Let Go

Earlier this week I was reading Robert Alter's translation of Psalm 46, and was struck by his alternative version of verse 11, which begins "Let go, and know that I am God."  This was a surprise. I know that verse which begins in the Book of Common Prayer with "Be Still." However, this time it is prefaced by the command "Let go."

I use Robert Alter's The Book of Psalms because of the cadence of the translation and his extensive commentary.  Reflecting on the verse, Alter notes that the Hebrew verb used literally would translate to "relax one's grip on something. . . to unclench the warriors fist."  As I read those words, I could feel them sink into me.  The common thread of my life at this time is how I need to practice letting go, relaxing my grip on things.

Much of my learning in Clinical Pastoral Education has a foundation in the ongoing need to let go.  In order to be extend an open hand in ministry, to extend vulnerability by coming alongside, I must unclench my hand and let go of behaviors and feelings that become barriers.  I am learning to recognize when I hide behind particular habits or attitudes.  I am breaking out of those shells that block my growth and limit my freedom to be with others in their time of struggle and need.

Later in his commentary, Alter comments that "The eschatologically triumphant God speaks directly, declaring His supremacy over all the world."  I struggle to remember through my letting go I am opening up to the possibilities and demands of God, opening to the Holy Spirit so that it can move through me as compassion and healing for those broken in body, mind or spirit.

It can be very scary letting go, going against all instincts of self-preservation.  Yet, as my first spiritual director would often remind me, "scared" and "sacred" are the same word with just two letters in reversed.   

Lost in Translation?

I am sorry it has been such a long wait for this new blog post.  I have been working on writing an article for journal, which is now being reviewed by the publisher.  I hope to return to more regular essays for the future.

One of my spiritual directees, a man who is aware of my particular interest in the distinctive aspects of male spirituality, recently gave me a copy of The One Year Devotions for Men by Stuart Briscoe.  The book encourages the daily reading of several bible verses with the author reflecting in depth on some aspect.

While I enjoy receiving books as gifts, I admit they get a thorough analysis before I decide to invest in reading them.  I was trained as a librarian after all!  So, I read the introduction, randomly read a few of the reflections to see if I could determine Briscoe's theological perspective, then turned to the scripture and topical indexes.  I tried looking up one of my favorite Psalms, Psalm 62, which I often read before walking labyrinths.

Turning to Briscoe's selection for April 16th, titled Waiting Quietly, I noted what seemed a curious translation of the first verse, "I wait quietly before God, for my salvation comes from him."  It seemed to turn around the focus of the verse.  Continuing on, he describes the difficulty of a "man" waiting for "his wife" to shop, and the impatience the man experiences.  Already alerted by the unequal language of a 'man" and "his wife," I was still surprised when his main point is that "God works at his own pace" to "wait before him as you wait for him" and "don't be impatient." 

So I compared it with two versions Psalm 62, verse 1, I use regularly, either from the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) or the Book of Psalms by Robert Alter.  The BCP translates the first verse as "For God alone my soul in silence waits from him comes my salvation," and Alter renders it as "Only in God is my being quiet, from him is my rescue."  So putting them alongside each other:

• I wait quietly before God for my salvation comes from him (New Living Translation)
• For God alone my soul in silence waits from him comes my salvation (Book of Common Prayer)
• Only in God is my being quiet, from him is my rescue (Alter)

The translation used by Briscoe, the New Living Translation (NLT) totally omits the exclusivity clearly conveyed by my familiar translations, either as "for God alone" or "Only in God."  My preferred versions also refer to either "soul" or "being," a concept that is omitted by the NLT version. Instead there is entirely new locational adverb of "before."  I could go on about the many ways I have problems with the translation used by Briscoe, but my point is not about the translation.  I certainly am not a Hebrew scholar, and don't know what problems the original source could have caused. 

I am disturbed by how Briscoe launched from the verse to write a mini-sermon on "waiting for his answers to arrive."  While I do struggle with patience when I have to wait for something, I have never seen this Psalm concerned with the waiting, and nothing at all about getting answers.  To do that seems a distortion and a distraction.

