I read an interview some weeks ago (New York Times Magazine, September 6, 2010) that shocked me.
The author Deborah Solomon questioned Deepak Chopra the man from India raised a Hindu and turned California guru of alternative wellness. Chopra is the founder of a wellness center in California.
I have read some of his work on meditation as a health practice. I confess I have not studied it, because I was not drawn into his thought save for his insistence on a holistic view of wellness.
I detected, however, a subtle suggestion that we could actually take control of our moments, days, even lives by meditative thought. We could almost MAKE or WILL ourselves well by this practice. Too much me and not enough God.
Where was there room for Divinity, for Spirituality meaning that transcendent mystery some call grace, others coincidence. Where was the Holy? Where was the divine/human relationship? Where human trust, faith, hope?
I suspected idolatry, worship of temporality with the expectation that would be enough.
If meditation became your god then what if a day came when you couldn’t do it?
If self-reliance your god on whom or what would you rely when resources dried up?
If science were your god and it had no cure or you couldn’t afford it, then what would you trust, where turn for healing?
Or...if your work was your god what happened when you couldn’t work or lost your job?
Where would meaning be found at the end of your rope?
I am not against meditation, know of its benefits myself, and often suggest it to people as a way to draw energy back from the distractions of a high speed culture and into the self or soul, a way to focus and center on Divinity, to bring together the transcendent dimension we call Divinity with the immanent dimension we call soul.
I call it contemplative prayer.
At any rate meditation is far from new to religious traditions. Neither btw is spirituality. Chopra seemed to me in this interview to calculate his thoughts in a dichotomous way; that is he offered an either/or mentality I didn’t find congruent with what he claims to represent: wellness.
For example, when queried about the Islam center in NYC and whether Sufism represented the reform branch of Islam, he responded, “Yes, traditional Islam is a mixture of obedience to Allah and if that requires militancy, so be it. Whereas Sufism exalts beauty, intuition, tenderness, affection, nurturing and love, which we associate with feminine qualities.”
Seemingly, male/female and Sufism/Islam do not easily co-exist in Chopra’s analysis.
I think growth toward wholeness, and incidentally wellness, happen when the best of tradition is supplemented rather than supplanted.
Asked if he believed in God’s existence, Chopra responded, “Yes, but not as a dead male.” I would agree if I thought the Christ spirit were dead or male. Mostly I thought it a snide slur.
Chopra defined his practice as “what I can only call a secular spirituality.” Can there be such a thing since secular still means any activity or attitude that has no spiritual or religious basis. Didn’t the idea of spirituality stem from religions’ awareness of Spirit beyond human boundaries but interacting within human process?
Or has it morphed to being just human values, nice cozy things like belonging? And aren’t humanistic values contingent, relative to culture? Perhaps Chopra means spiritual humanism?
Why try so hard to divorce spirituality from religion? Just because religion is unpopular in this age?
Spirituality and religion were also polarized in Chopras’ definitions in response to the question about how he would define spirituality as opposed to religion? “Self-awareness and awareness of other people’s needs.”
Spirituality is by this definition self-centered while religion is centered on other people. Is this another dichotomous solution? Aren’t self and other awareness part of holistic wellness?
Healthy spirituality can not be divorced from the need to be aware of the dignity of all human being and the whole created order. Equally, religion can not be sane if divorced from soul-awareness and nurture. Both/and.
The interviewer pushed on asking what religion he would say he is. “I say God gave humans the truth, and the Devil came and said, ‘Let’s organize it, we’ll call it religion.’ ”
No comment.
OK just one. Do you think meditation classes aren’t organized, that we students don’t know who the teacher/guru is and where s/he belongs in the structure? As long as no power abuses (and I know of such abuse in a meditation group in which the teacher, playing god, took physical advantage of a student’s vulnerability) occur the ordered/organized structure is in place for our wellness, just as in a functional family.
Trellis and roses make a necessary whole.
The interviewer soldiered on commenting that religion was free to worshipers and Chopra’s meditation retreats were costly. He countered with tax free donations to religions and the wealth of the Vatican. He thinks insurance companies should pay for his lifestyle management classes and they would save money.
That is a good idea and I agree we need to see, as Chopra said, “that alternatives medicine is now mainstream.” Another either/or?
I use traditional medicine and all the “alternatives.” Only I call them “complimentary.”
