There is no shortage of monuments to saints and martyrs in England. This past week I joined the countless pilgrims who have gone to Canterbury Cathedral for 900 years to honor the memory and witness of Thomas Becket. I happened to be there when a top story in the news was “an exchange of perspective” between two powerful world leaders — one, the President of the United States, and the other, Pope Leo.
Thomas Becket had been a friend and advisor of Henry II. Henry appointed him to be Archbishop of Canterbury expecting Thomas would support whatever Henry wanted to do. But Becket took his vows seriously, and spoke out whenever he felt Henry was going astray. At one point, Henry expressed his frustration in the presence of four of his supporters and was heard to say: “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” On December 29, 1170, the four men rode to the Cathedral, entered the area where Thomas was alone at prayer, and murdered him with their swords. Becket had stood firmly for spiritual principles in opposition to a willful ruler. He was made a saint.
For centuries Becket’s tomb was on display at the end of the cathedral, where countless people came to pay their respects. I first visited that part of the sanctuary. I then came to the small side room where the actual murder occurred; his name is written on the floor:
There is a sculpture above the spot consisting of a metal cross flanked by two swords with red tips representing blood. Light descends from above in such a way that the two swords create four shadows, one for each murderer:
On the wall nearby is a plaque:
Speaking truth to power is a tradition that goes back 3,000 years to the prophets of Israel. Willful leaders don’t like it, and more than once have wanted those who speak up to be silenced. But it is an essential element of spiritual integrity and of democracy. It is inspiring to stand in this sacred place and know the tradition continues in our own time through the voice of Pope Leo and others.
I’ve passed through London a few times over the years, but never dedicated time to appreciating it. This winter I decided it was time to make up for that. I’ve been here for four days so far and will be staying four days more, attending a series of events and visiting many historical sights. As so many people have told me, it’s a marvelous city. I am taking a little time now to put into words some of the personal meaning I am finding.
I’ll start this reflection with a security announcement.
We are riding the subway/Tube often. When you step into the car and it’s ready to go, the doors shut and an announcement comes over the PA system. First it says where the train is going and what the next stop is. Then you hear: “If you see something that doesn’t look right, speak to staff or text British Transport Police on 61016. We’ll sort it. See it, say it, sorted.”
Apparently this announcement was introduced 10 years ago as a way to invite passengers to assist with security concerns. As we rumbled on to the next stop again and again, I sensed it had possibilities for other aspects of life beyond subway security. (I confess at first I did not hear the last word — “sorted” — clearly; I thought the word was “sort it.” But I’m going with my version: “See it, say it, sort it.”)
Simply put, if we are trying to comprehend something we are experiencing, we can experiment with this phrase. “See it….” In other words, “What am I observing?” Then we take time to formulate words for what we are considering, and “Say it,” either silently or out loud. Since we don’t have an official agency to analyze it and create an action plan, we have to try on our own, “Sort it” suggests we figure out what this experience means and what we are going to do about it.
Here’s my first attempt to “See it, Say it, Sort it.”
THE DISPLAY OF WEALTH AND POWER There are many magnificent buildings and sights in London. I’ve gone through Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, and the Tower of London, among others. But after appreciating all that’s there, I began to feel ambivalent about how much wealth has been invested to glorify the kings and queens. In the Tower of London, for example, there is a glass case displaying the communion set used for royal religious ceremonies. The plate is probably two feet in diameter and solid gold, with detailed engravings. It is impressive. But I thought, “Using something this doesn’t ensure that the ceremonies in which it is used will automatically be filled with genuine spiritual integrity.” Or seeing the royal crowns embedded with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and exotic gems is certainly impressive. But does it guarantee whoever is wearing it acts with justice and mercy?
REMINDERS OF MORAL COURAGE, RESILIENCE AND HUMAN CREATIVITY We were walking past a formidable government building near Trafalgar Square where masons were filling joints between the stones with mortar. I noticed there were many chunks of the stones that were missing and it was clear the masons were not going to attend to them. I asked one fellow about it. He said the stones were damaged during the bombing blitz at the beginning of World War 2. The government decided to leave them as they were to remind future generations of what Londoners endured in the war. Britain’s courageous endurance eventually led to victory, not just for Great Britain but much of Europe and what we have called “The Free World.”