After reading this Psalm before walking a labyrinth, I repeat the phrase "For God alone my soul in silence waits" as a kind of mantra during the walk. When distracting thoughts arise, I affirm my intention to be focused on God, for God, and my desire to be silent, letting go of those things crowding my head. I pray for silence as a way to open myself to God.  I yearn for a sense of God, who usually speaks only when I am quiet.  The struggle is not one of waiting, but it is that of being able to be aware of God, to be trusting.  Or as I noted in the last entry, becoming Vulnerable and Available to God.

I have no desire to read anymore of the New Living Translation of the Bible based upon this experience.  I also don't expect to regularly use the book because of it's heavy use of Evangelical themes such as God's judgement.  When I looked up "doubt" in the topic index, each of the 8 reflections treat doubt as something to be relinquished or overcome.  There is no recognition that doubt can be a path into deeper understanding and faith.  I had hoped for something else. 

Men's Heart Work

During the recent Men’s Institute, after the recent Spiritual Directors International conference in Atlanta, a dozen men explored the contours of men’s hearts. It was clear from the early conversation that most in that hotel conference room were ready to take risks and move to deep levels.

In the initial exercise of Exercises of the Heart, we paired up tell each other “What makes your heart sing?” Then new pairs were formed for new questions such as “Describe a time when your heart was hurt or broken,” and “What hardens your heart?” As the questions were answered, we continually found common experiences and shared struggles with other men from around the U.S. and across the globe. Our differences in home town, church tradition, or age fell away.

I was somewhat surprised with the level of openness and vulnerability happening; men are stereotypically hesitant to talk about heart matters. Yet, considering the preceding three days with most programs designed by women for women, we all desired an alternative, masculine perspective and connection, and were willing to do what we needed to make those connections with each other

The next experience, the Grieving Heart, was a role play involving one man visiting another dying in a hospital bed, and required volunteers. While there was anxiety in the room and clear struggles about whether or not to take the chance, two pairs of men took the courageous step. In the first time through the play, we saw the love and respect one man has for his close friend and mentor. It made visible men’s hesitancy to thank and honor men who have given support and guidance. At least one man noted his intention to initiate that conversation with an elderly man before the opportunity was lost.

The second role play involved a man and his father, a relationship filled with conflicted experiences and emotions. The visible anger being expressed by the son in the role play was disturbing, yet was also understood by many men in the room. Discussing the role play, a number recognized how men’s grieving first shows itself in other emotions such as anger.

While the role plays illustrated two different responses to grief and death, the process dynamic illustrated the significance for men judging how safe the situation is before making a decision to commit and risk. When volunteers were requested, when each volunteer started playing his role, when talking about the experiences each person had in participating and watching, all of the men were constantly choosing when to risk or not, what to risk, and how to respond to another’s risk. We were assessing how safe the situation is before we were willing to speak out.

In the final section, How Do We Open Our Heart to Another, began with individuals pondering when we have opened our hearts to others, and the attendant fears and hopes. Then, in small groups, each person described and expanded upon his thoughts and listened to responses from the other men. The time together closed with the whole group beginning to apply what was learned to our lives and work as spiritual directors.

This time for individual reflection and looking towards next steps was deeply personal, so there is little that can be reported for the whole group.

The value of the time was not dependent upon the exercises done or questions asked, even if I think the three of us leaders did a great job of that. The value was in the gathering of men together, our ability to feel safe with each other, which allowed for a vulnerability rarely seen in groups including women with men. There is a bluntness and directness unique to a gathering of men, which is refreshing and also challenging.

I find myself inarticulate in describing what changed for me, but I left the event a different person.

Wounded Men and the Spirit

Often when men gather to tell their stories, and when trust is developed, the conversation moves below the surface and wounds are uncovered. This certainly occurred during the Men’s Institute at the recent Spiritual Directors International conference in Houston.

Through one journal writing exercise the men were invited to review their lives and identify eight to a dozen different steppingstones in which their spiritual journey changed direction. The steppingstones exercise, first developed by Ira Progoff, allowed each of the men to look back over his life and see those points that lead to the present situation.

Many recalled experiences of a deep wound. At some time later, there was a search for the meaning of the wound and how to integrate it into a future. As one man noted, we are healers of wounded men and are ourselves wounded men needing healing. There was a strong sense among the men of the connection between being wounded and significant spiritual awareness and/or growth.

