Last week we started thinking about the fine line
between giving up and spiritual surrender.
Giving up is not the goal of an engaged religious life.
Giving up is a mark of a life bereft of meaning,
of loving community.
We shouldn’t just stop trying.
Though, there are times when we need to switch strategies.
I love gardening.
The vibrant garden in front of this church ...
and with the towering tomato vines,
and the trailing squash plants,
is inspiring,
and connects us to the heartbeat of the universe.
My dream is to have a yard overflowing with squash and peppers and eggplants.
So a few years ago I built raised beds.
Filled those with a soil mixture.
Carefully picked out the sweet little seedlings
that looked so sturdy ... and so hopeful!
They were optimistically planted in the ground,
and I watered and waited ...
And watched most of it eventually wither away.
You could chalk that up to a first-timers experiment.
But the thing is ... I have gone through this same cycle since 2008.
I don’t know if my plants don’t get enough water.
Or if there’s not enough or too much sunlight.
Or if the soil is to blame.
But for the life of me a crop of squash, peppers, or eggplants refuses to erupt in the garden.
When that first white splotch of powdery mildew spreads across the deep green leaf of those dear squash plants -
Or when the green peppers refuse to grow any larger than a quarter,
Or the eggplant seedlings stay a resolute twelve inches high.
Reacting with a zen-like “That Is Good”
is the last thought in my head.
I fret.
Wring my hands.
Sigh with disappointment.
Shake my fist in the air.
Around mid-August I finally give up,
stop watering,
and watch as the plants turn brown and lifeless.
And in April, the entire process starts over again.
Surely, this summer will be different!
Hope rises anew,
with possibilities and promises of a bountiful edible garden.
Ever optimistic, I try one more time.
But not necessarily learning and integrating new information
that will give a varied, more successful outcome.
Do any of you have something like that in your life?
It may not come in the form of your garden.
Perhaps it’s a high E that gets stuck in your throat.
Or a handstand you cannot kick up into in yoga class.
A promotion at work that eludes you.
A family member you just don’t click with.
And you try and you try and you try to do that thing,
whatever it is.
But after awhile you feel like you are banging your head against the wall.
And you remember hearing that
“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again
and expecting different results."
You’re pretty sure you aren’t insane,
at least no more than anyone else.
Yet, something keeps us from changing.
Keeps us tied to old information,
worn out hopes and dreams.
Stops us from reaching a “That Is Good” place.
No matter what your thing is -
if you repeat your actions or reactions, over and over,
and the results are the same unsatisfying outcomes ...
You’ll be frustrated. Disappointed. Tempted to give up.
But the most heartbreaking result,
the one most detrimental to an engaged spirituality:
You build up more resistance to embracing the life that wants to live in you.
What is the life that wants to live in you?
How do you identify it,
name it,
and when you are ready ...
surrender to it?
Why do we resist changing habits or systems that no longer work for us?
And not only no longer work for us -
but actively keep us from thriving.
There are so many reasons for our resistance,
sometimes overlapping with each other,
creating a web of threads that pull at us,
draw us back.
We strive during our lifetimes to loosen them,
only to feel their tug at the very moment
we want to say to ourselves “That Is Good."
Fear of the unknown,
unhealthy family systems,
a chorus of self-defeating voices inside our heads.
We each carry around our own unique set of threads,
draped around us as we move through our days.
Maya Angelou wrote:
“At fifteen life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place,
was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice.”
The church garden out front is a wonderful example of Angelou’s insight lived out. Our garden is built on the principles of permaculture.
That philosophy converges easily
with our Unitarian Universalist principles.
There is a lot of depth and complexity to the permaculture system,
but at its simplest, it can be summed up as:
“Pay attention to what is right in front of you.
Work with that energy, not against it.”
If I were to take that to heart in my own garden,
I would surrender to the reality that fruit trees, berries and passion fruit vines thrive in my space.
And for whatever reason ... veggies don’t.
