Rev. Susie Leight | Michael Valliant

To be a human being among human beings

Life has felt large and open and raw of late, where prayers, feelings, experiences and thoughts are all super charged.

There are plenty of reasons: Ava’s stereotactic neurosurgery is on Monday; Anna turns 21 on Tuesday and Ava turns 18 in mid-February; we’ve past the half-way point in our Romans Bible studies; seminary is stirring good things up and Kelsey Spiker and I just became postulants, the next designation in the path to ordination to the priesthood; even occasional preaching is a full-body experience; gearing up for Lent small groups; and the girls had their first ever snow skiing experiences, which was a trip with Holly and her kids as well as many teen and twenty-something friends.

Life has an open feeling, which is both filling and fulfilling and taxing and shaky sometimes.

Studying for a Saturday seminary day retreat, Rev. Susie Leight has us reading and thinking about the spirituality of the priesthood, which included excerpts from Barbara Brown Taylor’s “The Preaching Life” and Gordon W. Lathrop’s “The Pastor: A Spirituality.” Lathrop recalls an experience in a Swiss airport where he read a quote on a poster from Antoine de Saint-Exupery, written in French. Lathrop translated it literally to say:

“As a profound thirst: the desire to be a human being among human beings.”

A deep and profound desire to be a human being–someone who lives and feels, who is flawed and who needs others–among human beings. To be in community and to be allowed to be fully ourselves. This is what it is to be open, to be honest, to be vulnerable, which is not instantly a comfortable place to be.

Thursday we had a class discussing Tracy K. Smith’s Pulitzer Prize-winning book, “Life on Mars,” which is one of my favorite books. The discussion was about space and time, love, loss, grief, dancing, intimacy, language–it was flung like stars around the minds and hearts of those there. The last poem read was titled, “The Weather in Space”–

Is God being or pure force? The wind

Or what commands it? When our lives slow

And we can hold all that we love, it sprawls

In our laps like a gangly doll. When the storm

Kicks up and nothing is ours, we go chasing

After all we’re certain to lose, so alive–

Faces radiant with panic.

That is part of the challenge of being human, loss and fear are always in the mix with us. It’s a lot and sometimes we want to–I want to–shut the faucet off. But that’s not why we’re here. That’s not why I am here.

On Tuesday morning, I was thinking ahead to this weekend’s Gospel reading, which is Matthew 5:1-12, commonly known as the Beatitudes:

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. And he began to speak and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.“

I’ve been in a habit of looking to see if Debie Thomas has anything to say about a particular Bible passage in her book “Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories.” And reading her take on the Beatitudes, it hit me that her book would make an incredible Lent study, looking at and discussing different aspects of Jesus’s life. Here is a bit of her take on the reading:

“What Jesus bears witness to in the Beatitudes is God’s unwavering proximity to pain, suffering, sorrow, and loss. God is nearest to those who are lowly, oppressed, unwanted and broken. God isn’t obsessed with the shiny and the impressive; God is too busy sticking close to what’s messy, chaotic, unruly, and unattractive.”

She goes further:

“I think what Jesus is saying in the Beatitudes is that I have something to learn about discipleship that my privileged life circumstances will not teach me. Something to grasp about the beauty, glory, and freedom of the Christian life that I will never grasp until God becomes my all, my go-to, my starting and ending place. Something to recognize about the radical counter-intuitiveness of God’s priorities and promises. Something to notice about the obfuscating power of plenty to blind me to my own emptiness. Something to gain from the humility that says, ‘The people I think I am superior to have everything to teach me. Maybe it’s time to pay attention.'”

If I want to be a human being among human beings, I have to be open to, to learn from, to love, those whom God loves: everyone. More than that, if as followers of Christ, we look to do God’s work in the world, we have to be, we have to show, we have to act out in faith the love that God makes real here and now, especially to those who feel alienated or shut off from it.

In teaching the Beatitudes, Jesus is turning the world and what we think we know about it, on its head. This is something he does frequently in his teachings and his parables. We should ask why.

Next week we will discuss poet Joy Harjo’s book “Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings.” In “Talking with the Sun,” she writes:

After dancing all night in a circle we realize that we are a
part of a larger sense of stars and planets dancing with us
overhead.
When the sun rises at the apex of the ceremony, we are
renewed.
There is no mistaking this connection, though Walmart
might be just down the road.
Humans are vulnerable and rely on the kindnesses of the
earth and the sun; we exist together in a sacred field of
meaning.

