In so many ways, I desire things to be predictable. I like to know their order. When I was 20 I traveled to a retreat where the main activity was to create a 25 year life plan. Carefully and thoughtfully we tried to divine the future. What I learned in the decades following is more like the sign which hangs in my sister’s hallway: “the mark of God is that you will be led where you did not plan to go.” Needless to say I am pretty much through the 25 year span that I so carefully planned that week, and much of my life did not happen as I had expected.
In those following years I learned to be more flexible and spontaneous- a teaching that lassoed me fervently and demanded it. But nothing could have prepared me or any of us for this time in our world that requires flexibility beyond capacity, and creativity broader than individual imagination.
Roshi Joan Halifax spoke recently, and shared her concept of Radical Uncertainty. When I first heard this concept, I thought about all the unfortunate current circumstances. Yet as Roshi Halifax shared, I was drawn to her instinct toward communal creativity as healing balm for Radical Uncertainty. Although Radical Uncertainty creates a tension of being suspended between two possibilities, there is yet space for freedom of vision and practice. Like the poet David Whyte says: “You must learn one thing. The world was made to be free in.” Radical Uncertainty does not inhibit us from freedom, and in some cases it sets us free.As we let go of a false sense of Certainty, there may be new opportunities to discover what lies on the other side of certainty. I am still trying to discern in these times what that means. A part of me feels there is no choice but to trust in this process which may mean letting go of unhelpful patterns like Expectation, Expediency, and Excess.
What are you letting go of this season? How will you cultivate the support that you need to be in this inevitable new season that is approaching?
Anne Supplee and Maia Twedt (Quaker chaplains) invite you to join in a workshop offered by Way Opening Workshops:
Letting Go: Embracing a New Season
October 20 7 PM Central Time, on Zoom, suggested cost is $20.00.
The documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi calls into question for me the merit of being a perfectionist. Jiro Ono has artfully mastered sushi making, and owns the most esteemed sushi restaurant in Japan. In order to eat at this restaurant, people get on a waiting list for several months. Once inside, Jiro serves them about 20 different servings of sushi at a counter in front of the kitchen, one after another, with limited conversation. Watching the diners, you realized they are simply basking in the sacred experience of savoring.
Jiro’s delicate craft relies on subtleties that he has honed, including diligently choosing the best fish at the market, and also massaging a fish like octopus for 45 minutes. People confirm that Jiro’s sushi tastes uniquely exquisite, and they feel very nervous to eat there because of the restaurant’s high reputation.
Jiro’s sons grew up learning the craft of sushi making in their dad’s restaurant, and one of them still works as an employee in Jiro’s restaurant. The other son has ventured off to develop his own sushi restaurant. In the documentary, that son critiques his dad’s deep value of meticulousness as limiting and cumbersome. But Jiro holds fast to his value of technique, hard work, and precision.
The limiting factor of a perfect technique like Jiro’s is that there is little latitude for spontaneity, creativity, and versatility. There is also a tendency to behold other people under the lens of expectation and pressure. As a counter-weight to perfectionism, Japan also hosts another philosophy called wabi-sabi. I have grown curious about this counter-movement in Japan which focuses on the beauty inherent in things which are simple, and often imperfect. Wabi-sabi provides a necessary correction for the pressure to conform or excel. Alongside the mysterious energy of wabi-sabi a beloved verse from the Psalms dances through my mind: “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.” I love this passage because it leaves room for our being created with the complexity of both perfection and imperfection.
Certainly there is a spiritual element to imperfection: the expression of who we are as inherently lovely if not perfect. Perhaps Jiro’s son who had the less famous sushi restaurant instead creates a dining environment for people to kick back more, laugh, and be together in a relaxed environment. Perhaps he is able to do this without massaging an octopus for 45 minutes!
If you’re wanting to read more about the practice of imperfection, I commend to you this excellent book: The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are by Brene Brown. This book was my first introduction to the Japanese concept of wabi-sabi: Wabi-Sabi Welcome: Learning to Embrace the Imperfect and Entertain with Thoughtfulness and Ease by Julie Pointer Adams.
And if you are curious about Jiro and his sushi, Jiro Dreams of Sushi can be streamed on Netflix.
