What Do You See? A Good Friday Meditation

Artwork part of a Stations of the Cross series by Barbara Barrett

See John 18: 1-19-42

What do you see?

A cross. 
A crown.
That sign.
Blood.  
Mockery. 
Abandonment. 

The ache of watching someone you love suffer while you can do absolutely nothing to stop it.

Is this what love comes to?

Feel free to keep adding words.

The church has given us language for this day. There are solemn collects and ancient prayers. There are theologies of atonement and redemption, and words like “obedience,” “sacrifice,” and “salvation.”

But before any of that—before any careful doctrine, before any polished sentence—there is deep, deep grief.

There is the animal anguish of it. 
The outrage of it. 
The terrible, helpless question of it.

Is this what love comes to?

For some of us, it is familiar.

Feelings may rise to the surface. Let them. Episcopalians aren’t so accustomed to raw emotion in church, but we’ll survive.

Now's the time to ask the hard questions.

Why him?
Why this?
Why is truth so silent while lies seem to shout? 
Why is mercy crucified while cruelty walks free? 
Why does someone so innocent end up being lied about, bruised, broken, mocked, and thirsty? 
Why do people in power wash their hands when they could so easily do the right thing?
Why are scared people so dangerous? 
How does a crowd suddenly turn cheer for death?

Why does this seem to keep happening over and over?

This is part of what makes Good Friday so hard. It is not only that Jesus dies. It is that everything ugly we know about this world shows its face.

Betrayal 
Violence 
Cowardice 
Public humiliation 
State-sanctioned cruelty
Religious self-protection 
The smugness of people who think someone else’s suffering is necessary.

It is all here.

While at the foot of the cross are the ones who love him. They're already grieving deeply.

They’ll be the ones left to grieve when the world goes on. 

"He lived!" They'll want to shout to anyone who will listen.

Say his name! For God’s sake, remember him. 

Anyone who has ever grieved knows this feeling.

His mother. 
His aunt. 
Mary Magdalene. The other Mary.
The mysterious beloved disciple.

The ones who cannot fix it. 
The ones who cannot argue it away. 
The ones who, despite their best efforts,  cannot make it meaningful enough to hurt any less.

They just stay.

And maybe the holiest thing anyone can do today is just stay.

Stay when prayers feel useless. 
Stay when God feels silent. 
Stay when the sky goes dark. When the ground beneath us feels unsteady and unsafe.
Stay when every cell in our body says, run.

Stay when we’re tempted to intellectualize or look for the bright side. To skip ahead to Easter.

But the church, in her wisdom, does not skip ahead.

There is no alleluia on Good Friday, no triumphant brass. 
No pretending that death is not real, that suffering is not cruel, or that grief is tidy and dignified.

Today, grief gets to be grief.

Today, sorrow has a voice.

Today, we are invited to say: "This is wrong!"

Love is not weakness!
Mothers should not have to bury their sons!
The poor and powerless should not be systematically crushed by disproportionately unfair systems.

It is wrong. It is wrong. It is wrong.

If you’re here with your own grief, Good Friday makes room for you.

Not the brave, cleaned-up, well-behaved version. 

Just You. With your anger, your questions, your bewilderment, your exhaustion…
The you who still prays and the you who cannot. 
The you who says, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” and means it.

Because Jesus has gone there too.

That is the terrible wonder of this day: not that suffering is explained, but that God enters it.

Not from a distance. 
Not as a spectator. 
Not with good advice.

God enters it with flesh and blood and a breaking heart.

God enters betrayal. 
God enters torture. 
God enters abandonment. 
God enters death.

So, if all you have today is tears, bring them. 
If all you have is anger, bring it. 
If all you have is silence, bring it. 
If all you have is the strength to stand far off and watch, then stand far off and watch.

But know this: your grief has not exiled you from God.

On Good Friday, grief where God is.

And so, we are brought to our knees today, not because we understand, but because we do not. 
Not because we are unbroken, but because we are. 
Not because grief has been answered, but because grief has been joined by God himself.

This is a brutal day. 
Because this is what love has come to. 

And we will grieve for as long as it takes…

Thousands of years, in fact. Until we finally grasp the God-honest truth.

That God will walk through the fire for us. That this is what love has come to. 

That's what I see. 

What do you see?

Mindful Monday: Speaking (and Singing) our Truth

 I might have a slight throat chakra blockage.  

I have come to appreciate that there is wisdom in the Tantric Chakra system, which I learned about in my yoga practice and teacher training. The word chakra means wheel or disk. The chakras are spinning wheels of energy that facilitate the smooth, balanced movement of energy in our physical, emotional, and spiritual bodies. As long as we are living and breathing, our wheels are turning in an effort to keep us healthy and to help us evolve spiritually in the physical world. When we die, we close the final gates, the yogis say, and we spread our wings and fly to the next life. We let go. We are free from the physical restraints of the body. 

