Volume 22, No. 3-Fall, 1998
Table of Contents
A Marvelous Needlepoint Picture
by Lee Goodwin
Scenarios for Decision-Making
by Rose Mary Dougherty
Living with Mystery
by Carole A. Crumley
Watering the Garden - Teresa of Avila's View of Meditation and Contemplation
by Gerald May
Adventures in Fund Raising
by Patricia Gibler Clark
Parenting as a Doorway to God
by Susan Dillon
Blessed Loss of Control
by Tilden Edwards
A Marvelous Needlepoint Picture
by Lee Goodwin
One of my directees is a parish pastor. Several months ago, we spent some time considering his questions around the possibility of a call to a different congregation. The issues raised were specifically related to the act of discernment. How does one discern which way to turn? What decision is the right one? Is there one right decision? What information or experience is fair game for the discernment process? In the cacophony of voices that speak at such a time, which ones are authentic and which ones are the "sirens" of the false self?
My feeling of inadequacy before this range of questions evokes a sense of the great mystery that lies beneath the act of discernment as well as the importance of humility in approaching any occasion for discernment. But I'd like to suggest four keys to the discernment process which surfaced in our conversations.
First, the incarnational key: this is the whole panoply of questions and issues that revolve around the concrete realities of life in a place. What is it about a place-its geography, its demographics, its personality-that is either appealing or unappealing? What about a place is experienced as sacred? The very physical aspects of a place (whether rural, urban or suburban) are part of the incarnational assessment. This key assumes that God comes to us in people and places. In the "flesh" of earth and sky, city streets and the common life as it is commonly lived, there is God. Certainly God can be encountered in any place, but the incarnational key leads us to ask specifically where in this place or in some new location do we sense God's presence. With this question comes the invitation not only to recognize God in what is familiar but also to recognize our human inclination to limit or domesticate God.
The second key is the vocational key. What gifts or strengths has God given me? What talents, inclinations do I now recognize or what new skills, experiences, knowledge are needed or would be beneficial? This calling has to do with the work for which we are compensated and for all creative activity to which we maybe drawn. Unless we plan to labor endlessly, a healthy balance between work, other creative endeavors and play are needed. How this balance will be served becomes part of the act of discernment. The vocational key is an invitation to explore both strengths and limitations; it is a time for listening to what new dimension of vocation, avocation or recreation may be called for.
The next key is the key of delight. At first glance, it might seem self-centered, and certainly it is subject to distortion just as either of the previous keys. After pros and cons have been named, there is still the question often dismissed: What do I want? In one sense, it is the question Jesus asks blind Bartimaeus, "What do you want me to do for you?" What, in your freedom, do you want? Where is there delight, joy, fulfillment in the present or potential situation? What is it that makes your heart glad? What abundance of life does God intend for you? Even to ask the question can be an exercise in trust that God is present in our deepest, truest desire or else that God will be there even if our choice turns out to be mostly misguided.
The final key is the communal key. God has set us in community. Either one-to-one or in a group, others can help us see more clearly what was once only dimly perceived. This does not need to be advice-seeking; it may just be a way of holding a mirror before our minds and hearts so that we can see from a new vantage point.
These four keys are angles of vision for approaching what is finally the wonderful mystery of God's life and our lives woven together. It is as if God is creating a marvelous needlepoint picture. We usually see what God is up to only from the backside, a tangle of often indistinguishable threads and fabric. Occasionally we see it from God's point of view, glimpsing the wonder of it all, clearly and beautifully.
The deep call in any discernment is to trust. God who is with us in all things is not only with us in our "best" decisions. Behind the choices we make lies the ground for such choosing, which is an awareness of God's presence. For me, growing discernment has to do with fine-tuning the "eyes and ears" of the heart-listening and watching.
There is a wonderful story about a Buddhist monk who had studied for many years in a Zen monastery. When he returned to his home, he was asked what he had learned after all those years. He replied, "Oh, not much. Just a softening of the heart." It is this softening that I long for and that I trust God will give as I listen and watch.
Lee, an ELCA pastor, is a graduate of Shalem's Group Leaders Program and a member of Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program, Class of Winter 1999.
Scenarios for Decision-Making
by Rose Mary Dougherty
Recently I've had a number of requests to be with individuals and groups around decision-making. These requests have been an invitation for me to reflect on my past decisions, how I've gone about them and what seems to fit for me now as I make decisions. I share my reflections with you in the hope that they might be a catalyst for your reflection on your own way of being with decisions.
