Don’t take yourself so seriously

We think dualistically these days. One thing is bad; another good. One political candidate is evil; another is good (or less evil). All Muslims are terrorists; all Americans are good. Everything is black-and-white.

We think with our reptilian brain — the fight, freeze or flight brain. Forget facts, forget logic, just be afraid. Be very afraid. Politicians have done a masterful job of manipulating us on this level since 9/11. Today political candidates exploit the same fears. Adolph Hitler was a master manipulator of these fears. We retreat to our lizard brain, our most primitive brain. (Scientists now say that humans have five brains, with the most advanced being the “brain of the heart.”)

Adolescents and children learn to think on the lizard brain level; indeed, it is probably necessary for their safety. But we adults need to move beyond fight/flight/good/evil duality. The best way to outgrow 24/7 dualism is to meet with someone you’re afraid of — a homeless person, say — and talk/listen to them. I predict that your stereotype will melt away. It has happened to me many times over my 75 years.

A friend of mine, as a high school girl, was walking in a small town with her mother. Across the street they saw a cheerleader from a rival school. My friend told her mother that this girl had gotten pregnant. Her mother replied, “What makes you think that couldn’t happen to you?” She frequently advised her children to put themselves in the other person’s shoes.

Jesus told his hearers, “You’d better remove that log from your eye before you help your friend removed the speck in his eye.” The hearers no doubt laughed at the comparison, and then were offended when they got his meaning.

Dualistic people objectify. We project bad qualities onto others — “those terrorists are violent. They hate others. They are animals.” It has been written that we dislike in others what we don’t like in ourselves. When I was a boy, we had a saying, “When you point a finger at someone, you are pointing three fingers at yourself.”

Most of us think dualistically. One path toward change is letting our ego (“sin”) go. I asked a spiritual director why I was having troubled dreams. He laughed and said, “your subconscious [soul] is telling you not to take yourself so seriously.” I am still working at letting my ego go, through prayer, reading, worship and conversations with co-travelers.

Bottom line: we don’t need to take ourselves so seriously. Put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Talk to someone you don’t like. Say as the Virgin Mary said to the angel, “Let it be with me according to your word.” Receive.

Advent and the Path of Descent

The Path of Descent is a right path for the beginning of Advent. The early church mystics based their idea of spiritual descent on Paul’s instructions to the Philippians: “have that mind in you which was in Christ Jesus, who emptied himself, pouring out his life for others.”

In today’s terms we would say, “begin the process of emptying yourself of your ego, so you can grow in wisdom and insight.” Jesus said we can’t see because we have a log in our eye. His hearers must have laughed when he used that metaphor.

In Preparing for Christmas, Richard Rohr calls John the Baptist the Master of Descent. John says, “I must decrease while he [the Messiah] must increase.”

I grew up saying something like that — “less of me and more of Thee.” The only problem with my theology then is that it also meant, “me bad, God good.” John Wesley did not embrace that dualistic “theology of the worm.” He believed that we have within us a divine spark, sickened by sin. These days I call it the ego — the drive to build, grow, be in charge, be noticed — to be my own god.

The problem with embarking on emptying oneself of the Ego is that it can’t be accomplished by the Ego! For me the process includes prayer, meditation, scripture, worship, service, Holy Communion. Entering into those activities forces me into a receptive mode instead of a directive mode. Wesley called these the Means of Grace — the means by which God’s grace can bubble up from that divine spark.

He included Holy Conversation, which means sharing on the heart level. We are hard-wired for community. We can’t go it alone. To experience community we need to … empty ourselves of ourselves, so our hearts are open and there is space. Space for others. Space for The Christ.

The Path of Descent is not easy. But it offers space, lightness, joy. Susan Yarbrough, talking about her book, Bench Pressed, said, “Listening to the stories of immigrants broke my heart. And a broken heart is an open heart.”

I wish you a Joyous Journey. A Path of Descent.

Freedom and Joy with “The Poor”

St. Francis was in a heap of trouble. After an unsuccessful stint as a soldier, and ill, he returned home to recover. One night he was praying and sleeping in the ruins of the Church of St. Damian, and had a vision. In his vision God said to him, “Francis, do you see my house in ruins? I want you to restore my house.”

Francis was fun-loving, a troubadour, an entertainer, and probably, an Enneagram Type Seven — a party boy. He impetuously rushed out and sold his horse to raise money for the church. He also sold some of his father’s expensive silk cloth. Father was not pleased and had Francis imprisoned for stealing.

The conflict between them dragged on, and Francis’ reputation was lost in the process. He retreated to a cave or cellar — we don’t know which — and dealt with his crumbling persona: no longer popular, a failure as a soldier, and a failure as a follower of God. His ego container had crumbled, we would say today.

But, G. K. Chesterton wrote, Francis emerged from his cave as if he were walking on his hands — he saw the world upside down: the rich were actually poor and the poor rich. Ever the jester, he was now a jongleur de Dieu — a jester for God.

Francis renounced his father’s wealth and he became a mendicant — a beggar for God. He asked for food and stones so he could rebuild the church with his own hands. Others were inspired by his example and joined him. That was the beginning of the Franciscan orders.

Francis experienced poverty of the Self. His Ego crumbled. He found joy, freedom and compassion within himself. Jesus said, “blessed are the poor.” What a blessing it is to drop our denial about who we really are. We find the freedom to follow our hearts into freedom and joy. And into compassion, service and solidarity.

When the walls of our Ego Containers begin to break down, we come face-to-face with The Others and see them as persons. Our relationships become “I-Thou,” rather than “I-It” or “I-Other.” We find, as St. Francis and Pope Francis did, that we are one with the poor. We are two, but first, we are one. Just as we are one with Creation.

