In Marilyn McEntyre's book, Make A List: How a Simple Practice Can Change Our Lives and Open Our Hearts, she suggests making a list about nearly anything. I wrote about this book a couple years ago, which you can read here. She gives lots of ideas for lists, some serious and some fun, including: Things to let go of, What's new in the garden, How to cope with a steady stream of bad news, How to enjoy what I have, Books to read, Favorite films of the past five years. McEntyre writes that lists are mirrors of what matters to you, lists are a way of listening, a way of loving, a way of letting go, a way to practice prayer. One morning several weeks ago, while still lying in bed after a night of little sleep, having forgotten my practice of practicing not worrying, I remembered her book and her encouragement to make lists. Let's make a list instead of worry, I told myself. My brain started making a list of lists to write, and it felt joy to be occupied with something other than worry. Try it yourself: pick a topic and just start.
Practice not worrying
At the beginning of Lent and in response to worrying far too much about too many things, I decided to give up worry for Lent. About two minutes after coming to that decision, however, I realized the impossibility of that intention, and so I changed it to practice not worrying, with definite emphasis on practice. The "practice" part immediately took the pressure off and turned the Lenten intention into something creative and responsive. I've kept this intention past the end of Lent and am still practicing and hope I'll always continue to practice. Even so, I forget to practice and worry builds until I remember again the practice, and just the remembrance of it, the words alone (practice not worrying), brings release, reminding me there are alternatives to toxic rumination. Practice. Practice. Like practicing my scales at the piano when I was a child. Over and over. Missed notes, missed fingering, stumbling, no matter, keep practicing. Again. Again. Today, tomorrow. Practice.
Lifted Faces and Flashing Eyes
From the blog archives (February 11, 2016), a post about the human spirit:
I’ve been reading a book by Elton Trueblood, Alternative to Futility. Trueblood, a Quaker theologian, wrote the book in the late 1940s in response to the prevalent sense of futility in society around him despite the end of World War II. In many ways he could have been writing today.
This paragraph jumped off the page at me:
“Joy has gone out of much of our lives. Millions go through the motions as though they were waiting for a catastrophe. What we miss, almost everywhere, is the uplifted face and the flashing eye. Men [and women] cannot live well either in poverty or abundance unless they see some meaning and purpose in life, which alone can be thrilling.”
Trueblood goes on to describe societal ways in which the human spirit can be renewed. While some of his suggestions and ideas are a bit dated, this key – and timeless– theme emerges: the need for communities to be a place of renewal for each other.
In a chapter called “The Habit of Adventure.” he wrote:
“Here then is our clue. The method which succeeded before must be tried again and we must not be dismayed by its amazing simplicity. The best chance for the renewal of the human spirit in the twentieth [read: twenty-first] century, as in the first, lies in the formation of genuinely redemptive societies in the midst of ordinary society. Such fellowships could provide a sense of meaning for the members within the societies and, at the same time, maintain an infectious influence on the entire culture outside.”
Through my little blog and my little books, I’m trying, in a small way, to offer this to you. A space of community and camaraderie in which we lift our faces and not only open our eyes, but flash them, as Trueblood wrote. I like that image of emanating light. It’s my hope, and assumption, you have other real-time spaces in your life for this renewal: churches, family, friends, book groups, special interest groups, and so on. There are also opportunities for such spaces online, and I hope you’re finding what you need wherever you can. Please consider letting me know how I can do better at providing such a space. Also consider letting me know where else you find community and and camaraderie that encourages you to lift your face and flash your eyes - if I get enough response to this I may include them in a subsequent newsletter or blog post.
Thank you for taking the time to read. As always, I appreciate it so very much.
~~~
[Photo: taken of a new walkway along a nearby creek. I love how the sun is flashing off the metal coils.]
Heschel on the higher goal
In The Sabbath, Abraham Heschel wrote: "The higher goal of spiritual living is not to amass a wealth of information, but to face sacred moments.... A moment of insight is a fortune, transporting us beyond the confines of measured time." Whether or not you think of yourself as a writer, picking up a pen to capture a spiritual insight or to describe a sacred moment is an act of wisdom, a fortune invested.
