A Journey at Night; The Road That Takes Us Home

They roused him up in the dark of night. It was time to go. They even watched him get dressed. Humiliated, he pulled on his jeans and yanked a tee shirt over his head. A shiver went up his spine. Or maybe it was a shudder. All he knew for sure was this is what had filled him with dread for so many days since the hearing. Fighting back tears, he looked up at the woman and the police officer. There was no way he was going to cry in front of them. And no getting out of this situation. He would be leaving home for good and going somewhere to be with people he didn't know. Through the darkness and rain they went down unfamiliar streets until the Plymouth pulled up in front of a big house. There were people under a dim light standing on the porch.

Stories like this one have been shared with me over the years by dozens of boys and girls who 'fell into the system' for one reason or another.

Foster placements, detention centers, or other institutions become makeshift homes where wounded and broken kids are hidden away and sometimes forgotten. But I tell this compilation tale, not to shed light on our often woefully deficient children's services programs. I'll save that for another day. I tell it to you because this is your story. It's the story of each of us. It pauses at some point with a dim light and door opening. There is no clue to process or outcome because that’s how life's spiritual journey goes. It is always searching for home.

I've written extensively about the spiritual journey, faith, love, and transformation. These seem to be the things most important to explore. And during these seasons of light, we are reminded that in order to really appreciate the light we must have known darkness. We are taken far away on bumpy roads and put into boats. Our wanderings take us to troubled waters with no land in sight. Hard times and good times alike make us begin to ache for home.

With no compass and only the North Star to guide us we begin to stumble back in the general direction as best we can. Our hunger to be welcomed is only equaled by the fear that we will be rejected. For the kept secrets have been revealed and we will be fully known. Then we reach the hilltop overlooking those familiar fields.

The sun is just rising and you have been discovered. Both father and mother run out to greet you. The fatted calf is being prepared in your honor. The one who was lost has been found. They whisper in your ear the words you have so desperately needed to hear. You are my beloved child. Welcome home. Welcome home. Welcome home.

The Grace of Unknowing

As the season of light presents itself again this year, it is important to remember that for some, a poverty of spirit obscures it.

Grief, loneliness, fear, and the darkness of depression block access to any kind of joy or celebration.

While we wait in eager anticipation, they wait for the other shoe to drop. It is at this festive time of the year that those of us who celebrate are more urgently needed than at any other. Setting aside our busy schedules in deference to being present for those who suffer is an act of compassion that can carry lifesaving comfort. But the gift we receive from so doing might be even greater than the one we give. When allowing ourselves to be transported from wellbeing, certainty, and control into the gloom of another person’s shadows, it becomes possible to experience the grace of unknowing.

We don't like to think about unknowing or unlearning. It takes us away from being in control. The certainty of our belief systems, the rhythm of routines, and adherence to the status quo makes us feel secure.

I remember asking my mother why we 'went visiting' every Sunday. Her response was; "It's what our family has always done." That was an unacceptable answer to me because it didn't really tell me anything. Nobody seemed particularly thrilled with staying dressed up after church to drop in on folks who might have had other plans (or for those of us who would rather be outside playing basketball). But we did it because it was what we did.

My objections didn't change anything. We still 'went visiting'. What might happen if we didn't follow our custom was never discussed. And I have to admit that the Sunday regimen was comforting despite its discomfort. Departure from our ingrained, embedded practices feels pretty risky. We want to find an escape hatch to that 'old-time religion' or 'those thrilling days of yesteryear' where the Lone Ranger rides again. Everything was knowable and everyone was safe. Approaching any treasured belief with an open-minded posture of unknowing (I don't know) shakes the foundations of our personal self-concept and identity. It requires the painful process of unlearning and relearning

The best, most divine knowledge of God is that which is known by not-knowing ~ St. Dionysius

The grace of unknowing is the source of wisdom, growth, and transformation. It releases the glee of Ebenezer Scrooge who once was the master of his destiny. He awakens from his visitation by Three Spirits with the full understanding that he never was the one in control. He began to dance a jig singing "I don't know anything. I never did know anything. And now I know that I don't know on this Christmas morning."

He was not the same person. By letting go of knowing and embracing unknowing, he gained all the wisdom he would ever need. Dickens relates that henceforth it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May we all be blessed with such grace…the Grace of Unknowing.

Awaiting The Wonderful

The fall and winter holiday seasons always seem so far away. There is plenty of time to plan and prepare. Then it swoops in like a hungry pelican over an ocean luncheon. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, New Years...here they are. I have gathered them all together in an Advent basket which I call The Wonderful. Each has tradition, joy, celebration, and a spirit of giving and receiving. And of course this has a story behind it.

Several years ago, my life-long best friend, Steve Magin, called a few days before Thanksgiving to chat about holiday plans. He ended the conversation by telling me to expect "The Wonderful" which made me question just what in the world he was talking about. His response was cryptic and playful. "You'll see" he chirped, and then hung up. That response bordered on curious and annoying. It stirred up memories of hidden Christmas presents cleverly stashed away in secret places by my parents. As a boy, I always made it a point to search for clues like Sherlock Holmes until, one by one, each wrapped enigma was discovered. The next thing was to try shaking, sniffing, or peeking under paper folds to determine the contents. I never quit until I was sure of about everything that would be under the tree. Anyway, I was sure that Steve would let me in on The Wonderful in due time, but such knowledge did little to stifle the nagging mystery. So, just like the boy I used to be, the quest of unraveling the riddle began. Google and other search engines didn't help a bit. A call back to Steve was little more than frustrating. When I told him I was waiting for The Wonderful, he just said it was on its' way. Well, great. The mail, UPS and FedEx brought good stuff to the door, but nothing tagged The Wonderful. Every morning had an element of anticipation to it. Surely whatever-it-was would arrive in one form or another today. It didn't occur to me until Christmas Eve that The Wonderful had been delivered every day since Thanksgiving. A bit of me had been magically transported to Neverland along with Peter, Wendy and the Lost Boys. The Wonderful brought back a delight that I thought had dimmed long ago.

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known. ~ Carl Sagan

So, with today being the first day of Advent, I would like to share my holiday basket with everyone who reads or listens to this. The Wonderful is coming. Reach in and you will find more than special calendar days, presents, elegant meals, parties and family gatherings. They are all in there. But don't stop looking. Pixie dust, sleigh bells, twinkling lights, and an unattached elusive shadow can be found too. And, of course, an abundance of unconditional Love. Childlike and barefoot, we might rediscover that eager anticipation is the essence of life. This is what makes undeniable the faith in a power greater than ourselves.

