Lenten Practice #1: Letting Go of Books

  For the second year in a row one of my Lenten practices is to let go of books. Last year I eliminated over 100 books from my garret bookshelves, which is where I keep my spirituality, theology, and writing books, and this year I have decided to accept the same challenge. 

Books are my comfort, which I wear like a shawl. They are my terra firma. When I am puzzled about something or facing a new challenge, or need a guide as I reflect and process, I turn to a book. Books are the threshold I cross and the return that welcomes me. 

Saying goodbye is no small task. 

Eliminating books from my library is my version of giving up sugar or caffeine during Lent--something that takes willpower and focus and persistence and self-control. But this practice is also a kind of love and a way to honor my growth as a spiritual being. 

Each day during Lent I browse one of my shelves for at least one title  I can take to a Little Free Library, where, I hope, just the right reader, spiritual seeker or writer will find it. I pull out possibilities and browse the pages. How likely is it that I will want to read this book again? Or if I have not read it, has its time passed? 

For example, I have many books on feminist theology, and I remember the days when I saturated myself in that content, hungry to fill that gap in my education and awareness. I read many of them, and I  am so grateful for writers, researchers, theologians who opened themselves --and then me--to that material. Will I read ones I have not yet read in the next years of my reading life? Probably not. Will I re-read any of them? Probably not. Ok, add them to the pile. 

Before adding a book to the pile, I notice what I have underlined or where I have made a note. For example, in Seeking God, The Way of St Benedict by Esther de Waal, my eyes land on text highlighted in pink with a star next to the passage:    

        Only after we give up the desire to be different and
        admit that we deserve no special attention is there space
        to encounter God, and to discover that although we are
        unique and that God calls us each by name, that is 
        completely compatible with the unspectacular, possibly
        the monotony, of life in the pace in which we find ourselves.
                                                                   p. 61

(An aside: I am an enneagram 4, and this passage really fits my 4 personality.)

I spend a bit more time with the book and even copy a couple passages into my journal, but still decide to add it to the "pass it on" pile. 

Sometimes when I have loved a certain book by an author, I have then collected and read everything written by that person. For example, Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones will remain in my library forever, even though I may never read it again, but while I enjoyed and benefited from other titles, such as The True Secret of Writing and The Great Spring, I am comfortable passing them on. 

I will keep Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit, but will move on her more recent book, Keep It Moving, not because it wasn't worth reading, but it didn't speak to me in the same way. Plus, I found this book in a Little Free Library and it seems fitting to return it for someone else to find. I admit I wonder about the person who received this as a gift. The inscription in the front reads, "Christmas, 2019. For Kate, As you move forward, a book about moving forward. Much love, Bill and Julie." Did the book resonate with Kate?

I thank each book for its wisdom, for the insights and new learning it brought to me, and I thank the author for the effort it took to bring that book to fruition. I think about the reason I added that book to my library in the first place and what I learned; how it added to my spiritual and my writing life. 

This process becomes a kind of meditation. 

I notice books that seem especially meaningful for my life today, such as the rows of books on aging. I hold those who have been companions along the way. I give thanks. I rejoice. I note books that hold promise for me now. I marvel at the new books on my shelves written by young theologians, young people exploring their faith and their lives as spiritual beings, and I welcome their presence. I reflect on lessons learned and those still a work in process. 

My intention in this Lenten practice is not to empty my shelves. In fact, I have added new titles to my shelves, but not nearly as many as I have eliminated. Each of these titles will have their own time and then perhaps be passed on. Or not.

    1. Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing by Helene Cixous
    2.  16 Ways to Create Devotional Writing by David Sluka
    3.  Ron Carlson Writes a Story by Ron Carlson
    4.  An Interrupted Life by Etty Hillesum
    5.  A Rhythm of Prayer, edited by Sarah Bessey
    6.  Sacred Time, Embracing an Intentional Way of Life by Christine
        Valters Paintner.

Sorry, family, but you will more than likely have to pack and carry heavy boxes of books down the stairs, just as you lugged them upstairs for me when we moved here. I promise to continue this practice of deciding what to keep and what to release, not just during Lent, but as on ongoing process. However, books nurture and expand me, and in a paradoxical way they are part of my inner process, a bigger process of creating space in which I encounter God. 

