Love is a Choice

Scrolling idly through Facebook this morning, I came across this beautiful image, posted by the First Congregational United Church of Christ from Sioux City, Iowa, on the Faith on the Fringe page:

Reading it lifted my spirits enormously. I thought, yes, there are still people out there fighting the good fight, in the face of all the negativity, anger and hatred spewing forth from various governments and hate groups around the world. 

And it reminded me that we - all of us - have free will, and can make a conscious choice to embrace wonderful things like inclusion, empathy, compassion, equality, dignity, diversity, community, kindness, integrity, honesty, respect, justice, peace, the planet and humanity. We can choose to fact-check before we react to the latest sound-bite. And above all, we can choose to (at least try) to live our lives in a spirit of Love.

Love is an amazing phenomenon. It is fundamental to human well-being, and enables the rest of the good attitudes listed above. I would go so far as to say we can only become fully rounded people, able to respond kindly to those around us, if we love and are loved in return. It is the most powerful emotion in the world. When we truly love someone, we will put their welfare before our own, we will grieve when they are sad or unwell, and share in their joy when things are on the up and up. Loving affects every particle of our being. And I understand God to be Love at the centre of everything.

However, it isn't easy to live in a spirit of love: little that is worthwhile in this world is easy. With so much happening out there to grieve and upset us, the natural human response may be to become angry, vengeful. The process of growing in love is a challenging one. When we choose to try to live in a spirit of love, we are choosing to make ourselves vulnerable, and vulnerability can hurt. Love can only be offered. We can never guaranteed that the other person will love us back, or love us next week, next year... or that they will remain healthy and with us. Choosing to love another person is undoubtedly a vulnerable choice. Love comes with no guarantees - it is without strings. And that applies, whomever, or whatever, the object of our love is. We have to be all in. It involves trusting that the universe is a benevolent place (the evidence around us notwithstanding) and that the best thing we can do is to love on another as God loves us. It takes faith and courage.

All of this involves choice. We can choose to curl in on ourselves, look after Number One, and the rest of the world can go hang. Or we can choose to stand up for love, for all the wonderful qualities listed by the First Congregational United Church of Christ and strive for a better world. 

What will you choose?

 

Gardens of the Mind

I love the idea that our minds are like gardens, and that it is up to us to cultivate "thoughts, ideas and visions of great beauty" as the anonymous author of Thought for Today put it on 6th February. We need to tend them carefully. I also believe that our wider communities (whether of family, work colleagues, friends or congregations) can be seen as gardens in need of tender care. Like this beautiful walled garden at Delapre Abbey in Northampton...

The metaphors of gardening and the cycle of the seasons are useful ones in relation to the spiritual journey of our lives. In his meditation, Spring won't take 'No' for an answer, Unitarian Universalist minister Richard S. Gilbert speaks of "the changing seasons of the self." The self's seasons change not only as we grow older, but also within shorter periods of time - sometimes even in the same day, as we move through our daily lives. Last weekend, for example, I received two pieces of bad news, which were then (at least partially) eclipses by an amazing piece of good news, so that my thoughts ricocheted from worry and sadness to great joy, in the space of a few hours.

Which reminded me that my mind and my emotions are quite separate entities. It was my emotions which were all over the place, and I had to bring my mind to bear on the rapidly evolving situation, to regain some stability and balance. As the Thought for Today author put it, "Thoughts have great power, they are like seeds you plant in your mind. The more you hold onto a particular thought, the more power you invest in it. Positive thoughts give us energy and strength. Negative thoughts rob us of power and make us feel tired and strained."

It is not only the gardens of our individual minds which need careful tending, but also the gardens of our faith and other communities. We have to be really careful about the plants we allow to take root and grow there, tending the positive ones with care, and uprooting the negative ones, before they take deep root and strangle our efforts to grow and thrive.

And yet, to extend the metaphor even further, we are not responsible for each other's gardens, each other's minds. Yes, we each have some responsibility for our communal gardens, but we also need to recognise that all of us have plants to contribute. In her piece Gardening is Necessary, which appeared in the first volume of With Heart and Mind, Unitarian Betty Rathbone wrote, "We should see that we have our own patch in order, rather than trying to impose our ideas on other people and their affairs." And (perhaps more importantly) "We should expect to live with change and see the whole cycle of life from tender beginnings to growth and decay as valuable, not expect to be able to stay all the time with the bits that we enjoy most. We need to realise where we are in our life cycle and continually revise our ideas of our place in the world."

The opposite of growth (whether spiritual, communal or horticultural) is stagnation. This happens when we are reluctant to embrace change, harking back to the (almost mythical) "good old days" of the distant past. Which can make us want to recreate it, however impossible that might be. And yes, I get it. Change can be frightening. But I believe we are doing ourselves a great disservice if we close our minds to change, strangling the new shoots which will keep cropping up, however often we try to weed them out.

