Through Thick and Thin: Reflections from Italy

A tear slipped from my spiritual directee’s rough, bearded face as he explored gratitude for a longtime friend now in hospice care. “Yeah,” he said. “My buddy and I have been together through thick and thin.” For him, thick and thin referred to good times and bad; times of plenty and times of want. Lately, I’ve been pondering thick and thin from a different perspective.

As my excitement grows for the upcoming Spiritual Directors International pilgrimage to Assisi, Italy, memories of my first pilgrimage are bubbling up. Rome and Assisi, Italy, are places that provide some of my happiest memories of experiencing both thick and thin. Rome for me was thick. Assisi was thin. Allow me to explain.

Thick time for me is sacred time. One hour is one hour—sixty minutes—no more, no less. But that same period of time can be experienced very differently. One hour at a tedious board meeting or shopping for groceries is often experienced very differently than the same sixty minutes spent at the bedside of a dying friend or in the arms of a lover. Time has the capacity to become thick depending on the amount of attention and intention I offer to that moment. I still remember well my first shot of espresso slugged down at a Roman café; the first gelato gliding across my tongue at a local gelateria; an afternoon riposo watching an old woman water the geraniums on her sun-drenched balcony; the scent of orange blossoms on the Roman night air after a day of walking the busy streets of the Eternal City. Those moments were thick. They became sacred time. Rome provided one experience after another of thick time.

Thin space for me is sacred space. I can be in a place and experience just the surface of my surroundings. I can view everything as distinct from myself: a curiosity, another ho-hum wall of a building, or another trap for tourists. I can also dive deep through the illusion of separateness and pierce the veil. Approaching with intention, I can plumb the depth of story that pulses through every piazza, rises from every rock, and beats in every building. From my first time in Assisi twenty-two years ago, I can still hear the reverberations of whispers in the tiny room where Clare of Assisi prayed for forty-one years; the deep silence of the woods outside the hermitage of the Carceri; and the feeling of coming home when I caught my first glimpse of the pink-stoned city of Assisi rising above the Umbrian valley. Those places were thin. They became sacred space. Every cobblestone of Assisi provided access to a world of thin space.

Undertaking a pilgrimage is to open oneself to the experience of sacred times and sacred spaces. I look forward to returning to Assisi and Rome. I encourage you to find the means to join me and the other pilgrims. Together we will be with each other through thick and thin.

Editor’s note: David Lidel, TOR, is a Franciscan brother and one of the pilgrim guides for the SDI Interfaith Pilgrimage to Assisi, Italy, in 2012. Registration is still open for the pilgrimage--join us cultivate compassion in Assisi! For more information visit http://bit.ly/SDIPilgrimage. 

Year of the Dragon

Spring Dragon by Masaaki Shibano

Today, January 17, marks the seventeen year anniversary of the Hanshin disaster from the eight magnitude earthquake in my residential area. It has also been about ten months since the Higashi-nihon (eastern district of Japan) earthquake disaster and nuclear power catastrophe that occurred last year.

Natural disasters like earthquakes are hard to prevent, but nuclear accidents can be expected, in a sense. Disasters caused by nature and human errors are a huge tragedy that we in Japan faced and are still facing now. Essentially, we should reflect on how nature and human beings could live in harmony, with human wisdom learning from the energy of nature.

As a spiritual director, I believe there are many things we can do. Being with people who have suffered and listening to them provides support during these unexpected tragedies. We need each other. Spiritual direction offers caring hearts, sympathetic interactions, and love.

I feel so much power from others by remembering that Jesus said, “Love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends. You are my friends if you do whatever I command you." [Paraphrased from several verses in Christian scripture.]

We received so much support from around the world; some people sent their hearts in prayer and other people came here to share their hearts, even though they were in a dangerous situation. I feel a deep connection among people who have faced and are now facing hardship of any kind. Please remember that we are so grateful for your supportive hearts and love for us.

As 2012 is the Year of the Dragon, I painted two kinds of green dragons. I hope this year is special for all people on the planet.

