Necessary Adjustments

For me, almost nothing would be as terrible as losing my sight. To test this, I recently asked a friend (a sighted person) if they thought they would be able to continue living were they to suddenly or gradually, become blind. They quickly answered "No." A very honest response and I agreed that it would seem an impossible burden for those of us who usually take such abilities for granted. My friend then asked me the same question to which I responded, "I cannot even begin to imagine what that would be like, but I hope so. I hope I'd (eventually) accept it and make the necessary adjustments. And I imagine it would be a bit easier to bear up under if I were accustomed to living a rich, interior life." That made us both think. If you are living from the inside-out, then whatever happens on the outside cannot truly get at the real treasure, buried deep within. But what is this kind of life and how to nurture it?

Religious traditions have called it things like mindfulness, centering, growing in Christ-likeness. It's an ancient idea, transcending peoples and places. Let me be clear! I am not saying that the body is bad and that another part of us, some, ghost like "other-us" is good and is to be encouraged at the expense of what we can see, touch and hold. I do not think that kind of separateness is helpful; we are one in being, fully connected to our brain stems, feet, to one another and the universe. At death, we change; this body ceases to be as it is, but only as it is, now. In some way, somehow, our soul is our body is our mind is our consciousness and all that...all of that, needs careful curing and tending.

What does it look like, this part of us that is all of us that lives fully in me but is less than me without you? I don't know! But Wisdom is a good picture. So is caring for mercy more than for justice but not at the expense of justice. Can there be something more than Justice? A bigger, more enduring reality where all that is broken, and sick and evil can find its way to reconciliation? At the space where justice raises its gavel in triumph there exists a greater permanence.

It's in that place that our interior life is called to shine. It is solitude and community, aloneness and gum-on-your-shoe everyday reality. It's kindness and gentleness, peace and pain. Welcome and safety. The land where hell and heaven meet and where both are swallowed by More. The 8th Century Sufi Mystic, Rabi'a al-'Adawiyya, said:

I carry a torch in one hand
And a bucket of water in the other:
With these things I am going to set fire to Heaven
And put out the flames of Hell
So that voyagers to God can rip the veils
And see the real goal.

She was right! This is bold action and it begins within. Pails 'afull and torches aflame are now my weapons of the spirit. I want my brothers to see! But the inundation and burning up begins in me, with me. I must decrease so that Life may increase. My diminishment is my abundance. One cannot kill life. Change it. Disturb it. But Life will win for "death has lost its dominion" as Dylan Thomas said so brilliantly.

Wise men and women have often said that when we begin to speak about such mysteries we have already diluted them. When we pretend to speak about most things, humans often do so with unabashed authority, with an absolutism, with little room for humility. Rabi'a spoke to that, as well:

The one who explains, lies.
How can you describe
the true form of Something
In whose presence you are blotted out?
And in whose being you still exist?

And so I dilute. My life is a dilution. But also a perfection. I must reach into the deep while also pointing away from me to what is higher still. I release the silence and the beauty, and turn to the cries of the voyaging; I must rise and fill my arms with earthly things...though not lesser things. I look inward to live and live outwardly to find the way of knowing and to know the way of finding.

Take time to make the adjustment; fix-it. Begin within, but resolve to continue with a commitment to living a "life on the outside." Otherwise, we've got a stagnant pond, a salten sea, a deadly poison. We were meant to give life, not take it. For me, nothing would be as terrible as losing my true vision: a deep, interior life.

But there is hope even in that place.

Don Quixote at lunch.

Fellowship of the Tooth

Well, it finally happened, I went under the knife. Actually, it was a drill accompanied by what my dentist affectionately called, "cow forceps." I could have saved the tooth had I submitted to a root canal late last year, but I procrastinated until it was too late.

• Lesson #1: Fear only makes things worse.
• Lesson #2: Get the root canal right away.
• Lesson # 3 Tears are better than laughter.

Crying is better than laughing.

It blotches the face but it scours the heart.

~Ecclesiastes 7:3

Another way of saying this, is that the hard times are better tutors than are the easy, so-called good times. Suffering reveals more about what truly matters than anything else. That's the stuff of proverbs, and short stories and novels, exercise physiology and the actual center piece of some religious traditions such as Catholicism. More importantly, I would argue, it's the reality of real life.

 

I have never been a patient in a hospital, and I don't claim to have had much experience with pain, but I think our preacher here is right. When the dentist asked me how I was doing I said, "I'd rather be in the Caribbean." Previously, I had asked friends who'd navigated the procedure to share with me what I might expect.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that!"

"The pressure, the suction, the drilling; overwhelming."