 

I was raised in the Christian tradition and am on the ordination track to become a priest, so some might say I am heretical to even consider the benefits of the study of another faith tradition. I beg to differ. Respectfully. We can learn a lot from other traditions and would be wise to open our hearts and minds to the wisdom that is available to us from other contexts. That is the key to peace, in my humble opinion.

Back to my throat chakra imbalance. I didn’t forget (which, incidentally, can be a symptom of a blocked throat chakra!) While I have been grieving the loss of my earthly father, who died recently after a short period of in-home hospice care, I have also been studying in seminary. God willing, I will be ordained a priest in the Episcopal Church in the next couple of years. Crazy, right? I know. But it is a thing. I have been on this path for several years now, discerning in community about my potential call. It is not one to be taken lightly, and there are gates (kind of like the gates of the chakras, actually) that we pass through at several different junctions to ensure that this path is right for me and for the Christian community I will eventually serve. It is sometimes intense. And it is a mysterious and mystical journey I would not want to miss. As an added bonus, I have made some wonderful new friendships along the way.

 

Meanwhile, back at the brilliance of the chakra system, one might say the heart and the head have been working overtime. With all the studying and paper writing, alongside the loss of my beloved dad, there has been a lot of activity in the heart chakra and up in the head as well. Right there in the middle lies the throat chakra, the center of our communication, our energetic connection between our mind and our body. The yogis have a symbol for it, and it is associated with the color blue. But I see the throat center as an outward expression of our soul, to get very real about it. The throat is a portal through which our deepest truth is revealed. That is why singing can be experienced as such a vulnerable thing. 

 

I have always felt singing to be a joy. I sang in the church choir as a kid. I sang in musical theatre productions for many years, and I was a professional a cappella Christmas caroler for more than fifteen years of my adult life. Singing is a joy for me. But when I was asked to officiate a sung evening service at my seminary recently, I practically freaked out. Fortunately, I had been Zooming into classes after the death of my father, and I was not available, but I still freaked out. “I don’t know how to do that! How could they expect me to sing something I have not even rehearsed? I am a professional. I need rehearsal!” Suffice it to say, there was resistance in my throat chakra to this simple request that wasn’t even going to happen anyway. But my somewhat unbalanced emotional response was telling. I am grateful for the truth that this potential train wreck of an opportunity (as I saw it) had to offer. 

 

In many ways, our capacity to move through the grieving process is involved with our ability to wrap our minds around our losses and allow them to be processed in and through the physical body. If there is fear or an extreme amount of stress or trauma, our natural ability to move energy through our system can be challenged. 

 

All the chakras are important, but when we are grieving, it makes a lot of sense to care for our throat center. We can do this by drinking lots of clean water and soothing teas and wrapping our necks with a warm scarf when it is cold out. We can make sure to gently move that area daily and swallow in our throat to keep that area supple and relaxed. We can consciously breathe into the throat center to activate that area. We can practice a yoga practice like this one from my YouTube channel. And we can meditate on this area to clear our throat chakras when we sense that they are needing extra attention. For me, yoga has been nothing short of a gift. Paying mindful attention has become a vital part of my self-care and a lovely companion to my Christian formation. 

 

My throat chakra affirmation: I speak and sing my truth with compassion and love. 

 

What is your throat chakra affirmation?

 

 

Reality and Resurrection

 This week’s practice sermon uses the readings from the lectionary, particularly the following reading from the Gospel of Luke.

Luke 14:1, 7-14

On one occasion, when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely.

When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. "When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, `Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place so that when your host comes, he may say to you, `Friend, move up higher; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

He also said to the one who had invited him, "When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

Just a reminder, lest we forget, Jesus was Jewish. But, like Christianity today, Judaism in the first century was diverse. There were different groups with differing beliefs and practices, like the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Essenes, and others. 

As we read last week, Jesus was raised to be a good Jewish boy who knew his Hebrew scripture. Though they were sometimes criticized in the Gospels, the Pharisees were Jesus' peeps. Despite the negative press conferred upon the Pharisees by Luke in his gospel, in the first-century Jewish context, they were considered to be highly respected teachers. According to one source, there may have been as many as 6000 Pharisees living around the time of the first century. They were a powerful group that wielded influence with the political authorities of the day. Some of the better-known Pharisees are Nicodemus, Joseph of Arimathea, and the Apostle Paul. The Pharisees were a sect of Judaism that had disputes, not so much with Jesus but with the more elitist Sadducees. Among their differences was a belief in bodily resurrection, which the Sadducees fervently disputed. The Pharisees, as mentioned in the text from this week, were watching Jesus closely. No doubt, his miracles and healings had captured their attention. No doubt they wanted to know what made Jesus tick. They may have even wanted to protect him.

