wisdom – Page 13 – Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D

“Beholding” as a Spritual Practice

Last week I attended a leadership conference featuring David Brooks, PBS commentator and columnist for the New York Times. He covered many issues in his three talks, and one I want to share with you concerns the attention we give other people.

David said he recently was working alone at home one evening when his wife came in the front door. He looked up to see her and realized she hadn’t yet noticed him sitting at his desk in the adjacent room. He decided to simply watch her for a minute. After she closed the door behind her, she put her things down, and paused. The house was quiet. She then turned and walked into the kitchen. In that unplanned moment of simply observing her, he realized how much he loved her. He said the experience of seeing her this way was not just a visual act, but something more: he felt as if he was beholding her.

He contrasted this moment with what we experience often in modern life — looking at each other without really seeing each other. When we meet someone, we quickly form assumptions about them before they even speak and filter whatever they say through our assumptions. When someone we know is talking – even someone we know well – our busy mind often isn’t listening carefully to them, but instead preparing what we are going to say in response. “We are not good at “reading” others,” he said, which has created “an epidemic of social blindness.” The quality of attention we bring to someone else is a moral act. If we are truly paying attention with humility and genuine respect, we are granting that person dignity. We are beholding them.

I looked up the origin of the word. In Old English, the word bihaldan meant “give regard to, hold in view.” Modern definitions include, “To hold by, keep, observe, regard, look” and “To look upon, view, consider as (something); to consider or hold in a certain capacity.” If I was to add my own definition, it would be “to give reverent attention to a particular person or experience.” I kept turning the word around in my imagination and was intrigued with the possibility that to “behold” someone could be to “hold” that person’s “being” with a particular sense of awe and care. We are not looking at them with our “busy mind” but opening ourselves to the mystery and wonder of their living presence.

In Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith, Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor described the factors that led her to leave parish ministry. One reason was that she had become weary of people wanting her to tell them what they were supposed to believe. She said her spiritual journey had not been so much about believing the right thing but inviting others into experiences of beholding —“beholding life on earth in all its glorious and terrible reality.”

Being with someone when they die can often evoke a feeling there’s something sacred in the room. I remember my sisters and I spending time at our deceased father’s bedside before the mortuary arrived. We weren’t just looking at dad, we were beholding him.

And I recall what it’s like raising young children. You’re busy all day long with them – talking, listening, dressing, negotiating, feeding, bathing, reading a story — and it’s a big accomplishment to finally get them into bed. A little while later you come back to their room to check on them. You carefully, quietly open the door and see if they’ve fallen asleep. Seeing they are, you sometimes stand there and keep looking at them. You now “see” them for the miracles they are. You may even think, “When they are asleep they look like angels.” In those moments, you’re not just looking at them – you are beholding them

Maybe we can try beholding one person today and see what we experience.

Imgage: Sleeping Child Covered With a Blanket, Henry Moore, 1942

Taken Your “Life-House” Out For A Walk Lately?

Taken your life-house out for a walk lately?

Hard to resist if it’s a nice spring day with a bright heaven-candle in the sky.

Who knows? You might come upon a fresh masterpiece by a weaver-walker.

Life-house, heaven-candle and weaver-walker are examples of “kenning,” a practice in OId English in which a “figurative phrase or compound noun stands in for a familiar word.”[i] Such words were created by our linguistic ancestors between 500 and 1200 AD. Life-house is a word for “body,” heaven-candle for “sun,” and weaver-walker for a “spider”.

I think these words are delightful.

“Body” is a boring word — one definition is simply “the physical aspect of a person.”[ii] It doesn’t suggest what this “aspect” is really for. But life-house tells me so much more. This is the “house” I received when I was born and where “I” have resided all these years. It’s got some deferred maintenance issues, to be sure, and the older we get there are longer lists of things that need to cleaned, replaced, spruced up, covered up, and repainted, not to mention the possibility of discovering leaks as the pipes wear out. But there’s no down payment or mortgage to pay, no crazy real estate market to contend with – it’s a gift we’ve each been given. Our body is where we live – our one and only life-house.

“Sun” is defined by NASA as a “a hot ball of glowing gases at the heart of our solar system.”[iii] Possible digestive and political jokes aside, that’s obviously a scientifically accurate way to put it. But how much better a word is heaven-candle? That glowing orb that illuminates the day is like a generous candle that fills the sky with welcome light every day, without which we would bump into all kinds of things. Our heaven-candle never drips wax on the carpet and is expected to last for another two billion years without being replaced.

“Spider”: “An eight-legged predatory arachnid with an unsegmented body consisting of a fused head and thorax and a rounded abdomen.”[iv] Yuck. “Unsegmented” sounds like somebody needs to make an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon; “fused head and thorax” sounds like they’ve already had at least one such procedure. As to “rounded abdomen” – not sure what’s polite to say there. But as a description, it sounds depressing. How much better is weaver-walker? Doesn’t this word capture the miracle that this creature actually weaves while it walks? (In spite of all its surgeries?) I’ve known some great knitters in my time, but not one that can do that while strolling down the sidewalk, let alone suspended in mid-air generating its own thread.

These examples of “kenning” bring to mind words created when our children were young.

I remember watching Monday Night Football once and a daughter walked in and said, “What are you watching, Daddy? Catch-the-man?” Sounds more accurate than “football,” a word which should be permanently released to the custody of soccer.

Another time, one of the girls was very angry at someone and passionately declared, “They are a Dumbo-airplane!” Years later, I’m still pondering how to visualize that, but have always appreciated the emotional force behind the phrase.