We need to remarry spirituality and religion—the best of both.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
2010.09.29 Liturgical Dance in the Treetops
Seeing the Holy in everything isn’t hard. You have only to release God from “his” ecclesiastical strait jacket, stretch your eye and your soul toward wonder, and be ready to laugh.
Recently at the Convent of the Sisters of St. Margaret in Boston I sat silently with the community eating Cheerios and Raisin Bran, toast with peanut butter, and sipping tea. Today’s headlines were violent, messy and full of pain.
But we were here on Sabbath to worship anyway. No one expected liturgical dance in the outdoor sanctuary of trees and garden.
I will make this ballerina masculine and call her Squirrelster He advanced slowly down the tree trunk, something only critters like him can do with ease, then sprinted out onto a slim and swingy plant holder. He had spied the prize, a beautiful and aromatic purple floral plant suspended from its flimsy hanger. Out he went undeterred by flimsiness until he took his final leap, nose first into the plant. All that was visible was his tail—wildly swinging, curling, twisting, circling round and round this way and that and back—among the purple blooms. Bottoms up!
I thought as I watched the gyrations of Squirrelster’s puffy tail of the wrist motion a thurifer makes as she censes altar, ambo, people, and sacrament, creating a haze of incense, scents of a woman. (I mean why not put perfume around to advertise our glory and God’s?)
The incense rises to the Creator, a great thanksgiving for being alive, a eucharistic offering.
The squirrel's sleight of tail might have been ecstasy of the kind that ascetics and mystics describe from time to time when they encounter the Holy and dervish about.
Squirrelster buried in the flowers was being seduced by the full fragrance of Divinity. Until Sister Mary Gabriel opened the window and gently whispered shoosh, and shoo. Squirrelster beat it fast all the way up the tree.
The dining group was entertained—everyone watching and laughing and if it weren’t retreat silence I’d have applauded. Squirrels are nature’s clowns, or one of nature’s clown groups.
But Squirrelster wasn’t done yet. Drunk with Spirit, his second act began in full view of his appreciative audience. Another more elaborate dance, a full body shimmy while perched on hind legs atop a shaky branch. His tail whirled and twirled, censing the air with his joy. All this while simultaneously bouncing his booty about like a belly dancer, or shall we say strutting his stuff.
Shaken out and loosened up he then scooted to a higher branch. He mounted the thin branch, curled his body around it horizontally so his tail hung down and his front paws embraced the branch over which his belly hung. What a sight. He then began to wiggle back and forth and up and down. Now I don’t need to tell you what went through my imagination. But can a squirrel get it off on a tree branch? Or was this just practice for when a delectable admirer might arrive and be willing?
Some rituals are universal. And they are all liturgies, works of praise for a Creator who didn’t miss a trick to provide Creation with all pleasure, all delight, all laughter, and all ecstasy.
And all to the glory of Creation itself. Simply so.
Recently at the Convent of the Sisters of St. Margaret in Boston I sat silently with the community eating Cheerios and Raisin Bran, toast with peanut butter, and sipping tea. Today’s headlines were violent, messy and full of pain.
But we were here on Sabbath to worship anyway. No one expected liturgical dance in the outdoor sanctuary of trees and garden.
I will make this ballerina masculine and call her Squirrelster He advanced slowly down the tree trunk, something only critters like him can do with ease, then sprinted out onto a slim and swingy plant holder. He had spied the prize, a beautiful and aromatic purple floral plant suspended from its flimsy hanger. Out he went undeterred by flimsiness until he took his final leap, nose first into the plant. All that was visible was his tail—wildly swinging, curling, twisting, circling round and round this way and that and back—among the purple blooms. Bottoms up!
I thought as I watched the gyrations of Squirrelster’s puffy tail of the wrist motion a thurifer makes as she censes altar, ambo, people, and sacrament, creating a haze of incense, scents of a woman. (I mean why not put perfume around to advertise our glory and God’s?)
The incense rises to the Creator, a great thanksgiving for being alive, a eucharistic offering.
The squirrel's sleight of tail might have been ecstasy of the kind that ascetics and mystics describe from time to time when they encounter the Holy and dervish about.
Squirrelster buried in the flowers was being seduced by the full fragrance of Divinity. Until Sister Mary Gabriel opened the window and gently whispered shoosh, and shoo. Squirrelster beat it fast all the way up the tree.
The dining group was entertained—everyone watching and laughing and if it weren’t retreat silence I’d have applauded. Squirrels are nature’s clowns, or one of nature’s clown groups.
