Essays - Spring, 2011
by Randy Roche, SJ

Below is a title and brief description of each essay. To read the essay, click on the title.

Right Size and Shape - What might be the perspective of The Creator on the sizes and shapes of people?

Truth in Consequences - Only after our plans have been carried out, will we discover what actually occurred for participants.

End Run - Any time we act from the heart rather than from a set of rationalizations, we are likely to experience assistance, even if we cannot avoid conflict.

Still Water - When we make a decision that is appropriate for us and for all it is usually followed by an interior calmness of spirit, or peace.

No Accidents - What really happens when events seem to conspire on our behalf?

Challenges - Our fulfillment depends upon daring to follow our personal and particular calling.

In Season - For humans, convenience is not the only measure of quality of life.

The Zoo - If we are observers only, we will likely see people as though in a zoo.

One Little Bird - Each of us is a unique and treasured individual.

Why Me? - How is it that I have been so blest?

Poison Oak - Suffering from poison oak or any other ailment is not nearly as significant for us as the love that we can give and receive.

Loud or Soft - Inspirations are not limited to locations or to times of day or night.

Clap Your Hands - Noting the desire to “clap our hands” is a sign of spiritual health.

Right Size and Shape

Little children are often given simple games that enable them to fit a round piece into a round receptacle, and a square piece into a matching square space. We know for certain that the key to the house does not fit the ignition switch for a car and we have learned from experience how important the right size is when we need to fit a lid to a pot of boiling water.

We might be concerned at times about our own or others’ sizes and shapes, with a certain amount of “body-consciousness.” We have standards for ourselves that probably adjust over time, especially if we become confident that our value is far less dependent upon our body-type than upon our character and personality. Movie and TV stars are a very small minority of the population in terms of physical appearance, and they certainly exhibit no greater signs of social adjustment than the rest of us, as the tabloids love to relate.

Our contentment with our size and shape and our realistic efforts for maintaining some reasonable control through diet and exercise usually has some mixed motives for the care we take of both health and appearance. We might be very spiritual, but we also live and act in visible and tangible bodies. We have a self-image that relates to both appearance and behavior, and we interact in various communities of persons who are aware of us as we of them. We are conscious of whether or not we care for ourselves, and we observe in others, just as they observe in us, the ordinary manifestations of self-respect and respect for others that mark the communities and culture which surround and support us. Spirituality and some concern for our physical shape and size are not mutually exclusive.

Though we like to feel and to appear fit and healthy, and appreciate these qualities in others, our love for self and for one another is not based primarily on such easily noted traits. Do we stop caring about a family member or friend who is disabled or disfigured by an accident or by a debilitating illness? The stories of those who suffer from any reason touch our hearts rather than cause us to turn away from them. Our first concern is not their physical appearance, but our concern for them.

What might be the perspective of The Creator on the sizes and shapes of people? If we have any thought that there might be a right size and shape for us, we have only to observe the kind of creativity we see with even the quickest tour through an aquarium, and view some small part of the vast range of shape and size among fish. How varied too we humans are, and how loved each of us is. God surely is not interested primarily with our appearance.

We might ask ourselves whether God loves us more than or less than another person who looks so very different from us. Could God love anyone less for a few extra pounds or a set of wrinkles? Is a mature adult more loveable than an infant, an educated person more than one who has had no opportunities for schooling? We do not think of one another with such a limited perspective, nor does God.

All of us are the right size and shape when we choose to live according to our unique personal calling.

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Truth in Consequences

When we plan events for others, anything from a major party to a conversation over a cup of coffee, we cannot know the consequences before-hand. We might make extensive plans in meetings or we might labor for hours putting together the details for what we have in mind; we might act immediately on a small inspiration or we might make lengthy considerations before finally acting. But if our plans involve persons, we have no control over the experience that even one individual, or we ourselves, will have.

Only after our plans have been carried out, will we discover what actually occurred for participants; we can receive their comments and make our own observations about the outcomes. Through reflection, we can draw conclusions as to the consequences of our plans. But the truth, what people thought, did or ignored in response to our initiatives is the reality that might or might not resonate with what we hoped would take place. Often, we learn something that we did not know about the persons involved, since each responds to our plans in accord with his or her own particular background, interests, and perspectives.

