The Gift of Mystery
The Gift of Mystery
Welcome to the Gift of Mystery
We live in a culture that loves to conquer mysteries. For us modern folks, the unexplainable is simply a lock to be picked, a code to be cracked, a puzzle to be figured out. But what if mystery isn’t just something to solve? What if it’s also something to be listened to?
This is the lesser recognized call of our faith. “Yes,” it says, “Stay skeptical, continue to question and seek answers. But at the same time, leave space for life to speak!” One of the most elegant articulations of this comes from the poet Mary Oliver. In her beloved poem, Wild Geese, she writes,
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
Oliver’s call to listen for life’s mysterious announcements implies a letting go. Mystery is funny this way. You can’t make it speak. Indeed, often the more you pursue the meaning of life’s mysteries; the more distant it becomes. If we want mystery to speak, it seems we have to be willing to put down the pursuit and open ourselves to being caught off guard. UU humanist minister and poet, David Breeden, captures this beautifully when he writes,
I dug and dug
Deeper into the earth
Looking for blue heaven
Choking always
On piles of dust rising
Then once
At midnight
I slipped
And fell into the sky
Slipping, and then falling into the sky. Is there a better way to describe our dance with mystery? Isn’t this what all the great mystics have been trying to tell us from the start? That sitting at the heart of mystery is not the unknown, but unity. We fall into the mysterious oneness of life and then it falls into us. Its voice whispers, “I am you and you are me.” Simply put, mystery doesn’t put up barriers; it dissolves them. Haven’t all of us faced the wonder and mystery of a sunset, the stars, a baby’s first cry or a lover’s wet kiss and thought to ourselves, “My God, who I am does not end at the barrier of my skin!”
And it’s not just words of connectedness, but comfort too. We find ourselves crushed by the weight of the world, so we take a walk in the woods, watch the waves kindly caress the shore, stare into the night sky or stumble on the smile of a stranger. And often, but not always, we hear the world gently sing, “It will be ok. In fact, it is all already ok!” UU minister, Angela Herrera, puts it this way,
You bring yourself before the sacred, before the holy,
before what is ultimate and bigger than your lone life…
You stand at the edge of mystery…
Meanwhile, the armful of worries you brought to the edge of mystery
have fluttered to your feet.
So friends, this month, let’s let mystery work its magic. Let’s allow ourselves to fall in and be opened up. Let’s slip into the sky and let it slip into us. Let’s set the sleuthing down, for just a moment, and simply listen.
We can’t wait to hear what the world whispers back.
The Gift of Generosity
Welcome to the Gift of Generosity
It would be easy to see this as a month of niceness. After all, for many, the call of generosity is equated with the call to be kind.
But that’s not the spiritual understanding, and certainly not the sort of gift our faith sees in generosity.
First of all, it’s transformative. Generosity doesn’t just brighten our days; it changes how we relate to life. Let’s be honest, life can harden us. And before it does that, it often hurts us. So we can’t be blamed for viewing it as a threat. Like some kind of dangerous obstacle course. Or a giant game of King of the Hill, where the winners take all and the rest of us are thrown to the bottom, bruised and empty-handed. No matter which metaphor fits, it’s almost impossible to think our way out of it on our own. But then these seemingly small or sentimental gestures come our way. A person notices we forgot to bring our bus pass and pays for us before we have to ask. The neighbor shovels our part of the driveway while she does hers. The nurse takes a half hour to sit with us while we wait for the results. It wasn’t her job, and she doesn’t have the time, but she did it anyway. In those simple moments, the world suddenly feels less cold. A crack sets in. Our obstacle course, winner-take-all view of life gives way to something softer. We may still hurt, but it also feels as though life itself is trying to help. That’s what generosity does. It transforms.
It also connects. Deep down we know the difference between giving and giving generously. The former is taken from our “extra.” The latter is taken from what is essential. It’s the difference between giving our loose change and giving of ourselves. And when you hand over a part of you to someone else, you’re tethered. Your vulnerability meets their vulnerability. You haven’t just helped; you’ve shown you care. Both of you feel seen. And less alone.
But make no mistake, generosity doesn’t stop there, at care and connection. It also challenges. True generosity doesn’t just ask us to care for people, it also asks us to call them out. When you look at life through the lens of generosity, charity loses its sheen and many of those who have much are exposed as hoarding what others need. It’s sneaky that way. Generosity undermines our comfortable views and invites justice in. It doesn’t just ask us to be kind to others, it also asks us to question why some have so much more than others.
