Grace and Gentleness

A word for those of us who are hard on ourselves or others:

Ahimsa

Though many people think that yoga is predominately about physical poses, the actual postures of a yoga practice are only one limb of the eight limbs of yoga. Yoga is a way of being in the world. The first limb of yoga consists of ethical principles to guide how we live in the world among others, and the first of these is ahimsa, which means nonharming. 

 For those of my readers who are familiar with the founder of the Methodist movement, John Wesley, you may know about his three simple rules, the first of which is Do no harm. Nonharming is a universal ethical principle. 

 I have thought much about the importance of practicing ahimsa as we continue to be in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic. The opportunity to practice nonharming is always before us, but it is hard to deny the importance of not doing harm to another right now. Harm is front and center, not only because of our unwillingness to take simple steps to slow the spread of Covid-19 but also in the continuing inequities toward people of color in society, especially when it manifests in being killed because of skin color. 

We do harm when we fail to be sensitive to the life experience of people whose experience differs from ours, when we choose not to listen, when we do not seek to understand. We do harm when we stereotype—whether by race, gender, age, nationality, religion, or any other way we box people into categories. 

 What if, for one day, we could practice ahimsa all day long, in mundane, invisible small ways that no one sees? If we could choose to not say the unkind word, share the inflammatory social media post, wear a mask in public, or learn what life is like for someone different from ourselves—by the end of the day we might discover a gentleness within ourselves that had been obscured from view. 

 For you see, when we practice not harming another, we reap the reward by a greater sense of well-being and inner peace. When we are practicing ahimsa toward the world, we experience ahimsa toward ourselves. Imagine how much better you can feel just by choosing to not do harm to another.

A Yoke of Gentleness

Put on my yoke, and learn from me. I’m gentle and humble. And you will find rest for yourselves.

                                                                                                                                Matthew 11:29

To focus on this one verse helps me to see it differently. Jesus invites us to learn his way of gentleness and humility. When we focus on striving to better ourselves, to win over others, to prove ourselves right, worthy, smart, capable and adept, we will inevitably come up short at some time. There is a limit beyond which our faculties and milieu will not let us go.

We mostly live our lives trying to be superhuman. Our culture encourages it. Perfection, at least in what is visible to others, is the goal. But it is a goal we cannot reach. We dress our family for the perfect family photo and struggle to find one where everyone appears happy. We set a table for the perfect family meal and then the bread gets too brown on the bottom or the dog licks the ham and we can either come unglued or remember that life is not perfect.

In so many scenes of our life—at work, at church, in the community—we envision scenarios where everything goes smoothly, only to experience that they don’t. Real life does not look like perfection.

Jesus’ offer to be gentle and humble begins with ourselves. When we can let go of the superhuman image of ourselves that we strive to present to others and even to ourselves, and can accept our dents and scratches and let these be visible to others, then we can learn to rest.

While we may strive for exterior perfection, the perfection to which Jesus calls us is wholeness, completeness, the fullness of our humanity.

Thomas Merton said that to be a saint is to be who you are. How do we come to know ourselves wholly, deeply, clearly so that we become more fully human? Jesus invites us to a way of gentleness and humility, so we can begin to see the self that God sees and loves. Not an outwardly perfect self, but a self created in the image of God that gives voice to the unique melody God has placed in each of us. When we sing that melody, we grow more fully human n the way God created us to be. To know ourselves more fully allows us to know God more fully.

God Who Understands

Psalm 56

When life abruptly changes

   God have mercy on me.

When friends become betrayers

   God have mercy on me.

When I have been wrongly accused

   God have mercy on me.

When the next step is utterly dark

   God have mercy on me.

When I feel alone in the wilderness

   God have mercy on me.

When I struggle to trust you

   God have mercy on me.

Remind me of your faithful love,

   God of mercy.

Be my companion, my savior,

   God of gentleness.

All my hope is in you,

   God who overcomes.

You have traveled the path of suffering yourself

   and you travel it with me.

Thanks be to you, O God.

Confession

Isaiah 40

God, whose way leads through

wilderness, whose desert path

uproots us out of ordinary time,

forgive us when we choose

complacency over change,

ease over transformation,

numbness over attentiveness.

We prefer the false security of

easy answers, blame and prejudice

rather than the disciplines of

understanding, patience and

accountability.

