Of Demons and Angels

"We were so worried about our dad on Saturday.  He was thrashing about and yelling things.  Totally not like himself.  He was possessed.  But then someone from our church came and prayed.  And the demons tormenting him left.  So we've kept up the prayers and he's been okay." 

I had never personally heard demons discussed in a literal manner before.  Metaphorical ones, sure.  And many friends believe that angels watch over them, especially deceased love ones.  But real demons?  No.  And my logical, rational mind kept thinking, "It's not unusual for dying people to have terrors and outbursts.  And then, with medications, they do settle down."  Just Google end-of-life anxiety.  It doesn't happen to everyone, but it happens, in varying degrees, some much more powerful than others. 

I think I underestimate the number of people who believe the supernatural world is as common as the natural one.  For me, it's just entertainment on television, our favorite series "Supernatural" about ghosts, werewolves, vampires, angels, demons.  Like "X-Files" and "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer" with two handsome brothers kicking butt with heart and humor each week.  But these two sisters as hospice truly believed a demon had inhabited their father on the way to hospice and had made him act out until the special prayers exorcised the demons.

And they weren't even Catholic!  I had only thought of exorcisms with respect to the Roman Catholic Church (when I wasn't thinking of the 1970s movie or our tv show.)  I checked in with our chaplain, the priest, who said there was a huge belief in demons in the evangelical church.  These Christians believe in deliverance (yep, I hear banjos and I haven't even seen that movie!), the idea of being delivered from demons via prayers and such and of needing to actively avoid being contaminated by demons.  This is why you hear that Harry Potter, Halloween costumes, rock and roll, yoga, etc., are tools of the devil.  There are even lists, like the one that appeared in my inbox recently:

I think I can tick off more than a few of those, including Eastern Religions, Meditation, Vegetarianism, Postmodernism, LOTR, Video Games, Harry Potter, Halloween, Fornication, Rock Music, and, yes, I've even seen Twilight!  And I have experienced, at least once, Palmistry, Tarot, Ouija, Wicca, Earth Worship, Divination, Dungeons and Dragons, too.  But I've never been a vampire or a werewolf (Lycanthropy.)  

I must admit to some cultural and spiritual prejudice--I really never believed people actually thought music invited the devil.  It's like a superstition out of the dark ages. Yes, the kids have friends who can't celebrate Halloween because it's satanic, but I figured that was a one-off.  How wrong I am, how small my world sometimes.  

And I don't really know what to do with it all.  I don't believe in demons, just like I don't believe in hell.  To be fair, I don't just reject the negative; I don't believe in angels or heaven either.  My world is decidedly not supernatural.  

But what if the supernatural is just the natural we haven't come to understand yet?  What invisible forces exist that we don't understand, like Chi or Chakras?  We've only recently come to understand x-rays, bacteria, atoms, radio waves, microwaves, Wi-Fi; and yet, we do not give them a second thought.  I'm still not saying I believe in demons or heaven.  But what don't we know?

Just this week, the NYTimes published an article about the Placebo Effect and how there might actually be bio-chemical processes unrelated to prescribed medicine or surgeries that can result in healing.

And how do I explain my own healing?  I've written (here and here) about how my physical therapist used alternative treatments to heal my back injury when a variety of specialists in the tri-state area couldn't.  I did benefit from what she would call spiritual healing--a combo of accupressure, chakra alignment, Integrative Manual Therapy.  It won't surprise you that she believes in angels and demons.  I suppose I could call it the Placebo Effect, but I really can't explain it and am often uncomfortable reflecting on it, or more importantly, the implications of it.  If I can sit and walk because of energy healing, do I need to believe in angels and demons?  I can't make that leap.

But to push against my beliefs and expand my experiences, I recently attended a Reiki workshop at hospice.  Reiki is a type of energy meditation and healing that is frequently used by various caregivers in hospitals and hospices.  One of the chaplains at my old hospice used to offer it.  And yes, my PT has been trained in Reiki, too.  I know and believe in the benefits of Buddhist meditation so I thought I would learn more about Reiki, which does include chakra cleansing (chakras believed to be energy wheels in the body, represented by the colors of the rainbow, backwards, purple to red), which is beyond my usual rationalism.  It was an intriguing day, not only for the instruction, but also to hear from my fellow students--who believe not only in spiritual healing and energy work, but also angels, demons, ghosts, past-life regression, auras, Tarot, psychics, and mediums.  My mind couldn't wrap around those things.  BUT then I had a Reiki session from one of my classmates and she was drawn to my lower abdomen--completely without knowing of my multiple abdominal surgeries and three recent trips to the ER for severe abdominal pain.  Coincidence?  Educated guess?  And then, when I received attunement--yep, the instructor tuned me towards the chi--I saw these amazing flashes of deep blues, greens, and purples quite unexpectedly. 

