Tag Archives: spirituality

The Art of “Living in the Tragic Gap”

         There are two stages of life: the first is when we are aspiring to perfection, the second is when that is no longer viable, and we begin to look within.  — David Brooks

         Commencement speakers often encourage young people to dream big.  I don’t remember who spoke when I graduated from UCSB years ago, but I had big dreams.  My plan was to work six months and save enough money to travel in Europe, where I had a connection for a job.  After a year I’d come back and begin law school.  By age 40 I was going to be a millionaire — then retire and travel more.

         I knew it was possible.  I’d heard stories about people who had done things like that.  If it happens for some people, why not me?

         It didn’t work out that way.

         It took me a year to earn the money I needed. My time in Europe was cut short when I was denied a work permit.  I completed one year of law school and then withdrew, got married and became a father.

         I thought marriage and parenting would be easy.

         It didn’t work out that way.

         Marriage, it turns out, is a lot of work.  Parenting as well.  “Perfection” turned out to be elusive.

         By my late 30s I was depressed. My net worth was zero and my professional path seemed empty. I had friends who seemed to be thriving, which made it worse. I’d been living with unrealistic expectations and was now painfully coming to terms with the harsh facts of life.        

This polarity is something the writer Parker Palmer knows well.  Having gone through his own journey, he learned how to live with the tension between high hopes and hard realities.  It’s a life skill he calls, “Living in the Tragic Gap.” Here’s how it works.

       Many of us start out with lofty hopes and naïve expectations, but eventually encounter disappointments and dead ends. 

         When this happens, we can be faced with two temptations.

         One temptation is to keep chasing those hopes at all costs.

         “Look at that guy making a lot of money – he seems happy. I am going to keep pushing to succeed, no matter the cost.”

         “I deserve to be happy and satisfied every day.  If I’m not, it’s clearly somebody else’s fault, not mine.”

         “As a parent, I’m going to read all the books and do the right things. If I do that, my kids – and I – will live a worry-free life.”

         “Aging will never happen to me. I’ll find a program, a surgery, a diet or a guru that will keep me looking and feeling young.”

         We can become completely absorbed by unrealistic ideals of how life “should” be. Parker Palmer calls this, “irrelevant idealism.”

         The second temptation goes to the other extreme. 

         When the realities of work, marriage, and family life fall short of what we thought we deserved, we can become bitter. We lash out at other people, society, God or ourselves.  Or we feel broken and ashamed and withdraw into depression and resentment.  This is the temptation Palmer calls “corrosive cynicism.”

         But there is a third path, one that avoids the two temptations: “Living in the Tragic Gap.” The “gap” can feel “tragic,” as we must accept the fact our ideals may be impossible to fully realize.  But accepting the gap and negotiating life within it is the beginning of wisdom.  We don’t give up hopes and ideals but begin to balance them in the context of life’s realities.  As David Brooks said, once we are done “aspiring for perfection,” we “begin to look within.”

         Little is really known of Jesus’ life before he was 30.  But it was probably after a long period of looking within that he emerged with his compelling vision of the kingdom of God.  He encountered ordinary people struggling with life. Through him they experienced a new, grace-based way of seeing themselves and the world. This was not an escape from the realities of life but instead gave clarity and meaning to life as it is.

         The classic story of Buddha’s life is similar.  He was rich and healthy. He was carefully protected from suffering, living the first part of his life in the equivalent of a privileged, gated community. But he sensed something was missing.  He went out to see the real world and found the harsh realities of sickness, aging, and death.  But he kept pressing for a realistic way to make sense of it all.  In time, he experienced enlightenment and passed his insights on to countless others; “problems” will never stop arising in life, but we can develop an awareness that keeps us from being absorbed by them and instead find a boundless source of compassion within.

         In my work, I’ve met many people who became aware that perfection was no longer an option and were hungry for an alternative. I met them in my role as a pastor over the years. I met many when I was Director at La Casa de Maria Retreat Center. People were looking for something more, some way to stand between high hopes and hard realities. And when they’d find their footing, it was as if real life began.  They became humble, but also caring.  They took responsibility for their life choices and learned from their losses.  They found a certain kind of quiet courage to go on.