Nicodemus, Joseph of Arimathea, and Paul were Pharisees who played key roles in the Jesus story, using their money, power, and influence to move the Christian mission forward. One might go so far as to say these three, each in their own way, risked everything to ensure resurrection.

So, it’s no surprise that Jesus would be invited to dine with the Pharisees, maybe after preaching and teaching in a Synagogue, as he and his disciples made their way toward Jerusalem. Much like last week’s Gospel text, Jesus immediately picks up on the body language of the guests at the meal, noticing how they jockey for power with the seating arrangement. In classic Jesus form, he busts out a parable, telling the group about proper etiquette while attending a wedding banquet. “Don’t dare take the best seat, lest you risk being sent to the children’s table. No, instead, take the lowest seat, which will secure you a higher seat at the head table with the big wigs.”

Then, I imagine Jesus took the host of the dinner aside, looked him straight in the eye, and gave him the secret sauce he had been waiting for. “Next time,” Jesus confided, “invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. They are the ones you must serve. That is how you learn about resurrection.” 

The song You Raise Me Up, performed by Josh Groban, always gives me goosebumps when I hear it. His voice is just like butter, the really delicious, creamy, fattening kind. 

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary; 

When troubles come, and my heart burdened be; 

Then, I am still and wait here in the silence, 

Until you come and sit awhile with me. 

(Sing with me)

 

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains; 

You raise me up to walk on stormy seas. 

I am strong when I am on your shoulders. 

You raise me up... To more than I can be.

 

When you become a postulant for holy orders and begin seminary, the Church expects you to find a spiritual director to help you navigate the process. Personally, I think it’s also helpful to have one or two close friends to bounce spiritual ideas around with. The Celts call this friendship Anam Cara, or soul friend. My Anam Cara is a precious longtime friendship. Over the years, we have shared some of the hardest parts of our lives and the most joyful ones. Together we try to discover where God is showing up in each of our stories. She is such a good listener that she detects, from what I say and don’t say, God, working in my life when I cannot see it for myself. I try to do the same for her. After our conversations, I always feel better and have a broader perspective. There have been times, however, when we have spoken hard truths to one another that were difficult to both say and hear. For example, on one occasion, I called my friend to ask if she felt I was being selfish in my handling of a certain situation. She hesitated for a brief moment and then said tentatively, “Sorry, but actually, yes.” I was momentarily taken aback. But she was right. I love her for that. She listened. And she responded with truth that was born of love for me.

 

The Pharisees listen to Jesus as he shares difficult truths with them. 

“He who exalts himself will be humbled. He who humbles himself will be exalted.” 

 

Sometimes, life humbles us.

 

There’s another song that gives me goosebumps, The Wind Beneath My Wings, sung by Bette Midler. It came on the car radio at a particular moment on the worst day of my life, as my family and I left Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh after the sudden death of our six-year-old daughter, Meghan. I was in a daze, as you can imagine, wondering how in the world I would go on without her. This song came on the radio. It was a song we sang along to often as we drove together to all the regular places – school, the grocery store, piano lessons, and her frequent medical appointments. In the car, we would sing full-out. She knew all the words. It was such a common, pleasant occurrence that I probably took it for granted. Until it was no more. 

 

In the car on that sad day, suddenly, I could sense Meghan’s presence. “Did you ever know you were my hero…” We had gone through so much to keep our daughter alive. “You’re everything I wish I could be.” It had been a long six years and, at the same time, far too short. “I can fly higher than an eagle.” As we drove home to Maryland in a fog of grief, “You are the wind beneath my wings” played over and over in my head. My long grief journey was just beginning, but for several moments I imagined my daughter was speaking (singing) to me from another realm, somehow saying, “Thank you. I love you. I am with you,” through Bette Midler, in a car somewhere on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, Pa. That strange but comforting awareness was pure grace. That’s the only way I know how to explain it.

 

Jesus knows how difficult it can be to be human and what a risk it is to be a disciple. He is willing to go the distance, all the way to the cross. But he knows the grief that remains for those who are left behind. And he knows the work that must be done to ensure the coming of the Kingdom, much of it thanklessly, covertly, behind the scenes. 

 

This is the humility that changes the world, the humility that is inspired by great love. We witness it in the love of a parent, a spouse, friend, teacher, coach, nurse, social worker, stranger, or even occasionally a Pharisee. This is the humility that listens and responds truthfully and the one who is open to receiving difficult truths. It is the humility that can help to ensure resurrection. 

 

As the Pharisees sat around the table with Jesus, perhaps as hungry for his words and teachings as his disciples, I imagine they did listen. I imagine some of them also grieved at his crucifixion. Luke’s Gospel tells a powerful story of Jesus, born a human, who lived and breathed and loved and grieved and probably felt goosebumps on occasion. After his death on the cross, Jesus shows up again in his resurrection body to let his disciples know it’s not over; that love doesn’t go away after death. I imagine his message to his beloved friends and followers: “Thank you. I love you. I am with you.” 