Less poetic but similarly useful was a word we created, “birthday-cereal.” The origins can be traced to taking young kids to the market and walking down the cereal aisle. Attracted by the graphic images for Fruit Loops, Sugar Crisp, and Cap’n Crunch, they’d constantly beg me to buy one of these nutritional disasters. It was exasperating. One day I issued the following edict: they could have any cereal they wanted on their birthday, but on all other days, we would only buy cereal with less than 10 grams of sugar in it per serving. Not only did the haggling disappear, but it improved their literary and math competency as they became experts at silently rushing from box to box down the aisle, carefully examining the chart of nutritional data on every one like Sherlock Holmes.

So “catch-the-man,” “Dumbo-airplane,” and “birthday-cereal” were “kenning” creations in our family – I’m guessing every family has their own.

Let’s turn back one more time to savor a few more of these Old English gems.

After we’ve taken our life-house out for a walk under the heaven-candle while keeping an eye out for weaver-walkers, we could take a trip to gaze at the wave-path. You know, the sail-road? Ok, I’ll try one more word for it: the whale-way. Got it? The ocean! “The entire body of salt water that covers more than 70 percent of the earth’s surface”[v] is the dull way to put it. Wave-path, sail-road, and whale-way are words that help me see movement and life on the sea.

Finally, after our enlightened walk and time spent gazing from the shore, we should have a dust-viewing. That’s the Old English description for “visit to a grave.” After all, that’s where our life-houses will end up. But we’re not there yet. And right now, today, we have this divine opportunity to give thanks for the miracles of the heaven-candle, the weaver-walkers, and the endless creativity of our species. Let’s not let that opportunity dissolve into the dust just yet.

Image: “Spider Web Glowing in the Morning Sun,” Erica Maxine Price

Got some “kenning” examples of your own? Share them in the “Comments” section.

[i] “Here Be Dragons,” book review of The Wordhord, by Hana Videen, WSJ, May 9,2022

[ii] Wordnik.com

[iii] https://www.nasa.gov/sun

[iv] https://www.lexico.com/en/definition/spider

[v] The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, 5th Edition.

One reader, who is not able to post comments on this site, writes this:

Hi Steve,

I so enjoyed your sharing of, “Life-House.” Once again, since my comments are not possible to add on-line, I will share them with via email.

When my children were young they very disliked eating broccoli. We changed the name to “Green Trees” which they took pride in that they were eating a tree.

One of my granddaughters would only eat chicken when she was young. I told her that salmon was pink chicken, she ate it, and even likes it to this day, but embarrassed if I tell anybody she use to call it pink chicken.

In my classroom, I had a small picture frame with a label at the top, “HOT NEWS.” If a child came to school with a heavy or joyful heart from something that recently happened in his life, he/she would have troubling focusing on the work or verbal exchange during the day. Some examples would be, “my goldfish died last night, Grandma & Grandpa are coming today, Mom is going to have a baby, my dog/cat is in the hospital, etc” The advantage of the HOT NEWS is that once the child shared with his friends in the classroom and teacher he/she had the ability to have better focusing skills. The disadvantage is that the Hot News might be information being shared which was a family secret. Examples, Dad said mom is not with her girlfriends this week, but is having nose surgery. The child’s comment “I don’t know if she is getting a shorter or longer nose, but I will tell you later when she comes back home.” Now 25 children know the mom is having a nose job, which they will share with their mom, a top secret the Mom did not want to advertise.

One of my son’s said his teacher was as “dumb as a rock.”

I always told my children and students that they were responsible for answering their body telephone and no one else can. This might mean they need to use the restroom soon, they were not feeling well and needed to go home from school, etc.

To discount the different colors of people, I told my granddaughters and sons when they were young that how they looked was just God’s wrapping paper, but inside we are all the same, except how we share from our heart.

Thank you for letting me share with you some of my favorite examples of words with unique meaning.

I always appreciate and enjoy your words of wisdom and interpretations of life’s experiences.

Grandpa and the Wooden Bowl

There once was a family that lived in a cabin: a man and his wife, their son and daughter, and the man’s father. They ate dinner together every night.

As grandfather got older, he had difficulty at the table. Some of his food would fall to the floor and he’d occasionally break a dish. The father grew frustrated, and admonished grandpa to be more careful. Grandpa continued to struggle.

One day the boy went into the work shed and noticed his father was carving something out of wood. He asked his father what he was making.

“A bowl and a spoon for grandfather,” he said. “I’m tired of him making a mess at the table. I’m going to have him sit in the corner to eat his dinner, using these.”

That night, the man told grandpa the new arrangement. He showed him the bowl and spoon, put his dinner portion in the bowl, and led him over to the corner of the room where he’d set a small table and chair. The family ate dinner that night in peace.

A few days later, the father noticed his son in the work shed. He walked in and saw the son with the carving knife working on a piece of wood.

“What are you making?” he asked.

“A bowl and spoon for you when you are older,” the son said.

_______

I heard this story decades ago and I’ve never forgotten it.

Clearly, the story illustrates how caring for older people can become a challenge, testing our patience as we focus on our own lives. And if we live long enough, what will it feel like to be a burden and potentially be placed “out of the way?”

For me the story raises complicated issues that I think many of us encounter.

My mother had a severe stroke at age 75. She lingered for ten days. Her sudden death was a shock. But we all knew she would have preferred it to spending months or years being frail and confined.

Dad lived to be 91. He spent 89 of those years in Redlands and San Bernardino. When he was no longer able to live on his own, we were able to get him into an Assisted Living unit in Redlands for several years. At first it worked well, as friends and former associates would stop by to visit. But in time they became infirm themselves, or forgot about him, or died.