But Squirrelster wasn’t done yet. Drunk with Spirit, his second act began in full view of his appreciative audience. Another more elaborate dance, a full body shimmy while perched on hind legs atop a shaky branch. His tail whirled and twirled, censing the air with his joy. All this while simultaneously bouncing his booty about like a belly dancer, or shall we say strutting his stuff.
Shaken out and loosened up he then scooted to a higher branch. He mounted the thin branch, curled his body around it horizontally so his tail hung down and his front paws embraced the branch over which his belly hung. What a sight. He then began to wiggle back and forth and up and down. Now I don’t need to tell you what went through my imagination. But can a squirrel get it off on a tree branch? Or was this just practice for when a delectable admirer might arrive and be willing?
Some rituals are universal. And they are all liturgies, works of praise for a Creator who didn’t miss a trick to provide Creation with all pleasure, all delight, all laughter, and all ecstasy.
And all to the glory of Creation itself. Simply so.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Love Those Eggs!
I just can’t help it!
Although I’m not at all in favor of a salmonella pandemic and would support with whole heart the civil rights of all hens who suffer abuse because of overwork and undercare, there is something that strikes the perversity of my funny bone about the recent great egg recall. (You can read all about it in Sept 16 Boston Globe front page and beyond, including elaborate flow charts of farms, hens and eggs.)
In spite of my health gravitas I suddenly envision a lineup. All you hens line up over here for inspection. Keep the cackle down and abandon all modesty.
You women line up behind the hens, ova in hand.
This is the largest ever egg recall. Innocence is over. It seems to be a symbol of many current trends: the good food and health vigilance epidemic, ridding the market of impurities like farmers who cheat and the rise in the sale of eyeglasses that can read the small print of every and all ingredients and the smaller print of possible sides and dangers. Who can eat? Also, it’s evidence of the power of media to stir public panic by simply reporting the facts. (Of course they do select which facts to report and how to position the data.)
Spiritually? Well, I suppose it could be a sign of the tendency toward reactivity first, reflection second. Or, a sign of good public health care. At this rate Old Testament exaggerations about the longevity of patriarchal heroes may become possibility.
Most of all I think it’s better to choose laughter over panic. Laughter creates a pause. It prevents the temptation to confuse truth with rumor. Humor gives objectivity a chance. Humor me.
But be a good egg and check your daily egg consumer reports. You wouldn’t want to be a bad egg, let alone eat one.
* * * *
In other news, Massachusetts might just be going purple. How ecclesiastical. The Church rarely makes the news unless it becomes an occasion for sin, a stumbling block for all who enter in. Bishops can wear either red-purple or blue-purple. It’s not a political statement just a vanity one.
Most bishops choose the scarlet hues, leaning red, which then takes my errant mind to the scarlet letter and the numbers of women whose lives have been deeply scarred by abandonment from on high without provision—that’s not by Divinity but by male humanity in scarlet.
Male bishops carry on with business as usual just like Senators, Judges, Corporate Executives, Coaches, Principals and power pimps. Many eggs non-chicken are invaded against their will, and many women’s bellies swell without real love, unless of course the woman decides to give real love to the child of her womb. There’s precedent for that.
Love and respect eggs of all kinds.
Although I’m not at all in favor of a salmonella pandemic and would support with whole heart the civil rights of all hens who suffer abuse because of overwork and undercare, there is something that strikes the perversity of my funny bone about the recent great egg recall. (You can read all about it in Sept 16 Boston Globe front page and beyond, including elaborate flow charts of farms, hens and eggs.)
In spite of my health gravitas I suddenly envision a lineup. All you hens line up over here for inspection. Keep the cackle down and abandon all modesty.
You women line up behind the hens, ova in hand.
This is the largest ever egg recall. Innocence is over. It seems to be a symbol of many current trends: the good food and health vigilance epidemic, ridding the market of impurities like farmers who cheat and the rise in the sale of eyeglasses that can read the small print of every and all ingredients and the smaller print of possible sides and dangers. Who can eat? Also, it’s evidence of the power of media to stir public panic by simply reporting the facts. (Of course they do select which facts to report and how to position the data.)
Spiritually? Well, I suppose it could be a sign of the tendency toward reactivity first, reflection second. Or, a sign of good public health care. At this rate Old Testament exaggerations about the longevity of patriarchal heroes may become possibility.
Most of all I think it’s better to choose laughter over panic. Laughter creates a pause. It prevents the temptation to confuse truth with rumor. Humor gives objectivity a chance. Humor me.
