When your spirit feels dry and dormant

A few years ago, a friend gave me an amaryllis bulb. Who knows how long it had sat in a box on a warehouse shelf before I put it in my window and watered it. Nothing happened. This poor thing went literally months without growing. A fingernail of green kept me hopeful so I continued to care for it.

Then all of a sudden, with no change in the care I was giving, it began rapidly growing what seemed like inches a day. A beautiful flower bloomed and then withered in its time. Long green leaves filled up my window long after the flower was gone. The following winter I waited obediently for it to die back and flower again, but it never did. The lush greens enjoyed the sunny window, but it never flowered that year. Without a dormant period, the plant never flowers. I took it outside over the summer and waited, as fall came, for it to die back. The days got shorter and colder, some nights neared freezing, but still no change.

Finally the first hard frosts came and I put it in the basement to force a dormant period. It was sad, when I went down there to get the snow shovels, to see the green leaves looking wilty and desiccated, until it died back to a brown husk. Finally the alarm I had set on my calendar chimed and I was free to bring it back inside. It looked really dry and brown. A week went by. No change. Had I killed it? Finally after 10 days that fingernail of green peeked up like hope.

The story of the amaryllis not only reminds us that renewal is possible, but that renewal is part of a cycle. Dormancy is not a disorder. Periods were we don’t grow, don’t flower are inevitable parts of life, are necessary parts of life, as we rest and preserve our resources for the turning of the season.

If you feel dry and withered right now, that doesn’t mean you are doing it wrong. It just means you are in a dry patch. It doesn’t always feel good to be dry, to be dormant, especially when we can’t see even a sliver of green, to assure us that renewal is possible. But life promises that no matter how old we get, no matter how dried up and withered we feel, something new is always possible. That’s the nature of life; life finds a way.

What would it be like to love our enemies?

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy’” says Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew. There are abundant examples on the news, and on social media, of folks acting out this idea that anyone who does something we don’t like is our enemy, and once they are our enemy, it is culturally normative to insult them, to bully them, even to threaten their lives and their families. Jesus knows he is calling his students to something counter-cultural when he says “But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

What would it be like to love our enemies? I find it hard even to hold those two concepts in my heart at the same time… enemy… and love. I want to be clear that when I use the word “love” I don’t mean “letting people abuse us or others.” Abusive behavior absolutely has to be named, and we have to create cultural limits for what behavior is allowed. Instead I am talking about maintaining compassion in our own hearts. I must confess that when I see the face or hear the voice of certain political figures, when I hear certain ideas, I turn away, I turn the channel, I walk out of the room. So if I accept this challenge, it is going to take intention and awareness.

The Buddhists suggest that we start with a ground of compassion and openness. A tradition called Loving-kindness Meditation helps us cultivate such a frame of mind. There are many versions of this practice, this one is from American Buddhist Teacher Jack Cornfield. First we call to mind a person we care about. We remember that feeling of caring, that feeling of compassion. We make room for it in our bodies and hearts and establish it there with these words:

May you be filled with lovingkindness.
May you be safe from inner and outer dangers.
May you be well in body and mind.
May you be at ease and happy.

The traditional Buddhist practice does not rush this process. You cannot will yourself to feel compassionate, you can’t force yourself, you can only open yourself up to it, soften and allow it in. You can take as long as you need to establish that foundation of compassion- days, weeks, years. When you are ready, you extend compassion to yourself -- even the parts of ourselves that judges and hates my enemies. Even the part of us that is hard as a rock with hatred and anger. I invite that part of myself into my heart, into the stream of compassion like a child climbing into his mother’s lap. And like a parent listening to their child tell of the cruel playground bully, I just listen, returning again and again to the ground of compassion. This process takes as long as it takes. And if you choose, if you are willing to consider that maybe each of us has some small role to play in increasing the compassion in the world, in reducing the number of enemies in the world, in creating the kind of collaborative solutions this world needs, you can invite someone with whom you have a difficult relationship, even one who feels like an enemy into that space of compassion. It can be hard keep our hearts open to people who challenge us, people who make us angry, but in truth the practice of learning to keep our hearts open allows us to stay open to the Spirit even in the presence of our enemies. Surely that is when we need Spirit most.

The culture all around shows us, day after day, what happens when we lash out at our enemies with hate. Perhaps it’s time to break that vicious cycle of retribution and violence, and turn instead to the slow, vulnerable work of cultivating compassion, of weaving and re-weaving connections. We are called to love one another as God loves us- unconditionally and without exception.

Feeling Busy this Holiday Season?

At this time of year my friends tell me they feel scattered, busy, and overwhelmed by all that is on their plates. Many of us have holiday traditions that require preparation, on top of the usual business of repairing the furnace, putting snow tires on the car, doctor’s visits, meeting deadlines at work or school.

On top of these very real demands on our time, there are the urgent suggestions that come at us through the media. The whole world seems to have a lot of things I need to do right away, most of them involving my credit card. Economists and reporters call this “The holiday shopping season” because it accounts for between 20 to 40 percent of typical retailers' total annual sales. This time of year I get a staggering number of e-mails from retailers insisting that I “Shop now and save” alerting me to “One day only special offers” to “get them now before they are gone.

