So maybe you are wondering why I have included two pictures of the inside of my home here in Indianapolis on this blog. What does an open dresser drawer and an open kitchen drawer have to do with spirituality and growth in the Spirit?
Here is the story: This winter I was confined to the house much more than in past times due to my recovery from knee replacement surgery. I tired easily and often was in pain. But I wanted some projects to keep the time moving. I realized that there were two things that I had been wanting to do for a long time: I wanted to line the kitchen drawers with a splash of color, something fun to look at. And I wanted to try to line with cloth the drawers in a hundred year old dresser in my bedroom. On bleak winter days I measured, cut, glued both the kitchen liner and a piece of cloth called "Grandpa's Pyjamas" that I found at a nearby cloth store on sale. When I finished, I realized that it was a fun project and it definitely gave me the splash of color in the kitchen as well as warmer drawers in the dresser. No more boring non-descript bare wood! Working on these drawers caused me to reflect on spiritual development and the work of spiritual direction. All of this work is about the inner life. Spirituality is never about the surface of things . . . usually that surface is not very deep or profound. When individuals arrange to meet with a spiritual director or mentor, it is because they want to deepen their inner life. They are impatient with superficialities. Sometimes they have been hurt or abused by spiritual or religious expressions that are judgmental and unloving. These individuals are training their senses on everything that happens beneath the surface, in spaces of the soul that are not in public sight. Here are some of the examples of under-the-surface things that come to the surface in direction:
The great privilege of a spiritual director is to share in this inner journey. But accompaniment on this journey requires that the spiritual director also drills deep into her or his own spirit. Usually in spiritual direction both the director and the directee discover an awareness of how the Holy One is at work in the hidden places of one's being. Just as with the kitchen and dresser drawers, spiritual direction contributes to a more interesting, textured, colorful and meaningful inner profile.
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Spiritual Direction International Meets in Louisville for Emerging Wisdom Conference: I Was There!4/27/2015 More than 500 spiritual directors from around the world met in Louisville in mid April 2015 for the conference of Spiritual Directors International (SDI) centering on the theme "Emerging Wisdom". As the above picture of Tibetan Buddhist monks making a beautiful mandala in the exhibition space indicates, participants came from a wide spectrum of spiritual traditions, including Sufi, Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Jewish, and None. Through workshops and stimulating plenaries, a sense of emerging spiritual wisdom that cuts across the diversity of the global community became evident. I was privileged to attend this year's meeting. Even though I sometimes meet with other local spiritual directors for fellowship and continuing education, nothing here in Indianapolis can compare with the international scope of the SDI gathering. In this blog post I want to highlight several of the high points of the conference.
I left Louisville after five days of contact and conversation with those who practice spiritual deepening grateful for the opportunity to touch a little of the life current that flows through them--through Merton, through Pir Zia Inayat Khan, through other spiritual directors I met, through devout Buddhists, Hindus, Jews and other Christians. I hope that my own spiritual direction practice will be strengthened because I was there sharing in Emerging Wisdom. Sure, there are moments when we need to be alone--with our thoughts, in some forms of prayer and meditation. Some people always want to be alone, left to themselves. Often they are lonely. Others only want to be in the crowd or pack. They also can be very lonely. Mothers of little children yearn to be alone with that cup of coffee or at least with other adults. Moments of transition or momentous decision in our lives often require substantial introspective and reflective time.
If you really want to be alone with your thoughts and yearnings for spiritual depth, though, this cannot happen in the context of spiritual direction. Spiritual direction occurs when a spiritual director, a seeker (who we often call a directee) and the Holy Spirit sit in confidentiality, respect and profound expectation to discern how God is moving and present in a person's life . . . sometimes just under the surface of the day-to-day. Some persons enjoy gathering with one or two spiritual directors in small groups of five or six persons. The director might comment or ask a pertinent question. Or the Spirit might cause a sudden realization or breakthrough to surface. Or there might be moments of quiet waiting and integration of some thought or insight. In any case, good spiritual direction is a joint or often collective endeavor. It is never like Frank Sinatra's famous song "I Did It My Way" . . . Earlier this summer I saw this bench that had been placed on East 10th Street near Highland not far from my house here in Indianapolis and it caused me to think about what spiritual direction, as I have experienced it and have practiced it, is not. In spiritual direction we sit together. Beyond spiritual direction, this theme of aloneness is powerfully present in popular music. Go to this link for the Alone music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81YLcQn-EyY&feature=youtu.be I have a cane now and it is pictured above.
