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Dear Folks,

Carl Jung divided life into two phases, calling them our “morning” and “afternoon.” The work of the first phase is the development of the ego, the soul’s morning reserved for relating to the outer world and orienting by it. The second phase is for engaging with the inner world and adapting to it, as the soul develops wholeness, her integrated self. The transition between the two phases occurs at “midlife,” which is discovered at different times by different individuals, and Jung likened the shift to a difficult birth. The masks and personas that have served one well in the past no longer fit, and so in a sometimes painful awakening, the old skin is shed. “There is a self within each one of us aching to be born,” says theologian Alan Jones.

In her book When the Heart Waits, Sue Monk Kidd finds herself in this spiritual labor. Her children were healthy, her marriage was solid, her work was rewarding, and yet she felt hollow and startled by the noise of her unlived voices inside her. She had always been consistent, dependable, hardworking, but increasingly those well-trod patterns didn’t feel like her anymore, or enough of her.

Fear of changing and of how her family, friends, and colleagues would respond was somehow both enticing and daunting, at once. She writes, “What happens when the Pleaser stops pleasing… when Rapunzel stops looking to everyone else to rescue her and begins to climb out of the tower on her own? How do people respond when their favorite martyr ceases to sacrifice her life on the altar of duty? What happens when the Tin Woodman recovers her heart and her real feelings and embraces her body and her sexuality? What happens when Chicken Little decides not to hide from life or truth but takes up her courage and goes out to meet it? When the dawn of a fuller spirituality appears and a new aspect of the true self pushes its way up into the light, (how will we and) the people around us respond? Will they like our new wings?”

In the midst of these questions, Kidd walked over a bridge on the campus of a nearby college, and something on a tree limb caught her eye. At first she goes by the grey protuberance, but is pulled back to consider it: a cocoon. Spirit seemed to be speaking to her about transformation, about the descent of the soul, and of hope. She broke the twig from the limb and carried it home with her, carefully taping the chrysalis to the branch of a crab-apple tree in her backyard.

It occurs to Kidd that the old caterpillar within the cocoon is slowly dissolving and becoming what she will one day be, and that image serves her through her own shadowy waiting. She writes, “The fullness of one’s soul evolves slowly,’ and we go within to gestate the newness forming. We are asked “to collaborate with grace.” This process involves listening to the “disinherited voices within” us, “facing the wounded holes in the soul, the denied and the undiscovered” parts of ourselves, and opening up the places where one lives falsely. The waiting becomes sacramental, “struggling with the vision of who we really are in God and molding the courage to live that vision.” She discovers in a Thoreau poem the gift of the “long way round”:

Among the worst of men that ever lived,
However we did seriously attend,
A little space we let our thoughts ascend,
Experienced our religion and confessed
Twas good for us to be there-be anywhere:
Then to a heap of apples we addressed
And cleared the topmost rider sine care,
But our Icarian thoughts returned to ground
And we went on to heaven the long way round

“There is nothing instant or automatic” in spiritual development,” writes Alan Jones. So a call to the long way round is the saving way, Kidd realizes, not the quick and easy religion we sometimes hope for, but the deep and difficult slog of the wilderness.

In one particularly dark night, she takes her flashlight and journal, and sitting on the grass she writes: “God, I don’t want to live falsely, in self-imposed prisons and fixed, comfortable patterns that confine my soul and diminish the truth in me. So much of me has gone underground. I want to let my soul out. I want to be free to risk what’s true… Lead me into the enormous spaces of becoming. Help me cease the small, tedious work of maintaining and protecting so that I can break the masks that obscure your face shining in the night of my own soul. Help me to green my soul and risk becoming the person you created me to be.”

So this is our work: to recognize the false selves within us, to hear their voices at last… and then to let them die. The holy one within us is aching to be born.

Love,
David

Death—as overwhelming as the loss of a loved one and as unconscious as our next exhale—is a part of our shared human experience, yet it is something we have a difficult time facing. I avoided it quite nicely until grief around the death of my father snowballed into a mid-life loss of identities and culminated in a head-on crash with my own mortality through a cancer diagnosis. I was mired in melancholy with the question Is this it? swirling in my head.

While this was unfamiliar territory, my response was predictable: don’t think, march! For answers, I looked outside myself—a grief group, books about dying well, a psychiatrist, a Bible Study, and a Zen center. And as much as I resisted—and continue to resist—every one of them pushed me in the same direction—inward.

I picture my soul as an iridescent tear-drop shaped pearl ringed with little rays of light encased in a warm, golden glow. I think this image came from a painting of Jesus, dressed in red with a little “soul patch” over his heart, that hung outside my first-grade classroom. That’s around the time the forces that shape our lives—families, religious traditions, society—take hold and we start trying to fit in, get approval or simply survive. We adopt personas and abandon the curious, insightful, child-like spirit that is our soul force.

