love that is God. Despite what so many religions say to scare you, you are going to heaven when you die. Why would a God who is love have it any other way?
But in this world, if you want heaven on earth, according to the parable you can’t worry about the things with which a rich man struggles. This is not a comment on whether money or things or making money is good or bad; in fact, strikingly the opposite. If you are worried about your money, the things your money buys, or making more, you are not in heaven. The attachments of the rich man that create worry prevent him from experiencing heaven on earth.
Attachments are the places where we find ourselves stressed and distracted because we are not open to the love that surrounds us all the time. To what are you attached that is keeping you from experiencing heaven on earth? Letting go of these things by making them less important is the true path to a richer life.
Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.
–Virginia Woolf
What attachments keep you worried?
Scholars say that in this passage the word “Camel” may have come from a misprint. The passage should read: It is harder for a rope to get through the eye of a needle than a rich man into heaven.
Camel is better. Camels can’t get through needles. A person who is attached to the things of this world cannot get into heaven.
This does not mean you won’t go to heaven after life. God is love; God loves you; God created you in God’s image; after this life the love in you merges with the eternal love that is God. Despite what so many religions say to scare you, you are going to heaven when you die. Why would a God who is love have it any other way?
But in this world, if you want heaven on earth, according to the parable you can’t worry about the things with which a rich man struggles. This is not a comment on whether money or things or making money is good or bad; in fact, strikingly the opposite. If you are worried about your money, the things your money buys, or making more, you are not in heaven. The attachments of the rich man that create worry prevent him from experiencing heaven on earth.
Attachments are the places where we find ourselves stressed and distracted because we are not open to the love that surrounds us all the time. To what are you attached that is keeping you from experiencing heaven on earth? Letting go of these things by making them less important is the true path to a richer life.
Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.
–Virginia Woolf
What attachments keep you worried?
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
2. How's Your Soil?
Listen! A sower went out to sow. –Mark 4: 3
There is an ancient parable about a farmer. One day he goes out to plant his crops. Some of the seed falls on dry ground; it burns in the sun before it has a chance to grow. Some of the seed falls on rocky soil; the plants grow quickly, but without enough good earth they wither in the heat. Some of the seed falls among the thorns; as the shoots emerge from the ground, they choke from not enough light.
But some of the seed falls on good earth. The plants in the rich soil grow tall and produce much grain. The farmer harvests these and feeds on their bounty.
You are like the earth. You can be tired, burned out like dry soil. A person who is dry has used up their precious energy. Doing too much of anything can dry your soil.
You are like the earth. You can be scattered, uneven like rocky soil. A person who is rocky is doing too many things. While you have not burned up your energy, you are not focused. As a result, whatever you do starts well and then ends too soon, incomplete and unfulfilled.
You are like the earth. You can be uninspired, depressed like thorny soil. A person who is thorny does not have the motivation to own their life. While you’re not doing too much, you can’t find the energy. You’re not spread thin, but you don’t know what to do. You get out of bed, but you don’t quite know why.
You are like the earth. You can be energized, focused, and inspired like rich soil. A person who is rich has the drive, the clarity, and the passion to take on challenges, to embrace your goals, and to produce the results that fulfill your life.
The first step to rediscovering your soul is measuring your energy. Every morning, when you wake up, look in the mirror. Observing your face, your body, and your eyes; ask yourself, “How is my soil?” Notice your first response—it is often the truth.
If you are dry, spend this day resting. If you are rocky, simplify your life today—even one less thing to do will begin the healing. If you are thorny, read a favorite author, seek out advice from a mentor or friend, or pray: whatever you can do to rediscover the passion that moves you.
If your soil is rich, live and love with energy and intention: Today yours is a graceful life.
Viewed narrowly, all life is universal hunger and an expression of energy associated with it.
–Mary Ritter Beard
How’s your soil?
There is an ancient parable about a farmer. One day he goes out to plant his crops. Some of the seed falls on dry ground; it burns in the sun before it has a chance to grow. Some of the seed falls on rocky soil; the plants grow quickly, but without enough good earth they wither in the heat. Some of the seed falls among the thorns; as the shoots emerge from the ground, they choke from not enough light.