The story of the cane begin last year with visits to a sports physician who informed me that I had osteoarthritis in the right knee. For a person who bikes, uses public transportation, walks and enjoys manual labor and "get down dirty gardening" this was not good news. Throughout 2013 the knee got worse until, finally, I was sent to Indiana University Hospital physical therapy. In the meantime, I started using a cane to keep balance while walking. But wielding the cane was often awkward (once, I almost hit a woman while trying to move the cane from hand to hand) and it also ID'd me as an "old guy" and not strong while walking in urban areas where mugging is always a possibility. And, it just embarrassed me. So, this is where all these years of exercise, good eating, and taking care of myself have gotten me? The knee hurts and is often stiff. I think twice about some activities. Yes, I whine. Yet, so many people have it worse in some circumstance of health or life. Will I fight this knee thing? Will I look for a quick fix or expensive, intrusive surgery? More important: I ask myself if I should lean into this health condition (actually not so unusual for a guy my age) or if I should fight it. Truth be told, I do a little of both. The fighting part has to do with not suspending any activity, even if it sometimes does hurt. Not keeping active seems to me like a slippery slope that ends with an old man hanging out in his recliner. Fighting also means learning about the knee and doing as much as I can medically to work on it. This has to mean more than popping Aleves or Advils. Physical therapy has proven surprisingly good at strengthening the leg and knee. The young therapist has given me much excellent professional attention and has encouraged me even to return to the gym . . . something I thought was in my past. The leaning in part is where, in daily prayer or meditation sessions, I do a gentle body scan, starting with my feet and moving upwards, body part by body part. When I get to the knee I thank it for all it has done for seventy years. I let my hand hover over the knee cap and sometimes (okay, I know this sounds a little nutty) I do feel a warm energy surround it. And I ask for the pain to just teach me whatever it is meant to teach me. The leaning into the pain actually helps me deal with the pain . . . my kind of pain management. While fighting and leaning into the arthritis, things do seem sometimes to have shifted subtly into slow motion. Yes, I do think that the slowness of walking now is the slow, slow . . . slower of walking and hurting at the same time. My spiritual director pointed me to the Welcoming Prayer by Mary Mrozowski (1925-1993) that has given me much strength in recent days . . . especially in the work of leaning in. Welcome, welcome, welcome. I welcome everything that comes to me in this moment because I know it is for my healing. I welcome all thoughts, feelings, emotions, persons, situations and conditions. I let go of my desire for security. I let go of my desire for approval. I let go of my desire for control. I let go of my desire to change any situation, condition, person, or myself. I open to the love and presence of God and the healing action and grace within. I have been spending time on a "re-do" of the master bedroom in this ninety year old house. All winter I thought about what I wanted: sycamore green walls, a white chenille bedspread, new wooden (not particle board) bookshelves, a large arts and crafts style tile. At this point I can report that the walls have been given two coats and look clean with a very deep hue and inviting contemplative tone. All of the stuff has been purchased and is awaiting right moment and measurements to go on the walls. The woodwork that was painted white will now be a mediiterranean white (slight apricot tinge). That painting is yet to happen and is only awaiting the long work of prep, putting up the blue painter's tape. This week I reluctantly began stripping ninety plus years of varnish off the two closet doors. Talk about unpleasant! I don't like toxic smells and so I bought what was billed an an environmentally safe, citrus smell product for the stripping. No amount of citrus could hide the powerful work that was occurring once I applied it to the door and the varnish started oozing into blobs. With newspapers duly laid out beneatth the doors, I began the work of cleaning off the now-liquified ancient varnish. Dirty, nasty work. But as the varnish started to disappear, a beautiful door of real wood appeared. The color was reddish gold. The wood showed itself with beautiful grain and markings. Yesterday I varnished the first door and it glows in its newly established natural woodiness! As I went through this exercise, I started thinking that stripping old varnish off doors is a little like what we do in spiritual direction. As we work, the gunk that slowly masks the beauty that exists deep in every person starts to become visible. This is slow, sometimes unpleasant work as the old covering clings on, reluctant to be removed once and for all. As a spiritual director, I rejoice in those moments when the beautiful sheen, texture and hue of a formerly hidden spiritual self begins to emerge and show itself. Very often this happens in a moment of insight and surprise. When a person says, after engaging for a long time in spiritual work, "I didn't realize that God was working deep inside me" the gunk is gone for good.
