spirituality – Page 6 – Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D

Letting the Sea Speak

What is it about the sea that stirs our imaginations?

What is it about taking a walk on the beach that helps us see life more clearly?

Why is it many of us ask that our ashes be scattered on the ocean?

Many facets of nature can stir our imaginations, offering us metaphors for life and spirituality. Recently I decided to turn my attention to the sea, searching for what it might teach me. Here’s my emerging list…

Like life, the sea is big, mysterious and wonderful. The ocean covers 70% of the earth’s surface and holds 97% of the earth’s water. More than 80% of it has yet to be mapped or seen by humans. Just as a scientific reality, it’s amazing. Isn’t life like that? The millions of years of life evolving into so many forms including us? Looking out on the sea, we are reminded of how small we are and how much we don’t know.

Both the ocean and the divine creating Spirit were here before us and will be here long after we are gone. But here we are in this moment. In the big picture, we may be just “a drop in the ocean.” But here we are. In the time we have we can learn what makes life worthwhile. The Indian mystic Tagore said, “The butterfly counts not months but moments, yet has time enough.”

We walk on the edge. When we take a walk on a beach, we can see what is close to us. But beyond the horizon, the ocean reaches out far beyond our sight. In our own lives, we “walk” through each day based on what is near us, what we can see and understand. But at times we are reminded that so much more of life lies beyond our day-to-day living.

It’s exciting to be on open water. Two years ago, I took a beginning sailing class at the local harbor. I remember the thrill the first time I steered the ship past the breakwater into the open water. It was exhilarating. Sometimes in life, we make a move or start a new chapter, and it feels like that.

In open water we navigate as best we can, but sometimes strong currents come upon us, pulling us in directions we do not want to go. When I was a teenager, our family had a small house in San Clemente where we spent many summers. Every chance I had, I would grab my Duckfeet fins to go bodysurfing. I became confident enough that when distant storms in Mexican waters sent swells up the coast, I could join the veterans who went out to catch the large waves. On one such occasion, I was with a group watching the horizon for the next set. I happened to look back at the shore. The beach looked like it was rapidly moving southward, which seemed strange since I was treading water. Then I the realized the shore was not moving – I was. A strong underwater current had developed and was taking me northward. The next thing I knew a lifeguard came alongside and pulled me up into a boat, ferrying me and others to the pier. I was grateful someone was looking out for us. Unforeseen events in life arise and take us with them; it’s not easy to regain control on our own. It can be frightening. It’s a gift to discover someone sees us and can help.

It’s vital to know how to find a safe harbor when we need it. We can find a safe harbor in life in many ways, including having people we can turn to when we feel “out to sea,” confused or overwhelmed. From a spiritual perspective, it’s a deep blessing to know we have a divine source of courage and wisdom that comes from beyond us. We can access it in prayer, contemplation, Scripture, music, art and community. Countless times I’ve seen a spiritual community reaching out and rescuing someone who’s being overwhelmed by life. It’s a beautiful process to see and reassuring to know.

Every time I ride my bike to the local beach, I feel renewed. Every time we take our grandkids to the beach, they become lost in play. Every time I’ve been part of a committal service which includes casting a loved one’s ashes on the sea, I feel a sense of peace. I’m grateful for all the ways the sea speaks to us.

“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

Letting Life Speak Through Us

Sitting quietly in my backyard early on a recent morning, I noticed the roses and shrubs near me. They’d changed since the last time I had seen them. For months they’ve been showing the same dark leaves. But now bright green growth is emerging. They have been waiting for signs the season is changing and now sense the time is right. I wondered: if plants have any level of self-awareness, what’s it like to be so calm and still for so long and then begin to make your move into spring?

