The Hard Task of Love

Every time we see a major crisis in the history of the church such as the Great Schism of the eleventh century or the Reformation of the sixteenth century or the immense secularization in the twentieth century, we always see that a major cause of the rupture is the power exercised by those who claim to be the followers of the poor and powerless Jesus. What makes the temptation of power so seemingly irresistible?  Maybe it is that power offers an easy substitute for the hard task of love.

– Henri Nouwen, In the Name of Jesus (New York: Crossroad Publishing Company, 1989), pp. 76-77

Friday Favorites: Scouting the Divine

Friday Favorites

I’m starting a new tradition here at the Anam Cara Blog. Every Friday (except holidays, of course), I’m going to be posting a new “favorite” (or, as I prefer to write it, favourite—it’s better with a YOU in it!) for you. These favorites will be resources I found that I use in my spiritual direction practice, verses that have inspired or moved me, practices that make a difference in my life and the lives of my directees, as well as other great things that have become ‘favorites’ of mine as a spiritual director.

I’m excited to kick off this feature with my thoughts on a recently released book by Margaret Feinberg called Scouting the Divine: My Search for God in Wine, Wool, and Wild Honey. I’m always looking for ways to help people enter more deeply into the experiential aspects of Scripture, and this book has that in spades. Read on…

First Friday Favorite: Scouting the Divine

This past May, my husband and I spent our honeymoon in Ireland, driving about the countryside and generally enjoying the ‘thin places’ that the Irish tout. (A ‘thin place’ is a place, they say, where the veil between the spiritual and the material is very thin.) Along the way, we stopped at a working sheep farm in the high country to learn more about these fuzzy creatures that seemed almost ubiquitous in Ireland. The results were eye-opening. From learning that sheep farmers these days make about 500 Euro per year for the wool from the 1,000 sheep that they keep to the fact that sheep need to be shorn or they will die from infection, we were immersed in the world of sheep-farming that gave us a much deeper apprecIMG_0879 (2)iation for what it mean to be a shepherd.

In Scouting the Divine, Margaret Feinberg has written a book that takes the reader into the fields of Scripture in the same way that my husband and I were taken into the fields by our Irish shepherd. Through encounters with a gentle shepherdess, a burly farmer, a silver-haired beekeeper, and a meticulous vintner, Feinberg unpacks passage after passage of Scripture with sometimes lyrical and sometimes startling revelations.

What makes this book my first favorite is how deeply it involves you not only in the story of shepherd, farmer, keeper and vintner, but in Margaret’s own story as well. This isn’t a dusty look at how farming practices relate to first century Palestine, but a frank look at what it means when our faith has become dusty  and needs invigoration. Early on, Margaret confronts us with the fact that we are very far from the rhythms and ways in which we are designed to live, that we (herself included) don’t have dirt under our fingernails nor an understanding of the agriculture that sustains us. She isn’t necessarily advocating a return-to-nature lifestyle, but a slowing down that allows us to live and appreciate the depth to which God calls us.

Scouting the Divine is a light, lively read which, for someone who is usually neck-deep in the heady and sometimes heavy language of spiritual classics like Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle, is a relief. By ‘light’ I don’t mean insubstantial, and neither do I mean shallow by ‘lively.’ Feinberg’s story-telling allowed me to live her journey alongside her in a way that both opened me to transformation and allowed me to relax and enjoy the ride. There were also startling moments for me, when I realized a much beloved or often glossed-over segment of Scripture was seen in a much different light by those familiar with the practices and lifestyle described within them. Not only were these moments deeply touching, they rekindled in me a love for the experience of Scripture, of knowing what it’s like to be walking around with the Word within us and without us, touching us in our day to day moments as well as in our moments of more structured communion with Him.

So, if you’re longing for that kind of touch from the One who knows the sheep, the fields, the hives and the vines, I highly recommend you pick up this fresh-eyed, open-spirited journey into God’s loving Word to us.

Who Told You That You Were Naked?