A sacred expression. Michiana Shores, Lake Michigan, Michigan June 21, 2013
My experience regarding sacred places such as altars, churches, shrines is that they are places you plan on visiting. They are predictably in a given location. Either you know about them or you don't and you plan accordingly to include them in your plans (like attending a worship service at a given place) or not. We pore over tour books and land on the Grotto of Lourdes or the site in Canterbury Cathedral in the UK where Thomas a Becket was killed. It is very intentional. But there are sacred spaces that may catch us by surprise. Last week I spent a few days at the Michiana Shores, right on the Indiana Michigan state line on Lake Michigan. The beach was pristine and endless and the water and sun most inviting. One evening I was walking along the waterline when I saw that someone had built this beautiful altar. A log, some rocks carefully arranged. It was, at the very least, a kind of beach-appropriate installation art. But, in its composition and attention to design, it seemed to me more than just log/rock/sand composition. It drew the viewer to something greater than him/herself. I don't know how else to put it, but in its simplicity and detail, it pointed to something greater--a greater power or Ultimate Being or God. Anyway, this is what I read back into the sacred place. It did not have to be a part of the Christian narrative for it to energize me. Some spiritual beauty cannot be categorized. My daughter, Nelia, and I decided to leave this sacred place intact. We knew that maybe tomorrow the strong Great Lakes waves would break it apart. We knew that like all sacred places, whether they last two days or two millenia, they are provisional and ad hoc, pointing to that which is more permanent and eternal. We left having had our spirits lifted for a moment. That was all that counted. A great blessing for me was to be invited as spiritual director for the 22nd annual conference for persons living with HIV and AIDS sponsored by Province IV of the Episcopal Church (mostly dioceses in the south and southeast). It was held June 7-9 2013 at the gorgeous Kanuga Conference Center, Hendersonville, North Carolina, just minutes from Asheville. It was billed as a "spirit filled weekend of hope, music and rejuvenation." My experience with the several hundred others who were there (mostly non-Episcopal Church members from as far away as Tuscon) was that this billing was right on target. This conference represented a setting where people who carry big and heavy burdens are able to kick back and let God work in life-giving ways. For many of these persons who get to travel only rarely, the conference is described as transformative. Just a word about how it is structured: There are regular worship services. The speaker was the Rev. Roger Hayes who preached powerful messages that brought the crowd to their feet with clapping and amens. There were workshops (reiiki, mask making, Anglican prayer beads and even one on spiritual direction. There was a hugely popular talent show and ice cream social. And lots of free time to meet people, walk in the mountains and let silence take over. Here are some pictures. FYI, everyone in the pics signed a consent form to have them used on the internet or in publications. The pictures speak for themselves and so not many captions. I grew up learning that words matter. You give respect to those in authority in your life (mom, dad, grandparents, teachers) and you honor with right language God and holy things. Much of this training was based on respect for the Word and for what happens in and between persons during verbal transactions. This training occurred before the days of television, reality shows, the Internet, tell-alls . . . . I learned that words matter. They can hurt and they can heal. We sat around radios and listened . . . to words.