Our teacher repeatedly said that Reiki was not dualistic, i.e. not good and bad, it just was, based on chi, the Chinese theory on energy in the body ("ki" is the Japanese spelling.)  She assured us that we could only do good things with Reiki, not hurt anyone.  Which is akin to believing in angels but not demons.  How does that work?  If Reiki can be used to help or heal, how come it can't be used to hurt?  Especially since it is isn't specifically considered a good force, just a natural one?  Nature causes hurt, depending on your perspective, but in itself is a neutral, balanced force--I watched a beautiful Cooper's Hawk devour one of our yard squirrels yesterday; neither good nor bad, in sum, just natural (certainly, from either the hawk or squirrel's vantage point, it would have been a good dinner or a bad evening!)  I think I'm overthinking it all.

But it does seem to keep popping up for me, even with regards to our upcoming trip to Thailand.  I've been reading about the animism that flows through Thai life, in addition to Buddhism and Hinduism, a belief in spirits everywhere.  We have even watched two Thai movies recently, Pee Mak and Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, which heavily featured ghosts.  A belief in spirits participating in everyday life is so common that, I read, taxi drivers put icons or altars on their dashboards and trust in spirits, to the point of not wearing seatbelts.  Que sera, sera. I checked in again with our Catholic chaplain, who does wear his seatbelt (and has also officiated at an exorcism, which was a force of evil like nothing he'd ever seen, certainly beyond any psychological issues that people bring to him regularly, he told me.  He doesn't see demons appearing regularly in the world, and certainly not because of yoga or music), and he said that God expects us to help ourselves.  Which reminds me of that story of the man dangling from the side of the cliff and praying to God for help, but refusing the climber and then helicopter that comes to his aid, saying he's waiting for God; when the man gets to heaven and confronts God, God said, "I sent you a climber and a helicopter!"  Or a seatbelt.  

Whew.  That's a lot.  And it's all been swirling around in my head.  Still, I tend to see the world as more natural than supernatural.  And I'm really more concerned about the human community in our world than anything else (both how we fare as people and what we do to the Earth and each other); that's the work in front of me.  But that human community includes people who believe in a whole range of forces.   I don't have a tidy way to sum it all up beyond this poor paraphrase:  there is more in the world and in people's beliefs than is dreamt of in my imaginings.  

Good News

After nearly five years of volunteering for a for-profit hospice organization, I am taking the next step in my path to becoming a hospice chaplain.

Last week, I met with the volunteer director of a local free-standing hospice provider and she invited me to meet with the chaplain about joining the pastoral care team.  I spoke with him on the phone and then met him today . . . and I'm in!  I'll be a volunteer with the pastoral care team, a big step on my way to being a hospice chaplain.  I'll have more information about everything I'll be doing later, but it will run the gambit from visiting, conversation, funerals, even the odd wedding.  Altogether, though, it's about sitting with patients and families to give them space and a listening ear to explore the journey they're on.  I worried that I wouldn't pass muster with a senior chaplain because of my "knowledge gap" in theology (while I have a passing familiarity with various Christian denominations and their differences, I haven't read the whole Bible.  I know most of the stories through art.)  But, even after five years of volunteering elsewhere, I've never had a theological discussion with anyone who was dying; most want to talk about their families, relive memories, even those surrounded by Bibles, Christian hymns, prayer cards, and rosaries.   Closet I've come is singing "Amazing Grace" and reciting the Lord's Prayer.  Still, I know I have a lot to learn and I'm looking forward to companions on my own journey.  And if I'm not cut out for hospice chaplaincy, it's good to know before I go get anoter degree! (Yep, to be a real chaplain--accredited and all--I need a Masters of Divinity.)  If it is the right place for me, well, I'm excited to find that out.

It'll be rigorous, though.  At my initial interview, I was asked if I'd experienced a momentous death.  I never thought losing my dear Aunt Sis would come up in an interview, but I was able to talk about her death--how it was highly medicalized, with hospice only at the end, but that seemed to be her preference.  Of course, then later, my uncle and cousin died.

