At a recent seminar for ministers, we were led in various spiritual practices over the course of a few days. Many of those practices involved contemplative experiences—and, namely, silence. Silence. Quietude. Not speaking. No conversation. Not reading. Not doing. Just sitting in silence. I soaked up the silence with much gratitude. Excitement even. “Oh, good. I get to be still. And quiet. No phone. No computer. Nothing.” I need silence. I need time alone to recharge, to pray, to meditate—with the only sounds being the hum of a fan or the sacred purr of a cat or the ritual call of a choir of cicadas.
Being alone and being quiet provides me the opportunity to stay in touch with my core—It helps keep me grounded, and I need that time to connect with my source. It’s part of my spiritual practice. Thus I coveted the time of silent contemplation at the recent seminar, but not everyone felt that way. In one of our check-ins, a self-identified extrovert asked, with some obvious frustration: “Why aren’t we talking?! I need to be TALKING!” Meanwhile, the introverts among us were basking in the glow of the nothing, enjoying the private moments, soaking up the solitude, and coveting the chance to process as introverts do—inside our heads.
What a beautiful thing—that we are all so different. We left the seminar recognizing that the choices along our spiritual paths are just that---choices. And based on our personalities and histories, our preferences varied wildly. But it was clear that with intention, we could ground ourselves more fully through some steady practice or spiritual ritual.
Some took time at the beginning of the day for meditation; others finished their days with song or prayer. Some went for walks to the water while others formed groups for sharing and reflection. We discussed the varied nature of our spiritual paths and noted how a single act of intention could shift a focus—from concern over the most recent e-mail to an inward journey of self-discovery. From staring at a screen to looking at the faces of others in whose eyes, if we really look, we may see our own reflection—and perhaps even a spark of divinity.
What brings you into focus? What takes you to the core of your being, and what sustains you along your spiritual path? It could be practicing yoga or painting a prayer or making a mandala. It might mean deep sharing with a spiritual companion or scribbling in a journal. What grounds you? Is it spending time alone or sitting beneath the shelter and magnificence of a tree whose roots dig deep and whose limbs reach to the sky? Perhaps your spiritual path involves a number of these practices. Whatever the case may be, take time to ground yourself. A steady practice not only helps keep us on track, it also helps us light the way for others. If you need silence, find silence. If you need a creative outlet, mold clay or paint or create a collage! May we honor and encourage one another along the way.
~Rev. Mary Frances Comer
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Receiving the Invite
Do not try to save the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create a clearing
in the dense forest of your life
and wait there patiently,
until the song that is your life falls
into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself to this world
so worthy of rescue.
-Clearing by Martha Postlewaite
Do you ever long for the clearings in your life?
When I was a student minister, a supervisor asked me about
my spiritual practices which cultivated quiet and renewal. I explained that I found renewal in being
engaged with the world (a strong extrovert).
He nodded and then inquired, “but where did you find the quiet?” I explained—to my credit—in an intricate way
that life was too busy for quiet.
I know what it is to run circles around my own life. When I don’t make the quiet spaces, the
clearings, in my own life I often ask what is it that I am afraid of? Often for me, I run circles in my life when I
am running away from something or when I have lost my trust in the world. A deep part of spiritual growth is developing
trust. For some, this trust is in God
and for others this trust is in an abiding love throughout creation.
It can be tempting to think of the clearing as a physical
space or time.
Christine Valters Painter, a Benedictine oblate, describes
the self in two parts.
The monk in me feels the call of moving
inward. My inner monk knows the deep
wisdom to be found in rest, in slowness and spaciousness, in not letting the
productivity of the world keep me running ever faster, that the only person who
can say "no" and stop and open up to the eternity of this moment, is
me. Like the bear, I know the power to
be gained from following my natural rhythms, rather than those the world around
me demands.
The pilgrim in me feels the call of
moving outward. My inner pilgrim feels a
longing to travel, to walk across new landscapes, to find myself the stranger
so that everything I think I know can be gently released in favor of the deeper
truth only revealed in the wandering.[1]
The clearings are all about the
inner monk. It is a balance of
cultivating the monk and the pilgrim. To
hear the invitation from the world to be a source of healing and change, we
need the clearing spaces. In the
clearing of our own lives, we meet our call and see plainly- beyond ego or
self- the ways in which our life can be part of the healing force already
flowing about us if we would stop to see its direction and know its quiet,
nearly invisible force.