Thanks to Art Friend Kimberley Lueck @mindingspirit whose permission I have to use the image.
And check out the upcoming offerings from Way Opening Workshops, a new spiritual retreat venture by Anne Supplee and Maia Twedt. @wayopeningworkshops
I am currently aside Lake Superior in northern Minnesota almost up by Canada, and it is mysterious and foggy. I’ve returned from a walk along a pier, where orange lichen carpets the rocks on the narrow path out toward a lonely lighthouse. My spiritual director has said that being by a large body of water works to “rearrange our mind.” This derives from Buddhist lovingkindness practice which suggests to people are in crisis, transition, or challenge to go to be beside something large: the ocean, the sky, a huge tree, or even a tall elder. I feel the immensity of Lake Superior, and appreciate the spaciousness it confers. It is a buffer from the past many months as a health care worker in a pandemic and as a resident by East Lake Street in Minneapolis which rose up after George Floyd’s murder a year ago. I am in need of recalibration, renewal, rearrangement.
One thing that has saved me these many months is indulging in books about the art of doing nothing. This is counterintuitive to my nature in so many ways, contrary to the culture in which I live, and the upbringing which I experienced in formative years. Productivity is praised and rewarded. Being still, not so much. And yet, through this time many of us have learned more about being still. I know I have learned to be with myself a little bit more, and been more content with slowing down. As we look ahead to a post-pandemic world, what do we keep and what do we let go of? Is our relationship to time and engagement forever shifted, or is there relief to getting back to a busy life?
If you are skeptical of the concept of slow living, I commend to you my favorite pandemic read: Niksen: The Dutch Art of Doing Nothing by Olga Mecking. In this book is found a range of cross cultural understandings about time and productivity. Admittedly, this book did send me on a flurry of obsession about reading books about doing nothing, until I realized that obvious tasks were waiting to be acknowledged.
May you find places and spaces this summer to rearrange your mind, allow spaciousness, and encourage time for renewal.
My city senses that the world is watching us as a pivotal battleground for urgent racial reckoning. Nonetheless this does not take away the initiative of each and every one of us to do our part in overcoming white supremacy. Violence to people of color has happened for centuries, but the current crisis demands that I examine my white body consciousness like no other time. I live in a transracial family and reside in a diverse community, but I would be fooling myself if I didn’t see the blind spots of my own prejudice and the reality of inequity in the environment in which I live and move.
She said, “In the midst of discomfort, in the midst of uncertainty, God is saying take my hand and do something. There’s a role for everybody to play. Each and every one of us is responsible for doing our part. What is not an option is sitting back and waiting for someone else to do what God has called us to do. With everything going on, God is asking us, ‘how are we in service to God?'”
Civil rights movements are opportunities for everyone to get involved. This is not the work of any one particular community. This is our work. This is our time. This is our world, and it is time to contend with injustice in the way that our God calls.
When I was 22, I ventured off to Washington DC to live in community in inner city DC with seven amazing women in the Lutheran Volunteer Corps. My placement was a vibrant place of ministry called Bread for the City, which proved to be transformative in ways I had no idea were coming.
One of the first clients assigned to me was *Celia, a large black woman with a wide embrace and wide smile. She welcomed me with literal open arms, a big hug from a big woman with a big heart. Many times I visited Celia’s one bedroom efficiency in a tough part of DC. I could see right off the bat that she was not lacking for clothes. She visited our clothes closet daily, and clothes filled every spare corner of her tiny living abode, including lamp shades and chairs. I also concluded that she was not in need of food, as she had access to our food pantry. She also had Medicaid, and was a regular patient at the free medical clinic at Bread for the City. So my quandary became, what was I supposed to offer to Celia? I had what I thought were good ideas (hatched from all my life experience as a white girl from Iowa). Every time I pitched an idea to Celia, she would rear back her head and laugh- “girl, all I really need are some pictures of Jesus.”
When I finally resigned myself to the fact that Celia knew something deeper than I did about what was called for in these times, I began the great hunt to find her some pictures of Jesus. I enlisted all my housemates to help find pictures of Jesus in thrift stores using our limited volunteer corps monthly stipend.
