Happiness is a spirit that visits us, but how do we speak of it

"So Much Happiness" by Naomi Shihab Nye

"It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

"But happiness floats.
It doesn't need you to hold it down.
It doesn't need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
and disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
and now live over a quarry of noise and dust
cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities
of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records. . . .

"Since there is no place large enough
to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,
and in that way, be known.

I was recently asked by a member of the Urmston congregation I serve Mary to explore happiness during our recent “Common Search for Meaning” group. I will be honest with you, I wasn’t quite sure where to begin. How do you talk about happiness? What on earth is this thing we called happiness?

As Naomi Shihab Nye writes 'With sadness there is something to rub against,' It is easy to speak of sadness, it feels embodied, there is a deep weight a heaviness to it. It has a power that feel like it is pushing you down. Sometimes just raising your head can feel impossible when weighed down by sadness. The sadness can feel so locked in that that no happiness can break through.

Happiness is more of a “willow the whisp”, like a little sprite. It seems to come and go almost unbidden, out of your control. All you can do with it, according the Nye at least, is to simply “shrug, . . . raise your hands . . . take no credit. . . .”

Happiness seems to lack a body, a weight, it is hard to put your finger on, it is not a static state of being. It seems impossible to name and or even talk about. It seems to go against the very grain of our modern materialistic age. How do we talk about happiness?

I am reminded here of something I once read by Henri Nouwen on why it so much easier to speak of our troubles than of joy and happiness. It seems it is not only a British thing. He wrote of his university days:

"I vividly remember how one of my university teachers spoke for a whole year about anxiety in human life. He discussed in great detail the thoughts of Kierkegaard, Sartre, Heidegger, and Camus and gave an impressive exposé of the anatomy of fear. One day, during the last month of the course, a few students found the courage to interrupt him and ask him to speak a little about joy before the course was over. At first he was taken aback. But then he promised to give it a try. The next class he started hesitantly to speak about joy. His words sounded less convincing and penetrating than when he spoke about anxiety and fear. Finally, after two more meetings, he told us that he had run out of ideas about joy and would continue his interrupted train of thought. This event made a deep impression on me, especially since I had such great admiration for my teacher. I kept asking myself why he was unable to teach about joy as eloquently as he had taught about anxiety.

It is the same with happiness. We have no trouble describing our sadness, what is wrong, what sickens us as individuals and as a society. Nouwen observed there are far “more words for sickness than for health, more for abnormal conditions than for normal conditions. When my leg hurts, my head aches, my eyes burn, or my heart stings, I talk about it, often in elaborate ways, but when I am perfectly healthy I have little, if anything, to say about those parts of my body.”

Think about the word resentment. It comes from resentere which literally means to re-feel something. Now when we re-feel something a memory from our past life it doesn’t have to be a painful memory, something that makes us angry and yet the word resentment only has negative connotation. We do not have a word that means to re-feel something that made us happy. There is no specific word for this in the English language.

Now please do not get me wrong. I am not for one moment suggesting that we ought not to talk about our troubles. My word we all have them. Whether that is our personal ones, our health, physical, emotional, mental and or spiritual. Our families, our communities, our wider world. We all live with fears and anxieties and pain brought to our being due to these sufferings. I have plenty myself. In fact sharing our troubles often helps and connects us with one another and through this we may find a freedom that allows happiness to visit once may. We do need to be careful not to become weighed down and enslaved by our struggles though, to the point that this is all that we are.

I was out an about on Monday morning, walking through Altrincham with Molly towards Stamford park. This is how I begin my week probably 9 times out of 10. I left the house with a variety of troubles on my mind. Concerns about the communities I serve. Family issues, folk close to me. Worries about the wider world, both within this country and conflicts in other places. I watched folk as I passed through town and connected. I was also thinking about this subject, how to talk about happiness. I said hello to a few folk and we exchange pleasantries. As I was walking Angela Fowler came into my mind. What a wonderful person she was an example of someone who lived with many struggles in life and yet lived with a sense of joy and happiness in life too. How she was one of those people who was genuinely pleased for others. She had such a wonderful quality about her.

I enjoyed the park, as did Molly. I enjoyed watching those exercising and young parents with babies and pre-school children. I spoke with a few folk and enjoyed the dogs playing together in their delightful way, they were naturally happy. There is something about watching labradors and spaniel’s in particular frolicking in the park. As I got lost in the moment of their play I was visited by that spirit I call happiness.

I walked home smiling with one or two ideas forming. I passed a woman I talk to from time to time. She has a tiny Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. It has had health troubles. It is doing well she tells me and it was a delight to see the happiness on her face as she spoke of her dear sweet dog. As I walked away, I felt that spirit of happiness taking over me. As I reached the crossing, a little later, I heard my name called out. Rosemary Donaldson approached me. She began telling me about what she was doing and then began to speak to me about Angela Fowler, how much she missed her how she had been such an inspiration to her. I told her I had been thinking of her too and we stopped and spoke of Angela for quite some time. As we did, I could feel that spirit of happiness working through us. I walked home with the biggest beaming smile and then got down to some work.

As I did, I thought of seeing and witnessing happiness in folk over the last few days. Observing people lost and absorbed in what they were doing. How in so doing it seems that this spirit of happiness had taken them over. I thought of the Mayor’s Civic Reception I had been invited to last Friday. It was a moving evening, especially listening to people share their stories of struggles and living with M.E. At the same time, I enjoyed experiencing a variety of talented people sharing their artistic gifts. I observed them lost in their work, being visited by that spirit of happiness and sharing it with others. It was strange evening in someways. There were tables full of people in their finery and others sharing gifts and sharing stories. I was happy to be a part of it, although I did experience a little bit of imposter syndrome. I thought to myself, how did I end up here. It made me smile. I felt a sense of happiness.

Here’s another wonderful poem

“HAPPINESS” by Jane Kenyon

There’s just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.

And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.

No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.

It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basketmaker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.
It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.

I am not sure that happiness is something that we can pursue and catch. The foundation of the American Republic is “Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness”. I am not sure that this is the right objective in life. It seems very self-centred and if not achieved fully sets folk up for dissatisfaction and envy. I suspect that if what your aim in life is to feel happy you will rarely achieve it; if one day you do, then your focus will be on holding onto it. I am not convinced that this is possible. Yes, live the good life, the worthy and meaningful life as they great philosophies teach, but happiness ought not to be the aim in itself, only the product of living this way. When I think of Angela, she seems to be an example of this. Yes she had her struggles, but she knew happiness.

I suspect that the key maybe to find ways to savour the experiences of being alive and to share these moments with others. This is certainly when I experience being visited by the spirit of happiness. It is when I feel free and most alive. It certainly has been the last week or so, despite my real worries and concerns.

I live in the real world and the real world concerns me greatly I carry the same worries we all do. I awake each day with same dilemma that E.B. White wrote of “It’s hard to know when to respond to the seductiveness of the world and when to respond to its challenge. If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between the desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”

Now I cannot save the world. That does not mean I avoid it. No instead I do what I can, put my whole self into it and in so doing I am visited. by the spirit of happiness. Not constantly, but when I let myself go and give myself fully to it. The spirit visits me and this spirit sets me free.

This makes me happy and this is my best way I know how to speak of it.

I am going to end with a bit of wisdom from Mary Oliver. A moment of happiness that changed her life. Here she describes being visited by that “sprite” of happiness. She puts the experience in such a beautiful way. She savoured this life, despite the very real struggles she faced and she found a way to share what she experienced. As a result, she knew happiness and others experienced it too.

