Wellspring: inspiration and guidance for a spiritual journey

Ben & Jerry & Joy, by Joy Collins

April 29th was pouring rain on Cape Cod. And only 46 degrees. And every single person walking out that door had a huge grin on his or her face. A “moment of joy.” The door was the exit from Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream Shop in Eastham. And as all ice cream aficionados know, that’s Free Cone Day at most Ben and Jerry’s around the country. Sometimes the line extended out the door, with hoods and umbrellas up. We saw teenagers with pink hair, workers with stained overalls, elderly folks with canes, a couple in a pickup truck sharing their cones with their black lab. We aren’t sure what brought us more joy – savoring our own “Coffee Coffee Buzz Buzz Buzz”, or watching, through windshield wipers, all those smiles.

How is it, all these people were free at 2 pm on a Tuesday afternoon? The only reason we were free, and willing to drive 30 minutes each way, was that we were on vacation. In my “real” life, I would never have made time for this. Life is jammed full of “important” stuff. Work, food shopping, home repair, meal preparation, church committees, dog walking, vacuuming, eldercare. Oh yes, and time for my spouse! So, I ask again, how is it, these other folks had free time for a “moment of joy”?

Through Wellspring, I don’t so much learn new ideas, as much as move the ideas from intellectual realization to experiential. And this year, one of my aha moments came in our new session on the “Theology of Joy.” I saw how easily I let productivity kill the spiritual sustenance of “Joy Moments.” If I’m frantically trying to jam more into my day, or worrying about all I need to get to, I miss the “moments of joy” that arise every minute. There is a false underlying belief I carry, that life will be wonderful once I get it all done. It’s my lifelong struggle to move beyond this belief. In a book we are considering for our following on course, “Wellspring 2”, Philip Simmons writes in Learning to Fall, “in our desire always to be elsewhere than here, we can lose what measure of heaven may be ours on earth…the present is the unfinished house in which we dwell.” All those people who went to Ben & Jerry’s for a free cone on Tuesday reminded me to let go of needing to “finish the house” before I savor a rainy day scoop of ice cream.

Spring, finally, by Libby Moore

 

It has felt like a long, hard winter in Rochester. Not dreadful, no massive blizzards, no crippling ice storms, just cold and never-ending. The delicate touches of spring we're finally seeing are even that much more welcome because it's taken so long for them to arrive. The robins got here a little early and had to scrabble in the snow for a while, but now they're looking for nesting places and pecking around on the grass for worms. The hyacinths near the warm front wall of the house have been poking up for more than a week now, and we've found the few scattered crocuses that the voles didn't eat. The snowdrops back in the woods are a mass of drooping white bells, and the forsythia are in that delicious state of impending bloom – hints of yellow along the long, willowy branches. One or two more warm days and the world will be awash with color.

Spring's arrival was a big part of our last Wellspring session, which was about the theology of joy. We added this new topic to complement the more difficult subjects of how we UU's deal with crisis and evil, but I don't think we'd intentionally planned to have the discussion just as people were starting to feel the joys of emerging warmer weather. It's so much easier to feel joy when the sky is blue and we can shed some of the layers of sweaters and boots that have encased us over the winter.

For the discussion on joy, we asked participants to read the introduction to Roger Housden's collection of poems called Dancing with Joy. He helps us think about why we often feel that our spiritual lives are fed by pain and sadness but feel guilty about giving in to the transforming power of joy. Another part of the assignment was bringing poems that expressed joy for us. I loved the variety of writings that my group offered, as individual as the members themselves – about the sea, and nature, and Hafiz, and fig trees, and connection. The very act of hearing one another read our favorites made for a joyful session.

It was hard for me to choose just one poem for my contribution, since there are so many that bring me joy. After some thought, I read one that I've loved for years, an e.e. cummings poem about spring:

 

in Just-

spring       when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

 

whistles       far       and wee

 

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

 

when the world is puddle-wonderful

 

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far       and       wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

 

 from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

 

it's

spring

and

     the

 

             goat-footed

 

balloonMan       whistles

far

and

wee

 

May spring fill our souls with joy and wonder.

