Volume 31, No. 3-Fall, 2007
Table of Contents
Squawk!
by Carole Crumley
The Red Umbrella
by Marjorie Donnelly
Kairos Spiritual Life Center
by Nancy Elder-Wilfrid
Gazing with God: Spiritual Practice with Visual Images
by Sidney Fowler
Confidence and Love
by Ethel Hornbeck
Infusing Money with Awareness
by Shannon Howard
My Summer with Young Adults
by Patience Robbins
Walking Circles for Peace
by Carl Smith
Squawk!
by Carole Crumley
Those of you who have visited our offices know that we are in a building with other non-profits, which are dedicated to renewing natural resources—the forestries, the fisheries, the nature conservancy. When we were searching for a new location 13 years ago, we found this office space but wondered whether we belonged. In discussions with the building owners we agreed that contemplative prayer is a renewable natural resource. So here we are.
The building itself is striking from the outside. It has reflective windows that mirror everything and make it very hard, if not impossible, to see inside. It gives new meaning to "seeing through a glass darkly." We think it a little strange that the windows are hermetically sealed so that we can never open them for fresh air—another renewable natural resource. However, the location is perfect for us—close to public transportation with lots of free parking. In addition, the building sits in a place of natural beauty with tall tress around the perimeter of the grounds and a small wetlands right outside our office windows.
The wetlands provide an endless source of visual entertainment and beauty. Reeds grow around the edges of a small pond, which ducks and geese visit regularly on their seasonal flights. And there is one tree, bursting with leaves in the summer that gradually becomes bare in the winter. This tree and the migratory birds help us track the seasons.
In the springtime, the tree takes on biblical proportions reminding me of Jesus' image of the kingdom of God. "It is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown, it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade." (Mt. 4: 30-33, RSV) We have an image of growing into the fullness of God's "kin-dom" right outside our window. In the springtime, the tree is teeming with birds, offering its branches for shade, shelter, hospitality and nesting space. It is home to many species, especially the red-winged black birds that arrive in the month of May and stay until the weather gets too hot.
This year one of these beautiful red-winged creatures visited my windowsill almost every day for several weeks. It never came at the exact same time, but it always announced its presence with a loud "SQUAWK," its signature sound. The windowsill is about twelve inches from the place where I work at my computer. The bird would perch and squawk just inches away from my left shoulder—no delicate cheep, no lilting song. It was so close I could see its beady black eyes and imagine that it was seeing me. I watched it take a deep breath, slightly lifting its wings to reveal their beautiful red underside, puff out its chest and squawk, announcing its place in the universe. That squawk seemed to say, "I am here. Look at me. Listen. Attend."
I found myself eager for its visits. Eventually, I knew its sound, its colors, its eyes, its breath and its way of being. This little creature became my call to prayer, an invitation to be more fully open to the gifts of the day, more fully alive to nature and all its creatures, more fully present to everything and everyone around me. Even more than that, it became an icon of God's presence, seeing me, offering an intimate kind of knowing and friendship, a partnership in living and working.
Even though I gaze out this window often during the day, I have never thought of nature as a partner in my office work. However, I believe it's been trying to teach me otherwise for some time. Once a turkey vulture crashed into the same office window while I was at my computer. There we were eye to eye, up close and personal, both of us stunned. It was a startling interruption to my ordinary daily routine. My immediate thought was "that is one ugly bird." Now I recognize it as a shattering wake-up call, puncturing my illusions of separation from nature even as I work in a hermetically sealed, air-conditioned environment.
We know that the world of nature is crashing, squawking and desperately trying to get our attention these days. It is also inviting us, both in prayer and action, to be companions and partners in the vital vocation of renewing natural resources. Even though my red-winged friend has moved on, I continue to hear an interior "squawk." It is a sort of divine squawk at the heart of all things, calling: "Be present. Attend. Listen. Notice. Only this 'glass darkly' separates us. We are One."
The Red Umbrella
by Marjorie Donnelly
"I will no longer carry an umbrella when I walk in the rain and snow," I declared at the closing circle of Shalem's Southeast Regional Gathering last January. In response, a companionable burst of laughter erupted. I was particularly aware of the deep resounding laughter directly behind me.
Next, we looked around the circle into the faces of the spiritual community graciously given for five days, which we now reluctantly needed to release. I finally turned to the man sitting in back of me. For an instant we shared a glimpse of soulful presence too deep for words, just as we had shared the knowing laughter a moment before. We bowed to one another, and I turned, confident of the healing power of a silent praying community.