Rising Dragon by Masaaki Shibano

 I titled the first painting Spring Dragon; it depicts Green Dragon who dwells in the east to bring spring to us as a guardian God. The second one is titled Rising Dragon which illustrates how Green Dragon raises us as far as we love one another, higher than Mount Fuji.

It is the moment for all of us to remember that Jesus told us to love one another as a true friend, for here and there, we now see that there are rising and shifting movements of a new consciousness within us, among us, and around us.

Sending you peace and love in the new year,

Masaaki Shibano, Osaka, Japan

P.S. The words below the paintings translate to "peace in the Lord" with my signature and seal.

Seeking God

"The Magi Journeying" by James Tissot

What can we learn about spiritual direction from the Western Christian feast day of Epiphany, celebrated on January 6? Three wise seekers follow a star; they travel with spiritual companions. They do not know quite what they are searching for. They trust the journey.

The feast day of Epiphany enlightens the global human story of spiritual direction—the Magi model how to seek God.

Most Epiphany illustrations show three wise men at night, with a brilliant star to guide them. In the painting, “The Magi Journeying,” James Tissot captures a different glimpse of the wise men’s trek. Tissot invites us to experience their journey in the harsh daytime heat of the desert.

Look into the faces of the people in the Tissot painting. What questions do the seekers invoke that may be helpful in your new year of spiritual direction? Here are some questions to ponder:

1. How did the three wise men recognize God in the baby they found in Bethlehem?
2. Who are all the people on camels and on foot following for miles through barren terrain?
3. During the stark, rocky, daylight hours, with no visible star to guide them, what spiritual practices helped this community get along? What gave sustenance for the journey and prepared them for God’s revelation?

These questions are great spiritual direction discernments for today.

Epiphany has its roots in the Greek verb epiphaneia, "to appear," and also means "appearance" or "manifestation." Today, we say we had an epiphany when, “Aha! I see what I hadn’t seen before.” Something is revealed that changes our perspective, and sometimes, an epiphany is so profound it changes everything.

Staring at the painting, you may have an epiphany: Imagine the three Magi are traveling through time, with us among the followers in the long human tradition of seeking God. Another interpretation: Imagine the three wise men as paradoxically not-yet and eternally-always finding God, who is outside the frame of the painting, right in front of them, perhaps even in the childlike innocence and love of the viewers’ eyes and hearts.

The Magi recognized God in their midst and celebrated their discovery by reverencing the Christ with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Seeking and finding God changed everything.

In a recent Christian Century article, Amy Frykholm writes about “the spiritual direction movement.” Thank you for being part of the spiritual direction global movement. Around the world and across traditions, seeking and finding God is changing everything. Can you see it?

Reflection

How do you recognize God in your midst? How is spiritual direction changing you and the people with whom you companion? Share your stories here.

Season of Light

Photo by Holly Benzenhafer Redford

I am a night person. The glory of a blazened sunset brings anticipation of the first stars in the night sky and the rising moon’s dance of waxing and waning. The night that follows—especially a night in winter—calls me to a certain kind of yearning. The winter nights bear a particular kind of silence. Hushed and weighty, it lingers around the edges of rooms and stands still and present in the brisk, open air. It is a silence of Presence, and it beckons me to enter its shadows. 

Since moving from Mississippi to Massachusetts, USA, eight years ago, I have learned the long nights of winter are a sacred time that hold within them life and death, dreams and restlessness, transformation and pause. In this wintery space, once snow rests upon the ground, the night takes on a different form of darkness. Unlike the fecund, moving shadows of summer nights, the winter night is bright and differentiated with reflected starlight and moon glow upon the New England snow. Trees in gray hues reach bare limbs skyward, and granite boulders sleep within glittering cobwebs of frost. The small living things sleep soundly in hidden places, and nothing returns my gaze but an abiding presence that is always, always there. In these nights, I am drawn again and again to the window, the door, and outside to stand in the snow beneath a crystalline sky, turning in circles within the silence, to dance with Abiding Presence.