May you find time and space to
hear the invitation of the world. She
waits in a beauty beyond brokenness and with an infinite hope as ancient as the
stars.
I’ll see you there,
Rev. Robin
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Spiritually Speaking: The Edge of Covenant
I love a good horror movie, but I must admit to a particular affinity for zombie movies. I am drawn into the subplot about human behavior, the existential questions (what constitutes life?) and the dystopian critiques of our cultural trends. The ridiculous and absurd extreme situations put into question basic beliefs.
Zombie movies are the perfect spiritual magnifying lens. So, you believe human life is only about neural activity? Well, what if the nervous system continued to function in limited form without the personality and unique set of traits that make an individual human being? So you believe interconnectedness is a good thing? Well, what if our highly connected networks facilitate faster viral transmission? So you believe we each have worth and dignity? Well, what would you do for survival at the cost of other human beings?
In the movie World War Z with Brad Pitt, the world is taken over by a zombie plague. In approximately twelve seconds after exposure from a zombie bite, a human undergoes a radical change because of a viral infection. In the film, Brad Pitt is bitten as he dashes to the rooftop of a building where a helicopter awaits to take him and his family to safety. Knowing he could change within the twelve-second window, he runs away from the helicopter where his family waits to the ledge of the building. He stands on the ledge teetering over the edge of a New Jersey apartment building as he counts slowly to twelve. He then looks around and makes a dash for the helicopter. He and his family are flown to safety.
As I watched the film, it took a moment to sink in what Pitt’s character did. He teetered at the edge of a building so that if he changed into a ravenous, murdering zombie he would quickly fall to his death and save his family. Aware of his love for them and without more than the thought of their safety, he went right to the edge to protect them.
I know zombies aren’t real. I know these movies are far-fetched.
But how many times in your life have you teetered on the edge in order to protect the ones you love? How many times have you gone to the place that terrifies you, looked over the abyss as you waited to see what was next? And moreover, have you known the self-less act to do anything to protect the ones you love?
A good many of us do not live in the extremes. Yet, we have lights, moments of clarity, which focus what we value the most.
There are surely limits of love, but I do not know a human I have met with a limit for love. That is, our capacity to hold love, to be love and to transit love seems to me to be infinite. What keeps us back is the analysis. What keeps us from the spaces of zero gravity is not the fear, in my opinion, but the analysis of the fear as immobilizing.
Put another way, as one mentor once advised me, your feelings need not dictate how you act. They are good informants but they are not in charge.
As Pitt teetered on the ledge, he surely felt fear. Yet, in the midst of this fear he slowly counted to twelve.
I used to believe you chose love or fear. I was wrong. I used to believe you were courageous or anxious. I was wrong. We are both. We are all of it. And living in both takes us to the edge and brings us back to what we love most and fight for with all of our beings.
We can count to twelve in the direst circumstances. We can feel it all and hold steady. We can teeter on the edge deeply connected to what we love.
August is a time for many of us to ready a return to routine. From vacation and the chaos of unorganized life, we return to the scheduled. In the transition, I invite you to count to twelve. Remember what and whom you live for. Who calls you back from the ledge? Count to twelve. Are you ready to return?
Count to twelve.
Come back. Come together. Return again.
In faith and love,
Rev. Robin
Zombie movies are the perfect spiritual magnifying lens. So, you believe human life is only about neural activity? Well, what if the nervous system continued to function in limited form without the personality and unique set of traits that make an individual human being? So you believe interconnectedness is a good thing? Well, what if our highly connected networks facilitate faster viral transmission? So you believe we each have worth and dignity? Well, what would you do for survival at the cost of other human beings?
