steve jacobsen – Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D

Reflections From a Labyrinth Walk

Last Saturday we joined a group of fifteen people who gathered to walk an outdoor labyrinth at Windermere Ranch on the hills above Santa Barbara. It was “World Labyrinth Day,” an annual occasion in which people around the globe gather at 1 PM to share in this ancient practice. I’m guessing some of you are familiar with labyrinths and others are not. For those who are not, I’ll offer a simple explanation before sharing what came to me this time.

Labyrinths are geometric designs that people “walk” as a spiritual practice. While they may have originated centuries before, they became well-known in the Middle Ages, and many cathedrals in Europe were designed to include them. Here’s a common design that is inlaid in the floor at Chartres Cathedral in France:

At first glance, you may think it’s a maze. But a maze is a design that forces you to make choices as you walk; some may lead you forward and others to a dead end. Labyrinths have no wrong turns or dead ends. You enter at the gateway (the open space at the bottom of the diagram) and keep within the lines marked on the ground until you get to the center and pause. Then you retrace your steps until you exit. As you are walking, you simply focus on the way that is open in front of you. Labyrinths vary in size – the one at Chartres measures 40 feet in diameter. Making the journey typically takes 15 to 20 minutes.

Like many meditative activities (such as some forms of manual labor, creating art and music, etc.), keeping your practical mind busy with a simple task allows your inner self an opportunity to offer you words, images or feelings that may be meaningful.

One thing I’ve learned is the importance of beginning with the right intention. It is tempting to say to myself, “As I walk this labyrinth today, I sure hope I get some great spiritual insight! If I do, it will be a prize to take home and show to others!” But that is Dear Ego speaking. I find it better to say to myself, “I’m going to make this walk and be open to whatever might come to me. If nothing significant appears, that’s OK. And if something does, I’ll hold it lightly.”

I have “walked” various labyrinths in the last 20 years. Sometimes I’ve been by myself, other times with my wife. Sometimes it’s been part of a class or retreat. Sometimes live music is played while people walk and other times there is silence. This day we were led by a friend and colleague who is also a certified labyrinth facilitator and gifted cellist, Rob Hodges.

As it approached 1 PM, we lined up in silence. Rob began playing while his assistant stood at the entry point, nodding when it was time for each person to begin. (This ensures there will be space between each person to minimize distractions.)

As I waited, I focused on Rob playing. He was improvising the tune; there is something extraordinary about hearing the deep, rich tones of a cello singing on a hillside among oak trees. What he played seemed to me like a mystical blend of Indian kirtan chanting and ancient Celtic tunes of longing; it captured my attention and drew me inward.

Soon it was my turn to enter. As I walked some impressions came to me. When I completed my time, I found a quiet place and wrote these notes:

Tuning into the music while walking, three words emerged: “Yearning,” “Sorrow,” and “Sweetness.” As these settled within me and I continued, I was reflecting on my ongoing journey in life and three phrases appeared: “Moving On,” “Holding On,” and “Opening.” Towards the end of my walk, I noticed I could see people ahead of me as they exited and disappeared from the circle; I also was aware that I could not see those behind me who were continuing.

Reading over these impressions, I wondered what it all might mean.

It seems to me “Yearning-Sorrow-Sweetness” is what we feel as we savor the passing experiences of being alive. We yearn for our life to go a certain way, and when it doesn’t, we feel sorrow. But such sorrow arises because we love and care, and in that feeling a certain sweetness is present.

Every morning we enter a new day and are faced with the fact that the world is Moving On. We don’t want to lose what is important to us, and so we instinctively keep Holding On to what we love and cherish as best we can. Yet we also need to be Opening to new experiences and realities as they emerge, constantly seeking the best ways to incorporate them into our life.

And as I was completing my walk, the awareness of people disappearing ahead of me is what it feels like when people I care about die; I think to myself, “Where did they go?” And the non-awareness of who is “behind” me is the sense that I don’t know who will continue living when I pass.

Yearning, Sorrow, Sweetness. Moving On, Holding On, Opening. People complete the journey and disappear, as I will someday. In such moments of awareness, there is wonder.

Labyrinth overlooking the Pacific, UCSB campus.