These experiences of the wintery night’s play of darkness and light shape my observance of Advent, Christmastide, and Epiphany. Along with other winter festivals and holy seasons in the northern hemisphere, this sacred season of the Christian year is characterized by light. With each week of Advent, more light, more illumination, is brought to prepare the welcome of the Incarnation—Immanuel, God with us—and the season of Christmastide. In my tradition, the Christmas Eve service concludes with each person holding a lit taper and singing “Silent night, holy night,” as we keep vigil for Christmas Day and its season of light. However, the light bears meaning because of its interplay with the long night. Without the night, the light would seem unnecessary. The candle flames in the congregation are beautiful because they dance with the shadows. Light and shadow intertwine just as they do in life. This season of light is holy because it is also the season of life and death, dreams and restlessness, transformation and pause.

Perhaps it is fitting that Christmastide ends with Epiphany’s celebration of the Magi, the three kings bearing gifts, who follow a star. Having moved through the building of light with Advent to the emphasis of light in the celebration of Christmastide, Epiphany welcomes the light of stars upon snow in the long, wintery night. For all the anticipation and excitement of the season, the starlight of Epiphany is a reminder that Abiding Presence was there all along and so will remain.

Editor’s note: Holly Benzenhafer Redford is a spiritual director and an active member of Spiritual Directors International. She serves as a volunteer on the Host Committee for 2012 Cultivating Compassion Educational Events in Boston.

Hanukkah: A Spiritual Celebration of Miracles and Light

Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Light, illumines the power of commitment to one’s faith and invites us to reflect upon, shine, and share the sacred spark within our own souls. Over two thousand years ago, the holy temple in Jerusalem was captured by Syrian-Greek soldiers who desecrated it with statues of Zeus and the slaughter of swine. Their emperor, Antiochus, forbade the practice of Judaism and ordered Jews to worship the Greek gods and to eat pork: both forbidden by Jewish law. Those who did not comply were tortured and killed.

The Jewish high priest, Mattathias, his family, and other resistance fighters determined not to betray their God and fled to the mountains. This small but fiery band of rebels prepared to take back their land and their temple, and miraculously prevailed against the mighty Greeks. On recapturing their sacred site, their first acts were to cleanse the temple and purify it by kindling the eternal flame. There was, however, only enough oil found to burn for one day, not nearly sufficient for the eight days needed to secure more oil. Incredibly, that small container fueled the lamp for eight full days, and in celebration of the miracle, Jews throughout the world light the eight branched menorah, illuminating one additional candle each night.

This subtle photo by Dara Fruchter captures wind and light through the veil of a sheer curtain.

Light is a prevailing theme for Jewish mystics who believe that within each one of us shines God’s sacred spark. Over four hundred years ago in Sfat, Israel, the Kabbalistic rabbi, Issac Luria, had a dream: a spiritual interpretation of the creation story, the birth of the world. 

Rabbi Luria dreamt that when God chose to create the world, Spirit constricted his endless light to make room for all that was to come. God’s emanation was so powerful that without this contraction there would be no space for anything or anyone else. Out of love, Source poured his light into ten vessels to make room for creation. God’s expansive energy burst through the containers, shattering them and scattering shards of light throughout the universe. A spark of this original light is said by Jewish mystics to suffuse our own souls.

The radiance of creation, the light of Hanukkah, and the spark within connect us to God, to miracles, to ourselves, and to each other. When we uncover the divine spark in our own souls, recognize it, and allow it to glow, we help to illumine the path for others. As spiritual directors, singly and together, we shine our holy light to help heal the world.

Editor’s note: Michele Tamaren is a spiritual director, life coach, writer, and presenter living in Marblehead, Massachusetts, USA. She is an active member of Spiritual Directors International, and her new book, ExtraOrdinary: An End of Life Story Without End, will be published in the spring of 2012.

Spiritual Directors featured on Atlanta Interfaith Broadcasting Television

Tonight at 10:30 p.m. EST

Tonight, Spiritual Directors International and contemplative listeners Rev. Terry Hershey and Marianne Hieb, RSM, will be featured on Atlanta Interfaith Broadcasting Television at 10:30 p.m. EST. If you enjoyed their ten-minute video in the series “SDI Learns From…,” then tune in for a thirty-minute program on imagination and the art of spiritual direction.

