Wholehearted and Frogs
May 14, 2009
For the enlightened few, the world is
always lit. Scott Russell
Sanders
We have lost something we have never
properly understood. . .we have stripped all
things of their mystery and numinosity;
nothing is holy any longer. Carl
Jung
It's coffee hour on a summer Sunday-that time
after church service when we sip coffee (or
if we're brave, some unidentifiable fruit
juice) and chat about the weather, the week's
news or if its memorable, the sermon.
Whatever we're talking about, there are times
when we're aware of a self-conscious nudge to
keep up appearances; this is, after all,
church.
The laughter of children drifts in from outside. One boy, maybe five-years-old, runs into the fellowship hall looking for his mother-his face flush, his hair supercharged, his pants grass-stained. His mother hides her irritation with skill, but not without effort, "What in God's name happened to you?"
"Mom, I just needed to tell you that I made a new friend," the boy reports, and he bolts back out the door. Sympathetic onlookers shake their heads, many thankful that their days of dealing with such shenanigans are over. They return to their conversation. Most didn't notice that one of their own, he long past 70, snuck out the back door to join the game of hide-and-seek on the church lawn.
May is Garden Explosion Month here in the northwest. I made that up, but you can take your pick, because every plant here honors Cinco de Mayo, or May Day, or Mother's Day or the Guatemalan Ceremony for Rain, or Pentecost, or the Native American Corn Festival. Each requires a fiesta, and the carousing of color and scent and astonishment.
This morning, I walk my garden, and I see new shoots of Nepeta, surrounded by clusters of bluebells and weeds that need tending. I am taken aback at orange poppies (their blooms like delicate paper), smile at the new fronds of fiddlehead ferns, and am quite literally speechless at the sight of this season's first bearded iris, a royal purple. The garden today is unabashed, unencumbered and unafraid of imperfection.
In other words, my garden and the five-year-old boy are kindred souls. They have tapped into something (Jung called it numinosity). Numinosity is the potential for unexpected mystery and insight where one comes into the unshakable presence of the divine; a sacred transformative space that integrates and heals the mind, body, soul, and spirit.
Yes.
I do know that it is essential.
And that whatever it is, I want it.
How? Well, that is the question.
This past week, I actually overheard someone say, "Finally, this is what I've been waiting for." I don't remember what the THIS was, but, even so. I know what he meant. I have the same kind of list. You know, WHEN. . .
But let's not get our shorts in a knot chasing regret.
Yes, every one of us knows the sadness that comes with missing the moment.
Yes, every one of us has kept parts of our soul in check.
And yes, we all have days that are not in the script (you know, days that feel like the complete absence of the divine).
Like this past week. I was out of sorts, so I spent afternoons pulling weeds, fighting with my son and wife, angry at my dog, and frustrated with my work. I lived petty. And to top it off, gave myself a good deal of grief about it, thinking I was above all of that. But then, that's where we get off track. We think that spiritual experience (the sacred present) is like a stock portfolio. Something we accumulate and measure. But here's the deal: Being present (numinosity), begins with acceptance.
Of this day.
Of this self.
This imperfect, fractured, flawed, sometimes torn-to-pieces self.
If I had great advice, this would be a good time to give it.
But I'm not sure what I can tell you.
Except that I agree with Thomas Moore. "I'd rather be a dysfunctional soul than a well-adjusted robot."
Last night Zach and I watched Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Indiana Jones: "Get back to Cairo, get us some transport to England. Boat, plane, anything... Meet me at Omar's. Be ready for me; I'm going after that truck."
John Rhys-Davies as Sallah: "How?"
Indiana Jones: "I don't know. I'm making this up as I go."
Okay. I have a couple ideas:
One. Let music be a salve. In the quirky movie, Joe Versus the Volcano, Tom Hanks character tells a Mariachi band, "Play us a song what would drive us insane, that would make our hearts swell and burst." It reminded me of Kerouac's little bar in Mexico (from On the Road). He says that was the only time he ever got to hear music played loud enough, in that little bar in Mexico.
Two. Take a piece of paper and write. Tell me what you love (from the heart of a five-year-old standing grass-stained beaming at his mama)? You know, what takes you, even momentarily out of an overtly conscious view of the world (away from public opinion, or what is correct or appropriate). What transports you, unburdens you, allows you to wallow in the expansive reach of grace, letting it wash over you, suspending explanation and justification?
