If you’ve found yourself in one too many coffee shops on rainy days in Seattle, it wouldn’t surprise me if you overheard the expression “spiritual but not religious” rise up from conversation a few tables over. Looking for a way to describe our relationship to that which defies the constraints of language is something many of us encounter at some point along our life’s journey. As theologians and philosophers of the purpose and meaning of our own lives, we may speak of God, Creator, Sacred Being, nothing at all, and a thousand other names, to try to get at whatever “it” is on the other side of this relationship. And, because we are also mystics, we realize that silence in the presence of the Sacred might just be the best response.
On those rare days in winter when, under a clear sky, the sunrise lights up Mount Rainer and it takes your breath away, you might feel that you are in the presence of the Sacred. Perhaps you witnessed a small act of kindness from one person to another and felt your heart get blown open? Are those traces of God at work in the world? I cannot say why one friend was offered the job of a lifetime, while another remains unemployed after two very hard years; or why a friend’s wife died unexpectedly, throwing his life into unimaginable grief and chaos; or even why my own son, at 8 days old, suffered a massive brain hemorrhage which nearly took his life and certainly changed the course I imagined it would follow for him as a proud father. Are those traces of God’s work in the world? Sure, there are scientific or medical explanations for nearly everything that happens, but that doesn’t go very far in helping me to describe what it feels like when I am most alive in my life or when I am most in need. I would say, in those moments, that I am spiritually grounded or spiritually adrift. In both cases it is about my connection to that which gives my life LIFE.
At our very core, in our human essence, we are spiritual beings. All of us. That is an anthropological datum in my Catholic existential worldview. We seek out relationship with that which is greater than we are. We want our lives to have purpose and meaning. We celebrate life in community. We hope for, and work toward, a future that is more loving, just, and peaceful for all. Spirituality, like faith, is an action word. Nineteenth century Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard wrote: “faith is not the content of a concept, but a form of the will.” How we live our lives is an expression of the deep spiritual reality within us. One name I give this spiritual reality is “Love.” In other words, fulfilling our potentiality as human beings, living out the great possibility of our unique life, is all about loving.
Naming our context can be about naming what we experience, perceive, pay attention to, are reminded of. Unless we take the time to share what is important to us and the perspective from which we view the world, we risk allowing the temptations of dominant culture to shape our line of sight and cloud our horizon. The face of God isn’t hidden in the heavens or sacred texts, but is present in the world through us.
If I step back, this corner of the world feels polarized, unsettled, and chaotic. How am I to make sense of beauty and poverty? Sculpture gardens and homeless children? Goliath wealth and Davidian simplicity? Our lived reality isn’t about the debate between this and that. It isn’t an either/or winner-take-all ideological thrown-down which perpetuates the polarization. We live in a world of difference, a world of both-and. There are sculpture gardens and homeless children. Isn’t the Sacred present in both?
Set aside for a moment the beauty of the space–the mountain ranges, rivers and rain forests, and the open water of the Pacific. Look at your neighbors. The ones who live next door and those who live under freeway over-passes, who beg for food and money on corners and off-ramps. Look at the mother and children who live in the apartment down the street, who are at risk for deportation and on the verge of eviction. Listen for the languages spoken in line at the unemployment office, the food bank, the doctor’s office. Take care to notice those children in school who look hungry, cold, and tired because they are hungry, cold, and tired. How are we to be fully human for the widow, orphan, and exile?
My first job out of college was working in a small shelter for homeless families; and, one of my all-time favorite tasks was making homemade cinnamon rolls each Sunday morning for the families. One weekend, I was working in the kitchen, preparing our special brunch. It was early, so not many families were up yet. In the corner of the kitchen by the entry way, a small and very shy young girl who had been with us for a few days watched me intently as I worked the dough. She and her mother had courageously fled a physically and emotionally abusive situation together; and, the young girl had seen her mother beaten and berated. They were making their way to be with relatives in another state. Every time I looked over at the girl, she would avert her gaze and not make eye contact. I wasn’t sure how to engage the child; after all, what did I know at 22 years old? After glances back and forth, I called her by name, told her I needed her help, and held out the dough in her direction…I waited that way, arm outstretched, for what felt like a very long minute…Still she hesitated. Not sure what to say, I said something like “This will be fun, plus you get to really stretch the dough (and I pulled the dough apart with my hands). I know you can do this.” Slowly, she came over.
We changed plans and rolled out long strands of dough, wove them together in crazy patterns and made loads of cinnamon monkey bread. Her mom joined us toward the end, and encouraged her as we finished up. I remember that the whole house smelled amazing. Everyone gathered later that morning, and at the beginning of our communal meal, I thanked the young girl for helping to make the cinnamon monkey bread which was a huge hit at the table. Everyone clapped. Her smile, the smile of that young girl, is what will heal this broken world.
You only have to give a 5 year old a handful of dough to see God at work in the world. Maybe not in ways that one might expect or want, but in ways that are necessary and transformative. I wasn’t expecting to end up here, telling this story. I was hoping just to close with a reminder that we, each of us, are created as expressions of God’s love in this world. Instead, being reminded of this spiritual experience where I was touched by God’s love through my work with a young girl, I have a renewed sense of hope for the world.
