June 3rd, 2003, at a sensitive ten years old, my hero fell. Cubs outfielder and supper slugger, Sammy Sosa shattered his bat revealing bits of illegal cork were contained inside. The umpire immediately ejected Sosa from the game, and from hero status in my mind. Later that year, the Cubs lost the National League championship, one win away from their first World Series in 58 years. A lot of people blamed Steve Bartman, but I blamed Sosa. He upset the baseball gods, and he shattered my heart. It’s hard to be a 10 year old betrayed by someone you respect, but it happens all the time. Sports heroes revered for their natural abilities, take drugs. Political leaders accept bribes. Religious leaders have affairs. Parents get divorced, break promises, or fail to keep kids safe. Teachers treat students unfairly. Friends flake, exclude, demean, insult and ignore. We find out our country was built on genocide and slavery. We find out our heritage isn’t as dignified as we had dreamed. We find out the beautiful earth we were charged to care for is being treated terribly. This has led me to say with conviction on more than one occasion, “wow, humans suck.” And sometimes that’s all there is to say. The trouble is, I’m a human. And if I believe I suck there is a good chance I will devalue myself, get depressed, and squander my gift of life. So, in an age of information, in a culture of heightened awareness and accountability where all of the unrighteous guilt of humanity is laid bare, the question I’m trying to answer is: how can I reconcile everything I know without ending in a depressed “humans suck” mindset? Here's a summary of my trial and error. Option 1: Blissful ignorance: pretend the bad things don’t exist. Positivity leads to longer life and increased happiness. I 100% prescribe optimism. Unfortunately, ignorance is not optimism, and it gets tricky to have all the facts and stay optimistic. So, in the name of preservation, it becomes easier to stop addressing the facts. It’s like weeding the garden, pretending the weeds aren't there doesn't make them disappear, in the same way pretending the facts aren't there just means they come back around in a bigger way. Option 2: Buy in: Humans DO suck. I can hold every sucky deed and every sucky person to the flame and live my days distrustful, indignant and righteously angry. And I would be justified to do so. But research tells me I will likely die bitter, possibly friendless and quite young—hating myself just as much as I hate everyone else. Option 3: is in beta for me, and probably always will be. It doesn't have a two word title; it’s the more difficult version. I can acknowledge people are complex, cultures and opinions vary, and societies change and evolve. I don’t have all the answers, but I do have principles and beliefs that are important to me, and I can lean on those for boundaries. I can rely on some universal truths as common ground, and most importantly I can live outside myself. I can do my part. The thing about option 1 and option 2 is they put me in a state of separation, I am in the stands and not on the field, in the action. And life, to me, is about action. I do not want to be a bystander and commentator living my days in distant disdain or blissful ignorance; I want to be a participant for every waking minute until I take my final breath. So, I reconcile. And it’s hard work, because life is not simple.It is full of nuance and complexity. But for the sake of simplicity, the best way I can reconcile the past is to learn from it, so as not to repeat the bad, and to strive to emulate the good. I acknowledge I cannot change the way the land I live on was acquired, but I can live with honor, respect, and humility. I cannot control whether political leaders make poor choices, but I can do my best to be an educated voter and to respect the system. (Or I could move counties, states, or countries because the U.S., and the world, offer a buffet of social governance for any individual need). I cannot control whether spiritual leaders have affairs, but I can put my confidence in a faith system and a God, rather than an individual, and I can strive to be a Christ follower perpetuating a tradition of kindness and servanthood reflective of its ultimate leader. I’ve forgiven Sammy Sosa, and after writing this am actually grateful for his role in steering me away from hero worship at an early age. He was a gifted athlete and he did the wrong thing, and I know exactly why he did it. People expected him to be the best, and he didn’t want to let them down. It doesn’t make it ok, but I know as a human I’m susceptible to the same type of thought processes, and I’ve made similar mistakes. But the next time the pressure gets to me, instead of taking the edge and hoping no one sees, I can do the right thing and put in the work, knowing I may not hit a home run, but I won’t break a 10-year old’s heart.