Then, in a cold call (which I never should have answered, being sick and half asleep on the couch), the chaplain (a Christian) asked me how I had been called to spiritual care.  Of course, I don't think of it as a divine "calling," not being called by anything but my own spirit.  Which I explained, along with my own path to Unitarian Universalism and hospice (Do you know what you call an atheist with children?  Unitarian.  Plus, there are my leanings to Buddhism.  And my own experience with pain and isolation.)  But I should've known that chaplains have seen it all.    These are not the questions I've had on other interviews. But I answered and was honest and it went well.

Still, I was glad to have practiced with Mama the night before--running through questions on strengths (comfort with people from different faiths and backgrounds; I've been told I'm a good listener) and weaknesses (that theology gap! also sometimes a tendency to avoid conflict and confrontation, though I'm better if I'm advocating for a patient.)  Also, what I want from my new organization--a mentor, a community of hospice workers, experience in a facility dedicated to hospice, more skills in sitting with people.  I could talk about my relevant experience--hospice volunteering, lay ministry at church, community service, mindfulness practice, non-violent communication (NVC) training--and my own practices such as Zentangle, Yoga Dance, meditation, reading poetry and history, even crocheting prayer shawls.  And, of course, clarifying my own beliefs--I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people, the interconnection of all beings, the importance of a variety of sacred teachers and wisdom sources, each person's responsible search for truth.  Yep, those are the UU principles.  Nothing about heaven, hell, or even God.  I'm focused on the world I know.  I do not know beyond that, though I tend to believe there is a spark of life but no divine plan, no cosmic engineer controlling fate and destinty.  Religions are created by humans to help them understand and cope with the Mystery; as humans are flawed, so are religions.  I don't think we come close to comprehending the world around us (just look at how wrong we've been about margarine!)--there are things we do not understand or can explain--I don't think the Mystery will ever be fully known--though, moments of grace show us glimpses.  So, for me compassion is the guide through our experiences; some call it Love.  And that is what I want to bring to people as they or their loved ones are dying; just as I hope I am surrounded by love, compassion, and family when I die.

And NONE of that came up today!  It was a quick discussion--he was comfortable with me and must have seen something he could work with--and I clean up nicely, in new clothes approrpriate for the place.  So there we go.  I have some HIPPA hoops to jump  through and then I'm on my way.  Soon. (I'll do the TB test and have my photo taken in two weeks; they're also checking references and doing a background check.)  I can't wait.

Last note:  I was meditating yesterday in preparation for today, and came up with the metta meditation I could use with hospice patients (the whole safe-happy-healthy-live in peace progression isn't quite right), or really with anyone:

May all beings know joy.May all beings know hope.May all beings know comfort.May all beings know peace.

Fast Fast

Ramadan.

Latter-Day Saints Fast Sunday.

Yom Kippur.

In some ways, Lent.

I'm talking about fasting because there was an article in the NYTimes recently about the health benefits of fasting.  There are recent books and studies that suggest that intermittent fasting, particularly 2 days fasting a week (hence the name 5:2 fasting) is good for cholesterol, insulin resistance, weight, and other areas.

And all those are quite interesting, but you know how I feel about diets, especially as they really are the antithesis of a healthy lifestyle, mentally and physically.

But I am intrigued by the spiritual aspects of fasting.   Self-reflection, self-discipline, mindfulness, social justice.  Now, UUs don't officially observe any fasts, but, being a non-doctrinal community means we are free to explore our own rituals.  With food insecurity in our community, which was the focus of our Girl Scout troop's Bronze Award, and all the hunger and starvation in the world plus discussions of food processing, food waste, sustainability, and the environment, I appreciate something that brings these issues to the forefront of my mind.  Of course, I recognize that choosing to fast and controlling the boundaries of any hunger I feel is a sign of my privilege; however, I don't think that negates the value of the exercise for me.

And so, twice this week, on Tuesday and now today, I've done a partial fast following the method outlined in the book mentioned by the NYTimes, Moseley and Spencer's The Fast Diet.  This means keeping to under 500 calories two days a week.  I've been fasting (though, with tea and, today, some broth) until late-afternoon or dinner.  It's not a strict fast, tops about 10 hours from wake-up to dinner.