My ordered, surface-skimming life had dulled—as if the flames around my soul weren’t getting the oxygen they needed to stay lit. It turns out Is this it? was the first of many questions I needed to ask to understand the internal deadening I felt in the midst of a very vibrant life. It freed me to ask deeper questions: What animates my spirit? When do I feel most alive and what has to die to make room for it? How do I want to be remembered by the people I love the most? A willingness to examine and accept agency in our life is, I believe, the medicine of mortality.

Mortality reignited a sense of curiosity, wonder, and agency around how I show up for myself and others. I am trying—and failing daily—to surrender my illusion of control, to release the myth of arrival, and to lower my fists and open my arms in order to expose my soul, rather than bury it. Each time I’m brave enough to listen to my inner voice, I discover enlivening moments of light-heartedness and joy—as if some of those little soul lights have been turned back on.

Facing our impermanence is uncomfortable because it means we accept death as a part of life. It is also liberating. We get to decide, with intention, how to spend each moment of our limited time on earth—what a gift! It’s an invitation to discover how to be the light we are meant to be in the world.

Please join us to hear the transformative stories of people who have questioned, grappled with, and surrendered to the beauty and pain of mortality.

~Karen McGee

Karen McGee is a vestry member and is co-organizer along with David Ware of this year’s VOICES Lenten series.

 

In a world saturated with information, a recent opportunity for introspection has prompted a profound shift in my perspective. I was challenged to examine the content I consume and its impact on my life. This reflection has led to a renewed appreciation for the wisdom found in Paul’s letter to the Philippians, specifically chapter four. 

The Message translation of this passage resonates deeply: “Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies.” 

Paul’s exhortation to pay attention and apply a discerning filter to our mental intake is particularly relevant in our current media landscape. The phrase “excellent harmonies” stands out, evoking the image of a pleasant musical sound, a symphony of diverse notes blending seamlessly. This concept offers a stark contrast to the discord, tension, conflict, and noise that often dominate the news and content we are bombarded with daily. 

Recognizing this imbalance, I have resolved to cultivate a more intentional and attentive approach to my daily experiences. I aim to dwell on the beauty in others and become a more active and empathetic listener. This shift in focus is reminiscent of the “glad glads,” a term we used in my childhood church to describe the overwhelming joy experienced upon discovering something new, receiving a cherished gift, or witnessing a moment of profound happiness. 

Recently, I experienced such joy at Redeemer Parish Day School (RPDS) chapel, where my grandchildren attend. The anticipation of sharing these uplifting moments with my husband, Rayner, filled me with excitement. This past Wednesday, as I picked up Oliver, Alexander, and Ellie, I was greeted by Ms. Cannon, the first-grade teacher. She excitedly shared that the children had been singing “Deep and Wide” throughout the day, complete with hand motions. This simple act of collective joy, a shared song, was a powerful reminder of the beauty and harmony that can be found in everyday moments. 

As we transition from Epiphany to Lent, I believe it is essential to cultivate these moments of harmony and extend them into our communities. To this end, I offer the following suggestions for “going deep and wide” in our lives:  

Reflect, Connect and Celebrate 

These acts, though seemingly small, can contribute to a more harmonious and compassionate world. By consciously choosing to focus on the beautiful, the praiseworthy, and the authentic, we can cultivate a life that reflects the “most excellent harmonies” described by Paul. 

Every Blessing
Thomasina 

 Thomasina Wharton is the Director of the Center for Wellbeing

There is much anticipation and excitement building up to the moment curtains open on our production of Disney’s High School Musical!  We will be transported to East High where the unfolding Wildcat drama will pull us into novel romance, basketball state championship dreams, and theatrical discoveries of newfound talents.  The narrative and musical score bring to center stage a clear tension between keeping the status quo of staying isolated in our own cliques or breaking out into something new where we are all in it together.  We will see jocks, book worms, dancers, and theater kids stepping out of their separate camps to come together.  What a timely reflection to help make sense of our own experiences of that same tension!

As a first-timer to the Redeemer play, I have to say that the process of bringing this play to life has been a bit of a living example of us “all being in this together.”  Throughout these months of preparation, there has been a consistent wave of participation from our broader community.  Our young people, from just a few months old to a senior in high school, have been bonding over these long days and nights of learning their lines, harmonizing their songs, and synchronizing their dance moves.  Our director, choreographer, and musical lead have been patiently coaching them along.  A former director and her granddaughter, a recent RYG graduate, have been measuring, sizing, and outfitting costumes for our actors and actresses.  RYG parents have been keeping us well fed.  They have also been sawing, painting, and constructing a full set to compliment the play.  Other volunteers have been warming up the lighting, testing the sound and microphones, and ensuring top quality communications backstage.  This play has truly involved the participation of an entire village.  And when you join us for the evening shows on the 28^th or 1^st or the afternoon show on the 2nd, I hope that you will see, hear, and experience what happens when we all get our head in the game and join in to create something awesome together.

Josh
Chaplain to Youth & Young Adults

Dear Folks,

Since Sunday several people have asked me about how to access “the deep.” What works for me is keeping a journal, recording my dreams, walking several times over the course of each day, studying the Bible with small groups, consistently asking “What do you hear in the text? What strikes you?” and trusting that Spirit is speaking. Most of my listening/prayer happens while I am walking; the movement is an embodied practice that heals me. I read a lot, too.