"No pain, until...afterwards."

I kind of wished they'd have just lied about it or at least sugarcoated it. I had a vasectomy a few years back and conducted a similar survey which yielded such varied results as, "Didn't change a thing" and, "Changed everything... for the better!" To finally, "Changed everything for the worse." Yikes! In the future I think I'll stop all the pre-surgical surveying.

 

My tooth extraction took the entire allotted time (not a good thing) but I stayed in the chair and thankfully, didn't need to use my, "Please stop NOW!" hand. I kept waiting to hear the dentist say,"There it is" or "Almost there" but no such comfort was to be had. Rather, I heard, "It sure is decayed" and "Having to take it out in pieces." (Oh- is that what all the crunching, snapping, broken glass sound is about?) Eventually, after a kind of sumo wrestling with my jaw, it was over. I gave a thumbs up and said a sincere, "Good work" mindful that such affirmations are rare in dental offices.

There was one, bright, interesting moment, which is the reason why I am telling you this story. While alone and waiting for the novocaine to kick in, I said out loud to my deceased daughter, Esther, "Star, here I am. Are you there?" And suddenly, unobtrusively, it was as if she was there, along with many others, as a kind of gentle and calm cheer leading squad. They couldn't sit in my place now, only I could do that; but each had once been in a similar space. I relaxed. I knew I would be okay. Yes, I know my devotional literature and all about "visitations" during trying times, and yes, I admit to being bent toward the mystical, but there it is. Anyway, language has a hard enough time trying to describe the natural sciences, let alone such mysteries as a communion of suffering, or fellowship of the tooth.

I do not seek pain nor do I recommend it. However, if you have not suffered, get ready, your time will come. It's okay to be a little afraid, but eventually you need to be brave and face it, whatever it is, however big or small, working all the while to be as courageous as possible. The needle goes in the screamer as well as the stoic, and life's cow-forceps, to paraphrase Shakespeare, can make cowards of us all.

The Bard also said:

I pray thee peace, I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods,
And made a push at chance and sufferance

So, tears are to be expected, even for the gods, and often necessary, especially for us.  And we are not alone.

"So then let’s also run the race that is laid out in front of us, since we have such a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us." ~Hebrews 12:1

A Reasonable Happiness

What does it mean to be reasonably happy?

A friend of mine was recently eating lunch with coworkers at a religious retreat center. It wasn't surprising then when their table was approached by a man who posed a direct question about the spiritual life of the group. He said to the diners, "Are you born again?" After an awkward silence, my friend smiled and answered, "Well, no." Let us just say, the conversation continued for some time! The eager evangelist went to the New Testament and explained the words of Jesus, adding other scriptures and anecdotes where convenient. My friend responded by saying that he, too, had long been a friend of Jesus and took his faith seriously. He said it was his understanding that the follower of Christ should first receive the Word, then apply it, and finally take it to a needy world. If that meant being born again, then he was all for it.

At the same retreat, I heard another man at a nearby table say that the only thing that mattered was heaven. He said that the life to come is really what this life is all about. I was puzzled, because the Hebrew Scriptures, especially, and Jesus in particular, talk so much about doing good in this world, about being just and loving mercy here on earth. In fact, most biblical scholars agree that the ancient Jews didn't even believe in a life after death anyway. But, I got his point. Life is tough and if this is all there is, well, that's a hard sell to anyone who's spent most their existence on earth in pain.

A few years ago, I was getting ready to lead a group for women who were in a court mandated treatment program for multiple addictions. Most were young, averaging in their mid 20's, and they were a mess. They were also hungry for hope. Being the chaplain, I didn't really know how to relate to such a crowd but usually got out of the way long enough to serve up whatever spiritual crumbs I'd managed to bring along. On this occasion, one of the women was off in the corner speaking with her father, and both were crying. Time was short. Families weren't allowed to stay once the group began so the many-years-stuffed-into-a-minute kind of tender embrace they shared had to come to a close. His daughter was very beautiful, but sadly, also consumed with shame. It struck me as an invasion of privacy to interrupt her apologies and to witness her father's forgiving, grief-stricken, wet eyes so I waited as long as I could. Finally, I had to begin the group (such are the machinations of important people) so intruded and calmly assured the dad that his daughter was in good hands. Gratefully, his humble face received my sentence as if I had handed him the cure for every disease.

As our group began, I glanced up at the famous Serenity Prayer hanging on the wall and realized that, until that moment, I had never noticed that it contained a second verse! I was transfixed. I knew all about eternity but "reasonably happy in this life"? Could it be?