Thanksgiving Past; The Gift of a Perennial Message

Though my memories of childhood Thanksgivings in Central Illinois are not nearly as vivid or detailed with family lore as Christmases, they are fond all the same. We didn't go over the river and through the woods to be with the extended Jones Family in Monticello, but rather stayed in Danville and celebrated with my mother's family. Until the late 1950's the big feast was held at the Swisher Ave. home of my grandparents, Chester and Nora Baum. But they had made the decision to spend their golden Thanksgivings in Pompano Beach, Florida rather than endure the unpredictable midwestern weather of late November. So from then on we were left to our own devices. We gathered with the Glen T. Smith family either at our house or theirs. Helen Smith was Mom's sister. It was always fun and festive. Uncle Smitty was the expert of all expert turkey carvers and we always had plenty of food to take home or send along as the case might be.  Occasionally we went down to the family homestead in Indianola to be with our Sandusky cousins. They were always more fun than anyone I knew. But all of that said, there will always be one Thanksgiving from my childhood which I can never forget.

It was a week which began innocently enough. I had just turned 13 on November 17th. Now it was the 22nd. Mother and Dad were down in Florida helping my grandparents settle in to their winter digs while I was allowed to stay with my pal Scott Golden on Fletcher Ave. His house was adjacent to North Ridge Junior High School where I was in eighth grade. Everything was going fine. It was Friday with a fun weekend ahead. Then, after lunch, while I was in Art Class, the world changed and went into slow motion. There was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Allison, the librarian, whispered something to our teacher, Mrs. Gillis. She composed herself, and gave us the news that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. Soon the same information came over the loudspeaker from Mr. Yeazel, the principal. School was dismissed with the news of his death. I ran through the woods on a shortcut to Goldens, slipping into a cold ravine on the way. When I got to my friends house, his mother was crying in the living room. All I could think about was how awful it was to be without my parents when the world seemed to be ending. We called my mother in Florida and she promised they would fly back to Danville as soon as possible. I was so devastated and lonely.

Mom and Dad arrived at the Danville airport on Saturday night. I was never so glad to see them. We said goodbye to the Goldens and headed home. The next few days were pretty much spent in front of the television as our shocked and grief stricken nation mourned and processed. On Sunday, Dad shouted that Lee Harvey Oswald had just been shot. Mother and I were in the kitchen and came running out to see the murder replayed in front of our eyes. The next day was President Kennedy's funeral at St. Matthews Cathedral. We all watched John-John's salute. And then it was over.

Thanksgiving was only three days away. My friends in the neighborhood had started to do things outside again. There was some touch football and shooting hoops in Gary Cox’s driveway. School would be out until the next Monday. But we were all subdued. The idea of celebrating seemed out of the question. Nobody felt much like a big family gathering after all we had witnessed. So, our decision, like that of so many other families, was to keep it simple and stay at home. The 90 minute Macy Parade filled in the space where Monday's funeral procession to Arlington had been dominating our living room. Like the huge Donald Duck balloon that year, we were a bit deflated. Three people gathering around a turkey seemed rather bleak. Then my Dad, standing at the head of the table, gave us his message. It is one I'll always remember. He said;

This has been a hard week for everyone. But we will be okay. We have so much to be grateful for. We have a great country where women and men like Jack Kennedy fight and die for our freedom and way of life. Thanks to them we are safe. We have a warm home, good food, and our nice friends and family. Most of all, we have each other. Things won't be exactly the same after what happened in Dallas. But we will be okay.

And the clouds seemed to lift a little. We went down to the Sandusky/Stines on Saturday. There was a big party as always. With loving arms around us, we could be happy once again.

For the first time in history, an entire nation grieved together. It was on live TV. By grace, Thanksgiving followed. It was just the bandage we all needed to bind our wounds and carry on. Perhaps that's the simple message of this American holiday every year. Things may be rough, or even tragic. Empty chairs can be found around many tables. There have been other losses and disappointments. But then comes Thanksgiving. Ever since that first harvest celebration in 1621 of 53 Pilgrims and 90 Native People, we have been looking to the promise of new possibilities while thanking God for our rich blessings. We put aside our troubles in favor of gratitude and hope. Dad was right. With this spirit and attitude to guide us...We Will Be Okay.

Thankful for Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving, the bountiful harvest festival of traditional foods and the gathering of loved ones, is an American treasure. George Washington proclaimed the observation in 1789 and it was made a federal holiday by the pen of Abraham Lincoln in 1863. These dates and occasions seem important. Established in celebration of our founding democracy and resurrected at a time of national despair, Thanksgiving brings us together in good times and bad. It isn't the property of any specific religion. There aren't fireworks, or presents, or much pomp and circumstance associated with our late November assembly of family and friends. Even Macy's annual parade with all the glitter, bands, celebrities, and enormous balloons marching with Santa himself down 34th Street to Herald Square cannot define why most Americans approach this day with such eager anticipation.

Few people would say that Thanksgiving is only about a roasted turkey and scrumptious side dishes or desserts. But there is little doubt that those are pretty big drawing cards. Ensconced in my memories are seasonal smells wafting from the kitchen. Visions of long tables set for receiving amounts of food unparalleled in weight and diversity leave me almost dizzy to this very day. You could almost hear the wood groan as a final platter was heaped on the last empty spot. Homemade pies were left waiting for lack of space. I can still hear the oohs and ahhs of both young and old as the feast was unveiled. Who would have ever guessed that gravy could be poured over so many different things (like cranberries) and still taste so good! Overloaded tummies and some magical turkey protein called tryptophan kicked in to create massive amounts of melatonin which makes it impossible to stay awake. Few have any clear recollection of who won the annual holiday NFL game. Did someone change the channel to a Dog show? Or was that Toto barking at the Wicked Witch of the West?

I've come to believe that all of these things are wonderful, (even the snoring) but there is something more to Thanksgiving. It seems to me that the years’ hardships and hard work are put aside to make way for recognition of abundance no matter the size or scope of bounty on a table. We make ourselves present to one another, face to face across the festive table, as particularly vulnerable yet equally resilient. We show ourselves to be triumphant as well as humbled. Thanksgiving is a day of possibilities. For if this day can make all of these things happen, then there is hope for tomorrow. Love will surely overcome adversity. And with this in mind, I can say without hesitation that I am so very, very thankful for Thanksgiving.

This is my annual Thanksgiving Prayer and musing. Feel free to share them of course.

I pray for all of us, oppressor and friend, that together we may succeed in building a better world through human understanding and love, and that in doing so we may reduce the pain and suffering of all

Thanksgiving focuses our minds on our blessings

rather than on our problems.

