An offering of spiritual insights and epiphanies.
Dear Reader,
As we turn into the new year, I am going to take a break from writing. Not sure for how long – maybe just one week, or maybe longer. Not sure if I will pick up and keep going like I’ve been doing or do something different. Words that have come to me include “lie fallow,” “take a hiatus,” and “pause to regroup.” If you have any advice or ideas, let me know at info@drjsb.com. I am grateful to have this connection with every one of you.
Steve
Over the years, I’ve grown in appreciation for the different ways artists imagine and portray traditional stories. The Advent and Christmas season is a great example. Here are a few of the works I have come to treasure over the years.
The Angel Visits Mary
A young peasant girl named Mary receives a surprise visit from the angel Gabriel, who announces she has been chosen to bear a child with a divine destiny. In 1485, Botticelli imagined it this way:
…the incoming of the divine Spirit seems to almost be knocking the angel over as it travels towards Mary.
In 1898, the English painter Tanner imagined it this way:
…the “angel” appears as a shaft of pure light; Mary seems to be contemplating what she is experiencing.
Joseph’s Dreams
Mary was engaged to Joseph, and when he discovers she is pregnant, he decides to break the engagement. But an angel appears in a dream and changes his mind.
In 1645, the French painter Georges de La Tour imagined it this way:
Joseph has fallen asleep in a chair while reading, and the unseen messenger is near him with an unseen candel illuminating the space between them as the dream is transmitted.
After the child is born, the family must flee due to threats from the government. In the process, Jospeph is twice more guided by dreams. In 1645, Rembrandt imagined one of those times this way:
…the angel is in the room with Mary and Joseph as they sleep. The angel extends the left hand to Mary while touching Joseph’s shoulder to impart the dream.
“The Visitation” — Mary Visits Her Older Cousin Elizabeth
In this episode, the newly pregnant Mary travels south to visit her older cousin Elizabeth, whom the angel Gabriel had told her has also become pregnant. When Mary arrives and greets Elizabeth, the baby in Elizabeth’s womb senses Mary’s presence and “leaps” in response; the women share an intimate moment of mutual knowing.
In 1440, the sculptor Luca Della Robia created this scene:
…here’s a close-up of the two women looking into each other’s eyes:
In 1530, the Italian painter Pontormo envisioned it this way:
…this image also merits a close-up of the faces as they behold each other:
That woman between the two of them who is looking at us — what does she want us to understand? No one knows for sure. I was excited to view this in person recently when it was at the Getty Museum a few years ago.
The Birth of the Child
In 1500, Botticelli created this scene, which he called “Mystic Nativity:”
…the manger is in the center of the picture…Joseph is asleep…Mary and the child are gazing at each other…while above, below, and around them, angels dance in celebration.
In 1646, Rembrandt created this contrasting version:
Simple, earthy, quiet, intimate.
And in 1865, the pioneering British photographer Julia Margaret Cameron created a “Nativity” scene in her studio using working class people as her models:
Great spiritual stories can contain a “surplus of meaning” – there is not just one way they can be interpreted or portrayed. Just as scientists use math to reveal important truths, artists engage our imagination. Our souls welcome this. Imagination allows us to see beyond the surface of life into the mysteries and wonder which surround us.
Merry Christmas, dear readers!
Lead image: “L’Annuncio” (The Annunciation), Salvado Dali, 1967
Some friends offered us their condo in Coronado for this past week. The unit is on the 9th floor with impressive views of the Pacific, and one night I took this photo of the sunset.
Seeing our environment from a higher vantage point helps us see beyond our up-close, on-the-ground view of life. We see where we are and what’s around us more clearly.
While here, we celebrated Thanksgiving with some of our own family and my wife’s sister’s family. Altogether there were 14 adults and 9 children.