 

That horrific day in the car, when I needed it most, I somehow grasped the reality of resurrection. Not in my muddy, grief-stricken mind. In my humility, my heart picked up the transmission, and I received the unlikely gift of a love song from an empty tomb. At our very lowest, there is always hope. Everything bears within it the promise of resurrection. That also gives me goosebumps.

 

There is no life no life without its hunger

Each restless heart beats so imperfectly

But when you come, and I am filled with wonder

Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas

And I am strong when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up, to more than I can be

You raise me up, to more than I can be

~~Music, Rof Lovland, Lyrics, Brendan Graham 

What does this practice sermon/reflection evoke in you? Where have you noticed signs of resurrection in your life? Is there a question for God, a prayer, or an action that is arising within you? 

Here is a yoga practice for moving through grief.

 

The Osprey Nest

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.  In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”

        
--John 14: 1-2

The old osprey nest I had been watching for the past few weeks on my morning walks with Sophie finally had some activity.

Mama (I am assuming) sat high atop the tallest branch of the craggy, barren tree guarding her home while papa swooped low to fetch pine needles, sticks and leaves, depositing them neatly into the nest with agile back claws.

I was happy to see the new tenants taking residence and making the home their own. It’s good to see some normalcy, signs of life as usual, these days. It's also important to create home that feels sacred, nurtures the soul, and invites you to settle in and get comfy. My husband and I had been nesting ourselves of late, having closed on a new home by the shore in January. Our decorating was coming along nicely when Covid-19 rudely interrupted us all. Our sweet new retirement dream home was where we would now shelter in place.

Walking on our now familiar trail, Sophie stopped just ahead of me to survey the area. She has her favorite spots to crouch and pee, some ways off the trail like a proper lady. I like to pause so as not to rush her and, wanting to give her privacy, I glanced away. In the distance I spotted our osprey friend soaring high overhead, this time with a long ribbon-like something or other trailing behind him like a kite tail fluttering in the breeze. It was a strange sight to see and I watched trying to discern what he had picked up and whether it would be a welcome addition to the nest when offered to his beloved.

He swooped close to the nest and then circled back toward me. Just then he surprised me by dropping his precarious cargo right onto the bush next to me. It landed like perfectly placed garland on a Christmas tree. 

I wondered if mother, still perched regally atop her branch, had vetoed her mate’s decorating suggestion or if he had made this last minute decision of his own accord. Either way, my osprey friend had bestowed upon me a sacred gift and I am not one to be ungrateful. 

I retrieved the rejected material and determined it to be construction debris from a nearby house now under construction (no, it wasn't toilet paper!). I had been open to receive just about anything gifted to me from “on high” these last few weeks, when we have seemed so bereft of good news. I was desperate for a sign of any kind. This would do just fine.

A divine order patterns all of creation,

from the timeless ocean to the fleeting dew.

Keep your attention on wisdom,

and do not allow yourself to be distracted.

Watch the patterns of creation.

This will enliven your soul and bring you grace and tranquility. 

-- Excerpts from Proverbs: The Wisdom of Solomon, Chapter 3, translated by Rabbi Rami Shapiro

My thoughts had been darker these past few days as we head into the possible peak of this devastating virus that is spreading exponentially leaving thousands dead and so many others fearing we are next. But this adorable osprey couple, this sweet once threatened species, reminded me that we are resilient, that seasons change and new life does arrive, despite and even sometimes, because of hardship. They showed me that working together we can rebuild, and that there’s plenty to go around, so why not share. 

They also reminded me to be grateful for my practical, hardworking husband who, much like the osprey dad, has a deeply ingrained, inspiring work ethic. His decorating sense, however; how shall we say this delicately, osprey mama? With all due respect, all decorating decisions should plainly be left up to me.

Walking home with Sophie I stopped by the dumpster and with a deep sigh of gratitude, reluctantly deposited the lovely gift. No sense holding onto things so tightly anymore.  

Peace.

Fenwick Island, DE

4/2/20

Connie Bowman is an actress, yoga teacher, host of the podcast Happy Healthy You! and author of Back to Happy and children's picture books about overcoming fear, kindness and acceptance. For more about her visit www.conniebowman.com.

Enjoy Reclaiming Joy on Insight Timer: Reclaiming Joy

A couple of video updates on our couple:

Osprey Update 5/2/20:

We had 50-60 mph winds in the storm the other night and the Osprey nest blew from the tree. Mother still sits on the branch next to where her eggs had been incubating. Dad is in another tree not far from her. I watched for a while and they both left to circle the area and landed back home.
This prayer showed up today:

Prayer for People Facing Great Uncertainty
Adapted from the New Zealand Prayer Book

God of the present moment, God who in Jesus stills the storm and soothes the frantic heart; bring hope and courage to all who wait or work in uncertainty.
Bring hope that you will make us all able to deal with whatever lies ahead.
Bring us courage to endure what cannot be avoided, for your will is health and wholeness; you are our God,
and we need you
now and always. Amen.