It makes the heart glad for what we have been given,

and it takes our minds off the burdens we all have.

In our lives of plenty and prosperity

we seem to take most everything for granted.

How appreciative we should be for our blessings

and what a wonderful thing is a holiday

which focuses our attention on them.

Thanksgiving is just the therapy we all need

to be reminded of our blessings and the beauty of living.

Thanksgiving Departures

I am going to write about Thanksgiving gratitude and nostalgia in the coming days. Before that though, I feel the need to say in advance something that might help make this holiday a little more palatable.

The frost is on the pumpkins and the geese are getting fat.

These words combine an old English song and the poetry of James Whitcomb Riley. We were thinking about the coming Thanksgiving feast and anticipating Christmas when saying those words in mid-November back in my childhood. It seemed like everyone was going somewhere to gather with family, 'over the river and through the woods'. That hasn't changed so much except the trip to Grandma's is more likely braved on interstates and in airplanes than rural country road adventures. AAA (which we used to call Chicago Motor Club) says that "More than 55 million travelers are making plans to kick off the holiday season with a trip of 50 miles or more away from home this Thanksgiving." That’’s a bunch of turkeys in dire jeopardy

Our departures to family and friends must have a lot more to do with love than with cranberries, and pumpkin (or punkin) pie. So with all of this in mind, it is somewhat perplexing that Thanksgiving is noted as the most stressful holiday of them all.

I learned early on as a young social worker that our jobs would be most difficult around Thanksgiving. Domestic abuse of all kinds skyrocket. Drug and alcohol abuse increase as much as 33 percent. Accidents and coronary events spike. Interestingly, however, suicide rates actually fall at this time of the year. Either we are taking our frustrations out on everyone else while drinking ourselves numb, or family support gives us a sense of belonging and accountability.

I think all of these things combine to make treatment centers the busiest with new admissions after what is called our happiest holiday. Though it might seem rather sad, what a great outcome of Thanksgiving that people are confronted with their suffering and find a way to real, life sustaining and enriching help.

For the bulk of us, however, Thanksgiving joys bring with them less dramatic stressors. Getting the food prepared, tasty, and served hot is challenging enough. But this season, I have heard so many people near and dear, as well as spiritual advisors and other columnists worrying and warning about our family gatherings.

The political and religious polarization we are experiencing threatens to drive wedges and hurt feelings around dinner tables more than ever this year. Republicans and Democrats, Evangelicals and Spiritual Progressives, Pro-Trumpers and Never-Trumpers, Environmentalists and Skeptics, bring a defensive posture sometimes armed with arguments ready to explode over the green bean casserole.

I even found myself preparing a little dig for someone of an opposing belief system to mine. Finding a veiled innocent comment designed to agitate this rather aggressive person was tickling my fancy. But further reflection changed my mind. There is nothing to be gained and everything to be lost by setting the stage for a scene that would follow. Nobody would be changed. No heart would find its way to my side. And this brings me to the point of this writing about Thanksgiving Departures.

Back in those good ole days, fully recognizing that they weren't always as good as we remember, one phrase of sage wisdom about Thanksgiving and other family/friend get togethers could almost certainly get us through our gatherings this year and far into the future.

Here it is. Don't discuss politics or religion. Period. Exclamation point.

Leave them alone. I'm not saying to abandon passionate points of view and cherished belief systems at all. On the contrary, go deep, express yourself while listening carefully to the opinions of others. It is your civic responsibility. There is a time and a place for civil discourse, but not at our uniquely American annual day of gratitude. It might have been easier for The Greatest Generation to live out their cautionary message.

As Tom Brokaw has told us, they came home from war and didn't talk about their awful experiences. That probably made limited controversy around mashed potatoes a breeze in late November. So, enjoy the food. Embrace loved ones. Accept and honor differences. Have some fun telling stories of traditions, people and memories of years gone by. Then this Thanksgiving Departure free from rancor and divisiveness will long be remembered and treasured. They might even be cherished somewhere…around another table…as one of those wonderful “good ole days".

Making the Decision to Carry On

It is more than tempting to give in or give up. There is an alluring quality to quitting the struggle. When all of the headlines point to disaster, chaos, hatred, and division, keeping one’s head in the game and participating actively is hard. Another school shooting. Another political mess. Another war. We become overwhelmed with sadness, strife, and futility. An almost soothing refrain of 'Stop the world, I want to get off' seems to offer relief from all the pain and suffering.

“You don’t give in or give up because your determination may be all that is needed to change the world.”

The dramatic rise of suicide in young people (the number two cause of death in people between the ages of 10-24) or among police officers and firefighters (who are more likely to die at their own hands than in the line of duty) tells this awful tale of despair. To think that so many of our children and our public servant heroes are at the end of their ropes is heartbreaking. So why not just quit? The answer is as old as humankind. You don't give in or give up because your determination may be all that is needed to change the world. Your contribution and your love is the key to our future. Believe it or not.

The stories told in sacred texts by all religions and those of ancient mythology have endured forever because they tell us how to live. Their metaphors help us find our way. One that is a touchstone for me is contained in Homer's Odyssey. When it comes to resisting the urge to give in or give up, his tale of Odysseus and the Sirens is one of the best. It is told that Odysseus makes the tough decision to take a long and dangerous journey across the ocean for home.

Sirens Song from Odysseus

His lover, Circe, tells him of the encounter he must have with three beautiful creatures known as Sirens who lure all ships onto nearby rocks with their totally irresistible and seductive songs. No sailor survives them "for they sit in a green field and warble him to death with the sweetness of their song.” Odysseus heeds the warning and orders his men to put beeswax in their ears so they won't be killed by the treachery. But he chooses to have himself strapped to the mast of the ship so that he can hear the songs while not being drawn to certain death. He does so and is unharmed. But the most compelling part is that unknown to Odysseus, the Sirens were destined to die if anyone would hear them and live to tell about it. When Odysseus survived they hurled themselves into the sea and never tempted or devastated human beings again.

I've been fortunate to see this story play out in real life dozens of times. A couple of years ago I wrote about a boy who was an Odysseus himself in my column for ChaplainUSA.org entitled 'Kids For Sale'. One of the boys I counseled was fourteen-year-old Tony (not his real name of course). He was a charming, handsome, manipulative youngster who was the ringleader of the dozen or so others who were being trafficked by the trick or by the hour. He was from Ohio and had been molested by a step-father. He ran away to warm weather on a bus bound for Fort Lauderdale and it was only a matter of minutes before he was recognized as a viable product by a man who sold boys and girls to tourists.