I’ve heard that all photographs have three levels: bottom, middle and top. In my photograph, the bottom is the pool and shoreline; the middle is the ocean; and the top is the sky. As I looked at our gathering, I realized there were three groups: the 9 kids all under the age of 10 who are coming up in the world; the group of adults and parents who are in the middle of their journeys; and the four of us grandparents. I also became aware of who was not there…parents, grandparents, and friends with whom I’ve shared holidays over the years who now live only in my memory.
I recognized that I was the oldest person present. I’m in the top third of that photo — I am approaching my sunset. But I am also beholding the sun rising and shining in the lives and faces of the children and younger adults we were with.
It again brings to mind a talk I once heard at the local Lobero Theater given by my beloved mentor and scholar of world spirituality, Huston Smith. Someone asked him what he thinks will happen when we die. He said there are two common ideas. One is that we will be able to forever experience something like the sun rising. The other is that we will be absorbed into the sunlight. He smiled and said if he was given a choice, he’d watch the sunrise. But after a few thousand years, he assumes he will have had enough. At that point he’d be ready to merge into it.
I first heard about “Third Things” through the work of Parker Palmer. Palmer used “Third Things” to build relationships and trust in retreats and programs over the years, and marriage and family counselors often recommend it to their clients. It can work well with two people and in small groups, with those who have known each other a long time and with those just getting acquainted.
Palmer’s underlying assumption is that our soul is shy like a wild animal.[i] It prefers to remain in the background in everyday conversations and encounters. But “Third Things” can create an atmosphere in which our souls can emerge. It may be a poem, a story, a case study, a spiritual reflection, a piece of music or art, or a shared activity. People take time to focus on the “Third Thing” with one another and give each soul a chance to surface and speak. Here are some personal examples.
In our current culture we can feel as if we live in a country “divided by algorithms” –much of how we see the world and other people is filtered by the digital news sources we rely on and comments by people who think like us. When we are around people who may see the world differently (sometimes at holiday gatherings) we can feel that gap is unbridgeable. But when we can find “third things” to focus on, we discover we don’t have to remain prisoners within those digital worlds. We can create common ground with one another. Maybe that’s one way we can strive to come together instead of being driven apart.
There is something about having a “Third Thing” that allows our souls to emerge and be present with one another.
[i] Note: In an earlier post, I described in more detail Parker Palmer’s metaphor: “Your Soul Is Like A Wild Animal”
Lead Image: “Walking Together,” unsplash.com
A friend and fellow blogger dropped his daughter off at college in Eastern Washington state, then boarded a plane going home to southern California. He recently described how it felt as the plane rose into the air:
Casting a shadow moving away from there. That’s us down there, pointing back toward where the 18 years happened. Watching the long-planned departure take place. Mulling that our part in her life is getting smaller. This is what we hoped for, right? That’s us down there, shrinking.[i]
Brad’s imagery lingered with me. I began imagining how some life experiences are like being on an airplane as we arrive or depart.
Arrivals
The birth of a baby: I remember the moment when the doctor lifted our first daughter from the womb. She looked my way, our eyes met, and she seemed to be thinking, “Where in the world am I?”
A child’s first laugh: My nephew and his wife recently shared an enchanting video of the first time their infant son looked at them and smiled. That week my wife and I had been watching “Dark Winds,” a detective series set in a Navajo community. In one episode, an infant laughs for the first time, which, in Navajo culture, signifies the infant has become a person. The family holds a traditional ceremony to mark that moment.
First personal memory: I was probably 4 years old. I was standing in a bedroom in our house. I had taken three eggs from the refrigerator, snuck into the room, and was carefully dropping them one by one onto the linoleum floor. Just as I dropped the second one, my mother came down the hall, saw me, and said, “What in the world are you doing!?!” I said, “I wanted to see what it looked like when they cracked.” She took the third egg away from me. I can still see the yellow yolks floating in the puddle of egg white on the floor. That is the first time I remember being self-aware. I was watching myself; that same observer is me now, thinking about the words I am typing.