"Once, years ago, I emerged from the woods in the early morning at the end of a walk and — it was the most casual of moments — as I stepped from under the trees into the mild, pouring-down sunlight I experienced a sudden impact, a seizure of happiness. It was not the drowning sort of happiness, rather the floating sort. I made no struggle toward it; it was given. Time seemed to vanish. Urgency vanished. Any important difference between myself and all other things vanished. I knew that I belonged to the world, and felt comfortably my own containment in the totality. I did not feel that I understood any mystery, not at all; rather that I could be happy and feel blessed within the perplexity — the summer morning, its gentleness, the sense of the great work being done though the grass where I stood scarcely trembled. As I say, it was the most casual of moments, not mystical as the word is usually meant, for there was no vision, or anything extraordinary at all, but only a sudden awareness of the citizenry of all things within one world: leaves, dust, thrushes and finches, men and women. And yet it was a moment I have never forgotten, and upon which I have based many decisions in the years since."

From "Long Life: Essays and Other Writings" by Mary Oliver

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "Blogspot"

Real Care is Not Ambiguous: The Loaves and Fishes are Not Dead

“Real care is not ambiguous” thus said Henri Nouwen and yet the word itself can suggest a certain amount of ambiguity. When someone says they will take care of something or someone it can sound almost threatening, there is certainly a sense of power over another in play, in phrase “I will take care of it, or I will take care of them.” This is not real care. Real care is about relationship; real care is about empathy; real care is about love. In this sense “real care is not ambiguous.”

I think one of the saddest and loneliest phrases, you will ever hear in the English language is, “I don’t care”. Who amongst us can say that they have never uttered them? If not out loud, so that others could hear them, at least inwardly to themselves. I’ve said it. I said it many years ago and later denied doing so. I said it though and regretted it immediately. It was at a moment in my life when I had sunk so far into the pain of my lost little self that I did not care anymore. I was in hell and the uttering of those words proved it at that moment in time.

Thankfully, although at times I do feel weariness towards aspects of life, it has been many years since I did not care; it has been many years since I experienced the pain and loneliness of indifference.

There’s another phrase along this theme, which I often hear spoken, “I don’t care what people think of me.” Now while I think I understand what people mean by this, that they are no longer ruled by the views of others, what matters is how they see themselves, there is something in this phrase that still bothers me. I never want to reach the point where I do not care at all what people think of me. I never want to, once again, experience indifference. While I am not ruled by the views of others, it matters to me what they believe. I care a lot.

As a child I was considered overly sensitive, that I felt too much and that I took things personally. While it was thought of as a likeable quality, I know it was seen as a serious handicap too. I remember my stepfather telling me I needed to toughen up and he certainly tried to in ways that were not healthy. All this really led to was me closing part of my humanity down. This did lead to a sense of indifference at some later stages of my life which led to some horrific feelings of loneliness, isolation and disconnection. Thankfully I eventually saw the truth of this and through love I began to connect and care again. This seeming blight became an asset as I was able to care once more. It wasn’t so much that I lost the sensitivity, that I felt less, it was more that I recognised that these feelings were not about me. I took things less personally and it was this that allowed me to begin to serve, to minister.

To minister is to serve and to serve is to care. It is about connection it is about relationship it’s about bringing that loving space alive. I learnt this through the example given to me by John Midgley when he came and tried to be with both me and others during an horrific time in our lives. John couldn’t heal or change anything. He was as powerless as we were, but he was able to be with us in our shared powerlessness and somehow in this space the healing power held us together. An example I will never forget. It is something I have been thinking of again these last couple of years I have become more involved in helping to develop ministers.

To truly care is to connect, to relate, to be a part of something, it is not a power relationship, it is intimate and it is mutual. It is empathy. This is heaven, this is love, this is what it means to care. This is what it means to turn to as opposed to turn away despite the pain, fear and confusion. This is courage. To care takes courage, it comes from the heart, it is the heart alive and on fire. To not care is the way of the coward; to not care is a frozen state, indifference requires a frozen heart.

I have heard hell described in many ways, what it means to be living in a state of hell. I think the most accurate explanation of hell, is that it is indifference. It is a sense of disconnection from the feelings and concerns of others. Hell is indifference. To live in hell is to be indifferent to sufferings of others. Dante’s Inferno described it thus.

Extract from Dante Alighieri’s “The Divine Comedy” Inferno (Hell), Canto III

ARGUMENT.—Dante, following Virgil, comes to the gate of Hell; where, after having read the dreadful words that are written thereon, they both enter. Here, as he understands from Virgil, those were punished who had passed their time (for living it could not be called) in a state of apathy and indifference both to good and evil. Then, pursuing their way, they arrive at the river Acheron; and there find the old ferryman Charon, who takes the spirits over to the opposite shore; which, as soon as Dante reaches, he is seized with terror, and falls into a trance.

Hell is indifference. Hell is not fire but in actual fact a frozen state, a state where a person no longer cares and has grown cold towards, others, towards life itself.

Here’s a story depicting the difference between Heaven and Hell, from the Zen Buddhist Tradition. I have shared it before. It’s one of those stories you hear different versions of in many traditions.

Once upon a time, in a temple nestled in the misty end of south hill, lived a pair of monks. One old and one young.
“What are the differences between Heaven and Hell?” the young monk asked the learned master one day.
“There are no material differences,” replied the old monk peacefully.
“None at all?” asked the confused young monk.
“Yes. Both Heaven and Hell look the same. They all have a dining hall with a big hot pot in the centre in which some delicious noodles are boiled, giving off an appetising scent,” said our old priest. “The size of the pan and the number of people sitting around the pot are the same in these two places.”
“But oddly, each diner is given a pair of meter-long chopsticks and must use them to eat the noodles. And to eat the noodles, one must hold the chopsticks properly at their ends, no cheating is allowed,” the Zen master went on to describe to our young monk.
“In the case of Hell, people are always starved because no matter how hard they try, they fail to get the noodles into their mouths,” said the old priest.
“But isn't it the same happens to the people in Heaven?” the junior questioned.
“No. They can eat because they each feed the person sitting opposite them at the table. You see, that is the difference between Heaven and Hell,” explained the old monk.


In the story “Heaven and Hell” appear exactly the same and yet they are experienced oh so differently. In Hell all go hungry because everyone tries to feed themselves only, they are purely self-focused and fail to recognise the hunger in their neighbour sat opposite them. And yet in heaven they attempt to feed one another and are therefore fed in abundance. To me this is as much about the relationships as the food going into one another’s mouths. I believe that we all possess an innate need to serve one another that if we do not do this part of our natural humanity withers away and dies off. By not serving one another we starve our souls. Seems pretty clear, there is nothing ambiguous here. This is real care.

Henri Nouwen said “real care is NOT ambiguous”, he highlighted that the word “care” has its origin from the old English word “caru” meaning “sorrow, anxiety, grief” as well as "burdens of mind; serious mental attention," from the Proto-Germanic word “karo” meaning "lament; grief, care". To really care is to truly feel another’s sorrow to cry out with them and to truly be with them. To care is to truly empathies and not merely sympathies. To truly care is to be with another, it is about meeting another in common human relationship. This is why indifference, to not care, it is hell. This is because it is about breaking that sense of relationship, it is emptiness it is loneliness. It hurts to care, which is why so often we turn away. No one likes to feel powerless and to care is about recognizing our singular powerlessness at times. It’s also about recognising the healing power that can begin to grow from this powerless state, as the common grief is recognised and shared and the healing comes in that very space. This is the power of love. This is the miracle of healing that is recounted again and again in the Gospel accounts; it is the same love that comes alive once again when we recognise one another and truly care. We make heaven. We create the kin-dom, the one-ness of love, right here, right now. For heaven is a place where everything connects.

