Mary - an Extraordinary Mother

Mary, the mother of Jesus, is perhaps the most enigmatic of all mothers. Her story is simply told. According to the Gospel accounts, she was a young Jewish girl, betrothed to an older man, Joseph. She received an angelic visitation informing her that she was to be the mother of the saviour of the world, whose father would be God. The first thing about her that takes my breath away is her great faith - instead of having hysterics on the spot, which I think would have been quite justified in the circumstances, she accepts her fate: "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."

(image: Wikimedia Commons)

I have often wondered what it must have been like for her, bearing and raising such an extraordinary person. Even if we don't believe that Jesus was the divinely-begotten son of God, which most Unitarians don't, he was still very far from an ordinary man.

Mary has complete faith in him and continues to follow him, wherever he goes. She is there at the foot of the cross when he is crucified at the end of his ministry. And according to the Gospel of John, one of his last thoughts is care for her, when he hands her over to "the disciple whom he loved." In the Book of Acts, she is mentioned as being one of those in an upper room with some of the apostles, devoting herself to prayer.

And then she disappears from Biblical accounts. Yet she went on to become one of the most venerated figures in Christianity, not to mention Islam. Later Church traditions argue that not only was she a virgin when she conceived Jesus, but remained one for the rest of her life. Some go even further and state that she was born free of original sin, so that she could be a suitable vessel for the carrying of the son of God. Catholics in particular reverence her as the Blessed Virgin Mary, and she is often prayed to, to intercede on behalf of humankind.

But it is as a mother, an ordinary human mother, that she moves me. She brought him up, took care of him, taught him the best she knew, did her best to give him a good start in the world. Then, as all parents must, let him grow into adulthood. I know that 2000 long years separate us from Mary, but I believe that parenting has not changed. Her concerns must have been much the same as ours. I wonder with what mixture of pride and stomach-knotting fear she watched her son embark on his public ministry? In spite of the message from the Angel Gabriel, at the beginning of it all, it must have taken an awful lot of faith to stand by and let him get on with it, knowing the dangers he would face, and feeling powerless to do anything about it.

I believe that mothering, that parenting, of whatever kind, is the most important job in the world. All of us need somebody we can depend on to love us unconditionally. As Dave Tomlinson writes in How to Be a Bad Christian, "The heart of Christ's message was the love of God. He brought to ordinary people - downtrodden by ruthless rulers - the sense of their belovedness. Each person Jesus touched knew, perhaps for the first time, that their life mattered; that they were loved and cherished."

I cannot believe that he would have been able to do this, had he not experienced this kind of love for himself, growing up. So I think that the most we can do for anyone we care for is what Mary did for her son, to love and cherish them, so that they know they are beloved. So that they in their turn can go on to love others, as Jesus did. As we do, the best that we can.

 

Tempering Our Passions

The other day, I was talking with a friend, and she mentioned that she was planning to begin a doctorate in a couple of years' time, about the life of a little known person whom she'd become fascinated by. While she was speaking about it, her whole body became animated: her eyes lit up, her voice grew warmer, and it was easy to tell how passionate she felt about sharing this man's story with the wider world.

And I noticed my own reaction: I was delighted that she'd found something she felt so strongly about, yet relieved that it wouldn't be my job to put in all those years of effort. Which surprised me. A few years ago, my reaction would have been quite different. I would have been thinking, "Oh, wow! I wanna do a doctorate too!" Instead of, "Meh. Sounds like too much hard work to me." This passion was hers, not mine.

My dictionary defines passion as "a very strong feeling", whether it is an emotion, e.g. love, hate, anger, enthusiasm; or of liking something e.g. a hobby or activity; or of sexual love; of a "state of being very angry". Whichever definition you go with, passion is a Very Strong Feeling. 

On the positive side, our passions can motivate us, enthuse us, keep a bright flame of desire burning in our hearts and minds, as we labour to achieve a particular goal. Which is marvellous, if that goal is a positive one, like my friend's, to share an important true story with the world. In which case, we can safely give our passions free rein and follow where they lead.

The danger can come when the passion is ignited by words of hatred, words of fear. When we are swept up by another's originating emotions and find ourselves acting irrationally, hatefully, harming others, inflamed by falsehoods and lies. Or when we find ourselves losing our temper or being impatient with someone else, because they hav annoyed us or don't agree with us or dare to oppose us.

As has been happening only too frequently in the past week or so, when the Far Right has inflamed people's passions, inciting riots and acts of vandalism and violence. 

So we need to learn to temper our passions. "Temper" in this context means to "act as a neutralizing or counterbalancing force to something. e.g. 'their idealism is tempered with realism'" In much the same way as a blacksmith tempers steel by reheating and then cooling it. 