Several months ago, I arrived early for mass at the Santa Barbara Mission. I appreciate the respect for privacy and silence which is the norm in Catholic churches. I found a seat in the middle of an empty pew near the rear. Seven or eight others were in solitude, some sitting, others kneeling. I closed my eyes and centered myself, then mentally named blessings and concerns, as well as my wish to be open to new possibilities. Then I opened my eyes and looked around. I thought about the others with whom I was sharing this space and time. I wondered what their own private thoughts and prayers were like. Did their “inner voice” sound like mine? What were they saying or asking for? Here we were, this random group of human beings, each in our own private world of thoughts and feelings. But all wanting to be open to something more.

Recently I gave a presentation to a local men’s group. My topic was how spirituality can be expressed in our everyday work. I shared stories about people who have found meaning in their labor. Afterwards, one of the men came up and handed me a note. He told me it was a question he had used many times to help people find direction: “What is Life trying to express through you?”

I believe the roses and shrubs know: “Our reason is to blossom, flourish and pass Life on.”

At times in my life, I’ve felt clarity about what I am being called to do. Now is a time when I’m not sure what season it is for me. The seasons of our life don’t always follow a set calendar – we must figure them out as we go.

What is Life trying to express through you this season?

A Pie for All Reasons: Tangible Benefits of Doing Good

The small rural church I served in Wapato, Washington needed a new roof. We did not have the money to pay for it. We decided to have a pie auction.

The church was in the Yakima Valley, an ideal region for growing fruit including apples, peaches, nectarines and cherries. Many in our congregation were expert pie-makers. We picked a date and encouraged everyone to bring their best offerings. After the service, we would auction them one by one, hoping to reach our goal.

I got a call from a longtime member asking me to visit. She was no longer able to attend services personally but had heard about the auction. I met with her in her living room. She told me she wanted to contribute to the roof fund and have fun in the process. She told me her plan. I would let the auction get going while choosing a pie that appealed to me. When that one came up, I was to let the bidding build until it felt like it was reaching its peak. At that point, I was to stand and announce that, on her behalf, I was authorized to make a bid in the amount she told me.

On that Sunday, I followed her instructions. I set my eye on a particular cherry pie (I knew the baker had her own backyard tart-cherry tree). The bidding started at $20…went to $25…then $30…then $35…My moment had come. I stood up. The auctioneer called on me. I said, “On behalf of Mrs. –, I bid $2,000.” The room was silent. Then full of laughter and applause. The next day I visited her and told her how it went. She was delighted.

Thanks to her generosity, we raised enough for the roof. We had fun doing it. I got to keep the pie.

You may have heard that if you want to do something for the greater good, there shouldn’t be any personal reward involved – that would be selfish. But it can be a great feeling to know you are doing something good for other people.

Much of what’s best in America is the work of nonprofit organizations. No matter what is happening in our national politics, individuals and communities make a difference. We can help the Girl Scouts and enjoy the cookies. We can support a friend running a marathon, honoring our friendship and the cause they represent. We can support our local school, daycare center, congregation, neighborhood medical clinic, hospice organization, food bank, museum or other cause. What we do can positively impact the lives of others.

When I donate my money or time, I’m proving to myself I’m not helpless. I want to help other people and now I’m putting that desire into action. It feels good.

Sometimes you can have your pie and eat it too.

(The spiritual power of pies seems to be a recurring theme for me…last year I posted The Sky Is In the Pie.)

Pride and Humility

It’s funny how a random comment made by a teacher more than 50 years ago can stick with us.

It was in the middle of a “Spanish 3” class in my sophomore year at UCSB. I don’t remember the teacher’s name, but I remember we all liked him. I don’t remember what the topic was that day – how to conjugate verbs in the subjunctive tense? – or why he got off topic. For some reason he paused and said, “You know, it’s really important to experience both pride and humility in life. One or the other by itself isn’t enough. You need both.”

I’ve never forgotten those words.

Sometimes we finish a difficult task or a creative project and take a minute to realize what we accomplished. We feel pride. Pride helps us feel good about ourselves and builds our confidence for other challenges in life. I believe one of the most important things we can say to our children is “I’m proud of you.” I said that to our father in his last days, and I hope he heard me.

