Mary Laymon: Pilgrim Pastor

11/06/2024

11/03/2024

“What do you want to say
to people worried about the election?”
she asked me.

I’d been talking about gratitude with a friend
who’d been helping me think through
my newsletter reflection for November.
Because we celebrate Thanksgiving in November
I always think of it as gratitude month.

Her question reminded me
something else important
was happening this November.
The election.

It’s not like I didn’t know.
My phone was blowing up
with text messages demanding donations.
My mailbox was stuffed
with placards from candidates.
My sister and I
got into messy disagreements
that required us to step back from the brink.

But for some reason
the election was not top of mind
as I headed into November.

I noticed my disconnect again this week
when I gathered with other pastors
to reflect on the upcoming worship lessons.

“It’s the last Sunday before the election,”
one of them said
as we got started.
“What do we say about it?”

“Oh,” I thought. “I guess it is.”
It hadn’t occurred to me
to say anything about the election.
I had forgotten Election Day
was finally upon us.

I found myself curious
that I was putting very little energy
towards an election
that would deeply impact
our national identity.

When I did tune in
to election conversations around me
I noticed a common thread,
FEAR.

My sister captured this sentiment
in our brief election scuffle.
“Fear is not going to change my vote
That’s Kamala’s new strategy.
Goodbye joy, hello fear.”

Before we ended this foray into talking politics,
I reminded my sister
that both parties pedal fear.
The Democrats tell us to be afraid
we will lose our democracy.
The Republicans tell us to be afraid
of immigrants and transgender folks.
Fear.
It’s the bread and butter
of the “get out the vote” strategy.

But I don’t feel afraid.

It’s not because I’m not aware
of the potential outcomes.
I know what’s at stake
economically,
socially,
politically.
I’m know where
“the worst case scenario” paths lead us.
I know the landscape of our lives
could change drastically and tragically,
especially for the most vulnerable.
I know my vote matters.
So, I’ve already voted.
Early.
For the first time ever.
But not because I am afraid.

I believe there are two energies
at work in our world.
Love
and Fear.

And when Fear drives the bus
it never takes us to a good place.
I choose to trust in Love instead.
Even when I find myself
on the path towards
“the worst case scenario”.
This is not Pollyanna,
head in the sand,
wishful thinking.
This is not denial
about how bad things can be.
No.
For me,
living in Love,
means that even when
I find myself in the hardest place,
I trust the power of Love
is greater than the power of Fear.
I trust that in the end,
Love Wins.

Fear wants to drive the Love out of me.

Fear wants me to horde and cling
and believe I don’t have enough,
rather than live generously,
knowing I belong to an abundant world.

Fear wants to separate me from others,
like my sister,
who don’t share my beliefs
or worldview.
Fear wants me to build walls and chisel chasms,
rather than remember
that like the redwood forest,
we belong to one another.
The trees know they are one organism,
connected under the soil,
not individual entities
like they appear to be above ground.

Fear would have me choose violence,
believing I am protecting myself
from threats,
rather than realize
that when I do violence to another,
with my words,
with a weapon,
with my money,
I also injure myself,
my soul.

Fear wants to drive the Love out of me.

And that’s what the wise ones,
the wisdom teachers,
want us to resist.

Many communities in the Christian tradition,
celebrate All Saints Day today.
They remember the Wise Ones.
The ones who chose Love over Fear.

Mother Theresa who chose to Love
the l***r, the ill, the dying,
rather than separate herself from them.

Nelson Mandela who chose to Love
his prison guards,
seeking to know and understand them,
forgive them,
rather than hate them.

Oscar Romero, the priest who chose to Love
the poor in a nation
where the rich owned 98% of the land.
Where the rich had aligned themselves
with the church leaders.
Oscar Romero chose to remind the church authorities
that the Wisdom Teacher they professed to follow,
aligned himself with the poor of his day,
calling out the hypocrisy of the religious leaders.
Even when he knew it would cost him his life.
He was assassinated while standing at the altar,
inviting the poor ones
to feast at the table of Love.