Last year in a conversation with a staff person in one of Shalem's programs, I had an inkling that the person was thinking about resigning from the program. I wanted to say, "Think about it long and hard," but that didn't seem appropriate. The person was a real asset to the program, and I couldn't begin to imagine a replacement. I didn't want to think about it.
I'm great at procrastinating, especially when a decision feels weighty and I'm afraid I'll make a mistake. A nervous voice inside begins to chatter, "Oh, don't start thinking about that now. There's plenty of time. Wait awhile. Maybe there won't be any need for a decision. If there is, you can get to work on it in a hurry when you know for sure what you have to decide." I like that rationale. It gives me a good excuse to do what I want to do anyway-avoid the hard thing. So I kept putting off thinking about a new staff person, even when I knew I really did need someone.
When I realized what was happening and was able to invite God into this scenario, what I sensed deep inside was very different from what I heard in the surface chatter. If what I sensed had words, it would be something like, "Rose Mary, I'm with you in this. You have what it takes for this decision. Gather the information you need. Let it sit in your heart for awhile. Do what you can do. Don't hold back in fear. Does it really matter if you make a mistake? What is a mistake, anyway? I'm with you, no matter what."
Grounded in that awareness, I was able to look for someone. In the process of interviewing people I had the assurance that God was as intimately caring of the program as God was of the person who was resigning. I knew that what was good for this person would be good for the program as well.
At another time, in a similar situation, I also found myself not acting. This time, though, my non-action was not procrastination, it was an act of trust. It felt expansive and open rather than constricted and unyielding. As I prayed about what I should do, I knew the doing was the waiting, at least for awhile; what I needed to decide would be given when I needed to decide it. I kept the decision tucked in a prayer for openness and waited. I knew when I needed to know what I needed to do. There was a clarity, a sense of leading, without much effort on my part. I trust that clarity though I am hard pressed to be able to give cogent reasons for it.
I don't always get a clear sense of what's called for in prayer. Once when I was considering changing jobs, I didn't have much to go on except that I sensed it was time to begin making a choice. A spiritual director was very helpful for me at this time, inviting me to claim the evidence I had from the past that God had been with me up until then. I knew I had no reason to believe God would leave me alone as I decided. I also knew that even though it seemed I wasn't getting much help from God then, everything I had received in the past would be part of me as I was in this process. Reluctantly but trustingly, I began to do what I could. In retrospect, I wonder if God's seeming silence in these circumstances isn't a tacit act of God's trust in me, inviting me to claim what I already know. In the end, I didn't change jobs. But the final decision seemed secondary to what I learned about myself and what is really important to me.
There are times when I move too quickly in settling matters for myself. A surface place in me tells me that I have a responsibility toward other people. The image of myself as a responsible person, with all its "shoulds," kicks in. I pray a little about what I am to do, just to get me started. I don't hear much because I'm really only talking to myself about what I need to do. Platitudes like, "If eventually, why not now?" and "When there's no wind, row," come to mind. They offer the confirmation I want. I'm off and running, as though it were all mine to do. When I stop to breathe or get my bearings, I sometimes recognize that there is a voice deep inside me wanting to be heard. Often, in moments of grace, I'm willing to listen. What I hear is both invitation and challenge: "Stop working so hard. Be still! Let me do this." If I feel like I've reached the limits of my capabilities in making the decision, I can say very graciously, "Of course." If I have been making giant strides on my own, this yielding is more difficult. I say "yes" for a little while and then when things don't seem to be moving quickly enough, I try to take them back into my own hands. At times when I don't like what I suspect the outcome will be, I just want to quit for awhile. And so I do. Then I'm back to the pushing and the yielding. Life goes on and no one has really been undone by my process, despite the fact that I've taken it all so seriously. God seems to say in many ways, "See, I'm here for all of you."
There are times when I only know by hindsight that I've made any decisions. It just seems as if God and I are together in the process of life. It's hard to tell which of us is doing what, and that's just fine. What's important is that we are together, doing the next thing there is to do. When I look back in times like that, I'm sometimes surprised at where I've been and where I'm going.
As I reflect on the various ways I've made decisions, I am convinced that the finished product of the decision itself is really not of prime importance. There are few decisions that are irrevocable. What is important for me is the transformation to which I give myself as I engage in a process.