I drove down one day to visit him. They told me he was in the dining room finishing his lunch. I went and saw he was the last one there, sitting by himself and using a fork as best he could to eat two fish sticks.

My sisters and I transferred him to a well-respected nursing home in Santa Barbara so we could all be closer. He endeared himself to the staff with his wit, irreverence, and stories from World War 2. He appreciated seeing us more often. But he had always been an independent man, propelling his Oldsmobile 88 around town and favoring restaurants where waitresses greeted him by name as he came through the door. He never wanted to live a restricted life or be a burden to anyone. He had been a “somebody”, and now that identity was gone, and he was dependent on others.

We brought him to our houses for meals and holidays. But it became harder and harder to transfer him in and out of a car.

One Sunday I was leaving after a visit. He looked at me and said, “Get me out of here.” I told him I couldn’t. He followed me down the hall in his wheelchair, and after I closed the glass door behind me, he kicked it several times. I will always remember that sound.

As death approached, we took turns at this bedside. He died knowing we loved him and were proud of him.

We had his memorial service back in San Bernardino, where he’d been a prominent and active citizen. If he’d died ten or fifteen years earlier, there might have been a big crowd. But, outside of family, there were less than a dozen people.

Does this sound like anything you’ve experienced or are facing?

Did I, at some point, hand dad his wooden bowl and spoon? Is that what our society does to our seniors? Is that will happen to us if we live that long?

While longevity is something to be prized, we know it often comes with some serious challenges. So many parishioners I’ve known make it to old age and are publicly celebrated. But in private, they confide they are “done,” and “don’t know why the Lord is keeping me here.”

I’m haunted by the loneliness I’ve seen.

So, what do we do?

I’m guessing we all are inclined to honor and show respect to “older people” wherever we encounter them — in our neighborhoods, in stores, in public gatherings – anywhere our paths cross. They deserve it.

I have the privilege of leading a monthly worship service at a local retirement home. As has always been my experience, the people I meet there have lived amazing lives.

No one wants to become a burden to their family, and there are many steps we can take to insure that doesn’t happen – estate planning, honest discussions with our family about what we want and don’t want and being realistic about our hopes and limitations.

I searched the internet for any other versions of this story and found one. It has a different ending. After the son tells the father what he is carving, the father brings grandpa back to the table, and they live happily ever after. Nicer ending. Too nice, I think. I believe the story I remember stuck with me because the challenge it poses is what I need to hear.

What thoughts and feelings arise for you when you read “Grandpa and the Wooden Bowl?”

Image: “Wooden Bowl and Spoon,” folksy.com

Two prior blog posts are related to today’s theme: , a) for a simple list of meaningful themes to talk about with someone nearing the end of their life — “Six Things that Matter Most,” go to: https://wordpress.com/post/drjsb.com/357; b) for a Buddhist perspective on visiting nursing homes, go to https://drjsb.com/2020/12/17/siddhartha-visits-a-nursing-home/

Spiritual or Religious? A Guide for the Perplexed

“Are you religious?”

“No, I’m spiritual.”

Over recent decades, fewer and fewer Americans describe themselves as “religious.” Many say they are “spiritual.” What does this mean?

I’ve been reflecting on those two words for 35 years. I’m going to offer one way to understand the difference between them.

“Religion” is a word that combines “re“ with “ligio.” “Ligio” is the root for the word “ligament,” which means a binding. So re-ligio means “bound again.” A religion binds someone to a set of beliefs, traditions, and practices. When I was a kid, every Friday the cafeteria served fish sticks. Why? Because Catholics weren’t allowed to eat meat on Friday. If I’m an Orthodox Jew, I’ll only eat kosher food. If I’m a practicing Muslim, you can expect me to be praying five times a day and fasting during the month of Ramadan.

“Spiritual” is very different. Let’s go back in time to appreciate its origins.

In the Hebrew Scriptures, the common word for “spirit” is “ruah.” Here’s a famous passage:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth,the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God^[b] swept over the face of the waters.[i] Did you notice the footnote, (b)? The footnote says: “Orwhile the spirit of God orwhile a mighty wind.” Spirit is synonymous with wind and breath.

The New Testament was written in Greek. Just like Hebrew, the original word pneuma (as in pneumatic tire, pneumonia, etc.) can mean spirit, wind, breath. Here’s an example:

The wind^[f] blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.[ii] The footnote for “wind” reads: “The same Greek word means both wind and spirit.”

So “religion” implies a binding, a strong and secure connection. “Spiritual” implies something more elusive and mysterious, but real. You can’t attach a ligament to the wind; a breeze can be felt but doesn’t bind you.

For centuries many people were bound to religious traditions. But in the 60s, people started questioning authority. Many began leaving such traditions altogether or picking and choosing which beliefs and practices they’d embrace and which they’d ignore. A steady decline in membership and influence of religious communities began and continues – the ligaments became weak or were never developed.

Being cut loose from such restrictive bonds can be exhilarating. We can begin finding for ourselves what is true and authentic.

As we’re searching, we may have moments when we sense there is something important beyond everyday reality. Maybe we come upon something in nature that fills us with wonder. Maybe we are awe-struck as we look into the eyes of a newborn child. Maybe we sense something transcendent in a piece of music. Maybe we go through a personal crisis and feel we’re being led by something beyond ourselves. Maybe we’re in recovery and find the value of a higher power. Or, maybe we experiment with ancient Eastern techniques of inner exploration, such as meditation, mindfulness, yoga, or Tai-chi and find an inner peace, strength, and serenity that we never experienced in one of those liga-mented institutions.

