Living Paradox

Living Paradox

“The great paradox of life is that those who lose their lives will gain them. If we cling to our friends, we may lose them, but when we are non-possessive in our relationships, we will make many friends. When fame is what we seek and desire, it often vanishes as soon as we acquire it.”—Henri Nouwen, “April 30” in Bread for the Journey (HarperOne, 1997).

Nouwen again opens us up to an authentic truth: that we live and work with paradox, holding tensions. One of the best books I read during my work as a physician was John R. O’Neil’s The Paradox of Success: When Winning at Work Means Losing at Life. It is subtitled: A Book of Renewal for Leaders. O’Neil tells us how our excessive pride as leaders, when combined with the seductive perks of power, can become addictive. At some point, the wielding of power itself becomes even more important than its goal.

Power and the need to control our own fate can take over and sometimes become the end rather than the means. The paradox of success is the promise of renewal, as we can stand back, especially in a retreat, and see where we have gotten into trouble. There are obstacles to stepping back, such as our drive for perfection, as our path becomes a prison. Often, we let our clocks tell us what we should be doing, especially as we drive toward the dead-end of a substantial paycheck.

O’Neil believes that any amount of time spent away from our usual productive round of activities is renewing as long as it is time spent pursuing wisdom. For me, it entails exercising, watching birds at my window, being or sitting in nature, music, playing the harp, quiet, writing, talking and connecting with friends, visiting the sick, and some form of daily retreat, usually involving writing. He encourages us to become healed by pursuing a different situation, where we do not run the show and focus on relationships rather than goals or end results. Our difficulties stem from the very traits that make us winners. We will find unmined gold in dark places initially hidden to us .

The book includes a graph about success. We work hard to reach the top as we master our profession. However, we only stay at the top briefly, since there is always someone else or many who will soon surpass us. O’Neil suggests we stop to observe our situation as we approach the peak of a pursuit, and consider starting all over again in a new career. That can keep us humble, as we are back on a learning curve where we do not have all the answers. Then, as we get close to the top of that career or undertaking, he suggests we observe and again consider starting all over again. As Benedictines might say, “Always we begin again.”

My summer reading again includes David Brooks’ The Second Mountain. I think Brooks is discovering some of these same principles about life. For so many, our time during the pandemic was a period of discernment—learning how to live with the paradoxes in our lives.

Richard Rohr recently reminded us in his blog that our call is to hold the tension, not necessarily find a resolution or closure to the paradox. We must agree to live without resolution, at least for a while. He believes being open to this holding pattern is the very name and description of faith.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com  https://www.joannaseibert.com/

 

 

Feeling or Knowing God's Presence, Mystics

 Feeling or Knowing God’s Presence, Mystics

“But the fruit of the Spirit is ‘love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.’ Against such things there is no law.”—Galatians 5:22-23.

I recently met with an amazing group of people searching for God in their lives. Several questions were asked: “How do you know you are in relationship with God? How do you know God’s presence? How do you know God is speaking to you?”

I have always been skeptical of people who tell me, “This is what God told me to do.” I do not know the voice of God until after something has happened, never before.

However, I have learned that I may be doing God’s will if I feel the presence of the fruit of the Spirit: “love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.”

We can also learn from the experience of others who were deeply aware of the presence of God. They are called Christian mystics. For example, Richard Rolle, the 14th-century English mystic, describes being in relationship with God when he feels a physical warmth in his body, is aware of God’s sweetness, and experiences heavenly music as he chants the Psalms. I know music touches our soul, and the sweetness and warmth Rolle feels may be from one of the fruits of the Spirit.

I have heard others say they have a gut feeling of assurance when they think they are doing God’s will. Another common experience of the presence of God occurs when we are in nature, where we feel the presence of something greater than ourselves. Others may learn more about the presence of God when they become ill or lonely or are suffering or dying.