But be a good egg and check your daily egg consumer reports. You wouldn’t want to be a bad egg, let alone eat one.
* * * *
In other news, Massachusetts might just be going purple. How ecclesiastical. The Church rarely makes the news unless it becomes an occasion for sin, a stumbling block for all who enter in. Bishops can wear either red-purple or blue-purple. It’s not a political statement just a vanity one.
Most bishops choose the scarlet hues, leaning red, which then takes my errant mind to the scarlet letter and the numbers of women whose lives have been deeply scarred by abandonment from on high without provision—that’s not by Divinity but by male humanity in scarlet.
Male bishops carry on with business as usual just like Senators, Judges, Corporate Executives, Coaches, Principals and power pimps. Many eggs non-chicken are invaded against their will, and many women’s bellies swell without real love, unless of course the woman decides to give real love to the child of her womb. There’s precedent for that.
Love and respect eggs of all kinds.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
What is SDI?
One more acronym to figure out. Oh no!—another “stupid dumb institution.”
SDI stands for Spiritual Directors International. Not stupid. Not dumb. Not institution.
SDI is a an organization dedicated to the ministry and practice of Spiritual Direction (SD) a discipline with ancient roots and contemporary practice of guidance in deepening your relationship with divinity in your soul and divinity all around you.
SD spans all religious traditions and many secular humanists come wondering and seeking. The longing persists for something beyond human effort alone, something beyond human beings—Being itself.
SDI is a global learning community of people from many faiths and many nations who share a common concern, passion and commitment to the art and contemplative practice of spiritual direction. There are annual conferences, a monthly journal called Presence and a website where you can learn more about SDI history and purpose and locate a Spiritual Director in your area with the Seek and Find Guide.
Recently I attended a meeting of this organization at which Boston area directors gathered to network, eat cookies, pray in silence together, share our hopes and concerns, and get to know the coordinating team.
The value of this meeting was to see faces of our community. Most of us practice alone in offices or homes and only connect on line. In the age of Facebook it was inspiring to me to see real faces and hear voices too. I confess I get tired of electronic connecting that is deaf, dumb and blind even if it is convenient and quick.
SD’s don’t just sit around and pray; nor do their directees. We don’t simply go on retreats or spend time on our knees looking at icons. Nor do we seek to strengthen our personal spirituality for self betterment or happiness. We seek to transform the soul of the world.
SD is not for narcissists or the faint of heart. We talk to God about peace, justice, simplicity, love. Our lives exemplify these values.
That mission is why the SDI committee made a last minute decision to cancel the Boston accommodations for the annual conference in April, 2011 and move the conference to Atlanta. Why? The large conference had been scheduled at the Hyatt in Boston.
The Hyatt recently made some management decisions that conflict jarringly with our core spiritual values of faith, hope and love to say nothing of the common good. They trained people who would work for less money, then fired their maintenance staff and put in the new and cheaper team. I’m sure there are nuances and official excuses for the inexcusable but that’s the nutshell.
The decision was of course a great disappointment to Boston SD’s. SDI’s director Liz Budd Ellman told us the decision was made with much reflection and prayer.
It is impossible to discern exactly what God wants but this one wasn’t hard to guess. What the Hyatt did in the interest of their own profitable survival. I doubt they will suffer from SDI’s decision as their former employees suffered from their executive decision.
Bostonian SD’s were disappointed but affirming of the rightness of this discernment. Everyone praised and overpraised. I wondered.
Rightness can be close to righteousness.
What about the present staff, hired under such inauspicious circumstances. How do they feel? Are they ashamed of needing and having a job at whatever cost? Do they cringe at the publicity and the protests? Are they treated with respect? Did they know the circumstances?
I have no doubt about the sincerity of SDI’s decision. I know it wasn’t knee jerk bleeding heart liberal spiritual reactivity. I pose my questions to caution against any syrupy jargon that stultifies and sets us apart from the hard truth that all decisions, God or no God, are extremely complex and likely painful even for those we imagine to be haughty.
I have faith in the long slow movement of the divine Spirit in and through everyone involved.
No one can know what Holy Wisdom works in human hearts.
SDI will continue on in its fine ministry, making decisions to the best of their limited capacity, trusting that time—grace and circumstances acting on our own good will—will bring about goodness and truth.
SDI stands for Spiritual Directors International. Not stupid. Not dumb. Not institution.
SDI is a an organization dedicated to the ministry and practice of Spiritual Direction (SD) a discipline with ancient roots and contemporary practice of guidance in deepening your relationship with divinity in your soul and divinity all around you.