The well is springing, by Melissa Blackstone

I am blessed to be part of several groups, where we explore our spiritual beliefs, review readings, poems, meditations, movies, and discuss and express responses. There is a current, a well, a reservoir of yearning that finds its voice through creative expressions of found art. There is a fountain of light within, around and in the eyes of others that becomes manifest as I’ve learned to become still, be, and listen.

Life continues to provide a tableau for lessons and opportunities, which sometimes I embrace, sometimes I turn my back on, and sometimes I don’t even see.

What I know now, is that a well is springing from me, and my new found vision and community of friends are sharing in this discovery, and recognition, that within the center, at every moment, is the knowing of the know.

In this, some parts of my life now don’t fit anymore, but the reasons aren’t frightening anymore. I know they keep me from, neigh. I keep myself from being in the light and power that is truly my gift and responsibility.

I cherish this learning, and exchange fear for welcome and trust for the grace that is ever present.

Blessing of the light, by Tina Simson

I pack up the Chanukah box this week and send it off to my son and his girlfriend. It’s filled with a shiny new menorah, candles, a food grater and matzo meal for the latkes. There is chocolate and strong coffee and a silly card about how many latkes one can eat. I send a CD with Chanukah music and the words to the prayer he already knows by heart.

Ba-ruch ata, A-do-nai E-lo-hei-nu, me-lech ha-o-lam, a-sher ki-de-sha-nu be-mits-vo tov, ve-tsi-va-nu le-had-lik neir shel Chan-nu-kah.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah lights.

A dear friend of mine looses her husband this week, tragically, too soon. She receives friends at the calling hours, hugging each one as if the light inside them will help her stand.

Light gives of itself freely, filling all available space. It does not seek anything in return; it asks not whether you are friend or foe. It gives of itself and is not thereby diminished. ~Michael Strassfeld

My husband, a teacher, is struggling with a group of really disruptive kids. They are loud, rude and disrespectful and they challenge his confidence as a teacher. I commiserate with his struggles, suggesting a trip to the principal’s office or a phone call home. His face softens, ‘these are all good kids,” he tells me “they just have troubles.” I find him in his office early this morning rewriting study sheets looking for ways to reach them

We cannot hold a torch to light another's path without brightening our own. ~Ben Sweetland

My brother’s family car breaks down this week, and the washer, and the furnace, and his youngest drops the camera and it no longer works. There’s more but…frankly that’s enough to tell. Last night with a borrowed car, he treks about with his family searching for the perfect tree. Afterwards, the children and his wife fall asleep curled on the couch as he strings the lights.

Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you. ~Maori Proverb

A colleague waits as her brother lives his last days. The doctors have finally managed his pain and he is peaceful and thoughtful. They sit together answering questions of the cosmos. She shares this gift with me.

In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary. ~Aaron Rose

The first Christmas card arrives in my mailbox. It comes from a family friend, a man who in the recent past lost his son and his wife. This year he had a stroke, he now speaks only with great effort. In a trembling hand it is signed, “with love, Ed”

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light. ~Jean Giraudoux

I wake this morning in the darkness, hoping the day will bring me stillness. It has been a week of bad news and struggles for so many around me and yet somehow, I trust the light.

Someday perhaps the inner light will shine forth from us, and then we'll need no other light. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Happy Chanukah

When I am the stranger, by Tina Simson

I started a new job recently. I work for a rather large social service agency. I feel privileged to work at this agency with its varied and relevant programs and it’s profound regard for the consumers. It fits my values and offers me an opportunity to contribute to the wellbeing of others. Our main office, in downtown Rochester, is in a rather dodgy part of the city. I confess I was a bit concerned about my car in an unattended parking lot and my walk to that car, as the early evening hours get darker. There were often people hanging around the front door waiting for the services to open in the morning, and roaming youth coming from a school program in the evening. I’m aware that I need to look at my concern with a critical eye. I walk to the door in my suit with my briefcase and frankly look out of place, like some do-gooder or some suburban white woman. I am not yet at home here.