When our intention in planning arises from concern for others more than from what we expect to gain, we will more likely be pleased with the truth that is revealed in the consequences rather than find ourselves disappointed if people do not manifest responses that we had envisioned. If we invite friends to a meal, we probably want everyone to have an enjoyable time together. But if one happens to be dealing with a painful loss, we willingly listen, and share the grief as best we can. We do so because our motive in planning the meeting was to express care, not primarily so that we would all have feelings of joy or happiness. The quality of support we provided was far more satisfying to all than the possible enjoyment of recreational conversation.

Plans that begin with inspiration, and planning that keeps focused on our original inspiration, are much less likely to evoke anxiety about possible results than when we are more concerned to see or to receive some specific outcomes. By placing our efforts consciously on the task that we are sure is ours to perform, we give a welcome gift. If we base our efforts on a need for everyone to like what we do or say, we trivialize the gift aspect and open ourselves unnecessarily to the likelihood of being disappointed.

Acceptance of truth in consequences results directly from trusting that we are all better off when we consciously avoid choosing how and in what manner people are to respond. Truth is better than the fiction of thinking or acting as if we could, on our own, plan and cause the consequences of our actions involving persons. We are responsible for enacting our inspired plans for manifesting love according to our personalities and present capabilities, not how they will be received. If we imagine and then strive to make everyone respond as we wish or hope, we open the way for negative thoughts and judgments about others that demean them and us.

God is easily found in the truth of what actually takes place in the minds and hearts of individual persons when that is a consequence we desire. God is a part of each one’s personal story, enabling each person to receive what he or she needs more than, and sometimes rather than, the kinds of effects that we might seek or desire when we make our plans.

The truth that is found in the consequences of our actions may not always be perceptible to us, but if we have planned and acted as inspired, all will be well.

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End Run

In football, an end run means that someone carries the ball around the end of the opposing line, evading potential tacklers. If highly successful, the run will end with the carrier crossing the goal line. While an end run would seem to be much easier than trying to crash through a group of players who are intent on stopping the ball carrier, it is only possible when the runner is very quick, and has teammates who are not only fast on their feet but also adept at blocking the opposing team members.

In life, many of us prefer to make end runs whenever possible, so as to avoid direct opposition. However, no one mode of acting is always effective, and circumstances vary so much that we cannot always operate according to our preferences. We might recall experiences when, for example, a smile accompanying a request of someone was perfect on one day, but at another time, with the same person, we had to explain in detail why we were even asking.

Though end runs are not the only means for making progress, and only successful in some particular circumstances, we make our choices about which means to use so that we can run to the end, our goal, whether we are able to go around the opposition or must pass through it.

End runs or whatever means we use to achieve goals that are worthy of us – those that are connected with our purpose in life – are more successful when we act quickly in following our inspirations. If we “second-guess” ourselves with thoughts that arise from either selfishness or desires to control, we will make no progress. Rather than waiting to be tackled, we can put ourselves in motion in accord with the thoughts and accompanying feelings that we experience initially, and we will know, without much reflection, that we are doing exactly what we should be doing at the moment.

Any time we act from the heart rather than from a set of rationalizations, we are likely to experience assistance, even if we cannot avoid conflict. However we explain to ourselves experiences of inspiration, whether we believe them to come directly from God who loves us and works with us so that all things work for the best, or we understand that “the cosmos conspires with us” whenever we follow those special impulses, we are able to make progress. While we move towards our goal, making our run to the end, many of us also engage in a natural and simple manner of praying by acknowledging that we are “on a mission,” no matter how seemingly inconsequential any deed or initiative of ours might seem, such as visiting a person in need of companionship.

In addition to taking our inspirations seriously, and acting on them, we need also to rely on others, for we are interdependent no matter how strongly we feel that a particular goal is ours to achieve. However individual each one’s inspirations might be, we still need the wisdom, experience, and good-will of others, whether we find assistance from books, study, advice, or direct personal companionship.

