Category Archives: mental health

The Meaning of the Cross

New Testament imagery is rich, particularly if one is willing to explore the imagery and interpret them in personal rather than doctrinaire terms. Let’s look briefly at the image of the Cross and its evocative power.

The Cross means different things to different people. For some it is merely an historical event which they interpret in terms of time and space; and that is fine for them. I prefer to take that dimension of the image and broaden it to include various layers of meaning, layers which are actually infinite as is the case with any meaningful symbol or myth.

For example, this morning over coffee my wife was perusing my blog and came across a recent reference to the Cross. She noted that in art it represents two divergent lines intersecting. This brought to my mind a line from T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets where he presented the Christian image of the Cross as a “union of opposite spheres of existence.”

Here is the context of Eliot’s observation which I think reveals a profound grasp of the meaning of the Cross:

But to apprehend
The point of intersection of the timeless
With time, is an occupation for the saint –
No occupation either, but something given
And taken, in a lifetime’s death in love,
Ardour and selflessness and self-surrender.
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts. These are only hints and guesses,
Hints followed by guesses; and the rest
Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.
The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.
Here the impossible union
Of spheres of existence is actual,
Here the past and future
Are conquered, and reconciled,
Where action were otherwise movement
Of that which is only moved
And has in it no source of movement –
Driven by daemonic, chthonic
Powers. And right action is freedom
From past and future also.
For most of us, this is the aim
Never here to be realised;

The Crucifixion, including not merely this cross but Jesus upon it, is a powerful metaphor of transformation, of death, burial, and resurrection. It is an image of a psychic transformation in which we are integrated on a new level, where (to borrow from my beloved W. H. Auden) “where flesh and mind are delivered from mistrust.” When this happens, the incarnation has occurred. But, as Eliot noted, for most of us we don’t fully get it and are reduced to the effort, to “prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.” But that is the miracle of Grace—it comes to us when we give up the struggle and find that is is present even in our feeble, immature, ego-ridden spiritual fumblings.  It comes to us, often piece-meal, only when we cease to struggle and start to relax, not just in the “arms of Jesus” but at the same time in our own body.  (I’ll let you know when I’ve worked that out! wink, wink)

To use a different, though relevant image, from Auden, “The Center that I cannot find is known to my unconscious mind. There is no need to despair for I am already there.”

Now at one time in my life, just the juxtaposition of “symbol and myth” and the New Testament was anathema. There was no room allowed for interpretation, for hermeneutics. The consequence of this rigidity is slavish devotion to the letter of the law and we all know what Paul said “the letter of the law” does.

 

Nature in Hopi Prayers & Wendell Berry Poem

Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset. Make my hands respect the things you have made and my ears sharp to hear your voice. Make me wise so that I may understand the things you have taught my people. Let me learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock.
I seek strength, not to be greater than my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy —Myself—
Make me always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes.

(Asquali, Kawquai)

Someone recently sent me an Hopi prayer and I was taken with its wisdom and posted it yesterday.  That prayer and this one today reflects a sensitivity to nature that I greatly admire.  The Native Americans saw the unity of man and nature, not having been taught the Western subject-object distinction to the same degree that we European “invaders” had been.

And I really appreciated the insight into the “real” enemy—“myself.”  This reflects the “discerning spirit” spoken of in the New TestamentEmily Dickinson described the absence of this quality as “the mind too near itself to see itself distinctly.”  That “discerning spirit” is often missing in our culture, leaving us without “self” awareness.

These two Native American poems emphasis of nature makes me think of a beautiful poem by Wendell Berry.  A friend of mine last spring, who was dying at the time, asked me to define grace for him.  I paused only briefly before telling him, “Let me quote you a poem by Wendell Berry.”  Here it is:

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

My friend was greatly comforted by this poem, immediately agreeing, “Yes, this is about grace, the same grace offered by Jesus.”  The beautiful phrase, “I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their thoughts with forethought of grief” often comforts me when I’m stressed, bringing to mind the words of Jesus, “Let not your heart be worried.  Ye believe in God, believe also in me.”

 

Failure is More Important than Success (Politically Speaking)

I have empathized with Mitt Romney (and with the GOP) in the recent electoral defeat. I can’t help but feel sorry for Romney even though I liked him less and less as the election campaign progressed. But, he was and is still a human being and I know this defeat is excruciatingly painful for him.

I hope he will find the courage…and Grace…to learn from this experience. And I mean “learn” as a human being as “human being-ness” is more important than politics. Romney has a soul as do we all are and his time on this earth is for the purpose of refining this soul and allowing its Source to find the fullest expression. I hope that he can use this loss…this “failure”… for that purpose.

Here is one of my favorite poems by Eugene Mayo about the experience of loss, presented as “failure”:

Failure is more important than success
Because it brings intelligence
To light the bony
Structure of the universe.

