Howard Thurman & Carl Jung: Common Threads along the Mystical Path

Somewhere down the road, the topic of this issue of Notebooks could end up as a book or someone's Ph.D. dissertation. I confess at the get-go that my task here is unusual and fraught with potential problems. But for the sake of both fun and my ongoing pursuit of exploring the connection between the spiritual and the psychological, I'm going to give it a whirl. This month I want to bring two unique people together into a dialogue. Howard Thurman and Carl Jung never met; however, I wish they had. Because they would have much to discuss and likely learn from one another in surprising ways. "The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed."   (CG Jung in The Development of Personality, (1934) p. 29)

Howard Thurman and Carl Jung are two influential thinkers who have significantly contributed to religion and psychology. Howard Thurman was an African American theologian, author, and civil rights leader who developed a unique form of mystical theology. He served as the General Spiritual Director of the Civil Rights movement and Martin Luther King, Jr. On the other hand, Carl Jung was a Swiss psychiatrist and founder of analytical psychology, also known as depth psychology. Although Thurman's mystical theology and Jung's depth psychology have different origins, they share certain similarities in their approaches to understanding human experience and consciousness.

Howard Thurman's mystical theology is grounded in the belief that everyone has a unique and intimate connection with the divine. This connection is not mediated by any institution, doctrine, or ritual but is directly experienced by the individual through inner reflection and contemplation. For Thurman, the goal of mystical practice is to cultivate this connection and use it to awaken a more profound sense of purpose and meaning in one's life.

Central to Thurman's mystical theology is the "inner sanctuary," which he describes as a space within each individual where they can experience a direct connection with God. This sanctuary is not a physical place but a state of consciousness that can be accessed through meditation, prayer, and other spiritual practices. "There is in every person an inward sea, with its shores forever unknown and its depths unsounded. The thoughts we have, the dreams we have, the ambitions that we have, are merely superficial phenomena of the self, the conscious self." – ("Deep Is the Hunger: Meditations for Apostles of Sensitiveness," 1951 p. 13). Thurman believes that by cultivating this inner sanctuary, individuals can tap into a wellspring of wisdom, compassion, and creativity that can transform their lives and the world around them.

Carl Jung's depth psychology is based on the idea that the human psyche is composed of conscious and unconscious elements and interacts in complex and often unconscious ways. According to Jung, the unconscious is a vast reservoir of personal and collective experience that influences our thoughts, feelings, and behavior in ways we are unaware. The goal of depth psychology is to explore and integrate these unconscious elements, promoting personal growth and self-awareness. "Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes." – (Man and His Symbols, 1964 p. 34.)

Jung believed that the unconscious could be accessed through dreams, fantasies, and other symbolic expressions. He also developed a method of psychotherapy called "analytical psychology," which emphasizes the importance of the therapist's relationship with the patient and encourages the exploration of the patient's unconscious through dialogue, dream analysis, and other techniques.

While Thurman's mystical theology and Jung's depth psychology have different origins and focus on various aspects of human experience, they share certain similarities. Both approaches emphasize the importance of cultivating a deeper self-awareness and connecting with something greater than oneself. Thurman's inner sanctuary and Jung's unconscious represent a space where individuals can access deeper levels of insight, wisdom, and creativity that are not available to the conscious mind. You can hear places of resonance between the two in this 1973 lecture of Thurman at the University of Redlands. His citations of Meister Eckhart would likely have made Jung smile, as he, too, had a fondness for the medieval German mystic. Give it a listen, if for no other reason, to hear Thurman’s meditative cadence.

Thurman and Jung believe that this deeper level of awareness can be accessed through specific practices, such as meditation, prayer, and dream analysis. These practices serve as a means of accessing the unconscious or inner sanctuary and provide individuals with a way of tapping into a more significant source of meaning and purpose in their lives.

If you’ve reached this point in this essay and wondered how the ideas of Thurman and Jung, an African American and a European man, might speak to our contemporary conversation on race, I commend this talk by Dr. Catherine Meeks. CG Jung and Howard Thurman: Dismantling Inner Oppressors for Outer Liberation. Meeks brings the two minds together to address racism from the perspective of the two thinkers who saw much of the ills of our world as stemming from our inner life.  

While Howard Thurman's mystical theology and Carl Jung's depth psychology have different origins and focus on various aspects of human experience, they share certain similarities in their approaches to understanding the human quest for meaning. Both approaches emphasize the importance of cultivating a deeper self-awareness and connecting with something greater than oneself. Both recognize the potential for personal transformation that can result from this process. Ultimately, Thurman's mystical theology and Jung's depth psychology provide complementary paths toward personal growth and spiritual development. By extension, their approaches can help communal growth and communal spiritual development.

This quote from Thurman speaks to where the personal and the communal come together: "Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." (Quoted in The Life and Work of Howard Thurman by Joanne Marie Terrell, 1985 p. 101.)

And another from Thurman’s most well-known book: "The movement of the Spirit of God in the hearts of men often calls them to act against the spirit of their times or causes them to anticipate a spirit which is yet in the making."  (Jesus and the Disinherited 1949 p. 11)

Jung might then add a more cautionary tone. "The greatest and most important problems of life are all fundamentally insoluble. They can never be solved but only outgrown." (Modern Man in Search of a Soul, 1933, p. 92)

A meeting of these two minds and souls would have been rich indeed. We can only imagine.

Those interested in viewing a fine documentary on Howard Thurman could watch Backs Against the Wall.

Until Next Time,

Inside and Out of the Beatitudes

Years ago, a survey asked Americans several questions testing their knowledge of different topics involving religion. One question asked, “who preached the Sermon on the Mount.”  The number one answer people gave, “Billy Graham.” Jesus made the top ten, but I remember he didn't medal in the competition.

To refresh your memory, the beatitudes are the opening lines of the Sermon on the Mount. The whole Sermon includes Chapters 5, 6 & 7 of Matthew's gospel, but the beatitudes are the opening few verses.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

"Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.

Many scholars view them in line with Matthew's attempt to recast Jesus as a new Moses. Therefore, the Sermon on the Mount parallels Moses going to the mountain where he receives the Ten Commandments. Thus the beatitudes could be viewed as a new version of those commandments.

The Beatitudes get a bit of play in the broader culture beyond Matthew’s Gospel. For instance, there is a delightful musical interpretation by the gospel group Sweet Honey and the Rock. Check it out here.

In some “Introduction to Philosophical Ethics” college courses, you’ll find the Beatitudes alongside Aristotle, Immanuel Kant, and Simone De Beauvoir. It seems even the not-so-religious are willing to entertain Jesus' teachings on ethics. Leo Tolstoy embraced the Christian faith, then rejected it, only to return to a modified version centered around the beatitudes. He did have the idea of giving away all his furniture, but other members of the household put a stop to that idea.

The Poet Amy Frazey has a delightful recasting of the Beatitudes.

Blessed be the dreamers, for they know how to hope.

Blessed be the mothers, for they know the value of life.

Blessed be the faithful, for they know the power of prayer.

Blessed be the wanderers, for they know the ways of the world.

Blessed be the silent, for they know how to truly listen.

Blessed be the teachers, for they know the joy of a child.

Blessed be the lost, for they know how it feels to be found.

Blessed be the joyful, for they know the importance of laughter.

Then there is this fun hip-hop version by a children's choir led by Cindy Hestla. Check it out here. Once you play this, you'll have difficulty getting the chorus out of your head/heart/soul. Is that bass riff borrowed from the band Talking Heads?  

When you let the Beatitudes

Be your attitude

The Kingdom of God

Belongs to you

And you, and you, and you, and you.

But what’s all this use of the word blessed? We don't speak that way in our culture. When we do, the word blessed is often around an attitude of well-being. I say I'm blessed if things are going well. Sometimes people will use the term to wish someone well or respond to a sneeze. When we hear the English word blessed, we think happiness or wealth or everything's gonna be all right.

But that's incomplete. The Greek word is makarios, used sparingly in the New Testament. It's rare. The idea behind makarios is that something is made "large" or "lengthy." When God "blesses" us, God "extends" benefits to us. God "enlarges" mercy to us or "lengthens" charity in our direction. Makarioshas an expansiveness. But, translating this into English as "May God's expansive ever enlarging lengthy grace comes to those who are poor in spirit just doesn't seem to work." After the King James Bible used the word blessed, we locked in for 500 years.

According to John Ayto’s Dictionary of Word Origins, there is no equivalent of blessed in any other language. The origins of the word blessed date to the 13th century and likely meant something closer to “mark with blood.” Now that sounds a bit strange to our ears, but there is a long connection with marking things with blood as an expression of the sacred. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, the Passover event is one example where Hebrew people marked their doors with blood. 

The beatitudes have a practical nature. They are ethical teachings about how to live in the outer world, with a bit of an upside-down quality. The emphasis on treating others in this pattern of reciprocity is helpful and compassionate. If I offer mercy, it's more likely I'll receive mercy.

But the Beatitudes have an inward orientation as well. Fritz Kunkel reminds us:

“The Beatitudes convey an inner experience, a new discovery, which overthrows our natural philosophy of life. A step of development, an achievement of conscious growth, is proclaimed in appalling, though simple terms.” (Creation Continues: A Psychological Interpretation of the Gospel of Matthew, 67-72) Kunkel describes how bewildering it must be to see that the meek shall inherit the earth. This is quite preposterous if viewed from the perspective of history and modern-day geopolitics. But meek is often misunderstood as “ soft, weak, and helpless." Instead, a better understanding would be, in words, "tamed," or more precisely, "disciplined" by spiritual practices. Kunkel suggests meek is not helpful. Maybe something closer to "sensitive," aware, or open-minded, especially without blind spots. One could argue with Kunkel, but he's trying to help us reflect on a profoundly personal and spiritual understanding of these beatitudes. He interprets the beatitudes as direct challenges to our ego-dominant approach to life. Jesus is intentionally telling us in these paradoxical sayings that to be a fully formed disciple; one might say a fully formed human, we engage the challenges put before us in these teachings.

“Conscious growth, the evolution of the human character, is a painful and exclusively personal task. It implies the acceptance and assimilation of our unconscious fears and faults, the removal of our inhibitions and prejudices, the reformation and integration of our passions and compulsions…What is this kingdom that has to be paid for with persecution and which changes suffering into joy?” (Creation Continues, 70-71)

There is no easy answer, but the beatitudes lead us into an adventure toward finding an answer, however tentative that answer may be. This life is about active participation in the questions so we can be more fully formed human beings, who care for ourselves, our neighbors, and the world.

Notebooks of James Hazelwood is a once-a-month reflection on the intersection of theology, philosophy, and depth psychology. Typically, we publish in the last week of each month. Forward this to a friend you think might appreciate it. You can subscribe here

Just after the Darkest Night of the Year

We might be in the midst of the 12 days of Christmas, but among the lesser-known Feast Days in this season is December 28, the Feast of Holy Innocents. This is the day in remembrance of the massacre of young children in Bethlehem by King Herod the Great in his attempt to kill the infant Jesus (Matthew 2:16–18). You may wonder why I would set aside time to write about this event when we could be singing "A Partridge in a Pear Tree" and harmonizing "Five Golden Rings." However, I did write last year focusing on Christmas, so you can refer to that if you’d prefer.

The Feast of Holy Innocents is one of those horrific events in scripture that is rarely addressed. The story is unique to Matthew's Gospel.

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the magi, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the magi. Then what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled:

“A voice was heard in Ramah,

    wailing and loud lamentation,

Rachel weeping for her children;

    she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”

Fritz Kunkel, the esteemed Psychologist who studied with Carl Jung, reminds us that this passage reveals the nature of destructiveness and tyranny as aspects of the inner landscape of the soul, as well as its outward manifestation in autocrats throughout history. "The terrible rage of Herod proves his helplessness. He cannot destroy the little (Christ) child who frightens him,

and this failure, though paid for with the lives of the innocents, is the inevitable cost of our spiritual growth." (Creation Continues by Fritz Kunkel, p. 41)

Matthew places this passage as a driving motivation for Mary and Joseph to flee to Egypt. Fear for the newborn child's well-being dominates his gospel. In our sanitization of the Christmas narrative, we often forget that Christ is born in poverty, in a stable, and then runs for his life. This motif is consistent throughout ancient literature, sacred stories, and even fairy tales up through the modern era. The holy child is not born into comfy conditions with a bounty of gifts and nourishment. Rather it’s on the margins of society and the edge of disaster, hiding from authorities. Today, we see this portrayed again and again in film. For example, the Star Wars series consistently portrays the hero/heroine as being from a far-off humble place, often abandoned. "It shows that the collective, the established power, fears the new, as we, too, at times, fear new possibilities emerging within ourselves, shaking us out of our old ways," writes Mariann Burke in Advent and Psychic Birth, p. 145.