Osprey Update 5/5/20: 

What I think may be the final one but one never knows…

I had been feeling sad over the loss of our osprey couple’s nest in the recent wind storm.

After watching them for a few weeks, they seemed to be a solid couple, determined to make a home in the once abandoned nest high up in the twisted old tree by the bay. I observed with great curiosity as they added debris; plastic and paper, twigs and practically anything they could find to put their stamp on their nest. 

My husband and I did the research. Ospreys, once a threatened species due to pesticides and other man-made threats, were now thriving in the Chesapeake Bay after years of measures taken to eliminate unhealthy practices. Both male and female build the nest together. They take residence and lay their eggs, typically two to three, in the Spring in whatever nest is available. The mother is usually larger than the father, perhaps noticeably when she is carrying her soon- to-be offspring. According to our research, they can lay eggs anytime from mid April to late May.

I assumed they had laid their eggs and were happily awaiting the birth of their babies.

It appears I was wrong!

After their nest blew down I watched for a few days as mom and dad seemed to grieve their great loss atop their barren perch. Once I spotted the male circling the tree with twigs in his back talons looking for a place in the tree to drop his building materials. They seemed to want to rebuild in place, only higher up.

After a few days I noticed that the couple had not been around. This morning on a walk by their still empty tree, the tide receded, I crossed the land where I normally would not be able and headed toward the tree. There on the ground beneath it I found what had once been our sweet couple’s mansion in the sky. I knew it was huge but laying in a shambles on the ground I could see it had been enormous. They had collected a myriad of items from colored strips of paper, a piece of a plastic carton and wrappers of all sorts and likely many pounds of twigs once intricately woven together to form their impressive but tenuous structure.

It took me a while to sift through the remains, but I am happy to report that there were no traces of eggs or feathers or anything that would lead me to believe that her babies had been born and were either abducted or killed in the fall. Such good news!

Our couple has moved on. Yesterday I thought I heard their now familiar cry, but I am not sure. I miss them but I certainly wish them well in their new home and pray their family thrives and their babies grow healthy and strong and eventually fly away to fulfill their own destinies. 

And then our couple can retire by the beach and happily enjoy their golden years in the sunshine. #ospreyupdate

The Real Work 

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.

~~Wendall Berry

Spirituality and Soup

For Christians, Advent is a time of waiting. During the darkest time and the shortest days of the year I am often met, surprisingly, with time on my hands. Anyone else notice this odd phenomenon? I feel it. It's strange, as our culture tells us we have so much to do, sometimes I find myself with more time to ruminate in the winter. The nights grow longer, days are cold and so we huddle indoors while the holidays loom in the distance, seemingly a far ways off. 

How do we find patience to wait for the light? When things are darkest it is often difficult to imagine the light ever returning. But it always does. Year after year we are reminded of this by the repetition of the cycles of nature and the meaning we choose to impose on it. God's there in the dark and the light, loving us and inviting us to a closer, co-creative experience of that love.

Mr. Rogers had a song that he liked to sing on his popular children's television show. It went like this:

 Let's think of something to do while we're waiting / While we're waiting / For something new to do / Let's think up a song while we're waiting / That's liberating / And will be true to you / Let's think of something to do while we're waiting / While we're waiting / Till something's through / You know it's really alright / In fact it's downright quite right / To think of something to do that's specific for you / Let's think of something to do while we're waiting.

I think dear Mr. Rogers was onto something. When things are darkest, we can still create. We can write a song, knit a sweater, paint a picture, write cards, wrap presents decorate, make a pot of soup. 

Yesterday I did just that. I was feeling the darkness as the day was coming to a close and so I decided to make a big pot of soup. It was satisfying, edifying, warming and intentional.

How do you live into the darkest days of the year? What sustains you while you wait for the light to return?

Advent comes every year at this time. 
Just in time. 






Spirituality of Soup

Chilly, windy.  Twilight settles early.

Hungry. Empty. Barren.
Awakening to longing; for wholeness, beauty, depth…God
Organize. Assemble. Chop.

Large stock pot. EVOO, Onions, carrots, potatoes, beans, broth, spices…

Heat. Light. Fragrant aroma, colors, flavors, textures.

Waiting. Uncertainty. Hope. Faith.

Temptation: Insta Pot (still in box, unopened).

No, souls need practice. Let boil, then simmer…gently.

Waiting, letting go, trusting the process.

Grace, Peace, Stillness.

Breath.

Watching. Waiting. Impatient.

