Daily Dose (November 11 – 14)
TUESDAY NOVEMBER 11 — Walking the Camino de Santiago gratefully evokes one of my very favorite stories. The first-grade class was given an assignment; to name the seven wonders of the world. Each student compiles a list, and shares their list, aloud, with the class. There is ardent interaction as the students call out entries from their lists: The Pyramids, the Empire State Building, the Amazon River, Yellowstone National Park, the Grand Canyon, the Taj Mahal and the list goes on. The teacher serves the role of cheerleader, “Class, these are great answers. Well done!”
One girl sits silent. She is asked about her list. She says, “I don’t think I understand the assignment.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t have any of the right answers,” she tells the teacher.
“Well, why don’t you tell us what you wrote on your paper, and we’ll help you.” the teacher encourages her.
“Okay,” says the little girl, “I think the seven wonders of the world are… to see, to hear, to taste, to touch, to laugh, to love, to belong.”
So. When I am asked: What did you do on your Portuguese Camino journey?
My answer: I have tasted and savored the seven wonders of the world.
This week we remember Howard Thurman’s reminder, “There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathlessly beautiful.”
And no, it is not always easy to do.
Something about seeing only what we want to see. Or hearing only what we want to hear.
And for me, the paradigm shift is from scarcity to sufficiency.
And amen to this transformation (I call it my “Camino” transformation)—as it brings with it a conversion, an extraordinary gift.
I was raised in a religious tradition that mandated conversion, which punched my ticket for the afterlife.
I was frequently asked what I would do if I died today.
I was never once asked what I would do if I lived today.
But what if conversion is about living this life, today, with my whole heart?
“We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full,” Marcel Proust wrote. So, we wake up to this life, fragile and exquisitely beautiful, embracing the sacrament of the present moment.
“When old patterns are broken, new worlds emerge.” Tuli Kupferberg wrote. In other words, when I’m not preoccupied (held captive by angst), I notice, I pay attention, I see.
And in taking ownership of my life, this life, I am available. Not frightened by scarcity, I’m not enticed to ask, “what do I need today?”
Rather, I can ask, “what do others need today?” You see, I have both resources and assets to give…
Listening ear.
Empathy.
Non anxious presence — calm demeanor.
Shout out to (and hug for) a friend.
Words of consolation and healing.
Writing this today from Viana do Castelo, Portugal. And let’s just say, in a country that does not celebrate the holiday Thanksgiving, it is beginning to look a lot like Christmas. My Oh My. Serenaded by lights and carols in the town square.
WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 12 — At the top of Mount Santa Luzia (in Viana do Castelo, Portugal) stands the Diocesan Sanctuary of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (or Sanctuary of Santa Luzia), not surprisingly frequently visited, for its dramatic panoramic views.
You can take a car (or bus or funicular) up the mountain, or, you can walk, climbing the granite stone steps—straight uphill through the forest. I lost count at 660.
We walked it in heavy rain. And no, it’s not the best kind of weather for hiking uphill. And no, rain was not in the forecast. And I confess, the thought did cross my mind, “Is this the best day for this?”
We made it to the top of the mountain, now covered in a fog so dense, the great church appears, quite literally, as an illusion, something out of a dream.
And yes, it made me smile, real big.
Because it gave me the permission to switch gears in my mind’s eye. The Camino’s permission slip to “let go of scripts.” You know where we are supposed to be, what we’re supposed to see, and why.
To embrace the gift of rejuvenation—being smack dab in the sacred present.
Where we can pause to hear the words of poet Mary Oliver, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
Okay. Count me in. Just tell me how–especially on stormy and rainy days. Isn’t that always the magical question?
How? Is there a way to do this? Is it something about our need to perform?
After all, if I’m going embrace the sacred present, I might as well excel at it!
We need to cut ourselves some slack here, assuming that there is a big prize in spiritual well-being for people who have Aced the test on embracing-the-sacred-present technique.
And speaking of rejuvenation, I see two gifts.
One. In Rabbi Abraham Heschel’s mind, it’s basic. “I would say an individual dies when he ceases to be surprised. What keeps me alive—spiritually, emotionally, intellectually—is my ability to be surprised. I say, I take nothing for granted. I am surprised every morning that I see the sun shine again.”
