Tag Archives: christianity

Are You an “Everyday Mystic?”

For centuries, a “mystic” was someone who had a rare and unique spiritual experience, different from what most of us would ever know.

This is reflected in the word itself: The term mystic is derived from the Greek noun “mystes,” which originally designated an initiate of a secret cult or mystery religion.   In Classical Greece and during the Hellenistic Age, the rites of the mystery religions were largely or wholly secret. The term” mystes” is itself derived from the verb “myein” (“to close,” especially the eyes or mouth) and signified a person who kept a secret.[i]

But in recent years, the term “everyday mystic” has come into use. Here’s one description:

An “everyday mystic” is someone who seeks or experiences spiritual depth and transcendence within ordinary daily life, rather than through withdrawal from the world or extreme ascetic practices.

The concept suggests that mystical experience—that sense of connection to something greater, moments of profound awareness, or spiritual insight—doesn’t require monasteries, retreats, or renouncing worldly responsibilities. Instead, everyday mystics find the sacred in mundane activities: washing dishes, walking to work, caring for children, or sitting in traffic.[ii]

I have known quite a few “everyday mystics.” They don’t try to be different or better than anyone else — they are simply doing something they feel called to do and, in the process, find a deep connection beyond and within themselves.  They don’t do it for money, or to prove their worth, or to puff up their ego. 

Some examples came to my mind:

  1. A physical therapist who told me there were times working with patients when his mind would become quiet and he would feel as if light was passing through him to the person he was treating.
  2. Farmers, gardeners and hikers who sense a silent and limitless bond with the earth and the mysterious processes which underly all life.
  3. Musicians who feel as if the music is playing through them.
  4. Grandparents when they behold their grandchildren.  They had loved their own children from the moment each child was born, but so much of parenting is about being a manager, behavior coach and the one person responsible for everything to do with the child. But then a grandchild appears and seeing them evokes a sense of pure wonder.
  5. Artists who get immersed in their process and end up creating something far beyond what they could have imagined when they started and don’t know how it happened.
  6. Mechanics who have an innate sense of what is wrong with a car and how to fix it with the least cost and effort, working in harmony with all the moving parts instead of simply using their will to fix something that is wrong.
  7. A young man who told me he was pitching for his college team and for a few innings the ball seemed to go exactly where he intended every time.  The experience passed and he never had it again.  He could not explain how it happened but has never forgotten what it felt like.
  8. Golfers who watch a ball rise and fall through the air with a grace and purpose that feels as if something more is present than a little ball being struck.
  9. Ocean swimmers who love the mystery of being on the surface of the limitless sea, and who feel deeply at home in salt water—perhaps sensing an unbroken thread of experience going back to our pre-human ancestors as well as our personal life as it began in the womb.
  10. People who know they are dying and “descend into the heart,” losing their fear and becoming open and observant towards everything around them.

Richard Rohr said, “For me, “mysticism” simply means experiential knowledge of spiritual things, as opposed to book knowledge, secondhand knowledge, or even church knowledge.”[iii]

Huston Smith said, “Most mystics do not want to read religious wisdom; they want to be it. A postcard of a beautiful lake is not a beautiful lake, and Sufis may be defined as those who dance in the lake.”[iv]

We can always be grateful when such moments come to us.

“Hands Cradling a Child’s Head,” Kathe Kollwitz, 1920

[i] https://www.britannica.com/topic/mysticism

[ii] https://claude.ai/chat/468625b2-74aa-4984-ba6e-8eb7f17a257a

[iii] https://cac.org/daily-meditations/sidewalk-spirituality/

[iv] Huston Smith, Jeffery Paine (2012). “The Huston Smith Reader,” p.93, Univ of California Press

Lead Image: “Ocean Swimmer In Thick Fog Near Reykjaice,” storyblocks.com

When Scales Fall From Our Eyes

“The phrase “the scales fall from your eyes” means to suddenly understand the truth about something that was previously unclear or hidden. It often refers to a moment of realization or enlightenment.”[i]

A friend once confided to me about an experience she had at a niece’s wedding.  She had not seen the young woman for some time and was excited to travel across country for the celebration.  When she first saw the bride and groom, she was struck by how “generously built” both were and couldn’t get that thought out of her mind.  The time came for the bridal dance. As the couple stepped toward each other, they looked into each other’s eyes, and my friend said their faces were full of love and happiness.  She said she was ashamed she had initially noticed only their outward appearance while being blind to their inner beauty.