An Invitation
Do you have a Lenten practice? I would love to know. 

   

A second part of the challenge both this year and last was to limit the number of books added to the shelves

Vote Your Conscience

 "Vote your conscience." That statement was made many times during the impeachment trial last week, and each time I heard it I hoped that would happen.

In my view, voting one's conscience in this case meant voting to convict the former president. To vote otherwise, I felt, would be to deny the truth. 

How can they sleep at night? How can they look themselves in the mirror? How can they face their children, grandchildren? 

What is the future they are creating?

The outcome of the vote on Saturday was not surprising, but even so the reality of it was and remains upsetting. For many of us the words repeated over and over leading up to January 6 and the ugly and frightening videos of that day will not disappear. How does one go on with business as usual now?

Don't they have a conscience? 

I am re-reading all of Louise Penny's wonderful mysteries, and I love them even more this second time around. Not only does the murder case in each book still intrigue me, but the characters offer so much wisdom about living compassionate and loving lives; lives, not always easy, but ones reaching towards integrity and authenticity. 

How amazed I was when I read this section in Glass Houses after checking my phone for the results of the vote. In a discussion about the archangels Michael and Lucifer, Ruth, one of the ongoing characters in the series, a poet and often viewed as crazy says,

    "Well, I start off praying that anyone who's pissed me off meets
    a horrible end, Then I pray for world peace, and then I pray for
    Lucifer."
    "Did you say Lucifer?" asked Myrna.
    "Who needs it more?"

And then Ruth talks about conscience.

     "Stupid, stupid angel...It's generally thought that a conscience
      is a good thing, but let me ask you this. How many terrible
      things are done in the name of conscience? It's a great excuse
      for appalling acts?... A conscience is not necessarily a good
      thing. How many gays are beaten, how many abortion clinics
      bombed, how many blacks lynched, how many Jews 
      murdered, by people just following their conscience?

Myrna, a black woman, and former psychotherapist who owns a book store in the small community, says,

      "A conscience guides us...To do the right thing. To be brave. 
      To be selfless and courageous. To stand up to tyrants whatever
      the cost."

I suppose all who cast their votes on Saturday feel they voted their conscience, and I suspect many who stormed the capital felt they were doing what needed to be done. I wonder, however, what the deep, small, quiet voice inside is whispering to them--if they could only listen. If they could only sit in stillness, in silence.

Here's the deal: What happened Saturday in the Senate is not just about "they" and their consciences. (And, oh how aware I am of the "they" language, the reference to "other" I am using. Ouch!) I need to stay in close contact with my own conscience, my own still, small voice inside. I need to nurture it and clear it of mean and judgmental thoughts. I need to wash it in love and compassion and hope. I need to strengthen its ability to guide me to do the right thing. I need to awaken and stay awake to the presence of God in my life and I need to be that presence. 

And that is no small task. May we know the presence of God in one another. 

Thanks to Interfaith Action of St Paul for offering prayers by local clergy for a country in need. Here's one:

                              Our God, and God of our ancestors

                              And God of our descendants, in these incessant 

                              days of challenge, I need you.

                              Steady my breaths.

                              Quell my worries.

                              Calm my anger.

                              Alleviate my sadness.

                              Allow my mind and heart to trust

                              That decency, law, and reason will abide.

                              Help me find the strength to

                              Protect myself and all people against racism, 

                              antisemitism, islamophobia, and all hatred of

                              the other.

                              Open my eyes to see the good in our

                              time and give me the ability to nurture that

                              good in others.

                              And, please God, may I experience

                              living in an America where all feel safe, our

                              democracy is sanctified and streets peaceful, and

                              all shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and

                              no one shall make them afraid.

                              Amen. 

                                           --Adam Stock Spilker, Rabbi,

                                           Mt Zion Temple

You can read the rest of the prayers here.

Back to reading. I only have three more Louise Penny books left, and then I wait till August when #17 is published.

An Invitation

Where do you see and know the presence of God? I would love to know.  