Rev. Terry Hershey is an author, inspirational speaker, dad, and ordained minister. He divides his time between designing sanctuary gardens and sharing his contemplative practice of "pausing" and "sanctuary" to help us do less and live more.

Marianne Hieb, RSM, MFA, ATR, DMin, is a Sister of Mercy, artist, art therapist, author, and spiritual director at Lourdes Wellness Center, New Jersey, USA. 

Join Marianne and Terry tonight as they share their wisdom on imagination. If you live outside of Georgia, USA, Check-out “SDI Learns From… Rev. Terry Hershey and Marianne Hieb, RSM” on the SDI website!

Spiritual Directors International celebrates collaborating with Atlanta Interfaith Broadcasting Television to raise awareness about spiritual direction and make it accessible to everyone. Thank you AIBTV!

Spiritual Companions across the Centuries

Photo by Flickr user b.roveran.

“Rebuild my church.” God used these words from Francis of Assisi’s story to speak to me as I sat in prayer with two spiritual companions in Greensboro, North Carolina, USA, after a heartbreaking disillusionment. I had left a job that I thought was my dream job; my dream shattered. “Oh God, what now?” I cried. My two companions, Quaker ministers like myself, sat with me in my pain and confusion.

As my friends sat with me in discernment, Francis of Assisi’s story came to me. When Francis heard the words, “Rebuild my church,” while praying before the cross of the forsaken San Damiano chapel in Assisi, Italy, he understood God to be telling him to physically rebuild that church, which he began to do immediately. Only gradually did he realize that the more important calling for him was to spiritually rebuild the church of his time.

When those words came to me, I knew the call was spiritual (after all, I have no building skills, and unlike Francis, I had no aptitude for learning them). Yet, like Francis, I didn’t yet know the full extent of the call. I didn’t yet know what the “church” was for me, as I didn’t feel called to pastor a congregation. Over time, I gradually came to see that my calling was to rebuild the spirituality of congregations and organizations across traditions.

A year and a half ago, fifteen years after I had sat with my two friends in North Carolina, I found myself in the chapel of San Damiano in Assisi. My heart stirred as I prayed in the place where Francis received his call. I felt drawn into deeper and deeper contemplative prayer as I sensed the prayerfulness of the simple, clear, uncluttered space. After Francis had rebuilt the chapel, Clare of Assisi and her community of sisters settled there. They formed a contemplative community, and they and their spiritual descendants bathed the space in prayer for centuries. The walls reeked of prayerfulness. The space invited me to pray like I had never prayed before. I felt deeply grounded in God. Clare and her sisters became my spiritual companions, just as my two friends in North Carolina had been.

Across the centuries, across traditions, and in different lands, God speaks. I was reminded in Assisi that our spiritual companions can come from any time or place. God’s deep work in the lives of Francis and Clare touched my life and invited me to go deeper. I tasted a depth of prayer I had not tasted before, and I have not been the same since.

Editor’s note: Margaret Benefiel, PhD, is an active member of Spiritual Directors International and is one of three pilgrim guides for the upcoming SDI Interfaith Pilgrimage to Assisi, Italy: Cultivating Compassion with Saint Francis and Saint Clare.

Radical Amazement

Abraham Joshua Heschel speaks

of radical amazement.

Of those moments in ordinary life,

when the Sea of Reeds is parted,

and for a fraction of a second something different,

something different,

something different

is glimpsed.

A finger points at the sliver of a moon against a startling sky,

and only a fool would look at the finger, he offers.

How often are we fools in our ordinary, daily lives.

The Sea of Reeds parts so many times each day,

and like Jacob we should say

ma norah ha-makom ha-ze,

how awesome is this place,

and I, I did not know it.

There are obvious daily calls to radical amazement

like the silver moon sliver, the first star;

the angel soft breath of a grandchild;

the lighting of Shabbat candles;

the sunshine on a ruby garden tomato;

the moment of unexpected kindness

offered by the usually difficult child.