For a spiritual practice, it was all very physical.   Perhaps because it was only 2 days, or perhaps because I wasn't praying, I didn't have the clarity or focus or any other meditative experience you sometimes here connected to fasting.  I was so busy out and about on Tuesday that I only noticed I was hungry in passing and skipping meals was easy.  Well, until I fell on my dinner at 8 pm, after a meeting.  I would guess it was more than 500 calories, being take-out Vietnamese.  But, after a bit of wolfing it down, I slowed down and think I certainly appreciated that meal more than I would have.  Today, I notice it more, more because eating while I'm home is a habit--breakfast with kids, lunch around noon, snack with kids; eating organizes my day.  So I make a lot of tea, with a little milk.  I  haven't been uncomfortable.  I haven't been weak or queasy, probably because of the milk in the tea.  Most of the time, I wasn't even thinking about food.  And when I did think of eating or hear a few rumbles, I could only imagine what days and weeks of that might be like, especially without the knowledge that dinner comes at dusk or food is so easily available all over.  Personally, I am also much more mindful of cycles of hunger and how I feel throughout the day; also, shopping, cooking, and eating habits become so visible--what we buy, how it's packaged, how I cook, what I cook, how we eat a meal, when we snack, what we waste.  I know my thoughts don't help people who are food insecure and hungry, but, with our recent Girl Scout project helping out at the soup kitchen, I am more aware of ways to help out in my area and intend to do so.

In fact, the GS troop will be working on their Savvy Shopper badges this month, which includes learning about price points, budgets, meal planning, etc.  We think we'll let them each bring $2 and work in small groups, so that they have less than $10 to spend to buy ingredients that would make a few meals for themselves.  To help them, we'll be consulting Good and Cheap, the $4 a day food guide developed by Leanne Brown that features healthy, tasty recipes and meal ideas for people who use SNAP (food stamps), which I first learned about from NPR.  The girls will actually buy the food and we'll donate it to the local food pantry (along with a few copies of the book, which you can download as a free pdf at the above link.)

So, as I type, the kids are looking for dinner, which we are privileged enough to have so easily available.  Maybe, one day, they can fast with me.

A Peony for Remembrance

"Flower Communion"

What a gathering-the purple
tongues of iris licking out
at spikes of lupine, the orange
crepe skirts of poppies lifting
over buttercup and daisy.

Who can be grim
in the face of such abundance?
There is nothing to compare,
no need for beauty to compete.

The voluptuous rhododendron
and the plain grass
are equally filled with themselves,
equally declare the miracles
of color and form.

This is what community looks like-
this vibrant jostle, stem by stem
declaring the marvelous joining.
This is the face of communion,
the incarnation once more
gracefully resurrected from winter.

Hold these things together
in your sight-purple, crimson,
magenta, blue. You will
be feasting on this long after
the flowers are gone.

--from Blessing the Bread by Rev. Lynn Ungar, DRE, Starr King, CA

Today our UU congregation celebrated the annual Flower Communion started by Norbert Capek, mid-20th century Unitarian minister in Prague who spoke out against fascism and died in a concentration camp.  Our congregation celebrates by each member bringing a flower from home to deposit in communal vases which the children carry in; at the end of service, each person takes home a different flower.  It's a lovely summertime ritual, filling the sanctuary with color and scent.  We brought two roses--a large pink one and a cluster of miniature pink ones.  We came home with what look like mini-cheddar pinks and also a giant, lovely peony.  


But today, we also said goodbye to our minister, Rev. Kathleen McTigue, who has been called to national office in the UUA.  While we were only members of this congregation for half a year, we were touched by her example of spiritual reflection and growth, eloquent and erudite sermons with liberal doses of poetry, strong moral code and sense of social justice, and lighthearted and welcoming manner with those around her.  We will miss her but will keep her words, spirit, and example with us . . . 

Go in peace.  Believe in peace.  Create peace.

A New Theory

Twice this week medical professionals have questioned my accepted narrative about my back injury, which we've always thought, and doctors have concurred, was primarily a herniated disc, L5-SI1.  But on Tuesday, the pain doctor said that the herniated disc was resolved and the pain was a secondary injury in my coccyx, though he doesn't know how the two are related.  Last night, my new physical therapist said she even wondered if the second incident, in April, when I ceased entirely being able to sit, wasn't a disc herniating that I felt, but my SI joint popping out somehow.  I know they've done studies where something like 20% of a random sample of people have herniated discs but are asymptomatic, i.e. without back pain.  Is it possible that the pain wasn't originally or always the disc?  Hard to say now, but apparently it isn't my current trouble.  And, I must say, that is quite a paradigm shift for me.  Just thinking about another kind of injury, though it's 9 months past, gives me the heebie-jeebies.  I mean, who wants to think of their pelvis getting out of joint?  I had gotten comfortable, so to speak, with having a herniated disc, even if it didn't always make sense experientially.  Now I have something else to wrap my mind around.

