beati

“Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.”

~ Matthew 5:7.

In the spiritual life, there is excessive emphasis on two extremes: the discovery of the start, and the finish line. But the indefinite crucible is equivalent to what chess players call the middle game. This is where drudgery and alienation happen, not at the opposite ends of the voyage. Deserted stretches of the middle game are the places of trial, and often the places of abandonment of faith. For some, however, the long stretches of practical life provide the stages for acquisition and success. For most of us, those unglamorous highways, with their innumerable offramps and detours, navigate the territory routed between the bulleted items on our résumés. Ungrudging contentment with ignominy is itself a gallant act of forgiveness.

I remember the heart-wrenching defeat of having been eliminated from the candidacy search for the job I wanted most, out of any job I’ve ever applied for. It was the position I desired all through the sacrifices of graduate school life, with all pertaining compromises and debts. Anticipating the opening, I volunteered two full-term practica at that university, hoping to impress them and show them what a good fit I’d be. Well, after the door closed between my steps and that land of Canaan, I eventually reached out to the out-of-stater they hired, and collegially treated them to lunch- saying nothing about the process, but instead took the role of introducer to this area and the local professional community. I’ve also continued supporting the university, as a professional and as a neighbor. I care very much about the success of the school. Are these such grand gestures? Perhaps, though I’m not sure. But they are decent gestures. I’m not certain about how forgiving I’ve been, but I do know that is the sentiment I most prefer.

Back when I worked in a small college, I befriended the chaplain, and immensely enjoyed helping his ministry as a volunteer. One day, I went to him for a few good words, after having experienced a crippling heartbreak. He could see how demoralized I’d been, and how aimless the road ahead looked. He said, “you feel cursed, don’t you?” I was so choked, I could merely nod. “Well, don’t be cursed. Be blessed.” He told me to consider myself spared, and that he knew a few things I didn’t know. “Really,” he said. “Be blessed. And if you don’t know what to do, just do the next right thing you know to do.”

What does it mean to be blessed, and how do we know when we are? How do we know when we are agents of blessing? In essence, it may not be for us to know. Doing the right, or decent, thing might be the more important matter. Holy writ offers us the Beattitudes, and these help balance human perspective as it concerns defeat and humility. We are told that the honorable approach to others and to life, whether or not we are appreciated, is to respond peaceably and with genuine civility. The “blessed are you” sayings of the Gospel are the basics which inform our specifics. For the many of us that must rely upon intangibles, we must find our luxuries in the unseen. We must find our recognition in assurances without plaques, titles, or lucrative portfolios.

We deliver provisions and furniture into swanky addresses, and then go home to gritty flats at night. The extent of our summer breezes and sunshine happens during commutes and snippets of weekends. Our oceanfront property is the city pier. We help others celebrate, and do so with honest cheer. We wish success to others. We conscientiously welcome and include the hirees that have bested us. Blessed are we!

If you wished you were blessed, well then, blessed are you. Blessed are you that consciously remember where you came from; you will be remembered. Blessed are those who look forward, along with those who strive to improve themselves. Blessed are those who are concerned with the well-being of those around them; there will surely be pleasant surprises from unexpected directions.

Blessed are those who yield to the right-of-way, and refuse to tailgate. Blessed are those who patiently wait their turn, and those who drive and walk gently upon this earth. You know you’re doing the right thing, following the high road that is worthy of community life. Blessed are those who recognize the unacknowledged and applaud the overlooked. Friendships are cultivated unawares every day, with each kind gesture. Blessed are those who leave disproportionately large tips at eateries. Servers bring food and drink right to your seat, and you are paying yourself with the goodness you show to your neighbors that serve you.

When you contemplate the beauty of creation, blessed are you. When you choose to see what is good, even when it is not obvious, blessed are you. When you boldly hope against the apparent and the predictable, blessed are you. Welcoming the ungrateful; deferring in respect; listening at meetings; playing fair; defending the bullied; voting your conscience; extending understanding; concealing your generosity.
Blessed are you. Blessed are you. Blessed are you.

Sixty floors rise above the sidewalks of Boston’s Downtown Crossing, and the developers are calling it “The Neighborhood in the Clouds.”
Still, the meek have a kingdom in heaven. Be blessed.

sharp points

“And you live life with your arms reached out.
Eye to eye when speaking.
Enter rooms with great joy shouts,
happy to be meeting.
And bright,
bright,
bright as yellow.”

~ The Innocence Mission, Bright as Yellow.

Recently, as part of a group of traveling musicians, I shared the joyful experience of welcoming hospitality. The last, and the lengthiest, of these road trips brought me to a small and elegant church in the Berkshires. The enthusiastic welcome actually began with thanks- just as we had all arrived. Our host’s exuberance- expressed at the outset, and not after any results of our presence- was especially touching, phrased as “there will never be enough thank-you’s, so I’ll start right now!” This brimming graciousness was disarmingly earnest and entirely pleasant. Now, in reflection, I can recall when I have either witnessed or felt this kind of abundant, overflowing, and extraordinary gratitude. Such profound expression may be occasional, but its roots are in everyday graces. Manifesting grateful acknowledgments may rest on the surface, with handshakes, written notes, and tokens. Unusual exceptions, such as I’d seen the other day, remind me of something beyond those fine and courteous practices. When a gesture seems closed-ended, we may decide to express our gratitude with our lives. Becoming our gratefulness needn’t necessarily imply overt emotion. More than anything, it is a communicating of this spirit in ways that comprehend the context of wherever we are- silent and festive alike. The depths of our own mysteries are visited, when gratitude overflows to the point that we sense the insufficiency of our words. It’s similar to the impatience we experience when we try to wish away worries or hasten a healing process with our intentions. Willing spirits find creative expressions.