I believe it is worth embracing change and growth for ourselves and for those we care about. So let us tend the gardens of our minds and our communities with assiduous care, choosing only the best seeds, which will grow into the most glorious flowers. Because each one of us has something positive to contribute to our future communities, our future selves.

Not Choosing is Also a Choice

The French Existentialist philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre, once wrote, "I can always choose, but I ought to know that if I do not choose, I am still choosing."

When I read those words, I recognised their truth straight away. I think that what he is saying, is that each human being has free will (I would say, God-given free will, with which I'm sure Sartre would disagree) and so it is up to each and every one of us to exercise that free will, by making choices in our lives.  Because if we choose *not* to make a choice about something, then that is the choice of apathy, and the only thing that achieves is to make us passengers in our own stories, rather than drivers. (For example, people who do not exercise their right to vote, believing that their single vote will make no difference. It does.)

According to Wikipedia, Sartre's "primary idea is that people, as humans, are 'condemned to be free.' He explained, 'This may seem paradoxical because condemnation is normally an external judgement which constitutes the conclusion of a judgement. Here, it is the not the human who has chosen to be like this... Their being is not determined, so it is up to everyone to create their own existence, for which they are then responsible. They cannot not be free, there is a form of necessity for freedom, which can never be given up.'"

It might be argued that there are situations we might find ourselves in, when no obvious choice is possible. But I think Sartre is saying that it is always possible for us to make a choice, even if the only choice we can make is how we respond to our situation. But that we do have the responsibility to make that choice. As he wrote, "it is up to everyone to create their own existence, for which they are then responsible."

For example, during the last month, I have been told to sit with my foot up all day long, except for taking a brief hurple around the downstairs rooms once an hour. And I have chosen to obey that dictum, so that my foot will heal better and more quickly. I have also chosen to make the best of it, by setting up a table alongside my chair, on which my journals, pens and laptops sit, ready for use. I bought myself a cheap lap tray, which has been a boon and a blessing, because it has enabled me to write and work without having to attempt balancing anything on my legs. I've also chosen to embrace the chance of spending more time writing and crocheting than I normally would...

I could have chosen to moan, whinge and complain about the enforced inactivity, but I have chosen instead to "make the best of it". And I believe that the choice to make the best of whatever hand fate or life deals us, is the finest choice in the world. Because it gives us agency in our lives. And that is precious.

Swings and Roundabouts

 The German Romantic poet, Karoline von Günderrode, once wrote, "In order to win something more surely, one must always give up something else."

And I have certainly found this to be true, in my own life. In fact, I would go so far as to say it is amost always true, for the vast majority of people. The phrase "No-one rides for free." did not come about by accident.  Life is a process of making choices and decisions, and there is usually a downside, a price, to any decision or choice we make. 

Let me give you a couple of examples: the price of nurturing my children through to adulthood, of giving them strong roots, inevitably led to them leaving home as fully-formed adults. I had to also give them wings to fly. The cost of a daily writing habit is the ability to ever lie in bed beyond six a.m. The things we have to give up in order to "win something more surely" may be minor and easily absorbed (like geting up an hour early, at least for me) or it may be major and life changing (having to let my children grow into their own people, no longer dependent on me).

The thing we have to give up may be something we never thought would change. I was a librarian for twenty-five mostly happy and fulfilling years, before I felt the call to ministry. I was happy in my final library job, working for Learning Resources for Education, Northamptonshire's Schools Library Service, and had to think long and hard about leaving. I still miss being in touch with the children's book publishing scene.

But, as I was on the cusp of beginning my ministry training, Rev Lindy Latham sent me some very wise advice, by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, which I have never forgotten; in fact, it made so much sense to me that it has been pinned to the notice board in my study ever since:

"You must give up everything in order to gain everything. What must you give up? All that is not truly you/ all that you have chosen without choosing and value without evaluating, accepting because of someone else's extrinsic judgement, rather than your own/ all your self-doubt that keeps you from trusting and loving yourself or other human beings. What will you gain? Only your own, true self; a self who is at peace, who is able to truly love and be loved, and who understands who and what [s]he is meant for. But you can be yourself only if you are no one else. You must give up 'their' approval, whoever they are, and look to yourself for evaluation of success and failure, in terms of your own level of aspiration that is consistent with your values. Nothing is simpler and nothing is more difficult." 

I have tried to live by it ever since. 

Walking Our Own Paths

 I have to admit that I find this week's quotation, by French writer, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, confusing. It reads, "Do not just walk the smooth roads. Walk paths that no-one has walked before, so that you leave traces and not just dust."