Let’s interrupt that. This season, this “dark of winter” is a time of emptying and letting go. The trees have dropped their leaves, and now we have a wide open view of the sky. In the Catholic tradition Advent is a time of emptiness, a time of waiting. In most Catholic churches the holiday trees and greens are not decorated until after the 4th Sunday in advent, when the time of spiritual preparation is complete and the time of celebration begins. For observant Catholics, waiting to welcome spiritual light of the Christ Child into the world, Advent is a time of “emptying ourselves of ourselves.” I think this is really important wisdom for Christian and non-Christian alike. Without a time of emptying, our spirits are too full to receive anything new. This year as our culture insists we fill up our time and our shopping carts and our homes, the spirit invites us to enter into a time of emptying.

Perhaps we keep so busy in these dark days because we know that emptying is not always comfortable. Sometimes when we are quiet and still our hearts fill up with concerns and feelings we have been too busy to feel. Sometimes we find ourselves shopping or working precisely because our hearts are so full. But if we can give ourselves some space to just be quiet and still, those worries and memories and feelings that rise to the surface of our attention often drift away, one by one, leaving us with more inner spaciousness if we meet them with a compassionate awareness, without grasping or pushing. The wisdom of the ages tells us that there is a value in our journey into the emptiness, into the darkness, because it empties us out for the returning light.

What would it mean to empty our hearts and minds during this darkest time of year, to make room for new gifts, new light, new growth? It takes intention to carve out a little time for our spirits in this busy season. Some of our traditions give us that time- reading holiday stories to a child, lighting a candle, gazing up at the night sky or falling snow. I invite you now to take a moment and consider the seasonal traditions of your family, your spirit, your community. Which of those traditions offer an opportunity for emptying yourself? Which traditions make you feel like a crowded parking lot? What is your inner wisdom inviting you to let go of to make room for whatever new light may be on the horizon?

As we wait in this darkest time of year, let us prepare room for something deeper, something more important than “the holiday shopping season.” Let us be grateful for the gaps and in-between times instead of rushing to fill them up. Let this be a season of emptying our hearts and minds -- a time of listening. May we make time for our deepest, truest self, open to the possibility that something new may enter in.

Is There a Spiritual Path for Everyone?

As a seminary student, I felt inadequate reading theology books so dense I could barely complete my assigned reading. I was miserable sitting in meditation class. How could I get anywhere on my spiritual journey if I couldn’t sit quietly in meditation? If I couldn’t get through Tillich’s Systematic Theology? I got the impression that the spiritual journey was like the New York Marathon- thousands of people training and racing, and a few elite winners.

But something fundamental about this paradigm does not harmonize with the idea of a loving God. Think of how diverse Humanity is- folks who have been to school and haven’t. Folks who run marathons and folks who can’t walk. Eventually it dawned on me- whatever the spiritual journey might be, at its core it must be so simple that even I could do it. I began to look at the spiritual journey in a different way. Instead of wondering how I could win the spirituality Super Bowl, I began to ask “What kind of spiritual journey could include all of us?” and “what is the spiritual journey we are already all on?”

The Christian Mystic Teresa of Avila was an Abbess at a convent in Spain in the 1500s. She was a Spiritual Director to the nuns there, and always trying to help them discern their path. She wrote volumes about the spiritual journey, but often came back to one point; whenever you are confused about your journey, start with practicing love for those around you. She wrote: "The surest way to determine whether one possesses the love of God is to see whether he or she loves his or her neighbor. These two loves are never separated. Rest assured, the more you progress in love of neighbor the more your love of God will increase."

This I find to be comforting advice. The Spiritual Journey can be confusing. Meditation can be tedious, and theology can be un-readably dense, but all of us have neighbors. Every time we interact with our family, our roommates, our co-workers, our neighbors we are on a spiritual journey whether we know it or not.

If you have trouble with meditation, or prayer, or other spiritual practices, you are still on the journey. Whenever we are lost and not sure where the journey is leading, we return to love. Each time we interact with others we have a chance to practice love. The journey is unfolding now and in every moment, just open your heart to love and you are on your way. 

Leaf and Trunk

Fall is a busy time. Whether you are caught up in the back-to school calendar or the agricultural calendar or have construction projects underway, there’s a lot we want to get done before the winter weather begins. I keep my “do list” on yellow sticky-notes that proliferate like autumn leaves this time of year. In fact, the image of orange, yellow and brown leaves swirling in the wind and drifting over the walkways captures perfectly my sense of scattered busy-ness as fall activities intensify. It helps to remember that much of what we are holding, much of what swirls by can be let go like leaves from a tree.

The tough part is discerning what we can let go. Just reading all those e-mails, or handouts that come home from my son’s school, takes time. We can’t always decide leaf by leaf what to let go. When we identify with all those items on the sticky-notes, our own spirits become scattered and are easily buffeted by even a gentle breeze. Instead of trying to think about each leaf, to organize each leaf, I have started thinking like the trunk of the tree. Because what the tree is doing during the fall transition is moving nutrients from the edges of its body into its core, its trunk, where they will be safe until spring. What is at the core of who I am? What is at the core of my life? When the storm winds blow and leaves flutter away, what remains?