It was only much later that I learned that images matter also. Orthodox icons had never been a part of my formative Protestant experience. But in the nineties, I started paying attention to them, partly as the result of ecumenical exposure to Orthodox Christians. I took a wonderful icon writing class with Mother Catherine of the St. Seraphim School of Iconography here in Indianapolis. Slowly over five months my icon of the Blessed Mother took shape. This icon is in the prayer corner of my house now. This may come off as a little weird but sometimes I feel as though the eyes of Mother Mary are looking right at me and right into me. Lately I realize that I am in a culture that is awash with ready access to images of all kinds. Advertisers know how to manipulate images to create "needs" or to promote issues. I can watch anything on-line. The television brings things into the house from everywhere. And it is about the television that I want to comment. Several months ago an innocent man was killed and then hacked, knifed and butchered in full public view at a busy crossroads of London. This gruesome act was reported on many news programs, by many pundits of the left and the right. So, I happened to look at my screen and I saw one of the killers calmly talking to a woman and blood was dripping from his hands. I was stunned. And sickened. This was not fiction or make believe. This was the real thing. It was in my living room where the Holy Eucharist has been celebrated. It was only steps from the prayer corner where I offer monastic prayers and where I often sit for long periods in silence in the presence of God. Suddenly this space where I live, pray, eat, work, study and offer hospitality to others seemed desecrated by the image on television. At that moment, I made a decision. If I am to be subject to violent, intrusive images in my own home, then I am done with broadcast news on television. The reason for this decision, I later reasoned, is to draw a clear line between what I allow in this space. I don't allow porn of any kind. I would challenge persons using disrespectful or hurtful language. Equally, I am not allowing vivid violence in the name of news. The interesting thing is that this does not mean that I am not paying attention to news. I still subscribe to a national daily newspaper, Time magazine and other publications. I still listen to NPR. I know that I still need to be informed and to make civic decisions. But for two months the television has been turned off except for an occasional movie or C-span book channel program. We often talk about how we need silence to deepen our spirituality. But we need to clear away images that are unhelpful as well. I have no scientific proof. But I feel certain that images such as the gruesome aftermath of the terrible London murder have a way of getting inside our psyches and souls. Once there they can wreck spiritual havoc. Not everyone agrees with me that it is best to flip the switch. One very sensitive person I met last week in Asheville, NC listened carefully. This is a spiritually deep person in all ways. In effect, she said that you can't wall yourself off from the real world. She says that her response when confronted with these bad images is to pray for those involved. She hands them over to God. I respect this approach very much. My choice, though, even if it is for just a time, is to walk into a fenced off, boundaried space where violent visual intrusions do not happen. I trust that this is different from putting my head in the sand. I respect images and what they can do to the soul. They matter.
Mississippi River Walk 2013 on Facebook/Peter Johnson as published on Minnesota Public Radio web site, March 12, 2013
I have been back for two weeks from my 1,300 mile road trip on Megabus to the Twin Cities via Chicago for the annual conference of Spiritual Directors International on the theme "Cultivating Compassion on the River". The Crowne Plaza Hotel in St. Paul is located right on the Mississippi and it is as far north as I have ever seen this great and powerful river. From my 20th story window I could look down on the river. I thought that it might be small but even in the north, far from New Orleans, it is wide and formidable.