Hold us in the desert long enough

to clear our vision, change our hearts,

gentle our judgments.

Hold us accountable even as you

hold us in your hand.

Flatten our mountains of pride.

Raise the ones we have despised.

Make our desert sojourn fruitful—

harsh enough to soften us, to turn

us to you in utter dependency,

so we will know that you show

your power in gentleness,

your strength in compassion,

your greatness in proximity.

Biting Scriptural Sound Bites

Too often Christians throw Bible verses around like they are pieces of candy tossed from a parade float. We can probably name many that have been lobbed our way, as well as ones we’ve been guilty of flinging toward another.

It’s easier to shoot a scripture toward another than it is to come close enough to a person to hear the need of their heart. We are busy people, and quite frankly, often too busy to listen to one another. Our need for speed means that the verses or phrases we toss toward another often hit the person with such force that they feel more like an arrow inflicting a wound than a treat to encourage.

A person who suffered much damage due to the jealousy of another told me of the arrow shot his way when he sought to convey the depth of his hurt to another. Already suffering significant loss, he was given this “encouraging” word: You know, God is a jealous God.

Ask anyone who’s suffered the death of a loved one and you’ll likely hear an equally hollow “encouraging” word: They are in a better place; Time will heal your wounds; God is with you.

Maybe we need to learn to be silent, and simply be with one another. Our discomfort with silence and stillness causes us to wound others with our shallow sound bites. In fact, “shallow” is a good description of a faith that depends on scriptural candy instead of digging deeply into the meaning of God’s living Word in the person of Jesus, who is body and blood of God, not some irrelevant piece of sugar.

Reading scripture using Lectio Divina strips away the shallow interpretation and use of scripture. Lectio Divina is a prayerful sitting with scripture, allowing it to seep into us, challenge us and change us. Through the regular practice of Lectio Divina, we learn a reverence for the depth of God’s word to us that weans us from using it in trivial ways.

As we learn to be still with God’s word, we also learn to be still with God’s creation, with the hurting and confused who need our presence and love, not a scriptural sound bite. Instead of offering words, we offer ourselves, a living and holy sacrifice, flesh and blood, not the empty calories of scriptural candy.

Absorbing vs. Resisting

I have a Tibetan singing bowl. When I strike its exterior, it has a soothing, long lasting tone that helps me focus my mind for centering prayer. I have discovered that if the bowl is sitting on a table the tone does not last as long as when the bowl is sitting on the sofa. That discovery surprised me because I would have thought the hard surface would have transmitted the tone for a longer time than when the bowl is on a padded surface.

As I considered the difference, I realize that the soft surface absorbs the vibrations of the bowl while the hard surface resists them. I’m no physicist so there is likely some scientific explanation of what I’ve experienced, but I see a spiritual lesson in this observation, a lesson that Holy Week brings into clear focus.

Jesus absorbed our sin. In Daybreaks: Daily Reflections for Lent and Easter Week, Ron Rolheiser, OMI  says that Jesus took away sin by absorbing and transforming sin, much in the way a filter purifies water. “The filter takes in impure water, holds the impurities inside itself, and gives back only pure water. It transforms rather than transmits. . . [Jesus] takes in hatred, holds it, transforms it, and gives back love; he takes in chaos, holds it, transforms it, and gives back order; he takes in fear, holds it, transforms it, and gives back freedom; he takes in jealousy, holds it, transforms it, and gives back affirmation; he takes in Satan and murder, holds them, transforms them, and gives back only God and forgiveness.”

Like my singing bowl, which has a clearer and longer tone when sitting on a surface that absorbs the vibrations rather than resisting them, following Jesus means that I too am called to absorb when I am struck, literally or figuratively. When I absorb the pain, it is transformed, and gives back the enduring true tone of love. When I resist, striking back when I’ve been struck, I am failing to follow the example of Jesus, and the tone I transmit is one of discord, not the pure and lasting sweetness of Christ’s mercy and forgiveness.

Wealth and Worth

But how terrible for you who are rich, because you have already received your comfort. How terrible for you who have plenty now, because you will be hungry.  

                                                                                                                Luke 6:24-25a

Recently I was part of a group studying Luke 6:17-31. When we got to the verses above, the discussion grew tense, pointed and critical. Like a hot spotlight, the group quickly moved the conversation from the recognition that we are the ones who have plenty and that Jesus’ comments might therefore be directed toward us. Instead the spotlight’s heat was focused on a more comfortable target—the poor—as some questioned who deserves our charity and how much charity is adequate.