But I'm trying not to think on it too much, since it doesn't actually change what I'm going through.  In fact, the notion that it is something else gives us a new path to follow after 18 or so months chasing the disc.  And this new physical therapist has some ideas how to help.  And all without the painful internal tailbone manipulation of the last therapist (whom she used to work with)!  Anyway, she practices, if I have this right, Integrative Manipulative Therapy, with techniques derived from the French osteopath Jean-Pierre Barral.  Plus a sprinkling of cranio-sacral, energy healing, biofeedback, and chakra work.  I know, it sounds like magic.  But, she watched me walk with pain in my c-section scar and tightness in my back, laid me down, popped my sacrum painlessly, and had me walk again . . . with none of the symptoms of a few minutes earlier (though, she said for awhile it would pop back . . and that's just the beginning of the work to get me to sit, but she thinks I will be able to).  I told her that 400 years ago, they would have burned her at the stake!  It was amazing.  Then she did some soft tissue, visceral work (something about fascial envelopes connecting parts of our bodies) that was so gentle but released energies, she said, that clearly made my legs shake.  She even touched my head and tailbone alternately and said I had no spinal blockages and that she wouldn't have known I had a herniated disc.  All I have to say is that if it works, I'm a believer.

Which might take me further along in my project to understand the idea of  prayer and  spiritual energies, for sure.

Ordinary Miracles

See, that song is stuck in my head. And, well, it makes a better title than the other songs that made me cry last week, including "Live Like You Were Dying" and "I Run" (Melissa Etheridge's song about breast cancer).

Actually, the former is probably more apropos for this post, which is my "Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in the MRI Tunnel" (or doctor's waiting room). Because I had some clarity during the week we awaited the second test results as well as since then.

So here we go, the Top Ten things, big and small, I realized:

10. I want to finish cross-stitching the birth announcements we started for the kids in 2005.

9. And I want to finish crocheting the Christmas stockings for Mama and me.

8. I cared about all the junk I have stashed in the basement and don't want anyone but me to clean it out.

9. I didn't care about the clutter in the rest of the house.

8. Nor did I suddenly desire to go sky diving, Rocky Mountain climbing, or bull riding, to borrow from the song, or really regret that there are lots of places I've never been, things I've never done, things I don't own.

7. Though, I'd like to see London and Rome again. (And just for Mama, Antarctica and the penguins.)

6. I'm glad I'm a stay-at-home-mom and don't regret abandoning my career or academic life at all.

5. I'm quicker to recognize and stop scary "movies in my head."

4. I'm great at crossing bridges before I get there, sometimes 2 or 3 ahead.

3. I'm seeing the miracle in everyday with more clarity.

2. Meditation helps.

1. I am blessed by the friends and family in my life, especially Mama.

(And a bonus: any kind of afterlife didn't concern me as much as "life after" for the people left behind).

Spirituality Matters

Recently, I have been inspired and challenged by our minister's sermons and workshops. One of her themes this year (a church year in UUism follows the school year, so we're about halfway done) has been thinking outside the box about our faith and our church specifically. So, while last year found me considering the spiritual aspects of parenting, the nature of compassionate care, and the radicality of hospitality, this year finds me thinking about personal belief systems and enacting my beliefs on a daily basis.

The whole family attended a morning craft workshop on "Sacred Vessels" a few weeks ago. In her introduction, our minister mentioned a book entitled Everyday Sacred in which a woman considers an empty Buddhist begging bowl as a vehicle for her creativity and desire for simple living (okay, bear with me, I haven't read the book but now really want to. And the author's other book on living with the Amish, Plain and Simple). And so we were encouraged to consider how we like to preserve the sacred in our lives--in picture frames, in journals, in boxes--and to decorate those with recycled art materials on hand. I decoupaged two frames with tissue paper, as did Mama (though hers was very geometric and mine was more free-form), while Sis and Bud decorated boxes. And while the sacred vessels we made are still in my car (being extremely cat un-friendly because of pipe cleaners everywhere), the time we created together creating was sacred.

