The Spiritual Practices of Silence and Solitude, by John Pikala

“Sitting in a wooden spindle rocking chair, listening to the quiet metal crackling of the propane heater, attentive to the rhythmic beat of rain water insistently dropping from the roof into the puddles at the edge of the foundation…It is late afternoon on Sunday, and I am nestled into the near silence of my hermitage, an 11’ X 16’ structure whose main feature is a picture window that fills most of one wall.  The little I brought along I have unpacked.  Earlier I had eaten a pear and gone for a walk on the dirt road, the trails, and the prairie.  The walk I cut short because a chilly drizzle began, so I have not yet seen Lake Tamarack up close.  Tomorrow….

“After my walk, I enjoyed a snack that could turn out to be dinner:  homemade wheat bread, an apple, and yellow ‘cheddar-y’ cheese, the simple provisions the on-site staff provides to hermits.  Also in the basket are oranges, bananas, a bran muffin, and more apples, bread, and cheese:  breakfast and lunch for Monday, and the next day, and the next….

“‘Deserts, silence, solitude’ – that is, in brief, what a hermitage experience offers.  I’ve only arrived three hours ago, and still it feels odd to be here, ‘doing nothing,’ and having none of my usual comforts, conveniences, and diversions.  And yet [I continued to write in my journal that first day], there is a peace, a letting go, a relaxing into the quiet–a settling into the privacy and aloneness.”

While I had made many retreats over the years, choosing to experience the life of a hermit for four days was a first for me, and a sort of growing edge choice, at that.  I told friends I was making this particular retreat with no expectations, but I knew that was not completely true:  I was bringing along–yikes!–seven books to read, as well as notes I had made at several conferences and workshops to review, and my journal, in which to write my reflections.  It certainly did appear that I was going to my hermitage with an agenda!

The letting go and settling into the privacy that I sensed beginning on that first evening somehow slipped away.  My growing edge question took over:  Would I–could I–be comfortable with only myself for company?  My answer the next morning appeared to be “No,” because I did read, review, and write.  Now, looking back, I see I was afraid of being alone with myself, and fearful of truly letting go into the presence of God.

So what a joyful surprise it was on Wednesday night, when I found myself again rocking in the chair and gazing out the big window and NOT reading/ reviewing/ writing, AND NOT DOING ANYTHING ELSE either, but just looking at the trees and the lake and the sky–oh, the big and beautiful and vividly blue sky!–and paying attention to the clouds–ordinary clouds they were, but ever-changing in hue, taking on the tint of one pastel after another, amethyst, rose, amber, gray–and not merely hearing but listening to the geese and the ducks and the sandhill cranes and the lone woodpecker.  What made it a joy was the realization that it was all there, all available, and all now–and also that it was good simply to watch and listen, to be witness to the wonderful ordinariness and simple majesty of God’s creation.  I had some of that sense Sunday afternoon, and then I lost it for three days with my busy-ness and agenda and fear, but the gift of being fully present and alive to the here-and-now moment was regifted to me on Wednesday, and, oh, I am the better fort it!

Perhaps the real gift was/is the realization that such simple and full joy is always available if I but PAY ATTENTION right now to whatever or whomever is presented!  And that is exactly what I did again on Thursday morning, first while lying in the bed of my hermitage, noticing the increasing light filling the room and listening to the mounting chatter of the geese, and then arising and moving to “my” rocking chair, my front row seat of witness to the beginning glory of a new day.

But here’s the deal:  I don’t have to go away to a hermitage or to ANY sort of retreat, for that matter.  And I do not need any special equipment, either.  Most spiritual practices that enliven my soul and quicken my contact with the Holy One are available to me 24/7, wherever I happen to be.

Here’s my insight:  My desire or intention, as well as my attention, are all that spiritual practices require!  But, oh my goodness, it is ironically true that I had to go away to a hermitage to regain or remember this “insight.”  I say ironically, because I have been engaging in a variety of spiritual practices, including the practice of silence, for years.  Ironic also because I am a co-facilitator of Sacred Ground’s program, Exploring Spiritual Practices, where facilitators and participants together as a community set intentions and pay attention as we engage in spiritual practices.

So am I still a beginner with respect to spiritual practices?  Well, I am invited to approach whatever practice(s) I choose with freshness and humility–or “beginner’s mind,” as Buddhists would say.  That is, I am invited to engage in the practice(s), time after time, as if for the first time.

Here is an invitation to ALL beginners:  Come join us on the evening of Monday, May 20, when together we will, with intention and attention, explore our spiritual path by engaging in practices that open us to the Holy One.  Share with us, beginners all, in Exploring Spiritual Practices.

