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.

Gathering across Spiritual Traditions

Rev. Susan Morrison and Kathryn O’Connell Cleary

On Monday, September 12, 2011, a meeting of the Greater Boston Spiritual Directors was held at Hebrew College in Newton Center, Massachusetts, USA. Spiritual directors from the Jewish, Catholic, Protestant, Buddhist, and Quaker traditions met for two hours within a contemplative format. This group has been meeting quarterly for a year. At each gathering, two members of the group share the role of facilitator on a rotating basis.

The meeting began with a centering meditation, followed by introductions and brief sharing. One of the facilitators then offered a guided imagery meditation integrating the body and the spirit. In triads, group members were invited to share their experience of the meditation. The group then turned to reflection questions which had been submitted by the facilitators prior to the gathering. Since the meeting was held on September 12, the first question was: “How has September 11 affected my ministry as a spiritual director? Do I have a personal reflection or a memory or observation or hope on this anniversary of 9/11?” Following a period of silent, personal reflection, members shared their responses.  The second question was: “As a spiritual director, how do I cultivate contemplative living through practices that enhance deeper mindfulness?” Again, after some time of reflection, there was sharing in the large group. Individual taper candles were then lit, and the meeting closed with a meditation song entitled “Deep Peace” and the ringing of the meditation bowl.

Members have experienced a depth of sharing in the mystic heart of meditative awareness; the gathering has been nourishment for the call to spiritual direction across spiritual traditions.

Editor’s note: For more reflections on 9/11 and the ministry of spiritual direction, please see the blog post “From Bereft to Befriended” by Liz Budd Ellmann, MDiv, and the Connections article “Discerning Anger to Grow Compassion” by Susan Coppage Evans, DMin.

A Day of Tolerance

We are living in a world of constant change, of ebb and flow, of becoming. As spiritual directors, you hold the grace of accompanying others on their journey of jostle and stride, like watching a stone become smooth and radiant by the soft tumble of water. In your attending and listening, you fashion a holy space for all seasons of emotions, where each nudging has its place and each feeling has voice.

Today, the United Nations and member states around the world celebrate the International Day of Tolerance. Founded in 1996, this day promotes the importance of mutual respect and acceptance of all “ways of being human.” According to the Declaration on Tolerance, “People are naturally diverse; only tolerance can ensure the survival of mixed communities in every region of the globe.” Tolerance, like spiritual direction, creates a space where the rich becoming in life can flourish.

To honor this day of tolerance around the world, Spiritual Directors International encourages you to take a few minutes to honor the grains of sand that have turned you over and over and changed the way you encounter the world. In An Open Heart: Practicing Compassion in Everyday Life, the Dalai Lama writes: “The slice of bread we eat had to be baked by someone. The wheat had to be planted by someone else and, after irrigation and fertilization, had to be harvested and then milled into flour. …Even our personal virtues, such as our patience and ethical sense, are all developed in dependence upon others. We can even come to appreciate that those who cause us difficulty are providing us with the opportunity to develop tolerance.”

Who has brought you the opportunity to embrace tolerance lately? Where in your heart do you honor that relationship today? Indeed, we are all learning, all tumbling, all changing. Your awareness of tolerance is cultivating compassion in the world today. 

Shalem’s Contemplative Voices Award

Honoring two Members of SDI

The Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation held their first Contemplative Voices Award Benefit on Thursday, November 3, 2011, in Bethesda, Maryland, USA. This award was created to honor individuals who make significant contributions to contemplative understanding and whose witness helps others live from the divine wellspring of compassion, strength, and authentic vision.

This year, the award was given to Reverend Margaret Guenther, Episcopal priest, writer, teacher, and grandmother, and to Reverend John Phillip Newell, a Church of Scotland pastor, poet, scholar, teacher, and former warden of Iona Abbey. Both are active members of SDI.

During the ceremony, Guenther read a piece entitled “Tips for Travelers” from her latest book, Walking Home: From Eden to Emmaus. Light hearted and humorously, she read, “As one who travels a great deal and who stubbornly insists on carrying her own luggage, I am an expert packer. …And when I arrive at my destination, my greeter almost always exclaims: ‘Is that all you have?’ I smile modestly and enlarge my reputation as one of Jesus’ humble foot soldiers. Surely Jesus would have approved of my packing skills, while the twelve would probably have shot me nasty looks for making them look bad.”

