Violent Storms

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believe, disciples, faith, fears, Jesus, Matthew, practice, prayer, storms, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

Today’s gospel (MT 8: 23-27) presents us with the story of Jesus in a boat with his disciples, sleeping while everyone else is awake and intensely frightened that they are on the verge of drowning. In earlier translations I don’t ever recall the word “terrified” in the response of Jesus when they woke him, saying (probably shouting), “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” As he often did, he answered their fear with a question. In my recollection, it was always: “Why are you so frightened (or afraid), O you of little faith?”

Musing on the shift of just one word, I wonder about the translation I am reading. Are the translators pointing to the more tumultuous times we live in and trying to emphasize that danger? Is there new scholarship that finds a closer meaning for the word fear? Should we – with 2,000 years of living in the Christian Era – have more faith in Christ to save us or are the hazards of life reason enough to keep us terrified? What if we did drown – or die in a plane crash? Are we trusting enough in God to be there in that moment?

This may all sound like a ridiculous set of questions but the phrase that Jesus uses to address to his friends in the question is really key to the entire lesson. “O you of little faith…”

How we are able to face our fears is, for me, the question of the day. Believing that God is with us in all ways each day is a necessary component, it would seem, of each response. No easy task…rather the work of a lifetime for some. Practice and prayer seem to me to be the only way to strengthen our capacity to maintain peace of heart whatever comes our way.

A Look Back and Inward

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counteract, fears, life experience, Meg Wheatley, perseverance, predicament, survival, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, upheaval

As I sit this morning looking out at rain that is predicted to continue for two or three days and remember that last night I saw a weather map picturing not one or two but three hurricanes that might possibly come our way (with Florence, the first, sure to damage much of our East coast) I consider just sitting where I am and avoiding every eventual happening or news report of the day. But then I open Meg Wheatley’s little book, Perseverance, that shakes me out of my inertia and reminds me of the need to get about life once again. I want to copy the entire page here as it feels to me like a worthy reminder that, as she says, “We’ve Been Here Before.”

We have never been here before in terms of the global nature of our predicament. For the first time in human history (at least that we know of), we have endangered our home planet. And for the first time, we know what’s happening to just about all 7 billion of us humans, the challenges and terrors we endure and the occasional, reaffirming triumphs. Never before have humans been so aware of one another’s struggles, pain and perseverance. Never before have we known so many of the consequences of what we do – our thoughtless, violent, heroic and loving actions.

Yet we have been here before. In our long, mysterious history, humans have had to struggle with enormous upheavals, dislocations, famines and fears. We’ve had to counteract aggression, protect our loved ones and face the end of life as we’ve known it. Over and over again.

The scale is different now, but the human experience is the same. And so are our human spirits, capable of generosity or abuse, creativity or destruction, survival or extinction. As we face the challenges and struggles of this time, it might help to recall the centuries of solid shoulders we stand on.

And if you reflect on your own life experience, what else have you endured? You’re still here – how did you stay here?

How have you come through rough times before?

What from your own personal history gives you now the capacity to get through this time? (Perseverance, p.9)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Close Call

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alertness, brothers, calmed, fears, gratitude, Jan Phillips, lightning, safety, sisters, solidarity, storms, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, thunder, tornado, weather, wind

I often speak about the beauty and my good fortune of living in the Northeast region of the United States. Over the past few years my appreciation for this gift has grown as has my compassion for those who live in increasingly dangerous weather climates. Whether it be tornado, mud slide, forest fire or other damaging condition, we have seemed untouched, except for two floods in the last 43 years that caused damage but no loss of life. Last evening we got a taste of what it feels like to experience the likely possibility of a tornado.

It began in the afternoon when the warnings were announced on the media and in the palpable sense of danger when I stepped outside. I understand a little now how the animals feel when the impulse to move to higher or otherwise safer ground embedded in their being clicks on. It was as if a subtle pressure was leaning against my body and an alertness took over my mind. Then there was the inner call to get home, the place of safety, to ride out the storm together. Reports kept coming of damages in places to our south and west as we closed windows, moved outside furniture from the deck to the ground, turned off computers and unplugged everything else in the house. Then we waited.

I had worried in anticipation about two things: first that the roof would blow off the house and secondly that a branch of our huge, ancient maple trees would crash into the house. As soon as we made the preparations, however, my fears were calmed, as if being together was enough to remind me that we would be able to withstand anything the storm could do.

Most of our area is still without power this morning. Thunder, lightning and wind were certainly fierce but I have not heard if an actual tornado touched down. Once again I sit in gratitude for my life. Having experienced all the feelings of yesterday gives me a greater felt sense of solidarity for others whom I am more and more aware of naming my sisters and brothers. And again I hear Jan Phillips singing inside: Because the One I love lives inside you, I lean as close to you as I can…