 

Through his practice, The Journey Within, John Pikala sits with men and women individually as a spiritual companion, offers group spiritual direction, leads retreats, facilitates spirituality groups, meets with people in Twelve Step recovery, receives Fifth Steps, and teaches at Sacred Ground.  You may contact John at john@johnpikala.com or 612.801.3857.  Visit John’s Web site at www.johnpikala.com.

Moving On, by Martha West

Awakenings of the soul happen moment by moment. My earliest memories of God were an awareness of a spiritual presence. I have never known life without the presence of God. God was simply always there. What stands out for me is that I was aware of God in my earliest memories, though as a child, I did not have the language to describe God’s presence. The presence of God moved in me. I felt movement through the love of my parents, the love I had for my cats and dogs, the smell in the wind of tobacco barns, pine forests, rain, autumn leaves burning, and through doing all the wonderful things that children do–like running, hiding, playing make-believe, and laughing. The older I get, the more I appreciate my childhood. I lived something of a charmed life.

As a youngster, I spent many days with my brother exploring the small creeks and streams around our home. I knew how to operate a boat and navigate the river before I knew how to drive a car. Waterskiing was not just a sport, it was an art, and I was skilled in moving myself on top of the water. The ocean was a mystery to be searched and respected. Its beauty and power filled me with wonder. Long, lazy walks on the beach, the motion of the waves, the smell of salt water, the pull of the tides, and the life within the sea vibrated inside of me. My most contemplative life moments occurred as I sat in the sand in awe of liquid majesty. One look at the ocean, and I knew God was alive inside me. If there is such a place as heaven, it has an ocean.

As an adult, I experience my spiritual life as movement and counter-movement, something like the ebb and flow of ocean waves–the motion of a living choreography. There are times when new patterns appear, and my inclination is to withdraw because they are unknown to me. Growth is painful. As I mature, Divine Spirit continually calls me into loving movements that sometimes feel awkward, unforgiving, dark, and solitary. The movement of grace keeps me going when I cannot pray, and I cannot find peace anywhere within myself. In these times, when my gently worn patterns of inner movement no longer work, the one constant is that an opportunity for new movement presents itself.

Divine movement calls me to release my preconceived notions, allowing the present moment to flow into the past and the future. Growing together, trusting unknown possibilities, risking forgiveness, discovering authenticity, exploring spiritual stories, engaging my senses, respecting the silence, bonding with others in laughter and tears—these holy movements have saved my life.

 

Martha West holds a Master’s Degree in Theology and a certificate in Spiritual Direction from St Catherine University.  Contact her at marthawest@charter.net

Thoughts and Reflections on Cultivating Compassion on the River, by Barb Holm

Wow!  When in a room with 500+ spiritual directors from all over the world, and a theme of Cultivating Compassion, there is peace-filled energy and compassion for all.

Spiritual Directors International’s annual conference, Cultivating Compassion on the River, was the place to be for spiritual directors on April 12, 13, and 14.  Joyce Rupp, the keynote speaker, exuded compassion and intelligence.  Friday morning, her topic was “River of Life for Self.”  She said that compassion is the Awareness of our own and other’s suffering, the Attitude that we are all one, and that it takes Action in choosing what we are to do about awareness and attitude.  Our less-than-perfect selves, experiences that cause us sorrow and suffering, and inner turmoil that only we know, are things we bring to self compassion.  We resist self compassion by thinking we should always put others before ourselves, or that we don’t deserve it, or fearing of being prideful.  Joyce talked about compassion fatigue, which she renamed attachment fatigue.  “We wear ourselves out when we are attached to the outcome of our hard work,” she told us.  She recommended the book, Trauma Stewardship: An Everyday Guide to Caring for Self While Caring for Others by Laura van Dernoot Lipsky, with Connie Burk.

Joyce’s keynote on Saturday morning was titled, “Compassion and the New Science.”  She quoted Mohamed: “When you were born you were crying and everyone else was smiling.  Live your life so when you die you are smiling and everyone else is crying.”  Joyce went walked us through the maze of quantum physics and how the mind is at work in a compassionate state.  She said, “We can become increasingly mindful and aware of how we are or are not compassionate.”  She informed us that the heart has its own memory, and its energy goes out ten to twelve feet.  So, at a meeting where the topic is becoming heated, a person can think and extend calm, compassionate energy to the group.  She explained that the brain becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts, and we have choices about what thoughts to concentrate on.

