Book Excerpt: Life Of The Beloved by Henri J.M. Nouwen
"The unfathomable mystery of God is that God is a Lover who wants to be loved. The one who created us is waiting for our response to the love that gave us our being. God not only says: "You are my Beloved." God also asks: "Do you love me?" and offers us countless chances to say "Yes." That is the spiritual life: the chance to say "Yes" to our inner truth. The spiritual life, thus understood, radically changes everything. Being born and growing up, leaving home and finding a career, being praised and being rejected, walking and resting, praying and playing, becoming ill and being healed - yes, living and dying - they all become expressions of that divine question: "Do you love me?" And at every point of the journey there is the choice to say "Yes" and the choice to say "No."
Once you are able to catch a glimpse of this spiritual vision, you can see how the many distinctions that are so central to our daily living lose their meaning. When joy and pain are both opportunities to say "Yes" to our divine childhood, then they are more alike than they are different. When the experience of being awarded a prize and the experience of being found lacking in excellence both offer us a chance to claim our true identity as the "Beloved" of God, these experiences are more similar than they are different. When feeling lonely and feeling at home both hold a call to discover more fully who the God is whose children we are, these feelings are more united than they are distinct. When, finally, both living and dying bring us closer to the full realization of our spiritual selfhood, they are not the great opposites the world would have us believe; they are, instead, two sides of the same mystery of God's love. Living the spiritual life means living life as one unified reality. The forces of darkness are the forces that split, divide and set in opposition. The forces of light unite. Literally, the word 'diabolic' means dividing. The demon divides; the Spirit unites."
_
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I Want To Tell You That You Are Loved.
I want to tell you that you are loved. These words came to mind tonight and I wanted to share this with you. But even as I open my mouth to say them, it immediately comes to mind that no matter how many times someone may tell you this, they will continually ring hollow until you hear them being spoken inside of you in your own voice. At the very least, though, I hope these words will encourage you or bring a smile to your face on a rainy winters day.
There is nothing that you have to do in order to be more lovely or lovable.
There is no shame too great that cannot be gently stripped away by the comforting hands of love.
Love will go to any length or depth necessary to meet your pain, sit with it, and heal it.
There are many reasons why you may have trouble believing that you are loved. Perhaps you grew up believing that boundless love was available to you, but maybe there were "ifs" and stipulations attached. Maybe you tried to fit into someone else's idea of what you must do to be loved, but after trying and trying you simply found that you do not fit into that plan.
But there is indeed nothing that can separate us from Love, because we are Love.
I want to tell you that you are Love. I believe that each of us are made of it. Love is as much a part of us, and even more I believe, than oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, etc. We are inseparable from Love.
I believe that each us is a unique, wonderful expression of Love born into this world, and part of our purpose, if not most of it, is to learn and to grow and for Love to come to know itself more fully through relationship with those in our lives as well as ourselves.
Love weaves through and transcends religion, belief, colour and gender. It is ever-expanding.
The journey of realizing Love need not be about running around to and fro, frantically searching for it. It can begin in the silence, in that space where you stop and give Love's voice space to be heard. It is your voice.
There is nothing that you have to do in order to be more lovely or lovable.
There is no shame too great that cannot be gently stripped away by the comforting hands of love.
Love will go to any length or depth necessary to meet your pain, sit with it, and heal it.
There are many reasons why you may have trouble believing that you are loved. Perhaps you grew up believing that boundless love was available to you, but maybe there were "ifs" and stipulations attached. Maybe you tried to fit into someone else's idea of what you must do to be loved, but after trying and trying you simply found that you do not fit into that plan.
But there is indeed nothing that can separate us from Love, because we are Love.
I want to tell you that you are Love. I believe that each of us are made of it. Love is as much a part of us, and even more I believe, than oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, etc. We are inseparable from Love.
I believe that each us is a unique, wonderful expression of Love born into this world, and part of our purpose, if not most of it, is to learn and to grow and for Love to come to know itself more fully through relationship with those in our lives as well as ourselves.
Love weaves through and transcends religion, belief, colour and gender. It is ever-expanding.
The journey of realizing Love need not be about running around to and fro, frantically searching for it. It can begin in the silence, in that space where you stop and give Love's voice space to be heard. It is your voice.
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Un-Naming
Too fat. too skinny.
Too short, too tall.
Overly mouthy, too quiet.
Flashy, plain.
Fake, too real.
Electrician, Teacher, Convenience Store clerk, Banker, Waiter, Bus Driver, Unemployed.
Liberal, Conservative, Republican, Democrat.
Over-achiever, lazy.
Proud, too meek.
Good. Bad. Right. Wrong.
Pagan, Jew, Hindu, Atheist, Christian, Muslim.
Which are the names, which are the labels that you have worn for years? The names and labels that you put on in the morning as naturally as you put on your clothes. Perhaps some of these can be helpful and they enrich your life. But maybe they weigh down your body, mind and spirit, and you learn to live with them day after day, week after week, because it has been this way for such a long time. Perhaps longer than you can remember.
These multitude of names and labels may have been given to you by someone or during some situation, and they've stuck. You may several of them.
Perhaps you have given them to yourself.
In either case, could it be time for the Un-Naming? Could it be time to begin the process of stripping off the layers that have been caked onto you for far too long?
What if finding peace is not about acquiring more, but stripping away those things that we no longer need, the very things that are suffocating us.
This requires a slow, but steady and persistent trust. Not a trust that one day you'll find the label that fits you or describes you perfectly. It is a trust that, when you strip off absolutely all the names, all of the labels, underneath it all is a wonderful soul unlike any other on earth. Perhaps here lies a great deal of the essence of faith.
You don't have to wear the names anymore. You can learn that you no longer need the labels.
You are simply you. And you are are simply wonderful.
Too short, too tall.
Overly mouthy, too quiet.
Flashy, plain.
Fake, too real.
Electrician, Teacher, Convenience Store clerk, Banker, Waiter, Bus Driver, Unemployed.
Liberal, Conservative, Republican, Democrat.
Over-achiever, lazy.
Proud, too meek.
Good. Bad. Right. Wrong.
Pagan, Jew, Hindu, Atheist, Christian, Muslim.
Which are the names, which are the labels that you have worn for years? The names and labels that you put on in the morning as naturally as you put on your clothes. Perhaps some of these can be helpful and they enrich your life. But maybe they weigh down your body, mind and spirit, and you learn to live with them day after day, week after week, because it has been this way for such a long time. Perhaps longer than you can remember.