Lead image: Labyrinth at Windermere Ranch, Santa Barbara

In Praise of Dogs

When I was growing up, “Rusty” was our family dog. He was a Collie/Shepherd mix and lived to be 17. He had many virtues. For example, when I was disciplined for some misbehavior and exiled to my room, I took him with me. I would put my arms around his neck and pour my heart out, releasing all the feelings of injustice I carried. As I looked at him and he looked back, I knew he felt my pain.

These days we have a 14-year-old, 8-pound Maltese “rescue dog” named Rue. Like many of us as we get older, she’s lost some of what she used to have; in her case, 13 teeth and her left eye. But such losses have not diminished her optimism or constant devotion, and I often share random thoughts with her during the day. My wife will hear me from another room and say, “Are you talking to yourself or the dog?” I always say, “The dog.”

I was in a local bookstore recently and came across a new collection of poems by Billy Collins entitled Dog Show. I rarely buy books of poetry, but I couldn’t resist. It’s clear Mr. Collins understands dogs. Here is one about an encounter he had one night in Paris:

“Le Chien,” a Poem by Billy Collins

I remember late one night in Paris
speaking at length to a dog in English
about the future of American culture.

No wonder she kept cocking her head
as I went on about “summer movies”
and the intolerable poetry of my compatriots.

I was standing and she was sitting
on a dim street in front of a butcher shop,
and come to think of it, she could have been waiting

for the early morning return of the lambs
and the bleeding sides of beef
to their hooks in the window.

For my part, I had mixed my drinks,
trading in the tulip of wine
for the sharp nettles of whiskey.

Why else would I be wasting my time
and hers trying to explain “corn dog,”
“white walls,” and “March of Dimes”?

She showed such patience for a dog
without breeding while I went on—
in a whisper now after shouts from a window—

about “helmet laws” and “tag sale,”
wishing I had my camera
so I could take a picture of her home with me.

On the loopy way back to my hotel—
after some long and formal goodbyes—
I kept thinking how I would have loved

to hang her picture over the mantle,
where my maternal grandmother
now looks down from her height as always,

silently complaining about the choice of the frame.
Then, before dinner each evening
I could stand before the image of that very dog,

a glass of wine in hand,
submitting all of my troubles and petitions
to the court of her dark-brown, forgiving eyes.

What a gift a good dog can be.

“Portrait of Rue,” photo by author; used with verbal permission from subject.

_________________________________________________

“Le Chien,” by Billy Collins, from Dog Show: Poems, Random House, 2025.

Lead image: watercolor accompanying “Le Chien” by Pamela Sztybel.

“London Calling, Part 3: Handel and Hendrix Under One Roof”

Last year I read “Every Valley: The Desperate Lives and Troubled Times That Made Handel’s Messiah.” It’s a fascinating account of Handel’s life in London –-the scandals, fundraising challenges, political tensions and personal drama that surrounded him while he composed “The Messiah.” When I began planning my recent trip to London, I wanted to visit the house where Handel lived. When I Googled it, I discovered that Handel’s house adjoins an apartment Jimi Hendrix rented between 1968 and 1969. The two residences recently became one museum: The “Handel Hendrix House.”

I was fascinated to consider that two legendary musicians – separated by time and culture – had literally lived under the same roof. Both had been important touchstones in my personal musical experience, and it became a priority to visit. I want to share the thoughts I had after visiting the site. But I’ll begin with some reflections on what each artist has meant to me.

When I think of Hendrix, I hear the opening chords of “Purple Haze,” which came out in 1967. I was 15 years old, and whenever it came on my car radio, I always turned the volume up. Like so many of my generation, music had become central to the feeling that a new and exciting era was being born. It had begun with the Beatles and the Beach Boys. Then the Rolling Stones and so many other groups emerged. Then came Jimi Hendrix. What he offered was much more than “I Want to Hold Your Hand” or “I Get Around.” He was taking rock music into highly imaginative and psychedelic realms…

” Purple haze all in my brain
Lately things just don’t seem the same
Actin’ funny but I don’t know why
‘Scuse me while I kiss the sky…”

There were the three studio albums: “Are You Experienced?” “Axis Bold as Love,” and “Electric Ladyland.” In 1969 he closed Woodstock with “The Star-Spangled Banner.” He became a global sensation. A year later, he died of an overdose.