First spiritual awareness: In 1991, the child psychologist Robert Coles published The Spiritual Life of Children, in which he described how children in different cultures wonder about God and the meaning of life. Many of these experiences happen before a child is eight years old. Perhaps you have such a memory.
Landing in a far away country: In 1975, I flew to Europe on Icelandic Airlines. I remember looking out the window as the plane descended from the clouds; we were crossing the English Channel, then suddenly were over the green French countryside. It seemed like a dream.
First day on a new job: My most memorable first day of work was the day I began to serve as Executive Director at Hospice of Santa Barbara in September 2008. I had never imagined being in that role, but there I was. I sat down at my desk feeling both exhilarated and anxious. For months after, I felt like an impostor, as people expected me to know things I had yet to learn. I was a stranger finding his way in a new land.
Departures
Dropping kids off at Junior High: More than once, I drove away remembering what a hormonal and emotional roller coaster that time in life had been for me — and hoping for the best for our offspring.
Sending kids off to college: We did it twice by car, once at an airport. Like Brad says, after so many years it’s a curious feeling to realize you’ll no longer be providing daily oversight. They are on their own, come what may. “That’s us…shrinking.”
Retirement: My last full-time job was Director at La Casa de Maria Retreat Center. I had planned to retire in the fall of 2018. But on January 8, the Montecito Debris Flow swept away eight buildings on our property, including my office where I had posted my diplomas and favorite photographs; it all disappeared and was never found. In the months that followed, we worked on the recovery until the decision was made to shut the Center down indefinitely. I left in June of that year. After saying goodbye to the staff, I drove out the back gate, thinking about how some chapters in our life end so much differently than we had imagined.
Last Call: I don’t know where I will be for my final “departure” – at home, in a hospital, or in a facility. Some hospice nurses have told me that, when someone is in their final days, they suggest the family leaves a window partly open so the spirit will be able to ascend freely when it’s time. I have asked for that. The lyrics of an American folk hymn come to mind:
When the shadows of this life have gone — I’ll fly away
Like a bird from prison bars has flown — I’ll fly away (I’ll fly away)
I’ll fly away, oh glory — I’ll fly away (In the morning)
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by — I’ll fly away (I’ll fly away)
Life for me hasn’t felt like being a bird behind bars, but more like being a pilgrim in a land of mystery and wonder. Until that final boarding, may we appreciate all the arrivals and departures we have witnessed and those still to come.
[i]Brad McCarter, “Departing: College Dropoff #3,” Eyes Wide Roaming” blog; https://bradmccarter.substack.com/p/departing
“… when they study our civilization two thousand years from now, there will only be three things that Americans will be known for: the Constitution, baseball and jazz music. They’re the three most beautiful things Americans have ever created.” – writer and essayist Gerald Early, interviewed in Ken Burns’ documentary, Baseball
Having just endured an incredible World Series amid our current cultural and political climate, I will comment first on baseball.
Baseball may have roots in the English games of cricket and rounders, but by 1900 it had become 100% an American creation. 125 years later, it may not be a universal sport like soccer or basketball. But it has a passionate following in certain parts of Asia – particularly Japan and Korea – and in the Latin American countries that surround the Gulf of Mexico. At a time in our history in which “immigrants” are seen as “other,” the recent series included three superstars from Japan (Ohtani, Yamamoto, and Sasaki), a terrific first baseman from Tijuana (Alejandro Kirk), a Canadian playing for Los Angeles (Freddie Freeman), a star from the Dominican Republic (Vladimir Guerrero), a Puerto Rican (Kike Hernandez), a refugee from Cuba (Andy Pages), a Venezuelan (Miguel Rojas), and an African-American from Nashville (Mookie Betts), among others. The Dodger manager Dave Roberts was born in Okinawa to a Japanese mother and an active-duty African American Marine.
