spirituality – Page 19 – Southwest Conference Blog

The Gift of Listening

We’re all about listening when it’s children doing the listening and we wise grownups are doing all the yappin’.

We tell them they have two ears and one mouth for a reason.

“Listen” and “pay attention” are just behind the word no in their frequency in young humans’ lives.

It seems we teach our children all about listening because

We teach the things we need most to learn ourselves.
We are so desperate to be heard that we ask children to play the role of listener in our families and communities.
We don’t think that we need to be listening to children.

I came home from my first two weeks at Hesychia School of Spiritual Direction with the overwhelming insight that, in every setting of my life, I talk too much. With friends, over coffee. At work, in the staff meeting. In the car, with my kids. Over dinner, with my spouse. At church, teaching and leading. Too. Much. Talking.

So Hesychia was something of a remedial crash course in the art of listening to another human (of course it’s more than that too, but that’s where I needed to start). It’s a gift when we focus our attention on another’s story, not to fix or respond or correct but just to be present. We know this… I’ve read some variation on this theme on this very blog before. But it’s hard work and little valued in our culture.

I’m taking little baby steps. The other week in our Lenten study, one of our small groups asked if I had anything to add to their discussion. “No, I’m just listening,” I replied. They were a tiny bit surprised, but continued their exploration.

Another baby step is watching and expecting surprising examples. I was at Wal-Mart the other day and the customer in front of me was telling her life story to the cashier. I don’t know what prompted her sharing, but she spoke very vulnerably about the end of her marriage, her struggles to find her equilibrium on her own, and her sadness that her life was different from how she always imagined it would be.

I smiled, nodded, listened; the cashier did much the same – adding a small ‘hmmm’ at appropriate times. After the customer finished her transaction and left, I asked the cashier about this experience.

“I guess you’re a little like a bartender… People tell you their stories,” I asked.

“Happens all the time,” she said with a smile.

“Maybe people need someone to listen,” I prompted.

“I guess. Folks need to know that they’re going to be okay, that what’s going on with them is normal… I just try to listen, not jump in with advice or get them more upset. I just listen.”

I started to tell her that she was a spiritual director, or perhaps a retail chaplain, but I didn’t want to add to her stress. But what a gift she gave that morning – a compassionate voice, a nonjudgmental presence. It was certainly a gift to me, just observing and now sharing with you.

On Transfiguration Sunday a few weeks ago, the children at Shadow Rock talked about the command from the voice of God: Listen! We discussed how often adults in their lives are like Peter in that story, bumbling about, making ridiculous plans, and missing the point of what’s happening right in front of him. I asked them how often they wanted adults to stop and listen. Their answers were sad and unsurprising.

So in the spirit of teaching/blogging about what you most need to practice, I suggest a Holy Week discipline:

More listening, less pontificating.
More presence, less judgment.
More gentle nodding, less interrupting.
More compassionate silence, less thinking about your own response.

There are holy stories all around us.

The Words that Shape Us: From “Hosanna” to “Crucify”

by Talitha Arnold

Palm Sunday, 2016

It was a mob scene that first Palm Sunday. People lined the road into Jerusalem, shouting, waving branches, throwing their cloaks on the ground, reaching out to touch the man on the donkey, everyone chanting “Hosanna! Hosanna!”

And it was a mob scene five days later, when some of those same people squeezed into the courtyard of the Roman garrison to shout “Crucify! Crucify!” Same man. Same crowd. Different words.

Mobs are like that. They can turn on a dime. One day everyone is shouting happy Hosannas and life is great.\ The next thing you know, it’s all cries of “Crucify” and death.

Throughout Lent, we’ve explored “the words that shape us” as Christians. The story of the first Palm Sunday and the week that followed remind us of the power of such. words. So does our own time, 2000 years later. “Christian values,” “Biblical principles,” and the name of Jesus are much in our news these days. Not because it’s Holy Week, but because we’re in a presidential campaign season, and there are a lot religious words bandied about. Indeed, in some political circles, candidates must claim their Christian credentials in order to garner votes.

At the same time and sometimes in the same breath, there’s talk of banning Muslims and building walls, labeling immigrants as rapists and murderers, and encouraging violence against one’s opponents. As a Christian minister, I find such hatred and fear-mongering the exact opposite of what Jesus Christ both preached and practiced. As we who are Christian head into our holiest of weeks, it might be good to remember what he actually did say and do.