Because no-one walks exactly the same path as anyone else - we are all unique human beings, coming from unique parentage, backgrounds and past experiences, all of which will impact our choice of the roads we travel throughout our lives. 

I suppose it might mean that we should try to choose the path that makes the most sense to us, at the deepest level of our being and at the point of our decision, rather than blindly following the choices or decisions of others. We might call this the way of integrity, perhaps. For most people, it is so much easier to follow the "smooth roads", so much harder to strike out on our own, because it requires more bravery, more confidence in our own choices. Especially if by doing so, we are going against the opinions of others, of the silent majority. 

It is a deep human instinct to take our problems to someone else, someone we think is wiser than we are, stronger than we are, and allow them to influence our paths, even to make our decisions for us. But in the end, if we want to grow into the best people we can be, only we should, only we can, make our decisions, our choices, for ourselves. Because, as I said, each person is unique, so what is right for one may not be right for another.

Many of the choices we make will have little impact on the lives of others, or even on our own lives. But sometimes, they will change our lives, setting us on a new course, which we could not have imagined before we made that choice, set our feet on that path. When I was doing German A level, many years ago, one of our set texts for the literature element was Sansibar oder der letzte Grund by Alfred Andersch. It was about exactly this - a small group of people in the little north German town of Rerik during World War II, who make decisions which will change their lives. As Walter G. Hesse writes in his introduction to it, "The people in this tense tale seem very ordinary and familiar at the outset, yet they are drawn into a web of nightmarish incidents which force all of them to decisions which raise them far above the ordinary and familiar." He calls them "the few... to whom moral values were more important than safety."

Hesse continues, "Everyone who doubts, who retains a measure of questioning intellect or belief, even if he is not as capable as those who can 'read the signs', will eventually, by talk or action, undermine an authority which can maintain itself only through the silence of the passive majority... Everyone who contradicts the money-lenders and traders in this contemporary temple is... forced to renounce selfish interests."

The symbol of this "measure of questioning intellect or belief" is a little wooden statue, called Der Lesende Klosterschuler or the reading monk, which one of the characters, a pastor named Helander, asks the fisherman, Knudsen, to smuggle out of the country, because within the privacy of his own head, the reading monk is free, and this is a symbol the Nazis cannot bear. It is a wonderful book, which had a great impact on me.

Der lesende Klosterschuler (photo in book, Rembrandt-Verlag, Berlin)

So we need to take thought at every choice point, and try to discern what the right thing, the moral thing is, for us, at that particular instant in our journey through life. We should not be afraid to do the right thing, even if it is different. We should be willing to follow the still, small voice of our consciences, or that of the Divine spark within, and blaze our own trail, thus leaving traces of our path for others to be inspired by.

The Paths We Take

This week's quotation, by Marion Gitzel, reads, "Every path that you take is also a footbridge on which you stand."

It took me a while to work out what she was getting at, but I think she means that each choice we make leads to consequences, that our choices lead us into situations where we have to make other choices.

Which reminded me of a service I did a few years ago, about living in the moment, inspired by a reading from Wayne Muller, who wrote, "What is the next right thing for us to do? Where in this moment, shall we choose to place our time and attention? Do we stay or move, speak or keep silent, attend to this person, that task, move in this or that direction?"

I don't know about you, but to me, this seems to be such a simple approach to life, much less stressful than being worried about a thousand possible alternatives. You just concentrate on the Next Right Thing - give that your time and attention, and then go on to the next one.

But I was, and am, very conscious that "simple" does not mean the same as "easy". This moment by moment approach to our lives *is* elegantly beautiful in its simplicity, but it is by no means easy to do. Because it means that we have to be conscious, awake, moment by moment, so that we make our many small choices with awareness, rather than blindly, depending on how we are feeling at the time. Actively considering each choice, moment by moment actually sounds like quite hard work. 

But it is the most important work in the world.

If we look at our lives, really examine them, we can see that they *are* the result of all the choices we have made, in the past days and months and years (and, I guess, the choices the powers that be have made on our behalf). It is a gradual, moment by moment, process. Muller likens it to a mountain stream, and like the stream, we "know nothing of what is ahead, [are] not conscious of planning for the future. [We] simply follow the path of least resistance, motivated by gravity. ... The only choice we make - what is the next right thing to do - responds to a similarly vital inner gravity, an invisible thread that shapes our life, as our life meets the world."

This is the footbridge on which each one of us, moment by moment, stands. The results of this process have shaped our lives. All of us are where we are now, today, because of our past choices. And where we end up, tomorrow and the next day, will depend on the choices we make today.

Only One Step

When I first read this week's quotation, from Seneca, I was discouraged. It reads: "What you take for the summit is only one step."