As I looked at this river (through the snow and sleet, I am sorry to say) I remembered other great rivers that have played a part in my life. There is the Hudson on whose banks I lived for a time both in New York City and in upstate New York. There is the Amazon where I was doing my youthful backpack trip as a Peace Corps Volunteer when the Six Days War broke out in 1966--I remember that the river was so wide that you could not see either side from our little steamer. There is the Zambezi where I saw Victoria Falls once from my one and only ever helicopter ride. There is Niagara Falls and Iguacu Falls, both dumping with incredible noice and power water from rivers and tributaries. And there is the Congo River that I travelled by motor propelled canoe several times when I worked with missions in Africa. Surely these rivers contribute to my love of water as well as to my deep fear of it (well, for one thing I can't swim!). Both my love and my fear equate deep respect. So I was surprised during the conference that in the plenary opening rituals, much attention was given to two Ojibwe women, pictured above, who are walking the length of the Mississippi, from the headwaters in Minnesota as far as the Gulf of Mexico with a copper bucket filled with water from the headwaters of the Mississippi. Their intent is to call attention to the condition of our water resources. Sharon Day is walking the 1,200 miles with her sister, Doreen. The copper bucket that they are carrying is filled with water from Lake Itasca, the source of the Mississippi. She commented: "This time we we'll take the water from the headwaters, where it is still clean and pure, and all along the way to where it enters the Gulf." Day is the executive director of the Indigenous Peoples Task Force in Minneapolis. By mingling the clean water with the polluted waters at the mouth of the Mississippi, they will provide a sign of healing and of memory. During the conference, I attended many workshops, plenaries, discussions around dinner tables and elsewhere. But two weeks out from the conference the impression that is greatest and most important to me is of Sharon and Doreen making a sacred pilgrimage along one of North America's great rivers. This small, holy act reminds me so powerfully of water as the source of sustenance for all of God's creatures. The work of these two women is the most basic spiritual act that I can think of and I keep them in my imagination and my thoughts and my prayers. If Spiritual Directors International had not met in St. Paul on the banks of the Mississippi, I would never have known this story. Of all the things at the conference, this is what most nourishes me now. Each night I dip my finger into the holy water font in my icon corner and make the sign of the cross remembering my baptism. Water. Nurture. Life. The Mississippi, Doreen, Sharon. Holy women, holy water. Today is definitely transitional to Spring! The temperature, for so long wintery, finally broke the sixties today. My crocuses have been up for awhile, little lonely blooms. The tulips and other bulbs have valiantly pushed through the frozen earth--and I am happy to see that the ones that were composted are bigger and healthier than the others.
About an hour ago I walked to the Spades Park Library, a century old structure that is one of the few remaining Carnegie Libraries in Indianapolis, to collect my reserve book. In yards everywhere, people are out with rakes and black plastic bags clearing the twigs, dead grass, leaves and debris that has accumulated since Autumn. I haven't started yet--mostly I am just looking and thinking about it! As I looked lazily upon my garden beds, I did notice lots of debris and some trash--hmmm, how did those Halloween candy wrappers manage to stay in one place throughout the past months? This exercise of debris cleaning will allow lots of new life and growth to appear very soon. Dead stuff is removed so that fresh plants may enter the world unhindered. It is an old lesson that we all know: Life bursts forth from the old and the dead . . . Is that a good Easter lesson or what? Sure, it is about Jesus but it is about the way the earth is wired. In fact, it is the way the universe is wired, if we are to believe the scientists (which I do). Every day I sit in contemplation and silence--most often in wordless prayer. What happens in those moments is a clearing of the debris. It is raked away--the sounds, the mental script, the to-do list (about which I am normally compulsive), the worries, the things that get in the way of my feeling really good. And I am left with what is deep inside. For me it is Being itself. For others, it might be a greater consciousness. For others, God. Actually, it doesn't make much of a difference what it is called. What I know is that it is life giving. But first, the debris has to be cleared away. Sometimes in spiritual direction, we may spend months or years clearing the gunk and the debris away, only to find one day that we have moved deeper both into ourselves and into God. That is a breakthrough moment worth every moment of raking and good work. It requires leaving behind ideas, favorite doctrines, habitual modes and allowing something new to spring forth in its own time. As we clear the debris, we learn to process things in new, unexpected ways. Contemplation, as a new way of processing, results in deeper, more richly textured life and promise. |
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AuthorDan Hoffman is an Indianapolis USA based spiritual director, supervisor of spiritual directors, and workshop/retreat leader. This occasional blog discusses things he is thinking about and wants to share. Comments are always welcome. |