Most mornings, when I’m at home, I stroll down to a local rocky beach, coffee in hand, to begin my day in meditation. The beach is a pleasant 15-minute walk from my house. When I reach the water, I step from the asphalt onto a gravel path that meanders through trees, past thickets of blackberry bushes, and ends in a secluded cove facing east, towards the rising sun that crests over the 1200 meter ridges of the Brittania Range, the mountains that make up the eastern edge of the inlet in which I live.
I began visiting this spot regularly the day after my father died. This beach, in all its varying weather and seasons, became my sanctuary for healing and introspection. Whether on a sunny summer morning or during a dark, rainy winter day, it offers a place to simply be. It’s a space where I am held in the vastness of the east wall of Atl’kat7tsem/Howe Sound, where I sit still, observing the ever-changing dance of the waves, wind, sky, and sea. This spot is undeniably a container, but it is one that’s vast and overwhelming, akin to entering a cathedral. It’s a space so grand that my presence doesn’t alter it, inviting me instead to enter and surrender.
There are containers in our lives that we create with intent and control. There are emergent containers, birthed from many small collaborative actions. Then, there are containers like this one, pre-existing, ancient even, that hold us and are accessed by deliberately crossing a threshold that ushers us into a different state of being, thinking, and feeling.
Having a space like this in one’s life is beneficial, as many of the containers in which we work, live, shape, and co-create are embedded within much larger ones, over which we have little control or influence. The practice of surrendering to a larger context helps us fully immerse ourselves in a place and moment, to quiet our minds, rest, observe, and experience. In doing so, we also discover our inner reactions to our surroundings.
Maybe you have a place like this, or you can find a place like this. It might not be the mountains of a fijord, but it could be a forest, a park, a lake, a field, or the heart of a bustling city. Go there, observe, listen, and notice how little your presence in that space changes it, but how much you are influenced by it. Consider the audacity of imagining how you could affect or change it. Familiarize yourself with your humility and insignificance.
Our work in the world requires us to dance between the spaces we make and the spaces we inhabit. We can dance between these spaces and we can witness the dance of these spaces with each other. And all the while, we inhabit our own little containers of thoughts and feelings and intentions and motivations, every so subtly shaping and being shaped by dancing space.
I’ve known Tenneson Woolf for 20 years, and we have worked together, offering learning, facilitation and organizational support in various settings all over the place.
Tenn is a global Art of Hosting steward and was amongst the first people to bring the Art of Hosting practice to North America in 2003, back when he worked with the Berkana Institute, and we all saw a need to bring a set of deep dialogic and participatory leadership practices into the world.
Tenneson has a great blog, and devoted writing practice. He has extended his creativity engagement into the world of podcasting, where he brings on some great guests to talk about human-to-human connection.
We sat down last week to have a conversation. We touched on joy-seeking, the need for micro-dosing appreciation and gratitude, curiosity, generosity and support. It was lovely, and really just the same kind of conversation we always have when we are together.
Have a listen.
Reading: Psalm 119:1-8
Nan Merrell Version from Praying the Psalms.
Blessed are those whose ways are blameless
Who live with spiritual integrity
Blessed are those who honour the Inner Being
Who follow you with their whole heart
Who enfold the world with love
and walk on the peaceful path
You have shown the way of Truth
the way that leads to freedom
O that I might ever reflect the Light
Then I shall know inner peace
as I surrender myself into your Hands
I will praise You with a grateful heart
as I lean on your great kindness
As I forsake the path of Darkness
O have mercy on me.
Sermon
Back in 1994 when Caitlin and I moved to the west coast, we drove across the country, taking three months to do so. We followed our hearts or the intriguing names of places on the map, driving no more than three hours a day, camping every night, exploring the country between the Ottawa River and the Pacific Ocean as we drove into our new life together.
One day we stopped at Grasslands National Park. It was late September, and the prairie grass was dry and brown. We had the whole park to ourselves. We camped in a tipi ring on top of a coulee overlooking the Frenchman River and looked across the valley. From horizon to horizon, we counted seven trees, so we decided to visit them all. It took us two days.
Our first hour of walking was boring. We traveled down the side of the coulee into the valley and saw nothing of the wildlife that we were promised by the breathless copy in the Parks Canada brochure. With every step we took, the tree we were heading toward seemed to retreat into the distance.