Duccio do Buoninsegna “Slaughter of the Innocents” C.E. 1308-11

All this disturbing imagery and storyline of the slaughter of the innocents brings to mind many examples of history. The Holocaust, the brutality of slavery, the treatment of Native people on this continent, and most recently, the events in Ukraine, which repeat a modern-day massacre of the innocents. These events make us wonder, "why is there suffering?"  and, in particular, "Why are human beings so adept at making others suffer?"

I'm unsure why I've been captivated by these questions, and sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one. I suspect not. Instead, I surmise my quest for understanding is both personal and professional. As a parish pastor walking alongside people who witnessed friends and family die of AIDS, self-inflicted deaths, and tragic losses, the most often asked and unasked question was, "Why?"  No response could ever satisfy either them or me. Usually, I simply held people while they grieved.

Some of you know my fascination with the book of Job, that ancient story that made its way into the Hebrew Bible despite its origin lying elsewhere in the ancient near East. This curiosity continues to lead me to explore various perspectives on the topic of loss and grief. One book of note is Seven Ways of Looking at Pointless Suffering by Scott Samuelson. In addition to Job, the author takes us through three other classic views on suffering along with three modern perspectives. Hannah Arendt, Frederich Nietzsche, and Confucius each get a chapter along with Job and a few others. One comes away with the universality of our human suffering and our desire to understand it. There are no answers, yet somehow, perspective helps.

But shouldn't we all stand up to the causes of suffering? Why not decide, as people, not to tolerate the Herods of this world? Then, if we all mustered enough courage, we could stop this nonsense. Right!? After all, we have been given the uniquely human capability of free will. Indeed, the exercise of choice allows us to stop, if not all, at least some of the madness. Come on, people, let’s do the right thing.

In 1971, the somewhat infamous Stanford Prison Experiment revealed how the seemingly good-natured and kind participants could quickly turn into brutal thugs. The participants, all men, were randomly divided into guards and prisoners in a makeshift jail at Stanford University. Though they were supposed to be playacting, the guards began to abuse the prisoners verbally, physically, and psychologically. The lead researcher, Philp Zimbardo, even got so caught up in the playacting himself that he continued the experiment, despite witnessing the abuse. It wasn't until his girlfriend intervened, imploring him to halt the experiment, that it ended. (This might say something about the need for a feminine essence in both body and spirit to serve as a counter veiling force – at least in this situation) Later reflecting on this experiment, Zimbardo recalls: "Any deed that any human being has ever committed, however horrible, is possible for any of us….That knowledge does not excuse evil; rather it democratizes it…" (quoted in Susan Neiman's Evil in Modern Thought, p 336) So much for the claim, "if I were in Nazi Germany, I would have stood up to Hitler." Well, maybe, but the evidence of the number who actually did is relatively tiny.

Carl Jung helps us in this area with his theory of the human shadow. The understanding that within each person is an aspect of our personality that is counter to our conscious or lived life values. You know the shadow is real when you have those thoughts about that co-worker at the office you can't stand, to put it mildly. Recent efforts in the Jungian community have begun applying this understanding beyond the individual to suggest that groups, churches, corporations, and nations have a shadow. Yet, Jung always brings matters back to the individual. He reminds us, "Nobody is immune to a nationwide evil unless s/he is unshakably convinced of the danger of his/her own character being tainted by the same evil." (CW 18, The Symbolic Life, para 1400.)

One aspect of confronting a feast day like the Slaughter of the Innocents is remembering our responsibility individually and collectively for addressing such horrors, whether they be something as horrific as the events in Ukraine or that bully who sits on the committee with you, while simultaneously facing the Darth Vader within.

But a second response, connected with the first, is facing the grief of such tragedies. It's my view that unattended sorrow is among our primary national crises. We don’t do grief very well in our modern world, and we pay the price for that. Historically, societies had collective ways of attending to the grief and sorrow that are part of the suffering. For example, imagine for a moment the collective sorrow of all those parents of the innocents under Herod's brutal rule. Most likely, what those parents had were not only the funeral rituals but also other forms of ongoing collective grief expression. No doubt their faith practices connected their loss to those of their ancestors dating back to Moses and other times of significant loss. Knowing that your loss relates to others, and with some aspect of an eternal divine schema, may not eliminate the pain of loss, but it helps put it in context. If nothing else, you know you are not alone in grief.

Terrence Mallick’s The New World is a film that expresses how pre-modern societies tended to sorrow and loss. The grief people experienced was honored and treated with careful attention to the personal and communal aspects of sorrow. As Oscar Wilde wrote, "Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground.” Watch this 8-minute video commentary for a description of The Lost Art of Grief.

Responding to loss with intentionality is applicable in many aspects of our lives. Yes, for the suffering of loss of people, but also loss of place, home, and even the shifting loss of identities around work, citizenship, and physical capacity. We need formal and informal rituals to help us in this time of great cultural transition. Every aspect of life is changing. Every week we should pause to grieve what we have lost. Attending to our sorrow frees us up to look to the future. It’s hard to be forward-looking when you are stuck in nostalgia.

Each December, I pull out the music of the Ohio-based musical duet, Over the Rhine. I’m particularly fond of their eloquent lyrics around ultimate matters in life and faith. This year, a hidden track on one of their Christmas CDs spoke to me. Penned by Lindford Detweiler, it expresses sorrow and longing with poignancy. Yet, it also points to a way through other kinds of loss, thus enabling a move to the next chapter of life. The line “And so we must all finally surrender, As we release our grip upon whatever we hold dear, And call familiar,” captures it all.

My Father’s House

My father’s body lies beneath the snow

High on a hill in Holmes County, Ohio

From there you can look out across the fields

A farmer guides his horses home as day to darkness bends

And finally yields

Dad’s gravestone holds the words Be Still My Soul

A song we sang together long ago

And there were times we even shared one hymnbook

His right hand and my left hand side-by-side holding pages

Of Music

But now his hands hold nothing but the earth

Hands that held me moments after my birth

And so we must all finally surrender

As we release our grip upon whatever we hold dear

And call familiar

My father’s body lies beneath the snow

And I’m still learning how to let him go

I’ve come to know him better since he’s gone

And often wondered if or how I could’ve been a different

Better son

My father’s body lies beneath the snow

Sometimes on Christmas Eve that’s where I go

I hear faint Christmas bells from far away

Ring out all the unspoken words I’ve never found within myself

To say

Until next time,

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Wrestling with Christ: A Confession

Confession is good for the soul, goes the saying of old, attributed to an old Scottish proverb. There is also a reference in the book of James 5:16. Well, I've got a confession to make to all of you.

I've been wrestling with Jesus Christ. Not just of late, but for 43 years. I started in the summer of my baptism.

When asked to name my favorite Bible verse, I invariably default to the Genesis epic of Jacob wrestling with the angel along the banks of the river Jabbok. That depiction of a flawed man encountering and wrestling with a divine messenger has captured my imagination all these years. However, in his commentary on this passage, Martin Luther remarks that Jacob is not just wrestling with any angel. He is wrestling with Christ. When I first read that, I stood up in the library at Union Theological Seminary and shouted, “Yes, Yes, Yes." Only to be quelled by my fellow students preparing for finals.

Jesus Christ is illusive. On the one hand, I am utterly attracted to his teachings, story, and life. Yet, on the other hand, I'm repulsed by the church, scholars, and especially contemporary media portrayals of him. Let's start with the latter and then return to the former.

There is a scene in the 1986 movie “Hannah and Her Sisters” in which the late Max Von Sydow says about fundamentalist TV preachers, “If Jesus Christ were to come back and see what’s going on in his name, he’d never stop throwing up.” This critique resonates with me every time I see or hear some absurd or offensive use of Christ by a politician, a preacher, or some ignorant person at the end of the bar. It makes me cringe with embarrassment and angry with righteousness. Perhaps, this explains why we, who are Christians always want to add an adjective at the front end. Somehow the addition of a defining word like progressive, open-minded, or Lutheran is necessary so that we are not lumped in with a perverted form of Christianity such as fundamentalist or, even worse white nationalist or dominionism.

I want to scream (at times) or at least clearly state, “That’s not the Jesus Christ I know.”

So who am I seeking to follow? What about the Christ figure compels me not to relent in my quest for meaning, connection, and wholeness in this world?

I think of three intriguing aspects of Christ that tug at my soul. Incarnation, Ethics, and Crucifixion/Resurrection. Those fond of the liturgy could see in this the Christmas, Epiphany, and Lent/Easter seasons.

Incarnation – The sheer splendor of the eternal entering the temporal makes my heart sing. Beyond the Hallmark card version of the baby Jesus lying in a manger is the mystery of God becoming all bound up in our humanness. Even as a child, I was intrigued by the Christmas story. Though I never talked about it, I became captivated by this paradox of God (whom I did not and still don't fully grasp), choosing to live into or, more precisely, birth into this world.

I recall listening to the late Alan Watts, former Episcopal priest and teacher of Buddhism to the west, lecture on radio station KPFK. One of his lectures described the reaction of Lucifer, the angel of light peering into the divine godhead and seeing the intentions of the eternal one's plan to become a human being. Acting in Lucifer's voice, Watts said something like, "I'll have nothing to do with that act. I don't want to get mixed up with all that humanness. I want pure light." And then Lucifer turned his back on God.

Two intriguing ideas came to me in my early adolescence from this vignette. The first is the concept of the timeless becoming wrapped up in the time-bound. Eternal and the temporal living together at the same time. How is this possible? T.S. Elliot tried to get at this idea in the Four Quartets.

Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present  

The second idea my teenage brain investigated centered on Lucifer becoming the adversary because he rejected the incarnation. In other words, the angel of light wants only pure light, pure abstraction, and pure spirit. He (though the pronoun here is not meant to imply gender) desires an existence separate from the muck and mire of lived earthly experience. But God wants to be involved in the muck and mire. So much so that God is willing to be born in the barn. Here the muck and the mire host many semi-domesticated animals. No wonder the angels sing, "Glory to God in the Highest." They could have added a refrain and "in the lowest depths."

For me, this lifelong wrestling match with Christ finds joy, comfort, and companionship in the eternal, entering the temporal. God wants to know what it's like to be human. That means that we also want to experience God. The incarnation makes this a reciprocal relationship. Therefore, when I sit in contemplative meditation and silence, take a walk in a nearby wildlife refuge, or sing along with "Silent Night," I'm engaging in something that connects me with the holy.  

But it doesn’t stop there. It also means I'm engaging in everyday spiritualitywhen I’m doing the dishes, raking the leaves, and waiting in line at Stop n Shop. In other words, everything is now spiritual because of the incarnation.

Ethics – What about the life and teachings of Jesus Christ resonates with me? I've been reading Howard Thurman as of late. He's most well-known for his book Jesus and the Disinherited and his role as the Spiritual Director for Martin Luther King Jr and others in the Civil Rights movement. If you want a fine video documentary on Thurman, I commend you to Backs Against the World. One of Thurman's critical points is an emphasis on Jesus as a human persecuted person in the context of an oppressive Roman empire. He then connects this to Black people in the mid-twentieth century living under unjust laws.

Thurman and many others bring to the front and center the ethical and moral imperative of life. I don't know about you, but this pulls me to care for the poor and the oppressed. I respond to the wisdom of a life of compassion and humility. I am attracted to a call to work and speak for the well-being of all creation. Is it challenging? Of course. Is it hard? Yes. Do I succeed regularly? No, but that does not mean I give up.

Jesus' life and teaching have an imperative on my life, yet another expression of that wrestling match I described earlier. One cannot read the gospels and not see that Jesus profoundly emphasizes healing, justice, and forgiveness. I don't know about you, but I need this call in my life. If I don't have the pull to attempt to live a more compassionate life, I'll likely end up serving the God of my ego and my self-satisfaction.