Jimi Hendrix was a visionary creator, a brilliant musician, and one of those human comets that rise high into the sky before burning out. When I was 19 and living in my first apartment in Isla Vista, we had a large poster of Hendrix on our living room wall. Listening to his music and seeing him perform evoked awe.

In my early 20s, my youthful abandon was calming down and I began to buy fewer rock albums. For the first time, I learned to “hear” classical music. Before then, I thought it was meant to be just pleasant and pretty. But I discovered human spirits from the past were sharing with me passionate, sublime and profound truths they had experienced. I latched on to Beethoven first, then other composers. When I finally began listening to Handel’s “Messiah,” I learned why it has been treasured by millions of people for more than 250 years. The most well-known selection is, of course, the “Hallelujah Chorus.” When we hear it sung well, it feels as if the heavens have opened and we join all humanity celebrating something gloriously greater than our self.

Like Hendrix, Handel created experiences that evoke awe. Both artists have their place in my life. I couldn’t wait to visit the place they both lived.

My sister and I followed the Google maps on our phones. We got to 23 and 25 Brook Street. It looks like this:

You enter the red door of the gray building on the right and you are in Handel’s house. You go upstairs and come to a drawing room where Handel composed and rehearsed for many years. It was in this room that he famously composed the complete “Messiah” in 24 days. There is a replica of his keyboard:

Some days they have guest musicians playing. We heard a cellist performing pieces from Handel’s era:

You next pass into his bedroom.

A sign says: “Here Handel could find privacy and tranquility in his sometimes busy home…It is here that Handel slept, dreamt, recovered from illnesses and wrapped up warm amidst some of the coldest winters on record…He never married and we know nothing about his romantic liaisons while he lived here…In this bedroom, his sanctuary, he may have drawn his last breath.”

You go to the top floor and pass through a door into the Hendrix apartment. There’s a spare room where people such as George Harrison and Billy Preston gathered late into the night…

Then there is Hendrix’ s bedroom…

…and a room where you can view his stereo and collection of LPs…

…nearby is this display, noting that Hendrix apparently was inspired by listening repeatedly to a recording of “The Messiah:”

In one of the rooms, a guitarist was playing blues:

And then you’re done.

Completing the tour and heading outside, I was left to wonder what it meant.

The two men could not have been from more different backgrounds. Handel was nurtured in the courts of 18th Century Europe; Hendrix had to make his way through the “chitlin” circuit of segregated night clubs in the turbulent 1960s. Handel lived to be 74, Hendrix died tragically at 27. But both found great success and fame. Both entertained friends and musicians late at night in their Brook Street residence. Both are gone. But both have given us the great gift of their artistry and music which continues to inspire feelings of awe.

In the movie “Sinners,” the character Annie says: “There are legends of people with the gift of making music so true, it conjures spirits from the past and the future.” Handel and Hendrix seem to have that power. And for that we can be grateful.

“London Calling, Part 2: That Turbulent Priest”

There is no shortage of monuments to saints and martyrs in England. This past week I joined the countless pilgrims who have gone to Canterbury Cathedral for 900 years to honor the memory and witness of Thomas Becket. I happened to be there when a top story in the news was “an exchange of perspective” between two powerful world leaders — one, the President of the United States, and the other, Pope Leo.

Thomas Becket had been a friend and advisor of Henry II. Henry appointed him to be Archbishop of Canterbury expecting Thomas would support whatever Henry wanted to do. But Becket took his vows seriously, and spoke out whenever he felt Henry was going astray. At one point, Henry expressed his frustration in the presence of four of his supporters and was heard to say: “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” On December 29, 1170, the four men rode to the Cathedral, entered the area where Thomas was alone at prayer, and murdered him with their swords. Becket had stood firmly for spiritual principles in opposition to a willful ruler. He was made a saint.

For centuries Becket’s tomb was on display at the end of the cathedral, where countless people came to pay their respects. I first visited that part of the sanctuary. I then came to the small side room where the actual murder occurred; his name is written on the floor:

There is a sculpture above the spot consisting of a metal cross flanked by two swords with red tips representing blood. Light descends from above in such a way that the two swords create four shadows, one for each murderer:

On the wall nearby is a plaque:

Speaking truth to power is a tradition that goes back 3,000 years to the prophets of Israel. Willful leaders don’t like it, and more than once have wanted those who speak up to be silenced. But it is an essential element of spiritual integrity and of democracy. It is inspiring to stand in this sacred place and know the tradition continues in our own time through the voice of Pope Leo and others.