In the Houses of Parliament, there were statues of leaders who led the people through times of war, like Churchill. There were also tributes to those who expanded the government from rule by elites to a truer democracy: those who had fought to outlaw slavery, others who championed extending voting rights to working people and women, and others who had helped create the national health care system. And there are many reminders of kings and queens who, while wearing the elaborate costumes of royalty, advocated for the best interests of all people.
At the Globe Theater I saw a delightful production of Shakespeare’s “The Tempest,” and was reminded of the power of human creativity to create works of art that continue to give us entertainment, insight, and wisdom for centuries.
These are some of the things I “saw” and have wanted to “say” and “sort.” The displays of wealth and power can fill me with awe, but also raise questions when so much power and status is granted to those at the “top” of society. At the same time, the many examples of people standing up for the rights and dignity of all people are inspiring.
Experiencing England may be all the more vivid to me because in my own country there is a leader who seeks to be a king, building ornate ballrooms and putting his name everywhere he can. This is not the vision my country was founded upon. I am newly aware of how bold our original vision was, and how grateful I am to take my turn to be a guardian of that vision.
I’m still sorting out all my impressions which accumulate day by day. But one constant has been the courtesy and warmth of the British people we encounter. Some no doubt trace their roots far into the English past. But many others have immigrated here from all over the world and appreciate the life they are making here. It’s inspiring. History and monuments can teach us a great deal. But what is more impressive than being a stranger in a country and finding kindness at every turn?
Gospel music was not something I heard in my home growing up. But I did know of a singer named Mahalia Jackson, who appeared on television shows and sold millions of records. She performed at many civil rights demonstrations and before European royalty. President Kennedy chose her to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” at his Inaugural Ball in 1961. She sang “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” at Dr. King’s memorial in 1968. She died in 1972 at the age of 60 and left a legacy of inspired art.
Mahalia Jackson was orphaned at an early age. She heard gospel music coming from the church next door; it drew her in and she embodied it the rest of her life.
Many successful gospel singers began in church choirs and later made a career singing the blues, which had a broader audience. But she never did. She once said, “When you sing gospel you have a feeling there is a cure for what’s wrong. But when you are through with the blues, you’ve got nothing to rest on.”
Ms. Jackson knew pain well and she could express it in her music. But at the heart of every song was the conviction that reaching out in faith offered “a cure” – “something to rest on.”
Imagine coming upon an old-fashioned water well. Leaning over the stone wall that surrounds it, we look down to see if there is water. But the sunlight does not reach far enough for us to know. So we pick up a small stone and drop it down into the well. If we hear nothing, we might conclude the well is dry. But if we hear a plunk, we know water is there.
Spiritual belief is like that. We wonder if there is something beyond us. We drop something down into our inner well — maybe a hope, a prayer, a question, or a plea for guidance. Sometimes we get only silence. But sometimes we get a response; it may come as a word, a phrase, an image or a conviction.
When we do receive a response, we recognize it is not something we could create on our own — it feels fresh. When we claim it, we find our life opening to new possibilities. We have “something to rest on” as our journey continues.
A spiritual well is not a magic wishing well — it’s not about getting what we want every time. Sometimes we receive prompts that invite us to face and bear challenges we would rather avoid. But the direction we receive always leads to embracing life.
Mahalia Jackson knew a great deal of personal suffering. But in her faith and in her singing, she found something to “rest on.” It didn’t make all the problems in the world miraculously disappear. But what she found within herself, in her music, and in her community gave her light, courage and the ability to endure, and she shared that with the world.
We are in the season of Passover and Easter. The rituals and stories include times when people felt alone and without hope. But then something happens that opens a way beyond the darkness into new life. We are reminded we are not alone. There is a living, divine presence down in that well. We are reminded we have “something to rest on.”
Let’s say someone asks you, “Got any travel plans?” Imagine saying, “Yeah… I’m going to the place where heaven and earth meet, poke my head through, and see what I can see.” This is how one artist imagined someone doing that:
(The caption reads: “A missionary of the Middle Ages recounts that he has found the point where heaven and earth meet.”)
