Rising Strong

Recently I have been reading Brene Brown's new book Rising Strong, and I love every page of it - take that as highly recommended reading! But I would like to offer a slightly different take on the comeback from adversity.

Modern cultures, and predominantly the cultures descended from white, Anglo-Saxon, alpha types, have adopted the mindset that obstacles are to be overcome. We are programmed to set goals and pursue them with abandon. I even have a t-shirt with the motto, "I don't stop for obstacles; I destroy them!" and another with a Gandhi quote about power being derived from "indomitable will." But the wisdom of mystics from all traditions tells us that there is another way. According to mystical wisdom, the goal is not to knock down every hurdle and barrier so that we remain unchanging, but rather to allow ourselves to be bent and shaped by nature so that we emerge as re-formed and wholly new creations of that encounter.

Listen to how Rilke describes it in his poem The Man Watching: "If only we would allow ourselves to be dominated, as things do by some immense storm, we would become strong too, and not need names." And the modern mystic poet, David Whyte puts it this way in Working Together: "We shape ourselves to fit this world and by the world are shaped again. The visible and the invisible working together, in common cause to produce the miraculous.
I am thinking of the way the intangible air passed at speed round a shaped wing easily holds out weight. So may we, in this life, trust to those elements we have yet to see or imagine, and look for the true shape of our own self, by forming it well to the great intangibles about us."

This journey of transformation has been one of learning to trust those great forces, and to listen to the creaks and moans of my branches and bones in the immense storm. It is allowing the forces in so that I might become one with nature, and in doing so, take my place as one with all humanity.  Like so many of us, I have spent my life amassing knowledge without understanding, chalking up credentials like so many bullet points on a resume. But in the words of Pope Francis, "Our goal is not to amass information or to satisfy curiosity, but rather to become painfully aware, to dare to turn what is happening to the world into our own personal suffering and thus to discover what each of us can do about it."

Rilke ends The Man Watching by saying, "Whoever was beaten by this Angel went away proud and strengthened and great from that harsh hand, that kneaded him as if to change his shape. Winning does not tempt that man. This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively, by constantly greater things."

I have been awakened. I am feeling deeply (because I finally can). And while I may walk with a limp, like the Biblical wrestler of the angel, I have been resurrected as a stronger, and more fully alive human.

The Dark Night of the Soul

The time for writing my Master's thesis at my seminary is rapidly approaching and the topic I have chosen is the transformative effects of the dark night of the soul. Now there are two problems associated with this:  One is that unless someone has been up against that wall or had their psyche squished through that pinhole, it is an academic discussion that makes little sense on anything other than a hypothetical level. The second is that many of the processes within that transformation are nonlinear and happen to you as opposed to something you do or even participate in.

Dark nights, generically speaking, are those times when the current level of understanding and experience one has no longer work and must die off in order to make way for a new and deeper connectivity.  Most people speak of the dark night as the place where prayer and connection dry up - they lose that feeling that somehow they are connected to god.  But that is just the signpost along the road! It's kind of like that signpost in the Wizard of Oz that says "certain death ahead" and "I wouldn't go further." And then you step forward.

The transformative effects of these dark nights are hard to describe, though I have attempted to find a language for them.  I keep running into the limits of consensual definitions. As I continue to scan through the literature both in print and on line, I find two camps of dark night literature that I recently tried describing to my son as those that get it and those that don't.

It is really amazing to read the words of those who have been through this continual and de-layering process.  They almost look forward to the next wave of nausea - knowing that it is certainly coming. They breathe differently and there is an acceptance in their speaking that is open and relaxed and all-encompassing.  Finding an academic way to present this "process" and producing attributions and descriptions of that difference will be challenging at the very least. But the thing I worry most about is writing in a way that even slightly suggests a smugness of knowing.  If anything, the dark nights have taught me that I do not know a thing.

Using the Bible

For far too long, I have been reading things on line (news reports, elected officials' quotations and FaceBook opinions) that refer in one way or another to some scriptural reference. And I thing it is time I took a stand. It seems to me that this is a gross misuse of the scripture - well, perhaps better stated, it is a gross misunderstanding of the scripture. Contrary to the 623 laws found in the Old Testament, among which are the Ten Commandments, the bible is not a book of laws, nor a code of ethics to which we should refer when troubled with a question of what to do or how to handle this and that.

To me the bible is a training ground filled with thought provoking and at (many) times conflicting and puzzling predicaments in the guise of either mythical stories or recollected chronicles of something that happened often a long time before ever being written down.  Taken as a whole it is a collection of stories designed to push one's beliefs, thoughts and values by trying to understand the real meaning and intent.  Reading the bible should cause one to reflect, puzzle over and be perplexed by the content.  But as a result of that, there exist sentences here and there - and sometimes even juxtaposed right after each other - which when lifted out of the whole could be used to justify or support any side of just about any argument. And that, unfortunately is too often what too many people have tried to do.

