I recently mentioned to someone close to me that I wrote a college paper about aging. They urged me to find it. I don’t save most of what I’ve written, so I was proud when I found the paper, pleased I’d filed away something that “future me” did indeed want. I was less proud and pleased when I reread the paper. It wasn’t full of insights. Instead, it was full of not-so-great writing and incomplete thoughts.
I wrote that paper 22 years ago. I’m trying to prepare myself for these newsletters to become as “cringey” (as my 11-year-old would say) to me in a year or 20. And yet – exploring ideas about spiritual practice, spiritual life, and connecting over your thoughts and questions feels more compelling than my fear. So here we go.
Exploring the Meaning of Spiritual Practice
My nine-year-old recently interviewed me for her faith exploration class at our UU church. (Because we go to “church,” I’ll be using that term, but please replace the word with your religious institution as applicable). The questions included: “Do you attend church, and do you have a spiritual practice? If so, why?” My answer felt simple: I go to church to connect with the community, and I engage in spiritual practice to connect with the infinite.
Perhaps my answer was too simple. After thinking about it more deeply, going to church to connect with community is one of my spiritual practices. Although I grew up going to breakfast, not church, on Sunday mornings, my family and I have been members of our local UU church for nearly 15 years. And, like any spiritual practice, it has been an evolving, nonlinear, and messy process.
To me, connecting with the community doesn’t mean making light social connections; I go to church to wrestle with the big, scary things we’re not supposed to mention in most other settings. Not everyone shares this goal and the effort’s had mixed results. I’ve had Sunday mornings where I wept in the sanctuary as words and togetherness touched my heart. I’ve had Sunday mornings where I left feeling impatient and irritated, like it was a waste of precious time. Most of all, I’ve found small group work to be my sweet spot.
“I pin my hopes to quiet processes and small circles, in which vital and transforming events take place.”
Quaker theologian Rufus Jones
“Daily spiritual practice is the ‘technology’ of inner change.”
Church isn’t unique; the same evolving, nonlinear, messy process applies to my other spiritual practices. There are times when a contemplative walk, dropping into prayer, or my morning pages reap immediate rewards: clarity around a problem, transcendence, and my personal definition of joy: pure delight in being alive. Other times, my mind is disobedient, with lyrics or “should-have would-have could-have” thoughts playing on repeat. I keep at it, though, with Wayne Teasdale’s words from The Mystic Heart urging me on, “Daily spiritual practice is the ‘technology’ of inner change.” (Teasdale was an adjunct professor at my alma mater, DePaul and is a beloved interfaith resource).
I appreciate church’s role as a community hub but it doesn’t seem like modern religious institutions are going to survive on that alone. If going to church is a spiritual practice, how do we connect with community and also with the infinite through church? Moreover, how do we connect with the infinite by connecting with community (especially during this election year)? To borrow from William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence,” can we not just see the world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower but also in each other? What would that look like? This is a question that is on my heart and mind, and it’s a question that’s at the center of organized religion’s (and humanity’s?!) survival. A recent trip to Washington D.C. over President’s day weekend helped me remember how messy beloved community has always been. Right now seems messy because it is our beautiful and terrible work, but it has always been hard.
As I’m exploring this, I’ll be thinking of Richard Rohr’s words from his wonderful book, Falling Upward, “Early-stage religion is largely preparing you for the immense gift of…this inner experience of God, as though creating a proper stable into which the Christ can be born. Unfortunately, most people get so preoccupied with their stable, and whether their stable is better than your stable…that they never get to the birth of God in the soul.” I love Richard Rohr because he gets to the point of it all. (For those interested in a fantastic jumping off point for Richard Rohr, please check out Krista Tippett’s interview of him for her On Being podcast here).