Newell shared “the India story” from the first chapter of his book, A New Harmony: The Spirit, the Earth, and the Human Soul. He read of his first night in India and his dream of drinking vodka with Mikhail Gorbachev. The story continued with an elderly Indian gentleman who told him, “I must be going now, but I have one final thing to say to you. You are God. And until you realize you are God, you will not be wise, you will not be happy, and you will not be free. Namasté.” Newell continued, “One of the most emphatic things to be said about the Indian banker’s words to me is that he was not addressing my ego. He was addressing the essential depth in me that is also his true depth and the true depth of everything that has being. He was pointing to the Ground of my being, to the Self within all selves, to the One in whom all life is rooted.”

Guenther and Newell were awarded a carved statuette made from an oak tree that had fallen on New Hampshire Avenue in Washington DC, USA. These were carved by an organization that honors and values trees while creating beautiful custom-designed pieces from “salvage” logs.

Editor’s note: Therese Taylor Stinson serves on the Coordinating Council of Spiritual Directors International and the board of directors of Shalem.

If you are interested in learning more from John Philip Newell, join Spiritual Directors International in Boston in April 2012. John Phillip Newell keynotes the conference.

From Bereft to Befriended

Are you awake to the grief in our midst that is begging for spiritual companionship? November is often referred to as a “thin time” and “thin place.” As we experience All Saints Day, All Souls Day, and El Dia de los Muertos, many believe our ancestors are particularly near; the veil between heaven and earth is thin. With the wisdom of the saints closely at hand, what beckons soul tending in your neighborhood? How might our spiritual ancestors lend us courage to be present to suffering?

On All Saints Day, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I stood in awe on the edge of two abysses of grief in New York. One abyss is the 9/11 World Trade Center Memorial: a living reminder of the past. The other abyss is the encampment of the Occupy Wall Street movement: a living reminder of present injustice. Both experiences engaged me with the pain of bereavement and the unexpected way that grief leads to openness for spiritual friendship.

9/11 World Trade Center Memorial

Like a giant coffin within a coffin, the 9/11 Memorial consists of two reflective pools cut deep into the earth in the same place the towers once stood. Thin streams of water fall down the interior walls of the giant upper coffin, draining into a lower coffin where the waterfall descends into a chasm. Nearly 3,000 names of the men, women, and children killed in the attacks of September 11, 2001 and February 26, 1993 are inscribed in bronze on parapets surrounding the twin memorial pools. The black walls of names keep visitors from being physically swept into the deep hole. However, the fluid sounds, the movement of rushing water, and the gentle mist rising amid the names invite visitors to be emotionally swept into the abyss of grief and mystery that Robert Frost writes about in his poem, “Bereft”:

Where had I heard this wind before

Change like this to a deeper roar?

… I was in my life alone,

Word I had no one left but God.

As I touched the names of people, my tears joined tears of thousands who have come to experience the deep roar of the 9/11 Memorial. Yet, a surprising peace came when I photographed three chairs to offer you a picture of my experience of God’s presence amid the dark side of humanity. Many people approached me wanting to learn more about the three chairs. As I explained the role of a sacred presence in the third chair, people talked about their spiritual understanding of the memorial. The memorial creates a place for befriending strangers and facilitates sharing stories of grief. Certainly this is what bereavement groups offer. There at the 9/11 Memorial, God’s healing presence was palpable.

Occupy Wall Street

After visiting the 9/11 Memorial, I spent a couple of hours listening to the concerns of the Occupy Wall Street protesters. Anguishing stories of job loss, anxiety about the environment, and worry about the lack of basic health care emerged. I witnessed grief in its raw, messy form, as people gave voice to their disgust and distrust in global systems that are not caring for our most vulnerable beings.

Listening to the protesters, especially the father of the young girl pictured here, made me appreciate anew the gift of being a spiritual director. On God’s behalf, we are called to listen to the grief-stricken and patiently wait for the mysteriously healing work of befriending strangers in grief. We are not alone in our search for justice and peace. We are not alone in seeking truth. We are not alone in our grief.