At the same time, we know that misguided pride can lead us astray. “Pride cometh before a fall,” was noted 2500 years ago in the Book of Proverbs.

So we want to keep pride in its place. But we don’t want to lose it.

How about humility? Humility can come when experiencing awe before something amazing in nature, or a work of art, or the moral courage someone displays. Sometimes it comes to us after we realized we’ve made a mistake. Or realize we are not capable of doing something we’d like to do. Or seeing someone who has had a much harder life than us. Being humble calms us down and puts our ego in place. Humility opens us to compassion.

At the same time, we don’t want to let life or people humiliate us. That means we’ve lost touch with our dignity.

I’ve thought about how humility and pride appear in music.

Spiritual music expresses a reverent humility – we are grateful for the forces in life beyond our control that have blessed us – e.g., “Amazing Grace.”

I looked at one list of ten of the most popular songs in recent decades – it includes” Yesterday,” “Hey Jude,” “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” and “Let It Be.” They are songs of longing, sorrow, comfort, friendship, and acceptance – songs of tender humility.

What songs express pride? Patriotic songs do. How about at the Olympics award ceremonies when a gold medalist steps to the top step during the award ceremony and their national anthem is played? They’ve accomplished something rare for their homeland and are being recognized. I find it moving.

A problematic song that comes to my mind is “I Did It My Way,” made famous by Frank Sinatra. Here are the lyrics:

And now, the end is near
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain

I’ve lived a life that’s full
I traveled each and every highway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way

Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course
Each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way

It’s a stirring song. But I often felt it’s a bit much. What about all the people that helped you along the way? Didn’t you have family members, mentors, teachers, friends, coworkers and supporters? To me it seemed to match Frank Sinatra’s personality and reputation — a big-time guy that got everything he wanted.

But I was intrigued to discover its history. Paul Anka came across it and realized it would be perfect for Sinatra — and it was. But years later, Frank’s daughter Tina said he got to hate the song: “He didn’t like it. That song stuck and he couldn’t get it off his shoe. He always thought that song was self-serving and self-indulgent.”

I misjudged Frank. He knew it went too far.

Is it possible to experience both pride and gratitude at the same time? I think so. I look back on my personal and professional life and am proud of certain accomplishments — but I’m also aware those didn’t happen without the participation and support of many other people.

When it comes to leadership, don’t we want people who can make us feel proud of lasting values we shared and also embody a level of humility that tells us they truly care about other people?

My Spanish teacher wanted us to know something important. It is good to embrace those moments in which we can be proud of what we’ve done. At the same time, we are wise to be humble in response to the blessings in life that come to us. We need both.

Lead Image: Lou Gehrig, known as “The Pride of the Yankees,” speaking at Yankee Stadium on July 4, 1938, as he was ending his career due to his advancing ALCS disease. He said, “Today, I consider myself, the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

Rising Above the Phone-based Culture

If Jonathan Haidt was a traveling evangelist, I’d count myself a convert.

Last week I joined 2,000 people to hear him speak at the sold-out Arlington Theater here in Santa Barbara. His message: the advent of the smartphone has radically changed the experience of childhood, and if we care about kids we need to do something about it.

Much of what he shared is from his book, The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness. He cites countless studies showing the advent of smartphones has caused great damage to adolescents, creating widespread depression, anxiety, loneliness and isolation. This is particularly true for girls, who by nature are sensitively attuned to how others view them.

Haidt doesn’t just analyze the problem but is a leader in the movement to have schools, communities and families put limits on how much children are immersed in their devices.

One such initiative is “Wait Until 8^th” in which parents create networks of families that pledge to not let their kids have smartphones until 8^th grade. (Simpler devices limited to calling and texting are OK.) I am grateful our school district has endorsed this initiative and our grandchildren’s family is one of the many that has signed on.