Some years ago, I attended a five-day seminar in Berkeley with Marcus Borg, a prominent New Testament scholar.  Borg was a calm, gifted and insightful teacher who prized good thinking and careful reflection.  On the last day, one of the students asked him if he’d had any mystical experiences.  He acknowledged he had but was reluctant to share. The students pressed him, however, and he told us his story.

After spending time in Israel, he and his wife had boarded a plane home. He had settled in his seat and was quietly observing the other passengers as they boarded. One man caught his interest – Borg couldn’t help but note he was particularly awkward looking.  He also remembered looking at the back of the seat in front of him and thinking the vinyl upholstery seemed noticeably dull.  He settled in and the plane soon took off.

A little while later, Borg felt the presence of light growing in the cabin.  It seemed to illuminate everything around him with an unusual radiance; he was transfixed. He could tell no one else was seeing what he was seeing. The other passengers were immersed in this light, and each person seemed to be a wonder to behold; the gentleman who had looked awkward now seemed to bear a palpable dignity. Even the back of the seat in front of him now seemed fascinating.  Borg’s wife could tell something unusual was occurring to him and asked him if he was OK; he nodded to assure her he was, not wanting to break the spell.  

The mysterious light slowly began to dissipate, and soon everything in the cabin looked normal again.  But he could not forget how, in those moments, it seemed he was seeing “reality” as it “really is” – permeated with light.

(In the stories shared by hospice workers and volunteers, this is not an unusual experience as people come to the boundary of this life.)

The phrase “the scales fall from your eyes” means to suddenly understand the truth about something that was previously unclear or hidden. It often refers to a moment of realization or enlightenment.

We go along in life, living with routine assumptions about the people we see and believing we know what “reality” is like.  Then we have moments when “the scales fall from our eyes.”  Like my friend at the wedding, we may suddenly discover how easily we misjudge other people when we look only at their outward appearance and instead begin to appreciate them in new ways.  Like Professor Borg on the airplane, a sense of awe and wonder can come over us unexpectedly, suggesting there is a radiant presence within the everyday objects and people we encounter. 

It can be a shock to realize scales are falling from our eyes.  It can be liberating to discover what new truths are now revealed.

[i] Online version of the Cambridge Dictionary

Lead image: “Airplane window view with wing at sunrise;” Freepik.com

Romantic Fiction, Baseball Passions, and Spiritual Masterpieces

A high school friend once told me her mother had gotten a phone call from a neighbor:

“He died!” the neighbor said in tears, “He’s gone!  He’s really gone!”

My friend’s mother was shaken. “Who?? Who died?”

In between sobs, the friend named a character from her favorite television soap opera.  And continued to cry.

Why do we get invested in imaginary situations?

An anthropology professor I know once invited me to a day-long conference at UCSB focusing on the emerging field of evolutionary psychology.  Scholars were exploring how much human behavior could be explained by tracing it back to the adaptive needs of our ancestors.  While some of the presentations were over my head, one stuck with me. Many people spend a great deal of time reading “romance novels” and “pulp fiction”.  The presenter wondered: why would we be wired to spend our time this way?  It seems like such a waste. If life is all about survival, reading about fictional characters in melodramatic stories seems pointless – it doesn’t put any food on the table or make us physically stronger.  After exploring several alternatives, he concluded that this activity must be a way for us to exercise our capacity to understand and navigate our social relationships without any actual personal risk or vulnerability.  We human beings are social animals who live in groups and tribes: fiction allows us to explore how to do this in a way that doesn’t expose us to any real danger.