Folks in AA know this well as they remind us that the Lord's Prayer says, "Thy will be done, not my will be done." Thy means God's will.

So I need Jesus' life and teaching to give my life an ethical tug toward something I'll inevitably fail to achieve. But without that gravitational pull, I'm worthless.

The Cross and the Tomb

Of the few things, we have a high degree of confidence regarding Jesus Christ in his death by crucifixion under Pontius Pilate, a middleweight provincial governor in ancient Palestine, around 26 to 36 CE. The historian Josephus references it in his writings, along with Tacitus and others outside the church writings. But why? Why is the crucifixion so central to the Christ myth and necessary for modern 21st-century life?

There are many reasons, but you are likely reaching your maximum reading time by now, so I'll limit my thoughts to two. First would be the symbolic value of the cross, and second would be the lived experience of suffering. The cross is one of those ancient symbols that Carl Jung suggests has its origins in humanity's discovery of fire, and as such, is, in reality, a fire symbol derived from rubbing two sticks together to start a fire for warmth, protection, and the creation of tools. This may explain why Jung felt the cross was an ancient symbol communicating life. "I don’t know why it is perceived in such a form; I only know that the cross has always meant mana or life power." (Carl Jung, Dream Analysis, p. 366) I can't explain it, but for me, the cross, especially a Celtic or Jerusalem cross, is a powerful symbol.

It could be because of the second reason, which is its connection to suffering. As the Buddha said, "Life is suffering." We might read that as a depressing statement in our modern US society. I read it as honesty. Anyone who has lived any length of time has witnessed loss, grief, injustice, and harm. From the playground to the battlefield, life is filled with the wounding experience of suffering. Jesus Christ's death on the cross meets humanity at its most vulnerable point. The eternal and the temporal are both nailed to those timbers.

This leads us to the resurrection, perhaps the most misunderstood aspect of Jesus Christ. So often, the resurrection is used as some rational proof for the whole of Christianity. A sort of "look, see, Jesus is alive after he died; therefore, everything he said and did and the church says about him is true." Ugh. Not only is this a form of cheap grace, cheap thinking, and cheap theology, it misses the point. Namely, the empty tomb brings us back full circle to the incarnation. All the Easter scenes, from the walk to Emmaus, to the garden tomb and the fish breakfast at the shore, reconnect the eternal with the temporal. In Jesus' birth, the divine enters the muck and mire of existence through Mary's labor pains. In Jesus' death, the divine experiences the full implications of mortality. By the resurrection, God reconnects the muck and mire with the infinite, and the thin veil between life and death is made so thin that one wonders if it even exists.

Still in One Peace,

Jim

(A version of this essay was preached on Christ the King Sunday at Our Savior Lutheran Church in Hanover, New Hampshire)

We need Symbolic Intelligence

You’ve heard of IQ, short for Intelligence Quotient. It’s a flawed instrument still used in some circles to measure one’s smarts. (Say smaahts with a Boston accent). I recall being administered the test in 7th grade. My parents never told me the results. Should I be worried? In the 1990s, Daniel Goleman developed EQ, short for Emotional Quotient or sometimes referred to as Emotional Intelligence (EI). EI is often defined as the ability to perceive, understand, manage, and handle emotions. People with high emotional intelligence can recognize their own emotions and those of others, use emotional information to guide thinking and behavior, discern between different feelings and label them appropriately, and adjust emotions to adapt to environments.

These are essential elements in our society, but we also need Symbolic Intelligence. I did a quick internet search to see if this exists yet, and all I could find were references to Symbolic Artificial Intelligence, a form of computer processing seeking to mimic human use of symbols. That’s not what I’m referencing. I’m referring to our human capacity to understand reality through symbols and metaphors. A symbol is a mark, sign, or even a word that is understood or represents an idea, object, or relationship. Symbols allow people to go beyond what is known consciously and comprehend meaning and connections between otherwise very different concepts and experiences. Symbolic intelligence is the ability or openness, to engage sacred texts, religious icons, or holy spaces with an attitude of wonder, curiosity, and willingness. The function is to be moved intellectually, emotionally even physically by the encounter. In other words, it's about more than just gaining logical information. It's about entering an experience of the numinous. As Jason Smith writes in Religious but Not Religious, “the symbol is something to be lived with, not possessed, something to be contemplated, not studied; something to be nurtured, not mined for treasures. Our attitude needs to be one of discovery and not interrogation, of love and not merely logic.”

I traveled to Jerusalem, Palestine, Israel, and the Holy Land several years ago. During the tour, our group heard a constant refrain from the guide. "Well, this might have been the place where Jesus did or said such and such." After several of these, a fellow traveler pulled me aside and said, "I came all this way, and no one seems to know anything. All this might have been the place stuff bugs me. What's the point of the trip." We spent several days discussing his dismay. I attempted to help him see the land, ancient buildings, and the stories we read as windows into a beautiful world. I described that world as the intersection of the external reality of people and things with the internal landscape of his soul. What happens at that intersection is the place where the symbols of the faith come to life. He struggled with this idea until years later when he had a dream involving a walk along the sea of Galilee. His experience of the dream of Galilee and the time in waking life when he walked near that sea began to open him up to a symbolic approach to life.

Symbols of transformation are an important part of psychological and spiritual growth, development and maturation, particularly in times of profound transition, threshold, crises and change. Jungian psychology asserts that mental concepts and processes alone often fail to grasp psychological and spiritual realities as a whole, so our psyche is often driven to use symbols, images and metaphors. This is because they speak to our whole person – to our mind, heart, senses, memories, body, experiences and imagination – and have the capacity to engage us more fully than mental concepts alone.   

 – Julienne McLean “Jung and Christian Spirituality”, a talk given at Hereford Cathedral

The Hebrew Bible contains the well-known story of Adam & Eve in the garden of Eden. If we read this passage literally, we'd view it as a historically accurate reporting of an event complete with a literal garden of Eden, a real live serpent, and two humans 5 feet 7 inches tall. Huh? How far do we want to go down this road of literalism? What color are their eyes, their skin, and what size shoe? Does the snake talk? In what language? Hebrew, Aramaic, or Norwegian? Virtually no one understands this story as a literal description of an actual historical event.

But what if we read this story with symbolic intelligence? We could take time to explore so much in this story, but let's look at the setting, which is a garden. The garden represents a sacred space in almost all cultures worldwide, uniting the conscious and unconscious worlds. They are often placed aside to grow flowers, fruits, or vegetables. In other words, the area where this world and the underworld meet for fertility and new life. But anyone growing a garden knows it's also an untamed space. One is constantly dealing with weeds, insects, and interlopers. If we do not continue to tend a garden, it quickly returns to a place of wilderness. Exploring the symbolic approach to this story yields much more than mere information.

My point is not that those ancient people told literal stories, and we are now smart enough to take them symbolically, but that they told them symbolically, and we are now dumb enough to take them literally. They knew what they were doing; we don’t.

— John Dominic Crossan, Who is Jesus?

The word "symbol" comes from an ancient Greek meaning "thrown together." If we think of the two opposing circles as the conscious and the unconscious, the symbol has something from both. And when we experience a symbol, the two realms become one. Symbols feel powerful because they point to things we don't know, originating from a source we call "the unconscious."

Symbols have the power to help us discover aspects of ourselves and our world.  

Look for symbols wherever you go. You’ll find them everywhere.   

“The fountains in our cities evoke ancient springs of renewal. The cross at the top of a church brings up the symbolism of the crucifixion and also the place where the vertical and horizontal and also heaven and earth, meet. Wedding rings made of gold and diamonds promise union forever. Apples, so common in advertisements, remind us of health and youth but also of The Tree of Good and Evil in the Bible. In a negative form, it appears as the poisoned apple of the witch in fairy tales, or it simply indicates a bad or rotten character. Fast cars evoke speed and wealth. The independence of the house cat can become a symbol for an inner aspect of someone’s personality. Anything becomes a symbol when it has some hidden quality that moves us in some way. A sunset may just be the ending of the day or imagined as the myth of the hero traveling with the sun into the underworld. The world becomes magical when you begin looking for symbols!”

A Journey through Symbols – The Archive for Research in Archetypal Symbolism

We live in a time where the cognitive, logical, and literal have dominated our approach to most of life. This has enabled great things to happen. We have antibiotics, indoor plumbing, and insulated homes as benefits of this approach. I'm not disparaging the rational thought processes. However, the pendulum has swung so far in one direction that we risk abandoning the sacred, the mystery and wonder of life. Fortunately, we are entering a time when symbolic thinking is returning. Not in a pre-enlightenment naivete but in a new way that incorporates the knowledge we've gained from our modern development of depth psychology, anthropology, and the study of myth. Despite all our progress in modern society, people long for encounters in nature, meditation opportunities, or ways to be creative. Reclaiming a symbolic approach to ancient wisdom can help tremendously in these times.

Religious stories are to civilizations what dreams are to individuals. They are symbolically encoded messages from the depths of the human soul. Just as it would be inadvisable to interpret our dreams literally, in which case we would get into all sorts of trouble with the real world and human relationships, so we miss the inner meaning of scriptures by unimaginative readings. They are only loosely related to “reality” as we understand it. They demand reflection, contemplation, and an understanding of symbolic language. If we bring imagination and knowledge to bear on religious stories, they can come to life in unexpected ways. At the same time, this metaphorical turn brings with it the advantage that religion loses its arrogant and absolutist sting, allowing us to combat the violence and discord to which literalism gives rise.

David Tacey, Religion as Metaphor

What I Read this Summer

After a long summer, I'm back with season two of Notebooks. We'll plan for monthly going forward, though the spirit of inspiration may prompt other writings.

As a child, returning to school in the fall usually meant a composition titled "What I did on my Summer Vacation." So instead of telling you about wonderful bike trips, camping in Canada, some challenging work-related items, an epic convention filled with Robert's Rules of Order, and two weeks of home care, I will share some thoughts of what I read.

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My Lectio Divina this summer used the sacred texts of Mary Oliver. Her greatest hits collection, Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver, helps me each morning remember why I am human and how that humanness is rooted in the sacred wonderland of the natural world. While some may argue that Lectio Divina, an ancient practice of prayerful reading of texts, should only employ a religious text from a religious tradition, I beg to differ. Expanding the repertoire of sacred texts to include such meditations as these:

"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift." 

Or

“Instructions for living a life. 

Pay attention. 

Be astonished. 

Tell about it.” 

Or

“to live in this world.

you must be able

to do three things

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go." 

Many of my summer mornings began with a cup of coffee followed by worship alongside Mary.

The Lost Notebooks of Sisyphus by Phil Cousineau surprised me halfway through the summer. I heard a lecture by Phil via Zoom for the CG Jung Institute of New York in July. He tells stories as your old uncle used to, only with a flair for the magic of enchantment. This book helps the reader realize the ancient myth of Sisyphus is not about the futility of life but the living of life. Our typical understanding of this old king of Corinth revolves around a life of hopeless frustration. We roll the stone up the mountain, only to see it roll back down again. What's the point? But Cousineau helps us understand the story as a relatively accurate description of life. The gods promise Sisyphus that if he can get that rock to the top and roll it down the other side, he will be rewarded with freedom from incarceration. Instead, the gods seem to be playing games with him as they have no intention of allowing him his final reward. Yes, that seems like life in the modern world. But Cousineau points out moments in Sisyphus's struggle where he pauses to appreciate a time, a memory, a place. It is in those moments that meaning is found. This book is a refreshingly honest alternative to the narrative of consumer capitalism, which tells us all a life. That lie is that, somehow, there is a day when life is complete. We win the prize, celebrate victory, and all is well. Ask any athlete who has won a super bowl if they are satisfied. No, they return for another season. Ask any mother if all her dreams are complete after having delivered a new infant into the world. No, because the next day, there are diapers, and the following year is a new phase of parenting. The epic of Sisyphus tells an honest story; along the way, we lean into those moments that give us joy, peace, and meaning.