In the movie World War Z with Brad Pitt, the world is taken over by a zombie plague. In approximately twelve seconds after exposure from a zombie bite, a human undergoes a radical change because of a viral infection. In the film, Brad Pitt is bitten as he dashes to the rooftop of a building where a helicopter awaits to take him and his family to safety. Knowing he could change within the twelve-second window, he runs away from the helicopter where his family waits to the ledge of the building. He stands on the ledge teetering over the edge of a New Jersey apartment building as he counts slowly to twelve. He then looks around and makes a dash for the helicopter. He and his family are flown to safety.
As I watched the film, it took a moment to sink in what Pitt’s character did. He teetered at the edge of a building so that if he changed into a ravenous, murdering zombie he would quickly fall to his death and save his family. Aware of his love for them and without more than the thought of their safety, he went right to the edge to protect them.
I know zombies aren’t real. I know these movies are far-fetched.
But how many times in your life have you teetered on the edge in order to protect the ones you love? How many times have you gone to the place that terrifies you, looked over the abyss as you waited to see what was next? And moreover, have you known the self-less act to do anything to protect the ones you love?
A good many of us do not live in the extremes. Yet, we have lights, moments of clarity, which focus what we value the most.
There are surely limits of love, but I do not know a human I have met with a limit for love. That is, our capacity to hold love, to be love and to transit love seems to me to be infinite. What keeps us back is the analysis. What keeps us from the spaces of zero gravity is not the fear, in my opinion, but the analysis of the fear as immobilizing.
Put another way, as one mentor once advised me, your feelings need not dictate how you act. They are good informants but they are not in charge.
As Pitt teetered on the ledge, he surely felt fear. Yet, in the midst of this fear he slowly counted to twelve.
I used to believe you chose love or fear. I was wrong. I used to believe you were courageous or anxious. I was wrong. We are both. We are all of it. And living in both takes us to the edge and brings us back to what we love most and fight for with all of our beings.
We can count to twelve in the direst circumstances. We can feel it all and hold steady. We can teeter on the edge deeply connected to what we love.
August is a time for many of us to ready a return to routine. From vacation and the chaos of unorganized life, we return to the scheduled. In the transition, I invite you to count to twelve. Remember what and whom you live for. Who calls you back from the ledge? Count to twelve. Are you ready to return?
Count to twelve.
Come back. Come together. Return again.
In faith and love,
Rev. Robin
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Spiritually Speaking: Building a New Way?
I’ve just returned from a week in Portland, Oregon. Roughly 5,000 Unitarian Universalists gathered for our annual General Assembly. Some traveled only by foot to arrive and some live-streamed it all from their living room, others boarded planes from the corners of the United States and some Unitarian Universalist leaders traveled from far outside the boarders of the U.S. to be with us. While in Portland, I attended workshops, meetings, and presented on our multi-site ministry. The theme for the conference was “Building a New Way.”
From the Supreme Court’s decision to uphold the new healthcare structure to marriage equality and reproductive rights, it was indeed a new way across the country. Euphoria captured the hearts of many Unitarian Universalists in Portland,. Yet, in the midst of our joy and rainbow flag flying, there were other flags flown as well. As President Obama offered Reverend Pinckney’s eulogy, the Confederate flag flew over the state capitol. Just three days later, Bree Newsome climbed the flagpole in Columbia and removed the flag. It was promptly replaced. Here in Charlotte, a church, Briar Creek Baptist was set ablaze. We do not yet know why it was set on fire, but we know it was intentional and a community is aching from the loss and knowledge that someone harmed them. Here in Salisbury, protestors gathered around the statue of a Confederate soldier with confederate flags and “Don’t Tread on Me” flags.
Are we building a new way? Or are we walking in circles?
Yes, I’ve begun to answer to these questions. Yes.
This past week was euphoric and heartbreaking. Both are true. We can live into the paradox of allowing love to make and break our hearts. This is the paradox of being alive. We do not have to choose between celebrating the victories in the LGBTQ community and the sweet relief of marriage equality and mourning the assault on African Americans and the continued presence of the virus of racism. We can hold joy and pain. In fact, by holding both, we live in the solidarity that is the call of our faith.