Just as football players need fast and strong teammates to make an end run, all our moves towards truly worthy goals are made with assistance, whether physically, spiritually, or both.

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Still Water

I watched vast amounts of water pouring down two separate waterfalls that poured together into a central area, with tremendous roaring and the tumult of cataracts beating against rocks and throwing up waves and spray, only to flow away with hardly a ripple and no visible or audible evidence of the previous violent activity. How could this be? The huge volume of water that had just torn through constricted areas flowed away peacefully in a very deep and smooth-sided river bed. I had visible evidence of the saying, “still water runs deep.”

We are the same persons who at times face intense challenges, painful and constrictive circumstances that we cannot avoid, yet are able to maintain or recover our balance, and move quietly forward. How are we able to do this? The depth of our spirituality is one significant factor, the evenness of the adaptations we make based upon our previous experiences is the other.

The noisy, attention-getting movements and events in our lives are real, but they are actually of far less importance than the values we apply to even small, every-day decisions. No matter how strongly attractive or powerfully repulsive some thoughts or occurrences might be, the direction we choose is much more significant than the thoughts and associated feelings that come to us.

How do we want to live? What kind of persons do we want to be? The answers to these or similar questions provide the deep and smooth-sided channel that allows us to deal with minor or major turbulence on the surface of our lives and move through and away from them to experiences of peace and satisfaction. We do not forget or deny the pain or hard work involved in doing what is right even as we endure an injustice, face a crisis, or carry on through a day filled with many small but exhausting encounters with people. Nor are we drawn away onto a false pathway by flashy or fascinating attractions that seem to promise fulfillment but, as experience has taught us, never do.

Feelings follow action, so that peace and contentment are consequences of enacting our spirituality according to our values, rather than a commodity that we can take for ourselves as we might wish. The substantial part of our spirituality is found in each and every decision we make with integrity, sometimes in the midst of unsettling and perhaps fearful or anger-causing situations. Whether the issue is a small one, such as deciding whether or not to visit a sick friend in a hospital, or one with long-range consequences, such as selecting a career, when we make a decision that is appropriate for us and for all it is usually followed by an interior calmness of spirit, or peace. Peace is as much a consequence of good decision-making as sharp dissonance is a sign of having somehow failed to act according to our sense of right and wrong.

As powerful as the waterfalls might seem when they occur in our lives, if we make our decisions based on the deep and memorable experiences of spirit that we have had, we will soon arrive once again in a state of still water.

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No Accidents

Some employers place notices in prominent locations when there have been no accidents in the workplace for a significant amount of time. An accident-free work environment is praiseworthy, especially from the perspective of the employees. Morale is diminished and fear increased with every injury and subsequent insurance claim.

From another perspective, that of noticing the positive confluence of seemingly unrelated events, there are no accidents. Examples abound in our lives, if we reflect on some of our experiences and observe the consequences upon our spirits as well as upon our minds and bodies. I can recall how pleasantly surprised I was when, on my way to make a phone call to resolve a problem that had been on my mind for some time, I met someone unexpectedly who had heard about my concern, and who offered without my even thinking to ask, a complete solution. I say, “No accidents.”

How easy it is, shortly after an experience of joy or appreciation, to mentally cut short and perhaps even delete from consciousness the spontaneous positive internal response to an unexpected encounter by calling it “mere coincidence.” The main obstacle to accepting the beneficence of many encouraging experiences is a sometimes unrecognized negative outlook on life, a mindset habitually attuned to criticism and skepticism rather than a willingness to accept anything and everything that corresponds with the reality of our interior experiences at the time they occur.

“Explaining away” the affirming and helpful incidences that we could not have planned is a form of rationalization, directly opposed to a heartfelt recognition of how nicely some things have come together to our benefit. We are, strangely enough, capable of spending more mental and emotional labor in explaining “coincidences” than noting with simplicity the pleasure we experience when two or more seemingly unrelated thoughts, events, or words bring us a solution to a problem, a new and hopeful opportunity, or an especially needful bit of encouragement.