The meeting of our spiritual hearts was the result of what seemed a chance meeting of two of the most unlikely souls on the retreat labyrinth. However, I believe such synchronistic meetings are anything but chance. Indeed, they are orchestrated by our divine Creator, who was also the center point of both our laughter and our glimpse.
From the time I arrived, I had wanted to walk the labyrinth. Wednesday morning—the first day of the Great Silence for our community—dawned with snow already accumulating. It was cloudy and wet with intermittent flurries and rainfall. The fact that I had not brought my waterproof jacket or my boots was cause for self-flagellation: What in the world was I thinking coming to the mountains in winter unprepared for snow?
Even so, I was determined to not delay another moment, reasoning that, if the weather got worse, I might totally miss my chance. After donning extra layers of protection, I happily remembered the red umbrella that I keep in my car for just such minor weather emergencies. Fortified by a sense of daring adventure, I smugly, yet with great care, trudged in my less than adequate tennis shoes down the slippery mountainous road.
Immediately, I knew that the experience was well worth my efforts. My steps (as if by magic) appeared in the virgin snow, and the walk was a feast for my other senses as well—hearing the snow crunch, the gentle rainfall on my umbrella, the chirp of a lone bird's song; feeling the cold air on my face and the solidness of my reliable feet as they rose and fell; smelling the crisp winter air pungent with smoke from a nearby lodge's fire.
At the labyrinth's center, I stepped into each of the six rosettes and prayed for the members of my small group and for myself. As I solemnly and quietly went about this ritual, I caught sight of another brave soul dressed in a sunny yellow jacket literally bouncing down the path and reminding me of Tigger in Winnie-the-Pooh. As he arrived at the entrance, our eyes met, and he flashed a huge grin, jumped up and down and clapped his hands in an exuberant greeting. I smiled in response and continued my walk under the protective red umbrella, feeling like the perpetually gloomy old grey donkey Eeyore in comparison.
Every few steps this fellow walker would lean down, make a snowball, throw it into the air, clap his hands and literally bounce in delight. Describing Tigger, Pooh states, "He always seems bigger because of his bounces." And so it was with my labyrinth companion.
As I made my way back out, there was a catch in my throat before tears stung my eyelids. My walking partner and I were Yin and Yang-his uninhibited joy in direct contrast to the heavy sadness I was carrying. Likewise, his spontaneity, childlike wonder and playfulness were in direct opposition to my control, adult responsibility and seriousness.
The joy, however, was contagious, and I felt my own mood shift and lighten, aware of the truth that "Every child knows God." After lunch, writing about the experience, I added, "Perhaps it's not too late for me to play," and once again, tears sprang to my eyes.
While I was writing, the yellow-jacketed man was drawing that same experience. He drew a black and white picture of the labyrinth but with small splashes of red—the umbrella. He later confided, "I almost threw one of those snowballs at you!" I replied, "I wish you had."
The red umbrella kept me safe, dry and protected, but it also kept me at a respectable distance from the childlike fun of spontaneously making and throwing winter snowballs. I experienced second-hand joy by observing someone else having fun, but I did not join the celebration of life in the moment. My hunch is I won't know that kind of uninhibited "Worraworraworraworra" Tigger joy unless I risk walking in the rain and snow without an umbrella.
So like a newly recovering alcoholic with whiskey or a former smoker with cigarettes, this recovering responsible adult needs to create some healthy distance between herself and that pesky, reliable umbrella. Today, I packaged it and mailed it to my labyrinth companion. I am confident that he can easily abstain from using it the next time it rains or snows. I tucked in a copy of Winnie-the-Pooh and dusted off my copy as well, remembering my new friend's advice that if I wanted to learn to play, I should read children's books. Admittedly, I don't have a lot of recent practice playing—much less bouncing—but I sense it's high time to begin. For starters, I've replaced the red umbrella with my talisman for this retreat—a pocket-sized, stuffed Tigger!
Marjorie is a graduate of Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program, Class of Summer 2004.
Kairos Spiritual Life Center
by Nancy Elder-Wilfrid
In October 2006, the Kairos Spiritual Life Center was dedicated as a ministry of All Saints Church, a wonderfully diverse Episcopal congregation in the city of Worcester, MA. The dedication was woven into a service of Evensong, celebrating this newest ministry and blessing its leadership team.
