Soul-ful and Spirit-filled

Last night at the Humanist Spirituality class I'm teaching we talked, at the very end, about the difference between spirit and soul--and which word tended to be more appealing to humanists. We wondered together if soul implied immortality, and thought that maybe for that reason humanists tended toward spirit instead. Of course this got me curious about the whole thing. I know Felix Adler, the founder of Ethical Culture, used the word "soul" because there's a phrase of his that I love: that our movement exists to "save our souls alive." It's a humanist understanding of salvation, really, that it's how our souls fare in this moment and this world that matters right now. Wikipedia doesn't clear things up much--it says soul is synonymous with spirit. And while it's true that we may be splitting hairs, it's exactly the semantic difference that we were interested in. So then I happened upon an excerpt from the magazine Poetry, handed along to me from a member of WES (thanks, Marty!). It was perfect, because the class last night focused on text as a pathway to spirituality, and specifically talked about the deep resonance we often find in poetry. I like what the author of this piece, Sven Birkerts, said so much that I'll just quote it here. Food for thought! "What is clear to me right off is that there is no going forward if the word 'soul' cannot be used. I see no point in talking about poetry in any deeper way without that access. At the same time, I know that there is no faster way to get cashiered out as the worst sort of throwback than by saying 'soul' with a straight face...I should define the word, make clear how I mean it. To speak of soul is not, for me, to speak about religion...Soul, for me, is prior to religion...I think of it as the active inner part of the self, the part that is not shaped by contingencies, that stands free; the part of the 'I' that recognizes the absurd fact of its being; that is not in any sense immortal, but that recognizes the concept of immortality and understands the desire it expresses; that is the desire. Soul, considered in this way, is a quality that can be recognized in expressions of language, even though it cannot be explained or accounted for. That it can be recognized confirms that language can express it. Does rarely, but can. And the expressions most kindred most likely--thought still very rare--are poems. This is because poems are written out of a double intent: to give voice to the most urgent and elusive inner states, and to use language with the greatest compression ad intensity. The most lasting poetry--speaking historically--is the poetry that has given some expression to the poet's soul, that part of him- or herself that connects most deeply and exactly with the souls of others." Yes! And if you like thinking about this stuff, please do join us for the second class, Tuesday May 8 at 7:30pm. Next time, we're talking about--and experiencing--silence.

Religion for Dummies (Or Rather, for Children)

I actually love the "...for Dummies" titles. I used "The Bible for Dummies" all through seminary, when I was worried by UU Sunday School education had me missing things that my Methodist colleagues got right away. These days, I feel as though I'm the one writing, or rather saying, religion for dummies, as I try to explain somewhat complicated religious concepts to my four year old. I hasten to add, my four year old is no dummy...but she does require a simplified version of what I would say on Sunday morning. And actually, I'm loving it. Today we had a conversation about whether people were inherently bad or just did bad things. Having to get the concept of the inherent worth of every person down to a preschool level made me realize how deeply I do believe it. Sometimes, the explanations I launch into make me realize how difficult a concept is. With adults, we sometimes use shorthand when referring to challenging or metaphorical ideas. Or we just ignore hard concepts, because we've already decided they aren't relevant to our religious lives. But that doesn't work with a four year old! I could write fifteen blogposts about my explanation of Easter, which needed to include eggs, bunnies, and Jesus. Try explaining a metaphorical, essentially humanist understanding of the resurrection to a four year old. Heck, try explaining it to yourself! And that's my point, I think: that engaging in these ideas with my daughter has been so instructive for myself, as I've grappled with what I really believe, what I want to believe, and especially how I want to describe my beliefs. The next time you're wondering what you think about something complicated, put it into a "...for Dummies" book. I guarantee it'll make you smarter.

Success and Fruitfulness

I've spent the last few days at a young clergy leadership conference, connecting with colleagues, visiting growing congregations, and learning about best practices in congregational life.

We talked a lot about fruitfulness--kind of the softer, gentler version of success. It's a wonderful image because we all know that in congregational life you don't always put a program in slot A and get success out of slot B; real people with real lives move in different ways, and sometimes you see the fruits of your efforts many years later, or in transformed individual lives, or in plenty of ways that are hard to measure but still powerful.

But the concept of fruitfulness still holds within it the idea that we do want to be fruitful, that all the wonderful work in the world doesn't really get us anywhere if it doesn't ultimately produce something: more people hearing our congregation's message, changed people, communities that are tangibly better in some way.

It has me thinking about fruitfulness in our own lives, too, not just in a congregation's life. What are the things that bear fruit in your life? Practices, exercises, time you spend in special ways--from which of those things can you see immediate changes? And when have you had an experience that makes you realize a planting from long, long ago was finally bearing fruit for you?

The Usefulness of Pain

I've been thinking a lot recently about the sorrow, pain and limitations we experience in our lives. I don't mean really tragic events, but more thhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gife day to day limitations we might have from illness or just from aging, or maybe from our life's circumstances or family situation. For me, it's dealing with some chronic pain that flares up and goes away--mostly leaving me in peace but occasionally reminding me that I can't do everything.

And when I think about the usefulness of limits, it's usually in accepting the sentence I just wrote: that I can't do everything. As a relatively type-A person, I sometimes forget that and instead convince myself that I'm the lynchpin for the entire world's working. My limitations, especially when they really lay me low, remind me that I'm not.

But you know, I'd still sometimes rather learn that important spiritual truth in other ways. This past Sunday we talked about experiencing moments of grace which sometimes come out of difficult or messy circumstances. Couldn't we skip the difficulty and get right to the grace? Can't I learn important spiritual truths without having to deal with early arthritis?

This may fall under the category of: we don't have any choice, so there's not much point wondering. We do experience difficulty, pain, mess, and sorrow, and we might as well find some life lessons (and if we're lucky, some grace) amidst it all. But I think it's important that we don't skip over the sorrow, that we give ourselves time to grieve the mess that eventually led to our more enlightened selves.

As usual, a bluegrass song says it best. I heard it on my way in this morning, and since I can't find the lyrics I'll summarize: I don't like sorrow, but it makes my heart open wide. I've had my fill of trouble, but it makes me a better friend.

I hope you give yourself time for both grieving the mess and noticing the lesson. And that the whole thing plays in your head like the very best country heartbreak song.

Speeding Up and Slowing Down

I saw two things this morning, on my drive in, that made me think about the funny ways that people deal with time. First was a new level of multitasking: a man out jogging, all dressed in running clothes and camelbak water bottle, and eating a banana at the same time. Then, I saw the line of cars, which had been speeding along in the rush hour traffic, stopped to let two Canada geese hesitantly start across the road.

Of course there's never enough time. Of course we're busy and rushed and have to pack every single thing together that we can. But we also have time, somehow, to stop for the things that really matter to us.

Today, I hope that I can tell the difference.