To those of you who’ve felt the sting of unhelpful responses in this season, responses lacking empathy and weight, responses that made you feel unseen, I apologize. If my post felt that way to you, I’m deeply sorry.
Now that some time has passed, I’ve been wondering what might be more helpful. What are we to do? I have a few thoughts. Maybe at least one is helpful.
We are becoming who we already are--whole, healed, our truest selves. This journey is framed by Gregory of Nyssa, the fourth century Cappadocian theologian, as deification or theosis, a progressive journey of becoming fully human. Contemporary trauma therapist Gabor Matѐ frames this becoming as a process of “healing”—"a word that, at its root, means ‘returning to wholeness.’”[1] What do these journeys of transformation have in common, and how might Gregory’s theology inform an approach to the healing of trauma?
In this paper, I will explore Gregory of Nyssa’s theology of deification or theosis, the progressive, participative journey through which we are becoming more fully human. I will demonstrate that Gregory articulates how we become human through encounter with kenotic love, healing our alienation from God, ourselves and others. To do that, I will focus primarily on Gregory’s writings, theologians and commentators, and related scriptures, and make connections with a modern understanding of the healing of trauma articulated by Gabor Matѐ and others. I’ll focus particularly on Gregory’s On the Human Image of God as well as his Homilies on the Song of Songs, and propose Gregory’s theology informs an approach to contemplative healing that addresses the fragmenting effects of trauma and transforms our false selves into the cruciform image of Christ.
The Apocalypse is an unfolding epic story, a full sensory immersion in the story of the Lamb, the revelation of Jesus Christ. The author John, exiled pastor, writer of the Gospel, Apostle, Beloved and friend of Jesus, writes this letter to his seven churches to give them a bigger, truer picture of reality. These churches, living in the shadow of the Roman Empire, are experiencing the pressures of persecution and martyrdom. Life is hard. How will they endure?
In this paper, I will explore the central figure of Revelation, the slain Lamb, focusing on Revelation 5:6-14. I will demonstrate that the Lamb refers to Christ crucified (the Paschal Lamb), displaying the healing power of cruciform love. To do that, I will focus on Lamb imagery in the Johannine tradition in light of Hebrew scriptures, commentaries, and ancient and modern voices, and propose that Christ as Lamb heals the world through self-emptying love that centers our worship and response.
The parable of the ten virgins in Matthew 25:1-13 is given to us by Apostle, tax collector and gospel author Matthew. Written somewhere between 60 and 90 A.D., this is most likely the second gospel written (while Origen holds it as the first), reflecting much of the work of Mark. Matthew gives us a comprehensive gospel intended to help pastor a growing Church still under Roman rule in a time of great turmoil and stress.[1]
Some understand this parable as a portrayal of the final judgment and eternal punishment for all those who lack the oil of grace and/or Holy Spirit. Instead, I propose an Emmaus Road interpretation of the parable of the ten virgins from Matthew 25:1-13. I will address the problem of viewing Christ as punisher and excluder as it relates to the loving, healing nature of Christ. To do that, I will explore the meaning of the passage in the context of the book of Matthew, and in light of scriptures, commentaries and articles, and propose that this parable is an invitation to all followers of Jesus to live watchful lives of mercy rather than a prediction of eternal separation and punishment.
An Emmaus reading opens the parable in light of the person and story of Jesus as the full revelation of God. We read by the light of Spirit to see a story of redemption centered in a loving, self-giving Christ present to heal, serve and save. This is the Christ, the bridegroom, we see in Matthew and in this parable offering compassionate mercy that corrects rather than condemns, seeking to bring all to the wedding feast.
Matthew brings us Jesus in full color, sharing extensively from his teachings in the Sermon on the Mount (Ch 5-7) as well as the Olivet Discourse (Ch 24-25). In Matthew we see Jesus teaching, healing, delivering and fulfilling the Messianic prophecies of the Hebrew scriptures. Concerned with the Kingdom, Matthew helps us see the Kingdom, the rule and reign of God, in Jesus.