There were a multitude of workshops to attend.  I attended “Compassion and Confrontation in Spiritual Companioning:  Insights from Henri Nouwen.”  The presenter was Dr. Will Hernandez.  He is the author of the trilogy, Henri Nouwen:  A Spirituality of Imperfection, Henri Nouwen and Soul Care: A Ministry of Integration, and Henri Nouwen and Spiritual Polarities: A Life of Tension.  Other than reading Nouwen’s own writing, these would be an added blessing of insights into Nouwen’s teachings.

I attended a workshop with Dr. Dwight Judy based on his latest book, A Quiet Pentecost: Inviting the Spirit into Congregational Life.  He read a number of stories from his book, describing activities in congregations where the Spirit was at work quietly and progressively.  Many in attendance offered suggestions of the work going on in their own congregations.  Most successes came about by starting small.

“The Body Never Lies” was an experiential workshop about biospiritual focusing as a spiritual practice.  I partnered with a spiritual director from Nairobi, Africa.  She works at a spiritual formation center that looked like one of our retreat centers. What an experience!  This workshop brought to my mind a book I had started and not yet finished by the grandfathers of biospiritual focusing, Edwin M. McMahon and Peter A. Campbell titled, Rediscovering the Lost Body-Connection within Christian Spirituality. 

The tables in the exhibit hall were filled with books, art work, music, and so much more to support spiritual directors in their ministries.  Oh, and the “food” was great too.  What an experience to dine at the noon meal each day in a room with two walls of windows overlooking the city and the river with colleagues from across the nation and around the world.

You just had to be there and if you couldn’t make it, ask other Sacred Ground members to tell you more about their experiences and give you suggestions for further readings and topics.

 

Barb Holm is a spiritual director who believes that when people set aside time to be in God’s presence, renewal, guidance and healing take place. Her calling is to listen to individual’s sacred life stories. She is a Protestant who embraces people of diverse faith practices. Because of her background in school counseling, she understands the challenges and joys of family dynamics. Barb finds joy and playfulness in her relationships with her children and grandchildren. She is married and lives in Northfield. She meets with individuals at Sacred Ground and in Northfield.

The Spiritual Consultant, by Martha West

I had the privilege of sitting in on a conversation the other day in which most of the participants earn their living as consultants of one sort or another. Our guest speaker, Esther Derby, gave us  a few of her best practices as a successful consultant. I was struck at how her ideas applied so precisely to the “business” of spiritual direction. Here are a few gems that I gleaned:

“Success is deeply dependent on the environment”  Wow. As a director, I’d love to unpack this statement with some of my colleagues. Too much here for this blog, but anyone who’s been directing for more than five minutes understands the value of sacred space.

“Consulting is based entirely on trust—it is about trust and relationship.” Per spiritual direction: Ditto.  As we meet regularly with clients, we learn about their challenges, and, over time, a foundation of trust is laid so that we, as directors, might suggest “this way or that”—depending on the Spirit’s movement within us.

“As goes the contracting, so goes the contract”:  This is actually a rather well-known quote from Peter Block—though the precise source escapes me now—but oh how true this is!  Have you ever regretting taking on a directee? If so, be honest—the signs were there in the initial meeting. Furthermore, this statement emphasizes the importance of boundaries–and we as directors set those boundaries, because we are in the power position. We set them directly or indirectly, so best to be clear about expectations.

“The best consultants walk with their clients through sadness and madness.”  ‘nuff said.

Esther used the phrase “continuity coaching” quite a bit in her conversation. What a great phrase! We as directors support our clients in spiritual transitions that are often quite difficult and painful.  How important it is to affirm our clients in becoming mindful of the “things” (for them) that are valuable.

As directors, we don’t often discuss our “business” as such.  There’s something about referring to spiritual direction as a business that seems a bit crass.  And yet, the most successful directors have such an approach.

Martha West holds a Master’s Degree in Theology and a certificate in Spiritual Direction from St. Catherine University.  She journeys with seekers of various ilks.  Contact her at marthawest@charter.net

Forsaken, by Michele Krakowski

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” – Mark 15:33-36

As of Good Friday, Jesus dies a man of sorrows.  The resurrection of Easter will tell another story, but in the midst of the devastation of Good Friday, Jesus calls out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

As a Jew, Jesus understood and knew the writings of the prophets and the psalms.  Some say that Jesus was calling up Psalm 22, foretelling his coming.  This psalm would have been familiar to Jesus and those standing at the foot of the cross.

“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

The words break my heart open.  Such words of utter distress.  I have a visceral response. An ache in my stomach.  Tears behind my eyes.  Perhaps you do, too.