These multitude of names and labels may have been given to you by someone or during some situation, and they've stuck. You may several of them.
Perhaps you have given them to yourself.
In either case, could it be time for the Un-Naming? Could it be time to begin the process of stripping off the layers that have been caked onto you for far too long?
What if finding peace is not about acquiring more, but stripping away those things that we no longer need, the very things that are suffocating us.
This requires a slow, but steady and persistent trust. Not a trust that one day you'll find the label that fits you or describes you perfectly. It is a trust that, when you strip off absolutely all the names, all of the labels, underneath it all is a wonderful soul unlike any other on earth. Perhaps here lies a great deal of the essence of faith.
You don't have to wear the names anymore. You can learn that you no longer need the labels.
You are simply you. And you are are simply wonderful.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Stained Glass And Powdered Cream
Upon waking up yesterday morning I decided that I would take the short walk uptown to a United church rather than taking the bus to First Unitarian, where I normally attend. The wonderful thing about living close to Uptown Waterloo is that I can stumble out of bed, shower quickly and be there in ten minutes or so. This time, however, I cut it a little close, and made it uptown just in time to scarf down a breakfast bagel and coffee in a record time of five minutes before making my way down the street to the church.
I had attended this church on one other occasion about three years ago, and I’ve also had the opportunity to enjoy several conversations with the minister over a cup of coffee.
My earlier view of the United Church, while still in my childhood and teenage years, was quite a negative one. As an evangelical, I quickly labeled the United – as well as Anglican – churches in town as “the dead churches;” similarly I thought of people who attended these churches as “dead Christians,” that is if they were even Christians at all. They were only a small step above those who attended the Roman Catholic church.
Obviously my ignorant practice of labeling this denomination is a thing of the distant past.
Upon arriving at the building, which is approximately seventy years old, the first thing that I noticed was a sign taped to the front door announcing “This is a nut-free zone.” There are too many jokes there, so I’ll leave them be, at least for now. But still I wonder, is this really necessary? Is the first thing that you want newcomers to see upon visiting your church a note about the church’s stance on peanuts in the building? I might very well feel differently if I had a child with such an allergy, but can you not put the signs on the cookie table in the auditorium instead? I know of no such people in society who have a penchant for dousing their hands in a vat of peanut oil before going to church, so the hand-shaking that inevitably takes place seems relatively safe (save for the too-tight grip of some usher who has had too much morning coffee.)
Even if such a group existed, this wouldn’t have been a worry at this church, as immediately upon entering the building there was a big bottle of Purell, even before you reached the coat rack. As if it weren’t obvious enough, there was a big piece of paper beside the bottle with the words “This is hand-sanitizer” on it. Phew! For a moment there I thought it was breath-freshener! Oh well, I guess I can handle the presence of a simple bottle of the stuff. At least I wasn’t in an Anglican church, where as of two Sundays ago priests are admonishing their parishioners to rub their neighbours arms and hands down with it during the passing of the peace.
But let us not only poke fun at the Uniteds and the Anglicans. At my church, for instance, it has been standard for months now that the service leader makes the following announcement:
“At the end of the service, we will hold hands. However, in consideration of concerns over H1N1, should you prefer to refrain from doing this, simply cross your arms (as if making an ‘X’ – I kid you not) or place your hands on the pew in front of you.”
Even the thought of this almost makes me barrel over in laughter. Should I ever have the opportunity to be a service leader, I will say the following to those assembled:
“Should you prefer to refrain from holding hands, simply turn to your neighbour and insult their personal hygiene or attire.”
Anyways, I digress.
Upon hanging my coat up (without sanitizing my extremities by the way – I live on the edge,) I heard the congregation singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.” I was afraid that I had arrived late for the service, but apparently carol-singing is a normal practice before the service begins at this congregation. Upon being welcomed and handed a bulletin, I took my seat in pew #48, not too close to the front, but not at the back either. When the last strains of “O come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord” were over, some random congregant shouted out a hymn number. I liked this, it brought a down-home, friendly feeling with it, and it reminded me of similarly structured hymn-sings when I was a kid. After “’Twas in the Moon of Wintertime” and “Infant Holy, Infant Lowly,” the service began.
It was nice to see the minister again. I was glad that it wasn’t one of those Sundays when you have a special speaker, who may or may not make you wish you had stayed home and built a fort out of your blankies. From the very beginning of the service, the sun was shining brightly through one of the stained-glass windows, directly into the ministers’ eyes. Conscious of how he appeared as he raised his one arm in an attempt to shield himself from the sun, he remarked “I feel like I’m taking part in a charismatic service!” That generated a hearty laugh from most in the congregation, including myself.
Continuing, I was impressed early on by the church’s emphasis on helping those in the community who were in need. There was an announcement concerning the need for donations of clothing for a men’s shelter, etc. Also, it turns out it was “White Gift Sunday.” When it came time for the children’s story, all the kids ran out among the pews and grabbed gifts that people had purposely brought for the occasion. Each of these gifts were wrapped in simple white paper or white plastic bags (those who used the bags were called out and spanked at the end of the service for being harmful to the environment.) Anyways, the idea of this, it was explained, was that the uniformity in décor ensured that no one gift would be seen as more or less important than the other. These gifts were donations for people in need, and there were a lot of gifts given. It was impressive.
Something else that I liked and which contributed to the friendly feeling was the “Good News” portion of the service, held immediately after the announcements. It simply consisted of the pastor asking the congregation if anyone had any good news to share. Spontaneous responses followed, mostly of birthday notices.
All of this led to a pleasant feeling for me at the beginning of the service. And I absolutely loved the sanctuary, with its aforementioned stained glass windows and old balcony.
After the general announcements, the gift giving, and the acknowledgement of Uncle Henry’s upcoming 75th birthday, the more formal part of the service started. A member of the congregation had the task of reading the first six verses of The Gospel of Luke, chapter three, which contains not one, but several almost impossible names to pronounce. Ituraea, Lysanias, Trachonitis. You could almost see the minister, who was seated directly behind him, smirking, as if he was indulging in a guilty pleasure having made this guy read this particular passage. But he passed with flying colours. This award-deserving feat (perhaps an extra pump of Purell?) was followed by a hymn, “There’s A Voice In The Wilderness.” The warm atmosphere was quickly being replaced with language and doctrine that, while still being familiar to my head, is increasingly foreign to my heart.