For Jesus, his teachings of “turn the other cheek, go the extra mile, love your enemies” weren’t just feel-good phrases. They shaped his life. Throughout that life, Jesus showed the power of love to overcome fear. He reached out with love to embrace people who were afflicted with leprosy or mental illness who were banished from the community. He crossed the divisions of race and religion, telling stories of Good Samaritans, welcoming people of all backgrounds, and eating with “outcasts.” He respected women, honoring those who wished to learn (Mary the sister of Martha and Lazarus) and those called to lead (Mary Magdalene–”Apostle to the Apostles”).

Jesus also knew first-hand how hard it is to choose the way of love and non-violence. There were times when his own anger or exhaustion got the best of him. He got cranky with a woman who wanted him to heal her daughter. The day after Palm Sunday, he zapped a fig tree and overturned the tables of the money-changers. The Gospels record how often Jesus went to a “lonely place” to pray. I think it shows how much he needed, in the words of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., God’s “strength to love.” We do, too.

Overcoming fear with love “is not for the timid or weak,” affirmed Cesar Chavez, leader of the Farmworker Movement. “Non-violence is hard work.” Jesus knew that, all the way to the cross. At the Last Supper, he knelt to wash the feet of all the disciples, including Peter who would deny him and Judas who betrayed him. Later when the religious leaders came with their band of thugs to arrest him, one of the disciples cut off the ear of a servant named Malchus. “No more of this!” Jesus commanded. “Put down your sword.” Then he healed the man who helped arrest him.

At any point that night or through the next day, Jesus could have called his followers to arms. He didn’t. Moreover, as clearly demonstrated in the fate of a fig tree, Jesus had the power to zap Pilate, Herod, and all the legions of Rome if he’d chosen. He didn’t. Instead he chose the power of love. “Father, forgive.”

The journey of this Holy Week that begins with tomorrow with Palm Sunday reminds all who would claim the name of “Christian” that to follow the way of Jesus Christ is to follow the way of the one who chose the way of life and love. To accept the call of “Christian” is trust the power of love to overcome fear and hatred. And it is to commit one’s self and one’s life to that hard work of love.

The story of Holy Week that we begin tomorrow shows us–and our world–how to express real Christian values. Saying “no” to violence and hatred is a good place to start.

It’s where he did.

View what’s possible: an astonishing experience of the infinite

By Kelly Kahlstrom

I don’t know if you recall the View-master’s from childhood. A “reel” of slides could be dropped into the stereoscope and with a click the slides would change and tell a story. Even the slogan “View-master- View what’s possible” held great intrigue for me. I am asking you to imagine this blog as a story in a View-master.

*click*

Title: ChazzyBear: a story in four pictures.

*click*

I was in the car driving to Tucson for a weekend with my grandchildren. I hurriedly leave right after work hoping to arrive before they go to bed; a few minutes of Oma time and perhaps a few books before lights out. Just outside of Marana I received the text. Chaz was dead. So many questions I could not address in the car nor adequately from Tucson. I was alone with my thoughts and my time with the kids was frequently punctuated with images of Chaz. Chaz my love…such a short life you had…woefully packed with more than your fair share of demons…Early life trauma begat addictions to food, nicotine, alcohol and pain meds which seemed to manage you for much of your life as did the medical complications that followed…Your anxiety and alternatively your depression seemed immeasurable and endless… You had aged out of services but were not yet ready to fly… You did not fit the gender binary… So many obstacles for one young person to have to hurdle in a thousand lifetimes of trying…The pathology was overwhelming… And then you were gone… a death out of the normal sequence of time…suddenly, regrettably, but sadly, not unexpectedly.

*click*

Now imagine her peer group huddled together in disbelief at this turn of events. It had been 3 days since the news broke of her accidental overdose. Skillfully encouraged by an adult volunteer, her peers offered their expressions of remembrance…Silly, brave, fun, divine, daredevil, genuine, compassionate, funny, artistic, wonderful, thoughtful, mindful, deep, enduring, laughter, real, outspoken, smile, caring, open, sharing, friend, courageous, supporter, leader, sassy, survivor, inspirational, powerful, heartfelt, dancer, joyous, empathetic, rebel, charismatic, non-apologetic, beautiful, challenger, fearless, forward, radiant, sparkle, confident, loved.

To her peers she was a bad-a** woman who was not afraid to own her issues, and who expressed her pain and joy through music and dance.