Reflection: Darkness eventually ends. Stay.

Tenderness, patience, compassion. Steam rises. Bell rings.

Worthy container. Open to receive.

Warmth fills, nourishes, sustains.

Creation! Gratitude! Redemption! Joy!

Recipe for a meaningful Advent: Commit, Prepare, Tend, Watch and Wait, Celebrate, Share, Repeat

XO,

Connie

One Thing

I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.     ― Abraham Lincoln

Through the years people have often asked me “How did you do it?”, meaning how did I survive the death of a child. They were looking for the “one thing.” In answering, I try to honor the spirit of the question, which is certainly different for every person. Some are grieving themselves and looking for concrete, practical advice. Some might be asking as they are witnessing the grief of a friend or loved one and sincerely want to help. Some are simply curious. I often feel the weight of the responsibility to answer well for each person. It’s never an easy answer. That’s why I wrote Back to Happy. The book was my humble offering in response to that question.  For me, if I was to pinpoint the “one thing” that was the thread woven through the fabric of my personal healing, I would have to say it was surrender. Surrender was the most difficult, most unlikely, most radically transformational part of my grief journey.

It’s ineffable for sure, difficult to describe with words but I try my best in Back to Happy. Just to clarify what I mean by surrender, I will tell you first what surrender is not. Surrender is not giving up. Surrender is not weakness. Surrender is not permission to check out. 

When something traumatic happens, like a loss (and these recent shootings are deeply communal losses for all of us) we often want to respond with immediate action. Action is one way of avoiding profoundly deep feelings of despair. There are others, but avoiding is not what I want to focus on here. Grief and despair can overwhelm the human system physically, emotionally and energetically. In the aftermath of trauma our minds and spirits are often disconnected from our bodies. Our mind races ahead to make sense of what has happened and wants to come up with solutions. Our body is left feeling untethered, like a helium balloon released to the heavens. Our beautiful immortal spirit, in its wisdom, seeks wholeness and gently nudges the broken parts of us back to unity. You may feel these gentle nudges when coincidences happen or unlikely people show up at just the right time or a certain song plays on the radio. 

What can we do with a racing mind and a deeply traumatized body? We can choose to surrender to the nudges. Surrender brought me to my knees, literally. I wrote about this in Back to Happy.  One day after months of pushing and doing and trying my best to keep busy with things that would seemingly help me move through the despair, somewhere from deep within came the thought that I could choose to surrender. That day in my living room, all by myself, I prayed. I prayed hard. I surrendered. And I asked for help. 

That was my turning point. Physically and mentally I surrendered to the awareness that I needed a higher power (for me that’s God). I surrendered to accepting help from other people. We are not meant to endure despair alone. Always, always reach out. But first, surrender. Love, God, the universe, whatever you choose to call her, is always there waiting for us. We have to make the first move. 

Over time surrender led me to people and places and books and churches and counselors and yoga classes. I began to heal and rediscover joy. To use the words "surrender saved me" is an understatement. Surrender changed everything for the better and for good. As I practice surrender daily it continues to teach me and never fails to amaze and delight. 

So if you are wondering for yourself or another what is the “one thing” that you could do or suggest to another to move with grace through the devastating, complicated, life changing grief that inevitably we will all face, try surrender. Surrender with your mind and your body and ask for whatever help you need. You will receive. And then, never stop asking. 

May you find the courage to surrender to the love that is waiting silently and patiently for you. May you know the peace that comes with this surrender. May you grow closer, day by day, to this miraculous, delightful mystery. In time, may you come to know the gift of sharing it with others.

Connie Bowman is an actress, yoga teacher, host of the podcast Happy Healthy You! and author of Back to Happy and children's picture books about overcoming fear, kindness and acceptance. For more about her visit www.conniebowman.com.

Stories We Tell: Grief and the Holidays

When we so fear the dark that we demand light around the clock, there can be only one result: artificial light that is glaring and graceless and, beyond its borders, a darkness that grows ever more terrifying as we try to hold it off. Split off from each other, neither darkness nor light is fit for human habitation. But the moment we say “yes” to both of them and join their paradoxical dance, the two conspire to make us healthy and whole.                  

                                    ~~Parker J. Palmer

Accepting the bad with the good is part of life, or so the idiom goes. Grief and loss happen throughout a lifetime, but then also come great gifts of joy and happiness. It’s an irony of the greatest degree that the holidays, these festivals of light that we celebrate, happen for us at the darkest time of the year. Or perhaps it’s a beautiful gift. At the most basic level, the stories we tell around the holidays can be healing at very deep levels.

“God rest you merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay.” 

The carol suggests we take heart and implores us to rest in the awareness that Christ the Savior was born on Christmas day to take us out of our grief and darkness. The chorus brings us “tidings of comfort and joy”. A nice sentiment. 

Easier sang than done.

