How the Holidays Feel

During the holiday season we are surrounded by images of cheerful people shopping and enjoying their loved ones in their perfectly decorated homes. The reality is much more complicated. If you have recently lost a job, or a loved one, if you are far away from family, or struggle with depression, it can feel like the whole world is celebrating without you. There’s a growing body of research showing that all those cheerful images (which are designed to make us want to shop, remember) can actually increase our stress, grief, depression or loneliness.

But I believe if we go back to the spiritual roots of these holidays, I think there is room for our difficult emotions. Consider the Christmas Story- Mary and Joseph alone and far from home. Consider how terrifying it is to be a couple expecting the birth of your first child. Or consider the Hanukkah story- survivors of war trying to restore their temple, with resources so scarce it seemed they couldn’t even light the temple lights for more than 1 night. The winter solstice specifically marks the longest night, and is celebrated as a time to journey inside ourselves and see what we find there. These holidays celebrate light in the darkness, they celebrate the unexpected presence of the divine.

But our wider culture is not comfortable with the difficult emotions. Perhaps you have experienced a loss or heartbreak and people around you tried to cheer you up with platitudes which imply that they would really like you to hurry up and finish grieving as quickly as possible? Psychologists agree that grief is an important process for healing loss. If we refuse to feel our feelings they don’t disappear, they creep into our bodies and into our relationships. The real need of our spirits to process our experience slams up against our cultural fear of having strong emotions. My whole life I have prided myself on being cheerful and positive. But eventually I realized that I was shutting myself off from parts of my own experience so that I could stay cheerful.

Recently I learned a form of meditation that I have started practicing whenever the opportunity arises to change those old patterns. When I notice an emotion I take a moment to just feel it- not to judge it or analyze it or think about it but to just feel the sensations of that emotion. Then I make a conscious choice to welcome it- even if it’s despair. Even if it’s anger. I just say inside myself “welcome.” I greet it with compassion and curiosity. And after I have gone back and forth between those first two steps for as long as I need, I let the feeling go.

Consider making this your holiday prayer: when that commercial or Christmas carol stirs difficult emotions in you, I invite you to take a moment to feel your feelings and be present with them. The spiritual path does not always stay on the surface where everything is sparkly and cheerful, the spiritual path travels to deep places of memory and feeling, of uncertainty and meaning, of connection and solitude. When you notice that your holiday experience is different from the superficial images of cheer, could you explore that contrast as an invitation from the spirit to choose a journey of the heart and spirit?

Whatever is arising for you this holiday season, what would it feel like to integrate that into your holiday celebration? Your observance doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. You could curl up alone under a blanket and read a book that comforted you in childhood. You could take a walk outside on a day that matches your mood. You could bring chicken soup to a friend who is struggling, and feel that connection. You could invite some friends or family who would understand to just sit in the dark with you enjoying the flicker of candle light or fire light.

However your holidays unfold for you this year, know that you are never separate from the spirit. Welcome the festive and the difficult alike with an open heart, because the spirit is in all these things.

Imperfection

Pretty much everyone agrees that humans aren’t perfect. We know this, but still it drives us nuts. Let me speak for myself- I hate not being perfect. I hate that as I sat drinking my morning coffee and thinking back over a meeting I attended last night it occurs to me that I was probably brusque, opinionated and even a little demanding. I have this idea that as a minister I should always be kind, and patient and more interested in other people’s opinions than my own, but as I think back, I fell short of that mark last night. The perfectionist in me has gotten hold of these shortcomings and kept poking at me all morning like a bully on a playground. Finally I faced my inner perfectionist and said “hold it mister, It’s not like I was mean, or rude, or even off topic. I showed up, just as I am, and contributed what I was able to contribute.”