We certainly don’t believe there is an old bearded white guy in the sky in charge of everything. But what about “… an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together,” as Obi-Wan Kenobi explains to Luke Skywalker.[iii] This “Force” gives us courage, helps us do what is right, connects us to others and calls us to fight against forces of repression.

If any of these experiences resonate, we might say we are “spiritual.” We sense something, believe something, feel something that is of great personal importance. And no external authority will control how we experience it or what it means.

So much of this speaks to me personally. I don’t believe in something just because someone tells me to. I am curious about every kind of journey people are on and learn new things whenever I can. I’m fascinated by all things “spiritual.”

And yet there’s something lost when we have no ligaments.

Last spring, I was feeling discomfort in my right upper arm while doing yoga. One day, I was playing golf and noticed it was swelling dramatically and my arm was turning purple. I went to Urgent Care. They diagnosed it as a torn ligament, which leads to a swelling known as a “Popeye arm” along with contusions. Apparently, we have two ligaments connecting shoulders to elbows, and one of mine had become disconnected. They told me they couldn’t repair it and referred me to physical therapy to begin strengthening the surrounding muscles to compensate.

A year later, I’m still doing the exercises and feeling fine. But I’ve learned what it’s like to be “de-ligamented.”

I’ve been around congregations for many years. Communities that worship and serve together week after week are like bodies that are consistently forming strong ligaments of connection. In a tragedy – a death, a disaster, an urgent social need — those bodies are ready to act decisively. And they do.

We can see this principle at work in the war in Ukraine. After World War 2, NATO was formed, creating voluntary bonds of commitment between participating nations to defend each other against aggression. Some recent politicians wanted our country to be free from our NATO commitment. But we now see those ligaments in action as thirty nations quickly united to oppose Russian aggression.

I rejoice in the freedom spirituality provides to find what is authentic. I can also sing the old hymn “Blest Be The Tie That Binds” when I see social bonds being used to inspire, strengthen and protect the human family.

[i] Genesis 1: 1-2, New Revised Standard Version

[ii] John 3:8, New Revised Standard Version

[iii] Star Wars, Episode IV: A New Hope

Image: Fall Colors at Kebler Pass, Colorado USA.JPG; aspen groves are now understood to not be individual trees, but one unified biological entity.

Living on the Back Side of the Tapestry

Years ago, the great sage and scholar of all things spiritual, Huston Smith, spoke at the Lobero Theater in Santa Barbara. He announced he had five talking points that evening – statements that the Santa Barbara audience might disagree with. But, with a smile, he encouraged everyone to consider them.

Each of the five points was provocative and memorable, and today I will comment on the fifth: “In the end, absolute perfection reigns.”

He said he knew many people would think this is naive. With so much suffering in the world, how can anyone believe perfection will emerge in the end? But he stated it’s one principle all the major wisdom traditions agree on. He also offered a metaphor to appreciate the concept: tapestries.

When you look at a tapestry from behind, it seems like a chaotic scramble of dangling bits of yarn and crossed threads. But if you walk around and see it from the front, you realize it’s actually an integrated, inspiring work of art.

As we live our lives, he said, we can feel like we are creating something that looks like the back of that tapestry. We may go through days and seasons where we feel things aren’t working out the way we hoped, and our life has become a mess. But in time – perhaps, as we keep going, or after we have left this life – the strands we felt were mistakes can be rewoven and incorporated into a larger fabric, and they will form something grand.

I think about my family history. I try to appreciate all that my ancestors went through, and that includes some dangling threads of tragedy, disappointment, and hardship. I want to live my life in a way that honors their accomplishments and also has compassion for what they may have felt were their failings. It’s like I’m picking up pieces of thread from their lives and trying to give it new meaning as I find ways to weave their experiences into my own.

I think about all the suffering people have endured due to race, gender and injustice. I can’t do anything about the past. But I can try to honor those sufferings and work towards a more just and humane world.

I don’t know when my time on earth will be up. I go day by day, weaving my strands as best I can, assuming I’ll die with some left undone. I hope those who follow me can pick those strands up and incorporate them into the lives they live, creating something good out of what I’ve done and from what I left unresolved.

And if all humanity is doing that – if we are learning from the past while doing the best we can –that big tapestry is constantly evolving, and all the strands will ultimately find a place in the bigger work of art.

And if there is a divine force in this world, present in all of nature and within each one of us, and if it’s endlessly at work helping us endure and learn and heal and create and serve – then we are not alone. As we seek divine guidance and direction, we’ll find there’s a master artist at work alongside us, encouraging our creativity and leading us into new and novel patterns of meaning.

As I say this, a skeptical voice within me speaks up. It tells me this is all wishful thinking. “We live, we die, life goes on and that’s it.” I reply, “If that is the way it is, that’s OK…I’m grateful to have lived as long as I have, and to see all I’ve seen, and to have done the best I can.”

But another voice in me thinks Huston Smith — and so many mystics — may be right. In the end, it’s not just about me, it’s about all of us, and that big, evolving, living tapestry we are all part of. Maybe, just maybe, led, inspired, and sustained by divine grace, it will be true: “Absolute perfection reigns.”

Top Image: Jacquard paisley shawl (detail of front and reverse sides), Scotland, 19th century. Laura Foster Nicholson at https://lfntextiles.comtps://lfntextiles.com https://lfntextiles.com

Angela Merkel’s Gardener and the Unexpected Mentors in Our Life

I just finished reading The Chancellor: The Remarkable Odyssey of Angela Merkel. I was impressed by many details of her remarkable life, including the impact made on her by her family’s gardener.