Some men seek spiritual direction because of a crisis that has radically shifted the course of their life. Others may have been receiving spiritual direction for other reasons, but when a crisis occurs, seeing a spiritual director provides a different perspective upon the situation than other helping professions. For men, the crisis challenges our sense of control, the belief that we can protect ourselves and those we love from pain or turmoil, and the intellectual defenses that we have built up.

One man noted that in a situation where the director and the directee are men, just being in the presence of another man has a mutuality that cannot be replicated. While others noted that their directors have been women who effectively challenged and encouraged us in our growth as men. We all noted the difference in being men with men that we do not have the language to describe, at least not at this time, even though the difference feels significant.

At the same time, men are much less likely to intentionally seek out a formal relationship. One minister noted that he watches for men who arrive early for a meeting and hang nearby waiting to talk. Or, a man may be around the water cooler or any similar place where a casual conversation may be started. Once the conversation is started and a trust begins, a more private and separate time can be scheduled, and a deeper conversation begins.

As Kent Ira Groff wrote:

Ah! How is it stumbling stones
along our path
morph into steppingstones? Ah!

Masculine Spirituality: A New Beginning

In a recent publicity stunt, a snack food company declared Nashville the Most Macho City. Points were awarded for the number of sports teams, hardware stores, and monster truck rallies. Also adding to the score was the popularity of hunting and fishing, NASCAR and other “masculine” interests. Cities lost points for high numbers of home furnishing stores and minivans. While it is silly, don’t those descriptions fit all of our stereotypes for men?

Yet, at a recent meeting of men during the recent Spiritual Director’s International gathering revealed a different side of masculinity. The group included men who make ourselves available as guides to others on a journey to know God. We asked each other two simple questions focused on our understanding of ourselves a spiritual men: “what values do you hold sacred?” and “how do you live the sacred in your life?”

Many of the values generated by the group were what you would expect from a self-identified group of religious people. The most common value was “presence,” often in a phrase such as “attending presence” or “practice presence.” Other values describe an intentionality about prayer, such as sacred listening, stillness, silence, discipline of devotion and reverence. Yet, these are not common descriptions of men in the popular culture of our time.

Another group of values reflects our relationships, with love and being loved as a foundation of who we are. Different aspects of relationship are treasured such as honesty, truth, trust, humor and intimacy. As one person described, we desire the ability to see the universe in the other. While men are often portrayed as wanting to be Casanova, that is not the kind of love reflected in those values.

But as I reviewed the remaining values, the ones that stand out are those that stand in dramatic contrast to the Macho City award. Those values include gentleness, mutual mentoring, vulnerability, acceptance, humility and availability. Our gathering of men claimed values that are often assumed to belong to women, and are culturally seen as alien to men.

I have various memories that confirm those values as deeply masculine. I know that whenever I visit my father, we hug each other closely both when I arrive and again when I leave. It was a ritual that I initiated as I left for college and that Dad has joyfully joined. Even in times of difficulty, we know that hug conveys our deep love, our acceptance and our commitment to each other.

I remember when David’s son Jeremy was rocking Sam, just 10 days old in his lap. As gentle father he was willing to give up sleep so Ann could get much needed rest. It is an image of love from one generation of men to the next that I will treasure the rest of my life.

I remember David holding my hand tightly as I was waiting to be wheeled to have my inflamed appendix removed, his face reflecting my own sense of fear. He stayed available to me so I would not be alone, even as he felt vulnerable to his own fear.

While some of us learned those values through our own father or other males in our lives, often the opposite was true. One man in the group described how he was raised by a macho father who believed in the stereotype male role. That man learned about the other values of love, relationship and spirituality much later in life through his engagement in a church community. Others in the group described how their fathers had failed them in becoming a mature man, stories of pain, loss and abandonment. They were difficult stories to hear, yet needed to be told in a group of men for healing to occur.

Whether through positive or negative life experiences, we have claimed our values as spiritual men and try to live them in our lives as well as our ministry. We told our stories to each other, beginning to heal ourselves while also committing to the healing of those men who come to us as guides. It is a new beginning.