For thousands of years, people looked to the skies and imagined what might lie beyond – and wondered if there’s a heaven out there.
Then science came with those telescopes, star charts, and rocket ships.
Years ago, I was teaching an adult class. The passage we were studying mentioned heaven. One older lady raised her hand.
“You know,” she said, “I’m mad at those astronauts!”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, when they got up there into outer space I thought they would see heaven. But they didn’t find it. Now I don’t know where it is. It makes me angry.”
I have a friend who was a nun before becoming a doctoral student in mathematics at UCSB before becoming a Jungian therapist. We used to go to public lectures at the Institute for Theoretical Physics on campus. I appreciated having her with me because she could explain some of the concepts to me. I once asked her what she thought of the possibility of “worm holes” in space. She told me she thought it was an exciting theory, adding it might explain where heaven is hidden.
In spiritual traditions, “heaven” can be a reality beyond this one, but also accessible now.
In the book of Genesis, Jacob is alone in the middle of nowhere and lies down at night to sleep. He has a dream in which he sees something like a ladder or staircase leading from earth to heaven with angels traveling back and forth. He hears the voice of God promising that he will always be with Jacob. Jacob wakes, remembers the dream and pours oil on the stone on which his head was resting and names it. He says, “This is the house of God, the gate of heaven.” The story suggests that such an opening can exist in the most unlikely of places.
In the Gospels, Jesus speaks often of the “kingdom of heaven” and the “kingdom of God.” And while some passages suggest a realm beyond this life, others suggest it’s a reality available to us now: “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among (or within) you…”
I once led a retreat with the theme of how paradise has been envisioned in different spiritual traditions and popular culture. I showed a clip from the 1935 movie Top Hat in which Fred Astaire is wooing Ginger Rodgers. In one scene, he invites her to dance with him as he sings the Irving Berlin song “Cheek to Cheek.” Here’s the chorus:
“Heaven, I’m in Heaven,And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak; And I seem to find the happiness I seekWhen we’re out together dancing, cheek to cheek.”
After seeing the clip, I asked the group to suggest how the scene expresses ideas of heaven. People noticed that the set was full of light and beauty. Ginger Rodgers had feather boas on the arms of her costume that floated like angel wings as she moved. We also saw both dancers moving effortlessly with each other, yet each retained their individuality.
And we watched the last scene of the 1989 movie “Field of Dreams.” It’s a baseball fantasy in which Ray Kinsella has inherited a farm in Iowa and is raising his family. Ray hears a voice in the corn field calling on him to build a baseball field. He does. Soon players from the past start walking out of the corn to play the sacred game one more time. As one of them is leaving for the day, he asks Ray if this is heaven. “No,” Ray says, “This is Iowa.” As the story continues, the voice prompts Ray with new tasks, and he follows not knowing where it’s headed or what it means. The last player to appear turns out to be John Kinsella, Ray’s father; they were estranged years before at the time John died. Ray introduces his father to his wife and daughter. They begin playing catch. They have this conversation:
John asks, “Is this heaven?”
Ray: “It’s Iowa.”
John: “Iowa? I could have sworn this was heaven.”
Ray: “Is there a heaven?”
John: “Oh yeah. It’s the place where dreams come true.”
Ray: “Maybe this is heaven.”
I’m not sure where heaven is to be found. Maybe it’s somewhere out there in outer space. Maybe it’s somewhere here in inner space. Maybe it’s both. I welcome those moments when we seem to catch glimpses of it in our everyday lives, and remain open to the healing and beauty it might hold.
(Dear Reader: Not being satisfied with the way I ended this, two hours after posting I’m adding one more thought…)
I like to think of the fellow in the engraving and imagine what his life would be like when he came back from his journey. I’m guessing he’d be like most people who have had near-death experiences and profound spiritual encounters: he’d feel less fear, more peace, and a fresh committment to making each day matter.
(The lead image is an engraving from The Atmosphere: Popular Meterology, by Camille Flammarion, 1888; featured in Cosmigraphics: Picturing Space Through Time, by Michael Benson)
He was already a legend in town before I met him. By the time he died in 2008, he had made a lasting impression on me and many others. I’ve been thinking of him lately and want to tell you about him.