Angela’s father was a Lutheran pastor who had volunteered to serve in Soviet-controlled East Germany during the Cold War. He and his family were sent to the city of Templin. He was respected for his dedication and work ethic but was often an intimidating presence. He had a strict schedule and high expectations for his daughter, and while she learned logical rigor and discipline from him, he was emotionally distant and often absent. Her mother was busy with her own duties, and Angela was often alone. As it turned out, she found an unexpected mentor.

“I remember a gardener, a sturdy older man, who instilled basic trust and great calm in me,” Angela recalled much later.

“I learned all kinds of things from him about practical life. I learned how to identify flowers, or when the cyclamen was in season. From him I learned how to talk to the mentally disabled. With him the atmosphere was warm and trusting, and he allowed me to eat carrots fresh from the ground. This man awakened a connection to the earth and to nature for me…today I recognize how important time is, more important than possessions.”[i]

Angela Merkel went on to become a nuclear chemist and a remarkably effective politician. She was the first woman ever to head a German government – and was elected four times, serving 16 years. She also led the European Union through many crises, standing up to Vladimir Putin time and again, and was a leading spokesperson for democracy and international cooperation. Her quiet wisdom, analytical abilities, and patience enabled her to either persuade or outlast many of her opponents. Throughout her career, she would return to the forests and land of Templin for rest and renewal. Apparently, the lessons she learned from the gardener — ”basic trust,” “great calm,” a deep connection to the earth, and how to talk to anyone respectfully – became hallmarks of her own character.

This led me to think about people in our lives beyond family who have had a lasting impact on us. One person who comes to mind for me is an old painting contractor I worked for, Tom Childress.

As a teenager, I earned money in the summer and on breaks by learning to paint houses. I often worked on my own, but twice worked for painting contractors.

One was a big property manager. He paid us $2.50/hour, was often impatient, and more than once missed our payday because he was out of town.

And then there was Tom. Old guy with white hair, always dressed in white, paint-speckled overalls who drove a faded-yellow Dodge camper truck. He was fond of Busch Bavarian beer, and a Styrofoam cooler with a six-pack was always by his side. Tom paid $4/hour. He patiently taught me all he knew about painting. Friday was payday, and he often went to the bank at lunch time and came back with a roll of 20s to pay us in cash. More than once, he’d let us off early on Fridays after paying us for the full day.

I worked hard for Tom. And I learned from him what it’s like to work for someone who genuinely respects their employees. (Though I have yet to gain an appreciation for Busch Bavarian.)

I think of Mr. Kenley, a high school English teacher who must have gone through many boxes of red pens. At first, I resented all the corrections and questions he wrote on every assignment. But in time I realized he was doing his best to make us better writers. After my first year away at college, I went back to his classroom to thank him.

And something one of my Spanish teachers said still lingers with me. One day in class, after sharing a personal story, he said, “You know, in life we need two kinds of experiences: some to make us proud and some to keep us humble. We need both to be a real person.” It didn’t have anything to do with Spanish, but I’ve never forgotten it.

I don’t know if Angela Merkel’s gardener lived to see her become Chancellor of Germany. I’m guessing he could not have imagined that the time he spent with her would shape her character and career, and through her, the fate of democracy in the modern world. We never know the impact we have on others.

Who taught you lasting lessons along your way?

Painting: Camille Pissarro, The Gardener: Old Peasant with Cabbage, 1895

[i] The Chancellor: The Remarkable Odyssey of Angel Merkel, by Kati Marton, pg. 7

The “Narcissism of Small Differences:” Toothpaste, Starbucks, and The Human Condition

“Narcissus” was a character in Greek mythology who was strikingly attractive. He rejected advances from anyone, feeling no one was good enough for him. One day he came by a pool of water. For the first time in his life, he saw his reflection. He was entranced. Admiring himself was so compelling he could not bear to leave; he died staring into the pool. He was transformed into a beautiful flower that bears his name.

Sigmund Freud drew on this myth to describe a curious element of human behavior. He observed that people tend to look for very small differences between things and other people, and then make judgments that lets them feel “special” or superior. To describe this tendency, he coined the phrase “narcissism of small differences.”

I have found this concept to be very useful.

Let’s start with toothpaste.

I had a friend who lived in Kenya for two years while serving in the Peace Corps. He said when he would go to the store for toothpaste, there would be one or two choices. When he returned to the states and went into a drugstore to buy toothpaste, he was overwhelmed by the options. He had to come back the next day to choose. He said he missed Kenya.

This week, I went to CVS to pick up a prescription. I stopped by the toothpaste aisle to count the options. I counted at least 30 choices — of Colgate. Crest? 43 options. Bringing up the rear: Sensodyne, Aquafresh, Arm and Hammer, Tom’s — and the always humble Pepsodent. That’s more than 80 choices. How can anyone leave the store without being empowered by their toothpaste selection?

In the early 90s, a typical supermarket might contain 7,000 items. Now it often ranges between 40,000 and 50,000. We must be royalty to be able to get exactly what we want!

Time for coffee?

Restaurants used to serve coffee. Then, there was a second option: decaf. Then Starbucks came along. From the main menu of 40 options, you can specify endless variations. According to an article in the Huffington Post, the possibilities of “getting it your way” run to 80,000.[i] Anybody walking in can announce precisely what they want, then watch the barista obediently prepare it. Doesn’t it feel good to know you are the master of your destiny?

We could keep going with these illustrations by considering fashion, cars, wines, craft beers, appliances, and everything else.

The reason for so many choices? Advertisers and marketers know that if we are presented with many options, choosing the one that we like the best makes us feel empowered. It doesn’t matter if the difference is significant – all that matters is how we perceive it.

The concept applies not only to products, but also our social relationships.

