One of the best things about teaching over the years has been the chance to read some of my favorite books many times. One of those books for me has been Gerald May’s Will and Spirit. I have often commented on how significant May has been for my own journey. I am sorry I never met him in person. He was one of the founders of Shalem, the spirituality institute in Washington, DC. He was trained as a psychiatrist. He brought that scientific perspective to his work, but never was captured by that perspective. He also was a deep spiritual searcher and this came out in so many of his books.
The subtitle for the book just mentioned is A Contemplative Psychology. The book attempts to chart the human search for identity, meaning and belonging. He deals with basic issues in this search like love and fear. He pays particular attention to human emotion. He charts the interesting journey from what he calls the birth of an emotion to its expression and passing out of existence. As one trained in theology and spirituality, he helps me see a broader picture of human nature.
He helps me understand the complexity of being human. He is intrigued by how humans spend a good bit of life seeking to make sense of this life we are given. Clearly, we are like animals in so many ways. Genetically, we are not that much different than mice! And yet most of us assume we live a much more profound life than a mere mouse. I am interested in the psychological and spiritual reasons behind this.
It is interesting to me that May ends his more than three hundred-page book by talking about how we should locate ourselves in some particular tradition. Specifically, he notes, “At some point in each of our searchings, I believe it is necessary to become ‘located’ within some valid spiritual tradition.” For me this has been the Christian and Quaker traditions. As much as I like to know about and even be responsive to Judaism, Buddhism and other influence, finally I am a Christian Quaker. I am located.
On his last page, May talks about humans as being both individuals, as well as communal. His writing is profound. For example, he says “And all together, beyond images and tenets in the deep reality of Oneness, we are so intimately joined in Divine Mystery that when a single one of us falls, we are all wounded. And when a single one breathes freely and opens to the exquisitely painful ecstasy of Love, we are all nourished.”
The May writes the last paragraph of his book---a paragraph I have read and re-read. He begins, “All too often the spiritual search seems very lonely.” He is correct. There are times when there seems no one who can understand my own search---my own lonely pilgrimage. He assures us by saying, “Part of this loneliness is inevitable, for as single souls we find certain dimensions of ourselves only in that aspect of God’s reality that is limitless solitude.” He clinches that inevitable lonely aspect of the search when he acknowledges, “There are some things that are eternally reserved in privacy between the individual soul and the Creator.”
He could have ended the book there, but thankfully he didn’t. Precisely at this point, he turns the corner to conclude, “There is a dimension of delicate pain in this, but even in our aloneness we are together, for we each have it.” I take it May thinks there is an inevitable pain in our individuality. It is necessary, but at times painful. That too has been my experience. I find it reassuring to know that even in our aloneness we are together. I dearly hope this is true. I find solace in that truth.
Finally, May pens the last two sentences of the book. They are gems and words to which I return. “At the deepest levels of our hearts we are all aching, for each other and for the same eternally loving One who calls us.” The idea that our souls ache is true for me. According to May, it is a double ache: for the others and for God. The spiritual search is our way to find the others and that God who created us---all of us. And May adds to this, God calls us. In effect, our search is a response to the call of God on our lives.
And then May adds an almost whimsical last sentence. Given that we have aching souls in search of each other and God, May suggests one last thing. “It would be well, I think, if we could acknowledge this more often to one another.” We are in it together---and yet alone. At least we can acknowledge this to each other. This in itself is a kind of help---a service to each other.
My soul aches. And I image yours does, too. We are in it together. Let’s do it together. Finally, in the deep Love of God, we will be together and be gathered into the unity of a community of Love. Hallelujah!
The subtitle for the book just mentioned is A Contemplative Psychology. The book attempts to chart the human search for identity, meaning and belonging. He deals with basic issues in this search like love and fear. He pays particular attention to human emotion. He charts the interesting journey from what he calls the birth of an emotion to its expression and passing out of existence. As one trained in theology and spirituality, he helps me see a broader picture of human nature.
He helps me understand the complexity of being human. He is intrigued by how humans spend a good bit of life seeking to make sense of this life we are given. Clearly, we are like animals in so many ways. Genetically, we are not that much different than mice! And yet most of us assume we live a much more profound life than a mere mouse. I am interested in the psychological and spiritual reasons behind this.
It is interesting to me that May ends his more than three hundred-page book by talking about how we should locate ourselves in some particular tradition. Specifically, he notes, “At some point in each of our searchings, I believe it is necessary to become ‘located’ within some valid spiritual tradition.” For me this has been the Christian and Quaker traditions. As much as I like to know about and even be responsive to Judaism, Buddhism and other influence, finally I am a Christian Quaker. I am located.
On his last page, May talks about humans as being both individuals, as well as communal. His writing is profound. For example, he says “And all together, beyond images and tenets in the deep reality of Oneness, we are so intimately joined in Divine Mystery that when a single one of us falls, we are all wounded. And when a single one breathes freely and opens to the exquisitely painful ecstasy of Love, we are all nourished.”
The May writes the last paragraph of his book---a paragraph I have read and re-read. He begins, “All too often the spiritual search seems very lonely.” He is correct. There are times when there seems no one who can understand my own search---my own lonely pilgrimage. He assures us by saying, “Part of this loneliness is inevitable, for as single souls we find certain dimensions of ourselves only in that aspect of God’s reality that is limitless solitude.” He clinches that inevitable lonely aspect of the search when he acknowledges, “There are some things that are eternally reserved in privacy between the individual soul and the Creator.”
He could have ended the book there, but thankfully he didn’t. Precisely at this point, he turns the corner to conclude, “There is a dimension of delicate pain in this, but even in our aloneness we are together, for we each have it.” I take it May thinks there is an inevitable pain in our individuality. It is necessary, but at times painful. That too has been my experience. I find it reassuring to know that even in our aloneness we are together. I dearly hope this is true. I find solace in that truth.
Finally, May pens the last two sentences of the book. They are gems and words to which I return. “At the deepest levels of our hearts we are all aching, for each other and for the same eternally loving One who calls us.” The idea that our souls ache is true for me. According to May, it is a double ache: for the others and for God. The spiritual search is our way to find the others and that God who created us---all of us. And May adds to this, God calls us. In effect, our search is a response to the call of God on our lives.
And then May adds an almost whimsical last sentence. Given that we have aching souls in search of each other and God, May suggests one last thing. “It would be well, I think, if we could acknowledge this more often to one another.” We are in it together---and yet alone. At least we can acknowledge this to each other. This in itself is a kind of help---a service to each other.
My soul aches. And I image yours does, too. We are in it together. Let’s do it together. Finally, in the deep Love of God, we will be together and be gathered into the unity of a community of Love. Hallelujah!
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