Experience tells me that people of the feeling (F) type in the Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator may be more inclined to develop this relationship experience with the Divine. But I also know that thinking (T) people can experience this presence and assurance through logic and truth in research and reading.

[See Ursula King, Christians Mystics: Their Lives and Legacies Throughout the Ages (HiddenSpring, 2001).]

Christian mystics

aIn a Maine Manner of Speaking

aln a Maine Manner of Speaking

Guest Writer: Ken Fellows

                                 Tourist: “How far is it to Portland?”

      Maine Farmer: “The way you’re headed, about 30,000 miles …

                              with some stretches of pretty bad wheelin’.

Maine Porch Railing

     When we moved to our home in Kittery, Maine, years ago, I was charmed by local speech … words like “Sat’day” for Saturday or “barse-ackwards” for reversed) and colloquialisms (“go’in over town,” “right as rain”). I was also smitten by our new neighbors’ comments, so often cryptic, wry, and ironic. But it was the short, off-kilter conversations I found most beguiling. 

    A first encounter with local brevity came during building an addition to our Kittery house. A muscular, middle-aged Mainer, perspiring and frustrated, was trying to back a huge cement truck along the confining edge of a new foundation. A stunted, bushy tree next to his truck was another vexing obstacle. Assuming I could help, I shouted up to him: “I don’t care much about that tree.” The driver whipped around to glare down at me from the truck’s cab. Clearly annoyed, he loudly deadpanned: “Neetha’ do I.” Reflecting on that brief exchange, I marveled how that Maine truck driver, in just three little words, had expressed his extreme contempt for my help, established me as an irritating interloper, and effectively curtailed any further distractions from the gallery. Our future relationship had been clearly established.

     A graying lobsterman, Henry M., lived in a house backing on ours. He was an extreme example of Maine reticence. He was a thin, spry man, polite but taciturn. He often left products of his fishing on our doorstep, but never knocked on our door or ventured to stop in when we were obviously at home. He waved from his yard, but rarely spoke. I suspect he wanted to be neighborly, but was inhibited by our being “from away” and perhaps also embarrassed by the separation in our ages and backgrounds. He was probably a treasure trove of Maine lingo and local stories, but his shyness prevented my gathering any samples.

     A 60-year-old lobsterman, Bud S., lived next door. His relationship with us over many years was quiet and remote, but never unfriendly. We met occasionally on our adjoining creekfront lots, he repairing his lobster boat while I fussed over a dock with landing-float I was building. I was always impressed by his reticent speech and calm demeanor, both bordering on indifference. He never initiated a conversation, and his responses to questions were mumbled and abbreviated. Yet, I found his persona intriguing and amusing … a quintessential Maine character. His bearing always initiated an uncharacteristic calmness in me.

      Having arrived back in Kittery after a long winter, one sunny April day, I was devastated to discover the floating-raft section of my new dock gone. I assumed it had washed down tidal Chauncey Creek and out to sea during wintery high tides. Bud happened to be there, waterside too, painting his boat for the next fishing season. His back to me, he remained thoroughly engaged in his work and characteristically mute as I loudly voiced my anger and frustration. Through at least 10 minutes of my uninterrupted, distraught whining about my loss and the expense of building another raft, Bud concentrated on this painting, nodded once or twice, but never turned around. Exhausted and deflated, I finally turned to leave.

Without expression, and in his usual laconic tone, Bud abruptly muttered: “Well, you could build anotha’ one, I suppose (pause ….), but my cousin down the cri’ck saw your raft floating by some weeks ago and hauled it up on his beach (pause) …  I could help haul it back whenever you like.”  And so, another Mainer had let a ‘new-be’ stew awhile before generously offering needed information and help.

     Maine lingo –it’s often reluctant, on target, exasperating, and amusing, all in the same mumbled breath. It slows city folk down, lowers their voices, and encourages their consideration and reflection. It makes them more accepting and a lot easier to deal with.

Ken Fellows

Joanna. . https://www.joannaseibert.com/