Finally, we rested by the side of the river, where we encountered a coyote trail. Instead of mindlessly chasing the tree, we decided to follow the trail and see where it would take us. Almost immediately we spotted a badger den, and then a prairie dog colony full of gophers nervously nosing the air and keeping one eye on us. The trail took us past burrowing owl nests, rattlesnake hibernacula, and within sight of a herd of antelope who could see us coming for miles. At one point we were joined by coyotes, one leading us and one following behind, both a couple of hundred meters away, like respectful guides or watchful parents. I had the stunning realization that the continent at one point was covered with this uninterrupted meshwork of trails and that they carried a walker past all of the living features of a landscape.
When you walk the path, life is revealed.
This reading comes in the midst of Epiphany, the liturgical season in which we reflect on what has been brought into the world through the teachings and example of Jesus. In ten days we will begin Lent, which is an intense time of practice for us. For many of us, Lent centers around a commitment. That might be giving up a habit that no longer serves us or perhaps, more positively, focusing on a habit that we can build over 40 days of practice. If we grew up with a dose of Christian guilt we might be conditioned to think that the way to be holy and righteous is to look at all the ways we are bad in the world and punish ourselves for it. Lent might carry with it more than a little trepidation. Years ago however, I read that 40 days is enough time to secure a new habit and that a more affirming way to approach Lent was to do something different rather than stop doing something. Our minds can’t hold a negative – don’t think about a pink elephant – so as we focus on things that make us feel guilty or shame, we simply allow more of that to take over our hearts.
Instead, choose something different to focus on, something we know brings us closer to the sacred and beautiful source of life and love. Do that one thing diligently for 40 days and see what begins to take hold in you.
The last time I was reflecting here I talked about how the Greek word for “repent” is “metanoia” which means, turn around, do something differently, notice the things that aren’t serving you, and do a different thing. It is a positive word, a choice that takes us closer to the sacred, to the Divine, to the source of unconditional love that reminds us that we are Beloved. Like Caitlin and I on the short-grass prairie, it means taking a turn onto a path that will deliver us towards living.
So just in time for Lent, this Psalm shows up in our Lectionary. If we are looking for a few things to practice during Lent, this psalm may offer a nice sourcebook for that.
The Psalm is 176 verses long and structured as an acrostic poem, with each section beginning with a successive letter of the Hebrew alphabet. In all, there are 22 sections with 8 verses each. The Psalm is an at-time ecstatic plea that the writer may live in accordance with God’s law, which is best thought of as a path towards wisdom, truth, and spiritual freedom. The law, the way, the precepts, and the path that is spoken of is about the actions of aligning ourselves with a higher purpose and growing closer to the Sacred. The Law here is about living a more loving and meaningful life, mindful of how we encounter the world and cultivating a spiritual awareness that awakens us to beauty, mystery and the goodness of the world so we might live with reverence and joy in every moment. The Psalm is a dance between things the writer longs to practice in accordance with these basic principles of spiritual development, and a plea for the discipline to actually to do it. Sounds like all of us, right?
Nan Merrill’s translation of the first 8 verses of the psalm gives us a few things we might want to focus on. And I will be the first to stand here and tell you that these things are simple to say and hard to do, and if you want stories about how to fall well short of one’s intentions, I’ve got a long list! None of us are perfect. But we are all good-hearted, and these practices are for polishing that goodness, not becoming perfect.
We might want to live in a way that stops us from feeling ashamed, by practicing what we preach, and doing what we say. In that case, spiritual integrity is the path. Being aware of what arises in our minds and hearts and what comes out of our mouths or what actions we take. Awareness and mindfulness help us to notice our patterns and habits. Noticing is the first step to change. So what do you want to pay attention to?
Or how about honouring the Inner Being? The Inner Being refers to our true, authentic self that lies beneath the surface of our daily thoughts, feelings, and experiences. It is often described as a spiritual essence or soul that is innate within each of us and that seeks connection with a higher power. It is seen as the source of our deepest wisdom, intuition, and guidance. It is the part of us that is connected to the divine and that experiences a sense of peace, joy, and purpose in life. When we honour the Inner Being, we are tapping into this inner wisdom and allowing it to guide us in our actions, thoughts, and relationships with others. That sounds like a good practice for Lent.
We could choose in every moment to enfold the world with love and practice a commitment to truth. These two precepts go hand in hand. Speaking the truth is made more powerful by embracing love and compassion. Jesus’s teaching to “love one’s enemy and one loves oneself” is the lesson here. So who could you love a bit more? What part of the world could you enfold in love?