Ultimately, he escaped to Covenant House. Tony told me that over 100 men had abused him in only a few weeks. He had become addicted to cocaine, alcohol, and heroin and soon realized that he would survive longer ‘running his own show’ earning $40 - $60 a trick making $200 or more a night. He fully understood that the average street kid survived for less than two years succumbing to addiction, STD’s or suicide.

When I left Fort Lauderdale there was no doubt in my mind that Tony would not live long. Years later, as director of a treatment facility, a new patient saw me, did a double-take, and stuck his head in my door. “Don’t I know you?” He asked. We chatted for a minute trying to figure out the connection when he asked me if I had ever been to Covenant House in Fort Lauderdale. I replied that I had. He looked at me hard and said, “You are Father Bob!”

That was the name the kids had given me so many years before. He cried; “It’s me. Tony.” He had lived and somehow transcended the streets. Tony went on to tell his story of heading back to Ohio, confronting his demons, seeking methadone treatment, and moving on. He had a wife, two children and a thriving EBAY resale business of baseball cards, memorabilia, furniture…anything but himself. His triumph over the Sirens of giving in and giving up continues to give me hope.

The message of Odysseus is clear. So is Tony's. Job in the Old Testament gives it a good spin as well. And the modern-day storyteller/musician, Tom Petty doesn't mince words with us in his tune I Won’t Back Down when he says 'there ain't no easy way out, so I'll stand my ground and I won't back down'.

When we resist the Sirens who try compelling us to give in and give up by participating despite their promises of relief something remarkable happens. Our decision to carry on, to exist, persist, endure and overcome will defeat them every time. Then nothing, absolutely nothing, will be able to drag us down.

Just Like Me

It isn't always easy to recognize how much we are alike. When someone persistently rides your bumper in heavy traffic, steps in front of you in the checkout line, or makes an intentional statement designed to hurt, we feel our hackles rise and blood boil. But how often have each of us so offended others? Our reckless moments have probably left someone just as angry. We aren't very different after all. How meaningless it is to think we are any better or any worse than other people. Buddhist nun Pema Chodron, pioneer of the mindfulness movement, recently appeared on Oprah Winfrey's Super Soul Sunday. During a discussion of her book "Welcoming the Unwelcome" Pema revealed that she has a way of accepting and embracing those who stir up ire or negative reactions. She uses a simple little whisper or silent reminder, repeating the words; "Just like me."

Just like me. The one who lies and manipulates...also feels vulnerable and afraid of being rejected.

Just like me. The person who is controlling and short tempered...also worries about security and chaos.

Just like me. The seemingly ego driven know-it-all...also experiences deep loneliness  and self-doubt.

Just like me. The hurried and insensitive stranger...also is carrying a burden that blinds him to the needs of others.

The personal baggage we lug around over perceived slights and injustices weigh us down when we needn't carry them at all. This is even true of the more serious hurts and trauma. One of the boys under my care had suffered unthinkable physical, emotional and sexual abuse at the hands of a family member from ages 8-13. He was unable to function without drugs and alcohol to ease the pain. A group therapist in our treatment center who he admired asked him one day if he would go to the cafeteria and get a bag of garbage for her.  He complied willingly and came back with a large green bag full of food scraps and other waste. She then asked him if he would do her a big favor and carry it around with him after group. He agreed with some hesitation, but figured she would never do anything to hurt him. And he had just a little adolescent crush on her. So he dragged it around in spite of the amusement of his peers. But when he brought it back to group the next day, he was very unhappy and in tears.  The garbage had become heavier and smelled awful. Everyone avoided him. He begged his counselor to let him take it back to the cafeteria.  Her answer made an incredible impact on him and has stayed with me for decades.  She said; "Nobody told you that you had to keep carrying this garbage around with you. That was your decision. Take it away. Get rid of it and let it go."

Just like me...

Frederick Buechner once said; "All the absurd little meetings, decisions, inner skirmishes that go to make up our days. It all adds up to very little, and yet it all adds up to very much." He asserts that God speaks to us in the middle of these moments. Maybe that wee small voice is telling us to reconcile what is important with what is trivial. Maybe it is reminding us that all of us are "Just like me."

Veterans and Heroic Secrets

"There are things you just don't talk about."

Those were the words he chose when pressed by his nine year old son in 1960 to tell war stories of his time in the South Pacific during WWII. If he had been mad he would have said “Now Hear This” or “Listen Up.”

But he wasn’t angry. Just unmovable. Unwilling or unable to fulfill the boys request. Back in those days every kid wanted to know what their daddy did in the war. But seldom were desired details provided. For this man, most of the information about his years overseas as an Naval officer went to the grave with him.

The pleasant memories of being entertained with a performance by Boris Karloff in "Arsenic and Old Lace" or Bob Hope's show on Kwajalein were acceptable, but secret classified missions behind enemy lines with other engineers, fighting off and killing an enemy landing party, or long seasick travels on Landing Ship Tanks or LST's (often referred to as 'large stationary targets’) were not. A Warbuck signed by his admiral received after flying over the volatile equatorial zone was okay to discuss but tales of ships he refuelled, armed and supplied as the Kwaj ordnance officer that never returned, or which limped back into port like his brother's Belleau Wood after losing hundreds of sailors were kept behind tight lips.

Kwajalein 1944

Lt. Commander Kenneth Jones Photo Album

"They fought the war of homesick, weary, funny, violent, common men...who lug themselves through as dirty a business as the world has ever seen and do it with humor and dignity and courage." John Steinbeck

In the dedication to a book he wrote about his World War II experiences entitled "Flat Bottomed Odyssey" Gene Jaeger wrote; "I never heard one of them (soldiers, sailors or airmen) put his feelings about the war into words. But they knew. When your home, family and friends are threatened you don't talk, you fight." That's the way it is for most veterans. You just don't talk about it. Maybe such heroic silence isn't the best idea. Some memories fester as post-traumatic-stress and cripple the mind, heart and soul with war secrets. But nevertheless most stories too terrible stay locked away forever. Neither loved ones nor therapists could do much to ease the pain. It seems better to bury them along with comrades lost in battle.

