Tag Archives: Community

Reflections on a wedding and pain

Here’s a little something from a wedding I attended in August of ’06. The mystery is indeed mystery and such joyful experiences contain much paradox when we pay attention.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Brian told me at the reception that “weddings are emotional times.” I think he said this in passing without really understanding the depth of the emotion that was existent in the lives of those involved. There was more to it than a situational display of feeling.

As I looked across at that the faces of his family while Chris proposed a toast to his missing brother of two years, I saw it well up and overflow. Pain. Pain that is always there, not simply there because of the wedding. I saw a wince, a cringing. I saw a bowed head, a covered face. A quivering lip accompanying eyes filled with tears. I, myself, recoiled with a painful gasp for air as I knew, and felt, what feelings emerge from such memories.

Weddings are to be joyful times, I thought. Indeed, to celebrate the end of years of struggling through singleness of my brother, Chris, was more joyful and exciting than anything we had celebrated as yet. Everyone was happy for him, especially his family and those of us closest to him. But I am realizing that to truly experience the joy, one must also understand and feel the pain. The tension caused by the mutual existence of the two gives life to the real and true intensity of the feelings. In the midst of this joy, there was such great pain. And I felt it deeply… raw and burning. Never, never will I make light of it or deny its existence.

For every new life and new growth comes a dying and death of the old. The transition of a close friend into the world of marriage leaves me knowing that things cannot be the same. Chris’ role in my life is significantly altered. The very real distance and pain of Scott processing the change alone, not knowing the pain I feel in his withdrawal. The wounds uncovered as my need for his friendship is denied.. The knowledge of change and transition of my life into a future that is beyond what I can possibly envision. Where am I going to live? What kind of job am I going to have? How is this man, being himself a steady and self-aware man, going to bring his being to a completely new and different environment? How long do I wait?

The questions go on as the days pass… every new morning is a gift, taken with joy, as I experience it new. The joy with the pain, and the death with the life. It is the way of things and I feel these tensions. I feel them so deep… they are in my breathing, in my getting up and lying down, in my working and in my rest.

My heart and calling to spiritual direction

Spiritual direction has a bit of a negative connotation in our independent and “don’t-step-on-my-toes-or-tell-me-what-to-do” culture. It has, however, been an accepted and necessary component to the spiritual journey within every historical faith and spiritual tradition for thousands of years. How is it that now, we think we do not need it?

From the moment I head-first dove into my spiritual pursuit of connection with God, I have felt a deep, deep calling to support my community on their own spiritual journeys. For me, this looks very much like spiritual direction. As I am finally engaged in my formal education of this very important offering, I welcome insight, but also those who would engage me in this process. You can go to the page on Spiritual Companioning for more information on what I am offering.  I very much encourage you to read what I have written there.

At the heart of my passion is the need for those who will ask us the right questions. MaryKate Morse writes in Presence journal:

[Spiritual direction] is an art because listening to a person speak while also seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit requires a creative attentiveness to the process. Spiritual directors impose no expectations on time with our spiritual directees beyond believing that God is present and loves. The questions themselves are spiritual because we are not doing therapy or disciplining individuals toward a church’s or faith’s particular understanding of the spiritual life. We are not trying to teach doctrine or resolve a crisis. We ask questions to discover where God is moving in someone’s life.

This art of asking the right questions is one I have been interested in and focusing on for many years now. There is a need for focusing on it and at the same time, letting go. I will reflect more on this in the next post.

The Celtic Hearth – epicenter of community and spirituality

The hearth is the heart of the Celtic home. There is a very old tradition of burning turf, or dried earth, for warmth and cooking in the hearth. The hearth also serves as a gathering place for community, family, and friends, a fact that may hint at a link between two Gaelic words: teallach (“hearth”) and teallagh (“family”).

The hearth is a place where stories are told. It is a place where the family traditionally gathers befre the start of a day and at the day’s conclusion. From the sound of the fiddle to the giggles of children listening to old family stories, from the hot water of a boiling teakettle splattering on stones to a fresh loaf of bannock bread beng pulled fro the fire: the hearth is a hub of activity in the Celtic world, ancient and modern.

In the Celtic tradition the hearth is the heart of the family, both biological and spiritual. Traditionally, the hearth is a site where the Celtic family gathers for both physical nourishment (for cooking and eating) and for spiritual nourishment (in the form of story telling, spiritual teaching, prayer, and healing). It is widely understood in the Celtic world that the hearth is a sacred place. It is a practical, yet spiritual, epicenter of Celtic culture. In essence, with the nourishment of the soul through spiritual practice at the hearth, we see very clearly John Scotus Eriugena‘s notion of the spiritual cosmos of the human being in the Celtic hearth tradition. Heaven and earth are enjoined in this single place within the home. Nourishment of the body and nourishment of the soul become interconnected; a spiritual cosmos is born and sustained.

- Frank MacEowen, The Mist-Filled Path: Celtic Wisdom for Exiles, Wanderers, and Seekers

Not much organizing for the organizers

There is very rarely anyone to organize for the organizers. If you are one who facilitates community or feels called to it, you may already know this to be true. I’ve had a few conversations with some wonderful men over the last few days that have made this very clear in my mind.

You see, in an ideal community, led by elders and leaders who have earned their leadership and authority by virtue of their years and their life experience and giving, ceremony and ritual would flow naturally. For a man in my place, a soon to be first-time father, the community of men would naturally be planning an initiation into fatherhood… a blessing rite… or something of the sort. But in this time, if I (or anyone else) want to encourage the ideal, I am the one who has to do the organizing or subtle (or not so subtle) hint, hint, hinting. I’m sure there are others who can share this sentiment. No hard feelings… it just is what it is right now.

We have a long way to go… as a community and society. I am realizing that peer pressure, in a positive way, can be very beneficial and very transformational. In a village society, where we are having rites of passage, ritual, and are led by true elders, the community-push for men to participate fully is natural. But in our current context, men want to do their own thing and worry about their own direct families. We don’t want t o take off work, drive to a remote site, be asked to show up fully, fast, and then sit in the wilderness alone for 24+ hours. What man is going to step out of his comfort zone to do this? Not many. Because it is hard work. So there is a huge chasm between the place and time when peer pressure can be a positive thing and now when a man can just say, “What?!? Are you crazy? I’m staying home.”

To tell or not to tell…

A mystic returned to his community after months of being in the desert in contemplation.

“Tell us about your encounters with the Divine,” they said. “Tell us what God is like.”


The mystic hesitated to tell them anything. How could he put such experiences of the heart and soul into words? He knew they wanted a formula… something that he could not accurately give them. But he gave them a hint, however… a few words, in the hope that they would be inspired to seek for themselves.

But, the people made sacred texts out of his words. They built shrines, temples, churches to celebrate his experience. They created programs where they could tell others about his words. They spread his message far and wide.

And none of them had the experience themselves.

All the while, the mystic wished he had told them nothing at all.