Like the holiday stories of our childhood, our own lives are stories unfolding. It is interesting to observe the things that show up in our lives. Our lives are stories that have meaning and wisdom and we are meant to pay attention. They are clues to our true selves, as mystic Thomas Merton would say. For Merton, doing away with the false self was our life’s work. 

We take on this false self by believing the stories we tell ourselves about what is good and bad and right and wrong based on false culturally derived assumptions and flat-out survival instincts. Father Thomas Keating, who died last month, said this of the true self: “Our basic core of goodness is our true self, its center of gravity is God.” He also said, and I love this, “The false self doesn’t drop dead on command.” Unfortunately. 

We live our lives mostly on the surface. Surface-level living gets us in trouble with our souls and with one another. At a surface level, we take for granted that the Christmas story is accurate. The truth is we don’t really know if the baby Jesus was born on the date that we celebrate Christmas. We don’t know for sure if the stable was a thing. We don’t know if Mary was really a virgin. The story is a stretch for our modern imaginations. 

What if that’s the whole point? What if we were to look more deeply with our amazing imaginations and our extremely capable and compassionate hearts? What if we looked at it, that Christmas story, as a gift; a story of hope for our dark, grief-filled lives. The same could be true of the story of Hannukah. What if we were supposed to let our imaginations take us more deeply into those stories that have undeniably stood the test of time? What if, by letting our imaginations run a little wild, we could shine some light onto our own unfolding stories?

This December I have a happy, joyful thing happening right alongside some very sad, stressful things, as many of us do. On the 10th of the month my children’s book, There’s an Elephant in My Bathtub comes out. It’s so happy, a sweet gift for children - sorry but all the kids in my life will be getting one. (Now I’ve gone and ruined the surprise.) There will also be a sweet children’s sing-along produced by the super talented David Rowen, featuring some of my favorite Broadway stars. Now that’s fun and happy and joyful and beautiful. This children’s book will become part of my story.

It’s the good and the bad, the dark and the light, the joy and the grief that is our life’s journey, our own personal story, that we are living out every moment of our lives. We experience them all and they don’t have a calendar. Only in the movies do the enemy troops stop and pray together on Christmas, going back to fighting the following day. Grief and loss and conflict are part of the human condition. So is joy, happiness, love...

Author Cynthia Bourgeault writes: 

Deeper than our sense of separateness and isolation is another level of awareness in us, another whole way of knowing. Thomas Keating, in his teachings on centering prayer, calls this our “spiritual awareness” and contrasts it with the “ordinary awareness” of our usual, egoic thinking. The simplest way of describing this other kind of awareness is that while the self-reflexive ego thinks by means of noting differences and drawing distinctions, spiritual awareness “thinks” by an innate perception of kinship, of belonging to the whole. The only thing blocking the emergence of this whole and wondrous other way of knowing is your over-reliance on your ordinary thinking. If you can just turn that off for a while, then the other will begin to take shape in you, become a reality you can actually experience. And as it does, you will know . . . your absolute belonging and place in the heart of God, and that you are a part of this heart forever and cannot possibly fall out of it, no matter what may happen. In the contemplative journey, as we swim down into those deeper waters toward the wellsprings of hope, we begin to experience and trust what it means to lay down self, to let go of ordinary awareness and surrender ourselves to the mercy of God. And as hope . . . flows out from the center, filling us with the fullness of God’s own purpose living itself into action, then we discover within ourselves the mysterious plenitude to live into action what our ordinary hearts and minds could not possibly sustain.

The children’s book came about when I woke up one morning with a line in my head. I made a beeline for my computer to type what was rolling around in my mind: “This morning I was rather shocked to find an elephant in my bathtub.” When six-year-old Isaac visited during the holidays with his family he left some of his toy animals around the house. As I was cleaning up from our holiday party I found a plastic camel on the sofa cushion, a lion on the floor, and a gorilla on the ottoman.  That's how the book was conceived.

I try to pay attention to things that happen like this, seemingly out of the blue. Think about the things in your life that have shown up unexpectedly. They might be "God things" as my friend Barb and I like to call them. I have learned to pay attention when these unusual things happen because a sub-plot of my story is beginning to reveal itself. This life is fun and interesting and mysterious like that.

One of the many reasons the Christmas story is so magical is the spectacular imagery in the story of the birth of Christ. There is the famous star that appears in the sky, directing the three wise men to the exact place of Jesus’ birth. That ancient GPS was important to those three guys. They needed that star otherwise they would be lost. We know how men hate to ask for directions. And how about the angel that appeared to Mary telling her she was going to have God’s baby? Whoa, that would be a shocker for any young girl to hear, angel or not. Fortunately, the angel preceded his announcement with the admonishment to “fear not” before he unloaded the good news on her. Take a deep breath girl your life is about to change radically and, by the way, so will the rest of the world. Quite a story unfolded on that starry silent night in that stable in Bethlehem.