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Catastrophes in the minds of human can be endlessly conjured if given control. I am reminded of this every night as I wake to check and see if my soundly sleeping infant is still breathing. In the weeks leading up to her birth I had frequent dreams I would somehow tip the stroller, drop her, or perform some other fatal deed. Fear is crippling. I need to sleep, and if I let my thoughts get the best of me, I’ll inevitably fail as a parent. Here’s how Wendell Berry puts it. The Peace of the Wild Things When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. Fear is a natural response—a primal one. With important implications for survival and success. But like so many other primary responses it cannot immediately be given the driver’s seat. It must be assessed, and if it proves detrimental, take a back seat to a better response. My parental fear is natural; I am looking to preserve the life and health of my baby. But constantly waking in the night while she sleeps will diminish my alertness and patience while she’s awake. Fear is draining my ability to give joy, kindness, and attention to my family. As an alternative to my natural response, I can fill Berry’s prescription for supernatural peace. I can go to a place where I am reminded of grandeur and my place in creation, and I can reclaim tomorrow’s joy by letting my fear slip away. This is no small task. But it is achievable. A guy named Paul was mentoring a shy guy named Timothy, trying to encourage him as he took on a leadership role. Paul hit Timothy with these words, “God has not(1) given us a spirit of fear(2), but of power(3) and of love(4) and of a sound mind(5).” Promise is loaded into these words, but I’ve read them so much they lose their punch. I’ve been digging into the author, reader, and original words to see if I can uncover something fresh. Here’s my grocery list of fresh discovery.
In summary, in place of a spirit of cowardice, our creator has gifted us energy and new ideas, unconditional love for one another, and the ability to exercise wise discretion over our primary response. Fear of the unknown, fear of what we don't understand, fear of other people, fear of sudden change, when allowed to dictate our response manifest in disgust, hatred, greed, jealousy, crippling anxiety, exclusion, pride, anger, fractured relationships, limited influence and joyless living. My advice to you is Wendell’s advice, and Paul’s advice, and Victor’s advice, Go and lie down. . .come into the peace of the wild things. . . fan into flame the gift of God. . . choose your response. These are active verbs, positive verbs, empowering verbs, verbs you and I can implement today. Throughout history there have been writers and speakers and fools who have believed in times of trouble they could write hope into existence, and if they could not cash notes for hope they’d settle for giving a voice to pain. A famous man is famous for saying “anything that's human is mentionable, and anything mentionable can be more manageable.” And as I stare in the face of short winter days and the possibility of limited outings, and virtual meetings, and a raging war on illness and disease and financial ruin and anxiety and distress and despair and death and polarization and intolerance; I feel a spreading gloom creep ever closer-gathering in my mind like a toxic gas. But in the face of all manner of tragedy the human spirit has proved resilient, spewing out titles like “Still I Rise” and “The Sun Also Rises”, “Rise Up” and “We Never Know How High We Are”. Knowing a challenge has not been the disastrous part of human life, merely the human part. As a famous man is famous for saying, “If it's human its mentionable, and anything mentionable can be more manageable." And so somehow we manage. Like Michael Scott in the fray of shenanigans and conflict and deteriorating demand for our primary product and an ever present threat of losing the thing that means the most to us and creeping loneliness and a hunger for love. Somehow we manage, the same way the human race has managed for centuries on centuries to persist. We call on an inner strength, rally together when we are weak, and seek an unfathomable strength ever present in our time of need. If it's human its mentionable, and anything mentionable can be more manageable. At least that’s what a famous person once said. Another famous person said this, “Come to me, all you who are weary. And I will give you rest. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” So speak life. And if that doesn’t work then scream. And if that still doesn’t work then go and lie quietly in the driveway and stare up at the stars. Let their glory work from your eyes into your bones until your marrow is soaked in an understanding of greatness, smallness, intricacy, and the utterly irreplaceable significance of your presence in this massive world. Yes, you. Feel it. And then, speak life. Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable." ~ Fred Rogers I stayed away as long as I could. The term “highest and best use” is the cause of my early return to writing. It landed like a solitary rain drop on my forehead the first time I heard it. Curiously timed, but not entirely out of the ordinary. Then came the downpour. There is something about wooden pews that makes me uncomfortable. Forcing me upright and creaking with every movement to ensure all the heads in the room can hear me. It was meant to be this way. “Meant is a past tense or a past participle. I don’t really mean it was meant to be this way. I mean it is this way. And I suspect someone did it on purpose. There are plenty of alternatives to wooden pews, and I’m sure the depreciable life of these pews is up. Churches are tax exempt, which doesn’t incentivize replacement. So it is this way, and someone did it on purpose. I guess the nice thing about wooden pews forcing straight backs is the irreplaceable urge to find something to hold my attention. I’m scanning the room noticing pendants, 12 of them, 6 on each side, centered between the wooden columns arching to the peak of the sanctuary and then receding to large windows. As I scan, I relish the opportunity to find God in the stained glass. They remind me of the color by numbers books we had. Mary always wears blue. But I’m briefly disappointed to find there is no stained glass in this church. The windows are clear with lamb’s ear leaves bound together in wreaths and hung in the center of each window. It’s simple, natural, symmetrical, and inviting. In the glass I find reflection and words from ten minutes earlier start to play in my mind. When death was arrested I have a confession to make, dear reader. I think often about death. About how I will die, and when I will die. At a young age I learned about martyrs and heroes and started to realize there is immortal life in an early death, so long as it comes about in an honorable way. When life expires in a blaze of glory there is a sort of fearlessness awakening a primal sense of awe in other humans. I imagined I’d get shot protecting someone or something I love, or be mauled by a bear exploring unknown wilderness, gunned down dropping supplies to a remote camp, starved to death in a prison cell after being arrested. Something dignified and glorious. It’s a noble goal (and possibly selfish). And it shaped me. And I’m grateful. But things change. I met Kinzie and for the first time thought seriously about whether life could be better spent dying somewhere closer to 90 or 100. She makes life exciting. Not just the glorious moments. The mundane ones too. The daily commutes and the house hunting and the weekly finance meetings and the road trips and the kitchen cleaning and the Saturday mornings and the Wednesday crock pot meals. It’s all frustrating and exhilarating and beautiful. The moments of glory come in gratitude and prayer, and the quiet laugh because we’re out of tears and the sense of calm, and the friends and the handshakes and the hugs. It’s these types of vibrant everyday moments emerging in my mind when I ponder highest and best use, when I evaluate the difference between intricate stained glass and a clear frame with a simple lamb’s ear wreath, and how both make me see God. Highest and best use is a measurement of value, typically relating to property. It states value is measured by what is “legally permissible, physically possible, financially feasible, and maximally productive.” I straighten in my pew again, enduring the groan of the bench beneath me, and write down “highest and best use” next to my notes about Zacchaeus. All four of these criteria for highest and best use are relevant in the Zacchaeus story. (Cliff notes: a short guy gets rich by stealing from people, climbs a tree to see Jesus and Jesus says, “hey! I am coming to your house.” And Zacchaeus goes “wow he sees me, and he wants to hang” and then hops down and turns his life around.) Highest and best use. There is a quote Marin Luther King Jr. gave to a classroom of students at a Philadelphia middle school. MLK told them to believe in their own dignity, to be determined to achieve excellence and closed with a final point epitomizing his life philosophy. “In the blueprint of your life must be a commitment to the eternal principles of beauty, love and justice” The eternal principles. An aloof and idealistic comment, shored up by the grounding, analytical, words “blueprint” and “commitment”. A powerful message of hope and action, hard work and dream belief. A principle echoed by another great mind in history. This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no “brief candle” for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations ~George Bernard Shaw (Died at 94 from injuries sustained while pruning a tree in his garden). There is a difference, dear reader, between living for the future, and living in the future. The difference is this: the future is never guaranteed. To live in it is to miss your opportunity to be maximally productive today. But to live for the future, is to recognize highest and best use is not about today only. It is about sustainable, useful life. It is about seeing people and seeing God, climbing in and out of trees, painting stained glass and hanging wreaths. Be dignified, be determined, be committed, and die well. Today is a great day to build character.