         Hospice of Santa Barbara has a long history of supporting people of all ages in the grief process.  When I was serving there, I was particularly struck by the work with children and teenagers who’d lost a parent.  One group support session ended with a time for the participants to create a work of art that expressed how they felt and what they’d learned.  A 15-year-old boy painted a picture of a heart broken open with blotches of red coming out of the broken space, growing larger as they emerged.  He wrote: “Death is like a broken heart.  It hurts and is sad, but you get through it.  Your heart is twice as strong.”

Images of Our Lives: Resumes, Eulogies, Compost

            PBS and New York Times commentator David Brooks has experienced a major spiritual transformation in recent years.  One of his epiphanies is that many of us live with two sets of virtues in play.   As he wrote in a column entitled “The Moral Bucket List”:

            It occurred to me that there were two sets of virtues, the résumé virtues and the eulogy virtues. The résumé virtues are the skills you bring to the marketplace. The eulogy virtues are the ones that are talked about at your funeral — whether you were kind, brave, honest or faithful. Were you capable of deep love?

            We all know that the eulogy virtues are more important than the résumé ones. But our culture and our educational systems spend more time teaching the skills and strategies you need for career success than the qualities you need to radiate that sort of inner light. Many of us are clearer on how to build an external career than on how to build inner character.[i]

            From the first time I read this column, I appreciated this distinction and its implications. In this post, I’m going to comment on my own experience with resumes and eulogies, then add an additional thought.

Resumes: Much of my career was spent building my resume, and it was always interesting to read the resumes of others. Earning degrees, seeking accomplishments that I could quantify, publishing articles and serving on boards were all facts to add to the resume. This is what it takes to create a meaningful work life in a competitive society. It’s part of life in the modern world. But a resume does not a life make.

            Eulogies: One of the activities I treasured as a pastor was participating in memorial services.  I was always keen to hear what would be said about the person being remembered, and how the stories would cause each of us to pause and reflect on our own lives.

            If I was organizing the service, I would work with the family to create a simple outline of the person’s life: where they were born, what they did, and what they accomplished – something like their resume.  But that just set the stage for the stories people would share about the person: how they treated other people, and what moments friends and family look back on with appreciation. As David Brooks noted, in eulogies we often hear examples of the virtues of kindness, bravery, honesty or faithfulness – many ways in which people manifest “deep love.” 

            So far, so good.  I like identifying these two important aspects of our lives.

            But as I’ve been thinking of this distinction, I kept feeling like there was something missing, and only recently felt like I knew what it is.

            Resumes exist in print and are plain for all to see.  The “eulogy virtues” may be affirmed as part of a memorial service or obituary.  But what if the person lives a very long life, and dies when there is no one left to hear the eulogy?

            I think of my own father.  He lived to be 91, and almost all of those years were lived in Redlands and San Bernardino. He was active in many civic organizations and a well-known man in his day. In his last few years, my sister and I brought him to a retirement home in Santa Barbara so we could see him more often.  When he died, we arranged for a service back in San Bernardino.  We published an obituary in his hometown paper and spread the word as well as we could. But on the day of the service, only 3 or 4 people showed up besides family.  It was understandable – he had outlived most of the people he knew – but it was also disappointing.

            I’ve done services for people who die in relative obscurity. There’s no one there to describe and affirm the virtues and integrity they saw in the person. It doesn’t seem right.

            A similar thought arises when I’m with my young grandsons.  We share meaningful and fun times.   I find myself hoping they’ll remember our time together when they are older.  But what if I die before the memories take root? Will the time we share “count?”

            It reminds me of the familiar riddle, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” We could rephrase it: “If someone dies and no one is there to give a eulogy, is the life a waste?” 

            Ruminating on this question has led me to think of compost.

            Compost  Many years ago in seminary a preaching and communications professor challenged us to think about how we envision the preaching task.