One sermon in January defined and explored credos, personal creeds or belief systems that guide an individual's life choices. The minister shared hers and encouraged us to think on ours. Can I boil my belief system down to a few short sentences (hmmm, given my propensity for verbosity, probably not)? Until her sermon, I had gladly embraced the 7 Principles of Unitarian Universalism:

1. The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
2. Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
3. Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations;
4. A free and responsible search for truth and meaning;
5. The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large;
6. The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;
7. Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.

I try, when I am trying to make a choice from answering a request to going grocery shopping, to consider principles 1 and 7: am I respecting the inherent worth of this person or the interdependence of the world in which we live? So for a credo, I want to change that wording, make it my own, as our minister encouraged. When I figure it out, I'll let you know. But the process of boiling it all down really clarifies my thinking and, hopefully, my actions. I guess, in a way even, it will help clarify and concretize the mission of my life (more on that below).

Another recent sermon was on "Living the No-Regrets Life." Beginning with the jubilant, mission- and life-affirming email astronaut Laurel Clark (a UU from Racine, WA) sent from the Space Shuttle Columbia the day before it disintegrated upon re-entry, our minister posed a question, "what would I have to do to reach the end of my days and be able to say I have lived my life with no regrets?"

Immediately, the little things that we obsess about daily fall by the wayside--who really dies regretting refinishing the basement (or not) or not getting Christmas cards out on time? Who says, "I should've vaccuumed more"? No, this is bigger stuff. The stuff I think about more now that I have kids.

No regrets means living our conscience. No regrets means answering our
hearts' calling. No regrets means marching, dancing, twirling and singing
to the beat of our own drummer . . . but if we don't move, if we don't act, then
what???? Missed opportunities and regrets, wishes and what ifs, wondering,
longing for opportunities we allowed to slip through our fingers and toes, or
even to march on by as we sat watching.

Am I kind? Am I patient? Am I dependable? Am I a good friend/mother/spouse/daughter/sister? Did I live in the present enough to remember it, to cherish it, in the future?

Beyond my personal relationships, what is my larger mission? Raising kind, loving, generous kids? As Dorothea states in Middlemarch, making life less difficult for others through social action and particularly my work in pastoral care? Sharing my knowledge of art with others to help bring more beauty, creativity, insight, and enjoyment into their lives? I wonder if I had not completed my dissertation would I have regretted that? Will I regret it if I never go back to work full-time? If I choose my family mission above my career mission? Or if I redefine my art-mission so that it fits into my family life?

One regret clearly, strongly, painfully came to me as I sat in service, though. I regret not seeing my family in Texas more. And so, while it might take some logistical-hurdle jumping, we're going to try--no, we're going to do it!--to see my family here, there, or in between more than 2-3 times a year. Because at the end of my life, or theirs, I will regret that we didn't see each other more.

And it's these kinds of insights that get me up and to church early on a Sunday morning. I wouldn't have missed these lessons, these insights, for all the sleep in the world.

The Wonder Years

Generation To Generation

In a house which becomes a home,
one hands down and another takes up
the heritage of mind and heart,
laughter and tears, musings and deeds.
Love, like a carefully loaded ship,
crosses the gulf between the generations.
Therefore, we do not neglect the ceremonies
of our passage: when we wed, when we die,
and when we are blessed with a child;
When we depart and when we return;
When we plant and when we harvest.
Let us bring up our children. It is not
the place of some official to hand to them
their heritage.
If others impart to our children our knowledge
and ideals, they will lose all of us that is
wordless and full of wonder.
Let us build memories in our children,
lest they drag out joyless lives,
lest they allow treasures to be lost because
they have not been given the keys.
We live, not by things, but by the meanings of things.
It is needful to transmit the passwordsf rom generation to generation.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery


Having read the first few sections of Parents as Spiritual Guides, by Roberta and Christopher Nelso, a UU book about whole-family spirituality, I've been thinking about some of the questions posed to parents. The first few exercises involve the definition of spirituality, why it's important to the parent, and the role of wonder in spirituality. And so, as I mentioned earlier, I'm going to journal about them here.