For those who have eyes to see, a spiritual hub of contemplative presence exists in Zuccotti Park. Next to the drummers, who rhythmically energize the peaceful-yet-chaotic protest scene, blankets on benches and a “chill out” chair encircle a tree. A simple altar with prayer and meditation beads, stones, and images from many spiritual traditions leans up against the tree trunk. People from many spiritual traditions and none sit in silence, around the tree that provides a place for reflection. I joined the contemplative circle to offer spiritual support with you, dear members, on behalf of people in grief everywhere. With deep gratitude, I bow to you for your spiritual care of our planet during these tumultuous times. Thank you.

Reflection:

How has grief led you to new ways of understanding spiritual presence in our evolving world? Who are the saintly strangers you’ve befriended lately? 

My Ofrenda

Reflections on Dia de los Muertos

In all houses of worship, there is a sacred space. Illuminated by candles or adored with fine cloth, there is a space observed as holy.

Today, Latino communities around the world celebrating Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, will spend time carefully creating a sacred space to honor and celebrate their ancestors and deceased family members. These ofrendas, or offerings, typically include a photo of the departed family member, marigolds, candles, sugar skulls, and items previously belonging to the deceased. Special foods including pan de muerto, or bread of the dead, is placed on the altar to nourish the ancestors. Vibrant colors, the scent of flowers, and freshly baked pan de muerto give these ofrendas honoring the dead an incredible sense of life.

The creation of ofrendas expresses reverence and gratitude towards the ancestors. And similar to the spiritual center in a house of worship, they can also serve as a place for deep grounding.

Last year at this time, I had just spent the month of October searching for an apartment in France. For four weeks, I had traveled between work and the homes of friends, wheeling all my essentials in a carry-on suitcase wherever I went. Finally, on October 31, I moved into a place of my own, and the first piece of furniture I set up was a small pine bed stand. I laid a yellow cloth over the wood, and placed a candle in the center. This was the beginning of my ofrenda, my altar, my sacred space.

With the celebration of Dia de los Muertos, we are encouraged to remember and honor our ancestors, and as with all spiritual holidays, beckoned to take a break from our daily routine to rediscover that which is holy.

This year, SDI welcomes you to join in this contemplative practice and create a sacred space in your home or office to celebrate those who have departed. Take your time and recall those who have gone before to make a place for you in this world. It doesn’t have to be elaborate; it can be as simple as a pine-wood bed stand with a yellow cloth and a single, flickering candle. 

“I hope to persuade you,” began Steven Pinker, “that there is a persistent decline in violence throughout history.” Speaking Monday night at Seattle’s Town Hall on his latest book, Better Angels of Our Nature, author and Harvard professor Stephen Pinker sought to convince the audience that humans everywhere are moving toward peace.

Pinker’s thesis emerges at a remarkable moment in our history: With the growing abundance of around-the-clock information-sharing, new eruptions of violence seem to occur daily. Increased news coverage of terrorism, crime, and war create the impression that our human family will never live in peace. For contemplatives worldwide, however, Pinker’s argument for peace couldn’t have come at a better time: Today marks twenty-five years since spiritual leaders from around the world gathered to pray for peace in Assisi, Italy. It was the first time in human history that such a gathering took place.

The decline in violence, outlined Pinker, may also be accompanied by an increase in our human ability to empathize. This rise in compassion towards others could be the result of a phenomenon he called the “widening-circle” of empathy. First theorized by philosopher Peter Singer, the idea recognizes that we have grown to empathize with more people and beings. Pinker remarked: “Over the millennia, people’s moral circles have expanded to encompass larger and larger polities: the clan, the tribe, the nation, both sexes, other races, and even animals.” The circle is ever-widening.

If we take this idea and integrate it with our lives, we realize that our capacity for compassion is continually growing, perhaps even beyond that of our ancestors. Together, we are closer to peace than ever before.

On this historic day celebrating twenty-five years since the first Assisi World Day of Prayer for Peace, imagine yourself as a “widening-circle” of empathy, a growing well of compassion. Where do you notice peace spilling over into new places of your life? In what direction is your circle of compassion expanding?