            “You might tend to think of your sermons as roses,” he said. “A masterpiece that you cultivate it until it’s a thing of beauty.  Then you carefully cut it, and bring it to display before the congregation on a Sunday morning . As people leave the service, you hope people will tell you what a beautiful rose you created.  Well, I invite you to not think of preaching that way.  Think of your sermons as compost.  Compost you work into the soil of peoples’ lives you are serving. The beauty comes from what flowers in their life.”

            The purpose of compost is to disappear into the soil, freely giving itself to produce new life.  It doesn’t need to be named to be real and everlasting.  So it is with our lives.  The good we do for others may not be quantified on a resume or be lauded in a eulogy, but that doesn’t mean it’s of no value. It’s a gift we can give, and then let it go.

[i] https://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/12/opinion/sunday/david-brooks-the-moral-bucket-list.html

Time to Go Vertical?

Today’s piece begins with a quiz. This photograph is:

  1. My grandson reaching out of our trailer’s skylight to see what it feels like.
  2. A visual metaphor for prayer.
  3. All the above.

            If you answered “c” you are correct.

            Last week’s entry on enlightenment included an homage to Huston Smith. No writer or thinker has inspired me more.  He consistently drew on a lifetime of scholarship and personal experience to make memorable, useful and simple statements.  The statement for today is: “When you find yourself in a difficult place, go vertical.”

            Huston believed that spiritual traditions are based on higher truths.  We live much of our lives “horizontally” – going through the day with routines, assumptions and interactions that serve us well.  But sometimes we run into situations – tragedies, difficult decisions, illnesses, crises — when ordinary ways of thinking don’t help. In those moments we can turn to spiritual truths, passed on to us from people who have transcended ordinary reality to see the bigger picture.  That’s going “vertical.”

            I’m going to share some experiences of “going vertical,” but first I will address concerns thoughtful people may have about “going vertical.” 

            “’Isn’t this an outmoded way of thinking with the divine being “up there” and us “down here?’” It’s a reasonable question.  Many ancient people did believe the divine was too pure or holy to be down in the muck with us.  God must be up at the top of that mountain, far away and safely removed.  Most of us would agree that’s not the way we think anymore.

             If someone asks me, “Where is God?” I would say “everywhere.”  Within each cell of every living creature, as well as all creation, as well as far beyond what we can see or know.  As Psalm 139 puts it:

Where can I go from your spirit?
    Or where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
    if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
9 If I take the wings of the morning
    and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
10 even there your hand shall lead me,
    and your right hand shall hold me fast.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
    and the light around me become night,”
12 even the darkness is not dark to you;
    the night is as bright as the day,
    for darkness is as light to you. (New Revised Standard Version)

            Jesus taught that the kingdom of God is not far away, but within us and amongst us.  People experienced his stunning presence right where they lived – they did not have to ascend a mountain.  Buddha was asked where the authority for his teaching came from; he touched the ground and said, “Let the earth be my witness.”  Muhammed taught that Allah is closer to us than our own jugular vein.

            So, we don’t have to go up a mountain to find the divine.    

            But I believe it’s still useful to use metaphors that suggest we “go up” for spiritual truth.

            When your airplane lifts off and you see your town from a higher altitude, you can see where you live with greater perspective.

             “Inspiration Point “is a favorite hiking destination in Santa Barbara.   When you get to the top you have a stunning vista over the town and coastline. It’s in-spir-ing, as in “in-Spirit-ing.”

            So, it’s useful to consider spiritual truths as “Higher” because when we grasp them, many other things come into perspective.

            The trajectory of my life was changed in my early 20s when I was in a personal crisis. I’d been self-absorbed, skeptical of any truth beyond my own reasoning.  But at a moment when I felt my life was going to pieces, I reached out into the unknown and “went vertical:” I prayed for the first time. I’m not even sure what I said. But metaphorically my hand was reaching out into the unknown hoping something “up there” or “out there” might help me.  Three days later, I realized something had changed – at my very center, instead of darkness and fear, there seemed to be a tangible point of light.  I was stunned. I was grateful. It took me a long time to integrate the experience, but my life was literally saved when I “went vertical.”  It was my first experience of grace.