London Calling, Pt. 1: “See It, Say It, Sort It’

I’ve passed through London a few times over the years, but never dedicated time to appreciating it. This winter I decided it was time to make up for that. I’ve been here for four days so far and will be staying four days more, attending a series of events and visiting many historical sights. As so many people have told me, it’s a marvelous city.
I am taking a little time now to put into words some of the personal meaning I am finding.

I’ll start this reflection with a security announcement.

We are riding the subway/Tube often. When you step into the car and it’s ready to go, the doors shut and an announcement comes over the PA system. First it says where the train is going and what the next stop is. Then you hear: “If you see something that doesn’t look right, speak to staff or text British Transport Police on 61016. We’ll sort it. See it, say it, sorted.”

Apparently this announcement was introduced 10 years ago as a way to invite passengers to assist with security concerns. As we rumbled on to the next stop again and again, I sensed it had possibilities for other aspects of life beyond subway security. (I confess at first I did not hear the last word — “sorted” — clearly; I thought the word was “sort it.” But I’m going with my version: “See it, say it, sort it.”)

Simply put, if we are trying to comprehend something we are experiencing, we can experiment with this phrase. “See it….” In other words, “What am I observing?” Then we take time to formulate words for what we are considering, and “Say it,” either silently or out loud. Since we don’t have an official agency to analyze it and create an action plan, we have to try on our own, “Sort it” suggests we figure out what this experience means and what we are going to do about it.

Here’s my first attempt to “See it, Say it, Sort it.”

THE DISPLAY OF WEALTH AND POWER
There are many magnificent buildings and sights in London. I’ve gone through Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, and the Tower of London, among others. But after appreciating all that’s there, I began to feel ambivalent about how much wealth has been invested to glorify the kings and queens. In the Tower of London, for example, there is a glass case displaying the communion set used for royal religious ceremonies. The plate is probably two feet in diameter and solid gold, with detailed engravings. It is impressive. But I thought, “Using something this doesn’t ensure that the ceremonies in which it is used will automatically be filled with genuine spiritual integrity.” Or seeing the royal crowns embedded with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and exotic gems is certainly impressive. But does it guarantee whoever is wearing it acts with justice and mercy?

REMINDERS OF MORAL COURAGE, RESILIENCE AND HUMAN CREATIVITY
We were walking past a formidable government building near Trafalgar Square where masons were filling joints between the stones with mortar. I noticed there were many chunks of the stones that were missing and it was clear the masons were not going to attend to them. I asked one fellow about it. He said the stones were damaged during the bombing blitz at the beginning of World War 2. The government decided to leave them as they were to remind future generations of what Londoners endured in the war. Britain’s courageous endurance eventually led to victory, not just for Great Britain but much of Europe and what we have called “The Free World.”

In the Houses of Parliament, there were statues of leaders who led the people through times of war, like Churchill. There were also tributes to those who expanded the government from rule by elites to a truer democracy: those who had fought to outlaw slavery, others who championed extending voting rights to working people and women, and others who had helped create the national health care system. And there are many reminders of kings and queens who, while wearing the elaborate costumes of royalty, advocated for the best interests of all people.

At the Globe Theater I saw a delightful production of Shakespeare’s “The Tempest,” and was reminded of the power of human creativity to create works of art that continue to give us entertainment, insight, and wisdom for centuries.

These are some of the things I “saw” and have wanted to “say” and “sort.” The displays of wealth and power can fill me with awe, but also raise questions when so much power and status is granted to those at the “top” of society. At the same time, the many examples of people standing up for the rights and dignity of all people are inspiring.

Experiencing England may be all the more vivid to me because in my own country there is a leader who seeks to be a king, building ornate ballrooms and putting his name everywhere he can. This is not the vision my country was founded upon. I am newly aware of how bold our original vision was, and how grateful I am to take my turn to be a guardian of that vision.