Good Friday is a day when we embrace our world’s brokenness in a purposeful way.  I ask myself how much courage and faith can I muster up to respond to all that is evil.

I understand too well my own complicity in stalling the Kingdom of Heaven.  Sometimes the challenges seem so large I turn my face away, feeling powerless.  Perhaps you do, too.

When Jesus cries, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me,” I hear a prayer that has a confidence in history – a confidence in personal history.  In between the words of scripture, I hear, “Where are you?”  “Is this not enough?”  “You’ve helped others before”  “You were with me in my mother’s womb”  “I am poured out like water.”  “Don’t abandon me in my hope.”

Jesus crying out like this is a totally uncensored and honest prayer.  Whether it is his calling up the psalm or whether it is an utterance of heartfelt prayer, it helps us understand his humanity.

It also speaks of a confidence in an intimate relationship where there is no holding back.  The type of relationship that isn’t developed overnight.  Like all significant relationships, it takes time and commitment to become this honest and transparent.

So when Jesus calls out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  he is drawing on a longtime, in-depth relationship.

Jesus’ model of prayer prepared him in his ministry and for all that happened that fateful week in Jerusalem.  Before starting his ministry, he spent some time in the desert, being tempted by the forces of evil.   Jesus had a practice of withdrawing to pray in between his ministry of healing and teaching.   When teaching his disciples how to pray, he called on God saying “Abba,” which would translate to how we might say Papa or Daddy.

Jesus knew what he was heading into when he turned his face to Jerusalem.  He could have stayed in the hillsides traveling around for any number of years, but the time was now, and he headed into the force field of Jerusalem.  In the Garden of Gethsemane, it’s clear he really would have preferred to avoid his arrest and crucifixion, but was willing to sacrifice himself for our benefit.

These words remind me to be attentive to my own spiritual journey, so that I can find courage to go forward and venture out of my comfort zone as a witness to God’s compassion, mercy, and justice.

This heartfelt prayer reminds me that when life seems overwhelming, and I feel so small, that I need to open myself into the presence of God.

So, for me, the lesson of these words is to pray.

Get out to the desert and face my demons, asking for God help.  Take regular time away from the busyness of everyday life to listen to how God is calling me.  And when I don’t have time that is when I make the time to pray.  Perhaps this is a lesson for you, too.

Let us pray:  Merciful God, help us to cry out “my God” when we feel forsaken. Remind us that you are with us always, even in the darkest of times. Remind us to grow in our relationship with you, so we can witness to your love in compassion in our world.

Michele Krakowski is the Executive Director of Sacred Ground, and hears the sacred stories of men and women of various faith traditions, as well as teaching and leading retreats.  She is a lifelong Episcopalian and dog-lover, and longtime wife, mother, and grandmother.

Are We Having Fun Yet? by Doug Federhart

For those who know a little (or a lot) about the Enneagram system of various personality types (nine basic ones), you know that we “Sevens” are the Enthusiasts. We are always ready and willing to try something new–a new idea, a new restaurant, play or performance, a new anything!  If life starts to seem a little slow, or even hints at getting momentarily dreary or painful, we’re off and running in search of some delightful distraction. I’m good at this; but boy, do I get tired sometimes. It’s a lot of work, and takes a lot of energy, just to keep up with myself on some days.

I have this belief—granted, a pretty old one—that fun and spontaneity are the most desirable qualities in life; and that the opposites of those two qualities are drudgery and predictability. And along with drudgery come restriction, obligation, and (worst of all) responsibility. How “adult” those things sound, and how boring–and how much my resistance to them could be one indicator that I’ve never really wanted to grow up.

But, of course, there’s a “but” here, and this is what it is: my epicurean, or sometimes even hedonistic, tendencies have seldom brought me the kind of deeper satisfaction I sought. “Fun” often proved to be as ephemeral as the Mayfly: there was a lot of it to be had, but it didn’t last beyond its day. “Spontaneity” as my highest value meant I missed out on things that required longer-range planning. So, over time, the concept of making reservations or booking ahead took on new meaning for me, and grew in importance.

What I’ve learned is that discipline is not, in fact, the antithesis of spontaneity. Nor do thoughtful commitment and follow-through cancel out fun. Who knew these characteristics could cohabitate amicably in the same universe? As I began to see that acting on immediate impulse did not usually result in satisfying my deeper hungers, I found spiritual practices that could slow me down gently, help me to pause and even pray, and get in touch with what it was I really wanted in the first place.