*click*

Flashback, if you will, to a time before photography, at the turn of the 19th century, in the center of cultural life in Berlin. The literary salon; “a simple tea-table with a charming hostess, enthusiasm for reading and discussing literature, sparkling conversation and an atmosphere of friendship”. The Aufklärung, or the Enlightenment, dominated the world of ideas shared in these salons. Reason was fast becoming the primary source of authority and legitimacy. Yet, one member of Henriette Herz’s salon was something of an enigma to the typical salon participant. A brilliant and gifted conversationalist, by all appearances an Enlightenment thinker, but also a cleric who retained his Moravian roots and, seemingly, the antiquated beliefs of the church. For his 29th birthday, the salon participants gave him free reign to “explain himself” to the “cultured despisers” of his day. This is what he said to them:

You think religion is only about priests and rules (or knowing and doing). It is not.
This is what I think religion is: an astonishing experience of the infinite which can be found in the most mundane, finite moments of our lives if we are awake to them.
Learning to “stay awake” must be cultivated and takes practice.
These experiences of the infinite are so cool that they beg to be shared with others. The more they are shared with others the better each of us are at recognizing the infinite when we see it.
There is a social structure already set up to cultivate and talk about these experiences. It is called church. You should try it sometime. The only differences between the experiences of those inside church and those outside of church is that the church calls these experiences God.

Young Friedrich Schleiermacher was able to convince some of his closest friends to consider this possibility.

*click*

Now picture the conference office, fondly called the 917, filled to capacity and decked out in flowers, candles, and pink and purple balloons. A video projector played a loop of the many pictures of Chaz dancing, singing, and participating in the life of this community. Through the outreach efforts of Elizabeth Youngberg, pastor of Rebel & Divine, Chaz’s mother, younger brother and maternal grandmother were present for the service. It was peer led; her friends offered the prayers, the music, the poetry readings, and the remembrances. Simple…Heartfelt…Tearful…Beautiful.

This was the environment that Chaz’s brother stepped into when he stood to say a few words. He was, by his own admission, as shy and introverted as Chaz was outgoing. The dress shirt and pants purchased for the occasion seemed uncomfortably out of character for him. He apologized for his perceived lack of eloquence and then, with quiet sincerity, he shared his thoughts. He was surprised to learn of Chaz’s attachment to this community – a community that we call church. And through this experience, he realized that he had never really known his sister. This led to a request for conversation; an open invitation to all who knew Chaz to share their stories with him so that he could fill in the gaps of his own, and perhaps fractured, experience of her.

*click*

Epilogue: Only Chaz’s brother can say if the service and fellowship afterward constituted an experience of the infinite for him. It certainly was for me. Like the View-master slogan- “View what is possible,” I am continually amazed at the opportunities we have to adjust (and by this I mean broaden) our own perceptions when we actively participate in the life of a community. Especially a community that finds experiences of the infinite so cool that they beg to be shared with others; whether or not they can call these experiences God. ChazzyBear…you left bigger shoes to fill than I first imagined. Rest in peace.

On Being

by Karen MacDonald

Day 5 of the Crud. {Crud, a technical term for the bodily symptoms of sickness and how they make one feel, as in, “Ugh, I feel like crud!”}

I noticed it starting while having lunch with a co-worker, a feathery irritation in my throat that began to cause light coughing. I woke up the next morning dragging butt, and went in to make sure that a time sheet was turned in for the colleague whom I supervise and who was out herself with a nasty bug. As coughing increased and energy decreased, I went home half-way through the day, telling my supervisor I hoped to sleep it off and see her the next day. The next morning came, and now my head ached with congestion, so I called in sick and slept most of the day. That should move it on out. The next morning came, and my head still hurt and my throat was starting to hurt from coughing and my energy level was next to nil. I called in sick again and laid around all day. That should help, along with the Airborne I gulped throughout the day.

Lo and behold, on Saturday, I awoke feeling pretty darn good—energy level up, coughing subsided, headache gone. Putzed around on the computer, read some of a book, even did a bit of housecleaning. My hopes of going to church the next day dissipated as my nose started running like an open faucet and the hacking returned with a vengeance.

So today, I’m lounging on the patio (fresh air and sunshine and outdoors at least nourish my spirit) all day today, accompanied by tissues and throat lozenges and a bottomless water bottle. When I sit absolutely still or go to sleep, the cruddy symptoms quiet down. This will be a short blog, then.