You see this clearly in the example of Jesus in the Gospel accounts. As Nouwen points out. As Jesus came out of his solitude, he reached out his caring hand to those in need. From his lonely place his care grew strong and from here he entered a healing closeness with his fellow humans. The key is the relationship. It wasn’t merely that he fed folk, or healed them. He did not do so alone, the power is in the relationship. Yes, he fed the people with the loaves and fishes, but only after first been given them by a stranger in the crowd. The Disciples then fed the people face to face. This is care, this is a deep loving relationship. Before returning the boy of Nain to his widowed mother, he first felt her sorrow. Lazarus was raised from the dead through the experience of distress, sorrow and tears. There is a deep connective relationship here, that brings life from death. It is not so much that folk are cured, by some kind of magic. This is not the key to these stories; no, the key is in the relationship. This is real care. It is solidarity in the suffering, participation in the pain. It is the shared experience of suffering; it is deep human connection. This is what it means to truly care. There is nothing ambiguous here. To really care is to truly feel another’s sorrow, to cry out with them and to truly be with them. To care is to truly empathies and not merely sympathies; to truly care is to be with another; to truly care is about meeting another in common human relationship; to truly care is to inhabit Heaven on earth. Where as to be indifferent is to live in a state of Hell. Heaven is connection and Hell is disconnection. It is heaven that is the warm place and hell that is frozen over.

Many people say they feel lonely, that they experience a sense of disconnection. This can become even stronger at this time of the year, early January. The weeks in the deepest part of winter following the Christmas festivities. These are cold, frozen days. Sometimes these frozen feelings are not caused by the temperature of the air, but by indifference and a sense of disconnection. We yearn to be warmed, we yearn to be fed.

Here is a wonderful  poem by David Whyte inspired by "Loaves and Fishes"

“Loaves and Fishes” by David Whyte

This is not
the age of information.

This is NOT
the age of information.

Forget the news,
and the radio,
and the blurred screen.

This is the time of loaves
and fishes.

People are hungry,
and one good word is bread
for a thousand.

“The loaves and fishes are not dead” it comes alive when we care, when we connect, when we empathise and sit with one another. It warms our hearts and souls.

Real care is not ambiguous. Hell is the frozen place; it is Heaven that is warm. We will begin to warm our own hearts and those we share this world with, in and through true care. It begins by recognising what we have in common. It comes in recognising our shared sense of powerlessness at times, for here is where the power comes alive, in this deep relationship of care.

It begins by reconnecting in and through care. Let’s not become frozen people, indifferent people, let us live in and through care. For in so doing we will bring warmth to our lives and those we share our lives we.

Let’s care a lot…

Here is a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"

I Offer You a Little Piece of my Heart: The Journey of The Wounded Healer

I will begin with this beautiful little story “A piece of my heart”. I have no idea who wrote it.

One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen.

The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart. Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said "Why, your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine."

The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but it was full of scars. It had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing.

The people stared, how can he say his heart is more beautiful, they thought?

The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed.

"You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine. Mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

"Yes," said the old man, "yours is perfect looking but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love - I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared."

"Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges
giving love, is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"

The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands. The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.

The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.

I love driving to events and occasions with a passenger at my side. Now there is of course the joy of travelling with another, but it is more than that. In many ways some of my most rewarding ministry takes place in this time and place. What I love the most is that as I drive I listen. It is a time that is primarily when my ears do most of the work. I don’t just mean these two lugs at either side of my head, but the inner ear, the ear of my heart. It is a time for deep attentive listening, and I’ve noticed that people sometimes open up, particularly about their woundedness in this time and space. I think it has something to do with the physical proximity as we are close but not face to face and somehow people find it easier to open a wound as they open the mouths of their hearts and I open the ears of mine.

Now I know it is not my task to heal other people’s wounds that is no one’s task. I cannot heal anyone or anything, I don’t even think I can heal myself, not completely at least. Yes, the wounds can be tended to, the emotional bleed can be stopped and the pain relieved but the scars remain and the past cannot be wiped away. I don’t believe they should be, our scars are marks of a life fully lived. They must not be hidden away they are a part of our lives. In fact, these scars can become our greatest assets as they help us to walk side by side with others, showing them that they are not alone in their suffering and that whatever they are going through that they can survive and grow; that love can rise again from that suffering and that meaning can emerge as something beautiful grows from that pain. In many ways my ministry is exactly this. It grew from my greatest sorrow and suffering. It has not completely healed what happened, it does not take away the pain. If I could change it I would, every second of my life I would, but I can’t. All I can do is create something beautiful from it. I can walk with others in their suffering and joy. I can live with courage. I can live from the heart. I can live with my wounded heart cracked open, undefended and in so doing I can know love; In so doing I can live in such a way that my life will prove worth dying for, by the love I leave behind, to paraphrase good old Forrest Church.

I was thinking of the journey that is life as I was driving a friend I have known for 20 years the other day. They have suffered much in their life. They were widowed over 40 years ago and have difficult relations with their sons. They are not the easiest company, as they live alone and are physically isolated due to health problems. They only leave the house if someone picks them up. I do what I can and journey with them from time to time. As I sat and listened to my friend I thought of the number of times I have taken this journey, someone talking and me listening over the years.

Rarely in life do we journey completely alone. We journey in the company of others. Some are there at the beginning and remain to the very end, some are there at the beginning but do not stay until the end, some come and join with us for a while but do not remain. Some are with us later in life and then journey on without us, when we are gone. We never journey alone, we always journey with others, although sometimes it doesn’t feel this way.

Now as they say life isn’t about the destination, but the journey itself. In many ways I’m not even sure it’s even about the journey itself, well not wholly, it’s more about who you journey with. We do not sail this ship alone.

Those we meet along the way have wounds in their hearts and souls, no one has the perfect heart. The most beautiful, as the story “A piece of my heart” illustrates, will have its jagged edges, it will not be smooth and the pieces will not fit together neatly. We are all wounded to some degree or other. Those wounds can be transformed into something beautiful, we can accompany others in their suffering. We can give them a little piece of our hearts and we can receive a piece of theirs. The most beautiful hearts carry their scars. If we live in love we can bring some healing, we can become wounded healers. It is our wounds that put us in a place where we can be of service to one another. We are all wounded to some degree we all have cracks within us. Nobody is perfect, complete, and who would want to be. In fact it is our wounds and imperfections that put us into a better position to help others come to terms with who they are. It is this that breeds empathy and understanding. Who amongst us is not wounded in some way? Who amongst us does not bear the scars of life? It is our very wounds and the scars formed from them that makes us better able to help others heal from their own wounds.

Some say that “Time heals all wounds. I have not found this to always be true, it depends on many others things. I heard someone say this to another recently. They didn’t know what to do and so they came out with this platitude. Martin Luther King suggested that “Time is morally neutral.” Things do not get better or worse in time alone. This applies to the wider society that we live in, which always needs healing and it is also true for our own heart and souls. Hearts do not get better or worse by themselves. Wounds do not heal simply with the passing of time. At least not for all wounds. Sometimes wounds fester as time passes by. We get better, we heal, if we are loved into healing. By being lovingly supported we can tap into that love that over time brings healing to the wounds and then meaning can emerge if as we heal we accompany others in their suffering. We become wounded healers ourselves. Time has a role to play, but time alone does not heal. I have accompanied many people who have touched me deeply by their capacity to become “wounded healers”, their suffering has made them better able to offer understanding and compassion to others and not in spite of their suffering, but because of it.

The ancient Greeks understood the power of the “Wounded Healer”. Ancient Greek mythology tells the story of Chiron, who was a wise and benevolent centaur and a master of healing.

During one of his adventures Heracles visited the cave of Chiron. He had been invited to a gathering there. Now as we all know it is impolite to attend a party without bringing something for other guests and so Heracles brought along a flask of strong wine. Now the smell of the wine attracted many of the other centaurs who began to fight over it, nothing much has changed over the centuries, during the melee Chiron was accidently wounded on the knee by an arrow shot by Heracles. This was no ordinary arrow, it was poison tipped. This was no ordinary poison either it had come from the Hydra a monster with many heads that was virtually impossible to slay. Now while Chiron could show Heracles how to heal the wound caused by the arrows tip, he could not treat the Hydra’s poison. As he was immortal it could not kill him but neither could he fully recover. He would have to live on into eternity with his wounded knee. Chiron the greatest of healers could show others how to heal, but he could never fully recover from this wound. His wound would always show. He walked on into eternity limping. Chiron is the archetype of the wounded healer.