What really happens when events seem to conspire on our behalf? We have no proof that it is for our sake that a bus runs just one minute late, giving us exactly the time needed to arrive at the curb for a ride. We do not have to say that God directly manipulates buses or traffic. All that is required is that we notice and accept the interior movement of appreciation whenever things work to our benefit, especially when the related events, actions, and circumstances are clearly outside our control.

Even a real accident, one that is disruptive or in some measure injurious at the moment, might at a later time seem to us “no accident,” when more information or some additional occurrence takes place. A loss of a job, relationship, or desired option is almost always painful. And yet we also can recall occasions when an excellent, wholly unlooked-for opportunity arose, that would not have been possible for us without the prior distressing incident having taken place. “No accidents” does not apply automatically or simply because of the factual benefit we receive, but only when we experience an interior movement of spontaneous joy at the connection we see between the two events.

In addition to the joy of experiencing “no accidents,” we can, if we choose, thank God for them. Gratitude adds a personal quality to some of the kindly coincidences that seem to occur frequently for those who are willing to accept them.

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Challenges

It is not just young boys who “dare” one another to accept challenges, such as climbing a ladder up the side of a tall building. Young girls also take risks, not necessarily the same ones as boys, but very likely trying the kinds of things which parents would never suggest to them. New and exciting undertakings, whether self-initiated, or resulting from “I dare you,” might be a phase of childhood, but we all continue to grow and expand our levels of experience up to the end of our lives. Like trees that do not stop growing when they become tall, we have an inbuilt desire for “more” even if we cannot identify clearly what we are seeking.

Teachers and parents continually challenge young people in ways that they consider appropriate for promoting growth, not harm. They do not use the language of “dare you,” but they know from their own experience that none of us develops by carrying out only those tasks that we learned to perform when we were little children. A child might need “training wheels” on a first bicycle, but soon learns how to achieve balance, and is then able to attempt further new and enjoyable possibilities of bicycle riding that might last through life.

As adults, we take purposeful risks for the sake of our ideals, or to achieve our goals, or to realize some of our desires. Our fulfillment depends upon daring to follow our personal and particular calling, a life-task that is never complete, though we might well find much joy and satisfaction in continuing to investigate new information, experiment with both ideas and practices, and regularly assess our progress.

Some of the ventures we initiate involve exploring our own interior lives, through reflection, meditation, and prayer. The risk is real, though we and God might be the only ones to know the courage involved in freely and consciously examining a motive, recalling a painful memory, or acknowledging a deep and highly personal desire. We know how easy it is to keep busy, to surround ourselves with ever-changing sights and sounds, and to avoid all thoughts and feelings about our purpose in life. But to live requires movement, and some of that movement forward requires attention to what is within us, not to mere external realities.

The endeavor of becoming quiet, separated for a time from familiar sights, sounds, and activities, might daunt us at first, since we do not know for certain what will arise in our consciousness, or from where. We might encounter a thought from a dark corner of our mind, or an experience of love from the heart of God, or both. The goal of attending to interior thoughts and feelings is not primarily to gain new knowledge, though we will surely learn something about ourselves, but to have an experience of peace – peace of mind and peace of heart.

Seeking peace – interior peace – dares us at a deep level, because we who are so used to controlling our external and internal environment as much as possible cannot create peace inside ourselves. We can engage in practices that encourage and allow for experiences of peace, but much like waiting for a timid child to come to us if and when it chooses, our most effective option is to remain open to the awareness that “all is well,” no matter what our circumstances might be.

The challenge of peace is that we might have to temporarily leave aside our busy daily engagements for what we might consider to be non-productive quiet-time in order to experience the peace that most deeply comforts and supports us as persons.

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In Season

Many fruits and vegetables are seasonal, so that locally grown fresh peaches and corn become available at one time, and cherries and squash at a different time of year. “In season” has little meaning in major urban stores where fresh food is often shipped from one part of the world with a growing season that is different from the places where the fruits and vegetables are sold and consumed. Though many fruits and vegetables taste better when they come fully ripened from neighboring farms and orchards, some of the common varieties can be found all year long in the larger stores served by major transportation networks: everything from avocados to grapes, or asparagus to plums.