My friend and colleague, Sam Jolman, recently shared this reflection with our church. It speaks to some of the deepest places in our hearts, the places that paradoxically long to be seen and be hidden. Sam is an excellent counselor and wonderful man of God. To follow his blog or learn more about him, you can visit his website here.

Who Told You That You Were Naked?

“I look up into the mirror…I want to see my eyes. I want to look beneath the surface of the pale green and see what’s inside of me, what’s within me, what I’m hiding. I start to look but I turn away.
I try to force myself but I can’t.” James Frey

“Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.” Psalm 34:5

I actually had one of those dreams once – the “being naked in front of people” dreams. The setting was my old place of employment, the Christmas party no less. Everyone mingled about, in holiday attire, snug in their sweaters, sipping eggnog. And there I stood, in the midst of all my coworkers, in my birthday suit naked as the day I was born, desperately trying to find my way out of sight. Everything they say about these dreams is true – it feels absolutely horrible. Embarrassing doesn’t touch it. Sheer terror would be a more fitting description. Like a heart attack of fear. Or facing a firing squad of eyes. I remember thinking I could never, ever see my coworkers again. I woke to reality, thank God, but the feelings lingered long after my morning coffee.

That dream has a story to it: I got that job when I was very young and it was a leadership position, leading folks almost entirely older than me. More than just feeling under qualified, I felt totally inadequate for it. Any day it seemed the higher ups would discover I was actually getting paid, shriek in horror on their way to my office, throw open the door and cry, “Get out!” Let’s just say my door was shut a lot. Is my dream making more sense now? My greatest fear was being found out. It was being seen. And in my dream, being caught naked played out all that fear. It was the eyes of the others that made it so terrible. They saw my nakedness and saw my shame.

“Who told you that you were naked?” is the most fascinating question I think God asks in the Bible (Genesis 3:11). Nakedness was not a new thing. A chapter earlier at the end of Genesis 2, Adam and Eve stood in the buck “…and they felt no shame.” They were comfortable in their own skin, in only their skin. Watch any two year old who has the chance to disrobe and you’ll get a sense of what this must have been like. Squealing delightful, unencumbered freedom! But when Adam and Eve sinned, they did introduce an awareness of nakedness. That is to say, they introduced shame. And their instant impulse was to cover up and hide, with fig leaves and then literally to go hideout from God.

Nakedness can be such a symbol of shame. When we say we “feel naked”, what we mean is we feel ashamed and exposed. Caught with our pants down, as the saying goes. Dan Allender writes, “Shame is a phenomenon of the eyes. More than anything in the world, the shamed person wants to be invisible or small so the focus can be removed, the hemorrhage of the soul stopped. Somehow the eyes of the one who sees him must be deflected or destroyed.”

In other words, shame is a relational experience, something we feel in relationships. We carry it unnoticed until we are seen, until we are in the presence of another. And then it rears its ugly head. You pick your nose just fine in the car, until that other driver pulls up next to you. Take those times you are “people watching” (a.k.a. staring at) someone else. When they turn and catch your eyes, don’t you blush and smile or, even worse, try and look away?

The worst, most destructive, absolutely deadly part about shame is how it tempts us to withdraw, cover up, run and hide. We do exactly what Adam and Eve did. And this kills connection. It kills relationship -kills it dead in that moment. Oh, the agony of this reality! We can do it a thousand ways – avoiding people, changing the subject in a conversation, getting angry with someone, laughing at something difficult, even smiling. Do this long enough and your personality becomes an elaborate way to hide. We end up living out “…all the other selves we are constantly putting on like coats and hats against the world’s weather,” as Frederick Buechner says so poetically.

Here’s the wild thing about shame: it takes relationships to heal it! The very connection it seeks to destroy is the very connection that set us free. You can’t work on your shame in a closet. As Sue Johnson says, “We define ourselves in the context of our most intimate relationships.” And if that’s true, then you can only heal from your shame by working it out with those most intimate with you, those that love you.