Another initiative is having schools collect smartphones at the beginning of each school day and returning them at the end of the day. Our local schools are now doing this and LA Unified began last month. Early results are strongly positive.

This movement involves more than just limiting digital devices. It’s also about giving kids more independence, real-life challenges, and responsibility.

Haidt’s message isn’t limited to children. We adults can also reclaim the kind of awareness and practices that make life worth living.

Daydreaming, for instance. He cites studies that show when we are in between moments of focused activity — waiting for an elevator, at a stoplight, or in a line at the store — we may feel bored and instinctively check our phone to fill the time. (One of his students admitted she is so attached to her phone she takes it into the shower.) But such times can instead be opportunities when we might daydream, which in turn can lead to creative insights.

The last part of his talk focused on spirituality. He said he does not hold any personal religious beliefs but has discovered much of what spiritual traditions have taught and practiced over the centuries are antidotes to the problems created by modern digital life.

Key points are made in the chapter “Spiritual Elevation and Degradation.” “The phone-based life produces spiritual degradation, not just in adolescents, but in all of us.” (pg.199) Spirituality can “elevate” us out of a relentless occupation with our own impulses and habits.

He identifies seven specific beneficial activities:

“Shared sacredness” – participating in experiences of “collective effervescence” and “energized communion” such as Sabbath keeping, communal worship, participatory music events, etc. (203)
Embodiment: practices that are not just mental but engage the body: kneeling, singing, sharing meals and “breaking bread” with family and others. (I would add device-free walking, hiking, swimming, etc.)
Stillness, Silence and Focus: Taming our compulsion for impulsive scrolling through regular meditation practices.
Transcending the Self: We have a “default mode network” (DMN) in which our attention is focused entirely on our own needs, wants and fears. That has always been a common concern of spiritual traditions; Taoism calls it “bedevilment.” “Social media is a fountain of bedevilments. It trains people to think in ways that are exactly contrary to the world’s wisdom traditions: “Think about yourself first; be materialistic, judgmental, boastful, and petty: seek glory as quantified by likes and followers.” (209)
Be Slow to Anger, Quick to Forgive. Spiritual traditions encourage us to find ways to be calm and nonreactive. Social media often leads us to do the opposite: be quick to condemn other while taking no time to reflect on our own shortcomings. Quoting Martin Luther King: “We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies.” (211)
Find Awe in Nature. Haidt confessed he is an “awe junkie” who loves to experience the natural wonder of the world as often as he can. He describes research on awe by Dacher Keltner. Keltner and his students collected thousands of accounts of “awe experiences” of people around the world and “…sorted them into the eight most common categories, which he calls the “eight wonders of life.” They are 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).” (212) Haidt taught a “Flourishing” class at NYU in which students were asked to take slow outdoor walks without their phones, carefully noticing their surrounding; many of them did this in nearby Central Park. “The written reflections they turned in for that week’s homework were among the most beautiful I’ve seen in my 30 years as a professor.” Those opportunities for awe had been there every day, but students had missed them because they were absorbed in their phones. (213)
The God-Shaped-Hole Religious or not, Haidt believes we yearn for something more than just our own selves: “…meaning, connection, and spiritual elevation. A phone-based life often fills that void with trivial and degrading content. The ancients advised us to be more deliberate in choosing what we expose ourselves to.” (218)

I’ve been concerned about the growing influence of digital culture for 25 years. Jonathan Haidt’s work is exciting because it offers a thorough analysis of the problem and shows how we can do something about it – for the sake of our children, our grandchildren, and ourselves.

Haidt’s website: https://jonathanhaidt.com

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 Clothes We Wear

Do you remember being in Junior High and desperately needing to wear exactly the right clothes? Or how it felt the first time you dressed up for a prom or wedding? Do you notice how we go out in public and instinctively evaluate people based on what they are wearing?

January was a month where extra attention was given to what people were wearing – from the First Lady’s hat at the inaugural ceremony to the elaborate outfits stars wore at the Golden Globes. I recently came across two passages illustrating the significance of what people wear – one from 1990s New York and the other 1390s London.