I am learning that there is not a once-for-all authentic process for me. For now it seems to involve waiting, trusting that what I need will be given me as/when I need it. To do other than wait would be unfaithful. Yet there have been times in the past, and I suspect there will be again, when trust shows itself in my willingness to put the gift of all of my faculties at the disposal of God's leading, using them as fully as possible as I move toward an outcome.
I can't take for granted the process I am to use at a given time. There is a place deep inside me where I am myself with God. I must return to that place time and time again to sense what is called for in any given moment. Eventually, it won't be a matter of returning there. I will live there. Then the process I use won't be such a big deal. It will flow from who I am, perhaps taking different forms at different times, but always reflecting who I am in God.
Living with Mystery
by Carole A. Crumley
"My vocation is to be in touch with God and to be in touch with people's deep experience-connecting with people on an immediate personal level and pointing toward God."
"My role is to help people work with their life as their spiritual practice through prayer and awareness."
"My core spiritual vocation is to be a person of prayer, open to growth and transformation; to be a spiritual mentor to others; to be a steward of and celebrant of sacraments."
I was listening to clergy across the country talk about their calling, their sense of their core spiritual vocation. As a priest with over 20 years of experience in ordained ministry, I had never before had this kind of conversation with other clergy. It was profoundly moving to hear colleagues speak from the depths of their experience, their personal struggle to be faithful to their calling.
These conversations were part of Shalem's research project into the ongoing spiritual formation needs of clergy. The project was initiated by a graduate of Shalem's Spiritual Guidance Program who sees several clergy as part of her spiritual direction ministry. As she prayed with and for these clergy, she began to feel the nudging of the Spirit to look deeper. She began to ask questions: How are clergy nourished spiritually throughout the lifetime of their ministry? What support is needed? What really helps? She turned to Shalem with the questions and, with her husband, gave us money for a project to explore them.
Clergy have always participated in our programs, we said, but perhaps there is something more that God is wanting us to see or know or do. And so we spent this last year assessing Shalem's programmatic efforts as they relate to clergy, looking selectively into other continuing education programs for clergy and reviewing literature relevant to this subject. Yet the heart of our exploration was a series of interviews with clergy themselves. Here are some excerpts from those interviews.
What gets in the way of living and ministering from your spiritual core?
"The biggest struggle is to be with God in myself...to take more time for myself away from doing, to say 'no.' There is so much affirmation for doing and working late and coming in on one's day off. It is very hard to continue to take the time for myself and God."
"Busyness gets in the way. It takes patience to simply be with people. I am amazed at how appreciative people are at my 'being there.' It is not so much the answers we give, but the real teaching is how we are present and let the Spirit work. The temptation is to try to be something more. And it is a powerful temptation."
"Fears and attachments, and demons get in the way. I feel overly responsible, driven, worried."
"My own forgetfulness about whose work it is gets in the way."
"The Spirit moves or calls us into seminary. Then it gets beaten out of us. Then we develop a professional relation-ship with God. We need to move away from the professional to the personal relationship with God. It is scary to do this. There is fear that there won't be anything there after all. We are giving up well-honed defenses and skills, giving up the known for the Unknown. It is a lot harder to live with Mystery than with answers."
What helps you live from that place of your deepest sense of calling?
"What helps most is a regular disciplined time of silence and reflection, but it's easy to let this slide."
"Colleagues whom I can trust and be with in times of quiet."
"A core of people in the congregation or diocese who have the same vision of parish life."
"The staff at Shalem and Shalem programs."
"I go one day a month to a retreat center, spend the night in the hut in the woods, meet with a spiritual director."
"I have been part of a spiritual support group that has met once a month for the last two years. We follow the group spiritual direction format in Rose Mary Dougherty's book."
"Reading is rewarding, refreshing, recreative."
"Worship is very sustaining."
As I listened to their practices, I realized again that there are many ways of staying grounded in God and of opening to the ever-flowing wellspring of new life in the Spirit. Although the ways were different, their answers reflected a clear and consistent pattern:
- the importance of daily spiritual practice
- the importance of communal support that is most effective when it includes:
- some kind of small contemplative prayer and sharing group within the congregation
- a similar group outside the congregation
- other spiritual friendships, especially a spiritual director; kindred souls who share a similar vision, values and sense of church
- the importance of retreats, quiet days, Sabbath, sabbaticals.