Soul Care in African American Practice by Barbara Peacock allowed me to expand my view on how my quest for a mature spirituality benefits from a broader engagement. Short chapters on Rosa Parks, Frederick Douglas, Martin Luther King, Jr, Reneeta Weems offer insights into the historical, spiritual practices of the Christian faith. I bought this book to help prepare for a class I'm teaching this January in the Doctor of Ministry program at the United Lutheran Seminary. It sat in the pile of books next to my desk for months. But, somehow made its way into a bag for a mid-summer trip. You'll view these people's lives, teachings, and efforts through a more profoundly spiritual lens after reading this book. Rosa Parks is well known for her refusal to move while riding that bus in Montgomery, Alabama. But Peacock helps us see Ms. Parks as a saint rooted in prayer and meditation. These resources give her the strength of her convictions.

I finally got around to reading Richard Rohr’s The Universal Christ. Only Father Rohr can pull from many sources to weave a book like this one. So often in our contemporary world, Jesus Christ is lifted in a manner that seems to say more about the speaker than the rabbi from Galilee. Today that usually means invoking Jesus Christ to accommodate one's political agenda. The last time I watched CNN, I heard a minister invoke the Nazarene as justification for the attempted overthrow of the US government. Sigh! I see these things and worry that those with little exposure to Christianity assume this perversion is the only expression. But Rohr gives the rest of us hope and a language to talk openly and warmly about Christ. He paints an all-embracing sacredness of love and interconnectedness. Christ is understood as the eternal spirit that not only connects all of life but is all of life. Yes, this could all be construed as a bit too mystical for some, though I loved it. Rohr shows so many practical ways to enter into his theology. One small example is his use of the great teachers of the past, such as St. Bonaventure (1221-1274), who taught a way to work up to loving God by loving the humblest and simplest of things. I have a friend who recently adopted a small dog, a Shih Tzu. She has come to love this dog with her whole being. The adoption is a healing balm to her grief over having lost her partner for many decades. "I think this dog is helping me to love again," she told me. Rohr writes

“Don’t start by trying to love God, or even people; love rocks and elements first, move to trees, then animals, and then humans…It works. It might be the only way to love, because how you do anything is how you do everything." (p. 51)

Lastly, I reached back a few decades and re-read Thomas Cahill's bestseller from the 1990s How the Irish Saved Civilization. I loved this book when it first came out, but I'd forgotten why. Cahill has a gift for making history come alive. This book tells the story of the efforts of Irish monks and scribes to preserve the library of books from ancient antiquity. But, again, I'd forgotten his portrayal of a people who discovered the love of learning. As the Roman Empire collapsed and all of Europe entered the dark ages, the Irish copied and multiplied the works of the Greek Philosophers, Christian theologians, and ancient histories. Their love of learning not only returned these works to Europe several hundred years later but established the centers of knowledge, the monasteries, and the universities without which western civilization and all the discoveries and inventions might not have occurred.

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I'm working on the next issue of notebooks, which will focus on our need to grow, strengthen, and exercise our symbolic intelligence. In an age of anxiety, I see more and more people defaulting to literalistic interpretations of texts, both sacred and secular. Of course, there is value in careful reading, but we're in grave danger of losing the wisdom of a symbolic way of approaching life.

Faith in Maine

I was this month’s guest on the Faith in Maine podcast of the Episcopal Church in Maine. Listen below

Reflections on the Churchwide Assembly

Every three years this church holds a gathering of voting members from all 65 synods to conduct business. I just returned from the 2022 gathering in Columbus, Ohio. What follows are a few personal highlights and reflections. However, for a more thorough overview I commend to you the series of articles written by Mitch Robinson, assembly voting member and current member of St. Luke Lutheran Church in Gales Ferry, CT. You can find the first of his articles by clicking here.

Three moments stand out for me. The first is the election of Imran Siddiqui as Vice president. This is a volunteer or non-stipendiary position in our church. The chief responsibilities include chairing the meetings of the ELCA (national) church council, as well as serving as a public face of lay leadership in this church. I happened to be sitting next to Imran throughout the assembly and enjoyed brief exchanges. I found him appropriately lighthearted at times, yet also intentional about new ways of being church in a changing world. I view his election as indicative of a shift to a younger generation of leaders for our church. There were other aspects of this assembly that marked this turn, but Imran’s election captures it most clearly.

The second moment of significance is the many decisions that are pointing this church into a new direction. The resolution on establishing a Commission to examine the structures, practices, and patterns of the ELCA is the most visible. But there were other amendments to our current governing documents that also point to the ever-evolving nature of this church. Many of these resolutions and amendments passed by overwhelming large margins of 80 or 90%. This signaled to me a desire to move forward with restructuring with boldness and a vision. In other words, I see a hunger for something BIG and BOLD, not simply tweaks. More thoughts on this later.

The third significant moment for me occurred one evening while walking back from dinner. I was alone and happened upon the four representatives of Iglesia Luterana Santa Maria Peregrina. This is the congregation in California that experienced the crisis surrounding the removal of their pastor. (See here for background letters I have written) I had met these four at the beginning of the assembly, so we recognized one another. Following a humorous exchange involving selfie photos with a mildly inebriated fraternity group, we settled into a serious conversation about the next steps following Bishop Eaton’s apology. The four members of Santa Maria had received the apology as a genuine act of contrition and were interested in the continuing process of reconciliation. Of Primary importance to them now is follow through and next steps. I gave them my assurance that Sierra Pacific Interim Bishop Claire Burket is the right person for the current situation. We concluded with a warm embrace and prayers right there on the street. The moment was marked with tears and laughter.

The church is not perfect. It is made up of flawed human beings. We do well to remember that we are simultaneously saint and sinner. We pray that the Holy Spirit will work through us. We live in times where the flaws of our church seem to be more evident, yet I hope we can lean into the blessings of being church. We don’t have it all figured out, and it’s likely that we never will. But my prayer is that with each step, God will find a way.

Bishop James Hazelwood

For more about the Churchwide Assembly see www.elca.org/churchwideassembly

Is the ELCA becoming too Political?

This question recently appeared in my in-box. The author posed the question based on their observations of various positions this church has taken in recent years, along with their perspective on reading multiple social media sources. The next day a different person wrote encouraging further engagement in the issues of our day. Both of these people are active members of congregations in our synod.

This all occurred before the recent decisions of the current Supreme Court regarding access to guns, Roe v Wade and Climate Change, among other actions. These decisions alarmed many of us, including myself, while I know, some applauded the decisions. Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton offered a detailed response to the Roe v Wade decisions last week. You may read it here.

My personal views on these matters can be succinctly summarized as follows:

Guns for hunting, Olympic-style competition, and certain controlled and regulated situations seem appropriate. But, assault-style weapons designed and intended for military conflict should not be made available to the general public. In between these poles is open for discussion, but in my view, our increasingly volatile society is at greater risk if irresponsible gun ownership continues.

Abortion should be rare, safe, and legal. I have personal experience with friends who needed abortions for various reasons, including the mother's health, sexual assault, or long-term complications for the life and well-being of both the mother and the child. No one I have ever known enters this decision lightly.

Climate change is our most significant crisis. Yet, another Court decision making it tougher to regulate the gases contributing to atmospheric devastation is short-sighted, corrupt, and immoral.

I recognize readers of this post may disagree. But this is where I stand on these matters. Is the ELCA becoming too political? Judging from the emails I receive, the answer is clearly yes. So there you have it—the dis-united states of America. We reflect our wider societal divide.

In my experience, the question that serves as the title of this essay is often asked when this church or a leader takes a position that is in opposition to the perspective of the one posing the question. If someone says something I disagree with, the church is getting political. If they say something I agree with, it's cast as speaking prophetically. Then toss in Facebook, and the conversation takes an unhelpful turn.

A better question to the title would be, "How should the church engage politically?" In my view, engagement with the societal issues of our day is not an option. The Christian church has a long history of engagement. If we choose not to engage, that's also a form of engagement. If we decide not to speak and act, we say, "We agree with the way things are."

Recently, a colleague of mine shared a helpful way of considering how to engage. It can be summarized as follows:

The Church as Refuge - The church should refrain from taking political stances to create a sanctuary where people come together to worship regardless of political lines.

The Church as Mediator - The church should promote healing and understanding across divisions and teach skills to engage with different perspectives, listen to marginalized voices, and be agents of reconciliation.

The Church as Prophetic Voice - The church should be a prophetic voice amid tensions. Responsibilities of the church include speaking about political issues, pursuing justice, and advocating for righteousness.

The complete chart in both Spanish and English can be found here. It could be a helpful way to engage in conversation at an adult forum, council, or another format. One wonder I have about this chart is how individuals and congregations may find themselves in different places on the chart, depending on the issue. Perhaps a mediator is more valid for you regarding one problem, but you sense a calling to be prophetic on another matter. In other words, I don't think it's static.

As we progress through these challenging times, I call to your attention three resources I mentioned at our recent Synod Assembly.

The first resource is the Episcopal Church's curriculum on race relations called Sacred ground. As I mentioned, I find this an excellent first step for people to begin exploring this topic. This is not the only resource available, but I commend it to you as a helpful entre. More information can be found here.

The second resource relates more specifically to this letter, and likely sits squarely in the Church as Mediator category. At our Assembly, Rev Mark Beckwith described his work with Braver Angels. This organization strives to bring Americans together to bridge the partisan divide and strengthen our democratic republic. While not overtly faith-based, I believe its principles resonate with who we are called to be as disciples of Christ. More info can be found here. 

The third focuses on Climate Change. Again, our New England Synod Creation Care team, aka the Green Team, has some good resources. In addition, Pastor of Creation Care, Rev. Nancy Wright, is available as a resource.

Yes, the ELCA is becoming more political than in its quietest past. Could we better connect the biblical, ethical, and theological foundations for this activity? Yes, we need to frame the conversation in that manner. If we don't, we come across as the ecclesiastical version of a particular party. We are better than that. But, we also live in times where the voice of the gospel can and should speak to the issues of our day.

The Sabbath we all Need

More and more of the readers of this “Notebooks” E-newsletter come from beyond the world of my day job, serving as Bishop of the New England Synod ELCA Lutheran. So welcome! This community is deep and wide. The focus here is on the intersection of Spirituality and Depth Psychology. The spirituality is primarily (but not exclusively) based on Christian mysticism, and the psychology is rooted in the work of Carl Jung and Marie Louis Von Franz, along with others in that tradition. This issue of Notebooks is a bit more newsy than usual but concludes with some reflections on the Sabbath.

What’s going on with the new book?

Weird Wisdom is in process.

I hope to complete the writing this summer and engage my editor by late July. I've made some changes from the first version, which I previewed at a retreat in March. I'm shaping the book to emphasize the weird wisdom we all need as opposed to only on the second half of life though that's still present.

My conviction is that our data-filled society of instant everything has become over-saturated with information and knowledge, but we lack wisdom. Worse than that, it strikes me that what we lack is the desire for wisdom. It’s just not something people pursue anymore. An elder commented to me this past winter that life is less about finding the answers, the solutions, or the outcomes but really about the choice to pursue them. That's kinda weird, and perhaps there is some wisdom simply in the pursuit.

I'm expecting a fall release, and you'll be the first to know here.

“The serious problems in life, however, are never fully solved. If ever they should appear to be so, it is a sure sign that something has been lost..." ~ C.G. Jung, from The Stages of Life.

Resurrecting contemplative photography

For years I worked as a professional photographer. It was rewarding on many levels, and the extra income helped send my son to college. But after a decade or more I burned out on that side hustle. It’s been some time since that work, and the sabbath time away has been healthy. Recently, I’ve felt the tug back toward the art of photography. Nowadays, it's showing up on my Instagram account in the form of abstracts, weird color combinations, and artful black and white. This spring, a friend pointed me to a couple of fine books on contemplative photography. Both Valerie Jardin’s Introduction to Contemplative Photography as well as Howard Zehr’s The Little Book of Contemplative Photography remind me of the soulful, creative and life-giving side of this art I once practiced. Unburdened by the demand to make it a business, photography is now becoming a spiritual practice. I’m in conversations with a retreat center about hosting a workshop on contemplative photography as a spiritual practice, more to come.

Words as Images

Earlier in May, the Poet Cathy Smith Bowers reignited my appreciation for the poetry of life, nature, and the soul. Ms. Bower's book The Abiding Image is a must-read for the poet in all of us. She reminds us of the abiding image that permeates all of life, while offering helpful ways for people to articulate that image in words for story, poetry and lyrics. Thanks to her help, I was able to pen this poem.