At our church, we take communion every week. We all file forward in big long lines to receive the bread and wine directly from the hands of another. And in this way it is a very intimate experience. My heart beats fast every time I get near to the front of the line. Why? Because of the eyes of the person that’s about to hand me the bread and wine. They stare right at you. And what can they see inside me? What must I look like to them? And right about the time I am thinking all this, I am next in line. I step forward and I am looked straight in the eye. I am seen. I am absolutely seen. And I am told, “The body of Jesus broken for you…” And then again I am looked in the eye. Again I am seen. And I am told, “The blood of Jesus shed for you.” I am seen. And I am loved. It does not get much deeper than that. Like fog rolling back against the sunlight, my shame is chased away. I walk back to my seat warmed and with tears.

Want to deal with your shame? Look people in the eyes. Let them look at you. Let people love you.

The Greatest Disease

“The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty — it is not only a poverty of loneliness but also of spirituality. There’s a hunger for love, as there is a hunger for God.”

-Mother Teresa

Spiritual Direction In The News

Spiritual directors and the practice of spiritual direction has been in the news quite a bit in the past few months. While the mainstream media still isn't sure what to call a spiritual director (writers are using everything from "spirit guide," which makes us sound like we're experts in the paranormal, to "spiritual counselor," which leans a little closer to the therapeutic than most directors are comfortable with), the media is starting to pay attention in a new way to the practice of soul care and the impact that it can have on leading a healthy, full life.

Below are a few of the pieces and perspectives recently published. I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback on these articles and videos.

Rome Reports

A short video in which Pope Benedict XVI recommends that people seek counsel and guidance from a spiritual guide or director.

Watch it here.

Philadelphia Inquirer: "Certified Spirit Guides"

Quietly, compassionately, spirit directors take the soul by the hand, helping a seeker tap deeper dimensions.

By Anndee Hochman

Read more here.

The New York Times: "Right Way To Pray?"

In an article about religious life and prayer, New York Times writer Zev Chafets asks if there is a right way to pray.

Read more here.

When Love Isn’t Easy

I have a friend who has recently been sharing the love of God around the globe. She spent time in Calcutta, India, loving those who are so difficult to love. If you want to risk having your heart touched by a beautiful story and struggle of loving those who don't know how to be loved, click here. It will change you.

Transfiguration

After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John
the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. There he
was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes
became as white as the light. – Matt. 17:1-2

 

Driving home this evening, the full moon hung low, hiding
behind patchy cloud cover. The moonlight was bright enough to rim the clouds in
silver, but I still strained for a long, unobstructed look at the face.

The moonlight, I know, is a poor reflection of what Peter,
James and John saw on that mountaintop. But the longing I feel, tonight, the
feast night dedicated to the commemoration of the Transfiguration, mirrors my
longing to see what the disciples saw that day.

Sometimes it seems that we live in a world where we only get
the most fleeting glimpses of the power and glory of God, where the truth
appears to be more darkness than light, more valley than mountaintop. We long
to be taken up in a vision much larger than ourselves, almost blinded by the light
that draws us forward.

So was the longing, and the vision, of those scientists
involved in the Manhattan Project. The desire and pursuit of something much
bigger, something much more dazzling and powerful than had ever before been
experienced, drove their scientific exploration and creativity. They wanted
more—not in itself a bad longing. And they wanted to see the world
transfigured—a desire common to us all. They strove to split the atom and
release it’s brilliance. And they succeeded.

In what often seems to me like a cruel conjunction of
commemorations, the Feast of the Transfiguration shares an anniversary with the
day the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan. One event, two thousand
years ago, revealed to humanity the power and splendor of Christ. The other
even, sixty-four years ago, revealed to humanity the power and splendor of
human engineering—as well as its destructive power.

It’s striking that the story of the Transfiguration is a
story of love and glory, but not of destruction. Throughout the Old Testament,
humans who confront the glory and holiness of God are either killed by that
power, or reduced to crying out, as Isaiah did, “Woe is me!” On the Mount of
Transfiguration, Peter, James and John see Jesus’ glory unveiled, and they suggest
building tents. When they are surrounded by the cloud and the audible voice of
God the Father, they collapse in fear. Even in this place, Jesus’ touch is one
of reassurance and grace: “Get up,” he said. “Don't be afraid.