            Ministry is all about helping people “go vertical.”  

            For example, people would make an appointment with me and say, “I think my wife is having an affair with someone at work and I’m worried our marriage may be in danger.”

            I would ask for more background. If appropriate, I would say:

            “One of the most important things you can do is to deepen your spiritual life. This will make you stronger for whatever happens.  If reconciliation is possible, you will have a better sense of who you are and how to repair the relationship.  And if your partner does leave, faith will be a lifeline to take with you into the unknown.”

            In January of 2020, I flew to Vienna on my own for two weeks.  For the first several nights, jet lag kept me awake for hours.  I “went vertical,” spending much of the time reciting the 23rd Psalm in a careful, contemplative way.  I not only got through the night but sensed a kinship with all the people I know who live alone.

            When COVID came, prayer and meditation became even more important.  The divine presence is not threatened by a virus.  I am grateful for the daily renewal I felt in those early months, “going vertical” instead of being shut in by fear.

            There are many issues to explore regarding how we pray and what to expect. But I never regret a moment when I find myself afraid or uncertain and “go vertical,” reaching out for what I cannot see.

            Have you had such experiences?

            “The winds of grace are always blowing, but it is you who must raise the sails.” (Tagore)

“How Do You Know If Someone Is Enlightened?”

            Huston Smith has been a guiding light in my life. 

            I first encountered him in the 80s. I was teaching comparative religion in a small college and used his book, The Religions of the World, which students from diverse backgrounds always found engaging. In 1996, PBS broadcast a series of interviews of Huston with Bill Moyers, The Wisdom of Faith.  I saw him speak in Santa Barbara several times at the Lobero Theater and always left with a clear mind and full heart.  

            If you lined up to have him sign a book, he’d ask you to write down your name on a piece of paper because he was wanted to spell it correctly. He would carefully inscribe a greeting and hand you the book. Then he’d look into your eyes and smile.  A bright, warm light illuminated his face.

            In 2010, I spent four days with him and a group of 30 retreatants at Esalen Institute in Big Sur (where this photo was taken.)  He’d been teaching there for 50 years, and this turned out to be his last retreat.

            He was 90. He entered the small seminar room slowly on the arm of his daughter, who helped him to his seat.  His clothes were well-worn, and his yellow windbreaker was stained around the cuffs; it must have been a favorite.

            After he was seated, his daughter welcomed us. She noted her father was now very hard of hearing, so we should direct questions to her and she would relay them through his good ear.

            She nodded to him that we were ready.  

            When he began to speak, the wide smile emerged, and that light came to the surface.  His told us his plan for the week was to tell stories about the people he had met over his life: Aldous Huxley, the Dalai Lama (before he was known in the West), Martin Luther King, Jr., Timothy Leary, Ram Dass, Bishop Tutu, Suzuki Roshi, Native American elders, Joseph Campbell and a long list of writers, thinkers and spiritual leaders.  He encouraged us to ask questions at any time.

            In my blog I’ll be sharing memorable statements Huston Smith made.  The first one has to do with enlightenment.

            “How do you know if someone is enlightened?” a woman asked, and his daughter conveyed the question to him.

            He paused for a moment.

            “If they tell you they are enlightened, they are not,” he said with a grin.  “Truly enlightened people don’t think about it; they don’t care.”  He illustrated the point with a story of his first meeting with the Dalai Lama.

            Over my career people have asked me who my favorite theologians are.  I’ve often named Wendell Berry, Bach and Rembrandt.  But I also point to the older people I’ve known in my congregations.  They have lived through many hardships but are at peace with who they are and always looking for quiet ways to serve others.