Born in 1919 to Italian immigrant parents in Sacramento, he came to Santa Barbara to study for the priesthood at the Franciscan seminary in 1934. He brought with him his sense of call, a love of baseball, and a brilliant and inquisitive mind. He became a priest at Mission Santa Barbara, serving our community for 74 years until his death in 2008. (That’s not a misprint.)
He was known as someone who welcomed, listened to, and celebrated people from all walks of life. He was a progressive voice for change in his church, in our community and the world.
In 1970, the Immaculate Heart of Mary sisters who ran the La Casa de Maria Retreat Center were changing many of their practices to adapt to the contemporary world. The Cardinal in Los Angeles told them they were going too far. They voted to leave the Catholic church and become an independent spiritual community. The Cardinal responded by prohibiting Catholic groups from going to La Casa and declared the sisters were no longer eligible to receive communion. Father Virgil believed in what the sisters were doing. He quietly ignored the Cardinal’s directives and led weekly mass at La Casa to support them.
In 1983, Queen Elizabeth made an official visit to Santa Barbara. The city chose Father Virgil to be her personal guide.
Virgil developed a special bond with many people, inlcuding biker groups. He established an annual tradition where groups from all over California would ride to Santa Barbara and arrange their motorcycles around the foot of the Mission steps. Virgil would lead a special service to bless them.
He was a Wednesday night regular at Harry’s Bar and Grill, a popular gathering place known for its history, welcoming atmosphere, and stiff drinks. He was once heard saying, “God lives at Harry’s.” The owners received his permission to put a sign outside the door, “Father Virgil says God lives at Harry’s.” There is a photograph of Father Virgil on the wall of Harry’s alongside the many Hollywood celebrities and politicians who have visited over the years.
My personal friendship with him began in the mid-1990s when I was asked to join two boards on which he was serving: La Casa de Maria and Hospice of Santa Barbara. When I arrived for meetings, I would do my best to claim a seat next to him so we could talk.
One year I asked, “So what are you doing for Lent, Father Virgil?” He smiled and said, “I’m giving up being around people I don’t like.”
Another year I asked him the same question. His response: “I’m giving up buying cheap wine.”
In 2002, my congregation was celebrating our new sanctuary by having a guest speaker every month. I invited Father Virgil to preach at one of our services and join me serving communion. We worked out an approach consistent with the Catholic practices he was obliged to follow. He arrived wearing his brown Franciscan robe and sandals. We entered the sanctuary together and led the service together. After the service, I stood with him greeting people at the door. But then I noticed one of my parishioners standing alone at the edge of the patio looking very quiet. I walked over to Louise and asked if she was ok. She quietly told me a story. As a child growing up in Ohio, she had a brother who had polio and spent the last two years of his life in an iron lung in a Catholic hospital. Two nuns took a special interest in him and stayed close to him day after day for those two years. When he died, the memorial service was held at Louise’s family church. At that time, nuns were prohibited from entering a Protestant sanctuary. It was winter and snow was falling outside. At one point in the service Louise looked up and saw the two nuns outside standing in the falling snow looking through a window. The sight broke her heart. She said, “That’s a wound I’ve carried with me all these years. Today, seeing Father Virgil preaching at my church, I think my wound has begun to heal.”
I would often ask Virgil what he’d been reading or thinking about. One time he said, “I just read a passage which said that when we finally come into the full presence of God, what will amaze us most will be God’s humility.” He smiled and looking away said, “I love that and can’t stop thinking about it.” At the end of his life, Virgil was under hospice care at a local nursing home. The day before he died, he had become unresponsive, sleeping most of the time as often happens. A small group of people kept vigil at his bedside. Later I was told that one moment he suddenly sat up in bed and asked in a strong voice, “What’s the score in the Dodger game??” Then he laid back down and closed his eyes.