“The Wounded Healer” was one of the most important archetypes identified by Carl Jung. For him the image of Chiron overcoming the pain of his own wounds by becoming the compassionate teacher of healing was a powerful example. The wounded healer is someone who has gone through great suffering and learnt from the experience. Through transcending their own suffering they are drawn towards the path of service leading them to help others. This process strips away the selfish ego-based feeling of being alone and isolated in their own suffering and woundedness. Instead through seeing the wound through different eyes they can see this suffering in others and they can therefore lead others to find ways to overcome their own suffering. Their wounds may never fully heal, as Chiron’s didn’t, but they can help heal the wider ailments of our shared life.

In his book “The Wounded Healer”, Henri Nouwen envisioned the religious community as a safe haven where people could be open and honest about their own woundedness, their suffering and loneliness, a safe haven where through recognising ones pain healing and recovery could begin. Nouwen wrote that people today are “Semitic nomads…(who) live in a desert with many lonely travellers who are looking for a moment of peace, for a fresh drink and for a sign of encouragement so that they can continue their mysterious search for freedom.”

This speaks to me, one of the reason I became a part of a Unitarian community was for this very reason. Spirituality on an individual level is fine, but it only really comes alive in community as we search for healing and understanding together. Everyone is wounded in one way or another and everyone is looking for healing and understanding at one level or another, even if they are not entirely sure what from. We are all looking for love, understanding, acceptance and meaning. We are the religious animal, to deny this is to deny an important aspect of our shared humanity. None of us though are the experts, at least not in our tradition, which is why we need one another. As the Buddhist Pema Chodron wrote in “The Places that Scare You”

“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It's a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”

So how do we begin to heal, to live whole lives? Well it begins by knowing and naming our own pain. our own darkness. and to not be afraid to show our scars. I always remember the scene from “Jaws” when the great white shark hunters are going out to face the man killer and they begin to drink and sing sea shanties and of course show one another their scars. The scars are marks of experience of having lived the lives of shark hunters.

Now I know that this is a very macho setting but I think there is something in it for everyone. Our scars, our wounds, are symbols of the lives we have lived and we ought not to be afraid to show them. Not is some form of vainglory but as symbol of our shared humanity. To show we have lived and found a degree of healing from our wounds, although no one escapes scar free. By understanding our own woundedness and not hiding our scars we can better serve one another and walk side by side with each other in our shared troubles. It is our very imperfectness that best fits us for the task of journeying together in the fellowship of love.

Henri Nouwen wrote “We do not know where we will be two, ten or twenty years from now. What we can know, however, is that human beings suffer and that a sharing of suffering can make us move forward.”

By sharing our suffering we can begin to move forward and it is this that can begin to bring about the healing and wholeness that we are all searching for, we are hoping for. This can grow from within each of us as we commune together, work together and do the works of compassion that our wounded world needs. We can begin it today, it begins in our own hearts. We are all “The wounded Healers.”

We can share pieces of imperfect beautiful hearts; sharing our perfectly imperfect wounded hearts.

I offer you a piece of my heart, treasure it and I will gratefully receive a piece of yours.

So let us journey together, side by side, let us tend to one another’s wounds let us become together, the wounded healers.

Below isa video devotion based on the material in this "blogpost"

“ Choose This Life: You Cannot Have Joy Without Suffering

Last Sunday 10th September I told the congregations I serve that it was exactly one year since I collected Molly. I had picked her as a kind of birthday present to myself. A friend had persuaded me to make the move, as I had been procrastinating. Bossy friends have their plusses. They are blessings and they are curses. This friend had gone the extra mile to persuade me to pick her, although truth be told she picked me. I had gone to collect one of her sisters, but Molly insisted I take her instead. She has been a wonderful blessing.

What I didn’t tell them last week is that it was the also the 1st anniversary of the death of our youngest cousin Cheryl. I had received the heartbreaking news just as I was about to set off to pick Molly up. So, I drove for 3 or more hours with tears streaming down my face. Composed myself and had a lovely hour with the puppies and then drove home with this little ball of fluff in a cage on my back seat crying all the way home. I didn’t cry on the way home, as I was more concerned with her tears. September 10th 2022 was definitely an example of the blessings and curses of choosing life, to misquote good old Moses.

This last year has been one packed with life. So much has happened. There has been some deep joys, but also many sufferings. We lost another cousin our Charlton and there have been many other family troubles, as well as those involving dear friends, and the communities I belong to. This is life, you cannot have joy without suffering.

It was my birthday on Thursday, I have received some lovely cards, gifts and blessings. Thank you. As I thought of the last year I was reminded of a visit to my grandad, just two years before he died. It was his 89th birthday. It was always such a joy to sit with him, I always felt safe and dearly loved. He talked about how we can never predict the future. How as a young man he and his best friend Percy had gone to sea together, to serve in the war. My granddad came back, but Percy did not. They both chose that same path, not that they had too much say in it, but only one of them carried on through this physical journey. My granddad lived a long life and experienced so much. He respected the privilege and opportunity that his life had been, something denied to so many others. I know that every night before he went to bed, he would pray and vow to live two lives, his and Percy’s. My grandad never talked about his personal beliefs, they were private, but he clearly had a faith. Life truly is the greatest gift of all, it is the ultimate grace. It is a privilege that we did nothing to deserve.

Do we always make the most of it. How often do we turn from life?

Of course “Choosing Life”, means all of life. We cannot negotiate with reality. In my view we don’t get to choose the life that happens to us, but we can respond to what happens to us, to paraphrase Viktor Frankl, this is the ultimate freedom. To choose life of course it to choose the journey, the whole journey, to continue on and on.

This brings to my mind the journey that the Israelites took to the Promised Land. It also brings to mind Moses final birthday, his 120th and the sermon he delivered that day, just as they were about to step out of the wilderness after 40 years. God had just informed him that he would not enter the Promised Land with the people he had led out of exile.

As they reach the Promised Land the people gathered to receive Moses’ final blessing. And what does he say? (Deutronomy Ch 30 v 19) This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.” He tells them that they must “choose life.” Of course choosing life means all life, not just the bits you want. It also means you don’t get to choose what happens, but you must learn to not only accept, but love the life you have been gifted.

Life and death, blessings and curses. Monday was certainly one of those days. Two friends had sadly just lost their dad’s, we had the sad news of dear Penny Johnsons death and another friend whose lovely pet dog was in a critical condition. Not the day I expected to wake up to. This is the life I have chosen and people come to me, because this is my life. I also witnessed something beautiful whilst out in the park. A couple with two French bulldogs.I have seen them several times over the past few months. One is transported round in a dog pram. It has none functioning back legs. These last few months they have been working, lovingly and caringly getting this dog to walk again. Well, this week I saw them with both dogs, one being led around by a giant ball. It is walking again. It is inspirational to see how they have used their time, their lives in dedication and love. This to me is a beautiful example of choosing life. Something else I have witnessed in friends who have lost their dads and how they are there for their loved ones. This is not always easy when consumed by grief.

Choosing life and journeying is not a straight line. The ancient Israelites didn’t travel in a straight line. Their journey should have taken 6 months not 40 years. Life is not a straight line and time is not experienced exactly in a linear fashion.

The forty years wandering is purely symbolic. Time is not chronological as we experience day by day, not in this kind of mythos. It is not Chronos time, more Kairos time. Chronos time moves on day by day. The last 365 days so much has happened in my life, for good and for bad. It has certainly been “thick time” or what the ancients names Kairos time. Kairos time is not limited, through it we can indeed alter how we live out our time. We cannot lengthen such time but we can deepen or thicken the experience of this time. Kairos time is qualitative. It is measured by the depth of the moment and not the length, how many seconds it lasts. It’s what Blake described as infinity in an hour. In such moments it feels like the whole world takes a breath; in such moments our whole lives can change and yet in terms of measured “chronos” time it lasted no longer than any other second. This last 12 months I have experienced many such moments, These are the blessings and curses of choosing life.