Puppies may romp, wrestle and bite each other but never actually hurt one another. Such play is a rehearsal and training for a time when, as adult dogs, they may encounter actual adversaries.   They’re safely rehearsing skills they may need in real life.

Which leads to a critical question someone asked me this week: “Why do you get so wrapped up following your baseball team?  It’s just a game, but you talk about it like its real life.”  I have been pondering this question. Why do I care so much about a made-up game?  When the season is over, nothing has changed in my life or the fate of the world.  I think being a sports fan is like reading compelling works of fiction: It’s a way to see how human beings behave under pressure over a long period of time.  In the process, we become emotionally and mentally invested in the drama and look for lessons to live by. Some examples…If you learn how to function well under high expectations and pressure, you will live a better life.  If you let one disappointing experience stay with you, your performance will suffer.  If you learn how to be a good teammate, you’ll go farther.

Baseball is like a novel with 162 chapters – plus up to 22 bonus episodes if you make the playoffs.  All the while, human drama is unfolding.

When I was a kid, I was short. So was Maury Wills, the Dodger shortstop. He didn’t hit many home runs. But he figured out how to get on first and steal bases. He showed how you could adapt and thrive even if you weren’t the biggest and strongest guy out there.

Or take Sandy Koufax. The greatest pitcher of his time, he declined to pitch the opening game of the 1965 World Series because it fell on Yom Kippur, the sacred Jewish holiday.  He showed everyone what personal integrity looks like.  (As an example of divine favor, he pitched and won the final game that clinched the Series.)

We human beings are story tellers and game players. From these activities we learn crucial lessons.

Our spiritual traditions are full of invaluable stories.

Buddhism has an abundance of tales, parables, and koans that elegantly convey great insight.

Judaism has a remarkable abundance of brilliant stories, passed down over the centuries to help us reflect on our assumptions and values.

An expert once asked Jesus what he needed to do to inherit eternal life.  Jesus affirmed the two most important commandments: love God and love your neighbor. The expert asked him, “Who is my neighbor?”  And Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan.[i]

When he wanted to teach about the loving and merciful nature of God, he didn’t give a lecture on ethics, but said, “A man once had two sons…” and told the story of the Prodigal Son.[ii]

Many of us have heard these two stories countless times. But they never lose their power.

Both stories are total fictions. They never really happened. Jesus made them up. But they tell us profound truths about who we are and who we can be in simple and unforgettable ways.

Years ago I taught a class in religious studies at Heritage College in rural Washington. One of the required books was Black Elk Speaks, an account of teachings attributed to Black Elk, an Oglala Sioux Medicine Man.  I always have appreciated this statement attributed to him:

“This they tell, and whether it happened so or not I do not know; but if you think about it, you can see that it is true.”[iii]

[i] Luke 10: 25-37

[ii] Luke 15: 11-32

[iii] “The Offering of the Pipe,” Black Elk Speaks, John G. Niehardt, 1932

Lead Image: Sitting Around The Campfire; ar.inspiredpencil.com

When Opportunity Whispers

Recently I became curious about the word “opportunity.”   I wondered where the word came from and if it might have application for spiritual life.

I was surprised to find it originated as a sailing term.  The root word in Latin contains the word “port,” meaning a harbor.  The word “ob” means “in front of” or “in the direction of.”  And the Latin word “veniens’ means “coming toward.” Put that together and you have:

…ob portunm veniens “coming toward a port,” in reference to the wind…

I like that: an opportunity is like sailing at sea and realizing a wind has arisen that can take you to a place you want to be.

The Biblical words for “wind” are evocative. In Hebrew, the word “ruah” can mean wind, breath, or spirit.  In Greek, the word “pneuma” also can mean wind, breath, or spirit. Our spiritual ancestors experienced the coming of the divine spirit like the awareness of a fresh breeze.  We don’t know where it comes from, but we sense it moving us in a new direction.    