Think about what you wore in Junior High. When I was in 7^th grade, at some point it became clear that if you wanted to identify with the cool crowd, you had to wear a pocket t-shirt from Penny’s. It had to be from Penny’s. You could easily have bought ones made by Hanes or Fruit of the Loom. But the other kids would know immediately you were a hopeless klutz. When I finally got one and wore it to school, I felt like I was 10 feet tall (even though I was less than 5 feet high at the time).

I heard a lecture given by a rabbi at an interfaith conference some years ago. He was talking about our human temptation to feel superior to others based on perceived differences. He told a joke about a Jewish guy who was stranded on a desert island. When rescuers arrived, they saw two identical structures on the beach. When asked what they were, he said, “This one is the synagogue I worship in every week. That other one? I wouldn’t step inside that one if my life depended on it.”

Christianity is often talked about as one religion. But recent surveys indicate there are at least 33,280 denominations that call themselves Christian in the U.S.[ii] Each one believes it stands for something unique and important. I’ve been to lots of churches in my time. I’ll tell you this: there are some I feel comfortable worshiping in, and some I wouldn’t step into if my life depended on it.

For our hunting and gathering ancestors, it was an advantage to be able to accurately distinguish between plants that were edible and those that were poisonous, which strangers we can trust and which we cannot, and who has the most status in our group. We prize attention to detail in many areas of life. But we can easily fall prey to the “narcissism of small differences.” We can make choices about things that have little relation to their actual value. We can make judgments about other people that make us feel superior but blind us from seeing what we have in common.

Let’s be on the lookout for this tendency, and not fall prey to it.

And if you’re going by a Starbucks any time soon, could you pick me something? I’d like a “doppia con panna.” It’s not on the menu, and you may have to translate the Italian: two shots of espresso with a shot of whipped cream. They may ask how much whipped cream…I prefer two inches. When you come by to drop it off, just leave it on the doorstep — I don’t want to be disturbed. I’ll probably be out back, sitting contentedly as I gaze into my new, state-of-the-art reflecting pool.

[i] https://www.huffpost.com/entry/starbucks_n_4890735

[ii] https://nacministers.org/blog/tag/how-many-denominations-of-christianity-in-america/

Top Image: Caravaggio, “Narcissus”

“You Never Know”

If there’s one phrase I’ve come to rely on over the years, it’s “You never know.” Like a Swiss Army knife, it’s handy in many situations.

Rachel Naomi Reimen is Professor of Family and Community Medicine at UCSF and creator of a widely used medical school course, “The Healer’s Art.” I’ve appreciated her books, seen her speak several times, and had a chance to meet her personally. Her grandfather was an Orthodox rabbi and master storyteller. In her medical practice, she learned the importance of listening to patients’ stories and being open to mystery, spirituality and the unknown, while still employing the best medical care. A patient would come to her and report that an oncologist had given them six months to live. She sensed the patient assumed the doctor was all-knowing. She knew better. She would offer a different, more open perspective. “Let’s put it another way. This diagnosis means you’ve started a new chapter in your life. But no one knows yet how the story will unfold.” This didn’t change the medical facts, but it more accurately describes what happens in life: you never know where things will lead.

I remember a parishioner named Doug. When I first came to serve the Goleta congregation, I was told he was facing terminal cancer and I should visit him soon. I remember meeting Doug and his wife Marge in their mobile home park and thinking, “What a nice older couple.” As they were telling me about their background, they mentioned that when Doug retired, they did something they always wanted to do. I thought, “They probably went on an Alaskan cruise.” But when I asked, they said they’d gone to Europe, bought a Volkswagen bus and traveled there for two years living each day as it came. I had totally misjudged them.

You never know who a person is or what they’ve experienced until you listen to their stories.

I asked Doug about his cancer. He told me he’d been through a series of chemo treatments and found them quite debilitating. Doctors said he would need another round, or his time would be very short. But he had decided it wasn’t worth it. He decided to stop treatment so he could spend his remaining time enjoying life as best he could, even if it was just a matter of weeks.

Doug did not do any more treatments. He lived two more years. You never know.

And then there are the people that are heathy and fit and doing all the right things. They have a heart attack and then they’re gone. You never know.

This certainly applies to politics. In the 2008 Iowa caucuses, Joe Biden finished fifth with 4% of the vote. In 2020 he was fourth. Now he is president. You never know.

I’m a Dodger fan. The most important game of the year was game 5 in the do-or-die playoff series against the Giants. With the score tied in the 9^th inning and a runner at third base, the batter who came to the plate, Cody Bellinger, had the worst batting average on the team. My fan-heart sank. But he poked a single into right field and the Dodgers won. You never know.

By the 1850s, the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard had become well known in his native Denmark. People approached him asking to write his biography. He refused to cooperate. He believed biographies don’t tell the true story of someone’s life. Everyone knows how the story ends, so everything that happens will be seen in that light. But when we are living day by day, we have no idea how our life will turn out. “Life can only be understood backward, but it has to be lived forward.”[i]

Think of decisions you regret. Weren’t you making your best judgement at the time?

Or think of blessings in your life you did not anticipate. Who could have predicted they’d appear?

If we draw on a particular spiritual tradition, it certainly helps to reflect on core principles and spend time in prayer and contemplation. But even then, at some point, we must set a course and hope we made a good choice.[ii]

In real life, we often must make decisions using the available facts and truest feelings we have at the time. How will it turn out? You never know. We just do our best and see what happens.

[i] There is, of course, a long tradition in Western philosophy focusing on the question of what we can really know. I took three quarters of philosophy in college, working from Plato to Aristotle to Descartes to Hume to Kant and into the modern age. In the end, I think you never know. Life is too complicated.