This blog is getting written, though, with the realization that no matter how optimistic I go into a sickness, it will run its own course, whatever I try to shorten it. And no matter how irritated I feel that I can’t even get any work done because it takes too much energy to concentrate on anything, the sickness runs its own course. In other words, I can’t control it. So I may as well go with the flow (even if that flow is my runny nose). Today I get to lie outside on a clear, sunny day watching the birds. And it’s enough—it’s life today.

I also got to watch pieces of the air show at the Air Force base that became visible in my view of the sky. Jet fighters speeding in tight formations and loops and straight-ups (how’s that for a technical flight term?) and free-falls and screaming over my house. Speed and noise and doing. When they finished, a raven re-appeared, sleek black body glistening in the late afternoon sun, wings calmly outstretched, floating in circles on the air currents. Slowness and peace and being. Both sights were amazing. Sometimes we, in the life we lead, need the doing. The raven and the sickness remind us that simply being is our greatest gift to Life.

A–choo! Excuse me, I’ll blow my nose and go back to lying still.

The Mountaintop

by Amos Smith

The last Sunday before Lent is when Jesus is transfigured on the mountaintop (Luke 9:28-36). I think the reason for the placement of this reading is that to get through Lent we need to consistently remind ourselves of the peak experiences in our lives …

In 2013 I flew from Phoenix to Oakland, California with my family for my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. As I flew, I noticed a huge storm was brewing below. There were dark clouds, thunder, turbulence. Yet, the plane soared far above the clouds where it was absolutely clear. Where I sat it was totally calm.

In that moment I said to myself, “This is the mountaintop experience.” This is the experience above the clamor, uproar, turbulence, and monkey-mind, above the nee nee naa naa. “Nee nee naa naa” is the nature of our minds. When there’s some kind of crisis there are flurries of mental activity – flurries of analysis, confusion, speculation – we can’t keep still. Our anxious thoughts jump around like a monkey in a high canopy.

Then I remember that above the clouds it’s perfectly calm.

When Jesus experienced the mountaintop, he knew the deep calm of all-pervasive acceptance and thorough love that flowed from his Abba …

It’s easy to get wrapped up in the drama – to get caught up in the turbulence of the monkey-mind. But our higher self is on the mountaintop, in the plane above the tumult, in the upper room (Acts 1:13). Our higher self is above the frenzy.

As the spiritual journey progresses we spend more and more time on the mountaintop. We discover and re-discover the spiritual faculties of our minds where we’re at rest. Where we can let down and trust God. Where we can let go of reason’s double-binds and dead ends. Where we can experience peace.

I Love to Tell the Story: A Lenten Journey

by Amanda Peterson

One of the powerful aspects of the Lenten journey is it invites us into the story of our faith. We are invited into the story of Jesus and how that impacts us in this moment. We get to revisit and re-examine what that story means to us this year and how it has impacted us in the past.

Something wonderful happens when we gather to tell stories. We are often encouraged to stay in this moment, which is a wonderful practice. Yet, this has left me wondering what does this do to my relationship with the future and the past. How do I find balance in looking at the past and the future in order to bring me back to the Now?

This is where storytelling is very helpful. It is a lost art in our culture. The ability to sit around with friends and imagine the future you know is inside you. Say it out loud with feeling, vulnerability and support, even being wild and imaginative in the process. By looking ahead and asking, “what do I want to experience in the gift of life I have been given?”, it brings us back to the moment with new knowledge. How do I start living now that will make that future show up in me? What small steps can I take Now?

The challenge in future storytelling, and perhaps why people shy away from it, is that by speaking the future, one may enter into the “I wish that were Now” syndrome. The temptation to think life won’t start until that future is realized. That temptation makes Now look like not enough. And then the moment is gone. I notice as I work with people in life transitions that it’s easy to go to the hopeful future and want to dwell there. In doing this, this moment is totally ignored, especially if the moment does not hold the sparkle of the future.

Another challenge in future stories comes when they are about waking up possibility. Waking up the “I wonder” inside. That can be a scary thing to wake up because it can have a life of it’s own. One can no longer hide.

These challenges happen because it’s easy to lose the meaning of what storytelling is truly all about. Stories are told because they remind us that all of life is just one story after another. The real power is in the story unfolding right now.

