Sustaining the Spirit

       Yesterday I was part of a "Constructive Conversation" hosted by the Social Justice Living and Learning Community here at the University of Denver (and, yes, I'm writing again on a Saturday!  This won't become a habit!).   The question that was driving this particular conversation was (roughly), "How do we create a physically, socially, and spiritually sustainable community at the University?" I was struck, almost immediately, how quickly the conversation focused on the "spiritual" portion of the question.
       There were about 12-15 people sitting in the circle, not all of whom I knew.  And I certainly hadn't convened the conversation.  But there was clearly something about the topic that engaged folks.  Questions arose, from "How do religious student groups sustain/maintain themselves?" to "What kind of things are available for those who are seeking some sort of spiritual sustenance, but aren't really connected with one tradition or another?" to "What kinds of spaces are necessary to encourage connections -- not just between the individual and the divine, but also between individuals?"(suggesting that spiritual relationships also are maintained through person-to-person contact).
       I certainly came away with a lot of food for thought.  Some of that "food" translated into ideas for collaboration with various offices/departments around campus.  Some of it made me look at programming opportunities or options.  But much of what I've been mulling considering has been the question of "How DO we sustain our spirit?"  Some of the folks mentioned a sort of spiritual burn-out -- not the kind of burn-out that results from spiritual over-extension, but rather a burn-out from under-nourishment.  I can certainly equally be fatigued, when bike-riding, from too many hills as from too little food/fuel.
       And, so, I wonder -- both for myself and for those around me, and whom I serve.  "WHAT IS A SUSTAINABLE ENVIRONMENT FOR SPIRITUALITY?"  (And, yes, I know, I had the caps lock "on".)  I've been pondering, over the last 24 hours, what that means for me?
      And, although I know it's unusual, I have to wonder what that means for you, the readers of this reflection, the members of the University community.  And, although I've never really done this before, I invite you -- I ASK you -- to navigate over to my blogsite "On a bike and a prayer" (where you can comment on this reflection, relatively anonymously) with some answers to any of the following questions:
• What does "spiritual sustainability" mean to you?
• How do you sustain your spiritual life?
• How might my office at the University of Denver help you, or provide resources to, sustain your spiritual life?
• What resources would benefit you as you strive to maintain your connection to the divine, or that which is greater than you?
       We're all on a quest.  We may define, or nurture, it differently.  Many of the same resources, however, may be helpful.

Thank you, and blessings,

Gary

Do not judge?

Big news this week!  Sure to be a political landscape shifter!  Or is it?        President Obama went on national television to clear up any misconceptions about the evolution of his views on same-sex unions.  In short, he supports them.  Vice-President Biden, and Education Secretary Duncan do also -- and their comments probably precipitated the President's.        In the wake of those announcements, the opinionators began to discuss what impact this announcement would have on the coming election.  Would it sway voters one way or the other?  More significantly, what would happen with those demographics that have supported Obama in the past (e.g., African-Americans and Latinos), but who have tended to be social conservatives?  The overall assumption, it seemed to me, was that everyone was going to base their voting decision on this one issue.  Then, on the other side, Mitt Romney has been trying to say, "It's the economy, stupid" -- suggesting that everyone might (or should) base their vote on THAT issue alone.        I have no intention of discussing either gay unions OR the economy.  My concern continues to be the fracturing of our common life by such implications that there are only two ways to understand an issue, a political party, or a member of that party, or . . .  just about anything else.  And that was illustrated by an article in this morning's Denver Post (and, yes, I'm writing this on a Saturday!  Horrors, Brower's late!) that many black Americans will continue to support the President in spite of his support for same-sex marriage.  Golly, I guess it isn't that simple!  Maybe people aren't as black-or-white (pardon the pun) as we are being led to believe, assume, or accept!       I was also reading this morning from the "Sermon on the Mount", a collection of exhortations and teachings attributed to Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew.  A couple of things stood out for me in the context of this week's news.  The first was Jesus' counsel:  "Do not judge, so that you may not be judged.  For with the judgment you make you will be judged . . ." (Mt 7.1).  And the second was a few verses later (in the context of being wary of false prophets):  "every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit.  A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit" (7.17-18).          In some respects, I might see these as contradictory:  how, for example, can one distinguish between good and bad trees/fruit without judging?  But I'm wondering if there might be another way to interpret both?  (And, I hasten to add, I'm not a big fan of folks who are clear about what Jesus, or any other writer means.  All texts--sacred or otherwise--are open to a lot of interpretation!).         In terms of the first saying about "judging others", I bristle when folks judge that, because I think "this way" about issue "A", I must think "that way" about issue "B".  I'm not that simple; I'm a mishmash/melange of beliefs, opinions, etc.  To think that I'm all one-way or the other is demeaning to me.  Am I to assume that it is any less demeaning to others if I make a similar judgment?      In terms of the second saying about good/bad trees, I recall a wonderful song by the artist Sting, entitled "Russians" that contains the line:  I hope the Russians love their children too."  This song, written before the collapse of the Soviet Union (it came out in 1985), twitted those of us who would think that all of "them" were nothing but horned demons bent on destroying the world with their version of "Oppenheimer's deadly toy".  So, I wonder, even if "bad trees" bear "bad fruit", are they totally without merit?  I love trees that provide cooling shade, even though they drop sap on my car -- and they don't even bear ANY fruit.      We are all more complex than any one thing that we think, or believe, or do.  The richness that is humanity (or even the voting public) deserves better from our news reporters, or opinionators, or preachers, or us than to teach that there is only ONE issue, ONE position, ONE belief, that should drive our dealings with our fellows--all of whom, many of us believe, were created in the image of God. Blessings, Gary