This is a post on everything Sometimes, I don't like feeling like a human. I like feeling extraterrestrial. I like transcending time I like not labeling, like the punctual brains e.e cummings labeled (As much as he hated labeling) They deserved a chain of signifiers. I like slipping away from the imminently practical And taunting them with freedom Like a 5-year old Knowing he's not supposed to And wondering why. Is it the minutes labeling life? the years? Or is it the immeasurable, Unascertainable Sigh she sighs when at long, long last Every deep breath and quiet kiss Falls under the expanse of time. And I wonder like Dickens and Twain And every person struggling to write If perhaps there's something larger than the force to die And if perhaps this something's in the sigh Dear Reader, (dear self), when you are whittled down to the essentials with all superfluous distraction removed; when, as a tiny speck in awful wonder, you stand with nothing in hand but raw emotion and bare humanity; while in this glorious and terrifying moment you exist, know this. In the eyes of your creator; you're enough. With this knowledge: seek reverence, show affection, practice virtue, conceptualize perfection, and when, by sheer fortune, those rare and delicate moments surface, let gratitude lend you the ability to perceive and embrace them. And as you embrace them find the depth of emotion necessary to know the authentic, hard-working, unquenchable joy of truth coursing through your veins, filling up your lungs, and flowing through your soul. This concludes my weekly posting for the year of 2019. Thank you for being here.
How to Be a Poet By Wendell Berry (to remind myself) i Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill—more of each than you have—inspiration, work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity. Any readers who like your poems, doubt their judgment. ii Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensioned life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places. iii Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came. About three weeks ago Berry’s poem branded my mind, and since then I’ve been holding it there like an unwrapped package.
There are no unsacred places // there are only sacred places // And desecrated places My immediate reaction is hope. If Berry is right, and there are no unsacred places, we need to restore the desecrated ones. But immediate reactions stem from point of consumption, like eating a McChicken when I'm famished. I need to wait for a better time to assess. I am not an expert in Literature Criticism and Theory. I have some coursework, an old textbook and a Google search bar, so I am going to run with it. Literature criticism is less like criticism and more like a pair of those National Treasure glasses used to read the constitution. Each theory shows text in a new color. Two macro lenses to consider are Author Criticism, and The Text and The World. Here's a brief description of the author and the world. Wendell Berry is a Midwestern American, writer, activist and farmer. He cares about literature, soil conservation, nature, America, farming and community. The text emerges from, New Collected Poems and I'm not sure the exact date it was penned. It could have been written at any point between 1950 and 2013 and things have changed a bit since 1950. A few rapid alterations over the last 60 years have come in the areas of production, consumption and innovative technology. Berry reminds himself with strong language he does not require speed or technology to be a poet. Taking the approach of Narrative theory--"Narrative criticism is a type of literary analysis that is used to identify the larger narrative picture of a text” –we are to understand this poem is written by Berry, “to remind myself”. Berry is reminding himself his work is best done in focused, organic, silence. Chronologically this poem is delivered in three simple stanzas.
The poem starts with a present-tense active verb, “make a place to sit down.” An empowering command and perhaps a nod to the necessity of being intentional with silence. We then receive a mental inventory of Berry’s personal necessities, acknowledging he is dependent/lacking. Each of these traits he lists could be interpreted as attributes for success in life, but this is reader-response not innate meaning. To close stanza I Berry references readers, saying if they like what they read their judgement should be doubted. Here we have several opportunities to infer meaning. This could be standard Midwestern self-deprecation. It could be a slight at people for not understanding the true meaning of his poems. It could be a response to reader-response theory, which gained popularity in Literature Criticism during Berry’s career. –Reader-response criticism is a school of literary theory that focuses on the reader and their experience of a literary work, in contrast to other schools and theories that focus attention primarily on the author or the content and form of the work. –. It could be an expose of his self-doubt and insecurity. It could simply be a reminder to himself critics and readers are not his source of affirmation What does it mean to you? Lines 9-11 of stanza II are the sweet spot. “Unsacred” is a made-up word, but we all understand it. It means something is not sacred. Berry uses the double negative, “nothing not sacred”. Or, everything is sacred. He