Category Archives: modern faith
Just for fun, I used this as a writing prompt this morning.
I spent the weekend at a writing retreat, and one might assume such a gathering would inspire a wellspring of words. Alas, it had the opposite effect, and I felt word-drained. To start the words flowing again, I told myself to leave my comfortable couch, walk upstairs to my office, select the third book on the top book shelf and open it to page 56. I had no idea what I would find.
It happened to be Gandhi: His Life and Message for the World by Louis Fischer. On page 56 I read:
“Gandhi was neither a conforming Hindu nor a conforming nationalist. No ism help him in its grip. He never hewed to a line. He was independent, unpredictable, and hence exciting to all and difficult for the British. “Do I contradict myself?” he asked. “Consistency is a hobgoblin.” He had the rebel’s courage to be true to himself today and different tomorrow. “My aim,” he once wrote, “is not to be consistent with my previous statement on a given question, but to be consistent with the truth as it may present itself to me at a given moment. The result is that I have grown from truth to truth . . .”
I think most of us would agree that Gandhi lived a brave life, but before I had framed that bravery in terms of constancy or perseverance. I thought of the determined way in which Gandhi lived what he believed to be right, unwavering in his march to human rights.
Inconsistency takes courage. It takes courage to admit that we need to leave something behind, or to float free in the world without anchoring ourselves in a religion, a philosophy, a political stance or a national identity. We cling to beliefs that served us in the past, even when they don’t serve us so well in the present. We hate to “eat our words,” so we stand by them even when they don’t resonate with truth anymore.
How brave, to let go of identity anchors and evolve. truth to truth.
May this day bring you freedom from anchors that weigh you down, courage to contradict your past self and inspiration to seek your new truth.
And, I’m curious: What’s on your top shelf, third book from the right, page 56?
“Don’t give up before the miracle happens.”
—Fannie Flagg in I Still Dream About You.
Hundreds of years from now, the children of our children’s children’s children’s children face a seemingly insurmountable challenge. To inspire themselves to succeed they look to wisdom from the past. They scan their retinas (because surely they’ll have Google Retina by then) for pithy, profound insights into the complexities of life.
Might they find inspiration from Rumi? Perhaps. Jesus? Also possible. Shakespeare, Einstein or Confucius might also be strong contenders. But they might also stumble upon some wisdom from another great wise man: Jim Carrey.
Who would have thought, right? But Carrey nails it in a convocation speech at (of all places) the Maharishi University of Management. In less than a minute he alludes to one incident from his life that encapsulates these spiritual principles:
- Be here now
- Make your decisions based on love not fear
- Ask the universe for it and allow yourself to be surprised by the miracle
- You can fail at what you don’t want, so do what you love.
“. . . all there will ever be is what’s happening here, and the decisions we make in this moment which are based in either love or fear. So many of us choose our path out of fear disguised as practicality. What we really want seems impossibly out of reach and ridiculous to expect, so we never dare to ask the universe for it. I’m saying—I’m the proof—that you can ask the universe for it.“
He went on to say:
“My father could have been a great comedian, but he didn’t believe that was possible for him, and so he made a conservative choice. Instead, he got a safe job as an accountant, and when I was 12 years old, he was let go from that safe job and our family had to do whatever we could to survive. I learned many great lessons from my father, not the least of which was you can fail at what you don’t want, so you might as well take a chance at doing what you love.”
Last night at our book study we talked about Paul’s mystical experience on the road to Damascus. (Acts 9) We don’t know exactly what happened to Paul—accounts vary—but we do know that Paul experienced something dramatic enough to alter the course of his life 180 degrees.
He changed from enforcing rules to encouraging love.
We also talked about our own mystical experiences. There was no shortage. People shared stories of songs popping into their lives at the right moment, inner voices calming them or urging them into action, and visible reminders a dead loved one or feelings of their presence.
I noticed something, though. Almost everyone started their stories with qualifiers. “It might be just a coincidence, but . . .”, or “I don’t know if this is a spiritual story or not, but . . .”.