I thought, "Bother (or a less printable equivalent) - my work is never done. Why even try?"

But then I thought again, and saw it in a different way - that our journey through life is made up of only one step, followed by another and another... and then, somehow, we get to where we're going.

And then rest, re-evaluate and start the whole process over again! So the message I'd like to take from Seneca is that although we can only take one step at a time, each one is important, and each one moves us on in our lives. Sometimes, we may feel that it is "two steps forward, one step back", but hey! That is still progress.

And if we feel we have hit rock bottom, as happens to everyone at some point (for me it was the Summer of 2013, when I had my first and only alcoholic blackout and realised that if I didn't quit, the only way onward was down), then we can choose a different direction, and start to move on again.

For me, the "one step" was quitting drinking for good on 2nd September 2013.  I have not had an alcoholic drink since. Alcoholics Anonymous and other Twelve Step programmes  also recognise the importance of the "one step at a time" way of living. The important thing is being brave enough to make that one step, over and over again.

Each of us has an opportunity every day to make another step in the direction we're going. And can choose to make it - or not. But when we choose Life, the onward steps will always be for good.

A Challenge for the New Year

This morning I was finally re-connecting with the computer, having had a few days away from it over the Christmas period, and catching up with the daily meditations from Richard Rohr's Center for Action and Contemplation, which usually give me a nice, spiritual start to my day.

And I came across this passage, from The Sacred Art of Lovingkindness: Preparing to Practice, by Rabbi Rami Shapiro, which Richard Rohr quotes, and which has really resonated with me, as a challenge for the coming year:

"Will you engage this moment with kindness or with cruelty, with love or with fear, with generosity or scarcity, with a joyous heart or an embittered one? This is your choice, and no-one can make it for you. If you choose kindness, love, generosity, and joy, then you will discover in that choice the Kingdom of God, heaven, nirvana, this-worldly salvation. If you choose cruelty, fear, scarcity, and bitterness, then you will discover in that choice the hellish states of which so many religions speak. These are not ontological realities tucked away somewhere in space - these are existential realities playing out in your own mind. Heaven and hell are both inside of you. It is your choice that determines just where you will reside."

"Heaven and hell are both inside you. It is your choice that determines just where you will reside." Wow. For 2018, I resolve to try to engage with the world, with each moment, with kindness, love, generosity and joy.

Making a Sober Choice

Two months ago today, I made a solemn promise to God to quit drinking. I came to recognise that while most other people I knew could easily moderate their drinking, having a glass or two as and when they wanted, I could not. So I decided to bang it on the head while I still could. And having hit the two month mark, it seems like the honest thing to do to share my journey with others. It's not that I'm trying to convert anyone else to a life of sobriety, just explaining why it is right for me.

image: www.designofsignage.com

It took me a long time to recognise that I had a problem with red wine, because I rarely had a proper hangover, and tended to get tipsy rather than drunk, so did not experience the nastier side effects. So I carefully ignored the warning signs - the fact that if I couldn't get my beloved red wine, I'd drink a bit of whatever was around; that I would 'have' to finish the bottle; that I was often drinking at home, even if my other half wasn't; and that every morning I would wake up feeling dried out and under par. But it wasn't affecting my life or my work or my family, so I pushed it to the back of my mind. After all, most of my friends drank wine, and they certainly didn't have a problem, so obviously I didn't.

I first scared myself in March 2012, when, having read an article about alcohol problems in the paper, I sat down and worked out that I was drinking between 2.5 and 5 times the recommended limit per week, and rarely having a day off the booze. But I decided that I could moderate, and drink only at weekends, and see how it went. I was still in denial.

It worked for a while, then I drifted back to my accustomed habit of between half a bottle and a bottle of wine most days. In January 2013, I again tried to moderate - this time I was only going to drink "outside the house." But that didn't work either. I still hadn't realised that moderation only works for people who don't have any kind of emotional dependency.

Then in July 2013, push came to shove. I got pissed in front of people whose good opinion I respected, and the fact that they had been amused by my slurring speech somehow made it worse. After a long talk with my spiritual director, I spent some hours sitting with the shame of it, and faced up to exactly how I felt about continuing to drink - frightened, uneasy and ashamed of my lack of control. During the first week in August, I worked through the process, and made the decision to quit at the beginning of September.

At this point, God got involved, and I decided to make a commitment to Him and to some ministerial friends at our annual conference on 2nd September. Which I did. It was a powerful ceremony. A Bah'ai friend, who gave up drinking over 30 years ago, and who I had gone to for advice, said: "If you've made a promise to God, you can't break it, can you?" The Quaker Advice about "A simple lifestyle, freely chosen, is a source of strength' is also proving very helpful.

And that's all. I have made the choice to stay sober, and intend to stick to it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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