Transform. Connect. Challenge. Not the usual words we pair with generosity. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the invitation this month is not just to be more generous, but to notice how generosity is bigger than we think.
The Gift of Heritage
Welcome to the Gift of Heritage
Some people are your relatives, but others are your ancestors, and you choose the ones you want to have as ancestors. You create yourself out of [their] values. — Ralph Ellison
Be on the lookout, friends. The ghosts are on their way! After all, you can’t talk about heritage without talking about – and encountering – ancestors.
And we’re not talking about relatives here. As Ralph Ellison points out, there’s a big difference between relatives and ancestors. Relatives give us our brown eyes and bowed legs; ancestors bestow a legacy. Relatives are those we tell stories about; ancestors call us to carry stories forward. Relatives live on in our DNA; ancestors live in the whispers of our hearts. Our relatives allowed us to be here; our ancestors tell us why we are here. The difference comes down to values. Values we use to construct not just our stories but ourselves.
Take success. Remember that old line, “He was born on third base but believes that he hit a triple.” People with a clear sense of heritage and ancestry, know the truth of how they got where they are. Instead of telling tall tales about their magnificent swing, they speak of “the shoulders on which I stand.” Hubris or humility? Ancestors at their best never let us forget the latter.
You will also hear ancestor-conscious people speak of blessings differently. When we get gifts from the kind of ancestors Ellison is talking about, those gifts always come with a responsibility. There is no such thing as keeping the gifts of heritage to oneself. They are meant to be passed on. Ancestors don’t just remind you that they came before; they remind you of those who will come after.
Another way to put this is to say that ancestors remind us that we are part of something larger. Even obligated to something larger, because as much as we need these larger webs and stories, they need us too. Ancestors say: Whether or not the sacred stories and values stay relevant, depends on you! Whether or not each other’s histories are told truly, depends on you! Whether the family cycles of health are strengthened and family cycles of dysfunction are stopped depends on you! Whether or not that arc is bent back toward justice, is up to you! Ancestors plop these incomplete and intimidating endeavors in our laps and say, “We’ve done our part and taken it as far as we can. The next step of the journey is in your hands.”
Which of course also means that our hands are connected. Our ancestors handed precious projects to us. We are asked to hand those precious projects on to those who follow. And they will hopefully continue the sacred chain.
And in the end, maybe that’s what this heritage thing is all about: seeing ourselves as part of a sacred chain. We are not small. Our lives are not insignificant. Our lives aren’t even entirely our own. Every choice we make has consequences for others. Every word we write with our lives twists and propels a plotline that began before we got here and will continue after we are gone
It all helps us see that it’s not just relatives and ancestors that differ. Heritage & history do too. History may rightly shout, “It’s important to know where we came from!” But heritage says, “You matter! Even more than you know.”
And what about those ghosts? Yes, some of them are here to haunt us. But the bulk of them are just excitedly hanging on to the edge of their seats, watching and wondering which direction we will take the story they started.
The Gift of Welcome
It seems to go without saying. To be welcoming, we’ve got to think big.
Notice how often we speak about “widening the circle” and “making more room.” We place a priority on expanding our minds by welcoming new experiences and new ideas. Those that help usher in love are “big-hearted.” Those who help us welcome change are “the ones with the big idea.” Ask someone what image goes with welcoming and they will surely say a person with open arms.
So bigness, yes, let’s be sure to follow that road.
But what about that smaller trial? The one that runs right alongside the wide road? The one harder to notice and certainly hard to travel? The one that whispers, “Don’t forget the work of becoming smaller”?
We’re learning that this path must be traversed as well.
For instance, those of us who are white are realizing that to truly welcome diversity, we must shrink and de-center our voices. We long-timers are discovering that welcoming newcomers requires right-sizing our needs and putting our preferences second. The tree huggers have been telling us for years that we can’t save the wider world without shrinking our wants. The spiritual masters remind us that feeling at home in the universe demands that we see ourselves as a tiny part of a greater whole, rather than believing that the whole world revolves around us. The brilliant confess that their secret is the smallness of humility and the willingness to admit when they are wrong. And isn’t it downsizing and living simply that allows us to welcome in more experience, adventure and peace? Of course, there’s also the work of downsizing our egos enough to admit mistakes. Without that how can we ever welcome in forgiveness and the work of repair?
Bottom line: There is a deep spiritual connection between the smallness of self and the expansiveness of relationship. It’s a curious and wonderful truth: the road to a wider welcome often starts with limiting our own size. By becoming “smaller,” we paradoxically are better able to welcome in and receive the gift of “more.”
So friends, as you journey this month, think big!
But also, stay small.