We have progressed and we have regressed. Both are true. The spiritual evolution of a people is not linear but punctuated, unpredictable and complex. The new way is still emerging and may yet be impossible for us to fully comprehend. As Louis Amstrong sings in one of my favorites,
As I try to make space for the spirit of justice in my heart, I seek the courage of Rev. Anthony Smith. The courage to respond and humbly ask why and what now is indeed building the new way.
See you in the emerging lands where the winds of justice howl and soothe, wake and warn…
With faith and love and a good deal of hope,
Rev. Robin
From the Supreme Court’s decision to uphold the new healthcare structure to marriage equality and reproductive rights, it was indeed a new way across the country. Euphoria captured the hearts of many Unitarian Universalists in Portland,. Yet, in the midst of our joy and rainbow flag flying, there were other flags flown as well. As President Obama offered Reverend Pinckney’s eulogy, the Confederate flag flew over the state capitol. Just three days later, Bree Newsome climbed the flagpole in Columbia and removed the flag. It was promptly replaced. Here in Charlotte, a church, Briar Creek Baptist was set ablaze. We do not yet know why it was set on fire, but we know it was intentional and a community is aching from the loss and knowledge that someone harmed them. Here in Salisbury, protestors gathered around the statue of a Confederate soldier with confederate flags and “Don’t Tread on Me” flags.
Are we building a new way? Or are we walking in circles?
Yes, I’ve begun to answer to these questions. Yes.
This past week was euphoric and heartbreaking. Both are true. We can live into the paradox of allowing love to make and break our hearts. This is the paradox of being alive. We do not have to choose between celebrating the victories in the LGBTQ community and the sweet relief of marriage equality and mourning the assault on African Americans and the continued presence of the virus of racism. We can hold joy and pain. In fact, by holding both, we live in the solidarity that is the call of our faith.
We have progressed and we have regressed. Both are true. The spiritual evolution of a people is not linear but punctuated, unpredictable and complex. The new way is still emerging and may yet be impossible for us to fully comprehend. As Louis Amstrong sings in one of my favorites,
I’ve heard babies cryin’. I watch them grow. They’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.We do not yet understand the spirit of justice emerging in our midst. This is the nature of faithful organizing and spiritual response: we step out into new territories. We move beyond the old narratives of liberals and conservatives. We move past the shame of the South and identifying it as a diagnosed patient in the disease of racism. Instead, we see that the virus of racism has mutated to infect vast systems across this country. We move beyond the old narratives of polarized public debate and into the nuance of real humans. We step into actual relationship with one another. One of my colleagues, Rev. Anthony Smith, who preached at our congregation, went down to the statue of the Confederate soldier. He engaged the protestors in conversation. He tried to understand why they would wave a symbol that to him is the epitome of the narrative of white superiority.
As I try to make space for the spirit of justice in my heart, I seek the courage of Rev. Anthony Smith. The courage to respond and humbly ask why and what now is indeed building the new way.
See you in the emerging lands where the winds of justice howl and soothe, wake and warn…
With faith and love and a good deal of hope,
Rev. Robin
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Partnering with a CMS Middle School – A new path for Piedmont
Piedmont UU Church will collect personal items in August for use by the students, including shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrushes, mouth wash, deodorant, feminine hygiene products and other similar items. These will be prepared for giving on the fifth Sunday of August for our Service Sunday project.
Members interested in serving as literacy tutors will be recruited to assist students with reading in the second quarter. Principal Richardson states on the school’s website that, “Literacy continues to be the North Star for us as it is in our district. If we can improve reading scores, other scores will naturally improve as well.” This emphasis on literacy is system wide, led by Superintendent Ann Blakeney Clark. Members interested in helping with this will receive an orientation and visit the school to work with two to three students on a weekly basis.
We hope you can join us and give your feedback on our project proposal on either July 26th at 11:15 am or August 20th from 6:00-6:30 pm. More information will be forthcoming. Questions? Please contact Jolena and Amanda at jolena_james_szanton@mac.com and amandacharle@aol.com, respectively.
Spiritually Speaking: Pure Soul
In the 1820s a new religious movement arose in the United States. This new movement was, in part, a reaction to the emphasis of rationalism within Unitarianism (then a stronghold in the Northeastern U.S.) as well as the hierarchy of intellectualism in Boston. The names of this movement we read in history books or have heard on Sundays: Thoreau, Fuller, Emerson, and Longfellow.