When we equate wealth to worth, we pervert the message and example of Jesus. When we make ourselves the judges of who is worthy to receive our help, our arrogance is apparent. And when we believe that material wealth is a sign of God’s blessing, we make a mockery of the life of Jesus, who had no place to lay his head. (Luke 9:58).

It is a hard task to hold wealth with detachment, humility and faith. We cling to it, putting our trust in it to save us and we look to it to gauge our self-worth. The difficulty of having wealth and giving oneself in devotion to Christ is why Jesus said “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other or you will be loyal to the one and have contempt for the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” (Matthew 6:24)

You cannot serve God and wealth. But we don’t really believe that, as evidenced from the way many of us live, anxious about our assets and questioning whether and how much to give to others. That is why when passages such as the one from Luke are studied, people get tense and critical. We want to justify our lifestyle choices and try to make them fit with Jesus’ teachings, much in the way we might try to fit into clothing too small for us. Instead of justifying ourselves, it is better to acknowledge our need to be changed and to pray for a heart that desires to be changed. A glad and generous heart gives out of love for Christ, recognizing that all are made worthy by Jesus’ death on the cross, not by the balance in one’s bank account.  Holding wealth with detachment means we give without expectation, we give because love compels us to give, and we trust God with the outcome of our giving.

Creating Hospitable Holidays

Earlier this week, I spoke to a group about hospitality. As we enter a season where many of us will either open our homes to others, or be the guests of others, it seems a good time to reflect on hospitality as a spiritual practice.

Christian hospitality is more than good manners. Whether we are the hosts or the guests, we should assume a posture of humility and vulnerability. This is likely more obvious if we are the guest in the home of another, but it should also be the case if we are hosting another in our home. As the host, we assume the posture of a servant. As Parker Palmer suggests, we let the stranger be a stranger. Even if our guests are family members, we allow them the space to simply be themselves.

Yet many times, family gatherings can turn into efforts at manipulation and domination, not expressions of love and humble service. If you have shared a meal with family or friends, and the topic of conversation has turned to what someone either at the table or absent from it has or hasn’t done or should or shouldn’t do, you know it is not an open or welcoming place to be. That is especially true if you are the target of another’s criticism or manipulation, but even if you are not the target, such conversation is uncomfortable and uncaring (although it may be couched as being for one’s own good).

St. Augustine said, “The human race is inquisitive about other people’s lives, but negligent to correct their own.” He says this because some seemed to have a prurient interest in the sexual excesses of his life prior to his conversion. When holiday gatherings become opportunities for interrogation and criticism about the lives of family members either present or absent, hospitality is nonexistent. This is true even if the inquisition is framed as loving care or concern.

Augustine goes on to say, “A brotherly person rejoices on my account when he approves me, but when he disapproves, he grieves on my behalf.” True grief on behalf of another does not manifest itself in manipulation and criticism. May we practice such hospitality this season that others feel comfortable and welcome in our presence. Let us rejoice and grieve with those with whom we share space, not criticize, manipulate or interrogate them. Let us make space for grace and love.

The Way to Peace

“This Companion is the Spirit of Truth, whom the world can’t receive because it neither sees him nor recognizes him. You know him, because he lives with you and will be with you . . . Peace I leave with you.”     John 14:17, 27a

Truth and peace go hand in hand. If we have Christ’s peace, we also know the Spirit of Truth. It dwells in us and gives us peace. The world doesn’t know truth because it cannot recognize peace. At least it seems that way in our culture. We are a fearful, anxious, reactive society. We put our faith in impermanent things—money, status, power and possessions—but because they are impermanent, we are perpetually anxious.

We need to recognize that truth is not found in worldly power but in letting go, in generosity, sacrifice, humility and weakness. It is the way Jesus came. “I am the way, the truth and the life.” (John 14:6) This is about how to live. The way is a life of downward mobility and humble service, the pattern of living that Jesus modeled for us. We have turned it into an exclusivity that allows us to build ourselves up materially and egotistically. We never get to truth and life if we don’t even follow the way.