            I remember one such man, Walt Eby.  Walt was a retired engineer from the Midwest who had come to Santa Barbara as part of a job transfer from Wisconsin.  Walt was soft-spoken. He never served on a committee or spoke at an event.  But at coffee hour, he would stand on the patio and scan for any new people who might benefit from a word of welcome.  He would walk towards them holding his Styrofoam cup of coffee and introduce himself.  Soon you’d see the visitor smiling, relaxing and conversing.  If appropriate, Walt might introduce them to someone else on the patio with a similar interest or background.  He did this every Sunday. His ability of sensing who might need such care was uncanny.

            Walt had a particular gift for connecting with teenagers.  One young man appeared with his mom at our service.  Walt went over and introduced himself and began a conversation.  When they came back the next Sunday, Walt was there again with his friendly, low-key presence.  In time he discovered the family was going through a divorce and took a special interest in the young man.  Walt would call and invite the young man to hit some golf balls or perform some simple job around the church, like mowing the lawn.  He took him to serve the homeless at a soup kitchen. Later, the young man joined our youth group and helped build houses for the poor.  Walt showed him how to serve others and had a profound influence on the young man’s life as he did on many of us.

            The young man’s mother later told me how much Walt’s care and concern meant to both her and her son…it was a steady, loving connection in a difficult time.

            This was his way of being.

            If I had said, “Walt I think you are enlightened,” he would not know what I was talking about. Such words were irrelevant to him. It was just the way he was.

            When I was Director at La Casa de Maria, we annually hosted 200 groups from every spiritual path imaginable, as well as many nonprofits.  I was asked to review the application of a group that had come before. They were a growing group from LA focused on a charismatic leader. I asked the staff for any comments concerning their previous visit.  I was told the leader had once become frustrated, and publicly berated a staff member.  I gave instructions to deny the request.

            “If they tell you they are enlightened, they are not.”

Child’s Play

            This past Monday, I was driving past our neighborhood school at lunch time and saw something I had not seen in a year: children playing.  Outdoors. On the school property. Lots of them.  On their own. They were chasing balls and chasing each other. Some were sitting in pairs on the grass, some were walking around on their own, and some were involved with games on the blacktop. In the 27 years we have lived in our neighborhood, I’ve gone by the school almost every day, but it’s been a year since I’ve seen children playing at noon recess.

            Tears came to my eyes.

            The wonder of seeing children at play brought to my mind my experience in Vienna last January.  In the Kunsthistorisches Museum, I entered a room and saw “Children’s Games” by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, painted in 1560. It looked mildly interesting at first.  Then I read it depicts children playing 80 different games. I was transfixed.  461 years later, are any of these games familiar to you? 

  • Playing with dolls
  • Shooting water guns
  • Wearing masks
  • Climbing a fence
  • Doing a handstand or somersault
  • Blind Man’s Bluff
  • Making soap bubbles
  • Walking on stilts
  • Riding a hobby horse made from a stick
  • Rolling a hoop (now, thanks to Whamo, a hula hoop)
  • Balloons (before latex, made from a pig’s bladder)
  • Tiddlywinks or Mumblety-peg
  • Pulling hair
  • Playing marbles
  • Catching insects
  • Riding piggyback or on a broom
  • Putting on a play
  • Climbing a tree, swimming or diving
  • Running a gauntlet

And as Brueghel was committed to portraying life as it is lived, he also includes:

  • “Stirring excrement with a stick” (!) and “urinating.” 

(For a larger image, the other 54 activities and a visual guide to each one, go to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children%27s_Games_(Bruegel))

            Some of the games in the painting are not as familiar, including imitating the religious rituals of the time.  And as we know, kids around the world are making new games every day. 

            I’m still struck by the joy and ingenuity of the children in the painting.  I remember similar delights I experienced in my youth, and the enthusiasm of the children I saw playing freely at their school on Monday after a year of Zooming and confinement.

            Video games have become a huge attraction in our time.  But leave kids on their own outdoors, and their imagination flourishes.