To be a human being among human beings is also to be human in and as a part of God’s Creation. Which He asks us to be stewards of, to take care of.

Humans are vulnerable and rely on kindnesses. When I try to live with my heart open, I have a greater sense of, and gratitude for these kindnesses–kindnesses that can come from anywhere and anyone. Any one of us. Even me.

There are no good Hallmark cards for aging

When I picture my grandparents, they are later in years. The picture I have of them in my head is younger than how I guess they would picture themselves.

When I think of my parents, the images I have in my head are younger than they are now. Probably because I still see them in some ways like I did growing up. Though there is a continuity, they are still the same people.

I don’t know what age the girls will ultimately picture me as when they think about me. Since we see each other so often, likely at my current age for now.

I can still picture them at a variety of ages.

This week’s section in the “Anam Cara” study we have going at Christ Church Easton is “Aging: the Beauty of the Inner Harvest.” One of the things we decided in our discussions is that author John O’Donohue wouldn’t have been great at writing greeting cards for aging–his sentiments are either too sappy or too bleak. And there is a lot in this section that he glosses over–the pain both of aging and failing health and of watching those we love go through these things. But there is a lot to glean from O’Donohue as well.

As a society we don’t want to talk about aging. If anything, we want to deny it, put it off, sweep it under the rug. We buy products to prevent the effects of aging, we have procedures done, we aren’t comfortable with the journey of aging. But in some cultures, old age was/is revered and respected and elders were looked to for wisdom and insight.

O’Donohue points out that since we come from the earth and are made up of earth/clay, that like the earth, the rhythm of the seasons that are outside in nature, are also present within us. Our hearts and our lives move through seasons–winter, spring, summer, autumn–and each of these seasons have characteristics and benefits and drawbacks. It is helpful to be mindful of the seasons we go through in our lives.

This is what he says about autumn:

“When it is autumn in your life, the things that happened in the past, or the experiences that were sown in the clay of your heart, almost unknown to you, now yield their fruit. Autumntime in a person’s life can be a time of great gathering. It is a time for harvesting the fruits of your experience.”

We go through seasons throughout our life, not just one of each. I can think of several autumns in my life already, where I have been able to discern meaning after an experience that didn’t make sense at the time I was living it. But there is also a real way that as we get older, we are presented with opportunities for stillness, for reflection, for memory, and for meaning. These can be some of the upsides of aging.

O’Donohue tells us that old age is a time for integration–we have had the experiences, but may have missed the meaning. It is time to put it all together.

He talks about how our mistakes are precious and invaluable: “Frequently, in a journey of a soul, the most precious moments are the mistakes. They have brought you to a place that you would otherwise always have avoided.” And one part of the integration he talks about is being able to forgive ourselves for those mistakes.

And he suggests a wonderful quote from Blaise Pascal, who advised:

“In difficult times carry something beautiful in your heart.”

A few beautiful images I carry in my heart–always hoping to add more.

A concept that O’Donohue talks about, thankfully lived out by a number of people I am fortunate to know, that can come with old age is what he calls “second innocence:”

“Old age is a time of second innocence… The second innocence comes later in your life, when you have lived deeply. You know the bleakness of life, you know its incredible capacity to disappoint and sometimes destroy. Yet notwithstanding that realistic recognition of life’s negative potential, you still maintain an outlook that is wholesome and hopeful and bright.”

I am grateful daily for those I know who are living and sharing their second innocence.

O’Donohue points to old age and integration as a time for gathering wisdom. And he has a wonderful way of looking at wisdom:

“Wisdom is the art of balancing the known with the unknown, the suffering with the joy; it is a way of linking the whole of life together in a new and deeper unity.”

As we age, may we find ways of linking the whole of life together in a new and deeper unity.

I want to finish this reflection thinking about time. There are different ways of looking at and experiencing time. There is the time that passes–the chronology of things–minutes, days, years, workdays, appointments–and there are those experiences where time passes differently.

Fr. Bill Ortt uses the terms ‘chronos’ and ‘kairos’ to talk about different kinds of time. In looking for the best quick definitions of these two terms, Unsettled popped up with this:

“Chronos is the forward propelling time that we measure with clocks, on watches, and by the evolutionary phases of the moon. But time does not end there. The Greeks’ second word for time is “kairos” — lesser known but no less important. “Kairos” is what many philosophers and mystics would refer to as “deep time.” This is the time we’re talking about where the world seems to stop entirely. It can be measured in deep exhales, a shared laugh, or by a colorful sunset.”