I suppose we can wag some internal finger and give ourselves grief for not using our time more wisely and “wouldn’t it be better if” and so forth. Or we can try Jesus’ three-word counsel, “Do not worry,” and just BE. (Although, truth be told, there is a good deal of adrenaline with worry, and it makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.)
And number Two. Being present allows us to stay emotionally and spiritually hydrated. Not that many years ago, I spoke to a group of hospice care workers here in the Pacific Northwest, about emotional and spiritual hydration. I started this way, “What I’m about to tell you is very selfish. I want self-care to matter to you. Yes, I want you to be replenished. Because one day, I will need one of you.”
No one of us is on this journey alone. And we need one another not only for care and comfort, but to pick up the pieces and find ways to create spaces in our world that does not (or will not) belittle or diminish or demean.
We sat in the Sanctuary of Santa Luzia for quite some time, giving our knees and feet some rest, letting our clothes dry at least a wee bit, indebted to a space that honors silence, reflection, and prayer. And letting the Rose windows (the large, circular stained-glass windows) spill light on our fears and hopes and dreams.
Onward my friends.
THURSDAY NOVEMBER 13 — Portugal is getting pummeled with wind and rain. Heavy storm weather with gusts up to “Fresh Gale” (My east coast friends anticipating hurricanes may know this, but I learned a new phrase).
And occasional thunderstorms. This is the forecast for the next several days. So, a change of Camino plans.
We’ve taken a short train ride down to Porto, where we can somewhat take time to “hunker down” in the weather—finding ways to explore the city where my Camino began one year ago. And then—on the days that invite—we will take hikes back north, on the coastal Camino way.
Although, after arrival in Porto, so much for hunkering down. After a good long walk in the rain, we spent time in Porto Cathedral (Sé do Porto). This celebrated Roman Catholic church is located in the historical center of the city. It was “born” in the 12th century, and rebuilt and renovated numerous times throughout the centuries, now an elegant mixture of architectural styles. And it brings back good memories for me, as Porto Cathedral is where we head to pick up our Pilgrim Passport (also called a Credencial Camino de Santiago). Passport—our accordion-shaped booklet filled with empty pages. And these pages will be filled with stamps from various businesses—restaurants and hotels and hostels—and churches along the pilgrimage trail. And you never know what will “fill” the booklet, until you begin the journey.
During Mass today (in Porto Cathedral) I smiled, realizing that while the service was welcoming, the gift of staying dry for a wee bit on a very stormy day, added to the allure.
I can imagine a conversation. “So. Why did you go to church?”
“I needed to stay dry.”
Not a bad choice. Because here’s the deal: you never know the gifts you will receive and embrace along the way. Once you give yourself the permission to be fully present.
I love—and take to heart—John Chryssavgis’ affirmation that, “Everything is in some way sacramental. All depends on the receptiveness and openness of our hearts.” (The World of the Icon and Creation)
And I have a fun memory of a church service, where I was the guest preacher during one of my events some years ago. In the center aisle between the pews, a little girl sat on the floor, happily—and quite contently—playing with her coloring book. Her mother sat calmly in the pew next to where her daughter played. I’m smiling now, remembering how the little girl coloring during church raised eyebrows. “Should she be allowed to do that?”
And I want to say to them, “Don’t worry, one day you’ll be old enough to bring your knitwork to church, and will find comfort knitting during my homily (sermon).”
Oh, and back to the change of our Camino plans. The memory of one year ago when I eavesdropped on a couple of tourists (eavesdropping is one of my spiritual gifts) walking in the cloisters of the Porto Cathedral. A couple, looking at the guidebook on their phone, him saying to her, “We should figure out how to do this tour in the right order. I don’t think we’re doing this right.”
Yes, another big smile.
And I can really relate. After all, what should we do first or second or third? And what if we’re going about this in the wrong order? And what if we stop, just to sit on the floor, and color?
Each day on this journey, I’ve been finding time to remember Howard Thurman’s invite, “There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathlessly beautiful.”
And my friend Charlie sent me this from the Center for Action and Contemplation. “There is a sense of God’s incarnate presence in creation that shimmers forth to reveal the holiness of all things. Notice how your senses come alive when you walk out in the world aware of its sacramental nature. What do your eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and skin each reveal to you about how God is alive in the world around you?”
Speaking of sacramental, many of you were able to see the Northern Lights. And a few shared photos. Thank you. You just stop what you’re doing and point, and say, “Looook!”
