In the turning of the bowl
is the turning of the world,
and in every moment
somewhere
the day is turning to darkness.
Bless those who welcome it,
who long for it;
bless those who fear it
and bid it quickly pass.
And those who touch
with delight in the night,
bless;
and those who cry out
as the shadows give way
to terror,
bless too.
Make us bold
in the darkness
to protect each other’s slumber,
and make us courageous
in the night
to guard each other’s dreams.
~Jan L. Richardson

On Friday I had the privilege of watching a wood turner create bowls out of random pieces of wood. I had seen his work before at our church. He often offers up his creations as fundraisers for different ministries but I had never really heard him speak of how he creates these works of art nor had I watched him at his craft. Before I watched him turn the wood on his lathe, I looked with awe at a display of various sizes and shapes of bowls and other work of his hands. Each bowl was unique and marked with the internal DNA of the wood from which it was born. He explained the ways of working with different kinds of wood, the way the grain felt in his hands, how he knew when the inside of a vase was finished by the weight and feel. It was fascinating.

The part of this process that was most fascinating to me was the way in which his real work was to be present to what the wood already was. As he placed the piece of wood….oak, birch, maple, cherry…..on the lathe, he had no idea what patterns would evolve from his act of turning. He pointed out the surprises of the grains, the swirls, the varying shades of light and dark, the lines that seemed painted in intricate forms by an artist’s brush. One piece he lifted up clearly had the face of an owl! With each piece of wood taken from a once living tree, another life form was coaxed into existence by his patient, slow, metered touch.

As I and others watched him work on a piece of wood, slowly turning it and moving it with skill and fluidity, I was struck with the notion that this turning was a metaphor for all life. What often meets our eye is only a fraction of the possibility and beauty that lies just below the surface. Many times the turnings that happen to us feel frightening and abrasive at the onset. But often that very same turning chips away the old patterns, the dead, no longer needed crust that can give way to something surprising, some amazement within we had not known existed . It is an important thing to remember as we encounter others, especially those who rub us the wrong way. It is an important thing to remember when looking outward at our world which often troubles. It is an important thing to remember as we hold gently our own spirits, our own lives.

In the turning of the bowl…..is the turning of the world……

A couple of weeks ago I listened to an interview which Krista Tippett conducted with author Sylvia Boorstein. It was such a refreshing conversation about parenting entitled ‘What Sustains’. This wise grandmother, mother, psychotherapist and meditation teacher who describes herself as a Jewish-Buddhist poured out wise and comforting words about the joys and difficulty of being a parent, of tying your life to another’s in a life-long commitment. It was a joy to listen to and I passed it on to several I know who are parents of young children, trying to juggle family, home and career. Her advice seemed to be…..breathe!

At one point of the conversation, Boorstein made the statement: ‘Indignation is so seductive.’ As I recall she was speaking of the many ways we dig in our heels about particular ways of doing things or in response to the ways in which others may choose to do the same thing. In hearing her, I quickly got out a piece of paper and wrote down those words. Indignation is so seductive. I have come back several times to these words, allowing them to roll around in my mouth, my mind, my heart.

On a personal level, I am given to indignation. Are you? For the record, indignation means ‘anger aroused by something unjust, mean, or unworthy.’ I can find myself full of indignation at many things….being cut off in traffic…..being ignored as I say something in a meeting…..being overlooked for something I think I have contributed……being invisible because of my gender or age or (fill in the blank)….because of my political leanings or my faith tradition. This is nothing I am proud of. I can eat the food of indignation for breakfast, lunch and dinner somedays and then wonder why I feel so miserable.

As I have thought about the seduction that indignation offers, I have recognized that when you begin to peel back the layers of its allure, you find control, self-righteousness and often a lack of self esteem lurking between the petals. Of course, this is not always true. There are many situations in our world that are truly unjust, oppressive and mean and they deserve our anger. But the indignation that I can feast on most days is more about me than about others.

What fills you with indignation these days? Is there anger bubbling up that might serve up a better world? Or is the anger you feast upon only making for a less happy, less compassionate you? The Zen Buddhist teacher Tich Nhat Hahn offers this wisdom:“When you plant lettuce, if it does not grow well, you don’t blame the lettuce. You look for reasons it is not doing well. It may need fertilizer, or more water, or less sun. You never blame the lettuce. Yet if we have problems with our friends or family, we blame the other person. But if we know how to take care of them, they will
grow well, like the lettuce. Blaming has no positive effect at all, nor does trying to persuade using reason and argument. That is my experience. No blame, no reasoning, no argument, just understanding. If you understand, and you show that you understand, you can love, and the situation will change”.

So, the next time I feel myself being seduced by my own self-righteous anger, perhaps I will think of lettuce……and make myself a salad instead of the gut-wrenching food of indignation.

“If you can read this, thank a teacher.”
~Common Bumper Sticker

This past Monday I was in the presence of greatness. I was privileged to be witness to the reunion of one of our church members and his fourth grade teacher. Both are actually members of the same church and have only come to know this in the last year or so. You see, the student is nearly fifty years old. His teacher is ninety-five.