Storytelling one’s past is a bit easier. In fact I tell a lot of past stories in my day, especially the horror stories. “I’ll never do that again; let me tell you why.” It is as though that past story is the end of the story. This happened – end of story. There is no moving on from here. Yet if I were really practiced at storytelling, I would quickly come to the reality that this is but one story among many and there are more to tell. This story doesn’t define me. It’s the story in this moment that matters. Looking back allows me to ask questions like, what was I doing five years ago? Did I ever imagine that all this would be happening now, or is life exactly the same? This brings me back to the Now with gratitude and trust that this moment truly is leading to the next.

I invite you to practice the art of storytelling in your Lenten walk. In engaging Jesus’ story, once again let it also reflect on your story. How did Jesus relate past, present, and future? Ask questions and share stories about your walk with God with others. Move beyond reading and discussing and ask, “how can these stories inform your Now moment?”

Look Back in Wonder

by Talitha Arnold

“For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O Lord, from my youth.” – Psalm 71:1-6

A few years ago, I did a solo hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, spent two nights at Phantom Ranch, and then trekked back to the top. It was the fourth time I’ve done the hike, the first being when I was in college, the last ten years before. Not surprisingly it took me a bit longer to get back up this time.

Hiking the Grand Canyon is hiking a mountain in reverse. The hard part comes when you’re already tired and the rim is a mile from the bottom as the crow flies, except you’re not a crow and the trail up is nine miles long.

I have to admit that there were a couple times on the way up that I thought to myself, “This is truly the dumbest thing you have ever done.” Of course I think that at mid-point in every major hike. But as before, the journey was worth it. When you hike the Grand Canyon, you’re walking through literally billions of years of time and almost every eco-system on the planet, down to the center of the earth and back.

When I made it up to the top, I sat on the rim for a long time. I wanted to give my calves a rest and also simply look back down on the trail I’d just hiked. I was filled with a sense of wonder at both the Canyon’s deep beauty and the fact I’d made it down and up once again, proving once again that God loves fools.

“For you, O Lord, are my hope,” writes today’s Psalmist. She or he looks back on their life and knows that God has been “my trust, O Lord, from my youth.”

With the wisdom of the Psalmist, the old Gospel song proclaims, “My soul looks back in wonder at how I got over.” It’s a good thing do every once in a while along the way, whether you’re sitting on the rim of the Grand Canyon or in your living room. Look back in wonder at your journey and the One who’s been with you every step of the way.

Prayer

Thank you, God, for walking with us and for the wonder of it all.

Amos’ Bread: The Journey of Lent

by Amos Smith

In Thomas Keating’s book, Intimacy with God, he relays this story: A brilliant French geneticist mixed the genes of two butterflies to create a new strand with more spectacular design and color than anyone had ever seen.

After much anticipation, the genetically engineered butterfly emerged from the cocoon. The lab technicians clapped and marveled. The press was notified and soon reporters and photographers loped into the lab. All eyes were on the butterfly as it skirmished with the cocoon. Soon the butterfly’s skirmish became an all-out spasmodic struggle for freedom. The butterfly gathered its energy then frantically fluttered and convulsed. Then it rested and tried again, losing energy each time.

After thirty-five minutes of this reporters became impatient, and two left the lab.

The drawn out struggle seemed futile. Something had to be done. “Surely just a little help to free the butterfly from the cocoon won’t do any harm” the geneticist thought. So, with his carefully poised scalpel he made two small incisions between the wings and the cocoon.

The butterfly was finally free.

Everyone cheered.

After two minutes the room hushed.

The butterfly attempted to fly to no avail.

The geneticist tried to assist its flight. He gently nudged it off the edge of a short table. It flopped to the ground.

Nothing.

People began to realize that the butterfly wasn’t going to fly. It was a dud. It didn’t accomplish what it was made for: flight.

The butterfly failed to fly because its struggle was cut short. Only a full six hours of death-defying struggle can prepare the newly formed body and wings for flight. Anything less won’t do.

I believe that through struggle and suffering God prepares us for transformation. This is what the journey of Lent is all about.

Spiritual, Religious, or Adventure?

by Teresa Blythe

Originally published on November 25, 2015 on Patheos
Re-printed with permission from the author

When a pilgrim begins the 800 kilometer trek along the legendary Camino de Santiago, they are asked to announce the purpose of their walk. Their choices are spiritual, religious or adventure. Which is a beautiful question to ask in spiritual direction since we are all on this pilgrimage called life.