The pattern is clear, yet it is still a challenge to develop and sustain a spiritual practice. One interviewee finally confessed, "I think most of us know what we need to do. We just need support in doing it." Perhaps one thing God is wanting us to see and know is that Shalem's programs already offer an important resource for the spiritual lives and leadership of clergy. We have a long history of supporting folks in developing and sustaining a spiritual practice, finding spiritual community and soul friends, participating in retreats and quiet days.
During the next year, we will explore ways of enriching some of our offerings to include additional time for clergy to find inspiration, imagination and ongoing encouragement from one another. We also are beginning to imagine some new ways of supporting clergy in their desire for spiritual deepening. These ideas are still developing as we continue to listen to the Spirit. Most importantly, we have received a generous grant which will provide partial scholarships for clergy during our 25th Anniversary Year! These will be for extension programs and overnight events such as retreats and pilgrimages. First preference will be given to congregational clergy, but other clergy are welcome to apply. Call the Shalem office for more information.
I hope that my clergy friends and colleagues will receive this article as an invitation by the Spirit to refresh the spirit as well as encouragement to find the support we all need for the journey.
Taken from a Clergy Spiritual Deepening Project.
Watering the Garden - Teresa of Avila's View of Meditation and Contemplation
by Gerald May
St. Teresa was 47 when she finished her first detailed description of prayer, contained in Chapters 11-20 of the book of her Life. Although this portrayal is less precise than she would give fifteen years later in the Interior Castle, it is simpler and better known. I want to share my sense of it here.
Only a few preliminaries are necessary. For Teresa, the soul is not a separate part of a person but the person's inner reality or essence. The soul possesses many potencias-potentials or capacities (usually translated as "faculties")-such as the senses, imagination, intellect, will and memory. Teresa was convinced that God dwells in the center of every soul. Thus prayer is intimately associated with self-knowledge. Conscious prayer takes one of two forms: meditation, characterized by effortful intentionality, and contemplation, characterized by willing participation with God's grace. Though Teresa's descriptions of prayer may appear hierarchical to modern eyes, she repeatedly maintained that "there is no state of prayer, however sublime, in which it is not necessary often to go back to the beginning."
In the book of her Life, Teresa likens the human soul to a garden. She says it is natural for us to want this garden to be a delight for the Divinity Who dwells there. Our role in tending our soul-garden is to water it, and the water is prayer. Significantly, Teresa says there is no need for concern about planting seeds of goodness and beauty, because God has already done that within us. Nor do we need to pull weeds; God takes care of that, too, "and places good plants in their stead." This is especially important for beginners in meditation, for whom distractions seem like troublesome weeds. To quote Teresa, "one must never be depressed or afflicted because ofunrest or distraction of the mind."
Our task is simply to water the garden through the intimate attentiveness of prayer. Although simple, this is by no means always easy. Teresa describes four ways the garden can be watered. First, we can draw water from a well and carry it to the garden in buckets, "which is for us a lot of work." Here Teresa is describing meditation, the kind of prayer or reflection that takes an effort of will on our part. Sometimes this is very hard work, because "we are accustomed to living a life of distractions." I would rephrase it thus: we are accustomed to living a life of willfulness in which we feel compelled to concentrate on one thing at a time. Only by grace and experience can we ease this concentration and simply be present-to-what-is. In the absence of concentration, there are no distractions.
Teresa says the period of meditation can last a long time-"many years" for Teresa herself-but not for everyone. She mentions a woman for whom it lasted only three days, and concludes, "there are some exceptions." Sooner or later though, one finds it impossible to continue effortful meditation. Prayer that used to be consoling now becomes empty and arid, and one often feels one has gone astray. These hardships-later described by John of the Cross as part of the Dark Night of the Soul-mark the beginning of the transition to contemplative prayer. The soul has exhausted what it can do with its own willpower.
Then comes the second means of watering, "by means of a water wheel and aqueduct," which "involves less workand you get more water." This is the prayer of quiet, the beginning of contemplation. Here the person's will is quiet, absorbed in God's overflowing grace. The will can no longer control the other potencias-memory, intellect, imagination and so on-which therefore become freer and more spontaneous. I would say that as the driving intention of the will lessens, attention becomes freer to respond to the heart's desires and the needs of situations at hand. There is great consolation in this but also confusion. People may still feel a habitual need to be accomplishing something, but in the absence of willfulness they lack initiative and feel lazy or irresponsible. Teresa's advice is "merely to go softly and make no noise." Again, she encourages simple prayer: "Lord, what can I do here?"