For years, Mark Beckwith, the former rector, and I imagined the possibilities of developing a spiritual life center for central Massachusetts, which could offer resources and support for people longing to grow in and deepen their life with God. We talked about our sense of a "new wave" of interest in spirituality, of more and more people looking for spiritual directors and traveling down to DC to be part of Shalem programs; we took seriously conversations with friends and colleagues who wanted "something more" than what they were able to find in their churches and congregations. And so, in the fall of 2005, Mark asked me to join the All Saints staff, with a major piece of my job to be envisioning and developing an ecumenical spiritual life center.
A leadership team came together, the result of prayer and invitations to people we knew who shared our enthusiasm for this vision. This group of seven reflects our ecumenical grounding: a blending of Episcopal, United Church of Christ, Roman Catholic and Buddhist faith traditions, of clergy and laypeople. While the Kairos Center is strongly affiliated with All Saints, we are committed to reaching into the larger community and so publicize and offer programs in churches throughout Worcester County; we have had participants from nine different faith traditions in our programs this past year. We were delighted and grateful to receive grants from the Worcester County Ecumenical Council and the Carpenter Foundation, a clear affirmation of and support for a spiritual life center in this area.
Since the fall of 2006, the Kairos Center has offered a pilgrimage retreat, ongoing programs in Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction, monthly centering prayer, labyrinth walks, Taize services, an introduction to spiritual direction, a day of conversation for GLBT Christians and a year-long program of spiritual formation, "Grounding in God." New programs in the 2007-2008 year will include a day of prayer for area college students, quiet days for clergy/parish lay leaders and church governing boards, a year long program of small group prayer and reflection, and several retreat days with guest leaders.
We are committed to serve as a resource and are developing a network with other spiritual life centers in this area as we explore ways to share programming and information. An exciting development is the growing partnership between Kairos, Rolling Ridge Conference Center (owned by the Methodist Church) and the Bethany House of Prayer (housed in an Episcopal convent). While the three centers are organized differently, we share a similar vision and are planning to co-sponsor a retreat day for spiritual directors.
Shalem's presence, guidance and prayer are clearly part of all that is unfolding here in central Massachusetts and New England! Many of the people who have been part of our programs have had some connection with Shalem-attending one of Shalem's programs or knowing someone who has. Others have heard about Shalem and been curious about contemplative grounding in God; still others have felt a longing for spiritual community and for the prayerful time to simply be present with God.
I believe that there is a deep, deep hunger for God in our churches and communities, which we don't always know how to feed. I am continually amazed at the response when people hear about the Center and its offerings: relief that they aren't alone in their longing for God, gratitude for a community with whom to share prayer, silence and conversation, and excitement about programs that invite new ways of thinking and being. The ecumenical nature of Kairos has been a wonderful blessing, offering our program participants the opportunity to connect with one another and God beyond denominational boundaries.
While the Kairos Center has its roots in a dream shared by two people, nurtured in the spiritual community of Shalem, this vision of a spiritual life center has been embraced by far more. We are grateful for the blessings of so many prayers, of creative leadership and enthusiastic commitment to "grow," and we look forward to all that is yet to come!
Nancy is a graduate of Shalem's Clergy Life and Leadership and Spiritual Guidance Programs and is a member of Shalem's adjunct staff.
Gazing with God: Spiritual Practice with Visual Images
by Sidney Fowler
I was absolutely silent when I first gazed into the Holy Trinity icon—the three holy figures meeting around a table. I gasped the day I saw the Abu Ghraib prison photo of the hooded prisoner perched on a box, hands wired and outstretched. I giggled when Polly proudly showed her cell-phone photo of her first grandbaby. Presented with these images, God opened my eyes. In the silence, in the gasp and giggle, before I could utter a word, I prayed. Visual images, gazed upon in the presence of God, have transformed my seeing and deepened my spiritual practice.
Praying with icons is the classic spiritual practice with images. These prayers with icons, essential to the Orthodox Christian tradition, have shifted my looking from seeking meaning in a painting (a typical approach to art by many Protestant Christians) to opening me to the presence of God through prayerful gazing. Praying with icons has also led me to explore other ways to pray with artistic and ordinary images.