affirms this with the next line, “there are only sacred places.” And then speaks into the confusion with the final line “and desecrated places.” There could be great time spent debating innate goodness, but this is not that time. Whether organic or learned, bad things are done, and the necessity for restoration exists. Examining the author and the time sheds some light on potential meaning in the poem. I mentioned one of the things Wendell cares deeply about is soil conservation. I was listening to someone talk about soil once, and it was as if he were excitedly explaining a magical world. Soil is important for all the living things in the world to grow. I am not a scientist. I do taxes for a living. But I know yields are important for business growth. I also know short term yields are good in the short term and long-term yields are good in the long term. One thing good businesses focus on is long-term, consistent yields. Unless they have short-term financial pressures or are short-sighted people. In which case they care a lot about making money as quickly as possible. They forget about things like silence, reverence, consistency, long-term yields and sustainability, because the pace of life directs all decisions. The unfortunate result when this happens in farming is the soil takes a huge hit. The rich life giving nutrients to plants and animals and humans is depleted, and the sustainable growth of everything is truncated. Yields suffer. Once the life-giving sacred thing is desecrated, corrective action is required. There are a few different methods for revitalizing soil. A topical, cosmetic application of chemicals (a short-term fix), crop rotations, cover crops, biosolids, and patience. I'm going to extract a moral, and please remember this is reader-response and may not have been the intention of the poet's original words. Reverence and sustainability work together, because without reverence things fall apart. There are many times when people say “this soil is bad” or call a place desolate or depleted. In her guideposts for Wholehearted living Brene Brown tells people to "cultivate" 10 different characteristics. They are characteristics that emerged in people who seemed to hit the metrics for living well. Cultivate, in farming, means to prepare soil for planting. There are too many metaphors to harvest and too many parables to reference so I will leave you with this. To Wendell Berry, words, marriage, soil, and nature were practical and sacred things. We are made of soil and we are becoming soil and in between the soil gives us life. Reverence is cultivating sustainable yields, and restoring sacred places. There are no unsacred places // there are only sacred places // and desecrated places Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came. I am going to hand you one more lens. Figures and Tropes Criticism–literary trope is the use of figurative language, via word, phrase or an image, for artistic effect such as using a figure of speech—What is the picture it is painting? There is a beautiful back and forth rounding out the final seven lines of this stanza. Prayers returned, reverent silence, quiet creation. It is tempting to shout for a voice in a fast-paced world. Tempting to clamor for the minutes of fame and attention and affirmation. Step out of that and do the hard work of cultivating. Restore the sacred places. Let's start with a moral: “Reverence collides with minimalism in this concept: To get to the holy we have to leave what’s heavy.” Warning: This post draws heavily on Christianity as it is my religion and frame of reference. However, reverence supersedes religion. Don’t let a differing worldview stop you from cross-selling. Let’s start with the Orange Juice Caps. I am one of 9 children, and I had an excellent childhood. I loved it and it shaped me into a decent member of society. But as is sometimes the case with children, I occasionally felt like a burden to society. My parents loved me dearly, but if you’ve been the tail end of a large family you know what it’s like to be the offspring 99% of couples won’t have. People judge. It’s just the tall and short of it. I understand as I grow older that it’s probably more shock than disdain, but if you’re a relatively perceptive youngster people’s reactions can wear on your soul. And the more towards the back of the line you are the easier it is to feel like the problem. So, despite the best efforts of my parents and people close to me I sometimes felt extraneous, and those sorts of feelings tend to follow a person into adulthood. I came into the idea around 7 or 8-years-old that collecting caps from orange juice cartons would be a great idea. I could fill a shoe box and I could do something with them—use them like currency or make some cool project or just sit and stare happily at my treasure. There's not a good explanation I can give you why the orange juice caps were valuable to me. But I had wealth no one else I knew had, and that was important to me. I think this is a basic human instinct and based on your own frame of reference or field of expertise you could probably explain my actions. The more I experience life the more I see this instinct feed off insecurity. My insecurities about my worth and my extraneousness somehow got a little tied up in my collection of caps. I started collecting milk lids too, coke bottle caps, and the occasional water bottle cap if it