Nones & Nuns: Confused?

A recent survey of the college-aged "millennial" generation indicates that about 25% of that age cohort (18 - 24 years old) claim no religious affiliation.  It also indicates that that number has grown larger during as they've aged up.  That is, when these students were younger kids, only 11% of them professed being unaffiliated; over the course of ten years or so, that number more than doubled.**  A survey of University of Denver students (both undergraduate and graduate/professional) in the fall of 2011 produced somewhat similar results (although Denver students were even MORE unaffiliated).  Hmmmm. Why?       The release of that report in the last couple of weeks coincided with my reading of (well, listening to) Robert Putnam and David Campbell's book, American Grace:  How Religion Divides and Unites Us.***  In that book, they also address the question of those who choose not to identify with any one religious tradition.  These folks are not necessarily "atheists" (i.e., those who believe there is no God) or even "agnostics" (those who aren't sure that there is a God).  They just do not find that a particular religious tradition fits with their understanding of the world, the cosmos, spirituality and how they all work together.  Putnam and Campbell (and, to be sure, others) refer to these folks as "Nones" (rhymes with "nuns"!).  As I was listening to the book, the constant reference to "Nones" and what they (dis-)believed was always a jarring experience, as I consistently that heard "Nuns" didn't believe this, or thought that . . . and none (pardon me) of that was consistent with what I thought/knew about nuns.  (Here's where reading the book would have been easier than listening to it!)       Clearly (to borrow from Sherlock Holmes), there's something afoot!       Putnam and Campbell suggest (and their argument is more complex and nuanced than I'm reflecting) that many younger people are rejecting the political associations of religion (primarily Christianity -- primarily conservative Christianity) with politics, as well as the disconnect between a scientific world-view and that of conservative religious teachings.  Those associations don't necessarily reflect THEIR understandings/beliefs.  In other words,  they say, "If religion means a certain world/political view, and it doesn't match mine, I reject religion!  But that doesn't mean I'm NOT a spiritual person!  I still pray and believe in God . . . but not THAT way of thinking about God."       And, then, on top of this all, comes the recent pronouncement out of the Vatican that the Leadership Council of Women Religious (that is, those women in the Roman Catholic Church who lead communities of nuns . . . yes NUNS) needs to rethink many of its positions (or even non-positions) on moral/religious issues of the day (women's ordination, right-to-life issues, the role of homosexual people, etc.).  In short, the leaders of nuns need to acquiesce to a particular sort of authority, and how that authority is made present in the current world, and reflect that authority's teachings.  The nuns, on the other hand, assert that they are reflecting, and carrying out, Jesus' mandate to serve all of God's creation wherever (or, in whatever state) it might be found.       So, it seems to me, we have the Nones and the Nuns both reflecting a conflict between conscience and authority.  Or, put another way, they are both reflecting a crisis of authority:  where is it found?  Is it found in the experience/conscience of the individual (or even a relatively small community of individuals)?  Or is it found in an historical, hierarchical (some might say, patriarchal) external authority (such as the papacy, or even a sacred text)?  The Roman Catholic Church puts a high value on an individual's conscience . . . but what happens when that comes into conflict with Church teachings?  On the other hand, what happens when an individual's beliefs and practices conflict with the external, religious, authorities to which that individual owes allegiance?        I've long believed that the individual is THE final authority. Imay submit to another authority, whether it is a political ideology, a religious theology, or some sort of selfish desire, but I need to know, and be able to articulate, WHY I'm doing so.  Do the Nones and the Nuns?  I don't mean to suggest that they do not!  But their presence and witness always challenges me to re-evaluate MY position!       And . . . you? Blessings, Gary *  Okay, I confess that there aren't "four nones".  But it was a great image . . . and there might be four!! **  The survey was a joint effort between the Public Religion Research Institute and Georgetown University's Berkley Center for Religion, Peace and World Affairs.  The complete report can be found at:    http://publicreligion.org/site/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Millennials-Survey-Report.pdf ***Published by Simon and Schuster, 2010

