Faith & Life Inspirational Message

As the Christmas season comes round, I am reminded of a one-liner I heard one day while listening to a lecture by Richard Rohr.  Rohr is one of my favorites.  He has a way of saying some very significant things, but often with a twist of humor.  No doubt, this is what endears him to so many people.  And it is also probably why some folks, particularly some Roman Catholics, find him troubling and wish he would quit speaking and writing.  The line I wrote down, as Rohr was speaking, went like this.  “The operative image of God is Santa Claus!”  Of course, this line is basically about God and not Santa Claus.  Rohr is offering a theological look into his own mind.  It is not a comment on Santa Claus.  In this instance Santa is an image or a symbol.  Let’s look more closely at Rohr’s theology to see if it makes sense in our own lives.  Clearly not everyone has the same idea with respect to Santa Claus.  However when Rohr uses the Santa Claus image, he is making an assumpt

I am fairly certain people who only see the title of this inspirational piece will misunderstand what I plan to do.  Typically, we think about shelters in a two-fold way.  In the first place shelters are those designated places people can go to in times of danger.  Hurricanes and tornadoes will send people to shelters.  Often the shelters are schools, maybe the local YMCA or military building.  Shelters are designed to put us in safer places than our houses and work places.  The second meaning of shelters suggests places of incarceration.  It is where we send troubled teens in order to protect the community and the teen himself or herself.  In this piece I don’t have either place of shelter in mind.   Instead, I recall the opening line of the Psalm used in the last worship of the day monks have in their Liturgy of the Hours.  The monks call this last worship Compline---which means to complete the day.  For centuries monks followed the suggestion found in one of the Psalms that they wor

Many of us have had cars or some other gadget that has been recalled for some kind of defect or update.  I have had a couple of those in my time.  But I am not thinking about this kind of recall, when I entitled this little inspirational piece “recall experiences.”  As I type this, I realize I cannot be sure how someone reads it.  If I could say the two words, you would have a better idea what I want to do.  For example, you might think I am using the word, “recall,” as a verb.  Here the directive is to focus on experiences---and recall them, i.e. bring them back into your mind.   But I am actually wanting to focus on the word, “recall,” as a noun.  For example, there are some experiences I have had that were “calls.”  Of course, there are phone calls, but I am not thinking about those.  Rather, I am focusing on the spiritual use of the term, “call.”  The Apostle Paul uses call language quite a bit, following the lead of Jesus here.  Paul often opens one of his letters by addressing th

Recently I read a very interesting article which compared the insights from psychologist, James Hillman, with the insights from the Christian desert fathers and mothers.  I know the latter group fairly well and, admittedly, know little about Hillman’s work.  I have read only a bit of his stuff.  I know him more secondarily though writers on spirituality, such as Thomas Moore.  So I am going to take what the author of the article I read, Nathan Garcia, as a true assessment of Hillman’s work.  The desert folks I know much better---I have read and occasionally taught their work.   The desert monks were indeed the first monks of the Christian tradition.  Their beginnings are in the very late third century and take up the next two centuries---the fourth and fifth.  Literally, they left their homes, families and real world to withdraw to the Egyptian and Syrian deserts in a quest to find God and to imitate the life of Jesus.  They felt like they needed to get away in order to deal with thems

It is not unusual in the realm of spirituality to talk about the heart.  One can even say it is central to understanding who we are.  Just as our physical bodies cannot last very long without the beating of our hearts, so we can conclude spiritually can’t last too long without attending to the heart.  With this in mind, I thought it would be instructive to turn to some of my favorite authors to see how they describe the heart.  I invite you to join me in hearing them speak about the heart.   We can no better than begin with some words from the Hebrew Bible---words that are planted deep in the Jewish soul.  And all of us Christians should be very familiar with these words from Deuteronomy.  In Judaism these words form what is known as the Shema---from the first word of the quotation, “hear.”  The Deurteronomist says, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”  (6:4-5)  If we k

Those who regularly read what I write know that I like David Brooks, the New York Times columnist.  While I don’t always agree with Brooks, I find him an interesting, bright and articulate observer of our times and life.  He is not a theologian, but his own life journey has brought him to a place of faith.  He comes out of the Jewish background, but that is not where he has landed.  He is the kind of person I would love to meet and engage in conversation. And conversation is just the focus of a recent column.  He entitled his piece, “Nine Nonobvious Ways to Have Deeper Conversations.”  First of all, I admit I am a sucker for lists.  If someone talks about five ways to be healthy or something like that, I am all ears.  I will write down the five things if I have paper and pen.  When Brooks offers nine things, I am both excited and daunted; nine is a big number! I like his subtitle: “The art of making connection even in a time of dislocation.”  I appreciate the idea of connection as a ke

