Life and Death

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death, die, divine, failure, foibles, God's embrace, humility, letting go, psalm 49, regret, success, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, wealth, willingness

Psalm 49 speaks loudly of the reality that “you can’t take it with you.” No matter our success or wealth, wise people die, the psalm says, “and likewise the senseless and the stupid pass away leaving to others their wealth.”

No matter how I tried to ignore talking about death at the beginning of the day, I kept coming back to it, remembering an often repeated concept of our wisdom work that recommends learning to “die before you die.” What might that mean exactly? For most of us there are events or circumstances in our lives that we would rather forget for our poor handling of the situation or the pain we have caused, but blotting them out without learning the lessons they teach merits us nothing. Owning up to our foibles, expressing our regret, making restitution if necessary and then letting go is a “death to self” that opens up the possibility of a deeper way of living. Not beating ourselves up for mistakes but having the humility to acknowledge that full and true humanity is a skill learned as much through failure as through success seems the only sensible way to live.

If we practice letting go each day of our faults and the perceived failings of others, we will be ready to let go of everything about this human realm to which we have been clinging, be it wealth or prestige or relationship or even the lovely simple things of life. The reward of this willingness, we trust, is a letting go into the divine life that awaits us where we fall effortlessly into God’s embrace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harden Not Your Hearts

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bitter, failure, God, heart, hearts, Meribah, miracle, Psalm 95, sign, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, voice

The verse before the gospel today is very familiar. It comes from Psalm 95 and if I only see the first clause, I can always recite the second. If today you hear God’s voice…harden not your hearts. I usually pass it by making a quick note to myself of the meaning, i.e. “Don’t get mad at God for anything that happens” or “Don’t forget that God always loves you.” This morning I decided to investigate because I didn’t remember why the psalmist was warning the people in that way. Here’s what I found in a commentary.

The experience of the Hebrew people at the oasis of Meribah was one of those historical markers in their journey from Egypt. The waters of Meribah were bitter (which is the meaning of the name) and they also complained to God bitterly that they were brought out into the desert to die. In the record and tradition of the people a miracle was performed and the bitter waters were turned to sweet, drinkable water. They never forgot what happened, but they also failed the same test of trust over and over again. Meribah became a kind of sign to them of their failure and God’s provision. (Ancient Songs Sung Anew, p. 241)

Thus, I guess I wasn’t far off in my assessment of the meaning of that verse, but now I might recall the whole thing myself before I get all huffy when a situation seems unfair. May it be so – for all of us!

 

 

 

 

 

Reminding God

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care, confidence, failure, God, goodness, humble heart, lost, love, path, permission, psalm 25, surrender, teach, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, trust, wandering

Psalm 25 is clearly one in which we can see that the psalmist has an ongoing relationship with God. This morning, in an alternative translation of the psalm, I got the notion that God needed reminding of the responsibility of mutuality in that relationship. The lectionary only gives verses 4-8 for our consideration but I want to introduce the text with verse one because it made me smile (as in a parent saying to children who are acting up in some way: “Don’t make me come up there…”). The psalmist begins by reminding God: To you I surrender up my soul, O God. In you I place my deepest trust. May I not regret this wanton act of love; may it never be defeated by some foe.

Perhaps I’m misinterpreting the tone of the psalmist. It may be desire rather than expectation that is being expressed, but I rather like the thought that one might have the confidence that gives permission for such presumption in relationship with God. However you interpret the following verses, the prayer seems a good one for today.

Lead me out upon the path of highest truth that I may learn your wisdom, Lord my God, my saving help day after day. Remember all you’ve ever been to us; from ancient times till now we’ve known your constant care. Remember me, O God, and forget the times when in my youth I failed you. In your great goodness put all this behind, and show the path again to me, even when I’m lost and wandering far away. For you are ever just and fair, you guide all those of humble heart and teach the gentle ones your ways.

 

 

 

 

 

Telling the Truth, Honestly

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Ancient Songs Sung Anew, divine teacher, failure, gained, God, history lesson, lessons, meditation, psalm 78, self-esteem, success, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, unconditional love, wandering, wisdom

I was in a conversation last evening about the difficulty of being honest if one is dependent on others for self-esteem. There are other reasons why people lie, of course – perhaps especially in business these days – but even in our everyday lives the challenge is to avoid linking our worth to success or failure in the eyes of others or even ourselves. As I write this, my thoughts come round to the conclusion that our image of God needs to be taken into consideration here. If the God I believe in is the God of unconditional love, I ought to be able to be honest about both my successes and failures before God and, in that assurance, not be so timid about speaking the truth in all situations.