On the Turning of my 63rd Year

Hiking the Carter Preserve

On the trail

Marked by granite and moss,

Glacial rubble from the Pleistocene.

To the west

the sun moves from zenith to landfall.

A breeze tickles the white pines and the birch.

Above me, the cumulus gather

For a coming storm

Or the passing of one.

All this banter of dreams, books, images, and words bouncing around in my brain and moving in my soul might give you a glimpse of the disruption I've experienced lately. My coach tells me this is the natural order for Enneagram 8's. We've lived our lives leading groups, challenging structures, and pushing projects. So it's not unusual to open to new ways of being in the world. So expect more of this coming storm, be it a whirlwind or gentle rain.

A Summer of Sabbath

We live in a culture of restlessness, and the antidote is restfulness.

Ancient people in the Near East seem to be the first to realize and articulate the need to "give it a rest." They were agrarian people after years and years as nomadic people. While the Hebrew scriptures suggest that from the very outset of time, even Yahweh insisted on a day of rest, it wasn't until the once enslaved people were moving toward a more settled existence that they finally got the message and encoded it in their first book of laws. Remembering the sabbath day became a commandment that was also tied to other ideas, such as the year of Jubilee, a time of debt relief every fifty years. Both aspirational concepts that never became solidified in day-to-day life.

In our time, there is much gnashing and wailing around laws or structures that we no longer follow, but the one commandment our society seems quite bold to defy is rarely mentioned. How often is the answer to "how are you?" no longer "I'm fine," but "I'm so busy." A sigh of exhaustion often accompanies it. In today's world, people are praised for their productivity, effectiveness, and accomplishments. And, like you, I have that voice pounding in my head to do more, generate more, and work more. The Pharoah's voice from ancient Egypt echoes through the centuries as if my value comes from building more pyramids.

There was a period when external collective agreements reinforced the practice of the Sabbath. On the farm in Montana, the wheat farmers with Nordic piety never worked the land on Sundays. A classmate of mine from seminary discovered this while on his internship in a rural parish on those open plains. That was thirty-five years ago and a reminder of an era with culturally reinforced norms. In our go-go 21st century internet-connected society, external reinforcement disappeared long ago. The only way to reclaim the sabbath falls to the individual and perhaps a tiny cluster of friends and family members.

By Sabbath, I'm not speaking of the day off to get errands done. Instead, I wonder about time on the porch, a walk in the park, contemplating Mary Oliver, or extended reflection on life's big questions. The more extroverted among us might invite a friend to the porch or the park or the conversation on those important looming questions. Some Orthodox communities, be they Jewish or Amish, restrict engagement with all things mechanical and technological. Thus it's a walk to the synagogue or the neighbor's barn for supper. These practices seem utterly distant, and the reader may think I'm casting about for a time that is simply out of reach—a fair point.

But our restless times call for a response, and I do not see more activity moving us further toward the realm of peace. On the contrary, I think we are all desiring a sabbath. Self-imposed pauses, be they breathing techniques, mindfulness practices, or plain old prayers of silence, are increasingly needed.

As Walter Brueggeman points out in the quote below, finding Sabbath requires intentionality and communal reinforcement. It's not enough for each of us to individually seek Sabbath, though that is part of the solution. What is needed is a commitment by the community to Sabbath. This might happen in gatherings where people say, "let's pause from all this activity, even if for a moment, an hour or a week." It can also be reinforced when we speak and listen to others about their busy lives. Can we offer words that counter the not-so-subtle implication that the more active we are, the more value we hold?

“In our contemporary context of the rat race of anxiety, the celebration of Sabbath is an act of both resistance and alternative. It is resistance because it is a visible insistence that our lives are not defined by the production and consumption of commodity goods. Such an act of resistance requires enormous intentionality and communal reinforcement amid the barrage of seductive pressures from the insatiable insistences of the market, with its intrusions into every part of our life from the family to the national budget….But Sabbath is not only resistance. It is alternative…The alternative on offer is the awareness and practice of the claim that we are situated on the receiving end of the gifts of God.”  Walter Brueggeman, Sabbath as Resistance: Saying No to the Culture of Now

All the wise people I know, be they in the annals of recorded history or the partners in contemporary living, practiced Sabbath and still do. So let's bring this to a close with the wisdom of Mary Oliver. Though the poem is titled Praying, it could also be titled Sabbath.

Praying

It doesn’t have to be

The blue iris, it could be

Weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

Small stones; just

Pay attention, then patch

A few words together and don’t try

To make them elaborate, this isn’t

A contest but the doorway

Into thanks, and a silence in which

Another voice may speak.

-       Mary Oliver, Devotions

In the spirit of the summer sabbath, I'll be stepping away from Notebooks until the weather turns cooler and the length of days decreases. See you in September. Have a sabbath-like summer.

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Follow up Letter to the New England Synod

Update June 7 8:15 a.m. Rev Megan Rohrer has resigned their position as Bishop.

June 6, 2022

 Dear Members of the New England Synod

This letter is intended to serve as a follow-up to my letter of Friday, June 4, 2022.

On Saturday evening, June 4, 2022, the Conference of Bishops (CoB) was informed that at the conclusion of the Sierra Pacific Synod Assembly, Bishop Megan Rohrer did not resign as requested by the Presiding Bishop.

In addition, I have learned from persons in attendance at the Sierra Pacific Assembly, that a resolution to rescind the call of Bishop Rohrer garnered fifty-six percent (56%) of the vote of the Assembly. However, a two-thirds majority (66.67%) is required for the adoption of that resolution. Therefore, the resolution failed.                                                    

The Conference of Bishops met Sunday evening.  Bishop Megan Rohrer chose not to attend. Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton shared with us that she is initiating the discipline process immediately, including suspension of Bishop Rohrer, based on additional information that has come to light.  While the disciplinary process is being initiated immediately, there are several steps that need to be completed. This will take time, possibly within a three-month time frame.  The discipline process being used is part of Chapter 20 of the Constitution and Bylaws of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

I should note that the Conference of Bishops strongly affirmed the decision by Presiding Bishop Eaton to move forward with the disciplinary process as well as the immediate suspension of Bishop Rohrer. I want to be clear that the reason I am not saying that the affirmation was unanimous is because not all synodical bishops were present for the meeting due to various conflicts of schedule, travel, etc.

In conclusion, I’ll add that I find it incomprehensible that a synodical bishop of this church would defy the presiding bishop, their own assembly, and the conference of bishops. While there are many layers to this situation, it has become clear to me that the Rev. Meghan Rohrer bears significant responsibility for the harmful actions at the center of this conversation.

Because the disciplinary process is now underway, I will now step back from further comment so that process may proceed in a thoughtful, deliberative, and prayerful manner.

However, as I want underscore what I have said before:

We have our own work to do!  We need to own the depth of racism present in our church’s systems. I will continue to offer ways we might approach this in the work we do in this synod.

Let us keep the whole church in our prayers during these difficult days.

Sincerely 

Bishop James Hazelwood

A Letter to the New England Synod

June 3, 2022

Dear Members of the New England Synod,

Last Friday, ELCA Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton released a Report to the Church regarding the situation in the Sierra Pacific Synod.. (click here to read).

Following the release of her report, the Listening Team issued a statement encouraging that the full report be made available publicly. The statement can be found here (provide link). A few days later, Bishop Eaton then released the full report of the listening team for publication. (Click here for the full report).

All of this occurred while I have been on a week-long bike and camping vacation in the Appalachian Mountains. I’ve returned today to all this news. I’m aware that while some of you are unfamiliar with these events (hence including all the links above), others of you are quite familiar.

The events related to the situation in the Sierra Pacific Synod have consumed much attention over these past six months. As I wrote to the Pastors and Deacons in February I have been reluctant to comment on matters in another synod. I recognize that some would have preferred I speak out sooner, but I have chosen to honor the Bishop’s Relational agreement and allow the process Bishop Eaton has led to reach this point.

I have certainly thought about how, if it were me, I might have handled this differently. But I have been cautious about speaking about that publicly out of respect for the Office of Bishop and the position of our Presiding Bishop, granting her the opportunity to follow the process she chose. If I were in her shoes, I would value the same courtesy.

Here are some of my reflections following the news of the past week:

I lament of so many aspects of this situation. The range is too great to list all of my grief and anger, but they include the way this event and its subsequent fallout have pulled at the fabric of our denomination. In brief, I lament………

the racism,

the hubris,

the impatience,

the misuse of power, and

the lack of wisdom  by so many involved in this situation.

Lament is not a place where we Americans sit well, but it is where ancient peoples went when life got hard. Perhaps we need to learn from the Psalmists of old.

Our society continues to grow ever more divided and vengeful . We seek quick answers and easy fixes to problems that took decades, if not centuries to form. Our impatience and inability to hold the pain in the hope that some resurrection might birth out of that tension is, in my view, our greatest challenge.

I have long believed that being as transparent as possible is always best, and I am glad that the listening panel’s report is now public. I am also grateful for their advocacy which resulted in its release. I appreciate their process and their sensitive listening as well as their naming the deep hurt and racism that have occurred in this process. Reading the panel’s report is painful and infuriating, but information we need to hear and absorb as the church in order to understand the ways in which we have hurt and continue to hurt communities of color. In the long run, I believe releasing this report in its entirety is the right choice.

The process now moves forward, and it is my understanding Bishop Rohrer is weighing their response regarding the recommendation to resign. I cannot speak for Bishop Rohrer but will say that leading in the best of circumstances is hard, leading in this kind of situation is one I would be hard pressed to do myself.  

That said, given that which has transpired over these last months which has caused deep hurt and anger in the Sierra Pacific Synod and beyond, for the sake of the Church and in order for everyone to move forward and for the needed healing to begin, I believe that Bishop Rohrer would be well advised to resign their position.  That is what I would do given the report of the Listening Panel.

In conclusion, I want to remind all of us that we have our own work to do. A friend in Alcoholics Anonymous reminds me often that while we have influence on others, but the people we have the most influence on is ourselves. Therefore, let us focus on ourselves, our ministries, and our synod.

Let us continue the hard work of understanding our own racism, hubris, impatience, misuse of power and lack of wisdom .

We have work to do, let us do it.  May God grant us the will, strength, and conviction.

Sincerely

Bishop James Hazelwood

New England Synod

I Still Believe in Love

Three kinds of Love the World Needs Now

Years ago, while complaining to a friend about someone, he responded, after listening to my tirade, “Well, you know Jim, most people are doing the best they can with what they have and who they are.” 

That sentence froze me in my tracks, and it has stayed with me through the years.

Every time, ok, that's not true. Most of the time. When I encounter someone challenging, upsetting, and frustrating, I pause and attempt to recall that phrase. "Most people are doing the best they can…" It helps me remember something foundational to life as a human being. Namely, that we are all broken, flawed, and wounded people. It also helps me pause and remember that my frustration might have more to do with me than with others.

In psychological terms, this is called “projection.” The basic idea is that we project onto another person our shortcomings. But, of course, it's a bit more than that, and you can read a summary on Daryl Sharp’s Lexicon here. Just scroll down to Projection. But you get the idea, or maybe you don’t.

Jesus expressed it well in this parable.

He also told them a parable: “Can a blind person guide a blind person? Will not both fall into a pit? A disciple is not above the teacher, but every disciple who is fully qualified will be like the teacher. Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Friend, let me take out the speck in your eye,’ when you yourself do not see the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye. Luke 6:39-42

This is another way of getting at “most people are doing the best they can.”

In the last few weeks, I've been delivering sermons in various congregations on the subject of love. It seems that what the world needs now is love – more than ever. Shall I list all the reasons why I believe we need love? You know them. You see them everywhere, from your screens to newspapers, to personal encounters at work or in the grocery store. And the recent events in Uvalde, Texas, and Buffalo, NY are two more examples. My Lord, how long, how long? For a sobering account of school shootings in America, read here.

But if the world needs love now more than ever, we in the English-speaking world have a love problem. Our vocabulary is limited, and one wonders if this limited vocabulary may be connected to our limited ability to exercise and practice love. Our limitations center around having only one word for love. Yet, we use that exact same word for various expressions of love. Consider the variety of meanings behind the word love in these sayings. I love my children. We love our house. I love my new car, oh I love this suit or this dress, don't you love that new song? I've been a Red Sox fan forever. I just love them. Hopefully, we don't view that love of a piece of clothing the same way we love our children.