The movement became known as transcendentalism, albeit a strange name for a philosophy, which emphasized the immanence of truth, goodness and divinity. Transcendentalists were, however, trying to transcend the things they believed had corrupted the inherent goodness of the souls: systems, societal expectations, and power structures. If one could transcend these, they believed that a pure soul would be capable of creating real community with other pure souls. This led some Transcendentalists to create Utopian communities. Thoreau wrote civil disobedience, a guidebook to attempting to break down corrupting systems. And Emerson left the system and structure of the church to preach to the congregation universal about a soul awakening.
While it is unlikely any one of us will ever be fully free from the created world and the structures of that world, it is true that the Transcendentalists gifted us insights we still claim as Unitarian Universalists.
Many UUs affirm the idea that there is an “Over-soul,” something that resides in each of us and connects us. Even more would lift up the Transcendentalist view that people are born good with great potential within them. We also still hold that wisdom and truth reside within us; that we may use our minds above and beyond external documents or structures to discern truth. Finally, we value time and space to take leave from the structures and schedule of the created world to be in touch with the wisdom within.
The Transcendentalists remind us of the importance to quiet ourselves and listen to the still small voice within. They remind us to explore the caverns of our heart and mind, to mine for the wisdom kept within us. Like untapped resources, we can find ourselves burning out, never tending to the light within.
This is why we’ve brought back our weekly meditation time on Tuesdays. Each week on Tuesday from 6:30-7:30 we open the doors of our sanctuary for a time of meditation. We sit, stand, or lay down quietly before the windows overlooking the trees. This time of year a flood of green fills the eyes and the soft sound of the birds settling down for the night is a fitting chorus. Just this past week, I sat in our sanctuary. The peace was palpable. I saw a bird dart before the windows and the flame of a single candle flicker as the rains fell on the roof.
What do we discover in these meditative times?
As Wendell Berry writes in The Peace of Wild Things, “I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”
In a brief twenty minutes I remembered who I was.
As the refulgence of summer brims before us across North Carolina, I wish you the peace of wild things. As schools release and children run into the unfettered days of no schedule or structure, in the chaos I hope you will hear the wisdom of our Transcendentalist ancestors calling.
May you find a place of peace friends, until we meet again.
With a faith in one another and the future before us,
Rev. Robin
The movement became known as transcendentalism, albeit a strange name for a philosophy, which emphasized the immanence of truth, goodness and divinity. Transcendentalists were, however, trying to transcend the things they believed had corrupted the inherent goodness of the souls: systems, societal expectations, and power structures. If one could transcend these, they believed that a pure soul would be capable of creating real community with other pure souls. This led some Transcendentalists to create Utopian communities. Thoreau wrote civil disobedience, a guidebook to attempting to break down corrupting systems. And Emerson left the system and structure of the church to preach to the congregation universal about a soul awakening.
While it is unlikely any one of us will ever be fully free from the created world and the structures of that world, it is true that the Transcendentalists gifted us insights we still claim as Unitarian Universalists.
Many UUs affirm the idea that there is an “Over-soul,” something that resides in each of us and connects us. Even more would lift up the Transcendentalist view that people are born good with great potential within them. We also still hold that wisdom and truth reside within us; that we may use our minds above and beyond external documents or structures to discern truth. Finally, we value time and space to take leave from the structures and schedule of the created world to be in touch with the wisdom within.
The Transcendentalists remind us of the importance to quiet ourselves and listen to the still small voice within. They remind us to explore the caverns of our heart and mind, to mine for the wisdom kept within us. Like untapped resources, we can find ourselves burning out, never tending to the light within.
This is why we’ve brought back our weekly meditation time on Tuesdays. Each week on Tuesday from 6:30-7:30 we open the doors of our sanctuary for a time of meditation. We sit, stand, or lay down quietly before the windows overlooking the trees. This time of year a flood of green fills the eyes and the soft sound of the birds settling down for the night is a fitting chorus. Just this past week, I sat in our sanctuary. The peace was palpable. I saw a bird dart before the windows and the flame of a single candle flicker as the rains fell on the roof.