Business interests have overcome the ordinary limitations of our growing seasons, so that as shoppers, we can find whatever we might want at any time of year. While we obviously gain a consistent and large selection of fruits and vegetables to eat, we might at the same time lose a sense of appreciation for those food items that were formerly only available at certain times of year, and also lose some of our awareness of the effects of weather and seasons upon the lands where food is grown. We might eventually lose all our connections with those who plant and harvest our food. For humans, convenience is not the only measure of quality of life.

Liturgical seasons are also affected by commerce: we are well aware of the effects upon our sense of Christmas and Easter seasons by the constant implication in advertising media that both events have no significance beyond giving and receiving gifts or celebrating the arrival of spring. But Advent and Lent that precede Christmas and Easter, and the two feasts themselves, are reminders and occasions for experiences of God’s love for us and also of our response to that love by our love for one another. As a season, Christmas invites us not only to care for family, friends, and colleagues, but also for some of those whose needs we meet so that they might experience their dignity as fellow members of the human family. Easter season reminds us of how much more there is to life than what we can access with our physical senses, and that death is not the end, but a new beginning. The season of Pentecost, or “the season of The Spirit” during the rest of the year, is not touched by money-making enterprises, probably because the reality of inspiration is both wholly universal and at the same time beyond our control.

Seasons of grace are still another very important reality that is beyond our jurisdiction. Yet our response of acceptance and our attitude of expectation have direct correspondence with the depth of the experiences we can have. One person might find that his or her personal manner of praying may somehow no longer bring satisfaction, which is often a sign, not of fault or failure, but that another season is ready to begin, another period of growth, with a different kind of “fruit” that will bring a new sense of peace and fulfillment. God is in charge of these seasons of grace. We have only to observe and respond to receive the fruits, which will ripen with our cooperation. Each of us has some unique seasons of particular growth, often at times of specific challenges. The same Spirit of life-giving change and development also brings about some seasonal variations that are shared, as when a group of persons comes together with a common and inspired purpose, resulting in a harvest that meets the needs of many in the wider community.

In season: a few moments of quiet reflection might enable us to notice the changes within us as well as those marked on the calendar.

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The Zoo

Children’s books often feature pictures of animals not found in their homes: zebras, monkeys, giraffes, and many other creatures. At any age, many of us are interested in the great diversity of animals that we can read about or perhaps observe directly in a zoo.

We might readily accept with interest the strangeness of various animals’ behavior as found in a zoo, but find it difficult to acknowledge some of the diverse customs and conduct of humans. Of course, we do not bring home with us any of the animals from the zoo, but we often have occasion to relate with people whose apparent living habits differ from our own. Watching animals and then leaving them when interest or time wanes is not at all like our experience of meeting persons whose personal appearance, speech mannerisms, or points of view might differ from ours, and who are perhaps colleagues, associates, or even family members.

Widely disparate as humans can be, we are not objects of interest like animals in a zoo whose value is measured according to the preferences of viewers. Rather, each of us is of equal value to everyone else, independent of anyone’s preferences. Customs, colors, languages, habits and heritages are characteristics that vary from person to person but do not define us. Even our patterns of thought and the ways we deal with feelings need not separate us from one another, since we all make decisions based on our thoughts and feelings. How we choose to relate with others not only manifests who we are, but makes us who we are, and either unites us with others or keeps us apart.

If we use the expression, “like a zoo” when we are talking about humans, we usually mean that people are not relating with one another, but act as though others are so different that they belong in distinct and separate categories, fit only for observing, and not worthy of serving. We can at times consider more seriously the external actions and appearances of people than their internal human qualities that we all have in common and which we manifest through our words and actions. If we are observers only, we will likely see people as though in a zoo; when our intention is to relate honestly with others, we will see human persons who are much more like us than they are different from us.