Then I meet a gentle, disheveled, older man. He waits by the front door early in the mornings before the programs open. At first I just smile and say good morning but after a few days, he sees me coming and opens the door when my arms are full. One day he asks, “You working here now, young lady?” “Yes I am, sir.” “Welcome then”, he says with a smile. “ This is a good place.”

After a few days of pleasantries, I notice he’s not well. I can see this by the way he huddles in clothes that are not warm enough in the blustery wind of November. His hands are shaking, his eyes are sad, and he still opens the door for me. One day I miss our morning ritual and come into the office late. The next day he says, “I missed you yesterday.”

And one day as I approach, he is fumbling with a cigarette. His fingers don’t work and his hands are shaking more than before. I see his eyes and he asks, “Do you have a match by any chance?” I say no and feel as if I’ve let him down. He smiles and opens the door for me. And I realize, this is radical hospitality and I am the stranger. This gentle man has welcomed me into his world and I am no longer out of place. We know each other’s names now, we both have grandchildren, and he’s going to his granddaughter’s house for Thanksgiving. I am changed and in my bag I now carry a couple of packs of matches.

The Chorus of Connection by Rev. Jen Crow

Just over twelve weeks ago everything changed for me. People told me it would happen, of course, but how could I possibly know what they meant? One night I was out running errands and doing laundry, sleeping soundly in a quiet house, and the next – well, let’s just say the world turned upside down and my heart cracked open.

The morning of my son, Henry’s birth, everything went exactly as planned. We arrived at the hospital on time and before we knew it, we were heading down the long hall to the operating room for my partner, Loretta’s, scheduled ceaserian section delivery. The doctors and nurses warned me that I’d need to wait outside for just a few minutes, and relieved that our midwife was in the operating room, I sat on the bench outside the door and began to wait.

I waited and waited. I tried meditating, but that didn’t work for long. Within minutes of closing my eyes and counting my breaths, the narrow corridor filled with doctors and nurses scrubbing in at the sink just a few feet away from me. They sure seemed at ease, but as the time of the surgery got closer and closer, my anxiety started to climb. So I began to pray. I prayed for the hands of the surgeon, for his quick mind and kind heart. I prayed for the nurses and the anesthesiologist, for their care and skill. I prayed for Henry and Loretta, for their health and comfort, and I prayed for myself, for the flexibility to cope and be present to all the moments ahead. As I prayed, I poured out my worries and my mind eased. And then something else happened. Something that I find harder to explain. The best I can do is to say that my heart simply cracked open that morning. In those moments sitting on the bench outside the operating room, I heard in my own prayers an echo – a ghost, you might say in this month of Halloween. 

In that echo, I heard not only my voice praying for the health of my wife and son, for the doctors and nurses caring for them – but I heard the voices of families around the world - – from Iraq to Afghanistan to Norway to Australia to America – offering up those very same prayers in dozens of languages. I imagined families sitting outside of operating rooms, beside bomb sites, up late at night wondering where their children were – and I heard their prayers lifted up – their hopes, their dreams, their human longings. In those moments before the nurse called my name and led me into the operating room, I felt myself joined in this chorus of connection - praying for comfort, for hope, and for the ability to cope with whatever came next.

Through this experience, I came to know our essential and unwavering human connection in a new way. No matter who we are and where we come from, we share so many of the same hopes and dreams, most of them so basic – for health, for life, for care and hope. As we continue to live into this month of pumpkins and haunted houses and memories – I pray that the ghosts of our neighbors all around the world might call us back to our truest task – creating conditions of health and healing the whole world round.

Good morning from Mary Oliver, by Tina Simson

Landscape

Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day long if they wanted about

spiritual patience? Isn't it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

Every morning, I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I'm as good as dead.

Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky-as though

all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be
and imagined
their strong, thick wings

My husband says he hates the crows; their cacophony often wakes us this time of year. And Marty, my dog, certainly doesn’t like them. Once they start squawking he can’t get out of the house fast enough to chase them back into the trees, after which he pees for good measure.

Until recently I went along with that; they are nasty birds, raiding nests and eating road kill. But then they seem to know who they are and without an ounce of hesitance, they claim their world. No apologies, just strong presence, I’ve come to appreciate that.

A guide through the storms, by Tina

I was traveling across New York State this past weekend. There was a stalled weather front full of storms. Rain, hail, lightening and wind intermittently filled the sky. I started out in Rochester, the weather pattern had shifted overnight and I woke to a clear cool summer morning. I thought my road trip would be a breeze. How easily we forget the storms.

At some point, driving alone, I looked ahead and saw the dark clouds forming, felt the car shift in the force of winds and thought, what do I do? Well, keep driving of course. Maybe I’ll avoid the storm or skirt around it. Maybe it will pass by, won’t be so bad. Then the rain came and then the hail. The wind swirled and in the well-remembered words from the movie Twister, we had debris! Branches were flying and cars had slowed to a crawl. At one point I could not see the lights of the cars in front of me nor the cars in my rear view mirror and I realized that my windshield wipers didn’t go any faster. Afraid to stop and be hit from behind, I remembered the quiet voice of my driving instructor, 30 years ago, “you can always navigate, if you can see the white line on the side of the road.” Sure enough there it was, the constant solid white line, my guide out of this hellacious storm.

I rode the entire day along this stormy front, passing it, having it catch up with me. It became a dance really, the kind you’d prefer to sit out. But alone in the car, I remembered the various storms in my life that I have danced with. The ones that annoyed me and the ones that brought me to my knees. I thought of the storms I created, the ones I wanted desperately to avoid and also those that come to all of us.

I wondered if I had a solid white line during those storms. Did I have a guide? Unitarians often don’t have a guide in the traditional sense. I’ve always liked the idea that Jesus was by my side, but I don’t really believe that. If Jesus is a God, he has much better things to do in this world than attend to my life. So where is my sense of coherence in this world, why do I believe that I will get through the storms? How is it that I trust there will always be a “white line” for me, because I do believe that?

I remembered finding a quote early in my 20’s when it seemed storms surrounded me. I remember the revelation of thinking, “That’s it! I understand now”. I posted these lines on the wall of my first apartments, carefully moving it from place to place. The quote stays with me even today.

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer. ~Albert Camus

So perhaps these words are my “white line” my guide through the storm, the words of humankind who tackle the storms and find the way out; the words of wiser souls who know enough not to try to outrun them. Here are just a few others, see if they fit for you or if not, go searching for your own “white lines”.

Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are. ~Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them? ~Rose F. Kennedy

And from our own Unitarian Universalist elder

We acquire the strength we have overcome. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

UU Bloggers, by Libby Moore

This year I attended my second UU General Assembly, in Portland, Oregon (the city itself was enough of a reason to go – what a great place!). Being my second GA, it seemed more manageable than last year, when I felt guilty about all the plenary sessions I didn't go to, frustrated by all the wonderful talks that I couldn't attend, and exhilarated by the speakers I did manage to hear. This year I knew that I had to pare down, concentrate on a single thread, spend time nourishing my soul and body as well as my mind. Since Joy and Jen and I were doing a workshop on Wellspring this year, I concentrated on topics that related to that, more or less.

Because we've got this Wellspring blog and I'm so new to the blogosphere, I went to the session on UU blogging, which attracted people who blog as well as those who know nothing about it and want to learn about this great new tool for our congregations. I'm grateful to Tina Simson for starting our Wellspring blog and dragging us into the new world, glad that I could raise my hand as one of the people who contributes to a blog.