felt significant. I’m not sure when I stopped collecting this specific item, but as a rule for combating insecurity I’ve continued collecting until fairly recently when I adopted minimalism as a more reverent posture. There is a line between collecting and hoarding that various scientific journals and reliable medical websites can tell you about, and collecting isn't unhealthy. But minimalism is an important shift in mindset for me because my deepest insecurity is feeling extraneous or undervalued by society. And I will, irreverently, work on possessing in order to fill this void. Unfortunately, the more stuff I put in this space the less space I have, and the heavier I feel. Shifting towards minimalism redirects my physical state to align with my spiritual goals. Spiritual goals are a perfect segue into "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God". If you haven’t read this or listened to it, it’s a brief sermon given by Jonathan Edwards at a pivotal time in history. It is credited with fueling the Great Awakening and has had massive implications in the lives of many people. I take no stance on this sermon. Only to say it is an incredible study in doctrine, literature, and history, and looking at it through any of these lenses would be time well-spent. For the purpose of this blog I’m going to key in on a single concept Edwards reiterates in graphic detail throughout the sermon: Each living human is tethered by a bare and dwindling thread to the hand of a terrifyingly powerful being, and at any moment the thread may snap, plunging the wayward to eternal damnation and the fiery lips of hell. It’s riveting—inspiring and terrifying. Listening to Max McLean (over)dramatically read Edward’s sermon did not spark in me an intense motivation to live a guilt-riddled life of good deeds. It sparked awe at the raw and serious power of an intensely merciful God. A God whose greatness upholds the weak and bends down the arrogant. It ignited wonder at the concept of eternal justice and a great judge whose will I can rely on. It instigated feelings of terror to believe I am small enough to be cut at the mere inkling or notion of this violent God, yet important enough to be known and upheld and forgiven. To me, reverence, is appropriately applied fear. "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." ~Solomon This is the persuasive kindling in Edwards literary fire. He appeals to reverence, and lets the guilt fall where it may. The problem with fear and guilt is that basic instinct makes us hoarders. And hoarded guilt and shame are feelings rooted in a bad sort of fear. (Guilt and shame can also be felt at the wrong times, like feeling guilty for making the cashier at Wendy's have to punch the button for a 9th chocolate frosty). There may be some purpose in a time should we need to know remorse, but these are not feelings we keep in a shoe box in the closet and add a little bit to now and then in secret. Self-deprecation is a poisonous form of validation. These are feelings to address and be done with. The soul is infinite and should be handled as sacred. Leave what’s heavy behind. Know the kind of fear that inspires, not the kind that desecrates. Don't be afraid that you are worthless. Be afraid of not knowing your worth. On to Mike Ditka I saw this good fear and bad fear play out in a documentary on Mike Ditka. Ditka is a notoriously aggressive coach. An angry and inspirational leader well-known for creating a dominating Chicago Bears team in the mid 80’s followed by an abysmal Bears team in the late 80’s. Somewhere along the line there was a loss of reverence. His once-inspiring anger turned to petulant tirades. He didn’t inspire results through tough expectation, he perpetuated a cycle of guilt and arrogance. He wasn’t leading, he was trying to drag his team behind him, and the results were evident. Navigating fear and its role in things like accountability, motivation, inspiration, action, inaction, appropriate risk-aversion, courage, gratitude, and guilt, this is the point of reverence, and I’m certain it is something Ditka has contemplated. Conclusion A shoe box of orange juice caps may momentarily ease my fear of having little value, but it cannot replace the rest that comes from living in reverence. What I’m seeking is the affirmation that I am small, and so is everyone else, and together we exist in a beautiful creation with a magnificent creator, and an essential purpose to live out every single day. Dear reader, here is something important to know. We may die at any time. What drives your fear? What gives you life? “And the Lord said to Moses, take off your shoes, you are standing on Holy Ground.” ***There are a lot of really challenging emotions out there. This is a reminder to the reader that those emotions shouldn't be dealt with in isolation and there are people trained to help***
Why reverence? Because reverence kindles warmth in friendship and family life. And because without reverence things fall apart. ~Paul Woodruff This is an introductory post At the end of January I set a goal to write every week until the end of 2019. I am entering the final month and closing with 4 posts on an essential topic, a topic that permeates all topics. If you have been a faithful reader, thank you, I hope this is the close you need. If you've read some, or none, I hope this is the one you read because it is the most important to me.