(image: PxHere)

We need to apply the cold water of reason and fact checking to our passions, rather than letting another's words or images inflame them.

You may have noticed that most of the descriptive phrases in this post have been elemental - to do with the fire of passion, or its tempering in cold water. Which reminded me of the words of John Greenleaf Whittier, a Quaker hymn writer:

"Drop thy still dews of quietness,

till all our strivings cease:

take from our souls the strain and stress,

and let our ordered lives confess,

the beauty of thy peace."

Amen

Nurturing Stability

Benedictine monks and nuns take a vow of stability, as the website of Mount Michael Abbey in Elkhorn, Nebraska explains: "Benedictine monks vow stability to the community in which they choose to live. This vow helps the monk persevere in the search for God. The promise is that the monk will stay with the other members of the community for mutual support in searching. While an individual monk may at times become discouraged in his search for God, the vow of stability helps him to see that others are searching as well and have a sense of the proper direction for that search."

(image: PxHere)

This kind of stability is rare in today's world. Most of us do not live in the place where we were born, and will move into different communities many times during our lives. Yet I believe that when we find a nurturing community, a safe and sacred space in which we can explore what gives our lives truth and meaning, that is very precious.

Because it is much easier to find, and then maintain, some spiritual stability in community than alone. Yet even if we are members of a spiritual community, it is still likely to be somewhere we only go once (or perhaps twice) a week. For the rest of the time, we are thrown back on our own resources and must find ways to nurture stability in our lives. Which is much more difficult to do alone than with the support of another (or others).

I have to admit that I am a little envious of those of my friends whose life partners are on the same spiritual path as they are - it must be wonderful to be able to meditate daily (for example) with someone else. It is easier to hold ourselves to account, if someone else is expecting us to show up. Which is why (in one sense) members of monastic communities have it easy. The very stability which restricts them to one community also provides that community. And being in community with friends is wonderful and spiritually enriching - which is why I used to come back from Summer School each year with my spiritual batteries recharged, feeling on top of the world.

I think our modern lives can easily become unbalanced: it seems to be almost our default wasy of being to be always on the go, always chasing the next item on the To Do list, and never taking time out to reflect, to meditate, to spend time with the Divine. And that is what the Benedictine vow of stability enables.

It is somewhat ironic that, the more we love our jobs, the more we see them as a vocation rather than a job, the less time we seem to have to just do nothing. Do Nothing. Sit. Relax. Simply Be. But it is vitally important to make that time. Because if we simply carry on beavering away, not looking after ourselves, we will eventually burn out. And then wonder why...

Time for spiritual reflection, time out of our everyday lives, is such an important thing. It brings our lives back into balance, back into stability, helps us to take a long, reflective look at the matters which are concerning us, and hopefully allows us to move back into our lives with lower stress levels. I honestly believe that it doesn't matter what form this "time out" takes, so long as we have the intention to step away completely from our mundane, everyday lives. For me, a walk in the woods is a vital part of my life. As I walk, I notice God's creation all around me: the trees, the bushes and hedges, the wild flowers, the birds singing - so loud and present, but so difficult to spot. It reconnects me with the Divine, with God's presence in my life.

How do you nurture stability in your own life?

 

A Challenge for Us All

The Black American Marxist and feminist political activist, philosopher, academic and author, Angela Davis, once wrote, "You have to act as if it were possible to radically transform the world. and you have to do it all the time."

This fits in well with the Unitarian saying, "deeds, not creeds", but it is easier said than done. Most of us are very good at being indignant about injustices in the world (and there are far too many) but less good about actually doing something about them. We sigh and tut and say, "That shouldn't happen" or "Isn't that a shame?" But how often do we take that sense of injustice, of indignation, and transform it into radical action?

Words, in this sense, are empty. They have huge persuasive power, but if they do not lead to concrete actions to correct the injustices we see, they are no use. In the Letter of James, the early Christian apostle wrote, "Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers... For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like." (1:22-24) He further wrote, "Doers who act - they will be blessed in their doing." (1:25)

Later on in his Letter, he also wrote, "What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you can say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,; and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has not works, is dead." (2:14-17)

Of course, very few of us *can* "radically transform the world". Yet we can behave as though it were possible, and do what we can where we are, with the skills and tools we have. And we have to keep on doing it, whatever it is, because "every little helps". 

Which is perhaps what Angela Davis meant: "You have to act as if it were possible to radically transform the world. and you have to do it all the time."

Effective Anger

The Ancient Greek philosopher, Aristotle, once wrote, "Anyone can get angry, that is easy. But to be angry with the right person, in the right measure, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is hard."