When I finally encountered the big prize- a large portrait of Black Jesus with his hands outstretched, I knew Celia would approve. I brought it to her efficiency one afternoon, and her words were these: “you finally believed what I really needed.” Her eyes filled with tears, and of course she held me in a big warm embrace. I felt a flood of satisfaction, that I had been a part of this project that Celia ordained of finding Jesus in thrift stores in Washington DC.
I share this story in the backdrop of the Passion Palm Sunday, against the story of Jesus asking for a donkey to ride on the road into Jerusalem where he knew he would face his death. There are just so many ways that I want to question Jesus’ sense of what is needed at this time, and a donkey is just the start. Why a donkey? Why Jerusalem, with all the Roman soldiers and the controversial temple? Why the fanfare in the procession where Jesus rode the donkey? Why the death? Why not fight back? So many questions are raised in the Passion story, and so many ways that I want to question Jesus’ authority about his sense of what was right in these times. Could there have been another way? A less painful way? A way with more ease? A way without a cross, without a death? My mind wanders to all the alternative ways that salvation comes about, ways without all that suffering, the blood, the trauma.
Enter Simon from Cyrene. Simon is the one who becomes conscripted by Roman soldiers to carry the cross for Jesus, a job that certainly I would never want to have to do. He develops a unique role in this story of murder, an unwitting accomplice in this event that is about to unfold. He becomes part of the procession, part of the problem, part of the story. I would imagine that there were a hundred other places Simon would rather be.
I find myself in this Passion story, not truly able to distinguish what role I want to take on in this story. Should I stand at the sidelines, and cheer on this popular hero? Should I carry the cross and become an accomplice in this death sentence? Should I stand and jeer at the crowds, and mock Jesus’ followers? Am I in actuality a Roman soldier, being a participant in the killing process by what I either do or omit to do? Am I one of the robbers on either side of the cross where Jesus hung, who committed real crimes that may deserve real remuneration?
The Passion story surfaces all the ways that I feel conflicted about my role in relationship with this suffering servant named Jesus. I don’t know whether to stand with the crowd, loan him a donkey, insist on serving him some water, commit a nonviolent protest, or what. I am left feeling a little like I felt with Celia. What have I truly to offer? What am I willing to receive?
Simon of Cyrene, ordered by the Roman soldiers to carry the cross, did not really have much choice in the matter. Carrying the cross was both a burden and a gift. Those of us in privileged positions are often given more choice about how we show up in the world. We are also given choice about the kind of relationship that we want to have with Jesus. Maybe Jesus is your friend, or your wisdom teacher, your messiah, your critic, your guide, your confidante, or he may be merely a literary figure that you have heard of- the range of relationships with Jesus is wide. But no matter where you land on the spectrum of affinity to Jesus, the Passion Story invites you to consider your role in this scene of injustice and murder.
Many of us, myself included, may not be as heroic as we wish that we were. For example, I may feel fine about waving palm branches in a parade as Jesus and the awkward donkey ride by, but ask me to counter the Roman soldiers who await him, and I go weak in the knees. Others among us have much more experience in countering Roman soldiers, but they may not be as skilled at standing at the foot of the cross as Jesus dies.
We are all asked to figure out our role in this story of God that is unfolding. We don’t have all the answers. Goodness knows, I did not hold the answers for Celia, as she knew herself exactly what she needed and how I could show up for her. But we are given clues along the way, if we truly listen.
In this season of the pandemic, as we are beginning to come up for air, we may sense a cavern of grief and loss inside of us. I felt it recently inside my parents’ home where I had not been for a year. I acutely sensed the loss of a whole span of a year. Our spirits have been tested, and we have all walked the road to Calvary, some with more loss than others. How do we show up for ourselves with self compassion? For our loved ones? With our faith? With our faithlessness?
I have a friend named Susan who works in mental health and lives along the ocean. I listened to her give a talk a few weeks ago, and she shared about the practice of beach combing when the tide recedes. What is left behind is often anyone’s guess, when the tide goes out. Random sunglasses, strewn garbage beaten by the surf, creeper crawly things that burrow in the sand whose names I don’t even know, sometimes jellyfish, sometimes beautiful shells, sometimes wampum which Native people used to trade for currency, and sometimes- if you are very lucky, beach glass. Beach glass is shards of glass worn by the pulsing of the ocean into a very smooth, very beautiful piece. A receding ocean leaves behind debris, but there is the occasional gift of seeing a sparkle in the sand.