As I mentioned earlier it was my birthday this week. I have received so many gifts and cards and greetings from people who mean so much to me and of course who I mean so much to. The wonderful thing about birthdays is that they allow us to celebrate the people in our lives. I love to sing happy birthday to people, it is one of my greatest pleasures. My brother Otis even attempted an impression of me. It was a good effort. It lacked the vibrato and a little in the bottom notes. It was wonderful to receive. As Henri Nouwen said: “We should never forget our birthdays or the birthdays of those who are close to us. Birthdays keep us childlike. They remind us that what is important is not what we do or accomplish, not what we have or who we know, but that we are, here and now. On birthdays let us be grateful for the gift of life.”

Each moment, each day is always the birth of new life.

This weekend marks the Jewish New Year Rosh Hashanah. The 10 days of Awe begins from sunset on Friday 15 September. This continues until the end of Yom Kippur at sunset on Monday 25th. This is The Day of Atonement, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar.

According to Jewish tradition, God inscribes each person's fate for the coming year into the Book of Life on Rosh Hashanah and waits until Yom Kippur to "seal" the verdict. During the Days of Awe, a Jewish person tries to amend their behaviour and seek forgiveness for wrongs done against God and against other human beings. The evening and day of Yom Kippur are set aside for public and private petitions and confessions of guilt. At the end of Yom Kippur, one considers oneself absolved by God and therefore can then be placed in the book of life for another year.

What is significant about this concept of atonement for me is that the wrong doer must first of all seek forgiveness from those they have wronged before they then turn to God and ask that they be returned to the book of life. Only after the transgressor has been forgiven by the transgressed can God’s forgiveness be obtained. It’s about being in right relationship with the world and humanity, before God.

As I look back at a year of changes, of the blessings and curses and living life. I see how much I have experienced. I can also see how much I could do better, especially in my relationships with those in my life. I want to live better with others. I want to live more effectively in this world.

This brings to mind this fascinating poem “The Birthday of the World” by Marge Piercy

“The Birthday of the World” by Marge Piercy

On the birthday of the world
I begin to contemplate
what I have done and left
undone, but this year
not so much rebuilding

of my perennially damaged
psyche, shoring up eroding
friendships, digging out
stumps of old resentments
that refuse to rot on their own.

No, this year I want to call
myself to task for what
I have done and not done
for peace. How much have
I dared in opposition?

How much have I put
on the line for freedom?
For mine and others?
As these freedoms are pared,
sliced and diced, where

have I spoken out? Who
have I tried to move? In
this holy season, I stand
self-convicted of sloth
in a time when lies choke

the mind and rhetoric
bends reason to slithering
choking pythons. Here
I stand before the gates
opening, the fire dazzling

my eyes, and as I approach
what judges me, I judge
myself. Give me weapons
of minute destruction. Let
my words turn into sparks.

I’m with Marge, “give me weapons of minute destruction. Let my words turn into sparks.” As I mark the passing year I wonder how I can journey on in better ways. Maybe this is something we can all think about as we continue on, reflecting as those of the Jewish faith will do in the coming days. What do we need to do to improve our relationships. What loose ends need tying up? What regrets are we living with? No one knows where the journey will lead, no one knows when it will end. We have before us life, it will be a mixture of blessings and curses. We are stepping forward into a new adventure with Janine, as she begins her own journey of ministry training. May our time together be fruitful. I am sure we and she will gain so much from the experience. So lets move forward in faith and hope and above all love. Before us is life, blessings and curses, let us choose life.

I would like to end this morning’s worship with some words by Wendell Berry

The Larger Circle, by Wendell Berry

We clasp the hands of those that go before us,
And the hands of those who come after us.
We enter the little circle of each other’s arms
And the larger circle of lovers,
Whose hands are joined in a dance
And the larger circle of all creatures
Passing in and out of life
Who move also in a dance
to a music so subtle and vast that no ear hears it
Except in fragments.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"

Happy Birthday: Thanks For Your Life

This "blogspot" begins with a few thoughts on “Birthday’s” by Henri Nouwen

Birthdays are so important. On our birthdays we celebrate being alive. On our birthdays people can say to us, “Thank you for being!” Birthday presents are signs of our families’ and friends’ joy that we are part of their lives. Little children often look forward to their birthdays for months. Their birthdays are their big days, when they are the centre of attention and all their friends come to celebrate.
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We should never forget our birthdays or the birthdays of those who are close to us. Birthdays keep us childlike. They remind us that what is important is not what we do or accomplish, not what we have or who we know, but that we are, here and now. On birthdays let us be grateful for the gift of life.

Last Saturday was one of those very busy days. I had lots of things to attend to. It didn’t start well. My car was frozen and wouldn’t start. I couldn’t do anything about it immediately as I had to open the Hilary Azzize for the Altrincham Court Leet. I was made a Freeman of Altrincham a few years ago, for services to the community, particularly in the area of mental health and addiction, and serve as chaplain to the Court Leet. I led devotions based on impermanence and the uncertainty of life. As part of the devotion we shared a time of silence to honour those who had died in recent times that were either members of the Court Leet or close friends and family members. I knew several of those named, two were close to my heart, one very much so. As I left I swallowed hard as I thought of those lost lives and the impact they had on my life and the lives of so many others. I then called breakdown recovery to get my car going. I had two birthday celebrations to get to, one in the afternoon and another in the evening. I called ahead to warn that I might be late for the first celebration. The recovery man arrived got in my car turned the ignition and it started first time. The car had thawed completely, it had been minus 4 when I got up that morning and I had foolishly not driven the car In days. It has not been a problem since. After much mirth and laughter I quickly got changed and went to the first birthday. A chapel Carolyn Jones was celebrating her 80th birthday and all the important people from her life were there to share in her celebration. Her son Richard gave a wonderful telling of the story of her life, her achievements and the things that mean the most to her. She has lived quite a life, including overcoming a severe form of cancer in recent years, and it was wonderful to share in her celebration. I left to get home to take Molly for a walk, I was feeling guilty as I wasn’t spending much time with her that day. I then went out to share a friends birthday meal. She is a recovery friend, and it was wonderful to celebrate her life, with two distinct groups of people. Her family and her long-term friends, along with a whole group of friends from recovery. It was a wonderful night, celebrating her life and of course her new life that she is embarking on. It has been wonderful watching this woman grow and thrive in recent times. Wonderful to share and enjoy her journey. I then went home to spend the rest of the night with Molly, who herself has recently had her first half birthday, she recently turned 6 months old. I certainly didn’t need to eat again. I had enjoyed two meals and three pieces of cake. Very nice cake indeed. The cake brought me right back to childhood and memories of baking with my grandma. It’s taste and texture were identical to the cakes and buns she baked. It was a lovely memory.

Birthdays are oh so important and they should be marked and celebrated. They are truly “Holy Days”; they are an opportunity to honour the sacredness of our lives; they are opportunities to recognise one another’s sacred uniqueness. As Henri Nouwen so delightfully said “We should never forget our birthdays or the birthdays of those who are close to us. Birthdays keep us childlike. They remind us that what is important is not what we do or accomplish, not what we have or who we know, but that we are, here and now. On birthdays let us be grateful for the gift of life.”

I regret not celebrating either of my birthday’s last year. I really wasn’t in the mood. It was wrong of me to do so and somewhat selfish actually. Please do not let me do so again.