In Sanskrit, there are 96 words for love. In ancient Persian, there were 80, and in Greek, there are three, but in English, we have only one. I recently learned that the Eskimo people have 30 different words for snow. They find such nuance in the varieties of snow they are compelled to have a vocabulary equal to their environment. Perhaps if we had more words for love, we would be better at its manifestation in our environment.

The Greek language might help us. This ancient language which helped shape western culture, philosophy, democracy, and religion, specifically Christianity, had three words for love.

1. Eros refers to passionate love. 

While some have associated this word exclusively with eroticism and therefore given it a solely sexual meaning, that would be a mistake. Yes, there is erotic love that is sexual, but underneath eros is something more like passion. Eros is the driver, perhaps the instinctual mover in life. What gives you that energy to launch a new venture, whether to begin an artwork or fight for a social justice cause. That's eros at work in you. We need Eros love these days. It has a powerful feeling component. In one of her final lectures, Psychologist Marie Louise Von Franz lamented the loss of the feeling function in Western Society. She understood Eros has that energy that drives people into connection or relatedness. As an expression of love, the recovery of Eroscould help us mend our discordant dialogue, our failure to deeply grieve, and our chronic loneliness, which some have described as the root of many of our problems. We need Eros love now more than ever because it will give power to right wrongs, and energy to engage with one another.

2. Philos means warm affection or friendship.

Philos was commonly used concerning friendships or family relationships. When describing this type of love, I often ask people to think of English words that begin with Philo or Phila. Inevitably, someone says Philadelphia, formerly called the city of brotherly love. Today we might broaden that to make it less gender-specific. The idea of comradeship, friendship, and companions on life's pilgrim might be other ways of describing this Philos love. For example, Philos was the word used for Jesus' love for His friend Lazarus (John 11:3,36) and His love for His disciple (John 20:2).

Each year I spend a week with seven men. We have been friends for 40 years, since first meeting in the early 1980s while working as summer camp counselors and environmental educators at a Lutheran Camp in Southern California. The week together involves bicycling great distances, camping in tents, telling stories, and laughter. Amid all the fun and frivolity, we explore the wounds, disappointments, and sorrows of our lives. I described this once to a group of women, and they all said, “I wish my husband had something like that, he’s so isolated.” I thought to myself, “I know, it is such a rare gift for men in our competitive society. I’m grateful for it, and I too wish more men and women could experience a group of comrades who will walk through life with one another.” We need Philos love now more than ever.

3. Agapē is unconditional love.

This kind of love is challenging for human beings to express because we live in such a conditional and transactional society. Agapē is often used in the New Testament to describe an unconditional love between God and humanity. Agapē is the word for love used in 1 Corinthians 13. Often read at weddings, but it's even more potent at a funeral, as I previously described. If we are fortunate, we get a glimpse of unconditional love during our lifetime, perhaps from a friend, a parent, or a spouse. One person described her experience of unconditional love coming to her from her pet dog of 13 years. She felt completely accepted for who she was by this animal. Non-dog lovers might scratch their head at that one, but others with pets know the experience.

Agape love relates to the holy, the sacred, and the mystical. This is the kind of love St. Tereasa of Avilla describes, or Julian of Norwich when she prays that delightful prayer, “All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.” We need Agape love now more than ever.

Julian pictured with a Cat, since I gave a shout out to the Dog-Lovers, I thought it was only fair to offer equal time.

"Most people are doing the best they can with what they have and who they are." That's a mantra worth repeating for a world that needs love now more than ever.

Holy Curiosity

I'm writing to you today from just over the northern border in Canada. Can you say, "eh?" The hardwood floors in this monastery need some polishing, but the heat seems to be working just fine. Good thing because it's 36 degrees and windy outside despite the calendar. I'm residing at a Carmelite monastery for the final retreat of my Spiritual Direction training program. Unfortunately, I began this two-year process at the onset of the pandemic, so everything switched to Zoom instead of in-person retreats. This weekend I realized how good it is to be in person – it makes all the difference.

Of all the experiences, learnings, readings, and training, I've concluded that a life rooted in spiritual companionship (a better word than direction) celebrates the value of curiosity. We could also call it to wonder. If asked what makes life worth living, I must land squarely on one’s capacity to be curious. That desire to investigate and to learn. Curious and its cousin inquisitive originate in Latin in the 1300s and could move in two different directions. Curious expresses the desire to know, learn, and explore; inquisitive articulates the effort to discover by inquiry. But when either turn toward prying, the attempt to find out secrets involves looking in improper or aggressive ways.

Yet, I’ll stick with my premise that curiosity and wonder are the keys to the kingdom for a life rich and rewarding.

“One cannot help but be in awe when one contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.”

-—Albert Einstein

"Holy Curiosity" What a delightful phrase.

People in the sciences and arts sit pretty comfortably with curiosity. Photographer Mary Ellen Mark once said, "I saw that my camera gave me a sense of connection with others that I never had before. It allowed me to enter lives, satisfying a curiosity that was always there but that was never explored before." While the immensely creative musician, actor, and painter David Bowie commented, "What I have is a malevolent curiosity. That drives my need to write and probably leads me to look at things a little askew. I do tend to take a different perspective from most people.”

So why can’t the realm of spirituality, faith, and the wonders of the sacred embrace holy curiosity?

For the longest time, I've pondered questions about science and theology. I remain dissatisfied with many attempts to reconcile these two ways of explaining life. Then, last fall, I stumbled on a new understanding of God and the Universe. It was new to me, despite being around for a few hundred years. This is the concept of Pandeism. In brief, this is the idea that God created the universe by becoming the universe. The concept became quite intriguing to me, though it still lacked an understanding of God being larger than all of life. This led me to learn of Panendeism, which describes a God who created the whole universe by becoming it but remains beyond the universe simultaneously. Now I faced a challenge because, in this scenario, God has a hand's off approach. These ideas led me to rethink my views on prayer. "Well, why pray then?" If God is hands-off, what's the point of asking for an intervention, which led me to wonder if I do indeed believe in an interventionist deity. I want to, but I must confess to wondering if my prayers for intervention reinforce my desires.

I'm still wrestling with these questions, but I want to point out that holy curiosity leads one to a deeper and richer life.

Perhaps you’re not inclined to be so theologically curious. The good news is there are other ways of expressing curiosity.

The physically curious person hungers to touch, experience, and do. This person often speaks of travel and tends to be impulsive and constantly in motion. We see physical curiosity in those who work with their hands. I recall watching a friend in high school take a part of his father's car and then reassemble it. There were a few parts left over, but it ran, and my friend learned a lot about automobiles. He later went on to work as an auto mechanic and then a college professor in mechanical engineering.

The relationally curious person seeks connection to others; soul-sharing through empathy; words and gestures, painting, poetry, theatre, and songs linking heart to heart. Emotional curiosity is spiritual hunger. Some people are curious about other people. The great journalistic interviewers of the 20th century engaged in conversations that illuminated our lives. I’m thinking of Diane Sawyer, Judy Woodruff, and Barbara Walters, among many others.

The intellectually curious person navigates an ocean of riddles to be solved, connections to be investigated, patterns that whisper secret meanings. My father embodied this type of curiosity. He devoured books, newspapers, and science journals. Later in life, I also realized he knew about Shakespeare, Jazz musicians, Homer's Iliad, and The Odyssey. Along with a degree in Biology and Physics, he had one of those minds that sought to understand the world through intellectual curiosity.

The organizationally curious person discovers what is missing and then proceeds to fill the void. These leaders serve us by creating structure, process, and order. I continue to be amazed by these people who see both the forest and the trees and the intertwined root system. While here in Canada this week, I learned about their excellent health care system and how the founder Tommy Douglas navigated both the intricacies of politics and policy to bring about one of the best national health systems in the world.

Being a spiritually curious person is a central piece of my training in Spiritual Direction. The emphasis has been on Christian Mysticism and the Depth Psychology of Carl Jung. The great saints of the church have all been curious people. There is quite a range of holy curiosities from the ancient desert fathers and mothers to the European mystics such as Teresa of Avila, Julian of Norwich, Hildegard of Bingen, and Meister Eckhart. In our time, it’s been the Depth Psychologists whose curiosity and wonder about the human soul have plunged the depths and learned what moves us and gives us meaning. Carl Jung himself engaged in holy curiosity. His intellectual, imaginative, and spiritual pursuits covered the spectrum.  

In his book, A Curious Mind, film and TV producer Brian Grazer (24, A Beautiful Mind, Apollo 13) credits curiosity for driving his life and career. "More than intelligence or persistence or connections, curiosity has allowed me to live the life I wanted," As Grazer explores how curiosity has shaped his life, he sprinkles in numerous anecdotes about the hundreds of people he's sought out for one-on-one sessions he terms curiosity conversations. “I wanted to write about the impulse to have those conversations.” I would also describe this as a spiritual practice of holy curiosity. You could try it on for size. Who are the people you'd like to engage in curiosity conversations within your life?

In his ministry, Jesus often has holy curiosity moments where he asks others what they want. For example, he asks the blind Bartimaeus, “What do you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:51) On another occasion, James and John approach Jesus, and he asks them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:36) Both in his healing ministry and with his friends, Jesus displays a kind of openness and curiosity toward others. Until recently, I had never really considered the possibility of a curious Jesus. However, in the Gospels, Jesus models for us a way to treat others. He asks questions.

So I imagine being a person who is genuinely curious about others, about life, about the way things work and don't work. Asking questions, wondering, and learning that's the good stuff.

Holy curiosity leads to wisdom.

Be well, Be Curious.

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On the Radio

I was a guest on WPRO Radio today with John Loughlin discussing Good Friday and Easter. You can check out the brief segment by listening here.

Death May Be a Gift of Life

“The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.”

Joanna Macy

Several years ago, I presided at the funeral of an older man. He had lived a long life, and the family gathered for the memorial service. They asked if the man's teenage granddaughter could read a lesson during worship. She approached the lectern with a kind of grace unusual for early teens. She opened a Bible and, before reading, said, "I chose this passage because it reflects the qualities of my grandfather.” She then began to read First Corinthians 13.

 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

I must have heard that scripture hundreds of times at weddings. It always sounds so naive when two 20 somethings enter into marriage. But, now hearing this grandchild read the passage as a description of her deceased grandfather. I was slain, as was the congregation. Nothing more needed to be said. 

The columnist David Brooks describes two different kinds of virtues for life. In the first half of life, we work on our resume virtues. These qualities help us earn a living, establish a family, and plan a career. We desire to impress people with the capabilities of our competence, education, and keenness for success. However, different questions begin to arise in the second half of life. This is primarily brought on by increasing awareness of the limits of life. We realize we will not live forever. Therefore, our focus shifts from resume virtues to eulogy virtues. What do we hope people will say at our funeral? Were we kind, compassionate, and thoughtful? Were we a good listener, a generous person, or an encourager? Or were we a complainer, a know-it-all, and a braggart? The second half of life brings an opportunity to ask questions of ultimate significance.

Death is a tremendous gift to us. It forces us to face our limits and thereby helps us choose how we wish to spend our time and energy.

This week is Holy Week, and in many ways, it's a week of death. The historic liturgies of the Christian church turn our attention to the brutal death using the ancient form of capital punishment engaged by the Romans, namely crucifixion. We should not trivialize this form of execution. The Romans invented it to inflict maximum suffering on the victims and used it to dissuade other would-be rebels. This event culminates in the Good Friday liturgy.

Holy Week marinates in death. The week's origin centered on the Passover celebration, which marked the events in ancient Israel as enslaved people prepared for their freedom march out of bondage in Egypt. Passover is named from the marking on doorposts so the messenger of death would pass over their homes. The Passover meal recalling the departure across the Red Sea became the center of Christian worship in early precursors to Holy Week. This shape of the week of death we call holy slowly developed over time and formed in the 4th century. Jesus and Paul link the Passover meal with the Last Supper, thus bringing yet another death marker into the week.