This American game has become a showcase for talented players from many backgrounds and cultures. It’s a game of opportunity, celebrating players no matter where they come from. It’s a game that can focus moment to moment on a particular individual player, but it’s a great team that wins and inspires. It’s a beautiful thing.
And then there’s jazz. One person who has helped me understand the deeper meaning of jazz is Wynton Marsalis. Ken Burns turned to Marsalis often in his Jazz documentary series, and everything he said struck me as revelatory. I saw him in concert several years ago and was again grateful for the insights he shared with the audience. Here is one of his observations:
As long as there is democracy, there will be people wanting to play jazz because nothing else will ever so perfectly capture the democratic process in sound. Jazz means working things out musically with other people. You have to listen to other musicians and play with them even if you don’t agree with what they’re playing. It teaches you the very opposite of racism and anti-Semitism. It teaches you that the world is big enough to accommodate us all.
Seeing and hearing gifted musicians express their individual gifts and voices while being a part of a larger group and delighting in the give and take with one another creates an experience in which the whole becomes greater than the parts. That’s jazz. When we experience it, it’s a beautiful thing.
And so is the Constitution.
Years ago, I was having lunch with a young Muslim grad student from Egypt as part of my community interfaith project. He told me he first learned about American culture while watching “Mighty Mouse” cartoons as a child. He shared favorite stories about growing up in Egypt, including how, during Ramadan, he and his childhood friends would wait for the signal that the time of daily fasting was over, then race from home to home enjoying the food set out by neighbors. He had come to appreciate all that America offers — particularly the constitution. “Do Americans realize how amazing it is that your country is ruled by a constitution instead of a dictator?” he once asked me.
The constitution was created by people who did not want to live in a political system like they had known in Europe – one in which some people would dominate others based on family ancestry, social position or a state-sponsored religion. The founders wanted to create a society in which people would experience a new level of freedom and opportunity. They worked long and hard to create the legal framework. It assumes people will let their deep passions be balanced by mutual respect and personal restraint. Like baseball, it assumes people will understand that to participate, everyone must follow established rules and customs until they are changed by due process. Like jazz, it teaches you this country is big enough to accommodate us all. When it is disrespected, it’s an offense to our ancestors who have given so much to honor and preserve it. When it is honored, it’s a beautiful thing.
America may leave the world more treasures – after all, there’s Broadway, rap, country music and Hollywood. But I will always celebrate baseball, jazz and the Constitution for what they offer and what they mean.
Lead image: “The raising of the American flag as the composer-conductor John Philip Sousa leads the Seventh (“Silk-Stocking”) Regiment Band in playing The Star-Spangled Banner during Opening Day of Yankee Stadium with the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees on April 18, 1923 at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, New York.“
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:
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.
[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
I knew the story of Rip van Winkel as a child, but it returned to my awareness several years ago.
My wife and I had moved my mother-in-law into a local retirement community. We attended a meeting for the adult offspring of new residents to help us appreciate some of the challenges faced by our “elders.” The speaker noted how quickly our culture was changing and how disorienting it can be. “They can feel like Rip Van Winkel,” the presenter said. “One day they wake up and everyone has these devices in their hands which seems to claim all their attention. They wonder: Where did these come from? Where was I when all this happened?”
Not long after, my mother-in-law asked us why all the “young people” were focused on their phones when they were visiting her.
Here’s a summary of the story, first published in 1819:
Rip Van Winkle, a Dutch American man with a habit of avoiding useful work, lives in a village at the foot of the Catskill Mountains in the years before the American Revolution. One day, he goes squirrel hunting in the mountains with his dog, Wolf, to escape his wife’s irritation. As evening falls, he hears a voice calling his name and finds a man dressed in old-fashioned Dutch clothing and carrying a keg. Rip helps the man carry his burden to a cleft in the rocks from which thunderous noises are emanating; the source proves to be a group of bearded men wearing similar outfits and playing ninepins. Not asking who these men are or how they know his name, Rip joins them in drinking from the keg he has helped carry and soon becomes so drunk that he falls asleep.