Some people have two birthdays. I am not just talking about the Monarch here by the way. Folk in recovery also celebrate a second birthday. They celebrate their sobriety birthday as well as their belly button birthday, a kind of re-birthday if you like. Mine is the 10th October 2003. On these days they turn down a different path, they begin their life journey again. They turn from non-being to living. Forrest Church when talking about the beginning of his new life after finding sobriety wrote the following in the last few months of his life as he was succumbing to cancer:

"Taken literally (in Hebrew and Greek as well as Latin), "conversion" is not "re-birth" but "turning". Once converted, we re-direct our journey. The American short-story writer Raymond Carver turned his life around by a decision to stop drinking. From that point forward, he met life's trials with equanimity and grace. When dying of brain cancer at the age of forty-nine. Carver summed up the nine years of freedom he had enjoyed during what turned out to be the final decade of his life with the same word that lept to mind when I give daily thanks for a yearlong reprieve from my cancer: "gravy". When we see life as the precious gift that it is, when we celebrate our birthday as a truly holy day we see that everything is indeed “gravy”.

Here he is in his own words, the poem “Gravy”.

“Gravy” by Raymond Carver

No other word will do. For that’s what it was. Gravy.
Gravy these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving and
being loved by a good woman. Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going. And he was going
nowhere but down. So he changed his ways
somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it, up to and including when he was told about,
well, some things that were breaking down and
building up inside his head. “Don’t weep for me,”
he said to his friends. “I’m a lucky man.
I’ve had ten years longer than I or anyone
expected. Pure gravy. And don’t forget it.”

They say we only get one crack at life; this is true to some degree. That said we can at times begin again. When all feels lost at times, sometime it’s just the beginning of the end of an old way of being that may lead us down another path. We can begin again in love.

This week I conducted the memorial service of one such woman. One who lived a life of love and service for the last 37 years of life, one remembered fondly by those she helped. She made great use of her life and many of her friends wanted to remember this. It is always fascinating what you learn about a person at their funeral and or memorial service. It was good to hear about Carolyn, from her son Richard, while she is still with us, something that was not guaranteed in recent times.

As I was reflecting on these lives, both lost and celebrated. I was reminded of a poem, very popular at funerals these days.

It's called the “Dash” by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
From the beginning...to the end

He noted that first came the date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years

For that dash represents all the time
That they spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved them
Know what that little line is worth

For it matters not, how much we own,
The cars...the house...the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

I know it’s a bit of a folksy poem, but its message is deep, powerful and meaning filled. The dash appears short and even thin and yet it can be deep and meaning filled.

Again this brought me back to another extract from Forrest Church’s masterpiece “Love and Death: My Journey Through the Valley of the Shadow”, written while he was dying of oesophageal cancer. He asked "knowing that we will die, what should we do?" To which he answered "we should live, we should laugh, and we should love." He then recalled a lesson he learnt from his children, about living. One day, when they were young, he was walking them to school, on a busy New York street. Suddenly a car swerved round a corner and almost killed them all. Forrest was incensed by this, but he remembers, "my kids just laughed, romping blithely down the sidewalk, jumping from tree to tree as they always did, trying to touch the leaves." The kids were celebrating, nay singing the joy of living, and they "had the right idea. Why didn't I think to jump and touch the leaves?"

Forrest believed that it was living, loving and laughing that took real courage, they required heart, while dying didn’t really take much courage at all, in his eyes that just came naturally. Something he was experiencing as he wrote these words.

Now to really live Forrest suggested a simple little mantra:" Want what you have. Do what you can. Be who you are." He didn’t suggest that this would be easy but it is the only way to live and in so doing we will live in such a way that our lives will prove worth dying for by the love we leave behind. There was a lot of love celebrated in the lives of those living and those who have died in the last week.

I believe that Forrest uncovered a simple little answer as to how each of us should live, a way to bring deep meaning to the ordinariness of our lives. This is how we should live. To want the things that make up our lives and not wish for something else and in so doing we might just begin to be who we truly are, instead of wishing we were someone else. In so doing we can do the things that we are able to do and thus bring deep meaning to the little bit of the dash that we are living right now.

This is the gift of life, the beautiful gift of being alive in this ordinary moment, a moment that can become deep and meaningful, not only for ourselves but for those we get to share our lives with. For we never know how long we’ve got left how close we are to the end of the line, the last part of dash. Nor do we know how close those we love are to the end of theirs. At the memorial service I heard of another friend who has been given a very bad cancer diagnosis, he is facing it with courage as he has so many things over the years.

So how do we end this little dash of a service. Well I will offer a ittle bit of wisdom by Kurt Vonnegut, towards the end of his life.

In 2006 a high school English teacher asked students to write to famous authors and ask for advice. Kurt Vonnegut was the only one to respond. Here is his response. It is magnificent:

“Dear Xavier High School, and Ms. Lockwood, and Messrs Perin, McFeely, Batten, Maurer and Congiusta:

I thank you for your friendly letters. You sure know how to cheer up a really old geezer (84) in his sunset years. I don’t make public appearances any more because I now resemble nothing so much as an iguana.

What I had to say to you, moreover, would not take long, to wit: Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.

Seriously! I mean starting right now, do art and do it for the rest of your lives. Draw a funny or nice picture of Ms. Lockwood, and give it to her. Dance home after school, and sing in the shower and on and on. Make a face in your mashed potatoes. Pretend you’re Count Dracula.

Here’s an assignment for tonight, and I hope Ms. Lockwood will flunk you if you don’t do it: Write a six line poem, about anything, but rhymed. No fair tennis without a net. Make it as good as you possibly can. But don’t tell anybody what you’re doing. Don’t show it or recite it to anybody, not even your girlfriend or parents or whatever, or Ms. Lockwood. OK?

Tear it up into teeny-weeny pieces, and discard them into widely separated trash recepticals. You will find that you have already been gloriously rewarded for your poem. You have experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what’s inside you, and you have made your soul grow.

God bless you all!

Kurt Vonnegut

So, let’s go live our lives. It is the ultimate free gift, the ultimate grace, it’s gravy. Go live whatever time we have best, let’s do it in style.

Below is a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"

The Spiritual Life: Living Spiritually Alive

Last Saturday night I was out with friends. It was a late night and so Molly had a sleep over with a couple of other friends. I say I was out with friends, when in actual fact I only knew some of the people and only two or three very well. A friend was having a leaving do as he was returning to live back in London. The group were mutual friends of his. Now I got talking to quite a variety of people that evening, all much younger than me, in their twenties, all millennials or Generation Z’s. My profession came up and as is always the case many assumptions, along with a great deal of surprise, followed. I got into one a conversation with a young woman who wanted to talk about her beliefs with regard to death and the afterlife. As is usually the case in such conversations she did most of the talking, I did the listening. She was very certain in what she believed and described in detailed what the “Tibetan Book of the Dead” has to say about life beyond this life. It was fascinating to listen to her and her views about the afterlife and reincarnation, She, was somewhat surprised to hear that I myself was fairly agnostic about what happens beyond this physical life. It is not that I don’t believe in anything, it is more that it is difficult for me to hold strong views about something I have no personal experience of. My spirituality is very much informed by experience. I also said something like “I prefer to focus on one life at a time”

I had a couple of other conversations with people who are struggling with life in some ways. They were asking about spiritual practice and how to improve on them, they described feeling overwhelmed and anxious a lot of the time. I shared some experiences, but mainly I listened, ministry is mostly about listening.

I have had many deep profound spiritual experiences in my life, sometimes incredibly beautiful and connective and other times quite unpleasant, as they have been around the death of loved ones. I have also experienced thousands of moments of transcendence and connection in the ordinariness of life. Moments when I have paid attention and thus seen life in new ways as well as moments of deep connection when I touch the core of myself and life, perhaps, dare I say, touched the heart of God. I had a wonderful opportunity to remember and share some of these the other day whilst being interviewed for a chapter in a book on “Happiness”, it will be published next year.

The many conversations I have had recently got me thinking about spiritual practices and their purpose, particularly prayer and meditation, something I engage with throughout my daily living. Yes, sometimes formerly with others as well as privately, but also informally as I live my ordinary life. Some might not consider these to be spiritual practices at all, they are to me.