That says it so well. I hope in our lives, each of us have experienced kairos, deep time, those times when regular time wasn’t the same, it wasn’t there. And I hope we continue to have those experiences.

O’Donohue talks about eternal time, and says that our soul lives in eternal time. I think you could make the case that kairos moments are when eternal time mixes with chronological time–our souls inform our lives and we have these profound, deep, and beautiful moments. I hope as we age, we become more aware of these moments.

Let’s talk more about eternal time. We hear a lot of a kind of stereotypical Christian thinking that says we live our lives in time, now, as they happen, and then when we die we become part of eternity. Right now we are in time, but then when we die we are not subject to time.

But if it’s eternity, it isn’t just then, it is also NOW. We are also living in eternity now. It’s all around us, it doesn’t just start later. It’s not simply a place for later, it’s how we relate to it.

Jesus was known to have used the terms “kingdom of Heaven” or “kingdom of God.” The Gospel reading for this past weekend was from Luke’s Gospel (Luke 13:10-18) and was about a woman who had a spirit that had crippled her for 18 years. Jesus healed her on the Sabbath and caught grief from those at the temple who said he wasn’t supposed to do things like that on the Sabbath. And after schooling the temple folks in why it was right to heal this woman on the sabbath, Jesus asks, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what shall I compare it?”

On Saturday evening at Christ Church Easton, Rev. Susie Leight preached and led our worship service. It was her daughter’s last time singing in the contemporary choir before leaving for college for the fall, and the first service at the church since learning that Rev. Carol Callaghan, a dear friend and mentor of Susie’s had died the night before.

In Susie’s sermon, she pointed out how Jesus fused the world we are living in, the world the woman in the reading was living in and experiencing, with the kingdom of God, in the here and now.

These are some of Susie’s words, excerpts from her sermon:

Jesus sees this unnamed woman and he recognizes her…
There is no coming back tomorrow.
There is no delay.
His actions say: Mercy now, Compassion now, Grace now.
You are free, now.

What is the kingdom of God like?
The kingdom of God…
is like this right here.
It was 2000 years ago and it is right here, right now.
Look around you.
We don’t have to imagine it.

The unnamed woman is each of us sitting in this room.
Jesus calls us too and waits to give us a drink.

Maybe you know this and you’ve heard him calling your name, or maybe like the woman experienced,
it’s taking you a long time to find him
and healing seems to be far off.

Maybe your view is all dust and dirt right now,
and you are twisting and straining to find a way forward.

Or maybe, by the mercy, compassion and grace of God,
you are standing up straight and in the light.
Rejoicing at all the wonderful things
that Jesus is doing,
And you are fully hydrated.

Or perhaps you are somewhere in the middle.

God’s time is strange.
And I know it can feel like sometimes God is saying,
come back tomorrow (I’ve been there),
or often healing comes in ways
that we might never choose for ourselves (been there too).

But this startling work of God is often out of place,
out of time and often directed towards people
we might otherwise cast aside or condemn,
people we may not even see.

This startling work of God is meant for all,
even those synagogue leaders,
and right now I am imagining their red faces
as Jesus set them straight.
And I can hear Jesus declaring,
Mercy now, Compassion now, Grace now.

What is the kingdom of God like?
And to what should I compare it?
The Kingdom of God is like each of us sharing our water
with someone who is thirsty and dying for a drink.

Can you see it? Do you believe it? Will you receive it?
Will you share it?
Look around you.

Can you feel the fire?

Right here. Right now. Amen.

Eternal time. The kingdom of God. The same 2,000 years ago as now. Right now. Things like mercy, forgiveness, compassion. We experience them in our souls and in our lives. They change time. The healing of our souls, of our bodies; love for God and for one another moves us from chronos to kairos, to the eternal.

These acts of healing, kindness, compassion, right here, right now, bring us into the kingdom of God; help us glimpse eternity, from our souls into our lives.

John O’Donohue tells us that “wisdom is the art of balancing the known with the unknown, the suffering with the joy; it is a way of linking the whole of life together in a new and deeper unity.”

As we age, may we be wise. May we experience a new and deeper unity. May eternal time become more evident during our chronological lives. May the kingdom of God be ever more present and a part of our lives.

Right here. Right now.