However, it is my belief that the bible is meant to be a tool for spiritual development, designed to disturb and push at your belief structures until you can move to a deeper understanding. But it takes a great deal of personal inner work to be able to read the bible and allow it to disturb you the way it should. Oh sure, we all say we know what the beatitudes say and mean, but do you really?  They are paradoxical at best and when one considers to whom they were spoken - the poor and oppressed of the time - they must have sounded like nonsense. Much of the master's teachings were like that. But Jesus was not the only purveyor of paradox. It is all through the entire bible - it's just how good Rabbis taught.

And that is perhaps the point of this opinion: people who have not done the inner work of the faith journey, who have not confronted and done battle with their ego will always be tempted to read passages to support their ego's opinion and justify their own actions. Like Job's defensive discourses, we are seeking to vindicate ourselves and prove we are right. But, like the beautiful myth of Job concludes, it is only when we approach sacred literature from not knowing, listening to what is there in the entire story, and then letting its contradictions and nuances sink in and knock another part of our knowing loose, that we really hear and begin to understand.

Jumping Back in the Pool

I took a semester off last spring - the official reason being that I had a truck load of work to do. But that's what I call the pretty lie not the dirty truth. The dirty truth is that last fall's course in Systematics just poked me in the eye! I walked away from the experience feeling like I belonged nowhere. I could not claim my Lutheran heritage; I certainly wasn't Calvinist or Catholic; I didn't care for the otherness of the Jewish God and couldn't adhere to the "I'm not worthy" aspect of basic Christianity as I have heard it preached. The desert fathers had something as did the Gnostics, but modern theologies seemed to be coming unglued. Nothing fit. So I went on, what we call in Men's work, a walkabout. It is a kind of desert experience outside of the village walls - an emptying and listening time. And I took notes - here's what I learned.

I am most certain that I experience, have experienced and will continue to experience the presence of god inside of me and in, through and around everything outside of me. I am certain that the teachings of Jeshua of Nazareth (or Jesus if you prefer) are not only profound but totally misunderstood by the masses of those with whom I speak. Despite that, I find them (in the way I read them) to be compelling. But I am equally convinced of the truth of the Buddha and his legacy of teachers whose words simultaneously disturb and enlighten me. And most importantly, I am convinced of the universality of those teachings and others like them - that one and only one source could cause such diverse sources to have such a common cause and message.

I cannot deny that any more than I can deny my name... or my calling to stand among the next generation of teachers, preachers and laborers in the field of spirituality. And so tomorrow I shall jump back in the pool and see if I sink or swim. It is the only way I know right now.

Separate Truths

Commentary on Professor Prothero’s “Separate Truths” (with apologies for the length.

First of all, I cannot step over the need to express appreciation for Professor Prothero’s daring and well-informed essay in the Globe Ideas section (Sunday, April 25, 2010) – daring in its venture in to the un-vogue territory of recognizing and embracing differences (and in particular religious differences) and obviously well informed from the Professor’s years of study. Furthermore, I admit to not having read the full text from which his comments are taken. But unfortunately, from my personal perspective as a novice student of theology, the article fails on both the front end assumptions and on the concluding end of resolution.

The Professor points in great detail to the many differences between the world’s religions as the foundation of his argument and produces from that foundation the obviously related concept of their mutually exclusive goals, using as example the differing goals of various sports. Obviously earth’s many peoples and cultures have a plethora of differences. Why for example do roofs on Norwegian houses have a different pitch than those in the Sonoran desert? Why is the attire of the Inuit inappropriate in the Congo basin? Or allowing for the sport analogy, why must one relinquish the ball when tackled in rugby but cling tightly to it in American football, its second cousin?

The questions that might be asked are not how are these sports different in goals and rules, or why do houses and clothing differ, but rather why do humans play sports and games and why do they seek shelter from the elements? Do we as humans share a need to believe in something, and if so how do those beliefs evolve into group think, cultural mores, out-grouping and hate crimes or perhaps in a shared need to find commonality? While the professor sweeps aside Karen Armstrong’s earlier work, A History of God, he might do well in reviewing her more recent deep dive in The Great Transformation.

In this more recent work, Ms. Armstrong ties together not so much the tenets of some major world religions, but rather the socio-political and economic precedents to them. Evolving out of some common threads in world history and founded in what appears to be a universal human need to understand one’s existence, Armstrong makes a more compelling argument for the commonality of the human spiritual quest. The great sages that developed those religions she traces did so in an effort to make sense out of human suffering and tragedy. Our pains, large or small, personal or societal, are differently named (as our sports are) and so, in the dualism that follows defining one thing from another, the courses of action and thought processes that ensue are even more radically differing.