A little over a year ago, I began exploring a recovery program new to me–one dealing with my beliefs around money, financial “sobriety,” and the spiritual principle of abundance. One basic practice is to record on a daily basis one’s “numbers”—meaning I write down on some form of a record sheet whatever I spend or earn each day. This task takes almost no time, but I am discovering how much I lived in vagueness before now. Depended on it, in fact: uncertainty had become my way of managing my financial life (or, I should say, of mismanaging it). But, gradually, I’ve been letting this new approach work its way into me, and as I’ve made even meager attempts to incorporate the principles and suggested tools I’ve found there, I’ve had a revelation: the fears I’ve almost always lived with (Am I worthy and worthwhile? Am I “supportable?” Am lovable?) are gradually subsiding. Each day, because of new clarity, I breathe a little easier, live a little lighter.

And in fact, I am having as much fun as I ever did.

 

The Reverend Doug Federhart is an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ, and one of the Community Ministers affiliated with Living Table UCC. He is also a certified spiritual director and teacher with Sacred Ground, as well as being the lead minister/teacher with Spirit Ventures Ministries.

Peaceable Kingdom, by Mary Lou Logsdon

Father Jan Michael Joncas, composer, author and professor, was the featured speaker at Sacred Ground’s recent Eat Pray Give fundraiser. His presentation was titled “Within Our Hearts Be Born:  The Arts, Creativity, and the Spiritual Journey.”  Fr. Joncas led us on a spiritual journey from childhood wonder through adolescent awakening into an accepting maturity, a progression illustrated in art, poetry, and music.

As children we are enrapt in total, absolute wonder at the miracle of the world, amazed by its possibilities.  A benevolent God is at the heart of it all.  Fr Joncas exemplified this stage with the painting The Peaceable Kingdom by Quaker Edward Hicks.  The image depicts Isaiah’s lion laying down with the lamb along side William Penn’s historic, amicable treaty with the Indians.  This world of childhood spirituality is peaceful and serene.

As we grow,  we come to see that the world is not the ideal we had believed.  We suspect our parents and elders of lying to us.  Fr Joncas shared a vivid memory from his twelve-year-old experience.  It was 1963, and his family’s small, black and white TV screen, tuned to the nightly news, showed live pictures of African Americans being fire-hosed by police in Alabama.   This image of callous police clashed with the perception of protective officers he had been taught.

Another memory that jarred his image of a peaceful world came from Life magazine, the brutally tender photo of Tomoko Uenmora in Her Bath by W. Eugene Smith.  Tomoko, severely damaged in utero from mercury poisoning released by industrial waste water, is being held by her sorrow-filled mother in a Japanese bath chamber.  Fr Joncas could not grasp that a government would treat its own people with such cruelty and disregard. These media shattered his image of life as a peaceable kingdom.  He used the painting Guernica by Pablo Picasso to represent the cleaved brokenness we feel in the stage of adolescent spirituality.

As we mature spiritually, we come to a decision that, though the world is broken, we will be glad.  Even in my own brokenness, I choose life.  We accept the brokenness, without having it crush us.  He illustrated this third spiritual stage with Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem Spring and Fall:

 

MÁRGARÉT, áre you gríeving

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leáves, líke the things of man, you

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Áh! ás the heart grows older

It will come to such sights colder

By and by, nor spare a sigh

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;

And yet you wíll weep and know why.

Now no matter, child, the name:

Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

It ís the blight man was born for,

It is Margaret you mourn for.

Fr. Joncas shared with us his experience of serious illness that kept him on a ventilator for two months and silenced his composing for two years.  Having that experience changed the music he writes.  We listened to a psalm he wrote after that time, its deep harmonies reminding us of the inevitable connections between life and death.

He left us with these spiritually mature words from Sophocles’ Antigone, “He has made himself secure—from all but one:  In the late wind of death he cannot stand.”

We spent our Saturday afternoon with art, poetry and music, held in a spiritual web, accompanied by a wonderful composer.   Thank you, Fr Joncas.

Mary Lou Logsdon companions spiritual seekers from diverse religious and spiritual traditions. She holds an MA in Theology and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction from St Catherine University, St Paul. She entered the world of spiritual companioning after retiring from a thirty year career in Information Management. From this vantage point, she brings experience in work-life balance, mid-life transitions, and discernment in vocation.

Where’s the Fruit? by Barbara Keffer

In the past, I would read the parable of the fig tree that we hear this year on the third Sunday in Lent, and feel shame.

What have I accomplished with my life? When I measure with the values of our culture, not much.