I have recently finished Joy Unspeakable, Contemplative Practices of the Black Church, by Barbara A. Holmes. Deep within the experience of the Black Church is contemplative practice—individual meditation work, unanswerable existential questions that are invited to linger, personal heartbeats offering counterpoint to the gifts of trained musicians, silence—all of which Holmes believes conjure the power of spirited worship. For all of its performative wonder, Holmes locates the reality of the Black Church as an invisible, spiritual idea, “virtual space created by the worship practices of the congregation.”

For Holmes, the work of the church is to offer a multi-layered response to suffering. The legacy of contemplative practices is a “survival modality.”  And community is not an artificial construct, but an “organic system of memory and responsibility.”

Recalling an experience of her great-grandfather, Holmes wonders if lying in a field with a weapon, “unsure whether you can prevail or whether you will be captured and burned alive or hanged, counts as a contemplative moment(?)… For that matter, in our own era, what use is contemplation to a community besieged by drugs, violence, and materialism? When survival is the goal, can contemplative practices help?” And then she provides her answer: “My own family’s stories have convinced me that contemplation can occur anywhere; stained glass windows and desert retreats are not necessary. In fact, duress may facilitate the turn inward, the centering down that Howard Thurman identifies.” And continuing, “the antidote to a life that is perilous and difficult is the continuing manifestation of ‘gifts’ deemed to open conduits to the spirit realm and a belief in the manifest goodness of God’s creation.”

I am especially drawn to Holmes experiences of where she finds “church.” It is around the kitchen table, where older women pass on their wisdom, as they tell funny and sometimes scandalous stories, and “just enough food” becomes plenty to share, and everyone is welcome to bring their gifts and their hunger… On the front porch, where silence and reflection are modeled as a counterpoint to a busy morning/afternoon and reading of scripture and literature and discussing “where it lands inside you” is offered as a way to make sense of society’s narrative… In the noise and complexity of work life and family life as it intersects “ordered worship” which is conceived as self-consciously different… In the herbal remedies, dietary instructions, and laying on of hands that respond to physical and emotional illnesses…

Some thoughts about the embodied locus of contemplation:

“There is in every person an inward sea, and in that sea is an island, and on that island is an altar, and standing guard before that altar is ‘the angel with the flaming sword.’ Nothing can get by that angel to be placed upon that altar unless is has the mark of your inner authority. Nothing passes… unless it be a part of the ‘fluid area of your consent.’ This is your crucial link with the Eternal.” (Howard Thurman) This island is inviolable, a safe space to encounter God. External oppression may defeat the body and even the mind, but the spirit cannot be breached without consent. If you are locked in a windowless room with no access to the outside, are you a prisoner? Or is a portal always open, an inner door shaped exactly like your hope?

Fear not, says the Holy One. Let your nets out into the deep.

Love,
David

Last Monday afternoon 94 people gathered in our Parish Hall, to pray, listen, learn, and reflect on how the Holy One invites us as people of faith to stand with and to serve the least and the most vulnerable among us, including our immigrant communities.

We began by taking three deep cleansing breaths and praying together. A mini-teaching on Benedictine spirituality followed, echoing what our Diocesan Bishop Carrie Schofield-Broadbent taught at a recent workshop and mirroring basic principles of community organizing: before acting, it is important to take the time to listen deeply for the voice of the Holy One (speaking through a variety of ways, including through prayer/meditation, scripture, and relating with other people), from a place of stability, grounded in the reality that God is “not elsewhere” but present.

After this mini-teaching, people were invited to read and reflect on passages from sacred scripture (Leviticus 19:33-34, Micah 6:8, Matthew 2:13-15a, Matthew 25:34-40) as well as on the fifth promise of our Baptismal Covenant (“Will you strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being? I will with God’s help.”) We then took a few minutes to share with the person next to us which of these passages resonated most deeply. We also considered drawing from our own sacred stories of family history and ancestry, as well as stories of personal connection and relationships.

From there, we listened to several Redeemer parishioners who had attended the presentation by CASA https://wearecasa.org/maryland/ at the Cathedral of the Incarnation on MLK Day. To guide our public debrief, they were asked to reflect on and answer these guiding questions: Why did you attend the CASA presentation? How did you feel before the presentation? How did you feel afterwards? What did you learn? How are you feeling moved to act? Stories of regret and hope, despair and possibility, wrestling and considering were voiced with authenticity, clarity and power.

An informal presentation by ERICA https://erica-baltimore.org followed. The mood and energy in the room shifted. A palpable desire and restlessness could be felt. Haven’t we done enough praying, listening and reflecting together, already? What can we actually do?!

Next Monday at 4pm in our Parish Hall, we will gather again and organize ourselves for action, to “do justice, love mercy and walk humbly before our God” as followers of Jesus the Christ, in our place and time. Areas of action will include advocacy, direct service and ongoing learning.

Won’t you join us?

Cristina