Rip awakens on a sunny morning, at the spot where he first saw the keg-carrier, and finds that many drastic changes have occurred; his beard is a foot long and has turned grey, his musket is badly deteriorated, and Wolf is nowhere to be found. Returning to his village, he discovers it to be larger than he remembers and filled with people in unfamiliar clothing, none of whom recognize him. When asked how he voted in the election that has just been held, he declares himself a loyal subject of George III, unaware that the American Revolutionary War has taken place in his absence. He learns that many of his old friends either were killed in the war or have left the village, and is disturbed to find a young man who shares his name, mannerisms, and younger appearance. A young woman states that her father is Rip Van Winkle, who has been missing for 20 years, and an old woman recognizes him as Rip. The young woman and the young Rip are his children, and the former has named her infant son after him as well. (i)
Fast forward to our time.
In 2004, an awkward college student named Mark Zuckerberg created an online platform he called “The Facebook.” 21 years later – about the same amount of time as Rip’s nap – it is now used by 3 billion people worldwide every month; Zuckerberg’s company tracks, analyzes and exploits every interaction.
In 2017, TikTok was launched as a way to share videos. It currently has more than 1.6 billion users and is considered a potentially serious security threat to the U.S.
In January 2021, a mob of thousands, encouraged by the U.S. President, stormed the nation’s capital, threatening to hang the Vice-President and interrupt the lawful process of certifying the recent election. Four people died, and among the injured were 174 police officers. This was the first insurrection of its kind since the nation’s founding. That same president was reelected in 2024 and pardoned those who had been convicted in the riot; everyday he is disregarding customs and processes that have held our country together for generations.
Where was I when all these events were coming into being? Sleeping somewhere in the Catskills?
It is a timeless human experience — life changes more quickly than we expect. People we love are gone. We look in the mirror and aren’t sure who is looking back at us. Changes happen in our culture that we had no idea were coming.
Some change, both technological and social, is good and we call it “progress.” But not all change is. There are often unintended consequences that are hard to mitigate – like the detrimental effect on young people of smartphone addiction or the threats to personal privacy and democracy created by social media. Change is accelerating in the digital age, and AI will only intensify it.
The culture is changing, but I believe the same basic spiritual values remain. Tell the truth in important moments. Forgive as best you can. Try to love your neighbor. Look out for the people who have no voice or little status. If you are in a position of power, don’t take bribes or exploit the trust that has been placed in you. Spend time in nature to recover a sense of wonder and humility. Take a day of rest so you don’t burn out. Enjoy life — and know the joy that comes from serving others.
Rip van Winkel woke up after a deep sleep and found some unexpected blessings when he returned to his village. I hope that’s the case for us, but I’m not so sure. I want to stand up for the values I’ve come to trust in my life and join with others who are determined to do the same. I don’t want to fall asleep quite yet.
[i] Images and excerpt: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rip_Van_Winkle
Our annual trek to the Mt. Shasta area was a month later this year, so we arrived as summer was ending and fall arriving. The forecast was for a chance of rain and thunderstorms on and off during the week.
We spent the first few days exploring favorite lakes and rivers. Our fourth day was going to be our last, and we decided to see how far we could venture up Mount Shasta itself.
We drove to a spot known as Panther Meadows. Half a dozen cars were parked at the trailhead. The sky was overcast. We got out and began to follow the trail. Within a few minutes, the sky got dark and an intense hailstorm began. We joined several other hikers laughing and scurrying back to our cars. Strike One.
We drove down the road and within a few minutes had left the hailstorm behind. We parked at “Bunny Flat” (6,950 feet) a popular staging area. More than a dozen times we’ve hiked an hour up the trail to Horse Camp and a stone cabin built by the Sierra Club. We decided to see how far we might go. We were walking two or three minutes when an intense lightning flash lit up the area around us, and, in the same instant, the loudest and sharpest thunderclap I’ve ever heard roared over and through us. We hurried back to the car, as did the other nearby hikers. Strike Two.