The blogging workshop helped me understand why we're doing this and more of its potential uses, but the greater gift was discovering a blog that I hadn't seen before, translations of the psalms into language that I can live with. The Reverend Christine Robinson from Albuquerque NM, whose regular blog is called iMinister, was on the workshop panel. She said that she'd posted these psalms because so many people had asked for them, and I can see why they would ask. When I open my Bible and try to choose a psalm for meditation, I find myself rejecting one after another for being too violent, too angry, too harsh. I've often felt that I had to edit so much out of the psalms – the patriarchal, wrathful god, the anger and vengeance against others, the brutal prayers for victory against the enemy – that I can't even focus on the deeper meaning. I skim from one to another looking for something I can agree with. Robinson has given me language I can live with, prayers of compassion and hope, honest acknowledgement of my own feelings. When I read her translation, I can rest and reflect on what it means to me today, without having to edit or rephrase or reject. I am grateful to her for posting these beautiful psalms - and grateful as well for the many resources out there that help us all find strength in our faith. This new world has much to offer us.

Noted June dates in Spiritual History, by Tina Simson

I have this widget on my MacBook that’s called Day in History, but I recently turned it off because the only things listed were related to war and disaster. I’m a history nut, but to read this daily digital calendar, you’d think our world was mired only in tragedy. Besides, anything accomplished, good or bad on this calendar, was done by a man. Women’s contribution was invisible.

We often gather inspiration from the words and deeds of noted people. I believe there must be days to mark our history related to our best selves as humankind. And in times such as these, we need them. So here’s Wellspring’s attempt to spin the month of June.

June 3, 1972 - Sally Jan Priesand was ordained a rabbi thus becoming the first woman rabbi in the U.S. She then became an assistant rabbi at the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in New York City.

June 6, 1872 - Pioneering feminist Susan B. Anthony was fined for voting in a presidential election at Rochester, New York. After voting rights had been granted to African American males by the 15th Amendment, she attempted to extend the same rights to women. She led a group of women that voted illegally, to test their status as citizens. She was arrested, tried and sentenced to pay $100, which she refused. Following her death in 1906 after five decades of tireless work, the Democratic and Republican parties both endorsed women's right to vote. In August of 1920, the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was finally ratified, allowing women to vote. Susan B was also a member of our home congregation, First Unitarian Church of Rochester.

Noted June Birthdays

French painter Paul Gauguin (1848-1903) was born in Paris. He worked as a stockbroker, then became a painter in middle age. He left Paris and moved to Tahiti where he developed an interest in primitive art..

American architect Frank Lloyd Wright (1867-1959) was born in Richland Center, Wisconsin. He designed about 1,000 structures and is considered the most influential architect of his time. He became the leader of a style known as the Prairie School featuring houses with low-pitched roofs and extended lines that blend into the landscape. He once wrote,

"No house should ever be on any hill or on anything. It should be of the hill, belonging to it, so hill and house could live together each the happier for the other."

Film comedian Stan Laurel (1890-1965) was born in Ulverston, England. He teamed up with Oliver Hardy as Laurel & Hardy delighting audiences for more than 30 years.

Social worker Julia Lathrop (1858-1932) was born in Rockford, Illinois. She fought to establish child labor laws and was instrumental in establishing the first juvenile court in the U.S. In 1912, President Taft named her to head the newly created Children's Bureau. In 1925, she became a member of the Child Welfare Committee of the League of Nations.

Helen Keller was born in 1880 (d. 1968). She wrote, "A person who is severely impaired never knows his hidden sources of strength until he is treated like a normal human being and encouraged to shape his own life." Although facing the daunting challenges of being both deaf and blind, she showed remarkable resilience in her life of service.

Inspirational words from Helen Keller

"Science may have found a cure for most evils, but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all — the apathy of human beings."




"My faith in the goodness of the human heart is unshaken. All the days of my life I have been upheld by that goodness." 





"I long to accomplish a great and noble task but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble." 


And if that’s not enough!

First drive-in movie theater opened in New Jersey, June 14, 1933

Superman Comics were launched in June 1938

And in 1853 it snow in June in Upstate New York