[ii] In Buddhism, a core emphasis is becoming aware of how susceptible we are to becoming attached to ideas and expectations about life that are more illusory than certain. Jesus promises the Spirit can be always present with us, and Paul believes that nothing can separate us from the love of God. These are wonderful reminders, which I live by. But it still leaves us with the inescapable burden of making decisions about our life with limited knowledge.

Art Work: “Two Dancers,” Matisse, 1937

Mom, Apple Pie, Technology and the Holidays

My mother had her share of hardships in life. Her first husband died only a few years after they married, leaving her with a young son and pregnant with my older sister. Not long after, her mother died suddenly. She met and married my father; I was born a few years later, my younger sister five years after that. Raising a noisy, blended family of four children while carrying within her the emotional burdens of trauma and grief made it hard for her to be “present” with us individually.

Except when she made apple pie.

I remember watching her from an early age. In time, I became old enough to participate. I learned how to peel, core, and slice the green Pippin apples with a paring knife. The peels were kept in a separate bowl and I would snack on them while we worked. She added sugar and cinnamon to the sliced apples and gave them time to absorb the flavors. She’d make the crust with Crisco, flour, and a few drops of water. She’d roll the dough and create the pie crusts she needed, pressing them into the pie plates. She’d add the apples, dot them with butter and a few drops of lemon juice, then seal them with the top crust. She taught me how to flute the edges of the crust with my fingers before the pie was put into the oven and to use a fork to poke venting holes on the top. The leftover dough was rolled out on the cutting board. She’d add sugar, cinnamon, and butter to it, then cut the dough into strips. She’d roll the strips into “pinwheels,” which would bake along with the pie. Pinwheels only took 10-12 minutes to bake. We’d take them out and let them cool, then enjoy them as the pie continued to bake. The kitchen filled with the smell of a baking apple pie.

My mom wasn’t a great cook, but she was a master at making pies. They were always a highlight of birthday and holiday dinners.

But as I got older, and especially after she died in 1993, I realized what I valued most was not the pies themselves, but the quality of time we shared during the process. Focusing on the manual labor allowed us to become calm and reflective. We listened to each other, laughed together, and simply enjoyed being together. I didn’t realize until I was older how rare and wonderful those times were. What a gift for a child to have such time with a parent!

Eventually, I found a word to describe such activities: “focal practices.” This is a term coined by Albert Borgman, a philosopher who has spent much of his career exploring the role of technology in our lives. The root of the word “focal” is focuser, a Latin word meaning hearth. In Roman families, everything was centered on the hearth. It was location of the family shrine, as it was where symbols of ancestors were carefully arranged and displayed. It’s where food was cooked, and where the family ate together. As Borgmann says, the hearth was where the family gathered to be present with each other and share what they most deeply valued. In our own times, focal practices can include preparing and sharing meals, going on walks and hikes, camping, playing games, crafts, fishing, building things, gardening, and sharing skills of all kinds. Engaging in such activities, we experience life at a deeper level. As Borgman says, focal practices both gather and radiate meaning.

Technological devices are a threat to such practices, he believes. Devices are objects that promise to give us what we want in a more effective way and with less effort. They always promise to save us time and labor. But something is lost when they displace focal practices.

Let’s imagine a device that makes perfect apple pies, like bread-makers make bread. You simply add the ingredients and push a button, and – voilà – a pie as good as mom’s appears. So effortless and convenient. But if we had that when I was a kid, I would have never learned the art of what she did, the satisfaction that came from doing it, or experienced the quality time we spent together. Pie-making was a focal practice. It did “take time”. But time is not an adversary to be conquered. Time is a gift to be received with gratitude.

As we approach the holidays, we can be grateful for memories of “focal practices” we’ve experienced in our past and seek opportunities to share such activities with family and friends this season.

As for me — I’m looking forward to the aroma of homemade pies baking in the oven.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

_______

Borgman, Albert, Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life: A Philosophical Inquiry, University of Chicago Press, 1984; Crossing the Postmodern Divide, University of Chicago Press, 19

The Strange Case of Parking Lot Pete

He longed for something exciting to do in retirement. He needed a new challenge, a bold adventure, maybe even a new identity.

One Saturday he was looking for a parking spot at Costco. It was busy. Cruising by each row and scanning for the best spot available, watching as other people took spaces he thought could have been his…he was frustrated.

He finally had to settle for a spot far from the entrance. He sat in his car, fuming.

Then the vision came to him.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked it.

He decided he didn’t need anything at Costco after all and went home.

In the days that followed, he made preparations. If he was to do this well, he’d have to master every detail.

Over the next few weeks, the elements fell into place.

The car for instance. He needed one well-suited to the task.

He thought about something bold and brawny, maybe a Hummer or an old “muscle car” like a GTO. But those would attract too much attention.

He thought about something small and agile, a vehicle that could slip into choice spots with stealth and ease. He looked at Mini-Coopers. But they, too, would attract attention.

He realized what he needed was something humble, common, and bland. On Craigslist, he found a tan, 2007 Honda Accord. People would never notice it. Perfect.

What should he wear? Black leather jacket, dark shades, Oakland and Raider baseball cap? Tempting, but no…again, you don’t want people to notice you. He found what he needed after visiting thrift shops: an old white golf shirt, a pair of Levi’s, a light blue baseball cap with no logo, plain white sneakers. He’d be invisible.

He did find something empowering for his rear-view mirror — a shark’s tooth on a leather thong; he’d always wanted one in high school, and now was the time to claim it.

He’d need sustenance. He got a case of Red Bull and a generous supply of beef jerky, which he kept in the trunk.