The best descriptions of God as our creator do not include suggestions of a zoo-keeper who might be interested and amused by our different sizes, shapes, and colors, our differing cultures, education, careers, and ways of relating with one another. Rather, each of us is a unique and treasured individual, and all of us, no matter how different we might appear to one another, are created in “the image of God.” What could we possibly have in common with God, since it is not our appearance or any of the characteristics we so readily identify in our fellow humans? God is love, and gives us the essential freedom and the proper bodies, minds, and hearts that enable us to transcend all our differences, through our capacity to love.

“So let us love, dear love, like as we ought.
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.”
Edmund Spencer

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One Little Bird

Recently, a small finch found an open window to our chapel, and made the mistake of flying in instead of going back out. Once inside the large, enclosed space, it flew upwards, where there was no possible exit. Of four large clear glass windows lower down, one was also a door to the outside, which I opened. After gently approaching the bird with a dusting pole, I was able to coax it to come down and ultimately to find its way out.

I was pleased to have helped that one particular bird, whereas I hardly give a thought to the many of its kind who are seen and heard all around the grounds at this time of year. Why spend time and energy on one little bird when there are so many that receive no attention from me other than to enjoy their generic presence in the environment?

When we directly encounter individual persons, events, or creatures in their particular needs, we seem inclined to come to their aid. We also freely take on responsibilities for the benefit of groups and agencies that meet broad areas of social concerns. But immediate needs that come to our attention seem to merit spontaneous desires to be of assistance. Perhaps we value life: human, animal, and plant, more than we might think or say we do. Perhaps we have learned from experience that, even at the price of some inconvenience, and contrary to some opinions we might hold and even assert to others, we take pleasure in helping out in situations where we might make a positive difference.

Some of our behavior we have learned unconsciously from parents, teachers, friends, and others by observing and imitating them in some of their habitual ways of speaking and acting. We have also learned by consciously reading, studying, attending classes, and participating in workshops. But perhaps more significantly, we have learned some of our most valuable and significant life-lessons when personally confronted with an immediate need, whether of a child who becomes separated from its parents in a store, a house-plant that is dying for lack of water, or a bird that gets into the house.

We find out, sometimes to our surprise, that we spontaneously act in ways that we would not have thought typical of us. We might usually take a whack at an offending bug, avoid wailing children, and stay away from all forms of plant-life, and yet find that we have something in us that “wants to help” when a particular necessity seems to be addressed directly to us. We are capable of change and adaptation that does not require a gradual learning-curve, especially when we find ourselves personally challenged not in some intellectual dialogue, but with an appeal to our humanity that, like beautiful music or gorgeous scenery, goes directly to our hearts.

If we seek understanding for some of our caring behavior, we could reflect on the effects upon us, rather than upon the objects of the help we have given. Our fulfillment has far less to do with visible results than with the degree to which we act from the heart.

A little bird told me.

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Why Me?

Whether a child directs the question to a teacher who silenced him or her while others were also misbehaving, or one of us aims the same question towards God when confronted with a particularly difficult challenge, the words that often express a sad complaint are, “Why me?” If we believe that we are being treated unfairly, picked out arbitrarily for suffering while others are given preferred treatment, we might easily take offence. Perceived injustice hurts, and cannot be explained away, though we can find ways to retain our integrity and move on.

The same question, with the same words, can be used in an entirely different context, to convey an experience of gratitude and even awe. From the perspective of being chosen for wholly undeserved gifts, or being selected from among a great number of apparently equally worthy candidates for special privileges, we can ask: “Why me?”

When we use the pair of words, we are more likely to be expressing our feelings of hurt or of gratitude than to be seeking for an understanding that might perhaps satisfy our minds, but not address our hearts – unless we reflect on what we mean.

I prefer to consider the mystery of unmerited gifts rather than to spend time brooding over the many unexplainable sufferings that occur among us. I ask the question of myself, for the sake of encouraging reflection upon experience, and of God, so that I might open myself to whatever inspired thoughts might come to mind: “Why me?”