Don’t be afraid. What
a glorious, ridiculous command. Jesus, shining like the sun, possessed then
(and now) more destructive power than the collected nuclear arsenals of every
country on this planet. The disciples had ever reason to be afraid. And yet,
possessing that power, God Incarnate reached out to touch them. Not to destroy,
but to reassure. Not to wound, but to heal.

Whatever the political or historical significance of that
destructive day, sixty-four years ago, we can say that it stands in stark contrast to the love and tenderness
displayed by the God of the universe on that mountaintop with three very
frightened men—and through them, the world. Because of this love, “we, who with
unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory,” can also bring that light into
the world, reflecting His grace, love and mercy to those around us. (2 Cor.
3:18)

May we be instruments of His peace, so transformed by the
Transfigured Christ, that horrors like Hiroshima will never happen again.

The Enemy of the Good Life

My small group and I recently set out on an adventure—we’re looking
at the spiritual disciplines and how they help us to live life fully. Fully
with God and fully with one another. We’re using a book by James Bryan Smith
called The Good and Beautiful God: Falling in Love with the God Jesus Knows, and when my friend Stephanie cracked the spine to
have a look at the contents she nearly fainted with relief. Stephanie’s a mom
of two busy boys under the age of six, and helps her husband Kirby run a
business in her “spare time.” She doesn’t have a lot of room—in her heart or
her schedule—to add more guilt-inducing spiritual “to do”s.

Why did Stephanie laugh in joy after scanning the first
chapter? Well, our first assignment on the road to sainthood is, wait for it,
to go to sleep.

That’s right. In setting out a life fully alive to God and
His Church, the first exercise to undertake was to sleep for a minimum of 10
hours, and, ideally, to sleep until you got sick of being in bed.

Many of us react to this exercise with incredulity. What
could sleep possibly have to do with living a more holy life? Shouldn’t we be
reading our Bible more or learning contemplative prayer or visiting prisoners
with encouraging words?

While those things are a part of living a Kingdom-shaped life,
our hurried and harried lifestyles make them a nearly impossible place to
start. Often, when we set out to do these things, we’re setting ourselves up
for failure, because we haven’t grasped a basic truth:

God is good.

God is so good, in
fact, that He’s actually got it all covered. Truly. He doesn’t need our help,
and He doesn’t need us to run ourselves ragged in attempts to gain His love.

Instead, what He does need is for us to slow down a little.
As we rush from activity to activity, surviving with, on average, less than 7
hours of sleep a night, we’re only proving that we think ourselves
indispensable and God a cruel task-master in the sky.

We’re also ignoring our bodies and their very real needs.
Human beings aren’t souls in bodies. We are souls and bodies, and how we treat ourselves physically is a
reflection of the state of our souls. We can’t abuse our bodies and expect to
grow spiritually.

Sleep is an act of surrender. It’s a beautiful co-mingling
of effort and grace. You can’t will yourself to sleep (as many insomniacs
know), but you can put yourself in the place of receiving it. You can’t force
yourself into restfulness, but you can accept the gift when it comes to you.

So, our assignment for our first week was to sleep. We were
to get help if we needed to—with the kids or other responsibilities—and either
sleep until we couldn’t sleep any more (which for some of us would be a long
time) or sleep more than seven hours a night for three consecutive nights. To
Stephanie, it sounded like a luxury, a treat. To God, it sounds like the right
order of things—His children relaxing into His care and provision.

It may not sound like a spiritual question, but the next
time you see your friend in the grocery store or your (gasp) pastor in church,
you might ask how much sleep he’s getting. Exhaustion is the number one enemy
of spiritual formation. If we aren’t choosing to rest, we aren’t choosing for
God.

So, tonight, get a good night’s rest. Thank God that you aren’t God, and that His love and His power are sufficient
to see you through the night, and prepare you for the next day.

 

I will lie down and sleep in peace for You alone, O LORD,
make me dwell in safety.
– Ps. 4:8