"O star of wonder, star of night,

Star with royal beauty bright,

Westward leading, still proceeding,

Guide us to thy perfect Light"

Those two images, the star that led the wise men and the angel’s visitation on this teenage mom-to-be, can be woven into my own story. Here’s an example. Paying attention to the signs and wonders of the day like those wise men, who didn’t have a Waze app on their iPhone, is something I try to practice. When an idea for a story pops in, I take it seriously. Sometimes it turns into a book, sometimes it’s just a passing fancy. When I am seeking guidance I look to these sacred stories. 

For about a year I played with the story and the images of the elephant and the other larger-than-life animals as a way to handle grief. It turned out to be great therapy.  You might give it a try as another tool for journeying through grief. Creativity is healing. It takes us out of our minds. The mind can spin things over and over until the truth is so obscured it is barely recognizable. The Dr. Phil dramas that we create up there in the mind are not the real deal. When we explore our subconscious mind for the creative gems that are hidden there we are able to uncover deep heart-centered wisdom.

The truth of our lives is our story. What is your true story? Take out all of the spin and take a good hard realistic look at your true story. Did you have a less than happy childhood? What stories have you been telling yourself it? What do you know about your people and their own stories? How separated do you feel from loved ones and others in your community? Where is there common ground? Tell the truth. Just the facts ma’am/man. Just the facts.

What we know about the Christmas story is that a child was born and he grew up to be a teacher and a preacher of love, a rabble-rouser from the get-go, a healer, and a leader. We don’t really know what he looked like although he was probably not much over five feet as that was the average height at the time. We’re not sure he was actually born in Bethlehem. Details are murky at best, but the similar stories in the gospels point to something with historical veracity. The fact that we are still celebrating that birth two thousand and some years later is telling. I could only dream of that for my little book.

I am enjoying this Pray as You Go website which provides an opportunity to experience the nativity story in a deeper way. It is beautifully done. It is especially nice for families. Check it out here.

"How silently, how silently

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven.

No ear may hear His coming,

But in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive him still,

The dear Christ enters in"

After submitting my story and getting lots of rejections, I was contacted by the publisher back in January. They were interested in my story. What? We began work on the book shortly thereafter. 

The holidays are tough for a lot of people. I know that after Meghan, my first child, died (Back to Happy, my first book, was about healing from that loss) I didn’t have much passion for creating a festive holiday for my family. But I had to drum up some enthusiasm for my three-year-old daughter Caroline. I also had a newborn son, just two months old, that first Christmas. What a story! Somehow we survive these things that seem so devastating and life-changing. Many of us thrive through adversity and develop more compassion, resilience, and a sense of justice. Others become bitter, hopeless, deeply depressed. A lot of us fall somewhere in the middle. Our stories go on. Like the animals in my story, the big things become smaller with the passage of time. When we share our stories truthfully we find common ground.

We took the Amtrak train from Baltimore to New York City recently and as my husband and I emerged from Penn Station onto 34th street in Manhattan he commented, “I think I just saw more people on this block than I have seen in the last month.” So many people. And they each have stories. There’s common ground for you.

How will you honor your story this holiday season? Will you look to the Nativity or the Hanukkah stories for inspiration and an awareness of a deeper truth of your own. I recommend it. Take some time to ponder the meaning of your life in light of the mythologies we have come to know and cherish. How do you relate to the characters in the stories? How will you move forward in relation to the characters in your life in light of these stories? How has your relationship to your Creator changed in light of these stories and your own?

The Christmas story will always be a source of comfort and joy for me, especially in darker times. Each year my relationship with the mystery that is God deepens as my story unfolds. The staying power of these stories is evidence that life goes on despite hardship and personal struggle. My faith is deepened every Christmas morning when I remember that the Light of the World, that innocent child who grew to show us how things could be, was a gift, is a gift of love to all of us always, and especially when things appear darkest.

I will breathe through this season with all of you who are experiencing similar dark nights right alongside the happiness of holiday festivities. Yoga, a healthy diet, and good sleep will help, as will some of the other lessons I shared in my book Back to Happy.

Also, look for my ten-day course called Sacred Grieving available on the Insight Timer app. I will be using it as well this season to gracefully navigate the trials to come. I would love your comments on the course.

If you love animals like I do, buy my sweet children’s book here and share it with the children in your life. And don’t forget to check out and share the sing-along video on YouTube. You might not thank me after the children have played it for the hundredth time, but your kiddos will love it!

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Blessed Happy Healthy Holidays to you and yours.

Namaste, Shalom, Peace.

Connie

Connie Bowman is an actress, author, host of the podcast Happy Healthy You! and yoga teacher who teaches at various places around Howard County, MD. For more about her visit www.conniebowman.com.