It was now time for the sermon, entitled “Edging God Out.” The minister, a genuinely warm, enthusiastic man, proceeded to leave the platform and he stood directly in front of the first pew, on the same level as the congregation. I understand this positioning, used by scores of ministers, but honestly sometimes it feels a little forced; “I’m going to show you, the congregation, that I’m on the same level as you by leaving the pulpit!” It can all seem a little too motivational speaker-ish sometimes, but in this case it was alright, if barely.
The minister proceeded to take the battery of his wireless microphone out of his pocket and fiddle around with it until he was assured it was in fact “on.” Now, this can be awkward at the best of times. I have been witness to countless ministers and other speakers fiddling around with wireless mics. This time seemed a little more odd, however, since he was dressed in a traditional white ministers vestment and “stole” (which for any heathen out there is a sort of glorified scarf that can be worn all year-round.) The juxtaposition of modern technology with traditional ecclesiastical garb had an awkwardness to it like the times when you watched your Grandpa trying to operate a VCR. I must say, though, that these microphones, the kind that one attaches to their lapel, are better than the headset variety, which leave many a parishioner wondering when they’ll be informed of Brett Favre’s latest touchdown pass.
The sermon was quite short, perhaps fifteen minutes in length. The main point of the address was that we shouldn’t edge God out of our lives, and that we may have to rid ourselves of some things (which were left unnamed, but perhaps referred to double chocolatey fudge cookies or pornography – a delightful combo by the way) in order to make room for God. Also, he said, we need to make room for compassion and the church community. Fifteen minutes and done. Back to the platform for a moment.
And then it was communion time. Now, I had noticed the communion plates on the table at the front of the sanctuary when I walked in. If I recall correctly, the last time I visited a Christian church it was a communion Sunday as well. As the service began I briefly considered taking part in the ceremony, but I just couldn’t do it. It was one thing to sing the hymns, take in the atmosphere and feel a sense of warm familiarity, but I could not take part in communion.
The minister and a member of the congregation led everyone (well, almost everyone) in a lengthy responsive reading, which included passages such as:
“We thank you, God, that you are mighty, that you create everything, this earth and the universe of which it is part, that you make us like yourself and for yourself; that you care for all that you make. O God how great you are.”
Now, this could be taken in a positive way if one connects with this way of belief and if they view God in this way. But I offer that too often, words of worship sound a little like they are directed toward a deity with an inferiority complex, someone who needs to be patted on the back again and again. It’s all a little too much for me.
This was followed by:
“We thank you, God, that you gave yourself, you gave Jesus your Son (read: now’s the time to turn your mind into a pretzel in order to try and figure out this theology, especially if you’re a newcomer) a person like us but unlike us faithful to you (read: “I’m a bad boy, please re-enforce that”), one who died as we die but unlike us accepted death though it meant to be broken on a cross.”
And a little later on:
“We declare our faith that he is alive and master of all; we witness to the hope that he will come again (newcomer: “I’m officially lost, when will this be over already!)”
I let the communion bread and the juice pass by.
The post-communion prayer was more impressive. It included the words: “Grant that we may become mature Christians, that ours may be faith which issues in action.”
This was followed by a closing hymn, and a benediction by the minister, at which point he raised two fingers in the air. I was gearing up for a Vulcan parting ritual, but no such luck.
Immediately after the service I was approached by a guy we’ll call Dave, since that was his name. His first words to me were “You look like someone who knows his way around church.” Now, that could have been the worst pick-up line ever, but there was no wink and he didn’t refer to me as “big guy,” so I don’t think that was his intention. But apparently something about me just oozes “guy who goes to church” and we proceeded to chat for a while. On our way to the gymnasium for coffee time he twice referred to me as Mark Anthony, instead of Mark Andrew. I politely corrected him, but next time may bring Jennifer Lopez with me to further confuse him.
I was kind of annoyed that by the time I grabbed my ceramic mug and reached the coffee-maker, the coffee was almost gone. Thankfully, one of the workers was nice enough to tip it over so that I could have some. However, that nice feeling was soon overshadowed by the presence of that dreaded substance, Coffee-Mate. What is it with churches and Coffee-Mate anyways? Churches and funeral homes (and at funeral homes can you really be sure that it’s powdered cream that you’re putting into your coffee?) Terrible stuff. My church as celebrated its share of big events in the last couple of years, namely the move to a new, bigger building, as well as the hiring of our fantastic new minister. However, the addition of half-and-half has got to be a close third.
Anyways, I had a cup and proceeded to have a good chat with the minister and then his wife. Dave approached me again and laid hands on me. Just kidding, turns out he has a wife and three kids.
All in all, I’m glad that I attended on Sunday. It’s just unfortunate that the warm atmosphere was cooled by the language and theology, both of which I suspect is even more distancing to a newcomer who is unfamiliar with Christianity, than it is to me.
I had attended this church on one other occasion about three years ago, and I’ve also had the opportunity to enjoy several conversations with the minister over a cup of coffee.
My earlier view of the United Church, while still in my childhood and teenage years, was quite a negative one. As an evangelical, I quickly labeled the United – as well as Anglican – churches in town as “the dead churches;” similarly I thought of people who attended these churches as “dead Christians,” that is if they were even Christians at all. They were only a small step above those who attended the Roman Catholic church.
Obviously my ignorant practice of labeling this denomination is a thing of the distant past.
Upon arriving at the building, which is approximately seventy years old, the first thing that I noticed was a sign taped to the front door announcing “This is a nut-free zone.” There are too many jokes there, so I’ll leave them be, at least for now. But still I wonder, is this really necessary? Is the first thing that you want newcomers to see upon visiting your church a note about the church’s stance on peanuts in the building? I might very well feel differently if I had a child with such an allergy, but can you not put the signs on the cookie table in the auditorium instead? I know of no such people in society who have a penchant for dousing their hands in a vat of peanut oil before going to church, so the hand-shaking that inevitably takes place seems relatively safe (save for the too-tight grip of some usher who has had too much morning coffee.)
Even if such a group existed, this wouldn’t have been a worry at this church, as immediately upon entering the building there was a big bottle of Purell, even before you reached the coat rack. As if it weren’t obvious enough, there was a big piece of paper beside the bottle with the words “This is hand-sanitizer” on it. Phew! For a moment there I thought it was breath-freshener! Oh well, I guess I can handle the presence of a simple bottle of the stuff. At least I wasn’t in an Anglican church, where as of two Sundays ago priests are admonishing their parishioners to rub their neighbours arms and hands down with it during the passing of the peace.