With continuing attentiveness in prayer, God leads the person into the third way of watering the soul-garden. Here Teresa's image is of water flowing from a nearby spring or stream: "an even better way, because the ground is more fully soaked and it is much less work." She calls this deeper contemplation the sleep of the faculties. Although none of these potencias are actually lost, they are now united with the will in being occupied with God. She says none of them "ventures to stir, nor can we cause any of them to move except by trying to fix our attention very carefully on something else, and even then I do not think we could entirely succeed in doing so." The confusion about willful accomplishment now finally disappears, and activity in the world happens naturally, spontaneously, and without interior distress. "This state," she says, "is a glorious folly, a heavenly madness, in which true Wisdom is acquired." The flowers in the garden are now blooming; the fragrance is delightful; the trees bear delicious fruit. "It is well," Teresa says at this point, "for the soul to abandon itself completely into the arms of God."
Finally, in the fourth way of watering, rain falls. Teresa says, "God does all the watering this way is incomparably better than all the others." This is the prayer of union, and she understandably has difficulty describing it. My favorite quotation from Teresa comes from her futile attempt: "The will must be fully occupied in loving, but it cannot understand how it loves; the understanding, if it understands, does not understand how it understands, or at least can comprehend nothing of what it understands. It does not seem to me to be understanding, because, as I say, it does not understand itself. Nor can I myself understand this."
Teresa says the prayer of union is a temporary experience: "if it were to last for half an hour, that would be a long time-I do not think it has ever lasted that long with me." In union, all the capacities of the soul seem completely undone. They "are suspended in such a way that it is impossible to believe they are active." The impact is not in the experience itself but in the effect it has on the person. Teresa describes the effect as profound certitude, confidence, and courage in intimacy with God-an empowerment to live fully, boldly, with immense creativity and love: precisely the way Teresa herself lived the last twenty years of her life.
Our role in tending our soul-garden is to water it, and the water is prayer.
Adventures in Fund Raising
by Patricia Gibler Clark
One of the books I read this summer included a prayer that started with this line: "Try to think of this life as a great adventure." This sentence has helped me offer an open, willing heart to several unknown and new situations I have been in since then, and I repeat it now to serve as a prayer and grounding for Shalem's 1999 Annual Fund program.
This year we celebrate our 25th Anniversary. Shalem's fall fund raising for this 25th Anniversary year builds on our theme of "Listening to the Spirit." The willingness to "listen to the Spirit" in fund raising is a great adventure indeed.
It amazes me that we start each year from zero to raise what supports Shalem's new and ongoing programs and services. This year that is a quarter of a million dollars! This is our biggest campaign goal yet and includes special programs for the 25th celebration. Gifts are needed for scholarships, Shalem's on-line computer presence, special anniversary events (Richard Rohr's October visit and the 25-hour Sit and Slow Walk for Peace in May), and our ongoing offerings, such as the new Soul of the Executive Program.
Each year also requires a process of distilling the old ideas from the new to see what fits into our present annual campaign plan. There is a trust that the creative juices will flow and that donors will continue their generosity. We breathe through the current events of the economy and the world-areas that in many ways we cannot control-to live in a new way that holds lightly those things we feel we can control. This year we are building on our 100% participation goal-over 40% of Shalem's mailing list participated last year-looking for ways more people can participate in Shalem's ministry. We are also studying more effective ways to serve our graduates of Shalem's extension programs.
In addition, each year we welcome new people to our circle of givers, appreciating the mystery of timing that brings people to Shalem. To some, contemplative prayer offers a new language with new customs. We struggle to keep this Mystery simple and accessible through all of our outreach materials. Especially important in our ministry are the "freebies" at Shalem-our open houses, drop-in prayer times, this newsletter, and free introductory events-that many newcomers take advantage of and that Shalem's fund raising program maintains.
There are many new giving opportunities throughout this "Listening to the Spirit" year. If you are an active Shalem contributor, we invite you to renew your Annual Fund pledge to Shalem. We also invite you to offer a new, special gift this year in appreciation of Shalem's 25-year-old ministry. Many gifts-large and small-are needed to support the ministry of Shalem and to reach our quarter of a million dollar goal.