In 1993, Ruth Reichl began a career as a restaurant critic for the New York Times. “As a critic, she went to extreme lengths to try and make sure the restaurant owners and chefs didn’t recognize her. She made reservations under different names and switched credit cards regularly. She had 12 different personalities with full disguises for each. There was Molly, a retired public school teacher who had suddenly become wealthy from her husband’s work in real estate. There was Betty, a frumpy old woman. And there was Chloe, a beautiful blond interior decorator. She said, “I did not know I had that person inside of me. Chloe can get a cab; stop traffic; doors are opened for you; everything changes for you. Not only that, Chloe knew how to flirt, something I didn’t think I knew how to do.” She wrote about how differently she was treated at classy restaurants depending on her disguise — Betty, especially, got treated poorly. And she would write about that in her reviews, exposing the snobbishness of fancy New York restaurants, and how they would suddenly fawn over her and offer to move her to a better table if they figured out who she was mid-meal.”[i]

Six hundred years earlier, England passed detailed laws dictating what people could wear based on their income and social status:

Following the broadening of prosperity after the plague epidemic and the upsurge in trade following the development of charged trading guilds, demand for fine clothes is high amongst the prosperous citizens of London. Moreover, by the 1390s, you’ll find a wider range of clothes available than ever before due to some mid-century quantum leaps in tailoring, namely the arrival of the button and new ways to tailor clothes to hug the body rather than have them hang more loosely …

All of which unsettles the ruling elite. The problem is that fashion- fueled judgments are inevitably based upon fleeting perceptions. And perceptions are very easily manipulated if people dress ‘above their station’ as they are wont to do. This is less of a problem in tight-knit rural communities where it’s generally pretty obvious who is a villain, who are yeomen (farmers) and who is a lord. But a city with a resident population of about 40,000 and a daily headcount of many more is in danger becoming a catwalk of deceit, giving people ample opportunities to reinvent themselves…

To this end …. the government tries to regulate what people wear in London … a Europe-wide phenomenon which used to limit what you can wear according to your social status, and to prevent grooms (people who care for horses) dressing like craftsman, craftsman like gentlemen, gentlemen like esquires, esquires like knights and so on.

Regarding what you can wear, they are detailed and unequivocal. Knights with an annual income of 135 pounds may wear cloth up to a value of four pounds, but not cloth of gold, nor a cloak or mantle aligned with pure miniver or sleeves of ermine. They should stick to other types of fur. Esquires with land yielding 200 pounds per year and merchants with goods worth over 1,000 pounds can’t wear anything made with cloth exceeding three pounds six shillings in price nor jewels, unless in their hair. Cloth of silk and silver though is fine. Craftsman and yeomen must stick to the native rabbit, fox, cat, or lamb fur. Those lucky enough to have lands worth 1000 pounds per year can wear whatever they damn well like, though swineherds, dairy maids, oxherds, and the like, who have 40 shillings to their name must settle for blanket and russet (a coarse cloth) — and rope girdles.[ii]

What fun Ruth Reichl would have had in Medieval London — one day dressed up as Lady Chloe, the beautiful wife of a knight dressed in gold cloth and ermine fur, and the next as poor peasant Betty with only a blanket and rope.

Ruth Reichl wore a dozen different disguises at New York restaurants and people treated her differently based on her appearance. But she was the same person underneath.

While we may always be aware of how other people are dressed, spiritual perspectives invites us to look beyond someone’s outward appearance to see their inner dignity:

“… ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you or naked and gave you clothing?And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you? And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’[iii]

In every culture, it’s fun to dress up for special occasions.

In every culture, it’s a gift to see people for who they are and not judge them by what they are wearing.

[i] Ruth Reichl

[ii] London: A Travel Guide Through Time, Dr. Matthew Green, 2011; pgs.104-105

[iii] Matthew 25: 37-40

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?