            I recall a church family weekend campout some years ago.  Kids who already were becoming hooked on digital entertainment were in nature for the weekend with unstructured time and only their imagination to draw on. I remember watching two of them spend 40 minutes with a half-full plastic water bottle. They were tossing it, kicking it, watching it tumble and laughing time after time…no screens or batteries required.

            In Proverbs 8 the poet is speaking of the presence of wisdom and creativity at the center of the natural world:

            The Lord created me at the beginning of his work,
                         the first of his acts of long ago….

            When he established the heavens, I was there,
                        when he drew a circle on the face of the deep,
                   when he made firm the skies above,
                        when he established the fountains of the deep,
                                     when he assigned to the sea its limit,
                         so that the waters might not transgress his command,
                        when he marked out the foundations of the earth,
                  then I was beside him, like a little child (or “master worker”) 
                        and I was daily God’s  delight,
                        rejoicing before him always,
                                    rejoicing in his inhabited world
                        and delighting in the human race. (Proverbs 8: 22, 27-31)

            As we gradually emerge from the COVID pandemic, I hope we will never take for granted the creativity at the center of life, visible in all its splendor when we see children at play.

“Six Things That Matter Most” — A List for All Seasons

            There often comes a time when a family is told their loved one has just a few hours or days left before dying.  It can be an agonizing time of not knowing what to do other than wait.   The loved one may still be able to communicate or, more often, is sleeping much of time.  What do you do when “there’s nothing more to be done”?

            Ira Byock, a leading physician in contemporary hospice and palliative medicine, came up with a helpful resource for such times.  He would take his prescription notepad and write four phrases: “Please forgive me. I forgive you. I love you. Thank you.” He would give that to a family member and invite them to consider if any of those statements would be appropriate to say.  He wrote an influential book on the transformative and healing experiences he witnessed arising from people using these simple statements.  As the book became popular, two more were added: “Goodbye” and “I am proud of you.”

            The values represented in these statements — forgiveness, love, gratitude, and acknowledging the cycles of life — are universally present in the great spiritual traditions.

            When I was at Hospice of Santa Barbara, we took those six statements and had them printed on business cards.  Our staff and volunteers could then give them to families when appropriate.  I began to carry some in my wallet, a practice I’ve continued for more than a decade.

            I was grateful to have the card when my father was dying.

            He was in his last days at a nursing home. My two sisters and I used the list as a prompt for talking to him. He was no longer responsive, but it felt like the right thing to do. Maybe he heard us or maybe not.  Maybe he could sense what we meant through tone or feeling. Or maybe it was just for us.  

            “Dad, please forgive me for the sleepless nights I gave you as a teenager.”

            “There were times when I was growing up I was afraid of your anger.  I knew you were under a lot of pressure and loved us, but it was still scary. I forgive you.”

            “Thank you for providing for us, encouraging us and believing in us.”

            “For the way you worked so hard to honor mom and provide for us, for the integrity and honesty with which you lived your life, and for your service to our country during the war – we are proud of you.” 

            Dad wasn’t from a generation when many men would say “I love you.”  But we knew he loved us.  It was easy to say, “I love you, Dad.”

            The “Goodbye” statement can be tricky.  It can be tempting to say it to have some closure, but it may be too early.  (I remember one family had asked a harpist to play in the room; the patient woke up and said, “Get that music out of here…I’m not ready for the angels yet!”) But if, say, a family member is leaving town or death is clearly imminent, then “Goodbye” can be fitting.

            As I did presentations on hospice in the community, I would pass these cards out.  People would later tell me how helpful they were.

            But I also knew what everyone who works in hospice knows…the work is not just about the dying, but also about the living.  Whether dad was fully aware of what we were saying, it gave us closure. 

            The list can also be helpful after a death when we didn’t have an opportunity to speak the words in person. We can write a letter to the person using the list as possible prompts.  We can then save the letter just for ourselves. Or we can take it to a place we associate with the person, including a gravesite, and read it.  When it’s served its purpose, we can keep it or create a simple ritual and burn it.