If you are yet-to-be a Shalem contributor, we invite you to join about 1,500 people who participate in Shalem's ministry through their charitable giving. Donations-large or small-offer a positive influence for change and connection with others in our world, and we very much count on active, ongoing, loving financial support to keep Shalem's work alive and flowing.
If you own stock or other assets, please know we welcome gifts in forms other than cash. People each year transfer stock to Shalem (which we then sell) to forego the taxes on capital gains as well as receive a tax-deduction for their charitable gift. Given the current volatility in the market, we invite you to pray about your assets there and see if anything comes to you for sale or transfer to Shalem.
If you want to make a pledge to be paid throughout the year, we welcome this form of ongoing giving. A small amount from you each month or quarter can add up to a substantial gift for Shalem's ministry. Monthly gifts of $25, for example, in celebration of the 25th Anniversary-the cost of dinner out, or a percentage of what you might pay for new clothes-make a grand annual gift of $300. We are happy to keep the tally of your pledge payments and send you an end-of-year receipt totaling all your gifts.
If you wish to make a one-time special gift in honor of Shalem's 25th Anniversary, consider making a gift in tribute to someone who has brought you to Shalem, in honor of your spiritual director, or perhaps in recognition of a particular Shalem program leader or author who has offered a formative experience to your life with God. We will recognize all tribute gifts in our Annual Report next summer and will send the person you honor a special 25th Anniversary tribute acknowledgment.
The prayer in my book ends: "If you enter into the new in the right spirit, it can be such a joyous adventure and you will have no regrets. Put your faith and trust in Me and step ahead fearlessly." I invite you to join Shalem on its great adventure that began 25 years ago and to enter into the new-in fundraising, in programs, in life-in the right spirit. This adventure-whatever form the Spirit inspires us to take-requires us to step ahead fearlessly. Thank you and blessings on your journey!
Parenting as a Doorway to God
by Susan Dillon
A Shalem Parenting Group! I couldn't believe it--what a perfect combination: Shalem's contemplative approach and the challenges of my full-time job. Plus, the leader was a woman named Patience. How could it get any better than this? I signed up right away, comforted by the entries in my calendar that promised two hours each month of guidance and friendship with others looking for God in the hard parts of parenting.
It's easy to find God in our children's charms--their round, kissable cheeks; their cute sayings; their affection and confidences. But where does God go when the going gets rough? When we're tired and don't want to hear any more whining? When they turn into teenagers? When we're exhausted by the grinding drudgery of the daily routine? When our fears propel us into super-control mode? Where is God then? Can God, our source of peace, be present to us in a disguise of noise, disobedience, messiness, whining, unfinished homework, or chicken pox?
What Patience showed us, through our own experiences and often in our own words, is how to find our heart's desire right in the middle of our worst nightmare. Leading us into silence with a gentle relaxation process, she let us rest and remember how to trust in God. Then she would speak from her own experience about some aspect of parenting, not to share advice or how-to resources but to support us in using these challenges to practice such disciplines as surrendering, trusting, giving thanks, and envisioning.
I realized that sometimes it's been easier to find God in the most dramatically hard times than in the insignificant annoyances throughout my day. Considering these aggravations as practice exercises that God gives us, like musical scales, consecrated them for me. Of course they're still annoying, but now they serve a larger purpose: If I notice them, and how I react in them, and where the grace is in them, my awareness grows.
This became clear one day when I was once again battling to get my children, Jesse and Owen, to stay focused and ready for school on time. Once again I was losing. This is classic small stuff. I tried the nice approach, the "how can I support you in staying focused?" approach, the deadline approach, the patient reminder approach, and finally, I tried the blind, slavering, screaming rage approach. The last one worked, in the sense that it got them into the car with their lunches done, teeth brushed and beds made, but I didn't feel I had won the battle. I was enraged, and now I was enraged that I was enraged. The more I thought and yelled about it, the madder I got.
As we approached the school, a thought began flashing in the back of my mind: "How are you going to say goodbye, how are you going to back off without losing face?" It was unthinkable that I would concede any ground and act nice in the process of saying goodbye, yet I knew I couldn't let them go off for the day with an angry word. This was a pesky little public relations problem that I had to solve quickly because we were now turning into the school driveway.