As a child, I was told that I would accomplish big things in the world.  I could do or be anything I wanted.  I thought I would be a chemist and devote my life to science. I took in the high expectations people had for me, and excelled in school in high school and college. But then, as faith became more important to me, I found myself making choices that led more to experiences of vulnerability, and sometimes insecurity rather than accomplishment as I saw it.  Parenting, taking in foster teenagers, working as a spiritual director or therapist, took me to the edges of what I knew; and some decisions, like pursuing what felt like an inner call to priesthood by attending seminary, took me to  dead ends.  When my husband retired from his twenty-five years at the University of St. Thomas, and received many accolades about his accomplishments, I compared myself, and felt seriously wanting. Where is the fruit of my life?

Then I started getting feedback that things I have thought particularly unremarkable, even just a routine part of life, had made a difference.  One son wrote and recorded a song for my husband and I one Christmas entitled “God Breathes,”  about his memories of growing up.  I would have thought his main memories would have been how we fought in high school because he was skipping academic classes to work on his video and audio editing projects.  We thought this bright son would not graduate from high school.  But, amidst lots of other fun memories, he remembered our ritual of singing a blessing  with hands on his head each night.  I had forgotten we did that.  As I listened to my not-particularly-religious son sing this chorus–“God breathes in your hands, Sweet dreams from your hands, God breathes in your hands”–I cried.  He knew he was loved.  Another son shared a paper he wrote in college about the bedtime ritual also, confessing to getting up to get a drink of water so we would put him back to bed again.  Our other two adult children have also communicated in other ways that they felt loved as children.   And with my clients, I have been amazed that simply listening to people often is so healing, or that the thing I have said to them, that I have no memory of saying, was so important.

After a particularly moving Easter Triduum, a fellow parishioner and I were savoring the experience of our liturgies.  She said, “I come to church to remember who I am.”  I wholeheartedly agreed.

It is when I remember I am (we are) God’s Beloved, I know my worth comes from God.  Then life, for me, is about being a channel of God’s love and creativity. When I forget that, I am tempted to judge my worth and fruitfulness in terms of our cultural values of achievement, affluence, and appearance, and make comparisons with other people. Perhaps the fruitfulness God desires is that we most fully express the person and community he has created us to be.

A fig tree is expected to bear figs, not oranges.  Sometimes that may lead to remarkable things, like Moses leading his people out of slavery.  But, sometimes, we may be a small part of helping God bring others from bondage to freedom by the ordinary things we do day after day, with gifts that we don’t think are particularly remarkable.  For some of us, the conversion called for this Lent is to let God liberate us from a false identity. We need to remember who we are so we can joyfully express and give thanks for the gifts we have been given.

 

Barbara Keffer has been helping others listen contemplatively to the sacred dimension of their life experience for over twenty-five years. Trained in Spiritual Direction by the Cenacle Sisters, the Catholic tradition and Ignatian Spirituality form her own horizon for meaning-making. As a psychologist, she has also reflected with seekers in the language of transpersonal psychology. She is especially intrigued by how the spirit works in times of transition, when life as we know it seems to fall apart. Barbara is married, with four adult children and five grandchildren.

Going Home, by Martha West

Editor’s Note:  The following essay appears in our recent publication, Join the Journey.

We all know that life has its ups and downs, but, often, it is the downturns that put me in the listening position.

My pattern is generally like this: After I have been smashed, bashed, torn, or twisted by an unexpected circumstance or personal difficulty, I look up to find that my way back to myself will be a daunting journey.  I generally lack the strength and willpower to pick myself up and return to the fray of life. That’s when I turn to a spiritual guide who can help me find what I need to get back home.

Many spiritual applications have been drawn from The Legend of Bagger Vance–a book written by Steven Pressfield, and later made into a movie directed by Robert Redford. The story is told as a reflection from the viewpoint of Hardy Greaves. He describes a remarkable golf match he saw as a child. In the match, golf greats Bobby Jones and Walter Hagen play opposite the local war hero, Rannulph Junah. Initially, Junah declines to play, but the mysterious Bagger Vance, who has become Junah’s companion, offers to caddy for him. It is Bagger Vance who encourages Junah to ignore the thinly veiled contempt of the others and to find his “authentic swing.” At one point Bagger tells Junah, “Inside each and every one of us is our one true authentic swing. Something I was born with…Something that can’t be learned…Something that’s got to be remembered.”

This story resonates with me because it is the archetypal journey of a hero who falls into darkness through some disconnect with his soul, and then comes back into the light with the help of a spiritual guide. Finding my own way home involves the sometimes ironic and painful process of letting go of my ego and its needs; I never know if I am dying to myself or transcending myself, and maybe it doesn’t matter. Whatever I call it, I still must find a way out of the darkness—I must find a way to pick up the pieces of my life; I must once again connect with my “authentic swing” so I can go home.