All this talk of death may get you a little down. Primarily that's because US Americans are “death phobic and grief illiterate,” as the Canadian palliative care counselor Stephen Jenkinson has noted. Years ago, on departing the house to attend a Good Friday liturgy, my wife asked if anyone wanted to join us. One gentleman declined by saying, "Nah, it's too depressing. I'll wait for Easter. That's more of an upper." His language reflects an almost pharmaceutical quality. As if religion and life are chemically inducing activities for our ever-expanding consumption habits and feel better consciousness.

I believe the crusty Canadian is onto something. “Death Phobic and Grief Illiterate." We seem acutely afraid of death and struggle mightily with sorrow and loss. Our "always up and to the right" pragmatic culture has little time for grief, evidenced by the minuscule days off the average grieving worker receives.

Death intrigued me at an early age. In 1976 the film Annie Hall caught my attention. It spoke to my young adult angst of romances gone awry, confusion regarding vocation, and the ever-present quest for meaning. In the film, there is a scene in which Alvy Singer is trying to convince Annie to read some books on death. So I leaned into death and purchased Ernst Becker's The Denial of Death and read it over a weekend. My college roommate called the campus ministry center out of concern. Three months later, the telephone in our dorm room rang. I picked it up and listened while a friend described how one of our high school friends took his own life with a shotgun. He was 16. I remember the funeral to this day—a line of grieving high school and college kids formed around the block. I can still see all those people, all those tears and all that hurt.

My vocational calling grew out of these early experiences, though I didn’t realize it till years later. Being a pastor roots you in death and its accompanying co-pilot grief. We learn to navigate hospital corridors, confused families, and awkward moments in funeral homes. Working in a hospital cancer ward for a summer remains one of the most exhausting yet life-giving experiences. Death and grief have been my teachers through the years. Their yearning to be expressed, articulated, and shared with others is among the lessons they impart.

To speak of sorrow

Works upon it

            Moves it from its

Crouched place barring

The way to and from the soul’s hall.

            - Denise Levertov

Our unexpressed sorrows, the congested stories of loss, that, when left unattended, block our access to the soul. I would go so far as to suggest that it is in death and grief that we most profoundly connect with God. I won’t say exclusively, but there is something in the human experience of loss that unites us with one another and the sacred.

Who has not experienced loss, heartache, shattered dreams, grave disappointments, all the little deaths of life, not to mention the significant deaths of loved ones who have passed away? In the past two years, a million US Americans have died from Covid19, and globally the number sores to six million. Add to that the grief we bear of all the world’s suffering from the Climate crisis, racism, economic insecurity, and now war. I remain convinced a significant part of our current engagement with lousy behavior on airplanes, school board meetings, and yes, even the Academy Awards is deeply connected to unexpressed grief. Yes, I contend that the growth of mean behavior is a manifestation of unprocessed sorrow.

We need more than a splendid funeral, though that always helps. What we need is a cultural recalibration, maybe even an intervention. This reorientation would center around sorrow, loss, and grief. Every person reading this article could take one step forward to encourage their local church, synagogue, temple, community center, school, or even place of employment to form a grief group. There are free guide books available - One from the United Kingdom, another from the States, and a third from Canada.

Holy Week serves as more than a reminder of the presence of death in life. It suggests a particular way in which death is life and life is death. Like the mystics, theologians, and depth psychologists have all noted, the concept of God embracing death is a most meaningful embrace of life. We do well to see in death the gift of life. The fact that Christ, the fully incarnated human presence of the eternal, dies on a cross brings it all together. Death and life are one.

So death is not something to run from, hide from, or pretend does not exist. Instead, death and grief are to be engaged. Every culture throughout human history has done this work in varying degrees of intensity. In some ways, those cultures were not as advanced as ours in technical achievements. But in other ways, they were far more mature in their use of ritual, community, and spirituality, especially around grief. An example of how those ancient cultures can teach us today can be seen in the work of Ronald Grimes. Watch this short film of his, and follow him on YouTube for some profound insights into the use of ritual.

Holy Week is a perfect name for this week because a week of death is holy. So let's grieve together, not just in the events of 2,000 years ago, but in the ways, Christ dies in, with and under all the current losses and deaths in Ukraine, Brooklyn, Boston, Wakefield, Middletown, Manchester. If we grieve those losses in healthy and kind ways, we can find death as a friend. Death is a unifier of what makes us human. Perhaps that’s why they call it “Good” Friday.

Until next time, be well and be kind to yourself and those you meet.

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Ask a Better Question

One question leads to another.

–Mary Oliver from Questions You Might Ask

Typically, when I visit congregations, I get asked: "How can we get young people to come to our church?" For the longest time, I would provide several responses. These ranged from inquiries regarding the demographics of the town to dispelling rumors of quick-fix strategies to stories of what other congregations are doing. I've decided I'm not doing that anymore. Instead, I'll give a different response.

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but you ask the wrong question.”

Several years ago, I sat with a friend discussing various topics about the life of the church, the state of society, and our yearnings for a deeper and more meaningful life. He told me of the evolution he and his wife had gone through regarding their now-adult children and the subject of religion. "I no longer ask them about church or religion. It just put us into this awkward conversation with a shaming quality. So now I ask a different question. I ask them where they are finding grace or peace or meaning."

This exchange has stayed with me for a long time. I let it sit within me like a sweet sauce marinating my soul. He's right. His new questions are better. Asking people where they find grace, peace, or meaning is better. After all, isn't that what we want for our friends and family members? Sure, we can ask them about their institutional affiliations, memberships, and community associations, but aren't we hoping they'll find their way in the world through intimacy, service, and soul?

A few weeks ago, I met via Zoom with some folks exploring a house church. They've only met once for conversation, an abbreviated liturgy, a meal, and some healthy discussion. "I'm looking for an intimate group of people to explore the depth of faith. It's not that I'm anti-church. It's just that I'm a tad fatigued by the operational aspect of budgets and building. I know that form of the church means a lot to people. Good for them. For me, I’m ready for something else." That's a rough quote from a lay leader who has spent decades serving in numerous roles as an usher, committee member, and president.

What would happen if we started asking a different question? Instead of "where are you going to church," how about "Where are you finding grace?"

I've started this little experiment myself by asking people this very question. A few responses include:

• "I have a group of friends; we walk every morning. It's my life-saving time as I go through a divorce."

• "I don't know what grace is, but I'd love to learn more about it."

• "I garden. That's where I commune with God."

• "I built an altar in the woods behind my house. That's where I go to pray."

• "Every Friday night, I volunteer at a homeless shelter. It's what connects me to people in a real and honest way."

• "I'm in a book group, a study group, a dream group, a prayer group."

• "I'm a singer, and that's my spirituality…ideally with other people."

As we witness the decline of the institutional expression of religion, maybe we are also seeing a resurgence of the original meaning of religion. The word religion means to connect again. Legio is similar to the word for ligaments, those connecting fibers in our joints. Are we going back to connecting with a more substantive aspect of the sacred?

Despite our secular world, there seems to be a deepening interest in the sacred. David Tacey suggests we live in a Post Secular Sacred world. I love that phrase. It indicates that despite all our scientific and technological advances, we still long for the sacred. Since we are, by nature, meaning-seeking creatures, we yearn for story, ritual, song, and community. The careful reader of this little essay would stop right now and say, "wait a minute. Did you write: Story, ritual, song, and community? Isn't that religion?"

Yes, those four-plus acts of service would form the marks of a spiritual community. What I see and hear is a hunger for those but fatigue from the operational elements of maintaining a building, keeping programs going, and dealing with the institution's struggles. This has been particularly exacerbated in the last four or five years and most intensely around the pandemic. Decisions around masking alone have caused people such angst that a few have walked away. One part of me is sympathetic, while the other part notes these as the struggles of living in the community. People like to point to Jesus' words about where two or three are gathered to justify holding onto a gathering despite the poor attendance. What they miss is that Jesus is saying, "where two or three are gathered, you are going to have conflict." Ask anyone who has gathered two or three people to decide on something, and you'll have a pattern of flight, fight, or freeze.

So, what do we do about this dilemma? Is the answer just letting everyone go off and do their own thing?

I'm putting my energy into a recovery of sacred practices. Story, Song, Ritual in community for the sake of the world. That's a theme, a purpose, a direction I can embrace. I think it can help a broken world desperately seeking wholeness, hope, salvation, peace, grace. (In my view, those are all words that essentially point to the same thing.)

A few weeks ago, about 30 people gathered at our Conference Center in New Hampshire to explore some of these topics, which I call Weird Wisdom. We read ancient folk tales, walked with Jonah to the sea and back, discussed a dream, released symbols of stuck-ness into a fire, reflected on our intended legacy. It was a kind of entre into a new chapter in my life and work as a spiritual guide, teacher, and storyteller. For some in the group, it confirmed some ideas brewing in the basement kettle for some time. For others, it was an opportunity to consider some new steps forward, perhaps by letting go of some old ideas. It was firmly not a weekend of TRANSFORMATION with all those overhyped promises of a radically new life. We were all too full of life experience to buy into that advertising. But it was a bit of metanoia (A Greek word meaning turning). We'll do it again next year. I'll let you know the details later in case you like to join us.

These kinds of events grow out of asking a different question.

One last story. I'm recounting this one from a memory of a story I heard from Will Willimon.

One Sunday morning, a woman woke up and decided, spontaneously, to go to Sunday worship at a nearby church. Later that afternoon, she was at a BBQ picnic hosted by friends. When she mentioned she had been to worship that morning, an older person asked, "well, what was said?" She engaged her nieces and nephews a short while later and mentioned her morning activity. They looked at her and inquired, "well, what happened?"

“What was said” is a question assuming the purpose is information gathering.

Instead, “what happened” is a question expressing the hunger for an experience.

I think our post-secular world is looking for an experience, an encounter with the sacred.

So, where are you finding grace?

Why we Need Ash Wednesday

Prelude: As the world witnesses the horror of war and violence once again, this time with Russia's aggression against the people of Ukraine, I'm mindful of our human propensity to justify our actions, our lust for power and control over others. The example given below is a stark reminder of the horrors of war, which we are seeing on our screens once again. This essay which I began before the recent events unfolded, takes a personal look at the origins of human deceit, and suggests a remedy rooted in an ancient practice of confession. 

 In the opening to his book, The Forgiving Self, Psychologist Robert Karen recounts the story of the famous Vietnam War-era photo of a small girl running down a road, her clothes burned off and her body scorched with napalm. The man who claimed to have coordinated the raid on the child’s village in 1972 was a twenty-four-year-old U.S. Army helicopter pilot named John Plummer. When Plummer saw the photo a few days after the attack, he reported an overwhelming sense of devastation. Decades later, he told a reporter from the Associated Press: “It just knocked me to my knees. And that was when I knew I could never talk about this.” The guilt he experienced became a lifelong torment.

The young girl in the photo, Pham Thi Kim Phuc, survived seventeen operations, relocated to Toronto, Canada, and became a goodwill ambassador for UNESCO. In 1996, Plummer heard Kim speak at a Veteran’s Day observance in Washington DC, not far from his home. In her speech that day, Kim included these words: “If I could talk face to face with the pilot who dropped the bombs, I would tell him we cannot change history, but we should try to do good things for the present.” At the end of her speech, Plummer made his way through the crowd and found Kim. “I fell into her arms sobbing. All I could say is, ‘I’m so sorry. I’m just so sorry.’”

Kim responded, “It’s all right, “I forgive. I forgive.” The two began a friendship with occasional visits, and public appearances report Dr. Karen in his book, where he writes: “When I called Plummer four years later, Kim had just been to visit.” 

While this is such a fantastic story of forgiveness in human relations, it is not that at all. It’s a story of human deception. You see, Plummer lied. He was not the pilot. In fact, according to reports from military officials, Plummer, while in Vietnam at the time, was assigned elsewhere and not involved in the raid that resulted in Kim’s devastating injuries. When confronted with the evidence in 1997, Plummer admitted to his deception and explained that he had gotten so caught up in the emotion of the Veteran's Day observance and Kim's speech that he acted as if he had been the pilot, even though he was not. Equally curious is how Dr. Robert Karen could report the above incident as the lead narrative in his introduction years after the truth had been revealed. It makes a compelling story to introduce an excellent text on forgiveness. But Karen's book was copyrighted in 2001. And he reports, "When I called Plummer four years later, Kim had just been to visit ." implying a verification of the story as Dr. Karen writes it. That would have been in 2000. Yet the evidence discrediting Plummer's role in this story was revealed in 1997. Which raises several questions: Did Robert Karen call Plummer in 2000? If he did call him, did Plummer perpetuate the lie while caught up again in the excitement of a reputable and published Psychologist asking him about the incident? Did Dr. Karen read/hear about this story and decide it was such a good illustration for his book and just inserted himself into the narrative for impact? Did everyone just want this story to be true, so they went along with it?