What do we discover in these meditative times?
As Wendell Berry writes in The Peace of Wild Things, “I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”
In a brief twenty minutes I remembered who I was.
As the refulgence of summer brims before us across North Carolina, I wish you the peace of wild things. As schools release and children run into the unfettered days of no schedule or structure, in the chaos I hope you will hear the wisdom of our Transcendentalist ancestors calling.
May you find a place of peace friends, until we meet again.
With a faith in one another and the future before us,
Rev. Robin
Monday, May 4, 2015
Spiritually Speaking: Two Words That Really Bother Me
It can be dangerous to share with a large number of people something that irritates you. I never had siblings, but even in my house I knew caution around sharing pet peeves. Yet, we are a trusting, compassionate community. So, here goes.
“Have faith.”
I do not have enough hands to count the number of times that I have heard this short phrase. In hospital rooms, family gatherings, at the grocery store or even at the nail salon you can hear someone share “just have faith.”
As a chaplain, I would often hear it said from the lips of someone who was very anxious about being present to another person in pain. In a way, albeit unintentional, “have faith” is a way to distance from the pain of another human being. By offering advice or trying to fix the situation, you move farther from the despair or the suffering. Again, it’s usually not at all intentional.
And, if I am honest, at different times in my life I surely have offered versions of “have faith.” Is it not those things that irritate us most which are a reflection of some part of ourselves?
It is difficult to sit with someone in the spaces of despair when the world falls apart. Far from a question of atheism or theism, the spaces where one loses faith aren’t really about the crumpling of belief. I think more often the spaces when faith is lost or destroyed are about the radical change of the elemental bonds between one being and another. It is about the shifting of something beyond belief. It is the shifting of the world, as you knew it.
This is real.
You do not have to believe in a god to go through a shift in your faith.
It can be a personal event, or even a series of local, national events that begin to call within you this bubbling doubt.
In our faith, we believe the doubts are holy spaces too. In our trust of the world, in our faith, we try to open ourselves to the experience of doubt. We hold doubt to be a process that enables creative, cataclysmic and transformative energies to emerge. If you never doubt, then do you have anything but a theoretical faith?
So come this month, and consider a faith beyond belief. Consider a lived faith that articulates the connective bonds of our lives, and is constantly in change, doubt, transformation through the connective bonds with all life.
In faith and doubt,
Rev. Robin
“Have faith.”
I do not have enough hands to count the number of times that I have heard this short phrase. In hospital rooms, family gatherings, at the grocery store or even at the nail salon you can hear someone share “just have faith.”
As a chaplain, I would often hear it said from the lips of someone who was very anxious about being present to another person in pain. In a way, albeit unintentional, “have faith” is a way to distance from the pain of another human being. By offering advice or trying to fix the situation, you move farther from the despair or the suffering. Again, it’s usually not at all intentional.
And, if I am honest, at different times in my life I surely have offered versions of “have faith.” Is it not those things that irritate us most which are a reflection of some part of ourselves?
It is difficult to sit with someone in the spaces of despair when the world falls apart. Far from a question of atheism or theism, the spaces where one loses faith aren’t really about the crumpling of belief. I think more often the spaces when faith is lost or destroyed are about the radical change of the elemental bonds between one being and another. It is about the shifting of something beyond belief. It is the shifting of the world, as you knew it.
This is real.
You do not have to believe in a god to go through a shift in your faith.
It can be a personal event, or even a series of local, national events that begin to call within you this bubbling doubt.
In our faith, we believe the doubts are holy spaces too. In our trust of the world, in our faith, we try to open ourselves to the experience of doubt. We hold doubt to be a process that enables creative, cataclysmic and transformative energies to emerge. If you never doubt, then do you have anything but a theoretical faith?
So come this month, and consider a faith beyond belief. Consider a lived faith that articulates the connective bonds of our lives, and is constantly in change, doubt, transformation through the connective bonds with all life.
In faith and doubt,
Rev. Robin
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