We drove down the mountain and thirty minutes later were regrouping at our hotel in the town of McCloud (elevation 3,271 feet, population 945). After lunch, we decided to try a nearby trail known as Cabin Creek. We drove several miles down the road that leads south out of town, then turned onto the unpaved road that leads to the trailhead. Ten minutes later we arrived; one other vehicle was there. Just as we were parking there was a flash and thunder close to us like what we had experienced on the mountain. Strike Three.
“We are getting a message. Let’s accept it.” We drove back to our hotel.
We talked about how our ancestors could interpret these moments as divine messages.
I thought about the story of Moses confronting Pharoah in the book of Exodus, using frightening events to convince Pharoah to let the people go. As the story has come down to us, Moses “struck” the Nile and turned it into blood; his brother Aaron “struck” the earth with his staff and gnats overwhelmed the land, hail “struck down” plants, trees and animals, and on it goes. After the tenth plague, Pharoah released the people.
I once read a biography of the great Puritan theologian Cotton Mather. For Mather and his community, every dramatic natural act was a message meant to be decoded by faithful people. Once he was in a meeting upstairs in his home with one of his church elders when lightning struck close to the room they were in. They both fell to the floor, praying for forgiveness as they tried to determine what terrible act or thought of theirs must have warranted this divine display of displeasure.
In our own time, we are experiencing increasingly intense natural disasters that shock and humble us. In my own community, we’ve been “struck” by increasingly intense wildland fires, unusual weather patterns, and the 2018 debris flow. I don’t see these as divine messages. But isn’t it reasonable to interpret these as nature’s warnings and wake-up calls, summoning us to turn back from the many practices that have contributed to climate change?
As life goes on, many people experience unexpected medical challenges. I hear some say, “I took that as a wakeup call to change my behavior.” Many find the determination to make changes and, looking back, are grateful for the event that woke them up.
Later in the afternoon of “The Day of the Three Strikes,” the threat of thunderstorms had diminished. From our hotel, I went for a walk in the town of McCloud. Being from Southern California, I was amazed at how green the trees and lawns are. I went to Hoo-Hoo Park, where we’ve often gone for the annual “Lumberjack Fiesta” in late July. The park and softball fields were empty of people; everywhere the grass was plentiful, thick and rich. The town, surrounded by forest, seemed particularly quiet. The logging industry has faded over the years, taking with it economic opportunity and prosperity. But the people love and honor the land they live on and respect the mountain that rises above them. They watch out for each other and do the best they can.
As I walked, I had a new appreciation for how vulnerable we are. But the point of life is not to hide in fear. The point is to find wisdom and flourish. I felt I could take three life lessons with me: Be Alert. Be Careful. And, when the time is right, Be Grateful.
Hoo Hoo Park
Lead Image: Hikemtshasta.org
Some years ago, a friend brought this back from India as a gift, and it’s been sitting on my bookshelf ever since:
The hand gesture is based on a famous story in the life of the Buddha:
In one of Buddhism’s iconic images, Gautama Buddha sits in meditation with his left palm upright on his lap, while his right hand touches the earth. Demonic forces have tried to unseat him, because their king, Mara, claims that place under the bodhi tree. As they proclaim their leader’s powers, Mara demands that Gautama produce a witness to confirm his spiritual awakening. The Buddha simply touches the earth with his right hand, and the Earth itself immediately responds: “I am your witness.” Mara and his minions vanish. The morning star appears in the sky. This moment of supreme enlightenment is the central experience from which the whole of the Buddhist tradition unfolds.[i]
He is not just thinking about the earth and what it means, he’s physically connecting himself to the earth. The action symbolizes that the spiritual teachings are not lofty ideas, but literally “grounded” in real life.