What’s going on here, and how does it relate to Ash Wednesday? 

I came across all the above by pure accident. While searching for a topic for this issue of Notebooks, I heard the story of Kim and Plummer referenced in a podcast. That led me to research, including reading Dr. Karen's book. But just before hitting “send” for this email to all of you, I engaged in a quick Google search, which led me to reference the Plummer incident of deception. Dr. Karen’s version of the story is still up on the Oprah Winfrey website, albeit without the reference to calling Plummer, which is in his book on page 2. Dr. Karen’s book is a fine treatise on the psychology of human forgiveness. I’m not disputing his work. But I am intrigued by Plummer’s deception and Dr. Karen’s perpetuation of it. The heroic version of Plummer continues to be told in newspaper articles and books. It's as if we want it to be true. Heck, I wanted it to be true. I wanted to write you all this remarkable story of human forgiveness as a reminder of its power in our lives. My goodness, don't we all need a good account of grace and forgiveness these days? To her credit, Kim is on record as having said, “Whether or not he played a major or a minor role, the point is I forgive him,” She keeps us centered on the power of forgiveness as well as her resilience in the face of the horrors of war.

But this little tale is why we need Ash Wednesday. We need to face ourselves, reflect on our lives, come clean with an honest declaration of our vulnerabilities. The church version of this is called confession, which has unfortunately been misused and abused. I recall a friend of mine raised in the Roman Catholic tradition reporting to me once that she just manufactured things to say in the confessional booth as a teenager. Additionally, there are many reports of other misuses of this practice. Yet, confession has another more noble aspect to it. More akin to telling a good friend of one's regrets, lost dreams, great disappointments. Then receiving a comforting acknowledgment, touch, or another gesture with the promise that grace does indeed abound. "Your story is safe with me."

Most of us are cautious about revealing such personal wounds. We may also be reluctant to make the inward turn to reflect and gaze upon that mysterious inner world the ancients called the soul. Yet anyone who has ever gained the slightest bit of wisdom made that turn at some point.

“It is a bewildering thing in human life that the thing that causes the greatest fear is the source of the greatest wisdom.”  C.G. Jung

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the Lenten season of penance. It is forty days leading up to Holy Week and Easter. While Easter dates to the New Testament era, the traditions of Ash Wednesday aren’t quite as old. Ash Wednesday officially dates to the 11th Century following hundreds of years of various worship practices. The power of Ash Wednesday is in the imposition of ashes on the forehead. The minister makes the sign of the cross at the place where in our baptism we are sealed with the sign of the cross. The symbol of ash connects us with our mortality. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" and the many references in Hebrew literature suggest all manner of human frailty and penance. (Look here for a quick reference) 

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of a turn away from one way of being in the world toward reconciliation and atonement… to be at one with God, neighbor, and self. We make a metanoia (an embodied turn toward a new life). In the Lutheran tradition, the liturgical movement moves us from Ash Wednesday, with its strong emphasis on personal self-reflection and confession, to the reconciliation of the Holy Week Maundy Thursday rite, where the Last Supper is reenacted. A meal filled with the Shakespearean drama of betrayal, denial, and yet a sacrament of forgiveness.

For me, Ash Wednesday has always been the day of honesty. It’s the day of “Let’s get real with ourselves, our relations, our world, and with the Holy.” It is a day to recognize that I can just as easily deceive myself, inflate myself even hide from myself. It’s a day of sobriety. Maybe Ash Wednesday is the religious version of the first step of a kind of A.A. program. Perhaps the liturgy for the day should begin with that kind of confession. 

1. We admitted we were powerless over our addiction— that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

The parallels between the 12 steps of A.A. and the model of Christian life have been developed quite thoroughly by author Keith Miller.

The traditional liturgy of the Ash Wednesday service in the Episcopal Church can be found here. I find these words in the liturgy particularly poignant as we confess.

Our self-indulgent appetites and ways and our exploitation

of other people,

We confess to you, Lord.

Our anger at our own frustration and our envy of those

more fortunate than ourselves,

We confess to you, Lord.

Our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, and

our dishonesty in daily life and work,

We confess to you, Lord.

I recognize that many people have been hurt by the Christian church and the inappropriate and harmful ways it has communicated concepts of sin, confession, and repentance. That practice is something we should repent and amend. I am also aware that U.S. American society tends to have an overly inflated view of our goodness, righteousness, and ego. We do well to face our self-indulgent appetites, envy, and dishonesty. In other words, we are facing our self-deception. Ash Wednesday reminds us of our human fragility, lust for power, and desire to always be in control and place ourselves in the best light. But there on our foreheads is the reminder of our tendency toward self-deception. And here is the clever thing about this ritual. Since the ashes are on our forehead, we can only see them by looking in a mirror.

Perhaps that’s the point of the whole ritual.

Until next time, be well

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How do I Pray?

A reader of Notebooks recently emailed and asked a significant question. “How do I pray?” It’s a question worth answering. The problem is there is no easy answer. We each need to find our own way.

Perhaps poet Mary Oliver is a good place to begin.

Praying

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

—  Mary Oliver

That’s the kind of grace I need when it comes to prayer.

Rather than described my own approach to prayer, I thought it best to offer a glimpse at my practice. Click on the video link below to watch a short four-minute video where I let you in on my practice of walking prayer and meditation. 

May it be helpful to you.

Be well

Share The Notebooks of James Hazelwood

You Walk on Holy Ground

“Nobody can know what the ultimate things are. We must, therefore, take them as we experience them. And if such experience helps to make life healthier, more beautiful, more complete, and more satisfactory to yourself and to those you love, you may safely say: This was the grace of God."  CG Jung Psychology & Religion 1937

Opportunities abound for hikes near my home in Rhode Island. Years ago, someone had the good sense to set aside land in the form of various conservation efforts. So last week, on a frigid day, I made a tour of the Trustom Wildlife Refuge. In the middle of that trail stands a large white oak tree. A part of my solo hikes always includes a time with that tree, thanks to a convenient bench nearby. I've had many conversations with this grandfather. (I know. The tree does not have gender the way we think of gender, but this is my projection. If you visit, feel free to reference the tree as you wish.) The wonderful thing about talking to a tree is the lack of interruption. He’s a good listener. This giant oak is also willing to have young people climb and play on its branches.

I imagine this tree could tell many stories and has heard the longings, prayers, and dreams of many a sojourner. I’m not alone. During my recent walk and meditation, a thought or voice burst into my mind while sitting in silence by my friend. “Take off your shoes, for the ground you walk on is holy ground.” Those are words YAHWEH spoke to Moses as he approached the burning bush. While reluctant to take off my shoes in 20-degree weather, I got the message. This is sacred land, a holy place, and YAHWEH spoke to me. Maybe not from the freezing bush, but I heard the voice.

“The creative urge lives and grows [us] like a tree in the earth from which it draws its nourishment. We would do well, therefore, to think of the creative process as a living thing implanted in the human psyche.” CG Jung, Spirit in Man, Art and Literature

As late modern inheritors of the materialist worldview, we seem reluctant to openly share our experiences of the sacred in 21st-century western civilization. Yet, as one who chooses to venture out and risk a little embarrassment, I'm finding more and more people have had their encounters with the Holy. But they’ve not shared them with anyone. Many of those encounters occur in nature, and trees seem to be a dominant theme. 

Belden Lane describes his enchanting relationship with an old Cottonwood situated in the town park near his home in Missouri. He has even slept in its branches one evening despite discouragement from local officials. Lane describes the beauty and joy of a tree-like mysticism in his thoughtful book The Great Conversation: Nature and the Care of the Soul. While our culture conceives of nature as a product to be utilized for material benefit, Lane makes the case that trees, and indeed all of nature, contribute to soul-making. His retelling of this ancient Taoist story from Chuang Tzu, a fourth-century BCE Taoist sage, provides fresh insight. 

 One spring, as peach blossoms filled the valley below with a spray of white fragrance, an ancient sage wandered the heights of Shang. He noticed a massive tree on a hillside where all other trees had been chopped down. The others had been cut to build a palace for the emperor. This remaining tree was so enormous that it could shelter the horses drawing a hundred chariots under its shade. It was amazing that it had never been felled. He marveled at how much timber it must contain.

But as he looked up into its branches, he noticed how they were all twisted and crooked, growing in every direction. None were straight enough to be cut into rafters or beams. He broke off a twig and tasted the sap, finding it bitter. The tree would be useless for tapping, producing no syrup of any worth. The leaves, as he crumpled them, gave off an offensive odor. They broke too quickly to be woven into mats or braided into baskets. They wouldn’t even make good mulch. The roots, moreover, were so gnarled that you’d never be able to carve a bowl or fashion a fine decorative box out of them.

"This indeed," said Chuang Tzu, "is a tree good for nothing! That's why it has reached such a great old age. The cinnamon tree can be eaten, so it is cut down. The varnish tree is useful and, therefore, incisions are made in it. We all know the advantage of being useful, but only this tree knows the advantage of being useless!”

The Taoist master sat under the great tree's shade for the rest of the day as a light wind drifted up from the valley below. He breathed the scent of distant peach blossoms and sat in studied silence, contemplating his uselessness. Then, finally, he stopped making judgments about the tree's worth its market value. He sat instead in its welcoming shadow, realizing that his worth had nothing to do with what he was able to produce.[1]

The tree is a powerful image in the world's religions. The tree in the Garden of Eden is a source of knowledge. Jesus' crucifixion is depicted in ancient icons on a tree. He also describes himself as the vine and the branches in John's gospel. The Buddha sat beneath the Bodhi Tree, where he attained enlightenment. In his vision of paradise, Muhammad noticed a great plum tree on the outskirts of heaven. The ancient Celts, that tribe delightful Irish faithful of the land, regarded the oak, the willow, the ash, and the holly as sacred. 

In 1990, the Thai Buddhist monk Pharkru Pitak began ordaining trees. (See the video and story here) While witnessing with despair the deforestation, soil erosion, and subsequent break up of families, Pitak began wrapping trees in saffron robes, ritually investing them with the status of a Buddhist monk. Due to the honor given to Buddhist monks in Thai culture, cutting down one of these ordained trees was equivalent to killing a monk. The resulting karmic impact caused a behavior shift as people chose not to cut down the trees and not to allow others to do so. "The sacred values conveyed by the saffron robe had trumped the monetary value of the timber for the market." Writes Larry Rasmussen in his book Earth-Honoring Faith. 

As Psalmist sings about the blessed one,

That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,

    which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither—

    whatever they do prospers. (Psalm 1:3 NIV)

Trees recur in my life again and again. As a teenager hiking in the Los Padres National Forest mountains, I learned that to get the water, it needs, the towering Ponderosa Pine would extend its taproot deep into the earth, down as far as six feet and a lateral root system over 100 feet. They can only grow in the arid western climate with an extensive root system. Later in my return to New England, I discovered the majestic-looking birches in their vast groves and interconnected root system. “One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.”  (Birches The Poetry of Robert Frost, 1969.) 

Carl Jung compared the human soul to a tree with its branches reaching high and its roots diving deep. But I’m wondering if this tree metaphor for our human development doesn’t go far enough. Maybe the trees around us are connected to our souls in some inexplicable way.

Maybe Tolkien had it right, and the trees are alive. Ah, what we could discover on a stop for a conversation.

So yes, I am a lover of trees - the white oak, the birch, the Ponderosa, the Bodhi Tree, and the Christ Tree. I am a tree hugger because when I walk in their midst, I walk on holy ground.

The Orthodox Icon of Christ and the Branches aka The Tree of Life

[1] Adapted by Belden Lane from James Legge The Texts of Taoism (Oxford: 

 Oxford University Press, 1891), book 4, number 7. This version appears in The Great Conversation Belden Lane, Oxford University Press, page 96