If you are anticipating these last posts will touch on topics like religion, minimalism or sustainability, you are correct. But if you don't share my religion or feelings about stuff or the world I hope you still feel the importance of reverence. Because reverence supersedes all these things. Keep reading. Understanding Reverence (sort of) There are many people who've issued beautiful definitions of reverence--with words and without them. As a simple definition it's: a deep awe or respect for someone or something. The key word is deep. It adds depth. Sometimes people say, "it's not that deep" when others (like me) attempt to make the mundane philosophical or poetic, assigning meaning, moral, or metaphor to nearly everything. Sometimes they are right. But sometimes, "do you want to stay in and order pizza" really is an inspired word because it's wrapped in reverence. There are frequent misconceptions of reverence's place and function. It's often portrayed as something confined to religious experience, moments of mysticism or ritual. But, reverence supersedes religion. Reverence is deep awe. And deep awe is in the mystic and the mundane. For the mystics or the creatives, reverent lives are lived searching for those moments of art that leave us moved and wrecked. They ride grand waves of influence and then pour out their experience for the rest of the world. Their reverence tides us through a heavy season. (If you don't know what I mean go to the Indianapolis Museum of Art and take in the Mobius Ship or stand on the Floor). Others, the people who inspire me most, are the beautiful humans whose reverent lives are spent in homage to every soul they encounter. The people who treat each person with the kindness and love revealing things that are more than human. Their virtue is in a smile, a modified tripod grasp, a knee bent to the ground to look someone in the eyes, a humility to learn, a compassion to teach, a scarred and calloused hand from years of hard work done for other people. These are lives resting in reverence. Reverence is a virtue. According to a guy who studied virtue ethics for a really long time. And this virtue can be cultivated. (Cultivators prepare land for use). To cultivate deep sense of childlike wonder for someone or something, it's important to be small and to recognize both pointlessness and purpose. When I saturate my life in this type of reverence, the organic flavor of my actions and words becomes more. It adds depth. When I forget to live reverently, I trend towards insecurity manifesting itself in arrogance, anger, and other ugly traits. Irreverence believes that the world, the people in it, and the creator of it, can be manipulated. And maybe they can. But it won't get the results I crave. The results I crave come from this truth from Paul Woodruff's book on reverence, "We are mortal, we are born and die, and in between each of these events each of us has time to make a fatal mistake." This is a recognition that what we do may or may not matter. But if it does matter, it is probably important for us to make an effort to live with some form of harmony. Here are a lot of what if statements. What if we believed our words and actions may impact the people we encounter? Would it change the things you say or don't say? What if we could hear "all creation groaning as in the pains of childbirth"? Would it alter the way we live our lives? What if we believed the thing that made a house a home were not in the seen but in the unseen? What if it we could express not just what we see but how it makes us feel? Would it change the way we create and consume? This was your introduction to reverence. As Simon Cowell would say, reverence is the "x factor". (Is it ok to use Simon Cowell and reverence in the same sentence?) It is this ethereal confidence in that which is more. And it is what remains as I let go of all the things impeding my sense of wonder. And when I let go of my control and cultivate reverence it deepens my sense of virtue, it lends warmth to my courage, sincerity to my sadness, grandeur to my grief, exuberance to my joy. If you have some time take a few minutes to think about what this poem means to you. How to be a Poet Wendell Berry i. Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill—more of each than you have—inspiration, work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity. Any readers who like your poems, doubt their judgment. ii. Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensioned life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places. iii. Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came. Think of a way to cultivate reverence. Ponder it. Set it as the object of your thought. Soak it in. Next week I will talk about reverence as it relates to minimalism. "Nature wears the colors of the spirit" ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson This is a post on minimalism This thanksgiving I am grateful for the wild things—the things bringing order to the chaos, growing where the seed is cast and pushing diligently through the dirt. They strike the resonant chord; they play the secret melody unlocking my soul. Order and pattern and control are desirable to me, and when I live in my own created world, I find these things. But I find them in tiny pieces that leave me hungrier. And the more I strive to contain and predict the more I find the world bigger than I can master. This swings me to despair in my shortcomings, followed by gratitude for my humanity. Verily, knowing a world beyond my control persuades me to join the awe-inspiring, soul-cleansing glory of a natural melody. This melody is my promise. A promise to engage in both purpose and place. Not purpose to manipulate and oppress, but to tend, to care, to contribute. I am not the master, I am in the composition. And in this composition, I recognize life as a pleasing sacrifice, an aromatic offering, to a God who creates the universe and all that is in it. We are worship. And our worship is manifest in free-will offerings of thanks for the gift of purpose, and in our diligence to harmony, humility, and reverence. The purpose of the wild things is to grow together, and in their wildness, not their conformity, to create order. This means, for me, losing my Christian Consumerism, my perfect ideology, and recognizing that “becoming more like Jesus” is not a command to go and gather to myself more of the Jesus sold on the street. It is an invitation to see the Jesus planted within me and give him a space and environment to grow. “Follow me” is a command to rest, and to let go of the reins as I join the world in worshiping the one who set the stars, who put the wind under the eagle’s wings, the one who lives in me. Dear Reader, if you made it this far, I am going to encourage you to set your worldview as something in which you are not the center. You are meant to be more.