It’s possible that soil tests and soil augmentation and moving planter boxes would solve my problem.
But it’s likely that if I re-imagined my space
to hold all the varieties of edibles that already thrive there,
and that I love just as much if not more
than the plants I wish would grow ...
my hoped for garden of Eden in the middle of Highland Park
would finally emerge.
Most of us don’t have a choice about
the threads we carry.
The strands were woven together begun before we were born,
and we pick up strands of others’ threads along the way.
I wanted to go on to say that we have all sorts of choices
about what we do with those threads,
once we realize they are there.
We want to think that.
But that’s not always the case.
Despite our best intentions,
no matter how hard we work
or the number of books we read on a topic.
It’s possible that we won’t reach that high E.
Or kick into a handstand and stay there.
Or be chosen for a promotion.
Or make amends with that family member.
Success is so often defined by overcoming an insurmountable obstacle
through one’s hard work.
And when we’ve done the work,
but haven’t achieved the goal.
It seems like life has forsaken us.
And it’s harder than ever to
identify, name, and surrender to the life that wants to live in us.
But that life that calls out to us,
that lingers there,
just below the surface,
is ready for us to discover it.
Ready for us to settle down that cobweb
of no’s and you can’t’s and who do you think you are’s?
The life that calls out to us
begs us to learn to live with that net of threads,
wonder at them,
surrender to them so they no longer tug at our neck.
The life that calls out to us
wants us to understand that
it’s those very threads that can give us the most hope,
because despite their presence in our lives,
here we are!
And life hasn’t forsaken us.
Hasn’t forsaken you.
Whether or not you get an “A” on whatever it is you set out to do this week - you are loved.
O.R. Melling wrote:
"When you reach the edge of all that is known, and take the step into the unknown, either something solid will be there to step onto, or you will be given wings to fly."
May you surrender into the known, and unknown.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Readings and References:
Story for All Ages, "That Is Good," A tale from India
Parker Palmer, "Let Your Life Speak"
Denise Levertov, "The Thread"
between giving up and spiritual surrender.
Giving up is not the goal of an engaged religious life.
Giving up is a mark of a life bereft of meaning,
of loving community.
We shouldn’t just stop trying.
Though, there are times when we need to switch strategies.
I love gardening.
The vibrant garden in front of this church ...
and with the towering tomato vines,
and the trailing squash plants,
is inspiring,
and connects us to the heartbeat of the universe.
My dream is to have a yard overflowing with squash and peppers and eggplants.
So a few years ago I built raised beds.
Filled those with a soil mixture.
Carefully picked out the sweet little seedlings
that looked so sturdy ... and so hopeful!
They were optimistically planted in the ground,
and I watered and waited ...
And watched most of it eventually wither away.
You could chalk that up to a first-timers experiment.
But the thing is ... I have gone through this same cycle since 2008.
I don’t know if my plants don’t get enough water.
Or if there’s not enough or too much sunlight.
Or if the soil is to blame.
But for the life of me a crop of squash, peppers, or eggplants refuses to erupt in the garden.
When that first white splotch of powdery mildew spreads across the deep green leaf of those dear squash plants -
Or when the green peppers refuse to grow any larger than a quarter,
Or the eggplant seedlings stay a resolute twelve inches high.
Reacting with a zen-like “That Is Good”
is the last thought in my head.
I fret.
Wring my hands.
Sigh with disappointment.
Shake my fist in the air.
Around mid-August I finally give up,
stop watering,
and watch as the plants turn brown and lifeless.
And in April, the entire process starts over again.
Surely, this summer will be different!
Hope rises anew,
with possibilities and promises of a bountiful edible garden.
Ever optimistic, I try one more time.
But not necessarily learning and integrating new information
that will give a varied, more successful outcome.
Do any of you have something like that in your life?
It may not come in the form of your garden.
Perhaps it’s a high E that gets stuck in your throat.
Or a handstand you cannot kick up into in yoga class.
A promotion at work that eludes you.