What is the nature of your life’s path? Spiritual, religious or adventure?

I began sitting with that question after reading Sonia Choquette’s new memoir Walking Home about the healing she experienced walking the Camino de Santiago last year. Choquette is a well-known spiritual intuitive and teacher and author of many books on tapping into your intuition. She hit a low point in her life. Her marriage was falling apart; her brother died; and shortly after that her father died, too. The voice of one of her spirit guides clearly told her to walk the Camino (even though she barely had a clue what that involved.) Still, she heeded the voice, packed her bags and set out to walk the entire distance across northern Spain.

She named the purpose of her pilgrimage spiritual (P.61). Which is what I would call my own “camino” (Spanish for walk) in life. (Note: I haven’t walked the Camino de Santiago but the idea of doing it is growing on me!)

Spiritual Pilgrimage

The spiritual pilgrimage is about healing. One walks to be free of burdens, to forgive others and themselves, and to allow the silence and discipline of walking toward a goal to heal life’s hurts and draw you closer to the source of life.

People who see their life path as spiritual are seeking connection with a power greater than themselves. This spiritual seeking may involve a religious tradition, or it may not.

Religious Pilgrimage

For centuries, religious people have been walking pilgrimages in devotion to God. Some see the difficult walk as penance. Others do it because they believe it is what God is asking of them and they wish to be obedient. Muslims are instructed to travel to Mecca in pilgrimage at least once in their life provided they are healthy enough and can afford the trip.

People who see their life path as religious are seeking to show allegiance and devotion to God through adherence to a particular religious doctrine and participation in a particular set of religious practices. These practices are intensely spiritual but they grow out of a religious tradition.

The Adventure

Many people travel the Camino de Santiago for fun, companionship and excitement. Choquette shares stories of people running along the Camino, groups hauling a wagon full of gourmet food, people riding bikes or horses along the way. For most every pilgrim, the Camino is an adventure at times—you cross the Pyrenees, stop in villages along the way and meet people from all over the world. But people who choose to experience the Camino as an adventure are usually not placing an expectation that the walk will be offering them any spiritual or religious insights.

People who see their life path as adventure may also be simply not placing expectations on their path. I’ve worked with many people in spiritual direction who are content to see what life has to offer rather than hoping for miracles, healing or other spiritual experiences.

No Judgment

There is an attitude among pilgrims that everyone walks their own Camino. It doesn’t matter what your intention is—spiritual, religious or adventure. It will be whatever it needs to be. You may start out for spiritual purposes and end up having an adventure. Or spiritual folks may find themselves more appreciative of religion as they walk the steps that thousands of pilgrims over thousands of years have walked. Adventure seekers may be gifted with a spiritual insight. As the man who fitted Choquette for hiking boots emphasized, “It’s your camino.” (P.43)

Do it All

Ideally, our life’s journey is a combination of purposes. At some times in our life it may be religious, at other times spiritual and at others an adventure. Or maybe it’s all three at once. After reading Walking Home, I am using the lens of Choquette’s experience to see the whole of my life as a camino. Perhaps not as dramatic as an 800 kilometer walk across Spain, but satisfying in its own way.

Spiritual, religious or adventure? It’s worth pondering along the way.

(For more on the Camino, I highly recommend Sonia Choquette’s Walking Home. Shirley MacLaine also wrote The Camino about her experience; Paulo Coelho wroteThe Pilgrimage; and Martin Sheen created the film The Way. Others have written of their experiences in blogs and books as well. Enjoy!)

If you are interested in learning more about spiritual direction or entering spiritual direction with me, please contact me at teresa@teresablythe.net or visit teresablythe.net. Also visit my website for the Phoenix Center for Spiritual Direction.

Photo credit: amateur photography by michel / Foter.com / CC BY

A Candle Gone Out and Our Time to Shine

by Kenneth McIntosh

I awake this morning feeling sad. Not because of a dream that I had, or worries about the day; nor because of anything that I am cognitively aware of. My subconscious mind has an amazing awareness of the date—February the 23^rd.

Grieve it tells me.

This is the anniversary of my father’s death.