Some personal stories come to mind.

When I was in seminary, we were in a couples’ group.  The leader asked us to describe how our spiritual journeys began.  One woman said her mother had been a heroin addict.   She was eight years old and had never been to a church.  But one Sunday morning, out of nowhere, she felt a desire to attend a nearby service. She walked down the street by herself.  When she arrived, she felt she had come home.  She began attending regularly, learning all she could about what faith meant.  Over the years, it not only gave her a sense of security and direction but also allowed her to care for her mother more effectively.

I have a friend who is a Catholic priest.  He was living in northwest Washington and planned to be in Seattle for the weekend.  But he got an inner prompting that he needed to go visit a friend who lived in Yakima.  He caught a plane that day. When he landed he called his friend’s house. His friend’s wife answered. She told him she was surprised to hear him, and he could not be showing up at a better time – her husband was dying and would love to see him. My friend went to the house, reunited with his friend, and was at the beside when he died.

More than once, I’ve heard people tell about having been part of a church that focused constantly on how unworthy people are, particularly any that don’t conform to traditional social standards.  Over time, they sensed something was not right.  They begin to feel a nudging to try someplace new and began exploring options.  They cautiously enter some new sanctuary, often sitting in the back row.  The primary message they hear is that the purpose of spiritual life is to not focus on outmoded ideas of divine judgement but instead become open to the power of love and grace.  Often, the person tells me tears of joy began to flow. 

An 8-year-old girl senses a breeze blowing gently towards a small church down the street and sets her sail in that direction.  With little to go on but the appearance of a feeling, a man changes his course for the weekend and heads to the home of a dying friend.  People who had been told they deserve to live on a stormy sea of doubt and condemnation spy an unfamiliar harbor on the horizon, turn their tiller in that direction, and arrive in a harbor that feels like heaven.

Not every hunch, intuition or idea that appears within us is born of the Spirit.  We need to be careful and discerning, remembering that the Spirit will always lead us toward personal responsibility, ethical actions, and service to others.  It can feel risky to follow such promptings.  But when we do, we can experience blessings we had not imagined.

I am reminded of the words of Tagore: “The winds of grace are always blowing, but it is you that must raise your sails.”

Sometimes in our daily life, opportunity knocks.  Sometimes in our spiritual life, opportunity whispers.

Photograph: “Sailing ships entering south harbor in Helsinki, Finland on October 12, 2019, when Traditional Sailing Day is being celebrated in the country.” dreamtime.com

I Like Bob

                  Fr. Virgil Cordano was a legend here in Santa Barbara.  He served as priest at the Mission for more than 50 years and was loved by people all over town for his warmth, wit, intelligence and community leadership.   People would ask him if wanted to be Pope.  “I would for 15 minutes,” he’d say. “I’d make all the changes that need to be made, then resign.  That job is too difficult.”

                  On May 8, we heard the announcement that the job was offered to Bob Prevost from the south side of Chicago.  He accepted and is now Pope Leo XIV,

                  There’s a lot to like about Bob.

                  Places a Premium on Friendship As a young man, he chose the small Augustinian order.  “Being an Augustinian means being pretty open,” Father Moral Antón said, adding that, compared to other orders, theirs does not have “very rigid norms.”  “It’s about eternal friendship, friends, wanting to walk with friends and find truth with friends,” he said. “Wanting to live in the world, to live life — but with friends, with people who love you, with whom you love…It is not always something you find,” he added, “but, well, that’s the ideal.”[i]

                  Does His Own Dishes: When he was a bishop in Chicago, he’d drop by the priests’ residence for dinner. When the meal was done, he would take his own dishes to the kitchen to wash them.  He continued that practice even when he was a cardinal in Rome.  “As a cardinal, he continued to live in an apartment near the Vatican by himself, forgoing the usual nuns who help. He shopped and cooked for himself, and lunched with the young priests, busing their plates.”[ii]

                  He’s a Baseball Fan.  Chicago’s baseball loyalties are famously divided between the two teams that have been there since the 1800s: the Cubs on the north side, and the White Sox on the south.  Bob grew up on the south side and is therefore a White Sox fan.  This is not about choosing a team because you want to be associated with a winner. (Since 1917, the White Sox have won one World Series championship while the New York Yankees have won 27.)  Bob is a White Sox fan because he is loyal to his neighborhood.