The Wise Ones chose Love over Fear.
Because Fear only wants to separate us from Love.

That is why Jesus responds so strongly,
when his friend Mary
falls at his feet after her brother dies, saying,
"Lord, if you had been here,
my brother would not have died."
Surprisingly, Mary’s weeping
moves Jesus to anger and agitation.
Jesus finds himself angry again
when he overhears friends wondering
why Jesus did not save Mary’s brother from dying.

I have the sense
Jesus’ anger reflects his concern
that Death and Fear seek to separate
Mary and her friends from Love’s presence.
And so Jesus reminds them
that Love Wins over Fear.
Facing the tomb,
where Death has been at work
for four days,
Jesus commands the one
who had been dead
to come out.
This phrase is so interesting to me.
“the one who had been dead”.
The story does not say,
Jesus brought the dead man
back to life.
The story says
Jesus commands the man
“who had been dead”
but is no longer,
to come out.
Like Death has done it’s thing.
And Death was done.
And Life continues in a new way.
So Jesus commands
the one who had been dead
to come forth,
and show that Life,
that Love prevail.

And when Mary’s brother walks out of the tomb,
Jesus says to Mary, and her friends,
“unbind him”.
Liberate him.
Set him free.

I believe that is what Saints do.
First they liberate themselves.
They set themselves free from Fear.
And then they liberate us.
They unbind us
from the fears that
create distance, division and violence.
They unbind us from the powers
that would separate us from Love.

In this month of gratitude,
I give thanks for the Saints,
for the Wise Ones,
who remind me not to be afraid.
Who allowed Love to shape their lives.

For Aunt Bae,
the stylish, dignified, confident black woman
who would not allow small-minded beliefs,
like white supremacy,
rooted in fear,
define her or her worth.

For Kitty,
who spent her young life,
reducing infant mortality in Philadelphia
by going door to door
to support poor, young mothers,
and in her retirement
taught yoga to people of all ages,
to help them, and herself,
age with grace instead of fear,
and at the age of 99,
five days before her death,
sang of her trust
that she was heading home to Love.

In this month of gratitude,
I give thanks for John Lewis,
Ruby Sales,
and Jonathan Daniels,
for Pauli Murray
and Susan B. Anthony,
who chose Love over Fear
so I would have the right and privilege
to vote my values.
To vote for Love,
and not from Fear.

Questions for Reflection

1. Who inspires you to live in Love?

10/26/2024

Milkweed, mist, morning spiderwebs, sparkling with dew…

Grateful, and stunned, by the gifts of a morning walk

10/20/2024

“Let her fill your cup with something kind”

This line from Carrie Newcomer’s song,
“Betty’s Diner”
repeats in my mind like a mantra lately…

It’s part of the chorus
in a song that tells snippets of stories
of the ordinary folks
who find themselves welcomed
to Betty’s Diner
the man who’s wife just died
the single mom fiercely protective of her small son
the young man who will be the first in his family to graduate from HS
the woman climbing out of addiction
the young musician dreaming of the New Orleans music scene

“Here we are all in one place
The wants and wounds of the human race
Despair and hope sit face to face
When you come in from the cold
Let her fill your cup with something kind
Eggs and toast like bread and wine”

“Let her fill your cup with something kind”
Feels like Spirit calling my attention
to one of the deepest spiritual truths
of the human journey,
- the power of kindness -
reminding me of the healing balm
it’s always been in my life.

Like how the kindness
of the council president
in the first congregation I served
thirty years ago
still makes me weep.