Joseph Campbell described the Monomyth, or Hero’s Journey, in his book, The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In the Monomyth, thresholds appear at various times. As the heroine of my own life, I must cross the thresholds that appear along my path, intentionally walking into something that separates me from the familiar.

In recent years, I have crossed thresholds of job transitions, divorce, children in crisis, financial stress, elderly parents, depression, anxiety, and illness. Other, happier crossings include completing graduate school, integrating my sexuality and my spirituality, finding love again with a new life partner, and entering menopause.

 

Often there are guardians at these thresholds that must be conquered. Guardians of fixed belief, fear, insecurity, or perceived unworthiness try to keep me stuck in old ways of engaging life, even though those ways no longer work for me. That’s when my own spiritual guide encourages me to overcome, and invites me into a new and sacred space.

Once I cross over, I occasionally find that I am alone in the darkness of a new world. In the darkness, I have the opportunity to discover my own “authentic swing.” I emerge from the darkness transformed by the experience and affirmed by my spiritual guide. The continual cycle of death and resurrection is manifesting a new creation: a more integrated, healed, and whole self. Like Mr. Junah, I find not only my authentic swing, but also myself. It is always a homecoming.

Taking this journey involves a habit of the heart referred to as prayer—a practice I share with my spiritual guide. In recent years, I have become a spiritual guide for other seeking souls. I listen to their stories and their prayers, honoring the sacredness of each threshold as a companion to another. By holding each seeker in this holy attention, the movements of God in the soul are discerned.

This is my story. It is the story of Bagger Vance, of Rannulph Junah, and of the game of golf, which is a metaphor for life. This is the hero’s story, and as a spiritual guide, I become present to another and to the One; ultimately realizing, in the words of Thomas Merton, “there is no Other—you and the Other are one.”

 

Martha West, M. A. Theology, is a spiritual director practicing in the Twin Cities. She invites seekers to notice God’s movement by prayerfully listening for the presence of Spirit.

 

The Gift of Curiosity and Connections, by Michele Krakowski

Editor’s Note: The following essay appears in our recent publication, Join the Journey.

The Bible is full of stories that have many truths, and these stories touch us in different ways at different times. In Lectio Divina, you read a piece of scripture and rest in God’s presence, allowing the words to pour over you, gently listening for a blessing or learning. Likewise, sometimes it is in sitting prayerfully with the stories of our own lives–a sort of “Lectio of Life”–that we experience grace and wisdom.

In spiritual direction, we often listen to the gospel–the good news–of a person’s life, helping them find meaning and direction about how they might be called to be and grow. Opportunities to be attentive to God’s love for creation abound. Sadly, we often can be distracted from this attentiveness. What a blessing it is when we are awake to the opportunities that are right in front of us. It is something to celebrate when we are curious and open.

Recently, I was reminded of the story of Moses and the burning bush. During his daily work, Moses noticed a bush that appeared to be burning without being consumed. With curiosity, he moved closer, and his life was changed forever.

On a cloudy fall day a while ago, two young immigrant women stopped by our office. They must have been in their mid-twenties, and they had limited English skills. Our door was open, so they came in. We greeted them and asked how we could help.

They said that they had a dear family friend back in Ethiopia who had just finished university and was starting his career when his health began to deteriorate rapidly. They showed me a letter from an Ethiopian hospital, describing their friend’s condition. Even as a non-medical person, I could see that he needed heart valve replacement surgery if he was to live.

I recalled that my own aunt had died at a young age with a similar condition in the early part of the Twentieth
Century. Now, this surgery is routine in North America and many parts of the world. Here was a young man in
Africa in a similar situation to my own relative all these years later. It tugged at my heart and my conscience.

I explained that Sacred Ground’s ministry was listening to people’s stories, and that we weren’t exactly in the
medical referral business. However, as their story unfolded and we looked into each others’ eyes, I couldn’t help but feel compassion. It was obvious that we were one of a long list of organizations that they had approached. They had visited an assortment of businesses, including churches and medical clinics. They said no one wanted to listen to their story. Sadly, it is sometimes just easier to not listen. However, I found myself thinking that if these women were willing to put themselves in uncomfortable situations in an effort to save their friend’s life, surely I could make a few phone calls. I wondered, was that my ego trying to fix the world, or was this God calling me to stretch?