Of course, the recovery movement has long taught that to be reasonably happy means choosing a life of discipline, acceptance, courage and wisdom. But if I had a chance to say a few more words to each of the people in our story, I would add that we need to keep being born again, continue living the word and leaning toward heaven. I would also say that we should persist in energetically digging both hands deep into this sacred earth, confident that there is grace enough to assist in the mending of the brokenness that is life, in fact, the only one we know, rooted as it must be in the here and now. That's good news. That's a hopeful vision. That's a reasonable happiness. That's what I would have said.

Serenity Prayer

--Reinhold Niebuhr

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

Digging in to Life

Love Is...

Superheroes of Love

I work for a human services organization as their chaplain, a term we use because it's understood by most people. But I really function more like a spiritual director, encouraging and probing, challenging long held beliefs and unbelief, serving as a kind of mirror and travel enthusiast. I reflect back to my clients what I (think I) see and unfold for them the sometimes, unfamiliar maps to distant lands whose place names include words like sustenance and abundance and hope. Most of these gentle folk started off with an intense curiosity about life's mysteries but then abruptly or gradually, in desperate need of relief, ended up trading down for a state that is neither life nor death but a middle world, where everything is asleep but not at rest, not at peace. The residents in this underworld have a familiar motto: "No rest for the weary." They are sleepwalking and they do not know it, dead, yet alive, and they do not care.

I am a guide for such ones, this community of broken hearts and sad, sad people that I love, who have mistaken such an existence for the real thing, who have, to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, taken to eating sand when a feast awaits. But their senses would not know it were they to indulge contentment; such has been their (mostly) self-inflicted plight.

So I work in the "wake-up, it's time for life" business and it's hard duty, harder than rousing a teenager at 6am! Chilling stories unfold on my watch. From a 35 year-old man, thin, intelligent: "Wayne, he was OD-ing and I could have saved him, but I hated him and wanted him dead so didn't make the phone call and he died. After that, I figured it didn't matter. That was twenty years ago." From a muscular, tearful, 30-something Iraqi vet: "I saw a bus full of dead bodies, severely burned. We did that. Our helicopters did that. And the bus was still there, with the bodies in the same seats, two weeks later. I can't get that image out of my mind. Those people never knew what hit them..." One, beautiful, 33 year-old lady with a fabulous sense of humor: "I sold my body and didn't care; I needed the dope."

Trauma, pain, grief, and no easy answers. I listen. I feel it, take it in and let it go. I want to rescue them but I know how unstable the ground is under my own two feet let alone were I to get down there and imagine lifting them up and out, by myself. Somehow I am there and I must act and my sputtering reaction is empathy. But I cannot relate! I was never a drug addict, alcoholic, prisoner. I am simply a splintered man who understands that pain wears many a costume. I recognize it and can at least describe what I see and point to a better way.

And that way is love. All this week (it being Valentines week), I have been asking my groups to give me a definition of love. The teenage guys answer in a way that is mostly unhelpful. The adults have lived longer so their answers are more thoughtful. In every meeting we determine that love is an emotion and more than that, it's what makes any sane existence possible. I suggest a two-fold definition, the first part of which is that love is, love means, doing the right thing. One man suggests the obvious, "Of course most of us would jump in to the burning house to save the kid, it's the right thing to do." We all agree. There is talk about how loving others ain't easy or convenient but I seem to have given voice to their aspirations and we talk long and deeply about that. Each group finally begins to despair (Their default mode) because consistently doing the right thing is practically impossible, the terrain of "super-heroes who are always brave, always perfect at illuminating and confronting the darkness." Several ask, "How can the super-powerless do any of that?"

A few go further and wonder if doing the right thing, with the wrong attitude, might actually nullify the doing-the-right-thing principle. Perfect! That's my second point: Love is doing the right thing with the right attitude. Anyone can call the cops on that awful neighbor, the guy who obviously mistreats his garden and abuses his pet rhino. The lady you strongly dislike anyway. Phone away! Be rid of them, the world will be better off! The loving, right thing to do is to confront him (or call the cops). Right. It is. And some even go further and, in the name of love, die for their strongly held beliefs and yet have nothing to do with real love. I could go so far as to make a lot of noise preaching about love and never practice loving my neighbor. (See I Corinthians 13.)

"So what do I do, Wayne, if I have to choose between doing what's right and having the right attitude about doing it?" Ah, a great question! And we've just located the answer on the map. That's the place we're bound for. See it?