I was a newly divorced
single mother,
with a toddler.
Working full-time,
I felt overwhelmed
trying to keep all the balls in the air.
Then the refrigerator in the parsonage broke.
Because the church owned the home,
they maintained it.
Finances were always tight,
and they understandably often bought
the least expensive appliances.
At the meeting where we discussed replacing it,
I wondered if they’d consider
buying a refrigerator
with a water/ice dispenser on the door.
This would mean my daughter could fill
her own cup when she wanted more water.
It’s sounded like such a small matter,
for what would be significant extra expense.
But I knew it could make a big difference
as I attended to many things
in my busy days.
I felt nervous making such a big ask.
I noticed many of men in the meeting
preparing to object.
And then Steve spoke up.
As the council president that year,
he usually led quietly,
staying out of the fray
of the louder,
sometimes contentious conversations.
“That sounds like a reasonable request, Mary,”
he said,
offering his support to my request,
and quelling any objections.
Later that week the local appliance store
delivered a new refrigerator,
with a water/ice dispenser on the door.
I wept as I watched them install it.
Not because the water/ice dispenser meant that much to me,
but because a kind man
had used his power to bless me.

“Let him fill your cup with something kind”

Steve’s gesture of support
taught me the power of kindness.
I remember feeling surprised
that sometime so small,
- speaking up in a council meeting -
could feel so large in my heart.

There had certainly been kindnesses
before the refrigerator gift…
- the counselor in my high school career center
who recommended me for a scholarship
to a beautiful, small women’s college
- the nurse in my congregation
who made sure the OR staff knew to call her
if I needed surgery during the delivery of my daughter.
She held me hand during my C-Section.
- The farmer who showed up with his tractor
the year the snow was three feet deep
and dug out my driveway.
And there have been SO many kindesses since…
- the flood of neighbors who showed up
with food, clothes, cash and presence
the morning after my house burned down.
- the friend who helped me build
a pergola for my swing
after my boyfriend who had promised
to build it with me
broke up with me.
- the generous hospitality
from my ex-husband’s family
whenever I came home to take care of parents
complete with a comfy bed,
home-made pasta,
a good glass of wine,
and gracious listening
as I recounted the crazy of the day.

Carrie Newcomer captures the power
of these gestures
when she sings,
“Eggs and toast like bread and wine”.

In the Christian tradition,
“bread and wine” are sacraments…
Common earthly elements
that carry the power of Love’s healing presence.

In “Betty’s Diner” Carrie Newcomer
reminds us of the power we all have
to convey Love’s presence,
and how large the small gestures can be.

“Here we are all in one place
The wants and wounds of the human race
Despair and hope sit face to face
When you come in from the cold
Let her fill your cup with something kind
Eggs and toast like bread and wine”

When I consider all the kindnesses
Love has poured into my cup,
I wonder why Steve’s refrigerator gesture
looms so large.

I think it has to do with power.
Steve served as the council president
during a season when I felt especially vulnerable.
Steve used his power
to support me.
The refrigerator became a sacrament,
a vessel for Love’s presence
when I felt overwhelmed.

This, Jesus tells his friends,
is what true power looks like.

Two of his friends,
James and John,
had pulled Jesus aside.
They assumed when Jesus arrived in the capital
he would use his power
to overthrow the corrupt king,
and become the new new king.
So they asked Jesus
to use share this power with them,
giving them the leadership positions
on his right and on his left.
When the rest of Jesus’ friends
learned about this secret request,
they were understandably upset with James and John,
and began to quarrel among themselves,
about which one of them was the greatest.
Jesus intervenes,
offering his friends a lesson
on power and leadership.

“You know that among the Gentiles
their rulers lord their power over them,
and their most powerful leaders
are tyrants over them.
But it is not so among you;
but whoever wishes to become great among you
must be your servant,
and whoever wishes to be first among
you must offer themselves to others.”