There is much wisdom in that. We live in an angry world, in which most people get angry with the wrong person, too much, at the wrong time, for the wrong reason, and in a non-productive way. And all that does, is to make the world around us a little more toxic, and (potentially) a lot more dangerous. It doesn't do the person getting angry much good either, most of the time: we end up feeling thoroughly frazzled, with upset stomachs, headaches, and high blood pressure. And, whatever has made us angry in the first place, is still happening. Our anger hasn't made a positive difference.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not for a minute advocating lying down and giving up. I believe that when we see injustice in the world (and there is far too much of it) we have a duty to "stand on the side of love" as the Unitarian Universalists say.  But I think that what Aristotle is saying is that we have to be considered in our anger, so that it has a fruitful outcome. Which is indeed, as he said, difficult. Because the first thing that anger does to us, is to turn off our higher brain. We come out, fists swinging, determined to beat whoever or whatever it is that is making us angry.

It takes an awful lot of discipline and self-knowledge to step back and say, "Hang on a minute. Is there a better way I could be responding to this? A way which would lead to the outcome I desire?"

When I am angry, I find that the most effective way of stepping back, becoming more considered, is to breathe. Just that. Breathe slowly and deeply, to recentre myself and turn my higher brain back on. Of course, there are situations in which this wouldn't be appropriate - in the case of immediate violence, for example. But most of the time, the things I get angry about are not immediately life-threatening, so there is time (if I remember) to step back, breathe.

Then, I can work out why I'm angry, and decide what steps I want to take to remedy that. Which is, as Aristotle said, hard.

The Power of Conviction

The 20th century American philosopher, Donald Davidson wrote something like, "Nothing can be considered a valid reason for a conviction except a conviction" (which is how my Google translator rendered the German).

Hmm. I'm not sure about that. People may have various valid reasons for being convinced by something: they might trust the person who told them about it; they might have experienced whatever it is for themselves, and hence be convicted by their experience; or they might be convicted by faith. Which may not be based on reason at all. Many religious converts have a Eureka! moment, when they come to faith, which stays with them for the rest of their lives. 

Nevertheless, for Unitarians, who were once known as Rational Dissenters, reason does have a part to play in our faith. We are able to choose to believe something / be convinced by something because it makes sense to our reason, our lived experience, and our conscience. James Martineau, in his seminal work, The Seat of Authority in Religion, speaks of the authority of conscience. And, insofar as this is a kind of inner conviction of the rightness of something, I suppose it agrees with Davidson.

Yet, our beliefs as Unitarians are able to change and evolve in the light of new knowledge, new experiences. I think that this is where reason comes in - we have the humility to understand that our knowledge of the world is imperfect and that new knowledge and insights may change what we believe. It can be very difficult to let go of old, cherished beliefs and embrace new ones, which may be part of the reason why the Unitarian path is not a popular one - most people would rather be convinced once, and then rest on those ideas, those beliefs, for the rest of their lives. That door is closed to us. It is our bounden duty as Unitarians to keep our minds and hearts open to new knowledge, ideas, and insights, and then to embrace them, and incorporate them into our lives, so that we might continue to grow on our spiritual journeys. 

We are All Complex Beings

The 15th century Renaissance Cardinal, philosopher and scholar, Nikolaus von Kues (or Nicholas of Cusa) once wrote, "We recognise the greatness of a man by how many opposites he unites in himself."

This is not the same as Thomas Carlyle's Great Man Theory, which states that certain people are born with exceptional qualities, which enable them to become great leaders.

We are all complex beings, with many disparate character traits. I would rather interpret von Kues' words by remembering the Native American tale about the two wolves, which is delightfully re-told by Unitarian minister, Bill Darlison, in his compilation of stories, The Shortest Distance:

"Why is it that sometimes I feel that I want to do helpful things, but at other times I just want my own way?" a little Cherokee boy asked his grandfather one day.

"It's because there is a battle inside every human being," replied his grandfather. "The battle is between two wolves. One wolf is kind and gentle, full of peace, generosity, compassion, and trust. The other is wicked, full of anger, hatred, greed, selfishness, pride, and arrogance."

The young boy thought for a moment, and then he asked: "Which one will in the battle inside me?"

"The one you feed," replied his grandfather.

In other words, a person will better be able to achieve greatness, or at least, to become their best self, when they learn to nurture their own positive qualities, rather than allowing their negative ones to take hold and run their lives. I believe that all of us have negative attributes - we all have moments when we are tempted to listen to the "bad" wolf and take the self-serving route. It does take greatness to acknowledge that wolf's existence and to consciously make the decision to choose a better path.