            “Six Things” can also be valuable when death is not on the horizon. Roughly half of Americans die with some form of hospice care, which means there may be time for meaningful bedside moments.  It also means the other half of us will die without such an opportunity – heart attacks, strokes, accidents, etc.  If these are the six things that matter most, why wait for a moment that we may never have?  Why not use them when we are alive and well?

            Once, I was doing a daylong retreat on this theme. I gave the background and handed out the cards. Then I said, “But let’s not wait. I encourage us all to think if there is anyone we want to say any of these statements to now.”  I gave everyone 45 minutes. I’d brought stationery and envelopes if people wanted to write letters, and also encouraged people to make a phone call, send an email or text a message.  

            When we regathered, I asked for people to share experiences. One woman said she had called her daughter.  The call went to voicemail and mom left a message, “I just want to say I love you!” The daughter called back a few minutes later sounding frantic: “What’s wrong mom?! Are you OK??”  Mom laughed and reassured her she was fine, but was doing this as part of a retreat.  So, giving a little background can help when we are conveying such deep feelings.

            As time went on, I’ve found the “Six Things” a good way to take inventory from time to time in my own life on occasions like anniversaries and birthdays. Is there someone I want to say these words to now, since there’s no guarantee I’ll have a chance in the future?  Why not just do it? Once we do, there is a sense of freedom.

            Six simple statements, loaded with healing power. 

Your Purpose Is More Important Than Your Plan

 It seems some people follow a straight, well-planned path in life: they set goals and expectations day after day, year after year — and achieve them.  But for most of us, events can disrupt our plans.  It could be something affecting only me, or something like COVID that impacts everyone. We can be left with feelings of loss, discouragement and confusion. What can I expect in life?  Isn’t there some divine plan that is designed to make me happy?  Or was the plan to make me suffer?  Or is there no plan at all?

            Over the centuries, these are questions that have been pondered and debated by countless people in many spiritual traditions. Today I’m offering my personal perspective by focusing on a fascinating story from the Jesus tradition as exists in the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 5.

            As we pick up the story, Jesus has become increasingly popular due, in large part, to his healing power.  The day begins when a local leader, Jairus, comes to him and begs him to come to his house and heal his daughter, who is close to dying. Jesus agrees.

            On the way, a woman who has been suffering from hemorrhages for 12 years comes up behind him. Her condition makes her “unclean” in the culture of that time, so she can’t seek him out publicly like Jairus. But, she hopes, if she can just sneak up behind him and touch his cloak, she might be healed.  She carefully approaches, touches the cloak and immediately senses in her body that she is healed.

            At that moment, Jesus also has a visceral, somatic experience – “power had gone forth from him.” Taken by surprise, he turns and asks who touched him.  The disciples reply: with so many people close by, how can they know? The woman reluctantly steps forth “in fear and trembling” and confesses.  He does not condemn her. Instead, he says “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace…”  He then resumes his walk to Jairus’ house, where he takes the little girl by the hand and brings her out of her coma.

            The story is rich in implications.  As the philosopher Paul Ricœur put it, great spiritual texts (like lasting works of art) have a “surplus of meaning” – more than just one point. For today’s question, I will focus on consciousness and decision making.

            Imagine if we can “get inside” Jesus’ consciousness as he started that day.  What did he know, and when did he know it? When he woke up, did he know Jairus would come to him?  Did he anticipate the act of the woman?

            Jesus has been described as a “Spirit Man,” one of those people who has a much deeper level of awareness than most. People in the Gospels find it uncanny the way he can “read them” and know what they are thinking. I’ve known a few people in my life who have had that ability, so I believe it exists.  And I’m guessing he had it in spades.

            However, I think if we take the story at face value, his encounter with the bleeding woman is written in a way to suggest Jesus did not anticipate it — he’s surprised and taken off guard.  If he had a “plan” for his day, this encounter was not part of it. Or, to put it another way, if he started out with a plan for the day, he had to adapt the plan to fit real events.  Some years ago, it struck me: he had to change his plans, but he did not have to change his purpose.  His purpose was to exhibit divine justice, grace and compassion. The woman unexpectedly touching his cloak became not a cause of frustration, but a new opportunity to express his purpose.  He could fulfill his purpose regardless of unanticipated events that came his way, presented to him by the choices other people make.

