HOW IS IT WITH THY SPIRIT?
October 3, 2004The Reverend Anne Felton Hines
“Finding true harmony;” that’s what I was hoping for this past week. It was the Fall retreat for Unitarian Universalist ministers in Southern California and Arizona – the one where we have less program and more time for “spiritual deepening.” I was planning to not only find some “harmony” in my life, but get a little work done besides.
I had been part of the planning committee for this retreat, and we’d decided to invite a Spiritual Director to come and lead us, I thought, in our quest for deepening; except that what he did instead was talk about Spiritual Direction – its history, the training to become a Spiritual Director, how one goes about choosing a Spiritual Director, etc. And that was interesting; it just didn’t bring me any closer to “true harmony.”
I am told that at one time, Quakers would greet one another with the question, “How is it with thy spirit?” I have always felt that this greeting was more inviting than the usual “Hi, how are you?” – that it more closely conveyed a feeling of true caring about the other. I’ve wondered how committee meetings here might be different if they were begun with the question, “How is it with thy Spirit?”
That is the question I generally take for myself on these ministers retreats in the Fall. Am I any closer to harmony with the Eternal – with that Spirit of Life and Love that I call God? Am I, indeed, any closer to harmony with my true Self – with the essence of who I am?
About a year-and-a-half ago, I shared with you my resistance to spiritual discipline. I talked about how much easier it was for me to simply read the newspaper each morning, maybe write in my journal, but certainly not simply sit in stillness and quiet my mind. But I also shared that I had begun meditating about 20 minutes each morning, and that I would continue that practice. I said that the meditation allowed me “to listen to the voice of the Holy Spirit…that resides deep inside each of us…reminding me that I am connected to every being in the world, and to…all Creation….”
And I have stuck relatively close to that practice. I admit that I don’t always close my eyes and completely empty my mind of all thoughts, nor do I set any timer. And I admit that if I notice one day that the newspaper has an unusual amount of interesting news in it, or if I oversleep, or have some earlier-than-usual appointment… that quiet time between me and my God can easily get shelved. But I am better at it than I once was, and I think it’s making me a better person.
But I look forward to these retreats with my colleagues as a time completely apart from my normal routine, devoted to an extended time for reflection and prayer. I think of the Hassidic story of the child who goes into the forest alone every day. His father, the local rabbi, is concerned about this; he fears for his son’s safety. When he asks the boy why he does this, the boy replies that he goes into the forest to talk with God.
“But you can talk to God anywhere,” says his father. “God doesn’t change in the forest.”
“God may not change in the forest,” said the child; “but I do.” We all have places that are sacred for us – where we change and become more open to something larger than ourselves.
So while I know that I can get in touch with the Divine no matter where I am, I do enter a different “space,” and become more introspective, when on retreat with my colleagues each Fall.
Except when I don’t! Not only was I on the planning committee for this Fall’s retreat, but I’d also agreed to play hymns for worship, talk to new ministers about time management (which was pretty laughable, as they were doing a much better job of it than do I!), convene a small group to talk about how we open ourselves to a Source greater than ourselves, and finally, to facilitate a larger conversation about “what we’d learned from our afternoon of spiritual practice!” I essentially allowed no time for myself to walk, journal, or just be.
It wasn’t until a couple of days after the retreat had ended that I had a little “epiphany.” I was describing the retreat to a friend of mine; actually, I was complaining that the program itself just hadn’t done much for me; I hadn’t experienced any deepening of my spiritual journey. “The best part of the retreat,” I said finally, “was the game of Charades we played on the last night.” And suddenly I realized how very important that game had been for me – and I suspect for my colleagues as well.
We’d all been sitting around just before dinner with a list of movies showing nearby. None of the movies seemed very compelling, but it’s kind of a tradition that on one night of our retreats, many of us pile into cars and go into town to various movies. Then we compare notes afterwards about them. But this time the choices were pretty slim.
Then someone suggested we play some games instead; we’d never done that before. So after dinner, about 16 of us formed into two teams, and launched into an extremely competitive game of Charades.
Now, when the idea of games was suggested, I’d actually hoped for a quiet game of cards. For you see, despite my extroverted appearance, there is a large part of me that is quite shy. The thought of playing Charades with a bunch of ministers felt a bit intimidating. I’m fine playing the children’s version with my grandkids, where all we’re asked to do is act out a rabbit or airplane or yo-yo.
But here I was with my colleagues, playing the adult version! What if I was given the title of some obscure theological treatise that everyone but me knew about? Or some movie, or song, or TV show that I’d never heard of, but all of them had? What if I was never able to guess anyone else’s charades, or was completely inept at acting out my own? It’s one thing to look foolish in front of one’s grandchildren; but humiliation in front of one’s colleagues is serious!
But of course, none of that happened. When I stood in front of my teammates and did this.…they knew it was “Streetcar Named Desire;” and when I did.…they immediately guessed “The Effects of Gamma Rays on the Man in the Moon and Marigolds” – or whatever that title is! My team won both rounds hands-down!