The perfectionist in me imagines a perfect self, holds the real me up in comparison, and usually finds the real me wanting. It’s almost like that imaginary me is more important than the real one. Shouldn’t someone committed to the spiritual journey be perfectly compassionate, patient and giving? Actually, no. No matter how hard we strive, we are still going to be human. Though we may have moments that come close to our vision of how we want to be, mostly we will fall short. If we get too attached to that vision, it keeps us from seeing ourselves as we truly are. We say things like “I wasn’t myself last night” or “that wasn’t me.” Which is funny because there I was, mind body and spirit. Once I give in to the reality of my human imperfection, I can shoot a note off to the chair apologizing for my impatience. Once I really feel the discomfort of that distance between who I am and who I want to be I can sit with that discomfort in prayer, see where it is leading me, change the things I am able to change, and then move on.

One of the lessons I learn over and over -- one of the hardest things to believe on this spiritual journey -- is that God loves me now, as I am, even when I’m impatient. Some part of me believes that really God’s love has to do with that imaginary vision of myself, but the great religious teachers tell us that actually God loves us right now, in this moment, just as we are. That is where the human and the divine meet- in this present moment. God knows we are human. God knows humans aren’t perfect. So the spiritual journey is not about trying to be perfect and failing, the journey is about allowing God’s love into our hearts as often as we are able. When I open my heart to love, I am better able to embody that love in the world. When I am trapped in judgmental perfectionism, that is what I tend to embody in the world. The Journey is about opening ourselves to the spirit not just in the beautiful times when all seems right with the world, but especially in the messy, embarrassing, judgmental, imperfect, human moments of our lives when we need God the most. And when we forget, when we noticing that our inner perfectionist is shutting us down, closing off God’s love, closing off the spirit, that’s okay too. We’re human after all, and humans aren’t perfect. That love is always there when we are ready.                                                                              

I Don't Know...

As a child I often noticed that adults would make things up when they didn’t know instead of just admitting “I don’t know.” One day in high school chemistry class, our teacher was lecturing our badly behaved class about how things were transformed when they burned. “But why does it make

light?” I asked. He gave an answer that didn’t really address my question, so I asked a follow up, and probably another. Eventually he tersely explained that my questions would not be on the test, and I should cease and desist.

It was only decades later when I was watching a documentary and the narrator explained that there is a lot science still doesn’t know about fire that I finally understood- the chemistry teacher couldn’t answer my question because science hadn’t figured it out yet. So why wouldn’t the teacher just say that? To admit you don’t know is to admit that your knowledge is incomplete, that you have more to learn. Probably admitting any weakness in front of a hostile classroom of high school students who would rather be anywhere else did not feel like an option.

In my role as a minister, I often get questions for which I don’t know the answer. But I’m supposed to be the expert -- how could you trust me if I don’t know everything? Usually I do swallow my pride, remember that ministers are not all knowing, and ask if someone else knows the answer.

But some questions, like “what is the nature of fire”, just lead to more questions. In a recent Ted Radio hour Tabetha Boyajian, a professor of astronomy at Louisiana State University, was talking about some unusual transit patterns in NASA’s Kepler Mission data that scientists can’t fully explain, and this mystery is launching whole new lines of inquiry. Host Guy Roz suggested “So science is more often than not about raising more questions than finding answers. And it seems like in this case, you still don't know what's going on…. That is great. There are more questions now than you can answer, which is better - which is great. Boyajian replied “Well, that's - yeah. That's science. [i]“ The gift of not knowing is the curiosity, the open mindedness that leads to new discoveries, to whole new fields of knowledge opening up.

If you accept the notion that even something as common as fire can be a mystery, and that our curiosity and humility about our knowledge can be helpful in our quest to understand, I’d like to propose that “not knowing” is even more useful when considering the divine. We try to organize God into tidy boxes, with systematic theology and hallmark cards, but as some theologians say, the divine cannot be tamed. God is wild. The world is changing and evolving, we are changing and evolving, and the divine is changing too.

The more I read of the contemplatives and the mystics I see this theme emerging - that in fact not knowing is the only way we can begin to know the divine. The divine, by definition is different from humans. If we let our human knowing drive our inquiry, we could be looking in a limiting way, in a limited range. Not knowing if you believe in God is actually a powerful place to be on your spiritual journey.