But let us not only poke fun at the Uniteds and the Anglicans. At my church, for instance, it has been standard for months now that the service leader makes the following announcement:
“At the end of the service, we will hold hands. However, in consideration of concerns over H1N1, should you prefer to refrain from doing this, simply cross your arms (as if making an ‘X’ – I kid you not) or place your hands on the pew in front of you.”
Even the thought of this almost makes me barrel over in laughter. Should I ever have the opportunity to be a service leader, I will say the following to those assembled:
“Should you prefer to refrain from holding hands, simply turn to your neighbour and insult their personal hygiene or attire.”
Anyways, I digress.
Upon hanging my coat up (without sanitizing my extremities by the way – I live on the edge,) I heard the congregation singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.” I was afraid that I had arrived late for the service, but apparently carol-singing is a normal practice before the service begins at this congregation. Upon being welcomed and handed a bulletin, I took my seat in pew #48, not too close to the front, but not at the back either. When the last strains of “O come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord” were over, some random congregant shouted out a hymn number. I liked this, it brought a down-home, friendly feeling with it, and it reminded me of similarly structured hymn-sings when I was a kid. After “’Twas in the Moon of Wintertime” and “Infant Holy, Infant Lowly,” the service began.
It was nice to see the minister again. I was glad that it wasn’t one of those Sundays when you have a special speaker, who may or may not make you wish you had stayed home and built a fort out of your blankies. From the very beginning of the service, the sun was shining brightly through one of the stained-glass windows, directly into the ministers’ eyes. Conscious of how he appeared as he raised his one arm in an attempt to shield himself from the sun, he remarked “I feel like I’m taking part in a charismatic service!” That generated a hearty laugh from most in the congregation, including myself.
Continuing, I was impressed early on by the church’s emphasis on helping those in the community who were in need. There was an announcement concerning the need for donations of clothing for a men’s shelter, etc. Also, it turns out it was “White Gift Sunday.” When it came time for the children’s story, all the kids ran out among the pews and grabbed gifts that people had purposely brought for the occasion. Each of these gifts were wrapped in simple white paper or white plastic bags (those who used the bags were called out and spanked at the end of the service for being harmful to the environment.) Anyways, the idea of this, it was explained, was that the uniformity in décor ensured that no one gift would be seen as more or less important than the other. These gifts were donations for people in need, and there were a lot of gifts given. It was impressive.
Something else that I liked and which contributed to the friendly feeling was the “Good News” portion of the service, held immediately after the announcements. It simply consisted of the pastor asking the congregation if anyone had any good news to share. Spontaneous responses followed, mostly of birthday notices.
All of this led to a pleasant feeling for me at the beginning of the service. And I absolutely loved the sanctuary, with its aforementioned stained glass windows and old balcony.
After the general announcements, the gift giving, and the acknowledgement of Uncle Henry’s upcoming 75th birthday, the more formal part of the service started. A member of the congregation had the task of reading the first six verses of The Gospel of Luke, chapter three, which contains not one, but several almost impossible names to pronounce. Ituraea, Lysanias, Trachonitis. You could almost see the minister, who was seated directly behind him, smirking, as if he was indulging in a guilty pleasure having made this guy read this particular passage. But he passed with flying colours. This award-deserving feat (perhaps an extra pump of Purell?) was followed by a hymn, “There’s A Voice In The Wilderness.” The warm atmosphere was quickly being replaced with language and doctrine that, while still being familiar to my head, is increasingly foreign to my heart.
It was now time for the sermon, entitled “Edging God Out.” The minister, a genuinely warm, enthusiastic man, proceeded to leave the platform and he stood directly in front of the first pew, on the same level as the congregation. I understand this positioning, used by scores of ministers, but honestly sometimes it feels a little forced; “I’m going to show you, the congregation, that I’m on the same level as you by leaving the pulpit!” It can all seem a little too motivational speaker-ish sometimes, but in this case it was alright, if barely.
The minister proceeded to take the battery of his wireless microphone out of his pocket and fiddle around with it until he was assured it was in fact “on.” Now, this can be awkward at the best of times. I have been witness to countless ministers and other speakers fiddling around with wireless mics. This time seemed a little more odd, however, since he was dressed in a traditional white ministers vestment and “stole” (which for any heathen out there is a sort of glorified scarf that can be worn all year-round.) The juxtaposition of modern technology with traditional ecclesiastical garb had an awkwardness to it like the times when you watched your Grandpa trying to operate a VCR. I must say, though, that these microphones, the kind that one attaches to their lapel, are better than the headset variety, which leave many a parishioner wondering when they’ll be informed of Brett Favre’s latest touchdown pass.
The sermon was quite short, perhaps fifteen minutes in length. The main point of the address was that we shouldn’t edge God out of our lives, and that we may have to rid ourselves of some things (which were left unnamed, but perhaps referred to double chocolatey fudge cookies or pornography – a delightful combo by the way) in order to make room for God. Also, he said, we need to make room for compassion and the church community. Fifteen minutes and done. Back to the platform for a moment.
And then it was communion time. Now, I had noticed the communion plates on the table at the front of the sanctuary when I walked in. If I recall correctly, the last time I visited a Christian church it was a communion Sunday as well. As the service began I briefly considered taking part in the ceremony, but I just couldn’t do it. It was one thing to sing the hymns, take in the atmosphere and feel a sense of warm familiarity, but I could not take part in communion.
The minister and a member of the congregation led everyone (well, almost everyone) in a lengthy responsive reading, which included passages such as:
“We thank you, God, that you are mighty, that you create everything, this earth and the universe of which it is part, that you make us like yourself and for yourself; that you care for all that you make. O God how great you are.”
Now, this could be taken in a positive way if one connects with this way of belief and if they view God in this way. But I offer that too often, words of worship sound a little like they are directed toward a deity with an inferiority complex, someone who needs to be patted on the back again and again. It’s all a little too much for me.
This was followed by:
“We thank you, God, that you gave yourself, you gave Jesus your Son (read: now’s the time to turn your mind into a pretzel in order to try and figure out this theology, especially if you’re a newcomer) a person like us but unlike us faithful to you (read: “I’m a bad boy, please re-enforce that”), one who died as we die but unlike us accepted death though it meant to be broken on a cross.”