Psalm 78 is one of the longest psalms. It is, according to one commentator, the retelling of the epic journey of Israel, both an interior and an exterior experience of wandering. It is the reflection of someone who wants to see clearly the realities, and who laments the mistakes of the past…He or she does not glorify the past (as most epic stories do), but tells it in stark detail, failure after failure…It is perhaps true that this is wisdom literature precisely because it refuses to do what other literature does: glorify the past and gloss over the failures in which lie the deepest lessons of wisdom. (Ancient Songs Sung Anew, p.199)

The first eight verses of the psalm tell of the purpose of recounting what is to come in the rest of the “history lesson” and it is these verses that appear in the lectionary today. I think it bears repeating.

Listen carefully, my people, pay close attention, all who belong to me. For I am about to speak as teacher, explaining the mysteries of old. I will teach you using parables drawn from ancient times. I will teach you many lessons you must know. And what you learn and come to hear, speak it to your children, so generations yet unborn will know God’s works and ways, how God taught ancient Jacob and Israel knowledge of the law; how it became a pathway, a teaching meant for all. It passed as holy wisdom to the people as yet unborn so as they lived their trust would grow upon the paths of God, and not rebel or learn so slow, as their ancestors before them.

The commentator asks questions for meditation which stood out to me as directive for today. 1. Where have you experienced the divine teacher in the midst of both success and failure? 2. What have you learned specifically from failure and sin, or disobedience to the best that you knew? AND What have you gained from mistakes made in ignorance?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Living in the Now

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celebration, failure, light, limit of our days, live, moment, now, present, psalm 90, success, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, time, wisdom of heart

As I read today’s lectionary texts, I am struck once again with the necessity of living every moment to the fullest without grasping at the past or the future – which I no longer have or do not yet have (and maybe never will, who knows?). This is not a new theme but as I write I am hearing in my head some lines of a song by Greg Greenway, a wonderful musician and poet. The refrain goes like this: This is the light I carry. Tonight is a celebration. Have no complaints, sinners and saints, under the bright constellations…The hymnal’s wide open at the Church of What Is; let’s sing!

One of my alternative psalm translations says this: (Please pardon the repetition, if repetition there is): Time for you is as nothing, Lord, a thousand years of it, your yesterday, passing as a watch of the night. We are your dream, we’re briefly here and then simply gone, like grass. In the morning green and growing, at sunset we are withered, dry. So teach us now the limit of our days, that we may give our hearts to wisdom’s voice. And turn a gracious face toward us, for we are here on earth to serve. So may this grace, this graciousness be ours, and rest upon us now and evermore we pray. Amen. (Ps. 90)

The familiar (to me) translation of one of those lines says, “Teach us to number our days aright that we may gain wisdom of heart.” Although I note the great similarity of the two translations of that sentence, I’m tempted to jump on the word “limit” in the first one as something different from the obvious meaning, i.e. the “number” as in the traditional sentence. What if the limit we are supposed to learn is what can be accomplished in a day, which shifts as we age. Can we learn to accept our days as we live them with the level of “success” or “failure” without needing to even apply those words to anything? Can we be awake to the wisdom, the lesson in each passing moment, so that without lamenting our limitations we live as we were meant to – in the graciousness with which we were created, which is the way that I believe and hope God is attending to us? Let us pray for this grace today.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Power in Weakness

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accept, Corinthians, failure, grace, imperfection, power, rely, rely on God, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, willingness

A friend and I once had a conversation about “structures for failure.” Sometimes, he said, if you’ve been a “good girl” (or boy): successful in school, gifted with good friends, never at odds with parents or other authority figures, etc., it’s difficult as an adult to accept imperfection in yourself. When you make a mistake or fail at something, it feels like the whole world is crashing rather than as if you had just hit “a bump in the road.” Sometimes early “bumps” make us stronger people in the long run.

That point is, I think, the one St. Paul is making when he talks this morning about his “thorn in the flesh” in his letter to the Corinthians (2 COR 12:7-10). When he asked God repeatedly to take whatever it was away from him he finally heard God say, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” That helped him to understand imperfection as a reality check for humility, i.e. knowing and acknowledging the truth of himself. It gave Paul a willingness to rely on other people sometimes and on God always. He says, “I will gladly boast of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”

We don’t need to long for weakness but rather to accept our foibles as part of our growth and in solidarity with others who are also dealing with imperfection. If recognition of this element of the “human condition” makes us rely more on God than on ourselves while not abdicating our responsibility for our actions, it seems that the purpose has been served and we will know ourselves more deeply as God’s beloved.