I’m still sorting out all my impressions which accumulate day by day. But one constant has been the courtesy and warmth of the British people we encounter. Some no doubt trace their roots far into the English past. But many others have immigrated here from all over the world and appreciate the life they are making here. It’s inspiring. History and monuments can teach us a great deal. But what is more impressive than being a stranger in a country and finding kindness at every turn?

Something to Rest On

Gospel music was not something I heard in my home growing up. But I did know of a singer named Mahalia Jackson, who appeared on television shows and sold millions of records. She performed at many civil rights demonstrations and before European royalty. President Kennedy chose her to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” at his Inaugural Ball in 1961. She sang “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” at Dr. King’s memorial in 1968. She died in 1972 at the age of 60 and left a legacy of inspired art.

Mahalia Jackson was orphaned at an early age. She heard gospel music coming from the church next door; it drew her in and she embodied it the rest of her life.

Many successful gospel singers began in church choirs and later made a career singing the blues, which had a broader audience. But she never did. She once said, “When you sing gospel you have a feeling there is a cure for what’s wrong. But when you are through with the blues, you’ve got nothing to rest on.”

Ms. Jackson knew pain well and she could express it in her music. But at the heart of every song was the conviction that reaching out in faith offered “a cure” – “something to rest on.”

Imagine coming upon an old-fashioned water well. Leaning over the stone wall that surrounds it, we look down to see if there is water. But the sunlight does not reach far enough for us to know. So we pick up a small stone and drop it down into the well. If we hear nothing, we might conclude the well is dry. But if we hear a plunk, we know water is there.

Spiritual belief is like that. We wonder if there is something beyond us. We drop something down into our inner well — maybe a hope, a prayer, a question, or a plea for guidance. Sometimes we get only silence. But sometimes we get a response; it may come as a word, a phrase, an image or a conviction.

When we do receive a response, we recognize it is not something we could create on our own — it feels fresh. When we claim it, we find our life opening to new possibilities. We have “something to rest on” as our journey continues.

A spiritual well is not a magic wishing well — it’s not about getting what we want every time. Sometimes we receive prompts that invite us to face and bear challenges we would rather avoid. But the direction we receive always leads to embracing life.

Mahalia Jackson knew a great deal of personal suffering. But in her faith and in her singing, she found something to “rest on.” It didn’t make all the problems in the world miraculously disappear. But what she found within herself, in her music, and in her community gave her light, courage and the ability to endure, and she shared that with the world.

We are in the season of Passover and Easter. The rituals and stories include times when people felt alone and without hope. But then something happens that opens a way beyond the darkness into new life. We are reminded we are not alone. There is a living, divine presence down in that well. We are reminded we have “something to rest on.”

Getting a Peek at Heaven

Let’s say someone asks you, “Got any travel plans?” Imagine saying, “Yeah… I’m going to the place where heaven and earth meet, poke my head through, and see what I can see.” This is how one artist imagined someone doing that:

(The caption reads: “A missionary of the Middle Ages recounts that he has found the point where heaven and earth meet.”)

For thousands of years, people looked to the skies and imagined what might lie beyond – and wondered if there’s a heaven out there.

Then science came with those telescopes, star charts, and rocket ships.

Years ago, I was teaching an adult class. The passage we were studying mentioned heaven. One older lady raised her hand.

“You know,” she said, “I’m mad at those astronauts!”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, when they got up there into outer space I thought they would see heaven. But they didn’t find it. Now I don’t know where it is. It makes me angry.”

I have a friend who was a nun before becoming a doctoral student in mathematics at UCSB before becoming a Jungian therapist. We used to go to public lectures at the Institute for Theoretical Physics on campus. I appreciated having her with me because she could explain some of the concepts to me. I once asked her what she thought of the possibility of “worm holes” in space. She told me she thought it was an exciting theory, adding it might explain where heaven is hidden.

In spiritual traditions, “heaven” can be a reality beyond this one, but also accessible now.

In the book of Genesis, Jacob is alone in the middle of nowhere and lies down at night to sleep. He has a dream in which he sees something like a ladder or staircase leading from earth to heaven with angels traveling back and forth. He hears the voice of God promising that he will always be with Jacob. Jacob wakes, remembers the dream and pours oil on the stone on which his head was resting and names it. He says, “This is the house of God, the gate of heaven.” The story suggests that such an opening can exist in the most unlikely of places.