Words on a Page

This has been an exciting, if bittersweet, week. Author John Green's newest novel, "The Fault in Our Stars" arrived in bookstores and it is an amazing book! It is also dedicated to our Esther! Last Tuesday night, he and his brother Hank kicked off the book tour here in Boston. However, I couldn't wait until that evening to see the book so I went to a local bookstore earlier in the day just to check it out. I picked it off the shelf and turned to the dedication page. There it was in blocks: TO ESTHER EARL. I surprised myself by rubbing my fingers across her name and then the quiet sobs began. I put the book down and caught my breath. Returning to the page caused me to cry again so I quickly set my wet face into the book to hide. Then I thought, "Great, you've just slimed this beautiful book with your salty tears and oily skin. Now you're gonna have to buy it!"

I knew about the dedication beforehand but didn't realize he'd put the rest of our family on the Acknowledgement page! When I saw John later that night I told him that wasn't necessary to which he replied, "On the contrary, very much so." I reminded him that, in the beginning, Lori and I found it a little strange how much Esther adored him. She had decided that she wanted him to be a big part of her Make-A-Wish event and so we had contacted him. He accepted on the spot and even payed all expenses for two additional friends of Esther to attend! At the same time, I had been watching the most recent Dr Who episodes on TV with Esther. I wanted to know why the doctor appealed to her. He was, after all, literally an alien, an other-worldly, god-like figure who chose feisty and interesting human beings to accompany him on his ongoing mission to save the universe. As the last of his kind, he especially enjoyed the companionship of humans and I found him to be endearing, and terribly fascinating, though an ultimately unknowable and unattainable person. But his vulnerability struck me, too, as he was incomplete in himself and needed others to assist him.  And then one day it struck me, John Green was Esther's Dr Who! He had taken her away and she, and he, were the better for the adventure. At that our first meeting, I told John this.

As I held the book, I thought about the power of words and other images that we construct in order to portray our vision (Are words and images different, ultimately, anyway?). How do some words upon words (stories) combine to inspire and move their readers? The words I touched in this book seem to have come alive like so many genies freed from their lamps. They humor, and challenge, and wound me. Will I be better for having known them, for having kept them close and will they stay with me, finally, even as I shut them away? Two decades ago, existential psychologist Rollo May said, "There can be no stronger proof of the impoverishment of our contemporary culture than the popular – though profoundly mistaken definition of myth as falsehood" (The Cry for Myth, 1991). It's still true today. Words in a story can possess a mythical quality. A story is based in part on the author's experience and imagination and the story's words change in some ways as the reader handles them. I am speaking of novels, yes, but it's also true of non-fiction, for biography and history are a writer's attempt to recreate a past which even a photograph does not render with complete accuracy! Anyway, this is all old stuff, I know, but standing in that bookstore reminded me that what's mixed in (made up, added, false, myth-like) can often be the source of the deepest things.

So, take up John's book and read! We have now purchased six books and I'm sure many more will follow. My family is in the book for goodness' sake! At John's urging on Tuesday night, the Boston Nerdfighting community gave us an awesome and thunderous applause. Esther would have been embarrassed but would have loved it, too! She had always been a role model and was learning to carry her impact to a larger audience with the poise that had marked her, the grace that had been her middle name. Referring to Esther, John said, "Imagine that. An empathetic teenager." Just so many words on page, you say? Well, call me crazy, but I am convinced that we now have among us two additional flesh and blood, real-life heroes, a certain Hazel Grace and one Augustus Waters.

Which brings me to the last of my many words, which I now gratefully dedicate to John Green, my friend, and someone who is definitely from the stars above, a gift to us all.

TFiOS ~by John Green

Letter to My Future Self

                              

The new year awaits. Can't stop it. Can't slow it down. At this time of year, I always enjoy the year-in-review stories and predictions about what may be. The past and the future simply fascinate me like nothing else. I'm not too proud about that, but it's where I live, most of the time. What about Time Travel? Should I go backward or forward? And why? Going to the past seems, well, a bit awkward and who wants to revisit adolescence, anyway! Onward to the future? Well, that could be terrifying. What if I am dead?! Still, I’d like to make a reservation to tour the terrain at each of these destinations, and I’d certainly have advice to give my younger self and (hopefully) even have things to learn from an older me. For me, living in the present is not always easy. That is partly why I am ending this inaugural year of my blog with a letter to myself, the Wayne that will be on January 1, 2014. Future Wayne, that is. A few years back, my daughter Esther showed me the 'futureme' web site and said she was sending an email message to her future self. I didn’t think much of it until we got that letter a few weeks ago, dated April 19, 2009. Esther is gone now so you can imagine how excited we were to “hear” her voice once again. Of course, her mother and I went into full panic and fresh grief mode so it wasn't all a “puppies and roses” moment for us. But worth the sobbing. She was so wise. I hope there are more such emails to come.