It is why we cannot recognize the Spirit of Truth, because what we recognize is ego, power and accumulation of wealth. We don’t understand that to be strong, one becomes weak. To gain one’s life, we must give our life away. To be born in Christ, we have to die to self.

We cannot have the peace of Christ if we are constantly protecting our egos, our possessions, our status and our power. We think peace is found by defeating our enemies, but we find peace by defeating our ego and its overwhelming appetite for control. When I have nothing left to protect or defend, nothing I must possess or control, when I release the burden of self-preservation, I then have the unshakable peace of Christ and a home within for the Spirit of Truth. 

The Grace of Self-Forgetfulness

And the second is like it: You must love your neighbor as you love yourself.               Matthew 22:39                                                      

Likely you are familiar with this verse, for it appears in some form in Matthew, Mark and Luke. It is not original with Jesus, though, for it first appears in Leviticus 19:18. As easy as the verse is to remember, it is not easy to practice. We have as hard a time loving our neighbor as we do loving self.

I have been reading Abandonment to Divine Providence
 by Rev. Jean-Pierre de Caussade S.J., which is a treatise on the sacrament of the present moment and a collection of letters to different people encouraging them to self-abandonment. Over and over again, de Caussade encourages the recipients of his letters to be gentle with themselves. He says that just as they treat others with gentleness and patience, they should extend the same treatment to themselves. 

We may balk at such instruction, but I believe that is because we equate self-love with self-indulgence. On the contrary, while de Caussade encourages gentleness toward self, he also urges the recipients of his letters to not be self-absorbed but instead to be self-forgetful. If we are beating ourselves up over our failures and inadequacies, we are exhibiting self-absorption. Being gentle and patient with ourselves, letting our failures drop like a stone in water, is actually self-forgetfulness. Far from self-indulgence, such patience recognizes that we are going to fail. That acknowledgement and acceptance of our limitations increases our dependence on God, de Caussade observes.

Gentleness with ourselves translates into gentleness with others. And when we accept that others will also fail, we can love them for who they are, failures and all. Such acknowledgment allows us to forgive others as we are also forgiven. In this gentleness and patience with ourselves and others, we can find rest for our souls.

The Evil of Sarcasm

Self-centered and evil people really fear the good. They express their fear by mockery, cynicism, and, when circumstances allow, by active persecution.   J.B. Phillips in Your God is Too Small

Sarcasm and mockery, I am sad to say, were part of my upbringing. For much of my life, I did not recognize their incompatibility with a life of discipleship. It was not until I tuned out most radio and television that I began to notice how awful sarcasm sounded. It’s a lot like having a white shirt that has grown dingy. You don’t see the dinginess if everything else is dingy, but if you get a new white shirt, suddenly the old shirt no longer looks white at all.

I now notice sarcasm acutely and it is so prevalent in our society. Even programming aimed at children is not immune from denigrating comments toward others. Mockery, cynicism and sarcasm are so commonplace that we don’t even associate them with “evil.” Political candidates and those who follow politics, even those who claim to be Christian, believe such acts are justified. “It is just the way things are. You’ve got to fight fire with fire. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.”

But it doesn’t stop with politics. Our delight in mocking celebrities is just as bad. We spew our attacks, piercing the soul of another even while waving Scripture like a banner. James observed the irony of such behavior when he said:  People can tame and already have tamed every kind of animal, bird, reptile, and fish. No one can tame the tongue, though. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we both bless the Lord and Father and curse human beings made in God’s likeness.  Blessing and cursing come from the same mouth. My brothers and sisters, it just shouldn’t be this way!  (James 3:7-10)

And Jesus, in one of his teachings that raised the bar on the Ten Commandments, said: “You have heard that it was said to those who lived long ago, Don’t commit murder, and all who commit murder will be in danger of judgment. But I say to you that everyone who is angry with their brother or sister will be in danger of judgment. If they say to their brother or sister, ‘You idiot,’ they will be in danger of being condemned by the governing council. And if they say, ‘You fool,’ they will be in danger of fiery hell.” (Matthew 5:21-22)

The cynic’s voice, the mocker’s wrath, always seems to draw more attention than the voice of love and gentleness. And persecution settles on the one who has the courage to respond in love rather than by maligning another. It requires greater courage to live a life of gentleness and love than to live a life of cynicism and mockery. It takes more time and energy and patience to seek to understand, to engage in honest self-reflection, than it does to kill another with our words.