In the Gospels, Jesus speaks often of the “kingdom of heaven” and the “kingdom of God.” And while some passages suggest a realm beyond this life, others suggest it’s a reality available to us now: “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among (or within) you…”

I once led a retreat with the theme of how paradise has been envisioned in different spiritual traditions and popular culture. I showed a clip from the 1935 movie Top Hat in which Fred Astaire is wooing Ginger Rodgers. In one scene, he invites her to dance with him as he sings the Irving Berlin song “Cheek to Cheek.” Here’s the chorus:

“Heaven, I’m in Heaven, And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak; And I seem to find the happiness I seek When we’re out together dancing, cheek to cheek.”

After seeing the clip, I asked the group to suggest how the scene expresses ideas of heaven. People noticed that the set was full of light and beauty. Ginger Rodgers had feather boas on the arms of her costume that floated like angel wings as she moved. We also saw both dancers moving effortlessly with each other, yet each retained their individuality.

And we watched the last scene of the 1989 movie “Field of Dreams.” It’s a baseball fantasy in which Ray Kinsella has inherited a farm in Iowa and is raising his family. Ray hears a voice in the corn field calling on him to build a baseball field. He does. Soon players from the past start walking out of the corn to play the sacred game one more time. As one of them is leaving for the day, he asks Ray if this is heaven. “No,” Ray says, “This is Iowa.” As the story continues, the voice prompts Ray with new tasks, and he follows not knowing where it’s headed or what it means. The last player to appear turns out to be John Kinsella, Ray’s father; they were estranged years before at the time John died. Ray introduces his father to his wife and daughter. They begin playing catch. They have this conversation:

John asks, “Is this heaven?”

Ray: “It’s Iowa.”

John: “Iowa? I could have sworn this was heaven.”

Ray: “Is there a heaven?”

John: “Oh yeah. It’s the place where dreams come true.”

Ray: “Maybe this is heaven.”

I’m not sure where heaven is to be found. Maybe it’s somewhere out there in outer space. Maybe it’s somewhere here in inner space. Maybe it’s both. I welcome those moments when we seem to catch glimpses of it in our everyday lives, and remain open to the healing and beauty it might hold.

(Dear Reader: Not being satisfied with the way I ended this, two hours after posting I’m adding one more thought…)

I like to think of the fellow in the engraving and imagine what his life would be like when he came back from his journey. I’m guessing he’d be like most people who have had near-death experiences and profound spiritual encounters: he’d feel less fear, more peace, and a fresh committment to making each day matter.

(The lead image is an engraving from The Atmosphere: Popular Meterology, by Camille Flammarion, 1888; featured in Cosmigraphics: Picturing Space Through Time, by Michael Benson)

Better to Focus on the Green than The Sand Trap (Some Spiritual Advice)

I’m going to start with a bit of golf wisdom and then move on to something more important.

Golf is a funny game. When you get ready to hit a shot, an endless number of thoughts can flood your mind. Some may be specific ideas about how you are going to direct your body. Others may concern timing or an awareness of who might be watching you. What you have in mind before you swing is important.

If you are getting ready to hit a shot that has a chance of landing in a sand trap instead of on the green, a common thought is, “I just don’t want the ball to land in that sand trap!” But more often than not, having that thought will result in the ball finding its way to the sand. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to do!” we say to ourselves. On we go, not only lamenting the outcome but frustrated with ourselves.

Wise coaches tell us the key is understanding how our mind works. The theory is that our mind will direct our body to try and fulfill what we want. However, it’s designed to focus more on a clear visual image than a word. When we say, “I just don’t want to land in that sand trap,” our mind sees “sand trap” but doesn’t hear the word “don’t.”

The better option, they say, is to take a long look at the green and think, “I want this ball to land on that green.” Then we take a relaxing breath and swing. There is no guarantee, but more often than not the shot will go in the right direction.

What does this say about our spiritual life?

I believe it suggests to us what we focus on and expect in our journey is important.

One problem is that for centuries, dominant strands of the Christian tradition have said the most important truth in life is: “You are a sinner. There is something fundamentally wrong with you, and you should never forget it.”