                  He Likes Road Trips He is known as someone who would turn down the option of flying to destinations in favor of driving, often by himself. “As bishop in Chiclayo, he drove 12 hours down to the capital, Lima, to meet Cardinal Joseph W. Tobin, an old friend from the United States. “I have this image of him covered with dust in a beat-up baseball cap,” Cardinal Tobin said.”[iii]

                  He’s a Global Citizen Bob speaks English, Italian and Spanish. He’s lived with the poor in Peru and traveled in Africa and Asia.  He’s an American by birth but sees himself as serving all the people on the planet.

                  He Has the Courage to Face Complicated Issues Bob’s predecessor and friend, Pope Francis, took a leadership role focused on the challenge of climate change; he listened to experts from many disciplines and produced a terrific ecological encyclical, Laudato Si.  Pope Leo IV is making a similar focus:

…. In his inagural address to the College of Cardinals,  he said the church would address the risks that artificial intelligence poses to “human dignity, justice and labor.” And in his first speech to journalists, he cited the “immense potential” of A.I. while warning that it requires responsibility “to ensure that it can be used for the good of all.”

While it is far too early to say how Pope Leo will use his platform to address these concerns or whether he can have much effect, his focus on artificial intelligence shows he is a church leader who grasps the gravity of this modern issue.”[iv]

                  I appreciate these comments from one of his long-time colleagues: Father Banks said he texted his old boss after Francis died. “I think you’d make a great pope,” he said he wrote, “but I hope for your sake you’re not elected. The cardinal responded, Father Banks said, writing, “‘I’m an American, I can’t be elected.’” He still promptly responds to friends. The pope sometimes signs messages Leo XIV — sometimes Bob.[v]

                  I don’t envy all the challenges Pope Leo XIV faces.  But I’m grateful the world can see a gifted, compassionate leader from America who wants to make a difference for the entire human family.

                  I like Bob.  I wish him well.

[i] “The Small, Tight-Knit Religious Order That Molded Pope Leo XIV,” NY Times, May 13,2025

[ii] New York Times, May 9, 2025

[iii] “Long Drives and Short Homilies: How Father Bob Became Pope Leo,” NYTimes, May 17, 2025

[iv] “Top Priority for Pope Leo: Warn the World of the A.I. Threat,” NYTimes, May 15, 2025

[v] “Long Drives and Short Homilies: How Father Bob Became Pope Leo,” NYTimes, May 17, 2025

Lead image: “Then-Bishop Robert Prevost, now Pope Leo XIV, stands in floodwaters in the Chiclayo Diocese in the aftermath of heavy rains in northwestern Peru in March 2023, in this screenshot from a video by Caritas Chiclayo” (NCR screengrab/Caritas Chiclayo)

“A Voice in My Mind Said: I Feel Awe”

Dacher Keltner is a psychology professor at UC Berkeley.  For more than 20 years, his research has focused on answering the question, “What makes a good life?”  At one point, he felt he had the answer.  To test it, he and his team conducted thousands of interviews with people around the world and analyzed the results.  What they discovered was also reflected in Keltner’s personal life experiences, including being at the bedside of his dying brother in 2019.

Rolf had been dealing with colon cancer for several years and had decided it was time to take the “cocktail” of prescribed medication that would peacefully bring about his death.  After receiving this news, Dacher drove from Berkeley with his wife and daughters, picked up his mother in Sacramento, and arrived at his brother’s house in the foothills of the Sierras at 10 PM, joining other family members at the bedside. Here are excerpts from his account:

Rolf’s face was full and flushed. The sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks caused by colon cancer were gone; the tightened, sagging skin around his mouth smoothed. His lips curled upward at the corners.