What we do with our lives

Let’s begin with intention. This is a blessing/prayer shared by Rev. Susie Leight:

Been praying this on repeat for the last few weeks…trying to utter it before my feet hit the floor (if I’m awake enough) …thought it would be a good one to share again…

May I…may you…may we…

May I live this day
Compassionate of heart,
Clear in word,
Gracious in awareness,
Courageous in thought,
Generous in love.

–from Matins, by John O’Donohue

What we do with our time, how we spend our days, months, years, lives is who we are to those we encounter. Our inward lives of thoughts, dreams, desires, may be infinite, but our worldly lives are the result of our time and actions.

Part Four of John O’Donohue’s book “Anam Cara,” looks at “Work as a Poetics of Growth.” The work that we do in the world helps shape us, helps us grow.

Thinking about this chapter, two quotes that come up a lot for me came to mind. The first is by writer Annie Dillard, who said:

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

And the second is by poet Mary Oliver, who wrote:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one precious life?”

How we use our time matters. It is so easy to let one day run into the next without thinking about it, but when these days string together, they can become large stretches of our lives if we don’t pay attention.

O’Donohue writes:

“Everything alive is in movement. This movement we call growth. The most exciting form of growth is not mere physical growth but the inner growth of one’s soul and life. It is here that the holy longing within the heart brings one’s life into motion. The deepest wish of the heart is that this motion does not remain broken or jagged but develops sufficient fluency to become the rhythm of one’s life.”

In the preceding chapters, he has taken us through our senses, our interior lives, our solitude, and now he is pointing out that these interior lives, our thoughts, dreams, and gifts, want to be brought into motion in our outward lives. It’s not enough to have them swirling around within us, we have to find a way to give them expression.

This is our work.

But in our society, there is a bit of a rub. Let’s think about what happens when we meet someone. We say ‘Hello, how are you?’, we make some small talk, and often the next question is ‘What do you do?’ Generally speaking we mean, what do you do for a living, what is your job?

If you feel like your job is a good reflection of your life, or points in the direction of who you are, then that is great. But if you don’t, how much better do we know someone, or do they know us by knowing what job we do?

Maybe you work construction, but your passion is being on the water fishing. Maybe you work an office job, but the thing you most look forward to is tutoring or coaching kids. Maybe you are a server, but you get home and paint or write or garden or have some way to express your creativity.

Our work is bigger than our day or night jobs. O’Donohue writes about a gravestone in London:

“Here lies Jeremy Brown born a man and died a grocer.” Often people’s identities, that wild inner complexity of soul and color of spirit, become shrunken to their work identities.”

This takes nothing away from our work identities, which can be life affirming. If people think of your kindness, your smile, your creativity and talent and know you as a teacher, a landscaper, a bartender, a boat builder, a painter, then that is a wonderful thing. But we are more than our professions–we are also sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends, partners, etc.

Part of the problem, O’Donohue poses, is that we get stuck looking at life, jobs, the world around us in one particular way and that can become limiting. He suggests that we visualize the mind as a tower of windows that we are looking out.

“Sadly, many people remain trapped at the one window, looking out every day at the same scene in the same way. Real growth is experienced when you draw back from that one window, turn, and walk around the inner tower of the soul and see all the different windows that greet your gaze. Through these different windows, you see new vistas of possibility, presence, and creativity.”

In the last chapter we discussed that how we look at things determines what we see, what we find. In that same way, looking at things, including our work and our lives, in different ways can be so important.

Each day brings us new opportunities.

I recently got to be the grunt labor, branch-hauler for a tree expert friend who helped me cut up a downed branch that reached over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Listening to him talk about his love for trees and hearing his knowledge, then watching him work chainsaws and pole-saws like an artist, I knew I was watching someone do the thing they were created to do. It was a joyful and awe-inspiring experience. I’ve felt the same thing when I was a line cook watching an incredible chef do what they do. I’ve seen it in gardeners, teachers, preachers, and watermen. I’ve experienced it being around parents and grandparents, around birdwatchers, and skateboarders. I’ve seen it in a friend listening intently to someone sharing something that was big for them.

When we witness or experience those moments of calling, meaning, and connection, time moves differently.

Do we make time to do the things we love? Do we find ways to express our inner-longings in our daily lives? If we don’t, what will our lives become?

“In order to feel real. we need to bring that inner invisible world to expression.”

We want to seen, known, valued for who we are. In order for people to know us in that way, we have to find a way to express who we are in our lives. If we aren’t doing that, people can’t know us and we can feel frustrated that we aren’t finding a way to express ourselves. It can’t stay inside us. O’Donohue points out that if we want to change our lives, until it enters the practices of our days, it is all talk.