Or we might choose to reflect the Light we speak of when we refer to the Christ amongst us, that conscious pattern of love and connection and belonging. In a world of separation and alienation, we can remember how we are connected together and choose to walk a path of peace, gratitude, and surrender to the beauty and awe that surrounds us. We can sing with others, creating sweet moments of harmony. We can engage in deep conversations about what matters to our hearts, and what we love and long for. What we miss and cherish. These days, it is easy to lay hate on the state of the world, for the changes that are happening to us, and for the conflict that consumes us. Can we find moments to rest in the peace of the world, to watch a seal in the sea, or listen for the changing songs of the birds in the dawn chorus, as spring creeps upon us? Can we daily surrender to the gratitude of a world that hosts us on its surface? Forty days of that is good for the soul.
This is not an intellectual exercise. Like my experience on the short grass prairie, this is about noticing what arises when we walk in spiritual integrity when we walk a path of wholeness and alignment to our true selves. It requires us to be in the world, carried and buffeted by the struggles and celebrations of our life. It is through human experiences that we come to know who we are as spiritual beings. We come to recognize the Inner Being of the Divine within us, to see ourselves as living, loving pieces of stardust. And in knowing this, we come to the ecstatic praise of the intricate nature of love and the gift of our life here at this time and in this form.
As we walk this path, we are invited to enfold the world with love and be enfolded by it. We are invited to become the Beloved, brought into a deeper connection with all that is, a love that opens our hearts to the beauty and wonder of this world, and a love that brings us into the embrace of the divine. It is a love that touches and transforms us and those with whom we interact.
The spiritual life is one that is enhanced by discipline and practice, regular prayer, reflection, learning, and self-examination. Christ’s teachings in their simplest form point us to practices that lead us to a life that is for our benefit, that brings us happiness and peace, and that makes the world a kinder, more just, more equitable, more loving place. The promise of these teachings is that unconditional love awaits you at every step on the path. It is right here. The Kindom is at hand.
I encourage you to read the whole Psalm at some point this week. When you do, listen for the longing the writer has for the ability to stay true to a path of loving practice. This is all of us, diligently tuning our hearts to The Way, opening ourselves to the life that unfolds as we walk through this world, feeling the struggle of suffering and the liberation of blessing. Every day become a little more attuned to the fact that we are always, and ever becoming Beloved.
Richard Rohr has been an important and influential presence in my own spiritual journey over these past 10 or 15 years and although I have never met the man, I have visited the Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque, and every day I reflect on his teachings and practice through daily blog posts from the Center and through the vast library of Rohr’s works.
After several years of transition, Richard Rohr now seems to be fully released from his duties at the Center as he nears the end of his life, and this little video series is a lovely testament to how a leader-founder can let go into community with grace and trust.
Nuu-Chah-Nulth and Kwakw’kwa’kwa’kw Elders and youth teaching together in the Kwagiulth big house at Fort Rupert in 2005.
Once a month, in our little United Church here on Nexwlelexwm (Bowen Island) I fill in for our not-quite-full-time minister by leading the service and offering a sermon. I’ve never published those sermons here, but why not? Here is today’s.
Reading: Matthew 4:12-25
We are well into the season of Epiphany and so this is the time of year that we contemplate Jesus’ ministry in the world and his early life. We get to witness a Jesus who is called from his work as a carpenter and who becomes an important and radical spiritual leader in his time. For the first 28 or 30 years of his life, things are somewhat uneventful, and although he shows some talent for interpreting scripture as a precocious child , he isn’t doing much else of note.
To set the stage, Matthew, whose terse words we will be studying this year, offers this text from chapter 4, which is the first time he writes about Jesus as a spiritual leader. The first few chapters of his book concern Jesus’ birth, the visit of the magi and the story of John the Baptist. With chapter 4 we get two important stories. The first, which we will hear in the first week of Lent, is the story of Jesus retiring to the wilderness of a 40 day retreat in which he meets the devil and wrestles with temptation. It is a story of a spiritual coming of age that echoes that of other great spiritual leaders, including Buddha, who sits under the bodhi tree struggling with his mind in the form of the temptress Mara as he approaches the great insights and liberation of Nirvana. Somewhere in this story of baptism, retreat and now calling, Jesus has gone through a similar transformation. He is not longer a carpenter.
Now these events are often told in a breezy narrative of what Jesus is up to, but as I read and meditated on the readings this week I was struck by how the simple structure of the story that Mark just read mirrors four deeper callings that I think are part of our work as Christians.
