Raising Holy Sparks - Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Dance
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"Finding true joy is the hardest of all spiritual tasks. If the only
way to make yourself happy is by doing something silly, do it." -Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav
When I got the call (literally-on the phone) to do an all-day workshop for Shalem on Jewish Mysticism, my immediate reaction was "YES!" My next reaction was, "Are you crazy?" I didn't quite know whom I was addressing, Shalem, myself or God. We all knew that I wasn't a rabbi, a scholar, or even that knowledgeable a Jew. I felt an awesome sense of responsibility. What could I possibly give people-non-Jewish people-from my tradition that would be of value to them? Why, in God's name, had I said "YES!"?
I did know something of what I hoped to share. Jewish mystics talk about the brokenness of the world, the scattered pieces of divinity that lie hidden in all things. It is our task, they teach, to release those holy sparks from the husks that keep them separate and reunite them into the One. In this way, we heal the world (tikkun olam). But what does it take to raise those holy sparks? Who was I to pretend I knew anything about what the mystics taught? Could I even pronounce tikkun olam?
About this time, I attended a Shalem residency at Holy Trinity Monastery. It so happened that the residency took place during Purim, a Jewish holiday that commemorates how Queen Esther saved the Persian Jews from an evil decree of the King's minister, Hamen. It is a joyous holiday, where people wear masks and carry noisemakers into the synagogue to retell the dramatic story of how we were saved from mass slaughter. One thing led to another, and before you knew it the other Jewish participant in the program, along with several Christian co-conspirators, had arranged to celebrate Purim, right there in the library before magazine covers bearing the faces of watchful bishops and cardinals.
What did we care? We ate special triangular holiday cookies called hamentaschen, named for the hat worn by Hamen. (We were in a neighborhood with Jewish bakeries, and those cookies were sooo good.) We retold the story complete with shouting and clapping whenever someone said the evil name, Hamen. We (even the guys) danced like the heroines in the story, waving our scarves around us like veils. All appearances to the contrary, we did not get so drunk that we could no longer tell the difference between good and evil, another holiday custom (although we may have tried).
For this story, you have to know that I'm the kind of person who always sits in the corner when there's dancing, who yearns to be invited but when she is, reluctantly shakes her head "no." (Many people's feet are the better for it, believe me.) But I had gone to this residency with the prayerful intention that I would be generous, hold nothing back. There is a Buddhist teacher who suggests that we spend a day (or more) following every generous impulse we have, to condition ourselves to giving. I had determined to spend a week like that. This time, I didn't wait to be invited. I got up and danced.
I danced to give the other dancers support. I danced to give away my gratitude at the special week we had shared together at Holy Trinity. I danced to give praise to God-and praising God, the great Rabbis teach, is the best way to put things into proper perspective. I danced because, it so happens, I love to dance.
Imagine that night at the monastery, all of us dancing together, Christian and Jew and who knows what, in celebration of a Jewish holiday, in celebration of life, in celebration of the One who raises us all into unity. Nothing generates joy as much as sharing who we really are in God. When we share what we love, when we stop hiding and let loose our tender, foolish, funny, misguided, glorious hearts ... just think of the holy sparks! Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav teaches, "Always remember: Joy is not merely incidental to your spiritual quest. It is vital."
Our joy heals the world. Our willingness to give who we are and what we love without reservation raises us all. Buddha said, "Make of yourself a light." Nelson Mandela said, "We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us....[A]s we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence liberates others." Reb Nachman said, "Always wear a smile. The gift of life will then be yours to give."
So what does all this have to do with a workshop on Jewish mysticism at Shalem? Everything. This workshop is probably one of the silliest things I've ever done (if you saw me dance you'd know that's saying something). And I'm going to love it.
Ann is a mentor in Shalem's new extension program, Facilitating Group Spiritual Directon.
When I got the call (literally-on the phone) to do an all-day workshop for Shalem on Jewish Mysticism, my immediate reaction was "YES!" My next reaction was, "Are you crazy?" I didn't quite know whom I was addressing, Shalem, myself or God. We all knew that I wasn't a rabbi, a scholar, or even that knowledgeable a Jew. I felt an awesome sense of responsibility. What could I possibly give people-non-Jewish people-from my tradition that would be of value to them? Why, in God's name, had I said "YES!"?
I did know something of what I hoped to share. Jewish mystics talk about the brokenness of the world, the scattered pieces of divinity that lie hidden in all things. It is our task, they teach, to release those holy sparks from the husks that keep them separate and reunite them into the One. In this way, we heal the world (tikkun olam). But what does it take to raise those holy sparks? Who was I to pretend I knew anything about what the mystics taught? Could I even pronounce tikkun olam?
About this time, I attended a Shalem residency at Holy Trinity Monastery. It so happened that the residency took place during Purim, a Jewish holiday that commemorates how Queen Esther saved the Persian Jews from an evil decree of the King's minister, Hamen. It is a joyous holiday, where people wear masks and carry noisemakers into the synagogue to retell the dramatic story of how we were saved from mass slaughter. One thing led to another, and before you knew it the other Jewish participant in the program, along with several Christian co-conspirators, had arranged to celebrate Purim, right there in the library before magazine covers bearing the faces of watchful bishops and cardinals.
What did we care? We ate special triangular holiday cookies called hamentaschen, named for the hat worn by Hamen. (We were in a neighborhood with Jewish bakeries, and those cookies were sooo good.) We retold the story complete with shouting and clapping whenever someone said the evil name, Hamen. We (even the guys) danced like the heroines in the story, waving our scarves around us like veils. All appearances to the contrary, we did not get so drunk that we could no longer tell the difference between good and evil, another holiday custom (although we may have tried).
For this story, you have to know that I'm the kind of person who always sits in the corner when there's dancing, who yearns to be invited but when she is, reluctantly shakes her head "no." (Many people's feet are the better for it, believe me.) But I had gone to this residency with the prayerful intention that I would be generous, hold nothing back. There is a Buddhist teacher who suggests that we spend a day (or more) following every generous impulse we have, to condition ourselves to giving. I had determined to spend a week like that. This time, I didn't wait to be invited. I got up and danced.
I danced to give the other dancers support. I danced to give away my gratitude at the special week we had shared together at Holy Trinity. I danced to give praise to God-and praising God, the great Rabbis teach, is the best way to put things into proper perspective. I danced because, it so happens, I love to dance.
Imagine that night at the monastery, all of us dancing together, Christian and Jew and who knows what, in celebration of a Jewish holiday, in celebration of life, in celebration of the One who raises us all into unity. Nothing generates joy as much as sharing who we really are in God. When we share what we love, when we stop hiding and let loose our tender, foolish, funny, misguided, glorious hearts ... just think of the holy sparks! Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav teaches, "Always remember: Joy is not merely incidental to your spiritual quest. It is vital."
Our joy heals the world. Our willingness to give who we are and what we love without reservation raises us all. Buddha said, "Make of yourself a light." Nelson Mandela said, "We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us....[A]s we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence liberates others." Reb Nachman said, "Always wear a smile. The gift of life will then be yours to give."
So what does all this have to do with a workshop on Jewish mysticism at Shalem? Everything. This workshop is probably one of the silliest things I've ever done (if you saw me dance you'd know that's saying something). And I'm going to love it.
Ann is a mentor in Shalem's new extension program, Facilitating Group Spiritual Directon.
© 2008 The Shalem Institute.