and other words that bring me JOYHave you been there? Slumped back against a cold wall, incapable of reaching out to someone you love to take their pain away. Sitting silently, helplessly, while they struggle with their demons. Praying with all your might that just your presence is enough to push them through a season. Have you been the one lying in the quiet of the dark questioning your worth? Have you begged for an answer or a sign? Have you stood familiarly in the place where emotion goes numb and nothing seems to matter but the ability to breathe? Have you held a hand full of boiling anger while you hurl baseballs at a chain link fence, tears streaming down your face, with no explanation? Have you sat in a torrential downpour feeling rain beat heavy against your skin wondering what you said, what you did, what you should have done and if you’ll ever be the person you want to be? Have you looked in the mirror and felt shame? Have you felt the sting of loneliness and sought the wrong cure? Have you tried to meet an expectation and come up short? Have you felt rejection? Real, true and honest rejection. The kind you can’t blame or explain away. The kind that shows up like an old friend you hoped you'd never see again. Have you been there? Me too. And in these times when I feel utterly lost, alone, confused and angry, the inertia of my life starts to build. And as it builds I am less and less confident in my ability to be effective or responsible. I seldom catch these feelings of lostness and aloneness and confusion and anger before they start to tear a destructive path through my life. And even when I uncover them they are a challenge to reverse. I need words to make them stop. To reverse them. To overcome them. I need words to take in and words to spill out. And today the word is "Therefore,". I read it today, and it was an instant milestone, a minute I'll point to and say, "right then the thing happened that made the difference." Here is context: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." Therefore is a pivot word. It means, in light of these facts, or as a consequence of. All the words prior to this pivot word are tales of righteous people who chose to make a decision for a long-term instead of immediate reward. Stories are recounted of humans who threw off kingship to be among slaves, people who made themselves vulnerable because they believed in a promise, people who made unpopular choices and suffered ridicule, and very real and tangible consequence for choosing faith. These people had faith in the unseen and they were clinging to a belief in righteousness, when all around them wickedness earned instantaneous and tangible reward. The author proceeds, after telling stories of people who accomplished unfathomable feats in the midst of difficulty with the word Therefore. And that is a joyful and terrifying word. Therefore, is my invitation. It is the great and glorious promise to the Christ-follower and it is the synopsis of the Bible. The author says, "Look at these stories. Look at the themes. Now let that encourage you to go do." Therefore is a big ask. Maybe not even an ask. More like a command to step out in faith and believe goodness prevails even if it is unseen--even when it means there may be suffering attached. Therefore means "keep going and have faith God will help". Have faith to remember the why when it seems the darkness is closing all around. Have faith to lie on the ground staring at the stars and believe the will of God is not understandable, but it is good. Have faith that, "I am that I am" is enough. Rest securely in the hand of God knowing he provides. This is my faith, that there is joy in my future and residing within me is a will to persist. And always I am seeking him and turning towards him and knowing more and more the unfathomable nature of my father, my creator, and my Lord. Who, by his great grace, endured the cross and took on my sin. By his great wisdom gifted me the Holy Spirit to alight my soul with hope and knowledge that, even in my fear and failure, in my despair and striving, in my utter lostness, when I drop to my knees and seek him He will respond with resounding voice like quiet snow drifting on a dark night, "Keep going." And I am restored. The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming, Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
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I'm a Hoosier. I like the outdoors. Taxes are my job. I write for a living. This Blog
Writing my way to an adult life of minimalism, sustainability, and joy rooted in Truth. I'm learning, unlearning, and relearning.
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