It is not easy, this catch 22 of literally being in the moment (this sacrament of the blessed present), suspended by joy, without the safety net of cerebral clarity.
Three. Sometime today, embrace the accidental, the arcane, the serendipitous or the chaotic.
When the young boy walks back into the fellowship hall, he's holding the hand of the older man. Both are flushed in the cheeks. They've come in for another cookie. You hear comments whispered by others in the room.
"What's he thinking? He's going to have another heart attack if he's not careful!"
"That poor mother. That boy is a handful."
"I wish those kids wouldn't come in here with those dirty shoes."
One of the women serving coffee asks the man, "We'll see you tomorrow night? Can I ask you a question about the agenda for our committee meeting?"
"Not now," he says, "First, I've got to tell you about this frog we found near the back of the church."
Four. If someone asks you what you did today (don't worry, someone will ask), say, "I made a new friend and found a frog. Can I tell you about it?"
Notes from Terry
1. Terry's Fall Schedule.
Please go to terryhershey.com/schedule
2. Coming This Summer: THE RELAX, REFUEL, RESTART RETREAT.
Don't miss it.
Begin making plans to attend.
Sign up now for early registration.
www.loyolapress.com/relax
The Relax, Refuel, Restart Retreat is a great way for catechetical leaders, for your leadership team, for key lay-leaders, for anyone in parish ministry to rest, re-energize, and take steps to find balance in their busy lives. Find the city in your area and bring your entire parish / church leadership team! You will not want to miss this day.
Call 773-281-1818 x 287
3. Terry's new CDs, Born to Dance and Sabbath Moments are being shipped this month. They have been slightly delayed in production. Thank you for your patience.
The laughter of children drifts in from outside. One boy, maybe five-years-old, runs into the fellowship hall looking for his mother-his face flush, his hair supercharged, his pants grass-stained. His mother hides her irritation with skill, but not without effort, "What in God's name happened to you?"
"Mom, I just needed to tell you that I made a new friend," the boy reports, and he bolts back out the door. Sympathetic onlookers shake their heads, many thankful that their days of dealing with such shenanigans are over. They return to their conversation. Most didn't notice that one of their own, he long past 70, snuck out the back door to join the game of hide-and-seek on the church lawn.
May is Garden Explosion Month here in the northwest. I made that up, but you can take your pick, because every plant here honors Cinco de Mayo, or May Day, or Mother's Day or the Guatemalan Ceremony for Rain, or Pentecost, or the Native American Corn Festival. Each requires a fiesta, and the carousing of color and scent and astonishment.
This morning, I walk my garden, and I see new shoots of Nepeta, surrounded by clusters of bluebells and weeds that need tending. I am taken aback at orange poppies (their blooms like delicate paper), smile at the new fronds of fiddlehead ferns, and am quite literally speechless at the sight of this season's first bearded iris, a royal purple. The garden today is unabashed, unencumbered and unafraid of imperfection.
In other words, my garden and the five-year-old boy are kindred souls. They have tapped into something (Jung called it numinosity). Numinosity is the potential for unexpected mystery and insight where one comes into the unshakable presence of the divine; a sacred transformative space that integrates and heals the mind, body, soul, and spirit.
Yes.
I do know that it is essential.
And that whatever it is, I want it.
How? Well, that is the question.
This past week, I actually overheard someone say, "Finally, this is what I've been waiting for." I don't remember what the THIS was, but, even so. I know what he meant. I have the same kind of list. You know, WHEN. . .
But let's not get our shorts in a knot chasing regret.
Yes, every one of us knows the sadness that comes with missing the moment.
Yes, every one of us has kept parts of our soul in check.
And yes, we all have days that are not in the script (you know, days that feel like the complete absence of the divine).
Like this past week. I was out of sorts, so I spent afternoons pulling weeds, fighting with my son and wife, angry at my dog, and frustrated with my work. I lived petty. And to top it off, gave myself a good deal of grief about it, thinking I was above all of that. But then, that's where we get off track. We think that spiritual experience (the sacred present) is like a stock portfolio. Something we accumulate and measure. But here's the deal: Being present (numinosity), begins with acceptance.
Of this day.
Of this self.
This imperfect, fractured, flawed, sometimes torn-to-pieces self.
If I had great advice, this would be a good time to give it.
But I'm not sure what I can tell you.