The hunger for a more experiential, mystical faith is growing in an American landscape dotted with Evangelical churches too purpose-driven to offer personalized pastoral care for the soul. In this void, many desiring a more transformational, embodied spiritual life are seeking spiritual directors. These guides are trained to listen empathetically and help people understand what God is doing and saying in their lives. “Spiritual direction,” says Richard Foster, “is an interpersonal relationship in which we learn how to grow, live, and love in the spiritual life.”[1]
In an article titled “Growing Demand for Spiritual Directors,” Lisa Wangsness of the Boston Globe writes, “The Rev. Michelle Sanchez, a young evangelical Christian pastor, believes the interest in spiritual direction highlights what is missing from religious institutions today….So many religious traditions end up feeling quite divorced from your everyday life and experience, so it’s essentially irrelevant…I think people are tired of that, and I think they hunger for a God they can experience, that is relevant, and close, and that can actually transform them.’’[2]
Within the context of spiritual relationship, directors open space for seekers to listen to God as well as to their own hearts. The empathy of the director shapes a space rooted in love and ripe for knowing God and self. This experiential knowing of love brings growth and healing. Gregory the Great and other Church Fathers emphasized the importance of spiritual direction in pastoral care as part of the pastoral office and central to a healthy spiritual life.
In this paper, I will explore the centrality of spiritual direction and empathy in spiritual health and wholeness. I will demonstrate that empathy creates space for spiritual transformation as we experience God as love and come to know our true selves in love. To do that, I will focus on the connection between empathy and our experience of God’s love through the writings of Thomas Oden and Gregory the Great as well as Bernard of Clairvaux, Julian of Norwich and Meister Eckhart. I'll propose that our spiritual healing and wholeness come primarily through union with love in God, ourselves and others.
I never aspired to higher learning. Four years of college definitely felt like enough. Yet when I heard about the masters program at St. Stephens University, studying with Dean Dr. Bradley Jersak and an amazing faculty, I felt compelled. The program seemed tailor-made for my journey as I’ve been renewing and re-forming my faith. I’m finishing the second of four modules, and to say it’s been transformative, stretching, grounding, and soul restoring would not be to understate the impact.
A few friends have asked me to share what I’ve been learning. Then a professor suggested publishing my work. So over time, I’ll be sharing my papers with you. Be forewarned. This is academic writing. You’ll find a bibliography, footnotes, the whole deal. But I also hope you’ll find help in your own journey. This first paper describes the theological underpinnings of what we see in the transformational, face to face ministry of Roots&Branches all the time. I’m not sure whether to say “buckle up” or “enjoy,” so maybe I’ll say both.
I wonder if I’ve ever really understood the gospel. That a very good God comes to us in human form, in poverty and in solidarity with the poor and marginalized and sick, to show us the way to be human. Self-emptying, self-giving, self-sacrificing love. Jesus leads a liberation movement that is social and relational and costly.
The sun beams. The grass beckons. I heed its welcome and lay on my back. Bare feet to the earth, knees upright to support my frame. Shielding my eyes, I stare at the sky naming each majestic cloud as an image I’ve formed in my mind’s eye. Horse. Chicken leg. Heart. I think about clouds as images. Clouds as covering. And somehow, I think about God…
Where is God in the clouds? How do I name that which I’ve deified? How cloudy are my images of God? What or who do I imagine God to be?
Tradition has given me some answers. Many words have been written to substantiate men’s beliefs about God. I’ve parroted a lot of them. But how do we truly begin to know God in that passionate, deep, mystical, unveiled knowing that Jesus speaks of in John 17:3, “This is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent”?
Honored to contribute once again to the Global Leadership Network! Here’s an excerpt from my latest article. Click here to read the entire piece.
Our capacity for bounce-back—the ability to recover quickly, stay positive and see new opportunities in the midst of setbacks—has been challenged of late. Perhaps you’ve noticed.
We’re living and leading in liminal space—the time between what was and what’s next. For many, this long season has drained our reserves and reduced our resiliency. We all feel it.
We’re faced with new challenges and new problems to solve that require us to find new ways to live and lead through disruption. For many of us, long seasons in this in-between space can drain our reserves and reduce our resiliency.
How do we get our bounce-back back?
Here’s the good news. Your resiliency is a muscle that can be built with practice. And your past, present and future hold the keys for strength building.