It was one of my life’s great honors to be asked to read a passage at his private memorial in the Mission chapel that occured prior to the public ceremony. The selection was 1 Corinthians 13: “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal…”
In centuries past, “saints” were people who lived lives of purity and often died a martyr’s death. For me, saints are people who show us how to live life with both joy and service. They don’t ask us to separate ourselves from society. Instead they show us how to embrace the life we have before us and live it with open hearts, inquisitive minds, and a readiness to serve others. For me, Father Virgil will always be a saint.
Father Virgil giving Queen Elizabeth at tour of the Mission
I’m going to start with a bit of golf wisdom and then move on to something more important.
Golf is a funny game. When you get ready to hit a shot, an endless number of thoughts can flood your mind. Some may be specific ideas about how you are going to direct your body. Others may concern timing or an awareness of who might be watching you. What you have in mind before you swing is important.
If you are getting ready to hit a shot that has a chance of landing in a sand trap instead of on the green, a common thought is, “I just don’t want the ball to land in that sand trap!” But more often than not, having that thought will result in the ball finding its way to the sand. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to do!” we say to ourselves. On we go, not only lamenting the outcome but frustrated with ourselves.
Wise coaches tell us the key is understanding how our mind works. The theory is that our mind will direct our body to try and fulfill what we want. However, it’s designed to focus more on a clear visual image than a word. When we say, “I just don’t want to land in that sand trap,” our mind sees “sand trap” but doesn’t hear the word “don’t.”
The better option, they say, is to take a long look at the green and think, “I want this ball to land on that green.” Then we take a relaxing breath and swing. There is no guarantee, but more often than not the shot will go in the right direction.
What does this say about our spiritual life?
I believe it suggests to us what we focus on and expect in our journey is important.
One problem is that for centuries, dominant strands of the Christian tradition have said the most important truth in life is: “You are a sinner. There is something fundamentally wrong with you, and you should never forget it.”
To me, it’s basically like telling yourself again and again, “Of course things go wrong. I deserve it.”
I don’t believe that’s the best approach.
In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus doesn’t dwell on the people who pass by the injured man, but lifts up the person who cared enough to stop and do something to help him. The implication: “Isn’t this kind of person who you want to be?”
In the Parable of the Prodigal Son, the main message is that the father of the two sons is more generous and forgiving than either son imagined and invites them both to a party celebrating that abundant grace.
I believe this perspective underlies the most profound set of teachings in the New Testament, the Beatitudes.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” isn’t inviting us to assume feeling empty or broken as a state we deserve. Instead, it’s an encouragement to trust that beyond our broken hearts there can be healing and new life.
When we hear “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” we are given hope that our grief can, over time, lead us to discover a humble sense of inner peace.
And there are the other six statements: “Blessed are the meek…Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…Blessed are the merciful…Blessed are the pure in heart…Blessed are the peacemakers…Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake …” All of these are words of encouragement to do and be the best we can, not dwell on our unworthiness.
Summoning all the best images and intentions as we play golf certainly doesn’t guarantee success every time. The game is designed to both humble and delight us; we will find our way into sand traps often enough. But that’s not when we quit. That’s when we do our best to meet the challenge before us, learn from each experience, and move on.
As maturing human beings, we have plenty of opportunities to recognize our own mixed motives, shortcomings and disappointments. But we don’t stop there. We are here for more than that. We are in this life to learn how to love and endure and serve. That’s worth keeping at the center of our intentions.
Lead image: St. Georges’s Golf Course, Ontario, Canada
Last week, I had the opportunity to attend a talk and book signing featuring legendary figure, Father Gregory Boyle. He brought with him Tom Vozzo, a former business executive who has played a major role in strengthening and expanding Father Boyle’s work. Together they shared some hard-earned wisdom which I think is meaningful not only to the people they serve but to all of us.
