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.

Missing the message

I was sitting at a graduation ceremony filled with pomp and circumstance, but the students across the aisle looking at their cellphones distracted me. The speaker was talking about the difference between doing and being, but her message was lost on those checking a recent score, texting with a friend, or playing a game.

How could they, I wondered, only to realized how often I’m guilty of the same thing. No, I’m not one who’s addicted to my phone, but that doesn’t mean I’m attentive to what life’s saying to me. Sometimes I’m focused on crossing something off my to-do list; other times it’s my calendar with little room to breathe that gets my attention. The worst is when I feel I know all I need to know and look away from the meaningful moments surrounding me.

Just as I felt bad for the commencement speaker, I also feel bad for God when we don’t pay attention. I believe God speaks often, but we don’t always have ears to hear. God’s artistry surrounds us, but we rarely have eyes to see. And I think God’s presence is always within reach, but we rarely make the effort to feel it. Like the graduates, we look down and not up. We focus on the trivial and ignore the profound.

I guess I should be grateful to the students, not annoyed. They illustrated something of which I’m often guilty. They may not have learned anything at their graduation, but I did. The speaker was good, too.

Proceed to the Route

As someone who always has his phone on silent, I was startled when I heard it speak to me as I entered the church. I had come to the funeral of a friend’s mom and used GPS to get me there. I forgot to turn it off when I arrived, so as I entered the sanctuary it said, “Proceed to the route.” The connection between the words and the purpose of the space I was entering was so obvious I had to laugh. As one who has always longed for God’s voice, I never imagined it coming in such a way.

The most meaningful way the spiritual journey has been described to me is as a journey. With a beginning and end, with twists and turns and up and downs, thinking of my walk of faith much like a walk up a mountain trail has helped me envision my life-long spiritual trek. As one who has climbed many mountain trails, I know how easy it is to lose one’s way. Sometimes the trail can become obscure or other trails can make the way confusing. No wonder we can so easily lose our way. Hopefully, we will realize our mistake and have the ability and willingness (not the same thing) to return to the proper trail, or as my phone reminded me, we proceed to the route.

I’m embarrassed how often I’ve lost my way. While each wrong turn has been unique, beneath them all is a common cause: self-centeredness. Self-centeredness wears a thousand masks, but its sole purpose is to get us off the spiritual path. Because I’m not very good at this spiritual stuff, I need to read a lot, consult countless “maps,” spend time with other travelers, and reflect each morning on the day’s journey. Still, I lose my way and need to proceed to the route over and over again. It’s never fun to admit you’ve lost your way, and it’s sometimes hard to summon the humility needed to turn around, but returning to the route is part of the spiritual journey, and I’m grateful for the grace that makes it possible.

We all in need to proceed to the route from time to time. Rather than bemoan the reasons why, I give thanks for the invitation to return, even if it comes from my phone.