I rested my right hand on his left shoulder, a rounded protrusion of bone. I held it the way I would the smooth granite stones we used to find near the rivers we swam in as young brothers.

“Rolf this is Dach.”

“You are the best brother in the world.”

My daughter Natalie laid her hand lightly on his shoulder blades: “We love you Ralf.”

The cycle of his breathing slowed. He was listening.  Aware.

Listening to Rolf’s breath, I sensed the vast expense of 55 years of our brotherhood… (at this point, Dach’s mind fills with memories of their many shared adventures including skateboarding, playing on the same Little League team, traveling in Mexico, and being the best man at each other’s wedding) …

I sensed a light radiating from Rolf’s face. It pulsated in concentric circles, spreading outward, touching us as we leaned in with slightly bowed heads. The chatter in my mind, clasping words about the stages of colon cancer, new treatments, lymph nodes, and survival rates, faded. I could sense a force around his body pulling him away. And questions in my mind.

What is Rolf thinking?

What is he feeling?

What does it mean for him to die?

A voice in my mind said: I feel awe.

…Watching Rolf pass, I felt small. Quiet.  Humble. Pure. The boundaries that separated me from the outside world faded. I felt surrounded by something vast and warm. My mind was open, curious, aware, wondering.[i]

“A voice in my mind said: I feel awe.” The feeling of awe, Dacher believes, is the most important human emotion we can experience.  He and his team concluded there are eight primary ways we can encounter awe; one of them is being at the boundary of life and death.[ii] 

I experience awe attending memorial services.

This week I attended a celebration of the life of a legendary local building contractor, John Carter, who lived to be 96.  Family, friends and employees shared many stories of his ingenuity, accomplishments, innovations and integrity.  One story in particular has lingered in my mind. John was born on a farm in the San Fernando Valley. One day he and his brother decided to dig their way to China using an empty coffee can.  They dug for days; the hole became deep enough that they could stand in it.  Eventually they gave up. That was the early hint of a life filled with ambitious plans, determination and a love of moving earth and making things.  All those qualities were already present when he was a child and had a vision in his mind and a coffee can in his hand.  Where do such qualities come from?

A few months ago, I attended a private family graveside service for Joe Jowell, who died at 93. His children and grandchildren recounted highlights of his life. Joe was born and raised in Hawaii.  He was a ten-year-old riding his bike on Sunday morning, December 7 when he looked up and wondered why a large group of planes were flying overhead; moments later he saw them dropping bombs on Pearl Harbor.  After finishing high school, he moved to San Francisco.  He served in the Navy during the Korean War. He then spent five years preparing to become a priest in the Boston Maryknoll Brotherhood.  He decided to leave that order to marry and raise a family in Long Beach.  Joe became a certified Appliance Repair Technician and worked for Sears for many years.   He and his wife were raising five children when she died, leaving him on his own. Later one of his sons took his own life.  Joe learned to endure these losses and wanted to help others experiencing grief. He became a Hospice volunteer and served our community for 35 years. I met Joe when I became Director at Hospice of Santa Barbara in 2008 – I was told he was known by his colleagues as “St. Joe.” Sixteen years later I had privilege of hearing his family’s stories at his graveside.  If we had seen Joe at Costco or in a hospital hallway, could we have imagined all he’d experienced and how many people he had cared for?

Watching his brother take his last breath, Derik Keltner said: “My mind was open, curious, aware, wondering.”  He believes experiencing awe puts us in touch with the mysteries of life.  It both humbles and inspires us.

When someone’s life ends, we begin to see what mattered and what it meant.  Time and again, I have been filled with awe.