And I do see, from many friends, in parts of the US there is severe weather and potential flooding. Be on the lookout for people who need care.
FRIDAY NOVEMBER 14 — Yesterday, sitting at a café (under large market umbrellas) on the Douro River in Porto, the busker—standing in the heavy rain—sings, “Imagine all the people, Living life in peace, You may say I’m a dreamer, But I’m not the only one, I hope someday you’ll join us, And the world will be as one.” (John Lennon)
Even in the deluge of weather… It is the power of music, allowing my mind to wander, in a curative and restorative sort of way.
And as he sings, a young woman walks up behind him, and holds an umbrella over his head, keeping him dry while he sings. That did my heart good. It’s one thing to “imagine”. It’s another to do something that makes a difference, even if that something, is a very small gesture indeed.
Imagine is one of my favorite songs. And it’s one thing to say “yes” to these lyrics. It is quite another to say, “I’m in. I will ‘join’ and be invested.”
Making me wonder, “What are the ingredients of investment? What does it look like? And what are the costs of investment?”
This I know in my spirit; in the world we live in, detachment—emotional, spiritual, personal—is quite seductive. Not because I don’t want to be connected or invested. But because there is a part of me that is afraid, or reluctant—don’t want to be hurt or disheartened—about something.
And there is a part of me doesn’t know what to give or invest. “After all, what can I do?”
Well, let us begin here. I carry this encouragement in my heart, “Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.” (Thank you Iain Thomas)
So, here’s the deal; I don’t want my heart to go away. I want to speak from that place. Speaking to hope and respiration and peace, without the weight of any perceived role or expectation. I choose to honor…
My Heart. Empathy. Listening. Seeing pain (and not just the “other”), and honoring dignity and inclusion and safety and hope. Saying “no” to greed, malice and meanness. Saying, “Yes, there are umbrellas to hold.”
My Tears. Redeeming life’s heaviness, they can be a healing (and cleansing) for craziness.
My Laughter. I choose to be grounded in wonder and awe and grateful gladness.
Robben Island is famous. It is the South African prison where Nelson Mandela and many others were incarcerated because of their struggle to end apartheid. (Mandela served 18 of his 27 years in Robben Island). Margaret Wheatley tells this story of a time that she had the unique privilege of touring Robben Island (now a UNESCO World Heritage Centre).
The tour group stood in a long narrow room that had been used as a prison cell for dozens of freedom fighters. Picture yourself in a space crowded, cramped and barren. The prisoners lived without cots or furniture, cement floors now their beds. The only light entered through narrow windows near the ceiling.
The tour group listened to their guide’s narration. “I was a prisoner in this very room,” the guide tells them. The gravity of his words co-mingles with the cold seeping up through the floor. There is a chill.
The group stares through prison bars, surveys the lifeless cell, and tries to imagine the stories about the suffering from relentless threats and capricious brutality.
The guide pauses, as if remembering, gazing the length of his former cell. Speaking quietly, almost a whisper, he says, “Sometimes, to pass the time here, we taught each other ballroom dancing.”
When the world tilts on issues of justice and inclusion and integrity and peace, we are always pursuers (fighters) for a just world. There are many who will pull us away. And yet, let us not forget, “You are the light of the world.”
Let us not forget, Grace is still real.
Camino Prayer for our week…
Creating Spirit,
Far too often I make demands of my own life
and try to tell it how to live and be.
A deeper, more authentic way to live
is allowing my life to speak to me, through me.
Show me how to deeply listen to my life
so that I may discover how to live
this wild and precious life well.
Amen
Photo… “Good morning, thank you for your daily inspiration, especially during these difficult times of unrest in our world, political discourse affects so many of us, climate change causing catastrophic events around the globe, indifference among our brothers and sisters leading to war and hate. We are all searching for peace! I retreat to nature to feel His peace and presence. I appreciate the photos that accompany your reflections. I am an amateur photographer and like to capture and share nature that awakens my souls heart. (This one I call ‘My Burning Bush–a reminder of God’s ever presence in our live. An invitation to be still and hear His whisper calling out to us on this life journey. Many times what’s underneath is as beautiful as the surface.’) Thank you for casting light where there is darkness and igniting the fire within us all. Blessings upon you. Respectfully,” Virginia Portanova… Thank you Virginia… Thank you for your photos, please send them to tdh@terryhershey.com
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