That’s the paradox of mystical experiences. We are physical beings, so we need something physical to happen so we can perceive a message: a sound, a sign, a feeling. But because the message we receive is carried via a physical medium, it makes it easy to dismiss as just the physical thing and nothing more. Skeptics and critics say, “You’re reading something into it that isn’t there,” or “It’s a coincidence,” or “You’re crazy.”
The very thing we need to perceive spirit is the very thing that makes us want to dismiss it.
Sometimes mystical moments give a person comfort or a gentle nudge in the right direction, sometimes they save lives, and sometimes, like Paul on the road to Damascus, they dramatically alter the course of a life. The common theme of all the stories we heard was this: every person received exactly what they needed exactly when they needed it.
All of the stories we heard could be dismissed as coincidence or the result of a vivid imagination. There’s no way to prove anything beyond the physical, but there’s also no way to prove that these moments were just coincidence. So we have a choice. We can choose to believe what we wish. I think it’s much more meaningful, comforting and just plain fun to believe that these moments that stop us in our tracks have spirit flowing in, through and all around them.
In future, when I hear someone begin a story with “I don’t know if this is a spiritual story or not, but . . .” I’m going to sit up and pay attention. The story is bound to be a doozy.
I am on a March Break vacation, “eating the sun” as much as I can. I thought I would share this beautiful meditation from the Cauldrons and Cupcakes blog. If you live in the northern hemisphere, as I do, you will be craving the sunshine after a long winter. Click on the link below to visit her page:
Two years ago I spent time in Bolivia volunteering for Habitat for Humanity helping a family in need to build their home.
I’m not one to talk about religion or my spiritual life on your average day, but our project took place in Cochabamba, home of the world’s largest statue of Jesus. With Jesus looming over our work every day, it was hard not to talk about him. In the course of those conversations, I revealed to the members of my team that I had been invited to speak at my church about my Bolivian experiences upon my return to Canada.
A few days later, as we worked, we joked back and forth. One girl turned to me and said, “I hope you don’t mind us joking around. I know you’re really religious.”
I was so stunned I couldn’t speak.
I was horrified at the idea of being considered religious. The word conjured images of dusty old pious ladies with pursed lips reciting Bible passages unquestioningly. I imagined judgmental battle-axes and humourless fire-and-brimstone preachers. One this is certain: She obviously believed that anyone who goes to church has zero sense of humour. Is that how she saw me? Horrors.
For someone who spent decades as an atheist and who still finds many aspects of some organized religions really worrisome, her perception shocked me. Me, religious? Ha! Religious was a label I did not want.
Okay, so I go to church almost every week. I am a Sunday school teacher. I was co-chair of our church council for three years. I’m on the Christian Development committee. But that doesn’t make me religious, does it?
Hhmmmm. . . I guess it does. So, if I’m going to be labelled “religious,” I’ll have to re-claim the word. I’ll have to change the connotations.
What does my church, my religion, my Spirit-seeking home, mean to me? It means: connection to the something more, critical thinking, compassion, kindness, caring work with people in need, acceptance of all people, questioning, evolving, progressive outlook, challenge, lifelong learning, meditating and justice seeking.
What does it NOT mean? It does not mean: judgmental, limited, blind, unquestioning, self-righteous, inflexible, exclusive, money-grubbing. That is not what my church is about at all.
I hereby reclaim the word religious. The compassionate, accepting, critical-thinking, justice-seeking, caring people who meditate on their questions to seek a connection with the something more (however that should appear to them) really need that to happen.
We are a compassionate and progressive community that nurtures and celebrates each others’ spiritual growth. We are rooted in our Christian tradition and open to the truths of other faiths.
We strive to follow Jesus’ example by applying his teachings to today’s challenges. We share our personal experiences of the Divine to help each other recognize God in all creation.
We believe a more just and sustainable world is possible through increased love, awareness and action. We invest in our children, our community and our world to help make this so.