A personal soundtrack would be important. The old Accord had a CD player. He burned two songs onto a blank disc: the theme from Jaws, which he would play as each encounter began, and the theme from “Rocky” to celebrate each victory.

The right car, a good disguise, sustenance, the shark’s tooth, and a personal soundtrack: he was ready.

His mission was simple: to become an expert at getting the best parking spot in crowded lots.

He began practicing in large open lots, like one by an old Sears store. He’d go early in the morning and put himself through drills focusing on cruising, sharp turns, and quick stops.

He then began training at more challenging battlegrounds: Trader Joe’s in the late afternoons. The Funk Zone on Friday evenings. The County Bowl just before concerts.

He created a plan. When he entered a lot, he’d circle the permitter, scanning the layout. Then he’d cruise up and down each row. He’d take note of the cars that had found good spots, then imagine what the driver of that car might look like. He became skilled at matching cars and drivers. Then he’d prepare to strike, sometimes still cruising, sometimes idling at the curb in a loading zone. When he saw the likely driver emerge from the store, he pushed the “Play” button for Jaws and inconspicuously shadow the person as they walked to their car. When the person did turn to get into their car, Pete assumed his “strike” position and snuck closer. As soon as the person pulled out, he deftly slid in and claimed his trophy.

Sometimes other drivers would see the spot opening, but rarely could they beat Pete. He took a particular joy in seeing their surprise and frustration. But he never gloated. He had practiced how to look completely innocent as he’d get out of his car and walk leisurely towards the store. He’d always buy something to keep his cover. When he returned to his Accord and drove away, he pushed the play button for Rocky.

He’d unwind at night with his favorite videos, alert for any tips he could pick up: Rambo. Terminator 2. James Bond movies. And any installment of The Bourne Supremacy.

Life was exciting. He felt strong, confident and proud.

Until that fateful Saturday.

The holidays were coming — peak season at Costco.

He drove out for the busy time in the early afternoon. He cruised back and forth near the entrance, Jaws on low volume, making mental notes of possibilities. He saw a well-dressed lady come out with a few items. He guessed she’d be driving the white Audi that was in a prime spot. Then he realized he had a competitor. Just turning into the far end of that row was an old, slow-moving Mercury. But Pete was ready. He was right, the Audi was hers. As the Audi pulled out, Pete slid in. The Mercury driver had not seen Pete at first, but when he saw he’d lost the spot, he abruptly hit the brakes, stunned. The Mercury slowly resumed its quest, turning and heading to the outer limits of the vast lot. Pete put his finger to his lips, touched the shark’s tooth and smiled.

He got out of his car to play the role of a genuine shopper. As he walked toward the entrance, he saw the old Mercury had finally found a spot, far beyond the Tire Department. Pete decided to walk in the direction of the Mercury, curious to see who would be driving such an old car.

He watched from a distance. The driver’s door slowly opened. An older man with a baseball cap got out. He couldn’t move very well…almost a shuffle He went to his trunk and opened it. He took out a walker and unfolded it. He then lifted a steel canister out of the trunk and put it in the walker, then fitted some kind of tube around his neck. Pete realized it was an oxygen tank. The man closed the trunk and began the long journey to the store entrance.

Pete lingered outside, pretending he was waiting for someone.

Finally, the old man with the walker came by. He looked tired. Pete could see what was on the man’s black hat: “Korea Vet” framed by gold braid. He saw the man fumble for his Costco I.D., approach the entrance and then disappear into the store.

Pete was feeling disoriented. His training taught him to always go into a store so he would look like a real shopper, but this time he had no interest in doing so.

He returned to his car. He got in, backed out, and drove. He wasn’t sure where to go. He had no desire to play “Rocky.” He decided to drive to a local beach where he could park and think.

He found a spot away from the crowds facing the ocean. He sat there in silence. He felt empty. He thought about what that vet had been through all his life. And how hard it must be to just get to the store. And Pete asked himself, “I think I’m some kind of warrior?”

A month passed. Pete didn’t go out much. A new vision was forming, and a new chapter in his life began.

When he did go to the store, he no longer had to have the best spot. He figured he needed more exercise anyway so would park far from the entrance, leaving more room for others.

He still enjoyed jerky but stopped drinking Red Bull.

He took the shark’s tooth off the rear-view mirror and put it in the glove compartment.

He didn’t play the CD anymore.

He got a part-time job as a driving instructor. He gave special discounts to teenagers, seniors, and vets.

On days when he knew certain lots in town would be congested, he’d arrive early and act as a self-appointed parking lot attendant. He found he could use his knowledge and skills to help manage parking rather well. He fearlessly would step in front of aggressive drivers, and motion to someone slower to take a good spot, then walk away. He began thinking of himself as a parking-lot Jedi.

When he did go in a store, he would see if any shopper was having a hard time reaching a product on a high shelf. He’d quietly come alongside, ask what they were seeking, reach up and hand it to them.

As he drove around town, he started noticing church buildings more. They had just been places with big parking lots before, but now it wasn’t the parking lots he noticed. He was curious about why people would go there and if he could make new friends in such places.

He spent off-duty time at the parking lot at the beach. Before, he would go there only to review his strategy for the day. Now, he sat in his car for long periods, entranced by the ocean and the sunlight shining on the surface. He watched waves quietly form and patiently break on the shore. People of all ages and backgrounds walked by, and he felt a bond with each one of them.

If you are out and about this holiday season, you may find yourself scanning parking lots, wondering if Parking Lot Pete is out there, working his magic. He may be. But he’s gotten very good at being invisible to the untrained eye.