The continuity that follows my desire to express appreciation, more than surface recognition, is the hope to live this gratitude. How do we carry ourselves and move through this world with a conscientious sense of reverence? Advancing from impressions, it is a challenge of faith to set forth from what we initially articulate. Living a spirit of gratitude imposes neither occasion nor space. Among other things, this means exercising myself to understand that which is difficult to accept. Cut loose the old grievances and grudges; shred the catalogues of misdeeds, and delete the read-only migrated files that take away space from the new. Part of the learning is posing the simplest questions, when noticing myself complaining in the face of goodness, asking “what’s good about this?” or “what’s good about today, this person, that job, this situation?” Graciousness may be expressed silently, and if we consider eternity as our goal, the need to be the last word dissipates and thankful intercessions for others will find their expression in our most unseen recesses. A gratefulness to God can be reflected as reverence and respect for all that lives and gives life. As acknowledgment for another person, it is compassion for that person’s sake- and for whom and what they may hold dear. Appreciation is openness and expanse of heart. We can be active witnesses to those who bear witness to us! And we can gratefully accept the unpredictable nature of our responses to graces we daren’t expect.

For the moment, I am very simply grateful for this time and space in which I can write at my warmly-lit desk, while outside the rain and wind pelt and beat upon the windows. As my thoughts turn through the topic of thankfulness, I think immediately of my friends. My companions and mentors are light-bearers along this broadening and humbling pilgrimage, and their influences transcend time. “So great a cloud of witnesses,” expressed so well by the ancient apostle Paul, encompasses us about such that we are freed by their inspiration to rise above all that weighs us down. To his friends in Philippi, he gratefully began his discourse with, “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.” Remembering encouraging souls is a source of assurance. Progress comes through unity, not isolation. When I think of the kindred souls and guiding elders for whom I continually give thanks, there follows the wonder of the gifts of their accompanying presences- through the years and now. Even while writing in silence, I am aware of their company. A way of caring for those dear to me is to profoundly respect their lives, personalities, and memories. Always giving thanks, upon every remembrance.

violent for mercy

"God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind."

~ 2nd Timothy 1:7


My physical steps are labored, on the steep uneven sidewalks of this seaside city, under burdens of books, work accoutrements, and this anguish that can tether even the strongest soul to the hard pavement. But with each day's worth of measured strides, with each planting and pushing-off of my feet on the bricks, I am sensing the depths of my strength. I look at the skies, even at night, and begin to ponder the concern and uplifting love that is around me, that is presented to me. When I can't find healing imagery within, my friends provide the healing words and gestures. When I have not been able to cook with my usual alacrity, I am breaking bread with dear souls who invite me to their tables. And so many, with such astonishing abundance. It makes me spin. I wonder if all these good people know who they are talking with, but I can do nought but to trust. To be loved is an even greater wonder for me than to love others. Pangs of abandonment cause me to flinch. Ultimately, I believe, we all get to serve one another and it must never be about keeping tallies.

And in the numerous conversations, I get to be thankfully distracted from what grieves my heart. It is the gift of the present, and I am able to view my life in the healthier context of being part of a great many lives. No person's life is perfect, least of all mine. Ironically for these times, I find myself in the familiar place of pointing others to hopefulness, and in the process there is the sprouting seed of encouragement within me. My profoundest wishes and desires are released into the universe, and now detached from me. It is all so raw and paradoxical, but now impossible not to notice this is the eve of the feast of the Epiphany.

choosing to love

"Do not hesitate to love and to love deeply. You might be afraid of the pain that deep love can cause."

~Henri Nouwen, Love Deeply


The anguish of loss and rejection produces a crossroads, and that is the choice between a bitter refusal to love again- or- to stand straight up in my pain and let the soil I stand upon become richer and better capable to be life-giving.

By choosing the risk to love, my heart has grown deeper and wider, and in all my faltering maturity of fits-and-starts I find there is no end to the wellspring of genuine love from which I can joyfully give, receive, forgive, and continually give. Standing straight in my pain is extremely difficult, much like holding fast on the deck of a relentlessly listing ship in a rainstorm. But for me this is the way of emotional faithfulness, and I can continue living and speaking from the center, not just in easygoing times, but in the darkest nights of the soul.

don't give up

"In times of darkness, when life loses its meaning and you are unsure even of your own identity, a flame still burns bright enough to lighten your night.The fire of forgiveness plunges deep within you, dispelling your own confusion; it calls you by name; and the fire burns away your bitterness to its very roots. That fire never says 'enough.'"

~ frère Roger, de Taizé


To forgive is to love to the utmost, and with a healthy sense of priority the finest spirit of forgiveness is to do so without pretense of changing another person. It is a gracious and free choice which recognizes the spirit of another human being without regard of action and injury. Forgiveness can be asked for, given freely, and even directed straight to oneself. How can there be peace or trust without forgiveness? And with a soul that experiences and receives forgiveness, I can then become a source of reconciliation and trust- even through pains that agonize the human body and wrack the soul. I wish for my heart to be open to the universal, without sparing myself, so that I can become capable of understanding everything in others, of sharing their pain and distress. To believe in renewal is to say nothing is impossible or irretrievable.And this is my choosing, and my desire is to embody this.