Work is maybe a misleading word here. O’Donohue also talks about the danger of productivity becoming God, which reduces each individual to a function. He talks about needing to think less about competition and more about working together. And he talks about the danger of reducing time to an achievement, when time should also be for wonder and creativity.

On Monday (August 15), the same day our class met, Frederick Buechner died at 96 years old. Buechner has been one of the most influential writers, thinkers, and theologians in my own spiritual growth. And he has written a lot about vocation. Vocation might be a more complete word to use here instead of work. Buechner has called vocation, “the place where your deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.”

That says so much, but Buechner explained a bit more. He points out that vocation as a word comes from:

“Vocare, to call, of course, and a person’s vocation is a person’s calling. It is the work that they are called to in this world, the thing they are summoned to spend their life doing. We can speak of a person choosing their vocation, but perhaps it is at least as accurate to speak of a vocation’s choosing a person, of a call’s being given and a person hearing it, or not hearing it. And maybe that is the place to start: the business of listening and hearing. A person’s life is full of all sorts of voices calling them in all sorts of directions. Some of them are voices from inside and some of them are voices from outside. The more alive and alert we are, the more clamorous our lives are. Which do we listen to? What kind of voice do we listen for?

Vocation. Listening and hearing. Where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.

Our friend and brother Bruce Richards recently died. He spent his professional career as a pilot–in the Air Force during Vietnam, then as a commercial pilot. He was retired when he moved to Easton; he came to Christ Church Easton to buy a crab cake during the Waterfowl Festival and for the next 18 years helped create a new caregiving ministry, took Communion to nursing homes, and was an inspiration and loving friend to everyone he encountered. He was living out a vocation.

Bruce worked closely with Carol Callaghan, who was a mentor to him and to so many people. Carol was a school teacher who found and felt a calling to ordination later in her life and became the first woman ordained as a Deacon at Christ Church Easton. Carol paved the way for Rev. Barbara Coleman, Rev. Susie Leight, and those of us who are now discerning and following a path that may lead to that same place.

Like Bruce and Carol, may we all find a calling, a vocation that speaks to our inner longing; that connects us to God; and that inspires and encourages others to live lives of love, creativity, and service.

Let’s close with O’Donohue’s blessing at the end of the chapter:

May the light of your soul guide you.
May the light of your soul bless the work you do with the secret love and warmth of your heart.
May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul.
May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light, and renewal to those who work with you and to those who see and receive your work.
May your work never weary you.
May it release within you wellsprings of refreshment, inspiration, and excitement.
May you be present in what you do.
May you never become lost in the bland absences.
May the day never burden.
May dawn find you awake and alert, approaching your new day with dreams, possibilities, and promises.
May evening find you gracious and fulfilled.
May you go into the night blessed, sheltered, and protected.
May your soul calm, console, and renew you.

Amen.

Music for Our Souls

“When you are lonely, you become acutely conscious of your own separation. Solitude can be a homecoming to your own deepest belonging.”
John O’Donohue, “Anam Cara”

Loneliness and solitude are not the same. When we feel alone, we feel cut off, isolated, disconnected. Solitude gives us a chance to go beneath the surface noise of our lives and spend time getting to know our souls. Solitude can help us feel connected.

This week I was talking to a friend who is reading “Anam Cara” alongside our study at Christ Church Easton, though his schedule doesn’t allow him to make the classes. Our brief conversation meandered all over the place and as we went our separate ways I said that I hoped he was enjoying and getting something out of the book.

“You know what it gives me: music for my soul.”

Amen. May we all find music for our souls each day, and for those reading “Anam Cara,” may it add soul music to your days.

Section 3, “Solitude is Luminous,” is the halfway point in our study. John O’Donohue has contemplated the mystery of friendship (Section 1), and pointed out the infinity of our interiority and how our senses are our gateways to the world around us and to each other (Section 2). And now he shows us the need for us to go inside, to embrace solitude so that we can know our true selves, our gifts, what makes us who we are, so that we can be of benefit to others and to the world.

If all we do is follow the world and go wherever the figurative wind blows us, and we never get to know our passions, desires, gifts–our best selves, who God created us to be–what can we really offer anyone else in friendship?

“It is in the depths of your life that you will discover the invisible necessity that brought you here. When you begin to decipher this, your gift and giftedness come alive. Your heart quickens and the urgency of living rekindles your creativity.”