To me, it’s basically like telling yourself again and again, “Of course things go wrong. I deserve it.”

I don’t believe that’s the best approach.

In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus doesn’t dwell on the people who pass by the injured man, but lifts up the person who cared enough to stop and do something to help him. The implication: “Isn’t this kind of person who you want to be?”

In the Parable of the Prodigal Son, the main message is that the father of the two sons is more generous and forgiving than either son imagined and invites them both to a party celebrating that abundant grace.

I believe this perspective underlies the most profound set of teachings in the New Testament, the Beatitudes.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” isn’t inviting us to assume feeling empty or broken as a state we deserve. Instead, it’s an encouragement to trust that beyond our broken hearts there can be healing and new life.

When we hear “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” we are given hope that our grief can, over time, lead us to discover a humble sense of inner peace.

And there are the other six statements: “Blessed are the meek…Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…Blessed are the merciful…Blessed are the pure in heart…Blessed are the peacemakers… Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake …” All of these are words of encouragement to do and be the best we can, not dwell on our unworthiness.

Summoning all the best images and intentions as we play golf certainly doesn’t guarantee success every time. The game is designed to both humble and delight us; we will find our way into sand traps often enough. But that’s not when we quit. That’s when we do our best to meet the challenge before us, learn from each experience, and move on.

As maturing human beings, we have plenty of opportunities to recognize our own mixed motives, shortcomings and disappointments. But we don’t stop there. We are here for more than that. We are in this life to learn how to love and endure and serve. That’s worth keeping at the center of our intentions.

Lead image: St. Georges’s Golf Course, Ontario, Canada

Combining Spiritual Wisdom with Practical Know-How: Lessons from Hearing Father Boyle and Tom Vozzo

Last week, I had the opportunity to attend a talk and book signing featuring legendary figure, Father Gregory Boyle. He brought with him Tom Vozzo, a former business executive who has played a major role in strengthening and expanding Father Boyle’s work. Together they shared some hard-earned wisdom which I think is meaningful not only to the people they serve but to all of us.

If you don’t know the story, here’s a summary. Forty years ago, Father Boyle began serving as the priest of the poorest Catholic church in Los Angeles. Eight gangs were in a constant and deadly battle for control of the neighborhood. Father Boyle began to seek a way to become a transforming presence and offer a path of hope for gang members who wanted to find a new life. He began living and walking alongside the people in the neighborhood. He soon recognized that creating meaningful job training and employment would be critical. “At the time, law enforcement tactics of suppression and criminal justice policies of mass incarceration were the prevailing means to deal with gang violence. But where others only saw criminals, Father Greg saw people in need of help. Today, Homeboy Industries is the largest gang intervention, rehabilitation and re-entry program in the world, welcoming thousands through our doors each year.[i]

Here are just a few examples of what they shared Saturday night:

THE TWO CORE PRINCIPLES: “Everyone is unshakably good and everyone belongs.” The people who come through the door have learned to see themselves as unwanted and unlovable. At Homeboy, they meet people who see in them an “unshakable goodness,” and they are welcomed as part of the human family. People who have been in prison experience something new: “They are used to being watched, not used to being seen.”

HOW TO RESPOND TO DIFFICULT BEHAVIOR: Sometimes clients act out in anger or frustration. The staff’s approach is to “find the thorn underneath” –the deep pain that’s driving behavior. This happens through conversation, counseling, and support. It can be a slow and steady process as people work through their traumas. But with time and respect, transformation can occur.

WE ALL NEED HEALING: Some of us have known plenty of love and support in our life and others have experienced great loss and trauma. But all of us carry wounds within us. It’s tempting to ignore them. But the wounds don’t disappear. Instead, they can show up when, for example, we see people who are struggling and judge them harshly. “If we don’t make friends with our wounds, we despise the wounded.”

Everyone in the organization assumes they have issues to work on. “Healing ends in the graveyard,” says Father Boyle. If we want to “Love your neighbor as you love yourself,” we remember that love is practiced in seeking healing in our lives as well as that of others. This is a lifelong journey. In the process, we can make peace with ourselves and become more capable of caring for people we encounter.