SD spans all religious traditions and many secular humanists come wondering and seeking. The longing persists for something beyond human effort alone, something beyond human beings—Being itself.
SDI is a global learning community of people from many faiths and many nations who share a common concern, passion and commitment to the art and contemplative practice of spiritual direction. There are annual conferences, a monthly journal called Presence and a website where you can learn more about SDI history and purpose and locate a Spiritual Director in your area with the Seek and Find Guide.
Recently I attended a meeting of this organization at which Boston area directors gathered to network, eat cookies, pray in silence together, share our hopes and concerns, and get to know the coordinating team.
The value of this meeting was to see faces of our community. Most of us practice alone in offices or homes and only connect on line. In the age of Facebook it was inspiring to me to see real faces and hear voices too. I confess I get tired of electronic connecting that is deaf, dumb and blind even if it is convenient and quick.
SD’s don’t just sit around and pray; nor do their directees. We don’t simply go on retreats or spend time on our knees looking at icons. Nor do we seek to strengthen our personal spirituality for self betterment or happiness. We seek to transform the soul of the world.
SD is not for narcissists or the faint of heart. We talk to God about peace, justice, simplicity, love. Our lives exemplify these values.
That mission is why the SDI committee made a last minute decision to cancel the Boston accommodations for the annual conference in April, 2011 and move the conference to Atlanta. Why? The large conference had been scheduled at the Hyatt in Boston.
The Hyatt recently made some management decisions that conflict jarringly with our core spiritual values of faith, hope and love to say nothing of the common good. They trained people who would work for less money, then fired their maintenance staff and put in the new and cheaper team. I’m sure there are nuances and official excuses for the inexcusable but that’s the nutshell.
The decision was of course a great disappointment to Boston SD’s. SDI’s director Liz Budd Ellman told us the decision was made with much reflection and prayer.
It is impossible to discern exactly what God wants but this one wasn’t hard to guess. What the Hyatt did in the interest of their own profitable survival. I doubt they will suffer from SDI’s decision as their former employees suffered from their executive decision.
Bostonian SD’s were disappointed but affirming of the rightness of this discernment. Everyone praised and overpraised. I wondered.
Rightness can be close to righteousness.
What about the present staff, hired under such inauspicious circumstances. How do they feel? Are they ashamed of needing and having a job at whatever cost? Do they cringe at the publicity and the protests? Are they treated with respect? Did they know the circumstances?
I have no doubt about the sincerity of SDI’s decision. I know it wasn’t knee jerk bleeding heart liberal spiritual reactivity. I pose my questions to caution against any syrupy jargon that stultifies and sets us apart from the hard truth that all decisions, God or no God, are extremely complex and likely painful even for those we imagine to be haughty.
I have faith in the long slow movement of the divine Spirit in and through everyone involved.
No one can know what Holy Wisdom works in human hearts.
SDI will continue on in its fine ministry, making decisions to the best of their limited capacity, trusting that time—grace and circumstances acting on our own good will—will bring about goodness and truth.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
2010.09.08 What Is Spiritual Direction?
SO WHAT IS SPIRITUAL DIRECTION?
Spiritual Direction is a conversational process in which a gifted and trained mentor accompanies someone as s/he discern how God is acting in her/his life just now.
Unlike therapy, in which you talk about your life problems and how to solve them, you talk to a Spiritual Director about what is going on in your prayer life
WHAT IF I DON'T OR CAN'T PRAY?
A Spiritual Director will help you figure out the best spiritual practice for yourself, a means by which you stop racing around and start to listen to yourself and to the divine whisper in yourself and the world around you.
BUT I'M CATHOLIC.
Do you think God, by whatever name you choose to call that presence you think or hope is divine, is Catholic? Or Jewish? Or, of all things, Episcopalian?
Spiritual Directors are called, gifted— AND trained— to transcend, in both practice and attitude, denominational boundaries. They don’t care if you’re Catholic or pagan if you want to connect more deeply with your own soul and with Love, one of God’s many names. They will discern with you whether you are confusing Love’s voice with your own, your mother’s or, heaven forfend, the Church’s.
BUT.............
Fear not. If a director does not know enough about your particular religious concerns beyond their impact on your soul then they will be honest and refer you to someone of your brand.
WHAT IF I'M AN ATHEIST—SORT OF?