I am going to string a series of connected quotes here, one leading to another, because O’Donohue makes his points beautifully:

“When you acknowledge the integrity of your solitude and settle into its mystery, your relationships with others take on a new warmth, adventure, and wonder.”

Spending time in solitude is not some navel gazing, narcissistic indulgence, it actually helps us be better friends, partners, parents, better people.

“There is such an intimate connection between the way we look at things and what we actually discover. If you can learn to look at yourself and your life in a gentle, creative, and adventurous way, you will be eternally surprised at what you find.”

This is such an important thing to get across: how we look at things determines what we see. The lens, the eyes we use to look at the world shape/color what we see. And the same goes with how we look at ourselves. We are here in this life for the time that we have, treating ourselves gently and creatively and getting to know our souls and what we bring to the table is so important to what we make of our lives.

If you follow the idea that loving our neighbors as ourselves should be one of the top priorities of our lives, then it matters how we relate to ourselves. If we are miserable people who don’t know ourselves, where does that leave us with our neighbors?

O’Donohue goes on to warn us of the danger of “the unlived life.” He says, “We are sent into the world to live to the full everything that awakens within us and everything that comes toward us.”

If you come to “Anam Cara” with a lens to Scripture, you might hear echoes of the Gospel of John:

“The thief comes to kill and destroy, I have come that they may have life and have it to the full.”
John 10:10 (NIV)

If we live our lives to the full, we help others to do the same. That’s what God wants for us, for humanity, for all of Creation. That’s what we should be working towards, hoping for, searching for, praying for.

This week, Rev. Susie Leight shared the following photo and connected reflection from O’Donohue:

I arise today

In the name of Silence
Womb of the Word,
In the name of Stillness
Home of Belonging,
In the name of the Solitude
Of the Soul and the Earth.

I arise today

From Matins, by John O’Donohue

As we rise today, as we arise, may we look inside so that we can be the best versions of ourselves for those we encounter.

As we go through our days, may we find and appreciate music for our souls, and may we help provide and encourage soul music in others.

Through the noise and stress and worry of the world going on around us, may we make time to look deeper and see that “there is something beautiful, good, and eternal happening.”

Beginning today with the “Blessing of Solitude” with which O’Donohue closes his chapter, may we recognize, realize, and learn to see ourselves like this.

What Did I Really See Today?

“Many of us have made our world so familiar that we do not see it anymore. An interesting question to ask yourself at night is, ‘What did I really see this day?'”
John O’Donohue, “Anam Cara”

This is an observation John O’Donohue makes and a question he asks in the second section of his book, “Anam Cara.” The section is called “Toward a Spirituality of the Senses,” and it delves into how our senses are our gateways into the world around us.

This may seem like a no-brainer, but there has been a long, human-induced rift between the spirit and the senses. We often hear that we shouldn’t trust things of or from the body, and our senses arise from these bodies we inhabit.

O’Donohue, in his heaving together of the Celtic and Christian (and in what we would do well to bring back as a more mainstream way of seeing in Christianity), points out that our bodies and our senses are gifts from God.

“Your body is your clay home; your body is the only home you have in this universe. It is in and through your body that your soul becomes visible and real for you. Your body is the home of your soul on earth.”

He goes on to say that, “the body is a sacrament. The old traditional definition of sacrament captures this beautifully. A sacrament is a visible sign of invisible grace.”

In this lifetime, our bodies are how we experience the world, how we encounter each other, and even how we come to know God. They are a central part of our earthly experience. We are meant to use, honor, and be grateful for our bodies and our senses in and of themselves and as a means for coming to know and draw closer to God.

And the senses:

“The senses are our bridges to the world. Human skin is porous; the world flows through you. Your senses are large pores that let the world in.”

And O’Donohue pushes us a bit further: “A renewal, a complete transfiguration of your life, can come through attention to your senses. Your senses are the guides to take you deep into the inner world of your heart.”

Let’s think about this. We’re on the Eastern Shore–think about pulling a summer tomato off the vine, washing it, cutting it up and eating it–whether in a salad, as part of a dish, or sliced with salt, pepper, and mayonnaise on a plate.

Think about the smell of honeysuckle, or freshly cut grass, or fragrant flowers in a garden. Remember what it feels like to breathe in deeply and smile. Or even the wetness of tears running down your cheek, for any number of different reasons. Or the colors in the sky at sunrise or sunset. Or the sound of the voice of someone you love. The sound of contagious laughter.