I have discovered how vital of this is in order to live, to be fully alive in this world. I remember Bill Darlison once saying that “Spirituality” is about increasing our sensitivity to life. To me this means being affected by and thus becoming more effective in life. This helps me understand the purpose of prayer and meditation which enables me to do so, I have discovered. Such practices allow me to connect to the core of my being and thus to life itself; such practices enable me to connect to God which I see as being a part of everything, perhaps the core of everything and yet more than everything, a kind of panentheism, not to be confused with pantheism.

Henri Nouwen captured the idea near perfectly in his meditation “The Hub”

In my home country, the Netherlands, you still see many large wagon wheels, not on wagons, but as decorations at the entrances of farms or on the wall of restaurants. I have always been fascinated by these wagon wheels: with their wide rims, strong wooden spokes, and big hubs. These wheels help me to understand the importance of a life lived from the centre. When I move along the rim, I can reach one spoke after the other, but when I stay at the hub, I am in touch with all the spokes at once.

To pray is to move to the centre of all life and love. The closer I come to the hub of life, the closer I come to all that receives its strength and energy from there. My tendency is to get so distracted by the diversity of the many spokes of life, that I am busy but not truly life giving, all over the place but not focused. By directing my attention to the heart of life, I am connected with its rich variety while remaining centred. What does the hub represent? I think of it as my own heart, the heart of God, and the heart of the world. When I pray, I enter into the depth of my own heart and find there the heart of God, who speaks to me of Love. And I recognise, right there, the place where all my sisters and brothers are in communion with one another. The great paradox of the spiritual life is, indeed, that the most personal is most universal, that the most intimate, is the communal, and that the most contemplative is most active.

The wagon wheel shows that the hub is the centre of all energy and movement, even when it often seems not to be moving at all. In God all action and all rest are one. So too prayer!

The last few sentences are worth repeating again. They touch my soul so deeply.

“The great paradox of the spiritual life is, indeed, that the most personal is most universal, that the most intimate, is the communal, and that the most contemplative is most active.

The wagon wheel shows that the hub is the centre of all energy and movement, even when it often seems not to be moving at all. In God all action and all rest are one. So too prayer!”

The great traditions offer a treasure trove of practices, that can help us to connect more fully to life, the most obvious being prayer. Prayer means many things to different people and has done so throughout the ages. You may find yourself praying without even realising it. It may sound strange to see this, but can actually be quite a physical practice, this manifest in a variety of ways in different traditions While a Christian may bow their heads and fold their hands, a Sufi will whirl and a native American will dance. A Buddhist will sit quietly in a particular position, while a Hindu will offer a sacrifice. Jewish and Muslim prayers are very physical. A Jewish person while praying will bob their heads back and forth while a Muslim will physically prostate themselves. Prayers are not just about silence and spoken words. You sing a prayer too, isn’t that was hymns are. I think it was Augustine who said singing was praying twice; I myself love singing mediation. I also believe that joy and laughter can be considered a form of devotion, for it connects to those deeper aspects of life.

The spiritual life is about increasing this connection, it’s about enabling us to pay greater attention to the world around us, to be affected by life and to live more effectively in life. Thus, you feel more spiritually alive.

Spiritual practice can take many forms and should not be seen necessarily as a solemn activity, done in isolation. Yes, we can close ourselves away and pray in isolation as Jesus suggested we should, but it’s not essential. Neither do we have to necessarily use words when we are praying, every activity we engage in can be a form of prayer.

In the Japanese Shinto tradition prayers and blessings are calliagraphed on paper streamers and tied to the branches of trees and bushes. As the streamers wave in the wind the blessings then fly out over the world. In Tibet prayers are carved into wooden band wheels which are spun like a top sending the prayers up into the sky. Sometimes the wheels are positioned in a stream so that the current of the water spins the wheels and the prayers are then carried off without the need of human assistance.

One of the five pillars of Islamic practice is to pray facing Mecca five times every day, here it’s not so much the words but the direction of the prayers that matter. During the middle ages monastic orders that took vows of silence considered work done by the hands as a form of prayer – therefore everything that was done in life was considered a prayer to God. This seems very similar to the mindfulness practiced by Zen Buddhist – in which every action is practiced with deep attention. Such practices are not self indulgent they are there to enable the individual to better engage in life itself, to pay deep attention, to be affected and thus become increasingly effective. It helps me find my voice and thus speak of what it means to live spiritually alive, they actually change me at a deep level. They are meant to. To quote Rheinhold Neibuhr “Prayer does not change things; prayer changes people, and people change things...Prayer is not hearing voices, prayer is acquiring a voice.” Everything we do, if practiced with intention, if we pay attention can become a prayer. As Dorothy Day put it “I believe some people – lots of people- pray through the witness of their lives. Through the work they do, the friendships they have, the love they offer people and receive from people.” In so doing we can unlock our true human potential and become all that we were born to be.

The spiritual life is about increasing our sensitivity to life. It is about being affected by and thus becoming more effective in life. What it really does for me is that it enables me to truly pay attention and not to turn away, even when I am tempted to do so. Sometimes it is hard and deeply painful to pay attention, but it is the only way to truly feel alive. Paying attention is of course prayer, to quote Simone Weil “Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer,”, but it is more than that though, it is deeper, for as Mary Oliver said “Attention without feeling, is only a report.” What we pay attention to has to affect us, it much touch us in those deeper places, this is prayer and requires prayer to practice.

This is beautifully portrayed in Mary Oliver’s wonderful poem “A Summer’s Day”

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down --
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver “A Summer Day”

To live spiritually alive is about increasing our sensitivity to life, its about paying deep attention, intentionally, its about being affected and thus becoming increasingly effective in life. This requires prayer in its rich variety of form. It won’t change the world, but it will change us and enable us to live fully in this world, for as Reinhold Niebuhr said “Prayer doesn’t change things, prayer changes people and people change things.” Over the years I have discovered that it is prayer that enables me to open and connect to life in all its joy and suffering, it allows me to increase my sensitivity to life and thus be touched by life and in return respond in more loving and open ways. Prayer for me is a kind of opening of myself to something larger. In many ways it is the whole of my life, this life. The next, well I no nothing about that, well at least with certainty.

May life be your prayer. Whether that be your devotional practices or just the way that you act with friends and loved ones. Whether it be the reflective pause before you do or say anything, or a quiet time at some point in the day, whether it be dancing or singing around your kitchen or some dedicated pleace. Whatever it may be let all that you say and do reflect all that you would hope your life to be. Open yourself up to every encounter in every moment and you will bring to life the divine within you and in every aspect of your life.

So, let’s live more spiritually alive. May our lives become our prayer.

Below is a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"

 

Why is it so hard to speak of Joy?

I was recently given the honour of serving as minister of week at Summer School. The subject of the week was seeking joy in life despite its many real troubles. It got me thinking about Joy. What Joy might be and how to articulate it.

Joy is a characteristic of faith in life itself; faith in the joy of living, in all its mystery. Joy is the universal aspect of living life fully. It’s about spending our time in “thick” space, a life deep and rich in meaning. It is not the same as happiness, pleasure or fun. Joy is not about the material circumstances of our lives. Perhaps the true measure of joy is the experience of it, even in the most difficult of times, without guilt or apology. Joy is a deeply held spiritual quality, it exists beneath feelings and emotions. It is a quality that is always open to us, although not necessarily realised. Why you may well ask? Well because too often we are afraid to live by and through it, to reach out for it for fear of not achieving it and living in disappointment. I know disappointment every day and I know and experience what it means to live in and through joy. Or perhaps the reason we don’t know joy is because we are too afraid to let go of control and let life have its way, because deep down we do not have faith in life itself. The essence of joy is faith, faith in life itself, that there is a goodness, a Divine goodness at the core of life…

Here is an example of Joy in this sense by Unitarian Universalist minister Carl Scovel. He named the heart of his faith “The Great Surmise”

"The Great Surmise says simply this: At the heart of all creation lies a good intent, a purposeful goodness, from which we come, by which we live our fullest, and to which we shall at last return. This is the supreme mystery of our lives. This goodness is ultimate-not fate, not freedom, not mystery, energy, order, nor finitude, but this good intent in creation is our source, our center, and our destiny. . . Our work on earth is to explore, enjoy, and share this goodness. "Neither duty nor suffering nor progress nor conflict-not even survival-is the aim of life, but joy. Deep, abiding, uncompromised joy."