Reading Mystics and Misfits: A Communion of Saints
In her new book Mystics and Misfits: Meeting God Through St. Francis and Other Unlikely Saints, author Christiana Peterson writes about her life in a Mennonite intentional community and also shares a few letters she wrote to Saint Francis. And a letter to Simone Weil. And to Clare of Assissi and Margery Kempe and Dorothy Day. These weren't fan mail letters, nor were they just a narrative device in a beautifully written memoir. She wrote to these Christian saints and mystics, whose own works she'd been reading, out of a need for companionship on the journey through life, out of a desire for mentoring, out of a longing to go deeper with God. Of course, no return note landed in her mailbox, but I imagine an outside-of-time-and-place thing going on, an authentic communion of saints that helped shape and buoy her.
Here's part of her letter to Simone Weil on the topic of attention:
"Maybe that is why I'm not so good at this yet, Simone. I am digging up the darkness inside me, uncovering my shadows, looking at them one by one, and am trying to see that God loves and accepts me even there. I want so much to love others well, but it takes energy and a kind of discipline, yes, attention, that I never anticipated.
Your words have been discomfiting. But I see now that in many ways, you understand more than I do. And I confess that I am defensive because you have poked at my weakness.
Still, I wonder what you would do if you appeared in our community...."
After reading Christiana's book I've started to think about writing a letter of my own. I have someone in mind. To whom would you write?
~~~
[Photo: Taken of a page from Mystics and Misfits.]
Ashes to go
A picture in the current issue of Sojourners magazine caught my eye. On a city sidewalk stand two women. One is wearing a clerical robe. The other is a wearing a winter jacket, and, to me, it appears she has the beginning of tears in her eyes. The woman in the robe is marking the woman in the jacket with the sign of the cross on her forehead. It is Ash Wednesday. Instead of waiting for this woman and perhaps a man walking behind her and a couple running to their bus and an untold number of others to come inside a church, the church is going out to meet them. During the last month I've been slowly reading through the gospel of John. Here Jesus is at a wedding, here he is just walking along, here he is in the countryside, here he is getting water at a well, here he is by the sea, here he is walking ON the sea, here he is on a mountain ridge. All the while, he is meeting people where they are.
This short video expands on the story in the magazine picture. You can see the pair I described above at about 45 seconds in. It's quite a moving video; I hope you'll have the two minutes to take a look.
~~~
[Photo: taken of a staircase at St. John's University]
Choosing hope this Lent
Lent begins next Wednesday, February 10. For your own spiritual practice during this season, please find at the end of this post a link to a free Lenten devotional, Come Back to Jesus, in which I have an entry. The devotional was put together by Chris Gehrz, a professor at nearby Bethel University in St. Paul, Minnesota. Writers of the devotional were readers of the book that he and co-author Mark Pattie have recently written, The Pietist Option: Hope for the Renewal of Christianity, published by IVP Academic. I'm happy to say that I had the privilege of writing the entry for the 5th Sunday in Lent, March 18.
Several years ago I attended a seminar taught by Gehrz on the topic of Pietism, a religious movement that emerged in the late 1600s. What I learned that weekend helped me fill in pieces of history to better understand the church denomination that I belong to and was raised in. The Covenant church, which grew out of the Lutheran Church of Sweden during the great "spiritual awakening" of the nineteenth century, was particularly influenced by the Pietism movement, which in turn was influenced by Lutheranism, mysticism and late medieval Catholicism, reformed protestantism, and anabaptism. Pietism has an emphasis on devotional practice, particularly the practice of hope. In fact, hope is the central Pietist virtue. (When I learned that I got a shiver given that my current book-in-progress is on hope.)
In The Pietist Option, Pattie writes, "This decision to put one's faith in God and so to allow hope in the fulfillment of God's promises to blossom and bear the fruit of love is at the heart of the Pietist option.... A living faith out of which hope springs up, inspiring love, directing life, and reshaping the world."
May you enjoy this Lenten devotional. Here’s the link. Please feel free to share the file if you'd like; it has a Creative Commons non-commercial license. (For those of you who receive this post through email subscription, I'm not sure if the link will be active in your inbox. You may have to click through to the web version.)
I also encourage you to read Chris and Mark's book!
~~~
[Photo: taken of art at a local coffee shop at which I sometimes write.]