Celia inspires me as I think about this time looking ahead and rebuilding our society in months to come after the upheaval of pandemic and racial reckoning. She was a woman who knew her own trauma, but she also knew her own needs. She knew what she truly needed to feel healing and love in her life. It was a good laugh, a good hug, and some images of the Jesus who walked with her through her own Calvary.
May there be sparkle in the sand amid the debris. May we trust in our own callings that come forth from deep within, but listen for what is most needed. May we embrace self-compassion as well as compassion for friends and strangers in our midst.
In this season of the cross, in this global season when we will look ahead to social recovery- how will we mobilize our faith, our resources, our spirits, our compassion? When we are asked like Simon of Cyrene to carry the cross, what will we do? What is our relationship currently with this suffering Jesus of the cross? What do we lay at the foot of the cross from our own lives?
Love has its prickly side- the times when love is not reciprocated, when love changes from what it began, when love does not meet the deep need of the heart. Valentine’s Day brings up not just sweet, romantic feelings that cards and candy represent, but also emotions like anguish, longing, and brokenheartedness.
February 14 was the the due date of our first baby Gabriella who ended up being born far too early and never lived to see that Valentine’s Day that we had awaited. Love has its losses that seem sometimes too much to bear.
The loss of that time has made its mark on me, and shaped me in ways that I could never have imagined. Loving Gabriella has been a lifelong adventure, with its joys and sorrows like any other relationship. It has changed me indelibly, etching its mark on my heart in a way that my other two children have also done to me. I will never forget standing at the Pacific Ocean knowing that we were going to lose our first baby, seeing the power of the ocean billow repetitively and with such strength. With my hand on my belly, I could not reconcile the power of creation, and the powerlessness that I felt and that I perceived my baby felt.
What I learned in the many years following this loss is that true love remains a part of one forever, even in different ways. To me this is testament to higher love, a love that has to do with the infinite and the universal. This higher love allows me to trust that even painful love can metamorphosize into something new with patience, persistence, and support. I hope that Valentine’s Day can commemorate that kind of love too.
Photograph used by permission from Karla Twedt-Ball, “Prickly Pear in Texas”
We have arrived at the end of 2020 as a people waiting for light.
Light bearers come when things are at their lowest ebb: they are nurses who hold goodbye ipads for families bidding farewell to their loved ones. Light bearers arrive as an eddy of hope: they are the first responders who hurry toward the fire instead of away from it. Lightbearers faithfully appear with good courage: they are our janitors, they are our child care workers.
Light bearers use energy to provide hope for others, but they do not extinguish this energy in the effort. While holding lamplight for others, they acknowledge that their energy is much more than their own personal light. They are aware of Inner Light, of communal Light, of Light beyond.
Light comes with the Christ light in this season, and we are told to let our light shine. In this way, we become lights in the windows for others. Sometimes we are that lighthouse, and sometimes we scan the horizon to find our own lighthouses. We take turns being lights for each other.
May Light find you on this cusp of the winter solstice, in the midst of this pandemic, in this year 2020. May you be well, may you be at ease.
Image from Ansgar Holmberg email@example.com
We begin lighting Advent candles this week, and the first candle represents hope. Not sure about you, but I have been borrowing hope from people from the past – ancestors, prophets, and rebels. And borrowing and lending hope back and forth with my faithful coworkers at the hospital where I work during this pandemic.
December is a dark month, and living well in its darkness asks for a combination of grit and hope. I once asked my childhood friend Missy what it was like for her to be blind. She told me that she sees sparkles, and that provides some beauty. She held my hand when we walked to the park, and she took courageous steps.
These days, we are all finding our way in the dark. None of us really knows what the next months will be like. Barbara Brown Taylor has talked about a “lunar spirituality”, which embraces the dark and needs darkness as much as light She believes darkness provides opportunity for growth and nourishment. In the darkness is a beginning, the seed hidden in the soil.
May you find sparkles of light in this darkness, and hope enough for your circumstance.