These prayers seem particularly helpful in an image-laden world. With advances in technology and media, we encounter rapid-fire visual images at every turn. Walking or driving in our daily lives, we pass endless visual pictures. Some of what we see is wonder-filled, some disturbing. Faced with innumerable images, many of us seek ways to see, to pray and discern within God's care.
As I've used images in leading prayer times with others, many have experienced a way of becoming attentive and responsive to God's presence beyond any discrete times of prayer. Deepening their seeing, they see and receive the Holy all around.
Visual images invite a way of knowing, a way of receiving the Holy, that is not simply cognitive based. Images prompt our thoughts, feelings, imagination, and even physical responses. Through these prayers, we are more fully present—head, heart, and body—to God in a deeper knowing.
Many also speak of the way these prayers "slow them down." Often responses to viewing images are immediate and visceral such as in seeing the Abu Ghraib prison photos. More often, we slow down, enter silence and fall into a careful gazing. We wait; look deeply to see what God reveals.
Images, however, may distract, tempt, or confuse. We know the idolatry when devotion to image is substituted for devotion to God. The visual may pull us away from the loving presence of God. In that case, set aside the image and pray about what it stirs up. Even the "negative side" of images invites us to bring all that we see, even our fears, temptations, and concerns, into the loving and transforming presence of God.
As you practice prayer with visual images, what discoveries do you make? How do you experience God in holy gazing?
While experience with Orthodox icons may be unfamiliar, when we pray with iconic images we encounter the familiar. Such images include Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper, Dorothea Lange's Migrant Mother, and photos such as the defiant man approaching the tank on Tiananmen Square, or, more recently, the jagged structural remains of the World Trade Center following September 11.
Such images are embedded in our memory and bear all kinds of meaning about a historical, social, or religious moment. Often, in prayer with these images, we feel profoundly connected with the community who shares the image. Often, God breaks through the all-too-familiar image—opening us to see what has been overlooked.
Visio Divina, a visual form of Lectio Divina, is a helpful way to pray with iconic images. After a time of silence with eyes closed and inviting God's revealing, open your eyes and notice a detail of the image that disturbs, glimmers, inspires, or challenges you. Close your eyes and bring that particular detail to God. Upon a second viewing, pray, "O God, what do you desire for me or your people?" Again, close your eyes and wait in silence. Conclude with a prayer of thanks or simply rest in silence.
Prayer invites us to also hold and receive everyday images as well—all that we see before God. This includes: the picture on the television, the photo of family members, the news clip, or even the pictures we frame in our imagination, like a photographer, as we look at red autumn leaves or freeze an interaction that we see on the street.
Two other forms of prayer may be helpful here. One form simply holds an image before God. Place the picture, photo, or image in the palm of your hand. Close your eyes and become aware of God's presence. Slowly open your eyes; focus on the image; breathe deeply. Place yourself and the content of the image in God's care. Slowly, rhythmically, repeatedly move the image from looking at it to holding it to your heart. In time, offer thanks to God or conclude in silence.
Another form challenges you to pray for what you see over the course of a day. At the sunrise, pray, "O God, I see..." With an image on TV, say "O God, I see..." When you glance upon someone on the street laughing or in need, pray, "O God, I see..." Be aware of what God may be calling from you as you see. At the end of the day, prayerfully review the images of the day.
May praying with visual images nourish our attentiveness. May God open our minds, our hearts, and our eyes. May we join God in the gazing.
Sid is a graduate of Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program, Summer 2004, and is on Shalem's Clergy Life & Leadership Program staff.
Confidence and Love
by Ethel Hornbeck
I first encountered Therese of Lisieux at a used book sale. Having grown up in a self-consciously saint-less tradition, I had never heard of this young, 19th-century French Carmelite. I cannot explain my impulse to unearth that worn-out edition of Story of a Soul. I do know that despite significant barriers of language, culture and theology, her brilliant spirit shone forth, and she has remained one of my most cherished and influential spiritual companions ever since.
Therese, at first glance, seems a most unlikely wisdom teacher for 21st-century spiritual seekers. Born into an ultra-traditional Catholic family, she entered a convent at the tender age of 15 and died there just over nine years later. Her essential wisdom, woven throughout poetry, plays, letters, conversations and autobiography, is at once attractive and elusive, more impressionistic tapestry than spiritual map. As I have struggled to find words to describe this, her often repeated refrain of "confidence and love" keeps playing within me like a breath prayer. These two little words encapsulate well, I think, Therese's invitation to live in joyful trust that God is everywhere and Love is everything.