If we pay attention to our senses, we can have a deeper, richer experience of life.

Remembering that “Anam Cara” translates as “soul friend,” we are going to keep coming back to the phenomenon of friendship and relationship. And O’Donohue, in his lyrical exploration of friendship, loves mic drop phrases and sentences, the kind that stop you reading right where you are and make you think.

So when he starts us off in the section by talking about the face, he goes big:

“In the human face, the anonymity of the universe becomes intimate…

The human face is the subtle, yet visual autobiography of each person…

The face reveals the soul, it is where the divinity of the inner life finds an echo and an image. When you behold someone’s face, you are gazing deeply into that person’s life.”

Imagine if we kept this in mind when we meet someone for the first time. Or when we see a close friend, or anyone. What if we gave ourselves a chance to be present with someone when we come face to face?

A couple of photographs that show faces and maybe a glimpse as to what might be behind them.

O’Donohue deepens what these encounters mean when he explores what is behind our faces: “at a deeper level, each person is the custodian of a completely private, individual world.” And we are.

So let’s think about what that means when a friend comes to your house:

“When people come to visit your home, they come bodily. They bring all of their inner worlds, experiences, and memories into your house through the vehicle of their bodies. While they are visiting you, their lives are not elsewhere; they are totally there with you…”

This is not my default way of thinking. But maybe it should be more often. If we are mindful that everyone has these infinite inner worlds inside them, which we carry around with us, maybe when we encounter someone, what can so easily seem like a throw-away moment–‘hey, what’s up, how’s it going?’–can lead us to deeper connection. Maybe we wouldn’t be on our phones, thinking about the laundry, or what we have going on tomorrow. Maybe we could be completely in the moment, realizing the sacredness of time with a friend.

What did I really see today? Did I pay attention to the intimate details around me in the landscape? When I talked to, or had dinner with my daughters, was I fully present, was I actually there? When I saw a friend, did I really see them?

O’Donohue points out that the “eyes” or what he calls the style of vision we bring to the table (life) determine what and how we see things. This is something any of us could do well to remember:

“To the fearful eye, all is threatening…

To the greedy eye, everything can be possessed…

To the judgmental eye, everything is closed in definitive frames…

To the resentful eye, everything is begrudged…

To the indifferent eye, nothing calls or awakens…

To the interior eye, everyone else is greater…

To the loving eye, everything is real… If we could look at the world in a loving way, then the world would rise up before us full of invitation, possibility, and depth. The loving eye can even coax pain, hurt, and violence toward transfiguration and renewal.”

I need to be careful of so many of those. I hope that I can remember, be mindful of, and look through the loving eye.

Our “Anam Cara” classes meet on Monday evening, one group on Zoom earlier, and then a larger group in person in the Parish Hall of Christ Church Easton. Discussion goes from the cosmic to the everyday, from the existential to the personal (when is the existential not personal, really?). And one of the questions we return to is, “what do I do with this?” In other words, how do we fold it into our lives? Into our everyday encounters?

Last evening, Rev. Susie Leight synthesized so much of this with another pull from O’Donohue. Words, quote, and photo from Susie:

Questions to consider at the end of the day, try answering from a place of honesty, not judgment. Offer your answers up to God and see where the Holy Spirit leads…

“What dreams did I create last night? Where did my eyes linger today? Where was I blind? Where was I hurt without anyone noticing? What did I learn today? What did I read? What new thoughts visited me? What differences did I notice in those closest to me? Whom did I neglect? Where did I neglect myself? What did I begin today that might endure? How were my conversations? What did I do today for the poor and the excluded? Did I remember the dead today? Where could I have exposed myself to the risk of something different? Where did I allow myself to receive love? With whom today did I feel most myself? What reached me today? How deep did it imprint? Who saw me today? What visitations had I from the past and from the future? What did I avoid today? From the evidence why was I given this day?”

— “At The End Of The Day: A Mirror Of Questions,” by John O’Donohue

It is Strange to Be Here

John O’Donohue’s book, “Anam Cara,” begins: “It is strange to be here. The mystery never leaves you.”

And that’s maybe as true a statement as we will ever encounter. Take our consciousness, the fact that we are thinking, feeling beings inhabiting bodies, add science, add faith, add civilization, observations–when you sit and think about it, it is strange to be here. There is no way around it.