Dreams and Realities: Thoughts on the LA Fires

In the aftermath of the recent Los Angeles fires, LA Times theater critic Charles McNulty shared his impressions in a column titled “Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’ illuminates an existential truth revealed by the Los Angeles fires.”[i]

McNulty writes from a neighborhood just east of the decimated neighborhoods. He’s been reassuring friends back East that he is OK as he tries to make sense of what he has witnessed. He says, “Shakespeare helps me envisage the unimaginable, and a speech from “The Tempest” has been running through my mind since images of charred sections of Pacific Palisades and Altadena started circulating.”

In the play, the exiled Duke Prospero has put on a “supernatural pageant” to entertain his daughter and her fiancé. But at one point Prospero realizes his enemies are plotting to take his life. He abruptly ends the performance. Speaking of the imaginary world the play created which has suddenly disappeared, he says,

“And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-cappped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded
Leave not a rack behind.[ii] We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”

McNulty describes how the things that make up everyday life can seem so solid and permanent but are, in fact, subject to disappearing at any moment. “The grief of those bearing witness to the fires is more than sympathy. We’ve all been given a shocking lesson in the “baseless fabric of this vision” we call reality but which Prospero recognizes is no more solid than a dream.”

Have you ever had an experience in which something that seemed so “real” suddenly disappears like a dream?

My parents built our home in San Bernardino in 1953. They stayed after my siblings and I moved away. After mom died in 1993, dad lived there on his own there for more than a decade. Eventually he sold it and moved to a retirement residence; at that point it had been our family home for fifty years. A year later, the house burned down in a wildfire (after the new owners evacuated). Months later my sisters and I visited. All that was left was the partially collapsed chimney. I took a charred brick as a memento. Now I look at old family photos taken there and wonder: ‘Where did it go?”

I was Director at La Casa de Maria Retreat Center in 2018; our work was thriving and the future was bright. On January 9, the Montecito Debris Flow destroyed eight buildings and left half the property a barren field of mud. La Casa has yet to reopen. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I imagine giving a tour of the property like I used to. I can clearly see everything as it was. It’s still hard to believe that all those structures, oak trees and our vital work could disappear in an instant.

How many of us have suddenly lost a loved one or treasured friend and find it hard to accept the person is really gone?

Is everything tangible in life nothing more than a dream?

Like Shakespeare, the spiritual traditions teach us that what seems so real one minute can be gone the next.

One of the foundational truths of Buddhism is the impermanence of all material reality. Much of our suffering arises from our tendency to ignore that. The path to enlightenment begins with this understanding.

Jesus teaches a similar truth:“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Matthew 6: 19-21)

Are we to avoid being attached to anything that might perish? If so, how do we live?

For centuries, one path has been to become a monk or a nun. You give up all your possessions and don’t own anything apart from the clothes on your back. You become celibate. Being unattached to long-term relationships and material goods means you can totally focus on the path to enlightenment and “treasures in heaven.”

But there is another path. This path does not forget how quickly things can vanish but does not shy away from embracing them . This path means we remember that many things in life that seem permanent may disappear at any moment. But we don’t turn away from them. We invest ourselves in relationships that matter. We obtain and care for basic material things, including the dwelling in which we live. We plan for the future, knowing nothing is guaranteed. We remember that everything material is subject to change. But we appreciate what we have while we have it and are ready to share it with others. We know the deepest meaning in life is found in pursuing spiritual values, yet we also allow ourselves to be grounded in the material world in which we live.

Life is like a dream. But the people, dwellings, possessions, and commitments in our life are, at this moment, not a dream; they are real. We hold both perspectives as true. And we go on.

The brick from our home.

[i] https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/story/2025-01-13/los-angeles-fires-shakespeare-tempest

[ii] McNulty notes the word “rack” meant “a wisp of a cloud’

Lead image: “Still Life with Ham and Fruit,” Jan Davidsz de Heem,1656