“Let her fill your cup with something kind
Eggs and toast like bread and wine”

Jesus used his power
to support the vulnerable.
- to speak up for the woman caught in adultery
- to defend the pr******te who disrupts a dinner party
to offer gratitude for Jesus’ kindness to her
- to restore sight to the blind man
- to free the man who’s demons have made him crazy

And when describing the world
where Love dwells
Jesus told stories
of people using their power
to care of vulnerable.
- the father who welcomes his destitute son home
by throwing him a party
- the traveler who rescues a man
left for dead on the side of the road
- the shepherd who leaves his flock
in search on the lamb who’s lost it’s way

I know all of us
have stories we can tell
of kindness…
of how someone used their power
to support us
- met us in the ER and sat with us while we waited
- spoke up for us in a meeting
- showed up with a meal when we were in crisis
- offered us a job
- held us as we wept

And we have stories we can tell
of how we offered ourselves
in kindness for another
- when we paid someone’s rent
- invited someone to our table for Thanksgiving
- drove three hours to show up for someone’s graduation
- mowed someone’s lawn

In world where money is power,
kindness is the currency of Love.
True power lies
not in how we use power over others,
but in how we use power to care for others.

In Love’s world,
which we all inhabit,
we all have power.

“Here we are all in one place
The wants and wounds of the human race
Despair and hope sit face to face
When you come in from the cold
Let us fill one another’s cup with something kind
Eggs and toast like bread and wine”

May we claim our power,
and offer it
in Love to one another,
and in this way,
gesture by gesture,
sacrament by sacrament,
heal the wants and wounds of the human race.

Questions for Reflection
1. When has someone’s kindness filled your cup? What did they pour into you?
2. When have you used your power to offer kindness to another? What did it cost you?

10/13/2024

Attachment.

I learned my prayer practice in Seminary.
Light a candle.
Settle into silence in my prayer chair.
Open my bible.
Read and pray using Lectio Divnia.
Journal what Spirit taught me.
Journal my conversation with Spirit.
Begin my day.

For ten years this rhythm
nourished my life with Spirit
faithfully leading me through motherhood,
divorce,
trauma work,
job changes,
as well as the in and outs
of friendships,
and my work in the congregations I served.

And then it didn’t.
I remember lighting my candle.
Settling into silence in my prayer chair.
Opening my bible.
Listening for Spirit through Lectio Divina,
and experiencing boredom.
Not sacred silence.
Just blandness.
I persisted for weeks,
waiting for the familiar sacred rhythm
to produce its nourishing goodness.
Nothing.
I began protesting.
Questioning Spirit.
“Where are you?”

“Go for a walk,” Spirit responded.
“Walk?” I protested.
“I can’t pray and walk.
How will I hear you without my comforting silence?
How will I read the Bible while walking?
How will I journal?
How will we talk if I can’t write down our conversation?”
I was attached.

I persisted in my familiar rhythm.
Candle.
Silence.
Bible.
Lectio.
My journal remained blank,
reflecting the emptiness
of my once nourishing practice.

I slowly realized
what I had always done
no longer led me into Love’s sacred presence.
In fact,
it prevented it.
What had once been a faithful habit
now got in the way.

For weeks I grieved
as I walked past my prayer chair,
missing the sacred connection
I had always experienced there.

I wondered how to find my way
back to my sacred conversations.

“Walk,” Spirit nudged me again.

Where would I walk, I wondered.
I began asking others
where they walked.
I learned there was a walking trail
near my house,
along a large creek.

One morning,
after getting my daughter on the bus,
I drove around looking for it.
It took a couple of tries,
before I found the parking lot.
The plethora of bike riders,
and dog walkers
crowding the path discouraged me.
How would I ever connect with Spirit
with so many people around?

I returned a few days later
in walking shoes,
tentatively allowing the path
to lead me into unknown territory.

The first couple of walks
I focused on finding my way.
Noticing the woods on right.
The meandering creek on my left.
Moving out of the way of bikes.
Crossing under the bridge.
Going a little farther each day.
Slowly the path became familiar.
I could walk without thinking,
trusting the path to lead me along.

Then the conversations started.
Spirit began speaking to me,
like she had once done in my journal.
I panicked.
I couldn’t write it down.
How would I keep track of the conversation.

“Just talk with me,” Spirit encouraged gently.
“Like you’re walking and talking with a friend.”
I relaxed.
I knew how to do that.
I tried it.
Just talking back and forth with her
in my mind,
as the path faithfully guided me.

Soon I found myself deep in prayer
while walking,
barely aware anymore
of the dog walkers,
bike riders,
and families around me.