[i] Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life, Dacher Keltner, 2023, pages xxi-xxiii

[ii] The eight categories: moral beauty, collective effervescence, nature, music, visual design, spiritual and religious, awe, life and death, and epiphanies (moments in which a new and grand understanding dawns).

I first came across Keltner’s work as cited by Jonathan Haidt in his book, The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness,  which was the subject of my recent post, Rising Above the Phone-Based Culture.  I expect to share more of Keltner’s findings in the weeks to come.

Photo: Late Afternoon, Goleta Beach, January, 2025

Our Motivations Don’t Have to Be Pure to Be Good

                  When I first began my spiritual journey, I was enthralled with the idea that I could escape the influence of my selfish ego and achieve some kind of saintly purity.  I’d seen what complete self-centeredness could do to my life, and like a prisoner for whom the jail door suddenly flew open, I couldn’t wait to find freedom.  I read accounts of saints and sages.  I experimented with meditation, recorded and analyzed my dreams, memorized Psalms, and sought spiritual guides. I read the Sermon on the Mount, which includes strong statements to discourage us from publicly displaying our spirituality when we are fasting, giving to charity, and praying. [i]

                  Fifteen years later I was driving downtown to volunteer at the local soup kitchen.  Two different voices within me began a conversation:

Inner Voice One: “I’ve been meaning to do this for some time. Glad I finally signed up and am on my way.” 

Inner Voice Two: “You know, be sure and tell your congregation you are doing this.  You’ll look good in their eyes.”

Inner Voice One: “What a selfish thing to think! I’m not doing this to show off. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do.”

Inner Voice Two: “Of course you are.  That’s great. But it won’t hurt your reputation to let people know you are doing this.”

I didn’t like Voice Two and could not silence it.  I was frustrated.

A few months later I was on a long drive north on Interstate 5. I thought again about the persistence of self-centered Voice Two.  I decided to try an experiment. I visualized Voice Two as a separate person standing in front of me.   I stared at him.  He looked uncomfortable and embarrassed being examined so carefully and kept looking downward. I began feeling compassion for Voice Two.  I realized it had never meant me any harm. It was there to speak up for me, protect me, always wanting to help me be somebody I could feel good about.  I stood in front of him.  I put my right hand on his shoulder.  “You know,” I said, “I now realize you work very hard on my behalf and always act with the best of intention.  I’m not going to get angry with you anymore.  I’m not going to try to get rid of you. Let’s be friends.  I’ll let you offer suggestions whenever you wish.  I just don’t want you to be in charge.”

It was a moment of inner reconciliation that brought me a sense of peace.  I gave up trying to be a saint. I accepted being someone who may often have mixed motivations that I need to sort through.  I would continue to engage in activities for a higher purpose but not get upset if I also hear Voice Two whispering to me how this might affect my reputation and self-esteem.  If I personally accomplish something that has been challenging for me, I am going to welcome feelings of pride and satisfaction.

Several years later, as part of my Hospice training, I attended a retreat at the Metta Institute which included Buddhist meditation practice. I learned one key principle: “Welcome everything, push away nothing.”[ii]  Rather than try to control everything our busy mind comes up with, we let all our thoughts arise; we then calmly examine them and choose which ones are worth engaging.   I have found that to be a practical way to manage all the different ideas, motivations and strategies that can arise within.

I do think there are saints in this world whose motives are always pure.  They don’t know they are saints.  They meet those Sermon on the Mount standards without thinking about it.  I know I’m not one of them.  But I don’t want my mixed motives to keep me from joining other people to get good things done and enjoy life along the way.

[i] Matthew 6: 1-8, 16-18

[ii] The Five Invitations: Discovering What Death Can Teach Us About Living Fully, Frank Ostateski

The Way of Nature and the Way of Grace

I’ve been ruminating over these words for fourteen years:

Τhe nuns taught us there are two ways through life- 

the way of nature… and the way of grace.

You have to choose which one you’ll follow.

Grace doesn’t try to please itself.

Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked.

Accepts insults and injuries.