Confidence, for Therese, refers not to self-confidence but to her simple trust in a God present in all things, events, experiences and desires. By her own account, she was a painfully self-absorbed and fairly spoiled child. Her early years were filled with suffering and loss (including the death of her mother and the loss of several surrogate mothers). Yet, despite sorrows and self-preoccupation, Therese possessed an exceptional capacity for God; she saw Majesty in the crashing of the ocean, Love for her personally in stars that spelled her name, a holy invitation to compassion in the sad smile of a beggar. As she grows into adolescence, she senses God at work deep in her own heart; in her famous "Christmas conversion" (at the ripe old age of almost 14) she insists that Jesus changes her instantly, transforming self-absorption into compassion.
Therese's confidence is also nurtured through personal experience of beauty, goodness and love, along with a willingness to trust that experience. Although steeped in a theological climate of sin, judgment and eternal consequences, her capacity to focus on "God's mercy" became a lifeline to which she returned again and again. It was not until three years after entering Carmel that she was, finally, "launched full sail upon the waves of confidence and love" when a spiritual director assured her, simply, that God was pleased with her. "Fear made me recoil," she wrote, "with love...I actually flew."
That radical perception of God's unconditional affirmation and love ignited her passionate desire to both receive and return that love. What emerged was what she called her "little way" of confidence and love. Confidence in God's unconditional love for her empowered her own commitment to live love in each and every moment. "I have no other means of proving my love for You other than strewing flowers, that is not allowing one little sacrifice to escape, not one look, one word, profiting by all the smallest things, and doing them through love." Confidence and love thus become both means and end in Therese's "little way," a way that she passionately believed was open to all.
Therese's desire for love grows to become "greater than the universe," something that she desperately wanted to share, longing to be: an apostle preaching the gospel on all five continents at once; a missionary from the beginning of creation until the consummation of the ages; able to accomplish all the actions of all the saints all at once; trusting that all desires inspired by God were destined to be satisfied. Finally, she reaches her ecstatic conclusion that "Love comprised all vocations, that love was everything, that it embraced all times and places...my vocation is love...I shall be Love. Thus I shall be everything, and thus my dream will be realized."
Therese wrote these words as she lay dying the slow and painful death of tuberculosis, in the grip of a spiritual darkness that enveloped her last months of life. Even in pain and darkness, she trusted. In fact, her confidence and her love seemed to flourish in the midst of the most painful unknowing.
She was convinced that death would open new ways for her to satisfy her desire to be love. Several months before she died, she said, "I feel that my mission is about to begin, my mission to make God loved as I love Him, to teach souls my little way." Indeed, in one short century, Therese emerged from near total obscurity to become one of history's most well-known, -loved, -read and -traveled (her relics having traversed the globe) spiritual figures.
Therese was no towering visionary or charismatic reformer; she left behind neither a spiritual blueprint nor detailed instructions on prayer. She offers us no gardens to water, interior castles to traverse, or mountains to ascend. But her simple story offers an extraordinary vision of an ordinary life lived fully in Love and the invitation to each of us to share in it. She reminds us to look deeply around and within and to trust what we find, no matter how unlikely, with confidence that God is always present, acting, and loving—in dusty old books and dark nights alike. She invites us to a renewed confidence in the transformative power of living love in every moment and circumstance and in our heart's desires, both small (harmony at home) and large (peace on our planet). She leaves us a promise, a path, a plea and a prayer in just two small words: confidence and love.
Ethel is a graduate of Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program (SGP), Winter 2001, and a member of the SGP staff.
Infusing Money with Awareness
by Shannon Howard
As Shalem's new Director of Development, I recently had the opportunity to spend a retreat day with Shalem's Development Committee, and was struck once again by the potential of financial contribution to fundamentally alter our relationship with money. This was my first chance to engage my Shalem colleagues with some of the fundraising principles I've been working with for nearly 30 years, and I've been encouraged to share a few of these key concepts in this newsletter.
The myth of scarcity, the notion that there just isn't enough to go around, is one of the most critical aspects of our relationship with money and has enormous ramifications both personally and collectively. Scarcity goes much deeper and is more fundamental than our beliefs; it is a predominantly unexamined and unconscious assumption we've made. We think from a mindset of scarcity, and it affects every area of our lives. I've had the opportunity to travel extensively and work in several countries, and I can say that anywhere you go, in any socio-economic sector, the primary conversation that people are engaged in is either about, or coming from, scarcity.