Humans appear to have a shared need to understand their existence, how they got here and to what end they are moving. Even atheists have an explanation to the why and what of existence (personally I love reading Douglas Adams’ brilliantly articulation of the atheistic point of view). The problem comes not from the religions, theisms and a-theisms, but rather from the very human act of meaning making wherein we all differ radically. Our brains have evolved to make sense out of the myriad stimuli bombarding us at each instant and to relegate some to meaning and others to irrelevance. The bulk of that happens through what psychologists call associative learning – “this is like that.” Since no two people (not even identical twins) share exactly the same perspective, our meaning-making begins to differ from the time we are born (and some would contend even before that). Thus when these somewhat to wildly differing meaning structures encounter human difficulty and the ensuing need to make sense of it, it is a wonder that there are not 6 billion religions on our planet.

But we talk to each other, and something as important and central to life as why we are here and where we are going frequently comes up, eventually rolling up to some commonly held themes as “our beliefs” – and the rest, as they say, is history. Additionally, along with the evolution of these beliefs and themes, our moral/ ethical processes also develop (some more than others). The Professor would no doubt be aware of the work of James Fowler, who outlines the stages of spiritual development from the undefined to universalized (an understanding level few ever get to). Parallel to the work of Kohlberg and Perry, Fowler found that development may stall out at some level, and as Perry found, under duress or challenge, people often regress to a lower level of understanding such as fundamentalism. There, life is simple once again – there is a right and a wrong and everything fits neatly into the package. To the fundamentalist, right comes from god and anything diverging from that is false, and therefore comes from the devil. Combining these aspects of human psychology with the evolutionary history of religions produces a vast array of religions and belief structures not only about morals, ethics and their source, but about who is or is not included and excluded from the defined principles and goals.
And to what point should this argument take us? Professor Prothero correctly points out that denying the differences is both ignorant and insulting. Whether fundamentalist or enlightened universalist, spiritual beliefs are closely held and sacred to the holder. Disavowing those individual beliefs, whether by exclusionary practices or pseudo-intellectual feints toward inclusiveness, is not just ignorant, it is morally wrong. Trying to make things fit neatly into our pretty little ethnocentric packages has virtually destroyed the environment, raped the land, justified wars and genocide – you name it. History should have provided enough evidence that such beliefs and practices don’t work.

But there is a pluralism that embraces diversity that may be a step beyond Dr. Prothero’s end point (which may perhaps be included in his book). Diversity requires our embracing differences as other component parts of the human condition. Not including the perspective of some Aboriginal villager in a world economic forum is as blind as not accessing the creativity of a person living with a mobility handicap when discussing a corporate strategic plan. Religious diversity is not adopting the “New Jerusalem” ideal that Stackhouse espouses, but rather making room at the table for every perspective in discussing our plight.

The problems of today’s world are more complex than ever and some might contend, are foretelling our demise. Unless we recognize that the solution is the unwieldy and awkward coming together of human perspectives, we may not be able to do anything about it. Adam Kahane outlined the process of creating resolutions to the complex and difficult problems presented at the Mont Fleur (South Africa) and in the Vision Guatemala discussions – both of which sought to include representatives of all elements in the discussions. Because religions play such a central role in the actions of peoples around the planet, they may (some would say should) have a role in working toward both a global peace and environmental survival. We as a people are suffering, and suffering, as Armstrong points out in her concluding paragraph of The Great Transformation, “shatters neat, rationalistic theology.” We need to let the pain of genocide in the Middle East, attacks like 9/11 (resulting in our retaliatory warring), and the suffering from natural disasters sink in and shatter the self-righteousness of exclusionary belief systems. We need compassion; a compassion that accepts others’ individual differences and that has room for differing beliefs. We need to follow the lead of Tony Blair and others who are attempting to call the religions of the world together in inclusive mutual respect (for our many differences) and, placing all the guns and knives on the table, begin the process of open and healing dialogue – trusting that somewhere in their respective practices love and compassion have a voice.

When the Convergence Hits the Fan

A friend of mine, Doug, is a transformational coach and lives at the very edge of his being. He is always pushing his own limits of growth and development. It is both exhilarating and something that will wake you up at 2AM in a cold sweat. Doug knows the developmental truth that you cannot get to the next level without passing through the eye of the needle – which is not fun and in essence means that you must experience the breakdown of your current way of being before you can break through to the next.

It is the age-old truth of the universe and of nature herself: the death/rebirth cycle. It is everywhere in nature. Winter is the grandest death with the rebirth of spring causing us all to jump up and cheer everything back to life. But you cannot get there in a straight line - it comes at you in bursts and in random fashion. And it’s what Doug lives on a daily basis.

Nature and life don’t handle things in tidy little packages, all lined up, one after the other. Sometimes they cascade over us, one and then another and then ten at once. Doug calls it “breakdown stacking!” It is a great concept. Especially if we become intentional about our growth and development. Breakdown stacking is that “bring it on” attitude that looks concurrent breakdowns squarely in the face and shouts, “yippee, another breakdown! I must be doing something right to have this much crap bubbling out!” What if we actually looked for our breakdowns – recognizing them as the equal and opposite reactions to our intention to live life at an even higher level? Now that would be stacking. Bring ‘em on!