My prayer chair seemed desolate,
but I no longer missed it.
Spirit now found me outside
on the path.

It’s a funny thing.
At first it feels nourishing.
Essential even,
as it offers us safety and security.
Until it loses its warmth.
And then it gets in the way.

We find ourselves attached to many things.
Routines and rituals,
like my prayer practice.
They way we start our day.
Shower.
Coffee.
Yoga.
Gym.
Walk .
Conversation with a partner.
Getting lost in our phones.
Packing our lunch or our kid’s lunches.
Weekly or daily phone calls.

We find ourselves attached to things.
My prayer chair.
A comfy pair of shoes.
A scarf from our grandmother.
A ring from our dad.
The iron skillet passed down for generations.
A purse from a designer we like.
The sheets we bought after our divorce.
The grill where we find ourselves at the end of stressful day.

We attach ourselves to people.
We hope infants develop healthy attachment to their caregivers.
Our best friend from childhood.
The co-worker who always eats lunch with us.
Our children, even after they’ve moved out,
and live on the other side of the country.
Our partners.
-those who cherish us,
- and even those who abuse us.
The friend whose approval we’re always seeking.
Our faith family who raised their kids with ours,
even after we no longer believe everything our church stands for.
Our walking buddy.
Or the guy who always meets us at the gym.

And we attach ourselves to substances and activities
that often makes us sick.
Sugar.
Shopping.
Caffeine.
People pleasing.
Wine.
80 hour work weeks.
Scotch.
P**n.
Taking care of everyone else.
Xanax.
Tequila.

And then there’s money.
The most seductive
and compromising attachment.
Money puts food on the table,
pays the rent or mortgage,
puts clothes on our backs,
provides for childcare,
fills the car with gas,
or pays the bus fare.
Money provides for medicine
and doctor visits.

But what makes money
the most pernicious of all attachments
is its illusion of worth.
Money makes the false promise
if we have enough money,
we are enough.

Money, more than any other attachment,
separates us from Love’s presence.

Attachment is tricky thing.
It offers us safety and security.
Soothes us when we’re anxious.
Gives us a place to belong.
It can feel a great gift.
Until it gets in the way.

On the spiritual path
attachment eventually
hinders us,
offering a poor substitute
for genuine spiritual connection.

Buddha taught attachment is a cause of suffering
because it binds us to impermanent things,
which leads to dissatisfaction and distress,
and hinders us from spiritual growth.

The Christian tradition
teaches this lesson
through the story
of the Rich Young Ruler.

The Rich, Young Ruler,
kneels before the Wisdom Teacher,
asking, “Good Teacher,
what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
The Wisdom Teacher reminds the Rich Young Ruler
of what they already know:
‘You shall not murder;
You shall not commit adultery;
You shall not steal;
You shall not bear false witness;
You shall not defraud;
Honor your father and mother.’”

The Rich, Young Ruler replies,
“Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.”
The Wisdom Teacher responds with love,
“You lack one thing;
go, sell what you own,
and give the money to the poor,
and you will have treasure in heaven;
then come, follow me.”

When the Rich, Young Ruler heard this,
they were shocked and went away grieving,
for they had many possessions.

Attachment.
It eventually gets in the way of Love.
The Rich Young Ruler
was raised in a tradition
that believed wealth
reflected God’s favor.
To hear instead
that wealth impeded one’s experience
of God’s presence
not only shocked the Rich Young Ruler
but also all those listening.

The Wisdom Teacher
goes on to say,
“It is easier for a camel
to go through the eye of a needle
than for someone who is rich
to experience God’s presence.”

When the Rich Young Ruler
walks away sad,
afraid to release their wealth,
it saddens the Wisdom Teacher too.
The Wisdom Teacher knows the Rich, Young Ruler,
clings to a false sense of worth,
rather than Love’s presence,
and will eventually discover
the limits of wealth
to protect them from suffering.

So, does that mean,
we should all live in poverty?

No.