I blew it. And I’d like to apologize. On January 6th, as the capitol was under assault, I posted what was happening in my Facebook feed. I posted while I was pissed. Never a good thing to do. We know this, right? And yet, watching what was unfolding, I was incensed. I won’t go into the reasons now because it’s not helpful, and it’s not the point. I posted my opinion because it’s America and we can. And then I blew it.
What an honor to be invited to write for the Global Leadership Network! Here’s a brief excerpt from my blog post. Click here to read the full article.
The surprising key to navigating in this very complex world is PACE.
What if in slowing down, pacing ourselves and honoring the pace of others, we actually find energy for creativity, for productivity and for peace?
What if a global slowdown is an invitation to rest?
In his three years of public work, Jesus fully accomplished his mission on earth. In a sea of endless needs and demands, he frequently made space for rest and retreat. And he did this not just for himself. He did it for his people.
When the disciples returned from a long work assignment on the road (preaching and healing and doing all the disciple stuff), they came to Jesus to report what they’d seen and done. So many people are coming and going that they haven’t even had a chance to eat. Rather than looking at all those people with all their needs and putting the disciples right back to work, Jesus says these amazing words: “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:31, NIV)
Pace allows us to be present to our purpose and to people.
Six months in a global pandemic can mess you up. Or maybe it’s just me. (Please tell me it’s not just me.) Most days, I feel like I’m going around in circles. Which day is it? What am I doing again? The days run together, and I feel lost and disconnected and disoriented. My emotions run in circles, too. Grief, then anxious, then sad, then happy and content break in for a bit. Then grief again, and the cycle repeats. It’s like a very emotional Groundhog’s Day.
And then finally, because it still takes so much longer than it should, I remember. I remember to get out of my house and out of my head. I return to the prayer labyrinth by the river. This place is familiar, sacred space to me. On the grounds of this Jesuit spiritual center, I have a history of holy moments with God.
Here I begin to walk in a new circle.
I’ve had it. I’m over it. I’m empty. Or at least that’s how it feels. This pandemic is taking its toll, and my bounce back is no longer bouncing. I feel more like a deflated balloon.
Part of the problem is, well, life. Because the things of life that might feel manageable--you know, when we’re not in a pandemic--just keep piling on. Uncertainty. Loss. Grief. Conflict. Care for children and elderly parents. (I am dealing with the latter.) Decisions feel nearly impossible to make, because what we know today will most likely change tomorrow.
And life is loud right now. So loud. Protests and the urgent need to listen, to learn, to stand against injustice. The divide over basics like masks and the protection of life. (Why this is debatable escapes me completely.) The divide over defunding and reforming law enforcement. Oh, and the very loud divide over a certain upcoming election. Which will only get louder. The fear mongering. The misinformation. I am only stating the obvious now. And the obvious is enough to send me straight to bed for a nap.
I need the quiet desperately these days. Stillness. Rest (and not just the nap kind, although that can help). In this kind of space I remember. I remember the goodness of God. I remember Christ in me. I remember I am held in an unyielding embrace with great tenderness. And I can start to breathe again.
This special blog post features all of Chapter 13, (IN) Body, from rooted (IN): Thriving in Connection with God, Yourself, and Others. This chapter has never felt more timely. Here’s a taste to get you started.
Jesus prays this amazing, confounding prayer. A seemingly unanswerable prayer that communicates the deepest intention of his life and death and resurrection. He prays that we would be one with him as he is one with the Father, that we would be one with each other. In a world increasingly fragmented, fearful, and partisan, the answer to this prayer seems impossible. But the truth is, God has already made the way, and the way is (IN). In Jesus, he invites us to live connected with God, with ourselves and with others in truth and in grace, rooted and grounded in love.
I tend to focus on all I’m pausing from. All the normal, all the things I love and need. And I feel the sadness of missing all the things. And we need to feel the sadness, because it’s real. The loss is real. Let’s just take a moment to acknowledge that.
But it helps when I change a word, and I ask this question: “What am I pausing for?”
What if there’s something in the world, something in me, that needs rest to be renewed or maybe to be born for the first time? Maybe there’s something that will only open up in the pressure of this pause. Something in me. Something in the world. Something we desperately need.