 

Waiting for the Vaccine

"Have you received your vaccine yet?"

How often have you been asked that question lately? How often have you asked that question?

We quiz each other about our age, our health plans, attempts we've made to get an appointment. We offer congratulations if there has been success and then ask about the second dose. We have our pictures taken with our sleeves rolled up and grateful looks on our faces.

We monitor the progress--how many doses are expected to be delivered in our area and what the new plan is. We check our emails from our health provider and sit on hold, our phones pressed against our cheeks, waiting to talk to someone with the secret. 

Once again we are stressed.

Once again we are in a time of waiting. 

Once again we are invited to be patient, to assess what is possible and what is out of our control. 

While we wait, here are some words of wisdom:

        "...anything, any person, any situation is a word
        addressed to me by God."
                            Brother David Steindl-Rast

What is God saying to you during this specific time of waiting? Is God inviting you to trust? No, you will not be left behind. Yes, you will have your turn. Is God inviting you to listen to the worries and fears of others and to be a compassionate and loving presence? Is God inviting you to remember that we are part of something larger than ourselves; something larger than what we can control. Is God inviting us to honor the losses from the past, the grief we still hold, and to be gentle with ourselves? Is God inviting us to open to the gifts of each day and to remember as Martha Whitmore Hickman writes in her book of daily meditations, Healing After Loss, "At the bottom of the well, one can look up and see the sky." 

Perhaps God is inviting you to discover how waiting can be a spiritual practice.

Begin by breathing. Close your eyes lightly, not tightly. Take a deep cleansing breath and then gently breathe in and out, in and out, finding your own rhythm. Return to calm. 

An Invitation
How are you experiencing this latest time of waiting? I would love to know. 

        

An Unfair Accusation

 What? Really? How is this possible? 

We received an official notice from the City of St Paul--actually three of them--one addressed to me, one to my husband, and one to "occupant." 

NOTICE TO REMOVE SNOW AND/OR ICE FROM SIDEWALK

Someone had lodged a complaint that our sidewalk had not been shoveled. The law in St Paul requires property owners to clear sidewalks of snow and/or ice within 24 hours of the most recent snowfall or ice accumulation. 

A good law, one I appreciate, AND a law we have complied with always. 

I was indignant and felt shamed.

Who complained? I don't believe it could be neighbors on our block. We have a terrific block, good neighbors whom we enjoy. We are one of the older couples on the block, and I am quite sure if our sidewalks weren't shoveled that someone would check on us and/or go ahead and do it. In fact, one of our neighbors has a snowblower and he routinely clears our sidewalk before my husband even has a chance to get out there and shovel. 

We love our home and take good care of it, and to be accused of not being good homeowners bruised my pride. Besides, there are many houses where that is not the case. Did anyone complain about them?

Maybe the wrong address or street was reported. Or maybe someone is making random complaints, much like the rash of car windows that have been smashed in our neighborhood recently. Should I get on our neighborhood app and ask if anyone has been reported unfairly? 

I seethed and stewed, and my husband shrugged his shoulders. That is one of the differences between the two of us. 

And then I did what I should have done before wasting all that self-righteous energy. I sat quietly in my Girlfriend Chair and closed my eyes lightly, not tightly, and breathed in gently, in and out, in and out, finding my own rhythm. And I listened for a wiser voice, "Nancy, let it go."

First, I agreed to let it go--my indignation, my need to understand and justify myself, to prove we had not done anything wrong, the shame I felt, and even my doubt (Maybe we did do something wrong!). And then I listened for what I might learn from this experience, from these feelings. Note: Agreeing to let go does not mean that is automatically accomplished!

I thought about all the times those far less fortunate than I am, far less able to defend themselves, have been accused unfairly and often tragically of doing or being something wrong. I thought about all the incorrect assumptions, the entitlements and inequities suffered by many, especially people of color.  

And then I thought about the person who complained to the city about us, and I prayed for his/her safety while moving through the days. I prayed for greater ease and light in the life of the person who complained, and I prayed for guidance for myself. May I live these wintry days with an open and loving heart.

An Invitation
When have you felt unjustly accused and what did you do? I would love to know.