I learned of this relationship when visiting the elder of the two in her assisted living residence. She was proudly showing me school pictures of students she had taught. She still remembered many names and even knew what some were doing with their lives. It was a wonderful moment for me when I was able to tell her that one of her students whose work she follows in the local newspaper is a member of her church. From that time on, I set about getting them to meet again.

And what a joy it was! I loved listening to the memories and the questions. Questions about how he came to do the work he does and other questions about the wisdom she has of what children need. The conversation was lively and filled with rich words and connection. I was drawn in now and then but I mostly loved watching these two generations collide after such a long time. I loved seeing the respect for one another and the genuine desire to hear the stories of the other.

Those of us who have been teachers or have worked with children in various settings know the joy and challenge of such work. Each child holds such potential and it is a true gift to watch them discover, not only how to do things or develop skills, but also how to become their own authentic person. An observant adult can see the places where confidence needs building up or how a moment of undivided attention makes all the difference in the world. How many times I have thought to myself, “I want to know you when you are twenty or thirty!” after a child says or does something that hints of who they are becoming.

Other than parents, teachers can be the adults who can care unconditionally about a child. They can have an influence that can last a lifetime as I was able to see on Monday. This experience has made room for me to once again give thanks for those teachers who ‘saw’ me and allowed my own unique gifts and spirit develop, those who listened without judgment to my ideas and passions. I give thanks for Mr. Williams who taught me the joy of singing for the sheer joy of how it felt in your throat. And for Miss Neff who taught me that history was more than the wars we fought but also the art we have created, the music we have composed, the literature we have written. I give thanks for Mrs. Elcess who didn’t make red marks on my poetry sans capital letters in senior English class, instead saying ” I see you have been reading e.e.cummings.” I give thanks for all those teachers who gave of their time and used their own resources often beyond what they were ever paid to do. And I am filled to overflowing with gratitude to all those who continued to believe in me when I was finding it difficult to believe in myself.

These days, with budget cuts and the ways in which school systems are forced to structure and restructure themselves, teachers often get the short end of the stick. They are jockeyed about by institutions and leadership that often misses the mark for what children really need to become the best human being they can be. The kind of human being who takes time from a busy schedule to sit and be present to another human being who watched him take some of his first intellectual steps in the world. The kind of human being who gave of herself so the world can be a better place.

If you have read this, thank a teacher.

” ‘Wondering is a word connoting at least three things: Standing in disbelief. Standing in the question itself. Standing in awe before something.”
~Richard Rohr, The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See

I have found myself doing a fair share of wondering these days. I have been in several situations where I have found it unclear what was really happening. This has mostly been in meetings where decisions were being made, where people were engaged in debate and dialogue about a particular issue and have become entrenched in standing their ground in a way that made me wonder what the ‘conversation behind the conversation’ really was. Ever have experiences like this? It is an experience of the furrowed-brow.

So it was with a certain amount of relief that, while reading a book by author and speaker Richard Rohr that I came across the words that gave some context to my own wonderings. In it he describes a time when certain arms of the Catholic church were actually debating societies, hardly ever holding the same opinions on anything while still being welcome in the tradition. “Unfortunately, in later centuries this practice degenerated to just needing answers. And preferably certain answers. And preferably about everything. We moved from wondering to answering, which hasn’t served us well at all.”

Can I hear an “Amen”? My deep amen comes from reading how my own United Methodist church is behaving as they gather for our General Conference. This coming together happens every four years and allows us to once again reaffirm who we believe ourselves to be as one arm of a diverse band who seek to follow Jesus. At this gathering there is opportunity to listen to the lives of those present, how the Holy is moving in them and to agree to change, amend, remove the language in our Discipline, the book that guides us. In short, it is meant to be a time of wondering. But the reports I read of what is actually happening seems very far from this ancient gift of standing in the questions posed by a universe birthed by Mystery. Instead, it is more about answers and certainty and creating camps of those who are in and those who are out, those who are right and those who are wrong. It breaks my heart.

Of course, in our political life together we see the same drama being played out. The rhetoric is exhausting and filled with exaggerations and half-truths. In the muddled noise that flies over the airwaves, there is very little room for wondering, little room for standing in the questions in a way that might lead us to some greater understanding of not only ourselves but of the working ways of the world. What happened to that time of listening and learning from the experience of another? That time of hoping to evolve the wisdom planted within that is an ever-opening blossom?

What are you wondering about these days? What questions do you find yourself standing smack in the middle of? Who is standing there with you? Are you listening to one another with gentleness? What recent sight or sound or experience has filled you with an awe that took your breath away?

This gift of wonder is, I believe, planted at the heart of all Creation, at the heart of each of us. On this day, may we all be caught up in wondering. May it startle us and humble us. May it draw us closer in the Spirit’s tether. For our own good and the good of the world.