This past week, one of Richard Rohr’s daily meditations noted the legacy of Brother Lawrence. Here’s an excerpt:
In the mid-17th century, a man named Nicolas Herman joined the Carmelite monastery in Paris, France. Wounded from fighting in the European Thirty Years’ war, and suffering a sustained leg injury, he took the monastic name “Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection.” He worked in the monastery kitchen and eventually became the head cook. Amid the chaos of food preparation and the clanging of pots and pans, Brother Lawrence began to practice a simple method of prayer that helped him return to an awareness of Divine presence. He called it the practice of the presence of God and described it as “the most sacred, the most robust, the easiest, and the most effective form of prayer.” Brother Lawrence’s method of prayer is so simple that it might seem misleading. It is to cultivate and hand over one’s awareness to God in every moment, in whatever we are doing. Brother Lawrence recommends that newcomers to the prayer use a phrase to recollect their intention toward the Divine presence, such as “‘My God, I am all yours,’ or ‘God of love, I love you with all my heart,’ or ‘Love, create in me a new heart,’ or any other phrases love produces on the spot.”” [ii]
Brother Lawerence summarized what he learned in the little book, The Practice of the Presence of God. I first read it early in my spiritual journey, and have — in my best moments — often remembered it when doing the dishes. Instead of thinking, “This is such a bother – I’m going to finish this job as quickly as possible,” I try to take a Brother Lawerence attitude: “I’m going to slow down and be aware of the tangible experience of this chore: feel each dish in my hand as I pick it up, notice the warmth of the water, appreciate stacking the dishes in the rack one by one, be grateful in these moments of being alive…” I tend to be easily distracted and lost in thought, but doing household chores in the spirit of Brother Lawerence can be a satisfying practice.
Recognizing the way in which daily tasks can “ground us” is a fundamental teaching in the Benedictine monastic tradition, summarized in the phrase “ora et labora.” Every day, a monk spends time in prayer (“ora”) but also manual labor (“labora”); labora can mean cooking and cleaning, working in the garden or, in some pious communities, carefully brewing beer.[iii]
When I was working at La Casa de Maria retreat center, one of our most popular offerings was led by Cynthia Bourgeult, an Episcopal priest and writer. Each person who came to the 5-day retreat could expect regular lectures by Cynthia, times of chanting and worship, and a daily period of physical labor performed in silence. One of our staff responsibilities before the retreat was to come up with a list of manual tasks that retreatants could do, such as raking leaves, weeding gardens or caring for our citrus trees. Sometimes we’d get a call from a person who wanted to register but said they did not see the point of doing any manual labor; Cynthia instructed us to tell the person this was not an option – if they weren’t willing to do it, they should not come at all. She told us that some people who had initially not wanted to do the labor ended the week saying it became one of their most valuable experiences.
I think of the training I received during my hospice time that was based on Zen practices focused on “cultivating presence.” If we are with someone who is in physical or emotional pain, our thoughts and feelings can get tangled up in our concern for the person and we can lose our focus. We were taught to slow down our breathing and become aware of our rear ends in the chair and our feet on the ground, and to imagine the pain passsing through us into the earth. This can free our mind to be remain calm and open as we interact with the person — to be “present” and not distracted or anxious. I have found it to be a worthwhile technique.
Spiritual traditions include specific teachings, participation in community life and the practice of serving others in tangible ways. As our culture becomes more fragmented and people more socially isolated, many studies have demonstrated that being part of spiritual communities leads to increased emotional and physical health. The traditions ground us in what really matters, giving meaning to all we do.
[i] https://www.huffpost.com/entry/buddhism-and-climate-change_b_925651
[ii] https://cac.org/daily-meditations/brother-lawrence-of-the-resurrection/
[iii] Many monastic communities saw beer brewing as a particularly meaningful form of labor, and at one time there were a thousand monastic breweries in Europe. For a current listing, see A List of the World’s Monastic Beers
Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D 