Over 1.7 million letters like that have gone out and now I’ve been inspired to do the same! So, in two short years, an email will arrive in my inbox from a younger version of me! What advice will it contain? Well, definitely, and primarily, I hope I am a wiser and better human being and that I have continued to do what mattered, caring a little more, loving more deeply, marked by a growing generosity. I will then have been married to Lori for almost 30 years! Have I been kinder, treasuring her daily, as I once did?  I have two amazing daughters, who will be 24 and 22, and who will still need my emotional support. Am I their biggest champion? Graham is almost 18 and Abe is 10. Am I the best dad ever for them? Have I leaned into a grace big enough to lead these boys on toward a healthy young adulthood? Esther’s book has been out for a while. Did it inspire readers to aspire to greater things? I sure hope my money worries have subsided! If I’m not taking better care of this body, I will have no excuse, as it has been so good to me…

In this Letter to My Future Self, I go on to offer some other, specific advice which you’ll just have to wait until New Year's, 2014 to read! The main thing is that I’d choose wisdom over revelation any day. I already know too much and without the appropriate application of knowledge (which is wisdom), such toxicity would lead to a spiritual and emotional collapse. I think the best advice for Future Wayne is to keep working at being here, in the present, rooted and grounded in today.

However, without hesitation, I’d still love to travel in time, in either direction, if I could. A police call-box just dropped in from the sky, you say? I'm in! Until then (or until a certain, unavoidable rendezvous brings me, unhindered, into that Mystery), I remain ready to ride, to do my duty, and that must be enough for now. May you be encouraged to live a brighter and bolder life in 2012, which is just around the corner, waiting, with childlike wonder...


That's me! Age 4.

A Contagion of Happiness

On a recent Friday afternoon, as I sat lazily reading in my car during a break from work, a vehicle attempted to squeeze into the narrow space adjacent me. As it did, it proceeded to scrape the side of my van! The driver recognized the problem and presently repeated the damage in reverse. I then jumped out, exaggerating the eyes-wide-open-palms-up, hands-8-inches-apart, universal sign for “What’s going on, here?” (Also known as the “What in the world is wrong with you?!” sign). Now out of the space, the driver looked at me and said these two phrases, twice for emphasis: “Nothing happened! Isn’t that funny?” Then, rapid-fire like, turned and drove off! I thought of chasing down this felon-in-training, of catching the license plate number at least, but, I reasoned, my prized caravan is 15 years old, and such violations have become commonplace in its history. Besides, it was a warm and beautiful fall day, so I sat back down and returned to my book.

The following Monday morning, I left said van at home and this time walked the ten minutes to work. About halfway, I noticed some chalk graffiti on the bridge wall beside which I was walking. In various colors, I began to read postings such as, “Rock it!” “Go get ‘em!” and “You can do it!” Even Shakespeare was quoted:

“Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.” ~Twelfth Night

By now I was curious and began to anticipate the next wall entry, spaced as they were about 20 feet apart. The hopeful declarations intrigued me. Why would anyone get up early to write these inspirational phrases? I was feeling okay when I left for work but now I was becoming downright excited about the day. My walking path to work makes its way through the mass transit parking lot (Boston’s subway system, simply called the ‘T’). The messages continued, face up now on the blacktop: “Follow your dreams.” “Who Da Man? You Da Man!” and “Go, Sister!” Other quotes kept me focused until at last I reached the entrance to the sacred mountain (or, as the locals like to call it “the escalator to the train”). There I read a final challenge, which called upon the courage of all weary workers: “You got this! Carpe Diem!” I was so taken by this magical stroll that I returned at day’s end to capture in pictures some of the, by now, well-worn reflections.

I have sometimes been like that disconnected driver, taking little or no responsibility for the disarray around me that I have been partner to. Hand in the cookie jar, more than once, I have contested my innocence with a quick retort. “Wasn’t me” I might say. That’s not an option now. People are hurting and it isn’t funny anymore. I don’t seek to be a great person, just a good person (Well, maybe I do want to be Someone; but goodness really is greatness in disguise, isn’t it?). No matter. I really am grateful for the jolting object lesson that my bumper-to-car-door fellow traveler delivered that day. We are all giving and receiving messages of good news or bad. But I’d prefer to be like that pre-dawn chalk bandit, hand delivering hope like so many subway tickets to bleary-eyed commuters. After all, the Mystery Scribbler was responsible for the smile I spent the day trying to wipe off. Imagine that, going through your work day trying to stifle a contagion of happiness.

Go Ahead. You can do it. Dare you.