Why have I learned, and come to believe and to act (at least some of the time,) that people are more important than things, and that life is about love, not power, control, or possessions? Some persons apparently reject what I and many who read these words hold as essential, so the question is real, and it is at least partly a gracious mystery: “Why me?” I am grateful for all the persons in my life, from family and friends, to colleagues of all kinds and also many writers, speakers, and doers, whose words and deeds supported and still encourage me in the way of life that I choose. But how is it that I have been so blest? I cannot say that I am or have ever been entitled to all that I have received from others and what I have learned from experiences both painful and uplifting.

I enjoy the pleasure of “standing before God” and saying, with no expectation of receiving an explanation, Why me? Why not accept gifts of trust, of hope, and of love when and however they become possible, rather than insisting on hard-hearted, headache-causing thoughts about the lack of justice in the world and in some of the events that touch our lives? If we care to thoroughly examine all aspects of “injustice,” we might find that we are being given more capabilities, more understanding, more learning from experience, more growth through setbacks and successes than is logically just. Even more, how could it ever be termed “fair” in any weighing of merit based on our thoughts, words, and deeds that we would be welcome to continue being who we are, without limitation, after going through death?

Why me?

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Poison Oak

When I was a child, I had a bad case of poison oak all over my body. On the way home from vacation, our car was hit by a truck at an intersection. When the ambulance came, the attendants looked at me and thought that I had been injured because of the rash on my face, hands and arms. I remember thinking how funny that was, but have almost no memory of how uncomfortable I must have been from the poison oak symptoms. Past physical pain is often forgotten over time. But the interpersonal experiences remain, and sometimes come surprisingly back into consciousness.

All of us have suffered in our human relationships, and some memories about our interactions with others are even today rather painful to recall. I can still feel embarrassment in recalling one or other clumsy and awkward moment. It seems to me that, if we reflect upon our experiences, we will find that physical pain itself does not ordinarily have the same lasting effects upon us as do the hurts we have received or caused in human relationships.

Heartaches, shame, and all manner of injustices that we suffer or can cause often have much to do with choices we or others have made. The most hurtful aspect of all forms of abuse is not the physical injury, but the inhuman treatment of one person by another. The commandment of Jesus that we should love one another is not an order imposed upon us by some kind of extraterrestrial being, but a clear statement about the very purpose and meaning of human life. We are not meant to cause harm to one another. If it is inhumane deliberately to cause pain to animals, it is because humans are made such that care and respect for one another, and by analogy for animals, arises from who we are, not from some “politically correct” expectation of behavior.

Extraordinary physical traumas, whether from accidents or acts of violence, are retained by our bodies, probably for life, even if no memories of them ever come to mind. Persons who have been through a war or a hurricane have automatic physical responses to certain sounds that cause no reactions in others. But hurts received in relationships, even though quite severe, can be healed so fully that memories of them no longer cause pain.

We cannot undo what we or others have said or done, but we can change, especially through prayer and reflection, our present attitudes, perspectives, and even the words we use to describe past experiences. Until we are finished with this life, we can decide not to add to past hurts through vengeful, angry, or fearful patterns of thought, and not to retain the role of victim as a counter-productive exercise of control. Rather, we can consciously accept our powerlessness to change the past and cooperate with God in the process of healing. To love ourselves well enough to refrain from negative thinking is much easier when we consciously seek to allow, admit, and accept God’s unconditional love for us.

Suffering from poison oak or any other ailment is not nearly as significant for us as the love that we can give and receive.

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Loud or Soft

The ring volume on most telephones, whether portable or fixed, can be varied according to each one’s needs or preferences. We do the choosing. But when we receive inspirations, whether we ascribe them directly to God or explain the experience to ourselves in other ways, we do not set the “ring” volume. Rather, sometimes the occurrence of a welcome and helpful thought is scarcely perceptible upon entering our consciousness, and at other times we receive a flash of insight or a much-desired answer that is unmistakably an inspiration.

Though we do not control the loud or soft “sound” of gifted insights, we set, whether consciously or unconsciously, a personal level of intensity to our listening and to our quality of hearing that either enhances or restricts interior revelations.