But some of the seed falls on good earth. The plants in the rich soil grow tall and produce much grain. The farmer harvests these and feeds on their bounty.
You are like the earth. You can be tired, burned out like dry soil. A person who is dry has used up their precious energy. Doing too much of anything can dry your soil.
You are like the earth. You can be scattered, uneven like rocky soil. A person who is rocky is doing too many things. While you have not burned up your energy, you are not focused. As a result, whatever you do starts well and then ends too soon, incomplete and unfulfilled.
You are like the earth. You can be uninspired, depressed like thorny soil. A person who is thorny does not have the motivation to own their life. While you’re not doing too much, you can’t find the energy. You’re not spread thin, but you don’t know what to do. You get out of bed, but you don’t quite know why.
You are like the earth. You can be energized, focused, and inspired like rich soil. A person who is rich has the drive, the clarity, and the passion to take on challenges, to embrace your goals, and to produce the results that fulfill your life.
The first step to rediscovering your soul is measuring your energy. Every morning, when you wake up, look in the mirror. Observing your face, your body, and your eyes; ask yourself, “How is my soil?” Notice your first response—it is often the truth.
If you are dry, spend this day resting. If you are rocky, simplify your life today—even one less thing to do will begin the healing. If you are thorny, read a favorite author, seek out advice from a mentor or friend, or pray: whatever you can do to rediscover the passion that moves you.
If your soil is rich, live and love with energy and intention: Today yours is a graceful life.
Viewed narrowly, all life is universal hunger and an expression of energy associated with it.
–Mary Ritter Beard
How’s your soil?
Monday, August 25, 2008
1. Forty
Moses entered the cloud, and went up on the mountain. Moses was on the mountain for forty days and forty nights. –Exodus 24: 18
The number forty is the Biblical metaphor for a long time.
The rain falls for forty days and nights on Noah and the ark. Moses and the Israelites spend forty years wandering in the desert. Jesus spends forty days and forty nights fasting in the desert after his baptism.
What ties these Biblical characters together is not only the length of their struggle, but the reason they endure the grit and pain of the wilderness: Spiritual development takes a long time.
In our culture, we forget that the best experiences in human life are not quick. While immediate gratification is the sales pitch of myriad products, including many faith communities, this is not the ancient way.
Noah built the ark, gathered the creatures, and drifted for months to start a new world. Moses’ not only got his people out of Egypt, he then had to live with their faithlessness for generations before finding the Promised Land. Jesus tested himself alone, hungry, doubtful, to prove to himself that he was called to be the anointed one.
Time is the most important component to spiritual development. While there are many wells of God’s grace, you have to go deep in the same well to discover the most important wisdom in any tradition. The ultimate secret to finding your soul: Going deep takes time.
You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
–Robert Frost
What would you like to spend a long time doing, learning, or practicing to deepen your spiritual life?
The number forty is the Biblical metaphor for a long time.
The rain falls for forty days and nights on Noah and the ark. Moses and the Israelites spend forty years wandering in the desert. Jesus spends forty days and forty nights fasting in the desert after his baptism.
What ties these Biblical characters together is not only the length of their struggle, but the reason they endure the grit and pain of the wilderness: Spiritual development takes a long time.
In our culture, we forget that the best experiences in human life are not quick. While immediate gratification is the sales pitch of myriad products, including many faith communities, this is not the ancient way.
Noah built the ark, gathered the creatures, and drifted for months to start a new world. Moses’ not only got his people out of Egypt, he then had to live with their faithlessness for generations before finding the Promised Land. Jesus tested himself alone, hungry, doubtful, to prove to himself that he was called to be the anointed one.
Time is the most important component to spiritual development. While there are many wells of God’s grace, you have to go deep in the same well to discover the most important wisdom in any tradition. The ultimate secret to finding your soul: Going deep takes time.
You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
–Robert Frost
What would you like to spend a long time doing, learning, or practicing to deepen your spiritual life?
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