Doors closed; doors ajar; doors opening.

    When my wife and I were in China in the late '90's, we visited a very large Buddhist temple complex--the Lingyin Temple--outside the city of Hangzhou.  Of all the pictures I took at the temple, this one remains one of my favorites.  A beautiful closed door, with sandals awaiting their owner's return.  The overall sense to me was one of serenity, but with a sense of expectation, perhaps even adventure, most likely . . . duty.
     The memory of the door, and the photo returned to me the other night while I was watching the Hallmark biopic Temple Grandin (which starred Claire Danes and earned five Emmys).  Temple Grandin is an amazing woman who has not allowed her autism to keep her from success in many fields.  She is a fierce advocate for the autistic, but also an expert in animal science (she teaches at Colorado State University).  The movie frequently makes reference to her discomfort with doors; in one scene, she avoids one store for another because the first had a pneumatic door that disturbed her.  Doors appear in her mind as she tries to make decisions, and, finally, at a critical point, she seizes the opportunity to go through a "door", recognizing that something new and wonderful lay on the other side.
      And then, within a day or so of watching the film, I ran across a quotation from one of Emily Dickinson's poems:

        THE SOUL should always stand ajar.
          That if the heaven inquire,
       He will not be obliged to wait,
          Or shy of troubling her.*

And that reminded me of the passage from the New Testament book of Revelation:  "Listen, I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me" (Rev 3.20).
       Doors closed, doors ajar, doors opening.
       Closed doors are such for a reason.  That reason may as significant as security or privacy.  Or it may be to keep the breeze from rushing through the room, scattering all of the papers on the table.  Or it may be a simple fear, or hesitancy, to engage with that which is on the other side of the door.
       Doors ajar may be such by design or neglect.  Regardless, there is potentiality (to use the more archaic language) for "weal or woe".  What is inside may escape; what is outside may intrude.
       Doors opening are an invitation.  The one inside is invited to depart and be changed by whatever is encountered.  Or the one outside may be invited in to encounter and change the host.
       I love leaving my office door open (unless I'm in conference).  I never know what adventure might walk through.  I hope that the doors of my heart and mind are equally open to encounters that will stretch them.
     
Blessings,

Gary

*Emily Dickinson, Complete Poems, IV:  Time & Eternity, 121.  (found online here:  http://www.bartleby.com/113/4121.html

Candles in the Wind

     Last Monday evening, I was part of a ceremony to mark the beginning of Holocaust and Genocide Awareness Week here at the University of Denver.  The ceremony was simple:  a series of readings from survivors, or witnesses, of various genocidal rages:  the Holocaust, Rwanda, Cambodia, etc.  After each reading, a candle was lit.  The service began with these words:

We light candles in memory of the light of the millions of our brothers and sisters extinguished in the Holocaust, Rwanda, Darfur, Cambodia, Armenia, and too many others.  Each candle represents the light inside each person affected, and the light inside all of us requiring us to remember their stories.

