Going Back

It was a trip to the past. Despite what I’ve learned about living in the present, I knew there were reasons to return and see if dragons were still there.

Thirty years ago, I was asked to be a chaplain at a famous, old school in England. (Let’s just say, they were teaching classes when Columbus discovered the new world and celebrating their 100th anniversary during the tumultuous years of the Protestant reformation.) Being the first American chaplain was something special, they told me, and my ego was released from its cage by the keys of a life-long need to prove myself.  The air in my puffed-up chest soon caused me to choke and I tripped over the very academic robes I sought. It was not the first, nor the last, time I played a role and strayed from whatever authentic self I knew. Returning to the campus after all these years felt like a spiritual confrontation.

A few years ago, I was taught a unique form of self-love, one more valuable than a day at a spa or a spontaneous day off from work. I was taught to sit beside a younger version of myself, one of which was the British school master - the one with a young family and promising career and no clue how to care for either. At first, I tried to say something to the earlier me, something I’ve learned since then, but eventually sat back and listened. I understood what he was saying like no one else could, and, in the end, it was like meeting a friend again for the first time.

Such “time travel” is challenging and unsettling, and yet it can also be enormously healing. Whether we like it or not, whether we admit it or not, we carry every chapter of our lives with us, every version of ourselves. Sometimes we stuff the difficult ones in a closet and deny they exist. Other times, we dress them up and pretend they were something they were not. Such chapters aren’t going anywhere, and the sooner we sit and listen to them the healthier we will be.

Yes, living in the present is a significant spiritual discipline, but so is looking back. As someone wise once said, “The past can be in the car, it just can’t drive.” Going back, looking at a familiar landscape with a new pair of glasses, and maybe even sitting beside the person you used to be, can unlock closets, remove costumes, and provide a sense of compassion – self-compassion – that is nothing short of a spiritual awakening.