Recognizing this day’s significance, the latest episode of Downton Abbey comes to mind. To non-fans, Downton Abbey is an Edwardian soap opera; but to devotees, the Crawley family and their servants are like family. Last Sunday lady Mary Crawley viciously betrayed her sister Edith by gossiping to Edith’s suitor and thus ruining Edith’s hopes for marriage. Later in the same show, Mary is about to be wedded and Edith shows up unexpectedly for the celebration. Explaining this seemingly impossible act of forgiveness, Edith tells Mary “In the end, you’re my sister, and one day, only we will remember Sybil (their deceased sister) Or Mama or Papa … Or Granny or Carson or any of the others who have peopled our youth. Until at last, our shared memories will mean more than our mutual dislike.”

Shared memories of our loved ones are immensely valuable for surviving family members. The generation of my parents’ friends has entirely passed away, and my children barely knew them. So my surviving extended family and our older children are now the only people who can talk about my father and mother with vivid recollections.

There’s a passage in the Old Testament that is probably no one’s favorite Bible verse: “There is no eternal memory of the wise any more than the foolish, because everyone is forgotten before long” (Ecclesiastes 2:16, CEB). It’s hardly inspiring, but profoundly true. To those of us who knew him, my father was extraordinary; a scientist and a polymath, he helped Heparin—an essential medicine—to become more easily available. He built his own sailboat, and radio, and camera, and airplane. And yet, less than a decade after his death, only a handful of people think or talk about him. Ecclesiastes nailed it, everyone is forgotten before long.

This thinking at first appears only negative, but its truth can be redeemed. Skylight publishes a great little book by Rabbi Rami Shapiro titled Ecclesiastes: Annotated & Explained. In this book, Rabbi Shapiro discusses the Hebrew word yitron, “usually translated as ‘profit’ in the sense of something being left over after all is said and done.” He then shares this illustration, “what profit, in the sense of something left over, is there in burning a candle in the dark? None if we expect that something of value remains when the candle burns down and the flame sputters out. But this doesn’t mean there was no value when the candle was aflame. While nothing has permanent profit, many things can profit us in the moment.”

We immediately recognize the truth of this as regards literal candles; we ignite tea-lite or votive candles which provide a lovely sense of atmosphere and we never think “this is a lousy candle, because it will only burn for a finite amount of time.” No, we appreciate the candle while it is lit. The worth of a candle is not in its durability, but in its ability to illumine while lit.

Is the same not true of our lives, and the lives of our loved ones? As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. reminds us “It is not how long you live, but how well you do it.” Even if I created an immense marble edifice for my father’s ashes, that structure would decay over time and its meaning would be forgotten. My father’s memories will vaporize after my generation of the family passes—but that’s not a tragedy. It’s the only way this world exists; unless your name is Elvis, everyone is forgotten before long. What does ‘profit’ us is to live fully whilst alive, to be recklessly engaged in this moment’s enactment of God’s justice and peace. A good candle glows while lit, and if the tapers of our lives are healthy we will strive to be illumined and to illuminate.

Problems come when we become focused on longevity, on out-lasting our time to burn. We can expend crazy amounts of effort trying to memorialize the dead and even crazier energies attempting to gain some sort of personal immortality. Yet these misguided efforts detract from our burning brightly in the now.

Churches face the same exact problem, the temptation to focus on longevity rather than illumination. I serve as Church Growth Coordinator for the Southwest Conference, and when congregations contact me they are usually wishing to talk about survival. Conversations boil down to “How do we make our church last longer?” The more valuable question for churches is: How much light can we shine in the now? Without too much thought of the morrow, churches need to ask: whose lives can we bless and transform as who we are, where we are, in the present moment?

Ironically, churches that put their energies into blessing others in the present moment tend to be more attractive churches—and the paradoxical result of shining brighter in the now is a possible renewal of the church, an unexpected second life. Could the same thing, perhaps, be said for individual souls? The book that follows Ecclesiastes in canonical order, The Song of Songs, tells us “love is as strong as death…Its darts are…divine flame!” (Song of Songs 8:6, CEB). That great Christian novelist and apologist C.S. Lewis, in his novel The Great Divorce, puts these words into the sainted mouth of his mentor George McDonald, “Every natural love will rise again and live forever in this country (heaven) but none will rise again until it has been buried.” My father spoke little of spiritual matters, but he did once tell me, late in his life, that he expected to continue existing after death on another dimensional plane, and that he expected to be re-united with his wife, who would be on the same dimensional apogee.

So today I remember my father’s candle, after it has gone out. I reaffirm my intention to burn brightly in my time. And if the things that our Scriptures and traditions point to are true, then the love we light now may blaze on into an unforeseeable eternity.