What, however, about the radical amazement

when we look, really look

into the eyes of the homeless man, when we give him a cup of coffee,

and a tuna sandwich, and truly receive his blessing?

What about the radical amazement

when we pause before yelling at our annoying partner,

and know we have a choice to step into his shoes?

What about the radical amazement when we walk

in silence, no cell phone

and listen, listen for the still, small voice within?

What about the radical amazement

when we lie quietly upon awakening,

and ponder the dream curling around the edges of our consciousness,

possibly even offering some guidance?

What about the radical amazement when we touch the many wrinkles

around our aged eyes with wonder and affection?

We are fools, bless us all,

and dry land, radical amazement,

is always only a breath away.

—Jennifer (Jinks) Hoffmann.  June 8, 2007.

Reflection: As spiritual directors, you create space for “radical amazement” with your spiritual directees each time you meet. Where in life do you find an awakening to this “radical” grace?

The Joy of Anticipation

December arrives chock-a-block full of bright decorations and sensual delights: Nutcracker ballets, Hanukkah latkes, and Christmas cookies. For many years, my spiritual direction group decided not to meet during December because it is “just too busy.” This year, however, our group noticed that we need to meet in December more than ever.

I am surprised by my desire to come together and reflect on God’s movements in our lives during a month when we ordinarily do not meet. Because of our commitment, I am more awake to the holiday hubbub that already overwhelms my senses. I confess that my contemplative practices often get placed on hold until the new year because “I’m just too busy.”

It’s tempting to succumb to shiny object syndrome in December. You know, the tinsel and tag sales that distract us from truly entering the sacred season of darkness and unknowing. Our culture makes it so much easier to “go out and get it now.” It’s countercultural to stay inside and be present to the often uncomfortable feelings of anticipation and waiting. It takes practice.

Remember when ketchup came in glass bottles, and it was so thick that you had to wait for it to slowly, smoothly ooze out of the bottle? An entire advertising campaign was built around the joy and satisfaction of waiting and wondering, of anticipating the goodness of the thick tomato sauce emerging from the bottle. There used to be a joy in anticipation. Are we losing touch with the ability to simply wonder and wait expectantly?

When I meet with my spiritual direction group, I already know something I want to explore: How is God inviting me to rediscover the joy of anticipation amidst so many beautiful distractions and painful worldwide realities?   

Reflection:

Meeting with a spiritual director in December might invite reflection on the calendar year past and visions of the year to come. What is God inviting you to explore this sacred season? 

Blessings and Blemishes

While driving through the auburn hills of Eastern Washington, I stopped at a roadside fruit stand with larger-than-life advertisements for apples, pears, and more. Boxes of fruit displayed the abundance of autumn in the Pacific Northwest, and after some browsing, I chose a box of brightly colored honey crisp apples for homemade applesauce. Once home, the pealing and trimming began, and I discovered the bumps, dimples, and sweetness of each individual fruit. 

The past month of November has offered many opportunities for reflection. With the passing of All Souls Day, SDI invited you to embrace the closeness of your ancestors and notice that “the veil between heaven and the earth is thin.” As the curtain fell on this month of remembrance, two important days come to mind as turning our hearts toward the blessing and abundance in our lives.

On November 24, the United States celebrated Thanksgiving, a feast that beckons individuals to recall the blessing of community and friendship while gathered at table. The following day, on November 25, Muslims around the world welcomed the beginning of the Islamic New Year with a time of introspection and reflection. Both of these days share a theme of recollection, noticing the graces and blessings that swell in our lives. 

Mahatma Gandhi is quoted saying, “My imperfections and failures are as much a blessing from God as my successes and my talents, and I lay them both at his feet.” Peeling thirty plump apples, it’s hard to overlook the integrity of each piece of fruit under its perfect or rumpled skin. Once peeled, sliced, and simmering on the stove, it’s impossible to separate out what arrived with a bruise.

Wherever you are in this rich season of life, SDI invites you to open your heart with gratitude for the blessings and the blemishes. Take a moment to embrace your abundance and shortcomings, and “lay them both” at the feet of God.