Skepticism, manifested by dismissing any but our own conscious and controlled thought processes, reduces the ring tone considerably, so that we lose many valuable insights. And constant noise from external action, as well as unguided internal chatter in our minds, can also prevent us from perceiving all but the most attention-grabbing ideas. Some of us act at times as if a small glass of water has no capacity to quench our thirst, so we wait instead until we can have a full bottle, and might not obtain anything. Those who are sensitive to even small inspirations have many more positive experiences than those who accept only those that jolt them with new awareness.

Just as we can decide on whether to have a loud or soft ring tone on a telephone, we can choose whether to make ourselves receptive to inspirations or to presuppose that we will receive few, if any of them. A baseball fielder faces the batter in anticipation of any ball that might be coming, and listens for the crack of the bat as a signal for immediate action. The same fielder never turns around to see what might be happening elsewhere and does not focus on the cheering of the spectators. With regard to inspirations, our first and most important decision is to “catch” as many as are sent our way.

Inspirations are not limited to locations or to times of day or night. When we consciously seek healing for inner turmoil, we are far more receptive to helpful insights than when our minds are occupied with negative thoughts about ourselves or others, or our feelings are primarily of fear or anger. We can choose an attitude of open hands symbolizing our intention to accept and to receive, whether we are physically present to someone who is about to offer us a gift, or intentionally place ourselves before God in expectation of being given healing for the thoughts and feelings that obstruct inspirations.

We all have experiences of suffering and disappointment, and we see around us instances of pain and even death. Some of us view an empty tomb as a dismal place representing the end of life. Others look into the same empty tomb and open themselves to what is not yet seen, and receive inspiration, and life.

Happy Easter

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Clap Your Hands

If we go to a performance, a sports event, or a celebration – anything from a concert to a child’s kindergarten recital, a major league baseball game or a good-bye party at an office, we will likely have occasion to clap our hands. Usually, in company with others who feel as we do about a person or an event, we applaud the accomplishments of individuals or of groups. We experience some delight that we would like to express, or at least have a desire to show respect or appreciation. Sometimes we clap our hands as part of a social ritual, and at other times as a spontaneous expression of joy.

Clapping our hands is definitely audible, an external expression that some of us very carefully reserve for certain public events but not others, and that we rarely do in a private setting. Others of us are perhaps more used to demonstrative behavior, whether by culture or personality so that in a church setting, for example, we join with those who sing out loud, and we might occasionally clap our hands in a communal celebration. At rare moments of intense joy, whether we are alone or with others, we might clap our hands quite spontaneously and briefly because we have no other way to acknowledge the depth and power of our feelings.

Appreciation, gratitude, and similar interior movements are more important for us and for others than the means we take to express ourselves. Sometimes, rather than bringing our hands together to make a sound, we might metaphorically clap our hands at some of our experiences of joy. If we are alive as humans, we have to acknowledge gratitude and thankfulness at times or we will lose one of our most human qualities. Even though God certainly does not need a “round of applause” for creating not only all that is beautiful, but also our external senses for perceiving beauty and our internal senses for appreciating it, we become more fully human when we recognize these and many other gifts in our everyday lives.

Children are usually spontaneous in their expressions of joy, while some of us become more reserved in the presence of others as we take into consideration the effects upon others of our behavior. If we choose not to manifest our feelings, for whatever reasons, we surely do not want to under-appreciate people, inspirations, and events that touch our hearts. Acknowledging them, allowing ourselves to feel gratitude, or excitement, and at least noting the desire to “clap our hands” is a sign of spiritual health.

If we are not aware that we manifest experiences of joy, even to ourselves or to God, a little reflective exercise might increase the possibility of our doing so. Notice the difference between clapping and booing; between smiling and frowning; between encouraging and criticizing. Unless we have become quite callous to the movements in our hearts, we can easily recognize that we feel better about one set of actions than the others. God made us capable of appreciating goodness at any and every level as a benefit to us and to everyone around us.

“Clap your hands, all you peoples; acclaim God with shouts of joy!” (Ps 47:1)


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Updated: 08/27/11