Instead of going behind the school to park and walk with Jesse hand-in-hand (our usual habit), I pulled up to the front door and said in a harsh tone, "I'm letting you out here, Jesse. I'll see you at 3. Goodbye." As I said the words, I knew I had to look at her. I turned and showed her my closed, unsmiling face. She carefully gathered her things, opened the door, and then turned and looked at me with the sweetest, gentlest, most loving smile I've ever seen on her face. Her eyes were wide and soft, her smile small, mouth closed. Her look conveyed unconditional love and some remorse but not shame. It seemed to say, "I love you, Mom. I'm not put off by your anger. I don't judge you for it. I'm sorry I contributed to it, but this seems bigger than I understand, and I'm just sorry you're so angry." She stepped away from the door, closed it and turned to walk slowly into school.
I was stunned. My anger washed away in the baptism of her smile. I felt so sorry for my rage, my yelling, my accusations, for making them afraid. But, like Jesse, I didn't feel shame; just sorrow and compassion for all three of us. I looked at Owen. He had seen Jesse's smile; now he could see my sorrow; he was waiting to see what would happen next. I parked the car, walked inside. Usually he wants no part of hugging and kissing at the door, but this day he allowed me to hug and kiss him. Then I went to Jesse's classroom. School hadn't started yet, and I called her back out into the hall. We didn't talk about what happened in the car. It wasn't necessary. We hugged, and I told her to have a good day at school. She flashed me her usual bright smile and said, "You too, Mom."
Susie, a Shalem Board member, is a long-time participant in Shalem's programs. The above photo is from a 1982 Shalem Open House.
Blessed Loss of Control
by Tilden Edwards
It was so out of anyone's control that eventually many people realized there was nothing to do but let go of their normal future-oriented plans and relax into the moment. You could hear people begin to talk to the strangers next to them. You could hear laughter. One person got up and led the whole plane in a rendition of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," complete with body movements. The inability to be in control and carry out our pre-determined plans left us more spontaneous, childlike and connected. I almost sensed an unconscious sigh of relief: we didn't have to be in charge. We could just let the moment unfold spontaneously; we were free to play together.
"We're running out of fuel, and we will have to divert the flight to the Greenville-Spartanburg Airport." That announcement came from the pilot about 10 pm after 45 minutes of circling around the Atlanta airport last spring. A huge storm along the east coast had delayed our takeoff from Washington over an hour, so with the circling we were already several hours beyond the scheduled arrival time. We could forget our connecting flight. The Atlanta airport, one of the busiest in the country, was shut down and the control tower had no idea when the storm would abate enough to let it re-open. I sensed the shock and anxiety on people's faces. Everybody's plans were out the window. This trip wasn't going to be a mindless interlude on the way to somewhere else. What would happen in the hours ahead was out of anyone's control.
After an hour of waiting in the Greenville-Spartanburg Airport, we were told Atlanta had re-opened. When our plane finally landed there, it was close to 2:00 am. The airport looked like a refugee camp. Thousands of people were lying around, some stranded since the previous morning when their flights had been cancelled due to the long storm. Beyond my feelings of sympathy for the uncomfortable situation so many people were in, I had this sense of goodness in what I saw. It felt like God's Spirit was purging us, teaching us patience and compassion for one another, inviting us to realize how much we live by divine mercy and how much we miss when we ignore the moment at hand as the living moment of grace.
In our driven culture, where the moment so often is but an expedient means to some future planned time, God is merciful in drawing us to a halt. Then, for awhile, we're all invited and empowered in a special way to be contemplatives, in the sense of being appreciatively open to what is in the moment. Just as in more intentional times for contemplation, so too in such involun-tary times we can be restless, seek for control, and lose the largeness and beauty of the moment. But we also can be given a fresh appreciation for the living presence. Hopefully that appre-ciation can make inroads on the more driven times and leave us more often embracing the ever-fresh moment in God's hands.
Gandhi once said that for the poor God needs to appear as bread. We could say that for the driven middle class, God needs to appear as disruption of plans, a disruption that opens the way for freedom from the moment-killing drive to control the future - freedom to appreciate the gift of the present moment. From that appreciated living moment the future unfolds more gracefully, more attuned to the gracious divine will than to our over-controlling plans, more aware of our mutual belonging in God, and in that awareness, more willing to share God's bread with the poor.
This was my learning from the chaos of that airport experience where I was left helplessly, wonderfully in the present moment. After an unplanned night in an airport motel, my wife and I were on our way, chastened by and grateful for the opportunity to let go of our controlling plans and let God appear as freedom to appreciate the gifted moment at hand.