Jesus said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Our spiritual practice takes us through loss and sometimes suffering, into freedom and joy. Indeed, blessed are the poor.

If you want to know more about working with the poor, you can start by looking up Shane Claiborne and reading his book, The Irresistible Revolutionary.

Look at the moon, not the finger

There is a good reason why our present pope is the first to take the name of St. Francis: St. Francis rejected the power and wealth of the Church, and went instead to find Jesus with the poor and in nature. Pope Francis is the first pope, to my knowledge, to reject wealth and power.

After his conversion St. Francis stripped off his fine clothing and wore a plain brown robe. He had always been repulsed by lepers, but after his conversion he began to kiss their sores and identify with them. He spent so much time with lepers he contracted leprosy himself.

Pope Francis points us to the poor and oppressed, where he finds the spirit of Christ. Like St. Francis, our pope finds Christ in the poor, the vulnerable and oppressed — even in animals and the rest of God’s Creation. You can see his face light up when he is with children. He finds joy and freedom with them.

Jesus calls us to leave our fine clothes and find the same joy and freedom. “Fine clothes” is a wonderful metaphor, representing the way we want to appear to others — the way of our egos: I am an attractive person, an important person, an intelligent person, a funny person — even a humble and loving person. These fine clothes – what a burden they are! Francis got rid of his — literally and metaphorically — and found joy and peace.

I get irritated when TV commentators view Pope Francis through a political lens: What point is he trying to make? What is his agenda?

Furthermore, we are dualistic when we analyze Francis (and others): he is either this or that, left or right, right or wrong, black or white. The best answer to the question, “is someone this or that” is often — “yes.”

I see the pope as a finger, pointing at the moon. The Buddha said, “My teaching is like a finger pointing at the moon. A thinking person will use the finger to see the moon; an unthinking person will never see the moon.” 

Pope Francis is the finger, pointing us to the Ultimate Truth of Christ. But most of us are blind. We obsess about the finger.

The Gospel of John reports a confrontation between Jesus and the Pharisees. Jesus heals a blind person, but the Pharisees couldn’t “see” it. He says to them, “you see, and yet you are blind.”

Quit studying the finger! Take a deep breath. Look at the radiance of this Moon. Open your heart; let go of the things you are proud of. Embrace mercy, compassion and justice. You will find peace and joy there. Jesus said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Sitting and musing

I’ve been writing down my dreams for a couple of years now. It helps me sleep. My dreams used to be exhausting — I was late for a worship service, couldn't find my robe, my music, etc. Or I was with my youth choir on tour, and it was time to get back on the bus, but I couldn’t find the kids to round them up. I would wake up more exhausted than when I went to bed.

Recently my dreams have been more pleasant. We (always “we”) are resting after some work, and eating something or just talking.

Last night I dreamed that we were at a resort, taking a break from some work. I reflected to my companion that as a college student, a bunch of us went to the same resort to help move all the chairs from the dining/meeting room so the floor could be restored. Then we moved the chairs back. Maybe it was a volunteer project, or maybe the resort paid us, I told whoever I was talking to. We sat and mused.

Sitting and musing is what old people do, if they are lucky. Having finished our work, we sit and muse. Our lives become more inner-directed, and in the sunlight of morning or afternoon, we reflect. This is when we can become useful to younger people. We have time to listen, and we have more inner space in which to reflect.

Sitting and musing is pleasant. Very pleasant.

There are plenty of things to do and I do many of them: chores, exercise, shopping, lunches with friends. But I am careful to keep my schedule loose — loose enough to savor each activity.

And to have time to sit. And muse.

The Okra Leaf

I was sitting on my patio one late fall, watching the afternoon sun do what the sun does — shining through things, making shadows, blinding me. I noticed the leaf of an okra plant nearby. I was doing what retired people do — looking — and the sun was doing what the it does best — shining through the leaf.The colors and patterns of the okra leaf burned themselves on the back of my eyes. They streamed into my heart. The intensity of my gaze was streaming toward the leaf, a living thing. The line between me and the leaf was non-existent. The leaf was in me and I was in the leaf. We were one; we were two, but first, one.

Here’s a question for you: where does the leaf end and where do I begin? Where is the bright line that separates me from the leaf? I like to have things in well-defined containers. Where does my container end and the okra’s container begin?

One with Creation

My thoughts are still swirling around the ideas I encountered at “The Francis Factor,” sponsored by the Center for Action and Contemplation.

Two themes have emerged from the speakers: 1) one finds freedom and joy — indeed, one’s True Self — in oneness with Creation. 2) One finds freedom and joy in poverty — in living with, and working for, the poor. This post will focus on the first theme.

Ilia Delio, the theologian-scientist, showed how creation is evolving towards unity— towards The Christ, the Source of all energy and the universe itself. This evolution is becoming apparent in experiments in quantum physics, where atoms affect other atoms at great distances and appear to exist in two places at once. Our own deeds, even our thoughts and emotions, affect others and Creation. Our hatreds infect others and Creation itself. Our love affects others and Creation itself. We are one with Creation. We are one; we are two. But first, one.

On our way home from the conference we stayed a couple of days in Big Bend National Park. Morning and evening, the Vernon Bailey Mountain displayed its changing colors as we sat on our balcony. On the last day I sat and watched the mountain and listened for its message. It spoke to me of Creation’s steadfastness (and God’s).

I will enter another dimension of life someday, and Vernon Bailey may be there, too. But mainly it said to me, “I will be here for a very long time.” I felt peace and rest in its presence.