The title for this little inspirational piece may be daunting.  Most folks know what the two words, vast and mystery, mean.  It might be a little difficult to define mystery, but we think we know what it means.  But that other word---symbiotic---is a stopper.  It is not a word I would use in a speech, unless I immediately planned to define it.  So let’s do that right now.  Symbiotic means, according to the dictionary, interaction between two organisms.  I recognize that the word is a compound Greek word in derivation.  The “sym” part means “with” and the “bio” part means “life.”  So symbiotic means life with or life together.  Now, that was not so bad, right? I take the phrase from a little essay my acquaintance and, maybe friend, Belden Lane recently wrote.  He entitles it, “Listening to the Trees.”  If you know anything about Lane, you would know he is a now-retired professor of spirituality.  He has written more than one book on spirituality and nature.  He is a wonderfully insightf

I convene a little group which delights in conversations broadly focused on what it means to live life contemplatively.  It is a wonderful group because of a wide age range- folks literally coming from all parts of the country and with varied backgrounds, both vocationally and religious traditions.  The group works well because everyone is respected.  And when someone talks, the others are willing listeners.  The experiences shared are so valuable and help us learn how to live our lives in better, deeper ways. Recently, we had the opportunity to share our thoughts about one sentence from the work of the late Notre Dame theologian and priest, John Dunne.  I have known Dunne for years through his writing.  I never met him, but very much appreciate the points and perspectives he always brings to any conversation. The line we focused on observes, “If I must die someday, what must I do to satisfy my desire to live?”  When you have an amazing group of people thinking about a line such as thi

Anyone who knows much about the early Christian centuries would recognize immediately that the title for this inspirational reflection is much too general.  The desert tradition, usually capitalized, refers to a specific group of men and women in the third to the fifth centuries of the Christian era.  This group of believers saw threats to their Christian way of living in the emerging culture of the Roman Empire---an Empire that would embrace Christianity in the fourth century.  They were fully aware of the irony of the imperial powers taking on the faith that their predecessors once persecuted.   The Desert Tradition birthed the monastic movement as we know it in Christian circles.  The term, monachos, in Greek simply means “solitary one.”  Originally, these early monks withdrew from their society.  They left the cities and villages and withdrew to the desert.  In many ways they imitated their Lord Jesus in his time in the wilderness.  They were ready for the spiritual combat, too.  

I recently heard a presentation by a well-known Thomas Merton scholar, Jonathan Montaldo.  For those who don’t know, Merton was a rather famous Catholic monk from last century.  Although he tragically died in 1968, people are still reading his voluminous works and finding his message timely and meaningful.  I have taught seminars on Merton’s spirituality and count myself among those who find him very relevant for our own day. Montaldo has edited and written a number of books by and about Merton.  In the presentation I heard, he chose to share a few key passages and reflect on them.  One passage he chose was from Merton’s first book, which made him famous, called Seven Storey Mountain.  It was published in 1948 only a few years after Merton had joined the Cistercian monks at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky.  Merton had lived a rather troubled, unrooted life.  His mother died when he was young.  His father was an artist and moved around with frequency.  Therefore, Merton spent time i

Recently, I read an article that nearly brought me to tears.  The article was about touch.  In fact, the title of the article was arresting: “The sacrament of touch.”  Mark Etling is the author.  I have not heard of Etling, so I was interested at the end of the article when I found a brief biography.  We are told he is the spiritual programs coordinator at a Catholic Church in Illinois.  He also teaches at the School of Professional Studies at Saint Louis University.  But in a way, this has nothing to do with the story he told, which I found so gripping.   He begins his story with a compelling sentence.  “Last spring, my wife, Terry, was diagnosed with a Stage 4 glioblastoma brain tumor.”  Of course, I do not know Terry, but I immediately felt for her.  I have been through cancer; both sides of my family have been through it.  And I have offered a great deal of ministry to folks wrestling with this dreaded announcement that cancer is part of the story.  We all start the cancer journey