Nature only wants to please itself…

– Get others to please it too.

Likes to lord it over them…

To have its own way.

It finds reasons to be unhappy… 

when all the world is shining around it, 

when love is smiling through all things.

Τhey taught us that no one who loves the way of grace

ever comes to a bad end.

We hear this in the voice the mother of the O’Brien family (Jessica Chastain) at the opening of The Tree of Life. As she recites the first six lines, we see dream-like images of her with her young sons in 1950s suburban Texas. At the line, “Nature only wants to please itself…” the camera shifts to the father (played by Brad Pitt) at their dinner table.  After several viewings, I realized the shift in focus suggests the mother embodies the grace the nuns talked about while the father embodies “the way of nature.”

“The way of grace:” self-less, tolerant, forgiving.  The “way of nature:” self-centered, willful, domineering.  Those living “the way of grace” experience a world shining with love; those living the way of nature are blind to all that shines, and instead “finds reasons to be unhappy.”

From the beginning of my spiritual awakening in my twenties, I wanted to “live in the way of grace.”

As a pastor, living “in the way of grace” felt like the ideal job requirement. I strived to lift that up and live that out with the people I was serving. It brought me joy.

As time has passed, I am less certain one can always live in the way of grace.

As Malick uses the phrase “way of nature,” it feels selfish, insensitive, and destructive.  But we can think of it another way. I am going to interpret it as our biological and evolutionary history.  We carry primal instincts within us that recognize our need to survive.  We can draw on a stubborn stamina that enables us to endure hard times with grit and determination.  If we lose at something and it hurts, we may resolve to recover instead of giving up. Winning and accomplishing a goal feels good. We find ourselves in a position of power and appreciate what that offers – not only for ourselves, but for others.  Are these moments we want to run from?

I once organized and participated in an Earth Day retreat at the La Casa de Maria Retreat Center.  We had invited a local trail guide to lead a tour of our property.  He had an interest in both the natural world and ways we can listen to our ancestors.  Our group took an hour to make a slow walk around the 26-acre property, stopping along the way.

We came to the organic garden and paused.  He reminded us human beings have been farming for several thousand years.  He asked us to close our eyes and visualize our own ancestors farming and what their life was like. Most of my ancestors came from Scandinavia. I found myself traveling back in time, watching them work in the cold climate and bare soil.

We came alongside the San Ysidro Creek.  Before agriculture, our ancestors were hunters and gatherers.  We closed our eyes and imagined their life.  I realized my ancestors survived by learning to fish the North Sea and hunt elk.  A hard life.

Living “the way of nature” involves cunning and a strong will.  That can get messy when it demeans other people.  But those instincts in themselves are not bad.

In 2008 I transitioned from parish work to leading nonprofit organizations.  I discovered I could not be, in the eyes of everyone, always “full of grace.” Sometimes I had to make unpopular decisions.  We had to let some people go, and as they left they didn’t feel like “love was smiling through all things.”  But these actions had to be done.  Looking back, I don’t regret them. It was part of my job.

The spiritual life is not an unending experience of grace and beauty.  Jesus was more a lion than a lamb.  Many of his conversations comforted, healed and renewed.  But other times he confronted people with their self-righteousness, and they walked away dejected or angry.  He told people what they needed to hear.

Trying to be gracious every moment doesn’t guarantee ideal outcomes. Sometimes things just go badly.  But we do the best we can.

Is it true — “…there are two ways through life – the way of nature… and the way of grace.  You have to choose which one you’ll follow?” I’m not so sure it’s that simple.  I believe there is a third way, one which draws on both nature and grace.  There are times when we need instincts for survival that nature has given us so we can protect ourselves and others and do the right thing.  But that doesn’t exclude “the way of grace.”  Grace is always worth striving for, and when it emerges it comes with a radiant awareness.

Images: The Tree of Life, Terrence Mallick


Last October I wrote another post inspired by Tree of Life: Where Were We?