All you need is an open heart. God doesn’t believe in God. Do you think God believes in most of the pathetic and ferocious, patriarchal and exclusively masculine images humanity has projected onto the name of Love over the years?
DO I HAVE TO PRAY TO JESUS OR LOVE HIM?
Come on! Of course you might want to if you’re Christian. (Jesus can be quite nice.) If so a director will help you get to know Jesus.
I'M SCARE. I DON'T LIKE SOMEONE DIRECTING ME, CONTROLLING ME.
The director in this process is Spirit. Your director won’t direct just listen, suggest, pray only if you want, and laugh a lot with you. This is a WITH thing. Fear not, beloved.
Besides, you can interview a spiritual director ask any and all question and if you don’t like her/his manner, it’s not a sync then thanks and move on. It’s nice to do this with dignity and wordless flight.
WHERE DOES THAT NAME COME FROM THEN?
Jesuits. And........
It has ancient roots even biblical. Jesus mentored his disciples as did Moses, Paul and Mohammed. Spiritual teachers, tutors for initiates and inquirers have always been part of religious life. They listen carefully, provide wisdom, encourage deep prayer and retreat, and acknowledged always that the true director of the process was divine.
Today’s spiritual directors are called to their practice as professional ministry. They are naturally gifted listeners and discerners. They receive training and credentials to hone their gifts and qualify them to set up a practice and charge fees, usually on a sliding scale.
Directors are trained to suggest therapy or other paths to accompany direction if it seems that a person needs more that they are qualified to provide. So don’t go thinking you can go see a dear sweet spiritual director and avoid the confrontations of good therapy.
Spiritual Direction is about tuning into the direction the Spirit is moving in your life, remembering that your prayer life and your daily life do not reside on different planets!
HOW DO I FIND ONE OF THESE SPIRITUAL DIRECTORS?
Pray.
Then act: Go to the Seek and Find Guide on the website for Spiritual Directors International.
And see my next blog post: What is SDI?
Spiritual Direction is a conversational process in which a gifted and trained mentor accompanies someone as s/he discern how God is acting in her/his life just now.
Unlike therapy, in which you talk about your life problems and how to solve them, you talk to a Spiritual Director about what is going on in your prayer life
WHAT IF I DON'T OR CAN'T PRAY?
A Spiritual Director will help you figure out the best spiritual practice for yourself, a means by which you stop racing around and start to listen to yourself and to the divine whisper in yourself and the world around you.
BUT I'M CATHOLIC.
Do you think God, by whatever name you choose to call that presence you think or hope is divine, is Catholic? Or Jewish? Or, of all things, Episcopalian?
Spiritual Directors are called, gifted— AND trained— to transcend, in both practice and attitude, denominational boundaries. They don’t care if you’re Catholic or pagan if you want to connect more deeply with your own soul and with Love, one of God’s many names. They will discern with you whether you are confusing Love’s voice with your own, your mother’s or, heaven forfend, the Church’s.
BUT.............
Fear not. If a director does not know enough about your particular religious concerns beyond their impact on your soul then they will be honest and refer you to someone of your brand.
WHAT IF I'M AN ATHEIST—SORT OF?
All you need is an open heart. God doesn’t believe in God. Do you think God believes in most of the pathetic and ferocious, patriarchal and exclusively masculine images humanity has projected onto the name of Love over the years?
DO I HAVE TO PRAY TO JESUS OR LOVE HIM?
Come on! Of course you might want to if you’re Christian. (Jesus can be quite nice.) If so a director will help you get to know Jesus.
I'M SCARE. I DON'T LIKE SOMEONE DIRECTING ME, CONTROLLING ME.
The director in this process is Spirit. Your director won’t direct just listen, suggest, pray only if you want, and laugh a lot with you. This is a WITH thing. Fear not, beloved.
Besides, you can interview a spiritual director ask any and all question and if you don’t like her/his manner, it’s not a sync then thanks and move on. It’s nice to do this with dignity and wordless flight.
WHERE DOES THAT NAME COME FROM THEN?
Jesuits. And........
It has ancient roots even biblical. Jesus mentored his disciples as did Moses, Paul and Mohammed. Spiritual teachers, tutors for initiates and inquirers have always been part of religious life. They listen carefully, provide wisdom, encourage deep prayer and retreat, and acknowledged always that the true director of the process was divine.
Today’s spiritual directors are called to their practice as professional ministry. They are naturally gifted listeners and discerners. They receive training and credentials to hone their gifts and qualify them to set up a practice and charge fees, usually on a sliding scale.