As is always the case,
it’s not the “things”
- alcohol
- work
- beliefs
- money
- friendship
- family relationships
- possessions
that makes us spiritually sick,
it’s our relationship with them.

Buddha described attachment
as the act of grasping or clinging
to people, objects, ideas, or experiences.

When our relationships to
- our family
- our rituals and routines
- our substances
- our work
- our money
- our ideas
- our possessions
become the source of our sense of worth,
or feel more important
than our relationship with Love
then they injure us,
and must be released,
or reordered in our lives.

This is why the Wisdom Teacher
instructed the Rich Young Ruler
to give all their possessions to the poor.
It is the way the Rich Young Ruler
would learn their worth
did not lie in possessions or wealth,
and would discover a deeper, sacred
sustaining, life-long relationship.

It is why Spirit disrupted my prayer routine,
and sent me out walking.
I had become more attached to my ritual
than to the sacred presence
the ritual had led me into.

It is why Spirit has disrupted
my relationship with many things
over the years
- sugar
- an alcoholic, under-functioning partner
- a job that paid my health insurance, but deadened my spirit
- unbalanced relationships where I carry the emotional or spiritual load

When the Wisdom Teacher says
“anyone who leaves
- house
- or brothers or sisters
- or mother or father
- or children
- or fields
for the sake of Love
will receive a hundredfold
- houses,
- brothers and sisters,
- mothers and children,
- and fields”
he is saying that when we release our attachments,
and put Love at the center,
and then align the rest of our lives around that,
then those things we’ve released
will reorder themselves in our lives.
That which was once first will be last,
and Love will be first.

When we order our lives this way,
we reduce our suffering.
We still grieve when
- we lose our job,
- our marriage ends,
- our medical bills bankrupt us,
- a friend betrays us,
- our aging bodies do not keep up with our aspirations,
- we no longer feel at home in our faith family,
- our children struggle.
But we don’t lose our center.
Our worth is not on the line.
We discover our spiritual resilience
as we are held by Love
through the loss.

Like me walking past my prayer chair,
I remember,
and give thanks,
for how it introduced me to Love,
but long for it no more.
For I now know,
the chair was not the source
of my sacred experience,
only the temporary container for it.
I’ve discovered the presence of Love
lives far beyond the smallness of my chair,
or any other temporal relationship.

And so I can love the things of this life deeply,
but hold them lightly,
and release them when its time.
Because I will always be held by Love.

Questions for Reflection
1. What holds you? Keeps you calm? Soothes your anxiety? Helps you feel worthy?
2. When has the loss of a relationship, work, income, community, belief, left you bereft? Questioning your worth and value?
3. How did you find your way back to yourself?
4. When have released something you loved, in order to follow Spirit?

10/07/2024

Francis inherited his father’s dreams.
For wealth.
Pleasure.
Popularity.
Luxury.
Raised in the business class
Francis wanted more.
So he signed up to be a war hero.
Spending a year as a POW
didn’t change his aspirations.
He returned home
to his carefree life,
partying with his wealthy friends.

But Francis also inherited his mother’s dreams.
Among his father’s dreams of wealth,
she planted a small seed
of compassion for the poor
in her son.

His wealthy friends mocked him
when he sold his father’s goods
and then gave the money to a poor man.

On another occasion
Francis stripped off his fine clothes
and gave them to a shivering man.

The battle between his parent’s competing values ended
shortly after Francis headed off to battle a second time
in search of military glory.

The presence that had prompted Francis
to see the poor with compassion,
met him in a dream,
telling him to return home.

Passing through a poor community
Francis discovered the wealthy life
no longer suited him.
Returning to his father’s business,
Francis began selling his father’s goods
and giving the money to the poor.

When his father discovered
his son has become his thief,
he dragged Francis before a judge
to disinherit him.
Standing before his father and the judge,
Francis returned the money he’d stolen,
stripped off his expensive clothes
and unshackled himself
from his father’s dreams and values,
released to live a more simple life.

A more simple life.
What is simple?
What does a more simple life
look like?