The book utilizes Dr. James Fowler's theories about spiritual development, from the undifferentiated faith of infants, through the mythic-literal faith of symbols and storytelling, to the Individuative-Reflective faith with its personally-constructed meanings, and, where I think I am now, the Paradoxical-Consolidative faith of recognizing the complexities of life and living with them (there are other stages and I don't know any of them well; this is just a quick mention of them). Apparently, for Fowler, the family is at the center of faith development, being the place where humans experience shared meanings and rituals, among other essential needs.

What is spirituality to me and why do I want to bring it to my kids? Spirituality, for me, is the valuing of things of the spirit, i.e. not consumer goods, not products, not posessions, but emotions such as love, wonder, gratitude, appreciation, responsibility, compassion, a feeling of connection to all living things, the questioning of the nature of the universe, a sense of a picture bigger than the here and now, my place in it all, as well as my contribution to it. What is that saying on coffee mugs? The most important things in life aren't things. In UU terms, it would be Principle 7, I think, the interconnectedness of all living things, plus Principle 1, the inherent worth and dignity of all people.

Such things haven't always interested me. For a long time, I confused and conflated religion and spirituality, rejecting both as I rejected Christianity, but they are not necessarily the same thing. I can be an atheist but still engaged in a spiritual quest. And so, several years ago, I began to consider such ideas. It has taken me away from a pessimistic and aggressive atheism, through a personal Wiccan interest in natural cycles and pagan traditions, to Unitarian Universalism, where I'm still an atheist with Wiccan leanings.

I should've noticed earlier, but my father, who never readily enters a church or finds much value in organized religion, is one of the most spiritually-alive people I know. He is a modern-day Thoreau, finding his communion with the universe in nature, respecting the world around him and taking care of it. He is particularly interested in ideas, reads a great deal, and engages in the issues of the day (he is one of the most well-informed people, as far as current events and political issues go). I remember as a child that he would exhort us to look out the window in the car at the world around us--look, there's the beaver dam on the way between Houston and Dallas--but I often didn't, of course, because children don't always. But of course, I want my children to look, too (see Dad, I was listening and learning, after all. Just a little late).

Do you know the joke about UUs? They are atheists with children! And that's exactly how it started. DP and I knew we wanted to have children and knew we wanted a spiritual community for them. She had been raised in a Buddhist household but sent to Catholic school for 12 years, not fitting in well either place; I was left to discover my own spiritual path and followed my mom's, but later in life, this atheism left me yearning for something else (for clarity: I don't regret not being raised with religion--I sampled lots of churches with friends--I just wished I'd found my spiritual home sooner. And thanks to art history and Cecil B. DeMille, I can identify many Bible stories). And so we checked out the local UU church, even before we were pregnant. And it's one of the best decisions we made--our specific community of friends who care for and encourage one another, our minister who has supported us with wisdom and kindness through many stressful times, the larger movement itself with its focus on liberal religious teachings and social justice. We go to church almost every week, leaving the children in the nursery for service and then spending fellowship hour together talking to friends. We had them dedicated there and are happy that they feel comfortable, happy, and loved there. And so now, as they get older, we're thinking of how to encourage their own innate spirituality. And for children, much of this centers around the concept of wonder--being able to recognize and appreciate the specialness and uniqueness of the world around them.

Nature is our path to wonder right now. The actual, physical world holds so many marvels for them, which in turns makes it marvelous for me: the tiny snow drop flowers pushing up out of the dried leaves; the tulip shoots starting to peek through next to our mailbox; the way the water rushes down the "waterfall" in the stream by our house; the half-moon visible during the day; the red tail hawk soaring overhead; birds' nests now visible in bare trees; squirrels chasing each other up and down our trees; a full rainbow in a rain-drenched sky; the way the wind dances in the trees; how gently-falling snow tastes on your tongue. We try to point out the world around them.

And last night it was the gorgeous full moon in a mostly clear and windy sky. It rose over the house next to us as we were getting the kids into bed. And so we watched it glow next to a tall pine, sometimes blocked by clouds, other times illuminating the sky. We checked back on its progress during storytime (we read Grandfather Twilight, about the man who carries a small pearl that grows larger and brighter as he spreads twilight around, until he puts the pearl into the night sky and goes to bed), and sang all our moon songs to it before we went to bed--"I See the Moon," "Sister Moon, Sister Moon," and "Moon, Moon, Moon."

The first thing we heard this morning? "Mommy, we don't see the moon. It's too sunny."

It's wonder-ful.