            This has been a liberating insight. My day may go “all according to plan.” Or it may be interrupted by all kinds of events — some positive, some not. Living a spiritual life does not mean we have to assume we are to follow a preordained script.  Rather, it means we try to keep clarity about what is most important to us and others in moments of unexpected events and decisions; we assume we need to be creative in adapting to the ups and downs that come our way.      

            The divine presence never leaves us and is always ready to help us improvise in a way that stays true to those deeper purposes.  Remember that when events – big or small – interrupt our plans. 

When Compassion Isn’t Enough

As part of my work at Hospice of Santa Barbara, a group of us attended a week-long retreat at the Metta Institute in Marin County. The theme was “Cultivating Presence” and led by Frank Ostateski, an accomplished teacher of both Zen meditation and hospice care.

            In one of his talks, Frank focused on the traditional greeting in parts of Asia – “Namaste.”  You clasp your hands palm-to-palm in front of your chin and sometimes follow with a slight bow.  It had become well-known in the West through its frequent use as a way to close a yoga class and was often said to symbolize “I bow to the sacred in you.”  Frank had closed his classes with the familiar gesture, and as students we returned the blessing.

At one session, Frank focused on a deeper meaning “Namaste” can have. One hand can represent the virtue of compassion and the other hand wisdom. He went on to describe the importance of the two virtues always being combined. We may feel great compassion for someone and feel the impulse to take an action. However, actions arising from a genuine motive may have unintended consequences. Therefore, it is critical to evaluate the compassionate urge with patient and practical wisdom if we want to make the best choices.

            I thought this was very helpful and began to share this concept when I was doing the initial training session for hospice volunteers.  Many are led into hospice service out of a compassion for those who are dying, but it is critical we always seek to place that emotion in the presence of wisdom from trained staff and veteran volunteers.  I often used the following story as an illustration. 

            Once we had a very caring volunteer assigned to a low-income family where the father had died.  The volunteer had spent time with the young son in the afternoon and when he dropped the boy off back at home, realized the family had very little food. Moved by compassion and wanting to make a difference, he and a friend went to Costco and bought several hundred dollars’ worth of food for the family and dropped it off at the house.  Soon after, one of the family members called our staff member responsible for the case. They noted how appreciative they were but said they did not have sufficient refrigerated storage to keep so much food and were embarrassed it would be going to waste.  If the volunteer had run his idea by our trained staff member, he would have been affirmed for the impulse, but guided into an action that would better fit the situation.  The compassionate value needed to be matched by wisdom.

            I was reminded of the charge Jesus gives his disciples when he sends them out in pairs for the first time: “… so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.” (Matthew 10:16).   The serpent was seen a very subtle and clever creature (it was not always identified as evil as it became in later tradition.)  Doves were seen as pure and often symbols for the divine spirit.  Jesus is saying: be open and trusting, but also be smart and strategic.

            I have thought of this many times in my life and career, which I have spent in religious and nonprofit communities.  It was always natural for me to approach any challenging situation with compassion and tact.  Many times, those values led to outcomes I felt good about.  But as time went on and my responsibilities grew, I encountered more complex situations where compassion and “innocence” alone were not enough. I benefited from practical wisdom from others who understood the complexity of organizational challenges and the need to make unpopular decisions that could be perceived as uncaring. When I was able to incorporate that wisdom, outcomes improved.  

            Anyone who has been involved in 12-step programs knows this well.  If someone you care about is struggling with addiction and they beg you for money or help, it is a natural reaction to meet their requests. But that can often make the situation worse.  You need the accumulated wisdom of the support group and the program to make the best choices.

            Caring, empathy, love and compassion are prized virtues.  But the best outcomes arise when they are blended with voices of experience and wisdom. Namaste!