PURPOSE AND STRUCTURE After lives of aimlessness and despair, clients experience two important things: purposeful action and structure to each day. In addition to therapy and spiritual support, Homeboy gives people jobs with responsibilities, a chance to become part of a team expecting mutual accountability, and a chance for advancement.

(As I thought about it, this principle can also apply to people for whom retirement feels empty. There is pleasure in being free from stress and external constraints. But personal satisfaction can emerge when we find ways we can help others on a consistent basis.)

These and other principles guided Homeboy from the beginning. But in the last nine years, it has seen remarkable growth thanks, in part, to Tom Vozzo. Tom Vozzo had a successful career as the CEO of several companies with millions of dollars in profits; he knew how to “get things done” in the private sector. He was asked to see if he could help Homeboy, first as an adviser and then as the CEO. His skills helped the organization triple in size and dramatically improve its financial strength. In the process, Vozzo found himself changed:

“As he immersed himself in the work, something deeper took hold – an awareness of the interconnectedness that binds us all. This realization softened his heart and opened him to a greater purpose. He found that true change came through relationships, by tending to his own brokenness with acceptance and engaging in community – just as we all must confront and embrace our own wounds to find healing. He came to see the shared brokenness that unites us all, revealing that transformation is not about fixing others but about standing together in mutual care and understanding.

Through this interconnectedness, he discovered joy — an essential pursuit that reshaped his path forward. The burdens of responsibility that once weighed heavily on him became secondary to the profound joy he now felt. He learned that joy is a powerful state, one that requires time, reflection and openness to cultivate. And once found, it has the power to realign everything else in life.”[ii]

In my years in ministry and nonprofit work, I have seen many wonderful hopes and dreams fade when they haven’t been supported by practical, real-world know-how. Seeing Father Boyle and Tom Vozzo sitting side by side and sharing their stories of how they worked together to advance the work of their organization was inspiring to me. I could not help but feel this combination of high ideals and practical competence is what our country needs so desperately at this time in our history.

[i] https://homeboyindustries.org/our-story/about-homeboy/

[ii] https://jailstojobs.org/retiring-homeboy-industries-ceo-tom-vozzo-reflects-on-his-leadership-journey/

Why Being a TV Analyst is Easier Than Being a Coach (And What That Tells Us about Life)

I once attended a prayer breakfast where the featured speaker was the legendary football coach Joe Gibbs. Gibbs had led the Washington Redskins (now the Commanders) to nine playoff appearances, four conference titles and three Super Bowl championships. After retiring as a coach, he became a television analyst. During the Q & A time, someone asked him to compare being a coach with being a TV analyst. Gibbs said being an analyst was much easier. When you are the coach, you have to make quick, irreversible decisions on the field, not knowing what the outcome will be. When you are an analyst, you can see what just happened and evaluate the coach’s decision from the comfort of the broadcast booth.

When you are a coach, you may be wrong. When you are an analyst, you can always be right.

What is true in sports is true in life. This can apply to relationships, parenting, work or any activity we engage in where we are responsible for the choices we make.

As years go by, it’s tempting to look back on decisions we made earlier in our life and be the all-knowing, wise analyst. We can focus on regrets:

“I knew I should have bought that property back then – I can’t afford it now.”
“If I could do my education over, I would have made other choices.”
“Why didn’t anybody tell me how hard it is to be a parent?”
“I should have known not to trust that person.”

… or we can focus on good choices and lucky breaks:

“Meeting (that person) turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me.”
“That was a hard lesson to learn, but my life has been better for having learned it.”
“That has been one of the blessings in my life that I didn’t see coming.”
“I once was lost but now am found; was blind, but now I see.”

Analysts can watch the replay and comment on it. Coaches must call the play.

What do the spiritual traditions say about this tendency?

I think all of them encourage us to be honest about our shortcomings and mistakes.

But they also encourage us to always seek a fresh start, no matter what has happened.

In both instances, we draw on the wisdom of our ancestors that has been passed on in Scripture and traditions. We also learn from others in our community who have faced similar situations and learned important lessons about life.

We need to embrace both roles. We need to be wise analysts of what works in life and what does not. But we also need to recognize that, in those moments when we must make an important decision, we may not have all the facts or all the time or a perfect knowledge of what the future may bring. We do our best and learn from it.