I was that nine year old kid who didn't get the story he wanted from his father. One day, when I was much older though and facing a decision about serving in Vietnam, he revealed the incident, which for him, never went away. One of the young men he commanded in the Marshall Islands had suffered through too many horrors. Dad put in a request for stateside leave which had been granted. He was relieved and depression lifted. But a few days later, Dad got a telegram saying the leave had been cancelled and he would have to break the news. In an effort to make the revised orders more bearable, he made up a sad account about some fictitious fellow lost at sea who could no longer replaced him. The man stared blankly only replying "So I won't be going home." Dad confirmed the fact that his young charge would remain on Kwaj. He asked to be dismissed and it was granted. Moments later Dad heard a gunshot and rushed out to discover that the young midshipman put a bullet in his head. The letter he had to write to a grieving family was almost impossible. When the story was told, this patriot and hero of mine said this. "Don't go to war. I fought so you wouldn't have to." It was the very last thing I ever thought I would hear from him.

But so it goes with these we esteem each November 11. Men and women of great courage, they sacrificed everything and ask nothing in return. Except perhaps that the battles they waged might be the last where blood would be spilled in fields of conflict. As grateful recipients of their service we might offer up this heartfelt prayer:

May the secrets our veterans carry for us do them no harm and fade into the mist of their yesterdays.

A Matter of Faith and Love

Faith is a personal matter which affects others in ways that cannot be known.

It is as if we are walking, talking sermons whether we intend to be or not.

President Jimmy Carter wrote a book in 2018 called “Faith; A Journey for All” in which he explores his own path and how it has guided his life. There is substantial evidence that his faith influenced the direction of our country and touched the lives of countless thousands. At age 95, this remarkable man continues to demonstrate the power of peace, love, and compassionate action. He is a true exemplar. But the faith impact of each one of us is no less dramatic…only a bit less noticeable.

This seemingly personal matter plays out in ever-widening ripples from our family and closest friends to people we will probably never meet. Our faith makes each of us "the salt of the earth and the light of the world." (Matthew 5:13-14)

Faith is never static, fixed, or unyielding. While an integral part of religion, it is not confined to one belief system or another. It grows with us over time as our experiences of God expand and evolve. Just as the relationship we have with our parents changes and transforms, so it is with faith.

When I was a little kid, my Dad was a hero and Mom was a source of comfort. But as I grew up, those defining attributes dimmed. Though an element of childhood understanding remained, I came to know them differently. They were fallible and sometimes annoyingly objectionable. As an adult, yet another perception of them developed. We interacted more like peers with a unique common bond. Remarkably, now that they are both gone, combinations of knowing and never really knowing them create an unfolding love story.

What Dad or Mom believed about God is a mystery to me. We never talked about it. Though members of the Presbyterian Church, neither was particularity religious. But both of them were people of faith reflected in the fact that they were known to be salt of the earth who provided delicious flavor to life and were sources of joy and light.

It all comes down to a matter of faith and love. We are living in a time when political and economic systems that claim religious foundations are tearing us apart. The hope they promise us is transitory and fleeting with little flavor or light. We must resist the temptation to follow this wicked game so clearly devoid of faith and love.

I have come to believe that faith is inseparable from love. And If we find something to be judgemental, divisive, exclusive or immovable there is little room for God. Like St. Paul tells us; "If I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have Love, I am nothing."

May we all march to the beat of that different drummer. In so doing, good will prevail.

Radical Availability; Testifying to Love

It's not so easy to be available. There are people in our lives in distress, hurt and broken. We lend a hand only to find that they need more.

At some point, as we feel emotionally drained, the notion of boundaries and personal space creeps into our minds telling us to draw back a little or pull away entirely. Maybe being partially available, or being available based on our time constraints is enough. Any amount of being present is better than the vacuum of not being there at all. Our healing touch, words of encouragement. and listening ear, no matter the amount, will certainly bring love and healing to a breaking heart. Under certain circumstances, when the neediness is too extreme, perhaps practicing a little tough love is the answer. After all, there is such a thing as enabling. This is the dilemma. How much is too much or too little?

My more than four decades of providing help for folks who suffer with addictions and boys who have been abused confirms to me that recovery and healing is unique to the individual. Where one patient may require intensive interventions and lots of my time, some only need a little guidance, with a multitude of others somewhere in-between. Treatment should be person centered and individualized with goals leading to a discovery that life can be meaningful and joyful. I also found that traditional practices of tough love with a focus of disengaging by my participant families were rarely helpful.

On the other hand, when parents, spouses, friends, and teachers became completely engaged, the outcomes almost always exceeded expectations. I call this 'Radical Availability' and, though it flies in the face of many treatment constructs, it works. Radical Availability is similar to what goes on at an ICU. The suffering person becomes our unfettered, kind, gentle, and loving focus. This is not to say that everyone gets well. Addictions and trauma are relentless and still fatal for some. Nobody is to blame when things go terribly wrong. But if we have been radically available, there is no regret left behind that more could have been done.

Even though it can be consuming, Radical Availability is no more exhausting than tough love or detachment. It is a spiritual intervention unlike any other. I have written that;

We have the ability to be radically available because God is radically available.  There is no reason to be afraid.  Regardless of how dark it gets and no matter how difficult the situation, God is with us.  God's arms are open and God’s heart breaks right along with ours. There is no time when we are left alone without resource.

In answer to the question of how much is too much or too little, I guess that maybe there is no perfect answer. Wynonna Judd gave one however in her I Will Testify to Love from the TV series “Touched by an Angel” which points us in the right direction when she sings "I will testify to love. I'll be a witness in the silences when the words are not enough." I believe in my heart of hearts that we are called to be radically available. Because in so doing we are affirming God's ever-present love...and there is never too much of that.

Our Worldview of Scarcity; The Best Things in Life are Free

We are driven by the worry that there is not going to be enough to go around.

This concept is exploited by politicians and governmental leaders to promote their agendas. It is one of the reasons we wage war. It is the basis of avarice. It causes us to hate instead of love. But is there any fundamental truth to this vision of scarcity? Are there limits to God's abundance? The New Testament lessons of five loaves and two fish multiplied by Jesus to feed five thousand is not just a sweet story. Whether considered as historical fact or metaphor, the lesson indicates that there is nothing lacking except our limited perspective fueled by fear.

In his best selling book, The Power of Intention, Dr. Wayne Dyer wrote; " When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change. When you see the world as abundant and friendly, your intentions are genuine possibilities. They will, in fact, become a certainty." Certainly, wIth this alternate kind of worldview those possibilities become endless. Rather than succumbing to the frightening spectre of running out of things and being left without resources, we become empowered by the truth that 'God is able to give you more than you need, so that you will always have all you need for yourselves and more than enough for every good cause' (2 Corinthians 9:8).