As you can see from the photo above, not all of the candles remained lit.  It was windy, after all.  I was struck by the efforts we took to keep them burning--whether it was shielding them from the wind, re-lighting them from other candles, or striking yet another match.
     How hard it is to keep the light burning!
     I certainly know the experience of getting totally engaged in a project, a cause.  The flame burns hot.  I am, to use the cliché, "fired up".  Inevitably, however, time or other matters conspire to cool the intensity.  My attention wanders to the next new thing, or the most urgent emergency.
     One of the beneficial things, though, about annual remembrances is that we ARE reminded again and again of events in the past that have made us who we are.  And we may vow "Never again"* when it comes to genocides or other horrors.  Yet we turn on the news, or read the papers, and see that we have a long ways to go before we realize those goals.  Or some other world event--missile tests in North Korea or India, airplane crash in Pakistan, financial crisis in Europe--crowds out our focus.
      Phhfffphffhpfhfhf.  The winds blow, and the candle gutters.
     We learn, however, from these memorials of the steadfastness and bravery of many of those who struggled against the evils.  The winds certainly blew, but their candles were not extinguished.  Many of them were people little different than us, but they saw a hopeful, more just, future as the light to which they were drawn.  Some of them fought alone; others found strength in community.
      Those of us gathered on Monday evening found common cause, and common strength.  We did work together to keep those candles lit; we can corporately recall that evening as we struggle with the winds that would seek to vanquish the light.  And therein lay the larger "take-away" for me:  as I contend with the adversities I face, finding a community -- even if only a two-person community -- to shield and nurture the flame in the face of all the winds is critical.


Blessings,

Gary

*  "Never Again" is the name of the student group at DU that stands behind Holocaust and Genocide Awareness Week.

A conversation between ocean and stone

     In an interview several years ago, Irish poet and philosopher John O'Donahue recounted growing up on the west coast of Ireland:  

 . . . [I]t's the Burren region, which is limestone. And it's a bare limestone landscape. And I often think that the forms of the limestone are so abstract and aesthetic, and it is as if they were all laid down by some wild surrealistic kind of deity. So soon - being a child and coming out into that, it was waiting like a huge wild invitation to extend your imagination. And then it's right on the edge of the ocean as well, and so a conversation - an ancient conversation between the ocean and the stone going on.* 

The photo above is of that interface between ocean and stone--the place of conversation--as O'Donahue put it.  A close look at the rock reveals the impact of those long encounters:  ridges, lines and fractures in the limestone.  His image of the interaction--especially in light of the photo--as being a "conversation" caused me to think.

      How many of us would think of water striking rock as "conversation"?  The Hebrew psalmist writes of the sea "making a noise" (Ps 98. 8) or "thundering" (Ps 96.11) and the "rivers clapping their hands" (Ps 98.9).  A quick search, however, doesn't yield a reference to water "speaking" or "saying".  And wouldn't most of us see such a conversation between water and rock as rather one-way?  The water being the active participant, the stone being passive? 

      Yet, over time, the impact of the conversation between sea and stone is evident -- certainly on the rock, as both the force of the water, and the corrosive nature of the salt take their toll.  But the water absorbs minerals from its splashing.  Particles of stone remain suspended for some time in the water.  In short, both water and shoreline are changed.  It is much like any conversation between people, I believe.  That is, any encounter changes us both in some way.