Except that I agree with Thomas Moore. "I'd rather be a dysfunctional soul than a well-adjusted robot."
Last night Zach and I watched Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Indiana Jones: "Get back to Cairo, get us some transport to England. Boat, plane, anything... Meet me at Omar's. Be ready for me; I'm going after that truck."
John Rhys-Davies as Sallah: "How?"
Indiana Jones: "I don't know. I'm making this up as I go."
Okay. I have a couple ideas:
One. Let music be a salve. In the quirky movie, Joe Versus the Volcano, Tom Hanks character tells a Mariachi band, "Play us a song what would drive us insane, that would make our hearts swell and burst." It reminded me of Kerouac's little bar in Mexico (from On the Road). He says that was the only time he ever got to hear music played loud enough, in that little bar in Mexico.
Two. Take a piece of paper and write. Tell me what you love (from the heart of a five-year-old standing grass-stained beaming at his mama)? You know, what takes you, even momentarily out of an overtly conscious view of the world (away from public opinion, or what is correct or appropriate). What transports you, unburdens you, allows you to wallow in the expansive reach of grace, letting it wash over you, suspending explanation and justification?
It is not easy, this catch 22 of literally being in the moment (this sacrament of the blessed present), suspended by joy, without the safety net of cerebral clarity.
Three. Sometime today, embrace the accidental, the arcane, the serendipitous or the chaotic.
When the young boy walks back into the fellowship hall, he's holding the hand of the older man. Both are flushed in the cheeks. They've come in for another cookie. You hear comments whispered by others in the room.
"What's he thinking? He's going to have another heart attack if he's not careful!"
"That poor mother. That boy is a handful."
"I wish those kids wouldn't come in here with those dirty shoes."
One of the women serving coffee asks the man, "We'll see you tomorrow night? Can I ask you a question about the agenda for our committee meeting?"
"Not now," he says, "First, I've got to tell you about this frog we found near the back of the church."
Four. If someone asks you what you did today (don't worry, someone will ask), say, "I made a new friend and found a frog. Can I tell you about it?"
Notes from Terry
1. Terry's Fall Schedule.
Please go to terryhershey.com/schedule
2. Coming This Summer: THE RELAX, REFUEL, RESTART RETREAT.
Don't miss it.
Begin making plans to attend.
Sign up now for early registration.
www.loyolapress.com/relax
The Relax, Refuel, Restart Retreat is a great way for catechetical leaders, for your leadership team, for key lay-leaders, for anyone in parish ministry to rest, re-energize, and take steps to find balance in their busy lives. Find the city in your area and bring your entire parish / church leadership team! You will not want to miss this day.
Call 773-281-1818 x 287
3. Terry's new CDs, Born to Dance and Sabbath Moments are being shipped this month. They have been slightly delayed in production. Thank you for your patience.
Poems / Prayers
Music to lift the spirit and the soul.
playingforchange.com
New Terry Hershey videos
http://www.terryhershey.com
For those who missed last week.
Dance of Joy -- The Sound of Music in Central Station Antwerp
www.youtube/antwerp
Mornings at Blackwater
For years, every morning, I drank
from Blackwater Pond.
It was flavored with oak leaves and also, no doubt,
the feet of ducks.
And always it assuaged me
from the dry bowl of the very far past.
What I want to say is
that the past is the past,
and the present is what your life is,
and you are capable
of choosing what that will be,
darling citizen.
So come to the pond,
or the river of your imagination,
or the harbor of your longing,
and put your lips to the world.
And live
your life.
Mary Oliver
Red Bird
Blessing for the the Earth
Gracious and every loving God,
May You give us the grace to listen well
to all the ways the earth tells of its wounds.
May You help us in learning
to love all of Your Creation
In all its abundance and glory.
In all its scars.
May we listen well to Your calling
And may we have the courage and strength
to heal the earth's wounds,
Knowing that such healing is necessary
for peace and justice for all Your Creation.
Knowing that as we heal, we shall be healed.
Healed as we return to Your Garden.
May we fall in love each day
With flowers, streams, mountains,
With all the stars of the cosmos
With the eyes of a child
who lifts her arms to greet Your wonder.
May we breathe in Your beauty,
may our hearts be filled with the joy
That flows through us as we serve Your will.
In Christ's name we pray.
Amen.
Kate O'Sullivan
Peace,
Terry Hershey