Maybe it was a good cause that kept my Dad, Ken Jones, so chipper and cheerful most all of the time. If so, the cause he devoted himself to was family and friends. His generosity of spirit could be felt whenever he walked into a room. Ken was a believer in abundance and a doubter of scarcity. Born in 1909, he lived through prosperity, the Great Depression, World War II and a return to prosperity. He lost plenty and gained plenty. There was rarely a time when he wasn't whistling. One of his favorite melodies was "The Best Things in Life are Free" which would spring from his lips as if it just had to be shared. He sang it, hummed it, and tweeted it sometimes to my adolescent disdain. One day, I asked him why he kept repeating the song. He replied that the words were a gold standard for him...that nothing was lacking in life. I protested citing world poverty and wealth disparity. He said that shortages were man-made and caused by greed. With that he performed a demonstration.

Eisner Grocery Store in our hometown of Danville, Illinois

He took me to the Eisner Grocery Store in our hometown of Danville, Illinois and began filling up his shopping cart and one I was pushing with paper towels, all the while whistling his happy tune. Ken was well known and popular, so it wasn't long before someone stopped him to ask what was going on. He got a serious look on his face and said that there was a paper towel shortage and soon there would be none to be had for 'who knows how long'. By the time we left the store (after several questions by shoppers and much meandering), the aisle was devoid of paper towels altogether. There was even a blurb in our local newspaper telling that paper towels were scarce. This was a great lesson for me and another source of glee for him to story about. His bottom line was that love was available in an unlimited supply and nothing else could be lacking as long as you believe this to be true.

Nobody can reasonably doubt that there are shortages of valuable resources. Fresh water is unavailable in many parts of the world. People are starving. Homelessness is at an all time high as refugees flee their impoverished or dangerous countries. But all of this is true while, at the same time, there is excess and plenty in other places.

When we recognize that scarcity is man-made and fixable it will finally be possible to grasp that the best things in life are free. Until then, we will remain too frightened to share our abundance.

Good Guys and Bad Guys; Heroes and Villains

The sage author, mythologist, and theorist, Professor Joseph Campbell argued that the story of humankind is one of 'the hero with a thousand faces'. But he would have never portrayed us singularly as good guys or bad guys.

Each of us, though on a heroic journey from the moment of birth to our final breath, has inherent qualities of both darkness and light. At one time or another, we can be as good as an angel or evil as a demon. This day in age we seem to have forgotten that there are no absolutes. As we divide into tribes, it has become easier to characterize those who are not quite like us as bad and those in our camp as good.

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Richard Boone as Paladin on “Have Gun Will Travel”.

When I was a boy, back in the dark ages, you could always tell the good guys from the bad guys by the color of their hats (good wore white and bad wore black). Our heroes were cowboys after all. John Wayne was the quintessential good guy. Ask anyone. Shane (Alan Ladd) would testify that Jack Palance was a villain and just plain evil. No doubt about it. Things started getting a little hazy though when Richard Boone showed up as Paladin on the TV show “Have Gun Will Travel. He was a hero in a black hat. What the heck?! So it goes. Just when you think you've figured it all out...

Perhaps it wasn't Hollywood that understood the nature of people so well. Rather it might have been the kindly Father Flanagan who asserted 'there is no such thing as a bad boy.' This is not a naive statement. It's the truth. God, who is the essence of love, never created a human being who was bad.

Gregory Boyle, a Jesuit priest in Los Angeles, has worked with gang-members for decades. Barking to the Choir is about “how to love people. How to really love people. And how to know God when you see God.”

No one can question the fact that horrible things happen to people and evil exists. Recent history confirms this of course. Things of satanic proportions happened in Rwanda during the hundred days of slaughter and ethnic cleansing...or with the gassing to death at Auschwitz of 800 Gypsy children in one day at the hands of Adolph Hitler. And on and on. It's easy to hate perpetrators who commit atrocities. There is no excuse for what they do. Consequences for such actions are necessary and justice must be served. But in the midst of our righteous condemnation we can easily forget that there is a bit of good in the worst of us and a bit of bad in the best of us. By grace, and grace alone, have we been spared from whatever drives people to do such things.

Gregory Boyle in his book Barking to the Choir tells us that; "There are no monsters, villains, or bad guys...There are only folks who carry unspeakable pain. There are those among us who deal in the currency of damage. And there are those whose minds are ill, whose sickness chases them every day. But there are no bad guys. Jesus seems to suggest that there are no exceptions to this. Yet it's hard for us to believe him."

I guess we need to rethink our positions on who is wearing the black hats. We should also consider abandoning our tribes to rejoin the larger human family. We can't afford the divisions any more. No exceptions. Let's try harder to believe that guy who Gregory Boyle was talking about.

Becoming Who We Are Created to Be

I walked out along the beach at sunrise one morning recently. A tropical storm was ready to move in, so clouds were obstructing the usually brilliant, dramatic display of sun and moon. But the power of light over darkness couldn’t be denied. Through the gray came a beam of light. A promise of day.

Hundreds of folks have come to me over the decades for help, guidance, hope, and healing. When they first present themselves, gray clouds overshadow their hearts. Without exception, I tell every one of my patients that they are perfect, unique and beloved. Some have never been given that information. Few believe it to be true. I often hear them say in response something along the lines of “You don’t know me. If you did you wouldn’t think I’m worth saving.” They have lost sight of who they really are. Only the false self, like those clouds of an approaching storm, seems to be visible.

But those clouds, Lord, those clouds! Gathering, menacing, thick and foreboding, they haunt my horizon, obscuring my hope, draping in shadows my plans for tomorrow…”

~ Fr. Austin Fleming (From A Concord Pastor)

The false self is merely a construct of our minds. It hides our true nature behind years of built-up fears, doubts, and insecurities. Seeking to please others, it creates a made-up image or persona to present so that nobody can see or know the authentic person within. Not that the false self is all bad. It serves us well in surviving and getting through the obstacles of life. But there comes a time when it is necessary to let go of our manufactured identity in favor of the authentic self who yearns to be revealed.

The authentic self is who we are created to be. One in union with God and all creation, it peaks through with every generosity, each kindness, and in the loving things we do. It shows up despite the darkness, shining on a path which leads away from selfishness, greed, and narcissism. It is where our superpowers reside.

There is an old Cherokee story about a boy and his grandfather which has been retold for generations. To me, it provides a key to living authentically. Here is a version I use:

One evening an elder told his grandson about A battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, and superiority.

The other is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked: "Which wolf wins?"

The grandfather simply replied, "The one that you feed."

Developing the authentic self begins with feeding the right wolf. When the work is done, you will be known and loved for who you really are. Stormy times, though they will come and go, can never overpower you again.

What It Means To Be Alive: Discovering A Purpose

Our beating hearts, curious minds, and yearning souls are fired by a hunger for purpose.