If you don’t know the story, here’s a summary. Forty years ago, Father Boyle began serving as the priest of the poorest Catholic church in Los Angeles. Eight gangs were in a constant and deadly battle for control of the neighborhood. Father Boyle began to seek a way to become a transforming presence and offer a path of hope for gang members who wanted to find a new life. He began living and walking alongside the people in the neighborhood. He soon recognized that creating meaningful job training and employment would be critical. “At the time, law enforcement tactics of suppression and criminal justice policies of mass incarceration were the prevailing means to deal with gang violence. But where others only saw criminals, Father Greg saw people in need of help. Today, Homeboy Industries is the largest gang intervention, rehabilitation and re-entry program in the world, welcoming thousands through our doors each year.[i]
Here are just a few examples of what they shared Saturday night:
THE TWO CORE PRINCIPLES: “Everyone is unshakably good and everyone belongs.” The people who come through the door have learned to see themselves as unwanted and unlovable. At Homeboy, they meet people who see in them an “unshakable goodness,” and they are welcomed as part of the human family. People who have been in prison experience something new: “They are used to being watched, not used to being seen.”
HOW TO RESPOND TO DIFFICULT BEHAVIOR: Sometimes clients act out in anger or frustration. The staff’s approach is to “find the thorn underneath” –the deep pain that’s driving behavior. This happens through conversation, counseling, and support. It can be a slow and steady process as people work through their traumas. But with time and respect, transformation can occur.
WE ALL NEED HEALING: Some of us have known plenty of love and support in our life and others have experienced great loss and trauma. But all of us carry wounds within us. It’s tempting to ignore them. But the wounds don’t disappear. Instead, they can show up when, for example, we see people who are struggling and judge them harshly. “If we don’t make friends with our wounds, we despise the wounded.”
Everyone in the organization assumes they have issues to work on. “Healing ends in the graveyard,” says Father Boyle. If we want to “Love your neighbor as you love yourself,” we remember that love is practiced in seeking healing in our lives as well as that of others. This is a lifelong journey. In the process, we can make peace with ourselves and become more capable of caring for people we encounter.
PURPOSE AND STRUCTURE After lives of aimlessness and despair, clients experience two important things: purposeful action and structure to each day. In addition to therapy and spiritual support, Homeboy gives people jobs with responsibilities, a chance to become part of a team expecting mutual accountability, and a chance for advancement.
(As I thought about it, this principle can also apply to people for whom retirement feels empty. There is pleasure in being free from stress and external constraints. But personal satisfaction can emerge when we find ways we can help others on a consistent basis.)
These and other principles guided Homeboy from the beginning. But in the last nine years, it has seen remarkable growth thanks, in part, to Tom Vozzo. Tom Vozzo had a successful career as the CEO of several companies with millions of dollars in profits; he knew how to “get things done” in the private sector. He was asked to see if he could help Homeboy, first as an adviser and then as the CEO. His skills helped the organization triple in size and dramatically improve its financial strength. In the process, Vozzo found himself changed:
“As he immersed himself in the work, something deeper took hold – an awareness of the interconnectedness that binds us all. This realization softened his heart and opened him to a greater purpose. He found that true change came through relationships, by tending to his own brokenness with acceptance and engaging in community – just as we all must confront and embrace our own wounds to find healing. He came to see the shared brokenness that unites us all, revealing that transformation is not about fixing others but about standing together in mutual care and understanding.
Through this interconnectedness, he discovered joy — an essential pursuit that reshaped his path forward. The burdens of responsibility that once weighed heavily on him became secondary to the profound joy he now felt. He learned that joy is a powerful state, one that requires time, reflection and openness to cultivate. And once found, it has the power to realign everything else in life.”[ii]
In my years in ministry and nonprofit work, I have seen many wonderful hopes and dreams fade when they haven’t been supported by practical, real-world know-how. Seeing Father Boyle and Tom Vozzo sitting side by side and sharing their stories of how they worked together to advance the work of their organization was inspiring to me. I could not help but feel this combination of high ideals and practical competence is what our country needs so desperately at this time in our history.
I once attended a prayer breakfast where the featured speaker was the legendary football coach Joe Gibbs. Gibbs had led the Washington Redskins (now the Commanders) to nine playoff appearances, four conference titles and three Super Bowl championships. After retiring as a coach, he became a television analyst. During the Q & A time, someone asked him to compare being a coach with being a TV analyst. Gibbs said being an analyst was much easier. When you are the coach, you have to make quick, irreversible decisions on the field, not knowing what the outcome will be. When you are an analyst, you can see what just happened and evaluate the coach’s decision from the comfort of the broadcast booth.