And a little later on:
“We declare our faith that he is alive and master of all; we witness to the hope that he will come again (newcomer: “I’m officially lost, when will this be over already!)”
I let the communion bread and the juice pass by.
The post-communion prayer was more impressive. It included the words: “Grant that we may become mature Christians, that ours may be faith which issues in action.”
This was followed by a closing hymn, and a benediction by the minister, at which point he raised two fingers in the air. I was gearing up for a Vulcan parting ritual, but no such luck.
Immediately after the service I was approached by a guy we’ll call Dave, since that was his name. His first words to me were “You look like someone who knows his way around church.” Now, that could have been the worst pick-up line ever, but there was no wink and he didn’t refer to me as “big guy,” so I don’t think that was his intention. But apparently something about me just oozes “guy who goes to church” and we proceeded to chat for a while. On our way to the gymnasium for coffee time he twice referred to me as Mark Anthony, instead of Mark Andrew. I politely corrected him, but next time may bring Jennifer Lopez with me to further confuse him.
I was kind of annoyed that by the time I grabbed my ceramic mug and reached the coffee-maker, the coffee was almost gone. Thankfully, one of the workers was nice enough to tip it over so that I could have some. However, that nice feeling was soon overshadowed by the presence of that dreaded substance, Coffee-Mate. What is it with churches and Coffee-Mate anyways? Churches and funeral homes (and at funeral homes can you really be sure that it’s powdered cream that you’re putting into your coffee?) Terrible stuff. My church as celebrated its share of big events in the last couple of years, namely the move to a new, bigger building, as well as the hiring of our fantastic new minister. However, the addition of half-and-half has got to be a close third.
Anyways, I had a cup and proceeded to have a good chat with the minister and then his wife. Dave approached me again and laid hands on me. Just kidding, turns out he has a wife and three kids.
All in all, I’m glad that I attended on Sunday. It’s just unfortunate that the warm atmosphere was cooled by the language and theology, both of which I suspect is even more distancing to a newcomer who is unfamiliar with Christianity, than it is to me.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Being And Becoming
Are you trying to become someone or something that you are not? I hope this isn't the case.
You don't need to run around, looking for the right book, the right song, the perfect insight in order to be ok. That kind of living is wearisome, isn't it? When we live like this, life becomes an exhausting search for what we think we need to find, even if we are unaware that we're doing it.
What if we could take time to stop?
Stop it all. This is not easy all of the time, with the noise of Musak everywhere and bills to pay. But surely we can find a moment. Why don't we? Maybe we're afraid of what we would find or maybe what we wouldn't find.
But you don't have to run away from yourself. You don't have to be afraid. It may take some time, but instead of running I hope you can learn that you can stop and realize that you are ok. You are not inadequate or bumbling or a failure. Inside your heart is a unique and beautiful soul that is perfectly fine just the way it is. Hard to believe? Perhaps it is, but I believe with all my heart that it is true.
Does that mean that we need nothing but ourselves, or that we can't be real doofuses sometimes? Of course not. We need relationship and we have the opportunity to learn from those around us and receive soul-warming gifts from them.
But we don't have to run around anymore. We can stay home, in our hearts, and we can even stop and listen. And from there, from that place, we can begin to move not out of a place of panic or unrest, but out of the joy that comes with knowing that we have wondrous, beating, beautiful hearts and that we are good enough just the way we are.
Go easy on yourself.
Be kind and gracious toward yourself.
You are good enough just the way you are.
You don't need to run around, looking for the right book, the right song, the perfect insight in order to be ok. That kind of living is wearisome, isn't it? When we live like this, life becomes an exhausting search for what we think we need to find, even if we are unaware that we're doing it.
What if we could take time to stop?
Stop it all. This is not easy all of the time, with the noise of Musak everywhere and bills to pay. But surely we can find a moment. Why don't we? Maybe we're afraid of what we would find or maybe what we wouldn't find.
But you don't have to run away from yourself. You don't have to be afraid. It may take some time, but instead of running I hope you can learn that you can stop and realize that you are ok. You are not inadequate or bumbling or a failure. Inside your heart is a unique and beautiful soul that is perfectly fine just the way it is. Hard to believe? Perhaps it is, but I believe with all my heart that it is true.
Does that mean that we need nothing but ourselves, or that we can't be real doofuses sometimes? Of course not. We need relationship and we have the opportunity to learn from those around us and receive soul-warming gifts from them.
But we don't have to run around anymore. We can stay home, in our hearts, and we can even stop and listen. And from there, from that place, we can begin to move not out of a place of panic or unrest, but out of the joy that comes with knowing that we have wondrous, beating, beautiful hearts and that we are good enough just the way we are.
Go easy on yourself.
Be kind and gracious toward yourself.
You are good enough just the way you are.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Christmas Peace And Old Curtains
For the warm white lights that are now winding their way around my basement apartment that lies on the border of two cities. For Jimmy Stewart’s George Bailey, and Bing Crosby’s Bob Wallace. For the memory of cheese melting on crackers in the oven on a cold Christmas Eve night. For these things and more, thank you.
Christmas peace, be born in me today. Christmas peace and new truth, be born in me this yuletide.
There are not many things in life that are as soothing and warming to me as those things that I will enjoy during the next month or so. The abundance of beautifully decorated trees inside department stores, some featuring traditional Christmas colours of red and emerald green, and other trees that are dressed with bulbs of blue and white or silver and gold. The storefront window displays, adorned with faux - and sometimes real – frosting, or paintings of plump snowmen sipping on steaming cups of cocoa, or perhaps children screaming in delight as they ride a toboggan down a steep blinding white hill. There’s the music that we will be hearing everywhere before long. Nat King Cole smoothly singing “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” Sinatra crooning out “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams,” and of course, the irreplaceable Bing imparting the wish that “all our Christmases be white.” And there’s the extra smiles that are on the faces of loved ones and strangers alike.
All of these can serve to further brighten an already happy day, or they can be a kind of salve during tumultuous times.
There is also something comforting in the continuity of it all. As so much changes around us throughout the year, still, every Christmas season the bejeweled trees will be there, along with the line-ups of kids waiting to see Santa Claus in the mall while their parents use their free hand to hold onto a steaming cup of hot apple cider. There are the volunteers standing beside the Salvation Army kettles. And, as always, we will turn on our television sets and there Rudolph will be making a pact with his dentist-elf friend to be “independent together,” as they venture out into the cold unknown.