For many,
simplicity is a spiritual practice.
Jesus contrasted simplicity
with cleverness, sophistication and education.
Francis contrasted simplicity
with his father’s pursuit of wealth and status.

Interestingly,
Francis found himself turned
toward the simple life
the day after he headed off to war.
Turning toward simplicity
meant turning away from violence.
And not just the violence of battle,
but also the violence inflicted
by the pursuit of wealth,
status and importance.

Francis learned that any pursuit
that separates us from others,
by identifying some persons
as more important than others,
engaged in violence.

When our college education
elevates us above those go to work
right after HS,
it does violence.

When our lifestyle
propels us to busyness
it does violence.

When productivity becomes the driving force
in our life,
it does violence.

When our culture teaches us
to value a person
based on ethnicity,
skin color,
the high school we graduated from,
the car we drive,
the neighborhood we live in,
the language we speak,
and the brand of clothes we wear
it does violence.

Simplicity turns us away from these pursuits
and releases us to embrace
other practices.

As the Spirit called Francis
away from his father’s wealth,
Francis found himself drawn
to embrace the sick
who used to disgust him.

That same Spirit
called Francis to rebuild a rundown church.
The manual labor of stacking stones
one at a time,
slowed the pace of Francis’ life.
It stilled his spirit.
He noticed the creatures around him,
both the human and non-human beings.

Inhabiting the world this way,
changed the way he saw it,
and himself.

Creation shifted from the background
of his life,
to the house in which he dwelled.
Francis no longer felt separate
from the trees,
streams,
ants,
birds,
wolves,
or people outside his father’s wealthy human community.
They became his family.
Brother Sun and Sister Moon.
Brother Wind and Sister Rain.

Simplicity deepened Francis’ awareness
of the sacred presence
in all things.

I have so much to learn from him.

Like Francis,
I’ve inherited the dreams and values
of world focused on wealth and power.
I grew up poor,
dreaming of being wealthy enough someday
to own a Jaguar car.
I pursued an education
to facilitate this dream.
And then once I began inhabiting this world
I discovered it made my soul sick
with anxiety,
worry about the next performance review,
promotion, or presentation.
Those around me,
who’d lived in this world longer,
wore “golden handcuffs”,
afraid to leave jobs they hated
for fear of losing their pension.

While I knew quickly
I needed to get out,
it’s taken decades
to unlearn the habits
this lifestyle instilled in me.

Despite three decades
committed to a spiritual path,
I continue to find myself too busy
to sit among the trees
growing along the stream
on the back of my farm.
They have been calling me
for almost a year.
It’s hard to turn off the voice
that tells me this is not productive,
and I’m wasting my time.
That I have more important things to do.

The wise ones and mystics
call the simple life
a spiritual practice for reason.
It takes practice.

It must choose to turn toward it
again and again.
And so now I head to the park
once a month
to listen for what calls for my attention.
It seems a small offering
compared to how I fill my days.
And yet I must begin somewhere.

I have invited others to join me,
as it helps me show up for myself.

And I learned and been inspired by others
who’ve traveled farther down this path.

Like Nate,
the young man who volunteers
to care for animals on my farm.
Born with severe birth defects
that left him deaf,
and with only one hand,
the birds who find themselves trapped
in the chicken coop
because they can’t remember how they flew in,
will hop gently into Nate’s hand,
and allow him to carry them to freedom.
Nate is one of the few who catch the bunnies
after they escape their enclosure.

Or Mary Oliver,
the poet who shared her conversations with trees,
and reminds me the woods are waiting
for my return.

Or Wendell Berry,
who tells of how he finds solace
among the peace of wild things
when the world wearies him.

Francis,
Nate,
Wendell,
Mary,
Jesus,
these wise ones teach me
what it looks like
to turn towards simplicity?

Who teaches you?

Questions for Reflection1. What practices have you inherited that do violence to your spirit? And the spirit of others?
2. What practices have you learned that turn you towards a more simple life?
3. How do you spend time in creation? What does it teach you?