From Dan Henry—my friend and spiritual director—a practice of Awareness, Understanding, and Right Action that leads us into peace. Founder of PilgrimHeart Spiritual Direction, Dan is also an instructor with Sustainable Faith’s School of Spiritual Direction. Find out more here: http://www.pilgrimheart.io/
In the face of great sadness and suffering such as in this current pandemic, is it possible to be at peace?
If you are a follower of Christ, you most likely know the “correct” answer to that question. But sometimes there is a gap between what I tell myself I believe about God, and what the patterns and flow of my life say about what I truly believe. For example, I might declare that I’ve received the peace of Christ, I am loved, and all is well despite challenging circumstances. After all, Jesus promised us peace that transcends understanding. But if, in actuality, the inner atmosphere of my soul is characterized by things like fear or anger, then it’s safe to say that I am not truly experiencing all the peace of God that I’ve been promised.
Several years ago, and well into my “peace-ward” journey, I had one of those rare (for me) moments where I felt I “heard” something quite specific from God. It was more of a nonverbal sense, but the gist of it was, “Dan, the most important thing you can do is to cultivate a peaceful heart.” Cultivating a peaceful heart has been at the center of my reflection and practice ever since. It’s my through-line and spiritual thermometer every day.
We’ve all felt it. The fear and anxiety that come with the word “pandemic.” The word turns our world upside down, and with the turning comes fear. It’s our human response when our safety, the safety of those we love, is threatened. Also the fear of the unknown and whether I can get Clorox wipes and toilet paper at the store. Or even go to the store. And now we’re wearing masks in public. What is happening? The list changes daily—what feels most compromised and uncertain today?
But as this has gone on for weeks now, I’m aware of a different fear. Because in the middle of all the slowing and the stopping and the trauma of these days, I sense an invitation. And I’m afraid I will miss it, afraid we will miss it.
What if something is trying to be born, to be made new, to be healed, and we miss it altogether?
What if this time we share in the wilderness offers us a gift? The gift of our own undoing. What if it opens the doorways to our souls? The place where we find our true selves again. Where we find one another again. Where we find God again. Or maybe for the first time. Or maybe in a new way. What if we find a new way to be ourselves? To be together? What if there’s mercy in the pruning?
Honestly, it feels like it’s too soon to offer the words “gift” or “mercy” into the chaos. Because there’s so much pain right now. So much fear, anxiety, uncertainty. All of this is real. We feel it deeply, the groaning in our world. We can’t rush or push or work our way past it (although some will try). We must first hold this space together, acknowledge the fear and loss, and find a way to walk together through it. Loving, serving, praying, we will find the way through.
Now conscious of my turning, I consider the way back to trust. And I ready myself for the tussle. Because this trust requires honesty. It requires that I look straight into what is real today and pray. Not a flowery prayer that defies reality, but raw, visceral prayers of lament. That cry out for encounter. And in this place of prayer — talking, crying, listening, thanking, releasing — God’s goodness becomes rooted in me again. Because I begin to remember his character, his faithfulness. And I begin to see his face more clearly, the expression of love and kind knowing. In this place, in the light of Love’s face, I can rest. I can wait. I can trust.
What an honor to be invited to write for the Global Leadership Network! Here’s a brief excerpt from my blog post. Click here to read the full article.
As leaders, it’s imperative that we craft a way of life for ourselves that is responsive to body and soul.
Jesus observed this rhythm, withdrawing often to lonely places after productive ministry seasons (Mark 6:31). Sustainability was more important than their stories of success.
What does practicing moments of stillness look like in your organization?
Perhaps you could take time in meetings, at the beginning and at key junctures, for prayer. Or you could establish a norm for you and your staff to take a day of solitude each month. Or consider scheduling regular periods for personal silence during your work week. Or perhaps you could make it normative to take all vacation time and completely unplug.
During strategic planning days and retreats, it is a regular practice for our Roots&Branches team to begin with an extended time of quiet. We each pray silently and listen for the ideas, thoughts and priorities that rise in our minds and hearts. When we come back together, each person shares what they’ve sensed in this time.
Without fail, we begin to see themes arise. Clarity comes. And we have a unified sense of direction.