Directors are trained to suggest therapy or other paths to accompany direction if it seems that a person needs more that they are qualified to provide. So don’t go thinking you can go see a dear sweet spiritual director and avoid the confrontations of good therapy.
Spiritual Direction is about tuning into the direction the Spirit is moving in your life, remembering that your prayer life and your daily life do not reside on different planets!
HOW DO I FIND ONE OF THESE SPIRITUAL DIRECTORS?
Pray.
Then act: Go to the Seek and Find Guide on the website for Spiritual Directors International.
And see my next blog post: What is SDI?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
2010.08.31 Man on Beach
I’m sitting by the sea on the beach with a book, my favorite activity other than sitting at a computer with writer’s zeal.
It’s my father’s birthday today. Happy birthday Dad. If you were alive you’d be 99. How old are you in heaven’s time? I still love you. Love travels. As I post this it’s my older son’s birthday. He’s 43 and a good dad.
I can’t help hearing, seeing, observing, then riveting on a man, no a family, to my left. Dad + Mom + daughter + daughter + son + son + baby son. Breeders. it’s not an unattractive grouping though perhaps too numerous in a time we aim for zero population growth.
What catches my eye is the father-son, Dad & Tim, duo. Tim is about seven, the penultimate child so far. He plays in the sand. Dad wants Tim in the water. Dad begins the campaign coaxing “Hey Tim. Tim. C’mon in. Tim. This is great.” Tim doesn’t want to go swimming. Dad escalates from persuasion to force. He runs up on the beach. Tim runs away. The chase is on. Tim screams, screeches, No, Dad. No Dad. Dad. We know the end in this battle of wills, this legendary drama that will repeat itself over and over, day after day.
Mom sits on the beach cuddling son # 3, kissing the top of his fuzzy head. Is she trying to infuse the littlest with love enough to face his future with dad? Or is her placidity compliant? My teeth meanwhile are gnashing.
I admire Tim's determination and pluck. By day 4 he is tamed. Now he goes into the ocean, plays at its edges calling out, laughing, exclaiming how much he loves it. All is well. A good life lesson has been learned, but what lesson and who learned it?
On day 5 dad begin to call loudly to 8-10-month old Mickey (pronounced My-kee) inviting him into the water. Start’ em young, the saying goes. But mom holds fast.
I debate strategies: appeal to mom? deliver a domestic violence lecture to dad? flash my credentials to back up the obvious? call the police,? pray for divine intervention?
I do nothing. Why? My mind supports me with all kinds of cautionary tales and possible scenarios. The truth is: my fear overpowers my conscience.
The one I pray for is myself.
Later I pray for dad who likely was once a boy like Tim, coerced, violated and helpless, his will discounted along with his fear.
I do this because I know that if dad finds a healing of his ways Tim will have fewer wounds to heal, and the healing of the universe will have begun—anew.
It’s my father’s birthday today. Happy birthday Dad. If you were alive you’d be 99. How old are you in heaven’s time? I still love you. Love travels. As I post this it’s my older son’s birthday. He’s 43 and a good dad.
I can’t help hearing, seeing, observing, then riveting on a man, no a family, to my left. Dad + Mom + daughter + daughter + son + son + baby son. Breeders. it’s not an unattractive grouping though perhaps too numerous in a time we aim for zero population growth.
What catches my eye is the father-son, Dad & Tim, duo. Tim is about seven, the penultimate child so far. He plays in the sand. Dad wants Tim in the water. Dad begins the campaign coaxing “Hey Tim. Tim. C’mon in. Tim. This is great.” Tim doesn’t want to go swimming. Dad escalates from persuasion to force. He runs up on the beach. Tim runs away. The chase is on. Tim screams, screeches, No, Dad. No Dad. Dad. We know the end in this battle of wills, this legendary drama that will repeat itself over and over, day after day.
Mom sits on the beach cuddling son # 3, kissing the top of his fuzzy head. Is she trying to infuse the littlest with love enough to face his future with dad? Or is her placidity compliant? My teeth meanwhile are gnashing.
I admire Tim's determination and pluck. By day 4 he is tamed. Now he goes into the ocean, plays at its edges calling out, laughing, exclaiming how much he loves it. All is well. A good life lesson has been learned, but what lesson and who learned it?
On day 5 dad begin to call loudly to 8-10-month old Mickey (pronounced My-kee) inviting him into the water. Start’ em young, the saying goes. But mom holds fast.