When you are a coach, you may be wrong. When you are an analyst, you can always be right.
What is true in sports is true in life. This can apply to relationships, parenting, work or any activity we engage in where we are responsible for the choices we make.
As years go by, it’s tempting to look back on decisions we made earlier in our life and be the all-knowing, wise analyst. We can focus on regrets:
“I knew I should have bought that property back then – I can’t afford it now.”
“If I could do my education over, I would have made other choices.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me how hard it is to be a parent?”
“I should have known not to trust that person.”
… or we can focus on good choices and lucky breaks:
“Meeting (that person) turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me.”
“That was a hard lesson to learn, but my life has been better for having learned it.”
“That has been one of the blessings in my life that I didn’t see coming.”
“I once was lost but now am found; was blind, but now I see.”
Analysts can watch the replay and comment on it. Coaches must call the play.
What do the spiritual traditions say about this tendency?
I think all of them encourage us to be honest about our shortcomings and mistakes.
But they also encourage us to always seek a fresh start, no matter what has happened.
In both instances, we draw on the wisdom of our ancestors that has been passed on in Scripture and traditions. We also learn from others in our community who have faced similar situations and learned important lessons about life.
We need to embrace both roles. We need to be wise analysts of what works in life and what does not. But we also need to recognize that, in those moments when we must make an important decision, we may not have all the facts or all the time or a perfect knowledge of what the future may bring. We do our best and learn from it.
Last week I shared the story of seeing a large branch fall from a tree as the result of accumulated snowfall. I thought how one last snowflake had made that happen, and imagined ways in which prayers may be like snowflakes. I shared a story about how my friend and mentor Hank had recovered from cancer using a variety of methods, including prayer. Other stories came to mind – three of which I am sharing in this post.
In the 1990s, UCSB had an exciting women’s basketball team. Many of us from my congregation began attending games. One season, a young woman who played center was invited to speak at our morning worship service about her faith. The night before, UCSB had won a dramatic game against the University of Hawaii. When she arrived, we invited her to the pulpit. She said a few words of introduction, then asked if there were any questions. Someone asked if she had prayed at all during the previous night’s game. She said she did at halftime. She was asked if she had prayed that her team would win. No, she said, she never prays for that. She just prayed that she would be able to do her best.
I once attended an interspiritual retreat at La Casa de Maria as part of an Earth Day weekend. One of the speakers was a Native American elder from a local tribe. He described ways in which his tradition was integrated with nature. One example was a custom that was part of fall prayer ceremonies. They asked the Creator to be with them when they were deer hunting. They prayed they would be led to target deer which were unlikely to survive the winter, leaving untouched members of the herd capable of living a longer life.
Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen was a professor of Integrative Medicine at UCSF Medical School and the author of best sellers on the role of spirituality and medicine. I treasured her books and heard her speak in person twice. One of her stories involved a case in which she had visited a patient in the hospital and carefully studied his chart. She agreed with the treatment plan in place. But she wondered if there was another approach. She decided to take a walk through the hospital to the chapel. She arrived at the chapel and sat in silence. An unexpected idea came to her. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense medically. She went back and consulted with her team. They changed the treatment plan, which extended the patient’s life.
In each of these stories, the person was not praying for a specific event to miraculously occur. They were not praying for something as dramatic as a large branch falling from a tree, or a mountain moving, or a bone mending instantly. They were seeking something more subtle. They were praying that their thoughts and actions might align with a higher purpose.
Some will say that these stories do not need spiritual beliefs to support or explain them. They are simply examples of positive or creative thinking. But the people telling these stories believed that there are forces and energies beyond our ordinary understanding that are available to us if we seek them. Sometimes the “still, small voice” will direct us to outcomes that fulfill our desires. But sometimes the guidance we receive will lead us in other directions. We may be prompted to follow a more challenging path than the one we are on. We may consider giving something up that we’ve held dear. We may feel prompted to face a difficult problem we’d rather avoid, or to take on a new responsibility. So it’s not always about making life easier. It’s about making life better by doing the right thing.