As my friend and fundraising mentor Lynne Twist says, "Most people wake up every day and the first thought they have is that they didn't get enough sleep. That automatic, fundamental assumption 'I didn't get enough sleep' has no relationship with what time we went to bed but is a reflection of the mindset into which we wake up each day, no matter who we are or where we are—that is the mindset of scarcity." We think we don't have enough time or enough money; we aren't smart enough or educated enough, aren't tall enough, thin enough or even spiritual enough.
This conversation carries through each day and permeates every area of human endeavor. We are so convinced that there isn't enough to go around that we've trained ourselves to believe that more is better; it has become the source of much of our selfishness and greed. On top of that we are relentlessly bombarded with advertising messages that reinforce this myth; that in order to become whole, complete and happy human beings we absolutely must acquire...(fill in the blank).
When we become aware of how much we're being driven by this conversation of scarcity, we have the opportunity to transcend it by choosing to generate a context of sufficiency. When you let go of trying to get more of what you don't really need, which is what we are all trying to get more of, it frees up immense energy to make a difference with what you have. When you make a difference with what you have it expands. (Lynne Twist)
Sufficiency isn't the flip side of scarcity and it isn't the same as abundance, which is having more than you need. Sufficiency is precise; it means that things are exactly enough. In our culture we are so immersed in scarcity that it is difficult to know when we experience "enough." Sufficiency is a stand, a declaration that is independent of our circumstances. It isn't a fixed amount of something; it is a place to come from.
Two of the most powerful ways to interrupt our conversation about scarcity are to cultivate "an attitude of gratitude" and to contribute some of what we have, be it money, time, love or any other resource. Gratitude and the experience of "enough-ness" are like the front and back of a hand. When we stop to appreciate and give thanks for what we have, the experience of sufficiency is naturally present. Gratitude is at the very heart of generosity, and when we are present to gratitude our hearts are open to God.
We all have money flowing through our lives, and when we give it to something that is consistent with our highest priorities for humanity, it becomes blessed money. It is utilized to connect, to empower and to express our partnership and commitment to our world. I think of contribution as a form of prayer; it carries the energy of our loving intent with it as it flows through that to which it has been given.
Shannon can be reached for questions or comments at shannon @ shalem.org. Lynne Twist is a master fundraiser, lecturer, teacher, and author of The Soul of Money (www.soulofmoney.org).
My Summer with Young Adults
by Patience Robbins
For many months I have had a deep yearning to empower young adults. As I see the state of our world, I am so concerned that they will be prepared and ready for what they will need to address. This is such a profound longing in my heart that I pray constantly for ways that I can do this. A few opportunities emerged this summer as a surprise. One was that my 22-year-old nephew had an invitation to be a counselor for fifty eleven-year-old children from around the world at an international peace village. So he visited with my family about seven times in a few months, as the training was in the DC metro area. Another was that a college graduate came to live with my family while she interned at Witness for Peace. This also provided the opportunity for many reflective conversations about what is happening in our world and how to respond.
While at Ghost Ranch for a retreat in July, I thought of and prayed for all these young people. As I held in prayer my nieces and nephews, my godchildren, the adult children of my friends, and my own teenage daughter, this is the message that came. Whether I share it verbally or through my manner of being, I want to be shouting this from the rooftops. Perhaps all of you will be drawn to share this as well:
Know that you are the beloved of God. Say it aloud, keep it in your heart and on your lips. I am made in the image and likeness of God; I am made in the image and likeness of God. I am the beloved of God. Let this take root in your being. Ponder and rest in that. Let it flow through you. You are a unique gift to the world and have a particular contribution that only you can be and give. So, be attentive—aware—listening for what that is. Live the questions: Who am I called to be for the world? What is the unique way I can serve? What is the piece that is mine to offer to the whole?
Develop the art of listening to God within you, others, the earth, those on the margins—all of creation. This is sacred listening, that deep attentiveness to what is for the essence—the truth—underneath the surface. This is an ongoing practice. In my own experience, I notice how quick I am to interrupt, give advice, analyze and judge, anything but to listen. Yet if I am willing to be open and present, what needs to be heard has space to emerge and be received, and it often comes as something new and life-giving.