At Christ Church Easton, we’ve just begun a six-week study of “Anam Cara.” Rev. Susie Leight and I and 20+ curious and daring friends embarked this week on the first section of the book, “The Mystery of Friendship,” and a power-packed prologue to help set the tone.

O’Donohue was a poet, theologian, philosopher, and former Catholic Priest. When I read about him and his life, I am jealous, thinking–that’s it, that’s how I want to live my life. His way of bringing together Celtic spirituality and Christianity infuses life and sacredness into everything we encounter–God, each other, Creation and the landscape we are a part of–in ways that mainstream western Christianity could do well to remember and to look more closely at. Which is part of what we are doing.

“Anam Cara” is a Gaelic expression translatable as “soul friend.” And O’Donohue lets us know that what he hopes to do with his book is to explore friendship in a “lyrical-speculative” form. His writing is a meandering, meditative way through beauty, friendship, the senses, that can leave me stunned and spinning at times.

It is strange to be here. And given that, friendship, reaching out to an other, another person, is maybe the only sensible thing to do, to find other people to walk through life with.

O’Donohue says that:

“Human presence is a creative and turbulent sacrament, a visible sign of invisible grace. Nowhere is there such intimate and frightening access to the mysterium. Friendship is the sweet grace that liberates us to approach, recognize, and inhabit this adventure.”

Thinking of friendship as a grace, as sacramental, puts us in an open frame of mind. In this strange, lonely world putting ourselves out there, finding friendships with other people, is a courageous and necessary act.

As he wanders through the first section of the book, O’Donohue focuses on light.

“Light is the secret presence of the divine. It keeps life awake. Light is a nurturing presence, which calls forth warmth and color in nature. The soul awakens and lives in light. It helps us to glimpse the sacred depths within us. Once human beings began to search for a meaning to life, light became one of the most powerful metaphors to express the eternity and depth of life.”

This week, reflecting on some of our “Anam Cara” reading, Susie used some of O’Donohue’s thoughts on light and darkness in her own musings. She writes:

“Inspired by JOD’s words, I decided to wake up just before dawn a few mornings a week, to watch “how the darkness breaks” and observe how “light can coax the dark” while pondering & praying the question, “I wonder what this will be?”

Many changes are on the horizon (all very good & exciting, but there is anxiety too) & so rather than placing all sorts of expectations around what is next (which is my tendency) I have decided to sit, watch and listen, trying to separate the artificial from the real, what is of God and the Spirit, of the world or my own. the question seems large enough to hold what is and what may be… ‘just as darkness brings rest and release, so the dawn brings awakening and renewal. In our mediocrity and distraction, we forget each day that we are privileged to live in a wondrous universe. Each day, the dawn unveils the mystery of this universe…’

sometimes my camera does stuff without me trying, thought this was a cool shot. more to come.”

That is wonderful. When we read something challenging, we should let it challenge us, inspire us, help us think. If it doesn’t seep into our everyday lives, our hopes, our dreams, our friendships, then why are we studying it together and discussing it?

In “Anam Cara” we are talking about friendship, we are talking about light, and we are talking about love. Anytime we are talking about God, we should be talking about love. God is love, and love is what unites us in friendship. O’Donohue writes:

“Love is the nature of the soul. When we love and allow ourselves to be loved, we begin more and more to inhabit the kingdom of the eternal. Fear changes into courage, emptiness becomes plenitude, and distance becomes intimate.”

Love is what brings us together, what unites us. And coming together as friends to discuss, to be opened up by, a book about the nature of and need for friendship stands out as significant, in and of itself.

O’Donohue closes the section on “The Mystery of Friendship” with a friendship blessing, which is beautiful, profound, and inspiring. I read it out loud to close our first class. I would encourage you to read it out loud as you read it, and I hope that its words and sentiments bless you today and every day. The photo after it is one of Rev. Susie at her ordination to the deaconate earlier this year, along with our dear friend, the deacon Rev. Barbara Coleman. Soul friends in action.

“A Friendship Blessing”
By John O’Donohue

May you be blessed with good friends.
May you learn to be a good friend to yourself.
May you be able to journey to that place in your soul where there is great love, warmth, feeling, and forgiveness.
May this change you.
May it transfigure that which is negative, distant, or cold in you.
May you be brought in to the real passion, kinship, and affinity of belonging.
May you treasure your friends.
May you be good to them and may you be there for them;
may they bring you all the blessings, challenges, truth, and light that you need for your journey.
May you never be isolated.
May you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your anam cara.