At Christmastime we are also re-introduced, through carols, movies, and church services, to the story of Jesus’ birth in a stable in Bethlehem. We are told of how his family traveled there because Joseph came to his census – something that must give hope to beleaguered spouses everywhere.
This was an integral part of my childhood, and indeed right up to my early to mid twenties. Each year at home, in the week or two leading up to Christmas Day, we would tape up the advent calendar to the wall and look forward to opening up a different little square each day, revealing, if I remember correctly, a different Bible verse describing a part of the story of Jesus’ birth. And every year there was the Sunday school program at the small-town church that I attended, where inevitably little boys and girls would dress up as shepherds, or angels, or perhaps camels. There was the lighting of the advent candles on the Sundays preceding Christmas Day, where a family was selected to go up to the front, read a passage from the Bible, and light the candle. I remember doing this as a small boy, getting all decked out in my grey suit and tie, and making my way down the center aisle of the church.
Perhaps my favourite memories of Christmas, besides the presents – what kid wouldn’t say presents – are of Christmas Eve services. If you could stay awake through the at-least-half-hour choir cantatas (a word that almost still gives me the shivers,) you also got to sing a lot of carols, like Angels We Have Heard On High, O Little Town of Bethlehem, or perhaps The First Noel, in itself a nice song even though it tried your patience with all of its 36 or so verses. The end of the service was particularly lovely, when the sanctuary lights were turned down and everyone quietly sang Silent Night, Holy Night as we each lit the thin candles we were handed on the way in to the service. It was a special time.
At the time, the Christian story that I was presented with, of God sending his son to the world to be born of a virgin in order to be the salvation for all the world, it was defining. And though this is no longer the case for me, it is still a part of my story that I cannot and will not forget.
Christmas peace and warm memories, make room at the table for new truth. Along with the space created on the poinsettia-imaged tablecloth for the mashed potatoes, the turkey and the ham, make room for new insights, new thoughts, new understandings. For, as comforting as it is to have the things this time of year that do not change, such as the Miracle on 34th Street, or Yukon Cornelius’s ever-futile search for silver and gold, or Zuzu’s petals, the reality is that time in so many ways does not stand still. We evolve, we change, and as we do, so does our understanding.
There are important values that I was introduced to and heard each year when presented with the Christian Christmas story. Peace, goodwill toward humankind, the glory of humility, the connection between the divine and humanity. But as time marches on, with scientific discovery, an understanding of the context in which the Bible was written, and increasing introduction and appreciation of other deep religious and non-religious traditions, we can no longer claim that Christianity has a trademark on these values. They are broad, human values, and not restricted to one faith tradition. Peace and love are not Christian values, they are human ones. This perspective can lead to an openness and an inclusivity that is desperately needed in our world, here in North America and abroad. Love and peace break down barriers. The need may seem more palpable when we turn on the nightly news and see the conflicts between Christians and Muslims or Israelis and Palestinians, but it is just as important in our North American society, where too often segments of society are left to feel inferior. Women. Immigrants. The gay and lesbian community. The disabled. How can these barriers be broken down? How can these people be welcomed and seen as equally valuable and important members of society, because that is exactly who they are. They are not just minority groups to be “tolerated,” but equally vibrant and wondrous colours within the human kaleidoscope.
I suggest that it can be done through a renewed emphasis and living out of these broad, human values. Peace, love, compassion, goodwill toward humankind. Anything that gets in the way of these things must be discarded. Sometimes the curtain must be drawn in order to let the light shine through, as pretty as those curtains may be, and even though they may have been handed down from your great-great grandma Mabel. They must be drawn. Going further, they very well may need to be replaced entirely because they no longer match the walls of the apartment, or, to withdraw the metaphor, the world’s growing understanding.
A few of the curtains that may have to go in order to clear the way for the light of the “big values” to shine through include, but are not restricted to:
1) The belief that humankind fell from God’s grace because of Adam and Eve, and therefore need something outside of themselves to be “right with God.”
2) The belief that God exclusively revealed him/herself through the birth of Jesus.
3) The belief that one can only be close to the divine if one believes that they are a sinner, that Jesus died as payment for their sins, and that he literally rose from the dead.
3b) Add to this the harmful belief that those who believe otherwise are “lost,” “misguided,” or even worse, destined for eternal hellfire.
These beliefs were constructed during a specific time and in a specific context, and if love, peace and unity are to expand on our earth, we must seem them as just that. Instead of continually expecting those of differing faiths or perspectives to come to Jesus, at least the version that is often presented, we must do a better job of meeting people where they are, with love and a commitment to learning from them. We must live the “big values.” Peace, love, compassion, humility, which if I had to make a good guess was what Jesus had in mind in the first place.
So what to do. Is this the year that I replace the angel on top of my tree with a pretty bow instead? Will I undergo the arduous process of sifting through my iTunes playlist and remove carols such as O Come All Ye Faithful and Away In A Manger? Will I stop talking of when I was a boy reading scripture in church?
No, I will do nothing of the sort. The angel will still shine on the tree-top, the carols will still ring, and I will bring out the small blue bottle of Aqua Velva that passed as frankincense when I was a wise man as a boy in the Sunday school program. These are a part of my life, and I will not abandon them. I will be warmed by these memories. But the curtains are firmly drawn, and I will be open to new understandings.
Christmas peace and new truth, be born in me today.
Christmas peace, be born in me today. Christmas peace and new truth, be born in me this yuletide.
There are not many things in life that are as soothing and warming to me as those things that I will enjoy during the next month or so. The abundance of beautifully decorated trees inside department stores, some featuring traditional Christmas colours of red and emerald green, and other trees that are dressed with bulbs of blue and white or silver and gold. The storefront window displays, adorned with faux - and sometimes real – frosting, or paintings of plump snowmen sipping on steaming cups of cocoa, or perhaps children screaming in delight as they ride a toboggan down a steep blinding white hill. There’s the music that we will be hearing everywhere before long. Nat King Cole smoothly singing “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” Sinatra crooning out “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams,” and of course, the irreplaceable Bing imparting the wish that “all our Christmases be white.” And there’s the extra smiles that are on the faces of loved ones and strangers alike.
All of these can serve to further brighten an already happy day, or they can be a kind of salve during tumultuous times.