Much more than spectators, we are each here as active participants in a dramatic adventure. In fact, we are gifted players possessing talents and skills so unique unto ourselves that they can never be duplicated. Never. Not in all that came before, all that is, and all that may come in the future. Like the insuppressible Tigger, You’re the only one.

The problem is that we have a limited view of an unlimited horizon. Hemmed in by duties, responsibilities, busy schedules, hardships, and trials, we suffer with a lack of clear internal and external perspective. It is a poverty of spirit.

Victor Frankl, in his groundbreaking book "Man’s Search For Meaning" asserted that even in the most horrible circumstances, people must find a reason to be alive. The Nazi concentration camps where he was imprisoned provided the fodder for his claim. For it was there, where death was thick in the air, that those who survived found a will to go on and purpose in places of hopelessness.

I could see it in many of my patients eyes who lost everything due to the ravages of addiction and trauma. Decimated careers and alienated families took a heavy toll which destroyed some but became touchstones for others. Those who realized that accomplishments and success could once again be achieved were the ones who discovered that love and hope are eternally present and available. Tim Shriver of Special Olympics has a formula for this when he says;

“See! Look! Pay attention to what is right in front of you! That is all you need to know!”

If what happened yesterday is to define who we are today or what direction tomorrow might take, then we can hardly find a true meaning for our lives. That foundation is built on sandy soil which can be washed away or carried off by the wind.

Being alive is about occupying this moment while mustering up all of the love you have to give and then letting it flow. Your life has never been small or insignificant. It will expand to proportions beyond any imagined boundaries. And the imprint of your steps will be visible for all of eternity in the lives you have blessed.

Just remember who you are.

Forgive and Forget; How to be Fully Present

The old adage, Forgive and Forget, can present some big challenges and often proves to be pretty troublesome.

We nod our heads in somber understanding upon hearing the response 'I can forgive, but I can't forget.’ But is it really possible to forgive without an element of forgetting? Forgiveness implies a letting go of resentments which bind us to an incident of sometimes traumatic proportions. And letting go, really letting go, requires a lot. The chokehold of old grudges, while exhausting, almost becomes a part of our survival. So releasing that grip in favor of forgiveness is quite a tall order. And therein lies the problem. Forgiving, by itself, is only a partial discharge of bitterness and anger. Freedom and the ability to live fully in the present comes only when we allow ourselves to forget.

I went out this morning to watch as the full moon set and the sun rose over Florida's Gulf of Mexico. It's a ritual and joy of mine when visiting my adopted home state. I did much of my growing up in Hillsboro Beach, just north of Pompano and developed this early morning habit as a boy. There has never been one that wasn't awe-inspiring.

Today, my meditative moments were punctuated by an encounter with a Firefighter from Mississippi who had also come down to welcome the beauty and wonders. We chatted for quite a while, revealing his life-saving work and my journalism for ChaplainUSA. In turn, I asked him about how he deals with all of the trauma and how he is able to process or forget what happens in his job. I wondered aloud how he forgives those who do irreversible harm to others. This father of a young son explained that it is imperative if he is to be the kind of parent he wants to be. "You can't carry the things we see and do around with you. So you forgive and forget. It's the only way."

As the red sun broke through the horizon urging the yellow-white moon to settle back into the sea, the savvy of this heroic public servant was evident. A new day can't dawn until the old one disappears. You simply cannot forgive until you forget.

Arlen Becker, blog contributor and old friend, writes a regular thought-for-the-day. He says that "By forgiving the perceived errors of others and ourselves we are releasing our own minds of the burden of anger which is often keeping us from our joy. Forgive each time it comes up and soon it will be gone from the mind. Forgive quickly and leave the burden behind and find your happiness sooner." He is right of course. I think this forgiveness wisdom contains the essence of how to 'forget'. The first part is to disallow a resentment chokehold in the first place, never permitting it to cripple you. The second is to examine your part in an old wound and forgive yourself right along with the one who did harm, thus ending the victim/perpetrator relationship. Memories of hurt may remain, but they will have no power. The present is poisoned when the past lurks around every corner. In order to live fully, we must move on. By forgiving AND forgetting we are delivered from bondage to enjoy life here, now, and in the future.

Saying Goodbye to Self Pity; It's All About Delight

God isn't interested in self-pity any more than in lamenting, complaining, blaming, or measuring.

For that matter, I think God looks with a jaundiced eye at redemptive (quid pro quo) punishment or penance especially when it comes to 'paying-the-price' for what we might have done to offend God's sensibilities.

God doesn't offend. God delights. We are the ones who plunge ourselves into the abyss of indulgent melancholy believing that we deserve suffering. In a very real sense, we are hiding from the unconditional love, grace, tenderness, and forgiveness extended by God's all-inclusive heart.

Saying goodbye to self-pity requires a change of mind about what we think we are lacking while actively seeking and developing an attitude of gratitude. This is what opens the door to delight.

Finding delight everywhere we look.

I often tell the story of a man I met at The University of Illinois in the summer of 1989. It had been a difficult day of counseling boys who suffered extreme childhood trauma. Their stories and problems were more overwhelming than usual, and I decided to take a walk around the park mall outside of our offices to clear my head. I felt so sorry for the kids...and for myself.

There was a modern art fountain structure with seating around it in the middle of what had once been a busy street. Suddenly, a voice shouted out these words; "I delight in it." Taken by surprise, I circled the fountain and found a ragged old fellow seated on the other side. He had a shopping cart holding his worldly possessions. I greeted him and asked him what he said. He repeated, "I delight in it."

My incredulous look must have been a dead give away, so he continued to explain. He said that several years ago he would sit on a bench and watch the traffic go back and forth. Later, they changed it to one way and now, closed to cars altogether, he watched people walking where cars once traveled. Then he repeated his claim. "I delight in it." Of course, there was no resisting him after that. I bought us both a hot dog and drinks. We ate and chatted away for a bit. Then he got up saying he had things to do, leaving me with an altered perspective. How could I indulge in self-pity and regret when my homeless friend could find delight everywhere he looked?

We cannot begin to imagine how absolutely delighted God is in every bit of creation. Each grain of sand, blade of grass. flowing stream, critter and indeed, every one of us, is precious, sacred and holy in God's sight. Nothing is superior or inferior. Love could never tolerate hierarchy. It can all be summed up when seen through the eyes of a tattered angel who announces, "I delight in it."

Photograph by Phillip LeConte

Taking Ourselves Too Seriously; Embracing Playfulness

Lord knows there is plenty enough to be serious about.