Spend time with a tree, a squirrel, a daisy, let them speak to you and learn of the beauty, the wisdom, the giftedness of creation. Turn off the ipod, the TV, the computer and allow yourselves to soak in the beauty and goodness of nature and the preciousness of the people around you. This is how you will perceive and know your connection with all that is.
Begin now to share—in every possible way. Share your time, money, talents, be a part of the great flow of community, of life, of the fullness of the earth community. Let yourselves be a channel, a vessel, a lovely instrument to play music that only you can play. Do not try to accumulate more or hold onto what you have; pass it on. You are here on this planet for a short period of time. See yourself as part of a living whole, with an intricate piece that is yours and yours alone to offer. Let generosity course through you and around you as you remember the deep unity of all that is, the connectedness of all of life.
My nephew now is off to Chile to teach English and our house guest is off to travel in Brazil. Both have experienced a global community and are looking for their unique way to contribute to the world. I continue to pray that they and all our youth may have the wisdom and courage to live into their particular way of serving the whole. And that we all may continue to live into the deep interconnection that we share with all people and creation. Deep peace, deep love, deep joy—what more could we desire for the young.
Walking Circles for Peace
by Carl Smith
Carl, a graduate of Shalem's 1988 Spiritual Guidance Program, recently wrote us about his practice of walking circles of peace. These circle walks started for Carl when he learned he had leukemia and began walking at the hospital. They also grew out of his struggle with how to constructively relate to the "seemingly overwhelming realities over which I have so little grasp and seemingly no control." We have excerpted some of his words below in the hope, with Carl, that his walks might inspire others to join him. You can reach him at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it or 505-984-5040.
For me, walking circle on circle on circle is a metaphor, a spiritual practice, a transmission of affirmative energy into the universe. It also generates healing, compassion and sustainability for humans, other living beings and the planet.
In a hospital stay I started walking these circles. Now I walk morning and evening—slow walks for peace. Wherever I am, I will continue these walks.
Walking these circles is a "we" thing. We know we are not alone. Step by step, the sense of being accompanied by a great, powerful host has grown. Now we know that we are a very potent force for peace, compassion, healing, sustainability. We are: people around the globe who sit and walk in meditation; angels and archangels; light workers and energy workers; birthright energies (love, compassion, healing, etc.); "saints" and mentors; the millions of cells in my body working with the cells of chemotherapy; the web of prayer and support that has made itself known to us; Jesus, Mary, Buddha, Spirit....
Do not underestimate the power of these circular walks for peace. As Rumi reminds us, we keep walking (imaging, affirming), but we cannot grasp how it will come about or what it will look like.
It is easy for us to get fixated on and carried away by the quandaries we face in our social/economic/ environmental/political systems. Some say our situation is like cancer—too many unhealthy, immature cells have taken over so the systems cannot sustain themselves. And it may seem useful to recognize that these "unhealthy, immature cells" are living systems. Just like us, they no doubt "think" they are doing the right thing. They too are full of denial and resistance to shifting.
Yet the critical point is that we do compassionate healing in ourselves and in the planet by way of walking the reality we wish to live out. Preoccupation with "the problems" drains energy and perpetuates "the problems." You and I walk (project, image, affirm) a different reality—that of peace, partnership, compassion, healing, economic and social justice, equal distribution of resources, etc. It is important that we realize this. With our walking we sow and water seeds of healing, compassion and sustainability. And we do this (in the words of cross-cultural anthropologist, Angeles Arrien) by "showing up, paying attention, telling the truth without blame or judgment, and letting go of the outcome."
Walks for peace, of course, are only one way to respond. There are countless ways that people contribute. Gandhi said, in effect, it may not seem that you are doing very much, but it is very important that you do it. That is all we need to realize to walk the circles with a profound sense of purpose. Join us!
SUGGESTIONS FOR A SLOW WALK FOR PEACE:
Set out a path or "round" that forms a circle. If long enough, divide the path into two to four sections. Begin your slow walk with a time of stillness and a blessing prayer. At the beginning of each section, dedicate that section to a person, group or situation. As you walk, image (with feeling, emotion, compassion) that person, group or situation being in the best sustainable, healthy space they can be. See/feel the light flowing between the two of you. At the end of each section, stop and say a blessing for that person, group, situation. Continue with as many sections and rounds as you desire, sowing seeds of peace, sustainability and compassion. Remember—We never walk alone. We are surrounded by a vast host of support and spiritual beings.