I offered to give them some names and make a few introductory calls. Over a period of two months, we had several conversations and visits. They followed up on every lead, made phone calls, and had face-to-face meetings with a number of organizations. They reminded me of Moses speaking to the power of Pharaoh. I felt agony over the plight of their friend and sadness for the lack of success on our end, even though I knew from the start it would be a miracle if we could find a surgeon willing to do the surgery, either here or in Ethiopia, on such short notice.

And then a miracle happened, and only after the three of us agreed that we had been faithful to the process, and that now there was nothing left to do but pray. They received word that the young man had the surgery. The
community in their hometown in Ethiopia raised the funds to enable two surgeons from Sweden to do the procedure in a major hospital in their homeland. He was recovering and doing wellWhat joy!  One could say the miracle was that the young man had the surgery and a second chance at a long life, but so much more happened than that. So many people were affected and grew. I came to realize at some point I could let go and trust God. The young Ethiopian women found great inner strength and discovered they were not alone. The Twin Cities medical nonprofits were enlightened by the fortitude of these two young women. I expect the community in Ethiopia felt empowered, and the surgeons felt relieved with a job well done. People from four continents were involved with this man’s healing. We were all connected by one story, and we all grew in compassion for our neighbor.

Many opportunities arise in life that can show us how connected we are to each other if we are able to simply pause for a moment and pay attention. I try to pay attention to how God might be trying to get my attention. But, truth be told, I am often focused on a task at hand, or a worry about getting something completed. So, now, I wonder why I was curious about the story of these two young women. We could have easily sent them on their way, but they seemed to need to talk, and I knew I could listen with an open heart for a few minutes. Once I heard their story, our lives were connected and changed forever. This was not as dramatic as the Exodus story, but it is our story, and we have grown being present to it.

 

Michele Krakowski is the Executive Director of Sacred Ground, and hears the sacred stories of men and women of various faith traditions, as well as teaching and leading retreats.  She is a lifelong Episcopalian, mother, grandmother, and dog lover.

 

 

 

 

 

I explained that Sacred Ground’s ministry was listening to people’s stories, and that we weren’t exactly in the

medical referral business.  However, as their story unfolded and we looked into each others’ eyes, I couldn’t help but feel compassion.  It was obvious that we were one of a long list of organizations that they had approached.  They had visited an assortment of businesses, including churches and medical clinics.  They said no one wanted to listen to their story.  Sadly, it is sometimes just easier to not listen.  However, I found myself thinking that if these women were willing to put themselves in uncomfortable situations in an effort to save their friend’s life, surely I could make a few phone calls.  I wondered, was that my ego trying to fix the world, or was this God calling me to stretch?

 

I offered to give them some names and make a few introductory calls.  Over a period of two months, we had several conversations and visits.  They followed up on every lead, made phone calls, and had face-to-face meetings with a number of organizations.  They reminded me of Moses speaking to the power of Pharaoh.  I felt agony over the plight of their friend and sadness for the lack of success on our end, even though I knew from the start it would be a miracle if we could find a surgeon willing to do the surgery, either here or in Ethiopia, on such short notice.

 

And then a miracle happened, and only after the three of us agreed that we had been faithful to the process, and that now there was nothing left to do but pray.    They received word that the young man had the surgery.  The

community in their hometown in Ethiopia raised the funds to enable two surgeons from Sweden to do the procedure in a major hospital in their homeland.  He was recovering and doing well.

 

What joy!  One could say the miracle was that the young man had the surgery and a second chance at a long life, but so much more happened than that.  So many people were affected and grew.  I came to realize at some point I could let go and trust God.  The young Ethiopian women found great inner strength and discovered they were not alone. The Twin Cities medical nonprofits were enlightened by the fortitude of these two young women.  I expect the community in Ethiopia felt empowered, and the surgeons felt relieved with a job well done.  People from four

continents were involved with this man’s healing.  We were all connected by one story, and we all grew in

compassion for our neighbor.

 

Many opportunities arise in life that can show us how connected we are to each other if we are able to simply pause for a moment and pay attention.  I try to pay attention to how God might be trying to get my attention.  But, truth be told, I am often focused on a task at hand, or a worry about getting something completed.  So, now, I wonder why I was curious about the story of these two young women.  We could have easily sent them on their way, but they seemed to need to talk, and I knew I could listen with an open heart for a few minutes.  Once I heard their story, our lives were connected and changed forever. This was not as dramatic as the Exodus story, but it is our story, and we have grown being present to it.

 

Michele Krakowski is the Executive Director of Sacred Ground, and hears the sacred stories of men and women of various faith traditions, as well as teaching and leading retreats.  She is a lifelong Episcopalian, mother,

grandmother, and dog lover.