When we “fail”…when we fall on our asses…we have an opportunity to learn from the experience. “Intelligence” has an opportunity to flash into our heart and life. This “intelligence” is not merely cognitive but is intrinsically spiritual and from it great wisdom can flow and everyone can benefit.

Jacques Lacan once noted that nothing of any value comes into this world without loss. He was utilizing object-relations theory to develop the notion that Jesus had in mind when He advised that we find our life only when we lose it.

But it is painful. And that is what the image of the Cross is about.

Flat Earthers Live Today!

Plato observed, “Those who are able to see beyond the shadows and lies of their culture will never be understood, let alone believed by the masses.” And I agree whole heartedly though I might qualify what he meant by “shadows and lies.” Most people take reality to be merely what it appears to be, they take it as it was and is presented to them, and never deign to look beneath the surface. And, yes, one well might call this “shadows and lies” for at times it is not innocent, especially to those who bear the weight of this collective deception.

Adrienne Rich said something relevant, “Until we see the assumptions in which we are drenched, we cannot begin to know our self.” These “assumptions” are powerful and they are palpable, but only to the discerning eye. Asking someone to see them is like asking a fish to see water. For example, can’t you imagine how difficult it was for those men and women centuries ago who dared to posit the notion that the earth was not flat? Everyone knew the world was flat!

We have our own version of Flat Earthers today.

And Leonardo da Vinci had a thought which is relevant:

O cities of the sea, I behold in you your citizens, women as well as men tightly bound with stout bonds around their arms and legs by folk who will not understand your language; and you will only be able to give vent to your griefs and sense of loss of liberty by making tearful complaints, and sighs, and lamentations one to another; for those who bind you will not understand your language nor will you understand them. Leonardo da Vinci, from “Of Children in Swaddling Clothes”.

 

“We Rattle the World for our Babies”

I love the image created by this poet…and I think it was Edgar Simmons. I recall in my youth in the early sixties shaking a piggy bank and hoping to come up with six cents to get a “soda pop” down at the local mom and pop store in central Arkansas. Those coins were precious.

And so are our babies. I have deep appreciation for the beauty of nature…for birds, flowers, butterflies, deer, and certainly for doggies, being the devoted father of two lovely dachshunds. I gaze upon them, or look into their eyes, and I see the glory of God holding forth. But none of these can offer the glory of God that I see when I encounter one of God’s little children. They are our hope, our future. They represent millions of men and women voting with their feet…or some other part of their anatomy!…that life is worth living. Children represent the will of the species expressing itself.

In my retirement years, I have returned to work as a substitute teacher and I am deliberately focusing on early grade school and special needs children. They are teaching me so much about myself and about human nature. They are so fragile, so needy, and I’m so aware that even in my temporary role in their life I am part of our collective effort to “care” for them. And I’m so proud to see that even in Arkansas…always near the bottom of the education spectrum in our country…we provide such quality education and care. Some of these children would not have a chance in some countries. They would not be considered of any value at all and at one point in some cultures would have been left in the forest for nature to dispose of. But we value human life. That is a powerful decision that our culture has made. And it costs immensely but it is money well spent.

Ultimately, spirituality is about our values. What do we value? And, yes, our country is very suspect in many respects; we are so immersed in consumerism, for example. There is so much tawdry in our culture. But we do have our strong points one of which is our value of human life.

(And this is not even addressing the abortion issue! I don’t have the temerity to get into that yet.)

 

Ranier Rilke and “Dying Daily”

“Sometimes I don’t feel spiritual.” I’ve heard this many times and feel that way myself quiet often. But at this point I take comfort in the belief that “feelings” on the matter do not matter; for, I believe that regardless of how we feel we are a spirit. Spirit is not something extrinsic to who we are; it is intrinsic to the very nature of our being.

“Knowing God” does not mean merely accepting a bunch of concepts. That should be merely a stepping stone, a means to an end. “Knowing God” means merely means getting out of the way and discovering that our Source will fill the vacuum. It is the Christian doctrine of kenosis or “self emptying”—losing oneself to find oneself or as the Apostle Paul said, “dying daily”. And I like Ranier Rilke’s take on the matter in The Duino Elegies, “Daily he takes himself off and steps into the changing constellation of his own everlasting risk.”

The Power of the Word

I love words! Words make us human. That ability to symbolize re our subjective experience and assign meaning to that domain is just incredibly fascinating to me. And as we assign meanings to our experience we find connection with others, we discover that they too use the same sounds to refer to the same experiences…more or less! And how did that ever happen and why does it continue? Yes, it is a neurological issue; but, ultimately it is a philosophical and spiritual issue.

(Let me share a relevant personal anecdote. Years ago in a casual conversation a friend of mine dropped an aside, “Well, our name is just a sound we learned to respond to.” This “word” of his spoke to me and continues to do so. It resonated and I realized what he meant, that my very name “Lewis” was merely a sound that “I” had learned to respond to at about the age of one and a half or two years. My “I” (a rudimentary ego) preceded that moment in some shape, form, or fashion but when I was able to associate that subjective experience with the sound “Lewis” I basically joined the human race.)