If your eyes are closed and a snowflake lands on your cheek, it won’t knock you off balance. But you will feel it as it melts and becomes a drop of water. Whether you gently touch it with your finger or let it run down your cheek, you are aware of its presence; its moisture becomes part of you. You didn’t create the snowflake or see where it came from. But it reminds you there is something more in your life than just you. There are subtle forces at play, and we are invited to be part of them. We are blessed in such moments. We can be grateful.
One early spring afternoon years ago, I was making the three-hour drive on Interstate 90 from Seattle to our home in central Washington. The highway passes through Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascade Mountains. There had been plenty of snow that winter and there were only a few cars on the road as light flurries were falling. I was alone. I heard a loud crashing noise. On the right side of the road ahead of me I watched a large snow-covered branch fall to the ground from a tall pine tree . As I continued driving, I wondered how much weight it must take to break that branch off from the trunk of its tree. How many snowflakes were required to make that happen? Did just one last snowflake tip the balance?
As I continued driving, I wondered if prayers might be like snowflakes. Individually, they are virtually weightless. But can they accumulate over time to make something tangible and unexpected happen?
There have been many theories over the centuries about how prayer might actually “work.” There are many spiritual traditions encouraging people to pray. Many people share stories of how prayer has led to some remarkable outcomes.
At the same time, many people can remember times when what they prayed for did not come to be. Much has been written trying to understand “unanswered prayer.”
I have had colleagues in the medical profession recount experiences when they were working with families and individuals who were facing serious health challenges who put all their faith in prayer, sometimes to the exclusion of good science. If the malady did not disappear, the family was faced not only with the loss of a loved one but questioning their faith as well.
I no longer expect to come up with a definitive answer to what prayer is and just how it “works.” But some stories come to mind. I’m going to share one this week and more in a future posting.
When I arrived to serve my congregation in Goleta, one man who became a friend and mentor was Hank Weaver. Hank had recently retired after ten years at UCSB in the Education Abroad Program. He was a faithful Mennonite and a lifetime pacifist. Hank was a warm, engaging and brilliant man who walked with a slight limp. I soon learned his story. Just two years before, he had been diagnosed with a serious form of cancer in his lower spine. The initial prognosis indicated he might not have long to live. He decided to learn as much as he could about what he could do. He had a PhD in chemistry and, as a dedicated scientist, worked carefully with his oncologist to begin the chemotherapy.
At this time, people were beginning to use visualization as part of cancer treatment; the idea is you use your imagination in meditatation to visualize the chemo overcoming the cancer. Hank was told one common example was to imagine cancer cells as small fish swimming in your bloodstream, and the chemo is a shark eating them up one by one. Hank thought about it and said that wouldn’t work for him due to his belief in nonviolence. He developed an alternative. He imagined a catfish swimming through his bloodstream, bottom feeding on things his body no longer wanted.
Hank asked anyone who was willing to pray for his healing to do so, and many did. One particularly dedicated member (in church speak, a “prayer warrior”) told me she had created an image in her mind of Hank entering the sanctuary fully healed, and many times prayerfully held that image in her mind and soul. Hank also did all the right things in terms of diet and physical activity.
Months passed. Slowly, the cancer began to disappear. Eventually it went into remission. The damage to his spine meant that his walk would always be impaired, but that was a small price to pay for the outcome. (He did tell me one benefit of his impairment was the handicapped placard he had now had for his car – he began to get invitations from friends asking to go with him to Dodger games to take advantage of his hard-earned status for a premium parking place.)
Hank ended up self-publishing a book about his experience, Confronting the Big C. Eventually he and his wife moved to Indiana where he served as interim President of Goshen College before retiring. Hank had experienced a remarkable healing, and he believed it was the combination of good science and open-minded spirituality that led to his outcome. He lived twenty-five more years until dying at the age of 93.
I believe Hank would say there are no guaranteed outcomes in this life. None of us are getting out of here alive, and death will eventually take every one of us. But when facing serious challenges, we can choose to gather and employ all the best resources to increase our chances for a desired outcome. We may never know how all these different forces – medical, spiritual, social, emotional – might interact with each other. Some effects we can see and measure. But others, like prayer, may involve forces that are small and subtle. But that doesn’t mean they can’t make things happen.
Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D 