Abundant concerns keep many of us up-at- night. I'm certainly not discounting any of this. Anyone who knows me well could attest to the fact that I have been an activist for change. Especially when the vulnerable are being victimized, or human rights are being denied. But for Pete's sake...there is a time and place. The joy of freeform playfulness is in such short supply that we're running on empty. When expressing humor in jokes requires examination through a microscope before daring to laugh, we've gone too far. As Hamlet's mother might say, 'Methinks thou dost protest too much'.

Freeform playfulness is the best medicine for restoring your soul. It makes room for serious work that needs to be done later. The old song "Ain't We Got Fun" from the Roaring Twenties is a good example of how this all works. Even hard times can be faced when we understand that a lighter spirit will allow us to prevail through it all.

A favorite little phrase my grandson Jack and I used since he was a tot to set the stage for some barely restrained play was "Wait a minute". When invoked, some mischief was sure to follow. I probably rile up my grandkids too much. But it's so very hard for me to resist. Most other adults look at me with despair as the kids spin out of control. If they only knew how much restraint I am using in deference to their wishes, they would probably find a way to exile me to some far away island where only serious minded grown-ups reside. Inside, I'm like an adolescent Great Dane who wants to romp around and test all the boundaries. Oh, the trouble I could find with a pack of youngsters.

Freeform playfulness makes most everything an exciting, rambunctious adventure.

Just like the endless knock-knock jokes and silly punch lines that our parents seemed to find hilarious, Gods heart is filled with our joy and humor. Author and humanitarian Father Gregory Boyle talks about the importance of continual playfulness, He says God never tires of our jokes and that we feel reached by this tenderness. So, let’s give solemnity and earnestness a time-out. If we are down about the mouth, sullen and serious, the chance that anyone will react favorably is dubious or doubtful. The one who comes to the table with a good mix of serious intent and a happy heart always lights the way. It never fails. The by-product will be precisely what we were searching for all the time.

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Hear Today’s Journal

Listen to the audio version of today’s Journal on the new A Mystical Elephant Podcast from Robert K Jones. Each episode is designed to help folks find some happiness and joy in a sometimes chaotic world.

Denial; The Other Sound of Silence

Denial works until it doesn't. It is a disguise for fear, wrapped and muffled in a blanket of silence.

In 2017, the musical group Disturbed recorded and released its version of The Sound of Silence. The video is hard to watch perhaps because it is angry. Or maybe because it confronts our denial in such a straightforward manner.

Either way, it reinforces the fact that we have been silent in the face of devastating realities for far too long. As young activist Greta Thunberg says; "I want you to act as if the house was on fire...because it is."

“We have been silent in the face of devastating realities for far too long.”

It's not easy for me to be blunt. My professional and personal mission has been about spreading love and compassion, catching people being good, and encouraging progress and success while my clients struggle to heal and change.

But I have also been one who almost died of denial. Every aspect of my life was spinning out of control as I kept repeating the same mistakes over and over again. It took tough interventions from loved ones to finally reverse the cycle. There are harsh truths we must confront and acknowledge.

For when we are able to dismiss mass murders of school children in the name of constitutional rights, or ignore scientific evidence that climate change is threatening our existence there is little doubt that denial is driving us in silence to unimaginable disasters.

Greta Thunberg’s words of wisdom are that no one is too small to make a difference.

We have forsaken love for money and power.

Sacred text says a little child shall lead us. There is evidence that this is so, and all that remains is to follow. I mentioned Greta Thunberg, the 16 year old from Sweden who is boldly going where few adults seem capable. She describes her Autism Spectrum (Asperger's) as her superpower. Time magazine put her picture on its cover calling her a "next generation leader" and she has been nominated as a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Her words of wisdom are that no one is too small to make a difference. Parkland survivors and March for Our Lives young people Emma Gonzalez, Cameron Kasky, and David Hogg (among many others) continue to speak up every day, registering people to vote and calling for legislative action. They have devised "A Peace Plan for a Safer America" showing us a way to sanity. In defiance of these brave kids, adults threaten, mock, and attack them. There is nothing like honesty and decisive action that so frightens silence and denial.

Using words of The Beatitudes, here is what I have to say to these rebellious children. "You are the salt of the earth...You are the light of the world. How blessed are you who hunger and thirst for righteousness." Bust our denial and challenge our silent complacency. Keep showing us the way to a world where life matters and everyone belongs.

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The Sounds of Silence; A Path to Serenity

Fifty-five years ago Paul Simon wrote words and created music which gave birth to a song that has become a haunting standard.

The Sound of Silence tells us about our failure to communicate and inability to love one another. But it begins; "Hello darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again" setting the listener on a dual pathway marked by both quiet contemplation and meaningful action.

These practices are essential if we are to find serenity. Jesus often withdrew to the wilderness (Luke 5:16) and the Buddha used meditation as a means to enlightenment. Both teachers set an example so that their followers might to do likewise.

From Moses to Elijah to Muhammad and in every religious/spiritual tradition, we are told to embrace silence for inspiration and as an anchor for what we do and say.

I wrote a curated content article last year about Mindfulness and Meditation which explored how to use prayer and contemplation in daily life. As my personal practice of prayerful silence has continued over the following months, a deepening appreciation for it increased significantly. One of my discoveries is that as noisy and chaotic as things might be on the outside, they are equal to or exceeded by the clamor and disorder in my head.

Finding a quiet place is easier than subduing my internal chatter. Where shutting a door and creating a conducive atmosphere may take some effort, hushing my monkey-mind requires patience, practice and discipline. There are lots of techniques, websites, and apps out there to provide guidance. One of them called Ten Percent Happier by former skeptic Dan Harris is particularly good. It takes participants from the basics to pretty advanced meditation. But whatever resources one might choose to find silence, the resulting serenity is well worth it.

“If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.””

— from Keeping Quiet by Pablo Neruda

It would do the world a lot of good if we could stop the shouting and fighting. But this cannot be achieved if there is little going on in hearts but greed, fear, loneliness, and resentment. We can see the effects all around us in the rise of suicide, bullying at schools, mass shootings, addiction, and trauma related mental health problems. All truly good things must come from a calm, loving center core. Otherwise, they will be ego-driven and self-serving.

I don't think we can continue down the way we are headed without disastrous results. There is too much pain, too much sadness, and too much hatred. There are too many victims at the side of the road and too few Good Samaritans to bind up their wounds. We have to quit talking and start listening.

For that is the basis of good communication. Perhaps the words of the prophets really are written on subway and tenement walls. The path to serenity is hiding in plain sight. And once discovered, the sounds of silence will lead us to lasting peace and serenity.

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