A family member you just don’t click with.
And you try and you try and you try to do that thing,
whatever it is.
But after awhile you feel like you are banging your head against the wall.
And you remember hearing that
“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again
and expecting different results."
You’re pretty sure you aren’t insane,
at least no more than anyone else.
Yet, something keeps us from changing.
Keeps us tied to old information,
worn out hopes and dreams.
Stops us from reaching a “That Is Good” place.
No matter what your thing is -
if you repeat your actions or reactions, over and over,
and the results are the same unsatisfying outcomes ...
You’ll be frustrated. Disappointed. Tempted to give up.
But the most heartbreaking result,
the one most detrimental to an engaged spirituality:
You build up more resistance to embracing the life that wants to live in you.
What is the life that wants to live in you?
How do you identify it,
name it,
and when you are ready ...
surrender to it?
Why do we resist changing habits or systems that no longer work for us?
And not only no longer work for us -
but actively keep us from thriving.
There are so many reasons for our resistance,
sometimes overlapping with each other,
creating a web of threads that pull at us,
draw us back.
We strive during our lifetimes to loosen them,
only to feel their tug at the very moment
we want to say to ourselves “That Is Good."
Fear of the unknown,
unhealthy family systems,
a chorus of self-defeating voices inside our heads.
We each carry around our own unique set of threads,
draped around us as we move through our days.
Maya Angelou wrote:
“At fifteen life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place,
was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice.”
The church garden out front is a wonderful example of Angelou’s insight lived out. Our garden is built on the principles of permaculture.
That philosophy converges easily
with our Unitarian Universalist principles.
There is a lot of depth and complexity to the permaculture system,
but at its simplest, it can be summed up as:
“Pay attention to what is right in front of you.
Work with that energy, not against it.”
If I were to take that to heart in my own garden,
I would surrender to the reality that fruit trees, berries and passion fruit vines thrive in my space.
And for whatever reason ... veggies don’t.
It’s possible that soil tests and soil augmentation and moving planter boxes would solve my problem.
But it’s likely that if I re-imagined my space
to hold all the varieties of edibles that already thrive there,
and that I love just as much if not more
than the plants I wish would grow ...
my hoped for garden of Eden in the middle of Highland Park
would finally emerge.
Most of us don’t have a choice about
the threads we carry.
The strands were woven together begun before we were born,
and we pick up strands of others’ threads along the way.
I wanted to go on to say that we have all sorts of choices
about what we do with those threads,
once we realize they are there.
We want to think that.
But that’s not always the case.
Despite our best intentions,
no matter how hard we work
or the number of books we read on a topic.
It’s possible that we won’t reach that high E.
Or kick into a handstand and stay there.
Or be chosen for a promotion.
Or make amends with that family member.
Success is so often defined by overcoming an insurmountable obstacle
through one’s hard work.
And when we’ve done the work,
but haven’t achieved the goal.
It seems like life has forsaken us.
And it’s harder than ever to
identify, name, and surrender to the life that wants to live in us.
But that life that calls out to us,
that lingers there,
just below the surface,
is ready for us to discover it.
Ready for us to settle down that cobweb
of no’s and you can’t’s and who do you think you are’s?
The life that calls out to us
begs us to learn to live with that net of threads,
wonder at them,
surrender to them so they no longer tug at our neck.
The life that calls out to us
wants us to understand that
it’s those very threads that can give us the most hope,
because despite their presence in our lives,
here we are!
And life hasn’t forsaken us.
Hasn’t forsaken you.
Whether or not you get an “A” on whatever it is you set out to do this week - you are loved.
O.R. Melling wrote:
"When you reach the edge of all that is known, and take the step into the unknown, either something solid will be there to step onto, or you will be given wings to fly."
May you surrender into the known, and unknown.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Readings and References:
Story for All Ages, "That Is Good," A tale from India
Parker Palmer, "Let Your Life Speak"
Denise Levertov, "The Thread"