      Many years ago now, I took a class in Process Philosophy (derived from the work of mathematician and philosopher Alfred North Whitehead).  Process Philosophy (and its cousin, Process Theology) assert that any encounter changes all parties to the encounter.  Sometimes the change is easily apparent; other times, the changes are only evident after a long period of time.   I often recall, at moments like this, the words of another philosopher/scientist/theologian (often associated with process thinkers), the Jesuit Tielhard de Chardin, who, in a letter to a young student, begins:

Above all, trust the slow work of God. We are, quite naturally, impatient in everything to reach the end without delay. . . . .   And yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability - - and that it may take a very long time.** 

      We are such impatient creatures.  Immediate satisfaction/gratification is our goal.  We see it, we want it . . . NOW!  We desire it, we demand it . . . NOW!  We want our children/partners/parents to change . . .  NOW!  And we find it so difficult to let conversations proceed at the pace they require, including our conversations with the Divine, i.e., prayer.  We often treat our interactions with God as if God were a cosmic ATM -- as long as we put in the right card, and type in the right PIN, we should receive what we ask, without much delay.

      I wonder if many of our conversations with God (and others) are a lot more like that between an ocean and stone:  real change only happens gradually.  Yet, at some point in the future, we can look back and see how much we've grown.  A conversation between ocean and stone CAN take a long time!  

       Now if I only knew who is the ocean and who is the stone?

Blessings,

Gary

*The interview was with Krista Tippet of "On Being."  The full interview, as well as other photos, can be found http://being.publicradio.org/programs/2012/inner-landscape-of-beauty.   There is a wonderful gallery of photos of the Burren at  http://www.burrennationalpark.ie/gallery.html.

**Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, The Making of a Mind: Letters from a Soldier-Priest 1914-1919 (New York: Harper & Row, 1961), 57.

And the daffodils stood!

     Sometime early last week I began to notice the daffodils poking their way out of the flowerbeds at home.  The snow had finally all melted and green was emerging out of the faded brown remnants of last year's growth.  New life was triumphing over death.  Last Sunday it was over 80 degrees in Denver.  "Spring was here," I thought.  "Bike commuting is a reality again!" I dreamt.   Ah, the best-laid plans .. .
       Monday dawned cool and overcast.  The forecast was for precipitation . . . including snow!  As the day wore on it kept threatening, but nothing significant.  Tuesday, however, I had to crunch through snow on the way to get the newspaper.  The daffodils were blanketed.  And, as the day wore on, the snow continued to fall.  The (what I thought were) vulnerable daffodil shoots were almost buried.  By Wednesday morning, however, the snow had begun to recede; it was gone by that afternoon.  And the daffodils stood proudly, survivors, triumphant!
       I guess there is no real surprise, then, that for many of the world's religious/spiritual traditions, this time of year is filled with celebrations of renewal, of the triumph of life over death, or freedom from bondage.  Ostara, at the Vernal Equinox in March, is the Pagan/Wiccan celebration of the reawakening of the seeds within the earth.  Zoroastrian Now Ruz, or New Year, celebrates the renewal of the world and the creation of fire.  This evening, Passover begins . . . the Jewish celebration of the departure--the liberation--of the Israelite people from bondage in Israel, and their setting-forth on their journey to the Promised Land.  For western Christians, today is Good Friday, marking the death of Jesus, and Sunday is Easter, the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus -- his triumph over death.*
       The festivals of the triumphs, the victories, at this time are not, however, one-time celebrations.  They are repeated every year.  And those who pay close attention to the broader stories they celebrate will notice, too, that the triumphs, the victories, are rarely complete.  True, the seeds are reawakened in the spring . . . only to flourish, re-seed themselves, and die.  True, the Israelites were freed from bondage . . . only to wander for forty years in the wilderness until they reached the Promised land . . .  only to struggle mightily to truly inherit it . . . and so on.  True, Jesus was raised from the dead and appeared to his followers, giving them strength . . . only for them to experience multiple cycles of persecution and calm, not just in one land but many.  It seems that the rhythm of life is rarely an increasingly upward series of success upon success, but rather more like some kind of sine wave, oscillating betweens highs and lows.
       Our holy days reiterate this with their seasonal reminders that we, too, go through many ups and downs, sowing and harvests, enslavements and liberations, deaths and rebirths.  They are all reminders of hope in times of despair.  They give us what we often desperately need.   May these coming days, then, be a time of renewed vision and hope and for you!
       For, after the snow fell, it melted.  And the daffodils stood proud!

Blessings,

Gary

*Eastern Christianity's observance of these same events falls next week this year.