Poets are one of God’s gifts to us as they can play with words and teach us about meaning. They can use words and use them skillfully and artistically—with spiritual finesse—and usher us into realms of meaning which would otherwise be hidden. Here is a sample from one of them that I have discovered in the blog-o-sphere (enerihot.wordpress.com):

I Write Because
by Irene Toh

Here it comes: a manifesto.
I write because words are
necessary shadows, the way
they augment light that
shines on every thing.

I write because any object
may become a subject
by simple appreciation,
being talked about so
it becomes the light.

I write because after god,
we speak things into creation,
because day turns into night,
because after you there’s no
one who is truly you and
words are dying stars.

And then here is another example from one of my favorite poets, Carl Sandburg:

Precious Moments

Bright conversations are transient as rainbows.
Speech requires blood and air to make it.
Before the word comes off the end of the tongue,
While the diaphragms of flesh negotiate the word,
In the moment of doom when the word forms,
It is born, alive, registering an imprint—
Afterward it is a mummy, a dry fact, done and gone.
The warning holds yet: Speak now or forever hold your peace.
Ecce homo had meanings: Behold the man! Look at him! Dying he lives and speaks.

Richard Mourdock’s God

Richard Mourdock’s observation about God and rape speaks volumes about himself and the inner machinations of his own heart. I have suggested before that our view of God speaks much more about our own heart than it does about God. Mourdock’s God is confined to time and space and He is meticulously, even mechanically in control. Therefore if conception occurs in rape, then God must will it. His God is a really big guy sitting up on some celestial throne, very far away but definitely “out there” in terms of time and space, and pulling the strings of our day to day life.

I believe strongly in God. But I don’t believe in my belief of God. God is beyond my belief. My belief is a work of faith. My faith has deepened once I came to realize the limitations of my own reason and its ability to grasp and own God. But I must reiterate that I am not disavowing the role and use of reason. It is a gift from God and must be used. But it can easily be misused to contrive a belief system which is actually only a reflection of our childish, self-centered ego. “They call it reason, using light celestial; just to outdo the beasts in being bestial.” (Goethe) Or, another quote the author of which I no longer recall, “Our thinking is the belated rationalization of conclusions to which we have already been led by our desires.”

 

“I Feel Your Pain”

One of my blog-o-shere friends responded re a recent post of mine about the role of feeling in alleviating the “heaviness” of life’s burdens. (Twominutesofgrace@wordpress.com)  She has been a therapist at one point in her life and noted how that part of her healing was learning the art of “reciprocal vulnerability” in the therapeutic relationship.  One of the pitfalls of being professional care-givers is that so often we do carry our own load of guilt and shame and seek to assuage those feelings with our clients. If we go too far in that direction, if we trot out the Clintonian, “I feel your pain”  too often, we might discover we have made it too much about ourselves.  But if we refuse vulnerability in the first place—barricaded behind professional jargon, cliche, and the DSM IV—we don’t need to be in the position of therapist, pastor, or “care-giver” in the first place.

Someone once said, “To be is to be vulnerable.”  I think the Apostle Paul had this in mind when he wrote to one church, “I was with you in weakness, and fear, and much trembling.”  Shakespeare, in Hamlet, described vulnerability as having a heart “full of penetrable stuff” suggesting that without vulnerability we are “impenetrable.”  And impenetrability is the natural trajectory of the human ego.  It resists anything which causes it discomfort.

 

Heavy Hearts Need Loose Lips

The weight of this sad time we must obey. Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

These words from King Lear are very important to me, taking significance in my life at a very critical juncture decades ago when I was just learning about feelings. Shakespeare here taught me that it was important to just “let go” and value what I was feeling and deign to verbalize re these feelings.. This was critical as I had spent the first half of my life carefully monitoring myself and “thinking” and “saying” only what I “ought to say.” Yes, there were times when, like a kid with a new toy, I over did it and expressed some feelings at times when I should not have. But not often; and when I did, I usually did so with friends who were understanding.

And then for a few years I had the opportunity to facilitate this skill when I worked as a counselor, teaching young teen-agers the importance of their feelings and the value of expressing them, not only with words, but with art, music, and dance. It was very powerful to witness a young person make this discovery and watch many of them flourish. And I’ve seen the same phenomena with friends and acquaintances over the decades as the course of one’s life can grant maturity and with it the temerity to value one’s own subjective experience.

But I often overlook the first phrase of this Shakespearean observation—the weight of this sad time we must obey. Our culture’s disdain for feelings accumulates over the eons and becomes very “heavy.” And with this “heaviness” comes a profound sadness. And this sadness will be alleviated only when we “unpack our heart with words” (Shakespeare, “Hamlet”) and entertain the realm of “feeling which loosens rather than ties the tongue. (W. H. Auden.)