There is also something comforting in the continuity of it all. As so much changes around us throughout the year, still, every Christmas season the bejeweled trees will be there, along with the line-ups of kids waiting to see Santa Claus in the mall while their parents use their free hand to hold onto a steaming cup of hot apple cider. There are the volunteers standing beside the Salvation Army kettles. And, as always, we will turn on our television sets and there Rudolph will be making a pact with his dentist-elf friend to be “independent together,” as they venture out into the cold unknown.
At Christmastime we are also re-introduced, through carols, movies, and church services, to the story of Jesus’ birth in a stable in Bethlehem. We are told of how his family traveled there because Joseph came to his census – something that must give hope to beleaguered spouses everywhere.
This was an integral part of my childhood, and indeed right up to my early to mid twenties. Each year at home, in the week or two leading up to Christmas Day, we would tape up the advent calendar to the wall and look forward to opening up a different little square each day, revealing, if I remember correctly, a different Bible verse describing a part of the story of Jesus’ birth. And every year there was the Sunday school program at the small-town church that I attended, where inevitably little boys and girls would dress up as shepherds, or angels, or perhaps camels. There was the lighting of the advent candles on the Sundays preceding Christmas Day, where a family was selected to go up to the front, read a passage from the Bible, and light the candle. I remember doing this as a small boy, getting all decked out in my grey suit and tie, and making my way down the center aisle of the church.
Perhaps my favourite memories of Christmas, besides the presents – what kid wouldn’t say presents – are of Christmas Eve services. If you could stay awake through the at-least-half-hour choir cantatas (a word that almost still gives me the shivers,) you also got to sing a lot of carols, like Angels We Have Heard On High, O Little Town of Bethlehem, or perhaps The First Noel, in itself a nice song even though it tried your patience with all of its 36 or so verses. The end of the service was particularly lovely, when the sanctuary lights were turned down and everyone quietly sang Silent Night, Holy Night as we each lit the thin candles we were handed on the way in to the service. It was a special time.
At the time, the Christian story that I was presented with, of God sending his son to the world to be born of a virgin in order to be the salvation for all the world, it was defining. And though this is no longer the case for me, it is still a part of my story that I cannot and will not forget.
Christmas peace and warm memories, make room at the table for new truth. Along with the space created on the poinsettia-imaged tablecloth for the mashed potatoes, the turkey and the ham, make room for new insights, new thoughts, new understandings. For, as comforting as it is to have the things this time of year that do not change, such as the Miracle on 34th Street, or Yukon Cornelius’s ever-futile search for silver and gold, or Zuzu’s petals, the reality is that time in so many ways does not stand still. We evolve, we change, and as we do, so does our understanding.
There are important values that I was introduced to and heard each year when presented with the Christian Christmas story. Peace, goodwill toward humankind, the glory of humility, the connection between the divine and humanity. But as time marches on, with scientific discovery, an understanding of the context in which the Bible was written, and increasing introduction and appreciation of other deep religious and non-religious traditions, we can no longer claim that Christianity has a trademark on these values. They are broad, human values, and not restricted to one faith tradition. Peace and love are not Christian values, they are human ones. This perspective can lead to an openness and an inclusivity that is desperately needed in our world, here in North America and abroad. Love and peace break down barriers. The need may seem more palpable when we turn on the nightly news and see the conflicts between Christians and Muslims or Israelis and Palestinians, but it is just as important in our North American society, where too often segments of society are left to feel inferior. Women. Immigrants. The gay and lesbian community. The disabled. How can these barriers be broken down? How can these people be welcomed and seen as equally valuable and important members of society, because that is exactly who they are. They are not just minority groups to be “tolerated,” but equally vibrant and wondrous colours within the human kaleidoscope.
I suggest that it can be done through a renewed emphasis and living out of these broad, human values. Peace, love, compassion, goodwill toward humankind. Anything that gets in the way of these things must be discarded. Sometimes the curtain must be drawn in order to let the light shine through, as pretty as those curtains may be, and even though they may have been handed down from your great-great grandma Mabel. They must be drawn. Going further, they very well may need to be replaced entirely because they no longer match the walls of the apartment, or, to withdraw the metaphor, the world’s growing understanding.
A few of the curtains that may have to go in order to clear the way for the light of the “big values” to shine through include, but are not restricted to:
1) The belief that humankind fell from God’s grace because of Adam and Eve, and therefore need something outside of themselves to be “right with God.”
2) The belief that God exclusively revealed him/herself through the birth of Jesus.
3) The belief that one can only be close to the divine if one believes that they are a sinner, that Jesus died as payment for their sins, and that he literally rose from the dead.
3b) Add to this the harmful belief that those who believe otherwise are “lost,” “misguided,” or even worse, destined for eternal hellfire.
These beliefs were constructed during a specific time and in a specific context, and if love, peace and unity are to expand on our earth, we must seem them as just that. Instead of continually expecting those of differing faiths or perspectives to come to Jesus, at least the version that is often presented, we must do a better job of meeting people where they are, with love and a commitment to learning from them. We must live the “big values.” Peace, love, compassion, humility, which if I had to make a good guess was what Jesus had in mind in the first place.
So what to do. Is this the year that I replace the angel on top of my tree with a pretty bow instead? Will I undergo the arduous process of sifting through my iTunes playlist and remove carols such as O Come All Ye Faithful and Away In A Manger? Will I stop talking of when I was a boy reading scripture in church?
No, I will do nothing of the sort. The angel will still shine on the tree-top, the carols will still ring, and I will bring out the small blue bottle of Aqua Velva that passed as frankincense when I was a wise man as a boy in the Sunday school program. These are a part of my life, and I will not abandon them. I will be warmed by these memories. But the curtains are firmly drawn, and I will be open to new understandings.
Christmas peace and new truth, be born in me today.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Turn My World Around
Lately I've been having cravings for the old music. You know, the songs you used to listen to when you were a teenager, the ones you recorded onto countless mix tapes - yes, tapes (google it, those of you under 20.) Granted, my cravings for the old music aren't as strong as my cravings for, say, peanut butter or good beer, but they do occur quite frequently. When I hear "Hand In My Pocket" or "Ironic" I think back to driving around the streets of London with Ken, listening to Uncle Joey's ex at high volumes.
Cut. It. Out!