I will apologize to anyone who does not like sports.  Some of the examples and stories come from my experience of the sports’ world.  It is probably obvious I don’t spend as much time in the arts as I probably should or want to do.  I am lucky that my university has a very good Conservatory of Music and a magnificent Theater program.  I avail myself of that talent, but maybe I don’t know how to use or elicit things as well from that world.  I will admit that I don’t read a music page in the paper every morning like I do the sports page on a daily basis. Thus again, today’s story comes from another professional athlete.  In this case the helper in my tale is the quarterback for the local professional football team.  He is in his fourth year with our local club, which is actually having a pretty good season.  This contrasts with disastrous seasons in recent memory.   The only good thing about a terrible season is you get to pick first in the system that makes college students available t

Confession time would be to admit I probably spend more time watching sports and reading about them than anyone who claims to be spiritual should be doing.  Maybe someday when I am perfect or wholly spiritual, sports will drop by the wayside and be unimportant.  But since I am only a work in progress, I still am a sports guy.  Maybe it is because I have not really grown up! Certainly, playing sports or being active is a good thing.  I loved developing a sense for what being on a team meant and, especially, what being a good teammate meant.  Playing on teams gave me a way to become more aware of myself.  I learned I was good enough to play, but I was not great.  I could gain confidence without being arrogant.  I learned I was not the most important person, but I was important.  I learned to share.  I learned a little about failure and loss.   All these life lessons, as we call them in athletics, are true.  I still use them.  I might talk about community more today, but a community is in

When folks see the title of this inspirational piece, they might guess I am going to do something with Jesus, the Jewish rabbi.  I am not.  Instead, I am going to share some wisdom from another Jewish rabbi, Jonathan Sachs, a British Jewish rabbi who died very recently.  He was a world-renown rabbi since he held the daunting title, Office of the Chief Rabbi, having been appointed in 1991.  Effectively, he was the Jewish counterpart to the Archbishop of Canterbury.  He was appointed to this post and served for twenty-two years, retiring in 2013.  In 2010 he was interviewed by Krista Tippett, who shared this On Being interview again at the time of his death. Tippett always asks the interviewee about their childhood experience and spirituality.  Sachs shared that he had no intent to become a rabbi.  But then the Six Day War in Israel affected him deeply, so he began reading some Jewish history and theology.  He said he was intrigued by the question, what does it mean to be a Jew?  I gues

I have thought about forgiveness and have written about it in earlier inspirational reflections.  But with a topic this big, it is not unusual to come at it with a different angle or to have new experiences that give you a fresh perspective.  In my case I have just read the short piece on forgiveness in poet, David Whyte’s book, Consolations .  Whyte chooses a number of ordinary words and offers very trenchant reflections and amazing insights.  The book has become a goldmine of ideas, challenges and encouragement.   Whyte almost always comes up with an angle to a word which I had never considered.  That opens up meanings that are fresh and helpful.  He usually captures my attention with his first line of comment on a word.  For example, here is his opening line for his dinky chapter on forgiveness.  “Forgiveness is a heartache and difficult to achieve because strangely, it not only refuses to eliminate the original wound, but actually draws us closer to its source.” (67)  Most of us wa

One of the themes in spirituality that I like is pilgrimage.  No doubt, the first time I ever heard the word, pilgrim, was the story of the Mayflower in 1620 and all that early American history.  Pilgrims were the people dressed in rather funny outfits, who came to this country for religious freedom and had Thanksgiving with the Indians.  I am sure that is a second-grade version of things with little relationship to the deeper facts of seventeenth century American history.   As I moved through the years to college and a few religion classes, I again ran into the theme of pilgrimage.  This time it was a spiritual theme.  As I became familiar with some of the Catholic tradition, I learned about the importance of that theme.  I learned about various pilgrim sites---Lourdes, Jerusalem and many more.  On to graduate school deepened my knowledge replete with some trips to some of these sites.  I have been fortunate enough to be in Jerusalem and Rome.  Even though Quakers don’t use pilgrimage

I don’t know how many times I heard someone tell me, “It’s the little things that matter.”  Doubtlessly, I have said it myself.  Likely, there is more than an ounce of truth in it.  I am sure that I have accepted it as true, but never thought too much about it.  That is exactly what I want to do now: think about it.  I suspect in the end, it is spiritual. I recall the words of famous basketball coach who had pithy sayings that were popular at one point.  Wooden was an extremely successful coach at UCLA, but he was more than a college coach. He was a philosopher replete with the wisdom one expects from philosophy, and I might add, spirituality.  He once said, “It’s the little details that are vital.  Little things make big things happen.”  When I consider this saying, the biblical story of the mustard seed comes to mind.  The mustard seed is quite small, but it turns into something pretty glorious.  Such is it with little things.  They can become big things, as Wooden says.   In a more