So how do we think like a tree trunk? This is one of the gifts of spiritual practice. Whenever we take time for practice we have an opportunity to center ourselves and to ground ourselves. This is especially true during the busy season. When we return our attention to what is truly important to us, the unimportant things often flutter away. The mere act of returning our attention to our spiritual life strengthens our soul, strengthens our relationship to what matters. When we sit in meditation or prayer, or whatever our favorite spiritual practice may be, we gather our energies in to the center, and strengthen ourselves for whatever storms may come.

We are Not Alone

After the sidewalk on my block was replaced, grass failed to grow in the clay-like topsoil the contractors used. I’m a passionate gardener, and a plant nerd, and this made me sad. Each day as I walked my dog around the neighborhood, I noticed all the places which had once been lush and green, where now nothing grew in the new soil. Winter came, then spring, and the bare patches stayed bare. I wrote a note to the city building department, mentioning that the soil they used didn’t seem to have enough organic material for plants to thrive. A couple of weeks later a truck came and laid a fresh layer of the same tan clay over the bare spots. I added a layer of leaf compost and shade-friendly grass seed to my own lawn, which helped a bit, but the bald spots around the neighborhood remained. Each day as I walked I composed a new letter to the city in my head, but never did send it. I felt sad, and powerless, and sometimes angry.

Spring turned to summer, and the heavy rains of late summer began. Something green caught my eye- an emerald green moss was beginning to grow on the hard clay earth. I stopped in my tracks. Nature had found a way I had never even considered.  These bald spots were not a problem I had to witness and solve all by myself. I had a secret partner who was working on it with me. Actually, in that moment I felt like I had 3 partners: the moss, of course, and our natural eco systems, and spirit too, restoring my hope and reminding me I was not alone. Whether you are a theist, an atheist or an agnostic, there are reminders all round us that the heavy problems of the world are not ours alone to solve; we have partners co-creating with us.

 It was a rainy year, and the moss grew steadily. Many days on my walk I bent down to watch its tiny, slow progress. I’d never paid much attention to moss before, but now I saw it everywhere, especially on rainy days. I noticed all the different varieties and how it fills in niches other plants can’t fill. Another year has passed, and there are still big bald spots on my block, even in the places where I regularly lay new grass seed and compost. But on rainy days the lawn by my sidewalk shimmers green with happy growing moss, and I remember we are never alone.

I'm Tired

We were trying to resuscitate an organization that existed in name only. I knew there was a need in my community, and I knew the mission of this organization filled the need, so I was hoping others would join me in bringing it back to life. My colleague Anne and I arranged a day-long retreat, and carefully planned a program that we hoped would support and inspire participants and begin to build the web of community we would need for the organization to continue.

The day was going pretty well- folks seemed to catch our vision, and we were enjoying being together. As we moved into the sleepy after-lunch time we were planning to talk about our vision for the future. We spread out a big sheet of empty paper for us to fill in our ideas. My esteemed colleague who was to lead that section gave a big sigh and said “I’m tired, I just don’t have the energy for this.” I was alarmed! We had worked so hard to fill this event with life and enthusiasm, to give folks a positive, rewarding experience so they would want to stay engaged with the organization. I was tired too, we were all tired, and clearly the only thing to do was power through the end of the program. What was she doing?

After a silence she said “Does anyone else have some energy for this?” Another colleague, Cari, said, “Actually, I have some thoughts about this.” She picked up the markers, and began filling in ideas on the big empty page as she talked. Other colleagues chimed in and soon the paper was full of colorful ideas. My co-facilitator just observed as the conversation unfolded. The day ended with energy and enthusiasm for the future, and a commitment to meet again.

Here’s what I learned that day; so often I assume that I am indispensable. I assume that if something needs to be done, I am the only one who can do it. Even if my body and spirit are asking for a break, I expect myself to power through. But if I power through, I am not leaving room for guidance of the spirit. Why wouldn’t guidance come through our bodies? What if a felt sense of “not this, not now” was an important truth? Anne spoke her truth that day, the truth of what she was feeling in the moment: her tiredness, of her lack of energy. This made space for my colleague Cari to speak her truth- that she was excited and ready to step in.

If you are a fixer, a problem solver, if you are always the first to say “I can help with that,” it’s a leap of faith not to rush in and do the thing that cries out to be done. It’s a leap of faith to be authentic and honest, rather than ignoring the messages of body and spirit saying “I’m tired” or “this doesn’t feel right” and powering through. It requires faith that we are not alone- faith that we are part of a web of community larger than ourselves. Can we have faith that if the spirit is truly calling us to do something, spirit will help make it happen like a stream helps the paper boats that children set on the water and release?

To admit that we are tired, that we are overwhelmed, that we are not quite sure what to do requires the humility to admit that not only do I have limits, but I am not the only one capable of contributing to the solution. If we have the faith and humility to admit our limits we make space for help to come from unexpected places, as Anne made space for our young colleague Cari to emerge with fresh energy and new ideas.