Until recently, I thought of not knowing as something on the way to something else. We don’t know about the outcome of a scientific experiment until it is complete, but there is an expectation that someday we will know -- that we could know anything given enough time. Lately, I’ve been coming to a realization that not knowing isn’t just an in-between place that must resolve into knowing, but that not knowing has its own gifts. As Theologian Gerald May says “It is precisely at those times of not knowing that we are most alive… If you really think about it, I believe you will see that your life is greater, more full and awake, even, perhaps more joyous at such times than at any time of certainty.” [p. 122]

Where knowing can give us the delightful satisfaction of wrapping our tidy box up with a ribbon, not knowing allows us to be humble and curious. It allows us to keep our minds and hearts open; it allows us to stay present in the reality of the moment, even when that reality is confusing and uncertain. That space of unknowing is exactly where the soul grows and blooms. The spiritual journey, like science “is more often than not about raising more questions than finding answers. And that’s great.”

The green thing lurking at the back of my fridge...

Sometimes I’m away from home for a while- whether on vacation or just so busy at work that I just sort of zip through the house and go back out – and when I finally get time to be at home it doesn’t feel right. Often the bench by my front door is piled with stuff brought home from my adventures and I suspect there are things in the back of my fridge that might provide the basis for a good science experiment. Instead of feeling comfy and safe, being home becomes unpleasant and stressful.

Have you ever had a moment of panic when you realize you are going to be alone? It occurs to me that this dread of being alone is not so different from my dread of looking in the back of the fridge. When I am busy with meetings and work or family, (or just sucked into my Facebook feed) experiences and feelings pile up inside me and I “get behind” in my inner work. I’ve come to believe that when I get that moment of aversion about being alone, it’s a good indicator that there’s something inside me that needs my attention. And just like with my fridge, it’s not getting any fresher.

Whether I am dreading being alone or dreading going home to a home full of unfinished projects, the solution is the same; only time spent there will make it feel like home again. I might put on my favorite music, fix myself a nice cup of team and give myself a good chunk of time to reclaim my home. Sometimes this is all we need, just time to reacquaint ourselves as we would with an old friend. And if it doesn’t feel right, I can ask myself why? What needs my attention? If something in my home or in my spirit doesn’t feel right, I must be brave and go in there. Ah, here’s the handful of shells my family gathered as we walked the beach on our vacation. How lovely they are- time to find a permanent place where I can see them. Here’s the bag we keep by the door all summer in case we want to go to the pool – I guess it’s time to put that away for next year and get ready for the change of seasons. Here are the bills I need to pay. I’ll set them here by the checkbook so I don’t forget they still need my attention. Oh my, that’s where the smell was coming from – that stew I made that turned out badly. Time to admit no one is going to eat it; time to let go of that regret- into the trashcan with you! Long before the house is clean, it starts to feel like it’s mine again.
Whether we are reclaiming our outer home or our inner one, sometimes we fear coming across something that is too much for us. In both cases, remember that help is available. When we realized our air conditioner had been leaking into the wall for over a month, I was afraid to find out how much damage the water had done, so I asked my friend who is handy to come look at it with me. The same is true if I realize I am afraid to feel a great loss or grief, or rage- I would call a friend or a professional who is handy with such things, and ask them to look at it with me. If we are the praying sort, we can also bring our worries and messes to the divine- Remember the psalmist tells us:

… you have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from far away.
… and are acquainted with all my ways. [Psalm 139]

The divine already knows about the moldy stew in the back of our refrigerator (both literally and metaphorically), and knows about the water damage in our walls, and the un-shed tears in our hearts. We don’t have to wait to have a clean house to invite the spirit to tea.

So the next time you dread being alone, might I suggest that spending some time in solitude (your inner home) might be the best thing you could do for yourself and your spirit. It might mean the inward journey is calling to you. Because once you’ve thrown out all the things that need to be discarded, all that’s left is healthy delicious food- maybe everything you need to make dinner, and your favorite dessert besides.