I have come to believe that Joy is the essence and the energy of life and yet we find it so hard to speak of. Why do we find it so hard to speak of joy?

Well for some it hasn't been so hard. Here is another example.

Rabindranath Tagore wrote…

“Joy is everywhere; it is in the earth’s green covering of grass; in the blue serenity of the sky; in the reckless exuberance of spring; in the severe abstinence of grey winter; in the living flesh that animates our bodily frame; in the perfect poise of the human figure, noble and upright; in living; in the exercise of all our powers; in the acquisition of knowledge; in fighting evils; in dying for gains we never can share. Joy is there everywhere.”

“Joy is there everywhere.” Do you believe this? What does your life teach you? What energises you? How do you feel when you are around a person filled with joy, en-joying life, en-joying who they are, singing the joy of living in all its mystery? What do you do when you are around such a person? I do hope you never try to clip their wings, to put them off being who they truly are, learning to fly free. I hope you never try to enslave them by the dangers of living with too much safety. In fact if you are going to be cautious about anything in life, it ought to safety. Be very careful about playing it safe, for it won’t guard you against the dangers of life, it will only strangle the joys of living, in all its mystery.

I was recently sat with friends enjoying coffee and chatting after sharing an hour together in meditation and deep conversation. We meet twice weekly at seven am and then some of us go off and continue the conversation in a local coffee shop. We are quite a shocking group to the locals and staff, due to the volume of laughter that rings out from us. Don’t get me wrong we speak seriously about many things, but we also know the joy of living. Anyway after an hour I declared “it’s time I moved” and got up to go for a gym session. Before I left I was asked how often I went and how long I spend at the gym. I said I go five times a week for between one and a half and two hours. Then followed the often heard comments about being too obsessive and not over doing it. I said little in response and just got up enthusiastically to get on with my session. Yes it’s tough and challenging, but I do enjoy how it is transforming my body and allowing me to be all I can be. I’ve never felt more alive.

All my life I’ve experienced people who have tried to curb my enthusiasm. It used to work as I allowed fear to inhibit my natural experience of joy, I didn’t want others to think I was a weirdo or nuts. By the way it worked for it sucked all the joy out of living as I suppressed my true human nature. People still try today but I know that it is more about their fear than anything I am doing or not doing. These days I always respectfully listen to others, but I do not take on board their fears and negativity. I would rather listen to the voice of joy and possibility deep within me; I prefer to live from a place of faith in life and not fear. Ever since I rediscovered faith in life itself, I have found the courage to be.

Now to live in joy, to have faith in life is not easy, it is even harder to describe. It is far easier to talk about pain and suffering, to talk about despair. Just enter any academic environment or follow social media or the daily news. People find it far easier to talk about their pain, than their joy.

Henri Nouwen observed that anxiety and suffering are far more easily expressed than joy. He wrote:

"I vividly remember how one of my university teachers spoke for a whole year about anxiety in human life. He discussed in great detail the thoughts of Kierkegaard, Sartre, Heidegger, and Camus and gave an impressive exposé of the anatomy of fear. One day, during the last month of the course, a few students found the courage to interrupt him and ask him to speak a little about joy before the course was over. At first he was taken aback. But then he promised to give it a try. The next class he started hesitantly to speak about joy. His words sounded less convincing and penetrating than when he spoke about anxiety and fear. Finally, after two more meetings, he told us that he had run out of ideas about joy and would continue his interrupted train of thought. This event made a deep impression on me, especially since I had such great admiration for my teacher. I kept asking myself why he was unable to teach about joy as eloquently as he had taught about anxiety.

It’s a good question, “why is it so much easier to speak about anxiety than joy?" We have no trouble describing our sadness, what is wrong, what sickens us as individuals and as a society. Nouwen observed there are far “more words for sickness than for health, more for abnormal conditions than for normal conditions. When my leg hurts, my head aches, my eyes burn, or my heart stings, I talk about it, often in elaborate ways, but when I am perfectly healthy I have little, if anything, to say about those parts of my body.”

Think about the word resentment. It comes from resentere which literally means to re-feel something. Now when we re-feel something a memory from our past life it doesn’t have to be a painful memory, something that makes us angry and yet the word resentment only has negative connotation. We do not have a word that means to re-feel something joyful. There is no specific word for this in the English language.

I have come to believe that one reason that we struggle to speak of joy is that it is not a surface experience, it is not of the body or the mind, it is more about the spirit. It is harder to make sense of and or control with our minds and our language. Now some may say the reason for this is that joy is an abnormal state, but I have come to believe that the truth is the opposite of this. Joy is actually the essence of life, what Scovel called the “Great Surmise”. We can’t tame joy, we can’t control it and perhaps this is why we fear and distrust it in ourselves and others so much.

Joy is linked closely to ecstasy, no not the party drug, but ecstasy in its true meaning. It is derived from the Greek 'ekstasis,' formed from 'ek,' meaning out, and 'stasis,' a state of standstill. So to be ecstatic literally means to be outside of a static place. It is a constantly moving state, not a rigid or fixed one. Joy is the same, it is always new, it is about life, it is about creation. Thus, those who live ecstatic lives are always moving away from rigidly fixed situations and exploring new, unmapped dimensions of reality. This is the essence of joy.

Joy is always new; it is about life; it is about creation; it’s about energy. Think about those joy filled moments you had when you were really free, maybe while dancing, singing, playing, creating, running free, at the birth of a child whatever that might be. When you were like a child.

Can you remember the last time you got giddy? I get giddy with those folks I share meditation and coffee with twice a week and other places too, often in the pulpit.

We need to get “giddy” with it. By doing so we may well just begin to experience the joy of living. By the way “giddy” is one of the words that has been reduced in meaning over time. In medieval times it used to mean being 'possessed by a god or spirit.' Now this was not considered to be a good thing as to be in such a state was considered to be a form of insanity, simplemindedness or to be some kind of religious fanatic. Religion has shied away from such expressions and feelings. We Unitarians have sadly been at the vanguard of this, distrusting emotion and worshipping rationality. We were once known as “God’s frozen people?” Not any longer I hope. Never fear who you are, your true nature.

I suspect that the reason it is easier to talk about the pain, what is wrong with life, our fear, rather than the joy of living has something to do with how we view the nature of ourselves and life itself. That there is something wrong with life, that there is something wrong with human nature, that at the core we are bad and its time we accepted this. I’m not convinced that this is so.

The first chapter of the book of Genesis talks about God looking at his creation and seeing it as good. But is life with all its ups and downs good? What about violence, war and senseless tragedies? What about germs, disease and famine? What about the pain of our families, our friends, our loved ones? Isn’t life more like what Thomas Hobbes described in “The Leviathan” “And the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short”. Is that what life is? Are we fallen and broken by nature, at war with ourselves and one another. We are told that the nature of life is competition, but is that correct? Recent biological research into the most basic life forms suggest that this is not so as even they have to cooperate in order to create, that this is in actual fact the energy of life. When we cooperate, work together in harmony, don’t we feel joyful? I know I do.

So something to consider. What is the nature and energy of life? Is joy the essence of life? Is it the energy that forms all life? Also how do we find ways to articulate and express this in ways that others can understand? I suspect that it might not be through the limit of words. Maybe we can’t tell, perhaps all we can do is show. So show it in all that you do and if you must, use words.