But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is that I broke through my fears of inadequacy to glimpse, again, my worth, my creative spark. What’s important is that a group of men and women who carry the burdens of others in their hearts, and who spend an inordinate amount of time working, and generally only a small amount of time to self-care, allowed ourselves to just have fun – to shout, laugh, act ridiculous, and let our competitiveness run rampant! It was a new high – or some might claim, a new low – for our retreats!
Earlier that day, I’d told some colleagues that what I’m looking for in my prayer life is “to have my heart broken open” – to be so alive to the pain and the beauty of the world that no longer would I be able to read about children starving in Sudan, or young soldiers dying in Iraq, or already-poor families left homeless from hurricanes in America, without weeping. Nor would I be able to catch the scent of jasmine, or the splendor of a sunrise, or the power of a thunderstorm, without stopping in awe and saying “Thank-you.”
We become so caught up in the busyness of our lives that we become immune to the world around us, and the glimpses of the Holy found there. Annie Dillard tells the story of choosing to work in her study one 4th of July evening. As she sat at her typewriter, intent on what she was writing, she became vaguely aware of a light tapping sound outside her window, but paid it no mind. The sound continued, and she assumed it was a moth trying to get in to the light; and still she kept writing. Finally the tapping annoyed her enough that she got up to see what kind of moth could be so persistent. And then she saw that it was not a moth after all causing the noise: it was the sound of fireworks lighting up the sky. “Ah yes,” she thought, “the world.”
We can catch glimpses of the Holy when we make time in our busy lives for quiet and solitude; but that is not the only way. Annie Dillard almost missed the holy splendor of the fireworks because she chose to work at her typewriter instead of joining her husband and friends in the celebration of the day. She did not need solitude that evening; she needed to have some fun.
The writer Frederick Buechner tells us: “The world is full of suffering indeed, and to turn our backs on it is to work a terrible unkindness….But life is also to be enjoyed….That may even be the whole point of it.”
There is much suffering in the world today. There is tragedy and terror, and we need to keep our hearts open to it. But we also need to remain open to the wondrous blessings of Creation. We need to give ourselves over to love, beauty and laughter, and just plain silliness from time to time. It is also what will help “break our hearts open;” it is also what will create “true harmony” to our lives.
When my son Garrett was about ten years old, I took him with me to the Ordination of a cousin into the Roman Catholic priesthood. It was a long service, held at the San Luis Rey Mission in Oceanside. Afterwards, as we walked out of the church, Garrett turned to me and said, “I think I like your church better; they laugh a lot more.”
Not a bad tribute: We laugh more than the others do! It reminds me of the Tibetan meditation master who said, “Since everything is but an apparition, having nothing to do with good or bad…one may as well burst out in laughter!”
“How is it with thy Spirit?” If all we do is work – either as a paid employee or as a volunteer – our Spirit won’t be very healthy. And even if in addition to our work, we meditate and write in our journal and go for quiet walks in the hills… our Spirit will still yearn for something more; it will need the freshness of leisure and fun; it will need Sabbath.
Isn’t that what the Book of Genesis is suggesting, when it tells us that God worked very hard for six days, but on the seventh day She rested? It doesn’t say how God spent that Sabbath time, other than in rest. But it surely doesn’t suggest that He used that period for writing in His journal how He felt about His Creation; or that She spent it jogging ten miles; or that He sat in silent meditation. Perhaps She visited the gods and goddesses of other universes and swapped stories about some of the jokes they’d created? Or what if He sat around with the angels and played Charades?! The possibilities are endless!
And so I am needing to take another look at my spiritual life, and ask myself some new questions. What do I do for fun? How often do I take in a movie, just for fun? How often do I leave my books and computer and play my piano, instead, just for fun? Have I signed up for that quilting class I saw advertised, or that dance class, or any of the other “just for fun” activities I keep saying I want to do? The answers to those questions tells me that my Spirit is still in need of some care.
I heard about an actress in New York who was talking about spiritual practice. She likened it to going to the library to meet guys. “You can’t expect to meet a guy there if you never show up!” She said that praying takes the same commitment; one needs to keep doing it in order to receive a response.
I suggest the same is true with our Sabbath time; we need to be just as intentional with that as we are with our prayer or meditation time. Just as I know that many of you set aside quiet time each day for meditation or journaling, so do I encourage you to set aside time to have some fun. That might be as simple as sharing a leisurely meal with your family, or playing a silly game with your children. But it might also be singing with friends, or learning to paint, or going out to dance at night. It might even be showing up at our upcoming Emerson Game Night, and participating in a raucous game of Charades; I highly recommend it!
There are many ways to have our hearts broken open so that the Divine Spirit of Life can enter. We do it through work that is meaningful; we do it through service to others; we do it through prayerful listening; and we do it through rest and play. May al these strands be woven together with the threads of love that bind us to one another, and to all that is.
Amen.
© 2004 Anne Felton Hines. All rights reserved.