I debate strategies: appeal to mom? deliver a domestic violence lecture to dad? flash my credentials to back up the obvious? call the police,? pray for divine intervention?
I do nothing. Why? My mind supports me with all kinds of cautionary tales and possible scenarios. The truth is: my fear overpowers my conscience.
The one I pray for is myself.
Later I pray for dad who likely was once a boy like Tim, coerced, violated and helpless, his will discounted along with his fear.
I do this because I know that if dad finds a healing of his ways Tim will have fewer wounds to heal, and the healing of the universe will have begun—anew.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Spiritual Bites
To readers of this blog and I hope you are enjoying and numerous! FYI: I will be on vacation and will not post again until I return September 1.
This is a test to see if I can resist the temptation. If not I shall blame Godde!
In the meantime I leave you with spiritual tidbits.
-God/Godde et al is not a product—yet! Let us resist enabling the US of Consumerism with our brands.
-Kids are natural consumers. Remember trading cards? Today they collect, then trade, little curly elastic bracelets in different multi-colored shapes, some more desirable than others. All this is done with amazingly adept advertising and bargaining skills. Plus, they can wear their products and play games with them. So perhaps the Creator endowed this survival instinct?
-Some people think that parishioners put consumerist expectations on clergy and churches who struggle to comply and live on the edge of burnout. (See, for example, NY Times August 7 op-ed “Congregations Gone Wild” by Jeffery MacDonald (http://nyti.ms/awE2ZA )It’s true to a degree BUT the responsibility for healthy spiritual community is mutual. WWJD?
-A young nun once asked her Mother Superior what she needed to be a good nun. Mother said, “You need just three things. Great creativity, great questioning, and great determination.” A wisdom tale for religious. For all others? Same.
-Snails have beautiful houses. I saw one recently—a rich brown shell with concentric green and gold swirls. Perfect. Poking out from her front door was a tiny craning dully grayish antennae’ed head, and from her back door stretched a flattened tail of sorts, “wagging.” The inside, “the real snail” was in stark contrast to her outer shell. Unprepossessing looks. Imperceptible movements. Death soon. Countercultural image.
I wonder if the hard-to-spot shining pearl of a sacred Soul/Self that lies deep within and is source of our best, some say divine, selves and our most holy efforts is really as dull-looking, simple, unprotected, and limited as the snail’s innards? Perhaps we have confused inner and outer beauty. Perhaps we assume that the “real me” the true spiritual me within LOOKS just like our glittery possessions and adornments—only brighter.
I know it’s only image and metaphor and appearance but.............. have a snail’s pace rest of summer.
This is a test to see if I can resist the temptation. If not I shall blame Godde!
In the meantime I leave you with spiritual tidbits.
-God/Godde et al is not a product—yet! Let us resist enabling the US of Consumerism with our brands.
-Kids are natural consumers. Remember trading cards? Today they collect, then trade, little curly elastic bracelets in different multi-colored shapes, some more desirable than others. All this is done with amazingly adept advertising and bargaining skills. Plus, they can wear their products and play games with them. So perhaps the Creator endowed this survival instinct?
-Some people think that parishioners put consumerist expectations on clergy and churches who struggle to comply and live on the edge of burnout. (See, for example, NY Times August 7 op-ed “Congregations Gone Wild” by Jeffery MacDonald (http://nyti.ms/awE2ZA )It’s true to a degree BUT the responsibility for healthy spiritual community is mutual. WWJD?
-A young nun once asked her Mother Superior what she needed to be a good nun. Mother said, “You need just three things. Great creativity, great questioning, and great determination.” A wisdom tale for religious. For all others? Same.
-Snails have beautiful houses. I saw one recently—a rich brown shell with concentric green and gold swirls. Perfect. Poking out from her front door was a tiny craning dully grayish antennae’ed head, and from her back door stretched a flattened tail of sorts, “wagging.” The inside, “the real snail” was in stark contrast to her outer shell. Unprepossessing looks. Imperceptible movements. Death soon. Countercultural image.
I wonder if the hard-to-spot shining pearl of a sacred Soul/Self that lies deep within and is source of our best, some say divine, selves and our most holy efforts is really as dull-looking, simple, unprotected, and limited as the snail’s innards? Perhaps we have confused inner and outer beauty. Perhaps we assume that the “real me” the true spiritual me within LOOKS just like our glittery possessions and adornments—only brighter.
I know it’s only image and metaphor and appearance but.............. have a snail’s pace rest of summer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