Crying at Baptims

This Pentecost with the baptism of an infant, Karl, as well as his mother, I found myself crying again. It started early in the presentation and reached full flow when I joined the rest of the congregation in saying “We receive you into the household of God . . .”

I have been much more aware of my emotions during church services in the last few years, and am still learning to adjust to them. Often during some point in the Eucharistic Prayer a few words will suddenly jump out at me, speaking directly to something I have been dealing with in my life. I believe it is a gift, God wanting to reassure me. That doesn’t make it any easier.

It can become incredibly awkward since men are not supposed to be emotional. I have decided that I am not going to stifle the emotions just to make other people more comfortable. That would feel like I am stifling God. In consideration for other’s sensitivities when the crying starts, I wait until people are busy making a joyful noise singing a hymn to blow my nose. Or, when my eyes are full of tears, I blink them back until there is a time for prayer and people are supposed to be paying attention to God rather than the guy several feet away who is dabbing his eyes.

I should not have been surprised by the tears last Sunday, as I looked at the parents and their young son. I saw their hope for Karl and the love of those standing with them. Baptism is a time for hope, for bringing the salvation of Christ into his life and in the welcoming him into a community that pledges to teach and encourage him into the faith.

Alongside that hope, I thought of all of the pain and grief that Karl would experience in growing up and becoming a mature person in faith. I wondered what kinds of problems he will encounter in his life, and if he would be overwhelmed by situations. I prayed that he will be given the strength and courage to face those problems.

The sadness grew because there is nothing any of us, including his parents, his godparents or the rest of the community can do to keep that pain away or to protect this young infant from all that will happen. He alone will have to find his way to cope with and overcome the turmoil. I wish it could be different.

So, one more Sunday, I had to stuff my damp handkerchief into my pocket before turning to those around me to exchange the Peace of God, my eyes still damp from tears, and feeling a bit foolish. Foolish for caring about what might happen to Karl. Foolish for wanting to be emotionally open to God and for God.

What is Distinctive about Masculine Spirituality?

Is there a difference between the ways that men and women approach and grow spiritually? Is it better to call it masculine and feminine since the behaviors are not exclusive to one or the other sex? These questions have been in my mind for few years now, and while I don’t have an answer yet, I am beginning to identify some patterns.

My relationships in providing and receiving spiritual direction have primarily been with women. My spiritual directors have been women, my peer supervision group is women, even my therapist is a woman. I have great respect for all of them, for the understanding and skill they have offered, and all that I have learned. But there have been times when I wondered if they understood me.

Earlier this month I participated in retreat for male spiritual directors. The conversations had a distinctive flow, and in a very short time I felt like those who listened to me really did understand at a deep level. The way we told our stories, slowly sorting through things in our mind and cautiously exposing our feelings was different from how women tell their stories.

In Melting the Iceberg: Spiritual Direction for Men*, Don Bisson describes his perception that men often begin with an insight. Don describes a process in which he asks the man to personalize the insights into his present life struggles which causes the man to move to the center of his passion. As the conversation continues, often there is an “ah-ha” experience, and the man reconnects the insight into an emotional stance where he feels more whole.

My struggle has always been to integrate my head with my heart, to bring them together to create a new whole and basis for faith. Often what first emerges in my awareness is an idea or new insight. Then I grapple my way through my thoughts and emotions by journaling, looking for the ways the thoughts and emotions confirm or contradict each other. I will try out pieces in conversations to see how others respond. I monitor my reactions and try to relate the inner work to outside experiences. I try to listen for how God is acting in all of the conversations and relationships.

Writing for this blog has become another way to move through the process of pulling the thoughts together. By recording the fragments as they appear, and letting them keep arranging themselves as I write, discarding what doesn’t fit, I play with how it all fits together. Each of these essays reaches a point where I decide it is “good enough” as I try to let go of getting it “right” or perfect.

But is this common for other men? Don’t some women also find the same kind of dynamic flow and process? Is it just because I start in my mind, when many of the women I know seem to start with the emotions and their heart?

I don’t know, but the questions keep me on the journey.

*Donald Bisson, FMS. Melting the Iceberg: Spiritual Direction for Men. Presence: The Journal of Spiritual Directors International, vol. 6, no. 2 (May 2000) pp. 31-37.