A calling is just something that one cannot ignore. It is a movement of Spirit that reaches deep inside and changes a person. It hits you like, well, like an Epiphany, which is to say that a calling is a manifestation of Spirit inside of oneself that changes behaviour. It can draw us towards a life mission, and an identity. It has the power to surprise, to give insight, to change one’s ways, and to ultimately align one’ purpose in life with the needs of the world.
What I also love about the way that this little story is told is that it also provides some simple guidance for ourselves, to act in tune with Spirit.
The first calling is to withdrawal and contemplation and alignment with the light of God that shines through the soul of a person and turns their heart and mind and hands to acts of justice and compassion, the words of the prophet Isaiah. This comes on the heels of news that John the Baptist has been arrested, and will soon be killed. John is very much the pre-cursor of Jesus and this news provides the gravitas for Jesus’s choice. He knows that choosing to reveal himself will result in his death. His choice to act has a consequence from which he cannot escape and so he withdraws to rest and wait before responding to the call. Like the morning sky waiting for the sun to rise, Jesus withdraws to cultivate his light. It does not good to burn too brightly right out of the gate.
Discernment is a critical part of responding to a calling. A calling changes lives. Even on the micro-scale if we realize that we are about to confront a major decision in our lives, even burdened by urgency and overwhelming need, the first act should be to withdraw and consider the consequences. It’s not second thoughts so much as it is deeper thoughts.
The second calling is revealed in the simple statement ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’ With these modest words, Jesus’ entire message of spiritual liberation is embodied and in saying it he has become a spiritual teacher. As we’ve learned before the word “repent” is the English translation for the Greek word “metanoia” and it is a terrible translation. “Repent” means to feel guilt, remorse and shame for something and it’s as far as you can get fro Jesus’ message of compassion and forgiveness. “Metanoia” means to change one’s life, literally to turn around. Jesus offers this as an instruction: if you have done something wrong, go back to that point and take a different tack, apologize, heal yourself, and you will find forgiveness because the “kindom” of heaven wants you to belong, wants you to be in relationship and wants you to be connected and whole. Like the Buddha, Jesus knows that life is hard and that we all walk around with shame and guilt and regret. He is not interested in doubling down on that, pressing on teh bruise and making you feel like shit. He is about liberation, and he is about giving you a simple pathway to addressing the burdens you are carrying. Simple in concept, tricky to execute. But to be left riddled with shame and guilt is literally NOT what Jesus said. So, “Change your life: stopping harming yourself and others and the forgiveness and love you seek – which is always there – will fill you with joy and healing.” That’s a better translation of the phrase.
The third calling is to community and movement-building, gathering the disciples around him in a core team to activate the mission of love and justice. The phrase “become fishers of people” is a reference to the sayings of multiple prophets who point to the rich and unjust people in the world who rule with cruelty. Jesus’ mission is to rally a group of people together to transform the society they are all living in. To practice radical love and forgiveness, to gather people together, to heal and feed, to support and care for one another. Once he is committed to this call, Jesus’s mission becomes gathering many people into a movement to make change.
Justice is not the work of a single person. We have just passed the annual commemoration of Martin Luther King Jr. Day and when I think about him, and Indigenous rights leaders here in Canada like Delbert Guerin and Simon Baker and Marge White and Khelsilem and George Manuel and Gisda’wa and Wedlidi Speck, I can see that the project of becoming a prophet, literally a social justice warrior, is not work to do alone, nor is it work that one can do part time. Jesus asks his disciples to leave their professions and engage in the work of world transformation alongside him.
A life’s calling has that effect on a person. Suddenly you know what you are made for and whatever you were doing before falls by the wayside as you fully commit yourself to the work of Spirit.
And finally we come to the fourth calling: the work of healing people and the world. It is not just enough to advocate for a more just world. The world cries out for healing and reparations and repair and reconciliation. We have damaged social relations, our connection to the planet and to our selves. In order to make change in the world, we need to heal and restore. You can see that no matter how you have healed – cooled your anger, broken your addictions, restored an ecosystem formerly devoid of whales, life floods back in. Joy and Spirit and wellness fills you. The “Kindom of God” surrounds you. Being healed is the name we give the way from guilt and disconnection to wholeness and life.
And so the readings give us a map of our calling, a checklist of things to do if we are to follow in the footsteps of Jesus as his followers. May we have ears to hear how our callings can contribute to a just and kind world.