But for the most part lately, I've been finding myself wanting to listen to the old Christian stuff. Bands like Whitecross, Petra, DeGarmo & Key. Now, I must say that there is a lot of it that I can't listen to because of how highly infused it is with evangelical theology. One such song is DeGarmo & Key's "Boycott Hell," an anthem which includes lyrics such as "Don't let a neighbour go, form a holy picket line. We gotta let them know, don't you think it's time, to boycott Hell." I even had a t-shirt with the song title plastered in big red letters on the front. During my latest craving, however, I got to listening to Kenny Marks, another Christian rock singer. After a quick iTunes search I came across "Turn My World Around," a song that isn't as overtly religious, until the last verse. The beginning of the song goes like this:
"City by city, town by town, side by side
Gonna tear the walls down.
Minute by minute, heart by heart, hand in hand, you know it's time to start
I'm gonna turn my world around
Gonna lift up every head and every heart in this town
Turn my world around
Step by step, street by street, soul by soul,
Everyone that I meet.
Face by face, night by night, smile by smile
I'm gonna change this whole world tonight."
Listening to this song and others like it, the old feelings of zeal and passion come up as they did 15 years ago when I was listening to it the first time. Now the inference in this song, one that becomes clearer in the third verse with lyrics like "I'm gonna wrap my arms around this lost and dying world" is that the way you turn the world around is by telling people of your religious faith. But even if it wasn't about religion, if it was just about making the world a better place and changing circumstances for people, would the ideas be helpful?
*And so concludes the religious component of this article, and a polite request for an absence of debate on the topic; it's exhausting*
My main point is that it is not our job - not my job - to change anybody. No one. Anywhere.
Each person who has ever lived has had their own answers, whether they've been able to see that or not. While all of us are connected, probably much more than we know, each of us has our life to live out, and we each do that in our own unique way. But our tendency can be to view things quite differently.
Once we find our truth, or perhaps more accurately once it rises up in ourselves to the point of us being conscious of it, we suspect that this must be the way it is for those around us. It may have to do with the activities we take part in, the books we read, the way we eat, the beliefs that we believe. But I think that sometimes we can assume that the things that make our lives fulfilling will naturally fulfill others.
Not the case.
First of all, who am I to know what would help another person grow into themselves more fully? There's a dose of arrogance in that thinking, the one that presumes that "I have the answers that will help you." Perhaps one reason why we sometimes think this way is because it massages our ego with some sense of power and control over other people, even if it's not something we're consciously aware of.
In reality, my formula of reading inspirational books and Enya could well induce a near catatonic state for someone else. While I may not understand it, role-playing games, poker, or watching Heroes may enrich anothers life. I don't understand these things, but that's alright.
It's not our job to change anyone. Indeed, there may be a subtle violence in play when we do try to change someone to be different than they are.
As hard as it is, we - I - must give up our need to be right and to have all the answers. Our job is not to change or fix anyone. Our job is to love.
Period.
Love doesn't necessarily mean "doing" anything. It can often include actions, like giving flowers to someone or sending them a card, but maybe it's more about "being" than doing, especially if our idea of doing is to make it all better for someone or fix what's wrong. After all, is that what we want? For someone to fix things or make everything better? Or would we rather just know that someone is there, that they are present with us no matter where we are or what kind of day we're having.
In this way, maybe love is more about presence and being there, rather than necessarily about changing anything.
Cut. It. Out!
But for the most part lately, I've been finding myself wanting to listen to the old Christian stuff. Bands like Whitecross, Petra, DeGarmo & Key. Now, I must say that there is a lot of it that I can't listen to because of how highly infused it is with evangelical theology. One such song is DeGarmo & Key's "Boycott Hell," an anthem which includes lyrics such as "Don't let a neighbour go, form a holy picket line. We gotta let them know, don't you think it's time, to boycott Hell." I even had a t-shirt with the song title plastered in big red letters on the front. During my latest craving, however, I got to listening to Kenny Marks, another Christian rock singer. After a quick iTunes search I came across "Turn My World Around," a song that isn't as overtly religious, until the last verse. The beginning of the song goes like this:
"City by city, town by town, side by side
Gonna tear the walls down.
Minute by minute, heart by heart, hand in hand, you know it's time to start
I'm gonna turn my world around
Gonna lift up every head and every heart in this town
Turn my world around
Step by step, street by street, soul by soul,
Everyone that I meet.
Face by face, night by night, smile by smile
I'm gonna change this whole world tonight."
Listening to this song and others like it, the old feelings of zeal and passion come up as they did 15 years ago when I was listening to it the first time. Now the inference in this song, one that becomes clearer in the third verse with lyrics like "I'm gonna wrap my arms around this lost and dying world" is that the way you turn the world around is by telling people of your religious faith. But even if it wasn't about religion, if it was just about making the world a better place and changing circumstances for people, would the ideas be helpful?
*And so concludes the religious component of this article, and a polite request for an absence of debate on the topic; it's exhausting*
My main point is that it is not our job - not my job - to change anybody. No one. Anywhere.
Each person who has ever lived has had their own answers, whether they've been able to see that or not. While all of us are connected, probably much more than we know, each of us has our life to live out, and we each do that in our own unique way. But our tendency can be to view things quite differently.
Once we find our truth, or perhaps more accurately once it rises up in ourselves to the point of us being conscious of it, we suspect that this must be the way it is for those around us. It may have to do with the activities we take part in, the books we read, the way we eat, the beliefs that we believe. But I think that sometimes we can assume that the things that make our lives fulfilling will naturally fulfill others.
Not the case.
First of all, who am I to know what would help another person grow into themselves more fully? There's a dose of arrogance in that thinking, the one that presumes that "I have the answers that will help you." Perhaps one reason why we sometimes think this way is because it massages our ego with some sense of power and control over other people, even if it's not something we're consciously aware of.
In reality, my formula of reading inspirational books and Enya could well induce a near catatonic state for someone else. While I may not understand it, role-playing games, poker, or watching Heroes may enrich anothers life. I don't understand these things, but that's alright.
It's not our job to change anyone. Indeed, there may be a subtle violence in play when we do try to change someone to be different than they are.
As hard as it is, we - I - must give up our need to be right and to have all the answers. Our job is not to change or fix anyone. Our job is to love.
Period.
Love doesn't necessarily mean "doing" anything. It can often include actions, like giving flowers to someone or sending them a card, but maybe it's more about "being" than doing, especially if our idea of doing is to make it all better for someone or fix what's wrong. After all, is that what we want? For someone to fix things or make everything better? Or would we rather just know that someone is there, that they are present with us no matter where we are or what kind of day we're having.
In this way, maybe love is more about presence and being there, rather than necessarily about changing anything.
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